Published: 12 Jun 2023

Chapter 28

The Mareeba Rodeo was scheduled for the following week and the town is busy with rough riders from across the state and country, even a number arrived from America with intention to show the Aussie how it is done. It is to be the first time the event had been programmed since before the war and obvious by those who registered to participated, many of the young men from earlier years are missing, with their names posted in pride of position inside the show grounds, on the wall of the temporary bar.

Alf and May departed for Innisfail some time earlier and both Winnie and Owen were feeling their absence. As for Gavin at the last moment he had a change of heart and agreed to relocate with his parents, at least until they settled into their new home. Gavin did have one concern, that being Ruby, she was now beyond being ridden and it was common for old horses to be sold to the knackery to become pet food and fertilizer.

Before departing Alf found a new home for Ruby with a family at Walkamin, allowing the mare to spend her final years on their cattle property in company with an old donkey rescued from a travelling circus. As for Ruby, she immediately hit it off with Clive the donkey and two became inseparable.

After the sale of the farm Alf bought Owen a new car, a Ford Coupe in black and the first of the new design seen in Mareeba. Owen wished to wait, as he had read a company in Melbourne had commenced making a local model under the name of Holden but Alf liked the Ford and trusted that company’s workmanship.

Some time before the Rodeo, Owen had taking his flying lessons. He was considered to be a quick learner and quickly received his wings, piloting Cessna’s for Bush Pilots, whenever a regular pilot called in sick. Even so it was the big birds that remained high in his interests, flying across state, across country even across oceans.

With the introduction of jets, his eagerness lifted further and each time he was behind the stick of an aircraft his thoughts returned to Chip, had he survived the war, was he back in the American mid-west and plowing fields, or herding cattle. With those thoughts came remorse but gradually the longing faded into fond memory but somehow, deep down, he knew he could never love again and he kept that part of his soul for his absent airman.

The week of the Mareeba Rodeo, while delivering a load of soft drinks in preparation for the big event, Owen chanced to spy Ted who had been given work at the pavilion. It was then he decided to confront his uncle once and for all but not in public. Firstly he thought of writing Ted a letter, suggesting a meeting but that seemed a little clandestine. So it would be a visit to Ted’s house and away from prying eyes. As for Meg Rush fortunately she had recently gone into care, so there would be no midday telephone call to May.

During Friday’s drinks at the Dunlop Owen chanced upon Ian Douglas, who was with a number of other’s from their final school year. He joined the group and ordered a beer.

“So Owen, how is it living with your sis’?” Ian says in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

“Fine, and her second is due in a couple of weeks, so she will be glad for the help around the house,” Owen answers as if to support his reason for parting company with Douglas.

“Potted again eh? I always said Winnie was a breeder.” Trevor Watts offers to the conversation and downs the dregs in his glass and orders a refill, while belching loudly, as if to give credit to the brew’s value.

Owen gives a social laugh but is disgusted by Watt’s comment on his sister’s productive ability.

“Who have you potted lately,” Wayne Langton asks Owen and brushed a fall of mud brown hair away from his small mischievous piggy eyes.

“Now that would be telling – wouldn’t it?”

Both Langton and Watts turn towards Douglas who appears oblivious to their suggestive glance, as it was obvious Langton’s question was more designed towards Ian than Owen.

Owen could feel tension building and although their attention was now on Douglas, he began to wonder if they had realized Ian’s sexuality and did they decree him the same by association?

“What was it like living with this rat-bag?” Watt’s asks.

“Never a dull moment,” Owen laughs.

“Now isn’t that a fact,” Douglas supports Owen’s deduction of their cohabitation.

“I hear your old man has switched to growing tobacco,” Owen asks Langton as a diversion from their interests towards Douglas and their former living arrangements.

“He has and I thought you would have made the switch, why did your old man sell up?”

“He was getting too old to farm and with Jim gone he lost interest.”

“Your Jim was a fine fellow and a good fly-half,” Watts sadly expresses of Jim’s past rugby expertise, “why didn’t you take over the farm Owen?”

“Other interests Wattsie, I don’t have dirt in my blood and definitely not tobacco, I don’t believe there is an extended future in the crop, too much competition from overseas and I hear rumblings from the health department relating tobacco with lung cancer.”

“What about Gavin?” Langton asks.

“He was interested but when it came to running the business part of farming, he found it difficult.

“No head for figures eh?” Langton reckons.

“Something like that.”

“I heard you got your pilot’s license,” Watts says.

“Crashers license more like it, as there were enough of them crash around these parts during the war. I believe one did at the west end to your farm, took out an entire length of fencing and almost took out Joliffe’s equipment shed,” Langton recollects.

“Most of it is still there. I suppose it was part of chattels with the sale of the property,” Owen laughs.

“They all got out,” Langton recollects.

“For once but enough of the poor buggers didn’t,” Owen sympathizes while recalling his fear whenever Chip was away.

Langton gives a grave like shudder in memory of the many fatalities and finishes his drink, “well I’m off. I’ve an early morning start.”

“Hang on I’ll come with you,” Watts says with a final belch of approval towards the brew.

With the two gone it left Owen in a difficult situation, he was about to depart before the others, now he had been left in conversation with Douglas and could see his once friend remained annoyed from his departing their living arrangement. Also further concern was developing, were they on to Douglas and if so, had they also included him in their assessment.

“You should watch yourself around those two,” Owen quietly warns.

“What do you mean Owen?”

“I think they are on to you.”

“In what way?”

“Don’t be smart Ian. You know what I’m getting at.”

“They may think but never know,” Douglas says.

“Have you said anything to them about me?”

Douglas laughs loudly bringing many eyes about the bar to turn.

“Settle mate, I’m only asking,” Owen growls and shrinks away from the eyes.

“The trouble with you Owen, you are much too tightly wound. You’re like the main spring of a clock and if you keep turning, you will snap something. Besides what is there to tell about you anyway?”

“Then keep it that way – I’ve got to be going.”

As Owen departs Douglas grabs his arm, “still friends?”

“Yes Ian still friends.”

“Come around sometime I think we need to clarify a number of things,” Douglas suggests.

“I’m a little busy at the moment but I promise I will.”

As promises are and promises go, by the time Owen reached the pavement the decision to have a permanent brake with Douglas was formed, as if he was to become a pilot sometime in the near future and with a public profile, he couldn’t have his sexuality hanging over him like the blade of a dull knife, always slicing never cutting.

One problem still remained and that was Ted. Owen had not as yet formulated how he would approach his uncle, or even if it was wise to do so but approach he must, otherwise the question would always be there, besides from his recollection of the incident with Ted and Jim even at his tender years, there didn’t appear to be enough to cause a lifetime break from family.

Again Owen formulated their meeting. It would be at Ted’s house, he would bravely knock on the door and Ted would answer with much surprise, inviting him for coffee, possibly a beer while announcing it was time for dialogue. Owen would come directly to the point and ask the troubling question and Ted would defend his actions with lies, declaring it to be but a misunderstanding. All that remained was to select an appropriate time and build enough courage to approach his so called wayward uncle.

The Easter weekend was approaching and being given Thursday as an extra holiday because of restructuring at the cordial factory, Owen decided it was the perfect time to instigate his approach towards Ted and as he came to the breakfast table he remained in mental debate towards the best method in his approach.

“You seem quiet this morning?” Winnie remarks.

“You think so?”

“I know so. What’s up?”

“I’m working through something – where’s Rod?”

“There is a problem at work; he will be there most of the day. What would you like for breakfast?”

“What are you having?”

“Tea and toast, I’ve already had it but I can do you some eggs if you like.”

“No tea and toast would be fine. I’ll do it.”

“Why so quiet?” Winnie again questions.

“Uncle Ted,”

“What has Ted done now?” Winnie says with a sigh of foreboding.

“Nothing, only I’m going to go around to his place and confront him once and for all.”

“Do you think that is wise?”

Owen places a slice of sliced bread each side of the toaster and turns on the power, the element quickly turns to cherry red, “probably not but it has been bothering me since I don’t know when. Now with Jim gone and dad from town, I thought it couldn’t hurt anyone and if I don’t it will nag at me forever.”

“I think we all know what it was about without asking,” Winnie suggests.

“Possibly so but even Ted has the right of reply and from my scant memory nothing much happened.”

“I’ll leave my opinion silent,” Winnie concludes.

After breakfast Owen does the mornings dishes then to help Winnie he mopped the kitchen floor and takes out the rubbish, “anything else?” he asks as he emptied the mop water over the back steps railing, drowning a struggling geranium bush with warm soapy water.

“Not that I can think of but you could carry this for a couple of days for me,” Winnie points to her extended belly.

“What do you think it will be?” Owen asks.

“I would like a girl, someone to talk girlie things to in my dotage.”

“You and mum were always having little secret talks.”

“That is why I want a girl.”

“True girls can’t have deep and meaning-full’s with fathers.” Owen suggests.

“Knowing dad it was obvious boys can’t either. I remember Gavin asking dad where babies came from and he said go ask your mother,”

Winnie gives a gentle smile, “instead he came and asked me,” she admits.

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth but I think he was too young to get the gist of it all, so I told him to go and watch the pigs as they were always at it.”

“Did he?”

“That I don’t know but he didn’t ask me again.”

“I’ll be off then. I’ll walk over to Ted’s, it is only three streets and it’s a nice day.”

“I could ask you to say hello for me – but I won’t.”

“Be nice,”

At the top end of Haren Street Owen passes a letter posting box which was badly graphitized. One of the tags brought a smile, as although it had been tagged over by another, was his own from his Sub Senior school year and scratched into the paintwork, not sprayed with spray cans like its newer version.

The tag described – OP-L-PW surrounded by a rudimentary heart.

‘Owen loves Paula Wilson,’ he recollects.

‘Loves or loved,’ Owen thinks realising it had been etched more to hide a deep seated truth, as the first person he loved, except for family, had been Chip and in truth he remained in love with his American fly-boy.

‘OP-L-CM,’ he considered re-etching the thought but as quickly realized it was nothing but a childish prank.

‘Chip,’ he thinks, ‘where are you now.

‘Did you survive?’

‘I miss you so much.’

A deep breath and Owen discards the thought and moves on.

“Number seventeen,” Owen says and mentally counts from the corner.

It is an old house with a green metal roof and no front fence or garden. Ted had only recently moved there after buying it cheaply from a deceased estate. Owen remembers the previous owner. It had been Mal Tuff who lost both his sons during the war, the first in North Africa at Tobruk, when the tank he was driving was hit and exploded. It was said they found nothing of him to bury, or keepsake to send home as remembrance. The second lad and barely nineteen died in New Guinea and Mal’s wife passed on soon after. It was said Mal simply went to bed and died from grief.

Leading to the front door is a gravel path that crunches loudly underfoot as Owen proceeds.

‘Crunch, crunch – crunch,’ Owen thinks with each step.

‘You still have time to back out of this dumb idea,’ he concerns on reaching the single step to a low verandah. The step wobbles underfoot but holds his balance.

He brings to mind Winnie’s warning.

His mind is in pause but his feet continued as with each step the verandah boards squeak out a warning of his passage.

‘Well Owen here goes nothing.’

A deep breath, it is held and quickly released.

Owen knocks loudly and confidently, as he again formulates his approach. He smiles remembering doing so when he visited Ted’s son in Atherton and hoped his reception would not be similar.

He then decides to simply say whatever comes to mind.

No answer;

Owen’s hand hovers to repeat its demand and the door opens.

“Oh,” Owen says in a gasp as a stranger becomes apparent.

“It’s young Owen isn’t it?”

The stranger is Ted’s friend he had previously encountered at the hotel but Owen couldn’t remember his name.

“I’ll call back at another time.”

“No Teddy is home and would love to see you Owen; come in.”

Owen cautiously enters and is guided along a narrow hallway; known to many as a shotgun passage, as you could fire a shotgun through the front door and the pellets would exit through the rear door without hitting anything.

Passing two doors, both bedrooms with doors open, one has a double bed with its bedding scattered, the second void of furnishings with a stacking of cardboard boxes to a corner and a single mattress on the floor, also scattered with bedding. The boxes appear to contain clothing and a selection of paperback novels and cooking utensils, all left as they had arrived, as if Ted had lost interested in finding them a position of permanency after moving in.

The third door is the living room and as Owen recollects from previous visits to the house when Mal Tuff was alive, held the same furnishings, brown shabby and smelling of many years of usage.

There was another smell, that what hangs around the very old and those who had lost interest in their appearance.

It wasn’t Ted’s odor as he always smelt of freshly laundered clothing and Pears soap, sometimes the faint lingering of Eau de Cologne.

Obviously Mal remained within the room, if not in person then in spirit.

Slater guides Owen in.

“Teddy you have a visitor,” Slater quietly says.

“I could come back another time,” Owen suggests as Ted places down his reading glasses and paperback novel to a side table. His head leans curiously to one side as he smiles.

“I was just leaving,” Slater says.

“Righto’,” Ted answers.

“Do you want anything at the shops?” Slater asks.

“No thank you Bill.”

Slater leaves Owen standing mid room and now somewhat lost for words, as his approach became muddled with Slater’s answering of the door.

“Owen this is a surprise, would you like coffee, maybe something stronger?”

“No just some answers.”

“At least take a seat.”

“I won’t keep you long Ted.”

“You can keep me as long as you wish Owen.”

Where had Owen’s words gone, also those questions that had lined one behind the other in simple order. Now what remained were sweaty hands and an obvious lack of voice.

“Owen sit down you are making me nervous,” Ted says but by his manner he appears calm.

Owen takes a seat at distance, feeling the space between them is as large as the void between Ted and the family and he can’t find a single word to continue.

“Then Owen I will ask you a question.” Ted softly states.

Owen remains quiet and fiddles, then crosses his arms.

“You have come to question me of the impasse between Alf and me – true?”

“In part, yes,” Owen says.

‘In total yes,’ he thinks.

“Firstly it was tragic how Jim went and I hurt for not being invited to attend his funeral.”

“Dad would never have allowed it Ted.” Finally Owen is finding voice.

“I realize that.”

“I asked Jim what happened but he didn’t say much,” Owen is becoming braver.

“You were in the room at the time, how do you remember it Owen?”

“Hardly anything, I was much too young.”

“Therefore I will explain but don’t speak until I have finished.”

Owen gives a gentle nod of agreement.

“Alf had called me over to give a hand in bringing a crop of potatoes before the weather changed. I had been working with Alf and Jim for most of the day and by late afternoon it was done. Alf remained in the shed putting away the tractor and I was in the house with Jim and you, while May was in the washhouse. If I recollect correctly, Winnie was away at boarding school. You were seated across the room playing with a toy tip-truck you got for your birthday. Jim would have been going on thirteen at the time and feeling his oats and by his innuendos much more. During the afternoon while working the potatoes Jim had been quite suggestive, which he continued once in the house and was obviously aroused.”

Owen opens his mouth to speak.

“No Owen let me finish.”

Owen returns to silence.

“In jest and stupidly I reached across and gave him a squeeze, nothing more than a quick squeeze. Jim laughed as his legs appeared to widen and at that very moment, Alf came into the room and saw it all.”

Ted pauses his telling and went to the drinks cabinet where he fixed a double scotch.

His hand appears to tremble.

“Do you want one?” Ted asks.

“No thank you.”

“Well Owen?”

“Is that all?’

“Yes the lot and the truth. I would never have gone further and right away, even before Alf came in, I realized it was a step too far.”

“Did you try and explain to dad?’

“Explain what? That Jim had been making suggestions for most of the day and it was but a laugh. It shouldn’t have happened even as a laugh. I was at fault but not deserving the extent of my punishment, as I have been excluded from everyone in the family since; even from my own.”

“Would you have gone further if you were alone with Jim” Owen asked.

“No and don’t you even think that Owen, I have more respect for family than you can imagine. I would never approach family in that way, or anyone under age.”

“What about Jim, didn’t he try to explain to dad?”

“Owen he was just a kid and would never have admitted anything that would have questioned his behaviour.”

“Had you spoken to Jim since?”

“Never a word and even when he was at school he would avoid me and I him, as I didn’t want to stir up more trouble with Alf.”

“Are you, well you know?” Owen is becoming brave.

“I am as you say, you know, but that isn’t a secret, your father guessed so when we were kids, possibly that is why he reacted in such a manner.”

“If so Ted, I have judged you badly.”

“Don’t blame yourself Owen and don’t blame your father, as I said I was at fault and should have had more sense – but what of you Owen?”

“In what way would that be Ted?”

“What of your lifestyle?”

“Lifestyle, that is a weird conception, have you been talking to Ian Douglas? I wouldn’t believe anything Douglas says.”

“Not about you but I do know Ian and find him a little excessive.”

“No Ted I assure you, I’m not that way inclined.” Owen lied as he had no wish for anyone to know of his sexuality, or the deepening love he had for Chip. That was intangible and not for sharing.

“What of your friendly airman?”

“He was more a friend to Winnie and was approached under a local scheme designed to befriend someone long from home and I was showing him around the Tablelands.” It hurt Owen to lie about Chip but after the family rejection Ted had gone through, he couldn’t add to it by admitting his sexuality, as to do so may appear hypocritical.

“Then Owen in the future I hope we can be family.”

“I can’t speak for the others,” Owen says.

“It is a start. How is Winnie going with her second?”

“It is due any day now, she is hoping for a girl.”

“I haven’t seen Gary, who does he look like?”

“I would say more like Rod than a Parker.” Owen says and stands to depart.

“What does Winnie think of me?” Ted asks as they walk towards the passageway.

“I really can’t speak for Winnie.”

“I do have a question for you Owen.”

Owen pauses his departure and cautiously replies, “what would that be Ted?”

“I understand you met up with my son Gregory in Atherton?”

Owen is surprised with Ted’s knowledge of their meeting, “yes I did but that was a long time ago, during the interschool sports event. How did you know?”

“I am acquainted with Ray Tucker who is a postman at the Atherton Post Office, he saw you talking to Gregory while delivering the office mail.”

“I do recollect a postman entering the office before I did.”

“You don’t remember Ray?”

“No, should I?”

“It was Ray who gave Jim riding lessons before you got Ruby, possibly you were too young to remember.”

“That appears to be the way with small towns; everybody knows everybody and their business.”

“How was Gregory?”

“In what way?”

“Did he mention me?”

“Not in any positive way but that is understandable.”

“Will you be visiting him in the future?”

“Possibly but I’m afraid he doesn’t wish to reassociate with you Ted.”

“I realize his reluctance but if you do visit Gregory, I would like you to let me know how he is but don’t mention me or your visit here.”

“Why not Ted?”

“He has his own life now but he is still my son and love him dearly.”

At the door Ted offers Owen a hand and it is coyly taken, “you will visit again Owen,” Ted says.

“Possibly but at least I will not think badly of you.”

On his return home Owen had a skip in his step. True Ted would remain a family outcast but not to the extent he was considered. Even so he would not speak in length of his visit but as he entered into the house he was shocked to see Winnie holding tightly to the corner of the sink while obviously bent over in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Owen gasps and is quickly by her side supporting her from falling.

“The baby is coming.”

“What should I do?” Owen begins to panic.

“Help me to sit then call the ambulance.”

After making Winnie as comfortable as her condition would allow, Owen calls for an ambulance, “It’s on the way,” he assures.”

“Go to the bedroom and you will find a bag ready to take to the hospital.”

“What does it look like?” Owen asks.

“Christ, Owen there is only one.”

Winnie commences to groan loudly, “how long did they say the ambulance would be.”

Owen returns with the bag, “this one?” he asks holding it up.

“Yes.”

“They said it was on its way and in my reckoning about five minutes.”Owen places the bag close by the front door and returns to Winnie.

“What should I do?” There was obvious panic in his voice as he took Winnie’s hand.

Winnie breaks away from his touch and holds her belly, “you can have it for me,” she shrieks.

“Does it hurt?”

“Of course it flaming well hurts! Do you think I’m bunging-on!”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind that, where is that ambulance?”

As Winnie spoke there is a sound of a vehicle outside in the street and moments later an urgent knocking at the front door.

“They are here,” Owen says and lets the medics in. He stands aside while hearing talk of water breaking, contractions and other things alien to his vocabulary.

Winnie is quickly taken to the waiting ambulance. “Call Rod and let him know,” are her final words as she is placed in the ambulance and the doors closed.

Later that evening Winnie became the proud mother of a seven pound and five ounces baby girl, given the name of Megan and during visiting hours Owen came to view the new arrival.

“Who do you think she looks like?” Winnie proudly asks.

“Do you want the truth Winnie,” Owen says.

“I do.”

“She is all red and wrinkled, I couldn’t honestly say and she doesn’t have any hair.”

“Haven’t you seen a newborn before?”

“No.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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