Published: 19 Jun 2023

Chapter 29

It had been some time since Owen’s visit to Ted, while deciding not to say anything to Winnie and oddly Winnie didn’t enquire, nor did he mention his visit to Gavin in his correspondence, believing with Jim gone and his parents from the district, it was wise to allow the affair to gently fade from memory. As for Ted, Owen believed his uncle’s version of event and that he truly regretted what he had done, even so Owen hadn’t formulated what relationship uncle and nephew would enjoy in the future.

There was a surprise for Owen as he arrived home from work. Gavin was visiting with intentions of returning to Mareeba and the offer of a position at the bacon factory, while arranging lodgings at the home of his school mate Tubby Reynolds. Firstly he would be staying with Winnie for up to a week, as the Reynolds’ had family visiting over the Queen’s Birthday holiday weekend.

“You don’t mind sharing the bungalow with Gavin?” Winnie asks.

“It will be like old times,” Owen happily relates agreement.

“I hope he is used to babies crying.”

“Yes young Megan has a good set of lungs, where is Gavin?” Owen asks.

“Looking in on Megan and making all kinds of silly little noises, he believes babies like to hear.”

It appeared their parents had settled well in their new home and May found interests making jam and chutney with the Country Woman’s Association, selling it on market days. Alf decided not to partner his brother with the sugarcane farm; instead he took up recreational fishing, filling May’s freezer with so much barramundi she had to start giving it away to the neighbours, saying with so much seafood she may have to change religion and become catholic.

“Why the change of mind, by what you were saying before you left you intended to resettle down the coast and work the fishing boats?” Owen asks Gavin once they became reacquainted.

“I only intended to stay until mum was settled, now she appears as if she was always living there, besides with Gran and Auntie Betty about all the time, I decided there were too many wrinklies for my liking.”

While designing that night’s meal Winnie realized, although she had done the shopping for the holiday weekend, she would need extra from the butcher. “Problem,” she simply says from the opens the refrigerator door.

“What would that be?” Owen asks.

“I will need extra now Gavin is here.”

“Don’t concern about me Winn, as I’ll get something from the Café,” Gavin says.

“No you won’t Gavin.”

“I’ll go to the butcher,” Owen offers.

“I haven’t the extra money until Rod comes home and he won’t return until dinner time.”

“Never mind I’m good for it and I’ll take Gavin for a beer after going to the shop.”

Owen only made it to the butcher by minutes as their visit to the Dunlop bar extended to more than the drink he had promised. On the way home he had some local news to share with his brother.

“Did you hear Clem Hansen is tying the knot?”

“Who is Clem Hansen?” Gavin asks.

“You remember the pimple-face fellow in my final year and his old man owns the timber mill over Biboohra way.”

“I thought his name was Robert?”

“Robert is his younger brother, Clem is marrying Louise Brockhoff from Tolga and the shit has really hit the fan.”

“Why?”

“The Hansen’s are Proddy and the Brockhoffs are Catholic. It will be like marrying the enemy.”

“Mum is Catholic,” Gavin says.

“No mum is Lutheran.”

“What’s the dif’?”

“Well Lutheran is sorta’ Protestant and dad is sorta’ Church of England, or would be if he was inclined towards religion.”

“I thought Grandma Jonsson was Irish.”

“She was Proddy Irish from Belfast, Granddad was Lutheran and mum took after Granddad.”

“It all seems confusing, therefore what are we?”

“By definition atheists, I don’t remember mum or dad going to any church except for the regulation births, deaths and marriages,” Owen recollects.

“Then why has the turd hit the whizzer with Clem Hansen?”

Owen smiles at his brother’s expression and continues. “From what I understand, neither church will marry them unless one or the other converts and seeing they won’t convert they are going to have a civil ceremony.”

“So?”

“Clem’s mother is in constant tears and his old man has threatened to disinherit Clem, while the Brockhoffs who have a number of properties in the Tolga area threatened likewise with Louise.”

“Then the shit has really hit the fan, what will they do?”

“From what I hear they have gone to Cairns and are living in sin and she is expecting, so she will more than likely have a belly as they walk down the aisle.”

“I wouldn’t marry a catholic,” Gavin proclaims.

“What if you were in love with a catholic girl?”

“Then I’d bugger them all and do what I wanted,” Gavin strongly enforces.

Owen gives his brother a gentle push, “spoken like a true protestant,” he laughs.

“What about you Owen, have you met anyone?”

“Yes and no but more not than yes.”

“What kind of dumb answer is that?”

“At the moment the only one I have,” Owen quietly expresses as they reach the top end of their street and he is reminded of his deep affection for Chip.

Gavin commences to chuckle.

“What’s the joke little brother?”

“We always thought you would marry your fly-boy,” Gavin says.

“What?”

“You and Chip, we thought the two of you would clear out to the States.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“It was something Winnie suggested when she was first dating Chip and she said he never shut up about you.”

“What do you think Gavin?”

“I know all about funny-fellers’, Teddy told me.”

“Did he touch you?” Owen’s tone lowered into concern.

“Never, besides I do know how to say no.”

“Does it worry you about Ted?”

“No and if you are also, it wouldn’t bother me either. I guess in life that’s the way the cards fall and you have to play what is dealt.”

As they reached the door the conversation concludes.

“You took your time,” Winnie says as they enter.

“Owen’s drink turned into a few,” Gavin says.

“I hope you’re not drunk young man, or I’ll cop it from dad.”

“I think he’s a little tipsy, it doesn’t take much even with the pub’s watered down grog,” Owen suggests.

“Just a little merry,” Gavin admits in answer to his drinking, giving Owen understanding why their conversation on his sexuality had developed without inhibition.

Slowly some form of normality was returning to Australia. Although a measure of rationing remained for some time, product was returning to the shops and work was plentiful, as with forty thousand killed out of a male population of no more than three and a half million, a total population of seven million there was a labour shortage. Also during the duration of the war, women had successfully taken up men’s work. Now with the men returning, it was time for the women to return to the kitchen and the nursery, as there was a booming in babies being conceived. Even so it was obvious many women were reluctant to return to domestication and obvious at some future time they would, as was later coined, burn their bra’s and do their own thing.

Another fear was gripping the country, that being Communist China and the likelihood of another war in Korea. Australia also had an active communist party, having somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand members. Beware reds under the beds may have been humour but to Mr. and Mrs. Average Citizen in the now sprawling suburbs and small towns scattered across the country, it was a real threat and the Government had a referendum to outlaw the Communist Party.

The referendum failed as did most referenda in Australia. To become constitutional it had to be passed by a majority of voters in a majority of states. Instead an alternate policy was formed banning anyone with communistic leaning from positions in the public service, along with a nonofficial ban of Catholics in high positions but that was never admitted to. Simply if you were Catholic and open about your religion, when you applied for a higher position, someone else always got it but in the main the bias was more believed that actual.

There had been a general election during the previous October that Labour won under Ben Chifley defeating Robert Menzies of the newly created Liberal-Country party, which Menzies formed while breaking from the United Australia Party. Although Labour comfortable won by twelve seats in the lower house, the political mood was obviously changing and the swing on and all but certain by the next election there would be a change of government, for most it was get on with it and spare us the pork barreling.

After the night’s meal Rod turned on the wireless for the news and in time for Arthur Calwell, the labour Minister for Information, or as many suggested misinformation, was about to give a sole rising speech.

“Hey Winnie, Owen, it’s about to start,” Rod called bringing them to the lounge room. “Where is Gavin?” Rod asked.

“He’s gone over to Tubby’s to arrange moving in.”

“He could remain here if he wants.” Rod suggested.

“I think he like being around his mates.”

“Shush.”

Arthur Calwell commenced with a long and dreary monolog, then came the purpose for his speech, “Population or perish,” Calwell says in his best demonstrative tone.

“We have twenty-five years at most to populate this country, before the yellow races are upon us.”

“The Yellow Peril,” Rod agrees with a generous head nod.

“Reds under the beds and hordes of yellow men, what will be next;” Owen laughs at Rod’s concern.

“It isn’t funny Owen, it is serious,” Rod chastises, “it’s the domino effect, firstly it will be Korea, then Vietnam and before you know it, the whole Asian peninsular down to Singapore and what next; us?”

“No I agree he is correct in saying we need more people but there is another problem.”

“What would that be?”

“Our White Australian Policy, most think the Italians are dagos, the French are frogs, the German’s Nazi’s, so except for the English and Scots it doesn’t leave many to invite.”

“What about the Irish?” Winnie questions while remembering their Grandmother Jonsson as she was Irish.

“Yes the Irish and although a quarter of the population has some Irish background, they are still only tolerated.”

“Is that your opinion Owen?” Rod asks.

“No, not mine Rod but you go down to the pub and ask that question, the country has already sent the Chinese from the gold rush days packing and dumped the Kanakas from the islands back home and more often than not on the wrong islands. I think we have a lot of growing before we join the rest of the world. Besides what did Calwell say as he sent the Chinese packing?”

“I guess you are about to tell us,” Rod scoffs.

“Yes, as I remember he said two Wong’s don’t make a white.”

“Then you disagree with Calwell?” Rod was obviously prepared for a political argument, or debate depending on your point of view.

“No I agree in principle, with a land as big as ours and only three people per square mile we do need more people.”

It now became Winnie’s turn to add further to the debate, “that count doesn’t include the natives,” she says in relation to the population expansion.

“It is true they aren’t counted as citizens in their own country but that still only brings it a little past three per square mile,” Owen agrees.

“So what would you do?” Rod asks and by his tone he remained itching for a political brawl.

“I’d leave it to the politicians to argue. I’m off to the pub.”

“Bloody Pig-Iron Bob Menzies, I bet London to a brick you voted for him.” Rod says knowing Owen had turned twenty-one in time for the previous October’s election.

“Do you want the truth Rod?”

“Go on, this will be a doozy.”

“Firstly dad would say there are three things you never debate, being politics, sex and religion. So if you want the truth, I ran a line through my ballot paper being honest to my word, leaving it to those who think they know who would make a good politician to represent the Tablelands. Besides I wouldn’t give a hoot for either of the local candidates, they both have their snouts in the gravy, one a bible-basher and the other a land shark. It is my opinion that neither would have the good of the general public as their preference.”

“You made a donkey-vote?” Rod laughs.

“No Rod, it is called informal, a donkey vote is when you start at the top and number down the form and it is my opinion, while people vote for party and not policy, then they get the government they deserve.”

“Owen has a point Rod,” Winnie agrees from the side of the building argument.

“You should never waste you vote, people have died to give you the privilege,” Rod is becoming heated.

“Like Thelma and Jack Dickens,” Winnie says.

“So who the Dickens are the Dickens?” Rod asks.

“You know the old couple at the top end of the street. Thelma told me she was going to vote Liberal and Jack was for Labour, so seeing their votes cancelled each other out, they, like Owen, ran a line through their voting papers.”

“That makes sense,” Owen says and before Rod can comment further – “I’m off to the pub – see ya.”

If Rod was full-on about Calwell’s speech, the hotel bar was heated and after a beer and not seeing anyone he wished to share conversation with, Owen returned home to the quiet of his bed.

Like anything politically motivated, give it a week and it is all but forgotten, although this time there was a simple urgency in Calwell’s words and within a matter of months, ships commenced to arrive from Europe, packed to their smoking funnels with Italians, Greeks and a host of others, whose countries were unknown to the Australian vocabulary. The Italians seemed to migrate north to the sugar cane fields and with them came the Mafia, often referred to as the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, bringing yet more trepidation for the world ignorant peoples of the southern land to contend with.

Bushrangers Australians could understand even street gangsters and the Push in the southern cities of Sydney and Melbourne. The Mafia was different and well organized, being controlled from behind closed doors. It was all but impossible to know who was running the so called firms, while learning their trade from years of experience in Sicily and the streets of New York and Chicago. The Australian police had no way of dealing with the new styled gangsters, who hid behind their bank accounts and public positions, assumed to be good law abiding citizens, while owning many in the police and justice system and others in positions of authority.

Owen remained distant from it all but Gavin appeared to be drawn to the energy of the New Australians and was often found associating with the many foreign farmers who had taken up tobacco growing around the Mareeba district, or sugar cane on the coast.

In no time Gavin became friendly with a young Italian girl Alina Gallo, who was unwillingly betrothed to one of her own and once Alina’s association with Gavin was discovered he was warned off but true to Gavin’s character they continued to meet secretly.

It was Rod who first gave caution that many from Southern Europe energetically guarded their own with a thousand years of culture and if Gavin wasn’t careful there would be more trouble than he could understand. Unheeded Gavin continued without hinder and because of his insistence Alina was removed from the district to live with family on a sugar farm near Ingham.

Still Gavin continued to discover her whereabouts and soon it was suggested he had soiled Alina’s reputation and her intended husband’s family withdrew the offer of union. Now Alina’s family was outraged and out for blood. It would be Gavin’s blood and he being somewhat ignorant of how the Mafia worked, went about his days and nights displaying arrogant superiority over the newcomers without care or caution.

It had been a busy day at work for Gavin and after returning home he showered with intention to go to the Dunlop for a few drinks with his mates. It was agreed his friend Tubby Reynolds would join him but Mark decided he wasn’t in the mood, so Gavin went alone.

It was custom when visiting the Dunlop, Gavin would take a shortcut from Walsh Street, as there was a vacant block of land behind the hotel leading to a narrow laneway between it and the bicycle repair shop next door.

This night Gavin took his usual path, his thoughts on Alina as he made his way across the vacant block and how he could continue seeing her without her family’s knowledge. The lane leading from the block to the street was dark but he could see the lights of busy Byrnes Street at its end, with many vehicles passing in either direction.

The pavement was also crowded and loud with the usual hum of merriment, as folk made their way to a dance night at the town hall, or to view the new film, The Big Sleep, starring Bogart and Bacall. Others were about to socialize with friends and heading to the towns three hotels, while beneath the row of mango trees mid street, drunken aborigines could be heard arguing and cursing anyone within hearing.

As Gavin entered the lane he thought he saw movement in the shadows, which at first didn’t concern, as often drunks would use the lane to urinate after leaving the hotel, or even lovers having a cuddle – or more. Also it wasn’t uncommon for native women to offer favours within the sanctuary of the lane for smokes and cheep booze to white men as they progressed.

A few more steps and the movement in the shadow appeared to be a lone male.

Gavin hesitated then continued although he is becoming nervous.

Common sense advises to turn and take the long way around.

The time between reacting to such advice and turning the boot was enough for the shadow to be upon him.

There was a lunge.

Foreign language but not understood.

Cursing in broken English.

The flash of metal caught in the weak light, as a blade entered into Gavin.

More language as the stranger hurried away across the vacant block, leaving Gavin slumped and bleeding in the lane.

“Oh god what has he done,” Gavin cried and held his side as he fell to the ground.

Gavin still had strength enough to crawl the short distance to the pavement and into the light where he collapsed.

A crowd gathered.

“Is he drunk?” Gavin heard asked.

“He is bleeding,” Another says.

“Call an ambulance,”

Then the voices faded from Gavin’s hearing.

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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