Published: 19 Dec 2022
Chapter 3
Soon after Owen had left with Winnie to purchase her new dress for that night’s occasion, a jeep arrived at the Parker farm with two airmen from one of the three recently arrived Bomber-Squadrons. Their squadron the 93rd, along with the 28th and 30th, were previously based at Cloncurry in West Queensland but Cloncurry was considered too great a distance from the Pacific war theatre to be practicable. Mareeba was therefore favoured as it was protected within the high mountains of the Tablelands, also for its closeness to the Coral Sea and New Guinea. With the Japanese holding the northern coast of that island and the adjoining islands, allied planes could refuel at Port Moresby and go on to harass the enemy as far as Rabaul on New Britain Island.
The airmen’s visit, although brief, was most welcomed, as a large box of provisions was delivered before they departed to call on other’s who had volunteered for the socialization scheme. May met the lads at the door receiving a good morning mam, a happy smile and apology for such an early intrusion and – have a nice day, then without further they were gone.
“Such polite boys,” May declared as she brought the box to the kitchen where Gavin was finishing his breakfast, before making his usual dash for the school bus, preferring to travel with his mates than an earlier ride into town with his brother and Winnie.
“Who?” Gavin questions, his eyes eagerly fix on the box.
“The two American airmen who delivered the package for tonight’s dinner.”
No sooner had May placed the box down before Gavin was rummaging through its contents.
“Canned peaches,” he says and places two tins on the table beside the box, “try and get those from old man Pollard.”
Next came two tins of bully-beef but obviously not to Gavin’s taste.
“Biscuits, no sorry I must be correct, cookies,” Gavin amends and places a large metal canister marked as such beside the peaches and bully-beef.
“Two packets of Camel cigarettes, dad will have those.”
“Hello what’s this?” Gavin finds something wrapped in what appeared to be cheesecloth, “it looks like a big chunk of beef.”
May removes the wrapping, “Topside,” she says and gives the solid mass a pleasurable fondle.
“Roast beef,” Gavin exclaims and begins to salivate at the thought of its juices oozing onto his plate, while remembering earlier times when there was steak for breakfast and beef for Sunday’s roast.
“It has been so long since we’ve had beef. I hope I can do it justice,” May admits with a gentle head shake as she quickly removes the meat to the refrigerator.
“And from what I’ve heard the Yanks like their meat almost raw and it is dinner plate size steaks they prefer and not roasted.”
“They are Americans dear.”
“They call themselves Yanks, I’ve heard them.”
“You better be going or you will miss your bus.”
Gavin spies a third pack of cigarettes and secretly squirrels them into his possession but May’s eyes are too quick for his deception.
“Put them back,” May quietly demands.
Gavin throws the packet back into the box, “anyway I don’t smoke,” he admits.
“So why would you want them?”
“I could use them for swaps.” Gavin then spies a box of Baby Ruth Curtiss Candy, “Chocolate; I’ll have one of those instead.”
“Go on but only one.”
The school bus is heard arriving and even before the brake is activated the driver gives an impatient honk, followed in quick succession by a second and an even longer third.
“Off you go, you know Jack Pearce won’t wait more than a minute and with Owen away with the truck it would be a very long walk.
Owen delivered Winnie to Jebreen’s at eight thirty as it opened for business and with a high measure of excitement she goes directly to the dress section towards the rear. Owen stands off to the side attempting to show as little interest as possible in women’s things but could feel the eyes of the young shop assistant on him. She speaks to Winnie, “have you heard from Jim?”
“Not for some time Pam,” Winnie says as she holds up an item for better scrutiny but as quickly she replaces it, “I’m not keen on padded shoulders as they make me look like a wood cutter,” she comments on the dress.
Pam West is a pretty young woman but in Owen’s opinion wore far too much makeup and the hem of her address was creeping a little close to her knees to be considered decent for fashion. Owen smiled, noticing she didn’t shave her armpits and a brownish bush, matching her bobbed hair, peeped out from the short sleeve of her dress, where perspiration had already discoloured the beige material.
Winnie makes a second choice but on seeing the price tag quickly returned it to the rack. “A little pricy,” she softly comments, while gazing about to assure she hadn’t been overheard but there isn’t anyone else in the shop.
“There are some nice ones towards the back,” Pam suggests and returns her attention back to Owen, “not at school Owen,” she says.
“Get out with ya’, I finished school last year thank you Pam.”
“I thought you had a year to go.”
“It is Gavin who is still at school.”
“I realize Gavin is but I thought this would be your last year as you were in my brother’s year.”
“That was the previous year and your brother was in the grade below me.”
“How time flies,” Pam sighs.
“Besides with the farm and Jim away fighting in New Guinea someone has to help on the farm and you don’t need a lot of education to grow spuds.”
“You know I fancied Jim,” Pam says showing signs of fond memories.
“Yes and by his admission he fancied you.”
There had been shared stories between brothers but not what Owen would admit to in mixed company.
“There isn’t a lot to choose from,” Winnie calls from a second rack of dresses.
“It’s the war Winnie,” Pam answers.
“True, you try and find good makeup.”
“I have a recipe using baking powder,” Pam offers.
“I know that one but when you perspire,” Winnie realizes Owen is listening and refrains from continuing. She brings her selection to the counter, “this will do.”
“I was thinking of having that one myself,” Pam says.
“I’ll find another.”
“No, I’ve changed my mind. I think it will look better on you, I’m not all that fussed with its buttons and I don’t much like the collar.”
“Can you put it on our account?”
Pam agrees; “have you tried beetroot juice for lipstick?” she suggests.
“Yes but I don’t like the idea of brown boot polish for mascara.”
The both laugh as Owen shies away from the conversation.
“Do you have a date Winnie?” Pam asks and both turn towards Owen.
“I’ll wait outside and let you to cackle on;” Owen says and departs to wait in the truck, “don’t take too long as I’ve got to go to Hinds Plumbing.
While waiting for Winnie Owen notices his Uncle Ted on the opposing side and some distance along the street. He is a tall man and lean, more so than Alf and his hair is a softer brown and worn longer for the times, with features less harsh than his brother. Owen considers his uncle appears too well dressed for a working man but thought nothing adverse of a man who showed pride in his appearance. On spying Owen and the truck Ted appears to change direction and approach, although his amble lacked urgency.
“Problem,” Owen quietly says into the heat of the truck’s cabin and keeps his head turned not to catch Ted’s attention.
‘What should I do?’ he thinks.
‘I don’t want to upset dad.’
Fortunately Winnie arrived at that very moment and Ted continues on his way.
Winnie throws her package onto the truck’s passenger sear and climbs in beside, “wasn’t that Uncle Ted who just passed by?” she asks craning her neck around for a second look.
“It was.”
“I hardly recognized him, he looks so young and he is older than dad,” Winnie says.
“Only a year older I believe and Grandma Parker had nine, seven boys and two girls, with dad and Ted somewhere in the middle,” Owen gives a chuckle, “Granddad Parker was obviously a randy old bugger.”
“I should think living out in the scrub without electricity or entertainment, there was little else for them to do at nights,” Winnie suggests.
“From what dad says he never stopped working, so it’s a wonder he had time for all those kids.”
“Did you know Granddad Parker?” Winnie asks.
“Hardly, I was quite young when he died and most of what I know of him comes from dad, what do you remember about him?”
“Only he never had much to say, he had rotten teeth and his breath smelled. I was away when he died. Why is dad so against Ted?” Winnie asks.
“That’s the mystery of the decade,” Owen admits as he throws the truck into gear and heads towards Hinds plumbing supply but on arrival discovered it to be closed.
“Bugger,” Owen growls.
“What is that for?”
“I was supposed to collect something for dad and it’s your fault staying talking with Pam for so long.”
“There’s a note on the door; I’ll go see what it says.”
“Don’t bother, I’ve got to come in again tomorrow, I’ll get it then.”
Winnie returns to her question on their uncle, admitting she was away at Saint Anne’s Boarding School in Herberton when the trouble between brothers occurred; “You were home Owen what do you remember?” she asks.
“I was too young to understand, I only remember dad going off like a penny bunger and I hid in a corner until the shouting was over.”
“I can’t imagine,” Winnie sighs.
“Whatever it was it has lasted for all these years.”
“I did ask mum, she said to ask dad but that was some years ago.”
“Did you ask dad?” Owen questions.
“No.”
“Funny,” Owen softly says.
“What is?”
“Since then I’ve never thought much on it. Yes I did understand we weren’t to associate with Ted but until Gavin was recently ticked off for visiting Ted, I hadn’t questioned the reason.”
“Did Gavin ask Ted what it is about?”
“I don’t think Gavin would think of asking, he was only a baby in his cot at the time.”
“Oh well NMP.” Winnie huffs.
“What does NMP mean?”
“Not my problem.”
“You really say some silly things Winnie.”
“Did you know Jim and Pam were engaged before Jim enlisted?” Winnie says as the truck passes the sign along the Atherton road, welcoming visitors to Mareeba to drive responsibly, while not wishing to dwell further on the impasse between their father and uncle.
“That isn’t what Jim reckoned.”
“It is what Pam said. Well more like they had spoken about making a date once the war is over and they spent a weekend together at the Criterion Hotel in Cairns, just before he went to Townsville for training.”
“What to marry?”
“She said it was more an understanding that in the future it would become topical, possibly leading towards marriage.”
“Yea that sounds like Jim,” Owen releases a cheeky chortle.
“What do you mean?”
“Jim would say anything to get his leg-over.”
“Owen!”
“Well you know what I mean.”
“Pam also said Sue Nelson still has eyes for you.”
“Did she – when did Sue tell Pam that?”
“Sue was in the shop yesterday and Pam said she asked after you. She told Pam you promised to take her to the pictures or something.”
“Working on the farm there isn’t time for that caper. Besides I haven’t seen Sue since the fund raising dance for the war effort at the town hall and that was more than a year back.”
“She also said Sue thinks you are -;”
Winnie pulls back from speaking further but by her expression she was obviously fishing for an adverse reaction.
“I am what!” Owen demands bringing the truck to stop at the crossover, as the Ravenshoe goods train approaches and sounds three long blasts of warning while reaching the crossing.
Owen sounds back and waves, “that’s Tom Price,” he says.
“Who?”
“The engine driver is Tom Price, Robert’s old man. Now what was that rot you were saying?”
Winnie shows caution with her choice of words, “you know.”
“I don’t know or why would I be asking.”
“Sue told Pam she thought you didn’t like girls.”
“Sometimes you women talk a lot of shit!” Owen’s blood is rising but he keeps his anger a degree below boiling.
“There’s no need to curse,” Winnie quietly rebuffs.
“Sometimes a man has to curse when he hears such rubbish.”
The train passes and Owen crosses but makes no further comment towards the slur on his character although it concerned him he realizes it was better not to react, otherwise some would come to the wrong conclusion, inspired by the old adage, if there is smoke there must be fire.
At the airstrip Owen pauses by the side of the road as a number of Liberator Bombers line for takeoff their engines screaming into the stillness of the day.
“Are they Lancaster bombers?” Winnie asks as she has little interest in aircraft, only those who fly them.
Owen breaks silence and his developing mood, “no they are American Liberator bombers. Lancaster’s are British and are used over Germany.”
“Would you like to fly?” Winnie asks.
“Oddly Winnie I would but after the war and those used for passengers, possibly freight, I don’t like the idea of dropping bombs on innocent people.”
“The Japs aren’t innocent people,” Winnie argues.
“Not all bombs are dropped on soldiers.”
Owen waits until the last aircraft is airborne and remains fascinated as they made a full circle of the field before headed in a north-easterly direction, soon becoming but specks in the cloudless sky. He gives a soft sigh, restarts the motor and heads for home.
“Have you met this joker who is coming tonight?” he asks as they reach the home gate.
“No, it’s a ballet system. They put the participating families in a hat and draw out a name.”
“A little like winning the chook raffle at the pub.”
“I like the idea,” Winnie says.
“Whose idea was it to have some flyboy for dinner?”
“Mum’s I think.”
“And dad went along with it?”
“Obviously or it wouldn’t be happening.”
At the gate Owen slows. “Off you go,” he says with a nod towards the front.”
“Go where?”
“The flaming gate, it won’t open itself.”
“Alright but there is no need to curse at me.”
Winnie reluctantly agrees and as she closes the gate behind the truck, Owen drives away laughing while watching from the rearview mirror, leaving his sister to walk along the gravel in her heals.
“I saw that,” Alf says as Owen parks the truck. He shakes his head but doesn’t lecture his son’s meanness.
“She needs the exercise,” Owen suggests.
“Show your sister a little respect lad. Did you get the part?”
“No Hinds was closed. I’ll try again when I return to Pollards tomorrow morning.”
“I thought you went to Pollards when you were in town?”
“Some of what mum wanted will be coming in this afternoon on the Cairns’ goods train and I couldn’t wait about.”
Eventually Winnie comes to where her brother and father are waiting, her face flushed from the heat and displeasure. She retrieves her package from the truck. “Next time you can open your own gate,” she presages.
“Who said there will be a next time?” Owen says.
“Owen I won’t tell you again,” Alf quietly warns and places an arm around Winnie’s shoulders, almost dragging her towards the house, “come on love, come inside and show me what you got and you can parade it for your mother.”
With the sun dipping into the tall western trees, sending long shafts of soft light through the dust haze, Gavin put aside his weeding tools while calling to Owen from the end of a row of cabbages.
“Time brother, it’s getting dark,” he calls and gives a loud whistle, bringing Sookie bounding through the rows to his side.
Owen lifts his head and nods his agreement then joins his brother. “She is getting fat,” he comments.
“Who is getting fat?”
“Sookie.”
“I thought you meant Winnie,” Gavin says.
“No I meant Sookie.”
“I can’t see how, as she only gets her regular meals.”
“I’ve heard she does the rounds of the neighbours and they feed her.”
As Owen speaks the sound of a motor arrives along the Mareeba road, “that could be our American guest,” he says.
“I suppose we should wash-up to meet him.”
“Winnie will do enough greeting for both of us.”
“She is partial to airmen,” Gavin laughs.
“More like our soldier boys as she is hoping to catch one and live of his pension but from what dad says that won’t get them very far.”
Both continue towards the house while sharing a little harmless humour at their sister’s expense.
At the gate, car lights mix with the fading day. The vehicle pauses for a moment, enters and pauses again, “at least he had enough sense to close the gate,” Owen implies. Then almost before he had finished speaking a jeep arrives close by the house and Alf comes out to greet.
The brothers continue towards the washhouse.
The airman’s form is silhouetted against the gathering darkness but his accent comes clearly as Alf offers his hand.
“What do you think of the way they talk,” Gavin poses as they enter the washroom.
“Different.”
“Have a nice day,” Gavin says attempting to mimic.
Owen releases a gentle titter.
“Oh ma’ god,” Gavin shares a second aping.
“At least they annunciate better than you do,” Owen gives credit and flicks cold water at Gavin.
“Don’t do that!”
Owen stops and laughs, then flicks his brother with the towel before passing it.
“I have to say everything twice to the kitchen fellers when I make the deliveries,” Gavin admits.
“You do talk too fast Gavin and don’t open your mouth when you speak and you mumble,” Owen assesses.
“I don’t!”
“You do, even I have trouble understanding you.”
“That’s because you have spuds growing in your thick ears.”
By the time the brothers had washed and changed from their work clothes, the airman was well settled in conversation and sharing a beer with Alf in the living room, Winnie was close by hanging onto his every word. As the brothers entered the airman stands, Alf gives introduction and a firm warm hand is offered with an overemphasized greeting.
Owen secretly exercises the crushing to his fingers.
“Chip Miller from Schuyler Nebraska,” the airman proudly announces.
“Nebraska?” Gavin questions.
“Nebraska,” Chip repeats, “mid-west state and cattle country in the main.”
Chip was a tall man although somewhat lean but well toned, with military short, dark brown hair. His green eyes were full of life and when he spoke they appeared to burrow into your very thoughts, as if looking for the essence of your character. His age was difficult to determine but was soon discovered he had some time previously turned twenty-one and hoped the war would soon be over, so he could return home and celebrate his missed coming of age with a big party.
“What is Chip short for?” Gavin curiously asks as the airman regains his seating.
“Gavin don’t be rude,” Alf warns.
“No it is fine Mr. Parker, It can be either Charles or Christopher but in my case I was simply christened Chip, as pa’ said I was a chip of the old block.”
“And those metal bars on your shirt collars?” Gavin continues.
“I hold the rank of lieutenant.”
“I thought you were a captain?”
“I captain an aircraft as first pilot but hold the ranking of lieutenant in the air force.”
“You say left-tenant funny,” Gavin sympathetically criticizes.
“I can help you there young Gavin,” Chip answers with a gentle smile, “the word Lieutenant came into the English language way back from French meaning in lieu of, being someone left in charge while the officer is absent. It became left-tenant in England as he walked on the left of his officer to protect him; there was also a right-tenant but both pronunciations are correct and mean the same.”
“I like the way you say it better,” Gavin admits.
“Dinner won’t be long,” May calls through the open door, “and Gavin enough questions from you for one night.”
“Winnie, go help your mother set the table,” Alf insists.
Winnie reluctantly gives her father credit but was obviously more interested in the airman than helping her mother with the table setting.
“Do you fly fighters?” Gavin asks with exuberant flair.
“No lad, although I have flown Mustangs, I fly C-47’s – Dakotas.”
“Bombers?” Gavin asks.
“At present it is mostly cargo and troops between here and Port Moresby but I am part of the 30th, Squadron and have flown bombers as well as fighters.”
“Have you ever been shot at?” Gavin’s asks as his eyes open wide like an excited child receiving an unexpected present.
“Gavin, Chip is here to forget about the war for a few hours,” Alf quietly cautions.
“I don’t mind Mr. Parker; yes Gavin I’ve been shot upon by Jap Zeros twice to date but on both accounts I was fortunate to be flying in formation with others and only received a few bullet holes and fortunately no one was injured.”
“What do you do back home?” Owen asks.
“My pa’ has a ranch, nothing grand mind you; two or three thousand acres and we run beef cattle and a little grain for stock.”
“Have you any horses?” Gavin asks.
“A few, I have a quarter horse myself.”
“We have a Waler,” Gavin brags.
“I’m sorry Gavin I don’t know that breed.” Chip admits as Winnie returns to announce dinner.
“Right young man,” Alf addresses Gavin, “it is eating time and not talking time.”
After dinner with the night drawing on, Chip quietly announced he would need to be leaving as the camp had a ten o’clock curfew.
While Winnie helped with the dishes, it was Owen who escorted Chip to his vehicle.
“So Owen I hear you are interested in flying?”
“Commercially yes but not dropping bombs on people.”
“I’m afraid I have had that misfortune,” Chip admits.
“It is cowardly in my opinion.”
“It may seem that way but if you had been at Pearl Harbour back in forty-one you may think differently.”
“Were you there?”
“I was and saw men with most of their skin burned away crying for their mothers and men who I had showered with that morning, had a laugh with at early breakfast and a drink with the previous night, blown apart.”
“I’m sorry Chip, I have been thoughtless.”
“Never mind, I understand where you are coming from, we shall put it aside. Have you ever driven a jeep?” Chip asks.
“This one is left-hand drive,” Owen says.
“Yes and I’m telling you it takes a little getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road in your country.”
“It is your lot in America who drive on the wrong side of the road,” Owen laughs.
“No we drive on the right side – get it?” Chip was playing with pedantries.
“I do and I can’t argue with you on that one.”
“Do you want to have a drive of it?”
“Where to?”
“The gate, it will save me stopping to close it.”
Owen accepted and with ease was soon at the gate.
“You drive well,” Chip complements.
“I’ve been driving since around eight years old but in the most trucks.”
“I’ve seen you at the base,” Chip says.
“I’m there at least once a week, as I deliver for dad.”
“I tell you what; next time you are at the base and I’m around, find me and I’ll show you the inside of a Dakota.”
“I would like that and again Chip please accept apology for being thoughtless about my comment on bombing.”
“Apology accepted; I’ll see you around.”
Winnie finished with the dishes and joined with her brothers on the front verandah. It was a warm night without the slightest of breeze and as she became seated a squadron of hungry mosquitoes arrived. Noticing Winnie’s discomfort Owen moved the smoking mosquito repellant coil closer to her bare legs.
“Thank you,” she softly declares her appreciation.
“The Japs invented them,” Gavin shares from a silent moment.
“What are you on about?” Winnie growls as she slaps her leg to squash one vicious insect that had commenced drilling into her tender unprotected flesh.
“Mosquito coils – it was a Jap who invented them.”
“Where do you hear all this rot?” Winnie asks.
“I do read you know,” Gavin says.
“You should be reading something useful, like your school books – while on the subject, how are you going with your studies?”
“Don’t ask.”
“We used to burn cow shit as a repellent,” Owen shares.
“Owen!”
“What is wrong with the word shit, that’s what it is?”
Alf comes to the verandah, “Gavin you have school tomorrow.”
Gavin ignores his father.
“Come on lad off to bed.”
As Gavin reluctantly departs Alf continues, “I’m about to have a beer, would you like one Owen?”
“No thank you.”
“I’ll say goodnight then.”
Once alone with Winnie, Owen speaks, “what do you think of Chip?”
“I can’t rightly say.”
“He appeared to be taken with you,” Owen suggests and releases a rumbling chuckle.
“I wouldn’t say so.”
“Why?”
“He appeared to be more interested in you,” Winnie says and emphasizing the word you.
“More to the point he was more interested in Gavin’s questioning about the war.”
“No I was watching and his eyes appeared to be on you Owen.”
“What are you suggesting Winnie?”
“He may be one of them funny fellers’.”
Again and for the second time that week Winnie had angered her brother with similar suggestions. “Sometimes Winnie, if you were a bloke I would thump you.”
“I only say what I see.”
“Then keep it to yourself.”
“He did ask me to partner him for the dance at the base on Saturday night,” Winnie says.
“There you go he likes you or he wouldn’t have asked. Will you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not go as it will be a good night out and if it is at the base I hear they put on a good spread.”
“How will I get there?”
“If you are keen I’ll drive you, I’m sure one of your girlfriends will bring you back, besides if Chip has asked you out, I would think he will pick you up in one of the base’s jeeps.”
May comes to the verandah, “what is the topic?” she asks from the doorway.
“Chip has invited Winnie to a dance next Saturday.”
“That will be nice dear, although I don’t think you should go unescorted.”
“I’m not a child mother.”
“I’m not suggesting you are, only there will be a lot of young men who are far from families and sweethearts and can become a little raucous.”
“Heated more to point,” Owen laughs at his mother’s insinuation.
“Raucous will suffice Owen. Does anyone want anything from the kitchen?”
Both Owen and Winnie decline.
“Did you put Sookie on the chain, or she will be at the Joliffe’s chickens again. I think there is a bit of dingo in that dog.”
“Gavin did.”
“Then I’m off to bed – goodnight.”
“Goodnight Megan-may,” Owen says.
“Goodnight mother and as for the dance I didn’t say I was going.”
“Goodnight dear.”
May quietly departs and moments later she is heard talking with Alf from their bedroom. Chip’s name is clearly mentioned.
“I think I will turn in as well,” Winnie stands to leave.
“Did you agree to go with Chip?”
“If you must know – yes I did,”
Owen releases a second rumbling chuckle.
“Ow’ shut your face.”
“Goodnight Winnie, sweet dreaming of fly-boys.”
Now alone there was time for Owen to evaluate the evening’s entertainment and what it would be like to fly Dakotas, although being shot at by enemy aircraft wasn’t part of that dreaming. He could imagine the miles of oceans below his wings, with the waves appearing little more than white tips on blue-black and green belts of jungle stretching endlessly north and south. He could almost hear the droning of the aircraft’s engines, the wining as he pushed the throttle forward, the hit and bounce of wheels on badly graded landing strips.
There was another though lurking just below the surface of his imagination, being Winnie’s assertion Chip spent more time glancing towards him than he did towards Winnie. In retrospect Owen had notice the occasional glance, thinking they were more lengthy that protocol allowed but during their conversation he though little of it. Also lurking there was what Winnie had implied while driving back from Mareeba. He thought of Sue Nelson’s slight on his character and how during his final school year she tried to become his girlfriend; ‘she was always pushy,’ Owen recollects, ‘nice tits and big for her age,’ he added to the mix but the mixture didn’t appear to give feeling, either sexual or social towards the girl.
Owen didn’t usually like to think too deeply on such matters but this night he was drawn towards doing so and it was concerning him. Was there any truth in Sue’s opinion of his character? What if Chip was as Winnie suggested and more interested in him? If so what of it?
‘Chip sure has the looks,’ Owen thought.
‘Why did I think that?’
‘Is it possible?’
‘No.’
Owen’s thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of the door behind; he turned quickly, “Dad, I thought you had gone to bed?”
“It’s too hot and I couldn’t sleep, you mother gives off too much body heat.”
“Dad – please; far too much information.”
“Tis’ only body heat I speak of.”
“Still.”
“Do you mind if I join you for a while?”
“Not at all.”
Father and son sat quietly for some time before Alf lit up a cigarette.
“Is that one from the packets delivered this morning?”
“Yes camel, I don’t think much of them as they are too strong for me; do you want to try?”
“No thank you, I could never see any sense in smoking, it is simply burning money in my opinion; I also saw a packet of lucky strike in the box.”
“I’ll give them to Ken Francis when I see him next.”
“I heard at the pub he’s away chopping wood all week up Tarzali way,” Owen shares.
“It’s good you don’t smoke. What about Gavin?”
“I’ve never seen him smoking.”
“Not like Jim, he would steal from my supply, so I changed to rolling my own but he soon mastered the art of rolling.”
“So that was the reason for you buying log-cabin tobacco.”
“Rolling my own,” Alf repeats with a soft grin.
“What’s entertaining you dad?”
“Gavin, he enjoyed rolling them for me.”
“I know that story,” Owen admits but was well humored to hear it once more.
“Yes the little tyke put live match heads in the roll and they would explode, lucky they didn’t burn off my whiskers.”
“That is if you had any.”
“I did try growing a beard once but my old man made me shave it off; he said I looked like some foreign wog.”
“You shouldn’t call them wogs dad.”
“Maybe not but it was your granddad’s word not mine.”
“I was young when Granddad Parker died. Winnie said all she could remember was he had foul breath.”
“He was as surely bugger at the best of times but he was a hard worker and with all us kids, it’s no wonder he was always cranky. Yet he made sure we never went without.”
“What of Granddad Jonsson?”
“I never did get to know your mother’s father. He was Swedish you know.”
“So mum said.”
“He was quietly spoken and kept his own company. Whenever I visited while I was courting your mother, he would give greeting and leave us to our privacy.”
“What about Grandma Jonsson?”
“She was Protestant Irish, that is why it was possible for her to marry a Lutheran and a good storyteller but she had a fiery temper, although it wouldn’t last long. Part way through telling you off about something, she would laugh and that would be that and the next thing, you would be seated with tea and fruit cake. Some said it was a union designed in hell but it worked and I don’t remember ever a bad word between them. They both died young and in the same year, it was only a couple of years after you arrived.”
“I don’t have memory of them at all,” Owen admits.
“I guess you wouldn’t as you were only two or three at the time. I was listening to you questioning Chip on his flying. I do hope you don’t have intention towards enlisting in the air force.”
“Not enlisting but after the war I would like to fly commercially.”
“As well, as it is difficult enough keeping your brother home.”
“Chip did offer to show me the workings of a Dakota next time I’m at the base.”
“Aircraft are a little different than they were in my days,” Alf says.
“Did you fly in the first war dad?”
“No but I saw many while at the front in Flanders, where I was sent after Churchill’s fiasco in Gallipoli. They were flimsy little things and we would see them dog-fighting above the trenches. Also there weren’t any parachutes in those days, only for the spotters in observation balloons and they mostly didn’t open in time.”
“Entertaining I should think,” Owen flippantly suggests.
“I wouldn’t say entertaining but I was there when Von Richthofen was shot down by one of our machine gunners. Cedric Popkin was his name and it was over Moriancourt Ridge near Vaux-Sur-Somme.”
“Who was Von Richthofen?”
“Surely your school books mention the Red Barron?”
“I don’t think so,”
“He was Germany’s greatest flying ace.”
“I can’t say I can recollect the name.”
“You young fellers’ don’t learn anything.”
“Gavin is the one for history; I’ve never seen any sense in learning the stuff, especially about all those old kings and queens in funny clothing, enjoying the highlife as the presents starved.”
“You sound like a communist in the making.”
“I wouldn’t think so dad, I only say it as I see it, besides when I’m of voting age I’ll more than likely vote for Bob Menzies.”
“Christ boy didn’t I bring you up better than that?”
“I was joking and as you have often said, politics is one of the three subjects that shouldn’t come up in conversation.
“History is handy for us to learn by our past mistakes,” Alf attempts to convince.
“So much for that dad, here we are fighting another world war, we didn’t learn much from the last one.”
“I must agree with you there son.”
Alf extinguishes his cigarette and rises, “time to give sleeping another go – again goodnight son.”
“Goodnight dad,”
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
17,413 views