Published: 26 Dec 2022

Chapter 4

It is late evening, with the wind blowing the branches of a large mango tree against the living room wall, its foliage scrap softly against the glass of the window. May, while listening to music with the wireless turned low, is seated mending a dress Winnie tore against a rose bush earlier that afternoon. ‘I must have Alf trim that tree,’ she thinks but has all but forgotten the thought by the next stitch. Occasionally an over ripe mango would fall heavily onto the metal roof of the house, as fruit bats squabble over the choices fruit. May glances towards the ceiling as another thump sounds, then continues with her patchwork, thinking Alf would need to clean the fall from the gutters before the next big rain storm.

Alf breaks from his reading and calls to Owen, “you’re interested in aircraft Owen.”

“I am.”

“There is an interesting article in the paper about the Spitfires and the continuing bombing of Darwin.”

Gavin pauses from his homework, “I saw them at the field here a couple of weeks back.”

“What does it say dad?” Owen becomes as interested as his brother.

“The Jap G4M Betty-bomber drops its load from around twenty-five thousand feet and only the Spitfire can operate at that height but the mark 11A spitfire has a problem at that height with the guns freezing, because of the heating pipes from the engine continually breaking down. It also says it is difficult getting spare parts.”

“We should make our own spares,” Gavin suggests and makes a troubled sound.

“What’s the matter?” Alf asks.

“Homework.”

“Maybe I can help,” Alf places his newspaper aside and approaches. After seeing what his son is working on, Alf does his own calculation on a scrap of paper.

“That’s not right,” Gavin complains loudly as Alf jots down his answer to a problem in algebra.

“Are you sure son, as it appears correct to me,” Alf insists as he rechecks his working.

Owen is passing en-route to the kitchen.

Gavin calls to him.

“Owen, take a geek at dad’s answer?”

Owen diverts and gives it a quick glance and laughs.

“Well?” Gavin says.

“I think you should let him do his own work dad.”

“I am sure that is correct,” Alf again contradicts.

“You think so?” Owen says and laughs loudly.

Alf retakes his seat and collects his newspaper, he flicks the pages back into shape, “well it looks right to me,” he reiterates somewhat miffed by his lack of understanding.

Gavin laughs along with his brother.

“We didn’t do a lot of algebra in my day. It isn’t of much use while droving cattle, or growing spuds,” Alf says.

“In my opinion it isn’t of much use these days either,” Gavin agrees and collecting Alf’s workings, runs a pencil line through it, then bins the scrap of paper.

“What time is it?” May asks and places aside her sewing.

“Twenty to eleven,” Owen answers.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed Gavin?” Alf suggests.

“Almost finished, with the finals coming up, we had more homework than usual.”

“The dance should be over by now,” May suggests.

“Soon I should think, although the base’s curfew is later on social nights,” Alf admits.

“How is Winnie getting home?” May approaches the window and peers out into the darkness, expecting to see headlights at the gate.

“Her friend Trish Walsh will be giving her a lift; she has borrowed her father’s car,” Alf assures.

As Alf speaks May sees car lights approaching the gate, “she’s home now. Owen get a torch and go to your sister, with those heels she is wearing she may trip in the dark.”

As Owen leaves for the gate he notices the car lights linger for some time, illuminating the path until Winnie has travelled the three hundred yards or so to the house. The car lights turn back along the road and Owen takes over with the torch.

“Did you enjoy your evening?” he asks.

“Yes, I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much, with so many handsome young men.”

“How was Chip at dancing?”

“Don’t ask, he was all over my feet and he kept apologizing but one of his crew, Hank I think he is called, is very light on his feet,” Winnie gives a smile as she mentions the airman.

“Will you be seeing Chip again?”

“Yes on Sunday, he suggested going for a swim at the Mareeba brewery hole.”

“You should have suggested swimming at the lakes, as the brewery hole is crowded with school kids on the weekend.”

“I did but he only has a few hours in the afternoon and has to take a flight on the Monday.”

“I think the weather is on the change, so don’t be surprised if he calls it off.

“I’m not bothered one way or the other,” Winnie discredits but her tone lacks honesty.

May comes to the door and by her expression wished to hear all but Winnie isn’t forthcoming.

“Well come on tell all,” May eventually breaks her silence.

Winnie gives a wry smile, “there isn’t anything to tell.”

“Chip seemed to be a most polite young man.”

“Polite yes but not light on his feet.”

“Did they supply supper?”

“Mother, I’m tired and my feet ache, I’m off to bed. We’ll talk in the morning, when flapping ears aren’t around,” Winnie gives Gavin a tongue poke.

“My ears don’t flap,” Gavin protests, he puts away his homework as he readies for bed.

“Flap, flap, flap Winnie laughs and goes to her room, “good night everyone, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Early Sunday morning the rain that had been promising for over a week arrived and appeared to have set in for the day. During the early morning Chip telephoned to cancel the afternoon’s swimming and May invited him for dinner that night. Chip agreed as seeing he had permission to use the jeep for that afternoon he may as well utilize the privilege.

“Who was on the telephone?” Winnie asks as May finishes the call.

“It was Chip cancelling the swimming.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“He said he had only a minute, as he was wanted for debriefing or something.”

“I guessed it would be cancelled, so I made other arrangements.”

“I’ve invited him to dinner tonight.”

“I hope you’re not match-making mother, if you are there is no way I’m going to marry an American serviceman?”

“Of course I’m not dear, I was only being welcoming.”

“As well but you should have asked me first, I’m going over to Trish’s. I promised to help her with a dress pattern she got by mail order.”

“That’s a shame; I can’t cancel now as I don’t have his number at the base.”

“I’m sure the boys are more than capable of entertaining Chip for the evening.”

“Entertain who?” Owen asks, hearing part of the conversation as he passes by.

“Mother has invited Chip for dinner tonight and I’m going over to Trish’s.”

“I suppose we can but wouldn’t he be expecting to find you home?”

Winnie gave a gentle huff and shrugged away the suggestion, “I do have a favour to ask of you Owen,” she says.

“What would that be?”

“Would you drive me over to Trish’s and her father will drive me back this evening.”

“When?”

“As soon if possible.”

“Have you asked dad?”

“I have and he said you could,” Winnie says

“Then you won’t be in for dinner?” May cuts across the conversation.

“I’ll have dinner at the Robinson’s.”

“Then take some fresh vegetables from the garden with you,” May suggests, “also a dozen eggs, I believe some of their chickens have stopped laying.”

By the time Chip arrived, the rain had stopped but the air hung heavy with humidity and there was promise for more before the night was out. On discovering Winnie’s absence Chip didn’t appear concerned, assuring good home-spun cooking and conversation was refreshing from that with his associates at the base. Besides being from a farming community he found sharing the different techniques in animal husbandry and planting most interesting, even if he suggested the local processes seemed somewhat primitive to what he was used to. He was forgiven for the observation with a gentle laugh and assurance from Alf that even if archaic, his methods had the same result in the end and from what he understood, the old ways were often more productive and less abrasive to the land.

After an early meal with a measure of daylight remaining and a short lull in the rain, Owen took Chip to see his horse and on seeing Owen she quickly trotted to the paddock fence to muzzle into his chest, moments later she is nibbling at his shirt pocket.

“You know don’t ya’ girl?” Owen says and removes a cube of sugar, “best you savor it as even sugar is rationed.”

“Your country sure has strict rationing,” Chip suggests.

“It’s the war, although we get by.”

“I could get you a few things from the base.”

“It’s best not to, Dad would blow a fuse and possibly if anyone was to find out we could lose our contract.”

“Fair enough; She is very large, nothing like my quarter horse,” Chip admitted while rubbing down the mare’s neck.

“Ruby likes you,” Owen admits.

“What makes you say that?”

“She usually won’t come over when strangers are about.”

“Why did you call Ruby a Waler?”

“It’s her breed, well more to fact a sub-breed. The Waler comes from horses that escaped from the first settlement in New South Wales almost a century and a half back and bread up bigger and stronger in the wild.”

“What is their main purpose?” Chip asks.

“Stock in the most but they were the bulk of the light-horse regiments in the First World War in the Middle East and used during the charge on the wells at Beersheba. I should ask why you said you horse was a quarter-horse.”

“Quarter-horses are considered to be the fastest breed over a quarter mile and used to return steers that brake from the mob.”

“We’ve bred dogs for that task; the blue heeler.”

“I’ve seen them about, nice looking dog. I should take a breeding pair back home with me.”

“Ruby is actually my older brother’s horse but seeing he is away, I’ve commandeered her as my own, although Gavin does most of the riding and feeding.”

“Yes you said you had a brother in the army, it must be a worry for your parents.”

“A little so, even more as there hasn’t been any letter from him for close on a month now.”

“I had a brother in the army,” Chip hesitates.

“You say had Chip?”

“Yes Douglas was a couple of years older than me but was killed when the Japs took Guam.”

“It can’t be easy for your parents.”

“There are two younger boys at home but mom’ idolized Douglas, so I do understand what your parents are going through.

It was growing dark as they made their way back to the house, “I will have to return to the base in a little while,” Chip says as they reach the steps.

“Winnie should be home soon,” Owen says.

“I don’t think I can wait, I’ll relate my appreciation to your parents and be on my way, so tell Winnie I’ll make it for another time when the weather is more favourable.”

Both return inside, Chip gives appreciation to Alf and complement to May for another fine meal and departs with Owen close behind.

Once clear of the house Chip speaks, “I’m off to Port Moresby with a load of supplies tomorrow.”

“Yes Winnie mentioned you were flying.”

“Your brother is Jim Parker true?”

“He is.”

“Let me know his regiment details and I’ll ask about while I am in Port Moresby.”

“That would be kind of you. Jim is with the fifty-seventh.”

“Another thing, when is your next delivery to the base?”

“Later next week,”

“I should be back by then, when you arrive search me out and I’ll show you around the aircraft as I promised.”

“I would like that.”

Gavin had waited around after school and missed his bus ride home, his options being a lengthy walk, or telephone for someone to collect him. After making the call from the telephone box at the post office, he had at least an hour to wait as Owen was busy. What did concern was the thought of being on the receiving end of a tongue lashing from Alf, as collecting him wasted a measure of the farm’s precious fuel allocation, intended for deliveries and not personal usage.

It was arranged for Owen to collect Gavin from outside the Tip-Top café but couldn’t do so for some time. While waiting for his lift he decided on a milkshake and conversation with a school mate he met up with but after almost an hour Owen was still absent.

Gavin is settled on a bench near the café enjoying the late afternoon’s sun, his eyes closed and his face turned towards its golden warmth. He had been seated but a matter of minutes before hearing his name mentioned from behind, followed by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinches in surprise.

“Gavin, what are you doing in town, did you miss your bus?”

Gavin quickly turns towards the intrusion.

“Teddy,” he nervously answered, “yes I got talking with Lenny Carpenter and missed the bus.”

“I could give you a lift if you wish and drop you off just beyond the crossover.”

“Thank you Teddy but it won’t be necessary; Owen is on his way with the truck.”

Ted takes the seat beside his nephew, “you don’t come around to the house anymore.”

“I haven’t had the opportunity,” Gavin lies, his eyes are searching for assurance no one has seen him talking with Ted. It appears not.

“Never mind, I’m usually home during the weekends and late afternoon if you ever wish to come around.” Ted appreciated the lad’s occasional visits as it was the only connection he had with the family.

“Thank you Teddy, I may do that when I have the time,” Gavin says and nervously turns away, his eyes searching the street for the farm’s truck.

“You appear nervous lad, what is concerning you?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you avoiding me? Did I say something to offend you during your last visit?”

Gavin takes a deep breath. He feels he must reply; “yes Teddy there is something. I don’t understand what it is between you and dad and last time I visited you, he found out and gave me a heap of agro’.”

“That is a question you will need to put to your father.”

“I have but he won’t answer.”

“How old are you now Gavin?”

“Just turned sixteen – why do you ask?”

“I would say sixteen going on twenty six like Jim.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Teddy,” Gavin says as he spies Owen with the truck at the top of Byrnes Street, quickly to his feet Gavin takes a step away from the bench and Ted.

On seeing Gavin, Owen flashes the truck’s lights.

“One day you will understand, I’ll leave you to your lift,” Ted rises from the bench and continues on his way.

“You took your time,” Gavin complains as he climbs into the cabin.

“I was busy – was that Ted you were talking to?”

“You’re not going to tell dad?”

“You should know me better than that Gavin.”

“Besides I wasn’t talking to Teddy, he was talking to me.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

“I was seated there minding my own business and Teddy approached me. I couldn’t say bugger off – could I?”

“I guess not.”

Instead of heading out of town Owen takes a turn at the next corner. “You are lucky I was coming in to get fertilizer for dad, otherwise you would have had a long walk,” he explains.

“I didn’t approach Teddy – honestly,” Gavin once again protests, believing if he had been spotted with their Uncle Ted, someone was sure to inform Alf, so he was assuring at least he had Owen on side.

“No one is saying you did. What did he want?”

“He wished to know why I don’t visit anymore.”

“Did you say why?”

“I told him I got agro’ from day last time but I did question him on what was the bother between him and dad and he simply said one day I would understand but he did mention Jim’s name.”

“In what way?”

“No way, only suggesting Jim at my age was old for his years.”

Owen pulls up outside Masons feed and fertilizer, “I am trying to remember something,” he says and remains seated in quiet reflection for some time, gently tapping the steering wheel with a finger.

“Remember what?”

Owen stops tapping, “it way back, I was six or so and there was a terrific row between Ted and dad. I remember there was lots of shouting and mum was in tears.”

“What was it about?”

“That I can’t recollect and even now I can hear the words in my head but they are just words without meaning, sounds I guess without translation. I can only remember dad’s last words being get out of here and if you come back I’ll put a bullet into you.”

Owen gives a broad smile.

“What else?”

“I do remember one word that was spoken.”

“Continue;”

“It was fucken-well:”

“That’s two words.”

“Not the way dad used them and why I remember was because mum had earlier heard me using fuck and gave me a ticking for swearing. She said if she ever heard me use the word again, she would wash my mouth out with soapy water.”

“She did that to me once,” Gavin laughs.

“When?”

“Yonks ago; I was just a kid and I repeated something dad said to Ken Francis about the pigs rooting. Whatever Teddy did it must have been pretty bad,” Gavin supposes.

“I remember I was quite frightened and ran crying to mum. Anyway best we leave it alone. Come on help me with the fertilizer.”

With a deep discarding breath Owen alights from the cabin.

With the fertilizer loaded Gavin returns to the subject of their Uncle Ted, “Do you think it is something to do with Jim?”

“That has me thinking, as if I recollect correctly it blew up a couple of weeks after Jim’s thirteenth birthday and if I strain the old noggin, I can remember Jim’s name mentioned quite a lot, by both dad and Ted before Ted departed.”

“Was mum there?”

“She wasn’t in the room at the time but they did have many lengthy conversations later.”

“Has Teddy ever been married?”

“Once but our Aunt Diane left Ted not long after the incident with dad. Ted then took to drinking.”

“Teddy only drinks socially now,” Gavin relates.

“I believe he settled down once it all blew over.”

“Did Teddy and Aunt Diane have kids?”

“That I don’t recollect, I don’t remember any visiting although I do recollect some kid visiting home the previous Christmas before the incident but can’t think who he came with. I do remember he had ginger hair,” Owen gives a soft chortle, “I only remember that because I later asked mum if his hair had gone rusty like the water tank.”

“We do have a tribe of cousins.”

“True but none that I know has red hair, possibly it could have been one of Ernie’s boys, as we seldom saw any of his lot.” Owen surmises.

“Yes Aunt Lorna has red hair,” Gavin says.

Owen laughs.

“What is that for?”

“Aunt Lorna dies her hear red.”

“Whatever. You know something. I’ve never known what Teddy does for work.” Gavin admits.

“He is a plumber, or was, who knows what he’s up to these days. I think he’s more an odd-job man with a little plumbing on the side.”

A long sigh from Gavin – “I don’t know,” he simply says.

“I have asked Winnie but she was away at boarding school in Herberton at the time,” Owen says and diverts from the subject of Ted, “by the way you’re gonna’ cop it from dad for missing the bus,” Owen warns with a pleasing smile, as for once it wasn’t he who was getting a tongue lashing. “Besides what were you doing to miss the bus?”

“I was with Lenny Carpenter,”

“Lenny Carpenter eh, now there is a drop-kick if there ever was one.”

“He’s not that bad although he does go on.”

“And what was Lenny Carpenter up to that made you forget the time and miss your ride?”

“He was selling a couple of packets of his old man’s smokes for twice their value.”

“I said he was a drop-kick. I hope you don’t durry.”

“I tried smoking but can’t see the sense in it, although you have to give Lenny credit for enterprise, as he got double the worth for the smokes.”

“Good that’s one less thing that won’t set the old man off,” Owen commences to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was remembering your little trick with the match heads.”

“Yes it was a hoot, wasn’t it?”

“Well hoot or not, I better get this lot and you home before the old man has a go at me for lingering.”

“You promise you won’t tell dad?”

“I said I wouldn’t. Didn’t I?”

The following Thursday after loading the truck with produce Owen arrived at the base and is waved past without inspection. He gives the guard a cheerful word and heads for the kitchens, which are mostly staffed by women from town and overseen by a beefy American sergeant with hairy arms, tattoos and missing both front teeth, knocked out in a brawl back home in the Bronx. Bob Grant was a man with little humour who took his kitchen duties seriously.

When it came to product Grant was subordinate to a lieutenant Frank Goss. The lieutenant had even less humour than his sergeant and a keen eye for cheap and often complained about the quality, even when it was unnecessary to do so. I suppose we can use it but don’t expect top price, was his usual comment during most delivery.

Owen met the sergeant while he was taking out the scraps and as Owen jumped down from the cabin; Grant approaches the back of the truck, his eyes everywhere until they fix on what was closest to the back of the truck.

“Pumpkins?” Grant calls back to Owen.

“Queensland blue pumpkins and the best on the tablelands,” Owen brags and joins Grant at the rear. He picks up one of the pumpkins, knocking it with his knuckles. It gave a hollow sound.

“I don’t remember anyone ordering pumpkins.”

“Dad threw a few on; he thought you may like to give them a try.”

“Pumpkin pie and stock food, I don’t think we have any cows on the base,” The sergeant pushes the pumpkins aside and shoulders a sack of potatoes. Owen collects a second bag and dumps it down close to the kitchen doorway.

“Try roasting the pumpkins like the spuds, you may be surprised.”

“I’d have a riot if I tried changing the men’s meals,” Grant says as the lieutenant arrived, “Good morning lad, did you bring the lettuce you spoke of last time?”

“I did Mr. Goss,” Owen climbed under the truck’s canopy bringing out a crate of lettuce.

“They appear a little undersized and somewhat wilted – hardly any heart,” Goss observes of the lettuce.

“What else can you expect, Mareeba’s climate isn’t designed for growing lettuce but I’m sure they will do just dandy.” It was obvious the lieutenant wasn’t pleased, so Owen continued with his sales spiel, “You can get them from elsewhere if you wish but I’m telling you they will be in worse condition than these by the time they arrive, hearts or no hearts.”

“Experimental your father said?”

“He did say that.”

“I’ll take them but without charge and if we can use them, I will pay for future supplies.” Goss climbs into the truck and checks each box against what had been ordered. Eventually he is satisfied and signs off the order. “Except for the lettuce,” he says and strikes them from the inventory.

“What about the pumpkins?” Owen asks.

“I don’t remember ordering pumpkins,” the lieutenant says and turns to his sergeant, “do you remember me ordering pumpkins Grant?”

“Not that I can recollect Lieutenant,” the sergeant agrees.

“No charge, dad thought you may use them for soup.”

“We don’t do fancy, it’s not the Waldorf hotel.”

“I’ll leave them anyway, the cook may use them.”

Owen commenced to offload the half dozen large pumpkins.

“Take them back son, I don’t want them littering the kitchen, besides the men will only use them for target practice and it is nowhere near Halloween.”

Owen returns the pumpkins to the truck and pockets the supply order, “I was hoping to speak with Chip Miller,” he directs to the lieutenant.

“Miller? I don’t know any Miller, except the beer,” the Lieutenant admits.

“He is one of your fly-boys, he pilots Dakota’s,” Owen explains.

“I know miller, I saw him earlier over at D-hanger working on his aircraft,” Bob Grant says.

Owen gives the lieutenant a glance and waits for agreement to visit Chip.

“Go on then lad but don’t hang around all day, or I’ll have the colonel on my back but firstly move the truck it’s blocking the road.”

Owen found Chip with his crew sitting near the hanger on overturned oil drums, under the wingtip of a Dakota. Two were smoking and seeing Owen’s approach hid their cigarettes but realising he was civilian they continued with their smoking. Chip was standing with his back towards Owen and appeared to be sharing a joke, as the others laughed loudly as he spoke. If there was a single description that could be expressed of the Mareeba base, it would be lacking in urgency and except for flights returning damaged with missing parts, or not at all, one would believe there wasn’t a war in progress.

As Owen approached one of the crew nodded in his direction, bringing Chip to turn from their conversation, another finishes his smoke and flicks the live butt under the aircraft in view of a NCO, as he was passing on ground patrol. The butt bounces sending sparks before coming to rest.

“Hey you, fly-boy!” the NCO shouts across the distance between them, “are you trying to blow us all to the shit-house?”

The crew member walks across and grinds the cigarette butt into the dirt then returns to Chip, who shakes his head and speaks. They all laugh as Chip acknowledges Owen’s approach.

“Owen,” Chip calls, “you’ve come to inspect my big bird.”

“That I have Chip.”

“Then I should introduce you to the crew,” Firstly, Hank Wilson, second pilot and about to get his arse kicked for that little episode with his cigarette.”

Wilson laughs and gives Owen a slight head nod.

Next to Hank, Ray Brenner, wireless operator and not forgetting Arty Cox, navigator, without Arty we may end up in China.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Arty Cox enforces and extinguishes his smoke on the toe of his boot, “that’s how it is done Wilson,” he mocks.

“Are you interested in flying?” Ray Brenner asks.

“Commercially yes.”

“That’s a good way to go, as after the war I reckon these birds will be the backbone of the freight and passenger services,” Hank Wilson agrees with Owen’s sentiment.

“Na’ Hank it will be jets by then,” Arty corrects.

“Are they safe enough for passenger service?” Owen wonders about the Dakota, believing they appear somewhat slow and cumbersome.

“You could land one of these birds on a penny,” Wilson says.

“Come on I’ll show you her workings,” Chip offers and leads the way to the open cargo door of the aircraft.

Once inside Chip remembers the promise he had previously made, “I did try and get information on your brother Jim.”

“Any luck,” Owen hopefully asks.

“Not a lot, his regiment is fighting the Japs high in the Owen Stanley’s some place called Eora and from what I heard it has been bloody but little is being released on the fighting.”

“I appreciate you trying but I think I’ll keep that from my parents at the moment, as it would only give them more worry.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“Mum said to ask you for dinner on Sunday.”

“I can’t this week, possibly the following week, if that would be suitable.”

“I’m sure it would be.”

“I do have a question for you.”

“And what would that be Chip?”

“Winnie, is she becoming interested in me?”

“Interested you say?”

“You know – in the romantic sorta’ way.”

“Do you like Winnie?”

“I like you all equally but don’t want to start a relationship during my posting, I’ve seen too many end in tears.”

“I think she is hell-bent in catching an Aussie soldier who will come out of the war with a service pension.”

“There are enough on the base so she shouldn’t have too much trouble,” Chip suggests.

“I believe she already has but don’t say anything, as our parents don’t know.”

“What about you Owen, have you a sweetheart?” Chip says with a broad cheeky smile while dipping his head to one side in a teasing fashion.

“Too ugly, no sheila would want me,” Owen laughs.

“I wouldn’t agree, you’re a good looking guy, I’m surprised they aren’t lining up for you.”

Again Owen laughs.

“What’s got your humour?”

“Don’t matter, it was something Winnie said and I assure you it’s not worth repeating.”

After inspection of the cargo hold, it was the cockpit with its numerous instruments and dials before Owen is back on ground.

“Well Owen that’s my office, what do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Do you still want to fly?” Hank Wilson asks.

“Even more so now.”

“Do you reckon we could swing it?” Brenner says.

“Possibly,” Chip answers.

“Swing what?” Owen asks.

“Take you on one of our deliveries to Port Moresby,” Chip suggests.

“Would it be allowed? There was building hope in Owen’s tone.

“In a word no,” Wilson discredits, “but the old man may turn his head away on the occasion.

“I would like that,” Owen could feel excitement surging within.

“Would your parents allow it?” Chip asks.

“Probably not.”

“It wouldn’t happen without their permission and that isn’t negotiable,” Chip cautions.

“When?”

“Possibly soon but you speak with your parents first,” Chip enforces as his crew cleared their area and commenced to ready the Dakota for its next flight.

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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