Published: 16 Jan 2023

Chapter 7

There was rumor about town that a Dakota returning from New Guinea had crashed without survivors into the mountains near Mossman, a short distance north of Cairns. The news came to the Parker farm from a telephone call from Winnie and as soon as May received the call she approached Owen, finding him weeding a row of carrots closest to the house.

“Winnie just called.”

“What’s the girl up to?”

“She said an aircraft has gone down near Gelatin and is concerned it may have been Chip, as it was said to be a Dakota.”

“Being a Dakota doesn’t mean it was Chip’s aircraft, there are quite a few out of Mareeba and Cairns,” Owen hopefully discredits while gazing into the northern sky, as if searching for a speck that would become his friend’s returning aircraft. There was no speck, no aircraft only a lone crow hovering above a copse of trees close by the creek. It’s call plaintive and foreboding

“True,” May says while all but wishing it was so. Such a thought may appear cruel and she would never announce her sentiment but she would rather Chip’s demise than that of her son. She mentally scalded herself for such thinking but if so, it would put an end to Owen’s obsession with flying, at least for the duration of the war.

“Although by my reckoning his return is overdue,” Owen’s face began to prickle with fear for his American friend.

“How can you find out?”

“With difficulty, they are tightlipped at the base, especially about their mates and equipment loss, it often appears those in town know more about what is going on than those who are running the war.”

“Aren’t you going into town today?”

“Tomorrow after I have made the deliveries, when I’m at the base I’ll ask about.”

During the remainder of the day Owen’s concern remained in overdrive. It wasn’t the possibility he may not take his ride but the loss of someone who unconsciously was becoming more than an acquaintance. Later in the afternoon while May was at the clothesline he telephoned Winnie at Jebreen’s but found she had no more information than what she had told May earlier that morning.

“Where did you hear about the crash?” Owen asks,

“Margaret Stanley came into the shop and said her husband Terry heard it at the pub, from someone who came up from Cairns earlier that morning.”

“The pub,” Owen huffed and wished he was there that very moment to glean more about the crash, as it would remain topic for quite some time.

“I’m sorry Owen, I shouldn’t have telephoned.”

“As well you did as I would have heard eventually.”

“How can you find out if it was Chip’s plane?” Winnie asks.

“I’ll ask at the base during my deliveries.”

“What do you think?”

“Not a lot but I was looking forward to my little trip,” Owen made excuse to disguise his building emotions.

Owen is busy finishing the weeding when the school bus arrives. He watches as Gavin holds up the driver while standing on the step talking to his mates. After a toweling from the driver for delaying his progress, Gavin approaches across the field towards his brother.

“You look bothered?” Owen surmises.

“A little, can I talk with you?”

“Anytime, I’m finished here now, I’ll walk with you back to the house.” Owen gives a sharp whistle and Sookie comes from the shade of a bush and makes a fuss of Gavin.

“Did you miss me girl?” Gavin pets her as she jumps about making welcoming sounds.

At half the distance to the house Gavin halts their progress with a pull to Owens arm and shares his trouble, “I failed the mid-year exams and I don’t know how I’m going to approach dad.”

“I find with dad the truth is the best approach, unless you can squarely place the blame on someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes I used to put the blame on you and get away with it,” Owen laughs.

“I may find it somewhat difficult to blame you for my failing the mid-year exams.”

“True.”

“No seriously Owen, he is expecting more from me.”

“He did from Jim and look what happened with Jim leaving before his final year. He also expected it from me and I just scraped through with a pass after I also failed my mid-year.”

“But I’m the last, so I hold what is left of his hopes.”

“Do you put in the study hours?” Owen asks.

“I try but the fear of failure drives away the will to study and there is a little devil hiding in my head that says you will fail – you will fail. It is as if failure is brought on by the fear of failing.”

“I know you are smart enough. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a hand with your revision and maybe between the two of us we can chase away your little devil.”

“I would appreciate your help.”

“There is a rumor going around that a Dakota crashed yesterday without survivors near Mossman.” Owen relates with a gentle worrying sigh.

“I heard about it on the bus, are you thinking it was Chip’s plane?”

“I don’t know what to think, as his return is overdue.”

“Could be,” Gavin responds without an inkling of empathy.

“Never mind I’ll ask at the base during the deliveries.”

At the house the brothers meet with Alf while he was coming back from shedding the tractor, “how was school today son?” Alf asks as he did most days when Gavin came off the bus.

“As usual,” being Gavin’s standard reply but Alf picked up something in his son’s tone.

“Problems at the mill Gavin?” Alf asks.

“Why do you say that?”

“I know your every expression.”

Owen gives his brother a secret poke to his ribs.

“Alright – alright,” Given growls.

“Come on son out with it,” Alf encourages.

“You won’t get cranky?”

“I may or may not but there is only one way to find out, so out with it or I will get cranky.”

Taking advice from Owen, Gavin comes directly to the point, “I failed my mid-year.”

Alf stands to his full height and softly speaks, “what am I to do with you boys, now the third Parker fails, it appears only Winnie is smart in this family and she gets it from your mother.”

Owen laughs, “does that mean we take after you dad?”

“It appears to be so and I had high hopes for you Gavin, I was hoping you would be the first in the family to attend university.”

“It is only the mid years and I can help him with his work towards the finals,” Owen suggests.

“Owen I wouldn’t be too smug; as from what I recollect you didn’t do all that well yourself.”

“Ah but I did pass the finals,” Owen protests but quickly follows on, “only just,” he declares before Alf can comment further on the matter.

With a disappointing shaking of his head and a measure of soft tutting, Alf goes inside. He calls to May.

“What dear?” she questions from a busy kitchen.

“Gavin tells me he failed his mid-year exams.”

“It is only the mid-year Alf, I’m sure he will do better next time,” May says with her usual positivity.

“You are the eternal optimist,”

“I have to be with four men in the family.”

Friday’s delivery to the base arrived with apprehension for Owen and as Goss approaches to run an attentive eye over the delivery, Owen cautiously questions, “Lieutenant Goss, I hear there was a Dakota down somewhere near Mossman.”

“Did you lad?”

“Has Chip Miller arrived back as yet?” Owen questions.

“You know I can’t discuss defense business.”

“The talk of the downed Dakota is all about town, so I wouldn’t call it secrete.”

“Possibly so but I think you should do your deliveries and be on your way and leave such matters to those positioned to do the job.”

All through the day and into the next, Owen concerned for Chip and had all but given up on his flight to Moresby, although he kept his fear well disguised, except from his mother who after breakfast approached her son.

“You appear to be at sorts today,” she suggests.

“Sorts Megan-may,” Owen questions and forces a smile.

“You know what I mean, you appear quieter than usual.”

Owen gives a shallow laugh; “it must be the weather.”

“Why blame the weather?”

“Dad uses the weather as the bringer of most problems, so from his words it must be the weather.”

“Then you do admit you have a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you concerned about Chip and your trip to New Guinea?’

“Not really,” Owen lied.

“Chip’s a nice enough young man but you shouldn’t get yourself involved with flying, it is too dangerous.”

“I could as easily run the truck into a ditch or something, or like young Rod Harris while he was trying to beat the Ravenshoe goods train at the Tolga crossing and look what happen to him. I hear it took a week to work out what was vehicle and what was Rod.” May was obviously unconvinced so Owen continued further with his analogy, “simply living is dangerous and I almost stood on that snake the other day, one bite from it and you’re a goner.”

“Your father killed it with a shovel while you were in town. He said it was too close to the house.”

“Why kill it?”

“Sookie was barking and about to attack it.”

“Oh well, I’ve work to do, I can’t stand about gossiping all morning, I’ll see you at lunch.” Owen collects his hat from the side dresser and places it comically on his head. He forces a smile and gives a meaningless nod.

“You shouldn’t concern about Chip, I’m sure he is alright,” May attempts to lower her son’s anxiety.

“No concern mum, I’ll see you at lunch.”

Weeding in the hot sun drains the strength from the strongest, as for weeds, with the tableland weather they grew much faster than the crop, especially about Mareeba that boasted of having more than three hundred sunny days in any given year.

Owen had been hoeing along the rows of beans for some time with the sweat pouring from him, soaking his shirt as if in a rain shower, while a dribble descended down his back tickling between his buttocks, he smiled towards the sensation.

Feeling dehydrated Owen reaches for the water bag before realising he had forgotten to bring it. He lifted his head towards the house where May was hanging out the day’s washing, ‘five more minutes,’ he thought, ‘and I’ll give it a miss until the cooling of the afternoon.’

May finished hanging the washing and returned inside but a moment later was again in view and calling across the distance to gain Owen’s attention. Being too far away to be understood May was attempting sign language while lifting a hand to the side of her head and moving her free hand around in circles as if dialing a telephone number.

Owen chuckles on understanding what May was inferring, ‘telephone call, who would want me at this time of the day.’ He reaches the house and enters, “What’s up?” he asks.

“Chip is on the telephone.”

Owen feels his heart quicken but tempers his progress to answer the call, not wishing to appear overzealous.

“Owen speaking,” he softly announces.

“Owen it is Chip, I’ve just arrived back.”

“You’ve been a while – what’s up?”

“Your mother says you have permission for the flight.”

“Yes but it took some convincing.”

“I can’t talk now, what are you doing tonight?” Chip asks.

“The usual, work then bed.”

“I’ll pick you up and we’ll go for a drive, possibly a beer and I’ll explain.”

“What time?”

“It will have to be around six – six thirty or so if that suits you.”

“Yes I can arrange that.”

“So I’ll see you then – got to go,” Chip ends the call.

“Ummh,” Owen quietly sounds as he replaces the hand piece.

May had been listening but waits for Owen to divulge.

“It was Chip,” he says.

“I know that.”

“He wants to meet with me tonight.”

“Then you still wish to do this silly thing?”

“I do Megan-may.”

“I sometimes wish I never invited him for dinner.”

“Megan-may you can’t control everything and everyone, although I must admit you try hard enough to do so.”

“I worry; I worry about Jim in New Guinea, about Gavin trying to enlist and failing his mid-year, now you going into the very depths of a war zone for the sake of a joyride.”

“The army will look after Jim and I think Gavin has given up on enlisting.”

“Yes the army will look after Jim like it did your Great Uncle Walter and my brother Frank back in the last war.”

“I know of dad’s Uncle Walter being killed at Gallipoli but you never speak of Uncle Frank.”

“Frank was such a lovely boy but he ran away and joined up at sixteen and was killed as the first troops landed, he never had a chance and died in the boat taking him ashore at Anzac cove. A Turk’s bullet went right through the wood of the boat and struck him in the head. They buried his body on the beach in a common grave, with many others that didn’t make it to the sand.”

“Now I understand why you concern over Gavin but from what I hear this war is much different than that what your brother went through.”

“War is war Owen and if you are killed the difference doesn’t matter.”

“I should get back to my weeding.” Owen collects his hat but falters for some seconds while trying to build something that would lessen his mother’s concern.

“Did you invite Chip to dinner?” May asks, believing in person it may be possible to persuade Chip not to take Owen, even after she had expressed agreement.

“No he will pick me up and we will possibly go to the pub. He said he could only be away from the base for a couple of hours.” Owen could sense the continuing concern in his mother’s tone and wished he could lessen it but even if he decided not to go to Port Moresby, her stronger unease for Jim’s safety would remain and there was nothing he could do to lessen that.

Chip arrived at the farm soon after the night’s meal and was met at the door by Owen, “you had us all worried,” he softly expresses even before the airman could give greeting.

“What brought that on?”

“The crash of a Dakota near Mossman.”

“It is nice someone worries about me,” Chip laughs.

“What have you there?” Owen asks noticing Chip is carrying a small package.

“Only some fresh beef cuts for your mother. The cook gave them to me.”

May is listening from the kitchen for Chip’s arrival and soon comes to greet.

“Good evening Mrs. Parker, I hope I’m not intruding onto your evening.” Chip says and offers up his package.

“What is this?”

“Nothing special, some fresh beef cuts I managed from the base’s kitchen.”

“I hope you won’t get into trouble,” May concerns.

“They would have been wasted and there are also a couple of bones for your dog.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes I did so at the base,”

“I would think you have come about taking Owen for a joyride,” May’s tone is discrediting.

“I have but as I said earlier only with your and Alf’s blessing,” Chip glances across to Owen who lowers his eyes.

“I’m not happy with him going Chip,”

“Then,” Chip is about to renege on his offer.

“No Alf and I have agreed to let him go but as I said I’m not happy in doing so.”

“It is quite safe these days Mrs. Parker and there hasn’t been any activity over Moresby for more than a week now. True there is an element of risk but no more than crossing a busy street.”

“In truth Chip, I would rather Owen was crossing that street,” May relates somewhat cautiously.

Alf arrives with a beer, “would you like one young man?” he offers.

“No thank you Alf, I was about to offer taking Owen into town to the Dunlop for a couple as I will need to discuss the trip.”

“You say no more dangerous than crossing a road?” Alf repeats Chip’s analogy.”

“There isn’t any action between here and Moresby.”

“What about over Moresby?”

“True there is some but limited and less frequent.”

As May had given her opinion on the matter she returns to the night’s dishes, in doing so she calls Gavin away to help with the drying.

“Are you ready? We better get moving on, as I have a ten o’clock curfew.”

“I guess so,” Owen follows Chip out; “goodnight he calls back to his mother.”

“Can I drive?” Owen asks as they reach the jeep.

“I would say yes if we weren’t going into town but I’d really cop it if any of the officers saw a civilian behind the wheel of a military vehicle.”

Once past the gate it was time for answers and to lay aside Owen’s fear brought on by Chip’s late return. “We heard about the Dakota that crashed up near Mossman,” Owen quietly says.

“And by your tone you assumed it may have been me,”

“It did cross my mind.”

“I did know the crew and its captain was a buddy of mine, who only married the week before being deployed out this way.”

“What delayed your flight?”

“Not delayed, I was taxi for some army personnel.”

“Where to?”

“Now Owen you should know better than to ask questions like that. Let simply say I was ferrying a very important person to a city south of here, then on to another city even further to the south.”

“Who General MacArthur?”

“Almost.”

On reaching the hotel Chip parks out front, as three young lads on their way to the pictures take interest in the Jeep. They gather in conversation towards the rear.

The oldest of the three speaks, “hey Yank can we take it for a spin?” he asks while fiddling with the cap of the rear petrol container, it is too tight for his fingers and he finds interest in a canvas bag, attached to the rail around the jeep’s back compartment. He lifts a strap but doesn’t advance further.

“Are you licensed?” Chip questions while stepping onto the footpath.

“The steering wheel is on the wrong side.” A lad says.

“In your opinion,” Chip laughs.

“Me’ dad reckons you don’t need a license to drive a Jeep, they are nothing but a bicycle with a motor.”

Owen recognizes the older lad, “haven’t you somewhere to go Tommy Westland?”

“What’s it to you Parker?”

“I should think you three should be on your way,” Chip suggests and teasingly feigns aggression with his shoulders and head pushed forward as he takes a short step.

All three lads take a slight backward step.

“And if we don’t?” Westland challenges.

“I’ll have to shoot you,” Chip warns.

The lads laugh and move on.

“Come on we’ll talk over a beer?” Chip guides Owen towards the hotel doorway.

“Why not,” Owen agrees.

Once inside Chip approached the bar, “hey buddy two beers when you’re ready,” he confidently requests. The barman is obviously irritated by Chip’s forwardness and instead directs his displeasure towards Owen.

“Isn’t that young Owen Parker with you?” the barman asks.

“Yes sir, why?”

“He’s not twenty-one as yet,” The barman growled but pulls the beer and takes payment.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” Chip says.

The barman gives a low growl and moves on without furthering his complaint.

“There you go,” Chip says as he returns to a secluded table away from the crowd.

“What was Terry Withers on about?”

“He questioned your age.”

“He is the reason I don’t usually come in at nights and if I do I go to the Royal.”

“Never mind we’re here now, besides I can only stay for a couple.”

“What do you think of the Australian beer?” Owen asks.

“Not bad but I prefer Miller, we have it at the base.”

“I’ve never tried it but it must be good if you share its name.”

“Next time I visit I’ll bring you half a dozen – now down to business.” As Chip spoke two airmen arrived at the bar, one waves and Chip goes to speak with them. After a short conversation and a measure of banter he returned to Owen, “now about taking you on one of my flights,”

“Is it possible?”

“It is and will have to be next Tuesday. Can you arrange that day?”

“I reckon so.”

“You will need to be at the base by sixteen hundred, for you that will be four in the afternoon. Returning should be early the following morning, departing Moresby at approximately o-five hundred hours, to arrive back here at about midday; that is if there aren’t complications. So you won’t need to bring anything with you, only what you are wearing, possibly a toothbrush,” Chip releases a soft chortle, “and a clean set of underwear in case flying makes you nervous.”

“I’m sure it won’t. You say complications?”

“You do realize it is a war zone and a little unpredictable?”

“I do.”

“And you still want to go?”

“More than ever,” Owen could feel excitement building in the pit of his gut and could hardly keep from laughing with joy.”

“There won’t be any problems. A quick in, unload and to the bar for a few beers, a sleep over and the following morning before sunup back in the air again, should have you home for lunch.”

“How long with the flight to Moresby take,” Owen asks.

“Usually it is around three or four hours flying time, depending on weather conditions.”

“Is Moresby that close?”

“Would be if the Japs take it but with the likes of your Jim fighting along the Kokoda and my lot sinking most of their supply ships, I don’t think that is likely to happen.”

“Did your boss agree to me going along?”

“The Colonel knows but it is called whispering. It is unofficial, sort of mentioned in passing without giving decision either way.”

“What if my being onboard is discovered?”

“Probably a slap on the wrist for me but don’t concern the old man is flexible and it wouldn’t go further.”

“I’m quite excited about it,” Owen admits.

“Not scared?”

“No not at all.”

“I remember you saying you would like to fly commercially after the war,” Chip recollects.

“I would, what about you Chip, what will you do?”

“That is a fair question and difficult to answer.”

“Why difficult?”

“I don’t think I could return to farm life, although it is what my parents would want. The war has pumped excitement into my veins and plowing fields and herding cattle does nothing for me. Possibly like you I may take up flying commercially.”

“Would you remain in the air force?”

Chip laughs and quickly answers; “it wouldn’t be the same without something shooting at me.”

“Shooting at you?” Owen shows caution in his tone.

“I didn’t always fly Dakota’s. I have also flown P-51s and others.”

“And shot at?”

“A number of times but I have a lucky streak,” Chip checks the time, “one more beer and I’ll have to go.”

The week dragged for Owen, even more so for May while privately holding to her concern, as she had at last accepted her son’s resolve. Friday’s mail brought a welcomed letter from Jim and both Alf and Owen stood quietly by allowing May the first reading.

“What does he say?” Alf impatiently asks.

“His writing is bad and the page water stained but in the most he is well and received the biscuits but they didn’t go far with his mates and he put the gum leaves in his shirt pocket, so the tropical heat would strengthen their scent.”

“Is that all in a full page?” Alf asks.

“A page of army censuring I’m afraid. You would think he’d be more careful knowing it would be scrubbed out,” May suggests and passes the letter to Alf. “He does give his regards to Winnie and tells Gavin to behave himself.”

“It was the same in our war,” Alf says.

“Were your letters also censured?” Owen asks.

“They were but it didn’t prevent us from making unwelcomed comment.”

“Why write it down knowing it wouldn’t be allowed?” Owen questions.

“I guess it was a way of releasing tension and by putting our complaints and fears to paper it was at least giving the brass our opinion on how we perceived things were going, while scrubbed the words from the pages.”

May became teary eyed and departed form company, Jim’s letter had once again strengthened her concern for Owen and his wish to take what could only be considered an unnecessary joy ride into a dangerous region. After some time Alf found her with the washing, he approached and wrapped his hands around her waist, giving a gently squeeze as he blew warm breath onto her neck while rocking her from side to side.

“Jim will be alright mother,” he quietly says attempting to appear confident.

“It isn’t Jim.”

“Is it Owen?”

“Yes.”

“Oh mother hen, you can’t keep your chicks under your wing forever, they have all grown so big there wouldn’t be enough room.”

They both laugh as Alf takes on a full embrace.

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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