Published: 23 Jan 2023

Chapter 8

Arbor Day and a half day school holiday, time for the planting of trees, a time that had been observed in Australia since Eighteen Eighty-nine. It was a day mostly for school children, designed to give them an understanding and a measure of respect for nature but on the Atherton Tablelands there was an abundance of trees and being tropical they grew tall and fast, so any more would be considered an excess.

Although Arbor Day was celebrated earlier in the year it had been postponed until later, as during August the school ground had been commandeered for military purposes. Now for a second time the grounds were in military usage, therefore it was decided to give the town’s schools a holiday and in doing so called it Arbor Day. If the actual reason could be given, it was because the army had taken part of the high schools sport’s ground for storage and there had been a spillage of sorts, therefore necessary to clear the area while the mysterious spill was attended to.

“So Gavin you have the day off from school,” May says as breakfast is finished.

“They have called it a replacement for Arbor Day but really it is because of the disruption at school and the spillage.”

“What spillage?”

“Dunno’ but it was suggested some kind of acid.”

May becomes concerned, “and this acid is spilled on your sports ground?”

Gavin appears to lack concern, “they said it will be cleared away by Monday.”

“Then you will be able to give your father a hand while Owen does the deliveries,” May suggests.

“I’ll do the deliveries,” Gavin quickly volunteers.

“Not this time, Owen will be going into town after the delivery and your father would like a hand in the shed.”

“Doing what?”

As Gavin speaks Alf returns through the rear door, “will you be in need of Gavin this morning?” May asks.

“I don’t think so; why do you ask?”

“The school has given him a day off and I though you may need help in lifting.”

“Not today. What’s the occasion for a holiday?”

“Gavin said it is something to do with a spillage on the sports ground.”

“Yes I heard about that.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

“They know what they are doing,” Alf gives assurance as Gavin springs into animation after realising he would have the day for his own entertainment.

“Good, I’ll do some target practice along the creek,” Gavin aspires.

“You take care with that old rifle and mind where you are shooting or you will have Jack Climpson complaining again,” May cautions.

“He’s nothing but an old windbag, I don’t go anywhere near his property.”

“Last time he said that your shooting caused his hens to go clucky,” May recollects.

“How can shooting send hens clucky?” Gavin brazenly contradicts.

“Gavin you take notice of what your mother is saying, or you won’t be going anywhere,” Alf warns.

“Yes mum, no shooting beyond the half mile bend.”

“Also watch out as the Joliffe boys play along the creek,” May attaches to her caution.

As Owen is loading the truck for the deliveries Gavin meets up with him, his twenty-two rifle over his shoulder and Sookie proudly beside.

“I hope that rifle isn’t loaded,” Owen warns.

“I’m not stupid Owen, would you like a hand?” he offers without sounding genuine.

“I’ve finished now.”

“Dad said you are to pick up oats for Ruby.”

“It is on my list while I’m in town.”

“Did you get mum’s letter to Jim for posting?”

“I did.”

“Righto’, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Gavin, instead of shooting off hard to get ammunition, shouldn’t you be revising for your finals?”

“I’ll do study tonight, besides I only shoot off a few rounds. Why do they let us have ammunition if we can’t use it?”

“It is for vermin not entertainment.”

“Then I’ll shoot rats.”

“Start in the shed, there’s plenty in there; see ya’,” Owen climbs into the cabin and throws the truck into gear, grinding loudly as the cogs bite. “Opps,” he laughs.

“You can pick that one up on the way back,” Gavin calls after his brother while shaking his head, believing he was a better driver than Owen.

The Muluridji Creek ran through the Parker farm passing through the land owned by the Joliffe family before reaching that owned by Jack Climpson. Being late spring its banks were a painted canvas with flowing Callistemon Trees, commonly known as Bottle Brush from the shape of the flowering, being uncannily like the brush your mother would use to clean the milk bottles.

As the heat of the day reached its acme, the nectar began to evaporate into the moisture laden air, bringing hundreds of Rosella and Lorikeet parrots to feast on the bloom, showing flashes of orange, red and green amongst the foliage, while releasing their ear piercing screeching and gregarious garbling. High above crows circled on the thermals looking for carrion, as the faint scent of something decaying arrived on the gentle breeze.

Gavin reached the creek with Sookie trotting a little further ahead. On passing the dam and closer to the Joliffe fence line, Sookie showed excitement with what appeared to be a bundle of black feathers and immediately commenced to roll onto the decaying matter.

“Get back here you dumb dog!” Gavin demands and brings her unwillingly to his side.

“You stink, what have you rolled in?”

Gavin takes a closer look, discovering it to be a dead fowl but not one from the Parker flock, more like that from the Joliffe’s hens. Gavin again rouses Sookie and forces her into the creek to wash away the stench. Sookie comes from the water and shakes most of her dampness over Gavin.

“You still stink,” he says and forces her in for a second wash. This time it works to bearable.

“I hope this wasn’t your handy work,” Gavin questions as Sookie attempts to return to the carcass.

“No you don’t come back here!”

Sookie reluctantly obliges; and runs ahead to the base of an earthen bank alongside the creek.

At the bank are a number of discarded bottles washed out from a long disused rubbish tip on the Climpson property. Some by their design went back decades with labels no longer found on shop shelves.

Owen lines the bottles on a log with the earthen bank behind and takes a good twenty paces from his targets.

He lifts the rifle and aims.

Bang and the first bottle shatters, the bullet sending dust up from the bank behind.

Some more paces back and he smashes the second bottle, with Sookie making sure she is well behind his aim at all times.

Bang and the third bottle shatters into a multitude of shards.

More passes from his target and he again aims.

Bang and the fourth misses, only to send up more dust from the earthworks.

Gavin now understood his distance and after noting where the bullet hit the bank he could adjust the rifle’s sights accordingly.

“What do you think of my shooting?” he asks Sookie.

No answer, only a dumb sideways glance and lolling expression.

Ahead Gavin notices a light column of smoke coming from close to the half mile bend on Climpson’s property and there is the scent of burning eucalyptus leaves.

“Fire,” he loudly exclaims and as the paddocks butting onto that part of the creek are somewhat dry he decides to investigate.

On reaching the bend Gavin glances across towards the Climpson house, fortunately the truck is missing from its shed. Once through the fence he is now on Climpson land and concerns somewhat as in the past the old man had complained to Alf about him travelling along the creek to reach a swimming hole some distance beyond all three properties and on crown land. Climpson had also threatened to set his dogs onto Gavin if he again trespassed.

Once beyond the bend Gavin finds the cause of the smoke, discovering a camp fire and a number of empty tins labeled beans, also off to the side under a rudimentary shelter is a length of canvas and an old army blanket.

“Is there anyone about?” Gavin calls.

A young lad steps from the undergrowth.

“Willie what are you doing out here?” Gavin shows surprise.

“What does it look like Parker,” the lad answers and commences to douse his campfire with dirt. Sookie, as dogs are inclined to do, runs up to the lad and sniffs at Willie’s crotch.

“Get out ya’ dirty mongrel,” the lad complains and pushes Sookie’s head away.

“You betta’ watch yourself, you are on Climpson land until past the next bend in the creek and he’s a right mean bugger when it comes to trespass.

“It was once Muluridji land,” the lad protests.

“Once maybe but I can’t be blamed for that Willie Gordon, besides you are as white as I am.”

“My skin may be white but my heart is Muluridji.”

“I won’t argue that fact but what are you doing out here?”

“Me’ old man threw me out.”

“I thought I hadn’t seen you at school, how long have you been here?”

“Four days.”

Gavin was well acquainted with Willie’s father and his temper, from being warned away while once visiting his school mate at home. Les Gordon was what some called white trash and although Willie’s mother was considered to be aboriginal, like her son she was fair skinned although the native race was obvious with Willie’s dark hair and squat nose.

“What did you do to be thrown out of home?”

“I pinched his grog money.”

“Why did you do that?”

“For mum, there wasn’t anything to eat in the house.”

“That was a bit silly knowing your old man’s temper. What are you going to do? You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Climpson will set the cops onto you, or worse those dogs of his.”

“I was gonna’ walk to my uncle’s place near Tolga.”

“Tolga is a long walk. Will your uncle take you in?”

“He’s my mother’s brother and doesn’t get along with dad.”

“Come back home and I’ll ask Alf if he can drive you to Tolga.”

“I dunno’.”

“Come on. You look like you could do with a shower and a good feed; at least we can provide as much.”

Willie reluctantly agrees and follows Gavin back to the farm.

“Your Jim is in the army,” the lad asks as they reach the fenceline and climb through to walk the rows of cabbages.

“He is in New Guinea fighting the Japs.”

“My brother Malcolm is up there somewhere.”

“I didn’t know Malcolm enlisted?”

“He said anything to get away from the old man’s temper but he never writes. He could be dead for all we know.”

“I thought the army didn’t take native people.”

“Malcolm reckons he’s white and doesn’t admit to country.”

“What regiment is he with?”

“We don’t even know that.”

“Your mum could ask the army, I’m sure they would tell her.”

“Dad wouldn’t allow it. He said Malcolm is already dead to him.”

“I suppose fighting the Japs is a good cause,” Gavin reckons.

“What’s one more invasion, the Japs can’t be any worse than the last.”

Gavin was about to protest but realized the lad was in many ways correct, as call it what you wish but the arrival of the British could be considered an invasion of sorts. Yet it could be a challenge for anyone to come up with the name of one country that hadn’t been invaded over the past thousand years.

“You can’t change history Willie,” Gavin excuses.

“I don’t like that,” the lad gruffly says.

“What don’t you like?” Gavin asks as they reach the house.

“Being called Willie, I would rather William.”

“Then William it is.”

As the boys arrive May is feeding kitchen scraps to the chickens, noticing their approach she waits. “Is that Willie Gordon with you?” she asks.

“William Gordon if you don’t mind mum,” Gavin quickly corrects.

“What are you doing out this way William?”

“His old man threw him out and he wants to go to his uncle in Tolga.”

“You look half starved,” May says.

“I was hoping he could have a shower and a feed and possibly dad could drive him to Tolga when Owen returns with the truck.”

“I think we can arrange something but what of his father, what would he say?”

“Whose father?” Alf asks as he comes around from the side of the house, carrying a tray of lettuce seedlings for a further planting.

“Ya’ can’t grow them Mr. Parker,” William declares.

“Do you know farming William?”

“Me’ mum tried and the slugs ate em’.”

May then explains what she had been told.

“Did he hit you William?” Alf asks.

“Only one punch but I am quicker than he is – he was drunk and stinken’ of grog.”

Alf is slow in responding further as he feels it may be approaching on another’s private matter, especially as William’s farther was known to have a short fuse.

“I thought William could stay here for a while,” Gavin suggests.

“What about school?” Alf asks.

“He could go on the bus with me, or we could drive him to his uncle place in Tolga”

“I don’t think it would be wise to stay here but I could have Owen drive him into Tolga when he returns with the truck.”

“Come on William,” May says, “let’s get you washed and a feed into your belly and you are about Gavin’s size, I’ll sort out a set of clothes for you.”

Mid afternoon found William with Gavin feeding Ruby some oats without any decision from Alf, as he was reluctant in having the lad stay because of his volatile father. As the lads returned from feeding Ruby, Owen arrives back and after garaging the truck meets up with Alf in the equipment shed.

“How did the deliveries go?” Alf asks.

“The usual complaining but they accepted it all.”

“Did you go to the feed lot for chicken feed?”

“I did. Is that Willie Gordon I saw up the paddock with Gavin?”

“His old man has thrown him out.”

“Umm,” Owen appears concerned.

“Why the frowning?”

“His old man is looking everywhere for him, he even went to the police, and wants William arrested for theft.”

Alf then explains what he heard from the lad and his fear for William’s wellbeing if he returned home.

“Is he staying here?”

“He wants to go to his uncle in Tolga. I was going to have you drive him there.”

“There lays a problem dad.”

“Go on.”

“If I drive him it will be realized I knew about William being missing as I was in town. If I take him to his uncle, it could be considered to be complicit and the police have already asked me to keep an eye out for him.”

“True but we can’t let him walk.”

“Why not have Gavin drive him to Tolga and if asked he did so before I returned from town.”

“How could Gavin have taken him if you hadn’t returned with the truck?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Owen gives a chuckle towards his lack of intellectual ability.

“Leave it with me,” Alf says and goes inside where he makes a telephone call. After some time he returns; “where is William?” he asks.

“Gavin has taken him to the wash room.”

Once showered William is given food and is seated at the kitchen table as Alf arrives.

“Are you going to drive William to Tolga?” May asks.

Alf doesn’t answer May, he instead questions the lad, “what happened that made your father evict you from home?”

“I stole his beer money, mum needed it for food.”

“Is Les drinking much?”

“He’s either drunk or sleeping it off.”

“What about work?” Alf asks.

“They sacked him because he was taking too much time off,” the lad admits as a vehicle is heard at the farm gate.

Eyes lift towards the open window.

The vehicle enters and after the gate is closed, it continues towards the house. The driver remains unknown until he parks, then alights and comes towards the house.

It is Brian Craddick the town’s police sergeant.

The lad is at flight of flee but Alf blocks his departure.

“Sit down lad; you’re not in any trouble.”

The policeman is shown in and immediately his eyes fall onto the lad, “Willie Gordon,” he says.

“My name is William,”

“Then William what are we going to do with you?”

“I’m not going back!”

Craddick takes Alf aside and they converse for some time before the policeman approaches the lad.

“If you won’t go home where do you want to go?”

“My Uncle Philip at Tolga, he’s my mother’s brother.”

Again the policeman takes Alf aside, “what do you think Alf?” he asks.

“I know Les and he is somewhat difficult and handy with his fists, it wouldn’t be beyond him to do the kid an injury if he returns home.”

“Yes that is well known.”

“William could stay here while it is sorted,” Alf suggests.

“Under the circumstances Alf, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Then what else can we do?”

“I’ll take him to his uncle in Tolga and the family can sort it out. His uncle is known to be a decent fellow.”

Craddick turns to William, “did you hear that lad?

“I did.”

“You wait in the car and I’ll take you to your uncle in Tolga.”

“Do you think Les will take it further?” Alf asks.

“Probably but there is little more we can do unless he steps over the line.”

“Like he kills someone,” Alf says.

“We can’t lock people up in case they do something. I’ll see myself out.”

As Craddick drives away and turns towards Tolga, Alf approaches Gavin, “you did the right thing by bringing him to our attention son.”

“I couldn’t do else as he was camping on Climpson’s land and you know what he is like when it comes to trespass.

“With all the excitement I forgot to ask you. What did you shoot?”

“Only a number of old bottles,” Gavin says.

“You should save the shot for the rats in the shed,” Alf suggests.

“See I told ya’,” Owen says.

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

17,442 views