Published: 19 Mar 2018

The recently constructed Cairns Railway Station was no more than an elongated wooden shed painted in government cream, supporting a corrugated iron roof. At its side was an earthen ramp called a platform and under a curved metal canopy a single set of iron rails reached west towards the forest and the high mountains. Within the station were to be found, a ticket office, station master’s office, woman’s rest room and an area to hold goods to be transported to the Tablelands.

The balmy morning air appeared to drain the energy out of those waiting to be transported as a lad placed a number of crates and parcels to the verge of the platform. He was the station’s porter and all of sixteen, appearing most important in his blue uniform and a cap with badge displaying his industry, while manoeuvring crates on a large trolley.

“Pollards,” He called the name on one of the crates, “Brown’s – Priories Creek,” he announced another and was about to broadcast a third when a rotund man dressed in equal blue but without a badge or hat of position approached.

“Rodney, there isn’t any reason to call the good’s destination,” he softly spoke, “I am sure our passengers have no wish to have their morning disturbed by your trilled voice.”

“Sorry Mr. Rusden.” The young porter obligingly replied and went about his work obviously silently mouthing each destination with equal pride as he had done so aloud.

The boys had showered early and were on the platform long before the train was to depart but there wasn’t any train. They could hear a shunting sound some distance away and the hissing of escaping steam but the giant metallic monster they were expecting was nowhere to be seen, leaving their imaginations much scope to create a mental picture of its design.

“What does it look like?” Stephen asked showing the excitement of a child.

“I’ve only seen pictures in the Cairns Post when the line opened back in ninety-one. It’s like a large water tank with lots of wheels and a place to hold coal or wood behind the driving compartment,” Lachlan answered to the best of his ability.

Still Stephen remained clueless and remained so until its monstrous black bulk eventually arrived from the shunting sheds, belching smoke and steam while making its slow and arduous approach towards the platform. He jumped back from the raised edge to stand behind Lachlan, as a loud hissing of steam escaped from somewhere between its huge wheels.

“It won’t bite you.” Lachlan laughed at his friend’s nervousness.

Following the steam belching engine were two carriages and a goods and guards van. The front carriage was first class and had glass windows, while the other, a second class carriage had wooden slat benches and open windows, with lift up louvers to keep out the elements. Lachlan without knowing better and not wishing to enhance his status had bought second class seating, which he believed was adequate for their travel.

Minutes later they were seated along with a good dozen other travellers, mostly in first class but two young girls and their Nanny had joined their carriage. The children were travelling to Herberton to be educated at the Catholic Convent, having to change at Mareeba where the line terminated and from there take the coach for the remainder of the journey.

Their Nanny sat the girls etiquettely as far from the boys as possible, as she straightened their skirts to well cover all portions of legs, only showing their polished shoes and the occasional notion of long grey stockings.

Once they were seated the excited girls were told to sit quietly and watch through the window but found the boys more interesting that the view of the Cairns platform and adjacent railway yards, while whispering to each other from behind grey gloved hands. Stephen teased the girls with a subtle wave of his fingers, turning their cheeks to crimson and their gaze to obedience beyond the window. All the while there was the clunking of goods being loaded into the van behind their carriage.

Eventually the train was ready to depart but not before the rotund man without the hat boarded and commenced to move through each compartment, while brandishing a small metal instrument to punch holes through stiffened cardboard tickets.

“Tickets please,” the official invoked as he approached the boys. Lachlan offered their tickets from deep inside his pocket. They were punched and returned with a smile; “you enjoy your journey now,” the man welcomed and moved along to the nanny and the girls where on inspecting their tickets repeated the same greeting in the same twang.

“Where is that fellow from?” Stephen quietly asked.

“There was a bloke on the Capricorn with the same accent.” Lachlan answered while bringing the information to mind.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Hang on I’m thinking. I believe Toby said he was from somewhere called Baltimore.” Lachlan offered.

“That doesn’t tell me much either, where is Baltimore?”

“North America I think.”

The girls whispering was interrupted by a loud sharp whistle from the platform and with the waving of a green flag the massive engine strained under its build of steam, hissing like some dream time serpent and with squealing wheels it jerked forward, until the weight of the carriages became equal to its mighty power and the journey commenced. Stephen held his breath, then laughed and shook his head.

“Well I be – my horse could never do that.” Stephen declared almost announcing ‘be buggered’ but with the presence of the girls thought better.

Soon the cane fields north of Cairns were behind as they crossed the wide Barron River and with a westward turn, the powerful engine commenced its climb into the lofty mountains.

It was a strain but the engine held its climb and soon they were a thousand feet above the cane fields. Cairns became mere smoke haze at the southern end of the horizon line, where the sea diluted its blueness into that of the sky and became an indistinguishable singularity, with a small green smudge between the two.

“Is that some island?” Stephen enquired pointing towards the green smudge.

“It’s a coral island; it’s called Green Island I think.”

“It does look green from here, how big is it?” Stephen asked.

“I’m not sure but have heard you can walk around it in a matter of minutes.”

“There’s another island a little further to the north but closer in.” Again Stephen pointed his direction.

“That’s not coral, just a hill in the sea, I believe its called Double Island as it looks like two islands but is only one.”

“How come you know all this?” Stephen asked most impressed with Lachlan’s explanations.

“When I was with Simpson travelling to Cooktown, we passed close by here and Toby pointed things out.”

“You never speak much about that trip.” Stephen envisaged.

“No it was a little like your adventure and one best left that way.”

Another thousand feet, yet another and a good dozen tunnels, some so long the boys thought they were entering into the very bowels of the earth and still the engine climbed. Steam and coal dust swirled back to choke their throats and sting their eyes, while gathering in their clothing, to remain a lasting memory of their journey until the next wash day.

Through the final tunnel and around a bend and their senses became dazzled by the drop of the Barron Falls. Even above the noise of the engine the roar of the falls fought through and as the hamlet of Kuranda came into view the mist of water from the falls mingled with the train’s steam.

Kuranda was a pretty town, although small was quickly growing with the arrival of the railway and becoming a day trip for people on the coast. Here it was always cool and wet, with a tree canopy that stretched across its roofs like some green blanket, while the altitude lowered the temperature by a good ten degrees.

The town consisted of around thirty houses, a general store a hotel and of course the railway station, which at this stage was only a platform and a small ticketing office, with a magnificent view of the Barron Falls over the embankment to the north east, where it fell into a deep ravine that descended from the bottom of the falls to the coastal strip and the mangroves of the river’s floodplain.

Across from the Station was the Kuranda Tea House and seeing the locomotive needed to refuel its water supply after its strenuous climb up the range, the passengers had up to half an hour or more to refresh themselves on tea and scones with lashings of cream and jam or freshly made sandwiches of tomato lettuce and cucumber for the travelling ladies, while for the men beef in great chunks and chutney.

Once the journey recommenced the track entered onto the flat land that ran all the way to Mareeba, which lay in the dryer rain shadow of the mountains. This was cattle country and the western plains were more developed behind Mareeba, than was the country over the lower mountains west of Tully. Even the Aborigines were more subdued in the Gulf Country beyond but like their cousins to the south they still could cause trouble when agitated.

Across the flat land the train gathered speed and the thirty miles to Mareeba were covered more quickly than was the twelve from Cairns to Kuranda.

Along the track red mud termite mounds dotted the landscape, some as tall as a man or even taller, all facing north south to perfect their air conditioning. Here the trees were stunted and sparser than they were around Kuranda and of a different species, mostly dryland Eucalypt. The grass was long and brown and tufted while all about were signs of bushfires.

As there were a number of sidings along the way and goods to offload it was some hours before the train reached Mareeba, coming out of the flat plain it slowed to cross the trestle bridge astride Granite Creek. Once again it powered up the opposite bank and without warning was approaching the Mareeba terminus.

With a sudden application of squealing breaks, throwing the passengers forwards in their seats, the engine released a flurry of steam, its reprieve from such a strenuous task, as it came to its final destination.

“All out, end of line.” The guard called, sounding three sharp notes on his whistle. Here the engine would be reversed and within the hour would be once again steaming back across the dry plains towards the eastern mountains.

“Where is your uncle’s property?” Lachlan asked, stretching the trip out of his body and watching the two school girls as they climbed into the awaiting tableland coach, for the continuation of their journey to Herberton.

“I don’t actually know, in the letter mum said it was at Emerald Creek, wherever that is. She said to ask at the Dunlop Hotel and someone was bound to give directions.”

It was only a short walk to Byrnes Street and the shopping precinct and as they entered the street the Herberton coach passed with the school girls commandeering both windows. As they advanced Lachlan gave them a smile and a wave, sending them away from their advantage in a fit of giggling and a scalding from their nanny.

There were two hotels, both across a wide street, where carts and horses stirred up the dust into a chocking cloud of hot fine particles. Both hotels were similar in their design, two floors and footpath verandah, with accommodation above. The first they encountered was the Royal, with the Dunlop further along the street.

At the Dunlop the punters were gathered outside the bar with their drinks in hand, watching a procession of the Queensland Voluntary Militia, who with their base drum, bugle and banner attempted to convince the young local men to join up and serve Queen and Country in South Africa to fight against the Boers. Behind the gathered band ran a number of bare footed children, dancing and pouncing in the heat and dust, like ones possessed, being the highlight of a most ordinary week, maybe month possibly all year.

None from the hotels appeared willing to volunteer but did seem to enjoy the distraction. Once the procession passed the punters returned to the coolness of the bar and their conversation on the problems in South Africa with the Dutch and how they would like to take Queensland out of the ever expanding empire altogether.

As the boys entered the bar a disgruntled voice came across the crowd.

“Why would anyone want to flaming well fight over there? The country is full of blacks, the Dutch can keep it.”

“We’ve enough bloody blacks here, don’t want more.” Another concurred.

“Want a beer?” Lachlan asked as they entered into the smoke filled cavern and made their way to the bar.

“I’m starting to get the taste for it, Stephen Henderson you are a bad influence.” Lachlan complied as he pushed his way to the front and ordered, while Stephen asked the barman if he knew where to find his uncle’s property.

“You go over the bridge to Emerald creek, back on the Cairns road.” The barman advised and handed across two beers, spilling a portion on the toweling runner and apologising for the spill, without offering to top up the glass.

“Is that the bridge the train came across?”

“Na that’s the Granite, you want a real river. The Barron; its east of here, you take the street next to the hotel for about half a mile, cross the road bridge and about fifty yards on, you take a sharp right turn and two roads down you turn left.” The barman paused as if waiting for his directions to sink in, “then a good half mile further another left.” He could now see they were lost, “I’ll start again.”

“Shit Stanley give the boy’s a flaming break you’ll have them bushed, they’ll end up back in the flaming mountains the way you’re telling it.” A tall thin farmer under a large sweat stain akubra hat interjected. “Tell you what young fellers, you wait a couple of more beers and I’ll take you over in the buggy, I have the property next to your uncle.”

From the front gate of Sid and Frances Henderson property to the house was a five minute walk along a leafy track. At its end the path opened into an area of banana palms and mango trees, with two houses facing each other across an acre of green lawn, both having wide verandahs and nestled on alternate side of the grove of fruit trees, while behind was an expanse of grassland where cattle lazily grazed on tuffets of drying grass.

It was late afternoon when Baz, as the farmer called himself, placed the boys down at the Henderson’s property gate and pointed the direction along the long narrow path before travelling on, only to turn a hundred yards further on the opposite side of the road.

It was almost at the steps of the closest house before anyone was sighted as Frances Henderson; Stephen’s aunt came to the verandah, a tea towel in one hand and a large black pot in the other. She called down to the travellers.

“Stephen you made it, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Afternoon Aunt Francis.” Stephen answered and with Lachlan behind, climbed the flight of stairs towards a wide shady verandah.

“Your mother is over at the other house and your dad and Sid are somewhere up the back block, castrating the young bulls.” She turned as a scurry occurred behind. Two young children projected themselves through the open doorway and commenced to argue.

“Quit it you two and say hello to your cousin Stephen and Lachlan.” She demanded while flicking the eldest with the tea towel.

“Hello Stephen.” The eldest greeted.

“Hello Luke.” Stephen returned.

“Hello Stephen.” The younger mimicked.

“Hello Grace.” Stephen smiled.

“Hello Lachlan.” Luke greeted but Grace became shy and hid behind her mothers ample rear.

“How is your dear mother Lachlan?” Francis asked while scooting her two children back into the house.

“She is well but.” Lachlan didn’t finish his disclosure. He had no need too as his father’s attitude was well known by all the Henderson family.

“Tell you what, you boys go over and see Ruth and let her know I expect all of you over at around seven for tea.” Francis suggested as her two children commenced to squabble over some toy.

“Be quiet you two, I’m trying to have a conversation here.” She scolded.

At the second house there were tears and hugs. Ruth Henderson had not seen Stephen for more than a year, since his decision to travel west. There were many times she wondered if she would see her only son again, equally worrying was the loss of their farm, which with intention was to become Stephen’s legacy.

“I’m sure you two have much to talk about, I’ll go find Jack.” Lachlan suggested.

“He’s up the top paddock with Sid. Lachlan I can’t thank you enough for rescuing my boy.”

Lachlan left mother and son to their reunion, while taking him self to find the Henderson Brothers.

Meal time came and went and acquaintances were rekindled with Stephen’s uncle offering work and his mother applying pressure to have him stay but true to his word and promise to Lachlan, he would not make any hasty decision but assured he would visit frequently.

“Lachlan I don’t hold it against you but your father didn’t make it easy for me to keep the farm.” Jack Henderson commented after tea.

“I’m sorry Mr. Henderson but I don’t have any say about my father’s business, as far as he is concerned, I am just another part of his property.” Lachlan protested.

“Never mind lad, as in truth I am probably better off away from there, I didn’t seem to handle farming that well but I wanted to hand it down to Stephen, he had his heart on the land. Has your father bought the land?”

“It hasn’t yet gone to auction as yet but I fear he is more than interested Jack.”

“Although he had offered to buy it often enough, he has never said what he wanted it for.” Jack Henderson asked.

“I guess because he can.” Lachlan glanced across to Stephen, who appeared to be somewhat stressed with the conversation. “I don’t rightly know Jack, father has never held me in confidence.”

“The farm’s gone dad, I don’t think we need to keep going on about it.” Stephen demanded.

“Sorry son but you know how I feel.” Jack answered in his defence.

“I’m sure Lockie doesn’t wish to be reminded all the time. It isn’t his fault.” Stephen added crossly as the conversation changed to price of cattle and the approaching chill from the south in the form of recession.

After a weak of socialising both boys were more than ready to return to the coast and after a long and difficult farewell they were once again homeward bound and enjoying the return trip.

Back in Cairns they had to wait for the following day’s coach, so they rebooked a room at the Imperial. It was that night at the Imperial’s bar they chanced upon Toby. His ship was in port delivering a load of American Oregon timber and he had a night to spare.

“What are you doing in Cairns?” Lachlan asked and invited Toby to join them.

“More to the point what are you doing here?” Toby was most surprised.

“Oh sorry, meet Stephen. Stephen this is Toby, you know from the Capricorn.” Lachlan introduced and continued, “We have only this hour returned from Mareeba on the train from visiting Stephen’s parents.”

“So you are the infamous Stephen, nice to meet you.” Toby took Stephen’s hand as they sat at a table away from the hum of the bar, with Toby appearing to have past acquaintance with Henderson.

“You know Stephen?” Lachlan asked showing surprise as by Toby’s tone they had met.

“Lachlan you talk in your sleep.”

“Oh.”

“How is Daniel?” Toby enquired.

“Much the same and still staying too often, we’re thinking of building a room onto the cottage for him.”

“We?” Toby queried.

“For now Stephen is living with me as his parents lost their house in a fire.”

“It must be cosy with three in that small cottage.”

“Sometimes it a little cramped but we get by.” Lachlan assured.

“I should be down your way in a couple of months, can I come and visit for a while.” Toby asked.

“Sure anytime.”

“It may be for an extended period.” Toby added.

“Why is that?”

“I think I will give up the ships, I can’t seem to get over the sinking of the Capricorn or Mr. Simpson’s death.”

“I guess I may have to build two new rooms then.” Lachlan laughed.

“What about you Stephen, the last I heard you were out west chasing cattle.” Toby asked.

“That was a disaster and if it wasn’t for Lockie turning up to save me, I wouldn’t be here to answer your question.”

“Get away with ya.” Lachlan somewhat embarrassed with such praise, gave his friend a gentle shove.

“It’s True Toby, I was attacked by natives and they speared my horses and many of my cattle, the rest are scattered over most of outback Queensland.”

“Don’t talk to me about the blacks.” Toby agreed.

“Come on both of you they are mostly friendly, look at the Gulngai lot.” Lachlan interjected.

“Maybe so,” Toby disagreed, “but I think I’ll keep well away from any of them in the future.”

“If you come to stay I’ll introduce you to Yarran and his lot, you will soon change you opinion.” Lachlan assured.

“Did you old man buy that replacement ship he was about?” Toby asked.

“No it had typhoid on board, some died of it and when father demanded it be docked someone set it on fire,” Lachlan mused, “where are you staying?” He asked.

“Sorry mate I’m not, we arrived two days back and will be leaving on the next time, I will have to rejoin the ship.”

“What’s you boat called?” Lachlan asked.

“Ship Lockie – ship when will you ever learn.”

“Well ship, what’s the name?”

“You won’t believe me.” Toby Laughed.

“I won’t if you don’t tell me.”

“The Scotsman and it’s for sale, maybe your old man may wish to buy it.”

“That my friend is one item of information I won’t be passing on.”

Gary really wants to know if you are reading his story. You may let him know, by dropping an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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