Published: 8 Nov 2021

Travis was awakened by a volley of bad language coming from the storage area under the house and directly below his room on the verandah. It was well past sunup and although it had been his turn to prepare breakfast he had slept in. With concern he hurried to the verandah to be hit by the full force from the early morning sun stabbing at his eyes with shafts of white light, reminding him of the previous night’s influence of alcohol.

Dressed in nothing but his night time underwear Travis hurried to the steps and peered through the railings to discover Bradley cursing loudly while rummaging through a hundred years of maybe some day this will come in handy, stored under the house.

“What’s the problem?” Travis called through the trellising.

“Fucken’ dropped a wheel hub on my foot, that’s what!” Bradley cursed.

“Should have been wearing boots,” Travis advised, once more showing his sensible side.

“Now wife’s turned into mother,” Bradley answered sarcastically while rubbing the hurt from his bare foot.

“Is anything broken?”

“I don’t think so but there’s a big bruise already forming.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I thought I saw some buggy parts under here; ah here they are,” Bradley reached into the pile of junk giving a tug on what appeared to be a long pole only to disturb a resident, “shit a fucken’ big snake!” he gasped, jumping away from the pile of junk as an extremely large and angry brown snake made a dash for better cover, leaving Bradley to do likewise but in the opposing direction.

“What kind was it?” Travis questions.

“I don’t fucken’ know – a big fucken’ brown one, would you like me to ask it?”

“Then I’m keeping up here,” Travis says as a shudder went through him. He hated snakes and remembered when he was back on his parent’s station and while out riding his horse shied, throwing him to the ground and almost on top of an eastern brown.

“The bloody thing can stay there; I’ve got what I want.” Bradley says as he cautiously dragged something from the pile.

“I’ll put breakfast on.” Travis suggested, leaving Bradley to wonder over his find and if it were the correct part or not, while keeping a sharp eye about for the snake, or its mates as it was erroneously believed where there was one there could be two. Or three, or four, or – snakes were multiplying in Bradley’s thoughts by the second, soon the entire of Bullock Creek would be a seething pit of slivering, shiny brown serpents.

“I’ll do it, I’ve already started,” Bradley answered and dropped the part at distance while remaining cautious for a return visit from the angry reptile.

Scrambled eggs and burnt toast, came to the breakfast table with Travis seated and waiting for service. Bradley placed the toast onto a plate, remarking that it wouldn’t be burnt if they had a proper toaster instead of trying to toast in front of the stove’s open firebox, followed by the usual acknowledgement they didn’t have electricity to run one anyway.

“We could get a generator,” Travis suggested.

“Maybe we could get a kerosene powered toaster like the fridge,” Bradley nonsensically answered while serving the eggs. “I see you’re dressed for breakfast, I thought you didn’t wear jocks?” he claimed looking down on Travis’ flimsy underwear with a fair size hole in a strategic position.

“They are my pyjamas; I forgot to dress; got so excited over your snake.”

“My bloody snake! I’m never going under the house again.”

“Did you found the buggy parts?”

“Most, I think but I’m not sure what they look like when serviceable.”

“There’s an old mail order magazine in the front room, it has pictures of buggies in it.” Travis quickly slid from his seat and within an instant returned with the dusty silverfish ridden journal. Dusting it down a number of silverfish fell to the kitchen linoleum, he squashed them underfoot as he passed the journal to Bradley.

Bradley turned to the suggested page. “Not the same,”

“Still, you should be able to get an idea from it.”

“I guess so.”

Bradley worked on his buggy for most of the week, while giving directions to a handy Travis.

“Hold this.”

“Make me a cuppa.”

“What about a sandwich.”

“You’ve put that in the bloody wrong place.”

Travis liked being directed as it made him feel as if he was earning his keep even if he thought the project to be somewhat pointless, although in doing so the bond between the boys was strengthening.

At weeks end the buggy was serviceable but still wearing the appearance of disregard. Bradley was proud of his achievement, while Travis pretended to be so.

“What do you think – should we paint it?” Bradley asks standing back to admire their work.

“There’s a tin of pink primer in the shed,” Travis suggested.

“Pink? Get real!”

“It’s only undercoat and there are some old tins of paint in the spare bedroom, one has the label of Prussian blue.”

“Pink,” Bradley repeated.

“It was meant as an undercoat.”

“Pink,” Bradley again repeated.

“Why not,”

“Alright then you do the undercoat and I’ll paint it Prussian blue. Bloody pink what do you think a man is?”

“Dunno’ but if the cap fits then wear it,” Travis teased.

“Fit more than a cap up your arse with my boot for a comment like that,” Bradley growled.

Travis laughed.

“Fucken’ pink come on I’ve work to do. You can help me with the horse feed.”

That is were the suggestion died, Bradley soon lost interested in the buggy and after a rough paint job it was returned to the shed. Bradley became more concerned in finding the snake or snakes under the house, as he had once heard they came in pairs, while wishing to evict them to the scrub or dispatch with a shovel he kept close during his searching.

“What Mr. and Mrs. snake?” Travis asks disbelieving the pair analyses.

“Two three I don’t know maybe there is a whole lot of baby snakelets under there,” Bradley shuddered and each time he passed that dark and ancient underworld of debris he would throw objects as far back as possible or rattle at the extremities making as much noise as possible but there was no further sign of the reptile.

“Will that work?” Travis asks after a few days of throwing and rattling.

“Bloody hope so but I doubt it,” Bradley answered. Yet they kept up their vigilance for another week before deciding, seeing they had most probably shared the house with the snake, or snakes depending on one’s point of view, since their arrival, it could stay and bring its mates if it wished. Besides it would be a change from dodging red-back spiders lurking in every dark corner of the house, when insect spray appeared useless, believing it would be more beneficial to hit them with the container.

The knowledge that Bullock Creek had a number of old houses unoccupied must have been broadcasted among the Aboriginal clans, as a short time after the first family appeared a second and then a third arrived, bringing with them a multitude of almost naked snotty nosed kids, all living on government hand-outs, with complaint from Bunny Larson that no matter how many blacks moved into town it would not increase her business, as they by law were not allowed to consume alcohol. Yet the Larson’s did supply drink via the rear door.

It also became a weekly occurrence for the men to come knocking on Bradley and Travis’ door, usually during their lunch asking for work, or a handout of alcohol and tobacco, oddly never food and while visiting their eyes were all about, Bradley was of the opinion they were casing the house for later times.

On one such day two arrived during lunch, squabbling as they climbed the stairs.

Bradley heard the commotion and met them on the verandah.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he questions in mocking tone while blocking their entry and sight into the hall.

“Any work boss?” The taller and lighter skinned of the two asks.

“Listen mate, if I had any work, I’d be doing it myself,” Bradley huffed.

“Any grog boss?” the second asks craning to gape past into the hall.

“Piss off, both of you before I call the cops.” Bradley warned as Travis joined him in support.

“Alright boss,” the first agreed and as they departed recommenced their argument and could still be heard at it well beyond the gate.

“Cops – what cops and how would we call them; smoke signals?” Travis laughed.

“They don’t know that, anyway they’re mostly harmless but we will have to watch as they will steal anything that isn’t tied down,” Bradley says and returned to his meal.

“You can’t blame them, we stole everything they had in the first place,” Travis sympathised.

“I can’t be held responsible it was two hundred years ago and my family only arrived here with my grandparents.”

“True as did mine,”

“I think we should get ourselves a dog,” Bradley suggested.

“If it becomes as bad as you suggest, it better be a bloody big one,”

By month’s end there were five families living in the deserted railway houses and by their design intending to stay for the duration. With the insistence from the Stan Larson the local police from Mt. Surprise eventually investigated the squatters but decide they were the problem of the shire council and seeing there had not been any official complaint they could remain. Instead of evicting the squatters the police issued a warning to Stan not to supply alcohol. A warning Stan agreed to but disregarded.

With the arrival of more families Stan found it necessary to increase his grocery stock as the hotel was virtually the only store between Almaden and Mt. Surprise but couldn’t increase his frozen goods as his generation capacity wouldn’t stretch to more freezers, even if he had room to install more. The need for more freezer capacity soon became unnecessary as the new arrivals were more interested in junk food, potato crisps, lollies and chocolates which in general didn’t need cold storage but with chocolate it soon became a melting mess once gone from the coolness of the hotel.

The week of the police visit Roy came by to inspect the progress of the new foals as by then there had been another four arrivals. Roy stayed for two days before travelling on to visit a prospect buyer of riding horses for the children of Silky Oaks, a property of small proportions close by.

During Roy’s stay he and Bradley went for a long ride which was most unusual for Roy to ride, declaring he had done his apprenticeship in the saddle and had no wish to further it in the future. As the two readied to leave Travis suggested he could join with them but Roy said he and Bradley had business to discuss and suggested other work for Travis while they were away.

Once again Travis’ suspicion was ignited and although he attempted to convince his curiosity it wasn’t his concern, he did wonder if there was a relationship between Roy and Bradley other than that of employer and his charge but convincing so was pointless and once his work was completed, Travis rested on the verandah with a cool beer his gaze into the distance as Roy and Bradley made their return.

“Drinking time,” Roy says as he dismounted and passed the reins to Bradley.

“I only this minute sat down,” Travis assured not to be thought lazy.

“I notice you did the work,”

“I did, would you like me to get you a beer?”

“Good idea,” Roy mounted the stairs and removed his riding boots. He dumped them and sat, “ah that’s better,” he expressed in comfort.

Travis returned with drinks as Bradley finished with the horses.

“There you go,” Travis shared the drinks.

Roy stretched the stiffness from his back and complained.

“Bad back Roy?” Travis suggested.

“I’m not used to riding anymore.”

“Getting old Roy?” Bradley says teasingly.

“Something like that, I’ll be off in the morning; have to visit Walt Jenkins over at Mt. Surprise; then back to Mareeba, what about you Travis still travelling alright, anything of interest to relate to your mother?” Roy offered with a sarcastic chortle, knowing well Margaret would interrogate him on his return.

“I’m just dandy Roy,”

“I was talking to your dad the other night and you mother remains concerned.”

“I’ll give her a call from the pub tomorrow.”

“Good lad,”

With the morning Roy was gone by sunup and during breakfast Travis attempted to subtly extract what the business between Bradley and Roy had been but as usual anything that passed between the two Bradley was not prepared to disclose, “Has Roy sold the new foals?” Travis incidentally asks hoping his question would bring about disclosure.

“He is working on it,” Bradley answered.

“Is he asking too much?” Travis suggested as he had overheard part of their conversation the previous night.

“I wouldn’t think so, it’s the going price,” Bradley rose from the table, “can’t sit about here chatting all morning, I’ve work to do.”

“Do you need a hand with anything?”

Bradley gave a cheeky smile, “you do the wifey thing and clean up the kitchen, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Cheeky bugger,” Travis complained.

“There is something you can do?”

“That would be?” Travis willingly answered.

“The water trough in the holding yard is choked with slime, it needs cleaning out.”

“Easy enough I’ll get onto it before lunch.”

“Another thing, no more canned bully beef for lunch, it gives me the farts and goes through me like the proverbial plagues of -,” Bradley stopped mid sentence.

“Of what,”

“Dunno’, I can’t remember; the plagues of fucken’ something but whatever they are, that’s how it goes.”

With his morning’s work completed Travis went to find Bradley and was in time to see him wandering towards the creek and once again it brought interest in where he went for so long during the day.

‘I should follow,’ he thought and spent the best part of a minute debating the morality in doing so, concluding he would if only to satisfy his curiosity but it would have to be another day.

‘Swimming,’ Travis thought, ‘Bradley could go swimming, that’s it, he goes for a swim.’

There usual spot for a dip was not far from the house where the creek took a sharp turn towards the town before again turning to the west once passed Jack Arnold’s yard but there was a deeper section some distance away, well shaded somewhat upstream and above the churning from stock.

‘Funny he never offers to go swimming with me?’ Travis thought.

‘Shy?’

‘Can’t be, I’ve seen him naked before, mind you he is a little coy with it,’ Travis gave a grin, ‘those jeans of his with the rent in the arse.’ With an about turn Travis returned to the house but Bradley’s travelling remained with him. He would on some other day follow if only to satisfy his curiosity.

On reaching the front steps Travis notice a group of native children loitering close by. He approached.

“Good morning, shouldn’t you kids be at school?”

“Na,” a lad of about twelve years of age answered, as he picked at his nose and examined his success.

“You will never get a good job if you don’t go to school.”

“Blackfella’ don’t get good jobs,” the lad answered.

The group lingered.

“What are you lot up to?” Travis enquired believing they had mischief in mind.

“Can we look at the horses Mr. Travis,” a second of the group of five asks.

“I suppose so but don’t go into the paddock, or throw stones at them,” Travis warned.

“We don’t do that,” the oldest boy discredited.

“Righto I’ll be keeping an eye on you but don’t let Bradley see you,”

“Bradley he’s a cranky bugger eh,” the eldest boy suggested in a mocking tone.

Travis laughed.

“He told Uncle Eddy to fuck off,”

“What was Eddy doing to get Bradley cranky?”

“Dunno’,”

“You have to realise Bradley is a busy man with a lot of responsibilities. Alright you go and have a look at the horses but not for too long.”

By the time Bradley returned from his wandering the native boys had gone. “We had visitors,” Travis says as Bradley wearily climbed the back steps.

“Who,”

“Some native boys, they wanted to have a gander at the horses.”

“I hope they didn’t throw stones. I caught one doing so last week and gave the little bugger a right towelling,”

“No they were well behaved,”

Travis gives a chortle towards memory of what was suggested of Bradley by one of the boys.

“It’s about lunch time isn’t it?”

“About – one of them said you are a cranky bugger.”

“Cheeky,” Bradley released a rare smile.

“He said you told his Uncle Eddy to fuck off,”

“I did, he was pinching things from under the house.”

“What would that matter it is only junk,” Travis suggested.

“That’s not the point, it is our junk,” Bradley eventually reached the verandah.

“You should have told him about your snakes.”

“What and have the whole tribe over here trying to catch them for their dinner.”

“Would they eat venomous snakes?” Travis asks.

“They eat anything that moves.”

“You don’t like the natives do you?” Travis asks.

“It isn’t a matter of like, besides my best mate at school was a native boy and as dark as they come. I would let him copy my work in class and most of the time I did his homework for him.”

“I can’t imagine you cheating?” Travis admitted.

“What’s wrong with cheating? And he was cheating not me I would call it enterprising.”

“That’s a new slant on it.”

“If you have to solve a problem what is wrong with a little external help besides it shows you have initiative.”

“You cheat at cards?” Travis says.

“Yes I do, don’t I,”

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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