Published: 15 Nov 2021

A week after the visit to the house from the native children, Jack Arnold went missing. He didn’t turn up for his usual afternoon drink at the pub and Bunny hadn’t seen him around town at all during the day, nor had she seen movement around his yard since the previous morning, as he was accustomed to tinkering with his collection. Jack was a collector of junk under the misapprehension it would one day be useful and if he cornered the market on parts he would surely become wealthy.

In his yard and scattered about the parched earth, there were a number of car bodies, motors long gone, along with many other appliances he had collected over time from the abandoned houses. What couldn’t be considered useful were the empty paint tins, rolls of rusting nineteen gauge fencing wire and three badly stained enamelled bathtubs, one with two holes instead of the obligatory one. Also at one corner under a struggling Quandong tree, enough wire netting to fence the block three times but so badly damaged it was of no intrinsic value and would more than likely fall apart if unwound.

Jack often went prospecting in the dry creek beds about the town but always advised where he was going and when expected back, besides because of the recent rain the creeks were mostly flowing, so it was unlikely he was fossicking. Sometimes he would take the long walk to the abandoned open cut mine where he once had employment. In doing so it would take most of the day and he would camp overnight, returning the following day. Even so he always advised his intentions but of late he was having some knee trouble which restricted his walking to the town.

By late afternoon Bunny called in on the boys to ask if they had seen Jack, they had not so she became concerned for his safety.

“It’s too late for today but Travis and I will saddle up and do a search first light tomorrow,” Bradley promised, “have you checked his house?” he added. Bunny admitted only the yard and called out his name through the front door but had not entered.

“Maybe he’s had a fall; I’ll go by his house after tea,” Bradley suggested.

“No worries boys, I’ll have a look myself on my way home and will let you know if I find him. If not I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Bunny didn’t return so Bradley enquired at the hotel before retiring for the night.

There was still no sign of Jack.

The boys were up and saddled before the sun and as the first rays touched the tops of the eastern trees they rode out. Bunny had told Bradley that Jack often visited the creek to the south of the town and a small rocky rise beside the track leading to the rubbish tip. Once there he liked to sit and reminisce past days by talking to the trees, as in his opinion they were the only things interested in listening to him and they didn’t bloody-well argue.

It was decided Bradley would travel south-east, while Travis would search to the south-west, both in an arc before meeting close by Jack’s favourite hill. Bunny enquired with the driver of the up service on its arrival in case on a whim Jack decided to take himself into Mareeba, or Forsayth, as Jack had a habit of stealing a free ride whenever he could get away with it.

By late afternoon the boys retuned without any sight of Jack and Bunny’s enquiries had also been fruitless, so it was decided the following morning they would contact the manager of the close by Barwidgi Station to help in their search also advise the police at Almaden.

Towards evening one of the aboriginal men from across the tracks came sniffing around the rear door of the hotel for grog. He was a young man and as Bunny had declared on a number of occasions, was quite handsome for a native, lacking the obligatory broad flat nose that many of his people possessed. In truth his protrusion was quite aquiline, being assumed was inherited from his white grandfather along with his family name.

Ben Jones approached Bunny tendering a crumpled one pound note with the intention of purchasing enough grog for the evening. Bunny obliged and feeling in sombre mood over Jack’s disappearance discounted his supply and increased its value.

“Have any of your lot seen Jack?” she enquired as Ben commenced to leave.

“No misses I hav’n seen the old fella’ for days,” Ben answered.

“He’s missing and we are going to arrange a search party tomorrow, any of your lot want to help?”

“Maybe he caught the train?” Ben suggested.

“No I spoke to Len Drake and he didn’t catch the train.”

“Tell you what misses, my uncle could track a cockroach across a dessert, he will find old Jack for ya’,”

“I could use him in the kitchen,” Bunny frivolously admitted with reference to cockroaches.

“I’ll ask him misses,” Ben promised as he paid for the alcohol.

True to his word Ben arrived early the following morning escorting a withered old dark man who lacked a single tooth or strand of hair. Ben introduced his uncle as Tom Parkinson from Narrawa near Einasleigh, who chanced to be visiting while on his way to his mother’s mob down at Yarrabah. Tom Parkinson gave his toothless grin while offering a dirty knobbly hand to Bunny, who from necessity out of the moment accepted it.

“You recon you can find Jack?” Bunny urges doubting the old man’s ability.

“I can try misses and if he’s left his tracks then, I’ll find him,” Tom Parkinson honestly answered. “I wouldn’t mind a drink misses,” he added running a very pink tongue across his sun-spotted bottom lip.

“Maybe if you find Jack,” Bunny promised.

“Jack been gone long time misses,” the dark man suggested.

“He’s a strong old bugger,” Bunny surmised with doubt.

“We find him missus but maybe the crows will first,”

Bunny shuddered at the thought.

Soon half a dozen young black men were gathered around the front of the hotel and within minutes had organized and were gone.

Travis and Bradley arrived back from their morning’s searching a short while after Tom Parkinson and his lot departed, finding Bunny waiting patiently at the pub door.

“No luck then?” she commented recognising failure in the boys expression.

“Nothing,” Bradley answered.

“Never mind, the blacks have organised a search.”

“Did they say what direction they were going?” Bradley asks.

“No they were gone before I could ask anything, besides they were talking gibberish and all at once, while pointing into every direction conceivable. Bunny sighed.

“Suppose there isn’t anything we can do except wait for their return.” Bradley admitted with a long and drawn out breath.

“I’ve telephoned the Almaden police station, also Lenny Ferguson at Barwidgi, he said his men are out one a muster and won’t be returning for two days.”

“What did the police say?”

“Not a lot, they don’t have the men to conduct a search and suggested I ring Len at Barwidgi.”

“It sounds as if you have been given the run-around. So it’s up to the blacks now.”

“You don’t appear confident in their ability Bradley?”

“What do you think Travis you haven’t had much to say about it?” Bradley asks.

“I’ve heard some of their lot are good at tracking.”

“Should be they have had sixty thousand years of doing bugger all else,” Bradley discredited.

“Cockroaches,” Bunny laughed, both boys turned quizzically towards her.

“Doesn’t matter, only something Ben Jones said.”

“Should we follow up the search party?” Travis supported.

“I can’t see any point,” Bradley dismissed having doubt they would ever find Jack, as there was a lot of unforgiving country to cover and in past many who became lost were never found. Gone to live with Leichhardt, was a saying for those permanently lost, being reference to Ludwig Leichhardt a failed German explorer who set out across Queensland in the early days, to cross the continent to the Swan River in Western Australia and was never again heard from.

“Do you want a beer on the house?” Bunny offered but both declined, thinking there would be time for celebrating once Jack had been found.

It was mid afternoon when a commotion arose from the end of town and soon the group of smiling black faces appeared, carrying Jack high on a rudimentary stretcher, crafted from saplings and lengths of rubber vine cut from the scrub along the creek.

“We find him misses!” Tom Parkinson called bringing Bunny on to the road in haste.

“How is he?”

“I’ll bloody-well live,” Jack cried painfully from his prostrated position upon the stretcher as he bounced about from the excited motion of his carriers.

Bunny came to Jack’s side.

“I reckon he’s got broken leg, broken ribs and who knows what else misses,” Tom Parkinson declared, “and he’ll need a doctor,” he added.

“Where did you find him?” Bunny asks, giving instructions to take Jack to one of the hotel rooms behind the building.

“I can speak for my bloody self,” Jack protested painfully.

“About two miles east of town misses,” Tom Parkinson says as they carried Jack into the room and placed him on the bed.

“You’re a silly man Jack; you should let us know when you wander off like that.” Bunny scalded as she examined his injuries. “You boys have done a good job,” she praised noticing the splints for his injured leg designed from tree branches and vines.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she questions.

“It’s an old blackfella’ way missus.”

Under the splint Bunny noticed the leg appeared to be wrapped in bark from the paperbark tree, and below that what appeared to be mud.

“What’s the mud for?” Bunny questions believing she had a job ahead to bathe it away.

“It take away the heat, make the old fella’ feel better,” the black man assured.

“I don’t know about that – what do you think Jack?”

Jack simply groaned.

“Right you lot you leave Jack with me and come around to the rear door after closing.”

No one moved on.

“Go on you will get your reward after closing.”

Slowly the small band of searchers departed.

“Now Jack how are we going to get you to hospital,” Bunny says rhetorically as her husband entered the room. “I’ll leave Jack in your care while I see about arranging transport,” Bunny turned from her husband back to her patient, “Stan will look after you while I arrange something,” she gently touched Jack on his shoulder.

Jack flinched. “Christ woman don’t make so much fuss,” he moaned but it was obvious that more than a little fuss was necessary for his condition.

Firstly Bunny telephoned the Mareeba Hospital but was advised the ambulance would not travel well over the back road and if it took the Kennedy Highway there would still be a good dozen or so miles of rough road to Bullock Creek and at that time of the year almost impassable for a vehicle such as an ambulance.

There was also another problem being with the flying doctor service. Bullock Creek lacked an airstrip or even a cleared field, again the closest landing strip was at Sundown Station, which was some distance and over almost non existent roads, they being connected in the opposing direction to the main gulf road. Another problem arose, the hotel did have a vehicle of sorts but not serviceable for such a task and neither the boys nor the blacks had cars. It was then an idea came to Bunny and thanking the hospital receptionist, says she would call back later.

“Hello Mareeba Railway Station,” a young lad’s voice came over the crackling telephone line. He dropped the receiver, swore and came back on. “Sorry – Mareeba Railway Station he repeated.”

‘Good afternoon, it’s Bunny Larson from the Bullock Creek Hotel, would you put me through to Mr. Blackall,” Bunny pleads her voice somewhat urgent.

“Hang on.”

Then silence.

A half minute passed before the silence was interrupted by the platform porter shouting for his supervisor. The voice of Henry Blackall was heard in the background above the din of activity.

“You’re wanted on the telephone Mr. Blackall,” the porter called.

“Who is it Rodney?” Blackall questions on entering into the station office.

“Bullock Creek,” the youth declared roughly.

“Bullock Creek isn’t staffed.”

“Dunno boss it’s some woman from the pub.”

“Who Mrs Larson?”

“Dunno,” Rodney huffed as not being accustomed to answering the telephone had not registered the caller’s name.

“Hello is that you Mrs. Larson?” the inquisitive voice of the station master came across the line.

“Yes Mr. Blackall, it’s me in person.”

“What can I do for you Bunny?”

“One of the locals has had an accident and the Mareeba hospital can’t send an ambulance and at present there isn’t a serviceable vehicle at this end,” Bunny explained.

“I don’t blame them as I wouldn’t wish to drive over that road myself at this time of year but how can I help?”

“We may have to get him out by train,” Bunny suggested but received only silence.

Eventually the man spoke, his tone somewhat negative.

“Mrs. Larson I don’t really know how I can help. The up service is well passed Bullock Creek and would be somewhere the other side of Mt. Surprise by now and even if it was possible to contact, it wouldn’t be able to turn around until reaching Forsayth.”

“Oh.” Was all Bunny could say.

“Can he wait for the return service tomorrow afternoon Mrs. Larson?”

“I don’t think so he’s in a bad way.”

The station master drew a long breath and scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“Tell you what Mrs. Larson, we do have the ambulance train in serviceable order but it hasn’t been used in some time and I don’t have a spare driver.” Blackall paused, “I still have my ticket, so I suppose I could bring it down.” There was another pause and further scratching at his chin broadcasting the sound of the scratched bristles through the receiver to echo like line static. “I have another problem, although there is a turn-table at Bullock Creek, it is manual and I couldn’t turn the motor on my own.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem; there are a couple of able young fellers here who will help.”

“My only other concern Mrs. Larson is if the old motor will hold out. Although it was recently serviced, it hasn’t been used for some time and the only reason it is still here is no one knows what to do with it.”

The ambulance train was a single carriage diesel railmotor modified to carry patients and was a godsend in the days before the war, as there were many branch lines across the Tablelands, also leading deep into the Gulf country. Back then even the main roads were little more than cart ruts but once the war was over and the land opened for cattle and farming, the roads were improved. Now the ambulance train, although occasionally serviced, was parked in one of the rail sheds, waiting for the wheels of bureaucracy to decide its future. So it was agreed, Henry Blackall would drive the train himself and collect Jack as quickly as the old motor would, or could, allow.

Bunny completed her mercy call and returned to see how her patient fared. Jack was suffering but remained in bold spirit, although at the edge of falling unconscious.

“Jack hang in there, they are sending the ambulance train to collect you.” Bunny comforted while once again checking his injuries. She thought of removing the native remedy, concluding to leave well enough alone, besides it didn’t appear to be causing Jack discomfort while her interference may.

“That old thing, it collected my old man from Chillagoe in forty-six,” Jack growled in a gravelled voice, “thank you,” he whispered and passed out.

Bunny made Jack comfortable and called to her husband, “Stan you keep an eye on Jack while I’ll get the boys. Mr. Blackall said he’ll be in need of help using the turntable when he arrives with the motor.”

Stan had his doubt, “It hasn’t been used since I’ve been here and that’s a bloody long time.”

“It has to work or,” Bunny gave a shudder, she placed a gentle hand to Jack’s shoulder, “you hang in there Jack and we’ll have you fixed up in no time,” she repeated.

It was past midnight before the ambulance train was heard approaching. A ghostly image out of the darkness, with its fading coat of white paint and large red-cross painted on its sides, the letters representing Queensland Ambulance Transport Brigade supporting the cross, giving the motor a somewhat toylike appearance but one that had in past years been a welcoming relief to outlying communities.

Eventually the motor appeared in the moonlight and Henry Blackall sounded three sharp blasts on the motor’s horn then with much strain on ancient metal came to stop close to where Bunny and the boys waited as Stan arrived with a lamp. Moments later Blackall climbed down from the cabin, followed by the presence of a second man.

“Mrs. Larson we at last meet in person,” Blackall introduced and held out his hand, then stepping aside, “Meet Dr. Winton,

The doctor gave the woman a gentle nod of the head and offered his hand, his pale expression even more so in the weak lamp light.

“Mr. Winton, you operated on my mother’s ingrown toenail,” Bunny admitted.

“It must have been some time back as I don’t do surgery anymore,”

“It was during the war,”

“What was her name?”

“Agnes Harris,”

“No I don’t recall; I knew a Rita Harris from Dimbulah.”

“They are related but somewhat distantly so.” Bunny explained.

“Mrs. Larson could you show the doctor to your patient while I get this motor turned around.” Blackall turned to the boys waiting close by, “You two must be the able bodied fellows Mrs. Larson suggested could help me turn the motor around.”

“We’ll give it a go Mr. Blackall,” Bradley offered.

“Has to work or this old pile of metal will have to travel in reverse all the way back to Mareeba and I doubt it would make it, or would the superintendent be too pleased if I break down and block tomorrow’s service from Forsayth, especially with the threat to close the line.”

“Do you think that is likely?” Bradley asks.

“This time I think they mean it.”

Blackall quickly climbed back into the cabin and manoeuvred the small motor onto the turntable, “right-o lads, it’s time to put muscle to rusting metal.”

Blackall was correct regarding his capability to turn the railmotor alone. Although the turning mechanism was designed to glide without effort, it had not been used for such a long time was almost rusted fast and it took a deal of effort and added grease to crank it into action. Eventually it gave and with much groaning commenced to move and soon the motor was about and ready for the return journey.

Doctor Joseph Winton quickly examined Jack before taking him to the train as Stan held his lantern close.

“What have we here?” Winton curiously questioned noticing the native’s application of mud packing, “I haven’t seen that used since I was a boy out Mt. Garnet way.”

“The local blacks found Jack and brought him in,” Bunny explained.

“Umm,”

“Does it work Mr. Winton?”

“I doubt so but I guess it doesn’t damage either. It is but placebo Mrs. Larson.”

Bunny failed to understand the doctor’s explanation but didn’t challenge him further as their patient regained consciousness.

“Who are you?” Jack demanded somewhat frightened, finding a stranger’s hands upon his body, causing him to struggle until pain held him fast to his bed.

“It’s alright Jack, he is the doctor to check you over before taking you to the train,” Bunny assured.

“Christ for a moment I thought I was a goner and he was the flaming devil.” Jack cursed and took a deep breath before settling under the doctor’s touch.

“You’re not ready for hell yet Jack,” Winton assured.

“Then get on with it, I haven’t got all night,” Jack attempted humour but his discomfort was most obvious.

“How did all this occur?” The doctor enquired in a calming tone.

“Bloody creek bank gave way that’s how,” Jack complained through gritted teeth.

“We are going to put you onto a stretcher and take you back to Mareeba on the train,” the doctor explained as Jack gave another groan under his touch, “You were lucky they found you Jack, I don’t think you would have lasted another day out there with these injuries,” Winton declared while administrating morphine.

Jack once again fell asleep.

“You should thank the blacks for Jack, they did a fine job with the splints, not so sure about the mudpack but as I say it didn’t hurt either.”

“I will Mr. Winton.” Bunny promised as the boys returned from turning the motor to collect Jack.

“With Grog,” Bradley whispered to Travis while shouldering Jack’s stretcher.

Bunny heard Bradley’s statement but didn’t reply.

With the ambulance motor ready and Jack loaded, Blackall and the doctor stood silently for a moment with Bunny and the others. Blackall offered Bunny his hand as the doctor took his seat in the motor giving Blackall a cough of urgency.

“I suppose we should be going,”

“Mr. Winton, you will keep me posted on Jack’s condition,” Bunny sincerely canvassed.

“I will Mrs. Larson.”

“Alright then, well be off but don’t be surprised if the old motor dies before reaching Mareeba and it will be in total darkness as the light have gone.

“I’m sure it will make it with your gentle touch Mr. Blackall, goodbye.” Bunny turned while leading the way back to the hotel, I guess I should shout you two a drink eh?”

“Not a bad idea.” Bradley agreed.

“And young Bradley I heard that remark you made about paying the blacks in booze for finding Jack.”

“Sorry,” Bradley apologise but wasn’t.

“Still you are probably correct, if I rewarded them with money they would more than likely spend it on cheap rotgut grog.”

“True,” Bradley concurred.

“Now lads you must admit, that was the most excitement Bullock Creek has had in many a day.” Bunny gave a sigh of relief as she entered into the bar with the boys close behind.

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

28,655 views