Published: 6 Dec 2021

It was lunch before Bradley brought the trotter up from the back paddock. She had not been harnessed for some time and was somewhat difficult to catch but once a halter was slipped over her head she came quietly but on spying the buggy, all memories of her past experiences became apparent. She tossed her head about and snorted loudly but eventually realised it was pointless and settled.

“What’s her name?” Evan asks and ran a flat hand along her belly towards her thigh and stifle. She flinched away from his touch and stamped a rear hoof hard to the ground.

“Careful you are getting a little personal there,” Travis warned as Evan quickly moved away.

“The transfer papers have her name as Molly-Malone,” Bradley says.

“As in the song,”

“I would say so,”

“Was the owner Irish,” Evan asks.

“Couldn’t say but the name on the transfer was Michael O’Brien, I guess that sounds Irish enough.”

“Was she any good at racing?” Evan asks.

“I would say not as at her age she would still be heading around the track at a fast pelt. She was off to the knackery but Roy liked the look of her and got Molly for knackery price,” Bradley informed as he worked Molly into position for harnessing.

Then the difficulty became apparent, what strap went through which loop and attached to whatever it was called. None had a clue, until Travis went inside returning with a magazine displaying a number of pictures of horses in harness and attached to buggies. It was then Bradley admitted he had it arse-about but soon all was correct and accounted for.

“That appears done so where would you like to go,” Bradley asks while heaving his body up onto the tattered leather seat.

The two quickly followed.

“I dunno’, around town for a start,” Travis suggested.

“That will be all of five minutes, then where?”

No one answered as Bradley flicked the reins and headed the buggy along the drive with the pebbled path singing loudly under the ancient iron and spoke wheels. Unsurprisingly with Molly’s gait as a trotter she wasn’t designed for pulling a buggy at a slow pace, taking all of Bradley’s skill to bring her to a walk. Even so she displayed her protest by shying at everything along the path.

At the railway crossing they were met by a mob of snotty nose aboriginal lads who had never seen a buggy and with much glee fell in behind as Bradley turned and headed back towards the hotel.

“We should take them for a ride.” Travis suggested as the older of the boys caught up and hung onto the back of the buggy, while laughing and whooping like one’s possessed. Fortunately Molly was accustomed to crowds when a lesser horse may take fright and bolt.

“Who wants a ride?” Bradley asks.

Me, me they called in unison as the buggy came to a stop sending dust all about.

“Can’t take all of you at once so two at a time, who wishes to be first?”

Travis and Evan gave up their seats for the kids and it was a slow passage past the hotel, the Crossing house to the railway water tank and back to the crossover where the children had been collected.

Once all the native boys had had their turn it was the Crossing lads, Ray and Stewart who became bored with their lesions and lost beyond the window of their house when they noticed the excitement and wished to be part of it. Without hesitation or permission they downed pencils and scurried like boisterous field mice to where the buggy was parked.

“Shouldn’t you two be at your lessons?” Bradley interjected their haste. The boys paused in the dust displaying a measure of disappointment not to be included.

“We would like a ride, please Mr. Bradley,” Ray the older boy gently asks while Stewart cast his gaze towards the ground.

“Would you,” Bradley gruffly responded.

“Yes please Mr. Bradley,” Stewart followed his brother with a cheeky smile.

“Then if you can get these two mugs from their seats, I guess you can have a ride.” Bradley agreed with both boys applying pleading attention towards Evan and Travis.

“I guess so,” Travis answered as he and Evan jumped down, allowing the young lads to scamper onto the seat. Then with much delight and laughter they took their turn about the town, with the native boys again joyfully following in the dusty cloud behind. Then seeing their mother at the house gate, Bradley gave a second tour of the street bringing them home in style.

“That was kind of you Bradley;” Winnie Crossing thanked as her boys stepped down to the road.

“Can we go again Ray pleaded,”

“Not today you have your lessons to do,” Winnie disallowed.

“Maybe some other time,” Bradley promised.

“My gran had a buggy just like that out Mt. Isa way;” Winnie admitted as Ray climbed up the wooden wheel spokes.

“I wouldn’t do that Bradley warned.”

“Get down Ray,” Winnie approached and forced the lad away, “yes every Sunday old Ethel would dress in her finery and off to church, parking the buggy with the cars, even when in her nineties.” The memory brought a happy smile as Winnie restrained her eager boys, “This isn’t getting my work done. You two back to your lessons; and both of you thank Bradley.”

“Thank you Mr. Bradley,” Stewart responded.

“Thank you Mr. Bradley,” Ray followed.

As Bradley directed the buggy away from the Crossing house Evan spoke, “where to now?”

“It will have to be another day, its getting late and I have to attend to the horses.”

On the return home the native lads once again filed in behind the buggy and continued following with extended enthusiasm right up to the house but waited outside the fence line as the buggy was disconnected and returned to its shed. It was noticed for some days after their excitement remained as they had collected the old wheelbarrow with the wonky wheel and took each other for rides around town. Even the Crossing boys joined in the merriment as a distraction from their school work.

Evan came to breakfast carrying an old land department map of the Bullock Creek area he had found in the junk room. Bradley commenced to serve sausages and baked beans while the lad became engrossed in the map.

“Are you going to read or eat,” Bradley gruffly hovered over the table in preparation.

“I found somewhere near here we could visit with the buggy,” Evan reported and folded the map away.

“Where would that be – and where’s Travis?”

“I’m coming,” Travis called from along the passage.

“There’s an old mine not far from here, I thought we could take a buggy ride over for a geek.”

“Yes it was an open cut gold mine but the ore ran out back in the thirties; that’s when Bullock Creek became a ghost town,” Bradley served breakfast.

“I’ve ridden over there; it’s a good six miles and is now filled with water but I wouldn’t want to swim in it,” Travis interjected while reaching for a slice of toast, “nice toast,” he admitted.

“Not burnt,” Bradley insinuated.

“Why not swimming?” Evan asks.

“Heavy metals, it has a murky yellow colouring and suppose to be phosphorescent at night.

“Truly?” Evan questioned.

“That is what Jack Arnold said but I’ve never been there at night to confirm his account.

“What do you think Bradley, do you want to go for a look about?” Evan asks.

“I suppose we could.”

The suggestion came during one of Bradley’s busy periods and had to be postponed until the end of that week but on the Friday they were ready before sunup with sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Firstly before heading out Bradley called in on Bunny to relate their intention, as was customary to do so in secluded communities.

“What’s the attraction in the old mine, going prospecting?” Bunny asks.

“I thought we’d give the buggy a burl,” Bradley says.

“That once belonged to Henry Prentice. His family held claim over this patch of dirt way back, I heard all about it from Jack Arnold,” Bunny offered.

“What happened to Henry?” Travis asks.

“Died, he and his wife were killed in that very buggy. They took a wrong turn at the junction about a mile out of town back in thirty-nine and toppled down an embankment into the creek during a flood and drowned. Their bodies were found well past the Twelve-Mile, said to he tangled up in branches and fencing wire, while the horse and buggy remained on the creek bank.”

“That I didn’t need to know,” Bradley gave a shiver as if someone had walked across his grave and gave the headstone a kick for good measure.

“What happened with the property?” Travis asks.

“They had nine children, eight girls and a boy. The boy ran it for a while but hadn’t a head for cattle and left,” Bunny paused with a grin, “a head for cattle,” she repeated, “I made a joke and didn’t realise so,” she continued with her telling, “the property was then taken up by the mining company as they surveyed the area for further gold veins but as quickly sold it on.”

“Did they find more?” Evan asks.

“No plenty of quartz about but little gold; that is why the town died.”

“Then Roy bought the property,” Travis suggested.

“No your Uncle Roy bought it after Sam Linton hanged himself on the front verandah, right above where you have that cane table set.”

“You are sure painting a gruesome picture Bunny,” Bradley huffed with a second graveyard shudder.

“I’m only saying so as it was,”

“You are from further west how do you know so much about Bullock Creek,” Bradley asks.

“My family had the bakery here long ago. If you take a gander at that old photo in the bar you can see it next door to the Railway Hotel.”

“That’s what it is with you country folk, you are from everywhere and know everyone,” Travis supposed with a throaty laugh.

“It is a little like that, you take care with that old thing,” Bunny warned.

“Come on let’s get out of here before the town’s tragedies escalate,” Bradley suggested.

Quickly Bradley flicked the reins and moved out.

“Enjoy your buggy ride boys,” Bunny called after them.

“Did you know any of that?” Travis asks Bradley.

“None of it but I’m telling you, I’m shifting the cane set to the end of the verandah as soon as I get home.”

As they reached the road to the mine, Bradley displayed a measure of apprehension towards the condition of the track because except for the occasional forestry vehicle, it hadn’t been used for a number of years. Travis assured it was quite passable as he had ridden that way recently and most of the obstructions were but saplings with a little erosion close to the actual Bullock Creek.

Some distance from town they came across the ruins of a dwelling, long abandoned and slowly returning to the earth below its rudimentary structure. Bradley admitted it was new to him but Travis had heard from Jack it once belonged to his grandfather who died after an aboriginal attack and his remains were not discovered until there wasn’t anything left of the old man but bones.

Evan wished to explore the old shack and having time they did so but although it appeared structured from distance once at the doorway it was found the roof had caved in and a tree was growing out of the crushed termite mound chimney stack. Standing on what remained of the termite riddle flooring was a small kitchen table, once painted green but now little of the paint remained. On the table’s top was a glass jar filled with rusting nails and a shoe anvil.

“What’s that?” Evan asks pointing at the anvil.

“For making or mending shoes I think,” Bradley surmised.

“I thought you bought shoes from the shop,” Evan was being clever.

“What do you do when you get a hole in one?” Travis asks.

“Throw them out and get another pair.”

“You wouldn’t survive back in the old days,” Bradley suggested.

“Nature gets her way in the end,” Evan says of the shack’s condition as he tried the flooring with his boot. It gave way with little touch.

“Wooden floor,” Bradley says.

“What is significant about that?” Evan asks.

“Normally shacks this old have dirt floors and at sometime there has been glass in the window, a little up market for its time.”

“I wouldn’t go in Evan, it looks ready to collapse,” Travis warned.

“I wasn’t, I wonder if the old man’s bones are still inside.”

“It is more than likely his grave out the back,” Bradley suggested having noticed a stone marker on their approach.

Evan led the way to investigate.

“Walter Arnold,” Evan read.

“There’s also a date,” Travis pointed to the damaged granite head stone.

“I can’t read it but it appears to be ninety-two, probably Eighteen ninety-two,” Evan admitted.

“A bloody long time ago,” Bradley says as he encourages their departure.

“He must have been one of the first settlers in this area.” Travis assumed as they walked away leaving the spirit of the pioneer to its peace.

“According to Stan both his and Jack’s grandfathers were the first settlers in the district,” Bradley admitted.

“What after gold?” Travis asks.

“No even then it was cattle to supply the tin miners of Herberton and those building the railway from Cairns up the mountains.”

Finding the track serviceable they reached the mine with little effort but were somewhat disappointed in what they discovered. The open cut was nothing more than a large bowl of murky yellowish water of unknown depth, while the mine buildings were but a number of galvanised sheds whose timbers had long been eaten away by termites.

There was a scattering of rusting equipment that gave a measure of interest and wonder towards a forgotten time that was only half a generation before but to the boy’s understanding could have been a thousand years. As for the machinery the best had been removed as scrap years previously, leaving only a very large iron flywheel too difficult to transport and a long drop toilet structure, leaning on a vicarious angle above its drop.

“I won’t be using that,” Evan says while feeling the need to piss.

“Yea if you do you could really end up in the shit,” Travis humoured while Bradley advised using the scrub.

“Red-backs,” Travis spoke.

“Red-back spiders on the dunny seat; get bitten on the knob by one of those and you would surely know it.” Bradley dryly related.

“When I was a kid out at Creek Run, mum would keep a box of matches and old newsprint handy and run it around the rim before sitting.” Travis lent to the telling and gave a chortle of further memory. “I would kangaroo the seat,”

“What bounce about,” Evan suggests somewhat ridiculously.

“No squat with your feet on the seat that way you keep your arse and balls away from the rim.”

“Kid’s stuff,” Bradley growled.

“What would you do?”

“I’d crap in the bush,”

The three lined up and watered a small struggling bush to the side of their picnic area.

“That should help it along,” Travis remarked of the bush.

“Kill it more to point, come on lets eat and start back or it will be dark before we are home,” Bradley commanded.

With lunch over and more than enough conversation shared on the decaying nature of the site, Bradley stood, “Satisfied,” he says as he stretched the lethargy from his shoulders.

“Yea I think I’ve seen enough, besides the ants have discovered our spot,” Evan agreed as a nest of ants commenced to swarm over some crusts discarded close by.

“Swim?” Travis suggested with a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think so both Evan and Bradley discredited in unison.

“Swallow any of that and your piss would shine for a month,” Travis laughed remembering Jack Arnold’s reckoning it to be phosphorescent.

The return trip was a quiet affair. Bradley had missed his regular afternoon snooze and after giving Evan control found comfort in the small luggage section behind the seat, while assuring the lad to simply let the horse have its head and it would do the rest but if it decided to trot then either wake him or heave in on the reins.

The afternoon sun and humidity soon drained the energy out of both Travis and Evan and like Bradley their eyelids commence to droop and heads lower from their shoulders. It was then they were brought back to reality when a feral pig took fright and crossed in front of the horse, sending it into blot, bringing all three alert but as Bradley reached across the seat and snatched the reins tragedy struck, in the form of a large boulder they had avoided on the initial journey. The rear wheel struck the boulder as the horse became controlled.

“Shit,” Travis cried as the buggy collapsed to one side, sending him tumbling into the dust.”

Evan grabbed for something to hold but joined Travis on the ground.

“Ouch you’re across my fucken’ legs,” Travis complained as Evan quickly rose to his feet.

“Are you two alright?” Bradley called from the safety of the luggage space behind the seating, while his thoughts quickly digressed to the demise of the buggy’s previous owners.

“Nothing broken,” Travis admitted as Bradley quickly jumped down to ascertain the damage. All three righted and shaking from the experience examined the damage to the buggy.

“Broken axle,” Bradley declared before examining the horse. She appeared a little shaken but fine.

“Can it be fixed?” Evan hopefully asks.

“Not here,” Bradley sighed while rocking the buggy back and forth. It wouldn’t budge, “and it’s still three flaming miles to town,” Bradley complained as he kicked the wheel. “Ouch!” he cried out while hopping about holding his foot.

“That wasn’t smart,” Travis criticised.

“Flaming buggy, whose idea was it anyway?”

“I think it was Evan,” Travis accused.

Both Travis and Bradley glared and pointed towards Evan.

“Me!” the lad protested.

“Na, I think the bloody thing is cursed, it’s Bunny’s fault with all those stories of tragedy,” Bradley admitted.

“What are we going to do about the buggy?” Evan questioned through a wave of guilt, as he had been given responsibility for their wellbeing at the time of the crash.

“Good question,” Bradley answered without showing concern. His interests had been the restoration of the buggy and not its use, once restored he would have left it in the shed for someone to discover in the future. As for Travis, if it could not be saddled, it was of the same use as a motor vehicle and his interest in the buggy had been working with Bradley and to satisfy Evan’s enthusiasm to take a ride.

“So what now?” Evan asks.

“We walk,” Bradley answered and unharnessed Molly.

“What will Roy say?” Evan’s guilt was multiplying.

“I have doubt he even realised it existed. It was in pieces under a pile of junk and he suggested I clear out the shed and burn the lot.” Bradley declared while again examined the broken axel. “Well and truly fucked I would say!” he exclaimed loudly and lowering his voice continued; “if I had my rifle, I’d shoot the bloody thing – come on give me a hand to move it off the track.”

With all their strength applied and much heaving and rocking they failed to topple the buggy from the track.

“We’ll have to leave it,”

“Does anyone use this track?” Travis asks.

“Only the forestry department and I think they could toe it off with the winch on their truck, besides a vehicle could drive around it. I know Alf Taylor who works for the department and sometimes drinks at Bunny’s, I’ll speak with him.”

The three gave one more attempt to move the buggy without success, only managing to topple it further onto the track.

“Shall we ride back?” Evan asks.

“Don’t be a goose, three on the one horse, I don’t think so – like Molly we’ll all walk.” Bradley dismissed while tutting at Evan’s suggestion.

“Sorry.”

“You’ve still got a lot to learn about horses.”

“Maybe you could teach me?” Evan eagerly proposed without taking umbrage from Bradley’s rebuff.

“If you intend travelling with Travis, I suppose someone should,” Bradley turned to Travis and without expression continued, “maybe I can teach Travis at the same time.”

Travis released a disregarding huff. At last he was becoming accustomed to his friends humour and didn’t bite.

“What no bite Travis?” Bradley asks.

“As I said before, I’m saving it all for a further day – and you won’t know its coming.”

“And as I answered then, you better be able to run fast.”

Evan commences to laugh.

“What’s got you going kid?” Bradley asks.

“You two, you are like an old married couple.”

“Watch-it kid,” Bradley warns.

All three then laugh away their predicament and commence the return on foot.

By the time the three reached Bullock Creek it was dark and in passing the pub it was Molly to a verandah support, Bradley turned and poked Evan in the chest.

“What?” Evan questioned stepping away from the poke.

“Not you,”

“Not me what,” Evan repeated.

“You are under drinking age; I think best you go home and have a lemonade,” Bradley proposed.

“So are you two,”

“In the bush it doesn’t count as long as you look the part,” Travis forwarded in support of Bradley.

“And,”

“And you look like a kid with that fuzz on your chin, who should be in short pants,” Bradley laughed.

“I’m almost eighteen I hope you know.”

“Almost Evan,” Travis teased.

“Well close enough, besides Bradley you have only recently turned twenty-one and Travis you haven’t yet.”

“Come on kid I’m sure Bunny will serve you,” Bradley lead the way into the bar.

“Well here are the happy wanders,” Bunny announced as the three approached, “how was the trip to the mine?”

“Don’t ask,” Bradley ordered three beers.

“Trouble at the mine,” Bunny made jest.

“Hit a rock and broke an axel, had to leave the cart blocking the track.”

“As well that old cart was cursed with bad luck anyway.”

“You have more tragic stories to tell Bunny?”

“Bradley you haven’t heard the most of it.”

“There isn’t much left out at the mine,” Bradley related as Bunny pulled the beers.

“Haven’t you heard?” Bunny asks.

“Heard what Bunny?”

“There is talk they are going to reopen the mine as there are rumours that America is going to abandon gold fixing.”

“Fixing? I’ve never heard of it,” Travis admits.

“I can’t say more than what I read in the Cairns Post but they say it has sent the price soaring which will make it worth while reopening a lot of the mines up this way.”

“That will be good for business,” Travis suggests.

“Possibly but if they do it will more than likely be fly in and out, with the men billeted at the mine and little more. That seems to be the way of things these days.”

“There isn’t a landing strip in miles.” Travis says.

“That my lad is where you are wrong, not far from the old mine there’s an old airstrip built during the war. It is overgrown now but would only take a couple of hours with a bulldozer to bring it back.”

“I didn’t know that?” Travis admitted.

“Yes there were a number built away from the coast to be safe from Japanese attack. The Mareeba strip was used in the Battle of the Coral Sea you know,”

“It all sounds like a lot of fun,” Evan chirped in.

“Fun, not for the poor flyer boys, there were many crashes across the Tablelands,” Bunny gives a cheeky smile; “I must admit back then the weekends were quite entertaining.”

“I wouldn’t know as I wasn’t around until a few years later.” Travis admitted.”

“Yes they were interesting nights for a single girl.”

“Tell us?” Bradley suggests.

Bunny glances across the room to Stan, she laughs, “I think those stories should be left in memory.”

Stan gives a grin and chuckle, “keep it nice Bunny, you don’t want to corrupt the boys.”

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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