Published: 20 Dec 2021

Travis stood quietly under the weak yellow light of the Mareeba platform, his gaze deep within those of his friend. Searching for something, a spark of hope maybe, or an answer to what he was now feeling deep down inside. “Well,” he says finding no other words to suit his building emotion.

“I guess, this is it until November,” Evan answered.

“I guess so; I’ll keep in contact by letter and let you know how it goes with the new job. What will you do until then?”

“I’ll find a part time job,”

“What about school, I know you suggested leaving but there is still most of this year?”

“I’m not going back,”

“What about your parents?”

“Mum will rage and dad won’t care.”

“I think you should, if for no other reason than to keep peace at home.”

“I’ll think about it,”

Travis bid farewell at the Mareeba Station with Evan again declaring emphatically he would be at the Forsayth hotel on the night of the tenth of November and Travis agreeing but not believing it would occur. He watched as Evan’s form melted into the early night and was still doing so until the sound of his footsteps on the gravel road leading away from the station faded. It was then he realised his fondness for the lad was deepening and although he wasn’t confident in Evan’s promise, he more than anything else wanted that meeting in Forsayth to occur.

“How long are you down for?” Margaret asks as Travis finished his breakfast. There was distance in her tone as one frustrated by another’s decision.

“A few days, I need to talk with Roy.”

“Are you finishing with Bullock Creek?”

“Not as such,”

“I hope you’ve given up that silly idea of returning to the gulf country, you know your father is still not happy with it.”

Travis didn’t answer.

“Would you like some more tea,” Margaret paused with the teapot hovering in readiness.

“No thank you,”

“If you’re finished breakfast go get me you bag and let me see what needs washing, I’m about to put on a second load.

Reluctantly Travis went for his bag, knowing it was one argument he would never win with his mother.

“This is more a rag-bag,” Margaret Brown stated while rummaged through her son’s travel bag in search of dirty clothes.

“Where is dad?” Travis asks.

“He’s down in Cairns and won’t be returning until Wednesday, something to do with a supply problem.”

“Good,” Travis answered with a relieving sigh.

“That wasn’t nice of you Travis,” Margaret’s voice lowered into disapproval.

“Sorry mum I only meant he won’t be around to talk me down – mum I’ve done my washing.” Travis complained as his mother retrieved a number of crumpled shirts he had rolled and stuffed into a corner of his bag. As she did so he felt relieved he had added a selection of underpants, of which he had no intention in wearing as he found doing so somewhat restricting while travelling.

“Look at these collars? They are filthy,” She declared holding a garment up for his inspection, “and these underpants have holes, the lot is ready for the rubbish.”

“They do the job,”

“And what job would that be? What do you wash them in tomato soup, they should be white not red.”

“It’s the red dirt out there, gets into everything.”

“You should take pride in what you wear; clothes are the window to a man’s character.”

“I thought it was eyes the windows to a soul.”

“Not only that Travis, don’t you own an iron?”

“No electricity mum,” with Travis’ answer was a memory of the housemaid on Cumberland Downs having to iron everything from sheets to tablecloths under Margaret’s instruction and inspection, all with a shellite iron and how its heat and hissing made an already hot day appear even hotter.

“I’ll buy you new underwear next time I’m shopping.”

“Don’t bother mum, you don’t need good clothes in Bullock Creek, there isn’t anyone to see them and no where to go.” Travis protested but let his mother have her way.

“What if you had an accident? You should always have clean and presentable underwear in case of some emergency.”

“I should think the answer is not to have an accident, well not of the soiled type,” Travis gave a grubby grin.

Margaret disregarded Travis’ boldness, “your grandmother was a stickler for clean underwear. I can still hear her, are you wearing clean underwear Margaret.”

“Mum what is it with mothers and underwear?” Travis questioned having heard it said so many times before.

“I’m sure your Uncle Roy wouldn’t dress like this,” Margaret declared while displaying the frayed collar of his favourite checked shirt.

“Roy is your brother-in-law as well as he is my uncle and yes he would and worse.”

“What about this Bradley Cooper you work with? What sort of boy is he?”

“He is hardly a boy mum, he is past twenty-one.”

“Has Bradley got a girl friend?”

Margaret gathered up almost all the clothing Travis had brought with him.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t ply into Bradley’s private life,”

“Do you remember Alice Sly?” Margaret asks.

“I do,”

“I was only talking to her mother yesterday and Alice was asking after you.”

Travis gave a knowing huff.

“What was that for Travis?”

“There you go again trying to match-make, I can find my own girl thank you mum.”

“That’s another thing, how long will you be staying at Bullock Creek?”

“I haven’t made any decision,” Travis answered without relating his intentions to take up the position near Mt. Surprise, that he would do by letter once he was established.

“I was talking with Jack Johnson only yesterday,”

“Mum that is never going to happen, so don’t keep going on about it.”

“What I was about to say, he is thinking of winding up the business as he can’t get a worthwhile apprentice.”

“What happened to Les Benford?”

“He resigned after a few weeks and went down to Cairns. I believe he is working on the fishing boats.”

“I hear there is more money in fishing than stitching leather,” Travis admitted.

“Mr. Johnson asked after you.”

Travis knew where the conversation was heading and excused himself with the pretext he wished to meet some mates down town.

The crowd at the Tip-Top Cafe appeared younger and as Travis passed no one recognise him. Gone was the banter he would receive from female school friends, while the replacement faces were fresher and full of youthful expression but appeared to lack the simplicity his lot acclaimed to. It was obvious Roy’s reference to a changing world was fast approaching and soon he would be left on the outer.

Would that be a bad situation Travis gave thought, his was a world of yesteryear, of horses, stock crossings and fence lines, not the long ribbon of asphalt, aircraft landing strips of the modern traveller; and that of television antennae appearing high and dominating, of which many could now be seen hovering above Mareeba rooftops. Travis thought of his situation and because of his upbringing, first in isolation then at the hostel he belonged to neither. Not the world of his father or that of his peers. His was a between world, looking back and looking forward while confused in belonging and purpose.

Not half a year had passed since leaving school and Travis felt old. It was as if he was beyond the generation gap with no choice but to become part of the establishment that only those few short month’s previous he had shunned. There was remorse in his mood and a longing to return, even one single year to his past, yet he believed he was heading for a more promising exciting future but one that still created anxiety.

Now Travis had other doubts, his feelings for Evan were growing stronger and difficult to define. Was it but friendship between adult men, possibly mateship and simply male bonding? He had heard some on that subject, with its backslapping, shoulder touching and eyes that often displayed more than men wishing for the company of men, even while in the company of women. That was the answer male bonding and Travis moved on from such deep thinking and now past the Tip-Top café he allowed his thought to calm as he acknowledged an old school acquaintance. Both gave a weak smile and head nod as if searching the grey matter for some level of recognition.

‘That’s Colin Wilson?’ Travis thought as he passed by, he quickly turned back as the young man entered into the café.

‘Couldn’t be,’

‘It is. He’s going bald and is only twenty. No maybe a year older he was in the next year to me.’

‘And he’s put on a lot of weight.’ Travis gave a shudder as it supported his slant on his changing situation. He was definitely caught in a time warp and wished to be away from it all as soon as possible.

Midday at the Royal was busy and while passing Travis met Sam Hinds. Travis nodded and continued without conversation. There was a changed conviction within him making him feel alien in his own hometown and estranged to his friends. It was as if his tenure at Bullock Creek had reset his nature, dividing his past and the future and Sam Hinds was most defiantly belonging to his past.

“Hey Brownie!” Sam called once Travis had move on after offering Sam nothing but a slight nod of the head.

Travis turned.

“Have you seen Greg?” Sam asks.

“No I’ve only been home a couple of days. Is he in town?”

“Yea, pissed as usual, he’s down at the Dunlop. They won’t serve him here at the Royal anymore. Coming in for a drink?”

“No thank you Sam not in the mood,” Travis declined and walked on towards the Dunlop.

On reaching the Dunlop Travis peered through the smoke hazed bar in search of Greg and spied him sitting alone at a corner table. He appeared distant, somehow remorse while separated from those about. His clothes were unusually shabby and his unshaven state gave him the appearance of one much older than his still tender years, while stress lines commenced to remove his handsome, carefree youthfulness and depression glazed his once bright and searching eyes. To top the list of negatives Greg appeared as if he had been on the receiving end of a bashing.

Travis wanted to enter and comfort Greg but that same divide that he was experiencing towards the town returned and took him from the hotel’s doorway. He felt sadness for Greg’s condition but concluding that each person is responsible for their own outcome and there was nothing he could do for Greg. Travis paused, sighed and moved along the street, becoming more steadfast in his decision to travel back into the gulf country.

Away from the Dunlop bar and deep in thought, Travis felt more alone in Mareeba than he ever did in Bullock Creek. He had become so accustomed to his own company or the company of the few that now the company of many failed to stimulate him and as he reached the end of Mareeba’s long line of business’s he paused, turned then headed for home or more to fact, the house where his parents resided. Again he paused at the door of the Dunlop, this time he decided he would talk to Greg one last time. He entered and approached his friend and sat without invitation.

“G’day’ matee’,” Greg greeted with a half smile greatly affected by his afternoon’s intake of alcohol. He offered his hand and Travis accepted. It appeared rough and cold, more like that of an old man.

“How’s work?” Travis asks in attempt to make conversation.

“What work?”

“Working for your uncle?”

“He sacked me for turning up drunk,”

“How long have you been in here?” Travis asks.

“Not bloody long enough,” Greg slurred.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Travis offered in an attempt to divert Greg from his building gloom.

“Home! Fuck mate where’s that! The old man kicked me out a week ago.” Greg became remorse and attempted to cry but there was no emotion left. He turned his eyes from Travis, to rest in the bottom of his beer glass and the amber fluid that had become his only comfort. He smiled at that thought.

“Where are you staying?” Travis asks, placing a hand on Greg’s shoulder. Greg shrugged it away and swallowed the last of the beer.

“The shed behind Bill Ryan’s place,” He tipped his empty glass onto the table, “Hey mate you haven’t got a beer,”

“Not at the moment, I’m more concerned for you,”

“Fuck you Travis are you becoming a wowser, get me a drink,” Greg demanded, his voice climbing an octave with each word.

“Come on Greg, I’ll help you home,” Travis pleaded, placing his hand on Greg’s back as he attempted to guide him to his feet.

“Fuck off Brown!” Greg growled and staggered to the bar for a refill.

“Greg,” Travis called after him but Greg did not reply, nor was he served more alcohol.

“I’m over it!” Travis growled loudly on pushing his way through the crowd to leave the Dunlop. Turning for home he remembered the reason why he came down to Mareeba in the first place and that was to visit his Uncle Roy to let him know he was preparing to move on. Travis could have done so by telephone from the Bullock Creek hotel or by mail but he believed his uncle deserved the respect of a personal visit, so at the post office Travis used the public telephone box to arrange a meeting. Fortunately Roy was in and invited him for tea that night.

“Will you be in for tea?” Margaret Brown asks as Travis return from visiting the Kingsley’s towards evening.

“No mum I have to visit Roy and he’s already invited me.”

“Oh,” Margaret declared with her usual disapproving air.

“Mum I have nothing but respect for Roy and he has been more than good to me, so maybe you and dad should also respect that if nothing else.” Travis had no wish to show anger towards his mother and could not remember ever doing so. Yet he thought his response to be firm without rile.

“You don’t have to be rude Travis,” Margaret quickly responded.

“Sorry mum but I’m twenty now and love you and dad dearly but I must make my own mistakes and friends. If travelling back to the gulf is a mistake, I must make it. If knowing Roy is also a mistake then I will learn the hard way but again Roy has been nothing but kind and respectful towards me.”

“Maybe I should keep my opinions to myself,” it was obvious Margaret’s feelings were fragile but Travis held his ground, although he did think it sensible to once again change the subject away from Roy, as for Margaret’s reversed psychology, it had never worked on the lad.

“How was Edna?” Margaret asks realising she had little hope influencing her son away from his travelling.

“Somewhat moody, I think she had been drinking.”

“Umm,” Margaret simply responded.

“The Kingsley’s are down to one boy now; the others have found work in Cairns and Tom is going to retire from the delivery business.”

“Yes your father is going to run the deliveries for him. Was James home?”

“He was but I hardly recognised him, he is seventeen now and almost six foot tall.”

“A bright boy,” Margaret considered.

“Who James?” Travis laughed.

“Top of his class I hear,” Margaret’s suggestion was leaning towards Travis’ failure to take advantage of his schooling.

“He’s a bit of a wimp if you want my opinion,” Travis expressed.

“Edna said he will be off to university in Brisbane next year; he want’s to be a vet. You could have gone to university.”

“Could have maybe but they don’t do courses in travelling, or horse riding” Travis brashly interjected.

“I remember when you was a boy you wanted to be an engine driver,” Margaret reminisces.

“That amongst other things, at one time I wanted to fly aeroplanes and another time I was going to be a schoolteacher.”

“What went wrong love?”

“Dad introduced me to horses.”

Back in his bedroom Travis discovered his mother had been most busy. Not only had she washed every item of clothing he had brought with him but it was ironed and neatly folded into their type – pants with pants, shirts with shirts and underwear with their mates. She had even mended the tear in his favourite blue checked shirt. Next to the neat piles of clothing was a further surprise in the guise of two pairs of jeans, two shirts and half a dozen items of underwear; all new and smelling of drapery store, while still displaying their price tags, being Margaret’s way of teaching her son thrift.

“Y-fronts! I hate Y-fronts!” Travis exclaimed loudly.

“Did you call love?” Margaret enquired from the passage outside his open door.

“No mum I was only saying thank you but you should not have wasted money on new clothes,” he expressed.

“That’s alright love,” she answered while returning to the kitchen. Travis smiled at the underwear, with the thought of giving them to Bradley, even if Bradley seldom wore any.

The news was on the radio as Travis readied to leave for his visit with Roy, mentioning America and the price of gold which should sit well for Australia. There was also mention of Bullock Creek and possibility it would once again open for mining.

“They are talking about mining at Bullock Creek,” Margaret says.

“It is only a rumour mum,”

“I should think your Uncle Roy will have his finger in that pie as well,” Margaret assumes.

Travis releases a titter,

“What was that for?”

Not wishing to argue Roy’s position in the family Travis simply says for no reason.

“Why are you going over to Roy?” Margaret asks.

“I was invited. Best be going I’m running late. Goodnight.”

Margaret doesn’t answer.

“I’ll give Roy your love,” Travis says with a measure of sarcasm as he departs but again Margaret remains quiet.

“Goodnight then,” Travis repeats.

“Goodnight love and don’t go drinking, or your father will have something to say about it.”

Roast chicken, potatoes, pumpkin and beans. Roy’s cooking was as good as his mother’s and not that Travis would admit so but possibly better with a measure of inventive flare, while lacking that touch of station cooking that never quite left his mother’s ken.

“Scotch?” Roy offered after their meal was completed, “although you’re only nineteen and I could be arrested.”

“I am now twenty thank you Roy,” Travis answered with an enforced correction.

“When?”

“Late last year, I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”

“That’s close enough want a scotch?” Roy offered once more.

“Thank you Roy I won’t tell anyone but I would rather a beer.”

“Beer it is, now what did you wish to talk to me about?”

“I really appreciate what you have done for me and could never repay you but -,”

“But you are ready to move on?” Roy declared cutting his nephew’s statement mid sentence.

“How did you know?” Travis asks with relief and surprise.

“Your body language, you should learn to read body language, it can get you out of a real heap of trouble, or sometimes into the shit.”

“You don’t appear to be annoyed Roy?” Travis says as the relief took the tension from his body.

“You always said you would move on – When will you be leaving?”

“Some time after I return to Bullock Creek.”

“Have you told Bradley?”

“I didn’t have to; he worked it out without my help.”

“He’s always been an astute little bugger,” Roy admitted; “actually you have saved me half a problem,” Roy added.

“How is that so?”

“I am at present in the throes of selling Bullock Creek. They are reopening the mine and have offered close on double what I paid for it.”

“I heard about the reopening on the news. Will you have anything to do with the mine?” Travis asks.

“Not the mine, it is to be a British investment but I think they may find it is throwing away money for nothing. They should go further west out past Georgetown.”

“What about Bradley?” Travis asks with concern for his work mate.

“Don’t worry about Bradley, he is not negotiable and is more family than any I have.” Roy paused and quickly amended his statement, “except for you,” he added as Travis blushed from the complement, “Bradley is more like a younger brother,” a pause, “no more like a son.”

“What will you do with the stock?” Travis asks.

“I’ll move the horses to the Mungana property and if he wishes Bradley as well – and there will be a place for you if you want but the two of you would not be alone as there are already two and a foreman there.”

“What if Bradley doesn’t wish to work with others?” Travis asks knowing how Bradley appreciated his own company.

“I’ve known Bradley longer than Bradley has known himself. If he doesn’t want to transfer to Mungana, he can come here. Besides I have been looking out for a small holding for him,” Roy explained as he cleared the table and offered Travis another beer. Travis turned it down; declaring any more would impede his ability to walk home.

“By the way Travis, don’t say anything about our conversation to Bradley, until I’ve had a chance to do so.”

Travis agreed.

“How are you returning to Bullock Creek?” Roy asks.

“Train,”

“Tell you what, I’m going up to talk to Bradley on Thursday, I’ll drive you back.”

“Fine, I’d appreciate you doing so.”

“How is this trip of yours sitting with your dad?”

“I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back, he’s down in Cairns.”

“What about your mother?”

Travis refrained from answering.

“You haven’t told them have you?”

“Not yet I’ll write and let them know once I’m back at Bullock Creek as I know mum will rave at me.”

“I could very well believe that so, Margaret was never keen on the bush, even ‘tho she was born in a scrub hut out near Charters Towers and except for her mother there wasn’t a white lady in miles, I believe a black housemaid did the delivery.”

“I didn’t know that Roy.”

“There’s probably a lot you don’t and knowing Jim he will never say, as for your mother her airs and graces wouldn’t allow it to be know.”

“One of these days Roy, I will have to sit you down with a full scotch bottle and pump you for family history.”

Roy laughs, “it would take more than a bottle of Scotland’s finest but I will say one thing, dad, your grandfather was a right bastard.”

“In what way Roy?”

“Every way possible, he was a religious crank and used the family bible to bash sense into us in more ways than its designed usage.” Roy released a chortle of memory.

“How do you mean?”

“He would use it on our heads while resiting the old testaments and make us learn and resite passages before bed.”

“Dad doesn’t seem to have religion, so it couldn’t have worked very well,” Travis admitted.

“That’s the way with coercion, it often works in reverse and none of the boys now has religion,” Roy gave a shudder of memory, “he was also handy with the whip end; I still can feel it across my back.”

“Neither dad you, Kevin or Bill seem damaged by his cruelty.”

“We bounced of each other. I suppose by doing so took away the trauma of it all but mind you there were good days as well and we mostly ran as free as the horses.”

“What about Grandma Brown?”

“Ah there is another story. No sorry a whole novel. She was a tiny woman with a foul tongue and could swear like a trooper but a kind heart.”

“I don’t remember her at all,” Travis admitted.

“You do realise they never married.” Roy says with a cheeky smile.

“Who, Grandma and Grandad Brown?”

That’s them, always declared they were married in Winton but I found out otherwise. That in itself is somewhat of a conundrum with the old man’s religious leaning. Possibly religion was his penance for being outside of moral convention. ”

“Why didn’t they marry?” Travis asks.

“In those days many shacked up together as there was only the travelling padre or priest.

“Well I’ll be; does dad know that?”

“No and don’t you go telling him or the others, having kids without a wedding certificate is still frowned upon,” Roy warned.

“I wouldn’t but mum and dad are married, I’ve seen the wedding certificate.”

“True I was at their wedding but some think the stain continues further down the line.”

“Huh,” Travis laughed at the thought of his father being born outside wedlock.”

“Does that worry you?”

“No, why should it, dad is still my dad and you and the others are still family.”

“I always said you had a sensible head on your shoulders. Now what about this travelling, what are your intentions?”

“Just that Roy but I do want to call in and take a looksee at Cumberland Downs as I go.”

“And what of this job you applied for?”

“It will only be for a while until I get the feeling for being on my own.”

“You do that kid and don’t forget to contact me if you get into any trouble.”

“What about Titch and the saddle?”

“Consider them to be your twenty-first present as by your intentions you won’t be around to celebrate.’

“Again thank you,”

“I’ll pick you up early Thursday morning for the trip back to Bullock Creek.”

“I’ll come around here,” Travis suggested.

“Are you still concerned about your mother and me? Then don’t be as either way she will be on the telephone at her earliest convenience.”

Wednesday afternoon and being at a lose end while waiting for his return the following morning with Roy and wishing to be away from his mother’s questioning, Travis passed by the high school during recess. The sounds and smells brought back memories and a smile.

Travis lingered with his eyes over the boys in search for a familiar face. Across the assembly ground he spied Evan talking with a lad and as Travis moved along the low cyclone wire fence Evan spotted him and called.

Travis paused allowing Evan to approach.

“Hey there,” Evan says.

“Hey yourself,”

“I thought you were returning on Tuesday.”

“Roy is driving me back tomorrow, was that Ray Stevens you were talking to?”

“It was,”

“You are all growing up so fast, I’m feeling old.”

“You poor old man,” Evan teased as Ray called and waved, “I’m coming,” Evan answered as the bell sounded to end recess.

“I should piss off before I’m in trouble for loitering,” Travis suggested.

Ray Stevens commenced to approach.

“It’s good you have stayed at school.” Travis says.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet but may take your advice and stay until the end of the year or until November and our meeting.”

“I’ll be buggered it’s Brownie,” Stevens says as he comes to the fence.

“Hello Stevens,”

“What are you up to these days?”

“Not a lot. I’ll see you another time Evan,” Travis says.

“Yea November the tenth.”

Travis gives a gentle nod in agreement and moves away.

“What’s that about?” Stevens asks Evan.

“Just something,” Evan replies while feeling resolve in his promise.

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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