Published: 16 Aug 2021

Jack Johnson had been quiet all morning which didn’t go unnoticed by Travis as he worked on a new set of reins for an order that was supposed to be completed the previous day. He wished to ask the saddler what was concerning him but didn’t think it proper to do so, while all attempts at conversation failed anything but simple answers from the saddler.

Eventually Johnson called morning tea and after boiling the kettle and piling five teaspoons of tea into a large ceramic pot, he cleared his throat and finally spoke.

“Travis, I’m not getting any younger,” Johnson declared while poured two mugs and heaping two teaspoons of sugar into his own.

Travis didn’t answer.

“I need to acquire a full time apprentice,” he tapped the teaspoon against his mug. It rang sharp into the hot morning air, ringing out the man’s frustration with Travis. “Do you want the position, or are you still chasing those bloody rainbows?”

Travis remained quiet as the saddler sipped at his tea, his small dark eyes peering through the steam from the mug at his silent helper, while giving Travis more than a good measure of time to speak.

“Well Travis do you want the job?” Johnson eventually repeated, his voice displaying a high degree of dissatisfaction in the lads procrastination.

“I still want to go bush; I’m just waiting for Greg to decide when,” Travis finally answered.

“Greg Stanley is working with his uncle,” Johnson explained.

“Only for a few weeks,” Travis assured as he picked at the crust of a cheese and tomato sandwich.

“I’m telling you lad he won’t be joining you. I was talking with Owen Stanley on the weekend and he said Greg has accepted his offer as apprentice carpenter.”

Travis bit into the freshness of the bred and swallowed. It was true, even he had reached realisation that Greg had grown cold on their adventure but he had not. There was something drawing him west and away from small town existence. He yearned for solitude and the smell of horse sweat and the lay of the land without hindrance from rooftops and the acrid smell of heated asphalted streets. Now all it would take was that first small step into the right direction but to take that step he may need a push and Travis hoped Greg would be that catalyst.

“You couldn’t keep the position open for six months Mr. Johnson?” Travis asks as they finished their morning break.

“No Travis, I need an answer this week.”

Greg Stanley was back in town, with dirt under his fingernails and his first pay packet in his pocket. The sound of his motorbike brought Travis excitedly to attention.

“Is that Greg Stanley and his motorbike?” Margaret Brown sombrely asks as she peered out of the kitchen window towards the street, her view blocked by the overhang of a leafy lilly-pilly.

“Mum you know it is,”

“I hope you’re not going out on it,”

“No mum,” and before Margaret could continue further, Travis was out the door.

“Hey Greg, you’re back,” he called while bounding down the steps towards the now silent motor.

“Hey yourself; want to go to the pub tonight?” Greg called back pocketing his keys.

“No readies,” Travis answered and patted his shirt pocket as proof.

“No worries – my shout.”

“How long are you back for?” Travis checked the bike over and straddled the seat.

“Until tomorrow – want to take it for a spin?” Greg asks, retrieving the keys from his pocket and offering them to Travis.

“Na, I don’t know how, I’d fall off,” Travis answered, his hands firmly gripping the handlebars and giving the silent throttle a quick turn before dismounting.

“It’s no different than riding a horse except closer to the ground and faster,” Greg assured, elongating the word faster and giving it grunt but Travis remained unconvinced. Travis looked back towards the house as he spoke.

“I could wheel it around the corner Mrs. B. wouldn’t need to know,” Greg suggested.

“I don’t think so, anyway how do you like work?”

“It’s great and I’ve taken up my uncle’s offer as apprentice carpenter,” Greg answered proudly.

“Oh,” was all Travis could muster, feeling the last hope for their enterprise dissipate as his head lowered towards gloom.

“You don’t sound too happy about it?” Greg reached across his bike and gently placed a hand on Travis’ shoulder, then gazed deeply into his eyes.

“You know what I see in there?” Greg softly asks.

“I couldn’t say,”

“I see a school boy who won’t let go of his daydreaming.”

“It’s not like that,” Travis snapped.

“I see other things as well but enough of that.”

“Go on spill it,”

“No best I don’t, it may make you cranky.”

“What about our trip?” Travis asks; his eyes lowered in an attempt to mask his disappointment and prevent his friend’s further searching his thoughts.

“That was kid’s stuff; surely you’ve outgrown that?” Greg gave Travis’ shoulder a slight shake and remounted his motorbike, “See ya at the Royal at seven-thirty; alright?”

“Yea sure; I’ve been offered an apprenticeship with Jack Johnson,” Travis added as Greg fired up his motor.

“Are you going to take it?” he asks over the revving.

“Dunno’,”

“You should but I reckon there isn’t any future in saddles. Building houses that’s the go, folk will always need somewhere to live – see ya’ tonight.” Greg called back, his words falling with the grit and dust onto a morose Travis as the wheels spun in the gravel. Travis sighed heavily with disappointment gripping his stomach and choking in his throat.

As the motorbike disappeared around the corner Travis shook away the hurt with another deep sigh, “doesn’t matter,” he declared loudly while returning to the house – but it did matter. He knew well that was so.

“What did Greg Stanley want?” Margaret enquired from the kitchen, as when it came to Greg she always used his full name.

“Nothing mum,”

“I don’t like that motorbike,” she exclaimed from the clutter of breakfast dishes.

“Guess what mum, neither do I,” Travis agreed.

“I don’t much like Greg Stanley either, can’t you find other friends?”

“Greg’s alright mum,”

“I still think you should associate with someone else.”

“How old am I mum?”

“You are never too old to listen to good advice.”

A hot breeze brought with it a cloud of red dust across the river from the Tobacco farms, while the promise of rain only added to the afternoon’s discomfort. Travis had walked the short distance from home to the main street, passing the Tip-Top cafe. A group of teenagers milled around the cafe’s door, others sat in the booths, twisting dials on the juke box controls, drinking malted milk shakes through long white straws, as the Rolling Stones rocked on the turn-table. The air inside the café was close, strongly smelling of vinegar chips, chiko rolls and sweaty youth.

“Hello Travis,” Mary Davis declared in her sexiest voice, while her friends giggled.

Travis passed on without responding.

“Don’t you like girls?” Mary sneered at the thought of being snubbed.

“Not your kind Mary Davis,” Travis implicitly answered, while receiving cat calls from her friends but falling silent as Stella Ross passed carrying two string bags of shopping, appearing somewhat stressed with her load and the heat of the day.

“Good afternoon Travis,” the woman greeted, while struggling with her bags.

“Good afternoon Travis,” Mary and her gang mimicked in unison.

Stella ignored their calls but would recount the impertinence to their mothers on the first possible occasion.

“Mrs. Ross, would you like a hand with your bags?” Travis offered.

“Thank you Travis but I have the car outside the post office, I’m almost there.”

“Would it be alright if I visited Warwick later this afternoon?”

“Sure Warwick would enjoy the company, come for afternoon tea.” “You fancy old ladies Travis Brown?” Mary Davis taunted once Stella Ross was out of hearing.

“Maybe I do, what’s it to you?” Travis smiled and continued on his way along the street.

“Snob,” a girl with a blond pony tail and freckles across the bridge of her nose called and gave the bird.

“Your shit stinks like anyone else,” another added, bringing Travis to again turn, he smile broadly as he gave a deep and exaggerated bow.

“Good afternoon girls,” Travis concluded and departed.

Secretly Travis enjoyed the ribbing he received and found pleasure in returning his own but his response lacked crudity believing the less said had the greatest result as how could one retaliate against politeness. Even now and past the post office he could hear the girls attempting to up-the-ante.

Warwick was in his bedroom, seated at a small table listening to talkback radio and didn’t hear Travis’ approach. The radio announcer’s voice modulated with his conversation on best practice for tobacco farming, becoming higher when in disagreement and lower while declaring his opinion, at the same time attempting to make the subject of growing tobacco interesting to the general public.

“Are you going to grow tobacco Warwick?” Travis asks from the open door, bringing Warwick to turn sharply towards the intrusion. He took breath as he fumbled for the radio controls, lowering the volume.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Travis apologised.

“Na that’s alright, I was more lost in my own thoughts than the radio. I heard a motorbike pass a while back and was wondering what it would be like to ride on it.” Warwick drew a breath and clasped his hands behind his head. His eyes were directed towards Travis but lacked true focus.

“That would have been Greg Stanley; he lives in the next street.”

“Do you know him?” Warwick asks.

“He’s a mate of mine.”

“I’d love to ride.”

Warwick turned from Travis and switched off the radio.

“I’ve been on the back with Greg but cant ride, or more to the point don’t wish to.”

Travis sat on the edge of the bed and surveyed the small room. It lacked character. There was the small table, a most uncomfortable kitchen chair a set of drawers and a single bed. The walls were void of posters or pictures one would expect in a young man’s room and the window free from drapes.

‘Almost a prison cell,’ Travis thought.

There was a strong feeling of sadness within this room, yet it didn’t depress Warwick who appeared resigned to his situation, he had dreams as did any young man but was comfortable accepting his limitations. He smiled and offered his hand in the direction of Travis’ voice.

“Mum said you may call in.”

“Yes I met her near the post office and she invited for afternoon tea but had to leave as soon as I arrived.”

“That’s mum always a social butterfly. She also said you were being taunted by a group of girls outside the Café”

“Not really, I was at school with them and they were only showing off.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Warwick asks.

“No,”

Warwick appeared to drift back into his darkness. He softly smiled, “I’d like to see what a girl looks like.”

“What with your hands?”

“That could be fun,” Warwick admitted.

“I don’t think there are many who would agree to that,”

“Have you seen a naked girl Travis?” Warwick innocently enquired.

“Again no,” Travis honestly answered, thinking if he was with Greg’s mates he would avoid answering negatively.

Whatever Warwick was imagining it was obviously erotic by the rise to the crotch of his loose fitting pants. Travis swallowed with nervousness and turned away.

“Am I embarrassing you Travis?”

“Not at all, I was trying to imagine what your hands would see.”

“Never mind, as for me there’s no sense dreaming of having a girlfriend any more than riding a motorbike.”

“I can’t arrange for you to meet a girl in that way but how would you like to ride Greg’s bike?” Travis suggested.

“Ride,” Warwick answered his voice depicting the obvious.

“Well on the back as pillion, I didn’t mean on your own. I am sure if I asked Greg he would take you for a spin.”

“Dad would kill me. He thinks I’d snap in the slightest breeze,” Warwick laughed.

“We wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“I’ll think about it.” Warwick sighed. Turning towards the window he felt a spark of excitement develop. He could almost feel the wind as it whistled past his ears while speeding along a long straight stretch of asphalt, carefree and without concern for safety and away from parental restrictions.

“How would you like me to take you down the street? Your mother said it would be alright as long as it wasn’t for too long,” Travis offered bringing Warwick back to the solitude of his room.

“You know Travis at my age they treat me like a kid. It becomes somewhat frustrating at times.”

“I guess it does, come on, I’ll shout you a malted milk or something at the cafe.”

“I would rather go to the pub,” Warwick admitted.

“If you like,”

“I don’t think so I’d never hear the end of it,”

“Should I telephone for a taxi?”

“No I’ll take my stick and hold onto your arm that is if you don’t mind being seen out and about with some blind bloke.”

“Of course I don’t, it would be my pleasure.”

Most of the local kids had left the cafe as Travis guided Warwick by the arm and sat him at the closest booth.

“Music?” Travis asks and placed a coin into the control box at the head of the booth. The coin clicked and rumbled down a chute until clinking with other coins.

“I like that sound, I sometimes make up mind stories about what sounds mean,” Warwick says.

“What would you like to hear?”

“Anything,” Warwick answered.

“You push a button.” Travis suggested guiding Warwick’s hand to the front of the control panel.

Warwick pressed a button, soon the House of the Rising Sun, broke the silence in the café. “I like the Animals,” Warwick happily declared and commenced to slowly move his head to the sound of the music.

“I can play that on my guitar,” Warwick admitted.

“I didn’t know you played the guitar,”

“I learned by ear,” Warwick followed with an obvious chortle, “I can’t read music and I don’t think they write it in Braille,”

Travis understood his friend’s humour and chuckled along with it.

“I can smell potato chips,” Warwick says sniffing at the air within the café, “and vinegar.”

“Want some?”

Travis didn’t wait for Warwick’s answer and ordered two small serves of chips and milkshakes with double malt and returned to the booth to share the snack, which Warwick consumed as if experiencing chips for the very first time.

“Looks like you like greasy chips?” Travis observed.

“Love chips but mum won’t cook them; she said they aren’t good for you.”

“Would you like some more?” Travis asks, offering the remainder of his own, which was accepted without hesitation.

“Who’s your friend?”

The voice of Greg Stanley came from behind, causing Warwick to jump at the intrusion.

Both Warwick and Travis turned.

“I’ll introduce you.”

“I guess someone should,” Greg commanded.

“Warwick this is Greg, he’s the one with the motorbike you heard earlier.” Travis acknowledged.

“I know you – you’re that blind bloke from the next street, I’ve seen you in your yard,” Greg assumed as Warwick nodded in the direction of Greg’s voice.

“Greg,” Travis complained.

“What,”

“Be nice.”

“It’s alright Travis; Greg is only stating a fact,” Warwick assured.

“Warwick would like a ride on your bike.”

“What! And run it into the closest car or tree or something, I don’t think that’s advisable.”

“No on the back – pillion you goose,”

“Come on then, I’ll take you for a spin. I’ll give you a turn around the town but it will be a quick one as I’ve only a few minutes as I’m heading back to Tarzali for work – that’s what I came to tell you as I saw you enter as I rode past.” Greg says to Travis.

Before rationality set, Warwick stood in anticipation and was lead out of the café to where the bike was parked.

“Do you think you should?” Travis warned but his caution went unheeded and he could only stand by while his charge was seated on the motor behind Greg.

“Arms around my chest!” Greg shouted over the roar of the motor, “tighter,” he added. Warwick responded. “Ready?” Greg shouted as the bike quickly moved away from the curb, then with more speed than Travis thought to be practical it disappeared around the first corner.

Ten minutes passed and they had not returned, then another five. Travis began to concern. If there had been an accident he would be responsible. Another minute and the sound of the bike arrived from the opposing direction and with a skid came to halt beside where Travis was waiting, with both Warwick and Greg laughing loudly.

“You didn’t have to go so fast!” Travis scolded.

“He loved it. Didn’t ya’ Warwick?”

“It was great Travis. Great and for the first time in years I felt free.” Warwick was still laughing as he dismounted.

“What if he fell off?” Travis sternly declared.

“He’s a better pillion than you mate,” Greg revved his motor. “Gotta’ go, see ya next weekend.”

“What about the Royal tonight?” Travis called, displaying an increasing measure of disappointment.

“Have to take a raincheck, next weekend alright?” Greg shouted and headed out of town.

“Are you okay Warwick?” Travis asks as Greg vanished into the distant traffic along Byrnes Street towards the Atherton Road.

“Sure, it was great.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Na,”

“Suppose I should take you home.”

Warwick didn’t answer while containing a high level of excitement, with the throb of the machine still pulsating through his body.

With all the excitement Warwick couldn’t see and Travis failed to notice Agnes Craddick standing close by watching Warwick as he dismounted from the bike. Agnes was the Ross’ neighbour who devoted more of a passing day to other’s business rather than her own. By the time Travis returned Warwick home his escapade had already been related to his mother.

Approaching the house Warwick remained energized from the experience but it soon dissipated as his mother opened the door.

“I’ve just had a visit from Agnes Craddick,” Stella declared sternly.

Warwick paused without speaking at the bottom step as he fumbled for the hand rail. She continued, “Agnes told me that she saw you on the back of Greg Stanley’s motorbike.”

Warwick lowered his head away from the knowledge of his mother’s expected gaze.

“Your father told you not to get ideas about motorbikes.”

“Sorry mum but -” Warwick pushed pass his mother, “I’m not a child mother,” he declared loudly and feeling humiliated in front of Travis quickly entered the house.

“Wait for me here,” Stella quietly demanded of Travis s she followed her son inside and closed the door. Soon Travis could hear a heated argument between mother and son. He wished to leave but remained. Minutes later Stella returned. Red faced and flustered, she spoke, “I thought I left Warwick in your care Travis.”

“Sorry Mrs. Ross, it wasn’t planned, it just happened.”

“I’m very disappointed with you Travis,”

“Sorry,” Travis again apologised.

“I don’t think you should visit Warwick anymore.”

“But it wasn’t my fault, Greg turned up and offered and it all happened before I could say anything.”

“Warwick was in your care, you should have said no,” the woman sighed loudly while Travis remained despondent. “Look Travis your interest in Warwick is appreciated but what happens when you move on.” She paused and slowly shook her head. “Warwick is a sensitive lad and doesn’t handle loosing friends,” another pause as her anger dissipated, “Mr. Ross and I appreciate your attention towards Warwick but I think it better if you don’t come around anymore.” Once said Stella turned and quietly closed the door sounding a loud click at the lock, leaving Travis alone on the step and bewildered by her reaction.

On returning home Travis was soon accosted by his mother. “I’ve had Stella Ross on the telephone,” Margaret quietly spoke as she worked on her ironing, using the door back to hang Jim’s work shirts.

“Yes and I can guess the rest.”

“Why did you allow Greg to take him on that motorbike?”

“I didn’t, it just happened, Greg offered and Warwick was on the back and gone before I could say anything,” Travis softly protested his innocence.

“You should have said something.”

“I did; why is it always my fault?”

“It’s done now but you should think as Mr. Ross and your father are on the return soldier’s club committee, you should think of your father’s position.”

“Anyway it was only a quick spin around the block and I’ve never seen a bloke look so happy, Warwick loved it – besides -.” Travis refrained from finishing his thought.

“Besides what Travis?” Margaret asks as she ran a hot iron over the last of her husband’s work shirts displacing a button with the weight of the iron, “blast, I’ll have to sew that back on.”

Margaret retrieved the button from the floor and placed it aside.

Travis became brave, “I was going to say, why is it always dad, don’t I have a life, doesn’t Warwick have a say?”

“Warwick is not our business and I think you are being a little petulant.”

“Petulant, that is your favourite word for me mum.”

“I only say it because it is so.”

Margaret placed the finished shirt on a hanger and went for her sewing kit.

I reckon you don’t even know what petulant means,” Travis mumbled and helped himself to a soft drink from the refrigerator.

“Travis I heard that,” Margaret warned.

“Sorry but it’s true.”

“Now you’re being insolent.”

“Again sorry, what’s for dinner?”

“Lamb curry and mash potatoes, you can peel the spuds but not too many as your father won’t be home for tea.”

“Where’s he going?”

“A club meeting, they are voting to redesign the bar,” Margaret switched off the iron and commenced her sewing, “another thing about you working for Jack Johnson.”

“Oh you’ve heard of his offer, I was going to tell you tonight.”

“You are going to accept?”

“Greg said there isn’t any future in making saddles,” Travis repeated his friend’s deduction.

“I think you should.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you still haven’t got that notion of working with cattle and travelling with Greg Stanley.”

“Can’t Greg’s gone cold on the idea, besides he’s working for his uncle and has accepted an apprenticeship as a chippy.”

“What about yourself, I hope you’ve come to your senses, you know what happened to your father,” Margaret warned.

“Dunno I haven’t thought much of anything – whatever,” Travis lied as his enterprise was never far from thought.

“What do you imply by whatever?”

“Nothing except whatever eventuates will do so,”

“There is an apprenticeship in offering at Wilson’s garage, if you’re not interested in saddlery why not apply? Your dad is well known to Ted Wilson and I’m sure he can put in a good word for you.”

“Become a grease-monkey and stink of sump oil all the time with permanent dirty fingernails.”

“Travis you will have to make a decision one way or another eventually.”

“As I said mum, in good time I’m still in holiday mode.”

“By the time you make up your mind all opportunity will have dissolved, you do realise your entire class will be looking for positions.”

“I do realise as you and dad keep reminding me.”

“You will be staying in tonight?”

“I think so – why?”

“Your father wishes to have a word with you.”

“Yes and I can guess why,”

Margaret collected her ironing and left her son’s comment unresolved.

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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