Published: 06 Feb 2017

There was to be a party at Ten Love Street, some streets away from the Brody house and beyond Bruce Street and Bent Parade, while before Mary and Craddock Streets. These were all just location names but to those who knew, carried history going way back to when a man named Bruce Bent was Shire President and twice Mayor. The man had been Bent by name as well as by nature and at the time believed to be behind every crooked deal made in the shire, going as far as dealings with his State Parliament of which he was once a member.

Although married with a large Catholic breed, Bent wasn’t backward in spreading his affections around the town. One such conquest was a young lady by the name of Mary Craddock, bearing an illegitimate child to the bounder. For Mary’s services she was privileged by having two streets named in her honour

Not satisfied with the action, Bent went one extra step, hedonistically giving a further two his own name, placing Love Street between as a token of his unrelenting affection. Alas a short time later and after the birth of Mary’s second illegitimate child, Bent diverted his interests towards a younger woman, someone without crying children to remind him of his misconduct. As for Mary Craddock, she faded into the town’s background noise, marrying a man with no future but enough love for them both, before leaving the district never to return.

Now only the street names remained and the fable how they came about. Was it all true? No one challenged the story’s authenticity, or appeared to be at all interested but if one was to read the street names from east to west, they would perceive the notion that Bruce Bent Love Mary Craddick and regardless of the origins, there was to be a party in the street between the two lovers that night and Luke had been invited.

“Whose party is it?” Esca asked on hearing the news from Luke while showing little interest in the event.

“Roger Bevan, he’s eighteen and his parents have given him open house and they booked into a motel for the night.”

“More fool them, knowing the louts Bevan associates with.”

“Do you want to go? Luke asked.

“I hardly know him, besides I wasn’t invited.”

“I am – you can come as my girlfriend.” Luke cheekily suggested, his deep blue eyes flashing his mischief.

“Funny boy.”

“Come on it’s an open invitation and the old crowd will be there.”

“Your crowd maybe, I would feel out of place.”

“Come on, you’re not that much older.”

Esca was steadfast, he was never one for parties and since his return had become somewhat of a self imposed recluse. If it were not for his friendship with Luke and his need to visit the shops, he may have never left the house.

“No you go and watch out for drugs.” Esca concluded.

“You are sounding like my old man; you should know me better than that.”

Ten Love Street was a quaint timber house, set back from the front by a well presented garden and hidden by shrubs and trees. As Luke arrived the party was in full swing with loud music audible more than two streets away; head banging music, more rebellious than entertaining, declaring listen to me I exist.

“Grunge Music, I hate Grunge.” Luke complained while walking the long dark path towards the open front door. Music to Luke came from the Country, with lyrics declaring lost love or the death of a favourite dog. The genre of Grunge went nowhere, something to bash ones youthful frustrations out to – a not so silent protest and nothing new, all done before by previous generations. In the fifties it was Rock and Roll. The sixties gave us flower-power and weed. In the seventies there was a revival of well structured music without an obvious need to rebel, only to die in the early eighties, giving way to ‘whatever floats your boat man,’ and whatever drugs took you out. Now it was Grunge and the closer Luke came to its source the more he hated it.

Inside the noise was deafening, room to room Grunge, with everyone talking at once, or to be more accurate, shouting, with the unmistakable odour of marijuana permeating the smoke hazed rooms. Luke placed his three cans of Victoria Bitter onto a table set up in the living room for that purpose, amongst a generous collection of beer, wine, spirits and mixers, before searching for a friendly face.

It was not yet seven-thirty and there was already a crowd, numbering more than invitations issued, while damage to furnishings and fittings was becoming obvious. Even worse there seemed to be no one in charge of party protocol. A complete free for all: Boys almost naked, girls becoming a little more daring than their dignity would normally allow and no sign of the Birthday Boy.

“Where’s Bevo?” Luke asked while opening his first beer.

“Pissed I suppose. Tony Jackson, a lad from Luke’s school year declared. He continued, his eyes glazed by alcohol. “The last I saw of him he was with Leanne.”

Luke was beginning to feel uncomfortable. This was not the party it was designed to be. Roger Bevan was only given the freedom of the house, providing he invited a few of his school friends and their consumption of alcohol was limited to a couple of cans each. Roger had been in agreement but after starting his intake of alcohol early in the day, was by party time beyond controlling his special day, without the capability of giving the correct date, never mind behaving properly.

Luke sipped his beer while attempting conversation with Barbara Swanson, a usually reserved girl from his class whose prudish high social morals often brought ridicule. Now her guard was down and conversation slurred and banal. Luke played along for some time, watching through the dull lighting a couple sexually entangled on a couch. During the process of their entanglement a large ceramic bowled lamp placed on a small table to the foot end of the couch was struck, sending it in pieces to the thick vivid white shagpile carpet. The smashing of the lamp momentarily brought quiet to the gathering, except for the Grunge, followed by laughter and a general lack of consideration.

A girl, who had been standing close to the broken lamp, possessed enough wit to clear away the pieces and disconnect the electrical cord. As she did so a young fellow holding his hand over his mouth made evacuation at pace towards the toilet. Pushing the door open it hit upon a couple, totally naked, intensively exchanging body fluids upon the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. The two didn’t miss a stroke as the invader headed for the toilet bowl but not making the distance vomited over the naked back of his class mate.

“Baxter you stupid fucking bastard!” Don Addison, the receiver of the vomit shouted, disconnecting himself from the girl he had met in the living room minutes earlier. “By the way, what’s your name?” He asked of the girl as he pushed his mate towards the toilet bowl and onto his knees to disgorge the remainder of his stomach into the bowl.

“Sue.”

The two quickly showered, finishing their pleasure under the fall of the water. Dressing they returned to the party as if nothing had happened, leaving Baxter in a crumpled heap on the toilet floor, his head descending into the toilet bowl while moaning his regret.

Luke decided he had had enough and would leave, being the only sober person in a sea of drunks wasn’t his idea of a night’s entertainment but firstly he would find Roger Bevan and at least wish him happy birthday. Trying each closed bedroom door he eventually found the room occupied by Bevan. What he encountered may have shocked others at the party but Luke found it most humorously entertaining.

On the bed on all fours was the Birthday Boy and in proud doggy fashion was ploughing into Leanne but even in the half light of the room it was clear they were not alone. Kerry Ingles, the quiet lad of their class was with them and as naked and drunk as they were, while mounting, stroke for stroke, the rear end of Bevan.

“Happy Birthday.” Luke greeted quietly before gently closing the door and leaving the party, elated with his discovery.

Turning into Bent Parade Luke was passed by a number of vehicles filled with a gang of noisy young men, intending to have some fun at other’s expense. It appeared that with all the mistakes Roger Bevan had made on that Special Day, his greatest was advertising his party on the Internet, receiving attention from the Ravenswood boys, who were more than prepared to travel any distance to harass entertainment at other’s expense.

Once outside the party house the two vehicles halted, spilling out their violent contents onto the footpath. Luke paused commencing to retrace his steps back to the party but on seeing how many there were and armed with, what appeared to be baseball bats, he decided it was too late to raise the alarm or help, so with caution becoming the better part of valour, he hurried to the closest telephone box in order to call the police.

“Evening Constable Payne, how can I help you?” The Constable greeted lethargically.

“Hello, it’s Luke Brody and I’ve just left a party at Ten Love Street.” Luke’s tone appeared urgent.

“Yes Luke I had a call about excess noise at that address.”

“You’re about to get more than loud noise, I’ve just seen the Ravenswood boys arrive carrying baseball bats and marching up the garden path.”

“Alright Luke I’m on to it, where are you now?” Payne asked, sounding somewhat more urgent than before.

“I’m in the telephone box in Bent Parade.” Luke answered.

“Right, we’ll be around there soon but don’t you go back to the party.”

Immediately after Luke rang-off Payne went in search of his Sergeant, finding Barnes half tanked in the Railway Hotel’s bar, chatting with a large breasted women; a travelling sales lady in women’s lingerie, who at that moment was receiving the final touches to the Sergeant’s offer of a good night in the cot. She was on the verge of agreeing when Payne entered and approached Barnes.

“What is it Constable?” Barnes asked aggressively, his hand high on the woman’s inner thigh and slowly disappearing under her low cut tight black skirt. ‘No underwear,’ Barnes thought as the tips of his fingers gently touched her warm mound of her sexual pleasure, ‘and her in ladies nickers as well,’ he added to that thought before reluctantly removing his hand as Payne stood embarrassed over the two of them.

It took some time for the Constable to convince Barnes of the severity of the situation and by the time they arrived at Ten Love Street, the residence was deserted but appearing like a war zone. The front door had been staved and many windows broken, while inside it seemed as if a tornado had entered by the front door, to exit at the rear. There were also smears of blood in the living room, mixed with spilt alcohol and broken bottles also found in hall leading towards the front door, along with two sets of men’s underpants and one pair of jeans.

“It seems as if someone left in quite a hurry.” Payne commented without meaning to display humour.

“Shit!” Barnes exclaimed loudly, remembering he had been approached by the parents to keep an eye on their son during the night and had forgotten their request as soon as it was issued.

Checking the house room by room they failed to find anyone but once outside became confronted by many of the neighbours, mostly in their nightwear and dressing gowns. They were brave now the Ravenswood thugs had gone and extremely verbal, blaming the establishment for not acting sooner.

“I rang the station a good hour ago.” Vince Tanner, the closest neighbour to the party house complained as Barnes attempted to secure the front door,

“It has been a busy night Vince, we can’t be everywhere.” Barnes answered without conviction, wondering where the owners of the spilt blood had gone and if it were serious enough for him to concern.

“What some cat caught up a tree?” James Harnett from number twelve sarcastically offered.

“Why weren’t you doing your rounds?” Barnes quietly asked of his Constable.

“I had already done so but knew nothing about the party.”

“I told you about it.” Barnes lied. Payne lowered his head without answering. It would be fruitless to do so, Barnes had his scapegoat and not for the first time it would be his Constable.

“I saw blood in the house, was anyone injured?” Barnes enquired turning to the gathered neighbours.

“If you arrived when called you wouldn’t have to ask that question.” Harnett offered.

“Alright Mr. Harnett, you have established that fact now how about answering my question.” Barnes barked. His tone laced with enough anger to silence Harnett’s banter.

“Some cuts and probably broken skulls but I should think nothing fatal, their mates took them off to causality.” Vince Tanner explained.

“What about the rest of the party?” Barnes asked.

“Most bolted as the gate crashers entered through the front, suppose they are tucked up in their little beds by now.” Tanner answered.

“Or by the amount of alcohol they had consumed, probably chucking their guts out all over Main Street.” Harnett added. The Sergeant disregarded the neighbour’s comments but received one last passing snipe from Vince Tanner, “I will say one thing Mr. Barnes I wouldn’t want to be the one who explains all this to Doug Bevan, especially seeing he asked you to keep an eye on the place.”

The Sergeant felt the sting but refrained from comment.

Believing the establishment secured to the best of his ability, Barnes directed the neighbours to return to their beds. With much deliberation on the effectiveness of their local police force they did so, leaving the Sergeant standing at the front gate in conversation with his Constable.

“Well what do you reckon?” Barnes sighed rhetorically, his face prickling with embarrassment for not heeding Doug Bevan’s request. Payne avoided answering. It would be fruitless to do so, as Barnes had made up his mind who would wear the blame.

“Suppose we better check with the hospital.” Barnes suggested.

“We should also let the parents know.”

“I’ll tell you what Warren, seeing you neglected to check on the party, you can advise the parents while I visit the hospital. Besides I have a young lady who needs my attention.”

It was Christmas week and George had once again moved back into the Brody house, while Luke had become bitten by the Christmas spirit, wanting to string decorations across the kitchen ceiling, even suggesting a Christmas tree. Esca played along with him pretending to be interested but the Brody house had not seen decorations since his father and George were boys and to his surprise George arrived from the shed with a box of rat eaten dusty decorations, most of which fell apart once lifted from the box. George proudly offered his collection to the boys

“What do you think?” He asked of Luke, offering the box up for his scrutiny.

“It’s all crap.” Luke replied.

“Anyway I don’t believe in Christmas.” Esca admitted.

“Not even presents?” George asked.

“That part is alright it’s all that pious religious stuff that leaves me cold.”

“Too true,” George answered and laughing he continued; “do you know what the existence of God reminds me of?” He asked with a wicked smirk.

“What would that be George?” Luke requested.

“It reminds me of a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat that isn’t there.” George was most impressed with his telling but received nothing but a shrug of shoulders from both boys. Esca couldn’t see the irony in the narrative and Luke just didn’t understand what George was on about.

“The trouble with the youth of today is; you just don’t have a sense of humour.” George complained.

“The trouble is with old blokes like yourself, you’re just not funny.” Luke retorted.

“A little less of the old bloke and there goes your Christmas present young Luke.” George warned.

“And your’s as well and I was going to spend at least a dollar on you.”

With Luke’s answer the three laughed and commenced to further investigate the box of ancient decorations, dust and rat droppings.

Esca did enter in with the spirit by purchasing a packet of twenty Christmas cards at the dizzy price of a dollar fifty. Problem was who could he send them to? His mother, a couple of school mates, cousins he hardly knew, maybe some Aunts and Uncles? He laughed at his quandary deciding to only post one and it would be to his mother. The remainder he strung along the living room window in the pretence they had been received.

“That only makes you look lonely.” Luke commented on the line of cards.

“Or pathetic,” George added as Esca stood back to admire his string of greetings.

“Or pathetically lonely,” Luke continued.

While filling out the card to his mother he had a thought.

“Hey George did you say Jack was working somewhere near Julia Creek?”

“Yea but that was around nine months back or more, you know Jack he could be anywhere by now.”

In truth Esca didn’t know his brother at all. His memories were hazed by the passing years but not his need to once again be reunited with him.

“What was the name of the hotel where your friend saw Jack?” Esca asked

“He didn’t say only that he had a few drinks with him.”

“How many pubs are there in Julia Creek?” Esca called to George.

“I don’t know I’ve never been there.”

“Can’t be many, what do you think?” Esca declared.

“Well I guess there is at least one.”

Esca smiled and retrieved a blank card from his window display, on which he jotted a few simple words of greeting before addressing the envelope.

Mr. Jack Brody
Care Hotel
Julia Creek-4823

Queensland.

Licking the envelope closed he added a stamp and placed it onto the kitchen table, gazing blankly at it in wonder for some time; would it reach Jack?

Four days before Christmas day the post came late. Oddly two cards arrived one for Esca and the other addressed to Luke under his Aunt’s address, which had been struck out with a marking pen and readdressed. Esca passed the envelope to Luke.

“It’s dad’s hand writing.” Luke said and opened the envelope.

‘Merry Xmas son love Mum and Dad;’ Simple to the point and most probably dictated by his mother. ‘Don’t waste words dad.’ That thought remained with Luke as Esca opened his own envelope. It was also a card and from his mother who was not only a little more liberal with her words had enclosed a twenty dollar note. With that Luke peered back into his envelope releasing a hurt sigh. It was empty.

“You can have half of mine.” Esca offered.

“No it’s for you.”

“Did you send your parents a card?” Esca asked.

“I didn’t think of it; I’ve never sent cards before, I guess it’s a little late now.”

“It’s never too late,” Esca marched off to the living room returning with a blank card from his window display. He passed it to Luke. “Come on write one out now and maybe it will reach them in time for Christmas, if not soon after but don’t mention you received theirs, so they will think you didn’t forget.”

Luke conformed to Esca’s suggestion and was as stingy with his greeting as his parents had been.

“Here’s a stamp now go and post it before the afternoon collection.” Esca offered then all but marched Luke to the front gate.

On his way to the street corner and the posting box, Luke paused in conversation with three workmen as they replaced the Morris’ front fence. All three were shirtless and baking in the thirty-five plus degree heat but most jovial at their work. Their copper coloured backs soaking up the hot afternoon sun, while their handsome faces were well shaded by wide brimmed hats. ‘Handsome, all three of them,’ Luke thought as he paused, more out of the need to ponder on their well defined bodies rather than to communicate.

“Good weather.” The oldest of the three greeted as he passed. They all stoped their work and in turn nodded in friendly gesture.

“I’m not going to give you a hand.” Luke declared with a smile, feeling the true reason for his silent lingering may have been exposed.

“Why not I’ve a spare hammer.”

“Be buggered in this heat.” Luke concluded and advanced towards the posting box. On his return he couldn’t help himself and once again made light of their hot work.

“I reckon you lot must be cooked by now, I’ll turn the oven off.”

“I thought you brought the basking.” The workman with a large tattoo on his back and missing front tooth offered.

“As long as you haven’t brought the stuffing.” The man who Luke fancied the most declared, releasing a smile that seemed to say, “I can read your thoughts lad.”

Luke laughed and continued on his way, ‘stuffing, give me half a chance and I’d give you stuffing.’

Christmas dinner at the Brody house was simple. The table was filled with food and beer. There were even crackers, maybe a little old and didn’t pull with a bang and out of the decoration box George retrieved from the shed but in spirit they were as good as brand new. Their contents with silly hats, mouse droppings and quotations were the same back when stored as they were new that Christmas. Some things, such as the humour of man never changed.

Spam became their ham. Chook their turkey and Christmas pudding from a dented tin purchased the previous day from the seconds bin at Kenny’s supermarket. George suggested, not having any sixpenny bits, they could place five cent coins in the pudding but the others, being ignorant of the custom, would have none of it. With Luke declaring his Grandmother had once told him Chinamen put sixpenny coins in their ears for safe keeping. Still, even without George’s financial tradition, their meal was impressive, bringing George to admit he could not remember a better Christmas, or finer people to celebrate it with.

By mid afternoon the temperature had soared. George was drunk and the boys merry. Luke with a boyish giggle took hold of Esca’s hand, leading him towards their bedroom. “Come on I’ve a present for you and you can even unwrap it.” With another giggle he closed the bedroom door behind them.

The week after the festive season brought with it a heat wave, turning the early summer grass brown and dangerously long. It had been suggested to burn off the excess grass close to the town as a security precaution but the council had other interests, they had to issue the permit for the reopening of the mine, also there was talk of the rail service returning. Then there were some days of heavy rain, bringing new growth to follow quickly behind the already long dry spring grass and the urgency of burning off was forgotten.

By New Year George was becoming restless. It had been his longest stay anywhere in many years. Also he was running out of free grog, as there was only so far friends would carry his slate and that time had long passed. Not to say George was drinking more. In fact most probably less but along with his restlessness he was finding difficulty in watching Esca and Luke enjoying their youthful company without some twinges of regret.

George had never entered into a relationship, being a park and public convenience man with the occasional pick up from a bar. Usually he didn’t have anywhere to take anyone he chanced to meet, so it would be a quick hand job in the bushes, or standing in the undergrowth with trousers around the ankles. Seeing his Nephew contented made him realise there was more to life than drifting and casual sex. Maybe he could find a nice place to settle. Somewhere cool and green, away from dust and flies but one thing he was sure of, this wasn’t the town to do so. Too many stories, too many people who would like to see him strung from the tallest park tree.

George came in from the back yard, finding Esca boiling the kettle.

“Making coffee?” he asked. He had lost his usual jovial attitude and appeared dull and distant.

“Na tea, want a cup?”

“Sure – where’s Luke?”

“Gone to the shop, were almost out of milk.”

George sat himself at the table. His hands clasped behind his head, his eyes cast towards the ceiling and its flaking cream paint.

“What’s the matter?” Esca asked, not being accustomed to his uncle in pensive mood.

“Nothing really, I was thinking it’s about time I moved on.” Esca poured the tea, joining his Uncle at the table.

“Where will you go?”

“Dunno, down the coast maybe, the sea air and all that.” George sipped his tea, it was hot and steam clouded his vision.

“You should settle down, you’re not getting any younger.” Esca perceived with humour but there was a sting in the tail of his perception and George felt it.

“Too late for that mate, have to do so when you’re young, once you reach thirty, the horse has bolted.” George swirled the tea leaves around the bottom of his mug. They made a pattern and he imagined reading their message. Giving a huff, George decided they were only tea leaves.

“You’re a good runner, besides you’re still in your twenties.” Esca laughed in an attempt to cheer his uncle.

“Was Esca – was; I turned thirty just after the New Year.”

“We missed your birthday!” Esca felt guilty.

“Better that way.” There was a loud noise from the park catching both their attentions. “What was that?” George exclaimed.

“Probably Hutton I saw him earlier. He’s always hanging around the park, more than likely strangling some kid half his age. He’s a mean bastard that one.” Esca quickly scanned the park, Hutton was there with a couple of younger kids but all appeared to be civilised.

“What are you and Luke going to do?” George asked.

“In what way do you mean George?”

“The future, if you stay in town living together people will talk.”

“I don’t know, I never thought about it.” Esca answered. To Esca they were sharing an otherwise difficult situation, as for living together he hadn’t given it extended deliberation but knew it was the ache that was hiding deep down in his subconscious.

“You know the kid loves you.”

George’s words came like a hammer blow, as if his uncle had lifted that lid from that well known can, bringing the ache to surface. The concept concerned him and had been smouldering deep down for some time but Esca refused to dwell on it. For the moment life was easy, they enjoyed each other’s company and the bed but that was all. They both were too young to think of the future. Even so a small spark of that smoulder did tell him George was right. He also loved Luke. Esca released a nervous laugh as Luke returned with the milk.

“I’m back and you will never guess who I just saw?”

“Who,”

“Old Mrs. Battle, she’s bought herself a new car.”

“What make?” Esca asked.

“I don’t know a big black one. I didn’t take much notice.”

“I better keep the Ute off the street.”

Luke was in need to place papers with Centre Link for his dole application as his parents had stopped supplying his meagre allowance, in hope that by doing so he would have to join them. With nothing better to do Esca went along for the walk.

While Luke waited in the long queue, Esca grew tired of looking at the unemployed and the sound of crying babies, so he took himself to sit on one of the benches in the small park, set aside in an attempt to beautify the otherwise plain Government building but like the building it failed badly.

Twenty minutes had passed without Luke’s return. Esca, tired of waiting, was about to duck back inside and arrange to meet his friend at home. As he stood to leave an old man passing paused, gently placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder, he spoke.

“Well I’ll be, it’s Esca Brody, isn’t it, how’s your dear mother?” The voice belonged to Joe Watts a farmer from a short distance east of town. Watts was a man in his eighth decade. Tall bald and thin, with a back as straight as that of one half his age, while his sun wrinkled skin drew sinewy over wire like muscles. Joe Watts was once a close friend to the Brody family. He had taught both Esca’s father and his Uncle George to ride, also in their turn Esca and Jack as well.

The friendship between the two families dwindled after Joe lost his only son to a tractor accident, turning the farmer into somewhat of a recluse. After his wife passed away the loneliness of the farm became so unbearable, he took in a lady lodger with two young children, at the suggestion of a lady friend who worked with Social Services. At first having strangers around was as agonizing as being alone but in time he became attached to the mother through her children and a close relationship developed, eventually they married.

“Mum’s no longer in town; she has gone down the coast to be near her sister.” Esca informed.

“It was sad about your dad.” The old man sympathised.

“I was away in the city.” Esca explained, sounding more as an excuse for not being moved by the old man’s empathy.

“A sad time son,” The old man repeated, his head gently shaking with his words and returned memory of his own loss.

“I suppose you’ve now left school?” The old man asked.

“Yes a couple of years back.”

“Are you working?”

“Na I can’t find any I’m on the dole.” Esca disclosed somewhat apologetically.

“That the trouble son, you need to go to university to even farm these days.”

The old man sighed, his thoughts wandering back to a time when there was pride in teaching the young; to a time when years of experience were of some value. The farmer once again shook his head, his eyes dulled with disappointment. He continued. “You know son the world has changed so much, there’s nothing left from my youth. My father had much to teach me, as had his father before him. Now I have nothing to teach the kids of today. Everything I learnt is redundant. I have nothing to hand down. It is the youth of today that teach the old.” The farmer once again sighed and after asking to be remembered to Esca’s mother, went on his way, leaving Esca feeling somewhat saddened by his candidacy.

“That was a bummer.” The voice of Luke’s approach brought Esca out of his melancholy for the old man’s quandary.

“All done?” Esca asked.

“They took my form, asked a lot of silly questions and demanded my Email address. When I said I didn’t have a computer, I got a look of disbelief and was sarcastically told I would receive a letter in the post some time in the future.”

“Should we get a computer?” Esca asked without thinking where the money to do so would come from.

“Do you know how use one?” Luke asked.

“Sort of, I did use them at school.”

“So did I and I don’t like them much, you end up sitting all day downloading a pile of junk you never use and didn’t want to know.” Luke declared, still smarting by the Dole Office’s attitude. His mood changed allowing a smirk engulfed his face, “or porn.”

“You have a point Sherlock, let’s go home.”

Gary would appreciate your thoughts on his story. Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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