Published: 27 Aug 2020

Joyce Marshal had much to talk about on the return journey and hardly paused from Cairns to Mareeba, where she once again had Lewis take her shopping, as with Christmas approaching and no reliable shops within a hundred miles of the station it would be her last chance to do so. The only other way of purchasing material, cosmetics and other luxuries once back on the station was from the occasional travelling salesman, who would arrive with a coverall truck stacked with every conceivable item but never what you wanted. Most called these travelling salesmen Gipsies but none were of the Romany clan only resembling the life style.

There was always mail order, mostly through Sydney but that could take up to a month with the outback mail service, even longer during the wet. When the item eventually arrived and if it didn’t suit, one had to live with it. If you returned the item it would be another month or more before the replacement arrived, if at all.

It appeared Joyce’s reunion with her daughter and once again with her son, went well and both wished to keep in contact. Julia’s husband had recently been given the position of manager of a large department chain and would, as was Eric, be based in Brisbane, while both suggested Joyce should give up country life and live in Brisbane. It also appeared their father was no longer in contact. After forcing Joyce from their home he took out his frustrations on the children until they were old and wise enough to leave and never return or contact again.

Once past Atherton Lewis took a diversion to Yungaburra where he called in on his mother, giving her the surprise of her life as the visit wasn’t planned. Opening the door and seeing her son and appearing very brown and lean, she almost didn’t recognise him.

“Mum.”

“Lewis what are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry there isn’t anything wrong,” he said and stepped inside. “You probably don’t remember Mrs. Marshall, she took over as cook after you left Gilbert Downs and I have been driving her down to Cairns to meet her children.” The two women greeted while Winnie showed them in and to Lewis’ surprise they remembered their brief acquaintance, even if it had only been for a short time while Winnie waited for the return mail truck.

“Where’s John?” Lewis asked.

“He has a fruit and vegetable run and won’t be back until late this afternoon.”

“Not another run.”

Lewis remembered his days as grocer boy during an earlier time and the year he left school. It would be his position to do cartage from truck to door. On one occasion he was bitten on the calf by a dog. It was only a nip but did draw blood and the scar remained as a reminder.

Your dog just bit me! Lewis had complained loudly to the dog’s owner while she weeded in the neighbouring yard. It was Mrs. Perkins the doctor’s wife and appeared most disinterested as the dog returned to base, bedding down in the shade of the stairs. Lewis again repeated his complaint. This time he crossed to the property line while being warned by the dog.

Settle Bruno, the woman commanded and continued with her gardening disregarding Lewis’ complaint.

Your dog bit me on the leg. Lewis had repeated with more vigour while pointing at the torn trousers and the smear of blood.

That’s what I keep a dog for the woman answered and without further comment she departed. The dog followed close at heels, all the while turning its boofy head and displaying a generous set of teeth.

“Yes John can’t seem to get away from delivery,” Winnie admitted.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to open another shop.” Lewis suggested.

“Funny you should say that, he is arranging a new premise in Atherton as we speak. Would you like to wait for him?”

“I can only stay a while and I’ll have to catch up on my next visit.”

“Are you coming down for Christmas?”

“No I promised the boss I would work over,” Lewis wasn’t telling all of the truth as it was at his suggestion and not that of Jack’s.

Lewis intended to call in, say hello and be gone within half an hour but Joyce and his mother had much common ground the time simply drifted away. Eventually it was necessary to call it a day and be on their way, which now meant it would be well past midnight before they arrived back at the station, while they were expected to arrive around dusk.

It was past one in the morning when Lewis brought the vehicle to park outside the store. After helping Joyce to her room with her bags and garaging the rover he walked across the flat to the sound of singing coming from the west end of the lagoon. Soft music gently floated on a slight breeze sounding more a lullaby then the usual harsh talking-singing the natives often performed, drawing Lewis to investigate.

As he approached the camp he found old Charlie One-eye playing his guitar while Bruce Jones sang in tune. It was a beautiful song, a little sad but full of meaning and harmony. Bruce paused his singing as Lewis approached but Charlie continued to play.

“Are you up late or up early,” he asked on approach.

“Late I guess Lewis, or early; time don’t mean anything to blackfella’.

“Sorry ‘Ewis I thought you were away eh,” Bruce apologised, while the others stirred from their sleep at the sound of a different voice but didn’t wake.

“No worries Bruce I’m just arriving now. Have you heard anything of Jimmy yet?” Lewis enquired while yawning and stretching the long drive from his muscles.

“Not yet boss,” Charlie said then wrapped his guitar in an old blanket.

“You need a case for that guitar or the damp will wreck it.”

“I sees’ one in Georgetown in the window of the general store but can’t afford it – One day eh – maybe.” Charlie agreed.

“Can you play the guitar as well as sing?” Lewis asked Bruce.

Charlie answered for the lad, “he plays better than me I tell ya’.”

“You should do something about that talent.”

“Maybe Ewis.” Bruce softly answered.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow and don’t mind me If I can sleep through your corroboree I can sleep through Bruce’s singing,” Lewis warmly assured.

“She’s jake boss we finish now,” Charlie concluded.

Lewis slept through his alarm and waking with a fright from a dream he could not remember but knew it wasn’t pleasant, he quickly dressed before hurrying across the flat to the kitchen.

“You’re late,” Bob Kelly grumbled from setting the breakfast fire.

“Sorry Bob.”

“Na don’t worry I heard you drive in after one and thought you maybe late up.”

“Thanks Bob I owe you one.” Lewis offered.

“Sure do and more than one by my reckoning. Did you get it?’

“Did I get what Bob?” Lewis loudly asked.

“What I asked for?”

Lewis was teasing and gave a curious frown, “what was that?”

“Did you get the whisky,” Bob whispered so others wouldn’t hear.

“Underwear? Yes I got your underwear.”

“Shush for Christ sake,” Bob softly growled.

“Usually the good woman buys a man’s underwear.” Ivy suggested as she returned from the big house with the breakfast order.

“Thanks for nothing Lewis.” Bob hissed.

“I got you frilly nickers, little pink ones with blue flowers around the waistband.”

“Are you going to model them for us Bob?” Ivy asked.

“He’s got nice legs Ivy, I saw him in those shorts he wears.” Joyce commented and whispered to Ivy – “they go right up to his bum.”

Ivy laughed.

“I heard that Joyce,” Bob complained.

“Oops sorry,” Joyce apologised but wasn’t repentant, believing Bob did have nice legs and a well formed backside.

“But Bob you mush admit it was funny.” Lewis said while joining in the humour. Bob drew silence knowing he would reap revenge on Lewis at another time.

Surprising for their late return, Joyce was about and preparing the mornings breakfast as bright as one who had slept for Van Winkle’s lifespan and captured Ivy as an audience with her tales of reunion. She even had young Wayne awake and feigning interest but once Lewis returned with wood, Wayne switched interests and hovered over Lewis as he collected the scraps for the chooks. He followed to the henhouse.

“You left school after Sub Junior didn’t you Lewis.” Wayne asked at the fowl yard gate, holding it wide as Lewis manipulated the two buckets through the opening.

“True but why do you ask?”

“I’ll be in Sub Junior next year.” Wayne advised as the gate was propped open for the chooks to free range.

“By your age I thought you would have been so this year?”

“Na, during the time we were back in Melbourne I was kept down a year.”

“Why did they do that?”

“Said I was too short for the grade.”

“Short? What a lot of rot.”

“That is what I said as I was average, possibly changing from one state’s system to another put me back somewhat.” Wayne explained.

“Are you looking forward to high school?”

“Not really I’m a little scared, education is getting serious now.”

“It should have always been so,” Lewis suggested.

“In primary school it didn’t matter, I simply went along with the flow and bluffed my way through but now I suppose my future depends on it and I will have to learn French.”

“When I was in high school it was Latin,” Lewis recalled, while also recalling his total failure in the subject.

“They changed it for next year but I’ve tried and don’t have the ear for language, I repeat what I hear and it comes out wrong.”

“What would you like to do when you leave school?” Lewis asked on his way to feed the pigs, with Wayne close behind while retaining his educational thought.

“I’m going to be a cowboy like you,” he proudly informed without further prompting.

“You don’t need good marks to be a cowboy, mostly a thick head and perseverance.”

“Maybe so but I don’t want to be thought of as a dunce and I was more than embarrassed being held back that year while in Melbourne, I wouldn’t want it to happen again. Besides you did Sub Junior and still took station work.”

“I didn’t finish the exams,” Lewis admitted.

“Why not?”

“They are a number of reasons. Anyway why would you wish to be a cowboy or any other station hand?” Lewis asked.

“It’s good enough for you – besides I like horses.”

“It is hard work and a lonely life and not all riding,” Lewis said in a vain attempt to dissuade the lad.

“Then why did you take it up?”

“As I said my friend that is another story and I don’t think you are old enough to understand or the best person to tell.” Lewis was becoming somewhat annoyed with Wayne’s continual questioning and was within seconds of telling him to bugger off but refrained.

“Was it something to do with when you were at the hostel?” Wayne continued his questioning.

“No Wayne it isn’t any of your business but something to do with when I was in Mareeba, now no more questions.”

“Okay no more questions, will you take me riding?”

“That’s another question,” Lewis gave a light chuckle realising the tenacity of the lad.

“Sorta’ not,” Wayne contradicted.

“How do you perceive that?”

“It was a directive disguised as a question.”

“Huh,” Lewis answered and handed one of the swill buckets for Wayne to carry.

“So, will you – please,”

“Possibly, we’ll see.”

“When? Wayne continued with his persistence.

“You don’t seem to realise, I’m here to work not have a holiday, maybe Sunday.”

Wayne’s reflection on his schooling brought Lewis to his own reflection. For a moment he was back at Herberton and his Sub Junior exams were on. He remembered doing well in History and Geography and scraping through in language after cheating. He had actually got away with cheating, whispering to Roslyn Reynolds, seated to his front she held her paper over her shoulder and Lewis feverously copied and did so without guilt. Lewis had also struggled through math-a, went down the creek hunting birds through math-b and hoped for a pass in English. He needed English to pass the year.

Lewis remembered nervously waiting for results, pleading with his teacher for an early assessment and attempting to bribe her for a pass by offering an Italian dictionary he possessed as the bribe. She took the book but refused his request.

The following day Lewis left for Mareeba without knowing if he had passed that year or not and even to the present he was oblivious to the fact.

Like Wayne he had once been held back a year and knew the embarrassment of failure and when his mother decided to send him to yet another school he couldn’t withstand a second failure and brought his education to an end.

“Then you will on Sunday?” Wayne asked cutting across Lewis’ reflections.

“Sunday?”

“Yes you said you would take me riding on Sunday.” Wayne repeated.

“Oh sorry, we’ll see.”

Somewhat disappointed with Lewis’ lack of certainty, Wayne spied Donald approaching towards the store and without further insistence on the matter of riding he departed company.

Lewis paused while the lads met and for a moment spoke before heading back towards the lagoon.

Once again he was transported back to Herberton and his exams. He held empathy for Wayne and his fears as they mirrored his own at that time.

Lewis had wanted to do well with his education but his brain wasn’t wired towards study. During those important years his thoughts were far away, somewhere in the vast interior riding horses, somewhere in his past when his mother was the cook at Dunluce Station. He was at Torrens Creek and its single teacher school. He was swimming in the Flinders River at Hughenden with his cousins. He had been anywhere else except in a school room and as his teachers droned on with the importance of knowledge he had been mentally vacant.

There was never time for study as most of his brain was occupied with the past, the remainder in fear for his future. Lewis remembered he would sit drawing maps of imaginary countries, of pretended battles while in study time. Geography was different and all his maps were freehand and most accurate, not using the plastic templates supplied. History was also strong, with his head full of Kings and Queens of England, famous battles and Empire; he could even reel off the dates of such. He remembered his primary year report cards and their constant, Lewis has the ability to do better if only he concentrated and his spelling lets him down.

Now watching Wayne as he walked across the flat Lewis wondered if the lad had similar fears and felt for him. He took a deep breath and gently shook his head, ‘oh well,’ he thought, ‘it could be worse.’

Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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