Published: 3 Sep 2020

Christmas was quickly approaching and Walter with the help of Bob had slaughtered a pig. To clear the skin of hair a forty-four gallon drum of water was set to boil over an open fire close by the stockyards and the carcass frequently dipped with the use of a makeshift gantry to soften the bristles, then with the help of scrapers in the form of tin lids or the like instruments they took to scraping.

With the job almost finished Jack arrived with a visitor. George Fisher was the police sergeant from Stanley Crossing, a small community at the junction of the Georgetown, Croydon road and the Gilbert River while doing his rounds of the local properties, also with a little advice as when no one was around at Tom Thumb someone had made of with one of the vehicles, which was found much later bogged down in the sand on a back road on Wattle Creek. After an extended conversation on weather and stock prices he and Jack headed for the lagoon and the native encampment.

Fisher had heard of the disappearance of Jimmy and wished to discover if any in the camp knew of his whereabouts. Once again they hadn’t, so with little reason to linger further he departed, promising Jack he would put out an all points to keep a lookout for the man, finishing with an added caution that there were some light fingered young fellows from the Tablelands doing the rounds in search of unaccompanied property.

The ham was smoked in a brick room called the smoking house sited beside the station’s butcher shop. It was a closed brick structure about the size of an outhouse with vents at its top and a metal door. The ham would be hung then a fire using specially selected wood would be set and kept burning until cured. As for the butcher shop it was a small concrete room with a marble top work bench and a large salting vat at one end.

When a bullock was slaughtered the carcass would be taken for salting. The salting would cure the meat so the periods between kills could be extended and with the lack of proper refrigeration most vital.

Kill-day was always a favourite as there would be fresh steaks and roast, instead of salted meat and corned beef. Flyblow was always a problem and could occur in a matter of minutes, cook would only need to turn her back for a moment and maggot laying blowies would arrive in squadrons to lay their larvae.

Lewis remembered one such incident when he was a child and his mother was housemaid. He had been up on holidays and was enjoying the Sunday roast with his mother and the then cook, Fay Parker. They were about to sink the fork into a juicy slice of roast when Henry Stubbs the bookkeeper before Stan Wilson arrived from the men’s dining room carrying his dinner plate while appearing most indignant towards his meal.

“What appears to be the matter there Henry?” Fay asked as the man approached, knowing well she did a mean roast and being a fresh kill and properly aged would all but melt in the mouth.

“Do you expect us to eat this?”

“What is wrong with it?” Fay asked showing a measure of concern, knowing the roast was cooked to perfection. Henry offered the plate and lifted the top slice of meat.

“Look for yourself, it’s galloping around the plate,” Henry complained and there nestled between the first and second slice was the problem, a sea of seething maggots.

“Oh my,” the cook gasped and took the plate to the kitchen. The main roast was likewise. Lewis remembered both he and Winnie pushed their meal away and found conversation elsewhere but at a later time did see the humours side of the event.

With little time until Christmas and a liberal amount of water on the ground, wild ducks had come into the wetlands to breed. Jack Thompson thus decided there would be duck for the Christmas table, so with Lewis as driver and navigator and Wayne and the Thompson kids in the back of the old utility, along with a collection of guns they set off for a spot of duck hunting.

Firstly they visited a small body of water that was an overflow from the lagoon but to no avail. The second waterhole had a small flock of Pacific Black Ducks, which on their approach cautiously paddled to the far end of the water.

“What do you reckon Lewis?” Jack said as Lewis parked the vehicle. Jack alighted and retrieved the unloaded shotgun out of the back of the utility. Now loaded he walked to the waters edge, took aim and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired and its report echoed through the trees, sending a flock of cockatoos screeching from their feeding on eucalyptus flowers, while the ducks, protesting loudly, flew away towards the west.

“Bloody gun, the sights are out!” Jack cursed, roughly dumping it back into utility and directing Lewis to drive on in the direction of the duck’s flight path, “What are you like with a gun?” Jack asked Lewis as they travelled.

“Couldn’t hit the side of a shed with a bucket of rice at five paces.” Lewis confessed.

“I thought it said you were a country boy out Hughenden way.”

“Too young for guns back then, Jack.”

“I had my first twenty-two at seven,” Jack laughed, “obviously didn’t improve my aim,” Jack admitted and turned his attention towards Wayne, “what about lad, do you know how to handle a rifle?”

“No Mr. Thompson,” Wayne admitted.

“What do they teach you young fellows these days?” Jack asked.

“Trigonometry and French I hear Jack,” Lewis mused.

“And history and geography,” Wayne drolly added being his preferred subjects.

“Huh,” Jack grunted, “drive on.”

Onward they discovered the same ducks at the second waterhole with a number of Pink Ear Ducks and two Pygmy Geese. Jack retrieved the shotgun and brought it back to the utility’s cabin while Lewis inched forward at snail’s pace towards the water. Engaging the hand break gave a rasping which frightened the ducks but instead of flying away they simply paddled a little closer to the far side.

“Shh,’ Jack demanded.

“Shushing,” Lewis answered as Jack lifted the gun and took aim through the missing windscreen of the vehicle, while allowing for what he considered to be bent sights. Again he squeezed the trigger and as the gun barked its report, branches from trees at the end of the water departed company and fell into the water as the ducks once again too to the air, followed close behind by the two geese and in the direction of the first waterhole but once passed the tree line changed their direction and headed further to the west.

“Where do you think they are heading?” Jack asked Lewis as he started the vehicle, following in the direction of the departing ducks.

“Probably the Five Mile,” Lewis suggested.

“Lead on,” Jack directed while his annoy went into overdrive to the silent amusement of Lewis.

“What are you smirking at?” Jack growled.

“All this trouble for a couple of scrawny wild ducks.”

“I promised Elizabeth, she said she hadn’t had duck since leaving England.”

“They would be nice plump farmyard ducks; I should think she would be a little disappointed with the local lot.”

“A duck is a duck, “Jack growled.

“At least they quack like a duck,” Lewis supposed.

“Umm – drive on.”

The Five Mile had overflowed and much of its water mingled with the trees for a good distance in all the directions from its natural confinement. It was usually a shallow lagoon and when in flood emptied directly into the river but for most of the year was but a large puddle or in extra dry years turned to sunbaked mud.

On arrival they found the very ducks from their previous encounter. This time at Jack’s request Lewis parked the utility some distance from the water. He watched as Jack selected the three-o-three rifle and stealthily waded into the shallows. Again Jack took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger, the rifle barked like a cannon and kicked back like a mule. When the noise had cleared and the ducks had once more fled they discovered a dead duck floating in mangled pieces amongst a flotilla of feathers and irretrievable.

“Shoulda’ brought the dogs,” Lewis suggested.

“Those two are flat out working cattle. In you go,” Jack smirked.

“You want me to?” Lewis quizzically asked.

“No forget it we’ll go another day when the mood’s more suited.”

With some feigned satisfaction Jack returned the rifle to the rear of the utility and directed Lewis to return home without any Christmas duck.

Later that week after Lewis had conveyed the duck hunting saga to the rest, Walter and Bob went out using the same shotgun returning with a healthy brace of Black Ducks which they proudly handed to Jack. So there would be duck for Christmas but when the menu was related to Jack he remained conspicuously silent.

After the duck hunting incident Wayne hung around Lewis even more, reminding the promise to take him riding. Again Lewis suggested the coming Sunday while admitting it may be difficult as the Thompson children would be riding their horses and the only other suitable for Wayne would be Flea-bitten.

“So I’ll ride Flea-bitten,” Wayne quickly reasoned.

“You probably could but if we are going together then I would have to walk.”

“You have Horse,”

“Nope as I said she is expecting so she is out of the question.”

“Oh,”

“I’ll speak to Jack maybe he can talk the kids out of riding for the day.” Wayne reluctantly agreed but as the two walked back from feeding the pigs he appeared to be troubled.

“What’s got you thinking Wayne?” Lewis asked while returning the empty slop buckets to the kitchen.

“Do you remember a teacher Len Franklin?”

“He was my grade eight teacher in primary, why do you ask?”

“Grade eight is high school,” Wayne corrected.

“It wasn’t then, again why do you ask?”

“No reason,”

“Need any wood Joyce,” Lewis called up the rear stairs to the kitchen. Joyce came to the top of the stairs wiping her hands on her apron while spotted with flour.

“Not at the moment Lewis, Wayne you mother is looking for you; she is over at the laundry.”

Joyce returned inside.

“You do ask a lot of unfinished questions, is there some grand design in it all?” Lewis asked as Wayne commenced to follow him towards the butcher shop to collect salted meat for the refrigerators.

“Some of the boys accuse him of things.”

“I wouldn’t know but you better go see what your mother wants.”

Wayne found his mother in the laundry busy with ironing. He became most intrigued with the old shellite iron and the roaring noise it released as the fuel burnt hot in the body of the iron. “Where’s the cord?” he asked.

“It runs on shellite, you must remember we had the same when you were a boy.” Ivy turned off the iron and placed it aside while collecting what she had completed. “It’s still hot, don’t touch it.”

“I’m not a kid mum.”

“Where have you been?” Ivy asked as she folded the last sheet.

“Talking with Lewis.”

“You’re not annoying Lewis. He does have work to do.”

“No only talking and he said he would take me riding on Sunday.”

“Be sure not to be a nuisance.”

“Did you know Lewis was at the hostel?”

“I did love, but don’t bother Lewis about it, he is a private man.”

“I just asked.”

“Best you let the men get on with their work. Go for a walk down to the lagoon, there should be kangaroos drinking by now.”

“Mum how old is Lewis?” Wayne fiddled with the rollers of the lage clothes mangle.

“You watch that love, put you hands through that and you’ll be in right trouble.”

“I won’t,” Wayne smarted for beings thought so juvenile.

“Remember your finger?” Ivy was teasing.

“What finger?”

“The time when Mr. Lloyd was closing the stock gate and he told you to keep them away from the jamb, and what did you do?”

Wayne remained silent.

“You put your finger in the jamb and you nearly lost it,” Ivy laughed, “I remember the blood and tears.”

“I still have the scar,” Wayne held up his index finger as proof.”

“Such a pretty little scar,” Ivy teased and collected a pile of ironing, “do a favour and bring that lot up to the big house with me.” Wayne collected a small pile and followed, “and if Mrs. Thompson is there don’t fiddle or ask questions.”

“How old is Lewis?” Wayne again asked.

“I don’t know around twenty-two I should think. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Wayne followed close behind his mother, “Is Lewis married?”

“I think not, why do you want to know?”

“Just asking,”

“Then stop asking about outer people’s business.” Ivy scowled and led the way to the upstairs bedrooms.

“I’m going to be a cowboy when I leave school.” Wayne proudly admitted.

“What happened to your returning to Melbourne?”

“That to,”

“You get your schooling done first then you can be what you want.” Ivy employed, then with a teasing smile continued; “and that is depending on your grades.”

“I hate school and Lewis left in Sub Junior.”

“You are not there yet.”

As the days progressed Wayne relented in following Lewis and asking his multitude of questions, some quite personal and suggestive. Instead he had somehow managed to find a measure of common ground with Donald and they would disappear for hours away from the homestead and the only time Lewis would encounter him would be when he set the breakfast fire or while collecting the eggs. As for asking Jack for the use of one of the children’s mounts it became somewhat shelved when Jack became embroiled in some matter with management and had lost his usual pleasantry. For once common sense triumphed over stupidity and Jack was proven correct. By the Saturday he had returned to normal but Lewis forgot to approach him about Wayne’s riding.

When their paths crossed there were still questions and an uncomfortable closeness as if Wayne were mentally reaching into Lewis’ private zone and fondling what he found there. This under different circumstances may have been erotic. If it were Bob then Lewis may have accepted the intrusion but Wayne was not only too young and his respect for Ivy wouldn’t allow that line to be crossed.

“Would you do me a favour?” Lewis asked of Wayne one morning after collecting the eggs.

“Anything.” Wayne answered and by his tone he meant what he said.

“Could you run the eggs up to Mrs. Marshall, while I finish feeding the chooks?”

“Sure.” Wayne replied with a touch of disappointment.

The egg delivery was more a ploy than a necessity, hoping that by the time Wayne had delivered the eggs he would find some other interest and not return.

“When are you going to take me horse riding?” Wayne again asked before he delivered the eggs.

“I thought you and Donald were going riding?”

“He doesn’t like horses.” Wayne said while distorting his face against the rising sun.

“After Christmas okay?”

“You said you would last Sunday,”

“I was busy for Mr. Thompson,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

“It does matter and after Christmas I’ll have more time,” Lewis promised.

Wayne didn’t respond and on return from delivering the eggs he ran into Donald who appeared to be asking something which Wayne was in agreement with. The two then diverted towards the stockyards and the scrub beyond which followed to the river. Wayne waved back as they went but Donald being his usual surly self made no acknowledgement.

‘I wonder what they are up to.’ Lewis thought as Donald placed his arm around Wayne’s shoulder and pulled him close, giving the lad a wrestling hold around his neck. Wayne protested and pushed Donald away then they both laughed while Wayne turned back as if checking to be sure no one had seen them.

‘Could it be?’ Lewis thought.

‘Na Donald isn’t the type.’

‘I reckon young Wayne would be.’

‘He’s a cute kid.’ Lewis thought while watching the two, ‘but those questions.’

Lewis continued to watch until the lads were out of site.

‘If I was his age and if we were back at the hostel together – but were not,’ Lewis silently rebuffed the thought and quickly went about his work.

Lewis met Ivy as he returned to the kitchen with the empty slop tins. She smiled and bid him good morning.

“I hope Wayne isn’t being a nuisance Lewis?” she asked in an apologetic tone.

“Na’ he’s okay, I can handle him but he does ask a heap of questions.”

“Do you want me to speak to him?” Ivy suggested.

“No but he has discovered that I went to the hostel and it appears he is friendly with one of the kids that was there during my stay, who told him my mother was once the cook here.”

“So you said,”

“Yes I got the job through a family friend, who once worked here and has the saddlery next to what was once our shop in Mareeba; I guess family circles went full circle and I also ended up here.” Lewis explained.

“What shop was that?”

“Sort of greengrocery, come grocery come book exchange,” Lewis gave a huff of memory, “I did get to read a lot of comics,” he smiled pleasingly at the thought.

“Wayne likes comics,”

“Yes he said so,”

“Well you let me know if he is a problem,” Ivy concluded and collected a set of soiled tea towels for the laundry.

“I said I would take him riding after Christmas.”

“He is always on about it, he hasn’t forgotten the time when we lived out west. He had his own horse then.”

“What happened?”

Ivy remained quiet bringing Lewis to realise she was in private mode and he shouldn’t have enquired.

“I’ll have more time after Christmas and Jack’s two should have other interests by then. Lewis assumed.

“He could ride with Donald,” Ivy suggested.

“No I promised,”

“He will appreciate that. As for what happened, let’s say for reasons duress we had to leave quickly.”

“I didn’t mean to -,”

“It was a difficult time for Wayne as well yet he seemed to come through it but has never forgotten his riding days.”

“Again I didn’t mean to pry,” As Lewis spoke there was a commotion coming from close to the kitchen bringing Joyce to investigate.

“It’s that bloody dog, he’s chasing the chooks again,” She called from the window bringing Sam to heal and return to shade under the steps.

“He doesn’t hurt them,” Lewis guaranteed.

“No but they won’t lay if they are bothered. There’s one way to quieten him.” Joyce followed with a satisfying smirk.

“What would that be?” Lewis innocently enquired.

“Surgery Lewis,”

“Ow, that’s a little unkind,” Lewis answered while almost feeling the heated blade against his own scrotum.

“If it’s good enough for dogs and bulls – some blokes,” Ivy offered as she departed for the laundry.

“Point taken,” Joyce agreed as Lewis left the conversation feeling a little insecure in his masculinity and surprised with both women’s rare candour.

Once outside Lewis called Sam, the dog lazily approached with woo, woo woo; its tail almost wagging the dog.

“Leave the chooks alone or,” Lewis warned while noticing two goose egg sized testicles protruding from the rear end of the dog. Sam licked Lewis’ hand as he bent down to pat him.

“You don’t want to lose your nuts do you?”

Another gentle pat to the head.

“If you only knew what the ladies suggested then you would surely behave.”

Sam fell in behind as Lewis progressed to the store to see if Jack had design before he went about mowing the house lawn.

“Off you go Sam but I’m warning you leave the chooks alone.”

Sam gave a huffing sound and found shade under the store verandah.”

“You in there Mr. Thompson?”

Jack came to the verandah.

“Anything on?”

“Not at the moment Lewis,”

“Righto I’m off to mow the lawn, oh one thing, Wayne wants me to take him riding on Sunday, is there any chance using one of the kids horses?”

“I should think that can be arranged. What was that commotion I heard a few minutes back?”

“Sam chasing the chooks,”

“We’ll have to break him of that.”

“Joyce suggested castration.” Lewis gave a smirk.

“He’s a good cattle dog and has breeding; I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Jack replied displaying his usual practicality.

“Yet he has only Bonnie to mount and she is a little of everything, what my mother would call Heinz.”

“Why Heinz?”

“Heinz has fifty-seven varieties and so has Bonnie, well more than a couple I should think.”

“Point taken but he can keep his nuts.”

Lewis departed for the lawn mowing and passing Sam he spoke, “lucky feller, it looks like you can keep your nuts.” Sam gave a grunt and again fell in behind Lewis as he went for the mower.

As Lewis started the motor mower he spied Donald returning alone. When he was close by Lewis spoke. “Where’s Wayne?”

“He wanted to look for agates down the river.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

“What do I want with a pocket full of useless stones?”

Lewis pulled the cord again and because he wasn’t concentrating he flooded the motor. He pushed it aside, in the day’s heat it would soon evaporate. While doing so he recognised something in Donald and it was as if he was hiding something.

“Are you alright?” Lewis asked.

“Yea,”

“What about Wayne, did you have an argument?” As he spoke he spied Wayne also returning but on seeing Lewis and Donald talking he diverted to the kitchen.

“What if,” Donald growled and departed company.

‘Someone should take that kid to task,’ Lewis thought and with a single pull on the cord the motor burst into life sending Sam heading for cover.

With the lawn almost finished Wayne returned from the kitchen and stood close by watching Lewis work.

“Do me a favour,” Lewis directed.

“What?”

“Grab the rake and start raking.”

Wayne collected the rake and commenced as Lewis mowed the final strip. He turned off the mower and watched Wayne’s perfunctory raking. “What happened, did you two argue?”

“No – why?” Wayne stoped raking and leant on the rake.

“Leave that Wayne, I’ll finish up later but Donald passed a little while back and didn’t appear very happy.”

“He’s never happy.” Wayne admitted.

“So what happened?”

“I wanted to go agate hunting and he wanted to,” Wayne paused his reason, instead released a secretive smile.

“What did Donald want to do?”

“Not a lot,” The conversation then died and Wayne departed.

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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