Published: 10 Sep 2020

The news came early the week before Christmas via telephone from the Georgetown police. Sergeant Davidson had heard from the manager of Sunrise Creek, who was visiting Bill Reynolds at Clancy and seeing the Clancy telephone was out of action Bill asked Col Peterson to convey the news to the police as they would need to investigate the matter. So went the bush telegraph. Davidson knew Jack Thompson was concerned so early that morning he relayed the news to Gilbert Downs.

Jack found Lewis at the store collecting potatoes for the kitchen and deep in thought as he sorted the good spuds from the bad with even the best sprouting. The potatoes were spread across the verandah confined by lengths of timber to prevent from rolling away while allowing air to circulate. Still they quickly rotted and with the dampness of the wet season their deterioration was more progressive.

“Morning Lewis,” Jack greeted from behind while managing the three verandah steps, being careful with the second with its broken end, ‘must get onto that,’ he thought but had done so a hundred times and still it bounced under foot.

Lewis turned with a start and returned the greeting adding the condition of the potatoes to the conversation.

Jack stood watching Lewis at work for some time, his hands resting lightly on hips as if contemplating. Eventually he spoke.

“I have some bad news I’m afraid,”

“What would that be Mr. Thompson?”

“Call me Jack.” Jack Thompson demanded but knew Lewis would not. It was his way of respecting those in authority or more advanced in years and although the time of respect was disappearing and the age of egalitarianism was upon them he had not accepted its passing. Lewis knelt silently over the potatoes as he waited for the news.

I just heard from the Georgetown police they found Jimmy’s body over on Clancy.”

“Oh, what happened?” Lewis was shocked and felt choked in the throat.

“They don’t know a lot as yet but his body was found over on Clancy when the handyman went to service the number seven bore. Sergeant Davidson is only now leaving to retrieve Jimmy’s body but according to Bill Reynolds there didn’t seem to be anything suspicious.”

“He did tell me he wouldn’t live beyond Christmas,” Lewis recanted Jimmy’s last words to him.

“How would he know that, was he ill?” Jack asked.

“I don’t reckon so he said some ghosts told him.”

“Ghosts?” Jack exclaimed showing an element of scepticism. He knew Jimmy had strange ways and some said he was a little touched but in all he was a good man and an excellent stockman.

“Yes he would see and talk to them over the river at that cairn of rocks – or so he said.” Lewis collected a number of potatoes and stood away his eyes remaining of the verandah boards to hide his pain. Death was a stranger to him only appearing once in his life and that was with Will. Now it was Will’s demise that was driving his emotions but stronger was the necessity to be a man and not show his emotions. Once under control he raised his head to perceive dullness in the eyes of Jack but guarded.

“Do you believe he saw anything?” Jack asked somewhat sceptical to such talk.

“No but I do believe he had a way with people and could read them and he believed in the old ways of his lot.”

“Suppose there will be a funeral.” Jack declared.

“Do you mind if I attend?” Lewis asked.

“Of course you must and can represent the station if that is alright with you. Also there are some old art effects down at the bunkhouse belonging to Jimmy, take them along, his family may want them.” Jack paused made a strange clicking sound with his tongue then continued. “I’ll let you know when I hear about the funeral.”

That afternoon Lewis looked in on Horse and perceived she was advancing well, thinking it was now only days before she foaled and with Jimmy in mind he saddled Flea-bitten, taking the short ride across the river to the cairn, giving excuse there had been dingo activity in the area and a number of newborn carves could be at risk.

It was a sad climb up through the entrance with now two deaths on his mind, that of Will and now Jimmy. At the top he looked out over the dry baked earth and the silver leafed trees to where he last saw Jimmy as he disappeared into those very trees. He remembered Jimmy’s happy face as he danced away and turned smiling then called something that was inaudible. Jimmy realised his demise and had accepted it without regret, it seemed he danced and sang his way to his passing and what more could a mere mortal wish for. Lewis set to thought and attempted to understand those final words Jimmy had called but could not arrange them in English, possibly it was of his own tongue, or but gibberish as Jimmy often spoke.

Lewis created a second shrine beside that to Will and with the season lacking in wild flowers he set it with eucalyptus leaves. After remaining there for some time Lewis decided he would no longer visit the cairn, concluding it was time to let the dead rest and the living live. Besides he no longer felt close to Will’s spirit while there and it had become but a pile of rocks. With that thought came a returned fear realising he was loosing Will. Ashley was correct in that time would take away the pain.

That night as he returned to his house he noticed an unusual silence over the lagoon. The air hung heavy with monsoonal moisture and was hot and sticky as if one was walking in fluid, while the darkening sky made more so by a thick covering of cloud, which with the morning would dissipate once again falsifying intentions. But it would come.

Out of respect Lewis intended to advise Charlie One-eye of Jimmy’s demise but on entering the camp site found it vacant. It wasn’t until the following morning while talking with Jack he realised why. It had been a good hour before Jack had received the news on Jimmy, when Charlie and his gathering came by the main gate carrying their swags. Jack believing they would be encamped until past Christmas, so enquired where they were heading.

“Georgetown boss;” Charlie answered his voice saddened and when asked why, Charlie simply shook his head, “sad days for blackfella’ boss,” Charlie exclaimed before continued on his way with a departing message, “You tell Lewis to look no more eh boss?” he said and without further explanation was gone. With the news on Jimmy, Jack forgot to give Lewis the message and didn’t think any more on it until that night.

“What were you looking for Lewis?”

“I told Charlie that I was looking for Jimmy and to let me know if he heard anything. I suppose that is what he was referring to.”

“How would they have known about Jimmy?”

“That I guess will always remain a mystery, bush telegraph I suppose,” Lewis suggested.

Christmas morning arrived with more heat and the day overcast in purple black and threatening. Presents were exchanged, Ivy gave Wayne the book Lewis had purchased for her when collecting him from Forsayth while most other gifts were gleaned from the travelling salesman when he came through a few weeks earlier and in the main incidental rather than useful but distance and separation from commercialism and civilization made them as valuable as gold dust.

There was a light breakfast as Christmas lunch was to be the main meal and to be as hot as the day itself, leaving one feeling overfilled, while looking for a cool place to hibernate, of which there was none.

They all joined with the Thompson’s at the big house with apology that there wasn’t room for everyone at the table but all had the same meal and pudding along with the magical threepenny piece coin arriving in every slice of pudding, being saved from the old currency for that purpose, as they were silver and not nickel as was the new coinage. When discovered and not swallowed, they were swapped for new currency, also not forgetting the silly hats drawn from the bon-bon’s Joyce supplied from her shopping trip in Mareeba.

During dessert it was Ivy who gave some comical relief, remembering her mother wouldn’t place coins in the plum pudding but under each plate, declaring they had been in Chinamen’s ears. Then there was beer and plenty of it and even scotch for the men, served with a warning from Jack not to over indulge but with the realisation they would.

Fresh roasted pork went down as a pleasant change from salted meat and the ham was smoked to perfection. Seeing Bob and Walter supplied the wild duck some was shared at the men’s table and as suggested it was tough, dry and stringy, with the occasional discovery of a feather and in Lewis’ portion a lead pellet.

“I believed this belongs to you?” Lewis said as he gently placed the small lead ball beside Bob’s plate. Bob picked it up and after much deliberation declared it had to be Walter’s, as his were of a higher quality.

It was the late afternoon during a quiet drink on the kitchen verandah, where the men had gathered with Ivy and Joyce who once again told them of her trip to Cairns and her invitation to live in Brisbane. Out of the ink black day a flash of light jolting them into wonderment, then a sound as loud as cannon fire exploded above their heads, followed by a lingering silence.

Bob stood and leaning over the verandah rail looking skywards. The clouds were even blacker than they had been that morning and so low one would think they had only to reach up to touch them. Then the silence again broke and the first deluge of the monsoon hit the metal roof of the kitchen sounding as if a steam train was thundering out of the adjoining bedrooms, while soaking Bob’s face and hair as he leant over the rail in heavenly gaze. He laughed loudly keeping his face within the weather.

“Quick!” Lewis called realising Wayne’s bed was on the kitchen’s back verandah between it and the men’s dining room, “Wayne’s bed it will be soaked.” Lewis cried but was quick enough to move it back from the incoming torrent. Lewis rejoined the others as Bob descended the stairs and received the full force of the rain, becoming soaked to the skin clothes and all within seconds.

“Bloody wacko that mate of yours,” Walter stated referring to Bob’s soaking.

“Not my mate but I may as well join in.” Lewis declared then removing his boots joined Bob for a washing.

“Bloody wacko!” Walter called after the two and returned to his drinking.

After their soaking Bob and Lewis advanced to the shower block for a warm shower. Although the day was quite balmy the rain soon dropped their core temperature making them shiver. Seeing Lewis would have to travel back through the rain for fresh clothes and become as wet on his return Bob lent him dry clothing.

“I hear you’re going to Jimmy’s funeral,” Bob said releasing a long sigh as the warm water flowed over his body, “better than sex,” he muttered.

“What is?”

“A hot shower, it’s more pleasurable than sex.”

“You have had a sheltered life.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I heard a joke sometime back, I think it was from Walt,” Lewis progressed with association to Bob’s anecdote on sexual pleasure.

“I guess you’re gunna’ tell me regardless.”

“If sex is a pain in the arse, you’re doing it the wrong way.”

“That’s not funny but does sound like one of Walt’s dumb sayings.” Bob dryly complained.

“It was in line with your claim. As for the funeral, yes Jack has asked me to represent the station but I was going anyway.”

“Strange old bugger Jimmy,” Bob said and gave a distant laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing I’m pissed,” Bob said and laughed again.

“What’s new, you’re always pissed these days.”

“What do you think of young Wayne?” Bob asked while soaping himself all over and spending a little longer on his crotch then one would expect.

“He’s a little young and silly but a good kid but hangs around like an itch,” Lewis exclaimed.

“I think he’s a little poof.” Bob declared.

“Why do you say that?”

“For a start he’s always hanging around with that nog-head son of Stan and whispering.”

“Trouble is you think everyone is a poof Bob,” Lewis paused as a thought came over him. “Why has he grabbed you on the dick?” Lewis added and gave an accusing grin.

“No it’s more what he says and his eyes are always on my crotch.”

“I haven’t noticed but kids are like that, I guess they are checking in wonder of their own perceived development,” Lewis lied as he had come to the same conclusion but didn’t wish to incriminate Wayne.

“I hear you went to the same school,” Bob enquired with a measure of association.

“A long time ago Bob.”

“What was it a school for poofs?”

The subject of homosexuality was becoming Bob’s favourite topic after drinking and although there wasn’t malice in his conversation it was becoming more aimed at Lewis on each occasion, bringing Lewis to the opinion that Bob may have tendencies himself and was trying to work out a method of approach, or throw off suspicion with his negative suggestions.

“What are you insinuating Bob?” Lewis asked showing a degree of annoyance yet holding back not wishing to appear approached.

“Nothing, hey do you still want me to move into the house?” Bob asked.

“If you want to Bob, there’s plenty of room but I do like my solitude.”

“Yea you’re probably correct, too far to walk anyway,” a moment of thought, “too far to stagger after a heavy night.” Bob then released his gatling-gun laugh.

“Why do you drink so much?” Lewis asked.

“Good question,”

Another moment of silence;

“Dunno’ I guess I like being drunk,”

The rain continued until early morning when as quickly as it commenced it stopped, bringing out the stars and frogs to sound praise for the downpour and with the morning every puddle would be populated by frog’s eggs turning to tadpoles then frogs before the hot sun dries away the water.

With the rain came brightness across the landscape. Everything appeared new and green and smelt fresh, even the bird song’s sounded sweeter, while the brolga cranes danced their merry dance beside the lagoon, slapping each other on the back with their wings like long lost friends and acquaintances. Then after days of drying heat the rain would once more arrive to refresh the land until the end of the monsoon season but there would always be heat; heat and humidity they were two constants in the tropics.

Because of the rain Lewis stayed the night in the bunkhouse and with the morning awoke as the first light found its way through the open doorway. He quickly pulled on Bob’s spare pants, while thinking they fitted well, while imagining Bob’s appendage resting where his own snuggled. He smiled as he patted his crotch and left the bunkhouse to set the breakfast fire.

“Your pants fit well,” Lewis commented over breakfast, testing if Bob’s memory lived through his drinking. Bob released a sound that could be either approval or not, or more to point trousers were a little personal to speak of in company, especially when someone else is wearing your spare pair.

“I’ll give them back later,” Lewis promised.

“I’ll have to burn them,” Bob growled while Walter showed interest in their conversation.

“Are the girls sharing their skirts now?” Walter teased.

“Fuck off Walt,” Bob snarled. They all laughed bringing Bob to join in the humour and as quickly as he had become irritable he settled.

It was Wednesday and mail day when Lewis went to attend Jimmy’s funeral. The service, if it could be called as such, was to be held in Georgetown and because it could not be proven Jimmy was Christian the local Catholic priest refused to neither reside over his burial nor allow Jimmy to be buried in consecrated ground, demanding he be interred on the far side of the cemetery fence with others of his race. The only other religious minister in the area, Father Cousins of the Anglican persuasion, agreed to speak at the lowering as long as god was not mentioned.

The funeral was simple, apart form the grave diggers, Father Cousins and Lewis, there were three station managers, who had over the years admired Jimmy’s horsemanship and when Lewis arrived were in conversation close by the grave site waiting for the arrival of Jimmy’s remains.

Some distance from the grave site, under a clumping of trees a small group of older aborigines were seated in a semicircle and softly chanting, their bodies slightly doused in ash. Off to one side were their young folk, six in total, teenagers, showing disinterest towards the procedure. Two were smoking while a third drinking from a can which when not sipping, was hidden behind his back. They quietly chattered while being observed by the old folk. There would be trouble later for their lack of respect and that was a certainty.

Lewis noticed that Charlie One-eye and Bruce Jones were among the group of mourners, so decided to offer Jimmy’s meagre possessions to the women. One of the gathering an old grey and toothless woman began to wail and knocked Jimmy’s belongings out of Lewis’ hand, shrieking obscenities in her native tongue. Charlie comforted the woman and after collecting the items from the dust passed them back to Lewis.

“Lewis the family can’t take Jimmy’s things they must be buried with him, they are sacred only to Jimmy,” Charlie explained quietly.

“I didn’t know.”

“That is a common fault with you white fellas’ but I know you meant well Lewis.”

“Sorry,”

“Come with me and let the old folk grieve,” Charlie guided Lewis away from the gathering.

Lewis returned to the grave side in time to witness Jimmy’s coffin-less body arrive for burial, wrapped in a shroud of soiled white linen, most probably an old sheet supplied by the hotel and tied around the feet middle and shoulders with cord. Lewis thought there seemed to be so little of the man who once stood tall and strong.

“Where is the coffin?” Lewis asked the minister.

“The elders don’t agree to coffins, something about allowing the spirit to be free, a coffin would be like locking Jimmy in a goal cell. If they had their way he would be bundled in bark and left in some tall tree down by the river,” Father Cousins answered giving a smirk of disagreement to the practice as being barbaric and most definitely not Christian.

As the body was lowered into its grave the women in the group began to wail, while the men commenced a slow and deep mantra and drummed the ground with sticks. Lewis felt his emotions tune to the drumming as he dropped Jimmy’s belongings into the grave with the body while Father Cousins spoke kind words, relating what a marvellous human being Jimmy had been, even though he had never known the man or anything about him. Not once during his rendition of praise did he mention god or the redemption of Jimmy’s spirit but did mention his tracking ability and his finding of the missing Jackaroo from Clancy. Lewis lifted his eyes towards the group grieving beneath the trees then back at those around the grave site and felt hypocritical, realising they were the ones who were burying Jimmy, not those who lowered him into the earth.

As the grave diggers commenced to shovel the sun baked soil over the body of Jimmy, Clancy’s Bill Reynolds turned to the others with the suggestion of a few drinks and with agreement left for the pub.

“Coming Lewis?” Reynolds asked but Lewis declined the offer as he promised to be back by late afternoon.

Lewis had parked the station’s land-rover close to where Jimmy’s mourners were gathered and as he progressed was drawn to talk to them and offer an apology. Only Charlie acknowledged his approach, standing away from the others he accepted Lewis’ offered hand.

“Charlie I really respected Jimmy and learnt a lot from him.” Lewis stated remorsefully as the mourning group fell silent, lifted from the dust, collected their rhythm sticks and simply left without once approaching the grave site.

“I know that Lewis and Jimmy spoke well of you.”

“Can I do anything for his family?” Lewis asked.

“Nothing just let them grieve in their own way,” Charlie released his grip on Lewis’ hand and rejoined his friends while Lewis climbed into the rover for the return journey, only pausing long enough to purchase, as requested, a bottle of scotch Bob Kelly had asked for and half a dozen long necks for himself, yet alcohol was at that moment far from his needs.

The Cumberland stack passed as Lewis’ thoughts left the funeral and concentrated on Bob and his drinking. He pictured Bob’s naked body during the Christmas shower and the night he awoke to Bob’s hand upon him during his drunken sleepover at the lagoon.

“Umm I wouldn’t mind a night with Bob,” Lewis shared with the trees as they sped past.

“I wonder what he meant when he said he had secrets,” Lewis softly spoke.

“He does have a hot body,” Lewis felt a rise under the material of his trousers.

“But you shouldn’t get your meat where you get your dough,” he laughed as he remembered Ashley’s wisdom.

‘And well stated,’ Lewis continued on that thought.

“Why does he want to move in with me?” he softly spoke his thought aloud.

“Maybe it’s only his way of saying what he thinks he knows about me?”

“Maybe he -?”

“Na’ maybe nothing, it was only the booze talking.” Lewis lowered his eyes to the scotch bottle as it rolled and jiggled about on the floor in front of the spare seat.

“He sure is becoming a pisshead,” he smiled, “a cute pisshead, oh well my thinking about it can’t hurt.”

At the last creek before the station, Lewis parked the rover and walked back to the creek bed. With the recent rain there was a slight trickle following the far bank otherwise only sand. He had almost forgotten losing the motorbike in the flooding creek and wondered if its metallic carcass remained close by or had been carried away to end up in the Gilbert. Soon his access along the creek was blocked by a stretch of shallow black stagnant water, forcing him to take to the bank and the tangled undergrowth.

A short distance along he noticed something glinting in the sunlight and on closer inspection discovered the motorbike wrapped around the root of a Coolabah tree and except for shredded tyres, some missing spokes, shredded seat padding and a dint in the petrol tank, it was in retrievable condition. He laughed at its condition and the mental list of damage he had perceived.

Lewis removed the tree root that had speared its way through the front wheel spokes preventing it from being washed further down in the tumble of water and with much difficulty wheeled it back to the road. Now all he had to do was somehow manoeuvre the bike into the back of the rover.

Believing there was room enough he attempted to lift the front of the bike. It was much too heavy so another approach had to be determined. Searching around he found a number of poles recently cut to mend a close by fence and using them as a ramp managed to slowly drag the bike up his ramp and into the back of the rover.

“Success!” he puffed loudly feeling the strain in his shoulders and back.

“What the hell am I going to do with it?” Without answering his rhetoric he slammed the rear door closed and was once more on his way. Now he had a hobby for his downtime and eventually would not only have it running once again but registered and become licensed to ride.

“Hey Bob give us a hand,” Lewis called as he parked the rover.

“Did you get my scotch?”

“It’s in the front.” Lewis opened the back of the rover exposing the dirty frame of the motorbike which from a distance appeared to be but a pile of metallic junk.

“What in blazes have you got there?” Bob asked shaking his head at the tangled mess.

“I found the motorbike – I’m going to do it up.” Lewis answered proudly.

“Good on ya’,” Bob replied sarcastically.

“Do you want to give me a hand?”

“Maybe – its tick dipping time, I’ll be pretty busy and you will be needed with the muster.”

Bob helped remove the bike from the back of the vehicle and leant it against the wall of the saddlery.

“Needs new tires,” Bob commented and gave an indifferent grunt.

Lewis nodded in agreement

“New spokes,” Bob continued while pointing at the damaged front wheel.

Again Lewis agreed.

“New seat,” Bob added to his growing list.

“New petrol tank,” Bob said noticing the dint and a gash.

“But all fixable,” Lewis assured in his usual optimistic way.

“Cheaper to buy a new bike,” Bob concluded without sharing Lewis’ enthusiasm.

“True but it will be fun,” Lewis assured.

“You have a right wacky notion of fun.”

As they finished inspecting the bike Wayne approached and unlike Bob saw potential in the wreck and immediately wanted a ride.

“Steady on young fellow you are getting a little ahead of yourself there.” Lewis doused the lad’s enthusiasm as Wayne straddled the tattered seat, his hands on the bars and sounding off like a motor.

“When are you going to take me horse riding?” Wayne asked Lewis as he and the bike fell sidewards, Bob saved the fall.

“Why don’t you get Bob to take you?” Lewis suggested giving Bob a wink.

“Like hell, I ride for a living and not for fun, you’re the happy rider Lewis,” Bob growled in a deep resonating voice dousing the suggestion.

‘Okay Wayne on Sunday.”

“You said that last Sunday and the one before.”

“This time I promise but as I previously said, only if I can get one of the horses from the Thompson kids.”

“Not Candy it’s a girl’s horse.” Wayne protested. Wayne had done some riding since arriving but mostly for but a short time when the Thompson’s were otherwise entertained and almost as soon as Wayne mounted they displayed their displeasure and wanted their horses back, especially Ronald who became most jealous if anyone was to ride Whippy.

“Alright Whipstick.”

“That’s a promise?”

“As I said, subject to work and getting a second mount.”

“The kids are always riding,” Wayne mumbled feeling his chance melting away with Lewis’ promise.

“You’re not usually a defeatist young fellow.”

“Doesn’t matter,”

“It does matter but like most things in life they are governed by opportunity and not words and promises.”

“What does that mean?” Wayne boldly offered.

“It means, I may not be capable of holding to a promise but will do my best to do so, when did you have your own horse?”

“A long time ago I was only a kid then but it was sold when I went to the hostel.”

“You are only a kid now.” Bob corrected as he continued his evaluation of the motor. Wayne ignored the comment.

“I’ll tell you what, if I can’t get the second mount, I think Flea-bitten is quiet enough so you can go solo but only around the home paddock and the flat to the lagoon.”

“You mean that!” Wayne brightened.

“Again -,”

“Yes I know if you’re not busy. Can I help you with the motorbike?” Wayne asked.

“Why not, do you know anything about mechanics?”

“Most likely the kid knows more than you,” Bob interjected as Wayne fiddled with a broken sparkplug lead.

“That would be the truth of it,” Lewis agreed.

“How did the funeral go?” Bob asked.

“Great fun,”

“You know what I mean, seeing the religious jokers wouldn’t do the burying.”

“The Anglican minister did and he rabbited on for half an hour about how good Jimmy was and then went to the pub with Bill Reynolds and Col Peterson and some other manager I only knew by sight.”

Jack was much amused in Lewis’ determination with the wrecked bike becoming the catalyst in its resurrection, if only to give the men something to occupy their spare time. As for the motorbike it was never part of station inventory, being left behind during the war when the then cowboy took the king’s shilling and was killed in New Guinea while defending the Kakoda track from the Japanese push towards Port Moresby, so he never returned to reclaim his property. Jack had attempted to contact his next of kin and managed a letter to an uncle but never received a reply so after so many years it was considered keeps for anyone interested.

Unknown to Lewis there was a spare rear wheel and a set of tyres in the vehicle shed under a pile of junk and car body parts. As for extra spokes for the front wheel they would have to be sent away for, as would the fuel tank and replacement seat. It was Bob who was the dark horse, knowing more about motors then anyone realised and although he lacked interest at first, he came through taking over the bike’s revival. Now they had only to wait for the ordered parts to arrive from Cairns.

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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