Published: 14 May 2020

Even with Tom Fleming’s accident, station life had to continue and the muster completed. It was now Friday and the rescheduled Peninsular Freighter’s transport trucks were to arrive on the following Monday to collect the cattle for the sales at the Mareeba stock and sales yards.

The day after Tom Fleming’s accident, the three wayward aboriginal stock men returned, being sent back by the agent whose threat was more frightening than facing Jimmy’s ghosts. Still they had much trepidation and would only muster around Freshwater outstation and not the Gilbert. This didn’t cause a problem as the few strays that remained around the river flats could be brought in by Lewis and Jimmy, as for the loss of Tom Fleming, he was replaced by borrowing the cowboy from Clancy who knew Gilbert Down’s as he worked there before going to Clancy.

Lewis collected their smoko from the kitchen where cook had made corned beef and chutney sandwiches wrapped in grease proof paper but for their cuppa they would have to boil the billycan. Knowing Jimmy’s taste for butter, she had spread it thickly on his share but held off with the pepper, Jimmy hated pepper but loved extra salt, preferring salted meat over fresh and never complained if the beef was tough.

“Here you go dear.” Joyce Marshall said with a wink as she handed Lewis the sandwiches and a small lidded jar filled with a cold white fluid.

If Lewis had adapted to life in the bush there was one thing he had not become accustomed and that being strong black billy tea, finding it necessary to obtain milk at every chance. Usually it would be powdered or condensed milk which he found much too sweet but sometimes fresh cow’s milk, which although it was Lewis’ job to milk the homestead’s only milking cow, the milk was reserved for management and kitchen use and not for the stockmen but knowing his quandary regarding black tea and dislike for the artificial kind Joyce would occasionally slip him a small supply.

“Thanks Mrs. Marshall you’re a right gem.” Lewis praised; “it will go down a real treat,” he added with a reminiscing smile.

“What’s got your funny up?” Joyce asked.

“A memory from a long time back and when I was a kid on Dunluce station out Hughenden way.”

“Are you going to share it?”

Lewis slowly brought forth his story of a time when he was all of five years of age and was taken by the men on a short muster. Although the job would only take a matter of hours, there would be smoko and a billy boiled for a pannikin of tea while having a quiet smoke, thus came about the word smoko.

Lewis had complained about the tea being black. At the time his horse Roany had foaled and was in milk. The men made light of the lad’s complaint and told the lad to go milk his mare. Lewis did and his clumsy hands soon produced enough to lighten his pannikin of tea, while as he did so Roany watched on and appeared as amused as were the men.

“Now that’s a real story, who would ever think of using mare’s milk,” Joyce confessed.

“I don’t think I managed much but I guess it was enough to lighten the brew.”

“I’ll have to tell Ivy that one; she will have a real giggle and snort.”

“Yes she does have a distinctive laugh – again thank you for the milk.”

“What’s wrong Lewis you not a real man?” Mary White laughed from the breakfast dishes. Lewis ignored Mary as she continued, “real men have black tea and black women, do you like black girls Lewis?”

“Mary, please keep it nice!” Joyce insisted from the bread mix but Mary’s mischievous attitude was almost impossible to abate.

“You doing muster with Jimmy along the river Lewis,” Mary asked but Lewis refrained from answering, believing even the simplest of conversation would be but encouragement, “you better watch out for Jimmy’s ghosts. Especially that white fella’’ with red hair,” she followed with a taunting cackle that would pride Macbeth’s witches.

“I don’t believe in ghosts Mary and an educated girl like you shouldn’t either,” Lewis advised coldly unable to contain his silence further, as he stowed the sandwiches and milk into a saddlebag.

“Educated! Huh!” Joyce Marshall mocked.

“I am too Missus Cook!” Mary protested, “I have sixth grade at Mareeba,” she added proudly, “I could have gone on if I wanted to.”

“Probably bribed the teacher or –,” Joyce. Marshall was about to accuse Mary of sleeping with her teacher but thought better of such an accusation. Lewis, as did Mary, picked up on the cook’s intention but Lewis thought wiser of making comment lest Mary divulged her brief encounter with him, bringing to mind his one moment of misguided pleasure taken in the lane beside Pollards store. Lewis again thanked Joyce for the milk and departed before Mary could advance her taunting.

“Why do you tease the men like that Mary?” He heard Joyce ask as he descended the stairs away from the kitchen.

“Dunno Missus Cook just joking eh?” Mary answered.

Lewis and Jimmy had searched along the river for most of the morning without finding more strays and as the sun climbed to its late morning stand Lewis called on Jimmy to light a fire for the billy. Jimmy gathered some twigs and leaves and found a good fire stick and commenced to make fire in the native way. Then looking up at Lewis Jimmy laughed loudly and put aside his implement while retrieving a box of matches from his pocket. “One good thing you white fellers’ gave us Lewis. That and grog but Jimmy don’t drink grog,” he proudly admitted as the flame quickly leapt from the kindling. He added more wood as Lewis filled the billy from his waterbag, then handed Jimmy the filled billy, while placing his small bottle of milk on the ground beside where he was seated. Jimmy appeared memorised by the bottle as he stirred tea leaves into the boiling water.

“What?” Lewis curiously asked.

“You white fellers’ make Jimmy laugh.”

“Why would that be?”

“You spend all you kiddie life trying to wean yourself of the tit, then once you are men you can’t give up the woman’s milk or talking about tits.”

“What about your lot don’t you like breasts?” Lewis asked but Jimmy refrained from answering. He poured the tea into two mugs and handed one to Lewis, “there you go just add milk,” he grinned which abated as his face took on a more temperate disposition. “Lewis why are you out here in blackfella’ country?” Jimmy asked sharing a rare serious moment.

“Working and that’s the second time you’ve asked me that question.” Lewis answered, adding part of his supply of milk to the tar black tea, “Would you like some milk?”

Jimmy shook his head and continued on the theme of Lewis’ presence. “You’re not happy Lewis you don’t belong out here riding these horses of sadness.”

“What do you mean Jimmy.”

Jimmy sipped at his hot black tea and spat out a small twig that had been floating in the beverage. It refused to budge lodging on his lip. He gently removed the intrusion with his fingers and placed it gently upon a dry gum leaf as if it were a living creature.

“You belong in the city with all those lights and people.” Jimmy shook his head, “You are like that white ghost, both looking in the wrong place for something.”

“I like it out here,” Lewis answered unconvincingly, feeling a shudder come over him as Jimmy once again divulged his telling of his white ghost.

“I think that white ghost is looking for you Lewis, he wants to take you back to the city.”

“You are starting to worry me Jimmy.”

“No worry,”

“You know what Jimmy; I think you have been talking with Mary and she has far too much to say about things that don’t concern her.”

“No talking with Mary.”

“I feel you know more than you are prepared to divulge.”

“Jimmy only knows’ what Jimmy knows.”

Jimmy’s answer didn’t satisfy Lewis but he knew the man well enough to realise he would get no more that day. “We better start looking for these strays,” Lewis suggested while throwing the dregs of his tea into the dying fire and covered the hissing cinders with dirt.

There were many questions Lewis wished to ask Jimmy but dared not as Jimmy’s continuation with his red headed white ghost was unsettling him to a higher degree than he would admit. As for the connection between himself and Jimmy’s effigy this was most uncanny and his disbelief was at best dented.

“Have you been to the city?” Lewis asked as they once more mounted and moved out in the direction of the floodplain.

“To Mareeba Lewis and once to Cairns when crook with scrub fever but doctor’s soon fixed me up good.” Jimmy answered without showing extended interest in either.

“I mean the real cities Brisbane, Sydney Melbourne.” Lewis added.

“No, too many white people, no place for a blackfella.”

“I come from Melbourne, way down the bottom of Australia.” Lewis said as a smile of recollection came to him but Jimmy had no idea where Melbourne was. Mareeba was a long way and Cairns a long, long way and no blackfella’ would need to go further.

“That would be too far from my dreaming, where is your dreaming Lewis?” Jimmy asked as he pointed to a group of cattle a short distance ahead.

“I no longer have dreaming Jimmy,” Lewis answered remembering Will and their intention to return to Melbourne.

“No Lewis you have just misplaced your dreaming, you will find it again one day.” Jimmy replied as the two cantered off in the direction of the strays.

The conversation Lewis had with Jimmy on the Gilbert floodplain remained with him long after the muster had concluded and Jimmy had gone walkabout somewhere in the Gregory Ranges to the south of Georgetown. With all Jimmy’s pretence of being an elder and caretaker of myth he was a soft man with much wisdom. Possibly he was creating the story of the white ghost to relate what he perceived in Lewis or was it something he conjured in his mind, believing he could actually see the dead. This was an unknown quantity and Lewis decided to just call it Jimmy and blackfellow talk and leave it at that.

“Georgetown races next week.” Lewis declared to Ivy as they sat under the night’s sky beside the lagoon. Ivy didn’t answer as she was too involved in swatting a squadron of mosquitos that were attacking her. She slapped at one as it landed on her upper arm, missed leaving a red welt. “Bugger,” she complained.

“They don’t bother me too much,” Lewis admitted while stretching back into the tuffs of dry grass and searching the sky for shooting stars. He lent up on his elbows, “did you know mosquitos go for a certain blood temperature and only the ladies bit you?” he asked.

“I do know you are full of useless information at times and that won’t get rid of them,” Ivy commented as she squashed a blood filled brute on her leg. “Mrs. Thompson has asked me if I want to go to the races with her and Jack.”

“I may go in with Stan if he can get his old utility going. Or possibly borrow the motorbike.” Lewis declared.

“I didn’t know you could ride a bike,” Ivy commented.

“I’ve been practicing, Jack suggested I should learn as the future of mustering is on motorbikes and helicopters,” he paused, “and I don’t see myself getting a helicopter licence in the near future.”

Lewis leant up and with some force skipped a stone across the lagoon. “I hear the American owners of Cumberland station have replaced the walers with quarter horses.”

“What’s a waler?” Ivy asked.

“Most of our stock horses, if not all are walers, they come from the stock brought with the first fleet to New South Wales.”

“So what are quarter horses?” Ivy asked.

“It is an American breed, being fast over a quarter mile.”

“There you go full of information.”

“Sorry,”

“A modern world Lewis, I wonder what they will replace cooks and housemaids with?” Ivy asked, “possibly the bosses will have to do their own cooking and cleaning,” she added with a measure of sadistic pleasure.

“You know that Jimmy is a strange one.” Said Lewis after a short break and being reminded of the black man by the sighting of a shooting star. Lewis brought to mind, according to Jimmy, each pinhole of light in the night’s heavens was an ancestor and a shooting star was a new born coming to earth. Then Jimmy, where do all those ancestors go during the day. Lewis had asked Jimmy but he couldn’t answer as his recollection of native law didn’t stretch to that extent.

“He’s okay just a little excentric,” Ivy envisaged.

“What about all his ghost stories?”

Ivy thought for a while and pointing to a pulsating light far off to the northern sky she answered. “That could be the Russian Satellite, I read about it in the pix magazine.”

“Could be Ivy, are you sure it’s not an aeroplane?”

“Jimmy’s ghosts,” Ivy paused again as if looking for an answer to a subject that she had not thought much about, “I only know what Molly has told me and a little from Mary but they carry on somewhat about everything.” Another pause and a sigh, “I guess the blacks have all sorts of beliefs that we could never understand. Suppose it’s no different than some so called educated societies seeing fairies at the bottom of the garden or leprechauns, besides lots of white people declare that they have seen ghosts.”

“Do you believe in them Ivy?” Lewis asked at length.

“Na, ghosts or god they are all in the minds of man.”

“I agree.” Lewis concurred.

“But Jimmy he’s a kind and gentle man and most of what he says makes good sense, so Lewis you could do worse than listen to him,” a smile, “only weed out the supernatural stuff.”

“It’s just he keeps referring to me and his red headed ghost.” Lewis confided in Ivy.

“I think he is bouncing off your character, he does that with a lot of people and you do seem somewhat sad at times.”

“But why red, why not black headed or blond or anyone else if it comes to that.”

“Does red hold significance for you?” Ivy asked.

“A good friend was so but he had an accident.”

“There you go then, Jimmy has chosen a colour and by coincidence it corresponds with an event in your life. Tricksters and fortune-tellers use the same method.”

“I don’t thin Jimmy is trying anything but possibly you’re correct. Besides if he had mentioned blond, it could refer to a friend from Herberton. ”

“I’m sure I am,” Ivy affirmed.

Lewis didn’t answer Ivy, feeling it would involve revealing more than he wished about his past.

“Where in Melbourne are you from Lewis?” Ivy asked after a long pause while changing the subject away from Lewis and his perceived character.

“Clayton but I was a baby when we left, my dad was a no good and a woman basher, so mum decided to get as far away from him as possible.”

“Uncanny.” Ivy answered with a smile.

“Why is that Ivy?”

“I was also from Clayton and Wayne was born there and his father had demons from the war.”

“That is a coincidence.”

“I suppose the world is full of coincidences, like your departed friend and Jimmy’s red head ghost and eventually two must meet with similar background and experience.”

“True,” Lewis agreed.

“I wish I didn’t have to send Wayne away.” Ivy felt the tugging against her heart. They had been together once but that was out west when she was housemaid on a sheep station before he was in need of education. She knew a man then who in turn became as violent as her husband and once again she needed to be away from a developing situation for the sake of her son.

“I remember my last year at the hostel, it was almost Christmas, I was in Sub Junior and left before the exams ended, I didn’t even tell my mother, I collected my rail ticket to Mareeba and arrived at the door of a lady I often holidayed with.”Lewis paused; “am I boring you Ivy?”

“Not at all, go on, where was your mother?”

“She was working out this way and the monsoon broke early, for two weeks she couldn’t even telephone and when she managed to get through to the hostel they told her I had already left but where to was unknown.”

“I would say she was worried.”

“She was but soon after she arrived in Mareeba and we went stringing tobacco together. It was a fun time and the first we had spent as family since in a small town out Hughenden way.”

“Did you return to the hostel the following year?”

“No mum and her new partner wanted to try at share farming near Atherton and there wasn’t money to board me back. Oddly then I wanted to return but was more than concern about my marks and if they would make me repeat that year. Seeing there wasn’t any money mum said I should go to the school in Atherton and bus in daily.”

“Did you?”

“No, there and then at sixteen years and three months I decided I would leave school and go onto the farm with them.”

“So you went onto the farm?”

“I did and then ran a shop for her and John in Atherton for a time but the very moment I made the decision to leave school I felt as if a heavy weight lifted from my shoulders.”

“What next?”

“Next is too much to put in a few sentences besides I think I’m still living it.”

By Lewis’ tone Ivy realised it prudent not to continue with the conversation, so being late she bid him goodnight and departed for her quarters. “Goodnight Lewis, see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight Ivy, watch out for that bull, it got through the fence late this afternoon.”

“I saw it on the way down, it seemed harmless enough.”

“Jack wants me to send it back in the morning,” he laughed, “and said if it does it again it will end up on the meal table.”

“Goodnight.” Ivy softly repeated as she progressed towards the flat.

“Yes see you at breakfast.”

Stan Wilson was sitting on his back steps having a quiet smoke, directly behind where Ivy and Lewis had been resting. He called after her and she turned and waved back. Once Ivy had gone Stan came down to join with Lewis.

“Are you going to the races Lewis?” Stan asked.

“I’d like to, would you give me a lift Stan?”

“Sorry my utility isn’t going, I’m hitching with the Roo Frazer and Walt but if we squeeze up there should be room for you.”

“No worries Stan I’ll use the motorbike.”

“You’ll kill yourself on that useless pile of rusting metal,” Stan warned.

“Na, I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing? Is that what you call it? If it were a horse it would have throwing you long ago,” Stan chuckled.

“I’m improving.”

“Improving,” Stan repeated with equal disparity.

“At least I haven’t fallen off.”

The Frazer family had a small acreage a few miles back towards Georgetown from Gilbert Downs and lived like a tribe of junk collectors. Their house was roughly cut timber posts with corrugated iron walls and a dirt floor. Their house consisted of one large room which was divided into chambers by canvas curtains, while the kitchen was an annex created of the same post and iron design, where a wood stove’s flu was but an oversized metal cylinder leading up through a roughly cut hole in the tin roof. When it rained water would dribble through the gap between the flu and the metal roof and sizzle as it ran down the hot pipe towards the stove, evaporating long before it reached the stove’s surface.

Elsie Frazer was a large, sweaty hard working woman who had lost any suggestion of a figure while given birth to nine children, all living at home and receiving what little education they could by correspondence with their mother as teacher. Rupert Frazer, or Roo as he was better known, was a skinny whippet who seldom put in a single day’s work but their yard was a green oasis in a sea of parched gulf countryside, which was more a tribute to the children than the father.

“Are you going back to Mareeba at Christmas?” Stan asked.

“No I don’t have any reason to return there I will work through again.” Lewis answered pacing to the submerged log and tugging on a length of cord. Then like magic a long neck bottle of beer came forth from the murky water. Returning he took an opener from his pocket and flipped the top. “Want a beer?” Lewis asked of Stan then commenced to fill two glasses with the amber fluid.

“Glasses you were prepared.” Stan commented as he accepted the beer.

“I offered Ivy but she wasn’t in the mood. What about you Stan, will you go down the coast for Christmas?” Lewis asked lifting his glass in cheer.

“No I’ll be staying on as well but I will have my son Donny coming up for a few weeks.”

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“He lives with his bitch mother in my house.” Stan divulged with venom.

“How old is he?”

“Eighteen and hates station life almost as much as he hates me.”

“Ivy’s son Wayne is also coming up maybe they can entertain each other.” Lewis suggested and refilled Stan’s glass.

“Doubt it, Donny is bloody antisocial and only interested in books and films and making my life a misery.”

“What went wrong there Stan?”

Stan thought for a while and sighed. He could tell of the many affairs his wife Nancy had, or the fact he was never there to show her affection, or that he didn’t love her anyway, only marrying because she was carrying his child. Instead he shook his head and declared it was the way of the world.

“What about you Lewis do you have a filly somewhere back east?”

“Na only me and mum and she’s back on the Tablelands but I have a stack of cousins spread out over the country.”

“I thought you were from Melbourne?” Stan said.

“Yea but I have cousins around Forsayth and Hughenden and all over Victoria.”

“Do you see them?”

“I guess it works both ways, I don’t contact them and they don’t contact me, making it a nice working relationship.”

“Family is like that.” Stan agreed.

“There is one Elizabeth, she married my best mate and she hates me with vengeance,” Lewis declared.

“Should introduce her to my wife, or better still to Donny.”

“I hear Jack’s two are staying over at Christmas and returning down the coast to school in the New Year.” Lewis suggested.

“Their grandmother hasn’t been well, that is why they are doing correspondence but I believe Jack is thinking of placing them in some boarding school after Christmas.”

“Not the Herberton hostel I hope,” Lewis said with memory of the establishment.

“I couldn’t say – not bad kids – a little aristocratic,” Stan said.

“More than likely taking after their mum, Jack could never be accused of being so. Lewis surmised.

“Nice legs ‘tho,”

“Who Jack?”

“Elizabeth you goose. Now Ivy, there is a fine woman; never a bad word to say about anyone and can match a man on any subject while retaining her femininity.” Stan praised.

“I agree, she reminds me of my own mother.”

“Never like mine,” Stan admitted, “my old lady had spirit and could drink the stuff as good as any man and did.” Stan paused as memories commenced to flow and once again he was a child living in a tin shed close to Ravenshoe, his father working for the local mining company, operating an alluvial tin dredge. He remembered his mother as a true pioneering woman and like many of her generation, the spirit of the outback, with more mental strength than any man and a backhand that could bring stars to a bright sunny day.

“You say was, Stan?”

“Yes was, she died young when I was eleven and without her influence my old man couldn’t cope with me, said I reminded him too much of her.”

“Then what happened?”

“He buggered off, I woke up one morning and I was alone, never saw or heard of him again. Soon after there was a good many jokers knocking on the door demanding money but he left none.”

“It appears most up this way have a similar story,”

“Best outcome that could happen, his sister took me in and that was fine but too much time has passed to even remember most of it.”

Lewis drained the bottle and placed it in a neat pile of trash he had developed in a corner of the yard beside the long drop toilet, as they spied Walter approaching across the flat, his gait being most distinguishable in the strong moonlight while still wearing his hat.

“If you live long enough that pile will be a hundred foot high.” Stan postulated.

“One of these days I’m going to dig a hole and bury the lot,”

“You will need dynamite to get through the ground there. I suppose when we dig a new shit pit, you could chuck it in the old one – Hey Walt what brings you down this late in the night?”

“Hot,” Walter simply answered, ignoring Stan’s question.

“It’s always flaming hot,” Stan remonstrated.

“Frightened of sunstroke?” Lewis asked in reference to the hat.

“Some night owl may peck away the last of his hair.” Stan added to Lewis’ humour.

Walter ignored them both. “That bull is back on the flat, first thing in the morning Jack want’s you to send it back then help me mend the fence.” He directed to Lewis.

“Yes he has already asked me to. It’s a bloody pest; possibly it could become the next run of rump steaks.” Lewis suggested.

“A little tough I should think and I wouldn’t let Jack hear you say that; it’s good breeding stock and cost a hundred quid.” Stan answered wearing his bookkeeper’s hat while Walter stood surveying the lagoon as if calculating the capacity, “it’s down somewhat,” he suggested.

“A hundred quid Stan?” Lewis questioned.

“Well a flaming lot of dollars.” Walter never liked the new currency, calling it Mickey Mouse money, lacking the promise to pay bearer on demand notation in its design, as was on the old quid notes. To top it off, the coinage was cupronickel and not silver with little value than what the government deemed.

“Do you want a beer Walt?’ Lewis offered.

“Could persuade me,”

“You’re closer Stan could you get another bottle.”

Stan retrieved the last bottle from the water as Walter took seating, discovering Lewis’ beer glasses. He collected the glass with the embossing and held it up in the moonlight. “What the hell have you got on this glass?”

“Frogs mate and they are getting a dam lot more that I am.”

“It boarders on illegal,” Walter gave a grunt and returned the glass to the ground.

“That tie you got for Christmas is worse,” Lewis remembered the nude lady in glittering glory along its length, one hand on her breasts and the other covering her privates that Walter wore during the previous Christmas.

“She is at least attempting to cover up,” Walter argued.

“Where did you get it?” Stan asked of Walter’s tie.

“It was from my sister Shirley in Townsville.”

“Odd present from a sister,” Stan suggested.

“Odd sister Stan,” Walter admitted.

“Why’s that?” Stan asked.

“She drives trucks in the Isa mines.” Walter gave a suggestive giggle which took away further questioning.

“There’s nothing wrong with frogs fucking, they do it all the time and in full view and daylight as well.” Lewis retorted.

“I don’t know you young fellers’ of today, no decorum.” Walter shook his head as Stan returned with the fresh bottle.

“Opener Lewis,”

Lewis passed Stan the bottle opener, “You two finish it off; I’ve had enough.” Lewis admitted.

“Have you noticed the balls on that bull?” Walter laughed as he reflected on why he had come down to the lagoon in search of Lewis, being to return the animal to its paddock and not the size of its cods.

“I suppose you need big balls for the job it has to do.” Stan suggested bringing merriment to Lewis’ tone as a memory formed from a time when his mother was cook on Dunluce station.

“I remember when I was a kid back out Hughenden way,” Lewis recollected as the two prepared for another of his infamous stories. “No maybe I shouldn’t,” he reneged on his telling with a nervous chortle.

“Knowing you it will be a doozy.” Walter suggested; “you may as well continue now that you have our interest.”

Lewis agreed and digressed to an earlier occasion.

It was castration time and Lewis had come down to the yards to investigate the art of turning yearlings and pikers into steers. Although Dunluce was predominantly a sheep station, it did run a substantial heard of beef cattle as the property was on the east west line between sheep and cattle country. It was considered that the highway between the port of Townsville and mining town of Mount Isa was the perfect dividing line.

Even at a tender age Lewis knew well what castration was about, as the men were quick in teaching the facts of life, even as far as pointing their hooked blade towards the lad and suggesting he may be next. He also understood their bawdy humour and took little fear towards the threat, besides he knew his pea sized gonads were much too green for such unkind attention.

As for the art of sexual intercourse, it was happening everywhere. The sheep were at it as were cattle, even the station pigs seemed to enjoy a romp in public view, which was most humorous to watch but that was for a future telling. As for the working dogs, he had often followed their progress from intercourse to pregnancy to puppies, without even a blink of confusion. Besides when the bitch and dog were stuck arse to arse it was a little too obvious not to observe and a little too humorous not to at least smile.

With humans it was more difficult for the lad to understand, believing babies came from a kiss and sex was play but how so was somewhat misguided. Why he couldn’t relate animal activity to human was another matter, possibly believing humans were above such folly.

Once nutted the yearlings released a loud bellow and bolted back to the herd, while their balls were thrown to the dogs. This day a selection of fleshy orbs was placed on an enamelled plate and offered to the lad to take up to the kitchen for his mother to cook.

To the lad’s reasoning why not, steak was from a bullock; balls also, so why not put them on the menu. Once Lewis had departed nothing more was thought of the humour they had created and the men went about their business as usual, besides it got him out of their feet for the remainder of the morning.

At dinner that night they were in for an unexpected surprise. Winnie was as equal in humour and had cooked the selection of testicles and once garnished with onions and potatoes she served them to the men. They were shocked and soon realised they had been beaten at their own game.

Once the jest had been transposed Winnie binned the dish and served their real meal, oddly the men didn’t appear to have appetite that night, possibly it was from apprehension she may have slipped a couple of testicles into the stew as an added bonus of humour.

“Now that’s a good country yarn and your mother a woman after my own heart,” Walter supposed at stories end. Stan agreed but contradicted the binning, he had tried them many years previous without complaint and beside in some countries they were considered to be a delicacy.

There was a continuation to Lewis’ story but one he could not share. It was also to do with sex and foals and mares, occurring but a short time after the incident of offering the testicles up for cooking.

There was a neighbour’s lad, whose family name was also as his, Smith. Eddie Smith was from the neighbouring property, only a short ride away. Eddie was a couple years older than Lewis and would often visit for adventure and there were many, mostly instigated by Eddie but well agreed to by Lewis.

One such adventure was swimming their horses across a dam while holding onto the saddle and floating beside. Neither lad could swim, which didn’t seem to concern. Soon after the adventures duo found they were in deep trouble for submerging of the saddles in water from the damage it caused to the padding and leather. A little rain water would run off with the polish but being submerged meant the stuffing within became soggy and while drying would cause mould to form at the joins. It meant the saddles would have to be unpicked and new padding inserted before restitching.

Soon after the swimming incident Eddie and Lewis had been loitering about the shearing shed but become somewhat absent and one of the men feeling somewhat responsible for their wellbeing commenced a search around the bailing shed, finding them high in the wool bales and playing horses.

That is where the story of sex came into the equation. They took turns at being the mare and the foal and when it came to being the foal there was only one place to suckle and that was the dick, besides when on all fours it was in the appropriate position for a teat. Neither though anything wrong with the game or even though of it as sexual but as Lewis took his turn on the surrogate teat, with Eddie on all fours representing a willing mare, a booming voice sounded above their heads. Lewis’ lips soon disengaged from the tiny but erect appendage.

Lewis innocently admitted it was nothing but a game. They were playing horses and being naked was a necessity but the shearer who discovered them wasn’t as understanding, he sent Eddie home and marched Lewis up to Winnie. How the incident was explained was unknown to Lewis but he could tell it was somewhat heated, laying the blame totally on the older lad Eddy.

The odd thing about the incident, if nothing had been said at the time, most probably it would have been forgotten but in retrospect Lewis now understood where the commencement of his attraction to men most likely originated, or at least awareness of such an attraction. Oddly Winnie didn’t make comment, or punish him; possibly she could from an early age speculate his future preference. As for Eddie, he never returned for adventure of any kind.

Even at such a young age Lewis recollected there had been a feeling in the pit of his gut that was the development of urge towards experimentation and often in the presence of friends he wished to translate that desire into action but never furthered in anything by words and those being so vague not to be understood. It was the hostel that brought out the desire to its fullest, where he found many likeminded young lads that were more than happy to accompany him.

Memory may be as memories are and kindly accepted but while Walter and Stan remained in gentle conversation, Lewis left that story where it belonged, buried deeply in his past.

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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