Published: 19 Aug 2024

The boys were so impress with the country adjacent to the headwater of Stringers Creek they stayed longer than anticipated, finding, in comparison to their property more wildlife and native foods to be gathered than expected, therefore the hunting should be easy while developing their new farm. Eventually it was necessity to attend to their garden that brought them away from their newly found paradise, although with overnight rain there would not be any urgency in returning.

During the visit Daniel kept vigil for signs of native activity but only found markings relating to passing through of which Axel assured had some age. Even so not far from the grassy field there was what could be considered a sacred site or at least a meeting place. Again the site was a flat granite surface with scratching relating to native animals along side some strange spiralling circles which were described by Axel as clan totems. When questioned on the regularity of its use, Axel simply shrugged away Daniel’s concern, offering certainty towards their continued concord with the natives, even if they may be of a different clan than the Bedigal and possible less influenced by settlement.

Late in the afternoon and more than satisfied with the lay of the land, Axel gathered a number of large sticks, “We need some rag,” he says.

“What do you need rag for?”

“Your underwear will do,” Axel smirks.

“I’m not wearing any,” Daniel admits.

“Nor am I, we’ll have to improvise,” Axel takes his knife and sharpens one end of all the gathered sticks, while Daniel stands by, hands on hips, baffled by Axel’s request.

“Underwear?” Daniel says in a puzzled tone.

“It doesn’t matter; some of that vine hanging from the trees should do the trick, as long as it appears made and not natural.”

Axel carves the letters D.A into one of the sticks and passes it to Daniel then carves the same onto the rest of his collection.

“What’s this for?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re playing with my head Axel. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Take it to the far right of the clearing and just before the trees drive it into the ground with a rock and wrap some of the vine around it.”

Daniel obeys without question. He was well accustomed to Axel’s cryptic demands and sooner or later all would be explained.

Reaching the end of the clearing he calls, “will this do?”

“Further. As far as you can until you reach the trees.”

Daniel reaches the trees, “here?”

“Yes now drive it into the ground.”

“Before doing so Daniel notices Axel’s carved letters.

“What’s this?”

“They are our initials, Daniel and Axel.”

As Daniel drives the stake deep into the ground, Axel does likewise at the opposing corner.

“Now I get ya,” Daniel calls.

“Right in one, they are markers to stake out our claim.”

Early on the third day the boys set out towards Parramatta to visit the Government office of land grants and emancipation. Instead of tracking the way back to their hut and the path along Stringers Creek to the Parramatta Road, Axel took what he believed to be the shorter route through the lesser forest to the north, then the lightly wooded hills towards the town.

As they set out Daniel shows concern, “I do hope your sense of direction is better than mine.”

“Don’t worry, I could find my way wearing a blindfold, as long as there was daylight, besides I’ve travelled this way many times before.”

“Why do you say daylight?”

“If blindfolded and the sun is shining, I would simply head off with the morning warmth on the right side of my face.”

“So your handsome face is not only a teller of stories, it is also a sextant.”

“Handsome you say.”

“I think so.”

“But Daniel, you are one for the ladies, how can you describe me as handsome?”

Daniel laughs, “possibly you have turned my head – yet I still like the ladies and as for handsome, it isn’t a social crime for a man to think another is handsome, only in admitting it.”

“Umm, true I suppose.”

“Do you find me handsome?” Daniel asks in such a tone his question could only be considered jocular.

“Yes, very much so.”

“Am I more handsome than your painter?”

“I would say in a different way.”

Daniel continues with his jocularity; “what part of me do you find handsome?”

“That is a good question and one I’ve never put into thought.”

“Go on – try.”

“You have a more than pleasant face.”

“Go on.”

“I like the colour of your blue eyes and the permanent smile your lips form.”

“Is that all?”

“You want more?” Axel protests.

“If there is any.”

“You have a well defined chest, a flat gut and -,”

“And?”

“You have big low hanging balls almost goose eggs and a long thick pizzle.”

“So you like my private bits?”

“I like the entire package.”

“Would you like me to describe what I like best of you?”

“No, it is better you keep an eye on the path and your mind alert, you almost stood on a snake.”

Daniel gives a silly little shriek and jumps ahead, “what sort of snake?” he asks.

“Dunno’ it was small and I only saw the tail,”

“Would it have been venomous?”

“Everything in this strange country that can bite is venomous, you simply have to watch your step and where you put your hands.”

“Snakes, spiders, scorpions I even heard the male platypus has a spur that is venomous. There was nothing like that back in England.”

“No snakes?”

“There are a couple in England although it is said Saint Patrick drove them out of Ireland into England.”

“Do you believe that?”

“The Catholics do, there is only one in England that is venomous but usually it isn’t deadly and you don’t find them in Piccadilly Circus.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Axel admits.

“If Joshua comes back and wishes you to travel with him to England, would you go with him?”

“No.”

“You do sound definite.”

“I am, believe it or not, I love this country even with its snakes and spiders and can’t even imagine your England. What of you Daniel, you have your emancipation but not a pardon as such, if allowed would you return home.”

“Before meeting you I would have gone home in a flash but now I don’t know. It is possible I no longer have a family to return to as things change quickly with England’s relentless fighting with the French, I may be forced into the navy.”

“So you are becoming an Australian?” Axel suggests.

“What is an Australian?”

“The word was coined by a navigator, Captain Mathew Flinders and I liked the sound of it.”

“Then we will be Australian’s together.”

“Possibly so but that isn’t getting us to Parramatta.”

“Do you remain negative on what I believe are your best features.”

“I suppose I better let you have your pennies worth, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Na, I’ll keep it to myself but I do like your freckles.”

“Huh!”

Mid afternoon found the boys wandering along George Street towards Government House, or in fact the governor’s second resident from the shamble that is Sydney Town, built away for the port and a suggested threat of French invasion. It is a fine whitewashed Georgian building on two levels built in sandstone with an impressive portico lined with pillars, all set in fine English style gardens.

“Grand,” Daniel simply says as the boys approach the gates.

“Would you like to live here?” Axel asks as their advance is notice by sentries at the open gates.

“I must admit it would be more comfortable than your hut. I bet it doesn’t have pressed dirt flooring or a chimney that leaks more smoke into the hut than out.”

“No dirt flooring on the second level anyway,” Axel says as one of the guards approaches.

The boys halt their progress. “What now?” Daniel whispers.

“State you business,” the guard demands.

“To see the Governor,” Axel bravely states.

“What makes you think the Gov’ would wish to see the likes of you scruffy fellers’ eh?”

“We wish to register a land claim.”

“It isn’t the Gov’ you will be wanting but the land secretary.”

“Then sir, can we see the land secretary?”

“You need to have an appointment.”

“Where can we make an appointment?” Axel asks holding back his annoyance towards the ever maligning attitude of the military.

“You can’t until past three, come back then.”

The guard finds interest in a well attired couple wishing entry into the gardens, leaving the lads to decide what they should do with the time until late afternoon.

“Possibly we should come back another day,” Daniel proposes.

“We are here now.”

“I am concerned leaving Patch for such a long period.”

“She has water in the creek and plenty of fresh grass in her yard, she should be alright.”

To pass time it was a short walk to the Parramatta dock. As they approached they noticed Clancy Todd had arrived with a different boat.

They approach, “Mr. Todd I notice you haven’t recommissioned your horse powered contraption,” Axel says.

“Good afternoon lads; no as they say, once bitten than twice shy, how is the old nag going?”

“Fine, she seems to enjoying pulling a cart. Would you like some help unloading?”

“I have no spare coin for payment lads, the profits are tight.”

“For nicks’ sir, we at least owe you that.”

“Righto’ start with those barrels of pickled herring.”

With the unloading completed Todd is grateful and invites the lads to lunching with him at the Waterfront Inn, then after a great deal of conversation it is time to once again visit Government House for that all important appointment, or not depending on the mood of the official.

At the gate the lads’ entry is impeded by the same guards as they had previously encountered. This time the guards are more irritable from having to stand in the hot sun for so many hours, turning their civil duty into one of obvious obstruction.

“It’s the felons who wish to see the Gov’ back again,” the guard’s words are directed to his mate rather than the lads, “what do you reckon Watson? Should we tell them to bugger off?”

“Na, I’m feeling in a good mood.” The second guard relates and with a head flick invites the lads to follow as he skirts away from the front entrance towards a lesser side entrance. He boldly enters and invites the lads to follow.

Inside is obviously by design an official office but sparse in furnishing, a simple desk, chair and a clerk but lacking anywhere for a visitor to be seated. The clerk keeps busy with his ledgers and appears disinterested in the intrusion. He continues with his work until the guard gives an encouraging throat clearing sound. The clerk lifts his head while placing his spectacles onto the desk, his writing pen neatly with the inkstand. He lifts from his seat reaching, if at all possible, four feet and ten inches and attempts to smile.

The smile fails.

“Who have we here Mr. Watson?”

“A couple of scruffy villains, wishing to place a land claim.”

The clerk ignores the lad’s while speaking to the guard, “have they made an appointment?”

“It appears not Mr. Pickering.”

“No appointment?” the official’s eyes fix on those of Axel.

“No sir, we have been advised we would need to return after three and arrange an appointment,” Axel says.

Pickering glances towards the wall clock, “and it has gone three by twenty minutes,” he observably says while again directing his words towards the guard.

“It has Mr. Pickering,” Watson agrees in a tone that appears to be mocking the lads.

“Leave it with me Mr. Watson.”

The guard departs and as the door closes Pickering speaks, “so lads what can I do for you?”

“We would like to claim a selection of land and wish to make an appointment with the grant’s officer.”

“You have just done so.”

The boys appear confused.

“I am,” the official proudly declares, “Samuel Pickering and represent His Majesty’s lands and titles in the colony of New South Wales, a position given by way of the Governor himself.” Pickering offers his hand to Axel, then once greeted returns to his seat. “Where is this land you speak of?”

“It is at the headwater of Stringers Creek,” Axel informs.

“That area hasn’t been surveyed as yet; also I wouldn’t trust the blacks out there.”

“I’ve been living close by blacks for some time now and haven’t found them belligerent.”

“Umm,” Pickering growls as he refers to his map. “That would be the eastern reach of Kedumba country I should think.”

“Yes the Gundungurra,” Axel informs.

“So you know your native tribes.”

“Only a little sir; mostly those who live further down where Stringers Creek crosses the Parramatta Road and they are the Bedigal who are also related to the Gundungurra but,” Axel gives a wry smile,” they are not on the best of terms with the Kedumba.”

“You do realise the Kedumba haven’t been happy since we put the western road right through the centre of their lands?”

“I have heard that said although I have been hunting on both Bedigal and Kedumba land for some years without any hostility. If you treat them respectfully you get by.”

“You don’t appear old enough to call it years. How old are you lad?”

“Twenty-one, I think and if not almost.”

“Where in England are you from?”

“Not England sir, I am truly Currency, although born to a convict mother but two days out of Botany Bay.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you locally born fellows wear that title like a badge of honour. What about your mate here?”

Daniel becomes sheepishly shy, “I have been given a pardon sir.”

“What’s your name lad?”

“Daniel Styles sir.”

“Styles eh, then Mr. Styles I wouldn’t become too attached to the pardon, as I am sure it is but emancipation. How old are you Mr. Styles?”

“For certain I am twenty-one, sir?”

The official smiles; “unlike your associate who appears uncertain.” Pickering’s expression firms, “I trust you don’t intend to run sheep on this selection of yours.”

“No sir, we intend to grow things like corn and spuds,” Axel assures.

“Good, as the colony lacks food and we can’t eat wool, even if the Manchester mills are demanding it.”

“You can eat mutton,” Daniel distracts while remembering a previous answer given by Axel.

Pickering gives a disheartening glair, “we have had enough of the likes of Mr. John Macarthur taking the best farming land to run sheep.”

“Definitely not sheep sir,” Axel assures, “the area is much to damp for sheep, possibly a few pigs.”

Daniel gives Axel a glance as it was the first he had heard of rearing pigs.

Pickering opens a drawer and retrieves what appears to an official document, he places it aside and turns the map on the desk before him to face the lads, “could you point out the approximate position of your intended selection?”

Axel confidently points to the map, “just about there, sir,” he says, referring to a substantial blank section on the official map of the Sydney hinterland.

“Just about you say. How can I give you a grant of land without it being marked on the survey map?”

“We have pegged out around a hundred acres of good arable land with permanent water but have no map,” Axel says.

A deep breath from Pickering relates disappointment with his limited tools of office. It was true month by month the map was being redrawn, growing further in all directions and more so across the high barrier towards the new town of Bathurst, even the Monaro Plains to the south, yet because of so much native unrest to the west of Sydney the progress was slow in that area.

Pickering again retrieves the official document and flicks at the corners as he contemplates his decision. Again he places it aside, instead offers Axel a clean sheet of paper and a pencil.

“Do you know your letters lad?” the official asks.

“I do,” Axel proudly admits, “and learned them from the Reverend Marsden himself.”

Pickering gives an ambiguous titter, “then draw me a rudimentary map of your intended claim and pen your name to it.”

Axel wishes Josher was present with his artistic skills, while with careful imagination he outlines the selection besides Stringers Creek, the pool and turnings of the creek, even as far as marking in a number of large trees while describing their species in native language. Once done he places an X at the intended spot for their house; he writes hous’ without the E then his name, Axel South.”

“You are almost literate,” the official suggests with a wry smile.

Axel passes the pencil to Daniel who appears puzzled, “write you name next to mine,” he suggests.

In his best squiggled hand Daniel pens Dan StYleS.

“I’ll tell you what I will do,” the officer says.

The boys quietly wait with growing anticipation.

Another deep anxious breath from the official, “I will allow your grant but it will be worded as such,” he commences to write, “one hundred acres of arable land, with good water, somewhere at the headwater of Stringers Creek – near the spot signed as h.o.u.s’.

Finished with his writing the official speaks, “will that suffice?”

“Yes sir,” Axel eagerly agrees.

“You have a curious given name Mr. South were parents Germanic?”

“No sir, it is a long story.”

“I have no time for long stories Mr. South.” Pickering blots the document dry, “you do realise at some later time and if challenged, the grant would not stand in a court of law.”

The boys wait for continuation as in officialdom there is always a proviso.

“My advice would be, once the area is more settled return and describe the selection in more detail.”

“Yes sir,” Axel says and exuberantly accepts the document.

Pickering offers up the document with a warning, “Okay lads you grow your corn and potatoes and run your pigs but it is my opinion this will be the last we see of either of you, as by Christmas the blacks would have done you in, therefore I think your elation may be a little premature.”

Even so the boys depart elated.

“As easy as that,” Daniel wonders while leaving the house grounds.

“Seams so,” Axel folds the deed of selection safely into his pocket and pats the spot for luck.

“What did he mean you are almost literate?”

“Dunno’ don’t care, we have our selection and that is all that matters and issued in both our names, so now we are truly partners.”

“I like that, now for some lunch and home.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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