Published: 14 Nov 2019

The morning’s sun brought some comfort as Lewis readied for his excursion to Herberton and his past. There had been an enigmatic strangeness about his many years at the hostel, commencing at the tender age of six, with a break of two years while in Melbourne, only to return for a further three years. The strangeness being returning there from holidays he would be emotionally devastated but within a week or two a sense of belonging transpired and his incarcerated world away from what he loved seemed not so bad.

Now gone from school and making his own way, own mistakes, he missed the comradery and energy it had to offer. At least at the hostel he had a captive audience and in general friendships continued until the following year. Occasionally there would be the question where is Johnnie? His parents came for him yesterday and has gone back home. Or worse being the death of a parent or other relation creating need for departure but such outcomes were fortunately infrequent.

“It’s on the table,” Winnie called as Lewis dressed for breakfast. In quiet disposition he came to the table.

“What’s wrong Pet?” Winnie asked while serving John his breakfast.

“Nothing, just a little concerned with Ian and his driving,” Lewis lied.

“Don’t worry Liz is with him and she’s sensible,” Winnie said wisely then gave Lewis a plate of scrambled egg on toast, “we are out of bacon, I’ll get some down the street later.”

“That’s alright mum.”

“I could do you some sausages.”

“No this is fine thank you.”

“Why are you going up to Herberton, I thought you hated the place?” she asked, sitting with her cup of morning tea and the crossword, “what is another word for?” she paused her rhetorical question, “never mind I know,” she answered and entered a lengthy word into one of the down clues.

“Only to see if any of the old gang is still there.”

Winnie gave a soft huh.

“What was that for?” Lewis asked as John left the table to ready the shop for the day’s business.

“Only I once had a bugger of a time getting you to go to Herberton and now you are volunteering.”

“That was different.”

Winnie put down her crossword puzzle, “I remember the very first time I took you up to the hostel.”

“So do I and as if it were yesterday.”

“Do you Pet?”

“Yes we were seated with the wife of the manager, Mrs. Toft if I recollect and after you spoke with her for a while you left the room and didn’t return. No goodbye no nothing and I reckon I cried for a week. There I was fresh from the bush and thrown into a shark pool of bullies.”

“Sorry Pet but I couldn’t say good bye, was it so bad?” Winnie became remorse.

“At first it was but there aren’t any scars, I soon got over it but never forgot the west and my horses they were my secret world where no bully could enter.”

“Were you bullied much?”

“At first yes but after a time I fitted in and I became as guilty as the next. It was bully or be bullied, even so I felt culpable in delivering such treatment.”

“I didn’t have choice love, it was either the hostel or worse,” There was a gentle tear in his mother’s eyes as she spoke.

“Mum, don’t be concern. I realise it now and I guess I realised it then, I’m alright with it all.” Lewis answered while glancing at the pink and grey plastic wall clock, with its stylised bent arrow hands, “I’d better be going or I’ll miss the train.” he gasped and swallowed the dregs of his tea, receiving a mouth full of tealeaves. “Mum don’t you know what a tea strainer is!” he complained and begrudgingly swallowed the leaves.

“They give the tea body,” Winnie humorously implied, “would you like John to give you a lift to the station?” she added.

“No I’ve enough time – see you tonight and please use a strainer!”

Lewis had a feeling of deja-vu as the rail motor sped through the tunnel and under Herberton’s main street, then with a few blasts of its horn was past the tin ore crushing battery, around the hill supporting the hostel’s study and at the station. Nothing appeared to have changed.

So many times he had taken that trip and on every occasion it was with heaviness of heart, returning to what he considered to be almost a prison sentence. This time, although it should not have been, it was similar and with building trepidation he stepped down to the platform.

Two elderly town’s women, whom he vaguely recollected but could not name, alighted from the motor and were collected by awaiting cars, leaving Lewis to mount the flight of concrete steps leading up to the hostel’s boys side.

Being Saturday he would soon hear the sound of the younger boys at play. He imagined their pause as he approach, heads bent towards curious distraction. I was once one of you, he would acknowledge their fleeting interest with false pride, or take comfort he was no longer so. They would allow his presence a moment of their time before continuing with their raucous play. He would smile and continue towards his reunion.

On reaching the top step Lewis glanced back over his shoulder to the disappearing rail motor as it sped off towards Ravenshoe its destination at the roof of the tablelands, while doing so brought back memory of many years of boarding. How that very motor delivered both pain and pleasure and if this day were then it would be delivering pain and how during the long tedious weekends some would wait on the slope beside the line for its daily routine, its mournful horn sounding hope for approaching school holidays. Even during those holidays the days were unwillingly counted down to a return to what must be.

Taking a deep breath with pleasing knowledge that very rail motor would be returning in a few hours and he would be joining it for the return journey. With that reassuring thought Lewis continued upwards past the study towards the main building.

As he continued Lewis realised that there was something amiss. There weren’t children at play, not even the sound of the odd transistor radio relaying the latest hits, as there would have been during his internment. Instead there was only silence which was so loud it was deafening, while in his mind he heard them all, the happy calls, the shrieks of torment; the call to play. They were but past ghosts and not the activity of the present, yet so real he could distinguish each bygone spirit.

What he now saw were broken windows and missing doors, while the dinning room was empty of tables and chairs and the kitchen but blank greasy walls, void of anything that suggested food, if what was served could be described as such, had ever been prepared there. Even the back stairs leading to the dormitory were disassembled and lay on the ground beside.

Lewis moved to the front of the building and entered finding a warren of more empty rooms, with old magazines and books strewn across the tattered and broken lino.

“Can I help you?” a rough overworked voice came from deep inside the dormitory. Lewis turned quickly to face a middle age man, who had obviously been awakened from his sleep and not happy in being so.

“Oh, sorry but I used to board here and I didn’t realise it had been closed down.” Lewis answered apologetically, his eyes drawn to the stain state of the man’s underwear, his narrow withered gut and unshaven face.

“The Great Northern tin mines own it now; I’m looking after it for them as kids have been messing it up,” the scruffy caretaker answered and turned to return to his bed.

“Do you know where everyone went?” Lewis asked of the retreating caretaker.

“Try over at the brick building, you shouldn’t be in here as it is private property,” the man answered without empathy.

“Would it be alright if I had a look around?”

“Outside yes but not in the building there is a lot of expensive equipment stored downstairs, as I said speak to them over the at the brick building.”

Lewis left the caretaker to his peace and commenced his exploration of the many locker rooms, ablution blocks and external storage arrears. It had only been a year, hardly longer since he had last visited and in such a short time all had become derelict.

Entering into what was once a locker room he found his old locker, now missing its door, with a hole punched through the plywood side panel but still supporting his carved initials. Smiling he ran a finger over the carving. “What!” he called on hearing his name called, while quickly turning towards the sun glare through the doorway. He was alone. The voice was inside his head. There were more, many more, calling remembered names, shrieks of play whispers of secrets, all there yet naught but unforgotten memory. The door of progress had shut firmly on that part of his past life.

Lewis did have regret. There had always been a love hate relationship with the hostel. It gave him friendship and comfort but in the background was always longing for family, brothers, sisters a father who would be his champion, his hero, a sober man of few words with a guiding hand, who would reach for him when he fell or felt sad. His mother did her best; it wasn’t Winnie’s fault that so many men of her time had dark character. True John, her present man was kind and giving and treated her with respect, also treated Lewis well as if he was his own son but he wasn’t there during those early years when a boy needed his dad. With the resonating voices within his head Lewis soon discarded such thoughts and moved on.

Satisfied there was nothing more to gain Lewis advanced towards what he once knew as the girls-side, the brick building, which had been erected ten years previously to house the hostel girls. During his time it was crowded with the fairer sex, so where had they gone or where had the boys gone. The mystery remained until he presented to a woman at the door, introducing herself as Mrs. Westcott, “yes young man?” she spoke somewhat abruptly.

“I’ve come up to visit some old mates.”

“Who would you be?” she asked as Lewis peered around her portly frame for a glimpse of any girl he may remember.

“I’m Lewis Smith and was boarding here until a couple of years back and I thought I would visit anyone from that time.”

“Well the old building was almost condemned and the boys are here now.” She paused, “or what’s left of them, the girls are across town at the old Church of England College on the Atherton road.”

With her suspicions lowered she became freer with her answers but after a litany of questions, it was obvious she had had enough and wished to bid Lewis good day.

“I was wondering if I could visit anyone I knew back then for a while?” Lewis asked at length.

“Give me some names and I’ll see what I can do,” Mrs. Westcott answered, while showing a measure of urgency, as with thirty boys to clean up after her work was continuous and there was always someone demanding from their sick bed.

“Well Peter Jarvis, he was my best friend.”

“A lovely boy, he’s gone out west, didn’t finish his senior year,” she answered, displaying obvious disappointment in his failure to do so.

“Tony Mc Donald?”

“Tony went back to New Guinea, his mother passed on and his father needed him to help on the coffee farm.” She answered.

“Geoff Peters?”

“Don’t know him love.”

“Wayne Douglas, Simon Baker, Rodney Harris, Patrick Turner?” asked Lewis who was quickly running out of names.

“Don’t know most of them, Patrick Turner is still here but is out with his parents for the day,” the woman answered sharing Lewis’ disappointment, as he thanked her and turned away; thinking it fortunate Patrick wasn’t in as he never much liked the lad, he was considered to be a mummy’s boy and prone to cry for no obvious reason and was a bed wetter, having to be bunked on the lower not to shower the poor lad beneath, while his bed wore a plastic sheet to protect the mattress.

Shrouded in disappointment and wet from an afternoon’s tropical shower Lewis headed down the hill past the original Jack and Newells store with a smile of association, while heading for the school. At the bottom of the hill and the Wild River that cut the town into two, he encountered one more change. The bridge had gone and there was a temporary structure in its place.

This event Lewis did know as the rain and consequential flood had been so severe it had been reported in Melbourne during his short time away. It had also been reported the newly built Tinaroo dam, supplying town water and irrigation for the tableland, filled almost overnight and at the time there was fear the new concrete wall may not have cured enough to hold the pressure of water building behind it. Like most news speak, it did and nothing more was reported on the matter.

Halfway up the other side of town Lewis came across the empty school yard and jumping the low fence he commenced his exploration, coming to the conclusion that at least the school hadn’t changed since his departure, giving him a diminutive sense of the past and present being as one.

Once back at Jack and Newell corner, Lewis decided to pass the hostel one last time on his return to the station and as he did a Ford sedan came to a stop outside the brick building, allowing its passenger to alight from the rear seat. It was Patrick Turner. Somewhat older, taller and lacking the crop of pimples Lewis remembered but defiantly Patrick.

Lewis hesitated and was about to call when the lad kissed his mother on the cheek, closed the door and teary-eyed turned towards where Lewis was standing. There was a spark of recognition on Patrick’s face but it soon faded as he turned and watched his parents drive away, gently skidding in the roadside gravel and sending a shower of stones towards where Lewis was standing. Then without further thought for Lewis, Patrick, like his once mates, was also gone.

It was dark by the time Ian arrived back with the car. Lewis had been helping restock shelves with a variety of fruit brought north at great expense from cooler climates. His willingness to help had a singular purpose, being his concern for the vehicle, creating need to be close when it returned.

“One would think you would be tired of shelf stacking at work,” Winnie said in reference to his position at Jack and Newells.

“This is different.”

“I was in there on Friday,” Winnie admitted.

“What at work, I didn’t see you.”

“I was checking their prices and every time they undercut us.”

“I do realise so, there isn’t anything I can do.” Lewis apologised and finished his stacking.

“I know but now they have approached the Shire Office and are demanding we don’t sell groceries after they close, yet only a year ago Jack and Newells were only hardware and garden supplies.”

“Diversity mum, like John having the book exchange.”

“A lot of good that does, kids come in and read the comics and buy nothing.”

“There here,” Lewis broke from his mother’s business problem.

As the Cortina came to park outside the shop and the familiar sound of the faulty hand break was activated, all apprehension dissolved, removing the heavy weight that had been gathering over the weekend.

Liz was the first to enter the shop followed close behind by Ian, who humorously dangled and jiggled the car keys towards Lewis. “Back in one piece and no more electrical problem – both break lights now work as well but dad said you will soon need to fix the hand break.”

“What’s the cost,” Lewis nervously asked.

“No cost, dad fixed it and he said next time we are down he will fix the break, he said it’s only a stretched connection wire.”

“Evening Aunty Winnie,” Liz greeted placing her bag to the floor beside the counter, she turned smiled and nodded towards Lewis without speaking, applying the measured politeness that was necessary to prove civility.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Winnie asked, her head placed inside a large bag of potatoes while extracting a number that had spoiled, “there goes the profit!” she complained discarding them in a large plastic bucket.

“Yes it was good but I won’t be long out of bed,” Liz answered with a stretch and yawn.

“Have you had dinner?” Winnie asked,

“We had a hamburger earlier at Kuranda.”

“What will your mother say Liz, she will think I don’t feed you,” Winnie finished with the potatoes, “what about you Ian?”

“I’m good Mrs. Smith but I should be heading home to ready for tomorrow’s work,” Ian passed the keys to Lewis, “sorry mate almost out of petrol.”

“You have had Lewis worried all weekend about your driving Ian,” Winnie teased.

“Mum that’s not true!” Lewis loudly protested.

“Well I best be on my way,” Ian repeated and turned towards the door.

“Hang on I’ll walk you home.” Lewis called and taking the smaller of Ian’s bags followed him out.

“How was Saturday’s work?” asked Ian as they reached the Graham Hotel.

“I didn’t work; it was cancelled, so I caught the train up to Herberton.”

“Why?” asked Ian inquisitively?

“Just to see if any of the gang were still up there.”

“Were they?”

“No all gone and even the staff had changed and the old place had closed and moved.” He sighed then continued, “Are you still moving back to Townsville?”

“Yes and sooner than expected in less than two weeks.”

“Oh, you know I’ll miss your company.”

“I know you will.” Ian’s answer was somewhat peculiar. It wasn’t comforting nor was it callous but had a strain of superiority attached to it, which distressed Lewis even further.

“What I mean every time I’ve found friends they leave. It’s happened all my life and I don’t like it.” Lewis’ distress was obvious, “it was the same with the Herberton crowd – all gone.”

“Well Lewis that is life and it happens to us all, you have to realise that you are the centre of your own universe and not others and have to get on with it,” Ian spoke sincerely and as they reached Ashley’s gate he continued. “You can come and stay weekends whenever you like. My parents like you and there is always Sarah, she likes you too and that makes you family,” he opened the gate and closed it behind, then reaching across the space he gently ruffled Lewis’ hair; “and I like you too,” he laughed and was gone into the darkness beside the house. “Goodnight see ya’ at work tomorrow,” Ian called back through the vale of night.

“Goodnight.” Lewis replied while turning for home.

“You realise Ian is right,” Lewis muttered as he travelled, “yet it’s a pity I can’t convince my head,” he softly laughed.

That final fortnight went quickly and Lewis found himself visiting Ian’s bungalow almost every night, while on the Thursday Ian had even more news to relate to Lewis. As the two lay back on Ian’s bed listening to Ashley’s programme on the radio and criticising him far more that what could be considered banter, Ian suddenly refrained from humour.

“I have some more news.” Lewis remained silent as he had already guessed what was coming.

“I have asked Liz to marry me.”

“What did she say?” asked Lewis.

“Yes of course, – who could resist me eh?” Ian paused “there’s more Liz has found work at a hair-dressing salon near my parent’s place, so she will be following a little later.”

“Congratulations!” applauded Lewis displaying genuine warmth. Although he didn’t want to loose his friend he still wished him all the happiness that life could bring. Besides he would be well rid of his Cousin who had proclaimed superiority over him from the moment of arrival and no matter how he tried to appease, Liz remained aloof. Also with her gone he wouldn’t have to watch them continuously petting.

“Can I be your best man?” asked Lewis.

“Who else would I have?” Ian answered positively.

That final weekend arrived and Lewis, Ian and Liz drove down to Cairns to visit Green Island. The trip had been planned somewhat earlier but never eventuated and with Ian’s imminent departure it was to be a parting event. At the time of decision Liz wasn’t an inclusion, now it was Lewis who suggested she should be included but did so somewhat reluctantly.

Slowly Lewis was reaching the understanding that the dye had been cast and all he could do was accept the outcome. Although Lewis acknowledged Ian’s departure he remained jealous of his association with Liz but time and distance would diminish even that and she would be gone from his life within a matter of days.

“Can I drive?” Ian asked and without response took the keys from Lewis.

“Sure, I’ll get into the back, Liz you can sit in the front.” Lewis offered magnanimously but begrudgingly. Liz didn’t respond but took him at his word squeezing close to Ian’s side in a cuddle.

“You’ve heard the advert on the radio?” Lewis asked.

“What one is that?” Ian questioned.

“The one about road accidents.”

“No.”

“It says cuddle cats are killers.”

“I’m driving not cuddling.” Ian corrected while Liz threw a disapproval glance over her shoulder, definitely reading, I wish you weren’t here. Lewis ignored the glare.

“Hey are you going to call the first boy Lewis after me?” Lewis asked above the clatter of loose planks as they crossed the deteriorating wooden bridge over the Barron River.

“Sure.” Ian answered without appraisal.

“No.” Liz interjected, “I promised dad,” she added sharply.

“What about my dad?” Ian pleaded.

“Well call the second after your dad,” She informed with a lesser tone than she had used for Lewis.

“What if it is a girl?” Ian asked somewhat miffed by her choice.

“If so, then after my mother Elizabeth.”

“Hey Ian it’s obvious who is going to wear the pants.” laughed Lewis while shoving his friends shoulder over the seat. Ian held his silence but Liz couldn’t resist biting.

“Well it’s obvious you don’t wear trousers!” she hissed in a low and calculated voice.

“What does that mean?” Lewis growled confused by her words and attitude.

“Liz try and be nice he’s your Cousin,” Ian quietly interjected.

“And you’re to be my Cousin-in-Law,” Lewis said still smarting from Liz’s comment.

“And that’s all,” Liz quietly answered.

“What does that mean?”

Liz didn’t answer.

“What’s got into you today girl?”

Liz’s attitude soon subsided and within a short while the three were talking as if nothing had happened but the words stuck in Lewis’ throat burning with abhorrence.

Ian’s departure came and past taking a weight from Lewis. Although Liz had not yet joined him in Townsville Lewis had settled into his new normality. Surprising even himself that there was life after Ian, while taking away much of his confusion, leaving just one reminisce, that being Liz’s vindictive attitude towards him. When in the company of others she was fine but alone the sarcasm flowed, which he ignored to the best of his ability but deeply wore the hurt.

During the period after his departure, Ian only visited once and spent most of his time with Liz at Stan’s in Malanda. On other weekends Liz took a lift to Townsville with Stan, so Lewis didn’t see much of his cousin either. As for her attitude towards him, if anything it worsened.

With Liz’s departure approaching Lewis decided to buy her a going away present but was clueless on what she would like, so at breakfast and after Liz had left for work he asked his mother for advice. Winnie thought for a time and with a broad smile answered.

“Easy Pet, give her make-up.”

“Make-up!” Lewis answered abruptly, he was clueless when it came to girl’s stuff and definitely didn’t want to be seen buying it.

“Yes you know, powder, lipstick, eye shadow.”

Lewis cut his mother short, “yes I know what it is but I don’t know anything about the stuff.”

“How much do you wish to spend?” Winnie asked softly.

“I don’t know – not a lot,” he answered.

“If you would like I’ll get something for you when I’m down at the shops later on -“oh by the way Gladys will be doing the shop from tomorrow.”

“So you are back on talking terms?” Lewis asked showing a measure of surprise, even if it was he who had suggested Gladys to John for the job.

“Gladys was only going through a bad patch love.”

“She did say some ordinary things about you mum.”

“Can’t hold a grudge, besides she was good to me in the early years and without her letting you stay during your school holidays, I would have been at a loss.”

“You paid her mum.”

“True but you were a little bugger, you were into everything; I should have paid her more.”

Lewis laughed.

“What?”

“True I was a little bugger; I remember staying with them at the Railway Refreshment Rooms and sneaking onto the Cairns rail motor. I got as far as Koah and was discovered and forced to wait for the return service. Boy wasn’t Tom cranky.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“And although the station master didn’t ask for payment, Tom made me collect bottles and pay for my trip.”

“So you learned a lesson.”

“Well not to sneak onto the train at least but there were others.”

“As I said who else would have put up with all that?”

Winnie was correct and with the value of hindsight he gave credence to his mother’s humanity.

Lewis stood at the door way to Liz’s room watching her pack her belongings into a battered suitcase. She still had two days before departure but excitement in the impending sea-change brought about the art of packing and unpacking, only to repack it all again.

“You arrived with one small case,” Lewis acknowledged.

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything other that you have a lot of gear.”

“Girls don’t have gear,” Liz looked about, “my new shoes, ah there they are.”

“Did you like the going away present?” Lewis softly asked while watching his cousin place the make-up kit he had given her in a large cardboard box with a collection of shoes, handbags and a number of side-show knock-em’-down prizes, won by various past boyfriends at the local shows and rodeo’s.

“Did you like the present?” Lewis again asked as he trawled for a complement.

“Yes, but you didn’t pick it did you?” Her words cut Lewis deeply then as he turned to leave the build within drew him angrily back to the open door.

“What’s wrong with you Liz and what have I done to upset you?” Lewis demanded his voice low and shaking. “The first thing you said to me when you arrived was that your mother told you not to marry me. She didn’t say you had to hate me, besides even if I did wish to marry you – you’re my bloody Cousin!”

“I don’t hate you Lewis.” Liz said quietly, showing an air of indifference.

“Then what is it!” Lewis insisted his voice gaining a measure of control.

“I’ve read your silly diary and know what you’re up to,” she calmly answered as she tied an old leather strap around the suitcase, tightening it with all her strength, “besides only girls keep diaries,” she continued while placing the case at the base of the bed.

“That is private and there’s nothing in it,” Lewis’ anger intensified, loosing any control he may have had over his emotions as his voice lowered to a hiss, while finding relief he used code to cover anything incriminating. “How did you open the box?”

“Anyone could open that silly old box,” she replied mockingly, “I know about you and your desires towards Ian.”

“That’s crap, you’re misread it, besides there was nothing happening, Ian and I are just a good friends – you ask him!” Lewis’ voice was again building. If Liz was male he would have struck her but his breeding disallowed him to strike at a female. He had seen men hit his mother when he was a boy and was repulsed by such actions, as he was with all violence against anyone.

“I have.” Said Liz

“And?”

“That doesn’t mean that you didn’t want to do anything.”

“Well my girl you have it all wrong. Yes I do love him as a friend and as one male can love another but nothing else. I’m no poofter.”

“Alright I’ll believe you but as they say Lewis, never put it in writing and your writings are at best weird.” Liz then smiled, “I’m sorry I read your silly diary but you know what I’m like. If you try to hide something from me, then I’ll go after it.”

Lewis calmed a fraction but in that instant had lost any respect that may have remained for his cousin, he also realised making a mountain out of the situation would only focus her attention back towards the diary, so with much difficulty he forced the hurt and anger from his face and weakly smiled,

“Then I forgive you but you shouldn’t have read it.” Liz didn’t answer as she went about her final packing disregarding any attempt at forgiveness that Lewis may have uttered.

Back in his room Lewis retrieved the box from under the bed and found it unlocked, while its contents were intact, with Ian’s underpants settling to the bottom of the box, only now the letter he had recently received from his grandmother in Melbourne had been dislodged from the diary’s last entry page and was with the other letters resting on the underwear. Obviously Liz had not realised its place and clumsily returned it with the other letters there in.

Lewis took hold of the diary and was about to destroy it but was overcome by his need to preserve his thoughts. “No,” he said loudly and closed the book, ‘Why should she win!’ he thought as he reached for the pen inside the box and commenced to make entry. It was a caustic entry about Liz and his writing erratic, now gone the copperplate style he was most proud of, while it raved line after line for a full page and not coherent but in doing so release his frustrations.

Ending his entry Lewis had calmed but remained numb towards his Cousin, wishing her departure would hasten, while realising until then he must feign amity towards her no matter how it hurt. Closing the box he wondered how many times she had gained entry and recalling Liz’s attitude towards him during their trip to Green Island, he understood the meaning behind her comment on who wore pants.

During those final days Lewis kept to his own company, hardly seeing his cousin and when in company both avoided conversation, only speaking when it was deemed necessary. As for Winnie, she became aware of the strain between the two but as Liz was soon to depart, thought better of interfering, yet at breakfast on the final day she yielded against better judgement and approached her son.

“I suppose you will miss having Liz around?” She asked over scrambled eggs and burnt toast.

“We need a new toaster,” Lewis answered

“Cut of the burnt bits, it’s not that bad,” Winnie suggested.

“If I do, there would be no toast left.”

“I’ll do you more but you didn’t answer my question.”

“No need, I’ll suffer this lot.”

“Another cup of tea?”

“Strainer,” Lewis passed Winnie the small metallic tea strainer.

Winnie accepted and placed it on the cup.

“No mum, I won’t miss her.” At least he was honest and there the conversation on Liz came to conclusion.

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

27,296 views