Published: 2 Jan 2020

Mareeba was brimming with life as the Mareeba Rodeo approached. Rodeo riders came from all over Queensland and to that all over Australia to test their skills, even some from the United States, who declared with much authority, their horses and bulls were tougher and more ferocious than any that could be found downunder. Oddly enough often confident braggers were often the first to taste dust and dust was plentiful.

Lewis loved watching the horses and the show riders but never thought much of the bucking or bulls. One could become seriously hurt riding those beasts. He had been thrown horses on many an occasion but from a broken horse without gusto and with luck never eventuating in broken bones.

Once while living in Torrens Creek near Hughenden in central Queensland, his horse Patchy a skewbald with a nervous disposition, had shied at something in the grass ahead, throwing a very young Lewis over its head and nearly on top on a large and angry brown snake, which fortunately bolted as quickly as the horse but in the opposing direction to where Lewis lay.

The Rodeo also gave chance for the multitude of travelling side shows to gather and earn their meagre living. There was Jimmy Sharman’s tent boxing, where many an imprudent young lad came by broken and bloody noses all for the sake of bragging rites. Not forgetting the Bearded Lady, Snakes Alive, Madame someone who read your fortune and a number of shooting galleries and Knock–‘em-downs. Clown heads that moved from left to right with gaping mouths, which awaited a feed of ping pong balls and who could forget the half man half lady while using the term half wisely, who wore trousers and a beard on one side of the body, with a dress and make up on the other, laying confusion to one’s eye sight if not their belief.

It was after Lewis had lost four shillings, trying to shoot a row of fleeting metallic ducks while missing all, without realising the rifle’s sites were strategically altered when he heard his name called from somewhere in the crowd behind. He turned after the last lead pellet struck the wall missing the fleeting ducks but did not recognise anyone in the crowd.

“Hey Smith don’t you recognise me?” The voice came from a skinny pointed face bloke, whose smile was more akin to a sneer and squint so tight one could not see his eyes.

“Wisie what are you doing here, I thought you went bush?” Lewis greeted, using going bush kindly as not to refer to his friend’s time in the lockup. He accepted Barry Wise’s offered hand, feeling more applied pressure than necessary to greet a friend.

“I’m back in town and staying with my Grandmother in Byrnes Street.”

“Where were you?” Lewis asked.

“Banged up, was charged for something the old man did but seeing he wasn’t around, I was the next best thing.”

“Were you guilty?”

“Half so but that’s another story.”

Barry Wise had been with Lewis at the Hostel in the early years during the first of his two internments and was known as the dominator. Even at the youthful age of eight he had the need to control everyone and did. If Wise said jump then you said how high and did so. He also had a quick temper and wasn’t slow in using his fists. Many a time Lewis had felt his anger and quickly learnt to obey or keep his distance, or mouth firmly closed.

Once Wise had become disillusioned with Hostel staff and had decided to run away; bugger off being the lad’s description, dragging Lewis and one other boy along with him. They obeyed but didn’t reach much past the edge of town, while Wise hitch hiked all the way to Mareeba and home but found himself back the following week. Now although Lewis respected Wise’s temper, he no longer feared him.

“So what are you doing back?”

“Trying to find work, want a beer?” Wise said as he lead Lewis off to the bar tent, with its plank slab bar and sawn tree stump stools. Lewis followed to find shade at one end, under some tenting of sugar bag hessian roughly sewn together by bailing wire, to provide at least a little protection from the unrelenting sun.

“So what are you doing?” Lewis asked as he felt the cool beer take away the dry dusty coating along his throat.

“I’ve a great idea,” Wise boasted without giving further information but obviously wishing to elaborate.

“What would that be?”

“Farming,” Wise laughed.

“Growing what, tobacco, peanuts, mango’s?” Lewis asked somewhat disbelieving in his friend’s ability to grown anything except lengthily prison sentences.

“Shhh not here,” said Wise at almost a whisper, looking about to see if anyone was listening, “come with me after the rodeo and I’ll show you.”

“I’ve been here long enough, lead on,” Lewis suggested and gestured with a hand in the direction of the show ground gates.

Once outside Barry Wise guided Lewis to an old FX-Holden, whose colour was either once red or was just rust upon more rust. The passenger door lacked an external handle, instead a hole where it had once been. Barry jumped in behind the wheel slamming the door behind him. It didn’t close on the first attempt but was firm on the second, while Lewis still found himself outside and puzzled how he was to enter, or more so if he should at all, he had only recently been stitched with that shirt and warned off, a second account may find him is serious trouble.

“Slide the glass down with your hands.” Wise called then threw life into the aging engine, giving a symphony of tappet noise and smoke. With a gentle slide the window descended, allowing the door to be opened from the inside. Lewis threw his body into the passenger seat and closed his door which operated more gently than he expected.

“It stinks of stale tobacco smoke.” Lewis complained while viewing the excess of beer cans and food wrapping ankle deep on the floor and a liberal smear of tomato sauce across the dash.

“Yea the cleaner is on strike.”

“Whose car?”

“Dad’s old one he bought a new Ford, well sorta’ new, well sorta’ bought it. That’s a long story.”

“At least it goes,” Lewis stated as Barry planted his foot to the floor, leaving more smoke in their wake, “where are we going?”

“You will see,” Barry said and turned into the Atherton road and headed out of town.

Once past the drive in theatre, he crossed the rails and instead of travelling towards Atherton, Barry turned west along one of the unmade roads that serviced a number of tobacco farms and a state forest.

“How is your dad?” Lewis asked remembering a tall lean man with greased pitch black hair in the fifties style, being a man who never had a tailor-maid cigarette out of his mouth or a beer out of his hand, unless using his fists who swore constantly.

“Back inside.” Barry stated with malice. There was little love or respect between father and son, mostly brought on by a lifetime of beltings and neglect.

Barry’s mother also received treatment and when Barry was a quite young she took him to Tully to live with her parents but shortly after Barry’s father arrived demanding her return. When she refused he took the child advising her never to show her face in Mareeba again, then on returning to Mareeba he placed Barry in the care of the lad’s paternal grandmother. Barry’s mother eventually divorced his father and remarried, never seeing her son again.

“What did he do?” Lewis asked.

“You mean what didn’t he do;” Wise laughed without divulging further.

A short distance along the road Lewis noticed more dust to their rear then their vehicle should have been trailing. “There another car behind us,” he said, turning his head to have better view.

“Shit.” Wise growled angrily and pulled to the side of the road at a wide spot near a farm gate. Soon the dust gathered close and a car slowly passed, the driver taking time to check them out before continuing.

That was Bob Ryan’s car,” Lewis said incidentally. Ryan was the second constable at the Mareeba police station who lived out on the Cairns Road, “what would he be doing out this way?”

“Dunno’,” Wise said as he pretended to be reading a map. Moments later the Constable’s car halted, made a u-turn and again pass them with the driver showing extended interest in Barry.

“It is Ryan but he’s not in uniform,” Said Lewis while openly watching the constable’s passing.

“Fuck mate don’t gawk at him.”

“What’s your problem?” Lewis turned his head away from the now disappearing vehicle, somewhat amused by Barry’s Machiavellian attitude.

“Never mind, has he gone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s gone I saw him turn onto the main road.” Lewis was now becoming somewhat concerned about Wise’s antics, thinking maybe he was once again outside the law as was often the case with Wise, believing prudence may not have prevailed and he should have remained at the rodeo ground.

Barry Wise wasn’t all bad, even if he had been somewhat a bully at the hostel. It was his father who was not only crooked but violent and to make matters worse, stupid about it all. He once stole a truck load of tyres and then attempted to sell them back to their owner and to add to his stupidity, he had approached the local junk yard to purchase some old car parts he spied piled close to the yard’s gate. After his offer had been knocked back on a number of occasions, he threatened the proprietor and when that failed to work, returned in the dark of night and stole the goods. Alas his borrowed vehicle never made it past the property line and he was caught trying to restart the truck, with the evidence proudly displayed on its tray.

As for Barry, the local constabulary branded him his father’s son and after harassing throughout his teens turned him into their viewpoint.

“Where are you taking me?” Lewis asked, his tone becoming somewhat concerned. Barry remained silent as he restarted the old car and headed further away from civilisation.

Within a short time they passed the last farm and entered onto crown land and state forest along an old service road. After winding through tall dusty trees they crossed over a log bridge, Barry brought the car to stop at the edge of a clearing beside a creek.

“Were here,” Barry smiled and bounded out of the car, displaying the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, “what do you think?” he asked while beckoning Lewis joined him in the clearing.

“Think about what?”

“Those,” Wise pointed to a short row of plants struggling to grow not far from the waters edge.

“What you brought me all the way out here to show me a couple of dozen lousy tomato plants?”

“Not tomatoes stupid Marijuana – weed!”

“So that is what marijuana looks like,” Lewis said taking a closer examination of the spindly plants. “Don’t look much to me, besides they are illegal.”

“These are only for seed; once I harvest the seed I’ll grow a crop and make a killing.” Wise appeared most proud of his venture as he picked a leaf, rubbed it within the palms of his hand then after sniffing at its fragrance offered it to Lewis.

“It stinks!”

“Yes but worth a mint down south.”

“What has all this to do with me?”

“I need a partner, someone I can trust and to help with the watering,” Barry explained while collecting two old metal buckets that were lying in the long grass to the side of the single row of plants. He then walked to the creek and filled the buckets, one of which had a hole so that by the time he reached his plants it was only half full. Wise emptied the water then returned for more. Soon he was satisfied that they had enough and dropped the buckets close to where he had collected them.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t.”

“You won’t join me?”

“No and I think I would like to be away from here and as soon as possible,” Lewis declared and commenced to return to the car, “but I won’t mention it to anyone either,” he added in fear of angering Wise into some adverse reaction. There wasn’t any. Wise showed disappointment but didn’t react.

“Shame mate, you are turning you back on a fortune.”

“Barry I’ve already had a run in with the cops and I don’t like it. In fact I don’t have the guts for it.

“Do you mean being run in for being drunk?” Wise laughed.

“How did you hear about that?”

“It’s a small town you know,” Barry shook his head showing disgust for Lewis’ apprehension.

“Shhh, what’s that,” Lewis shushed while holding his open hand towards Barry as he strained to hear what came on the light breeze through the clearing.

“What did you hear?”

“Shhh!”

Barry also listened but heard nothing, “what did you hear?” he asked again timidly.

“I thought I heard a car.”

“Fuck Ryan’s come back!” Now Barry was the nervous one and had the stance of one deciding to fight of flee. He did neither.

“Nope must be hearing things,” Lewis spoke hearing nothing but the breeze in the tall trees around the clearing.

“Ok Smith I’ll getya’ home but you promise not to tell anyone?” Wise warned sternly as he walked towards the car.

“I told you I wouldn’t and my word is oath.”

Over the following days Lewis made policy to avoid Barry Wise and was successful. He had seen him twice on the opposing footpath and once through the Masterson Hotel’s bar door, but Wise had his back turned so Lewis quickly continued on his way. There was also an occasion when Wise’s battered FX-Holden was parked outside the Jack and Newells hardware section, with a collection of plastic buckets in array on the rear seat, along with a large bag of fertiliser. Lewis quickly ducked around behind Jack and Newells returning to work through the back entrance.

No sooner had Lewis returned before he was found by Trevor who called across the store. “Hey Smith there’s a bloke looking for you over in hardware.”

“I’m not here,” Lewis answered quietly.

“Do you owe him money, or fuck his sister?”

“Na I just want to avoid him, he’s bad news.”

“I’ll go tell him that?” Trevor said and commenced to leave the sector.

“Get fucked,” Lewis cursed angrily.

“I was joking mate, he’s gone now anyway.”

By Thursday night Lewis had all but forgotten Wise and his illegal crop and as he walked to the Royal, didn’t even scan the street for him or his battered Holden. While walking almost in a dream he didn’t notice a vehicle double parked behind a row of angle parked cars.

“Hey Smith come here.” He heard call above his dreaming. Turning he perceived Constable Bob Ryan, leaning across the car’s bench seat gesturing to him through the open passenger’s window. Lewis obeyed and approached the window, leaning on the door frame.

“Yes Mr. Ryan,” he innocently answered.

“Move your arms back,” the policeman demanded motioning his command with a quick hand. Lewis stepped away but remained bent towards the open window.

“Where are you going?”

“To the Royal why?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one Mr. Ryan.”

“Twenty-one bullshit; have you seen your mate Wise around lately?”

“What do you mean by lately?” Lewis asked knowing full well Ryan had seen him with Wise on the way to Barry’s so described plantation.

“Don’t get smart Smith, you know what I meant.”

“Not since you passed us out on the old bush track.” Lewis truthfully admitted.

“What were the two of you doing out there?” Constable Ryan asked and called Lewis around to the driver’s window. Lewis cautiously obeyed.

“Wise heard there was work on offer at one of the tobacco farms,” Lewis lied.

“And was there?”

“Not on that day.”

“Again bullshit, Wise hasn’t worked a day in his life,” Ryan growled showing disbelief, “have you heard his old man’s back in the lock up?” he asked.

“Don’t really know his old man,” Lewis answered.

“Keep away from that family or you will end up in the same cell. Okay?”

“Sure Mr. Ryan,” Lewis answered as the constable planted his foot then sped away along the street, leaving Lewis in a state of uneasiness, relieved he hadn’t agreed to join Barry’s enterprise and as he entered the Royal bar he felt a shudder travel through his body, settling in repose for having better judgement than that which Constable Ryan gave him credit for.

Lewis propped in his usual seat with his back to the wall, his gaze still fixed on the road bathed in street lighting beyond the bar door, while remaining engrossed in the Constable’s words and that he had at least for once had a lick of common sense not to go along with Wise’s farming enterprise. He was so involved in his near miss experience he didn’t notice there had been a change of barman, even as far as ordering a beer without perception.

“You’re in a bit of a dream.” The barman said placing the beer before Lewis, bringing him to the realisation it was Billy McKee.

“Oh sorry I was miles away,” Lewis said with a start, “you’re back on your old job then?”

“Only for tonight Brian’s away sick or something but I’ll be taking over permanently in a couple of weeks.” Somehow Billy’s voice had changed. It had lost its rough hue and like a good wine was warm and smooth. Even to say hypnotic and undulating, bringing calm to the listener.

“You’ve changed.” Lewis stated sipping his beer but Billy hadn’t heard as he moved to the other side of the bar to serve a small group of tobacco farmers. Moments later he returned.

“I saw you talking to Ryan through the door, what did he want?” Billy asked.

“He wanted to know if I had seen Barry Wise.”

“That bloke’s trouble, you would be advised to keep away from him.”

“Some say that about you,” Lewis bravely offered.

“Some may say so.”

“That was also Ryan’s advice about Barry – and guess what?”

“What?” Billy asked.

“It is also my advice to myself.”

“You have a long weekend coming up, what are you doing?” Billy asked.

Lewis thought for a moment, “well there is so much to do around town, I don’t think I’ll fit it all in.”

“Do you like fishing?” Billy asked from a clattering tray of steaming glasses.

“I’ve only been a couple of times but I suppose I thought it fun. Don’t know much about it and didn’t catch anything.”

“Remember that drink I offered?”

“I do.”

“Well dad has a shack up near Port Douglas; want to go up there for the weekend?”

“Who me?” Lewis answered showing a degree of surprise Billy McKee was actually asking him to join him over a long weekend. He looked around half expecting Billy to be conversing with someone behind.

“Yes you Lewis, well do you want to or not?”

“You want me to join you for the weekend?”

“I asked you didn’t I?”

“Yes for sure, I’d love to.”

“I’ve got the use of dad’s car; pick you up tomorrow night at your place?”

“No worries, what do you want me to bring?”

“Nothing all the gear is at the shack.”

There was plenty for Lewis to write in his diary that night and it all circled around Billy McKee and his offer to take him fishing and his confusion with Billy’s change of attitude. For the first time in quite a while he felt excited, like a little boy waiting for Christmas morning and finding it difficult to sleep.

Work the following day dragged and each time Lewis watched the large clock near the checkout its hands had hardly moved.

“Want to go to the pub tonight?” Trevor asked late in the afternoon.

“No I’m going,” amid sentence Lewis reeled back.

“Where are you going?” Trevor quickly asked but Lewis wasn’t forthcoming. He realised he didn’t want people to know he was going away with McKee for the weekend. He couldn’t give any reason other that after all he had spoken about Billy, it would not be correct to be socialising with him, also he was finding difficulty in convincing himself that McKee would want to socialise with him, or why he agreed to do so.

“Nowhere – just a boring family do.”

“Any birds?” Trevor asked giving the impression of a big randy dog, as he dry fucked Lewis’ leg.

“Only old boilers – now sit you mongrel!” Lewis growled and pushed Trevor away from his leg.

“Saw you at the Royal last night.” Trevor claimed with suspicion.

“You didn’t come and say hello.”

“Na I was with a bird and I didn’t want you ruining my chances, besides you appeared to be somewhat taken with McKee.”

“Not really, just being friendly.”

“Friendly.”

“Yes something you are not, besides while standing next to a hornet’s nest you don’t poke it with a stick.”

“Whack it with a fucken’ pick handle more to the point.” Trevor viciously elated, “so what’s this family do you are going to?”

“As I said only John’s mob mine are all down south.”

“Yes and I know you’re going back one of these days.”

“As soon as I can save some money.”

“I know most of John’s mob and there are a couple of good lookers among an otherwise ordinary lot.” Trevor commented.

“Couldn’t say who will be there, it is up at Yungaburra, some engagement party I believe.”

“Then your loss, I have a couple of birds lined up at the Royal and I’m sure even you could score there.”

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

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