Published: 24 Oct 2019

“Do you want to drive?” Lewis asked Ian as they passed through the township of Tully. He pulled into the side of the road.

“Sure but what if the cops pull us up, I haven’t got my licence yet.”

“Say you’re me we are about the same age,” Lewis suggested, reaching into his jeans back pocket and retrieving his wallet. He passed the tattered brown mock leather container to his friend, who instantly counted the cash.

“Hey I said you could use my licence not what little money I have.” Lewis protested.

Ian found the section and retrieved the new, neatly folded document from there in. He unfolded it and read aloud “Lewis Lachlan Smith, born Thirteenth September,” he paused then continued, “hey you old bugger, you’re almost a year older then I am!”

“Only nine months you’re a December kid.”

“In truth I was a Christmas present.”

“What Christmas day?”

“Sure was and mum said I was the most painful present she had ever received.”

“You could pass for older,” Lewis declared.

“What’s with the Lachlan?” Ian teased as Lewis had never volunteered his middle name to anyone.

“Aw’ shut it! – someone in the family knew someone who was a Lachlan and I copped his name.” Lewis paused, “or maybe they liked history I don’t know. You said you can drive so do you want to?” Lewis once again asked.

Ian had driven since he was a lad but only off road and never in traffic but he was up for it and eager. Once behind the wheel and after a mile or two his skill was apparent and outshone the more nervous, cautious Lewis, who repeatedly advised to lower the speed as he didn’t want to lose his licence almost as quickly as he had been granted it.

“Hey there’s a hitchhiker; I’ll give him a lift,” Ian declared on passing through Ingham.

“No keep going,” Lewis issued as Ian sped past the upturned thumb, followed by two ramped fingers in the rear view mirror.

“Cheeky bugger, I’m glad you didn’t stop.” Lewis commented.

“The next one I see I’m stopping.” Ian said with determination.

“No.”

“Yes, you watch me, I’m driving and now I’m in charge.” Less than two miles further and what do you know; another hitchhiker.

“I’m gunna’ give this one a lift.”

“No don’t stop, he has a dog and a large backpack and there isn’t much room on the back seat with all your gear!” Lewis protested but was quickly overruled as Ian skidded to a halt in the gravel a short distance ahead of the hitchhiker.

“Where are you going mate?” He asked of the stocky, unshaven, unwashed youthful traveller as he piled into the back seat with his large backpack and a grumpy blue healer dog.

“Towards Townsville mate and thanks for the lift, I’ve been waiting there all morning in the flaming sun.” He quoted cheerfully and lit up a roll your own cigarette which he retrieved from a dirty shirt pocket, his fingers stained to almost black from nicotine, “do you mind?” he asked and lit it without waiting for an answer, “bloody hot.”

“Where about in Townsville are you heading, we turn off just before.” Ian asked while holding his nose and glaring across to Lewis. “You?” he accused in a whisper.

“No.” Lewis answered softly. So it had to be either the hitchhiker or his dog, as one or both had a chronic case of flatulence, which continued throughout the entire trip. Even with all windows wound as far down as possible the stench was almost unbearable.

“Quite some distance before Townsville mate.” The hitchhiker said and settled back into the seat with the dog on his lap.

“You may listen to me next time,” Lewis quietly approached Ian’s charity in stopping, being drowned out by the sound of the motor but loud enough for Ian to hear. Ian smiled and gently shook his head.

“Hey they call me Snowy because of my black hair and my dog’s called ‘Arry,” volunteered the hitchhiker, “have you any weed?” he asked while puffing the last molecule of smoke from his dying cigarette.

“Sorry no weed and neither of us smoke,” Ian admitted.

“That’s where I’m heading, a mate’s got a paddock full of the stuff,” Snowy offered and flicked the but-end out of the car window while spitting tobacco from his lips.

“Why Harry?” Ian asked with interest as to the dog’s name.

“Na’ not Harry, ‘Arry as in arrogant, as the little bugger is.”

“Nice name for a dog,” said Ian in disguised sarcasm.

“Christ it’s hot!” complained Lewis, meaning with the continuous farting mixed with the mid-day heat, he was becoming stressed. “I’d love a swim right now.” he supplemented while crossing over a small creek swollen by the recent rains, “Black-fellow Creek,” he read the creek’s name as they crossed. “I suppose it goes with Gin-Gin Creek we passed over a while back,” he chuckled out aloud but his humour didn’t register.

“Why not drop me off at my mate’s place and we can all go to the beach?” suggested the hitchhiker, “he has a shack down Bolgul Beach Road,” he said while leaning forward and pointing to a narrow bush track some distant ahead on the left, “that’s my turnoff just ahead.”

On leaning forward, the increased closeness of his body only added to the extremeness of his odour, giving the addition of unwashed armpits and bad breath.

“How far is to the beach?” Lewis asked in a somewhat concerned tone, which didn’t go unnoticed by their hitchhiker. One of Lewis’ many fears was to be stranded down some bush track, miles from assistance and lacking any expertise in mechanics, while believing the car was going to break down at every turn.

“Are you panicking about your car again?” Ian headed the vehicle onto the bush track before Lewis could further protest.

“Don’t worry mate I’m a mechanic!” declared the Hitchhiker as he fell back into the seat and resettled his dog on his lap. It gave a grumpy snarl but didn’t follow through.

The Bolgul Beach Road turned out to be a lesser nightmare for Lewis than he expected and except for the dust, was kind to the car’s suspension. There were three small creeks along the way, all running but made easy crossing. Then within minutes the scrub opened to present a line of tall sand hills lightly covered in salt tolerant grass, only to close again some distance ahead in what appeared to be mangroves.

“That’s my mate’s place over there among the trees,” the hitchhiker directed their gaze towards a glint of corrugated iron reflecting in the dazzling sunlight. “Pull in over there near those trees, the beach is just over the first sand dune,” he added. Ian obeyed his direction, parking the car in the shade of stand of casuarina trees.

“Will your mate mind?” Ian asked.

“He won’t be back until after dark, gone into town to -,” the hitchhiker smiled, “let’s say to make some money,” he diverted from admitting his mate was selling the crop in little plastic bags, his best customers being the soldiers from the Lavarack Army base.

“Hey I just realised, we don’t have togs,” Lewis explained with a measure of trepidation. It wasn’t the act of being naked in company that caused his distress, as coming from a boarding school background had dissolved that dilemma but he then knew those around him and had in time accustomed to their nakedness. Being naked amongst strangers may create a most embarrassing situation.

“You don’t need togs mate, there isn’t anyone around for miles and I’m sure you don’t have anything we haven’t seen before.” laughed the mechanic as they hit the beach. Lewis didn’t answer and followed the two onto the hot sand, while the dog raced headlong into the surf. The hitchhiker called it back without success. He called once more and Arry reluctantly returned to the sand. “Can’t be too cautious, dogs seem to attract sharks, they probably think they are seals.”

“Sharks?” Lewis voice rose to a nervous pitch.

“Don’t worry they don’t normally cross over the sandbank but I guess there is a first for everything. Come on get ya’ gear off.”

Lewis wasn’t convinced either about the sharks or stripping naked but protesting further may bring attention to his mindset and the more anxious he became the more he felt a rising beneath the tightness of his pants. “I’ll think of something else.” he said softly, fixing his gaze on a small island off to the north. “I’d like to be on that right now,” he said rhetorically.

“What did you say?” Ian asked from the front.

“Nothing, I was just looking at the island over there.”

“Snake Island, I don’t think you would like to be on it. It’s loaded with bloody snakes!” the hitchhiker declared.

“Is it?” Lewis questioned.

“Don’t rightly know but the name suggests so.”

“Hey hitchhiker, Snowy, what is your name anyway,” Ian called, “and I can’t come at Snowy.”

“Umm, I would prefer Snowy – believe me I would rather Snowy or hitchhiker,” Snowy answered shaking his head.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Lewis interjected from the rear.

“Vivian!” the hitchhiker coyly declared; “and it is V.I.V.I.A.N not the bird’s way, which is V.I.V.I.E.N, Snowy spelt out loudly and carefully.

“A boy named Sue!” chuckled Lewis

“Watch it – I’m bigger than you are!” snapped Vivian without malice, “Now you know why I prefer Snowy, or Snow.”

“How come you were called Vivian?” Ian asked with a degree of sympathy.

“In honour of my Grandmother’s Brother, he was also Vivian. He was stinking rich and paid for my parent’s house,” Snowy answered despondently.

“We had a Vivian at Herberton,” Lewis added, feeling he must say something, even if irrelevant, then once said the shadow of discomfort depleted only to return with the hitchhiker’s recall to strip.

Vivian’s torn t-shirt hit the sand, instantly followed by his oversized knee length shorts, displaying a lack of underwear. Once naked he turned and called, “come on you two, it was your idea!” both slowly obeyed then with lesser enthusiasm their clothes became piled beside the oversized shorts and torn t-shirt on the sand.

There was something Neanderthal about the mechanic’s stance. All muscles and hair corresponding with his short statue but now naked he appeared taller and more defined. It was his appendage that intrigued Lewis, it was but a button projecting out of a forest of black hair, with a dark trail leading up to his belly-button and beyond to cover with a forest of black fuzz across his chiselled chest, surrounding two oversized nipples that many women would be proud to boast, while his balls resembled quail eggs drawn tight below the button.

Lewis now naked and on display, with his attention solidly fixated on the button before him, the blood commenced to flow in a most inapt direction. It appeared to be evacuating his temples leaving a prickling sensation across his face and heading for his member, displaying a mild salute to his embarrassment and creating a rise in panic which ebbed with the mechanics words.

“Come on mate cold water will fix that,” the hitchhiker laughed and headed for the surf, giving Lewis chance to check if Ian also saluted his nakedness but he showed no sign of doing so, which once more created a spark of confusion about his own sexuality. Why was he the only one who became aroused at the sight of another man’s privacy? This mystification soon dissipated under the perception it was only coy and shyness and as they ran to the water’s edge the dilemma shrunk along with his erection.

The continuation of their trip towards Townsville, felt more bearable than that of the lead up to their swim, even if the wet diversion was more psycho synaptic as they were now not only hot but sand had found its way into every orifice, although with the departure of the hitchhiker and his dog, there was no longer the lingering smell of stale fart permeating every nook and gap in the car’s interior.

“What did you think of Vivian?” Lewis asked Ian as they crossed a rough log bridge, over a trickle of storm water on the outskirts of Townsville.

“In what way?” Ian replied while the noise of the loose bridge timbers mingled with the dust behind them. Lewis thought for a while, appearing to be choosing his words before speaking, “I don’t think he would go down well with the girls.”

“Do you mean the farting or the fact he hasn’t any dick!” Ian’s question appeared to be more statement, which concluded with a “huh” then a head tipping chuckle behind an almost sadistic grin. Joining in with the humour Lewis exclaimed “both!” loudly, being satisfied he wasn’t alone in having comment on Vivian’s button.

On reaching the outskirts of Townsville, Ian suddenly pulled the car to the side, skidding slightly in the gravel, spraying a shower of stones across the road.

“What’s wrong!?” Lewis gasped, sending his paranoia into overdrive.

“Nothing but it’s best that you drive, as I don’t want my old man seeing me behind the wheel knowing I’m not yet licensed.”

“Would you like me to teach you?” Lewis suggested.

“Good idea but in reality I could teach you a thing or two.”

Ian’s parent’s house was old, rundown but homely. The surrounding garden was typical of Townsville, dry tropical where hardly anything grew except for a few local species and of course the Townsville Wattle, it grew everywhere. As for the soil, there was hardly any and was either sand or clay which in the dry you couldn’t get a shovel through. In the wet it was like treacle and stuck like glue, while the hills lacked soil at all, being mostly bare except for local grasses and a few brave trees.

The Warwick garden well mirrored the surrounding landscape, with its stunted trees, dry grass and of course the Townsville Wattle. To the side there was one proud difference and that was a large vegetable garden, boasting the biggest, most rosy tomatoes Lewis had ever encountered and a row of egg-tomato trees, tamarillos, which had absolutely no relationship to tomatoes whatsoever, appearing more like red eggs than tomatoes, while hanging from the naked branches like large rusty tear-drops, in some surrealistic artistic design.

Ian lead the way down the side of the house with its lattice enclosed verandah and wooden shutters. Past the vegetable garden and the tamarillo trees and the outside toilet over the long drop with its many holes and cracks which avoided any notion of privacy. Before usage one needed to light old newsprint and run it around the toilet’s rim to dissuade any redback spiders from giving a nasty bite on the arse, or somewhere more tender.

Once at the rear they found Ian’s mother hanging washing. She was short of stature and quite rotund with voluminous breasts and grey steel wool hair. Her face was somewhat ruddy and wet from the copper’s heat, while her oversized glasses were steamed from the hot water. Seated behind her on the rear steps, reclined a tall thin man, whose lined face resembled a road map of some European country. His dusty clothes were those of a stockman but he had never been on the back of a horse, nor had he worked with stock. His work was driving a delivery truck for a local hardware and stock fodder business but had come from a droving family who gave up wandering when Jack was still crawling.

As Ian approached Jack gave a head nod without speaking as he rolled a cigarette, lit it and placed it to his lips, where the thin durrie stuck to his bottom lip. All the while his face remained without emotion as he pocketed his half empty packet of log cabin tobacco along with a second world war, army issue Zippo lighter; he had won from an American soldier during that conflict. Jack removed his battered stockman’s hat, scratched his balding head and finally spoke, his cigarette moving up and down with the words.

“Hello Son!” Were his only words as he lent back drawing deeply on his cigarette, bringing Heather, his wife into realisation of Ian’s arrival.

“Dinner’s almost ready love; I hope your friend likes roast beef?” She advised while pegging the last item onto the lengthy wire cloths line before propping its centre with a long pole.

“This is Lewis and he eats everything,” Ian declared, while Lewis nodded in silent agreement.

“I also hope he’s a careful driver,” Heather warned.

“He’s okay, we arrived didn’t we?” Ian laughed, giving Lewis a look that said, don’t you dare open your mouth or I’ll. Lewis remained muted behind a gentle smirk.

All the family were there for dinner, including Ian’s two brothers. James the elder by two years looked more like Heather, while Trevor the youngest was like their father and the image of Ian except in miniature. During the meal it was apparent Trevor idolised Ian, hanging on to every spoken word and unconsciously mimicking his brother’s ways. This didn’t appear to bother Ian, who seemed to take pride in his young brother’s mimicking manner.

As the morning advanced into afternoon, Lewis found himself relaxing into the body of his friend’s family. He felt accepted from first encounter and was brought into every point of conversation, although Jack, being a man of few words said little but those he spoke were warm and responsive.

Eventually the meal was ready and Lewis given pride of place at the top of the table. The roast reminded Lewis of his Grandmother’s cooking and the spuds crispy and done to perfection. Ian helped clear the table in ready for dessert.

“Ian your cousin is coming over this afternoon,” his mother informed as she served up bowls of steaming treacle pudding covered with thick egg custard and cream, giving Lewis an extra large portion.

“There you go Lewis that should stick to your ribs,” Heather commented towards his slender frame.

“Which cousin would that be?” Ian asked. There was a tribe of cousins and most were female and desperate. The male cousins were either gaoled for rape or robbery, or so backward they probably couldn’t find their way to visit the Warwick family.

“Sarah.” Heather stated with a slow smile.

“Hasn’t she broken up with her boyfriend?” Ian asked but didn’t receive response. “Did you tell her I was bringing a friend down for the weekend?” Another question passed without an answer, “So mother of mine you are playing matchmaker with my friends?” Ian flippantly complained.

“Who is Sarah?” asked Lewis showing a spark of interest, while trying not to appear too curious. He had been fitted with that jacket before and found it to have been more a straight-jacket. Finding it so restrictive he may have been coiled by a boa-constrictor and a very fat one at that, with more attitude that a rogue nation.

It had been his mother’s doing as a favour for one of her hotel friends and the girl had fallen for Lewis at the instance of conjunction having him measured for marriage before the clock struck the hour. As for sex, which was all Lewis sought, this was immediately placed on the forbidden list, along with all other delights that migrated around such actions, until wedding bells were rung and rings had been exchanged. The whirl-wind relationship for Lewis lasted a few seconds but as for Debbie Worthy, she had been more difficult to shake off than the flu.

“Don’t you listen to Ian love; Sarah is a very lovely girl,” Heather assured from the clatter of plates on path to the kitchen sink, “have you found a girl friend yet?” she asked of her son.

“I’m working on it.” Ian answered as he rose from the table, “Come on Lewis I’ll show you my old room.

“It’s the junk room now,” Heather called after them.

“What about all my stuff?” Ian complained.

“It’s all there, in boxes in the corner but I threw out your comics, they were full of mouse droppings and mould.”

“Not my comics,” Ian complained.

“You’re too old for comics Ian.”

“Some were collector’s items.”

“Mostly rat nests,” Heather assured.

“Never mind.”

Sarah isn’t a bad looking bird. Or those were the words of Lewis after meeting Ian’s cousin and once again in private with his friend. “But I don’t know if I want to go out with her – even if she is your cousin,” he added as they walked to the corner café.

“Why not? It’s a fair swap, my cousin for yours.” Ian laughed then gave Lewis a shove towards the shop door.

“I don’t go out with birds by mail and I’m not driving to Townsville every weekend,” Lewis answered, as an air of solemnity descended upon him.

“Once a month would be enough for you,” Ian suggested but Lewis didn’t respond, as the shadow that had descended was Ian’s continued interest in his cousin Liz. Ian had not spoken of her for some time, giving Lewis the impression his interests had waned but now it was back and threatening their friendship.

“What’s your grief mate?” Ian asked from across his friend’s glumness but Lewis wasn’t forthcoming. A simple nothing was his transaction as he attempted to mask his displeasure with humour in the guise of a joke that was as flat as his mood. How could he explain his emotional state to Ian while he couldn’t even explain it to himself and even if he could do so, had Ian the empathy and understanding to accept his explanation?

“What is that hill in the middle of town? Lewis asked as they departed the café.

“Castle Hill, do you want to drive up, you can see as far as Hinchinbrook Island from the top.”

“Next time.”

“So you will drive me down again?”

“Sure I’ll drive you, what’s the stick man with the halo all about?” Lewis asked, pointing to a large painted design on the face of Castle Hill.

“It’s supposed to be the saint, some university blokes painted it some time back; they lowered down on ropes with a bucket of paint.”

“What does it mean?”

“That’s the mystery, who knows what anything done by university blokes means.”

Lewis extracted his gaze from the image of the saint on Castle Hill, towards an island some short distance off Townsville. “Magnetic Island,” he said.

“You know about Magnetic Island.”

“I spent two weeks at a school camp over there about four years back.”

“I didn’t know you had been to Townsville?” Ian appeared surprised as he believed Lewis had not mentioned so before.

“I told you the day we met at Jack and Newells.”

“Don’t recollect you mentioning Townsville.”

“I mentioned the holiday camp and that some years earlier we were here during a cyclone.”

“I don’t remember any cyclone.”

“It was way back, when mum and I were travelling from Hughenden to Mareeba, before I went to the hostel, I was around six at the time and we stayed a week before travelling on.”

“I would have been five but I still don’t recollect a cyclone, anyway what are you going to do about Sarah, she’s keen for you.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do and she said so.”

“I don’t know, I said I would write to her. Well see from there.”

Ian gave a gentle laugh and skipped a step ahead. He turned.

“What?”

“I was thinking.”

“Go on but only if it’s worth hearing,” Lewis said.

“You could marry Sarah and I could marry Liz, we could have a double wedding, here in Townsville.”

“You are getting a little beyond reality aren’t you?” Lewis suggested.

“With you maybe but I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind hitching up with Liz.”

“You always reckon you should try before you buy.”

“True yet there’s no crime in thinking but I know Sarah won’t agree trying before agreeing to the wedding, not after the fiasco with her sister.”

“What happened there?”

“She was pregnant at seventeen with the father unknown, she had the choice of three but they all went bush at first sign of a fat gut.”

“Dunno’ that is too much to conceive at the moment, Christ Ian I only met Sarah this afternoon and you’ve got us married already.”

“Just a thought, don’t get your undies in a twist.”

“Then you are serious about Liz?”

“Somewhat but she doesn’t give much away,” Ian gave a frown, a weak smile followed by a tutting sound, “you know her better than I do, what do you think?”

“Truthfully I don’t know her at all.”

“Well what do you think anyway?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re a lot of help.”

Saturday – 14^th. October 1967

Went down to Townsville and met Ian’s family, nice lot but wasn’t that happy with his mother fitting me up with Ian’s cousin, Sarah.

Ian said she was keen on me and she did seem to be, I promised to write. Umm… we’ll see what happens next time I drive Ian down.

Ian is still interested in Liz. Fuck Liz, I wish she had never come to Mareeba. Now I’m about to lose another mate.

Lewis slammed shut his diary and threw it into his box of school books. Lowering his anger over Ian’s pending relationship with Liz he turned to his opinion of Sarah. Could he love her and if so could he marry? It was all much to mind boggling to consider in any detail but if marriage came to fruition he would be closer to Ian. There lay a further dilemma, could he live a step behind Ian and Liz, watching them gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, while walking hand in hand smelling the roses. “Huh,” Lewis growled unable to visualise Ian smelling roses, he could see Ian enjoying the pleasures of married life but could not see friendship past their union. As for he and Sarah, the thought gave him a cold chill while he could not see beyond writing letters.

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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