Published: 3 Mar 2025

A new morning, it is overcast but not raining with a line of sunshine on the eastern horizon. Kevin is packed and ready to depart in person but his mind is numb as he waits for Sam Arnold to call across the landing to the kitchen and staff quarters. Sam would drive Kevin to catch the Forsayth train but as he was expected elsewhere would not have time to drive him all the way to Mareeba. Once in Mareeba Kevin would stay for two days with Ivy’s friend Edith before again returning to Herberton and its hostel.

Gladys is readying the bread dough giving comical relief with flour spotting her ample ruddy face and falling like snow in her mass of grey hair akin to matted steel-wool. Soon the humidity joins with the flour on her face to drip from her chin.

A drip descends from Gladys’ chin into the dough mix.

Kevin gives a nose twist and happy he wouldn’t be staying to share the next loaf.

There is movement along the covered way from the big house; it is Sam Arnold, “are you ready lad?” he calls but comes no further. The kitchen is considered women’s territory and well avoided.

Gladys offers Kevin a small brown paper bag.

Kevin quizzically accepts.

“I made you a couple of sandwiches for the trip,” Gladys says.

Kevin hugs his mother.

“Don’t forget to write.”

“I will.”

“Promise me something,” Ivy quietly says.

“What?”

“I want you to leave the rifle with Edith in Mareeba and not take it back to the hostel.”

“I promise,” Kevin agrees without intention.

Ivy is obviously distressed and doesn’t follow her son to the car.

Kevin takes his seat.

He is looking back towards the kitchen but Ivy is nowhere to be seen.

“What is the problem lad?” Sam Arnold asks.

“She didn’t see me off.”

Sam starts the motor.

“She is too upset lad and didn’t want to make it worse for you.”

Kevin takes a deep and saddened breath.

“The year will go quickly lad.”

“Will I be back for next Christmas?”

Sam Arnold laughs; “the year won’t go that quickly. I think you should get this year’s schooling over before you start making holiday plans for the next.”

“I suppose so.”

Feeling defeated Kevin sinks into silence.

Past the homestead paddock is the first creek, on approach Kevin cranks his head hoping to find it running fast forcing a turnabout.

“A bit of water,” Sam says as the Land Rover enters into the light flow.

Kevin makes a disappointed sound.

“Not enough to keep you from your train,” Sam’s words appear mocking but are more in thought for his own appointment in Townsville, as it is one he could do without but as station manager he must attend the Australian Stock Breeders annual regional conference.

Towards Georgetown a chimney stack stands tall against the cloudy sky. Sam gives the stack a nod, “it used to be a big town once,” he says without clarity.

“What was Mr. Arnold?”

“Cumberland was once a gold town, even bigger than Georgetown in its day. Now all that remains is that chimney and a single lemon tree.”

Kevin gives a disinterested head nod.

“All gone,” Sam utters as he turns from the Gulf Development Road towards Forsayth.
 
 
Forsayth arrives and as the Mareeba goods wasn’t scheduled to depart until the following morning, Sam books a room for Kevin at the only hotel in town. It is early evening and time for dinner. Sam is in no hurry to continue his journey so after asking the hotel manager to keep an eye on the kid, he heads to the bar for a couple of drinks.

Before Kevin has finished his meal Sam comes to the dining room door, he waves and calls, “I’ll be seeing you lad, don’t forget to put in the study and make yourself proud for your mother.”

“Goodbye Mr. Arnold.”

Kevin’s eyes are on Sam as he departs.

He smiles at Sam’s lack of hips with his trousers almost off, believing the only thing holding them to his body is his dick. Sam a handsome man in a rugged way at thirty-four has no arse.

As Kevin departs the hotel’s dining room it is dark. There is a long verandah leading from the bar past the rooms to a shower room at its end. Along the outer side of the verandah is a row of oleander bushes alive with the sounds of crickets and frogs.

‘Shower first?’

‘Na I’ll leave off until the morning.’

‘What if I miss the train?’

‘Bloody long walk back to Forest Home.’

‘Even further to Mareeba.’

Kevin thinks of his return to Herberton and gives a cold shudder.

Inside his room, the last before the shower rooms, is a bed, a chair and a chest of draws. The room has bare floorboards and a scruffy threadbare rug with a nondescript pattern at the base of the bed.

It is now the full realisation of his situation strikes as an emotional lump forms in his throat.

He feels alone and deserted.

The tears and sobbing start; to break his emotion he decides to take a shower.

There are two bathrooms one says women the other obviously for him. Inside the men’s shower room there are three stalls with a corrugated metal divider between each. There is only one tap and it is for cold water. Kevin strips and turns on the water, it is warm enough but so hard the soap hardly lathers and the water tastes somewhat metallic as if coming directly from deep in the artesian basin that covers at least a third of the Australian continent.

Kevin is back in his room, curiously he opens the chest’s top drawer and finds Gideon but no word from any man’s god could remove his grief, or lighten his spirit as he lay sobbing across the bed. Eventually he realises that no amount of tears would reverse the inevitable, even so the realisation didn’t take away his deep sorrow.

It is late and sleep is elusive.

Now past midnight and still the bar is rowdy.

A drunk is somewhere on the verandah is arguing with himself.

“Shut the fuck up!” comes from the next room.

The drunk tells himself to shush and laughs; next he could be heard urinating from the verandah into the oleander bushes bringing the cricket chatter to silence. He farts loudly, “Ah! I needed that.”

The drunk finds the verandah steps and is gone but the noise from the bar continues.

During the sixties Queensland had 9PM closing, unlike Victoria with its 6PM closing known as the six o’clock swill. In the cities and larger country and coastal towns the regulation was well policed but towns like Forsayth simply ignored the regulations, remaining open until the last patron headed for home, often that drinker would be the town’s policeman himself.

Eventually the noise abated and regardless of the heat and humidity Kevin falls asleep.
 
 
Queensland has another oddity that people from the south find difficult to accustom, that is no twilight. At the other end of night the birds and sun are up and cheerful at five in the morning, so with little else to do, folk in the north go to bed early and rise early.

Kevin is brought into the morning with sunlight streaming through the room’s small grimy window and the sound of the hotel’s housemaid setting the breakfast tables.

There is movement on the verandah towards the bathrooms.

‘I suppose,’ Kevin thinks.

‘Shower.’

Kevin hesitates as he is coy towards undressing in front of strangers and the shower room lacks privacy. At the hostel it was a captive audience and each had seen each other’s privates so often it became common place but to undress in front of a stranger may lend to an embarrassing rise.

He waits a few minutes but realises breakfast was at seven and the train departed soon after.

Cautiously he advances to the bathroom thankfully the only occupant a young stockman was dressed ready to depart. “Are you for the train lad?” the young man asks.

“Yes.”

“No hurry the Gilbert River mail truck is running late.”

“Thank you.”

Breakfast consists of a sausage, bubble and squeak, a fried egg toast and a cup of tea. A woman enters the dining room and approaches. She is the hotel manager’s wife and her husband has given her the task of assuring Kevin caught the service. She smiles and speaks, “good morning love.”

Kevin returns the smile.

“Is breakfast to your liking?’

“Yes very much so, thank you.”

“Are you returning to school?”

“Yes to the hostel in Herberton,” Kevin gives a slight shudder while mentioning the hostel.

“Our daughter is there, possibly you know her; Margaret Steel.”

“I know Margaret she is two years above me.”

“Be sure to say hello for me when you see her next.”

“I will, what time is the train leaving?”

“I have just had word it will be delayed as they are waiting the Gilbert River mail truck.”
 
 
The Gilbert River mail arrives as Kevin commences the short walk to the railway siding. His port (bag) is heavy with all the agates he collected from the Gilbert River, also the rifle and it is again raining but the distance is short and he is undercover before becoming too damp.

There are two goods vans and a carriage behind the engine which is steaming up and gives a sharp whistle to warn departure. Kevin heaves his port onto the carriage landing. Inside there are two passengers, both stockmen from Robin Hood station on their way to waste their quarterly year’s pay at the Mareeba hotels, or perhaps they may get lucky with some fancy lady. One of the men is vaguely familiar to Kevin as a friend of John Miller the Forest Home cowboy. He is a young man, possibly twenty and as thin as a beanpole, wearing a hat obviously too large for his elongated face, his chin smudged with youthful bristles, his trousers are forced onto his hips by a leather belt supporting a large western buckle of a rodeo rider in full buck. Kevin smiles as he remembers an adage towards his own slightness being told he was like a greyhound, all cock and ribs. He liked the insinuation of having a large appendage and although short in statute, at the hostel he was one of the big boys in that matter and like many young men he is under the belief the larger the appendage the bigger the man. In time that would be knocked out of him but for now it was worth a smile.

The stockman known to Kevin speaks, “hey aren’t you Ivy at Forest Home’s kid?”

“Yes Ivy is my mother.”

“She’s a good woman your mother.”

The second stockman finds a full seat and stretches out, “Sleeping time, wake me when we reach Einasleigh.” The first stockman concurs and finds his own resting place as the rain becomes torrential.
 
 
Einasleigh and the train stops as had the rain. The engine driver is on the ground in conversation besides the train. Kevin takes a peek discovering the driver is with Sam Arnold who because of the weather and lateness of his arrival at Einasleigh stayed overnight. The stockmen are aroused by the jolting of the carriage; one has his head out of the carriage window.

“What’s the go?” he calls.

“The Copperfield is up and the causeway flooded, with the water almost to the rail bridge,” the engine driver answers.

“Will you cross over or are we stuck here?”

“We’ll cross in a few minutes.”

“Have I time to go to the pub for a couple of bottles?”

“You have five as Mr. Arnold is going to cross over the rail bridge before we do.”

Both stockmen hurry the short distance to the Einasleigh Hotel as Sam Arnold readies to take his vehicle across the rail bridge.

By now the river is rising quickly so there was no time to hang about, Sam Arnold gives the engine driver a nod and brings his Land Rover onto the tracks ahead of the steaming engine. It is a slow crossing as the planks beneath the Rover’s wheels bounce about precariously, one slip and both Sam and the vehicle would be lost to the torrent.

The Copperfield rail bridge has a gently swayback to its structure which would allow debris to flow over it when inundated and not build up like a beaver’s dam along the side of the bridge. As it was common for vehicles to use the bridge at times such as when the causeway at riverbed level is flooded, long planks were placed at tyre span across the rail bridge to allow access.

In no time at all Sam has crossed, now it is the turn for the train but the stockmen haven’t yet returned with their bottles. The driver sends his fireman across to the pub to bring them back. They return and the train slowly commences towards the Copperfield and its bridge. As the train crosses the river reaches the underside of the bridge sleepers and once across even the rail bridge becomes inaccessible and would remain that way for the following week. A short distance on and it is the Einasleigh River crossing but it is managed without difficulty. The rain commences once again as the train makes its way towards Almaden and Mareeba but after setting out late in the morning and the delay at Einasleigh it would not arrive at Mareeba until after dark.

Much of the time during the remainder of Kevin’s journey was spent gazing vacantly onto the slowly passing countryside, the dry gullies soon to be washed with the season’s rain, mile on mile of barbed wire fencing and the occasional mob of cattle or horses. The cattle simply stood and arrogantly gaped, while in most the horses bolted away from the passing monstrosity. On one occasion the train needed to stop to encourage cattle from the track and cows being obstante instead of taking advice and moving aside ran ahead, only to pause again further along the track. As for the two stockmen, they simply finished their grog and slept.

There was also a twice weekly service to Forsayth, along with the Chillagoe and Mount Molloy goods which also carried passengers, not forgetting a branch line to Millaa Millaa, making Mareeba a busy rail hub. These days after many line closures the only train service is the weekly so named Savannahlander tourist train from Cairns to Forsayth, picking up passengers at sidings or beside the track if booked ahead.
 
 
Day one in Mareeba and there would be little time for Kevin to reacquaint with local friends. Seeing his stay with Edith while waiting for his return to Herberton was gratis, she wasn’t going to allow him free time, having a number of chores already arranged. Firstly there would be watering of the numerous potted ferns about the entrance to the refreshment rooms, then the rear garden and the arrangement of the tea room tables. With the start of the new school year there would be a number of nuns from Herberton’s Catholic college on the train who were renowned for their appreciation of a nice cup of tea and crust free sandwiches. There was one consolation during his wait to return to Herberton; Edith didn’t wake him at six in the morning to collect bottles for pocket money.

With the arrival of the up rail service came dread with Edith obliging Kevin to serve his school mates as they came from the train demanding pies, sausage rolls and sandwiches. As Kevin was known to most they believed they had preference towards quick service, with his name loudly bandied in constant demands.

There and then is when Kevin decided he would never work in service.
 
 
It is the morning of the final day of Kevin’s holidays with less than two hours to the arrival of the up railmotor from Cairns finds Kevin repacking his few possessions. He recalls his mother’s advice to leave the rifle with Edith. He removes the gun but as quickly returns it to his packing and with little time left is quickly across to the shops to purchase a small box of twenty-two calibre bullets.

Kevin is ready with his case placed close by the door when the up railmotor sounds its arrival.

Would Edith have him help in the shop before boarding?

The answer was yes and once his work was done he joined the last of the returning hostel boys to jibing why he didn’t serve this one or that one first.

By reaching the outskirts of town he shrugged off their complaints and was once again simply a hostel boy.

By the time the train reached Herberton and through the tunnel under Grace Street, passing the noisy stamping machines at the tin ore battery, rounding the corner past the rear of the hostel, Kevin’s holiday was considered over and it was time for the long wait until the next, with many stories to share.

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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