Published: 9 Dec 2024
“Memories,” Kevin softly utters in response to Neil’s question while mentally winding back through the fog of years.
Memories of a time long before his final return to Melbourne in sixty-six. Even further back from his year in Atherton and his time in board, to a time when a young boy could be happy with what little he had and knew of little more that his immediate surroundings and the few people living in a small country town. Life had boundaries then, with the rail line to the north, the creek to the east and the school two streets from his home.
“No it wasn’t a raw nerve Neil, I was thinking of a how simple life had been before I was in board, when my only problem being which of my three horses I should ride.”
“You say three horses.”
“As I was the only one who rode, therefore I could lay claim to all of them.”
“I must admit Kevin; to me owning three horses appears a little excessive, especially for one so young.”
“It wasn’t of my choosing but a mare named Roany would have been sufficient and was my favourite.”
It is nineteen fifty-five and Kevin has a birthday approaching.
It will be his seventh anniversary celebration and yet unknown to the lad will be his first away from the vastness of the Queensland outback and the glacial pace of a one room, one teacher school whose teacher taught eleven children up to the sixth grade. Even so before that anniversary could be celebrated he would be gone from Queensland’s sheep country.
Small town life had been simple for the lad but all was about to change. Earlier Kevin’s mother had partnered a man Taffy Jones while living with her parents in Melbourne and they had taken a tree-change to work on a sheep station in central west Queensland but all that occurred before Kevin had developed recollection, also before they moved to the small town of Torrens Creek.
For Taffy Jones going bush had been a way to break from a contract with the British merchant navy after he jumped ship in Melbourne and as it was a time before authority kept efficient boarder records and no one required identification except verbally, he soon slipped into the mainstream of society without question, although his strong Welsh accent presented him as a newcomer to all he met.
For Kevin’s mother Ivy it was a way to escape a failing marriage, by placing as much distance as possible between herself and her husband.
It was a time before women found voice when the law gave the father responsibility, or if you wish ownership, of his children without consideration given to the mother. If the father was incapable of parenting his children in a proper and legal manner they may become wards of the state, as a single woman, married or not, was not considered capable in bringing up children.
While on Dunluce station it was Kevin’s mother who set his lessons from projects sent by mail, as the property lacked the two-way radio equipment necessary to attend the school of the air. Many of the isolated properties without electricity had what was known as the pedal radio that worked similar to peddling a bicycle, the faster you peddled the more power the set received but if you stopped peddling you lost your connection. The system was set up by Alfred Traeger in nineteen twenty-nine with his invention of the pedal radio. Dunluce did have electricity to power the shearing sheds, also the telephone connected to a manual exchange in Hughenden but as Kevin was the only child on the property it had no need for the radio.
Eventually with Kevin old enough to attend a proper school, decisions needed to be made and with a little money put aside Ivy and Taffy Jones sold Taffy’s old ford sedan, purchasing an aging truck with the intention of going into the hauling business. Soon after the strange little family took up residence in Torrens Creek, a small railway town at equal distance from Hughenden as Dunluce Sheep Station ”(ranch)” but further east towards Townsville and the coast.
Before Kevin had time to realise his carefree station days were behind him he was at school in Torrens Creek. There was one consolation being Mr. Lewis the Dunluce manager had given him Roany his ride on the station and her foal Kicker, therefore school days would find Kevin riding to school, allowing Roany to graze on the little grass the school yard had to offer. The town being small had a limited number of playmates and for that year the school roll consisted of no more than nine pupils across six primary grades but coming from station life, nine was a greater number than the young Kevin could imagine.
Soon after settling in town Taffy Jones displayed his true character. While on the station and isolated he remained relatively sober but living in town gave him access to a hotel and he reverted back to his old habit of being intoxicated for lengthy periods, he was also showing traits of having a violent disposition.
Once again it became necessary for Ivy to pack her and Kevin’s few possessions and move on. Unknown to Taffy, Ivy arranged to stay with her sister Mary who lived in Hughenden, also she applied for work as housemaid at the Railway Hotel in Mareeba on the Atherton Tablelands, then on a day while Taffy was absent she departed Torrens Creek permanently.
Once in Mareeba Kevin was in for a further surprise and one that was totally alien to his imagination as he would not be living with his mother or in Mareeba, instead he would be boarded at some place called a hostel designed for the children of families in outback regions that lacked educational facilities. This hostel would be in Herberton and for someone with transport was no more than an hour’s drive from Mareeba but for a small boy it may as well been at the far edge of the universe.
Neil interrupts, “so you were to start a new school in a new town?”
“Yes and it was going to be a monumental awakening.”
“In what way would that be?”
“I’ll cut to the chase.”
Kevin continues.
The short time leading up to Kevin being enrolled at the hostel was carefree, discovering a new climate and a greener landscape than what he had been accustomed to in the Queensland Midwest. Mareeba was for the north a large town, even larger than Hughenden where his Aunt Mary lived with his five cousins. In Kevin’s thinking life would be fun and games, no school, no Taffy to frighten him although unfortunately no horses. Kevin would often ask when they would return to his horses but his mother would skirt the question, saying it was time for newer horizons. Not once was it suggested those horizons would be at a school in some distant town among the children from the cast of Lord of the Flies.
During Kevin’s short stay in Mareeba the hotel management allowed Ivy to keep him in her room while making arrangements with the hostel for his board, then came the difficult task explaining the decision to Kevin. What was said during those few days is long forgotten but there was memory of introduction to a mother who had a son boarding at the hostel and how Kevin and her son would soon become best of friends, also giving Kevin a small package to deliver to her son as his birthday gift.
Eventually it was time for Kevin to return to his schooling and with his few possessions packed into a small port (”suitcase”) tickets were purchased for the following morning railmotor service to Herberton.
During the packing of his clothes a question arose being why his mother had marked each item with his name as he knew who he was.
“So the other children don’t wear your clothes.”
“Others?”
“Yes there will be many children of your age to play with.”
Many; was a number the lad found confusion, nine or so he understood as was the population of the Torrens Creek School but many he found incomprehensible.
The answer wasn’t satisfying but Kevin had too much to comprehend other than school size or the tagging of his shirts. Yet the marking did raise a question even if it only lasted for a fraction of time, being why Ivy had marked his clothing Kevin Barker and not Kevin Jones.
Time would sort that one out.
The train journey to Herberton was considered short but to a young boy it appeared to take forever and still he didn’t completely understand what was occurring, instead he enjoyed the scenery as the railmotor slowly travelled through fields of tobacco while further onto the tablelands the crop became peanuts.
Crossing over the many irrigation channels reminded Kevin of the Dunluce bore drains but would they bring up the freshwater crayfish he had once enjoyed. Also it was the shades of green that fascinated the lad and the lack of dust haze that hung over the entire western planes, tasting of grit on every breath and on windy days returning his Aunt Mary’s starched white bed sheets back to the copper for rewashing.
After a brief stop at a town called Atherton the railmotor began to climb into hills covered in dense forest with ravines traversed by long trestle bridges that echoed back the clickety clack of the motor’s iron wheels as it passed. As the railmotor progressed the temperature appeared to become cooler, Kevin was now entering onto the roof of the tablelands of which much remained uncleared forest.
There was a further difference; the soil was turning from rich volcanic red to grey, leached from the hillsides by a thousand millenniums of summer rain bursts and the diggings of tin scratchers as they searched for the heavy black ore. Then as if by magic a small town appeared out of the forest and without hesitation the railmotor was through a narrow tunnel, past a large noisy building that would soon be described as the tin ore crushing battery and rounded a slight bend to arrive at the station.
“We are there,” Ivy’s tone is subdued as she collects Kevin’s small case from the wire holding rack above their heads.
We are where was most probably Kevin’s question but if he had asked or not was not part of his memory.
While stepping down from the train onto the raised platform at Herberton the railmotor driver passed them by, giving a smile and a gentle nod. It was his lunch break, so he would boil the kettle taking a moment from the long journey up from Cairns, before continuing on toward his final destination in Ravenshoe and the end of the tableland service.
There were two other passengers arriving that morning, one a man in his mid years, bearded and dressed rather too heavily for the warm morning. The second passenger a woman in a long skirt and broad hat with plastic fruit attached to the hatband. She had an aloof attitude and during the journey had sat well away from mother and son. The woman is quickly collected by a vehicle and whisked away to some prearranged destination amongst the many flowering Jacaranda trees the town was known for. In future times the Jacaranda’s scent would convey Kevin back to that first day he came to live an outcast amongst strangers.
Kevin gazes about attempting to understand his new surroundings unaware that for most of the next four years it would be his home. Or more to point the territory about his new home that would be considered out of bounds to a small boy but that was a story yet to be discovered, as the expression being caught out of bounds would be issued with much vigour, installing fear into the bravest young heat.
It was but a short walk to the hostel from the station and being Saturday morning many of the hostel boys were at play, none took notice of a woman approaching with a small lad and if they did the thought may have been, not another lost soul to join our ranks. Ivy chooses an older boy and asks directions to the office, the lad points but doesn’t speak as he is much too busy with his mates playing hopscotch to be interrupted by some stranger.
It is your turn Foxy is called and the lad is quickly away to rejoin the game.
Ivy had already been in contact with a Mrs. Thomas the manager’s wife by telephone, so Kevin was expected and Saturday was preferred for the lad’s arrival, as it would allow the weekend to become accustomed to his new surroundings, before attending his new school on the Monday.
It is enrolment day with Ivy and Kevin being convinced by Mrs. Thomas how wonderful life at the hostel will be and how many new friends Kevin will make.
A paradise for children was the woman’s expression although issued in monotone without installing confidence.
Kevin wasn’t listening; instead he is more interested in the multitude of photographs of past inmates lining the depressing mission brown walls of the small bleak office; very few of the children had smiles and that should have been his first warning. Other photographs are of sporting events, running, jumping, three legged racing and what appeared to be children holding something on spoons Kevin believed to be eggs. Concern arose believing the possibility in his new home children needed to run for their breakfast.
What Kevin fails to hear is the termination of conversation between his mother and the woman and as Mrs. Thomas diverts her attention to Kevin his mother silently slips away without uttering a sound.
Kevin interrupts the woman’s gentle words, “where is my mother?” he demands.
“She had to leave to catch the afternoon railmotor service Kevin.”
“I should hurry or I’ll miss the train.”
“You will be living her now Kevin, you will see your mother during the mid year holiday and you can write lovely long letters to your mother each week.”
Letters?
That was to become something new to Kevin as he had never written anything in the past except school work and that was only with the scratch of a slate pencil on a slate board.
If desertion wasn’t final enough, as it was the first time in Kevin’s short life mother and child had been separated. Now without his mother’s guidance a state of shock replaced the comfort of his known world as he gazed about seeing nothing but strange surroundings.
“You will like living here Kevin.” The woman assures while leading him from the small office with its mission brown paint and wall of photographs.
Kevin isn’t listening as he remains confused to why his mother departed without even a final greeting.
The woman firmly takes Kevin’s hand, “now it is time to meet your new friends.”
Without further conversation the huge expanse of what was the hostel becomes apparent as Mrs. Thomas takes Kevin on a short tour, before passing him on to the fate of the more established boys. The woman finds a number of children of Kevin’s age playing near the entry to the dining room. She calls, “Robert Bowen come here lad.”
The boys pause from their game.
“Yes Mrs Thomas,” Bowen answers.
The introduction of Kevin to the children is brief as she has a busy schedule therefore he is left to the devices of his so described new friends and as previously expressed the children of Lord of the Flies.
The boys gather around Kevin as if searching for a weakness, or some reason why they should befriend him.
“New kid eh,” a voice declares from a circling of boys, more akin to predatory hyenas then those who were to be his future comrades and mentors.
Kevin remains swamped in confusion as he looks upon each face while searching for a single friendly response.
“Whatya’ name?”
“Kevin Barker.”
“We’ll call you dog – woof,” a lad makes suggestion in regards to Kevin’s family name.
In unison they all make barking sounds.
“Whereya’ from?” is fired from within the small grouping.
“Torrens Creek,” Kevin answers while attempting not to make further eye contact with any of the boys.
“Where’s that?”
Kevin wasn’t sure how he should answer.
He could say near Dunluce Station, or possible near the railway line but there were so many railway lines, or he could say where the sheep could be found.
He simply reports it is near Hughenden.
His answer doesn’t satisfy.
“It must be where the blackfella’s are,” a lad suggests.
Again Kevin is confused as he couldn’t recollect anyone fitting such a description living in Torrens Creek.
“He doesn’t look like a blackfella’,” another discredits.
“Maybe he’s a Chink, or a Jap spy.”
Kevin is now totally confused as he searches for someone to champion his building fear.
“What grade are you in?”
“Grade two.”
“You will be in Foxy’s grade, ya’ betta watch Foxy he doesn’t like new boys.”
The boys all agree.
“Do you play marbles?” the first lad questions.
There is further confusion for Kevin.
“If ya’ do have marbles Foxy only plays for keeps and he will soon win them all from you, so you better watch it.”
“Yea you betta’ watch out for Foxy he don’t like new boys,” another suggests.
“He has to be initiated,” is the call.
The gathering chants the word.
“Initiate – initiate.”
Kevin’s mind is swirling within a sea of confusion.
“Duck him in the dunny.”
Kevin is all but lifted from the ground as he is forced towards the toilet block totally bewildered by the treatment he is receiving from his so described new friends.
What went through Kevin’s mind during that first day at the hostel is now lost in time but not so the initiation.
Once in a toilet cubicle Kevin is upended with his head in the bowl as one of the boys released a bladder of piss into his hair before the bowl is flushed.
A second boy releases his bladder.
A further flushing and for the moment the initiation is at an end with Kevin left to his own devices while attempting to understand what kind of hell he had been delivered into.
At this point Neil interrupts Kevin’s recollection, “what a malicious act towards a lad so young,” he says.
“Fortunately I was a stoic lad but worse was to come.”
“I can’t imagine,” Neil says.
“Mealtime on the first day arrived with the sounding of a bugle,” Kevin pauses and laughs.
“What is the humour?” Neil asks.
“The tune of the bugle, I think it is called reveille but our interpretation of the words remains with me, although I hadn’t thought of them until today.”
“I am listening.”
“Come to the cookhouse door boys; Come to the cookhouse door, put you’re arse up to the crack and get a rotten potato up your jack.”
“Jack?”
“It is slang for arse – jacksie I suppose.”
“I’ve never heard that one.”
“Queensland was rich with slang words unknown anywhere else.”
“Even at such a young age you knew crudity,” Neil suggests.
“Young boys humour runs on weak crudity especially anything to do with backsides or farting.”
“So that is your memory of your first day in boarding?”
“Not quite.”
It was bed time and one of the lads shows the new boy to his bunk, being an iron one up one down with a kapok mattress that occasionally needed to be opened and the lumps removed. The mattress rested on sagging wire springs of which some had been removed to make gings, or slingshots depending on your interpretation.
“Do you piss the bed?” asks one of the boys, his tone most serious and direct.
Kevin negatively shakes his head.
“Anyway you’ve got the bottom bunk but watch Philip Gipp on the top bunk he does.”
“What does Philip Gipp do?”
“He pisses the bed that is why his bunk has a plastic mackintosh and you don’t want a mackintosh.”
A crowd of taunting expressions gather and from the ranks as a question is fired, “Do you fight?”
Kevin lacks an answer as in his past there was never enough kids to fight with, besides when you had company you were more than happy to have a playmate.
A lad of Kevin’s age is pushed through the gathering.
He is a strange sight having a plaster cast about his head down to the shoulders and the most Kevin can see is his suggested opponent’s eagerness and supercilious grin.
“You can fight spaceman,” a boy suggests.
“I don’t know how to fight.”
“Then it is about time you learned.”
The other boys gather closer and all Kevin can perceive in their attitudes is their intent to use him for light entertainment before bedtime.
“Fight, fight fight,” the boys jeer.
Spaceman lifts his fists but Kevin remains stationary.
“Fight,” they repeat, “come on new boy put upya’ dukes ”(fists)” and fight Spaceman.”
Kevin is more bewildered than he had been during his initiation in the toilet. Spaceman grabs him by the shoulders and soon they are beneath the bunks wrestling the dust from the tattered linoleum.
The fight comes to an end when the housemaster enters and demands they become silent. Kevin climbs into his bunk and in the darkness pulls the covers over his head as if to escape from his torment, silently pleading the morning would not arrive while using the night as his protection.
But morning, as it must, would arrive.
“And that was the end of the first day,” Neil interrupts.
“It was.”
“It is a wonder with all that treatment you didn’t become a mass murderer.”
“As I said I was resilient.”
“Did the torment lessen in time?”
“In time but relating the experience has brought me to the first day at my new school.”
The hostel didn’t have its own schooling arrangements, so it was necessary to attend the town’s state school situated on the far side of town. To reach the school the hostel children gathered on the road in front of the main building and once assembled they made two lines and walked the mile or so in what was described as The Croc, collecting the girls from their side on the way. The travel was down a steep hill, across a bridge and up an even steeper hill to reach the town’s state primary and high school. Both schools were on the same property being overseen by the one head teacher.
With the migration of children towards the road it soon became apparent to Kevin what was expected of him but there was a dilemma that being his playlunch. During his short attendance at his first school in Torrens Creek, his mother would make sandwiches, sometimes jam or peanut paste (”butter”) or depending on the previous night’s meal mutton or roast beef with chutney from a bottle. It was the beef sandwiches that impressed the most.
Lacking his sandwiches Kevin realised his predicament, so instead of heading for The Croc, he diverted to the hostel kitchens where he silently malingered until one of the staff noticed him.
“What appears to be the trouble lad?” a portly woman with greying hair asks while diverting from the breakfast clean-up.”
“I haven’t got my smoko’,” Kevin whimpers.
The three kitchen women appeared puzzled, “what is smoko’?” one questions.
“The little tyke means his lunch,” another answered.
“You will get your lunch delivered by truck at the school,” the first woman explains but Kevin remains confused.
“Hang a mo’, I’ll make you a sandwich,” is offered but embarrassment takes control of the lad and he scampers away.
“Would you explain what The Croc’ is?” Neil asks.
“Crocodile and named because we walked in formation with the older boys at the rear standing on your heels, or hitting you behind the knees as you progressed.”
“Do you remember your first day at school?”
“Almost nothing, I clearly remember the second grade class room and where I sat but little more. I do remember how cold I felt during the cooler months, sitting in a dimly lit classroom shivering while wearing nothing but khaki shorts and shirt, no shoes, shoes were expensive, therefore we kept them for special occasions so not to wear them out. There were times when the teacher had pity on us and took the first class of the morning in the open while waiting for the sun to take away the night’s sting.”
“Shivering in Queensland?”
“Very much so, you have to understand altitude plays its part as Herberton is three thousand and nine feet above sea level. Also not one house, office or school had air conditioning, in the winter you shivered and sweltered in the hotter months.”
“Three thousand feet you say.”
“And nine; don’t forget the nine. I remember one year there was a grass reading of fifteen degrees.
“That isn’t cold.”
“I say fifteen Fahrenheit not Centigrade and that is below zero, the river would have ice about its edges and if it rained during the night there would be small icicles hanging on the metal railings of the bridge as we walked barefoot to school.”
“What were your teachers like?”
I think during those early days I was too confused to take much in. What I do recollect as Herberton was a mining town the school had an extensive collection of rocks and minerals, also a collecting of things in preserving liquid.”
“Things; what kind of things?”
“The school had large jars with snakes and lizards and other small vertebrates, some of the specimens had been pickled for so long they begun to dissolve into the liquid.”
“Snakes?”
“There were a number of species with the most interest given to the King-brown and Taipan as they were considered to be the most dangerous.”
“Why would they keep dead snakes in bottles?”
“I would say possibly to give people an idea what to be on the lookout for when walking in the bush, as Australia boasts nine of the world’s ten most venomous fellows. Back then if you were bitten by either Taipan or King Brown you didn’t have much chance of survival, especially the Taipan although the antivenom for the Taipan was discovered the previous year to my arrival at the hostel in 1956, even so with the antivenom you had little chance of survival if you were in the scrub and away from help.”
“You said you were at the hostel for four years?”
“Yes during my first visit and three years during my second with a stint back in Melbourne and other places between.”
“Were you there all year or did you go home for school holidays?”
“As mum usually found live in employment that didn’t accommodate having children, I would stay with a friend of hers in Mareeba. Other times if for some reason her friend Edith couldn’t have me stay, it would be necessary for some of the boys who couldn’t return home to attend a holiday camp in Kuranda, or down the coast on Magnetic Island off Townsville.”
“I’ve been to Kuranda during an end of year school strip. We took the Skyrail and returned to Cairns by the tourist train along the Barron Gorge. I was most impressed with the scenery.”
“There wasn’t any Skyrail in my days but as the town nestled in a cool tropical forest there was plenty to do and of course climbing down the old steps to the base of the Barron Falls was always a favourite. The climb was a little tricky but in those years safety was your problem therefore you needed to watch your step.”
“When I was visiting we weren’t permitted to climb down, although I did notice a couple of young fellows trying their luck.”
“I guess it is because a number of the stone steps have washed away since my time. We also followed the railway tracks through some of the fifteen tunnels on the Cairns Kuranda line, or visit a second falls called Stony Creek where there was a swimming hole at the bottom.
“Did you like going to the Kuranda camp?” Neil asks.
“No, the visits were for a short period and I found difficulty making friends, besides I was often the only hostel boy attending while others had visited the camp on a number of occasions, therefore it was difficult to crack into the established groups.”
“How many times did you visit the Kuranda camp?”
“Fortunately only twice as most the other holidays were with Edith in Mareeba except for one on Magnetic Island off Townsville. In some ways it was a strange situation as I would stay with Edith and when mum had employment in town I would visit her in the evenings. During those years while I was at the hostel I hardly saw my mother, even so we did have a close bond; I guess it was as we were two lost souls in a fast changing world.
“Tell me about your holiday on Magnetic Island.”
“Firstly, do you know how the island got its name?”
Neil laughs, “I guess I’m about to find out.”
“Cook named it as while passing in seventeen-seventy his compass played up, so he assumed it was some magnetic phenomena coming from the island.”
“Was it magnetic?”
“I believe not.”
The midyear school holiday was during Kevin’s second stint at the hostel. By then he was in his seventh grade with his mother working as cleaner at the Mareeba hospital. Unfortunately Ivy’s friend Edith was out of town leaving Kevin to the decision of the Hostel management. There were three other boys in the same predicament whose parents worked for the Australian Government in New Guinea, so it was decided as the Manager would be travelling with his wife to Townsville, the boys with Kevin would be enrolled with the government run and financed holiday camp on Magnetic Island.
Magnetic Island was a fun camp and nothing like the regimented atmosphere of the Kuranda camp, besides there was a short ferry ride to reach the island across a rough shark infested stretch of water, being a novelty for someone who in the past had been landlocked. During the crossing Kevin became seasick and lost his breakfast but soon found colour once his feet were back on terra firma.
The mention of shark infested water is because of the eight kilometre swimming race that began in nineteen fifty-four from the city of Townsville across the narrow stretch of water to Magnetic Island. Until recently the race was performed with the swimmers protected with shark proof cages. Possibly by now we have killed off all the sharks, or the sharks have lost appetite for human flesh.
“How long was your stay on Magnetic Island?”
“If I recollect correctly it was for about a week.”
“How big is the island?”
“I believe about twenty square miles and these days more than two and a half thousand people live there.”
“You say it was more entertaining than your time at the Kuranda camp?”
“From what I remember there was more organised entertainment at the Magnetic camp than there had been at Kuranda, with dress-up competitions, foot racing and walks across the Island to the many little bays for swimming.”
“Huh after your mentioning of sharks, I wouldn’t think there was much swimming.”
“We kept close to the beach, besides at one of the little coves there was a shark net stretched across from one side to the other.” Kevin pauses and laughs.
“Please share.”
“A couple of us swam out to the net and to our surprise or terror we found that most of the net had rotted away.”
“Were there times when you remained at the hostel during the school holidays?”
“I think only once as usually it was the only opportunity the staff had to take a break. That year I arrived back early from holidays and was almost the only child there.”
“That would have been a little lonely for you.”
“It was after returning from my first Christmas holiday on Forest Home cattle station. I was so upset I went up town to the post office to place a call through to the station and it was a rare occasion when the call was successful. Mum came to the telephone and I broke down crying. Poor woman as if she didn’t have enough to contend with other than me howling my eyes out over three hundred miles of crackling copper wire.”
“What did your mother have to say?”
“If I remember correctly with my crying she hardly spoke, then the few coins I fed into the box ran out and I was left in silence with my tears.”
“So that was your second school, what about your earlier life on the sheep station when you mother was your teacher?”
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
6,648 views