Published: 14 Apr 2025

Nineteen sixty-five and Kevin was becoming a teenager, a title that first appeared in print in Nineteen-thirteen in a Delaware newspaper that was fast becoming the dividing noun separating offspring from their parents. Even so the sea of change seemed to pass Kevin by, besides if he attempted to wear the fashion of the day, being greased hair with a double wave known as a duck’s arse, Kevin’s hair didn’t hold the double wave and the California poppy oil simply dripped from his skull. Mousse had not yet been introduced and no self respecting lad would lower his masculinity to use the hair lacquer spray women used. The closest a lad would go towards androgyny would be old spice while declaring it was a shaving lotion not a perfume, as real men don’t use perfume, or if it came to it, didn’t eat quiche.

Ivy may not have caught up with fashion but she at least attempted to bring Kevin up to date, buying him stovepipe flecked pants and winklepicker shoes. Kevin’s frame could not fill out the trousers, hanging low from his narrow hips while accentuating his skinny legs and lack of arse. The shoe points became scuffed within days returning him to his Cuban heeled riding boots, while the flecked pants hid away with shame in his cupboard.

Was Ivy disappointed?”

She simply shrugged it away – that’s Kevin for you, may have been her attitude.

If Ivy was considered to be strong willed, Kevin was most defiantly a chip from her block, besides he was a country kid, preferring the simple fashion of cattlemen but that of the Australian cattleman and nothing like that of our American cousins.

As Kevin’s body never filled out to his expectations he soon lost interest in fashion, thus the nickname of Heavy-Boots, shortened to Boots from wearing his riding boots in the house. Never let it be said but he did stomp about with purpose, possibly a little towards attention seeking. Kevin wasn’t into nicknames yet he did warm to Boots, keeping it when he returned south but a nickname must be given or earned and not self imposed therefore it was soon forgotten. Nor did Kevin use the nicknames he may hear from friends and colleagues, only if the title holder had been personally introduced with that name, believing those titles were something held between mates, to use them without invitation could be considered impolite.

During Kevin’s time in Atherton and working for his mother’s partner Bob Ferguson, he remained boarding with the family Bob had arranged when he opened the local shop. Soon after Bob and Ivy gave up share farming and moved into town. Although they were only living two streets away from Kevin, he remained with the family as he was in a one sided liaison with Michael, his landlady’s son. Besides Kevin had an aversion towards change, there had been too many changes, from state to state, town to town and ten times school to school. Thus when Ivy suggested he continue his education locally he declared enough and went on the farm with her and Bob.

Neil brakes into Kevin’s recollection.

“So we have you working for Bob in a shop although you declared you would never work at serving people, what was that like?”

“By then I had all but forgotten about my subservant loathing besides there was too much excitement towards currency change as on the fourteenth of February nineteen-sixty-six the Australian currency went from pounds, shilling and pence to dollars and cents.”

“I’ve never seen the old currency. I am surprised you remember the exact date.”

Kevin gives a smile, “I have some old currency somewhere; later on I’ll find it for you. As for the changeover date there was this damn jingle that went on for months, how could anyone forget?”

“Was the change over difficult?”

“For me no but Bob was in a tizz, he couldn’t get his head around losing two pennies in every ten cents saying the government was cheating us.”

“I remember you did mention the change but would you explain it again for the tape?”

“Easy, a pound was two hundred and forty pennies but the dollar only a hundred cents, so in Bob’s mind we were losing out. What actually occurred was the ten shilling note being half a quid (pound) was now a dollar and a shilling that was once twelve pence became ten cents.”

“Seeing it was in my grandfather’s day and I’ve only heard of the changeover in passing, I would be as confused as Bob would have been.”

“It wasn’t difficult you only had to remember a pound note was now two dollars, as for pennies, one penny was one cent, two was two cents, three was three as was four while the remaining penny was lost with seven and eight bringing the shilling and its twelve pennies in line with ten cents. The rest falls into line.”

“I guess it appears simple enough to understand but wouldn’t it have been inflationary?”

“Possibly but the world wasn’t as obsessed with fiscal policy back then and on budget night the only thing that interested most was the tax on beer and cigarettes. It wasn’t until the late sixties when the unions found strength and wages commenced to spiral that inflation became a topic. It was then the media became interested and coined the term, fat cats, being those who worked for the bureaucracy.”

“I remember reading about the fat cats during my final school year in economics. I believe you have already mentioned the shop so tell me a little about Bob Ferguson.”

Bob Ferguson had been a shopkeeper and market gardener for all of his adult life, as for shops one could not count on fingers how many he had opened and how many failed but like a punching bag he kept coming back. Bob’s work ethics were never in question only his childlike trust in his associates, also he didn’t understand the fickleness of humans, one day you are a silk purse the next a sow’s ear and if you have coin you are always open for a loan, then once the loan is instigated the borrower often becomes your adversary, or you never see him again.

Before meeting Ivy, Bob had been married and had nine children, eight girls and a boy who didn’t survive far past his third birthday anniversary. Possibly the loss of his only boy endeared him to Kevin and he always treated Kevin as his own. Other traits in Bob’s character were conviction and honesty, although his wife deserted him he paid for the kids until the youngest finished her schooling.

“Was Bob that naive?” Neil asks.

“Trusting would be a kinder word. Put it on the slate Bob, still rings in my ears.

“I’ve never heard the terminology.”

“I believe it is from pub talk where the drinks were marked on a slate board and paid for later – if ever.”

“Sorry I have interrupted your story.”

The opening of the Atherton shop wasn’t the last in Bob’s litany of failures as after Kevin returned to Melbourne he opened yet another shop back in Mareeba where he previously had two, possibly three failed attempts. The Atherton shop was opened in hope but at that time supermarkets were commencing to find the main street of even the smallest town and simply corner stores were becoming grocers as well as green grocers and anything else that may entice customers from nails to chainsaws.

Bob’s Atherton greengrocery was opened in hope while he and Ivy remained on the share farm growing some of the produce. What Bob failed to realise was operation strength, his delivery round about town and the tyranny of distance as most of his product had to come from the other end of the state, also bulk buying power which he sadly lacked.

There was one other recipe for failure being Bob’s generosity and trust allowing folk to as it is said, put it on the slate until payday. Oddly that day never seemed to arrive. Bob Ferguson also opened a book and comic exchange at the rear of the greengrocery which did nothing to increase business except bring in free reading children after school hours who stole more than they paid for.

Before working in the shop while still on the farm it was Kevin’s job to go into town with Bob twice a week and help with a delivery round. A large part of Kevin’s job was go-for, being to climb about inside the van for product then carry bags to the house for customers. What was the high spot of the day was a lunch of fish and chips when Bob introduced him to the taste of raw capsicum (bell peppers) and even to his adult days he enjoyed eating capsicum in its raw state.

Most of the customers were friendly but there was one woman, a doctor’s wife, who had a large cattle dog known by breed as a blue heeler, Bluey if anyone knows the television cartoon. Usually the dog remained on the house verandah without taking much notice of Kevin but on this day as he carried the woman’s bags he noticed the dog was missing, ‘probably inside snoozing,’ he thinks.

On reaching the steps the woman ascends with Kevin close behind as usually she expected him to carry the bags inside and place them on the kitchen table. As Kevin took the first step he felt a burning sensation through his pants to his calf, he turns and spies the dog standing a short distance behind, there was no snarling, barking or warning then once the damage was done the dog simply past by and followed inside behind the woman. Kevin rolls up his damaged pants leg discovering a bleeding wound.

“Your dog just bit me!” he protests.

The woman turned as the dog passed her and entered into the house.

“Why do you think we keep a dog?” she says and takes control of her shopping.

Going inside she closes the door.

Back at the van Kevin complains to Bob.

“Give me a look.”

Kevin rolls up his trouser leg.

“It’s only a scratch.”

“What if I get rabies?”

“There isn’t any rabies in Australia.”

No sympathy for Kevin but not forgotten only future avoidance of the doctor’s dog and emphatically demanding that Bob do any further door to door deliveries to the house. Fortunately within a short while Kevin was working in the shop therefore no more street deliveries.

What did Kevin think of working in the shop? Oddly it didn’t seem to faze him greatly, besides he loved comics and there were hundreds of the inky little fellows, some dating back ten years showing the passage of a hundred swaps. The price of comics was five cents for the older issues, ten cents for the classics or two for one but not two old dirty copies for an almost new classic, that offer was classic for classic or if new enough, ten cents.

What a distraction, by the end of the year Kevin had read every comic on display but never started on the novels, as the only novels he had read were those necessary to answer exam questions. When it was time for reading Kevin had the attention of a tsetse fly and after a page or so he would drift from the print to other more exciting adventures.

Later in life Kevin regretted not being more attentive with his reading skill as he had three ambitions, the first was to be an artist but he had limited to no brush skill, an actor although except for bunging-on (behave in a pretentious manner) he couldn’t act, the third was to become an author. It was true Kevin had enough experiences to be considered interesting but he was no wordsmith. It is said that the average person uses no more than a hundred or so different words in any given day, if true it was possible Kevin used half that quoter and all in the same sentence.

There was also his spelling skill, Kevin could spell a word correctly one day and have it incorrect the next. Later in life he came to realise it wasn’t his spelling that was at fault but his pronunciation as he spelled words phonetically, possibly it was the way he heard words and not his spelling ability that was causing his problem. He also had the habit of adding extra letters where they weren’t needed. By the time Kevin realised his error too many years had passed to fix the problem, fortunately computers took over from typewriters and Mr. Spellcheck became his best mate.

The same could not be said of Ivy as she was an avid reader, capable of reading a paper back in a day but wasn’t one for conversation unless having a beer during a card game. Although it was certain she had more than a quoter of words she kept most of them to herself and the Post Magazine Mr. Wisdom’s Whopper crossword puzzle. Unlike many who enjoyed the puzzle she was so confident she would jot the answers in ink and not pencil to erase later when discovered to be incorrect.

Kevin had fond memories of Ivy seated on a chair with her legs folded under, covered to her bare feet with her summer skirt, pen in one hand and the Post Magazine in the other, tapping the plastic cylinder of the pen against her teeth, while searching her mind for a difficult clue. Sometimes she would ask Kevin for the answer to a clue, he would be clueless then rhetorically she would announce and quickly pen the answer. Kevin may not have known the answer, or understood the question but always felt proud that his mother would include him in the proceedings.

During a return flight from Melbourne and due to the lack of good pressurisation in the old aircrafts, Ivy lost her hearing in one ear causing a slight change to her habits, being she needed to swap sleeping sides otherwise miss the sounding of the morning’s alarm clock. During a later flight her hearing returned and for a time remained but slowly as the years progressed Ivy’s hearing declined until she need to do something about it and was set up with a hearing aid.

Being hard of hearing eventually had an adverse effect on Ivy. She may not appreciate idle gossip, or greatly concern towards what people may think of her but in time the affliction began to wear her down and she become paranoid people were whispering about her as she passed by, or when having a quiet drink in a hotel lounge bar.

To add to Ivy’s lack of hearing she had much of her stomach removed because of untreatable ulcers, the cause being from years of bad food while working on stations, the mineral loaded bore water and often twice or thrice daily consumption of bex powders, without mentioning Ivy was a heavy smoker. In the fifties it was common for the family doctor to prescribe Bex or Vincent APC powders as a panacea for all ailments from headaches to period pain. The saying at the time was take a bex, a cup of tea and a good lay down, our American cousins can exchange the cup of tea for coffee but I would think the prescription would have been similar in that country. In time the bex was removed from the medical equation being replaced with valium or something equally addictive.

After Ivy’s operation with a much diminished stomach capacity, she was advised to have small meals over the day. Ivy was at best a slight woman who carried little condition and the bother of adhering to the suggestion became too difficult, instead a couple of beers would suffice and any meal she had would be pickings while cooking for Bob. Needless to say she lost even more weight and became addicted to alcohol but that all occurred long after Kevin had returned to Melbourne, being unaware of the changes in Ivy until returning some years later while on vocation with Wayne. Until then he wasn’t even unaware of her medical condition or her operation.

That visit was the last time Kevin saw his mother.

The New Year of Nineteen Sixty-six finds Kevin working in the shop for Bob. Ivy had suggested many times for him to live with her and Bob, therefore saving board at the Robinsons but Kevin remained interested in Michael, even if his night time entertainment had diminished. During the mid year of sixty-six Michael again rebelled against parental control and instead of finishing his final school year he found employment out of town, only returning home on alternate weekends and when he did he became interested in girls. Within no time Michael was the proud father of a baby boy and soon after permanently left town.

As the year advanced Kevin became unsettled. His girlfriend Judy was even more clinging and cold towards his adolescent sexual advances while her conversation pivoted on their future together, being marriage with a family of their own, none of which was part of the lad’s intentions. True he did like Judy and enjoyed her company to the occasional town hall dance or film night, even their Sunday afternoon walks but not the kissing. Judy was a kisser, Kevin was not, if there wasn’t sex to be had than there wasn’t a relationship and Judy definitely didn’t possess the equipment Kevin was attracted to. Besides Judy was like most of the girls in town wore too much makeup, caking it on like icing (frosting) on a sponge cake. Kevin would come away from a petting session wearing more of the makeup than Judy and he hated the warm slimy texture of her lipstick.

Often while Kevin was at work, Ivy would bring him lunch and sit for a while. On most days Judy would call in on her way home from school as their relationship remained secret from her parents, who believed at fifteen yet and far from sixteen was too young to be dating. Ivy liked Judy and they had long talks while Kevin cleaned the shop or tidied the book exchange. He would listen to their conversation but they spoke too softly for him to hear the most of their conversations.

Once Judy departed Ivy would bring out the marriage guns and as usual she was too the point.

“Are you active?”

“Mum!”

“You will be careful, you haven’t turned eighteen yet and Judy is a little young for that sort of thing.”

“Mum!”

“I don’t wish to be made a grandmother at my age.”

“That’s personal.”

“I am only asking.”

“Sometimes mum you ask too much.”

Protesting never stopped Ivy as she appeared to enjoy her ribbing while displaying a slight sadistic bent but not as far as being hurtful.

Kevin recollected a similar conversation when he turned twelve and living with his grandmother in Melbourne. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon with Ivy having information she needed to share she knew would be upsetting to the lad. They had returned to Melbourne in fifty-nine, now in sixty-two she had had enough of the cold weather and was longing to return north.

The news shocked Kevin as he had become accustomed to living with his grandparents, besides he had only recently commenced at a new school and so close he only needed to climb the rear fence.

“Not the bloody hostel again!”

Firstly there was the sweetener.

“We will stay with your cousins in Hughenden for a while.”

The sweetener worked, immediately Kevin thought of Torrens Creek and his days with Roany. Possible if living in Hughenden he could have a horse. If so the thought was strong enough for him to partly agree to one more change of abode, one more school and a new group of mates.

For some now forgotten reason the conversation become personal but obviously it was to do with health and a young boy’s person is taboo to his mother.

“You were always a healthy boy,” Ivy says – she is grinning.

Kevin remained quiet as he isn’t certain where the conversation is leading. Knowing his mother it wouldn’t be in a direction he may desire.

“Even as a baby you were healthy and never sick and you never developed mumps, measles or chicken pox like many boys.”

Kevin simply says, “dunno’.”

“You were and with all our moving about that was a godsend.”

“Mum, where is this leading?” Kevin believes it is part of the sweetener to calm his fear of returning to the hostel.

“I didn’t even need to have you circumcised.”

That was the conversation killer for Kevin – “Mum!”

“It’s true love.”

“You should have.”

“Why?”

“Just should have.”

The conversation quickly ended.

What Kevin couldn’t tell his mother was during his time at the hostel only he and two other boys were uncircumcised, although what he had was far from what could be described as a bottle dick and anyone would have to look twice to realise, while the cut boys would tease anyone who was different. Kevin permanently kept his back when showering and dressing, even so when in his twenties he had the snip.

Outside the late autumn sun is fading and Kevin gives a yawn. Neil takes the hint.

“I suppose we should call it a day.”

“Yes it is getting a late and I have a dinner date. I hope what you have is of some use.”

“I have enjoyed listening to your life’s story. In a way I feel a little envious.”

“It wasn’t as romantic as it may appear.”

“I would like to have another session if you are agreeable.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Then how about next Sunday?”

“Yes and come for dinner.”

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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