Published: 16 Dec 2024

Neil’s question regarding Dunluce Station brought a smile to Kevin as it was a time in his life he loved to share.

“I was quite young but have many wonderful memories and they come as clear as if they happened yesterday. What I remember mostly is the hardship my poor mother had to endure, although she appeared to relish the isolation of station life.”

“Was your father working on the station?”

“As I mentioned earlier by that time my paternal father had long gone from our lives therefore he was never part of my memory. After deciding to leave dad my mother while living in Melbourne met up with Taffy Jones, a merchant sailor who jumped ship and together they travelled north. Besides she had an aversion to cold and suffered badly from what she called bunions and chilblains. I remember how disfigured her toes were, although in reality I think that was more than likely caused by the pointed toe stilettos she loved to wear.”

“Did your father abuse you?”

“My mother never spoke of him and as Taffy Jones was always about I believed Taffy to be my father. If my father had been abusive then Taffy was as bad.”

“In what way?”

“Firstly I must admit anything to do with my father is hearsay, coming much later in life from my grandmother after I turned eighteen and returned to Melbourne. As for Taffy he was a heavy drinker witch intensified once he hit the heat of outback Queensland, as it causes a phenomenon in people colloquially called going troppo’, derived from the word tropical. Even so mum attempted to make a go of it and together they purchased an old truck and commenced a delivery business in Torrens Creek, where I was enrolled at the local school. As for the trucking business, I don’t recall much activity as by all accounts the truck spent most of its time parked outside the hotel.”

“Yes I recollect you saying the school had one teacher who taught all grades to the sixth. Did living in town with Taffy improve for the young Kevin?”

“You asked if Taffy was violent. Truthfully I can’t remember any abuse while on the station but can remember one occasion in particular when we were living in Torrens Creek. It was the night the town’s folk held a fancy dress party at the hotel for the dozen or so kids who lived in town and those from close by properties.”

Ivy had dressed Kevin as a pirate, stripped shirt a patch over one eye and a large handkerchief knotted at the corners as a hat, not forgetting Taffy’s small tomahawk axe as a pirate’s weapon of choice. It wasn’t much of a costume but the best a small dusty outback town could conjure in such short notice.

During the party the kids ran amuck in the ladies lounge while the adults took to the bar for a few drinks. After an hour or so it was time to break up the party with each child given a small collection of lollies ”(candy)” and chocolates as their prize.

Fortunately Kevin’s house was close by the hotel, so it was a short walk but before they had travelled far, Kevin remembered leaving Taffy’s tomahawk at the hotel. Returning they found it had been souvenired. Ivy didn’t concern greatly assuming someone would return it to Taffy when they next met.

While returning home it was necessary to step over a number of barbwire strands that had been trodden to the ground at the rear of the yard and carefully avoided on numerous occasions. This time Ivy made a skipping jump clearing the wire with ease but as Kevin attempted a similar jump, his bare foot became caught by the wire’s barbs, causing a gash to his upper right foot. Arriving home Ivy filled a dish with warm dettol infused water having Kevin stand on the kitchen table with his foot submerged in the bowl.

“Did it hurt?” Neil asks.

“I suppose it did but that part I can’t remember, I still have the scar if you would like to take a look.”

Neil simply laughs.

Kevin continues with his telling.

During the foot bathing Taffy returned home in a mood. He had been out drinking with his mates and called into the hotel for a final drink before closing where he heard the story of the missing tomahawk. Returning home Taffy relayed his lack of humour by slamming the door as he entered. “Ivy!” Taffy shouts.

Taffy had a Welsh accent and comical to Kevin’s ears but this night the lad shook; neither smiling nor laughing.

Ivy trembles from his tone but keeps her reply calm, “I’m in here Taffy; Kevin has cut his foot.”

Taffy staggers into the kitchen, “bugger the kids foot, what about my axe, I only bought it last week.”

Ivy continues bathing Kevin’s wound, “it was only an axe Taffy; we can get another when we visit my sister in Hughenden for Glen’s birthday next weekend.”

“Christ woman, do you think a man is made of money!”

“You would have more if you didn’t drink so much.”

Ivy’s answer was an obvious mistake.

Taffy lifts a fist but doesn’t strike instead he begins to slap Ivy about the head while cursing Kevin’s stupidity and Ivy’s insolence.

Ivy remains silent as she protects her head from the slapping but not Kevin. As he is standing on the kitchen table he is at Taffy’s height, so he takes to his own retaliation, clenching his tiny fists he begins to pummel them into Taffy’s unprotected head, “don’t you hit my mother,” he shrieks as his tiny fists find their target, “don’t you hit my mother,” he repeats. Taffy was so shocked he departed the house without uttering a further word.

“Did the abuse continue after that incident?” Neil asks.

“No we left for my aunt in Hughenden a few days later and no matter how Taffy tried, mum had had enough of drunken men therefore she refused to return.”

Kevin becomes animated.

“You appear to be remembering something Kevin?”

“It is more realization. Until my eighteenth birthday I always believed Taffy to be my father but now while relating that incident and the way I said, don’t you hit my mother, I must have realised Taffy wasn’t my father even at that age.”

“How did you eventually come to realize Taffy wasn’t your father?”

“It was because of a letter I wrote.”

“A letter?”

“A little before my eighteenth birthday while working and living in Atherton I decided to return to my grandparents in Melbourne for a holiday and before leaving I had the urge to reconnect with Taffy, as I remained with the belief he was my father. I wrote to him, Taffy Jones care of Hughenden Post Office explaining even if we were estranged he remained my father but my letter returned unopened and marked unknown. With his alcoholism most likely by the time I wrote the letter he was dead, as he wasn’t a young man when we lived in Torrens Creek.”

“How did that help towards your realization?”

“I approached my mother, telling her of my letter and its return. She emphatically denied his relationship appearing incensed that I would attempt to bring Taffy back into our lives. I protested and she departed the room soon returning with two photographs, Taffy is not your father; that is your father. There was a definite resemblance as we both had the devil horns.”

“Devil horns?”

Kevin points to his forehead, “they have all but gone with age but both I and the man in the picture had two small bumps on our foreheads. Some would say they were like young cattle and the buds would eventually become horns.”

“But they didn’t.”

“I guess not, oddly I was always proud of my devil horns, it sorta’ set me apart from others.”

“How did realising the true identity of your father make you feel?”

“To be honest Neil I was more embarrassed than surprised.”

“Why?”

“I should have realised as Taffy had a different family name and embarrassed because of the mistake I had made, also for sending the letter.”

“What did your mother say about leaving off for so long a time before letting you know about your father?”

“Oddly she appear angry from my asking, saying she hadn’t said anything earlier for personal reasons and waited until I was old enough to understand her situation.”

“How come you didn’t question the situation earlier?”

“I don’t rightly know, possible while with Taffy in Torrens Creek there wasn’t any reason to question, then once at the hostel the opportunity never arouse.”

“Was it difficult growing up without a father?”

“It was never an issue, after leaving Taffy, home became the hostel with many of the boys and girls from broken families, then there were school holidays when I was too busy enjoying the break to consider the identity of my father.

“So after your mother’s short relationship with Taffy Jones, you mother remained single?”

“For quite some time yes.”

“If you didn’t have a home base and except for the holiday camps where did you spend the holidays?”

“Mostly in the company of strangers.”

“You say strangers?”

“Do you remember I spoke of Edith?”

“I do and now I recollect you saying you spent some of your holidays with her.”

“Mum gave Edith money for my keep whenever she was working away and couldn’t have me stay with her, even so life with Edith was never easy as she was an emotional woman and I believe at best I was only tolerated; besides she got her money’s worth out of my visits.”

“How would that be?”

“Doing housework and shopping, there wouldn’t be a day without a couple of trips to the shops. As for housework she like many back then had a room kept for special occasions.”

“Describe this room.”

“It was always dark and smelled of furnisher polish. The furnishing was wicker cane and although quite old it remained as pristine as if it had just arrived from the factory. The room had a timber floor with a painted edge that was decorated with numerous plaster animals won at the many travelling carnivals. Once a week even if the locked door hadn’t been opened during that time, Edith would have me dusting then on my hands and knees sliding about on a large polish infused cloth while polishing the floor.”

“I can’t imagine not growing up with family, it must have been difficult for you?”

“If it is all you know then you don’t regret. Possibly you may in retrospect but that doesn’t change the past. Later in life I discovered my father had a family before he met my mother but his first wife divorced him.” Kevin gives a wry smile, “I found the divorce decree on Trove, and it was reported from drunkenness, mental cruelty and desertion; his first wife really threw the lawbook at him. I also discovered I have a half sister, Margaret and a second who died while still a child.”

“Did you ever attempt to find your sister?”

“I did find her and to this day we are in contact but she is much older and now lives in a retirement home.”

“Did you learn anything from your sister about your father?”

“Almost nothing as Margaret was an adult with a family of her own before she learned the truth about dad.

“What truth would that be?”

“Her mother told her our father died during the war, so she believed he was long departed when a drunken uncle turned up late one night with an equally drunk mate. Margaret answered the door and was told her father wished to visit her.”

“That must have been a shock for her.”

“Margaret said dad would often turn up late and drunk until her husband told him to bugger off and don’t come back.

“Did your sister know about you?”

“Only of my existence during one of his visits dad told her he had a son who he thought was named Kevin.”

“Surely he would have remembered your name.”

“Obviously by then alcohol had pickled his brain.”

“We are digressing somewhat, to change the subject, may I ask you a personal question at the point.”

“One of many I would think but that was the agreement. I don’t mind.”

As Kevin speaks Smudge the cat arrives at the open door.

“Your ginger cat?” Neil relates the obvious.

“Yes, he hates visitors.

“My mother has a liking for ginger cats. I prefer dogs,” Neil admits.

Hearing a strange voice the cat again disappears back into the security of the garden.

“We had a dog some time back but I was so upset when he was hit and killed by a car I couldn’t replace him.”

“What breed was he?” Neil asks.

“He was a Pointer, we called him Max.”

“I think half the dogs in the country are called Max” Neil suggests.

“The difference between having dogs over cats is, the dog is your best friend; a cat is an ornament,”

“So true Kevin, our old Tom only comes home for a feed.” Neil turns off the recorder, “before I ask that personal question, I will have that coffee you offered.”

“I’ll put on the jug but firstly I also have a personal question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

The kitchen is an extension of the rear sitting room therefore close by, “would you prefer coffee or tea?” Kevin asks.

“Coffee please.”

“Easy, I prefer tea, when I was a kid the only coffee you could get was that liquid stuff made by Bushells, or chicory essence. I didn’t taste real coffee until I came to the city and truthfully I’ve never accustomed to it. For me it is like drinking muddy water but sometimes when out for lunch, I’ll have a cappuccino.”

“I was brought up on the stuff, I think I’m addicted,” Neil admits.

“Do you take sugar and milk?”

“No thank you, just black – not too strong or I’ll be bouncing off the ceiling all night.”

“Sorry I’m out of bikkies’ (”biscuits”).”

“That’s okay, I’m watching my weight.”

Kevin gives a disregarding chuckle as Neil doesn’t appear to hold a single ounce of fat.

The jug boils and the coffee is made, “Oddly coffee doesn’t affect me in that way, only more trips to the toilet, I believe coffee is diuretic.”

“I’ve heard it said what of your question?” Neil asks.

Kevin offers the coffee and becomes seated, “are you in a relationship Neil?”

Neil laughs.

“So?”

“The word isn’t singular, at present I am in two relationships.”

“I think that would be confusing.”

“Not really, one is for self the other is for family, I have a queer partner and a girlfriend.”

“There’s that word again.”

“Sorry it slipped out.”

“I have always believed pretence ends up hurting everyone and isn’t fair on the girl.”

“It isn’t like that, Nova knows the score besides she is also,” Neil pauses with a smile, “as you prefer, gay. It is a quasi relationship to please our families as my dad is so homophobic you would think he invented the word and Nova’s dad isn’t any better.”

“Then I would suggest even with same sex marriage and legal tolerance, nothing has changed since my earlier days.”

“I’m afraid not, go to the wrong place and you can still get a head-kicking,” Neil sips his coffee, “nice coffee what is the brand?”

“Jaques.”

“I don’t know it.”

“Wayne has it sent down from North Queensland by the kilogram.”

“Is Wayne your partner?”

“He has been for more than fifty years, except for a short break when my hormones got a little overheated with a younger man but that is another story and possibly beyond your scope of interest.”

“True but interesting.”

“Well Neil, what was that personal question you were about to ask?”

“What was your first gay experience?”

“Umm.”

“You hesitate?”

“Not really, I was simply categorising my experiences.”

“Why categorising?”

“I suppose what could be considered an experience and what could be considered gay.”

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

6,654 views