Published: 6 Jan 2025

November Sixty-four arrived with mixed feelings for Kevin. Firstly the end of year exams were in progress and Kevin had not done the required work throughout the year. During most study nights he drew imaginary maps with imaginary armies and moved them about using a pencil rubber (eraser). The English always won. As Kevin made his maps there was a measure of guilt but at that late stage in the school year it was too late to apply, therefore his only hope being, as with previous exams, his playful brain retained enough to pull him through to the next grade.

Kevin was fine with History and Geography and well enough with Math-A, probably equal in English, but Math-B, Chemistry and Physics were a worry and on examination day he sat blankly through the Math-B examination. When it was time for collection of the examination papers he had only written his name at the top, followed by some unrelated doodling. It was no wonder the examiner gave him a glance of incredulity.

The result for his French paper was already in and he received twenty-five percent, most of which was through cheating from the girl at the desk to his front but as he had little interest in foreign travel what use was French.

Hey Ruth what’s the answer for question two he whispered?

Ruth held her paper over her shoulder while he scribbled words without meaning. As for spelling, he was woeful even in English so how could it be expected of him to spell in French, besides he would hear a French word, repeat it only to be told that his was not the correct pronunciation.

Cheating wasn’t of concern for Kevin, only the shame being caught out, his candid opinion was cheating showed initiative and wasn’t the modern world looking for initiative in its young people, besides he had an analectic brain and could work most things out without excess education.

With a week left of the school year and exams done, most of the hostel boys and girls had already departed for the Christmas holidays. Many to New Guinea, others to cattle stations in the distant Gulf Country, or towns dotted about the Atherton Tablelands. Now Kevin’s second quandary arrived, where would he be spending the holidays? He hoped it would be back on the station for a third season, where his mother was now cook as Gladys Martin had retired but that magical letter bringing promise remained elusive.

Kevin did think of approaching the hostel staff asking to place a telephone call to the station but the opportunity never arose, therefore he decided at sixteen and far from seventeen he was old enough to make his own decision which was wait a few days until the exam results had been posted than if he hadn’t heard anything from his mother, simply go to Mareeba and stay with Edith.

With a gentle huff Kevin pulls back from that final school year, “I should have studied more,” he admits.

“Why didn’t you? It could be said as you were forced to the water trough then while there why not take a drink.”

“Application I suppose but it is funny how you can remember the things that aren’t important without effort and not those that are important.”

“That I agree; it is obvious you are thinking of something; so give me an example.”

“What comes to mind is rather childish.”

“I would still like to hear it.”

“It is the Chinese alphabet.”

“I didn’t think the Chinese had an alphabet.”

“They don’t as such but that doesn’t prevent kids from inventing one.”

“Go on.”

“Although it’s silly – here goes.”

H,I –H,I – tickle-o-weeny,

Bom-bom beanie,

Catta-catta whisco whisco weeny.

Kevin gives an uncomfortable tiff, “I said it was silly.”

“At least it has rhythm.”

“There were all kinds of silly rhymes and riddles as there wasn’t much else to entertain.”

“I have a question,” Neil projects, “you said there weren’t any black kids at the hostel but you speak of kids returning to New Guinea.”

“They were the children of the white Australian families who ran Papua’s services.”

“Then why didn’t they do their schooling in Papua?”

“In the sixties there were very few high schools in Papua therefore it was necessary to come back down here.”

“I thought the Dutch had Papua?”

“They had the western half of the island called West Irian and handed it over to Indonesia in sixty-two when the name was changed to West Papua. The south east of the island had been annexed by Queensland late in the eighteen hundreds and called Papua, while the north east was taken from Germany after the First World War when the League of Nations gave us mandate over that part of the island. It was firstly offered to the Japanese who were our allies in that war but our Prime Minister Billy Hughes gave successful protest. You can imagine how that would have panned out with the arrival of the next war when the Japanese were our enemy. Eventually we joined the two as one country Papua New Guinea when they were granted independence.”

“Then it was as well Billy Hughes spoke up,” Neil agrees.

“Not only did he speak up on New Guinea at the Paris Peace Talks in Nineteen-nineteen but he talked down America’s president Wilson who said, you are only a minor partner at the conference, so what gives you the right to dictate procedures. Hughes answered; I speak for sixty thousand dead from a population of six million, who has a better right.”

“You seem to know your history Kevin.”

“I did say History and Geography were my strongest subjects.”

“Okay we have you at the end of your school year and obviously having no where to go. What happened next?”

With only a matter of days before the hostel closed down for the duration and still without his exam results Kevin took the initiative. If he wasn’t going back to the station, possible he would be returning to Edith a long time friend of his mother in Mareeba. He hoped not but at least it would be a starting point.

Bravely Kevin approached Stan Linton the new hostel manager and declared Mareeba to be his destination. Oddly without question Kevin was issued a rail ticket with the cost booked against his mother’s account then even before discovering his examination results he departed company with the hostel. All the while his future played heavily on his subconscious, remembering when in Melbourne they kept him back a grade, causing him more harm than good. From that decision Kevin developed a deep fear of failure which worked adversely against him, as the fear of failure can cause further failure. For now he had holidays to look forward to but there is always that little devil that lurks in all of us and the devil was a negative little bugger. How could he enjoy his summer break without knowing what Nineteen Sixty-five may bring?

Edith and husband Graham were travellers. I don’t mean around the world even about the country but around town. During Kevin’s numerous holidays with Edith he had experienced many different residents. The most memorable were the Railway Refreshment Rooms and a building called Love Building on the town’s main street. Love Building was his favourite as his bedroom was above the footpath’s awning which although open to the weather had character.

During the evenings there would be the conversation beneath from foot traffic as people returned from the pictures, or after hotel closing and as the night advanced the squabbling among the natives trying to sleep off the booze under the mango trees along the centre of Byrnes Street. It was during tropical storms Kevin’s senses came alive, even if his bed had to be dragged away from the wind and rain.

There was a further reason for remembering his bedroom above the street. In his earlier years Edith forced Kevin to take a nap during the heat of the afternoons. Kevin wasn’t one for sleeping during the day; therefore he would appease Edith and pretend to sleep. Then one sleepless afternoon at the age of nine he discovered something miraculous. Kevin began to fiddle and found his dick responded and in an instant was rigid, with a little more fiddling he feared he was about to wet himself, then nature took control and a wave of wonderful sensation rose from his crotch to his head as his member dryly twitched.

Wow – that was something the kids at the hostel never spoke about.

Kevin couldn’t wait to return to the hostel to share the happy event.

Alas they knew about it, only unlike Kevin they mostly kept it to themselves.

It is said it never rains but it pours and that it did when an early monsoon trough dumped a hundred inches of rain across the Queensland Gulf Country, washing away roads and bringing down telephone lines and isolating anyone further west than Ravenshoe. Unknown to Kevin, his mother had arranged to finish her position at Forest Home Station that Christmas and stay with a male friend Bob Ferguson who had a greengrocery shop in Mareeba. Ivy had written to Kevin but the letter never arrived, or if it did, was too late as he had already departed from the hostel. Once the telephone line was re-established Ivy contacted the hostel only to find Kevin had already departed and his destination was unknown.

Eventually mother and son were reunited in Mareeba and the school holiday became most enjoyable although the following year hovered like an unwelcome visitor for the duration. Would Kevin be returning to the hostel and had he passed his final exams?

“Did you get your exam results?” Neil asks.

“No and to this day I don’t know if I passed Sub Junior or not.”

“Still, as you said your attended night school some years later. What does surprise me is why your mother didn’t use a mobile telephone to contact you.”

Kevin laughs, “It is obvious you are Generation-Z Neil, the only person with a mobile telephone in those times was Dick Tracy and his telephone wristwatch.”

“Who was Dick Tracy?”

“You will have to Google him.”

“Back then life appears to have been somewhat primitive.”

“When it is all you know then it isn’t that bad and we didn’t need to be entertained 24-7. Besides we had dance nights, pictures on a Saturday and the hotel bars were always full; who could ask for more?”

“Yea full of smoke and early hotel closing,” Neil scoffs.

“True, it is as well I never took up smoking and never got use to going to bars, I was twenty-one before I had my first glass of alcohol, although when it came to smoking there were a number of smokers among the lads at the hostel.”

“If money was that tight where would they get money to buy the cigarettes?”

“Some of the boys received regular money from home. I myself was lucky to receive a ten shilling note (one dollar) more than twice a year and when I did I would blow it on hamburgers and chips almost immediately. There was a funny incident regarding smoking.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

Being caught durrying (smoking) was almost corporal when it came to punishment but that wasn’t enough to stamp out the habit. Fortunately in those early days drugs were unknown, well to the north of Queensland that is. When it came to taking pleasure with a packet of ten there were many places to hide away but one of the boy’s favourite was in the ceiling of the study block, as the manhole entrance was easy to manage and quite isolated.

If anyone was to visit the study ceiling they could be forgiven for thinking it was used for sexual activities and possibly on the occasion it was, as it had an old single bed mattress in a dark secluded corner, how it was managed through such a small opening was another puzzle.

Sunday afternoon and guess what.

Yet another bout of study punishment as a number of boys had been caught uptown enjoying a helping of chips (fries) at the Black Cat café. It could be understood why as hostel meals were considered somewhat small for a growing lad and there wasn’t any chance of snacking between meals.

The extra study time was more arranged to ascertain who else was missing from hostel grounds and as Mal Lawson the housemaster for the day counted heads he noticed three missing. During the count a light scratching sound came from the ceiling above his head but little was thought of it as mice were a common occurrence.

With his mental head count concluded Lawson speaks. “Where are Harris, Moore and Watson?”

No one answers.

Lawson goes to one of the study windows hoping to discover the lads returning from the creek across the open space of the rail line but there isn’t any sign of the missing boys.

“Does anyone know where they are?”

Silence.

“No one will be leaving here until they are found.”

Then scuffling again is heard from above Lawson and his study desk. Everyone looks towards the ceiling except Lawson as he is too worked up by the blatant disobedience of the missing boys. He turns to Raymond Edwards one of the senior year boys, “Edwards you go and see if you can locate them. The rest of you can do a little revising. With the midyear exams approaching I’m sure it wouldn’t go amiss.”

Edwards had hardly reached the study door before a louder scuffling is heard above followed by a crashing sound as an entire three-Ply panel of ceiling gives way, landing on Lawson’s desk with one of the lads Collin More squatted on the lot surrounded by dust and cigarette smoke. The other two had their heads poking through the gap in the ceiling appearing like stunned mullets (mullet is a fish, meaning surprised). In shock More commences to laugh, then the entire study broke into laughter but not Mal Lawson who appeared quite shaken by the experience; as luck would have it he had stepped away a moment before the ceiling gave only feeling its wind as it fell.

“Nice story. Then what happened?”

“As you can guess there was more punishment and no pocket money for two weeks.”

“What happened to the boys in the ceiling?”

“Oddly they got off lighter than expected but I don’t remember exactly and as they remained about after the incident they obviously weren’t expelled.”

“Was refraining from drinking your choice or forced on you?”

“Neither, mum allowed me to make up my own mind but for no reason I never bothered, besides being at the hostel didn’t lend to indulging.”

“Were there any gay bars?”

“Heavens no, there weren’t any gay bars in Queensland in the sixties and in the illustrious words of a once state premier, there aren’t any homosexuals in Queensland and if there were my men would right on top of them.”

“Was he that mislead?”

“I would think it was simply one more of Joh Bjelke-Petersen’s smart quips, although he appeared to be very religious he had very little humanity and was further right than Attila-the-Hun. Once when he was questioned on gerrymandering the electorate he said, you have to beet the bastards somehow. As for visiting gay venue’s I didn’t even know of their existence until I was almost twenty-two and met up with Wayne here in the city.”

“Your partner?”

“That’s him; he introduced me to gay bars and dances and without his insistence to live with him who knows, possible years later I may have remained living my little secrete in the suburbs with my grandparents.”

“Therefore where did gays congregate?”

“In Queensland’s north and outback they didn’t, you learned to keep quiet and when the time came you married or joined the church, why do you think there was so much child abuse by priests. Many hid their sexuality by ordination but that only magnifies the problem, especially around altar boys.”

“So Kevin you never aspired towards marriage or the church?”

“Possibly marriage; as for religion my family are Church of England and that is more a club than a religion and suggested with the C. of E. god is an optional extra. When I thought of marrying it wasn’t a wife I picture but having kids,” Kevin grins, “I wanted half a dozen of them and all called Lachlan.”

“Why call them Lachlan?”

“I liked early Australian history and had admiration towards Governor Lachlan Macquarie; besides back then I didn’t consider myself to be gay and in retrospect I believe I would have been too much a mate to be a proper father.”

“What did you consider yourself to be?”

“A person I suppose, a run-of-the-mill kid who happened to like the look of the male body,” Kevin releases a slight grin, “or more truthfully what dangled from it.”

“Isn’t that a little contradictory?”

“It was the way I measured up, besides I was as boisterous as the next lad and as crude, while into anything from sport to music.”

“So you were good at sports?”

“Shithouse, I was too slight for rugby, lacked coordination for cricket but I was good at high jumping and fair on the track, coming third in the mile on school sports day.”

“Third you say.”

“I am joking and more explaining my average achievements.”

“Were you a popular lad?”

“I wouldn’t say popular but gregarious and pushed my way into everything. A teacher once told me I had sad eyes and possibly that helped, also my slightness didn’t prove to be threatening, although on one occasion it played against me in a big way.”

“I’m interested, what happened?”

That Saturday at the hostel was supposed to be picture night, when both boys and girls would meet at the town’s picture theatre. If it was during winter, a blanket would be taken from your bed and used to snuggle up like a bug in a rug on the theatre’s canvas slung seats, while the fellow behind gave you the occasional kick in the arse, as you avoided the stick dollops of chewing gum on the underside of the seat.

As a number of older boys had been caught out of bounds while crossing the open space of the rail cutting between the hostel and the river, picture night was cancelled for everyone. It was to be a western, Showdown starring Kathleen Crowley and Charles Drake, so disappointment was obvious and intolerance was running strong with the boys.

After Saturday’s dinner and before extended study time was called as punishment, a number of the boys decided on a game of Bedlam. The rules were simple, a circle was drawn in the dust on the road outside the main building and a catcher chosen by the drawing of straws then he would choose the catching team. It was up to the rest to bugger off and the catchers to find them. To catch someone it was necessary to grab hold and call caught one two three, then keep holding until placed in the circle. The only way out of the circle was for someone to run through it and shout the word Bedlam.

Kevin loved team games and was a slippery little fellow, usually the last to be caught. This night a chaser was on his tail and quickly closing in, so it was through the study block, into a disused locker room, the very room with the cupboard where he and his mate Will had their conversation and out again by swinging through a window with an opened upper frame and fixed glass in the frame below.

The escape had been executed with so much accuracy he could not but brag and give a rendition of his cleverness. This time he wasn’t as smart as he envisaged and his leg went through the bottom pane of glass, smashing it and giving him a nasty gash along the calf of his right leg. The cut wasn’t deep but there was a lot of blood bringing the lad to panic.

The obvious in the incident being the breakage would need to be reported and the best way to do so was with Kevin displaying his injury, believing a measure of sympathy would be offered along with appreciation towards his honesty. How more misguided could he have been, not only receiving little sympathy for the gash, announcing it to be superficial but his lack of care would need to be addressed and the window glass mended.

While Kevin canvassed for sympathy among his fellow inmates, some of the older boys made a deal with management, they would fix the window if no further privileges were withdrawn and as far as Kevin was concerned the matter was at an end.

More than a week had passed since the window incident, with the senior year boys replacing the glass during the following Saturday afternoon. For their effort and showing responsibility above what was expected, they were given a rare pass for a theatre night. Still they remained dissatisfied with Kevin’s obvious lack of responsibility, leading towards losing the previous Sunday afternoon’s sports event while they worked on the window. In the opinion of one of the older boys Peter Collins’s it was time to make the little sucker pay for his lack of responsibility, also for his absence during the replacement of the pane of glass.

Kevin was eventually found in the study block watching over a card game of Euchre. He liked playing cards and was promised he could join in if any became bored but by the player’s attitude they were well seated for the afternoon.

One of the four, Ed Miles loudly declares; “who dealt this rubbish?”

“You did you goose.”

“Then I’d like a re-deal.”

No one agrees so the game continued.

“Who wants to play soggy-biscuit?” Miles suggests, as by his cards and the look he got from his partner in the game, they were heading towards loosing.

They all laugh.

“What about you Barker, you’d be good at soggy-biscuit,” Miles says.

“I don’t think so,” Kevin discredits as he spies the senior year boys approaching with a junior Kim Lester in company.

“We’ve been looking for you Barker,” Peter Collins quietly announces, even so his tone is as usual menacing.

“Why?”

“The window.”

“Yes and you lot fixed it.”

“We did suggest you should help.”

“I don’t know anything about fixing windows.”

“Maybe not but it is now time to get our pound of flesh,” Although Peter Collins, hated studying Shakespeare he makes use of the ancient quotation.

“You got your picture night.”

“And we lost Saturday’s sport’s day while fixing the window,” Collins grows and pushes young Lester to the front, “Lester has agreed to fight you.”

It was Kevin’s first day at the hostel all over again when he was forced to fight Spaceman.

“I don’t want to fight Lester.”

Kevin is in a fix, the kid is much smaller and younger than he, although obviously wishing to please the older boys. If Kevin declines he would be considered a coward, if he agrees he would be deemed a bully for fighting someone so young.

“I haven’t anything against Kim.”

“You have now,” Collins pushes the lad into Kevin, almost taking away his balance. As their bodies clash Lester begins to pound at Kevin’s chest with his powerless fists. Kevin instinctively fights back although holding his punches and aiming at parts that would not be damaging.

The fight was over in seconds with Lester departing in tears. Looking about he notices his mates from the card game had joined with Collins’s mob cheering Lester on. The lack of support from his mates hurt more than all of Lester’s blows combined.

“I told you I didn’t want to fight him.” Kevin stressfully enforces.

“We haven’t finished with you yet,” Collins grows, “Grab him!”

Three of the senior boys are quickly onto Kevin, his arms and legs are secured to such a state he can hardly move.

“Get his dacks off!” Collins grows obviously enjoying the punishment.

One of the boys roughly lowers Kevin’s pants while a second applies half a tin of black shoe nugget to his privates.

“Stop it you cunts you are hurting me!”

“Flip him over,” Collins demands.

Now on his stomach, his legs spread wide, Kevin feels hands unclenching his buttocks. Without warning he feels the sensation of something cold entering into his most private part as Collins squeezed an entire tube of stripe toothpaste into his anal passage.

“You cunts that burns!”

No one is listening as the emptied tube is cast aside and Kevin embarrassingly makes haste to the shower block to wash away the nugget and excrete the toothpaste.

“These days that would be considered public school bastardry,” Neil sadly admits.

“It wasn’t a public school and was simply the way of things. In the words of Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser, life wasn’t meant to be easy.”

“I know of Malcolm Fraser but he was long before I was born. I remember something about he wanted to introduce the GST (goods and services tax) and when questioned about tax on a birthday cake he couldn’t say if it was free of the tax or not.”

“Not quite, that was a later Liberal leader, John Hewson but to be fair he was hijacked by someone more clever and devious then he could ever be.”

“Politics was never my strongest subject, what happened after the treatment you received for not helping with mending the window?”

“If I am nothing more I am resilient, give me a week and I can forgive most things, I’ve never held a grudge even if I never forget. As for the fight I was forced into, later the lad came and apologised to me.”

“Did Peter Collins apologise?”

“Peter wasn’t that kind of boy, he had a mean streak and loved to torment, I learned very early to give him a wide berth but there were occasions.”

“Do you care to share?”

“I shouldn’t, especially if you use actual names.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“They were mostly little things but always with a sexual overtone like grabbing hold of your nuts while passing and squeezing, saying you like that don’t you.”

“Do you think Peter Collins was gay?”

“I doubt it, just mean, although during the window episode I do recollect him holding onto my dick while he squeezed the tube. If not gay I think he had latency but since he’s been married twice with kids possibly it was simply kids stuff – then again.”

Why do you say then again?”

“In retrospect most punishment dished out by Peter appeared to involve your private parts, even so over the years I’ve known number of married men with a secrete.”

“What do you mean by secretes?”

“Married and playing the field.”

“You mean like Frank Townsend?”

“So you know Frank was married?”

“Was,” Neil enforces, as their mutual friend had divorced, although he remained on good terms with his ex-wife.

“True but I’ve never agreed with married men having secret gay lives but I suppose to be fair it is possible many didn’t realise their sexuality at the time. I still maintain it isn’t fair on the woman.”

Neil gives a curious smile, “Changing the subject, I do have a question.”

“Go on,”

“What is the game soggy biscuit?”

Kevin laughs; “it is on the net, I’ll let you Google it.”

“I would like to hear more about your first school after leaving the sheep station.”

“Torrens Creek?”

“Yes I recollect you using that name.”

“I must admit they were happy days even if my mother’s partner Taffy Jones was a drunkard and spent more time with his boozing mates than he did at home. For me I had my horses and for a time it was the good life but in retrospect my mother was never happy in Torrens Creek.”

“From what you say your mother was a strong woman.”

“She was but country living was hard for a woman, especially without a good man to support her and good was something Taffy could be accused of being. Ivy was a very private soul and I can not recollect her ever complaining, although I should think she had plenty to complain about. Unfortunately I didn’t understand Ivy or appreciate her sacrifice until it was too late, leaving me with a million unanswered questions.

“What kind of questions?”

“Life in general I suppose, mostly about my father.”

“Did you ever ask those questions?”

“No by the time I knew I had questions to ask it was too late, as she died young at sixty-five. I suppose like most things in life, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.”

“I like that, I may use it,” Neil suggests.

“Then don’t quote it to me as I’ve lifted it from a song by Joni Mitchell called Big Yellow Taxi. Recently I did have a proud surprise about Ivy.”

“What would that be?”

“I posted one of the few photographs I have of mum on the Mareeba internet site and got more than a hundred happy memories of her. It made me quite proud to be her son.”

“Did your mother like living in Mareeba?”

“Yes it was her favourite town as it had a friendly atmosphere.”

“Was it a large town?”

“Back in those days it had around four thousand, these days the population has increased to about twelve thousand. You asked about my first school?”

“I did.”

“Torrens Creek,” Kevin wistfully repeats as he drifts through the years.

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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