Published: 27 Jan 2025

‘Family,’ Kevin thinks.

“What a scattered bunch we were,” he says.

“Are you from a large family?” Neil asks.

“On my mother’s side it is quite large with about sixteen cousins but I don’t know anyone from my father’s side, except for the half sister I spoke of.”

“I believe you said your grandparents were from here in Melbourne.”

“Yes although originally they were ten pound Poms.”

“I don’t know the term,” Neil admits.

“Immigrants; for ten pound, as long as you were white, you could migrate to Australia, although the terminology is more suited to the forties and fifties. Besides from what I understand ten pound to my grandparents when they lived in England would have been almost a year’s wage. To come here they had to be nominated by someone living in Australia, also have a job waiting for them. I remember a story told by my grandmother when she was cook for landed gentry in Devon and her wage was twelve pound a year plus keep also a bolt of cloth to make her own uniform. She said the lady of the house would periodically go about the rooms wearing a white glove checking for dust and leave a sixpenny coin in view to test the staff’s honesty.”

“What would the value of ten pound be?”

“Twenty dollars but it would be difficult if not impossible to equate to today’s value and could be suggested to be in the hundreds.”

“I’m interested – continue.”
 
 
The Australian branch of the family commences with the arrival of Kevin’s maternal grandparents from Devon England back in nineteen twenty-two. On his father’s side they had been in Australia since the eighteen-eighties when two of four brothers arrived from Middlesex in England, the other brothers went to America but other than one of the Australian arrivals being an accomplished painter Kevin knew little about them, although in America one of the descendants was believed to be a renowned architect.

Before the first big bash in Europe, Kevin’s grandfather was part of the regiment that went into Ireland in attempt to settle a rebellion after a previous occupying regiment made a mess of Briton’s hospitality. Before being employed in Ireland, Jack was part of the occupation army at Lady Smith in South Africa when after the second Boer war the Dutch were ousted.

Returning to England prior to the First World War Jack joined the R.A.C, (Royal Air Corps) the world’s first air force but as ground staff, not one the brave flying aces flying canvas covered sticks, similar to what the German Ace the Red Baron would fly, until an Australian trooper brought him down. No parachutes mind you, only those in observation balloons were given the privilege of a parachute which seldom worked from such a low height.

Jack married Nellie when on leave from the frontline on the Somme and they honeymooned in Dover during one of the first air raid bombings by Zeppelins over England. Fortunately, for me, although some houses in the street where destroyed, theirs remained untouched.

One other interesting fact about Jack and Nellie being Nellie was betroth to Jack at her birth, they grew up in the adjoining villages of Budleigh and Budleigh Salterton then once married remained a couple for more than seventy years until firstly Jack passed on. Soon after Jack’s demise Nellie went to her bed, declaring she wished to be with Jack by Christmas. She lived for another year, almost to the anniversary of Jack’s passing.

With the war at an end and having two young boys, Jack bowed to Nelly’s wish to immigrate. Nelly had dreaming of becoming a farmer growing vegetables. Nelly’s first choice was New Zealand but after a devastating earthquake in that country she settled on Australia, besides a family from her village of East Budleigh the Bastion Family, had already settled in Melbourne and was willing to sponsor her and Jack, So in twenty-two Nelly, Jack and their two boys were allowed entry, obtaining passage on a steam ship the Balranald. On arrival in Australian waters the ship was diverted to Adelaide as there was a dock strike in Melbourne, so the little immigrant family had to complete their travel to Melbourne by train.
 
 
Neil interjects; “if you don’t mind Kevin, jump forward a little, what of your father, you have only mentioned him in passing.”

“Dad,” Kevin gives a soft tiff, “I never knew him and mum never spoke of him. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I knew his name. The week I departed for Melbourne my mother gave me two small photographs and said; that is your father. She had kept the photographs for all those years until I was old enough to understand her situation.”

“Surely you had questioned who he was before that day?”

“Possibly although I can’t remember doing so, besides we were never together as a family unit long enough to question. As you may recall after living with Taffy Jones at Torrens Creek I remained with the belief Taffy was my father.”

“When you returned to the city did you try and contact your father?”

“I did and as Grandma Nelly was more forthcoming than my mother had been, I discovered he was from Geelong, so when curiosity became too much I did look for him.”

“Did you find your father?” Neil asks.
 
 
It was the Christmas of sixty-six. Kevin had come south to stay with his grandparents. At first it was to be a holiday but after some weeks he decided to find work. Firstly he would act on information his grandmother had given about his father, therefore with hope and a little intrepidness he took the train to Geelong, a city of two hundred and fifty thousand people approximately eighty kilometres south west of Melbourne on Corio Bay.

Arriving at the Geelong railway station Kevin came to the realisation he hadn’t given his modes operandi necessary attention. Geelong is a large city so how would he find his father without even a starting point for his search. Electoral roles came to mind but after eighteen years would his father remain in Geelong and still registered for voting, by now he could be anywhere in the country, even deceased.

Armed with the knowledge the roles were kept at the post office and as it was his first visit to Geelong he decided to take a taxi.

“Where to mate?” the young taxi driver cheerfully asks.

“I am trying to find my father, so I thought I’d check the electoral roles at the post office.”

“What’s his name?”

“I have doubts he is still living in Geelong besides you wouldn’t know him.”

“Try me.”

Kevin shares his father’s name.

“Christ kid, know him, I’m you flaming cousin. I’ll take to your grandmother and she can fill in the details.” It was a short ride to the house and on arrival the driver refused payment.

Kevin’s meeting with his paternal grandmother didn’t go well, she knew of his existence but little more and when Kevin shared his wish to meet with his father she was even less responsive.

“You father is dead,” she coldly stated.

“Oh when?”

“Back in sixty-three, he fell of a ladder and hit his head.” The woman then became impatient, “I can’t stay talking I have an appointment.”

“I would have loved to meet him.” Kevin sadly admits realising he had miss his chance by three years.

“You should have thought of doing so earlier.”

Thus the union of Kevin and paternal grandmother came to conclusion without the slightest suggestion of fondness.
 
 
“How did that make you feel?” Neil asks.

“At the time I felt empty. Cheated I suppose, as if someone had taken away my birthright.”

“Did you ever visit your paternal grandmother again?”

“No never; I didn’t feel welcome, besides I soon found employment and as I didn’t have a vehicle I discovered better things to do on my weekends than visit a woman lacking the slightest interested in me.”

“Did you let your mother know about your father’s demise?”

“I did in a letter but she never commented.”

“Your mother Ivy did she ever realise you were,” Neil smiles, “I won’t use queer, did she realise you were gay?”

“In retrospect I would think she must have especially after playing horses with the kid Jones and dickies with my cousin but nothing was ever mentioned. You should realise at that time I didn’t relate to being gay, I knew I was attracted to boys but to me that was more a game not a lifestyle. I recall when I was in my early teens I would imagine marriage. Oddly I could see the children in my dreaming but never the woman. That should have been a warning eh.”

“Have you had intercourse with a woman?”

“Have you Neil?”

“No.”

“I have and on two separate occasions, one I am not proud of, the second many years later was instigated more in humour than for any sexual gratification.”

“Can you share the first?”

“I was nineteen and had driven the two thousand miles and more back to visit mum in Mareeba. I was walking past one of the town’s hotels when a rather dark lady approached me.”

“A black woman?”

“She wasn’t all that dark but yes.”

“Go on.”

“As I passed the hotel she boldly approached; hey white fella’ wanna’ fuck? She was encouraged by her mates to make the suggestion.”

“And you agreed.”

“It seemed a good idea at the time so I drove her out of town and we did it on the back seat of my car, she lifted her dress, I hopelessly poked about before she took control and guided me in, then five, ten seconds it was over and I drove her back to town.”

“It wasn’t very romantic.”

“As I said I’m not proud of it.”

“What of the second occasion?”

“Her name was Trish and an acquaintance of David who was a gay friend of mine. Trish had fucked her way through most of David’s friends and was known as a Fag-hag.”

“I don’t know the terminology,”

It was a word given to women who hang about with gay men; in Queensland they were called Fruit-flies.”

“What did you feel after your encounter with Trish?”

“Nothing,” Kevin laughs, “except during the act I reached down to Trish’s crotch and there wasn’t anything to hold onto. Also she was prone in giving points out of ten for performance.

“Did you get ten?”

“I warned her not to rate me but she did anyway. She gave me two out of ten and said I was lucky to get that.”

“There lies the grave of your ego,”

“Na, it was all nothing but a bit of fun for both of us. Then again for me sex was only entertainment, I never thought it serious and during the time after I found the gay scene, the dances and saunas it was a weekly occurrence to bring someone home although I offered friendship to them all.”

“You make that appear an excuse for your promiscuity.”

“I say it more to avoid any belief I used people.”

“Then you met Wayne.”

“In the early days Wayne was as bad as I when it came to sleeping around and threesomes were common place, besides it was the swinging seventies.”

“Diverting somewhat, weren’t you concerned towards STD’s or HIV infection?”

“At first no, as some of the misinformation related you had to have multiple partners of the anal kind and neither Wayne nor I were active in that way. Also by then we had bought the house and became urban.”

“What do you mean by urban?”

“We found there is a strange phenomenon with us humans, those who rent apartments appear to mix with others who live in apartments, those with houses mix with other home owners, singles with singles and couples with children with others with children, so it wasn’t long before our friends drifted. Besides when we bought the house interest rates were running at eighteen percent or more, so there wasn’t a lot of spare cash for entertaining.”

“Is this your first house?”

“Yes first and only, I think both Wayne and I had similar upbringing and changed our address so often during our early years we declared we would not shift again except out in a pine box.”

“You have mentioned money was tight during your earlier years and your mother was a single parent. Give me an example of young Kevin’s outback Christmas.”
 
 
In the years following the second big war Christmas was a family affair being church or family gatherings about a table loaded with goodies, purchased by putting a little aside each week, or through the many Christmas club saving accounts. In the so called Australian scrub (outback) it was similar but as for religion the closest church was often tens of miles away and the travelling priest or minister much too busy during Christmas to visit the more distant properties.

As for Dunluce Station’s Christmas table, it would be roast mutton, beef and beer. Wine was something the city folk drank, or Catholics took with communion and scotch too expensive for a stockman’s pocket. The dining room would be decorated with streamers, or hand made decorations of interlinking chains made from coloured paper. Sometimes tree branches would help lighten the otherwise drab surroundings.

Decorating a Christmas tree would be rare and plastic trees unknown, so if the desire occurred, it would be a trip into the scrub to find something that best represented a conifer. About Dunluce that would be difficult as trees were arid survivors having little in the way of foliage.

Kevin’s first recollection of Christmas was on Dunluce sheep station before moving to Torrens Creek. He recalled the excitement of making the dinner ready, with freshwater crayfish being brought up from the ploughing of the bore drains, the killing of a bullock and one of the sheep. The station’s animals were bread for wool and not lamb, so mutton was the go and to keep it from turning or flyblown, almost everything was salted soon after the kill.

Presents were always scarce as most things from clothing to treadle sewing machines, shoes to dresses and trousers had to be purchased by mail order from the city, sometimes taking weeks, if not months to arrive, or not at all if the Monsoon rain came early. Now and then a travelling tinker would come by with a truck load of interesting items.

The lead up to Christmas would be a time for women to ponder over the numerous mail order catalogues supplied by the department stores in Sydney and Melbourne, there would be Myer, David Jones, Buckley and other more familiar names to those in the outback. Often the tyranny of distance meant the postage cost more than the ordered article.
 
 
The day before Christmas arrived with a visitor. A pelican came by and decided to rest a while in the homestead yard. Ivy first saw the bird and called the housemaid Nancy and together they concluded the bird appeared to be hungry but what would you serve up to such a large bird.

As Nancy appeared to know a little about pelicans it was left to her to feed the bird. Having a paperback in hand at the time Nance placed the meat on the book and offered it. The pelican snatched the book and meat but as quickly dropped both to the ground. For the rest of the day the bird remained in the yard while appearing to be in no urgency to be gone and seeing it was happy around people it was suggested it must be someone’s pet that lost its way. By late afternoon with nothing else on offer the bird simply flapped its wings and headed out.

Over the following weeks the bird retuned on a number of occasions, then on the final visit it appeared to have shotgun holes in its gular pouch. After remaining for most of the day it left never to return again.
 
 
It was Christmas morning and as Kevin was the only child living on Dunluce he became the centre of attention. Firstly he was told that Santa had flown over during the night and dropped a present but it had landed in a large tree near the staff quarters. Being quick to respond Kevin found a Christmas stocking hanging from one of the lower branches; with little effort it was soon in his happy grasp.

The stocking was stuffed with the usual, frog clicker, kaleidoscope with bits of coloured plastic that moved when the barrel was twisted, a Donald Duck comic or like, small packet of crayons or coloured pencils, a whistle some called a party blower that when blown stretched out to its feathery end, some strange small tubular object designed for two kids to place a finger and try to pull them apart, all toped with a Santa mask. It was cheep and cheerful but to a small boy a miracle of entertainment.

This Christmas Kevin also received a toy tin fire engine made in Japan and if you looked on the inside it had the remanence of Japanese writings, possibly made from old tin cans or advertising signage, as even in the mid fifties the effects of the war remained but that mattered not to a young boy on Christmas day.

The fire engine was soon broken when one of his Hughenden cousins came to visit.

Christmas dinner with the house staff consisting of Ivy and Nancy the housemaid and the few stockmen who hadn’t family, or were too distant to travel, all gathered about a large trestle table and eager to celebrate regardless of the weather being hotter than the roast meal. Once everyone was seated and Ivy returned from arranging the manager and his wife’s private table, it was time to share a meal and conversation that usually started with the words – do you remember.

There was the time of the mouse plague when a forty-four gallon drum partly filled with water was set with a trip stick and how surprised they were at the number of mice they had caught during the night. Bringing memory of a tune, or more to say prose as it was spoken and not sung, Life Gets Ted-jus by Walter Brennan – with a mouse chewing at the pantry door and would be sore as there wasn’t a darn thing in it.

During the plague they did get into the pantry and even the bags of flour had mouse droppings and the ant protecting caps of water below the legs of the Coolgardie (food safe with mesh wire sides) proved little barrier to the rodents. What made life even more difficult, the mouse plague arrived soon after a monsoon downpour with the roads unpassable for a couple of weeks leaving most of the station’s supplies either eaten by mice or spoiled with their droppings.
 
 
There were also humorous memories although possibly not for Taffy Jones when he caught a large snake by the tale as it attempted to escape down a hole and he was almost bitten. One bright fellow commented – pity he wasn’t. As Taffy was away in Hughenden at the time they all laughed at his expense, even Ivy. Or a further spot of humour at Ivy’s expensive when she loaded the kitchen stove’s firebox without realising there was a live twenty-two bullet mixed in with the wood. It fired and said to have passed through her dress almost, as in the words of Nancy the housemaid, shot Ivy in the bum – that was most definitely worth a laugh. Not forgetting the time while visiting Aunty Mary in Hughenden with Kevin squatting on the kitchen table cackling like a chicken and his Aunt Mary place an egg under his arse, declaring he had laid it. On returning to the station Mr. Lewis the manager asked the lad what he had done in Hughenden, Kevin answered nothing much, just laid an egg. Other memories came to mind, how Kevin with his mate Jones rode their hoses across the dam and almost ruined their saddles and the day the men saddled a calf for Kevin to ride and no matter how many times they pulled its tail, it wouldn’t buck.

Finding a number of coloured chalk sticks amongst the stocking’s contents Kevin commenced to write on the covered concrete walkway between the homestead proper and the staff sleeping quarters. To Kevin his writings were quite legible but to others they were nothing but joined circles and scrawled lines.

“What are you writing?” Ivy asks as she cleared away Christmas before also retiring.

“I am writing a letter to Grandma.”

“Don’t forget to thank her for her nice present.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget to tell her about the piglet incident,” Ivy suggests.

Huh, the piglet incident.

The stockmen were doing a little mustering and would only be away for part of the morning, so it was suggested Kevin could ride with them. They had only been gone a short distance when they discovered a feral sow with her piglets rooting about near the bore head overflow. The sow quickly scampered but the piglets were slow and there was little covering. One of the piglets hid in a small bush and was quickly caught. The decision being to bring it back to fatten for a pork meal later in the year but as they were riding they had no where to stow the little fellow. Someone came up with the bright idea of removing a sock and as the piglet was small, hog tie it then slip the sock over its head. Once done the piglet was tied to Kevin’s saddle. They had only travelled a short distance when the piglet bit through the sock into Roany.

Roany didn’t like that throwing Kevin to the ground.

‘No I won’t be writing that to Grandma.’

Kevin had been doodling with his chalk for some time when he noticed movement coming from the parched ground beyond the concrete. At first he didn’t concern but when it appeared to be advancing towards him, he took fright.

“Snake, snake,” he cried as his little legs carried him up the few steps to the kitchen, bringing Ivy from her tidying after Christmas dinner.

“Where?” Ivy demands her eyes all about expecting a King Brown looking for shade.

Kevin points “there on the concrete,” he gushes.

Ivy laughs as she retrieves a straw broom from a kitchen corner.

“It’s not a snake love; it’s a goanna, only a big old lizard, he’s been around for ages steeling eggs from the chook (chicken) pen.”

Kevin remains unconvinced as Ivy quickly sends the large sand goanna on its way and that was Christmas at an end.
 
 
Neil finds Kevin’s Christmas stories most interesting but wished to move on. “What I would like to do Kevin is give you some one word questions and for you to give some short answers.”

“I could do that.”

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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