CHAPTER TWO
It was a long night for Allan and Robert. Trying to sleep without covers at this time of the year, meant more awake times than sleep times. Whether either felt uncomfortable or not, with the idea, very soon, they had to lay together to keep warm.
A kookaburra finally decided for Robert, that it was time to give it away, and perhaps light the fire. He'd been awake for about thirty minutes or so, and realised that nothing had changed. Allan was still there, and Tom, and the tent.
The bush smelt fresh and the faint gurgle of the stream, was caught by his ears. Someone already was at the fire, although he couldn't remember his name for the moment. He headed for a convenient tree, and when he returned, Allan had his head outside.
"We're still here," Allan said with a note of sadness. Robert just nodded his head and walked to the fire.
Breakfast came, more sausages and a fried egg, and then gear was being packed away and the tents, one by one, like dominoes, came down.
There were some comments and a question or two, made to one of them, but in general, the boys seemed to keep some brick wall, between them and the new comers. Even Tom was quiet.
Eventually, all the packs seemed closed, and people were standing around.
"I suppose you'd like to come with us. You're welcome to. It's just that you didn't say what you were doing." Tom's voice interrupted Robert's thoughts.
"Sorry. I was miles away," said Robert," I was thinking of our friends and where had they got to. Yes. We would like to, if you don't mind."
Allan suddenly spoke. "If no one's at the road, end, what's the chances of coming with you on the truck? There's no problems with trains from Penrith? They are running to Sydney?"
Tom looked at Bluey, who thought for a minute, and replied, "should be alright. Still, it will be a bit of a squash. Might have to give him a couple of bob."
"We don't mind paying," said Robert, then realised the money they had would be useless as well as a problem. "Our money was left with our friends. The girl with us had, I mean, has a purse that closes properly. I lose things." Turning to Allan, he said, "I think you did the same, Allan."
Allan was poking around in his pack for his wallet, when he realised what Robert was saying.
"Yes," he replied.
He let the wallet go, he had had his fingers on, and quickly withdrew his hand. Unfortunately, a little too quickly, catching his camera strap, and pulling it out also. It landed on the ground next to his pack, and he could feel lots of eyes just gazing at it, even without looking around.
Billy was the first to speak. “Is that a camera? Can I have a look? My mum’s got a Brownie, just got it for Christmas from dad, but that looks too thin to take pictures. Mind?”, and held out his hand.
Allan picked it up and passed it to Billy. Allan’s face seemed to have turned to stone.
“Is that from America?” came Frank’s voice. “After you, Billy.”
Robert had forgotten about cameras, then wondered if it would work. If he could take a picture, and they ever got back, it would prove to everyone, where they had been. Well sort of.
“How about I take a photo of all the group. We got this in America, and it takes good pictures. It’s their latest invention over there.”
He held out his hand to Billy, who gave it back.
“Stand altogether. That’s it.” The electronic wind on, gave a small whir, and Robert faked a loud cough, hoping no one had heard it.
They just stood there. When a couple started to move away, he yelled," Wait. Stay there. Let's take one with Allan in it, and Allan can take one with me in it. And would you like to take one Billy, with both of us in the picture?"
"I don't know how to." Billy looked concerned, as though he had just been asked to pilot a plane or something.
"No prob. It's easy. Just look through the viewfinder, here, and press down on this red button, just slowly, and try not to move the camera."
The photographs were accomplished, and Billy looked proud as punch after he had taken the shot with both men . Robert had double checked to see the frame would get all the people.
"It makes a funny noise when you press the button," said Billy.
"That means it's working, " said Allan.
"We'd better get going," said Tom, and lifting his pack on to his shoulders, headed up the track away from the creek. Bluey looked at Robert, and said he would bring up the rear, "just in case you get lost again."
'Nice touch' thought Allan.
At a time, when a few metres, separated the boys from Allan and Robert, both front and back, Robert moved quickly to Allan, and whispered, "Whatever you do, don't bring out the mobile phone. I'm running out of stories."
"I left it in my car, otherwise I would have asked Wespac Bank to come
and pick us up."
"At least you can joke about it. Think about it. If you did have it, it would be the first in the world. And useless." Robert wasn't smiling when he uttered the last words.
There was some conversation amongst the boys, and once, Frank turned around to Allan, and pointed out an eagle, circling far off to the right. After about two hours , they approached the large boulders, they would squeeze through. Why the track was ever put through here, was a mystery to Robert, and to Andy. It was easy to skirt around the rocky area, although a small swamp would be a problem in wet times. Still a few well placed stones would cover that.
'This was going to be interesting', thought Robert. The road should just be fifty metres or so, beyond here, where it terminated at the track head. 'Or used to,' he mused, as an afterthought.
Allan looked at Robert as they squeezed their way through, a look that clearly indicated apprehension. Fifty metres further on, they did stop. Not because there was a road; not because there was no road, just a continuing track; but because Tom just sat down, and the others followed.
"What's happening." said Allan quickly, looking at Tom.
"Just having a break, why? You don't look happy. Something wrong."
"No," said Allan, and flopped down. He looked at Robert.
"Sort of hoped..." his voice trailed away.
"Want some?" and Allan looked down to see Dave's hand, with a tin full of some mixture. "Dried raisins and peanuts," said Dave.
Robert put out his hand, after Allan had taken some, and said, "the good old scroggin. Haven't had this for ages."
Tom was looking at him. “We call it the mix, but skoggin sounds better."
"Scroggin," corrected Robert.
"Whatever," murmured Frank.
Robert moved over next to Tom. "Young Frank's a bit sullen. Does everyone think we're weirdo’s?"
Tom finished his mouthful, then said, quietly, "You're a strange pair, but I wouldn't call you weedos, or whatever the word is. Maybe different."
"I wish I could explain the whole thing, that is, of being here, but I can't. Just please help us...."
"Fine," butted in Tom, holding up his hand, “I don't understand a lot of things, and I'm not that old, but I've been around, and take blokes at face value, like. "
"Thanks," said Robert.
"Mind you, Dave's probably right. He thinks your Russian spies, sent by Stalin."
"And you? What do you think?" replied Robert.
"Me. You could be men from Mars, for all I know. Like I said, I takes you as you come, but if you're up to no good, I'm too young to understand it all, and hopes you have the decency to nick off and leave us. We're just kids, really."
"Tom. Allan and I would never do a thing to hurt you or any one else, or Australia, for that matter. I promise you."
"What's up," said Allan sliding over to where they were. He seemed very taunt, and Robert could tell, the events of the last two days, were beginning to have it's toll.
Robert smiled. "Nothing. I was asking Tom why the boys, the others, that is, seemed a bit uneasy with us. Seems one thinks we're Russian spies, under orders from Stalin, and another......"
"Stalin." yelled Allan, and jumped up. "Stalin's been dead for forty years," he cried out, looking at the startled boys. "You're not real. Nothing's real." Then he began to sob, and sat down with his face buried in his hands.
"It's going to be alright," Robert said, and reached over and pattered him on the shoulder. None of the boys moved or spoke. "The bump on the head yesterday. We'll go to the doctors when we get to Sydney." Allan got up and walked a little way down the track.
Robert went to get up, but Tom said, "I'd let him go, if I were you. He’ll come 'round." A short silence followed.
"We had this sort of thing, a couple of months ago, with Brian, said Tom, speaking quietly. " His old man was on the Tarakan, and Bluey and me went 'round to see him, when we heard on the wireless about it. You know, to say how sorry we were. He's another bloke that comes away with us. He was shouting and crying, and we just went away. Proud of his dad, he was. Said he would enlist in the navy when he was twenty one. Might even get to be on the same ship as him. Not now."
Robert said nothing, just slowly nodded his head. Actually, the name, Tarakan, meant nothing to him. An event long ago, and another bit of Australian history, that he was sure, he'd never heard at school, or on TV. There would be time to ask later.
"Should be moving," said Bluey, and he stood up with a mock groan, and waited for some movement. Robert quickly rose, and went down to where Allan was standing.
""Right? How's the head?", an almost authoritarian tone, coming out.
Allan looked at him. "Robert. I can't take a lot of this much more.
"Neither can I, but there isn't much choice, right now." Robert had dropped back to his usual tone.
"Guess I blew it."
Robert smiled. "Don't think so. When Stalin really died, no one believed it. I don't think any one believed it now."
Before anymore could be said, Tom walked past, followed by the others. Bluey held back, and Robert and Allan joined in. There was no sign of a road, only the same track. It appeared to be heading in the same direction as the road was, or would be, thought Robert, and he wondered when the road was built, on this section.
He couldn't remember how long, Tom had said this bit was, but it took about twenty minutes in the car, and it was windy, so could be 15km. "Surely were not walking all this way," he said aloud.
Without turning around, Frank said in a loud voice," Why? You got a space ship we can use?"
"That'll be enough," said Tom from the front, "Allan's not well, and it's a long walk for him."
"Sorry," said Frank, "just joking."
Suddenly the track turned off the ridge and wound it's way down the side, towards a creek, hidden by scrub. Robert's eyes lit up. 'of course,' he thought, 'this'll save heaps. The road couldn't come this way, too steep. It would have to stick to the ridge.'
"What do you think?", asked Allan, turning around, but still walking.
"Keep your eyes to the front, mate, or you'll end up with more bumps on your scone."
"Maybe that's the answer to our problem. Fall arse over tit; bam oh!, and wake up in the right world."
"Zip it." Again that authoritarian voice of Roberts. “By the way, have you ever heard of the Tarakan?"
"What is it? A dance?"
Robert sighed. "Forget it. I'll tell you later."
There was a lot of small but scurrying clouds in the sky, and a slight breeze had sprung up. "Change coming," yelled Bluey from behind. "Hope it doesn't rain before we get to the train, or we'll get a wet tail."
"Doubt it," countered Dave, "they’re too small, and it aint cold enough."
Then the scrub seemed to close around them, but the track wound about, and suddenly, it was at a small but flowing creek. A large iron bark stood near the crossing, it majestic but scruffy limbs, out spanned, as if saying, 'send it down Huey.'
"Small break," said Tom. "Last good water. The creek around Gillespie's, is fouled up a bit, with his stock ."
"Nice and cool down here," said Billy, "sort of rainforest type, aye."
"Yes. Remember all that jungle and rainforest in that picture we all went to see just before Christmas." Frank's eyes sparkled, as he joined in. "I'd love to go walking in it. Mind you, having to cut all those big trees down, would be bloody hard work. I wonder if it was really like that, or is it pretend, for the film?"
"What movie, er film was that?" chipped in Allan.
'Ten to one, Allan's seen it', thought Robert, 'whatever it is. Wine and movies are his strong points.'
Frank looked at him and mellowed. "You know, 'Sons of Matthew'. It was the best outdoor one we'd seen in months."
"If it'd been American, they would have done it in colour," said Dave.
"Well it's Australian, and we don't have the money for that." It was Bluey who spoke. “One day, I recon' all films will be in colour. What do you think, er Robert?"
Robert got a shock. He was actually being included in the conversation.
"Why, yes. I'm sure they will. If they can make money out of films, then it's more money available to make better pictures."
Robert knew the name of the film, but couldn't remember any thing
about it. Might have been late night TV he saw it, if he did.
"Did you like it, Allan?" he posed, and wondered if the reply would be a charade or the real thing.
"Actually, I did. It was a good historical portrayal of the O'Reilley family. And for it's day, was very innovative for an Australian film."
There was an awkward silence. Robert quickly said, "He means very innovative for today."
A slightly coloured face Allan, replied, "That's what I meant. I'm not very good with grammar, sometimes."
Just then, a large grey kangaroo, appeared on the other side of the creek, and bent down to drink. It obviously had not realised the presence of the party, across the flowing water.
"Look, " said Billy.
With that, the kangaroo quickly raised it's head, and bounded off into the thick bushes on it's side of the creek.
"Big blighter," said Bluey.
"Better get moving," said Tom, and did a balancing act on two rocks, so as not to get his feet wet. Everyone followed suit, and without mishap, and they slowly ascended the small ridge. A pair of brightly coloured parrots, dived past the group, and joined two more, on a branch, just out of reach of the boys. The boys all seemed to appreciate their presence. Robert thought that walkers hadn't changed over all the years. A good sign.
Soon, some new sounds caught their ears, and through the trees, the first glimpse of buildings and some smoke winding it's wispy way over the top. A horse whinnied in the distance.
"Look familiar?", said Robert, not looking at Allan, who was standing beside him.
"Not really," was the delayed reply.
They walked past a stockyard containing some horses, then between two small buildings, and stopped near some oil drums. About one hundred metres away, was a low rambling weatherboard house, with a veranda, across the front and disappearing down each side. On the left side of the house, was parked an old tabletop truck. A horse, still saddled, was tied up outside the front door. The smell of hay and horses was everywhere. Behind the house, a small yard with a pile of timber, and behind that, a paddock. It appeared empty to Roberts' first glance, but a familiar noise, caused him to look again, and then he saw a few sheep at the far corner, around a large ironbark.
"This is where the mail truck stops. At these petrol drums."
It took Robert, a second or two, to realise who had spoken. Tom was looking at him.
"Smelly place," said Allan.
Tom turned to Allan, and replied," Is sort of.” A short silence, then,
“We'll wait next to that shed,( pointing), and have a bite. Could be a while, as we seem to be a bit early. Still, better, than seeing his dust disappear down the road."
They moved over to the shade of the shed, and sat down. Allan noticed a stack of machines and some harnesses, as they passed the open door.
Bluey produced some small apples, and offered one to Robert and to Allan. For a small pack, thought Robert, it sure does seem to have lots of food. Bread and jam appeared at the last stop. He raised his hand, in appreciation, and savoured the bite.
Robert didn't know it, and neither did Allan, but at that moment, both were lost in the same thought. Where were the others? Had Andy and Erlyn come back looking for them?
Robert looked around, in a half hope, that they were here. Perhaps in the house. ‘Oh, please come out on to the veranda,' he thought.
Flies were crawling on his apple. He brushed them off. There were a lot about. Of course, the horses. He looked again at the veranda. It was empty.
Allan wondered what Connie was doing, right at this moment. He didn't have any strong feelings for her, but she did have that something that was different. Was she crying? Perhaps they had gone to another time, also. Maybe worse, before the white man arrived, even. No society to go back to, just bush and no food. There were lots of natives around then, surely. They'd be taken in and..
A shout broke his mind wanderings. A man came out of the house, and waved to them.
"That's old man Gillespie's son," said Bluey, and waved back.
The fellow climbed on the horse, and cantered over to them.
"You fellows are early. Don't expect Robbo for at least an hour. Dad's inside. Just made a pot. Go and get some."
The horse snorted and took some steps backwards.
"I have to go. Can't lay about like you young blokes. No holidays on this place these days. Bye." With that, he wheeled the horse around and galloped between the two sheds, and out of sight.
"Show off." said Dave.
"Jealous, you are," countered Bluey, "because you can't ride like that. We've seen your riding."
"So. He lives on a farm. Should ride better than me. Anyway that horse at the show, was spooked. Would have stayed on, otherwise." There was some colour in Dave's cheeks, as he spoke.
"Yer’e. Horse saw your face," was a sudden interruption by Billy, and they all laughed, including Dave.
Tom stood up. "Who's for tea?", and headed for the house.
They all followed him, leaving their gear next to the harness shed. Instead of using the front door, Tom walked around the veranda, to the rear of the house, and into a large kitchen. Robert smiled to himself when he saw it. It was almost the same as his grandparents had, up at Rylestone. That is, when grandpa was alive. After he went, grandma came to Sydney and stayed with his parents.
"What's caught your fancy?", came a deep and resonate voice, from a chair near the fuel stove. " Evatt Gillespie." A large and calloused hand was thrust at him. Robert went over and gave it as firm a shake as he good.
"Robert Forsythe. And this is my friend Allan," turning to Allan who was standing at the back.
"Gooday," said Allan , and came forward. "Allan Bygraves." Robert could see Allan wincing, under the handshake.
"Know these young fellas. Been up in the hills behind here, many times and drank many cups of tea here. You two aren't young, like them. More like my age, I bet. You with this lot?"
When Allan didn't say something straight away, Robert jumped in. "Sort of. Met them yesterday, up at Two Logs Creek."
"Gee Wiz. That name's caught on quick," came Gillespie's gruff voice. "Only decided on that name, just before Christmas last. Creek didn't have a name. When me and my son, and these young 'uns, put those logs down and did some fixing up of the track, we sort of gave it a name then. The logs was what came to mind, at the time."
Tom was pouring tea into some mugs, from a large enamel billy can, which was sitting on the end of the stove. Each grabbed one and added their milk from another enamel billy, and sugar from a large glass jar.
"Tell me, Evatt," said Robert, "who put in the track from here up the mountain and out past Perkins Peak?" As he spoke, he felt a momentary silence, and thought he saw Gillespie, slightly stiffen. 'I didn't call him Mister, I bet' he thought. ' The liberated 1950s.'
If Gillespie was offended, he didn't say anything. "I did. Me and Ed and some blokes from the local council. You probably saw Ed just leave. He's my son. Youngest. Lost my eldest, Mathew, in the war. He's buried up there, you know. Somewhere near Milne Bay. We're proud of him." He was more talking to himself, than to the others. No one spoke. "Ed went too. Sent to North Africa. Took a bullet in his thigh, and got sent back home. God has some funny ways. If he hadn't been shot in the leg, he would have still been there, and perhaps he never may have come home."
Tom interrupted. "More tea Mr. Gillespie?", and started filling his mug before there was any reply.
Robert thought it was a good chance to change the subject. The boys had probably been through this many times. 'Hell, this is unfair to the old man' he thought, 'losing a son would be a bitter blow. He has a right'.
Allan beat him to it. "Why was the track put through, in the first place, sir?"
"Japs." was the single word reply.
When he saw Allan looking puzzled, he put down his mug, took out a well used hanky, and blew his nose.
"They was coming. The government said so. Bloke came out from the army early in '42. I didn't get called up. I was an essential occupation person or whatever it was. We had horses, lots in those days. Told us, Katie was alive then, and we were nursing young Ed.." His voice trailed off again. "Where was I?. The army bloke, he told us the Japs had to be slowed down. They couldn't be allowed to have the horses, and any other stock from around here. We were to make a route into the mountains, as far as we could, and if they came, we were to drive the horses along it, and hide them. If we could go all the way to Bathurst, it would be better. Told us to go down to the council depot and they would give us spades and axes and any blokes they could spare. Took us four weeks to get to the Cox River. Pretty rough track but it would do. From the river, you could make it upstream and over into Bathurst."
"I have some biscuits in my bag," said Frank, “I’ll get them."
"Good lad," said Gillespie, " can't have tea without a biscuit."
"I take it the track was never used for it's original purpose?", said Robert.
"Cause not," replied the older man, "everyone knows that, including you, unless you slept through it all. Was a wasted effort, in one way. On the other hand, it's opened up the mountains a bit, and allowed young ones to come in. If there was no track, they probably never go up there."
There was a pause, and no one said anything. In the distance, they could hear horses snorting. And a cockatoo screeching.
"We stopped them, we did. Never got past New Guinea. Kokoda was the place. Mean to go there one day. Might even find Mathew's grave." He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, just staring at the billy, sitting on the fire.
Dave spoke. “Best be getting back outside. Mail truck shouldn't be long. Thanks Mr. Gillespie for the tea."
There was a murmur of thanks, and nodding of heads and hands from the others. The old man didn't look up. Just kept staring at the billy, tears starting to trickle down his face.
They hadn't quite made it to the front veranda, when there was a loud scream, from the direction of the harness shed. Rounding the corner, they saw Frank. He was hanging on to the roof of the shed, one hand over the centre ridge.
"What's he doing up there?" said an astonished Tom. "Hey, what..."
He didn't need to finish the question. The answer was obvious. The answer was also about one tonne of bovine energy, coming around from the back of the shed, at a trot.
No one moved.
The bull, a big red and white Hereford, stood snorting, shaking it’s horns. Looking up, it spied Frank’s moving legs on the roof, and giving a bellow, rammed the shed wall. There was a crash of metal as something inside fell, and the wall splintered. The bull went around the side, out of view.
By this time, Evatt Gillespie, had appeared behind the boys, and heard the yell. “Christ!,” he swore.
Tom went to step off the boards, but a quick hand reached his shoulder, and pulled him back.
“Stay here. That bloke can do some damage to the likes of you and me, and anything else. How the hell did he get out?” Gillespie was speaking quite quickly. He disappeared behind them.
Bluey laughed.
“I don’t see what’s so funny, mate,” said Tom, “he could get killed or something.”
“Well, he looks pretty safe where he is,” chipped in Dave. Just then, the bull appeared again from the side of the shed, and took another run at the wall, this time below the window. There was a crashing of glass and some other associated sounds.
"Do something," a yell drifting over to them, from Frank.
Then the sound of the truck starting up, sent their heads turning in it's direction. Old man Gillespie, was turning it around, and heading slowly, towards the animal.
Robert thought it resembled a game of chicken, in a way. The bull, now distracted, faced the slowly moving vehicle, and snorted. The truck stopped. No one moved. A crow, on a nearby tree, gave his approval for the sport to begin.
"Big bastard," said Allan out the side of his mouth.
"You’re not wrong there," said Bluey.
"What would John Wayne say now?" said Robert, looking at Allan.
Allan stood up straight, and stuck his thumbs in the top of his belt. Adding a drawl to his voice, he looked in the direction of the bull. "Bull. The way I sees it, you have two choices. And whatever one you choose, you won't win. Make my day."
Billy whirled around to Allan. "No, I don't think he would say that."
Robert and Allan cracked up. The others just looked at them.
Gillespie started forward again, a loud crunching of the gears, reaching their ears. It appeared to the group, he was going to shepherd the bull, in front of him, to some paddock or other. However, bovine Harry decided on another tack. Turning tail, he trotted down the side of the shed, out of sight.
"Can you see him?" yelled Billy.
"I ain’t looking. Just get me off here." Frank's voice did seem to have a little urgency about it.
Tom suddenly darted off the veranda, towards the shed. Gillespie had got out, and was walking towards the building, with a rope in his hand. There was no other sound.
At a gallop, the bull came around the corner. A warning yell from one of the boys, wasn't necessary for Tom. He saw it, and spun on his heel, the veranda looking a long way, away. Apparently it was the truck, and the man in front of it, that the bull had his sights on. Gillespie realised that also. He turned and ran, and in one leap, had jumped on to the front bumper, and up on to the bonnet. He turned, took one look at the approaching mass, and climbed up on to the cabin roof. The truck reeled as the bull hit the front mudguard. Gillespie regained his stance. Some words floated down to the boy's ears, and a couple of them laughed.
Tom had regained the veranda, and was sitting down , sweating and out of breath.
Robert broke up, when Bluey said, "You sure were desperate for those biscuits."
Tom looked up, and stared him in the eye. Then burst out laughing.
"Watch out. He's heading our way," Billy said in a loud shrill voice. Sure enough, their bovine companion, had spied them, and probably realising, that they were easier targets, being at ground level, had started in their direction.
As they moved to the front door, looking back over their shoulders, they heard a yell from nearby, and were surprised, and pleased, to see a horseman, riding at a fast canter, coming from the south end of the buildings, waving a hat in one hand.
It wasn't the son, thought Robert. Dressed differently. "Who's he?" he said, not looking at anyone. They had all turned around and were strung out on the veranda.
"Must be one of the hands. There's a couple of them. Live in a cottage down near the front gate," Tom replied.
The bull stood looking at the newcomer, and probably decided, he had had his fun. He was past chasing horses. He turned around, raised his tail, and dropped a parting gift for them. Then broke into a trot. The stockman rode past them and the truck, and headed after the bull. Old man Gillespie, was still crouched on the truck's roof.
Just then, a toot, sounded the arrival of a vehicle, and an old truck, trundled around the corner of the bigger shed, and pulled up to a stop at the pile of drums.
"Time to be moving," said Tom, and waved at the old man, who had climbed down and was getting into the cabin. There was a quick raise of his hand, but no smile. He obviously had other things on his mind. The truck roared into life, and with a loud crunching of gears, he swung it around, and headed after the stockman.
"Hate to be him," said Dave, “bet he gets a roasting by the old man."
"Will someone get me down." They looked up, poor old Frank, had been temporarily forgotten, in the comic climax.
"I will," and Robert walked over and stood on a box, reaching up to grab Frank's feet. Frank slid down, and the two of them joined the others at the truck. Their gear had been carried over for them.
"Well Frank," said Bluey, "next time, stick to biscuits, and forget about the beef."
A general laughter, as Tom came back and announced that it was OK for them all to get on the back.
Clouds were beginning to form, some very grey, and Robert thought someone could be right. They might get a little wet. Still it didn't look imminent. The truck rattled along a dirt road, sending up clouds of dust. 'Every thing has it's price,' he thought. They were working their way down hill, and it was an effort to stay seated and grab something, to stop being bounced off.
"The river," said Allan, who was facing forward. Both he and Robert, took a long look, neither saying anything. Next minute, they bounced across a wooden bridge, one of those one lane and white side rails type, and climbed up into undulating land, seemingly used for some crops and sometimes sheep. Now and then, the smell of dairy cattle would quickly come and go. The dust was still being churned up, but not as bad as up near the horse farm.
No one spoke much, the noise and the dust, making it a little difficult. However, they made a few stops, the driver alighting and picking up different things, sometimes from roadside mail boxes, and other times, driving through a gate and up to a house.
At one stop, a dairy farm, Robert asked Tom if the bull belonged to Gillespie’s.
"Don't rightly know. We never saw it before, but maybe he was trying other things beside horses. Since the war, things aren't the same on the land."
"What's changed?" asked Robert.
"You know. All these refugees and now loads of people coming out here. There's a lot of work in the city, and it's far easier with better pay, than staying on a farm."
Two corn sacks were heaved on to the back, and they shuffled their legs to fit around them. The door slammed and the truck lurched off, back to the road.
Shortly, there was a bump and no more dust. They had reached the end of the tar from Penrith, and it became more tolerable on the back tray. A laugh from a couple, and a friendly push on Frank's arm by one of them. Robert caught a few words, enough, to realise, Frank was going to get some ribbing, for a long time, over today.
A noise above, made Robert look up, and off to the north, a plane was starting to climb, giving itself some room over the mountains. He knew what it was, straight away. That was because only about six months back, he and Andy had ridden in one. A company was running one hour tourist flights out of Bankstown, on a restored DC3, and Andy had seen the advertisement. He was keen on flying, and Robert had said yes, when he rung him. Robert had a yearning to fly in old planes, but it was a bit expensive. However this was a new promotion, and maybe the only opportunity. They went, and enjoyed it. It was fairly noisy, but they got sandwiches and champagne, and some great photos.
Allan had seen it, too. "Who's is it?," he said to Robert.
Before Robert could reply, Tom answered. "Probably Qantas Empire. Can't be sure, 'cause the sun's on the tail. Might be going to Tokyo. Funny how things happen. Five years back, we was fighting the Japs. And today we start an air service there. Can't imagine who would want to go. Probably all radioactive still."
"When did this start?" said Robert.
"Only a couple of weeks ago. Saw it on the newsreel, last week."
Robert thought he would tell him, it wasn't a Qantas plane, but decided to let it go. He had managed to see the ANA logo on the back. And he knew that, the planes going to Japan and other overseas places, would be bigger.
Shortly, they pulled up at a two story wooden house, quite near the road. Allan's mouth dropped, as he stared at it. He knew this place. He touched Robert's sleeve, and pointed. Robert just looked, not saying anything. Two storeys are not common, especially out here, and even more rare was the little balcony, with it's wrought iron work railing, incorporating a fish design.
The place was well kept, and painted brown. The front garden a splash of colour running down to the gate, over which a trellis was built. A middle aged woman, and a young girl, about 10, were waiting there, the woman holding an envelope in her hand. She had a hairstyle, Robert had only seen in old photos and movies. Swept back over the forehead, and ending in a big curl all around the bottom. His mother had one, in the photo she kept in the lounge room, holding Robert, when he was a few weeks old.
"Is it?" said Allan in a very quiet voice.
"Yes." was all Robert said. They didn't speak for another ten minutes. Each knew what that house was. It was like a sobering shock. About three years back, on one of the walking trips, out here, they had stopped at this house. It was to take a photo.
They'd seen it before over the years, but that day, they stopped. It was the iron railing, that had caught their attention, when they got out of the car. Everyone had remarked on it. The fishes seemed out of place, out here. In fact the whole house. The upstairs balcony, was reminiscent of the old widow's walks, that some houses in the city, around the harbour foreshores, had. Whilst most farm houses around here, or anywhere for that matter, were single story, this was two stories.
The difference then, to now was, how it looked. They remembered it quite well. Blackberries encroaching over the front veranda, which had very few planks, left. Windows boarded up. Not a shred of paint left. Rusty corrugated iron roofing, flapping in the breeze. The upstairs balcony, sagging at an alarming angle. Only the railing seemed to keep it from falling to the ground. The 'No Trespassers' sign on the front door, was full of bullet holes, and the weeds and grass in front, high as one's chest. It was Andy's comment, that came surfacing to Robert's mind. 'Must have been a nice place once. Wish we could have seen it then.'
Ironic. that one, no two, of them, were doing just that.
The truck stopped at an intersection with a dirt lane on their right, as a cream coloured Chevrolet sedan, turned out in front of them, and accelerated away.
"48 Chev," said Allan. "Ought to know. My uncle had one, when I was in high school. Six of us could sit in the back and so much leg room."
Robert raised his eyebrows, but didn't reply.
"High School?," said Bluey, "your'e a bit wrong there. Them cars only came out a year or two back. I guess when you were at school, there were no cars. Well, they had some I suppose, but really ancient."
"Just kidding. Wished we had cars like that, when we went to school. Had a bike."
"Was it a Penny Farthing?' came an innocent question from Billy.
"I'm not that old. A Malvern Star actually." This last comment was an afterthought. Then a thought, that Malvern Stars probably didn't happen to later. If it was true, no one said anything.
Houses started appearing, and shortly they were in a residential street.
"Just like Cloncurry," said Allan, in Robert's ear.
"Don't knock Cloncurry. I went there once." The reply seemed to come through Robert's teeth, in a whisper.
Then the main street, several vehicles and pedestrians in evidence. A quick left turn and they pulled up outside the waiting room of the railway station. They grabbed their gear and jumped off, mostly glad of the chance to stretch and finish with the bumpy and somewhat breezy ride.
Tom went to the driver's seat, and handed him some coins. "Thanks for the ride. See ya."
Allan looked at the station , and thought it hadn't really changed much. The car park and bus interchange were missing, but that was all. The boys were heading for a cafe, nearby, and he saw Robert touch Tom on the arm, and start talking quietly to him.
He walked up to them. "..I know it's a big favour, but we're stuck. I promise I can give it back to you, when we find our friends, or when I get home." Robert seemed to be almost pleading.
"Ten bob is half a week's wages. I really don't know you." Silence.
"I promise, Tom."
A yell from the cafe, and a wave from one of the boys, at the door, indicating they were hungry.
"My father said I was always a soft touch. And a fool sometimes." He opened a small leather pouch, and pulled out a brown bank note. There was a hesitancy, as he fingered it, then held it in front of Robert. It was taken, gently. "Thanks."
A thought crossed Robert's mind. ‘Yes', he said to himself. Both Allan and Tom looked at him. He put his pack down and fiddled around, dragging out a T-shirt, and holding it up to Tom. "Take this. It'll need a wash, but please have it."
Tom took it, but didn't say anything. He felt somehow or whatever, he had been done by these older blokes, and his money was history. On the other hand, something deeper inside him, was saying. He didn't know what it was saying. He held the shirt up.
"It's a rock singer," said Robert," a, (he made a circling movement with his hand, looking for the right word) a popular younger singer. In America," he quickly added. "Jimmy Barnes."
Tom looked at it and laughed." It's some actor or something. Got more hair than Tarzan."
Another yell, and Tom stuffed it into the top of his pack. "Thanks anyway. I've never owned a black singlet before. This is a bit lairy, but I like it." Then he headed for the cafe.
"Did you check for dates and that?", said Allan, as they followed.
"Forgot. Well, he's lending us money, for him, a lot, and I wanted to give him something."
They went inside and sat at three small tables, with the others. They were all eating meat pies, with varying amounts of tomato sauce poured on top. There were three still in a bag. "For you blokes," said Bluey, "you keep gas bagging out there, and we'll miss the train. Didn't know what you wanted to drink."
Just then, Frank gave a wolf whistle, and they all looked up. Two girls, about 18 or 19, had walked in, and giggled to them selves at the attention.
"Give them a seat here," said Frank.
"Stop mucking up," said Dave.
It wasn't the girls that had caught Robert's attention. It was the woman who had entered just after them. Hair falling back over her shoulders, white blouse tucked into a beige skirt. She looked about late forties, might be fifty.
Attractive and not showy, he thought. She gazed quickly around the room, and he knew then, that he was staring at her. But she didn't indicate it, just returned her gaze to the counter, and spoke to the woman who was standing behind it.
A nudge in his ribs, made him look quickly. Allan was smiling. "You don't miss much, do you."
"Nice. Just looking."
The others, got up and headed for the door. "Train to catch," said Tom.
Robert, took his time, so he was last out. As he got to the door, he turned around. She was looking at him, but quickly looked away, and then back at him. Later Robert thought, what had gotten into him at the time, as he had never done such a thing in his life. As Allan held the door back with his hand, Robert gave her a big cheesy grin, and waved his hand in the air. She smiled.
"You're hopeless, "said Allan, "we're goodness knows where, with no idea how to get out of this mess, and you're acting like Bill Clinton."
"That was pretty cool, for an old bloke. Don't think I've done that before to a stranger."
Allan didn't reply.
"Come on," said Robert, "I thought she was nice. And I haven't forgotten about where we are."
" I have a problem with rejection. If it goes wrong, or I'm ignored, or something, I tend to take it personally. Feel unwanted, whatever." Allan's answer, came like a shock to Robert. He, or in fact, none of the group to his knowledge, really knew about Allan's personal life. He was a nice fellow, and no one pried. If you didn't offer any thing, it wasn't considered being secretive, you did what you wanted to.
Once, when Robert and Andy were alone, and the subject of Allan's life came up, as it and everyone else's did in appropriate occasions, Andy reckoned that Allan either had an older woman in tow, or he was gay. There wasn't any indication for either. Robert had seen Allan one lunch time, sitting in Wynyard Park, with a girl. But before he could get close enough to say hello, she got up, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and walked off. Allan never mentioned her, so Robert exercised discretion, and never mentioned it, not even to the others. Who she was, became Allan's private life, and he respected that.
They reached the station waiting room. Tom was waiting for them. "There'll be a train to Sydney in about ten minutes. We have our tickets to Parramatta, but where are you blokes going?"
Robert and Allan hadn't thought about it. Where were they going? "Maybe we should have stayed in the mountains." It was Allan, looking at his friend, with an uncertain air.
"Maybe. But we've got this far, and nothing's happened. I think I would like to go to my parent's place. At least it's a start."
"Start for what? Sounds like a bad move. Probably scare 'em to death." Allan sounded anxious.
"We're holding these guys up. We can talk later. Yes? No?"
"OK." This was an unconvincing 'Yes' reply, thought Robert. Dragging out the money, Tom had given him, he said," We're going to Strathfield," and headed for the ticket window, queuing up behind three other people.
When he returned, they moved onto the platform and climbed the bridge across to the other side. In the distance, a whistle announced the immanent arrival of a train from the north. Dave gave a yell from the overpass top, waved, and left.
A family were coming down the stairs. A few steps back, Robert saw the woman from the cafe, descending. He was looking at her, when she reached the bottom, her eyes catching his as she turned her head, and walked up to the front of the platform. Allan was looking the other way, towards the approaching locomotive.
It all happened too quick for anyone to think about it. One moment, the two children in the family, were playing with a toy of some kind. Then they were fighting over it, each trying to pull it away from the other. The next, one let go, and the other reeled back, and fell on the platform edge. It would have been alright, if the father got there, or the little girl had laid there, but she didn't. She put out her hand, whilst trying to raise herself. It touched nothing, only space. She did a half terrified roll, and disappeared over the platform edge. At this stage, the train was some 60 or 70 metres from the spot, but even though it was slowing, it never would have stopped, by then.
Robert watched this last scenario, paralysed, after turning, as did the others, when the scream first hit his ears. He took one look at the engine, and then ran to the edge and jumped into thin air. It was only a metre or so, and he didn't lose his balance. He grabbed the girls coat, and was vaguely aware of steam and sparks and a noise so great, it dominated his mind, almost. He pulled her with him, across the rails and a shallow drain, and then tripped on a rail, and fell. He was covered in hot, moist steam and then the noise got less, and suddenly stopped.
He lay there, looking up at the back of the locomotive, the little girl, crying, along side of him. There seemed to be yelling, and he caught a movement of a man. It was the fireman, jumping down from the cab, and running back to him.
"Are you hurt?", he seemed to say, and then knelt beside the girl.
Robert sat up and coughed. The driver had arrived and a station attendant from the other side. Someone gave him a hand, and he stood. "Marvellous. Thought she was a gonner, for sure,” a voice said.
Another man pattered him on the back, " You're a hero, mate."
They climbed up on to the other platform, someone assisting him. The parents had come rushing down the steps, the mother in tears. Whilst she hugged her daughter, the father came over to Robert, and grabbed his hand. “I can't thank you enough. You’re not hurt?"
Robert shook his head. The father had returned to cuddle his girl. Tom and Allan appeared. "You OK?. That was brilliant. You just did it," said Allan.
"You move fast for an oldie," said Tom, and smiled. They all smiled, and Allan put his arm around Robert's shoulder, and guided him towards the steps.
"They're holding the train for you," said Tom. Robert suddenly felt weak, and as he stumbled on the step, both Allan and Tom grabbed his arms and helped him.
They got onto the train, and sat down in the first seat. The others were there, and various congratulatory remarks were made and strong handshakes.
"Bet you could do with a cuppa, now?" said Bluey.
"I'd prefer a beer," said Robert.
The train gathered speed, and some smoke drifted in the window. Some noise in the corridor, and the father of the girl, appeared, stopping at Robert's seat.
"Could we go outside for a moment?", and before Robert could reply, had opened the door, and stepped on to the end platform. Robert got up and followed him, shutting the door behind him. The noise from the rails and wind, was quite loud, and he grabbed the iron railing, to keep himself steady.
"You're very quick, for an older fellow, sir, I much appreciate it." He reached into his pocket, and drew out a five pound note, which he offered to Robert.
"No," said Robert, putting up his left hand in refusal, "It was just lucky I was there, and was able to help."
"You didn't have to. Take it. And Thanks." With that he, touched Robert's shoulder, and opening the door, disappeared down the corridor.
Robert, shrugged his shoulders, and pushed the note into his shirt pocket. He went back inside.
"Saw him give you some money," said Billy.
“That’s none of your business,” yelled Bluey, and threw his hat at him.
“I said no, but he insisted.” Robert spoke so quietly, they could hardly hear him. He shut his eyes, listening to the clack, clack, of the rails.
Robert felt a hand touch his sleeve, and he opened his eyes. He'd actually been asleep. It was Tom, sitting next to him. Allan had moved over and was talking to Frank..
"We've just left Blacktown, and won't be long before we get to Parramatta. We get off there, so I wanted to say goodbye." Tom wasn't emphasising his words, but Robert felt, he was trying to be sincere.
"Oh. I wanted to thank you, for helping us, and all that. One day I hope to explain all this. And give me your address and phone number," said Robert, digging for a pen and something to write on. He found his dairy, and quickly opened up the back page, which was blank. An impulse wanted him to leave the front cover up, but it would be unfair, and only make things more confusing for the young person who had befriended them. Robert wrote the address down, and had to refrain from asking for the postcode.
"There's no telephone. We can't afford it, but Mr. Wilson, two doors down, has a 'phone. Trouble is, I don't know it."
"The address is fine," said Robert, "and I wanted to give you back your ten shillings, but I spent a bit on tea and train tickets, and only have the fiver. You will get it."
"It's fine."
"Train gets along quite fast," said Robert, "there'd be another one soon after?"
"About an hour, I think, then one more later tonight. Better than last year, with all the coal strikes. They cut the trains down, and we could only get one at night back from Penrith. And it was usually packed."
Before Robert could ask more, Frank, followed by Billy, came over, and stuck out their hands. "We get off in a minute, just wanted to say goodbye and hope you find your friends." It was Billy who spoke. Frank smiled, but when he appeared to go and not say anything, he suddenly turned, and said, “The bull was fun, aye. See ya."
Bluey followed, and said he was pleased to meet such strange but nice characters, in the bush.
The train pulled up, and people moved out through the door. Robert put his head out the window. Suddenly Billy was in front of his nose. "Nearly forgot mister. Send us a photo,” and was gone.
Tom came to the window and shook both Robert and Allan’s hand. "Look after yourself. If you have time, write."
The train whistled, and with a jolt, moved forward, very slowly at first, but gathering speed. Their last view was suddenly obscured by smoke, and Robert pulled his head in, and closed the window.
Robert leaned back in the seat, and shut his eyes. The gentle rocking motion of the train, telling him, to let it go, and just sleep. But this was not the place. Without looking at Allan, he said aloud, " What are we doing here? I haven't a clue where we are going, right at this minute. My parent's place seemed the only thing. Not even sure, that's a good idea."
"I once thought it would be a good, to live in another time," replied Allan, "now, when it really happens, I have this attachment to what I feel secure in. Silly, one could have a ball here. Would you like to live in this time?"
"You are."
"You know what I mean. No pressure. No drugs, or it's not obvious anyway. People more up front.”
Robert thought for a moment, then said, " I don't think it would be all easy, like. Don't forget, this is a very restrictive time. There wasn't the freedom, social, political, or individual, that we've got. Very stereotyped, or your in trouble."
The lights in the carriage went out, momentarily, then flickered back on. There was a couple in the seat behind them, but no one else, this end. The glass water carafe, rattled in it's holder, on the wall above them, but there were no glasses. Then a gust of wind, and some noise. Allan looked down the corridor, and saw someone in a black uniform, enter. It only took him a second, to work out he was a ticket inspector.
"Here comes a snapper, if I remember the right word," and fished out his ticket. Robert did the same.
"Tickets please," came the authoritarian voice. They were scrutinised, and clipped.
"Where are we?" said Robert.
The collector, did a quick look through the window, into the gathering darkness. " Five minutes to Strathfield, sir," and then opened the door, and disappeared on to the end platform, slamming it shut, behind him.
They put on what jackets they had, and shouldering the packs, opened the door, to a rush of smoke and pieces of cinders, as the train shot through the flyover tunnel, and rumbled into the platform, against a squealing of metal on metal.
"Now what?" said Allan, but Robert had other thoughts, occupying his attention. The woman he had seen at the cafe, and on the platform, had alighted, a couple of carriages along, and was heading towards them. He was still looking in her direction, when she drew level, and stopped. "That was a pretty brave thing, back there. It shows, not all men are bastards. There are some good ones."
He was taken back. The directness, and the compliment, and indeed it was, had left him speechless, for the moment. Then recovering himself, he gave her a smile. "I think you're right. Some of us, are different. Maybe a coffee some time?"
"Maybe," and giving him a smile, walked on.
"How?," he yelled, not knowing what else to say.
She turned her head. "Blue Bell, in Burwood." Then she was gone, hidden by a family, and then swallowed by the ramp to the downstairs concourse.
"Could I go back to the future, and let you get on with it?" Allan looked at him, as he spoke. Robert seemed in a daze.
"Robert. It's me, Allan." Robert seemed to snap out of it.
"Wow. This is just like the movies," he replied.
Allan smiled. "Well, for now, let your head do the thinking, and not something else."
"It's heart, not dick. Brush up on your metaphors."
They walked down the ramp, to the underground concourse. Neither had any idea of where they were headed. Outside the toilets, they each minded the packs, whilst the calls of nature were seen to.
"I see we're still getting the same jokes, in 1998," said Allan.
Robert gave a long drawn out sigh. “Let’s find some shelter. A back shed, or Salvation Army."
Allan's face said it all. "We have five pounds. Still, it won't last that long. Lead on."
As they queued for the ticket barrier, Allan was two places behind Robert. He saw the fingers of the youth in front of him, reach the top of Robert's hip pocket, containing, from it's obvious shape, a wallet. The gut tightening feel, in Allan's stomach, was gone in a split second. He brought his arm over, and down, to grab the fellow's shoulder, in a vice like grip.
"Don't even think about it," he said, in a loud voice, inwardly shaking. People stopped and looked about. Robert turned his head.
"What you on about, mister? Get your hand off. I ain’t done nothing."
Allan relaxed his grip, slightly. Looking at Robert, "You're wallet." Then he dropped his arm. The youth glared daggers, then thrusting a ticket at the attendant, even before Robert had passed over his, walked briskly a few steps, turned, and catching Allan's eye, gave him a big thumb up. Allan had been around. He was quick enough to make a two finger salute, it's meaning probably lost on the kid. Then he was gone.
They stood outside, near a bus stop. "Nearly lost our fiver. Might be better in your pack." It was Allan, who had first spoken.
"Will do. Thanks for being so observant."
With a smile, Allan replied, “It was really your MasterCard, I was worried about." They both laughed.
Suddenly Robert darted off, and tapped a man on the shoulder. When he turned around, Allan could see he was a minister of religion, but that was all. He joined them.
"...and this is my friend, Allan. I was just asking the reverend, if he knew any place around here, we could stay."
"Not really," the minister replied, "there's a refuge at Ashfield, otherwise I would guess the city."
"What about a shed or store room or something? Just for tonight. We can clean up or whatever, to repay you." Robert was feeling very forward, but the events of the last two days, had meant forward thinking. At least that's how he felt, for his slight change in character.
The minister looked up at the dark sky, as though seeking some guidance. "Nothing I'm afraid, at our church. We're up on the main road. Noisy thing, you know. Especially when you're giving a sermon."
"Thanks anyway," said Robert.
"Wait. Have you tried, of course not. How silly of me. Try St.Anne's up on Homebush Road. They have big grounds and a storage shed for collections. Jonesy is a nice fellow. Did Moore College, together, you know. Probably into Evening Service, now."
They thanked him, and quickly walked off in the direction he had pointed. "Likes to talk," said Allan.
"Goes with the job."
They reached the road, and a short walk produced the outline of a large spire. Several cars were parked outside, and the sound of singing, was just audible. There were no other cars passing. All very quiet, thought Robert. They skirted the side fence, keeping near some shrubs, and saw the outline of a large shed, at the back. Allan tried the door, but it was locked. However the window next to it, was open.
"Let's not hang around to ask. I'm tired." Allan's whisper seemed to echo amongst the trees and off the galvanised walls. "We can apologise in the morning."
Robert nodded, and they climbed in. A bucket went clattering across the floor. They froze. After about a minute, no one appeared, so they felt their way about. Bags of clothes, and some bedding, could be seen in the very faint light.
"Homebush Hilton," rasped Allan. They made themselves comfortable. Some decent hot food inside them, would have helped, thought Robert, but a warm night, for a change, would be welcome. Who knows, he mused, maybe the dream will go.