Published: 16 Feb 2026
Arranging the Fishing Trip;
Grady had difficulty getting his boss to allow the extra day for the fishing expedition. The trip had been designed to occur over the long weekend, with the Monday being the Queen’s Birthday holiday, so it had been decided to take either the Friday or the Tuesday to make the trip worthwhile. Consensus decided on the Tuesday as it was common for many in the workforce to take the day often without permission by calling in sick.
Grady approached Jack Byrne on the Monday before the planned weekend but his boss appeared even less enthusiastic than he had been when Grady first made the suggestion. Now with the trip all but a few days away Grady needed an answer.
“Ask me again later in the week when I have a better idea what the following week’s workload will be.”
Coming from Jack the delay obviously meant negative while not wishing to be direct. Jack was never forthright with any decision, allowing wriggle-room in case something more important came his way.
During the day Grady had been unusually grumpy and at knock-off time he waits about to ascertain if Jack is ready to be lenient, as it is paramount to have an early decision so arrangements can be made.
With Alfred passing around the usual after work beer Grady declines.
“Are you sulking Greedy?” Jack asked.
“No Mr. Byrne, I’m not in the mood for drinking.”
Jack Byrne scans the work area;
“You’ve been a little slack today, you haven’t cleaned up your work and I see some of my expensive tools are left out.”
Without apology or argument Grady locks the offending tools away, then taking a broom he lethargically commences to sweep the work area.
“Righto’ lad, I’ll be seeing you early tomorrow morning Jack says.
“Early Mr. Byrne, there isn’t anything booked in until late morning.”
Jack turns to his head mechanic;
“I guess it’s going home time eh’ Alf?”
“Leave off Jack, stop teasing the lad.”
Jack is smiling, “Teasing Alfred? Who is teasing?”
By Jack’s tone, Grady has a glimmer of hope.
“Go on lad, you can have Tuesday and you better bring me a big fish.”
“Also for me,” Alfred concurs then continues, “and not those flaming bony-bream they stick in ya’ gullet.”
With the evening meal at the Dowie house at an end, Grady helps his mother with the dishes, while David retires to the living room with the Express Newspaper and a rather large glass of scotch – no ice, David always declared ice drowned a good brew.
It is Lewis’ turn for dishes, as usual once from the table he is missing.
Grady with a tea towel draped over his shoulder waits for the first plate to come from the sudds.
“It was kind of Jack to let you have the extra day,” Karen passes a plate with suds dripping like snowflakes across the floor.
“You use too much soap,” Grady complains.
“Never mind the soap, how did you manage to convince Jack Byrne to let you have the extra day, as from years of experience I have found him unyielding?”
A second plate is offered with fewer suds;
“He isn’t that bad, beside I’ve done so much unpaid overtime for him, I suppose it is a little payback.”
“You know your father can’t abide Jack Byrne.”
“What has he got against Jack?”
“I don’t rightly know, I think it has something to do with some work Jack did on our Austin and your father was so angry he refused to pay for the work.”
“I don’t remember the Austin.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t as your father traded it when you were quite young, saying it never ran right after Byron Motor’s maintenance.”
“Is that true?”
“It’s true your father refused to pay the bill and he traded the car but as for not doing the work, I somehow doubt it. As I recall, mind you I’m no mechanic, I couldn’t find fault while driving it.”
“Is that why dad was so against me taking the apprenticeships with Jack?”
From Karen’s peripheral she spies Lewis slinking past the door.
“Lewis!”
“What mum?”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was going over to see Tug for a while.”
“I don’t think so; you’ve got homework, so get to it.”
“Aw’ mum.”
“Don’t you aw’ mum me,” Karen takes the tea towel from Grady and passes it to Lewis, “firstly you can do the drying. Grady you go talk with your father or he will be on my back about you boys being discourteous.”
Lewis reluctantly begins to dry;
“And Grady don’t start an argument with your father.”
As Grady approaches David puts aside his newspaper and takes a gulp of scotch, there is a cigarette burning in the ashtray.
The mantle radio is turned down low with the news.
David is smiling as the announcer relates the results of the past weekend’s Federal General Election repeated from an earlier broadcast, declaring after late counting the Coalition under Robert Menzies had defeated the Labour Party by one seat in the house of representatives and has also won the senate.
“What do you think of that?” David smugly asks.
“Not a lot.”
“You and your Commo’ mates lost again.”
“Seeing I’m not permitted to vote until I turn twenty-one, I guess I can’t be blamed one way or the other.”
“I never thought I’d raise a Commo’ under my roof,” David expresses with exaggerated vigour.
Grady is smiling;
“When the next election is held, I will be of voting age so we’ll see how things go then.”
Grady takes a seat facing David;
“Anything interesting in the paper?”
“Lots of advertising but little more, there is a story on the sports page about your mate Brian Bastian leaving the team, I always said he had no belly when the going got tough.”
“I have also decided not to play next season.”
David takes a deep breath and another gulp of scotch.
“There’s no sense in me staying on dad, with Biff leaving, the team will be lucky not to be relegated.”
“What’s this I hear about the club taking a fishing trip to celebrate?”
“I wouldn’t call it a club celebration, more in honour of Tubby Blake as it had been his idea, although I do have a favour of you?”
“Go on.”
“Can I borrow the barbeque for the trip?”
“I don’t think so; I’m having a few of the blokes from the Brother’s Club over on the Monday holiday and will be using it.”
Lewis is finished helping with the dishes and enters into the room.
“Have you finished your homework?” David asks.
“I have finished, can I go over to visit Tug for a while?”
Karen calls from the kitchen;
“Don’t listen to him David, he hasn’t even started his homework.”
“The little I have can be done in the morning before class,” Lewis protests but it is obvious David isn’t listening.
“I know that trick little brother,” Grady says, “copying the answers from the board as Mr. Fleming chalks them up.”
“Go do your homework young man before you feel my boot up your arse.”
David wasn’t a physical man, possible he didn’t have courage to be violent, while his threats were mainly verbal, or the over use of privilege revoking, he also had a sadistic bent when it came to his children as if he envied their youth and the modernity they had been born into. In David’s youth it was speak when spoken to and a clip about the ears if you didn’t react soon enough. If David was mentally cruel, it could be said of Grandad Dowie he had been physically cruel turning into moments of rage when anything at hand would do, his preference being an old stock whip he kept coiled and ready on the shed wall. David held the scars of character and body as proof
In the kitchen Karen is making what could be considered a statement, using the heavy placement of pots on bench tops.
David lifts his head towards the din, “your mother is at it again,” he says as he draws deeply from his cigarette, exhaling a large blue cloud of acrid smoke into the room.
“Who is smoking in the house?” Karen loudly calls.
“It’s not me, mum,” Grady humorously answers.
“I better take it outside or I’ll never hear the end of it,” David recharges his scotch glass to what most would call excessive, then heads for the back and his beloved shed.
Karen enters into the living room.
“I hope you don’t take up smoking,” she wishes from Grady.
“If I was going to I would have by now.”
“About your little fishing trip, who is arranging supplies?”
“We are meeting at the Royal on Wednesday evening to make the arrangements.”
“Let me know what you need and I’ll get extra when I’m doing the shopping.”
With David gone to his shed and Karen to her bedroom, Grady is left to his own entertainment. The night remains young and he feels a little hyped, mostly from his father’s attitude about his so called political leaning, also arrangements for the trip hadn’t gone well. As there would be six, three two man teens will be required and as he would share a tent with Biff, it was left for Grady to get the tent with no idea where he could find one.
The only tent Grady knew about was that belonging to Lewis used during his scouting trips, stored under his brother’s bed with a selection of things a teenager would collect, or attempt to hide from his mother. Grady could simply take the tent without asking. Knowing Lewis that would start a family row so in the first incident permission should be sought.
On his way to tackle his brother about the tent, Grady takes a detour to the refrigerator, extracting a can of beer he progresses towards Lewis’ room.
There is a line of light at the bottom of the bedroom door.
Grady gently taps.
The light goes out.
“Lewis,” Grady softly speaks through the thin timber of the door.
“I’m asleep, go away.”
“No you’re not I saw the light go out.”
The line of light returns;
“What do you want?”
Grady enters into the room carrying the beer;
“Want a beer?”
Lewis accepts;
“You’re up to something Grady. What do you want?”
“Who says I want anything?”
“Cut the crap.” Lewis opens the can and takes a swig.”
“Can I borrow your tent for the weekend?”
Another swig from the can;
“What if I say no?”
“I’ll take it anyway.”
“I thought you would say that. Yea’ you can borrow it.”
“Thank you and don’t leave the empty can about, or it will be me who cops it from mum for giving alcohol to a minor,” Grady laughs, “even if you get enough elsewhere without my help.”
“You’re not twenty-one yourself,” Lewis protests.
“Ah’ but there is a difference, the local establishment sorta’ agrees if at twenty I can die for my country then I can have a beer.”
“You’re not twenty for another month.”
“Close enough besides I’ve already sent off my registration for national service.”
“Do you think I’ll have to enlist when I’m twenty?” Lewis asks.
“If the war is still going, I guess so.”
“I’d join the navy.”
“Why join the navy?” Grady asks.
“It will be safer, all the navy does is stand off shore and bomb the crap outa’ everything.”
Wednesday night’s team meeting at the Royal had been arranged to decide what would be needed for their trip and who would be responsible for supplying everything from food to beer. During the previous day Karen had kept her promise shopping for Grady of which most happened to be tins of stuff containing things no young man could pronounce, never mind know how to prepare.
The next problem is transport, Grady, although licensed to drive and working at a motor garage, had never owned a vehicle and Biff hadn’t yet arranged for Grady to get his utility back on the road. Transport therefore fell to Barry Jones and his Bedford tray truck he used for his wood carting business and Michael Brown’s old Ford Sedan. Neither vehicle could be considered roadworthy but with Grady along they should have mechanical problems covered. As for Michel’s Ford it was about to be retired as he had ordered the latest model with all the trimmings and in midnight blue – not forgetting the expensive calf leather seats although as for the colour Michel’s fickleness may change his mind by the time it is ready for delivery.
Money was never an issue with the Brown family; Michel’s father was from the second oldest family in the district after the Dowie family, the difference being David had squandered much of the Dowie wealth, while Fred Brown made wise investments. As for Michel’s old ford sedan, it had been suggested he kept it as a reverse statement about wealth as if he is saying; unlike you lot I can afford anything but look at me driving this antique. Oddly it was only Michael Brown who thought that way, others simply disregarded his idiosyncrasies saying that’s Brownie for ya’ – or simply ignored him.
With all problems solved a departure time is set for after work on the Friday giving enough daylight to cover the twenty miles of rough country fire tracts and erect their tents.
“Who is for beer?” Barry Jones says as he stands and dives his hand into his jeans pocket.
Everyone agrees.
Biff suggests a couple of jugs.
Barry’s appears troubled as his hand returns empty from his pocket. As for Barry’s character, he isn’t a mean person but his wood carting business only makes living expenses without the trimmings, especially now he has a newborn to consider, Barry may be poor but has a good organisational head on his shoulders, being well appreciated whenever the chips are down.
Wayne Nelson sighs and rolls his eyes; “have you forgot your wallet again Bazza?”
Barry is all apologies, “it sure looks that way, it must -.”
The others speak in unison;
“It must be in my work pants.”
Even so they forgive Barry as being recently married money was always tight.
“Right in one,” Barry coyly admits.
Grady hands Barry a couple of notes, “get two jugs and you owe me.”
After a struggle with the crowd Barry returns with the jugs, he places them down as Grady holds out his hand palm up.
“What?”
“Change please.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Barry apologises and offers up the change.
Before sitting Barry pushes down hard on his crotch and flinches, “I need to piss.”
“Hey Grady you better go with him, he’s probably forgotten where he left his flaming dick.” Brownie suggests; as only Brownie would.
“And with the size of it he may need a hand to heave it out of his underdaks,” Brownie continues.
“Now Brownie how would you know that?” Biff asks.
They all laugh without furthering the size of Barry’s appendage as he makes his way back through the crowd towards the toilets.
“Sometimes Brownie,” Wayne Nelson says.
“Sometimes what Nelson?”
“Sometimes you are inappropriate in what you say.”
“Inappropriate, Wayne?” Michael questions.
“Yes, you should think before speaking.”
Biff agrees;
Luke says, “true.”
“I only reflect what most of you think.”
Brownie’s answer is allowed to pass without question.
‘So men do check each other out,’ Grady thinks.
‘I was beginning to think it was only me,’
‘Although how could anyone not notice Bazza’s size and he does take long showers after the game.’
‘He also spends more time than anyone else soaping down there.
‘I think he likes being ogled.’
Grady releases an unconscious umm’ sound as he forces Barry’s showering from his thoughts.
It is quite some time before Barry returns.
“Hey you will never guess who I saw in the piss-house.”
“Marilyn Monroe,” Nelson suggests while using his hands to display breast size.
“No I ran into Bruce Menzies.”
“Did you speak to him?” Nelson asks.
“I grunted and gave him a nod. He was all smiles as if we were best friends.”
“Weren’t you?” Nelson asks.
“Fuck off!”
Eventually Clem George the relief barman calls last drinks and there is a rush to fill that final glass.
At the table the boys have had their fill and agree to meet outside Biff’s house after Friday’s work as Biff had arranged a barbeque for their trip. There is a lengthy pause outside the bar before they depart for home, almost as if one or another has a final point to make but can’t bring it to mind. Then without relating that final thought they move on.
See ya’ all Friday, Barry Jones concludes.
“See ya’.”
“Shaw thing.”
“Yea’ see ya.”
And the mates depart.
While passing the darkness within the Tip-top Café Grady pauses, he sniffs at the air.
“Nothing,” Grady says.
“Nothing what?” Biff asks.
“Usually no matter what time of day you pass the Tip-top there is the lingering smell of frying chips – tonight nothing.”
Biff takes a deep sniff at the late evening air;
“All I can smell is cat piss.”
“I’d love a serve of salty chips right now,” Grady says.
“With vinegar,” Biff answers disparagingly, as he always declared vinegar to be rancid and made the chips soggy.
“Yes you must have vinegar.”
Biff loudly smacks his lips, “you’ve got my juices going. I tell you what, come home and we will have a fry-up but you can stick your vinegar where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“It’s almost eleven, what would Ron say?”
“Dad’s has trouble sleeping so he will probably join us, even do the fry-up; it’s about the only cooking he is any good at and the doctor suggests he is well on the way for heart problems with all the cigarettes and fatty food.”
“Dad smokes and has heart problems,” Grady unconsciously admits.
“You never say much about David.”
“There isn’t much to relate, sometimes living with dad is like living was a stranger.”
“A phantom,” Biff laughs and makes eerie sounds, “the ghost who walks.”
“Yea – something like that.”
“Do you love him?” Biff asks as they approach home.
“I don’t rightly know, I love mum but it is as if dad is an optional extra to the family. Robyn dotes over him and Lewis mimics dad’s character but little more.
“Does Karen love David?”
“Sometimes I think not, these days they constantly argue.”
“What do they argue about?”
“Nothing and everything and dad has something stuck in his brain he can’t shake away. I have asked mum what it is about, she says it isn’t anything to do with me, yet something tells me it is.”
“Come on let’s get frying.”
It is well past midnight with the three seated about the kitchen table enjoying a huge pile of fried chips.
“Anyone for another beer?” Ron offers.
Biff agrees;
“No more for me thank you Ron,” Grady declines, “does anyone want the last of the chips?”
“Go for it,” Ron offers.
In an instant the last of the chips have gone.
“Grady, I’ve always been interested why your mates call you Greedy?” Ron asks as he passes Biff a beer.
“It’s the chips, Ron.” Biff answers for his friend; he always called his father by his name.
“Dad doesn’t like nicknames, he blames Biff for it but it was actually my little brother Lewis who started calling me Greedy.”
“And I believe you had a hand in calling Brian, Biff.”
“Sorta’ Biff accidently broke a kid’s nose.”
“That I didn’t know,” Ron admits.
“I didn’t tell you everything that happened in the school yard.” Biff says.
“No you were quite a secretive little bugger at times, especially when -.”
Biff gives Ron a glance that holds completion.
“Yea a right secretive little bugger,” Ron deflects.
Ron appears to drift then without continuality towards the mood or conversation he mentions Grady’s mother; “how is Karen?” Ron asks.
“Quite well Ron, it is dad who has the problems. The doctor said it’s his heart and to keep of the spirits.”
“David was always a scotch drinker, even as a lad.”
“You knew dad back then Ron?”
“Your mother also,” Ron’s smile seems to say something his lips would not, “Karen sat next to me all through high school, she was a good scholar and allowed me to cheat from her work. David was in the class above. I have just remembered something.”
“Go on out with it,” Grady says.
“Your father would steal old man Dowie’s sipping whiskey, replacing it with cold tea.”
“Did he get away with it?”
“Once maybe but the next time David had been a little excessive with the cold tea and old man Dowie gave him a right thrashing. David’s father was a real mongrel,” Ron’s shoulders twitch as if a memory disturbed his nerve ends. “Even I copped a hiding from him and was too scared to tell my father as he could be as bad. Brian’s grandad had a theory, if you got the cuts at school, obviously you deserved it and when home he would give you another thrashing for good measure.”
“I know mum often asks after you but I didn’t know you were acquainted with dad.”
“I wouldn’t say acquainted; I suppose we got along – for a while anyway. Did you know you were literally born in the bed next to Biff?”
“I knew we were born on the same day but little more.”
“Yes Biff is older than you by no more than a quarter of an hour. When I visited Veronica I would also call in on you. Before the two of you were born your mothers decided if you were boy and girl you would one day marry but as luck prevails and here you both are. If I happened to be a religious man I would say your friendship had been preordained.”
“You have never spoke of this before Ron,” Biff questions.
“Haven’t I? I suppose I am feeling remorse for your mother. I think I’ve said more than enough and I’ll leave you to chatter.”
Ron is on his feet, “goodnight then.”
“Goodnight Ron.”
“Goodnight,” Biff echoes.
“Grady there’s a bed in the spare room if you don’t wish to walk home.”
Grady declines Ron’s off for the bed as doing so would mean an early morning return home for his work clothes waking the house, especially his father, as David was known to have a short fuse when disturbed.
Early morning in the northern region is a quiet affair with the only noise being the distant barking of a dog on guard duty, finding necessity to bark at the slightest sound or movement. Occasionally there would the distant hum of a motor along the main street, or a nesting bird complaining its neighbour is taking too much room on a tree branch.
It is a warm overcast night, the air envelopes like tepid bathwater. There is a mist of rain creating a halo effect around the dull street light at the crossover to Dowie Street while the dark form of a man is off in the distance. By the man’s gait Grady perceives it to be Harry Kemp the milkie on his way to the dairy to ready for the new days delivery.
‘Is it that late?’ Grady thinks as he checks his wristwatch under the dull street light. The watch had been a present from his mother on his thirteenth birthday with congratulations on becoming a teenager. The illumination of its numbers had long since faded and daily it had to be adjusted as it ran slow, when the weather is damp and humid the inside of the glass fogged so badly it took a day or so to clear.
“It’s past three,” he quietly utters.
‘I didn’t realise the time.’
‘I better be quiet going in.’
At the gate Grady is met by Jenny whimpering her excitement towards his return. Marshie is on his chain and as usual shows no interest. He is David’s dog with loyalty to no one else – most often not even towards David.
Grady shushes Jenny not to wake the household.
Once inside he sneaks to his room like a thief in the night.
Bed may have been beckoning but sleep evasive and as Grady lay back with his eyes open to the darkness in the room he commenced to recall what Ron had spoken during their fry-up. He always knew Ron had a soft undercarriage masked by a rough masculine exterior, that evening he had shown tenderness towards Karen as if there had been previous issues. Then there was his own birth being suggested if he had been a girl he would have been betrothed to Biff.
‘That could have been interesting,’ Grady thinks with a smile.
He gives deep and lengthy yawn.
‘Even so I could do worse,’ the words fade away without expurgation as sleep takes away the remainder of the night.
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
1,737 views