Chapter : 13
Riding the Horses of Sadness
Copyright © 2019, by Gary Conder. All Rights Reserved.



Riding the Horses of Sadness Cover

Published: 2 Jul 2020


The mail truck arrived late that Wednesday and Hal Tucker was in a mood. His leg was playing up and he forgot to load the groceries for Robin Hood Station, having to drive back to Forsayth to collect them. Now because of bad packing and being in a hurry he discovered that somewhere along the Georgetown road he had lost two large pumpkins destined for Gilbert Downs and he knew only too well how cook loved her roast pumpkin and pumpkins scones and if the mood was right, she would add a cup of cooked mashed pumpkin to the fruit cake, giving it a rich yellow colouring while helping it to remain fresh for a longer period.

Lewis collected the mail bag and fiddled with the lock, “anything for me today Hal?” he enquired and shook the bag. It appeared light on but there was a package in the bag and it was his birthday on the coming Saturday.

Hal rubbed his leg and pointed to a box of groceries, “be a good fellow Lewis and get them down for me, my leg is giving me hell today.” He rubbed it again for good measure, “it’s the weather you know my leg acts like a barometer when humid.”

“It’s always humid Hal.”

“Well whatever the reason it’s flaming well aching today, those boongs should have left me in the wreck to die.”

“Sure.” Lewis placed the mail bag aside and carried the first box to the store verandah, then returned for the second box, “was there anything in the mail for me?” Lewis asked turning the mail bag about as if he vision to see through the tight weave of the canvas bag.

“As for the letters Lewis I don’t read the mail; only deliver it.”

“You must at least see who they are for otherwise you wouldn’t know which bag to sort them into.”

“I only look at the last line of the address. Are you expecting something special?”

“Aw nothing really, it doesn’t matter Hal but you never know I may win the Golden Casket?”

“Gotta’ buy a ticket first mate.” Hal declared.

“Too true Hal.”

“I knew a fellow who won big in the Casket once,” Hal admitted as his eyes appeared to descend into that dreamland of luck.

“Was it lots?”

“Four hundred pound and by the end of the week he was broke,” Hal gave a knowing grin in memory of the man’s stupidity.

“What did he do with it?”

“Shouted the bar and found he had more mates than a bloke could contend with. Everyone had a hand in his pocket, even the flaming priest.”

“That wasn’t smart,” Lewis perceived while pondering what he would do with such winnings but the answer wasn’t forthcoming, he was never a dreamer and couldn’t imagine something what may or may not occur.

“The smart thing to do is keep your blooming trap shut. Must be pushing off and apologize to Joyce for the pumpkins,” Hal requested while foregoing his usual kitchen cuppa’ not wishing to face Joyce’s disappointment from the loss of the pumpkins.


Lewis delivered the mail bag and waited eagerly as Jack keyed the lock and emptied the contents onto the office desk. The package fell after the letters and Jack read the address. “At last the part for the generator,” Jack commented placing it to one side as he sorted the letters; “Two for you Lewis, one for Ivy from her son and what’s this? Ha another threat for money from Stan’s wife I should think, he will be looking forward in receiving that.” Jack laughed and handed Lewis the mail to perform his delivery duty. “By the way Lewis I had a telephone call for you last night and I thought it a little late to chase down to the lagoon. It was from your mate Ian and he said he would call in next Tuesday while Liz is at her parents.

“I’ll look forward to that,” Lewis lied but was pleased it would be Ian without his cousin.

“You don’t appear happy about seeing him?” Jack asked while opening the package containing the part.

“Not a lot going on next week, could I take Tuesday and Wednesday off?” Lewis asked.

“Sure what have you in mind a couple of days in town?”

“I thought I’d rustle up some grub and a couple of stock horses and take him bush overnight.” Lewis suggested.

“Sounds okay to me,” Jack agreed, “can your mate ride a horse?”

“That I don’t know but I’m about to find out,”

Jack picked up on the lad’s tone, “you almost sound evil about his ability Lewis.”

“Not intended Mr. Thompson.”


After delivering the mail Lewis settled on the store verandah to open his own correspondence, both were obviously greeting cards and by the writing one was from his grandmother, while the other from his mother. Both envelopes contained birthday cards and declared he had reached the dizzy age of twenty-two, while the card from his grandmother had the usual bank note, this year it was a crisp five dollar note and spoke of her missing dear Winnie and him, with regret Lewis hadn’t tried harder with his sea-change when he visited four years earlier.

There was also a notation from his grandfather, twelve pounds ten had died. Lewis gave a simple huh with the passing without emotion. It all came about during his two years in Melbourne and with his mother’s desire to travel back to her much loved tropical climate.

Lewis wished to give his grandmother a going away present and did so in the form of a white budgerigar parrot, which he called princess snow flake. Oh purchasing the bird his excitement was so he left his wallet at the pet shop and on his return it had gone, the proprietor declaring most fervently he would have lost it in the street.

The wallet held his savings he had only minutes earlier withdrawn from the bank totalling twelve pounds ten; ten shillings of which was spent buying the bird, the rest he was to give to his mother towards their trip. Misery prevailed but his grandfather secretly gave some money to Winnie towards the trip while Lewis suffered for his lack of attention. Now he had all but forgotten the incident until the demise of the bird, ‘I hope it got the burial its cost deserved,’ he thought.

As he read an urge to return to Melbourne overcome him but dissipated as quickly as he remembered he and Will were to start a bright new life together there, still at least since his visit to Ashley he was admitting one should never say never.

“Happy letters?” Bob Kelly asked and came beside Lewis.

“From my grandmother in Melbourne,” Lewis answered placing his birthday greetings into his rear pocket.

“Nothing for me?” Bob asked.

“I thought you dropped your girl?”

“Have but that doesn’t mean I don’t get mail.” Bob appeared disappointed. Maybe it was because he was having second thoughts about Veronica or a touch of despondency to see others receiving mail.

“You probably can’t read Bob.” Lewis teased giving him a push and sending him off the store verandah. He quickly climbed back.

“What year did you leave school?” Bob asked Lewis while squinting against the sun.

“Sub Junior why?”

“Beet ya’ I finished Junior and half of sub-senior,” Bob quoted proudly.

“You have me there Bob, suppose I should take back the remark?”

“Na I hate reading anyway. What did you get up to in Sydney?” Bob asked showing a rare display of interest in Lewis’ antics believing his correspondence may be from his Sydney friend, while realising Lewis hadn’t related much about the trip since his return.

“Not a lot mostly sightseeing, the Zoo, Museum and I went up to the Blue Mountains,” Lewis disclosed leaving out his visit to the gay bar and the sauna.

“What are the Blue Mountains?” Bob asked displaying half interest.

“Just high mountains,” Lewis answered realising Bob Kelly had never travelled further south than the Freshwater substation or east past Mareeba, while his family remained in Croydon.

“Why are called the Blue Mountains are they blue?” He asked without true interest, designed more to piss Lewis off than to gather useful information. Lewis ignored the question and brought the subject to why Bob had dumped his girl. Then the conversation concluded with Bob declaring he had work to do and couldn’t waste the entire day making small talk about some bloody wrongly coloured mountains.

Saturday morning brought Lewis out of his bed with an element of excitement. It was his birthday and although no one else was going to celebrate the occasion he would but had no idea how. With the fencing completed and the black stockman gone along with the kitchen help, breakfast returned to its normality. Lewis heard the breakfast gong while collecting the eggs but continued the collection then the feeding of the fowls, opening the gate to give them free range for the day.

Walter passed him on the way to the kitchen, “I saw a wedge-tail hovering around yesterday,” he said and cast his eyes over the stockyards towards the river where he believed the bird was nesting.

“Big eagles them wedge-tails,” Lewis admitted.

“It’s a wonder they don’t party on the fowls.”

“I should think the dogs scare them off, as they are often scavenging around the pen for scraps.”

“Bloody big birds I reckon they could take the dogs and all.”

“Possibly,” Lewis concluded thinking he should keep an eye out but then again there hadn’t been an incident in the past, so possibly the chooks were a little large for the eagles to contend with, or a little lucky.

By the time Lewis reached the kitchen with the eggs everyone was seated and chatting about the bush dance that was to be held later that month in Georgetown. Lewis placed the eggs in a wire basket at the end of the kitchen bench, washed his hand and beaming a self-centred grin joined his colleagues for breakfast.

“What have you to be so happy about?” Stan asked as Lewis entered the dining room and took his seat.

“Not a lot Stan.”

“You look like one of those cats,” Walter declared shaking his head in pretended disgust.

“Cheshire Walt.”

“That’s them,” Walter Drysdale agreed.

“Just another day Walt.”

“I think he’s in love.” Bob Kelly added.

“Yea with that bloody horse of his.” Stan determined loudly as Jack Thompson out of character entered the men’s dining room, carrying a brown paper bag. Usually meetings with Jack and the men were held on the store verandah, or called by Stan after his daily report at the big house and Lewis could not remember the boss ever visiting the men’s dining room during a meal.

Following behind Jack was Joyce Marshall carrying a large iced cake supporting one small blue candle whose wick struggled to remain burning as it slumped precariously to one side, dripping wax to the surface of the cake’s icing. Behind the cook came Ivy, carrying a small package and beaming the biggest smile Lewis had ever encountered.

“Happy birthday Lewis,” Jack greeted and handed Lewis the paper bag containing three long necks of Victoria Bitter beer, “and don’t drink them all at once.” He advised sternly, being rare for management to promote drinking while on the property at all, never mind actually supplying alcohol.

After handing Lewis his present and wishing him a happy birthday Jack left the men to celebrate without his influence. Ivy gave a light kiss to the cheek and passed Lewis her small package wrapped in brown paper she had scavenged from one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Happy birthday it’s for when you chase the girls in Georgetown, she said as Lewis opened the package.

“Old Spice aftershave, thank you Ivy;”

Without fuss Bob Kelly handed Lewis a half of Black Label Scotch, “sorry mate it was all we could come up with in short notice. You didn’t say anything.”

“We all expect a nip of it and there’s no way you are getting a kiss from me.” Stan declared while the others laughed along with the frivolity

“I don’t know if he weren’t so butt ugly I’d give him one.” Walter amused.

“You’d kiss a cow’s arse Walt,” Stan suggested knowing Walter Drysdale’s complete disrespect for the fairer sex.

After much of the cake had been demolished, although both Walter and Stan declared that they lacked having a sweet tooth but still took a second slice and Joyce Marshall and Ivy had returned to their routine, Lewis offered a nip of the scotch. Quickly they wiped out their tea mugs and accepted the beverage.

“What are you going to do with the rest of your birthday?” Bob asked.

“Work I suppose Bob.”

“So how old are you young fellow?” Stan asked.

“Twenty-two Stan,”

“To be twenty-two again, what about you Bob, you’re a little coy on your birth date.” Walter asked.

“Gone mate a short while back when I was attending my brother’s wedding, but I’m a little younger than this old codger, it was my twenty-first and the olds’ threw a party in Croydon,” Bob directed towards Lewis.


That night as the dusk set in and cooler air enveloped the land, Lewis invited Walter and Bob down to the lagoon for a repeat nip from the Scotch bottle, then with Stan they sat around sharing past glories and catastrophes and as most alcoholic gatherings went it was the loss of love that charted the conversation. Although it was Stan and Walter who had the most to add to the dialogue as Lewis could not speak of his and Bob had little to share.

Towards the turning of the night Walter returned to the bunkhouse, excusing he wasn’t as young as he use to be, while Stan having an early start bid good night, leaving Lewis and Bob in quiet conversation at the side of the lagoon, their feet bathing in the red muddy water.

Before Stan retired he left the remains of a second bottle of scotch he had supplied, “there you go, get that into ya’ but I will want you on time in the morning. Good night then.”

“Good night Stan,” both greeted and remained in conversation.

“So it’s your birthday,” Bob announced.

“It was Bob, it is now past midnight.”

“What did you do last year for your twenty-first?” Bob asked.

“I was here – nothing.”

“You didn’t tell anyone.”

“We were a little busy at the time; there was a fire over Riverview Road way and threatening the Frazer property.”

“I recollect that, even so you didn’t even bother telling anyone.”

“I remember as we drove over to the Frazers you did ask me what I had to be happy about.”

“Did I and what did you say?”

Lewis laughed.

“What’s gotya’ going?”

“I said seeing your sour mug was enough to make anyone happy.”

“That Lewis makes me cranky; to think we weren’t good enough to share your special occasion.”

“You have a point but I had only been here for a while and still finding my way around. I didn’t think at the time I would make the grade.”

Bob made a sound that could have whatever meaning one wished to hang on it then for a time the conversation died.

“You don’t like girls?” Bob asked quizzically after a long period of silence, feeling a slight brushing at his toes he removed his feet from the water. “Catfish;” Bob said somewhat lazily.

“Why catfish?”

“Something just touched my foot.”

Lewis removed his feet, “freshies maybe.”

“Na, if it was a croc it most probably would have taken more than a nibble.”

“And we swim in there.”

“They won’t hurt you,” Bob guaranteed.

“I know that but it’s the idea of swimming in the same water.”

Lewis returned to Bob’s question, although it wasn’t out of character it had been delivered somewhat dryly without his usual banter. If it were not for having one too many nips of scotch Bob may never have asked in such a serious tone and if Lewis was a little more intoxicated he may have responded without avoidance.

“What makes you think I don’t like girls?” Lewis answered as a group of kangaroos came down to drink at the far side of the lagoon, their ears twitching in nervous encounter at the sound of voices.

“Dunno’ but you never talk about them.”

“Neither do you Bob,” Lewis retaliated while watching his colleague’s reaction from his eye’s corner.

In the moonlight he could clearly see Bob’s form, now stretched out on the bank and leaning against a tree stump, his legs crossed at the ankles while resting one hand on his inner thigh. He seemed to be in thought, then without speaking he reached his pannikin towards Lewis and without question Lewis dispatched the remainder of the amber fluid.

“That’s the last Bob,” Lewis declared while draining the final drops from the bottle.

“Sure you don’t want it – it is your birthday?” Bob offered it back.

“Na’ I’ve had enough.”

“Thanks.” Bob sipped at his drink and laughed; “so where else would you rather be Lewis, here or Sydney?”

“Never Sydney Bob.”

“Where than Mareeba?”

No, but under the right circumstances back in Melbourne.”

“What circumstances would that be?”

Lewis refrained from answering as he screwed the cap back onto the empty bottle and placed it aside.

“That’s what I meant about you Lewis,” Bob sighed, “you don’t like girls and don’t like the bush.” Bob Kelly became silent, swallowing the last of the scotch with one gulp as Lewis stood to piss. Standing with his back to Bob he released a steady stream into the muddy waters of the lagoon as Bob joined him. Lewis’ gaze was magnetically drawn to Bob’s appendage and Bob returned the gaze. Both laughed and a battle for who could piss farthest commenced. Bob won as Lewis’ bladder was half empty by the time Bob commenced.

“I needed that,” Bob admitted while the last of his flow descended into the water. He became serious while waiting for Lewis’ response to his earlier question.

“What gives you the opinion I don’t like girls.” Lewis replied.

“You seem to avoid any conversation about them.”

“I do like girls.” Lewis protested.

“Ah you like them but you don’t love them as for me, I neither like them nor love them, or more to the point I would rather the company of horses.” Bob shook the last drips and buttoned his fly. He continued as he returned his arse to the red sunbaked earth. “In truth I just don’t understand girls but if I did I’m sure I could love them.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Lewis said.

Bob released his Gatling gun laugh.

“What,”

“I was thinking about what I said.”

“What was the outcome?”

“Not much, it was all lost in a fog of scotch, I shouldn’t drink so much.”

It was a good ten minutes before either spoke again.

“Are you a poof Lewis?” Bob asked without rasing his gaze from the lagoon’s surface.

“I could ask you the same question,” Lewis declared feeling his face prickle as anxiety clawed at his thinking.

“I have nothing against poofs I have a cousin who is a poof and he’s not a bad bloke but he is a bit of a sheila and doesn’t like sport,” Bob declared without answering Lewis’ question.

“I like football,” Lewis protested.

“What code, I should think that aerial ballet game they play in Melbourne.”

“I’ve never played it Bob, haven’t even been to a game. I did play a little union at school.”

“You’re too flaming light on for rugby.” Bob suggested.

Lewis laughed and agreed, “so true and I didn’t last long. I reckon I’ve still got the scars of some kid’s boot studs across my back. You’re also a little light for rugby.”

“Cricket mate, I love the game. Next time the blacks are up here, we would have enough to form a team, maybe challenge Clancy.”

“I’ve never played the game.” Lewis admitted.

“You don’t know what ya’ missing, with that red ball in your grip and belting down towards the feller’ at the other end, it’s powerful to see the fear in his eyes.” Bob gave a laugh.

“Are you that good?” Lewis doubtfully asked.

“Good, the best bowler in the gulf.” As Bob spoke his voice fell away. “Don’t play much these days. Cricket is a real man’s game, not sniff bum.”

“Sniff bum?” Lewis queried.

“Yea all that scrumming in rugby – sniff bum; it’s a sheila’s game.

“I had a relationship with a girl and we were engaged,” Lewis declared in his defence and gave a long and suggestive yawn. Only minutes earlier he anticipated reaching down and taking hold of Bob’s dick as they stood by the water, now he was running from insinuation and wished to retire from the night to be away from further examination.

“It wouldn’t really worry me if you were a poof.” Bob continued while suggestively parting his legs and scratching his balls but Lewis wasn’t forthcoming. The vibes he was receiving from Bob were not those from a gay man, besides with the morning and then sober, Bob may run amuck with the information.

“I think I’ll hit the sack Bob,” Lewis said stretching back into the dry tufts of grass while yawning loudly.

“Want to go for a swim first?” Bob suggested while standing and paddling in the lagoon’s shallows.

“Don’t think so Bob we just pissed in there; probably drown in my condition.” Lewis declined and headed for the house.

“Okay” Bob answered showing an inkling of disappointment, watching as Lewis climbed the rear stairs. Lewis turned, “see ya’.” Bob nodded in the dark but left the greeting unanswered.

As Lewis entered the kitchen and without lighting the lamp he checked back on Bob who remained seated by the lagoons bank then slowly rising to his feet he stripped to stand naked by the water. Lewis watched as Bob walked into the water up to his waste then cupped the tepid fluid over his smooth chest with his hands. He was still watching as Bob submerged and retreated to the bank to stand facing the house, his eyes on the dark shadow of the structure as if looking for an audience. Bob then dressed and was gone, while Lewis retired to his bed and relieved his building tension.


“Where’s Bob?” Lewis questioned at breakfast, receiving a chuckle from both Walter and Stan.

“He’s not feeling very well,” Walter answered wilfully.

“Obviously can’t hold his grog,” Stan added as Joyce brought in a large tray of bacon and eggs.

“Lewis I’m having trouble with the stove again, it’s blowing smoke into the kitchen.”

“I’ll have a look at it after breakfast but it is time for replacement.”

“Jack has already spoken to management but they are more interested in profit than our comfort.” Joyce freely admitted.

“I’m sure I can do something,”

“Thank you and Ivy needs someone to shift that monstrosity of a mangle closer to the wash tubs.”

“What this place needs is a better generator, like the one at Clancy.” Walter suggested.

“True but our lot have the opinion if it ain’t bloke don’t fix it.” Stan answered.

“It’s always breaking down, only last week it was off for two days.” Joyce admitted as she hovered with a large aluminium teapot. “Where’s Bob?”

“Not feeling well Joyce,” Stan answered.

“I should take him over some breakfast,” Joyce suggested.

“By what’s on the ground near his room, I would give that amiss.”

“What would that be?” Joyce innocently questioned.

“Grog-chuck Joyce,”

“Oh, he’s too young to start that habit,” Joyce tutted.

“The problem with the young of today, they can’t hold their grog.” Walter admitted.

“I’ve seen you topple from it many times Walt,” Stan recollected.

“Yes but have you ever seen me miss a morning, or heave my guts.”

“True but I should think Bob will harden in time.” Stan suggested. Both turned their attention towards Lewis.

“Don’t bring me into this, I’m here ain’t I?”


It was past lunch before Bob finally surfaced after heaving the last of his stomach’s contents over the parched ground by the bunkhouse and taking on a copious quantity of water, declaring never again but he and the others knew, one should never say never.

“Enjoy your swim?” Lewis enquired as Bob shook his head and peered out through bloodshot eyes.

“What swim?”

“After I left you went for a swim, or more to the point a paddle.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw you from the kitchen window and waited until you left the water in case you drowned yourself.”

“Clothes and all?” Bob’s memory of the night was sketchy and now he became somewhat concerned as he couldn’t really swim, at best dogpaddle.

“No you stripped.”

“Naked?”

“Yes naked, why so surprised?” Lewis repeated with a mocking smirk.

“Shit!”

“What’s the prob?

“I don’t remember; I must have been really drunk.”

“You seemed to be so and did prattle on,”

“I hope I didn’t give away any secrets,” Bob laughed nervously.

“As I said it was just a lot of prattle.”

“I don’t remember getting back to the bunkhouse but I do remember chucking my guts up.”

“Yes we noticed that this morning, Walt covered it with dirt as it was attracting ants.”

“What were we talking about?” Bob asked his tone somewhat curious, possibly a little sheltered.

“As I said just prattle, something about a cousin.”

“What cousin?”

“Don’t rightly know, you didn’t mention a name.”

“Was it Kenny?”

“Couldn’t say you didn’t mention a name.”

“What was the conversation about?”

“As I said just prattle, I didn’t take much notice, besides I guess I was somewhat weathered myself.

“So it wasn’t Kenny?”

“Bob you didn’t mention Kenny or anyone else, what if you did anyway?”

“No reason.” Bob stalled and took a deep breath, “I’ve work to do, so can’t stand around prattling with you half the morning.” He gave a nod, forced a smile and repeated prattling; he obviously liked the sound of the word.

Lewis didn’t continue with the night’s conversation as if Bob had forgotten his swimming he would hardly remember questioning Lewis’ sexuality but the sight of Bob’s naked lean body remained in his memory while Bob himself remained intangible.

Bob turned as he reached the vehicle shed and called back; “prattling you say?”

“Yes Bob you were prattling.”

“We’ll have to prattle another night but next time a little less of the booze.”

“I look forward to that,” Lewis answered.


Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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Riding the Horses of Sadness

By Gary Conder

Completed

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30