Don’T Talk to the Dunnyman

By James Palmer

All his life, John has been moving around. His fathers job as a surveyor takes them all over Australia, but his most recent place of employment is in Queensland. The journey was hard what with all the flooding, but they eventually make it. While unloading the car, John hears a voice and makes an unexpected friend.

Ceddy is a ten-year-old Aboriginal boy. Although their skin tones dont match, John and Ceddy become friends. Together, they face many challenges as they go up against dangers of the Outback and, even worse, small town racial prejudices. Despite difficulties, they have adventures, make other friends, and learn slowly how to become men.

Author James Palmerwho, like John, spent his youth moving from place to placetells this story with humour and heart. He draws a picture of the salty characters that were all around his own childhood and gives them life. Johns story is one of tragedy, philosophy, folly, and bigotry, all differing aspects coming together to make a rich page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781504314404

James Palmer

James Palmers father was a surveyor, so they followed the work from western New South Wales and Queensland all the way up to Papua New Guinea. Of his three brothers, James was the worst infected by wanderlust. Married in 1972, he roamed with his wife and kids until returning to Australia in the late 80s, where he is now retired and enjoys writing and golf.

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Copyright © 2018 James Palmer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, evens, locales is entirely coincidental.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-1441-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-1440-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 08/29/2018

Contents

Chapter One I’ll Be Your Brother An’ You Can Be Me Mate

Chapter Two Consequences

Chapter Three The Brewing Storms

Chapter Four ‘No Sweet Sorrow’

Chapter Five Turkey Nest Dam

Chapter Six Them Boots

Chapter Seven The Dunnyman’s Daughter

This book was written with a lot of help, a huge thank you to my dear cousins, without their hours of work and endless encouragement I know this book would not have been, love you both.

Also thanks to their good friend who did some of the delightful pencil drawings in this book and was such a pleasure for them to work with.

To my wife especially and my sons who wanted to know more about what things were like back then.

This is inspired by actual events or a true story

In life if we are fortunate we make lots of friends if we are more then fortunate we also have a couple of mates and I dedicate this book to one of mine Wiffo who sadly isn’t here to share this finished book with me.

CHAPTER ONE

image005.jpg

"I’LL BE YOUR BROTHER AN’

YOU CAN BE ME MATE"

Wotcha doin’? a voice from around the side of the house asked.

The startled reply came quickly, Just takin’ the stuff out of the car an’ into the house. The boy replying to the question was trying desperately to locate the face behind the original voice.

Are ya gonna live in this house? the hidden voice asked.

Reckon so, still striving to put a face to the voice.

At this, a figure materialised from the shadow of the dunny. ‘That means that your old man must be the new boss man at the council.’ At last the person behind the voice appeared, he was a young aboriginal boy about ten years old, and it was little wonder his whereabouts had been hard to pinpoint as he was as black as the inside of your hat.

Me name’s Cedric but they call me Ceddy, he said revealing the most amazing white teeth you would ever see, Are ya allowed t’ talk to me?

You’re here, so ‘course I can, came the answer although a little puzzled by the question, I’m John an’ we just got here ya know.

Yep! I seen ya drive in, Kondie reckoned that ya wouldn’t be here for another week or so, ‘cause of the wet.

Well Londie was nearly right; we come through a lot of stuff to get here, an’ why were ya hiding behind the dunny?

I weren’t hidin’ I was just comin’ from my place, an’ his name is Kondie. I reckon you mob will be the first through since the wet started, even the train didn’t run for a couple of weeks.

The wet, as it is affectionately called, had blanketed the entire state and, at this time of the year, movement by car, especially in this part of outback Queensland, was almost zero. John’s parents had considered the problems that would be involved in their family traveling over this period, however the decision to ‘plug on regardless’ had worked in the past, so why not this time?

The three brothers always dreaded it when their father asked at the dinner table, "How would you like to live in, such and such?" This statement invariably meant that the family would soon be on the move again.

Arthur’ profession as a surveyor meant that finding work was usually not a problem, which was probably a good thing as he didn’t always deal well with authority, especially if they were not as competent as he felt they should have been.

Arthur and his wife Isobel together with their three sons Charles, John and Edward had lived from Gordenvale to Griffith up to New Guinea and a lot of stops in between. In general, the boys took their nomadic life style in their stride, and from past experience they knew the trip itself would not be without adventure.

With the wet already started they were sure this one would be no different to any of the other nine or ten times they had moved. This relocation, however, held a lot of promise for the boys, as the prospect of living in a town other than the current one, and going to a school other than their current one, sounded too good to be true.

They knew that the journey of over two thousand miles would be by far the longest single move they had undertaken, but the thought of seeing the last of Ballon put everything else aside.

Maybe if they had been able to foresee what lay in store for them during the trip, a few weeks delay might have been sensible. Cramped together in an Austin A30 Countryman, the family had battled the elements since leaving the southern Queensland border town four weeks earlier. On occasions food had been short and dry clothes were worn only when in the car. This poor little vehicle had been pushed, towed and dug out of creeks, rivers and bogs, along almost the entire length of the state. Days had been spent camped on the banks of creeks or rivers waiting for the waters to subside only to find another one over the road a few miles further on.

The mighty Burdekin River had been crossed on a flat bed rail car with the raging flood water lapping at the underside of the bridge. Although probably illegal, for the family to get to the other side they had travelled across the ancient wooden structure crammed together inside their vehicle. With hardly walking room to the edge of the railway flatbed the boys could see the flood debris building up against the underside of the bridge and could feel the entire construction moving with the force of the water.

While the male members of the family may have been concerned with the mass of water, the crossing must have been absolutely terrifying for the boy’s mother, Isobel who, unlike the males in the family, could not swim a stroke. Years later while driving over the new high level concrete and steel structure she confessed that making that crossing was the most terrifying thing she had done in her life.

Probably aware of his wife’s fear of water, once the nerve-racking crossing was complete and they were back on the road, Arthur remarked to his wife, Well, that is definitely the worst of it behind us.

Two weeks later and only five hundred miles to show for it he had turned to her again and said, Mmmm Isobel, this must be the place that the bloke at the pub said there would be a bit of water on the road.

A bit! she had exploded, That looks like the bloody English Channel!

‘No.’ Arthur replied quite seriously, ‘The English Channel is twenty six miles across, whereas the bloke in the pub said this expanse of water only goes for about eight miles. Hence the name ‘the eight mile swamp’."

Isobel was obviously not happy but rather then continuing the conversation she got out of the car and started to gather wood to make a fire. For their part the boys knew enough to keep their heads down, and help with any tasks they could so as not to provoke their mother.

Half an hour later things had cooled somewhat, the billy was on and the options for completing the final forty or so miles of their journey were being discussed.

Now, don’t think for one minute that the three brothers had a lot of input into these meetings but as was the family tradition they were at least included and at times their parents listened to what they had to say.

If this is a swamp, then it could take a long time for the water to go down enough for us to drive through. said Isobel as she expertly rolled a cigarette.

That’s right, nodded her husband in agreement. But the publican was telling me that most people put their vehicles on the railway track as it is built up above the water level.

That will work OK, if we can get the car across the damn table drain and up onto the tracks. came the heated reply.

At this point the entire meeting moved to the side of the road and the family surveyed the fifty, or so, feet of drain and slope that separated the road from the railway tracks.

John, said Arthur to his middle son. Walk into the drain and tell me what the bottom is like, will you?

Only too happy to be asked to help, the boy, barefoot as usual, splashed into the slushy ankle deep water. He scratched at the bottom and walked across to where the water and the slope of the rail tracks met.

The mud is slippery but the bottom is quite hard, an’ as you can see, it’s not very deep.

Ah! That’s good. This means we can use some gravel from the railway plus a few logs and build a little corduroy. By doing that we will cut down some of the slope up to the rails and keep us out of the slippery mud in the bottom of the drain.

As with most eternal optimists Arthur’s ideas were wonderful as just that - ‘ideas’. However, their application was nearly always a combination of the original plan plus a number of modifications, usually instigated by his much underestimated wife.

This type of undertaking was nothing new for the family and as they worked, Charles and John chatted away about what they expected in their new town.

How big d’ ya reckon it will be? John asked his older brother.

I don’t know but I don’t think it will be as big as Ballon.

Gee, I hope it’s better than that place. That was the most worst school I have ever been to.

Older by two years, but wiser by a lot more, Charles said, Don’t worry, this town will be a ripper and I know we’ll be jake at the school.

As usual John accepted his older sibling’s statement as gospel and worked even harder to complete the ramp across the drain and up to the railway line, almost as if suddenly he was looking forward to the prospect of a new town and school.

Three very wet, muddy and tiring hours later the little green Austin A30 was finally on the tracks and straddling one of the rails. The family’s struggle to cross the drain and up the four feet slope had been hindered by the constant attacks from the air by nesting swamp plovers. These aggressive birds made life so uncomfortable that they took turns as the plover lookout.

Now that the car was actually in position to cross the swamp the worry that a train might come along became very real. Even though the publican had assured Arthur the rail motor was not due for another two days it was decided that John and Charles were to be dispatched on ahead to flag it down if the information given across the bar proved to be incorrect.

This suited the boys down to the ground as, for the first time since leaving Ballon almost four weeks earlier, they were able to get out of their parents’ way, and as soon as they got far enough ahead they slipped out of their clobber and went for a quick dip in one of the numerous creeks that formed the eight mile swamp.

Do ya reckon there are any crocs in here? John asked his older brother, more interested than worried.

We won’t be in long enough for a croc t’ get us, ‘cause Mum an’ Dad won’t be far behind was the reply.

Too right! Mum’s in a crook mood from getting the car on the tracks, don’t wanna stir her up any more ‘cause she’ll spit the dummy for sure.

They swam for a few minutes more, then, reluctantly got out. It was then that they noticed that the car was not catching up and appeared to be stopped.

Looks like she’s stuck or broken down.

Aw strewth I reckon ya right. Oh well, no good winging about it; we gotta go back an’ help.

They arrived back at the car and quickly realised that the little A30 was having a few problems, the main one of these was the lack of clearance between the car sump and the railway line. This meant the weight in the car had to be kept to a minimum. Bar the driver, everyone including the youngest son, Edward, was walking.

Even with this precaution the crunch of metal on metal was heard a number of times especially where there was a little less gravel between the sleepers. There were also a number of small bridges like the one the two older boys had swum from and where the distance between the sleepers was such that the small wheels on the little Austin went down between them.

To solve this, sticks of a reasonable thickness were bound together with fishing line like a little mat about eight inches wide, these formed bridges between the sleepers and were moved continually from the rear to the front of the vehicle, this way only a half a dozen or so of the mats were required.

The reason the car wasn’t moving when the boys had decided to return to it was that one of the first mats that had been made had broken and the wheel had gone right between the sleepers with the car finishing up with the sill panel almost on the sleeper. The adults were surveying the damage and working out what course of action would be required. The boys’ return went unnoticed until John commented, Gees we’re in a bit of strife! The statement got nothing but a deadly stare from both his parents.

In order to slide another mat under the suspended wheel the little car had to be jacked up; but the lack of any clearance between the car and the railway sleeper meant no room to get a jack under to lift it up. Eventually a sapling of considerable length was cut and the side of the car was levered up high enough to get the jack underneath in order to complete the job. Naturally when, a few minutes later, a second one snapped it was a lot less dramatic as they now knew just what was required having even kept the sapling they had used for a lever.

By now it was late afternoon and the physical effort over the past eight hours was starting to take its toll on children and adults alike, also because no one knew exactly how far they had to travel on the rail lines the concern that they may not reach the northern side of the swamp before dark was getting greater and greater with every turn of the little Austin’s wheels.

Then just on dusk, reach it they did, and to their delight and great relief, getting off the tracks and back onto the road was easy. As luck would have it just where the swamp finished the road turned across the railway tracks this meant they literally drove straight back onto it.

Even though everyone would have loved a cuppa, Arthur opted not to put the billy on again and to push on to their destination. Two hours later at about nine o’clock, tired and cranky yet not without some satisfaction and using the road map of the town sent to them in the mail, they had pulled into the back yard of what was to be their new home.

Some stuff of yours come on the rail motor last week. John’s new companion informed him, Kondie put it on the front verandah for ya.

This was good news especially in light of the fact that the little A30 had only been able to carry the family and the bare essentials for the trip.

Ceddy followed as John went to tell his parents what he had just learned.

This is Ceddy. he said making the introduction to his parents. He knows the bloke that put our stuff on the verandah.

Yep, that’s Kondie me Uncle, he works on the council. As he spoke his eyes darted around the entire family as if to take in as much information as he could in as short a time as possible. He told me to say if you was the new boss an’ ya wanna hand to unload t’ give ‘im a shout.

That is good of your Uncle, Ceddy. said Arthur but I think we will be able to manage.

Picking up on the boy’s obvious disappointment at the reply, Isobel interrupted saying, You could give John a hand to unpack the car if you would like, er - if you don’t have to go home that is.

Ceddy’s face immediately lit up like a beacon, bonza missus I’d love t’ give ya a hand an’ I don’t have to be home for ages.

A little while later when the car was almost unloaded a man approached the house through the park at the back. Like John’s newfound friend he was very black, but that is where the similarity stopped, as this man was huge. Probably over six foot six and weighing in excess of seventeen stone his size alone should have frightened the boys, yet, as with most gentle giants, his presence had a nice calming effect.

G’day, he said to John in a soft husky voice that was certainly out of keeping with his immense frame, Is Ceddy here, I told him to come and git me t’ help ya t’ unpack.

At this moment Ceddy and the adults appeared from inside the house, The Mister and Missus said they would be OK, an’ they said thanks for the offer, an’ they said I cun help ‘em with the unpackin’.

At this the big man smiled and, like his nephew, a message of welcome was given without even a word being spoken. I’m Kondie, he said extending his hand, I reckon you must be me new boss.

Arthur Tiley, came the reply, allowing his hand to be engulfed in Kondie’s huge paw, Thanks for getting our stuff from the railway and for the offer to help.

At this his wife spoke, offering her hand as well, I’m Isobel and this is Charles, John and Edward.

As many before him, he smiled at the boys’ names but did not make the usual ‘bit of royalty there