Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 103 - Justin

(Hey Guys, Here's the something special. This chapter is not by me, but was written by Lloyd to explain Justin's missing days. Any remaining typos are my fault, not Lloyd's and I think it's not going to insert the line-breaks again. That's NOT my fault. Anyway, Very cool. Thanks Lloyd.)


[From ET96--The same shove pushed him backwards at exactly the wrong time as a half-submerged tree reared up and smashed into the prow of the boat. The horrified spectators, safely on the bank just a few meters away, all saw Superboy momentarily spread-eagled on the hull as the tree smashed into him. He peeled off, slid down, and disappeared into the swirling water.]


Justin saw a half submerged tree headed for him and pushed it away but for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and Justin was plastered against the prow of the boat. The impact knocked him unconscious and he slipped into the water. The water and the need to breathe revived him and he struggled to the surface but not before the current had taken him under the boat and down the river. He dogpaddled as hard as he could but he was not a good enough swimmer to overcome and get out of the current.

A huge wooden crate floated by. It must have been one that contained a large piece of machinery. He grabbed on to it and it supported him, but it carried him down the river and out to sea. There was nothing he could do. The speed of the current was incredible. If the crate with Justin had been a boat the Harbormaster would have cited him for speeding.

After the crate reached the sea it slowed down a bit and Justin, exhausted, used the last of his strength to hoist himself on to the crate. It was four-fifths submerged, but it supported him. He drifted in and out of consciousness as the coastal current and tide took him and his crate further out to sea.

Hugh Macleod was at the helm of the beam fishing trawler that he and his two younger brothers owned and depended on for their livelihood. There was a large something in the water ahead of him. He steered off a bit to avoid and passed a huge crate with what looked like a body on top of it. He called to his brothers Jamie and Rick.

“There is something floating in the water that looks like a body on a crate of some sort. We need to investigate.”

He swung the helm and turned the fishing boat in a circle so that he was able to come up from down wind. Jamie climbed into a bosun’s harness and hooked himself to the beam that suspended the fishing net. As Hugh brought the ship along side, Rick swung the fishing boom outboard and lowered Jamie to take a closer look.

“It is a body, lower me closer.”

Jamie reached the body.

“It’s a boy, and he’s still alive.”

Jamie grabbed the boy and put him over his shoulder. Rick raised them up, swung the boom back over the boat and gently lowered them down on to the deck.


Justin woke and wondered if he was in a coffin. He realized that he had no clothes on but he was covered by blankets. He raised himself up and saw that it was not a coffin but a bunk, one of four bunks in what appeared to be the bow of a boat. Just aft of the bunks was a table on gimbals and a galley with a sink and a three burner stove with an oven also on gimbals. His clothes were hanging on the table and a padded bench across from the table.

“You’re awake,” said Hugh Macleod as he dropped down through the companionway.

“Where am I?”

“You’re on the SallyAnn, a beam trawler fisherman out of Hoki. I’m Hugh Macleod. My brothers Jamie and Rick and I own and fish this boat. Who are you and where are you from?

“I am Justin Reynolds. I live with my grandparents in Westpoint.”

“Well, Justin, welcome aboard. When you feel up to it, you can get up and get dressed. Your clothes seem to be all dry. You did not have any shoes, but you are about the size of my son and I think his boots will fit you. You will find them with your clothes here. We will be eating in about an hour. Here, you’d better drink some water.”

Hugh filled a mug with water from the galley sink and handed it to Justin. Justin drank it and lay back down. He was still groggy and did not feel like getting up just yet. He dozed off.

About forty-five minutes later, Justin was awakened by noise from on deck. He got up and put on his clothes including the fisherman boots that were left for him. He was about to climb up the companionway when two men climbed down.

“Hi, I’m Jamie.”

“And I’m Rick. It’s time to eat something and we are going to start dinner. You must be hungry; you’ve been sleeping and have not eaten since we found you yesterday evening.”

Justin was hungry but he did not realize how hungry until he could smell the stew as it cooked on the stove. When it was done the three of them sat down at the gimbaled table for supper. Rick finished first and went up to relieve Hugh who came down to eat. Justin was asked how he happened to be on the box floating in the sea. Justin did not know how to explain. He was not about to tell them that he had to save three kids on a raft. He just said that he fell into the river and that he was not a very good swimmer.

Hugh explained that they would be at sea until the fish hold was full and then they would return to port to sell their catch. They could not afford to make a special trip to port to drop him off, but there was plenty of food to feed him. They would radio shore and ask that Justin’s grandparents be called and told that he would be at sea with them. Jamie went to do so but came back with some bad news. The radio transmitter was not working. Something may have happened in the storm. In any event they could not contact shore and arrange for a call to Justin’s grandparents.

As the days passed, Justin got better and better and he tried to contribute to the group effort. He could not cook but he could clean and clean he did. The SallyAnn was never so clean. They taught him how to clean and treat the fish that they caught. When they brought a full net on board, the decks were awash with fish. The four of them, Justin wearing oilskins that belonged to Hugh’s son, would set to cleaning, classifying and storing them in the fish hold in brine. Justin learned that the best fish would be sold at the fish market for restaurants and shops. Fish that were not in quite as good condition would be processed at the fish plant as food for humans and as animal feed including pet food. Fish that was not considered to be edible would be used to make fertilizer.

The fishing was good. Hugh told Justin that he must have brought them luck and he certainly helped them with the processing of each catch. They were heading home and should be in port on Saturday morning the 17th.

They were greeted at the dock shortly before 11 am by the three wives and by Hugh’s son, Tim, whose fishing boots Justin was still wearing. The entrance to the harbor was a long one and the arrival of the SallyAnn was noted long before it reached the dock. Hugh’s wife went immediately to call Justin’s grandparents.

She came back after a little bit. “Justin, I could not reach your grand parents. There was no answer. I called some other people that we know in Westpoint to ask them to relay the message, but they did not answer either.”

Jamie’s wife, Ann, said, “West FM is broadcasting some sort of a memorial service from the race course for a boy who was lost at sea. Maybe everyone one is there.”

Hugh interjected, “Someone lost at sea? I heard just as we were leaving port a couple of weeks ago that the Clancy Brothers of Westpoint lost their boat but that both men were rescued by helicopter.”

“That’s true,” said Hugh’s son, Tim, “but they had a boy with them who was never found.”

“Do you know the Clancy brothers Justin?”

“No Sir, well I know who they are but that is all. However, I think I know the boy that was lost. His name is Kevin Jenkins, everyone called him Jinks. His family raised horses and he used to exercise them at the race course. That may be why they are having a memorial at the race course.”

“Well, that all makes sense. Everyone is probably at the service. We will call again later.”

But they never did. They spent the day and evening unloading the boat and loading Tom Leroy’s truck. It was about 8:30 when were done.

Hugh said, “Tom, what are your plans? Will you be driving up to the North Island in the morning?”

“No, I am going to get some supper and drive up tonight. I want to catch the very first ferry in the morning.”

“Tonight! Maybe you can take Justin and drop him off at Westpoint?”

“Be glad to. That will give me come company for the first two hours of the trip.”

Tom and Justin ate dinner with Hugh’s family. In the middle of dinner, Hugh’s son suddenly turned to Justin and exclaimed, “You’re the Artful Dodger! You were in the play Oliver that Westpoint High School performed here in Hoki.”

Justin agreed that this was true and was pleased to learn that all the Macleod family had attended the play and thought it wonderful.

Tim gave Justin a pair of his old shoes. Justin was glad to give up the fishermen boots he had been wearing. He was also excited to be going home. Home to Billy. Home to all his family and friends. He was grateful to the Macleod’s for saving his life and for their kindness. He tried to express his gratitude to them as he said goodbye but didn’t do a very good job. Maybe, after he returned to Westpoint, he could make arrangements so that anytime a Macleod purchased something at the Hoki "Billy's Burgers" it would be free. However, he did not want to tell them of his connection with "Billy's Burgers" just yet. They told him that they were glad to have him on board and that he would be a great fisherman. Justin was flattered but knew that he could never be a fisherman. The boat was too confining. He needed to be where he could run.

Justin and Tom did not talk much as the truck went up the coast highway. Justin thought about Jinks and was sad to have lost yet another friend. He tried to be positive and think about getting back. Everyone must be wondering where he was. (It never occurred to him that they would think he had drowned.) He would have a good story to tell.

“Justin,” Tom said, “I will take you as far as the bridge just outside of town. That bridge was badly damaged when the river flooded a few weeks ago. They have been working on it, but I do not want to take a chance with this heavy truck.”

Justin responded, “That is fine. Actually you could drop me off at the intersection of the road from the coast highway to Westpoint. It is only about 5 or 6 kms to town from there. I can walk that easily.”

Tom said no, that he would take him to the bridge, but Justin convinced him that he did not have to. So Tom dropped him off at the intersection.

Justin walked to and across the bridge and up Main Street to the Adelphi. What had been a beautiful day had turned to a cold and rainy night. It was close to midnight. No sense in going around back of the Adelphi. Everything would be locked up and everyone in bed. No, he would have to go to the front door and ring the night bell. His grandparents would not like that but his only other choice was to sleep on the porch. So he rang the night bell and then sat down to wait for his grandfather to come down.

A police car came slowly up the street and stopped in the middle of the street. Constable Jamieson got out and came over towards him.

He looked at the hunched down figure and said, “Damm, Jonathan! You nearly gave me a heart attack there.” He looked again and exclaimed, “Jonathan? Justin! Ohmigod!!! Justin is that you?”

Justin looked up at him and said, “Hey Mr. Jamieson, Paul. I’m back!”

A light turned on and the door to the Adelphi opened. Bob Reynolds looked out and saw Constable Jamieson.

“What’s up, Paul? What emergency has caused you to wake me up?”

He looked down at the hunched down boy. “Jonathan what’s wrong? What happened to you? Did the girls throw you out?” And after a pause, “How did you get your hair back?”

“It is not Jonathan, Grandfather. It is me, Justin.”

“What? That can’t be! We saw you drown. What happened? Where have you been? This must all be a dream.”

“Can we come in grandfather? The weather is not so hot out here.”

“Yes, yes of course. Both of you come in.”

“I had better move the police car out of the middle of the street, but I am coming in. I need to find out what is going on.”

“Is Billy here, grandfather?”

“Yes, Billy is here. So are Jay and Peter and Daniel and Tony. They have made sure that Billy was never alone at night. After today’s memorial service they decided that all needed to be together tonight. Jonathan is with his girls.”

Paul returned. Bob, still in a state of shock, said, “Let me get Kathy and the boys.”

Shortly, Kathleen came into the room followed closely by the boys. “What is all this about a miracle Robert? Why have you gotten us all up? Jonathan, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now? How, did you get your hair back?”

Billy pushed past Kathleen. He had been crying again. He rushed up and hugged Justin.

“It is a dream or some kind of cruel joke. But you feel real Justin.”

“It is not a dream Billy, but you are. I am back and so glad to have you in my arms again. I have so missed you Sunny.”

At this they all realized that it was Justin and not Jonathan. Bob was right when he told them to get up and come downstairs – that a miracle had happened. After considerable hugging, Kathleen made some tea and Justin told his story.

Jonathan made his daily call early the next morning and was told to come to the Adelphi immediately as a miracle had happened. Connors came in and found Kathleen up and in an incredibly happy mood. She wondered what kind of miracle this was until she found out it was a real miracle.

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 102 - Daniel & Tony

Shirley Hunter was a nice girl. She was bright and attractive, came from a great family and she played the guitar too. Well, she played a bass, but that’s still a guitar. So, they had that in common.

Tony knew that Shirley had a boyfriend. Robbie Jones was right up there on the stage with him. But he was sure that she would drop Robbie in a flash if she could have Danny. Any girl would. Any girl would be stupid not to.

‘Goodbye my Love. I know you’re going. I know that you have to, but I’m going to miss you. I hope she makes you happy, Danny.’

He watched them walk away and disappear into the darkness.

Tony would survive. He had lots of friends here, good friends, really good friends. He didn’t doubt that Danny would still be his friend; how could he not? But. He was still going to miss what they’d had. He’d miss it terribly, but he would survive. As long as Danny was happy, he’d make it.

Daniel was not walking away from him at all – except physically, a few meters away, to the beach. Shirley was a great girl, she was bright and fun to be with, but neither of them was looking for anything more than a casual friendship. They were just killing time while their partners were up on the stage.

Shirley was happy with her guy, with Robbie, and Daniel was in love with Tony. He never for an instant considered sharing his life with anyone else. Tony was the one – the only one for him; always had been, always will be.

They walked over to the beach together. It was a great night – warm, still and moonlit. It would be quieter over on the beach. The music was pretty cool. The dance party was fun, but if you’re not playing and not dancing, it can get to be just noise after a while.

It was impossible to have a quiet conversation when sitting directly in front of the speakers. So, they walked over to the beach, walked and talked, enjoyed the moonlight and waited for their mates to come back to them from the stage.

They found a fire – a small pile of driftwood, crackling and burning away and casting its feeble light into the night. There were lots of fires dotted along the sandy beach, but this one had been abandoned and was in need of some attention. They stopped, heaped on some chunks of dry wood, and sat together on a log watching the fire recover.

There is something really nice about sitting watching flames in the darkness – when they’re under control, that is. They sat there talking about nothing much, but mostly music. They were both musos and big fans.

“So, where do you see yourself going with Tony?”

“Going? Home of course, it’s getting late.”

“No! Idiot.” She laughed. “Where’s your relationship going? Where do you see yourself in, say, 10 years time?”

“In 10 years? I don’t know where I’ll be, but wherever it is, I’ll be with Tones, the same as I was 10 years ago. Same as I’ll always be – with my Tones.”

“That’s great, Daniel. That’s really cool. I wish that I was as sure about where I’m going to be.”

“You’re not that sure about Robbie then?”

“No. Oh, I dunno. I mean, I really like him – but, who knows?”

“That’s a decisive answer. Hey, the music’s stopped.”

“No it hasn’t. Listen. I can still hear it.”

“No, Doofus. Whozzat’s stopped. That’s a recording – I can hear myself playing and I’m not there.”

“I suppose you’d know. Come on then, we’d better get back. It’s about time they packed it in, it is getting very late.”

“Late? This is not late, Grandma. It’s only 2 o’clock.”

“Grandma yourself. You’re the one who’s been sitting here yawning in my face. On your feet, Guitar-man.”

They left the fire to burn itself out, (or for someone else to adopt it), and walked back across to the Domain where the party was. Whozzat had packed it in. All that was up on the stage now was a CD player, booming out the music. They’d played long enough; it was time to get down and party with their friends and neighbours – they were still kids in this town after all.

Shirley saw Robbie and left Daniel on his own. He walked around looking for Tony, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Jay was there, he was easy to spot in a crowd. Peter was close to him, of course, and Shelley, Kadie and Sandie were close by, but – no Tony. Damm.

Shelley left the group she was with and came over to him.

“Hey, Guitar-man, how’s it hanging?”

“None of your business, Shells. Do you know where Tones is? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“That’s probably because he’s not here – he’s gone.”

“Gone? Where’s he gone? What’s he doing, leaving without me?”

“Maybe he’s running away again.”

“Don’t say that. Not even as a joke. That is not funny.”

“No, it’s not. Seriously, Tony asked me to give you a message. He’s gone back to town with Toddy and Jinks and he said to tell you not to worry about him, he’ll see you in the morning. The room is all yours tonight, and you are to have fun.”

“He what? What on earth is he talking about?”

“I don’t know. It’s your message, I thought you’d understand it.”

“Well I don’t! What’s he on about? What does he mean, the room is all mine? And, how am I supposed to have fun if he’s not there?”

“I told you, I don’t know. Go and find him, Daniel.”

“Yeah, I think I’d better. Thanks, Shells. See you later.”

“Later, Guitar-man. Good luck.”

Shelley went back to her dancing partners and Daniel made his way across and out of the park. He’d only walked a few meters along the road leading back to town, when a car pulled up beside him.

“Hey, Guitar-man. Need a ride back to town?”

“Lucas! Gidday. Hey Margaret. Yeah, I’d love a ride to town, thanks.”

“Jump in the back then. Grant and Dianne can make room for you.”

Daniel got into the back seat, next to the others. “Thanks Guys. I appreciate this.”

“No probs, Dan’l. That’s what friends are for. Where’s Tony?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to get home and find him.”

“You haven’t lost him again, have you?”

“I bloody hope not. He’s going to be in trouble, wherever he is.”

“So where is he?” asked Margaret. “I thought you guys were sweet these days.”

“So did I. I mean, we are, he’s just gone home without me. I think. I don’t know.”

Lucas dropped Daniel off at George’s and he hurried inside. The place was all in darkness, both houses were, and Tony was not there. Of course. So where was he?

Upset, he sat down on the big bed and tried not to worry. Tony had never done this before. Was he all right? Yes, of course he was.

‘Don’t be stupid, Daniel. This is Westpoint. Tony loves Westpoint and Westpoint loves him. Well, most of them do. Anyhow, who would mess with Whozzat’s front-man and Superboy’s brother? Not likely.

He came back to town with Toddy and Jinks, Shelley said so, so he wasn’t walking. Where the F. are you, Tony Duncan?’

He wouldn’t have stayed with Toddy? No, he wouldn’t – not when Jinks is already there. He wasn’t with Lucas, Jay or Peter. Superboy? No, Justin and Jonathan and their mates were away somewhere.

“Where, Tony?”

What was that message from Shells? Daniel was not to worry, Tony would see him tomorrow, the room was all his and he was to have fun?

“Oh!’ The penny dropped. “Dumbass! You saw me hanging with Shirley and now you think that I want to be with her. Like I’d bring a girl, or anyone, back here to our bed. Tones, you’re nuts!”

There was no way that Daniel would ever want to be with anyone like that, except for Tones. Why couldn’t he believe that?

It was after 3am now and he was no closer to finding him. “He said he’ll see me tomorrow, so I will see him. He’s not going anywhere. But I want to see him now. Where is he?”

He kept thinking of places where Tony would not be, and he was certain that he was right in every case. Why was he so certain?

“Tones thinks like me, of course. He’s just like me. Where would I go and sleep if I decided to leave the room for him?”

It was far too late to check into any hotels or motels, so – where?

“Of course! I’d go and sleep in the stables at the racecourse. We’ve done it before and they never close. That’s where he’ll be – in the stables, in the hay.”

Okay, so now he had somewhere to look, but he needed a plan. What was he going to do when he found him? And, how was he going to stop him from doing it again, ever?

Daniel sat on the bed and thought. Then, he had an idea, he had a plan. He dragged out his school-bag and rummaged through it for pens and paper and made his preparations. He left to go to Pattinson Park, borrowing George’s flashlight from its shelf by the back-door, on the way out.

Arriving at the racecourse, he stopped and looked along the long, moonlit, rows of stable doors, considering.

‘Well, if I know my boy, he’ll be in number 1, of course. That’s where we slept last time. You’d better be, Tones!’

He went across the sealed access way and along the long row of stables – down to no.1. Many of the doors were open, top half only, usually. No.1’s doors were both closed, but not locked. Daniel opened the bottom half of the door and ducked inside, flicking on the flashlight as he did.

There was a rustling movement in the big heap of straw. Not rats, he hoped! But, no, there was too much moving. Then a figure, a slight figure, arose up and his head and shoulders emerged from the straw. A tousled, sleepy Tony sat up.

“Whaah?”

“Tony. What are you doing here?”

“Danny? Is that you, Danny? Oh, thank goodness. You scared me.”

“You deserve to be scared. Come on, Tones. Get out of there, we’re going home.”

“Home? To bed?”

“Yes, of course to bed. I’m not sleeping in there, it’s bloody uncomfortable and it’s probably full of rats too.”

“Rats???” Tony shot up out of the straw. “I HATE rats!”

“Yeah. I know you do,” Daniel laughed. “Come on, Tones. We’re going home.”

They left the racecourse in silence, until Daniel said, “There really are rats in those old stables you know. Jinks said that the place is crawling with them.”

“I’m not going back there then.” Tony replied with a shudder.

“No. You’re not.” Daniel just kept walking and didn’t say any more.

Tony walked along quietly, glancing at Daniel and wondering. What was going on here? Was he in trouble, or what? Danny was being strange.

They got back to the house and quietly slipped inside in the dark. When Tony reached out to open the bedroom door, Daniel stopped and shone the flashlight on it. There was a piece of paper taped to the outside of the door – a notice. Tony read, “Tony and Daniel’s Room. Private. Everyone else, keep out.”

“Danny?”

There was no reply, he opened the door and went in, turning on the light. Taped to the wall at the head of the bed, there was another notice.

“Tones and Danny’s Bed. Private. Everyone else, keep out.”

Now he was getting the message.

“Oh, Danny! Thanks.” He turned and smiled.

Daniel was still not smiling. “Tomorrow, I’m going uptown and I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“A tattoo? You hate tattoos.”

“I do, but I’m still getting one.”

“But why? What sort of tattoo?”

“Something like this.” Daniel pulled his shirt up and lifted it over his head. Tony looked at his smooth, bare, chest and read the bold, red, letters written across it.

“Property of Anthony J. Duncan. Keep out.”

Tony’s eyes teared up, but he was smiling. “Danny? Thank you, Danny. You’re an idiot, but I love you.”

“You’re a bigger idiot, but I love you more.” Daniel grinned.

“You do not,” Tony smiled. “You can’t.”

“I do so. I love you more. I always have.”

“I always will.”

They kissed. They’d sort it out tomorrow.

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 101 - Daniel & Tony

(One more - because i've got no patience either.)



It began when Daniel cut his hand. It was a stupid thing to do; he just wasn’t looking at what he was doing and he dragged the razor-sharp knife over the inside of the four fingers of his right hand.

“Oww! Bugger it. Oh shit, that’s going to hurt. It does hurt! Ow. Ow. Ow! Bugger it!!”

“Watch your language, Daniel. There’s kids around here. What have you done? Come here and let me have a look at that.”

“Sorry, Aunt Nita. But – damm! It hurts.”

“Put your hand under the cold tap here.”

“What have you done, Boy? Show the First-Aid Man.”

Tom came over, took hold of Daniel’s hand and pulled it out from under the water.

“Okay. That’s not too bad. It’s just a scratch – or 4 scratches, I suppose. You need to watch what you’re doing. We don’t want the lettuce flavoured with your blood. Stop flinching, Boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t be a wimp.”

“Hey!” John looked over from the computer. “My cousin’s not a wimp.”

“Thanks, John-boy. You’re not a wimp either.”

“I told you that those knives were too sharp, Tom.”

“Nonsense, Nita. Knives can’t be too sharp. People just need to be a bit more careful. Sit down, Daniel. I’ll put a bandage on you. Give the boy a whisky, Nita.”

“I certainly will not. He can have an aspirin.”

“I’d rather have a whisky, aunty, if it’s medicinal.”

“I’m sure that you would, but you’re not getting one. You can have 2 aspirins, that’s medicinal.”

“I’ll have a whisky too, thanks.” John grinned. “For the shock you know.”

“Oh no you won’t. A clip around the ear would be more like it. You hurry up and get that homework finished, your dinner will be ready soon.”

“We’re having bloody salad, are we?” John grinned even wider.

“There’s no blood in the salad, it’s not that bad. Where is Tony, Daniel?”

“He’s over in our room. He still hasn’t finished that essay – typical Tones. Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.”

“Well, when Tom’s finished with you, you can go and get him. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

“Oh, wow. I’d better come with you then.”

“Why’s that, John-boy?”

“To protect you, of course. You’re going to be in SO much trouble when Tony finds out what you’ve done.”

“Trouble? Why’s that? It was just an accident, and it’s my hand.”

“Yeah. Your guitar playing hand. You’re supposed to be playing at the party at Carver’s Beach tonight.”

“Damm! You’re right. Tones will be okay, but how am I going to play with my hand like this?”

Tom said, “You’re not. You won’t be playing any guitars for a few days now.”

“Bugger! Bugger, bugger, bugger!”

“Language, Daniel. You’re not too big for me to wash your mouth out!”

“Sorry, Aunty.”

“You’re always sorry. Anyway, leave the guitar at home tonight. There’ll always be another dance party.”

Daniel left John at home, he wasn’t scared of Tones. There was no need to be either; Tony was only worried about Danny.

“No problems, Tones. It’s just a small cut; I don’t think I’ll lose my hand.”

“See that you don’t! You’re not playing guitar tonight. The party will have to be cancelled – unless they just play records that is.”

“There’s no need for that. No need to disappoint everybody just because I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Danny. Don’t say that. What are you going to do then?”

“Well, you’re not playing my baby. You’re hopeless.”
Tony just batted his eyes at him.

“Okay, stop being cute. You’re not hopeless, but you can’t play the guitar. I’ll give Robbie a call. Time Out are not playing tonight, he might fill-in for me.”

“Robbie. Okay, I guess. But he’s not as good as you.”

“Of course he’s not, no-one is – not in your eyes anyway. Robbie will do fine, as long as he wants to.”

Robbie wanted to. He was happy to fill in, just this once.

“Sure, Guitar-man. It’ll be fun and a new experience playing with different musos, just once.”

“Yeah, this once and that’s all. Thanks, Robbie.”

Toddy drove Daniel, Tony and John out to Carver’s Beach. He was the proud possessor of a driving licence now. He shouldn’t really have been driving unlicensed passengers, but – whatever. He dropped them off there and drove back to town to get Jinks.

John spotted Brian arriving and ran off to be with him.

Kadie’s dad arrived with their mobile stage on his truck and trailer. It was pretty much a permanent fixture there these days. Daniel and Tony helped the rest of Whozzat to set up their gear, in between telling Daniel off for not taking better care of himself.

When the concert/dance party got started and Whozzat began playing, Daniel sat out on the grass in front, watching them. Robbie wasn’t bad but he didn’t really mesh well with the others. That was only to be expected – he hadn’t had hours and hours of practicing with them.

Daniel enjoyed the novelty of sitting out the front and watching Tones and the others, for a while, but he soon got sick of it. He wished that he was up there with them, where he belonged. ‘Stupid cut hand.’

“Hey, Guitar-man. Kick you out did they?”

“Hey Shirley. No, I just can’t play tonight. That’s all.” Daniel showed his bandaged hand to Shirley Hunter who had flopped down beside him.

“Whoah! What have you been doing to yourself?”

“It’s just a cut. Nothing serious, but I cut my fingers and now I can’t play with my baby for a day or two. Dammit.”

“And what does your baby think about that?” Shirley looked up at Tony on the stage.

“What? Oh. I’m talking about my guitar. Tony’s not my baby. Keep it clean, Girl.”

“Tony’s not your baby? I thought he was. What is he to you then?”

Daniel looked up at Tony and caught his eye. They exchanged a smile. “Tones is my guy. He’s my partner, my best friend and my closer-than-a-brother.”

“Do you love him, Daniel?”

“Yes, of course I do. I love my Tones, always have, always will. Didn’t you know that?”

“Well, no. Not for sure, but I thought so. Are you guys happy being together?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Good for you then.”

From the stage, Tony saw the smiles that Danny and Shirley Hunter were flashing at each other and he got the wrong idea entirely.

‘Danny and Shirley? Looks like they’re having fun.’

Tony’s performance that night was a bit off. For once, his mind was not on the music and his heart was just not in it. Nobody worried that much. Everyone has an off day sometimes and this was just a free concert. Everyone was there to party - dancing in the dark and having fun, and they did. The only person who really took notice and was aware that the singer/dancer was not as good as he usually was, was Daniel.

He didn’t understand why. He thought he did, but he didn’t. Daniel thought that Tony was not up to his usual lively standard; and that was true enough. It was because of him, but not, as he thought, because he was sitting out the front instead of being there with him, making music on the stage. Maybe that was part of the reason for the lack-luster performance, but mostly it was because Tony thought that he was losing Daniel to a girl!

Tony really loved Daniel. He always had, ever since they’d walked off to school together as tiny wee boys, walking hand-in-hand and facing the world together. Even before that, he’d always loved his closer-than-a-brother. He knew that Daniel loved him, he always had, always would – but.

Tony had always known that he was gay. Even before he knew what it was called, he knew that he was only interested in male to male sex. He’d never experimented with other boys when he was younger, he was never interested. He always figured that if he couldn’t have Danny, then he didn’t want anybody. He’d never believed that he could ever have Daniel like that.

Now it had happened. Oh, Boy! Had it happened! And it was great. It was all that he’d ever dreamed of. But, he still, even all that had happened, after all this time, he still had trouble believing that Danny was gay.

In all the years that they were growing up, Daniel had never shown the smallest sign that he might be interested in boys. He was personable, popular, talented and not a bit geeky, despite being very good at his schoolwork.

Daniel was good at sports and he was strong – inside and out, and he’d always had lots of girls for friends. Danny had always claimed that some girl, or another, was his girlfriend. Lots of girls had been his girlfriend, though half the time they weren’t even aware of it.

That was Tony’s biggest fear – that Daniel would realise that he wasn’t really gay after all and that he would, one day, go off with a girl. He wouldn’t blame him and he wouldn’t try to stop him. There were lots of things that a girl could give him that Tony couldn’t – like babies and a family of his own, respectability and social acceptance. He’d never get any of those from being with Tony. He’d never get to be a husband and a father. Daniel deserved more that just Tony.

He believed that Danny would, one day, meet a girl and fall in love with her, like any straight boy would. He couldn’t really be gay. He was probably, maybe unconsciously, going along with his old friend and having a bit of fun along the way.

Tony was not just having fun, he was, totally, absolutely in love with the boy. He was sure of that. But, he couldn’t help feeling that Danny deserved more than just him.

And now, right before his eyes, it looked like it was happening. He was up there on the stage, going through the motions, and Danny was out the front there – in the audience but not really a part of it. He wasn’t up on his feet and dancing, he was just sitting in the semi-darkness, talking and laughing, with a girl! He was having fun.

Then, as if to confirm what he was thinking, Tony watched Daniel and Shirley stand up together. (He offered a hand to help her to her feet). They brushed themselves off, and walked off together, away from the lights and the noisy crowd and over to the quietness and darkness of the beach.

Tony watched them go. Watched Danny walking away from him, with a girl, and he felt like crying.

“Oh, Danny.”

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 100 - George & Jeremy & Crispian

Crispian, Compte St. Clair, woke alone in his big bed. He stretched and yawned. He hated mornings and was always slow to wake up fully. He might look like a kid again, but he wasn’t really. Crispian was getting older and some mornings he really felt his years.

“Ah. I wish just snap awake like young Daniel does. But, no. I guess I’m more like Tony – he’s like a bear with a sore head in the mornings, apparently.”

He got out of bed, relieved himself in the bathroom and stumbled through to the kitchen of his small apartment. He filled and switched on the electric kettle and then went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

He looked at himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door, and sighed. A cute, slender, smooth-skinned boy looked back at him. But, that wasn’t him – not really. On the inside, he was still the same person he’d always been and sometimes he felt all of his 58 years, especially in the mornings.

“I don’t know why I let Jonathan talk me into doing that to myself. I look good – I look great! But, now I’m just a freak – the oldest kid in town, that’s me. If my friends could see me now!”

Back in the kitchen, he turned on the radio for a bit of company, made a strong instant coffee and sat at the table to drink it. He looked up at the window – clear, blue sky, but a bit pinkish.

“More rain coming soon then. Westpoint gets more rain in a month than London does in a year – in two years. But, it’s a great little town. I like it here.”

He sat sipping his coffee and gazing pensively out of the window.

“I do like Westpoint; I don’t miss the UK at all. It’s the people that make a place and Westpoint’s got some great people. Our friends in London were all a shallow, self-centered lot. They showed that when Gemmy was sick and dying. Nobody stood by us, nobody wanted to know. Selfish pricks!

I do miss Gemmy. You were my shining star, Gemmy. I hope you’re happy now, wherever you are.”

He got up, rinsed out his coffee mug, and then made himself a ‘C/omplan’ food and energy drink, shaking it vigorously in it’s tall container to mix it thoroughly.

“Mmmm. Faster and easier than trying to cook myself something in the morning. And, I need the energy if I’m going to keep up with those kids!”

Again, he drifted off – lost in thought. Apart from missing his old friend, life was good. The record label was doing well and the movie was doing great business. He’d always wanted to make a feature film, and now he had – Whozzat’s Movie – and it was great!

It was everything he’d hoped for and more. He’d made the film, written it, directed it and even filmed most of it, but it was definitely Whozzat’s movie. The kids had made it what it was, and it was good – a classic of its kind.

They were great kids too. All of them. The members of Whozzat – Peter and Jay, Sandie, Kadie, Shelley and Daniel and Tony. He loved them all, and all the other good friends he’d made here. Justin, Jonathan, Billy, Lana, Claudette, Lucas, Claire and all of the others too. Great kids.

But, that was his problem, wasn’t it? They were kids, well big kids, teenagers, and he was not. Compared to them, he was an old man – a lonely old man. Lonely in the midst of a crowd. The kids liked him, he thought, but they never really accepted him as one of themselves. He was a friend, but on the outside. He was different.

It was the same with the adults too. The kids’ parents and grandparents and others around the town, all accepted him and were friends, but not really – not totally. He was different. Adults tended to look at him and treat him like he was a teenager, an older teenager, even when he was really years older than them.

There was one person who was different with him, but that wasn’t good either. Kathleen Reynolds, the twins’ grandmother and the ‘Dragon Lady of the Adelphi Hotel’, was great – a nice woman really, under her gruff exterior, but she still couldn’t get past the fact that he was ‘a real live aristocrat’.

Most people had gotten past calling him ‘Lordship’ now, he was just Crispian. But, not Kathleen; she still called him “My Lord”, and it looked like she always would.

He cleaned up his few breakfast things, and then went back to the bathroom, to clean himself up. He looked at himself in the mirror again.

“Yeah. You’re a nice-looking kid. If I passed you in the street, I’d stop and have another look. But you’re not me – not really.”

He sighed. He was lonely, lonely and alone in the crowd. The sex urges were still there, somewhat, but nowhere near as strong as when he really was young. He wished he had someone, a partner to share his life with. He missed Gemmy, so much.

They’d never had a sexual relationship, despite what everyone thought. Gemmy was far too sick for that; but they were good friends – close friends, closer than brothers. He loved Gemmy. He missed him.

Why was he feeling so melancholy on this bright, sunny morning? He was never usually this bad – empty, lonely, but not this bad. Then he remembered!

“Shit, Gemmy! It’s your birthday. Today would have been your birthday and I forgot – nearly forgot. Sorry, Gemmy.”

As soon as the shops were open, he went uptown and bought some flowers from Mrs. Campbell the florist. Then he drove across town and out to the cemetery.

Arriving there, he parked next to the one other car in the section where Gemmy’s grave was. He got out and walked over to the man standing there.

“Good morning,” Crispian said. “Have you come to see Gemmy as well?”

“Yes,” said the man, looking around at him. His eyes were red, had he been crying? “Today is his birthday. Well, today would have been his birthday.”

“Yes. It would have been.” Crispian looked down at the grave and the half dozen red roses lying on it. He laid his own roses down beside them.

“Happy Birthday, my dear old friend. Rest in peace.”

“You knew him well then?” the man queried.

“I did. I knew him for a long time. He lived with me for the last six years, until he died.”

“Six years,” sighed the man. “Such a long time. I only knew him for a few weeks and it was a long time ago, but I loved Gemmy, I really loved him. Still do, actually. I’ll never forget my Gemmy.”

“I loved him too. He was the brother that I never had. He was a very special person and I’ll never forget him too.”

The two men stood looking down at their friend’s grave, both choked up and feeling emotional and trying not to cry. Men don’t cry.

“How?” Crispian cleared his throat. “How did you know him? And why do you call him Gemmy? No-one else calls him that, only me. In Westpoint he is still Jeremy – Jakie Carver’s brother, Jeremy.”

“He’s always been Gemmy to me – my bright, shining gem of a boy. I was the one who named him that in the first place.”

“You did? Then you must be Georgie – Gemmy’s Georgie, the boy he left behind.”

“That’s me. Or, I was, it was a long time ago. No-one’s called me Georgie for, it seems like, a hundred years.”

They stood in quiet reflection for a minute, and then George spoke again. “So, did he. . . did Gemmy still remember me then?”

“Of course he remembered you. You were the boy who taught him to love. Gemmy always said that he’d fucked a hundred men, but he only ever made love with his Georgie.”

George sighed and spoke to the grave. “Oh Gemmy, why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you call? I always waited for you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Crispian cleared his throat and held out his hand.

“Great to meet you, Georgie. I’m Crispian – Crispian St. Clair.”

George shook the hand. “Yes. I know who you are; you’re the guy who made Whozzat’s Movie. I’m George Barnes., I’m Daniel’s uncle, and Tony’s too – well, kind-of I am.”

“It’s a small town. It’s really great to meet you, at last. I’ve been here for months, why haven’t you made yourself known before?”

“I didn’t like to. I’m nobody special, just someone who used to know Gemmy a long, long time ago. Anyway, when I look at you, I feel like an old man.”

“This,” Crispian waved a hand across his face. “This is only on the outside. Inside, I’m just as old as you – older even, if you were the same age as Gemmy.”

“You certainly don’t look it. I’ve thought of trying that R&R skin stuff, but – there’s not much point really, I am who I am.”

“That’s fine, if you’re happy with how you look. Sometimes I wish that I’d never done it.”

“But you look so good. You look fantastic actually.”

“Well, maybe. But I‘m still me – it hasn’t changed who I am. Or, not much anyway.”

“Do you still get served in pubs?”

“Sure I do, around here anyway, where they know me. I don’t bother much anymore, I’ve got no-one to drink with.”

“Would you, umm, would you like to have a drink with me sometime?”

“With you?”

“Yes. I’d really like to hear about Gemmy’s life after he left Westpoint. I’ve always wondered what happened to him.”

“That’d be great. Look, why don’t you come back to my place now? We can have a beer and I’ll tell you about the Gemmy that I knew and you can tell me about the Gemmy that you knew.”

“Okay, sure. I’d like that. Where do you live?”

“In the Union Hall – the old Miner’s Union Hall in Cobham Street, I’ve got an apartment out the back.”

“I’ll follow you back into town then.” George bent over and arranged the flowers so that they lay on either side of the headstone.

“Goodbye, Gemmy. Sleep well, my shining star.”

(‘My shining star?’) Crispian went back to his car with a tear in his eye and a song in his heart. He was delighted to have met Gemmy’s Georgie. fancy him still being here in Westpoint after all these years and fancy him remembering and keeping the love alive! This guy must be a special person. He hoped that he’d made a friend here.

Back in town, Crispian pulled up in Cobham Street outside the Union Hall, and then, when George had caught up to him, drove around and parked at the back. George followed him around, stopped, and sat in his car for a couple of minutes, thinking. He got out of the car to face Crispian who was standing there waiting.

“Crispian, look, ah. . .I don’t know. Maybe we should do this some other time.”

“No, Georgie. You’re here now. Come in – please? It’s Gemmy’s birthday, what better day for his old friends to get together? I’d really rather not be alone today. Please come in.”

“Well, umm, okay – just for a few minutes then.”

Crispian led the way inside, George followed. “So, ah, do you really live here? Full time?”

“Yes, sure I do. I bought the hall for the kids really, for Whozzat, so that they’d have somewhere to practice – somewhere better than Jay’s mother’s garage. But, it has the caretaker’s apartment back here. It’s nothing much, really small, but it’s all I need.”

“I thought you were a Lord, or something? Shouldn’t you be living in a palace?”

“I don’t have a palace. I wish that I did. There’s not a lot of palaces around in Westpoint. This is where I live now.”

“But you are a Lord. A Count, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m a real Count. Crispian Compte St. Clair. But that’s all I’ve got – just an empty title. I wish I’d never told anyone about that. I should have left it behind in London, it doesn’t mean anything around here. A title was useful for impressing people, business contacts and so on, especially Americans, but around here the only titles that matter are the ones you earn.”

“What? Like ‘Superboy’ do you mean?”

“You’ve got it. Superboy, the Iceman, the Guitar-man and so on; they are the real titles in Westpoint.”

“I guess you’re right – titles like Gemmy.”

“Yes, Gemmy and Georgie too. Sit down, George. I’ll get some beers. How did you meet Gemmy and why did he ever leave you?”

They sat and talked, laughed and cried, through the day and into the night. Whozzat gathered and started rehearsing. When they found that Crispian had a visitor, they left them alone and stayed out in the front, making music.

When it was time for supper, Crispian suggested going to a restaurant, as he usually did when not eating with friends. He hated cooking for just himself and didn’t keep much food in the kitchen.

George demurred. He liked Crispian, but he didn’t know if he was ready to be seen out in public with Jeremy Carver’s gay lover. They both went around to George’s house where he cooked them a meal.

“Just stir-fries – quick and easy.”

Crispian bought some wine on the way around there.

After eating, they left the dishes and went through to sit in the lounge. Crispian was immediately taken with the large, framed, portrait on the wall above the mantelpiece.

“That’s Gemmy, right? A very young Gemmy.”

“Yes, that’s him, of course. Gemmy aged 15 years. I had it painted from an old school photo. It was in the 1964 yearbook. It’s the only photo I had of him.”

“Your only photo? Damm! I wish I’d thought earlier. I’ve got hundreds of photos of Gemmy. He really loved dressing up and having his photo taken. I inherited them when he died. You’ll have to come back to my place and have a look. You’re welcome to take any photos that you like; I really have got hundreds.”

“That would be great! Thank you, Crispian. I’d really like to see them. I still have a clear picture of him in my head, but that’s Gemmy as a youth. I never knew him as a man.”

“No? Well I never knew him as a youth. He was a good-looking kid, wasn’t he?”

“He was.” George looked up at the portrait on the wall. “Gemmy was a beautiful boy.”

“Yeah. He was a nice man too, well, mostly he was. I don’t want to burst your bubble, Georgie, I think that it’s amazing that you’ve loved him for all these years, but Gemmy wasn’t perfect you know. He was quite self-centered and vain, arrogant and a selfish prick sometimes.”

“I know. I guess that people don’t change much really. Even as a boy, he could be like that.”

“But you loved him anyway.”

“I did. I loved him more than he loved me.”

“So did I, George. More than he loved me too.”

Crispian stayed until quite late, and then said that he’d better be getting home.

“Don’t want those kids getting up to mischief while I’m gone. Not that they take a hell of a lot of notice of me anyway. But, I’d better be going, work tomorrow. Thanks for today, I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“So have I. Thank you, Crispian. I’ve had a great day too.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I’ve got work, but I’m not doing anything after.”

“Well you are now. Come back to my place – say, 6 o’clock. I’ll cook dinner for us.”

“Thanks. But I thought you hated cooking?”

“No, I hate cooking just for myself. I don’t mind it when there’s someone else to cook for.”

“But you’ve always got company. The Union Hall is always full of kids these days.”

“The hall’s always busy, but only out at the front, not out the back. There’s just me out there, alone and lonely. The kids are great, but they’re just kids and I’m not. I’m an old man in their eyes.”

“You’re not an old man in my eyes.”

“No? What am I in your eyes, Georgie?”

“Umm, a friend?”

“Yes!” Crispian beamed. “I’d really like a friend. I need a friend.”

“You’ve got one, if you like. I need a friend too.”

“It might sound like a strange thing to say, but I really like the cemetery.”

“You do? Why’s that?”

“I’ve met some amazing people out at the cemetery – Justin, Lucas and Carl, and through them I’ve met their friends and families and Whozzat too. Now I’ve met you out there as well.”

“I’m nobody special – just an ordinary guy.”

“You’re not ordinary, you’re very special. Anyone who loves someone and tells them that they’ll wait for them and then waits 40 years is a very special and extraordinary person. I’m delighted to have met you.”

George went around to Crispian’s the following evening. He stayed the night there.

One week later, on the Saturday, Crispian moved out of the Union Hall and he moved into George’s house. The plan was for him to use one of the spare rooms, but he never did. They shared George’s room, shared his bed, and soon, shared their lives.

Daniel and Tony were highly amused and delighted for them. Crispian offered them his flat in the back of the Union Hall, but they preferred to stay as they were – sleeping in George’s back-room and eating with the Peters.

In the end, it was Lucas who took the apartment. He moved in there with Margaret. They were both still at school, but, whatever.

Marcie sold her house and Paul, despite Dee’s protests, put his on the market as well. They bought a new house, in Williamson Road, by the estuary; a new home for their new lives together. Dee, grudgingly, accepted the new arrangements and she went to live with them. It would only be for a couple of years anyway.

Life was good.

Justin

This is my new desktop background. Thanks Alastair - you're brilliant!

Next chapter's not ready yet - sorry.

Do you want to see what Jonathan looks like? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlRKiIiZe2s

(lol.)

cheers

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 98 Somewhere Over the Rainbow & 99, Deja Vu

Somewhere over the rainbow. Way up high,There's a land that I heard of. Once, in a lullabySomewhere over the rainbow. Skies are blueAnd the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true.Someday I'll wish upon a star, and wake up where the clouds are far, behind me.Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney pots,That's where you'll find meSomewhere over the rainbow. Blue birds flyBirds fly over the rainbow, why then oh why can't I?Somewhere over the rainbow. Blue birds fly.Birds fly over the rainbow. Why, then why, oh why, can't I?If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why can't I?

He had a great time of discovery and started throwing stuff outside to spread out and dry on the beach stones. When he found a great tangled mass of a plastic tarpaulin, he pushed that outside and then climbed down to go and find somewhere to set it up as a tent.

By the time the sun went down, he had a pile of, mostly dry, bedding, warm clothes, bandages and a plastic roof over his head. He’d even managed to get a fire going, using a broken bottle as a magnifying glass.

While the sun set he cooked up some food, there was a lot of canned food and even jars of coffee and sugar. He set up his bed by the fire and slept the night in luxury and comfort.

Next morning, he had coffee once the fire recovered, and then spent the day recovering treasures and spreading them out in the sun. Robinson Crusoe never had it so good.

Days passed and every day got better. The food wouldn’t last forever, but – whatever. He was feeling good physically but maybe a little empty – purposeless. Who was he anyway? He didn’t know.

He found fishing gear, (well it WAS a fishing boat), and he managed to catch some fish in the lagoon and cooked them. They were foul! No more of that then.

Then it rained. It rained and rained while he huddled, miserably, under his tarpaulin and waited for it to stop. It took a couple of days and his fire went out. When it finally broke, the clouds parted, the sun shone and away out over the sea, there was a rainbow.

A beautiful, bright, shining rainbow was silhouetted against the dark sky. The stranger stood and looked at it, sat down and stared at it. Things were stirring in his fuzzy brain. Memories were trying to surface like stew bubbling in a pot. What did the rainbow mean to him?

“Red and yellow, blue and green. I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow . . .”

No. Nothing. He felt like crying in frustration. There was something, something about the rainbow. Something – somewhere. Somewhere!

Yes! Somewhere the rainbow. He sang quietly, wondering as the words surfaced in his brain.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

Then he stopped. He could sing no more because he was crying now. Crying and crying, aching and yearning – for what? He didn’t know. A rainbow?

Sitting watching the rainbow fade away, he thought, ‘There’s gold at the end of a rainbow. Bright, shining gold. A boy!! There’s a beautiful, bright shining boy!’

In his mind’s eye he could see a face, a bright, sunny face – a golden boy’s face. But a face without a name. Who was he? Where was he? He was at the end of the rainbow, of course. But, what did that mean? Where was that?

It was. . .south. South! Yes, of course it was. The end of the rainbow and the golden boy were south of here, somewhere. Somewhere over the rainbow.

“The sun sets in the sea there, so that’s west, that’s east and that way must be south. I’m going to go south. I have to; I have to find the golden boy. He will know who I am. The golden boy will help me.

This is not living. The living is where the golden boy is. I have to go. I have to go back to him.”

The stranger packed up what he thought he’d need. He didn’t know how far he had to go, so he packed all the food that he could carry; food that he could eat cold if he had to. He dressed in some better clothes – ill fitting but not torn. There were no boots to fit him, (?), so he’d walk barefoot. His feet seemed to be tough enough.

As soon as it was getting dark, he slept. Next morning, when the tide was low, he started around the cliffs at the end of the bay. It took hours, but finally he struggled out into another small bay. It was much the same as the one he’d left except that there was no lagoon here.

Along the stony beach to the cliffs at the far end, and he could go no further. The tide was too high now.

He dropped his gear back on the beach, found his piece of glass and started another fire. He cooked, ate and lay down to sleep. He’d come maybe three kilometers today, probably less. This could take forever.

When he woke in the morning, the tide was low and the sandy beach exposed, so he gathered up his gear and started walking, going along below the long unbroken line of cliffs, scrambling over rockfalls in places and walking on and on.

The tide came up and he was stuck. When he could no longer run/stumble between the breaking waves he climbed up high on a rockfall and waited an eternity for the tide to go down again. When it did, at last, he walked on. And on. And on. It was dark before he came to the end of the cliffs and collapsed on a long sandy beach.

He unrolled his blankets to sleep under a tree. How far was that today? How far left to go? He didn’t know. He slept and dreamed of the golden boy, and a song played. “I don’t know much, but I know I love you. That may be all I need to know.”

In the morning, he lay there trying to recall the dream. He’d dreamed about the golden boy; he’d dreamed that he loved him. Did he? Did the golden boy love him back? Who was he?

He sat up, got up, and – ouch! He was going nowhere today, he was too sore. His head, his leg, his feet – everything ached. He needed a rest. He did walk a little, later, just enough to find some fresh water. Couldn’t light a fire today, the sun was not shining. He sat and ate a can of beans – green beans, but, whatever. Then rolled in his blankets and slept.

The body felt better in the morning, so he walked. And walked and walked. He opened and ate a can of cold spaghetti, and then walked some more. At the end of the bay, the hills came closer to the sea, but the narrow beach continued around the headland and into yet another bay. He came to the small river there and sat to rest for the night. Then he changed his mind and picked up and crossed the river, wading waist-deep.

He settled down on the other side. Now he wouldn’t have to start the day by getting wet.

In the morning, he ate cold, canned fruit and then walked. It was almost two weeks since he’d first woke up on the beach – two long weeks. His battered body was recovering, wounds were healing, but he’d been pushing it to the limits. Every night he lay down exhausted and then, in the morning he started again. He had to.

Maybe he should slow down, take it easy and get better? No. What else was there to do? He had to go. He had to find the rainbow and the golden boy. South. He plodded on.

He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t even know what his own face looked like, but he knew what the golden boy looked like – sun-kissed golden hair, sparkling eyes and a sunny smile. He had to find him, he had to go back. He walked on.

It rained, he got wet. The sun shone, he dried out. He slept, he walked. That was his life.

Around yet another headland and there was the biggest bay and the longest beach yet – miles and miles, fading into the distance. It was easy walking now, on and on. There was a full moon that night, the beach was shadowed but as bright as day; so he kept walking for as long as he could.

Finally, he’d had enough. He couldn’t go another step – not even as far as whatever that thing sticking out into the sea was. He stumbled to the back of the beach, found a hole in the shrubs and flopped down on the warm sand.

He’d lost his bundle of blankets today, and all of his food – what was left. He’d slipped and fallen when crossing a river, the biggest river yet. He was hungry, he was thirsty, but he was SO tired. He slept.

He woke up, late, on a bright sunny day, and then slept again after peeing. He woke again and looked around at a long, gray beach. A stranger in a strange land. But, was it strange? The beach looked familiar somehow.

There was music in his head. No, not in his head, it was coming from over there, away from the beach, somewhere. Somewhere?

With aching, weary bones, he got to his feet. The shrubs – the lupins, gorse, broom and bracken, were all around him and higher than his head. He didn’t go out to the beach, the music was coming from the other way; he pushed back into the foliage.

It was easy going at first as the highest shrubs kept the ground clear of undergrowth. He fought his way out through a solid wall at the end and stumbled out on to a wide graveled road – long, straight and empty and running parallel to the beach.

He stood on the road, panting from the effort and bleeding again from several small cuts and scratches. There were houses down the road to his right. They were brightly coloured in the sunshine, but empty looking, somehow.

Directly ahead of him, across the road, there were small, rough, green paddocks with horses standing looking back at him. Beyond them was a line, a hedge of dark and twisted old pine trees, stunted and shaped by the salt-spray from the beach.

The music was coming from behind the trees, so he crossed the paddock and pushed his way through the hedge. He stumbled out into a wide-open space. Flat, green – a park. No, a racecourse. The racetrack was before him, two oval roadways, one graveled and one grassed. They were ringed by white, board and wire fences.

Directly across, on the far side, a big open-fronted grandstand faced towards him and it was full of people. Hundreds of people and more were milling about in front of it and to either side.

The music had stopped and someone was talking. The speakers carried a girl’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the words from that distance.

The stranger stood looking around. Everything was strange to him, and yet, familiar somehow. He felt that he had come home, but he still didn’t know where he was. Or, who he was.

Then the music started again and the stranger wept. They were playing the song – his song. He was home! Home at last – over the rainbow.

He crossed the racetracks, falling and rolling over the fences on the way. He stumbled on, walking out across the central grassed field. He was going home.

Familiar images, memories, came flooding back as he walked. The bland, anonymous mass of the crowd began to resolve into individual faces – familiar faces. The music played, “Over the Rainbow”, and suddenly the crowd began to break apart. People were peeling off, coming out of the crowd and running out towards him.

The stranger stopped walking and watched them come. In the lead, far ahead of the rest, it was him! The face he knew so well – the golden boy who he had come so far to find – to come home to.

The laughing, yelling, crying boy slid to a stop in front of him.

The stranger wiped his own leaking eyes, smiled, sighed and said, “Hey, Toddy.”

“Hi, Jinks!”

(Okay. NOW you can hate me!)

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 99 Deja Vu

(Shortest chapter ever!)

Midnight in Westpoint. A cold and wet midnight. Senior Constable Paul Jamieson drove along slowly, patrolling, cruising through the valley of the night. Cold and wet, quiet and dark now, a complete turnaround from the excitement of the bright, sunny day.

It must have been time to go back for another coffee, but – “Hey. What’s this?”

He stopped the car in the middle of the empty street and hurried across to the sparse shelter of the verandah outside the Adelphi Hotel. There was a figure there, a person hunched down on the sidewalk.

The head raised and eyes looked at him as he approached. “Damm, Jonathan! You nearly gave me a heart attack there.”

The boy smiled; eyes peering out from under his hair. His hair? But Jonathan had shaved his head, hadn’t he?

“Jonathan? Justin! Ohmigod!!! Justin is that you?”

“Hey Mr. Jamieson, Paul. I’m back!”

(If you want to see what Justin looks, and sounds, like - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlRKiIiZe2s There must be a way to take a 'still' off of Youtube, but i don't know how to!)

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales,97 - A Stranger in a Strange Land

A surge of new life. Here, a leaf unfurled and opened for the first time. There, another leaf broke free and fell, tumbling through the forest canopy.

A million, ten, twenty million small changes happened everyday. They added up and cancelled out and the total was the same as it ever had been.

Timeless and unchangeable, the hills stood as they had stood for a million years. Steep and tall, mist-swirled, rock-faced and tree clad. Dark and mysterious, massive earthworks, ramparts on the sea, with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the beaches.

In the midst of the uncharted wilderness, miles away from any human hand, there was a bay – a mere cleft in the long, long, cliff wall.

A small stream threw itself down the face of the cliffs, sparkling where it flashed in the sunshine. Tumbling and cascading, it fell down the hill to rest at last in a wide, still pool trapped between the feet of the cliffs and the gravel bank at the back of the storm-swept beach where the dying waves still tossed in their fury at the immovable land.

Dozens of birds cruised sedately on the water of the small lagoon – a resting place in their journeying, a haven from the storms.

A small, fan-tailed bird, flicking about in its never-ending quest for food, soared across to the edge of the water and came to rest on a bloody lump on the shore. As its claws grabbed for purchase, the lump twitched, and then it moved. Scared off, the bird flew away.

He awoke on the shore of the lagoon, lying half-in and half-out of the water. Bruised and battered, bloody and beaten, he dragged himself up out of the water and dropped, to sleep again, in the sunshine on the small round stones. A stranger in a strange land.

Hours later, he woke again with a raging thirst. He scrambled around and dragged his mouth back to the water. He drank deeply of the fresh, but slightly brackish, water. Rolling on to his aching back, he looked up at the clear, blue and now slightly pinkish, sky.

Where was he? He didn’t have a clue. Where did he come from? Who was he? He didn’t know. There were no answers in his fuzzy, hurting, head – no memories at all. But he hadn’t dropped from the sky. He must have had a life, a name, before? He didn’t know.

He was here and this was now. How would he survive? The stranger sat up and looked around at his strange land. The water was almost cleared now as the birds were settling down for the night. So should he.

He got on to his knees, and then slowly rose up on his feet, gasping and waiting while his head cleared from the confusion of the change in altitude. One arm hung uselessly by his side. A long wound in his thigh had opened and was bleeding again. That would have to stop.

Looking around, he could see along the beach, and into the lagoon, a line where the greatest extent of the storm had cast its debris. It was mostly driftwood and seaweed, but there were also bright patches of colour where man-made materials had landed.

Dragging one foot behind him, he made his way over to the jetsam in search of a bandage for his leg. The best he could find were long strands of dark-brown, rubbery, seaweed. He sat and untangled some, chewing at it and then pounding with a fist-sized stone to cut it free. He bound it tightly around and around his wounded leg, tying the end in a rubbery knot and hoping that it would stay in place.

Then he dragged himself over to what his searching eyes had found. He sat pulling away the bits of driftwood from the pile and freeing a treasure – a faded, damp, torn and worn old woolen blanket. Now it was his and it was his heart’s delight. He stood again, pulled the cold and clammy thing around his shoulders and looked around for somewhere to sleep.

There was a cave under the cliffs – a small hole in the wall under the massive overhang. It was open on three sides with a floor of sandy gravel. But it was roofed and it was high and dry. The late afternoon sunshine lit the hollow, filling it with its feeble warmth.

He made his way over there and spread the blanket on the ground. He sat down, lay down, and rolled the blanket over himself. He went back to sleep – a stranger, at home.

The screeching of the birds woke the stranger in the morning. His eyes opened and surveyed the scene as he lay still and tried to remember – nothing.

The hollow lay in the shade of the hills and the morning air was chilly. He climbed to his feet and lurched down to the water. The seaweed unraveled and fell off his leg as he moved. At the water’s edge, he dropped down and drank again. Then he stood and opened his ragged pants and pissed on the stones.

“At least that bit still works.”

He tied the seaweed to his leg again and returned to the cave to drag the blanket out to spread and dry it in the sunshine. Then he went back to his sea-side supermarket to see what he could find.

There was something on the rocks at the far end of the bay, but it was too far away for now.

Some strips of blue plastic, pulled apart, made strings to tie the seaweed more securely to his leg. There was some movement in his right arm today. It was stiff more than sore now. At least the hand was working fine.

A plastic bottle – it would make a water carrier; and a blanket! Another, well, half a blanket. Half a treasure. More and more sticks of wood, shells – empty shells – and seaweed. The green stuff was edible, he thought. Heaps of vitamins anyway. People need vitamins, and food. Food? There didn’t seem to be any shops around.

Something was shining on the sand above the waves. A fish. A dead fish, of course. And another, and another – hundreds of them. Fish washed up by the storm. Food. But, dead? Which was worse, starvation or food poisoning? Starvation, definitely! The seagulls were eating them anyway.

He collected several of the herring-type fish and took them back to the lagoon. Sitting at the edge of the water, he washed them and sliced them open with a shell-blade. He ate his fill of the cold, white, fish-flesh.

Sitting quietly watching the ducks on the water gave him an idea. He stumbled and lurched around the lagoon until he found several nests in the reeds, all full of eggs – food.

Back in the sunshine, he carefully cracked some eggs open with a stone, and drank them. He drank more water and lay back, in the sunshine, to sleep again.

Later, he collected more fish – as many as the birds had left. He split them open, gutted them and spread them out to dry, hopefully, on the rocks around the sides of his cave. With his shell-knife, he cut handfuls of reeds to make a better bed. He spread his half-blanket over them, covered himself with the whole blanket, doubled over, and slept. Exhausted.

Next day, he slept all day, rousing himself only once to empty his bladder and to refill the water bottle. He slept.

The following day he was awake, wide awake, long before the sun rose. The fish was off; not even the birds would eat it now. That was a waste of time. So, he stole some more duck eggs. They were horrible too. His taste was returning, he must’ve been getting better.

What was there to eat? Seaweed? Shells? No – shellfish! The shells had come from somewhere; there must be shellfish on the rocks. What was that at the end of the bay anyway?

Stumbling closer, he could see it was a boat, a fishing boat, lying up on the rocks, broken and battered.

“Like me. Is that where I came from – the broken boat? Maybe there’ll be something there to remind me.”

Partway down the beach, he stopped and renewed his seaweed bandage with some wider, flatter stuff that he found. The wound was scabbed and closed now.

“Every day, in every way, I’m getting better all the time.”

There were shellfish on the rocks. Thousands of them. Mussels mostly, small but getting bigger lower down near the water. The tide was down and getting lower. He sat and cracked some open and ate them.

“Bloody salty. Why didn’t I bring the water bottle?”

There was fresh water anyway. A small trickle was coming down the rocks. He caught and drank some handfuls of that, and then went on to the broken boat.

It was lying on its side, thrown up high on the rocks above the sea and smashed beyond any hope of repair. But, the wheelhouse and cabin were intact, the windows weren’t even broken.

He couldn’t get up on the boat, it was too high. With great difficulty, he scouted around, collected bits and pieces and constructed a flimsy, makeshift but adequate ladder.

“This thing could have been sitting up there for months. No, it hasn’t, not if I came off it. I haven’t been here long or I’d be dead already.”

He made his way up on to the boat, carefully.

“If I fall down and break something, I’ll be right up the creek without a paddle.”

Crawling his way in through the open, sideways, door, he found a treasure trove. In a huge, jumbled, smelly, wet mess, he found clothes, boots, coats and bedding – lots of bedding, mattresses even! There were heaps of soggy paper and stuff and tools – knives, forks, spoons and things. Pots and a frying pan and food! Wonderful, glorious food.

A song played in his head as he rummaged and found more and more. “Food, Glorious Food.”

There was a refrigerator, dead of course, lying on its side. Water ran out when he opened the door. The milk inside was off! But, there was beer and coke and orange juice. They were fine but he didn’t like the beer much.

There were various foods in plastic containers. The raw meat was off, but the cooked was all right. He ate some of that and some limp coleslaw as well. The bread was gone – just a doughy mass.

Westpoint Tales - Entangled Tales, 96 - Justin

(Okay - this is IT. Please don't hate me - it's not over. More tomorrow.)

Life was not good. Life was horrible; it was ratshit! How could it be any worse? Westpoint’s brightest shining star had gone out – Superboy was dead.

Justin Reynolds was gone – smashed in a flooded river, swept out to sea, and gone without a trace. Superboy was dead and a whole town mourned.

Nobody delighted now in Jonathan’s amazing resemblance to his twin brother; not even Jonathan – especially not Jonathan. Every time he saw his stupid face in a mirror, or a sheet of glass, he saw his lost brother and he burst into tears.

He shaved his head, but that didn’t help. Sunglasses made it even worse. Billy tried, he really tried, to support Justin’s twin, but the face made it so hard!

Superboy was gone and they didn’t even have a body to bury.

It started simply enough, with rain up in the hills away up inland far behind the town. It rained steadily, heavily, up there all week. There were a few passing showers down in Westpoint, but no more than usual – hardly even enough to keep anyone indoors. But, even as the sun shone on the town, they could see dark storm clouds around the inland horizon and even an occasional flash of lightning over the hills.

The port was closed to all traffic as the river rose steadily. Unbelievable as it was, While Westpoint was soaking up the sunshine, the river was approaching record flood levels.

On Wednesday, a fishing boat with a sick crew member; a kid fresh out of school and taken ill on his first trip out, heroically, stupidly, tried to make it in to the safety of the port. Struggling in the mountainous waves at the river mouth, they were struck by a semi-submerged log, holed and rolled. Two of the crew were later rescued by helicopter. The body of the third, the sick one, was not found. Such tragedies happened all too often on this wild and stormy coast.

The wind blew, but the sun was shining! The surf was up – bigtime! But no-one was game to try that. The sea was full of debris swept down the river.

On Friday morning, the News reported that the railway line was closed. A coal train had gone into the flooded river in the early hours of the morning. Scouring had undercut the track, the rails collapsed under the weight of the train, and everything had slid down the hill into the raging river. There was no loss of life as the driver had, somehow, managed to scramble to safety. The line would be closed for weeks.

Later on Friday there was chaos at the schools when it was announced that all of the south and east bound buses were cancelled. The bridge over the river was closed. It was still intact and, (just), standing in the flood, but Civil Defence had decided that it was too dangerous. They had closed the bridge shutting off all access to any direction except north out of the town.

All of the country kids would need to stay in town for at least one night. Billets were found all over town. Hotels and motels gave up every available bed. The Carvers looked after their own, except for Brian who gleefully stayed at John’s house – so it wasn’t all bad. Mrs. M., Denise and Margaret all shared Jonathan’s large bed while he slept with Justin and Billy. But the sun kept shining.

Saturday morning, they woke up to rain - thunder and lightning and torrents of wind-driven rain. The storm had finally come to town. At breakfast time in the crowded kitchen, Dick Seaton came in, with water dripping from his wet-weather gear, and announced that the bridge was still standing.

“A lot of the wharves are under water. I’ve never seen it so high. The merchandise wharf is just a lake and the cement company wharf is under. There’s a boat in too – perched up there in the flood, sitting in the middle of a lake! If it gets much worse, we’ll be sand-bagging this old place too. I suppose we could all move upstairs though.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Jonathan. “What time is high tide?”

“Not until nearly lunchtime, Lad. Not that the tide makes much difference when the river’s running this high. You’ll be surprised at how fast it drains away once the bloody rain stops. If it stops.”

The rain did stop later in the morning. Jonathan left them to go and help Claudette’s father clean out his flooded basement garage. He didn’t want any help.

“Good chance for me to get on side with the old man.”

When high tide was about due, Justin and Billy wandered over to check out the flooding at the wharves and to see if the bridge was still surviving, (which it was). It seemed like half the town had the same idea as the flooded riverbanks were crowded. People were everywhere, oohing and aahing and marveling at the extent of the dirty water. They were chatting and socialising with friends and neighbours and kids played in the oversized puddles.

The crowd was thinning and running for cover as the bloody rain started again. They were about to leave for home, when they froze at the sound of yelling out on the water. A raft came racing down in the flood – a bit of a raft. Apparently, one of the entries from the raft race had been abandoned on the riverbank and had now been refloated in play by three young boys.

They were all lying sideways, half in the water, and yelling, (laughing?), and kicking frantically as they tried to push it out of the current and into the calmer waters in the lee of the cement company boat. They almost made it, but then their yells turned to terrified screaming as a surge in the water pulled them back and the raft smashed into the prow of the boat.

Bits of polystyrene went spinning everywhere as they clung to what was left and one of the boys was stretched-out, clinging to the front ridge of the boat and trying desperately to pull them back out of the current. The boy was holding them, for now, but he didn’t have the strength to pull them back to safety.

Everyone there froze in horror, but Justin didn’t hesitate. He ran back to the water’s edge, kicked off his shoes and shed his big raincoat.

“Justin, what are you doing?” Billy yelled. “You can’t! You can’t swim that good.”

Justin looked back and spoke his last words, his obituary. “I have to, Sunny. I have to! It’s expected of me. If not me, then who?” He plunged into the muddy water.

Billy stood, knee-deep, in the water. “Be a hero then! Be careful, Justin. Please be careful. Come back to me!”

Justin surged out through the water, dog-paddling, (his strongest stroke)). He reached the high wall of the hull and the calmer waters inside it, swam forwards to the front and pulled himself around on to the ridge there. Pressed back against the boat by nothing but the force of the on-coming water, he reached down, grabbed the boy’s wrists and slowly maneuvered him and his crew back around to the safer waters inside. When they were passed beneath him, he shoved the remains of the raft to send them on their way.

The same shove pushed him backwards at exactly the wrong time as a half-submerged tree reared up and smashed into the prow of the boat. The horrified spectators, safely on the bank just a few meters away, all saw Superboy momentarily spread-eagled on the hull as the tree smashed into him. He peeled off, slid down, and disappeared into the swirling water.

“J. . Just. . tin!!” Billy screamed. He ran along to the rear of the boat and further along the flooded wharves.

The bare tree merrily bobbed its way along on the waves, heading out to sea, but there was no sign of Justin – he had gone. Billy fainted.

The people searched every inch of the riverbank, all the way to the sea, with little hope and no success. In the days that followed, even before the weather cleared, volunteers scoured the beaches and the coastline for miles and miles, but they never found any trace of their lost hero.

Billy was helped home to the Adelphi where he sat shivering and crying in the kitchen until Jonathan lifted him and carried him upstairs to bed. Kathleen, ever capable, even in her own misery, had Dr. Miller come and give Billy a sedative.

In the days that followed, the town was in shock as they mourned for their lost son. The High school was closed for days. It wasn’t official and it wasn’t planned, but nobody came. Most of them were busy searching the beaches for some sign, any trace, of Superboy.

Billy stayed on at the Adelphi. His mum wanted him to come home, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

“I know he’s gone, Mum. I know that, but all I’ve got left of him is right here and I can’t leave that.”

Kathleen and Bob were more than happy for him to stay. As long as he was there they felt like they still had some part of their boy. Billy could go home to his family when he wanted to, if he wanted to, but they were dreading the day.

Jonathan, on the other hand, was avoiding the place. He called in every day for a few minutes, but he spent every night with either Claudette or Lana. They were talking about buying a house and all moving in together, someday, one day – not yet.

Billy was never left alone. He was constantly surrounded by siblings, cousins and friends. Every night, on Bob’s suggestion, either Peter and Jay or Daniel and Tony, came to stay with him.

People cried, buckets of tears, oceans of tears as every single soul realised what a gem they’d had and lost.

There would never be a grave, Justin was lost and gone, but there was already talk of a memorial statue, in the square – a small, bronze statue of a laughing, running Superboy with his hand pointing west to the sea. Collection boxes for a public subscription appeared everywhere, even before the Council had discussed the idea.

After several long days, all but the most desperately hopeful searchers had given up. Everyone knew the long history of this wild and stormy coast. Lives were lost almost every year and bodies were rarely found as the hungry sea took its toll. Entire boats had been known to disappear without a trace.

On the seventh day the Coroner’s Court held a special sitting on the case of Justin Reynolds. They passed a verdict of accidental drowning and also recommended that the Royal Humane Society should award him posthumous recognition of his heroism in saving the three boys from drowning. Westpoint wept.

The Westpoint News carried a full report of the Coroner’s Court with a laughing portrait on the front page and the headline, “If I don’t, Then Who Will?” The entire paper was full of stories of Justin (“Don’t call me Superboy”), Reynolds and the editorial called for everyone to pick up the baton and continue in his example.

Photographs of him, edged in black, appeared everywhere. Everyone who could claim even the slightest relationship was wearing a black arm-band.

Mayor Craddock brought a delegation to the family in the Adelphi. Dr. Miller, Mrs. Lowry, the Catholic Priest and several other ministers and town councilors were there.

“Bob, Mrs. Reynolds, Jonathan, we need to have a memorial service for Justin. The town’s in shock and we’re verging on mass hysteria. We can’t have a funeral, so we need to have a memorial service, to say goodbye and to say thank you. The town needs to have some closure from this terrible tragedy.”

Kathleen said, “No. I don’t think we should. Justin would hate that. He never liked being the centre of attention, he always tried to put others first and fade into the background himself.”

“But he never stayed in the background,” Bob said. “He couldn’t. He didn’t like it, but he was a star and he belonged up front. I think we should hold a memorial to him, even if he would hate it.”

“Well I don’t”, Kathleen replied. “I know my boy and he wouldn’t want it. Billy, what do you think?”

“Ma’am, Justin always did what he knew was right. Always. He loved Westpoint and, if the town needs closure, then we have to give it to them. Justin would.”

“From the mouths of babes.” Kathleen looked at him. “You’re right, Billy. Exactly right – Justin would. We will hold a memorial service and we’ll do him proud, just as he would have done for anyone else. Billy will be with us, up front and centre, where he belongs.”

“Oh no! I couldn’t, Ma’am.”

“For Justin, you can and you will.”

“Well, okay – for Justin.”

“Good boy, Billy. Be strong and be gracious – for Justin,.”

“The next question,” said the priest. “Is where do we hold it? Much as I would like to have it in our church, I don’t think that it will be big enough and St. Jerome’s is the biggest church in town. The Community Centre, perhaps? Would there be room enough there?”

“No, there wouldn’t,” said the Mayor. “It will have to be outdoors and pray that the weather is kind to us, or postpone it until it is. I think that the Square would be appropriate.”

“No! Not the Square,” Jonathan spoke for the first time. “We can’t have it there. Justin loved the Square. He nearly lived in the Square. We can’t have it there, it wouldn’t be right. Not the Square.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Craddock. “Not the Square. Where then? The school perhaps, Mrs. Lowry?”

“No, I don’t think so – for the children’s sake, we shouldn’t. I think Pattinson Park would be the best place.”

“Pattinson Park, the race course. Yes, that sounds fine, “Bob agreed. “It’s neutral ground and it’s the biggest venue in the town. The grandstand alone should hold most of the crowd.”

So it was agreed, a memorial service for Justin would be held at Pattinson Park Raceway, on Saturday the 17th at 11am. Ministers from all denominations would participate, along with the Mayor, the Principal, his friends from Whozzat and anyone else who wished to speak. The Municipal Band would play as well. All expenses would be covered by the Westpoint District Council and Mayor Craddock would be pleased to announce the Council’s approval for a memorial statue in the Square. They would do him proud. The radio and newspaper would publicize the event and someone should see that the TV cameras were there as well.

On the Saturday, the weather was perfect, it couldn’t have been better. The late Autumn sun shone in a cloudless sky. The town was almost deserted as its people assembled at Pattinson Park to say goodbye to Westpoint’s favourite son.

Billy and Justin’s family were seated in a cordoned-off section near the front of the grandstand. The band played in front of the make-shift stage out in front. The crowd was somber and dressed in suits and skirts, jeans and shirts and hundreds of school uniforms. Black armbands were everywhere.

West FM broadcast the whole service, live, for the few people who couldn’t be there.

At a special request from the Carver family, the proceedings began with a recording of Justin singing ‘Danny Boy’ at Jeremy Carver’s funeral. This was followed, as the participants filed onto the stage, by the recording with Jonathan and the school choir singing ‘Pachebel’s Canon’. The crowd wept as the speakers played Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’. (“Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?”)

The service started with a hymn and a prayer and a welcome from the priest.

“We are gathered here today to say goodbye to Justin, the boy we knew as Superboy. Many people are given familiar names, or nicknames, by friends and family. When Justin first arrived here, he was known only as ‘the Reynolds’ Boy’, then, as we got to know him, he was known in quick succession as ‘the Mouse’,’ Mighty Mouse’, and finally, forever as ‘Superboy’.

I think that none will argue with me when I say that never was a name more richly deserved because that is exactly what he was. He was a boy and he was super – through and through.

However, in his own shy, but forthright manner, he never asked to be known as anything other than Justin. Justin Jonathan Reynolds, grandson of Bob and Kathleen Reynolds and twin brother of Jonathan. A special and beloved friend of many, especially Billy Mathieson. A student in our school, a runner, a fighter and a friend – a damm good friend to all of us.

He was here with us for just a short time, but a lifetime as well. Like the brightest of comets he flashed across the skies of Westpoint. He lit up our lives and changed this town for the better, but now he is gone like a comet into the night. It is time to say, “Goodbye Justin. Goodbye and Thank you.”

There were tears and there was a procession of people coming forward to say a few words. Even Ma Carver spoke. The Mayor, in his speech announced the approval for a memorial statue and then, “On a personal note. Not as your Mayor, but as a family man, a husband, father and grandfather, I have one more thing to say.”

He beckoned to the side of the stage and Dulcie Craddock came out and stood with her grandfather. With his hand on her head and a tear in his eye, Tom Craddock leaned forward and, in a husky voice, he said, “Thank you, Justin.”

The music played, Andre Bocelli’s ‘Goodbye”.

Finally, Claire Lewis came forward. “So many things I would like to say about this wonderful boy, but I can’t – it’s just too hard. I will just say this, I loved you, Justin. I loved you very much and I always will. Thank you for being in my life. This was Justin’s song, the first song he ever sang to us. His song to Westpoint, the town he found over the rainbow.

Everyone wept as they listened to Justin singing, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.