Brownsville Tales, Jayden & Cade, 1

One time, a long time ago, Mrs. Paterson's Infants Class, from Brownsville Central Primary School, went for an outing to the Erua Lagoon Nature Walk at the edge of the town. They went down there in a bus and a couple of cars and they assembled at the starting point.

Mrs. Paterson had considered cancelling or postponing the outing because of the lack of support; only two parent-volunteers had turned-up to help her. But she decided to go ahead rather than disappoint the children. Also, it was a lovely sunny day, so it'd be nice to get out in the fresh air for a while.

It was a well-defined track they were going on, level and easy wth wooden boardwalks above the water here and there. The kids were all very young, fit and healthy and they needed regular activity to get rid of some of all the energy.

There were 23 children so that was, roughly, 8 kids for each adult to keep an eye on. What could go wrong? (Famous last words!)

The kids were lined-up in eleven pairs and a spare and, with one parent leading the way and the other bringing-up the rear, they started off. As they were all very young, the boys chose to walk with boys and girls with girls, of course.

Some were more excited than others so, as soon as they started walking, the line was long and strung-out. With all the tight curves in the bush-surrounded track, only a few kids could be seen at any one time.

Less than halfway along the track, there was a point where the boardwalk was over the edge of the lagoon on the right-hand side. Jayden Collis and Dave Fortune came around the corner and saw Cade Caldwell struggling and trying to fight off three boys who were about to push him off the side. He was crying and the others were laughing and jeering.

“Hey! That's not fair!” Jayden was outraged and he rushed forward to help. Dave Fortune went a couple of steps forward, then stopped, turned around and rushed back to find his mother who was somewhere behind them.

“Let go of him!” Jayden yelled and that was all the warning that Richard McGovern got before the smaller boy slammed into him and knocked him off the boardwalk and into the waist-deep, muddy, water.

The other two immediately forgot about Caldwell and turned on Jayden, trying to throw him in as well. He was not as easy a target as Cade was, he was bigger and stronger too and he wasn't going easily. However, it was two on to one so it would only be a matter of time before he was in the water.

But Cade was still there and he was mad enough to do something, so he did – he shoved Brandon Kirk off the boardwalk and into the drink. (Not that anybody would drink the dirty stuff). The third would-be bully now found himself alone with the odds of two to one against him, so he did the logical thing – he jumped in with his mates.

Mrs. Fortune turned-up just in time to see this and she dropped down to help lift the kids back up to the boardwalk. “Dave, run up to the front and get Mrs. Paterson. What happened here, Cade?”

Jayden answered. He shrugged and said, “They fell in. Come on, Cade.” He took hold of his elbow and they carried on along the walk.

The outing was cut short and the school never did find out what had really happened because, of course, no-one told them. It was decided that it was just boys being boys – they were fooling around and some of them fell in.

From that day on, Jayden and Cade were the best of friends. They both lived in town, just around the corner from each other, so they were inseparable at school and away from it as well.

Years went past and everybody grew – everybody except for the adults, they just got older. Cade grew faster than Jayden did, by 9 years old he was the tallest in their class and gangly with it. Jayden was shorter and stockier but still the stronger of the two.

Not that that worried them much, they were good friends and they never fought with each other – well, not much. They were still boys after all.

They were in and out of each other's houses, as best friends often are and were readily accepted by both families. They were even both included in family outings and holidays. The two boys together were easily entertained, they amused each other and they were a pain when separated.

All of their parents agreed, Jayden and Cade were good for each other, they should've been brothers and they almost were. They lived happily ever after, until it all fell apart four years later.

A Head-Hunter came to town and Colin's father was his target. Ian Caldwell was a mining engineer and a good one too. His reputation had spread far and wide until the company developing a new mine in West Australia heard of him and decided that he was just the man they wanted.

He wasn't keen at first, but the Recruiting Officer was very persuasive, to be in at the beginning of a major new industry was exciting and challenging and the money being offered was too good to say no to. So he didn't – he said yes and they were shifting to the West Australian outback.

Cade's reaction to the news was interesting. He was not happy about it and he didn't want to go, but he didn't protest by screaming and yelling like most nine year-olds would. He was much more gracious than that.

“I don't like it, but of course you have to go. It's too big a chance for Dad to miss it. Could I stay here and live with Jayden's family? No? Well, can we take Jayden with us?”

“No, we couldn't. Jayden has got his own family and he belongs here with them.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. That's just the way it is. We're sorry, Cade.”

“Oh. I'm sorry too. I'll go around and tell Jayden now.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, Mum. It's better if it's just me. He's probably going to cry and so am I. I'll go and do it now.”

His father said, “I know it's hard, but there'll be other friends in your life.”

“Maybe there will, but there's only one Jayden. I'll be back soon.”

Jayden reacted to the news in a much more normal way – he hit the roof! He screamed and yelled and said that they weren't having it – they'd run away and live together in the bush and fuck the lot of them!

Cade grabbed him and held him and they cried on each other's shoulders – the only time he'd actually seen Jayden really cry. Both of them felt like they were losing a brother.

They had less than a month, which was barely enough time to say goodbye, to promise to write regularly and to vow and declare that they'd be together again one day.

On the morning they left Cade showed that graciousness again. His parents took him around to Jayden's house to say goodbye on their way out of town. They knew they were coming, so all of the family came outside when they pulled up in the drive.

Jayden was there, of course, with his mother and father and his grandfather, his father's father. Even his two older brothers and his younger sister were there waiting to say goodbye.

His parents, brother and sister all said general goodbyes to everyone, but Cade went along the line and spoke to each one individually. At last he came to Jayden. “I'm not saying goodbye to you.”

“You're not? Why not?”

“Because I'm not – no goodbyes, just 'I'll see you later.' Thanks, Jayden, for everything, so far.”

“Yeah!” Jayden grinned through his tears. “So far. Thank you too, you're a good mate and I'm going to miss you – so much!”

“Yeah, me too.” Cade smiled sadly. He offered his hand, like the grown-ups do, but Jayden was having none of that – he grabbed him and hugged him and cried on his shoulder.

“I love you, Bro.”

“Yeah, I know. I love you too. I always have. Laters, Jayden – until next time.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Cade was trying very hard to contain himself. Jayden didn't make it easy, he wasn't trying at all. He grabbed him again and sobbed and bawled loudly – which was not right for a boy to do. Much to his relief, Jayden's mother took him from him and held him. He smiled and nodded his thanks, got back into the car and closed the door.

They could still hear Jayden wailing as they drove away.

Mrs. Caldwell looked back at her quiet boy in the back seat. “You all right, Cade?”

“I'm okay. Thanks, Mum.”

He was quiet and lifeless and she worried. It was a relief when she looked back again, a couple of minutes later, and she saw quiet tears sliding down his cheeks. At least he wasn't bottling-up his emotions.

She felt so sorry for the kid. All of the rest of the family were excited about the adventure, but not him. He just looked so sad, like his world was ending – which it was, in a way.

Just Because

Railway Memories

Something different - here's something from several years ago - posted here because i want to show it to a friend who likes steam locos. (Dirty smelly things!) cheers, George.

There were fifty staff on the NZR payrolls. Sorry, but I can’t remember all their names, it was a long time ago. Those I do remember were:


Jim Beamsley / Ian Petrie, Stationmaster

Gerald Bray and Stuart Pugh, Section Officers

Malcolm Campbell, Michael Ecklund and - me!, Clerical Cadets

John Lawrie, Shunter

Fred Foster and Harry Read, Traffic Assistants

Neil Annas, Porter then Traffic Assistant

Harry Norton-Taylor, Brian Nepier, Junior Porters

Max Rollerson, Freight Assistant

wally Bissett, General Labourer

Arthur (AJ) Little, Norm Gibbs, Guards

Len McGuigan, Train Examiner

“Crash” Reid, Mick Blackadder, Signal Maintainers

Bill Douglas, Junior Porter then Trainee Signal Maintainer

Six Engine drivers, including Ted Palmer, Danny Stewart, Trevor Chapman, Geoff Butcher

Six Firemen including Russell Bain, Colin Baumber

Bridge Gang including Vic Graham, George Murcott, Joe Hunt

Two Track Gangs including Buster Campbell & George Hunt, Gangers and ‘the Pirate” (AJ Something or other).


Reefton Railway Station 1965-1967


To my parent’s dismay, I left school and on 14th April, 1965, started work as a clerical cadet in the railway station for the princely sum of $12 a week. I filled the vacancy left by my cousin, Garth, when he transferred to Blenheim where I later followed him to in 1967.


The Station is still there, but it is empty now. Most trains don’t even slow on their way through, but in the mid 1960’s it was a hive of activity and one of the busiest and most social areas in the district. The huge open coal-fires in the offices and the passenger’s waiting room were a huge drawcard in the wintertime.


There were then five full-time office staff—the Stationmaster, two Section Officers (shift clerks), these were Stuart Pugh and Gerald Bray, and two Clerical Cadets, Malcolm Campbell and - me.


After about a year, Malcolm transferred away to Dunsandel and was replaced by Michael Eklund, a former classmate from school. So I became the second lowest in the chain and lorded it over my junior. We weren’t, of course, but we, the office staff, always considered ourselves a cut above the outside workers, (and there were a lot of them), because - well, we worked in the office and didn’t get our hands dirty (usually).


The Stationmaster always wore a full-dress uniform—navy blue trousers and jacket and, when appearing out on the station platform, a gold-braided cap. The Section Officers operated the small signal-panel, (Cadets were not allowed to touch it), and they were supplied with a uniform jacket and an un-braided cap. All the General, or outside staff, were supplied with uniforms and wet-weather clothing right down to their boots.


The cadets supplied their own clothing at their own expense. Leather shoes, dress trousers, and wearing a collar and tie were mandatory.


In 1965, the Stationmaster was (Mr) Jim Beamsley. To a sixteen year-old he seemed old, but he was probably aged about forty. He was a quietly spoken intelligent man with bright blue eyes and busy eyebrows. He always wore his uniform and he “ smoked like a train”.


Once, on a summers afternoon, really hot as it only gets there, a large lady arrived huffing and puffing at the ticket window, having just walked out there from Wilson’s Hotel about one mile away. She dropped her suitcases on the floor and complained, “Why did they have to put the railway station away out here?”


Mr Beamsley looked up from his desk behind me and answered, “They like to keep it close to the railway lines.”


Mr Beamsley transferred away to Tauranga in 1966 and was replaced by Ian Petrie. If Mr B was old, Mr Petrie was positively ancient. He later transferred to the Wagon Supply Office in Greymouth and retired from there. As most staff in those days retired after forty years service, aged about fifty-five or fifty-six, he wasn't that old really, but he seemed like it.


Nevertheless, Mr Petrie was a bit of a rebel at heart. He only wore his uniform jacket when “the Boss” was coming. The Chief Stationmaster from Westport made regular “surprise” inspections, but, as he always travelled on the railcar, we were warned of his coming by Tom Southon, the Stationmaster at Inangahua Junction. Stationmasters in town were always expected to join the local branch of Rotary, but Ian Petrie refused to. He defined Rotary as a group of self-made men gathered in praise of their makers.


Mr Petrie smoked a pipe and was forever leaving it at home, so I was often sent to retrieve it. Also, it was his custom to have forty winks, or a short nap at lunchtime. As there was no telephone in the Stationmaster's house and he tended to oversleep, I was sometimes sent uptown to wake him up after lunch so that he’d come back to work.


Everyone in the town knew about Dorothy Haldanes’s being shot and killed in the station in about 1953. As children, we used to bike out to Burkes Creek cemetery, making pilgrimages to her ornate grave. Railway staff were still talking about the incident in the 1960’s and older staff members, particularly John Lawrie, who was an eyewitness, used to re-enact the shooting, showing exactly where and how it happened.


The ticket window (counter for customers) was in a different place in the 1950’s, it was in the General Office and opened into the General Waiting Room. The window and wooden slide-shutter were still there in the 1960’s, but they were unused. Customers were then served at the window between the Stationmaster’s Office and the Parcels and Luggage Lobby at the opposite end of the station offices.


The junior cadet’s job was actually in the Goods Office—a small box with two windows, two desks, a pot-belly stove and three telephones. This was situated in the north end of the Goods Shed, a large (ish) shed in front of the station and on the opposite side of the tracks.


Max Rollerson was the Freight Assistant, or labourer, and he did the bulk of the work in and around the Goods shed, loading and unloading wagons of general goods. Max was sometimes assisted by the General Labourer, Wally Bissett, and sometimes, begrudgingly, by the Clerical Cadet, who hated getting his hands dirty. The definite un-favourite job was helping Max to fold up the large, heavy, dirty, tar-coated canvas tarpaulins off the open-topped La and Lc wagons. This had to be done daily and while wearing one’s best clothes and white shirts.


Because it was illegal for road transport operators to cart against rail for more than 40 miles (about 65km), practically all goods coming into town were carried by rail. That is all goods—food, furnishings, books, clothes, etc, etc. Basically, everything sold in every shop in the town. There were no courier services then and everything brought from out of town came either by railway services or by Post Office mail—and the mail came by rail as well, sacks and sacks of it. Sam Carter drove the Post Office van and he spent a lot of time at the station collecting and delivering mail bags, (and standing around chatting by the fire in the station).


The only buses through were also railway-owned, NZ Railways Road Services operated the largest passenger coach fleet in the country. The buses didn’t actually stop at the station, they called at Taylors Broadway Bookshop, which was also an agency for the railway. They sold Road Service’ and Railways’ tickets on 5% commission and also arranged booking or reserving of seats on the rail ferries, buses and trains all over the country.


Actually, all they did was to telephone the Cadet at the railway station who then made the reservations by ringing offices in Westport, Greymouth, Christchurch or further afield.


One of the Section Officers spent several hours each week at the agency, balancing the books and collecting the takings for ticket sales. Gerald Bray always seemed to take a long time to do this, a long time for him—he was a very efficient clerk. He finished up marrying the bookshop assistant, Val Taylor. Their first home was a railway house in Hattie Street. In later years Gerald was promoted to Stationmaster —I think he was the last one.


All outwards goods also went by rail — farm products including livestock and bales of wool, timber by the wagon load from the several sawmills, dairy produce from the dairy factory over the road, and, primarily, coal.


There were two “State” coal mines at Burkes Creek and Garvey Creek, and they had their own loading facility, including screens. There were thirty privately owned coal mines in the area, some busier than others.


Coal was loaded into 12 ton capacity La wagons or 15 ton Lc wagons by trucks backing up to and tipping over the high-level coal loading ramps in the yards. For this the mining parties were charged 1 penny per ton “ramp charges” for loading in town and 3 pennies per ton at the nearby 'flag'(unattended) station.


These accounts were prepared by the Cadet in the station each week and it was a pig of a job in the days before computers or calculators even. There wasn’t even decimalization - tons, hundredweight's and quarters had to be totalled and translated into pounds, shillings and pence. Mental arithmetic was a valued skill and was soon acquired if it was lacking.


The day in the goods shed office was 7.30am to 4.30am, (Max started at 7.00am). After the inwards goods from the night before were unloaded—usually one wagon load from Westport, one or two from Greymouth and several from Christchurch—they were tallied, sorted and checked against the accompanying documentation—G1a waybills.


About one half of the freight was taken uptown and delivered by Harold Lamas, driver for Reids Transport Ltd. Consignees for the remainder of the goods had to be advised of their arrival, either by G70 postcard or by telephone if they had one.


It was still a manual telephone exchange—crank the handle, lift the handset and tell the operator which number you wanted to be connected to. The operator at the post Office telephone exchange then was my cousin Colleen (Garth’s sister). Being a small town, she knew everyone’s telephone number anyway so all you had to do was tell her who you wanted to talk to. Often if people weren’t at home she knew where they were and when they’d be back. When long lists of numbers had to be rung each morning, one call to the operator sufficed. After the other party hung up, she’d come back on line and ask who to connect to next. No-one gives service like that anymore.


After the morning rush the rest of the day was spent delivering goods, accepting outward consignments and calculating the charges—mostly cash transactions—trying to trace missing or delayed goods, keeping the office fire going and avoiding helping Max. There was also studying to be done, three correspondence courses and the Stationmaster expected at least one lesson of each to be completed every week.


NZ Railways’ internal telephone system was light-years ahead of the Post Office system. Railway phones had dials, and users could direct-dial anywhere on the West Coast railways from Seddonville to Ross and Arthurs Pass. For calls further afield, dialling ‘0’ got the operator in Greymouth or Westport, who then placed the call, if there was a line available—there were only three lines from the coast to the rest of New Zealand.


At least these calls were free. Toll calls on the Post Office system were discouraged and could only be made with the Stationmaster’s permission. Even the nearest settlements, 7 & 8 miles away,were a toll call and calls were expensive—three pence minimum charge for three minutes.


The main disadvantage of the Railways’ telephones was that there was only one line, a party line shared by all users down to Greymouth and one down to Westport. Our station's code ring was short-long-short, the goods office was short-long-long. Hours of entertainment were provided to other users listening in to the Cadets in the station chatting up the girls working in Greymouth and Westport. I remember once being told off by George Murcott of the Bridge maintenance staff for tying up the phone lines. Apparently he didn’t find it so entertaining.


All trains, apart from the diesel powered railcars, were powered by We or Wf steam engines, the bridges on the Stillwater—Westport line could not handle any larger engines. It was a favourite prank of the locomotive crews to “rev up” the engine while on the track through the length of the goods shed, thus filling the shed with dirty black coal smoke and soot, while the disgusted Cadet frantically tried to block all the gaps into the office in the corner.


One engine was permanently stationed in town, stabled in the shed by the highway corner. Apart from shunting duties, this engine was needed to assist every southbound train, pushing it from the rear, over the Saddle (the biggest hill on the Stillwater—Westport line), through the tunnel and as far as Tawhai where it was detached and it returned as a “light engine”. The return trip was fast, especially if Trevor Chapman was driving.


Another favourite joke was to take the new boys at the station for a ride on the engine to Tawhai and back. The funny part came when the Enginedriver and Fireman both suddenly sat down on the floor of the open cab, holding wet handkerchiefs over their mouths, while the Cadet stood wondering what was going on. The engine then plunged into the blackness of the Saddle Tunnel and the cab filled up with smoke and soot. I, for one, was not sorry to see the end of the age of steam when diesel locomotives came to the Coast in 1968/69. Then, with care, clothes could be worn for a second day before needing washing.


The senior Cadet in the railway station worked from 8am to 5pm, and attended the public counter, selling tickets and delivering parcels traffic as well as making seat reservations for trains and buses all over the country as well as booking passengers and cars on the inter-island ferries from Picton and from Lyttleton to Wellington.


Ticket fares (which increased regularly), were about 3 pence to Waitahu, 7p to Cronadun, 2 shillings to Inangahua and about 5 shillings to Westport and Greymouth, 19s/6p. to Christchurch. Return fares were cheaper than two singles and railway staff travelled at “privilege” rates, ie quarter fares.


Most tickets sold were card tickets, but if one was required to a destination not held in stock in the ticket cabinet a P.35 paper ticket was prepared which took longer. There was also a family fare concession for the price of two and one half adult fares, parents and unlimited numbers of children could travel on the one return ticket. These were large forms to prepare and all the accompanying children’s names and birth dates had to be recorded. Staff shuddered when they saw Mrs Win or Mrs Campbell coming with their large broods.


Luggage could be “checked” for a small fee per item which insured them. Otherwise, they were carried free at owner’s risk. There was, of course, a limit to the amount of luggage allowed per passenger. Anything in excess was paid for and sent at parcels’ rates.


The first railcar of the day, service no.810 en route from Greymouth to Westport, arrived at 9am (in theory), then proceeded to Cronadun where it met service no.811 Westport to Greymouth. The Drivers and Guards swapped railcars, and 811 carried on to us arriving at 9.30am.


Similarly in the afternoon, no 812 arrived at 4pm, and crossed no 813 at Cronadun. No 813 arrived at 4.30pm. On Friday nights there was an extra shoppers’ car which left Greymouth at 8.50pm, arrived at 10.20pm and then returned to Greymouth, usually empty at 10.30pm.


The railcars connected at Stillwater with Greymouth—Christchurch services which were 88 seater Fiat railcars, sometimes run as double units.


The Greymouth—Westport railcars were forty-eight seater Vulcan railcars. NZR’s total fleet of Vulcans was six railcars and they were built in England in the early 1940’s. Legend had it that there were originally eight Vulcans purchased, but two of them were somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, their ship having been torpedoed and sunk by a German U-boat in the war.


Passenger services had priority over everything else even though they were notoriously money-losers. Freight services and work trains were always diverted and all other activity ceased when there was a passenger train to attend to.


When the railcar arrived the Cadet stood waiting with the key to the luggage compartment, and as soon as it stopped there was a flurry of activity as the Junior Porter climbed inside and passed out the luggage, mail bags and parcels including the heavy canisters of movies for the Criterion Theatre and cans of cream from Mai Mai, outward luggage, mail and parcels were then loaded and the door locked again. The Section Officer put up a green light signal and rang the hand-bell to warn passengers. The Guard signalled “all clear” to the Driver who acknowledged with a toot, and the railcar went on its way.


One memorable day, the Guard, Bill McClausland, was in the station warming himself by the fire. The Section Officer rang the bell, the Driver tooted and the railcar departed while Bill stood watching it go without him. A quick call to Train Control stopped the railcar at Tawhai and Wally Bissett took Bill in his car to rejoin his train there.


The scheduled stop was two or three minutes and the Train Controller in Greymouth frowned over the telephone if it took any longer. Delays of over five minutes resulted in a “blister”—a please explain yourself letter from the Train Running Office.


No-one wanted a blister. They had to be answered in writing and could result in a fine or even, in extreme cases, in suspension from duty. Nobody was ever sacked from the railways, except for the occasional idiot who tried to steal the tightly-controlled and minutely accounted for money, usually petty-cash. Being drunk on duty was officially a dismissible offence but in practice it was generally covered up and ignored.


Freight Services (Goods Trains). The shunting service, with an Enginedriver, Fireman and Guard, and sometimes the Jnr Porter, departed north at about 7am daily and returned attached to no.819 Westport—Greymouth. Goods which met and crossed with no.818 Greymouth—Westport, in the early afternoon. The Westport and Greymouth crews swapped trains and had a meal break in the lunchroom while the shunters serviced the trains and took off and added wagons. They were then on their way in about half an hour.


The morning shunting service arrived from Greymouth and returned sometime in the early afternoon. Some days another train went to Stillwater, with a local crew, in the late afternoon and returned in the evening.


The night trains, which brought in the majority of goods and parcels, were no.804 Greymouth—Westport and no.805 Westport—Greymouth. They met and crossed in Reefton around 2am to 3am, and were serviced by the Traffic Assistant on night shift. (One staff member, who shall remain nameless, lived near the station in Hattie Street and he stayed asleep in bed until the arriving Enginedrivers whistled to wake him up.)


All trains in the daytime were checked for faults by the Train Examiner, Len McGuigan. Len was another pipe smoker, when walking around in the rain he would turn his pipe upside down to stop the rain from extinguishing it. To a teenage boy, Len seemed very strong. On several occasions when he came into the station office out of the cold and the wet and the Cadets standing in front of the fire refused to get out of the way, he simply lifted them up, one in each hand, and sat them up on the high mantel piece while he stood warming himself.


However, there was one job that he couldn’t do on his own. When he found broken coil springs on the wagons loaded with bagged cement, they had to be replaced. The wagons were detached from the train and taken to the crane where they could be lifted up and the springs replaced. The crane was a large wooden tripod with one moveable beam, and it was hand-operated. All staff in the vicinity, usually the office staff, were commandeered to wind the long steel handle to lift the defective wagons. I never saw it happen, but was often told that if any of the helpers let go of the handle, it could result in broken bones.


The only accident I ever suffered there was when I was “helping” the Junior porter up at the coal loading ramp. Actually, we were fooling around and running races along the tops of the open wagons. I slipped and fell and cracked my skull on the trucks’ safety rail on the way down. Apparently, I rode my motorbike back to the station but didn’t really wake up until I found myself in the hospital with eight stitches in the back of my scalp.


I’m not sure how the Stationmaster explained it in the accident report, but he must have done a good job, because I was never reprimanded for being there in the first place.


I could go on reminiscing forever, but won’t. We’re not writing a book here. One final note—the Cadet working in the station took the previous day’s takings to the bank, in a padlocked leather bag, at lunchtime each day. One day each week, probably Tuesdays, he also called into shops and businesses in the main street to collect payments for their railway accounts.


One of the account holders was a greengrocer, On Lee. “Jimmy the Chinaman” as he was known to generations of kids, was a popular figure, he sold the coolest fireworks in town. His right-hand shop window was a pyromaniac’s delight in the lead up to Guy Fawkes night. Jimmy was a true gentleman, a small man always pleasant, quiet and smiling. He was the only person of asian descent that I’d ever seen and I think that he was responsible for my favourable impression of Chinese people and Asians generally that still remains to this day. Jimmy the Chinaman was a nice guy (that didn’t stop us little sods from shoplifting from him though.)


I transferred away in 1967, shortly before the demise of the passenger services, and the excellent training received there set me up for a twenty-six year career in the Railways.

Brownsville Tales, JJ Erickson

'Hmmm, interesting. There's a new development. When did that begin?' J.J.Erickson ambled along at the rear, following the slowest walkers as his Year 10 class went to the school hall for a movie pertaining to their North American Geography studies.

He'd long ago decided that today's kids were spoilt rotten; they were in no hurry to get there. Even when he was a kid, not so very long ago, movies at school were still a novelty and something to look forward to.

He'd be glad when Brownsville High joined the 21st Century and installed inter-active electronic white-boards in the classrooms. Then they wouldn't have to traipse to the hall for films, but would be able to stay where they were in their seats in the classrooms. That would be a great time-saver. Any chance these kids got to waste a few minutes, they grabbed eagerly.

What had taken his eye was the two boys walking just ahead of him. That was new and they were an unlikely pair – Dillon Kirkwood, tall and well-built with loose blond curls and little Jordan Houston with his huge mop of dark hair bouncing as they walked and jostled together.

They weren't exactly acting-up and not walking overly close together, but there was a lot of nudging and pushing, joking and whispering going on. Something was definitely up with that pair. Even from behind, John could see that there was chemistry between them, as the romantics say.

He'd not noticed them together before. Jordan's mates, the infamous Tight Five, usually stood between him and anybody else. Maybe they'd admitted a new member to their close-knit group? He wondered if Kirkwood had any musical talent? They could definitely do with some.

No, that wasn't fair, they did have some – Ashton Morris was an amazing little guitarist, probably the best in town. Why he stayed with the others, John would never know. Well, he did know really – they were his mates and everybody needs friends. It was a shame that the others weren't up to Ashton's standards, they might get somewhere if they were.

'So. Dillon Kirkwood and Jordan are a couple?' Maybe. He'd have to keep an eye on them. The other members of the Tight Five were doing just that too. They were keeping back and giving the pair space, but they were watching.

Another regular couple, Storey and Moore, were not together for once. Storey was walking with Fortune, they were sitting together before too. Moore was walking alone and looking daggers at them. If that couple had split-up, it was a messy divorce.

'Interesting what you can see, when you look. Wonder if teachers were watching me 10 years ago? I bloody hope not!'

He had to smile again, once they were settled in the hall and he went to the back to work the projector. Moore was now sitting with Young and Storey was the one who was alone and glaring. There was obviously unfished business there.

Damm, he loved teaching teenagers – it was better than most soap operas!

They had to wait a minute while there was some re-arranging going on. Morris, Crestani and Breene were sitting behind Kirkwood and Jordan, but they had to move when Jordan objected. Ashton and Gene went across to the other side of the hall but Lucas just moved back a couple of rows and sat where he could still watch them.

“Okay, if we've all quite finished, we'll begin. Ronald, turn the lights out please.”

That wasn't the best of moves; there was a lot of shuffling going on while he fumbled with the projector in the dark – some dork had pulled the power cord out. He plugged it in and there was quiet at last as the film started.

It was a good movie and it easily held everyone's attention, even John's and he'd seen it several times before. When it finished, Ronald Herbert got up and turned the lights on without even being asked to. It was good to see a kid showing some initiative.

“Thanks, Ronald. Well done.” John rewarded him with a smile. “Okay, Gentlemen, for your homework . . “ he waited for the groans to subside. “It's not a lot, I just want a short precis of what you've seen here and your thoughts on how the geography has affected the economic development of North America's countries. Bear in mind, we're not forecasting about the future, just discuss yesterday and today.

That's enough education for one day, class is dismissed.”

He ejected the video cassette, returned it to its case, opened the curtains and turned the lights out as he left the hall – last one out, as usual.

He'd noted the the new couple, Dillon Kirkwood and Jordan Houston, had left together and that Storey and Moore were back together again. When had that happened? He'd missed that one.

Another regular pair were walking ahead of him as he returned to the classroom. Well, they were sometimes seen together but he doubted if they were a twosome – the chemistry between them didn't seem right for that. Or was it? He didn't know, they weren't that easy to read and that annoyed him.

Jayden Collis and Cade Caldwell, ('Only CC's is tasting like these'). They were friends, on and off, but there was a distance between them. Were they together in the hall? He didn't know.

That'd be another advantage of the whiteboards, if and when they arrived, they wouldn't need to sit in the dark to watch movies. The disadvantage was that other entertainment would be curtailed – whi;le they were at school anyway. No doubt, they find other places to play around.

'Hmmm.' His eyes went back to Collis and Caldwell. 'Yes? No? Maybe. I'll be watching you two.'

Brownsville Tales - Jordan, 3

(Last one. Seriously, what do you think People? I'm trying to keep these stories brief, but is this too easy?)

He'd only been there for a minute when a shadow fell on him. He looked up, squinting at the sunshine, and Jordan was looking down at him, (which made a change).

“Jordan?”

“Hi. Can I sit here with you?”

“Well, yeah,” he looked around. “But where are your bodyguards? They might not like it.”

“Maybe not, but I would and they can get lost for now.”

“For now?”

“Yeah.” He sat down next to him.

Dillon moved forward and down a step so they were nearer being on the same level. “I don't think your friends would approve. They don't like me.”

“But I do, I think. Why wouldn't you stop and talk to me this morning. Are you off me already?”

“No, I'm not off you. I quite like you really, but your friends don't like me. I didn't want to start the day with them all jumping on me again, so I thought it's best if I just stay away.”

“You did, did you? What about me? Aren't I allowed to chose who I want to be friends with?”

“It doesn't look like you are, the way they bunch around you and keep everyone else away all the time.”

“They do get a bit possessive, don't they?” Jordan shrugged like it didn't matter. But it did!

“Just a bit!” Dillon snorted. “They make me feel like a criminal and just because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah well, they're good mates and they've got their reasons.”

“Yeah? So do you think I'd want to hurt you?”

“I don't. I hope not anyway. They don't know you, so they're suspicious; they're suspicious of everyone.”

“There's no need for that. I mean, you're little but you're not defenceless, are you. Sheesh, anyone would think I was trying to rape you!” Dillon was talking himself angry again.

Jordan looked down at the ground in front of them. “That's been tried before,” he said quietly. “The Five try to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“Shit, Jordan! Are you saying that you were raped?”

“No, I'm not. I wasn't raped, but I nearly was. A guy had me bailed-up in the changing rooms at the Aquatic Center, Gene and Ashton came in and saved me. That's why they're all like they are now.It's nothing to do with you, they're like that with everyone and they're looking after me.”

“Because you're such a baby you need looking after all the time? Why would they think that everyone wants to rape you?”

“Maybe because I look easy because I'm little. And, there is this.” Jordan held up his left hand and twisted it around, showing the coloured jelly-bracelets on his wrist.

“What, because you wear bracelets? Lots of kids do. I've got a couple myself – doesn't mean anyone wants to rape me.”

“Keep looking, Dillon. Look at the colours, know what they mean?”

“Kind of. I know that each colour is meant to have a meaning, for those that take them seriously. I don't, it's nothing but a scare story to freak parents out.Yellow is for hugging, blue is oral sex and black means all the way sex – that sort of thing.”

“It is that sort of thing. But look at my colours, I've got six of them – red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple. Doesn't that tell you anything?”

“Not really. Should it?”

“Yes, it should. They're the colours of the rainbow flag. You know what that stands for?”

“Rainbow flag – that's like a gay signal, isn't it?”

“Now you're getting the picture.”

“Damm, Jordan! Are you saying that you're gay?”

“I am. Have you got a problem with that?”

“No, of course I haven't. But why would you wear a signal like that?”

“Pays to advertise,” Jordan grinned. “I think it's subtle, the other don't agree and they want me to stop wearing them, but I'm not. It's my life and I'm proud of who I am.”

“So you should be. So they don't like that you're gay?”

“They don't care about that, they just don't want me advertising it. If I don't, how am I ever going to get a boyfriend?”

“And that's what you're looking for?”

“Yes. Everyone wants someone to love them, don't they?”

“I guess so. I do too. But your Tight Five love you, don't they?”

“Sure they do, but not like that. The guys are more like family.”

“Family? Good luck finding a boyfriend with them in the way.”

“They won't be in the way when it's the right person.”

“And that, obviously, won't be me.” Dillon stood up. “Your friends don't like me, Jordan. It's a wonder they haven't come and taken you away already.”

Jordan said, “I could tell them not to. They don't not like you, they just don't know you.”

“They don't know me and they're never going to, not with the attitudes they've got when they look at me.”

“Forget about them. Do you like me, Dillon? That's what's important. I think I like you a lot and I want to find out more.”

“Really? Sorry but that won't happen. I do like you, I think I could love you, but we're never going to know. You can't forget about your mates, Jordan. They're good friends for you and they have been for a long time. You're lucky to have them, what you've got there is special and you can't throw that away. There's only one of me but there's four of them and they're an important part of your life.

You can't dump them for a possible relationship with me. That's not going to happen, full stop.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I am very sure about that. I'm not worth it.”

“Well I think you are. What if I tell them that I want you for a boyfriend?”

“It wouldn't make any difference. They don't like me and they wouldn't agree.”

“They'd have to agree! It's none of their business anyway.”

“It is very much their business. Okay, if and when, every one of your Tight Five comes and tells me that's it's okay for us to be together, then we can. Otherwise it's not happening. I'm not going to fight your friends, Jordan. They love you and there's nothing wrong with that.”

“There is if it stops me from being with the one I want. You won't change your mind?”

“I can't, Jordan. I can't and I won't.”

“Okay, I'll go and tell them then. If they say it's okay, then we can?”

“If you want to, yeah. But only if all four of them say it's all right.”

“I'll see you soon. I've got work to do!” Jordan left running.

Dillon smiled ruefully as he watched him go. Yes, he'd like to love him, but he didn't think that could happen. Life wasn't that good.

The Cat came first. She came running up behind him when he was walking home from school.

“Kirkwood – Dillon, wait up! Damm. Where are you going in such a big hurry?”

“Going home,” he shrugged. “What's it to you?”

“I want to talk.”

“Why? I've done nothing.”

“No-one said you had. Jordie told me to come and see you.”

“Well, here I am.”

“Yeah. Jordie says he likes you. Is that right?”

“Shouldn't you be asking him?”

“Well, ah – yes, I guess.” She smiled and things looked better. “How about you? Do you like our Jordan?”

“I do. I think I like him a lot.”

“Jordie is gay. Are you?”

“Probably.”

“Probably? I think you'd know.”

“I've never had a cance to find out, have I?”

“So you want a chance with Jordan?”

“That sounds crude when you put it like that.”

“Well, do you?”

“No, I don't!”

“What do you want then?”

“I want to be his friend. I want to get to know him and to love him, most likely.”

“To most likely love him. That's not much of a commitment.”

“It's all I've got. Look, Cat, I don't really know the boy. I'd never even spoken to him until we sat up in a tree together at the Sports the other day. I like the look of him and I'd like to get to know him better. I'd like that very much, but I can't.”

“You can't? What's stopping you?”

“You are. You and all the rest of your mates, you won't let anyone get near him.”

“You want to get near him? Why don't you then?”

“Because I can't. I told you, you lot are in the way.”

“Why won't you fight for what you want? You can't want it much if you won't fight for it.”

“I'm not fighting you and the others. You're his friends, good friends, and I'm not fighting against you. If you weren't his mates, I'd fight you all the way, but you are and you all protect him because you love him. That's a good thing and I'm not taking that away from him.”

“Wow. Are you for real?”

“Of course I'm for bloody real. You think I'm standing here lying to you?”

“No. I don't think you are actually. Okay, Dillon Kirkwood, that's good enough for me. For what it's worth, you have my full permission to be with Jordie. I'm warning you though – I love that boy like a brother. More than a brother actually, I can't stand my real brothers. If you ever hurt Jordie, I'll cut your cock off and ram it down your throat!”

“I think you would. If I ever hurt him, I'll let you do that.”

“All right!” she grinned. “You're a good one. Be nice to our boy and we'll be sweet.” She started walking away.

“Cat!” Dillon called after her. “Thanks, Cat. I will be nice, if I get the chance.”

“You'll get a chance. I'm going to see the others to fix it now. 'Bye, Dillon.”

“Bye, Cat.”

He walked home with a big smile on his face. Not a lot had changed, it was only one of the four of them, but it was a start.

Later, he was on the computer in his room, busily wasting time, when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he called and carried on doing what he was doing. Another knock and he got up and opened the door.

Ashton Morris was there, with Gene Crestani behind him.

“Whoah. Hi.”

“Hey, Dillon. Can we come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He stepped back and out of the way. “Come in.”

They came into the room and Gene closed the door. Dillon sat back on his computer chair.

“Doesn't look like a gayboy's bedroom.” Ashton looked around.

“I wouldn't know. I don't get around that much,” Dillon replied.

“Yeah. So we hear,” Ashton nodded. “I like your posters. Do you play anything?”

“Only CD's. Look, Guys, you're here about Jordan, so what do you say?”

“To the point, aren't you? All right then, we say 'yes'.”

“Really? You're okay with me being with him?”

“Yes, it's okay. We were wrong about you, I think. As long as you're both in it together, it's okay by us.”

“That goes for both of you? Gene's not saying much.”

“He never does,” Ashton said. “Not until he gets comfortable. He gets a bit whakama, don't you, Genie?”

Gene grinned and nodded.

“Whakama?” Dillon said. “What's that?”

“What's the matter, don't you understand plain Maori?”

“Not a lot, no.”

“It means shy, embarrassed, that sort of thing. I thought everyone knew that. Anyway, that's what our Genie is, so now you know.”

“Now I know. You're okay with me and Jordan, Gene?”

“Yeah, 'sokay,” Gene blushed.

Ashton said, “The usual warnings apply, of course. You hurt our mate and you're dead.”

“I wouldn't hurt him.”

“We'll be watching.”

“I'm sure you will. So, that's three out of the four of you. What does Lucas say, do you know?”

“Yes, we know, but I dunno if you'd want to.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“He said that you can go fuck yourself and you'll be with Jordie over his dead body.”

“Oh.” Dillon lost the grin. “I guess he's entitled to his opinion. That's the end of that then.”

“That's it?” Gene spoke up at last. “You're giving up just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that. I told Jordan that all four of you had to agree and I meant what I said.”

“Shit!” cried Ashton. “Don't be such a wimp. Go around and poke him on the nose.”

“I'm not doing that. It wouldn't fix anything anyway. That'd just make him not like me even more.”

“You might be right. You probably won't have to worry anyway – the Cat's going to talk to him. He's in trouble now!”

“In trouble?”

“Yeah,” Gene grinned. “The Cat is no pussy-cat.”

“So true!” Ashton agreed. “More like a tiger – a bitchy tiger. Don't ever fight with the Cat, you can't win.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“Wise man. Okay, we've said what we came to say. C'mon, Gene, we're outta here.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway, Guys.”

“Welcome. See ya.”

That was hopeful, wasn't it? He didn't hear anything more all night and he tried not to worry but, of course, he did. Trust Lucas Breene to mess things up for him. Three out of the Tight Five said that it was okay but not Breene. Stuff him!

What had he ever done to him? Nothing, that's what!

Three out of the four is like 75% approval, which is pretty good really. Maybe he could just forget about Breene and go for it anyway? No, he couldn't. He'd said that every single one of them had to say yes and that hadn't happened. He wouldn't go back on his word. That'd mean that the whole thing was based on a lie and that's not good.

Fuck Lucas Breene! He punched his pillow, but that didn't help. Maybe the Cat would eat him – that'd fix it, sort of.

Walking into the school grounds next day, he looked around. There was no sign of Jordan anywhere and the only one of the Tight Five in sight was – 'Wouldn't you know it?' - Lucas Breene and he was making a bee-line for him.

'Oh well', Dillon sighed. 'Let's get it over and done with then.'

“Kirkwood, I want to talk to you.”

“Talk away, I'm listening.”

“Right. What the hell did you do to the Cat?”

“The Cat? I haven't done anything to her?”

“Yes you have. I dunno what, but you did something.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Yeah, right. The Cat came round to my place last night and she ripped into me like you wouldn't believe.”

“That wasn't my idea. She told me she was going to see you, but I didn't know she'd do that.”

“Well she did, thanks to you.”

“I never asked her to.”

“But she did.”

“I never asked her to. Look, Lucas, it's okay. I know your answer is no and I can respect that.”

“You can? Are you for real?”

“Yes I'm for real. Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because . . well, because. The guys are saying that you're too good to be true. Are you?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm just trying to do the right thing and do right by Jordan, he deserves that.”

“Bloody Hell! You're too much. Jordie does deserve the best. He's gay, but he's too little and too young for any sort of serious relationship.”

“He doesn't think so and it's up to him really, isn't it? He's not that young, he's 14, the same as I am. I think he might be a bit older than me actually.”

“Maybe, but he's still little. Jordie is tiny and you're too big for him..”

“Jordan told me that he's only little on the outside, and I think he may be right. Anyway, what do you think I'm going to do – rip him in half?”

“You bloody better not, Kirkwood!”

“I wouldn't do that to him. It's not an issue anyway – it's not happening is it?”

“No? Okay, Dillon Kikwood, if that's what you want, and what Jordie wants, well – go for it.”

“You what? Really?? I thought you were dead against him being anywhere near me.”

“I was, but I can change my mind, can't I? I've been lectured at all bloody night long! Not just with the Cat, they've all been on my case. I'm not going to stand in your way.”

“Thanks, Lucas. I . . really . . well, thanks! That's great.”

“All good,” he shrugged. “I love Jordie and if he's going to have a boyfriend, he should have the best.”

“I know you love him, all the Tight Five do, that's what makes you such good friends.”

“Friends be buggered! I really, really love him – not like the others. I love them as friends but I love him much more than that, I always have, for years now and I've waited for him to grow older and old enough. But that's never going to happen, I can see that now.

He loves me, but no more than he loves Ashton, Gene and the Cat. He'll never love me like I love him, so I'm letting go. I'm warning you though – seriously – you mess with Jordie and I'll kill you. I know where the key to Dad's gun cabinet is and I'll use it if I have to and I won't care if they lock me up for life.”

“Damm. You really mean that, don't you?”

“Of course I bloody mean it!”

“You'll never have to worry, I promise you that, Lucas. I'll treasure him and I'll never make him cry – ever.”

“See that you don't.”

“I won't. Thanks. You're a big guy. I hope we can be friends too, despite everything. I'm sorry if I'm taking him away from you.”

“But you're not. Even if you weren't around, he was never going to be mine.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Let's go to school.”

Dillon was way happy. He was on top of the world and grinning all morning, but he never got a chance to talk to Jordan until lunchtime. Anyone would think that they were there to do schoolwork – the teachers did. Damm them.

He caught up with Jordan at lunchtime, or Jordan caught up to him really – he ran up and tackled him from behind.

“What the?” Dillon swung around and grinned at the boy grinning at him. “Jordan!”

“Hey. Come with me, Dillon.” He led the way into the Library, which was always quiet at lunchtime – only a few nerds wanted to be there when they didn't have to.

They walked down to the back and around behind some shelves, where no-one could see them.

“Lucas said we can be together!” Dillon burst-out as soon as they were alone. “That means all of the Tight Five say it's all right.”

“Not all of them,” Jordan replied.

“Yeah they did. The Cat, Ashton and Gene told me yesterday and Lucas did this morning.”

“That's only four of the Five by my counting.”

“Four? Oh, yeah, but the other one is you. Your answer would be 'yes', wouldn't it?” Dillon was worried all of a sudden and his face showed it, but not for long.

Jordan stepped close and looked up at him. He pushed his long and unruly hair back away from his face, put his hands around Dillon's head and pulled him down. “This is my answer,” he whispered.

He kissed him.

Brownsville Tales - Jordan, 2

They dropped down out of the tree, carefully not literally, and went out to rejoin the crowd. Dillon had never done this before, so he just followed Jordan's lead – he'd obviously had lots of practice.

It wasn't so apparent when they were sitting down, but walking together, Dillon was very aware of how much taller than Jordan he was. Side by side, close together, he was looking down at the top of his head, so he kept a distance between them so that he could see his face.

Once they were among the other kids they were hemmed in close together again. Judie Meidama wanted to know where Dillon had been?

“Sitting in the shade,” he shrugged. “It's too damm hot out here.”

“You got that right,” she nodded. “All right for the teachers, slacking in the shade. Marley! Where were you? You weren't hiding in a corner with this one, were you?”

'Not likely!' Dillon thought. He glanced sideways at Jordan, then did a double-take and looked again, properly this time. It wasn't Jordan, it was someone else walking near him. The dark hair was the right colour, but it was a bit short and too high up. This was a taller boy. What was his name?

'Lucas. That's him – Lucas Breene.' Jordan had said that he was one of their 'Tight Five'. Breene was short, but taller than Jordan, of course. No-one was as short as Jordan. Where was he now?

“Looking for someone?” Lucas looked up.

“Yeah,” Dillon replied. “I was talking to Jordan Houston. Where did he go?”

“Back with his mates, where he belongs. You keep away from him, Kirkwood. He doesn't need you hanging around him.”

“What? Hell, I was just talking to the kid.”

“Go and talk to someone else and leave Jordan alone.”

Who did this kid think he was? Dillon was getting pissed. “Think you own him or something?”

“More than you do. Lots of pervs think he's something to play with. Stay away from him and leave him alone, Kirkwood.”

“Or what?”

“Try us and you'll find out.”

“Fuck off, Breene.” Dillon scowled and walked alone, back to school.

Well, that wrecked his day. There's nothing like a prick to deflate a good mood and bring you down. He was sour now. Bloody Breene! Who did he think he was? He wasn't hurting the kid, he was just talking to him!

'Tight Five' huh? Too bloody tight, I think. They don't own him, do they?'

The long trail of hot, sweaty, students trudged their way along the road. Certain people cruised past in their air-conditioned cars. Dillon was not the only one glaring at the teachers and thinking what an easy life they had.

Some people changed out of their sports clothes when they got back to school, but not many bothered – the day was over anyway. They sorted their books and gear and went home. At last.

Outside the main gates, Dillon stopped when he saw Jordan coming towards him. He grinned and waved and started back to meet him. But before he got there, four others closed around Jordan and turned him in the other direction. Damm.

They, he supposed, must've been the rest of Jordan's Tight Five. Two boys were on either side of him, one with medium-length sandy-blond hair and the other with longer, very-blond, almost white, hair. They'd be Ashton Morris and Gene Crestani. Lucas Breene walked close behind and a small girl with a big mane of dark hair, led the way. The Tight Five went through the milling mob of kids like a flying wedge on a rugby paddock.

'Damm.' Dillon thought. 'They do bloody think they bloody own him! How am I supposed to talk to him if I can't get near? Sod them anyway.'

“What's the matter, Sweet Thing? Got a guts-ache?”

“What? Oh. Hi, Tess. My guts is fine, thanks.”

“Why've you got a face like thunder then?”

“Because I'm pissed!”

“Not at me, I hope.”

“No, never at you. You're a mate, Tess.”

“Who's upsetting you then”

“That lot.” He looked around but couldn't see them. “Oh. They've gone and taken him with them.”

“Who have gone and who have they taken with them.”

“Jordan Houston and his friends. He calls them the Tight Five.”

“Oh, them. Of course they have. Little Jordan used to get pushed around a bit, years ago. Now the others don't let anyone bother him; they're all very protective of him.

“But what if he wants to be bothered? He's not that fragile, is he”

“I dunno. Go ask him, if you can get close to him, but you'll be lucky.”

“Yeah, I'm starting to think that.”

“Going home?”

“Guess so. There's not much else to do.”

“Cool, I'll walk with you then.”

Next day, back at school, he saw Jordan around, they had most classes together, but even though he wanted to, Dillon couldn't get closer to him. He knew the Kid was keen on knowing him too, or at least he hoped he did.

Their eyes met sometimes and, once or twice, Jordan flashed a small grin before his bodyguards closed in around him and took him away. Again. What did they think he was going to do, kill him or something?

Dillon wanted to talk to Jordan. He liked the kid and he hoped he'd made a new friend, but it looked like his over-protective mates didn't want him to be friends with anyone but them.

'Stuff them anyway!'

He was still going to keep on trying. He hated being frustrated like this and he figured that the boy was worth knowing even if he was surrounded by jealous dumb-arses. He try again in the lunch-hour when there was more time.

That didn't work out so good. Dillon was late getting outside because he was held-up by some girls who wanted to know if he was going to Jess Moran's party on Friday night? (Which he was not, he hadn't been invited. He was a little bit popular, but not that much.)

When he escaped from them, he walked outside and couldn't see the Tight Five anywhere around. They'd gone. Dammit.

He sat outside the Library to eat his lunch. Was that what he thought it was? It was. Someone was in the Music Room playing, not-very-good, metal music, so it was most likely them – the Tight Five, musicians unextraordinary.

He slipped quietly into the Music Room and stood leaning against the back wall. The Tight Five were up on the small stage, playing, fooling around, insulting each other and laughing a lot. Yeah, he thought, they were definitely more about having fun together.

The blond boy, Ashton, was different to the others. He stood a bit apart, off to one side and concentrating on his guitar. But even he looked up and grinned sometimes at the other's antics.

The girl, Cat, saw Dillon there. She stopped singing and stood staring at him. The others all faltered and stopped, looking where she was looking. Ashton was the last to stop.

“What d'you want?” Lucas Breene scowled.

“I . . ah.” It was hard to speak-up with everyone staring. Jordan was smiling, but he was the only one who was. “Jordan said that you guys were a group. I heard you from outside and thought – I wanted to watch and see what you were like.”

“Now you have. You're not welcome here, Kirkwood – bugger off and stay away from our Jordie.”

“Oh?” Dillon bristled. “He's your Jordan, is he?”

“He is,” said the Cat. “Ours and not yours. Go away now.”

“Don't you get any say in this, Jordan?”

Jordan looked a bit embarrassed, he wasn't smiling now. “No. Umm, well yeah, of course I do, but. . . It's not a good time, Dillon. We're practising here. I'll talk to you later.”

Gene Crestani said, “No you won't. You keep away from him, Jordie. We all know what he's after.” He looked over at Dillon. “It's our job to keep the perverts away from our mate. Fuck off, Kirkwood.”

“A pervert now, am I?”

Ashton said, “If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, chances are it is one.”

“Yeah, chances are,” The Cat agreed. “We've seen it before and it's not happening again. Goodbye.”

“Well, I . . Damm! I'm not one of them!” Red-faced, he stormed out and slammed the door.

Screw them anyway. They were the quacking ones, not him. Who the Hell did they think they were? Who did they think he was? No, that was obvious,. But they were wrong. He was no perv and he didn't want to hurt anyone – except maybe them now. Fuck 'em!

That night, lying in bed when he should've been sleeping, but wasn't, he was still mad about that scene at lunchtime. Angry and embarrassed, Dillon decided, to hell with it. He liked Little Jordan and he'd enjoyed their talk up in the tree, but was it worth it? No, it was not.

He wasn't going to try any more. All he'd wanted was to spend some more time getting to know the kid and, hopefully, making a new friend, and look what happened!

As individuals, each of them seemed like they were okay, even Breene was. But as a group, they were just too much. The Tight Five were well-named. They were so tight there was no room for anyone else. Okay, he was giving up.

You'd think that having made a decision his mind would settle-down and he could go to sleep. But, no. He lay there and tried to think about anything else, but it was hours before he finally drifted off.

He woke in the morning at the usual time, habits and routines are hard to break, and he went off to school tired, grumpy and in a foul mood.

It didn't help when he saw Houston break away from the group of kids he was talking to and turn towards him, obviously ready to talk.

None of the rest of the Tight Five was anywhere around, but they wouldn't be far away. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the scene in the Music Room, especially not out in front of the school with the whole world watching.

He had to pass close to where he was standing, in front of the main entrance to the school, and he got a big smile from Houston when he walked past.

“Hey, Dillon. How's it going?”

“Good enough,” he grunted and kept going.

Maybe Jordan hadn't got the message, but he had – they were not allowed to be friends. The Tight Five didn't approve. He latched-on to Tess, went to class with her and stayed close to her and away from Jordan Houston and his bodyguards all morning.

He lost his cover at lunchtime. Tess had to leave the school. She was going shopping with her mother, and then had a dentist's appointment, so she wouldn't be back.

“Okay. Say hello to Mum for me.”

“I will and I'll see you tomorrow. Dillon, whatever's going on between you and Jordan Houston needs to be sorted or it'll drive you nuts.”

“What d'you mean? Nothing's going on.”

“Yeah, right! I'm not blind you know. The pair of you have been sneaking looks at each other all morning. For your own sake, sort it. 'Bye Dillon.”

“Bye, Tess.”

He watched her walk away and thought, 'Damm, am I that obvious? I'll stop looking then.'

He went and sat outside the Library to eat his lunch alone. That didn't work out either.

Brownsville Tales - Jordan

(Thanks Baruch)

Brownsville High's annual athletics day was held at the end of Febuary each year, for some strange reason.

Actually, there were good reasons for holding it then. First, it was still close to the start of the year and so was a good chance for the students to show what they could do and for the Phys Ed teachers to rate them. Second, holding it at the same time each year meant that conditions were roughly the same each year; which was fair on current and previous record-holders. Third, it was a chance for a collective day off after the grind of settling down and beginning another year's work.

The day was a good bonding exercise for the student body and the weather, pretty much, was guaranteed to be fine.

'Fine for some.' Dillon frowned at the group of 'supervising' teaching staff sitting comfortably in the shade under the wide verandah roof around the sports pavilion. It was all right for them, they didn't have to bake in the sunshine and run around all day, sweating their rings out.

It was still the middle of freakin' summer and, and as far he was concerned, it was a seriously dumb-arse time to be holding an outdoor sports meeting. Winter would make more sense, but then, he frowned at the staff again, some people wouldn't be keeping warm by burning calories.

He glanced up, briefly, at the wicked sun beaming down. 'A bit of rain would be nice.' Even some cloud cover would be better than this. This was bloody torture.

The next event on their schedule was the 1500 meters, long distance race. In this heat, that was just too long – too long and too much. He'd done enough running around in the sun. Now was the time to sit and cool off a bit. 'That'd be cool!'

He grinned at his own, weak, joke and looked enviously at the teachers. They were sitting there like bosses on a cotton plantation while the slaves toiled in the sunshine. So not fair!

Outside the pavilion wasn't the only shaded area. He glanced over at the line of old trees at the back of the playing fields. All he had to do was to get in under the lower branches and he'd be out of sight and home free. They could keep their bloody buggery races, he'd had enough.

The discus, shot-put and hammer throws were still dragging on. He'd bombed-out there ages ago and he didn't care.

He stood up, did a few half-hearted stretching exercises, and then, without saying anything to anyone, started jogging slowly around the outside track. Anyone watching would think that he was warming-up for the big race, he hoped.

He wasn't the only one doing it so, hopefully, no-one would take any notice of him.

He stuck to the outside of the track and, when he came close to the trees, he stopped for a 'breather', leaning forward with his legs wide-spread and his hands on his thighs. He sat down on the grass.

Damm, even the ground was hot! No-one was looking at him. He lay on his back, and then quickly rolled over and into the dark shade below the trees.

The bottom branches didn't quite reach to the ground, they were about a meter clear of it. Lying on the bare ground, he could see everyone out there but, hopefully, they couldn't see him there in the shade. The glorious shade! It was better, but still not very cool in there. There wasn't a breath of wind and it was hot and stuffy everywhere.

'What a dumb day for a sports meet.'

It felt like it was the hottest day of the year.

There was no undergrowth at all in there, not even a single blade of grass. The only covering on the hard dry ground was a layer of litter – years of fallen leaves, small dead branches and the occasional round cone. Macrocarpas are like that, they don't like competition and they kill everything trying to grow below them. That's probably why groundsmen like them for borders – less maintainance to be done around them.

'It wouldn't hurt to rake all this stuff up. It's all so dry, it must be a fire hazard. One match and there'd be a raging inferno in here. However, not my problem.'

He had no matches on him anyway. There was nowhere to put them in the silly little sports-shorts that he was wearing. He crawled further back in and sat leaning back against a trunk, with his eyes closed, enjoying the relief from the heat.

He didn't know what it was, but some strange noise made him snap his eyes open again.

There was a small patch of colour up in the tree, a few meters above him. What? Someone's sports clothes thrown up in the branches? Why?

Puzzled, he stood up, then grabbed the branch above him to pull himself up for a closer look. Yes, it was sports clothes that he'd seen, but they weren't just thrown up there. Someone was wearing them.

There was somebody up there, sitting in the branches. He wasn't the first one to have the brilliant idea of hiding in here then. But who? He couldn't see.

He climbed right up and, carefully, stood on the branch, keeping one steadying hand on the trunk next to him. Okay, he was still not sure, so he climbed up on to the next branch, and the next, and pulled himself up next to the boy sitting there.

“Midget! What're you doing up here?”

Jordan Houston looked around and, if looks could kill he'd be in trouble. So that was what a 'look of disdain' looked like. Without saying a word, Houston made him feel like he was the little one – little and stupid.

“I mean, umm, well . . you're obviously here for the same reason that I am – escaping from the torturers out there But why climb up in the tree?”

“If you half a brain, you'd work it out for yourself. They can see you when you're sitting on the ground. Dimwit.”

“Dimwit?”

“Fuckwit then. That fits better actually.” He got up and stood on the branch without even holding on to anything.

Dillon was impressed. If he tried that, he'd be down on the ground and hurting by now. He glanced down and nodded. 'Hurting all over, probably.'

He looked up again at the boy standing above him. “You've got good balance. If I tried that, I'd be flat on my arse on the ground.”

“Do it then. I could do with a laugh.”

“Hey! Don't be like that, Midget.”

“Go fuck yourself, Kirkwood.” He reached up, grabbed the branch above him and, with two jerks, stood up on that one.

Then he began climbing higher up, walking around the tree like he was on a spiral staircase. He had to duck and weave around some twigs, but basically the branches grew out of the tree in a spiral. Dillon hadn't realised that, but then, he'd never spent a lot of time up in trees. This kid obviously had, he was quite at home here, comfortable and good at it too.

“Hey, wait. Where're you going?”

“Anywhere away from you.” He kept climbing.

Dillon was puzzled and a bit pissed. What the hell was wrong with him? He was an okay sort of person, wasn't he? He had a lot of friends and some good ones too. He got along with most people and was not used to being hated – not like this.

What the hell was up with the Midget? They'd never been close, but he'd seen him around a lot, always laughing and joking. He wasn't grinning now. Why not? What had he done?

There was one good thing about all this. Houston might be mad at him and running away, but he was going up, not down. Sooner or later, he was going to have to come down again. Only problem was – it might be later.

Once everyone out there had finished sweating in the sun, they'd be going back to school and those who were not there would be missed. He didn't have a perfect record, but it was pretty good and he didn't want to get in trouble – or cause Houston to either.

There was only one thing to do then. He started climbing – going up to make things right with the kid. Hopefully.

Going up the tree was nowhere near as easy as Houston had made it look. Even following the spiral of the branches, it was hard work. But, he was careful, slow and steady, and he got there.

The tree was getting smaller. The branches thinned-out and the trunk was starting to sway. That'd look funny from the outside; there was no wind at all out there. He climbed up to where the other boy was stopped and glaring down at him.

“Damm. I'm not as good at this as you are. You made it look easy.”

“Just fuck off, will ya!”

“Don't be like that. I want to talk.”

“Tough! I don't want to talk to you. Not now, not ever. Fuck off and leave me alone. Come any closer and I'll boot you in the face.”

“You really don't like me, Jordan? Why not? I'm a good guy.”

“Says who?”

“Well, there's my mum. She likes me.”

“She has to. That's her job, innit? It's not mine and I don't, so fuck off!”

“If you want me to, I will. But first, tell me why you don't like me. I've never done anything to you, have I?”

“You have.”

“What then? Tell me and I'll apologise.”

Jordan glared down at the big, brown, puppy-eyes pleading up at him. His face softened and he sighed. “All right then. You called me 'Midget' and I hate that. I hate it and I hate anyone who says it and I hate you.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't know it upset you that much. I just thought it was a name that people called you. I won't do that again. Sorry.”

Dillon waited but there was no answer, so now he sighed, turned away and started climbing back down, slowly and carefully. “I'll leave you alone now.”

Jordan watched him and thought, 'Sorry? Yeah, I think you are. Maybe I was a bit harsh, you seem like a good guy. Only one way to find out.'

“Kirkwood, wait. Stop there, I'm coming down.” He skitted down to where Dillon was and sat on a branch next to him. “They'll be a few minutes before they're finished out there. Sit down and talk to me.”

“Okay, sure!” Dillon lost the worried look and a smile lit-up his face. He sat down, carefully keeping one hand on the trunk. “What do we talk about?”

“About you, for a start,” Jordan grinned. “All I know is that you haven't been in town very long and your name is Kirkwood. Tell me more – what's your proper name, where are you from and why are you here?”

“Okay. I'm called Dillon, we came from Christchurch a few months ago when my parents split-up. Mum's got a job here, she's a receptionist and medical assistant at the dentist's.”

“Sooner her than me,” Jordan grimaced. “So are you earthquake refugees?”

“Not really. Our house was okay – a lot better than most. A chimney came down through the roof and there was some liquification in the driveway, but that was all. But, yeah., I suppose we are refugees in a way.

We didn't lose the house and shit, but the stress probably helped break-up the family. It's happening a lot and thousands of people are getting out of there.”

“They'll go back in time. Things will settle down and there'll be heaps of jobs there soon – they've got a city to rebuild.”

“I suppose. I'm glad we're out anyway. It's nice to walk into a building and know it's not going to fall down on you.”

“Ah, but do you know that? Earthquakes can happen anywhere, anytime and the experts say that we're overdue for a big one here.”

“Oh, great! Thanks for that. Here I was thinking that we're safe now.”

“You most likely are safe, for now. Christchurch will be the safest place in the country now the pressure has all gone. It'll take years for it to build-up again for the next big one”

“If the pressure has all gone. Nobody knows if they're finished. Let's talk about something else. How about you? You're a local?”

“Well,” Jordan shrugged. “Almost a local. I wasn't born here, we moved down from Nelson when I was a baby. Dad's a driver at the mine and Mum works, part-time, commercial cleaning. I've got one sister – Kate. She's 12 and bigger than me. Have you got siblings?”

“No, no brothers ever and no sisters now.” Dillon's face fell.

There was obviously a story there, and not a good one. He looked upset, almost like he was going to cry, so Jordan changed the subject. “What are you doing, hiding away in the trees here? I thought a big, strong kid like you would be really into sports.”

“Yeah, sometimes I am, “ he grinned again and shrugged. “But not now. It's too dammed hot out there and I've had enough of it. Why are you here? Not the sporty type?”

“Hardly! I'm not built for it, am I? With these arms and legs, people run all over me and I get sick of losing, so I get out of it whenever I can.”

“Fair enough, I guess. Can't you get a note from a doctor to say that you can't play sports? Then you wouldn't have to hide.”

“A doctor? Watch it, Mate. I'm not sick, I'm just little.”

“Yeah. You are that. You're small for your age.”

“Only on the outside. What sort of music are you into?”

“Music? All sorts, I guess. I like metal – Megadeath, Asking Alexandria, Chelsea Grin, that sort of thing.”

“All right! You've got good taste. That's our sort of music.” Jordan beamed his cheeky grin.

“Our music? You and who else?”

“Us, of course – the Tight Five. We've got a group. Do you play anything?”

“Me? No, just play the fool, sometimes. What do you play?”

“I'm on drums. If you say 'Little Drummer Boy', I'm outta here!”

“O – kay. Am I allowed to think it?”

“Thnk what you want. Just don't say it.”

“I won't then. Who else is in your group?”

“Ashton Morris is our star. He's on lead guitar and he's really, really good. Gene Crestani is rythym guitar and Lucas Breene on bass.”

“That makes four. Why call yourselves the Tight Five?”

“Because we are – very tight. It's a rugby expression, the Tight Five are the front row – the Hooker, two Props and two Locks.”

“But you've only got four.”

“No, there's five. The Cat does vocals.”

“And the Cat is?”

“Caitlyn Sawyer. She's our mate too.”

“So one of your mates is a girl. Is your group any good?”

“No. We're just crap really, apart from Ashton, he's good. We have a lot of fun and it's something to do.”

“Fair enough. I hope I get to hear you play sometime.”

“You can if you want. We're entering the Smokefree Rockquest this year – we won't win but it'll be an experience.”

“You're not exactly over-confident.”

“Yeah I am – confident that we'll lose, and we will. As long as we have fun, that's what matters.”

“I guess so. Good luck anyway.”

They sat up in the tree and talked, both enjoying themslves until they had to cut it short. Someone was running around out there, blowing a whistle like a mad thing. The sports day was over, it was time to get down and go back to school.