Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
John and Bob's Tale - Pt 3
They didn't throw them out. Before the 40 minute period was over, Mr.Craddock returned with the Williamsons and they all took their seats. There were no letters chalked on anyone's clothes now and no more was said about the incident.
At the recess, Bob and the other B's went looking for the Williamsons. They found them, but couldn't get near them. They were standing out on the quadrangle, next to the old fence, but they were surrounded by a crowd of admirers. Not all the laughter was coming from the one side of the fence either. The four B's went to walk away, but one broke away from the crowd and came over to them.
"Hello Bob Lyons, I wondered where you were."
"John? Yes, of course you are. Hi. These are my friends, Bruce Adams, Brian Reynolds and Bill Carver. Guys, this is John Williamson."
"We know that. Hello Williamson, you're a legend boy."
"Oh, okay then. Nice to meet you all."
"John, what happened when you went to the Head's office? I thought you were in so much trouble."
"Trouble? No, we're not; it's all over and done with now."
"But how? What happened John?"
"We are not supposed to talk about it. Let's just say that it was our first day, our first class, in a new school and also our Granddad is a lawyer, a King's Counsel who specializes in technical assault charges."
"Your Granddad? Does he really?"
John looked around, and then he grinned. "No, not really, that's all rubbish. Our Granddad is a farmer, but they don't need to know that."
Bob laughed, "John, you're amazing - you're just bloody amazing. I do hope we're going to be friends."
"I thought we already were, Bob Lyons. Anyway, that was all Paul's idea. I think he'd make a pretty good lawyer himself."
"Yeah, I reckon he would."
Then, they had their first fight. Bob put an arm out in front of John to stop him and the others all walked on and left them standing there.
"Wait a minute, John."
"I'm waiting, what for?"
"Right, good. I just wanted to ask you, what are you doing at lunchtime?"
"I'll be eating lunch I suppose, the same as everybody else."
"No. I mean, will you be eating here? Or are you going home for lunch?"
"Oh. I see. We are going home of course; mum said that we have too. Besides, if we stayed here we wouldn't get to see Em."
"So you're going home to see your bitch sister?"
"Yes, of course. She is our sister, Bob Lyons, our triplet sister; we're not used to being separated."
"Of course you're not. Of course she is. I'm sorry; I didn't mean anything by that. I don't even know your sister."
"No. wait until you do," John grinned. "Then you can call her a bitch."
"I'm sure I won't. If your sister is anything like you, then she'll be a great person."
"No, she is a bitch, you'll see. So why did you want to know what I'll be doing at lunchtime?"
"We're all going to the factory, to pick up our money. The guys have decided that you get equal shares. So I'll just pick your money up as well. Brian reckons that we should get six, maybe seven, pounds each."
"Six or seven pounds? That's a lot of money. But what is it for?"
"For the whitebait of course. You helped us catch it, so you get a share too."
"The whitebait??" John was horrified. "You sold the whitebait you caught?"
"Sure we did. Brian's dad bought the lot. He gave us a really good price for it too."
"How could you? That's disgusting."
"Disgusting? What do you mean? Did you think we were going to dig them into the garden or something?"
"I thought you were going to eat them, you and your families. All those living creatures, hundreds and hundreds of fish, had to die just so that you could get money? That is disgusting. Keep your blood-money. I don't want anything to do with it. I don't want anything to do with you, you disgust me." He walked away.
"Go then!" Bob yelled after him. "I don't want anything to do with you either, you're a bloody weirdo. They're just fish! Weirdo!"
John stopped, turned and looked back at him. "Bob Lyons?"
"What, Weirdo?"
"Go screw yourself." He walked back to where his brother was waiting. Bob stormed away in the other direction.
Bob was mad, really mad. Brian came back and tried to ask what was wrong, but he just shrugged him off and kept walking.. He really wanted to lash out and hit something, but it had better not be Brian Reynolds. He was mad but he wasn't stupid.
Around at the front of the school the big wrought-iron gates across the carriageway were wide open. They were normally closed and locked when school was in session, but today they were wide open like an invitation. So he walked out through the gates into Russley Street, and he just kept going.
"Screw school, I can't be bothered. And screw you too, bloody Weirdo Williamson. Who the hell do you think you are? I disgust you? Well you disgust me too! To hell with you."
Bob strode along Russley Street, his heavy leather schoolshoes crunching satisfyingly on the gravelled road. He was still fuming, but the exercise was calming him down, working it out of his system and letting off steam. Nearing the west end of the street, he could hear the school bell ringing, signaling the end of the recess, but he could also hear all the noise over beyond the railway embankment at the top of the street. That sounded more interesting, so he kept going.
"Screw school. I'll tell them I was sick or something. That's not a lie; I am sick - sick of school."
Up and over the railway he went, looking carefully each way along the tracks to make sure that nothing was coming. There was great activity going on out on the salt-marshes.
Two big steam shovels were digging up the ground, gouging out deep trenches, and a barge with a grab-bucket was dredging out and enlarging Saltwater Creek. The Yacht Club people would be delighted.
Bob found a big flat-topped rock to perch on and he sat down to watch the works. This was much more interesting than school. He wasn't alone in that opinion either, several other heads that shouldn't have been there, were dotted around the scene, as well as housewives and other people watching.
He'd heard about all this, but he hadn't been down for a look before. This was all part of Westpoint's ongoing harbour improvements. Apparently, the plan was to dig out all of the shallow tidal lagoon around Saltwater Creek, from the back of the wharf on the riverside, all the way back to the new Westpoint Yacht Club's shed. The mud and debris being dug out was being used to fill in the salt marshes further back, to create new paddocks for horses etc.
They were going to build new wharves alongside the railway line for the fishing boats to tie up at. This would get them away from the flood-prone river and ease congestion along the busy riverside wharves. They would really need the extra space too, if the proposed cement works went ahead out at the Cape. The plan was to use their own boats to ship cement out of Westpoint.
Bob's dad had scoffed at all this. "The cement works is never going to happen. It's just a pipe dream. People have been talking about a cement works out there forever, but no-one wants to spend all the money it would cost to set it up. I don't see the need for a new industry for the town anyway. The world can't get enough of our coal and there's mountains of it out there. Westpoint was founded on gold, but coal is what keeps it alive, black gold."
Bob thought that a cement works was a great idea. He had no intention of ever going to work down in a coal mine - dirty, dangerous places. He wasn't going fishing either, that was dangerous too.
Watching all the activity out in front of him, he was reminded of his father's opinion on these works too. "Fisherman's Wharves, Hah! That's all just a scam. It's just an excuse to spend the ratepayers' money so that the Yacht Club crowd will have more room to mess about in with their little boats. The Westpoint Yacht Club's got far too much say in what goes on around here. We'd be better off spending the money on an airport, it's time that Westpoint had a proper airport.
"If they must waste our money, they'd be better off putting it into a concrete surface on the cycle track in Britannia Square. That blasted gravel moves every time it rains." (Bob's father was secretary of the Westpoint Cycle Racing Club.)
His smart alec reply had got him in trouble too. "But Dad, concrete is too expensive - there's no cement factory in the town you know."
He stayed there for hours, the time flew past. It was great sitting watching the men and machines working. There is something really fascinating about watching other people working.
Bob had no wristwatch, but he didn't need one - not in Westpoint. The bells on the new clocktower rang out every 1/4 hour, and they could be heard all over the town. He was aware when the lunch hour came and went, he wasn't hungry anyway, and he just stayed put.
Mid-afternoon he slowly became aware that he was being watched. At first it was just a feeling that someone's eyes were fixed on him. He dismissed that as being fanciful, but he still had that feeling. Then a shadow moved beside him. He turned around and looked up - John was standing there looking down at him.
He snapped around and looked back out across the marshes.('John Williamson is here. What does he want? What do I say?')
"Bob Lyons?" said the voice behind him. "I know that you do not want to know me now. I can understand that. I just want you to know that I am sorry."
Bob sat staring straight ahead of him, waiting for more, but John said nothing else.
('What do I do? What do I say?') He looked around again, but there was no-one there, he'd gone.
"No. I don't want it to end like this - I can't." He jumped up and ran up to the top of the bank. John was walking away up Russley Street.
"John, wait," he called, but the kid kept walking. He ran down across the road and caught up to him.
"Stop, dammit! Wait a minute will you?" He caught him by the arm, and John stopped walking.
John shook him off, "Don't touch me!", but then he stood looking at him. "I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"
"You had your say, now I want you to listen to me. I'm sorry too, I am really sorry and I do want to know you. I want to be your friend, John. Can we start again? Please?"
John's sober, serious, face suddenly broke into another one of his 'killer' smiles.
"Oh, yes please. I SO want to be your friend, Bob Lyons."
They stood, close, in the street grinning at each other. Bob couldn't even remember why he had been so mad. It all seemed a bit silly now. He really liked this beautiful boy.
('Beautiful boy? Whoah, where did that come from? Girls are beautiful, not boys.')
"So. What do we do now?"
"Can I have a hug, Bob Lyons?"
"A hug? Okay, why not?"
Hugging was not something they did in Bob's family, they never touched each other. His Gran used to, but that was years ago. He never hugged his friends either. He couldn't remember ever touching any of them, they'd call him a 'poofter' if he did. But, if John wanted to, then he'd like to hug him too.
They shyly 'assumed the position', both feeling a bit awkward. Their hands slid around each other and their chests pressed together as they looked over each other's shoulders. Bob could feel the strong muscles in John's firm, young, back. He could feel his heart beating! He could feel the life in this wonderful boy, and he felt a surge of warm fuzzy feelings like nothing he'd ever known before. Wow! He let go, backed off and looked into the smiling green eyes.
"Wow," said John, echoing his thoughts. "Thank you my friend."
"Thank you. You can hug me any time you like, I liked it."
"So did I. What do you want to do now?"
"Well, ah, I haven't eaten all day. I missed breakfast because I slept in and I missed lunch because I was being stupid. Now I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Do you want to come around to my house? It's just round the corner, in Cobham Street."
"Sure we can go to your house. Anything to keep the horses safe in the streets."
They exchanged grins and started walking again. Bob's home was in Cobham Street, around the corner and one block along. It was the centre of three (almost) identical houses, all built closely together and across the road from the Miner's Union Hall.
"Home sweet home. It's not much, but it's ours." Bob led the way in through the open door and through to the kitchen. Both back and front doors were open, and most of the windows. The kitchen fire was going, turned down, but there didn't seem to be anybody about.
"Mum. You Here?" Bob called out loudly, then he grinned at John. "She's not here. She'd be yelling at me by now if she was."
"She's not here? Where would she be then? Everything's wide open."
"Everything's always wide open. Dad smokes a pipe and Mum hates the smell of it. She's probably next door drinking tea with Mrs.Peters. That's all they seem to do all day, drink tea and gossip. You want something to eat?"
"I don't know. What have you got?"
Bob inspected the big pot simmering on the back of the stove. "Cool, vege soup, that'll do me. Would you like a bowl of mum's vegetable soup, John? It's really good, well, usually it is. She tends to throw all the left-overs into the pot so sometimes it's not so hot, but usually it is. You want to take the risk?"
"Yes, why not? I'm game to try it if you are. Not too much though, I've already had lunch and breakfast."
"Okay, you can get it, there's bowls in the top cupboard. I'll cut some bread. Mum's been baking, I can smell it. I love fresh baked bread."
They sat together at the table, one with the soup, one with the bread.
"There you go - hot out of the oven."
"That's great. I love fresh bread too. I love it and, umm, I really like you Bob Lyons. Thank you for taking me back."
"I, aah, I really like you too, John James Williamson. Thank you for coming back. Thank you for wanting me for your friend."
"Oh, I want you all right."
They grinned, then realizing the implications of what he'd said, they both sat blushing and carefully inspecting their bowls of soup.
"So. Umm. Why do you swim underwater?" With that clumsy change of subject, they both relaxed and chattered away happily together.
The two bowls of soup were soon polished off, then a second two. It was one of Mrs.Lyons' better efforts and they both liked it a lot. John ate the still-warm wedge of bread with relish, but when Bob put a second piece in front of him, he didn't eat it.
"What's the matter? Don't you like my mum's bread?"
"Yes I do, it's great."
"Well, why aren't you eating that bit then?"
"I, ah, I was going to take it with me when I go."
"Take it with you? But why? Why don't you just eat it now?"
"No, I don't want to eat it myself."
"What then?"
"I was going to feed it to the birds on the way home."
"Why would you want to feed the birds?"
"I like birds. I'm trying to make friends with them. They don't know me because I'm a stranger here."
"They don't know me either, and I've lived here all my life. You're a strange, strange person, John Williamson, but I like you."
"Great!' (Killer smile), "I really like you too, Bob Lyons."
They sat quietly enjoying the moment, smiling at each other, and each delighting in his new-found friend. Bob had always had lots of friends, especially the B's - Bruce, Brian and Bill - they'd been part of his life for years. But he'd never felt anything like this about anybody. Was he falling in love for the first time? He didn't know. He'd never thought that he was a 'poofter' - a homosexual - but he'd never met anyone like John before. He really, really, really liked this boy. He liked everything about him. He loved him. ('Love? - Yes. I love John Williamson, I do.')
The spell was broken by two women walking into the kitchen. Two housewives, both with floral print aprons over their house-dresses, curlers in their hair and sheepskin slippers on their feet.
"Hello, we've got two hungry boys today have we? Wait a minute, you're not one of the B's, we haven't seen you before. Who is your friend, Robert?"
John got up and stood beside his chair. "Good afternoon Ladies," he smiled.
"Ooh. Aren't you lovely," the other woman enthused. "Your friend has got beautiful manners, Robert. He's a real charmer isn't he?"
John blushed and Bob felt bad for him. "Sit down John. Leave him alone, Mrs.Peters. John's all right."
"I said he was all right didn't I? I think he's a lovely boy."
('So do I, Mrs.Peters, I think so too. John is a lovely boy, a great boy.')
"Mum, Mrs.Peters, this is my friend, John Williamson. He's new in town."
"Oh, is he now? Welcome to Westpoint John. The town can always do with new blood."
"Wait a minute, June. I agree that the town needs new blood, but maybe this is old blood."
"Old blood? What do you mean, Mavis?"
Mavis Peters turned back to the boys. "John Williamson? Your face is not unfamiliar. There's a statue in Britannia Square that looks a lot like you. Well, it's just a bust really, and he's got whiskers, but he looks like an older version of you. James Hargreaves Williamson, Mayor of Westpoint and Member of Parliament a few years ago. Would he be any relation of yours?"
"Ah, yes he was Mrs. Peters," John grinned. "James is my second name. James Hargreaves Williamson was our grandfather."
"Your grandfather was Mayor of Westpoint?" Bob queried. "I thought you said that your grandfather was a farmer?"
"I did. That's our other grandfather. Everyone gets two grandfathers you know."
"Oh, of course. Mayor of Westpoint and Member of Parliament, Wow!"
"Yes, wow. But I never knew him; he died a long time ago."
"I never knew him either," said Mrs. Peters. "He left Westpoint a long time ago, when he became an MP and then he died. But I would have liked to have met James Hargreaves. I would have liked to have punched his lights out."
"Mavis, really?" said Mrs. Lyons. "Why would you have wanted to punch him?"
"Because he was my grandfather too. I guess that makes us cousins, John, but your grandfather, our grandfather, was not a nice man. My Grandmother was his housekeeper, she was just a young girl. They were both young, and things happened. She became pregnant and finished up having twins, but he refused to marry her.
She was just an ordinary, uneducated girl from a working-class family and it didn't suit his plans and political ambitions to tie himself down with a family, so he rejected her. The old sod. Someone should have horse-whipped him. But, no. He became a respected leader of the community and he never acknowledged the bastards that he left a young girl to raise on her own. If her family hadn't stood by my Grandmother, who knows what would have happened? I wouldn't be here today.
He did leave her the farm in his will - Carver's Farm out on the South Beach - but that didn't make up for the lifetime of misery that he left her."
"Well. Excuse my French, Mrs. Peters," said John thoughtfully. "But it sounds like the real bastard was our Grandfather."
"You got that right Boy!" Mavis Peters laughed. "Nice to meet you anyway - Cousin."
"I guess we are cousins. Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Peters."
"Anyway," Mrs. Lyons said. "I hope you boys haven't eaten all the soup. That's for our tea."
"Yes," Mrs. Peters agreed. "It's for our tea too." She held up the bowl that she was carrying.
"Well there was no sign on it, Mum. Anyway there's plenty there, it's a huge pot."
"I am sorry Mrs. Lyons, Mrs. Peters, I did not realise."
"Don't you worry about it, John. It's not your fault. If we are short of soup, then it's young Roberty-Bob's fault. You are our guest here."
"There's plenty there, Mum. We didn't have that much. Come on John. Come and see my room now. See you later Mum, Mrs. Peters." Bob walked out, John followed but he stopped at the door.
"Thank you, Mrs. Lyons. It was great soup and wonderful bread too."
"Robert! Have you been eating my bread?" she called up the hallway, then she smiled at John. "You're welcome, John. Anytime."
"Umm, thanks. Goodbye then ladies, Mrs. Lyons, Mrs. Peters - cousin."
"Goodbye Cousin. Come and see me sometime."
Bob was waiting for him up the hallway, and he followed him in to the bedroom.
"Welcome to my world, John Williamson."
"Your world? It's just a room, Bob Lyons. But it's a great room - so big and so empty."
"Empty? My room's not empty. I've got furniture."
"Yes you have, but only one of everything. One bed, one dresser, one wardrobe, one table and one chair. Our room has two of everything and there's no space at all."
"Umm, okay. Two of everything, including two boys. It must be great having a brother."
"You think so? PJ's a messy beggar too. He takes up about 3/4 of our room. I'd swap you anyday - you can have the brother and I'll have the space."
"Really?"
"No, not really. PJ is okay really, he's just messy. You're very tidy aren't you /"
"I have to be or Mum's on my case. I've got no-one else to blame it on you see. Anyhow, I think I'd rather share with you, not Paul."
"You would? That's cool, but you can't. I'm stuck with PJ and he's stuck with me."
"Yeah. You don't know how lucky you are. I've got my own radio though even if I haven't got a brother."
"You've got your own radio? That's so cool. Can we listen to it?"
"Sure we can - one ear piece each, but you can hear it."
Bob got his crystal radio out and plugged it in. "I can only get two stations in the daytime - the National Program or the Concert Program. At night there's lots more, Australian ones even. They have some really good music."
They sat on the edge of the bed, close together, side by side, and plugged in a head-phone earpiece each. Bob tuned into the station and they sat listening to some boring old woman and her cooking program.
Bob and John both liked food, they were teenagers after all, but they liked eating it not cooking it.
"Nah. Boring,"said Bob. "Let's see what's on the concert program." He moved the dial and changed the station.
"That was Rachmaninov's Moment Musical, Opus 16/1," said the announcer's voice. "Next up we have Tchaikovsky's Third Movement from Suite no.4 in G, featuring the Swiss Romande Orchestra. Ernest Hamelin conductor."
"Boring. Sorry John, it's only this high-brow stuff at this time of the day."
"Shush Bob Lyons, be quiet. I love Tchaikovsky."
"You do? Okay, enjoy then.'
They sat quietly listening. John was obviously enjoying the soaring music, his eyes were closed and his upper body swaying slowly backwards and forwards. Bob found the music boring, but he did like sitting there enjoying the sight of this beautiful blond angel of a boy next to him.
Their bare knees protruding from the legs of their long school 'shorts', touched together accidentally. It felt to Bob like an electric spark flashed between them. He jerked his leg away, embarrassed. A few seconds later it happened again, he jerked away then turned his legs well away to the side.
John opened his eyes and smiled at him. He lifted his right leg and hooked it over Bob's left leg and pulled it back over towards him. "It's just a leg, Bob Lyons. It won't burn you."
Bob just grinned and gulped. ('Damn! I wouldn't be too sure about that.') He was really nervous and he had an instant erection. ('Damn, damn and double damn.')
John wasn't helping the situation at all. He put his hand on Bob's leg! "You're shaking, Bob Lyons. Relax, there's nothing to worry about."
('That's how much you know. What's happening to me? Dammit....I like this.')
"I, ah, I do like you, John Williamson. You're amazing."
"I like you too, Bob Lyons. I like you very much."
His hand slowly stroked and kneaded Bob's thigh. He felt like John was masturbating him. He tried to relax, but he was SO nervous. How far would this go?
Not very far at all actually. With a rap on the open doorway, Bruce and Brian came into the room.
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