Prologue

Written stories, are the placement of spo ken words, be they based on, factual, fictional, beliefs or fantasies.

And though Tommy is fictional, it is based on the old belief, that no greater love hath man, than he who would lay down his life, for a friend.

And based on this belief, is a short story about a bond between two boys, who grew together, fought together and though fifty years apart, died together.

And though a belief, one is put to wonder, how this chance meeting, ‘after our family arrived, in this big country town known as, Monto,’ could create an internal love, between two men.

It all started, when my father, ‘who after the end of the war, had been demobbed into the railway and posted to this area. Had, with, now some of his fellow railway workers, began loading our luggage. ‘Comprising of several, battered old Ceylon Tea chests’, onto a big flat-top iron wheeled trolley, to be pulled over coal cinder’s, to a place, of canvas tents, known as, ‘the Fettlers camp’.

And as my mother, sister and brother chatted to the ladies, who had accompanied these fellow workers. I decided to step back out of the way and began idly gazing around, to notice, ‘several yards away,’ a group of boys, lounging against the station wall staring in my direction, and knowing, ‘as the new kid on the block,’ trouble lay ahead, began sizing up potential opponents. When caught the gaze of a boy around my age, who, to my total surprise, gave a small salute by tapping the peak of his cap with his right hand forefinger. Caught totally off guard, I continued to look at him, too see, as his smile widened, give a sly wink. Which completely confused me, as I had never come across anyone, ‘so above it all,’ and feeling a little shy, but determined to accept his offer of friendship, returned his nod and wink, and from those two gestures, grew a bond that lasted forever.

As our tent city grew by new arrivals, women began chatting freely and men searched with, “did you know? Or, were you with?”

This left us, the younger sect, to be drawn together by our new freedom. We slept under the stars, ate around open fires, bathed behind hessian bags, masturbated in groups and walked bare footed. We were always happy, never giving much to authority, and whenever able, snuck under the canvas walls of the outdoor cinema, to watch matinees of gangsters, played by either James Cagney on Edward G Robinson. And as time went by, these gravel voiced actors, became my dream makers. Even at the age of puberty I was quite pugilistic, and knowing there was riches to be had in marshalling yard, decided to form a gang and claim that area as mine.

After a few brief encounters, with the up-town boys, I soon became the one, who gave the nod or shake. And as the boxes of silken or rayon ladies underwear increased so did my desire to one day, like George Raft, drive a big flash car, have a cigarette stuck in the corner of my gob, my hair slicked back, and a blonde with big knockers, hanging off my arm, become within reach.

But the one thing we all loved, was the smoke pouring, steam hissing, old Forty Niner and on hearing her mournful wail, we became small boys again.