The elbow shaped bend turns sharply whichever way you approach it. Nareewillock was not a place well known for its deliveries.  Three times between 1842 and 1921 it had a Post Office officially open and close. The elbow shaped corner is encircled by acre upon acre of straw-coloured paddocks. Empty save for several strategically placed stands of Cyprus. These provide shelter for livestock, mostly sheep, and the few rusting windmills drew bore water into cement troughs.

Much to the displeasure of my father Horace Gray it was here on that elbow shaped bend that I decided I had had enough. Suffering a crushing hangover bought on by an extended after-hours Christmas Eve swill held on the wide-open veranda of the Railway Hotel Horace had little tolerance for much that morning.  He was barely able to contain his annoyance when my mother’s contractions disturbed his morning sleep-in. She had held until she could hold no more. It begun.

In this state he drove off from our small weatherboard house on the outskirts of town. Crazed like a rally driver without a navigator. There was no end destination in mind. He was simply in search of a doctor for Mae. God knows where he thought he could find one in the heart of Victoria on Christmas morning.  In his confusion he seemed to think that Charlton was the place to go. After all it was the closest town. The slightly longer trip to Bendigo Hospital would have been a better option had he been able to think more clearly.

Mae was too engaged in her own physical pain in the back seat clutching the chrome door handle to be bothered engaging him in a pointless argument. At the same time she was managing to cradle me in her gut hoping she could hold on long enough.

You may wonder why I decided to emerge from this safe place at all with the engine roaring and Horace constantly changing gears without engaging the clutch properly. Apart from the fact you don't have a choice it was due mostly to Horace failing to navigate that elbow bend. With him swearing and her moaning in agony I decided to enter the world.

A cloud of brake and dust he took us straight through the barbed wire fence. Three fence posts and five strands of loosely strung barbed wire disappeared into the dust. It was one of those bends where this sort of accident was a regular event. The ground from the gravel on the side of the road to the paddock had been churned up so many times that it was soft enough to cushion the impact. The impact caused my mother to hit her head on the spring of the backseat ashtray and cut her lip. Other than the fence, Mae’s cut lip, the paintwork of the Holden the only real damage was done to Horace's ego.

The hiss of steam creaking metal gives birth to an exaggerated silence when cars crash. Time slows as the car and what was left of the fence settled. Radiator steam mixed with red dust drifted slowly away. A dozen crows watched with accountant’s eyes from the Cyprus stand. Covered in blood, urine and other unidentified semi-fluids emerged on the vinyl of the backseat in that exaggerated silence.

Horace stared at me for a few minutes from the open backdoor. Dumbfounded, disgusted, and confused. He then grabbed Mae by the shoulders and dragged her into the dirt by the side of the road. She was holding me tight. She hadn't given birth to the placenta yet. Mae just held me tightly in her arms sobbing. When he called her “a dirty filthy whore” she remained still. Not looking at him. She said nothing. Walking back to the car and slamming the open door.

Look at the mess you've made!

He took another short look at us through his smoky blue bloodshot eyes. And then climbed into the driver’s seat of the FE Holden he reversed and without hesitating took off.

He left us here on that elbow bend with flies beginning to gather around my now newly born placenta and me. In the red dirt gravel, and the dust.

When the silence of the countryside had returned some sheep wandered over from deeper in the paddock to have a look at what had happened to their fence. There was not a shepherd in sight and my mother Mae Gray was the closest thing to an angel. Silent and battered, but an angel none-the-less.

The morning air had a level of coolness and crispness still. We sat in the warming day for what seemed to be an eternity although it was likely barely an hour. She was too tired to move, and I was newly born. I wasn't going anywhere and for now nor was she.

Newborns shouldn't have memories but I have carried that Christmas Day birth vividly with me all my life. You might think that we sat in the dust hating Horace and every fibre that held his body together. You couldn't be further from the truth. Mae and I in my first moments of breathing only had a love for this flawed and mostly stupid man.

A couple of crows hopped onto nearby fence posts. They exuded a curiosity that was covered in opportunism and self-interest. The latter relating to the possibility of some food, and the former our helpless situation.

One tried to look me in the eye. I wasn't buying in.

Close to an hour passed before another vehicle approached the bend from the direction Horace had fled. It was the rusty and slow moving round nosed S series Bedford. It was the three kings.  Frank King and his wife Myrtle were on their way a family Christmas lunch with the third king; Goldy their trusty golden Labrador. As soon as Frank had stopped the truck he jumped down from the cabin and swore.

"Jesus H Christ." He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Get a blanket." Frank was incensed.

Myrtle placed the blanket on Mae's shoulders. She held us as gently as she could while Goldy chased away the crows from the fence.

"Emergency at Bendigo will be the only place open." Said Frank with his immediate anger subsiding a little.

"Can you stand?' Said Myrtle.

Mae made a noise that the Kings assumed meant, “yes”, and Mae holding me tight made her way unsteadily to the open door of the Bedford truck. Frank lifted us both up onto the worn and torn leather seats. A hessian potato sack covered the rip in the middle of the bench seat. Mae gave a little cry of pain as she overstretched.

Goldy continued to chase crows away from the placenta left in the dust. They called a little and retreated to a stand of Cyprus Pines that formed a windbreak on the corner of the paddock. Frank called Goldy and instructed her to get back in the truck. Frank found a spade and returned to bury the placenta - at least for a short time until the crows had a chance to regroup.

Frank reversed as quickly and as smoothly as he could turning the Bedford around and drove off towards Bendigo. Myrtle had her arm around Mae, partly for comfort and partly to steady her from the roughness of the ride.

Frank drove as fast and as smoothly as he could. He was keen to get her and me to hospital but also keen to get away from the fresh image of Myrtle cutting the cord with a pair of pliers.

“I should have fixed the fence – at least a little. Who knows what those sheep will do”. He said

“We didn’t have time”.  Said Myrtle looking at him.

“ And besides even if one ends up in a stew they shouldn’t be in on Christmas day once people realise what happened they will understand”. She continued.

I must have had my first doze in the soft warm breasts of my mother despite the Bedford’s awkwardness. I awoke to see Myrtle in animated conversation in a phone booth. She was explaining to her daughter Pam why they would be late for Christmas lunch.

A bottle of newspaper en-wrapped beer had appeared from a box of six behind Franks seat. He lifted the top and handed it to Mae.

"Thirsty?"

Mae took it gratefully and took a mouthful.

"She wasn't happy." Myrtle said as she climbed back into the cabin giving Frank a sharp look.

"Nothin' we can do. We have to get this lass to the hospital soon as we can." Said Frank trying not to rev the engine too much thankful he was on sealed roads finally and getting somewhat closer to Bendigo hospital.

“And no more beer.” Said Myrtle firmly.  “It will interfere with whatever medication they will need to give her”

It was just as the truck stopped in front of the emergency driveway of the hospital that Mae started laughing madly. It was a giggle at first that grew into a chuckle and slowly became louder and more and more raucous.

Frank was so unnerved by her laughter that his foot slipped off the clutch and the Bedford kangaroo hopped to a dead halt. Myrtle with her right arm comforting Mae as she had most of the way was more curious.

Myrtle was slightly relieved by the outburst of laughter. Mae must be doing okay if she is laughing out loud.

"Is there something we should know?" Myrtle said calmly.

"I name him, Lupardus. His name will be Lupardus Gray", Mae announced.  She then promptly launched into an uncontrollable laugh.

A river set on its course never turns. It may slow. It will bend. Some may evaporate of be lost to the elements or circumstance but it never flows back to its source. Horace was flowing fast.

Horace drove away as hard as he could with the rear windows half down. In the dirt by the side of the road we hadn’t noticed him take the take to wind them down before he drove off. It was an attempt to let the car air and no amount of fresh air could calm him down or clear the smell of the birth.

Every few miles he punched the roof of the FE Holden as hard as he could in anger. Horace was starting to sweat and he decided he needed a drink bad.

A Christmas day disaster and he had nowhere in mind. The only way he could see was north through ripening endless wheat fields. Just away from her and that slime covered thing.

His mind oscillated between rage at himself, feelings of guilt and shame for what he had done to Mae. He'd make it up to her someday. He would. This wasn't the Horace Gray he knew.

"North maybe to Ouyen and north to Nurse Mary. She would have a sherry and whisky at least - and a bed. A night or two with her, then on to Mildura and disappear for a time in Broken Hill. " He thought to himself.

"Yes Broken Hill." He shouted.

Then he punched the roof lining again with so much force so he nearly ran off the road.

"Why didn't she organise this better?" He said almost instantly realizing how stupid such a question was.

Horace had imagined her giving birth on a Friday morning. Horace imagined he would drop in and deliver some fruit and flowers to the clean white hospital room. He would spend a few tender moments and then enjoy the rest of the day celebrating with his mates at the hotel. Cigars, beer and top shelf whiskey accompanied by rounds of backslapping and cheers.

Horace punched the roof lining again so hard he drew blood and the force of the blow made him swerve erratically again.

She wasn’t due for another 7 days and she somehow decided to dumped it on him at two in the morning of Christmas day.

Broken Hill it will be he vowed. He would find work and come home with a swag of money for her and the baby. That rare and uncomfortable feeling of guilt had him for an uneasy moment.

A man can get lost in a mining town, especially a returned serviceman. Respected without question, without fear and with forgiveness for even some of the worst behavoiurs

The day warmed. Horace drove on with a little more composure past the wheat fields and farm machinery; headers tractors, trucks and harvesters idle for a day.

Occasional flocks of cockatoos feeding on grains of wheat spilt from overloaded trucks on the road flew off startled as he drove on through them. One glided up of the road and then seemed to focus on his car and dove straight for the bonnet. It reminded him of the Japanese kamikaze pilots he saw briefly diving into Port Moresby Harbour.

"Bloody Japanese." He yelled punching the roof lining again.

Like the planes in Port Moresby once he had the cockatoo in his vision everything seemed to slow down appreciably. It seemed to look at him as it glid from the bonnet impact up and over the car roof. He saw it land almost gracefully on the road behind him. White wings flapping lifelessly in the summer breeze.

Horace wasn't too keen on remembering his war years. At least it didn't haunt him like it did with Mae's father Leslie.

Horace enlisted in 1940 at the age of 23 and managed to survive the war unscathed. He had jumped at the chance to enlist in the supply corps. His logic was simple. Supply supplied, he would never on the front line.

Although he learned that the war had changed to a point where anyone could be attacked. Increasingly he became a target as the war progressed. No one was safe he concluded.

He left the army in 1945 and spent the rest of his time either shearing sheep, roustabouting or using his good looks to part other people from their money. He was living a good life.

It was still a good life when he met Mae and fell in love with her in Donald in 1958. From his side of the bar he fell for her head over heels. Within a month they married and he had moved in with her and her father.

Her father Les had fought in World War one in France. He despised war and what it had done to him and his friends.

Driving along the empty road Horace could picture the old man sitting in the front room of their home. They had left him there this morning staring into the fireplace.

It was rarely lit but for him the embers seemed to continuously smoulder. Listening to Irish crooner Jack O’Hagan sing "Danny Boy " and other hopelessly melancholic songs.

Les would say little and then head off to shoot rabbits around the lake with his shotgun. Mae and Horace both wondered some days if Les would ever return. They never discussed it but each of them half expected to find him lying under a tree with a gunshot wound to the head. At least then the pain would be over even in a blood splattered silence.

Horace drove on.

Nurse Mary Burke would be waiting. Horace met her at the Ouyen hospital in 1950. He had a broken wrist courtesy of a shearing accident. A dedicated professional she looked after him. Horace with his blonde wavy hair and blue eyes decided to reward her for her efforts. Horace had a similar group of female friends across Victoria and southern New South Wales. Nurses, career barmaids, and widows mostly. Lonely, but strong enough in mind not to expect anything more than Horace was ever offering. Just as he was arriving out of the blue on Christmas day to visit Mary the others expected and got no less a treatment.

Getting closer to Ouyen a few more shacks started to appear along the road that was now beginning to run alongside the railway tracks. The small bush hospital housed a nursing home with a dozen or so residents. He knew Mary would be on duty. It was her way.

It didn't take long to find the hospital. After all Ouyen was really no more than a few shops, a pub and petrol station and houses built around a huge railway station.

It was well after noon when the FE slid to a halt in the gravel outside the hospital. He cut the engine as sharp as the midday sun.

In the still warm air he could hear an out of tune piano playing a slow and languid version of "Good King Wenceslas". Matched in perfect disharmony by several out of key and out of tune voices. For the first time that day Horace smiled and his mood lightened.

Inside a table decorated with ham, turkey and warm beer beckoned. Mary poured him a glass and introduced him to the other duty nurse as Harry her cousin from Mildura.

 He winked. "If she wasn't my cousin I might give her one later"

Nurse Bradley blushed. Mary looked away. Such was Horace's charm to a stranger you couldn't tell if Horace had one iota of a thought for Jo, or for me his new born son left by a hot dusty roadside.

Nurse Bradley felt a tingling in her gut. The afternoon heat and three shandies had fully taken hold.

Wooden bladed ceiling fans circulated warm air over the dozing aged bodies. Some heads nodding wrapped in blankets. Horace duly poured himself another warm beer. Mary was keen for 5 o'clock to come around so she could have him to herself. Horace was keen to keep drinking and eating. A barely opened bottle of Corio whiskey in front of a sleeping Adolphus Schmidte caught Horace' eye. Mary saw Horace "pocket" the bottle holding his nose to avoid the pungent smell coming from Schmidte.

The last flat E flat note from the piano had long been lost on the afternoon breeze. Horace had also managed to acquire a bottle of brandy. Mary looked away and she knew the price of her impending pleasure would be at least two bottles of spirits and another lie. Mary also shuddered at the thought of cleaning the urine and faeces of Schmidte before she and Horace could escape the home. It had to be done as she had done a thousand times before. It really did not matter.

Mary and Nurse Bradley had cleared away most of the food by just after four. Many of the residents had retired to other worlds and other times. Even Adolphus Schmidte seemed slightly less grumpier after Mary had cleaned him. She cursed herself for taking too much care. Mary knew Horace walked the line between shade and light. At this moment she didn't care.

As they walked to the car Nurse Bradley looked slightly envious of Mary and 'Harry'. Harry she thought had the wide-open road and freedom, and Mary didn't have to sleep with a snoring boringly drunk Christmas day husband. No escape, no present.

Mary opened the back door to put her bags and other goodies. She saw the red brown stain.

Mary knew the smell of humanity. Mostly for her it was now a odour she associated with death. This was different. It was the smell of a new human life.

A chill ran down her spine.

She looked at the dark brown stain again and the looked across to Horace. Horace looked at the stain.

"Don't worry about that. My dog gave birth to a couple of pups the other day".

Nurse Mary Burke would be waiting. He knew that.

Horace had met her at the Ouyen hospital in 1950. He had a broken wrist courtesy of a shearing accident.

Mary was a dedicated and happy professional and she had looked after him with the greatest of care. Horace with his blonde wavy hair and blue eyes decided to reward her for her efforts.A reward for both of them that flowed in and out over time.

It was no time before Horace had a grown a similar group of female friends across Victoria and southern New South Wales. Nurses, career barmaids, and widows mostly. Lonely, but strong enough not to expect anything more than Horace was ever offering.

Just as he was arriving out of the blue on Christmas day to visit Mary the others he had nurtured expected and got no less a treatment.

Getting closer to Ouyen a few more shacks started to appear along the road that was now beginning to run alongside the railway tracks. The sweet smell of fresh cut hay was all around and cut through the oil and petrol odours as Horace pushed the FE to its limits.

The small bush hospital also housed a nursing home. it had a dozen or so residents and Horace knew Mary would be on duty. It was her way.

It didn't take long to find the hospital.

After all Ouyen was really no more than a few shops, a pub and petrol station and houses built around a huge railway station, a tree or two, some broken barbed wire fences and a dry empty sale yard.

It was well after noon when the FE slid to a halt in the gravel outside the hospital.

He cut the engine. It seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

In the still warm air he could hear an out of tune piano playing an upbeat version of "Good King Wenceslas".

Matched in perfect disharmony by several out of key and out of tune voices. For the first time that day Horace smiled and his mood lightened.

"Can't recall ever meeting a Fucking Wencelas in Ouyen. Ever" He mused silently working his way to the back door.

Inside a table decorated with ham, turkey and warm beer beckoned. Mary saw himand without breaking step poured him a glass and introduced him to the other duty nurse as Harry her cousin - from Mildura.

He winked.

"If she wasn't my cousin I might give her one later" Nurse Bradley blushed. Mary looked away. Such was Horaces' charm to a stranger you couldn't tell if Horace had one iota of a thought for Josephine, or for me his new born son left by a hot dusty roadside.

Nurse Bradley felt a tingling in her gut. The afternoon heat had fully taken hold.

Wooden bladed ceiling fans circulated warm air over the dozing aged bodies. Some heads nodding wrapped in blankets.

Horace duly poured himself another warm beer. Mary was keen for 5 O'clock to come around so she could have him to herself. Horace was keen to keep drinking and eating. A barely opened bottle of Corio whiskey in front of a sleeping old Petre Schmidte caught Horace' eye.

Mary saw Horace "pocket" the bottle holding his nose to avoid the pungent smell coming from Schmidte.

Horace had also managed to acquire a bottle of brandy without Schmidte noticing. Mary looked away and she knew what the price of her impending pleasure would be. Mary also shuddered at the thought of cleaning the urine and shit of Schmidte before she and Horace could escape the home. It had to be done.

Mary and Nurse Bradley had cleared away most of the food by 4.30.

Many of the residents had retired to other worlds. Even Schmidte seemed slightly less grumpier after Mary had cleaned his shit and urine. She cursed herself. Mary knew Horace walked the line between shade and light. At this moment she didn't care.

As they walked to the car Nurse Bradley looked slightly envious of Mary and " Harry". Harry she thought had the wide open road and freedom, and Mary didn't have to sleep with a snoring boringly drink husband. No escape.

The last flat E flat note from the piano had been long lost on the afternoon breeze when Mary opened the back door to put her bags and other goodies. She saw the brown stain.

Mary knew the smell of humanity. Mostly for her it was now a odour she associated with death. This was different. It was the smell of a new human life. A chill ran down her spine.

She looked at the dark brown stain again and the looked across to Horace. Horace looked at the stain

"Don't worry about that. My dog gave birth to a couple of pups the other day".