Delahoy's Mile |
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(C) Copyright 1970 Robert Gordon Delahoy
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Chapter 12
Speed 1916-17
Through the warm stillness of evening the voices floated out across the
paddocks and bush.
"Abide with me, fast falls the even tide
.."
Children moved closer to parents, hands stealing up to find comfort, conscious
of the sadness of this hymn and affected by it.
"
..Lord with me abide."
Quiet stole slowly over the gathering in front of the verandah, and the Rev.
McLean lifted his hands and began to pray
..
"Where two or more are gathered together in my name
.."
In the vast emptiness of the sand country we were gathered together, isolated
in the circle of the flickering flame in the kerosene lamp, drawn together by
this rare chance to worship in a group.
Insignificant beneath the limitless dome of the heavens, aware of frailty, and
aware of the warmth of human companionship and this need to reach upward and
outward to a greater power, a greater strength.
"The peace of God which passeth all understanding
.."
Bowed heads took comfort and strength, voices subdued with the service ended.
Men drifting slowly to the stable to collect horses and yoke them to the
vehicles in the yard.
Children, resuming the games of the day, but tired now, and finding they lacked
the same excitement.
The women gathering the family belongings from the house, calling children to
put on warmer clothes for the drive home.
The vehicles were brought up to the house, and just before they were ready to
leave the people gathered again in our front verandah, and the Rev. McLean
lifted his hands, a short prayer, almost always ending:
"May the peace of God abide with you now, and forever. Amen."
And the deep chorus of the gathering. "Amen."
Chink of metal bit, snuffle and creak of leather. Horses impatient now to be
off home.
"Cheerio!"
"Goodbye!"
"Goodnight!"
They called to each other and waved, the youngest children already asleep,
wrapped warmly. Squeak of dry axle, stamp of hooves, a call to a horse too
impatient to whoa-back, and we stood up on the verandah and watched them leave.
The Rev. McLean was staying the night with us, and the next morning rode part
of the way to Speed alongside Bill and I in the buggy. We were on our trip in
to collect the day's mail and stores, and to place an order with Jack Thrower
for the corn sacks, binder twine, and all the other things needed in
preparation for the big harvest we were expecting.
It was a warm, sunny day, and I stayed outside in the buggy when Bill went in
to order. I was thinking I would go down and collect the mail, and at the same
time watching a black boy about my own age walking slowly up the dusty street
from the direction of the bakery.
He seemed tired as he walked, his clothes ill fitting, his black curly hair
dull with a layer of dust. He went across to the door of the agent'' office and
looked in, then turned and came across to me.
"'Xcuse me mister. Would you know where Delahoy's live?"
"Yes
.."
My voice failed me. I leaned forward, staring, and saw the flicker in his eyes,
the sudden leap of, of hope?
Those soft brown eyes. The nose, broadened now. The strong white teeth. The
shy, kindly smile as he spoke, voice low: "I'm Fisher Bob."
"Fisher!"
I yelled the name and jumped down from the buggy and grabbed him to me.
"Fisher! What are you doing here after all these years?"
I had carried his memory since our childhood in Jeparit.
"Bob
..it's been a long time, and I did want to see you."
"Wait till I tell Bill! You remember him?"
"Yes
..I remember Bill."
There were several men gathered around the door of Jack Throwers agency, and I
noticed as I turned towards them that they were watching us.
"Where'd the nigger come from?" one of them asked loudly. "Don't
see them around here too often."
Fisher reached up and gently removed the hand I still held on his shoulder, an
embarrassed smile of apology. "Things aren't quite like they used to be
Bob."
For a moment I was stunned, looking from Fisher to the person who had spoken.
He was about eighteen, and wore the usual dirty football guernsey and dungaree
trousers.
"You're speaking about my friend!" I said, and walked across to him.
"Dirty white trash like you aren't fir to lick his boots!"
He swayed back, lips twisting in a sneer. "Here's a nigger lover
boys."
My fist smashed against his mouth, a sudden wild desire to tear this man apart,
but as he moved to retaliate Bill ran from the office and jumped between us.
"What the hell's going on?" he caught me by the shoulders and shook
me.
"It's Fisher Bill. It's Fisher
.." I shouted, pulling myself
away from him and turning for the buggy.
But Fisher had gone.
I looked wildly around, "There!" He was walking slowly up the street
away from us.
"Fisher!" I cried. "Fisher, come back!" and started up the
street after him shouting his name, catching hold of his arm as I reached him.
"No you don't mate. You're not walking away from us!"
"No Bob," he said gently, trying to disengage himself. "I'm only
a dirty black nigger."
I put my arm around his shoulders, shouting at him. "No you don't
mate." Reason had deserted me, tears running down my face as I turned to
the men and women gathering about us and shouted at them.
"You brainless, senseless idiots! Call yourselves Christians! We're
blessed to be living in his country! Fisher is my friend, and if you knew him
you'd be glad to have him as your friend too!"
Bill ran up to us. "Calm down Bob. Calm down!" He turned to the
crowd, speaking quietly. "Fisher is a friend of our family and will be
living with us from now on." He turned to the youth who had abused Fisher.
"If you've any more hurtful remarks to make I'll invite you down behind
the bushes and try and teach you the hard way that God may make some men black
and some men white, but he gave them all a heart and a soul, so please just try
and remember that."
Mr Brown moved from the crowd and came across to us. He was a tall, quietly
spoken man you could respect, and he turned to the crowd. "I have
something to say. Now I don't agree with young Bob Delahoy that we are
brainless, or senseless idiots. But sometimes it takes the young and impetuous,
so quick to anger, so quick to strike out, to shake we older ones from our
complacency. But we don't all feel like that thoughtless person who made that
stupid remark."
He turned and rested a hand on Fisher's shoulder. "Well young man, we
haven't given you much of a welcome, but you can be sure that after what has
happened you need no introduction, and you will find we are glad to have you
among us."
He looked slowly around the crowd, and back to Fisher. "They tell me,
Fisher, some of your uncles are amongst the best Australian Rules footballers
in Jeparit and Rainbow, and we all hope you'll decide to play with us. By the
way, what's your full name?"
Fisher looked up at Mr Brown, speaking quietly. "Fisher Mark."
Mr Brown reached out his hand. "Welcome to Speed, Fisher Mark."
The crowd began to break up, and Fisher and I turned back for the buggy. Bill
went into the agency again with Jack Thrower, and we sat silently in the buggy
until he came out.
"I'll be with you two in a minute."
He walked down to the post office for the mail, and picked up the list of goods
from the general store, then went into the bakery. When he came back he had a
bag of hot meat pies, and Jove, they smelled good.
He pushed the goods under the seat and climbed up, touching the reins.
"gee-up." He turned the buggy for home. "A man's feeling pretty
hungry. How about passing 'round those pies?"
I reached under the seat and took out the bag, passing it across Fisher to
Bill, then Fisher and I taking one each, and the rapid way Fisher's disappeared
showed how long it had been since he had eaten.
"Have another Fisher. Go on, eat 'em all up," Bill said. "One's
enough for me."
We drove out along the road munching meat pies, the sun hot, but the breeze of
our own movement and a light wind made it quite pleasant travelling, and Bill
relaxed back against the seat.
"How's things over Jeparit way Fisher?"
"Well Bill
..not so good. Or maybe I've altered. I found when I left
school, I only went up to the third grade, things seemed to be changing. Mum
and Dad were drinking too much, and Dad didn't care any more how he looked or
even if he was working. Got in awful tempers when he was on the grog."
Fisher stopped speaking, a pie in his hand, gazing out ahead, his eyes on some
view beyond the one ahead. "I went out and worked at a bit of droving and
a bit of rabbitin', and when I come back to our shanty on the Wimmera found
dad's been locked up in gaol. Almost killed Mum on one of their drunken sprees.
"They took Mum away from the river and put us in a Mission Station with m'
young brother and sister. It was alright, I s'ppose, but I wanted to learn
shearing so they let me go out to a shed as a rouseabout and picker- up.
"I didn't want to go back to the Mission when the shearing finished, so
when a drover asked me to help him shift a big mob of sheep from Jeparit to
Hopetoun and across to Woomelang, I said I would. He promised me £1 a week
and tucker.
"We were ten weeks getting the sheep to Woomelang, and I thought we'd go
back to Jeparit from there, but the boss and the other white blokes got on the
drunk, and when I asked for my money the boss knocked me down.
"Didn't know what to do then, so I started walking back to Jeparit. No
tucker. No money. Boots worn out."
"There's some pretty lousy types around alright," Bill said in
disgust. "Some pretty lousy types alright."
Fisher shrugged. "There was a good bloke stopped his buggy when I was just
out of Woomelang. Wanted to know where I was going. Said to hope in when I told
him I was going back to Jeparit. He was on his way to Lascelles and thought I
might get a lift from there across to Hopetoun.
"I was pretty hungry when we got to Lascelles, and went round the back of
the hotel and asked the lady there if she'd give me some tucker for cutting
wood. She said to cut the wood first."
Fisher told the story as if it were quite natural. There was no complaint in
his voice, just the facts.
"She come out and had a look at the wood when I'd cut it, then took me
into the kitchen. Jove, she did give me a feed too! And when I'd finished she
gave me some more in a parcel to take with me.
"She asked where I cam from, and when I told her Jeparit said she came
from there too. Told me the names of some of the people she knew, and said some
of them had moved over this way. She mentioned your name and I asked her if
there was a Bob Delahoy.
"She didn't know where you lived, just that it was somewhere out of Speed.
When I got out on the road I found there weren't hardly any buggies going
Hopetoun way, but there were a few coming to Speed and one of them gave me a
lift.
"Got here last night in the dark and slept under a tarpaulin in the good
shed at the railway station. I had the tucker that woman at Lascelles gave me.
"This morning the station master let me wash up in the fire bucket, and I
was thinking of walking out to your place when I found it was only about nine
mile. But then the agent fella said you might be in today, so I kept a watch
out to see if you turned up. I was callin' back to the agent when I met
Bob."
"Well, Fisher, you're home now m'boy," Bill said, and turned the
buggy around the old stump towards the gate, the laughing jackasses in the
sugar gum giving a cackling welcome as I opened the gate.
"You take Fisher in to see Mother," Bill said, stopping near the
house. "I'll unyoke the ponies."
Harry came from the door as we stepped up onto the verandah. He looked at
Fisher. "G'day," and glanced at me.
I grinned at him. "Don't you recognise him?"
"I'm Fisher Harry."
"Fisher! Well I never. Glad to see you." He stepped back. "Jove
you've grown. Mother! Here's young Fisher."
Mother had come to the door of the kitchen. "Oh, not from jeparit? Come
in, come in."
"In a minute Mrs Delahoy." He turned to me, quiet. "Anywhere I
can have a bit of a wash Bob?"
I pointed to the tubs hanging on the wall. "You take one, and I'll take
one, and we'll both go and have a proper bath."
That night, when we came for tea, Mother pointed to a chair. "That's where
you'll sit Fisher. Between Rupert and Bob." She looked around at us all.
"So now I've another son."
Bit we knew he really belonged when it came to bed time, and along with Rupe
copped a dose of castor oil.
Rupe was stunned. "He never even held his nose! Jove, he must like the
stuff!"
Fisher was given the bed in the sleep-out, and as I undressed I could hear him
singing to himself, a soft lullaby I had never heard before.
The next morning Fisher and I spent in the machinery shed oiling the harness
and talking about our childhood in Jeparit. They had been happy times for us
both, uncomplicated and carefree, and we recaptured something of those days
just talking them over.
When we went in to the house for morning tea Mother had Fisher stand while she
ran a tape over him. The sewing machine was already set up, and would be worked
overtime until Fisher had a new set of shirts and trousers.
"Been thinking about you wanting to learn shearing," Bill said later,
coming to the door of the machinery shed. "Charlie McDougall's running
about five hundred sheep on his place, and he used to do a bit of shearing in
his younger days. Bob, why don't you and Fisher take this afternoon off and
ride over and see Charlie?"
"Right'o Bill. With both of us working on the harness we're well ahead
anyway."
Charlie McDougall had the sheep penned up in the yards near the old bush shed
and dip when we arrived. He called the shed his shearing shed, and earthen
floor, with a wooden floor section about ten feet by ten feet set in the middle
where he did the crutching and shearing.
"Want to learn how to shear?" Charlie said. "Know anything about
it?"
"I've worked in sheds as a rouseabout Mr McDougall."
Charlie considered Fisher a moment, and nodded. "Alright. There's a few
need crutching, we'll start with that."
Charlie walked into the mob and caught hold of a ewe and dragged her out onto
the board, placing her between his legs and picking up the shears.
Fisher watched every move he made, his face alight with excitement.
After he had crutched three, Charlie pointed to another and called Fisher.
"Catch that one there."
Fisher darted into the mob and caught it.
"You know why she needs crutching? She's struck. You can pick them from
the mob by watching the way they keep turning their heads back to where the
maggots are."
The lesson went on all the afternoon, Charlie as interested in teaching as
Fisher was to learn. How to catch a sheep, how to pull it on the boards, how to
place it between your legs, which was the correct way to hold it when shearing,
and on and on.
The old handing on their skill to the young.
But little did Charlie McDougall or I know then that his pupil would one day
rank amongst the best shearers in Australia, and take the title of 'Gun
Shearer' in many of the big Australian sheds.
This little black boy from Jeparit was to earn a place in the legends of his
country, respected by everyone who knew him as was another boy, a little older
than Fisher, who had the same school master at Jeparit. This one was the son of
a storekeeper of Scottish descent, who, like Fisher, swam in the waters of Lake
Hindmarsh, and fished for blackfish in the Wimmera River.
Could it have been the first lessons their teacher, Mr Livingston, taught them?
That the son of a country storekeeper became the first citizen of Australia,
one of the British Empire's finest statesmen, and the black boy, with life
stacked against him from the start, became such a fine man, respected by all
who knew him?
Or was it that: "There is a destiny that shapes our end, rough hew it as
you may
.."
"Be you black, or be you white,
She gently seems to say,
By the gentle breeze, through the tall gum trees,
I'll lightly mark their brow,
Have chosen them for greater things
..
Don't ask, but ponder how."
When the lesson had finished Fisher was tired out, but so very happy and
contented, and when I passed the sleep-out after he had gone to bed, the snores
were enough to vibrate the iron roof.
But on the farm the next day the work was directed towards the coming harvest.
The machinery had to be carefully checked and cleaned. New canvasses on the
binder. Check the trace chains and the swingle trees. Item after item until the
great day arrived when Bill cut into the hay.
This was the oat crop, and Fisher and I followed behind him as he went around
and around the paddock, felling the ripe growth and binding it into sheaves for
Fisher and I to put into stocks.
Then, when this was done, carting the sheaves up to put into stacks.
As we worked on the oats the paddocks of wheat were changing slowly, ripening
from green into the golden brown of harvest time, the paddocks rippling like
waves over water under the wind in the heat of the new season.
Judging it ripe, Harry and Bill moved in to strip the wheat, and there would be
no turning of a winnower handle this year. After the success of Frank
Nitschke's power winnower last year, we had contracted the winnowing to him.
"Reckon we could use another stripper," Bill remarked to Harry, and
then mentioned it to Snowy Whitecross in Speed one day, and as they had bought
one of the new harvesters, Snowy offered us a loan of a stripper.
Bill sent me off with two horses on the next day to collect the stripper. I
didn't ask who was going to drive it, but just hoped it would be me. But Bill
didn't say anything when I arrived back with it, and it was not until tea that
night that I knew.
"Well Bob, you'll be with us tomorrow on the stripper. We'll give her a
look over in the morning and oil and grease her up."
That was something to dream about.
Next morning Bill and Harry selected the four horses I was to drive. They were
a quiet team, and I drove them down to where I had left the borrowed stripper
outside the machinery shed.
"Whoa
.." I called to them, and walked over to the machine.
"Get up onto the seat," Bill instructed, and when I did scowled and
said accusingly, as though it were my fault. "You're a bit short in the
leg."
I held my tongue, fearful of losing the privilege.
"Well, we'll try it anyway. Now. You put your right foot in there."
This was the foot steering, a U-shaped piece of iron with a leather strap to
hold your foot from slipping. "Right. Now this iron handle is for hand
steering the front wheel. You put a hand on that, and this lever to the right
is to pull it in and out of gear, and this other handle is the choke cutter,
for when the comb chokes up
.."
"But Bill, listen. I've
.., I've only got two hands
..!"
"Of course you've only got two bloody hands!" Bill swore. "How
many did you want?"
It began to dawn on me that what looked so easy when they were doing it, was
actually a complicated and dangerous occupation.
"Now listen, if the wheat chokes in the comb, and the choke cutter won't
free it, you stop. Put the reins there. Walk around behind the stripper, and
then around to the comb. But don't try and remove the choke from the top of the
comb. Always put your hand underneath."
"Why Bill?"
"Because, if the beaters are still running, and your hand gets pulled in
there, it'll get cut off. Right?"
"Yes," I nodded, uncertain. "Seems a damn lot to
remember
.."
"And," Bill went on, "you've got to learn to oil up." He
took the oil can from the holder on the side of the stripper and oiled the
wheels, pointing out the other holes requiring attention.
The oil held together in a string as he moved the can from hole to hole.
"You'll notice," Bill said, lifting the can to show the oil strung
out and still attached, "That this is stringy-oil and got plenty of body
in it."
"Should do it like this," Harry said, and took the can from Bill,
filling a hole, the nipping the stringy oil off with a thumb and forefinger,
wiping his hand down the side of his trouser. "That's how I do it."
Bill look at this demonstration hole a minute, shook his head in dismissal, and
turned back to me. "Now another thing you've got to watch when you're
stripping. The belt might come off when you get a choke in the comb, and that
can jam the beaters. If it does, and you're not stopped, it could fly off and
knock you clean out of the seat."
"Yes, that's another thing," said Harry. "The laces that fasten
the belt come undone sometimes, and the ends sting like hell."
I looked at the machine with a new respect, and left it to them to hitch on the
team.
"Right'o Bob. Away you go!"
I moved my foot in the steering to make sure I had it right, then put my hands
on the levers. "Alright. I'll try it."
"You may as well have these," said Bill.
I looked at the reigns in his hand. "How am I going to hold them as
well?"
"Come on," said Bill impatiently. "Stop messing around."
I let go a lever and gathered the reins. "G'dap!" I cried, and the
team moved off.
But unfortunately it was on a downhill slope, and the stripper started after
the team and began to overtake them.
"Bill! Hey Bill! What do I do?"
Bill came sprinting alongside. "Use the brake!"
"What?"
"There!" he shouted, pointing. "Put y' bloody foot on it!"
I removed my foot from the steering and pressed down on the brake.
"Y' hand!" Bill yelled. "Keep y' hand on the hand steering when
you do that!"
I made a grab at the hands steering. "Alright," I called back.
"I think I'm right now." And off I went to the paddock to strip
wheat.
At the edge of the crop I stopped the team and had a long, long study of the
stripper, actually trembling as I climbed down and walked around it, hoping my
nerves would settle.
The comb seemed too high for the wheat, but there was a chain running from it,
and a small wheel amongst the other wheels and levers
..
I climbed back onto the seat and turned the wheel. That lowered the comb, and I
turned it back and forth several times to get the feel of it. Funny Harry or
Bill had not said anything about it.
But that day I learned there were a lot of things they had not told me.
Fortunately the horses were quiet and tolerant, and when the cold air before
sunset settled down and made the wheat too tough to cut, it was a very tired
boy who unyoked the team and walked them back up to the stable. Tired, dirty
and dusty. But happy.
Fisher was helping around the house, cutting up mallee stumps for the stove,
and doing a lot of the jobs Rupe usually did after school. He was quite
prepared to play his part in the family by doing this, but his face really lit
up when Bill asked him if he would like to learn to sew bags when the thresher
arrived.
"And I've been thinking there'll be no need to get Wally back now Fisher's
here," Bill went on. "We'll be able to get through the harvest
between us and let him keep on with his trade."
"Oh I am pleased," Mother said. "It's always a comfort to me to
know Wally is up there with your sister and Rudie, particularly now neither
Emma or the baby are very well."
"Well, why don't you go up for a while the?" Bill suggested. "We
can batch."
"But with the harvest
.."
"You get away just as soon as you're ready," Harry said. "We'll
be alright."
Mother was still doubtful, but the thought of Emma and the baby persuaded her,
and the next night Bill drove here into Speed to catch the train.
Harvesting went on through day after day of hot, dry weather, made to order for
the job, and in the paddocks the heaps of wheat and cock chaff grew like little
golden pyramids, ready for Frank Nitschke when he arrived with his power
winnower.
Fritz Kruger was still in the team, his English greatly improved in the year
since we had seen him. But he still sang in German. The first question he asked
when he arrived was about George. "How's your brother getting on at the
war?"
We showed him the photograph of George and cousin Hubert, and told him what
little George was able to write, his letters being heavily censored.
By this time Harry was finished on his stripper and was mainly looking after
the house, Fisher and he together doing the cooking and washing.
From the way it was progressing it looked as though the harvest would be
finished by Christmas, as it was still a fortnight away when Frank Nitschke and
his team finished the threshing.
Now it only had to be carted into Speed, so Harry and Bill started with the
wagons, making a trip a day with eighty bags each. Which left me to try and
cope with the housework.
After school one day Rupe and Fisher came back from feeding the pigs, deep in
an animated discussion.
"I've just never seen so many before," Rupe said as they came in
through the door.
I turned from the stove. "So many what?"
"Mice," Rupe said. "What did you think I meant?" He shook
his head. "All over the place. Down the stables, in the chaff
house
.."
"Well, they won't do any harm Rupe."
As I finished speaking Whiskers, our old tom cat, came in with a mouse in his
mouth. He never ate them, but brought them into the kitchen and placed them at
your feet as some kind of offering.
"Come off it Whiskers. I've just about had enough of this. Get it out of
here. Go on, pick it up and take it out."
He knew what I was saying, and picking up the limp, grey body, carried it out
and dropped it on the verandah, sitting to have a short scratch before he
ambled off to get another one.
"Well," I admitted to Rupe. "There do seem to be a few more
around than usual."
Having tea that night Harry said he would see if he could get a few more mouse
traps in Speed, or maybe some poison, as there seemed to be a lot of them
around.
"Yes," agreed Bill. "Mother will be back for Christmas, and
Olga's due from Gippsland Christmas Eve, so we better clean them up before
then."
But things did not work out that way. The little grey shadows kept on coming in
ever increasing numbers, and they had lost all fear of cat, dog, and man.
"This is becoming ridiculous!" Bill said as a mouse stopped in its
run across the kitchen floor and sat up and looked at him.
The whole district was alive with them. You could not even pick up a bag
without a dozen or more running out from under it. But at least they were not
too bad in the paddocks.
"Better think of putting galvanised iron around your haystacks," Dick
McNally suggested when he was over for tea one night.
He explained this meant sinking posts around the perimeter of the stacks and
nailing sheets of galvanised iron, lengthways and sunk about two inches into
the ground, to them.
"Stops them in their tracks," Dick assured us. He was concerned that
we had enough for the horses as he wanted us to put wheat in for him on shares
again next season. "I'll come over and give you a hand."
He was a sturdy, tough man, and when he started work he really kept at it. He
came over the next morning and started on the mouse-proof enclosures, and then
decided to put up a stand for the seed wheat to keep them out of that.
It was built of posts standing about three feet from the ground, with flat
galvanised iron barriers nailed to their tops to stop the rodents climbing
past. Across the posts he laid a decking of mallee logs, and made quite a neat
job of it.
He took time off for a cup of afternoon tea, then with Fisher and I helping
lumped the bags of seed across and stacked them on the mouse-proof stand.
"That'll keep the little buggers off," Dick said, standing back to
survey his work with a smile of satisfaction.
It was just on dark, and Harry and Bill arrived back from Speed with the empty
wagons in time to admire the job with us.
"Yes," agreed Harry, "that ought to do the job alright. Going to
stay overnight Dick?"
"Ah yes. Chance for a yarn."
The next morning, as breakfast was cooking, Rupe and Fisher came in from the
milking and announced the mice were on the stack of seed wheat.
"Wha
..t?" roared Dick. And with the rest of us trailing dashed
down to see.
"Well blow me down!" Bill said. "How the devil
..?"
Mice were running about over the bags of seed, quite unconcerned by our
arrival, and we watched as they frolicked and jumped around and, to me, seemed
to put their fingers up to their noses and say: "How about that?"
"Can't understand it!" Dick said. "I mean
.., well, I can't
understand it!"
"Jove no
.."
"But how
..?"
"It beats all buggery!" Dick yelled suddenly, and flung his hat onto
the ground.
Fisher was moving around the stand, searching, then suddenly stopped and
pointed upwards. "Look!"
We turned our heads upwards.
Poor old Dick! He had only built his stand under the biggest mallee gum on the
place. The mice merely had to run up the trunk and out along a branch, dropping
the ten or so feet down onto the stack.
"Ah well Dick," Bill said casually. "At least you made them
think for their tucker."
"Teach them a few more tricks like that and you could run a circus,"
Harry suggested, and we went back up to the house for breakfast.
After, when Harry and Bill had left for Speed with full wagons, and Rupe for
school, Fisher and I washed up while Dick McNally had a smoke and a drink.
"'Nother one," Fisher said.
Whiskers had appeared at the door with a mouse. "Out!" I commanded,
and he simply dropped it where he was and walked out. Even a cat didn't get any
thanks for catching a mouse now.
As we were finishing Dick stood up and reached for his hat. "Well, there's
nothing else for it. I'll just have to build another stand." He gritted
his teeth, nearly snapping the stem of his pipe. I'll bloody well see this time
it's not under any damn mallee tree
..". And off he went, muttering
to himself about plague and pest, and perhaps famine.
After cleaning up and making the beds Fisher and I went down to see how he was
getting on. He was stripped to the waist digging post holes on another site,
and as we worked alongside him I was sure he kept glancing upwards to make sure
he was not under another tree.
Watching the mice on the seed stack closely when we went across to start taking
the bags off, I noticed something I had never seen before. The mice did not
stay on all fours and nibble, but would sit on their hind legs with a grain
between their front paws, and nibble away at the seed like that. But after only
a part of the grain was gone, they would drop it and pick up a fresh one, as
though they knew there was plenty and could afford to be wasteful.
With nature gone haywire, and the natural balances fallen out; with more than
plenty to meet all our needs, did it always create this careless, wanton orgy
of destruction and waste?
"Well, yes, maybe it does," said Fisher. "Reckon there is
something we can learn from the mice. You see people carry on like that when
they have more than they need. Why, I've seen men sit around an eighteen gallon
keg of beer and drink until they could hardly stand, then go off and be sick
and come back and start drinking again."
Dick paused, the sweat running down his face and chest. "Well, I'd like to
see an eighteen gallon keg of beer right now. Reckon I'd drink it on me own.
Come on you blokes, give us a hand."
And so we built another stand.
That evening after tea Harry pointed to the walls of the kitchen. "See
those holes?"
Yes, we could see them alright where they had begun to appear in the hessian
and wallpaper.
"Well, you know what they are, don't you. Mouse holes, and I reckon even
before Christmas the whole place'll be riddled with them, even the ceiling, if
there's anything left at all."
"They trying to make burrows?" Rupe asked.
"They're eating the paste. There won't be any privacy in the whole house,
so I was thinking we should write to Mother and ask her to stay up at
Merbein."
"Hey!" Bill protested. "I've invited Olga to stay."
"I know that Bill. I hadn't forgotten. But what if you wrote to her and
suggested you and Rupe get on the train with her when she comes through Speed
and all go on up to Merbein?"
"Well, I suppose we could Harry."
"Look, there'll be quite a crowd of you up there, and Bob and Fisher and I
don't mind staying down here to do battle with these bloody mice."
"But we won't have all the wheat in by then
.."
"Yes you will," said a voice at the kitchen door, and Harry Kylie
walked in.
"Good day Harry. Sit down. Have some Irish stew and potatoes."
After he had eaten and was sitting back drinking a cup of tea he told us he had
heard about the mice while he was up north. He had just arrived back this
afternoon with a team of bullocks, and had turned them into the paddock on his
place we had stripped.
"Left them feeding in the stubble and walked over. There's a friend of
mine got a farm and he wants a loan of the bullock team early in the New Year
to roll some mallee. Thought if I stopped off here I could haul a few loads of
wheat into Speed before I went on."
"But that's our responsibility in the contract Harry."
Harry Kylie shrugged. "Yes, I know that. But we're alright at
Berriwillock. My sons are carting the wheat there, so if you're willing I'll
get at least a thousand bags into Speed before Christmas for you
.."
He held up a hand as Harry went to speak.
"No. It'll not cost you anything. Good heavens, I want you boys to put in
crop on shares with me next season, and the sooner we deliver the wheat into
the station the better, the way the mice are."
"Well," Bill explained. "Harry wants Rupe and I to go up to
Merbein for Christmas. I've got a
.., a friend who'll be staying with
us."
"A girlfriend," Rupe smirked.
Bill glared at him.
"Be a damned good idea," Mr Kylie said, looking around at the walls.
"It's no place for a woman in this condition."
"Well with you carting we'll be finished up before Christmas," Bill
said. "You could take one of the jinkers and the ponies then, and drive
back to be home at Berriwillock for Christmas."
"Yairs
..," smiled Mr Kylie. "I'd figured on that
Bill."
After a laugh at this, Dick McNally told Harry Kylie about the mouse-proof
stand. "I'm telling you Harry, if you hear of anyone building a stand,
tell them not to put it under a tree! Spent all day building a new one, then
had to clean all the bags up and lump them over to the new one!"
"That's be quite a job Dick," Mr Kylie said thoughtfully. "Was
it worth it/"
"Well, what else could a man have done?"
"I was wondering," said Mr Kylie, "if it wouldn't have been
easier just to cut down the tree."
Dick McNally looked at Harry Kylie a long moment, then turned to the fire. He
lifted a hand and scratched the back of his neck, took a long draw at his pipe,
shook his head slowly, and a look of disgust came over his face.
"Well, bugger me," he said softly into the fire. "I never
thought of that."
Later in the evening Mr Kylie asked Bill if he'd mind him asking Fisher to give
him a hand.
Bill shook his head. "How about it Fisher?"
"Jove, can I? I've never drove bullocks. Would you show me Mr Kylie?"
"Sure," said Harry. "Glad to have the chance. It's a dying art.
But it'll be up bright and early tomorrow to bring them in."
Fisher nodded, excited, and a few minutes later slipped out of the room, coming
back to report that he could hear the bullock bells from the verandah. We all
went out to listen, and in the still quietness came the distant sound of the
bells.
Harry wrote to Mother before he went to bed that night, and we had a long
letter back. Mother said that although she understood the position, she did not
like the idea of just three of us being here for Christmas.
But Bill and Rupe wanted to go, and we were quite happy with the idea.
"Anyway," Harry said. "When you get back Fisher and Bob and I
can go up and have a bit of a spell before we start thinking about the 1917
crop."
"Of course you can," Bill said. "Jolly good idea."
The next day Mr and Mrs Whitecross called in on their way to Sea Lake, and when
Rupe told them about the trip to Merbein insisted that Harry, Fisher and I go
over to their place on Christmas Day.
Christmas Eve we drove into Speed in the double buggy, arriving just on dark.
We unyoked in the station yard and put out feed for the ponies, then went
across while Bill bought the tickets.
We had to fill in the time then until midnight, and were waiting when the train
pulled in, Olga standing in the open door of a carriage, waving and calling.
"Olga!"
Bill only had time to give her a quick hug before the station master called for
all aboard, and Harry lifted Rupe up into the doorway and pushed their two
battered suitcases in after him.
"Merry Christmas! Love to Mother and Em!"
"Enjoy yourselves!"
"Merry Christmas!"
We watched the train disappear into the night, north to Mildura, then yoked up
the horses and turned them for home.
The house seemed awfully lonely without the others, but it was not as silent as
it once had been. There was the constant sound of scattering feet and the
nibble, nibble, nibble of countless teeth.
The mice were eating our house away around us, and squeaking with delight as
they did it!
Harry had us up bright and early next morning. We got the cows in and milked
them, a quick job now they were nearly dry, then fed the pigs and turned all
but the two horses we would use out into their paddock. Then we went back
inside for a quick breakfast and a bath in the tubs on the verandah.
Reg and Snowy Whitecross came out to meet us when we arrived, yarning while we
unyoked the ponies and put them in the stable.
There was a great crowd down at the house, and I was introduced to so many
uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces of the Whitecross' that there was no
chance of remembering them all.
Tom Burns was there too, but I had not seen Mary or the children.
"Sent them off to her mother's place up at Nhill. These damn mice were
getting on her nerves. The harvest is finished and I thought a bit of a spell
away from the place would do her good. Holiday for the children too."
Christmas dinner was a really wonderful affair. Mrs Whitecross bustled around
seating us, then Mr Whitecross stood at the head of the table and said grace.
Fisher nudged me. "Never seen so much food Bob! Look at it will you?"
The table was laden. Hot roasted turkeys, roosters and ducks. Steaming dishes
of vegetables. Almost anything you could name was somewhere amongst the laden
dishes and bowls.
And then the Christmas plum pudding! I had never seen one anything like that
size before.
There was a constant stream of talk and laughter, and when the meal finally
came to an end we staggered up from the table and made our way outside.
All except the women. They were left with the dishes.
The Whitecross place certainly had its share of mice, and the younger men were
making the most of their opportunity by catching them to chase the girls with.
The girls' screams were quite shattering, but surely not bona fide in a
district where old and young alike lived with mice 24 hours a day as a way of
life.
Snowy and Reg took us down to their machinery shed to see the new harvester. It
looked a lot more complicated to drive than the stripper, and I wondered how it
would work out if Bill ever had to show me. It would not only be my legs being
too short on this machine.
"Be only a year or two before the stripper's a thing of the past,"
Snowy reckoned. "All be using harvesters soon."
"Yes," said Harry. "Have to progress. Getting a bit hard to keep
pace with things these days."
"Yes," said Tom Burns. "But one of these would do me." He
seemed to remember something suddenly. "By the way Harry. Saw that bloke
who tried to rush those bullocks through our wheat."
"The drover? Where?"
"Snowy and I were over at Lascelles the other day and called into the
hotel for a drink before we left. He was down the end of the bar with his three
sons. Didn't notice him when I went in or I mightn't have stayed."
"Made a bit of a nuisance of himself," Snowy said. "Came up to
Tom and tried to pick a fight. He was rotten drunk and called Tom a smart
bloody cocky and accused him of stampeding the cattle. Threatened Tom. Said he
had a score to settle with him."
" I told him to forget it. We didn't hold any grudges, and it didn't seem
to have hurt him."
"But it wasn't for stampeding the cattle," Snowy put in. "It was
something Tom said about the drover's family the day they all rode into their
camp."
"To cut a long story short," said Tom, " he took a swing at me.
He was so drunk I just pushed him away and he fell over. His two youngest boys
picked him up and the eldest one wanted to have me on, but the barman jumped
over and broke it up, so we cleared off."
"Yelled out he'd even the score though," Snowy said. "If it was
the last thing he ever did, and he's the sort of cove that doesn't
forget."
"Ah, forget it." Tom turned away. "Let's go and join in the fun
at the house." And he and Harry walked away.
"Reg and I've been giving him a bit of a hand," Snowy said.
"There's still a bit of cleaning up to do after the harvest. It's not far
over, and it's a bit of company for Tom with Mary away. This drover bloke
seemed to worry him too."
Back at the house someone had organised a competition. Two ladies and a man
acted as the judges, and everyone had to give an item. Sing, dance, recite, it
did not matter which. Fisher sang a haunting lullaby with Harry playing on the
piano, picking the tune up from Fisher's singing, and it went over very well.
The day was quite warm, but the younger ones still found the energy to hold
impromptu races, a ruleless game of football, and hide and seek.
The ladies had been working through it all, and by five-thirty another big
sit-down feast was ready. Cold turkey and chicken. Cold plum pudding. It seemed
to be endless, and the whole day was capped by the big carton of food Mrs
Whitecross handed up to Harry in the buggy just before we left.
"Good heavens! Harry exclaimed.
"But you'll need something for supper tonight."
But back home, when supper time came around, we still had not digested our tea.
Harry looked at the carton of food and shuddered. "Want any supper Fisher?
Bob?"
Fisher turned away. "I don't want to even see it thanks Harry."
Even next morning we did not eat breakfast with quite the usual relish, and
decided to take things a little easy for the day.
We put wire screens over the rainwater tanks to keep mice from getting in
there, then brought a heap of kerosene tins up to the verandah and began
cutting out the tops and making wire handles. We were going to sink holes and
put the tins in them, half full of water, as traps.
I was sitting on the edge of the verandah with my bare feet on the ground
bending and shaping the handles from No. 8 fencing wire, and Fisher was seated
up on the tank stand cutting the lengths with a file.
"Bob." His voice was quiet and urgent. "Don't move. Don't move
your legs. Just sit still."
I knew by his voice I was in some kind of danger and wanted to jump and shout
what?
But I learned what quickly enough by the push of the head, then the long
sliding body across my feet.
Freeze. My heart started to pound. I could see Fisher, and the expressions on
his face told the progress of the snake as well as the feel of it on my skin
did.
Then Fisher moved, dropped onto the ground in a crouch, the hand holding the
twelve inch file lifting, slowly, ever so slowly
..
And then he sprang. Smack! The file came down across the snake's back, just
behind the head, again, and again. And then Fisher bent down and picked it up
by the tail, a brown snake about six feet long.
"Nice and fat on mice Bob. Make good eating."
"Ugh!" I shuddered. "Thanks Fisher. You don't know how scared I
was."
Fisher grinned, his eyes looking to the side past me as they always did when he
was embarrassed. "The bloody things always frighten me too."
"What's going on?" Harry asked, coming from the house. "Oh no.
Not those damn things around the place again? What with mice running everywhere
and those damn things crawling around, it's about time we gave up. Wonder how
many more of them are under here?"
"Could be plenty," Fisher said. "Nice and cool under the house,
and they go in after mice. Pretty good on mice."
But there was not much we could do about it if there were.
When we had finished making the kerosene tine traps and set them out in their
holes, emptying them became a daily chore. The mouse plague was certainly
becoming worse, and they fell into the tins and drowned themselves by the
bucketful.
We seemed to spend a great deal of time lifting the tins out and emptying them
into a pile the first day after we put them down.
"What are we going to do with them Harry?"
Harry sighed. "Bury them I suppose. Come up and have morning tea
first."
But when we got back the pile of mice had gone. There wasn't a trace.
"It was here we put them wasn't it?" Harry asked. "I
mean
..". He shook his head and looked around.
"Harry," Fisher called. "Look at this."
He was pointing to some of the pigs.
"What about them? Oh, hell," said Harry, realising as I did what had
happened. "I'll never eat bacon again."
One of the pigs still had mouse tails hanging from his mouth.
"Jove," Fisher said, he was really impressed. "That's a good
job. Won't have to bury them now. Be able to leave them to the pigs. Good
tucker for pigs!"
"No fear!" Harry said quickly. "We'll bury them alright, and
we'll dig the hole before we start."
So from then on digging the hole was the job you did before collecting the
tins.
New Year's Day, we decided, we would spend up at the house taking things easy,
and the three of us saw the old year out around the fire.
"Be good to have a sleep in, Harry said, standing and stretching.
"Looking forward to that."
"Sounds alright," I agreed, but it seemed I had only just dropped off
when I heard a voice shouting from outside.
"Hey! Are you awake in there? Hey!"
I struggled from the bedclothes to the window.
"What's the matter? Who's that?"
"Bob?" Snowy Whitecross came sprinting around. "Get hold of
Harry, quick. Tom Burns has been shot."
Harry came bolting from his room. "What's up?"
"It's Tom Burns Harry. He's been shot
.."
"Where is he? Hurt bad?"
Snowy suddenly lost the sense of urgency in his manner, reaching out a hand to
steady himself against the house. "Tom
.. Tom's dead."