What Lies Buried Page 8

PART FIVE

  LIFE GOES ON

  Losing a Mother

  Friday 18th December 1931

  Cancer, term used loosely to cover tumours that develop in the body for reasons as yet undiscovered, and spread through the normal tissues in a slow but progressive manner until, usually by the invasion of some important blood vessel, they produce a weakness in its wall, leading to fatal internal haemorrhage.

  Walter wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and glanced over his shoulder. Twelve-year-old boys are meant to be tough. Fortunately, it was recess; he was alone in the classroom that doubled as a library. He closed the encyclopaedia, and returned it to the shelf. It was his last day of primary school, the week before Christmas.

  Sunday 9th January 1932

  Conferences were a Blake tradition, though nobody could tell Walter which of their forebears had been the first to call the family together to discuss some important subject. Even Grandad Simeon could only say the practice must have started before he was born.

  It was less than a month since a conference had changed their lives. In accordance with the tradition, everybody at home had been included on that occasion. Grandad Simeon and Grandma Alice had sat side by side in straight-backed chairs, holding hands. Walter was in the middle of the couch, sandwiched in the airless space between his two bulky brothers, feeling insignificant. His mother had settled herself on the arm of his father’s chair, smiling as always. A few days earlier, she’d returned from a trip to Sydney. Walter had seen her in earnest conversation with his father and grandparents. He was not taken immediately into their confidence because, as his mother now told them, she wanted to wait until Michael and Jonathan returned from Melbourne where they were boarders at the prestigious Stoddart Grammar School.

  ‘We must all get on with our lives,’ she said. ‘Doctors have no way of knowing how fast these tumours spread. Sometimes people survive for a year or two. But even if it’s only a month, or a day, I don’t want us wasting it. Do you understand?’

  ‘Will you have to go back to the hospital?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Possibly, darling. We’ll have to wait and see. I’d rather be here than in a hospital where they can’t cure me anyway.’ She looked at Richard for support.

  Richard cleared his throat. ‘The district hospital can provide for any urgent needs.’

  Now another conference had been called, this time breaking tradition because one family member was missing. This had not been the usual joyous Christmas break. Today was Sunday. Elspeth Blake had accompanied the family to church, picked at her small serving of the mid-day roast cooked by Richard and Jonathan, and, after kissing each of them, retired for her afternoon rest.

  ‘Right!’ Richard said. ‘We’re all agreed. Michael and Jonathan go back to Melbourne. We’ll call you home if things deteriorate, but your mother would be devastated if her illness caused you to break your studies prematurely. Walter will start his secondary studies at Arajinna. The Headmaster at Stoddart is prepared to take him at any time until the end of Intermediate, which keeps the options open for another year. You’re quite sure Walter?’

  ‘Yes Dad.’

  Walter was more than sure. He hated the prospect of living away from home. Now he would start secondary school with his current crop of friends, and not be parted from his mother. At least not yet.

  So it was that he went to the local high school and renewed his friendship with “Emily from over the tracks” as Mikey had always called her.

  Having expected Walter to join his brothers at Stoddart, Emily Johnson had trouble concealing her delight when he turned up on Orientation Day for the new intake of the high school year.

  Another Family Conference

  Friday 29th July 1932

  A few days after the funeral of Elspeth Blake, Richard asked the family to gather around the fire when dinner was over. The main business was an affirmation of the long held view that Michael, who would complete his secondary schooling at the end of the year, was ready to take over management of the farm. His Grandfather gave his imprimatur to the decision. ‘You realise I’ve been the only Blake since Alfred not to have a son working the property. Not that I minded your dad becoming a surgeon. I was happy to stay in harness. But now it’s time for me to hand over, so I’m glad you’re ready to step up. With any luck I’ll stay active long enough to get you established.’

  ‘You’re as fit as a Mallee bull and twice as dangerous, Grandad,’ Jonathan interjected, using one of Simeon’s own expressions.

  ‘And I thought you were a realist,’ Simeon glared at him.

  There was laughter but, like everything recently, it was subdued.

  Richard said, ‘Now we need to hear from Jonathan.’

  ‘I’m still keen to study law. My teachers think my marks are good enough to get a scholarship to one of the residential colleges.’

  ‘A second Blake in the professions?’ Simeon said. ‘It’s your fault Alice. They’re all becoming intellectuals.’

  There was more laughter and Alice said, ‘He’ll do well.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for a profession,’ Walter said.

  He was aware of the family focussing its attention on him, and he realised he had to explain himself.

  ‘I pass each year, but not without a struggle. I don’t like most of the subjects we do. They say I’m good with my hands and I have an aptitude for drawing, but we don’t have an art teacher. I don’t know what I want to do.’

  ‘Then why not stay at Banabrook and help me?’ Michael asked. ‘You know the farm as well as I do.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Blood oath!’

  Walter glanced at his grandfather who nodded. ‘Mikey has already canvassed the idea with me and your father, but we wanted to hear if you had any other plans.’

  ‘None as good as that!’

  Grandad Simeon nodded again. ‘We’ll be short handed when Vic retires, but he’s prepared to stay on for a bit; between us we’ll get by without an assistant manager until you finish school.’

  And so it was decided.

  Changing Relationships

  Easter 1937

  When Barry Johnson died in 1935, his will provided for Emily’s father, Maurie, to inherit Weatherlee, and for her Uncle Bert to inherit the trucking business run from premises near the railway depot. The Arajinna community acknowledged this as a good move, because it left each set of assets under the control of the son who had played the largest role in their management. Although neither of the brothers was well disposed towards the founding families of the district, they were less overtly antagonistic than their father had been. Nevertheless, Walter and Emily were relieved when Maurie raised no objection to their becoming engaged, and they were surprised when he insisted on a traditional wedding paid for by the parents of the bride.

  The wedding, held at Easter in 1937, was straight from the textbook. But there was tension at Banabrook in the days before the ceremony, and an incident soon after the honeymoon was to stay with Walter for the rest of his life.

  The catalyst was houseguest, Penelope Kransley, who came to the wedding as Michael’s partner. Walter had already moved into the farm manager’s cottage, which was to be his home with Emily. For relaxation, he had been copying a landscape hung in the hall of Banabrook—a project he was finishing late on Thursday when Penelope arrived.

  ‘I’d heard you were different,’ she said, examining his work, ‘but I didn’t know you painted.’

  ‘Different?’

  ‘Your father’s a surgeon, and your brothers are such practical chaps. You seem to be from a totally different mould.’

  ‘Liking to paint doesn’t mean I’m not practical.’

  ‘Mikey’s the big cheese though. Is there enough of a career for two of you?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘If he marries, you’d be living in each others’ pockets a bit.’

  ‘I’m quite happy in the cottage.’

  ‘No big ambitions?’
>
  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why are you making a copy of this painting?’

  ‘It helps develop technique. I’ve always liked the way the light falls on those trees. I’m trying for a similar effect.’

  ‘Did they teach art at Arajinna High?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You would have been a contemporary of my brother if you’d gone to Stoddart. He’s studying medicine.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m in the same law firm as Jonathan. Now there’s a success story.’

  ‘Yes, he has done well.’

  ‘You can already mark him down as a future King’s Counsel, and I’d back him for a position on the bench in time.’

  ‘He’s only twenty-two.’

  ‘You can tell with special people. Take my word for it.’

  ‘Then I’m proud of him.’

  ‘Your Emily? Is she artistic too?’

  ‘Emily’s more a sporting type.’

  ‘The opposite that attracts, eh?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘I believe I’m to meet her at dinner. I’d better go and unpack.’

  On Friday morning, Walter made early rounds to check whether the farmhands had any requests for supplies to be ordered before he left on the honeymoon. Later, he made himself a pot of coffee, which he took into the office at the end of the verandah. He was nearly finished his paper work when he heard Michael and Penelope taking their breakfast to a garden table under the office window. At first, he was only vaguely conscious of their conversation. By the time it became obvious they were unaware of his presence, he felt unable to do anything but listen.

  ‘You’re quite sure he isn’t adopted?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your strange little brother. I can’t reconcile him with the rest of your family.’

  ‘Whyever not?’

  ‘The painting thing is part of it but, frankly Mickey, compared with the rest of you, where does he fit? And his choice of a wife is extraordinary.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Emily from over the tracks.’

  ‘There you are. You’ve just said it. Golly, she’s straight out of a comic strip. A veritable Daisy Mae—except Emily’s a brunette.’

  ‘Walter and Emily go well together. They always have.’

  ‘That’s the point. The Blakes have pedigree at Stoddart, yet he was content to hang around the local High School, and take up with someone from over the tracks.’

  ‘It’s his life.’

  ‘I couldn’t believe the carry-on about my picture in the Women’s Weekly. I was worried she’d run home and get it for me to autograph.’

  ‘I’m sure she was simply trying to make you feel good.’

  ‘Well, I know it’s not my business, but I think you could be saddling yourself with problems.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Having a brother as your assistant is fraught with hazards. A manager you can sack. Family tends to stick.’

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind. Now do you want more toast?’

  ‘I’ll help you make it.’

  Hearing them return to the kitchen, Walter left the office, undetected. The discussion had been unnerving, but what really nagged was the suspicion that Penelope Kransley had ideas of becoming his sister-in-law.

  On return from his honeymoon, Walter was horrified to learn that, despite his careful planning, Banabrook had suffered a major crisis, for which Michael seemed to hold him responsible. Whilst most deliveries to the farm were received into unlocked sheds, there were strict rules about storage of hazardous chemicals. Before leaving, Walter had entrusted his keys to one of the farmhands who mislaid them at a critical time. Unable to provide access for delivery, the farmhand had a 44-gallon drum of inflammable liquid temporarily stored in the open. His subsequent attempt to move it into the storage facility, without assistance or the proper equipment, led to rupture and leakage. By the time Michael was informed, the shed was filled with an explosive mixture of fumes—heavier than air, and unlikely to disperse quickly in the hot, still conditions. Michael immediately ordered everybody out of the area, and called the fire brigade. No vehicle was started. No match was struck. No meals were cooked. The farm was at virtual standstill. Nevertheless, something happened to spark an initial explosion and a chain of secondaries, which blew apart the storage facility and ignited several grass-fires. Had the brigade not already been on site, the damage to Banabrook and surrounding properties might have been horrendous. The only good to come from the incident was the fire chief’s observation that the storage facility had been well located to minimise risks to other buildings and livestock. A few of the farmhands suffered minor injuries while helping the brigade to contain the fires.

  Two days later, the honeymooners returned.

  Whether Penelope’s nagging comments had affected Michael’s judgement could not be known, but Walter found himself defending his choice of back-up against suggestions the farmhand should be dismissed.

  ‘It was sheer rotten luck,’ Michael. ‘It could have happened to anybody.’

  ‘He should never have tried to move the drum without consulting me.’

  ‘He made a bad decision. But he was trying to rectify a problem.’

  ‘Which he created because you let him.’

  ‘I let him? How?’

  ‘He was the wrong choice. He’s dim.’

  ‘What’s got into you?’

  ‘Nothing’s got into me. But I can’t double check everything you do.’

  ‘I see. I suppose I’ll find pea-brain Penny’s been getting in your ear again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Penny the pea-brain from the pedestal. She’s poison, Michael. Poisonous Penelope Kransley. She’s got you imagining yourself as Lord of the Manor, and she’s lining herself up to be Lady Muck.’

  ‘I don’t know what–’

  ‘You bloody well do. I heard her bad-mouthing me and Emily before the wedding. She’s taking an unnatural interest in Banabrook. Bloody socialite gold-digger if you ask me. And you haven’t the sense to see what she’s about.’

  Michael hit him just once, the only time in their adult lives either of them ever used violence on a sibling. Walter registered the distress in his brother’s expression before leaving the office without another word.

  He heard Michael’s subdued ‘I’m so sorry, Walter.’ But he kept walking.

  Wednesday Funerals

  The history of the private cemetery at the edge of the forest was only vaguely known, but an engraved stone at the entrance attested to its being consecrated ground. At some stage in the past, changes in the laws governing burials had caused the family to alter its practices, and the plot at St Mark’s was purchased.

  The enclosure at Banabrook had received the remains of Alfred in 1863, his wife Maud in 1869, Alured’s wife Cecelia in 1892, and Alured in 1893. Simeon had expected to be the first Blake interred at St Mark’s. Tragically, his daughter-in-law, Elspeth, was put to rest before him, at the age of 43.

  Everything about his mother’s funeral remained vivid to Walter, including that it was a Wednesday and his entire class was excused school after lunchtime. He missed her a lot, but had already cried his immediate quota of tears and found himself a somewhat numbed observer. Others wept by the graveside, and laughed at stories told around the trestle tables on the verandah throughout the afternoon. He was old enough to understand this is the way people celebrate a life—that some emotions are simply a shield. He observed his father’s energetic attention to the needs of the assembled company: pouring drinks, offering plates, occasionally falling into conversations that ended with him being hugged. He watched Grandad Simeon’s attempts to smile at stories lovingly told about Elspeth. He noticed Grandma Alice’s concerned surveillance of Aunt May’s erratic behaviour, and long conversations with her son, Christopher, whose hand she patted frequently and who sat with her throughout the day. Walter had no previous recollection of meeting Uncle Christo
pher, but had heard him referred to as “a bit of a reprobate”.

  It was a day when Walter felt surrounded by familiar faces rather than by friends. Even his schoolmates were distant, uncertain at the age of fourteen what to say to a contemporary whose mum has just been buried. His special friend Emily would have been a comfort, but Johnsons did not come to Blake funerals. His older brothers had been asked by their father to see that “Tubby” (Cousin Tony), who was the same age as Jonathan, was made to feel welcome. This they were doing by mercilessly beating him at darts, but he seemed not to mind. Throughout the afternoon, Aunt May had been an enthusiastic contributor both to the tears and to the laughter until she rushed for the railing of the verandah and vomited into the flowerbed. The last of the guests decided this was a good time to leave, and when Aunt May, now reeking of stale alcohol and fresh bile, tried to hug Walter, he decided it was time to go to bed.

  Two years later the family gathered for Simeon’s funeral. Again it was a Wednesday. In the interim, Walter’s attachment to his grandparents had grown even stronger but, although he and Grandma Alice hugged a lot in the lead up to the funeral, there were few tears. ‘We become almost inured to death,’ Alice observed from her chair at the kitchen table while Walter washed the plates after dinner on the eve of the Simeon’s funeral. ‘I should have been the first to go. I’m 79 this year. Sims was a mere 76. You know Walter, I’ve often thought a child is lucky if they lose a much-loved pet before losing a parent. At one level there’s no comparison, but somehow the tears and mourning for the dog or the pony help prepare us for greater loss. Am I being a silly old woman, do you think?’

  ‘No Grandma.’

  ‘I hope your Aunty May behaves herself tomorrow. She was a lovely girl you know, until the war got to her.’

  ‘How did it do that?’

  ‘She said it was the horror of the Western Front—the blood, the smell, the pain. But mothers sense when there’s something else at work. Sims thought I was imagining it, and we both agreed you mustn’t pry. The mind has defences, just as the body does. Sometimes it locks unpleasant memories away.’

  The day of Simeon’s funeral, dark clouds menaced throughout the morning. Then, torrents of timely rain on freshly ploughed paddocks brought the certainty that every farm for miles around would start sowing new crops. At the beginning of the eulogy, Shire President, Marcus Quinlan said, ‘Simeon Blake was one of the most reliable sons of Kalawonta, and he’s not let us down today. Can’t you just see him up there negotiating with Saint Peter? Telling him—you get Hughie to send her down to my mates or I’m not presenting myself for judgement.’

  Back at the homestead, the ladies of the newly formed branch of the Country Women’s Association, led by their President Olive Sampson, laid out scones and jam and fresh cream. Later, one of them sat at the piano and played Simeon’s favourite songs while enthusiastic singers harmonised, or at least tried. Muddy shoes and dripping umbrellas lined the verandah, and visitors padded around in their stockinged feet. In years to come, Walter would remember this day and think it was the way a funeral should be. A man who, in his own words, “had a bloody good innings” was buried on the day the life-giving rains arrived.

  By the time Grandma Alice died, most of her contemporaries were long gone. With many family friends away at the war, St Mark’s was barely half-filled for the funeral, which was held on a Wednesday in June 1940. Walter stood at the main door with his Uncle Christopher and Aunt May, introducing them to Arajinna locals.

  As Walter took his place in the front pew, he wondered if Wednesday funerals were an element of Blake destiny. The service was simple and, in place of a eulogy, Christopher and May stood on the step of the nave and staged an unrehearsed “remember when?” Walter thought it significant that his aunt presented herself sober, the first time he could recall her not being at least slightly unsteady. As with Simeon’s funeral, the congregation laughed and felt warmed by the anecdotes; though Walter, flanked on one side by Emily nursing two-year-old Caroline, and on the other by Olive who’d always been considered family, felt the burden of being left in charge.

  Excavating Weatherlee

  1943

  The police car arriving at Banabrook with news of her parents’ death in a road accident reminded Emily of the day, less than a year earlier, when officers had brought the telegram about her father-in-law. She had taken that news hard, wandered aimlessly around the house, curled up on the end of the couch, and wept. She had still been there, the crumpled telegram beside her, when Walter returned from the Bullermark stock sales. In contrast, the loss of her own parents affected her little. She declined the policeman’s offer to drive her into town to identify the bodies; she said she would get her husband to bring her in when he’d finished his rounds of the farm. ‘Yes, Constable, I am perfectly all right alone until then. My daughter is having a sleep. I’d rather not wake her yet. It was kind of you to come. I realise how rotten this sort of thing is for you. I’ll ring when we’re leaving, and we’ll meet you at the funeral parlour.’ She escorted the uncomfortable young officer to his car. As she went inside, her only feeling was the realisation she didn’t give a damn. She had not even asked where and when the accident occurred. It was left to Walter to establish that her parents’ car had failed to take a bend on the way back from Calway Junction. She was happy to hear no other vehicle was involved.

  When her father’s solicitor telephoned next day, she was astonished to learn she had inherited Weatherlee. ‘Shit, Walter. I can’t manage a farm. I don’t know where to start. I thought Bert would get it.’

  ‘Then, regardless of his neglect in the past, you’ll have to credit your dad with doing something right for a change.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Don’t you feel anything for them?’

  ‘I’m sorry if it bothers you, but no. If it wasn’t for the worry of what to do with Weatherlee, I’d be glad.’

  ‘When you identified them–’

  ‘Nothing. I felt bloody nothing. Okay?’

  ‘What about the funeral?’

  ‘I told the solicitor to set something up at the funeral parlour. Johnsons aren’t church people. The bodies can go to Calway for cremation.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Quick is what I want. Quick, and over. You don’t need to come.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come.’

  ‘I don’t want Caroline there. Somebody will have to mind her.’

  ‘I’m sure I can arrange that. Olive loves playing Aunt.’

  Two days later, one of the farmhands at Weatherlee telephoned. Emily refused to take the call. Walter told the man he’d go over and meet with them. When he did, he made excuses for Emily, which they took to mean she was grieving for her parents. There were only two permanent employees. Walter sorted out a schedule for the week and left the older man in charge. Neither man could give him any idea what tasks would be necessary beyond the immediate future. A quick drive around the inner paddocks told Walter much. There were no crops, no cattle, and few sheep. But there was a large piggery in reasonable condition. He sighed and shook his head. Neither he nor Emily knew much about pigs.

  ‘We’ll have to find somebody to advise you about the piggery. That looks to be the main source of income; it should be enough to get the bank to give you mortgage finance.’

  ‘What do I need finance for?’

  ‘There are fences to be repaired before you can run any more sheep. You’ll have to re-stock to get a saleable wool clip, and you’ll have to give some thought to preparing to sow crops next year. But I really think the first thing you need to do is examine the big gully, and put to rest the folklore about dumped vehicles.’ Walter took a mouthful of stew, and waited for Emily’s response.

  ‘Surely the farmhands can tell you that.’

  ‘Tell you, you mean. It’s your property.’

  ‘Well, they can; can’t they? Did you ask?’

  ‘The back of the property isn’t under cultiva
tion, and your dad wasn’t running any stock there. The older bloke says that’s because of erosion. The only time he’s been near the gully is to shoot rabbits, and they can’t get ammo for their twenty-twos now.’

  ‘They’d have seen. Dumped trucks, I mean.’

  ‘The gossip has always suggested the trucks taken there in your grandfather’s day were bulldozed under. I don’t think the area was ever farmed, even in the Charlesworth’s time. Whatever spring fed the gully dried up yonks before settlement. You could ask the Aboriginal elders. Sometimes they know stories that give a clue to what happened a long way back.’

  ‘Shit, Walter. I’m not up to this.’

  ‘I’ll help. It will give you a new interest, you see if it doesn’t.’

  News that haulage vehicles had been found buried at Weatherlee became the main topic of debate in pubs and clubs. Emily was widely praised for laying bare the Johnson past. Walter felt vindicated.

  Bert Johnson had not been seen in Arajinna for several months, but speculation he might have skipped town to avoid abuse was countered by his sons, Graham and Stephen, who’d been left to run the trucking business and the fuel agency. They said Bert had been seconded to the Army Supply Corps as a civilian adviser on transport.

  A writ from the family of a truck-owner who’d committed suicide some years earlier, raised bar-room discussions to a frenzy. The local bush-lawyers debated weighty issues like the Statute of Limitations, and whether legal “cause of action” started anew from the finding of the wrecked trucks.

  When Graham and Stephen brought their solicitor to Banabrook to accuse Emily of jeopardising Bert’s business, Walter hurriedly sent Caroline outside to play. The brothers convinced Emily their grandfather had left his stamp on all aspects of the estate. The message was clear: if dirty money was being alleged, hers was dirty too. It was the solicitor’s suggestion that the issuers of the writ would not want to spend money arguing whether the Statute of Limitations applied, and that, if he made comments about being prepared to take the issue as far as the High Court, the other party might want to settle. He suggested an amount he should be authorised to offer. To Walter’s dismay, Emily volunteered to finance a settlement by adding to the funds being raised by mortgaging Weatherlee.

  When the visitors left, Walter took breath to comment but was cut short.

  ‘Can it Walter. I don’t want to know. You started this. I want it ended. I’m not going to war with the Johnson family, no matter what you think of them.’

  ‘If a settlement is negotiated, the mortgage will have to cover it as well as the maintenance and re-stocking of Weatherlee.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘I hope not. The income from the piggery should cover it. Provided there aren’t any other truck owners planning to sue.’

  ‘There won’t be.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I had big ears as a kid. My grandad crushed one rival. After that, nobody else ever challenged him. He used to brag about it.’

  ‘So you settle this case and you’re home free?’

  ‘With any luck. And no thanks to you.’

  ‘It was the right thing to do.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Farms get reputations, like people do. Ask any stock and station agent. Ask the bank manager. Weatherlee will have a good name again. That’s probably worth more than the settlement will cost. You should be proud of yourself’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Memorials

  Sunday 4th December 1943

  ‘I’ve made us a rabbit pie. I feel bad sometimes having lamb and beef when other folk are rationed.’ Olive put the pie on the table and sat down. Walter bowed his head while she said grace. He echoed her ‘amen’, then waited, knowing there would be a pause before she said ‘amen’ again—her customary silent addendum, a prayer for Eddie and Brian. She looked up and held out her hand ‘Okay, pal. Gimme your plate.’

  ‘It smells great.’

  ‘It was Eddie’s favourite. My old Jack Spratt was a real sucker for bunny pie.’

  ‘I was destined for cold cuts and salad. Emily’s taken Caroline over to Weatherlee.’

  ‘Found a manager?’

  ‘Not even a nibble. She’s got one good off-sider who does some of the admin—ordering supplies and stuff. I’m helping her with budgeting and scheduling.’

  ‘Things aren’t getting any easier, pal. Not for anybody.’

  ‘Since the Japs joined the scrap, it’s got really bad. A lot of the blokes who said they weren’t going away to fight the Brit’s war have signed on now.’

  ‘Which makes your Kalawonta Crisis Teams all the more valuable.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And time-consuming to organise.’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Which is why I wanted to chew the fat with you.’

  ‘There’s no fat in your bunny pie.’

  ‘Har-de-har. You know what I meant.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘This is going to sound more like it’s coming from a parent than from a mate, but I am quite a bit older than you are, and now your grandma’s not with us–’

  ‘I don’t even know how old you are.’

  ‘Mind your business, buster. Suffice to say: compared to me you’re just a kid— even though you are the JP hereabouts.’

  ‘They should have found some old fogey—like you.’

  ‘Mind your lip.’ She laughed. ‘Wouldn’t have crossed their minds to appoint a woman.’

  ‘Okay, let’s have it.’

  ‘I think you’re trying to do too much.’

  ‘You said it isn’t getting any easier.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ She tapped the table between them with a plump index finger. ‘There was a time I could look forward to seeing you at least once a week—Sunday at church. You’d come haring up the driveway at the last minute perhaps, but you’d be there. You wouldn’t have been today if I hadn’t put the hard word on you to pick me up. True?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘It’s not faith I’m trying to ram down your throat. People’s beliefs are their own business. But there is a lot to be said for a day of rest.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like it’s simply a bloody good idea. More so when you spend the rest of the week flat out like a lizard drinking. The only thing we do at Land’s End on a Sunday is the milking. Never found me a cow who’d take Sunday off.’

  Walter took breath to say something about the war never taking a rest, but stopped himself in time. It would be cruel to remind her that Brian might have died fighting on the Sabbath. Instead he said, ‘I know what you’re getting at, Olive. But I don’t have much to show for the past four years. The Kalawonta Crisis Teams are about it. I know pride’s a sin. But I don’t want the troops coming home saying: That bludger Blake didn’t do much.’

  ‘If you ask me, the crisis teams are plenty to show. Meanwhile, you and Emily are trying to run two properties with less than half the labour you need.’

  ‘You’ve got more to show than I have. Your projects for Brian will change the face of Land’s End.’

  Her tone softened. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  ‘Two Anzac days, two projects. I’m aiming to do something for him every year. It sort of keeps him here.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything for my family. I thought I might arrange for some memorial stones to be put in the private cemetery.’

  ‘I think that would be great. Put them with their ancestors.’

  ‘You don’t think the government will want to take any of the forest do you?’

  ‘Why would they?’

  ‘There’s a lot of talk about land for returning soldiers. It was done after the Great War. 300-acre blocks is the suggestion.’

  ‘The northern stretches of the forest are Crown Land, and they border the main road, so they might fit the bill.’

  ‘I’m all for looking after the fighting blokes. But I
’m not sure cutting down forests is the way to go.’

  ‘What else can they do?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think it needs more thought.’

  ‘Not by you, pal. Time enough to worry about it when the damned war’s over. Meanwhile, you have to pace yourself or you’ll fall apart.’

  Again it occurred to him to mention the pressures on the troops. Again he refrained. ‘I’d feel a lot better if I could do something to put my personal stamp on Banabrook.’

  ‘Can an old pal be frank?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I think you drive yourself too hard. You don’t have anything to prove to anybody.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I’d still like to be able to point to something and say: I did that.’

  ‘And you’ve had an idea?’

  ‘There are some good stud rams listed for auction soon. Perhaps we could aim to become best fine-wool producer in the nation. It wouldn’t happen over night.’

  ‘Good things rarely do.’

  ‘So you think it might be possible?’

  ‘If it doesn’t kill you, pal. If it doesn’t kill you.’

  Stock Development

  1943

  ‘The price was too good. I bought the entire flock and two prize stud rams.’ Walter kissed Emily’s cheek and inspected the soup she was stirring.

  ‘I thought you said I’d have to lodge proof of finance with the auctioneer.’

  ‘I made the bid in my name. Banabrook’s credit is good. We can sort out the paper work later.’

  ‘But the new fences will take months. The contractor and his son are working alone most of the time. There are no casuals around.’

  ‘We can run the stock at Banabrook until Weatherlee is ready. There’s plenty of feed here. I’ll get an agistment agreement drawn up to keep the books straight.’

  ‘I wish I understood this stuff.’

  ‘Just be glad a deceased estate came up at the right time.’

  ‘Pity the poor bloody family.’

  ‘Not at all. They told me they were worried there wouldn’t be a bidder with any cash. You’ve saved them from disaster.’

  ‘You have, you mean.’

  ‘No Emily. You have. Banabrook has credit, but no cash. The mortgage on Weatherlee will give everyone a win.’

  ‘Do I need stud rams?’

  ‘Banabrook will take them off your hands. We’ll get an agreement drawn up for that too.’

  ‘Can we? I mean it’s legal and stuff?’

  ‘I checked with the accountant. He says there’s nobody with a financial interest except you, me, and the tax man. Provided we show it in the books, and the tax returns are right, it’s all sweet. Even the bank doesn’t care as long as the loan is serviced.’

  ‘So we thank the Lord for pigs?’

  ‘Why not? They’re providing the cash flow.’