by Tony Parsons
Although the memory did not disturb him, he’d imagined that he might not think of his parents much now that he was no longer a boy. It wasn’t that he wanted to forget his mother and father; on the contrary, he had used all his powers to try to keep them alive in his thoughts. Small incidents and characteristics were especially dear to him and kept both of them alive in his mind – like his mother’s pride that he could spell ‘Viverridae’, which was the family to which civet cats and meerkats belonged. Sometimes he couldn’t understand what his parents were discussing because their words were too scientific, but he understood more than most young boys. He loved to listen to their conversations – often beside camp fires or around bush tables – and they always encouraged him to join in. He knew that the dhole was the hunting dog of India and that there were many wild dogs in Asia. Along with the American coyote – and bears and wolves – they all belonged to the order Carnivora. While at Harrow he’d written an essay on the Carnivora and it had been highly praised. He’d been amazed how easy it had been to write that essay, as if his long-deceased parents were dictating what he should say. Instead of using scientific and technical language, he’d written it as a story.
Ian knew that there was a world that lay just beneath his everyday consciousness. He thought of it as a world-in-waiting. Memories of his parents and of their work contributed to the dissatisfaction that haunted him – nothing seemed enough. He wished he knew what his father would have done if Kanimbla had been left to him.
The following morning, after the final guests had left and everyone had pitched in to clean up the pool and garden, Leo, Jim and Ian inspected the landing field. It seemed to have stood up to the spate of arrivals and departures pretty well, considering it had hardly been used for some time.
‘Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your uncle’s plane, Ian,’ Leo said, as they wandered along one of the landing strips. ‘It was a write-off after the accident but it was well insured and we need to decide – well, you need to decide – whether to take the money or a replacement aircraft. I realise this is probably a painful subject for you but we do need to make a decision. There are certain advantages in owning a plane and having someone on the property who can fly it. It cuts down travelling time a lot, especially if you’re going to the Riverina to look for top rams. There’s also the emergency aspect – you can’t always get the Flying Doctor when you want it, so if there’s an accident here we can get to Roma or Toowoomba, or even Brisbane for that matter, fairly quickly. What do you think?’ Leo asked.
The thought of flying a small plane terrified Ian. Apart from the fact that both his parents and then his uncle and aunt had died in plane crashes, he didn’t trust himself to fly one.
‘Flying is the last thing I want to do,’ he said firmly.
‘I can understand how you feel,’ Leo said sympathetically. ‘Would you have any objection to buying a plane and letting someone else fly it?’
It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue to veto the plane but he valued Leo’s judgement and had appreciated the advantages he had mentioned.
‘I suppose we should. Does it cost much to maintain one?’ he asked.
‘There are costs in servicing and maintenance, but you’ve got to balance those against the expense of someone having to drive long distances and stay at motels those extra nights,’ Leo said.
‘I get the picture,’ Ian said.
‘If you agree that we should get a replacement, how would you feel about Jim learning to fly?’ Leo asked, glancing at Jim.
Ian looked at Jim who had remained silent while he and Leo were talking. Clearly Leo and Jim had spoken about the subject before. Now, Ian recognised the eagerness in Jim’s eyes.
‘When do you want to begin your flying lessons?’
Jim smiled. ‘Any old time.’
‘Have you discussed this with Karen?’ Ian asked.
Jim nodded.
‘And?’
‘She isn’t totally onside, but she understands the advantages, and it would ease her anxiety about the lack of medical assistance available around here,’ Jim explained. ‘And I told her that more people die in car accidents than in planes.’
‘All right. Go for it. I understand you need so many hours’ flying to get a basic licence. When you’ve clocked up some hours, let me know and we’ll see about getting our plane here,’ Ian said. So long as he didn’t have to fly the damned thing, or even get in it, he could see the benefits. In the meantime, he decided, he’d see about having a low-cost hangar built to house the plane. He didn’t want it sitting out in the open all the time, and parked in a hangar, he wouldn’t have to look at it.
‘Now that’s settled, there’s something I want to discuss with you,’ Ian said to Leo, as they watched Gus enjoying himself in the open space of the field. ‘I’ve been wondering whether we could hold an annual sheepdog trial in Murrawee.’
‘What kind of a trial?’ Leo asked.
‘Not a three-sheep trial, I mean one for farmers – with a long cast and that includes yard work. Anyone could enter. I mean, you wouldn’t have to be a member of an association. There are plenty of farmers who reckon they’ve got good dogs and are always boasting about them. Let’s put on a trial for them,’ Ian suggested.
‘Would you bar the professional sheepdog men?’ Blake asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. But we’d provide prize money for both. We could call it the Western Districts Championship Utility Trial,’ Ian said.
Leo looked sceptical.
‘How do you propose getting this off the ground?’ he asked. ‘It would take a fair bit of organising wouldn’t it? Especially when you’ve got a lot on your plate as it is.’
‘Fiona has agreed to help. She’s very enthusiastic. And there’s a way we can get more people interested. You know that public meeting you’ve been pushing me to have, to lay the cotton issue to rest? Well, I’d like to schedule it, and to add a few other items to the agenda. I’ve been having a good look at the township and have come up with a few ideas, but I need to know what support I’d have to implement them. If I get knocked back, well and good. If I get support, I’ll propose that we form the Murrawee and District Development Association and that one of its initiatives will be an annual sheepdog trial,’ Ian said.
Leo looked surprised. ‘Well, this doesn’t sound the sort of thing you’d expect from a bloke with his sights set on Cambridge University.’
‘The state of the township really bothers me, Mr Blake. Why should I sit by and watch it fall into decay when I can do something?’ Ian said. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think you should go ahead and have your meeting and see what comes out of it,’ Leo said.
‘Good show,’ Ian grinned. ‘I’ll get onto it.’
Chapter Fifteen
Ian’s first summer at Kanimbla was long and hot, and if he hadn’t already experienced an Australian summer at Warren it would have been a rude shock. Dry heat, often in the mid-forties Celsius, wasn’t something he’d experienced in Britain and his relatively brief sojourn in Africa had been during that continent’s winter. While the Kanimbla homestead was air-conditioned and he spent a lot of his time inside working at his science papers, the heat hit him when he ventured outside. He couldn’t spend all his time in the study because many visitors called at Kanimbla to either buy or inspect rams and he was expected to meet and in some cases entertain them.
For the first time ever, a Christmas party was held in the shearer’s dining room at Kanimbla. Ian had given each of his married employees a ham, the others beer, and young Billy a present. On the evening of Christmas Day, after the heat of the day had abated, Ian joined everyone else for a cold turkey dinner and there were drinks laid on. He didn’t drink much and didn’t see out the party but the fact that he’d given it and then turned up rather than holding a party at the homestead moved him up a notch in the men’s estimation. Jack Richardson had never done anything like that.
During the summer, he had
Murrawee builder Frank Morton erect a one-room building he could use as a laboratory. It was adjacent to the stables and was fitted out with a sink, fluorescent lighting, wide desks and an array of beakers, test tubes, trays and of course his microscope. Here he could do staining and testing so that he became familiar with a variety of organisms.
Ian was studying microbiology and human physiology and anything in this field attracted his attention – he was not content to confine his explorations to the task requirements of his course. Infectious diseases were especially interesting because most of them were caused by bacteria and viruses, and working with livestock gave him ample opportunities for acquiring further knowledge. It was typical of him that he rarely mentioned his study to anyone. Fiona, for one, had to dig it out of him.
‘What’s this about you getting Frank Morton to build you an outside study?’ she asked one Sunday after lunch. The McDonalds had been invited for a meal at Kanimbla, after which Lachie had excused himself with ‘I’ll just leave you young ones to it’ and wandered down to see Leo and Judy.
Ian wondered how Fiona had heard about the study. ‘Who told you about it?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t you encountered the outback grapevine yet, Ian? There’s not much you can keep quiet in the bush.’
‘Well, it’s not actually a study, Fiona,’ he said.
‘If it’s not a study, what is it?’ she persisted.
‘It’s a very basic laboratory,’ Ian said.
‘What do you need a laboratory for?’ she asked.
‘To become familiar with lab equipment, do simple tests, staining … just elementary stuff. There are no test animals or anything like that,’ Ian assured her.
‘Can I have a look at it?’ she asked.
‘There’s not much to see. But sure, you can have a look,’ Ian said.
‘Now?’ Fiona asked and watched Ian’s face for a reaction. She wondered if she was being too nosy for Ian’s liking. Neither of them had mentioned the kiss by the river again, and Fiona began to think she might have imagined it.
‘Well, okay,’ he said patiently.
It wasn’t until she stood with Ian in his ‘elementary laboratory’ that she saw a different side to him. The more questions she asked, the more animated he became. ‘What’s that about?’ she asked and pointed to an open book in front of a chair.
‘It helps identify bacteria by a gram staining index.’
‘Have you found anything interesting?’ she asked.
‘Nothing startling. There’s E. coli bacterium just about everywhere, but very few strains are harmful to humans.’
‘I thought they were all a worry,’ said Fiona.
‘Not unless they mutate. One particular strain produces a toxin that damages intestinal lining and is usually transmitted by ground meat contaminated during slaughter or processing. There’s no treatment apart from fluid replacement and supportive care.’
Fiona shivered, ‘Luckily I’m not a big fan of steak tartare.’
Ian smiled at Fiona’s joke. ‘For other bacteria, it’s important to identify the organism so that you can treat it properly. I’ve discovered that there’s a species of Chlamydia that infects poultry, pigeons and parrots and is communicable to humans. It’s called C. psittaci and causes severe bronchitis and other pneumonia-like symptoms. Some people call it parrot fever. It requires a blood test for accurate detection, but a lot of doctors don’t carry out blood tests and simply hand out any old antibiotic when a specific one is needed,’ Ian said.
‘I had no idea a cocky could be so dangerous!’ said Fiona.
‘Only when it’s a sick one,’ said Ian. ‘One day when I’m staining specimens you might care to come and have a look.’
‘You mean through the microscope?’ she asked.
‘Yes. It’s not the best microscope you can buy, but it’s all right for the time being,’ Ian said.
‘Is this what you’ve been studying?’ she asked.
‘This and other stuff,’ he said with a shy smile. ‘It’s never-ending. Scientists think they’ve controlled a disease and then it mutates or else it becomes resistant to the available drugs. That’s happening with malaria right now. One day we’ll be able to vaccinate against malaria just as we do against polio and diphtheria. And maybe we’ll be able to do it against AIDS, which is killing millions of people worldwide.’
‘That would be amazing.’ Ian could see that Fiona was genuinely interested. She had never known Ian to open up like this before. She was impressed with his vision – there was no doubt that science was a subject very close to his heart. But as a magpie warbled from outside the window, she was reminded that this was Kanimbla and a very unlikely place for anyone to study microbiology. Where, for heaven’s sake, would this subject take him? That was the big question.
‘So this is why we don’t see much of you,’ she said.
‘I guess so,’ he admitted with a smile.
Chapter Sixteen
The iron-roofed weatherboard hall was oldish by Australian standards and was used for just about every meeting of note held in the town. There hadn’t been a dance in Murrawee for a long time, but in the days before television, the hall had hosted two or three dances a year. Like the railway station, it would have looked much better with a coat of paint, but no one seemed to have the inclination.
It was a hot night and the lights of the hall attracted a wide variety of flying insects including the odd mosquito. Some sixty people sat in the body of the hall – about half from properties around Murrawee and half from the township itself. Ian had asked the Hall Committee, presided over by Helen Donovan, to have tea, coffee, cold drinks, biscuits and cake on hand for both before and after the meeting. The Committee, first formed in the 1930s, had had an important role in the town for several decades. However, as Murrawee’s population declined, and events were fewer, the Committee became less active. The annual gymkhana seemed to be its main reason for survival.
Everyone had been intrigued by the flyer that Ian had had posted around the town and dropped in mailboxes all over the district:
Are you satisfied with Murrawee?
Do you realise what could be done here?
If you are interested in how our township could be improved,
please attend the following meeting:
Where: Murrawee Hall
When: Thursday 24 February at 7:30 pm
Convenor: Ian Richardson, Kanimbla
Also to be discussed: ‘To Grow or Not to Grow Cotton’
* This is an important meeting and your attendance is especially requested.
It was just after eight o’clock when Leo Blake asked for everyone to be seated. He and Ian sat at a table up the front. The lights had been dimmed in an attempt to diminish the insect problem.
‘I’d like to call the meeting to order,’ Leo began. He had a rather formal manner on occasions such as this, but the respect with which he was regarded throughout the district made him the best chairman. ‘Before I turn the meeting over to Ian, I’d like to explain that this is more of a discussion evening than a meeting, as such. But please give Ian your attention and he’ll explain further,’ Leo said and sat down as Ian stood up.
From the hall, Fiona McDonald’s eyes focused unwaveringly on Ian. She’d never seen him in a tie before and, although it clearly wasn’t his accessory of choice, she thought he looked very handsome in it.
Before Ian could say a word, ‘Blue’ Delaney was on his feet. He owned a cattle property adjoining Kanimbla’s Big Plain. Never a man to mince words, he reckoned he’d get the cotton business settled one way or the other before they got tangled up in other matters.
Blue’s strong voice echoed round the hall. ‘What some of us would like to know before the discussion gets underway is whether Kanimbla proposes to grow cotton on the Plain.’
The question produced a loud murmur of support from the body of the hall.
Ian nodded. ‘A fair question,’ he said, speaking very clearly. ‘So let me assure
you that Kanimbla has no intention of growing cotton on the Plain or on any other part of the property.’
‘Have we got your personal assurance on that?’ Blue asked.
‘As long as I own Kanimbla, there will be no cotton grown on the property.’
The assembled throng murmured their approval. ‘I reckon that will ease the minds of a few people here tonight. It’s not that we don’t understand why people are growing cotton, it’s just that some of us have got very heavy investments in cattle and we’ll sleep a bit better knowing we don’t have to worry about cotton chemicals drifting on to our places,’ Blue said, clearly relieved.
‘Hear, hear,’ came from several places in the hall.
‘Good,’ said Ian. ‘Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’d like to come to the real purpose of tonight’s meeting. I’ll begin by asking you some questions. The first is: How many of you here tonight are satisfied with Murrawee as a township? If you’re satisfied with it please raise your hand.’
Ian paused but not a single hand was raised. He wasn’t sure whether this was the true response of the gathering, or whether they were unsure of his intentions and wary of expressing an opinion.
He went on, ‘If you’re not satisfied, how many of you would like to see some improvements in Murrawee?’
The mood was tentative at first, but after a minute or so, about half of those present had raised their hands. This was such a good result, Ian wondered why nothing had been initiated before now.
‘Then I’ll ask you a third question: How many of you here tonight would be willing to do something to improve Murrawee?’
This time almost as many hands were raised. Ian nodded his satisfaction, glanced at a small card in his hand and launched into his proposals for the township.