by Tony Parsons
Ian smiled. He felt relieved to be understood.
After David had returned and showered, he joined them for pre-dinner drinks. Ian had invited Fiona and Lachie so that Fiona could meet the trial judge.
‘I hear you’ve been working hard setting up the trials,’ David said as he shook hands with Fiona.
‘It’s been very rewarding. I’ve learned so much,’ she replied. ‘From what I can gather, there seems to be a lot of concern about the lack of cast in many of today’s kelpies and collies. Some blame the yard trials, though more seem to blame motorbikes. The way we’ve set up this trial, good casting dogs will gain extra points.’
David nodded, ‘Good stuff. The cast is very important in hill country dogs, though it’s easy to see why it’s deteriorated in flat country where bikes are used a lot. I love to see dogs working at long distances from their handlers when the country is too steep or rough for bikes or horses. You’ve done well to organise things so efficiently.’
‘Thank you, Mr MacLeod, but it was Ian who encouraged me to organise the trial. I couldn’t have managed without him. He’s been a great help,’ Fiona said.
The following morning, a day before the trial was to begin, Ian took David, Catriona and Fiona in to Murrawee and they went over the details of the event.
Unusually, the Murrawee trial was to take place at two different locations. The first venue was a bush paddock just outside the township. Here, the course was set up so that when sheep were released, a dog had to cast blind to pick them up. The dogs that succeeded in casting blind were allotted twenty-five points. There were only two obstacles at this venue – a race and a pen.
The second part of the trial was to be run on the Murrawee oval, where the gymkhana was usually held. The layout was the conventional three-obstacle course combined with a yard trial off the oval. A dog could score well in both sections of this trial, but if it hadn’t scored the points for blind casting at the bush venue, it was behind before it started.
‘Do you have any problem with these courses?’ Ian asked David, after they’d seen the set-up.
‘No. They look good. The better casting dogs will go to the second venue with the extra points, but they’ll still have to work well there to earn the overall title,’ David said.
‘Right. Once the trial begins you’re the boss man. If you have any problems, talk to Fiona. She’ll be at the timekeeper’s table.’
The night before the trial, the dozen rooms at the pub were all booked. This was despite the fact that most of the sheepdog workers had either brought their own accommodation (the oval was surrounded by caravans) or had been happy to camp wherever there was a roof. The evening was warm and everyone was out and about. The township hadn’t seen so many people for a long time. Helen Donovan was busy in the café for several hours after she’d planned on closing. She’d offered to coordinate the catering, which she did every year for the gymkhana, and had hoped to close early. But she certainly couldn’t afford to turn down business.
At daylight on the morning of the trial, the first draft of a line of young cull ewes provided by Kanimbla was trucked in to the paddock. Soon after, the gentle September sun was shining and the trials had begun.
The paddock stage of the trial resulted in a great deal of good-humoured banter because some dogs lost their sheep, and Peter and his kelpie, Jake, had to retrieve them and work them down to the holding pen at the far end of the paddock. Only about a third of the dogs managed to blind cast without crossing, and there were nods of appreciation when a dog successfully picked up its sheep. Ian was relieved that the handlers appeared to enjoy this leg of the trial, as it was a bit of an experiment, and a departure from the other trials held in Queensland. David thought it added an interesting twist to the event, and reminded people to think about the importance of good casting.
Fiona was timekeeping under a tent containing a table, a couple of benches and several bales of straw that served as spectators’ seats. Beside her, Lachie made his announcements over the microphone.
Once the events began, Fiona became so absorbed in the sport that she forgot the nervousness she’d felt about the success of the event. She talked to dog handlers from all over the country, who were impressed by her interest and knowledge, and especially by her organisational skills. Despite this being the inaugural Western Districts Championship Utility Trial, with the added complication of two separate venues, things were running very smoothly indeed. The handlers all asked Fiona about her own dog. She explained that, although she would have liked to be competing, she knew she wasn’t quite ready yet. But the handlers told her that they were certain they’d see her out there before long.
Around noon, Ian took Fiona, Lachie, David and Catriona for lunch. The usual gymkhana tucker was on offer (ham and salad rolls, meat pies and hamburgers plus large mugs of tea and coffee) and everyone was hungry.
During the afternoon, Ian noticed Catriona sitting beside Fiona at the timekeeper’s table. He thought back to his own conversation with Catriona, and wondered what the two of them were talking about. They seemed to be laughing a lot. He wished he could join them but as the owner of Kanimbla he felt he should at least make an effort to socialise and welcome visitors to Murrawee.
On the second night of the trials, dog workers, visitors and townspeople all gathered for a giant barbecue. Storms had been forecast, but the meteorologists were wrong on this occasion and the weather held out for the duration of the trial. The party went on into the small hours, and was notable not only for the amount that was imbibed, but for the atrocious yarns that were pitched. But as the noted historian C. E. W. Bean once quipped, if you couldn’t tell lies about sheepdogs, what could you tell lies about.
As a younger man, David MacLeod hadn’t been much interested in parties, but his years selling stud sheep and cattle had matured him, and he was more at home at such functions now. For this reason, he stayed on to talk to the many people who were eager to meet this legend of the sheep-dog world. Catriona, who’d written a family history of the MacLeod family, was a charming woman in her own right, and there was always a knot of people around the pair.
After two and a half days, the competition came down to seven dogs in the open final – five kelpies and two border collies. In the end, a kelpie that had picked up extra points for casting blind won the supreme champion ribbon. Its owner, Kevin Hunter from Eugowra in New South Wales, was delighted and made a speech praising the warm hospitality he’d received in Murrawee, the efficient running of the trial and the added interest of the blind cast. Kevin had been badly injured in a riding accident and had become very depressed when he could no longer do any demanding physical work. A friend suggested that he might find it interesting to breed and train sheepdogs, and he’d never looked back. Kevin was a popular figure on the trial circuit and his words were echoed by all the competitors and other spectators. ‘We’ll be back,’ they said.
Fiona was over the moon that the trials had been such a success. She knew they could not have run without the massive support of Kanimbla, but was confident that next year they would be able to raise more funds themselves. She was especially chuffed when Ian presented her with two CDs on sheepdog training, in recognition of her efforts. She also scored a kiss on the cheek, but didn’t allow this to raise any hopes – Ian was, no doubt, just being polite in front of the crowd.
‘I’d like to be able to enter Glen in next year’s trial,’ she said to Ian.
‘You should be able to do that, Fiona. You’d have seen what was needed, and I saw you talking with David. I’m sure he offered you some good advice,’ Ian said supportively.
‘After talking with David, Kevin Hunter and other handlers, I know I’ve been making some mistakes with Glen, but I know exactly what to do now to remedy them.’ Dreamily, she imagined spending time out in the paddocks with Ian and Gus, but stopped herself before she got too carried away. Ian had seemed rather preoccupied these last few weeks.
Ian hoped that David and Catriona mig
ht have been able to stay longer, but they were due home and had to leave the next morning.
‘I realise you’re a busy man and I’m grateful you found the time to come and judge our trials,’ Ian said as David and Catriona packed their vehicle in the rain. ‘If we had an annual trial as good as this one, it would really help put Murrawee on the map.’
‘Indeed it would,’ David agreed.
‘Jim Landers will be down soon to look at those two rams you spoke about,’ Ian continued. ‘If we buy one or both of them, I hope it will go some way towards compensating you for the time you’ve given us.’
David smiled and shook his head. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Ian. I’d have come for nothing if only to see old Gus again. And I really hope you can come and see us sometime.’
Catriona put her hand on Ian’s arm. ‘It was lovely to meet you. Thanks hugely for your hospitality. Your homestead is beautiful. Please thank Mrs Heatley again for us, too,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.
Chapter Twenty-two
Support for Ian Richardson’s proposals changed quite markedly for the better with the news that finance for the project had been approved. Up to then Ian’s proposals had not been taken too seriously by all but the solid core of people who were right behind him. It was Fiona’s idea that had sparked the shift. She’d sent a press release to a major city newspaper, and a journalist and photographer had come to town to write the whole Murrawee development story over a big double-page spread, with photos of Fiona, Ian, Leo and Mrs Donovan. Of course all the country papers had followed suit, and the story of how people were pulling together to rejuvenate a dying township touched a lot of hearts. Then there were some radio interviews, and when it looked like the story might make it to a current affairs show, Ian convinced a very reluctant Fiona (and excited Lachie) to be interviewed. Suddenly, so it seemed, there were important people who wanted to meet with this rural benefactor, two of whom were in a good position to give material support – the State Member, Stuart Duff, and the Federal Member, Alan Moore.
Moreover, no sooner had the story gone to air when Lachie and Fiona had a visit from Joe Barker. Joe had gone cold on the proposals when he realised there was little money to be made, but after seeing all the media attention, his opinion had begun to shift. Although it was not widely known, Joe was a generous philanthropist and regularly donated to the children’s hospital in Brisbane.
Joe and Lachie were old friends, and on this occasion, Joe came straight to the point. ‘Do you reckon Ian Richardson is fair dinkum about what he wants to do, Lachie?’ he asked as Fiona handed him a plate of freshly made pikelets.
‘Absolutely,’ Lachie replied firmly. ‘He’s spent his own money to acquire that land in Murrawee and he’s not out to make a quid for himself. Like he says, if the town and the district get behind him, he’ll donate the land. How much more fair dinkum can you get?’
‘Hmm. The thing is, I give a fair bit of money to the National Party and if you think Richardson’s proposals are okay, I might be able to get some government money,’ Joe said.
‘That would be wonderful, Mr Barker,’ Fiona said enthusiastically.
Joe enjoyed Fiona’s attention, but tried his best not to embarrass her by betraying his pleasure. He’d never married, and always had a soft spot for Fiona and her mum. They’d been like family to him. ‘I guess it would make a big difference to the district if there was a motel there and a swimming pool. I didn’t know about that bore,’ he said.
‘It seems no one else did either,’ said Lachie.
‘So how come young Richardson is so keen to do something for Murrawee?’ Joe asked.
Lachie looked at Fiona before he answered. ‘He thinks that if someone doesn’t do something, Murrawee will go down the gurgler, Joe. He comes from a place with many great little villages and can’t believe we’d sit by and watch ours die. More than that, I’ve got the idea that Ian wants to make up for his late uncle’s deficiencies. What do you reckon, Fiona?’
‘Dad’s right, Mr Barker. Ian is very interested in human welfare and has plans to study medicine after his science degree.’
‘Hmm. Well if you and Lachie think he’s all right then we’ll have to do something about it,’ Barker said.
‘Thank you, Mr Barker!’ Fiona exclaimed as she pushed the plate of pikelets towards him.
‘Your pikelets are as good as your mother’s, Fiona,’ Joe said with a smile.
Ian Richardson was in his laboratory when Mrs Heatley announced Joe Barker had arrived at Kanimbla. ‘I’ll meet him in the lounge room,’ Ian said to Mrs H as he removed his dust coat. He never took anyone into his lab.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Barker,’ he said as he walked into the lounge room. ‘I had to wash up. What can I do for you?’
‘I saw Fiona’s interview on the telly, and the stories in the paper. I’d like to help,’ Joe said without any preamble.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Barker, but it was my impression that you weren’t so keen on my proposals,’ Ian said politely.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Ian. I reckoned you were biting off more than you could chew. I didn’t think you’d get the support you needed.’
‘And now?’ Ian asked.
‘It seems there are more people in favour than against. It’d be a great thing for the district if you could pull it off, but you’ll need a lot of help financially. Not so much for the bird park because a couple of working bees could knock that up, but if you want a motel and swimming pool, that’s a whole different kettle of fish,’ said Joe.
‘You’re right about that,’ agreed Ian.
‘It’s going to cost you a lot more time and money, not to mention a fair bit of worry, beyond what you’ve already contributed, and I don’t think it’s right for one bloke to carry the whole load, seeing as how the whole district would benefit. So I’d like to take some of the load off your shoulders, Ian,’ Joe said sincerely.
‘That’s just great, Mr Barker. What are you proposing?’ Ian leaned forward, a sparkle in his hazel eyes.
‘I reckon I’ll give you some money,’ Joe said as he took his cheque book from his pocket. ‘Who do I make it out to?’
‘You’re a good man, Mr Barker. Make it out to the Murrawee and District Development Association,’ Ian said.
‘And I suppose you put up the money to get that started?’ Joe smiled.
‘A nominal amount, Mr Barker,’ Ian said modestly.
Barker scribbled out a cheque, ripped it out and handed it to Ian. ‘That should help you to get things moving. I’d like most of it to go towards the motel when you get around to it, but if you need some of it for your caravan and bird park, feel free to use what you need,’ he said.
Ian looked at the cheque and then at Joe. ‘That extra zero is not a slip of the pen is it, Mr Barker?’ asked Ian in surprise.
‘No fear. You’ll need all of that and more. What you’re proposing for Murrawee would be the biggest and best changes attempted in my lifetime. If you need more, let me know,’ Joe said generously.
It had been almost two years since Ian’s arrival at Kanimbla, and in that time he had heard a bit about ‘western generosity’ but Barker’s cheque completely floored him.
When he’d seen Joe off, Ian immediately rang Fiona. ‘Joe Barker was just here,’ he told her excitedly.
‘Was he? He’s been here too. What did he say?’ she said.
‘He’s given me a cheque for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,’ Ian told her.
For a moment, Fiona didn’t grasp what Ian was getting at. ‘What for?’
‘For the Murrawee projects, of course!’ exclaimed Ian.
Fiona was dumbstruck.
‘Are you there, Fiona?’
‘That’s fantastic, Ian!’ Fiona almost yelled down the phone line. ‘Dad’s going to be thrilled!’
‘Mr Barker said he’d like most of it to be used for the motel, but that we can put some of it towards the caravan and bird parks,
’ Ian said.
‘Wow!’ Fiona said excitedly. ‘When can we start?’
‘Well, Geoff Greenaway called last week to say that approval has been granted for us to make a start with the caravan and bird parks, though it’s not yet in writing. Alf Zeller, Frank Morton’s plumbing contractor, told him that he’d superintend the plumbing for cost, which will be a huge help. As soon as the electricity is connected, we can make a start. If I print up some notices about the first working bee can you help me distribute them?’ he asked.
‘As long as we don’t have to do it on horseback,’ Fiona joked happily.
Initially it was proposed to hold two working bees on consecutive Saturdays, but in fact some preliminary work had already been done. The electricity had been connected and there were poles to carry it through the park.
In the flyer he and Fiona had posted throughout the district and displayed in the township, Ian had asked for two weekends of working bees with particular emphasis on people with plumbing and welding skills, though there would be jobs for everybody.
Before the working bees, however, there was a considerable amount of preparatory work to be done. An overhead tank had to be erected and pumped full of river water to be used for concreting and other purposes. That was followed by the arrival of two new caravans which were parked in the area designated for the caravan park.
At the end of term, Rhona returned to Kanimbla to visit her parents and to carry out one of her regular checks of Kanimbla’s computer system. Ian had been out for the day helping Alf Zeller and his team with the tank and pipework for the parks. He was pleased to hear of Rhona’s arrival and had invited her for a drink after she finished her computer checks.
After a couple of glasses of wine, Rhona found herself telling Ian what a mess she felt her life was in. She was a highly qualified academic but lately seemed only to be marking time – marking time and marking papers. It wasn’t exactly what she had imagined when she began her university career. The final straw came when her boyfriend, Graeme, had cleared out after she’d loaned him a heap of money. And there’d been some cutting remarks from some of her competitive colleagues about her being an easy target for men. They hurt.