Barra Creek

by Di Morrissey

  As the sun began to light the tops of the trees, Rob, several of the stockmen and the boys rode back to the camp.

  Breakfast was eaten hastily and Rob threw the last of his mug of tea into the fire and nodded at Sally. ‘You coming with us or going with Wally?’

  The boys were gulping down their breakfast and cast her an anxious look.

  ‘I’ll stay with the boys.’

  ‘We’re okay with Rob,’ said Ian quickly.

  ‘He’s got a lot of cattle and men to watch. I’d better keep an eye on you three,’ said Sally. She knew the boys wanted to stay where the action was. Travelling with the cook wouldn’t be very exciting, and she had to admit she also liked being in the thick of it. Though she was still a bit nervous about Dancer, and the spread of huge beasts overwhelmed her. Wally had told her some horror stories of cattle getting spooked and rushing, running straight over a camp, flattening everything, including sleeping men. But if Rob took them slowly, and with the stockmen and dogs around, it seemed unlikely they’d break or rush.

  Rob jammed his hat on his unruly sun-bleached hair. ‘Just keep out of the way and follow my instructions, especially when we get close to the home paddock and they smell water and other animals. They can get a bit excited. Under no circumstance do you and the boys yell at the cattle.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sally, giving the boys a pointed look. She certainly didn’t want to ruffle Rob, whom she thought looked a bit thuggish with his stubbly growth of a beard, matted hair and the filthy bloodstained bandage wrapped around his neck. He was very businesslike and didn’t seem the type who’d have much patience with kids and their governess tagging along.

  When Sally and the boys got to their horses, she was surprised to find Dancer was already saddled with Rob’s comfortable western saddle.

  ‘Who did this?’

  ‘Rob. He’s got your saddle,’ said Tommy.

  ‘He rides in rodeos,’ added Ian.

  ‘Oh.’ Sally was a bit embarrassed but grateful. ‘That was nice of him. My riding must have made a bad impression, huh?’

  The boys giggled and Marty spoke up for her. ‘Your horse isn’t used to a lot of cattle.’

  ‘Nor me,’ laughed Sally.

  Later, as they walked behind the plodding cattle with the ringers, she felt her nervousness subside. The whole manoeuvre was a revelation to her and she had to admire Rob’s quiet firm control over the men and the cattle. The stockmen were wonderful to watch, able to make their horses respond in an instant to their commands, smoothly changing direction when they had to nudge a stray beast back into line. Under Rob’s instruction they avoided using whips and never raised their voices, allowing the horses to work the cattle. The men’s respect for Rob was obvious and they behaved very differently from the stockmen Snowy had working for him. Wally had told Sally that Rob handpicked his men.

  Rob seemed to be everywhere, materialising from the cloud of ochre dust as he skirted the perimeter of the slowly moving beasts. He caught up with them mid morning and rode between Sally and Marty.

  ‘We’ll stop for a break at the next water. Then it’s the last long haul home. We’ve made good progress.’

  ‘What happens when we get to Barra Creek?’ asked Sally.

  ‘We spell them in the big home paddock and the next day start branding and culling in the smaller paddock. They’ll be sent off in small mobs for sale. John will probably keep some a bit longer. Depends on prices, demand, availability of transport, that sort of thing.’

  ‘And what do you do after this?’

  ‘Same again. I’ll hang around for a bit then go out when I get a lead on more cleanskins. I might go after a pack of brumbies I heard about.’

  ‘Can we go fishing down at the river, Rob?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘You bet. Well, if it’s okay with your governess here.’ He flashed Sally a smile and she wasn’t sure if he was being polite or facetious.

  ‘Only if I can come along too,’ she countered lightly.

  ‘Course you can. I hope you can paddle a canoe and bait your own hook.’

  The boys laughed and Sally ignored the remark as Rob swung his horse and headed up the outside flank. She wished the boys had told him that she’d already caught a barramundi. He probably thought her a real outback novice.

  When they got to the bore, they found Wally had left two young boys to tend the campfire and the lunch of damper and cold pickled meat and billies of strong black tea. Four packhorses were hobbled nearby. Wally had continued ahead with his plant.

  Sally was glad to stretch her legs and the sweet strong tea was welcome. The Monroe boys squatted round the fire as the stockmen filed in to get their food and retreated to sit in small groups. Rob and a few others stayed with the cattle.

  She smiled at her three young charges sitting back on their high Cuban-heeled boots, sipping black tea, and it flashed into her mind, what was their future? Would they be here, as adults, doing the same as the other men in years to come? She thought of Lorna with her music and books and love of city life and John, a determined man of the land but one who rarely sat on a horse or got his hands dirty. Whose influence would be stronger? Station life gave them a lot, but she could understand Lorna’s frustration at not being able to enrich her son’s minds and tastes.

  She studied each of the boys in turn: Ian – gangly, serious, defensive, already butting heads with his father’s decisions; Tommy – happy-go-lucky, curious, interested in the world away from the station. And Marty, sensitive and shy, still a little kid. She wondered why, after such a short time, she cared so much about these boys. It was a job, twelve months if she stuck it out. At this moment she felt quite confident she’d last the distance. She couldn’t imagine spending all day in an office now. The drab little stock and station agency she’d worked in back home would be so boring and claustrophobic after being out here.

  The shadows lengthened and Sally was sorry the trip was coming to an end. From the talk around the campfire the night before she had learned a little about the appeal of droving. These men could not stand to be hemmed in by crowds and cities. Wally explained that the attraction for the whitefellas was the sense of freedom, being under the canopy of sky with no walls or fences. The black stockmen were treated as equals on the track, respected for their horsemanship and bush skills. They shared the same conditions, the same tucker. They would stay with Rob for most of the year, only going home to their camps and towns when the Wet came and it was too difficult to muster the wild cattle. That was when Rob worked at Barra Creek or returned to his family station in the Territory.

  There was an hour or so of daylight left when they arrived at Barra Creek. The great swarm of cattle filled the home paddock. John Monroe roared up in his Land Rover, pausing to stick his head out the window. ‘How’d you find it? Saddle sore, I suppose.’

  ‘Not really.’ Sally patted Rob’s saddle. ‘It was fabulous.’

  ‘Rob got over a thousand head, Dad,’ called Ian.

  ‘You bloody beauty. That’s more like it. See you at dinner. Your mother wants to see you.’ He gunned the car and took off. The boys kicked their horses and raced each other to the homestead.

  Lorna was all smiles as they rushed onto the verandah to greet her once they’d stabled their horses. ‘I’ve missed you all. I hope it was worth it. You all look like gypsies.’ She hugged them and then touched Sally’s hair. ‘Your hair is like straw, Sal. You should look after yourself out here. Your skin too. Don’t let yourself go,’ she admonished.

  In the bathroom Sally looked at herself and had to admit Lorna was right. She was sunburned, her auburn hair looked like burned chaff, fingernails were broken, her heels were cracked and her legs hadn’t seen a razor in weeks. Sighing, she promised herself she’d make a bit of an effort.

  Once the boys were scrubbed clean and dressed for dinner, Sally had them sit quietly on their beds and do some reading so they could catch up with their school work. She wrote a long letter to Sean describing everything. She tho
ught the droving and horsemanship would appeal to him.

  John Monroe was pouring the drinks in the living room when Sally and the boys walked in.

  ‘Well timed. Here you are, Sally.’ He handed her a glass.

  ‘Are you pleased with all the cattle Rob brought in?’ she asked.

  ‘He’d better be!’ came a cheerful voice and Rob strode into the room.

  Lorna came in from the kitchen, and everyone seemed to be talking at once as the boys jostled to sit on the lounge next to Rob. Sally was glad of the distraction for she was stunned at the change in him. Rob had showered and was dressed in freshly pressed pants and a new blue shirt she recognised as one from the storeroom. He had a neat dressing on his neck and his hair had been cut. He caught her look of surprise and grinned at her. ‘Lorna cleaned me up a bit.’

  ‘Scrubs up quite well, don’t you think?’ said Lorna, with warmth in her voice.

  ‘You run into a pair of bull horns?’ commented John, glancing at the dressing on Rob’s neck as he handed him a drink.

  ‘Something like that.’ He turned and gave the boys a pat on the shoulder. ‘What do you blokes reckon about it, then?’

  ‘It was great.’

  ‘Wally told us stories and Rob played the mouth organ round the fire,’ said Marty.

  ‘They’re in good nick, aren’t they, Dad?’ said Ian.

  Listening to them, Sally realised that the boys were anxious that their father approve and praise the contract musterer. She was surprised at Lorna’s obvious fondness for him too; she couldn’t imagine her cutting the hair of any of the other workers. Sally now saw what an attractive man he was beneath the weeks of dust, sweat and lack of water. She’d noticed Rob’s well-spoken manner in contrast to Wally and the stockmen, and he seemed perfectly at home in the Monroes’ living room. Lorna had gone to some trouble with a flower arrangement and setting the table, and it appeared everyone was vying for Rob’s attention.

  When they were seated and Lizzie carried in the silver serving dishes, Rob finally turned to Sally. ‘How did you enjoy our little adventure?’

  ‘A lot better after you loaned me your saddle. Thanks very much for that,’ she said.

  ‘She hasn’t got the hang of an Aussie saddle yet,’ chuffed John Monroe. ‘She’s one of those poncy tally-ho types. Rides to the hounds and so on.’

  ‘John, don’t make fun,’ chided Lorna. ‘They take hunting very seriously in New Zealand.’

  ‘Ah, ha. I see. That’s why you ride well then,’ said Rob and Sally tried not to look as flattered as she felt.

  ‘She’s got a damn fine little horse, that helps,’ said John Monroe. ‘How’d Dancer do with the cattle? She’s not used to being around a big mob even though you broke her in well.’

  ‘She was a bit skittish at first, but settled down. Or I did,’ Sally answered and Rob gave her a quick smile.

  John sawed through his giant steak. ‘You should take some of the colts out next time, Rob, get them used to being ridden and working.’

  ‘I’d rather not, unless I break them in. Flighty, hard-mouthed animals waste time and money.’

  The men talked horses, beef prices and cattle sales, until Rob glanced at Lorna and Sally and attempted to swing the conversation back to them.

  ‘Any news from down south while I’ve been away? What’s happening in the world?’

  Before Lorna could answer John cut in. ‘Those bloody bra burners are marching in the streets, would you believe? What a bunch of no hopers, they all need a man to keep ’em in line. Demanding this and demanding that. Women aren’t equal, never will be.’

  ‘Next thing you know women will be chaining themselves to the gates of Parliament House,’ said Lorna quietly.

  ‘What do you think of these new bra burners?’ Rob asked Sally.

  ‘I don’t know much about them, the women’s movement hasn’t registered in New Zealand yet. But perhaps if I was in Sydney I’d be marching.’ She grinned. ‘But then, I’ve always been regarded as a bit of a rebel.’

  ‘Better not try it on here,’ grumbled John. ‘Just as well we don’t have daughters, eh?’

  He shot a glance at Lorna who raised an eyebrow and said calmly, ‘What’s the difference? I think part of this new attitude is trying to get our sons to appreciate a woman’s point of view. I hope my sons will be better husbands because of this feminine revolution.’

  ‘Oh? Better than what?’ John Monroe’s voice rose with a three-rum edge. ‘There’s no place for wimps on Barra Creek.’

  ‘Oh, we know that,’ said Lorna smoothly. ‘Rob, are you ready for dessert?’

  The boys had kept their heads down during this last exchange. Tommy saw an opening to pour a little oil on the troubled water.

  ‘What’s for dessert, Mum?’

  ‘Watermelon and mint salad, or tinned peaches and custard.’

  ‘A choice? Rob must be back in camp,’ said John, leaning back in his chair.

  Rob let the barb slide by. He looked over at the boys. ‘Got a story planned for tonight?’

  ‘Sally reads to us,’ said Tommy. ‘Or tells us stories.’

  ‘Terrific. That’s good news. I used to tell these fellows a bit of a yarn each night.’

  ‘Well, go ahead, I wouldn’t mind a night off and they seem keen as mustard,’ said Sally. She was starting to see the subtle dynamics of the family group where Rob was a pawn sought by each of them.

  Lorna rose. ‘Would you gentlemen excuse us, please? Sally, bring your drink.’ Before either man could say anything she blew a kiss to her sons. ‘Goodnight, boys. Back to school in the morning.’

  Sally followed Lorna out onto the verandah, breathing in the scent of the night flowers and enjoying the cool air. Sometimes they lit a candle or small kerosene lamp, but tonight Lorna chose to sit in the darkness. She struck a match that flared, illuminating her face in an unflattering light. She only smoked on occasions and Sally had never figured out what mood justified a cigarette.

  ‘So, the expedition was worth it? I know the boys enjoyed it. And you did too?’

  ‘I did. The landscape, the whole exercise, the open air, the thrill of it all . . .’ She broke off, wondering if Lorna could really appreciate this. She didn’t ride and never seemed to venture from the homestead. ‘The boys loved it,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Yes. I know. That worries me.’

  Sally watched her drag on the cigarette. ‘Why? It’s boys’ own adventure stuff. How many kids wouldn’t want to be part of what the boys experienced the last couple of days?’

  ‘It’s not a life, Sally. It’s not how I see their future.’

  ‘You mean, even if they come back to run this place?’

  Lorna sighed. ‘It’s difficult. Traditionally properties are shared between sons, but if some aren’t cut out for it, or are no good at running a station . . . I can’t stand them being sent in a direction they might not want to go.’

  ‘So what do you want for your sons, Lorna? Maybe when they go to school they’ll make other decisions.’

  ‘Not on your life. By then it will be too late. They’re handed over to boarding school masters who are just like their fathers and grandfathers, to make men of them. Then they are sent back to the land. John wanted to send them to school last term. Finding you has given them, well me, a reprieve.’

  ‘They seem so young. I hated boarding school, even though I went home at weekends.’

  ‘Tommy will start at Tudor House at King’s then go into the big school. Ian is ready for school, then he’ll come back. But he’ll want to do things his way. He and his father clash already. I want the boys at least to have the chance to explore other options.’ Her face crumpled slightly and in the shadowy light Sally saw a fearful mother.

  ‘Have you talked about this with John?’ she asked, knowing full well he was not a man open to discussions.

  ‘As much as one can with John. We talked while you were away. It got a little tense. In fact I’m taking a break and going dow
n to Sydney. I have every confidence in you caring for the boys while I’m away.’

  ‘Of course. Sounds like a good idea.’ Sally couldn’t help wondering about being left with John Monroe and was glad Rob would be around for a while. It would give her an opportunity to see Donny too. Lorna had been meeting the mail plane for weeks.

  ‘I’ll tell the boys in the morning. I’ll go with Donny into Cloncurry on Wednesday and I’m booked on a TAA flight down to Sydney. I’ll pop into David Jones so think of anything you want.’

  ‘Thanks. What I need is a trip to a beauty salon,’ laughed Sally. ‘You did a good job on Rob, maybe you can give me a trim.’

  ‘When I come back I’ll see if my friend Toby wants to come up for a holiday. He’s a hairdresser in Sydney and loves it up here. He comes for a week or more and does my hair while he’s here, so he can style yours at the same time. John can’t stand him, calls him Fruity. But he’s great fun, always up with the latest theatre and film news.’

  ‘He sounds terrific.’ Sally couldn’t imagine such a person fitting in to Barra Creek so she wouldn’t hold her breath. Lorna would undoubtedly be through the Elizabeth Arden Red Door at Farmers the minute she hit Sydney.

  She heard the low murmur of Rob’s voice as she went to prepare for bed and when she came back from the bathroom she found him sitting on the edge of Marty’s bed.

  ‘Right, that’s it, chaps. The boss is here. It’s been a big few days. Sleep tight,’ he said softly.

  Sally stood awkwardly by her bed waiting to grab her nightgown. ‘Thanks again for the saddle. I’m hoping mine will arrive soon. My mother is sending a care package.’

  ‘No trouble. Borrow it any time. Once you get the hang of the stock saddle it’s okay. You did well, Sally.’ He added, ‘Sorry I couldn’t spend any time with you and the boys on the muster. But one of the men was keeping an eye on you all the time.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks.’ Sally hadn’t been aware of that and was touched by his obvious concern for the boys. And her, it seemed.

  ‘Well, I’m ready to hit the sack. I’m not getting into a drinking session with big John tonight.’