‘Never.’ Laura’s tone brooked no argument. ‘I have nothing to say to either of them. I’ll cross the street rather than walk by them.’
‘So, since we’ve clarified all of that, I’ll continue to tell you about my plan, shall I?’
Laura held out her hands in a ‘go ahead’ sign.
‘Since you don’t want to be lobbying and so on, as you were, how about you help young kids get into farming? Start up a school that teaches all the practical things of the industry. Fencing, shearing, wool handling, stock husbandry, cropping. All that sort of thing. Give them the experience to get out there and get a job. There are so many kids who want to farm but don’t have the skills. They might not have been brought up on a farm or don’t like asking questions because they’re not confident enough. I’m sure you’d be brilliant at creating a safe environment so these kids can learn. And it could work for you too. You’d have a small labour force.’
Laura plucked at the grass next to her knee, trying to hold in her shock. It was a way-out-there suggestion. Still, she shouldn’t be surprised. That was Catherine all over. Outrageous, smart, forward-thinking. Full of energy.
She knew Catherine was watching for her reaction. Her mind raced. There were so many good things that could come out of Catherine’s idea: labour for Nambina; help to do the jobs that needed more than one person; and she’d be back contributing to the agricultural community.
‘You know,’ she said, nodding, ‘it’s a brilliant idea. Maybe it could work!’
A huge smile spread across Catherine’s face. ‘I knew you were down but you weren’t out, honey!’
‘It’d be a huge job to get it off the ground, though,’ Laura said, thinking out loud.
‘Nothing you couldn’t handle. Now, while you’re at it, I have another idea for you. Why not show some of those gorgeous boys you’ve been breeding?’
‘What, the rams?’ Laura scoffed. ‘Take them to an actual show?’
‘Yeah.’ Catherine nodded, her face serious. ‘Look, I was at the Keith field days last week and you’ve got sheep every bit as good as the recognised studs around here. I think you should have a go. Get your fellas out there. Show everyone what you’re made of. You obviously think they’re good enough to use over your flock, because that’s what you’re doing. You’re not going to jeopardise financial returns by using a substandard product. So get out there and have a go.’
Catherine paused to take a breath. ‘Why don’t you try one of the smaller shows first and then lead up to the Adelaide Royal?’
‘What?’ Laura screeched. The show idea tipped her over the edge. ‘You’re out of your mind. That’s not what I’m about, and you know it. I love mucking around with genetics, checking out the wool, improving the mob, but putting myself out there to be judged? No way, friend.’
But as she said it, she felt something inside reacting. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. She remembered how excited she was when she’d sat in the stands at the Royal Show watching an old bow-legged judge sash a proud-looking ram with a silky blue ribbon. The owners’ faces showed how satisfied they were that their hard work had paid off. Laura had approached them afterwards to ask if she could buy a semen package from them.
Could she really do something like that? Would it actually be possible to set up a farming school on Nambina? To show sheep?
Maybe it was.
For the first time in a year Laura could see a future.
Chapter 8
1937
Thomas slowly became aware of his surroundings. He felt stony earth beneath him. There was a noise he couldn’t quite place, but as his senses sharpened he recognised it as raucous laughter.
His face throbbed. He breathed heavily against the pain and gently tested his arms, legs and torso. Nothing seemed broken, but when he pressed his right leg, he let out an involuntary gasp as the sting of a deep bruise made itself felt.
‘Bloody hell,’ Thomas croaked as he struggled into a sitting position. He pushed cold fingers into his cheek and probed. Nothing but a bit of gravel rash and another big bruise, he surmised.
‘Come on, mate. Up ya get.’ Firm, strong hands grasped Thomas under his arms and helped him to his feet.
‘Geez,’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened?’
There was another burst of laughter. ‘Sorry ’bout that,’ one of the station’s jackaroos said. ‘Didn’t think you’d go and knock yourself out.’
‘Haven’t you been taught which side to mount a horse?’ another of the men drawled.
‘It was good for a laugh, that’s for sure,’ someone else said.
‘Reckon you could get a job in a circus riding horses with that effort!’
Thomas brushed himself down and looked around, taking in the jackaroos and their grinning faces, wondering what joke they’d just played on him.
‘This is how you do it, boy.’ This time it was Donnie, the jackaroo who’d offered him the ride and caught the horse Thomas had just tried to mount. Donnie gathered the reins, went to the off-side, swung himself up and, after a quiet word to the animal and a touch of his heels into the flank, the horse leapt forward and cantered out into the paddock.
The gathering of station employees whistled and cheered. One nudged Thomas. ‘See, that’s how it’s done. You leave it to us experts, shed boy.’ His tone implied anything but friendliness.
If Thomas hadn’t been humiliated and wasn’t feeling completely self-conscious, he would have enjoyed watching the display between horse and man. But with his face still stinging and all of him aching, he turned to go, knowing he’d been part of a prank he didn’t understand.
Leaving the jeers and laughter behind him, he walked back to the safety of the shearers’ quarters.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Mac said when Thomas told him what had happened. ‘There’re plenty of blokes out there who’ve been asked for left-handed screwdrivers or some other mythical thing. Some people find it amusing poking fun at another’s ignorance. That Donnie in particular. He’s a piece of work. But just remember: they had to learn once too and more ’n likely they had something similar happen to them when they were starting out. Don’t give it a second thought.’ Mac nodded for emphasis then moved on. ‘Come on, it’s just about grub time.’ He turned back. ‘But stay away from those jackaroos.’
‘Another day, another pound,’ Mac said to no one in particular. He stretched, then reached into a pocket for his tobacco.
Already up, Thomas stood silently watching the sky change colour before his eyes. Sunrise in this part of the country could be spectacular, and on this particular morning the clouds smouldered a deep crimson. Thomas had to drag himself away from the magnificent sight to fill the billy. Raking the coals of the camp fire to level them out, he placed the blackened billycan onto the still-glowing embers.
Around him the team was beginning to stir. Frankie sat up in his swag and coughed, hacked and spat onto the ground.
‘Nothing but a gentleman,’ Gecko said, as he pulled his boots out from under the tarp of his swag and put them on.
Thomas threw a few handfuls of tea into the boiling water and set the billy back on the fire. A few minutes later, he tapped the can to shake the leaves and then grabbed the handle and expertly swung it in a circle so nothing spilt, gravity keeping the liquid inside. Finally he set the billy down on the makeshift table and poured it into the pannikins.
‘Tea’s up,’ he called.
He collected his own mug and took it over to a fallen branch and sat down. Moments later, Mac sat down beside him.
‘Start the last shed of the season, tomorrow.’ Mac broke a stick from the dead tree and stirred condensed milk into his tea.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Thomas was subdued. When, back on Carpoole Station, Mac had offered him a job, Thomas never contemplated that it would end.
But now his future, once again, was uncertain, at least until the next shearing season.
‘There was a telegram waiting for me when we passed through Broke
n Hill,’ Mac said casually as he took a slurp of his tea.
Thomas waited, sensing Mac had more to say.
‘I’ll be heading back towards Adelaide after we finish here,’ Mac said. ‘To judge at the Royal Show.’
‘Right,’ Thomas said.
‘Guess you’ll be wanting to come along too.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Thomas took a sip of his tea, his mind suddenly full of questions. ‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ he answered. ‘But where would I live and what would I do while you’re at the show?’
‘You can stay with me. I’ve got a small house right near the showgrounds. I want to teach you how to class. How to judge. You’ve got a feel for wool. For sheep. Haven’t seen it in a young lad before. Think you could be a wool classer in your own right, one day. If it’s what you want to do.’
Thomas felt himself tingle at the generous praise. He knew his face would be red, the blush rising high on his cheeks. Over the many months he’d been with Mac, he’d learnt an amazing amount. At first it had felt like a different language, a different world. It had been a steep and hard learning curve, one which Thomas had greeted head on. Anything to keep him away from the memories of home and why he’d left.
Mac had explained how a shed was run and the process that had to happen before shearing could take place. He’d taught Thomas that nutrition was as important to the quality of the fibre as the genetics used. Thomas now understood the different lines of wool, how AAAM was the highest quality a shed produced, and AAM was the second. The difference between the two had to be two micron—those crimps that Mac had shown him in the first shed. He’d learned about brightness, texture, colour and density.
Mac had shown him how, every time the shearer nicked the skin, the wool retained a piece of skin that would have to be cut off before it rotted. Thomas had grown used to the shout of ‘tar boy’ when there was a cut. Mac would stride over to inspect the wound and clip the flesh from the wool. Once done, he’d hand out a bit of advice about keeping the shears on top of the skin, not in it.
Mac had been quick with praise during the first few sheds. It was as if he knew Thomas had never received any. But as time had gone on, his expectations had risen and Thomas had been keen to meet them. He’d made mistakes, as everyone did, but there hadn’t been a beating to follow them. There had been kind and consistent encouragement, and an explanation of what he’d done wrong.
And now Mac was doing it again.
Thomas opened his mouth to thank his friend and mentor, but Mac had already stood and drained the last of his tea. ‘Come on, you lazy buggers,’ he called to the crew. ‘If you want more than a dingo’s breakfast you’d better get a hurry on. I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you want me to cart your packs, then get ’em in the car. I’ll see you all at the shed.’
Thomas knew a dingo’s breakfast was a piss and a good look around. These fellas would be riding their bikes to the next shed so would need much more than that.
Mac always went ahead in his car. He liked to talk with the owner about the season and conditions of the sheep. Hear what the Boss Man expected from his wool clip and get a feel for how everything would flow. He also had to settle into his bedroom in the main house and, as he disliked putting the mistress of the house to any trouble, he would slip in when it was best for her. It didn’t bother the rest of the team. They were happy camping under the stars or in the shed. Only a few places had shearers’ quarters.
Frankie groaned. ‘I’m glad this is the last time I gotta ride me bike. Next time I come, I’ll have saved enough money to buy a car, I swear. Ruts as deep as mine pits, yesterday, there were. And I got a flat.’
‘At least it’s a good season and there’s plenty of grass to stuff in the tyres. Imagine ridin’ on just the rims.’ Gecko, who’d helped himself to another mug of tea, dunked a piece of damper in his cup then ate it.
Thomas was looking forward to the shed on Kilkenary Station. He’d heard stories of free-flowing beer and lamb chops on a barbecue to celebrate the end of the season. Not that the beer interested him, but a decent meal did.
Four other stations were near Kilkenary which made for a more social time, when the others jackaroos visited. Mac had told Thomas that the women were kind and the ringers much more sociable than the bastards back on Rochden Downs. They tolerated the blow-ins so long as they didn’t drink too much of their grog or get in the way or upset their women folk.
But none of that explained the main reason for his excitement. The boss had a daughter whose reputation went well and truly before her. Apparently Elizabeth was pretty, but she also loved wool and sheep. She was different. Special. Although some blokes thought she was out of line taking an interest in the station, Mac thought it was the way of the future.
They would only be on Kilkenary for fifteen days. Fifteen days and four or so thousand sheep. And then the season would be over. Thomas was torn between wanting to stay with the team and going with Mac to Adelaide. Thanks to Mac, he now had money in his pocket as well as options, something he’d never had before. He didn’t want to let his mentor down in any way.
Mac broke into his contemplation. ‘Come on there, Thomas. We haven’t got all day. Help load these packs up.’
‘Here, Thomas. Fill this waterbag for me, will you?’ Clarrie held out a hessian bag and Thomas refilled it from the stores of water they had with them. Within the twenty minutes Mac had given them the camp was packed up and the fire extinguished. As the men prepared for the ride, they joked and laughed. It was the same every time they were about to start on a new shed. The excitement was contagious—Thomas had to admit it was one of his favourite times. Because every shed was different it meant every start was new. Of course, within a couple of days the humdrum of normality always set in.
‘Righto, see you there!’ Mac called out of the open window as he started the car.
‘One day I’ll get there before you, Mac,’ Tez said. ‘I swear I will. I might even get up in the middle of the bloody night, just to do it.’ He grumbled as he threw a leg over his bike and settled down. ‘Calluses on me arse, that’s what I’ve got.’
Thomas laughed as he got into the passenger’s seat, thinking how lucky he was he didn’t have to ride a push bike. As they drove away, Thomas heard Clarrie answer that calluses on his arse were better than chilblains.
Mac snorted.
The team made a strange sight, Mac’s car out front with five men on bikes behind. Well, it had seemed strange to Thomas to begin with, but the more he travelled with these blokes he’d come to call friends, the more he realised there were plenty of other men just like them. Fellows on their way to, or looking for, work. Some were on bikes, some on horses. A few were lucky enough to have cars, but many only had shanks’ pony—their feet. But they were all on the same mission—to put a pound in their pocket.
The journey was a quiet one to begin with. Thomas was turning over the possibilities of Adelaide in his mind. He’d only ever been to a small country fair before, nothing like what he imagined the Royal Adelaide Show would be. He could only picture it from the stories Mac had told him during their long stretches in the car. The lines of ewes and rams and two-tooth wethers in single pens, there to be judged on their wool growing and conformation. The people milling about, making their own calls on the quality of the animals. The laughter and the talking.
‘So what do you think about Adelaide?’ Mac asked after a while.
Thomas took his time in replying. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Ever been to a big show?’
‘Nah.’
‘Smaller one then, maybe?’
Thomas didn’t want to think about the time his mother had taken him and his brother to the local show. ‘Yeah.’
‘What do you remember about it? The sheep? The smells? The music?’
Thomas knew why Mac was pestering him with all the questions. In the last couple of months, he’d been on about contacting Thomas’s family. Letting them know he was
okay. Even mending the rift between them.
Rift? That rift was a million bloody feet wide and couldn’t be fixed. Wouldn’t be fixed, if he had anything to do with it. He was prepared to never set foot on Nambina again. But Thomas hadn’t said that. He’d nodded, agreed to nothing, and Mac finally dropped it.
Without his wishing for it, he suddenly remembered his mother lifting him onto a horse on the merry-go-round. Howard was beside him. Jessie rode next to them, her smile wide and her hair blowing out behind her. It was a memory he hadn’t even known he’d possessed until now, and as he dwelt on it, he knew that his mother had been truly happy in that moment.
What had happened to her?
‘No,’ he whispered aloud.
‘What’s that?’ Mac looked at him.
‘Uh, no. No, I don’t remember anything about it.’ Thomas shook his head emphatically.
Just my mother’s smile.
‘I’ll fill you in. I know I’ve told you about the sheep showing and wool judging, but there’s much more. The food, the rides. There are merry-go-rounds for the kids, Ferris wheels . . .’
Thomas continued to nod, although he wasn’t listening. He was still thinking of his mother’s smile. The gentleness of her hand on his as she encouraged him to hold the horse’s mane. The sound of Howard’s chuckle. The joyful innocence of that day.
Chapter 9
2003
If someone had told Laura that Howie would be dying just three years after he’d handed her Nambina, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. Now, here she was, sitting with her father on opposite sides of Howie’s hospital bed, waiting.
Of course she understood the circle of life—she just didn’t want to be experiencing it right now. Not with her darling Papa.
Sean and Laura each held a sun-spotted, bony hand. The time between each rattling breath seemed to increase and Laura waited, praying that each breath wasn’t Howie’s last, although deep down she knew she was only hoping to prolong the inevitable.
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