Valley of the White Gold

by Tony Parsons

  Beth went back to the homestead with her head in a complete whirl. She could hardly believe the excitement she felt inside at meeting Rod Cameron. Finally she had met someone she considered a real man.

  At dinner, even Dan thought that Rod seemed a nice bloke. He had a way of getting people to talk and of listening to what they had to say as if every word was important.

  With Jim, Rod encouraged him to talk about cricket and the social life in the valley. It seemed that Jim had his eye on more than one girl, but at a recent dance at Paul’s Creek he’d been captivated by an attractive blonde nurse from Mudgee District Hospital.

  Rod brought Dan and Dorothy into the conversation at every opportunity, inviting Dan to give his opinion on various subjects, but finding that he was happiest discussing sheep and wool.

  Over the course of the evening, Rod kept the family entertained with accounts of his experiences on the many properties whose clips he had classed. He seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the type of wool grown by scores of famous properties and studs. He was also a font of wisdom on the great merino studmasters, and unstinting in his praise of Sir Walter Merriman because of the huge contribution he had made to the development of superior fine-wool sheep. This was music to Dan’s ears.

  While all this was going on, Beth sat back gazing appreciatively at Rod as he continued effortlessly making a good impression on her father. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was a rare sight and one she was particularly heartened by. Perhaps her father would finally approve of a man she might be interested in. As far as Dan was concerned, Rod could go on telling sheep yarns all night.

  ‘You must have a lot of energy, Rod,’ Dorothy interjected at one point. She was anxious to steer the conversation away from sheep and wool and on to more personal matters. ‘You never seem to stop, and I’ve noticed your light on at all hours.’

  ‘I read a lot, Mrs Stafford, and I do a bit of writing too. Bush stories and the like,’ Rod said, his eyes meeting Beth’s momentarily. Was he seeking her approval, she wondered?

  ‘You mean like Lawson’s and Paterson’s stories?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘Not quite in that class,’ Rod laughed, ‘but I’ve had a few things published. I began writing when I was quite young and I majored in journalism at university. You see, I did Arts before I did woolclassing,’ he explained.

  ‘That’s fascinating,’ Dorothy said warmly. ‘It’s so wonderful to see a young man with varied interests.’

  ‘Writing filled in a lot of time for me when I was in some very lonely places,’ Rod continued. ‘Out in the black-soil country you could be isolated for weeks after heavy rain. When it rained, you stayed there. I never worried. My writing kept me occupied. Every property and every person I met yielded some kind of story. Writing was more productive than boozing, and I could never see any sense in getting plastered like a lot of the other blokes.’

  Rod looked at Beth, sitting quietly beside her mother, and tried desperately to think of something to ask her. But try as he and Dorothy did, the conversation always seemed to return to wool. Now Dan wanted Rod’s opinion on who had the best wool in Australia.

  ‘That’s a tough one, Dan,’ Rod said carefully, trying to keep his eyes off Beth. ‘Merryville had its top years and held the Australian record four or five times. Coventry’s at Armidale have a lot of country and a lot of sheep and they’ve held the record, too. There are some nice clips around Walcha and they go to a lot of trouble with their wool. There are also some really good clips in Victoria and Tasmania. And then, of course, there’s your Mudgee wool that has been good since Adam wore short pants,’ Rod said with a smile.

  ‘What about New England wool generally?’ Dan asked.

  ‘There’s an old joke in the trade about New England,’ he said. ‘It used to be claimed that, because New England had such a great reputation for its wool, growers as far from there as Singleton used to slap New England on their bales. The best of it, though, has that special closed-up tip like the wool you’ve got here.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve enjoyed your years in the wool industry,’ Dorothy said, scraping her chair back, her arms laden with plates she was beginning to clear.

  ‘Wool means a lot to me,’ Rod said. ‘Wool made Australia and it sets this country apart. Wool made it possible for Australia to be settled so quickly. I loved it from the first moment I touched it. There was a lot to learn but all of it has been very, very interesting and I’ve found producing high-quality wool to be a really worthwhile occupation. And we should be proud of what we produce. I told you this val0001556 that I run some sheep at Yass. I hope to buy my own place before long. I want a place capable of producing top fine wool. But the kind of place I want doesn’t come on the market very often.’

  ‘Not around here they don’t,’ Dan agreed. ‘Until Glen Avon, I hadn’t seen a property in the Half Moon change hands for a fair while.’

  ‘I’m a patient bloke. It’s just that property values have slipped a bit with the lower sheep and cattle prices and now ought to be a good time to buy a place.’

  There was silence at the table for a few moments. Because they were bush people, the Staffords didn’t inquire how it was that a classer could have acquired enough capital to purchase a substantial fine-wool property. It certainly couldn’t be achieved on what a classer earned. Rod’s remarks puzzled them. Obviously there had to be money in the Cameron family for a young man to be able to contemplate buying such a place.

  When it was time to leave, Rod thanked Dorothy for asking him to dinner and told her that he’d thoroughly enjoyed the evening. He said goodnight to each of them, went out into the star-filled night and walked up the road to his cottage.

  ‘What a very, very nice man,’ Dorothy said to Beth when they were clearing up in the big kitchen. ‘A real gentleman.’

  ‘He is nice, isn’t he, Mum?’ Beth agreed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.’

  ‘You didn’t contribute much to the evening, missy,’ Dorothy said with a cheeky grin. ‘Lost for words?’

  ‘Fair go, Mum. I didn’t get much of a chance with Dad and Jim monopolising the conversation. I don’t know a thing about wool alongside Rod. What could I say?’

  ‘You’ll have to think of something. Don’t underestimate your own knowledge about sheep and woolclassing. Anyway, you could have told him about your dogs. I’ve a feeling he might be interested in anything you’re interested in,’ Dorothy said with a smile. ‘He could barely keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so? I hope so! I’d love to get him on his own, without Dad and Jim around. Do you think we could manage that, Mum?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I’m sure we could if we put our minds to it. We’ll work something out…’

  Beth heard music coming from inside as she climbed the steps of the shearing shed. It was a piano playing with an orchestra. Rod was humming along and wool was flying through the air. He looked up from the table as she came in. He noticed she was still in jeans but was now wearing a checked shirt. She had added lipstick and looked fantastic.

  ‘I’ve brought the smoko today,’ she announced. ‘Jim went to town with his mates, Dad’s gone to see Hector McLeod and Mum’s got a headache and is lying down,’ Beth explained, a little nervously. Although not completely at ease, she felt better for having the chance to be on her own with Rod – an opportunity her mother had engineered very well.

  Rod nodded as he reached over and switched off the cassette recorder. ‘Wonderful. I’m always hungry. As my mum has always said, there’s quite a lot of me to fill.’

  ‘What were you listening to?’ she asked. It seemed a good question to begin the conversation. Safe, too.

  ‘Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto. His final piano concerto. I’ve played them all this morning. It makes the time fly,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Is it your favourite kind of music?’ she asked. She didn’t know much about classical music and wondered if this would be on
e of their differences. To think of them as a couple already was jumping way ahead – she knew that but couldn’t help imagining the two of them together.

  ‘Yes, I love classical music,’ he answered forthrightly. ‘I used to get sick and tired of hearing a lot of the so-called popular music played over and over again on the radio. I don’t like most of it, though there are exceptions. People will be listening to Beethoven until the end of time. Beethoven put melody into classical music.’

  ‘I don’t know much about classical music,’ Beth admitted. ‘We seldom hear it; only modern stuff seems to get played around here. It’s the same when we go to balls and the local dances. But a girl who was with me at school is a very good violinist and she’s at the Conservatorium in Sydney now. And Mum plays the piano quite well. But Bella and I never seemed to have time for music with all the work around here. Or perhaps I should say that neither of us had any inclination to learn to play anything. Everything we did was outdoors – Bella was horse-mad and I was always keen on sheepdogs.’

  ‘Anyone with musical ability is very fortunate,’ Rod said. ‘I can sing a little but I can’t play any instruments. I think I’d like to come back in another life as a great singer or musician.’

  ‘Do you like scones?’ Beth asked, changing the subject as he sat on a wool bale a few feet from her, smiling. ‘We keep bringing you scones and, for all we know, you might hate them.’

  ‘No worries on that score, Beth. I think I’ve consumed several thousand of them over the years – scones of every description. Some magnificent and some like leather. Yep, I’ve had scones made by some of the best and some of the worst cooks in the country. I’ve sat in a lot of kitchens and eaten a lot of scones. It’s a wonder I don’t look like one,’ he said and laughed. Beth laughed too.

  ‘Did you mean what you said the other night about wanting to buy a property?’ she asked shyly. It was the only thing she could think of to say, but she immediately felt pushy for asking such a direct question.

  ‘I never say things I don’t mean, Beth. Why do you ask?’ He looked at her sharply. She must be wondering how he could afford to buy a decent property. ‘I do have the money,’ he continued. ‘I haven’t earned it from classing. I don’t need to class wool any longer. I just do it because I love it. I live on what I make from classing so I don’t have to touch my other money. When I eventually buy a property, I’ll probably never class again. I’ll be way too busy.’

  ‘You mean you’re only doing this as a kind of hobby?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Not exactly. I came here because I wanted to get a better idea of the quality of wool this area is capable of producing. I’ve classed in a lot of fine-wool districts but never previously in the Half Moon. It’s got a great name in fine-wool circles,’ Rod said.

  ‘So what do you really want to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to breed top-quality fine-wool sheep. You could say that everything I’ve done up to now has been in preparation for that. I know the wool side of things pretty well and now I want to concentrate more on stud sheep. I’ve been buying and building the nucleus of a stud for the last seven years. Showed a little too,’ he added.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Too right, yes. Nothing really spectacular so far except a few champion ribbons. I won a ewe grand championship at a small show down south. The guy I beat for the award wouldn’t talk to me after the judging. A great snob. He sent his son to ask me what rations I was using. Pretty bad sportsmanship, I thought. He owned a lot of country and didn’t like losing to someone with only a hatful of sheep,’ Rod said with a chuckle.

  ‘It takes a long time to build a stud of good sheep,’ Beth said. ‘Dad’s lot came here in the year dot.’

  ‘What interests me is building a stud from scratch,’ Rod said animatedly. ‘There’s a big challenge involved and I want to prove I’m up to it – on a really fine property.’

  ‘So, what do you think of our Half Moon country?’ Beth asked shyly.

  ‘I haven’t seen much of it so far. It’s not the most attractive-looking country I’ve seen but it grows lovely wool. A lot of fine-wool country doesn’t look much chop. But if you want to produce fine wool, you need to be where the country allows you to do it. I reckon the Half Moon is one of those areas. And besides, the people I’ve met here so far seem pretty special,’ he grinned.

  Beth caught her breath, hardly daring to wonder whether this comment was directed at her. She leant back against the stack of bales and her shirt tightened against her chest. Rod doubted it was a conscious movement as Beth didn’t appear to be the kind of woman who’d deliberately flaunt herself. She didn’t need to.

  ‘Well, you’d like Hector McLeod – he’s one of the nicest blokes around,’ Beth continued. ‘Hector is the only man Dad looks up to. He thinks Charlie Dillon knows a lot but Charlie’s more of a loner.’

  ‘I’ve seen the Glengarry clip on the show floor and I met Hector and his family there a couple of years ago. It was good to see him again the other day when he visited the shed here,’ Rod said.

  ‘So, how did the handshake go?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I’d put it at a draw.’ He laughed after affecting a wince.

  ‘Everyone knows about Hector’s handshake,’ she said. ‘He’s a top bloke. Flora, his wife, and their son, Dougal, are good friends of ours. Dad says Glengarry is the best managed property in the district, better even than the Stevens place.’

  Rod got up off the bale and threw the dregs of his tea out the door. ‘It’s been so nice talking to you, but I’ll have to keep going so I can get some more of this wool done before evening,’ he said. ‘I really hope we can have a bit more of a chat sometime soon.’

  Beth looked down at her watch and was amazed to find how long they’d been talking. The minutes had flown by without her noticing. She decided that before she left the shed she would have to show him she was interested in page_391 to know him better. ‘I wondered, if it’s all right with you,’ she began hesitantly, ‘whether you’d like to take a break next weekend. There’s a musical night at the Prince Edward Opera House in Gulgong. That sounds absurd, doesn’t it? An opera house in a small place like Gulgong. Anway, there’s quite a nice restaurant in Mudgee, called The Panner’s Dream, if you’d like to have an early dinner with me on the way.’ She hoped she’d made the suggestion inviting enough without appearing too forward. This wasn’t familiar ground for Beth as she’d never initiated a date. But time was running out; there were only so many shearing days left and she had to do something before Rod left.

  Rod looked at her and nodded. He was glad she’d asked because he’d been unsure of how Dan Stafford would react if he’d asked his daughter out. ‘Sounds good. Let’s make it a date unless something disastrous crops up with work in the meantime.’

  Beth put the smoko things in the ute and drove back to the homestead in a daze. She couldn’t believe it; she had a date with Rod for the following Saturday night. She whirled through the back door and did a few dance steps before her mother.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘It looks like we might be going to Gulgong next Saturday night. And having dinner at The Panner’s Dream on the way,’ Beth said excitedly.

  ‘That’s excellent, Beth. I just hope, for your sake, that your father doesn’t object.’

  ‘I’m twenty-one now and it’s time I made a few decisions about my life. Rod is the first fellow I’ve met that I really want to go out with,’ Beth replied defiantly.

  ‘You know what Dad’s like, though,’ Dorothy said, giving her daughter’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

  ‘Yes,’ Beth sighed. ‘I know what Dad’s like.’

  Chapter Ten

  It was the third Saturday of Rod’s stay at Mattai. He’d been up for hours, sorting through superfine wool, when Beth brought him smoko at around ten o’clock. ‘Are we still on for tonight?’ he asked as they sat together on the wool bales. She was feeling more relaxed in his company now.


  ‘You haven’t changed your mind, have you?’ she asked anxiously. I’ll die if he has, she thought. She believed this was going to be the most important night of her life.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said firmly. ‘You know the old saying, “All work and no play makes Rod a dull boy.”’

  ‘I doubt you could ever be dull,’ Beth said.

  ‘Hmm. Perhaps you’d better wait until you know me better,’ he joked.

  ‘Okay,’ she answered. ‘Anyway, dinner is booked for six o’clock. It’s a bit early but that should give us enough time to eat and then get to Gulgong.’

  Beth had thought long and hard about this date. She had a really good feeling about Rod Cameron. He might just be the man she’d been waiting for. Of course, it all depended on how Rod felt about her, as well. When he had come to dinner, she had felt he was interested in her. She didn’t need her mother to tell her that. It seemed that there was no special woman in his life so she was determined to make a good impression on him.

  She dressed very carefully for the evening, choosing a classic black dress she’d bought for the occasion.

  ‘You’ll have to get yourself some decent clothes, Beth,’ her sister had said. ‘You need a couple, at least, of really nice outfits.’ Beth thought it odd at the time that for once Bella hadn’t offered to make her some. She seemed to have lost her passion for dressmaking lately.

  The black dress was very feminine, and showed off her gorgeous figure and long legs. With her sterling silver necklace and earrings and beaded handbag, Beth was satisfied that Rod wouldn’t be disappointed with her appearance. She gave herself a final check in the mirror before she left her bedroom.

  ‘Wow, you look gorgeous, love,’ Dorothy said as Beth entered the kitchen. ‘You’ll turn a few heads in that.’

  ‘There’s only one head I’m interested in turning, Mum,’ Beth whispered in her mother’s ear.

  Dan looked up from reading The Land newspaper and inspected his youngest daughter. ‘I’d give you the Grand Championship, Beth. You’d better take the Fairlane. Rod’s ute isn’t very suitable for taking out a girl as classy as you.’