by Brian Cain
CHAPTER FORTY
Wilson Hornswaddle and Bartholomew Fothrington were spending so much time at Shangri La they had spoken to Keith Richardson and his wife on several occasions, at times during visits to the winery. Conversation had never spanned to coal or gas mining, but Keith thought it was a good time to enter into dialogue regarding the industrial outlook. It was Keith's wife Rhonda that rang Wilson and set up a casual meeting at GPC with Wilson, Bartholomew and Winston.
They were first shown around the mining operations before retiring to a board room for the touchy topic of coal mining. Head office sent personnel manager Elaine Spiers to attend with a policy announcement. It was Wilson who was first to express concerns of the affect of jobs on coal workers in the valley should the gas extraction take hold. Not only would it tie up wide areas of lease, the ongoing legal and industrial battle would be devastating to the working man who always suffered at the hands of conglomerate confrontation. Elaine Spiers announced the cease of Janeiro Coffees push for gas mining in the hunter region staying with current open cut operations at Greedy Piggy Creek and other leases to the West.
Although the three saw this as an olive branch, Wilson stated he was disgusted with the mining he had seen and Winston and Bartholomew agreed. Bartholomew wanted to see the eastern boundary mining now visible from Shangri La to cease, their lease spaned miles to the west, continued mining east would be viewed as confrontational.
Keith assured them this was under way and the east boundary would be rehabilitated. Policy on mining east was to do with strip ratios of waste to coal, when the price was good as it had been for the last few years areas of higher strip ratio were mined. Lower cost coal strip ratios to the west could be held in reserve for harder times. The strip ratio to the east end of the lease was four tonnes of waste removed, for the recovery of one tonne of coal. The western ends of the lease varied from one and a half, to two, a vast difference in cost. A new area previously considered unviable was now planned to the west with a strip ratio above five, but the current selling cost could support it and prices were tipped to hold for the next few years.
The three businessmen understood the information and assured them if this was the genuine case they could live with it and the coy carp and goldfish farm was on hold, hopefully never be required. Things had gone well and Wilson and Bartholomew had a surprise for them.
"Now we have some very delicate information for your ears only," Wilson looked around out the windows and around the room then leant towards the middle of the table beckoning them closer. Everyone leaned forward and offered one ear. "We have found a specimen of the Barking and Romford Toad in one of the dams at Shangri La."
"Barking and Romford Toad," Keith looked blank, and puzzled. "Cant say I've ever heard of it, could it be you found a Cane Toad, venturing south from Queensland. Brought in years ago to eat the Cane Beetle. A pest that eats the roots of sugar cane. They ate everything bar the Cane Beetle, now in plague proportions and populating the country."
"No I don't think so, are they bright yellow with green spots about the size of a tea cup?" asked Wilson.
"No, nothing like that," replied Keith.
Bartholomew took over. "Ahh the Barking and Romford Toad, memories of my youth. If you found a Barking and Romford Toad you were the talk of the playground. The rarest toad on the planet, I used to dream of finding a Barking and Romford Toad. Then one day Wilson showed me his, I never forgot it. Originally found in Barking, a coincidence as its name reflects the fact that it goes woof."
"It barks? questioned Rutland.
"Yes but very rarely. Originally called the Barking Toad and found in a town called Barking, Essex. It was originally named the Barking Toad because it went woof, the fact it had been found in Barking was purely coincidental. It was subsequently found in Romford as well, a nearby town to Barking and an argument about its origin broke out. Whilst in captivity they couldn't get the thing to bark and the people of Romford thought the story was made up, so the toad would remain the Barking toad even though it didn't go woof. The people from Romford claimed it originated in the general area and a meeting of the two council bodies in early times agreed to name it, the Barking and Romford Toad. Recently for the first time the toad was witnessed to bark in captivity and there's a push to call it the Woofing Toad." stated Wilson.
"That's incredible," said Elaine. "I've never heard of it, or of one being found in Australia."
Bartholomew took over again. "Ah, but you've never had anyone who knew what they were looking for, like Wilson. It's the rarest toad on the planet. If the gas lobby gets hold of this they could pull the entire coal and gas fracking industry up in twenty four hours. The thing has been on the endangered species list for decades. I suggest if you find one you bring it straight to us and we'll return it to Barking and Romford in Essex, England, where it belongs. Nothing more said."
Bartholomew had an obvious look at his watch. "Wilson we have that appointment and I think we've said enough. We don't want it known that we've found several of them at Shangri La, and have a rush of environmentalists to the place. Wont worry us Shangri La, it's a perfect place for them, probably why their there. But should they find them in a mining operation we'll have to lend a hand or it could be serious."
The three rose from their seats with a quick change of subject to Flaxmead's next run then bid farewell, and headed for the door. Elaine accompanied them to the car park leaving the management team in the board room.
Keith was concerned. "The Barking and Romford Toad, astonishing,"
Rutland had a look of determination. "I've spent a lot of time inspecting the lease especially the river and creek areas. I think I've seen one of those things."
"I'll ring the environmental department and get them here now," replied Keith.
Winston piloted the Bentley down the mine access road; they were all in fits of laughter and Winston couldn't stop the tears running down his cheeks.
"Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. That's the fifth country now looking for the Barking and Romford Toad Wilson. How long do you think before they catch on," laughed Bartholomew.
"I have no idea, I don't think you can get Derek and Clive albums anymore they were so disgusting they were banned," replied Wilson.
"Damn shame really. I don't have mine anymore I wore it out, I never did hear the entire albums, I was too busy laughing," coughed Bartholomew.
The Memsie Stakes was an early spring race and considered a springboard for classy gallopers to make a name for themselves. Run over fourteen hundred metres at Caulfield in Victoria under weight for age. It means that a horse will carry a set weight in accordance with the Weight for Age Scale. This weight varies depending on the horse’s age, its sex, the race distance and the month of the year. Weight for age is a method of trying to equal out the physical progress which the average thoroughbred racehorse makes as it matures. The thoroughbred matures extremely quickly compared to a person. By the age of two the horse achieves ninety five percent of its mature height and weight, and by the end of its third year it will be fully mature. To allow for this variation in maturity in the context of racing, it is necessary to express it as a function of the weight a horse will carry in a race. It is also necessary to take into account the race distance because stamina comes with maturity, and younger horses are at a greater disadvantage the further they have to run. If no allowance was made, a mature older horse would be of far greater advantage. Flaxmead had carried top weight in every race he had competed in, winning all of them in record course times. Harper knew it wasn't if he would carry top weight, but by how much he would be burdened. Even Harper was shocked to see Flaxmead given sixty two kilo but the team was not worried. He thought of questioning the weight above the standard scale but let it ride. They had recently run some trials at Harpers test track loading Flaxmead up to find a tipping point that affected his performance, they got to ninety kilo with negligible affect and gave up the weight well past the worst that could be thrown at him.
The previo
us interstate run to Caulfield wasn't a breeze but worked well. The only problem was the stopover location at Hidden Valley on the Hume freeway, the distance from Caulfield was perfect. Not far from the freeway was the Hidden Valley golf and country club. On the northern boundary accessible from Valley drive was a cul-de-sac meeting the open boundary of the golf course. To the north of Valley drive was open undeveloped scrubland, the cul-de-sac was uninhabited and habitation to the north of the golf course around Valley drive was sparse. There was a dam by the cul-de-sac on the boundary of the golf course to the south and enough ground to walk or run the horses in relative privacy. The spot was chosen for the overnight stop.
It worked, many people went for evening rides in the area and Flaxmead and Meadow thundering along the golf course boundary ridden by Jessica and Lorraine drew hardly any attention. Apart from a very astute gentleman playing a daybreak game of golf, he and his friend the first players on the course for nine holes before work. Jessica and Lorraine accessing the golf course boundary inside the fence line from Valley drive, the pair thundered the entire length of the course and back in a flash. The senior gent a local racing man was sure he recognised the pair as they flashed by a hundred metres away. He took off his peeked cap and scratched his head, his friend began to watch the horses as well, and they went round the fence at Valley drive and back along the other side pulling up at the float parked in the cul-de-sac. The gent saw the float. "The Memsie Stakes Caulfield, must be him," he muttered.
"What you mumbling about," asked his friend now standing behind him."
"That's Flaxmead, that's him and the other bay mare would be Flushing Meadow. Running round a golf course in the middle of nowhere, the morning of a major race meet."
"You reckon that's them?" asked his friend.
"I can just read the name above the picture of the kids."
His friend pulled a small pair of binoculars from his golf bag, and studied the float. "Flaxmead, the hunter valley thunderbolt." He handed the glasses to his mate. "Yep you're right, what the hell they doing here?"
The gentleman had a quick look. "Yep that's his strapper Jessica Flametower and the other Sheila is, Jockey Lorraine Wills." He lowered the glasses. "I've got my best horse with Delores at his complex in Melbourne, best of everything and it doesn't get anywhere near that thing."
"That horse can run as well as look good, yours just looks good he he."
The gent looked at his mate with a pout. "Bloody comedian."
"Come on Reg they eat sleep and live racing that horse, you build houses."
"It's a kids pet."
"Probably a cover mate, I know what horse racing types are like, I got one for mate, he he."
"No, I've seen the kids at race meetings, that thing follows them round like a kitten."
"What ya gonna do about that?"
"Make sure I'm at the Melbourne Cup this year to see him run with everyone else in the country."
"Oh, I'll come with you." They played on and a short time later the silence of the morning was broken by the sound of the float leaving the cul-de-sac. The gent looked at his watch.
"Loaded and gone in fifteen minutes, how did they do that?"
The Memsie proved no stumbling block for Flaxmead, from the time he entered the parade ring he was the centre of attention. The bland wait and preparation for Loraine and Jessica plus the stress of dealing with Flaxmead when he started his antics bore no similarity at all to the commercial presentation of race day at Caulfield. The disparity in attending the races as a punter and transporting, presenting and running a horse was summed up in part of a conversation between Jessica and Lorraine as they worked on Meadow and Flaxmead. "It looks like a lovely day, especially out there with the crowd," said Jessica.
"Yeah, hey we'll have to go to the races one day when we get time," replied Lorraine. An endless stream of race and news presenters filmed with Flaxmead in the background and masses of people walked past wearing an array of colourful outfits sipping champagne and that was just the blokes.
Meadow won her second group one event and Lorraine mounted Flaxmead not long after for the group two Memsie Stakes. With a heavy weight penalty Flaxmead had drawn gate eleven out of eleven runners. He was favourite and payed a dollar twenty. With the absence of Celtic Storm he concentrated on terrifying the opposition and stewards and took a special dislike to Carronade the assassin's entry. He was unusually keen and entered the gate before the last horse. As the field broke from the gate Flaxmead was in no mood to wait or fuss with anyone, he shot to the lead heading perfectly for the inside rail as he had two weeks earlier. The Memsie did stack up to its reputation of introducing classy runners at the start of spring, Brazen Heart headed the pack behind the thunderbolt at the thousand and took off after Flaxmead twelve lengths ahead. Flaxmead had run against Brazen Heart before still jockeyed by Simon Adams. In both horses first ever race in Scone, he came second that day to the tune of twenty five lengths aboard Brazen Heart and knew then he witnessed the birth of a champion. Today with Flaxmead in a foul winning mood Brazen Heart held second at fifteen lengths, Flaxmead only gaining three lengths in the final four hundred. Champion jockey Adams was the first jockey ever to comment in the press about Flaxmead after his maiden run and made further comment that he didn't think the horse could be beaten this year anyway and coming second to the monster could be considered a win. Flaxmead just broke his previous record from two weeks earlier by a narrowest of margins. Meadow, Flaxmead and Brazen Heart were all from the hunter valley and the valley mob present numbering over three thousand went wild.
The assassin had taken Sanda Warrior to Doomben in Queensland for the weekend to run a group one event against Celtic Storm. Harper watched the results on the TAB screens with interest and watched a delayed telecast of the race, Celtic Storm had been scratched and Sanda Warrior romped home for an easy win.
Winston wanted to know why as the team did, so he took the liberty of ringing Ross Hildebrand. Ross was actually pleased to hear from Winston and thankful he showed such interest in a rival. He informed Winston all his float tyres had all been slashed with a knife in the early hours of Saturday morning at a service station truck stop parking area in Warwick while they slept. Ross had worked on similar tactics to Winston's team and the assassin had struck just before first light through Renoir. Help had arrived too late and Celtic Storm missed the start by fifteen minutes. Winston and the team expressed their discussed and arranged a visit to Shangri La, mid week for a chat. Harper was furious that someone would do what they had feared would happen to Flaxmead, to someone so venerable and respected. The assassins move backfired, Celtic Storm was about to join the untouchables.