Fresh Fields (7 page)

“Gladys said she'd have a bit of late breakfast ready for ya,” Clem said, “and a good strong cuppa tea.”

They came up to the front fence of the house and Clem languidly swung down off his horse and looped the reins of both horses over the fence. The youth sat for a few moments trying to untense and unclench himself enough to slide off. But as soon as he tried to move he found his muscles wouldn't obey him and he lost his grip and fell in a heap at the mare's feet. She lowered her head and gave him a look, as if to say:
Another point on the board for me
.

A woman in a yellow flowery apron came out of the flyscreen door onto the verandah.

“There's a cuppa tea made,” she said. “I saw youse comin'.”

“Thanks love,” said Clem.

The youth got up off the ground and followed Clem in at the gate.

Gladys Currey held her hand out to the youth and said, “Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands and she led the way inside.

It was a stark place with bare floorboards and hardly any furniture. Gladys poured them a cup of tea and then set to stirring something in a saucepan on the stove. Clem told her that the youth had just had his first ride on a horse and was doing real well, having got the measure of old Gypsy. Gladys gave the impression of being quietly pleased and impressed by this, as though she hadn't just seen the youth in a heap on the ground. She asked him a bit about himself. Where was he from? Did he have any brothers and sisters? The youth sat on an unsteady chair and answered while he tried to get his aching muscles to untense. Gladys served up baked beans on toast for him. She and Clem began talking about Mr. and Mrs. Coles and when they might be back from town.

The youth was able to observe them while he ate. He realised that they were probably quite old. Clem's hair—when you saw him without his hat—was almost white. It was hard to judge the age of grown-ups, but the youth decided Clem must be at least forty, and Gladys much the same. They both looked worn and threadbare, like the stony ridge they lived on and like the meagre dwelling with floorboards unsoftened by any mat or rug. It dawned on the youth that the Curreys were very poor.

 

CLEM WAS
saying something to Gladys about “digging out” under the shearing shed. The youth did not know what this meant. Gladys asked Clem what he reckoned about it, and Clem replied that the stuff would be hard as a rock, but that they'd better have a go if it was what Coles wanted.

“He's the boss, I s'pose,” Clem concluded, in a resigned tone.

“Yeah,” said Gladys, in the same tone. “You probably better have a go at it, if that's what he said to do.”

The youth could tell how conscious they were of not being their own masters in life. He realised that the Curreys weren't next-door neighbours but employees on the place, like himself.

“Well,” said Clem after a while, “we might as well do a bit, if ya like.”

“Okay,” said the youth at once, to show he'd go along with whatever Clem thought best.

He had cottoned on to the way Clem never
told
him to do anything. It was always put as an idea, as something you could do
if you liked
. Clem hated bossing anyone about. Putting it as an idea left a person with a bit of dignity, as though they were doing the thing because they felt like it, or to lend a mate a hand, not just because of being a mug battler with no choice.

They got a pick-axe and a shovel and went along to the shearing shed. Clem explained that they were to dig out a layer of earth from under the shed. This layer of earth was rich with all the years of sheep droppings that had fallen through the slat floors of the holding-pens above. This enriched earth made good fertiliser. Anyway, said Clem, Coles wanted it done.

They got under the shed. It was too low a space to stand upright in, so they bent on their knees. This meant they were trying to use the pick-axe and shovel from unnatural postures which didn't allow any swing or purchase. The earth felt damp and cold but was packed so hard that trying to break it up was like trying to break up concrete. After a few minutes Clem said it was time for a “blow.” They came out from under the shed and sat with their backs against one of the yard fences and Clem rolled a smoke.

The youth learnt that the Curreys had been on Dunkeld ever since Mr. Coles had come to manage it for the rich city businessman. Clem had been working on another property in the district and had a run-in with the owner, a Mr. Izzard, and had chucked the job in. Because of that he'd been available when Coles was looking for a station hand. “Coles and old Angus Izzard weren't too keen on each other from the first day they met,” said Clem. “Too much alike, I s'pose. So my havin' had a run-in with Izzard was a recommendation as far as Coles was concerned.”

The youth asked about Mrs. Coles. Had she always been peculiar?

“Mad as a cut snake from the start,” said Clem. “But I had nothin' against her till I saw the airs and graces she put on, specially with Gladys. Gladys took her measure quick smart.”

When he'd finished his smoke Clem said that they could have another bit of a go, if they liked. So they went back under the shed and tried to break up a little more of the packed earth. Again they quickly became exhausted in the cramped space. They came out and Clem rolled another smoke. Dolly came and sat with them and the youth stroked her head and soft coat. The youth said what a nice dog she seemed. “Yeah,” said Clem, “she's a real good little workin' dog.” Then he added grimly: “She's clever enough that even belongin' to Coles hasn't ruined her.”

They forced themselves to go back under the shed for another stint, and when they stopped for their next break Clem was in the mood to tell the story of the bulldozer.

“When Jimson bought Dunkeld he had this grand vision of bein' a big-time grazier and one o' the landed gentry, and Coles egged him on. Jimson had never been closer to the bush than Pitt Street, and didn't know a sheep-run from a hole in the ground, so he gave Coles a free hand to do whatever he thought best to improve the place. Coles kept sayin' that in five years he'd have it lookin' like a
park
. That was the big thing, to have it lookin' like a
park
.

“Well one day Coles went out and bought this bloody great Caterpillar, this bulldozer, that the shire council was gettin' rid of because it was a clapped-out piece o' junk. But Coles paid top price for it—thousands and thousands of Jimson's money—and had it trucked to the property as if it was God's gift to the place. The idea was that the dozer would clear all the felled timber that'd been lyin' around on the slopes for the last sixty-odd years. But the dozer never did a proper day's work of clearin' because it was forever breakin' down, and Coles was forever forkin' out Jimson's money to pay for new parts and for specialist mechanics to come out. Of course, it was a lucky thing that the dozer
was
a dud, otherwise somebody woulda got killed when it rolled over, seein' as how most of the property is too steep and treacherous for any dozer to operate on.

“Well, Jimson might not have known the first thing about the bush, but he knew about money and he knew that Coles was wastin' heaps of it. Now Coles isn't the kind of bloke who'll admit he's made a galah of himself, so he keeps insistin' that the Caterpillar's a great investment and it'll be a real goer as soon as a few little problems are sorted out.

“So this day Jimson drives up from the city in one of his flash Eye-tie cars. A
Maserati
, I think it was, one o' them racin' cars that's worth its weight in friggin' diamonds.
And
he's got his new girlfriend with him that he wants to impress, and she's a fashion model or somethin', done up to the nines. Anyway, after they have lunch, Coles decides to show Jimson and the girlfriend how good the dozer is so he jumps on and starts her up and goes roarin' around the home paddock, churnin' the ground to buggery. I seen this meself, because me and Gladys happened to be drivin' past along the top of the hill just then, on our way to town. Suddenly the controls jam on the dozer, like they was always doin', and it's headin' towards where the Maserati's parked. Well, I s'pose the whole thing only took about ten seconds, but I can see it now like it was happenin' in slow motion. Coles is wrestlin' with the levers and shoutin' at the dozer at the top of his voice that it's a bastard swine of a thing. Jimson is jumpin' up and down and yellin' and wavin' his arms like he's got a goanna up his trousers. The girlfriend is leanin' into the car to get somethin', and she looks up and starts screamin' and scramblin' to get out. And Mrs. Coles is at the side o' the house doin' a sorta mad shriek. And the dogs are all barkin' too.

“Well, I thought the Maserati was gone for sure, and the girlfriend with it. The blade o' the dozer is about twenty feet from the driver's-side door when Coles gets control again and stops. By then Miss Australia's flung herself away and is face down in the mud and the cow dung. That's the last we saw. We went below the crest o' the hill then.”

Clem took a long last drag of his butt and flicked it away.

“Gosh,” said the youth, deeply impressed.

“Yeah,” said Clem. “As I say to Gladys: No matter what happens now, we've got that to remember.”

“How long ago was it?”

“'Bout a year. Jimson hasn't been up since. He's lookin' to sell the place. Even if it hadn't been for the other things, the tussock would've given him second thoughts about bein' a Pitt Street grazier.”

“What's the tussock?”

“Serrated tussock. It's a noxious weed. This place is startin' to be riddled with it. See that line o' yellowy-green at the edge o' the paddock over there?”

“Yes.”

“That's it. It spreads across an area and takes it over. Sheep won't eat it. Nothin' will eat it. Nothin' will kill it either, except bein' dug right outa the ground clump by clump. That's another grudge Jimson's got against Coles. He reckons Coles should've warned him about the tussock at the start, before it got a grip on the place.”

“Why didn't he?”

“I don't think Coles knew much about it. It only really started spreadin' down from the north a few years ago. Nobody round here was too worried. Same around Burracoola where Coles comes from. Anyway, Jimson was led to believe that Coles knew everythin' there was to know about runnin' a property and would turn this one into a showpiece. I bet he wouldn't mind stranglin' whoever it was told him that.”

They went back under the shed and worked hard for another hour or so, but managed to shift only a tiny amount of earth. Clem was getting fed up. He declared that this “digging out” was a ratbag idea, and typical of boss cockies who wouldn't know whether their arse was punched or bored.

“Another one of Coles's Caterpillars,” the youth said.

Clem was struck by that and chuckled.

Gladys came across from the house to see how it was going and Clem told her what the youth had said. Gladys liked it too.

“I've just been tellin' him about that day,” Clem said.

“Poor girl,” said Gladys, picturing the scene. “I felt sorry for her. Must've
ruined
her clothes.”

The youth was starting to feel at ease with the Curreys.

Gladys made them a nice lunch. Afterwards they tried to dig a little more, although their arms and knees and backs were aching so much it was difficult even to wield the implements. Then Clem slapped his thigh and declared he was jacking up.

“I'll tell Coles we did what we could but the stuff is just too hard to shift. And how does he expect anyone to get a proper whack at it when they're bent double? And what's the benefit of it? To have a few bags of fertiliser for the homestead garden?”

He said this firmly but calmly, like someone who has thought it through and is ready to stick by his decision. It seemed to the youth that the digging out offended Clem because it went against some basic rule of economy of effort, and that in turn was bound up with the issue of people's dignity. Poor people's dignity, at least.

They spent the afternoon repairing some broken bits of railing in the sheepyard fence. Clem went about it in the same calm and precise way he had of getting on or off a horse, or rolling a smoke. He seemed to quietly coax the tools to do what he wanted and to caress rather than manhandle the new bits of railing into place. It was the opposite of Mr. Coles's way of barging and blustering at things.

Gladys was hanging tea-towels on a line at the back of the dwelling and they flapped in a fresh breeze, and so did Gladys's flowery yellow apron. The blades of the steel windmill beside the house whirled with a clean metallic sound. The youth thought how much fresher and nicer it felt here on this bare stony ridge than back at the other place. Clem suggested the youth might prefer to sleep in the shearers' quarters that night.

In the fading light they rode back to the homestead to do the feeding.

Again Clem led old Gypsy by the reins so that the youth could concentrate on staying in the saddle. He went the whole way without falling off, but collapsed in a heap again when dismounting. Still, he felt he was making progress.

They did the feeding. It was almost dark but the sky had cleared a lot and you could see some stars. The youth went to his room in the tractor shed to get a few things to take back with him—his toothbrush, the old flannelette shirt he used as a pyjama top, his magazine with Sweetheart on the cover. Clem had gone across to check that the main house was secure. The youth stood for a minute or two in the dank room, lost in a thought. Then he turned and saw an enormous rat crouched beside the tractor wheel. The rat looked at him with a beady stare, and the youth stared back. He gathered his nerve and made a sudden move, flinging his arms out, thinking this would make the rat run away. But it stayed put. The youth began to feel scared. He wished he had a big stick to defend himself with.