Blood Brothers

by Charles Beagley

  Kate looked bemused as she started on the roast potatoes.

  Recalling the photographs Kate had seen earlier in the lounge, she broke the silence with a question. “I gather from the pictures in the lounge you have children?”

  Glancing in Jeff’s direction, Marge let out a chuckle. “I’d hardly call them children. Steve, our eldest is twenty-nine. He’s out on the range checking on the new calves. That usually takes a couple of weeks. And as for our other two, Billy and Sarah, they’re both away at High School in Port Hedland.”

  “How does Steve live out there?” Kate asked.

  Jeff looked up from his plate and answered her, that side of the station being his business. “They go out in a team of four in a campervan and with two motorcycles. The cattle are collective animals; they wander in groups, so when Steve comes across a group, which I might add could stretch for a kilometre or more, he stops the van and takes off on the bikes. Two of the team are stockmen, the third is a general handyman, capable of repairing any damage to the bikes and the fourth is the cook.”

  “Ah…what would we do without cooks?” Sean commented.

  “Exactly,” Jeff continued. “He also sets up and dismantles all the home comforts they need out in the desert.”

  Marge’s stern expression softened. “Most of the time we’re all alone in this monstrosity of a house. Steve seems to feel more at home out there amongst the spinifex and the occasional kangaroo. Except the daily invasion from the station to see Jeff here,” she said, glaring at Sean totally engrossed in his roast.

  He looked up, as if he could sense her piercing stare. “What? Why am I always singled out as the villain?”

  “Because you live here most of the time,” she said.

  “All right, Marge, not in front of our guest,” Jeff reminded her.

  Marge turned her attention to Kate. “Sorry, Kate. Don’t take what you hear literally; we argue like this all the time. It’s better than television.”

  As Marge and Jeff cleared the table, telling Kate to go on through to the lounge, she noticed she was alone. Sean had disappeared, probably duty bound to help his benefactors with the dishes as payment for his meal.

  She felt bloated after such a fine spread and contemplated whether this was how they ate out here in noman’s land. She dropped into the first comfortable-looking easy chair she came across and found herself facing a whole new tableau. She was facing back towards the open arch and her first view of the lounge had missed what was behind her as she entered the room.

  She was looking at an enormous open fireplace, with giant brass andirons supporting two huge logs. Where the logs had come from she had no idea, and why such a large fireplace in the desert? It was built of stone with a slate mantle standing two-thirds up the wall. On top was another array of small silver and brass frames with older photographs of Victorian relatives. They had to be. The men looked stiff and grand with their walrus moustaches and the women, dressed in sombre finery, could have been clones of Victoria herself.

  It was then that Kate’s attention was drawn to a large wooden scroll about half a metre higher on the wall. It had a rustic look that reminded her of a Swiss holiday she and the family had enjoyed before they left England. It was a final round trip of Europe before they went ‘down under’. They stopped at a small village at the base of the Alps with chalets that looked like the cuckoo clocks they were selling. They had scrolls or plaques as they called them, with names carved on each, hanging above the front door.

  This one was the same. She had to half close her eyes from that distance to read the name and decided it said ‘Galene’. It was an odd name; something else she would have to ask Marge about.

  She heard the others arriving, it sounded like another mild argument; something about the beef would have tasted better with a little mint. Of course Sean’s Gaelic voice was uppermost, until Marge settled the matter as they entered the lounge with the fact that mint only went with lamb.

  “In Ireland we do things differently,” he said.

  “Well, you’re not in Ireland now.”

  Marge chose the chair next to Kate either because she wanted to talk or it was her favourite seat. Kate hoped it meant the latter.

  “Did you enjoy the dinner?” Marge asked, giving the other two a stare that they obviously understood. They huddled for a moment then made their way out of the lounge, through the arch.

  “I did,” Kate replied. “I think I’ve eaten too much.”

  “Think of it as stocking up for tomorrow. Heaven knows when you’ll get a proper meal again. What with the plane flight and getting Martin settled in at the hospital. I could make up some beef sandwiches if you like.”

  “No, thank you Marge…I think it’s going to take a good twenty-four hours to get over this lot. My figure might take ages to revive.”

  “We don’t bother about figures out here. In fact, we don’t bother about much.”

  “I’m sorry. I got the impression you were in an idyllic lifestyle.”

  “Oh Kate. At the end of the day I wouldn’t really change my life for what you must endure in the city. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not criticising your way of life. I suppose it’s what you’ve been brought up to.”

  “I understand; sometimes the grass is always greener.”

  “Exactly. It’s like this house; sometimes I could curse all this old-fashioned furniture when I watch television; then in the next instant, I wouldn’t part with it. I don’t think many people could say they were living with four generations of their family. Although these are Jeff’s ancestors, I look upon them as mine.”

  “Don’t you have any ancestors here?”

  She looked hesitantly towards the fireplace. “That’s all I have on the mantelpiece. Funnily enough I have no pictures of my mother and father, or cousins. I was an only child and at the time, my parents came out here when I was a baby, they left everything behind. These pictures were sent to me by an old aunt before she died; apparently there was no one left in England.”

  “At least they weren’t thrown away,” Kate remarked to a distant Marge. “By the way…I was wondering what the scroll was up there?”

  “Oh, that. It was one of Jeff’s great, great grandfather’s endeavours. I gather he fancied himself as a woodcarver, among other things.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Galene…that’s the name of the station,” Marge said, standing up and gesturing for Kate to follow her over to the two oil paintings she’d noticed earlier. They were of a feisty old man and a beautiful woman several years younger. “This is Jeff’s great, great grandfather, Merrill Palmer, and his wife, Galene.”

  “What a beautiful woman,” Kate commented.

  “Yes, she was. He was so depressed with the land he bought for them to settle on, he said, ‘At least it should have a beautiful name,’ and he named it Galene, after his wife. She was the one who started the Palmer dynasty.”

  “What a lovely story,” Kate said. “Does her name mean anything? They usually did in the Victorian times.”

  Marge had to think for a moment. “Yes, it does. It means the Goddess of Calm Seas. Her father was a sea captain.”

  “I can see by the picture that she was a refined woman. I wonder how she coped with this country back then, and, of course, the terrible sea voyage beforehand. I read about such times: a lot died on the journey and if that didn’t kill them, the wagon trip to their destination usually did.”

  “Well, this woman was made of sterner stuff. She survived everything.”

  “I bet it was hard for you, Marge, even with a fine house to come to.”

  “This country is hard on all women. You’ve only been here one day and I can see already you find it difficult. The heat, the flies, the difficulty getting what city folk take for granted and above all, the isolation.”

  Jeff and Sean returned, hesitating for a moment under the arch; then seeing the smile on Marge’s face, they entered.

  “All right, you two, you can
come in. Did you have a good game of snooker?”

  “He beat the pants off me as usual,” Sean commented. “Not literally, of course, ladies, but near enough; I have to clean out the shed for a week.”

  Marge glanced at the large mahogany clock on the sideboard. “It’s late enough for some drinks. So make yourself useful, Sean, and bring in the trolley.”

  “Oh, those are the sweetest words I’ve heard tonight, dear lady,” Sean said, scampering off into the dining room.

  “And you, dear husband, can come and sit down and continue with the family history for Kate before she leaves us tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Jeff settled himself in the easy chair on the other side of Kate after moving the coffee table to make room for Sean and the trolley. He arrived and Jeff pulled it closer. Sean sat on the other side and brought out his favourite bottle of scotch.

  “What will it be, Kate? A whiskey if you’re frisky, a brandy, some sherry or what about a liqueur?” he asked.

  “Is that a bottle of white wine I see?”

  “We’ve had that for ages, Jeff,” Marge said. “Will it be all right?”

  “Of course it will. If anything it’ll be stronger now,” he said.

  “White wine it is, dear lady,” Sean said, breaking the cork and pouring her a drink in a long glass. “And your usual sherry, Madam?” he said to Marge. And looking at Jeff he continued his charade. “Finally, a whiskey for Jeff and the barman.”

  Jeff fussed with his drink, twirling it around, taking a sip, and considering Marge’s scheme to drag him into the conversation. He was a conservative man – a rock in emergencies or tending to men’s business – but ask him to play the host at a party or explain the facts of life to his children, he would shy away.

  “Who’s interested in our history?” he questioned in a sullen manner.

  “Kate is for one,” Marge answered back. “She happens to be interested in how the Palmer dynasty managed to build up this cattle station.”

  “You’ve started so you might as well continue,” Jeff replied, finishing off his whiskey and pouring another. “You’re the one who keeps all the records and decorates the place with photographs.”

  Marge knew as soon as he started a second drink it was a sign that he was feeling pressured. And that was never something she did intentionally.

  “Oh, very well; it’s just that I thought you would be better placed to cover the recent past, seeing we’re talking about your family,” she mumbled. He grunted and she continued. “I suppose I have to start with how we arrived at the station.”

  “Kate doesn’t want to hear about how we got together,” Jeff interrupted.

  “I wasn’t going to. That’s why I asked you to tell the story.”

  “Oh, for Christ sake, Kate will be on the plane before you start,” Sean said.

  “And you stop taking the Lord’s name in vain,” Marge snapped back. She took another sip of her sherry and turned to Kate with a frustrated look. “Jeff and I were living in Perth at the time. We met on a course for Animal Husbandry and Agriculture and got married shortly after. We did that because Jeff’s father had an idea he would marry the daughter of his friend on the next cattle station. Anyway, with our certificates in hand we moved to the station hoping he might come round.

  “He didn’t. He was a difficult man since Jeff’s mother died. He was an old cattleman that didn’t like change, especially if it was something modern, and the two of them fought constantly. He thought of nothing but his cattle, the station and of course the Aborigines. I think he thought more of them than he did his own family.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Marge,” Jeff butted in.

  “Oh, come on, Jeff…you remember that time. He would disappear for days on end. And you’d always find him with the stockmen on one of their corroborees,” she said, taking another drink. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away. He was one of those old pioneers like his father and his grandfather before him—”

  “I can see there’s a lot of heritage in this house,” Kate interrupted.

  “It only goes back to my great grandfather,” Jeff responded. “He rebuilt it after the original wooden house almost fell down in 1923.”

  “Yes…well your father was the end of the line as far as true cattlemen were concerned. He wouldn’t listen to any of Jeff’s ideas to improve the property. ‘It would cost too much,’ he would say.”

  “That’s true,” Jeff agreed.

  “Even when Jeff told him there were government grants and low interest loans to help improve the property, he still wouldn’t have any of it. Then when the old man had his accident in the stockyard, bless him, Jeff took over as manager until his brothers finished their time at university.” She reached over and placed her hand on Jeff’s. “They never did come back to the station…did they?”

  Jeff looked over to Marge and gave her a pinched smile. “No…they never did. I had to buy them out, and we’re still paying for it.” Jeff answered her with a faraway look, as if he was still thinking about his father’s death. “The cattle station is not a place for old men. My father was only fifty when he died; my great, great grandfather lasted the longest at seventy; and my great grandfather and grandfather were lucky to reach their sixties.”

  “You know as well as I do, Jeff, they were average life-spans in those days and your father’s death didn’t count,” Marge reassured him.

  Kate felt she was beginning to understand this remarkable couple. Yet she wondered how two diverse people like Marge and Jeff ever made it to marriage, parenthood and owners of a successful cattle station like Galene.

  Jeff was the typical patriarch cattleman with generations of hard men behind him; a significant background to emulate. Yet when he let his guard down, the gentle, considerate man took over. Marge, on the other hand, was the opposite. She came across as a woman that was all for her family. Then again, whether by necessity or because of the number of men she encountered in a long day, there was always that ‘do or die’ spirit lurking in the background. Either way, Kate felt she would have loved to have seen her with her children.

  In one respect, the Palmers’ way of life was something Kate admired. They were the stuff this country was made of; but sadly they were from a dying generation.

  Silence fell across the group huddled around the drinks trolley and despite a few more drinks being partaken to stimulate the conversation, only Sean managed to voice an opinion, even if a little belatedly.

  “I must have heard that story a hundred times and it always seems to get more fantastic with each telling,” he commented, waving his glass in the air. “What about you, Kate? Have you as interesting a tale to tell?”

  Kate was not prepared to expose herself as much as Marge and Jeff had. She thought a modern life was not folklore material like theirs was. However, from the expressions on the faces turned in her direction she felt something was warranted, if only as payment for the Palmers’ genial hospitality.

  “Oh dear…I don’t know where to start. Our mundane life has no bearing on your colourful experience. I only asked you because I could never imagine people actually did live like it has been portrayed in legends.”

  “Hold on, Kate…I hope you’re not comparing our life with what you might have read. Let’s face it; it was a terrible time. That’s why those writers romanticised that period. Very few wrote about all those who died horrible deaths.”

  “I’m sorry, Marge. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

  “Of course you didn’t. I just don’t want you leaving here tomorrow with the wrong idea. We’re ordinary folk trying to get on with our lives. There are no massive fortunes here. We simply live from day to day and take what comes.”

  “It seems our families are exactly the same. We have two children, Adam and Jennifer, who are also at university; Adam, the oldest is studying to be a doctor in Sydney, while Jennifer is just trying to graduate in Science. They’ve broken up for Christmas and are at home at present
waiting for their dad to come home.”

  “He was a lucky man, surviving a plane crash,” Sean spoke up.

  “Yes, Kate. How is he doing?” Marge continued.

  “The doctor’s not so sure. His injuries are under control, I understand.”

  “Are you saying he has a mental problem?” Marge asked.

  “I suppose you can’t keep things quiet on the station.”

  “That’s an understatement, Kate. It only takes a word and it spreads like wildfire. It’s ideal if you want something to get around quickly.”

  “I never thought of it like that. To be honest, at the beginning I never considered it important. We were only going to be here for a day after all. But now I’ve got to know you all, I find it’s very important. I want to leave behind a pleasant memory. Not one of two odd people who crossed your path.”

  “You’re going to leave a lasting memory here, Kate,” Marge said. “We already know about your plans to help Willy and the school. If you can pull it off you’ll make an enormous contribution to the community.”

  “Miss Gerry asked me to talk to you about my ideas. It seems that won’t be necessary now. But there is one thing; she says I shall have to communicate with her through the radio. I gather I’ll need your help for that.”

  “No problem, Kate,” Marge replied. “When I take you in tomorrow I’ll give you our call-sign and our scheduled radio list. That means the allotted times we’re on the air. The only problem you may have is transmitting. Have you any radio access?”

  “They have a radio setup at the AMINCO headquarters. That’s the American company Martin works for. I suppose they could help me.”

  “That’s obviously your first objective. Sort that out and you’re home. If they’re a big operation as the doctor guessed when he contacted them, they should be able to help you. I’m sure they will. I understand Martin’s an important man.”