Territory

by Judy Nunn

  When the Dutchman had said, ‘What are you doing inviting a Chink to the grandstand,’ Terence had replied, ‘I didn’t’, and he’d felt annoyed with Henrietta for having taken it upon herself to do so.

  Given the potpourri of Darwin society and the Territorians’ general acceptance of racial differences, Terence had always kept his disdain for Asians and Aborigines in check, but secretly he was of the opinion that Hans van der Baan and his ilk had the right attitude and he rather wished the Australian authorities had followed the line of the Dutch colonial administration of Indonesia.

  ‘They’re not called the Dutch East Indies for nothing my friend,’ Hans had boasted to him on more than one drunken occasion. ‘We kept the Malays and the Indonesians in their place right from the start. And even when the Jews of Asia came in for a slice of the action (Hans always referred to the Southern Chinese as ‘the Jews of Asia’) they were soon taught their place. They can run their laundries and shops, they’re good at that, but they’ve got to learn they’re second-class citizens. I tell you, man, we’d never have allowed them the business foothold they’ve got in Darwin, this is a white man’s country.’

  The Dutchman had fired Terence up on a number of occasions and, although Terence had been guarded against voicing his agreement when they were in the company of others, Hans van der Baan had successfully fed his contempt, particularly for the Chinese. Now, because the ‘Chink’ in question was none other than Darwin’s tai pan Foong Lee, and because if others had heard his comment he might be howled down, Terence had been forced to accede to his wife which he knew didn’t look good in his friend’s eyes. Bugger them all, he thought. Bugger the Chink for coming, bugger Henrietta for inviting him, and bugger Hans for having brought up the issue. Terence tried to shake off his annoyance as he downed his beer, none of them was going to spoil his day.

  They picnicked in the grandstand and cheered the little girl with freckles and plaits who won the under-twelve mixed jump event and everyone was in excellent spirits. Henrietta announced that she was entered in one of the adult gymkhana events during the afternoon and Aggie and Paul were most impressed. Foong Lee, always a keen punter, asked if there was a book being run on it so that he could bet on her, and when he was informed that, although the official bookies weren’t coming until tomorrow, there was always a book being run somewhere, he and Albert went in search of it.

  Around the entire racetrack was a feeling of carnival as an official lunchbreak was called and people ate and drank whilst prizes were awarded to the children. Announcements were made through a loudhailer by Terence’s overseer, Frank ‘Buff’ Nelson. Buff was a tough, likeable man in his mid-forties. An ex-buffalo hunter, he’d been a top drover, then station manager in his time, and Terence paid well for his services. As Bullalalla’s representative, Buff announced the winners from a rostrum at one end of the oval, then called the excited children up and presented them with their ribbons and prizes. Terence himself would present the awards during the following day’s race meeting but, in the meantime, Buff Nelson was having a high old time, enjoying the kids’ enthusiasm.

  Shortly after lunch, the other Galloways arrived. Michael and James, with their wives Helen and Miriam were introduced to Henrietta, and Nellie brought Malcolm up from the tent in his pram. The wives clucked over him appreciatively and Henrietta enquired after Helen and Miriam’s children, two apiece, each of whose names she had committed to memory. The family seemed pleasant enough, albeit a little withdrawn. They hadn’t seen each other for so long, and Henrietta had expected a little more of a reunion, but the brothers and their wives were quite deferential in Terence’s company.

  She noted too the change in Terence’s manner, and Charlotte’s words, from so long ago, came back to her. ‘They jump to his command just as if he was Dad,’ Charlotte had said. And what else? ‘They couldn’t wait to get out of home before Terence took over,’ something like that. Then why had they come today, Henrietta wondered. It didn’t take her long to find out.

  ‘Dad’s talking now,’ she heard Michael say to Terence as the three brothers stood together at the grandstand railings. Michael and James visited their father intermittently at the Adelaide nursing home.

  ‘Oh?’ The response was lacklustre.

  Henrietta hated the fact that Terence didn’t even bother to disguise his indifference. Chatting with her sisters-in-law, she gave only perfunctory replies to their polite conversation, as she busily eavesdropped on the men.

  ‘Not much, mind you,’ Michael said. ‘But he’s communicating, it’s certainly all up here,’ and he tapped his head.

  ‘He’s physically very frail, though,’ James added, ‘we don’t know how long he’s going to last.’

  As Terence gave a disinterested nod without even bothering to answer, Henrietta fought the urge to interrupt. ‘This is your father they’re talking about!’ she wanted to yell at him.

  James, the younger and bolder of the two, decided to get straight to the point. ‘We need to talk about Grandad’s stud, Terry.’

  It was then Terence realised why his brothers had come to the races; like Henrietta, he too had wondered at the reason. ‘I see,’ he finally responded.

  Henrietta was aware that she hadn’t been the only one eavesdropping. Both Helen and Miriam gave up all pretence of conversation and openly observed the men.

  Lionel Galloway’s original horse stud had been in the hands of a highly competent manager for years. It ran smoothly and turned over an excellent profit, there was certainly no cause to alter the arrangement. Terence knew that, in the event of Jock’s death, the Galloway stud would be left to the three of them, Jock had told him often enough.

  ‘You’ll get the pick of the lot when I die, Terry,’ the old man had said on a number of occasions. ‘Bullalalla will be yours. So it’s only fair the stud goes to the three of you. But I’d strongly advise you leave it in Gordon’s hands, he knows horseflesh better than any bloke in the country.’

  Did his brothers worry that Jock might have left the property to him alone, Terence wondered; they hadn’t seen the old man for several years prior to his stroke. Surely Margaret would have told them the facts. But then perhaps not, his mother was perverse at the best of times, perhaps she was enjoying watching them squirm.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about the stud myself,’ he said. He hadn’t, but if Michael and James were thinking of taking over the property they’d better think again. ‘With the army gone the bottom’s dropped out of the local beef market and I’ve been seriously contemplating a move south.’ A brief glance in Henrietta’s direction, as she stared at him wide-eyed, warned her not to say a word. ‘The Galloway stud would be the perfect solution, how long do you reckon Dad’s got?’

  There was a stunned silence. The feeling of shock was palpable. Hans van der Baan stopped swilling his beer and wondered what was going on. Even Paul, Aggie and Foong Lee, standing nearby, surreptitiously turned an eye to the proceedings.

  ‘How ridiculous, we’re not thinking of moving south at all.’ Henrietta couldn’t help herself, the sight of the brothers’ faces, and those of their wives, all four white with dismay, and Terence’s obvious enjoyment of their discomfort was more than she could bear. ‘He’s joking, aren’t you Terence,’ she said with the brightest of smiles. ‘He couldn’t bear to leave Bullalalla.’

  Terence looked at her, his face expressionless, but Henrietta refused to be daunted. ‘It’s very naughty of you, darling,’ she said cheerfully, then to Miriam she added, ‘He’s a terrible tease.’

  Miriam and Helen exchanged a hopeful glance. A ‘tease’ was the last term they would have applied to Terence Galloway, but perhaps their brother-in-law had changed since his marriage.

  Terence turned to his brothers and smiled. ‘Of course I was joking,’ he said, ‘it’d be a stupid proposition for any of us to interfere with the Galloway stud, don’t you agree?’

  Michael and James relaxed and grinned back, but before they could answer, Terence
said to Henrietta, ‘It’s time for you to change for your event, my darling; I’ll have Jackie saddle up Seldom Awake.’

  He was angry, she could tell. Very angry. His eyes were always dead like this when he was angered.

  ‘But I’m riding Florian,’ she said, a little confused. It had been agreed she would ride Florian. The two house ponies, Fast Asleep and Seldom Awake, had only been brought to the races for the enjoyment of any children who might wish to ride them.

  ‘No, I don’t think so …’

  ‘But, Terence …’

  ‘You could hurt yourself,’ he said. Then he loudly announced to the assembled company, all of whom were now openly watching, ‘Florian’s very difficult to hold, she’s come off him twice before.’

  ‘That was two years ago!’

  ‘Please, darling,’ he kissed her lightly and there was a world of concern in his voice, ‘for my sake and for Malcolm’s, don’t ride him.’

  But his eyes were still dead. He was playing a game with her. She was to be publicly humiliated. Put in her place.

  ‘All right, Seldom Awake it is.’ She laughed as she turned to the others. ‘I’m terribly sorry about your bet, Foong Lee.’

  Buff Nelson announced the event through his loudhailer. It was a ladies’ race and the rules were simple. When he blew the whistle, the twelve competitors were to gallop to the far end of the oval, dismount and pick up, in their teeth, the stick which rested on their individual 44 gallon drum. They would then remount and return. After crossing the finish line, the first to gallop to the rostrum and personally present him with her stick would win the race. Everyone applauded, these events were the fun part of the day.

  Henrietta lined up with the others, hardened outback women wearing battered men’s hats, sitting easily on feisty horses, all prancing and raring to go. Seldom Awake’s hooves were planted firmly in the dust, and Henrietta sat perched on his broad back, feeling silly in her jodhpurs and smart riding helmet. She and Seldom heaved a joint sigh of resignation, it seemed they both knew what they were in for.

  Buff blew the whistle and they all took off, including Seldom, he was an obedient animal and he knew the rules. But he took off at a snail’s pace and, as the stock horses burst into a gallop, he continued to plod, Henrietta’s frantic heels in his well-padded sides raising him finally to a trot and that was as fast as he’d go.

  Jackie appeared from out of the crowd and ran alongside them. He urged the horse on in his foreign tongue and amazingly Seldom broke into a canter. A lazy, sloppy gait. He was not used to cantering, but for Jackie’s sake he was trying.

  Even Jackie’s incantations could not work miracles and, in the distance, through the swirling dust of the others, Henrietta saw the women dismount and pick the sticks up in their teeth whilst their horses snorted and danced, impatient to get back in the race. One rider dropped the reins and her mount left her behind to take off after the others. Henrietta was only halfway to the 44 gallon drums when she met them on their way back. Sticks in their mouths, they waved to her and she waved in return as Seldom lumbered on.

  The crowd was laughing and cheering with delight. This must be the comic turn. The stockmen were laughing at Jackie Yoorunga, speaking in the tongues of horses to a fat, lazy animal who wasn’t listening, and everyone else was laughing at the station owner’s wife, in her jodhpurs and smart riding helmet, making a fool of herself. They’d never seen anything like it.

  Henrietta dismounted by her 44 gallon drum. Beside her, Seldom waited patiently not moving a muscle. ‘Good boy,’ she muttered, but Seldom was only too grateful for the brief respite. Henrietta picked the stick up between her teeth, her mouth dry and tasting of red dust, and remounted.

  ‘Don’t drop him, missus,’ Jackie said, and he pointed to the stick. Then he sprinted off, reaching the finish line before Seldom was halfway there.

  Seldom plodded his weary way back, the crowd roaring its approval. Without Jackie’s influence, he refused to canter and even slowed from a trot to a walk. Henrietta gave up and simply sat on his back, waving to her right and left and grinning inanely with the stick in her mouth. She felt like a retriever dog, but if they all wanted a laugh, then fine, she would join in the joke.

  As she reached the finish line, the outback women who had long completed their race, were waving their sticks in the air and cheering. Henrietta felt the whole world was laughing at her. But, strangely enough, she didn’t care. If this was what Terence wanted, so be it. If she did not show her humiliation, then he would have no victory.

  ‘Good boy, Seldom,’ she muttered through her teeth which were clenched firmly around the stick, and she patted the horse’s neck as he obediently plodded up to Buff Nelson who was standing on the rostrum.

  ‘The winner!’ Buff yelled through his loudhailer and, whilst Henrietta presumed this was all part of the joke at her expense, he explained to the crowd.

  ‘The rules were clear,’ he yelled, ‘each rider must report to me with her stick in her mouth. The other contestants took their sticks from their mouths before reporting to the judge, they are therefore disqualified.’

  The rules hadn’t been at all clear, Henrietta thought. She’d been so self-conscious she’d simply forgotten about the wretched stick. She looked at Jackie who stood by the rostrum, smiling his gappy-toothed grin. Was this Jackie’s doing? Or was it Buff’s? The smile on Buff’s leathery face was just as broad. The female riders were waving their sticks and grinning too. And the crowd was applauding generously. Everyone was delighted that Henrietta had won. What a good sport the boss’s wife was, they all thought.

  The joke was on Terence, Henrietta decided as she dismounted and walked up the steps to the rostrum.

  ‘The winner!’ Buff roared again as she took the stick from her mouth and presented him with it. ‘Mrs Terence Galloway!’ And he held the stick aloft as evidence of her triumph.

  Henrietta pulled off her riding helmet and curtsied as men whistled and women cheered. She played up to the crowd, bowing and blowing kisses in every direction, particularly towards the grandstand.

  ‘Well done, my darling.’ Terence embraced her when she returned to the grandstand surrounded by her friends. Paul and Aggie, Foong Lee and his son Albert had all run to the track to meet her as she left the rostrum. On their way back, she’d stopped to shake hands with drovers and their wives and people from town, she’d been the most popular person present, she realised with a sense of surprise and delight.

  Now, as Terence embraced her and the family cheered, she looked for the sign of his disapproval. His eyes should be dead, but they weren’t. There was even a touch of admiration in them as he said, ‘You did very well. Didn’t she, Hans?’ he added, glancing at the Dutchman. Henrietta sensed it was a test she had passed. He admired her for it, certainly, but the rules remained his.

  ‘It was fun,’ she smiled as she returned his embrace.

  Paul Trewinnard had witnessed the exchanges between man and wife from the very beginning. At first he’d thought Terence wished to humiliate Henrietta, and he’d felt annoyed and protective. But when Henrietta had taken the riding helmet off and shaken those glorious chestnut curls free and curtsied and blown kisses to the crowd, he’d decided that it must be some sort of game they played. A game of one-upmanship. And now, watching Terence toast his wife and embrace her as he clinked glasses with the Dutchman, Paul felt strangely disillusioned, he had not thought of Henrietta as a person who played games. How naive of him, but then he was not experienced at marital game-playing, his own marriage hadn’t had time to get that far. He joined in the toast to Henrietta’s success. It was their marriage after all, what business was it of his, he told himself as he fought off his vague sense of disappointment.

  Following the gymkhana events, the Aboriginal stockmen gave an exhibition of horsemanship, Jackie Yoorunga leading the troops. At a flat gallop, he swung down from the saddle, took two steps beside the horse, leapt back in the saddle, then swung off again to the other side, repea
ting the exercise a number of times. Then he swung under the horse’s belly where he clung to the girth strap, and was suddenly once more back in the saddle. Even by stockmen’s standards, Jackie was the most remarkable of horsemen.

  As dusk gathered, those who were not camping out for the night took their leave, most of them returning to Darwin with the promise that they’d be back the next day, but the crowd numbers did not decrease. If anything they swelled with the arrival of the serious racing fraternity. Those owners and riders with the earnest intent of winning settled their horses down for the night at Bullalalla so they wouldn’t have to travel the animals on the day of the races, then they themselves prepared for a party. It appeared a tired racehorse was a crime, but a tired jockey was perfectly acceptable.

  Tarpaulins were spread on the ground as families laid out the provisions they’d brought, many pooling their resources. Women buttered bread and shovelled potatoes into the coals of the two large cooking fires, whilst on smaller fires billies were boiled to brew tea. Men handed around bottles of beer, or tots of rum, and all the while the smell of roasting beef wafted tantalisingly over the entire racecourse.

  Two large pits had been dug, and the fires erected in them had been lit at dawn. By mid-morning they had been reduced to hot coals, and the two carcasses of beef donated by Bullalalla station had been steadily turning on their spits for the past eight hours. Now, people were encouraged to simply hack off what they wanted.

  ‘You’ll stay and eat, surely,’ Terence said to Henrietta’s friends as they took their departure.

  ‘It smells wonderful, but no thank you,’ Paul spoke for the others, he was driving them back to Darwin and they’d agreed it was time to leave, ‘It’s been an extraordinary day.’ He shook Terence’s hand.

  ‘Most extraordinary, I agree,’ Foong Lee also shook Terence’s hand, as did his son Albert.

  Henrietta, watching closely, was relieved to see Terence return their handshakes. ‘You must come back tomorrow,’ he insisted.