by Lucy Walker
‘The girls throw themselves at his head? Is that what you’re going to tell me?’
‘Well …’
‘Women go down like wheat before the harvester when he comes along?’
‘You’re the sort of person Hal ought to marry, Kate. You’ve got style. You’re better than he is … as a person, I mean.’
‘I went down like any other wheat sheaf,’ Kate said with a little smile. ‘He walked into the foyer of the Australia Hotel in Sydney and I took out my heart and handed it to him on a plate.’
Does a wheat sheaf have a heart, she wondered.
They stood looking over the razed paddocks that would be Hal’s landing ground.
‘Do you know why love is placed anatomically in the region of the heart?’ Beatrix asked.
‘That’s exactly where it hurts,’ Kate said.
They went into the first of the shearing sheds. Its polished vastness surprised Kate.
‘Like a ballroom,’ she said.
‘That’s the grease out of the fleeces, of course. We have concerts and dances here sometimes. We were going to have one for you, Kate, but now the de Berhans are giving one over at Arundel Mother thinks we’d better wait. The de Berhans have the biggest wool-shed in the district. A dance there is always a mass production affair. Mrs. de Berhans doesn’t mind how much money she spends. Mother does.’
Kate almost caught her breath.
‘You’re very frank, Beatrix.’
‘You might as well know if you’re going to marry us.’
Kate looked at the wool-shed.
‘Mrs. de Berhans’ shed must be very big if it is bigger than this.’
‘This is the next in size. It’s fairly new. We carried mostly Southdowns on Appleton before the wool boom. Then we came in on the sheep for fleece the same as anyone else. Had to have a decent shed. And the money comes off the taxation.’
‘Has everyone a new wool-shed?’
‘Most. Those who’ve gone in for wool growing anyway.’
‘Then everyone is not in the wool race?’
‘Well, the Benallens aren’t. That’s because they are down in the valley. The sheep, except the hardy kind, tend to get foot-rot. Rick carries a moderate flock of Southdowns for meat, but he’s mostly got cows for butter fat and stud dairy stock. He’s got the best apple orchard in the Great Southern District. He makes cider … of a kind.’
Kate had a curious sense of relief. There was a lavishness about this wool-shed and the wool presses lining the walls; about the line of motor cars, utility trucks and station waggons in the garages between the homestead and the wool-shed that made her feel unhappy. A wounded world paid for all this.
‘Would you rather grow wool than sheep for meat?’
Beatrix looked at Kate in surprise.
‘Of course, it’s the easiest form of farming. Sheep look after themselves. There’s the fencing and dipping and shearing, of course, but it’s nothing compared with the hazards of wheat farming. Not to mention the slavery of dairy-farming. And the money in woolgrowing is give-away money on the present market.’
‘I know,’ Kate said. ‘I was in Sydney on the day the first boom sales were held. The farmers and their agents were coming out of the auction sales throwing their hats in the air and slapping one another on the shoulders. They say the pastoralists’ clubs were afloat that night.’
‘So what?’ said Beatrix. ‘Are you going to remind me about the dead and dying in Korea? All right. We grow wool and get big prices because there’s a war on. But we grow fine big pastoralists too and a lot of them get killed because there’s a war on. Why do you suppose all the boys round here are up in the air? They learned it in World War Two and they’re practising for World War Three. Why do you suppose John and I don’t hit it off? He wants to go to Korea. Who do you suppose manned the Eighty-Eighth Squadron that’s won glory every day of the Korean war? Mostly boys from the land …’
Beatrix broke off. She stopped being angry and became sardonic and a little calculating again.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s raining money. Big, big money. Everyone rushed off to buy a new motor car. There’s a dollar restriction so the thousands and thousands of cars brought into Australia this last three years have been bought with wool money from English motor firms. So the English haven’t done too badly out of the Korean war either, Kate.’
‘You are right, Beatrix. All those who don’t die do well, when there’s a war on.’ She changed the subject a little.
‘Have people like the Benallens suffered financially by not growing wool?’
‘Good heavens, no! There’s plenty of money in meat and butter fat. Besides, the Benallens have the quality property of the district. It’s not big, but Rick’s a first-class farmer. Everything he has is quality. Old Benallen, he’s dead now, came out from England at the time they were first opening up this forest for settlement. And he knew land. He picked the valley slopes for its drainage … something English property owners know a lot about. They were all orchardists and dairy farmers in those days. For every five hundred acres they cleared they got five hundred acres gratis.’
They left the wool-shed now and were walking back towards the homestead. In the home paddock a man was catching a horse. He rode wildly after the careering animal, cracking his stockwhip and swearing with an enraged splendour.
Kate stopped.
‘He’ll ruin that horse,’ she burst out at length.
Beatrix laughed.
‘He can’t. It’s ruined. That’s Roany. Hal’s horse.’
‘I thought Hal had gone out-back,’ Kate said.
‘He’s down at the jam house. Shall we get the tea and take it down?’
‘Is that part of the daily routine?’
‘Riley, the kitchen boy, often takes it down. Sometimes one of the men comes for the tea. We’ll take it down this morning. It might be fun.’
They went into the homestead through the kitchen porch. The kitchen was a vast rectangular room with a huge iron stove and range in the middle of the outside wall. It reminded Kate of kitchens at home in England. The saucepans, many of them iron, and some of them copper, hung in array along the walls above and on either side of the range. The floor was a wooden polished floor. Years of scrubbing and polishing had produced a hard shining surface. At the end was an enormous scrubbed wooden table with benches on all sides of it.
‘That’s were the men eat,’ Beatrix said. ‘There are eight on the place. At shearing time we rig up an outside dining-room in the tool house.’
A young man, little more than a youth, was pouring boiling water into two billy cans. On a table in the centre of the kitchen was a basket. A white linen towel was tied around some food. Beatrix picked up the basket and took one of the billy cans.
‘We’ll take the tea down, Riley,’ she said. ‘Put two more mugs in the basket, will you? Is there enough to eat?’
As Kate lifted up the second billy can of steaming tea the youth put two mugs in Beatrix’s basket.
‘Buns,’ he said.
As they went out together Kate looked at Beatrix quizzically.
‘They certainly are not overburdened with words, these farm hands of yours.’
‘Once or twice a week the cook makes buns and they’re so huge they never get all eaten. Riley meant to convey to me there was enough food … and then some.’
They followed the kitchen path through the pine grove and along a wire fence down into a shallow depression. On this side of the house was apple orchard. Outside the jam-house a horse was tethered.
‘Looks like Alan Castillon is home again,’ Beatrix said. ‘That’s his roan or I’m a Chinaman.’
‘Alan Castillon? Would that be a relation of Peg’s?’
‘Brother. But you wouldn’t know it. It’s his horse all right.’
The girls were in the doorway of the jam-house. This was another long shed-like building. At a glance it was dilapidated and dinghy. The most obvious thing in it was a line of showers at the far end. These
showers stood over shallow cement foot baths.
‘Communal ablutions for the men,’ Beatrix explained. ‘They have to clean up somewhere before they come up to the homestead.’
‘It could be embarrassing … just to walk in …’ Kate said.
‘It has been, more than once,’ Beatrix said with a smile. At the side of the room four men, including Hal, were grouped round a concrete mixer. When they saw the girls they turned off the engine. Hal wiped his hands on a grease cloth.
‘Food …’ he said. ‘… and women! Man’s only needs.’
He took the billy can from Kate. His face relaxed and the smile he gave her was both intimate and happy. She felt a little sharp pain in her heart.
If only he hadn’t such charm … it would be so much easier to be angry with him.
Kate recognised the men as those who had been at the station when she arrived in Blackwood.
‘Hullo, Burns!’ she said. ‘No more hangover?’
He put a three-legged stool by the bench for her.
‘Sit down, lady,’ he said. He shook his head dolefully. ‘That certainly was a bad go, that time, lady. I certainly did have a blinkin’ bad head.’
‘It happens once a week,’ Hal said.
Kate wondered how Burns kept his job and her wonder must have been in her eyes for he grinned at her and then jerked his thumb in Hal’s direction.
‘Hal ain’t game to sack me. Time and again he’d like to. But there’s things on this place only Burns can handle … and Hal here … he knows it. So do Uncle Harry. And so do the boss up there at the house.’ He winked knowingly and wickedly. ‘But she keeps out of my way, she do. Her and I’d have words if we met too often.’
‘Kate, this is Alan Castillon,’ Beatrix said.
She was looking now at a short, sandy-haired man. There was something lithe and restless about him. His eyes wandered ceaselessly from one to another as if, while he was talking with the one, he was anxious to hear and know what the other was up to. Not quite straight, Kate thought. Then immediately regretted her hasty judgment. It wasn’t a very kind one.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Alan Castillon said, but he wasn’t looking at Kate. He was following the activities of Burns and Mick. They were about to leave the shed.
‘Where you going, Burns?’ Hal said peremptorily.
‘Just to get me hands clean,’ Burns said. ‘Can’t sit down near ladies with dirty hands. Now can I?’ He looked imploringly at Hal, then shrugged his shoulders and went to the door. ‘Can’t go nowhere without someone shouting “Hi Burns! Here Burns! Where you goin’, Burns?” No liberty left in this blazin’ country!’
Outside the door he lifted a hose from a barrel that stood under the eaves of the shed.
‘Some day someone’ll lam the cheek out of that cow,’ Alan Castillon said.
They were all sitting down now, Beatrix and Kate on stools and the men on upturned boxes. The tea, without milk or sugar, was poured into mugs.
‘That’s all right,’ Beatrix said. ‘Everyone knows Burns. No one takes any notice of him. He’s the best worker in the district and worth his weight in gold.’
‘He’s a pointer … and up to professional standard.’
‘He’s all right,’ Hal said. ‘Lay off him, Alan. He gets worse if you take any notice.’
Beatrix and Hal exchanged quick glances. They both looked at Alan knowingly. Kate felt that between them there suddenly walked something not recognisable as good or wholesome.
‘I’ve met your sister Peg,’ she said hastily. ‘I think we’re going to like one another a lot.’
Alan Castillon gave a short laugh.
‘Everyone likes Peg. That’s the trouble.’ He looked swiftly at Hal’s noncommittal back. ‘They like to make use of her; plenty!’
Beatrix was angry.
‘That’s nonsense, Alan. Peg shouldn’t be such a willing horse. Everyone puts their chores on Peg because she asks for it. You can’t do anything without Peg offering to help. She’s offended if she’s not used. She likes helping. No one could stop her.’
Beatrix had successfully side-tracked whatever it was Alan had meant by his innuendo.
‘Peg said something about riding over this afternoon …’
‘If she can’t get over any other way she’ll walk,’ her brother said. ‘That’s if she wants to come.’
He sounded as if he’d let her walk rather than help her.
As they walked back to the house Kate reflected she did not like Alan Castillon.
‘Was it because of Alan Castillon coming that Hal didn’t go out-back?’ she asked Beatrix. She was determined not to show that it mattered to her that Hal had told her of one set of plans he had made for the day but had not bothered to tell her that he had changed them and was, after all, occupied near the homestead. Yet Beatrix had known Hal had not gone out.
‘I suppose so,’ Beatrix said savagely. ‘I wish he’d keep away from that little runt. Alan Castillon means trouble. Hal is a fool to let him come around.’
‘What sort of trouble? Is it something I shouldn’t know?’
‘Well, he’s a bit of a no-gooder, anyway. Just by nature, I guess. He’s always been at loggerheads with his father. They’ve never got on together. The old man is an autocrat as you’ll find out. He’s got weird ideas politically and at present he’s raising no end of a row in the district about the illegal bartering of wool bales. As a matter of fact we Westons, politically, are on the other side of the fence from the Castillons. And each family is busy discrediting the other. It doesn’t matter being friendly with Peg because everyone in the district is friendly with Peg. She’s loyal to her father and everyone knows it. But Alan is different. He’s against his own father. I just don’t like Hal using him politically.’
‘Does the political situation affect Appleton very much?’
Beatrix looked at Kate ironically.
‘You bet it does,’ she said. ‘If Castillon got his way we’d lose about half our present wool income. There’s no love lost there, Kate. And Castillon sometimes looks like murder.’
‘Oh, surely you’re exaggerating, Beatrix?’
‘Wait and see.’
As they walked toward the homestead Kate reflected on the intensity of feeling in Beatrix’s last remark.
Behind them came the sound of a brigade of soldiers.
‘Carry your parcels, ladies?’
It was Rick Benallen. He took the empty billies and basket.
‘Where’d you come from, Rick?’ Beatrix asked.
‘Brought Robin back.’
‘Oh!’
Kate felt a little shy. She didn’t know why, but suddenly words had forsaken her.
He smiled down at her.
‘How are you, Peaches?’
Kate smiled. After all, it was nice to have a compliment.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘That’s the Australian way of saying I’m glad to see you.’
‘Doesn’t add up,’ he said, looking sideways at her.
‘Not any more than the Englishman’s “how-do-you-do?” which doesn’t have an answer.’
‘Is your mother coming over to Arundel on Friday night, Rick?’ Beatrix asked.
‘I doubt it. She’s still writing.’
‘Writing?’
‘Mother only does three things. In the morning she looks after the household, in the afternoon she does the estate books and in the evening she writes novels. Always.’
‘Oh!’ said Kate. She felt awed.
‘You’ll like her well,’ Beatrix said kindly. ‘Rick makes her sound formidable. She’s not. She just doesn’t go out much.’
They had reached the house and Rick handed back the billies. He put his hat on the back of his head and leaned against the lean-to veranda outside the kitchen door. He rolled himself a cigarette. He made comments about the weather while he rolled another. He lit it and then gave it to Kate.
Kate wished the colour didn’t steal up her cheeks.
‘He
does it for everyone,’ she thought.
Chapter Five
That afternoon Peg Castillon came out to Appleton on the Benallens’ station waggon. At Appleton the waggon dropped Peg and picked up Rick.
Beatrix, Kate, and Hal had walked through the long paddocks to the main gate. Peg tumbled out of the waggon. She had a leggy way of moving.
‘Well, everybody …’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you’ve come to meet me. It must be a farewell party for Rick.’
Rick folded himself up and got into the car beside the driver.
‘So long, fellers!’ he said.
‘So long, Rick!’ The car shot forward and disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust. Overhead the great branches of the jarrahs met in a roof of sunlight and leaf.
‘How are you doing, Kate? How are they treating you?’ Peg asked.
‘Very well, thank you,’ said Kate.
‘She means “fine”,’ said Beatrix laconically.
‘I most certainly do,’ Kate said with a sly grin. ‘I’m doing fine.’
‘Good!’ said Peg.
They were walking down the gravel road through the stubble paddocks towards the homestead. Hal said nothing. He had a long twig in one hand and devoted himself to swishing the flies away.
Peg was ungainly without being ugly as she walked. There was something eager, impetuous and yet over-anxious about her whole bearing. She had fine features with large expressive eyes and a too expressive mouth. She was untidily dressed in a good linen dress.
Kate felt anxious for her. She realised that Peg was one of those people born into the world with a heart of gold … and yet whose heart was spurned.
‘Glad you came out, Peg,’ said Beatrix. ‘The mater’s got everything fixed for your entertainment.’
‘Meaning what?’
Kate was relieved to find that Peg was as intelligent as she was hypersensitive.
‘Do I have the kids dumped on me?’
‘You certainly do. Mother thinks Annabel is looking tired and an afternoon tea-party with Mrs. Willy will revive her spirits.’
Hal suddenly came to life.
‘Hell’s bells,’ he said. ‘Let’s have our own tea-party. I vote Mrs. Willy out of bounds.’
Hal was suddenly and inexplicably back in the personality Kate had known in Sydney.
