by Tony Parsons
‘The fellow’s been there all his life, David. Old age and the tough times have caught up with him. It’s not as big as you’re looking for but it’s a really nice place and Len Murray has bred good sheep there,’ Joe told him.
David listened patiently. He had heard variations of this spiel probably thirty times. ‘How big is it, Joe?’
‘About three and half thousand acres, David.’
‘Not big enough, Joe,’ David answered quickly.
‘I realise it’s not as big as you’re after but it’s a really good place, David. Got a long creek frontage and some great farming land, too. Len is keen for a quick sale. You’d like the place. We’ve sold his sheep for years and they’ve got a great name. Trust me, David. You should have a look at this place,’ Joe said with some urgency.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Joe. I want a place to run five thousand ewes. You know that. I haven’t got time to look at unsuitable places,’ David said firmly.
‘You shouldn’t miss this place, David. I kid you not,’ Joe said.
‘Okay, Joe, I’ll go and have a look at it. You set it up and come back to me with the details.’
‘Great stuff, David. You won’t be sorry,’ Joe said with a chuckle.
‘Hmmm. We’ll see about that. Where is it, Joe?’ he asked.
‘It’s at the foothills of the Nandewar Range – sort of between Narrabri and Barraba.’
‘Well, we haven’t looked there before,’ David said.
‘I’ll be talking to you, David,’ Joe said.
David put the phone down and looked at Catriona.
‘Joe has another place for us to look at, Cat. Reckons it’s the bee’s knees. Well, it’s not big enough to begin with so why the blazes I should go and look at it I don’t know. Only thing in its favour is that it’s been owned by the same people for a long time. They probably wouldn’t have stayed there if it hadn’t given them a living. Oh well, I said I’d look at it.’
When Joe came back and told David he had arranged an inspection for the following Saturday, Catriona told him that she and her mother were going to Sydney for a few days. ‘You know that Mum’s heart has been causing her some concern, darling. She’s been putting off tests she must undergo in Sydney, and they can’t wait any longer. I’m her only daughter and it’s my place to go.’
‘Of course, Cat. Has Jane got worse?’ David asked.
‘She hasn’t got better, darling. I’m sure that Moira will jump at the chance to go with you,’ Catriona said with a wry smile.
And, of course, Moira did. To go away with her father was Moira’s present conception of heaven. People everywhere looked up to her father and to be introduced as his daughter really meant something. And it would mean that he would discuss with her what he would have discussed with her mother.
Molonga was everything Joe Morton had said it was. The property was at the foothills of the Nandewar Range and spread out into gently undulating-to-flat country traversed by a creek. The timber was predominantly box and ironbark, with some pines and a few old majestic red gums along the creek. The homestead sat in a kind of horseshoe between hills. It wasn’t grand, but a very comfortable big house, and there were solid improvements all around it, such as a decent three-stand shearing shed and a row of grain silos.
Len Murray reminded David in some indefinable way of his own father. It began with the strong handshake. Then there was Len’s slow, deliberate way of talking.
‘I put some woolly ewes in the yards for you to look at, David. I thought you’d like to see what we’ve been running here,’ Murray said.
‘I appreciate that, Len,’ David said.
Murray was a tall, spare man with hair in the transition between grey and white. He had clear blue eyes framed by a web of tiny wrinkles.
Joe Morton had told Len a great deal about David MacLeod. He knew that David was a big-shot grazier with multiple properties and would probably want to be called Mister. But David soon shattered that notion, and it wasn’t long before both men and Moira were sitting on the fence rails yarning about sheep. David had complimented the older man on the quality of the sheep and their wool.
‘They’re largely Egalabra blood, David. Egalabra and Rossmore, actually. Been on the mix for years. Seems to suit this country,’ Len said.
Presently, Len took David and Moira for a drive around the property. Joe said he’d go and have a yarn to ‘the missus’. Everything David saw was in first-class condition. The cattle were a mix of Angus and Herefords and looked to be doing very well. They were strung out along the creek and there wasn’t a poor animal in sight. It was a great place, David reflected, but it wasn’t quite big enough. He needed a bigger property to be able to keep replacing his wether flocks.
Moira whispered in his ear, ‘I like this place, Daddy. It’s beautiful, and it’s produced fine stock.’
David asked Len to stop the utility one paddock out from the homestead and he got out and leant on the gate. About a mile across to his left was another homestead, red-roofed and with a thin plume of smoke spiralling skywards from a chimney.
‘It’s a damned nice property, Len. Everything is in great order and there’s nothing here that needs attention. The problem is that it’s not big enough. I’m looking for a place that can run five thousand ewes. I want to breed replacement wethers and maybe some of my stud ewes and rams. I’d take it if it could handle that number of ewes,’ David told him.
‘I appreciate your honesty, David. Let me make a suggestion and don’t repeat it in front of Joe Morton. You see that homestead?’ Murray pointed to the red-roofed house away to the left, as a flock of cockatoos flew overhead.
David nodded, and Len continued in a lowered voice, despite their isolation in the middle of the paddock. ‘The fellow who owned that was killed a year or so ago. Got on the spree and turned his car over. He was a mad bugger at times. You ever hear of Jack Barden?’
‘Jack Barden? Now let me think. Wasn’t there a Jack Barden who was a rodeo champion and campdrafter?’
‘That’s the fellow. Horse-mad. You’ve got to be a bit mad to want to ride bulls and buckjumpers. When he inherited the place from his father, Jack turfed out all the sheep and replaced them with cattle. He used to spend hours working his horses on cattle. Good style of a fellow when he wasn’t on the grog.
‘To cut a long story short Jack married a bonzer girl. Linda was a sister at the hospital. There’s five kids aged from fifteen to four. Jack bought an extra bit of country and then interest rates went up to blazes and cattle prices went the other way.’
‘It’s bloody criminal, Len,’ David sympathised.
‘The bank is pushing Linda pretty hard. She’s back doing night duty at weekends when Kitty, that’s the oldest girl, can look after the others. I’ve helped Linda a bit but she tells me she’ll have to sell. What I suggest is that you go and see her and maybe make an offer. You could do it privately and that way she wouldn’t have to pay commission on the sale,’ Len said earnestly.
‘You think she wants to sell?’ David asked.
‘I doubt there’s any alternative. She can’t keep up the repayments on their loan. A damned shame, really – they’re a great lot of kids. The oldest boy is a real goer. What I suggest is that while you’re here, you talk to Linda. If you could buy her place and this one you would have any amount of country to breed your ewes. And there hasn’t been a sheep on the place for twenty years or more.’
‘How big is it?’ David asked.
‘I reckon with the Meredith block there’d be about four and a half thousand acres,’ Murray said.
‘What’s the country like?’
‘Every bit as good as ours. They’re running about four hundred breeding cows and growing some wheat. Jack put on a share farmer to grow the wheat as he hated engines. You wouldn’t get Jack to touch a combine or a harvester.’
David walked up and down while he thought about the situation. The two places combined amounted to around eight thousand acres, which was
about what he had in mind. It was actually more than he had in mind, but that didn’t matter.
‘Len, I’m in a bind because Joe brought us out here. I can’t get loose of him decently as we don’t have our own vehicle. You talk to your neighbour and I’ll phone you tonight. If she’s interested in selling, Moira and I will come back tomorrow morning. We’ll leave early and be here about ten. If you give me the offer of your place until tomorrow night, I’ll finalise the deal one way or another. Is that okay with you?’
‘You’ve got my hand on it,’ Murray said.
‘Right, now we can head back for home,’ David said.
‘You’ll have time for some lunch, won’t you?’ Murray asked.
‘I don’t want to give your wife extra work,’ David said with a smile.
‘It isn’t every day we have a bush legend here,’ Murray said with a grin. It was his first grin of the morning.
‘A bush legend, eh? I thought a fellow had to be dead before he was described as a legend,’ David said.
‘You’re a legend in your lifetime, David. There’s hardly a sheepman anywhere who wouldn’t have heard of your kelpies. That’s for a start. Then there’s what you’ve done with horses and cattle and now stud sheep. Yeah, I reckon you’re a legend right enough. I’d like to say that if anyone is to buy this place, I’d prefer it was you.’
‘Thanks, Len. Well, we’ll see what eventuates.’
Elizabeth Murray, who asked to be called Beth, because that was what everyone called her, was in David’s view the quintessential country woman. She was at the front door to greet them and insisted that it was no trouble at all to have them stay for lunch.
‘I suppose you’ve been feeding Joe scones or pikelets while we’ve been out looking at the place?’ David said.
‘Well, now that you mention it, Joe did show a liking for my scones,’ Beth replied with a laugh.
‘A fellow never knows when he’ll get his next feed in this game,’ Joe defended himself.
‘In this case it will be in about ten minutes,’ Beth said.
Lunch consisted of roast lamb, crispy baked potatoes and beans followed by home-baked apple pie and cream. ‘That should do us until dinner tonight. A great meal, Beth,’ David said.
‘Yes, thank you Beth – a lovely meal,’ Moira seconded. ‘Dad is a great one for baked dinners. Mum complains he’s boring to cook for as he doesn’t like pasta and rice and, oh, lots of things.’
‘That stuff wasn’t around when I was a boy. Or if it was, I didn’t see it. I got plenty of baked dinners and –’
‘Heaps of chocolate cake and cream sponges!’ Moira added.
Sitting around the table yarning about sheep, wool, cattle prices and shows was all very pleasant until Joe announced they had better be going, as he had phonecalls to make that evening.
‘Great pair, aren’t they?’ the Elders man said, as the trio drove away from Molonga.
‘It must be a wrench to leave the property after all the years they’ve been there,’ David said.
‘There comes a time and all that,’ Joe said. ‘Len doesn’t want Beth to have the worry of selling the place should he die first.’
That night David rang Len Murray, who told him that Linda Barden was agreeable to him coming out again the next day. She had confirmed to Murray that she intended to sell the property.
‘You want to come out with me again tomorrow, Moira?’ David asked when he put the phone down.
‘Try and stop me, Dad,’ she said quickly.
‘Then you had better duck off to bed. I want to leave by five. Think you can be ready then?’
‘Of course. I presume you want something to eat before we leave?’
‘You know me,’ he said, and smiled across at her.
‘That means getting up before four. Do you think you’ll buy Molonga, Dad?’
‘I’m certainly thinking about it, sweetheart. It isn’t big enough on its own but the two places together would be beaut. Maybe just what I want. Len Murray’s sheep certainly looked pretty good,’ he said.
‘Eight thousand acres means a lot of money, doesn’t it?’ Moira asked.
‘It does, sweetheart. It would mean a lot more if cattle prices were better and wool not in the doldrums. It’s the dead right time to buy a place, Moy,’ he said.
Moira loved it when he called her Moy. She went across to his big chair and bent over and kissed him. ‘Goodnight, Dad. I’ll be ready in the morning.’
‘You’d better be, or I’ll leave you behind,’ he teased.
It wasn’t much after five when they left High Peaks. Moira looked her usual immaculate self in white moleskin trousers, cream blouse and white Akubra. She had thrown a tweedy coat over the blouse as the morning was cool.
An hour or so along the road, David stopped the car and asked Moira to drive. ‘You’d better get used to driving longer distances, Moy,’ he said.
Moira drove for a couple of hours before David took over again. ‘I must say, a cup of tea and a few pikelets wouldn’t go astray,’ he said, as he took the wheel. ‘Being on the road makes a fellow hungry.’
‘Nanna says you’re always hungry, whether you’re on the road or not,’ Moira said.
‘We might stop in Barraba and get a cuppa and a toasted sandwich,’ David suggested.
They did stop in the small town of Barraba before driving on again for the Barden property. It was reached by the same road as Molonga and in fact adjoined it for nearly three miles. The name on the gate was ‘Wirrewarra’.
‘There was a terrible massacre of Aborigines not all that far from here. A place called Myall Creek,’ David said.
They drove on to Wirrewarra in silence, both deep in thought. Eventually, the homestead came into sight.
‘Oh, look there’s the house. And there’s a boy with the gate open for us,’ Moira said.
The boy closed the gate behind them and then ran after the car as it cruised towards the big homestead. Children and dogs in about equal numbers seemed to appear from nowhere.
‘Careful, Daddy. There are dogs running towards us,’ Moira warned.
‘I can see them, Moy. This place could do with a traffic cop,’ he said.
‘Oh, look at the ponies,’ she said, and pointed to a paddock not far from the homestead. A small black Shetland pony and two larger ponies, one bay and one brown, were tethered to the back fence.
‘I like the look and feel of this place, Moy,’ David said. ‘It’s obviously a family place.’ They pulled up beside the back entrance to the house. There was a tall fence surrounding the back lawn, which was strewn with various toys.
As David opened the door of the car a little tan-and-white terrier thrust itself into the vehicle. A small tow-headed boy grabbed the terrier by its wildly wagging tail and extracted it from the car. ‘His name’s Rowdy – he’s very friendly,’ the boy said.
‘I can see that,’ David said with a smile. ‘And what’s your name, young fellow?’
‘I’m Bob,’ he said.
‘Come away from there, Bob,’ a feminine voice called from inside the yard.
Moira joined her father and they pushed open the gate to meet Linda Barden. She was a slim, blonde woman who was still very pretty although she would have been quite a beauty in her youth. Her figure belied the five children she had produced, and only the lines on her face testified to the years and maybe the stresses Linda Barden had endured. Her yellow dress displayed evidence of flour, which the apron she had obviously taken off in a hurry, and was still holding, had failed to catch.
‘Mr MacLeod, I’m Linda Barden,’ the blonde woman greeted them.
‘This is my daughter, Moira, Mrs Barden,’ David said, as he took his daughter’s arm.
‘And I can see you’re very proud of her,’ Linda said, and laughed. ‘I would be too.’
This congenial greeting set the tone for their visit.
‘This is Kitty, Mr MacLeod. Kitty is my eldest daughter. Bob you’ve met. Fiona has the jam on her face
and the little fellow is Jack, like his father. The boy who opened the gate for you is Tim. He’s fifteen.’
‘Did you say Tim?’ David asked.
‘Yes, Tim,’ Linda said. ‘You must be hungry after leaving so early.’
David looked over at the boy she had said was Tim. It took him back over the years to his old friend Tim Sparkes who had taught David how to defend himself and then had left him his property. Tim Sparkes had made David a wealthy man.
‘We had a cuppa and some toasted sandwiches in Barraba but I wouldn’t say no to another cuppa,’ David said.
‘Dad is ready to drink tea and eat any old time,’ Moira said.
‘Well, he’s a big man so he probably takes some filling,’ Linda observed.
‘You’re a woman to be treasured, Mrs Barden,’ David said.
‘Come along then. You children play outside while we’re talking.’
It was a big, comfortable house and remarkably tidy considering the five children and the litter that adorned the back lawn. Two sections were connected by a covered walkway, and a long gauzed verandah stretched along one side. But the most notable feature was the huge kitchen, which opened onto the verandah and suggested many meals were shared there.
Linda Barden’s scones were first-class and David murmured his appreciation. After some comments on the weather and the season he brought the conversation around to the reason for their visit.
‘I don’t really want to sell the property but I have to. It’s beyond me. Len Murray probably told you that Jack borrowed a fair bit of money to buy an adjoining block. The interest is killing me. Cattle aren’t much good right now and I can’t keep up the payments. I hate the idea of selling because the children love it here, especially Tim. But I’m going to make sure that Tim has a profession or trade anyway so that he can make his living at something apart from the land. Maybe when the children are older I could buy a place for them, but with these interest payments and five children to educate I can’t keep this place. I really can’t. I’m back doing night duty at weekends when Kitty can mind the children, and it’s a help but not nearly enough. If I sell this place I’ll be able to invest money and that will help us to live,’ Linda explained.
