by Tony Parsons
‘Surely you would have been distracted by girls?’
‘I didn’t meet anyone who caught my eye,’ said Ian.
‘While we’re on the subject, I’ll give you your first piece of advice. Watch yourself with Trish Claydon. She can be unstoppable, and you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Alec Claydon. He hits pretty hard.’
‘I don’t want to get on the wrong side of anyone, Mr Blake. Mrs Claydon is a married woman, and Alec seems like a good man.’
‘Alec’s all right. He’s good with stock and a good neighbour too. It’s bad luck he’s lumbered with Trish.’ Leo slid the cup of tea towards Ian. ‘But that’s enough about them. It’s time you gave me the drum on where you fit into the picture. I realise you’re Jack’s nephew and that’s about all I know. When the solicitors talked to me they said you’d give me the rest of the story. So over to you.’
Chapter Three
Ian put down his cup and extracted an envelope from his shirt pocket. ‘This should explain everything, Mr Blake.’
Leo slit open the envelope with his pocketknife and began reading its contents. When he had read both pages through once, he re-read them to ensure that he had everything clear in his mind. He then leant back in his chair and looked steadily at the young man who sat across the table from him.
‘Do you prefer Boss or Mr Richardson?’ Leo asked with a gleam in his eye.
‘Mr Blake, if you call me either, we’ll have our first argument. Ian will do just fine. And as the letter states, you are still more or less the boss here, until I’m twenty-one. You have financial and managerial control unless I object, and then I have to take it up with the accountants. While I own Kanimbla on paper, I need to learn the ropes from you – providing you’re willing to give me the benefit of your experience.’
‘I suppose you realise how lucky you are to have Kanimbla dropped in your lap,’ Leo said bluntly.
‘Yes and no,’ Ian said. ‘The accountants went over it with me. Kanimbla is a big property and if it was sold, stock and all, it would realise a lot of money. That money, invested wisely, would produce a better dividend than the property is returning right now.’
Leo nodded. The young bloke was obviously no fool. ‘I can’t dispute that. Things are tough. Wool is way down and it’s our main money-earner. Stud cattle are okay, but they’re secondary to our sheep. Your uncle was toying with the idea of planting cotton but I was against it.’
Ian frowned. ‘I wouldn’t touch cotton. It requires high levels of chemicals and extensive irrigation, an environmental no-no, not to mention the ill will you create amongst your neighbours. Cattle properties need to be quarantined because of chemical-spray drift, and the run-off can pollute rivers and kill fish. It just seems daft to grow cotton on the world’s driest continent.’
Blake looked at Kanimbla’s new owner with growing respect. ‘Your uncle thought that he could use cotton earnings to keep the merino stud going until the wool business picked up. But it will be a relief to your neighbours to know that they don’t have to contend with cotton growing on the Big Plain. Right now there’s a few worried blokes I can tell you.’
‘If we were to farm anything, it would be soy beans or chick peas or some other food crop. Australia is still importing half of its food requirements and legumes are kinder to the soil than most crops.’
‘Too hot and dry for those,’ Leo said.
‘We’d grow them under irrigation. Anyway, that’s all in the future. So what are the latest livestock numbers?’ Ian asked.
Leo took a small red notebook from his shirt pocket and glanced down at a page. ‘According to my figures, Kanimbla is running 38 200 sheep, which includes 2100 stud ewes. And we’re running just over 1000 Shorthorn cows, which is roughly equivalent to another 5000 sheep.’
‘The accountant’s figures were less than this,’ Ian said.
‘You always supply figures that are under the number of stock you actually run because if you lose stock you still have to pay on the figures you’ve supplied, whether it’s to the accountants for tax purposes or for the rural boards,’ Leo explained.
‘But the property is only returning two per cent on its estimated value.’ Ian’s statement was more a question.
‘A lot of places aren’t returning even that,’ Leo said.
‘That’s true, but many of these are far too small for Australian conditions. It seems to me that many owners here regard farming more as a way of life than as a business with the potential to show profitable returns. They simply like the life and don’t see themselves doing anything else. But back when wool and beef prices dropped, some of the big pastoral companies – and I mean companies running huge numbers of sheep and cattle – sold all their properties. Some of these companies had a long association with the land, but they simply walked away from it because they couldn’t entertain a return of two per cent on capital. And shareholders placed their money elsewhere,’ Ian said.
‘You’ve been doing your homework,’ Blake said.
‘I think it’s important to understand the wider context,’ Ian answered. ‘Let me put my cards on the table, Mr Blake. The truth of the matter is that although you believe I’m very fortunate to have been left this property by my uncle, I don’t have any great desire to be here. I think that to be good at something you need to have a passion for it and I haven’t yet developed a passion for the land. I had a pathway drafted out for me that was not of my choosing and it included a spell of jackarooing. I did it because it was what my father wanted. I promised my grandfather that I’d abide by my father’s wishes.
‘You’re probably thinking that I’m an ungrateful sod because there would be any number of young men who would give anything to be in my position. But they would be the kind of men with land and stock on the brain. I wasn’t ignorant about stock before I went to Warren, and I learnt a lot more while I was there. Obviously, Australia’s seasons and its way of running stock differ greatly from Britain’s, and I still have a huge amount to learn. But I’ve come to terms with the basics.’
Leo shifted in his chair. ‘Well, this is a nice how-do-you-do. Here was me thinking that you’d be Kanimbla’s saviour, and now you tell me you aren’t even sure if you want the place! So if you don’t see yourself as a grazier and merino stud master, what do you see yourself doing?’ Leo asked.
‘Going to Cambridge,’ Ian answered.
‘University?’
‘That’s right. My father and mother were both zoologists, though they had medical degrees as well,’ Ian said.
Leo whistled. ‘What were they doing when they were killed?’
‘They were studying African hunting dogs – part of an overall study of the Canidae family. That’s the world’s indigenous dogs. They were planning to come here to study the dingo,’ Ian said.
‘And do you want to become a doctor too?’ Leo asked.
‘Doing a science degree as well as medicine gives me more options,’ Ian replied evenly.
‘You’d need to be a brain to do that, wouldn’t you?’ Leo said.
Ian hesitated before answering modestly. ‘I did pretty well at Harrow, Mr Blake.’
‘Well. If you don’t stay here, I know your uncle would have been very disappointed. Jack was a tearaway in many respects but he was strong on family ownership of properties. He used to talk to me about places in England that had been owned by the same families for hundreds of years. He and Linda were pretty devastated about not having a son to take over here, though they tried not to show it,’ said Leo.
‘The point I’m trying to make is that I’m not sure that I can do what I really want to do and play around with sheep and cattle,’ Ian said.
‘You wouldn’t need to do much playing around, as you put it. Your uncle certainly didn’t. He was always somewhere else (mind you, it cost a packet!). We bring in teams to do the lamb and calf marking and the mulesing, so you don’t have to be involved in that area of management. You’d want to get yourself involved with the ra
m selling, though,’ Leo said.
‘But isn’t ram selling a kind of treadmill?’
Leo didn’t try to hide his annoyance. ‘I wouldn’t exactly describe showing and selling rams as a treadmill! There are a lot less interesting occupations than trying to improve the merino’s genetics. Computers have added a whole new dimension to sheep breeding – cattle breeding too, for that matter.’
Ian felt suddenly tired. ‘I’m sure they have and no doubt you’re right about it being an interesting occupation. Look, I’m not going to make any sudden decisions. I’m committed to being here until I’m twenty-one and then I’ll review the situation. What I’d like now is to have a shower. Where could I do that please?’
‘Mrs Heatley will show you. She’s back in residence now and is expecting you. She’ll give you your meals and look after you. I’ll give you a tour of the place over the next few days so you get an idea of the layout. There’s horses in the stables and if you’re a rider you could use them to have a look around the closer paddocks. Always let someone know if you’re going bush on your own, though. There’s a utility in the big garage behind the homestead, and a Mercedes. They’re yours now.’
Ian nodded.
‘I don’t want to come across as a bloke who keeps handing out advice,’ Leo continued, ‘but I suggest that sometime over the next few weeks we organise a function so that you can meet the neighbours. Some of them use our rams. Your uncle and aunt were very keen on the social side of things. Kanimbla is the kingpin property in this area and always has been. People look to it for some kind of leadership,’ Leo said.
‘Was my uncle respected?’ Ian asked.
‘That’s not an easy question to answer. The toffy graziers respected him because of his aristocratic background. But to be honest, if I hadn’t been here … ’
‘Maybe they’d have bought their rams elsewhere?’ Ian suggested.
‘That’s about it, and I’m not saying that to big-note my role here. Truth be told, your uncle and aunt were often away for months at a time and they left the running of Kanimbla to me.’
‘You can rest assured I won’t be gadding about, Mr Blake.’
Leo continued, ‘What I will say for Jack is that he was usually willing to take advice where Kanimbla’s management was concerned. He saw the need to computerise our sheep-breeding programs and that’s made a huge difference.’
Leo got up from his chair and slipped the crutch under his armpit.
‘I’ll take you down to the homestead now and you can meet Mrs Heatley. I should warn you that she might seem a bit grim to begin with. She didn’t have much time for your uncle and might decide to tar you with the same brush.’
‘She does sound a bit daunting. If she didn’t like my uncle and aunt how did you persuade her to come back here?’ Ian asked.
‘Mrs Heatley’s had a hard life. Her husband managed a property not far from here, but he was killed in a car crash. He was a boozer – ran right off the highway. Then she lost her son Miles in a motorbike accident, when he was about your age. That’s how she came to be the housekeeper here. She has a house in Murrawee, but she likes Kanimbla,’ Leo explained. ‘She gets on very well with my wife. They go for walks together and can talk the legs off chairs.’
‘How very sad she lost her husband and son. But I’m pleased she’s back at Kanimbla – good show!’
‘You sound just like your uncle. Jack used that expression even after all his time here. Still very English, he was.’
‘I suppose I should say “Bewdy!” or “She’ll be right, mate.” What do you think? I mean, what would I be expected to say from my lofty position as owner of Kanimbla?’ Ian asked.
‘It depends on how ocker you want to be. It could be “You beaut!” or maybe just “Good-oh”.’
‘Good-oh,’ Ian smiled.
Leo Blake was relieved by Ian’s smile. At the outset he’d thought the young fellow might be a little too serious for his age.
‘My ute’s in the garage. If you get it and throw your gear in, we’ll go down to the homestead. I suppose you can drive?’
‘Of course. I drove everything I could at Warren, even a bulldozer.’
Leo raised his eyebrows.
‘We were putting in extra dams and I had a go at it. But I much prefer horses to vehicles,’ Ian said.
‘So did I in my younger days. They’re miles the best way to break in sheepdogs, too. From a horse, I mean. In those days labour costs weren’t what they are today. Vehicles and four-wheelers are quicker but putting a dog on a motorbike doesn’t teach him anywhere near as well. Are you interested in dogs?’ Leo asked.
‘Oh yes. Grandfather’s manager had a couple of good border collies and he showed me how to train them. And there were plenty at Wongarben.’
‘That’s good. You can take over Gus, Jack’s old kelpie.’
Kanimbla had been built when labour costs were low, so the original builders could afford to erect a very considerable homestead, by Australian standards. It had been added to over the years, but this had been done so well that it was difficult to pick the new part from the old. It was single-storeyed, of timber construction with a galvanised iron roof, and surrounded on three sides by the gauzed verandahs that were a feature of most houses in the district, and necessary unless you wanted to be perpetually brushing away flies. Kanimbla was nothing like Ian’s grandfather’s house in Cambridgeshire, which was of brick and stone with a slate roof, and two-storeyed with all the bedrooms upstairs.
As he drove along the red gravel drive to the front of the house, Ian noted the vast lawn, gardens and shrubs, gazebo and swimming pool. Majestic red gums lined the bank of the river beyond.
‘This is nice,’ Ian said.
‘Yes,’ Leo agreed, ‘it’s not a bad place to be at the end of the day.’
They pushed open a gauzed door and stood on the verandah. Leo pressed the buzzer and somewhere inside the house a bell rang. This brought almost immediate results.
‘Mrs Heatley, I’d like you to meet Jack’s nephew, Mr Ian Richardson,’ Leo said as the housekeeper opened the front door. Ian took a deep breath, unsure what to expect. Glenda Heatley was a tall, rather elegant woman in her early fifties. Her fair hair was turning grey and she had grey eyes to match. Her longish face and fine chin suggested a serious demeanour.
‘Mr Richardson. Welcome to Kanimbla,’ she said in a rather businesslike way. ‘It’s nice for one of the family to be in residence for a while.’
It seemed that she imagined Ian to be staying only temporarily, but Leo soon put her to rights about that.
‘Ian is Kanimbla’s new owner,’ he continued. If Mrs Heatley was staggered by this announcement, she didn’t show it.
Glenda Heatley had been a teacher of what used to be called home economics, which included cooking and sewing, and she was a virtuoso of both. When her husband died, she accepted the position of housekeeper at Kanimbla rather than moving back to Brisbane. The homestead had been a very lively place when Jack and Linda were around, and despite her difficulties with Jack, Kanimbla came to be her life. Following their tragic accident, Leo had told her that he couldn’t keep her on full-time until the will was sorted out. So she’d driven out to Kanimbla one day a week to dust and clean the many rooms on rotation, and in her free time, to supplement her income, she’d sewed everything from exquisite baby clothes to ravishing ball dresses and wedding gowns.
‘I see,’ she said stify. ‘I’ve got you in the main guest bedroom tonight but I’ll shift you into the master bedroom tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Anywhere will do for now,’ Ian assured her. Mrs Heatley wasn’t as icy as he expected, but she hadn’t given him the warmest of welcomes either. Perhaps she had some kind of residual gripe about how his uncle and aunt had treated her. He decided he’d try and find out, as he didn’t want to live in the same house with a sour housekeeper.
‘I’ll have dinner with Ian tonight, Mrs Heatley. Let’s make it for seven. Ian could do with a decent n
ight’s sleep after that coach trip, so lay on breakfast for seven if you could. We’ll spend tomorrow morning close by, have an early lunch and then head out to see Leigh,’ Leo said.
‘Very well, Mr Blake,’ the housekeeper said.
When Ian returned from delivering Leo back to the bungalow, he found Mrs Heatley waiting for him at the front door. She led him through what he learned was the reception room for guests into a ballroom with full-length windows that overlooked the front lawn. Further back, various hallways led to bedrooms, bathrooms and the huge kitchen.
‘This has an en suite,’ Mrs Heatley said, showing him into a tastefully furnished bedroom. ‘Pop your luggage in here, have your bath and then I’ll show you the rest of the house. All the bedrooms have doors that open onto the verandahs so you can leave them open when the nights are warm. There’s a buzzer by your bed. I’ll come and get you when I hear it.’
The en-suite bathroom, like everything else about the homestead, was quite large and there was a spa bath with shiny taps that looked like quite a recent addition.
Ian ran a bath and tried to relax, but there was so much to think about. Apart from his concern about whether he would ever be up to the job of managing the property, even if he wanted to, he was also anxious not to present himself to his employees as a complete novice. He’d learnt the hard way that many Australian men were very critical of ‘Pommies’ – despite the fact that Australia’s first white settlers had come from England – and that their criticism could be quite scathing. He knew that whatever he did, he’d have to do it pretty damned well to avoid being called some fairly descriptive Australian names!
After a long soak, Ian buzzed for Mrs Heatley and she appeared so quickly he thought she must have been waiting for him. He took only a perfunctory interest in the many rooms he was shown through. He had been brought up in a grand mansion in England so he was quite used to a large residence. He sparked up when he found that his late uncle’s study contained a decent collection of books and one of the latest computers.
