by Di Morrissey
Murray smiled. ‘Listen to you. I never thought you’d take such an interest. Gordon is proving to be good with the wool classing. Jack Turner, who comes with the contractor and gun shearers most years, is pretty pleased with him. Takes a lot to impress a wool expert like him.’
‘Just the same, Gordon does have a few ideas of his own. I hope you and Lawrence hear him out. Your father is very set in his ways.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t think it helps that Gordon keeps talking about running some cattle on Kingsley Downs,’ said Murray. ‘I’m not opposed to it – could be the right way to diversify – but well, you know Dad.’
*
Cindy was in her vegetable garden deciding what she’d plant for the coming season. She noticed the wire on the chook run had parted company with the frame and made a mental note to get Gordon or Murray to fix it.
Then she heard Murray calling her, and felt surprised that he had come back to the house so early, as lunch was still a long way off.
‘What’s up?’ she said as she hurried to meet him.
‘I’ve got news.’ Murray was flushed. ‘Come inside.
I need a strong coffee. It’s Dad. You’re not going to believe what he’s done. I’m in shock.’
‘Try me,’ said Cindy, following Murray into the kitchen and measuring out the coffee into the coffee pot.
‘He’s bought a wool property outside Bathurst!’ Murray paced about the kitchen, his hands flying as he spoke. ‘He looked at it when he flew those businessmen up there three months ago. Evidently one of them showed an interest in it, but the sale fell through and it came back onto the market. Now Dad’s gone and bought it. It’s craziness.’
Cindy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why? Who’s going to run it?’
‘It has a manager of some sort already, apparently. Anyway, Dad says he’s taking advantage of the wool price, and there’s no suitable land going around here, so he’s buying in Bathurst.’
‘Is that wise?’ asked Cindy worriedly.
Murray paused his pacing and put his hands on his head. ‘I don’t know. Dad isn’t stupid, and Bathurst has a wonderful reputation for fine Merino wool, but Dad’s always been hands-on. I’m not at all happy about leaving someone else to run a place we own,’ said Murray, his voice stretched with anxiety. ‘I bet it wasn’t cheap and the one thing I did find out from Dad was that he has borrowed the money for the purchase in Swiss francs.’
Cindy blinked. ‘You’re joking. Why would he do that?’
‘Because the interest rates for Swiss francs are way lower than the rate here. Evidently, Phil Watson told him that everyone was doing it. You can borrow more money because the repayments will be less than they would be in Australian dollars,’ explained Murray.
Cindy shook her head. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, but you said the bank manager was a long-time friend, so he’s unlikely to lead your father astray.’
Murray crossed his arms. ‘Cindy, I’m getting a bad feeling about all of this. I don’t know how much debt Dad has put us in and I don’t know what the place is really like. I’m pretty surprised that he didn’t even mention it to me before going ahead. Maybe he thought I’d argue with him over borrowing foreign currency. But you know what? I’m going to drive up to Bathurst and check it out.’ Hands on hips, Murray let out a long, aggrieved breath.
‘Take Gordon with you, and you can share the driving. It’ll save time,’ Cindy suggested. ‘I wouldn’t mind coming, either.’
‘Good idea. Maybe once we’ve seen the property, we can calm down.’
*
There was a tilted, faded sign reading Mirooball Station hanging on the fencepost beside a bleached sheep’s skull. The sign had been used for target practice and was studded with bullet holes. Murray turned into the station and drove along the rutted track that wound between neglected paddocks.
‘Fences are crook,’ commented Gordon.
They spotted two figures on horseback riding towards them, so Murray pulled over and got out.
An older man and a teenager reined in their horses.
‘G’day.’ The man leaned down and said sullenly, ‘What are you doing here? This is private property.’
‘My father has just bought this place, so we thought we’d come and have a look around. Are you Roger Fenton?’ asked Murray.
‘Nah. He’s up at the shed. I’m just visiting. You plan on staying here?’ the man asked.
‘Depends,’ said Murray.
The man gave a nod towards Cindy. ‘The missus might find the accommodation a bit basic. Nigel let the place go. Hasn’t been a woman on this place in years. Well, one that stayed.’ He touched the brim of his hat. ‘We’ll be off then.’ He nodded, kicked his horse and the two of them trotted away.
Murray drove on further, following the track uphill.
‘Expansive views, but pretty exposed land,’ said Cindy.
‘Yes, totally open to the weather I’d say, gale-force winds and snow in winter, and hot enough in summer,’ said Murray.
As they came over the crest of a ridge, the paddocks of the property stretched before them.
‘Ah, civilisation,’ commented Murray sardonically, surveying rusting car wrecks, old machinery and a wasteland of old sheep-dipping trenches where the grass had been poisoned from chemicals years before. There was a leaning corrugated-iron shed, its sun-cracked, slatted wooden door resting on a single hinge and blue-grey paint peeling off it in large scabs.
‘Basic is putting it mildly,’ said Cindy weakly. ‘I hope Lawrence got a bargain with this place, because it certainly needs work.’
They drove further in silence. At the wooden, hand-hewn woolshed, which had seen better days, they got out and followed the sound of hammering until they came across a bearded man in an oilskin coat, with a greying ponytail.
‘You must be Roger Fenton?’ said Murray and, at a nod from the other man, Murray introduced himself. ‘This is my wife, Cindy, and my son, Gordon.’
‘Yeah, g’day.’ Fenton put down the hammer and held out his hand. ‘Come to check the place out, eh? Be good to see someone take this on properly. Plenty to do.’
‘So, how many sheep is this place carrying?’ asked Murray.
‘Only a couple thousand, nowhere near what it could.’
‘Seems a waste,’ said Gordon.
‘Lost a few lambs this season,’ Fenton replied.
‘Fences need fixing up, I see,’ said Murray.
‘It can be done. But the last few years were a battle for Nigel – the previous owner. You want me to run you round in the ute and fill yer in? How long yer stayin’? The main house is in that gully, bit more sheltered, like.’
Murray glanced at his watch. He looked at Cindy. ‘Do you want to stay overnight?’
Cindy could tell Murray wanted to spend more time investigating the place. ‘If there’s somewhere to put our heads down and some food, I don’t mind staying.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not fancy,’ warned Fenton. ‘When I said that I’d stay till the new people moved in, Nigel left the place as soon as it was sold. Walked off with hardly a word. Hard for him after all these years to see this place go to someone else, not that he put a lot of work into it lately.’
‘Why was that?’ asked Murray.
Fenton pulled a tin out of his pocket and swiftly rolled a cigarette, talking as he did so. ‘He had two sons. One didn’t want to know about working. Used to hang around here with his mates, drinking and doing drugs. The other kid went to the city. Reckon between them, they cleaned the boss out of his money.’ He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘Nigel’s been here since he was a kid, but when his sons went feral, he sort of lost interest in the place. Started drinking himself, and that’s when his missus left.’
‘That’s a sad story,’ said Cindy.
‘Don’t get me wrong. Nigel Kelly
worked damned hard, once. But at the end he just figured he wasn’t relevant anymore, I guess.’
‘I see,’ said Murray. ‘I suppose that explains quite a bit. Maybe we’ll head over to the main house before we look at the rest of the place, and a cup of tea wouldn’t go astray.’
‘Righto. Follow me.’
*
The house was a sad sight. It was made of local stone and mud bricks, but the wooden door and window frames had splintered and the corrugated-iron roof over the verandah was rusting and rattling. Faded chintz-covered chairs sagged along the verandah, no doubt sheltering mice or rats. A discarded fleece, studded with burrs, had been tossed in a corner.
The building crouched defensively against the landscape. Perhaps it had once been warm and welcoming inside, but in its current state Cindy found that hard to imagine. As if to accentuate its decrepitude, an unseen dog gave a desultory bark.
They waited for Fenton, who clumped up the steps and went indoors, shrugging off his coat.
‘Kitchen’s in there,’ he said to Cindy, pointing. ‘You’ll find all yer need. No fresh milk, but there’s tinned or long life. Now, there’s a bit of an office down here. There’s breeding records and such kept there.’
‘Do you want a hand, Mum?’ whispered Gordon.
She gave him a thumbs up. ‘I can manage tea and there’ll be a tin of biscuits for sure. But tell Dad that I’ve just looked in one of the bedrooms and there’s no way I’m spending the night here. It’s filthy beyond belief, and the sheets, if there are any, might walk off with me!’
Gordon nodded in agreement, giving her a wink and a smile.
*
As the sun began to go down, Murray announced they would head on into town for the night. He’d spent two hours going through the breeding records and had made notes. Now he tucked his notebook into his top pocket and headed for the car. A lone cricket gave a half-hearted chirp in the gathering gloom.
Fenton appeared and they thanked him.
‘Can’t say I blame you chaps for staying in town. I’m here for as long as yers want. The clearing sale is next Saturday. I believe your father organised it. Anything you saw you want kept?’
They shook their heads. The machinery was old and obsolete and there was nothing in the house of any value.
‘I guess the stock are the main asset,’ said Murray. ‘Any wild dogs around?’
‘Some. And blasted feral cats. Big as dogs, some of them. You see them yellow eyes at night, gives me the creeps.’
‘Shoot them. Or set baits. Keep them away from the sheep. And fix the bloody fences.’
Cindy asked about a toilet.
‘Ah, the indoor plumbing isn’t crash hot. Use the dunny out the back,’ advised Fenton.
Cindy headed around the back to find that the outdoor toilet had a magnificent view across the open expanse of paddocks, because its door was lying on the yellowed grass. She tiptoed past, thinking it could well be sheltering a large snake. She paused as she spied a peppercorn tree with an old refrigerator on its side beneath it. Cartons and boxes of rubbish that had never been taken away lay scattered about. She shook her head sadly.
‘Dad, the place is a mess. What’d Grandfather pay for it?’ asked Gordon, as they drove away from Mirooball Station.
‘Damned if I know, but with a lot of hard work, the place could be made to pay. I think it certainly has the potential to give us a good return … eventually,’ said Murray wearily. ‘I’m ready for a beer and a meat pie.’
‘Me too,’ chorused Cindy and Gordon.
*
In the following weeks, Murray became resigned to the fact that a lot of work was needed to fix up Mirooball. He and Lawrence decided to let Fenton go and they dispatched Gordon to start getting the place sorted. Murray was loath to spend much money on the property initially, but he did want Gordon to make repairs to the fences and clean up the old house so that it was habitable.
Gordon checked in with his parents regularly, and admitted he was a bit lonely.
‘It snows here in winter, so I’m thinking of planting a wind-break around a couple of the home paddocks, but that will take years to grow. I might get a decent horse. Easier to get round this rugged country on a horse than a bike.’
‘Why don’t you take a break and come home to see us?’ asked Cindy. ‘Russell and Sally and Ashley are coming for the long weekend.’
‘I’m tempted, but frankly I don’t like leaving the place. Mirooball has a bit of a reputation for parties, music raves and camping here with drugs and so on, thanks to the previous owner. I don’t think he cared much what went on, but I do.’
‘Well, we miss you. Come when you can.’
Cindy was used to being without her children now, and over time had become involved in many causes. Just recently she had heard about some people in Victoria who called themselves Landcare and who were working to stop land degradation in their area. After her conversation about the environment with Kelly in Palm Springs, Cindy made herself known to these Victorians and was impressed by their work in restoring waterways, stopping soil erosion and halting soil salinity. She had decided to set up a similar group in her own catchment area. Her ambition entailed a lot of meetings, persuasion and time.
She was sitting at her little desk just off the kitchen one morning, looking at her diary to plan the coming week’s meetings, when the phone rang and her daughter’s voice greeted her.
‘Sal! How lovely to hear from you. How are you both?’
‘The usual – busy! Ashley sends his love.’
They chatted for a few minutes, then Sally said, ‘Mum, actually, the reason I’m ringing is that I have some news for you. I wanted to save the big announcement till I saw you and Dad in person, but I just can’t wait … I’m pregnant!’
Cindy shrieked and jumped up and down, happy tears springing into her eyes. ‘Oh, Sal, how wonderful! How long have you known?’
Sally laughed. ‘I’ve been dying to tell you for ages, but I thought I’d just be sure everything is okay, and it is. Ashley is going to tell his parents … but I wanted you to know first. You’re going to be a grandmother!’
‘Sally, darling … I don’t know what to think. I’m so thrilled. When’s the baby due? Oh Sally, oh my, a baby, a grandchild.’ Cindy brushed the tears of joy from her face. ‘Oh, I wish Babs was here. I’ll tell Jo as soon as I’ve hung up and I’ll have to ring Aunt Alice.’
‘Tell Alice what? What are you hatching now?’ asked Murray, coming into the kitchen.
‘Here, here! Murray, take the phone. Talk to Sally. Sal, I’m putting your father on, tell him, darling …’
Murray looked puzzled as he took the phone from Cindy, who put her arm around him as he started to speak to his daughter.
Then Murray’s expression changed. He gave out a huge whoop and then rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘My darling girl … that’s such wonderful news! When is it due? Are you all right? I can’t wait to see you.’
As Sally chatted to her father, Cindy poured two mugs of tea. As soon as Murray had finished speaking and hung up the phone, the two of them raised their mugs and gently clinked them.
‘Grandparents, huh?’ Murray leaned over and kissed his wife. ‘You’re the most beautiful grandmother I’ve ever seen.’
‘I just can’t wait to hold that baby. I am so excited. But it’s so weird. I still feel twenty years old, although a little wiser, and yet I’m about to become a grandmother. Where has the time gone, Murray?’ she said wistfully.
Murray shook his head. ‘No idea. But they’ve been special years. Good and bad.’ He looked at Cindy, still slim, a few strands of silver in her auburn curls, the lines in her face reflecting all the laughter and funny expressions he knew so well. ‘You’ve stuck it out with me, Cin. Through everything. I wouldn’t have made it without you,’ he added in a husky voice. ‘Th
ings were so tough sometimes, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d gone back home.’
‘Murray, this is my home. Our home, our children’s home.’ She touched his face. ‘I wouldn’t change anything.’
Murray sipped his tea. ‘You know what this means. Dad’s going to be a great-grandfather. I wonder how he’ll feel about that!’
‘We should tell him. Let’s go over tonight and take a bottle of the good port he likes, and you can tell him the news then,’ suggested Cindy, suddenly flushed with goodwill.
*
In the car that evening, Murray reached for Cindy’s hand.
‘You know Dad isn’t the effusive type, so don’t expect a lot of hurrahs.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that. I know he’s never been one to heap praise on you, but he is proud of his grandchildren in his own way,’ admitted Cindy.
Lawrence greeted them politely, shaking Murray’s hand and nodding at Cindy with an almost gracious, ‘Good evening, Cynthia.’ He was dressed in immaculately creased slacks and a cashmere sweater over the R.M. Williams shirt.
He led the way into the small sitting room he favoured, where crystal glasses and a decanter were set out. Murray handed him the bottle of good port.
‘I brought over the special edition.’
Lawrence raised an eyebrow. ‘This is the Christmas bottle. Are we celebrating something?’
‘Well, actually, yes we are.’ Murray put his hand on his father’s shoulder and said with a smile, ‘Dad, you’re going to be a great-grandfather.’
‘Sally is pregnant,’ added Cindy.
Lawrence’s eyes closed for a second and his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. The fleeting expression on his face caught Cindy by surprise. It seems that Sally’s news has really pleased him, she thought. Then Lawrence clapped Murray on the back, and pumped his hand.
‘Well, that is wonderful news indeed, son. Quite a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t considered that I would ever reach this status. Of course, it means you’ll be a grandfather – how do you feel about that?’
