Silver in the Sun Read online

  Following tea and damper cooked on the fire (the only electricity at the bungalow, which was a long way from the power grid, was produced by a generator), the conversation ranged across a great variety of topics. Ian found himself explaining that the school library had been his retreat at Harrow. ‘I mean, I really did fall in love with books. Through all the wars and the obscene waste of life, there were writers and poets whose works will probably be read while ever there is life on this planet. Look at the regard Australians have for Lawson and Paterson. I was fortunate that there were a couple of masters at Harrow who understood that I was, like you, an individual. They couldn’t do a lot about it but at least they understood. And Harrow did give me a great foundation of learning, which is what my father and mother wanted for me,’ Ian said.

  ‘You’re absolutely right about the language, Ian,’ Leigh said with a gleam dancing in his brown eyes. ‘Cromwell took an army to Ireland and slaughtered close to sixty thousand of its people. He left a legacy of hatred for the English that has lasted over four hundred years. In much the same period, certainly during part of the seventeenth century, William Shakespeare produced the greatest plays in the English language. As Ben Jonson wrote, Shakespeare was “not of an age, but for all time”. Two Englishmen and yet so different. One slaughtered people by the thousand and the other produced immortal verse. And who is remembered most today? Who is held in the highest regard? Certainly not Cromwell!’

  Leo glanced down at his watch and frowned. ‘We should be going soon, Ian.’

  Leigh, who sensed that Ian wasn’t at all anxious to leave, suggested they might like to stay for tea.

  ‘Mrs Heatley is expecting us for dinner tonight, Leigh. We’ll come again soon,’ Leo said.

  ‘Ian can come out any time he likes and I’ll enlarge his knowledge of dingoes,’ Leigh said.

  Ian and Leo walked along the steps beside the river to the ute, with Leigh and Shelley following close behind.

  ‘That’s a great dog you’ve got there, Leigh,’ Ian said.

  ‘When you get a German shepherd, you get a quantum leap in canine intelligence. They think and they remember. Did you know that there used to be a ban on their importation to Australia?’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Ian.

  ‘No fear. It was put on in 1929. They were called Alsatians in those days, and they had to be sterilised in Western Australia. Plain stupid. Probably the brainiest dog in the world and it was banned,’ Leigh said with disgust.

  ‘Why?’ asked Ian, interested.

  ‘People claimed that they had wolf blood in them, and that if any went feral and crossed with the dingo, it would be calamitous for the sheep industry. A bloke called Kaleski wrote a chapter about them in a book, predicting all kinds of dire consequences if we allowed Alsatians to proliferate in Australia. Bloody funny when you consider that all dog breeds go back to the wolf, and that some cockies cross cattle dogs with dingoes anyway,’ Leigh said.

  ‘Who was responsible for the ban?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Some of the reigning powers of the pastoral industry got to the politicians and persuaded them to take action. In those days the wool industry ruled the roost. In some places, kids couldn’t even keep white rabbits as pets.’

  Ian was astonished. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. They were seen as a threat during a big campaign to reduce wild rabbit populations. Bloody stupid when you consider that anything white wouldn’t last five minutes in the bush.’

  ‘So what happened about the German shepherd?’ Ian asked. He was beginning to understand that if you got Leigh talking, he was likely to range over a dozen subjects, all of which he seemed to be able to discuss in great depth.

  ‘Well, they were banned for a fair while – up until the war – yet all this time they were doing great police work, like finding lost kids. No great disaster could be sheeted home to Alsatians, either, except that every time a dogger killed an odd-coloured wild dog, the Alsatian got the blame. The ban did, however, affect their breeding, because fewer numbers had led to poor temperament and some were becoming fear biters.’

  ‘So what happened when the ban was lifted?’ Ian wanted to know.

  ‘A lot of German shepherds were imported by show breeders, who were looking for angulation. And what they got was a lot of dogs with crook hips. But that’s show breeders for you. They’ve stuffed up just about every useful dog breed to put it into the show ring. The founding breeds of German shepherd were a bit like oversized kelpies – straighter in the back than the breeders wanted, and not fancy enough for the show cranks.

  ‘Now we’ve got these dangerous, pea-brained fighting breeds that are taken out into the bush to hunt pigs and roos. Some of them get lost, and don’t tell me they won’t be a menace if they cross with dingoes. Shows you things can change. They banned the cleverest breed in the world, and then allowed these fighting mongrels into the country,’ Leigh said with obvious disgust.

  Ian looked at Leigh Metcalfe and thought he was an amazing bloke. Would he learn something new every time he came to Top River?

  ‘I’d love to hear more, Leigh, but I think we’d better be going,’ Ian said reluctantly.

  ‘Be seeing you, then,’ Leigh said and raised his hand in a theatrical gesture of farewell.

  ‘Wow. Was all of that true Mr Blake?’ Ian asked when he and Leo had come down off the ridge onto the plains country.

  ‘I reckon so. He’s a walking encyclopaedia on some subjects. If anything takes his interest, he studies it in detail. Don’t get him started on parrots or you’ll need to stay a night,’ Leo smiled.

  As soon as he’d dropped Leo at his bungalow, Ian made for the stables. The shadows were lengthening now and it was much cooler. He found Ben grooming a horse. Major, a bay with a small white spot in the middle of his forehead and two white socks on his hind legs, was already saddled and waiting for him.

  ‘I reckoned you’d be here soon as you got back from Top River. I could tell you were bustin’ to get on a horse again.’ Ben grinned, holding out the reins.

  ‘Was it that obvious? Ian grinned back. He took the reins and, with little apparent effort, vaulted into the saddle. He walked Major around an adjoining yard until he had the feel of him and then put him to a trot. The old horse trainer watched the young man critically, but it was clear that Ian was no mug on a horse.

  ‘I brought Gus down – thought you could take him for a run, too,’ Ben said.

  ‘Will he follow me?’ Ian asked.

  ‘I reckon so,’ Ben said.

  He walked up to the end of the stables where a handsome black-and-tan kelpie was watching horse and rider with great interest.

  ‘You can take the road to Top River and about two miles along you’ll find a track down to the river. There’s a rough picnic spot there. Two miles up and back would be enough if you haven’t been on a horse for a while. It pays to ease back into riding,’ Ben advised.

  Ian smiled to himself. Not so very long ago he’d ridden a long way further than four miles.

  ‘I did a fair bit of riding while I was at Warren, Ben,’ he said.

  On a good horse – and as soon as he felt Major move under him he knew that he was top quality – four miles was only a hop, step and jump. As soon as he was clear of Kanimbla’s buildings Ian put Major to a slow, swinging canter. He looked down and saw Gus keeping pace just behind.

  It seemed no time at all before the track Ben had mentioned appeared on his right. A circular table made from rough-sawn timber stood alongside two log benches, and there were two more benches closer to the river. Ian dismounted, hooked Major’s reins on a scrubby tree and walked down to the riverbank. Gus was a couple of feet out into the stream, lapping delicately at the water.

  Ian sat down on one of the benches and took in the scene. It was, he thought, real outback country, though its harshness was softened by the tranquillity of the brown water. There was gentle birdsong up and down the river and, occasionally, the harsher calls of white cockatoos. Ia
n looked down as Gus emerged from the river and sat beside him.

  ‘We’re both a long way from home, aren’t we, Gus?’ The dog cocked his head at mention of his name. ‘We’ll be spending a fair bit of time together, so I hope we’ll be good mates.’ Gus moved close enough for Ian to stroke his head, and they sat silently for several minutes.

  ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back,’ Ian sighed eventually. ‘This isn’t a bad place for a picnic.’

  On the way back along the track, Ian spotted a fallen tree out to one side. ‘Let’s see what you’re like as a jumper, Major.’ He put the big horse at the log and Major flew over it like a bird.

  Ben watched as his new boss cantered Major back down the road towards him. He had a wonderful seat and a great pair of hands.

  ‘Go okay?’ Ben asked as Major came abreast of him.

  ‘Major’s a good horse, Ben. He can jump, too,’ Ian said.

  ‘Had a go, did you?’

  ‘I couldn’t help myself, I’m afraid.’ Ian dismounted and handed over the reins. ‘Are all the horses up to Major in class?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re all pretty good. Your uncle wouldn’t have anything that wasn’t. Gus follow you all right?’

  ‘No problem. We’re going to get on just fine,’ Ian said, stroking the dog.

  Ben watched as Ian walked beside the horse yards and down to the homestead. He reckoned he knew horses and it was clear that whoever had taught Ian Richardson to ride had known his business, too.

  After a quiet dinner in the kitchen, Ian asked Mrs Heatley to sit down with him for a few minutes.

  ‘Mrs Heatley, I wanted to ask you about the reception for the neighbours which Mr Blake is expecting me to give. He suggested waiting a couple of extra weeks and putting it on during the school holidays so that some of the children could come too. Mrs Blake is going to draw up a list of people I should invite. He thought an evening barbecue would be best. Do you look after the food for a function like this? And what help do you need and all that sort of thing? Could you have a think about it and let me know?’

  ‘Very well, Mr Ian.’ Glenda was impressed by Ian’s respectful approach. It was so different from the way his uncle had handed out instructions.

  ‘Mr Blake told me that his daughter might be persuaded to come back for it,’ Ian added as an afterthought.

  ‘Might she indeed? Very unlikely I should think. He probably meant Joanna and her husband, but I doubt that she’d come either with a new baby. Rhona would be too outspoken for your party, and anyway, it wouldn’t be the kind of function she’d drive all this way to attend – not unless there was a man she had her eye on. I think you can forget about expecting Rhona to come.’

  ‘She sounds like a handful,’ Ian laughed.

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ said Mrs Heatley dryly. ‘Rhona left here in high dudgeon last time she came, after a big row with your uncle. He suggested that she was more welcome elsewhere. In this case, I didn’t blame him.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly, but Rhona can be outspoken to the point of rudeness. She wasn’t allowed to get away with much while she was growing up because her father wouldn’t stand for any nonsense. He never had to touch Joanna, but Rhona got some whacks. The bush didn’t suit her – but she’s in her element at the university, I believe. She can have her affairs there and her parents don’t have to know. It isn’t my place to say this, so please excuse me, but if Rhona Blake comes here, you be careful, Mr Ian. Don’t be taken in by her.’

  ‘Now look here, Mrs Heatley, I don’t want you apologising for giving me advice. I don’t have a mother or a sister and I haven’t had much experience in some areas of life. I’m very grateful for any advice you can give me so please keep on giving it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll head for bed – it’s been a long day.’

  Mrs Heatley smiled. God love him, she thought. Imagine Jack Richardson having a nephew as nice as that young fellow. I’ll wring Rhona’s neck if she goes anywhere near him.

  Chapter Seven

  There were four cottages in a row beyond Leo’s residence. They were separated by a road that led across the plain to Leigh’s bungalow. The first cottage was the largest of the four and by tradition was reserved for Kanimbla’s overseer. When Ian arrived on Saturday morning, Jim Landers was working in his vegetable garden, which consisted of neat beds planted with a variety of vegetables, all watered by a sprinkler system designed to reduce water usage and time spent watering. The garden was behind the cottage and was, as Ian was to discover, an example of the stud overseer’s know-how and thoroughness.

  Jim, sweat running down his face, pushed his old Akubra up on his forehead and greeted Ian with a grin. ‘One of my weekend chores,’ he explained.

  ‘It’s a credit to you, Jim. I’ve never seen healthier-looking vegetables. Of course, I can’t say that I’m an expert in vegetable gardens, but this one looks a treat,’ Ian said.

  ‘Sheep manure – you can’t beat it! Grow anything. Plenty of it under the sheds. Come and meet Karen and Billy,’ Jim said. Ian was pleased to be out in the fresh air again. He’d spent the morning at his computer, writing a paper for his science course.

  They walked around to the front of the cottage and up the steps, where they were met by an obviously nervous Karen. She was blonde, slim and very pretty, and seemed overawed to be entertaining the new owner of Kanimbla. Just behind her was a small boy with a head of golden curls and warm brown eyes.

  ‘Ian, this is my wife, Karen,’ Jim said. ‘And this is Billy. Don’t let his looks fool you. He might look angelic but he’s full of mischief.’

  ‘Karen, how very nice to meet you. And you too, Billy – a pleasure!’ Ian said, shaking Billy’s small, chubby hand. Then he went on, ‘Mrs Heatley sent some biscuits and muffins for smoko. I’m sure you don’t need them but you’d know what Mrs Heatley is like,’ Ian said.

  ‘That was nice of her,’ Karen said as she took the two tins from Ian. ‘We’ll have smoko on the verandah, if that’s all right. The flies won’t bother us there.’

  When Ian saw the spread Karen had laid out on the gauzed verandah, it was obvious that they would have no need of Mrs Heatley’s contributions. There was a sponge cake, scones, Anzac biscuits and shortbread.

  ‘Wow! You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, Karen,’ Ian protested.

  ‘It wasn’t any trouble. Jim likes his food and I only made a couple of extra things,’ Karen insisted.

  ‘So how long have you been in this area, Karen? Did you grow up here?’

  ‘No, I’m a city girl, originally. I grew up on Sydney’s North Shore. I met Jim through one of his cousins in Dubbo – I was staying at her place to go to a picnic race meeting. We went to school together,’ Karen explained.

  ‘And how do you like living at Kanimbla?’

  Karen didn’t respond, but looked shyly across at her husband.

  ‘Karen finds it a bit quiet, Ian,’ Jim answered for her. ‘She also understands that it takes a few years for a fellow to obtain a top job. I mean, like a manager’s job. I’ve got an uncle with a property near Gilgandra in New South Wales. He never married and his health is not too good so I suppose there’s a chance that he might leave it to me.’

  Karen’s eyes lit up. ‘We’d be near Dubbo, which is a good-sized city with lots to do.’

  ‘Well let’s hope that it doesn’t happen before I’ve got to know you,’ Ian joked. ‘So what do you do with yourselves at weekends?’

  ‘We occasionally have a weekend in Toowoomba but mostly it’s Roma for our shopping. We’ve made some good friends in the district and we exchange visits. We go fishing and have picnics and there’s always the TV. That’s made a huge difference,’ Jim said.

  ‘It’s still a bit dull,’ Karen said and grimaced.

  ‘Yes, but we know it’s not for ever,’ Jim said. ‘Something will come up eventually. It’s just that managers’ positions on places like Uardry and Egalabra and B
oonoke don’t become vacant very often. The managers of those studs – Rowand Jameson who was at Uardry, Alec Ramsay who was at Haddon Rig and Peter Harvey at Terrick – they’re legends now.’

  ‘Is that what you want to do, manage a big stud?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Next to owning my own place, that’s the best option,’ Jim said. ‘Those large parent merino studs helped shape Australia. The big properties depended on those studs to supply consistent lines of quality rams that suited their country.’

  ‘What do you mean “suited their country”?’ Ian asked.

  ‘It’s fairly simple. The secret to producing good wool is finding the strain of sheep that suits your country. Some sheep do well in certain areas but not so well in others. The old saying “horses for courses” very much sums up sheep breeding,’ Jim explained.

  Ian turned back to Karen. ‘So what happens in Murrawee, Karen?’

  ‘Not very much,’ she answered. ‘There’s a good hall there but it’s hardly used now. There’s an oval or park where they hold horse days occasionally – the gymkhana is probably the biggest event of the year. There’s a primary school. There’s no doctor. The closest doctor and hospital are at Roma. I’m always worried about whether we could get Billy to Roma in time if he was hurt badly,’ Karen said.

  ‘So what do young people get up to? I mean, what is there to do?’

  Karen laughed, ‘You mean apart from drinking? I don’t know. Having Billy means we don’t go out much. You could talk to Fiona McDonald, though. She’s just left school.’

  Ian looked out to the front lawn, where a blue swing hung from a rusting iron frame. It was beneath a tree with rough bark – he thought it might be an ironbark. He noted the shape of its leaves, determined to learn to identify these trees.