Nothing Lasts Forever Read online

  “We’ll pick up the Cobb & Co route soon. It’ll be a lot easier from then on,” William said with a smile. He hadn’t missed Mel’s unease at the gap. “We should be home the day after to-morrow. My property Jumbuck Downs is on the granite belt, as we call it, up in the hills. We are in a storm prone area, and we have very cold, frosty winters. I guess you’ll notice the cold nights. Sometimes we get snow…”

  “Snow?” Mel repeated. This was a new word for him.

  “Yeah! When the air freezes up high, and moisture in the clouds turns to ice, it falls as ice flakes…snow.”

  Mel pondered on this. Samoa was tropical, not far from the equator. Daily temperatures barely changed from one season to the next. It never snowed there. Oh well, he had no say in where he was located, and certainly no control over the weather, so he’d just have to adjust to snow. And his new owner seemed a decent type, and had indicated several times that Mel had been ‘saved’, whatever implications that might bring. Mel felt a growing confidence in the future. They camped beside a little creek, and Mel went downstream to wash the sweat and dust from his body. He gazed with awe at the multitude of water birds that rose noisily in protest at his intrusion. The next morning Mel woke to a screeching chatter from high in the trees.

  “Parrots,” William said with a smile. “Always arguing about who has the best colours.”

  Mel looked hard, and then noticed the small birds, in their hundreds, squabbling in the highest branches. The colours they were sporting was amazing, predominately green enriched with black and yellow.

  “We call them budgerigars; there are huge numbers of them in the area. We are probably disrupting their drinking rights at this pool.”

  Mel was accustomed to the larger parrots of home, but these small versions seemed to have much louder voices. And great demands for their rights.

  They camped the next night at the unoccupied Cobb & Co stop on the eastern side of Warwick, a town recently come into its own as a pastoralist centre. Next morning they followed the coach route to Maryland, the next drop off point for coach travelers, and the nearest one to Stanthorpe. They were given the luxury of the Cobb & Co shed that night, and the caretaker of this stopover talked well into the night, sharing many cups of tea which Mel felt obligated to make for them.

  After breakfast the horse had a spring in his step as they turned west through the outskirts of town. Mostly cleared for pasture, there was still dense pockets of scrub and ancient rock formations. The horse trotted along, needing no guidance from William, as it picked up tracks leading to home.

  For a short distance, their rough track ran beside the railway line, and William pulled the anxious horse to a stop, getting out to stand at his head.

  “Damn!” William said. “Of all times for the train to be late. It should be long gone.”

  Mel heard a distant roar, getting progressively louder by the minute. He sat in the wagon, mesmerized by the huge machine approaching, belching smoke and steam. So, this was the steam train as explained by William, who hadn’t done it justice in his description. In comparison to the little steam engines used on the cane farm, this was overpowering in speed, bulk and noise. Mel sympathized with the horse.

  Storm shook his head and reared, William all the while talking to him and keeping a firm hand on the bridle. The huge machine pulling numerous carriages reminded Mel of a caterpillar, and within a few minutes it was gone, leaving only the chuffing roar in its wake.

  Storm settled, and then they were off again.

  Mel pointed to the right, where in the distance he could see a cluster of buildings of stone and timber. “Is that the town?” he asked.

  “That’s Stanthorpe, growing by the day. It was originally named Quart Pot Creek, because some long ago wanderer lost his billy, or quart pot as they used to be called, in the stream which now runs through the centre of town, and that was how he referred to it. Then the name Stannum was in fashion for a while, when the tin mining was in progress. Stannum in Latin means tin, you see. And when it came time to gazette it as a town, the decision was made to call it Stanthorpe…meaning tin village.”

  “Where are the tin mines?” Mel asked.

  “They ceased production some time age. A lot of the miners stayed and bought land; they had learned to love the area. Those who had no desire for farming got jobs on the railway. It all helped to build up the area.”

  Chapter Four

  Jumbuck Downs was a huge area of land, one of the largest properties in the area. The land was flat with lush green pastures, in spite of what had been referred to as a drought. There were sections of deep scrub here and there, and hundreds of wooly sheep scattered in the near field. There were a number of horses, fine looking animals, in another paddock. Mel was suitably impressed with the homestead, standing in its own enclosure surrounded by fruit trees. The main building was long and low, built from local rock which varied subtly in colours, with the typical corrugated iron roof.

  Mel had been allocated a tiny slab timber shepherds hut with a corrugated iron roof well away from the homestead, but was told he would be eating in the servant’s area in the cook house. He had a long hike to the homestead for meals, and learned to judge the times for eating.

  The hut had a bunk made from hessian bags stretched around a timber frame on short legs. A much better bed than Mel had ever been given in this new land. He also had a tiny rickety table and one lop-sided chair, and a washstand. There was a stone fireplace at one end with a blackened kettle and cooking pot suspended over it. Outside under a lean-to was a bucket on a rope, with holes in the bottom. That was his shower, William explained. He had been issued with several pairs of well worn trousers and some shirts folded on the table, and was instructed to take soiled clothing to the homestead out-house where they would be laundered for him.

  There was a creek running through the property, not far from the hut, with prolific large gums and willows on its banks, out of sight of the homestead. An aborigine family of around fifty lived in bark lean-tos, in the thickest part of the bush beside the creek.

  William warned Mel to stay clear of the camp. The aborigines could cause problems for him if they thought he was intruding. He’d heard reports of blacks showing hostile intentions to islanders, but felt confident that ‘his blacks’ as he referred to them would not present a problem. Still, better to be cautious.

  The original plan was for Mel to be a shepherd for the sheep, and to ride the boundaries to check the fences. There was a problem or two…Mel couldn’t ride, and he didn’t understand the sheep. He’d seen pictures of these strange animals, but had never encountered anything that smelled so bad. To his mind they were stupid, dumb animals all rugged up like an over feathered pigeon.

  Mel was in the paddock with a small herd of sheep, under instructions from William to put them in the adjoining paddock, but each time he approached them they turned as one to stare him down, stamping their feet in warning. William, watching from the verandah of the homestead, scratched his head and wondered again at the folly of this exercise. He’d paid good money for a shepherd who couldn’t abide sheep. Oh well!

  William whistled the sheep dogs to duty, and Mel was amazed as they turned the flock, and the sheep obediently played follow the leader into the next paddock. But Mel had no training with the whistles which commanded the dogs. So what was he to do? There was another shepherd living in another hut some distance away in the back paddock who seemed to be coping well enough with the transfers from one paddock to another. Maybe he’d just leave things as they were, William thought despondently; find something else for Mel to do.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to put Mel to work with the gins,” William said later to his wife May as they stood on the verandah with Mel, looking over the paddocks of sheep to the glorious sunset. The layers of yellow and gold in the west faded slowly into rose and purple. Mel was mesmerized. “Some sort of decision needs to b
e made,” William added.

  “I’ve told you not to call them gins,” May said huffily.

  “Everyone calls them gins, even the aborigines themselves,” William countered.

  “That may be, but around here they are referred to by name…Daisy and Rose.” May was adamant. “And don’t you forget it!” she added as she stomped inside.

  William smiled sheepishly. “Women!” And still no decision on what to do with Mel. Another day’s work lost.

  May was really a gentle soul; round of face and body, but with a kindly expression on her lined face. She put Mel to work around the homestead, chopping wood for the stove and caring for the chickens. She was delighted when he established and tended a vegetable patch. The crops which grew at an amazing rate to an enormous size were a wonder to all.

  Mel’s secret, of course, was sheep poo, steeped in water in a huge drum William had found for him. The plants thrived on it, although Mel found the smell of the poo as bad as the supplying animals.

  To Mel’s surprise, he found that he was beginning to love his life on the sheep station. Except, of course, for the sheep. As long as he kept plenty of firewood stacked, looked after the chickens and produced his bounty of vegetables, he was left pretty much to himself, and treated with a degree of respect. He did a lot of exploring on his own when he felt confident enough to so, and was impressed with the wildlife he encountered. His first close sighting of a kangaroo bought him to a sudden stop. Was this some sort of a joke? He thought, as the huge animal bounded away for a short distance then turned to stare back at him. How could something so large move so quickly on two legs with such an ungainly gait, balanced by a long tail used as a prop? This was truly amazing. Mel tried to imitate the gait of the kangaroo. He almost plunged head-first into the course grass, and he smiled as he shook his head. He certainly was no match for the ‘roo.

  Two women from the aboriginal camp worked at the homestead cleaning, washing and cooking, all the while under May’s strict supervision. The aboriginal women ignored Mel…it was as though he didn’t exist to them. And that was fine by him. Their skin colour was almost black, not the golden brown of the Samoan’s.

  There was a sort of breakthrough in the relationship when Mel saw Daisy and Rose struggling to drag the huge square of carpet from the living room to the wire clothes line across the back yard. He helped drag the extremely heavy carpet out, but as he tried to lift one edge of it over the line it fell back on top of him, trapping him underneath in clouds of dust. The aborigine women wasted no time in pulling it off him, but collapsed in fits of laughter at the sight of him with dust all over, sneezing and coughing.

  Mel finally got the lift organized, and left them with the carpet hanging on the line. He could still hear them giggling as he slunk away, the sounds of their brooms beating dust out in a cloud. That went well, he thought with some embarrassment. But after that episode, Daisy and Rose at least acknowledged him with nods and smiles, and sometimes managed to sneak him an extra helping of apple pie.

  The months passed by, and Mel was reasonably contented with his life, although memories of Samoa sometimes bought about moods of melancholy. He knew these moods were caused by home-sickness which he needed to learn to control.

  He showered early, eager to get to the homestead for the chance of a bite to eat before supper was served. He felt particularly hungry, aware his stomach was rumbling, and anticipated either Rose or Daisy slipping him something tasty to tide him over.

  Walking along the back of the homestead, towards the kitchen, he noted the door to William’s office was open to the afternoon breeze. His steps faltered when he observed William at his desk, his head in his hands.

  Mel stood just outside the room and asked quietly, “Is everything all right, Sir?” He was ready to bolt if William reprimanded him for intruding.

  William looked up, at first angry at the audacity of anyone interrupting his concentration from the formidable task ahead. The receipts from down south and the demanding ones from Jumbuck Downs seemed too daunting just now. He had to face the fact that his son could ruin him if he was declared bankrupt over that bloody general store.

  “I need to get the books in order, and just lately I can’t get my mind into it,” William answered softly, rubbing his tired eyes, aware of the concern on Mel’s face.

  “Maybe I can help…if you want…” Mel faltered.

  William felt mixed emotions. He liked the young islander, but the front of the man to think he could…Then he remembered Thomas insisting this young man was competent with figures. Could he trust him to sort it out? He wondered. He had nothing to lose.

  “Come in, Mel, and have a look.” William leaned back in his chair. Mel pulled a stool in to the desk and sat down beside him.

  Mel frowned with concentration as the system was explained. The solicitor from Armidale where William’s son John ran the general store financed by his parents, was regularly posting accounts from the store to William, warning him John was spending more than the store was making.

  There were two books open on the desk, one for Armidale and one for Jumbuck Downs. Mel turned pages and went back further, turned more pages. He pointed out quite a few discrepancies in the entries which William corrected, all the while muttering “bloody hell!”

  Sometime later, William snapped the books closed, a weary smile on his face, but feeling pleased with what they had accomplished. “I remember Thomas saying you were well educated in sums and English. How could I have forgotten something that important? Must be getting old.”

  He felt much better now that the entries were sorted. Things were not near as bad as he’d thought, thank heavens. But John needed another stern warning, that was certain.

  William leaned back in his chair, feeling a lot more relaxed. “Mel, how did you learn to sort out numbers like that? Amazing! You seem to have a gift for understanding these columns of amounts as though you’ve been doing it all your life.”

  “My mother was a good teacher, and learning just came easy for me,” Mel replied, feeling the tightness in his throat at the memory of his mother, with her four children sitting cross-legged before her, adding up numbers with their fingers and writing the sums in the sand.

  “Come with me to the kitchen, Mel, and we’ll see about supper for you with an extra serve. I’ve been listening to your stomach rumbling; you must be starving. Let’s fill you up.”

  A few weeks later, Mel was weeding his vegetable patch, lost in thought as he planned his next crop. William’s office was close and Mel grinned as he saw the farmers head pop through the window.

  “Hey there Mel,” William said with a wide smile on his face. “Feel like sorting a few more pages in these ledgers?”

  Mel walked to the water tank and turned the tap to a dribble as he washed his hands. An hour or so later, William was delighted with Mel’s efficiency and neatness.

  “I’ve been talking to May. We would very much like you to be our numbers man…to look after the ledgers for us,” William said. “How do you feel about that, Mel? Are you happy to do it?”

  Mel remained silent for a moment or two, well aware of the responsibility involved, but thrilled at the confidence shown in him.

  “I’m feeling a bit overawed at the trust you have in me,” Mel said softly. “Yes, I’m happy to do this for you.”

  William offered his hand in a handshake, and Mel realised that for the first time in his life, he was in an agreement with a white man, and shook William’s hand with a wide grin.

  “Congratulations, Mel. You are now our numbers man, and we are pleased to have it this way.”

  Mel gained confidence with his new position. He felt the new respect William and May had for him. Even Daisy and Rose seemed friendlier towards him. He felt good.

  Sometimes Mel took vegetables from his garden and left them in a sugar bag on the path near the camp. The women returning to
camp after their work in the homestead delivered them. Mel would respect William’s warning to stay clear.

  He found it amusing, however, to find the sugar bag returned and neatly folded on the bunk in his hut, and signs that someone had given his floor a sweep.

  Shearing time was utter chaos, although Mel had little to do with it. The shearers came from all around the countryside to set up in the huge shearer’s shed on Jumbuck Downs. Flocks of sheep came and went, controlled by mounted drovers and their sheep dogs. Mel had to list supplies requested by the cook for the shearers. He learned quickly, took it all in his stride. He found it fascinating to watch the stupid sheep, wooly and fat and grey, enter the shed through one door, to be pushed out another door thin and white.

  Shearing time, Mel was told, bought in the beginning of the storm season, but he was unprepared for the first of them. It was late afternoon, time to clean himself up and present himself for supper in the cookhouse at the homestead.

  As he showered under his bucket with the holes in the bottom, he heard the rumbling, closer now, and the vivid white-hot flashes of lightning seemed to be directly overhead. He dried himself with the near threadbare towel and pulled on clean clothes, feeling just a bit nervous. There was a definite tension in the air. He’d seen storms before in Samoa, but somehow this felt different. He watched the clouds change from white to grey to green. This was a very strange colour to find in the sky.

  The rain began, big heavy drops, and then he quickly placed his hands over his ears as the monotonous loud drumming began. He’d never heard such a painful sound. With amazement he watched large hailstones bouncing off the ground. Hail on a tin roof was not a pleasant sound to his unaccustomed ears and he found himself glancing up at times to make sure these projectiles were not coming through.