The day usually started quite early in the morning, at dawn or just before,
and only because in the Summer this was the coolest time, the time when
energy flowed a little faster than later in the day, when all I wanted to
do was curl up in the shade and sleep!
Very early mornings in the bush are delightful, the birds are singing
their heads off, Magpies have the prettiest song, very melodic and not
at all like normal bird noise.
Parrots, and in particular Cockatoos and Galahs are raucous – extremely
raucous, and argue and play like tumbling clowns who can’t find
their red noses. As birds who bond for life, the behaviour between pairs
is delightful to watch, and they preen and clean, feed each other and
generally carry on like an old married couple – and waddle with
such aplomb when they are feeding on the ground – one always with
an eye to see that no harm is near.
The air is so clear and cool, before the heat makes it shimmer, and induces
little ‘whilli-whillies’, like miniature tornadoes in reverse,
just the action of super hot air rising into a spiral and picking up dead
grass and leaves to dance them around and then place them back in a new
heap.
The smells from the kitchen were always mouthwatering – everyone
started the day with a big hot meal, and it was very common to be eating
lamb or mutton chops, eggs and potatoes after porridge. The day started
early for the ringers, and they would not eat much in the middle of the
day beside damper, bread made in a camp fire, not unlike soda bread, tasty – with
simple flour, water and baking powder. Maybe some cold meat in a bag would
accompany this – but if it was really hot and they were busy, it
would be a cup of billy tea, made by boiling water in a billy tin over
the fire, throwing a handful of tea leaves onto the top of the water as
it came to the boil, accompanied by a leaf or two to keep the taste of
the smoke out of the tea – then after it had boiled for a minute
or two, swinging the billy full of tea around your head in great arcs
to settle the tea leaves to the bottom. This delicious drink was always
taken in enamelled mugs, and liberally sweetened by tinned condensed milk.
I can still taste that tea – and the hot damper that usually came
with it – if you were lucky there was Golden Syrup to go on the
damper.
There were some men hired as Boundary Riders. The place was 240000 acres,
and had miles and miles of fencing, not to keep the sheep in, but to keep
dingoes and kangaroos out. Dingoes are the wild dogs that are the scourge
of all stock, they roam in packs and can wreak havoc when they decide
to feed. The kangaroos eat the grass right down to the root, so short
that it won’t regrow afterwards, thus adding to the desert conditions.
These Boundary Riders would live solitary lives, and were usually men
who couldn’t cope with life in society, but actually enjoyed the
life they chose. They would ride all day, checking the fence and repairing
it when necessary. They may have had an aboriginal wife who was happy
to camp out with them, and they only came in to the house every six to
eight weeks to pick up essential supplies like tea and sugar and flour
and tobacco – and were always keen to get back to their world.
After breakfast we would get ready for a school day, and if we were unlucky
enough not to have the mail truck due, or someone else visiting, or Mrs
playing up, we could count on getting some work done. The day soon passed,
morning tea break was taken on the verandah with whoever was home, tea
and sandwiches and cake – half an hour of socialising then back
to work. Lunch was more civilised, and was usually cold meats and salads,
or a pie or some sort, followed by dessert left over from the evening
before, sherry trifle, apple crumble or some such thing, steamed puddings
and custard studded with dates or sultanas. Two more hours of work, and
by now being weighed down by the combination of food and the heat – the
lazy sounds of afternoon, the cicadas humming, the lazy twittering of
birds just awake, and the flies constant buzz outside the screening.
Three o’clock always brought delight to my pupil – and I
tried to always end the day with something easy, so as to be able to praise
us both for getting through another session.
Afternoon tea on the verandah was a cold drink and biscuits – and
then a scurry to get changed into riding clothes and get out for a while
on the horses. In the beginning these afternoon rides were delightful,
so quiet, exploring the dried river bed – trying to identify all
the different gum trees – but as the drought wore on, and the summer
got hotter it became more a mission of mercy.
The kangaroos were getting so thin because they had cleared all the feed
around the place, they would come up against a fence and not be able to
jump it as they usually could – but lie there, dejected, dying,
sometimes with their eyes already picked out by the crows – and
we did the only thing we could, and went every afternoon after school
and put them out of their misery.
Some afternoons it would be so hot that the boss would declare a half
holiday, and ask if anyone would like to go fishing – of course
we did, and on the first occasion I was a bit bemused when he said all
I needed was a stick and a bucket!
We drove down to the waterhole that was all that was left in the river – this
mighty river reduced to a string of big puddles – and waded in to
knee deep water. He then showed me how to stir the water with the stick,
so that the fish had to come to the surface to breathe because of all
the silt disturbed – and then how to hit them on the head with the
stick, and put them in the bucket. We returned to the house, and that
is where I learned how to clean and gut a fish – and those black
bream were so sweet!
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