Jack Cox - Dodge Rose

indeed you never took to it connie.

wouldnt even stand for maroubra said dad letting an armful of wooden blocks tumble down beside the stove. he wiped his hands on his thighs and took her waist. no said mother and laughed. all those snakes.

grandmother weil looked at me with her one eye. never thought id raise a girl for the city. i did it very well im sure i dont know how. she put down her hands flat on the table. come here and help your grandmother cut these scones. it was hot in the kitchen with the stove going, though it was a big room, with an old brick stove and iron kettles and saucepans hanging on the hooks. the kitchen and the storeroom and the mens dining room and the laundry and the wood shed were separated from the house by a runway of paving stones and in the shade of the creepers and the grapevines there were waterbags and a drip safe. there was a big revolving drum with drawers getting bigger towards the bottom for spices, soda, mustard, tea, cocoa, essences, pepper, sultanas, raisins, currents, peel, tapioca, rice, dates, split peas, sago you get the idea. i dont know where that young man went perhaps out mending fences or some other. sometimes he came in for lunch but otherwise we didnt see much more of him. the shepherds hut where they kept the lambs was empty. i got used to running down the corridor fast as possible until i reached the little bedroom where mother used to sleep.

then at midday a high, faint buzzing getting louder until mother says here he is already and we all rush to the verandah and there is a glinting in the sky and you see the wings grow out of it and the wheels and then suddenly this aeroplane is rushing down over the house and you even see the little head and the goggles flash and it roars over you and gets smaller and lower and disappears in a cloud of dust in the paddock. it was the infancy of flight in those days have i said that. they crashed a lot and pilots mostly flopped out of them soft headed as babes. we walk through the paddock to meet him, mother ahead. the propeller is still spinning when we get there. he is standing beside it with his goggles around his neck pulling his leather gloves off. jim. hello constance. peter, dad. his cheeks are flushed but cold when he kisses me and his leather bonnet creaks. lets get you inside your mother is cooking up a storm.

for lunch we had steak a la jardiniere and sheeps tongues in tomato sauce and macaroni pudding. we ate in the dining room with its low mahogany cupboards and cedar bookshelves to the ceiling and it was slightly more formal than usual because mr shearsby was there and names were put around on the table and there was a joke about precedence but the food was excellent and mother said we had been well behaved. how about that taxi driver bound and gagged at picton. five men were arrested at gundagai. what do you think of this scheme for broadcasting bush fire warnings. the graziers association is a very capable organ i should think, it seems a sensible idea. have you shown them your fossils mr veil.

weil.

i beg your pardon, i thought i heard your son in law

never mind his jokes. we say it weil when we can it makes the spelling easier.

indeed im glad to hear it, i thought perhaps i had been acting under a mistaken apprehension.

theres nothing very interesting about my fossils. you should show them yours. mr shearsby is a collector. numismatics and philately mainly but i do keep a few fossils.

its called a herculos. in the desert. pass the biscuits will you mum.

you would like to see them wouldnt you, mite. um, peter i dont think

it would be my pleasure. but if its coins you want to see you really ought to call on arthur triggs.

is triggs at home.

i believe since last thursday. perhaps an old colleague of yours mr rose.

not exactly a colleague but ive certainly had the occasion to know arthur triggs. how would you like that, mite. you can see mr shearsbys fossils and mr triggs coins.

mr triggs was called the king of sheep. they used to say what was good for mr triggs was good for yass. he bought everyones sheep. he used to be an accountant for the bank of new south wales, thats how he ended up in yass.

after lunch there was cake, which was a little less than i was expecting. mother played the lipp piano and we listened to a record on the edison blue amberol. the needles were kept in an old shinoleum tin. uncle jim had to sleep in a swag on the verandah because there were only three rooms. i was awake all night worrying about those fat lambs i hated. o brebis il est lheure de mourir.

when mother came into my room in the morning she was carrying my crepe frock with the lace tie. the floorboards were cool under my feet. i stood still with my arms in the air while mother put it on me. she was quite grave and of course i noticed that she was already dressed and wearing perfume. she tied the lace in a bow around my belly and took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and spat on it and rubbed my cheeks until they smarted, then she looked at her handkerchief wistfully i suppose before tucking it back in her sleeve. well chick, she said we do our best. uncle jim had not slept well but he was pretending not to mind. he put me on his knee and cut a hot scone in half and dad said are they your guns in the bedroom and grandfather said yes, jim was a sharp shooter. grandmother weil smelt like the cow but she was always very clean. if youre going into town this morning she said to grandfather, drop in on mrs aughtie and pick me up a pound of oatmeal. there were kookaburras making a racket in the pear trees beside the cart shed. you could still hear the silence, the country is like that, there is more room for everything.

later when grandfather was in town we heard a motor and i looked out through the french doors of the drawing room and saw a small dark car coming up the driveway. it turned in beside the fowl house and a priest got out of it, then he reached behind the drivers seat for a wide brimmed black hat and shut the door and started walking towards the front verandah. dad went out with grandmother weil to meet him. he shook his hand and the priest took off his hat and nodded respectfully at grandmother weil and i saw his mouth moving all the time and dad touched his elbow and gestured towards the drawing room and they came inside. we stood up and mother said hello and say hello darling and i said it. then grandmother weil went to put the kettle on. please have a seat, father. how many years is it he said, since we saw you here last. too long, said dad. it has been difficult to get away, with peters position at the bank, and we practically used up last year just looking for a new home. we were on the north shore. grandmother weil called me from the kitchen.

wash your hands then get a plate and put these out for me.

i got up on a stool and took down a big blue and white platter and put it on the table in the middle of the kitchen and arranged the jam tarts. grandmother weil took down four cups and saucers and we spread it all around on a big tray and the water boiled and grandmother weil made the tea and put the pot on the tray and lifted it and went into the drawing room whistling. legally bound for up to four years.

we have tried the established channels, said mother, but its difficult now to get a. yes, its become the case all over the state, why thank you, i will, just tea, no tart thank you. youll be wanting to make sure she goes to mass while shes here, father. if mrs rose is willing. i mean the little one. a receptive age. how old. technically. slightly retarded. careful of that pot, father it is very full.

after tead dad and mother and i got in the car with the priest and we drove over the bridge into town and up meehan street to where st augustines used to be. well it wasnt all on meehan street, to keep on the old angle. we followed the priest through the courtyard to the stone rubble presbytery. dad admired it. we dont know, said the priest, if father lovat built it himself when all this was starting out as yass mission, or if someone else did later. it has been improved, the shingles were not originally of slate. it was lovat who drafted the plans for the church, though they were lost in the mail before they could reach st marys. it would take another twenty years before that torrential september the finished building could be blessed at last. its very imposing, said mother. the highest spire in the region. its only galvanised iron but it isnt permanent. later perhaps you would like to see the stained glass windows. our sicilian marble altar is, i should say, worth the visit. youre flattering my mothers influence.