Chapter 31

I had told Dad that I had it sorted but that was the bravado and innocence of an almost twenty-year-old, who, like his peers, knew everything and could do everything. What in fact happened was sort of the aftermath of a bomb blast. My job was to triage and then repair all wounds. I should have probably lobbed a grenade than a 100-pound shell because the devastation would have been less. As it was my artillery shot was not from the safety of a distant armoured deployment but was from within metres.

We had sat down to dinner and munching away voraciously as we had learnt to do “before your food gets cold”. That had been the war cry from Mum if we even spoke at the table instead of eating. That was the first rule I broke. I put my knife and fork down and coughed lightly to attract some attention. I coughed only once lest the Vicks Vaporub was dispatched in my direction. I had broken another rule. No hand over my mouth. I had placed my knife and fork down accidentally in the “I’ve finished it all position” as was the family custom. In fact I hadn’t finished, but wanted to say what needed to be said and then get on with the eating. The butterflies in my stomach were rebelling against any food coming in their direction. I had broken another rule of the kitchen. Mum took it as a personal insult if we didn’t finish what was on our plate and my knife and fork, placed as it was, was flagging to her that it seemed that I didn’t like her cooking.

Despite the fierce-some looks from Mum and the shock and horror looks from Tom, I spoke. Dad had his hand shading his eyes knowing that the black marks already against my name were indelibly printed in Mum’s mind.

“I want to run by you what I want to say, no, am going to say tomorrow night,” I began looking first at Tom and then at Mum. Tom’s face was sending me a message that I was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, but if it was the former, he would bathe in my glory, but if not, he would say that I was adopted. Mum’s face had a black fury on it, lips firmly pressed together as if she had accidentally put the juice of an unripe lemon rather than gravy on her lamb. It also displayed the unasked question of why I thought I was going to live long enough to even make it to tomorrow night. Dad’s face showed the sad knowledge that I had dug the hole I was in by myself and there was no rope on earth that could possible reach me.

“I want to talk about what I will be doing with my life. And this is the rub. I get the feeling that I am expected to come back to the farm and help Dad run it and eventually take over the place and that may indeed happen, but I won’t be coming back for a long time. I finish my National Service in ten months and then I intend studying for my degree in civil engineering which has been put on hold for two years. After that I will need some experience in the workforce to see if I can cut it in civil engineering. That, I figure will take a minimum of five years, so I will be in my early thirties before I can help out on the farm. Tom shouldn’t have his future determined by my decision. He is smarter and far more studious than me. When he finishes high school, he should be allowed to study at Uni if he chooses. By that time, I will be able to support him financially if he can’t make it on his own or if you, Mum and Dad, have some lean years. He is four years younger than me and ten times cleverer so it would be a tragic waste if he didn’t get a chance to follow his dreams.”

I paused. I certainly had their attention and everyone’s food was getting cold. Mum was frozen on the spot. Her knife clasped in her hand hovered about three inches above the plate. Her fork still loaded with meat almost at her mouth was still. The only movement were the few drops of gravy that dripped down onto her plate. Dad looked at me wondering where the hell this was all going. Tom was beaming. His brother, me, had paved the escape route for him. It was obvious from the zealous gleam in his eyes, he too had looked beyond the family farm to explore a different future.

“Dad, that will put you well into your mid-sixties before any of us can come back to help. And I’ve thought that through too. Running sheep is what this farm has done for years. It is what the neighbours do and when the markets are good and the weather is kind it pays well for all the hard work that goes into it. Without us helping in the future, you would need to employ someone perhaps on a full-time basis. However, when the times are tough the workload remains the same and you and Mum barely get by, so the option of employing someone goes out the window. My suggestion is that perhaps you move to cattle over a period of time. The management of them is easier. Their price is relatively stable. Yes, I know, the farm isn’t set up for cattle, but if Tom and I help out now as much as we can, we can re-fence paddocks for cattle starting with the ones that you were about to replace anyway. New cattle-yards would need to be constructed, so the initial outlay would be reasonably high but this season looks like being a good one for us as far as wool goes. Croydon is in a perfect storm at the moment. Our sheep are doing well and a lot of sheep districts around Australia are doing poorly. This is a big year for the farm and if the profits are reinvested into setting up for cattle, then the change can be made easier.

Mum, you grew up with sheep and for you that will be the biggest change. Both you and Dad will have to learn a whole new type of farming, but it could allow Dad to continue to manage the farm for the most part on his own. It would give Tom and me a chance to explore our own dreams even for a short time. We could come back and help with mustering and drenching and you wouldn’t need to have a fulltime employee on the books. As far as I can see there are just a few options. Dad can continue to work himself into an early grave. You can lease out the farm and still remain on it. Either Tom or I don’t go to Uni and we come back and help dad run the farm. Or you can move to cattle.

Mum put her knife and fork down showing a lot of grace and decorum. She raised her napkin to wipe the non-existent drips of gravy that might have been around her mouth and got up and walked to the kitchen door. She never said a word as she stared out into the moonless star filled night. Then she turned around and as we waited for her to erupt, she looked briefly at Tom whom she knew would do whatever he was asked. She looked at me for much longer and unafraid, I held her stare, not in act of defiance but in a resolute way. Then she looked at Dad and probably saw him differently than she had in years. He was no longer the strong young man she had married but was frailer and showing his true age. I think she recognised that there was something not quite right with him as well. Compassion and a lot of enlightened understanding shone from her eyes in Dad’s direction.

Finally she addressed us all. “Well that was a lovely dinner spoilt!”

There was a deep sense of foreboding in the room for what was coming next. We weren’t disappointed but totally shocked when she continued. “Seems the young pup has grown up, Dad. Speaks his mind now. Even if his timing is poor. One thing for sure I don’t intend being a widow for a long time. Black isn’t my colour. So, something has to give. Ray, you and Tom need to know that your dad and I would love you to eventually take over the farm. However, from my point of view it is not an expectation. I can’t and won’t speak for your father. I can tell you there were many days when as young teenagers I certainly hoped that you wouldn’t take over the farm. The things each of you and sometimes both of you got up to! However, you both have every right to be the people you want to be.”

She came around and gave me a hug and said, “Thank you!”

I had no idea why I was being thanked. Was mum losing the plot? She must have been because her next utterance was, “S’pose I’ll have to learn how to swear and drink beer like a cow cocky to fit in now. Might as well start now. Tom, get four cans of beer from the bloody fridge in the machinery shed that your father thinks I don’t know about.”

Tom was dumbstruck for a few seconds but as usual followed Mum’s orders without question.

“I know where it is!” he yelled and was off like a shot.

“I bet you bloody well do!” she called after him. “He’s certainly not the angel he thinks he has me fooled into believing.” She turned to Dad. “Well what have you got to say for yourself. War hero, but too gutless to tell me yourself. No, you are just too proud. You always have been……………. We could do with a change around here. It’s supposed to be good for the soul. But geez Ray,” she said addressing me, but still looking with love in her eyes at Dad, “Look what you’ve done! You’ve finally driven your mother to drink!”