Why the Seagulls Fell Dead Out of the Air,
Why Andy Gave the Swagger the Marmalade
and Ginger-Nuts, and Why Townies Don’t
Know How to Look After Themselves.
“A COUPLE OF THEM cunning blighters of sheep,” said Andy to Jack, “they’re standing on the bank of the Piako, looking as if they’re about to turn and stampede away from the river. I’m keeping me eye on one leery old ewe, when there’s an almighty, thundering bark shakes the ground under me feet.
“You might find this hard to believe, Jack, but that thundering bark’s so loud, a couple of seagulls fold their wings and drop komaty out of the air, and the Piako River gets such a fright, it stops dead in its tracks. Upstream, there’s a colossal wall of water thirty feet high; and all that’s stopping it collapsing is that thundering loud bark.”
“Whew!” Jack whistled, and Andy nodded and winked.
“Like I said, I’m keeping an eye on that leery old ewe, and Old Drumble’s bark is so loud, the wax shoots out of her ears. She takes off down the bank, the rest of the mob following, and me running after them.
“We’re galloping across the dried-up river-bed, one eye upstream in case that colossal wall of water collapses on us; Old Drumble’s keeping up his thundering bark; the sheep are baa-ing; and I’m yelling to keep going or we’ll all be drowned.
“A man’s foot skids on something slippery, and I just have time to bend down and pick up several and stuff them down me shirt, and we’re scrambling up the other bank, and running scared stiff but dry as a bone, up the road where it comes down to the ferry landing from Kopu.
“It’s only when we’re a couple of chains along the road that I realise I’ve lost me pipe,” said Andy. “It must have fallen out of me gob as I yelled and ran across the river-bed.”
“You said you picked up several things and stuffed them in your shirt,” Jack told him. “Maybe you lost it when you bent down.”
“I’ll tell you about that in a minute,” said Andy. “I’m looking round and patting me pockets, in case I’ve stuck me pipe away in one of them and, as I do so, Old Drumble stops his thundering bark.
“There’s a spooky silence; the back of me neck goes cold, and there’s a whispering sound—the rustle of wool standing up on the backs of all the sheep’s necks.”
They were passing Dunlops’ place. Jack looked in, hoping the Dunlop girls might notice him driving the sheep.
“The next moment,” said Andy, “that colossal wall of water totters and collapses into a bellowing torrent of waves bucketing downstream between us and Old Drumble still on the other bank—”
“Ahhh!” The scream came from up the front of the mob. Jack stared and saw a man leap into the air, waving his arms and throwing himself back into Mrs Dickey’s hedge.
Andy whistled, but Old Drumble was already taking charge, moving the front of the mob to the other side of the road.
“A swagger,” said Andy. They followed the mob past the man who had half-buried himself in the eleagnus hedge.
Jack saw a thin-faced man in a broken felt hat, a broken old suit jacket, a collarless shirt with a stud stuck through the top buttonhole, baggy grey trousers fretted at the heels, and his bare feet stuck into broken grey sand-shoes without laces. In his arms, he clutched a sugarbag. Jack could see it didn’t have a length of rope to make it into a proper swag, and the man didn’t even seem to have a billy. His face was unshaven, and an old striped tie held up his trousers.
The swagger ignored Jack but looked nervously at Andy. “Don’t suppose you know of any work going?” he said, coming half out of the hedge then pressing back into it again, as Young Nugget trotted up for a closer look.
“Not round here. The factory’s already got more men than they want.” Andy took his time thinking. If anyone knew of a job going in the district, it would be Andy, Jack remembered his mother saying.
“I come through the Hinuera Valley last week, and there’s some paddocks still closed up,” said Andy. “They’re a bit late getting in their hay this year because of the rain earlier. You might pick up a few days’ work.”
The broken-looking man looked down at his hands. Jack saw a scratch across the back of the right one, black with congealed blood that made the skin look white. Jack turned away.
“Do you know Hinuera?” Andy asked. Jack heard a shuffly noise and knew the man was shaking his head.
“Keep heading through Waharoa to Matamata. Bear south out of there, in that direction,” Andy pointed, “and you can’t miss it. Follow the signposts. Hinuera.” He repeated it slowly. “You’ll get there tomorrow and, with any luck, they’ll be mowing their hay. They’ll be in a hurry to get it in so, if you get taken on by the first cocky, you could go on from farm to farm for a week or so, as long as this weather lasts.”
As he spoke, Andy was taking the jar of marmalade out of the pikau behind Nosy’s saddle and handing it to the swagger who took it without a word, sliding it out of sight into his sugarbag.
“Here, you might as well have these,” said Andy, and he took out the Bushells tea tin, and gave most of the biscuits to the swagger.
Mum’s ginger-nuts, Jack thought. She wouldn’t be too pleased with Andy giving them away.
“Keep bearing south through Matamata,” repeated the man. The sound of his voice made Jack uncomfortable, so he looked away at the sheep, then glanced back.
The man was slipping a couple of ginger-nuts into the pocket of his jacket, and he put the others into the sugarbag with the same furtive gesture he’d used before. He shrunk away as Young Nugget came a bit closer, sniffing the biscuits.
“When you get to the factory,” Andy gestured up Cemetery Road, “don’t cross the railway lines, but follow the road to the right: you’ll find yourself on the way to Matamata. Same thing when you get there: don’t cross the lines, keep to the right of the F.A.C. building, and the road’ll carry you past the district high school, Braeside Hospital, and clear of the town, then it’ll cross the lines and you follow it. The Rotorua road goes off to the left, but you just keep going straight ahead. You’ll see the A.A. sign for Hinuera.”
“Keep going straight ahead,” the swagger repeated. His eyes were a bit shifty, Jack thought. He didn’t like him.
The swagger ducked his head and mumbled something. “And for the biscuits and jam,” Jack heard. He felt like saying it wasn’t jam but marmalade, but walked on, feeling the man’s eyes on his back.
Down the road a bit, Andy said, “Might be an idea if you leave it to me to tell your mother what happened to her ginger-nuts, Jack, me boy. And me marmalade. At least I can return your mother’s tin, but she’s going to go butcher’s hook when she finds out I’ve given away her jar.”
Jack looked at him. “I felt sorry for the blighter,” said Andy. “Those soft hands aren’t going to get him a job on a hay paddock, not unless they’re short of someone to lead the horse up and down.
“Townies, get them past the end of the tramlines, and they don’t know how to look after themselves. Never had the chance to learn how, I suppose. And those towny clothes aren’t going to be any use as the weather cools.
“Poor devil, didn’t even find it easy saying thanks, and I can understand that. Out the monk under that hedge of Jim Dickey’s, and he wakes to find half a dozen sheep standing over him. Probably thought they were going to eat him!” Andy chuckled, but Jack could hear something else in his voice.
“Old Drumble,” he said, and he had to cough to clear his throat. “Andy, you said Old Drumble was still on the other bank of the Piako. At Pipiroa. How did he get across?”
“Now where was I up to? Something about that colossal wall of water collapsing, and looking for me pipe, and Old Drumble still on the other bank.” Andy turned from looking back at the swagger making his way up the road towards the factory.
“How did Old Drumble get across the Piako?” His dry leathery brown face crumpled and creased and grinned at Jack.
“Where we just got across dry-footed, there’s a torrent of dirty water thirty feet deep, and them huge waves bucketing downstream between us and Old Drumble on the other bank.”
“How did he get across?” Jack asked again.
“I asks meself the very same question,” said Andy. “How is that Old Drumble going to get across?”