Chapter 10

Richard showed Margaret his (skeletal) house and described what he hoped to do. She told of her school in Brisbane – St. Margaret’s – and how she had worked in the new school library.

“It seemed like a fine way to spend time: surrounded by knowledge and both preserving and disbursing it.”

Richard told her about the Agricultural College and his two years at Lamorbey.

“My folks live in Warwick! That’s only an hour from Gatton!”

“And only double that to Southport, where my parents live.”

“Are there many aborigines around here?”

“There’s a small band on a creek to the east. Why?”

“I noticed the two boys working for you. Oh ... I shouldn’t say ‘boys,’ should I?”

“They’re just people of a slightly different colour from us. I learned at Gatton and at Lamorbey that some Europeans are cruel and stupid and that many aborigines are both intelligent and wise. I bet the same is true of Chinese, but I don’t know any.”

“My dad says things like that.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s the bookkeeper for the Agricultural Fair. Your folks?”

“My mom teaches at St. Hilda’s and my dad at TSS. It’s getting on. Let me follow you back ... just in case there’s a problem.”

“Thank you.”

They walked back to the car and ute. The work party had disappeared. Margaret’s car started and she turned it around. Richard got into his ute and followed her into town, left past the Hotel and several streets to the north. Margaret pulled into a drive and Richard stopped on the street.

“Thank you. It seems to run. I’ll take it in to the garage before work tomorrow.”

“Where’s the library?”

“Just a bit down the Highway from where we turned. On the south side.”

“Well. Uh. Take care.”

“Thank you, Richard. I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”

He drove off, thinking of where he might bathe and shave and get his clothes laundered. He now saw himself both unkempt and ill-dressed. After the first week, Richard had been “camping”: sleeping on the flooring in his swag, washing in the nearer creek.

“More like a churl in rusty armour!” he said to himself.

He stopped at the Richards and booked for one night. He went to the room, showered and shaved, walked to the hairdresser and asked whether they’d trim his hair (they would). So he sat for a few minutes, reading The Western Star, the bi-weekly published in Roma.

“OK, cowboy, you’re next.”

He laughed. “I’ve been camping and working. Do what you can, but not too short.”

The rather dumpy, over-weight woman laughed. “No problem, laddie. But I won’t make you look like the musicians in the paper.”

“That’s fine.”

She was done in under 15 minutes. And looking in the mirror, Richard thought she’d done a fine job. He paid, walked back to the hotel and drove his ute to the laundromat on Mary Street. An hour later, everything was clean and dried and folded. Back at the Richards, he showered, changed and went for dinner. In the morning he showered yet again, shaved and drove to his site.

“Very spiffy, boss,” Stephen said.

“Thanks. Could we have a conference?”

“Sure thing.”

“Is Joshua here?”

“Sure. I’ll fetch him.”

Amos came, too. After a few “formalities,” Richard said: “I’d like to get some stock in June or July. Joshua, you’ve experience. I need advice on paddocks and on number of head.”

“Need two, mebbe three paddocks. Cows, pregnant cows, cows with calf. Get a bull, keep him alone.”

“I hadn’t thought about pregnant cows. Do folks sell them?”

“Only if they hafta,” said Stephen.

“I thought I’d get a young bull, maybe two years old.”

“How many?”

“All together two or three dozen. Two dozen cows with calf need about 50 acres. Dozen cows without calf need less. Some calves become bulls. Don’t need ‘spensive bull.”

“That’s an idea. So 640 acres is a square mile. We could make a big paddock and two smaller ones easily. Does the creek have enough water?”

“Now, yes. In a dry year, both gone.”

“So I’d best drill?”

“Drill twice. One for house. One for stock.”

“Sounds good. Stephen, can you and Joshua lay out two paddocks? About 1500 steps on a side for the big one. Put in marker stakes.”

“Sure.”

“I’m going into town. Find out about wire, staples, and well-driller. I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you need dosh?”

“No dosh,” said Amos. “Ten pounds flour; five pounds sugar.”

“It’s a deal.”

Back in Mitchell, Richard asked the clerk at the hardware store about a driller and was directed to a corkboard of business cards. He found both an “expert” in artesian wells and one who did petroleum drilling as well. One was to the east, in Dalby, the other north of Roma, in Injune. He used the public phone at the hotel to call the latter. A cheery woman said they had a crew north of Mungallala along Redford Road “next week,” and they could stop when they were done there. Richard asked about cost. It depended upon depth. But a standard 6” casing was “a pound a foot, with a minimum of 100 feet.” Richard agreed, gave his name, and said he’d phone on Monday to get the schedule.

He stopped at the bank to check his balance and then walked to the Library ... ostensibly to learn about electrical generation and the local water table.

He explained his needs to the librarian, who directed him to two different areas of the holdings. When Richard looked puzzled, the librarian turned and said “Margaret, dear, could you help this young man find the state geological survey. He needs the hydrology reports.”

Margaret was surprised, Richard grinned and thanked the librarian.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Doing research and taking you to lunch.”

“How do you know I’ll go for lunch with you?”

“I’m taking a chance. Will you?”

“How could I resist such an invitation? You’re shaven and shorn. Here, these are state survey documents. What are you looking for?”

Richard explained and Margaret located the sheets for the Warrego (south) between Mitchell and Mungallala. It appeared that there was mudstone beneath most of his property, underlying an extensive water table.

“That’s really good news,” he said. “That water’ll keep me and my stock alive even during a drought. And there’s one coming.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There’s not been one since I was a boy. That was broken in 1946-7 during the Ashes, where it rained in all 25 matches played by the tourists, including two tropical rainstorms during the First Test in Brisbane and the Second in Sydney.”

“Are you a cricketer?”

“Hardly, but it was big at my school. I was a rower, like my dad.”

“I was on the field hockey team at school. My shins were always bruised or scabby.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely now.”

“Stop that! So, it’s 16 years since there was a drought.”

“Yes. So we can expect one.”

“I think they’re cyclic, though I’ve no idea as to the period.”

“Was there another question?” Margaret was refolding the sheets.

“Yes. I need to know about access to the grid?”

“The grid?”

“The rural electrical grid. I know that the Roma station was converted to gas over a year ago. But how do I access power?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that part of the SECQ [State Electricity Commission of Queensland]? That might be in the Shire Office.”

“Where’s that?”

“Just a moment.” It was only a few minutes. “The shire offices are in Mungallala, just south of the Warrego, on Burke and Redford.”

“Well, let’s go for lunch; then I’ll drive west. But I’ve another idea. What’s the librarian’s name?”

“Mrs. Anderson.”

“OK ... Excuse me, Mrs. Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“This may sound foolish, but do you own a house?”

“We joke about the fact that we own about 50%. The bank owns the rest.”

“Right. And you pay for electricity?”

“Of course.”

“To whom?”

“Oh. To the bank.”

“The bank?”

“Why yes. They read the meter every so often and send a bill and we pay it into the bank and they stamp our chit as paid.”

“I understand. Thank you. Now, with your kind permission, I’m going to abscond with Margaret for lunch.”

“No problem, young man.”

“Don’t I have a say?”

“No. You’re being abducted!” They all laughed.

They walked to the Richards and had a wonderful lunch. Richard had no idea what he ate. He was totally ensorcelled. They talked and Richard signed the bill. They parted as he went to buy flour and sugar and she walked back to work. He loaded the truck but drove all the way to Mungallala and left to the Shire Office. There was a long counter and an older bloke sitting and reading.

“Day-ee. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I own a small station this side of Mitchell. I’d like to get power. Do you do SECQ stuff here?”

“Yep. Not often, though. Lemme see. You got no ‘lectric. So the boys need to put up a pole an’ a meter an’ a crew need to hook ‘em up. You got stuff on your land?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm. Mebbe a second pole on your land and a breaker box. Guess 200 amps. How many circuits?”

“I don’t know. Two water pumps and a house. And some outlets for tools.”

“Sixteen circuits ‘ll hold you.” He looked at his schedule.

“Hmmm. Boys could put in the pole on Friday. Wirin’ crew on Monday. That OK?”

“What about paying?”

“They’ll bill you. You ain’t gonna move it away, are you?”

“No.”

Richard was waiting on Friday as a three vehicle caravan pulled up, having slept on the floor in his house-shell. He’d cut the wire for the lumber truck and never replaced it – there was no stock to contain. There was a long trailer with several poles on it, a truck with a auger, and a ute. Two of the men confirmed that Richard was “Hollister,” and walked to the house with him.

“Want the box near the house or near the road?”

“Near the road. I’m not sure where other buildings’ll be.”