In Stockmen's Footsteps by Jane Grieve

Author:Jane Grieve
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIO000000, book
ISBN: 9781742698885
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2013-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

TOOMBA

Christmas always meant a visit home and a gathering of the greater clan; there were firsts, and lasts, as a new generation started to come into being and the old ones started to drop off the conveyor belt of life. Nineteen seventy-four was our last with my grandfather Garg; he and Norn dandled their new great-grandson Joshua Mylne with delight and pride.

There were Mylnes, Wrights, Grahams, Paulls and, as always, our great-aunt Paddy McCallum, puffing away on the constant stream of Craven A cigarettes that gave her voice a particular gravelly resonance—and no doubt lifted her indomitable spirits.

Paddy had an egalitarian approach to the matter of Christmas gifts. Considering them a necessary token, their content was irrelevant to her. So it was that no matter how hard you searched to find something that might please her, while she was undoubtedly grateful for the gesture, she inevitably stored them away to re-give at the next Christmas gathering.

That year my sister Sally spent a lot of time trying to break the code for Aunty Paddy. She searched for what she considered to be the perfect present that was sure to be received with delight and found to be a truly useful gift. She handed it over (it was soap), and noted somewhat smugly that the oohs and aahs on its opening indicated that it would surely be kept and used. But just then someone unexpected walked in. Old Paddy quickly rewrapped Sally’s gift and presented it to the newcomer with a kiss and gravelly Christmas wishes. Sal was furious—but the gift recipient was delighted!

I had done my Christmas shopping in a rush, having arrived in Toowoomba on the bus from North Queensland only a day or two before Christmas. I managed to complete my list but at the last moment realised that I had forgotten Aunty Margaret. I rushed into the nearest newsagent and found a book that looked absolutely perfect for her—‘If Your Aunty had Bowls . . .’

Aunty had taken up bowls in her old age so it seemed to fill the bill in every respect. The day after Christmas we hosted the traditional Boxing Day family party, the kids eager to get into the above-ground pool and tables spread with too much food as usual. Aunty, who did not lack a sense of humour but was most definitely as prudish as anyone of her generation, was looking at me strangely. Uncle Sandy took me aside. ‘The book you gave Aunty,’ he said. ‘Did you happen to look inside?’

I hadn’t. The next page read ‘. . . she’d be your Uncle’ and the book was full of filthy bowls jokes.

Ernest noticed on my return to Toomba after the Wet that I was somewhat unfit when the horses were brought in for shoeing. But no one took pity on me, and I had to forge away at the agonising job until it was done, some of the shoes a little skewed but no permanent damage to my horses’ feet.

Shoeing is

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