Christmas at Gilly Downs by Emma Lombard

Author:Emma Lombard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emma Lombard

Jim Buchanan

WOOLOONGILLY DOWNS, NEW SOUTH WALES, 16 DECEMBER 1853

6 pm.

From the wagon’s seat, Jim surveyed the nearly three thousand sheep from beneath his hat brim. They milled nervously even though there was no imminent danger on this northwest corner of Gilly Downs, ten miles from the head station. Crivens! Those thick fleeces would be a welcome addition to this season’s shear. A worm of discomfort wriggled through his gut. With such a successful clip on the horizon, it was one thing to get these purses-on-legs back to the station alive and in good health, but another entirely whether he would have the manpower to shear them all. Half his bloody shearers had scarpered earlier in the year to Echunga in the Adelaide Hills—lured by another whiff of gold. Much depended on the Elias Shipping Company’s latest batch of emigrants. For the love of all that was holy, he would damn-well ensure this clip went right, even if he had to shear this lot himself.

Flicking the reins, Jim set the creaking wagon in motion again, squinting through the overcast gloom towards Wilkinson leaning against the iron hurdle of the make-shift yard. The barrel-chested Yorkshireman had adapted his years of cattle farming on the Yorkshire Dales to that of sheep farming in the New Holland bush.

“Best get on with counting them if ye plan to make the tally before dark,” greeted Jim.

Wilkinson straightened, the neck of his shirt open to his belly button flashed a leathery tanned torso, and sweat-tightened curls of chest hair. A far cry from the pasty northerner who had given up his green, rented pastures in England to make a resourceful life for himself shepherding in this desolate corner of the world. Wilkinson raised the crook above his head in greeting, the fist of his rough, bush-dweller hands meaty around the wooden staff. “We’ll be glad of your help, sir!”

A dog darted over, yapping as though warning him to stay away from her flock. Jim let out a high-pitched whistle, and the dog’s ears flattened immediately as she slunk over, whining softly in recognition. Nevin and Wilkinson’s isolated life was made easier and more pleasant by the company of Nipper, their working dog, named after her early instinct to nip at the sheep’s hocks. Jim drew back the reins, and the giant bay’s hooves crunched to a halt in the dry twigs and leaves. He stepped from the wagon, groaning as he stretched the stiffness from his knees. Ruffling the dog’s grey-and-white-speckled ears, he laughed. “Who ye barking at, ye daft mongrel?”

Nevin stepped from behind a tree, halfway through buttoning up his trousers, his long legs gambolling eagerly towards Jim. “Uncle Jimmy! Tell me you’ve brought some of Cook’s oat biscuits? Bloody bush rats got into our supply night before last. Cleaned out the lot!”

All grown up, his nephew no longer led the gang of Barclay children on fishing expeditions now that he was a shepherd. The young man’s wide-mouthed grin split his black beard, radiating the sunshine in his bones.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.