"Cultivation of a Murderer". Chapter 7 Primary School – continued......

Chapter 7

Primary School – continued......

Some months passed and each member of the family was settling into their daily schedule with improved optimism. At work Ted quickly overcome his inability to perform the proper operational workings of the grader, thanks to his sheer determination and tenacity he successfully masked the truth behind his initial incompetence. Rene became accustomed to all the functions and processes required to run the business effectively. Tim was doing well at school but hinting on leaving to undertake an apprenticeship in panel beating and spray painting, and Don who would never like school adjusted to the obligation of turning-up each day. Zoe, well Zoe was doing her work and coping reasonably well but still had intense feelings for Bing. His ‘absence made her heart grow fonder’, so the saying goes, and in this case it was very true, mainly because there were no other boys around her age in close proximity or any social outlets to help take her mind of him. A cause for the continued and consistent writing to one another, Ted knew of this correspondence, yet still believed distance to be a great divider. He assumed Bing’s work would keep him away and justify to Zoe his absence, thus allowing the blame to be taken away from him for making her leave; but this was not to be. Bing would ‘hitch-hike’ from Ingleburn to the shop to see Zoe at every opportunity he could afford. On most of the trips ventured he would try cadging a ride straight after work on Friday, and usually, if successful, he would arrive very late at night or early the next morning. Rides were accepted with all kinds of characters and each arduous journey would have one or more tales to it.

On one such journey Bing arrived late in the next day. It was well past the time Zoe expected him and caused her much concern. She had been very upset because of the possible misfortunes or dangers she conjured in her mind; all plausible from past reports of his travels. She took one look at his face and knew something was wrong;

       “Oh dear. What happened to you?” He told her he had a few troubles on the way and asked not to tell her parents of his tribulations in travel as they may take it the wrong way, then he rambled about his manner of conduct in relation to the horrible journey just experienced and of his ordeals in dealing with the undesirables who chose to exploit his vulnerability. She listened while he told in detail his distressing exploits and tacked onto every word, expressing concern and offering compassion and wanted desperately to provide tender loving care; she mollycoddled him like a baby while he spoke.

His story went like this. When he finished work at camp on Friday and while still dressed in his army uniform he gathered his duffle bag and as per usual set off hitch-hiking. He wore his army uniform because he felt people were more prone to offer him a ride, he believed it presented to them a non threatening personality and an assuming security in character. In his duffle he packed the usual assortment of clothes and as on all trips something different to play with on the Scotsdon’s property, this time it was an army pistol to be used in target practise. On his person, for protection, stored safely in its leather pouch he concealed beneath his jacket a WWII ‘Kabar’ fighting knife. Never had the need to use it materialised but its presence gave him comfort and a defensive reassurance in the event of any unforeseen or imminent danger.

Following his first ride, after dusk, somewhere between Sydney and Wollongong he stepped out of the ‘Holden’ and thanked the driver who came to the end of his journey. He then waited on the side of the highway for another ride. In the middle of nowhere in the dark of the night once again he waved the thumb in a horizontal motion at the few cars travelling the road, but no-one stopped. Walking with nothing but crickets breaking the silence made the hours seem like days, only a few trucks and less cars passed in the chilly dampness of the night air. He could hardly feel his nose as droplets of nasal mucus dripped profusely over his upper lip. Another set of headlights could be seen approaching in the distance: ‘Maybe this time,’ he thought waving his arm in expectation of them stopping. The car went speeding by at first, and then the driver had second thoughts and came to a skidding halt further down the road. Bing’s knowledge of cars was exceptional due to the amount of travel and the variety of lifts he accepted, he used such knowledge to his advantage by utilising those observations as a source of conversation. So as he approached the car he immediately identified it as a green ‘1955 Chevrolet Bel Air’. One short tubby untidy fellow in his early thirties with torn trousers and a baggy jersey jumped out of the passenger side and said;

       “Gooday mate. Where ya going?” Bing replied;

       “Wirrageen.” The passenger held the door open;

       “Not sure where or what this ‘Wirra..’ joint is, but we’ll take you as far as we’re going.” He took Bing’s duffle, threw it over onto the back seat and gestured with a flick of his hand for Bing to slide in the front between himself and the driver. Bing was happy for their generosity, he got in willingly, immediately thanked them, and started meaningless conversation; a beginning he employed in most instances to relax a tense or formal atmosphere.

       “Nice looking Chevy you’ve got here. ‘55’ isn’t it?”

       “Yea maybe, not sure, we just only stole it,” said the driver without any intensity of humour normally associated with satirical send-ups. Still Bing thought nothing improper about the two, he took it as a joke and laughed it off with an unresponsive stare. The driver was a cagy looking individual, his face long and eyes deep set under a fringe of short scruffy hair, his name could well have been predicted as ‘stretch’ in recognition of his build. One of the first things Bing noticed as they raced off spinning the wheels in the loose gravel was the stench of alcohol. There were cans, bottles, and a generous mess of other material such as food scraps and paraphernalia strewn over the floor.

The passenger opened two tall bottles of beer and offered one to Bing who politely refused by telling them he was a teetotaller. They tried forcing him to accept by belittling his convictions but Bing stayed true to his decision and watched them guzzle both bottles. Their driving became more chaotic and speech brash with constant lairizing and a total disregard for road rules or safety. The circumstances stirred Bing into a numb like quiescence as he became increasingly concerned by their skittish conversation and mood change; their disposition turned more and more conspicuously towards Mephistophelian scheming. Fully realizing his predicament while being trapped between the two, and under sufferance with the disconcerting knowledge he only had a ‘Kabar’ for defence, began an urgent brooding for his gun to be in hand instead of being packed out of reach in his duffle. At a loss for what action to take he knew his fearful prognostications were well founded and was left without recourse to influence any immediate changes.

Unbeknownst to Bing the passenger had a knife of his own, and without notice put his arm around Bing’s neck and pressed the blade firmly against his throat. The driver laughed while the passenger showed no emotion in demanding obedience;

            “Give me your wallet? Any trouble and I’ll slash your throat.”

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Fictitious Facts 1: Cultivation of a Murderer. Continued....CH7

Chapter 7

Primary School

Dusk drew near bringing with it the customary cold nightly air, forever demanding indoor heating for warmth and comfort. The open fireplace was large and situated in the middle of the lounge room, it was constructed of a red brick and a thick mantelpiece spread across its face. The top of the mantle showcased an old fashioned brass timepiece encased in a glass dome which was constructed adequately to protect the circular pendulum spinning under the influence of a fine wire. Proudly displayed on each side of the clock were framed photographs of family and small inexpensive knick knacks.

Deadwood was abundant and in easy access within close proximity to the house. Once chopped it would be neatly stacked against the sides of the fireplace presenting the ends as a gallimaufry of shapes and sizes. Once ablaze the fire radiated lots of heat distributing it evenly throughout and bringing about a cosy and homely habitat. A by-product of the comfort in temperature was the creation of an atmosphere conducive to the encouragement of leisurely activities like playing cards or board games, or just relaxing, chatting, reading or listening to the radio; few locals in this era were fortunate enough to have a television set but it was definitely on the Scotsdon’s wish list. The TV they had on the ‘Hostel’ belonged to the establishment and had to stay when they pulled up stakes, besides, because of its smallness in size it was a real strain on the eyes in viewing.

One night the temperature was below its monthly worst, but the family was content as they huddled around the fire reading and engaging in games, until the tranquillity underwent a sudden interruption, a weird screeching noise echoed through the silence:

“Aaaaaahhhhhh – Aaaaaahhhhh – Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.” It was like a woman in pain, a screaming; everyone froze. Startled by the series of shrieks, Rene, wearing a gaped jaw and somewhat stupefied, was the first to comment. In a reverberating voice she asked;

       “What was that? Ted, turn the radio off, quick. You must ‘ave heard it?” No-one answered straight away but each gave a tacit nod. All remained mute in opinion with their auditory faculties tuned for the faintest sound. Nellie was not alarmed in any way whatsoever, she did not stir but lazed peacefully on the carpet near the fire. Ted thought: ‘What a great guard dog she turned out to be, her hearing should be exceptional, maybe she’s part deaf.’

       “It must have been a noise on the radio,” Ted said in an attempt to quell concerns, but his act of an abiding composure was only feigning the truth; he was just as alarmed as everyone else. Although reserved in their beliefs they accepted Ted’s explanation and went about their business while endeavouring to give the impression of concentrating on doing what they were doing before the interruption. The truth was no-one could relax, each kept their ears tuned carefully for mysterious peculiarities.

The screeching cry sounded again; “Aaaaaahhhhhh – Aaaaaahhhhh – Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh,” then a pause, then again; “Aaaaaahhhhhh – Aaaaaahhhhh – Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.” Ted jumped to attention. Don was undergoing a farrago of fears while clinging to his mother’s dress. The others, also too frightened to speak, froze in their seats. Ted grabbed his loaded .22 and crept outside into the cloud covered night. The dog followed, unperturbed by all the commotion it stayed loyal and kept by his side. Ted scoured the bush as far and wide as the dim light permitted, but without success; there was no trouble to be found and no unusual noises to be heard. He returned inside and warmed his bum by the fire. Rene asked;

       “Shall we call the operator and tell her to get the police?” Without answer Ted held his palm up to signal quiet and listened with diligence and attention for the smallest of sounds. After a short while with no more abnormalities, he replied;

       “No, let’s wait ‘till morning. We’ll see what happens.” Nobody wanted to go to bed, when they did it was a long time before anyone dozed off.

The next day; Thursday morning, Don rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peeked cautiously through the curtains. Memories of the scary noises from the night before were still troubling him. It was a picturesque day, the sun was shining, the birds tweeting and gentle breezes were blowing on his face through the partially opened sash. On the tree line stood the usual troop of kangaroos, some with a Joey in pouch, and others easily distinguishable by their height and identifiable by colours and markings as regulars. They were chewing steadily and taking advantage of the moist succulent grasses; the ‘big reds’ stood above the others, always alert in readiness for response to territorial encroachment from predators. These strong graceful creatures visited most mornings and Don accepted their attendance as a great privilege.

On making the effort to get out of bed he pulled the curtains fully open to let the sun provide warm somatic sensations, it gave off a lovely tingling through the body which the sun’s energy so welcomely volunteers. He thought to himself: ‘This is a going to be a great day for having fun and discovering more wonders the area has to offer’. And now it would be even more fun because I have my new friend Nellie to play with.’ But the strategy he planned for the day was not going to happen, unbeknown to him his mother had other ideas. She entered his room and handed him a folded pair of light black denim trousers, a short sleeved white shirt, black shoes and white socks and ordered;

       “Here ya are, put these on.” He did not like this line of attention one bit. He was accustomed to wearing shorts, usually without a shirt and no shoes; they were a luxury for special occasions only. Her motives were questioned with much inquisitiveness.

       “Why mum? What for? Where are we going?” Being fully aware of the reception she was about to receive she replied in a stern voice with parental authority;

       “You are going to school today, get dressed.” His face contorted and cringed in repulsion of the thought.

       “I don’t want to mum, I hate school. Why do I ‘ave to go?” He cried and cried and cried; tears flowed profusely. A screaming insolence together with ramped snivelling saw him throw his clothes on the ground in defiance of her command. She grabbed him and smacked him around the legs with the palm of her hands until his skin was red and sore and said;

       “You have to go sooner or later; it may as well be sooner.” All in one motion she smacked him again with one hand and picked up the clothes in the other, threw them on the bed and gave further instructions;

       “Now hurry up and get ready, your father will be taking you on the school bus. Hurry up. You haven’t got long, hurry or I’ll smack you again. I won’t tell you again, if I come back and you are not dressed then look out.” Don knew he was trounced in all ways, so in protest he got dressed very slowly and refused to eat breakfast, all the time crying and creating an unnecessary commotion far beyond his normal tantrums. The reason they surprised Don with the news of school attendance was twofold; the first was so Ted could start his job knowing Don was not going to be a burden at home with Rene and Zoe, and the second; they did not want to tell him earlier of the plan because they knew they would get a prolonged display of dissent. Don thought school to be a great imposition to his freedom, so this late charge meant they only had to put up with his irritable uncontrolled anger for an hour or two rather than days or weeks. Ted hoped to have the car fixed by now to ease the pain by taking him to school, but the engine was still incapable of functioning to any standard of reliability so Ted, Tim, and a very unhappy Don boarded the bus for the journey to ‘Wirrageen Primary’.

Don’s closest neighbours lived about one mile from the school which was perched on a hill approximately three miles from home. The main road bordered closely to its front entrance and the grounds consisted of three main buildings and two shared outside toilets on two acres of flat cleared land. It was without boundary fences, except one, at the front between the road and the assembly area. All other areas beyond those limits were open bush. Two buildings were used as classrooms for around thirty children, and the other, about fifteen foot long by twelve foot wide was used as a weather-shed, it had an open front and was adapted into a boxing ring by tying ropes across the front; boxing was a daily sport for those who wanted to participate or resolve childish antagonisms.

When Don arrived at school he and his father walked straight into the classroom. He had no idea of the conversation taking place between his father and the headmaster, Mr Tems, and was scared stiff because he certainly did not want to be there. He was still bawling his eyes out for no beneficial gain, nobody, including the other kids were taking any notice of him. The teacher bent to his level and tried to ease his tears before introducing him to one of the older girl students who was eleven years of age. She was given the chore of helping him to settle in; a type of ‘role model’ system. Ted stayed for about half an hour but could not wait to leave, and who could blame him, Don did not stop performing for the whole time. He loved his son like father’s do but enough was enough, he walked out without feelings of sorrow, just a gladness to get Don out of his hair for a while.

After a few hours of turbulent developments Don calmed to a state of composed and intermediate stages of sobbing. One of the few words spoken was when he crossed his legs and asked to go to the toilet. The teacher was worried he was going to run away so he told Don’s invaluable helper to escort him to the amenities. She did so and waited outside the ‘thunderbox’ for ages until eventually calling on him to come out, again with tears, he refused. Unbeknown to her his pants had a zipper in them and it was broken in the down position which set in motion the whole crying routine. She coached him out and took him back to the classroom where she explained to the teacher what took them so long and why he was upset yet again. Tems gave her a safety pin to put in his ‘fly’, while she undertook the chore of fastening it Tems patience was ‘wearing thin’ with Don’s constant disruptions, he held outstretched the slender cane of bamboo towards his nose before lowering it and whacking him around the back of the legs. While waving the cane as a pointer he said;

       “Stop crying Don, Go sit down up the back of the room.” The sting of the ‘cane’ made him cry even more, and the hurt together with the humiliation caused great upset. But once the pain faded he settled and was forced to pay attention; he did not want any more of the teacher’s treatment and soon came to understand who was in charge.

At the end of the day he was put on the bus and travelled home alone where he could take solace in play with Nellie until it was dark enough to be called inside. Following dinner, sitting around the warmth of the fire, Ted gained everyone’s attention with a clap before delivering his gained knowledge;

       “Today I was told what that bloody awful screaming noise was last night.” A moment of silence filled the room in anticipation of his rationalization. “It was only those big black birds - ‘crows’, they won’t hurt you and you don’t usually hear them at night. Apparently they’re called a ‘murder’ of crows when in a group; a name well suited I thought.” Zoe replied with disbelief regarding his explanation;

       “It didn’t sound like any bird I’ve ever heard before. I hope we don’t hear them at all, especially at night. I would ‘ave sworn it was a person screaming. Are you sure dad?”

       “Well, that’s what I was told.” Although the story was accepted as true it was not without scepticism as they had all seen crows before and knew what they looked like but never had they heard them voice their opinion with such annoyance and ferocity.

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"FF1: 'Cultivation of a Murderer.'" CH 6 continued.

Chapter 6

Transition Period – CONTINUED.......

It was just another day when Tim took the bus to school, except this day Ted accompanied him into town to look for work. The use of the bus was inescapable due to his old car finding the mission of travel from Sydney too demanding; it had its engine out once again. He was pleased of the benefits of a garage with a workshop and a work bench, this luxury allowed the kitchen table to be spared an oily mess, nevertheless a broken car meant he had no choice but to walk or catch the bus with Tim. Consequently, Rene and Zoe were left in charge of activities.

       “Mum, there’s a car at the bowser,” shouted Zoe from the front lounge. Rene was in the kitchen preparing a pot of pea and ham soup with dumplings for customers, or the family dinner, whichever the demand warranted first. As Zoe ran into the kitchen she bellowed again;

       “Mum, hurry up!” Zoe was not yet confident to serve petrol by herself, besides, Rene did not have enough trust in humanity at this stage to leave her alone with customers because too many shady characters frequented the area, instead they united in service for reasons of safety and took turns in individual tasks. One would pump petrol while the other simply looked on, or if the customer preferred, check the oil, tyres, and cleaned the front and rear windows. This particular time it was Rene’s turn to pump the petrol. They approached a waiting man and his wife sitting in a ‘Desoto utility’. The man saw them coming and stepped out onto the running board of his car and hobbled onto the ground.

       “Good morning Sir, would you like petrol,” inquired Rene.    “Yes. Six gallons please.” Whilst trying to make polite conversation with the stranger she put the petrol nozzle in the cars fuel intake and squeezed the lever to its limit allowing the fuel to flow at full pressure. The desired amount was near visible on the gallons gauge when, without warning, the petrol hose snapped at the trigger outlet. Rene was jumping about holding onto the unconnected trigger apparatus while petrol gushed forth everywhere, with the hose snaking about she sprang around like a ‘blue arsed fly’.

       “Oh shit!” She rarely swore and more curses flowed as she tried in vain to turn it off. The pump would not stop spurting out petrol. Erratic swashing of the hose caused from its flapping and twisting soaked her from tip to toe. The customer bounded out of the way, he was astounded by the commotion and stunned into silence. Zoe was laughing uncontrollably while Don stood well back out of the way. Rene was still clinging to the inoperative handle like it was glued to her fingers and screaming at the top of her lungs;

       “Zoe! Quick! Go turn off the electricity to the pumps.” The switches were located in the shed adjacent, only a short distance from the pumps. Zoe knew where they were because she had to turn them on at opening time in the mornings and off at night. Due to her haste and the amusement of it all affecting her balance she fell, got back up and scrambled awkwardly to the shed, and in completing her task she cried out in tears of humour;

       “It’s off mum.”

Rene was deeply embarrassed and very apologetic to the tall man.

       “I’m terribly sorry Sir,” she said in a penitent response to the customer’s continued silence. He never batted an eyelid and feigned anger as if this was normal and experienced it many times before. He secured in the palm of her hand one pound and seven shillings, the amount he considered to be the cost of the petrol that actually went into the tank and not on the ground, and in sharp retort, beaming with stunned bewilderment he said;

       “Thank you,” as he stepped up into his ‘ute’ and drove off. Rene stood gobsmacked. She gave Zoe a brood gaze and glumly searched apathetically up towards the heavens with arms reached high, muttering;

       “Why me lord? Why me? What did I do wrong? Oooh! What a way to start a day.” A moment passed and Zoe could not get over the risible antics of her mother, yet in spite of her brave face she saw in her tears of torment. Zoe retained a comical attitude by voicing mere flippant ridicule in hope of adding levity to her mother’s despondency;

       “He was a grumpy old sod wasn’t he?” Rene, still dowsed with the highly inflammable liquid and reeking like a petrol tank gave a slight nod and a smirk as she started towards the house, wittingly saying;

       “I don’t think I should have a smoke yet.” The circumstances now somewhat alleviated by typical bush humour allowed them to appreciate the funnier side of the whole unfortunate incident. Zoe, still unable to keep a straight face added;

       “You have to admit mum it was funny wasn’t it?” Rene still shaking her head in disbelief headed for a shower and a change of clothes.

Zoe followed her mother across the yard until out of the corner of her eye she was distracted by a dog walking along the side of the road and heading their way. Rene continued on her clean-up mission while Zoe and Don took more notice of the dog. It soon became aware of their interest and stopped and stared from across the road.

       “Look,” said Zoe to Don as she pointed. “Stay still Don.” She shaped her lips into a whistle. Softly and soothingly she whistled, ‘SSsssS – SSsssS- SSsssS,’ to attract its attention and bond with it but could see it was scared, devoid of energy and feeble as if mistreated, it just froze and by its readiness in posture she guessed it was ready to make a fast retreat if threatened. Zoe continued enticing it by kneeling on one knee with one hand outstretched and fingers snapping together to form a reassuring gesture of goodwill;

       “Come’n... Come’n,..here boy, here boy. Come’n.” It slowly extended one paw forward towards them, then lacked the trust to continue and withdrew. It stood firm, unsure of their intentions. Zoe whispered to Don;

       “Don, go inside and get a bit of meat out of the fridge.” He followed her directive, went in the house and opened the door to the near new fridge, a ‘Hallstrom Silent Knight’ which hummed a faint odour of kerosene and stale meat even with the door closed. His mother, now showered but still reeking of petrol asked;

       “What are you doing Don?”

       “Getting a handful of meat mum.”

       “What for?”

       “Zoe told me to get it. It’s for a dog.” A little bemused by his reply, but giving somewhat of a dismissive shrug in curiosity she asked;

       “What dog?”

       “The one outside, mum,” he replied in a tone of bafflement as if she should know the answer. She looked out the window and saw Zoe trying to lure the dog into her care. Rene gave him a bone she kept aside from the pea and ham soup made earlier. She would usually re-use the bones for more soup but felt one bone less would make no difference and it seemed to be for a worthy cause.

       “Here ya are, take this to her.” She handed him the bone and followed his hasty exit.

       “Don’t run Don, you’ll scare ‘im,” advised Rene in low voice. Don slackened his pace before handing the bone to Zoe. She waved it about, continuing the tempting invitation by beckoning imaginatively to try and arouse its inquisitive nature. Finally, the dog made its move, ever so gently one paw gingerly extending forward over the other, now increasing its expression of interest and excitement for the aroma of the juicy bone. It came within arm’s reach with its tail between its legs and made hesitant steps forward, crouching on approach, retreating and crouching and approaching again. It was timid, scared out of its wits and finally finished its cringe with a roll onto its back and all fours stretched skyward; Zoe grabbed it and calmed it with affection.

It was a female sheep dog, featuring black and white markings with longer than short hair, very dirty and very hungry. It gave off a foul odour, similar to a miasma of decay.

       “Gotchya,” said Zoe. “Come’n I won’t hurt you.” Her face squirmed from the smell and condition of its matted coat. By this time even Rene could not but help feel sorry for the animal and joined Zoe and Don in patting it until it gained enough trust to lay and gnaw on the bone. Rene fetched it a bowl of water and Don eagerly pleaded;

       “Can we keep ‘im mum? Can we?”

       “We’ll see. Maybe, if no-one claims her and your father says its okay; then maybe.” Her answer was as good as a ‘yes’ for Don. He was thrilled and gave the dog a cuddle. It responded with a lick here and there as it continued its feast on the bone.

       “Aaahhh,” winced his mother. “It stinks like a skunk. Don’t let it lick you.” Don wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt before snatching the bone from the dog’s mouth, it looked up at him with such sad, pitiful eyes, probably expecting inhumane treatment, but Don had his reasons, he was not about to let her out of his sight until his father came home and used the bone as a sweetener to bait her around to the back yard where he could keep her in a more secure environment.

Ted hitched a ride home later in the day. He thanked the driver and crossed the road making a brisk ‘bee-line’ towards the shop entrance. Don saw him coming, he raced around to the front of the house to greet him with the sole aim of asking if he could keep the dog, but he was overtaken by the fetid yapper which nearly tripped him to the ground as it brushed by his legs; the dog decided to offer her own home welcoming. Ted, unsure at first at seeing this tangled ball of fur running towards him, stopped and turned half his body in the other direction as this docile but excitable animal decided to jump all over him and lick him to death.

       “Get down you stinkin’mutt. Christ it stinks,” he roared while pinching his nose with one hand and pushing the dog away with the other. In a standoffish manner Ted gave her a pat on the nose.

       “Can we keep ‘er dad? Please can we; pleeaassse?” pleaded Don       “Where did it come from? Whose is it?”

       “From across the road. Mine.” With his arm extended Don pointed into obscurity. Ted frowned at Don’s reply and commented;

       “We’ll see. Where’s your mum?”

       “Inside dad. Can I keep her?” Ted said nothing in answer to his nagging and went inside to have a brief conversation with Rene regarding the daily events of importance before asking about the dog. Rene explained how the dog found them rather than how they found it. Don was standing between them staring with neck bent upwards, waiting for a response. His father looked at him with a paternal display of warmth and affection and said;

       “If no-one collects her you can keep it.”

       “Yipee; thanks dad, thanks.” He was elated and gave both his parents a hug around the waist. His mother looked down at him;

       “But you will have to give it a hose down, a wash; it stinks. She is your responsibility. Okay.” He started to run outside and called back;

       “Yes, thanks. I will mummy, I will.” The dog was sitting on the back porch awaiting his return.

       “Come’n girl, come here. Good girl.” The dog responded happily as if it understood it was accepted and bounded with energy after him as they both ran in play.

Don caught his Father in a very good mood because as he explained to Rene and Zoe, he was lucky in his job hunting activities, so much so he found full-time employment on the local Council. This was fantabulous news. Everyone’s spirits were raised as he tried to shed some light on the blurred role he was about to undertake. He clarified a small number of necessary tasks to be actioned and expanded on what he required;

       “I will need to fix the car. I start next Monday as a grader operator for the Council in Naretha.”

       “What’s a grader?” asked Rene.

       “You know those big yellow tractors with a big blade sitting in the middle of it.” She looked at him dumbfounded. “You’ve seen them many times working on the roads – you know they level the dirt.” She was still stumped in trying to fathom his description so he skirted the question;

       “Oh don’t worry, you’ll see eventually. The problem is, because we really need the extra money I told them I had operated one before, back in England, but to be honest I have no idea how to work it; I don’t even know how to start it.” Rene laughs out aloud before giving her reply;

       “You silly sod! What are you going to do then?”

       “Not sure. I’ll just have to make the excuse it’s different to the one I drove in England. I don’t know yet, wing it – I guess, – I’d better go start work on the car.” As he set out towards the garage Rene bellowed like a bull;

       “Wait up Ted! I forgot to tell you about the broken petrol pump hose.” She reported the whole misfortunate incident to him, which by now lost its humorous side and barely drew a smile from Ted, for him it was just another demand on his precious time. He went about fixing the hose before the arduous and time-consuming task of engine repairs.

It was late in the afternoon when Tim stepped off the school bus. The dog once again began her sprint to broadcast to another family member she was happy in her new found home.

       “Down boy, down! Whose dog?” He moaned; “It stinks.”

       “Mine,” Don replied. “Dad said I could keep it.”

       “Good! Then give it a wash. What’s his name?” Don spoke back in the usual cheeky manner to his brother.

       “It’s a her; don’t you know anything,” Ted overheard their conversation whilst carrying out mending the hose and shouted out;

       “Nellie. Nellie’s her name.” Wherever he fished the name Nellie from so quickly no-one knew and nobody bothered to ask, but Nellie it was.

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FF1 'Cultivation of a Murderer'. CH 6 Continued..................

Chapter 6

Transition Period – CONTINUED.......

In the immediate day following their departure customers proved a scarce resource. It was as if the previous owners paid people to stop and buy conveniences and petrol whilst they were still there, to give the appearance of a booming business. But at the time, the lack of trade was not a great concern to Ted or Rene because the excitement of owning a home and operating their own business on land of their own and in such peaceful surroundings gave them mammoth satisfactions. Sadly it was not long before reality established a conventional view of the situation. On the third day of closing which was never before ten at night, the gross revenue came to three shillings and two pence, the lowly sum being for the sale of a pack of twenty ‘Craven A’ cigarettes. Although this was more than they took in the previous two days, the financial gain was not very inspiring and they soon realised they were not on the road to ‘millionaires’ row’. The sort of income earned was nowhere near enough to feed the family, let alone pay the mortgage or re-stock the shelves, or cover ongoing costs. Their will to survive was assisted by adopting the attitude: ‘We’re here now. We have to make the best of it and do whatever it takes to make it work or we will become even more destitute’.

Don did not have to worry about all the financial hassles, all he was concerned about was having fun. Over the next few days he explored most of the property. Through eyes so young the abode was huge and space in ground mammoth. Behind the shop stood five acres of bushland, adorned with large ‘Spotted Gum’, ‘Stringybark’, ‘Wattle’, ‘Blue Gum’, ‘Eucalypts’, ‘Paperbark’ and ‘Ironbark’. It was thick with saplings, ‘Black Boys’ (Xanthorrhoea), and in other places fresh green lucent tufts of grass spread amongst sparse ‘scrubby’ vegetation. The property was not fenced, probably deemed unnecessary as there were no cattle or other livestock to keep safe from the foxes or dingoes roaming freely. The kangaroos were in their dozens and made welcome by their human visitors; they were not a pest in any way and later exploited by way of an attraction for the tourists. Other wildlife consisted of a multiplicity of bird type, such as; magpies, swallows, starling, kookaburras, parrots, hawks, owls and eagles. Other native species sharing this parcel of land involved many type of animals and insects; spiders such as the red-back, funnel web and trapdoor, and snakes, and wombats and porcupine, to name a few. The only pests were vermin, including a few big rats Ted soon disposed off . He bought two large bottles of ‘Arsenic’ and left baits throughout the cupboards and around the shelves in the shed; it was quick and efficient. The Scotsdon’s adapted instinctively and quickly to their surroundings and integrated accordingly, forever respecting the territory and its natural wonders.

Zoe had nearly turned seventeen years of age and much to her parent’s delight she began to settle in a compliant and happy manner. Her line of logical reasoning through syllogism relieved her from further school attendance. She argued on two points; one, she could stay at school and earn her ‘leaving certificate’ but suggested it to be a waste of time going for another year because there was no work in the area anyway. And the primary point of her deduction was; her labour was required in the business full-time or it would be necessary to employ someone to help out. She knew they could not afford to pay wages and used both her reasons in a coherent and logical defence for argument to skip education. It was sad in a way because out of the three children she liked school the most and could have acquired a decent vocation. But it was soon apparent to her parents the business was not yet going to support its-self let alone a paid employee, so they considered the decision of Zoe helping in the daily workings as one of a requisite desire. This decision was partly due to the strength of verity in Ted now being devoid of options but to seek employment elsewhere or suffer the consequences of bankruptcy. He admitted to himself; ‘Another source of revenue was vital to supplement the meagre income so far earned, and to date from the consistent lack of sales future patterns did not hold hope of change.’ It improved slightly but with the passing trade passing by all too often it became evident, if there was no immediate improvement in clientele numbers, or without outside financial assistance the outcome was definitely failure; insolvency was a threatening reality and Ted was not accustomed to defeat. He concluded, if he could not stay home to help Rene then the best option was to employ Zoe, free of wages for now. She would be allowed to stay and work with her mother for security, company, and to attend to normal daily operations while Ted looked for work.

Don escaped school for a short period and remained home in the care of his mother and sister. His role in life was to play and became a general nuisance while they toiled, but his brother Tim was not so lucky. Tim was fourteen years of age and attended ‘Naretha High School’ .This school was about ten miles north of where they lived. He would transit by bus carrying a mixture of passengers comprising of the older public going to work and primary and high school students. It stopped out front of everyone’s house and took around forty minutes to reach the school. Tim did not mind the daily journey, he said it gave him time to think and talk to friends.

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Chapter 6: "Cultivation of a Murderer" continued.........

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Chapter 6

Transition Period

In August 1960 the dream for Ted and Rene to move into a new home and be given the opportunity to take control of fiscal responsibilities finally became a reality. Suitcases were packed to the brim with clothes and all things mounting to their worldly possessions, whatever they could not squeeze in was bundled and crammed into the boot, those items too big or unable to fit were strapped to the roof racks or thrown out. Following the loading of the vehicle was an even harder task; withstanding the emotional upset resulting from announcing solemn goodbyes to friends. Those they knew well and many others, even complete strangers, clustered together to wave farewell.

On departure the weather turned nasty. It was not sympathetic to their relocation and quickly signalled a significant change compared to the holiday in the summer months. An introduction to the strong windy chill of winter affected the steering of the car as each quick sharp burst of blustery weather blew it from one side of the road to the other. The trees bent erratically with each gust and snapped back and beyond perpendicular and back again; it was ferocious. To make worse the conditions the rain amalgamated with the wind in attempt of devastation. Rene could not help airing her irritation, in a whining account she made similarities to the first couple of months of arrival in Australia;

       “Oh God! I don’t think I could go through months of woeful bloody shitty weather again. We should have went back home to England when we had the chance.” In a brief moment of discouragement she expected a blast in the form of reply from Ted, but he looked straight ahead, his eyes glued to the road, probably thinking to his self it was better for silence to be the prudent part of wisdom and safer to reserve his thoughts rather than vent them. After all, words in attempt to console may have resulted in her petulance reliving the past and giving him a barrage of antagonistic scepticism. His calm proved correct. The storm swiftly reached its zenith and cleared to overcast as quickly as it came. Rene was not one to hold grudges and got over things as quickly as she got into them, therefore the matter gradually ceased to be the cause of controversy, assuring the rest of the trip was pleasant; their destination now lay within a few miles.

On arrival Pollie and Ernie prepared living quarters in their caravan and made available the house for the new proprietors. Ted and Rene moved into the main bedroom, Tim and Don bunked in single beds in another room and Zoe had a room to herself. The space in the house was a stark contrast to the cramped conditions they were accustomed to back on the ‘Hostel’. Pollie and Ernie stayed only a few days to educate the Scotsdon’s in the routine of operations; ordering stock, petrol tanker deliveries, cooking recipes and ground maintenance. The accounts needing documentation and balancing were very basic and only required a simple cash in and cash out statement scribed into a plain textbook to make comprehensible the relevant transactions of each day. Ted and Rene quickly learnt the simple tasks. As for the running of the business, early mornings Ernie wandered down to give further instructions and indoctrinate important processes as they familiarized themselves with each procedure; they were taught the fundamentals and assured the rest was easy and would come naturally.

The morning air was redolent with the unforgettable aroma of a boiling ‘billy’ and toast crisping over the ‘primus’ outside of the caravan annex, it would drift effortlessly with the breeze over the acreage and in through Don’s bedroom window. It was a welcome smell which never left his sense of retrieval, and in adulthood when he got a whiff of similar smells he associated the flavours with nice people, caravans and travel; it offered a sense of freedom and to a point alleviated his diverse and future vexations. The weather, still cold and overcast, took heart and cleared proper for Pollie and Ernie to say cheerio. It was a sombre time for Don because they were the sort of people everyone would like to have for a grandparents; a part of family familiarity omitted from his life due to the move from England. While they were still chatting to his family he was playing in the surrounds, finding all the unusual scattered around the property, things such as old ploughs and rusted cars. Searching he could not help but listen and absorb the array of unusual noises in the bush, especially the birds with such diversity in colour and song They would make all types of sounds, from beautiful chirps and distinct trills to high and low pitch whistles while playfully bouncing around the brilliant fauna and flora. It was like nothing he ever experienced before and learnt to appreciate the creations evolution benignly bestowed upon this region. Blithely basking in the wonder and charm its natives offered his dad’s shout interrupted his explorations;

       “Don! Where are you? Come here, Pollie and Ernie are going.”

       “Coming,” he replied running through the near knee high paspalum. Ted called again when he sighted Don in the clearing;

       “Hurry! Come and say goodbye to Pollie and Ernie,” Don was puffing from such effort but as he got closer he sprinted faster into open arms and receive a secure hug from both. Pollie directed advice to him;

       “You be a good boy when we go. Eat all your vegetables and you will grow strong and wise; won’t you?”

       “Yes aunt Pollie,” he replied with tears rolling down his cheek.

       “Don’t cry,” said Ernie. “We’ll be back to see you soon.” Don hugged them even harder, not wanting to relinquish his grip.

       “Okay we’re off now, and, oh, Ted, don’t forget to cut the grass to keep the snakes away; – goodbye young fellow; see you all later,” said Ernie. As they got in the car and slammed the door shut Rene gave Ted her patented contentious look which usually meant a strong discrepancy or a point of dispute was to follow. She exclaimed in a somewhat uneasy manner regarding Ernie’s conjecture;

       “Snakes! This close to the house?”

       “Good luck,” they shouted, waving vigorously from open windows as they drove south with their caravan in tow.

The family stood in one spot near the petrol pumps and watched as they turned the bend and drove out of view. Everything was so quiet, no traffic, no wind, even the wildlife took a siesta. Slightly bewildered Don’s parent’s turned slowly, scanned the property in a hundred and eighty degree contemplation, pausing briefly to glance at the old shop with some perplexity in expression; who knows what thoughts were running through their minds? Ted’s eyes flinched as he gazed at Rene and said;

       “I’d better cut the grass.” His light hearted buffoonery caused them all to laugh and head towards the shop to begin anew the order of business life. The short time the Scotsdon’s were in the presence of such honourable people as Pollie and Ernie, they learnt to really appreciate their companionship and the way they managed to charm everyone with their musing planning, honesty and understanding. It was a great pleasure to meet people so genuine and of real bush character, but sadly they never heard from them again, not even a postcard or letter, or from any word of mouth in passing. The Scotsdon’s had no forwarding address or any link to members of their family. They had no idea if Pollie and Ernie just disappeared into the sunset, enjoying life to its fullest, or simply died in their travels.

Fictitious Facts I; CH5 conclusion....

Fictitious Facts I; CH5 conclusion....

The time came to leave this beautiful place, it seemed the stay was as short as the drive home was to be long, and the thought of leaving induced a feeling of great sorrow shared by all. On packing the camping gear and thanking Pollie and Ernie for their hospitality, Ted and Rene expressed their desire to live in such a wonderful place.

       “It’s beautiful here. It would be good to live somewhere like this, wouldn’t it Ted?” He acknowledged with wishful hopes;

       “Hmmm. It sure would.”

       “Yes it’s so peaceful,” said Ernie. “We’ve been here for ten years now and have often thought about selling and going travelling.” He stretches out his arm and points towards an old caravan at the back of the property and nostalgically expresses his disappointment; “We’ve got that old van up the back there and haven’t even used it yet, not for travel anyway.” Ted and Rene glanced at each other, after an encouraging moment of silence Rene with gauche and inquisitiveness in approach blurted out;

       “How much?” Ted was astounded, not because of her candour but due the fact she wanted to know. Without any hesitation whatsoever Pollie replied;

       “Three thousand pounds.”

       “Can we ‘ave it dad, can we? Are we gonna live ‘ere?” pestered Don. Rene replied with sarcasm to conceal her real aspirations;

       “Yes of course Don, we’ll buy two, one for Saturday and one for Sunday.” Everyone laughed but Don, he was too young to understand ridicule. Ted and Rene took the conversation with ‘a grain of salt’ because they realised raising such a hefty sum of money was a pipedream; it was three thousand pounds more than they could afford, so once again they politely expressed their gratitude, said their goodbyes and made ready for the drive home.

A very happy holiday was now near its end. On the drive home the prospect of ownership of their own business planted a seed in their minds causing the trip back to be a little melancholy. A deliberation of a visionary future innocently implanted by Pollie and Ernie’s conversation of sale stirred their inner cravings. The entrepreneurial opportunity was exactly what Ted was looking for in lifestyle and security.

Back to the normal routine of ‘Hostel’ life made the time pass slowly. The holiday had taken the opposite effect to its purpose and they were now more disgruntled with their present situation than they were before being taunted by implausible opportunities and beautiful places. The drudgery of a repetitive daily toil and the need to progress onto a more satisfying existence continued to torment, they could not free their minds of the experiences encountered. It nagged them so much they discussed the possibilities of buying the business night after night after night. This went on incessantly for about three months after returning home; it drove them balmy. They could not obviate objections any longer and had to make an attempt to satisfy their curiosity. One morning Ted made an appointment with a bank manager to explore his prospects regarding a loan to buy the business. The first visit was promising, leading to further enquiry, then official procedures began, and finally formal legalities took place which brought beneficial outcomes.

Difficulties arose in negotiations due to the distance of about one hundred and ten miles between Sydney and the Wirrageen station. Ted was required to meet Pollie and Ernie on a few occasions to discuss the intended agreement, and although he was his usual resilient self, each obligatory trip completed in his old car would generate lots of stories surrounding the countless mechanical breakdowns. The car never once betrayed its right to have some type of operational failure in the middle of nowhere. If not for his mechanical dexterity, neither he, nor the car would have completed the journeys. He normally worked Saturday mornings and usually set out from Sydney straight after work; stay the night at Wirrageen and return home on Sunday afternoon. It was a stressful but exciting time for him, and the travel was crucial in finalisation of ownership; to his joy the deal had been done, the Scotsdon’s were now to all intents and purposes the proud owners of a service station, café (restaurant), and house, combined with acreage and had in their sights a prosperous future.

The last few months of Hostel living was a long-drawn-out period as is always the case when someone is anticipating something they deem to be worthwhile. In one way the wait was beneficial because it allocated time to get specifics in order and prepare for farewells to friends. On the other hand, as the interval allowed thought towards the reality of the task ahead it had the danger of provoking quarrels in the family. The time given and plausible negativity from ‘cold feet’ had the ability to substitute enthusiasm with trepidation. And to make worse their final preparation was the job of informing the children of the news of certainty in relocation; not an enviable position to be in. Although the job of easing this news should be classed as a labour of love, it was not going to be an easy liaison because as much as they enjoyed the holiday away from the ‘Hostel’, moving away permanently from their friends was another matter already tested in the past and received poorly. They had been displaced from friends, relatives, schools and familiar surroundings in England and only begun to settle within their new environment in Sydney. Don’s feelings were of no consequence to his parents, before or now because he was too young to remember or have an opinion, and being unfledged in years meant he would make friends quickly no matter where he moved to. The concern was more-so for Tim and Zoe. Zoe had grown very close to Bing and would dread the thought of being separated from him. The kids knew prior of their parents plans and grumbled a little about the possibility of moving but never thought it would come to fruition so remained relatively passive up to now. Ted and Rene knew the moment of truth was better done as soon as possible before they found out from other sources; they sat them down and explained the specifics of their plan.

Don was happy with the news because he thought it was just another holiday and could get to see all the great places again. Tim was not perturbed one way or the other and took the news with a ‘grain of salt’, but when Zoe was told she was deeply antagonised by the ruling and rebelled with tears and uttered sentiments in protest before running out of the unit screaming like a banshee;

       “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. I’m not going. You’ve already dragged me away from my real friends at home and now you want to do it again, I’m not going.” The selfish side of Zoe’s immaturity neglected to take into account the gamble and risks involved by her parent’s undertaking such a risky enterprise. They are once again putting ‘everything on the line’ in a venture and a dream of fortuity and will again have to adapt, feed and provide a stable environment for themselves and their children; not an easy grind without money. But in reality, whatever the children’s cogitative faculties perceived to be correct was irrelevant because their parents signed the contract and were now compelled by a covenant to move and make the deal binding. Zoe knew she had to abide by her parents wishes, but saying goodbye to Bing was to be a poignant reminder of her feelings for him and before the final move they spent as many a precious hour together as they could. Ted was sad for her emotional state, yet on the other hand he was relieved the distance to be formed between her and Bing, who had to stay due to his army commitments, would see an end to their relationship; so he thought.

In hindsight, when Don was old enough to form a process of rational inference in relation to his own upbringing, he realized he had a great admiration for his parents. To leave England and tackle a mystifying land was one huge risk, then to once again mount the courage to undertake another such move involving living in the bush with no support, no money, no doctors and miles from any main town, took a lot of audacity, spirit, perception and trust in each other. In his own mind Don could justify the decision if it was only husband and wife but with three children in tow he imagined the vision, acumen, and grit for such a daring exploit could not be obvious to anyone but themselves.

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CH 5 CONTINUED...........

CH 5 CONTINUED...........

The petrol station was called ‘Jack’s Roadhouse’. The fibro edifice was built on stumps as a single level structure. ‘L’ shaped it stood on a level piece of ground surrounded by ‘Gumtrees’ and scrub which bordered more ‘Gumtrees’ and scrub and sat about 70 feet off the highway. The double glass door entrance was set in the form of a concrete patio proudly flowered by steps giving access both sides. Both flights of stairs were partly fenced by a deformed steel railing on the outside and dwarfed by a large window on the other side. Sitting proudly at the front, on entry to each staircase, was a solid concrete golden coloured lion statue about three feet in height. The perimeter of the stair’s substructure was lined with small advertising blackboards promoting food and other merchandise such as; ‘meat pies’, chips’, mixed grills’, ‘frankfurts’, ‘ham and egg salad’ sandwiches, cigarettes and other items. A sign above the entrance under the awning, made distinguishable by bright red paint, displayed the word ‘CAFÉ’, so publicising the buildings purpose. And written on the window in big white letters was; ‘OYSTERS 3/- bottle’. On the side of the building for display to the south bound traffic read; ‘Penguin Ice Cream’.

The shop bore the cachet of warm homely charm. In it were three small tables with four chairs belonging to each and a long counter with a round glass front from top to bottom displaying chocolates, confectionary and other ready-to-eat food products. Next to the counter sat the fridge which housed cold bottles of drinks, ice cream and other dairy products, and behind the counter three long wooden shelves held items like; tobacco, matches, ‘lactogen’, biscuits, cans of soup, coffee, tea and other saleable provisions. The living quarters were situated at the rear of the building and were very large compared to what they were accustomed to on the ‘Hostel’. It boasted three bedrooms, a good sized lounge, and an open brick fireplace in support of a long thick wooden mantelpiece. Featured was a very large kitchen with a kerosene fridge, a wood fired combustion oven and a ‘BBQ’ plate to grill steaks and other customer choices.

Next door to the main building was a shed measuring about twelve by twenty feet in size. It was used for the sole purpose of storing the oil bottles, bric-a-brac, batteries and mechanical tools. Out front on display next to the barn type doors was a steel rack holding a row of automobile tyres, about six tyres in total was on sale with a sign advertising ‘Golden Fleece Tyres’ fixed above them. Further towards the road stood side by side two ‘bowsers’ (petrol pumps). Their position at the front of the land was in the middle of a large empty space with more than enough room to park four bulky semi-trailers.

The property itself consisted of seven acres, but only two of the seven was cleared, contributing more than enough space for the business to operate effectively. Most of the driveway surface between the road and the residence was a blend of light gravel and a road-base mixture, but this mix was not firm enough to stop a quagmire from occurring during the many rainy periods. The ‘rest room’, or ‘thunderbox’ as they were commonly known, was a hole in the ground with the ‘dunny’ precariously positioned over it. It was housed in a small, unlined fibro shed under a rusty old corrugated tin roof. One could never eliminate the ‘shitty’ vapour completely and there were always spiders and their webs to contend with, including the odd snake, and many moths, but overall they were maintained in a clean and hygienic manner considering the remote locality.

Ted got talking to the elderly owners who were both well into their seventies; they called themselves ‘Pollie’ and ‘Ernie’. It was getting late in the afternoon so he asked if there was a caravan park or camping ground somewhere in close proximity where he could pitch a tent and camp for the night. They were very hospitable people and offered them the option of pitching their tent, free of charge, on the grassy side of the house where the galvanised iron water tank stood. The tank was uncovered and collected run-off water from the roof, it was not a big tank but the amount of precipitation falling annually proved sufficient for collection to service the shop and the residence, and the design was a bonus because it had a tap on the bottom which allowed for personal washing and drinking. The owners did not bother the Scotsdon’s while they erected their tent and made comfortable the campsite. On completion a well deserved rest was afforded with the slurping of a cup of tea before the cooking of sausages and eggs on the wood fired BBQ built specifically for customers in the expanse of the visitor’s grounds. After eating and vegging around the naked flames for a while it was not long before total exhaustion from the busy events of the day meant it was time to extinguish the kerosene lamps and retire for an early night’s sleep.

The morning sun offered shadows abound from trees lining the property boundary, and together with the clean crisp air it extended the hours for the dew tipped grass to be allowed to bask in the warming environment. It was a haven for the kangaroos; they came in droves to graze on moist sweet pastures. The Scotsdon’s saw kangaroos on the ‘Hostel’ where the bush met the cleared grounds but not many and certainly not as big and healthy as these, it was the first time away from civilization they could enjoy seeing so many congregate in a ‘troop’ in such a wonderful and free environment. They were magnificent specimen’s which to some extent tolerated humans without the stress and fear of association and this made even more pronounce the absence of imposed restraints and the bountiful space this area had to offer.

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