SHORT STORY COMPETITION

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 93, 20 April 1932, Page 17

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

JANUARY AWARD

The prize for a short story in January is given to "The Way of the Soil," by Michael Lawrence.

The Way of the Soil

By MICHAEL LAWRENCE.

There are many things a man can tackle in this life that will try him to the utmost —things that tax his brain ancl strength and courage to the last ounce of endurance. Yes! and even his faith in God. Himself. And of these many things the most merciless, most relentless, is the soil. It was with the soil that Billy Carewe battled. For eleven years the light had waged fiercely, sometimes in favour of tlio soil, sometimes in favour of Billy Carewe. And now, at the end of the eleventh year he stood and surveyed the creation of his hands and brain and felt that it was good. Yes, undoubtedly it was good. lie had achieved a lot and all he had achieved had been well done. It would last— there was a staunch solidity about all his work that was pleasing to dwell upon. Ilis grass paddocks were green and fresli-looking; his stock sleek, well fed and contented. At long last he had conquered. At last he was master, lord of all he surveyed. He had battled with the soil and had beaten it, and the knowledge brought him a thrill of exultation, a deep satisfaction of his resource and endurance. It had been a long, hard, bitter struggle, but it was over now and the goal he had reached fully compensated him for his labours. The mad, blind rush of frenzied toil was behind him, but a shadow of the past. He could afford to smile at it now and pick out the humorous spots. It was over and done with. From now on life would be peaceful, tranquil, a round of steady pleasurable work in making his farm produce more heavily each year. Ye*, the job he had done was good, and that broad rise above the creek with the ridge in the background, would make an excellent spot for a neat little home. Ancl what more entrancing vision than that of Dulcie, say, picking flowers in the gardens about it, or presiding daintily over a spotless kitchen ? There could be nothing to beat it! And Dulcie had a soft, sweet voice. What utter 'bliss it would be to hear her singing in the evenings as he came from the milking along the track by the creek through the tall manuka clumps in the mellow light of sunset. In the spring the clematis would hang like billowy white clouds upon the manuka and the birds would bo busy nesting and filling the air with sweet song in llutelike accompaniment to Dulcie:

They had boon engaged for three years and were waiting until it was possible to fulfill their dream. Now that moment had arrived and Carewe was busily preparing the erection of their homo. Ho was csuro he could afford it now. Of course, ho would have to raise a Government loan to help him out with the house. He had a fair bit of cash to put towards it, but not sufficient to do without a light mortgage. But that was all right now. He would be able to meet the interest easily enough and he could do most of the work himself leaving only the finishing off to a carpenter.

They would have to be careful for a year or two, 'but after that, if things held out as thoy promised, they should be well on the road to prosperity. His herd was good, built up carefully through the years from a line of famous purebred sires. It was a young herd and should yield greater returns as it matured. His small flock of sheep was also good and built up, as the herd, by careful selection.

No, there was no reason why they should wait any longer. In fact, Dulcic had recently informed him that she could not bear to think of his "baching" alone any longer, and intended to come up and take care of him even if it meant nothing more imposing to live in than an iron shanty. This was in the spring. Already Carcwe had fenced in the plot for their home and planted rows of trees and hedges. By the end of February the last nail had been driven home and the little house completely furnished and standing in readiness for the bride. They were married early in March, and a month later Carewe returned with the most wonderful girl in all the world to the most wonderful home in all the world. And for twelve months life spread itself smoothly and prosperously before them. Then, suddenly, peace and security turned into chaos. It was as if the sun had been blotted out. Depression and slump stalked over the land with grim forshading. Carewe awoke as if to the old order of things—to find the turmoil of the old battle all about him once more. But the thing had to be faced, and if more fight was to be demanded of him he was ready. There was more incentive now —Dulcie and the home to fight for.

They had smiled about it at first, confident that the dark clouds would soon disperse, but as time dragged by and the clouds, if anything, grew blacker, a deadly apprehension filtered into the heart of Billy Carewe. "We'll weather the storm, Dulcic, he told her cheerfully every day, and always, just as cheerfully, she answered that she was sure they would. "It's going to be pretty tough, though, he would sav. "Darned if I know what's happened to" the blooming old world. Seems to have gone all crazy mad." "Yes, dear, crazy mad and topsy turvcy, We're lucky though, old thing, to have a homo of our own and something to live on. Just think of those poor fellows who have lost their jobs and are now with the unemploved on the dole. There are several I knew quite well, poor chaps. It all seems bo unreal —so impossible" "Yes, although we're hard hit here in the country, and probably some will lose their farms, we're a dashed sight better off than those poor beggers." During the days that followed Carewe did a lot of heavy thinking. Also he did a lot of scribbling and calculating on paper. His herd had done well all through the season. If the bonus on the butterfat made the payout for the year average a shilling a pound, he could just pull through. If not—it would mean debts on his hands. His wool cheque was a third of what it should have been; his I lambs averaged eight shillings a head less than last year. "If they pay out a bob for the season we're set, Du'lcie,'" he declared, "and I think they will. The directors seem pretty confident about it!" "I nope you're right, Billy. Things are bound to recover before long and who knows, prices might be better than ever, then." She looked at him bent over paper and pencil, and smiled. "Come and leave your old scribbling and worrying

and drink this cup of tea before it gets cold. It's nearly bed-time." "Righto!", cried Billy, laughingly jumping up and hurling his papers into the flames of the open lire. "Why worry? Darn the old world. " He pulled his chair up close to hers and stretched his feet out to the warmth of the fire. "The wolf's not at the door yet, although he's doing quite a bit of snarling. "Anyway, dearest," he grinned, "if the worst comes to the worst we still have each other, and —he flashed ajiaughing glance at her —we can live on love, can't we?" She leaned over and planted a buttery kiss upon his forehead. "Yes, dear, love for breakfast, diner and tea, with pumpkins and turnips and cabbages in between times." "As a sort of more solid foundation for love ?" he queried. "Exactly, and then we can eat the sheep —if we don't have to sell them— and a hundred sheep will last a long time. The last one will be great, greatgrandmother by the tome her turn comes, poor thing!" "Yes, and we'll be sprouting wool and bleating," he laughed. A few nights later the first shock of far greater disaster landed on Billy Carcwe. A disease which had _ been hovering among the herds of the district was now apparent in his own. His herd was quite healthy as far as he could tell, and had been immune from anything of the sort for several years past.

Therefore, when ne discovered Ladybird, one of his very best cows, with a little stillborn calf three months prematurely born, it was a blow that quickened the deep apprehension of a month or so ago. This was a thing he had been dreading. Ho knew Pat Hendon, his neighbour, was having the same trouble. Three of Pat's cows had already played up. He hadn't seen Pat for a week, so he wandered thoughtfully over, and found him busy upon a fence line at the back of his section.

"It's getting bad, Billy," said Tat; "it's all over the place. Seems to have got worse suddenly. I've had two more this week. That makes five, and leaves mo only twenty cows—and what's the good of sheep? I shore 250 this time, and instead of getting ninety or a hundred quid I get a measly thirty! I had 200 lambs, and they cleared the same as yours —ten bob instead of about eighteen!" ) "It's going to be hard all right, Pat. It's these interest bills that make a man think. If my herd goes under I'm knocked pretty hard too. I reckon I can just meet my obligations if they pay out a bob." He lit the cigarette he had been rolling and tossed the match away. "Believe Carter's herd's pretty bad. They tell mo he's lost over a dozen already. It's only waste of time trying to milk them right through—they're never much good." "Yes, might as well turn 'em out for all a man will got from them," Hcndon agreed, "and a man can't get any more unless he's got the cash. I've tried the bank and the Co-op., but there is nothing doing. They won't extend any more accounts. Anyway, it's a gamble buying anything these times." He paused to knock the ashes out of his pipe and to swear a bit. "Bert Hayle tells me things are pretty crook out their way. It's in nearly every herd." "Strewth!" ejaculated Billy, frowning. "Seems to me there'll be quite a few go to the wall before this season is over." "Sure as Moses. Can't help it. I'm lucky. My place is practically free of mortgage, but I'm rated pretty heavily and I've got a fair stock account, and another season to pay on the milking plant. Reckon I can pull through all right, though." "Well, a man's going to buy tucker and clothes first, anyway," declared Billy, "and what's over the others can share. The Government will either have to sweat for my interest or chaso me off. What's the good of chasing anyone off, anyway? If we can't make a do of things," I'm darned if anyone else can— unless, of course, they have plenty of money, and anyone with plenty of money those times is a fooJ H he doesn't stick to it."

Slowly Carewe's herd went to pieces. It seemed that he would be lucky to have half his herd normal at the beginning of the season. They should be coming in early—be milking by the beginning of August. He was beginning to get. desperate Everything was going wrong. A shipment of a dozen fat pigs he had sent off to town had resulted in the loss of seven on the boat. And worse—they had not been insured. What was the reason of their deaths nobody could tell. There were many theories, but no one know. Desperately he sought for some other avenue through which to increase his income. There were no jobs offering of fencing, bush chopping, road making, as there used to be. Only more and more unemployment.

And Dulcie was not very well. In October their baby was to be born, and Dulcie must not be allowed to worry if it were possible to avoid it. He wanted to send her away so that she could rest and take things easy until baby came— had fully intended to. That pig cheque he had set aside for that especial purpose. But Dulcie must go at the beginning of September somehow. She should have tho bonus money. He would pull through. He'd have to do without a boy this season—that would help a certain amount. Ho talked things over with Dulcie that night as they sat before the fire. It was a cold, bitter, squally night outside, the wind and the rain driving against the little house until it shook and quivered from end to end. "Dulcie, will you be very disappointed if I don't manage to plant that orchard we planned this spring" "Of course not, you silly old dear." She smiled at him. "If we can't, we just can't—and that's all. Silly Billy, don't look so horribly worried. Chase that old frown off your face or I positively refuse to kiss you ever again. Remember, wo still have lots of love and cabbages and things to live on." Billy sighed. Then his face cleared and he smiled brightly as he reached for his tobacco and papers. "Yes, Milady, you're quite right. Only you've got them in the wrong order. It should be —tobacco and cabbages and things—and love!" "Beast!" she said, reaching for his hair, but Billy was too quick. "I have an idea, dearness, of adding another vegetable to our future diet. I know you adore spuds." "Um-yes. They're exceedingly nice— especially new ones —in moderation But to live on the noble spud! Just imagine! Fried, boiled, roasted, mashed, chipped, baked in their skins. Any other way of doing them Oh yes—spud patties, spud —" "You'll havo plenty of time to find out," stated Billy, grimly, "when you're sick of cabbages and things—and love," ho added slyly. "I suppose so. Well, what's the big idea ?" "I'm wondering if it would be a good notion to plant that gully we intend for tho orchard in potatoes—early potatoes. Say, to havo them ready towards the end of October and in early November." "Splendid notion!" cried Dulcie enthusiastically, "a positive brain wave. Then we'll be as rich as rich and be ablo to buy fruit trees a year older next year and so we'll be just as far ahead. Yes, it's quite a brain wave. Boy, when do we start?" "That's the point," ho admitted ruefully, rolling a cigarette. "Do we start or don't we? It all hangs upon the necessary cash —the filthy lucre." "Yes, that's the trouble, isn't it?" she agreed seriouslly. "I suppose the only chance is to get backing from some big firm if possible." "Yes. And it's a hard job these days. Still, you never know your luck —we might wangle it. I think it's a good idea, don't you, Dulcie, if we can manage it?" "I'm sure it is. Even with an ordinary crop at ordinary prices there should bo a fair margin of profit —and every little helps. That gully should be ideal, too, so well sheltered and warm." "Yes, perfect situation. It faces the east, gets tho early morning sun to bluff tho frost —very little frost here, anyway —and is a loose, sandy, well-drained soil. Yes, by Jove—l'll try and raise the seed and manure somewhere and give it a go. I'll write by this mail."

(Continued in our next issue.