OUR CHRISTMAS SPREE

Evening Star, Issue 20980, 19 December 1931, Page 2

OUR CHRISTMAS SPREE

fWritten by M.E.S., for the ‘Evening L Star.’] The men on the plains were grumbling about a drought, but upon the ranges we had seen little sign of it. On the contrary, the weather had been perpetually, maddeningly broken—maddeningly, because all through, November and December we had been struggling with shearing. There were 20,000 sheep to be put through, and that in a climate where sudden mists drop drenchingly down and a day of serene calm may. be succeeded by a week’s torrential rain. For two months we had been up in the dark, swallowing a hasty breakfast at an Lour dedicated by the gay world to late suppers, and groping with lanterns and blasphemy for our elusive ponies in a horse paddock suddenly grown immense. For, when there is a ride of nine miles to “ the back,” a man must be well on the way before dawn breaks. Then, when the light steals out at last across a thousand acres o' rough gulfies and. fallen timber, the muster begins, and, if the shepherd is lucky, if Tiis dogs work cleverly and the sheep run well, he may have.his “paddock”mustered and he started upon the homeward track by 9 o’clock. By mid-day his flock is in the yards, ready to taka the place of 'the bleating mob that has been pouring all morning from the pens into the clearing paddock. But not all his muster goes through the shed. There are always “the Eght brigade”to be drafted off, for the boss naturally dislikes paying even twenty-one shillings a hundred for sheep some fifty of which will not yield him twenty pounds 06 wool. Always on a rough bush station a proportion of every mob comes in as clean as if it had been shorn; and this is more particularly the case where the owner prefers the liglit-woolled Romney, for. on a poor burn, a bale 06 wool will often be scattered over miles of logs and stumps, ..through acres of fern and scrub. The “ light brigade’’are saved the hustle and strain of the shearing shed; fortunate, but despised, they huddle in a .naked group in a corner of the clearing paddock. We had a good gang of shearers, working ten stands, and, in favourable conditions, could have galloped through shearing in three weeks.; But, as usual, it had dragged .wearily on until wo were sick to death of the early starts, the hard musters, and the sudden heavy rain that would compel us again and again to turn our mob back before ever the' shelter of the shed was reached. But always we hugged to our tired hearts the thought of our Christmas spree. ■ For the boss had said: “We’re dead sure to be through by Christmas, and, then you boys can take five days’right off the station.” We all had our plans. Riding across the hills in the sleepy dawn we would look down at the winding clay road that led fifty miles to .the first settlement. Fifty'miles, too, to the nearest “pub.”. We' were not a drinking crowd, but there were hot days when we were working with dry throats in a cloud of dust that .filled eyes and nostrils, then that pub seemed a veritable Mecca.- Nothing to do but 101 l on the sagging verandah and swop yarns and drink cool beer. And in the evenings there were usually some larks on, for the fellows from a dozen stations would, bo down, and in the cool evenings we would hold impromptu races and jumps in the flat paddock behind the hotel. , ■ Once, when the spirits rose, a trifle high, Ken Jobson had ridden his little black mare right through the hotel and into the kitchen. She was a clever pony, and didn’t so much. as..- ruck up the old linoleum as she tripped along. But the cook was a new hand, and used to town. She was bending over the stove when Fidget came in, and the mare, being a friendly.soul, nuzzled the hack of her neck with her soft mouth. The cook let out one scream* and rose like a rocket; then she dashed into her bedroom and locked the door.Ken tried to apologise through the keyhole, but she spent the night sitting on lier packed bag and waiting for the early cream lorry. However, it ended all right, for Ken cooked the Christmas , dinner himself, and did it so well that: he married the publican’s daughter a week after, and was made for life. Well', all these doings kept chasing themselves through pur heads when the days were long and hot and hard. Wo would have a rare spree when it was done, ' It would air he over by Christmas. Five- days off—why, some of us would be able to have a run to town, if we’d any money left after Boxing Day. When the rain settled in steadily, we drew up a rattling sports programme, and even posted a “ special menu —by request ” to old Jock Winter, the publican.' _ ■ But it didn’t come off. There wasn’t a hope of it. There were five thousand to go on the 20th, and the sheep still wet. Then the boss held a council ot : war “The shearers want to carry on through Christmas. They’re in a hurry for the next shed. It’s a question of cutting out, boys, but I don t like asking you.” Of course, we told him wo were on, hut the cookhouse was rather silent that night, and cook burnt the stew worse than usual. But, once we’d given up hope, everything -went; like clockwork. The machines were going full time on the 22nd, and it looked as Jf we’d. cut. out by Boxing Day. “ And once the wool is baled, off you go,” said the boss. But we rather thought there was a bitch somewhere, and on Christmas Eve it came out. The boss’s wife walked into the cookhouse, looking very young and rather, shy. “ I was wondering, hoys, if we could give a children’ s_ party on Boxing night? I have a lot of friends coming out from town, and the other stations are all keen on it. i thought, too, that it would be a change for you all, after working so hard and not getting away for Christmas. Frank says the shearing will be over, so 1 thought we could have the wooisned v JL haven’t told him till I’d consulted J °Wo hoped she hear Tim’s groan, and we ‘ told her it would be great fun. She-was very ydung audit was her first Christmas m the backblocks. She’d been mighty good to us all year, and there’s no boss on the Coast like her husband. So all Christmas day we sweated in the sheds, ana the last old ewo was cut .out by noon on Boxing Day. They would just have been time to get down the road. We didn’t slack off; we went to the bush and we sledged pungas anduukaus, and we swept and cleaned and decorated. We could see the boss was hating it, and presently he muttered: . pay?.. I’ve ordered twenty gallons, and ten of it will be waiting for you in the cookhouse when the party’s over. -inat helped us. The party was no end of a . success. Old Tim was Santa Claus, and as he handed a woolly dog to the archdeacon’s baby he muttered to me: “God, wait till this time to-morow.'--