THE INDIVIDUALIST

Evening Star, Issue 22194, 23 November 1935, Page 2

THE INDIVIDUALIST

THAT HLD-FASHIttHED TYPE [Written by M.E.S., for the ‘ Evening Star.’] He was an elderly man of what is called “the old-fashioned farmer type,” distinctly conservative in his sympathies, undeniably retrogressive in his views. There had been the usual election talk all evening, and the young men who had penetrated into this out-of-the-world corner of the backblocks in search of store cattle had held forth upon the necessity for the farmers to organise, the advantages of State-aided primary production, the importance of unions, all tho virtues, in short, of collective security as applied not only to nations, but to primary producers. Their host had listened politely, hut it was easy to see that he was not’impressed. One of his guests handed him a copy of ‘ Time and Tide,’ pointing to tho words: ‘‘Fanners arc changing their attitude towards life and politics: the intense individualism of the early 20th century has disappeared. I have even heard youngish men wonder whether it might not, be a good idea to turn all agriculture into a national service.” To the reader the last sentence was, of course, sheer blasphemy, and he handed the paper back rather as one might pass over a high explosive. “ They’ll never do that,” he said quietly. “ Organisation is all very well in town, but the farmer must be left free on his own piece of land to carry out his own ideas and leave his neighbour alone. You can’t get farmers together; they’re too scattered and too busy to worry about politicians or unions. Besides, what’s the use?” After that there was little to do save chaqge the subject, curse this atrocious spring, and speculate on the prospects of the wool market.

But later, left alone, tho visitors shrugged expressive shoulders. “ The old brigade.'' Pex-feotly hopeless. They’re rank individualists. No idea of unity or sticking together. No wonder farmers are ignored, submerged. No hope of real advance till that type is got rid of. They’re obstructionists; the welfare of the community means nothing to them.” It was all very depressing. CONCERTED ACTION. « Just then the telephone rang, bringing our host back to answer it. At once his manner changed; his replies became brief, emphatic, he took command of some situation that appeared serious; the man, timid and lost in a world of ideas, was at his best in a crisis that called for action. A neighbour was in trouble; his wife had appealed for help; the man had gone out in the afternoon and not returned, but Iris riderless horse had just been found cropping the grass of a distant paddock. The place was a rough one, further from the main road, and the man pfobably lying hurt in some inaccessible spotN We took our orders, as from a general, one helping our host to find horses in the darkness, another ringing all the neighbours on the party line, sending the’ bush SOS out to farms scattered over many miles of rough country. All was done by clockwork, despite the night and the difficulty of this wild land. The man 'was found just before daylight, lying with a broken leg at< the foot of a steep bank down which his horse had evidently rolled. It was the work of a dozen men working -in relays to bring him back over slippery tracks a,nd steep hills, slung in an improvised hammock, to his homestead. Then came the problem of getting him to hospital, for 18 miles of steep road?, unmetalled in places, must be negotiated somehow. The elderly farmer’s car was used for the difficult transport, and all along the road men stood by the dangerous and boggy spots with horses, straining gear, ■ shovels, and man power. There were women, too, waiting with billies of boiling tea and thick sandwiches, with brandy and first aid for the injured man. Eventually it took almost five hours to negotiate that bad piece of road, and it was with immense relief that the helpers saw the ambulance waiting for them at the metal. 1 ALL HANDS MUSTERED. It struck the stock buyers as extraordinary that the whole affair was taken so entirely for granted. No one appeared to consider his time, or the work that must bo at a standstill until the injured neighbour was eared for. All the time, too, their host had quite naturally taken the direction of affairs, handling his team of helpers with an easy assurance that seemed to bespeak the natural leader. When it was finished they all at the farmhouse nearest to the main highway for a meal, and once more the talk turned to the elections and the need for organisation' amongst all classes. Their friend spoke slowly: “ You know, I’ve been thinking over what that new-fangled paper of yours said. Thinking about it all clay. That’s all nonsense. They’ll never succeed in dragooning the farmer, managing his affairs for him, nationalising an industry which has been and always must be individual. The farmer’s different from the townsman with his neighbour next door ami across the street. We’re too scattered. We must each go our own way and be independent of everyone else.” The young, man addressed opened his mouth in astonishment, but closed it again as ho looked round upon the men who had given all day to this work of succour. They were all nodding in agreement; it appeared that the subject had been very neatly disposed of, and they returned without delay to the matter in hand. TRIUMPH OF INDIVIDUALISM. “ I’ve been thinking about Saunders,” the old farmer continued. “ His wife’s alone there, as you know, with

the children, and he was just in the middle of several jobs, all urgent. This business is going to cost him a lot in hospital fees, so he doesn’t want to lose in his work, too. Ho was halfway through that contract for battens, and 1 know he needs the money badly. Then there’s that fence that he reckoned to finish this month; he can’t put his cattle in the back till it’s done, or' they’ll get out into the hush and end up Lord knows where. His ploughing for swedes can’t wait, or he’ll nave no winter feed, and I noticed his wood heap pretty bare. Altogether, there are a few little odd jobs that ive might as well put through so that he needn’t worry. Suppose wo agree to start on them next week, and all work together till they’re define? Right, then.” There -was not the slightest hesitation, no thought of refusal aniongst any of that crowd of hard-up, busy men. The young strangers looked round in amazement, knowing this to be the busiest time of the farmer’s year, and one spoke reproachfully to his host. “ But you said you were so busy you couldn’t possibly take a few hours off to hear your political candidate speak at X.” “So I am,” ho retorted in obvious surprise. *' Up to my ears. There Saunders’s shearing, too. No time te listen to a lot of moonshine.” “ But what about all that stock work of your own you said was so urgent?” The farmer sighed patie.ntly. “it can wait. Everything has to wait when a neighbour’s in trouble. You boys don’t understand. Backblocks farmers have to pull together. Couldn’t survive otherwise. No'use thinking of one’s own affairs. Everyone must pull together or where woujd farming be?”