"SHOOT LADDIE, SHOOT"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21396, 20 October 1934, Page 7

"SHOOT LADDIE, SHOOT"

Bi* E. D. M. DOUST

When the owner of the station Dad manages telephoned and broke the news to father that a film company wanted to photograph life on a sheep station, he was a bit dubious. " Well, I don't know. Wo don't want a lot of strangers about, getting in the. way right in the midst of shearing. Why can't they wait for the slack season?" " But that's just it, Dad," I explained. " They want to record the shearing just as it is. They don't want a faked studio picture." " Who'd pay to look at a lot of dust and listen to dogs barking, and more likely than not they'd hear a few cuss words," growled Dad, who always hated the thought of anything new unless it was an improvement for the station. " Gee, Dad, you needn't worry," my irreverent young brother broke in. " The censor'll never pass your part of it!" "My part!" Dad looked horrified. " They won't get me on tho pictures. I've too much to do at shearing time keeping you young wasters up to your job without posing before a camera." " I think it will be rather fun," I said. " Sure, can't you see Sis all dolled up in rirling breeches, urging on in her silvery voice, a few pet lambs with ribbons round their necks! Shed crack the ' mike ' first go off! I'd love them to catch her in a pair of my old dungarees carting the swill for the pigs in the wheelbarrow." Tom chuckled. " That reminds me, v my lad. 1 thought Dad told you to oil the blessed thing. I don't know which squeals the loudest, the barrow or the pigs." My brother pulled a face at ine. " Oh well," father went on. " As Mr. Wilson has arranged it, it can't be helped. You will have to take charge of them, Lucy. I'll be too busy, we can't bother your mother, and Tom would only make a mess of things." So it fell out that I had to do tho honours of the station to the four men who came from the film company. Two of them were just ordinary looking fellows without much to say for themselves, one was rather fat, called Brown, and the cameraman was quite young; his name was Hal Holt.

It is no good my trying to describo anything about the technical side of taking " movies " because Tom told the truth for once -when he said I could not tell the difference between a monkey wrench and a donkey engine. Boys naturally seem to know all about anything that has lots of wires and wheels and gadgets to it. I am quite handy with ordinary tools, but when it comes to real machinery I am hopeless. I think the men got rather a shock when they first went down to the yards. We were having a dry spell, and the dust was inches thick. " Isn't there any way of settling the dust for a while, Miss Turner?" one of the men asked me. " Perhaps watering or something of that sort." I imagined Dad turning out the " sheep-ohs " with a lot of little watering cans to lay the dust!

" I am afraid water is a bit scarce just now," I replied, solemnly. " You see, we have to save every drop we can for dipping." " Ah, dipping. Yes, we must get a few shots of that too." Apparently they seemed to think we could condense the whole year's work into a few days for their special benefit. Terry Flynn, the eldest son of our nearest neighbour, always comes over to help at shearing, and Tom goes there to assist them when their turn comes round. Terry was one of the musterers the morning the cameraman decided to go out early and get a few views of the sheep being brought in. I showed him the place where he would get the best pictures of the mob coming down the hillside to the river bed —and it certainly was a lovely sight. The mists had hardly left the valley and the sun was low behind the ranges. The wool j of the sheep seemed fringed with fire j as they came over the top of a ridge, and the dogs and horsemen were silhouetted against a cloudless sky. Terry did not seem in a very good mood. " Do you have to tail around after these blighters all the time?" grumpily ho asked me. " I don't have to," I answered, sweetly. "I like it!" "I suppose they do need someone to tell them a sheep when the* see it. Did you have to lead his horse for him?"

" Don't bo weak, Terry. Hal's quite a good rider." " So it's Hal now. is it? I suppose these movie men do have to learn to bo quick workers." I've always been fond of Terry, and it made me wild to see him jealous and petty, so naturally I was all the nicer to Hal when he was about. The film men asked Dad if they could have a demonstration of calf-branding, and he said they could. We don't brand our calves, but they thought ear-mark-ing would do instead. I think by this time father would have given them anything they wanted as long as it kept them from under his feet. Just to get a better view of a mob, they opened one of the yard gates and Floss, Tom's young dog, seized the opportunity to dm e all the sheep straight at the camera. Not only did they send everything flying, which did not matter to Dad, but the sheep were boxed, which did, and they had to be redrafted. Inside the shed, the men got in the way of the " fleece-ohs " and the girls were giggling such a lot they did not keep up with the workers on the board, and the wool accumulated so fast shearers could not get a clear run. You never saw such a mess! Whenever the boys saw the camera sot up they began to look consciously unconscious and put on a fearful swagger. Tom was beautifully posed one morning in tho gateway to a paddock as the film men were waiting for a mob of sheep to come through. Just as he swung the gate open with a sweepinglj', graref il gesture, Old Peter, tho gardener, passed behind the camera pushing the squeaking, old wheelbarrow. Unfortunately for Tom the pigs wero loose, and when they heard what they thought was their dinner going to the sty, they charged through the opening right between my brother's legs. He did an impromptu dance which was far from dignified. The shame-faced glance ho gave at tho camera as the mob passed on was priceless. Serve him right! I was always telling him to oil tho beastly wheel. As Dad could not spare many men for the ear-marking, Mr. Brown offered to help. Some of the calves were fairly big a lid the fat man was stooping over one on the ground, saving, "Shoot, laddie, shoot!" which was his I signal for Hal to begin taking the j picture, when the calf started to i struggle. Tho two boys loosed their hold and jumped back, and the animal rose just' under Mr. Brown, carrying him down the yard sitting face to

A NEW ZEALAND STORY

(COPTRIGETJ

tail. His look of surprise -was wonderful, and he did not seem to have grasped "hat had happened when tho calf bucked him off, leaving him sitting on the ground. Hal said it. was the best part of the film he had made vet, and asked if we had any moro buck-jumpers. The Brown man began to rather fancy himself as an actor, so when Dad let him take a few sheep to put through the dip, he said he would help, he was sure he was cut out for a fanner. I do not know whether father did it on purpose, but he gave them a mob of old rams. These brutes know tho dip only too well, and as they never will play 11 follow my leader " like other sheep, they have to be pushed on to the slide one at a time. I helped duck them, as the rams were too heavy for me to manage. We put through most of them alright and Mr. Brown was wrestling with an obstinate old fellow, at the top of the slide, leaving just, one moro to handle. The boys wero chasing it round when it put down its head and bunted the fat man forward. He fell with his arms round the sheep's neck, and both careered down the slope together, splash into the filthy water. The boys yelled to me to "Push him under!" and to Hal to " Shoot, laddie, shoot!" like Mr. Brown did. I felt so weak with laughter I nearly got the crutch round his throat, instead of the sheep's, as he was still clutching convulsively on to the back of the ram and I was afraid he would drown it. Hal was turning the handle of the camera and as the Brown man crawled out, he he spluttered wrathfully: "Stop shodting! Do you think this is a comic?" "Sure!" said Hal. "One of the best I've seen!" We had to rush him up to the house and treat him with all sorts of medicines in case he was poisoned. Poor Mum was nearly off her head with worry. Terry muttered that iu was a pity it was not Mr. Holt instead. and Tom gave a saucy look at me and said, " Not poison, old thing, shoot, laddie, shoot!" By this time, Terry and I were hardly on speaking terms. On the Sunday, the boys on the station, offered to give tho film men a demonstration of buck-jumping. We had one or two young horses, that could usually be depended on to put up some kind of an exhibition, and the men seemed pleased with the pictures they took. We tried hard to get Mr. Brown to ride, but ho said he thought he had provided quite enough comic relief to the film and it was up to Hal to take a turn. Terry, of course, jumped at the idea, and offered to lend 'him his stock saddle. It has a lovely deep seat and knee pads, so I advised Hal to take it. I was not watching particularly when they were changing the gear over, and when Hal went to get on Mousie I never thought she would give more than a few pig jumps. No sooner was he in the saddle, however, than she did go to market. She plunged and reared, and kicked like a mad thing. The boys sat on the fence, waving their hats and yelling, " Shoot, laddie, shoot!" which had become a catch word with them by now, and she did shoot. She shot the poor S boy right over her head, and if he had | not landed on a soft spot, he might I have been killed. But as Tom rej marked, his vocabulary was not inj jured anyway!

Father had sauntered down with the other men to have a look at the fun, and he spoke quite angrily to the boys, asking what they had been up to. He saw the guilty look on their faces and unsaddled Mousie himself. Under the saddle blanket, was the x-ery grandad of all the Tough old thistles. It was a dangerous thing to do and I felt angry. I would riot speak to Terry and after tea he followed me out to the fowl run, when I went to shut the hens up for the night. " Look here, Lucy," he said. " Honestly, I had nothing to do with that thistle business. If you had not been so engrossed in what this Holt chap was saying, you would have seen I was rubbing my own horse down while the boys saddled Mousie. You are misjudging me." " You seem to me misjudging me, too," I said indignantly, hating the thought that I really had believed him guilty of such a mean and silly trick. "I've only been decently polite to Hal. I knew all along that he was married and has two kids. He showed me their photo. You seem to thing I'm just a silly little flirt." Terry's voice took on that queer husky note I love to hear in it when he is moved, and he slipped his arm round me. " I'm dying to tell you just what I do think of you, darling," ho whispered.. As I nestled my head contentedly back on his broad shoulder, I murmured, " Shoot, laddie, shoot!"