TALES OF A TRUSTEE

Taranaki Daily News, 28 December 1929, Page 17 (Supplement)

TALES OF A TRUSTEE

ALFRED FORD’S FORTUNE

(By

E.R.M.)

There was' always a mystery about white-haired, .benevolent-looking Alfred Ford, cook for many years on a big cattle station. To hear him talk' was to be certain that he came from Devon or Somerset, but the old man kept his counsel and the average employee of out-back stations has generally sufficient history of his own to check-in-quisitiveness in regard to that of his mates.

Occasionally the old man would speak of wanderings in Australia and he was proud of having been one of the party that had crossed the Commonwealth from 'south to north under the leadership .of Giles. But to his experiences before his emigration Ford would scarcely • ever make the slightest reference,, though he would occasionally compare with some sarcasm the rough and ready cultivation methods of the black gardeners at, the station homestead with the way things were done “when I were a boy.” Alfred’s sole correspondent appeared to be an Adelaide professor. To him twice a year the cook despatched a bundle of native weapons, bones and sundries that to the average stockman were things warranting nothing more than prompt destruction. The "professor’s visit to the station was remembered by the older hands. A big man, silent until someone threw away some of his native “rubbish,” when his vocabulary earned him respect from the most seasoned drover, he made friends with Ford, and the parcels, which Alfred took himself the 400 miles to the township for despatch, were the visible signs of their mutual understanding. They gave excuse enough also for a journey to town, and the attendant joys of a temporarily unlimited supply of alcohol; “Alf. he bin finish all about,” reported a black stockman to Mounted Constable Mowbray, who had just crawled under his mosquito net after a fruitless day’s hunt for alleged cattle thieves. There was a swift collection of trackers and horses, and the party set off for Ford’s camp, riding through the night in the hope of succour or at least of giving decent burial before the wild dogs had done their worst. It wa-.- daybreak when, the old cook’s camp was reached. The jingle of hobbled horses; some subdued chatter among the few blackfellows who had been Alf’s companions, the myriad almost mysterious noises that characterise the earliest hour of daylight in the bush were the only sounds, that greeted Mowbray. Burial was'all that cohld be done for Alfred, bedides the removal of the old man’s few personal belongings. Among these were a bank book showing a credit of neatly £509 and two old photographs taken in a Somersetshire village. Other clues to the.' old man’s identity there were none, and it looked as though the Crown would benefit by the sum of £5OO.

Algernon George Rayner, clerk in Holy Orders, vicar of Challacombe and curate of the nearby Chapel of .Ease at Higham-cum-Episcopi, was annoyed. First class judge of a horse or a hound, of divinity doubtful, but a shrewd judge of mankind, he ruled his parish with a rod of iron. It was a daring parishioner who disturbed the Reverend George after a day with the bounds unless the need were desperate, but even *be old man’s failings were somehow feld to give tone to the parish. He and the “old squire” had been at school at Oxford together. Both were of the west country, and knew their people thoroughly. The “new squire” was a sugar trader in Bristol, and him the vicar knew not.

To revert to the vicar’s annoyance. He had received that morning the squire’s reply to an appeal regarding a parishioner, and it had kindled wrath within the old parson’s/ soul. -It was with some annoyance* he- observed the village constable crossing the garden, for he knew that law must prevail and poor old James Lock, dying slowly of cancer, must be removed from the village in which he had spent his 80 years to a convalescent home of which the old man hated the thought as though it were the gaol. The vicar had pleaded with the squire for a few shillings a week for the old man. The reply was an order for admission to the Home and a curt intimation that it could be that- or the workhouse in Taunton, where, indeed, a brother of James was already mouldering away his last years. But' the policeman did not come to Ace the vicar on this business. Instead he had two old photographs sent from headquarters for identification, if possible. “James, John and Alfred Lock,” said the vicar after a look at the photographfl. “James and John you know. Alfred had enlisted years ago and afterwards deserted. He was supposed to have been drowned. When lie learnt that Alfred had left £5OO the parson’s eyes sparkled. He’d show that squire man! A few shillings spent on a cable and the vicar went to see his sick~ parishioner. “You’ve £2OO or more coming to you, James,” he said,, “and you -will not be sent away; and what is more we’ll have John out of the workhouse by this time to-morrow.” It was an astonishing message. The news quickly spread and when John came home to a village somewhat inebriated its vicar knew when to look at things with a blind eye. “Old Alf.” His was the old story of a country boy befooled by. a woman. H.ifl entanglement, enlistment and subsequent desertion were the only facts of which his family were aware. And with the west countryman’s fear of the law and of military authority, Alfred had never dared to communicate with his own folk, so he became Alf Ford and but for the two old photographs his savings would never have brightened hifi brother’s passing, and added to the authority of their vicar. Challacombe parish was certain beyond all doubt that but for the Reverend George the Lock fortune would never have been heard of. And the professor, who knew Alfred better than most, was sure the old cook would have been pleased not only that his brothers had another drink or two at hia expense, but because he had helped, to “beet” the authorities of < .the two countries.