The German and Turk armies weren’t the only ones getting my blood up. That’s when I knew he wanted to go to war as much as I did. And saw from his face it wasn’t just the hefty metal head of the pickaxe he was ramming down into the dirt. He was probably right, he was nearly thirty-six. I didn’t hear what Mr Conroy said back, but while I was putting nosebags on Daisy and Jimmy, I heard grunting sounds.ĭad was hacking into the dirt with the big pickaxe, shoulders knotted and teeth clenched with the effort of swinging the thing. ‘Got the lad to look after,’ I heard Dad say to Mr Conroy. ‘Tell those nags to pull their heads in, Frankie,’ he said to me.ĭad’s horse Jimmy had decided Daisy was onto a good thing in the veggies. ‘You could have volunteered with my blokes. ‘Pity you didn’t finish earlier, Ballantyne,’ he said. Mr Conroy looked at Daisy, who’d moved on to the peas. ‘Be done today, Mr Conroy,’ said Dad, whacking a length of irrigation pipe instead of me. I think Mum made Dad promise something too, at the end. Being careful with money was always important to Mum right to the end, so I promised her I wouldn’t smoke, permanent. Mum reckoned tobacco was a waste of a bloke’s wages. ‘Having a smoko, Ballantyne?’ said Mr Conroy to Dad. He frowned and looked like he was going to whack me again.īefore he could, Mr Conroy the station owner came over. ‘I’m sixteen in five months,’ I reminded Dad. Alright, sixteen.Īnd the tall ones like me had been accepted if they were good at lying about their age. But I knew several blokes who’d volunteered at fifteen. I braced myself for another gobful of wet canvas, in case Dad was getting a taste for this method of arguing. ‘We’ll probably beat you lazy blighters there.’ ‘When we need reinforcements, we’ll be giving you a hoi.’

Wishing the other horses luck, probably.ĭad gave the blokes a nod. My horse Daisy looked up from the carrot patch she was chewing on and gave a few snorts.

Bunch of the station hands were heading off to Sydney with their horses to volunteer for the fighting. Me and Dad were on Mindalee Station, rigging up some irrigation for their kitchen garden. Till then we’ll stay out of other dopey idiots’ wars.’ ‘You and me’ll be first in the trenches,’ he said, ‘if Germany invades New South Wales. You didn’t go round whacking your mates in the head with work utensils. Plus, since Mum died, me and Dad were a team. Hitting people with buckets wasn’t Dad’s style. When I told Dad I wanted to go, he tried to wallop me round the head with a canvas bucket. Who wouldn’t want to choof off to distant exotic places, give a pack of mongrel bullies what for and have the sort of experiences you just didn’t get in the Cudgegong district.

Loyal creatures book