Fathers Read online

  “Mister Brown can you please stop. I need to ask you something,” said Jack as he approached on his pony.

  The man stopped and turned, the smile still on his face, and replied “Ask me what boy?”

  “My mother says that she may have some spare tucker if you would like to come for tea.”

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  “Thanks for the grub Ellen, the rabbit tasted ‘specially good and it was real tender,” said Doug as he pushed his plate away, leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Jack get the kettle on I feel like a cuppa,” he ordered. They had just finished a meal of rabbit, potato and cabbage and were still seated at the dining table.

  Jack had taken an instant dislike to the man and he could not for the life of him understand why his mother had asked this stranger into their home. From the moment he met him on the road and the way the man had smiled at him, Jack had felt uncomfortable, no more than that, more like a little afraid of this, this intruder. He was saying all the right things to his mother and it all made sense of course. They weren’t coping on their own, they did need a hand with the farm, and it had got too much for them. What he was proposing seemed quite fair; food and board for labour. Can’t ask for better than that! Yep, you can’t ask for better than that, but, it just didn’t feel right. Something was out of place; this man was strange, something didn’t add up. Hell, he just didn’t trust the bastard! And he was already ordering Jack around like he was his father or something.

  Ellen said, “Jack shot those rabbits yesterday with the .22. We’ve been teaching him since he was five, you know all the safety things and how to aim and hold it steady, he’s done really well for his age.”

  “Is that right Jack, a right little marksman are ya? But I tell ya there’s one thing killin’a rabbit, but it’s another killin’a man,” replied Doug with a smirk.

  Ellen snapped, “And you would know would you Mister Brown? Why even mention that, what has that got to do with anything. The boy has lost his father and still grieves. Think before you make insensitive comments such as those Mister Brown or you’ll be out that door so fast, God help me!”

  “Sorry, sorry I’ve done it again haven’t I? I seem ta say the first thing that pops inta me head. You’re right Ellen, it was another stupid comment and I’ll watch me mouth in future. Don’t wanna be upsettin’ anyone.”

  “Did you fight the Germans Mister Brown?”Asked Jack.

  “Japs mainly, crafty yellow monkeys the lot of ‘em!” replied Doug

  “Have you been fighting with the Americans in the islands?”

  “That’s enough Jack,” said Ellen. “I’m sure Mister Brown doesn’t want to talk about the war and I certainly don’t want to hear about it.”

  “Yer mothers right Jack,” said Doug looking a little relieved. “Anyway what’s happenin’ with that brew you were makin,’ a man could die of thirst round here!”

  Jack put the pot of tea on the table and Ellen poured it into the cups. “Take your tea to your room Jack, I need to discuss some things with Mister Brown,” she said.

  When Jack had left Ellen folded her arms and said, “Mister Brown I have considered everything you have told me earlier and I’m willing to see how it goes. In other words we’ll take it day by day. I’m willing to let you stay here for food and board on the understanding that I am your boss and you are my employee. That is, I will be in charge of things around here still, and I want to make it perfectly clear that what I say goes. I expect you to work hard for your rewards Mister Brown and if I find that things aren’t working out and I ask you to leave, I expect you to do so without argument. Am I clear and do you agree?

  “Perfectly clear Ellen and yep I agree wholeheartedly,” he said with a smile. “And let me say that you’ve made the right decision, a decision you won’t regret I’m sure.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AUTUMN 1945

  W

  ithin two months the Delaney farm was looking better than it had in years. Fences were repaired, sheep were dagged, shorn and drenched, gorse and ragwort and other noxious plants cleared. Doug Brown had proved his worth and Ellen was pleased with his work ethic. She found him to be better company now and he seemed to be careful with his comments, careful not to offend. Ellen had missed adult company and she was finding that she was actually enjoying having a grown up, and particularly a grown up man, around the house again. He provided the security for her and Jack that had been sadly missing since her husband had been called away to war. Since Doug Brown had arrived she even found she was sleeping better than she had in what seemed a very long time. Jack was still a little distant and stand-offish when it came to Mister Brown but she supposed it would pass with time, after all this man was certainly not a replacement for his father, heavens no, he was just an employee that also happened to board with them. In fact Ellen had already decided that if this man was to adversely affect the relationship between her and Jack she would have him out that door, quick smart, and heading off down the road.

  Like Jack, the Delaney dogs Jess and Tess had taken an instant dislike to the man and they continued to be wary of him, keeping their distance, always staying in the background, always watching but never coming too close. They’d stopped growling and carrying on but Doug could never get close to them before they would slink off with their tail between their legs. This didn’t worry Doug as he was used to it. Even when he was a child he had never got on with domestic animals. It was strange but they always seemed to shy away from him or in the worst cases attack him, like that time at the river. This happened when he was a little older than Jack and he was given a puppy for his birthday. Looking at the pup, Doug, Douglas or Douggie, as his mother used to call him instantly named the dog, Nigger. A Labrador he was and he was black as coal. He was floppy and bouncy and full of life, just brimming with enthusiasm in all the wonders of the world. Chasing his tail was a great game, a butterfly even better, a rabbit, heaven! Douggie loved that dog; loved him to bits in fact. The puppy would follow him everywhere and listen to everything he would say. He would never criticise young Douggie and of course, never, ever, answer back. Unconditional love it was, just a boy and his dog and you can’t get better than that. This was his best friend, his best friend by far. If the truth be known it was his only friend, apart from his mother of course. In fact Nigger was so friendly and so loving that when Douggie beat him with a stick because he wouldn’t roll over or sit when he ordered him to, the dog would forgive him, almost instantly. Amazing really. What other friend would do that? Douggie really did love that dog...

  As time went on and the beatings continued sometimes Nigger would take a little longer to forgive him, depending on how hard he hit him, but in the end the dog would always end up loving him and they would carry on enjoying each other’s company, being best friends again, just like nothing had ever happened. So it was a real surprise and something Douggie couldn’t understand at the time, and can’t to this day, why the dog suddenly turned on him like it did. I mean he was his master after all and he should obey him! He had thought they had sorted all that out at the beginning but no, the stupid mutt had to go and spoil things didn’t it? It had to bloody go and throw his love, his conditional but undying love, back in his face. I mean he wasn’t asking much. You call your dog; the dog comes to you. Simple. Well Douggie called alright, called and fuckin’ called. Yelled in fact and whistled. Fuckin’ yelled, screamed his fuckin’ head off and whistled till he was blue in the face but that mongrel bastard never came back! No, it said stick your love, stick your friendship, I’m chasing a hare and I’ll come back when I’m ready! Well Douggie could be a patient person when he needed to be. In fact his mother always said so; she used to say ‘you’re a good, quiet, patient boy Douggie’; when he’d be waiting for a train or for the arrival of a birthday parcel, or hiding from his father. Waiting for him to leave for work or fall asleep after an extended session of drinking. I
mean he was so patient that he waited till he was all grown up and capable of handling himself before he dealt with his father didn’t he? Dealt with him real good in fact. But that was a long time after Nigger and maybe he wasn’t as patient as he thought he was at that young age. Maybe patience was a learned thing. The fact of the matter was that he had to teach Nigger a lesson that day. A lesson he would never forget. Because Nigger had surely pushed him too far this time. And a person can only take so much. And that’s a fact. So Douggie was done with being nice. He’d had enough. He always carried a stout manuka stick with him, his ‘beating stick’ as he called it, and it certainly was going to be put to work tonight. So he sat and waited patiently on the banks of the river he lived by, sucking on a straw that he held in the gap of his front teeth. And as the sun was going down on that warm summers evening, he swatted away the mosquitoes, and the occasional moth, and knew that Nigger would eventually return and he would do what he had to do.

  And Nigger did return. Cagily, cringingly he came crawling back to his master very aware he had done wrong. His tail was between his legs, his ears limp rags.

  “C’mere boy, c’mon. What’s the matter Nigger? Don’t be like that. Douggie’s not goin to hurt you,” called Douggie cheerfully.

  The dog responded, everything was going to be okay! The tail came out from between his legs and started wagging. The ears stood up and Nigger came bounding playfully toward Douggie with his tongue hanging out, happy to be back with his best friend. And as the dog neared, Douggie grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck and collar and pushed his face into the ground. He seized his ‘beating stick’ and began thrashing the dog about the body. He hit Nigger as hard as he could; smashing the stick into his legs and body, cracking ribs, breaking his skin, drawing blood. The dog struggled and yelped but Douggie held on tight and continued to beat the dog in a frenzied fury. The dog was trying to escape but Douggie had a good grip and he was big for his age, the dog only half grown. A whack on its genitals gave the dog the impetus it needed and it managed to jerk back violently and slip its head through its collar. Douggie struggled to hold him now and Nigger lashed out with his teeth biting Douggie’s leg; the teeth sinking in deeply. Douggie screamed and let Nigger go, but not for long. He threw himself at the animal as it tried to make its escape and fell onto it in an uncontrollable rage. He grabbed hold of the dog with both hands, this time forgoing his stick and held it close to his body; one arm around its throat and another around its torso; a deadly lovers embrace. The dog couldn’t escape, it could barely move and it struggled to breathe with the pressure on its throat. Holding the dog Douggie struggled to his feet, and stumbling at first, he regained his balance and calmly walked into the river. He waded out into the water, only so far and just deep enough so when he sat down, his head remained clear above the surface. And Nigger which was being carefully held in his arms, like a mother would a child, was underneath the water trying to hold his breath. The dog was struggling. Fighting for its life, fighting to break free to the surface. To gulp some sweet air. But Douggie held on tight. He hugged Nigger so hard and with all his strength that there was no hope for the dog. And then, as the oxygen ran out in Nigger’s lungs and the body shut down and his mind went black - becoming unconscious - he automatically breathed and inhaled the river. The struggling became a twitch. Then stopped altogether as the dog drowned in Douggie’s arms. And its sad pathetic life came to an end.

  Poor Douggie cried and cried for that dog, for the loss of Nigger, for the loss of his best friend. In fact he was inconsolable for days; almost a whole week and even his mother couldn’t ease the pain he felt. He had terrible bite marks on him and she agreed that it was so unusual for the dog to attack him like that. Surely there was something wrong with the animal, and it was probably better off dead anyway because you know what they say, once they start attacking people they’ll never stop. She even offered to buy Douggie another puppy, one that was normal and friendly and wouldn’t go attacking innocent young boys for no good reason. But Douggie declined, he could wait he said. Wait till he got older and was able to control a dog more. He was a patient person after all and maybe, just maybe, when the time was right, he would get another dog and he would teach it and train it and show it some tricks. And he would love it of course.

  Love it just as much as he loved Nigger...

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  Doug was reminiscing as he sat resting against a post of the boundary fence he had been working on. A cigarette dangled from his bottom lip. He stared across the valley at a large clearing in the bush that bordered the Delaney property as he drew the smoke in through his mouth and exhaled it through his nose. He could see the ground looked to be freshly ploughed and he knew exactly what had done it. Pigs. Wild pigs. A big mob of them by the look of it. Turning the sod over with their noses, looking for grubs and worms and roots. They could destroy whole paddocks of pasture in one night, if there were enough of them. And there were these days. Without the men to hunt them, pigs were running riot and it wasn’t unusual to see fifty or more in one herd, out on the farmland, in broad daylight sometimes, searching for food; the large boars even taking the new born lambs in spring. Deer and goats had also benefitted from the lack of its only predator during the war years and they had done untold damage to the native bush. Not that Doug was worried about damage to trees or anything. He thought about the opportunity this presented him. Not only to bag a pig or two and put food on the table for weeks, but also to score points with his ‘Boss’ and go some way to achieving his ultimate goal of bedding her. Doug had taken a liking to Ellen and he knew if he played his cards right and kept his big trap shut instead of saying what he really thought, he may have a chance. Hell, more than a chance he reckoned. I mean when hadn’t he got what he wanted? All it took was patience and by crikey, Doug had oodles of that. In fact she was already warming to him. Told him the other day she was pleased that she took him on; said she was happy with the way the farm was looking. Give it time and she’ll be begging me for it! But first things first. If I’m going to hunt pigs I’ll need dogs he thought. Their dogs could be a problem as they hadn't taken a liking to him. They’re not likely to go willingly and he would need them to flush out the pigs if they weren’t out in the open. Hell, he didn’t even know if they were any good on pigs but he’d soon find out. He would get that little brat son of hers to come with him. He could control the dogs for him as they always seemed to obey him. And he would score more points with Ellen as she’d be thinking that I’m doing the replacement Dad thing, showing the son how to hunt. The only other thing was getting hold of a decent rifle that could drop one of these pigs because he wasn’t keen to get too close. He sure as hell wasn’t going to try and stick the damn thing with a knife and that pea-shooter of Jack’s would be near to useless on a big old angry boar. He would ask when he got back to the house; hopefully she would have a higher calibre rifle tucked away in the closet.

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  “Yes I have an old .303 you can use,” said Ellen. Doug and Ellen were having a cuppa on the porch enjoying the warm autumn sun.

  “What about ammo?”Doug asked

  “Yep, there’s ammo there, plenty of it. Left over from World War One I believe. Still good though.”

  She went and got the rifle and some ammunition and handed it to Doug.

  Doug looked it over and said “Gee this is from the Boer war I bet. It’s a Martini-Enfield. Look it’s got 1896, the date it was made, stamped on the side. “

  The .303 Martini-Enfield was a rebarrelled .450 Martini-Henry single shot rifle used by the British and South Africans in the Boer war and beyond. It was a lever action rifle with the round being loaded through the top of the block after dropping the lever and opening the breach. Ellen’s model was a carbine favoured by the cavalry because of the shorter barrel.

  He asked, “Does it s
till work okay, I mean is it accurate?”

  “My husband swore by it and I’ve used it on occasion. We had a young stag wander into the house paddock about a year or so back and I dropped him with one shot from that rifle. The bugger woke me up with his roaring. He was chasing the sheep around trying to attack them with his antlers and then strutting up and down the fence line like he owned the place. He was young and stupid I reckon, and he paid for it. I shot him from my bedroom window while I was still in my nightgown,” Ellen laughed.

  “Good on ya girl! Ya can obviously handle a gun then! Sure you don’t wanna have a go at these pigs with me then?” He chuckled.

  She shook her head, “No, no. I don’t get any pleasure out of hunting. It’s just one of those things you have to do at the time, don’t you? I mean it fed Jack and me for ages and I gave some venison to my neighbours who had helped me on the farm.”

  “Yeah, well, if I can knock over a couple of pigs we can do the same. Looking forward ta makin’ some ham and bacon out of them. The ol’ wild pork’s different from the domestic lot.”

  She smiled. “You know what they say Mister Brown, don’t count your chickens... Or your pigs in this instance.”

  He returned her smile. “I know, I know. And you can call me Doug if you like; I mean we know each other enough that we can do away with the formalities, don’t ya think?”

  She flushed a little. “Yes of course, Mister Bro... Doug. You’re right; it’s time to drop the formalities. After all, I’m handing over my weapon to you and that shows I trust you if nothing else.”

  “Exactly Ellen and there’s another thing that I would like ta ask. Your dogs. Do ya know if they’d be any good as pig dogs, like at finding them, sniffin’ them out or even bailin’ or holdin’ them?”