Published: 14 May 2018

It was hot the day the for-sale sign was nailed to the McBride farm’s gate but to Lachlan’s surprise the sale was only for the home paddock, the Big House and the two cottages. It appeared the old man was selling off his memories, not his main assets, or more to the point destroying chance for any of the family to come crawling back to him.

As for Robertson the new farm manager, he lasted less than a month before he also was asked to leave, being caught selling off farm equipment. Now Jock McBride was alone in his empire and except for Mary Briggs friendless, even Reverend Marsden was opposing, refusing to issue the marriage rites because of McBride’s divorce, while the man continued to reap revenge on those who he believed had worked against him.

Some days after the sign had been posted any stock remaining on the property was removed, McBride retained only his riding mount Abharsair, being stabled in town and from lack of attention that year’s crop of sugar cane began to suffer greatly. The irrigation ditches clogged while weeds grew quickly within the rows and the once manicured lawn of the home paddock became a sea of tall brown grass leading directly to the base of the fine flight of stairs. The vivid white paint work fading and in places flaking, allowing rain, sun and changing temperature to crack the timbers of its carriage, shrinking some steps to become loose and dangerous.

On a number of occasions some potential buyer called by, one as far as calling into the Henderson farm to enquire further about the property. Daniel met the man at the gate but didn’t divulge his association with its owner. “How many flat acres does it include?” The man questioned after introducing himself as James Parkinson from Bowen and most interested in purchasing a working property in the area.

“It says so on the sale sign.” Daniel answered.

“Does it include the out buildings in the second paddock?”

“I am sorry but I don’t rightly know but the house had woodworm all through its timbers and I believe is infested with white ants.” Daniel offered freely, being untrue but without wish to enhance the property’s vale to assist their father, “and the land intends to flood in the wet,” Daniel added without shame. From that moment James Parkinson’s interest appeared to wane, becoming more interested in the town and what it had to offer.

As the summer advance and the cane wilted further, fewer came to inspect the estate and by early December none came at all. There were other more presentable properties to view, or virgin crown land to be taken by those who cherished adventure and a mind for hard work.

The unusual dry heat lasted the entire week without respite. While the air on the Friday morning was still and growing hotter by the hour, then the already low humidity took an even further dive.

Where the spark came from was unsure. Many blamed the blacks but the fire started a good mile in the opposite direction than that of the native settlement. Others declared it started at Mal Blackburn’s farm while he was burning rubbish, something the man firmly denied, declaring it would be the strong sunlight upon a broken glass bottle; the magnifying glass effect.

Firstly it took to the cane stubble in a fallow paddock being rested from over use. This Blackburn allowed to burn as it was cleaning the paddock and chasing snakes elsewhere, then it escaped into the scrub between the Blackburn farm and McBride’s property, where there wasn’t anyone to fight the blaze while still a simple grass fire.

By the time other neighbours realised the fire was out of control it was in the McBride north paddock and quickly spreading towards the big house, being fuelled by the drying cane stalks and fanned by a rising wind from the south east.

Daniel was the first to notice the pending disaster and after gathering the rest, rushed to do something to prevent the house’s destruction but alas by the time they were through the front gate and half way along the drive, the fire caught the back sheds and the store house, causing so much heat the dry timbers of the main building burst into an inferno. All the boys could do was stand and watch and shake their heads in disbelief.

“It appears you won’t have to worry about others purchasing our past now Lachlan.” Daniel assumed without concern for the loss.

“It appears that way.” Lachlan answered while the four stood helpless as the fire’s fury increased and within minutes the entire upper floor was burning.

“It is fortunate father didn’t believe in photographs.” Daniel said.

“I don’t get you?” Lachlan answered.

“We don’t have to concern about loosing the family pictures as most regret after a fire.”

“You appear to be enjoying this?” Lachlan deducted.

“Not enjoying but I do think it a fitting end to an otherwise unproductive time in our lives, all I meant was many complain about loosing family photographs.”

“I guess the few there were mother took with her.” Lachlan answered “but there were a few things I would have liked to save.”

“Maybe we can save a jar of ashes.” Daniel laconically concluded.

Within a short time other neighbours including a very coy Mal Blackburn arrived to help extinguish the fire but all they could do was prevent it from spreading to the two cottages. By sundown the house was gone and nothing remained but a pile of charred timber and distorted metal sheeting and the lingering smell of destruction.

McBride didn’t arrive to inspect the damage until the following morning and didn’t travel further than the front gate, where he stood in a stupa for quite some time. Eventually he released a sigh, slowly shook his head and removed the sale sign, discarding it besides the gate. Remounting his horse the old man return to town, where he went to bed and wasn’t to rise for a number of days.

Daniel had seen his father at the gate and felt remorse but not enough to approach, instead he returned to the Henderson’s farm without relating what he had observed to his brother. There was now nothing left of their family’s history and the thread of cotton thread that held them to their father was forever gone.

That same week a letter arrived from William with the news that he had been given a lease on fifty acres at East Barron near the village of Yungaburra, where he had commenced to grow, of all things, potatoes, it was good rich red volcanic soil and being high on the tablelands had cool winters. Also in the correspondence he told of patching his differences with Lucy and that she had returned to live with him, while possibly for the first time they appeared to be happy and settled with each other’s company, even to the extent she was expecting a second child some time in the new year and if it were a boy would be called Lachlan, while asking for Lachlan’s blessing to name him so. The same correspondence told of Cameron who no longer wanted to become a farmer and had wished the reunion of William and Lucy well.

Cameron had found his niche in life and loved living in Townsville while becoming an adult aged student at the newly established high school and was on his way to go to University in Brisbane. He also found his own character and no longer felt he was William’s shadow, even more unbelievable, he had a girlfriend.

“Well at least we now have a couple of places to go for holidays.” Daniel declared after reading Williams letter.

“I am pleased for Cameron.” Lachlan acknowledged.

“What do you think of William and Lucy’s decision, if they have a boy to call him Lachlan?” Daniel asked

“I think that would be nice.”

“We already have a nephew named Lachlan,” Daniel complained, “None yet named Daniel.”

“You can never have enough Lachlan’s.”

“Obviously,” Daniel concluded.

Christmas was only a matter of weeks away and it would be the first Lachlan and Daniel experienced without some gathering of the family, even if they were usually solum affairs. It appeared only Stephen had fond memories of a family Christmas, although his previous Christmas was spent across the mountains battling bushfires and drought conditions. As for Toby he had never enjoyed the festivities since he was a child living on land with the Simpson’s, even then they were most basic, with the captain usually away at sea and his sister Roslyn somewhat lacking in family, celebration was little more than a simple meal and a passing wish.

Growing up at the McBride estate was usually free from celebration. Jock had a degree of religion but it was mostly fire and brimstone, choosing those parts of gospel best fitting with his personality and monetary needs and reinterpreting others to best suit those needs, while ignoring anything to do with sharing his wealth or spending money. Jock’s understanding of the Prodigal Son was, the lad had received his inheritance and squandered it, if he was McBride’s son and returned home in a penniless state, he would have been reminded so and in most certain terms then directed to bugger off.

Martha was usually permitted to show a little extravagance on the day with the meal but was never given extra housekeeping to extend to presents for the children. Leading towards Christmas she would spend hours on her treadle sewing machine, given by her parents as a wedding present, stitching clothing for the children and the grand children. Occasionally she would need to use her own dresses to have enough material.

“Right Toby, as you have never celebrated Christmas, this will be your Christmas.” Daniel promised and was quickly supported by the others.

“I think we all should share the day.” Toby disagreed.

“Don’t think you will get out of it all together, you will be chief cook.” Daniel said while turning towards his brother for support.

“Sure Toby, I reckon you can do the cooking but I think being the closest thing around here to a kid, it can be your day.” Stephen projected.

“A little less of the kid thank you.” Toby grumbled.

“As you have often said, you are the youngest – so kid it is.” Lachlan joined in with the banter.

On returning from Townsville Lachlan had purchased an old single axel cart, which Stephen brought back to life using his exceptional carpentry skills. Then with the cart ready Lachlan harnessed the horse and drove into town to purchase their Christmas supplies. While doing so he also put together a hamper of goods for his Aboriginal friends and that afternoon and with the help from Stephen, delivered their presents.

They arrived at the camp to find Reverend Marsden in attendance with Sergeant Ross and two Constables and there appeared to be a heated disagreement between the tribal elders and Sergeant Ross, with the reverend, arms folded defiantly across his ample chest, waiting close by at a safe distance.

“What’s the problem Mr. Ross?” Lachlan enquired, jumping down from the cart and approaching the quarrelsome melee. Before Ross could answer Yarran cut across them, “Lachlan they are taking the kids with white fathers away from us.” His voice pleaded for Lachlan to do something, the palms of his hands faced towards Lachlan as he fell to his knees.

“You can’t do this!” Lachlan shouted at Marsden.

“We can and must Mr. McBride.” Marsden declared, bringing forth a document from somewhere within his black cassock.

“It is now Queensland Government Policy that they be removed to be cared for and educated at Yarrabah, where they will receive good Christian instructions.

Lachlan took the document and read its contents. It was true and in words of legal substance, declaring that half cast children would be made wards of the state and removed from their primitive environment.

“I am sorry Yarran but I can’t do anything about it but I will promise you one thing and that is I will make it my business to make sure they are treated with respect and visit them for you.” Lachlan’s words fell on deaf ears as the women turned on the Reverend wailing in grief.

“Mr. McBride would you please leave the camp, you are upsetting the women!” Ross demanded believing him to be a disruptive influence but Lachlan stood firm.

“Mr. McBride please leave or you will be arrested.” Ross shouted as his constables took control of the chosen children, one had to be dragged screaming to the cart by the hair. Once at the cart the children were roped together and joined to metal rings along the cart’s side.

“I will deliver the gifts first.” Lachlan answered, all the while his heart filled with the grief of his friends and choked at his throat to almost tears. He controlled them and unwillingly turned his back on the native’s heartbreak.

“You do realise one of these children is my half brother?” Lachlan’s anger rose.

“They all must go.” Marsden insisted.

“Does my father know what you are doing?” It was Lachlan’s last attempt maybe his father may admit some responsibility for his indiscretion.

“It is Mr. McBride’s direction and that of the council.” Marsden forcefully explained.

With his present unloaded and stored beneath one of the humpies, Lachlan and Stephen returned home, feeling their Christmas spirit had become worthless, believing the natives would discard the food out of anger and grief.

All that night they heard the wailing of the tribal women. This would be their way for three nights then silence would possess their grief, while dousing their bodies in white ash and from then on the loss would be held in their hearts until their final breath removed it.

On the third night silence fell over the camp until early the following morning when pandemonium broke out. Revenge was taken and fire was set to both Marsden’s native church and his school house, while the Gulngai men sat around the inferno chanting ancient songs from their dreaming, their white man’s clothing discarded and bodies painted in the style of grief.

When Reverend Marsden arrived the following day the buildings were gone, only two piles of blacken ashes remained and the occasional rise of a waft of lazy smoke. Marsden was furious and ranted God’s revenge but none were listening. Even the sound of his cracking whip no longer brought fear.

“Go away.” Bardo demanded during Marsden’s final rant,” and was soon backed by the rest of the elders.

“Go away!” They cried in unison, while slowly approaching the preacher, waving their arms in threatening array.

“Go away!”

“Go away!” the cry of defiance intensified.

“Go away and take your God with you.” The Gulngai people shouted at Marsden, while the women commenced to throw stones. Marsden shouted the Devil’s curse upon them and mounting his horse he galloped back to town swearing God’s revenge.

Christmas Eve found Lachlan up early and once again at the Gulngai camp. Would they still accept him, or consider all whites as evil? To his relief he was acknowledged as before but their sorrow had eaten away their carefree attitude, while the women went about their meal preparation without usual banter and most of the adult men had gone walkabout.

Once more Lachlan promised to do all he could to help the stolen children and visit them often. Then he again apologised for their treatment by his people.

“Kari to us you are a black man in white man’s skin, you are always welcome.” Bardo stated and took Lachlan’s hand holding it against his own chest for a great length of time. Eventually Lachlan returned home to prepare for Toby’s Christmas. Nothing should ruin his first festival.

Conscious of the half-cast children’s removal to their new home at the Yarrabah Mission, Lachlan went into town to ascertain what the feel for their removal was within the community.

On reaching the main street and its second hotel the McBride Point Hotel, he chanced upon the publican Harry Larkin, removing the board inscribed with the establishment’s name.

“What are you up to Mr Larkin?” Lachlan enquired, bringing his mount close to Larkin’s ladder.

“Going with the times Lachlan my lad.” He answered and dropped the old name board to the ground, scarring Lachlan’s horse into almost bolt. He steadied his mare.

“What would that be?” Lachlan asked.

“It’s to be known as the Federation Hotel in the future.” Larkin proudly announced while pointing smugly at the white lettering on a large black board.

“Good name and how is Elizabeth?” It was a small devil lurking on Lachlan’s shoulder that asked the question in relation to Larkin’s errant daughter.

Larkin paused his hammering and with trepidation answered, “Fine – Elizabeth is fine for your asking.”

Being the devil’s advocate Lachlan thought of expanding his probing on Elizabeth, if only to upset the man but realised there wasn’t anything to be gain in doing so. He had never had time for Harry Larkin, principally because of the man’s affiliation with his father and the way he had treated his daughter as no more than a heifer for sale or put to stud.

“What does father think of the hotel’s name change?” Lachlan asked.

“That my boy I couldn’t rightly say, I haven’t seen Jock for a good while now. I guess he has a lot on his mind.” Larkin finished his work and descended the ladder, “Straight enough,” he asked, nodding proudly towards the new sign.

“I guess so but I wouldn’t let it worry, the hotel has an easterly lean anyway.”

“Where!” Larkin demanded while attempting to discover the lean.

“It was gamin.” Lachlan teased.

“You young fellows are all the same, you don’t take anything seriously.” Larkin put away his hammer, “we’re not open yet but if you want a cold one, I guess I can offer.”

“No thank you Mr. Larkin. I have recently come from the native camp and noticed the police have removed the half-cast children.” Lachlan stated in a matter of fact tone, not wishing to appear too concerned.

“That they have lad, its policy now.”

“Who’s policy Mr. Larkin?”

“Federal when its new government is formed, Queensland, the local council and especially your old man. All agree that any kid with a lick of white has to be given a Christian upbringing,” Larkin open the hotel’s door, “are you sure I can’t get you a beer?”

“What about the father’s of the children, have they any opinion on the removal?”

Larkin laughed, “opinion, I guess they are at the forefront of the removal, who want’s to be constantly reminded where they spread their seed, a wide grin came over the man, “ask your father as one of the brats is his.”

“I have heard so.”

“Then you would also agree.” Larkin suggested.

“What my father did was wrong and no I disagree, the children should remain here within the camp, they had loving family there and what will the received at Yarrabah?”

“I’m sorry my boy, if I agree or not doesn’t matter whatsoever, it is law and now it’s done. If you wish to see your black brother you will have to go to Yarrabah, or adopt him but I don’t like your chances there.” Larkin entered into the hotel, “all I can offer you lad is a drink and a piece of advice.”

“What advice would that be Mr. Larkin?”

“Forget about it all, or you’ll only be thumping your head against something you can’t change and in doing so, find more enemies than you could imagine. If I can’t offer you a drink then I will bid you good day.”

Gary really wants to know if you are reading his story. You may let him know, by dropping an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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