Published: 30 Oct 2017

Jock McBride had many demands on his family but the strongest of all was each and every one would avail themselves for Sunday evening’s dinner on the last Sunday of each month. They would gather around a large oak table he had specially imported from Scotland for such occasions, along with one dozen ornate oak, high back chairs and with himself firmly ensconced at its head, would survey his genetic kingdom.

No one spoke on these occasions except when invited to do so by the old man and when he did, he would fire questions, mostly relating to development and improvements for the business and ways to extend his wealth, expecting each to give an account of the previous month.

Meanwhile Martha his wife, although included, sat silently at the far end of the table directing their Aboriginal housemaid Polly, when and how to serve the ample meals. A most difficult task for the girl, as Polly had the attention span of a fruit fly and had to be continuously skilled in her left from right and which course followed another.

Polly wasn’t from the local Gulngai but from a group that lived south near Townsville, she had been an orphan and taken into care by Martha’s mother then when Martha married, Polly became her housemaid, travelling north with the family to become an important function within the family unit and friend to Martha.

Polly was what was considered half-cast, and in general not socially excepted by black or white, while displaying many of her native traits, skinny legs and arms, short in statue and a flat broad nose, although when allowed to surface she was blessed with a wicked sense of humour.

Polly did wear western clothes, mostly hand downs from Martha but could be adorned in an expensive ball gown yet still appear as if wearing a sugar sack, sometimes even arriving at the kitchen wearing a long flowing dress backwards, complaining loudly of it uncomfortable fit.

This night’s meal was no different and the solemn gathering sat silently around the table bathed in the yellow glow from a pair of kerosene lamps, placed close to each end of the acreage of heavy polished timber, bearing a crockery setting and meal that deserved a much grander occasion.

Austerity begins at home and everywhere else except within what Jock McBride believed to be his personal comfort zone. He appreciated fine things but past the front door make-do and skimping was everywhere, also within his family.

It was as if a barrier existed between the old man and the rest of the world, as if he lived in a bubble of pomposity. Some would call it greed but with McBride it was much more, it was a total lack of understanding or respect for anything other than self. The perpendicular pronoun proudly existed within him and he could not perceive it.

If challenged on his attitude, he would not only disagree with one’s judgement but lack comprehension how it could be considered. He always put a shilling in the church collection plate and there was the time when he had ordered too much salted pork and sent it to the native camp, even if by that time it was on the turn.

Although the seating arrangement was set, this night William pushed Cameron to the front to sit in his allotted position close by their father while he remained at distance, away from the glaring eyes and snarl of discontent. If there was to be a lecture on their failed blackbirding adventure William made certain it would be Cameron who received the worse of it. The others filed in and took their places in silence.

Martha McBride entered the room with Polly at her heels, both carrying terrines of soup, which were quietly placed on the servery. Martha whispered something close to Polly’s ear, the black girl’s eyes opened wide and white but she didn’t speak, she would not in fear of being berated by McBride, with the threat to have her dismissed to live with the local blacks, a peril to Polly worse than death itself as she did not speak their language and had not even entered a native camp since the age of eight. It would be like entering through the gates of hell, being another place she was often threatened with.

Martha took her seat as Polly served the steaming contents, all the while under the controlling gaze of their provider.

“Polly,” Martha spoke softly as Polly commenced to round the table in the wrong direction. Without speaking further Martha pointed a finger towards the preferred direction, while McBride acknowledged her error with a lifting of the eyes. Polly bit her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing, as such folly was totally absent from her culture, finding the white man’s meal time antics most amusing.

Meals were served in the order deemed by McBride, starting with him and travelling clockwise, always in silence, the serving order never changing and the silence was religion.

This night only one of the McBride girls was in attendance, Sarah and without her husband. To her left sat William then Lucy, with Cameron to her side and closest to the old man, while at his father’s left was Robert then Daniel and finally Lachlan, relegated to the wings and closest to their mother.

Unlike the serving order the social order of the table was changeable dictated by McBride himself, depending on what conversation he deemed important for the night and with whom and most of all who was or was not in favour.

Soup was served and consumed in silence, hardly a slurp could be heard, or the scraping of silver spoon upon the finely glazed porcelain. As they finished and without direction Polly removed the soup bowls, then after Jock McBride carved the joint, she commenced to serve the roast along with copious amounts of vegetables, while the room filled with the pleasant scent of roasted meat.

“Tonight?” William whispered to Cameron as he passed to collect a fresh carafe of wine, bringing a red flush to his brother’s face along with attention from Lachlan and their father. The old man peered across the table at Cameron, his deep set dark eyes declaring dissatisfaction with his son’s action. He spoke, his gaze stony directed towards Cameron and his error in recognition.

“William, have you and your brother finished that work in the top paddock?” His question was but a preamble to what he wished to discuss. The twins readied for what was to follow.

“I’m not William, I’m Cameron father.” Cameron answered anxiously realising what was about to eventuate, bringing about a dissatisfied glance from his brother for exposing their deception.

“Thanks a lot brother.” William whispered; his head bowed away from what was expected.

McBride immediately realised his misguidance, “My question was directed towards William.” He snapped, transferring his steely gaze towards William as if the mistaking identity wasn’t apparent. He was about to berate the two for their game but didn’t wish to seem weak for not recognising the switch and his own children.

William released a light cough and answered, “Not as yet father but should be finished by mid morning tomorrow.”

“As for you two, I haven’t forgotten your pathetic attention to your duty,” The old man’s voice resinated around the room, bringing a halt to the evening meal, sending Polly scurrying for the safety of the kitchen with her pile of soup dishes.

“But father it wasn’t our fault!” William protested as Lucy’s head cringed lower into her shoulders, while Cameron weakly nodded in support of his brother but remained silent, with the twins Daniel and Robert smirking in sadistic pleasure. Jock turned to the two, immediately their grins dissolved. Silently the old man pushed his plate aside and stood, while casting his stony gaze across all his sons, his anger apparent as he shook his head. It appeared to be an eternity before he spoke.

“I think both of you should take a good look at yourselves.” He paused,

“No son of mine should fail such a simple task.” Another pause as the old man’s face filled with disappointment. His stared cold and judgmental, directed towards William. He had his selection correct this time.

“Maybe I should send Daniel or Robert with Simpson.” Thus said the two took sudden breath and held it in unison. Jock continued.

“But of late they seem to humour themselves a little too much.” As he continued the two bowed their heads away from his notice, hoping their father would not be good to his word.

“No!” Jock drew out the word. His eyes now fixed on Lachlan.

“I’ll send the boy.” He growled, believing his youngest to be superfluous to his need. The lad was considered to be only a labourer and could be replaced equally as free with unpaid labour from the islands.

As he gazed upon his youngest, McBride once again became aware of Lachlan’s build and difference from his brothers. Immediately the old man’s heart filled with envy, increasing his disdain towards the lad. He noticed his son’s ginger hair, the youthful ginger stubble on his chin. Casting his gaze to his wife, her hair was different, more to red, now greying. It was that traveller who had ginger hair. He grew anger from the thought as he returned his intention to Lachlan.

“You wouldn’t fail me boy?” The old man proclaimed coldly while placing both gnarled and powerful hands flat upon the table top. He continued. “Boy you can go with Simpson this time.”

Lachlan refrained from answering and for what felt like an eternity his eyes locked onto the old man’s stare. He could feel his father’s eyes directing his will, moulding his existence to his demand and he knew that choice would not be his own.

“Boy you will ready yourself to travel with Simpson mid next month.” Another pause.

“Have you any problem with that?” McBride asked, his voice appearing to arrive from deep down inside his ample belly, upwards past his bull neck to those cruel down turned lips, to be delivered as verbal venom.

“No sir.” Lachlan answered without displaying emotion. His eyes constantly fixed on those of his father.

McBride turned from the table and without further word was gone. Leaving silence that lasted until well after the front door slammed shut and the sound of his horse’s hooves upon the gravel melted into the darkness of the night.

“Well.” William stated as the meal turned into a relieved murmur, all except Lachlan who was stunned by his sudden inclusion into the body of family, all be it, to be given a task he lacked will or experience to perform.

The twins drew reprieve although still suffering their father’s scornful remarks, relieved they didn’t have to return to sea, while Daniel and Robert showed the same respite along with disregard that Lachlan had been chosen for the forthcoming adventure.

“He will change his mind.” Martha McBride assured Lachlan, her voice shaken with concern for her favourite, while patting him gently on the shoulder.

“He won’t mother but it doesn’t matter, don’t worry I’ll be alright.” Lachlan assured her as she left to help Polly in the kitchen.

“Where does father go at nights?” Cameron asked quizzically as Martha returned, Polly as ever one step behind but now with the old man absent, showing a measure of spirit.

“Don’t you know?” Daniel spoke but before elaborating, thought better of doing so.

“You boys should show a little more respect, he is your father.” Martha advised from behind Daniel, giving him a gentle slap to the back of his head. Daniel feigned hurt while releasing his repeater giggle, “come on help Polly clear the table,” she asked as both Sarah and Lucy rose to the task; “you can also help,” she demanded of Daniel, considering his disrespect.

“Would you play some piano for us?” Martha suggested, placing her hands upon Lucy’s slender shoulders as she rose from the table. Lucy appeared to shiver under the soothing touch. The young woman found being at the McBride house most frightening, constantly attempting to be excluded from the gatherings but alas, being William’s wife, it was deemed her duty to attend.

With the old man’s departure they retired to the drawing room where Lucy gained courage and commenced to play a simple melody as the others gathered around the badly tuned upright piano.

“Play us a waltz,” William suggested.

“You can’t dance,” Daniel brashly surmised of his brother’s ability.

“I like the music, besides Daniel that is where you are incorrect. Lucy has been instructing me.”

“Yet he has two left feet.” Lucy softly foretold as her fingers danced merrily across the piano keys. The boys laughed at William’s expense.

“You’re turning into some toff.” Daniel accused William.

“Tis better than some scruffy labourer as you are Daniel.”

“Lucy would you also teach me how to waltz?” Cameron enthusiastically begged.

“If you wish Cameron but do you have a left and a right foot?”

“I guess I have both and I can only try.” Cameron answered.

“Also what are you two planning?” Daniel asked of William, disregarding his brother’s slant on his character, remembering the twins’ whisper during the meal.

“Nothing that would concern you,” William answered and moved away to join Cameron at the far side of the room, where they reconvened their clandestine conversation.

Daniel’s need to know all family business drove him to enquire further from Lachlan, who was positioned to the side of Lucy contemplating the implications of his father’s ridiculous decision for him to join Simpson on his expedition and what he could possibly do to bring success that neither William or Cameron could not.

“What are those two up to?” Daniel enquired, gently nodding towards the twins.

“I dunno’ I gave up on your games long ago.” Lachlan shrugged away his brother’s question.

“William is up to something.” Daniel repeated.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Na, he wouldn’t tell.”

“So ask Cameron, he can’t keep a secret.” Lachlan suggested.

“True, Cameron isn’t the sharpest knife in the draw.” Daniel surmised.

“He’s not as dull as you think Daniel, only a little introvert.”

“So you are about to enjoy a sea voyage eh?” Daniel joked, becoming distracted from his attempt to discover William’s and Cameron’s secrete.

“It certainly appears that way.”

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know anything about sailing but I suppose it gets me away from you lot for a time if nothing else.” Lachlan paused, “While we are on the subject of secrets, what were you about to say about father?”

“Nothing really – ask Robert he was the one who told me.”

“Told you what?”

“As I said, ask Robert.” Daniel concluded then moved closer to the twins, hoping to hear their conversation but they were too clever and retired to the front verandah.

It was a warm night with a high moon, giving a milky covering to everything it touched. Without breeze the sweet smelling stalks of ripening cane stretched motionless above Lachlan’s head as he commenced his homeward journey, his thoughts lost at sea and his father’s ridiculous plan to enter into what could only be considered nothing more than a veiled attempt at slavery. Surly his father was wealthy enough without doing so and growing wealthier with each passing year. Besides he had almost free labour from his children, even the girls were expected to help bring in the cane and he could use the natives for a pittance.

Lachlan released a disgruntled huff. “Greed,” he spoke loudly into the still night air, “Greed begets greed.” He continued and releasing a gentle laugh assured he would not walk that avarice mile.

Placing his father’s greed aside, he remembered Daniel’s partial report on their father, it interested him but more out of his moral leaning that curiosity into his father’s exploits. As quickly he placed the thought aside to rest with that of his father’s avarice.

On approaching his cottage Lachlan’s subconscious diverted him towards the aboriginal settlement, situated a good half mile from the last row of cane and near the edge of the forest. The warm night air brought with it a soft poignant mantra, telling of times before the white invasion. It told of the coming of the ghosts of their dead ancestors in the form or Europeans but not returned to live with them and share their bounty, instead to displace them from their dreaming and their mother earth.

As Lachlan approached the camp he reflected on how travelling into the unknown west with Stephen Henderson had merit, while considering how he could approach his father for such a blessing, possibly with a proviso placed on joining Simpson’s enterprise. If he were to travel with Simpson then his father should agree to allow him some time to travel with his friend. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘not ruddy likely,’ he determined. He was not yet of age and would need to bide time for those two long years, yet like William, his father would probably suggest he marry and not agree to freedom, making it necessary for him to break all family ties to gain desired independence.

Lachlan had already secretly commenced his journey towards that independence by becoming an efficient horse breeder, with a growing mob he grazed on some of his father’s holdings north west of the farm, in the foothills of the divide. His intention being once he had reached majority he would apply for some Crown Land to call his own. There was a growing need for stock horses and riding mounts, as cattle men moved further into Queensland’s north and beyond the mountains to the western grass lands. This influx of settlers had inflated prices but still not as excessive as importing stock from the south.

By the time Lachlan reached the outskirts of the small settlement he had come to the understanding that going against their father’s wishes and joining Stephen wasn’t worth the bother. He had seen William in an attempt for freedom. Had heard the arguments and noted the threats, ending in William being browbeaten into cowardly submission, only to remain a subservient farm hand and William was years his senior, therefore what chance would he have?

“I’m caught in a bloody vice!” Lachlan called with frustration into the dark branches of the forest trees above his head. A chorus of night dwellers paused at the sound of his voice, moments later they recommenced their serenade.

A log fire burnt low in the clearing of the camp, flickering devils of light onto the bark humpies and the surrounding trees, while transforming black faces to reflect in satin shine as they sat around the crackling flames in their dreamy existence.

The chanting had stopped and a wet cloud of depression appeared to have settled upon their mood. Occasionally one would utter soft words and another would continue as if in a round. There was despair in their tone while dismal eyes gazed blankly into the fire.

As Lachlan approached he stumbled, bringing attention to his arrival. He swore and righted himself supporting bleeding shin.

“Hey Kari whatya doing up here?” The concerned voice of his friend Yarran came out of the darkness, his black face collecting fire devils, as he directed Lachlan away from the settlement.

“Secret business?” Lachlan asked, while puzzled by a lack of activity. If there were to be so there would be happy voices, singing, painted faces but all he saw was listless bodies crouched like those who had lost their soul.

“Hey Kari we go for a walk eh?” Yarran quietly suggested, taking Lachlan’s arm and guiding him towards the black wall of rain forest trees beyond the camp – but to no avail, it was too late.

Movement from under one of the humpies had caught Lachlan’s eye. It was the naked white arse of his father as he pounded his frustrations into the furnace of a young tribal woman. Lachlan stood motionless, his mouth agape in disbelief as grunts of hedonistic satisfaction exhaled from the old man as powered towards climax.

“Come on Kari we go to the forest.” Yarran demanded, forcing his friend away from the camp. Lachlan reluctantly travelled, while keeping his gaze back across his shoulder to where his father; his pants below his knees, his thick woollen shirt covering his privates, was now standing and staring avariciously down at the naked black flesh before him. There was a primeval air about the old man, akin to some wild animal that had just successfully killed but not one that brought surprise to his son.

Some distance from the camp Lachlan pulled away from his friends grasp and reclined despondently within the buttressing folds of a giant fig. In the distance he could see the faint flicker from the fire then heard a mournful chant lift as Jock McBride left the camp. Its tone gave impressions of hopelessness, displaying decades of violation of their law and women by the white invader, while in the son its ancient mantra soothed away the sting of his father’s deeds as Lachlan’s rage subsided but not his developing disgust towards his father.

“How long has this been going on?” Lachlan demanded, arms folded across his chest in a silent defiant gesture against his father’s indiscretion.

“You go home eh Kari and forget all this eh?” Yarran pleaded from behind terrified wide eyes.

“How long?”

Yarran was hesitant but knew he must answer.

“Long time but it no matter, you go home. Forget about all this eh?”

“It does matter, he is a respectable member of our community and he is my father!”

“No matter Kari,” Yarran repeated.

“He is my mother’s husband!” Lachlan’s anger commenced to once again rise. He wished to return to the camp to confront his father but Yarran held him back.

“No Kari you leave it eh; you make it worse for us and your family.”

There was truth in his friend’s words as exposing the old man’s conduct would destroy what little bond the family had. Besides he had to think of his mother’s feelings. It would destroy her. He shook his head as if to clear away the sight and disbelief. It still remained. Lachlan spoke.

“You know Yarran it is expected that a child should love and respect its parents but like is a different matter and I don’t like my father.” He paused and took a deep breath. “As for respect even a parent must earn its child’s respect and I neither like nor respect my father.” At this Yarran laughed loudly.

“You white fellers just don’t get it eh?”

“And Yarran what would that be?”

“Life.”

In reflection as Lachlan walked that lonely mile back to his cottage, he realised what Daniel had been referring to that night. Somehow Robert must have heard of their father’s imprudence and had told Daniel, who would have considered it no more than an ounce of scandal he could relate in mischief. For Lachlan it was much more and shocked him deeply as their mother’s morality was strong within the lad, becoming something he could never forgive or forget.

Reaching the cottage Lachlan slumped onto the bench seat beside the front door, to gaze blankly into the dark form of the mango trees. Fruit bats squealed in delight as they devoured the unripened fruit, squabbling over the best choice. How he wished he had not gone to the camp that night, had not witnessed his father’s impropriety. Such things did occur, he knew that as there were a number of half-cast children in the camp but they were the prodigy of lesser men, not men of standing within the community, so called god fearing citizens intrusted with the responsibility to maintain social standards.

How could he face his aboriginal friends if his own father was violating every fibre of their belief, or ever again look his father in the face and offer respect. He released a deep sigh; “it’s not my problem!” he growled into the night but could not convince his morality. How would his mother feel if she discovered the sordid secret or those in town who relied on McBride for guidance?

“It’s not my problem!” he repeated.

But it was.

Let Gary know what you think of his story.

51,946 views