Chapter 13 - Swamp and Shelter
“Jim Sharp is coming tomorrow to see if he can find some water on the back part of the farm, “ said Fred to his wife one evening as they finished their tea. “He uses a forked twig of a pear tree and it will tell him where the water is closest to the surface.” “I hope the water isn’t too far down,” said Sam. “Well, it’s Monday morning,” replied Esther, “so I’ll make scones for morning tea and bring them down.” Fred smiled at his wife. He was glad his neighbour had offered to help, and he knew no-one could resist his Esther’s fresh scones.
Even before she was properly awake next morning Esther could hear the wind gusting around the little home, rattling the windows and making the tin chimney pop and crack. There were few trees in the Waikato of 1916 and the hated sou’wester howled over the manuka and rushes that covered the swamps. When she tried to light the fire under the copper, the wind rushed down the chimney, blowing the smoke in her face and putting out the tiny flame. At last a sulky fire was started, but there was no heat in it and the water was barely warm when the men came in for breakfast. Usually those things that had to be boiled, sheets and towels etc, were ready to go on the before breakfast. Even the kitchen stove was affected. The porridge hadn’t cooked properly and when Esther piled manuka onto the fire, it flared up so hotly that the bacon and eggs burnt in the pan. The wind seemed to drop a little after breakfast and at last the sheets and towels were on the line and Esther went more cheerfully into the kitchen to make the scones. They were still warm and fluffy when she put on the fresh creamy butter and plum jam she had made on Saturday, rolling them carefully in a crisp white napkin. In another parcel went some of her rich fruit cake.
“I’ll just have a look at my washing,” she thought, “before I make the tea and pick up baby.” The towels were flapping madly, two of the sheets were dragging on the ground and would have to be washed again, half the tea towels had scudded over the fence into the garden and as Esther made a grab at one of her prized wedding pillowcases, the corner tore and it sailed out of her hand. “Oh,” she sobbed, ‘I hate this wind,” and she sat down by the clothes prop and buried her head in her hands. A cold nose touched her arm, and with a whine of sympathy, Scout pushed up beside her. The dog was so obviously concerned, that some of the tension lifted from her heart as she put her around him, suddenly, she realized that his whine of sympathy had changed to a deep-throated growl as he moved to stand in front of her. As she looked up, she saw a big black horse come up the track beside the whare. It was too late to flee, and conscious of her tear-stained face, she stood up. “Good morning Madam,” said the boy as he brought his horse to a halt beside her. “I am from Dillicar Bros’ shop in Hamilton. We have got a great plan. I am going to ride around on Mondays to get your order, and then on Wednesdays we will come out with the things you want in the wagon.” Esther smiled. “Groceries delivered right to my door. It’s getting more like London every day.” The boy stared at her. He looked at the wooden whare with its tin chimney and down over the miles of cutty grass and rushes and grey, straggly manuka. Like London! Never! London with its excitement and people, always people. The hunger and cold was fading now, and the bad time when the drunken sailor had smashed him up only came to him in dreams. He’d woken up in a cot in Dr Barnardo’s hospital and the old doctor had treated as if he cared. The discipline in the home hadn’t been so good but there was food and for the first time in his life there was a bed to sleep in and a warm blanket. He’d been excited to come out to New Zealand at the beginning of the year. “A new chance,” they’d said at the home. “I suppose it is,” he thought. “I once got a sixpence for holding a man’s horse and here I have one to ride myself, but Oh, New Zealand is so lonely. The excitement, the colour, the people of London...... he gave a start.
What is the women saying?”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Esther repeated and the boy gladly accepted the tea and a scone before going on his way. Esther put the tea for her men into two big bottles and put them into a couple of woolen socks to keep the tea warm. Fred had left Lassie saddled ready for her. This was her Father’s wedding present to her. She put the food into one side of the pikau slung in front of the saddle and baby Mary went into the other side. Carefully leading the horse to the mounting block, she climbed on, nervously and set off down the paddock. The wind rustled in a clump of toi-toi and the long leaves tapped against the horse’s side. Lassie snorted and gave a little jump; the pikau swaying perilously. “Oh, Lassie,” said the mother desperately, “Please be good. You know I am not used to riding in this sort of saddle and my baby is so precious.” The baby reached up her little hand and grabbed the coarse hair above her head. She laughed and chuckled to herself.
“Well, you can enjoy it,” said the mother, “You are going to learn to ride astride, not side saddle as I did. Your Father says you can.” The baby laughed again.
Perhaps because she really knew or perhaps because she had been well broken in, Lassie swung along with her steady, easy walk and they soon reached the place where the men had begun to dig the well. Gentle hands lifted the baby and her mother to the ground and the scones were soon eaten. Fred explained that they would dig the well about six feet deep and then put up a windmill. “We’ll have this as a corner where the four paddocks meet,” he said.
“How horrible the water is!” exclaimed Esther looking down at the hole they had dug, “smelly and ugly and yellow.”
“Peat water but just as well the cows like it,” said Fred, but Sam said “She doesn’t like the water we found and she wrapped our morning tea in a white cloth. Everyone knows that a Waikato farmer has his morning tea in a page of the newspaper. What shall we do with her? I know, let’s put her in the well.”
Esther gave a shriek as her brother in law came closer and then when her husband picked her up she gave another yell.
Scout, who had been lying beside the baby watching her every move, bounded to his feet and came to Esther’s side, growling in his throat.
“You old turncoat,” said Fred grinning as he tried to push the dog away, at the same time carrying his wife, laughing and kicking to the well. Scout grabbed his trouser leg, and the growl was now louder. Quickly the two young men put Esther down.
“I’m glad you take such good care of her,” said Fred to the dog, “but I wouldn’t hurt her you know, and the two young people smiled at each other with complete love and understanding.
“Wait here till we go up for lunch,” suggested Fred. “I’ll help you with the washing then.”
Esther was glad to wait. She felt more confident riding when Fred was there to, so while the men finished the digging, Jim Sharp showed her how he divined water. Holding the ends of the forked twig in his hands, he walked across the paddock. Suddenly she saw it twist until the end was pointing to the ground. They were not far from the well, and Jim said that the underground stream flowed in that direction. Esther tried, but the stick stayed obstinately still, even when she walked almost on top of the well, but when Jim walked beside her and put his hand on hers, the stick turned down as they came to the line of the stream.
“There,” said Sam, at last climbing out of the well where they had been working in 18 inches of yellow, muddy water. “We can’t do any more till we get the windmill.” “We’ll get the parts next time we take the wagon to town,” said his Brother.
“There are two baconers ready to go next sale day,” Sam reminded him, “so we’ll get it then.” Sam took the spade and other tools on his pony and Fred took the baby with him, leaving Esther to ride alone.
“I won’t come up for lunch, thank you,” said Jim as he set off to walk home across the paddocks. It was two and a half miles that way, crossing several drains on logs thrown across them, but if he had ridden his horse around the road, it was at least six miles.
As sometimes happens, the wind dropped after lunch, the copper boiled and soon the clothes were washed a second time and drying on the line. “I don’t know why you have to boil all these things,” commented Fred and his wife answered, “Boiling kills all the germs. Everyone knows that.” “Well, it’s a lot of work, hot and heavy work,” said the man and his wife agreed very heartily with that.
“I wonder if there is any mail from the front,” remarked Esther as they finished tea that night, and Sam said, “I’ll ride down and see. He saddled his pony and off he went. It was four miles to the Gordonton Post Office cum store, and as Mr. Parfit’s house was attached, he was willing to give the mail whenever someone came for it. No five o’clock closing for him. But tonight as he handed Sam the mail he said “Tell Esther I’m sorry.”
Sam looked at the bundle in his hand. Unmistakably one was an official telegram to say that some soldier would not be coming home. Which of Esther’s brothers would it be he wondered? When he reached home again he gave that one to Fred, passing his sister in law a letter from family.
“Oh Fred,” she said excitedly, “they are sending up the trees that George grew for me. He planted the seeds the week we were engaged, you know, and now the trees are ready to plant out. I can’t wait till they grow big enough to shelter the house from that awful wind. You’ll be able to get them when you go into town on Tuesday. There’s been no letter from George lately,” she mused as she finished reading her mother’s letter. I wonder where he is. He just missed Gallipoli, you know.”
Suddenly she realized that her husband and brother were very quiet and then she noticed the telegram in his hand. “George?” it was an inquiry, but the look on Fred’s face confirmed her fears even before she looked at the printed words. After some tears and a few sleepless nights, Esther was ready to go with her husband (and two baconers) to town in the wagon. When the pigs had been sold, they picked up the parts to make the windmill and then called at the Claudelands Railway Station for the bundle of little trees. It was milking time when they arrived home and the cows were hurried through and then they planted the trees where they would shelter the homestead. As she helped, time after time the tears rose to Esther’s eyes; but “salt water’s no good for the trees,” said her husband, so they were planted with happy memories of the joys she and George had shared together when they were children and a prayer for each little tree and for the boys overseas.