Fresh Fields

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Authors: Peter Kocan
Tags: Fiction, Literary
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Gladys served up baked beans on toast for him. She and Clem began talking about Mr. and Mrs. Coles and when they might be back from town.
    The youth was able to observe them while he ate. He realised that they were probably quite old. Clem’s hair—when you saw him without his hat—was almost white. It was hard to judge the age of grown-ups, but the youth decided Clem must be at least forty, and Gladys much the same. They both looked worn and threadbare, like the stony ridge they lived on and like the meagre dwelling with floorboards unsoftened by any mat or rug. It dawned on the youth that the Curreys were very poor.
    Â 
    CLEM WAS saying something to Gladys about “digging out” under the shearing shed. The youth did not know what this meant. Gladys asked Clem what he reckoned about it, and Clem replied that the stuff would be hard as a rock, but that they’d better have a go if it was what Coles wanted.
    â€œHe’s the boss, I s’pose,” Clem concluded, in a resigned tone.
    â€œYeah,” said Gladys, in the same tone. “You probably better have a go at it, if that’s what he said to do.”
    The youth could tell how conscious they were of not being their own masters in life. He realised that the Curreys weren’t next-door neighbours but employees on the place, like himself.
    â€œWell,” said Clem after a while, “we might as well do a bit, if ya like.”
    â€œOkay,” said the youth at once, to show he’d go along with whatever Clem thought best.
    He had cottoned on to the way Clem never
told
him to do anything. It was always put as an idea, as something you could do
if you liked
. Clem hated bossing anyone about. Putting it as an idea left a person with a bit of dignity, as though they were doing the thing because they felt like it, or to lend a mate a hand, not just because of being a mug battler with no choice.
    They got a pick-axe and a shovel and went along to the shearing shed. Clem explained that they were to dig out a layer of earth from under the shed. This layer of earth was rich with all the years of sheep droppings that had fallen through the slat floors of the holding-pens above. This enriched earth made good fertiliser. Anyway, said Clem, Coles wanted it done.
    They got under the shed. It was too low a space to stand upright in, so they bent on their knees. This meant they were trying to use the pick-axe and shovel from unnatural postures which didn’t allow any swing or purchase. The earth felt damp and cold but was packed so hard that trying to break it up was like trying to break up concrete. After a few minutes Clem said it was time for a “blow.” They came out from under the shed and sat with their backs against one of the yard fences and Clem rolled a smoke.
    The youth learnt that the Curreys had been on Dunkeld ever since Mr. Coles had come to manage it for the rich city businessman. Clem had been working on another property in the district and had a run-in with the owner, a Mr. Izzard, and had chucked the job in. Because of that he’d been available when Coles was looking for a station hand. “Coles and old Angus Izzard weren’t too keen on each other from the first day they met,” said Clem. “Too much alike, I s’pose. So my havin’ had a run-in with Izzard was a recommendation as far as Coles was concerned.”
    The youth asked about Mrs. Coles. Had she always been peculiar?
    â€œMad as a cut snake from the start,” said Clem. “But I had nothin’ against her till I saw the airs and graces she put on, specially with Gladys. Gladys took her measure quick smart.”
    When he’d finished his smoke Clem said that they could have another bit of a go, if they liked. So they went back under the shed and tried to break up a little more of the packed earth. Again they quickly became exhausted in the cramped space. They came out and Clem rolled another smoke. Dolly came

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