living in the smelly, wet patch not far from the house.
‘We use all parts of the plant, but the most useful is the root. When ground up and mixed with water it forms a jelly. You eat tha’ and you’ll nay suffer from stomach troubles again.’
They then got the full tour, starting with a large lake. ‘This dam once supplied water for the gold-sluicing. Now it grows ma water lilies. Those white ones’re spatterdock—good for acne, toothache and ulcers. The pink ones’re lotus—diarrhoea, dysentery and piles.’
‘Top end and bottom end,’ said Tony.
Rose sniggered; Duggan ignored him.
They moved along to the edge of a large, dark pit. There was water in the bottom in which even more plants were growing. Around the edge were banks of shiny black coal.
‘This was one of the main reasons I bought this place—the coal mine. It had stopped workin’ years ago, but still had enough coal fer ma purpose and tha’ was to heat those over there.’ He pointed to two glasshouses on the far side of the pit. ‘Tha’s where I do ma hobby.’
The air in the glasshouses was hot, moist and smelled strongly of vanilla. The plants were straggly vines, climbing up posts made from tree ferns. Long, green pods hung from the stalks. Some of them were already turning brown.
‘This is the vanilla orchid. I had a vanilla farm on Mangareva fer many years until ma wife died.’ He paused for a moment in remembrance. ‘Tha’s one of the islands in French Polynesia.’ Another pause. ‘When I came here, I was determined to continue growin’ them. I can come in here and it’s like I’m back in the islands and ma dear wife is still alive.’ Tony studied the man with some sympathy. This was an altogether different side to Duggan. This was somebody who had genuine feelings for others.
Rose seemed to be affected too. ‘Was your wife French?’ she asked gently.
‘Nay!’ he said, in a flash of anger. ‘She certainly was not.’ With effort, he calmed himself down. ‘She was Mangarevan—one of the most beautiful people living on God’s earth.’ Then he gave a little smile. ‘Och, Rosie, I’m sorry I barked at you. But you nay call the Polynesian people French. It’s like saying a Scotsman is English.’
The tour continued: wasabi, water chestnuts, calendula, sarsaparilla—there seemed no end to the strange plants that he grew. Each was described along with the illnesses it could cure or prevent. There was no doubting that Duggan knew his medicinal herbs.
They were inspecting bamboo shoots (spasms, convulsions and strokes) when the bell rang. ‘Excuse me,’ said Duggan. ‘I gave ma workers the day off to go Christmasshopping, so I’m a wee bit short-handed.’ He jogged off towards the shop.
Tony turned to Rose: ‘I want to look at the other side of here.’
‘Why?’
‘I think we’re close to the caravan.’
The tall bamboo formed a fence that surrounded the whole place. Tony forced a way through and found himself at the top of the terrace looking down at the scrub. And there below him was the clearing with the caravan.
He smiled. Maybe his suspicions about Duggan were right. It definitely proved that the man could easily slip down into the scrub surrounding the caravan.
These thoughts were broken by the cry of a weka coming from behind them. Rose saw it first. ‘Oh, look,’ she cried. ‘It’s caught in a trap.’
Tucked in close to the bamboo was a weka struggling to get free from the large metal trap that was gripping one leg. It was Sirloin. Tony and Rose rushed over to help. That was the wrong thing to do. Sirloin panicked and almost ripped his leg off trying to get away.
‘Shhh,’ soothed Rose. ‘It’s all right. We only want to help.’ The bird quietened a little.
They crept up until they were almost within arm’s length. Sirloin had been very lucky. A piece of bamboo had fallen onto the trap and was stopping the jaws from closing completely. The leg was bleeding but not
‘We use all parts of the plant, but the most useful is the root. When ground up and mixed with water it forms a jelly. You eat tha’ and you’ll nay suffer from stomach troubles again.’
They then got the full tour, starting with a large lake. ‘This dam once supplied water for the gold-sluicing. Now it grows ma water lilies. Those white ones’re spatterdock—good for acne, toothache and ulcers. The pink ones’re lotus—diarrhoea, dysentery and piles.’
‘Top end and bottom end,’ said Tony.
Rose sniggered; Duggan ignored him.
They moved along to the edge of a large, dark pit. There was water in the bottom in which even more plants were growing. Around the edge were banks of shiny black coal.
‘This was one of the main reasons I bought this place—the coal mine. It had stopped workin’ years ago, but still had enough coal fer ma purpose and tha’ was to heat those over there.’ He pointed to two glasshouses on the far side of the pit. ‘Tha’s where I do ma hobby.’
The air in the glasshouses was hot, moist and smelled strongly of vanilla. The plants were straggly vines, climbing up posts made from tree ferns. Long, green pods hung from the stalks. Some of them were already turning brown.
‘This is the vanilla orchid. I had a vanilla farm on Mangareva fer many years until ma wife died.’ He paused for a moment in remembrance. ‘Tha’s one of the islands in French Polynesia.’ Another pause. ‘When I came here, I was determined to continue growin’ them. I can come in here and it’s like I’m back in the islands and ma dear wife is still alive.’ Tony studied the man with some sympathy. This was an altogether different side to Duggan. This was somebody who had genuine feelings for others.
Rose seemed to be affected too. ‘Was your wife French?’ she asked gently.
‘Nay!’ he said, in a flash of anger. ‘She certainly was not.’ With effort, he calmed himself down. ‘She was Mangarevan—one of the most beautiful people living on God’s earth.’ Then he gave a little smile. ‘Och, Rosie, I’m sorry I barked at you. But you nay call the Polynesian people French. It’s like saying a Scotsman is English.’
The tour continued: wasabi, water chestnuts, calendula, sarsaparilla—there seemed no end to the strange plants that he grew. Each was described along with the illnesses it could cure or prevent. There was no doubting that Duggan knew his medicinal herbs.
They were inspecting bamboo shoots (spasms, convulsions and strokes) when the bell rang. ‘Excuse me,’ said Duggan. ‘I gave ma workers the day off to go Christmasshopping, so I’m a wee bit short-handed.’ He jogged off towards the shop.
Tony turned to Rose: ‘I want to look at the other side of here.’
‘Why?’
‘I think we’re close to the caravan.’
The tall bamboo formed a fence that surrounded the whole place. Tony forced a way through and found himself at the top of the terrace looking down at the scrub. And there below him was the clearing with the caravan.
He smiled. Maybe his suspicions about Duggan were right. It definitely proved that the man could easily slip down into the scrub surrounding the caravan.
These thoughts were broken by the cry of a weka coming from behind them. Rose saw it first. ‘Oh, look,’ she cried. ‘It’s caught in a trap.’
Tucked in close to the bamboo was a weka struggling to get free from the large metal trap that was gripping one leg. It was Sirloin. Tony and Rose rushed over to help. That was the wrong thing to do. Sirloin panicked and almost ripped his leg off trying to get away.
‘Shhh,’ soothed Rose. ‘It’s all right. We only want to help.’ The bird quietened a little.
They crept up until they were almost within arm’s length. Sirloin had been very lucky. A piece of bamboo had fallen onto the trap and was stopping the jaws from closing completely. The leg was bleeding but not
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