raised in salute and Margaret and Charlotte continued to gaze ahead without even shielding the sun from their eyes. The roar of the engine was horrendous. Behind them, the windows of the homestead rattled, and the branches of the impressive lemon-scented gums which Jockâs father had planted as saplings and which lined the drive to the house, swayed and swirled as they did in a gale.
The aircraft seemed all but upon them when young Pearl broke away from her mother and ran shrieking towards the verandah. Nellie stared down at the ground, longing to put her hands over her ears, visibly trembling, tormented by the scream of the engine.
Then, as quickly as an eagle having swooped successfully upon its prey, the Spitfire was back up in the air and Henrietta could have sworn sheâd heard Terence laughing. Or was it Jock? Jock was certainly laughing now. Laughing and waving proudly to his son. Henrietta put a reassuring arm around Nellie, and Nellie shamefacedly beckoned Pearl back to her side.
Terence was pleased with himself. It had been a particularly good dive, he thought, barely fifty feet from the ground, he could swear. He decided against a further show of aerobatics, the aircraft was displaying a distinct and repetitive shudder, heâd better get back to base and have them check the damage heâd copped from the Zero. Hebriefly contemplated dive-bombing the native camp, but decided against that too. The muster was well under way now, only women and children would be there. The stockmen would be out bush, rounding up the cattle on the plains, penning them in the bush stockyards, sorting the steers from the breeding stock and the new seasonâs calves from their mothers.
The first time Terence had buzzed the homestead and the camp heâd been showing off. It put the fear of God into the native stockmen, he knew it, but he was just playing a game, a boyish prank, that was all. But when his father had called his performance âa salute of triumphâ, heâd quickly changed his views. The old man was right of course, it was a victory celebration. Hell, if anyone knew about the triumphs of battle, it was Jock Galloway.
He descended and circled the homestead one more time, smiling proudly at the sight of his father once again standing stiffly to attention. He noted with irritation that Henrietta was comforting the two blacks. Heâd told her not to in the past and she was disregarding his orders, as she did on occasions when she disagreed with his views. It annoyed him. Not that he wished to break Henriettaâs spirit. It was her spirit which had first attracted him. She was such an interesting contradiction, such a mixture of strength and naivety. Like a healthy young mare, Terence often thought, not a racehorse, she was not elegant enough for a racehorse. High-spirited as she was, she lacked the neuroses that accompanied a racehorseâs inbreeding, and that was fortunate. But she possessed all the natural beauty, all the strength and enthusiasm of a healthy young mare. And she was a chestnut, whatâs more. Terence had always been fond of chestnuts.
His annoyance faded and he felt a wave of affection for his young wife. He would admonish her for fussing over Nellie and Pearl when he got home, certainly, but he would not round on her. In time he would teach her andshe would become accustomed to the ways of the outback, he had no wish to change the essential Henrietta. God forbid that his wife should grow bitter like his sister Charlotte, or worse still, humourless like his mother. Much as Terence respected his mother, he was the first to admit that Margaret Galloway singularly lacked a sense of humour. He turned his aircraft and headed south towards the base. A beer with Hans and the boys and an exchange of exploits and tactics was the next pleasurable item on the agenda.
Jock gave a final salute to the receding Spitfire. âHeâs fearless, that boy,â he announced to the
The aircraft seemed all but upon them when young Pearl broke away from her mother and ran shrieking towards the verandah. Nellie stared down at the ground, longing to put her hands over her ears, visibly trembling, tormented by the scream of the engine.
Then, as quickly as an eagle having swooped successfully upon its prey, the Spitfire was back up in the air and Henrietta could have sworn sheâd heard Terence laughing. Or was it Jock? Jock was certainly laughing now. Laughing and waving proudly to his son. Henrietta put a reassuring arm around Nellie, and Nellie shamefacedly beckoned Pearl back to her side.
Terence was pleased with himself. It had been a particularly good dive, he thought, barely fifty feet from the ground, he could swear. He decided against a further show of aerobatics, the aircraft was displaying a distinct and repetitive shudder, heâd better get back to base and have them check the damage heâd copped from the Zero. Hebriefly contemplated dive-bombing the native camp, but decided against that too. The muster was well under way now, only women and children would be there. The stockmen would be out bush, rounding up the cattle on the plains, penning them in the bush stockyards, sorting the steers from the breeding stock and the new seasonâs calves from their mothers.
The first time Terence had buzzed the homestead and the camp heâd been showing off. It put the fear of God into the native stockmen, he knew it, but he was just playing a game, a boyish prank, that was all. But when his father had called his performance âa salute of triumphâ, heâd quickly changed his views. The old man was right of course, it was a victory celebration. Hell, if anyone knew about the triumphs of battle, it was Jock Galloway.
He descended and circled the homestead one more time, smiling proudly at the sight of his father once again standing stiffly to attention. He noted with irritation that Henrietta was comforting the two blacks. Heâd told her not to in the past and she was disregarding his orders, as she did on occasions when she disagreed with his views. It annoyed him. Not that he wished to break Henriettaâs spirit. It was her spirit which had first attracted him. She was such an interesting contradiction, such a mixture of strength and naivety. Like a healthy young mare, Terence often thought, not a racehorse, she was not elegant enough for a racehorse. High-spirited as she was, she lacked the neuroses that accompanied a racehorseâs inbreeding, and that was fortunate. But she possessed all the natural beauty, all the strength and enthusiasm of a healthy young mare. And she was a chestnut, whatâs more. Terence had always been fond of chestnuts.
His annoyance faded and he felt a wave of affection for his young wife. He would admonish her for fussing over Nellie and Pearl when he got home, certainly, but he would not round on her. In time he would teach her andshe would become accustomed to the ways of the outback, he had no wish to change the essential Henrietta. God forbid that his wife should grow bitter like his sister Charlotte, or worse still, humourless like his mother. Much as Terence respected his mother, he was the first to admit that Margaret Galloway singularly lacked a sense of humour. He turned his aircraft and headed south towards the base. A beer with Hans and the boys and an exchange of exploits and tactics was the next pleasurable item on the agenda.
Jock gave a final salute to the receding Spitfire. âHeâs fearless, that boy,â he announced to the
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