Monday, April 6, 2009

A SHOCKING MAN Story 4

A SHOCKING MAN

Charley one of Leo's neighbours who Leo didn't like much, had a dog who was the bane of the district. "Patch was a thieving, scrounging cunning low cur, of very uncertain breeding, that his mother was a sport was the only certain thing about him. He was a motley black with a big white patch over his left eye. Most people and dogs, no matter how bad, have at least one redeeming feature. Patch never had one, and his owner Charley never had much more.

In the district there were quite a lot of dogs, cow dogs, sheep dogs, sporting dogs and pets, also a certain proportion of bitches, some of the bitches were well bred, and their owners were quite keen to breed a good litter of pups from them. Very few had much luck, nearly every litter of pups, whatever their breed, always seemed to have a few pups with patches over their eye or eyes, that was enough for ever the most dedicated of dog lovers to have one litter put down, no one wanted a little Patch.

When the bitches were in season, no matter how well the bitches were locked up, Patch seemed to get in.

Heavy wire netting didn't seem to deter him, timber walls and floor certainly didn't, even concrete was suspect he'd burrow underneath, and unless the concrete was exceedingly strong, Patch seemed to find a flaw, somehow and get in.

Another of his favourite tricks was scrounging tucker. Deep freezers were no trouble he seemed to know when someone had a freezer full and the top goodies disappeared. A lot of farmers keep their freezers in their garages, and patch seemed to know when the door was open.

6

Anyone who killed a beast and left it hanging up overnight often found to their chagrin a big proportion of it gone in the morning. Eggs were another favourite of Patch anyone who kept a few chooks, were lucky not to loose a good proportion of their eggs to the wandering thief.

One night Leo's wife Betty had cooked a roast for tea she had taken it out of the oven and put it on the bench, shortly afterwards the telephone rang and Betty went to answer it, after chatting for a while she heard the screen door bang, and thought Leo had come in, she called out "I wont be long dear" and went on talking.

Finishing her conversation she went out to the kitchen, and was surprised to see Leo coming over the paddock. She shrugged and said to herself "Funny I could have sworn I heard the screen door shut."

She looked in the sitting room and the children were in there watching the television.

By this time Leo was at the back door, she went out, and Leo said, "I just saw that blasted Patch of

Charley's running over the road, it looked like he was carrying something, I couldn't see what it was."

Betty went over to the bench and the roast was gone. She spun around, "I know what it was, it was our tea."

Leo looked bewildered. "I had just taken the roast out and put it on the bench, when the phone, rang. I heard the screen door slam and thought you had come in and pinched it, hell it was hot too, I hope it bums his gizzard out" Betty cried.

Leo wasn't very impressed.

Betty said "Something will have to be done about that dog, Charley denies his dog would do anything wrong. They are as bad as one another those two, can't something be done Leo?"

Leo said it would and very soon, a nice roast dinner, with a tin of spaghetti in lieu of the roast made him quite determined.

But Patch like a lot of human criminals was a very clever specimen, if like them he used his brain to do good, he would have been a very famous dog indeed. But I suppose the way he worked, the gains were more to his liking. For several days Leo was deep in thought, Betty often saw him fiddling with bits of wire, fashioning different shapes.

But Patch had no pattern, he never came often, and never came the same way, and never alway's left the way he'd come.

One day he would be down one end of the valley, and the next day up the other end, and then sometimes he wouldn't be seen for days on end. He didn't chase cars, sheep, cats or any other things that usual run of the mill, useless dogs did. Several had tried to shoot him, but to no avail, he seemed to know when a rifle or gun was around for his benefit.

Leo finally made a trap, it was quite a unique affair. He made it from heavy gauge netting, and steel mesh. It was made strong enough to catch a lion.

When it was made he baited it with a dead calf. It worked. He caught nearly every dog in the district except Patch.

In the meantime Patch had raided Mrs. Sandford's prize poultry farm, and ate several sittings of eggs.

She saw him and recognised him, she went and complained to Charley, but he denied it, he said Patch had been on the chain for several days and hadn't been off. He told her there was another dog that looked like Patch around, but he didn't know who owned it.

Pera Witaki lived in a little cottage on Leo's boundary. He was an old Maori who lived on his own most of the time, he minded his own business, and grew a good garden. He often gave Leo vegetables, and Betty often used to give him some meat and other odds and ends, his constant companion was a little brown spaniel bitch.

He was talking to Leo one day and said"That dog of Charley's he pinched my bread, he get him out of the mail box, he plurry clever that dog."

Leo admitted he was clever all right and wished someone would run over him. Pera replied 'Oh his days coming, he plurry big nuisance, he eat my dried eels and anything else he can find." Leo told him everyone was after him, Pera scratched his head, "We'll catch him."

Not long after this, Leo got his neighbour Doug to give him a hand to kill a beast. They did the job and hung the beast up. suspended from a front-end loader, on a tractor, Doug said"That bloody Patch will have a go at this beast tonight you mark my words."

"Oh no he won't" said Leo 'I've got the answer to him and any other dog."

THE END

A SHOCKING MAN Story 2

A SHOCKING MAN

Story 2

Leo is a good humoured looking chap, who invariably wears a grin, he is also a good listener, and consequently very knowledgeable.

One particular morning he was putting his gumboots on, when he spotted a car coming up the drive, he wandered over, and took his usual stand just outside the gate where his left hand could reach the electric wire if need be.

The driver got out, remarked on the beautiful weather, and on how lucky people were to live in the wide open spaces. Leo agreed with him. The visitor prattled on for awhile, then asked Leo how many children he had, etc., etc., then went in for a whole spiel of how Leo would be better if he embraced God, forget about trivialities, shut his mind up to the devil, and went on and on.

Leo never had a chance to get a word in for at least ten minutes, he just stood and listened. The man of God, thought he had a convert, and then asked Leo what he thought. Leo put his left hand on the hotwire reached out and shook the mans hand very firmly. The man of God reacted as expected. He jumped, twisted and tried to get away, but Leo was a strong man, he held on to him, and told him he was very impressed indeed, but his caller wasn't listening. Leo told him he would very much like to hear more, but his visitor was crossseyed by now, and dribbling at the mouth, so Leo let him go, as I said he was a kind hearted man. The man of God stood rooted to the spot, for about a minute, then dived for his car, Leo put his hand on the bonnet, and as the holy man went to open the door he got another shock. He promptly let that go, and stood looking at the car as if he expected it to disappear. He touched the door again, with the same result Leo then turned around and went back inside the house, Betty his better half asked him who had been in the car. Leo said he didn't know, the chap hadn't said his name, but was very shocked about something.

They came up to the wire breaking the heifers off, and Leo stood on it, while they stepped over, Janet had one leg over, and Leo the rascal, took his boot off the electric fence and it sprung up between her legs. The first shock came as soon as it made contact, she screamed like a banshee. Poor John didn't know what had happened for awhile, by the time she had had 3 or 4 shocks she was very vocal indeed, John grabbed hold of her arm, and he got one too, so he let her go again, Leo was trying half heartedly to stand on the wire again, which wasn't made any easier by Janet's contortions, then she fell over and the wire was lying between her knees and she being really earthed now was getting the full energy of the fence. Leo realising he had gone to far, kicked the wire out between her legs and stood on it. Janet lay stricken, her breath coming in gasps. John helped her to her feet. She was crying and gasping, she rounded on poor John told him he had done it on purpose, Leo was dumbfounded, he was the culprit, and when he tried to intervene, and admitted he had done it, she wouldn't believe it. While he was putting the wire back on the standard, Janet belayed John.

When they arrived back at the house, Janet had her tongue back in action again. Betty looked at Leo with an accusing look.

After Leo came in from milking that night, Janet was chatting away to Betty. Leo had never seen her so bright, she greeted Leo with a big smile.

Having tea she brought the fence business up and laughed heartedly about it. Leo couldn't get over it. He had heard tat some people get stimulated by shocks. Don't they give people shock treatment for depression?

After they went home that night Betty asked him what had happened, he told her but admitted it turned out worse than he thought. He'd got a fright.

But they both remarked on how happy and radiant she looked after she had got over the incident. Leo said she was a bloody masochist and if John gave her some of the same treatment they'd both be better off.

"But hell, you should have seen her trying to get off that wire, she was hopping and screaming" he laughed and laughed.

The end.

A SHOCKING MAN 1 Ken Bishop 1993.

A SHOCKING MAN


Leo is one of these unusual people who have no fear of electric fences. Leo can grab any electric fence and hold onto it. He gets shocks of course, but he says it is only mind over matter. He could well be right, but with that ability and his sense of humour he makes life awkward for a lot of people.

Like most good dairy farmers he has had his fences electrified but Leo, being the sort of bloke he is, had to go to the extreme. Even seven wire fences have a hot wire running through them, with single wires strewn out to secure a dirty creek or bog.

Even around the garden he has an outrigger so the cows can't reach over and eat his wife's shrubs. His house stands back a bit from the road but any car coming up the drive is in full view.

Leo is a very neighbourly man and is well liked in the district. The local well know and respect his idiocites for he knows better than to play tricks on them. His main targets are insurance agents and sometimes even religious groups. In his own words, "anyone who comes uninvited to waste his time."

I remember when Leo came late in for lunch after"One of Those Days." Nothing had gone right. His mood didn't change when he saw a big green car turn into his gateway. All he needed right was Larry! A big man and a right pain in the ass! Knew everything, did Larry, and was quick to give advice to all in sundry.

He had been onto Leo about growing 10 acres of kiwifruit but Leo didn't like kiwifruit. He had enough problems running a herd of cows without worrying about prickly green gooseberries. He'd had about enough of Larry's big mouth. and this time he was going to shut it once and for all and he had a plan all worked out. As the car approached, he moved into position.

Larry drove straight up to where Leo was standing and as Larry got out of the car, Leo put his left hand on the hotwire and his right hand on the bonnet. Being such a bid man, Larry usually had trouble getting out of his car but not this time. With a loud 'Yaaa" he fairly flew out. He turned and looked back at the vehicle, a strange expression on his face.

"Hello Larry, what's the matter with you?" asked Leo innocently. "I got a shock. "

"Aw that happens sometimes. Static electricity."

"Yeah? Well it's never happened before." Larry was visibly shaken. In fact, when he held his hand out to

greet Leo, it was almost like he was waving goodbye. Leo gripped the proffered hand firmly. 'Yaaaa."

"What's the hell wrong with you today?"

"I just got another shock." Larry's voice trembled.

Aw rubbish! You're imagining it. Did you have a night on the town r something? You're as nervy as a

cat." Leo scoffed.

Larry was shaking so much he leaned his hand on the bonnet to steady himself. "Yaaaaa!! The bloody car's alive. It must be. "

"For crying out loud Larry! How could it be alive when I've got my hand on it? Do you see me getting a shock?"

Larry put his hand on the bonnet again, lightly this time, and let out another yell.

"What's all the noise about?" Betty's voice called from inside the house. "Who's getting murdered out there?"

Now Larry The Salesman was not her favourite either, and when she came to the front door she soon cottoned onto what was happening.

'Having a spot of trouble, you two?" she called.

"Aw Larry thinks he's gettin shocks. Must have had a hard night or something. How about putting the kettle on?"

He opened the steel gate separating the drive from the house section and without removing his hand, he motioned Larry through.

The "Yaaaaaa" was almost pitiful this time.

"How long has this been going on Larry?" Leo sounded very concerned. "Have you seen a doctor?" "It's .. .it's never happened before. I think I'd better go home."

"It might be a good idea at that." Leo sympathised.

But Larry was scared of the car! Leo had to open the door for him. "See no shocks Larry. Now you hop in and go and see a doctor." Larry got in cautiously, his face very pale.

Leo grinned a she watched him drive off then went onto the front porch for his cuppa. "You're a real swine sometimes," Betty scolded. "That poor man was really shaken. "

"Yeah I reckon he was. But by God, I didn't want him to start on about kiwifruit again. I'd never shut him up. Funny thing, he hardly said a word today. "

Leo watched the tail end of the green car go round the bend then put his cup on the arm of the wooden

chair and went to shut the gate.

The air almost split by the loudest "Y aaaaaaa" you've ever heard. Betty smiled.

Leo came in a few moments later wearing a shamefaced expression.

"And what's so funnyeh? Put my elbow on the bloody thing. It sure gives a man a jolt when he aint expecting it. Get me a couple of aspirins will you love?"

THE END

THE OPTIMISTIC TURNUPPERS

THE OPTIMISTIC TURNUPPERS

The Graham farm was not a good farm. The soil was pretty light and a lot of it faced to the south and was cold. Quite a bit faced the north and got blown away in the spring, summer and autumn. It was also fairly steep in places.

No, it was not a good farm. But then neither were the Grahams very good farmers. The boys, like their dad, weren't over-eager to milk cows or look after sheep and pigs when they could go pig-hunting, visit the neighbours, tickle trout or shoot rabbits.

However, they all had one thing in common. They were real friendly people; would help anyone out.

They milked about forty cows if they got them all in. If not, they didn't bother about them. The cow shed was an ingenious arrangement. It was dark, even at mid-day. The milking machine was run by a petrol motor which, like the Grahams, was not the slightest bit averse to not working either. The shed lay in the bend of the river and the yard was strewn with big boulders and as you can imagine, a lot of mud and cow muck collected, but a small stream ran through the centre which kept everything nice and damp. The big bonus was, when the river was in flood, it ran high through the yard and shed and washed it all clean. Good thinking, that.

The boulders were handy to stand on to poke the cows into the shed with a long stick. So you see, the Grahams never got their boots muddy unless they fell off the boulders, which they frequently did.

As a family, they kept unusual hours. At times they were up at dawn, sometimes not until much later but that didn't seem to worry them either. There was always a large teapot on the coal range and when the pot got low, a further handful of tea-leaves was thrown in and topped up with hot water. If it was ever emptied and rinsed out, it certainly didn't show.

After several cups of this vile brew someone, usually Freddy, would go and get the cows in, as many as wanted to come of course, while the other lads would wander off to do the chores.

There were hundreds of chooks; scores of ducks; dozens of pigs. At times there was an intermingling of chooks, ducks, pigs, geese, turkeys and cows. If something unusual occurred, - which often happened on this unusual farm `and something took fright, then everything took fright: In different directions. Geese and turkeys became airborne, - went for miles sometimes, - chooks flew into pine trees, ducks headed for the river - and maybe the next farm downstream - and pigs squealed like a banshee, panicking the cows into breaking through gates and hedges, udders swinging wildly.

Like most farms, the Graham farm had a pig-sty. It was just a bit different, that's all. Their pigs were much harder on sties than other pigs and seemed to suffer from claustrophobia. The boys did their best to keep them in their designated dwellings, but unfortunately their best was very often not good enough. The buildings became a network of rotting timber and broken down corrugated -iron patches while the pigs slept wherever their fancy took them. In the hayshed; the car; under trees; even up in the bush on a hot night.

Many of the pigs had quite a dash of Captain Cooker in them and these were mainly used for home consumption for they were impossible to catch and the only alternative was to shoot them at feeding time. Even this was tricky for they were extremely shy and seemed to have at least two extra pairs of eyes.

The Large Whites, Tamworths and Devons were more placid. So much so that they could be easily enticed into a cattle yard and locked in. The rails were so placed that any pigs too small for sale could squeeze between the boards and escape. This idea saved a lot of work and fuss for the Grahams. The breeding stock were sorted out and moved to an adjacent yard from which they were soon released to the wide open spaces again. The remainder were prodded into a race where they were loaded into a truck or a dray and away they went for a ride.

The neighbours wondered how the family made a living. Although they owned a pedigree Jersey bull, their cows were of such doubtful ancestry that a more motley lot it would be hard to find. Bloat, rife on neighbouring properties, was one thing which was never a problem on the Graham farm. The grass hardly had time to grow before something ate it. If they didn't send a lot of cream away that didn't seem to worry them for after all they had a lot of eggs to sell, but then again they had to buy a lot of wheat, too. They paid big money for the best of boars and sold quite a few pigs, but that side-line would hardly be very remunerative; especially the way they farmed them. So, how they kept going was a mystery.

Of course the boys used to go away and work when they could get a job but during the depression of the thirties work wasn't all that plentiful, nor was it very well paid.

One thing, they always had plenty of meat. Sometimes the garden was good but, what with poultry and pigs, more times than not it wasn't. However, they were all healthy and really enjoyed life.

The Grahams spent most of their spare time, of which they seemed to have plenty, visiting neighbouring farms, offering advice and generally giving a hand whether necessary or not. On the whole they were a pretty capable lot. It was no trouble to kill a pig or a beast, crutch sheep, dock lambs, even help to collect firewood or put up a new fence; on somebody else's property of course!

Yes, the Graham boys had some endearing qualities. Unfortunately, they also had some which were definitely not so!

Sometimes a neighbour would go to open a gate to let the cows through, only to find it wired up. More often that not he would curse his way maybe a mile back home to fetch wire-cutters or a pair of pliers and when he was out of sight the culprits would cut and remove the offending wire.

Another little trick was, while a farmer was driving his milkers into the yard, an unnamed character would open a gate at the other end. The first the farmer would know about it was when, after fastening the first gate, he turned around and found his herd vanishing down the race.

One neighbour called the Grahams the Turnuppers. They had a habit of Turningup when you badly needed a hand or Turningup when they were the last persons you wanted to see in an embarrassing situation. Like when Tom Priest was killing Bill Burgess's cat, the one that kept eating his chickens. Or when Bill Burgess was quietly shearing five of Tom Priest's Sheep. Or when Charlie Watson, whose wife was in the home, was coming out of the hayshed doing his braces up and Bob Jenkins's daughter Margaret was adjusting her clothes.

At least one, and sometimes four or five of the Graham boys were almost always there, but they never said anything. They were expressionless. They just looked.

These lads were fearless. No tree was ever too tall to climb up and top.

Crossing a gorge, hand over hand on a slung rope, was only a minor challenge even though brothers shook hell out of the rope when half-way across. That, for some reason, was outrageously humorous.

Pig hunting was their favourite pastime. If a dog bailed a snarley old boar they drew straws to have the honour of going in for the kill with a knife. They had a couple of good holding dogs but even so, it's no mean feat to tip a large boar and stick him. Failure could mean a ripped thigh or guts but scorn piled on from the siblings would be far worse than being ripped open.

They never carried guns when pig hunting. Guns were dangerous! You might shoot each other or worse still, shoot one of the dogs. If a dog ever got ripped the boys would carry it home in their arms. After it was stitched it was cared for like a sick baby and more often than not a twenty four hour vigil was kept.

On the face of it, the Grahams were a totally disorganised family but things seemed to somehow get done, someway or another, sooner or later, even if perhaps later rather than sooner.

Hay-making was a great example. The usual procedure was that the farmer mowed the . hay and then the neighbours came in a day or so later and turned it. Most times there were ten to twelve competent helpers turned up with hay forks, and a four acre paddock was turned in a matter of a couple of hours. They moved in unison, the fastest on the outside and the slowest in the inside. This method had been used for centuries and was pretty to watch.

Everybody helped, or were supposed to, but George, Snow, and Freddy Graham always arrived late. They made no excuses and generally found some fault with the work which had been done before they arrived. - "Your stack's got a lean on." Or, - "There's some green grass gone in there. It'll go mouldy." The annoying part was that they were invariably right. Their next words were not exactly condescending, more a statement of fact. "Never mind, we're here now. We'll fix things. And they did!

After an hour or so they got bored with their own expertise and that is usually when their bizarre sense of humour came to the fore. Perhaps a horse, tied to the fence and having a rest but still attached to the hay-rake, mysteriously slipped it's bridle and took off around the paddock with the hayyrake bouncing and banging. A quiet Graham voice would challenge the handler - "Hey Tom, you didn't tie that horse very well, did you?" Tom would stalk over to look at the empty bridle then frowningly remark. - "Hell, would you believe it? The bloody thing must be buggered."

No one ever saw the Grahams do anything amiss and their expressions told no secrets but these strange occurrences only happened after they arrived. However, they were such good workers that no one dared complain.

The most popular drink on any hay field was a large bucket of barley water.

Everyone drank copiously of this, and on one particular day the bucket was three parts empty when Bill noticed four empty Epsom Salts packets lying in the bottom. When he pointed this out to the rest of the workers their faces went white. Everyone looked at the Grahams, but they were seemingly oblivious to the consequences and continued to drink copiously.

The work pattern took on a new look. The men all agreed to work on. but they were careful not to lift too much at one time and kept their legs together whenever possible, not even daring to break wind. All except the Grahams. They worked like Trogans. The more barley water they drank the more vigorous they became.

Work finished, the hay-makers gathered their tools, carefully lifting pitch forks and shovels from the ground with the toe of a boot to avoid bending. No doubt at all, they were suffering extreme bellyaches. They were walking from the paddock with stiff legs and bent backs when George Graham called to his brother. - "Hey Snow, how did those packets get in the bucket?" - "They fell out of my shirt pocket when I was getting a drink." - "What were they doing in your pocket?" - "Well, you know the trough on the bush paddock? I put four packets in there like Dad told me to. I shoved the empties in my pocket to prove I'd done it."

Such was the reputation of the Grahams that although all were relieved, no one believed, until Harry accidently broke wind then went white before he slowly turned around and patted his nether region. All was well!

Next on the list was the Graham's paddock.

6

Hay making was always a bit different on the Graham farm. On this particular day they decided to use two newly broken-in horses in the mower. The idea was to educate them for other farm work but it didn't quite work out that way. For one thing, mowers make a terrific clatter and the horses took off. They careered around that paddock with the demons of hell, in the guise of a mower, at their heels. White with sweat, they finally knocked up and came to rest in a corner. The paddock was not neatly mown at all!

Crossed and criss-crossed, big patches cut and bigger patches missed, it resembled a mad-hatter's nightmare. - "No worries, we'll get what we can then shut it up again."

Unfortunately the cows somehow knocked the gate down during the night and ruined it all. - "Hard luck, but we can still harrow it over and shut it up again." They were real optimists, the Graham family.

Freddy retained the farm and although he kept the pigsty in good order, pigs were often found sleeping in the least likely places. They had obviously been schooled by experts.

By the time I came along and added another branch to the family tree, the generation prior to mine was scattered across the country. The one before that was but a memory.

Dad got me to take him back there this morning; for a last look, he said.

Thing is, I had trouble finding the place. The old road has gone and the new tar-sealed one winds in from the other side of the valley. It had me bluffed for a while until I spotted the crag where a rogue horse tipped me off when I was ten years old and broke my shoulder. I remember Dad and Uncle Snow carrying me down to the house while Uncle Baldy ran ahead to ring for an ambulance. They had built a new place when Grandad died but the old pot of tea was still kept on the stove and I was given a strong draught to settle my nerves.

The house will have vanished by now, and it won't be long before the crag has gone too. I stood with Dad on the ridge overlooking the old Graham farm and watched the water sneaking up. I suppose we need dams to generate electricity but hell, there must be some other way.

THE OPTIMISTIC TURNUPPERS

THE END

The Pleasures of Farm Life

The Pleasures of Farm life ~

It was early May, I'd just come~ in from the cowshed, when the phone rang, the call was from Sister Janet, she's a good sort, a bit bossy but good and kind. She didn't waste much time coming to the point. "Any objections to the kids and I, coming up for the holiday's, the house will be due for another tidy-up by now. We'll be up on Sunday, and we'll bring stores etc." "Hell no I'll be glad to see you, I've plenty of tucker. I'm going to kill a beast next week, what do you mean tidy the house up? It's good and tidy. "She laughed and said" I'll bet it is. Never mind we'll see you midday Saturday." After I put the phone receiver back on the phone I thought. "Hell what day is it today, Thursday? no Friday! Hell I haven't got much time.

Janet is a good sort, but she is a bit fussy and often throws old clothes hats and things out, that have a lot of wear in them. Luckily I'm aware of this, so I make my preparations. First I went through the pile of clothes in the washhouse, waiting to be washed, when I get time. Most people don't understand that woollen singlets get worn and very thin under the arms from wearing overalls, the rest of my singlet is good(a lot of wear left in them). So I get a bag and go through the shirts, any a bit tatty I put in the bag, the same with the singlets, teatowels, and overalls that have a few holes. When the bag is full I take it over to the implement shed, jam some bailing twine in the top and either throw them in a comer or hang them on a nail on the wall until she goes home. Then they come out again.

Anyhow I had alot of things to do. I was drying the cows off next week. The homekill chap was coming on Tuesday to do the cattle beast and two pigs. And I had a lot of other jobs before I dry the cows off.

I'd just got in on Sunday morning when Janet arrived, with all the gear that she deemed necessary for their stay. The two boys aged 14 and 12, John and Alex had sprung up a quite a bit since the Christmas holidays. The two girls, Sharon and Trixie 9 and 7, were about the same. Actually I gave Janet and Morrie credit the kids were well mannered, but pretty gullible in many ways. Perhaps all town kids are, I don't know many. As they were carrying in all the gear, I said "Where's the kitchen sink". They all looked at me " Haven't you got one", asked Sharon "yeah I think so, but I haven't seen it for a while". Trixie flew inside and came out and said "Yes, you have got one, don't you use it. "Hardly ever ,in wastes time". "Then how do you wash your dishers?" . Trixie wanted to know. "What do you think I keep dogs for?" "Getting the cows in" replied Sharon. "Don't try to tell us Uncle, that the dogs do the dishers. Dogs can't wash dishers". "See here kids, don't dare tell your Mum, she has some funny ideas and might take you home again, but I put the dishers and the pots out on the lawn there and when I let the dogs off) they lick them as clean as a whistle". They both looked at the lawn screwed up their faces up, Ooh Uncle, thats gross. Just then Janet came outside, and said "come on you kids go and get changed into your farm clothes". While there were away we chatted a bit of family news, complementing each other on how well we each looked, as siblings always seemed to do. I inquired about Morrie, "Oh he's good really, it's football season", "yeah I know, right in his element again eh?" Old Morrie is the expert on football in N.Z .. .I think, good bloke though.

Sharon was the fIrst to emerge, "Mum, Uncle asked why we didn't bring the kitchen sink, it's one of his jokes isn't it?" "Well, I asked, you seemed to have brought everything else, but not the sink. " Janet looked at me accusingly and said. "By the look of it we should have brought ours. Have you been washing your socks in it
again?" "No, Oh hell no its the colour stain of the water that makes it look like that." I hope you don't let your stain colour your milking plant like that." I stood up to my full height of 5'4" and said "certainly not, I'd get a grade if I did". What's a grade uncle?" Max wanted to known. "Well if that milkingtplants gets dirty, bugs get in my milk and send it off, test at the factory picks it up and you get a down grade and you get paid a lot less". It a pity the factory doesn't run tests on the house and grade your milk on that". Janet can be a bit harsh at times. "Your brother Dave's house is spotless, and he lives on his own to now". "Yeah but his farm is a damned disgrace, broken gates and fences, thistle's and ragwort everywhere, and that bird he's got, spends a lot of time up there. She cleans it up, I know that". "Anyhow come and have some lunch I brought some food with us." She produced some nice things to eat, Filled roll's etc. I noticed the kids tried not to put anything on their plates, and grinned to myself. "Did you really wash your socks in the kitchen sink uncle?" Trixie wanted to know. No they fell in while I was carrying an armful of washing past the sink and they must have fallen in without me noticing it, and your mum and dad come unexpectedly and your mum saw them," Janet gave me a squinty look and said "I have grave doubts about that, I couldn't find any other washing". "Well I suppose I'd better show the kids around, you want to come Janet". "No I've a bit of cleaning up to do here first, tomorrow perhaps". "Hell sis, you haven't been here long enough to make a mess yet, just relax a bit and come for a walk".

I might have imagined it, but a bit of a spasm ran up her back, and she quickly replied "No I've a lot to do here before I can relax." Well I thought to myself, "She always had a few funny idea's, and left her to it. We walked down to the shed, the kids were like rabbits running everywhere. "What's this, what's that, what's this for," as town kids always seemed to do. My mind got pretty fuddled after a while, answering all their questions. When they saw a heifer standing looking at them, poking her tongue in one nostril and then the other. All asked at once "What's she do that for?" When she did it again, I answered "well cows don't have hankies, and they have to wipe their noses the same as anything else." "Ooh gross," they all said at once. "Do all cows do that?" "Yes of course. so do dogs and cats, lots of animals do."

I took some milk and meal over to the pigs sties. I like pigs, I like to let them out of the sties for the afternoons, and they all take off for a run, grunting, chasing each other, then after a couple of minuets, often they would just collapse and lie down. Pigs are the clowns of the domesticated animals I think. After a while they would get up and tear back to the sty to see what was going on. The kids were enthralled. This was exciting stuff. Now when pigs run around loose they have a habit of rooting up patches of ground and making a great mess. To counter act this most pigs have rings put in their noses, this doesn't worry them in any way, except they can't root up the ground.

As soon as the kids saw the rings they wanted to know what they were for. when I told them "It was to stop them rooting." John the eldest, gave a scornful look and said "don't hand me that one uncle, rings in their noses wouldn't stop them from doing that!" I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at him. Well, well, well our John was now a man of the world. I got my tins and wandered off. The kids, hung around for a bit. But soon after the girls caught me up. Full of questions about this and that and one thing and another. "Where are the ducks, where are the sheep, where are the cows.

By 3pm I was completely in a daze so decided it was smoko time. When I headed for the house the kids all took off and when, they were all talking to Jan at once. I put the


jug on for a cup of tea, and Jan asked, "what stories have you been telling them now, cows not having hankies and pigs not being able to breed?" "Hell and Tommy of course cows don't have hankies. But I never said anything about pigs not being able to breed, someone's got their wires crossed somewhere." Janet changed the subject. "How many pairs of overalls have you got?" "Oh, three or four maybe more." "Well its like this Jan, at this time of the year, when the weather is changeable, I sometimes take my clothes of and leave them in the shed or something they can dry on the hot water cylinder, then I've always got a dry pair or two on hand." That'll settle her down I thought. "Well I better go and do my chores."

The kids were outside and we all marched off to feed the chooks, calves, ducks etc. It didn't take long, but no hen eggs. Funny I though there should have been at least a dozen. Upon arrival at the shed I noticed a big yellow stain on the floor. Then Trixie said "sorry uncle we were collecting them for you, and I fell over and they all broke, and the other chooks ate them.'We had a bit of a yam collecting eggs, and the pro's and con's. When we got back inside, Janet asked me how long the bath plug hole had been blocked. "Well I don't know because I don't use it much, I only shower." "It's got course hairs in it." I didn't have the courage to tell her we had scalded a pig in it a couple of months back. As I said before Janet has some funny idea's. "I'll take the pipe off in the morning and check it. Okay."

Janet being a good cook turned out a good feed that night, but I couldn't help but notice the kids weren't that keen on cleaning their plates up. In fact they seemed to go to a lot of trouble eating the meal without actually touching the plate, with their knives and forks. I went to great length to keep Jan talking so she wouldn't notice. Everybody gave a hand that night to do the dishers, as there was no way those kids were going to let me put them on the lawn. In fact I weren't even allowed in the kitchen, I can tell you that those dishers were the cleanest they have ever been. Included when they were brand new.

After milking the next morning (which was a community effort). The tribe decided to come with me on the tractor whilst I fed out, and shifted the electric fences. All managed to get at least one electric shock each, the girls managed to get bogged in the swamped, and had to be pulled out. The job took twice as long as it usually takes, however it was company and had a lot of humour with it. On arrival back at the house I was fronted with the job of the blocked bath plug hole.

With Stilt sons and pipewrenches in hand, I proceeded dismantle the offending pipe. Once removed, to the horror of my audience, the hole was blocked all right. I pulled the gunk out and put it into a bucket where Janet happened to spy some feathers as well as pig bristles. "How did they get in there?" she said. It was at this stage I knew I was in trouble. "How did you get pig hair and chook feathers down the plug hole." Time for some quick thinking. Grabbing the bull by the horns I replied "well sometimes when you're handling the pigs and chooks their feathers and bristles get in your pocket and all over you." She's no fool is our Janet, "I suppose you then have a bath with all your clothes on, to get rid of the feathers and bristles eh. It sounds a little far fetched to me, you had better come up with something better than that one." Meanwhile the kids were just standing there watching and waiting for me to get out of the hole I'd got my self into. It was dear little Trixie that saved the day.

"Oh uncle I'll bet you fell in the bath by accident after the pig chased you inside, and you had just been plucking a chook and you had a bucket full of feathers and the pig thought it was food." even J an had to laugh at that, and said, "yes to save time, he ran the bath and sat in it and had a bath with all his clothes on, and the pig got in too," Jan looked at me and shook her head. "Mum would turn in her grave, if she knew you were scalding pigs and chooks in her lovely new bath." Conveniently at that moment I remembered I hadn't let the pigs out and had to hurry away. Later on when I returned and went inside, the house had been transformed. Janet had tided up everything.

That night Jan and I went through the farm accounts (she's an accountant). "I must say with all your untidy house keeping, the farm is doing very well indeed, it a credit to you." "Well the farm won't make money unless it's farmed properly, and I don't spend much time in the house, every hour I spend in the house is an hour less spent on the farm work." She agreed.

Next day we went for a walk around the farm, I told her, the water was becoming a problem, with more stock the bigger the demand. We were talking about this when the kids come running up to tell us a cow was in the water hole where the pump shed was, we went over to find a heifer had got herself bogged in, illustrating our water problem perfectly. An hour or two later with the help of the tractor we extracted her unharmed. Leaving the kids to ponder over the muddy water. They all come to the conclusion that water was definitely off the menu. I didn't bother telling them the house water was from a different pump and would't be affected.

Next day I was pottering around waiting for the homekill chap to arrive, I had a beast to kill in the yard with a couple of other cows to keep it company. The kids were away somewhere when Jan come over and I asked where they were. I told her the chap was coming to kill the bullock and the pigs, and maybe she wouldn't want them to see.

She suprised me. "We saw Dad kill animals for meat and it didn't do us any harm. If they arrive let them watch." So it happened. As the truck arrived so did the kids. They stood back and watched. Jim, the butcher, is a master at his job. In 20 minutes he the bullock shot, gutted, weighed and on the back of the truck. They were astounded at the amount of offal that come out of the beast. Then the pigs were done, I had the water boiling, in no time at all the pigs were shot, scolded, gutted, and also in the truck. With a hooray and a wave Jim drove off. "What's going to happen to all the guts uncle?" "That's what we'll live on for a week" I answered. With that I pulled out my knife and started to remove the liver and other titbits and said. "Well time for lunch!" They reckoned they weren't hungry, but young people are not very good at fasting. I lit a fire and put some netting over it and waited.

Just then old Charlie our Maori neighbour come along with his wife and 4 kids. Charlie took over. "This was real good Kai." He took all the titbits I'd cut off and put on the netting and old disc blade (barbecue) and waited until itwas ready to eat, turning them occainsally to hasten cooking time. He showed them how to get a piece which was cooked, hold it upin the air, and licked the fat off his arm. " Pai Korry real good Kai this one." In on time at all, all were eating their fill including our fussy Jan. I stood and said "the country life has pleasures that town folk never know about."

After everyone had eaten their fill, Charlie took some other titbits and some fat, put them in a sack to render down. The kids were amazed, they looked like Eskimo's, grease from head to foot. Young John said, "Uncle I never knew meat could taste so good, when are you going to kill again?" Charlie said "you haven't tried anything yet, wait to you try smoked eel." Janet said to me on the side, "It's time we got these kids home before they turn to savages" With a big smile on her face she said, "and we don't want them to turn out like you now do we? But to be honest they could turn out a lot worse."

Anyhow a couple of days later Morrie arrived, I didn't have much trouble enticing him to my brewing shed. After a couple of samples he said "you know you old bugger the kids have had a hell of a good time. They have certainly learnt some new things up here. But what's this eating cows guts business?" I laughed and told him, "At this time Janet called out for Morrie as it was time to go.

Here things weren't that easy. Trixie was crying because she wasn't allowed to take the three kittens I had given her home. Max was out of sorts because he couldn't take the little eels he had in a jar, Sharon wasn't allowed to take the bantam hen and her 5 chicks, John was sulking because he wasn't allowed the cow skin, home made boots. They weren't bad boots either, be a bit hard when the skin dried, and I copped a lecture on my housekeeping skills and the need for a housekeeper. After our gooddbyes etc. the car went out the gate, a great silence fell over the whole farm.

I went over to the house, it was tidy and neat, but hell I couldn't find a thing, all my notes I had written on Park Drive packets were gone. Notes here and there telling me where this and that were to be found. I wandered over to the implement shed to get my clothes. Holy Hell! All the clothes had been cut into little strips, and a note attached explaining how they would make good cleaning rags to clean the tractors etc. This was the last straw, I was almost in a state of shock. Hell those clothes still had a couple of years left in them, probably more. Bloody waste of money.

You know I really love Janet she's a real good women and a great sister. But boy has she got some strange idea's. So I went over to my brewery shed. Poured a glass of plum wine, opened a bottle of beer and settled down. Thank god the brewing room had a lock on it, I thought, and shudder to think what would have happened if she'd got in here too!

THE END

COOK CUCKOOS AND WilFUL BLOODY MURDER:a S Ken Bishop © 1993

COOK CUCKOOS AND WilFUL BLOODY MURDER:a S Ken Bishop © 1993

Station cooks were a strange breed. Many and varied were the reasons they took on the job as station cooks, but the most common one was booze or to be more explicit, to get away from it.

Some were excellent cooks. Many had been chefs at leading hotels or on ocean liners. About three months was the usual length of stay, then they either got fed up or their skins cracked and they h}tout for the nearest pub.

They never had the best of conditions to cook under. Most stations had no power, only badly worn out stoves on which to practice their culinary expertise. Even so most had a proper bread oven that was filled with wood, heated up till you could hold your arm in until you counted to ten, no longer, then the ashes were raked out and the dough put in. Quite a chore.

Jack was an excellent cook. For the first month, that is. The second month the rot set in and the cooking was indifferent. The third month it was almost uneatable.

Refrigerators were unheard of and keeping food fresh in the summer months was almost impossible. Jack didn't worry about hygiene overmuch either. Well you didn't get dirty cooking so why would you have to wash? There was always an oven cloth to wipe the grease off your hands, or the black off the stove, and sometimes when the cloth fell into the sink then that cleaned it a bit.

He went to a lot of trouble the first month. Made a few sponges and some nice cakes and we had a different pudding every day. On Sunday mornings there was fried bread, fried eggs, and fried chips. Very nice indeed.

The second month Jack got a bit crusty. The standard had fallen a lot and when someone mentioned the fact, Jack overheard it.

Every meal time thereafter he would stalk through the dining room waving a meat cleaver and glaring at everyone. "Any moans about the food? I thought not!"

And off he would go back to his kitchen.

It was an unwritten law that if anyone had a row with the cook"and the cook left, then the argumentative one had to take over the job until a new cook arrived. Sometimes this took quite a while, so anyone that had half a brain was very civil to cooks as it wasn't the most popular job on the station.

Anyhow, the food was getting progressively worse and Jack's moods were getting worse than the cooking.

Jim, the head shepherd, was one who got on okay with Jack and he used to go down to have an early morning cup of tea with him.

One morning we had Irish Stew, the next we had fried left-overs, on Sundays fried eggs. As simple as that. The Irish Stew was anybody's guess; maybe boiled mutton with a few vegetables and potatoes. Quite tasty and filling.

One morning Jim didn't have breakfast when Irish Stew was on the menu. Back at the stables I asked him if he was off-colour seeing as how he wasn't hungry. "It wasn't me off-colour, it was your breakfast. Old Jack lost his oven cloth and he found it in the stew."

I immediately felt a bit more than off-colour myself. That oven cloth did a lot of things oven cloths didn't have to do; like cleaning shoes and wiping up a puddle after a puppy had wandered inside. It swatted flies, wiped perspiration off a sweaty brow and God knows what else that we didn't know about. It was too late to worry about it now, the stew was eaten and that was that.

Soon after that, Jack was in the kitchen singing his heart out. He had a gallon tin of methylated spirits and was having a great old time. I had taken a carcase of mutton to the meat safe and was cutting it down when Jack came out fair reeking of meths.

"How are you old mate?" he yelled. "Come and have a drink."

Thinking he had the tea made I said, "Thanks, I will." I followed him into the kitchen and Jack pushed half a cup of meths into my hand.

"Do you want some water in it?" he asked. "Almond essence makes it more potent and there's plenty of that here."

Hell and Tommy; meths was not my idea of a refreshing drink at all. "No thanks Jack," I said. "I can't take that stuff."

"Wassa matter with you, you fussy bastard. Ain't it good enough for you?" He was beginning to get nasty and I didn't want the job cooking!

"Well it's not that altogether," I replied, "but the stuff makes my throat sore." I thought that sounded like a good excuse.

"Too bloody soft, that's your trouble. Ha, not like us blokes what's been through the mill. I could tell you a few things." His humour was improving. "Here. I'll show you." He grabbed the cup, poured some almond essence in and downed the lot. His stomach must have been made of caste iron. "Not too bad. Not too bad at all. The best drink on the market and the cheapest too." He belched loudly then continued. "The bottle of a thousand laughs and all for 1/6 (15 cents). Too much money, you young bucks. Too flash. No guts at all. Don't know what the world's coming to."

He broke into a rendering of the fine old song 'Be Honest With Me Dear,' but he would certainly never have made a living as an opera singer.

I rolled a smoke but was afraid to light a match in case the room exploded.

Now the place had been over-run with rats and the boss had got Brian to set some poison in all the corners. When we came in for breakfast the next morning there was a massive fellow in the middle of the trap. He was In such a dazed condition that he just stood there looking at us, not able to even walk. Someone suggested putting him in Jack's room but young George caught the big hairy rat in a cloth and, whistling casually, wandered into the cook-house.

For some obscure reason a big caste iron boiler always stood on the hearth by the stove. When Jack's back was turned George dropped the rat in the boiler ad spread the oven cloth over it.

When the gong rang, we all trooped in and found Jack very much the worse for wear. By the look of him, he must have just about cleaned up the meths. We got our porridge and sat in a position to see his reaction when he found the rat.

We didn't have long to wait before he needed his beloved oven-cloth. He picked it up and saw the rat and stood looking at it for quite some time before turning around and looking our way. His startled and frightened expression was too much. We all started to laugh. He dropped the oven-cloth back on the boiler, turned completely around and snarled. "You bastards. You think I can see a rat in there don't you? WELL I BLOODY WELL CAN'T."

Not long after this episode we all shuffled in for lunch one particularly hot day and found the cold meat very much the worse for wear. The safe wasn't altogether fly-proof and our lunch was literally moving around our plates.

Brian the Roustabout looked horrified. "Jesus! There's maggots in my meat." "Well listen to him! Do you think this is the bloody Ritz? Fussy bugger you are."

Jack yelled at the top of his voice. "PUT SOME BLOODY LEA AND PERRINS ON IT! What you think 'wister sauce is for? If you are that bloody fastidious, STARVE!"

When Brian saw Jack coming in with the meat cleaver, he grabbed the bottle and swamped his plate. Jack glared at the rest of us.

I carefully avoided his eyes, and just as carefully avoided looking at my plate. I tried cutting a piece of meat without looking at it. It wasn't easy but I finally managed to get it into my mouth. I tried to ignore the crawlies and managed to swallow without chewing. I didn't want the cook's job and it was obviously up for grabs. One false move and Jack would throw his job in.

Jack's thirst finally got the better of him and he stalked out to sample the meths again. I n two seconds flat all the meat had disappeared off the table and out the window. The half dozen dogs out there weren't all that fussy.

Scotty was a deserter off a ship, a nasty little scallywag who had only been there a few days. He wasn't scared of Jack! Shows how dumb he was. "I've fought blokes in every port in the world," he would snort.

By the look of his face he'd come off second best in most of them.

He raved about the standard of Jack's cooking and he wasn't the least bit complimentary. Jack either didn't hear or was too sozzled to notice so Scotty thought that Jack was frightened of him.

The meal that night was a big improvement and we all thought that Jack was off the meths at last but we soon found out later that Jim had cooked it. He'd told Jack to have a spell.

Scotty still moaned about the food. "In the Navy we'd throw a cook overboard if he couldn't do better than this."

Jim gave him a hard look but said nothing. Scotty was lucky. If Jim hadn't wanted anyone to know that he had cooked tea then he would have sent Scotty more than overboard. Jim was very handy with his fists. He wasn't Head Shepherd for nothing. Some of the shepherds in those days were hard men to handle and the only people they respected were men harder than themselves.

Next morning, Scotty was up bright and early telling all and sundry about his exploits on the high seas. The Merchant Navy had obviously lost the best sailor in the world when Scotty jumped ship. It was a great pity that his expertise as a seaafaring man never matched his land-lubber feats because sad to say Scotty was about the most useless man any of us had met.

When the gong sounded for the fried egg breakfast, we found the porridge even lumpier than usual and Scotty had something to say. Jack gave him a nasty look but said nothing.

The fried eggs were not exactly done to a turn and Scotty loudly informed Jack that the 'sunny side up' was the way he wanted his done.

Jack told him he'd bring them to the table for him. This was strange; Jack never brought a meal over to the table for anyone else. Perhaps Scotty had called his bluff. But then Jack was hardly the type to be bluffed by anybody.

We weren't left long to ponder our doubts.

Jack stalked over to the table carrying his big cast-iron frying pan which he held with the inevitable oven-cloth and when he was directly behind Scotty he raised the pan high, turned it over, and brought it down violently on Scotty's head.

"You loud-mouthed useless misbegotten son of a bitch, here's your eggs in the pan with the sunny side up."

There was no doubt about it, there must have been a lot of eggs in that pan; and a lot of fat too.

Scotty wasn't exactly unconscious, but he was so stunned that he just sat there with the streaky yellow cowl congealing on his head and shoulders.

Jack was going to give him another one for good measure but Jim stopped him.

"That's enough Jack. He's not worth doing time for."

Jack threw his apron off. He was finished!

When Scotty finally came to his full senses he was officially THE COOK. Sad to say, he was no better at cooking than he was at scrub cutting or fencing.

THE END

AN ARTFUL ROGUE

AN ARTFUL ROGUE

Ken Bishop © 1994

"I've been burnt out, flooded out and kicked out, but my family have never gone hungry and I've never gone without a beer."

So said a man named Jack, who I think: is the most artful rogue, who it has been my privilege to know. I knew him well as he became my father in law.

He was a superb gardener, both flower and vegetable, also a stone mason, and a landscape gardener, among many other things.

He had a verbal eloquence that was unusual in a man that had little education. He was well read, and had a manner of speaking that gave the impression of being an Oxford or Eaton old boy. Those two institutions are very fortunate that he wasn't, other wise Jack would have taken them down, or changed their rules in some way to suite himself.

I met him first, at a station in Waipukurua, when he was gardener, his wife was cook, his son cowboy, handyman and his daughter housemaid at the main house. His wife was a great cook, the sort that could make a banquet for a dozen visitors at an hours notice, out of say half a leg of cold mutton, and a few leftovers. The station staff there were well fed, and every smoko in the afternoon Jack would come over the cookhouse with the vegetables for the evening meal.

He wouldn't pick them before that, "They lose there goodness and flavour," he said. After dinner at nights he enthralled me with stories that were of his mates and his own exploits that were, to say the least, hard to believe, but as time went on, I found to be true in every detail.

At Dannevirk Jack noticed people had a lot of scrap lying around, that had a monetary value. His mind got to work. He borrowed a horse and dray from his sister for a couple of months, and went into business. Business boomed, he sold it all to scrap dealer by weight, all in.

His dray was weighed on the dealers platform scales. Jack would drive in, back the dray onto the scales weigh the load, the scrap merchant watched the scales from the other side of the wall. After awhile the merchant became suspicious of the weight he was getting. Jack had found a way of backing the dray on the platform, so the horses hind legs got on the scales as well. The weight on the dray doubled. This went on for quite a while, Jack was doing well. But all good things come to an end.

The scrap merchant realised things, weren't as they seemed, and watched Jack closely and realised what was going on. Jack was out of business. He sold the horse and dray for 30 quid. A good deal for the buyer. But unfortunate for Jack's sister Annie. She sent word to Jack she badly needed the horse and dray back. When Jack never complied with her request, she drove 30 miles to get it, but by then the horse, cart and money, and in fact Jack himself was gone. Annie was not impressed.

Jack took his family to Napier, where he went into business as a stone mason, many of his stone walls, pillars etc are still standing. Then he got himself a few acres at Green meadows and went into market gardening and stonemasonry as a sideline. But he still had time for a bit of mischief apparently. He always seemed to have several mates of his own ilk around him wherever he went.



At Meeanee a chinaman had a good market garden, he lived in a shack on the propert this was the common thing those days.

Lim was getting fed up with thieves who came out at night and pinched his is cabbages and cauliflower's which were bringing good money' and he decided to lay in the rows and take into account what he was going to do with them when he caught them. Lim was bald headed.

Anyhow that night Jack and Ollie decided to get some cauliflower's, they could keep what they wanted, and sell the rest of at the pub, to get a bit of beer money.

They had a couple of chaff sacks each and were making their/way up the rows in the dark, feeling the cauli's and taking the best of them. Suddenly Ollie said, "Jesus Jack, There's one here with a smoot head and it is warm too" Oh don't worry its probably a cabbage cut the head off and take it too." Lime could understand English.

He sunk lower to the ground and went "Arrrrr", Lim jumped to his feet and said "Arrrreeee" and took off. Ollie and Jack dropped their sacks and knives and took off too, all three in different directions.

Jack and Ollie finally arrived back at Ollie's old car, breathless, and stopped to catch their breath and their wits, after awhile they settled down and Jack started to laugh. "Hell old Lim got a fright, I wonder whant went through his mind. "Ollie said "I'll bet he never got a bigger fright than I did, and the only thing in my mind was getting away from there.



Another mate was Ossie, he was a bit of a crook. He had a clever fox Terrier dog, he called Trixie, who could do tricks. He would sit on his hunches and beg. He would roll over and beg the command of "Roll over."

He would fetch things, such as a stick, a coin, lots of things. He would also come from quite a distance at Ossie's special whistle. Ossie's dog was quite well known at several pubs where he would do his tricks and when someone dropped a coin, even at the other side of a round bar, Trixie would hear it and shoot away and retrieve it, which Ossie always kept. He did alright at that sideline.

But one other sideline that was below the belt was for Ossie to go away with Trixie, to say Waipawa, Waipukurau, Wairoa, Gisbourne, and a lot of smaller towns, show someone how clever he was, and sell Trixi.

Most of the time the buyer bought him for a child. Ossie always found out where the buyer lived, and a week later would go down or up to where Trixie was and whistle, if Trixie was loose he soon turned up, if not he barked and Ossie came back later, sooner or later Trixie came and Ossie took him home, and a few weeks later go somewhere else and do the same thing.

As a rule he got at least 5 pound for the dog sometimes double that, good money, more than a weeks wages. Anyhow Jack got fed up with this trick, and when one of his nephews arrived from a farm behind Pahiatua told him about it, and the nephew bought Trixie home, where he lived his days out to the delight of the kids

Ossie was very upset. The lying bugger gave a wrong address. He told Jack he went around to see how Trixie was "Settling down" and a strange bloke came to the door, who never knew of any dog, and never had anyone visit who had a dog. Ossie really fretted, almost went into a mental decline. What a rotten trick to buy a dog and give a spurious address. There should be a law against that sort of thing. Why the poor dog might be ill treated and fretting. Some people have a strange outlook on life.



Jack built a house on the land at Greenmeadows and did pretty well for a few years. But he had to go past one or two pubs to get his produce to market, and he had a lot of trouble getting home, and when he did he was often broke.

But a big flood solved his families problems the flood ruined his gardens and washed the house away. That was when they were flooded out.

I knew they were burnt out, but can't remember the details.


The family then moved to Matapiro station west of Hastings, which was quite a big place and employed a fairly big staff.

Jack was the gardener there, for tvirs Shrimpton, and there was a big garden and Jack did it proud, and was thought of by Mrs Shrimpton, he was also her chauffeur, on numerous trips around the country.

He built a chapel in the garden and a sunken garden. But even here his devilish ways come to the fore. Things were hard to get after the war and they wanted a door for the chapel.

Jack came to Mrs Shrimpton and said he knew of one but they wanted 2 pound for it.

"Get it" he was told.

His house had an outside toilet, so he took the door off took it down, and put it in, upside down, so the pointed boards were facing down not up as all toilet doors used to be. He collected his 2 pound and the door was there for years, may still be.

On another occasion the hose was beyond it and hoses were unprocurable, Jack soon solved that problem. He and his son painted the old hose with black bitamous paint and sold it back for 2 pound. 2 pound you must remember bought a dozen of beer, and often still had change.

He latched onto another graft, the bulbs in the garden, once marvellous had run out of vigour, Jack told Mrs Shrimpton he knew of a very good vigorous type, that only cost 7 pound for a dozen, the good lady was estactic. Got as many as you can.

Jack went into Mackenzie's department store and bought them for 2 shillings a packet, with 2 or 3 dozen in a pkt, took them out of the packets, disposed of them, and put them in paper bags, and took them over to the old lady.

He reckoned they were as good as any bulbs you could get those days. Apparently the show was magnificent, and on days when they had a garden party or whatever, Mrs Shrimpton told the guests that Mr Millett got her those special bulbs. He reckoned he made over 50 pound the following years with bulbs, remember also his yearly wage was only 200 pound or 4 pound a week.

Like most stations the staff were always ready for a party, they used to have them at Jacks, pretty often, station parties usually started after lunch on Saturday and go all night and all day on Sundays, with different ones sneaking off to some quiet spot for a nap for a few hours. One character dossed down on a sofa in the sitting room, and his snoring, disturbed others. They couldn't wake him up. Most were carousing on the verandas, the kids had a quite old horse, that pulled the trap to school that led him inside to show how quiet he was, and led him over to the sleeper.

The horse stood there, someone put a slice of bread on the sleeping man's chest and neck, the horse reached down (he liked Bread) and was eating the bread and was nibbling the crumbs off the blokes lower neck which woke him up "The poor chap" looked up, and saw the horse chewing and slobbering over him, and thought the horse was going to eat him, sat up and screamed like a banshee, which frightened hell out of the horse, and he shot backwards across the room, and slammed into the wall on the other side, with a hell of a thump, how he never went through the wall altogether was a mystery.

Then shot out the open door and over the veranda scattering bottles, glasses and bodies all ways, when had gone, someone went over to the sleeping beauty, but he had passed out with fright. The noise of the horse slipping and sliding, and his hooves thumping made a real racket, which brought everyone alive again, and the party carried on.

These parties were a great affair Jack was an accomplished Pianist, he could play classical music flawlessly, and was great at a farty for playing sing-a-Iongs. He knew all the Popular songs and had quite a good voice)he was entirely self taught. He was an amazmg man.

So the parties were generally held at Jacks that suited him? as the others brought the grog. The station cookhouse supplied the food. His wife and family and staff cleaned up afterwards, he probably sold the bottles afterwards as well.

At one party which was going well as usual, one of the married men was induced to come, his wife was a very prudish women, and abhorred drink and drinkers, also any of the worldly pleasures, apparently. They never had any kids.

The old chap being a non drinker was very soon pretty tiddly. The station lads all pretty hard cases, got him talking and pressed more drinks into him. He got brave and told them all sorts of his problems marital and otherwise. Most were very interested as he was a lonely little man, and a very private sort of a person, his wife had him right under her thumb, but he was going to go home soon? tell her off, and might even leave her, unfortunately for his ambitions, the mixture beer, wine and a few gins got the better of him and he passed out.

This was a problem, no one wanted to take him home. So Jack and two others hit onto a scheme. He was a very small chap, someone went away and got an empty wool pack, then put him in it, which he fitted in easily, they sewed the pack up around his neck, put him in a wheelbarrow took him home, and the three of them lifted him up on to the veranda, and leaned him against the door jamb, took the barrow away, Jack banged loudly on the door, and all took off, around the corner and watched, a lot more were watching in the shadows too.

His wife a very formidable women, opened the door and saw her lord and master out to the world. She was not very impressed at all, and let out some very unladylike language, and kicked the wool pack and husband over, then kicked him over the veranda onto the lawn which was 3 or 4 steps lower. Quite a drop. Loudly telling the world at large what a louse he was. She had a loud voice and anyone within 500 yards would have heard her. Then she walked in slammed the door and the eavesdroppers heard the bolt slam home. Now here was a problem, there was a frosty feel in the air, and the poor little bloke was locked out, so the wheelbarrow was brought back and they took him over to a nearby shed, cut him out of the pack, laid some horsecovers down, and put a few more over him, and left him to sleep it off. The party carried on. Next morning the lady came over, quite concerned and asked if anyone had seen Hubby. Everyone looked concerned, one wag said he had last seen him walking up (the road, and he'd said he wasn't coming back. Liar.

However, someone did sight him about 11 o'clock soaking his head under a tap, having a big drink of water, and slagging back to the shed. When he looked in, he was snuggled up in the horsecovers again.

At about midday, it was found the beer had nearly run out, this wasn't good. After a good consultation, a hat was taken around, and Jack and two others went off to the Fernhill Hotel to get another keg.

Time passed and they never turned up, about 4.30,3 others decided to go and look for them. They weren't broken down anywhere, and when they got to the pub, there was the car, along with about 10 others. Although it was Sunday, the publican had to make a living, so the seekers of Jack and his mates, made their way into the pub.

There was a piano playing and a group, of people singing their hearts out. When they got inside, there was Jack in his element playing and singing, and everytime his glass was emptied it was quickly filled again. Everyone was enjoying themselves and Nobby and his Cobbers soon got into the swing. The sing song carried on, the publican realised he was doing well the pub was full by now, so he got the cook to boil huge pots of small potatoes (pig spuds as they were known) with plenty of salt sprinkled on them. These were welcomed by the crowd, quickly eaten and the salty spuds did nothing to dissipate their thirst so more spuds were cooked, at about 10.30 the publican was getting a bit tired. Then the telephone rang, the publican answered it, and spoke loudly "On Their Way You Say, OK I'll get rid of Them.'The cops are coming." The word spread quickly, glasses were either quickly drunk or left as they were, everyone very smartly took off. The cops never arrived however.

Next day when asked about it, The publican said "Who the hell said the cops were coming.

"'Mrs Smith rang and said Bill's parents were arriving and asked me to send Bill and his brother home, but I never had a chance to tell them, everyone assumed the cops had rung up, serve them right for listening in on a phone conversation.

List of stories by Kenneth George Bishop

THE PIG FARMER

Catching the Squeal

The Eavesdropper © Ken Bishop

Bob, one of Life's Losers 2

Bob, one of Life's Losers 1

Les

Tanker Drivers – The Eyes Have It

Mangatapiri 1952-1956

Sam




Sunday, April 5, 2009

THE PIG FARMER Ken Bishop © 1998

THE PIG FARMER...

Joe Carter wasn't the best farmer in New Zealand, I suppose he wasn't the worst either. He was one of those men were always late.

His farm was a hard bit of land, it was good for growing anything but grass. He milked about forty cows, they, like their owner, and the land, were always behind too. He milked at very irregular hours, sometimes he'd start at 2pm, then the next day it could be 8pm.

Joe was like that, not that he did very much he was always busy dreaming and planning, and time got ahead of him. I don't think anyone knew for certain how many kids he had. They all looked pretty much alike. Then Martha his wife looked pretty much like him to herself; she kept pretty much to herself she seldom went out, and when anyone called, she didn't exactly welcome them with open arms I heard she'd come from the city, and didn't like country life, or country people. However, they seemed get on alright.

The kids went to school when it suited them, the school teacher just gave up on them as a bad job. Sometimes five would turn up, then two or three, then none. Education wasn't a high priority on the Carter household.
Joe had a lot of pigs, there must have been hundreds. They were everywhere; sows with litters were always wandering around. Joe had a great affiliation with his pigs. He seemed to know every single one of them, which was no mean achievement, seeing as they roamed the district as they pleased. But if one died or got shot, for being where it shouldn't, and that was pretty often, Joe would turn up and claim the carcass. It was uncanny.
The lord and master of them all was an enormous large white boar. He was a pig among pigs, as cunning and guileful, as he was large. His carcass was full of bullets and shot, he'd lost the use of one eye, and his ears were only stumps where dogs had tried to hold him, to no avail.

He roamed for miles, when anyone was digging spuds, unless they were out of reach, they would be gone next day. The same with pumpkin or any can of cream or milk, not left in a well-secured place, would be knocked over and cleaned up.
He always arrived after dark or before daylight, and was gone before discovery. Well nearly always, but he was a hard target, and although he was a big frame, bullets found it hard to stop him, though many tried.
Complaints to Joe fell on deaf ears, he asserted he always slept under the house and he knew when he came in or out because the house used to shake. It would too.

Fred Hobson had allot of beehive. One day when Fred found his hives all knocked over, he was irate. The footprints left no doubt who was the culprit.

Fred went and confronted Joe, but Joe denied it as usual so Fred wanted to see the boar. He found him lying in the sun. If bullets couldn't penetrate that hide, bee's stings wouldn't have much show. But Fred wasn't fooled. He also had a vindictive nature.

A week or so later, a hive of bees mysteriously got under Joe's house. When the boar got under, he disturbed them, and all hell broke loose, these weren't the more placid Italian bees either, they were the wild native bee. Bee's were everywhere the boar really shook the house getting out. The Carter family were having breakfast and there was complete and utter chaos. One of the kids told the whole story/at school as kids invariably will. Everyone got stung, Joe very badly. He must have been allergic to bee stings as he was sick for days. Mum and the kids had to milk. The white boar disappeared. No one ever found out what happened to him, some think Joe shot him, himself, other though he might have been allergic to bee stings too.
But Joe had the last laugh, that white boar must have been the most virile animal ever. In his rambling's he got every sow in pig for miles. Not many cockies had bothered keeping a boar and every cockie consequently had sows to get mated.

Joe sold a lot of young boars. But he steadfastly refused to sell Fred Hobson one. So Fred went outside and brought a lovely young Berkshire boar. It was his pride and joy. But sadly for it, it was not a pig brought up to the hardships of life, and one day he ran into one of Joe's wanderers. Like all males, he had to show his metal, and fronted up to the white boar, the battle was all one-sided, he finally made it home, cut to pieces. In his frantic haste to get away, a gleaming tusk cut something else, consequently he never made it as a sire.

Joe was pretty easy to get along with, he was always ready for a chat, and he'd help anyone when they needed a hand. But being Joe, he was always an hour or two late, getting anywhere. Once a new vicar did his rounds of the district, getting aquatinted with everyone, he was a meek and mild little man, who wouldn't say boo to a goose.

He pedalled up to Joe's, on his bike and left it leaning against the front gate post. It was nearly midday and Joe was just coming in for his breakfast, he'd been castrating a few pigs, and he had his far share of blood and pig muck on him. When the vicar introduced himself, Joe promptly grabbed the vicars hand, and pumped it vigorously, when the poor vicar retrieved his numb member, there was more than a fair share of blood, mud, and muck, on it. The poor man felt very faint, and asked for a drink of water.

Joe yelled out to the kids to get some water. Not having water laid on to the house, one of the older boys streaking off with a bucket to get some from the creek. He finally made it back to the house; the water was almost the same colour as coffee. Joe grabbed a cup, and rinsed it in the bucket and filled the cup and gave it to the vicar. The vicar wasn't so faint he didn't notice the condition of the water, he hesitated but Joe looked so stern he took a sip, albeit a small one, but Joe said "Get it into you man, I don't want you dying here. The bloody pig would eat you before I could find time to get you to a doctor."

The poor vicar took a few more sips, then he dropped the cup and hurriedly got his handkerchief out and vigorously wiped his mouth.

Joe looked at the water and said to the lad, “Where did you get the water from it's pretty dirty”.

The boy rubbed his barefoot on the vicar’s bike and replied. "From the creek but a couple of sows were eating a dead calf in it and they made the water dirty. "Well why didn't you got up the creek past them, you nut!" Them two bulls were standing in the creek and I'm frightened of them". The boy was agitated. Joe saw the boy meant well, "Well I hope we haven't poisoned the parson, he doesn't look too good to me. I forgot about that calf I don't know what he died of, he was scouring pretty bad."
The poor vicar was flicking his tongue in and out like a lizard, his face was ashen.

"Do, do you think the disease the calf died of is contagious" he stuttered.

“God I hope not, I don't want my sows to get crook and die on me, I lost some like that once before, I don't want you to die on me either, it would give the place a bad name, but you don't look too good to me.

Hey Martha," he yelled "Come here quick," Martha and 4 kids came running out. "Hey I think we might have poisoned the parson or given him a bad disease, what do you think."Martha had a look at the vicar and lifted his eyelid up, "Yes he's got a bad look in his eye like that calf that died the other day, do you think its catching? We'd better get the vicar to christen the young kids before he goes off into a coma, I'd hate them to die without being christened. But the poor vicar was beyond christenin anyone. He had slumped to the ground. Joe was worried, he went to catch a horse to take the vicar to a doctor.

The horse wasn't easy to catch, when he finally got back George Colleens had arrived. George had a very earthy sense of humor, Joe was very pleased to see him, he told George the story. George had met the vicar and wasn't very impressed with him at all. George always spoke in a loud voice.

What would be the easiest thing to do, would be to knock him on the head, and feed him to the pig. They'd eat him all up in half an hour, no trouble. Nobody knows he's here. We haven't seen him. He ain't very big. Martha take the kids for a walk. It would be bad for them to see us, cut his 'ead 'orf. Come along Joe, we'll get a big axe." He slyly looked at the vicar who was sitting very still, and they walked away to 'get an axe', when they were around the corner, the vicar leapt to his feet grabbed his bike and took off. George watched around the corner when the poor vicar was well on his way George came back, and yelled "Hey come back, we want you, but the vicar had no intention of coming back for a man of his small statue he had amazing stamina, the bike was really flying.

George looked at the fast disappearing figure, spat on the ground and said "I read once about the resurrection of Christ. Well that was the resurrection of a vicar. Bloody good riddance.
I don't think the Carter kids ever got christened.

THE PIG FARMER

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