Chapter 21: Dynasties

As Phillip grew older and approached the age at which his father had left school, the question arose as to what path in life he himself would follow. Just as his father had done before him, Albert granted his own son a patch of dirt to do with it whatever he wished. Phillip tended to it with the utmost care and diligence, and while things didn’t quite come as naturally as they had to his father, he compensated for this with graft, effort and the sheer force of his will.

For their part, Albert and Dad were absolutely chuffed that their life’s work would continue long after they no longer had the strength to do so themselves. Three generations toiled side by side towards a common goal, and a dynasty was propelled through the cycles of seeding, irrigating, fertilizing, tending, spraying and harvesting.

            Now that life was running exactly how they had always wished, Albert and Sarah slowly grew restless. They had all this land, their crops were consistently successful, their animals routinely achieved top price at the markets, and their personal lives were going gangbusters. Sarah was secretary of the local branch of the Country Women’s Association- or as Dad and Albert referred to it, the Chin-Waggers Association- and a jams and preserves judge at the Manjimup Show, and Albert, despite his natural shyness, was an influential member of the State Farmers Federation and a district football umpire. While he didn’t talk much, people who knew something of his history would sit up and pay attention whenever he did have something to say, and would carefully consider his words because he had so obviously considered his own.

And so it is through this prism of success that Albert and Sarah grew bored. They decided that something needed to change. And given that they still lived in Mr Elliot’s original Groupie house- just basic timber, weatherboard and rusting corrugated iron- they decided that building a new house was just the sort of project they needed to prevent them from growing fat and contented.

They began preparations in earnest, enlisting the services of an architect and surveyor. They chose a spot on top of the ridge just around a fold in the hill from the cottage with views across the lake to the front, the bush to the back, and down the valley to Dad and Ma’s house. The house itself would be dug into the crest of the ridge, with the excavated earth to be compacted and transformed into the walls. Floor to ceiling glass windows would capture the best of the winter sun and the veranda would shield them during the burning months and provide spectacular views of approaching summer storms. The framework would be of exposed jarrah salvaged from the farm, and the roof would be a gently sloping vegetable patch.

Sarah took charge of the project while Albert concentrated on the farm, allowing her to make the most of her organisational and managerial skills. She was in contact with the architect every couple of days with new tweaks and changes, and when the builders were on-site she rolled up her sleeves and pitched in with her own hands to build the bricks and erect the pillars and pour the concrete and put up the tank and guttering. Friends and neighbours noticed the new vitality and energy that overcame her- the flushed cheeks, the effervescent smile, the new lease on life.

The pad was rapidly dug into the slope and the earth compacted into cubes and stacked one on top of the other to reshape the hill. Finally the roof was laid out on top of a concrete and mesh slab with square holes cut through to allow the natural light to filter through into each of the rooms. Soil was shovelled on top and beds mapped out for vegetables and flowers. Plumbing and electricity were connected; the kitchen and bathroom were kitted out.

Nine months after the first clod was removed, Sarah, Albert and Phillip moved into the cool and musty air of their new home, moving their existing furniture, bedding and appliances on the back of the Bedford truck across the hill. Sarah stood on the threshold and directed her men like a drill sergeant- “That goes there”, “Move that in here”, “put that down over there”. She knew where she wanted everything and the best way to get it all done in the shortest possible time. It was all overseen with military precision. The change revitalised them- the build itself kept them busy, and the transformation of the space into a home filled them with a feeling of absolute contentment.

Once everything had settled into its new shape and the cooking smells melded into the walls to give off their lived-in smells Albert and Sarah started to pester my parents about rebuilding and moving themselves. The original Groupie shack, despite the continual maintenance and love that Mum and Dad put into it, was now looking well past its use-by-date, and to my brother and sister-in-law’s eyes the only logical conclusion to this was that they start again.

But to our parents this was nought but the vague notion of a new generation. They saw no real reason to leave their existing home regardless of the physical appearance it may present to an outsider. Together they had celebrated, mourned, toiled and loved within its humble confines. All their memories were papered into its cracks and flaws. So there they stayed, surrounded by their precious memories until frail and beloved in their old age they would die within 2 weeks of each other through pneumonia and heartbreak.

By the time they were settled in their new abode, protected from the chill of winter and heat of summer by the insulating earthen walls, Phillip has started courting the eldest daughter of another influential farming family from a district on the other side of the shire. They first met at the traditional barbeque after the annual meeting of the shire branch of the Farmer’s Federation. The State President Mr Heathcliffe tended to the sausages and steaks while the Shire President Mr Blakers served as his general. Beer flowed easily from the iced esky’s and in time honoured tradition scarcely a scrap of meat escaped the blackening tongue of the fire and the dogs went home well fed and comatose.

            Phillip had only recently begun to associate with the farmers from the neighbouring communities under his own steam. His father had challenged him to get to know what was happening on farms outside of his own cloistered little world, to call on neighbours and foster his own relationships with them rather than merely treading along idly in his father’s footprints.

            He had ventured across to the familiar homes of the Monroe’s and Mayfield’s to get a handle on the idea and technique of talking with farmers about the weather, their crops, their land, their habits and their ideas. It was a tradition intended not just to spy on what the competitors were up to, but also to foster a sense of community and an exchange of wisdom. Phillip listened intently to what his elders had to say, sifting for any grains of advice that his father and grandfather had either omitted or had not thought of before.

As with everything else he did, he was intensely focussed on all that was said and done so as not to miss out on anything. He naturally assumed the position of student, presupposing that his peers knew more about the topic that he did, and tried to absorb as much as possible so that he could put into practise all that he learnt. Sensing this naivety, his hosts, rather than using the occasion for opportunism, were actually more helpful and less guarded than they otherwise would have been with his father or grandfather. Here was a young man trying to live up to the reputation of his ancestors, living in their long shadows and searching for his own patch of light, and so they were empathetic towards him based on his clear earnestness and enthusiasm.

Now that he felt that he had learnt as much as he could from the Monroe’s and Mayfield’s Phillip felt it his duty to approach those farmers whom the Spring’s as a whole respected. He had met Mr Scott a few times before at similar events and the Manjimup Royal Show, and knew of his respected stature in the Farmer’s Federation and the basics such as where he was based and what he grew. So while his father was off acting as lieutenant to Mr Blakers and his grandfathers were larking about with old Mr Monroe, he summonsed all his courage to go up and join in Mr Scott’s conversation with his son Rodney, Oscar Monroe and old Henry Kelly. It was time to be an independent man.

Even though everyone knew exactly who he was, Phillip waited for a break in the conversation to make his introduction, and as duty dictates started up a new thread in the conversation, asking about the health of the poddy calves considering the early and cold start to winter. As with all conversations of this nature it was interspersed with much grunting, contemplation of the sky and prophesising that this would be the year that their respective districts would collapse into ruin. It was never in the farmers lot to be optimistic; no matter how good the weather or prices there would always be something to grizzle about.

The conversation drifted from stock to weather to crops, and through it remained fluid, with other farmers joining or leaving the huddle, Phillip remained the ever-present at Mr Scott’s side. As the cold wind again began to blow, Mr Scott’s eldest daughter Beth came up to him to ask him something or other on behalf of her mother. While she waited for a break in the conversation she scrutinised the interesting looking if not handsome young man at her father’s side. She watched the minimal yet succinct movements of his already rough and tanned hands, as though all his energies were invested in ensuring that his every movement suited the tone of the conversation perfectly so that no charge of indifference of misunderstanding could be levelled at him. She admired his all-too-apparent earnestness and his overwhelming desire to be welcomed into the company he was keeping; the way he presented himself as a proper young gentleman.

Phillip noticed her presence, but tried to focus instead on the topic at hand so as not to be distracted, or worse- to come across as other men his age were wont to. But try as he might his eye kept wandering to her deep black eyes, her strong cheekbones, her distinctly feminine figure accentuated by a red belt cinched around her waist, and her casual, almost flippant, stance. She smiled an introduction towards him and he forced a smile and nodded in reply. A distant rumble sounded deep in his stomach.

At this nod, Mr Scott looked from the young Mr Spring to his daughter, and acted as though he had only just noticed her presence at his side. He introduced the pair, and instinctively Phillip offered out his rigid hand. Miss Scott stifled a laugh and extended her hand to meet his. She shook his hand with the force of a farmer; the corners of her mouth curled into an involuntary smirk.

She persuaded him that he was pursuing her without ever letting on that it was her directing their relationship. She guided him through their first conversations, their first romantic touch and their first kiss behind the town hall on the night of the lunar eclipse.

Phillip was of the age that it was now expected of him to attend the farmers and town meetings and contribute to the running of the district. He put his name forward and was elected into various committees, so he was able to manoeuvre himself into positions of familiarity with Mr Scott. Beth on the other hand always had to find some excuse to go with her father to town, usually on the pretext of wanting to meet up with old high-school friends in town. Beth had recently finished her end of school exams, and was intending to move to the city and start her nurses training. Her parents had conceded to this on the proviso that she take a year off between school and college to work on the family farm. While she had initially begrudged this compromise, in her new situation it seemed almost serendipitous.

Her father would drop her off at a friend’s house, where she would stay for a time before leaving to walk to the town hall in time for the end of the meeting and the chance of again seeing Phillip. Once the meeting had adjourned there she would be waiting, and Phillip would try to disguise his eagerness to run straight to her by joining her father in conversation with whatever first (after Beth) came to mind as they descended the granite stairs together. Mr Scott pretended not to notice the plot.

As things developed between them Phillip would call upon the Scott house and they would appear together around town and at parties, and it transformed from an open secret to an open knowledge that Phillip Spring and Bethany Scott were an item. They were married a year after their meeting. The wedding was greeted with excitement throughout the Shire- the merging of two farming dynasties. A better match of breeding and spirit couldn’t be imagined.

A month before the wedding Phillip had moved back down the hill to the old Elliot cottage to prepare it as their new marital home. He furnished the house with new sofas, a new bed, new sideboards and new tables, and got a good deal on a refurbished slow-combustion stove. All this activity was conducted with precedence given to function rather than any matching colour or pattern scheme or finer touch, and upon moving into what would be her new home Beth set about rearranging those items she could salvage and ordering new furnishings with more tasteful and soft floral upholstery. Phillip accepted this in much the same spirit as he would throughout their lifetime together- with self-deprecation and gentle mockery of the roles of husband and wife within their marriage.

Phillip and his groomsmen readied themselves first at the old Elliot cottage, then put the finishing touches on up at the new house. Sarah fussed around them, making them take off their shirts so that she could iron them properly, and darning a small rip in the seat of one of the groomsmen’s trousers while he stood to the side awkwardly covering his front. When all was completed to her satisfaction she stood back and looked at them in turn, before settling her eyes on Phillip and bursting into tears. The men stood awkwardly scuffing their feet, taken aback by this sudden display of emotion from one considered so hard-as-nails. Up until that day Phillip had only seen his mother cry twice before in his life- at her sister’s funeral, and when she accidently spilled the mutton stew from the stove after a particularly long and sweaty day in the shearing shed. And each time he had been lost for words.

But what surprised everyone even more was that she did so without hiding her face, without fear. She bawled openly and proudly, and enveloped her son in a vice-like hug that threatened to collapse his ribcage. The groomsmen averted their eyes and shuffled off to the next room as Albert wandered upon the scene. Immediately summing up the situation he smiled to himself and followed the boys from the room.

Once Sarah had finished dressing her husband she loaded him into the drivers seat of the FJ Falcon and plonked herself in the passenger’s seat. As they headed off down the driveway Sarah bellowed final instructions out the window like a drill sergeant on the parade ground. Her words were lost to the wind and the crunch of gravel under the wheels, however the congregation had turned their heads in her direction so she felt that she had made her point and the car drove on.

Phillip Spring and Bethany Scott were married in the little Anglican Church nestled amongst the oak and weeping willows in the bride’s hometown. From what I’ve heard it was a joyous family affair, as all weddings should be. The immediate and extended families were all there, along with notable members of the community and a few select school friends. Phillip apparently had a barely contained and permanent grin on his lips from the moment his bride appeared through the glass-paned doors between the foyer and the aisle dressed in white lace, right through until the exhaust pipe of the lipstick-smeared Datsun shot the potato clear through the window of the town hall.