by Australian writer John Martin
The first bit of Chapter 11
BAX could see that the old building had not been used for a long time. There was lots of broken glass, missing planks and bits of tin that flapped in the wind. He hated to think what it looked like on the inside.
“Christ, what are we doing here?” he said after Major BS had led him up the hill, 200 yards from the house. They had followed the electricity lines strung along a series of rickety power poles. The lines disappeared into the top of the derelict building.
“This,” said Major Billycock-Smythe, pointing at the wreck before them, “is where my plan will come to fruition. This is why I’ve got you out early from England. This is where you and the executives are going to stay.”
“Here?” said Billy Baxter shrilly.
“It’s a bit run down, I admit, Bax, but nothing we can’t fix up.” Major BS’s moustache twitched. “A few nails, a coat of paint or two, a bit of new plumbing and a new piece of glass for that broken window there—you wouldn’t think just one window would be responsible for all that broken glass, what? —and it’ll be like brand new.”
“What is this place?” Bax said as the two men stood there, still sweating from walking uphill.
“It used to be the jewel in the crown here. It was built for a shearing team of 14 in the 1970s—very state of the art then, I’m told.”
“Crikey, it needs a whole lot of work now, guv. Who’s going to fix it up then?”
“We are.” Major BS paused, then said: “Well, you mainly.”
“Me? I’m not a builder. My only experience is as a brickie’s labourer.” He waved his right arm at the shambles in front of him. “I can’t see a single brick there, can you? Besides, I’m a soldier not a bleedin’ builder ?”
“Don’t worry, old boy. Don’t think of yourself as just a builder. Think of yourself more as a building manager who’s handy with a hammer.”
“So who will I be managing? The team from Backyard Bleedin’ Blitz?”
Major BS smiled—or perhaps he was just gritting his teeth. “Shall we take a look inside first, Bax. Best to know what we’re up against, what?”
The men climbed the three rickety wooden steps and entered through the doorway, which no longer had a door. That brought them to a large room, which had eight shearing stalls at one end and three dilapidated old tables where the wool used to be sorted and classed. Now the tables were makeshift storage platforms for rolls of fencing wire, drums without labels, rusty old bits of machinery, tools, an old lawnmower, aerosol tins, paint tins, paint brushes that looked like they had never been cleaned and assorted items. There were many missing boards on the walls and floor but, aside from the light which streamed through open air of the window there were lots of shafts of light that beamed through holes in the roof.
As Bax and Major BS walked across the room, ducking cobwebs, the remaining floorboards, which had holes either side almost as if they had been laid by builders who had no idea what they were doing or who didn’t have quite enough timber to go around so spaced them apart a bit, creaked and groaned under their weight. As Bax came down on one, it snapped beneath his left boot. He swore. When he regained his balance, he looked down through the new gap. “I can see the ground a couple of feet below. I could have fallen right through, guv, and broken my bleedin’ neck.”
He looked up and saw there was a hole in the ceiling and water marks trailing down the adjacent wall. “Look, that’s why the floorboard rotted—it’s been exposed to the weather for so long. I thought you never had rain here?”
Bax walked carefully over to the table, avoiding nails protruding from the floorboards, unscrewed a lid on one of the bottles and sniffed it. He recoiled. “Christ, what is this stuff, guv?”
“I have no idea. Sheep dip perhaps? I told you: they used to shear sheep here. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them.” Major BS pointed to the old shearing stalls. “You can almost imagine what it used to be like, what? The buzzing of the shears, the shouting of the shearers and the rouseabouts, the baaing of the sheep as they were dumped down the shut after their haircuts. Have you heard the song Waltzling Matilda, Bax? ‘Click go the shears boys, click, click click’ We’re in the thick of it here. This is Australian heartland. Close your eyes and you smell it. You can hear it.”
“I can’t hear anything. And all I can smell is what I can see: a bleedin’ big mess, i nnit?”
“Bax, Bax, Bax,” said Major BS , putting his arm around his sergeant’s shoulder. “You were never one for seeing the big picture, were you? Don’t be so quick to judge it, old boy. Did I tell you they held a New Year’s Eve Party for the district here a few years ago. Great place for a party, what? Perhaps what you smelt was a drum of somewhat old punch? Follow me, Bax. There’s lots more to see.”
They picked their way towards an internal door, through missing floorboards and raised nails. It was like a game of slow-motion hopscotch. A spider, or perhaps a battalion of spiders, had spun a giant web in the doorway space. Major BS used his bucket-sized hands like criss-crossing cutters to carve a hole for them to limbo through. They found themselves in a smaller room. It was much darker in there. The only light came from the pinholes in the roof because there was no window.
Bax found the light switch and tried it but it didn’t work. He groaned.
“Last time I came here I brought a damn torch,” said Major BS. “I should have remembered, what? But don’t fret, old boy. Our eyes will soon adjust to this—it only seems dark because it was so light and airy and lovely in the main room.”
Bax squinted and made out what looked like two rows of bunks along opposite walls.
“This is obviously where the shearing staff used to sleep,” Major BS said in hushed tones.
“Why are you whispering, guv? It’s spooky enough in here, innit?”
“You don’t shout in a bedroom. You should know that, Bax? It’s common courtesy. People come here to sleep.”
“Sleep? Right now? I know we can’t see much, guv, but I’d say no one has slept in here for quite some while.”
“You’re right, old boy. Old habits, eh? But men obviously used to sleep in here. Brilliant, what? Workplace in that room, accommodation here and next to no time getting to work. No wasted commuting time in those days. Apparently the shearers were here for two weeks every spring and if they weren’t sleeping or eating, they were working.”
As Bax’s eyes began to adjust to the light, he realised Major BS was pointing in the dark.
“Speaking of eating, Bax, through there is the old kitchen. It’s got a stove and sink and everything you need. And through there,” he said, pointing to another dark shape, “is the door to the toilet. Two toilets in fact. Haven’t worked for years, of course, but we’ll soon fix that, won’t we? And the electrics. Couldn’t be that hard, what? You saw the power lines, didn’t you?”
A grey rodent scurried across the room from one pile of rubble to cover under another in the half-light. It startled both men and they jumped.
“Was that a bleedin’ rat?” said Bax.
“All manner of wildlife here,” said Major BS quickly. “Kangaroos, koalas, …”
“And rats,” said Bax.
Major BS laughed. “No, no, no, that was probably just a bush rat you saw. Very different from the rats you’ve seen before in London. Much cleaner.”
Bax spotted a woollen thing among the rubble on the floor and stooped down to pick it up. When he realised what it was, he dropped it like a hot potato. “It’s a sock! A dirty old sock. Why would there be a sock here?”
“Hmm? You sure it was a sock, not an old dag? You would expect an old shearing shed to have bits of wool scattered around the place.”
“It was a woollen sock, guv. With blue and red hoops. I can see fine now.”
Major BS shrugged.
“Guv, you never told me nuffin’ about this place before I came out. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Need-to-know basis, sergeant.”
“Need to know? Need to bleedin’ know? You don’t you think I need to know how on earth we will be able to make this …. this … this… place liveable.”
“You surprise me, Bax. How long have we known each other? And have I ever let you down?”
+++
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