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"
I
'll
look
after
myself
,
Patsy
.
Christ
!
"
Jims
grinned
,
holding
hard
onto
his
brother
's
hand
.
"
Fancy
having
to
spend
the
rest
of
the
war
without
my
best
mate
.
I
'll
write
and
tell
you
what
it
's
like
.
Say
hello
to
Mrs.
Smith
and
Meggie
and
Mum
and
the
brothers
for
me
,
eh
?
Half
your
luck
,
going
home
to
Drogheda
.
"
Fee
and
Mrs.
Smith
flew
down
to
Sydney
to
meet
the
American
plane
which
brought
Patsy
from
Townsville
;
Fee
remained
only
a
few
days
,
but
Mrs.
Smith
stayed
on
in
a
Randwick
hotel
close
to
the
Prince
of
Wales
military
hospital
.
Patsy
remained
there
for
three
months
.
His
part
in
the
war
was
over
.
Many
tears
had
Mrs.
Smith
shed
;
but
there
was
much
to
be
thankful
for
,
too
.
In
one
way
he
would
never
be
able
to
lead
a
full
life
,
but
he
could
do
everything
else
:
ride
,
walk
,
run
.
Mating
did
n't
seem
to
be
in
the
Cleary
line
,
anyway
When
he
was
discharged
from
hospital
Meggie
drove
down
from
Gilly
in
the
Rolls
,
and
the
two
women
tucked
him
up
on
the
back
seat
amid
blankets
and
magazines
,
praying
for
one
more
boon
:
that
Jims
would
come
home
,
too
.
Not
until
the
Emperor
Hirohito
's
delegate
signed
Japan
's
official
surrender
did
Gillanbone
believe
the
war
was
finally
over
.
The
news
came
on
Sunday
,
September
2
,
1945
,
which
was
exactly
six
years
after
the
start
.
Six
agonizing
years
.
So
many
places
empty
,
never
to
be
filled
again
:
Dominic
O'Rourke
's
son
Rory
,
Horry
Hopeton
's
son
John
,
Eden
Carmichael
's
son
Cormac
.
Ross
MacQueen
's
youngest
son
,
Angus
,
would
never
walk
again
,
Anthony
King
's
son
David
would
walk
but
never
see
where
he
was
going
,
Paddy
Cleary
's
son
Patsy
would
never
have
children
.
And
there
were
those
whose
wounds
were
n't
visible
,
but
whose
scars
went
just
as
deep
;
who
had
gone
off
gaily
,
eager
and
laughing
,
but
came
home
quietly
,
said
little
,
and
laughed
only
rarely
.
Who
could
have
dreamed
when
it
began
that
it
would
go
on
so
long
,
or
take
such
a
toll
?
Gillanbone
was
not
a
particularly
superstitious
community
,
but
even
the
most
cynical
resident
shivered
that
Sunday
,
September
2nd
.
For
on
the
same
day
that
the
war
ended
,
so
did
the
longest
drought
in
the
history
of
Australia
.
For
nearly
ten
years
no
useful
rain
had
fallen
,
but
that
day
the
clouds
filled
the
sky
thousands
of
feet
deep
,
blackly
,
cracked
themselves
open
and
poured
twelve
inches
of
rain
on
the
thirsty
earth
.
An
inch
of
rain
may
not
mean
the
breaking
of
a
drought
,
it
might
not
be
followed
by
anything
more
,
but
twelve
inches
of
rain
means
grass
.
Meggie
,
Fee
,
Bob
,
Jack
,
Hughie
and
Patsy
stood
on
the
veranda
watching
it
through
the
darkness
,
sniffing
the
unbearably
sweet
perfume
of
rain
on
parched
and
crumbling
soil
.
Horses
,
sheep
,
cattle
and
pigs
spraddled
their
legs
against
the
shifting
of
the
melting
ground
and
let
the
water
pour
over
their
twitching
bodies
;
most
of
them
had
been
born
since
rain
like
this
had
last
passed
across
their
world
.
In
the
cemetery
the
rain
washed
the
dust
away
,
whitened
everything
,
washed
the
dust
off
the
outstretched
wings
of
the
bland
Botticelli
angel
.
The
creek
produced
a
tidal
wave
,
its
roaring
flood
mingling
with
the
drumming
of
the
soaking
rain
.
Rain
,
rain
!
Rain
.
Like
a
benediction
from
some
vast
inscrutable
hand
,
long
withheld
,
finally
given
.
The
blessed
,
wonderful
rain
.
For
rain
meant
grass
,
and
grass
was
life
.
A
pale-green
fuzz
appeared
,
poked
its
little
blades
skyward
,
ramified
,
burgeoned
,
grew
a
darker
green
as
it
lengthened
,
then
faded
and
waxed
fat
,
became
the
silver-beige
,
knee-high
grass
of
Drogheda
.
The
Home
Paddock
looked
like
a
field
of
wheat
,
rippling
with
every
mischievous
puff
of
wind
,
and
the
homestead
gardens
exploded
into
color
,
great
buds
unfurling
,
the
ghost
gums
suddenly
white
and
lime-green
again
after
nine
years
of
griming
dust
.
For
though
Michael
Carson
's
insane
proliferation
of
water
tanks
still
held
enough
to
keep
the
homestead
gardens
alive
,
dust
had
long
settled
on
every
leaf
and
petal
,
dimmed
and
drabbed
.
And
an
old
legend
had
been
proven
fact
:
Drogheda
did
indeed
have
sufficient
water
to
survive
ten
years
of
drought
,
but
only
for
the
homestead
.
Bob
,
Jack
,
Hughie
and
Patsy
went
back
to
the
paddocks
,
began
seeing
how
best
to
restock
;
Fee
opened
a
brand-new
bottle
of
black
ink
and
savagely
screwed
the
lid
down
on
her
bottle
of
red
ink
;
Meggie
saw
an
end
coming
to
her
life
in
the
saddle
,
for
it
would
not
be
long
before
Jims
was
home
and
men
turned
up
looking
for
jobs
.
After
nine
years
there
were
very
few
sheep
or
cattle
left
,
only
the
prize
breeders
which
were
always
penned
and
hand-fed
in
any
time
,
the
nucleus
of
champion
stock
,
rams
and
bulls
.
Bob
went
east
to
the
top
of
the
Western
slopes
to
buy
ewes
of
good
blood
line
from
properties
not
so
hard
hit
by
the
drought
.
Jims
came
home
.
Eight
stockmen
were
added
to
the
Drogheda
payroll
.
Meggie
hung
up
her
saddle
.
