My horse Daisy looked up from the carrot patch she was chewing on and gave a few snorts. Bunch of the station hands were heading off to Sydney with their horses to volunteer for the fighting. Me and Dad were on Mindalee Station, rigging up some irrigation for their kitchen garden. Till then we’ll stay out of other dopey idiots’ wars.’
‘You and me’ll be first in the trenches,’ he said, ‘if Germany invades New South Wales. You didn’t go round whacking your mates in the head with work utensils. Plus, since Mum died, me and Dad were a team. Hitting people with buckets wasn’t Dad’s style. When I told Dad I wanted to go, he tried to wallop me round the head with a canvas bucket. Who wouldn’t want to choof off to distant exotic places, give a pack of mongrel bullies what for and have the sort of experiences you just didn’t get in the Cudgegong district.
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