Click Go The Shearers - Slaves to Sheep?
Click Go The Shearers - Slaves to Sheep?
Click Go The Shearers - Slaves to Sheep?
Already slaving over a hot oven - and I do mean HOT. My trusty old wood stove had to be lit and stoked up to be hot enough to cook on in order to make the obligatory shearers' cooked breakfast - nothing less than bacon and sausages and eggs and toast and Vegemite and marmalade and jams and a couple of cups of tea each. Our boss had decided to join us each morning, to make it easier for us?? I think the point was that at least there would be someone to introduce us this first morning, and then 'smooth' the way after that.
Well, I guess an introduction is what you'd call it, although the single eye contact was over in a blink you could easily have missed, and there they were - seated, waiting to be served. I didn't have to worry too much about conversation - they ate their food, drank their tea, got up and went outside for a smoke on their way to the shearing shed. Yes, that's right - not a "thank you", or "that was nice" or anything at all! I was shattered. This was certainly not what I was used to. Somehow the training agenda of my secretarial years had not included this kind of 'experience'.
I remember sitting at the 'ravished' table, amongst the countless dishes full of nothing but congealing fat and crumbs, and cups of 'slops' - and enjoying a cup of coffee - all by myself! And now, all I had to do for the next two hours was wash and dry the dishes; stoke the wood stove fire; make the sandwiches for morning 'lunch' as shearers call it; cakes and biscuits onto plates; stoke the fire; prepare a box/basket with all the crockery/cutlery to take to shed; bring in more wood to stoke the fire; fill the kettle and a large saucepan with water, and onto the wood stove to start heating; monster teapot ready with tea in; stoke the fire; make the bed (if time permitted); stoke the fire; pack the car with all the 'goodies'; take them to the shearing shed and set them up.
There was just one problem with my 'service' - it was just too fancy, and too delicate for the large hands of 'true blue' shearers. I have to laugh, looking back - I had carefully & creatively served sandwiches cut into diagonal quarters & prettily arranged on a pretty china serving plate with a doyley underneath the food; as well as plates of cake & dainty little biscuits. I quickly learned that they 'sort of preferred' sandwiches cut in halves (definitely, on the straight) & big chunks of fruit cake & big chunks of biscuit slice or big, thick biscuits - on a plastic plate preferably - and their tea in a metal mug - well, they had to compromise on that one and grudgingly accept my heavy china mugs. And after they were finished - back to the Kitchen to repeat the breakfast routine (and another lot of dishes!) and start preparing and setting the table for lunch - AFTER stoking the waning wood stove fire!
Lunch was cold meat and salads - NOT arranged attractively on serving plates, with garnishes - I discovered. No. Served up on their individual plates and put in front of each man. Well of course, there was the time factor involved in serving yourself - why didn't I think of that? And no dessert this time - over-laden stomachs are not conducive to being bent over double for the whole afternoon, as they shear. But two cups of tea each are definite 'staples'. Again, chairs are pushed backwards as they stand and leave, directly the last mouthful is being swallowed. And again, not a word of thanks or approval. I'd have wept, if I'd had the energy!
But no time for 'girlish' emotions - no - there were dishes to be done and afternoon 'lunch' to be prepared. Only cakes and biscuits and the never-ending tea routine this time - again delivered to the shed. But this time, I could sit down briefly and share a cuppa (and a few quiet commiserations with my husband) - before - guess what? Home and dishes and stoke the fire, and put on the roast to cook for dinner!
And so the days continued in a never-ending blur of food, dishes, more food, more dishes. And all day, never a thanks, never a kind word for this poor, dumb animal called their cook! I don't know what time they went to bed - most nights, I was already 'away with the fairies' - and I promise you, I was NOT counting sheep! It was quite an experience - and I remain eternally grateful, to this day, that shearing only happens once a year.
Suffice it to say, that when our farming 'apprenticeship' was over and we finally had the opportunity to make our own choices - we NEVER went into sheep-farming. No. We chose to be dairy farmers! Huh?
2010 Christine Larsen All Rights Reserved
If you have enjoyed this story, there are more about these 'lovable larrikins' - just watch out for my story titles that start with 'Click Go The Shearers'.
And if you would like to read more of what a life-style change to farm life can entail (and a pic. of the famous wood stove), have a look at these -
Farmers? Are You Serious?
The Farmer Needs a Wife
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