My Place

My Place Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: My Place Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sally Morgan
seemed surrounded by drinking men. There wasn’t one of Dad’s mates who was a teetotaller. I was always amazed at how much a good man could drink. In fact, drinking seemed to be the main hobby of everyone we mixed with. Dad’s mates, mostly ex-servicemen, didn’t tend to bring their wives to our place. But the few women who were included could generally hold their own when it came to drink.
    I remember only one occasion when Grandpa actually came to our house to help out in a practical way. There were some tall gums that grew close to the house and Dad wanted them chopped down. He said they were a fire hazard. Grandpa volunteered to help him. I sat on the back steps of the verandah and watched as they both climbed high into the trees. I was sorry to see the gums go. They were tall and beautiful and I’d seen maggies nesting in them.
    â€˜Righto, Pop,’ Dad called as he positioned his saw. ‘You get that branch on your side and I’ll tackle this one here.’
    â€˜Righto, Bill.’ Grandpa was sweating like a pig and hadn’t had a drink for at least half an hour.
    â€˜Jeez, I could do with a cold one, Bill,’ he muttered as he sawed away.
    Suddenly, there was a crack and then a splitting noise, followed by a scream. Grandpa, and the branch he was sitting on, crashed to the ground. Dad dropped his own saw and climbed down, shouting, ‘Not the branch ya sitting on, ya stupid bastard!’
    For the rest of the afternoon, Dad worked alone. Grandpa sat inside, recuperating and drinking beer. By the time Dad drove him home, he was too drunk to feel any pain.
    Dad’s family often came to our place for Christmas lunch. Actually, I always found the two days before Christmas more exciting. Mum and Nan cooked cakes and puddings, gave the house a real good clean, and prepared the stuffing for the chickens. I was really excited, because we only ate chicken once a year, and I loved it.
    On the twenty-fourth of December, Dad would stride to the chook shed armed with the axe. He always looked really determined, and I would sit and think that maybe this year he’d do it. About ten minutes would pass, and then he’d stride back again, with a clean axe and no chooks. War had spoilt him for killing anything. He’d walk past me and hand the axe to Nan, who’d be patiently waiting on the back verandah. ‘Jeez, I can’t do it Dais, you’ll have to.’
    It wasn’t a task Nan relished. She had a special relationship with the birds and chooks we kept, but she knew we were too poor to be able to consider her finer feelings. Within a few minutes, she’d be back with two limp chooks and a bloody axe. ‘Come on Sal, time to gut.’
    She’d spread newspaper over an old table we had on the back verandah, and we’d set to work. I liked pulling out the feathers, because I was keen to collect them. Jill would walk past and eye us both in disgust. Sometimes, to scare her, I’d thrust a bloodied arm in her direction, and she’d scream and run inside to Mum.
    â€˜Aah, she’s got no guts.’
    â€˜Well these chooks have, you get on with your work and leave poor Jilly alone!’
    One Christmas, Grandpa told us all about the history of his family. ‘Aah, yes,’ he sighed as he downed another cold one, ‘the Milroy men have always been great gamblers and drinkers.’
    I watched curiously as he brushed a tear from his eye. Give Grandpa a few beers and he’d cry over anything.
    â€˜In the early days, we were quite well off. Had a business in Albany, coffee palace it was. By jeez, you could make a few bob then with all the bastards that were comin’ into the country. As soon as the sailing ships docked, all the owners of the boardinghouses, pubs, you name it, would rush down to the harbour to try and capture the trade. “Come to my place”, one of them would call. “A free drink with every feed and a
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