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would like not to annoy Mr Wallace. He quite liked him. But David did not know how to get people to like him.
    School ended at two p.m., which was four p.m. in Brisbane because it was across the other side of the country. Even so there should have been some hours of cricket play to listen to from the wireless in the window of the Railway Hotel. By the time David got there, it was already over.
    â€˜In what has been one of the most comprehensive victories from a touring side, England has given Australia a lesson in all aspects of the game. It is a lesson that Australia needs to take to heart forthwith if they are to have any hope in the remaining four Tests. It’s very difficult to see any possibilityof improvement by the next Test in Melbourne.’
    Australia had been bowled out for just eighty-four in the second innings. They’d been beaten by an innings and four hundred and sixteen runs. It seemed they needed batsmen as well as bowlers. They’d been thrashed in all areas of the game.
    Mr Pringle’s motor car was parked in the yard when David got home. The engine ticked slowly like a one-winged cicada. Even though his grandfather never said a word, David was pretty sure that the Pringles rarely visited without taking some of the farm with them when they left.
    Two of the Mr Pringles were in the kitchen with Grandad when David went in. The oldest Mr Pringle, who owned the Westralian and the bank and the dancing Mrs Pringle, was standing. The youngest Mr Pringle, who ran the silos, was sitting at the table with papers out in front of Grandad.
    â€˜I told Mrs Pringle to put the shaft bolt on the account,’ said David quickly.
    â€˜That’s good, David,’ said Mr Pringle without looking at him.
    â€˜Good afternoon, young Donald. School, eh?’ said the youngest Mr Pringle with a grimace.
    It was as if David had come across a painting of the kitchen. His grandfather never looked up from the papers and the other two men stayed frozen where they’d been when he came in, looking at the papers as though they might try to fly away.
    David felt like he had to rescue his grandfather from something. ‘Did you hear the result? It’s over already.’
    â€˜Not now David. Get some food and do your jobs.’
    David went to the meat safe for apricot preserve andbread. He didn’t get butter because he could feel the men waiting for him to leave. His grandfather just kept reading one of the papers, his forefinger tracing the numbers on the page, with his lips moving ever so slightly as if in prayer.
    David did his afternoon chores. He put the chooks back in the coop and fed them. He raked out the stockyard, wiped down the horses and topped up their trough. He dug the horse manure into the vegetable patch and watered. Each chore entailed a trip to the well where he’d wind up the bucket. It wasn’t a deep well because they were so close to the river, but Grandad had always said all that winding was strengthening his bowling shoulder.
    David chopped some wood and some kindling but he didn’t take it in because the Pringles were still in the kitchen. David thought of the way his grandfather had told him to get his food and do his chores. He thought of it in different ways, trying to find if there were some reproach, but he could not find any. It was simply a matter not for children David finally decided, and he was glad of it.
    It was nearly sunset so he went down to the dam. The dam was about a hundred and fifty yards from the yard and down towards the river, overlooked by a small hill. His grandfather had hired a special kind of road-making tractor during the war, and had the tractor push the dirt and gravel up and out, to make the hole for the dam and the sides. It was topped up by the rains each winter, catching run-off down the hill, so the sheep could water all summer. It had never been empty since David could remember, but he’d never seen it as low as it was now.