In the sheep country of Canterbury and Otago the native tussock lands had reached the end of their useful life by the 1870s and were sown with European grasses – mainly ryegrass, timothy, cocksfoot and clover.
Rural New Zealand in 1876. A time of prosperity for Applecross sheep station. However, dark clouds are gathering over the settlers of Mackenzie’s Basin.
James Mackenzie is good at his job. Quality wool from his flock is valued around the world. But his son, John James sees the future differently, embracing new ideas and opening up new markets. Will father and son reach a compromise that will allow Applecross to survive through the threat of pestilence and fire? Will Captain Shepherd’s legacy offer the opportunity for his beloved family to spread their wings?
Join James, Sophia and all the folk of Applecross as, once more, they celebrate triumph and success while joining together to face adversity and tragedy against a backdrop of an ever-changing world.
Excerpts from ‘Cocksfoot and Clover’ –
They had been at it all morning. The old wooden posts, put in by Edmund and James in the early days of Applecross and Combe, were showing their age. They looked like a row of teeth in the mouth of an old man, set at different angles as they had settled into the ground over the years. Some were dry and rotten, others barely still in the ground. And the wires were no longer stretched taut between each post, rusting in many places and broken entirely in others. It was one of many items on James’ long list of jobs, drawn up now there were finances to pay for them. Freddie and John James had helped him to prioritise some long standing repairs, things that were always meant to get done, but there was no spare cash, nor the inclination for them to be dealt with. His father’s legacy had given James something of a new lease of life. It was time Applecross had a spruce up. After all, it was very nearly twenty years since he brought Sophia to the Basin for the first time. High time for some changes.
Not that James would make changes at the pace his youngest son seemed to want to go. John James had suggested all sorts of major projects including ploughing up the pastures and re-seeding them, bringing in new breeds of sheep and extending the water race and dam that Samuel had created to see them through dry summers. Realistically, James knew that all these things would happen in the future, but not while he was in charge of Applecross. For now, he would let his son dream of the future while he consolidated the work he had put in over the years with the benefit of a healthy account at the bank.
“Good God, this is a tedious job,” John James broke into his father’s thoughts. “However did you manage back at the beginning?”
“Edmund and I were younger and fitter, I suppose, and keen to make our mark on the land,” replied James.
“Frank says we should be making the fences rabbit proof by burying wire below ground,” said John James.
James was a little bit fed up with what Frank said, and Abe and Henry too. These days his son started almost every sentence with ‘Frank says’, ‘Abe thinks’ or ‘Henry reckons’. So far today, Frank had suggested burning off the land to reduce tussock grass clumps and keeping rabbits out by fencing, Abe was all for importing a new ram from somewhere up north and Henry thought they should buy a new plough. It was all very well for John James to correspond with these new friends, but he couldn’t help feeling that one needed a bit more experience before making such sweeping changes.
“I hardly think we need to keep the rabbits at bay to that extent,” replied James. “We can shoot the odd one or two for the pot, and skin the rest for their soft pelts.”
“Henry says the rabbits are becoming a real problem down his way,” answered John James. “They breed too well, and they are destroying the land with their diggings.”
James thought that Henry could keep his lowland ideas to himself. What would he know of high country farming? However, not wishing to dampen his son’s enthusiasm, he replied gruffly, “Won’t come to that up here. Ground is too damned stony.”
“You can say that again,” John James laughed as he pulled two more big round stones the size of his fist out of the hole he had been trying to dig. He felt like he had already made a pile of them bigger than the hole that had been created in the first place.
The two men continued their work without further words for a while, the only sound the skylarks rising above them, augmented by the occasional curse as father or son hit a stone with the shovel, or found themselves tied up in a coil of wire. James eventually pulled himself upright, putting a hand in the small of his back to ease the ache before mopping his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve. The midsummer sun was strong, and almost directly overhead. Nearly time to stop for lunch. He cast a glance in the direction of home, hoping to see his wife carrying a basket towards them, and indeed there was someone coming, but it was not Sophia.
It was Jakob, with a shovel over his shoulder and a wicker basket in the crook of the other arm. When he got within earshot, he called out, “I thought I would give you a hand this afternoon, and Mrs Mackenzie sent some lunch.”
“Both you and your basket are welcome visitors,” said James. He leaned his shovel against the post he had just set upright and flopped down onto the grassy bank. “Now, let’s see what my wife has packed for three hungry workers.”
There was a stone bottle filled with ale, which the men willingly shared by passing it round and taking a swig. No need to dirty the enamel mugs that Sophia had packed for them to use. Then, unwrapping the cloths that covered each item, James found three hearty chunks of raised pork pie, some wedges of a round crusty loaf and several thick slices of cheese. There were three apples loose in the basket, and he left the final package still wrapped up for now, knowing it would contain cake or biscuits, depending what had been baked in the Applecross kitchen that morning.
There was barely a word spoken as they tucked into the delicious food. It was a good few hours since breakfast time, and they had been working hard and had the appetites to prove it. Eventually, James offered the flagon round once more before tipping back the last dregs himself. “Ah, now that’s better. I was ready for something to eat,” he said, settling back against the bank, with his feet stretched out and his hat tipped forward over his eyes. “Let’s have a few more minutes before we get back to work, eh?”
James shut his eyes. The two younger men had not yet reached an age where they needed a nap after lunch, but they too stretched themselves out in the sun, chatting of this and that.
“Heard from the Viners lately?” asked John James.
“Not for a while,” Jakob replied. “They seem happy down there on the coast with Mr Viner’s sister, but I do miss their company. And Mrs Viner’s baking was nearly as good as your mother’s. Mrs Mackenzie asked if I would like to invite them for Christmas, but I doubt they will come. Too many unhappy memories.”
“Yes, it will be a strange Christmas this year, remembering Grandpapa,” replied John James.
“Is Heather coming home this year?” asked Jakob.
“Yes, she should be arriving in the next few days with Caroline and Adey Rose. They will travel up with Uncle Samuel, I daresay,” replied John James. “She’s bringing that George Latham fellow with her again. He’s a bit of a drip in my opinion, but she seems taken with him, and you have to admit, they have a lot in common with their books and learning.”
The two young men failed to see James’ wry smile beneath his hat. He couldn’t help agreeing with his son. George Latham certainly did seem a bit wet behind the ears.
“Do you think they will marry one day?” asked Jakob. There was a time when Jakob hoped for Heather’s attentions, although he would never admit it to John James. But no longer. She was spoken for now, and he liked George Latham. They would make a fine couple.
“I wouldn’t wonder,” John James replied as he studiously picked each seed head, one by one, from a tall piece of grass plucked from the bank.
“He will need to speak to me first, if he wishes to steal my daughter away from me,” said James, pushing his hat back and beginning to get to his feet.
The two younger men went to rise too, John James throwing the stripped stalk over the fence and saying, “You wouldn’t say no though, father, would you?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” James replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Heather could do worse, I daresay. She isn’t one to follow in her mother’s ways. Domestic tasks were never her favourite thing. Do you remember that cake she baked? It was more burnt biscuit than sponge.”
At that exact same time, Samuel and his passengers were approaching the ridge above Applecross.
“Samuel, you will stop, won’t you?” Nancy asked.
“I always do,” Samuel smiled. He knew very well that Nancy would be anticipating the panoramic view of the Basin community from the vantage point at the summit of the track. As they climbed, the weather had been improving a lot, and now, as if on cue, the sun came out from behind the clouds, flooding the Basin in glorious golden light. Samuel pulled the horse to a halt, immediately jumping down to help Nancy and Edmund alight too. For a few moments, the bright sun dazzled them all, but as their eyes began to focus, the whole valley lay in front of them in all its glory. The three of them stood, silhouettes against the skyline, absorbing the view that Nancy had been waiting so long to see once more.
Nancy took it all in from right to left, saving her old home until last as if it was the final chocolate in the box, the one with her favourite filling. Smoke rose from Ngahuia’s fire, the chapel and school stood quiet, the Penders’ house too, apart from the tiny figure of Rex chasing shadows in the garden. She could hear him yapping. The row of workers’ cottages, the home fields full of sheep, the old Applecross house, and the new, the yard where washing flapped in the breeze, Jack and Daisy’s house, then Lucy’s place, the orchard and finally Combe.
“What the devil?” Edmund was saying. “Samuel get me down there as fast as you can. What on God’s earth has happened to Combe?”
At that exact same time, Samuel and his passengers were approaching the ridge above Applecross.
“Samuel, you will stop, won’t you?” Nancy asked.
“I always do,” Samuel smiled. He knew very well that Nancy would be anticipating the panoramic view of the Basin community from the vantage point at the summit of the track. As they climbed, the weather had been improving a lot, and now, as if on cue, the sun came out from behind the clouds, flooding the Basin in glorious golden light. Samuel pulled the horse to a halt, immediately jumping down to help Nancy and Edmund alight too. For a few moments, the bright sun dazzled them all, but as their eyes began to focus, the whole valley lay in front of them in all its glory. The three of them stood, silhouettes against the skyline, absorbing the view that Nancy had been waiting so long to see once more.
Nancy took it all in from right to left, saving her old home until last as if it was the final chocolate in the box, the one with her favourite filling. Smoke rose from Ngahuia’s fire, the chapel and school stood quiet, the Penders’ house too, apart from the tiny figure of Rex chasing shadows in the garden. She could hear him yapping. The row of workers’ cottages, the home fields full of sheep, the old Applecross house, and the new, the yard where washing flapped in the breeze, Jack and Daisy’s house, then Lucy’s place, the orchard and finally Combe.
“What the devil?” Edmund was saying. “Samuel get me down there as fast as you can. What on God’s earth has happened to Combe?”
Guy Pender bent down to look through the lens of his camera. “Hold still, everyone. Three-Two-One, and hold,” he called out to the families of the bride and groom as he opened the shutter.
At that very moment, Vicky felt a terrible itch on her nose. She dare not put a hand up to scratch it, but could only pull a face that made her look a little cross-eyed and would now be recorded in that way for posterity in the wedding photograph album of Mr and Mrs George Latham. Guy had time to take in the composition of the picture as he counted down the necessary ten seconds to expose the photograph. Framed by the chapel door, George stood proud and happy, his arm crooked so that Heather could rest her gloved hand on his wrist. Next to him on the left was Edward, who, if truth be told, was looking nervous about having to make a speech at the wedding breakfast. Then Mr and Mrs Latham, with George’s aunt and uncle behind, a necessity in Guy’s view, in order to hide George’s aunt’s hideous floral outfit as much as possible.
Guy had managed to balance things out by persuading Vicky to sit at her sister’s feet with little Saul cross-legged beside her, there being many more people to fit on Heather’s side. The bride had, in Guy’s opinion, never looked so beautiful as she did today in her wedding dress of palest green. The perfect foil to her flaming red hair which shone in the sunlight, sparkling with tiny pearl decorations sewn into the veil. Around the hem, neckline and cuffs, Amelie told Guy that Sophia had embroidered strings of heather flowers in various purple shades, and a last minute change to the bouquet to include the Scottish heather, perfectly matched the dress. The corsage of purple heather reminded Guy how lovely it had been to see each guest with a tiny buttonhole to match. He could catch the scent of his own as he breathed in. What a shame that the photograph would not record the colours. Guy hoped he would live long enough to be able to take coloured photographs. He knew there were people around the world trying to find a way to do so. But then, there were people trying to make machines that flew, and he doubted he would see that happen in his lifetime.
James and Sophia stood next to each other beside their eldest daughter, James tall and proud and Sophia, her cheeks a little flushed, but with that sparkle in her eyes that Guy had always admired. She hated having her photograph taken, even though Guy had told her many times that she had a good face for the camera. Then the three senior bridesmaids in the palest purple with matching hats, a positive sea of mauve flounces and folds. From his position behind the camera tripod, Guy could barely tell which was which. Was it Susannah next to Sophia, or maybe Caroline, and Adey Rose at the end? Guy smiled to himself as he remembered Adey Rose telling him about the awful pink dress she had been forced to wear at her brother’s wedding. She had never been one to enjoy dressing up.
At the back stood Freddie, head and shoulders taller than the girls, and Ngahuia, who was another person who made a good portrait but was shy of the camera. Guy hoped he would one day manage to persuade her to sit for him in a series of photographs. Her tawny complexion, strong features, proud bearing and faraway gaze were beauty personified, in Guy’s opinion. Freddie was a lucky man.
All these thoughts went through Guy’s mind as he counted down to the perfect point between under and over exposure. “And, breathe,” he called out, at last.
There was a general drawing of breath from those in the photograph. Guy couldn’t help smiling as he realised that even those watching had been holding their breath too. And, as so often happened, there followed a wave of laughter and applause, as if he was performing a magic trick. He was reminded of that very first photograph of Friday taken at Applecross on his first visit. Freddie, just a boy then, had been fascinated by it, and Guy had doubted that the dog could sit still. But she did, of course, and the photograph was still one of his favourites.
