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Updated: May 4, 2025
In another week's time the bleat of thousands of sheep, and the incense of much tar and wool, would be ascending to the heavens from the vicinity of Five-Bob Downs. I was looking forward to the shearing. There never was any at Caddagat. Uncle did not keep many sheep, and always sold them long-woolled and rebought after shearing. I had not much opportunity of persecuting Harold during the daytime.
The other side of the letter the part which gave me joy was the prospect of going to Caddagat. Caddagat, the place where I was born! Caddagat, whereat, enfolded in grandmotherly love and the petting which accrued therefrom, I spent some of my few sweet childish days. Caddagat, the place my heart fondly enshrines as home. Caddagat, draped by nature in a dream of beauty. Caddagat, Caddagat!
The Caddagat orchard contained six acres, and being a narrow enclosure, and the cherries growing at the extreme end from the house, it took us some time to reach them. I led the way to our destination a secluded nook where grape-vines clambered up fig-trees, and where the top of gooseberry bushes met the lower limbs of cherry-trees.
As for Harold Beecham, he was nearly as much at home at Caddagat as at Five-Bob Downs. He came and went with that pleasant familiarity practised between congenial spirits among squatterdom.
I knew Joe Slocombe could mend the harness with little trouble, as it was because he was what uncle Jay-Jay termed a "handy divil" at saddlery that he was retained at Caddagat. I said carelessly: "If you mend the harness at once, Joe, uncle Julius need not be bothered about it. As it happened, there is no harm done, and I won't mention the matter." "Thank you, miss," he said eagerly.
When my installation in the role of invalid took place, one Miss Beecham was away in Melbourne, and the other not well enough to come and see me, but Harold came regularly to inquire how I was progressing. He always brought me a number of beautiful apples. This kindness was because the Caddagat orchard had been too infested with codlin moth for grannie to save any last season.
The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly," said aunt Helen. The 9th of November 1896 The Prince of Wales's birthday up the country was celebrated as usual thereaway by the annual horse-races on the Wyambeet course, about fourteen miles from Caddagat.
What were his ideas and sentiments it were hard to tell: he never expressed any. He was fearfully and wonderfully quiet. Yet his was an intelligent silence, not of that wooden brainless description which casts a damper on company, neither was it of the morose or dreaming order. Principally Letters Caddagat, 29th Sept., 1896 My dearest Gertie,
Gertie's letters would contain: "Harold Beecham, he makes me call him Harry, took me to Five-Bob last week, and it was lovely fun." Again it would be: "Harry says I am the prettiest little girl ever was, Caddagat or anywhere else, and he gave me such a lovely bracelet. I wish you could see it." Or this: We all went to church yesterday. Harry rode with me.
Amid these scenes, and the refinements and pleasures of Caddagat, which lies a hundred miles or so farther Riverinawards, I spent the first years of my childhood. An Introduction to Possum Gully
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