asked if she could lease a small tract of land near the salt lake, to build a house for herself. That piece of landâs no bloody use to man or beast with the frigginâ salt encroachment , Brigid said. Itâs not worth anything to me, so why donât you just use a bit wherever you want.
Sybil chose a small rise that was hardly discernible to the eye to site her house, which was small and round with doors opening to the pale soil patched with crystals of white. Itâs round , she told anyone who asked, so that I can see the whole world around me and no-one can catch me by surprise. Walls were built of sun-dried bricks made from a small clay-pan between the lake and the piece of bush known as the Yackoo. She made these herself with the help of the lovers who repaid her with a dayâs work.
Rather like a large mushroom , Young George Aberline commented as the roof of Sybilâs new home took shape. There it sat above the shortened tower that was the bulk of the house. Its extension was as wide as a verandah and protected the windows from the rain and all but the very low sun. From here Sybil, looking north-west, could see over the lake to farms on the other side. To the north she looked across paddocks and small patches of remaining bush, andwhen she turned eastwards she saw the thick bush of the Yackoo. The town was hidden by the rock, and this was how she liked it.
When Macha began to regularly patrol the borders of the town to keep it safe at night, she found that Sybilâs house was too isolated to include in the circuit. It was, however, on the route to the Yackoo or to Nellâs hut, and each time she walked these paths Macha checked the house, whether Sybil was home or working at the shop. Sybil found that having Macha Connor peer in the windows and check the doors was actually a comforting thing, and she never objected.
It was a strange thing with Nell â the people of the town knew her name and knew she worked at the hospital or cleaned the school, because this was when her name would come into the conversation. But ask anyone to say when they last saw Nell, or to describe what she looked like, and thereâd be clicking of tongues, thoughtful expressions and, eventually, an admission of Well, canât say really , or Donât quite remember.
Harry Best the headmaster knew her, of course, because she cleaned the school; as did Bert Truro the hospital orderly and town grave-digger; and, of course, the matron of the hospital. But generally she was an unseen name. Even when she sat with her dingoes on the steps of the war memorial at night she was invisible. There werecomplaints to the Council on several occasions about the dingoes coming into the main street of the town, mutterings of What about the children? or Bloody things are spooky, they just sit there and watch ya . Inevitably, someone from the Council would be dispatched to do something about it, and just as inevitably the dogs would disappear for a while. But as sure as the sun rises and sets theyâd be back. Yet no-one saw Nell there, talking to her dogs and keeping them quietly at her side.
Nell made sure the dingoes stayed at her hut when she went to the hospital where she was employed, under sufferance, by Matron Sullivan. Matron knew that she could not find anyone except Nell to spend as much time cleaning and cooking for such a mean wage.
Matron Sullivan, as she regularly told the Hospital Board of Directors, tried to instil some idea of time into this person , but to no avail: Nell arrived and left seemingly at will. Matron even went to the lengths of giving Nell an old alarm clock from her own store of things, but this charitable act did not achieve Nellâs arrival at the same time each day, and Matron told the Board that Nell was too stupid to understand time. It was just as well, then, that Matron did not see Nell throw the clock into the salt lake.
Matron Sullivan was an onlooker at the clearing of
Sybil chose a small rise that was hardly discernible to the eye to site her house, which was small and round with doors opening to the pale soil patched with crystals of white. Itâs round , she told anyone who asked, so that I can see the whole world around me and no-one can catch me by surprise. Walls were built of sun-dried bricks made from a small clay-pan between the lake and the piece of bush known as the Yackoo. She made these herself with the help of the lovers who repaid her with a dayâs work.
Rather like a large mushroom , Young George Aberline commented as the roof of Sybilâs new home took shape. There it sat above the shortened tower that was the bulk of the house. Its extension was as wide as a verandah and protected the windows from the rain and all but the very low sun. From here Sybil, looking north-west, could see over the lake to farms on the other side. To the north she looked across paddocks and small patches of remaining bush, andwhen she turned eastwards she saw the thick bush of the Yackoo. The town was hidden by the rock, and this was how she liked it.
When Macha began to regularly patrol the borders of the town to keep it safe at night, she found that Sybilâs house was too isolated to include in the circuit. It was, however, on the route to the Yackoo or to Nellâs hut, and each time she walked these paths Macha checked the house, whether Sybil was home or working at the shop. Sybil found that having Macha Connor peer in the windows and check the doors was actually a comforting thing, and she never objected.
It was a strange thing with Nell â the people of the town knew her name and knew she worked at the hospital or cleaned the school, because this was when her name would come into the conversation. But ask anyone to say when they last saw Nell, or to describe what she looked like, and thereâd be clicking of tongues, thoughtful expressions and, eventually, an admission of Well, canât say really , or Donât quite remember.
Harry Best the headmaster knew her, of course, because she cleaned the school; as did Bert Truro the hospital orderly and town grave-digger; and, of course, the matron of the hospital. But generally she was an unseen name. Even when she sat with her dingoes on the steps of the war memorial at night she was invisible. There werecomplaints to the Council on several occasions about the dingoes coming into the main street of the town, mutterings of What about the children? or Bloody things are spooky, they just sit there and watch ya . Inevitably, someone from the Council would be dispatched to do something about it, and just as inevitably the dogs would disappear for a while. But as sure as the sun rises and sets theyâd be back. Yet no-one saw Nell there, talking to her dogs and keeping them quietly at her side.
Nell made sure the dingoes stayed at her hut when she went to the hospital where she was employed, under sufferance, by Matron Sullivan. Matron knew that she could not find anyone except Nell to spend as much time cleaning and cooking for such a mean wage.
Matron Sullivan, as she regularly told the Hospital Board of Directors, tried to instil some idea of time into this person , but to no avail: Nell arrived and left seemingly at will. Matron even went to the lengths of giving Nell an old alarm clock from her own store of things, but this charitable act did not achieve Nellâs arrival at the same time each day, and Matron told the Board that Nell was too stupid to understand time. It was just as well, then, that Matron did not see Nell throw the clock into the salt lake.
Matron Sullivan was an onlooker at the clearing of
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