The Saddler Boys by Fiona Palmer Page B

unglamorous.
    Outside, Drew was putting the basket of yabbies into an old-looking tub. Billy was watching more intently then he ever did at school. ‘What is that thing?’ she asked.
    â€˜It’s an old copper boiler,’ Drew replied. ‘They used them back in the day for laundry. But they’re perfect for cooking big catches of yabbies. I sure don’t use it for washing. This girl can boil up in around twenty minutes. It’s an electric one, so you don’t have to light a fire underneath.’
    Drew finally ran his eyes over her outfit. He smiled and for the first time she noticed small dimples. Would they stand out more if he was clean-shaven?
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜You look great. Now I don’t have to feel bad when you get the yabby guts and juices splashed all over you.’
    Natalie frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
    Drew set up three chairs, handed her another beer, and brought out some bowls and newspaper, plus an old bucket. ‘Sorry you have to work for your lunch, but it’s all a part of the experience. It makes it taste even better, I promise.’
    Nat had always liked the idea of being self-sufficient. Her nan had a small vegie garden and pots full of herbs. She also had two chooks in a little pen in the back corner of her yard, and as a little girl Nat had loved collecting the eggs.
    Soon Drew was pulling out the wire basket and dumping the yabbies on the newspaper in the middle of their chairs. Then he showed her how to pull the tails away from the body and peel them. ‘Keep the big claws too, as the meat’s nice and sweet.’
    Nat reached for the red- and orange-tinged yabby. It was still hot from the water, but as Billy had already pulled apart about six, she thought she’d better get cracking. Digging her nails into the middle, she began to pull. She couldn’t help squinting and gritting her teeth.
    â€˜You got it,’ said Drew. He reached over and showed her how to remove the shell.
    She got the hang of it and before long the pile of yabby meat was growing. Her fingers were sore from little cuts from the shell and the yabby juices were probably splattered all over her, but she was having fun. Billy was keeping them entertained with stories from the farm and some really bad jokes. At one point Drew asked him to recite his favourite poem and he did, not missing a beat.
In an old rocking chair on verandah boards,
    He sits and reminisces,
    Of days gone by and the work he’s done,
    Of the wife he so dearly misses.
    His weather-beaten face proof of years in the sun,
    Eyesight that’s failing him fast,
    His tired old body can no longer work,
    As it did in the years gone past.
    Slippers replace the work boots he wore,
    His big hands are now pale and tender,
    Arms that once rippled with muscle,
    Are now pale, fragile and slender.
    Things were so different from when he’d first come,
    To the land as a strapping young lad,
    The clearing he’d done, the homestead he’d built,
    â€™Twas a good life, the life that he’d had.
    Eighty years’ worth of memories to share,
    But nobody wanted to listen,
    As he thought of his wife and the children they’d raised,
    The tears on his cheek softly glistened.
    And now it was done, his dreams were all dreamt,
    The hardship and toil all past,
    As he closed his eyes for the very last time,
    The first shadows of evening were cast.
    Natalie clapped and shook her head in awe. ‘Billy, that was amazing.’
    His grin was wide. ‘Thanks. Nan said it’s about my pop.’
    â€˜Billy, can you go inside and set up the table, please, buddy?’ asked Drew. ‘We’ll finish up and bring these in.’
    â€˜Okay, Dad.’ Billy went and washed his hands in the water coming from the gutter. It was still raining but just lightly.
    â€˜Mum taught him that,’ said Drew once Billy was inside. ‘She thought that giving him something to