The View From Connor's Hill by Barry Heard

the end of that year, we’d cleared and sown five acres of lucerne. It was a successful sowing, and we baled thousands of short bales of hay off the paddock over the years.
    Within a year, I’d not only settled, but I’d started to really enjoy the country way of life. At school, being tall for my age, I excelled in sports that suited my height: the high jump; hurdles; the hop, step, and jump; and the long jump. They were all a breeze. Yet I couldn’t run to save myself — I was too gangly.
    At footy, I must have inherited some of the Heard genes, as I captained the school footy team. Both my father and his brother had had distinguished football careers in Victoria. (My father, recruited by Richmond, had played in the seconds as a teenager.) I had good ball skills, but didn’t like the rough play. Others who had little ability seemed to take great pleasure in injuring me in whatever way they could. I wasn’t very heavy (eight-and-a-half stone), but five feet and ten inches tall.
    My brother Robbie was shorter, tougher, and more skilled. He seemed to thrive on black eyes, swollen lips, and bruises — another trait from our father, who was a champion amateur boxer.
    At school, I discovered many new games. Most involved groups of kids. Marbles, skipping, British Bulldog, and Poison Ball were common. Skipping was fun. Around April each year, out would come the rope. It was about 30 feet long, and was given to the school by Grinter’s Transport. Two of the big kids would hold the ends of the rope and slowly swing it. Dozens of us, young and old, would bounce up and down inside the rope chanting, ‘All in together, this fine weather …’
    Then, as it was winter, once everyone was warm the competitions would start. Sally Bock could French skip. It was hard. Two light ropes, pulled very tight, gave the perfect length. Then, with the ropes spinning in opposite directions at the same time, kids would run and then jump through very fast. Sally was the fastest. Then came the one-offs. Some would skip under the big rope and continue skipping with their own rope. It took perfect timing. Bystanders, enthralled by this feat, would clap in rhythm while the skilled ones did crossovers, doubles, and hot peppers. By the time the bell rang, everyone would be warm and glowing.
    During those years at Doctors Flat, with the family more settled, Dad’s business increased and he hired a labourer named Andy Adams. Mum didn’t own or drive a car so, once a week, groceries and bread arrived in a tiny van. Although we didn’t get into the town of Swifts Creek very much, it was very exciting if we did — even more so if I had picked up some pocket money.
    The Sandys owned the grocery store. Most things in the shop — flour, sugar, honey, crushed oats for porridge, Weeties, and biscuits — were in bulk. A scoop, or a set of scales, were used to measure out most orders. Then a brown paper bag, flipped and twisted tightly, ended up in a cardboard box with your name scrawled on the side. The shopkeeper would then return to the customer’s list and tick that item. For threepence, you could buy a large bag of broken mixed biscuits. They were the remains, or leftovers, after the large, square tin was finished. For poorer families, these separated bits of biscuits were a delight. In those days, most people expected unbroken biscuits.
    Sandy’s store had a long counter with several people serving. There were no shelves where you served yourself, and no packaged rice, dried fruit, or washing powder. Some people brought their own containers, jugs, billies, and hessian bags. For many of the women, it was a social outing. Everyone would be chatting, tutting, and nodding. It was always busy. There were no queues — the assistants knew whose turn it was next, and called them by name to the counter. Before asking what was required, the shopkeeper always had a personal chat, asked after the