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Chapters (68)
  1. Dedication
  2. Clancy of The Overflow
  3. Chapter 1
  4. Chapter 2
  5. Chapter 3
  6. Chapter 4
  7. Chapter 5
  8. Chapter 6
  9. Chapter 7
  10. Chapter 8
  11. Chapter 9
  12. Chapter 10
  13. Chapter 11
  14. Chapter 12
  15. Chapter 13
  16. Chapter 14
  17. Chapter 15
  18. Chapter 16
  19. Chapter 17
  20. Chapter 18
  21. Chapter 19
  22. Chapter 20
  23. Chapter 21
  24. Chapter 22
  25. Chapter 23
  26. Chapter 24
  27. Chapter 25
  28. Chapter 26
  29. Chapter 27
  30. Chapter 28
  31. Chapter 29
  32. Chapter 30
  33. Chapter 31
  34. Chapter 32
  35. Chapter 33
  36. Chapter 34
  37. Chapter 35
  38. Chapter 36
  39. Chapter 37
  40. Chapter 38
  41. Chapter 39
  42. Chapter 40
  43. Chapter 41
  44. Chapter 42
  45. Chapter 43
  46. Chapter 44
  47. Chapter 45
  48. Chapter 46
  49. Chapter 47
  50. Chapter 48
  51. Chapter 49
  52. Chapter 50
  53. Chapter 51
  54. Chapter 52
  55. Chapter 53
  56. Chapter 54
  57. Chapter 55
  58. Chapter 56
  59. Chapter 57
  60. Chapter 58
  61. Chapter 59
  62. Chapter 60
  63. Chapter 61
  64. Chapter 62
  65. Chapter 63
  66. Chapter 64
  67. Author’s Note
  68. About the Author

In far-off Sydney, a poem had been published, almost twenty years earlier, by the poet who would later beg his friend not to marry a native woman. Banjo Paterson’s work meant it was not only wool buyers and graziers who now knew the name Clancy of the Overflow.

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Passionfruit Cordial

Take 1.25kg sugar, 125mL water, 250mL lemon juice and 240g of passionfruit pulp. Boil the water and sugar for 5 minutes; pour in the pulp and 6tsp of citric acid. Stir well, bottle when cold.

DRIBBLE, VIA GIBBER’S CREEK, 1986

JED

‘Cooee, it’s only me.’

Jed looked up as the back door slammed behind Nancy. Sam had attached a spring to it so it shut itself now.

It had rained that night, a brief elusive storm that promised so much in thunder growls and flashes of lightning, but yielded only enough moisture to dampen the dust for an hour till sunrise, and a wind that left the driveway littered with branches, luckily none large enough to need a chainsaw.

‘What on earth is your husband doing out there?’

Jed grinned at her. ‘Making a solar oven to cook sausages for Mattie’s birthday party. They’re about to have a trial run. Excuse the mess. I’m making peaches in jelly, passionfruit cordial to drink with soda water, plus a hundred chocolate crackles. Blue’s making the cake. Oh, sticky buns!’

‘Fresh from the bakery.’ Nancy’s fingers were already covered in pink icing. ‘I picked them up on my way back from the chemist and dropping Tom off at footy training.’ The Gibber’s Creek chemist was the only place in town where film could be left to be sent to be developed. ‘Clancy’s had half a dozen photos blown up for Mattie for her birthday.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘He’d have been better off buying her bath salts or talcum powder. Weird stuff, if you ask me. The photo of Overflow looks as if he was lying on the ground when he took it, and there’s one of the river at dusk, so you can only make out a few shapes.’

‘They’ll be stunning,’ said Jed, putting on the kettle.

‘I know,’ said Nancy, pride warring with incredulity. ‘I never thought I’d have a son who didn’t like football. His father’s promised him his own developing set or whatever you call it for Christmas.’ She sat and accepted the coffee Jed handed her. She sipped it for a few moments before she said suddenly, ‘I brought you the letter.’