‘None of us want to be on the dole,’ he said. ‘And for all of us to get work, our industry needs access to trees. The government stopped the boys from logging near here, and now they have to drive an hour and a half to get to work. It’s tough on the wallet and tough on families. This new reserve means more forest locked up, which is bad for our industry. And bad for jobs.’

‘Greens cost jobs,’ Mooney shouted over the crowd. ‘Greens cost jobs.’

Through the sea of heads, Leon saw him up near the takeaway with his fist in the air, punching out the rhythm of his chant. Other people joined in, a small group at first. Then it grew until everyone was shouting, ‘Greens cost jobs. Greens cost jobs.’ The voices were like a drum, beating out the words. Toby leaped down from the truck, and all the people kept shouting, ‘Greens cost jobs!’

Then Robbo declared an open mic, so anyone could speak. His wife Trudi was the first, and the audience quietened as she huddled on the back of the truck, wide-eyed as a rabbit. ‘I don’t know about all of you,’ she said softly, ‘but most people I know in this industry aren’t getting rich. It’s hard to make ends meet. Our men work long hours with high overheads. They’re away a lot. Many of us women have to work to keep food on the table. The greenies just don’t understand.’ She placed a tentative hand on her husband’s arm, and everyone cheered.

Other people took turns at the microphone, and all the stories were the same. Nobody was rolling in money; everybody was struggling. Each time someone concluded their speech, the crowd exploded with applause.

When the queue of speakers waned, Robbo took the microphone again. ‘We need to talk about what we should do,’ he said. ‘Anyone got any suggestions?’

People began calling out. ‘Burn down that old tree.’ ‘Shoot the eagles.’ ‘No, shoot the greenies!’ That made everyone laugh.

Robbo held up his hand and waited for the crowd to quieten. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘all good ideas. But now I want to hear something sensible. We don’t want a war.’

‘We’ve already got a war,’ Mooney shouted.

‘Not quite, mate,’ Robbo returned. ‘We’re trying to find a peaceful strategy here.’

A murmur ran up the street like leaves in the wind.

Leon grasped Grandpa’s arm, then propelled him around the truck and up to Robbo. ‘This old feller here wants to have a word,’ Leon said. ‘He’s my grandfather. Can you give him a hand to get up there?’ The disdain on Robbo’s face showed what he thought of this proposal, but Leon wasn’t backing away. ‘Come on, Robbo. I’m asking for help. I can’t lift him up there myself.’