"STOP! STOP... IN GOD'S NAME! YOU'RE KILLING HER!" the stranger shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd of shrieking children. They were jumping up and down in seeming panic and helplessness, almost hiding the gory scene. All he and his mate had been able to glimpse as they burst through the gate into the front yard, was a woman covered in blood. A man had her pinned to the ground and much of her blood was spattered over him, too. His hands dripped with it as they clasped her neck.
Desperately, the strangers pushed their way through the hysterical children, intent on getting to the woman before it was too late... if it wasn't already all over for her. When they could get a clear view, they were dumbfounded. The woman was certainly crying, but so was the man... with laughter. A rapid glance around the children's faces and a sudden tuning-in to their voices, made the strangers realise that no sadistic crime was taking place. These kids were shrieking with laughter.
"Ohh... bloody hell," said one of the men. "It's not blood... "
"... it's bloody mulberries!" finished the other.
The story goes that my grandparents and their 'army' of kids were picking mulberries from their tree, out the back of the house. My grandmother, who was renown for her wicked sense of humour, decided to sneak up behind her man and put her dripping 'mulberry-picking' hands over his eyes, with a cheeky "guess who?"
With an outraged roar, he dropped his bucket of fruit and set off in hot pursuit of the culprit... and of course, the whole tribe followed, yelling their encouragement. What a moment - Dad chasing Mum! This was certainly an event to scream about. He didn't catch her until the second time around the house - and it would be the front yard! Probably not as harsh as a rugby tackle, but certainly she was down on the ground as he sat on her and scrubbed her face and neck with the 'blood' of the handfuls of mulberries he'd grabbed. When everyone could finally stop laughing, I believe the valiant rescuers were sent on their way with a pail of fruit for their wives.
How clearly I can see it all, though that one happened in the 1920's. Was ours a repeat of kinds?
The mulberry tree at our 'apprenticeship farm' was still a pup, compared to that mighty tree in my grandparent's backyard, as described to me by my Mum. Our mulberry tree was a huge, attractive and rounded bush, despite its immaturity. When you've seen a mulberry bush you have no doubt why the words of the old English ditty say-'Round and round the mulberry bush... ' As our boss Sam and ourselves 'went round' our bush, with ever-increasing 'bloody' hands, the story of my grandparents returned to tempt me.
"Gotcha!" I gleefully shouted, as I anointed Kanute and Sam with my 'bloody' handprints... and then dissolved into laughter. What a sight they were! Two beautifully sun-tanned backs, their bottom sections clad in short-shorts, now adorned with red, dripping 'brands'. What bit of 'revenge' didn't I get? With two of them in pursuit, I had no chance of escape. Just like my grandmother, some 50 years before, I was trapped, caught and branded myself - 'bloodily', with mulberry juice.
Ahh-hh... those delicious mulberries. A short but sweet season, but ohh yum... those jams and desserts; and as raw or stewed fruit on breakfast cereals; and adapting old, tried and true recipes. "Mmm-mm... " I sigh and my mouth waters at the remembered tang. Mulberry Sponge dessert, with those precious little rubies stewed lightly and thickened, then topped with a sponge mixture. And Mulberry Crumble... now that was a creative adaptation of another much-loved apple dessert. With cream on top, it was a dessert for Kings (or so we told ourselves).
"And then there were quandongs." Kanute's eyes roll as he rubs his stomach. "Don't know what I liked best - their taste, or their price." I have to laugh at his typical Uncle Scrooge-type comment. Kanute has always loved a bargain, but this harvest beat all... A short trip of just a mile or so down a nearby dusty road, grew groups of quandong trees - right at the road edge.
YOU ARE READING
Old McLarsen had some Farms
Non-Fiction"You two become farmers? You must be kidding!" How little our friends really knew us. Sure, that's how life had been for the Secretary and the Building Supervisor... but those were the keywords - "had been". An opportunity had arisen to learn farmi...
