The Life of a Jackeroo
Summary
Beneath a sky the colour of burnished pewter, a nameless station platform exhales steam like a wounded beast; here trudges our taciturn drifter—broad-shouldered, eyes the shade of drought—who signs on as a jackeroo, that most thankless of apprentices to the vast, indifferent pastoral empire of New South Wales. What follows is not a tale of heroic conquest but a slow erosion of self against the whetstone of wind, wool and want. He learns to cradle newborn lambs in the violet hush of dawn, to ride a half-wild chestnut across gum-scented ridges where the horizon buckles like torn silk, to drink billy-tea so black it tastes of penal soil. Station-owner’s daughter, a wisp of a girl with a laugh sharp as currawong call, teaches him to read the clouds for snake-heat and sorrow; her mother, corseted in mourning, teaches him the older grammar of absence. When drought arrives it is not a mere meteorological event—it is a metaphysical reckoning: cattle ribs become cathedral vaults, dam water retreats like a recanted promise, and the jackeroo’s own reflection turns stranger each day. A neighbouring squatter—slick boots, parliamentary friends—offers a Faustian pact: sell the mob for a pittance now, or watch them die for nothing. The refusal sparks a micro-war of wire-cut gates, poisoned dams, midnight rifle cracks echoing off granite tors. In the crucible of this slow-burn siege the jackeroo discovers that identity is not inherited but hammered out, branding-iron hot; he trades his city soft hands for scars that map constellations of belonging. The climax arrives not in gunfire but in a single summer storm when corrugated-iron heavens split—rain drums on iron roofs like fusillade, parched earth exhales dust devils of relief, and the protagonist, astride the same chestnut now streaked with ochre mud, confronts the squatter on a ridge that smells of eucalyptus blood. Fists, words, lightning: all blur. At daybreak, the girl presents him with her father’s fob-watch—cracked face stopped at the hour of his arrival—and the jackeroo, no longer jack-of-no-name, rides east toward a pale ribbon of coast where he might reinvent what it means to be free on land that was never empty to begin with.
Synopsis
