2011 - Theses - Flinders University

‘That’s the track you want. Hundreds of ‘em out there. Thousands. You’ll find them, orthey’ll find you at least.’ Jim wonders how young Mert knows his business already, andmakes a mental note about the town. Everyone knows he’s the missionary alright, andprobably what he had for breakfast too. With the rest of his roll of notes, he fills his bags tobursting with provisions from the shed beside the pub which serves as a store. It smells ofsweat, and rancid butter, although the tin walls are still cool with the morning air. He ties hisbags inexpertly either side of his wheels, front and back, and wobbles precariously along therutted road. He hopes Cole has left on his business already, and does not watch him from anupper window of the Leigh’s Creek Hotel.Hawker, 2005‘But what would they have called the pushbikes in those days, Bob?’ I asked, looking in atthe door of the back yard shed where Bob McRae held court. His grey hair was wild about hisface, which set into creases like some fantastic troll. His blue eyes glittered as he thoughtabout how to answer me. I was impatient.‘Treadlies?’ I suggested.‘No, no: ‘grids.’ ‘Got your grid.’ That’s what they were.’‘Why grids?’‘Don’t know. But that was it.’ He was going to make me work for this.‘And what did they have in their tyres?’ I continued.‘Speargrass, rags, anything really to pad it out. Wheat, with a bit of water, and phew!’ heshows an expanding grain with his hands. ‘Anything they could get.’ There’s a pause again,so I looked instead at the neat shadow boards and labelled drawers while Bob decided how he83