THE BACK OF BEYOND

Herbert Shanks better known as Bert was a simple man who liked the simple things. He had never been a scholar but had worked in a number of jobs; therefore, the expression “Jack of all trades; Master of none” suited him down to the ground. A loner, he preferred a little company occasionally; his constant companion being Lucy, a toy poodle with a heart as big as the ocean and devotion that astounded him. Together they were on a mission to see the family in the back of beyond. Bert was uncertain how long it would take to reach it: the country town he had nicknamed the Back of Beyond, or them, the family he had not seen for over two years. It was a spur of the moment decision. He had packed the old school bus, long since put to pasture but converted into a mobile home with all the things Bert and Lucy would need. With the old cd player in the background, he could hear Slim Dusty entertain as he took to the road in the early morning seeing the sunrise and hearing the birds with their happy wakeup chorus, that somehow blended with old Slim’s warbling.

As he approached a small township, he noticed there was a café open. He could take a breather, buy a newspaper and thereafter shut the noise of the world out. He chose an outside table because there was a bowl of water close by, told Lucy to stay put, went inside ordered scrambled eggs on toast and coffee and bought the newspaper. Of course, it had the same old news, political argy-bargy, much of it speculation, gossip, which star was divorcing or remarrying, more gossip TV’s wonder chicks or cantankerous hosts. The advertisements, the catalogues, finally the obituaries, “Wonder if I have died yet?” he said sarcastically, then gasped and re-read what he saw.

SHANKS Michael passed away peacefully. Father of Jane and Harry, father in law of Bob, brother of Herbert, and Norah. Sadly missed.

Bert sat stunned, aware that Lucy was watching.

“I’m okay old girl,” he said as he rubbed her ears. He was amazed that he felt the tears prick

 “I missed him if I had only...” he said quietly, then, thought ‘what was the point?’

“Anything wrong Sir?” It was the waitress noticing his sad look, showing concern, intending to clear the other outside table, but prepared to help.

“Not with the grub, love,” Bert said sadly

“Yet there is something wrong, your dog senses it, that’s the way of dogs.”

“My brother has passed away, I was not told, but then …”

“When is the funeral?”

“I haven’t checked.” Bert had not even thought that far ahead.

“Let me.” she stopped her work, stood beside him, moved the newspaper closer to her, and read, the obituary, turned the pages and read the details out loud:

“Friday afternoon 2.30, Woywood Funerals,”

“Thanks love, what’s your name?”

“I’m Lisa, Mr Shanks.”

“I’m just Bert, Lisa. Thank you for being there.”

Fortunately, he did have a mobile phone though it was still a novelty to some. In the early nineties, there was still evidence of telephone boxes some of them vandalised. He had this enormous communication contraption…thank goodness he had splurged.

He rang the Funeral directors. He explained that his dealings with the family were minimal therefore he did not know until he saw the newspaper, but if the company felt it warranted that the family received advanced notice of his intention to attend, he was happy. Bert was reassured that his wishes would be adhered to, however, it was noted that it was most unusual the town rarely had visitors.

An hour later his phone rang again. There was no introduction, but Bert recognised the voice. Norah’s voice would shatter glass at the best of times, but if she were angry the windows were vulnerable.

“What the hell do you need to come for?”

“Well hello little Sister,” said Bert, trying not to laugh

“Don’t give me that rot.” replied Norah “why are you here?”

“I’m not there yet, and I have no intention of turning back to suit you Norah.” there was silence for a moment.

“I just think you have a bloody nerve turning up. You have not been in contact through Mick’s illness you don’t care about his kids...”

“I did not know he was sick no one told me.” said Bert simply “even carrier pigeon would have got to me, I have not changed my address in yonks.”

“No,” said Norah  “but, why would we want a stranger in our midst?”

“I will be there Norah; Mick was just as much my brother as yours and his kids should see me. No, I don’t want the family jewels. Incidentally, I still don’t give a cowpat for what you think. Hooroo.”

On Friday afternoon, Bert arrived in the township where Woywood Funeral Directors appeared to be one of the few businesses. The florists would do well though, Bert thought. He stepped into the one closest to the chapel, bought a posy and waited. Closer to the time he approached the chapel. He saw Norah fussing over a young lad who looked so like Mick at that age, clearly, it was their nephew Harry. The young woman close by, being comforted by a bloke of about the same age as she, must be Jane.

It was clear to Bert that his presence caused a stir. The celebrant approached him “Mr Shanks.” he greeted and shook hands; a few people turned unable to control their curiosity, staring at Bert and whispering to themselves.

The young man spoke again “Would you be prepared to step in and say a few words about your brother? Neither Jane nor Harry feel up to it.”

“Let’s see shall we,” said Bert.

He hugged Jane, shook hands with Harry but Bob was having none of it. Norah glared at Bert, her expression was snake-like: if looks could kill.

He sat away from the family but Harry moved away from his Aunt to sit with Bert.

“She’s fussing,” said Harry by way of explanation.

“Never mind, mate.” said Bert “it’s a difficult time for all of you.”

Pictures of the farm in its heyday, pictures of Mick with his siblings, ex-wife, children, mates, Jane and Bob’s wedding, followed by the eulogy.  It seemed so artificial; he was still young and popular no one would have guessed…the usual story.

“And now Mr Herbert Shanks….”

Bert stood up walked smartly to the lectern and viewed the audience. Curiosity and animosity went hand in hand. Bert had caused a stir.

“Hi, Folks. My name is Bert, it was our Grandpa that was Herbert, and you would not shorten his name.” if he expected laughter, none was forthcoming.

“Some of you may be wondering why you haven’t seen me in the back of beyond in ages. The truth is Mick, of the both of us, was the farmer, though it was rumoured that I, the elder son, would inherit the land. I hope that’s not the case because I would let the side down. I’ve done a lot of things in my time including assisted birth procedures, in the livestock sense, but a jack of all trades is me. Truth is Mick and I fell for the same country lass some twenty-five years ago, she fell for Mick and I could not stay. Mick was a great bloke we will all miss him but learn from his gentle ways. To his kids: Jane and Harry I will always be around if you need me.”

There was silence. They remembered Mick, they remembered Maude, some remembered the bloke she ran off with. Norah clearly had not known that Bert was the one that in the end made a wise choice. A few people spoke to Bert over the tea that followed. Jane came towards him asking if he would join them for dinner that night at the house: it was spag bol tons of it. Bob hovered, nodded his acquiescence to the invitation.  

He arrived promptly at six-fifteen, bringing a contribution towards the meal and asking if they were teetotaller. Bob burst out laughing

“I could go a beer myself Bert, if you have any spare.”

“Sure mate.” said Bert “Harry?”

“No Harry, you can’t have a beer.” it was Norah of course

“Aunt Norah.” Jane was horrified

“What age are you Harry?” asked Bert

“Eighteen Uncle Bert.”

“Would you like a beer mate?” Harry nodded.

“Jane, some wine?” Bert asked, noticing his niece take a double-take, looking at her Aunt

 “Answer for yourself love, your Aunt has no authority over you; you are married now.”

Again, Bob nodded,

It was a stilted conversation, though the meal was delicious. Norah fussed, nagged and eventually, Harry stood up.

"Shut up just shut up. I’m so sick of this. Our uncle is here and we have just come back from Dad’s funeral, and you dear Aunt nag constantly. I don’t know what I will do with my life but I’m not living with you.”

Bob smirked, Jane laughed and Norah, sat like a petulant child, seething.

Harry got up from his seat, stumbled, ran out of the room: Lucy followed him. He sat under the willow tree the place he had always gone to when he needed space. Lucy jumped up beside him, and Harry patted her, his thoughts elsewhere.

Bert excused himself and went out to his nephew. He sat on the bench beside Harry, saying nothing letting the young man deal with his emotions.

“I’m sorry Uncle Bert.”

What for mate?”

“Everything.”

“Don’t be Harry, I should have kept in touch too, but you are a funny mob up here in the back of beyond.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” Harry hugged Lucy. Lucy, responded with an exuberant tail wag and frenzied licks making sure the tears were gone.

“What are you gonna do?” Bert asked

“Dunno.” said Harry “Aunt Norah has offered a place to stay, and there is no way…”

“What do you want to do mate?”

“Run away, especially from her.”

Bert laughed and slapped his knee.

“Norah has that effect on me too.” he scratched his cheek “I have an idea, Harry. Why not come and stay with me for a while? We’ll know soon enough whether we can stand each other long term and if so, you might like to join my Jack of all trades business; after all, you can get another apprenticeship if it suits.”

“Hey, that sounds good.”

“Shall we tell the others?”

Harry's smile spoke volumes.