The Way It Could Be.

Part 5 of 12.

Day 2: Morning

Although he had slept soundly Mike woke up early. Two things immediately struck him; the absence of any traffic noise, and the rich chorus of bird calls. His bed was beside a long low window allowing him to look across the veranda roof down the slope to the lake, all now in pastel colours and a little mist. The distant view seemed different from this slightly higher angle, looking down on so many neat little clumps of foliage with roof tops protruding here and there. As he scanned the scene a slight movement caught his eye. Just outside the hedge three small wallabies were grazing on the sparkling wet grass.

He decided to go for a walk before breakfast, so dressed quickly, went down the stairs and out the front door. He could make out where the road beyond the front door would have once been because the footpath was still there, but beyond it was a hedge and netting fence enclosing a small orchard with chickens and ducks wandering around under the trees.

He headed up the slope, away from the town centre. Now he was more able to make sense of what he was seeing, and could identify some of the plants and the commons. Again he was stuck by how densely planted and manicured the landscape was as his path wound around patches of vegetables, shrubs, fruit trees, ponds, meadows and thickets of trees between the houses. Within a few hundred metres he had lost track of the turns he had made but he knew he could find his way back without much trouble just by heading down slope.

He heard something coming towards him, some sort of vehicle it seemed although it was not a car. Around the bend in the narrow path came a horse slowly pulling a small dray loaded with bales of hay, barrels, boxes, empty crates and all manner of things. The driver waved a greeting as Mike climbed to sit on the wooden fence rail to watch the parade. Chains and coils of rope and a lantern swung from hooks on the side. Sitting beside the driver was a small dog, and written on the front of the dray were some faded words but all Mike could make out was “…Maxwell, General Carrier.”

Mike thought back and calculated that he had not seen one motor car or truck moving since he’d arrived. He knew where some of the narrow tarred roads ran and where the parking space behind the shops was, but he’d hardly walked on one tarred road yet. Most of the wheeled traffic he’d come across was bicycles, often with a carrier on the front or back.

Mike had expected the dray to keep going but as it drew level the driver pulled the horse up, tipped his hat back and said “Gerday. You’d be mike. I’m Ben.”

The horse turned his head to examine Mike, steam billowing from his nostrils. The harness creaked, a soft jangling coming from the things still swaying, and quiet crunching of gravel as the horse moved his feet.

“He’s a nice old fellow. Does he like a pat?”

“Yeah. Been with me a long time now. Hec’s me best mate.”

Mike came over and gently rubbed the horses nose.

“Does he cost much to run?” Typical economist’s focus.

“Nar. Feeds himself mostly, does his own repairs. No rego cost. Much cheaper than a truck. We plough with him too, and the kids ride him. And if I ever want intelligent conversation Hec’s always there. And he’s self-steering too, look…” he reached down and picked up a book. “ I can read away and Hec will make the right turns. He know’s the way home.”

“Are you serious, he’s cheaper than a truck?”

“Yes. We’d need a truck and a tractor to replace him. Think of the money I don’t have to earn for spare parts, repairs and petrol. And trucks don’t produce manure for the garden. And they aren’t happy to see you and they don’t appreciate a scratch do they?”

“He’s a lot slower than a truck.”

“Yeah, but he’s fast enough for us. I’m in no hurry. We only do short deliveries.”

After a few more words Ben clicked his tongue and Hec leaned into his harness and began to plod, setting off the music of the swaying gear. Mike watched for some moments then turned and began walking again.

The houses thinned out as he found himself climbing a fairly steep and narrow ridge with a paddock on one side of the gravel road and forest on the other. Two cyclists came down and offered cheery good mornings as they passed. At a T he decided to go to the right, down off the ridge, with the aim of circling around and back to the house. The path soon headed steeply down into a gully and plunged into tall thick forest. He came to a small sign reading “Mary’s Dell”. He turned into it and soon found himself dropping into a narrow forested gully. After only about 50 metres of winding down a now very narrow path between sandstone outcrops and ferns he began to hear running water. Branches hung low, making the track more like a tunnel in some places and damp ferns brushed his shins. At times the low sandstone overhangs made the path pass through little caves. In one he could hear water dripping, out of sight. The sky was obscured by tall trees and within some of the thickets it was quite dim.

Then suddenly the path levelled and came out of the scrub into a natural amphitheatre in the forest some 30 metres across, a clear and open space surrounded by a ring of massive tree trunks, and above a lofty ceiling of boughs and foliage arching overhead and blocking out the sky. Across the floor of the space a tiny creek trickled between mossy boulders and ferns, into pools and over rocks and low ledges. In the center, beside the path was a heavy old log seat, almost as green with moss as the rocks around it. It was as if he had come along a mine shaft and suddenly burst into King Solomon’s great hall. He sat down and leaned back, gazing up into the tangle of boughs high above.

All that could be heard were the bird calls and the gentle gurgling of the water. Nothing moved. It was a magical, inspiring place. Mike’s gaze zoomed in on caverns, gnarled logs, lichens and hanging strips of bark and the massive pillars of the surrounding gums, as if he needed to somehow map it all. Where did the creek flow in? Where did it go? Which direction was the town from here? Is this natural; the trees were in such a regular circle they could have been planted, but they were so big, like the pillars of a cathedral, reaching out and joining overhead. That’s it, Mike thought, this is a kind of church, a place of reverence, at least a place with the power to move the spirit, even capable of jolting the agnosticism in the soul of a hard headed, slightly burnt-out journo. He felt a confusion of something like awe and humility and gratitude, and a sense of his own smallness and fretful impatience in the presence of timeless nature. Above all was the sense of calm, natural beauty. Then he realized that his initial concern to find answers had passed; all that mattered now was just to sit there and soak up the experience and appreciate the moment.

As if Gaia intended to reward the right response, a faint beam of sunlight found its way through the lifting mist beyond the trees and bathed a far rock wall in golden light for no more than a minute, then it faded and was gone.

He sat and looked slowly from side to side, then suddenly became aware of the time he’d been away without notice. He stood and turned a full circle before moving off. The path zig-zagged steeply up the other side of the dell. When he reached a ledge he turned to look back down through the ferns into the amphitheatre. Then it struck him that he’d probably never again be here. He could of course come back any time, but he knew he wouldn’t get around to it. When he turned back to the path the magic would have gone for ever.

He hadn’t brought his watch but knew he’d been away longer than he’d intended, so he walked fast up the winding path out of the forest, reflecting with some surprise how the encounter had somehow cracked him out of a mould, at least for a short time. He felt unusually well disposed towards the world. He grinned, thinking that even if Melissa had appeared on the track he might have said good morning…such is the power of nature.

After briefly getting lost twice he soon found his way to the house and as he bounded up the back steps he smelt appetising aromas coming from the kitchen. Pete was cooking something, wearing heavily patched trousers kept up with braces, with toes poking out of tattered slippers.

“Gerday! Been exploring? Where did you go?”

“I found Mary’s Dell. What a hell of a spot! I mean what a heavenly spot.”

“What?” Said Pete. “Mary’s Dell? Never heard of it. Are you sure? Nothing around here with that name?”

“What? Yes, just up the slope, in the gully to the right, the East, can’t be more than 500 metres from here.”

Pete was looking at him seriously, chin in hands. “No. I’ve lived here twenty years; I should know this place.”

Mike was lost for words. There was silence, then he took a breath but before he could speak Pete said, “You know, I can remember people saying that somewhere in these hills only once every hundred years a magical place appears in the forest. No one living here has ever found it, but they say that anyone who stumbles into it will be forever after blessed with purer thoughts and good will.” Pete looked up with a grin.

“You bugger! Had me there for a moment!”

“It’s a fabulous spot isn’t it, really inspiring, especially early in the morning. Like going to church…I guess…I don’t really know what that’s like though.”

“Yes, that’s how I saw it, like a cathedral, with the ceiling arching up from the columns. Maybe more like one of those circular Greek temples now that I think of it.”

“ I save it up, to visit when I need a spiritual lift,” said Pete. “But do you realize there are a number of similar spots within twenty minutes of here? Our sanctuaries.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There’s a meditation hut half way up the mountain, with a fabulous view. There’s another one in a rock cave. There’s one down an old mine. You light candles as you go down. And one of my favourites is in the wetland, like a hide so you can sit there and watch the bird life close up in among the paper bark thickets. They’re like little bunches of parsley. And there are two more planned.”

“Planned?”

“Yes, they’re sites some group has decided to create or garden or maintain, to make them into specially beautiful or inspirational places. But Mary’s Dell is the oldest one we have. That’s because Mary planted most of the trees decades ago.”

“Ah I wondered whether they were natural. It seemed wild, but the trees were so circular.”

“Yes, that was Mary’s vision, and many years later it’s a reality. Mind you that’s a big site but we have many little niches and nooks all over the place that you come across along the path. “

“But who makes them, and who looks after them?”

“Anyone who wants to. Same as the big log seat yesterday. Sometimes someone will take an interest in a stretch of path near their house, or sometimes a group will care for a gully or plant a little forest or develop a rose garden, all on public space. They just like making that bit of the landscape nice. Most people around here are keen gardeners so they’re happy to get a bit more turf to fuss over. Jan and I look after the lane out the front. We don’t have much time to give to it but we like keeping it nice. We prune the Jasamine down so people can look into our garden as they pass. Jan put the Dahlia patch there. It’s a great show when they’re on. Did you notice the geraniums in the pots outside the workshop yesterday? Someone brought them in last week and just set them up. I think it was Andrea but I’m not sure. Sometimes Jan will cut some of our flowers and take them down to the restaurant of the library and put them in vases. Lots of people are always just doing things like that, to make the village nicer for everyone. Hey you must be starving. What do you want to eat?”

Just as Mike lifted a bowl of muesli from the bench and turned towards the table, Pete, holding a plate of toast and poached eggs said, “Come into my breakfast room.” Mike followed out and down the back steps across the grass. Pete lifted a latch and held a wire gate open. The fence was covered by a vine. Mike found himself in a chicken pen.

“Take a seat. This is one of the spots where I have my breakfast, when I am especially in need of convivial company. Sometimes I just amble around the garden, or go next door, or down to the pond, porridge pot in hand. But this is where I get most appreciation for my cooking.”

Mike could see what that meant as several chickens crowded around Pete’s feet, gawking up demanding toast crust. He spoke to them as if they were family, using their names. A brown rooster jumped onto Mike’s knee and nearly upended his bowl. Pete admonished quietly, as if a child’s table manners had disappointed him. “Mind you this is much less problematic than going near Francis with a pot of porridge. He goes mad, scratching at the ground, and when he gets even the smallest spoonful, he kneels down and rolls over in delight. They all have their different personalities.”

“Who is Francis?”

“A donkey. You’ll meet him.”

As they were clearing away the breakfast things Jan came up the back steps.

“Hi Mike. Sorry I wasn’t here to say good morning but I had to go over to help Adele very early. She has a monster day today, cooking a big dinner for her mum’s surprise birthday party and we had to get the duck ready for the oven. “

“Can I do anything useful?” said Mike.

“Oh thanks, maybe just sweep the decking. Amy was making a flower chain necklace there. Peter, where are you taking Mike this morning; I forget.”

“To the bank first, then to Tom’s.” Turning to Mike, “Tom runs the carpentry shop. By the way Jan, where is Amy?”

“No idea,” said Jan. “She had breakfast and left.”

“On her bike?”

“No, so she probably hasn’t gone far. Do you want her for anything?”

“No, but she is supposed to be at the bank at eleven.”

“Yes, she knows. She’ll be there.”

Pete explained to Mike, “Rob’s teaching a group of kids a bit about the operation of the bank, things like credit and interest. Amy wants to work there an hour or so a week doing simple things. She had a job at the glass works before this, two hours a week, cleaning up and getting morning teas. Says she knows all there is to know about glass now.”

“Can she blow it?”

“Actually she did bring home something, Jack helped to make it. A bit wonky, but interesting.”

“Don’t you worry about where she is? I mean is it safe for here to be out without you knowing?”

“Oh yes. No problem. Everyone knows all the kids. They’re perfectly safe anywhere in town. Amy’s got about a hundred parents. Hey Jan, Mike found Mary’s Dell.”

Just then a knock at the door. Pete went out and greeted someone, then called out, “It’s Nick Jan. He’s in a hurry.”

Jan went to the door. Mike heard her saying, “By the way Nick can you thank Mary for the recipe. I’ll try it tonight, if I can get some blueberries.”

“There are still some on the bushes in the grove behind Meg’s café.”

Oh, really. I thought it would be too late to find any on now.“

“Could be. If there aren’t any there try Elaine. I know she had a lot in the pantry ready to bottle.”

“O.K. Thanks. Well, have fun with your sludge!”

“Now lets get you to the bank. I checked yesterday with Rob and he’ll be free in ten minutes to explain a bit about how it operates. You coming Jan?”

“Yes, but I’ll go to the co-op; we need a few things for lunch.”

Although they walked briskly they had to stop several times as Pete or Jan pointed out something or chatted to someone. Mike noticed that like Pete all the people they met were wearing old clothes. Some jumpers were heavily darned and some had paint stains on their trousers and shoes.

Out of the blue Jan said, “By the way, remember Barry yesterday, he brought the eggs? Well would you be surprised if I told you he was a semi-retired eye surgeon, only teaching part-time now?”

“Well…yes, I would.”

“What did you think he might be?”

“…he just seemed like a nice but slightly doddery grandpa, who’d be a bit stretched even delivering the eggs.”

“Delivering eggs is important.”

“Yes, but this is about status. An eye surgeon eh?”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“Oh, what are you trying to do here, confuse me again?”

“I was thinking about how it’s a mistake to classify someone by their social position or job or education. That doesn’t tell me much about them. That doesn’t tell me whether they’re nice, or reliable or friendly or generous or helpful or anything that really matters when you live here. You can’t sum up Barry or his status or quality or significance with an occupational or educational label. That doesn’t tell you his status. You’d have to live here a long time and interact with him before you would’ve any important knowledge about him, and know what respect is due. I know his nature and capacities and weaknesses because I’ve rubbed shoulders with him for years. If there’s a problem I can judge whether to ask him for help or advice, and to me that sort of thing constitutes his status. So we aren’t very impressed by appearances or labels. They just don’t tell us much that’s important or how to regard or respect someone. And you can’t bluff around here. No good putting on make up to give the impression you don’t have spots, because people see you all the time and they know what you’re like.”

“That makes sense. But tell me, is he really an eye-surgeon?’

Jan smiled, and after a few seconds said quietly, “Nope.”

“Well, then, what is he?”

“He’s Barry.”

“OK, I got that, but nope he’s not an eye surgeon?”

That’s not what I meant. I meant nope, I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would use that to fix him, to classify him, wouldn’t you? If I said yes, then next time you met him you would tend to defer wouldn’t you. But if he’s only an egg deliverer you wouldn’t. So its not good for your education young Michael to know. I think its best if you deal with the problem of how to regard Barry in terms of your experience of him.”

“So you won’t tell me?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to. I will if you really want to know.”

“Why don’t you just refuse? Can’t stick to your principles?”

“I don’t want to be authoritarian, and force my position on you.”

“Hmm. Very interesting. Very interesting… I’ll think about it and my people might get in touch with your people later, right?”

“OK.”

-------------------------

“Bank ahead!” Pete said. “There it is. Now how’s that for grandiose architecture.

Appropriate for the town’s premier financial institution?”

“You mean that?”, said Mike, pointing to a modest single storey building.

“No, the one this side.”

“You mean the tiny weatherboard cottage?”

“Yep; that’s it. Come and read the sign out front.”

“I’ll leave you financial giants here,” said Jan. “I’ve got more important business to do.

Patsy says my new darning needles have come in. Pete lost my best one.”

The sign said, “THE GLEN CREDIT UNION AND BUSINESS INCUBATOR. Open 10-3,

Mon. Wed. and Fri.” and then gave a phone number.

“Impressed?” asked Pete with a laugh. “This my dear Michael is actually about the most

important institution in this town.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And you will soon agree.”

“Why is it so important?’

“Tell me, when you put your savings in your local bank who invests them? Who borrows

them and uses them?”

“Wouldn’t have a clue.”

“That’s my first point. Now, where are they invested. What are they used to do?”

“I don’t know. Whatever the bank lends them for I suppose.”

“Right again, and that means your savings are probably used by some transnational

corporation far away, and used to do something you probably wouldn’t approve of, such

as building another arms factory. They get the loans because they can pay the interest

rate and make most profit on the investment. And your savings and all those of all the

people who live in your neighbourhood do not get invested in anything that will develop

and enrich your neighbourhood do they?”

…

“Well when we put our savings in this bank we know that the money will only be lent to

someone who is going to do something that will benefit the town, such as set up a new

little firm that will supply something important.”

“Just then a tall young man in a T shirt and genes came out of the cottage, bending his

head down to clear the low veranda arch, and called to Pete, “Saw you there. Come on

in.”

“Hi Rob. Just started explaining the bank to Mike. Mike this is Rob, bank CEO.”

In a few paces they had gone through the gate, past the little garden and across the old

wooden decking into a small office. Rob waved them to comfortable old chairs close to a

coffee table beside his desk. He dropped into one of the chairs, sitting with his long legs

crossed, jutting out beside Mike’s chair, hands on head. Mike noticed his worn and dusty

boots, and small holes in one sock. At least this bank wasn’t squandering shareholder

funds on Italian suits for its manager.

Rob grinned. “Want a loan?”

“Depends.” Mike snapped back. “What interest rate?”

“Depends,” said Rob. “Maybe 10%. Maybe nothing. In fact we might just give you the

money and not ask for it back.”

Pete said, “Now man, you got bankers like that where you come from?”

”Er, don’t think so. The only kind we got are bastards.”

“Rob, we keep hitting the poor bloke with things that don’t make sense. Explain it to him.”

“OK. OK. It’s all very simple really. About twenty years ago a group of people got

together to pool their savings and make them available to each other to borrow, mostly to

build houses. It was just a mutual fund. At first they just had an account at the ordinary

bank in town. It grew a little for a few years, but then the bank closed its branch because

the town was slowly dying. So they just decided to develop their fund into a kind of bank

of their own. In fact it’s now officially a credit union and we had to jump through lots of

bureaucratic legal hoops to form it, but we did, and now this town owns its own mini bank.

The important point however is that we developed our own special rules. Oh, I should say

that by ‘we’ I just mean all the depositors in the cooperative. We voted on the rules and

one of them says all of the money deposited in this bank must be lent only to ventures in

and close to the town, and those things must be socially and ecologically desirable. They

must improve the town in some way.”

“Yes I mentioned that, but explain the interest rates.”

“Now people who receive many of our loans are viable little firms and can pay normal

interest rates, so we’re in a position to use that income to subsidise other loans for good

purposes at lower interest, or sometimes at no interest, and indeed sometimes we can

give a grant to a good venture, that is give the money without expecting anything to be

repaid.”

“That’s how Henry got started isn’t it?”

“Yes. Henry tried to start a little shoe repair business, but couldn’t make it pay. He

needed better equipment and a bigger work place. We discussed the situation and

concluded that it was a good thing for this town to have shoes repaired and kept going

rather than being thrown away, and that this would save money for people.”

“…and provide Henry and his family with a livelihood.”

“That’s right, and that eliminates the cost of Henry being in the unemployed ranks. So

we gave Henry the money to fit out a little workshop.”

“…which the town built for him in three days, through working bees, a small mud

brick shed.”

“Yes, our grant mainly paid for his stitching machines.”

“See, because we have a bank we’re able to take a lot of control over our own

development. We’re in a position to say, ‘This development would be good for the town,

so let’s fund it.’ Most of the ventures we lend for are quite viable and bring in enough

income to cross-subsidise others. It’s a non-profit mutual thing. We don’t have to

send any of our income out to shareholders, so everything we make can be lent to more

borrowers and good causes, after costs are met.”

“Explain the cross-subsidising point more.”

“It’s just a way of transferring a little wealth from those more fortunate to those

less so. People who can pay a higher interest rate are helping out those who can’t. Mind

you, they benefit anyway, because they get their loan at a better rate than a normal bank

would offer.”

Why?”

“Like I said, repayments to this bank don’t have to generate profits for shareholders, and

they don’t have to pay astronomical salaries to CEOs, or cover elaborate offices,

uniforms or advertising, or teleconferencing or business class air travel.“

“But if you are lending to people other than those who can pay the highest interest rates,

the bank isn‘t efficient is it. It’s not maximising its returns. In the normal world you’d be

taken over by a corporation that would cut out those inefficiencies and prosper much

more.”

“Yes that’s right. That’s what the neo-liberal would do, but that would be to totally ignore

all other goals, like what’s good for the town.”

“But your depositors are actually paying a cost in interest foregone to prop up Henry.”

“Yep. That’s the way we operate in this town. Always protect and subsidise, and always

reduce ‘efficiency’, when taking those steps makes sense, when it’s a sensible price to

pay for protecting livelihoods and society and ecosystems. People who deposit in

our bank understand all that. They are citizens, not self-interested wealth maximising

consumers.”

“And Rob, explain the business incubator, because it was important in getting Henry

where he is today wasn’t it?”

“Yes. The bank only takes up two rooms of this little old house. The back part has three

rooms where people running small firms can get assistance with, for example, a visiting

accountant and tax expert, computers, a fax machine, part time secretarial assistance

and gophers. Again sometimes they’ll be able to pay for these and sometimes we give

them without payment to firms we think it’s important to keep alive.”

Pete said, “Then there’s the really important brains trust part.”

“Yes. If anyone comes along with a business idea we can call on many experienced

people to come in and brain storm the idea, to see if it is viable, to make suggestions, to

work out how it might best be got off the ground. So little entrepreneurs with good ideas but no experience are not left to sink or swim. The trust is also a vast memory and store of knowledge about the locality, so it’s able to make good judgments about what will work and what won’t.”

Pete said, “It was Randle wasn’t it who came up with the idea of Henry buying more

elaborate machinery than he had intended, so he could do a wider rage of leather and

harness and canvass work. Henry at first had only thought of boot repair, but now he has

bigger operation. He can make and repair many other things.”

“That’s right, but he couldn’t have bought that gear with the loan he first sought. We

actually suggested to him changing his goals.”

“And now we’re all very happy that he did. We have access to many more services, and

he has an income and the satisfaction of being a worthwhile member of our community.”

“And his business enriches the town, I mean makes it a more diverse and interesting

place. You can drop in and watch him sewing and riveting. In fact he now makes

saddles, for pony riding and for cart horses. He did a course on that…”

“Which we paid for with another loan.”

“Yes but that was a loan he was happy to repay with interest, because at that stage his

business was viable.”

“That’s essentially it. You now understand banking well enough.”

“Who makes the decisions?”

“I make the simple ones, because I am the CEO around here. But anything not clearly

covered by the guidelines, ore any big decisions are taken by the board. There are ten of

us, elected by the town, and we have a wider circle we can get advice from, all voluntary

of course. No outrageous consultation fees. Often we’ll put out a discussion paper on a

proposal to get input from anyone with ideas. Often the board will not make the decision; they’ll take it to a town meeting so everyone can decide.”

“See that way all of us can take the risk. A civilised society eliminates risk and bad luck for the individual as much as possible, and often that’s best done by the group sharing it. Contrast that with the way you treat farmers; let them sink when drought hits, rather than see food production as a collective problem and share the risks.”

“Are you paid?”

“Yes. Four of us staff the desk part time, and the bank’s only open a few hours a week.

That’s enough. If you want to discuss a loan you arrange to come when someone’s here;

waste of time keeping a place like this open every day.”

“Sounds just great,” said Mike. “Why don’t all towns and suburbs do the same?”

“Exactly!” said Rob. “Why not? I guess because they don’t understand how

effective a town bank can be in giving the power to control your own local development.”

Pete said, “Maybe we should explain a bit more about interest payments. They’re not

really interest. See in a stable no-growth economy there can’t be any interest. In a

capitalist economy the few with most of the capital invest it and get back more than

they had, and then they want to invest all that, so the amount of capital invested grows all

the time and therefore the amount of production grows. That’s not acceptable in a

sustainable world. Your must have a steady-state economy eventually, operating on

much lower rates of GDP per capita than Australia has now. Our interest payments are

really only intended to cover the costs of the bank, plus to transfer some wealth from

some people to others in order to ensure that little people have livelihoods and can play a

valuable role in the town.”

“That’s right. We look on them as fees for service.”

“Another important thing about the bank,” said Pete, “is that it’s one of the mechanisms

the town owns and runs for the purpose of performing crucial services for the town. It’s

not a private firm whose only aim is to make as much money as possible for distant

shareholders. This town needs ways for getting loans to its people, ways for keeping

little businesses going, preserving the livelihoods of its people, enabling us to produce

things we otherwise would have to import. Our bank helps to provide these services.

Therefore its role and motivation are not like those of normal banks. No normal bank

would have a branch in this town, because it couldn’t make much profit here. If it did have

a branch here, it wouldn’t do the town-maintaining things this bank does.”

Then, looking suddenly at his watch, Rob exclaimed, ”Oops, must run. I have to phone

Tony Binns. His committee thinks we should help finance a footbridge over Tallow creek.

Mike drop in again any time.”

“Thanks. I’ll work up a proposal. Think this town could find work for a slightly worn out

and embittered journo?”

“Be nice to have you. We do have a town newspaper, but most of the work is voluntary.”

“Might have guessed.”

________

Pete explained that he had arranged for them to meet with Tom at his carpentry and

joinery shop in half an hour but that he had something to do before then, so Mike might

as well stroll around town.

He headed to the South West as he hadn’t been there before. After meandering for some

minutes he heard kids carrying on enthusiastically some way ahead. The lane came out

onto a park, although it was more like a meadow with long grass and three goats tethered

to one side.

As he came around a bend there before him on the grass were about ten youngsters maybe from five to fifteen excitedly and noisily scampering around what looked like a big pile of colourful rags. He stopped and moved to a bench, deciding not to ask but to watch what they were doing.

There was much calling of advice as if negotiating and getting organised. Mike’s best guess was that they were putting up a shelter of some kind, but this seemed less plausible after a minute or so as all of them had got hold of a rope and had moved back into a circle. Everyone seemed to be telling someone else what to do next.

“Emily, pull now!” “I am.” “It must be Sarah’s.” “Wally, stop.” “Not so fast.”

As the ropes were pulled the fabric moved a little, in a chaotic way. There seemed to be pieces of wood underneath to which the ropes were attached. All the ropes seemed to run under the fabric to a central point. Mike then saw that one of the kids was Amy.

After more calling and trial and error someone called “That’s it. Donnie’s got the head.”

Donnie was about five years old and was pulling hard on his rope. Most of the others stopped what they were doing and watched or gave advice and encouragement. Mike wondered why someone didn’t help him, especially as some of the teenagers were quite big.

As Donnie tugged a huge comical head slowly rose from the fabric. It reached vertical, wobbled and fell forward. Two of the kids each cried out “Mine!” as their ropes jerked forward a little. They immediately hauled and the head rose backwards and they steadied, jerking Donnie’s hands forward a little. The three of them adjusted their tension and the head stabilised.

Immediately the others began chattering and tugging. “I’m a leg!” someone called. “Well don’t pull yet,” someone else said.

“Hey, look!” a girl said and giggled as she pulled and released her rope a big hand rose and fell.

More confusing calls. “Dudley, you try.” “Everyone stop!” “No, it must be Pat’s.”

One of the girls pulled and the head rose a little. The three holding the head ropes managed to get the head into a vertical position, but this time higher in the air and Mike could see that the rope Dudley had pulled had started to lift a huge torso from the lying position. He pulled slowly and it angled up a little more, but the head again started to tip. He stopped while the three others adjusted their ropes to get the head back to vertical. Then he pulled again slowly while the others managed to coordinate their holds to keep the head more or less where it should be.

As Dudley and the other three got the torso and head upright some of the other kids were able to see that their ropes controlled the arms and hands. They immediately began tugging and giggling, making the arms and hands move about wildly.

“OK, OK, Calm down,” someone said. “Let’s get the arms organised.”

“Ready?”

As the torso began to tip forward the arms were moved out forward and the hands placed on the ground.

“Now let’s go around one at a time.” While the first four held their ropes steady the others pulled their ropes in turn, causing various tremors and jerks. Soon one of these experiments resulted in a convulsive upwards jerk in the figure’s rump.

“Jason. Which side?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s keep going then.”

Others pulled in turn until there was another lurch.

“Amy! You’re right knee. Jason’s left.”

“OK, lets go.”

There was relative quiet as several now began to pull carefully on their ropes. Mike watched as the giant puppet’s backside rose slowly until he was wobbling uncertainly in a kneeling position. With much “Sarah, hold on!” and “Jenny let go!” the puppet gathered forward speed and pitched onto its face, with elbows jutting out and rump in the air. Then it wobbled from side to side and threatened to go down completely. More consternation and frantic orders and tugging, and he stabilised, as if a Moslem at prayer.

They got organised again and began to haul him back up, and Mike could now see what a difficult and uncertain task it was because it meant that several of the rope holders would have to coordinate their movements well. While some had to pull on their ropes others had to let rope out. Sometimes several would have to keep the right tension while letting rope out. If they got it wrong the figure could topple. It was all made more difficult and amusing by the fact that some of the kids were so young. He wondered why the big kids didn’t swap ropes with them. Obviously they all had to work together pretty well or they would never get him up.

When they had the puppet again on his hands and knees another critical point seemed to have been reached. This time the task was to half straighten the knee joint, while moving the body weight backwards over the feet to make it possible for the figure to stand. Evidently this involved maintaining support with one of the puppet’s hands on the ground but moving the other backwards to help as a counterweight to tip the balance back enough. Twice Mike thought all was lost because puppet seemed certain to fall to the side, but disaster was narrowly avoided amid great commotion of alarm and instructions and little kids nearly pulled off their feet. Mike was now thoroughly drawn into the campaign, joining in the cheering and the groaning along with the passers by who had stopped to watch.

At last the puppet was stable enough and in a crouching stand on two feet. They didn’t have so much trouble straightening him up into a standing position. Then those controlling the arms and hands raised them high over his head and the puppet performed a fist clenching self-congratulatory victory salute. Even the head swivelled from side to side.

“Manfred stands again!”

“Calisthenics !” someone called.

“No. Limbo dance!” someone else called.

One or two of the people who had been watching changed places with some of the original participants. They decided on limbo dance and again with a mixture of urgent cries and advice and confusion the puppet began to sag backwards while wobbling precariously on his big feet.

The puppet stood about five metres high, evidently made of very light materials. The ropes led up into a pedestal at ground level so it was not possible to see how they operated the limbs. He wore a very sloppy costume and this is what had made him look like a collapsed tent at the start.

At one point he started to sag to one side and then back again. Amy and Jason controlling the sideways movement of the knees thought they would add to the excitement by setting up a swaying, but this gave the whole venture such an uncertain future they were quickly persuaded just to hold him firmly.

As he approached horizontal backwards some of the participants lowered one of his hands to the ground for support. When they got his chest and head level the hand was raised and all cheered. But evidently the tension was all too much for poor old Manfred because with a shudder he began to tip further back and to the side, gathered pace and crumpled to the grass despite the commotion from the struggling rope holders. Donnie was yanked off his feet and dragged along the grass. Everyone else was dancing around jubilantly.

Mike turned to the couple who had also sat on his bench. The older man said, “They did well. Its days since anyone got him up. Margaret and I joined in last week. I was a knee and I let the team down. Just couldn’t fine tune with my other knee. Mind you I’m 75 and he was 6.”

“Why didn’t someone help Donnie?” asked Mike. “He slowed them down. He did well for a little fellow but the head seemed crucial; if its in the wrong place the balance is all out. If he’d swapped with Max they would have done better.”

“Oh you see the rule is that they all take a rope to start with not knowing what they have and you then stick with that and the task is to see if your team can get him up and doing things. You might find your littlest player has the most difficult job, then you have to try to help but only verbally. Also, do you realise how kids of different ages often play together, and often adults join in? We don’t encourage them to be only with kids of the same age. You’ll see adults and kids together in most things here, like working bees.”

_________

Tom’s carpentry and Joinery was a large, low, cluttered, cave-like shed not far from the shops and within 100 metres of the community workshop. The whole front of the shed was more or less open and Mike and Pete stood on the footpath looking in at the benches, wood racks and tools. The floor was covered in shavings and sawdust. Various incomplete jobs could be seen, including a dismantled old chair with re-glued parts held in clamps, and a large new cupboard nearly completed. Jigs and tools hung from the low ceiling beams, made from saplings. The uprights were heavy logs with rusty bolts and iron work. In a big wooden vice was a partly finished rocking horse head. To one side of the workshop was a little nest of old chairs and a small low bench clustered around a pot belly stove in which a fire was smouldering. Cups and jugs sat on the table beside the fire and a kettle perched on the edge of the stove.

As they approached Pete said, “Tom’s outfit is typical of the small businesses around here. Most of our cash economy is made up of these, operated by an individual or a family or a small co-op, and producing mostly for use in their neighbourhood or town. The next level up are the bigger firms that produce mainly to supply the region containing several towns, and exporting some of their products further afield. We’ll take you to the fridge factory over at Scotsdale this afternoon. You don’t need a fridge factory in every town, but you do need one for the region. Most of the everyday things bought in The Glenn are produced in households and little farms and firms like Tom’s joinery, and the bakery, and the dairy and the fish farms.”

A figure came in through the back door carrying an armful of planks. Pete called out and

they walked into the shed to meet Tom. After introducing Mike Pete pointed to the bench and said, “What you doing Tom?”

“About eight things, but mainly the rocking horse for Polly. It’s to be a surprise so I’m living in dread that she’ll wander in so I’ve put the parts in different places, see front legs over there. This wood’s for the body. Hope Zac comes in with the tail soon.”

“What will it be made from?”

“Long hair from one of his Clydesdales, so it will look pretty real. Same for the mayne. Kerry’s weaving a straw hat for it.”

“Are the leather straps from Goldilocks.”

“No. From some old harness I keep mostly for toys and hinges. Can’t beat leather.”

“Who’s the cupboard for?”

“Meg Kennedy.”

“Made to order I take it?”

“Yes. Can’t get around to the staining. See I’m working mostly on Jenny’s house these days. She wants to move in sooner than she thought at first.”

“Tom’s building Jenny’s pole house.