Tales of My Uncle Bob

HOW UNCLE BOB WAS DISCOVERED My Uncle Bob was not so much born as discovered. One morning in the predawn light an oyster splitter passing through Derby on his way to Broome stopped to check a hole in the trunk of a boab tree and saw two tiny wiggling legs in the dark opening. Upon inspection he found that the legs were attached to a beautiful baby boy, who looked no more than a month old. Not wishing to be delayed on his trip, nor to answering difficult questions, he took the smelly pink parcel to the local Post Office, left it by the front door wrapped in his thin woollen singlet, and continued on his journey. In Uncle Bob's life, that was the last part the oyster splitter played. They discovered who he was because his name was on the singlet, but no one was able to get more than a sentence from him concerning the matter of Uncle Bob's discovery. At six thirty that morning Miss Mary O'Toole passed the Post Office on her way to the bakery, saw the bundle on the doorstep and took it home. She fed it a meal of vegemite sandwich, and at nine thirty she returned it to the Post Office. Miss O'Toole learnt that no one knew from where the baby had come, and apart from the blue woollen singlet there was no identification. The Post Master had no interest in little babies, and Miss O'Toole was scared the Postal Assistant might put a big rubber stamp on the baby and insert it into a letter box, so for the time being she took it back home. Over the next few days she left posters around town, but these led only to silence on the matter. It was as if nobody else could hear her voice when she spoke of the baby. In the end Miss Mary O'Toole accepted the fact that her fate was tied to that of the crying, nappy pooing baby boy that loved Vegemite sandwiches and fell to her hands on the way to a bakery one morning. If you think that was a difficult start for a little baby, imagine how hard it was for Miss O'Toole. No more parties, no more Bingo nights, no more cigars. Suddenly she had a family, and even though the people in the town said they understood, no one could deny that there was gossip and everyone was involved in one way or another. From living alone, Miss O'Toole now shared her life with a man, even though her man was still a baby. People all wanted to see it, and once they had seen with their own eyes they spoke no more of it with her. As no one talked with the adopted mother about her baby, she overlooked the fact that babies usually have a name, and it was six months or more before she decided that her new man needed a birth certificate. So off to the Post Office she went. “What can I do for you today Mary?” “I need to apply for a birth certificate please.” Why do you need one, Mary? Save your money, you'll never need it.” “Not for me. It's for my baby.” “Oh of course. Well, let's find the paper for you. Here it is. Now, what is the child's name?” “Oh dear. I don't think I'm ready for this.” “Mary, you've never told me what the boy's name is. You must tell me now for this form.” “Well, to tell the truth, I haven't given him one. There's just me and him, and we know each other, so it wasn't important.” “What do you want me to write on the birth certificate? Name Not Known? Or how about Unidentified Object? He will need a name Mary.” “Is there a law that says that?” “I don't know. And I don't know what to do, but no name, no certificate.” This made Mary think. If he had no name, that would be ok with her, but what would happen when he grew older? “All right then, what will I call the boy?” “That's up to you, Mary. I can't tell you what to call him.” “What's a short name, one that's easy to write? Fred? Mike?” “That'll do. Frederick Michael.” “Good heavens no! That's too hard! How much will this cost me?” “A birth certificate costs two bob, Mary.” “Two bob! Forget it, I won't bother.” “If it's too much money, I'll pay it myself, Mary. What's his name?” “Thank you Robert. All right, I'll call him Bob. Couldn't get easier than that.” “Fine, Robert it is.” “I beg your pardon, I didn't say Robert, I said Bob, and Bob it is!” “Whatever you say, Mary. Bob it is.” And that's how my Uncle got his name. THE DROVER One day my Uncle Bob met an old man at the local shop. His skin was brown and wrinkly, his hair was as white and thin as a summer cloud. One leg was short and the other was long and straight as a ruler. Bob, who was about 10 years old, stared at the man from behind as the stranger loaded bags of flour, sugar and rice into an old sack. The sack bulged. It looked heavy as the man twisted the end and paid the shopkeeper. Without any effort the old man flicked it over his shoulder and stepped towards the door. He stopped, spun around and looked straight at Bob. “What are you looking at?” he demanded. Bob was surprised at the speed of the old man, and the strength of his grip on the sack. “Nothin,” he replied The man took three long steps towards the boy, sat down on the wooden keg of salt, put his sack on the floor and beckoned to Bob. The boy approached the man and each played a game of staring until Bob, suddenly going red in the face, turned his eyes to the floor. The man laughed softly and let a sigh of warm air flow from his mouth. Bob caught the sigh and smelt a mix of nutmeg and gum leaves. He turned his curious eyes to the stranger again. The old man was looking straight towards him, but it was as if he was looking into a mirror. Bob felt that although he was looking at him, he was looking through him, to somewhere behind. Silence reigned. Finally the man laughed softly again and shook his head. “You be a boy from round here. What's your name?” “Bob.” The old man pulled out his wrinkled leather hand, open and on its side. Bob had never seen people shake hands before and stared at it. The hand waited patiently while Bob looked at it, wondering what to do. “Shake my hand, strange boy from around here,” the man said. Carefully and with suspicion Bob reached out, took the man's wrist tightly and gave it a good shake. The hand wobbled up and down, and Bob watched the movement with curiosity. A grin appeared on the man's face. He began to chuckle and Bob quickly dropped the wrist, drawing his hand behind his back. The man's grin grew into a smile, and the smile spread wider and wider until Bob wondered if it would join his ears and the top of his head would fall off. The chuckle grew also, until it was a deep, strong laugh that shook the jars of jam on the shelf above them. The old man told Bob to sit on a large biscuit tin opposite him. Bob did as he was told, his suspicion being overcome by his curiosity. Still the old man laughed, in a more controlled less volcanic way. It bubbled out from the grin and suddenly Bob felt pleased to be staring at this happy man. “I used to know this place well,” the man said. “Last time I was here in the twenties. Just passing through, mind you. Mob of cattle. Five tousand head. Biggest mob I ever worked with. Stopped here for supplies. We slept out of town by the billabong. We were going to move on the next day but the weather changed. Big rain, first drop for five years, they said. Stuck here for three weeks. Got to know the people. Long time ago. Wonder if any of them would remember me. Nice place. Nice people.” Bob stared at the man's mouth, not wanting to stop him, wishing he could see the words as they came out. The old man was looking at a dark corner by now, and Bob felt as if he had known him from a long time before. “Too long ago. I'm too old for that sort of thing now, but I remember when I was a lad like you. About the time I left home. Couldn't stay in one place. Couldn't stand still. Had to move. Now no need to move unless I want to.” The pride that the old man had shown a minute ago seemed to be fading as he spoke. Silence. Finally Bob sat up straight and looked at the man's salt-and-pepper hair, his g