Pat Ritter. Books

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'The Drover' - Page 128:

Claire left and after catching and saddling Trickle – a quiet bally brown mare, she led her back to camp and handed the reins to the officer. After finishing his tea the officer handed the cup to Rose and said, ‘thank you for your kind gesture. It’s the best cup of tea I’ve had for awhile. I love tea when it’s brewed in a billy. The taste is just like the bush.’
Without hesitation he swung into the saddle. ‘Are you joining me Harry?’ He asked.
‘Yeah, I’ll show you around.’ Harry joined the officer and rode beside him whilst the inspection was carried out. Harry was pleased he never picked up any stray cattle along the track for from his observation he saw the officer knew his job and would’ve spotted a stray beast a mile away in the mob.
After inspecting the mob they returned to the camp.
‘They’re fine. I’ll sign and date your waybill and I’ll be on my way. You have a good trip and it was nice to meet you both.’ The officer signed the waybill adding the date he inspected the mob, bid farewell and drove away from the camp.
The remainder of the trip to Clifton Hills was uneventful as compared to the whole trip from Bulloo Downs. After Harry handed the cattle over to the manager, he asked if he could leave some of his horses on the property. Unless Greg decided to drove them back to Cunnamulla which would take another twelve months or more – it was easier to give the plant to the station. The manager agreed.
Harry bid the manager farewell on receiving payment for the drove. His wage was the largest he had ever received for a job and now he needed to be careful because he didn’t know when the next trip would be.
With Falcon and Dusty safely tied in the rear compartment of the back of the truck, the dogs safely locked in their boxes, the children including Greg all gathered at the top of the back of the truck, Harry left Clifton Hills for their return to Cunnamulla.

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'The Drover' - Page 129:

Chapter 16

It was good to be home again in their little bungalow in Cunnamulla. Work needed to be done to extend the home to make it liveable for the family of twelve children. The twins were now walking and talking, Annie continued to grow each day and eventually she learned to improve walking by standing straighter and even at times competed with the other children in running and playing.
Harry continued droving but the trips become less and less.
On one of his final trips he had a mob of sheep taking them from Coongoola to Cunnamulla. One night they were camped about ten miles north of Cunnamulla.
He was enjoying a smoke sitting around the camp fire when a flash looking car pulled up to the camp. To his surprise it was the Premier of Queensland - Joh Bjelke-Petersen who stepped from the vehicle. Harry had seen his photograph in newspapers and saw him at the pictures when they had the newsreel.
‘How are you today?’ The Premier said.
Harry sat on a log near the fire and this person came up to him offered his hand to shake, ‘I’m the Premier of Queensland, Joh Bjelke-Petersen, I’m out this way to have a look at the country. May I join you?’
Harry stood and shook his hand, ‘Yeah, okay – do you want a cup of tea or somethin.’ He asked. Harry was nervous and never before spoke to or had in his presence a person such as the Premier of Queensland.
‘Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely.’ The Premier replied.
‘Rose, this is the Premier of Queensland – I didn’t quite get his name, but would you get him a cup of tea.’ He said to Rose.
‘Please to meet ya Premier,’ Rose replied. ‘How do you have it?’

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'The Drover' - Page 130:

‘Milk and one sugar thank you. Hope it’s not too much trouble.’ The Premier finished.
‘What about your driver. Does he want a cuppa too?’ Rose asked.
‘Bill, do you want a cuppa with these lovely folk?’
‘Yes please,’ he replied alighting from the vehicle.
‘And how do you have your tea?’ Rose directed the question to the driver.
‘Black and strong – thank you.’
After everyone sat around the camp drinking their tea the Premier said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Droving these sheep to Cunnamulla.’ Harry replied thinking why he asked a stupid question, obviously he saw the sheep in the brake.
‘Do you love droving?’ The Premier asked.
‘It’s my whole life.’ Harry replied.
‘You know road transport is taking over droving.’ The Premier implied.
Harry knew road transport was moving more stock and probably would be in the future but he had no control over that only he had sufficient work to keep him going.
‘Yeah, there’s not too many left like us anymore.’ He told The Premier.
‘Hopefully, I’ll get you away from all this.’ He said.
Harry felt a pain drive from the bottom of his stomach directly to his mind – shock - on hearing these words from the Premier of the State. He didn’t know what to say, if he had a crystal ball he might have known what the Premier was talking about.
They said their farewells and the Premier thanked them for their hospitality and left.
‘What do you think he meant by that?’ Rose asked Harry when the car left the camp.
‘I haven’t a clue. I suppose him being the Premier he would know what’s going on better than we do. I’d like to

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'The Drover' - Page 131:

know what he’ll do for us if he got me away from all this.’ Harry said in puzzlement.

Months turned into years and eventually the words from the Premier echoed in Harry’s ears – Hopefully, I’ll get you away from all this.
After five years of wondering, Harry knew it was the end of the road for droving. What would he do? It’s all he knew.
The children grew up fast; Claire finished school and wanted to go droving with her father.
‘It’s finished girl, you’ll need to find something else to keep you busy. Droving is finished.’ He told his daughter with a tear in his eye.
Eventually Harry got a job as town slaughterman employed by the local butcher. This meant he commenced work at six o’clock each day and finished when he’d slaughtered sufficient stock. At times he killed up to forty sheep; six pigs; and three bullocks per week.
Whilst the job paid the bills Harry wasn’t completely happy with how life had turned out. He’d rather be on the open plain droving sheep or cattle along the stock routes from daylight until dark. Rather than droving them he was now slaughtering them for the town folk of Cunnamulla.
At least Harry could afford to feed and clothe his children, all twelve of them, and he knew in his heart his sister looked down from above to see her children had grown up to be proper adults.
Unfortunately he didn’t see much of Les over the years, at times when Les visited Cunnamulla to see his children; he didn’t stay long enough to become acquainted. The children knew Harry and Rose more as their parents than they did their own father.

Harry was now fifty-six years old, he suffered what he thought was a common chest cold. Although he was tough and thought he could get through anything life dealt out to him, the doctor told him he had cancer; the probable cause being constant smoking of cigarettes since an early age.
Harry underwent a number of operations to find a cure, unfortunately the cancer spread rapidly; he lost the one fight he wanted to win and passed away in the Cunnamulla Hospital with his family by his bedside.
At his funeral service there wasn’t a dry eye in the church, the same church he and Rose married almost thirty years before.
Most of the town folk joined the family at the service and later Harry was laid to rest at the Cunnamulla Cemetery beside his son and sister. His hat and spurs placed in the coffin beside his body just in case he needed them in heaven.
The following words inscribed on the headstone –

Here lies Harold (Harry) Clarence Williams
The Last Of The Ole Drovers
May He Rest In Peace

This is the final page of 'The Drover'. Thank you for taking your time to read each page. If you require the total book, here is the link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/95766.

New book starts tomorrow.
The Drover, an Ebook by Pat Ritter
http://www.smashwords.com
Harry Williams from the age of ten years wanted to become a drover, like his father and grandfather before him. This is his life story of leaving school at ten years old, operating his first droving plant at thirteen years and fully operational

[dub]

hi Pat thanks for sharing The Drover with mzawf
Now the final chapter has been posted I will certainly have to catch up with the story, as I'm keen to read how it ends.
I'm torn between waiting to see if can acquire that printed copy and reading it all that way.
(I have just emailed John Schuurs and made the enquiry.) or do I catch up with Harry Rose and all on mzawf and find out about the end now?
Great Story m8 I have thoroughly enjoyed the read so far.
Thanks for all your contributions to My Zone Along With Friends (mzawf) one year and one week
hopes that this experience has been as good for you as it has for us
For the time being mzawf would appreciateit if we could keep The Drover as a current posting?.
You might like to keep the dynamics moving on 'Your Zone' with some new material ? It's your call Pat!
But again Pat thanks for sharing with mzawf

10,023 views

[patritter]

Dear dub, I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you are doing to promote my books. Thank you so very much and to see the number of views actually makes me humble to think so many readers follow my post. Dub, it is my pleasure to continue posting a page from a book I've written and to keep up with the readings here is the first of the page from my latest novel 'The Proposition' (A Bundy Quicksilver Mystery). I've loved writing this book and hope the readers enjoy reading it. Again thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued support:

Chapter 1
Bundy Quicksilver is an alcoholic. His final drink on 13th January 1977, reminded him never to allow alcohol to pass his lips again. If it did – one drink was too many and a thousand not enough. His wife Ada threatened to leave with their two children if he didn’t do something about his drinking. His promise, he would never drink again, he kept.
After this declaration he never again allowed alcohol to pass his lips. After another twenty years, he understood why he was an alcoholic. Ada helped him rediscover a new life. With her help he changed from being a dry drunk to live an enriched life.
Sadly after thirty-one years of marriage he lost the love of his life to cancer and retired on a farm in the beautiful Mary Valley north of Brisbane. Until one day a visit to his local post office changed his life forever.

‘You have a parcel you’re to sign for.’ She pushed a sheet of paper toward him, ‘sign here,’ pointed to a spot beneath his name. Bundy signed and was handed the parcel.
On the rear were the words - Commissioner of Police. His eye brows lifted not knowing what to expect - twenty years since he retired from Queensland Police Service. Tearing the paper, he discovered a blue coloured metal case with the words POLICE SERVICE MEDAL clearly embroidered on the front.
‘After twenty years, the Commissioner decided to send me a medal.’ Stunned and excited, he shared his latest discovery with the Post Mistress. ‘I suppose, being the Post Mistress you could do the honour on behalf of the Commissioner to present me with this medal. Would you

[patritter]

Thanks dub I'm pleased you're enjoying the story so far. More to come. Here is today's page:

'The Proposition' (A Bundy Quicksilver Mystery) - Page 19:

and drug counsellor and learned to change my behaviour and found out what caused my alcoholism.’ Bundy shared.
‘That’s something to be proud of. I don’t have a problem; at least I don’t think I have. I enjoy a glass of good wine with my meal or after a hard day at the office. If I drink too much you tell me - you can counsel me.’ She replied with a smile.
‘I doubt you’ve got a problem. I know this job can drive you to drink at times but my problem began when I was six years old.’
‘Did you start drinking then?’
‘No – I was twelve when I had my first drink of alcohol, a similar age to our victim and the number you’ve bet on in this next race. It was another sixteen years before I stopped drinking, another twenty years after that, before the penny finally dropped.’ Bundy never shared this information with anyone apart from Ada.
‘What’s going on out there?’ Detective Superintendent Emerson pointed to the parade ring.
‘The horses and drivers are going onto the track. Your number twelve looks fit. I haven’t been to the races since Ada passed away and lost interest with the horses and drivers. I used to know each one by name – one time.’
Number twelve did look fit, his coat shiny and glossy, head erect and hooves stamping ready to go. He thought of having a small wager himself but he’d given up betting a long time ago - a mugs game. Money was safer in his pocket.
Over the fifteen years or so he was involved in the harness racing industry he saw enough to warn him from betting. Trainers were peeling the paint from their stable walls to survive, would bet their last dollar on their horse, thinking it would win. If he, as a person in the industry, didn’t know what horse would win, then what chance did