My Mother Killed Snakes

By Lara Eastfield

This book will interest those people who are victims of domestic violence; they will feel some justice is being delivered through the main character's expedient and successful elimination of violent male perpetrators. They may also believe the judiciary is not protecting victims but are made to believe it is their job to forgive and forget. The story is set in rural Australia and covers aspects of true history of the regional cities and country towns, in particular, Mildura, Clunes, Daylesford, Ferntree Gully, Ballarat, and life on Flinders Island, Tasmania. The heroine is Mavis; her daughter Lara narrates her mother's story while working for the Attorney General in Canberra. Lara, as a student, had been outraged by crimes against Aboriginals and the Australian Convicts. When she realizes her mother's outrageous deeds, she becomes aware of crimes against women and children generally.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645367543

Lara Eastfield

This is a murder mystery about the life of a single woman and her five children in the isolated parts of Victoria and Tasmania. She did what worked for her and created her own justice in a world dominated by racism, chauvinism, and violent men. This story looks into the ethics and the rules of law that govern our so-called 'egalitarian' way of life.

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Summary

This is a murder mystery about the life of a single woman and her five children in the isolated parts of Victoria and Tasmania. She did what worked for her and created her own justice in a world dominated by racism, chauvinism, and violent men. This story looks into the ethics and the rules of law that govern our so-called ‘egalitarian’ way of life.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the strength of single moms

within Australia.

Copyright Information

Copyright © Lara Eastfield (2019)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Eastfield, Lara

My Mother Killed Snakes

ISBN 9781643783536 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781643783543 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645367543 (ePub e-book)

The main category of the book— Fiction / Crime

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgments

I acknowledge my own mom and her wonderful strength of character.

Synopsis

The story is a murder mystery. While the story is presented as a novel, it is based on many true-life experiences. The heroine’s name is Mavis and her daughter, Lara, narrates her story. Mavis and her children are bullied, abused, and isolated. This story, apart from being a crime thriller, analyzes and exemplifies the right to take the life of the perpetrators of abuse. It is set in rural Australia and covers aspects of true history of the regional cities and country towns, in particular Mildura, Clunes, Daylesford, Fern-Tree-Gully, Ballarat, and life on Flinders Island, Tasmania. Her daughter Lara works for the attorney general in Canberra and, as a student, she had been outraged by crimes against aboriginals and the Australian convicts. When she realizes her mother’s outrageous deeds, she becomes aware of crimes against women and children.

Lara now wonders if her mother’s deeds were an act of moral justice.

My First Day at My New Job in Canberra, 1988

Today was my first day at a new job and I felt lucky to be on the top floor and have a window view. I was in a building opposite the Department of Defense in central Canberra, which was known as ‘Civic.’ This year would be an eventful one for me personally because I would be thirty years old and, nationally, because it was the Bicentenary year 1988. This morning had already been eventful.

I had met my new work colleagues and written down their names and their functions on my chart; just one of my habits. I tape conversations whenever I am given any information so I don’t forget small details; just another one of my habits. I was informed that all staff meet at 10 am in the staff room for morning tea and that the meeting is mandatory. I had been given notes to read and had nervously got lost in time; I had been abbreviating the notes into my notebook under the heading ‘day one.’ Then I glanced at my watch and the time was 10:04 am, so I jumped up to see that all the glass-windowed offices on my floor were empty. I had noted the staff room was at the farthest entrance. So I rushed forward with my big box of Swiss chocolates and I found a room with ‘staff’ written on the door. I ran in, sat on what was a wooden bench, and placed my chocolates next to me.

I wasn’t very impressed with the room; it seemed long and narrow and had lockers along one wall. Each time someone came into the room, I smiled my friendliest smile. I began to notice only men entered the room, and they immediately turned around and left. One male popped his head back around the door. His face was red and he said, Do you know where you are?

I said, Tell me.

He said, This is the men’s toilet.

I looked and saw that I was in a room with a sign on the door with the word ‘staff’ in blue. At 10:09, I was in the lunchroom, which had ‘staff’ written in black on the door; I was sitting at a table reflecting on my actions and I got the giggles. Because I had become a spectacle, I felt an explanation was necessary so I stood up, announced my mistake, and offered my chocolates. There was laughter, and there were comments and jokes that followed me back to my office.

This morning, before I left for work, Simon, my long lost brother, had arrived unannounced. I hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. I had settled him into my home and hoped he would stay.

Back at my desk at 11:00 am, I felt excited. I had just met my assistant. He was brown-haired, tall, not too tall, and he was wearing gray pants, blue shirt, and brown leather shoes. He smiled, and he was everything I liked about a man. He looked as though he had thrown his clothes together but in an elegant way, and he had an intelligent look about him.

He had knocked on my door and said, Lara?

He waited then said, My name is Joe. I am your assistant.

He handed me a thin A4 note pad and said, Here are some notes that may assist you.

I didn’t answer him. I was amazed and dazzled by him. He then said, I can show you a good lunch place, if you like?

I said, Yes, what time?

He said, Is 12 okay?

I said, I will see you then.

I never told anyone my personal business; in fact, if anyone asked me a personal question, I would always answer with I only give out information on a need-to-know basis.

The fact that I was married and had two children was my business. I didn’t want my career to ride on my husband’s high profile nor did I want to embarrass him. So my private life always remained unknown.

It was 11:40 am, and I said out loud, I must relax, I must relax, and will I tape the conversation? Yes, I will.

I looked out my window. The deciduous leaves had already changed color, fallen, and the trees had grown bare. Soft snow was falling and melting as it touched the pavement. Winter was pretty here in Canberra, and I didn’t mind the temperatures of minus 10 degrees. The summers were hot but bearable. The highest temperature last summer was 35 degrees. I remembered that Simon couldn’t bear the hot sun; he would burn through his shirt. In 1964, in Mildura, temperatures reached 45 degrees. I remembered that Simon had been haunted for years by the events of that summer in Mildura.

Our Home Was Along the Murray River in 1964 When Mr. Braithwaite Died

Our family moved from Mr. Braithwaite’s farm after his horrifying accident. Mr. Braithwaite had fallen into one of the locks on the Murray River, and his body was never found. We had lived near the locks on what used to be the soldier settlement irrigation scheme. This had been a program to help the returned Second World War soldiers gain a living on irrigated land. The land was hot and arid except for the irrigated areas. Once this land had been a desert until water was released from the Murray into large channels, then into smaller channels. When the gates were opened, the waterways flowed freely along the concrete channels but as it reached its end, it would fade away into the desert sand. But the grape vines were watered constantly through drip irrigation. Mr. Braithwaite needed pickers in the summer season and so the seasonal pickers would come and stay in small huts and pick the grapes.

During the year, Mr. Braithwaite preferred to have someone live in his small wooden farmhouse. His wife wouldn’t live there; she lived in Mildura. We lived there rent-free. My mom had a good vegetable garden alongside the water tank, and my older brothers and sisters went by bus over the border to schools in New South Wales. My brothers and sisters were my only playmates, and at four in the afternoons, I would wait at the gate for them to come home.

I remember one afternoon looking across the horizon, waiting for them to arrive home. The ground was flat with tuffs of saltbush; the sky had watery waves and, through the watery waves a long way off into the wilderness, I saw a group of aboriginals walking. I watched, mesmerized by their image, they were special; they alone could live in this desert and survive. I saw their heads, their shoulders, and parts of their bodies, but it seemed they had no legs or their legs were covered in water. Then almost like magic, I couldn’t see them anymore.

Another scorching day at four in the afternoon, my sister Abigail ran straight past me, saying, Where is Mom?

She started shouting, Simon has been bitten by a snake! Victoria performed first aid, cut his leg with a pocketknife, and tied a tourniquet on the upper part of his leg. Everyone is at the Mildura Hospital!

Snakes lived under our house and near Mom’s garden. As I stepped out of the house, I would not step on the doorstep; I would jump away from the house in case there was a snake sunning itself on the step. At that time, I had never seen my mom kill snakes but had seen the dead ones hanging on a fence. During the picking season, foreign men would come, they would live in tiny unpainted huts. I remember their huts smelled like garlic. They were hardworking and good-natured.

Mr. Braithwaite would stay during the picking season. He and my mom would dip the picked grapes, then they laid them on large wire racks. The end result of their labor was raisins and sultanas. Mom and Mr. Braithwaite’s agreement began with a landlord tenant relationship, where in the agreement she was to do minimal work. Their relationship appeared to develop into a friendship then it seemed they had a falling out over Mom’s workload and Mr. Braithwaite’s temper. After his death, our family moved down south to a farm thirty miles from Ballarat.

My First Day at My Job in Canberra Before Lunch

Well, back to my job. I took a look at the mountain of files on my in tray and began to summarize them. I put aside any legal documents. The other straightforward files I put into priority order then item and date order. I wondered why these files had not been dealt with. But mostly, why they weren’t computer files. I noted but didn’t read the many added comments by the staff on all of the files; I checked my staff list and took note of the staff involved. Joe had given me a list of staff under headings; right wing attitudes and left wing attitudes. I started to see that most comments on my files were neither relevant nor necessary. I wrote on a covering sheet, ‘Joe, send these back to the original writer and ask for the task to be put onto computer file. If the original writer wants the added comments, he or she can add them. Please have the files sent directly to me when completed.’

Our Home in Kooroocheang on Mr. Duncannon’s Sheep Farm, 1964

In 1964, I had vivid memories of three headless snakes wriggling on the top wire of the fence alongside five still snakes. The day before, I watched my mom stand with a flat spade in both hands, and in a whisper, she said, Lara, don’t move; stare at its eyes and don’t take your eyes off him.

I was six years old at the time, the youngest of her five children, and I had complete trust in her ability to solve all problems. I wasn’t scared and, without question, I stood very still and resolutely kept staring at the snake. The snake had laid his body on the hot concrete near my concrete artwork, and while the snake was still and at a striking distance from me, Mom crept around the back of the house and came toward the snake from behind. Then she ran as though she was in a frenzy and she repeatedly belted the back of the snake with the spade until its back was broken. Like other days, she would keep belting it and then she took the edge of the spade and chopped its head off. The habit of putting dead snakes on the fence was to scare the others away. The water brought the snakes around; I had seen them stand up on their tails and throw themselves backward, and those times, my mom would use her spade as a sword.

My mother was a little woman with brown, almond-shaped eyes, eyebrows like feathers framed her gentle face and, at times, defined her strong emotions. During times of great danger or hardship, she would remain quiet-spoken; nevertheless, she would stand her ground. She was named after a songbird: Mavis. Mavis didn’t have a male in her life for long; it seemed they would come and go. Mavis loved her children. Some looked like her and had raven black hair and white skin, and others were different. I was tall for my age and had fair hair and pale blue eyes. Mavis didn’t stay long in one place, and she adapted well to all her environments. She moved for better opportunity.

When we moved in 1964, we lived at Mr. Duncannon’s sheep farm; we experienced isolation. We lived deep within the good farming land in the Ballarat region; there stood an old blue stone building with a slate roof. In Australia’s early days, it would have been big enough to house a squatter’s family. And like most houses of those times, it was built near a small river or a creek. The land was rich with volcanic ash and years of sheep farming. In later times, a new sandstone house with large verandas had been built to adjoin the old blue stone one. There was an underground room also adjoining the veranda. This was unused, and its door was hidden by a yellow bush rose.

In the new house where we lived, there was one stove, which used little wood but was enough for Mavis to cook food to feed our family of five children. My two brothers were as different as could be; Henry, the oldest, was tall, strong, hardworking, and loved the outdoor life. He looked like Mavis; his hair was dark and his eyes were brown. Simon, aged seven, was shy; he didn’t like farming and his skin would burn even through his clothes, his hair was red and he was thin and freckled. My oldest sister, Victoria, was Henry’s full sister; they shared the same dad, so she had Mom’s looks. Victoria wanted to be a nurse and she had a compassionate nature. Abigail, ten years old, shared the same dad as Simon. Her dad had disappeared when Simon was born. Abigail’s hair was auburn and her skin white. She was sweet, plump, and affectionate, and she had a kind heart. I was six, and I loved my brothers and sisters and the farm life. Simon and I would play together because there were only sixteen months between us.

There were candles sparingly used to take to the outdoor toilet and there were candles in each bedroom. The time the bedroom candles lasted had become a competition between us children. We were not competitive as most children are. We would compete to win the opportunity to give our spare candle to a brother or sister. We were brought up ‘to share and to do unto others as we would want others to do to us.’ We were self-sufficient; we all had our hair cut by Mavis putting a large enamel basin on our heads, and she would cut around the edge of the basin. We all had curly hair so the cuts were blended. Victoria hadn’t had her hair cut for two years; she plated it and tied it in a knot at the back of her head. Abigail had decided to miss her next cut. But I was happy to have mine cut; it meant I didn’t have to comb it. Injuries were bandaged with clean linen, and a pack of sugar and soap was placed on the wound. Mavis spent a large part of her days gardening vegetables. There was tank water from the roof and an old well with a windmill, which pumped the water to the well. Mavis used the water from the well for the garden. She would bucket it to her main staples which were potatoes, pumpkins, carrots, parsnips, lima beans, and cabbage.

Mavis didn’t pay rent because we took care of the house and land. The landowner, farmer Mr. Duncannon would visit particularly near shearing time. The road leading to our house was straight and narrow, and a cloud of dust would seem to precede Mr. Duncannon’s big black Mercedes. He was a big man; he wore white pants, blue shirt, tweed jacket, a large Akubra hat, and elastic sided boots. The farm was so big and isolated. Mr. Duncannon would stay overnight in our house in a room off the veranda and he would often interrupt our tea with requests.

Right from the start of our stay there on the farm, Mrs. Duncannon informed us we were there on generous terms. Mr. Duncannon intruded mostly when we were having our tea. I remember not long after we arrived there on the farm when he walked into the kitchen and said to my oldest brother, Henry, come and help me mend the fence near the front gate.

Henry said, I have already made a schedule to mend that fence and will have it done by tomorrow.

Mr. Duncannon said, A schedule, and then left the room.

He would greet me with, Lara, Lara, quite contrary, or Lara had a little lamb, then he would say, Where is that little mother of yours?

He would check the shearer’s quarters and the shearing sheds. He would take Mavis’ word the sheep were in good condition. It was Simon’s job to count the sheep. He and I would walk around the paddocks and divide them by ten at a time and we would end up with a fairly accurate number. We had improved the number of sheep on the farm by Mom’s idea of saving the lambs. Mom gave me a job I loved; I would bring the motherless lambs into our house