A Cup of Tea

A Cup of Tea

“Mum! Mum! Wake up! The water’s at the steps.”

“What time is it Jonny?”

“It’s 4 a.m. I think we should wake the neighbours and tell them to come over here.”

I struggled my way out of sleep, my foggy brain replaying images of the long day yesterday, and Jonny’s last words as I lay down with a migraine headache,

“You rest Mum. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

Yesterday had been spent moving our vehicles off the property we lived on beside the Katherine River in Australia’s Northern Territory, to higher ground behind Springvale Homestead. We had taken this step after advice from the owner of the property, who had seen a few floods in his thirty plus years on the place. His house was a high-set one, out of sight, at the other end of the holding, known as Morrows Farm. He had warned us that once the river broke its banks up near Springvale homestead, it would come through our access road and rise very quickly, preventing us leaving or coming back. Just after we moved the vehicles, the river broke its banks, and we had to hurry to lead our two horses, Amber and Cisco across the now waist deep water that was surging across our access road. We let the horses go, to find their own way to high ground, and hastily navigated the flooded road, tied together by one of the horse leads.

As I sat up, my youngest son, handed me a perfect cup of tea, cutting short my processing of the day before. He had been making me cups of tea since he was about 6 years old: ever since his first attempt, and my response, “Oh Jonny, that’s the best cup of tea in the world!”

I sipped my hot tea, sweetened with honey, with just the right amount of milk added, as I followed Jonny to the front door and looked out into the blackness.

A kind of horror swept over me, as I saw the lights of the house reflected on black water below.

The neighbour’s house was about 100 feet away. The ripples on the water could be seen dancing against the side of their low-set house.

“Take the canoe Jonny. Drag it over to the Tucker’s and make sure they’re awake. The water should still be shallow enough to walk through. Tell them to chuck everything they want to save into the canoe and bring it back to our place.”

I watched him walk through the knee-deep water towing the canoe behind him. I saw the Tucker’s lights come on. Somehow, they still had power.

Before long Jonny returned with Claire Tucker, a cat in a cage, a big dog, and 3 teenage boys. One of the boys had his saxophone.

I spoke to Claire, “Please, you’re welcome to bring anything here. We have no idea how high this river will go, and our house is high set. What about all your books and photos?”

“Oh, it’s alright. We’re putting them all high up. Surely the river won’t come that high.”

Mr. Tucker joined us about half an hour later, satisfied that everything of importance was placed high enough.

Jonny made a big pot of tea for our guests, as the first streaks of dawn started revealing the unfolding scene outside. We could now see the river, brown, and nasty looking. It had risen up to the bottom of the big glass windows of the Tucker’s house, so there was no going back there anymore.

The rain started again. Thundering down. I knew we had a long day ahead.

We gathered our chooks and perched them on the verandah rails at the top of the steps. I put a horse halter on our half-grown bush pig and brought him upstairs to join the chooks. Daisy, the Friesian heifer calf, was heavy, but two of the teenagers manhandled her up the steps to safety. Suzy Boo the brahman heifer, was not so easy. At around 200 kilos, there was no lifting her. I laid horse blankets on the steps to encourage her to walk up, but she would only take a step up when the water reached her belly. Finally, after several hours, taking one step every hour, she twigged to the need to go upwards, and hurriedly scrambled her way up the remaining steps to join the rest of the livestock.

Just when I thought I could relax for a minute, Jamin’s two bucking bulls came past, just their heads showing above the coffee-coloured river.

“No Jamin, don’t!” I hurried to the door as he flew outside.

I was too late. He was already in the canoe, which had been tied to the steps.

I called after him, begging him to come back, but the wind and rain snatched my voice away, and in a few seconds, he was out of sight, hidden by the trees downriver of us.

All I could do was pray that he would be safe. He had decided the day before to leave his two bulls in the cattle yards, with the loading ramp gate open, hoping that they would find their way out if the water came up too high.

I waited and watched at the top of the steps; the left-over cyclone rain belting down on me. I let out a such a shriek of relief and joy, when he suddenly appeared again, and struggled the last few paddles to the steps.

“I tried to herd them to shore Mum, but the current was way too strong.”

“How did you get back here?” I was both angry and relieved at the same time.

Jamin explained that the current wasn’t so strong where the house was blocking the flow, so he was able to paddle against it to get back.

Now that every life was as safe as it could be for now, I made tea for everyone and started chopping vegetables and throwing them into a big pot on the stove, so there would be something warm for everyone to eat later.

The poor Tucker family sipped their tea, staring silently through the torrential monsoon rain at their house, as the water slowly rose, drowning their life treasures.

As their windows disappeared, the river became more foreboding. Big logs, trees, and debris of all kinds came bouncing menacingly towards our fortress, threatening to break it down.

There was nothing we could do now.

We all ate from my big pot of warm hearty stew.

Jonny made one last pot of tea, which was drunk in sombre mood, before we left everything to God’s hands, and climbed onto the roof via the water tank at the back steps and waited in the pouring rain for the red and white Lloyd’s helicopter to appear above us and lift us to safety.