AS GOOD AS GOLD

 

    It w.as a chance meeting when l was working for McKay Macleod as a travelling rep selling the products they produced in their Ballarat factory into corner stores and pubs and motels.  

I was in Daylesford enjoying the spring weather when an old bloke turned up on his rusty old bike.  He strolled into the milk bar where l had just had a good sale and he had a sack over his shoulder which he loaded up with some  groceries.

Over the following months we gradually got to know each other. 

It was AS GOOD AS GOLD

 

I first met Jack Frost in Daylesford on a sunny spring afternoon.

I’d just finished a call at a milk bar on the outskirts of town.

He was picking up a few supplies – a packet of tea, a tin of condensed milk and some sweet biscuits.

I rather loved the twinkle in his faded blue eyes, the length of baler twine holding up his go-to-town strides, and his whiskery chin.

He was impressed to meet a lady sales rep.   We became formally introduced via the shop keeper.

“Do you like daffodils love?” Jack enquired, tilting back his trilby.

“Sure do Jack.  My Gran has those fancy big ones in her garden.”

“I grow a few flowers,” Jack added.  “Would you like to come out for a look around?”

I must admit I was totally charmed, and keen to visit his “flower farm”, picturing a tangled garden next to a run-down weatherboard cottage.  He gave me directions and we set a date for the following Saturday.

I waved goodbye as he mounted his rickety old pushbike and pedalled up the hill.  He certainly was a fit old stick.   The ten mile round trip from his property into town didn’t seem to daunt him one iota.

 

That evening my husband gave me the third degree.

“So this is the first time you’ve met this old bloke?

”Yep.”

“And you plan to visit him on Saturday?”

“Yep.”

“Might be safer if you took your mate Penny along,” he advised.

I snorted, rolled my eyes and dropped the subject.

 

On Saturday afternoon, following Jack’s directions, Penny and l pulled up at his front gate.  The two paddocks flanking his long gravel driveway were crammed with beds of daffodils in full flower.  A sea of golden heads waved gently in the breeze as they worshipped the sun.

Jack wandered out of his neat little home, a wide two-toothed grin lighting up his face like a beacon.  We were welcomed like princesses – then he introduced us to his flowers.

“This one ere’s a double, ere’s a miniature, do you like Johnnies?”, and on went Jack, picking two of each variety, our arms overflowing with blooms as we walked the rows.   The colours and forms delighted us – so many types – pinks, apricots, whites, yellows, orange and red-orange hues in a myriad of combinations.  The large golden trumpets standing in buckets outside florist shops now seemed mundane.

Driving home the car filled with a blend of floral perfume.   Both Penny and l agreed we had never before had such an enjoyable day.  Jack had obviously had a great time too.  We arranged to meet every time l visited Daylesford.

 

On one visit Jack handed over a heavy sack. 

“Here ya go love.  You’ll find five of each of me beauties in there – all named,” he added with his signature grin.

“You’ll never be short of a quid growing flowers!”

He watched as tears welled up in my eyes.

Jack had just provided me with a golden inheritance.

Tags – Jack Frost, daffodils, Daylesford, Susie Sarah

 

There was nothing cold about Jack Frost – he had a heart of gold!

Every spring when the daffodils bloomed in my Halls Gap garden and then multiplied sharing forest floor space with a myriad of native orchids l remembered Jack who had long ago passed away.  Like that quiet but lovely gentleman they continued to give me a sense of all the good qualities blokes of his generation had - salt of the earth chaps happy to give and share what he had built up over scores of years.