The Victor Toe Cutter

Mum was determined to keep the grass around the house short.

It wasn’t a matter of appearances. We lived on an acreage, and in Queensland the grass could grow quickly enough to turn the ground around the house into a perfect cover for snakes. Browns worried her most, along with red-bellied blacks and the occasional death adder. All could disappear surprisingly well into grass, leaf litter and shadow.

With six children moving constantly in and out of the house, Mum wasn’t prepared to take the chance. So the grass had to be mown.

These were the early days, long before ride-on mowers became commonplace on properties like ours. What we had was a Victor mower of a type that later acquired the rather alarming nickname of the Toe Cutter.

It wasn’t difficult to see why. The cutting blades underneath had very little protection around the sides. Modern mower decks largely enclose the blade, but on these early Victors there was much less between a rapidly spinning piece of steel and whatever happened to stray too close.

Boots, stones, sticks. Or feet.

Starting it was another challenge. You wrapped or pulled the starter cord and gave it a hard, determined yank. For a man with enough strength in his arm and shoulder, this was manageable. Mum could start it too, but the effort sometimes pulled the mower backwards towards her as she hauled on the cord.

Then there was the mowing itself. There was a lot of ground to cover.

This wasn’t a neat suburban lawn that could be finished before morning tea. Mum would push that mower for hours, working her way around the house and through the areas where we children were most likely to play. In summer, the grass seemed ready to grow again almost as soon as she’d finished. It was one of those jobs that never really ended.

One day, after she had already been mowing for some time, the mower stopped and needed restarting.

Mum was tired. She stood behind it, took hold of the cord and pulled. The mower tried to start. It also came backwards. Before she could move away, it ran over her foot.

The blades only needed two or three revolutions. That was enough. Her toes were badly cut and mangled.

There was no ambulance, no great commotion and, knowing Mum, probably very little fuss. She dealt with what had happened in the same practical way she dealt with most things.

She got herself into the car and drove to the local doctor. He stitched her foot up.

Then she came home. Life on the farm continued.

There were still six children. Meals still had to be prepared. Washing accumulated. The house had to be kept running. There were animals and chores and all the ordinary demands of a large family living on a small farm.

There wasn’t much opportunity to lie down with your foot elevated and devote yourself to recuperation. Mum simply carried on.

The injury healed.

And, eventually, the grass needed mowing again.

What makes the story particularly memorable is that a few years later she managed to do almost exactly the same thing.

Same mower. Same problem. Same foot meeting rapidly rotating blades.

And back she went to the doctor.

This time, as he prepared to deal with the new injury, Mum asked him quietly, “Do you think you could use an anaesthetic to numb it first this time?”

The doctor looked at her. “Didn’t I use one last time?”

Mum told him that he hadn’t.

He was horrified. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Her answer was completely characteristic. He had already started stitching, she explained, and she didn’t want to interrupt him.

That was Mum.

She had sat there while a doctor stitched together toes that had just been through a lawnmower blade, apparently deciding that once he had begun it would be impolite to make a fuss.

Then she had gone home and got on with things.

Years later, when people talk about resilience, the word can sound rather grand. It wasn’t grand in our house. There were no speeches about overcoming adversity and very little time spent analysing hardship.

Things happened. You dealt with them. Then there was usually something else that needed doing.

In Mum’s case, there were children to raise, a household to run and several acres of Queensland grass standing between them and the snakes she was determined to keep away.

So eventually the Victor came out again.

Life on the farm required a certain toughness. Mum had plenty of it.