No Looking Back – School’s Out and Life Begins (Pt XI)

Chapter 8 – Life After School

There was not a chance in heck that I would return to that school for another year, even with all the extra goodies thrown in to tempt me. Instead I tried to settle into my allotted duties on the station. Sadly, after a few weeks, this did not work for me either. I didn’t have any money and in hindsight I realize that this was partly the reason that we were all offered the chance to spend that first year after school at home, to save a bit of money for ourselves while working up there before entering the ‘real world’ or whatever we decided we wanted to do.

But it didn’t work for me and I found myself heading for Melbourne. For the life of me, I cannot remember why, unless someone else was going over there and I decided I wanted to go too. And I did. I was very fortunate in that Dad’s youngest sister lived there with her husband and three daughters, my cousins. The main thing I remember about that visit was buying two puppies. I have always been hopeless where pet shops are concerned and this time was no exception. These two puppies were in the window and I fell in love. I was initially only going to get one (not giving any thought at all as to where they would  go while I was still in Melbourne and then getting them home with me…none of that occurred to me at the time) but found that I couldn’t leave one so bought them both. They must have stayed with me at my aunt’s and uncle’s house then I think we flew them back to Adelaide, all at others’ expense. And it must have been arranged that someone would meet them in Adelaide and then take them up to the station. None of this occurred to me. All I wanted was those two dogs – and I got them.

I must then have returned to our station and those two dogs. In fact I then had three dogs because I still had my gorgeous little Australian Terrier that Mum and Dad bought me when I was still at school as is mentioned above. He was always my favourite. I loved those dogs so much but tragically none of them passed on naturally. Spound (Spot Hound shortened – she was white with one big black spot over her eye) drowned, I believe her sister, Blound (Black Hound shortened – needless to say she was black all over) died from snake-bite and the third, my beautiful Australian Terrier, survived distemper but the after-effects were awful. Mum and Dad kept offering to have him put down but I just couldn’t bring myself to let that happen. Poor little thing was suffering and must have been in so much pain but I just couldn’t do it. Finally, on one visit to the station, Mum and Dad told me he had finally passed on. I don’t think I asked why – as devastated as I was, I accepted that.

Back from Melbourne, I settled in Adelaide for some years. In 1973 I lived in a hostel in North Adelaide and attended business college. I had high hopes for myself there, as did my parents I think – but while I did not have any of the problems I endured at boarding school, it seemed I was not made of secretarial stuff either. My typing was OK and still is, but shorthand – forget it. And the rest of the subjects were equally useless. I graduated with a certificate, as opposed to a diploma. About half way through that year, I became very ill and was taken up to the station so Mum could look after me. While away, we got a call from the head of the hostel to tell us it was being closed down. So we had to find alternative accommodation. I was home for a while (a couple of weeks, I think) and Mum found another hostel which happened to be just down the road from my old school.

I finished that year and then it was time to join the workforce and find a flat or similar to live in. It happened that my mother’s old family home had been divided up into five separate flats, since the family had grown up and moved out. My grandparents had lived in the first flat and the last one had been used for any live-in help they had ever had. I can well remember the last tenant in that last flat, a lovely lady who never married but I always enjoyed her company and was thrilled when she came to visit Granny and Grandpa when we happened to be there too. This lady eventually moved on and I moved in with different flat-mates at different times.

I applied for a number of different employment positions, all involving office work. I did get a position in an engineering firm which was within walking distance of home. I stayed there for some months. Can’t say that I loved it – but it was work and did bring a small wage in. Then I went to NZ with a friend whom I met at business college and I had been asked not to return to that position when I came home. OK. Fine. I didn’t like it anyway and had planned to resign, but not before finding something else. However, they got in first, so that was that.

Another position I held for a short time was that of nanny/nurse for an orphanage. That was a live-in position and really interesting but for some reason that escapes me now I was not there for long.

After that, I successfully tried to get into nursing. However, at that time I had also been accepted for a position in the world of computers with one of our banks. By that stage, I didn’t need to give this much thought and I opted for the computers. And in hindsight, I am glad I did. I stayed with that bank for some years, eventually being sent to Canberra to help out over there. I cannot remember how long I was supposed to be in the ACT but I was there for 11 months. I absolutely hated the work but loved my accommodation, which happened to be one of the residential college in the ANU (Australian National University). When I first moved into this college, I was terrified. So many students. But after a week or so, I realized I needed to get out and about and did so, never looking back. I made some wonderful friends during that year, all of whom I have since lost contact with but the memories remain and they really were fun times.

At the end of that year, when many of those students moved on either into other colleges or sharing houses elsewhere in Canberra, or whatever, I decided it was time for me to move on, too. So I requested a transfer back to Adelaide. The manager and powers-that-be were not happy about it, but I told them I would resign if I couldn’t be transferred. I realized I was dicing with my job, but I was beyond caring – I just wanted to leave. I was very lucky in that I was granted the transfer and returned to Adelaide at the beginning of the following year.

When I did return to the bank in Adelaide, I found that I was allocated to a different group from before and while the girls were nice, I wasn’t as happy as I had been. After a few weeks back I was called aside and asked if I would be interested in going to Melbourne for a few weeks, all expenses paid, to ‘trouble-shoot’ and train a new employee. Now this sounded wonderful, so I accepted and off I went. I lived in a lovely suite in one of Melbourne’s best hotels, again within walking distance of the bank. I was there for a few weeks and made some wonderful friends, although lost contact with all of them. Some lovely memories there, too.

I was nearing the end of my time in Melbourne when I discovered to my elation that my bank balance was looking pretty jolly good. That was also when I made the decision to leave the bank for good and head overseas. With further investigation, I discovered why my bank balance had looked so good – it seemed I had been paid my Christmas Club cheque twice. So I had to pay that back but luckily, I still had enough to be able to fund an overseas trip.

l planned to spend about two years overseas, working and traveling, as so many do. I ended up going with a friend from the bank as well as my middle brother. My friend and I lived in a house that had been purchased especially for Australians and other international travelers. My brother went up (down – whatever) to Oxford University and stayed with one of his friends who was a student there. I found a position as an audio-typist for an insurance company and quite enjoyed the job, but was not so keen on my accommodation. Things did not work out with the latter and after a few trips over to Europe and Scandinavia, then up to Scotland, I decided to head home, back to Australia. My brother had already gone but he only ever planned to be there for a few weeks anyway.

We had flown to London on my 24th birthday. My friend and I went up to Scotland for Christmas, really hoping for a white one as we realized this might have been our only chance to ever see a white Christmas. However, as luck would have it – apparently it was too cold for snow. In fact, I don’t think it snowed while we were there at all. Darnit!

Meanwhile, my brother was due to return to Australia in time to help with shearing on the station. Now picture this. Being winter in the UK, it really was bitterly cold in England when he left there – and of course Australia was right in the grips of a typically searing hot summer. My brother must have been collected from the airport in Adelaide and went straight up to the station. He was due to muster the sheep for shearing. No time to acclimatise himself to the huge difference in temperature and I understand that this was just too much for his body to handle. Trying to shelter under trees in our Australian heat did not help. It was next to useless and I seem to recall that he actually collapsed. He was all right but it would not be something I would advise anyone to try to do. Not if you have a choice – he didn’t and therefore suffered for it. 

While I was in England my youngest brother and one of his friends flew over and stayed with us for a night or so. Then they moved onto Ireland. But they must have returned as they were able to see me off when I flew back to Australia not long after.

In those days Adelaide did not have an international airport so if you wanted to leave the country, you had to go through either one of the eastern states or Perth. As it happened, one of the girls that I worked with in London was Australian and we became very great friends. And still are. She is actually also a Godmother to one of my daughters. As I had never been to Perth and she lived here I decided this was the perfect opportunity to see it. I had been here for only a couple of weeks when I decided that this was where I wanted to settle. My family knew I would never return to Adelaide to live and was just waiting to see where I would settle. So it was no surprise to them when I called to say I was heading home, but would be returning to Perth to live.

No Looking Back – School’s Out and Life Begins (Pt X)

Chapter 7 – 1972 – Secondary School’s Finished – or So I Thought

School had finished! YES! And I had gone home. I have no idea what the rest of the girls at that school, day bugs or boarders, did after they finished school and to be honest, I had not given the future much thought either. I really had no idea what I wanted to do.

However, it seemed that my mother wanted me to follow the family tradition. All three of my brothers spent their first year after leaving school on the pay roll at home on the station. I think the aim of this was to give them some chance, now school was out of the way, to think about what they wanted to do. I think my father wanted them all to go on the land, but the boys didn’t necessarily want this. And no-one was going to force them.

My eldest two brothers did both go to different agricultural colleges, both in Victoria I think. But my youngest brother was looking into a different direction altogether. And now, many years down the track, through circumstances and many things, my eldest brothers has lived and worked on several rural properties, not including ours. He now lives in the Philippines. My middle brother has worked on our station as well as several others but is now living in Victoria and works on farms when he can. And my youngest brother? The one who had a different career altogether in his sights? He has worked in various areas too, including mining but at the moment, I believe he spends his time between the city (where his wife and he have a home) and our station, which now actually belongs to his wife. It is my understanding that they plan to retire up there – doing the exact opposite of most country people!

The point of this is that it did seem to be a tradition in my family for the children to go up and work on the station for a year after leaving secondary school. Apparently I was no exception and I must admit, I was thrilled to do this.

Although, there was a moment when I thought I might even be returning to that school to have yet another ‘go’ at 4th Year (leaving). The school contacted Mum at some stage during the school holidays as apparently they did think I would be returning. And they very excitedly told Mum about all the things I would be doing: I would still be boarding in the senior boarding house, but I would have my own room! I would also be head prefect as well as head of my own house/faction and several other things were to be bestowed upon me. This all excited Mum but I have to admit that I really was not sure how I felt about it all. For a few minutes, I did actually envisage myself in all these things – but then the other memories came flooding back. I think Mum felt it would all do me the world of good and she was probably right, but I really wasn’t sure about returning for yet another year. And the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to do it. Even if I did do and have all these things and most of the girls who bullied me would have gone, it didn’t appeal enough. Not really. While Mum was excited for me, she also knew how I felt and she would never have pushed me. So the answer was no. I didn’t go.

Hut on the hill. One of the original buildings on the station.

No Looking Back – School’s Out and Life Begins (Pt IX)

Chapter Six – 1971 – 4th Year (Leaving – Second Attempt)

We were now nearing the end of my school days, thank goodness. And nothing had improved – I was still as unpopular as ever, although I was getting a bit more of an idea why this was so but still couldn’t do a jolly thing about it.

And that sense of foreboding was still there.

At some stage during 1970, the school had acquired another property. It was a house, just a bit further up the road from the main school. Certainly within walking distance still, but there were a few privately owned homes between the school and the new property. This house had been purchased for the senior boarders. I was a senior boarder. I should have been going into 5th year (matriculation, or Year 12 these days) but as I followed my own history of failing miserably at my first attempt at leaving, I was kept down to give me a chance to have a second go at it. Still failed.

Since I had been kept down with the boarders of the year below me in 1971, when I left for the summer/Christmas holidays, I do have to admit that I was worried that I might be left with those girls – which would have been fine and suited me perfectly – except that I really wanted to go up to this new boarding house. I am still not quite sure why I wanted this so badly, given that I would be in with the girls of my own year again. And I didn’t really think I wanted that.

This feeling that I did want to be in the new boarding house really gnawed at me during the holidays. So much so, that I asked my mother to call the school in late January and find out where I’d be allocated. And I was really relieved to find I was indeed in this wonderful new boarding house. I can only think that perhaps the boarding house staff had considered this carefully and decided that the girls that I just did not get along with, had gone. There would be a dozen of us in the new house and at least three were new. Irrespective of this, I am still mystified by my own feelings about it at the time.

I was allocated a bed in the largest room with four other girls. Two of them had been there throughout, the other two were new. In fact one of the older ones was that other country girl who was with me in Grade 7, but we were anything but friends. To be fair, none of these girls did or said anything nasty to me and I was comfortable in that dormitory. In fact, my final year at that school was almost pleasant.

I even befriended one of the new girls for a while. But it didn’t take her long to start disliking me so that was really the end of that friendship. One of the other new girls was really lovely, but for some reason that I will never understand, was as unpopular as I was, but it never seemed to bother her. We became quite friendly but never really close.

It was during this final year that I had a bit of time in hospital. It actually began during some school holidays. I know I was home when I suddenly developed really severe tummy pains. Mum took me into the doctor (45 minutes away) and he checked me over. But he wasn’t at all concerned about the tummy pains – probably because they had all but disappeared by then anyway. He was far more concerned at my lack of physical development. It was something I had never given any thought to even as all the girls around me were developing and I wasn’t, but it had never worried me. And his concern in turn started to worry Mum. We went home, tummy ache completely gone and I carried on as usual, not a worry in my mind, except the end of the school holidays meaning I would be returning to school, but it was my very last year and it was progressing. So – no worries – just happy.

Back to school I went. And wasn’t really much happier except that I knew that the end was in sight. The end of my six years at that school, the day I would walk out forever. It was gradually coming nearer.

One evening at dinner one of the other girls came to tell me that the senior house mistress wanted to see me. Scared out of my wits I wanted to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. Over I went and was told that I was going into hospital the next morning.

Hospital? Why? 

There was nothing wrong with me, or not that I was aware of anyway. But it seemed that the fact that I wasn’t developing was really bothering my mother. It had been organized that I was to be admitted to hospital for tests. Ok. So I was going to hospital. And I think my Godmother must have picked me up and taken me the next morning.

I cannot remember much about the next few days in hospital except being knocked out while I underwent a series of tests. I do recall waking up from that and being very sick. It was almost like that original tummy ache was coming back to haunt me. The results of the tests were all perfectly fine. There was nothing wrong with me – apparently. Sheesh – I could have told them that all along. But that wasn’t the end of it. It seemed that Mum was really worried about me. I still don’t know why – I wasn’t worried at all.

So, I was then put onto some form of tablets. Presumably hormones of some sort – and these worked. Suddenly my body woke up to itself and started sprouting everywhere. I didn’t like that. I had never worried about my lack of – whatever – but it seemed I was the only one. Thankfully, when everything started working I was taken off the tablets and it all stopped again. That suited me. It seemed to prove that my body was fine.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, I thought wrong. During the next school holidays, it was arranged that I was to have a series of injections – in my backside. Ouch! No-one asked me if I wanted this. Actually, I was not consulted about any of this at all and had I known what was going to happen, I might have just tried to put up with that little tummy ache which triggered this whole thing.

So these injections were arranged. Two a week. This was to happen during the school holidays and the owner of one of our neighbouring stations happened to be a nurse or sister at the local hospital so Mum took me over there for these injections. This lady was very good to do this as she didn’t have to. She could have told us to go into the GP or the hospital, but instead she administered them, saving us a considerable amount of driving. They took all of two seconds to administer. It took longer for me to prepare than it did to actually have them. Once the injections stopped, so did my body. I mean, it kept going – just stopped developing.

Back to school and I reckon we were getting pretty close to the end of the year. We only had two lots of holidays in those days, finishing with the long summer/Christmas holidays.

While a lot of the girls, both boarders and day bugs, were sad about leaving school, I wasn’t. I think it was the only term in the entire time I had been at that school that I was actually happy. I really was counting the days down until the very last one. And that last assembly – well, let’s just say I’d given up on expecting to receive any sort of award. It just wasn’t going to happen.

I attended an end-of-school party at the home of one of the day bugs. A girl with whom I became friends in about 2nd or 3rd year. We are still friends on a ‘vague’ level. It was a friendship that began as some do, in an odd way. I was actually friends with two other girls but after a while, it seemed I was the ‘third wheel’ and not really wanted – to their credit, father than just ignore me, they ‘offered’ me to another couple of girls. It was actually the best and nicest thing they could have done. I became very close friends with these latter two and, as mentioned, still have annual contact with one of them. The other? Well, I am not sure what happened there but we seemed to lose contact some years ago and while I did try to maintain this, it was clearly all one-sided, so I gave up.

Life can be funny. As it turns out, many years later one of the girls from the first couple mentioned above is now great friends with one from the second couple. They seem to be part of a group of four very close friends, these two and one other girl with whom I was acquainted at school, but never really friends with and yet another, who didn’t go to our school at all.

And my body did develop – all by itself, some years after I left school. I’d never been a tall person and certainly won’t be now, if anything, I think I am growing out rather than up or down.

No Looking Back – School’s Out and Life Begins (Pt VIII)

Chapter V – 1970 – 4th Year (Leaving – First Attempt)

Wow. My lack of popularity must have been very obvious by this stage. When I returned to school after the holidays, for the new school year, I found that I had been separated from the girls in my year and put in with those of the year below. This did not upset me at all – it was a relief and I felt that I might actually have a chance of enjoying the year. I was back in the second wing of the new boarding house.

I was in the second dormitory along the corridor with three new girls, one from the country known as the south east as it was south east of Adelaide. One of the other girls came from Alice Springs and she was a very quiet girl. No-one knew a lot about her. The third one came from the city but for some reason she had to board for the year. All three of these girls only started at the school that year.

This was the year that I actually met one of the couple of boarders that I did befriend and has stayed my friend throughout life, although we have very little contact with each other. She lived on a farm not far from our station. She also did come up to stay on the station at one stage but after we all left school. She is also one of the Godmothers to one of my daughters.

Of the three girls in my dorm that year one invited me to her parents’ farm for a long weekend. That was exciting, at least, I thought it was until she also told me that she had entered us into the local tennis tournament which was also on that weekend. Me? Play tennis? Seriously? I don’t think so. However, I have always felt very proud of myself in that I didn’t ask to be pulled out. I wanted to, but didn’t. So on Friday afternoon, off we trotted. The tournament was scheduled for Saturday afternoon so we decided to practise in the morning. There were actually three of us. The girl who had invited us and another girl from school. This latter girl was in it for fun, as was I, but I also had a touch of true seriousness about it. For some very weird reason I wanted to prove myself. Tennis was a sport and I wanted to show that I could play. Even if I couldn’t. I think I did quite well, too, sort of. I got the ball over the net at least twice – now, that’s great for me. The first ball cleared the net comfortably and my opponent returned it, just as comfortably. We even had a bit of a rally. The second ball that I got over was a tad high – and I did hit it hard. It cleared not only the net, but also the wire fence surrounding the court, along with a couple of houses and then disappeared from sight. We never did find it. And we lost the tournament. Never mind – it was fun. Our opponents were very serious and I think were a bit frustrated because we weren’t quite up to their standard.

Somewhere earlier in this book, I mentioned that there were two times when I became ill and one of those times could have been life threatening. I have described that one, when I was very nearly given penicillin.

The second time occurred during this year – 4th Year. It occurred over several days – about a week all told. It was an earache. A rotten earache that gradually deteriorated as the week progressed. Trouble was, it really only manifested itself at night. During the day, I was fine – no pain, nothing. These were also the days when we did our prep in the new library, which was right at the top of the school. This meant, as mentioned earlier, that we had to walk up in a group escorted by a house mistress.

The earache began very mildly. Hardly noticeable. I think I was even able to continue with my homework as though nothing was wrong. That was the first night. The second night – Tuesday – it was worse. It was certainly making itself known and I was starting to have trouble coping with it, while still trying to concentrate on my homework. In fact, that night it did reduce me to tears and I was sent back to the boarding house, with another girl (who must have been a sort of friend – the mistress was very careful who she chose to accompany me, since I could not go alone) and we were both allowed to do our homework in one of the common rooms in the boarding house, with the two junior boarders.

As usual, the ache disappeared completely the next day, which was Wednesday. And that night it returned and was getting increasingly painful. Once again, I tried to do my prep but by this stage, the pain was too much and I couldn’t concentrate at all. And again I was sent back to the boarding house, but this time I was sent alone. This went against all the rules of the boarding house but that particular mistress got away with it. Instead I got into trouble. I ran for dear life down through the school grounds, between all the buildings, as fast as I could, to reach safety in the boarding house. To be honest, I don’t know what I was more frightened of, the increasing pain of the earache, running down through the school by myself or what sort of reception I would get upon reaching the boarding house, although I think I was starting to become beyond worry as I was in too much pain. I was sent straight to the head of the boarding house, who was absolutely furious with me. Again I was told to sit and do my homework with the junior boarders.

Next day, the school doctor was called to see me. It must have been arranged for him to come after school as I was in enough trouble anyway, without having time off. I am really surprised that he was called to see me and not the other way around. Anyway, he did come and he did look in my ear. Surprise! Surprise! Absolutely nothing. My ear looked perfectly fine so apparently I was imagining it all.

But I wasn’t imagining it. Not one bit of it. I was becoming increasingly scared about what was going to happen, both to my ear (I knew it couldn’t last forever – something had to happen – but what…) and with the school regarding whatever punishment I was in for if my earache continued. And it did. That night – yet again, at prep. It started and was unbearable. And again I was sent down to the boarding house alone. No-one believed me at all. Although I guess that was fair enough, given that I didn’t have any pain during the day. I recall reaching the boarding house and it did seem that I was expected; again I was taken to the common room and told to finish my homework there. I was crying. I was in just so much pain. And I was scared – very scared. I must have been carrying on more than the other nights as I was warned not to even think about going to bed.

But the pain was just too much – and I was completely beyond caring. Although going to bed did not seem to help much – it was still extremely painful for most of the nights and by the end of the week, I was exhausted.

So off I trotted, in too much pain to be able to concentrated. I couldn’t function. Both of the junior boarders were concerned when I left, not because of the pain and my crying but because of whatever punishment I would have waiting for me. I didn’t care. I just went to bed.

And then it happened.

Suddenly – a mighty explosion – that’s the only way I can describe it. Inside my head. It didn’t worry me. Normally it would have scared the living daylights out of me – but not that night.

The pain had stopped.

I just lay there, waiting for it to start again. But it didn’t. I cannot remember ever being so comforable. It really was pure bliss.

I could not take the smile from my face. The other girls returned to the boarding house and I walked into the bathroom, beaming from ear to ear.

What happened next did not scare me but has always, to this day, made me wonder. While I was hopping around, dancing and just so happy, I began to realize that the girls weren’t really sharing my happiness. They were trying to, but just couldn’t. Instead they were just staring at me. Finally one of them told me to look at the left side of my head, in the mirror. I did. And again, I never fully understood what happened, mainly because it has never been explained to me, nor have I ever received any apologies.

The left side of my hair was absolutely caked in blood.

The house mistress was called in and cleaned the blood off. I still find it hard to believe that nothing was ever really said about it all. Either I was sent to the GP or he came back to see me, but still nothing was really explained. The only thing I was told was that my ear drum had burst. But why? Why had it burst? I must have had an infection of some sort but why hadn’t it been picked up? And why did it only manifest itself at night and not during the day at all? So many questions. So few answers.

And not an apology to be heard.

The other thing that I have often wondered about – if my ear drum had really burst, could that not have been fatal? I would have thought so. So I guess I was very lucky.

No Looking Back – School’s Out and Life Begins (Pt VII)

Chapter IV – 1969 – Intermediate (3rd Year)

Another wonderful holiday over and back to school. This year I found myself in a two bed dormitory, downstairs in the old original house at the bottom of the school (the same building where the Over 70s luncheon had been held). To access this dormitory and the one with three beds next door (which used to house a TV and table to sit on), there was that very steep flight of steps.

The discovery that I was in the two bed room, with one of the most popular girls in the boarding house – also an extremely nice girl – well, that sort of softened the feeling of returning to school for another year. Again, to give staff credit, this was planned intentionally. I was really happy – or as happy as I could be – but in hindsight do feel a bit of sympathy for the other girl as I know all the other girls certainly felt sorry for her – being ‘stuck’ with Lannah.

And it sort of worked. We got along pretty well for the entire year. Although she often used to go and sleep in the other dormitory and I was left to my own devices, so maybe our friendship wasn’t as good as I had thought. But that didn’t bother me – I was a tad used to it by this stage.

This was the year that I fell down those stairs twice. The first time I was pushed but have no idea who the culprit was. And probably could not narrow it down – since almost the entire year hated me by this stage it really could have been anyone. Miraculously, all I did was make a lot of noise but I wasn’t injured at all, not physically anyway. Same with the second time I fell down all by myself. This second time was on the night of our school ball. One of the older girls happened to be passing by as I was about to go downstairs and she complimented me! She told me I looked really nice. I was so stunned and I turned to thank her and missed my footing on the top step. And down I went. Roly poly all the way down but again, no injuries. Not even psychological this time, after all, the reason it happened was because I had been complimented and that didn’t happen a lot when I was at this school. Actually, that could have been the only compliment I received!

This was also the year that I was pushed into a cupboard in our classroom and could not get out. There couldn’t have been a lot in that cupboard as I was able to fit in it. All squashed up, maybe, but the girls pushed me in there and were able to shut the door. I don’t think it was actually locked but I was unable to open it from the inside. I was left in such a position which would not allow for leveraging the door at all. I will never forget that. The teacher who was to take us for our first lesson after lunch finally let me out. She did not ask how I came to be stuck in there. In all probability, I would not have told her anyway as the last thing I wanted was repercussions.

Another memory from that year. I was not often hill and did not spend a lot of time in the sick bay but when I did I was really sick (except for the time mentioned above when I was trying to avoid that exam). However there was one occasion when I really was ill – so much so that the school doctor (a local GP) was called. I cannot remember what was wrong with me but it seemed that the best cure was penicillin. Either the staff or the GP did the right thing and rang Mum to make sure I could take it. I have no idea what was going through Mum’s mind at the time, but apparently she told them to go ahead – there was no problem. So they prepared to. I must have been feeling really bad as I knew I wasn’t supposed to have it but I figured Mum knew what she was talking about and I have a feeling I was beyond worrying. I just wanted to get better.

What happened next could be in a movie – and best in slow motion – or fast. Having received the green light from Mum, the staff proceeded to prepare the penicillin to give me. In the meantime, Mum must have woken up and realized what she’d done. So she called the school immediately and the staff member who answered the phone dropped the receiver and ran as fast as she could to the sick bay – literally just in time to stop them giving it to me. It must have been done by injection as the needle was actually touching my arm. You know – in the nick of time –  just like in the movies. Once that was over and the needle removed, the staff member rang Mum to reassure her that all was well – and then that person rang the GP, to explain what had happened and that I couldn’t have penicillin after all. The GP was furious. In his mind, Mum should have rung him first. However, had that happened and she had done that, it would have been too late and I would have had the penicillin. So Mum had done the right thing. I have had penicillin once and it made me very, very  ill – far worse that I was with the ailment that I had been given the medicine to cure. I was told, at the time, by the specialist, that I would not survive if I had it again. So I haven’t. And I wear a MedicAlert bracelet at all times.

This was also the year that I excelled at a sport – sort of. Well, it was part of spots day and my team won whatever we were competing in. I was just so proud. We had won – whatever it was. We walked to the winners’ podium, or whatever it was, to the cheering of our school faction (or ‘house’ as we called them) and not stopping – everyone else walked to the front and stopped where they should have. But not me. I was so proud and was so busy looking and smiling at all the cheering – lapping up the attention, if you like – and promptly walked straight into that podium. I don’t think I did any damage, except maybe to my pride. Just gave everyone a bit of a scare and then the entire school started laughing. And I think they were laughing with me – not at me. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

NO LOOKING BACK – SCHOOL’S OUT AND LIFE BEGINS (Pt VI)

CHAPTER 3 – 1968 – 2nd Year

Another fantastic holiday over and it was time to return to the school for 2nd Year – Year 9 as it now known, I think. This year, we were allocated beds in the dormitories in the second wing of the new boarding house. To give the staff some credit, I think by this time they had realized that I was not popular with the girls in my year group so they did try to put me with those girls who weren’t quite so ‘nasty’ toward me.

I think this was the year when I tried for a few extra-curricular subjects and sports teams including hockey, as mentioned earlier. Also perhaps for the running race on sports day. Both glowing failures. I was always looking for something else to do at that school, but knew how much of a failure I had already proved myself to be with running, hockey and piano – I felt I was running out. I know I continued with my writing and drawing as much as I could.

Second Year was also the year we went to dancing classes. There were boys at the classes as well but I have no idea where they came from. All I know is that I did not enjoy them and was not sorry when we stopped. The people were trying to teach us ballroom dancing and it just did not work – not for me.

Our school grounds were not large enough to allow for our own swimming pool bat as there was a new olympic sized pool a short drive away, we used to be taken there to swim. At one stage, the school purchased a huge house with a pool on the opposite side of one of the roads that bordered the school. Obviously we used that but we sold the house almost as quickly as it had been purchased. So that was the end of that pool.

There was one little thing that was beginning to bother me. It didn’t matter what I did I could not get an award at the last assembly in the school year for any of the six years I was there. Academically, I didn’t have a chance in heck, but there were other sorts of awards. Citizenship and others. I was never awarded one but thought I might have a chance of receiving a citizenship award. I just had to think what you had to do to earn it. Each and every year I was at that school I did this. There wasn’t a list of criteria that you had to meet or excel in to get one of those jolly awards. So I started doing little things, things that I thought might help the staff and/or the girls. Not all the girls, only those who I thought mattered and who might have a ‘say’ in the award recipients. These were the senior girls, the prefects of those days. I think they are called ‘head girls’ (or boys) these days. And I think I might actually have been on the right track except for one thing – you do need to either do the correct thing for the right person or make sure that one of those people is watching you. While I thought I was doing the right thing, all that happened was that it made me look more of a ‘goody-goody’ than ever.

And yes, that was one of the reasons that I was bullied. Because, apparently, I was a ‘goody-goody’. I never did any of the naughty things that most of the other boarders did. And there were two reasons for this – one was that I simply wasn’t interested. And the second, I was absolutely terrified of reprisals from the staff and then word getting back to my parents. I was also extremely quiet and that didn’t go down well either.

I even got into trouble with the boards for one particular thing that I did achieve and was so proud of, to say nothing of stunned. I have mentioned that the one subject I did excel at throughout those years was English. I was good at it – very good. It is funny which memories stick in your mind. Most of mine from those days are anything but good – but this one was good and I can recall it vividly.

We had had a spelling test. An ordinary little spelling test. And I knew that I was good at spelling – well, I was in those days. We did the test – 50 words – and I promptly forgot all about it. A few days later and it was English again. The teacher walked in, we all stood and greeted her accordingly. But we also noticed that there was something ‘funny’ about her – she had an odd smile on her face apart from anything else. Then she stood in front of the class and announced that she had the results of our recent spelling test. Suddenly there was a lot of groaning in the room. The teacher then told us that one person had achieved 100%. More groaning but the girls started looking at each other, trying to work out who it would be. I just sat there, waiting to hear. I know I was OK at English but not even I could achieve 100%.

The teacher picked up the top sheet from the pile of tests and gave it to me. I didn’t take it – I just looked at it. My initial reaction was how horrible she was, showing me how good a 100% pass mark looked. But then she told me that I was the top achiever. I got the 100%. Gobsmacked? Stunned? Shocked? I have no idea how I felt. I just looked at it and then at her and back again. She had the biggest smile and shook the paper at me, telling me to take it and congratulating me! I thanked her (at least I think I did) and took it and then became aware of the noises in the room. A couple of ‘How in the heck did she do that?’ and other negative comments. While I was exceedingly happy and excited – the third thought that hit me, a bit like a brick, was the flack I was about to get from the other girls.

I guess this was another negative of being a boarder – an unpopular boarder. I didn’t really have anyone I could brag to. I was very happy about it, enough to put up with some of the nasty and very negative comments that were thrown at me by some of those boarders for the rest of the day. One of my day bug friends told me to ignore them, that they were just jealous. Be that as it may, it’s a heck of a lot easier said than done. That girl was probably right in that they were jealous, but it did put a dampener on my feelings.

There was one other things that I did seem to be good at, that surfaced during this year. When we were asked to trace things for homework, I never did. I don’t think I have ever traced anything in my life. When we have been asked to trace – I have always done freehand. I’m not sure that this would have been noticed had I not apologized to the teacher that I didn’t have any tracing paper and had to do it freehand. I think it only happened a couple of times during my years at that school but I know ‘word got around’ throughout the staff and it was actually considered very clever on my part. Of course, the other boarders also heard about it – another black mark against me! Ho hum…

NO LOOKING BACK – SCHOOL’S OUT AND LIFE BEGINS

CHAPTER TWO – 1967 – 1st YEAR

That friendship did – sort of – extend itself to the start of the following school year when that girl and I were both allocated beds in dormitories in the brand new boarding house, down near the bottom of the school. She arrived before I did and sought me out. That actually felt amazing – and thrilled my parents as it was the first and could have been the last, time that any other boarder looked for me, as a ‘friend’. Our beds were in different dormitories but in the same wing of the boarding house, with the other first years. Sadly, it wasn’t a strong friendship. I know she became more popular with the other girls, whereas I didn’t. I never became popular with them. Instead as mentioned earlier I became increasingly unpopular as the years progressed. I had no idea why at the time, but I do know now. And none of it was my doing and there is nothing I could do to have changed any of it if I had my time again. All is know is that for 99% of my time as a boarder at that school, I was miserable.

So life was not improving. When the day bugs could go home after school and they there until school began next morning and they could escape school over the weekends, I couldn’t. Nor could any of the boarders. I did not particularly enjoy my overall education experience either. As mentioned earlier, I did not excel in anything. English was the only subject that I seemed to be reasonable at. But the rest of it, even though the subjects changed each year I failed badly. Even with art, which is something I have always enjoy. I did dressmaking but it was awful. When I first found that I had been put into the dressmaking class, I was rather excited, thinking it was something different and I might even enjoy it. Didn’t fool myself for a second that I would pass it – but it sounded like good fun anyway. Wrong again.

A little side-track here. Exams were coming. On the day I was scheduled to have my dressmaking exam in the morning and art in the afternoon, I woke up, dreading the first one, but definitely wanting to have a go at the second. So I decided that I would be sick in the morning, then miraculously get better for the afternoon. Now, at times as a boarder it was not that easy to fool the boarding house staff that you were sick as they could usually see straight through you. I don’t know whether it was any easier for the day bugs, being home and trying to fool their parents that you were sick, when you weren’t. And I have no idea what I actually did or what I complained about, but the staff were fooled (or were just beyond caring and let me do what I wanted) until midday when I suddenly became well and returned to school.

This little aside really should prove that cheats don’t prosper. I went up to the school and straight to the allotted classroom ready for the art exam, feeling wonderful because I had missed the dressmaking one. I felt very pleased with myself. Both these exams were being held in the same classroom.

So, you can imagine my – upset? Surprise? Shock? Disappointment? When I discovered that they had swapped the exams around and the art one had been in the morning and I was perfectly in time for the dressmaking one. Darn! Needless to say, I therefore failed miserably at both. Ho hum…

This was also the year that I experienced my first true health issue. And to this day, I do not know what was actually wrong with me. It showed itself at breakfast when I suddenly found that I could not turn my head to the left. Turning it to the right was fine as was looking straight ahead, but if I tried to turn to the left, my neck absolutely killed me. It was so painful. It did have me in tears and I think I must have blacked out, or been close to as, apparently I was leaning over the table, with my head to the right. The house mistress was alerted and came over to try to get me to straighten up (if I had blacked out I must have woken up again when she got to me). I was able to straighten up quick easily but when she asked me to turn my head to the left, I screamed and started howling again. All eyes were on me – what a way to attract attention! Off to the sick bay. Someone had been asked to get my pyjamas etc and I was changed with a lot of help before they put me into bed. Then the GP was called. He arrived, checked me over, declared me completely fit and well and left. It was one of those very rare times I would thank the house mistresses for following their own instincts, or whatever, rather than listening to the GP and thereby sending me to school. I really was in agony and they decided that I would stay in bed for that day at least. I think they also realized that had I tried to go to school I would have been absolutely useless – more so than normal, I mean. This all happened on a Monday. My neck gradually improved over the next few days and I was able to return to school on the Thursday. And for the first time in my life at that school, it felt good.

One other minor incident (or it would have been minor to most – but not to me), was the very unwanted visitor I found right in the middle of my bed one day. Scared the living daylights out of me. I suspect it was ‘planted’. I walked into my dormitory and to my bed – and there, right in the middle was a huge, brown, hairy, ugly Huntsman spider! I don’t believe that I screamed but I certainly put as much space between it and me as I could, very quickly. I have never seen a spider in any part of the school before nor since and am still suspicious about how it got there int he first place. This was in first year and I was rapidly becoming unpopular already so while I ran around like a headless chicken, the other girls just watched me and sniggered. Anyway, I think the house mistress was eventually called and removed the spider.

Thinking about that spider, it is probably a bit unusual for someone from the bush to be so scared of the things. We used to have a governess (on the station) who picked them up regardless of size and ‘offered’ them to us. It didn’t seem to bother my brothers who all seem to have come through life unscathed. But they frighten the devil out of me. Once my daughters arrived I tried to overcome my fear for their sakes – yes, OK, that didn’t work. Both girls are worse than I am.

Just a couple of little spider stories here. As with most station homesteads, particularly the big, sprawling and older ones, during the summer there are usually many of these spiders inside and out. I could not walk into a room without having a very thorough look around and even if I only saw one, I would not go back into that room again until someone removed it, either by killing it or taking it outside. If they hid in the room that would be even worse as I never knew when they would come out again.

It was during this year that I made a deal with one such spider! It was during school holidays and we were home. You do not make deals with spiders but I must have been absolutely whacked when I went to bed on one particular night, because I looked up at the wall opposite me and you guessed it – there, sitting on that wall above my dressing table, was one mammoth Huntsman. For some very insane reason, I decided to make a deal with it. I told it that if it stayed still all night (yea, right…) I would leave it be. First thing next morning, I looked up there – spider nowhere to be seen. Of course it wasn’t. I felt relived – why? I really have no idea because its mere disappearance meant that it was somewhere – lurking behind something. It had moved during the night – it had not kept its side of the deal.

Feeling so pleased with myself I happily hopped out of bed, got dressed and pulled my bed out and started making it. I still cannot believe how stupid I was because I really had all-but-forgotten about the spider and was thinking happily about the day ahead. As I was pulling up the bedspread, no prizes for guessing what happened next. For the first time since making that bed, I happened to look down – and there it was. On the wall, waving two horrible, hairy, long legs out trying to catch the bedspread or something to grab onto. Too frightened to berate it for not keeping its side of the deal, I ran. And ran. And ran. I cannot going around the bed, nor opening the door – I think I just ran straight through anything that got in my way!

My arachnophobia was the one thing which did make me question doing the research for ‘Red Dust Dreams’. As mentioned above, rural and remote properties, particularly if old and big, with wide verandahs, from my experience, are renowned for having these big, hairy, horrible Huntsman spiders everywhere. Our homestead certainly was, or used to be before my brothers started spraying thoroughly during the summer. Doing the research for my book meant visiting and staying in the homesteads of 17 or the 20 participating stations. And this should have meant spiders. Spiders everywhere. I began to question my sanity but my desire to conduct this research rather overpowered my fear, so off I went.

And believe it or not (I still don’t) I did not see one spider of any species or size or ugliness, until the very last station that I visited, up in the Kimberley. There was one sitting on the hot water tap in the bathroom. Normally this could well have meant that I didn’t shower for the duration of my say – but I did. And I reckon the spider was watching every move I made. I had my shower, but I kept an eye on that spider every single second. I was terrified the thing was going to leap on me. I just know it watched me as I watched it. While I was pleased with myself for getting through (and believe me, it’s no mean feat trying to wet, wash and rinse yourself while watching something) I was wondering whether I could get through the next two days with that spider just sitting there, watching and waiting – watching and waiting. My daughter accompanied me on that trip and one of us must have mentioned that spider to one of the staff as it had disappeared the next time I went in there. My daughter and I had the first little cabin right next door to the bathroom so usually I might have been worried it had made its way into our cabin – but they were all separate buildings so I imagine it was put out in the garden somewhere.

I do sometimes think that the owners or managers of all the different stations that I visited must have wondered about me. One of the first questions I asked, trying to sound ‘funny’, was about any spiders they might have. Most of them told me that it was too dry for them to come inside, so they were staying out. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I decided to accept it, at least until the research trips were over.

A few weeks later it was the end of third term (we only had three terms in those days). YES! The beautiful long summer/Christmas holidays. Home! And to all those horrible spiders – that being the only negative about going home.

WOW – I ACHIEVED SOMETHING – please see next blog

CHAPTER 1 – 1966 – GRADE 7

There really is no looking back.

Not really.

But I do.

Whether I like it or not, those memories keep coming back to annoy me. They represent six years of pure hell and depressions and, yes, they do torment me – consistently. I wish they wouldn’t but they do and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. And if I had my time again, there would be absolutely nothing I could about my life back then.

The happiest memory I do have of my secondary years at boarding school is the very last day ever. Oh and the last day of each term and each year were pretty good too.

I left the school in 1972, after repeating what was then known as ‘Leaving’ (these days, it is Year 11) but still managed to fail everything despite have two goes at it. In fact, in all those years I didn’t manage to pass anything much except English. I was always good at English. Looking back, there was not a lot I excelled in at all, including the piano which I did try to learn at one stage, but was never able to sight-read, so that stopped pretty quickly. Then I was given a guitar in my mid-teens. I loved playing it and singing along. I did not have any guitar lessons and was never in the school choir or anything like that. Reckon I’d have been kicked out had I tried. I just enjoyed playing with and singing along to my guitar.

However, I did try for a couple of sports teams, the main one being hockey. Again – not good. I attended one practise and managed to get hit around a lot by the other players and decided pretty quickly that that wasn’t for me either. So I pulled out before landing in hospital. I did enjoy tennis and used to use the old hits board just above the then new boarding house. I did that a lot, but never had a game with anyone. The other sport I did try for was running – silly, silly me. This was when they were ‘trying out’ for the sports day teams – and for one insane minute, I signed up for one of the races. I was put out the first time we practised. I think I was still at the starting point – or not far in – when the first – well, all the other runners, finished.

But I am getting well ahead of myself. Let me turn the clock back to my very first day ever at that school. I was extremely excited – but I also had a strange feeling of foreboding. And that feeling was to stay with me on and off for the next six years. I was about to join my older brothers and cousins in attending boarding school. We went to different schools – all the boys went to one and our female cousins went to another one. I went to a different one again.

And I was alone.

It was February 1966 when I started at that school. As mentioned, I was very excited – and for the life of me, I don’t know why. I think it was because I was going down to ‘big school’, but why that fact excited me as it did, is beyond me. I was leaving home, after all. But at the time it probably did seem exciting. That excitement lasted for about two weeks, then homesickness, reality and a few other negative things crept in and began to overpower everything. And that sense of foreboding was slowly but surely increasing. It might also have had something to do with the fact that I was one of the first junior boarders at that school, so while I was in a class with other girls of my age, there were no other boarders of that age, they were all older. Only by a year but that was bad enough to egg those feelings of loneliness and isolation on. Most of those girls were very nice but the age difference, even by one tiny year, did seem to make a difference.

At this stage, I think I do need to step backwards in time to explain something. There was a reason – a very sad one – why I started as a junior boarder and was not able to wait for that one last year before heading to boarding school at the ‘accepted’ age.

The reason I was being sent to boarding school in the first place is because I grew up, along with my three older brothers and our cousins, on our family sheep station in the north eastern pastoral district of that state. This is covered earlier in this book. What wasn’t mentioned is that I did have governesses for part of my primary education but they had all gone by the time I reached Grade 6 – my last year out there. However, by the time my youngest brother was sent off to boarding school, a couple of years before I should have been, we must have been having problems hiring and keeping governesses as my mother finished up teaching me for that last year. I cannot remember a lot about that year except that as it progressed, my mother must have found teaching me, on top of the rest of her daily chores, just a bit too much. The obvious answers was to send me down to boarding school – just a year earlier than normal.

Through my research for ‘Red Dust Dreams’, I did learn that, while there are still some governesses out there, a lot of station students are now being taught by their mothers, or some other relative. It can be a very lonely and isolated existence, particularly to these young girls – many of them are (or used to be) attracted to the romance and ‘difference’ of outback life. But sadly for many of them, once they actually start their lives out there they realize how isolated and lonely it can be with the bright lights of the cities or large towns, a long, long way away. They find the stations are so isolated that unless they have their own transport or can get a lift they are too far away to visit the cities or nearest towns on the weekends. Instead, they usually find they are ‘stuck’ on the stations and after a while, reality really does get to many of them and they resign to head back to the city. While conducting the above research, I also discovered that there are now quite a few organizations that will support these young people and the world of the internet, FaceBook particularly, is a God send for them. Although even the internet can be a problem as it does not necessarily work throughout some of the more remote areas of Australia. These girls (and boys nowadays) also find, to their frustration, that their mobiles are completely out of range as well. The above mentioned organizations are generally online and I believe they do help to keep these young people in contact with others. While it isn’t physical, it is at least something for them.

Anyway, it was decided that Mum would finish teaching me at the end of Grade 6 and that I would go down to town too. Initially, rather than trying to get me into a boarding school that didn’t actually take junior boarders, it was arranged that I would stay with my aunt and uncle instead and attend the school as a day bug. And this was settled until tragedy struck. Sadly, my late cousin suddenly became seriously ill with a terminal disease during that year. Alternative arrangements had to be made – and quickly. My parents must have contacted the school and explained the situation – suddenly I was being accepted as a junior boarder. I must have been taken to the city to buy uniforms, hat, gloves, books and all other necessities. In those days we had to go to one of the department stores in the city to buy all this. These days, I think it can all be purchased at the schools.

For the six years of my boarding at that school, I think slept in all of the boarding houses – except one. And that one was attached to one of the then-new boarding houses, so I feel that I did sleep in all of them. I also think we were the last boarders to sleep in the very first boarding house – which is now being used as classrooms and probably has since we slept there. There were mainly first years (now Year 8) and a few older girls when we were there. Our access was via a very old and rickety set of wooden stairs which were attached to the outside of the kitchen and these led up to an old screen door which in turn led into the first dormitory. There were only screen doors and windows, none of which was insect proof. It was a very old building, housing the administrative offices on the ground floor as well as that of the Principal.

We did our homework in one of the classrooms before having evening supper in our own little kitchen. That was also where I remember seeing the youngest surviving member of the family that began the school. She was often in there, too. Not sure what she was doing, but as she was elderly then I am thinking she might have been having warm milk before bed or something like that. I think she must have passed on not long after that as I cannot remember her at all after that year.

Having always had that passion for writing, I lived for mail from home and indeed from anyone. We had a green mail board, with white ribbons which were pinned in a criss-cross fashion across the board. That was one of my favourite places in that school. Actually, it was my only favourite place.

Our teacher from Grade 6 was a very great friend of the mistress of our boarding house, so warned me: ‘You had better watch out’. Nothing like scaring the living daylights out of an already very unhappy girl. And this warning was only compounded a bit later, when, for some reason, I found myself standing at the head of the main inside staircase. We weren’t allowed to use those stairs beyond going into the dormitory which was directly over the principal’s office. So, by rights, I should not have been there. But there I was, looking down at the then principal, standing at the bottom of the stairs and issuing yet another warning to me – in that I needed to improve my marks. Well, OK, I knew that but sort of didn’t feel it was going to happen in a hurry and I didn’t like having that said to me. Let me tell you that I was one very scared, very unhappy and very small little girl.

A very lost little girl.

I did make a couple of friends among the day bugs in my class, which was lovely, but overall, I was not popular. And sadly, this lack of popularity only worsened as my days at that school progressed. I also befriended, to an extent – another country girl who was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. Attending the school but not as a boarder, she was living with relations or friends or someone.

CHAPTER TWO – NEXT BLOG.

Yes, it is very dry out there.

Times Have Changed (Cont’d)

Now, the rest of the grounds at the school. As mentioned, way back up there somewhere, I have been back a couple of times since 1972 when I left. One visit was to the administration block, to pay for the school magazine that they had sent to me. My mum came along with me and as that was my first visit to the admin block since leaving, I could not resist having a quick look. The office itself has been changed considerably – it is only very small and I would not have thought there would be room to change – but they have done it and it looks good. They even had a couch in there. I asked Mum if she would mind if I had a quick look – she didn’t join me but instead the staff gave her a cup of tea and she was left quite comfortably on the couch. The staff were also only too happy for me to have a look, so off I went.

Apart from a reception desk right outside the Principal’s office and the change in the admin office itself, it all looked pretty much unchanged downstairs since I had boarded there. I walked down to the old kitchen – strangely enough, my main memories of that kitchen included the elderly woman who used to be there in my very early days at the school. Looking around that room didn’t actually mean a lot to me. Some of the school staff were working in the hallway so I made myself known – introduced and explained myself to them. I really wanted to climb those stairs and go into the old dormitories but felt I possibly should not do this.

However, as I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, I saw a very young, very small and extremely scared and unhappy little girl.

It was me.

It felt like a thousand years ago.

It was then that I decided that I was not harming anyone or anything by climbing those stairs and having a look, so up I went. The little girl had gone and I was free to look around. Again, apart from the fact that these were now classrooms with the dormitory that I had been in, now a bathroom – nothing had changed. The memories rushed back (well, some of them did – others I have obviously locked away so securely they refuse to budge now) and the main thing I wondered was: where are all those girls now? What has become of them? I will never know.

With that and satisfied that I had had a good look, I turned around and went back to the office where I collected my mother and went home, back to her room in the aged care residence.

I must have been back to school one other time as I was given a tour of the grounds, including new buildings and old – and the boarding house again, by one of the staff members. The grounds really have changed hugely. The one aspect that did strike me was the lack of parking. The school has never had a lot of parking space, which was probably a negative for the parents of the boarders, but was space it did have seems to have gone now.

There have been a lot of other changes over the years too. Some that I have been aware of, others that I haven’t. In our day, we only had three terms and that middle one was a nightmare, particularly for those of us who were not happy at boarding school, being away from home for so long. Our holidays were in May and September. We had Easter off too and would have been able to go home but it wasn’t actually part of the school holidays as it didn’t fall at the end of the term. I do not know when the school years was changed but the four terms were in effect by the time my two daughters started school. There are also pupil free days and all sorts of other things now – they certainly weren’t there back in my day. Another one is ‘Schoolies’ Week’ – when I understand that the Year 12s are allowed to go  away, usually to designated places in each state, for a week or two to ‘let their hair down’ after their final exams and before the school year finishes. Again, something that we didn’t have.

School Holidays – YES!

The last days of term were some of the best for me. For all boarders actually, but moreso for those less popular. While many of the boarders had formed good friendships amongst themselves and had been invited to others’ country homes for the holidays, or at least part of them, I generally went home. Which I loved. Once in secondary school I know I started to invite one or two of the day bugs to spent the holidays on our station. In the first couple of years at the school, as mentioned earlier, I did form a few friendships with the day bugs. There were two in particular at that early stage who used to come up to the station regularly.

My brothers, too, used to invite one of two of their friends up. So our homestead used to be very full suddenly, overnight. We would usually travel up by train in those days and after disembarking we would be met by our parents in either one or two cars, depending on our numbers. These school holidays are among the best memories I have. They were a huge amount of fun. And I can well remember both Mum and Dad commenting on the ‘horrible’ silence in the now empty house when they returned home, after dropping us off when the holidays were over.

I missed our pets hugely when I was at school. One little dog, which belonged to my brother but which seemed to stick to me and I to him, sadly died during my first years at school. 

One day at the end of term I was walking down through the school, carrying my sewing basket – when I suddenly dropped everything. I saw my parents’ car parked in the carpark that was. What a wonderful sight. The girls I had been walking with either felt sorry for me or felt they should pick up all that I had dropped and carried it down to me. Which was very good of them – they must have liked me a bit more than most! Meanwhile, I must have already packed and been ready to leave as Mum and Dad had all my bags in the car and all I had to do was go get in and go. I went to sit in the back and I noticed my youngest brother also sitting there, on the other side. As I sat and closed the door, he passed what looked like a picnic basket to me, covered in his own school jacket, which he then asked me to pass to him. I did – and then looked into the basket – and there was a puppy! I was ecstatic. It was a little Australian Terrier. I fell in love with it, there and then – and those feelings never diminished.

The first mornings at home in the holidays were wonderful, hearing this little dog belting up the hallway as fast as his tiny legs would take him and then jumping up on my bed. If I did happen to still be sleeping, he would lick me to try to wake me up and if no success, would curl up and settle on the end of my bed until I did wake up. I loved that so much. School holidays included riding motor bikes (only ever on the station, never off), horses and lots of walking. We also had our own ‘swimming pool’ – in the form of a concrete tank which was just across the creek from the homestead. Easy walking distance. So we had that in the summer too.

And just lots of fun and laughter.

Oh – and on the first Saturday in the holidays – we would all make ourselves scarce for some hours. As mentioned earlier, it was mail day and when our school reports were due to arrive. I am thinking that my brothers didn’t exactly receive glowing reports and I sure as heck know that I didn’t. My progress at school, or lack therein, in absolutely everything, almost went backwards and my teachers were not backward in reporting it. When those reports arrived I figured I needed to give my parents time to read mine and calm down before I showed up.

In the evenings, of course we were too far away from the nearest town to be able to meet friends for films, or do any of the things that our city counterparts were able to do. But I loved our own fun. I loved what we did. We were (and still are) incredibly fortunate in that we have a billiards/pool table on the station and that was used a lot in the evenings during school holidays. Another pastime was shooting – the boys would drive the ute and the girls would jump into the tray on the back and off we’d go. All sorts of places, some very rough, others not. But all on the station. We never left the station. The boys would do all the shooting and they mainly went for rabbits, foxes and the odd kangaroo. We do not have a problem with dingoes or wild dogs in our area, otherwise they would have been hunted down too. We didn’t eat any of it. The domestic animals got the lot.

Meals on the station were always a lot of fun. We were fortunate enough to have a full time cook and what a wonderful lady she was. She used to bake heaps of biscuits for ‘my boys and little Lannah’ before the holidays – they were not for Mum and Dad at all and pity help them if either of them tried to have one! Our meals were huge and always good, healthy food, but then we were also getting a huge lot of physical exercise. And we all ate together. Even morning and afternoon tea (or smoko as it is usually called, especially in the outback): a cup of tea for Mum and Dad and for morning tea, I used to get a chocolate milkshake. Fresh orange juice for afternoon tea. And freshly made cup cakes and assorted biscuits, with one of Mum’s recipes, very much an old family favourite, burnt butter biscuits. Yum. Full breakfasts, lunches and dinners too. The latter had two courses, main, which was huge and then sweets (as in puddings/desserts) for anyone who could fit it in. 

Our power was provided by a 32V generator at first and then we upgraded to a 240V generator. We even had a special ‘engine room’ that housed these generators – and which is still there, although these days we are connected to the ‘mains’. Dad taught me how to start all these engines. I don’t know whether the boys were taught, but for some reason, I was. While still on the 32V, I well remember a cousin (second cousin? Several times removed? I lose track after first cousins…) let his curiosity get the better of him when he found this big button on the wall just outside our back door. So he pressed it – thus sending the entire homestead and surrounds into complete darkness! It didn’t take much to figure out who the culprit was! Anyway, rather than starting the engine again, we all went to bed.

And good old ‘Donald Duck’ comics! Bought at our then local newsagent in our nearest town whenever anyone went in there, everyone devoured them. I don’t think anyone bothered with bringing a book when they came to stay with us, we all loved our Donald Duck comics. We weren’t so fond of Mickey Mouse and some of the others – they were all too serious. Donald Duck and his family were just good, healthy, down to earth fun. Some evenings the lounge floor between Mum’s and Dad’s armchairs and the TV was a sea full of bodies. All of us lying down there, reading comics.

A certain thought has carried me through life to date and probably always will. When the school holidays were coming to an end, particularly on the last day, I used to get a tad depressed at the thought of going back to the city and that school. But then I would think of the evening ahead and dinner and that would be enough to brighten me up. Once that was over, back down I’d go, but then think of going to sleep in my beautiful bed and just listening to the wind in the trees in our driveway – no traffic or city noises out there. When I woke the next morning, on the day we were due back at school, I would be a bit down again, but then think of breakfast and I was OK. Once that was over, I still had the long drive to the city ahead and again, that kept me going. However, once the city came into view on our journey, then I would sink and stayed down. Nothing more to look forward to. And as mentioned above this way of thinking has stuck with me all though the years and probably will for life.

So, yes, the school holidays were always something to really look forward to. I can remember most of the day bugs who I used to invite along. And these girls did change, as happens, as the years progressed. I think at one stage I invited three people but usually it was two. And a few times, only one would come up.

There were only three boarders I ever invited up and two have remained friends to this day. One of these was also unpopular but had a wonderful personality and came from a farm not far from where we lived. She is a lovely girl and I have no idea why she was so unpopular. No rhyme nor reason sometimes. She was also in the year below me so we were not allocated beds near each other, except for one year and that is mentioned in the relevant chapter. The second girl was was one of those who was only at the school for a couple of years and was reasonably popular but we did form a friendship during the time she was there. The last one, we certainly were not friends at the start but finally became friends – sort of – in the latter years at the school. She was actually one of the ones who told me how much she hated me in those first years. We were never really that close as mentioned but did become close enough for a while and I did invite her up one holiday and we had quite a good time. I was also invited to spend a few days at her family farm, which was fun.

********

The next blog will see us move into Chapter 1, which is the first of the six chapters detailing my life as a boarder at the school. Some of the details are pleasant but more are not. They do details my bullying nightmare as well as some of the awful – and unusual – experiences I had with various illnesses during my school life.

BUT PLEASE REMEMBER THAT AT NO STAGE WAS THE SCHOOL IN QUESTION RESPONSIBLE NOR AT FAULT FOR ANY OF MY EXPERIENCES WHATSOEVER.

To Be Continued…

MY CHILDHOOD IN THE OUTBACK (Cont’d)

It was during my childhood that I also discovered my passion for writing and drawing. Mum used to order huge rolls of butcher’s paper and I used to draw on it. Obviously Mum bought it for a reason but it certainly served as excellent drawing paper for me. To satisfy the writing passion at the time, I started to find penfriends and write to them. Our weekly mail day was on Saturday and one of the highlights of my week was to watch for the first tiny speck of dust in the far distance, indicating that they mail truck was on its way. By ‘mail truck’- it was our station utility and either my father or uncle would be driving it. They also collected the weekly groceries, newspapers for the week and anything else that had been ordered and sent up.

But it was the mail that I wanted. I used to grab the bag and open it in the station office. I absolutely loved seeing the thick envelopes addressed to the eldest daughters of our then-boundary rider. Those girls seemed to do a heck of a lot of letter writing – and all this did was to whet my appetite for the same. I really wanted to receive some thick envelopes. And that’s when my love for letter writing began – and which has continued with me to today and has also evolved into my book writing.

Socially, life has changed too, with improved communication, transport and roads. But when we were growing up, apart from the above, local towns had their annual horse racing carnivals which were a lot of fun. And another annual event which alternated between our station and two others was the New Year’s Eve party. One of the other two stations was about half way up to Broken Hill in NSW and the second, about an hour away on the other side of our nearest ‘town’ (it was mapped out as a town but never eventuated). I went along with Mum and Dad and any friends I had staying. One such party comes to mind – it was on the former station mentioned above – the one which is half way to Broken Hill. Normally, the same people attended these parties – all stations people and some traveled very long distances to attend. Well – out there, with the huge distances involved, if you weren’t prepared to travel, you didn’t have a social life. However, at this particular one, two ‘new’ people attended – and you could have knocked me over with a feather when the first person entered. It was one of my boarding house mistresses and her brothers who lived on a station further east. I know I felt slightly odd when I returned to school, knowing she was also there.

Times Have Changed

Naturally, there have been a heck of a lot of changes in the 40 odd years since I left school. Not only with legislation and many other aspects but also with the school itself. It never had a lot of land but what it did have was very pretty. The school used to have several tennis courts, but they appear to have been replaced by buildings.

At the time of my last visit, I had flown over to accompany my elderly mother to one of the annual luncheons that the Old Scholars’ Association held, this one specifically being for the over 70s. It was held in the new boarders’ dining room, all part of one of the boarding houses. I was quite stunned when I saw it all – the last time I had seen it it was just quite different. This dining room and new kitchen have been housed in extensions of the boarding house – I believe this also acts as the tuckshop now. That used to be housed at one end of the running track up near the top of the school. In those days, there was one little door in an older building and this was where the boarders used to be served afternoon tea. Not any more. Those days are long gone.

Back to that over 70s luncheon. After I’d eaten I left Mum reminiscing with some of her friends and I took the opportunity to have a good look through the boarding house as it is now (or was when I last visited – it could have changed again since then). Off I went after gaining permission from a couple of the staff members. The first door I went through opened into the old hallway of that boarding house. This I recognised. To the left was another hallway which used to lead to the old sick bay. This used to simply resemble another dormitory, with a couple of beds and a few other bits of furniture. But, like most other things, it has been upgraded considerably – and there was even a special nurses’ bay. However, for some reason, I don’t think it is used as a sick bay any more – there is another name for it but that completely escapes me, if I ever knew it in the first place. I am not sure where it is now but I am sure it is very modern and functional.

I continued down the hallway, passing two doors on the left, both of which were still dormitories. A bit further down at the ‘t’ junction – turn left and you are in the bathroom. Turn right and you are heading to the main lounge and the old dining room. You also used to be heading towards the set of long, steeps steps that took you down to the two downstairs dormitories – and down which I was pushed once and another time fell all of my own accord. These have since been boarded up, I am glad to say. They were a health hazard. And the door which used to be right in the middle of the ‘t’ junction and which used to lead to the head boarding housemistress’ bedroom, has been bricked over. Instead, you now go around the corner and there is an office, complete with a lady hard at work. Presumably the boarding house reception area as the main front door to the building is at the end of that hallway.

I introduced myself to this lovely lady and she welcomed me warmly. She then took me on a bit of a guided tour, which was very interesting and I appreciated greatly. She did show me the old dining room. I can’t remember what it is now. Then we moved away from that boarding house, across an enclosed walkway and to the boarding house that I lived in after moving from the very old one over the administration block all those years ago. The actual building of this new boarding house seemed to be exactly the same. No additions. However, the interior – wow. This lady took me straight upstairs to the first dormitory wing. Only it’s no longer dormitories – these girls have a real home away from home. They have separate little individual cubicles with a bed, wardrobe, dresser, chair, bedside table and desk. Each one has a curtain across the doorway for privacy. I would have loved that. I didn’t count the number of these but they were side by side all the way down the corridor, where there used to be three dormitories housing four beds each, as well as the one at the very end, with five beds. This wing probably still sleeps the first year (Year 8) boarders. There is a second identical wing in this building, which would have held the second years (Year 9). At the opening of both these wings, before heading down to the cubicles, was a TV room. There was at least one very comfortable looking lounge as well as a couple of chairs and a table. We didn’t have any of this. These girls are so lucky. But that’s easily said – I imagine the generation before ours would have said the same about us – and so on.

We did have the use of three TV sets at different stages throughout my boarding life. Although I don’t think we had a TV at all when I was in Grade 7, in that very first boarding house. At the end of the day, after lessons finished, many of the girls played sports, just as they do today. Or any of a number of other things – whereas I very possibly wrote letters. Evenings during the week would have been much the same as they are now – homework, supper and bed. I suspect that hasn’t changed a lot, if at all. And on the weekends? I honestly cannot remember that first year. But in the following years, I think many of the girls played sports, some inter-school matches, on Saturday mornings. Then in the afternoons, the school did organise for us all to have an outing. We would go by bus – to the beach, to a movie, to the zoo or any of a number of other places. I think some girls also used to go out with relations or friends in the afternoon. I rarely did – certainly not at the beginning. There were also annual events that we used to attend – the boys’ Head of the River being one. This was a rowing regatta/competition held on the River Torrens and we used to go down to watch and support whatever school we chose. That’s actually the only annual day time weekend event that I can recall but I am sure there were others. The girls’ rowing regattas started many years later.

Saturday evenings were mainly spent in front of the TV. While, as mentioned, we did not have a TV in my very first years there, in subsequent years there was a set in one of the downstairs rooms in the old original boarding house, where that ‘Over 70s’ lunch was held. The seating arrangement was a table – first come, first served. There were also a couple of chairs but I was never quick enough to claim one of them. Once the new boarding house had been built, there were the two downstairs rooms – common rooms – (under the dormitories) – one of these was barely used and the other one had the TV as well as a small kitchenette. This latter one was also used for the odd socials we used to have with some of the boys’ schools. Now the common room that we used as a TV room is full of computers so these days the girls can do their prep between their own little rooms and the computer room. No trekking up through the school to the library for them – which is what we had to do. In those years, we had to walk up en masse through the grounds, as we did get prowlers occasionally and we were not allowed to walk around by ourselves after dark, for good reason – our own safety.

We did go to church on Sunday mornings. The Anglican service was held in a local church and we had to walk in a ‘crocodile’ (two long lines, walking in couples) there and back. There was also a Congregational church somewhat closer and which seemed to hold a more popular service so a lot of the girls ‘changed over’ to that one during their years at the school, irrespective of their faith. This did not appear to bother the school staff – as long as we attended one service, that was the main thing. In the afternoon, again some girls were invited out with others outside the school.

To Be Continued Next Blog

One of the currently hard parts of life in the outback. Balladonia is between Norseman and Cocklebiddy heading toward Adelaide from Perth.

This is my auto-biography, the story of my life and the book on which the planned film will be based. While the book was published before Christmas and is available on Amazon, for various reasons I have also decided to post the book in its entirety here, for everyone to enjoy (if they want to) free of charge.

The blurb on the back cover reads:  ‘Growing up in the outback in Australia was not the easiest life a girl could have but it wasn’t boring either. Lannah faced the challenges and enjoyed the adventures, determined to make the best of it all. Boarding school had its ups and downs with some of the bullying that is forced on many children. Lannah survived it and grew stronger in spite of it.

‘Employment, marriage and children followed.

‘Her story is uplifting, inspiring and very much an Australian look at life, love and adventure and ends with personal satisfaction, professional success and two wonderful daughters, but…then again, maybe this is just the beginning’.

From Lannah:  ‘I don’t really know who to acknowledge, or, indeed, if anyone should be acknowledged. It’s not exactly a pleasant book but I hope readers might realize that if they have been bullied, or still are, or just attended boarding school and have unpleasant memories – they are not alone’.

Lannah also hastens to add that the school in question was in no way at fault nor responsible for any of her experiences.

INTRODUCTION

This is a book which has been a long time coming. I have thought about writing it so often and have tried to start several times, but just could not get into it. However, since having ‘Red Dust Dreams – Living in the Outback’ published and released – and then having a lot of people asking me about my own education, I decided, finally, that the time is right.

Basically, ‘No Looking Back’ is about just that but the complete opposite – it is about looking back. Looking back at my secondary school days – all six years of them. And my memories of those years – which are awful. In the years since leaving school in 1972 I have often had nightmares (and, no, I certainly cannot call them dreams – not even bad dreams) about trying to leave the place. Trying to leave that school – for good. Even if, for some reason in the dream, I have only gone back for a very short time – a week, a month, whatever – I still have problems with leaving. I know I do eventually get through that time thinking that it is only temporary and I am about to leave again, this time for good.

Most people that I know have wonderful memories of their school days and are thrilled when a reunion is announced. Not me. I have attended one reunion in that city – about 20 years ago and decided – never ever again. Not saying I didn’t enjoy it – I did, to a limit. I didn’t really want to accept and attend – but did, out of curiosity. Most of the girls that I saw at the reunion were pleasant enough – all except a few were day girls (or day bugs as we used to call them – I hate to think what they called us) and they did talk to me and were nice. I even talked with a couple of the boarders who were also OK. We weren’t friends at school – but the years have passed and most of us have grown up and matured. But there was one particular boarder with whom I will never be friends – she disliked me from the outset and that has never changed. It’s no loss to me – but I was interested to see how she would react to me at the reunion. I saw her across the room and thinking that the other couple of boarders I had already spoken with were pleasant – I thought I would try to approach her and see what happened. She saw me coming and turned on the spot, even though I smiled at her and it was a real smile – well, let’s just say it’s no loss. We will never be friends.

And yes, I was bullied. Mainly verbally but, believe me, that can hurt too. Sometimes more than physical bullying.’

ABOUT THAT SCHOOL

Yes, I did have an awful time during my six years as a boarder at that school, but I do not blame the school, nor the staff, for a minute. It was a very good school – certainly one of the oldest and best in that city, but then most of the boarding schools there were (and some still are) full of history, including mine. Something of which they should be extremely proud.

Being bullied and disliked as much as I was from go to wo, wasn’t pleasant and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Particularly as a boarder. There is no escape. Most of mine was verbal but there were a couple of physical incidents that have been described a little more in their relevant chapters.

And yes, I did complain. Once. This all occurred back in the 1960s-70s, before bullying and the like were really acknowledged. But I did eventually complain to a couple of the then staff members, both responding with the suggestion that I should try harder to get along with the other girls. Ok. That wasn’t going to work and I knew it, so that didn’t help. I did also try to tell my parents – just once – and was ignored.

These days, bullying is acknowledged and taken very seriously and – usually, but not always – acted upon.

Our meals at school were lovely. We must have had kitchen staff to do the cooking but I also remember being on roster to do the dishes. And I think it was a ‘help-yourself’ at the little servery ledge between the kitchen and dining room. We used to have a good old faithful roast (lamb, pork or chicken) on Friday nights and it was a real treat, even if it happened every week. I would not have missed that for anything – even one particular Friday when my mouth was full of ulcers, I had a sore that, pimples on my tongue and cold sores all over my lips – but there was no way I was not going to eat that roast. So I put up with the pain – and it was agony. I have always liked salt and as far as I was concerned, what’s a roast without salt and gravy – especially home made gravy. Although I think the gravy we had with our roasts at school was from a packet given the number of girls they had to feed. Needless to say, that salt only aggravated the pain – but I still ate. Our sweets (puddings/desserts) were yummy too. Either that or we were all just too plain hungry not to eat. I have no idea whether we had any vegetarians or vegans amongst us, but they were not catered for if there were.

MY CHILDHOOD IN THE OUTBACK

I have very happy memories of my childhood, growing up on our family sheep station. It was different –  not that I realized it then. I think I figured that all children lived in the country and had similar childhoods – didn’t they? No. They didn’t. Even on the occasional trip to the city and seeing other children (mainly one or two cousins), it still never occurred to me that their childhood was different to mine. Or should I say, perhaps mine was the different one. As I found out a few years later when everything started to change – and I was sent down to boarding school.

I have no idea how old a person usually is when their memory starts to kick in, but the earliest of mine is one of staying with some of our neighbours on their station. It was my firth birthday – actually, I am not sure whether that’s true but for some reason every time I have thought about this, the age of five keeps popping up so I am sticking with it. Mum and Dad had gone to Melbourne for the Commonwealth Games and my brother (the next one up) and I stayed with our ‘aunt and uncle’ (not blood relations) on their station, as mentioned above. I do have a photo (good old black and white) of my brother and me sitting on the lawn, surrounded by my presents. I was in my ‘mu-mu’ – I think there is a proper name for it but I’ve never known it so I stick to ‘mu-mu’.

Being raised in the outback, we did not necessarily do the same things as city children did. Most of our play time was outside, in the fresh air, running around and getting plenty of exercise which, I think, was probably pretty normal for most children, city and country. But we couldn’t visit our friends to play, unless we planned to stay with them overnight or something. They were too far away. I consider myself very fortunate in that respect as I did have my youngest brother and our cousin. She also had some friends from the city who used to come up and stay sometimes. I really was not a part of that, but when we were by ourselves, we did have some fun times.

Television was introduced in the 1950s-1960s and we had our brand new set in our lounge room. Initially we had the ABC and some years later a local network, Channel 4, began. All black and white. The day’s viewing started with the good old test pattern before going into the scheduled programmes. We got the news of course and the weather and some other programmes in those very early days.

Our telephone was on a party line too. The switchboard was only open at certain hours so you had to make or take any calls in the specified hours and being a party line there was always the chance that everyone connected (ie stations for kilometres around) could and would be listening in. Reckon it was the best grapevine in the world!

The CWA (Country Women’s Association) was very strong in those days – in fact, it has always been a feature for the women in the country, both rural and remote. I understand my paternal grandmother was one of the first presidents of our local branch, followed by Mum. I have learned more recently that the above mentioned cousin’s mother was also involved with the CWA but I think it must have been a different branch. Mum was president for what seemed like forever to me. They even had a special hall built – which remains to this day although now completely unused as far as I know. I even tried to start the CGA (Country Girls’ Association) – one other girl turned up but that was only because she had to come along with her mum to the CWA meeting. My CGA lasted one whole day. I never became friends with any of the other girls of my age in the district.

Education was provided by the School of the Air (SotA) based in Port Augusta. Their end of year get together was a lot of fun and something to really look forward to. It was the time we got to meet, face to face, the other station children connected to the SotA. In those days that was the only time we saw them and had the chance to play with them. These get togethers included a nativity play and I was cast as Mary one year. That was wonderful – my parents were very proud of me, not that I realized it at the time. I was too nervous. I was given the wrong words for the singing so I found myself miming the whole way through. And being heartily congratulated afterwards – maybe I missed my calling in life?

While my memories of SotA are not numerous, there are a couple that spring to mind. The above was one. Another one was one of my birthdays. In this particular year it fell on a weekend. At the end of the daily SotA lesson, students were allowed to share any news that they had and anything they felt was important. Well, my birthday was very important and usually such occasions were mentioned by the teacher. But this did not happen on the Friday, so I figured I needed to do something about it. So I did. The teacher responded that she had planned to mention it on Monday. Ok, I accepted that and thanked her. A few minutes later, however, I heard footsteps, fast approaching down the verandah. They were heavy, fast and were definitely on a mission. Mum! Oops! Mum listened in to the radio lessons through the set in the lounge room and would have heard me. Those footsteps meant I was in trouble. And I was. I cannot recall what exactly happened and I don’t think I want to. All I do know is that it kind of dampened my birthday somewhat and I dreaded the SotA lesson on Monday, as I knew the teacher would mention it.

To Be Continued Next Blog

We have recently had reason to visit our family station on the edge of the outback in South Australia. A very special trip and one that my husband had promised we would make by car. YES. I detest flying at any time so to make such a trip by car was wonderful to me. 

Yes, the drought is very real.

Many people have told me that I am mad for wanting to drive over, rather than fly. 

Why?

Why do people think I am mad for preferring to drive and not fly? Surely it is a personal thing – and I know I am not like most of the rest of the world – in that, yes, I could drive in the outback, on country roads, forever, but put me in the city and yes, I will drive, but do not enjoy it. Too many people, too congested, traffic lights – just too much. And it’s not getting any better. The only city that I enjoy these days is Darwin – it’s still like a large country town to me – I love that.

There was very good reason for this particular trip – it was for the marriage of our gorgeous niece and her lovely husband. Very much a first for me – attending a wedding on the station. And what a lot of fun it was. Cannot imagine a better venue, except for the little park where my own lovely daughter and her wonderful husband were married, in Perth. I have been to one party – many years ago, on the station, but it was not a wedding. In fact, I am not quite sure what it was. There was no formality for this other event – it was a weekend back in my late teens. I believe it was actually to celebrate my 18th, my brother’s 21st and another brother’s 23rd. What a weekend it was – our mother tagged it: ‘The lost weekend’. And I reckon she was pretty spot on. The strange (for want of a better word at the moment) thing that I mostly remember is when my eldest brother and his then wife ‘danced’ (more of a series of jumps) across the wooden floorboards of the shearing shed – and promptly went straight through one! I cannot recall them injuring themselves, but I can remember laughing and not being able to stop laughing. It was a good weekend. One of my brothers celebrated his 60th birthday in the shearing shed as well but unfortunately none of my own little family was able to attend, including me. 

Yep. Flat battery – at Madura.

Anyway, our trip was just amazing. We even got a flat battery in Madura – and realized how lucky we were to get it there and not out between towns or service stations – one of the very few negatives about the outback, in a situation like that. The on-site mechanic had us back on the road quickly and we were easily able to get to the station and back again, as far as the local town, to take ten minutes to get a new battery.

Our first night was in Balladonia, where things are so dry that they are having to have their water carted from Norseman – just like other areas in Australia’s outback. They even have special little notices in their en-suite bathrooms, asking guests to be careful with the water. These were there a few years ago, when we last passed through, so the situation has not improved. Second night was across the WA/SA border in Ceduna, which was very pleasant. 

I knew the country was and still is in drought – but really had no idea just how bad it is. I cannot think of words to describe it. Once through the wheat-belt in WA., the drought was very evident from there right through to the station. Not quite so bad between Peterborough and the Flinders Ranges, as that is farming land as well.

The wedding was just superb. The ceremony was held on our old tennis court, which did look wonderful. And just a few steps away, outside the fence surrounding the court, is a trough which has been put there for the horses and any other animals to drink. While we were there, with the rest of the wedding guests, quite a number of emus and kangaroos came in to have a drink. It was rather an amazing sight. While I grew up with both, I cannot say I have seen them so close to the homestead before. Both humans and animals watched each other, the latter not appearing to be in the least bit frightened – which they usually are – and continued drinking while keeping one eye on us. Unfortunately, I did not have my camera on hand for the actual wedding but did get a photo of the two very friendly Shetland Ponies that were just near the trough. 

Garden at the front of the homestead. Corner of tennis court where the wedding formalities were held.

The reception was held in the old shearing shed, which, these days, seems to be used for such events more than anything else. But the memories were still there, including the ‘graffiti’ which covered some of the walls. Nothing ‘bad’ – just some fun writing and pictures from the shearers and some of the guests whom have stayed on the station through the years. 

The night sky was just so clear and absolutely dazzling. No smog or pollution of any kind in those skies – nowhere near enough to a city or large town not to be able to see such uninterrupted views. The spectacular Milky Way – just fantastic. 

Some of the guests were people I had not seen since school days – 1972! Several approached me and had to ‘re-introduce’ themselves, others I recognised immediately – by face, but not necessarily by name, which does make it a tad awkward when trying to introduce them to my family. But we got there and it was fun having a chat and catch-up with these people. While some had to return home early the morning after the wedding, others stayed on for an extra night. We were there for a couple of days, giving us the chance to climb a favourite local hill where Mum’s and Dad’s ashes have been spread. I do try to do this each time I visit the station, which is unfortunately becoming rarer and rarer. The last time we were there to do this was Christmas four years ago. And who knows when the next time will be.

Although, that said, we are hoping to go over again early next year. It will be a special trip and there are good reasons for it. And each trip, I do enjoy wandering around the homestead complex, taking a heap of photos. Every time I go up, a lot has changed. And this has naturally happened with each successive generation that lives up there. For instance, Mum and Dad changed a lot when my grandparents retired and moved on. Mum and Dad put their stamp on it, if you like. But they have now passed  on and my brother and his wife are up there and have made another lot of changes and it really looks lovely. 

I do miss the station, very much. It is my childhood home. But the second to last time I visited, it clicked – finally – that it really is not my home any longer. That ‘click’ has only taken…how many years?? Hmmm. One of my favourite things to do when I do go up there is to sit somewhere very quiet and just listen – to nothing. Complete silence apart from the birds and occasional dog barking – the sounds of nature. I think this is also part of the reason that I am not a person who loves listening to the radio, except in the car. I just love the sounds of nature – the wind blowing, birds, dogs – and the sound of rain, not that I hear that very often. 

I have to admit it took a good week or so to get back into the swing of things once we returned to Perth after that trip. I just didn’t want to be here.

But I absolutely love my life here now – I have made a very good life for myself and am very happy with all that I do – but irrespective of that, I have always found it slightly difficult to adjust back to normal after having such a wonderful trip away. I always used to find that I needed something, no matter how obscure, to look forward to.  

We have now been back for a couple of weeks and I am now really looking forward to a few future projects that I am starting to ‘work’ on. 

I am also looking hugely forward (is that awful grammar…) to the next trip over to the station early next year. That should also be a lot of fun.

This used to be the station airstrip – where the RFDS and other small, local aircraft could land. These days, it would probably cause an emergency if anyone tried to land on it.

Life continues to be pretty jolly good. While I have now all-but stopped writing books (still have the ‘Witley Court’ one to write) I continue writing generally – and will never give up.

Steve and I both did a lot of thinking over the festive period and both came to the same decision – to scrap the documentary. We have both realized now that the funds are just not going to happen – and if they don’t happen, the documentary doesn’t happen either. Both bitterly disappointed about this but life goes on and we have some other pretty exciting plans for the future.

Oh, so dry.

These plans do include the feature film which we plan (in collaboration with an American production company) to make in the next couple of years. I am doing much of the groundwork which I am absolutely thriving on. Again it is continuing on the mammoth learning curve that I began for myself some nine years ago. A whole new world. I’m even having a go at transcribing the book to screen – Steve will be helping with this. Finding locations (at the moment, we will be based at SAFilm, all going well) and actors and so much more.

Steve and I still do plan to do a series of short trips around country Western Australia, to make promotional films,

for ‘Red Dust Dreams’ and ‘No Looking Back’ as well as the three books that Steve has and still is writing – ‘My Footprints in Port Hedland’, ‘Salvaging the Memories and Artifacts of Perth’s Television History’ and his auto-biography, ‘Little Boy Lost’. While we have yet to start thrashing out the details of these trips, we have already done a reconnaissance trip up to the beautiful ‘John Forrest National Park’ in the Perth hills, near Mundaring. We had planned to have a weekend of solid filming

up there on the Australia Day long weekend this year, but one of our team members became very ill and we were not able to proceed with this. However, we remain hopeful that we will still be able to do this in the not-too-distant future. That particular team member is now fine again but there have been other interruptions and side-tracks which have delayed everything.

The above-mentioned reconnaissance trip was the most wonderful day out. Starting very early, we drove up to the ‘John Forrest National Park’ and spent the morning – or most of the day, actually, wandering around, selecting good spots for filming. We lunched in their tavern and were joined by some very friendly parrots, kangaroos and various other animals and birds. Even one very brave and cheeky parrot which kept swooping me and grabbing a beakful of whatever I had on my plate, scattering the rest of the meal as he/she did so. Steve and I loved every bit of it, but then we both love nature and this was nature at its best.

Having already said that I have all but stopped writing books, apart from the ‘Witley Court’ one, I have recently been across to South Australia to visit the station and have returned with the thought that there is one more book that I would like to try. All about ruins, history and ghosts in the Australian regional areas. Every time I manage to leave Perth and suburbs to get out into the country, I am forever seeing ruins, some are just chimney stacks, but I cannot help but wonder about the people who lived in those houses – the history that must have been there. When I visited many of the stations which participated in ‘Red Dust Dreams’ I was shown several graves and had quite a few ghost stories repeated to me. Some of these have been published in the relevant chapters in the book, others haven’t. This book will be based on memories, factual events which I have been provided with and plenty of internet research. Some of it might even be included in the feature film for ‘No Looking Back’ given that it is all part of my life. 

Deserted – and eerie – Masonic Lodge in Cue, Western Australia

And today it was kayaking. A water based sport. Something I thought I would never do. I love water but cannot swim to save myself – or so I thought. I have been trying to find a sporting club of some sort – but nothing really stood out to me. I did try dragon boats last year – it seemed like a good idea and I love the look of them. I went down to a practice session (I think that’s what it was) and found myself with about a dozen other people, some newbies like me, others knew what they were doing. Out we went in this boat – 12 of us and that, for a start, did not really suit me. Obviously I had not given it much thought. I really wanted something where I could go out by myself or perhaps with one other person. But not 12! My husband rows but that did not suit me either. 

Then one day, on my way home, I looked at the river as we drove over it – and there, just heading north, was a lone kayake paddler. And THAT looked like fun. So once I got home, I started looking into it.

To join my nearest club (or any kayaking club I suppose) you do need to go through two inductions – the first one is dry and that’s where you are shown over the club house and all their amenities etc. The second induction – the wet one – is somewhat more of a challenge. It was described to me: I would be going out in a boat, paddling myself, capsizing it and getting out of that, then swimming a bit of a distance. If you get through all that without drowning or giving up or whatever and you enjoy it, you’re in. You’re a member. 

Now, please bear in mind that I cannot swim. Not for anything. And I was envisaging that I would simply be asked to swim back to shore after capsizing the boat. No. Wrong. Once I had recovered after that capsizing, we took the boat back to the shed – then the lady pointed to a white buoy – which seemed to be at least half way across the river. AAAGGGHHH! I had to swim out to that, then turn and swim back again. Oh. Yup. Ok. HEEEELP. I very nearly pulled out there and then but then realized that I really did want to do this so at I should at least try. And I did. I cannot use overarm to save myself, so between breaststroke and side stroke and a few others I invented along the way, I got out there. And back. It seemed to take forever but I don’t think it was long at all, really. 

I was pretty chuffed by the time I’d reached the shallow water again and was told I had passed. Then I discovered all the rocks that were covered by water and you couldn’t see. Wow. How in the heck I didn’t seriously hurt myself is beyond me. I stumbled and started tripping and generally ripped my feet to pieces. But I didn’t fall. I was able to keep myself upright and got away from the rocks. The next challenge – to get back up onto the platform. Hmmm. HOW? I asked someone and I was told to just launch myself. Yea. Right. Nup. That won’t work. In bygone days I would not have had a problem, but the body isn’t quite so willing these days and I seriously wondered what in the heck I would do. I looked at the beach and decided that I would go the few extra steps and back to the platform once I was out of the water. Then I saw that another lady, nearer to my age, had moved forward and was offering me both her hands. So I grabbed them and out I came! Thank goodness for her. 

So – I was in. I had passed. No more tests to do. I had a shower and changed there, washed my feet, was given my fob key and off I went to my car. I felt great. But my tootsies were a tad sore – and still are. I washed them again when I got home and smothered them in Savlon. And I am doing this twice a day at the moment and am still finding more cuts and grazes – so more Savlon. They are gradually getting over themselves.

One of my closest friends here wants to join too, but hasn’t been able to do either of her inductions. I have said I will go with her when she does them and once all is said and done, I reckon we’ll have a darned good time paddling out there. I plan to go for a paddle twice a week if I can and go to the gym three or four times. Surely, with all this, I should start getting fit sooner or later. 

Well, I live in hope.

School of the Air. Distance Education. An Australian icon. As Aussie as koalas, kangaroos and meat pies, along with so many other things. Absolutely ESSENTIAL for remote, some regional and other students who cannot attend their local schools, because of the huge distances involved – or simply for personal reasons. And not just for the education but also for the people of the outback to socialize, to get to know each other – mingle with others. The sorts of things that most folk in the cities can do everyday, anywhere – all taken for granted. 

And completely ignoring the above, as is widely known, just before Christmas 2017, the WA government threatened to close all SotA bases statewide. However, due to huge public backlash from all the country folk who would have been badly affected by this as well as many party faithful in the city, the government did backflip on this and changed its mind. Lucky for them – but I still don’t trust them for a second. There are still quite a lot of areas that they need to rethink – but won’t. As I say, I don’t trust them. To me, it does seem that the current state government does not have a lot of time (like none), nor interest and apparently not the required funding (which is being ploughed into other projects which, to me, are unnecessary), to spend on their own regional areas. But the government has a fight on its hands – its own country people will not give up – and nor should they, with such essential decisions in question.

Nothing and no-one will ever take the place of SotA, irrespective of what the ministers think. SotA is very much an Australian icon. It is part of our nation – known and respected world wide. It is a sad day when its own constituents have to fight their own government so intensely for something that should not even be considered in this way. 

Close up on School of the Air lesson in progress. A station in Queensland.

My own primary education was provided by the SotA, based in Port Augusta, South Australia. I am going back to the early 1960s when it did not have the social side that it does now. We did have our end of year get together, which was the year’s highlight for me. This was a time when many of the SotA families traveled to Port Augusta to meet some of their fellow students, face to face. Doing things that students attending city and town primary schools do every day – take for granted. These SotA students also got to meet their teachers, all the time having a wonderful get together. From memory it only lasted for a few days but it really was a heck of a lot of fun. There were also games and sports and a nativity play. I had the role of Mary one year – so I was one of the leads. Problem was that I had been given the wrong words for the carols and hymns – so had to mime. No way could I remember them! Reckon I must have been pretty convincing though – I was congratulated afterwards! Think that was the first and one of the last times I have been congratulated – and it felt good! Maybe I did miss my calling in life. I was also in a running race – and, believe me, I cannot run. I seem to recall being at the starting line when the others all reached the other end. I was given sixpence to stop me from crying!

These days, there are more social opportunities provided by the SotA for the people of the outback as well as other community groups that parents, in particular, can join and help give back to the community. Also giving them a chance to socialize. Some of these other groups have been initiated by these parents and they are prepared to drive very long distances to attend meetings and other functions. They have to be prepared to drive such distances if they want to leave their properties for any reason at all. Thinking back, one of the groups that my mother presided over for more years than I can remember was the good old Country Women’s Association (CWA). Hers was the Nackara branch and from memory, they built a hall specially for the CWA and its events. I used to go along with mum to all her meetings and at one stage I even tried to start the CGA (Country Girls’ Association). Great failure – one other girl attended and that was only because she also accompanied her mother to the CWA meetings. So much for the CGA. I cannot remember returning to Nackara at all after leaving all those years ago. I often wonder if the little hall is still there – just no longer in use and hasn’t been for a few decades, as far as I know. Even the little church on top of the hill behind the hall has gone – sad. Involvement with the CWA seems to run in my family – my great-grandmother (I think) and my mother were both presidents of the Nackara branch and I have heard that my aunt was involved too – but a different branch. I am now involved with my local branch in Perth along with the ICPA (Isolated Children’s and Parents’ Association).

I clearly recall two of the annual fundraising events that the Nackara CWA held – one was their Red Robin Ball, held in the hall. I do not recall the details of this ball apart from having the chance to dress up. The second was the annual Nackara Races, which I loved. There were the horse races themselves and a few stalls, which were a lot of fun. There could have been other fundraisers but I can only remember these two.

From what I understand, Nackara was originally planned to be quite a large country town – but it never eventuated. It was a railway siding with a few houses and the hall and church scattered around. It was the first place that I can remember being the collection place for our weekly groceries, newspapers and mail.

Wool, glorious wool.

Our station is on the edge of the outback. It is just north of the fictional ‘Goyder’s Line’ which separates farming from station land. South of this line, a decent annual rain can usually be relied upon and therefore it is suitable for farming. North of this line – no. The rain can definitely not be depended on.

And drought is just one of many – MANY – problems these people struggle against. When conducting my research for my book, I met and chatted to many of the owners/managers of the participating stations – while they could not have been more welcoming, warm and friendly, they also wanted to chat. Tell me about their never-ending problems – with nature and human – and the government, if you call them human. But it is also a life style that they would not change – unless forced to and so many are now having to reconsider.

Sad.

An empty lake in Qld. Dry as dry can be. And this is the same story for the regional people nationwide.

(First published on 21st August 2016)

Make no mistake! The mighty outback of Australia is very beautiful, spectacular, stunning – and can be deadly! So if you want to see it for yourself (and who wouldn’t…) – PLEASE PREPARE, PREPARE, PREPARE. This cannot be stressed enough and is so easily done. Correct and basic preparation/homework can and does save lives.

There are lots’n’lots of things you can do to try to ensure your own safety and wellbeing – some are listed below and are from my own experiences. But there are a heck of a lot more than these. Armed with as much knowledge as possible and the correct and basic preparation (much of which is pure common sense) your outback adventure could turn out to be one of the best trips you have ever made.

One of these must-dos – find out the best and most reliable form of communication that can be used effectively in even the most remote areas. On the whole, mobiles are useless in the outback, irrespective of who you are with, although Telstra does seem to be the best out there – but it is still useless in the very remote areas away from the built-up areas. A VHF radio is one of the best forms of communication – combined with at least one emergency long distance channel (Channel 5 and/or Channel 35). Please also bear in mind that there are penalties in place for general misuse of any emergency channels – also for interfering with an emergency call.

If driving alone or even with a friend or two:

•  Make absolutely sure your vehicle is in top-notch condition. Organize a really thorough services, naturally including everything throughout the engine – the petrol, water, oil, tyres (including the spare obviously), and anything else you can think o f prior to departure. Also explain to your mechanic what you are doing and where you are going, over gravel roads and into rough country if you are;
• Try to get some basic mechanical knowledge;
• Take certain tools with you, as well as a good first aid kit; ring and open spanners, high-jack, insulating tape, lubricating spray, screwdrivers, wire, an extra fan belt, set of hoses, radiator hose, spare bulbs, fuses etc;
• Carry an extra jerry-can of petrol. When traveling, check your tyres, including that spare, regularly and always top up your fuel when you can, even if it is literally only a top-up. It might be hours before you next get the chance;
• ALWAYS take plenty of water – this cannot be stressed enough. Both personal drinking water as well as for the car;
• Take plenty of sunscreen (SPF 50+ at least). Those UV rays are deadly. Make sure you keep soaking yourself in the sunscreen;
• Take good sunglasses and equally good insect repellant, preferably a roll-on one;
• Take a good torch and extra batteries;
• Dress sensibly. Close shoes (riding boots are best, or sandshoes), long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Also always wear a good hat outdoors – preferably with a good, wide brim. Again, that sun can be a killer. Australia is also home to many very poisonous snakes that are not necessarily seen when walking along so adequate protection is essential;
• ALWAYS notify the people at your destination what time you are leaving and the route which you are taking, including your starting point. The people at your destination will then have some idea of your estimated time of arrival, even if you don’t know;
• Always watch for animals on the road. Both road-kill as well as animals that decide to wander across the road just as you are coming – which they will do and chances are high that they might just decide that the road is nice and warm – a good place to settle!
• Always drive with your headlights on, day and night;
• Plan frequent stops – fatigue does kill;
• Avoid driving on wet roads, both blacktop and gravel, if possible. Fines are in place for driving on closed gravel roads and these are usually signposted;
• Most roads and tracks in the outback do pass through private properties (stations). Please stay on designated roads and respect any notices expressing the wishes and warnings of the station owners;
• When meeting oncoming traffic, try to slow down slightly and veer over to the left side – the oncoming traffic should do this too;
• If you do break down, DO NOT LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE. This should really be common sense – just think about it. When searchers begin looking for you – and they will do this provided you have followed these basic preparations, it is a lot easier to spot a vehicle than it is to spot a lone body – or even a couple of bodies;
• Upon arrival at your destination, do let those know at your starting point that you have arrived safely. If there is no-one there then let your family or a reliable friend or relative, or some person of authority, know.

Again, please make sure you do your homework. While the above is from my own experience, there is a lot more that you can do and learn to make your trip as safe and enjoyable as possible. It’s all on the net.

If traveling by public transport and planning to stay overnight at your destination, there are some more points to bear in mind. While not essential, they could certainly make your trip safer and more enjoyable. Again, these are from my own experience.

As we all know, coaches, trains, planes and other forms of commercial travel have schedules that they have to keep to. These very often involve passing through rural and remote towns in the very early hours of the morning. Not a great time to find yourself stranded after being dropped off and watching your transport disappear into the night. It’s actually a very scary feeling. Believe me, I’ve been there, done that! But a few pre-arranged plans could make all the difference.

• Try to pick a coach or train that is not scheduled to arrive at your destination in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning, although sometimes this is unavoidable;
• Obviously the best idea is to try to ensure that someone (from your destination preferably) is there to meet you but sometimes this is not possible, or something happens, or people do forget. In which case it is important to contact the people at your destination to remind them of your arrival and again try to ensure that someone is able to meet your transport;
• If you do not have a choice in the above, try to make sure you pre-arrange with your accommodation to have your room key left out for you, preferably somewhere you can find it easily (in the dark if necessary – or remember that torch mentioned above), but hopefully no-one else can;
• Also that said accommodation is either very near to the place where the transport will drop you off or that you have checked out taxi services in the town and have taken note of the relevant number. It is not a pleasant feeling being dropped off late at night or in the very early hours of the morning, complete with luggage and trying to haul it all behind you as you walk the streets trying to find your accommodation;
• If there isn’t any accommodation, try to find an all night business – a service station, police, hospital – anything;
• Packing all the personal effects mentioned above applies here too.

As mentioned, there is a lot more that can be done and researched and prepared for a trip to the outback and this can be gleaned through the internet. The above is based on my own experience and things that I have learned and heard about.

I think it is also relevant to provide a couple of examples. First scenario applies to both transport and accommodation and occurred during my very first research trip. I thought I had organised everything perfectly, but I realize now I had done everything but. You can do it a heck of a lot better and more safely than I did. Knowing that I would be arriving in one town very late at night and then departing again on a different coach and in a different direction, in the very early hours of the following morning, I did book into a motel hoping that I might get a nap or at least be able to freshen up. Unfortunately, the coach was late leaving its departure point and while the driver tried, she was not able to make up that time. Our ETA at our destination was about 11.30 pm. We clocked in at 12.30 am. I had to catch my next coach at 4 am. Once we had arrived, I began the search for a taxi and ended up sharing one which was absolutely fine – I was lucky. I was dropped at my motel and was relieved to see that it was lit up – thinking that meant the office was still open or at least they were expecting me. The taxi vanished into the night and I found that I could not get in – office door was locked. I could not access anything – and strangely enough, everyone was asleep. So there I was, a stranger in town who ended up sitting on one of the lovely wrought iron chairs on the front veranda, cuddled up to my luggage. Thankfully it wasn’t a cold night but it was a Friday and this motel was situated on a corner – there had obviously been a lot of people out and about and quite a few staggered up the road and past the entry. Most of these people seemed a tad inebriated so I wanted be as inconspicuous as possible. I tried to shrink back into the shadows to avoid being seen. Either it worked or I had given myself too much credit and no-one was remotely interested. A valuable lesson learned. 

The second scenario occurred in Qld. We were well into station country after leaving Cairns and heading west. The coach pulled up at a dirt road that led off the blacktop in a ‘t’ junction. There was nothing there apart from a little tin lean-to thingy. Couldn’t call it a shed – was possibly where mail, the newspapers and milk were left for whatever stations were out there. It was also the drop off point for a young backpacker who had also been on the bus. It is not the responsibility of the coach drivers to ensure that their passengers are safe after drop-off – the

drivers have done their bit by then, but I think every driver that I had (across the nation and there were quite a few of them) acted above and beyond the call of duty when feeling that they couldn’t just leave these young backpackers there – stranded – when there was absolutely nothing and no-one in sight. No human, animal, car, house – nothing. Just the sort of scene that I love but for this girl – not good. I understand she was due to go out to one of the stations, presumably to work and she had arranged for someone to meet her. She was wearing thongs, a singlet top and very short shorts. No sunscreen at all, no hat, no sunglasses, nothing. No protection whatsoever. She took out her mobile and tried to make a call – surprise, surprise – no signal. Her ‘lift’ had either forgotten or was very late. The driver tried to use his two-way to ask someone to either ring the station or come to take the girl somewhere safe – he also offered to take her on to the next town, which was a good couple of hours away. She declined, saying she was sure the people would turn up and she would be fine. The driver had to get moving. I have no idea what happened but did find myself listening to the news that night hoping that I would not hear of yet another young backpacker who had disappeared. 

So, again – PLEASE I cannot stress enough the importance of ensuring you do your homework, research and PREPARE, PREPARE, PREPARE before heading out into the outback. Really just a few common sense pointers and you should be able to have the most memorable trip – in all the right ways. But, again, do not just rely on this info – go to the net and start Googling. 

It’s a big country out there and can be very unforgiving.

(First published 18th July 2016)

‘The Sawers from Pitcairn’ – my late father’s book.

I’m quite stunned – at myself! Doing what I have been doing for the last few years is, to me, sure proof that age can be irrelevant – you can pretty well do anything you want to, regardless of your age. Yes, there would be limits to that – legal and health issues would come into it. But for me, at the ripe young age of 55 (I think it was – I am now 60) I had an idea – a lightbulb moment I like to call it – a window of opportunity where I realized I could finally combine two of my passions – writing and the outback. It seemed like a true lightbulb moment at the time but I guess I never really thought I would actually go through with it – and have such a book published. But – guess what – that is exactly what is about to happen and I don’t think anyone is more surprised than I am.

‘Bullseye’. My second forgettable effort.

So – yes, it has been going on for about four years now and has had several working titles attached to it, some non-repeatable. But we have finished up with the official title of ‘Red Dust Dreams’. And what a journey it has been and continues to be. So much so that I have had trouble putting on the brakes. I continue to thrive on it all – on everything about it – the research which has been incredible, meeting and interviewing and getting to know heaps of wonderful people and – and – the list is endless. And what a way to see the nation – so off the beaten track. Much of my transport was by coach – letting someone else drive and do all the worrying while I sat and enjoying the passing scenery.

My late father’s book: ‘The Sawers from Pitcairn’ was the official trigger for this book. Actually, that’s only partly true. It certainly helped but my passion/addiction for writing and for the outback probably had something to do with it. This, along with a long held curiosity about the lack of knowledge and education – and interest – that many (not all) people in urban Australia and overseas seem to have about this great expanse, bothered me. For example, ask many in the city about education in the outback – a lot will suggest that schools in country towns are not a lot different to those in the cities. I guess so – I don’t know much about schools in country towns either. But that’s not what I am talking about. This is about education on the stations out there – the way education is conducted on properties that are kilometres, sometimes hundreds, from the nearest public school. These children have to be educated too – but how? Some of those in the urban areas did think about it when I put it to them – but overall, it went into the ‘too hard’ basket. Next question – where does your meat come from, if you are not vegetarian or vegan? Well, obviously the butcher. Hang on, try the meat sections in the supermarkets. And milk? Again the supermarket but from a different big fridge and it comes in a plastic or cardboard container and – hey – it even comes in different flavours! Power? Fuel? General shopping? Ok, they’re lost. Don’t even bother with the too hard basket.

A combination of the lot saw me take this on – the biggest challenge of my life so far (after marriage and motherhood) and one that I am absolutely thriving on. I feel I am ageing backwards on the whole – I began in my mid-50s and am now heading toward 61. Proving that on the whole age is no barrier. Nor is gender.

Once I decided to write this book (working titles became ‘The Stations Book’ or ‘The Book on Stations’), now officially called ‘Red Dust Dreams’, it was a matter of – where to start? I really needed a list of sheep and cattle stations throughout Australia. So I turned to GOOGLE. And kept turning to GOOGLE for a good few weeks (on and off). I tried looking up ‘property’ – and found heaps of real estate around the world. ‘Stations’ gave me lots of railway and coach stations globally as well as petrol stations. Hmm. ‘Station Stays’ – more farm stays revealed than anything else and while that is all very much rural, it was not what I was looking for. ‘Landholdings’ and a heap more until the computer got sick of me and started making its own suggestions. First was ‘entities’. Huh? Entities? Ok. I’ll try anything once. So I did and BINGO – lists of rural and remote properties nationwide. YES. After printing off most of it I then looked at each state in turn, going by the postcodes. The higher – or lower, depending which way you look at it (for instance, 6150 is definitely suburban, whereas 6750 means outback. Not rural, but remote). Next I went through the stations bearing the relevant codes – choosing ones that were not (at that stage) station stays nor company owned. However, like many other aspects, this has changed as we have progressed and now there are several station stays involved. In fact, we are trying to showcase these stations to do our bit to help with their ongoing problems and struggles.

While other aspects have changed, the one aspect I have never strayed from is the original focus for ‘Red Dust Dreams’ – the domestic side of life out there. Nor the aim – which was and always will be to try to help raise awareness about that sort of life, educating people about it, helping tourism – and as much else as possible.

Next was to issue an introductory and explanatory letter to the chosen stations, along with a form for those who might be interested to complete and return to me in the provided SSAE. About 20-30 were issued per state – Victoria, Tasmania and the ACT are not included because, while some do have stations, normally these are too small to be considered isolated and overall their rainfall is much higher than in the outback. Most are near enough to towns for their children to be able to attend their local schools and not have to rely on home schooling (unless through choice), people can socialize and shop easily. Emergency services are more accessible. Neighbours are generally within sight from somewhere on each property. All these being aspects that those in the more remote and isolated parts of Australia do not have. 

Back to the letters. Many of these were ignored, which was expected. It was also quite an old list and some of the listed owners/managers have passed on. But initially, about four stations (except Qld where about a dozen responded) per state responded positively. 

I then set about organizing the research trips, state by state. These involved flying to the capital city of each state, then traveling by coach (normally) to the first town and, hopefully, meeting someone from each station there. On the whole I would stay for two nights and one day, taking heaps of photos and talking with the owners/managers, their families and staff, for those who had any. Doing this, I worked my way around SA and NSW together, followed by Qld a few months later, a quick visit back to SA, zooming over the border to Broken Hill and then back up through the NT to Darwin. And finishing up with four trips to cover the stations in WA. For the first of these latter trips, I caught a train up to Kalgoorlie, then hired a car there to get out to the station and back and then coached back to Perth (trainline was being maintained). For the second, I took my own car up to

Outside loo. Long since unused but a redback’s paradise. And possibly the odd snake.

Exmouth and back. I was meant to visit a couple of stations east of Carnarvon but I came sown with a virus of some sort and then my car went out in sympathy. So I finished up completely missing those two stations and hightailed it home instead. The third trip was by coach up to Broome, then my eldest daughter accompanied me out to a station in the Kimberley – then back to Broome and I coached home again. Finally, I actually joined a coach tour to Mt Augustus – fabulous fun – and back again. Most of these stations are now involved. All but three I did manage to visit and these three are coming onboard by email. All told, there are two in SA., three in NSW., eight in Qld., one in the NT and five in WA. Also included are interviews and photos about the participating retired pastoralists, backpackers, shearers, an Optometrist, Dental Nurse, an explosive expert, a rock star who has toured the outback of SA (and is a Grammy nominee), two Indigenous people, three governesses, travelers, two authors and more. Aspects in the book include education, entertainment, employment, communication, community involvement and distances traveled, loneliness, isolation, health issues, shopping, transport, power, fuel, infrastructure, holidays (what holidays??), even down to the nitty gritty such as septic tanks and treatment and maintenance of same. 

Hopefully, ‘Red Dust Dreams’ will be an interesting read, fun and educational. Not all good, not all bad – just true and factual. And we are also hoping to make a documentary once the book is published – this will provide a visual interpretation of the written word while also showing how the content for such a book is collected.

(First published 23rd August 2015)

Sadly my final research rip has finished. It’s all over. But there is still so much of the outback to see. I have been home for all of two days and have already started checking out coach tours for the Gibb River Road, the NT, Cape York and – well, lots’n’lots more. Yes, I have covered a heck of a lot of our mighty outback of SA., NSW., Qld., the NT and now WA but I feel I have only had a ‘taste’ of all that can be seen and experienced. Once the book is safely out, I am looking forward to seeing a lot more over the coming years.

Speaking of coach tours, I do thank the wonderful Casey Australia Tours, particularly our crew – Barry, our driver and jack-of-all-trades and Jaye, our guide and jill-of-all-trades for – everything. I cannot single anything out as it was all just so good. So much fun. I am hoping to travel with them again for all or most of the above mentioned trips. Beware. Be very ware.

Wreath Flower. Australian wildflower.

Our trip to Mt Augustus, lasted for just five days. But they were some of the best five days that I can remember – apart from all the other research trips spanning the nation. I have now traveled by air, coach, train, hired a car and have also driven my own car. And for my very last research trip, I decided that a full coach tour would be the way to go. Just so good. So many amazing memories and my traveling companions were a lot of fun – lots of laughs and a good time seemed to be had by all (or most) on board. Our agenda was jam packed – so much so that my actual reason for traveling at all – to meet and chat with/interview the owners of the station – didn’t happen. No-one was at fault. As does happen with stations, the owner was helping to muster on another station at the time of my visit and he was working very long hours. The other ‘problem’ was that, as mentioned, we had a lot crammed in and I didn’t want to miss any of it!

Our tour included visiting New Norcia (where we had our first morning tea from our mobile kitchen), Dalwallinu, Wubin, Payne’s Find, Mt Magnet and Cue – our first night was spent in a pub in this last town. All these places were new to me so yet more fantastic sights. We had lunch at Meekatharra on the first day – and we also pre-ordered our lunch there for the Wednesday, when we were due to return. We were also advised to stock up on anything we might need while out at Mt Augustus as this was our last ‘town stop’ before turning west onto gravel roads, heading out to the station.

Our fantastic tour group, with Mt Augustus in the background.

Off we went again, through to Mt Gould Police Station and lockup, where we had afternoon tea, provided by Casey’s and which came from our mobile kitchen which was housed in the trailer we were pulling behind us. I had never seen such a set up; this kitchen had everything. Food, drinks, more food, cooking equipment, food, cleaning equipment, food, tables and chairs, food, eating implements – oh and did I mention food? In other words, they were prepared for anything and everything.

On our way again. A quick break at the Murchison River before stopping for afternoon tea at the Landor Station Race Track, famous for its outback race meetings organized by the East Gascoyne Race Club. An amazing place. Another one that really would give the Melbourne Cup a run for its money. 

Off to Mt Augustus. Our accommodation was in the form of dongas here. I’ve read about these and did see some on another WA station, but sleeping in one was yet another first for me. We had two nights here. I even shared mine with a lizard – it was huge and on the wall when I entered, then hid and stayed that way for the duration. We also shared our bathroom with small frogs – all part of the fun.

Next day, it was time to see some of the sights on the station, at the rock itself and in the national park. What a place! First we visited Edney Springs, followed by Flintstone Rock. And then a quick dip (for a few) in Cattle Pool or a walk along the bank of the Lyons River. We saw and heard hundreds of wild budgies here – really lovely. After lunch we were given a bit of ‘free’ time so this was when I tried to do what I was supposed to be doing – meeting the owners. But not to be. Later in the afternoon we visited Emu Hill Lookout which offers a superb view of Mt Augustus, the rock itself, particularly beautiful at sunset. However, it was very overcast for our visit but what colours we did see were lovely.

Dongas on Mt Augustus (new ones have since been installed)

Another early start the next morning and we were on our way home. However, it seemed there was more to see, including the magnificent Walga Rock – and there we were extremely lucky in that the wildflowers had put on the most spectacular display – just for us! So beautiful, particularly backed by the rock.

Sturt’s Peas. Australian Wildflower

Onto our ‘last supper’ – a BBQ in front of the ruins of the old pub in the ghost town of Big Bell, before heading back to Cue and our hotel. At the end of the next day we were due to head home, but it seemed Jaye and Barry had other ideas with yet more things to show us. I loved all of it. First of these stops was at the Joker’s Tunnel – there was a bit of a walk/stumble to reach it but then most of us went through it, in single file and in the pitch black. Making a heck of a lot of noise, laughing a lot and scaring the wits out of a bat which took off in a hurry. Goodness knows what else there could have been, but no snakes that we knew and in that case, I think ignorance might have been bliss! Our very last couple of stops were one for photos when we passed through more superb wildflowers and this is also where we saw the superb Wreath Flowers. The second and last stop was for lunch in Morawa.

From there we made our way back to Perth via some true back roads – I loved every bit of it, except for the fact that we were heading home. We saw the very distinct line separating the stations from the farming land.

Jaye and Barry are to be congratulated for their efforts. They are both wonderful people who proved themselves to be extremely capable. Thanks guys.

Mt Augustus in Western Australia. At sunset.

(First published 26th July 2015)

Well, OK – into the western edge of it but enough to get just a glimpse of how spectacular it is. I continue to travel throughout our great outback and the further I go the more I love it. There is just so much to see and learn about out there – at this stage, I have completely lost interest in traveling overseas at all and all I want to see is the outback. I am sure I will regain that interest one day but for the moment, there is just so much more of my own backyard that I want to see and experience.

Yes, the end is in sight but I have postponed publication to the first half of next year (2016) and I am starting to feel the heeby-jeebies (otherwise known as withdrawals). It’s been the most amazing project – when the seed was planted three or four years ago, I honestly did not think I would actually act on it. But here I am. And I am jolly proud of my efforts to date. I admit that I am getting close to turning the big 6 – 0 but do not feel that I am slowing down at all. At least, not overall. I also continue to make some of the most amazing friends as I travel on this road. 

One of the paths leading through the rainforest at Birdswood Downs Company Station, in the Kimberley. WA

I have actually been on two more wonderful trips since my last post. The first was up to Exmouth – after the success of the little Hyundai that I hired to take me out to Wonganoo Station, north east of Leonora, I decided that my own little car should be able to take me on the next trip – up to Exmouth, back to Carnarvon, turning east to visit two stations between Carnarvon and Mullewa, before heading back to Geraldton, via Northampton and finally home. This was the idea anyway. Unfortunately, while in Exmouth I managed to pick up some sort of virus which took hold in Carnarvon. The planned two nights there stretched into four – and not to be outdone, my car picked up its own virus and I had to cancel the station visits – which kind of partly defeated the purpose of the trip. But I still did manage to visit two couples which was lovely. One was in Northampton, the other in Geraldton.

I was incredibly disappointed about not being able to visit these stations but just did not feel I could trust my little car out there after all and I was also not sure whether I was contagious or not. Between these two sstations I was also planning to spend a night at the Murchison Settlement, which would have given me a new perspective again – but not to be. Anyway, one while of those stations does appear to have pulled out now, the second has come onboard by email and they were very quick and efficient to do so, including images. And another station in WA has also come onboard since, also by email. My thanks to you both.

After this trip I was back in Perth for less than a week before I boarded a coach to head north again. This next trip took two nights and a day and was a great way to see the countryside between Carnarvon and Broome, which I had only flown over previously. Traveling overnight meant that I did miss some of the sights but I’ll never forget the approach to Port Hedland, both from the north and the south. I had been told it is big – but those lights seemed to stretch forever. The only other time I can remember seeing lights like that was when I flew into Singapore on my 24th birthday – there seemed to be an enormous number of lights then too. Maybe because there were. Anyway, we had to drop off and collect passengers in Port Hedland – that seemed to happen in a couple of different spots so I did see quite a lot of the city. And it really is big. I really would love to visit it during the day time. Just another addition for my bucket list. 

Our arrival in Broome was a tad later than scheduled. Rob was there to meet me which was lovely. We went straight to breaky then back to her place briefly so she could pack and prepare the car (she was coming with me or maybe I was going with her) and also so I could say hello to Guaco, my grand-parrot. Really lovely to see them both. We were soon on our way again, heading north toward Derby but turning east onto the Gibb River Road. But Rob had a lovely surprise for me – she had told me about this but nothing really prepared me for the art at the amazing Mowanjum Aboriginal Art & Culture Centre. As the name suggests, it is completely devoted to just that – Aboriginal art and culture. And I guess this has helped cement my deep and total respect and admiration for the art that our Indigenous people can produce. The colours are spectacular – every piece has a story behind it. I really could not get enough of it.

The spectacular Windjana Gorge. WA.

Then we moved onto Birdwood Downs Company Station, which is an ecological demonstration project, American owned and founded in 1978. It is run primarily on voluntary basis and most of the staff we met are WWOOFERS (Willing Workers On Organic Farms). Mostly young people from other nations, are really lovely and a lot of fun. Hans Leenaarts, the Director and Business Manager, our wonderful host, took us on one of their Ecological Tours which was absolutely fascinating. It took in both the homestead and a station hour – all so interesting. Yet another station that I could not get enough of. It is also a station stay property with the accommodation being mainly in the form of Savannah Bungalows – two rows of them. Lots of fun. There is also a dormitory to cater for excess guests and/or staff as well as a camping ground. They’ve got everything! Even their own man-made rainforest, right outside the homestead front door. It has three paths leading through it. They are just so cool and lovely to walk through. Except they do have spiders (yup, my fear coming to the fore again) up there and I was just a little concerned when walking along these paths at night that I might walk right through a web. It didn’t happen but that fear was ever present – not that it actually stopped me from going through – too lovely not to. I was very very careful and jumped every time there was the slightest movement! We did have an unwanted visitor in the shower though – in the form of a large Huntsman. It was sitting/standing on the wall next to the taps and I could have sworn it waved one of its spindly legs at me – but now I feel very proud that I did manage to have a shower with it watching me (I’m sure it was – I was certainly keeping a very wary eye on it) but did find it a tad difficult to wash my hair while trying to watch it. I fully expected it to jump on me. It didn’t and next time I went into the ablutions block it had disappeared.

Rob and I were also invited to join Hans and the staff on a marsh camp/party on our first night there. While I was very dubious at the thought of camping, Hans had assured us that if we did not want to stay the night, he would bring us back to the station. That was a terribly generous gesture but I am proud and very thankful to say that we both stayed and had the best time. Watching those magnificent clear night skies up there – you could almost touch those stars. How can you beat that? Absolutely superb.

On our second afternoon there, some visitors arrived. From Radio Goolarri 99.7 FM they were there to interview Hans. But someone mentioned that we were also there to conduct interviews and I found myself being questioned about this. Never one to lose a change to expose the book, I agreed to be interviewed. That was exciting and completely unexpected.

Crocodile. Common in the northern areas of Australia.

We left Birdwood very early on our third morning there and Rob had another surprise for me. Although she had told me but nothing actually prepared me for the experiences themselves. We drove further east along the Gibb River Road, slightly further into the Kimberley and then turned off to visit the mighty Windjana Gorge – and I finally saw freshies in reality for the first time (‘freshies’ being croc-speak for freshwater crocodiles – the ‘safe’ ones). I loved it. That was just so exciting and Windjana Gorge really needs to be seen to be believed. It is spectacular. After that we visited Tunnel Creek, a few kilometres further south. This was also excellent. But did present somewhat more of a challenge to get through – it is a tunnel after all and does pass through a large range. We had to climb, stumble, half-swim, stumble, sortof walk and did I mention stumble – through the pitch black for this one. Rob had brought two of those thingies with lights (pointing forward for preference) on them that you wear around your head – similar to a miner’s helmet I suppose, but without the actual helmet. There were lots’n’lots’n’lots of rocks, big and small. And even one freshy. Not that I really saw it – but apparently if you looked directly at it you could see two eyes watching you – a tad eerie but I was busy keeping a very close eye on a Huntsman which was perched on a rock in the middle of the water. We eventually reached the end of the tunnel and had a look around – fascinating and beautiful. Then we turned around and retraced our steps back to the start. I hadn’t been sure what to wear for this and was trying to figure out what would be the most suitable for doing the above. I finished up not doing anything – not even bothering to roll my jeans up. My sandshoes stayed on but I did take my sox off. And so I got drenched and squished everwhere. All part of the fun.

Boab Tree. Common throughout the northern areas of Australia. This one was in fact a prison tree. There is another one on the eastern end of the Kimberley.

Once back at the car, we had a light picnic lunch which Rob had very thoughtfully and sensibly provided (thank goodness – I hadn’t even thought about it). After this, we drove on to see the ruins of the old police station a bit further south. Again fascinating. Then we saw an old mine site before turning right onto the Great Northern Highway and headed west toward Broome. The Kimberley is also the only area (that I know of) in Australia that has Boab Trees (don’t quote me on that one), which are really interesting. Amazing shapes. There are descriptions and stories about many of the things mentioned in these blogs in the book itself.

Ship wreck off the coast near Exmouth, WA.

(First published 30th April 2015)

‘Red Dust Dreams’ is finally looking like heading toward publication. I have slotted that for the end of 2015. All images for the participating stations have been issued, except WA – and some of those have already been edited by those station owners and returned to me. Thank you so much. Also for the suggestions/thoughts/comments which continue to come through – all very welcome. And the texts are gradually being completed and also sent out – still working on those. A couple have already been edited by their respective stations and returned.

Also slowly but surely finishing interviews with the wonderful group of retired pastoralists whom are participating – and a lot of others. The list continues – but my editors are putting the brakes on for me – badly needed. We have our stations people, our retired pastoralists, Indigenous people, backpackers, bikers, some who lives in the cities but regularly work in the outback, shearers and more.

Unfortunately it does seem that the cover design and title for the book will be decided between my family and friends – and not by the families and students of the School of the Air after all. I have tried to issue details of the competition to all bases nationwide, but to date, I have not had a lot of response. I have also now had to issue a deadline. I have not given up but am looking at Plans B and C just in case. I also remain in hope that the ICPA might be able to help with this. If necessary, I will turn to the participating stations themselves for help – and then, in a final fit of hope, turn to family and friends, as mentioned.

But now and at last – it is WA’s turn and the first of four trips here has already been undertaken. My sincere thanks to Kathy and Malcolm Boladeras of Wonganoo Station, some hours north east of Kalgoorlie, for showing me some more of this amazing country hospitality recently. This was the first time I had driven myself (hired my trusty little Hyundai in Kalgoorlie) and loved every bit of it. Saw much of the station, thanks to Kathy’s tour – even three camels in the distance and countless goannas – even a snake put in a special appearance by.slithering across the road in front of us. I see and learn something new with each and every station visit – this time it was the camels and the goannas. The Boladeras’ even have a donga which I have read about in the past, but never seen. And a great undercover outdoor entertainment areas called a Spinifex Shed (or coolhouse) which is based on the Coolgardie Safe concept of water running down over the spinifex.

Dirt road – typical beautiful red dust.

Four more stations in WA to cover and I start these with two which are between Exmouth and Geraldton. Driving myself again, in my own little Yaris. Then I am back in town for a week before catching a coach up to Broome and out to a station stay property in the Kimberley. Very excited as my daughter will be joining me on this one and I will be spending a few days with her in Broome before heading south again. After that, back again for about a month before my very final trip – a coach tour to Mt Augustus. Two new stations coming in my email from WA.

And that’s it. Finished. The research trips are anyway. I do have a mammoth amount of writing to do in between and after all these trips still – and continue to love every bit of it.

Dinosaur footprint. Broome. WA