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Spectacular! Breathtaking! Really, no word/s adequately describe the Kimberley region of northern Western Australia. It is an area, like most of outback Australia, that I have always yearned to see – and I finally have. Some years ago, I visited the very western end of this amazing area – just enough to glimpse a taste of its true beauty. The station that I had arranged to visit was only a few kilometres east of Derby, just along the Gibb River Road and this was my first ever foray into this vast part of Western Australia.

It is an area of amazing, ancient and unique land formations. While Australia is only a relatively recent ‘discovery’, it is also one of the oldest islands in the world. There are only two climatic seasons in the Kimberley that I know of –  wet and dry. The former lasts from November through to April and when it rains, it is heavy and seemingly never-ending. It doesn’t stop – not until it wants to around April in the following year. Most roads are closed simply because they are rendered impassable. There are signs at the start of all the unsealed roads out there, listing the destinations that each road leads to, then there is a little board that is moved to cover the words ‘Open’ or ‘Closed’, whichever is relevant. I also believe there are pretty heavy fines in place for those whom choose to ignore the warnings and go anyway. There are also websites which can keep people up to date before they try to head out. Tourist resorts and station stays also close. And it is my understanding that if you are anywhere ‘in there’ when the wet comes, you stay there, until the dry comes. The climate is monsoonal and cyclones are very common in the wet – this applies right across the northern parts of Australia.

The reason for this trip was to research life on the above-mentioned station. This station participated in my book – ‘Red Dust Dreams’ and was among one of many such trips around the nation (WA., SA., NSW., Qld and the NT) visiting the 20 stations that were included in the book. The idea of this was to try to highlight the way of life of the people whom live in such remote areas of the nation. Some of the stations are hundreds of kilometres from their nearest ‘town’ which could be simply a petrol station and/or a hotel, if that. And these people survive in such conditions – and overall they love it. While it can be a very lonely and isolated existence, most of those people would not change it for anything. It is also incredibly quiet and can be viewed as relaxing, even though the people on the stations work incredibly hard. The book includes such aspects as grocery shopping, power, fuel, education, health (thank goodness for the Royal Flying Doctor Service), entertainment, holidays (what holidays???) and – well, the list is endless and includes everything that those in suburbia do. Overall, it is also usually incredibly dry out there which is why the properties are so huge and this is the reason why Victoria, the ACT and Tasmania were not included. Overall the rainfall in these states and territory is much higher which means the properties (farms) are a lot smaller and far less isolated. 

Like the rest of the outback, the Kimberley did not disappoint. My daughter (who lived and worked in Broome at the time) provided the transport once I reached Broome and then she joined me on this part of the trip, which was a huge double positive. She knows the area quite well and also knew what I wanted to see so she organised a few wonderful surprises for me. The first was visiting the prison Boab Tree at the western end of the Gibb River Road (there is also one at the eastern end, so I understand). The one we saw is absolutely mammoth, believed to be around 1,500 years old. I say mammoth because apparently it has a circumference of some fourteen centimetres. It also has a door (two metres by one metre) and was called the Prison Tree for a reason – it is my understanding that in the 1890s it was used by local police to hold Aboriginal people overnight. There are information boards at the entrance, describing the story behind it as well as providing photos. I found this all to be fascinating – but also incredibly sad. I seem to recall that the tree was also used by the Aboriginal people for shelter, food and medicinal purposes. Unique to the region, these trees are thought to originate from some millions of years ago when Africa and Australia were joined. 

We also dropped in to the Mowanjum Aboriginal Art and Culture Centre. Those people are so clever and talented. Some superb pieces of art there  – actually all the pieces I saw were beautiful. I have also heard that each piece of art holds a story – I would love to know more about that. 

Our whole trip to the Kimberley was great fun and so interesting. We even went camping (invited by the manager of the station) – something I had not done for X amount of years and was a tad apprehensive about the very idea of this. But…off we went…and had the best time. The tent was just a ‘bit’ improved on the last one I had slept in. And the food – wow. The station cook joined us on the camp and treated us to an amazing meal which consisted of two different sorts of sausages, several salads and finished with a Nutella Cheesecake! Now, this was MY kind of meal. We camped on a dry salt marsh not far from the station and we could see the lights of Derby twinkling in the distance – on the other side of the marsh. The rooves of our tents were made of clear plastic – pure bliss to just lie back and take in the beautiful night sky. So clear – you could almost reach out and touch those stars. Just superb. 

After dinner, Rob joined an impromptu fun fire-building competition. What a laugh. AND I will add that it was completely safe there – no wind at all to carry any alien little sparks off to potentially start new fires and the marsh is absolutely enormous. I think we had five healthy fires burning at one stage, all except one were completely put out by the time we all went to bed. That one fizzled out safely during the night. So much fun. 

An early morning start next day and several new sets of tracks around the tents indicated we had had visitors during the night. Never did find out exactly what (they looked like dogs…) and not in a hurry to find out. When cleaning up and taking down tents, one of the staff discovered another visitor – under his mattress. A small python. Ok! After we’d all crowded around for a good look and after many photos, one of the other staff picked up the snake, which was probably terrified and took it into the scrub at the edge of the pan and left it there. 

And on the way to and from the salt marsh, we passed another homestead which was deserted but it was explained to us that it was actually Bungarun, which was an old leprosarium, constructed in 1936 and closed in 1986 and was mainly for Aboriginal sufferers of the disease. My understanding is that, sadly, 357 of them did not survive and are buried locally in simple graves with white crosses. There are quite a few buildings remaining: quarters for former medical staff, dormitories, service buildings, patients’ shelters and an Anglican chapel which was constructed in 1956. This is listed as an Aboriginal Heritage Site and was placed in the Register of Historic Places in 2000. I really wanted to go inside and have a good look – but not alone – not even if I was paid to. I cannot get enough of deserted buildings and ruins and the histories behind them. But this one just looked…odd, to me. But that only made it more fascinating.

As mentioned above, my daughter had arranged some surprises for me for after our stay at the station. The first of these was a visit to the spectacular Windjana Gorge which cuts through the Napier Range which is all part of the ancient Devonian Limestone Reef.  And I finally – FINALLY – saw freshwater crocodiles in the wild. I could not believe it – but there they were, about 10 ‘freshies’ all basking in the sun. Real, live crocodiles. And they were not interested in us at all.

Next stop – Tunnel Creek. Wow. This also cuts through the Napier Range. Equally amazing and quite the challenge to climb down through many very large rocks, plunging yourself into complete darkness. It is advised that you wear ‘appropriate’ shoes for this walk as you do go over many uneven rocks and all sorts of other things, probably as well as walking through a lot of water. There are also ‘freshies’ in there – we did see a pair of eyes glinting at us from the sidelines at one stage but I spied another mammoth Huntsman perched on top of a rock in the water – quite near the croc so I was trying to watch both at the same time. We did wear those miner-cap things with a light on them, so we could see our way – sortof. It was quite a long walk and an absolutely wonderful one. Have no idea how long we took. After we found our way back to my daughter’s car there was another surprise awaiting me – she had had the forethought to bring a picnic lunch for us. Yum. 

Legend has it that Tunnel Creek was used as a hide-out by the Aboriginal leader, Jandamarra, who was eventually killed outside its entrance in 1897. It is well worth a visit – as long as you are prepared.

Time was moving on so we realised we needed to get moving if we were to reach Broome by sunset. My daughter was doing all the driving and was getting tired, understandbly. On our way to the main road west, we called in at the ruins of an old police station – Lillimulura – the story behind these also concerns Jandamarra and was equally fascinating. And a old mine site, if I remember correctly.

This trip was actually the second to last of my research trips for the book. I was very sorry when it was all over and all it has really done is to whet my appetite for further trips into our mighty outback.

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