A Country Nurse

by Thea Hayes

  Thankfully, nothing too drastic happened when I was on duty. Several times I had to ring the doctor with lacerations, a broken arm, and a patient with hypertension who hadn’t taken her pills.

  While working there, I found a list of accidents from the Sky Diving Ramblers at Toogoolawah. It was enough to turn me off ever doing a parachute jump.

  At the end of my month at Esk Hospital, I applied for night shift work in a nursing home near Cloudland, in Fortitude Valley, Brisbane. Cloudland Ballroom was an iconic entertainment centre in the 1950s–70s on the hilltop at Bowen Hills, and was the stuff of dreams.

  Not so the ward in the nursing home where I started work as the night nurse. I had one floor of the nursing home in my charge, with twenty or so elderly patients. Every morning I had to bathe or shower every one of my patients before the morning staff came on at 7 a.m. That meant getting them undressed and washing them, as very few could wash and dress themselves. I was horrified at having to start waking them up from 4.30 a.m.—and not before, so I was told—so I would leave it a little later and then had to go flat out to get them finished. Thank goodness bathing before breakfast is forbidden in nursing homes today, unless the patient is incontinent.

  After each ten-hour shift I would drive home to Toogoolawah, 118 kilometres away, feeling exhausted, so after a few weeks I left and found a nursing home in Ipswich where I was offered day shifts in one of their wards. This nursing home was for people who did not need to be in hospital but could not be cared for at home. I still remember the little old ladies there lying in bed in the foetal position, being fed medications for all their bodily functions, just waiting to die. All very sad to witness, but that is life and I did my best to make them comfortable.

  I only worked there for a month, as soon after, Bidgi Park was sold and we moved to Murrawah, Oakey.

  10

  Murray Greys

  It all started when we went to a Murray Grey sale in Toowoomba to buy a bull to go over our dairy heifers. We found ourselves so impressed with the Murray Grey cattle, their mothering ability and muscle development, that we purchased two cows with bull calves at foot. We would use artificial insemination in the meantime over our Friesians until we made the move to rearing beef cattle, in particular the Murray Grey.

  Our timing was spot on, as Sam Coco was having a complete dispersal sale of his stud Wallace Park Murray Greys at his property near Wagga Wagga, NSW.

  At Wallace Park we bought fifteen lots of stud cows with calves at foot and a stud bull, Wallace Park Colossus 997. And so began our Bidgi Park Stud.

  There was no stopping us after our first show at Toogoolawah where we did very well showing our cattle. Mind you, we only had one other Murray Grey competitor! We went to the Brisbane Ekka, the Royal Brisbane Show, originally called ‘The Brisbane Exhibition’, taking two steers—Bidgi Park Bozo, led by me, and Bidgi Park Benjamin, led by Penny, who got sixth in a class of twenty-six led steers. Against a very large class they presented ribbons for fourth, fifth and sixth position. We were thrilled. Penny and Benjamin even had their photo in the Courier Mail.

  Over the next few years we went to all the local shows in the tick-ridden areas with our Murray Greys, and we got used to dipping the cattle in the spray race at our cattle yards and later using a pour on to treat and prevent ticks. Ticks are small arachnids—there are over 800 species but only two are known to transmit disease to animals and humans. There are tick infected areas and tick free areas in Queensland, and we lived in a tick infected area.

  Cattle from tick infected areas must be inspected by a stock inspector and put through a government dip or sprayed with a chemical solution of insecticide. We travelled up to the Darling Downs, which was tick free, showing with great success. We went to practically every show on the Downs, and in the Brisbane Valley area and the South Burnett, getting up before dawn, covering long distances, and washing and grooming the cattle to the ‘nth’ degree. We gathered ribbons aplenty: champion bull, champion heifer, the most successful exhibitor and even all breeds grand champion bull (at one show) and the last success of champion calf of Australia at Rockhampton Beef 91 with Bidgi Park Hoges. Beef Australia, a national beef expo, is one of the world’s great beef cattle events and is held every three years in Rockhampton.

  Lynn, Ralph’s brother, was keen for Ralph to come and help him at Uralla, Katherine. He had a contract to supply gravel for the new airbase, which was being built in Tindal. ‘I’ll pay you heaps,’ Lynn said. So, we decided I would look after the Murray Greys while Ralph was away, with the help of our neighbour Eric Wade when needed.

  I would put the Murray Greys on the pasture each day, but we had planted some clover and ryegrass. Eric Wade had said to me that when feeding the cattle clover, you should only put them on it for five minutes the first day, followed by ten minutes after that, otherwise they will get bloat—an increase in the gas pressure within the rumen (paunch), which can kill them if severe enough.

  Everything went well for the first two days, but on the third day, after putting the cows in the clover paddock, I suddenly remembered a phone call I had to make. I was on the phone when Penny arrived home from school. I said to her, ‘Run down and get the cows out of that paddock, please, Pen. I’ll be there in a minute.’

  Penny came racing back. ‘Mum! The cows have bloat.’

  ‘Quick,’ I replied. ‘Get on the phone and ring the O’Connor boys [our neighbours] and ask them for help.’

  I flew down to the cattle to find one extremely bloated cow gasping for breath. Having grabbed the trocar and cannula (a trocar is a sharp instrument like a knife which you push through the muscle then remove, allowing gas to begin flowing from the cannula)—which was always kept near the crush in the yard—I closed my eyes and plunged the trocar into the abdomen as I had been taught by my experienced husband. There was a gaseous smell and bubbles of gas erupted out of the hole in the rumen.

  The O’Connor boys arrived and Barry removed more of the solid matter from the rumen of the cow, carrying out a procedure called a rumenotomy after a cut to the abdomen with a scalpel, allowing the bulk of grass and herbage still stuck in the rumen to be removed by Barry’s gloved hand. A quick stitch later and the cow was back to normal. Jim and Neil meanwhile drenched the rest with a special bloat liquid. Thanks to the O’Connor men the cows all survived, but it was very close, and I had learnt my lesson. The cows were kept out of the clover until it matured a week or so later.

  As much as we loved Toogoolawah, we couldn’t stand the ticks. Our heifers grew well without getting too fat, but the bulls didn’t put on weight without a lot of grain. The Darling Downs was more like the undulating hills of Wave Hill, without the terrible lantana and the ticks. So, we decided to put Bidgi Park on the market.

  After we were offered a very good price, we sold. We leased our land on Bidgi Park for six months and lived at the homestead while we looked around for our next home.

  We started looking for a property on the Darling Downs. Ralph wanted a ‘nice’ house. I wanted a good property for our Murray Grey cattle—a change of roles for us.

  I had become quite ill some years before after giving up smoking. Having suffered with hay fever and nasal problems for years, it all came to a head after showing our cattle at the Ekka in Brisbane—where I slept in the loft above the cattle in the pavilion. I came home with the flu.

  One night at home I woke up feeling breathless. After waking Ralph, I proceeded to pass out. Ralph revived me by putting his finger down my throat, and then rang the ambulance. I was taken to Esk Hospital, given a Ventolin puffer and told I was doing too much. When I came home, I found I had no energy. A Lions Club dinner was being held in Toogoolawah, so Ralph and I went along, but the cigarette smoke made it difficult for me to breathe. I ended up in St Andrew’s Hospital in Toowoomba, where I was diagnosed with ‘late onset asthma.’

  My friend Jocelyn Doran, whose brother owned and ran Hopewood House, a health resort in Penrith in western Sydney, suggested I go
there for a three-week sojourn of fruit, salads, steamed vegetables, no grog and no smoking; pure living, to rid myself of the nasty toxins. Ralph came too, to give up smoking.

  Ralph hadn’t been well during this period either. He had developed high temperatures and when the boys came home for Christmas from Toowoomba where they were at university, he couldn’t get out of bed, but lay in the foetal position, complaining of a terrible headache. I told the local doctor I wanted him sent to Toowoomba. There he had scans done but they couldn’t find anything wrong; they put him on cortisone to keep everything under control.

  We spent three weeks at Hopewood doing all the good stuff. However, the course of cortisone finished while we were there, and Ralph’s high temperatures returned. I had to rush him back to Queensland, taking him to the Wesley Hospital in Brisbane, where he was diagnosed with lung cancer. The cancer was in two capsules in the left lower lobe of the lung, requiring surgery to remove the lobe. The operation was a success, with no chemotherapy or radiation required. All Ralph needed to do was give up smoking.

  We had found our ideal property on the beautiful Darling Downs just off the Warrego Highway between Toowoomba and Oakey. Years before, when driving through Toowoomba on holidays from Wave Hill, we would always marvel at how green the country was, thinking how we would love to live there one day. And here we were, about to do just that in a well-designed, four-bedroom house with the main bedroom upstairs; a conservatorium, a cellar, plus a small cottage on twenty-five acres and 100 acres on lease. It was ideal for our small herd.

  In between the two acreages was a small paddock with a dam that we were able to use, which had been donated to the council as a reserve. We eventually bought the hundred acres and put a bore down.

  We were excited about our move to Oakey—especially as it meant we would be closer to our children.

  11

  The Brisbane Valley Book Club

  Not long after Susie and Peter’s wedding I had a phone call from Debbie Barrett, one of the girls I had met at the Harpham wedding. Debbie and her husband Patrick were managing a property in the Brisbane Valley.

  ‘We are thinking of starting a book club.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll have ten women in the group; everyone will take it in turns to choose the books and then discuss it over a luncheon.’

  ‘Sounds great. I’m all for it,’ I said.

  Debbie chose the first book—My Place by Sally Morgan—and decided on a date for lunch a month later at Debbie and Patrick’s home.

  Jill Roughan from the chemist came up with the idea to dress as the characters in the book. I was the pregnant mother, Cate dressed as my husband, and Jill my daughter. Susan was in her school uniform from the school where the main character was educated. A group of us went in the one car—Cate, Jill, Susan and Gaylene. When we drove up to the homestead, Debbie came out onto the veranda, looking beautiful in a new dress, to meet this mob of characters from her book, all tumbling out of the car.

  We all enjoyed the story which led to a discussion about the Aboriginal people in the book, and my wonderful experiences at Wave Hill Station and Gordon Downs Station with the Gurindji and Warlpiri tribes. I told them about one of our older stockmen, an intelligent guy from Sydney who was escaping from a problem and took up with one of the Aboriginal women. They had three or four children and the Inland Mission padre made him marry her. I later met their children at Kalkarindji on a return visit.

  Every month we had book club; dining and wining, talking our heads off. At times we were so excited about getting together we would forget to talk about the book. We would dress up and choose a menu to suit the genre of the book. Melbourne Cup was always a popular book club day. Some of us moved to other areas in South-East Queensland but we still attended book club no matter how far we had to travel, and we still do so today.

  One of my luncheons was held at our farmhouse outside Oakey. The book was The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean Auel. The theme was caveman style, costumes and menu. As the girls drove along the Warrego Highway en route to Murrawah, on this frosty cold morning, they saw a freshly killed fox on the road, with no bleeding. So, Cate picked it up and threw it over her shoulder, adding the fox to their costumes of skins, furs and Jill with a grotesque mask. The menu was Shoulder of Bison and yams.

  Jill’s place was next, with the book The Valley of the Horses, also by Jean Auel. We were requested on arrival to make our way to the horse stables at the rear of the property. Sitting on hay bales and logs of wood, with the smell of fodder, horses and manure we sipped on mead and munched on nuts from a chaff bag. Next, we were ushered into the horse float to be driven around the estate with teeth rattling.

  Back in the house a luscious looking chicken soup was served for lunch. Gaylene suddenly screeched ‘What’s this?’ after finding something in the opaque liquid—a large hen’s leg hiding in her soup. Everyone shuddered. Susan, in a white dress, was in the last stages of pregnancy. She turned pale—our eyes were all on her, worried she might go into labour. But a moment later there were screams of laughter—Susan was okay, and we all had another wine.

  For her book club lunch, Susie decided to make a special dessert: crème caramel. Out came the recipe book, and all went well on the first page—mixture made, chocolate sprinkles put on top of mixture—but Susie didn’t turn the page. She put the crème caramel in the fridge to set overnight. The next day a soft, creamy concoction was put on the table, and Susie said, ‘I don’t know why it hasn’t set.’

  Everyone was giving advice around the table, when Gaylene called out, ‘You did cook the crème caramel, didn’t you, Susie?’

  ‘Oh no, it must have been on the next page.’

  Other people have joined over the years and the Brisbane Valley Book Club has now been going for over thirty years, always supported by a group of wonderful women.

  If you don’t belong to a book club, join one or start one now. You won’t regret it.

  12

  The big move

  We had sold Bidgi Park and found our new home at Oakey. Now it was time to start moving to our new property on the Darling Downs. Of course, we had a big clearing sale of unwanted farming equipment, conducted by agents from Toogoolawah. We also had a dispersal sale at Oakey sale yards, on 17 June 1988, of 120 Murray Grey stud and commercial cattle, keeping 25 for ongoing stud breeding. Ralph had ordered a truck to take all the farm equipment that we were keeping up to Murrawah, Oakey. I booked the removalist for the homestead furniture. Unfortunately, the removalists decided they would come on the same day that Ralph was going to Toowoomba. I wasn’t too concerned about not having Ralph there; these were professional people.

  When they arrived, they chose to load from the side of the house where there was a steep set of stairs about three metres high. I queried their decision as, at the back of the house, there was a ramp one metre high going up to the veranda at an angle of only twenty-five degrees. But no, that is where they parked the truck.

  I told myself, These men know what they are doing. Don’t interfere!

  Piece by piece the furniture was moved, carrying the smaller pieces down the steep stairs, into the truck, and then our beautiful Beale pianola—Ralph’s pride and joy—which had been brought down so carefully from Wave Hill when we moved from the Northern Territory. With a rug underneath the pianola they pushed and pulled it to the top of the stairs. I was standing there waiting for them to put tension straps around the pianola but no, my heart was in my mouth, they didn’t.

  I said, ‘It is a very heavy pianola, you will need straps around it.’

  And the next thing, away ‘she’ went, down the stairs, bump, bump, bump—halfway down, it went over the side, bounced several times, then exploded as it hit the ground, settling in a heap of timber and music keys, with me screaming, ‘No, no—noooo!!!’

  I was furious and in tears. What idiots!

  What will I tell Ralph when he comes home?

  I rang the company owner
. I don’t know what I said. I was so angry!

  Of course, the removalist company took full responsibility and amazingly it was returned to our new address in near perfect condition.

  Ralph was horrified but got over it when it was returned looking better than ever.

  After the furniture, cattle and farming equipment were moved, we still had the poultry to pick up. We came back the following weekend for a farewell barbeque at our neighbours’ property. We combined it with picking up the ducks, hens, chickens, guinea fowls and about twenty geese. It was quite a job, catching them all and then putting them in the truck. We gave up on the guinea fowls as they were far too difficult to catch.

  On one of our trips down south I had asked Eric Wade, my wonderful friend from down the road who helped me whenever Ralph went away, to look after Marmaduke, my ginger cat. The day we were to leave, Marmaduke seemed unsteady on his legs. I took him into the vet, but he was out on a case, so the vet’s wife and I gave the cat a good once over in case he had a tick. And that is exactly what we found. Taking the tick out, we thought we had saved him, but sadly when we came home, there was no Marmaduke.

  Eric turned up just before we went to the farewell barbeque, saying, ‘I’ve got another cat for you.’

  I didn’t really want a cat in my new house but rather than hurt his feelings I said if there was another cat, I would take two and they could live in the shed at Murrawah. That didn’t happen as Tom and Jerry, who were put in the conservatory to start with, soon had the run of the house.

  We drove over to our neighbours’ place for the barbeque and stayed the night, with the poultry quite happy in the truck. The next day we drove to Murrawah, unloaded the hens, ducks and chickens into the chook house. Tom and Jerry spent the night in their new home. The geese were left to wander around. The cattle had settled in well in the paddock adjacent to the house block, with a water trough and easy access to the dam. The move was over. We were in our new home.