From Strength to Strength

by Sara Henderson

  After the excitement of being filmed at every turn, our stock camp settled down to work again. We had a great crew—our cook was a delightful Irish girl from Margaret River near Perth. Her name was Siobhan McNeal. As well as cooking for the mob, she raised two little baby joeys whose mothers had been hit by the big cattle roadtrains that carried our steers away.

  The babies were found a few weeks apart and so grew up together as Siobhan’s twins. They were called ‘Skippy’ (very original), and ‘Barney’. We phoned a lovely lady in Darwin who was an expert on raising wallabies for advice. She said it was not an easy task. They might seem to be coming along and then suddenly they would just die, so she said to be prepared to lose them.

  I think the thing that brought our twins through was the attention. Siobhan made a pouch out of an old sloppy joe and the joeys would spend most of the day in it, underneath a cooking apron. It was also not unusual to walk into the camp and see a big burly stockman feeding a joey the size of his hand with an eye-dropper.

  They grew very fast and with Siobhan as their mother, they were very spoilt. When the stock camp came back to the homeyard and Siobhan was cooking in the homestead, Skippy and Barney had their first taste of discipline. They didn’t like not being able to run riot through the house. I was patient, as they were cute little devils, but the day they jumped right into the middle of the lunch table I put my foot down. We had American tourists arriving in the next few weeks and I could just imagine their reaction if Barney landed in their lunch.

  So Barney and Skippy were introduced to the garden and soon realised that this was to be their playground, not the living room, dining room and kitchen. Our tourists were completely charmed by the little rascals and took hundreds of photos.

  CHAPTER 26

  1990

  One morning I walked into the office and found Marlee sitting at the telephone desk waiting for the trucking company to call back with the arrival time of the trucks coming to load our steers.

  ‘Look what I did.’ She handed me a page out of the Bulletin. ‘I nominated you for Businesswoman of the Year. I just faxed it to Sydney.’

  ‘Oh Marlee, you are a silly goose. Good heavens, you can’t think in a million years they would consider someone in the Outback.’

  ‘Why not? You go through the same business procedures as any woman in the city, under far more difficult conditions, plus you do all the work and the administration. So you do more, in much harder surroundings. Why wouldn’t they pick you?’

  ‘Well I’m telling you, they won’t.’

  ‘Well I’m telling you they will. It’s got everything that will appeal. Just you wait and see!’

  The form said the judges would announce the results on the 13th of November. ‘We have a few months to wait then, because it’s in November. And, darling, thank you for thinking I’m so great, but don’t pin your hopes on it.’

  ‘No hoping, I know you’ll win.’

  The phone call she was waiting for came through and I walked away shaking my head.

  About three weeks later, I answered the phone. A woman asked to speak to Marlee.

  ‘She’s out mustering, can I take a message?’

  ‘Is this Sara Henderson?’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘My name is Glennys Bell of the Bulletin, and I wanted to talk to Marlee in regard to her nomination of you for Businesswoman of the Year.’

  ‘Oh dear, she shouldn’t have done that . . .’

  Glennys interrupted me. She said that they were very interested in our struggle in the Outback. So much so, that she wanted to run a story on me, along with stories on a few of the other nominations the Bulletin had received. We had a long chat and she asked many questions. The article was in the next Bulletin.

  ‘See, I told you,’ said Marlee. But I said it was general interest, nothing more.

  A few weeks later, my banker and accountants had to be given permission to answer questions. It seemed I was approaching the quarter-finals.

  By now Marlee was jumping up and down saying, ‘I told you, I told you!’ And I kept on telling her not to be silly. I didn’t believe for a moment that it would happen.

  But Marlee kept saying, ‘Just wait till November, Mum. Better get your speech ready,’ and ‘Can’t wait for November, then everyone will know what a great Mum I have!’ Marlee is a great tonic for a middle-aged mum.

  From October 18th, life became a little more hectic than usual. Bob Doyle and Pauline Rainer of Northern Territory Tourism came to Bullo with David McNicoll of the Bulletin. David was visiting all the old Second World War airstrips in the Territory. Marlee quickly pointed out the Bulletin connection, but I just as quickly pointed out that Pauline had called me before the fax had even been sent. This did not dull her enthusiasm.

  However, we didn’t have time to dwell on any implications because on the 20th, a planeload of tourists from Melbourne arrived. There were seven doctors, plus a pilot and a stock investment broker. What a mob! They had a wonderful time. I know this because on the last night they made endless speeches saying so. They had more camera equipment between them than a movie crew, and took hundreds of photos, many of which they sent on to us as gifts. When they finally took off in their private jet, we all collapsed for the day. The next day Marlee moved the camp out to twenty-two-mile, our last muster site.

  It was the 26th. I was alone in the homestead. About an hour before lunch the phone rang.

  ‘Hello, this is James Hall, editor of the Bulletin. I would like to inform you, you have been selected as Bulletin/Qantas Businesswoman of the Year.’

  I have been lost for words many times in my life, but this time it was complete. Not even a squawk.

  ‘Hello, are you there?’

  I managed a feeble, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, well congratulations! How does it feel?’

  After a few ‘Ahs’ and ‘Ohs’ had come out, he realised he wouldn’t get much more.

  ‘Our people will call and tell you of all the arrangements. See you on the 13th of November.’

  He reeled off various names and telephone numbers, but I was still looking for a pen long after he had hung up.

  After the shock had worn off slightly, I suddenly realised it was true! I jumped all around the house, but there was no one to tell. Daisy, our milking cow, was watching my crazy antics. I rushed up to her and took her head in my hands.

  ‘Daisy, I’m Bulletin/Qantas Businesswoman of the Year! How about that!’

  She let out this tremendous bellow and backed away, quite sure I had gone crazy. After dancing three rounds of the house, I settled down and called my sister and Danielle. I was sitting at the phone desk, wondering what to do next—it seemed an anti-climax to go back to office work—when Wayne Tregaskis, manager of corporate advertising and promotion for Qantas, called with the outline for the next two weeks. They wanted to send up a cameraman to film me in my office and surroundings. It was a rushed affair as they had to get to Bullo from Sydney, film, and be back in time to get everything ready for the 13th.

  He then said, ‘Now don’t tell anyone until the announcement—this must be kept hush-hush until then. We had to have so much leadtime with you because we have to get to Bullo and back to process everything.’ I quickly hung up and called my sister.

  ‘We have to keep it a secret until it’s announced on the 13th of November.’

  I noticed she quickly finished the conversation, no doubt to call everyone she had told. When I called Danielle, the same. It probably went on all day, but it wasn’t too bad. We managed to keep it fairly quiet.

  Marlee returned late at night. She had been away setting up the twenty-two-mile mustering camp. When she came into the house, I acted very seriously and said there was a fax she must look at immediately. Because of all the problems we had at the time, she expected the worst and followed me quietly into the office with a worried look.

  I solemnly handed her the congratulatory fax that Wayne had sent. She read the first line, squealed
, threw the fax in the air, hugged me and twirled me around and around shouting, ‘You won! Told you so! You won! Told you so!’ She put me down, gave me another wonderful hug and said, ‘My mum!’ with a look of obvious delight glowing on her face.

  Glennys was the Bulletin part of the crew that arrived and, on their return to Sydney, she had to work non-stop to have the written story ready ahead of time for printing. But like the video, the story was terrific, only she did have us loading a D8 bulldozer onto a front end loader instead of a low loader. Very few people would have picked this up, but of course it was the first thing Jim, our heavy equipment expert, noticed.

  A few reporters started sniffing around after the Bulletin/Qantas team came to Bullo, but I told them they had been there for advertising. When one clever one asked if I would be on the station on the 12th of November for a radio talkback show and I told them they would have to call early in the morning or late at night as we were mustering, the interest died down.

  The biggest problem was when friends called. ‘Been doing anything interesting?’ they’d ask.

  It was very hard to keep the excitement out of my voice and say, ‘Oh nothing much, just working.’

  The excitement kept building daily and by the time Marlee and I stepped on the plane, I had difficulty sitting still. Danielle was going to meet us in Sydney. On top of the excitement was the nervousness of making my first speech. I had nightmares about my first school play. I knew the lines, but the words would not come out of my mouth. During the weeks up to 13th of November, I had this terrible dream over and over.

  I was asked if I wanted to rehearse, but I declined.

  ‘I will jump in at the deep end if you don’t mind. Don’t want to make a fool of myself twice.’

  I think Wayne was a bit worried by now because Marlee told me later he had arranged for Helen Daley, the Master of Ceremonies who introduced me, to join me again on stage and interview me if I suffered stage fright. And of course Marlee and Danielle were going to rush to the stage and help me if I floundered.

  The big day arrived! I had the morning for hair and so on. Marlee and Danielle had been ‘last minute’ shopping and we all met at the hairdressers. My hair was washed and I was sitting waiting for the dye to cover all the grey hair, when this man walked into the salon.

  ‘I’m from the Water Board and I’m here to disconnect the water.’ I closed my eyes and visualised myself on stage with brown guck all over my head. Marlee took over.

  ‘You can’t turn it off for another half hour. My mother is “Businesswoman of the Year” and she is having her hair set for the award luncheon and she has to have her hair washed in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Well, I have to do my job.’

  ‘You do your job somewhere else and come back!’

  He wisely agreed.

  Marlee had let the cat out of the bag, but it was only one hour before the luncheon so it didn’t really matter. We were now running out of time. The owner was busy calling people about the water, but we finally persuaded them to finish our hair. To compensate for the inconvenience, they wanted to put my make-up on. I was so upset I agreed. Anyway, I was shaking too much to do a good job myself.

  That morning I had had two pre-scheduled television interviews that would go to air the day after the announcement. At each studio, they had piled stacks of make-up on my face so this touch-up was the third. My face was starting to feel as if it would crack.

  It could have been the mixture of products, all the excitement, or just plain allergy, but as I rode up in the lift at the hotel my face started to prickle. By the time I reached the room and looked in the mirror, the make-up was bright orange and my face was stinging as if a thousand needles were being stuck into my skin.

  I quickly washed my face clean. Now I was a shiny red. I had fifteen minutes before I had to be downstairs. I put a bucket of ice in the handbasin and froze my face back to normal by submerging it in the ice for long breath-holding periods. It was great for my face, hell for my hairdo.

  I showered, blowdried the wet part of my hair, dressed and applied a light moisturiser and powder, my usual make-up. My hair had that flyaway look and my face just glowed, but I passed for normal. I headed downstairs.

  I had drinks with the other finalists, they still didn’t know which one of us had won. Mrs Hawke was there, as well as officials from Qantas and the Bulletin. We moved into the dining room and were seated. Lunch looked wonderful but by now my stomach was such a mess I didn’t dare introduce it to anything but water. My mind kept going over my speech, hoping I wouldn’t forget it. I had had a trial run on the station, reading it to myself, but found I was so nervous I fogged up my glasses and couldn’t see the words. So I had memorised it. Of course in Sydney, in November, with airconditioning, my glasses would not fog up, but I didn’t think of that back on the station.

  I was thinking silly things like, how can I walk from here to the stage? I know I will fall going up the stairs. All this was racing through my head while I was trying to conduct intelligent conversation with the people at the table.

  Marlee and Danielle just kept grinning and patting my hand. Mayor Sallyanne Atkinson spoke about women in general, Helen Daley’s speech was excellent, as was Mrs Hawke’s. Then the room dimmed as Helen said that they would first like to show where the new Businesswoman of the Year lived.

  The screen was massive and the magic of Bullo filled the room. When the lights came on, there was stunned silence. If anyone had had doubts about someone so remote and removed from the everyday world receiving the award, I think that five-minute video would have silenced them. The size and magnitude of the girls’ and my challenge was vividly brought home. I knew Bullo, and I was awed!

  ‘Mummy.’ Marlee was tugging at my sleeve. I came back to my senses and heard my name being called.

  I don’t remember walking across to the steps. I didn’t fall, but Mrs Hawke did drop my sculpture. I picked it up and thanked her, then turned to face my first audience. The moment I had been dreading had arrived. Having had non-stop nerves for weeks, I was now fairly calm. Still nervous but not nearly as nervous as I had imagined.

  Mrs Hawke went to put the award on the stand behind me and it nearly fell again so I took it and put it on the podium. This brought forth laughter and from then on it was easy.

  I looked out at that sea of friendly faces and launched into my speech. I didn’t forget it; I did leave a bit out, but it still flowed freely. So much so that someone congratulated Wayne and said it was a good idea to have a speechwriter write the speech.

  Wayne said, ‘No way, it was all her own work!’

  I had come through with flying colours, their choice had been signed, sealed and approved! Everyone could relax. Well, they did, I didn’t. Newspapers, radio, television, it was one continuous round.

  My marvellous publicity co-ordinator, Tracey Dean from Australian Consolidated Press, kept me sane. We finally made dinner at about 9.30 p.m. I had not eaten all day so I really enjoyed it. Tracey disappeared at about midnight saying she would see me bright and early for the ‘Today Show’. We made it back to the hotel at about 2.30 a.m. and had to be back in the foyer at 6.30 a.m. The whole day had been amazing.

  Marlee came to my room the next morning at six.

  ‘I just walked down a hallway wall-to-wall with my mum.’

  ‘What?’ I said. She threw The Australian on the bed and there I was spread across the front page.

  ‘What would Nanny think?’ We all laughed. Danielle had joined us by now, and we all knew what ‘What would Nanny think?’ meant. When the girls started dating I had told them what my mother had always told me. ‘Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want to read about on the front page of the morning papers.’ But I knew if Mum could have seen that headline, she would have been very proud . . . Maybe she could see it.

  That next day was bedlam. Danielle, Marlee, my publicity co-ordinator and I answered phones and raced to radio and television stations most of the day. By three p.
m. I had not eaten any food and could not even go to the bathroom in peace. There was a telephone in the bathroom and it started ringing while I was sitting on the toilet! Now whoever heard of answering the phone while sitting on the toilet! Reclining in a bubble bath, perhaps, but sitting on the toilet! I ignored it.

  The next day was more of the same. I just don’t know how people in the public eye cope. One more day and I had had enough. We moved to another hotel. Danielle returned to Queensland and Jim arrived in Sydney and the three of us acted like tourists for a few days. Then it was back to work.

  It was hard to settle down after all that glamour, attention, flowers and champagne. I found myself gazing across the valley to the distant mountains wondering why this had happened to me. Would it change my life? The last week had certainly been different, but I knew life couldn’t go on like that for long, so what would change?

  There were signs. Already I had been approached by several publishers, interested in a story on my life. Several agencies had also called me about doing speaking engagements.

  The phone calls and letters and congratulations streamed in non-stop for months, and not only from friends. I received hundreds of wonderful letters from people who had read our story and just wanted to write and say, ‘Good on you!’

  I met someone last week who is on the land, and he congratulated me on the award, but the words that concluded his little speech were the most significant. He said:

  ‘I can’t tell you what a boost your winning this award has given the people on the land. For an Australian that everyone can relate to to win something like this is tremendous. It gives people the courage to keep going.’

  I have lost count of the number of times this last sentence has been said to me.

  In November the phone rang on average every five minutes. It was an amazing experience: people I went to school with, people I had played tennis with, people I had met at a dinner party twenty years ago. People sent photos they had taken of the family and station over the last twenty-six years. Phone message, faxes, and letters—they just kept piling up. Eventually a friend who was a legal secretary came to visit, and what a friend! She helped me attack the mountains of correspondence and finally, well into 1991, all the letters and cards have received a thank you.