An Alice Girl

by Tanya Heaslip

  ‘I love you all equally,’ she would declare and make sure no one got any more or any less of anything. The scales always had to be equal.

  On the day, Mum drove me to the light aircraft section of the Alice Springs airport. We arrived at a tin shed surrounded by small planes, heat shimmering off the tarmac. I was wearing my best dress and hair in tight plaits with two ribbons, and I thought I might be sick.

  ‘Be good for Mrs Joseland, won’t you?’ They were Mum’s last words as she hugged and kissed me goodbye.

  Mr Lowe picked up my case, led us to his plane and spoke to the tower to get clearance for take-off. He took off fast to the east, and I quickly discovered that he flew like Dad—focused and silent. With the western sun beating on me through the window, I finally dozed off, hot and exhausted.

  When I opened my eyes, we were descending towards a range of hills. They stretched as far as I could see and looked a lot like our MacDonnell Ranges—rugged, red and ancient. Either side was bare, flat landscape. Everything was different but utterly familiar.

  We dived over the homestead so they would know we had arrived. I saw a cluster of corrugated-iron roofs, horse yards and a beautiful, expansive green lawn. We landed on a dirt strip that ran along the edge of the ranges, and as we came to a stop, an old ute rumbled towards us. Mr Joseland was behind the wheel and Janie leaped out barely before he’d stopped. We threw our arms around each other, this time without any awkwardness, just sheer happiness that our plan had come off and we were together again after so long.

  Mr Joseland and Mr Lowe stood for quite a while next to the plane, sharing a cigarette and exchanging news, while Janie and I gabbled, each talking over the other. Eventually Mr Lowe said, kindly, ‘Best be off. Enjoy your time, young lady.’

  With a rush of gratitude, I held out my arms and hugged him around the waist.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lowe.’

  He looked momentarily taken aback but then grinned. When I let him go he shook Mr Joseland’s hand, ruffled Janie’s hair, climbed back into the plane and took off. The drone of the aircraft mingled with the rumble of the ute as we headed back to the homestead. My great adventure had begun.

  My week at Everard Park was perhaps the most wondrous time of my life to that moment. I was utterly free—no jobs, no responsibilities, no one to look after—and my only duty appeared to be to have fun. Mrs Joseland made up a stretcher bed in Janie’s room and we giggled well into the night, when we were meant to be asleep.

  Mr and Mrs Joseland made me feel part of the family and didn’t tell me off for anything, even the fact that Janie and I couldn’t hold a sentence together without doubling up and bursting into hysterics, day and night. I kept expecting to get into trouble, but it didn’t come. I also spent a lot of time gazing at Mrs Joseland, who was always busy, often with the horses. She wore jodhpurs and cream skivvies, with her blonde hair swept up into a bun, and silver jewellery that clinked. I thought she was a film star still, in every way. I was desperate to ask her if she might make another movie but I didn’t quite have the courage. Mr Joseland was involved with cattle work most of the days and was always cheery when we saw him at night.

  The very old, very English governess, Mrs Sparks, took a different view of our girlish behaviour. She didn’t find it amusing; indeed, she was mostly displeased with us. She made us study our lessons every day in an enclosed veranda, and she told us off constantly. I couldn’t imagine why she’d left England to come here to teach Janie, but I didn’t have the courage to ask that either. Mrs Sparks’s wrath and raised voice and threats of homework made no difference. We struggled to concentrate when there was so much giggling to be done.

  And then Mrs Hodder had to endure us both talking at once during our School of the Air lessons.

  ‘Really? How very interesting, Tanya and Jane. You are doing a lot of fun things together. Good luck when you go out riding again!’

  Every spare moment we were down at the horse yards, with Janie’s two mares, Lucy and Sugar. Lucy was the bay on whom Janie had won all the events at Oodnadatta. She graciously let me ride her, while she rode Sugar, a sweet blonde. My usual riding fears were dispelled as Lucy took me everywhere, perfectly: she was a beautiful horse and I felt safe on her. We galloped all around the place with the wind in our hair, me making up stories as we went.

  Janie’s Aboriginal friends joined us often and Janie spoke to them in their language, Pitjantjatjara. They tweaked Janie’s white blonde hair a lot and giggled too. It was just fun, fun, fun.

  One afternoon after school, Janie said, ‘I’ve got somewhere special to take you. But no one else can come. It’s secret.’

  ‘Oooh. Okay.’

  We saddled up quickly and I followed her, mystified and full of butterflies. We rode towards an imposing set of ranges that we could see in the distance from the homestead. It took an hour to get there and as we grew closer, the ranges grew grander and bigger.

  ‘Through here,’ said Janie, pointing to a track that led up through a gap in the rocks. ‘It’s a secret entrance.’

  We clambered up and then pulled the horses to a halt. Before us lay a wide valley floor. It had been hidden from the entrance, but now that we were inside I saw that it was strewn with rocks and flanked by gum trees. The afternoon sun slanted on the high walls, offering glimpses of gold amid the shadowed gulleys. The trees swayed and sighed. It was slightly eerie.

  ‘What is this?’

  She grinned. ‘This is where the cattle duffers bring their stolen horses and cattle! No one can ever find them in here.’

  My jaw dropped.

  She moved easily in her saddle. ‘Let’s go after them!’

  Then we were off, whooping and hollering and galloping up and down the valley floor, chasing the cattle duffers, our horses’ ears pricked back as we rounded up the imaginary strays and herded them into imaginary yards where we knew they’d be safe. We did this until the sun fell behind the hills and the wind picked up. Before long we could hear the wind whispering and moaning, echoing through the valley. As we finally pulled up, panting and laughing, I realised I was shivering. The valley was shrouded in darkening shadow.

  Janie’s eyes widened. ‘Hear that noise? The wind?’

  ‘Yes.’ I shivered some more.

  Janie paused. ‘Maybe it’s the Kadaitcha Man.’

  ‘Really?’ I searched the valley for signs. ‘The Kadaitcha Man? Here?’

  ‘Lots of spirits live out here in these ranges. The Aboriginal people won’t come here because they are afraid of them,’ she nodded. ‘That’s why we had to come alone.’

  I stared at her as she added, ‘They say the Kadaitcha Man lives here.’

  ‘What?’ My throat closed. ‘Why—why did we come here, then?’

  ‘Well … because this is where the cattle duffers are hiding, of course!’ Janie leaned her head over Sugar’s mane, listening hard. The wind hissed and smacked the stones near us, and I started to get a very uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Janie, whom I thought was normally unafraid of anything, looked this way and that, swivelling her head back and forth.

  Then we heard a crack and a bang from the nearby hill, as though something—or someone—had thrown a rock. Janie turned, her eyes wide and flickering.

  ‘I think it’s the spirits! I think they’re coming.’ She stared wildly up at the hill. ‘I think the Kadaitcha Man is on his way!’

  We both started shrieking at the same time, terrifying ourselves as our cries echoed back to us from the valley. ‘Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!’

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Janie screamed as though the spirits were about to descend any moment. Wheeling our horses around, we raced towards the valley edge. The stones were loose underfoot and I prayed we wouldn’t slip. Janie found the path down the rocky side of the hill, and we headed forward, urging our horses on as we slid our way to the bottom. It was only as we reached the foothills that we slowed slightly. Our mouths were dry, our horses’ nostrils flaring, and we reached out and
grabbed each other’s hands.

  ‘You look behind,’ I urged Janie. ‘See if we’re safe.’

  She turned her head and gulped. ‘I can still feel them, hear them, they’re coming. Keep going. Across the plain!’

  We gave our horses their heads. It was a broad stretch of land—miles and seemingly miles of it—that lay between the ranges and the homestead, and the safety of home base.

  ‘Once we get to the edge of the plain, we’ll be right, they won’t follow us that far,’ Janie shouted through the wind.

  I desperately hoped she was right. The fear in my throat made me want to gag.

  We clutched our reins, bent low, knees tucked in like jockeys, driving our horses harder. The edge of the plain came into view but it hovered in the distance as though a far-away mirage. Would we ever reach it?

  Finally, we crossed a creek and to our relief, spied the homestead roof shimmering in the late afternoon light. It was only then we thought it safe to slow to a canter and then a trot.

  Then we both swivelled our heads behind us, hearts still pounding. My tongue was so dry it was stuck to the top of my mouth. I could barely swallow.

  Behind us, the plain lay flat and innocent in the evening light.

  ‘Okay, now we’ve got to walk!’ gasped Janie. ‘We’ve got to walk to cool the horses down before we get home.’

  So, we slowed our pace even further, and as we walked our horses, we gabbled, expelling and rationalising our fear. The horses were traumatised too, we could feel it. They snorted and pranced sideways and I could smell their sweat from under the saddles.

  By the time we got back to the yards, unsaddled and fed them, darkness had descended. I was worried we’d be in trouble, but Janie seemed unconcerned. ‘First one to the house tells Mum!’ she shouted.

  I followed her at a slow jog, my legs and lungs already aching. I would rather not have talked about it anymore, in the hope that silence might banish the fears from my mind. But when I arrived, Janie was inside, telling her Mum at top speed and in top voice what we had experienced, and how lucky we were to have survived and made it home in one piece.

  Mrs Joseland was cooking a roast and didn’t seem to be in the least bit concerned we were late. She just tinkled her charming laugh as Janie finished her breathless monologue.

  ‘Complete nonsense,’ she smiled, pulling the sizzling beef out of a roasting pan. ‘You two have just wound each other up! Now, go and clean up before dinner.’

  My Everard Park visit ended all too soon.

  The next day Mrs Joseland confirmed that Dad had been on the radio from Witchitie. They would arrive mid-afternoon.

  I was torn between the relief of being with my family again and the end of this new adventure I was enjoying so much. Even though at home I often felt scared and anxious about many things, here I felt slightly older and bolder, just from being with Janie.

  Mum and Dad were very strict, and as the responsible eldest, I was always desperate to do the right thing for them. I was scared of risking their anger, so I rarely did anything that I knew they wouldn’t approve of. That meant that every step I took to learn more about life was a small one.

  At Everard, on the other hand, I felt I’d taken very large steps. Being around Janie’s free spirit was intoxicating. I’d never experienced anything like it. It seemed to me Janie was capable of being light and courageous all the time—because that was her nature. She wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, except perhaps the Kadaitcha Man.

  I soaked up her energy, in awe.

  Of course, it helped that Janie had three older brothers. They’d toughened her up and taught her to be bold. Plus, she had a worldly mother and a very easygoing father. Mr Joseland and Dad were polar opposites when it came to strictness and scariness.

  So somehow, I felt stronger and able to do more, be more, in this place.

  Despite this growth spurt of independence, from about midday onwards I kept looking at the sky. When I finally heard the familiar drone of DQG at about 2 p.m., I thought my heart might explode right through me. Hopping up and down, I yelled to Janie, ‘It’s them! They’re here! Time for the plan!’

  Janie’s plan, which I thought marvellous, was to gallop to meet the plane as it landed. Very heroic and like something out of a movie. Especially something out of Mrs Joseland’s movies. And because Mr Joseland was on a bore run, Mrs Joseland was going to take the Toyota down to collect the family, and we hoped she’d understand.

  Janie and I raced to the horse yards, grabbed our horses, which we’d conveniently left saddled up, mounted them and galloped like wild Cowboys and Indians towards the airstrip. As DQG circled the homestead and then landed on the strip in a cloud of dust, I felt overwhelming joy. My family, my connection, my source were here, and I was with them again.

  The little plane taxied to a halt, the doors sprang open and M’Lis and Brett tumbled out, racing towards Janie and me as we slowed from a gallop to a respectable canter along the strip. I jumped off Lucy and threw my arms around them both. Then I ran to Mum, who was getting out of the plane holding Benny, and hugged them both. Then I took Benny myself and kissed his cheeks until he squirmed and complained loudly. Finally, Dad emerged, with that grin and twinkle. I threw myself into his arms too and he pulled me into a hug.

  It could not have been a more perfect reunion.

  I’d gone on this brave adventure and survived and now had many tales to tell. I was bursting to share them with my family, who I hoped would be proud of how I’d grown up this week.

  Mrs Joseland arrived in a cloud of dust and there were more hugs. M’Lis and Brett wanted to ride back with us, but Mum drew the line at them climbing on the back of Lucy and Sugar, so we agreed to meet them back at the horse yards. I felt such a thrill as we waved goodbye to them and headed back; the wind in my hair, the reins loosely between my fingers, beautiful Lucy galloping under me with such ease. It was an afternoon I would always remember.

  It was the first time M’Lis and Brett had met Janie. Like me, they were incredibly shy to start with, but nobody could be shy around Janie for too long. We all went down to the horse yards to feed the horses. It was dusk by the time we’d finished, as Janie and I regaled M’Lis and Brett with stories of our flight from the spirits.

  ‘They were there,’ I said earnestly. ‘You could hear them. Feel them. We were so scared. It was so lucky we escaped.’

  ‘The Kadaitcha Man was angry we’d come,’ said Janie, solemnly. ‘And you don’t want to get him angry …’

  As she said this, out of nowhere came a wind. The shed door, which had remained stationary for the past hour, suddenly moved and creaked. Ominously. We swivelled around to look at it. The door creaked again and we realised darkness had fallen. The yards were silent and shrouded in blackness. And there was just the creee-ak.

  We started shrieking as one. Then we turned on our heels and ran for our lives.

  29

  More Show Adventures

  When autumn came, M’Lis, Brett and I started begging Mum and Dad to let us enter our horses in the Alice Springs Show at the Traeger Park showgrounds.

  Janie Joseland was coming up for the show and bringing her beautiful horse Lucy. Jacquie and Matthew Braitling were going to ride too, along with Simone Dann, our School of the Air friend from Amburla Station to the west of Alice. There would be great events including ‘Best Boy Rider’, ‘Best Girl Rider’, ‘Novice Pony Hack’ and ‘Pair of Hacks’. Then on the Saturday, there would be gymkhana events, such as the Bending race, the Pole and Bending, and if we were lucky, the Barrel race.

  We pleaded our case. If Bond Springs was going to enter cattle, why not horses too?

  Dad was now the Chairman of the Central Australian Beef Breeders’ Association and had no time to think about horses. He was busy promoting a Meat Hall to showcase Centralian beef to the locals and out-of-town visitors at the show. Dad’s mantra was ‘buy local, support local’, back before it became fashionable. However, after some cajoling, he said
we could—that was, if Mum agreed, as she would have to manage it all.

  We held our breath.

  Mum said yes.

  Dear Mum. All the responsibility of managing four kids, three horses and the logistics of getting us in and out of Alice fell to her. That was a huge amount to do, on top of her existing workload. But Mum’s ever-present desire to help us engage with the outside world, and with kids our own age, won out. She supported our new project as though it were her own.

  ‘Thank you, Mum!’ we shouted in delight.

  We had already begun training in anticipation and now doubled our efforts as if we were preparing for the Grand National. Every day after school, we rushed out into the Horse Paddock, got the horses in, saddled them up and practised. We had read everything we could about cantering in circles on the right leg, changing legs and keeping our hands low, our backs straight and toes pointed.

  Charlie took a dim view of all this unnecessary poncing around. Our focus was meant to be on learning how to manage and work cattle, not trying to ride as though we’d stepped out of Horse & Hound magazine.

  ‘Waste of time,’ he’d mutter, as we’d shout happily, ‘Look at us, Charlie!’

  At this time we had a wonderful jillaroo called Pips. She was tall and angular with long, dark plaits, and was brilliant with horses and cattle. Although she spent most of the time working with Mr Browne with an E, who had returned for this year’s show preparation, she gave us tips on our riding when she wasn’t walking the cattle around Mum’s lawn. We took every chance to learn from her.

  There was another reason I wanted to ride in the show: I had the chance to show off my new horse, Sandy.

  Sandy was a gentle-natured skewbald mare. She was also one of Janie’s many horses I’d encountered at Everard. When the Joselands had seen how I’d fallen in love with Sandy, they generously offered to give her to me. After some conversation, Dad agreed to buy her. Sandy was put on the next truck going north and I had been her proud owner for some months.