An Alice Girl

by Tanya Heaslip

  ‘No.’ Mum was firm. We were to be kitted out in full protective gear for this big job.

  Dad flew out in DQG that morning under a cover of smoke. He rose through it until he was high enough to see the fires. He returned, grimmer than ever.

  ‘It’s in the spinifex and travelling fast.’

  It was too hot to come face-to-face with an out-of-control fire until nightfall. We didn’t have the equipment or special clothes like the Alice Springs firefighters did, and Dad said we had to be ‘strategic about conserving our energy and resources’ to fight the fire—especially as half the resources were us kids. By 7 p.m. we had all piled into the Land Rover with Mum and Dad. We had emptied out hessian bags from the feed shed, which we would use to beat the fire back, and filled little petrol cans to light firebreaks when Dad instructed us to.

  Our direction was Orange Tree Bore. We drove for what seemed like miles under the stars, the horizon flaming ahead of us like some weird, detached dream of hell, with scarlet licking the sky. Behind us came the rest of the men from the station, in two Toyotas.

  On the back of one of those vehicles, the men had roped in a solid water tank for emergencies. It came with a big hose and a pump that everyone would have to take a turn of to get water if needed. Its contents were precious, and not to be used on the fire—that would have been like throwing a bucket of water into the sea—but it was there should we need it for our own protection.

  We crossed the foothills and arrived at the base of a wide sweep of spinifex. It was a roaring wall of red, and burning fast towards the ranges silhouetted behind it. The flames were leaping into the air; they looked like they could reach the stars.

  ‘Righto,’ Dad shouted, as we pulled up about a hundred metres from the flames. The howl of the angry flames was deafening, so we leaned forward to catch his last words. ‘Stay together.’

  Clutching our hessian bags and our petrol cans, we jumped out into the heat of the night. The scorching air sucked at our lungs. The men assembled, ready to start our back-burning tasks. Anxiety rushed up to my head like a firecracker.

  We knew from Dad that spinifex areas were the worst. Spinifex was filled with oil, which created pockets of heat, and explosions that could leap from one mound to another, with such ferocity they could even jump firebreaks. Our job was to find patches that would burn back on themselves, right into the existing fire, and burn out. But there was spinifex burning ahead of us in a conga line of white-edged flames. We had no chance against this ferocity.

  ‘Follow me!’ I heard Dad’s voice through the noise of falling branches and sizzling bushes. Adrenaline finally kicked in, as did the sense that we were doing something important. Something that mattered. Helping Dad, saving our beloved home. I pulled myself together, as I’d taught myself to do every time we went on a big muster.

  We worked all night, side-by-side with the men. They moved here and there, shouting, tackling the burning mounds with bare hands and branches, pumping water from the tank where needed. M’Lis, Brett and I trailed after them, beating back flames with the bags, and using our petrol cans to light up spinifex areas wherever we were told. Before long we were filthy, covered in petrol and dirt and grease. Mum drove the Land Rover slowly behind us all, with Benny tucked in beside her, water and sandwiches at her feet. The dim lights of the Land Rover rose and fell eerily through the darkness and the smoke and the flames.

  The adrenaline soon wore off.

  The heat was suffocating, debilitating. The fire sucked out life; it was all about death. It made me think of an angry dragon that had come to destroy the world. I kept looking up at a God who was looking down, indifferently it appeared, as the land was blackened. The precious mulga trees destroyed behind us; burned, dead kangaroos and scorched wallabies all around. We worked until the rays of the morning sun blended with the orange glow covering the horizon. We kept working as it transformed into a savage, sweltering bloodshot vision of hell. Days flowed into nights, which flowed into days, and soon we were all walking zombies.

  With fires spreading across such large areas, there was no way of putting them out. We just had to try to contain them. So, Dad changed strategy. At nights we burned back; during the day Dad graded more firebreaks.

  But Dad couldn’t be everywhere at once. So, various stockmen were delegated the task, often with Brett on the back of the Toyota as a spotter, clinging on for dear life and helping direct the blades of the grader cutting into the earth as they sought to head off the different fire fronts.

  It also became a race to protect the cattle. The firebreaks were designed not only to halt the fire but isolate the cattle into secure areas and keep them safe. But it was difficult to know where the cattle were. The paddocks were large and the cattle had dispersed in every direction in panic. So, before long, Dad was in the air in DQG more than he was on the ground.

  Flying the fire, as he called it, was perhaps his most effective fire-fighting strategy, and one that hadn’t been used by anyone here before. It was his very own idea, and we were both terrified for him and immensely proud.

  Dad flew over every corner of every fence-line. He identified where the cattle were and pushed them along in his plane if he could. He sent the men out on motorbikes during the day, ensuring the cattle made it to the dams and bores. It was too hot for the horses, so we were spared mustering in the heat, but we ended up in the back of the Land Rovers, jumping in and out to open and shut gates, move cattle and turn bores on and off.

  No cattle would die on Dad’s watch, if he could help it.

  Dad’s use of DQG became an incredibly useful way of managing the fires generally. They moved so quickly that it was difficult to know how widespread the fronts were. Dad would be gone before daylight in the plane, the drone of his little Cessna dying away into the air as he headed back to the next fire front, reporting back over the two-way radio. He also flew over any neighbouring stations that were affected, and reported back to not just them, but also to the Bushfire Council in Alice Springs.

  But it didn’t come without risk.

  ‘Be careful, Grant!’ Mum would plead.

  Flying the fires was incredibly dangerous. Dad had to stay high enough in the air so that the turbulence created by the heat and flames didn’t send him and DQG spiralling downwards into their fiery centre. But he had to dive low enough so that he could locate the areas engulfed, identify the areas at risk, and importantly, find any cattle that should be moved. Before long he was taking the stockmen up to spot for him so that he could keep focused on the job of staying in the air.

  Mum wouldn’t let us go.

  And the stockmen hated it.

  ‘Give me a horse anytime,’ said Jim, emerging pale-faced from the plane, and rushing behind a mulga tree to throw his guts up. The heat and turbulence rocked the little plane around and only the sturdiest stomachs could handle it.

  We were also lucky to have the support of the Bushfire Council in Alice Springs. With other cattlemen in the region, Dad had pushed some years earlier for the establishment of a Council. The men from the bush had argued that they too should have firefighting support, not just those living in the town.

  We called these firemen the Bushfire Mob. They were wonderful. Their role was to help coordinate firefighting efforts on stations via the two-way radio, and to join in the efforts where possible. They had huge vehicles with correspondingly huge water tanks on the back. They could travel long distances with a lot of equipment. They would turn up like the cavalry.

  On one particularly bad fire front, when we’d been out for several long, exhausting nights and were making no headway, they arrived through the darkness, like angels in answer to prayer. I’ll never forget the relief on Dad’s face as a group of strong, fresh men joined our efforts, especially because they were actually able to use the water in their tanks to spray spot fires. They had travelled three hours to get to us, and their efforts changed the direction of that particular fire front.

  By the time February came, des
pite our best efforts, the wildfires had scorched and decimated most of our beautiful landscape. They had spread to the east and the west, too. Dad spent those months flying north and south, east and west, across the different cattle stations, passing on fire information and sharing details over the two-way radio. He was the first ‘eye in the sky’ for Central Australia.

  On the last occasion, he was gone for two weeks. The day he called Mum on the two-way radio to say they had turned back the last fire, and he would fly back home that afternoon, Mum’s face crumpled, and her shoulders heaved.

  It was as though Dad had gone to war, and we hadn’t known when or if he would return.

  When he dived over the homestead in DQG to let us know he was home, we all jumped in the Land Rover and raced down to the airstrip to meet him. He emerged out of the cockpit, black all over like a chimney sweep, his grin reaching up through his stubble. We threw ourselves on him, and for a short, sweet moment he held us all in his arms. Then he wrapped Mum into his hold as well, and for that time, we were the tightest unit there ever was.

  Dad was a true hero; we were sure of it. He even received an award from the Bushfires Council for his innovative and dedicated efforts in the air. Dad and his beloved DQG were a force to be reckoned with.

  Momentarily, I forgot my anxiety about leaving all of this.

  35

  Remember the Bullocks

  The dawn sky was milky, touched with stars. From my swag I could make out the dying glimmers of the Southern Cross. I knew they would dim then disappear until another day passed across this desert land. In defiance, the hovering mountain ridge flirted with the sun’s kiss, before surrendering and lighting up in gold splendour.

  I soaked in the beauty, just for a moment longer. But the hobbles of the horses were clinking, the fire was crackling into life, and the billy already hissing. Morning in the stock camp had begun. No more time for dreaming. I had to find my boots at the bottom of my swag and head out to get my horse.

  ‘Tanya! Wake up!’

  I blinked and slowly opened my eyes. Mum was leaning over me. I was in my bedroom at home, not out bush. My new suitcase was in the corner where I’d left it last night, neatly packed, with clothes for the trip laid out on the chair. M’Lis was still asleep, her dark curls spread across her pillow. The birds were squawking in the gum trees outside, and the scent of eucalyptus spilled through the open window. The morning was already hot.

  ‘I dreamed I was in the stock camp, Mum,’ I said, with tears in my eyes.

  Mum tried to put a smile on her face, but there were tears in her eyes too. ‘Oh darling, it’s all right. Up you get. We don’t want to miss the plane!’

  I squeezed my eyes tight again. Maybe if I kept them shut, the day wouldn’t start, and I wouldn’t have to go to boarding school. But from a distance I heard Dad’s boots clomp along the gravel, and I jumped up. That sound was like the crack of a stockwhip, a call to action. It would never do for Dad to think I was weak, or slacking off. Especially after he’d said last night, ‘I survived boarding school, Tanya, and if I could—when I wasn’t very good at study—you can!’

  Mum took the maroon tunic off the hanger and put it on the bed. She was still trying to smile. But I couldn’t. That tunic would turn me into someone new.

  I knew that, because yesterday I’d dressed up in my whole uniform (white shirt, tie, tunic, belt, shoes and socks) and walked down to the horse yards to show everyone how I looked. Head Stockman Mick, who was visiting and had been down at the other end of the horse yards, looked up at me in surprise, and said to M’Lis, ‘Who’s that girl?’

  ‘Tanya.’

  ‘Nahhh.’

  ‘True. It is. Look closely.’

  Mick peered in my direction and shook his head. ‘Strike me pink. Would never have known it was her. Never seen her in a dress before.’

  Well, here I was, about to become the ‘new me’—someone I’d thought about being for so long—yet already I was unrecognisable to people who knew me. What would that make me, then? Who would I become?

  I tried instead to think of the fun things that lay ahead. For the next five years, I could study and read as much as I wanted, without being interrupted by stock work and the need to go to stock camp. I could embrace a new life of adventures, as though I were actually at Malory Towers or St Clare’s.

  ‘If you get up now, you’ll have time to say goodbye to the horses,’ said Mum, so I got out of bed and went down to the horse yards. M’Lis, Brett and Benny were up by now, too, and came with me. I buried my face in Sandy’s mane. The tears started as I smelled her sweetness. She nuzzled me and my tears flowed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mum, coming in behind us. We’d been there a long time. She sounded desperate. ‘Breakfast.’

  I couldn’t drag myself away from Sandy, but Mum put her hand on my shoulders, and we all walked back up to the house together. I ate a piece of toast that tasted like cardboard. Then Mum said it was time to finish packing.

  M’Lis, Brett and Benny handed me a little parcel, roughly wrapped and held together with a pink ribbon. ‘This is from us kids, so you won’t forget us,’ said M’Lis. ‘We hope you like it. We hope it will help at boarding school.’

  I squeezed it in at the bottom of my case so I could open it when I got there. I squeezed my eyes as well, hoping to keep the tears inside, but it was useless. They started coming, rolling faster and faster down my cheeks. I was twelve years old and going away. I would no longer be able to look after Benny, or the others. I would no longer be the big sister. I would no longer have a home, a family. I didn’t know how to live without them. How would I do it? I wrapped my arms around them and we all cried.

  ‘Time to go!’ Mum’s voice was tight.

  I tried to remind myself of all the things to look forward to. Next year, M’Lis would follow me to boarding school, and we would be together again. Brett would go to his boys’ school the year after, and Benny, many years on again. We would all end up crippled by homesickness, but on that morning I didn’t know what was to come. All I knew was that my life was unravelling into shapes I couldn’t see, loose threads spilling everywhere.

  Dad pulled me back from the nightmare in my head.

  ‘Come on, Tanya,’ He strode towards me. ‘Enough of this, in the car, all of you. I’ve got to head off and check Bulldust Bore in DQG.’

  I thought my heart would stop.

  ‘You’ll be right, Tanya. No tears for Mum, okay? You’ll be home before you know it.’ Then Dad paused and looked hard into my eyes. ‘If you’re ever having a tough day down there, just remember the bullocks’ story.’

  I threw my arms around him and smelled the dust, the diesel and the dirt on his shirt. His face was rough against mine and I soaked in his strength. I wanted to stay like that, against him, held by him, forever, where I was safe. I loved him with my whole heart. But then, with a kiss to my cheek, he was gone, striding off to his Land Rover, and I was on my own.

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ said Mum. Her voice sounded strangled. I swallowed back the sobs, remembering Dad’s words. I had to be strong for Mum.

  We all climbed in the car. The others let me have the front seat.

  As we drove out, I looked behind at the ochre hills that framed the homestead with their high peaks. I pushed the image hard into my mind’s eye, so that I could see it in my memories, and hold it in my heart.

  There was so much ahead of me that I couldn’t know.

  As the rear-vision image grew smaller and smaller, until it disappeared in our dust, something happened. I remembered some words that had come to me some months ago, as we were heading home after an afternoon playing cattle duffers.

  ‘I will go away and live in the other places I’ve read about in my beloved books. I will do exciting things. Then, one day, I will write about this life and this land, so it’s always with me, forever.’

  ‘Governess Mum’ on Hamilton Downs Station, overseeing School of the Air lessons with (from right to left) Aunty
Dawn and Gary and David Prior.

  Mum and Dad’s wedding, 1961—‘the happiest day of my life,’ said Mum. As a wedding gift, Dad made her a kangaroo skin blanket, which she kept on their bed their whole married life.

  Brett on an old stock horse at the Bond Springs stockyards, aged eighteen months. He was a natural-born horseman.

  Brett, with Dad’s hat and stockwhip, aged three, ready for action!

  Brett and Mum (in one of her many gorgeous home-sewn frocks) and Dad’s beloved horse, Limerick.

  A hot day at Singleton: (from left to right) Me, Benny (with Dad’s hat), Dad, Mum, M’Lis and Brett, 1969.

  Homestead horse yards—horses saddled and ready for mustering. As soon as we kids could ride, we were off to the stock camp.

  Some of my best memories are of my time learning through the School of the Air. Here, Mrs Hodder plays the piano while Mr Ashton reads the news in the School of the Air studio. (Courtesy S. Hodder)

  Bore runs were a daily part of life, and the whole family would squash into Dad’s Land Rover and head out: (from left to right) Me, M’Lis and Brett (peeking out from the trough). As Dad checked the bores, we made our own fun in the dirt and dust.

  The whole family, with our baby Benny, 1969.

  Me in the homestead horse yard, nearly eight, in 1970. Having horses as friends was one of the best parts of every outback kid’s life.

  ‘The open shirt shot’—my first visit to Everard Park Station to visit my friend Jane Joseland—riding her beloved Lucy.

  ‘Young rodeo rider’ Brett, at age six, with Dad in the cattle yards. Stockman Ross Coop is in the background.

  Janie Joseland doing School of the Air lessons in the stock camp. It was the School of the Air that allowed my friendship with Janie to build, until we could finally meet in person. (Courtesy J. Joseland)