by Jenny Old
Not long after this, Rick and I hit the road again for my next appointment. We had to leave in the early morning to arrive in time.
‘Well, Jenny, all is well,’ said Dr McAdam. ‘Blood pressure is excellent, weight gain is excellent, your iron levels are some of the highest recorded and the baby is fine. I’ll see you in a month.’
Do I have to come all this way to be told I’m fine? I asked myself.
Yes, was the answer from somewhere in my head.
At first I enjoyed shopping in the air-conditioned Mount Isa shopping centre, but after a while—when the baby felt as if it was around my knees, kicking furiously—I just wanted to go home. Enough of the noise, hustle and bustle, traffic, smells, people and bitumen. I longed for tranquillity. How I had changed from the girl who’d loved the buzz of London, Paris, Melbourne, Sydney and other big cities.
Once Rick had completed his endless list of jobs, we departed for Brightlands and a night with our new friends, the McDonalds.
The drive there was delightful, through country I hadn’t seen before. The vibrant red, orange and blue of the hills astounded me again. How I wished I was an artist with the ability to sit in the peace and beauty of this wondrous countryside and capture it on canvas. I loved the silver of the ghost gums in the creeks against the clear blue sky. It was such spectacular country, in a different way to McAllister.
The road was also very rough, with washouts and steep creek crossings. My baby reminded me of its presence, and I was glad to arrive at Brightlands.
Chris and Don showed us to the guestroom in their beautiful new home, which was so pretty, fresh, clean and welcoming. I was in heaven. We spent a happy night chatting, watching their routine with little Susie, and getting to know each other.
Chris had good news for me: she’d been able to find an executive family looking for someone to house-sit their Mount Isa home, and their dates fitted in perfectly with my stay in town for the delivery. This was an enormous relief to me—despite Rick’s constant assurances that everything would be all right, I’d been very worried.
I was reluctant to leave Brightlands the following morning. It was so comfortable in the lovely surrounds of such a beautiful, totally finished home. And we were happy to have found such compatible friends. Rick echoed my thoughts, saying, ‘I really feel comfortable with Chris and Don. They are honest, decent people we’ll enjoy being with.’
We promised to return next doctor visit and looked forward to it immensely.
Back home, Rick, Paul and I continued brickmaking and the many tasks on our long list. Cattle were our priority, and I kept riding with the men without any trouble. Fencing was a constant job too, as we closed off smaller paddocks for ease of mustering our growing herd.
Our next social outing was to the Sedan Dip Races. Race meetings in the Gulf were amazing events, often held in the middle of nowhere, and such was this occasion. Think green parklands, maybe an oval, large shady trees, a kiosk serving ice-creams, coffee…No, that was a fantasy. Sedan Dip, 220 kilometres from McAllister—and many kilometres from anywhere—was a bare block of land, part of a station, that boasted only a corrugated-iron shed, a bough-shelter bar, a set of cattle yards and a dip, with small silver-leaf box trees for shade. A racetrack had been created by the local community. People arrived from all over with swags, though these weren’t used much as sleep wasn’t a priority—the party lasted the entire weekend. It was nice to become re-acquainted with people we had briefly met, and to meet lots of new ones.
Soon after we got back to McAllister, Rick and I had to head off again. I was now having fortnightly visits to Dr McAdam. Rick must have been frustrated, with so much to do at home; however, he never complained about the disruption. Mind you, if he’d complained I might have said, ‘You carry this bouncing, kicking bundle in your tummy and have constant nausea and see how you feel.’ (Just a wishful, passing thought.)
I had no idea what to expect from childbirth, as there were no prenatal classes. I’d just been given a little booklet that I hadn’t had time to read.
Oh well, I still have time, I assured myself.
But the nine months that had appeared interminable were passing by at a frightening pace. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have enough time to prepare for the birth of our first child.
Our inaugural AGM provided me with another distraction. The New Guinea shareholders were coming to stay. This would be their first visit to the cattle station they had invested in, so everything had to be spick and span. Paul, Rick, Rowan, Judy and I met them in Normanton after they arrived on the plane from Cairns. We all adjourned to a room in a local hotel for our meeting.
I was surprised to see Rowan busily taking notes, which was most unusual. He then handed me a page in the middle of serious business.
There once was a lady who lived in a shed,
She conceived a child the first time in bed,
The spritely Old chappie who was the lady’s Spouse,
He proved to be worthy and built her a house,
When gestation was over and the wee babe came forth,
Mum Old and Baby Old returned to this house in the North.
Rowan was as bored as I with the protracted meeting: figures, budgets, more figures and on it went. I tried hard to suppress my laughter. Rowan looked innocent and I had to retreat outside to contain my mirth.
The shareholders were always very accommodating. They returned to McAllister with us to help muster and check the improvements; they wanted to see everything and, thankfully, were happy with our progress. But I wondered if they ever really understood or appreciated the hard work that Paul and Rick had put in to McAllister.
They weren’t the last guests to turn up during my pregnancy. Visitors continued to arrive and stay…and stay…and stay. I had to do a lot more cooking, which I hated.
Now that I was beginning to feel my size and experience discomfort, I decided some time in Mount Isa might actually be pleasant, with the luxury of a modern stove, running water, washing machine and bathroom in a real house. And, hopefully, four weeks to relax and prepare for the baby. I had three dozen nappies, thanks to my grandmother, and a bassinette, thanks to Poppy and Trenham, but that was all. I planned to do some sewing and obtain the necessities for a newborn.
Maybe I could read the booklet about childbirth.
Paul and Rhonda arrived home from holidays in a new green Holden ute to add to our fleet.
I enjoyed Rhonda’s company very much and was glad she’d be with Paul on the Ridge. She’d often visited for the weekend, but now she was a frequent visitor. Female company! I envied her svelte figure and appreciated her uncomplicated, sincere personality. She was warm and friendly, and I could see how happy she and Paul were. I was relieved that my mate had found a partner to share his life with. It wouldn’t have been easy for Paul, living alongside a happily married couple.
Soon after Paul and Rhonda were there to help again, we finally finished laying all the homemade bricks. The house still looked a long way from being complete, though—just a shell. Our neighbour Joe arrived one day to check on progress. By coincidence, he had a team of builders at his station, Inverleigh, constructing a new homestead.
‘Gawd, they are neva’ goin’ to finish this bloody house, you poor bastard, you’ve gotta have a house for this kid,’ he moaned to me. ‘I’m gunna do somethin’ ’bout this,’ he muttered, departing with a worried look on his face.
Two days later he reappeared, threw his akubra into the kitchen and announced with a big grin and twinkling, naughty eye, ‘My builders have Sunday off and they get bored stiff. They are willin’ to come ’ere and put the roof on for ya if ya feed ’em…no charge.’
We were flabbergasted at such a generous offer. I hugged that dear man and thanked him from the bottom of my heart.
Joe thought I was crazy for being pregnant while living on the Ridge without conveniences. In his rough way he was very concerned for me. He’d gone to his builders and spun a good yarn about the
poor woman at McAllister who was due to have a baby and didn’t have a house. They were horrified and sympathetic and very willing to help.
The gang arrived at daylight on Sunday and worked all day putting the roof on. I fed them well, ending with a great barbecue to thank them. None of them would accept payment. We were humbled by their generosity and so excited to see the shell of our house actually looking like a house. Thank you and bless you, dear Joe.
I declared the tourist season closed. I needed some time to catch my breath and plan for my stay in Mount Isa. I was anxious about it—I’d be on my own without a vehicle, and I didn’t know anyone in town. Reality hit. I was taking a huge step into the unknown without any support.
12
Off to Mount Isa
Friday, 25 September 1970. The day I’d been dreading. The day I departed from my beloved home for over two months. Most of that time I would be apart from Rick. I had made the decision to move to Mt Isa three weeks before the baby was due, rather than the six weeks recommended by the doctor. However, I agreed to stay the full six weeks following the birth.
At least I’d have my labrador, Rorie, for company. The owners of the house I was to look after had two large collies, but fortunately had allowed me to bring Rorie as long as he remained outside, and I assured them he was never inside.
We left at 3 a.m. I gave Paul a kiss goodbye.
‘Have a good baby,’ he responded sleepily.
This was it. The next time I saw Paul, I would be a mother.
The trip was tiring and uncomfortable, and I was exhausted when we arrived at the house I’d be looking after. It was a strange feeling to be alone in someone else’s place. The dogs made friends as we unpacked, enjoying the air-conditioning and the treat of a real house. The garden was lovely, and I knew I’d enjoy looking after it with the luxury of water coming from the taps. I always associate the beautiful smell of Quisqualis vines with this time in my life: a cloying, jasmine-like perfume, typically tropical. In the humidity of the evening, its sweet perfume wafted everywhere. I loved it.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night. I was so tired, but the baby was very active and I ached all over. I lay awake feeling a million emotions, most of them miserable. I was so far from my home and family, and I would be waving my husband goodbye the following day. Rick slept soundly, unaware of my troubled thoughts.
The next morning, nature took a stand and decided this baby had had enough of the rough roads and treatment given by its busy mother.
Rick hadn’t read the handbook, so he did a bit of speed-reading to find the chapter on my symptoms. ‘Ahhhh…we have about ten days, then?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No, maybe ten hours,’ I replied.
He leapt into action after a phone call to Dr McAdam who said, ‘Bring her in straight away.’
I soon found myself in the maternity ward, with an anxious husband ready to hand me over to the experts.
My plans for a relaxing time to prepare for the baby were dashed. I wasn’t ready to face labour: I was physically and emotionally worn out after the preparation to leave home for three months and the long, uncomfortable drive to Mount Isa. I just want a rest, I pleaded with my body. This time, nature leant a hand by delaying things for eight hours, allowing me to sleep deeply until I was awoken by serious labour pains at 8 p.m.
Dr McAdam was a modern gynaecologist and encouraged Rick to be present at the birth, quite rare in that era. Rick was with me for the final hour.
‘Pant like a puppy dog…pant like a puppy dog,’ he advised with great authority.
He’d obviously read in the handbook that this was good advice.
‘You are not helping…why don’t YOU pant…like a puppy dog?’ I gasped in between contractions.
‘I read that you may become abusive,’ he cautioned me.
‘Bleep…bleep…bleep…!’ I screamed at him.
I gave birth to a perfect six-pound ten-ounce baby boy at four o’clock in the morning. Dr McAdam handed the baby to Rick and stood up to shake my hand between my suspended legs. He made us feel we were the only couple who had ever given birth.
I will never forget the look of wonderment on Rick’s face as he held our baby son. We were overcome with emotion that we’d created this beautiful little person.
There were no problems with the early delivery, and all my fears about my ability to be maternal dissipated. I felt an overwhelming love for our boy, Anthony. And I was thankful we’d left McAllister in time for me to deliver in a hospital.
Rick had been planning to return home that day. A telegram was dispatched to Paul and Rhonda, which meant the entire Gulf Country knew of our good news. Rick then began calling family and friends with the luxury of a real telephone. We wanted the world to know.
Being in hospital after my nursing training was an interesting experience. Thanks to my doctor’s strict diet and my horseriding until just before the birth, my body bounced back quickly. ‘I can see my toes and I’m not nauseated,’ I declared to the nurse.
My mother immediately flew to Mount Isa to meet her first grandchild. I have never been so grateful to have her with me for one precious week, which went far too quickly. I remained in hospital for five days, leaving only two before Mum had to go home. I was so upset that she organised for my cousin Judy, a trained Karitane nurse, to fly up to be with me. This took a weight off my shoulders, especially as Rick was also soon to depart.
I settled into a muddled routine with Anthony and slowly became used to broken sleep. He was a very good baby, which was a relief as I was working on instinct. I was so ignorant, I thought I’d need to set an alarm clock for the night-time feeds. I was soon to learn that this wasn’t necessary: he had a healthy set of lungs.
Ten days after our son’s arrival, Rick went home to work on the house. I’d never felt so alone as I did that day, watching him drive away, not knowing when I’d see him again.
Rorie, my gentle, amiable labrador, turned into a raging lunatic the minute Rick departed. Rorie wasn’t going to remain outside. He threw himself against the door and barked ferociously at anything that moved, night and day. He refused to allow the postman to deliver the mail, the milkman the milk. I was quite cross with him as we had so many lovely gifts and cards arriving; I had to wait until Rick came to town because the post office wasn’t in walking distance. The notice in the mailbox stated: Unable to deliver mail due to savage dog.
I missed Rick desperately. I didn’t expect to see him again until he required more building materials. He was frantically working on the house—the pregnancy had well and truly won the race.
Then Judy arrived, my dear cousin whom I had grown up with in Deniliquin and shared boarding school years with in Sydney. She was tall with long blonde hair, never in a hurry, a no-nonsense girl, stubborn and opinionated but warm and giving. It was to be Judy’s way or no way.
‘Am I pleased to see you,’ I told her and hugged her with great relief. She soon had mother and baby settled into a routine that was appreciated by all.
Chris McDonald, whose father was a mining executive, had spent many years living in Mount Isa. She came for a visit and introduced me to her friends, who were to be my saviours in town.
I instantly loved the Hugheses. Thelma had a smile that lit up a room, a permanent fixture on her expressive face; her constant enthusiasm and energy were contagious. Gary, on the other hand, was much more reserved and managed to keep Thelma’s feet on the ground, and he was always quietly supportive. They had three lovely children.
Thelma organised a table for the upcoming Halloween Ball. It included the McDonalds, the Hicksons, and two other couples that Rick and I hadn’t met: Marg and Ted Flamsteed, and Sue and Don Lister. Cousin Judy kindly offered to babysit.
I was very excited when Rick arrived in town, just in time.
‘Trust you not to miss a party,’ I said to him.
‘You bet,’ he replied with a grin.
We were both ready for a fun night out. We invited the
group to our house for drinks and introductions beforehand—we also took the opportunity to show off our baby boy.
The Flamsteeds were the first to arrive. Marg was beautiful, very slim, with long blonde hair swept into an elegant bun. She was dressed immaculately with matching jewellery. Beside her stood a very tall, good-looking, tanned, fit-seeming man, suave in his dinner suit. They were a handsome and elegant couple, always conscious of presenting well. I thought to myself that Poppy would approve of them.
Then the Listers arrived, and we all connected immediately. Susie, a trained nurse, practical with a dry sense of humour, greeted us warmly. Don exuded energy: wiry, tall and blond, he had an air of wickedness and we could tell he was ready to party.
This was the beginning of great friendships.
It was a joy to dress up, enjoy good company, wine and food, and lots of laughter, and dance with my husband all night. I didn’t want it to end.
After a very long night, I was welcomed home by the cries of a hungry baby who, picking up on the vibes of his excited mother, refused to settle. The father slept soundly throughout. After all, he was exhausted.
Most of my time in Mount Isa was strange and surreal. I was so grateful to have my cousin with me, but I missed Rick. The weeks passed slowly. I watched Anthony grow and change every day. Under Judy’s sensible guidance, I became more confident. My days were filled with feeds, nappies, baths, washing—and not much else. At least I enjoyed the comforts of a normal home, especially the air-conditioning. Very different to McAllister. I dreaded having to manage without the conveniences I’d been enjoying.
Rick came to town whenever he needed more building materials, and I treasured every minute we had together. He was always amazed at the changes in our baby.
I was glad when Judy decided to return to McAllister with us. She wanted to experience the outback, and having her with me gave me an enormous boost. She was careful not to manage Anthony, instead letting me handle him. She helped me overcome the many difficulties of being a new and naive mother.