Back of Beyond

by Jenny Old

  The resilience of the locals was inspiring. They are a tough breed in the Gulf.

  19

  Uncertain Times

  Holidays, beaches and surfing forgotten, we were ready for work. The shed was to be extended with four extra bays, the staff barracks to be built using the materials we’d accumulated from Mount Isa. Colts were to be broken in, and the inevitable fencing repairs carried out.

  Lorraine, our second jillaroo, after Brownie, arrived soon after our return. A tall, statuesque blonde girl, she was strongly recommended by Des, who had known her for some time. She proved to be a capable horsewoman and could turn her hand to any extra jobs required.

  Rick went on to employ many jillaroos over the years, all from referrals. He felt they respected and handled the cattle and horses in a much quieter manner than the ringers. We always had stockmen who, on the whole, were more inclined to enjoy the chase of a rebellious beast; they tended to find the ‘quiet mode’ of treating the cattle to be a trifle boring.

  Our jillaroos loved the outdoor work. Working with the men was hard, but their day ended when they returned home. Sadly for me, though, none of our girls showed any desire to cook. My day never seemed to end.

  I longed for the barracks to be completed: I was fed up sharing my home with jillaroos and visitors. Everyone ate their meals with us, and the girls shared the bathroom and laundry. I was going stir-crazy, longing for my home to be a sanctuary for my family and some privacy. The barracks was to be the solution.

  A highlight that year was a visit by Rick’s sister Rosemary, her husband, Peter, and their five children, who arrived in a charter plane for a ten-day visit.

  The twins, Annabel and Melissa, were the same age as Anthony, and they loved each other’s company. The children had a lot of fun together, sharing one bedroom. Karen, Doug and Andrew embraced the experience of station life, and soon adapted to the absence of television and telephones, although I think we may have been instrumental in Karen becoming vegetarian after she watched Rick kill a beast!

  Peter was an engineer, so we immediately relegated him to the shed to check and service our old, second-hand fleet—a big job. Rosemary was a wonderful mother hen to her brood, and she loved the tranquillity McAllister offered. Everyone slept well at night.

  Peter wrote in the Visitors Book: I was overwhelmed by the people, the place, the weather, the food, and the multitude of mechanical problems!

  For beef producers 1974 continued to be a worrying year. The price of beef had dropped dramatically, while interest rates were rising at an alarming pace.

  We’d borrowed from the Development Bank at six per cent interest, but now the rates had ballooned to twenty-one per cent. The enormous price drop made it impossible for us to meet the payments or do any further development. It was frightening.

  Our shareholders arrived for an extraordinary general meeting. There wasn’t a lot of optimism afterwards. Plans were made to slash spending and halt progress.

  Rick and I offered to work without wages, living on our savings, to give McAllister every opportunity to survive this extraordinarily difficult time.

  While this was going on, Rick and I were longing for another baby. I’d suffered several miscarriages. When we finally found a minute to be together, after a great deal of soul-searching and discussion, we decided to apply to adopt a baby. We told no one of our plans. We didn’t want any advice on this very personal decision.

  I contacted the adoption agency and moved ahead with our application. The process was extremely thorough, but to our elation we were eventually accepted. The wait for a boy was about eighteen months, much longer for a girl. We were happy to accept a boy.

  One day two people from the adoption agency arrived—unannounced, as was their policy. They stayed for one night and two days, spending a lot of time with Anthony. They observed his habits and personality, even making detailed notes on his appearance. They also examined our books and finances, our home and work activities. I was impressed with their due diligence.

  Now it was a waiting game. We didn’t tell Anthony but did inform our close family, with mixed reactions from some members. That didn’t change the fact we were glad we’d made this decision.

  This was an uncertain time for us. However, we never lost sight of our goal and dream to develop McAllister and retain our home.

  As the year wound down and the final muster was completed, Rick decided Anthony would like a go-kart. My inventive husband set about building it. He used a motor from an old Honda bike with other bits and pieces. As construction was underway, he realised that the machine could serve a purpose aside from recreation.

  ‘I’m going to make it a go-kart lawnmower,’ he announced at smoko.

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ I retorted.

  Rick and Anthony spent hours in the shed building the dream machine. Its unveiling was imminent.

  I was invited to witness the inaugural run. It looked like something from outer space: it featured a lawnmower at the front, with a bench seat behind, pedals and a steering wheel. Rick’s camera was at the ready for this historic moment.

  Anthony sat on the bench—but, alas, his legs weren’t long enough to reach the pedals. Oh, no! Don’t worry, mate, you can sit in front of me and I’ll drive it for you, was his father’s immediate response. I wondered who this machine had been designed for.

  Once Anthony had recovered from his initial disappointment, he was thrilled to be setting off with his dad at the controls of this contraption. They headed out, with puffs of smoke from the exhaust, to mow the lawn. I was happy, hoping the novelty wouldn’t wear off too soon as it saved me a job. This was the first in a series of go-karts built by Rick.

  In no time it was Christmas again. We were invited to spend another very happy day at Lorraine Station with the Flamsteeds and McDonalds. Chris and Don had recently welcomed a second son, James, on Anthony’s fourth birthday.

  Rick, Anthony and I were the first to arrive at Lorraine. Ted made it exciting for Anthony when he set up a two-way to make a call. He gave Anthony one speaker. Next thing, my son heard a deep voice saying, ‘Is that Snowball Old there?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ came the tentative reply.

  ‘This is Santa Claus, Snowball.’

  Anthony’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  ‘What would you like for Christmas, Snowball?’

  ‘I’d like a backhoe please, Santa.’

  ‘Have you been a good boy all year?’

  ‘Yes, Santa.’

  ‘What colour backhoe would you like, Snowball?’ A silly question, Santa realised. ‘Would you like a green backhoe?’

  Phew, that was close. Santa knew we had a green toy backhoe in the cupboard.

  Anthony was mesmerised and couldn’t wait to tell the other kids when they arrived.

  As we couldn’t get to Mount Isa for our Christmas shopping, I’d asked Ted to buy the backhoe for us. It cost seventy dollars. That night we played poker and Rick won seventy dollars from Ted, who always felt he’d given Anthony his gift that year.

  Our happy time at Lorraine was shattered with news of Cyclone Tracy wiping out Darwin. What a tragic Christmas for those affected. They were in our thoughts.

  In the new year I embarked on my first experience of teaching correspondence. The very thought filled me with trepidation. I hadn’t exactly factored in educating a child when I’d started out on my life in the Gulf.

  Anthony and I commenced preschool correspondence, a new program designed as an introduction to primary. It arrived weekly in the mail then had to be completed and returned to the teacher in Brisbane at the end of each week.

  This was a testing time. There was no School of the Air program for preschool, so Anthony felt he was the only kid having to do this work. He enjoyed some of the activities and felt important doing ‘school’—however, the novelty soon wore off. Like the free-range kids I’d met back in 1970, he preferred to be outside.

  Chris had commenced teaching G
rade One to Susie, and I was looking forward to asking her advice on the weekend. It was Susie’s fifth birthday, and the McDonalds were coming to stay at McAllister. I planned balloons, whistles and a special cake. Lots of pink for a special little girl.

  That weekend turned into a unexpectedly busy one when our coldroom compressor blew up. Rick chartered a plane from Mount Isa, bringing a refrigeration expert who would fit a new compressor. When Chris and Don arrived, I was busy feeding the pilot and the mechanic, plus two friends who’d come for the ride. I was pleased when these men departed in the evening so we could enjoy our own visitors.

  The mechanic generously didn’t charge us for his labour, being well aware of the disastrous beef prices. We sent him home with a good supply of excellent beef. Another example of bush people working together.

  Finally, the much-anticipated completion of the staff barracks.

  I spent every available minute sanding, painting and scrubbing, longing for the day the barracks would have its first inhabitants. It looked clean, comfortable and welcoming, with beds and simple furniture ready for the men. I now hoped to have my home reserved for my family, but that was wishful thinking.

  The wet season over, the dry season’s work was underway: staff employed, fencing repairs to complete, colts broken in and mustering commenced.

  Naturally the jillaroos were to be housed with us again.

  Chris and Don invited us to join them at Dunk Island for Easter, offering to fly us in their Cessna 182. This was to be our first holiday just with friends.

  I reviewed my wardrobe. Hmm, nothing suitable for a beautiful island resort…

  ‘I’m going to make matching swimsuits for the three of us,’ I told Rick. ‘How impressive will that be?’ He nodded absently.

  I found a lovely seersucker cotton. Red, white and blue stripes looked very tropical, I thought, as I envisaged the three of us stepping out elegantly on the poolside. I made boxer swimming trunks lined with fine cotton for Rick and Anthony, and a bikini for me. I was pleased with myself, thinking of the money I’d saved.

  The McDonalds arrived in their beautiful plane. Zanda and Anthony were mirror images of each other and enjoyed a certain telepathy, while Susie was still the leader of the pack at this early stage, strong-willed and confident. The Flamsteeds were babysitting James for the week.

  Rick and I loaded our luggage, and we departed for our greatly anticipated tropical holiday.

  On the flight across to Dunk Island, we had a superb view over the stunning azure of the ocean and the many fascinating islands of the Great Barrier Reef. We landed on a short airstrip and were met by a trolley bus to take us to our accommodation.

  ‘Blow me down!’ a voice boomed. ‘Rick Old, how are you?’ ‘I can’t believe it. Graham, what are you doing here?’ He and Graham had been to school together.

  ‘I manage the island,’ Graham explained.

  ‘That could come in handy,’ Rick replied.

  Driving to our rooms, I was enthralled by the lush gardens and tropical flowers. The sweet perfume of frangipani was thick on the air, along with the scent of the sea. A holiday vibe engulfed us all.

  We had adjoining suites with the beach directly in front. The children were beside themselves. We couldn’t wait to peel off our clothes and cool off in the pool before a swim in the ocean. And then, dinner.

  The Old family proudly appeared on the poolside in our new matching costumes, standing at the edge for all to admire. We dived in.

  Oh dear…the indignity when we all lost our costumes! The fabric and the light cotton lining weren’t suitable for swimsuits. We caused a sensation, but we could barely conceal our nudity because we were laughing so much.

  We had to visit an expensive boutique and buy new swimsuits all round.

  ‘So much for saving money,’ muttered my embarrassed husband as he looked at the account for three very smart costumes.

  ‘Never mind,’ I assured him, ‘we’ll look spiffy at Palm Beach next year!’

  Our five days on Dunk Island gave us some of our happiest memories. The children were in heaven, and I was too—partly because I didn’t have to cook. At the breakfast buffet, we indulged in an enormous amount of delicious tropical fruit.

  ‘I’m amazed you can afford to put out so much exotic fruit and encourage us to take some back to our room,’ Rick mentioned to Graham.

  ‘It all works itself out,’ was his smug reply.

  After a couple of days of overindulgence, we understood what he meant. We spent the remainder of our holiday avoiding all fruit.

  We were brown and healthy and relaxed, feeling rejuvenated from the healing balm of the beach and fun activities that had us all sleeping like babes at night. We left our worries behind and enjoyed the moment, something Rick and I hadn’t been able to do for the past couple of years.

  It had to end. Rick, Anthony and I were flying on to Brisbane. We waved goodbye to the McDonalds, watching their plane circle and turn for home. We watched until it was a tiny speck, hating to say goodbye.

  While in Brisbane I visited a gynaecologist Chris had recommended. I was given the wonderful news that I was pregnant. My appointment was timely, as the gynaecologist was able to monitor my progress. It was early days. We tried very hard not to be excited.

  After studying my history, the gynaecologist informed me I’d have to stay in Brisbane so he could care for me and give this pregnancy the best chance possible.

  ‘You wrap yourself in cotton wool,’ the gynaecologist insisted. ‘No lifting, no stress, plenty of rest.’ These instructions didn’t fit my job description at McAllister. Chris’s parents offered me their lovely home in the city to house-sit while they were overseas. I was grateful again to my dear friend for finding a solution for me. By now I was suffering severe nausea, but I’d never been so happy to be ill.

  It became obvious that for the sake of this new baby, I wouldn’t be able to keep Anthony with me. He and Rick would return to McAllister, leaving me in Brisbane until I was given the all clear. Who knew how long that would be?

  It nearly broke my heart the day they left. I watched the plane fly over while I wept and wept. I’d never felt so alone.

  I’ve always been a busy and active person, and the forced inactivity made the days go slowly with only visits to the doctor and gentle walks to fill my time. I desperately wanted this pregnancy to be successful, so I did exactly as I was told. The nausea was ghastly, but it was a baby, my baby, at last.

  I had a terrible fright one afternoon with severe cramping and a little bleeding. I curled up on the bed, held on to my tummy and prayed and didn’t move for hours. Finally the pain subsided and the bleeding stopped. The next day I visited the gynaecologist, who reassured me that the baby was unaffected. He seemed pleased. ‘I believe this is the stage you have previously miscarried, so I think we’re over one hurdle.’

  I missed Mum, who was on an overseas trip, and I so badly missed Anthony and Rick, especially as they couldn’t phone me very often—they occasionally drove to Inverleigh to ring, a sixty-kilometre round trip. I was concerned that my little boy would be spending a lot of time in the Toyota, and at the yards and shed. I hoped he’d be safe. I couldn’t imagine how Rick was coping.

  My dear father phoned one day to say he was coming to stay with me in Brisbane for a week. He arrived on the Greyhound bus from Deniliquin, a sixteen-hour journey. I was ecstatic to have Dad with me. He was missing Mum and wanted some company as well. He took over the cooking, something I hadn’t been able to face. He went for a walk each day to visit the butcher and soon made friends with all the neighbours. Dad wasn’t at all a city person, but he transplanted well for the short-term. I shall never forget his caring for me that week.

  After four weeks I was allowed to go home. I bought a simple denim maternity smock to wear on the plane; it looked ridiculous as I wasn’t showing, but I wanted everyone to know I was pregnant.

  I was never so pleased to see the Mount Isa smokestack. How I had missed
Rick and my precious little boy.

  As we drove home, the gynaecologist’s words were ringing in my ears: ‘You have to give this baby every chance. You need to wrap yourself in cotton wool for the duration of your pregnancy.’

  But cotton wool seemed to be in rather short supply at McAllister. I was greeted by a chorus: ‘We’ve missed you, Jen. We’ve been living on stews. No smokos and puddings. Can’t wait for your cooking…’ et cetera, et cetera.

  Reality hit me. I needed to give the garden a lot of attention and plant some vegetables. I also needed to do the usual maintenance in the house, and Anthony and I had masses of preschool correspondence to catch up with. Rick had done his best to maintain things for me, but six weeks was a long time.

  The day after my return, more visitors arrived: a jackerooing mate of Rick’s, plus a friend of mine with another couple. I was back into life at McAllister with a bang.

  Hang on, little baby, hang on.

  20

  The Burke and Wills

  We were going to build a roadhouse.

  In the midst of the Beef Crash, we made the decision to diversify. Rick and Rowan began the onerous task of leasing some land at the junction of the Cloncurry, Julia Creek, Normanton and Burketown Beef roads. They had to manoeuvre through a bureaucratic jungle: their request was new territory for the councils involved, though it wasn’t a new idea for us. From the time of our frequent trips to Mount Isa when I was pregnant with Anthony, Rick had always commented, ‘I’m going to build a roadhouse here one day.’

  More than a hundred cars drove past this spot daily, and we knew this figure would increase massively in the following years. At the time, travellers had to carry all necessary fuel and supplies, as the shortest distance between towns was more than three hundred kilometres: our roadhouse would change that.