The Strength of Our Dreams

by Sara Henderson

  The screen missed the car by a few feet and we watched as it hit the floor with a thud and locked into place behind us.

  The next problem became clear when in imperialistic tones the guard was ordered to open the door into the building. This could be done with a key, but we didn’t have one. He could open the door from the guard house, but that was now not possible as he was locked in the parking area and couldn’t get out. It seemed the only way we could get out of the parking lot was to wait for someone else to enter or leave the building.

  It was approaching my 9 p.m. radio session and we had to agree there would be little traffic coming into the carpark at this time. We had to start thinking of alternatives. I thought the screen must have a handle to wind the door manually if there was a power failure. Our guard was very excited when he found the spot to do this, but we looked high and low and couldn’t find the handle.

  The guard came up with the next idea. He had a card which opened the door automatically, the only problem being you had to insert the card on the other side of the screen. He said he could ask a passer-by to insert it.

  He did this. There was an endless exchange in their language, then the man walked away. We keenly cross-examined the guard who said the man said ‘No’.

  ‘No! All that talking and you say all he said was “no”!’

  Apparently most of the time had been spent trying to find a dialect they could both understand. When they did, he couldn’t convince the man we had locked ourselves in there accidentally. The other man’s wise analysis of the situation was that we wouldn’t be there if we weren’t meant to be!

  A few more appeals to passers-by had them just waving dismissively. I was wondering just where I had landed myself.

  I finally sat back in the car thinking we probably wouldn’t get out until someone in the building came down to their car to go home at midnight after the show.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of a three-hour conversation with the protector of the British Empire, so I opted for a sleep. I was dozing off to sleep, having successfully blocked out the constant stream of complaints, when headlights flashed into the carpark. The driver inserted a card into the machine and the screen magically started opening. Our saviour was the newsreader for our program.

  The guard ducked under the rising screen and was extremely happy to be back at his post and out of complaints range. We followed the newsreader into the building and arrived at our destination five minutes late. You would imagine this wouldn’t matter on a three-hour talkback show, but you would think I was being presented to the Queen, the amount of fuss made.

  The tour of England was about to get an A-l rating compared to this one! I was wishing for my guardian angel, my Australian publicist Jane.

  The talkback show had heavy religious overtones, with one of the first calls from a girl who said she didn’t want to go on living and what did I suggest she do about it. The question really floored me. As you can imagine, I was feeling very tired at this point and in need of a hot shower, good food, clean clothes and some sleep. And here I was being asked to be an on-air psychologist! Being accustomed to having Jane with me, I looked for help from the publicist. But I could see her talking to a man a couple of studios away.

  The radio host waited. I was in this by myself, it appeared. I started by saying I certainly wasn’t qualified to discuss anything that serious, and I was sure there were organisations in Johannesburg that could help her. I went on to explain I had just landed in South Africa an hour ago, but would hand over to the host and she could give her some names of organisations that could help.

  We both chatted with this poor girl, and I think she sounded a little better when we finished. But what a sad situation. For life to get you so down, you have no desire to continue living. I expressed this thought and it led to some very interesting discussions over the next hour or so.

  It was a thoroughly exhausting evening and I felt completely drained. When the publicist asked if I would like to go for a drink, she got a loud, ‘No!’

  I finally made it to my room. There were no complicated instructions here, just a good old-fashioned key. But I seemed to have a surplus. I sat and examined the pile of keys I had been given. Everything in the room that opened had a key to lock it. I was instructed to lock everything or it would be stolen.

  I had faced this same situation when I first went to Manila in 1960. I watched in amazement when the next-door neighbour locked all the servants out of the house every time she went out! They sat in the servants’ quarters until she returned.

  I decided to do the opposite and left everyone in the house and told my house girls to take care of everything while I was gone. In all the years I lived there, I always returned to the house exactly as I left it.

  I must admit this time I succumbed to the instructions the first time I left the room. But after locking, forgetting something, unlocking, then locking up again only to find I needed something else, just trying to leave my room on time became a major trauma. So when faced with the task the next day, I stayed in bed an extra fifteen minutes and thought, stuff the keys.

  As I was rushing down the hall that morning I saw the housemaid cleaning one of the other rooms. I stopped and told her I was running late, and could she please take care of my room for me as I didn’t have time to lock any cupboards. She gave me a smile that would make your heart sing, and said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  I had a ten-hour day which finished with a delightful dinner with Pan Macmillan people and business friends, turning it into a fifteen-hour day.

  The next day was a typical book-promotion day, with an early-morning television talkshow, interviews with newspaper reporters, a literary luncheon and an evening talk to a professional women’s club.

  The evening was supposed to be a big night. The bookseller had arranged hundreds of books in an impressive display and he even had a cash register. There were rows and rows of chairs—enough to seat hundreds—and a long table filled with all types of cocktail food.

  Only six people turned up to the badly organised event! And the bookseller silently packed up his display and left without a word.

  When the publisher called the next day and asked how the night went, I told him the sales were 150 per cent and he was over the moon, ‘How many people were there?’ was his next excited question. When he heard the answer he was furious.

  I prayed the rest of the tour wouldn’t follow the same path. I was used to Australian organisation, but I was a long way from home so I had to make the best of it. After all, the luncheon had been successful, I told myself.

  The next morning I left my room in the faithful hands of the housemaid and it was off to morning tea and a book signing. When I got back to the hotel to pack for Durban, I gave my room guardian a large tip. I left the hotel with everything I arrived with and I never locked anything but the door to my room. The essence of trust in another human being came through loud and clear.

  I was in South Africa at an interesting time with apartheid now a thing of the past. In Durban I stayed in a lovely old house in a previously restricted section of the beautiful city. The streets were crowded with people walking—simply because they could.

  Cape Town was breathtaking as we approached it from the air. But on the drive from the airport to the city, behind concrete walls, slums stretched into the distance. Cape Town by comparison is amazingly opulent, full of stately homes and gardens. I was staying in a guest house in the shadow of Table Mountain.

  By Cape Town the tour had settled into its own groove. Not what I had expected, but luckily it was developing its own momentum. There was one more day to go.

  I spoke at the University of Cape Town in the morning and had lunch at the famous pink Nelson Hotel. We were driven there by a delightful reporter who informed us she didn’t have a licence, so I spent the entire ride fully occupied with pointing out cars to avoid.

  By the time we reached the gates of the hotel, it wasn’t too much of a mystery why she didn’t have a lic
ence. I breathed a sigh of relief thinking, ‘Safe, for the time being.’

  As we approached the hotel a good portion of the grounds and the main entrance had a cordon of soldiers with lethal-looking guns.

  Our eccentric reporter, busy talking, drove between the soldiers and pulled up at the hotel’s front entrance. Suddenly twenty guns were pointing at the small car, and us!

  Guns have been a part of my life since I came to live in the Outback, but I can tell you this day my heart stopped beating and hit the floor with a thud. But my companions were made of stauncher stuff with a lifetime of guns being pointed in their faces. The reporter simply asked, ‘What is going on?’

  She was told there was a press conference luncheon for Nelson Mandela and all the area was restricted. I thought that was an ironic remark, and I am sure the officer had the slightest hint of a smile on his face, but this went over the others’ heads.

  As we parked at the far end of the large courtyard, a big shiny limo pulled up at the entrance, right in the spot where we had sat a minute earlier with twenty or so guns trained on us. And James said it was too dangerous for me to ski in Austria!

  My last day in Cape Town was perfect; we visited a wine-growing district and had lunch in a delightful restaurant overlooking a valley of vineyards. There was perfect sunshine, and the food was out of this world and our host for the day could not have been more accommodating in any way. If I believed in past lives, I would have to say my heart belongs to Africa in another lifetime, so strong was the physical pull this land exerted on me. I flew to Johannesburg that evening, was back at the hotel with my room guardian, and the next day stepped on board a Qantas flight for home!

  After a meeting in Sydney I flew back to Bullo. After two months away it was so good to be home and the dogs gave me the usual royal welcome. Boots, unfortunately, was not well and I was shocked when I saw how terribly thin he was. Marlee said he looked good compared to two weeks before when she arrived home. When Marlee first saw him he was in such bad condition she thought it was too late to save him. But he came up to her and was so glad to see her, she knew she had to try and save him.

  Franz flew Sarah, our vet, out to the station and she gave him a series of injections and filed what teeth he had left so he could get some chewing power from a more even bite.

  It only took a few days of being handfed all day and continued vitamin and antibiotics injections before he started to pick up. We kept handfeeding for the next few months—and didn’t he lap that up!

  It took around six months to get him back to the reasonably fat, healthy horse we had left in January but the most important thing was he was back to his old self.

  Sarah said a good part of the problem could have been he missed his family. The caretaker gave him food and water, but he didn’t treat Boots as a person like we did, so that would upset him. I put a note in my diary to get a horse lover as our next caretaker.

  Halfway through March we began getting thrilling results from the breast cancer prevention campaign. Letters started arriving from women who were going for a mammogram for the first time! I hoped this trend was here to stay.

  As is often the case, this good news was followed by bad. Sarah, our vet, who had struggled so hard to start her clinic in Kununurra was about to go into hospital for an operation and she couldn’t find a vet to take over her practice for the month she needed to take off to recover.

  When Marlee heard of the problem she decided to look for a good Samaritan vet. It took a few days, but she finally found a wonderful vet from Darwin who left his practice in good hands and went down to Kununurra and kept Sarah’s new practice going.

  Here was one human being helping another. A complete stranger in this case, who refused to accept any payment for his time. Such a story restores my faith in humanity and shows how wonderful people can be.

  In my eyes Sarah deserved this kindness because she cares so deeply for all the animals in her care. She saved our beautiful Sumie! She justly deserved a guardian angel to help her through a difficult period in her life. And my guardian angel found him for her.

  A letter arrived from Pan Macmillan South Africa at this time giving me news on how the book was faring. It was accompanied by media clippings and reviews. The results were good—the book made number one on the bestseller list, and the sales were still going strong, even approaching the sales of a Wilbur Smith book, which really amazed me. It goes to show that if the readers like a book, it will sell regardless of whether a tour is well-organised or not.

  Near the end of March I headed for the east coast for a short tour for the paperback of The Strength In Us All. This was combined with a speaking tour of capital cities with a group of Australian and American speakers.

  I was looking forward to watching American speakers at close quarters. As much as I don’t want to make the speaker’s circuit my entire life, the aim of most speakers is to get onto the American speaking circuit. I wanted to study the speakers and see what talents attracted amounts like twelve-thousand American dollars. This amount was for a run-of-the-mill speaker. Astronauts and retired Presidents got six-figure fees!

  I was in the company of some great Australian speakers, Amanda Gore and Allan Pearse. I have spoken at conferences with them around Australia and never tire of listening to them. I just tell a story but these two are top performers. Hazel Hawke and Peter McKeon were also in the Australian group.

  I was not impressed with the American speakers and the Australian speakers seemed to be the most popular with the audiences. We spoke in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane and while the rest of the speakers had the day off in between travelling from one capital to the next, I rushed off and did book promotions in the towns close to each capital city.

  I had fallen back into the bad habit of trying to do everything requested of me and tension was taking over again. Of course I didn’t admit this to myself. Although it should have been blatantly clear to me when a dear friend of mine in Melbourne came backstage to say hello and I didn’t know her name! My thought process was such that I thought anyone backstage had to be connected with the tour. So Fairlie received some strange answers to her questions until I realised my error. In my defence, backstage was an experience and there were people going in all directions, so when Fairlie’s face appeared, I recognised it immediately, just couldn’t find a name to go with it for a few seconds.

  Appointments, travelling around the eastern states and short breaks in Caloundra took up the rest of the month and I arrived home the 28th April. I met Marlee in Darwin as she was in town to have the dreaded six-monthly check-up again. We went home to Bullo together to wait and worry until the results came through. Once again, they were all-clear, much to our relief.

  CHAPTER 9

  May 1995 – September 1995

  May was full of film offers for book number one. I have often read stories about writers not having any business sense. This belief must be widespread, as some of the contracts I received were laughable. One contract offered me five hundred dollars in return for a world option on my story. The man called a few days later wanting to know why I hadn’t contacted him to take up his offer!

  I have been receiving offers since the first week the book was released and have quite a file now. But I am a bit stubborn. So until I read a fair contract—for me—they will keep piling up in the file. Meanwhile, I am learning a lot about film contracts and what not to sign.

  Before long I was off to Sydney to do a Qantas advertisement, to Melbourne to speak for a charity, back to Sydney for another fundraiser then onto Fiji for a business conference. I came home from Fiji through Sydney and it took another four days before I managed to make it to Bullo.

  When I returned I was home for two months! I locked myself in the office for many reasons—the mustering season was beginning, the accountant needed figures and piles of mail had to be opened. From August onwards it would be back to non-stop appointments until December, as it had been each year. I sat down and tried to work out why
each year the last six months just seem to spin out of control.

  While I liked to think the reason I was at home for so long was to get my life under control, the real reason could have been that we were having so many people to visit. Our first visitors were family. Ever since I moved to Bullo I have tried to get my sister Susan to visit. I had never succeeded—she wouldn’t come anywhere near the place. I can understand this attitude in the early years, but lately Bullo has become a nice place to visit. So her husband Ralph and I thought if he and my brother Tod came, Susan might join them. The big surprise was that Frances, Tod’s wife, wanted to come. Fran is such a gentle soul I just thought the wilds of Bullo would not interest her in the least, so I was delighted when she said she would love to visit.

  I ended up with Ralph, Tod, Frances, and an old family friend, Don McFadden, but no Susan. They all had a great time and I enjoyed their visit so much. Ralph went home saying our plan to get Susan to Bullo had failed, but he had a great holiday trying to achieve it!

  They left the day before we had twenty-two New Zealand cattlemen and women for the day including a sit-down lunch. There was only time for a deep breath in between the family’s departure, drafting cattle in the yards and the arrival of our new guests. We mustered cattle during the family visit and were still drafting when the New Zealanders were here. We trucked our first load of sale cattle for the season the day after their departure.

  Mustering and sales of cattle usually start as soon as the weather permits us to open our road—around April or May. This year we were waiting for cattle prices to improve, but it was evident they were not going to, so we started moving cattle.