by Sue Williams
He turned out to be David Bain, a third-generation sheep farmer from Victoria, and the pair talked non-stop the whole way over the Indian Ocean to Sydney. ‘She had a very bright personality and could talk herself out of wet cement,’ David says. ‘She was a pharmacist and my brother and sister-in-law are pharmacists so we had a bit in common. And I liked her. She seemed to be someone who was adventurous, and up for anything.’ Deb had been planning to spend just a few days in Sydney before travelling up to Brisbane, where she had a cousin she was going to be staying with. So she spent her time in Sydney with David, with him taking on the role of tourist guide. Then she flew off to Brisbane.
A few weeks later, David phoned her and asked if she’d like to visit and experience some local colour at a B & S (bachelor and spinster) ball in Drouin, 200 kilometres away, on the other side of Melbourne. She accepted, and turned up to the paddock where it was being held in a little strapless party frock – in a temperature of around six degrees Celsius. David gallantly put his jacket over her shoulders . . . and the rest became history. ‘I thought, I love this!’ she says. ‘It was fantastic. There were such a wide variety of people there, and everyone was so friendly. It was a real community. It was so welcoming and warm. It made Vancouver feel so much more serious and less free, somehow.’
David asked her to come back and have a go at working with him on the property as a rouseabout with the sheep – an unskilled worker who’ll usually pick up the sheep fleeces during shearing, and sweep the shed afterwards. She did it, and loved it. ‘Was she a good rouseabout?’ David asks himself. ‘Well, put it this way, she was a very good rouseabout for a pharmacist!’ Deb soon met his parents. His dad, who at that stage had lost most of his sight, ran his fingers over her face and announced she’d do. His mum welcomed her into the family with open arms.
‘I was a city girl coming to the country, but I found this most amazing community there,’ says Deb. ‘The sense of community was just tangible. I was really awestruck. It felt so lovely to be among it and to be so readily accepted by everyone. My family didn’t really have much of a sense of home, but David’s family were incredibly strongly rooted within their community. Even though I was a stranger, I immediately had this amazing sense of belonging, which I think is very rare in Western countries and unique to Australia and the bush.’
Deb introduced herself to the local tennis club, and immediately found a new group of friends. One of the people there that day, Jen Murray, remembers it well. ‘From the first moment I met Deb, I liked her,’ she says. ‘She was such a friendly and open and accepting person. I knew we’d be friends. She was just a very engaging person, so cheerful and positive.’
Deb re-registered as a pharmacist in Australia and worked both on the farm and for a pharmacy in Ballarat, a 45-minute drive away. She endeared herself even more to David’s dad too when, after warning her one day to drive safely as there was snow on the roads, she pointed out she was an expert. After all, she was from Canada, which saw a great deal more snow than Ballarat. Twenty minutes later, she phoned to say she’d skidded off the road. It also took her a while to get used to the noise from possums on the roof – especially after David told her, the first night, they were the sounds of the old ghosts who haunted the house.
After a few years, she and David finally married in 1994, Deb spending her wedding night in the bathroom, with the wedding feast having set off a seafood allergy. ‘I had the first waltz and then that was it for the night,’ she laughs.
Their first child, a daughter, Katherine, was born the next year, then their son, Alexander, then another daughter, Georgia, six years later. By then, Deb Bain felt a complete part of the farming community, and was looking around for ways of giving back.
And she wanted something that would make all Australians realise what a vital role their primary producers play, and what a great job most of them are making of it.
FarmDay took off in a way no one, least of all Deb, had anticipated. It went national in 2007, with sponsorship from Meat & Livestock Australia (MLA), a producer-owned company providing marketing, research and development services to the nation’s 47 500 cattle, sheep and goat producers. While MLA recognised that Farm Day could have huge benefits for their industry, in educating consumers about the lives of farmers in the bush and Outback, they also saw it as a great opportunity for bringing the two sides together.
Deborah Leake, then working for MLA, was instantly taken with Deb. ‘She was so passionate about taking up that challenge of introducing urban people to what goes on in a farm, and was absolutely committed to it,’ she says. ‘We could see the results even from that first Farm Day back in 2006. We heard stories about city kids making cupcakes decorated with farm animals, excited for a long time afterwards by their first visit to a farm, and going to school and doing show-and-tells about their day on the farm. One primary school even ended up studying agriculture for a term. Urban people were going to farms and having a very deep experience of reconnecting to the land, with memories that seemed likely to stay with them forever.
‘At the same time, farming families were loving the experience too. A number of people said to us that it was great to see their places and their way of life through someone else’s eyes, and appreciate it all over again. Rural families loved seeing it all from a different perspective. A lot of lovely friendships were formed. It was making such a difference for all the families involved, and everyone they talked to and who heard about it. Deb’s energy and enthusiasm were infectious.’
Farm Day grew so big, so quickly, that Deb ended up spending four months of every year working 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. each day, to set it up for that last weekend in May each time. One of the rooms of the old farmhouse at Stockyard Hill would be turned into her office, with an increasing number of people coming in to help. It was long, exhausting work, matching families from cities all over Australia with families in the bush who wanted to host them, but it was also extremely rewarding.
‘I’ve always believed in life that you get out what you put in,’ says Deb. ‘It’s about making a difference. I’ve never been driven by money. Farm Day turned out to be so much more interesting, and even rewarding, than pharmacy. There were so many heartwarming stories of people making great friendships, of children doing drawings of their time on the farm for months afterwards; it was just beautiful. It doesn’t pay the bills, but it does give you a great feeling to have been a part of that.’
Some were taken aback that a relatively new arrival to Australia could make such a difference, and in such a short time. Those who knew Deb best weren’t that surprised. David, for instance. He felt sure she’d fit well into Australia, into Victoria and into their local community and also knew that she’d be able to get any project she committed to off the ground.
‘She’s always been a great communicator. She’s such a people-person and I think she just found her niche with Farm Day,’ he says. ‘She seemed to enjoy the process so much from the beginning and she just talked her way into it all. I wonder if being a Canadian was almost an advantage in some way. She could see the position objectively from both sides and could see what was missing, and sometimes you need an outsider to show you things, what needs to be done. I think it was a shock to us both to find out how little people in the cities know about life out here, so it was wonderful to have the opportunity to show them how much we care about our animals’ welfare, the land and everything that happens to it.’
Deb quickly began winning awards and recognition for her work too. In 2007, she was named the Victorian Woman of the Year in the Rural Women’s Awards, sponsored by the Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, and then became the national winner. She participated in the Australia 2020 Summit, was later appointed to a number of women’s councils and travelled Australia speaking at dozens of events, including for business leadership groups as well as organisations like the Rural Press Clubs of Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland, the Rural Women’s Network and various agricultural coll
eges. Deb also sat on the board of the Australian Year of the Farmer 2012, and on the Women in Primary Industry Advisory Panel to the Minister for Agriculture in Victoria, and worked for the Country Education Project managing the Teaching Farms program. She’s currently a member of the National Breast and Ovarian Cancer Council Advisory Panel and President of the Ballarat Pony Club.
Vivien Thomson, the vice-president of Australian Women in Agriculture and a director of the National Rural Women’s Coalition, says Deb’s contribution has been enormous. ‘She’s quite remarkable,’ she says. ‘She’s created so many connections between the country and city. That’s never easy, and it’s amazing considering she doesn’t come from a farming environment, and she came into an Australian small town from Canada. She’s pushed agriculture to the forefront with Farm Day, which was such a good idea. I know from even my own experience of participating that the city people who’ve visited us here on our mixed farm halfway between Cootamundra and Gundagai in New South Wales have learned so much, and my kids have grown in confidence from being a part of it. It’s been a marvellous initiative.’
Deb Bain. (Photo by Sue Williams)
Today, Deb Bain is sitting at the table of her farmhouse, going through her books and planning for the next step. In 2013, she had to call off Farm Day because of the changing occupational health and safety landscape, and is now exploring all the possibilities for the future.
She’s waiting to hear from Australia’s first red tape commissioner, John Lloyd, appointed by the Victorian government to help small businesses being strangled by bureaucracy, and will then make a decision on Farm Day.
‘We’re just taking a year to take stock,’ she says. ‘The ideal would be to continue with it, and move forward with good sponsorship and carry on increasing it, improving it and extending it into the future. We’re certainly hoping to be able to continue in a similar vein, but we just have to see what’s happening.’
There may also be other projects to help Australia’s primary producers get their message out to the urban public. Deb may work towards introducing a mentorship program for farmers to enhance their skills and confidence so they can better speak to the media and their own customers at supermarkets about what they do, or even introduce a ‘virtual’ Farm Day, harnessing new technology.
However it turns out, no one doubts Deb will continue to work on the frontline, helping Australia’s bush and Outback convey what they’re all about to our overwhelmingly urban population.
‘She’ll continue working hard, using the gifts she has to make Australia a better place, I have no doubt,’ says husband David. ‘To come out from another country, not knowing anybody, and achieve what she’s achieved . . . it’s not only a farming story, it’s a story of possibility. It’s a story for all people about seeing what needs to be done and then being passionate enough about it to actually do it. I’m very proud of her.’
As for Deb, now aged 50, and with the children 18, 16 and 11, she too believes there’s plenty more to be done. ‘Farm Day has always been such a positive program and we hope we’ll be able to continue it in the same vein,’ she says. ‘I think we’ve come a long way but there’s still a way to go.
‘This community gave me a sense of belonging from the very beginning, and I understand how precious rural Australia is, and how important it is to show that to others, too. I’ve got involved, and put my heart into it now, and I know that will always continue.’
11
DOING IT FOR THE KIDS
Lynne Sawyers, Darbys Falls, New South Wales
The dirt road winds around and around, over a hill here, down into a valley there, across a creek, through a gate and along two sharp bends. The ground grows rougher and the ridges from past tyre tracks become deeper and muddier with every kilometre. There are few signs of life, just the odd sheep in a paddock of black stony soil, a lone wallaby diving into an acacia bush and a crow shrieking overhead.
But just as you’re about to give up, at last you see her house. Remote and alone, it sits astride another tall ridge ahead. It looks fairly modest, but the sight is as welcome as sunshine after a thunderstorm. And as you finally drive up the steep approach, you see her standing expectantly on the veranda: a small woman with neat grey hair, rosy red cheeks and a smile as wide as the empty land that surrounds her, who’s ready to take you into her arms with a warm, heartfelt hug of welcome.
If this were a fairytale and you’d been lost in the dark woods, this is exactly the kind of person you’d want to meet at the end of a long, exhausting journey. Lynne Sawyers knows it, too. For the past 20 years, she’s been there waiting to usher a flock of lost kids into her home, to give them the second chance at life many of them so desperately need.
It’s a hard decision for anyone to make to become a foster parent. But for Lynne Sawyers, it’s a decision she makes nearly every day. Having now offered a safe haven and a loving home to well over 200 foster children, a Herculean effort that in 2012 saw her named Australia’s Local Hero at the Australian of the Year Awards, she feels she’s simply doing her bit to assist.
‘I just love to be able to help these children,’ she says. ‘It’s very rewarding. The joy on a child’s face, the happiness, to be able to plant a seed, to get them on the right path . . . It’s a wonderful feeling. I love every one of them. Every one is special, every one is unique. It doesn’t matter the age, the colour of the skin or the language or the culture or the circumstances, there’s nothing better than seeing a smile on their faces. They are all wonderful and it feels a real privilege to be able to lend a hand when it’s needed.’
Lynne’s mission started back in 1992 when her husband, Ken, returned home one day to report he’d just seen a young girl carrying a suitcase, standing by the side of the road in tears. She’d been in foster care, but had been kicked out by her carers. The police had been called and now they were desperately trying to find somewhere else for her to go.
The girl’s plight touched Lynne deeply. A gentle, softly spoken woman, she hated the thought of any young child having nowhere to go, no place to call home, and no one to look after them, support them, nurture them and love them. ‘In my own childhood, we never had much, but it was great,’ she says. ‘When I look back, I couldn’t wish for anything better. My mum and dad were both super, and me and my brother couldn’t have asked for more.
‘Children don’t need material things. They just need someone to listen to them, someone to love them. And if you can put that little light at the end of the tunnel for them, then they’ll know it doesn’t have to be as it has been. There is a better life out there for them.’
Yet Lynne’s childhood was, in truth, far from ideal. As Lynne MacAlpine back then, she grew up on Sydney’s northern beaches with her mum, dad and brother, Barry, but times were hard post-World War II. Her parents were always struggling to get ahead, but never quite managing. One time, they put all their money into poultry, built a big shed on their land, and prepared to export their chickens to England. They set everything up just in time to see the bottom fall out of that market. Next, they tried growing beans on their 1.2 hectares. But by the time they’d picked their crop, bagged it and sent it down to Sydney to be sold, the price had plummeted and they were again left with nothing. Finally, they tried flowers and grew beautiful gladioli and daisies, but then that industry crashed too. One of Lynne’s earliest memories was taking bunches of flowers to school and giving them out, free, to anyone who wanted them.
‘For some people, no matter what they do, things seem to go well,’ says Lynne. ‘But for other people, nothing they try ever seems to work out. Mum and Dad were in the second group; they struggled all their lives. I don’t know why. They just weren’t lucky.
‘Yet while we never had much money, we didn’t have many possessions and all our clothes were always second-hand, it didn’t matter. There was always food on the table and we were loved and we were a very close family.’
As soon as Lynne could, she left school and, as a
painfully shy 14-year-old, started work picking beans on a neighbouring farm, and working in a shop on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Then she moved down to Sydney, took a job in a department store and flatted with four of her closest childhood friends. A few years later, she transferred south to Wollongong to be close to her fiancé, Ben Cassanego, a petrol station worker she’d met through her dad. Just before they married, when Lynne turned 20, her mum died of a heart attack.
Lynne and Ben went on to have three children, Susan, Janice and Ivan, then moved to the small town of Bargo, 100 kilometres south-west of Sydney. Lynne was the perfect mum. She worked hard at home, she cooked everything from scratch, she sewed everyone’s clothes – everything except socks – and she was devoted to her children. After 18 years of marriage, however, with the children 16, 14 and 10, she and Ben agreed to part. They’d had a number of issues between them they just hadn’t been able to resolve.
It was then that Lynne began sewing with a vengeance. She bought industrial sewing machines and made clothing from home for childrenswear companies. She’d spend all day with her children, then work through the evening until 1 or 2 a.m. to earn enough money to get by. Although her manner is so soft and sweet on the outside, when she’s looking out for kids, hers or other people’s, she can tap into an inner strength that’s formidable to see. ‘It was hard and at times it was exhausting, but it brought the money in,’ she says.