It was 1963 in the Tropics – Mossman, to be exact, 50 miles north
of Cairns in Far North Queensland. I was 17 and wanting a big adventure,
and to escape the confines of living in a very small country town where
my father was the Fire Chief. He was one of the Victorian left-overs – and
very strict, even when he didn ’t
need to be.
I saw an advertisement in the National newspaper, for the post of Governess
on a Sheep Station in the Outback, responsible for one 10 year old little
girl doing her schooling via the Queensland Correspondence System for kids
in the Never-Never. The position was “all kept” – which
meant you lived with the family and were treated as a family member, and
paid a wage as well.
The application went off in the mail, and I quickly heard that the post
was mine if I wanted it. They would pay airfares, and a starting date was
agreed.
The Tropics are known for one thing – well, two really, heat and
moisture – so without thinking I took my umbrella with me, and flew
from Cairns to Brisbane, 1500 miles south, then to Charleville, 1000 miles
west of Brisbane – and stepped off the plane into an oven! That heat
was like nothing I had ever experienced, singeing and so dry – everything
shimmered, and summer had hardly started.
The ‘Boss’ and his Jackaroo were there to meet me – and
had a really good laugh at my umbrella – there had been a drought
on for five years, and everything was tinder dry – the umbrella was
the biggest embarrassment, but the day had not ended yet!
When we got to the car I then discovered that we had over 90 miles to travel
to the homestead, and once we left the town of Charleville it was dirt roads
all the way.
The gate to the property was a very welcome sight, but my heart sank
when I was told it was the boundary of the property, but we had another
25 miles to get to the house.
The whole place was a huge. 240,000 acres of half desert country, owned
by the Dalgetty Company, and used to fatten sheep on their way to market.
At that time one sheep needed six acres, so you can imagine what it looked
like. The drought had forced the need to cut down scrubby trees to feed
the poor things
Finally we drove up to the huge sprawling Homestead – the place was
called Boatman – and was really more like a small self-contained village,
with the house, outbuildings, workers accommodation, office, kitchen, slaughterhouse,
laundry, and stables and yards. Tennis courts, outdoor cinema and polo Crosse
fields – and it employed quite a motley collection of people too.
Life’s first lesson in getting out of my comfort zone was about to
happen – I had to assume my place in the hierarchy that was life on
a Station.
I need to clarify a few terms here I think, the huge farms in Australia
are known as Stations, or Places, and people who live or work on them are
known to have “come off a Property”. A Jackaroo is an apprentice
manager, but traditionally the son of a property owner in another area,
who is sent off to learn the ropes of running the place away from home,
and then when the time comes he returns to his family and takes the reigns.
On a big Station, life is lived as it was many years ago, on big English
estates, and the house will still have the formality no longer found in
English houses. Dinner at 8, drinks on the verandah at 5 – formal
dress – even when it is 100f in the shade and the flies buzz so loud
you think you have tinnitus.
The Boss, and his wife and children come top of the pile, and the governess
is counted in there if it is a big place with plenty of staff – on
smaller Stations the governess may have to also do housework duties – but
not in my case. Next came the Manager, the Overseer, and the Accountant – these
were the people expected to dine together and uphold all the traditions
laid down by the wayward sons of English Gentry 100 years earlier.
The other staff – the housemaids, the cook, the kitchen maids, the
laundry maids, the yardman and the ‘Ringers’ ate in a big dining
room attached to the huge kitchen – and had much more fun, if sound
was anything to go by!!! Ringers are the cowboys!
Now you have the background – or the start of it – I haven’t
mentioned the dogs – work dogs and house dogs, the birds, wild and
tame – not to mention the people – yet!
We arrived just before 5pm, when all work stopped and drinks happened on
the verandah. I wanted a bath, after being shown to my room – and
the boss’ wife said she had run me a bath, as she thought I may be
tired and hot. When I saw the water I assumed someone had already used it – it
even had tiny bits of leaves floating in it, so I let it out, and ran another – to
find the same colour and contents – and realised too late that I had
wasted precious water – even though it was from the bore – like
a well tapped into the Great Artesian Basin.
Now I was to sit and get to know the family who were to be my family and
employers for the next three months…….
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