Governess on a Sheep Station in the Outback - Episode I
by Chris Chalmers
  Article # 487 Article Type: Literature


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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