From Strength to Strength

by Sara Henderson

  I told them where we spent New Year and asked them about theirs. They said they had had an early dinner, Uncle Dick and Stumpy had fallen asleep watching the movie and gone home to bed at about nine-thirty. They opened the champagne alone, at about ten-thirty, drank the lot and fell asleep.

  The 2nd of January was Danielle’s birthday. I tried to buy her a birthday cake, but all the cake shops were still closed, so I finally bought a frozen strawberry and cream sponge. Armed with this, candles, plastic ‘Happy Birthday’ writing and various presents, I arrived at the hospital. Danielle blew out her candles and opened the gifts and though she was in pain if she moved or laughed, she had a nice birthday.

  Not long after his return from America, Charles had another bout of pneumonia. After that he never seemed to regain his zest. His character changed and he no longer had that incredible enthusiasm that everyone relied on.

  For many reasons, the Montejinni abattoir never got off the drawing board, and Charles and Gus argued incessantly. Montejinni was put on the market and sold at the beginning of 1982. Most of Charles’s profit from Montejinni went to paying debts that were about to destroy Bullo.

  Looking back now, I think Charles knew he would not live to a ripe old age, because instead of investing the balance in improved breeding stock or upgrading some of our miserable equipment, he bought a very beautiful forty-four-foot sailing boat. It was a clear and attractive red with white trim, just recently finished.

  It was called the Mary Blair. He actually paid someone to research the name and history of Mary Blair, convinced that there must have been some famous sailing ship by that name. This was no small undertaking—we are talking about Lloyd’s register in London. However, the only shipping vessel on the register with that name was an old barge on the Thames, and it was named after a prostitute. So Charles immediately had the boat painted white.

  By the time he had purchased the boat, changed the colour, equipped the boat with all the extras, given me some very beautiful but extravagant jewellery, bought an aerobatic plane for Bonnie, bought a few goldmines, and paid the running costs and repairs on the boat and plane for the next year or so, the station was in debt again.

  Charles announced to the world, or I should say the Melbourne papers, that he was going to sail to America with an all-girl crew. A few reporters called wanting to know my feelings on this.

  ‘They’re welcome to him,’ I said.

  He had hurt and humiliated me but there was no way he was going to know it. He came back to the station and we eventually made our peace. It was then he asked me if I would look after the station for the next five years. He would sail and this would cure his lungs. Maybe then we could try our marriage again.

  I told him there was no way I could run the station, and he agreed, saying he didn’t expect me to. I wasn’t capable. I was just to caretake, for eight months of the year, and he would return for the mustering.

  I argued that the station needed a lot more than four months’ attention each year. There wasn’t a decent fence standing, we needed more paddocks, more watering points, and that was just the beginning. The girls would regularly feed this information to me hoping I could get something for these so badly needed improvements.

  He wouldn’t listen. He said that we would put the station in shape at the end of the five years, when he was cured.

  ‘There won’t be any station left to put in shape in five years.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky.’

  I walked away knowing I was wasting my breath.

  The year 1984 looked daunting before it even began. We had the BTEC programme on our hands. This was a nationwide cattle programme to rid Australia of TB and Brucella bacteria. We had to test the required number of cattle, and keep them separated once tested. We didn’t have enough fences for this, and we didn’t have enough money to buy hay to hold the cattle while testing.

  Charles was sailing until nearly the end of April. He met Bonnie and me in Melbourne in late April. April 20th was Bonnie’s 21st birthday. She had been working at the R. M. Williams factory in Adelaide learning saddlery and had met Peter Williams.

  She called from Adelaide to ask if she could bring Peter to the small dinner we were having in Melbourne for her 21st. As usual, it was a rushed affair and I felt the young people found it a duty. Peter was quite nervous in Charles’s presence, as was Bonnie.

  Soon after we headed for Bullo, and Peter back to Adelaide. He was going to drive up to Bullo the following month to help us with the coming season’s musters.

  The first week in May had the season off to a start, with Bonnie in charge of the cattle under her father’s direction, and Marlee, bush, chopping fence posts. Charles would endlessly demote Bonnie and promote Marlee only to change it around when Marlee displeased or disobeyed him. The major difference between the girls was that, when he gave his instructions, Bonnie would listen until he was finished, say nothing, then do exactly what she thought best. Marlee, on the other hand, would point out that various orders were impractical or not possible, given the time factor, or distance, or lack of machinery, feed or people. The girls’ ideas were similar, but Bonnie didn’t voice hers. Marlee on the other hand could not remain silent. So she found herself mostly demoted and cutting fence posts.

  The usual chaos prevailed and visitors and friends filtered through the pandemonium as the season progressed. Peter arrived and not long after an ABC ‘Big Country’ crew turned up to film a followup to ‘The Developers’—the documentary they had made in 1964, twenty years earlier.

  We made a wonderful friend in Matthew Flanagan, the producer of what was later called ‘Henderson’s Daughters’. Matthew is one of those rare species who manages to instil his enthusiasm for life into every day.

  He spoke in a delightful lilting Irish brogue and whenever we had finished acting out a scene he would say:

  ‘Ooooh, that was wonderful, but do ya think you could do it again?’

  In one scene, Marlee was heaving a quarter of meat onto the back of the Toyota. When she had finished Matthew came out with his usual line.

  Marlee jokingly replied, ‘Like bloody hell!’

  Matthew, a vegetarian, quietly picked up the quarter and moved it back into position for the second take. Now that’s dedication to your profession.

  During their stay and as part of the documentary, Bonnie and Peter had their engagement party. It was a lovely night with many friends coming to Bullo to help us celebrate the occasion, and it was nice to have it on film.

  It was time for the crew to leave, and Matthew was saying his goodbyes and kissing the girls. He had kissed Bonnie and was moving on to Danielle, when Bonnie said, in a perfect imitation of his Irish accent, ‘Oooh, that was wonderful, but do ya think you could do it again?’

  As the glamour of the cameras faded the station settled back into mustering mode. By September the mustering was over, and so was the new engagement. It was never exactly explained why, but Peter just left.

  Charles went sailing, Bonnie went flying, and Marlee, Danielle and I were to take care of the property.

  Before Charles left, Marlee came to me and asked if she and Charlie could become engaged. Marlee had known Charles Ahlers for three and a half years. He was the chief pilot for Slingsby Helicopters out of Kununurra. He was raised on Outback cattle properties—his family property is on the Peninsula in Queensland. Charlie literally flew into Marlee’s life one day when her father hired helicopters for one of our musters. Charlie was one of the pilots.

  It wasn’t love at first sight however. Charlie came to Bullo for about three or four musters that season before I noticed the sparkle in Marlee’s eyes and that extra special preparation of dress, make-up and meals. I was delighted. Charlie was the kind of man every mother hopes her daughter will bring home one day.

  Marlee was worried that because Bonnie’s engagement had just ended, her father might not be in a receptive frame of mind. However, his only reply was, ‘About time!’ The engagement party was arrang
ed for December and Charles left to go sailing.

  In December we all arrived in Katherine from various points of the compass to celebrate the engagement. As usual Charles held court. He discussed cattle with Bonnie, fencing with Marlee, gold mining operations with the current geologist and avoided money with me. The attendance of many friends made it a memorable evening.

  After the party, Charles went back to sailing, Marlee and Charlie to Charlie’s family station in North Queensland for the rest of the wet, Bonnie to Darwin flying and Danielle and I to the station to take care of pets and animals in general.

  Bonnie and Charles arrived back on the station a few days before Christmas and Danielle and Bonnie cut down the traditional tree. However Christmas was a sober affair—everyone went through the motions, but disagreeable undercurrents were slowly surfacing. Bonnie was flying in Darwin and dating a man whom her father did not approve of.

  Around this time there arrived on our doorstep a delightful person by the name of Fairlie Brooke. Charles had met her in Melbourne through her husband Geoff, and finding out that she was an artist, invited her to come to the station to give the girls some lessons. I am sure he probably had more ideas which he didn’t voice, but for once his silken charm just kept sliding.

  Fairlie still talks about the art lessons in the kitchen by candlelight. She remembers thinking, How stupid can a situation get? Giving lessons on shading, pointing out the light and shade of a drawing, when it is all in darkness, shaded by candlelight.

  Charlie, being the strict task master he was, insisted the girls have the art lesson every day, but what with mustering cattle and other work until dark, art lessons did not start until eight at night. Many a time, Fairlie would finish with them all asleep on the breakfast counter. She was the perfect guest, always a help, never a problem. However there was one part of my ‘housekeeping’ that Fairlie could not accept—leaving the washing on the line when it was raining. To me it seemed perfectly sensible—why drag it all inside wet, only to hang it all out again. Also, our bore water was very hard, and the rain gave the clothes a lovely fresh water rinse.

  Fairlie, however, could not bear to see washing sitting on the line for days, and at the first drop of rain would be galvanised into action.

  ‘Rain!’ she would shout, disappearing out the door, only to reappear fifteen minutes later under a pile of now thoroughly soaked washing.

  At this time we were building part of the back section of the house and that morning, part of the existing roof had been removed to enable the new roof to be joined to the old roof. The missing part was over where Fairlie had carefully stored the washing.

  After about the third ‘Rain’ dash of the morning, I heard this woeful noise coming from the washing area. I found Fairlie standing in front of a pile of very wet, in fact saturated, washing. But she wasn’t looking at the washing, she was gazing up at the sky which had, of course, been a roof an hour before.

  ‘What happened to the roof?’ she asked in a mystified voice.

  The most famous event of Fairlie’s visit was the ‘snake in the swimming pool’ episode. Because of the heat, Fairlie spent a fair time in the pool.

  After a dip one day, she said to Bonnie, ‘What’s your pet snake’s name?’

  Bonnie, always flippant, replied, ‘George.’

  About three days later, Fairlie walked into the kitchen and said to me, ‘George and I had a lovely swim today.’

  ‘Who’s George?’

  ‘Your pet snake,’ said Fairlie hesitantly.

  ‘We don’t have a pet snake.’

  ‘But . . . but . . . I’ve been swimming with him for three days!’

  ‘Well I suggest you don’t swim with him any more because he’s not a pet.’

  Fairlie went quite white. It turned out that she had been swimming up and down the pool with a deadly five-foot king brown. We told her she should take up snake charming.

  It was discovered that the snake had a hole right beside the pool and would slither in for a dip whenever the fancy took him. Of course after that, no one would put a toe in the swimming pool for fear of meeting George in a deep dive.

  About five days later Danielle saw George slithering into the pool. Bonnie raced to get the shotgun. Out in the bush we never touch them, that is their home, but a snake living that close to the house was too risky. However, by the time Bonnie returned, George was halfway down his hole. She grabbed his tail and gave a mighty heave—he went flying through the air and landed about twenty feet away. She picked up the gun and shot his head off. And that was the end of George.

  In February 1985, Charles said that he and Gus were going to settle their affairs once and for all and make a legal deed of settlement. Charles insisted I come to Darwin with him, while it was done.

  We spent eleven days at the Darwin Hotel, according to the hotel bill on file. They really were most interesting days. It had been a long time since I had seen Charles and Gus together, but it was clear that the old magic of ‘our friendship can survive anything’ was gone. Friendly bantering had been replaced by serious innuendoes and accusations. They went back over every detail of their long association, right back to their first business partnership at the age of eight mowing lawns.

  Many bottles of rum later they finished up with two sheets of yellow pad paper, representing the end of their long association. The lawyers then transformed these two pages into thirteen pages of legal jargon.

  Charles flew to Sydney and left on a trip around the Pacific. He called me from places I had never heard of and transferred so much money out of the bank account in such a short time that the bank manager called me voicing his concern.

  Somehow we made it to the next season and managed to pay all the summonses that had accumulated over the wet season. We continued the BTEC programme. Halfway through the mustering season it became clear that we were simply sliding further into debt. However Charles was determined to sail, so he borrowed more. He also continually destocked the station for further cash but he soon went through it.

  Near the end of the mustering season he needed money again—to sail till December, then visit his mother for Christmas in Maryland. We also needed money for the running of the station during the six months of wet season.

  Under Charles’s supervision Bonnie had been in charge of the mustering for the last three years, while Marlee had been relegated to the outer fringes, cutting fence posts. Charles said she was too rebellious.

  It was now September and there was one more muster to go. Bonnie had left the station at the end of August. She was to be away for the weekend but she called to say she would be delayed. Finally she called to say she would not be back for the muster.

  Marlee and I discussed the situation and I told her to go ahead and arrange the muster. We couldn’t contact Charles and time was running out—it would soon be too hot to muster.

  ‘Right now we must carry out that Paperbark muster and get some money in the bank.’

  So we ordered the helicopters, assembled the portable yards, and cleared a road to the site. It was a good muster and we managed to move the cattle out with surprisingly little fuss, unlike the usual panic of a ‘Charlie’ directed muster. These had left everyone in a state of collapse.

  Eventually Charles called and I told him that Bonnie had decided not to come back. He said he would fly home to supervise the last muster, but I said there was no need.

  ‘You don’t think you can do it, do you?’ he said in an impatient voice. ‘No, I’ll have to come home.’

  ‘Don’t bother, the muster’s already done, and the cattle have been sold.’

  ‘Good, you can send me some money.’

  I said, ‘No,’ very quietly. He just hung up.

  I knew he would call the bank and instruct them to telex funds to him, so I opened a second account and put the money in that account. The main account was totally overdrawn. When he realised he couldn’t get any money, I didn’t hear from him for a while. The next time he called, he was i
n Sydney, working full steam on a tourist deal which he said would make us millions.

  I had been hearing of the millions we were going to make for years now. He had been working on this scheme most of the year. He was still going to America to see his mother for Christmas and when he returned, the tourist venture would solve all our money problems.

  His plan was to buy the Oriana which was up for sale for scrap metal price. The ship could no longer maintain Lloyd’s certificate, so could no longer sail with adequate insurance. Charles was going to moor the ship at the entrance to the Bullo River on the Victoria River and offer ‘the ultimate luxury in the wilderness’ type of holiday. To get the idea up and running would cost about twenty million dollars. Charles never believed in doing things by halves. To solve our half million plus debt, he was going to borrow twenty million more. Not to mention the headache of a thousand tourists and eight hundred staff on the Oriana out in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Nothing to it,’ said Charles.

  The aerobatic plane was put on the market in December before he left for America. The plane was sold for many reasons, but the main reason was lack of money in the bank. Of course this caused a serious rift between Bonnie and Charles. The plane aside, Charles had basically asked her to choose between flying and the boyfriend in Darwin. Charles and I had many arguments over this. To Charles’s amazement she chose the boyfriend—Charles had been so sure of emerging the victor.

  Charles left for America in late December, Bonnie was living in Darwin, Marlee was in Queensland with Charlie visiting his parents’ property, so for Christmas it was Danielle, Uncle Dick, Stumpy our stock camp cook and me. It was the smallest Christmas yet on Bullo.

  Charles called on Christmas Day and we talked to the family in America, Marlee called, and I called Mum and my sister, so we were all united by phone, except for Bonnie.