Diamonds and Dust

by Sheryl McCorry

  Mid-afternoon the following day, I received a telephone call from John Hendwood, the manager of Fossil Downs Station. He was most irate and wanted to speak to Bob, who was not home, of course. Hendwood as good as accused him of cattle stealing. Thinking about it now, it was understandable. As a Kimberley cattleman, Bob’s reputation as a formidable musterer, able to find cattle where nobody else would go, was enough to put the fear of God into all his competitors, most of all the neighbours.

  For four days the phone calls continued. I tried to assure Hendwood that I understood his apprehension, but said that Bob did not set out knowingly to muster Fossil. Hendwood said that he would put the matter in the hands of the Stock Squad.

  ‘Tell Bob to call me as soon as he returns to the homestead.’

  I assured him that I would. Later, Bob told me the story. Following my departure from the stock camp, the men had caught and saddled their horses, and ridden over to the yard to let the cattle out. One of them pulled his horse up, turned to Bob and said, ‘Aeroplane coming, old man.’ Sure enough, a plane came into sight, and circled the yard and the boys at a height of 50 metres. Under this intruder’s continuous surveillance, Bob and the boys were unable to let the cattle out of the yard. Mustered only the previous day, the fresh cattle could be stirred up by the aircraft. Bob decided to hold up and wait for this intruder to ‘piss off’, as he put it.

  One of the little camp kids who followed the stockmen towards the yard said, ‘Something come down, old man.’ It was a piece of white paper, a note. There was a light breeze around that morning. Bob said to the boy, ‘You chase that paper.’ It took some time for him to get hold of it – it would float gently down just within his reach, then the wind would pick it up and carry it further, as if a mischievous spirit breeze was having an early morning game with our little friend. The message from the heavens read, ‘You have been mustering my country, you will hear more about it.’ These words were not exceptionally worrying to McCorry – he had mustered no branded cattle belonging to the neighbours, and the yard and cattle were now well and truly on Louisa country.

  A week later, Kelly and Leisha picked up the distinctive sound of Bob’s Wave Hill spurs tapping the path.

  ‘Daddy’s home, Mum!’

  I was anxious to relay the messages and hear what he said. Bob, showing no concern or distress, showered, got a cold can and made the phone call. I was worried, and his nonchalance annoyed me. Naturally, by now, Hendwood had worked himself up and was quite upset. When he stopped talking to take a breath, Bob chipped in.

  ‘Well, John, it’s like this. I can’t read maps and the country is all new to me and if I had strayed over the border line it was by mistake.’

  This infuriated Hendwood.

  ‘You old bastard, you can’t read maps but you seem to get to exactly where you want to go any time you choose. I’ve put it in the hands of the Stock Squad, so you can deal with them.’

  ‘Holy hell,’ I said, listening to the crackling on the other end of the phone. ‘What shit are we in this time?’

  The Stock Squad did contact Bob. He was open and honest and laid it on the line. The detective said he wanted nothing to do with it, and for us to work things out among ourselves. Hendwood called again, and Bob passed on what the detective had said. Hendwood suggested he bring his brand and earmarking pliers over to Louisa and mark half the cleanskins for himself. Bob pointed out it was illegal to use a brand on any station other than the one it was registered for. Hendwood slammed down the phone in Bob’s ear and that was the end of the matter. When a cow calves and the weaner grows up and leaves its mother, it’s impossible to tell which cow owns what. When you are mustering 2 million acres plus, with no boundary fences or any fences at all, it has to be first in, best dressed! My dear husband, a man of few words and quiet strength, never let accusations bother him. He loved his family and worked and treated every day as if it was his last. But there were times when it bothered me and I envied his placidity in the face of threats and accusations. Sometimes I thought he was pushing me, his boundaries and his luck too far.

  My brother Michael was flat-out on the grader putting in a road to the Larawa mustering site. The camp had been out for six days and had a reasonably good mob of cattle in hand, mostly cleanskins and not many branded ones. A few rogue bulls had got away, but we would pick them up another day with just the buggy and bull truck.

  The sun was on its way down and the boys were holding the cattle on the water. In that country, there was no such thing as a permanent yard; we took it in turns to ride through the night to keep them in. Kelly and Leisha gave me a hand to collect firewood for the camp fires. The nights were still quite crisp and cool, and the cattle dust was hanging in so close I could smell it and taste it in my mouth.

  On such a typical Kimberley desert night, a two-blanket night or a ‘two-dog night’, the men were busy haggling over who should take first watch riding the mob. They hobbled their horses and nose-bagged them for the evening feed. Dreamer, our horse-tailer, would see that all was done well. As each man settled his horse he would move steadily towards the glow of the evening camp fire, his spurs tinkling through the black night. Sitting on the edge of the coals waiting for these weary ringers was a flour drum full of black tea, a good thick slice of fresh damper and some cooked beef.

  It had been a long day. Both Leisha and Kelly had snuggled down into their swags and I could hear Kelly telling ‘Bub’ about the big bulls he saw today. I’d managed to relieve him of the bull strap he’d worn across his shoulder. He always liked to dress just like the stock boys.

  With the children close to sleep in the tray of the Toyota, I unrolled Bob’s swag next to mine on the ground nearby. As I settled down to sleep, Bull Pup, my faithful bull terrier, moved over and settled himself comfortably on my feet. It was cold and I rather welcomed the foot warmer. I lay awake for a while, listening to the distant bellow of a rogue bull, and then a clash of strong horns. This was followed by the sound of stockhorses and gentle voices. Knowing the boys had everything under control, I drifted off to sleep. I always felt secure out in the bush and sleep came easily.

  But during the night I was woken several times by the bellow of another bull. He obviously wasn’t too happy with us camping the cattle on his dunghill. Before drifting back to sleep I watched the boys moving quietly about, stoking the fires. On and off throughout the night I could hear the constant bellowing of the rogue as he moved closer to our mob of cattle. I hoped and prayed he might join our mob peacefully, or better still stay out far enough for us to put him down with the bull-buggy in the morning, away from our hard-won beef. The morning just wasn’t coming fast enough. As that thought crossed my mind, the deep bass note of the rogue sounded again, this time too close for comfort. The camp fires were putting out a golden glow, but it was still very dark.

  Next I heard the heavy clash of horns, a raised voice, a horse whinny, more voices and the frightening sound of tonnes of beef on the move, the thundering sound of cattle rushing. The dust was thick from the moving mob. Cattle, horses and stockmen seemed to be travelling in all directions. Some baulked at what was left of the fires, others charged through or tried to jump. A thousand tiny shining embers rose high into the night sky as our secure world unravelled.

  ‘Let them go!’ I yelled to no-one in particular. Of course no-one would have heard a word over the thunder of the cattle as they galloped their way to freedom on the edge of the desert.

  Kelly was sitting up, all wide-eyed. Leisha had slept through the lot.

  ‘The cattle have got away, my darling boy,’ I said. I tried to settle him for another two hours’ sleep and then took a look around to take stock. No-one had been hurt in the rush. The stockmen stoked the fires up and I filled the flour drum with water again for tea. Dreamer had taken the buggy to bring the panicked horses in. Sitting down on my swag, trying to find some warmth in my mug of hot tea, I whispered to Bob:

  ‘Bloody hell! Eight days of hard riding for a good mo
b of cattle and this happens. What about the boys’ wages? And we haven’t been paid for months! There’s never any money in this bloody company.’

  He turned and looked at me with his piercing dark eyes, put his pannikin on the ground beside the swag, got hold of my arms just below the shoulders and lifted me straight to my feet. Holding onto me firmly, his dark eyes staring into my blue ones, as he did when I was in need of reassurance, his voice was soft but firm.

  ‘Girl’, he said. ‘Get it together, you’re stronger than that.’

  I calmed down immediately, drawing on his strength. This was the thing about Bob – his self-sufficiency could be annoying, frightening and alienating, shutting me out and leading him to take big risks as if I wasn’t there, but on the other hand, there were moments when that very same self-sufficiency was a deep source of reassurance for me. At a time when he had every right to be angry and frustrated, he was calm and solid and trusted me to look after myself.

  He dropped my arms abruptly and moved off in the direction of the horses.

  It was piccaninny daylight and the sky was filling with the beautiful soft pastels of first light. As I swung up into my saddle the breeze sent a cold shiver running through my body. I pulled my coat collar up firmly around my ears and decided to let the loss of the cattle go now so I could pull my weight, just like Bob said. We’d scout around for a couple of hours and maybe pick up the odd few head of cattle that had split from the mob.

  The stockmen’s spirits were down over the loss of the cattle. I told them not to worry, this sometimes happens, and we should remain strong. We were lucky and picked up between 30 and 40 head. I jumped back into the truck and told the men to head for the homestead. We would leave the Larawa area for now and give it a spell. We’d muster the island in the Mary River and make up for the loss. The boys knew the cattle were there and so did we: sweet country always draws them in. We would still get the dollars. This brought smiles to all our faces.

  Sure enough, three days later we had a good muster and yarded about 300 head in the old wooden yards below the homestead. At daylight the following morning, we drafted and branded 69 cleanskin heifers and 61 cleanskin mickeys – young bulls. We let go bush 163 cows and calves and were left with 71 good bullocks for sale. It was by no means a disaster.

  It was a beautiful June morning on Louisa Downs, three months after our arrival on the station, the clear blue skies reaching down to embrace the sunburnt earth. The desert wind was cool and at this time of the year it carried a glorious crispness. We were now well into the dry and as I watched the gentle breeze ruffle the spinifex heads around the storeroom, I was filled with the joy of life. Since our move to Louisa we had enjoyed a season of contentment, not without challenges but positively good for each of us.

  Walking back to the homestead after distributing the morning’s bread and beef rations to the camp, I heard Bob’s cheery call.

  ‘Sheryl, come for a drive with me and Kelly.’

  Light-headed with my optimistic mood, I ran towards the back gate to join them. There I found Bob with his head down rolling his tobacco in the palm of his hand and Kelly sitting up on the bull-buggy beside him, pleased as Punch. I felt overwhelmed at the sight of father and son, one as dark as the other was blond. Then Kelly’s childish laughter, as he gazed up at his father – he loved his dad – they were probably telling jokes. No, I thought, it wasn’t hard to imagine my son’s future. He’d be a Kimberley cattleman.

  As I clambered into the buggy, Kelly climbed out and tried to get up on the bull bar. I grabbed him back immediately and tried, as gently as I could, to explain how dangerous that was.

  Bob lit up his cigarette, pulled his Akubra down firmly on his head and off we went across the cracking claypan towards the windmill that supplied our water to the homestead. Because of the wind drought, the tank was low, which meant the jack pump had to be hooked up and cranked over. Kelly played around the tank while I helped Bob. Soon the old pump was blowing black rings of smoke as it spluttered into life. Satisfied it would continue, we got ready to return home.

  Again, Kelly climbed straight up onto the bull bar and again I grabbed him.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll drive slowly.’

  ‘No!’ I said very firmly. ‘He must not ride on the bar. Can’t you see we’ll lose him like this?’

  I wrapped my arms protectively around my son and we rode home in deep silence. My body was trembling with the fear of that awful thought. How could any mother bear to lose her son?

  At the beginning of June the wages cheques arrived on the mail plane. It was time to do a store run. By 1 am I was out of bed and was soon ready to carry my sleeping little darlings to the Ford. I had packed a thermos and corned beef sandwiches the evening before, so by 2 am I was carefully manoeuvring my way to Derby.

  It was a five-hour trip: gravel and corrugated to Fitzroy Crossing, then bitumen from the Crossing to Derby town. It was slow and I would have to be alert at all times, particularly in the early hours of the morning as the cattle started to roam for new grounds to feed on.

  At around seven we had breakfast at the Colac Service Station. I crossed the road to Elders, where Brian Moore always had the station stores packed and ready. Next came the post office to collect mail, then the ANZ Bank, then the chemist. Whoopee! It was worth checking the mailbag before leaving town, to make sure the company had been able to pay us our May wages as well. Before leaving Derby, I dropped by Lee Leiver’s station outfitters. Kelly needed new desert boots and Leisha had an order in for ladies’ shoes. Kelly’s desert boots didn’t fit – they seemed half a size too large – but he said he liked them and insisted on wearing them, as kids do. By 7 pm I was back at the station, more than a little weary, and the kids were sound asleep.

  The following day – 13 June 1981 – was my thirty-second birthday, really just another day on the station. Bob seemed to be in some sort of pain, his horseman’s walk more pronounced and his left arm – the one he put the siding knife through – was giving him hell. Pins and needles were going off in all directions, he complained. To kill the pain he drank too many gold cans and fell asleep at the dining table. At 2 am I woke to find Bob’s side of the bed hadn’t been slept in. This was unusual for him. We had a few unpleasant words as I tried to help him back to bed. It was rare for us to argue, but I was determined that the children not see Daddy, dirty and covered in cattle dust, still at the dining table where they had said goodnight to him the evening before.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Blackest Day of My Life

  The morning after our disagreement, Bob was up, showered and busy as always. Men like Bob have very good work habits and the occasional night on the grog or a blue with the wife makes no difference. The stockmen were holding a small mob of cattle out on the river. Bob would pick up the rogue bulls that were upsetting the herd. My plan was to stay at the homestead for a change.

  I noticed that Kelly was hanging very close to his dad and wanted desperately to go out on the muster with the men. I had never let the children go out to a muster without me.

  ‘Kelly wants to go,’ Bob said, looking straight at me.

  ‘You know I don’t agree and I don’t want him to go,’ I replied. I was still upset over our argument, even if Bob was in an apologetic mood this morning. But Kelly had recently turned five, and I could see how much this meant to him. I gave in and let him go. I put my arms out, gave my boy a big hug and kiss, told him to be very careful and let him go. Kelly put on his bull strap, his Akubra hat and his new desert boots. He raised his beautiful blue eyes towards me, put his hand out and touched me.

  ‘Thank you, Mum!’ he shouted as he ran towards the truck.

  I turned to Bob and made him promise not to let Kelly ride in the buggy while he ran bulls – he must stay in the truck with one of the young stockmen. Bob agreed. I waved goodbye, with Leisha by my side. We watched their dust as they roared through the homestead gate in the direction of the river camp.

/>   At sundown, Katie, who worked in the house, sang out to me from the laundry shed.

  ‘Boss and Kelly boy coming, Missus.’

  We ran to the front garden where we watched Bob pull up at the homestead gate. They were still some 250 metres from the house. I saw Kelly jump out to help his dad open the wire gate, and then help him drag it back against the fence. This told me the boys were following with the truck. From where I stood with Katie, it was almost like watching a long shot in a movie. The actors were performing on cue and everything was looking good. Had the scene been in close-up, I would have picked up the fatal flaw. Kelly had climbed up on the bull bar. The buggy drove through the gate but now I could see something was awfully wrong. I saw Bob get out of the buggy again. What was he doing? I stood there and watched as Bob picked Kelly up from the ground, lifted him into the buggy and raced to the house. Bob was in shock as he carried Kelly, unconscious, into the bed in the radio room. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but I checked his pulse: it was terribly slow. He was not breathing. I screamed for someone to try the phone. It was out of sched time – the hours we had access to an operating line, which were limited to three set times per day.

  ‘Just keep ringing!’ I yelled.

  Bob kept pushing the emergency button on the Flying Doctor radio, but it wasn’t functioning. I grabbed the company radio’s microphone and begged that if anyone could hear me, please answer, we had an emergency. Unbeknown to me, my mother picked up the faint call at Kilto and then phoned Kimberley Downs, who in turn contacted the Flying Doctor service. At long last Derby base answered. I gave my location and said I needed an aircraft in a hurry.

  ‘Is the patient dead or alive?’ asked the operator. I wanted to scream at him that this was my beautiful boy he was talking about. How could he possibly be dead?