Out in my trusty Landcruiser I called Leisha. My girl listened patiently as I talked and then said, ‘Listen to me for a minute, Mummy. There is not enough darkness in the world to put out the light of one small candle. He doesn’t have that strength. Think about it, Mum, you are our candle. He can’t quench your light. And don’t forget it.’
My strength flooded back to me. This was the world I preferred to live in, a world of light and tenderness. I was almost glad of the unpleasant incident — it reminded me how cold, calculating and money-hungry my husband was.
I had been back at Wildwood only a few days when I had a full-blown water crisis. For months the house water supply had been rank. It stank and not even tea or coffee could disguise its foul taste. I had been carting drinking water in from another tank further down the road in plastic jerry cans.
It was an enormous effort, heaving them into the house, and I couldn’t let Leisha help, her baby was due any day.
It was a very wet and windy Thursday morning, and thunder rumbled away in the distance. The heavens seemed to open right above the farmhouse and the rain just tumbled down. But the water never made it into the rainwater tank, instead it flooded into the homestead. In no time there was water everywhere; inches of precious rainwater that should have been filling the house tanks was filling bedrooms, passageways and the family room, then lights were blowing as the water poured furiously down through the fittings. I told Leisha to take Brock out of the house and into the car parked safely in the shed. I was worried someone would be electrocuted. She put him in his car seat and fastened the safety harness, opened the windows and stocked him up with fruit juice and toys. He was happy there while we got to work, one of us popping in to check on him every few minutes.
This was the third season this had happened — it was one in a long list of maintenance jobs Terry had put off in the hope it would disappear before he had to throw any money at it — and I wasn’t going to stand for it a moment longer. ‘I’m going to fix this problem once and for all,’ I said to Leisha as I ran to the pantry to grab a hacksaw from my tool box.
I ran barefoot out into the rain with my jeans hitched up to my knees and attacked the first downpipe that came into view, hacking it off with a vengeance. The only way to get a job done around the house was to do it myself. Why had I left it so long? But I knew the answer to that. The Sheryl of one, two and three years ago had had the stuffing knocked out of her.
I stood back and admired my handiwork, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction while standing in the ankle-deep water gushing down from the roof. At the same time I grieved for the senseless waste of good rainwater. Then Leisha came up and grabbed the hacksaw from me and started on the next downpipe, and between us we didn’t stop until every downpipe around the farmhouse had been cut in two.
The water flooding into the house stopped immediately. Our next move was to clean the gutters that supplied the outlet pipes that carried the water from the roof down to the underground pipes that fed into the rainwater tanks. Tony the painter was driving down the road while I was hanging from a ladder cleaning gutters. He wheeled his panel van into the muddy driveway and jumped out demanding, ‘What are you two doing?’ I was not feeling particularly friendly towards any man at that moment. ‘What does it look like?’ I said, sounding somewhat ungrateful. Tony looked towards Leisha for support; she only raised her eyes as if to say, ‘You’re a bit late.’
‘I wish you would get down off that roof; it’s a man’s job, I’ll do it for you tomorrow,’ Tony said. He couldn’t hide his shocked expression as he surveyed the cut-off downpipes swinging around the homestead, but he didn’t say another word and promptly left the scene. And as quickly as he went, the rain stopped too.
The ladder was an old heavy galvanised-pipe kind and as heavy as all hell, but we lugged and dragged it about the house until all the gutters were clean. But still the water backed up when we tried reconnecting the downpipes, so that meant the underground pipes must be blocked. We stuck down flexible tubing and, sure enough, they were blocked only metres from the house, full of stinking black muck filled with maggots.
We disconnected the inlet pipes from the rainwater tank and used a high-pressure hose directly from the bore to clean out the muck, leaves and stinking maggots from the underground pipes. Once we had the clean water running through the pipes we started the job of joining everything up again. Trips into Bunnings were a great laugh. ‘Here come our plumbers again,’ the staff said on our second visit. Our first trip had not been successful — the PVC pipe joiners were too small — but this time we were spot on with our measurements.
‘No job too big or too small,’ we echoed as we left the building.
‘Darling,’ I said to Leisha, ‘Mummy might be able to become a gutter and underground-pipe cleaner now.’ I was feeling incredibly good about the job we were doing.
With only three downpipes left to rejoin, Leisha suddenly buckled over and leaned against the wall holding onto her very swollen belly. I dropped all tools, ready to go into panic mode, but she said very steadily, ‘Calm down, Mum, it’s probably false contractions.’ I bloody hope so, I thought. Tony the painter arrived at that moment and quickly volunteered to complete the remaining downpipes. He was astonished to see what we had managed to do between us, but he couldn’t get off the farm fast enough. I guess he didn’t mind giving a hand with a repair job but he wasn’t about to help in a birthing suite.
The contractions went on for an hour or so then eased, so we decided to get on with the day. I hooked up the trailer and loaded it to the brim with rubbish. Leisha wasn’t going to be left behind on the big clean-up and we headed to the dump at Dunsborough to unload. Halfway through unloading the trailer Leisha cried out in pain and doubled over again.
‘Oh my god, don’t have the baby in the rubbish dump,’ I said. I was only half joking.
She cracked a smile and we left the dump for the farmhouse in one hell of a hurry. Hours later, Leisha was admitted to Busselton Hospital, where they informed her she needed to travel to Saint John of God in Bunbury to have her baby turned as he was in a breech position. The following morning she was released from the hospital — baby had changed his mind again about when he was coming into this world.
Thirteen days later, after her second natural birth, Leisha delivered another beautiful baby boy, Cohen. She had Adam by her side again, but she didn’t have me there this time! I couldn’t go through another natural birth with my daughter. I simply could not handle seeing and hearing her in such pain. For years I had been perfectly confident helping people out in the bush in times of need, but I battled seeing my own family in pain.
Cohen’s birth bought back a flood of memories from Louisa Downs station. In my mind’s eye I could still see Katie waltzing into the homestead, her arms outstretched, saying to me, ‘Look here, missus, little baby belong Barbara!’
She handed me a beautiful, slippery, waxy baby girl with a length of umbilical cord still dangling from her. Questions swam through my mind as I stood there, overwhelmed but with a firm grip on the baby. Then her cry brought Leisha running from the schoolroom. She pulled up a chair for a better view, and I said she could stay and give me a hand to bath and check the little girl.
I turned back to Katie. ‘Where is Barbara? Is she all right?’
‘Ya, ya, she’s having a shower now,’ Katie said, pointing with her chin to the outside shower by the laundry.
‘Where did she have this one, Katie?’ I asked.
‘Barbara from my Louisa camp, she was visiting family at Yiyili when the baby started. They tried to get to the homestead, but that was too far for this piccaninny. She born in a spinifex circle by the horse paddock gate.’ Tussocks of spinifex often grow in a ring around an old or dead spinifex.
After bathing the baby I radioed the flying doctor and they diverted from a trip to Balgo Mission to conduct a routine postnatal check. We all walked to the airstrip, where the flying doctor pronounced both mother and daughter fi
ne and well. Katie and I went back to the house to look for some of Leisha’s baby clothes, and I said to Katie, ‘You have to tell Barbara to name this baby girl. We can’t have a baby with no name.’
Barbara called her little girl Maria Anne Cox Wallaby — probably the longest name of any Aboriginal child I knew! She has grown into a beautiful young woman and still lives on Louisa Downs, where she is a noted artist in the area.
Wonder of wonders, Terry engaged Tony to paint and tidy up the smaller farmhouse by the big shed. He did this of his own volition, wanting to make it attractive to Leisha — he knew if Leisha was close by, that would keep me happy. It was across the paddock from the main house, about six hundred metres away, and the old house looked as good as new when Leisha and Adam and their two sons moved in.
Soon Christmas was rolling around again. Leisha and I decorated the huge Christmas tree with help from young Brock. We ended up with gold and silver tinsel scattered from one end of the lounge room to the other. For the first time in years Christmas felt like Christmas again. Brightly wrapped presents were scattered about the tree. I was excited just to have some family around me.
Terry came down too; it was his nephew’s turn to take care of the caravan park. We had his three sons as well, and Adam’s sister Jody and her partner. Roast pork, apple sauce and all the trimmings adorned the table, along with lobster, prawns and cold chicken, with plum pudding and custard, and fresh fruit salad with ice cream for dessert. Leisha and I worked side by side from sunrise, having a marvellous time in the kitchen. She had put the finishing touches to her speciality, a high-powered fruit punch, and I was completing the fruit salad, when Terry walked into the kitchen to find me squeezing fresh lemon juice over the banana to prevent it from turning brown. Terry was suddenly screaming in my face, ‘You’ve ruined it, you’ve completely ruined it.’
I was utterly bewildered. I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘You’ve turned it sour!’ he shrieked, and I suddenly understood that he was having a tantrum about the fruit salad. I began to shiver. The tears started and I had no control over them. I was terrified of collapsing and making even more of a scene in the presence of guests. Leisha hurried over and wrapped her arms around me, ignoring Terry completely. He stopped screaming abruptly and left the room.
‘He’ll never change, Mum, please don’t cry,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t stand to see you so unhappy.’
Somehow I got through Christmas lunch. I was there in appearance only, silently studying the scene. What a sad lot of clowns we are, puppets on a string, I was thinking. There we were, trying for Christmas cheer, trying to keep Terry happy when most of us probably wanted to be elsewhere now.
Leisha was downing glass after glass of her famous punch, becoming slightly intoxicated as she took over as hostess, cracking jokes and waltzing around the table, encouraging everyone to eat. I had a glass of wine myself, snapped out of my gloom and reminded Leisha of the Christmas on Kimberley Downs when she was thirteen.
It was Christmas Eve and we were bouncing around in the Toyota as we crisscrossed the bugger-bugger flat looking for a Christmas tree; after much discussion we decided to chop down the large and very thorny mimosa out in the middle of the bullock paddock.
With a blunt axe and a great deal of effort I called ‘Timber!’ as the tree hit the ground, spraying white-winged flying ants high into the air. The children helped as much as they could to load the butt of the mimosa onto the tray of the Toyota; the rest we dragged along behind the vehicle, leaving a trail of red bulldust. We wanted to get the tree home and decorated before McCorry came back from Kilto (our own station) where he had been fencing.
Jack and Alma, my Aboriginal friends, were there with their children Rodney and Stephanie as we pulled up in front of the homestead dragging the Christmas tree behind us. Jack stood back in admiration. ‘This proper big one, missus,’ he said smiling. I was pleased he thought so.
Four years after I had lost Kelly, Jack and Alma lost their son Jeffery in a bull-buggy accident. Jeffery and Kelly had been mates. I felt I had a lot in common with Jack and Alma; we understood each other. I wanted this Christmas to be a happy one for all of us, particularly our children.
With everyone’s help we pushed, shoved and grunted until the thorny mimosa was wedged in a twenty litre drum filled with rocks on the front verandah of the homestead. The children would be able to see the tree from wherever they were playing on Christmas.
Dragging a large box of decorations from the dormitory I gave the children a free hand in decorating this monstrosity of a tree while Jack, Alma and I sat back to enjoy a pannikin of tea as the evening cooled down and the sun drifted behind the blunt plateau of Mount Marion. We watched Rodney and Stephanie dress the tree with Leisha, Kristy and young Robby. ‘That Christmas fella coming tonight,’ I said to the kids. ‘There’s no Christmas fella, missus,’ said Rodney. ‘Yeah, right, Mum,’ said Leisha, not really wanting to spoil it for her little brother Robby.
‘That Christmas fella and that Jesus fella are the same, aren’t they, Mum?’ asked Robby, reckoning he had it all sorted out.
‘I’ll have to think about that, love,’ I said, not too sure what Father Lawrence had explained to him about the Jesus fella question.
Later Leisha helped me pile the presents about the tree. There were gifts for everyone; Christmas in the Kimberley was always like that: on the station no one was any more special than anyone else.
Very early the next morning, well before the golden rays of sunshine spread their soft glow across the homestead, I heard the camp children playing and talking excitedly by my bedroom louvres, Rodney and Stephanie among them. Next minute Leisha, Kristy and Robby had joined them and soon there was the crunching and tearing of wrapping paper, whistles and horns blowing, and a football being kicked about on the front verandah. It was time for me to get out of bed.
Soon Alma and Jack arrived to join the festivities. Jack got the barbecue going and cooked the spare ribs (the kids’ choice), fillet steak and cherabin (something like a yabby) caught in the river below the homestead. This was our Kimberley Christmas lunch, accompanied by a huge salad and baby potatoes.
Once the novelty of new toys and clothes had worn off, the children disappeared over the bank into the creek with their horses, Lady and Little Blue. After an hour I became concerned and headed towards the creek, only to find Leisha skiing off Lady’s tail, being towed up and down the creek on her belly in fine style. Before I was in shouting distance, Kristy was skiing one-handed behind Little Blue. They were showing off, but all of them — right down to the smallest ones — seemed to be having a very good time.
CHAPTER 15
More Homecomings
I didn’t know whether my family was peculiar in this, but health never seemed to be off the agenda for me or my children. Up in Broome, Robby was in a bad way with a collection of symptoms that had the medical profession stumped: he had stomach and chest pains, trouble breathing and he even blacked out every now and then. At one point his stomach pains were so severe he was unable to walk, and Tara had to near drag him to the Broome hospital — no mean feat since he’s a lanky six foot three and she’s tiny. He nearly collapsed on the front entrance floor, only to be told by a doctor to go home and blow in a paper bag. That was as good as telling Robby there was nothing wrong with him and it was all in his head. When I heard this I was so angry I felt like flying to Broome with a huge paper bag and tying it tightly over that doctor’s head — except that I’ve spent enough time around hospitals to know how pressured and under-resourced the entire medical profession is. So I cooled down and let the matter rest and instead flew Robby and Tara to Perth in search of more specialised medical attention.
Eventually he was diagnosed with a leaking appendix. This had apparently been affecting his health for nearly two years, slowly poisoning his body until he had become very ill. It had played a big part in pulling him down mentally and emotionally too. Once his appendix was out, Robby
was a changed person. His health zoomed ahead like never before, and my happy son was returned to me at long last. It was another lesson to me about how important our health is, how illness changes everything.
As soon as Robby’s health settled down I found myself having some serious talks with my daughter. Sadly, her marriage seemed to be balancing precariously on the rocks again and had been ever since little Cohen was born. It felt terribly sad to me that they couldn’t stay together. I thought of them as star-crossed lovers. Each time they parted something brought them back together again, yet once together they could never sustain it. This was the final parting, though, a heartbreaking but mutual decision to end their marriage.
Leisha and I took long walks with the children while she agonised over what she should do. In the end she decided to study psychology by correspondence through TAFE. Adam moved to Busselton and the two of them remained good friends; I was proud of them for that.
One day in this period, I had another call from the caravan park staff in Broome; they were ringing for Terry, believing he was on a trip home to visit me. This pattern had been going on for years, but this was the first call I’d had in a while, and it reminded me how much I hated being lied to. I hated finding out he was at the races in the city when he’d told staff members he was visiting me on the farm. I knew I should just get over it, though. The man I had married was practically incapable of telling the truth; it was simply a question of whether he was caught at it or not.
I remembered an incident at Wildwood in our first year, when both his parents were still alive. His mother and father and I were in the kitchen when Terry pulled the cattle truck up in front of the farmhouse and came running through the kitchen saying, ‘I’ve won the lotto, I’ve won the lotto!’ He grabbed something from the fridge, returned to the cattle truck and took off again at speed.
Stars over Shiralee Page 19
