by Paula Heelan
With midwifery training in the bag and preferring to see Australia rather than travelling overseas like so many young people had started to do, in 1966 Joy set off on a trip halfway around Australia with her friend Jenny, who was also a country girl and had trained in midwifery with her.
Afterwards she moved to Sydney to complete a child health course for six months. The yearning to find work in a remote area in Western Australia played continually on her mind. ‘I had nearly completed my three nursing certificates, which was rare in those days, and I knew they could get me places. I applied to the Australian Inland Mission (AIM), run by the Presbyterian Church, for a position somewhere in the Kimberley region. A place was available at the Fitzroy Crossing Hospital. That’ll do, I thought.’ So in April 1968, at 24 years of age and unfazed by the unknown, Joy made her way to the Crossing for the start of an incredible life adventure.
Fitzroy Crossing is in the Shire of Derby, West Kimberley that covers a vast area of 118,560 square kilometres. Located more than 2000 kilometres north of Perth, there are numerous Aboriginal communities across the shire. Derby and Fitzroy Crossing are the two main towns. When Joy arrived at her new post, the Crossing was home to a largely Aboriginal population and about 40 non-Indigenous people. The Fitzroy Crossing owes its existence to the mighty Fitzroy River, which every wet season can rise to more than thirteen metres above the old concrete crossing and swell into a raging torrent. In full flood it’s one of the world’s largest rivers and a sight very few travellers get to see. Those that do manage to get there often have no choice but to wait at the Crossing for the water to recede. These days there’s a highway and bridge further south and most of the town has shifted as a result.
‘In between wet seasons the place was very dry and that’s when the cattle were mustered, and tourists, if they were brave enough, would come in to the Crossing,’ Joy says. ‘When parts of the road were sealed from Broome to Kununurra in the 1980s, and with a well-maintained gravel road, more people ventured in, but there was never a general flow. Travel in the wet season was by plane or nothing. Even now people don’t drive in the Kimberley during the wet. November was known as suicide month. Just before the wet season broke, it would be hot, sticky, no rain and full of insects – it was the worst.’
Despite the isolation and extreme weather, Joy warmed to the Crossing the minute she arrived. ‘I loved it,’ she says. ‘I think it went well for me because I was a country girl. I could cope with it and actually enjoyed the remoteness. With a large Indigenous population, the hospital patients were mostly Aboriginal. There were also a lot of people working and living out on massive cattle stations and they supported camps for their Aboriginal workers. Most of the 40 non-Indigenous people lived and worked in the town at the school, hospital, police station, post office and hotel, and about 250 Aboriginal people lived at the United Aborigines Mission (UAM).’
The UAM was home for many Aboriginal people of different tribes who chose not to stay on cattle stations. There were two dormitories – male and female. Most of the families on cattle stations sent their children to board at the mission for their schooling and they attended the Fitzroy Crossing School, which was outside the mission boundary. The adults were involved in tending to the mission community with tasks such as rubbish removal, vegetable gardening, working in the mission store or working in the community kitchen to prepare meals for the children. Some people at the mission also worked in the wider community as housemaids, kitchen hands or yardmen. Some worked at the police station, hospital or the hotel, which also ran a store – called the pub store. Change began to take place from about 1966 when Aboriginal people were granted full citizenship Australia-wide. The Kimberley was one of the last areas for this to take place. Relationships between everyone in the community, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, were generally peaceful. ‘I stayed around for another 40 years and witnessed many changes,’ says Joy.
When it came to medical cases and emergencies, anything could come through the hospital doors and Joy soon got used to dealing with everything from trauma and birthing to broken bones, disease and death. ‘There wasn’t a doctor in town, just the nurses,’ she says. ‘Derby, on the coast, was our regional base. It was a 220-kilometre drive over a mostly dirt road. Our main source of medical assistance was the RFDS. If there was something we couldn’t cope with we rang the doctor in Derby and he’d tell us what to do and if needed, help organise an evacuation with the RFDS. It had a base in Derby. When the plane approached we’d hear it fly over the hospital and then drive our patients down to the airstrip.’
One day, Joy’s friend Virginia was on duty and helped deliver a baby. When the mother started bleeding profusely, she raced down to the quarters at three in the morning to get Joy. ‘We decided to call the RFDS, who told us what to do to stem the bleeding and that they’d wait until daylight to come in. Until then we just had to keep an eye on her.’ At daylight they loaded the mother into the back of a ute on a mattress and covered her in blankets, with Virginia holding up the saline bag to continue hydrating the mum during the drive. Joy wrapped up the baby and placed it on the floor in the front of the ute to keep it safe from bumps. There was no child seat. Everything was going well and they set off to the airstrip. ‘This was Virginia’s first drama. When we came back to the hospital and sat down for a cup of tea, grinning from ear to ear she said, That’s what I’ve always dreamed of. Rescuing someone in the outback. Unique experiences like that stick in your mind.’
Once a fortnight doctors would fly into Fitzroy Crossing with the RFDS to run a clinic. ‘We’d try to arrange for pregnant women to come in so a doctor could see them. If a woman was expecting her first baby, the delivery would be done in Derby with a doctor. The women didn’t mind if the doctor was a male, as long as a female nurse was present. After that they could deliver in Fitzroy for the second to fifth baby, but back to Derby for any more. Almost always the system worked well and baby deliveries were trouble free.’
The RFDS centre also ran radio sessions for the community. People could switch on early each morning to send telegrams and messages. At 8 am the medical session would begin and if you needed to you could talk to the doctor. People called in from cattle stations and if the medical session wasn’t on they could check telegrams. Later, the children came on for School of the Air lessons. ‘It was crackly and at times out of order, but it was our lifeline of communication.’
Virginia Mitchell remembers her time working with Joy as though it were yesterday. She affectionately calls her Joybells. ‘When I arrived to work with her at the hospital she met me at the airport in a troopy. I came in as a theatre nurse from Melbourne and was dressed up to the nines. I took one look at this tall, raw-boned woman and thought, Ooh, white uniform, no veil, sleeves removed and no belt. Her white shoes were brown and she wore no stockings – her legs were bare. We sized each other up and I thought, Well this is clearly a place where you sink or swim. I might sink.’
At the time, the hospital was short-staffed, so Virginia had to simply plunge in. ‘The hospital ran on a generator that wasn’t always on. The first delivery I did with Joybells was in lantern light and that’s where I first saw just how capable this woman was. She had an extraordinary strength and confidence about her and a practical, determined nature. And she was a great and generous teacher. She’d tell me to work things out on my own, but if I had any concerns she was happy to discuss them. At the hospital we had an old kerosene fridge, our own gen set [generator] and had to start and maintain the water pump. We had to do a little of everything and we didn’t really mind. Joybells had grown up on a farm and was used to it – she passed her bush skills, enthusiasm and knowledge on to me.’
With very few eligible women in the Crossing, the nurses were popular. When the river was up, people used to call in to the hospital to wait while the water receded. It was lots of fun for the two nurses. The hospital was just near the low-level crossing, where everybody who wanted to go north or south had to cross. ‘People wou
ld call in, bringing us things like beef or home produce, or just wanting a cup of tea and a yarn. We weren’t busy all the time, so this was a major part of our social fabric.’
Not long after her arrival, Joy met an eye-catching young stockman from one of the local cattle stations. ‘Like so many of the locals, Jim popped in to the hospital to visit the nurses whenever he was in town. We just clicked,’ Joy says. They married in 1970 in the grounds of the hospital. ‘My older sister lived in Geelong, Victoria, and as our parents weren’t able to come to the wedding, she said she’d come with her husband. She rang some friends and chartered two single-engine planes for nine passengers to fly them from Melbourne to Alice Springs.’
It’s no simple thing to have a wedding in the outback. And Joy’s required a joint effort that was typical of the spirit of the community. ‘The planes from Melbourne arrived in Alice Springs and from there they headed into a dust storm and had to turn back,’ recalls Virginia, who was Joy’s bridesmaid. ‘The wedding had to be delayed. The wedding cake was made in Victoria and trucked up to Kununurra, where the padre picked it up. His wife iced it and brought it to Fitzroy. A friend of mine could play the piano so we borrowed the mission’s piano and drove it across to the hospital in a four-wheel-drive Toyota. The pianist was from Derby and was late arriving. Her Volkswagen had broken down and we had to send someone out to tow her in. I’d put lovely posies of flowers on tables and in trees in the hospital gardens. Someone left the gate open and the cows got in and ate them all. Then I had to find someone to shovel up all the cow dung. Finally, the wedding proceeded under the gum tree and everything was wonderful – except for the bull ants running up everyone’s legs. The whole party was jumping up and down and stomping. I’d never been to a wedding like it – and haven’t since. It’s etched in my memory.’
When Joy and Jim married, Jim was working at Fossil Downs and they had a flat out on the station. A bit later they moved to Cherrabun Station when Jim got the manager’s job there. It was 140 kilometres east of Fitzroy Crossing, and to the west, 238 kilometres from Halls Creek.
‘We were based at Cherrabun from 1972 to 1989,’ says Joy. ‘There was a community of about 60 Aboriginal people living about fifteen kilometres from the station homestead. There was a school and with no telephone, outside communication was through high-frequency radio. I was able to strike a deal with the former West Kimberley Community Health Services to tend to the medical needs of our little community. I gave immunisations, antenatal and postnatal care, saw to injuries and illness and organised people who needed to be seen by the doctor or nurse when the RFDS plane called in for a monthly clinic. They paid me for ten hours’ work a week, which also meant I could maintain my nursing registration.’
One afternoon Joy heard someone calling her name from outside near the laundry. It was Dora from the community. ‘She told me her granddaughter, Shirley, was having a baby. Where is she? I asked her. She pointed behind the meat house – Over there. We walked towards it and I could see Shirley squatting near an anthill. She was definitely in labour. I hadn’t known she was pregnant and asked her if it was too early. She said it was. Dora and I walked her towards the house, but only got as far as the shady lawn by the men’s kitchen. It’s coming, said Shirley.’
The laundry was close, so Joy grabbed two old towels and a bucket of water to wash her hands. She placed one towel beneath Shirley and one to cover her body just before the baby was born. But as soon as it was birthed, Joy realised that the baby wasn’t alive. She ran quickly to the homestead to get the necessary gear from her medical box – scissors, cord clamp, a syringe to give Shirley a shot to prevent bleeding and some clean sheets. The placenta expelled and Joy gave the injection. ‘I wrapped the baby in some sheets and asked Shirley if she wanted to see her baby’s body. She said, Only the head. Dora and I took the baby to the laundry and sadly inspected the tiny body. It was perfectly formed but quite premature. I firmly wrapped the little body, placed it in a small box and put it in the coolroom.’
Dora and Joy helped Shirley walk to the verandah and on to a stretcher bed. ‘I went inside and made a cup of tea for the three of us. Then I contacted the RFDS operator in Derby and spoke to the doctor. Two hours later the plane flew in to collect Shirley and the deceased baby.’
Joy thrived on station life. ‘I’m a people person and here I was on a remote station with a whole lot of people and a community to care for. Jim had worked through the ranks and made manager. So we were living in the big house – not real flash, but we were comfortable.’ To avoid the heat everyone got up at 4 am to get the work done. It was too hot for horse and cattle work during the day. Then rain would start coming in November, but the wettest months were February and March and they were too wet to do anything. This was when most station people took their holidays. The horses were moved to higher paddocks near the homestead to keep an eye on them and the cattle were left to their own devices. ‘The middle months were really very nice. It was hot and horrible most of the time, but you learned to cope with it, even without air conditioners.’
The camps had bough sheds made out of dried spinifex. It was stacked between two layers of wire netting to form walls around a cement floor. Then a tin roof was added with more spinifex on the top. A hose running around the roof and on top of the walls dripped water down the spinifex, making it breezy and cool inside. Most stations had a generator for power, but these were used only for emergencies. Everyone had kerosene fridges and wooden stoves.
‘One day when we were having trouble with the kerosene fridge yet again, I rang head office to let them know I wanted an electric fridge,’ Joy says. ‘To my surprise and delight, they sent me one.’
On the one-million-acre station there was plenty of cattle work. There were two stock camps with a non-Indigenous head stockman and assistant head stockman in each camp. All other station workers were Aboriginal. ‘Jim would tell the head stockman what work was to be done and he in turn would work with his men.’ The method largely worked well and the operation ran smoothly.
At Cherrabun the RFDS flew in once a month for a clinic. One day in July 1982, Joy introduced the doctor to Susan, a pregnant woman in the camp with three to four weeks to go before the birth of her baby. The doctor disagreed with Joy’s estimated birth date and insisted Susan would be fine until the next clinic, a month away. ‘I thought, Okay, he’s the boss and let it go. Two and a half weeks later, Jim was out at a stock camp for the day and our two sons were in the schoolroom with their governess. Suddenly, I could see Elsie, an elder woman walking flat out up to the house. I thought, Oh dear, Susan’s having that baby. We drove down to the camp and sure enough, she was in labour. Elsie had cleaned the area and Susan was lying on a swag with clean sheets. I raced back to the house and interrupted the RFDS radio session to call for the doctor. I said we had an emergency and I needed to talk to the doctor. I waited and waited. I called back. I need the plane – she’s going to deliver her baby soon. They told me the RFDS plane was 400 kilometres away. You’re on your own.
‘We had an RFDS medical box and some bits and pieces I’d need for after delivery – antiseptics and some other basic things. Elsie and I sat with Susan and lots of other women sat outside in the shade, waiting anxiously. Susan birthed with minimal fuss. I cut the cord and wrapped the tiny baby girl in a blanket. Susan named her Veronica. I gave Susan an after-birth injection, but I was concerned about the baby. I gave her to Susan to nurse on her chest. I knew something was wrong because her little legs were floppy.’ Not wanting to panic anyone, Joy said everything was okay and asked someone to make some tea. ‘Susan was hungry, so I went up to the house to get her something to eat, which gave me a chance to call up the RFDS base on the radio again. They said the plane would arrive at 2 pm. I made Susan a ham sandwich and we waited patiently for the plane.’
When they heard it approaching, they bundled Susan and Veronica into the four-wheel drive and drove to the airstrip. The kids ran out of school and raced down excitedly to see t
he baby. As the flight sister and doctor were taking the two up the plane steps, Joy could hear a vehicle coming. ‘Hang on a minute, you’d better wait, I said. The vehicle sped on to the airstrip. Aboard was a bloke with a broken collarbone. The sister said, Put him in and away they went. The next morning Susan’s mother and sister came up to the homestead to find out how the baby was. RFDS had radioed in to say they were both doing well.’
After Susan and the baby had been flown in, Joy wanted to talk to the doctor. ‘The radio communication was public – so you didn’t discuss personal matters unless it was during a medical session when less people would be listening in.’ The doctor confirmed there was something wrong with baby Veronica. She had been born with double-sided dislocated hips, which meant the ball at the top of both legs wasn’t sitting in the sockets. When Susan came home Veronica was in a little brace to help relocate her hips back into the sockets. It had strapping around her body and down through the inside of her legs, pulling her knees out. Another strap went up over her shoulder, keeping her legs up and out. Joy thought this was going to be interesting. ‘I thought, How’s this going to be managed? But it’s amazing how often without any intervention, things fall into place. Aboriginal women carry their babies on their hips with a leg on one side and the other at the back. Susan was comfortably broad, so when Veronica was on her hip, her legs splayed, placing each hip back in the socket. It worked. I knew the brace would be ditched, but it didn’t worry me too much, because I knew Susan would carry Veronica everywhere and it would be just as effective as the brace. Before long Veronica was running around normally – the problem corrected itself.’
Years later, Joy ran into Susan and Veronica in Fitzroy. Veronica was sixteen and was holding her own brand-new baby. ‘She knew I had delivered her. With a wide grin on my face I said to her baby, I am your granny.’
