by Thea Hayes
Prior to the Negri each year, the men trained the horses and did the station work while the women prepared their outfits for the two days of races. Fashion dictated that gloves and hats were to be worn, with those fabulous outfits bought in Sydney or Perth, or wherever they’d visited on their previous holiday. And not to be forgotten were additional outfits for the two-day rodeo, the Calcutta night, the Negri Ball and the award presentation night.
In the early days we danced to taped music, but later when the race meeting became bigger and grander we hired a talented DJ who played fabulous music. We would rock and roll, do the Twist, the Stomp, the Shuffle—whatever the latest dance craze was, we were into it.
There was also much entertaining in the different camps, with each trying to outdo the others. The women planned the menus well before hosting these events—cereal or steak and eggs for breakfast, corn beef or roast and salad for lunch, and plenty of stews and curries or a barbecue for dinner.
The Negri wasn’t only for the whites; all the Aboriginal families came, too. They camped around our camps, helped in the kitchens and dining rooms, and looked after the children. They all loved the races and catching up with ‘relation alonga me’, but not ‘cousin’.
Meanwhile, hawker vans would set up with their displays of shirts, trousers, dresses and hats, attracting much attention. These vans had lift-up sides with sections to show off the clothing. There were racks to hang and examine clothes on, as well as boxes of boots and leather-gear like halters. The hawkers also carried men’s hats, belts, buckles, penknives, liniments—practically anything a bushman would require.
The first hawkers in the Territory were the Afghan cameleers, small numbers of immigrants with their ‘ships of the desert’. Darwin to Adelaide, as they say in the Outback, is a bloody long way. No one was very keen to cross it. That is, until the Afghan cameleers arrived and set about opening up Australia’s Red Centre. Their legacy: the million-odd camels that now plague the Outback, plus the name of the epic rail journey crossing the continent from south to north, The Ghan.
There were six or seven races over two days at the Negri, including the main races, the Cup and the Bracelet. There were races for Aboriginal jockeys and even a ladies’ race. Bets were put on with the bookmakers as the jockeys paraded their horses in front of the grandstand before trotting off to the starting line.
As well as the horseraces, there was the campdraft, flag race, barrel race and pickup, followed by foot races, throwing the broom and tug of war. The highlight for the Aboriginal attendees was the rodeo with its bullock rides, bareback bronco rides and buckjumping.
We all loved it.
22
Our wedding
Not long after we returned from the Negri, Father John Flynn, the Catholic priest from Darwin, came on his rounds. He’d been an eye specialist before he was ordained and ironically he had developed an eye condition that caused his teardrops to dry up. Father Flynn invented an ingenious attachment for his glasses: a small rubber flask filled with water was fitted to each arm, with tubing that when squeezed would spray a jet of water into each eye.
At the time of Father Flynn’s visit, my mother was overseas and not due home for months. Ralph and I, being very much in love and anxious to get married, decided to talk to Father Flynn about wanting to be together. He was a lovely, caring man with a great sense of humour. Heather and Rod’s wedding had made us think, Why wait until we go to Sydney for our holidays to marry? That was months away.
We’d planned to have a big wedding at Edgecliff in Sydney’s eastern suburbs the following January. The venue, the bridesmaids: all had been decided upon. Much organising was needed and we were so far away.
Also, the way everyone at the station looked at us was irritating—they presumed we were having a love affair, which was right in one way, but without the sex. I wanted to remain a virgin until I married. The problem was that despite being a good Catholic girl, I was finding it impossible to resist Ralph’s loving advances. What if I succumbed? What if I became pregnant? Even though I was a nurse, I knew nothing about contraceptives.
Confessions were heard and mass was said on the paperbark verandah, and then we confided in Father Flynn. He gave us his blessing: he would marry us. This was the answer! My mother not being there was the only flaw, but I knew she would understand. The next thing we knew, we were having a wedding. There was no mucking around in the Territory—things just happened.
The event took only a few days to organise. Ralph and I did nothing except give the postmistress, Nancy Walton, a guest list of people from the area plus Ralph’s mother, Mary ‘Cudge’ Connors, who was at Mount Bundy near Katherine.
Father Flynn, a very persuasive man, talked Ralph into becoming a Catholic. This was relatively easy for him because he’d spent half his childhood in Catholic schools in Alice and Brisbane: his mother’s choice, which seemed strange as Squizzy Taylor, Mary’s father, hated Catholics. But a year later, when I nervously met him and Grandma Taylor in Brisbane, we got on like a house on fire.
Everyone else organised the wedding. Nancy sent the invitations via telegram. The policeman’s wife, Molly, donated the wedding dress and made the cake. The settlement schoolteacher, Jill Booth, loaned the veil. Some food was brought by the women guests, the majority being served by the station kitchen. The alcohol was ordered and collected from Top Springs.
The smoko verandah was turned into a church with branches strategically placed around the walls. Chairs were arranged in rows with an aisle up the middle lined with red mats from the store. The front seat from a jeep, covered with a white sheet, was used for the bridal pair to kneel on. A table from the bookkeeper’s office, covered with a white damask tablecloth, served as the altar.
My bridesmaids were Lauris Farrow, the bookkeeper’s wife, together with Sandra and Alison, English girls who were visiting the station at the time. Mandy Warren, Joy and Jim’s daughter from Cattle Creek, was the flower girl. Ralph’s best man was Tony Clark, and the groomsmen were his brother Lynn and his childhood friend Sabu Singh. Ralph’s mother flew in with her second husband, Jack Connors, and helped with much of the organising.
Two nights before the wedding, a bucks party was organised at the station and the hens was to be at the police station. Ralph found out before we girls left for the party that someone was planning to play a joke by locking the main gate between us and the police station. Thankfully Ralph gave me an extra key—as it turned out, we needed it. We didn’t let on to anyone that we’d had any trouble getting through, which would have puzzled the culprit!
Bill Walton, the mechanic, provided the vehicle, which was black and gleaming and drove me from my donga to the homestead entrance, all of a hundred yards. Tom was waiting to escort me down the aisle and give me away. He was looking very serious and asked, ‘How are you feeling?
‘Wonderful,’ I replied.
My only regret was that my dear mother wasn’t there. She was in the middle of the Atlantic on a cruise liner drinking our health—so her cable said—and I felt very guilty. Sorry, Mum!
Tom and I walked down the cobblestone path onto the smoko verandah with all the Wave Hill mob, family and friends eager to see me and Ralph hitched. I felt like a princess. Ralph looked very handsome and appeared quite nervous. But Father Flynn took control, performing a beautiful wedding service followed by the nuptial mass, with Ralph receiving his first Holy Communion.
Photos were taken in the courtyard, which would have been great except it was very late in the afternoon and the shadows were strong. At that stage, however, we didn’t give it a thought. We just wanted to get the formalities over so the party could begin!
The reception was held in the dining room. There were too many people for the number of chairs, so only the bridal party sat down. The wedding cake made by Molly Courts was the star attraction on the table, which was gorgeously set with well-laundered white tablecloths. The guests ate buffet-style and stood around the table. When the party started, the cham
pagne and beer flowed. We danced to Johnny Cash and a collection of donated records.
We’d been offered accommodation for the night down at the schoolteacher’s house. We were reluctant to leave our fantastic party for the settlement, but we thought it wise if we were to have any peace.
The next morning we drove back to the station to find the party still going. We joined everyone for a beer on the smoko verandah. This was still decked out in eucalyptus branches and flowers. The chairs were still lined up as in a chapel.
23
The honeymoon
Having packed our gear, said our farewells and thanks, we started off for Darwin on our honeymoon. Pat Bellamy, the bore mechanic, lent us his Holden sedan, so we felt very grand setting off on the Buchanan Highway for Katherine, 460 kilometres away. We had one passenger—a man from Wave who needed a lift.
It took us twelve hours to get to Manbullo Station as we were confronted with miles of bulldust in which we got bogged several times. Having had the experience of getting bogged on the way to Ayres Rock, I shared my knowledge of putting branches under the wheels to get us out. But I think it was more our pushing that did the trick, and we were helped by our passenger.
We spent the night at Manbulloo on the banks of the Katherine River. In Katherine, Ralph took me to meet Anna and Ted ‘Cowboy’ Collins, who at that stage lived in town. Later they moved to a property a few kilometres out, and named it Uralla after the town in the NSW Tablelands where Cowboy was born.
Years earlier, Cowboy had been the postman for the outlying properties, delivering all the mail by packhorse. One story he told us was about taking a dozen hats to the ladies on the stations in readiness for the yearly races. Cowboy said the hatboxes were very difficult to tie on to his saddles; they kept dislodging and falling to the ground. He got sick of this, so he opened all the boxes, took out the hats and jammed them into just two boxes. Imagine the ladies’ faces when they saw their beautiful hats!
Ralph and I continued on to Darwin, where we spent a week at the Old Vic, a lovely brick and stone hotel in the main shopping strip. The Old Vic was also the main ‘watering hole’: the most popular pub in Darwin. We could also have stayed in the Don Hotel or the Darwin Hotel, but as Ralph had chosen it I just went where Ralph took me.
Ralph told me about how in December 1941, he, his mother and two brothers—all of them living at Waterloo Station—were compulsorily evacuated from Darwin by ship. That year, soldiers who had boarded SS Zealandia in Darwin to go south on their holidays suddenly had their leave cancelled with the news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Everyone in Darwin became very anxious. War was looming on Australia’s doorstep. Most of the women and children were compulsorily evacuated from all over the Northern Territory. Darwin was bombed in February 1942, the first of many bombing raids.
Darwin in 1961 had a very ‘country town’ feel about it. The population was about thirty to forty thousand. But after twelve months on the station it still seemed like a big bustling city. I was desperate for some decent clothes, so shopping was a priority; I’d only had a few changes of clothes when I first arrived at Wave Hill. My mother had sent me several items, but this was my first chance to shop in nearly a year. As I tried them on, Ralph would say, impatiently, ‘Yes, buy that one. Yes, that’s attractive, buy that and that, and that one.’ I didn’t mind. Ralph seemed to be getting such a kick at my pleasure in trying on all these clothes. I had never bought more than one dress at a time and here was my gorgeous husband encouraging me to have half a dozen while he proudly paid the bill.
We were so enjoying ourselves, walking around holding hands, which we would have been too embarrassed to do at Wave Hill. We just revelled in being on our own without everyone on the station looking on. After a wonderful week in Darwin it was time to return to work. Word had spread that we were on the road, and old friends of Ralph’s, the Keegan brothers, hailed us down. These work-hard, play-hard stockmen had spent many years in the Territory. They insisted we stop and have a drink—no, not just one, but two or three. I hated beer so I was off the hook. When we finally drove away—no breathalysers in those days!—the Keegan brothers followed us. Thirty kilometres down the road, they passed us, hailed us down and insisted that the bridegroom partake of another beer. We were getting sick of this, so Ralph put his foot down. We politely left them and sped away.
*
Back at Wave, we settled into married life while living in the sister’s donga plus a caravan that Gus Ringler, the Vestey improvement manager, and his wife, Pat, had lived in while waiting for their house to be built at Nicholson, another Vestey station just over the border in Western Australia.
My just-married days were spent studying Mrs Beeton’s Cookery Book, my engagement present from Tom Fisher; practising my cooking on Ralph, the poor fellow; and playing house, which I loved, while continuing with the nursing, housekeeping and hostessing.
As a young girl I used to go with my mother and grandmother when they had their hairdressing appointments. For our yearly ballet concerts I was allowed to have my hair set with butterfly clips, hairpins or rollers. I would think, Maybe I should become a hairdresser. At Wave Hill, I finally did. Starting with Ralph and the boys, I graduated to cutting my house girls’ hair. They all had good heads of hair, making any style possible. It was fun, but I’m glad I didn’t do it for a living!
24
Back to Sydney
Holidays came every two years with two months’ holiday pay and a return airfare. At the end of 1961, Ralph’s holidays were due, together with quite a few of the boys’. We flew to Sydney, then on to Wollongong to my mother’s unit on Cliff Road. The weather was beautiful and we spent a lot of time on the beach. We caught up with my family and friends, all of whom were eager to meet Ralph.
We booked into Kanimbla Hall at Kings Cross to meet up with our Territory mates and my Sydney friends. The latter were dying to meet my shy, handsome cattleman. We went out to the most stylish nightclubs—places like Romano’s and Prince’s—where we dined and danced until the wee small hours. We tried new restaurants, took in a few movies and even went to an opera. We decided to have a really big party and invite everyone we knew from the Territory and Sydney.
It was a great party, but became a bit wild when someone threw a beer bottle into the back seat of a guest’s MG, parked just outside. What a commotion, with many drunken heads leaning out of the second-floor windows, yelling and carrying on at two o’clock in the morning. The last guests left the flat around 3 a.m. There was a terrible mess—empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and dirty glasses and plates everywhere! We were exhausted but knew we had to leave in the morning, so we cleaned up before we retired.
Thank goodness we did! At the crack of dawn there was a hammering on our door. It was the manager of Kanimbla Hall asking or, rather, telling us that he would like us to leave as soon as possible. We were quite shocked—we’d never been thrown out of any place before!
Ralph went back to the Territory without me, as I was expecting our first child. I went and stayed with my mother in Wollongong. Mum’s next-door neighbour, a Royal Prince Alfred graduate, gave me all sorts of good advice on baby matters, and I started to look at the situation from the patient’s point of view.
Mum and I moved to Sydney two weeks before I was due at Crown Street Women’s Hospital. I was exactly on time. Boy, those labour pains were so strong! The baby got stressed and I ended up having a forceps delivery. Normally at Crown Street, a forceps delivery meant that the baby went straight into the nursery, with the mother not seeing her baby until the next day. But when my gorgeous obstetrician, Dr James MacBeth, was free from deliveries, he went down to the nursery, picked up my newborn baby, Anthony John Hayes, and brought him up to my room.
There are moments in life that are so fantastic that you never forget them. One of them for me was seeing our first-born child. He was so beautiful and so alert I could not believe that Ralph and I had created such a gorgeous creature.
It
was such an exciting time: taking care of a new baby, receiving telegrams from so many in the Territory, having my Sydney friends come to visit us.
As a registered nurse and a midwife, I’d looked after nurseries full of babies, but there was no way I was going back to Wave Hill before I knew exactly how to feed and look after little Anthony. I went to the Tresillian Home for Mothers and Babies at Point Piper. My time there was invaluable. The nurses trained the babies to sleep nearly all night. Any breastfeeding problems were taken care of, and information was given on weaning and care. By the time we left I was quite confident about going back to the Outback with a baby.
Prior to returning to meet his dad, Anthony was christened in Wollongong with a few family members and friends present.
From the time I’d gone south to have my baby, the company had hired another nursing sister to work temporarily in my place. When I returned to the station, I was offered the job of postmistress because Bill and Nancy Walton had moved on. However, the mail plane came at one o’clock every Thursday afternoon, and that was when I started my third breastfeed for the day. So there was no way I would take on the job—nothing could interrupt that!
Ralph and I and our baby were now living in Tom Fisher’s quarters. Tom had moved to the post office cottage when the Waltons left. My days were filled with looking after Anthony, but I would go to morning and afternoon smoko to catch up with everyone and to show off our beautiful child.
Ralph had organised a meat-safe cot for Anthony. The whole top was encased in gauze, so there were no worries about mosquitoes or flies. He looked so tiny in it! Emilie, our house girl in our new quarters, loved looking after Anthony while doing the housework and washing. I was really spoilt.
One day I received a parcel from my mother. It was a delightful cotton dress with a gathered skirt of bright red, orange and yellow squares. But Ralph took one look at it and said, ‘That’s too bright for you. You can’t wear that.’
