by A B Facey
I noticed as we travelled along that the country was changing. The timber was smaller and more open, and the scrub was thicker. We had passed through some very rough granite hill country and deep valleys, but now the country was flatter and more even. During the trip Bill had pointed out many new settlers’ places and he remarked, ‘The poor devils are having a battle, I think they’re only wasting their time and money. They don’t know enough about farming in this country to be able to make a living.’
Bill let the horses take their own time. He said, ‘We will give them a spell at about eleven o’clock, then we should arrive in Mullewa by three or three thirty. If a storm breaks we will keep going.’ He said that the clouds were too high for a storm, although they looked very black and threatening. No rain came, and after giving the horses a rest for about an hour, we moved off on the last six miles.
This trip reminded me a lot of the trip with Uncle Archie from York to Wickepin in 1902. I often wondered what was ahead for me. I hadn’t been able to carry on with my schooling since I left home at Subiaco. Now my school books were in my tin trunk at Mrs Stafford’s place at Geraldton.
After travelling for about an hour and a half, we came up onto a large hill, then all at once Bill said, ‘There she is.’ He was pointing towards two or three buildings some three quarters of a mile away. That’s Mullewa.’ he said. This made me feel sad – I had expected to see some sort of town. As we got near I could see there were three buildings – a fairly large one, and two small cottages. There was also a railway station. This was Mullewa. The large building was the hotel, store and Post Office all in one.
When we arrived at the hotel, it was half past two in the afternoon. Bill stopped the horses just outside and said, ‘You stay on the cart, Bert, and mind the horses. I won’t be long.’ With that he got down out of the cart and went into the hotel. A few minutes later he came out again, took the reins and said, ‘We will camp at May’s place. It’s about half a mile from here.’
28
ANOTHER CHRISTMAS
May’s house was built of granite stone. It was only small, two rooms with a verandah back and front. She used one room for a bedroom and the other was a dining-room – kitchen. She had a huge fireplace. Just off from the house was a shed. One end of this was used for a stable and the other was enclosed. In the middle of the shed there was a space large enough to put the cart in. Bill said we would camp there for the time being and have our meals in the house. He went on to say that May worked at the pub but came home to sleep every night. He knew where the key was, so we could get into the house.
We unpacked all the things off the cart and stacked them in the shed, then unharnessed the horses and let them loose. Bill said that there was plenty of feed and water in the paddock. The paddock was a homestead block of one hundred and sixty acres. Bill found the key, unlocked the door of the house and lit a fire. The time had moved on to after four o’clock and we made some tea and had a meal. Bill said that May wouldn’t be home until a little after six. She started work at seven in the morning and worked until six at night. Bill said that she had all her meals at the hotel, except on Sunday when she didn’t work.
After we finished our meal, Bill left me to clean up, saying that he was going up to the pub and would walk back with May. At about twenty minutes past six, May and Bill arrived home. Bill was as pleased as a man who had just won Tattersalls. As they entered the kitchen he said, ‘This is the lady you have been hearing about Bert.’ She looked at me for a moment then came over to me and said, ‘You are very welcome to stay here, Bert, and I am so glad to meet you.’ I said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Prang.’ Then I told her that she was all Bill had said she was. She thanked me and said, ‘You can call me May, Bert. All my friends call me May and I feel sure that you and I will be friends.’ She was a small woman, about five feet two inches tall, with a dark complexion – a very nice looker. My first impression was that she was an honest and kind person. I liked what I saw in that first few minutes.
She said to me, ‘You look very young Bert. How old are you?’ When I told her my age she said, ‘You are big for your age. Bill tells me you would like to work on a cattle station.’ When I agreed, she said that it would be hard for me to get that kind of employment, because the station hands that are sought after are older and much more used to camping out for weeks at a time on their own. She said, ‘I believe that the life is very lonely. I’ve met a few of the station hands passing through. But if you get a job at or around the homestead you will be all right. Anyway we will see what happens. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for you. One never knows what’s around the corner.’
May had a gramophone (an Edison), and dozens of different records. The records were about the size of an ordinary jam tin, like the ones the Station Master at Narrogin had had. The gramophone had a handle and a large spring-like clock that had to be wound up, and it would play two records without having to be re-wound.
Bill and May were in a deep conversation sitting in the two easy chairs by the fire. I amused myself by playing records on the gramophone. May had many lovely waltz tunes and also some beautiful songs. That evening was one of the most beautiful to me. At eleven o’clock May made some supper, then we all retired to bed. Bill and I slept out in the shed.
The next day was Christmas Eve. When I awakened, Bill was up lighting the fire. May had gone to work. We had breakfast, then Bill told me that May had arranged for us both to have our meals up at the pub. ‘Of course, we will have to pay for them. They will cost us one and sixpence each meal, but don’t worry, I’ll fix yours.’ I objected to this as I had enough money on me to pay for my meals. Bill said, ‘Okay, if that’s what you want, Bert.’ He then told me that May always had Christmas Day off, so we would have our Christmas meals with her.
Christmas Eve went by and Christmas Day came. The overcast clouds had gone and Christmas morning came with bright sunshine. Bill was up and had the fire burning. Later I heard Bill and May wish each other a Happy Christmas. Then a few minutes later, Bill called me in to breakfast.
After breakfast I washed the dishes while May set about preparing the Christmas dinner. She had two dressed cockerels to cook. Bill was getting the vegetables ready, and as we chatted and joked with each other, we all seemed very happy. Bill no doubt showed his feelings towards May. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. They had several drinks together that morning. May hadn’t forgotten me – she had lemonade and ginger ale, as well as lemon and orange squash. I hadn’t had such luxuries before. I played a few records on the gramophone and each time a waltz was played, Bill grabbed May and waltzed her around the kitchen.
May had the table set and decorated with all kinds of bush flowers which were beautiful at that time of year. They were something you would have to see to believe. So we had Christmas dinner and it was the nicest I had had. When it was over May and Bill had some drinks and Bill was getting unsteady on his feet. It didn’t seem to affect May. She explained to me that Bill, after going so long without strong drink, then letting himself go, was easily affected. He was, at that moment, sound asleep in one of the armchairs in the kitchen. I helped May do the washing and cleaning up, then she went into her room. She said she felt sleepy and would have a sleep also. I went for a walk into the bush for two or three hours and when I returned they were still asleep.
29
SIGNING ON
Two days later I had a visitor. A man on horseback came at about ten in the morning. (Bill had gone up to the pub to help May as he did nearly every day.) The man said goodday to me and I said goodday to him. Then he said, ‘I was talking to Bill Oliver up at the pub and he said you were looking for a job on a station.’ I replied that this was so. He said, ‘I’m looking for a lad to go with me and my gang on a cattle drive. Every year I arrange to drive cattle to the coast for shipment to the markets. I have a contract with the station managers to drive their cattle to various places – mostly Geraldton every second year. One year I drive them down to the Ashburton Ri
ver route then the next year I do another route.’
The man told me that his name was Bob McInnis, ‘mostly known as Baldy’. He took his hat off and said, The crop of hair you see on my head explains why.’ His head had only a few hairs, just above his ears. The top of his head was shiny like it had been that way for years. He was a small wiry man about fifty years old and weighed about ten stone. Although he had no hair on the top of his head, he made up for it with a big black bushy beard, about eight inches long.
He told me that the job would be for some five to six months, depending on how the weather and Mother Luck held out. Once we started there would be no turning back. ‘Your job,’ he said, ‘would be cook’s assistant. The gang is made up with four white men and myself, and if you join up it will be six whites, and eight blacks. We will all be on horseback. We take four pack mules and five spare saddle horses.’ He then asked me my full name. I told him and said that everyone called me Bert. ‘All right.’ he said, ‘I’ll call you Bert. If you take the job you can call me Bob. I’ll pay you one pound a week and keep. You will be paid from the day you take the job up to when the drive is finished. It’s not hard work, only the monotony is hard to take, and for awhile you will get very saddle sore. Once you get used to riding and the saddle, it is not too bad.’
He hadn’t mentioned anything about the wild blacks. I didn’t say anything either, but I had been told some terrible tales about them. I wondered if there was any truth in the stories. When Bob left me he said, ‘You think it over and let me know within two days. If you don’t want the job I will need time to find someone else.’ I promised him I would let him know the next day. As he left he told me where his place was and said that Bill would direct me.
A few minutes after Bob went, it was time for me to go to the pub for dinner. While we were having our dinner, I asked Bill all about Bob McInnis and the job. Bill said that the job should suit me as I loved horses and I would have a horse to ride to myself. I was puzzled about being at least six months on the job, and said that they must go a long way to take that long. Bill said, ‘Did he tell you the name of the drive?’ I said he had mentioned the Ashburton route, then Bill said, ‘Oh, yes, you will take about four to five weeks getting from here to where the drive starts. It’s somewhere up near the Ophthalmia Ranges, over six hundred miles from here, through Meekatharra, right up to above the head of the Ashburton River near Mundiwindi.’
After giving the job a lot of thought, I decided to take it. Next day, after our midday meal, Bill and I drove over to Bob’s place and I told him that I would take the job. He seemed pleased and said, ‘You won’t regret it, Bert. We are a happy mob and we will see that you fit in with us.’ He then told me what I would want for the trip and he said, ‘I will supply you with a horse, saddle and bridle. The horse is the prettiest little thing you have ever seen. It is a filly and she is black, with four white stockings and a white face. She was born on a drive about four years ago. You will love her, Bert. She is very quiet and when she gets used to you she will never leave you.’
Bob McInnis had a lovely home; a large house built of mud batts, with an iron roof, and a verandah all around it. It was called a bungalow type. I told Bob I would shift to his place the next day. Bill said he would bring me and my things over. On our way back, I spoke to Bill again about taking the job and he said he would have liked me to be with him, but his position was uncertain. As things were, he didn’t know what he would be doing. He said, ‘I cannot make up my mind until I get a reply about the station manager’s job. You’re doing the right thing, Bert. You will have a job for at least six months, and one pound a week and keep is good wages for a fourteen-year-old boy.’
Then Bill told me a secret. He said that he wouldn’t be going ’roo shooting anymore. He had been offered a job as a yardman by the owner of the pub. He was also to put up some more stables at the pub, and milk the cows and deliver the milk. ‘Of course.’ he said, ‘I cannot take this job if I get a manager’s job. But in any case, Bert, the secret is that May and I are getting married, but don’t mention it within May’s hearing. She might tell you herself now she knows you are going with Baldy.’
The next morning Bill got up to see May off to work. After breakfast, I put my belongings into the cart and drove up to the pub, where I bought two pairs of riding trousers, two shirts, an extra pair of riding boots, two large handkerchiefs (Bill told me to get them to put around my neck at night) and a broad-brimmed hat. I also bought a mosquito net, ground-sheet and a rain cape.
Having put these purchases in the cart, I went to say goodbye to May. She said that she was sorry I was going but she thought it was the best thing I could do. Suddenly she put her arms around me and kissed me hard. I noticed she had tears in her eyes. That was the first time anyone had kissed me like that besides Grandma. I went all hot and cold. Bill was watching, too. While May still had her arms around me she said, ‘Bert, Bill and I are getting married in about four weeks time. Isn’t that wonderful?’ I recovered enough to say, ‘Yes, that’s fine and I wish you all the luck in the world. When I get back after the drive I hope to see you both again.’ With that I broke loose and went and got into the cart. I felt I would have cried if I didn’t get away quick. A few minutes later, Bill came out and off we went to Baldy’s place.
When we got going Bill was very quiet for awhile, then he said, ‘May was quite upset when you said goodbye. She has a heart of gold, Bert. She thinks it’s a shame that a boy your age has to battle along on his own.’ He looked at me and said, ‘What do you think of her, Bert?’ I didn’t answer him for awhile, then I said, ‘Bill, I have only known her for one week but I feel as if I have known her for years. She is a wonderful person and I think you are a very lucky man. What knocked the stuffin’ out of me was the way she kissed me. It made me feel really happy. I have never been affected like that before. I don’t know what I looked like, but I felt stunned.’ Bill said, ‘All the time I have known her – before her husband died and over the three years since – she wouldn’t even let me put my arm around her, let alone kiss her, until two days ago when I decided not to go kangaroo shooting any more.’
A few minutes later we arrived at my new boss’s place, and after unloading my belongings, Bill said goodbye. He made me promise to see him and May when the drive was over. Then he got on his way back to May and happiness.
30
PREPARATION
My new boss showed me where I was to stay until we set off to start the cattle drive. I had a room to myself for the time being. Bob said, ‘When Arthur arrives back, he will share this room with you. He’s the cook and you will be with him all the time we are away, so if you’re sleeping here together, you will get to know each other a little.’ Bob showed me around his place, and when we came to the horses, he pointed out the filly I was to ride. She was the loveliest and prettiest pony I had ever seen. She was a black-and-white, four years old and very quiet. Bob hadn’t exaggerated when he told me about her.
Bob had an eight-stall stable and a large stockyard built around it. The stockyard covered about half an acre, and there were several large shade trees in it and feed mangers around it. The mangers were very strongly made out of some hollowed logs with the ends boarded up and a portion of the top cut out for the horses or cows to put their head in to get feed. Bob also kept some cows for milk.
The next day Bob gave me the job of oiling the saddles, bridles, saddle-straps, cruppers and reins. All the leather straps had to be scrubbed in warm soapy water, and then put out into the sun to dry. When they were properly dry I had to rub raw linseed oil into them until the leather became soft and pliable. Bob said this would preserve the leather because it would have to be out in all sorts of weather, and the softening also made it easier to ride in the saddle.
Bob came and talked to me the second day, while I was oiling the saddles. He told me he was a widower and that he had lost his wife a few years ago. They had only been there a year when she died. They had no children. He said t
hat it took him a couple of years to get over her death. ‘The old man that you met yesterday,’ he said, ‘is my wife’s father.’ (The man Bob was referring to, I knew as Jock. He was a Scot and did the cooking and looked after the place while Bob was away droving.) Bob said that the old man used to go droving with them, but his age now was against him for roughing it.
So, 1908 went out and 1909 came in. The weather was hot and sultry. I had finished the oiling and Bob and I cleaned out a soak. It was the only water supply on Bob’s property, and it hadn’t been cleaned out for three years. Bob said it was beautiful water, just like rain water from a tank. (Bob had several thousand-gallon rain-water tanks for the house supply.)
We not only cleaned out the soak, we deepened it another three feet, and stoned the sides up to stop side soil from falling into the water. This took us three days and when we finished, it filled up to the top in a few hours. We did this work on the soak so that Jock wouldn’t have any trouble with the water while we were away.
At night, after our evening meal, Bob used to ask me all about myself, and was surprised when I told him that I hadn’t any schooling. One night I asked him was there any truth in the stories I had heard about the blacks up North. He told me that there were some blacks still very hostile to whites, but he hadn’t had any trouble with them. He said, ‘Some of the stations had trouble on account of them killing cattle. Of course the poor beggars have to live the same as we do and they do knock off prime bullocks now and again. I don’t think that’s so bad, when you remember how station people shoot hundreds of kangaroos and leave them to rot because they are living on the station grass. The kangaroo is the black man’s main meat supply. No, Bert, you won’t have any trouble with the blacks. Just be friendly to them, they have feelings just like we have, and I’m sure they won’t worry you.’
