The Call of the Outback, page 5
It was almost the end of 1930 and Ernestine decided to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Broome. She pushed on, picking up Kitty and Robbie in Carnarvon and hopping by plane via Roebourne and Port Hedland to Broome. They stayed at Broome’s Continental Hotel, and from that small port came Ernestine’s first significant flow of copy.
Sitting on the hotel’s verandah, she wrote about the riches of the pearl industry while in the southern cities thousands were on the dole. She also drew attention to the terrible fate of many of the pearl divers, who lost their lives while retrieving these rare and valuable gems. Most of the divers were Malay, Chinese or Aboriginal men; imprisoned in heavy rubber suits, they always had the odds stacked against them when disaster struck. Pearl divers regularly faced the threat of shark attack as well as the dreaded crippling effects of the bends. Some sources say that the death rate for divers was 50 per cent. In addition, whole pearling fleets were sometimes shipwrecked in a single cyclone. Between 1908 and 1935, four cyclones hit the Australian pearling fleet at sea, destroying about 100 boats and killing more than 300 men.
Ernestine loved Broome from the moment she arrived, and in the years to come it was often a haven when big-city living became too oppressive. On the road, she more than once had to live rough, sleeping in cars or on an outback route with nothing to curl into but a swag, so Broome’s laid-back pace and lazy luxury appealed to her. She stayed there for most of 1930, collecting enough stories to keep her editors happy for a while. Robert, now old enough for school, was enrolled at Broome’s St Mary’s Primary.
But when the Broome copy began drying up, Ernestine realised she would have to leave her child and aunt behind and visit remoter areas in search of material. Her friends in Broome had told her of strange people living in even stranger places, so in February 1931 she took a plane from Broome to Derby.
In Derby she hitched a ride with the mail truck. While living in Broome, she had been invited to stay in Halls Creek with the local policeman and his wife. To visit them was the best decision she could have made. Police Sergeant Archibald and his wife, who hadn’t had the chance to speak to another white person for months, spilled stories by the dozen and Ernestine provided a very willing ear. Sometimes their stories were sad, sometimes horrific and sometimes tall, but they all came with enthusiasm and in abundance. This is what had drawn Ernestine into the wilderness: the stories, the people, their fears and their hopes.
But the best piece of luck was yet to come. When she later took the postie’s truck from Halls Creek to Wyndham, she happened to bump into one of the most famous and esteemed pastoralists of the north, one Michael Patrick Durack. She had no idea that this encounter would, years later, result in her most ambitious work, nor that this introduction to the Durack family would have extraordinary long-term consequences for both her and her son.
7
M.P. Durack
At 65, Michael Patrick Durack—or MPD as most people usually called him—was still a tall, slim and attractive man. Although his hair had turned from orange to white, it was a full crop. With his well-kept beard and moustache, the elderly pastoralist looked almost French, and around the area people regarded him as a bit of an aristocrat. As the richest and most influential pastoralist in the area, he was admired by most, but also feared and loathed by others.
Since the Duracks had left Ireland, their source of income had been cattle. The business had brought the family wealth in Queensland, but MPD’s father, Patrick ‘Patsy’ Durack, had been eager to expand his empire. One of Patsy’s brothers, who had headed into the north of Western Australia to seek out good grazing land, had sent back a positive report, so Patsy decided to drove a herd of some 7000 cattle through the Northern Territory and into the Kimberley. It turned out to be quite a trip.
MPD, his brothers and uncles had left Queensland in 1883, and it had taken two years to cross the 4800 kilometres of treacherous country. On the way they lost half their cattle and a number of men, as their party was plagued by disease and other hardships. Local squatters disliked them and were displeased with the arrival of such an enormous cattle herd into their territory. The Indigenous people were also hostile to these invaders of their traditional lands.
The local Aboriginal people relied on their traditional lands for food and water, and realised that their livelihood and independence were threatened by the arrival of white people and their cattle, all drinking from their waterholes and forcing them off their land. The Duracks were by no means greeted with open arms.
They finally reached their destination and settled on the banks of the Ord River in September 1885. Among them they leased and managed 3 million acres. The distraught Aboriginal inhabitants initially put up a fight and, in an attempt to drive away the unwanted intruders, speared the Durack cattle and two Durack men. If they could not roam over their traditional lands, they, their women and their children faced disease and hunger. But the intruders were there to stay. It took the family the better part of a decade to put down roots and build a sufficiently good relationship with the local Aboriginal people to feel relatively safe.
The Duracks gave the local men no other option than to work for them or keep out of their way. They hired any Aboriginal man who was willing to work and, although there were disputes and rumours of maltreatment, the Duracks were regarded by their workers as better than average bosses. The stations were supplied with sugar, tobacco and occasionally alcohol to keep the hired hands happy, but if these pleasures ran out, the station managers would often experience difficulties. No manager wanted dissatisfied and grumpy hands doing the mustering, so that was the main reason for MPD’s visit to Wyndham on that particular day in 1931, to pick up an enormous load of supplies in his truck.
The day was turning out hot as usual, and MPD took off his hat and swatted at the flies that were after a drop of his sweat. The load packed onto his truck was chiefly for one of his border stations called Auvergne, near Timber Creek, where he would be travelling with his eldest son, Reg. The caretakers of Auvergne were Harry Shadworth and his wife. Harry had sent MPD the message that sugar and tobacco were running low and that he was finding it hard to keep the workers under control.
That morning, MPD had decided to drive up from his home at Argyle Downs Station to Wyndham to get the supplies. He would take his own supplies back to Argyle first and then, after picking up his son Reginald, would make a dash up to Auvergne, staying overnight before heading back the next morning. It was the end of October and MPD knew there was probably only one month left before the wet would make almost any means of transport impossible.
Just to make sure there was no prospect of rain for the moment, he searched the sky, shading his eyes with his hat. It was best to get rations in before the rains threw his stations off the map. If the rains held off, it would be a swift drive of 160 kilometres to Auvergne, just across the Territory border, but if the rains came early, they could be marooned. Luckily, all now looked well.
As he wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve and replaced his hat, he noticed a slight figure in trousers and pith helmet arguing or negotiating with the local policeman across the street. At first glance MPD mistook the figure for a boy. Four Chinese men, who were standing beside the road waiting to be loaded into the policeman’s paddy wagon, were looking on with some amusement. MPD was rather surprised when the ‘boy’ turned from the wagon, crossed the street, started heading towards him—and turned out to be a lady.
She greeted the tall pastoralist in a soft raspy voice, a cigarette nonchalantly perched between her fingers, averting her eyes slightly as she spoke. She told him she was a newspaper reporter looking for a lift, that her name was Ernestine Hill and that the constable had suggested she might be able to hitch a ride with him. MPD, taken aback by the lady’s unexpected request, was at rather a loss. ‘All depends on where you need to go,’ he replied.
Her problem was, Ernestine said, that she wanted to go to Darwin but her options were limited. She could travel with the mailman, Piggy Williams, on a packhorse, but bumping up and down for days on a horse over harsh terrain didn’t really appeal. Or she could go with the constable, but he had four Chinese men under arrest for smuggling opium and was not very eager to have a lady he might have to keep safe. Ernestine told him she was quite desperate and was more than happy to travel with a well-known pioneer. She was always looking for copy, she told him, and she thought he might well be good for a story or two.
But MPD was not travelling to Darwin, nor even as far as Katherine. ‘I’m heading for Auvergne, one of my stations, 100 miles down the road, just across the border.’
Ernestine was dismayed—she had been hoping to get to Darwin before the wet. She had a son and an aunt waiting for her in Broome and she wanted to get back there. MPD twirled the ends of his moustache as he contemplated her plight. ‘The Victoria River Depot Races will be held soon,’ he finally replied. ‘If you drive to Auvergne with me, there is bound to be someone who will take you to Victoria River Downs, and from there you could easily get transport across to Katherine and hop on a train to Darwin, though you might want to stay for the races at Victoria River. It’s quite a spectacle and lots of people with a good story about. It would make good copy.’
He explained that he would be going back to Argyle first and picking up his son, but that she was welcome to accompany him. If all went well, they would head for Auvergne the next morning.
It was almost noon when the two drove out of the town and the temperature had soared. Wyndham lay boiling under a tropical sun—it was all lakes, desert and mudflats. The landscape around them was mostly beautiful, but very inhospitable for white people. Ernestine offered MPD a cigarette and, although they had only just met, they soon found common interests and felt quite comfortable with each other. MPD told her he had been sent to the most elite Queensland schools; being a good scholar, he had hoped for a life as an academic and politician. His father, Patsy, however, had expected him, as the eldest son, to follow in his footsteps. So here he was in the Territory, battling crocs, mosquitoes, rain and heat, when he would much rather have been a member of parliament.
For a moment Ernestine must have doubted what this outback man was telling her, but the tone of his voice and the serious look in his eyes must have convinced her he was telling the truth. He made no secret of his lack of love for the land he had inherited. It was getting harder by the year to make ends meet, he confessed. The family was already in debt and the prospects for the coming year were not good. It was a hard life.
He himself considered outback life too harsh for his wife, Bess, and had sent her to live in Perth with their five younger children. He advised Ernestine to look them up when she returned—his eldest daughter, Mary, had literary aspirations and would undoubtedly love to meet her. His children seemed to love station life, but he thought it best for them to grow up in ‘civilisation’.
MPD was highly regarded in Perth, and this gave him access to the elite of its business and political community; he always looked forward to the intellectual discussions and challenges city life offered him. He visited Perth during the wet season because nothing could be done on the station and the Aboriginal people returned to their traditional life as soon as the rains came. He told her he always looked forward to seeing his wife and children, and he always took gifts with some link to the station up north—‘a baby crocodile, a pony or a galah’. She told him about her son and aunt in Broome, and she left his inquiry about Mr Hill unanswered.
The road to Argyle took them through grey bush and flat windy desert. Dry sand began to blow through the windows as they drove through the flatness and, even though the heat inside the truck was stifling, they had to wind the windows up to keep the heat and sand out. Ten minutes later the wind suddenly abated and all was fine again, the sandy gusts a thing of the past as they drove around a beautiful bend in the Ord and caught sight of its stunning gorge. Argyle was situated on the banks of the river, which was fringed with bamboo and pandanus palms. A large baobab stood guard in front of the house, like a helpless fat monster paralysed between the graceful gum trees.
The house was constructed of limestone blocks and of mortar made from crushed termite mounds. With some pride, MPD told her they had built it with their own hands. It had been designed as an open and airy structure, funnelling cool air through its gun-barrel-straight hallway. It was never a grand building, with cockroaches making their homes in every nook and cranny, but it was dignified if sparsely furnished; surprisingly the living room housed a showpiece grand piano. The Duracks had transported it from Queensland in a lorry but no one could play it because the cockroaches had become stuck in the strings at the back. They had to get in a specialist every year to remove them and retune the instrument.
After he set the station hands to work unloading the supplies, Reg welcomed them into the kitchen for homemade cakes and cold lemonade. Like his father, Reginald was a scholar, although he had been unable to carry on to university because the Duracks were not as wealthy as many people supposed and the ever-practical MPD also needed someone he could rely on at Argyle.
He hoped his twenty-year-old son would soon become manager of Auvergne. It was one of their most problematic stations because the Aboriginal workers were becoming increasingly discontented with the current managers. There were rumours of ill-treatment and exploitation, and MPD had no wish to come under public scrutiny. He was sure that Reg would see to it that the workers’ wants were met; Reg had already questioned him about the social injustice of Aboriginal labour.
Ernestine pondered the fates that had befallen the elderly pastoralist and his son, two men whose intellectual aspirations had been frustrated by family obligations. It was evident, however, that Reg, unlike his father, thrived on station life; he loved the land, he said, and always met the challenges it presented head-on. Although he regretted not finishing his studies, he loved Argyle and his life in the saddle. Reg could speak so enthusiastically about being a station manager that no one would ever imagine this young man was also versed in Ancient Greek and Latin.
During her visit, Ernestine spoke with Reg about his philosophical outlook and later wrote jokingly to his sister Mary that she believed Reg ‘was rabidly communist’. He was always reading and his choice of books was taking him towards socialism and Marxism. He entertained Ernestine with his youthful abundant energy and constant chattering, and the two ended up talking until the early hours of the morning.
Later that morning they headed off early, the cliffs that framed the river turning from grey to purple and then to orange as the sun threw ever more light upon them. The Territory border was marked by a single string tied around a tree, which was hardly discernible to anyone not looking for it. Newry, with its suspension bridge dangling above the Keep River, came and went as they pressed on, the truck chewing away the last 110 kilometres to Auvergne.
Set on the bank of the Baines River, Auvergne Station was a pretty home. Mrs Shadforth came out to greet them when they arrived. She had managed to grow roses, carnations and English wildflowers in the garden, having set her heart on it, she said, after an agricultural adviser told her it could not be done.
They had hardly sat down before a young Aboriginal boy ran into the sitting room to announce another visitor. ‘There’s dust on the road,’ he simply said and ran out into the yard again. The visitor turned out to be the surveyor-general of the Territory, William Robert Easton. He had been surveying the countryside for the past few months and was now scurrying back to Darwin in his car before the wet set in. Ernestine was over the moon when he offered to take her as far as Katherine, where he would need to stay for some time on business: ‘So you’ll have to take the train from there.’
That evening they discussed the Northern Territory and the role of women there. Ernestine thought more women would be willing to stay in the Territory if homes could be made more attractive for them. Young Easton, however, disagreed. He was adamant that the Territory was no place for a white woman to live and that he would not think of asking one to live there.
MPD would later write how fascinated he had been with Ernestine, impressed by her keen interest and lively conversation: ‘It takes a great measure of courage and initiative for a woman to set out on a journey such as she has undertaken.’
After spending the night at Auvergne, Easton and Ernestine Hill left for Katherine early the next morning. As they shook hands, MPD and Reg thanked her for being such entertaining company.
‘You might write about the Territory one day,’ MPD added.
‘I know I will,’ she replied curtly then, turning to Reg, urged him to take up writing too. ‘Write about how it all was in the beginning, about those fascinating big rivers. Tell people what you have seen.’
They left as life on the station began to rouse and the first lazy sunrays of dawn crept from behind the gum trees.
9
Land, sea and ‘Blue Moon’
Ernestine left Darwin for Broome on 27 March 1931. There she picked up her aunt and son, and set off by plane to Perth to be reunited with her mother. It was just short of a year since she was last there.
