Studio Gallery

I can still hear Mum’s voice calling out, “Go play outside before I lose me mind!” That was Mum’s way of saying she loved us — though you wouldn’t have guessed it from the tone.

The front yard was our whole world. No fancy playgrounds or video games, just red dust, a length of old washing line, and a dog named Bluey who thought every game was his. The sun was high, the flies were thick, and the air shimmered like the tin roof over Dad’s head.

Mum had the rope going — that woman could skip like a champion. Lizzy and I took turns jumping in, counting “one, two, three, four…” until one of us tripped or Bluey ran through and tangled himself up like a Christmas decoration. Dad reckoned it was safer out droving cattle than keeping clear of our skipping rope.

He’d just come back from town, carrying enough gear to fix half the fence, but not before we’d turned his arrival into part of the game. “Quick! Jump faster, he’s coming!” yelled Lizzy. Dad dodged the rope, laughing as he tried not to spill the tools. “You mob’ll have my legs off yet!” he said.

Getting dressed in her finest frock.
Mum brushing her hair, it’s a big day for our Lizzy, Young Matty is going to pop the question. He came and asked Pa’s permission. Pa wasn’t too pleased, no ones good enough for our Lizzy. They have only been together for the last 12 months and there are not too many opportunities for a young bush girl to meet her man. Young Matty was a good worker, and his Dad, “Doser” was a good bloke.

Pa’s pacing the floor, his little girl and young Matty, Dosers Son “engaged”, he was saying under his breath.

He’s a good worker, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be good for my Lizzy May. She has dreams of the day she will be lifted away from the dirt and the bush, but young Matty still works with his dad, that’s not the life my Lizzy dreams of. She is always dreaming of the city and the shopping, that’s not going to happen with young Matty. It will be more of the same, hard work, hot and dry, little income and not many fancy things.

I can remember as a young boy, Mum, Dad, Lizzy and me going off to Brisbane to stay with Uncle Bill and Aunty Mavis for our school holiday. They had a house at the beach. We had never seen so much water. Going on holidays was a big deal. Mum would prepare for days, getting excited about the trip and stressing about everything she would forget. Dad didn’t seem to be as affected, he just knew to stay out of Mum’s way while the tornado that was Mum swept through the house.

“We are going to catch the train. The famous Flying Flea to Charleville” Dad would say. “They say that it goes so fast that the only time it’s on the tracks is when it crossed them. She was the fastest timed passenger train in Queensland. The driver would open her up to get ahead of the timetable, so he could have a cuppa tea and biscuits before the next leg.” Dad was very impressed with the “Flying Flea”.

A two hour dusty, dry trip to the train. We knew it was going to take a long time. Dad just hoped the car would make the trip, not like last time. We spent as much time on the side of the road waiting for it to cool down as we did on the road getting to Quilpie. When the steam was going over the bonnet like a mist it was time to pull over and let it cool down. The water would drip from the old radiator. Dad would cover his hand with an old shirt and attack the radiator cap like a gunner about to take the hill. Come in low and reach up with his covered hand. He knew if it was too hot, it would explode like a geyser and boiling water would go everywhere. After 15 minutes to cool down, he would refill the water tank with cool water and we would be back on our way. The water cans took up as much space as the luggage.