11/14/10

The Schubert's at Pardoo Station

Excerpts from  L.A Schubert's Trilogy "Wiping Out the Tracks Volumes 1 & 2"

© L.A.Schubert 1992-2010

In our holiday trips we had travelled as far as Fitzroy Crossing in the Kimberley, three thousand kilometres up from Perth. We had inspected several Stations for sale but nothing suitable had been sighted. We were a little put off by the heat and isolation of the inland Stations. The knowledge emerged that only the Stations on the large river valleys or the coast were really viable in the Northwest. These were all tightly held by the descendants of the old families, and none were available at the time.

However in September 1962 mention was made by someone that Frank Thompson of "Nardlah" Broome Hill, which was only about fifty kilometres from our farm, had a Station called Pardoo up on the North West coast for sale. We lost no time driving over to see him to get some details. The details were very much of the kind we hoped for.

Pardoo was situated one hundred and thirty kilometres North East of Port Hedland right on the coast at the beginning of the Eighty Mile beach. Originally taken up by Frank Thompson's Father in 1904, after being excised from the original DeGrey station lease, it was just the kind of station we dreamed about. It had been a profitable property that had established a family fortune in off property investments. These other responsibilities now took up the family's time.

Pardoo from the Mc Robertson Miller Airlines (MMA)  DC-3 in 1963. Photo is taken directly over the licensed airstrip of which there is no no longer a trace.

 Mr. Thompson had reached retiring age and decided to sell the Station, to an approved private buyer, for cash only. His requirements were clear. He would not offer the place publicly for sale as there were strong family attachments to the place, but if a suitable person, with the cash met his price without fuss, he would consider parting with it. Some members of his family were very much against the disposal, but the consensus was to sell and invest the money in gilt edged shares. I might say at this juncture that it was a profitable and wise decision for him to make. As it turned out, a momentous decision for us also.

The details of Pardoo sounded like a dream come true; a dream within our grasp. It was situated right on the sea, having a frontage of about seventy kilometres. There were sixteen thousand sheep, a couple of hundred cattle and about fifty good horses of blood stock. All the stock were of long established good breeding. There was a private telephone connected, and a flying doctor radio installed. The DC 3 aircraft servicing the North West and Kimberley would land on the Station airfield once a fortnight, bringing mail, perishables, and any passengers. The DC3 was the civilian version of the twin engine wartime Dakota. It could land on Station airstrips.

Mr. Thompson was in no hurry to sell, and we would have time to sell our own property to raise the money. The price was sixty thousand pounds, (one hundred and twenty thousand dollars) which was a very big sum in those days. It included everything on the Station except personal possessions of the family.

Mr. Thompson asked how old I was and when told forty years, he thought that was a little old to be taking up station life and management, as I had never been a jackaroo on a pastoral property of that scale. However he thought that the boys could learn the skills if we had an experienced manager. We expressed our interest, and said we would offer our large farm for sale immediately, then subject to inspection, would buy when we had sold the farm after harvest. We shook hands on the deal and with good intentions set off for home again, hardly believing our luck. On the way home, Joan and I overheard our boys discussing the prospects of a Station, in the back seats of the car. One said 'Frank Thompson thinks Dad is too old for a station but he doesn't know our Dad.' I cherish that remark to this day.

Being spring time it was the right time to sell our place.

One day I chanced to hear that Mr. Eric Smart of Mingenew was looking at land in nearby districts. He was the largest wheat grower in the Southern Hemisphere.

I requested the Agents to contact Mr. Smart to tell him of our property. He was immediately interested and flew down to inspect. The place did look impressive, with the newly fenced well-ordered paddocks, with good steel gates and all steel fences. The farm yard was well planned and laid out with the two houses, two large sheds, new sheep yards, all surrounded by rows of trees doing well.

 Joan had an impressive garden around the house with a few fruit trees flourishing. The whole layout looked copy book planned. Mr. Smart was most impressed, particularly with the length of the clover runners growing under the rather thin wheat crops. Naturally Australia's largest wheat grower was confident about his own wheat growing ability and saw only the clover pasture potential of the land.

The memory of his arrival on the farm to inspect recalls something he always reminded me of for years afterwards. On his way down to where I was harvesting when he arrived with the Agent, an eight ton truck load of wheat came out of the paddock and drove past. He was astounded not to see a driver at the wheel, only a small fair head sticking up over the edge of the door or peering through the spokes of the steering wheel. I told him that was my youngest son Philip earning his keep. He was already eleven and had been driving vehicles on the farm for years. The load was being taken to the central dump at the yard.

We took an instant liking to each other as we were both Sand Plain Kings from way back, and we understood each other's language. We had a good look around and this was what he was looking for, particularly as it was all new and well planned. So we all sat down in our lounge room, overlooking the farm and Stirling Ranges, and began to bargain. We were asking sixty six thousand pounds for the property bare, that is with only the land, improvements, and fixtures. We needed a cash sale, but we intended to stick to our price that was not too high. We needed enough money to buy the Station. Mr. Smart offered sixty thousand pounds ($120000) cash and we were in a dead lock when Joan called us for lunch.

While eating lunch there was a knock on the door and when I went to inquire, was confronted with a man who announced he had come to inspect the property we had for sale. He was from a Kojonup family of substantial Graziers and was serious. I said that there was already a negotiation taking place. He said he would wait at the Agents business premises; in case we could not reach agreement with Smart.

I returned to the table announcing the news, to a rather stunned company, feeling rather jubilant. Mr. Smart, business man that he was, quickly recognized the time for decisions had arrived and immediately began to sew up the deal. An offer and acceptance was completed by the Agent for the full price of sixty six thousand pounds. (132,000 dollars)

 We had our Station, and the turning point of our life and career, wiping out some more tracks. Also, as it turned out, a friend for the rest of Eric's life. Not long after he purchased our property he was awarded a Knighthood for services to Agriculture.

Pardoo  Station

After the sale had been made unconditional an inspection of Pardoo Station was arranged by Thompson's Agent, Elder Smith & Co. so that its purchase could be confirmed. Having sixty six thousand pounds, plus the proceeds of the crop and the clearing sale, put quite a different complexion on the way we viewed our options. It was in January 1963 when I flew up with Phil Cullingworth to inspect. Phil was Elders Pastoral Inspector who, coincidentally, had managed Pardoo for Thompsons' for some years before going to Elders. I could not have had a better guide or informant. He was a mine of information, probably more informed than any other person, about the Northwest.

We flew up in Mac Robertson Miller Airline's  (MMA) new F27 Fokker Friendship Turbo-Prop 'plane that flew high and fast. This was the second flight in an aircraft I had ever made so I was glad of the high smooth flight. I never dreamed that one day I would own six aircraft, three at one time with three stations all much larger than Pardoo.

Fokker Friendship VH-MMS (Swan) at Port Hedland Airport early 1963

We landed at Port Hedland on a hot still morning and stepped out into the suffocating December heat. The most peculiar miasmic smell hung over the area. No one commented on it, so I thought that is how the North smelt in summer near the coast. I was right, as it was the flowering Mangroves and hot wet mud flats when the tide was out that made the stink. The humidity was so high that one immediately became wet all over.

 Port Hedland is on an island at high tides and can only be reached by a causeway across the marshes. Vast areas of mangrove creeks and tidal flats surround the land side of the town. It felt like an overheated spa in which clothes had to be worn. I wondered what I was getting us into, and whether we could stand it, after the cool Albany and Gnowangerup climates. However once we got moving in the car it was not nearly so bad, but I was glad to get away from the suffocating mangrove smell as we headed up to the station eighty miles away.

I had been on this road twice before on two holiday and inspection trips, having passed through Pardoo, but not calling at the homestead. Those trips were in the winter when there is no humidity and the weather is cool. This was at the end of the dry season with the country at it's worst and driest. A good test, so if I could be convinced and not lose my enthusiasm, the place would have to be good.

Our arrival at the station was not greeted over enthusiastically, as the staff were not at all happy about Mr. Thompson's decision to dispose of the station. They all loved it there, particularly his resident daughter who was most upset. However the utmost courtesy, of the traditional Northwest Station kind, was extended to us. Phil Cullingworth was of course an old friend. We were shown to the guest quarters in a separate building close to the homestead. It was a building constructed of wood and iron, painted white, with wide verandas the full length of both front and back. There were four rooms, a bath room and toilet. The bathroom had the traditional hot water system constructed of a 44 gallon drum lying on a low stand with three sides enclosed with stone. The open end was for the wood to be inserted and a chimney out the other end completed a most effective hot water supply system. There were systems like this at all the quarters and laundry.

There was little time to look around that first afternoon as it was nearing the traditional relaxing time. The main activities of the day began very early in the morning and were usually over before midday; when a light lunch is eaten, then siesta taken until the afternoon cools. In the summer the siesta is taken, together with the others, in a specially constructed building with double wire netting walls stuffed with spinifex. A perforated pipe runs around the top of the walls and dribbles water down through the spinifex. The wind blowing through the wet walls has a cooling effect like the traditional Coolgardie safe, so common throughout Australia in the days before refrigerators. The roof of the building was of corrugated iron covered with spinifex. The inside was filled with canvas stretcher beds without mattresses. The humidity would be very high in there but the temperature would be about twenty seven degrees. The hotter the wind blew the cooler it got. These buildings were on all the stations before electricity brought fans and air-conditioning. They made life bearable in summer.

The Bower Shed just to the east of the homestead at Pardoo in 1964. There is now no sign of this building

We made ourselves comfortable in our quarters, had a shower, dressed suitably, then adjourned to the homestead verandah where the custom was to have a quiet relaxing drink or two before dinner. After about an hour, during which the sun went down and it became dark, with the beautiful still tropical evening descending, the hostess rang a small bell, and the meal was served after we had taken our places in formal order. The house maids were well-trained aboriginal or part aboriginal retainers who belonged to the station Community. The table had been set earlier on an adjoining part of the huge verandah.

The custom was still in old fashioned formal manner. The host sat at one end of the table while the hostess sat at the other end. The roast meat joint was deposited in front of the host, who had a stack of plates beside him on the table. The vegetable dishes were deposited in front of the hostess. The host proceeded to carve and place on the meat on the plates, which were passed down the table to the other end, where the hostess served the vegetable dishes, passing the filled plates back to the persons in the order of priority determined by the host. The seating was of course in order of importance, with the guests having the places of honour and served first.

Only the adults ate at the formal table. These were limited to family, jackaroos, the governess, and any guests. There were dining rooms adjoining the kitchen for the aboriginals employed, and any white staff, other than manager and any jackaroos employed. All who ate at the formal table had to dress in suitable fresh clothing to be acceptable at the homestead table. If any came too late to change, they would eat in the men's dining room.

Once the meal was finished, which was when the hostess had judged everyone had finished, everyone moved back to the coffee table farther down the verandah. The hostess rang the bell for the coffee as she left the table. It was brought on a tray in a pot with all the trimmings. It was all so genteel and civilised one could imagine oneself in a classy holiday resort. I must say that to me, who had grown up in the tradition of the working farmer without servants, this was a romantic old fashioned novelty. The modern world had not yet caught up with the gracious life style of the past that lingered on in these remote places.

The West Verandah in 1962. Evening Meals and coffee and conversation were taken here in a formal manner.

(Note the surrounding lawns, swept paths and ornamental bougainvillea shrubs)

The underlying reason was of course quite simple, not being pretentious at all. There was so many aboriginal people living on the station who belonged there, it being their tribal home, that some work had to be found for the women. This entitled them to a small wage, food, and clothing, thus preserving their dignity. They do not expect anything for nothing. Their children were also fed and clothed by the station. The station 'Missus', as the owner's or manager's wife was called, was in those days, almost the supreme being whose word was law without question. She operated the Flying Doctor radio, treated their wounds or illnesses, checked their children's health, issued the stores, paid their wages and ordered their needs from outside. On top of all this she was also the only way to get some influence over the Boss. The Missus was the most important and loved person on the place, and a great deal of affection developed between the aborigines and her. They all became like a large family.

Returning to that first evening again, another now sadly rare custom was still observed; that of conversation. The group sat around in comfortable chairs, some on the verandah, some on the lawn, and just talked. This was indulged in, until one by one people drifted off to bed. There was no other entertainment available up there as the radios were short wave only, needing large aerials, with indifferent reception. The beautiful calm warm evenings were ideal for sitting outside, under the brilliant starry sky, on the green lawns. Lighting was confined to small wall lights and we sat well away from them because of the insects that were attracted to them. A constant source of amusement were the little frogs with suction padded feet that climbed the wall up to the lights and snatched any insect that came within reach. Someone always claimed they were the married ones whose partners drove them up the wall.

These long tropical evening conversations were the source of many tales, real or imaginary, that characterises the outback. Also the source of much passed on information and history, which makes the people from the outback so interesting to talk to, if they will. The first evening together with Frank Thompsons daughter, the present manager, and the past manager of some years before, Phil Cullingworth, was so fascinating to me that a whole new unknown world opened before me. The history of production and lifestyle revealed in that one evening convinced me that this was the life for my family and me. I went to bed that first night with the feeling of having discovered a whole new world and became eager to explore it in the morning.

Inspection

We rose to an early breakfast, prepared by the station cook, supervised by the lady of the house, then began the inspection. I had already decided that this was for me. The heat of the day gave way to beautiful cool evenings without any wind and the cool nights permitted a good sleep. The air at Pardoo was fresh with the sea smell as the homestead was only about a mile from the high tide mark. Because of the heat of the season (January) we set out early, Phil, the Manager and me, to inspect the run. The vehicle was the station's CJ6 Jeep four wheel drive. I had heard of the legendary Pardoo sands so was about to find out about them.

The Station Jeep parked outside the Guest's Quarters which were destroyed in a cyclone. A new Store is in their place.

The only road to the Kimberley passed through Pardoo and many vehicles had trouble getting over the small sand hills where they touched the marsh flats, before a road was constructed. We went up through the coastal plains around huge white flats like dry lake beds. These came under water only at extreme high tides and flood rains. There was no vegetation on them at all. Then across samphire flats that merged into the tidal mangrove flats, which were fed and drained by the muddy creeks that joined the sea. The creeks were the places to fish for the catfish, the cod, the mangrove jacks and bream.

There were miles of flat buffel grass plains but the predominant vegetation was spinifex of various edible varieties. The spinifex was burned regularly to provide fresh forage for the sheep in the dry season. It is not good feed but sustains stock until the grasses are green again. It would put out fresh shoots after a fire.

I noticed steel poles holding the out-camp telephone line and was told it was the remains of the old telegraph line to Wyndham that Thompsons' had bought and used for that purpose. The buffel grass was thick all along the telegraph line all the way up the coast. I was told by Frank Thompson that his father had picked buffel and Birdwood grass seeds around the Port Hedland cattle shipping yards in the early days. He gave the seed to the telegraph line patrollers' to scatter in likely places as they passed through the station. This is how it got started. It has completely transformed the coastal plains into heavily grassed perennial pasture. Previously the flats would degenerate into bare drifting dusty hells. Frank Thompson told me of riding a camel in his youth, on the mill inspection patrol, and having to make the camel sit down so he could shelter behind it from the sandstorm.

The run was all fenced, with about forty five windmills to pump the water from mostly shallow wells. The wells all had tanks and troughs, that were cleaned with heavy wire brushes every second or third day. The sheep would not drink sufficient water to hold their condition if the water was not clean and fresh. They would be waiting at the mill when doing the rounds, expecting you. They would wait for you to drain the trough, scrub it and let in the fresh water, then rush to get the water from the ball tap end as it flowed in. The sheep on the run were well looked after and thoroughly spoiled about contaminated water. The thin film of dust on the water was enough to make them wait for you. They well knew the schedule.

A little more than halfway up the run was the famous Cape Keraudren. Here, what was the longest fence in the world ended in a stone wall into the sea, right on the tip of the cape. It was the rabbit proof fence built by the Government in the early days to keep out the rabbits coming across the country from the Eastern States. It stretched right across the State to the south coast near Esperance. The fence was now abandoned but the Station used the part within the boundary as a division fence. As I stood on the Cape high on the cliff looking out to sea, up and down the coast and back inland, the vastness was overwhelming. The brilliant blue sea on one side, with all the coast, the whole sweep of the inland, as far as the eye could see, would all to be mine if I chose so. It was hard to comprehend after the limited areas of the southern farms. Compared to a town house and block, it was a different planet, of which I could be King. Forty five miles of undisputed coastline was mine for the taking. That wonderful feeling of a Nature kingdom to be cared for and preserved, while also making a living out of it, was an exhilarating prospect.

There and then I made up my mind that this was my destiny. Here was something bigger than myself into which I could merge and be one with Nature, working with instead of against, as was the need in clearing and farming. In farming there was a constant battle by Nature to take back its own, so the farmers must subdue it to produce their and others needs, against it's will. Here in the Pastoral industry, which is as old as thinking man, we can work with nature to take only the bounty she can spare and renew annually. I felt at that time here was a kingdom of which I would be king.

After leaving the Cape, we proceeded on up to the out-camp through miles of buffel grass and spinifex plains. The coastal sand hills  bordered the Eighty Mile beach on the left, and the red rolling sand hill scrub and spinifex plains on the right. The buffel grassed plains were white clay limey soil. The Eighty Mile beach began at Cape Keraudren and bordered the station for more than twenty miles to the boundary. The beach is a kilometer wide at low tides yet laps the sand hills at high tide. The tide range is up to eight metres at king tides, which occur twice a year in March and September. The tides bring up what I believe is the most lavish bounty of sea shells on any beach in the world. After storms, I later saw windrows of many varieties of quite rare shells brought up in abundance. Of course we were the only people with access to this beach at that time. There are great coral reefs off-shore and it has always been a fishing ground for the giant gold lipped pearl shell. All the reefs are totally submerged at all tides except one small island called Solitary Island, which can be reached at low tide by walking out. We actually did just that, when we had moved up to live.

On the way to the out-camp we had to pass "Meet You Creek," a mangrove inlet that drained the coastal flats of the heavy cyclonic rains, that fell occasionally and flooded the coastal plains. Station history has it that ten thousand sheep were lost out to sea from the plains at that creek during a severe cyclone. The winds can be so strong that stock are blown out to sea. The windmills are only about four kilometres apart on the coastal plains. Thompsons' had built low spinifex covered shelter roofs for shading the sheep near some of the mills and also planted Tamarisk trees for shade, as there were no trees any where on the plains. Any large vegetation is quickly destroyed by the cyclones when they strike occasionally. Pardoo is squarely in the path of the cyclones as they come down the coast.

At the out-camp I was introduced to the stockman, his wife and her sixteen year old son. They had been alerted by telephone and had lunch ready when we arrived. They lived in quite a neat cottage, which was twenty five miles up along the coast from the homestead. Their job was to look after the ten thousand sheep running on that end of the run. The cottage was connected to the homestead by telephone via the old telegraph line. The mills and stock were inspected every day by the stockman, who rode a horse to do the job in the manner of the old boundary riders of the past. The practice was to leave the camp at daybreak. That way the day's work was over by midday. One day he would do the inland run checking the mills, the next day the coastal run. The station boundary bordered the Great Sandy desert that covers much of northern W. A., touching the coast at the Eighty Mile Beach that is more like two hundred miles long in reality.

The boundary on the north eastern end of the run was ten miles farther up and joined Wallal Station. The coastal paddock cross fences all ran over the sand hills right into the sea, as did the boundary fence. As the spinifex on the sand hills adjoining the sea was soft and green, because of the heavy dews, the sheep often wandered down to the water and around the fences. I have seen the sheep actually drinking from the sea. After the boundary inspection we headed for home. The day was very hot but the sea breeze had been in, on the coast, since ten o'clock which made it a little more bearable, but I was glad to get back to the homestead and a spell in the watered spinifex cool room.

In the late afternoon I was shown over the homestead complex. It is quite a village, dominated by the large homestead built of concrete, with wide verandas all around. The verandas had hinged shutters that lifted up on props. These effectively increases the width by an additional six feet. The shutters are bolted down when a cyclone is approaching making the place secure. All roofs were held down with timbers bolted through to the rafters, which were bolted down to the concrete walls, or to concrete blocks in the ground. The house was surrounded by lawns, shrubs and trees. These were possible because of the endless running water from the shallow artesian bore nearby. The bore was harnessed to elevate the water up to fill a high tank that continually overflowed. The sprinklers never stopped, so a large area of lawn was able to be maintained.

Nearby was the store for all the supplies, to service about forty blacks and about ten whites. It was well stocked with all their needs apart from perishables.

The Store and Saddlery taken from the overhead Tank Stand. The workshops are in the backgound and the kitchen and "blacks" dining room on the right

The perishables and meat were kept in several kerosene flame operated refrigerators distributed around the dining rooms and kitchen. The kitchen was thirty feet from the homestead verandah, reached by a covered walkway. It had a large native's dining room at one end, and a smaller dining room at the other end for the white staff. The food was the same but the blacks, as they were always referred to, preferred to eat with their own kind. They felt embarrassed and inhibited by the presence of white people. They were a rowdy, laughing, happy lot when left to themselves.

The kitchen had a large coke burning stove that was a monster if it went out, taking hours to heat up again. All around the kitchen were planted Oleanders and tropical trees. Nearby was the laundry and the blacks shower room. In that area were huge shady trees under which the natives practically lived in the hot weather. The red sand around the homestead was very clean; the children loved it. Beyond the laundry were the white staff quarters, comprising three rooms, bathroom and toilet, with full length front and back verandas.

There was a garage and workshop a short distance away near the homestead, containing the thirty two volt lighting plant. Beyond the white staff quarters, nearer the wool shed, were the shearers' quarters. This was quite a large complex. There was a large kitchen and dining room, a bathroom with six shower bays, a toilet block and enough bedrooms for twenty men. There was also a twin drum hot water system.

Beyond that, about two hundred metres away, was the huge shearing shed with eight stands over head shaft shearing gear. In the wool area there was a large manually operated wool press with the top up through the roof. Many large wool bins were built against the walls to accommodate the various lines of wool. A large area was available to store the bales as they were pressed. Outside there was a metre and a half deep trench through which the trucks drove to load the wool at ground level. There was also a ramp built beside the trench so the wool could be loaded double or triples layered. Adjoining the shed were large sheep yards to hold at least ten thousand sheep at a time.

A little distance away nearer the homestead was the blacks' camp. This was simply a large Quonset shed subdivided into several separate rooms. It was like all the other buildings, cyclone proofed. It could shelter all the blacks on the station if a cyclone came, including their dogs, cats and possessions. Mostly they preferred to live under a bush, or rough branch or spinifex shelters like their ancestors had for many thousands of years before them. The beds given to them were generally used to make shelters rather than sleep on. Mattresses were used by the dogs and soon were ripped up. All they seemed to need were blankets, a small wind break, soft sand, a fire, then they were happy. In the day-time they would find shade anywhere they happened to be. When I learned the pleasure of camping out, I also used to say that I lived in the biggest house in the world. In the tropics there is no better way to sleep.

The inspection left me quite overwhelmed with the sheer value of the assets and magnitude of the area. These were far above the asking price. Two generations of accumulated improvements included forty four equipped wells and bores, hundreds of miles of fences, all the buildings and equipment, including several good vehicles. Also included were sixteen thousand sheep, two hundred cattle and about forty horses. When I left for home the next day there was no doubt in my mind that this was the greatest opportunity that had ever come my way among many of my previous enterprises. To inherit two generations of good management and re-investment of profits, was just too good an opportunity to miss. This chance of establishing the family of growing boys in the boundless potential of the North of this vast state, had to be grasped even though I was forty years old and had no experience with stations.

The opinion of the station people seemed to be that you had to be born, or worked as a jackaroo, on a station to be able to handle it. A somewhat elitist opinion surviving from the days of the Squattocracy when they ruled the land, and thought of themselves as a sort of superior class. However this did not cause me any apprehensions as by then I had developed considerable confidence in my ability to learn quickly almost any new trade or skills. The secret of survival for me was the ability to recognise my limitations and get out before disaster, or growing lack of interest destroyed my enthusiasm. Once the enthusiasm for an enterprise was gone, the failure was assured. I always had the benefit of my wife's keen economic sense, which could quickly spot a weak proposition or trend. I have always found that a hands on policy is the best way to learn quickly, while listening to all the advice one can get, but relying only on your own judgment.

The Dream Realised

My arrival home was eagerly awaited by the family, who were anxious to know where their future lay. They were delighted with my reports of the wonderful place that Pardoo was. The contract to buy was soon arranged, so we had successfully sold, and bought properties, and a new life lay ahead of us. Pardoo was to be taken over in May, after the shearing, so we had plenty of time to get ready and prepare to leave the South for the great new adventure. Franklin and Murray were both delighted. Murray had been accepted to continue schooling at the Harvey Agricultural School, but declined, so as not to miss the exciting new life and work that the station offered. I regret that we did not insist on him remaining in school a little longer. He had already turned fourteen, and had as much schooling as I got in my youth, so I thought he may be better off learning a new trade and skill in the great North. He was not equipped to enter the academic world any way.

With the future course now set and committed, it was just a matter of beginning the mammoth task of completing the harvest and winding up the accumulations of years of farming and business activity. Fortunately all the boys were capable of quite a considerable amount of work. Franklin the oldest was now sixteen and had acquired a Diploma of Agriculture from the Narrogin School of Agriculture and was ready to put to work some of the knowledge he had acquired.

Joan was all for the move, and the prospect of increased status in the current requirements of social stratification. The Pastoralists were, as a society, ranking among the local top social strata, considerably above the farming communities and even the more aristocratic Graziers. Even the Pastoralists and Graziers Association would not admit farmers until a much later date. Once each year the Governor invited the Pastoralists to a garden party at Government House. The Governor of that time, Sir Douglas Kendrew, was a great admirer of the hardy outback station people. He undertook several trips to the far north and called at selected stations on his way. After we had moved to Pardoo, we were honoured with a visit and the company of the Governor and his Lady for lunch at the station. This became a high point in our social career. A dramatic shift from the status of a wartime despised social reject, to owner of a debt free station, honoured by the company of the most eminent persons in the land. Joan, who had married me at the point of my lowest status, was most gratified and proud to see us thus recognized.

Perhaps this is the time to explain the meaning of the terms and social stratas applying to the country occupations of the early days. The Pastoralists at the top, were generally wealthier people, who in the early days of settlement obtained or purchased large grants of land. They did not engage in any crop growing or land clearing but confined their activities to utilising the natural grass lands to graze their stock. Considerable capital was required to set up a successful operation, particularly in the far and remote areas. Many maintained homes in the city when they married, as the life was too hard for their women and children. Many of the children who had to live in those areas did not survive, hence the city homes and late marriages of the early pioneers.

Those Pastoralists who survived became wealthy, and invested in city properties, or developed grazing properties in the wetter farming areas. Those who sold their stations when their grazing properties became established, or whose sons never went back to the station runs, often became Graziers with the status almost equal to the Pastoralist. The Grazier was one who cleared the land of its natural vegetation and established artificial grass and clover pastures. Their cropping was for stock fodder and not for cash crops.

The farmer on the other hand had to clear his land and plant crops immediately to survive, as he had no other source of income. He migrated up from the workers or the traditional peasants. He did not have the benefit of the cash flow from the pastoral properties or other business activities, to support the developing grazing properties that the Grazier had.

This is how the various land enterprises became stratified with social snobbery. Very gratifying for those, whose hardy Grandfathers didn't mind the privations of the bush outback, and who had inherited the properties. Some Pastoralists had the mistaken idea that mere peasants like farmers could not run the stations. This established order of things became rudely upset when the farmers became very wealthy, after the war, in the fifties and sixties. The social distinction no longer exists at the present time and most of the old station families have left the industry, as they could not adapt to modern methods. The farmers on the other hand became the wealthy ones in the fifties and sixties, and left the peasant like status that they grew up with behind forever. I must admit that I also enjoyed the increase in status but, like most things I participate in, I did so with tongue in cheek. I recall a saying 'Never turn the other cheek if you've got your tongue in it,' so one must be careful not fool oneself.

Returning to the narrative, we had no holidays that year of sixty three. We were too busy preparing for the clearing sale that was to be held early in March. All the machinery had to be cleaned first then repaired and repainted. This took quite a while, as the mallee country was very hard on machinery. By this time we had accumulated a large amount of equipment. There were hundreds of items to be laid out in rows, and lines of machines. It turned out to be a very large and successful sale. I was congratulated on the presentation of the machinery. It was the third clearing sale we had held, but the most complete, and netted us a tidy sum on top of the farm sale.

With the proceeds of the crop we were able to demolish all our debts and still have considerable cash beyond the price of the Station. I must say I had little regret in saying goodbye to all the mallee roots and poor crops. The last crop was almost ruined by a disease called Septoria, which withered off the plant just as it came into head. It was introduced by contaminated seed and clover impurities to the new ground, which normally was free of it.

The only item not sold was the self propelled header harvester. The price offered was too low, so my brother-in-law Walter Packard agreed to take it to trade on a new four wheel drive Scout utility, and a new header harvester, from the International dealer at Katanning. I took the Scout for the station and we got some change as well.

We had a seven meter long caravan being built to order, but we first moved to Joan's parent's place at East Rockingham until it was ready. The children were not too popular there so we moved into the caravan at Kwinana Beach. The two younger ones had to be started on correspondence school before we left. We also traded in our Ford Fairlane 500 on a new Mercedes fuel injected 220 S E. These were the latest status cars among the rising stars. They were far ahead of any other cars of the time.

It was high adventure for us to be leaving old associations, friends and relations, behind to move two thousand kilometres north. The biggest criticism we had from our friends was that we could get no spiritual fellowship there.

The two younger children, Philip and Margaret were duly enrolled in the correspondence school; a Governess interviewed and engaged. She was a starry eyed lass of seventeen, eager to see the legendary outback. She came from a sheltered well off family, who chose the then only way of seeing the outback, from the safety of a station family environment. The status of a Governess was the same as a Jackaroo. They lived and ate with the family and went with the family where ever they went. A Jackaroo is a trainee manager who must proceed up through to Overseer then on to Manager, and maybe owner if he is lucky. He must learn the homestead way of doing things, and the protocols.

By the end of April we had enough of holidays and waiting. The shearing was in progress at Pardoo, soon to be finished and ready for take over. We paid over our cheque for the balance of the purchase price. The amount was fifty five thousand pounds in a single cheque. At that time it was the largest cheque I had written. I carried the receipt in my wallet for years, until I lost the wallet somewhere in Darwin.

We decided that Franklin, Murray and I, would take the new Scout four wheel drive and a trailer up first before the shearing was over, to see how things were done and verify the sheep numbers. It was May nineteen sixty three. I would then come back on the plane to pick up the rest of the family and governess to drive the car up there. Meanwhile Joan and the governess, whose name was Pixie, took a short course in teaching correspondence lessons. We had now reached a momentous point in our lives. Our whole direction and life style was about to change irrevocably. More tracks were to be wiped out and old associations left behind for a place hard to follow. In that isolated and lonely situation we would be able to find our true selves if we had the courage to face ourselves.