Continuing on from Part 3
KEEP AN OPEN MIND
To help me make money and gain experience Mr Jolly arranged for me to work for short periods with different property owners and horse handlers. He maintained it was good for me to be exposed to a wide range of methods and ideas, to take bits of each style that I liked, discard what I didn't and then add my own ideas.
He encouraged me to have an open mind, “Some of the most valuable knowledge can come from the most unlikely places”, he would say, “But you have to be open to it.”
I worked for a time on a sheep property in the Western District for an old acquaintance of Mr Jolly's from years earlier. Athol Daffy was a true country gentleman and a successful sheep farmer. He was more than happy to give me work, and told me that as a young man he had struggled with his sheep purely because he didn't have a decent dog to move them around, or yard them when they needed drenching or shearing. He approached a man in the district who was reputed to be handy with dogs, and after meeting Athol the man trained a Border Collie for him. The dog did everything that Athol needed, paddock work, yard work, would back sheep into a race but would also work ewes and lambs quietly when he needed.
Mr Jolly rarely trained for others, dog trainers had been known to send people to him to buy a dog purely to get hold of his winning bloodlines, but from meeting Athol he decided that there was something very genuine about him.
Athol never forgot the good turn and they remained friends.
I enjoyed working on the sheep property and although dogs were used they travelled largely as passengers on the back of motorbikes. The country was gradually undulating which meant it was more efficient to move sheep and traverse the property using bikes, no horses were used, a sign of the times. I was beginning to think I had been born in the wrong era.
I worked honestly for Mr Daffy, wanting fulfil the confidence my mentor had placed in me, and thanked him for the opportunity. But inside I knew it wasn't something I could see myself doing long term.
In between my work at the Stud and riding for Mr Jolly, my next experience was working for a man by the name of Stuart Lear, at the Royal Melbourne show for ten days. Stuart had earned a reputation travelling the show circuit as Australia's best trick rider. He had learned from a Russian Cossack and would perform tricks on his horse galloping around the arena. Amongst other death defying stunts he would climb down under the horse's belly, up the other side and back into the saddle. Over the years he had diversified his act and also put on various clown performances in the main arena.
He had a modified 'T' Model Ford that would mono around the track on it's back wheels, During the act he would get out of the Ford for some reason and the vehicle would appear to take on a mind of it's own and chase him around the arena. Controlled of course by an assistant hidden down on the floor using a second set of controls. It was very entertaining and at times the T Model came closer to running him over than was intended, as the assistant had only limited vision through a tiny peep hole and poor control of the vehicle, but he always maintained it was part of the performance.
There was also a Morris Minor the clowns would drive around in that would break in half with a loud explosion, the two halves would tare off and drive around madly like a dog dragging its butt across the carpet.
He had a variety of animals that would do different tricks, one of which was a Border Collie that had been trained to work ducks through an obstacle course wearing a miniature Western saddle that a monkey would sit on. To those watching it appeared that the monkey, on his trusted Collie mount, was rounding up the ducks. Mr Jolly had trained the dog for him, and had decided it would be good for me to experience Stuart's style of horse training.
When Stuart spoke to Mr Jolly about two identical steeds he wanted to break and train for trick riding, Mr Jolly recommended a young fellow who would be up to the task of riding the young horses.
So I rolled my swag and Kel and I headed into the city.
WORKING FOR 'SHOWIES'
Stuart had a large shed in the show grounds and inside was his caravan and all the equipment for his acts. There were yards of different sizes constructed from temporary yard panels to house his animals and a bigger one about six or seven meters square. This yard, I was to learn was the breaking yard, and the whole lot was on a concrete floor.
My duties included feeding and caring for all the animals (my first experience with monkeys), saddling and preparing horses for their time in the arena, helping down at the pony rides that also belonged to Stuart, and working with the two young horses when there was time. The days were long, from sun up till well after dark most days, but I didn't mind I was wide eyed at the life some people live and enjoyed the variety in the work. Whatever I was doing Kel would tag along with me, if I had to go the the arena or down to the pony rides I would tell her to 'Wait' and she would stay faithfully beside my swag, growling at anyone who approached. I slept in my swag with Kel at my feet on the concrete floor and lived for ten days on hot sugar jam donuts that I bought from a nearby vendor.
Most nights I didn't get much sleep as Stuart would have a different female companion nearly every night and the old caravan would squeak and rattle well into the night.
He was a big man and bad tempered, he ruled his workers and his animals with a heavy hand. Quick to debate with his fists rather than reasoning. One night as he was taking his Ford onto the arena for the evening performance, he pushed his way arrogantly through the previous act who were coming off at the same time.
They were a marching band who also had manicured horses that paraded around with them. Pushing his way into the middle of the exiting crowd the T Model Ford backfired loudly, as was part of the act, and the horses spooked tearing off into the crowd knocking band members and instruments in all directions. Many of the members irately voiced their protest and Stuart promptly told them to 'Shut the fuck up!' and to come and see him after the show if they wanted to take it further.
The members of the Victoria Police Marching Band definitely did want to take it further and were waiting for him in numbers when he came off, a free-for-all brawl ensued. Band members still in Police uniform were swinging punches and flying in all directions, a mad clown with big floppy shoes in the centre of the commotion. I was trying to hold onto two horses in the middle of it hoping they wouldn't stand on any of the bodies that were tumbling under their hooves as they pranced and reared. By the time it was over the bitumen entrance to the arena was stained with blood and everyone seemed to just disperse licking their wounds with no real conclusion to the ruckus, and nothing much was said about it. They were a different crowd these 'Showies'.
Riding the identical horses for the first time was the most nerve racking I had experienced to date. The handling leading up to their first ride was rough and rushed, not what I was used to, and apart from my unheeded opinion that they weren't ready to be ridden, it was going to take place in the yard with the concrete floor. Young horses can be initially unbalanced with a rider on their back for the first time and startled easily, often darting in unexpected directions and could slip over. If a horse bucked he could potentially throw himself over injuring himself and the rider. For this reason most sane handlers used a yard or small arena for a first ride with heavy sand on the floor, the horses hooves would dig into the sand giving them a stable footing and in the worst case scenario, a soft landing for both horse and rider. It was also hard work to run in heavy sand so would quickly sap a horses energy which could be beneficial at times.
My experience with young horses had taught me that my main objective in the first few rides was to merely get the horse moving freely,and relaxed. I was not initially concerned about HOW the horse moved, whether he held his head high or low, if he tucked his head collecting his legs under him or stuck his nose out getting long on the ground. It wasn't important at this stage if he turned using his back or front quarters, or if he stopped by propping his front legs or tucking his back end. I just wanted to get them moving freely through their body and mind.
If we were walking I wanted a brisk relaxed walk, not hesitant or unsure, trotting and cantering should be fluent and unhindered, allowing him to move naturally using his body to achieve this however he needed to. This meant that as I rider I had to give the young horse a lot of latitude and freedom to promote what I wanted, but also meant that in doing so he had the opportunity to move in some undesirable ways if he chose, like bucking or bolting. I had to be confident of the horses handling and preparation prior to getting on his back to give me the confidence to ride the way I needed to.
I didn't have that confidence with these twins and deliberately changed my entire approach, there was a real danger that if either of them took fright or bucked we would slip over on the concrete floor. If I miraculously escaped injury but the young horse was injured I was sure Stuart would break my legs anyway for damaging his horse. So I decided there was no way I was going to allow these two to buck and would sacrifice their free flowing movement to achieve it.
The time had come, and with Stuart on the outside of the yard barking directions I saddled the first horse. I would usually begin by putting my foot in the stirrup and standing up into it, allowing the horse to feel my weight on him and also see me up high which would sometimes spook a young horse the first time. This also had the advantage of being able to just calmly step back down if the horse took fright, he would quickly settle for me to start again. with no harm done.
As I went through this procedure the horse was skittish and unsettled, poised for anything, seeing me up high he jumped sideways and I stepped back to the floor and reassured him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Stuart snapped, “Don't stop half way, if you're going over you're going over!”
“Ok” I replied reluctantly, with a deep breath I gathered the reins tight, put my foot in the stirrup and swung up onto his back. His whole body tensed and I felt his panic underneath me, but I had him bound up so tight he hadn't worked out how to move yet. Every time I felt his energy heading in one direction I counteracted it by bending his body the opposite way or changing my body weight so it was awkward for him to lift the hoof he needed to initiate the movement. It gave me valuable time to calm his mind slightly and then allow him to gradually move feeling the change in his body with me on top.
Bit by bit I gave him more freedom allowing him to gradually lengthen his stride, but always ready to gather him up again when I needed. The ride was not good. Movements were abrupt, stifled and unbalanced, and the young horse was confused most of the time, but after thirty minutes Stuart was satisfied that the horse had been ridden and to my surprise was very happy with the ride and even a little impressed. I knew it could have been done so much better.
The second horse went much the same and I was relieved to step down and have them both ridden.
To my horror, the two young horses had only three short rides in the concrete yard and then Stuart had me lead them down to the pony rides, he said that it was the best way to quieten them down. The stress of watching unaware parents lift their children up onto the two uneducated horses nearly gave me a breakdown.
Luckily the monotony of being lead around in a small circle following the tail of the horse in front had a hypnotic affect on the horses, almost putting them into a trance. But it was misleading, they weren't quiet, and as soon as they were taken out of the 'pony ride' environment or if something startled them jolting them into awareness, their inexperience and unpredictability would show through.
My time at the Melbourne Show came to an end and I shook hands with Stuart and thanked him for the work, quietly glad I was heading home. He unquestionably was a very accomplished rider, but I learned that being a good rider didn't necessarily make a good horseman, and that the level that people considered good horsemanship varied greatly depending on someone's perspective and experience to base their comparisons on.
If you didn't know what was out there, how could you know if what was in front of you was of a high or low standard? It was good to keep an open mind.
The episode with the Station Manager impostor hadn't dampened my enthusiasm to work further North. Having left school, Druce felt the same and he had applied for a position and started working on a N.S.W. property that ran cattle but also trained Camp Draft Horses. He had been gone for a month and I hoped my friend was doing well.
I had made noises about applying for positions that were advertised regularly in a rural newspaper, the Weekly Times. Seeing my restlessness my parents decided it was time to have a family meeting, and recognising Mr Jolly's experience with Stations invited him and Dorothy to dinner one night, welcoming their input.
“Ever since I can remember he's wanted to go to the hottest part of Australia and chase cows on a horse.” My Mother was pointing out that regardless of the decision reached around the dining table this evening, eventually I was going to go.
The discussion and debate was kinda irrelevant, in the end Mum's motion was upheld and it was decided that I wouldn't go away until I at least had my drivers license. I was disappointed but not surprised, Mum had a way of justifying her views that made it hard to argue against and they usually made good sense.
The following year seemed to go slow but it wasn't without incident. The Stud got raided, newspapers reported a twenty-five million dollar drug distribution operation.
“Fuckers were only paying me twenty-five dollars a day!” I thought to myself.
I got a couple more horses, and ten Shetland ponies that I broke in and started doing pony rides for kids on the weekends at a local tourist attraction. It was going well until the owners wife realised we were making more money than the fun park and so gave us our marching orders.
ON MY WAY TO MOOLA BULLA
Mr Jolly had given me a contact that he said could pull a few strings and get me a start on a Station up north. But I was uncomfortable about it and decided I would rather do it under my own steam.
So I wrote a letter to a cattle station in the Kimberly north of Halls Creek, 'Moola Bulla', stating my inexperience but enthusiasm to work on a station and ability to stay on a horse. I finished by asking if there were any positions available in the stock camp for the upcoming mustering season I would be grateful for the opportunity.
A few weeks later I got a reply, I was thanked for my letter and offered a position in the stock camp for the following season, it read ' we look forward to meeting you if I'd like to arrive in March sometime', and signed 'Dick Northcote – Manager'.
Directions on how to find the Station were included.
And that was it, I was going, I had a job and a starting date now all I had to do was get there.
I didn't have a car of my own and so made contact with a young guy from New South Wales who was returning to Moola Bulla for a second season, Alex agreed to let me ride with him in exchange for fuel money.
Mr Jolly was happy for me but I could sense he was disappointed and he later admitted he wished he had the money to offer me full time work to keep me around. But he knew I had to go.
It wasn't going to be forever and I looked forward to sitting down with him when I returned and tell him stories of cattle musters and wild horses.
“Remember me when you're lying in your swag looking up at the stars.” He said.
I didn't have any words other than 'thank you' and just looked at him and nodded.
My sister gave me a first aid kit that she had put together, it was in a wooden box that my Mum had made, with a leather handle and two straps with buckles to hold it firmly closed. It was quite comprehensive. Amongst burn cream, bandages, eye washes, and all the usual contents there was a brown paper bag that she pulled out.
“A nurse at the hospital got this for me” she explained
She opened it to reveal surgical needles, thread and a topical anaesthetic cream.
“If you rub this on it will numb the area so you can stitch” she said rubbing her finger in a circular motion on the back of her hand demonstrating... “ok?”
“Got it, thanks Siss” I replied nodding seriously.
The mustering season was about eight months long, the stock camps shut down over the wet season.
I had sold the Shetland ponies so my horses would be fine through the winter with the feed in the paddock. My sister had started to ride Skye so would keep her looked after, and I had cut a stockpile of firewood for Mum to get her through.
Dad was driving me to a property just over the border in N.S.W where I was to meet up with Alex.
The morning we were to leave I went down into the valley to say goodbye to my horses, Kel at my heels.
I put my hand on Skye's forehead and she lent into me.
“Look after Siss for me” I said, “She's not as confident as she makes out.”
Kel barked once and a familiar red ute drove in and Mr Jolly stepped out. He walked over to me and smiled.
“Got all your gear packed” he asked tipping his hat back on his head.
“I think so” I replied.
There was a pause and we stood there silently, only the horses shuffling their feet in the dusty yard filled the moment.
“Do something for me?” he said. “I've seen a lot of good men ruined by grog, stay away from it ok?”
“ok” I agreed, “I will”
“I won't be here when you get back, so remember what I've taught you” He had a look on his face I hadn't seen before and it took me back a step. I got a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew what he wasn't saying.
“Don't say that”, I replied, “you're as tough as nails.” and I honestly believed it.
“Good luck Son” he outstretched his hand and there was a tear in his eye.
I shook his hand without saying a word and he held it for and extended few seconds, then turned away, got back in his ute and drove out.
Dad had put my gear in the car, there wasn't much just my swag and one bag that had clothes and the first aid kit. I hugged my family and opened the passenger door. Kel looked up at me with her brown eyes not sure of what was happening. She sensed something.
“C'mon Girl!” I said, it never entered my head that she wasn't coming with me, and she sprung up into the car.
The five hour drive into NSW was quiet, we didn't talk a lot, we didn't need to. We arrived after lunch and met with Alex. He was a typical young rural guy, educated, articulate when he wanted to be, muscular with a big frame, and as I was to learn enjoyed drinking. He wasn't impressed about Kel tagging along for the ride but soon realised there wasn't much point arguing the point.
He had a yellow WB Holden ute, 4 speed manual with a 253 V8. Kel would ride in the back with our gear. After a short greeting it was time for us to leave, my father shook my hand lent in close and spoke quietly;
'I've put some extra money in the pocket of your bag just in case.' gave my hand a squeeze then stepped back.
'Thanks Dad' I replied with an appreciative smile, 'I'll see you in a year.'
We climbed into the ute, the V8 engine rumbled to life and we headed off in a cloud of dust with Kel hanging her head out the side, her tongue flapping in the wind.
Our route would take us West into South Australia, across the Nullabor Plain into Western Australia then up the West coast and a stop at Manilya where Alex wanted to visit an old school friend who was now managing a sheep station.
It was late summer and the weather was hot, hotter than either Kel or I had experienced for a prolonged period. There was no air conditioning in the ute but I was worried about Kel in the back not able to get out of the sun. Every time we stopped for fuel I would get her some water to drink and she would lap it up. At night when Alex was tired we would stop at a truck parking area and roll out our swags, he had made it clear he didn't want me to do any of the driving, we were passengers.
The night air was cool and Kel slept quietly on the foot of my swag as she did at home on my bed, I was accustomed to the feel of her being there and it gave me a reassurance that everything was how it was supposed to be. By the third afternoon I had rigged a small cover in a corner of the ute tube so Kel could get some reprieve from the relentless sun and she seemed much happier.
The expanse of the Nullabor took me by surprise and started to open my eyes to the shear size of the country we lived in. So hot and harsh but somehow intimate and compelling. Salt bush as far as the eye could see for hour upon hour, then teasing glimpses of spectacular views off high cliffs to the ocean as we passed the bite. Alex was reluctant to stop, he was travelling to get somewhere, not site seeing along the way. Quietly I promised Kel we would drive it ourselves one day and stop wherever we wanted.
There wasn't much conversation, I got the distinct impression that Alex was just tolerating us to help with the fuel cost. But I didn't mind, I was wide eyed at the country we were travelling through and occupied with my own thoughts.
One section of the highway was still dirt yet to be tarred and I learned that once it was completed for the first time travellers would be able to drive right around the country on bitumen.
I began to realise just how hot and desolate some areas were and of the scarcity and ultimate value that was placed on water. At some of the roadhouses I couldn't even get water for Kel. There was no bottled water sold in those days and offering to pay for a bowl or cup full of tap water for Kel made no difference, I was flatly denied. So I would buy her a bottle of cold lemonade wanting to make sure she got some fluids into her and she drank eagerly, it was wet and cold.
Continuously I was making mental notes that I would draw on later. I would make sure that when we got our own vehicle she wouldn't go without water.
Before long our night stops had changed, we were now stopping at places that had a pub or even just a bar and Alex would drink until he was drunk and pass out. I sat quietly and watched as Alex and local drinkers in varying numbers got progressively more intoxicated and inevitably a fight would break out over some stupid drunken argument that no one could remember.
I was uncomfortable around drunk people, I found them unpredictable and remembered something Mr Jolly had told me, 'never argue with a drunk or a fanatic', and I realised why and learned how to patronise them to stay out of trouble. Some nights I didn't have the energy to put up with their drunken dribble so would stay outside with Kel.
I much preferred the quiet of the truck parking areas with only the occasional road-train passing to break up the night sounds and remind me there were others out here too. That was another mental note.
END of Part 4 | Part 5 coming soon.
Paul Allen was my Head Stockman on Carlton Hill in the East Kimberley in the early 1990's - a finer man you will not find, a horseman through and through, and not too bad with the pen either! I learnt many things from 'Woody' and he remains a close friend to this day.
Simon Cheatham | Founder RFTTE.com | RFTTEJOBS.com
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