Tanya Heaslip - An Alice Girl

Tanya Heaslip was raised on a cattle station in Central Australia during the 1960s and 70s and learnt about the outside world through the Correspondence School, School of the Air and storybooks. She spent many hours dreaming of the overseas lands depicted in those studies and stories. Tanya went on to become a lawyer but never stopped dreaming. In between practising law, she travelled to many of those lands, and has since written about her travel experiences in Alice to Prague, published in 2019. Tanya lives in Alice Springs with her husband. She is the Regional Vice President of the NT Writers Centre.

First published in 2020

Copyright 2020 Tanya Heaslip

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

Email:

Web: www.allenandunwin.com

ISBN 978 1 76052 977 2

eISBN 978 1 76087 426 1

Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Cover design: Christabella Designs

Image credits: Girl (Heaslip family collection); background (Shutterstock)

To Dadfor everything

Cooeeeee!

The call ripped through the hot, still air. I swivelled in the saddle, hands tight on the reins, straining to catch the direction of the sound. My skewbald mare Sandy moved restlessly under me, her ears pricked, sensing my anxiety. To the west lay a rocky rise, shrouded by blue-grey mulga, but if the sound had come from behind the rise it was impossible to tell. Behind me a dry creek bed dropped away to the south, lined by river gums wilting in the afternoon heat. There was no sign of anyone there. Nor did it seem a likely hide-out.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted in return, Cooeeeee! The words hit the low hills and reverberated back, while above a hawk rose high into the vastness on the currents of a willy-willy. Like my shout, the hawk was soon a speck in the emptiness, swallowed by the big, blue bowl of sky above. Sweat ran down the back of my thin cotton shirt. The sun burned my arms. Time was running out.

Cooeeeee! I tried again desperately.

Then I heard it, in bursts, through the thicket in the direction of the southern fence. Tanyaoverhere!

I then realised it was MLiss voice, followed by the sound of stockwhips cracking and the thunder of hooves beating through the bush. Perhaps the cattle were breaking away to the rocky outcrop, which would give them cover until they reached that fence. I looked over to what lay between here and the fence. Long, low, flat mounds of red earth sweeping towards the glint of wire in the distance, potted throughout with rabbit holes, treacherous for horses. One misstep and they could break a leg. My sister was calling for help and that route was the best way to head off the mob. But I couldnt risk Sandy going down a rabbit hole. So, I took a deep breath and leaned low over Sandys neck. We came up straight and fast along a cattle pad, a narrow, dusty track created by cattle meandering to waterholes over the years. It ran across the side of the hill, which was a slightly longer way. Soon my ears were filled with the sound of Sandys hooves and my pounding heart. I kept swivelling.

Here! MLiss voice came to me through the scrub. Then I glimpsed her crouched over a grey horse, hat flattened on her head, flying in pursuit of the fleeing cattle. Behind her came her friend Jacquie, standing high in the stirrups of her horse, UFO, her blonde ponytail swinging wildly.

Where are the others? I called frantically.

They should be nearby. We were a team with a job to do. I just hoped they were covering the flank on the other side of the hill, stopping the cattle being driven down there. But I couldnt see anyone in this hilly, scrubby corner. Out there, unseen, was my little brother Benny on his grey pony, Lesley, and our friend Donald on his bay gelding.

In the distance I knew my brother Brett, and Jacquies brother Matthew, would be heading our way. Hed have my friend Janie with him, as well as another great horse rider, Joanne.

But now everyone seemed lost in the blur and brushlands.

Theyve got them! MLiss voice came out in frantic bursts through the thick trees. Theyre getting away! You take the fence side well cut them off before they reach the creek.

Our one, desperate job today was to stop the cattle duffers.

Sandy and I cut towards the south, then plunged down towards the length of Kangaroo Flat, focused only on turning the mob. They had a lead on us and I knew we were struggling to make up the gap. If we could stop them reaching the creek, wed be in with a chance. Where were Benny and Donald?

We knew that the cattle duffers had stolen Dads cleanskinsyoung cattle that had not yet been brandedand were now driving them hard towards their own bush hide-out. And the duffers knew the best secret gorges or wild scrublands to push the cattle into. We knew what theyd do if we didnt stop them. Theyd build makeshift yards to trap the stolen cattle. Next theyd brand the cleanskins with their own illegal brand and sell them on. And for all we knew, they had some of Dads best branded steers, and were intending to cross-brand them too. While the steers wouldnt be as easy to sell, cattle duffers were cunning and clever and usually found a way to persuade the right kind of people to buy.

We couldnt let that happen. We were here to protect Dads cattleall of themat any cost. There was no time to waste.

Then, as one, MLis, Jacquie and I were both out onto the open flatpast the rabbit holes, racing across the gibber stones, nothing in our minds now but the safety of the mob, and the protection of the herd. It was now or never to get the cattle out of the clutches of the duffers and herd them back to safety. Our destination still seemed far away. A long, low washout stretching north to south on the eastern end of the paddock, across the dry creek, and then a scramble up the flinty hill that squatted in the middle of the paddock. It was a wondrous hill, we thought, and many years ago MLis, Brett and I had named it House Hill.

House Hill boasted a 360-degree view of our world, including the homestead that sprawled away in the distance to the north. On the very top of the hill sat a solitary prickly orange tree. It had defied the droughts and the desert winds year after year, its bark rough and sturdy and its incongruously green leaves pointing defiantly to the high blue sky. We were so proud of the orange tree. So proud that, many years before, wed crowned it Home Base. That meant freedom and safety for the cattle and us.

Hey, Tanya! A shout came from behind me and I glimpsed Benny and Donald pointing towards the top of House Hill, then heard the crack of more stockwhips.

Through the air came the cackle of evil; the sound of wild, whooping laughter. It was the cattle duffers above us, galloping side-by-side along the crest, thrusting their arms in the air in victory, pushing the cattle ahead of them.