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  Outside the ward Jeff was talking to the doctor. He looked up. He seemed a lot more relaxed than he had an hour ago.

  “Sorted out your problems, Jeff?” Kate asked, for something to say.

  His sun-burnt face cracked open with a half-hearted laugh. “Until the next catastrophe! I swear…the next man who walks through that door and asks for my help, I’ll string him up and let him bake in the sun.”

  Within a hair’s breadth of Jeff finishing his sentence the door opened and Chris walked in, asking which way it was to the jackaroos’ chalets. They all burst out laughing. It was an unusual sound under the circumstances; enough to bring the nurse out of the ward wondering what all the commotion was.

  “What did I say?” Chris exclaimed, looking mortified.

  Jeff just shook his head, too bemused himself to comment. He turned to Kate as he went for the door that Chris was still holding open. “Come on, Kate… I’ll take you to see Miss Gerry,” he said, as he shook his head again at Chris.

  CHAPTER 20

  As Jeff left the Medical Clinic he was still chuckling to himself. He’d seemed to take pleasure in upsetting Chris, as if it was some recompense for the hassles he must have encountered so far today. Kate decided to treat him with respect from now on, in case she too caught the whiplash of his strange humour.

  He instinctively went to the Range Rover and opened the door.

  “Is the school that far?” Kate asked him.

  “I just thought you wouldn’t want to walk that far,” he replied.

  Kate looked past the end of the clinic, Jeff’s office and the General Store towards an open space. It did not seem that far and she was willing to have a go.

  “I’ve been sitting down all day, Jeff; a walk would be nice.”

  “It’s still hot to be walking about.”

  Kate looked above her head. “I’ve got a canopy shading my head all the way, Jeff, and the air is not so hot that I couldn’t bear it until I get into the school.”

  “Okay, Kate, that’s fine with me,” he said, closing his door and stepping back onto the boardwalk. “But shout out if it gets uncomfortable.”

  Kate nodded and they started walking along the boardwalk. From the outside the clinic appeared longer, as she found herself counting the windows. At the end there was a small gap of a metre or so, with steps down to the dirt alley between.

  Then before she had a chance to see where it led she was outside the Estate Office and then onto the next building; the one that was called the General Store. It could have been taken for a duplicate of Jeff’s office; one window and a door. Only this door was open and she stopped for a moment to look inside.

  “Do you want to go in?” Jeff asked her, hesitating for a moment.

  It was a store by name only. It bore no resemblance to what she was used to, with no more than a long wooden counter in front of a wall of shelves. The shelves only displayed food and supplies. Where the clothes were she had no idea. She would know more tomorrow.

  “I’m supposed to be going in tomorrow with the nurse to find something for Martin to wear; I’ll leave it until then.”

  “Old Pertwee keeps the clothes in the back; that’s if you’re not particular about style. Otherwise you do what my wife does: order from a catalogue.”

  There was another building past the store, which she missed. It was another small structure with only a door but no window. Across the door in bold black letters on a dirty white background was the word, Generator. There was no explanation needed and she continued on.

  Finally they came to the end of the boardwalk and the start of the open space. As she looked across the dirt path, the border of a white picket fence and what looked like a large garden, she caught sight of a small stand-alone building with a pitched roof of corrugated iron. The tall wooden cross in the centre of the garden meant this was the non-denominational church Jeff had mentioned. It looked more like a church hall and Kate decided she would investigate tomorrow and thank God for saving Martin.

  As she passed the picket fence towards the other building that was obviously the school, her attention was momentarily drawn to the church garden. She stopped and looked more closely at the plants.

  “We don’t go in for flowers out here. Water is too scarce to waste. So as you can see we grow vegetables instead,” Jeff enlightened her.

  “But I’m sure I saw a vase of flowers on your daughter’s desk.”

  “You did. My wife has a small patch that she waters with dishwater.”

  Kate nodded and continued her journey along the fence.

  The school was hardly bigger than the clinic, with two smaller buildings tagged on as if they were after-thoughts. There was no recreational equipment in what looked like the playground. It was just an irregular oblong of dirt with an occasional wooden bench for the children to sit on and have their lunch. There was no reason for Kate to imagine that – several Aboriginal children were already gathering outside.

  “Do they sit out in the hot midday sun to eat their lunch?” Kate asked.

  “Some do. Aborigines aren’t affected by the heat like we are.”

  There was no fence around the school like the church. The unremarkable building was on the edge of the open part of the station. It looked unfinished, a work in progress; maybe that was why it had no fence, Kate thought. As they made their way across the dirt playground the door opened and an old-fashioned-looking woman stepped out to greet them.

  She stopped to correct a couple of boisterous boys and, looking seriously at Kate, she offered her hand. As soon as their hands met Kate felt this woman was a kindly spirit with a warm heart. It radiated from her as if she had not been contaminated by modern living. But looking at the wisdom in her eyes Kate knew that was not true; this woman had vast experience.

  “Miss Gerry, this is Kate, Martin’s wife,” Jeff said, when they met.

  “I’m sorry we have to meet under such circumstances,” Miss Gerry replied, linking Kate’s arm and guiding her into the school. “I hope you’ve got time for a nice long chat,” she continued, glancing in Jeff’s direction.

  “You’re okay, Miss Gerry; I’ve got to go over to the Maintenance Shed for a while. Say half an hour?”

  “That will be fine, Jeffrey. Now get on with your business.”

  Jeff smiled back at her in the fondest way and turned back to the main street and whatever he had to attend to in the Maintenance Shed. Miss Gerry turned back to Kate, still holding her arm, and they walked into the school. Kate was immediately drawn to the similarity with the Medical Clinic. It looked as if it had been designed by the same person, except this building had a small lobby coming off the front door. It was just like any other school lobby, with a large map of Australia on one wall and an equally large pin board on the other.

  Directly opposite was a corridor with a closed door on one side and an open one opposite. Miss Gerry entered the one that was open. It looked exactly the same as the doctor’s office. Kate hesitated before she followed her and peered through the glass panel in the door at the end of the corridor. It was the classroom, with no more than twenty desks, some occupied by Aboriginal children. She quickly scanned the room for any white children. She only counted four.

  “Shouldn’t you be teaching?” Kate asked, returning to Miss Gerry.

  “My assistant is finishing off for me. It will be lunchtime shortly.”

  Kate sat down opposite. This was her opportunity to study someone she considered to be a unique woman. Being used to dealing with modern teachers, the name Miss Gerry conjured the impression of a formidable woman with her grey hair drawn back in a bun on top of her head and a floral dress. The age was right but the image was not. This Miss Gerry had short grey hair, a chequered shirt and jeans.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m an educational administrator in Broome and I have more questions than you could possibly answer.”

  “Slow down, Kate. Why don’t we start with one?”

  Kate stared into her penetra
ting hazel eyes and sensed straight off that she was dealing with a woman of intellect. But why was she here?

  “My first question must be an obvious one. You called Jeff, Jeffrey.”

  “It’s a sign of endearment. I’ve known him a long time and Jeff seems so curt. And back then people used proper names.”

  “But he calls you Miss Gerry…that must be a nickname.”

  “You’re right, of course. My proper name is Geraldine Hunter. But in Australia they had to shorten it. Anyway, the children call me that.”

  “You teach mainly Aboriginal children I see.”

  “Yes, I do. Except for Ralph Bellamy’s children, all the other workers are Aboriginal. All the Aborigines choose western names, don’t ask me to explain why; it’s far too complicated.”

  “Is that why the Aboriginal boy who saved my husband’s life is called Willy? The nurse told me if I wanted to know about him I had to ask you.”

  She could see the perplexed look on Kate’s face and she laughed.

  “I know what you must be thinking. It has a different connotation in the Mardu tongue. It’s a derivation of the term ‘willy-willy’, which is a whirlwind. The Aborigines choose names that fit the character and Willy certainly is a whirlwind. He can’t keep still. He’s always on the go and he never stops.”

  “Why do I have the feeling there’s more to it than that?”

  “You’re right…it’s a comical turn of events; although the boy doesn’t think so. Anyway…one day a twelve-year-old naked Aboriginal boy ran into the stockyard and climbed up onto the top rail of the enclosure to watch the horses being broken in. A few minutes later a middle-aged woman caught up to him and tried to drag the boy off the fence. The head stockman walked over wanting to know what all the commotion was about, because she was spooking the horses. She told him she was the boy’s aunt and he’d got away from her. He asked what she called the boy. Maybe using his name might help. She said he runs about so much, we call him Willy-Willy, like the whirlwind. The old stockman became serious for the moment. He studied the boy, noticed he hadn’t been initiated yet and broke out laughing. Then he said, from now on I shall call him Willy and walked off laughing. From that day on, the young boy who grew up to love horses was called Willy.”

  Kate was fascinated by the tale but a little confused, not being familiar with Aboriginal customs. “What did he mean, initiated?” she asked.

  Miss Gerry laughed again. “The boy hadn’t been circumcised yet.”

  “Oh…” Kate let out. Then regaining her composure she said, “Well, he doesn’t seem much of a willy-willy now. He’s just sitting on the office steps looking as if he’s lost something.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s a complicated story. I suppose I’m partly to blame for his situation. You see the Aborigines who live on this land try to maintain their traditional way of life a few kilometres away on the Oakover River, but being so close to the modern way of life makes it difficult. Jeffrey tries his best to respect that, at the same time offering them all the benefits the station can provide.”

  “Such as?” Kate questioned.

  “Everything we enjoy. Food, water, medical treatment and the schooling I provide for the children. And I might add some of the adults.”

  “Including Willy?”

  “Exactly…that’s the problem. The clan are happy to accept the things they want and even the teaching of the children to speak English, but they draw the line at filling their heads with grand ideas of a better future. They want them to continue sitting round a camp fire on the ancestral lands. I can see their point. They fear losing their heritage. They say, one day the Aborigine will be gone.”

  “I know what they mean. I have the same problem with the Asians in Broome. The old generation can’t see a future when the young can grow with the times and still acknowledge their birthright.”

  “And that’s how my involvement in this has muddied the waters. I could see straightaway his brain was like a sponge. He was desperate for more knowledge and when he reached the limit of this school’s curriculum, I just had to start tutoring him privately. I know now that was wrong. But what could I do? His clan wanted him to follow the other boys and be a stockman. He wanted to go further.”

  “So what happened?”

  “When he told them what he wanted, his clan disowned him. They accused him of disobeying his ancestors. He was no longer an Aborigine. That’s when he made the decision to go on the ancestral walkabout to prove that he could still be an Aborigine and you know the rest. That’s when he found your husband.”

  “And doing all that, as well as saving someone from sure death, had no effect on the clan? I mean, surely he proved his point? And I might add possibly brought more benefit to his people than just a stockman’s wage.”

  “Silly…isn’t it?”

  “We need to do something, Miss Gerry. I’m in a position to help Willy. It’s what Martin would want and I’m sure Willy would. But I don’t want to cause trouble for the station, not when they’ve been so good to us. And I want to help you also. I don’t know whether you are aware of the Indigenous Education Grant, but I can help your school there. Just let me know what you want and I’ll look into it.”

  “I know what you mean. I saw it on the television, but never thought a small school like ours would qualify. It would be a great help if you could.”

  “I can do something, but I need to know I have the full backing of the clan and I might add, the cattle station. I’ll have a word with Jeff later.”

  “No, Kate…the one to talk to is his wife Marge; she’s the driving force in that family. I know Jeffrey takes care of all the stock business, but Marge is the one who organises all the daily routine. She was the one who continued his grandfather’s dream for a self-contained community in the outback.”

  There was so much to do. Miss Gerry had inspired Kate in much the same way she must have driven Willy to greater ambitions. Then there was Martin. It was not so much in what he’d said, but the way he’d described Willy as his saviour; and Miss Gerry had indirectly had a hand in that. It was just another link in the chain of events that had led to Willy finding the plane, as if it was meant to be.

  Kate’s suddenly remembered the first thing that had crossed her mind. “Miss Gerry, don’t misinterpret my curiosity, but how did all this come about? And how did an English girl end up teaching Aborigines in the Sandy Desert?”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Kate. I know exactly what must be going through your mind; it has occupied mine for the past thirty years.” She answered her. “Firstly, let me correct your notion that I’m an English girl; I’m a born and bred Australian. My parents were English. They emigrated from a small town in Sussex in 1953. They were both teachers and for whatever reason, they felt they could do a lot better in an emerging country like Australia. You have to remember, back then it was very much like England. They followed the same way of life, except for the heat of which England was short. They had the same units of measurement, the same currency; even roast beef on Sunday. The transition for them was almost unnoticeable.”

  Kate commented, “I heard of those days; it sounded almost like Utopia. I researched a lot about Australia before we took the plunge. It was very different in 1982.”

  “Yes…we were well into multiculturalism by then. Anyway, my parents decided to settle in Perth, worked their way through the different levels of the education system; giving birth to me in the process. I had a privileged upbringing.

  “By that I mean educationally. I had good mentors and after university I spent the following years teaching overindulged, spoilt children whose lives of luxury had already been mapped out for them since their birth. I suppose it was that experience that encouraged my need to work in an orphanage at first; then I moved on to schools for the underprivileged and finally this cattle station.”

  “But how did you find out about the cattle station?”

  “I never had a family of my own; I suppose I preferred being a single woman
. It’s not something that controls my life; my teaching does that, but I met a young girl some years ago…oh, it was so long ago now. Anyway, she was obsessed with the natural life. She rambled in the bush, climbed mountains, and lived rough in hostels; probably because of her tendencies also. We met briefly when she was lecturing at one of my schools. She imparted her experiences about the isolated places in Australia; she even wrote a book. It was during that time she told me about this cattle station and how desperately the Aborigines needed help. She was going back there.”

  “She sounds fascinating. What happened to her?”

  “Shortly after her last visit to Perth, when she told me about this place, she became ill. She was diagnosed with cancer and died eleven months later. It was her death and the mass of notes she left me about the country surrounding the Sandy Desert that convinced me I had to find this place. That was thirty years ago. It was only half the place it is now. There was no school; I had to teach the young Aborigine children on the bare earth. I would sit on a wooden box with the children forming a circle. I had no school books, just scraps of paper the Palmers gave me. Then one day the old tight-fisted patriarch came over to our circle and said, ‘You’re an eyesore in my new town, Miss Gerry; I had earned my nickname by then. You and these black kids get in the way of my cattle, so I’m going to box you in, out of harm’s way.”

  “Oh dear,” Kate exclaimed. “That sounded harsh.”

  “From him it was what one expected. He was an old-style rancher. He was fair, but he dealt out harsh justice. The next day a horse and cart arrived with a mass of timber and ten Aboriginal stockmen followed with the gang boss. He was young then – he’s an old bugger now – but he took me to one side with a big brown ledger, opened it to a new spread and placing a pencil in my hand, told me to draw out my school.”