The Women of the Outback –

Woman of the Out Back
by Val Jameson.

Seen under favourable circumstances, in the comfortable environments of city homes, one does not suspect the amount of grit possessed by the average Australian woman. Generally speaking, she is not aware of her own powers of fortitude. Only when the necessity arises is the discovery made of the inner strength that permeates her. This is not surprising. Grit is the natural inheritance of daughters of pioneers.

Don’t Look back! – Photo SLVIC

In outback mining communities, where necessities are regarded as luxuries, this spirit of fortitude is daily witnessed. Delicately nurtured women, whose husbands are employed on Government outposts or on mines, endure for their sakes an almost comfortless existence. The discomforts are increased tenfold during the fierce midsummer months, when suffocating storms of red dust make house-cleaning an endless task. Yet cheerfulness and at least the outward semblance of contentment is common. The interiors of the humpy homes are revelations of womanly ingenuity. There appears to he nothing lacking in the way of furniture, which an abundance of drapery conceals, but on longer acquaintance it is found that the drapings are intended to conceal art-fully handled grocer’s packing cases. It is often said:

“Here we are taught a useful lesson what to do without.”

Where board floors are not available, or too expensive, the earth is levelled and hardened, then covered with bag-carpets, where armies of ants parade in search of food. These small creatures are so numerous and persistent in their attacks that they constitute a real trial. Is there not a spice of heroism in the woman who, from the lightened labours of civilisation chooses to tackle a camp-oven under a broiling sun? She travels beyond the pale of dainty food shops to share with her husband the despised but indispensable “tined-dog.” She cheerfully abandons plentiful reservoir supplies of water to count the drops like pearls on the distant goldfields. For in remote mining districts life for women is intensely dreary. They have not even the compensation of a pleasant view, for the landscape presents one unbroken monotony of salt-bush plain, dotted with tents, humpies, dumps, and batteries. The unceasing chant of the last named becomes intensely wearisome and does not tend to dispel the vapours of discontent that will occasionally cloud the brain. After the pleasant distractions of city life, does it not require the quality of heroism to enter such paths as these?

Men, when removed from the conventional restraints of civilisation  are backsliders. Superfluous articles of dress are swiftly discarded. They become boisterous, free and easy “jolly good fellows,” and their inclinations drift towards a state of primeval simplicity. On the contrary, women cling tenaciously to the customs endeared by usage. As though fearful of deteriorating, a constant, interchange of social amenities is maintained. Rules of etiquette may be relaxed, but never relinquished. However rough the surroundings, a woman brings as a personal acquisition the atmosphere of her former life, a weft which is industriously woven into the fabric of the new.

Afternoon tea in the bush – Photo SL QLD

Afternoon tea is a cherished institution amongst pioneers. This is served with all the daintiness of modern style. If the weather is warm the hostess entertains her visitors under a bough-shade with the water-bag and butter-cooler hanging overhead. A willy willy may swoop upon the party incidentally with disastrous consequences. Then ladies flee indoors for shelter, while the obnoxious intruder smothers the table and tea paraphernalia in a layer of thick red dust. But the records of this circular wind-larrikin contains worse misdeeds than these. When full powered, he lifts tin roofs off houses and hurls them aloft piecemeal. Usually a rattling of tins and surface debris gives warning of his dreaded approach. Then the practice is to close all doors and windows, for a willy must gain an entrance to do much harm.

The ordinary willy is a mere infant when compared to the cyclones that annually cavort over the goldfields. I vividly recollect a cyclone visitation about two years ago. The boisterous visitor descended upon the town without preliminary warning, save for an ominous stillness that seemed to portend a thunderstorm. Black clouds clung together in low pendulous folds preparing to disgorge their moisture. Blades of lightning menaced the earth, followed by deep penetrating thunder.

Mrs. Prim, alone in her corrugated iron house, was conscious of highly strung nerves. She covered the mirror, and steel utensils and waited in a state of high nervous tension for the storm to pass over. Then, with a roar like an infuriated demon, the cyclone entered the town. In describing her experience, the lady said. “I thought it was the end of all things. I reached out my arms in a vain effort to grasp something firm. I felt although sheltered by walls, that I was caught in the throes of universal destruction. Thought was paralysed. I could only gaze through the windows at the sheet a of iron floating like paper through the air! Empty circular tanks sucked into the vortex of this terrific wind twirled on edge or rolled madly along.”

‘Suddenly the roof above my head lifted and was borne away. The deluge fell upon me and my cherished possessions. Yet I stood like one in a dream, fascinated and powerless to move. Opposite, an iron dwelling turned a complete somersault. I heard the smash of crockery and wondered vaguely if the inmates were safe. The song of the witches in Macbeth repeated itself in my brain.

“When shall we three meet again:
‘In thunder, lightning, and in rain,’

“It seemed like the four winds had gathered their forces from the ends of the earth to wrestle for supremacy. The course of that cyclone was clearly defined by the wreckage strewed in its wake’. So distinguished a visitor must flaunt it’s influence in the main street with the following results:

The courthouse roof sailed into the back premise of O’Rafferty’s Hotel, necessitating the adjournment of a mining dispute while warden, lawyer, and disputants found occasion to unite in sentiment at O’Rafferty’s bar against the new aggressor. The chemist’s and greengrocers premises became a conglomerate mass of twisted iron, smashed glass, cabbages, tooth brushes, scented soap, confectionery, and Epsom salts. The draper’s goods blown hither and thither were clinging to verandah posts or sodden with mud on the road. With a final snort and kick that unroofed a ward of the hospital. The cyclone departed to pursue its destructive career in other goldfields towns.

Then people left their damaged homes to take a general survey of the after effects and collect floating property. There was a vacant look on their faces, a dazed air of bewilderment about them as they meandered through the flooded streets and exchanged condolences. Varied and strange were the incidents related of narrow escapes. Micky Finn, a dry-blower, graphically described his experience. He had grasped the roof of his tent with both hands thinking to secure it by his weight, bat was lifted like a balloon and dropped in a creek.

In the hotel parlour a game of whist had been in progress. The local bootmaker, a Greman called Spifner, had lost patience with his partner, a new chum at the game whose ignorance was playing into their opponents hands. Awed by the contemptuous snorts and wrathful glances of the old enthusiast, the new chum hesitated.  At this critical moment the roof lifted, and the players rushed out of the room to escape the deluge.

‘Here’s a bittv mess grumbled Spifner to the landlord, don’t you haf nails in your roof?”

later on when he viewed the wreckage of his own premises, Spifner exhausted the German vocabulary of profane language before be reached the stage of philosophic submission adopted by others..

The pitiable condition of those whose homes were wrecked wrought on the sympathy of others, who lent willing, hands to restore the damage, and invited the drenched victims, women, and children, to a temporary shelter in their more secure dwellings. A few days after all traces of the wreckage had disappeared. The pioneers collected and replaced their scattered roofs, and accepted in a spirit of resignation the destruction of interior goods caused by the deluge.