U3A Writing: Paper Delivery
Astrta Warren's accounts of her life as a governess in a remote Australian outback station are as fascinating to Aussie city dwellers as they are to readers around the world. Here Astra tells how the newspapers arrive in an unexpected vehicle.
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The second weekend on my new station, the family invited me to join them for their Sunday picnic, but after two weeks organizing three students who had never worked with a governess before, I needed time out.
Children also need time out, giving them chance to let off steam to their parents about the injustices of the system and their new slave driver.
Soon the radio crackled. "Is the boss there? Over," asked a male voice.
"They're all out for the day. I'm the new governess. Can I take a message? Over."
"Right. This is Kev. I drop off the papers from town when I'm coming up the track. Meet me at the gate. I'll be there in thirty. Over and out".
I did a startled mental flip. Papers usually came up on the fortnightly supply truck, so it was a bonus to get an extra delivery. The road gate was a kilometre away, and no
vehicle available, so a spot of brisk exercise was indicated.
I pulled on some boots, grabbed a water bottle and a hat (it was nearly midday and 35 degrees), and set off down the drive at an Olympic pace.
Sitting under a shady gum on a rock that commanded a view of the unsealed road running between dusty scrub, it occurred to me to wonder what kind of vehicle couldn't negotiate the wide homestead drive, but I soon found out.
Within minutes, a rising dust cloud appeared at the horizon, boiling out over the scrub on the hot wind. A huge rig emerged from the fog, decelerating onto the cleared verge; an empty triple-decker semi-trailer, on its way to pick up sheep. It drew up with a sighing and hissing of hydraulics.
Waiting until the dust had settled, I went round to the driver's side, dwarfed by the monster machine. The top step into the cab was above my head. Handing out a thick bundle of papers and magazines, the driver climbed down for a yarn and a smoke.
Kev was a family friend, often stopping in for a meal on his solitary runs. Dropping off the papers is a traditional courtesy when passing an isolated homestead.
He started the engine again, checked the empty horizon for non-existent traffic and eased the awesome length back onto the road, disappearing into its trailing dust cloud.
Dust and silence settled and I trudged up the drive, reflecting that this had to be the most unusual paper delivery in WA.
But did I detect a note of disappointment in the delivery boy? Perhaps the word 'governess' had conjured a vision of striking lucky with some young blonde chick. Instead he encountered a senior citizen with dusty boots and an all-enveloping battered hat that, like its owner, had seen better days.
Such is life!
