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Published by John Francis
OVER 55 YEARS AGO multi-award-winning journalist John Francis interviewed ageing Australian Outback characters, before their voices were lost in the red dust. THIS IS UNIQUE Aussie history. NEARLY ALL lived largely solitary lives, in the harsh and lonely inland, on the edge of deserts, in a world of searing droughts, and occasional fierce floods. THEY WERE prospectors, sheep and cattle men, boundary riders, drovers, railway workers, truck drivers, Aboriginal groups, and isolated but hardy women. AUSTRALIA'S AVIATION HISTORY also started in the red dust. You'll hear interviews with some of Australia's most famous pioneer airmen (many of whom started flying in the First World War), who used aircraft to make the Outback a little less lonely. JOHN ALSO interviews the descendants of other unique characters, reads fascinating tales from Australia's Outback past, and spins tales of his own red dust adventures. WEBSITE: www.reddusttapes.au
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Greetings, Red Dusters. This is the 13th episode of Season Two, so I’m taking a break. But fear not, I have a dilly-bag full of tasty tales that I’ll be working up for Season Three. Now … I have a fascinating episode for you. I’ve mentioned before, that Australian aviation rose above the dust and mud, into the cold cold cold blue, to cover mighty distances. Many of you will remember Episodes Four, five and six, where I interviewed former World War 1 fighter pilot Sir Norman Brearley, who started Australia’s very first airline, West Australian Airways. And Episode 9, ‘You had to overcome their fear’, When Sir Hudson Fysh, another World War 1 veteran, shared anecdotes about his years co-founding Qantas. Both airlines were not started in the big cities, but in the regions, and the Outback. So this time, I’ve got a real beauty for you, from someone who was not just a skillful and daring aviator, but a cracker of a yarn-spinner… Lester Brain was one of the very first Qantas’ pilots – number three in fact, after the airline's two founders. Lester really became the backbone of the company’s flying, and later administrative team. He was often in the middle of the action, achieving many firsts, and gaining distinguished flying awards along the way. In this episode: How Lester overcame the nausea of flying with burnt castor oil flicking into his face Crash landing into a tree Searching for missing airmen in Northern Territory jungle The humorous tale of of an isolated cattle station desperate for news of the Melbourne Cup winner Piloting Australia's first overseas flight The glamour of the flying boats Being in charge of the tiny settlement of Broome in the North West, during the attacks by the Japanese While suffering from fever, rowing out to rescue survivors Evading the enemy on the longest flights in the world, across the indian Sea, in what became known as the Double Sunrise route
Red Dust Tapes rocks and rattles back into the early days of Australian rail. You’ll hear: A 1914 account of the flies, the dust and the mind-numbing isolation, by a man who was right there with pick and shovel for the building of the 1,710 kilometre Nullabor Railway, the Transcontinental. We visit the tiny railway settlement of Cook, in the middle of that desolate track, in the later days of diesel. It’s deserted now, but back in 1970 when I recorded there, it had a school, post office, a lock-up, and a handful of houses. We’ll hear of the Tea and Sugar train that would pass through these isolated settlements, with its butchers’ van and other reminders of civilization. And of the railway fettlers’ camps along the line, which featured the occasional murder. And I record my brief encounters with steam, standing on the clatter-bang of footplates on the last smoky shunter in Perth, and then Port Pirie in South Australia, sitting in a coffee place in Port Pirie’s main shopping strip, being startled by the hiss-choof-whoof of a passing steam train. It was in Port Pirie where I encountered the quirky level crossing that featured three separate rail gauges, a testament to the pig-headedness of our colonial transport planners. Also, social and musical historian Warren Fahey, shares why the railways were a godsend to the shearers, prying them away from the money-hungry publicans, so they had a chance to visit their far-away families.
I’ll never forget roll-yer-own, coughing, cursing, tell it as it was, Nicholas Tallack. He was a bushman of wide experience, and with a swag of stories for every one of them. Nick Tallack was my favourite yarn spinner, and in this episode of Red Dust Tapes Nick will wax lyrical about camels and donkey teams. And later, we’ll chuff/clunk/whistle our way at a leisurely pace in the boiler room and wheelhouse of Murray River paddlesteamers, in the jolly good company of stokers and captains, and hear stories of the river in flood, to when the blazing sun turns the flows into mud. Then let’s go from fresh water to salt, to the ‘mosquito fleet’, the coastal ketches of South Australia, in the company of a man who was a deck boy, and had all manner of rough and tumble humorous tales to tell. But let’s return to those bullocky stories … ah, the romance of travel by bullock wagon, with a mob of (mostly) docile bullocks, two-abreast, 28 or 30 of them yoked up and plodding serenely along a dusty road, while you just lean back against the bales of wool piled high above you, content under the warm sun, taking the occasional sip from your canvas waterbag … Yeah, right mate. Pull the other leg. That well-known colonial-era song, ‘The Old Bullock Dray’ makes it sound like being a bullocky was an idyllic life. But as we’ll find out, the reality was about mud, sand dunes, broken axles, sweat and curses. I’ll bring you all manner of stories, including of a 13 year-old bullocky who would do his homework by lantern light, and after hauling loads through the Victorian goldfields, saved all his cash and returned to give it to his dear old mum. From there we’ll go further south, to Tasmania, to meet an old bloke who will teach us bullocky language, as he describes the muddy job of hauling logs out of those deep and dark forests. So let’s go slow slogging, with Red Dust Tapes.
Hop on your horse, let's go. And be warned: your bottom will be rubbed raw after just one a day in the saddle. And you could be heaving and swaying up there for several months. I have some fascinating people to introduce you to. Like the late, legendary Bill Gwydir, who used to drove thousands of cattle thousands of kilometres, through the sweaty monsoonal mud of Queensland, then through the heat and cold and endless sand of South Australia. Bill's stories, of a childhood raised in the saddle, and of horses going blind in sandstorms, are riveting. Then there's Aboriginal singer-songwriter Kev Carmody, who was also just a young boy when he first accompanied his parents. He recalls the hardships endured by his mother, then sings of it in 'Droving Woman'. Another Aboriginal woman, a decade earlier, had an even harder life. Evelyn Crawford recounts this life with clarity and humour, in her book, 'Over My Tracks.' This, and many other adventures await you, in 'Our Andy's Gone With Cattle', the story of the Drovers.
In this chapter: The convict who tried a ‘fool’s gold’ trick – twice; The real gold rushes and the birth of the swaggie; The arrival of the Chinese goes off like fireworks, so here comes the White Australia Policy; Grog and mayhem on the goldfields; Duck for cover! It’s the bushrangers; Defiance, death, and Justice – the Eureka Stockade; … And to finish, a delightful interview I had with an old bloke who in the late 1890’s used to tramp up through the snow, past the gold mining camps, to the top of Australia’s highest peak carrying the mail.
Now Red Dust listeners, I have no interviews to present to you this episode. Rather, let’s head back in time, to before recording devices were invented. Australia, as with the rest of the world, right now is in the midst of turmoil, over the significance of immigration. Our first Anoriginal immigrants trickled in while in the midst of the last Ice Age. But much, much later came a flood, of the second wave … ah ha! So here we go … In this episode … The Great South Land is dumped with rubbish from Great Britain! There’s ALSO space for some nice refined English people. (Free settlers). There are Hangings. Protests. And we finish with a dramatic escape! Music this issue comes from: Warren Fahey's Australian Bush Orchestra: 'Pioneer Scottisch' Warren Fahey: 'Jim Jones Of Botany Bay' The Dingo And The Crow: 'Botany Bay' Richard Glover, 'Moreton Bay' 40 Degrees South: 'The Catalpa'
It was a tremendous pleasure sharing with each of the women in this chapter. Auntie Kath Nichols, who lived in what was destined to be a ghost town in the northern South Australia with Twiggy Minupus, a kitty Aunty Kath claimed was affected with radiation from atomic tests to the west. Maud Close, with stories of working in tin mines with the Chinese in 1907, the Top End railway, and the bombing of Darwin. And The Goat Lady of Bulong, Hilda Jarvis, living with hundreds of goats in Western Australia in what, without her, would be another ghost town.
Now I want to present to you a time capsule. It’s a radio documentary I prepared in 1972, for the ABC. Back then it’s title was, ‘The Urban Aborigine’ , and you’ll find the word 'aborigine' features strongly thoughout For many Aboriginal people, that word is no longer considered appropriate. Because of historical connotations, to use that word for indigenous Australians seems to lengthen the distance between ‘them’ and ‘us’, between me the white person, and you the black person. It’s considered dehumanising. Personally, since it was the common term right up until the 50’s and 60’s when I grew up, I still have to remind myself to be more considerate. I witnessed so many appalling interactions between our two races in the bush. And I’m dismayed in recent years, sensing the undercurrent of disinterest through to outright dismissal from so many of my fellow Australians. So I feel it’s increasingly important for every step that I can take to be more in keeping with the feelings of my brothers and sisters, the descendants of the oldest living culture on earth. But yes, keeping this 1972 time capsule historically accurate, the word aborigine does feature. My subjects were reflecting what they saw as a change coming, back then in 1972, to how the larger Australian society perceived the Aboriginal people. The voices yo’ll hear are: Mrs Olga Fudge, who moved to Adelaide from Point McLeay mission, in 1912; Mrs Elphick from Point Pearce, who was then working with the Adelaide Aboriginal Cultural Centre; Adelaide born Mrs Natasha McNamara; a lecturer in Business Studies; Bert Clarke, former stockman, then with the Adelaide Aboriginal Cultural Centre; university student Gloria Brennan, born outback Western Australia; Mrs Lela Rankin, formerly of Point McLeay Reserve, who was researching Aboriginal music at the University of Adelaide. And weaving throughout this presentation was the work of singer-songwriter Bob Randall, otherwise known as Uncle Bob. Bob, an elder of the Yankuny-tjatjara people of Central Australia, was widely respected for his vigorous community work, in various parts of Australia, most especially in education.
This episode has everything: A road trip. (Well, on mainly dusty tracks) across three quarters of Australia. Memorable encounters with remnants of Aboriginal tribes – two of whom were the last speakers of a number of ancient languages. The horrifying squalor of a fringe dwellers' camp, and the grief of young parents whose children were taken. The endless, almost bendless Nullabour Railway, A fascinating interview with an anthropologist – Kato Muir – who is also the descendant of some of the last Aboriginal people to emerge from the desert, into the world of white man. Ah, but there’s more! And it’s bizarre! In the same spot where the last of the Aboriginal people emerged into the 20th Century, a Japanese terror group would later prepare for their deadly nerve gas attack on a Tokyo subway. So this episode of Red Dust Tapes stretches you from cultures going back to the Iast Ice Age, to malevolent use of modern technology.
Ned Conroy, the craggy-browed Scotsman with the missing teeth and a dusty face the colour of the red earth he dug in, loved the bush, and the chase for floaters – those bits of gold on the surface – and then the dig-down search for the hidden reef. And he wasn’t perturbed by the near-miss when, in the pitch black after his lamp snuffed out, several tons of earth collapsed right in front of him. Or the time when a large snake tumbled down the mine shaft and landed on his shoulder. When I visited them in 1970, Ned and his mate Banjo were two of the last three prospectors at Darlot, in Western Australia’s northern goldfields, where once there had been something like 5,000 people. Ned was an alcoholic. He said working remotely in the bush suited him, keeping him on the task of the search for the yellow stuff, and away from the hotels. Ned talks widely of the joys of life in isolation, the routine of a bushman, the challenges of surviving when you’re not finding much, and the beauty of a harsh landscape.
From the age of 12 Les Craigie was a professional boxer. In our interview he compared an easily bruised apple with the delicacy of a pummelled human brain. At 21 he’d had enough of the risks, and for the next 25 years he worked deep underground in the Broken Hill silver-lead mines – to face different but equally real dangers. In 1948 Les climbed up out of the deep shafts and headed west, taking up his own silver-gold claim in the Barratta Ranges. From miner, he became a prospector. Oh sure, that still meant picking and blasting his way beneath the surface, but with more time up top to gaze and to wander, taking in the beauty of the trees, the wildflowers, and to breathe unpolluted fresh air. Twenty three years later, in 1970 when I interviewed him, Les Craigie was still his own man, content in the serenity.
Woops. Once again, we’re a long way from the usual Red Dust Tapes Outback territory. This is the second of the two-part anecdotes of John ’Snow’ Williams, who first went to the Antarctic in 1958, at the end of the International Geophysical Year. In this era the world was gripped with the fear of nuclear war, with the United States and Russia flinging threats at each other. So it was remarkable that a year of scientific co-operation was achieved, that had many significant, and shared, outcomes. In this second episode, John talks of expeditions to count fleas on seals and Emperor penguins, one mechanical problem after another, escaping from crevasses, and a brief boozy encounter with the Russians.
Welcome to Season 2 of Red Dust Tapes. We commence this second season as far as you can possibly get from the usual Red Dust Tapes territory, in The Land of the Blizzard, Antarctica. It’s also just 67 years ago – so far more recent than most of my tales. But John ’Snow’ Williams is a great storyteller. In this case recalling his time at Wilkes Station, in 1958, during the International Geophysical Year. This was deep into the Cold War era, with the US and Russia trading frightening threats. But among other things, John talks of convivial encounters with the Russians. John's early days in the Deep South were also filled with high drama.
THIS IS THE FINAL EPISODE OF SEASON 1. Whoah! It seems I achieved something that the great television interviewer and self-confessed cricket nut Sir Michael Parkinson longed for, but never managed – to not just meet, but to interview the legendary, world-beating cricketer, Sir Donald Bradman. It was said that Don Bradman was ‘elusive’. Like a lyrebird in the bush, perhaps? But there was the great Don, graciously opening his office door to me, welcoming me in, and cheerfully sharing so many stories from his illustrious sporting life. This was in about 1972, when Sir Donald was a stockbroker batting share prices rather than a cricket ball, having played his final Test game against England 24 years earlier. In that match the great man was just four runs short of a 7,000-run career, but was sent walking with a duck. With a what? In this episode of Red Dust Tapes I offer a brief introduction to this weirdest of games, that in it’s ‘first class’ form can keep going for six hours a day for three, four, and in present times, five days. But we’re really here for the anecdotes and musings of the man many regard not just as the greatest cricketer of all time, but possibly the greatest sportsperson. Sir Donald was a delight to sit with, freely sharing on career highlights, the lows of the dangerous bodyline era, and tales of other legendary cricket characters. So no, this edition of Red Dust Tapes is not about the Outback. And yes, it is all about cricket. But offered to you in a way that I hope you will enjoy regardless of your interest in sport. By the way it’s also the end of the first season of Red Dust Tapes. I guarantee you’ll be delighted with the content and variety of the next season, when we spend time with cattlemen, railway workers, isolated Aboriginal people, prospectors, paddlesteamer captains; when we hear more anecdotes from our first airmen, and meet assorted Outback loners. All of these characters were born towards the end of the 19th century or early in the 20th, so all are long, long gone. My interviews are Australian oral history you won’t hear anywhere else. To stay informed, and to be alerted when the new season starts, please subscribe, at www.reddusttapes.au
SEASON 1, EPISODE 11 When I interviewed Ernest Skein in 1970, I was told he had recently been let out of jail. I didn’t want to close down an interview with a fascinating old-time prospector, so when I got the message that some subjects were not to be touched, I left that one alone. It remained just a giant elephant in the tiny, hot-as-hell tin shack in which I interviewed him in Tennant Creek, in the Northern Territory. What I’ve found out recently deepens the mystery of Ernest Skein. It involves a shocking incident that occurred at the Dolly Pot Mine in Tennant Creek, way back in 1939. I relate what little I know of this incident at the end of this edition of Red Dust Tapes. But for the most part, this is the story of a north Queensland butcher who got his start selling cat meat, and ended up as a gold miner in the Northern Territory, with a whole lot of rough and tumble along the way.
SEASON 1, EPISODE 10 In the Depression years Fred Teague had been a gold miner and fox shooter north of the road to Broken Hill. He drove trucks for the legendary Harry Ding to Innaminka, and up the Birdsville Track, in gruelling conditions, where if you got stranded you’d better have plenty of water; and where a wrong turn could mean the end. Then in the early 1950s he opened Hawker Motors, which became a mecca for motorists heading up into the Flinders Ranges and beyond. What made Fred Teague so special though, was his encyclopaedic knowledge of the natural and human history of the Flinders. Fred’s formal education had been limited, but over the years he gathered a comprehensive book collection. It was from the Bush though, that he learned most – through experience, intense observation, and through association with people like Aboriginal elders, and visiting geologists and paleontologists. I interviewed Fred at his Hawker Garage in 1967. My interview at that time focussed on the Flinders, not the man. So I was grateful, in early 2024, to learn Fred’s fascinating personal story, from his son John Teague. This episode features both father and son, interviewed 57 years apart.
SEASON 1, EPISODE 9 It was bitterly cold up there, in leather cap and goggles, in the open cockpit. Turbulence in North Queensland skies was often terrifying. Passengers could do nothing but hang on and bear it, hopefully holding something to catch the vomit. And on landing, ‘sometimes the only edifice on the aerodrome was a little tin shed’, Sir Hudson told me. ‘On a cold morning you’d see the poor passengers making a sprint for this little tin shed.’ Sir Hudson Fysh was co-founder of the Australian flagship airline, Qantas. I interviewed him in 1970. This was a year before the first 747 Jumbo took to our skies, and three years before Concorde first flew. We spoke to celebrate the 50th anniversary of his scrappy little airline that started in the red dust of inland Queensland not long after World War One, and quickly grew to take on the world. Sir Hudson was a natural storyteller. He shared insights into the rugged flying conditions for passengers and pilots alike; the emotions of those early passengers who in many ways were like guinea pigs; and the lows and highs of running an airline between the world wars – including the romance of the flying boats – and on into the jet age.
SEASON 1, EPISODE 8 One day 1970, in the Outback town of Broken Hill, I was standing on a street corner, tape recorder in hand, grabbing sounds for a radio documentary. A short, energetic little fellow wandered up and said, ‘Hello son, what are you doing here?’ It was Frank Bartley, born 1888, who like his father before him became a miner at the Broken Hill mines. Broken Hill, they say, is the richest source of lead, zinc and silver in the world. It was also the site of three long-running workers’ strikes, that after tough battles, created Australian industrial relations history. Frank Bartley was a lively encyclopaedia for the rich history of Broken Hill. He gave highly memorable, graphic descriptions of the tough working conditions, the illnesses from bad mine practices and poor hygiene, and the bitter, protracted struggles between workers and bosses. We also hear excerpts from my old Broken Hill documentary, going deep underground, and visiting a School of the Air classroom when isolated Outback children were taught via radio. We finish with the title song from a new album, ‘Threeways’, by Australian Country singer-songwriter Kevin Sullivan.
SEASON 1, EPISODE 7 Last edition we met Sis McRae, the all-night fiddler from the early part of the 20th Century. Sis had just one child, Margaret McRae, who married Jim Coad. Both families had mining backgrounds. With Margaret and Jim this continued, with their barytes mine at Martins Well in the Flinders Ranges. But it’s what they achieved above ground, out there in the back country of South Australia, that is truly remarkable. Seven children, seven highly talented multi-instrumentalists. Including Peter, Virginia and Lynette. As Peter Coad and the Coad Sisters, these siblings – with the addition of fellow South Australian musician Jim Hermel, are almost constantly on the road, mixing and matching to form four bands, writing and performing Australian bush ballads, Bluegrass and Rock. But what is most dear to their hearts is the Australian sound, drawn from Australian outback stories, many reflecting their own isolated bush upbringing. As you will hear in this episode of Red Dust Tapes, Granny Sis McRae’s violin, dating from the 18th Century, plays on, in the talented hands of this intriguing family.
SEASON 1, EPISODE 6 There are two distinct parts to this episode: first, more revelations about an early aviation legend. Then, we visit Ada (Sis) Mcrae, born 1889, who recalls the hardships and joys of life in a small Outback town. SIR NORMAN BREALEY really made the dust fly with his biplane-era airline in Western Australia, but the maverick way he ran his business also raised the ire of our early aviation authorities. In this final instalment on Sir Norman, we hear of more of his brazen business antics. SIS McRAE in Hawker, South Australia, was the big-bodied, big-hearted grandmother of Australian Country Music legends Peter Coad and the Coad Sisters. In this 1967 interview with Sis, she shared with me some of her swag-full of yarns about small-town life over a century ago. And through the Coads’ song, ’Sing Me That Old Song, Granny’, we hear the ancient violin Sis would play all night at country dances in the Flinders Ranges.
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