The Complete Book of Australian Flying Doctor Stories
Bill Marsh
ABC Books (2012)
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Tags: Travel, General
The Royal Flying Doctor Service is a unique icon of Australian culture. Since its beginnings with the Reverend John Flynn in 1928, the RFDS has helped build our nation. The Flying Doctors, and the remote stations and communities that they serve, have become enduring symbols of what it means to be Australian.
The Complete Book of Australian Flying Doctor Stories is a fascinating, moving and often hilarious collection of true stories about the life in the Australian Outback. Hear of those whose very lives depend on the Royal Flying Doctor Service, like the man suffering from extreme burns who rode his motorbike eighteen kilometres back across his property to get help while opening and closing every gate along the way because you ′always leave gates as you find them′. Out here, stoicism and a sense of humour go hand in hand, as in the case of the stockman with a compound leg fracture who, when asked by the Flying Doctor if it hurt, replied, ′Oh, it itches a bit.′
Through fog, lightning, thunder, flooding rains and dust storms, the Flying Doctor braves the elements to get to the remote outback landing strips where they′re needed and the tales they live to tell will have you shaking your head in amazement.
Contents
Cover
Book One: Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories
Special thanks to
Dedication
Contributors
Foreword
A Cordial Invitation
A Day at the Races
A Mother’s Love
A Piece o’ Piss
A Stitch in Time
A Very Merry Christmas
An Egg a Day
And He Survived!
And the Winner is…
And Then There Were Seven
As Full as a Boot
As Soft as Air
Born to Fly
Brainless
Break a Leg
Cried Duck
Dog’s Dinner
Down the Pub… Again
Fingers Off
From Bad to Worse
Great Break, Aye!
Gwen’s Legacy
Handcuffed
Heaven
Kicking the Dust
Knickers
Love is…
Mayday! Mayday!
Missing
Mission Impossible
Mud Happens
Night Eyes
No Thanks!
Off
Old Bill McDougall
Once Bitten, Twice Shy
One Shot
Pass the Hat
‘Payback’
Peak Hour Traffic
Pepper Steak
Plonk
Rabbit
Richmond
Run and Catch
Skills and Teamwork
Snakes Alive!
Spot on Time
Squeaky the Stockman
Stowaway
The Pedal Radio Man
The Telegram
The Tooth Fairy
There’s a Hole in the… Drum
There’s a Redback on the…
Touch Wood
Train Hit by Man
We Built an Airport
Welcome to Kiwirrkurra
Where’s Me Hat?
Whistle Up
Willing Hands
You Wouldn’t Read About It
Book Two: More Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Contributors
Introduction
My First Flight
A Committed Team
A Great Big Adventure
A True Legend
A True Privilege
A Wife’s Tale
Accident Prone
Amazing
Ashes
Been Around, Done a Thing or Two
Black ’n’ Decker
Blown Away
Dirt to Dust
Dobbed In
Emergency!
First Drive
Gasping
Gone with the Wind
Got the Scours
Hans from Germany
Heroes out of Mere Mortals
How the Hell
In the Footsteps of Flynn
In with the Luggage
It’s Alright Now
Just Day-to-Day Stuff
Love is in the Air
Matchmakers
Mystery Photograph
Next to Buckley’s
Not a Happy Pilot
Okay
One Arm Point
One Lucky Feller
Over the Moon
Porcupine
Rabbit Flat
Rissoles
Slim Dusty
Slingshot
Small World, Large Bruise
Someone, Somewhere
Statistics and Brief History
Sticks in the Mind
Stories about the Flying Doctor
The Crook Cocky
The Easter Bunny
The Flying Padre’s Story
The Souvenir
The Spirit of the Bush
The Tangle with the Motor Bike
Too Late
Touched My Heart
Tragedies
Two in One
Two Lumps
Victorian Connections
Water, Water, Everywhere But…
Well Prepared
Where are You?
Wouldn’t be Alive
Final Flight
Book Three: New Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories
Contributors
Dedication
A Brief History
A Short Little Story
A Team Thing
Almost but not Quite
Are You Sure?
Broken
Burns
Call the Doctor!
Camp Pie
Captain ‘Norty’
Coen
Dad
Difficult Conditions
Disappearing Flares
Down the Lot
Dr Clyde Fenton
From all Walks of Life
Gymkhanas
Hats off
Heroes of the Outback
I Was the Pilot
If Only
In Double Quick Time
In the…
In the Beginning
In the Boot
Injections
Joe the Rainmaker
Laura
Lombadina
Long Days, Great Times
Looked like Hell
Looking at the Stars
Memories of Alice Springs
News Flash
Old Ways, New Ways
One in a Trillion
Pilatus PC 12
Preordained Destiny
Razor Blades and Saucepans
See Yer Later
Speared
Stroke
Stuck
That’s My Job
The Normanton Bell
The ‘Singing’
The Sweetest Sound
The Wrong People
Things that Happened
Through a Child’s Eyes
Too Close
Watch What You Say
West of the Cooper
What If
Glory, Glory — The Flying Doctor Song
The RFDS Today
How You Can Help
About the Author
Copyright
Publisher�
�s note: The stories contained in this compilation are derived from interviews. In order to preserve the authenticity of these oral accounts the language used is faithful to the original story-telling. The publisher does not necessarily endorse the views expressed or the language used in any of the stories.
Warning: This book may contain the names of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people now deceased.
Quotation on page 682 from From City to the Sandhills of Birdsville, by Mona Henry, reproduced by permission of CopyRight Publishing. Quotations on pages 730–735 from Outback Achiever: Fred McKay — Successor to Flynn of the Inland, by Maisie McKenzie, reproduced by permission of Boolarong Press.
Lyrics from ‘Woman on the Land’, on page 648, written by John Williamson © 1977 Emusic Pty Limited, reproduced by permission.
GREAT AUSTRALIAN FLYING DOCTOR STORIES
Special thanks to
Lyn Shea for her ideas, support and enthusiasm
The Royal Flying Doctor Service and its
supportive staff
Ian Doyle, Broadcaster
Angela Faraj, Public Relations, RFDS (National)
The Broken Hill Outback Residencies Program
All those who so willingly shared their stories with me
Dedication
To Margaret and James Holdsworth,
and Jarrod Bonnici
Contributors
Great Flying Doctor Stories is based on stories told to Bill ‘Swampy’ Marsh by:
Joyce Anderson
Helen Austin
Bob Balmain
Joy Barton
Rosemary Chamberlain
Ben Dannecker
Maurie Denison
Ian Doyle
Jan Ende
Penny Ende
Brett Forrester
Anne Hindle
Campbell Holmes
Bob Irvine
Ray Jenner
Alf ‘Bomber’ Johnson
Verona Keen
Bill Legg
Geri Malone
Fred McKay
Marg McQuie
Lindsay Millar
Jack Mills
Mary Patricia Mitchell
Colin Munro
Liz Noonan-Ward
Fred Peter
Lorraine Rieck
Robert Ryan
Bruce Sanderson
Gabrielle Schaefer
Rob Seekamp
Chris Smith
Clyde Thomson
Audrey Tregoning
Penny Wilson
Maureen Woods
…and many others.
Foreword
Just after my last book came out I was having a cup of coffee with ‘the lady down the road’ (Lyn Shea). ‘What’re you going to write next?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘Have you got any ideas?’
True to form, she had plenty, one of which was a collection of stories of the experiences people had with the Royal Flying Doctor Service.
And so began this book.
After receiving some funding from Arts SA I headed off to Broken Hill as part of a writer-in-residence program as well as to collect stories from a couple of friends of friends who worked out at the RFDS base. I was welcomed there, as I was at all the RFDS offices that I visited, with open arms and a swag of stories ready to be told.
‘I’ll knock this off in a couple of months,’ I said.
But friends of friends have friends of their own and before long, whenever I mentioned that I was collecting Flying Doctor stories, someone would say, ‘Oh, you’ve got to get in contact with so-and-so. They’ve got a great story to tell.’ So I did, and after I collected their story they, in turn, would suggest someone else who had ‘an even better story to tell’.
Then amongst all this story collecting I met a bloke, Ian Doyle, who was relieving on the ABC’s Sunday morning radio program, Australia All Over, and he interviewed me about the project. The response was astounding. People rang from all over Australia, wanting to tell their story; unfortunately, more than there was space in this book for. I hope that, as time goes by, I get to meet many of the people I could only get to interview by telelphone.
The stories of the contributors’ experiences with the Royal Flying Doctor Service and of their triumph against the odds have been an inspiration. So sit back, relax, and allow me to introduce you to some of Australia’s unsung heroes and great characters…
Bill ‘Swampy’ Marsh
A Cordial Invitation
I reckon it must have been back in about 1960 or ’61, whichever year it was that copped the worst of the floods. There was this bloke, Harry, who was the Head Stockman out on Durham Downs Station. A very knowledgeable bushman he was too. Anyway, Harry and his team of stockmen had been out mustering, day in, day out, for three months straight, in woeful conditions, so when they were given a week off they decided to exercise their bushman’s rite and go into Noccundra to let off a little steam in at the pub there.
‘Let’s get the hell outa here,’ Harry called to his stockmen as they clambered up on top of the two-wheeled camp trailer, cashed up and ready to go.
Now I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these camp trailers but they’re massive bloody things, and they have to be. Because when you’re out mustering for months on end they carry the whole kit-andcaboodle — all the food, the cooking gear, the swags, water, fuel, toolboxes, the lot. They’re like a bloody huge mobile kitchen cum garage, and they’ve got these gigantic truck tyres on them, so huge that you’d almost have to be Sir Edmund Hillary to climb up on the tray.
To complete the picture for you, this particular camp trailer was pulled by a Deutz tractor which was driven by the camp cook, an Afghan bloke who had extremely dark skin, so dark, in fact, they reckoned that the only thing you could see of him in the dead of the night was the whites of his eyes. That’s when he wasn’t sleeping, of course, or praying, which was something he did quite regularly, being the extremely devout Muslim that he was. This bloke’s name was Frozella, Frozella the Afghan cook.
So off this mob of stockmen went through flooded creeks, rivers and tracks and, when Frozella finally pulled into Noccundra, Harry and his workmates went straight to the pub. And that’s where they spent the entire week, in the pub, except for one very important trip which Harry made. That was to the local store to buy a bottle of raspberry cordial. The reason behind that was on their return journey they were going past an outstation on Durham Downs. And on this outstation there was a man and his wife and their three or four children and Harry had solemnly promised these youngsters that he’d bring them back a bottle of raspberry cordial, for a special treat.
As you might imagine, during that week in at the Noccundra pub, a lot of fun was had. A lot of alcohol was consumed too, which led to the usual number of stoushes. But no harm done. Anyway by the time they set off back to Durham Downs, Harry and his team were so knackered from their week’s activities that not long after they’d crawled up on the camp trailer, to a man they’d fallen into a deep alcohol-induced sleep. And there, draped right up on top of the load, was Harry, snug and snoring under his military overcoat, and stuffed into one of the pockets of that coat was the precious bottle of raspberry cordial.
So there they were, in the dead of the night, a few hours out from Noccundra when they hit a bump. Off came Harry. Down from a great height he fell. And when he hit the ground he was not only knocked out cold from the impact but also the bottle burst and raspberry cordial went all over him. Now, none of the stockmen realised that their boss had disappeared. Neither did Frozella. He kept on chatting away to Allah while negotiating the tractor along the muddy tracks until he reached the boundary gate.
It was while he was at the gate that Frozella did a number count and discovered that Harry had gone missing. Now the little Afghan realised that his life wouldn’t be worth living if he arrived back at Durham Downs minus his boss. So with the other blokes still fast asleep, he turned the camp trailer around an
d drove back in search of the Head Stockman. He’d travelled about twenty miles when there, illuminated by the mud-splattered glow of the tractor lights, Frozella saw Harry laying spread-eagled on the ground, covered in red gooey stuff.
So shocked at the scene was Frozella that he sat glued to the seat of the Deutz tractor. ‘Oh Allah, oh Allah,’ he prayed from the safe distance, hoping for a miracle and that suddenly Harry would arise and walk. But he didn’t. Harry didn’t even move a muscle. This caused Frozella to conclude that Allah had instigated the accident as a punishment for all his sins. Sins that kept multiplying in Frozella’s brain the longer he looked down at Harry, lying prostrate in front of the tractor.
Then the panic really set in. Without bothering to check the body, Frozella turned the camp trailer around again and raced to Kihee Station. It was there that he told the station owner’s wife, Mrs O’Shea, all about his sins, and how Allah had caused Harry to fall off the camp trailer, and about how the camp trailer had run over the Head Stockman.
‘Oh Missus, blood everywhere,’ Frozella kept mumbling. ‘Blood everywhere.’
So Mrs O’Shea contacted the Flying Doctor.
The doctor in this case was the legendary Irishman Tim O’Leary. And Tim at that particular time was attending an extremely ill patient in at Thargomindah. So when Tim got word that the Head Stockman had been run over by a camp trailer, he organised for his patient to be flown back to the Charleville Hospital so that he could go straight out to Kihee Station and see to things there. The problem being, that because of all the flooding there was a lack of suitable transport in Thargomindah.
‘I’ll have a go at taking yer out in me little Hillman,’ the husband of the nursing sister said.
‘What we need is a tractor,’ suggested Tim.
‘It’s the best I can do,’ replied the bloke.
‘Okay then,’ Tim said, ‘we’ll give it a go.’
So they jumped into the little Hillman and set off on a nightmare journey through the mud and the slush. When they weren’t getting bogged, they were pushing themselves out of bogs. And whenever they came to a swollen creek they placed a tarpaulin over the radiator so that the car’s engine wouldn’t stall, midstream, where the chances were that they’d be washed away, never to be seen again.
Now, while the Hillman was battling its way up the track, Jack O’Shea arrived home at Kihee Station homestead and listened to Frozella’s story.