Great Australian Outback Trucking Stories

By Bill Marsh

'Marsh knows how to spin a yarn' - Gold Coast Bulletin

Whether they're carting produce, stock, fuel, or even (unbeknown to them) dead bodies, there's one thing that can be said about outback truckies - they're a colourful bunch.

Meet the outback truckies who brave interminable distances, searing heat, raging floodwaters and foot-deep bulldust to transport goods all across this vast land, serving as lifelines not just to those in the bush but those in cities as well.

From the truckie who found a creative means of transporting penguins, to the one who refused to 'abandon ship' as his truck sank into a river, these real-life accounts show the lengths to which these enterprising and resourceful men and women will go to ensure their load arrives safely at their destination.

Bill 'Swampy' Marsh is an award-winning writer and performer of stories, songs and plays. He spent most of his youth in rural south-western NSW and now lives in Adelaide. Swampy is one of ABC Books' bestselling authors of Australian stories; this is his nineteenth book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781460708866

Bill Marsh

Bill ‘Swampy' Marsh is an award-winning writer/performer of stories, songs and plays. Based in Adelaide, he is best known for his successful Great Australian series of books published with ABC Books: More Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories (2007), Great Australian Railway Stories (2005), Great Australian Droving Stories (2003), Great Australian Shearing Stories (2001), and Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories (1999).

Book preview

Introduction

As a young kid in the late 1950s, I remember sitting in a picture theatre somewhere one stinking-hot summer’s night, watching the documentary film The Back of Beyond. The film covered the trials and tribulations that a man named Tom Kruse, along with his Aboriginal offsider, ‘But’ Butler, faced during their 300-mile journey along the Birdsville Track, from Maree, in the north of South Australia, through the Tirari and Sturt Stony deserts, to Birdsville, on the edge of the Simpson Desert, in the far central west of Queensland. Tom’s contract was to deliver mail, general stores, machinery parts, the occasional passengers and just about anything else that could be stacked on to his faithful 1936 Leyland Badger, out to the remote station properties along the way.

The Back of Beyond was the story of man’s struggle to get the job done against the most difficult of Australian conditions and environments. And Tom did it with ingenuity, humour and a quiet, calm, understated flair. On that particular summer’s night, Tom became a hero of mine. He could even pick up a full forty-four-gallon drum of fuel and toss it onto the back of his truck.

In those days the Birdsville Track was just that — a track, and a pretty vague, rough and rugged one at that. A planned seven-day round trip could take anywhere up to six weeks. The film showed Tom battling myriad bush flies, dust storms and numerous sand dunes as well as being bogged to the axles in foot-deep bulldust and having to mend broken suspension springs or tail shafts by the flickering light of the campfire, all the while being under continual bombardment from hordes of mosquitoes. After he’d seemingly survived all that, he came across a flooded Cooper Creek. But, not to be defeated, with the aid of a few passengers he’d picked up along the way and a local mate’s rudimentary barge set-up, they walked and ferried the load across the swollen and muddy waters.

Interwoven into the script was the heart-wrenching story of a couple of young sisters who’d left their remote homestead to walk out to the Birdsville Track, in the hopes of getting help for their sick mother. With them they took their pet dog, a bottle of water and a pram-like cart. After they’d walked for hours under the scorching sun, thinking they were heading in the direction of the Birdsville Track, they came across their original tracks. They’d gone full circle, and that’s when the eldest sister realised that they were hopelessly lost. So, in an attempt to save what little water they had left, the eldest sister tied their pet dog to a tree and, as they wandered off into the distance, leaving the distraught dog behind, their tracks disappeared under the hot windblown desert sands. The story was fictional, but based on many similar tragedies in outback history.

The Back of Beyond was produced and directed by John Heyer. It was commissioned by the Shell Oil Company to show a wider public the company’s strong connection with Australia’s remote parts and its pioneering people, as well as to promote the outback’s postal and telecommunications service. It is still considered to be one of Australia’s most successful documentaries and is included in the book 100 Greatest Films of Australian Cinema. It certainly made a huge impact on me.

After The Back of Beyond was released in 1954, Tom Kruse became a household name. In doing so he received a Member of the Order of the British Empire — MBE — for his ‘services to the community in the outback’. Such was the importance of the event, the Governor flew out to Birdsville especially to present the award to Tom in person. Though, as it turned out, the Governor had to return home with the MBE because Tom had been stranded out on the track by floodwaters and couldn’t make it.

Tom Kruse was born in 1914 at Waterloo, which is about seventy-five miles north-east of Adelaide. He was the tenth of twelve children. He left school when he was fourteen to work as a casual labourer on nearby farming properties. These were the Depression years and, with diminishing local work, Tom soon followed his brother Arthur over to Yunta, in the mid-north of South Australia, where he found employment in a mail-and-haulage business owned by well-known businessman John Penna.

In 1936 garage-store owner Harry Ding bought the contract from Penna and, wanting to expand the business, he bid for the Maree to Birdsville mail contract. When his application was successful, Harry put his most able driver and his most reliable truck on the run. That driver was a 22-year-old Tom Kruse. The truck was a 1936 Leyland Badger that had a 1924 Thornycroft rear end and gearbox. A newly married Tom and his wife, Val, then moved to Maree where they went on to have four children, two boys and two girls. Tom bought the Maree to Birdsville contract off Harry Ding in 1947.

The shooting of The Back of Beyond started in late 1952.

When Tom subcontracted the run a few years later, he abandoned his truck out in Sturt Stony Desert, just south of Birdsville, on Pandi Pandi Station. Then, after he sold his Maree to Birdsville contract in 1963, he went on to do general earthmoving, tank sinking — dam building — and general labouring work until he retired in 1984.

In South Australia’s 150th Jubilee year of 1986, Tom reenacted the northern leg of his old Birdsville Track run. Something like eighty vehicles joined in the convoy.

In 1993 the Leyland Badger was trucked out of Sturt Stony Desert and taken to some vacant sheds, belonging to the Department of Agriculture, in the Adelaide suburb of Oakden. And that’s where a group of enthusiasts, led by Neil Weidenbach, began to restore the Badger. While Neil did most of the chassis and heavy back-end work on the truck, Tom worked on the engine, Aynsley Rowe took on the rebuilding of the wooden tray and the restoration of the cabin, and Charlie Stevenson worked on the radiator.

In 1999 a second re-enactment was organised by a friend of mine, Dave Burge. At the start of the re-enactment, the newly refurbished Leyland Badger was trucked to within a few kilometres of Birdsville before an 85-year-old Tom drove it into the township. And so the official celebrations began. The next morning the Badger was loaded with seven thousand specially stamped letters from all over the world and The Mail Truck’s Last Run headed off on its journey down the Birdsville Track towards Marree.

I was asked by producer–director Ian Doyle to join in the re-enactment, which was to result in the documentary, The Last Mail from Birdsville: The story of Tom Kruse. The event was a fundraiser for the Royal Flying Doctor Service. In all twelve thousand dollars was passed on to the RFDS. The Mail Truck’s Last Run also coincided with the release of a book about Tom’s life called Mailman of the Birdsville Track, which was written by Neil Weidenbach’s daughter, and friend of mine, Kristin Weidenbach.

Ian Doyle and I had connected through my Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories books. He also knew that I was a bit of a songwriter and performer and he asked if I could write a song in celebration of Tom and the second re-enactment. Which I did. The song ‘When the Mailman Comes’ was written from the viewpoint of a young child, living out on a remote station property off the Birdsville Track, eagerly waiting for Tom to turn up to deliver the Christmas mail and presents.

As part of the documentary, me and my piano accordionist mate, Dave ‘Nutz’ Hansford, travelled with Ian, his newsreader wife, Jane Doyle, and some other friends, up the Birdsville Track to meet up with Tom and the large convoy of his supporters and fans on their southbound journey. The highlight of the trip was an outdoor evening concert in Cooper Creek, where Tom was reunited with an old mate of his from his mail-run days, George Bell, from Dulkaninna Station, who was celebrating his eightieth birthday. That was the first time I’d met Tom in person and, having admired him for so long, it was a huge privilege to sing the song I’d written for him on that night.

From Cooper Creek on, as Tom and his Leyland Badger and his convoy of supporters weaved their way through South Australia over the course of about a month, Dave and I met them and the film crew at various towns along the way to do a short performance. That continued right up until, and including, their arrival at Birdwood, in the Adelaide Hills, where Tom and Val donated the Leyland Badger to the National Motor Museum.

In 2000 Ian Doyle got back in touch with regard to another documentary he was planning to make. This time it was of a journey along eight hundred miles of the old Ghan railway track. Again Dave Burge was called in as organiser. The team of us met up at Quorn and drove up to Maree. Then it was along the Oodnadatta Track, past Algebuckina Bridge, on to Oodnadatta. From Oodnadatta we went via the Eringa Ruins, up to Mount Dare Station, then over the South Australian–Northern Territory border, to Fink, Ewaninga and up to Alice Springs.

As it happened, our arrival in the Alice coincided with Tom, Lew Couper, Toots Holzheimer and Noel Buntine — all of whom have a story in this book — along with a few other notable pioneers of the trucking industry, being inducted into the National Road Transport Hall of Fame. Dave and I were invited to perform at the inductee’s gala dinner, out at the Alice Springs Showground, as support act to another hero of mine, Slim Dusty, plus his wife, Joy McKean, and their band. I must admit that with Slim Dusty in the audience, along with Tom, Lew Couper and the other inductees, I was quite overawed. But still, to be able to perform for such company was something I’ll never forget.

Four years later Dave and I were once again invited to perform up in Maree as part of the fiftieth anniversary screening of the original The Back of Beyond documentary. People flocked in from everywhere. By this stage Tom was ninety and, with ailing health, it was touch and go if he’d even be able to make it. But he did, and that again proved to be a very moving moment.

When Tom died in June 2011, aged ninety-six, the song I’d written for him was played at his funeral. For me, Tom Kruse remains one of those unique Australians whose humility, inspirational work ethic, humour and generosity will always be something to aspire to.

When the mailman comes we’ll be waiting

When the mailman comes we’ll be there

When Tom comes along, we’ll be singing this song

When the mailman comes we’ll be there.

Out on the track, Birdsville and back

Come rain, come hail, come sunshine

The dust and the flies, they gets in your eyes

And in the grille of the old Leyland Badger

When the mailman comes we’ll be waiting

When the mailman comes we’ll be there

When Tom comes along, we’ll be singing this song

When the mailman comes we’ll be there.

There’s Danny and me and me sister who’s three

There’s me mum and me dad’s started thinking

That if it don’t rain, we could go down the drain

So some bores he’s planning on sinking

But when the mailman comes we’ll be waiting

When the mailman comes we’ll be there

When Tom comes along, we’ll be singing this song

When the mailman comes we’ll be there.

Now I reckon that Tom will be right along

’Cause it’s getting closer to Christmas

So I’m keeping me eye . . . oh, my oh my

Is that a sign in the distance?

Because when the mailman comes we’ll be waiting

When the mailman comes we’ll be there

When Tom comes along, we’ll be singing this song

When the mailman comes we’ll be there.

A Worthy Inclusion

G’day, it’s Lindy here. Remember? Lindy and Brian, the grey nomads? I’m the ex–high school teacher with an interest in modern history, and Brian’s retired from our local council. For your bush funerals book I told you the heart-wrenching story of the Pikeman’s Dog, which I pieced together from the Eureka Stockade exhibition in Ballarat. If you recall, it was about how a pikeman’s dog refused to leave the body of its dead master during the Eureka conflict. And after the conflict, he jumped up on the cart and accompanied his master’s body as it was taken away to the morgue. Then, when the miner was buried, the dog laid beside the grave, howling with grief.

Anyway, Brian and I have been on the road pretty much most of the time since then. Things had been going well until just recently when Brian had a bit of a turn, here in Alice Springs, and he ended up in hospital for a few days. He’s okay now. He’s fine. The doctors said that it was just one of those age-related things and so, all they’ve done, is they’ve changed his medication. But while Brian was laid up in hospital, it gave me the chance to spend some more time out at the National Road Transport Hall of Fame. And while I was there I met a very interesting lady who told me some of the personal stories of the pioneer truckies who’d been inducted onto their Wall of Fame. When I mentioned that you were writing a book on outback truckies she said, ‘Well, I hope he damn well gives a good mention to Noel Buntine.’

Apparently this lady knew Noel Buntine from back in the 1960s when she was a girl, living out at a place called Top Springs, which is apparently about three hundred kilometres south of Katherine, in the Northern Territory. She said that, back in its day, Top Springs was a big tick inspection point for the cattle that were being moved from all over the Territory up to Wyndham Meatworks, and beyond. This lady’s father was a tick inspector out there and that’s when she first met Noel Buntine. Now I don’t know if you’ve already interviewed anyone about Noel Buntine or not. But the lady’s helped me put something together because, just between you and me, I think it would be a very worthy inclusion in your book about truckies. Are you ready to hear what we’ve done?

Okay, here goes. So Noel Lyntton Buntine was born in Queensland, during late the 1920s, out at a little place, just south-west of Longreach, called Stonehenge. His father was a stockman and his mother’s family owned a nearby station property. That’s how they met. Now here’s an interesting fact that we’ve dug up. Apparently Noel’s great-great-grandmother, Agnes Buntine, was a well-known bullock driver back in the late 1800s. For those who may not know, you could liken a bullock driver to an old-time truckie in as much as both of them delivered all sorts of goods and freight around the place. Though, instead of driving a truck — a prime mover — with a trailer attached to it, a bullock driver had a team of bullocks, with a wagon attached to them. But the thing was, back in that era, it would’ve been a very big and rare thing for a woman to have been a bullock driver. So I’m thinking that it must’ve been in the genes somewhere because her great-great-grandson, Noel Buntine, went on to be one of the original road transport pioneers.

Anyhow, after Noel had finished his schooling, he became a clerk; first in Rockhampton, Queensland, followed by a stint over in Papua New Guinea. Then in 1950 he moved out to Alice Springs to work for the Mines Department. Noel liked Alice Springs and Alice Springs liked him. He was an excellent athlete and he also played cricket and Australian Rules football. And you’ll know how integral sport is to a country town, as Alice Springs would’ve been back in those early days. By that stage he was going out with a woman, Monica Evans, whom he later married in Brisbane.

Noel soon left the public service to begin a general agent’s set-up with a man called John Ryan. The main focus of their agency was to supply and service mining equipment, and they also acted as agents for some east-coast city-based companies. Once they got that up and running, Noel and John Ryan then bought out Overland Transport, part of which included a small share in a road–rail contract with the Commonwealth Railways. And that would’ve been quite lucrative, considering how a lot of freight came north, up to Alice Springs, by rail before being taken by road on to Darwin.

Overland Transport was more of a general cartage business and so it wasn’t until the late 1950s that they began to carry cattle. Now here’s an interesting point. Around that same time — the late 1950s — Noel moved to Queensland. I’m not sure what the reason was there; perhaps his wife was keen to return to Brisbane to be closer to her family. I don’t know but, whatever the reason, the partnership with John Ryan was wound up. As part of the settlement, Noel took a British-built Commer Knocker prime mover that he’d called Baby Doll, plus a semitrailer.

On arriving in Brisbane, Noel soon came to realise that he wasn’t suited to city life, nor did he like having to be subcontracted to larger interstate trucking companies. He wanted to be his own boss, so to speak, and so he returned to Alice Springs. And that’s when he started carting cattle in earnest.

Now I’ve tried to find out when the first marriage ended but I’m thinking that, if it wasn’t over by that stage, the move back to Alice Springs wouldn’t have helped the situation.

Business-wise, though, his timing was spot on. This was in the early 1960s; and to gain a greater advantage on his competitors, Noel decided to move his livestock trucking operations down to Katherine. That’s when he formed Buntine Roadways, and started trucking cattle from station properties throughout the Top End, via Top Springs — which was where the Hall of Fame lady met him as a young girl — then over to Wyndham, which is up on the far north coast of the Kimberley region, in Western Australia. In its heyday Wyndham had a large meatworks and it became an export shipping point. And that’s when things really started to move for Noel. One of his first trucks was a B-61 Mack prime mover named High and Mighty and, as the business grew, he bought more trucks and trailers and employed more drivers and workers. He was once famously asked how many trailers one of his prime movers could pull and his reply was, ‘As many as the clutch can handle.’

Anyhow, to keep an eye on things and to help fix broken-down trucks, Noel drove throughout the remote Territory, and over into Western Australia, in a Holden ute and he lived out of a tent or swag. Then as things improved, he upsized to a basic caravan. So, basically, during those early days, his office was a briefcase that he carried around with him on his travels.

From what the Hall of Fame lady tells me, and from what I’ve gathered, Noel was not only a larger-than-life character but he was straight as a die with everyone he met. And he never came across as being too big for his boots. He enjoyed a beer in the front bar of a pub with his mates just as much as he did at one of his trucking depots with his men.

And these workers of his were of all colours and creeds. There was no discrimination with Noel. The only thing was, if you were driving for Noel, you had to be far more than just someone who sat behind the steering wheel of a road-train. You had to be prepared to be away from your home base for months on end. You had nowhere to sleep other than in the truck cabin or out under the stars in a swag. Your cooking utensils were a billy for boiling water and a shovel laid over a campfire for cooking meat, or just canned stuff from out of your tuckerbox, like camp pie or bully beef. But most importantly, you had to be a competent enough mechanic to be able to repair broken tail shafts and wheel bearings, plus change tyres et cetera, out in the middle of nowhere, beside some foot-deep bull-dusty track or while up to your knees in mud.

I got the very strong impression that, with Noel, his entire focus was not only on getting the job done, but getting it done well and on time. In doing so, both his reputation and that of Buntine Roadways grew. The 1960s was a time when the road transportation of livestock really started gathering momentum. During his first year out of Katherine, it’s said that he moved near on four thousand head of cattle. His only problem was that livestock carting was a seasonal proposition. So, to offset that, and to get more involved in the year-round general freightcarting side of things, he bought out John Ryan’s interest in Overland Transport. And that’s when Buntine Freightways came into being.

As one story I’ve heard goes, at one time his drivers were carrying load upon load of fencing wire and posts out to a remote cattle station, on the back of flat-top trailers. But because of the extreme heat, the metal fencing got so hot on the way out there during the day that it was almost impossible to unload. So Noel came up with an idea. He got his drivers to arrive at the station in the evening. They were to then spray diesel around the area and set it alight so the glow from the fire would give them enough light to unload the fencing during the cooler time of the night. So, problem solved.

Now, while all I’ve told you may seem like he placed extremely tough conditions on his drivers and workers, the lady from the Hall of Fame said that she’d also heard many stories of Noel’s great generosity. If his drivers ever ran short of money on an outback trip, Noel had given them the okay to book up whatever they needed in his name. The lady from the Hall of Fame still remembers when she was a young girl, out at Top Springs, overhearing a couple of old-time truckies saying something like, ‘She’ll be right. When Noel comes by here next week, he’ll share us around a few quid.’

And if anyone ever came to Noel with what he thought was a decent business opportunity, he’d be the first to offer them financial support. In fact he was one of the original donors towards the establishment of the Road Transport Hall of Fame.

But I think the best story I heard was about Dick David. As a youngster, Dick began working for Noel as a yard boy. When Dick was of age, Noel had him driving road-trains. A while later, Noel appointed him as his operations manager. Then, after receiving financial backing from Noel, Dick went on to form a business that grew into a multi-million-dollar truck and fuel company. And, believe it or not, when Noel eventually decided to retire, who bought him out? None other than Dick David.

Anyhow, in 1976 Noel married for the second time to Patricia — Patty — Burnett. In that same year he sold Buntine Freightways and purchased East Kimberley Transport. Although Katherine remained the home base of Buntine Roadways, to help service East Kimberley Transport’s expanding Northern Territory and interstate operations, he set up trucking depots in Wyndham, Western Australia. In the Northern Territory he had depots in Tennant Creek and Alice Springs, and in Queensland, he had one in Mount Isa.

By 1980 it’s said that Noel owned the largest cattle-carrying operation in Australia, with an annual turnover of more than six million dollars. At that stage he employed 120 people. He had around fifty road-trains and 150 trailers which, at any given time, could carry an estimated three thousand head of cattle. On top of all that he had half a dozen road-trains carting bulk lime from South Australia to the Ranger Uranium Mine, in Arnhem Land. Thought I’m not sure what the lime was used for.

In 1981 Noel sold his trucking operations, lock, stock and barrel, including the name of Buntine, to another company. But within two years the company had gone belly up and, with the Buntine name still on the company papers, he was taken through the bankruptcy courts. But such was the character of the man, with the financial help of his many long-time friends and backers, he went and bought back most of the prime movers and trailers at a liquidator auction. He then went back to carting cattle, but this time under the name of Road-trains of Australia.

Now, I don’t know if this is true or not, but one of the many stories I heard about Noel’s wicked and wry sense of humour was that the reason he called his new company Road-trains of Australia — or RTA for short — was a sly dig at the many years of run-ins he’d had with the Western Australian Road Transport Association — or RTA for short. Anyhow, in just a couple of years he’d built this once bankrupt business back up to its former state.

After having proved his point, he then decided to retire, which was when Dick David took over. But that’s if you’d call it retirement. His smallish Katherine property became the home not only of his family, but also to an array of racehorses, camels, donkeys and other pets. He continued to oversee the several grazing properties he owned in Queensland, plus a second one on the Katherine River. He also took on a variety of advisory jobs for the Territory government. He chaired the Land Board of the Northern Territory along with its successor, the Pastoral Land Board. Both he and Patty were staunch members of the Country Liberal Party — the CLP. In fact, during the late 1980s and into the early 1990s, Noel was a member of the party’s management committee, and both he and Patty were later made honorary life members of the CLP.

But thoroughbred racehorses became his great passion. At one time Noel was known to be the biggest owner of racehorses in the Territory. For a number of years he was a committee member of the Darwin Turf Club, later on becoming a life member. The road into the Darwin racecourse was named in his honour and he was also very involved in the Katherine Turf Club as well as being a huge supporter of the Territory’s country racing circuit.

In early 1994, while on holiday in Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Noel died suddenly from heart disease. He was only sixty-six. As a testament to the man, many accolades were to follow. The six hundred-kilometre road from Willaroo, on the Victoria Highway, that goes via Top Springs right over to Nicholson, in Western Australia, was named the Buntine Highway. In 2000 Noel was inducted into the Road Transport Hall of Fame and on the site now stands the Buntine Pavilion.

So there you go. That’s the story that the lady from the Hall of Fame and I have pieced together and, you must admit, it is a story well worth including in your book.

Aaron and Indi Frog

My name is Linda and I did most of my growing up at a lovely little place in the Hunter region of New South Wales, called Kilaben Bay. It’s near Toronto. Before my dad became a truck driver he was a panel beater/spray painter and then eventually he went on to establish an earthmoving business. But I still remember, as a young girl, those wonderful times we had, when all of his truck driver mates and their families would get together for social occasions. So maybe that’s what began my fascination with driving trucks.

Anyhow, I went on to live around the Hunter region for about thirty years and during that time I married a firefighter. When that relationship ended, my son, Aaron, and I moved up into the Lockyer Valley, about seventy miles west of Brisbane. That’s where the family of the man who subsequently became my second husband had a trucking business. Being a truckie himself, he wasn’t going to give up driving and he was keen on the idea of going two-up. Two-up is the term used when you have two drivers taking turns at driving the one truck. Apparently he’d tried to teach his first wife to drive but that hadn’t worked out so, when I appeared on the scene, he thought, Here’s a go.

When he decided to teach me to drive, I got my learner’s permit and I done a few B-double trips with him. For those that may not know, a B-double is where the prime mover — the truck — tows two separate semitrailers, with both those trailers being connected by a turntable. Anyhow, by the time I got my truck driver’s licence my husband had left the family business. So my first real trip as a fully licenced driver was when he and I started doing two-up out of Toowoomba with triple road-trains — three trailers — over to Darwin. Back then we’d always take along a non-perishable food box, just in case we got stuck out in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the floodwaters to go down. To begin with we mainly carted general goods — freight — but when the Australian peacekeeping force was sent to East Timor in 1999, we started taking road-train loads of Coca-Cola, water and beer up to Darwin to then be shipped over to Timor.

During that Timor era, just about every man and his dog was being roped into trucking supplies up to Darwin. My second husband and I used to have a giggle because we’d come across lots of truckies, driving with single trailers, who’d never done the trip before. They were more used to driving down south where things were far cushier, so they’d be singing out, ‘Hey, where’s the next roadhouse? I’m dying for a coffee.’ So we’d tell them how many kilometres up the road the next roadhouse was and they’d say, ‘Oh great. Thanks.’ Then we’d add, ‘But it doesn’t open till five in the morning,’ and they’d go, ‘What! Are you serious?’

On that particular run, after we off-loaded in Darwin, and when the farm produce was on the go up north, we’d be sent over to Kununurra for a backload. If there was nothing to backload from there, we’d be sent just west of Mount Isa, to Gunpowder Mine, to cart copperplate back to Toowoomba. By law, road-trains weren’t allowed to do the east-coast run, so when we got back to Toowoomba, the load of copperplate had to be broken up into single trailers before it was taken down to Sydney for exporting overseas.

We did that for three or so years. Then we had a stint apart, where I went back into the office and my husband kept driving. My husband’s boss subcontracted to Lindsay Brothers and, after we’d had our break as a two-up team, we went back on the road, driving a refrigerated van, taking bananas out of North Queensland, down to Adelaide Markets. A trip like that — just the one way — would’ve been about three thousand kilometres. We’d go from North Queensland to Townsville, across to Charters Towers, Hughenden, then cut across to Winton, Longreach, to Barcaldine and down the Landsborough Highway to Blackall, until we got to Augathella. At Augathella we’d branch off onto the Mitchell Highway and head south through Cunnamulla, Bourke, Cobar, down the Kidman Way, into South Australia and on to Adelaide. For a single driver, a trip like that would’ve taken something like four days, but with the two of us driving, we could manage it in just half that time.

After we delivered at Adelaide Markets, we’d head down to the south-east