Sharing Memories - Mail deliveries in the Outback

My sister waiting for the mailman

For many, the daily visit from the postman, or trip to the post office to collect mail from the post box is of no significance.  However, for those who live in isolated area, the weekly (or sometimes less often) delivery of mail and supplies is an event of importance! For many this is the only link with the outside world for extended periods of time. Today I am Sharing my memories of our outback mailman.

I can still remember the excitement I used to feel, when we caught a glimpse of the cloud of dust advancing along the road to Nuntherungie Station (this could sometimes be seen for quite a few miles), that signaled the imminent arrival of the mail truck. Nuntherungie Station was between Broken Hill and White Cliffs and the mail truck would arrive at our homestead on Saturday mornings, dropping of mail and supplies on its way through to White Cliffs.

The first mailman that I can remember as a young girl was Mr Vincent, a short slightly rotund gentleman who was always dressed in overalls.  Every Friday he would load his truck with orders of bread, vegetables, fruit and other supplies, mail, newspapers and other supplies needed by the properties between Broken Hill and White Cliffs.  He would set out along the red dusty road, stopping at all the Stations along the way.

My sisters and I would await his arrival with great expectations, as he always had a small sweet treat for all the children along the way.  I remember relishing the "Cherry Ripes" that he would pass around when he arrived. As was the bush custom, my mother would brew a pot of tea and have a nice slice of sponge cake, or scones ready for Mr Vincent's morning tea. My mother would enjoy the chat over a cup of tea with our mail man.  Her life on a station was very isolated and it gave her a chance to catch up on news from Broken Hill, and the other properties along the road. 

Among the letters and newspapers there was our weekly subscription to comics for my sisters and I.  I would be on the edge of my seat waiting for the next installment of the school girl mysteries in "Girls Own" and my sisters would pour over their new copies of the "Jack and Jill" comic books.

Also included in our mail would be our next set of lessons from Blackfriar's Correspondence School. Our completed lessons from the previous week would be packaged up, ready for Mr Vincent to take back to Broken Hill, for posting to Blackfriar's head office in Sydney.

June 30 1950, Western Grazier

The truck arrival also meant we would have fresh bread for our sandwiches. The fresh bread that arrived from the Broken Hill Bakery would have to last the week.  So as you can imagine by the end of the week, toast was the best option.  Though I do remember my mother wrapping the loaves in a damp tea towel and heating it int he oven to freshen it up a bit.

Then there was the time when the rain came, and this quite often mean that the mailman would have difficulty getting through to make his deliveries, as the creeks would flood and roads would be cut.  On these occasions, my father would sometimes have to drive through with the tractor and pull the mail truck through a flooded creek or two (or three!).  Heavy downpours would mean that the mail sometimes didn't get through for a couple of days. 

Our outback mailman and his deliveries were very different to the mail delivery experienced by those living in town.  He was more than the person who brought letters and parcels.  His delivery of mail and supplies was also accompanied by news from the outside, a lolly shop experience for the kids and that little chat over a cup of tea for the isolated families along the dusty road between Broken Hill and White Cliffs.

Mr Vincent and his son, with their mail trucks at Nuntherungie Station

Sharing Memories - Early days in the Bush - Day out with Dad



Map  Showing Nuntherungie Station



Here is my second post for Sharing Memories.  Thank you to  Olive Tree Genealogy’s Blog’s for providing me with the idea and motivation to write a little about my family history as I remember it. 

I was pleasantly pleased with the interest shown in my first  Sharing Memories blog , Early School Days in the Bush - School of the Air so I thought for today’s post I would relate another tale from my life in the far west of New South Wales and write a little about everyday life in the outback.

At the time life on a sheep station in the far north west of NSW seemed to be very normal, but when I look back on it I guess we did enjoy quite a different environment to families who lived a little closer to larger communities.  There was no pressure to fit in with timetables and set hours.  Life on  Nuntherungie Station fitted around shearing, lamb marking, drenching sheep and the weather. If I was able to complete the weekly school work sent to me from Blackfriars Correspondence School in 3 or 4 days it would leave me with the freedom to spend a day with my father while he worked on the property.  I relished these outings, and I am sure my mother enjoyed the freedom of having one less child to watch over. 

Sheep on Nuntherungie Station

Mum always packed my father a large lunch of sandwiches, biscuits and fruit for the day and if I was joining him, there would be a couple of sandwiches for me as well. We would always leave early before the heat of the day set in.  I would clamber into the passenger seat of my dad’s Jeep. The two working dogs, Mac and Spot (such original names) would jump in the back, dodging from side with eager anticipation and excitement of going out for the day.  Off we would go, leaving a cloud of dust behind us as we traversed the tracks through the property.  It would be my job to jump out and open the large gates between paddocks while Dad drove through and then close them after us.  A rule that was drummed into my from an early age, you NEVER went through a gate without closing it.

The work for the day could be varied anything from checking sheep with young lambs, checking for flyblown sheep (a serious problem for sheep in outback Australia), mending fences that had been knocked down by stock or recent rains, assessing water supplies and checking windmills that pumped underground water (from the artesian basin) into water troughs for the sheep.

Spot and Mac - Dad's working dogs.

Then at about 10.00am it would be “smoko time” or as we would call it “morning tea” time.  We would find a nice shady spot; Dad would light a small fire. After giving both the dogs a drink of water from the hessian water bag that hung on the side of the jeep, he would fill his billy with water and put it on the fire to boil.  As soon as the water had boiled he would put a handful of tea leaves into the billy, a quick stir with a stick or small twig of the gum tree and the tea would be made.  I would sit with Dad on a nearby log with my pannikin of steaming hot sweet tea, and dunk the homemade Anzac biscuits that Mum had packed, until they became soft and gooey and melted in my mouth!!  Mac and Spot would rest in the shade with one eye open to see if I was going to drop some crumps or share one of my biscuits with them.

Smoko finished, we would cover the fire with sand and tip the remaining tea on top, making sure it was completely out. Off we would go again to check the next problem.  It would be even more exciting if Dad’s work meant we had to go off road!!  I loved it when we had to drive in and out of creeks, over bumps and around logs.

 Dad always took the time to point out the different types of plants and animals as we went and if he had seen come across an interesting plant or rock formation, he would take the time to show me if it was nearby. He would point out the quondong trees and we would check if they had any fruit on them and he would show me the clay pans where you could find lots of quartz and on the odd occasion small artifacts from the indigenous tribes who had lived in this area.

Dad's Jeep

These excursions were even more exciting if it had been after rain.  Rain was a very big event in this district, as the average annual rainfall was only 224 mm (or about 9 inches in old measurements). The Jeep would splash through the mud and puddles, spraying it all over us.  Of course there was always the risk of getting bogged, personally, I thought this added to the drama of the day.  I am not sure if my father was of the same frame of mind.

Around Midday, it was time to repeat the Smoko ritual of boiling the billy, giving the dogs water, and munching on our sandwiches and fruit as we sipped that sweet black tea.  As the weather was often quite hot in the afternoon, it was time to head back to the homestead to wash of the dust.  I am sure there was a number of occasions when Dad had to lift a sleepy girl out of the jeep when we arrived home.

Hope you have enjoyed this tale.

Sharing Memories - Early School Days in the Bush - School of the Air

As promised it is time to start fulfilling one of my new year resolutions, which was to join Olive Tree Genealogy’s Blog’s idea of Sharing Memories.  All family tree researchers wish our ancestors had put more down on paper or had passed on more of their family records and photos.  With this in mind I plan over the next twelve months (there has to be a starting point) to record some of my memories.  Maybe someone will be interested in years to come.

I don’t know that I will be able to be as diligent as Olive Tree Genealogy with a post each week, however I will endeavour to post as many stories as I can.  Here is my first:

Early School Days in the Bush – School of the Air

In the early 1950’s my father took up the position of “overseer” on a station in the far western corner of NSW, Australia.  Nuntherungie Station, a property of 175,000 acres was about 120 miles from Broken Hill and about 45 miles from the small opal mining town of White Cliffs.  The Wool Industry was Australia’s main industry at this time and Nuntherungie’s main produce was the fine merino wool from its flock of sheep.

I was the eldest child so when I turned 5 it was time for my parents to look at the options for my schooling.  Actually, considering the distances to the nearest school there weren’t many options.  I was enrolled into Blackfriars Correspondence School and School of the Air.  Blackfriars was based in Sydney and each week I would receive brown A4 envelope with my lessons for the week.  With the assistance of my Mum, I would work my way through the lessons and send them back the following week (on the weekly mail truck), for marking. 



Mrs Gibbs and children at School of the Air



School of the Air was in addition to the correspondence lessons and provided me with interaction with other isolated students and our teachers who were based in Broken Hill.  I can remember my excitement when the small two way radio arrived and was set up in our family room.  Each day, at 9.00am and at 2.00pm School of the Air Broken Hill would be on line.  Children from miles around would sit up in front of the Radio and wait for the morning broadcast and the teachers Good morning everyone, then there would be a clamour of children calling in with their call signs and a good morning to everyone.  My call sign was 8NEK Nuntherungie, and I would join the throng of calls with “ 8NEK Nuntherungie, Good Morning Miss Gibbs”.  The morning program would include singing “God Save our Gracious Queen” and the School of the Air song “Parted but United”, followed by news.  It would be very exciting if you were called on to tell everyone listening your news for the day.  The time slots would be taken up with lessons, reading, stories, music, all those wonderful interactive activities that children in “normal” schools took for granted.



Mrs Phyliss Gibbs

 When we were visiting Broken Hill we were able to to to the school and sit in on the lessons as they were broadcast out to all the children in the outback.  I loved the opportunity to visit the school, and to be able to borrow books from their library and talk to the teachers in person.  At the time I was a student, the principle was Mrs Gibbs, whose name was synonymous with the development of Distance Education in Broken Hill.

One of my most vivid memories of school of the air was playing the part of a chicken in a play.  All the children selected to be in the play were sent copies of the script and we had to practice reading and learning the lines before the big day when we  read our parts in the play over the two radio.  My mother put together my costume of a cardboard beak, a bonnet with a red comb stitched to the top and a hessian bag with holes cut in the side so that when I put it on the back corner stuck out like a hens tail.  Such an innovative mother!!  The big day arrived and I sat all dressed up in my costume, with my script, in front of the two way radio!!  The teacher announced the play and then asked each member of the caste to describe their costume to everyone.  Then we  waited excitedly for the spot in the script where we had to push the button on our microphone and read our lines.

My family dressed ready for the School of the Air Picnic Day

The staff of School of the Air organised two annual events in Broken Hill where all the children and their families would gather in Broken Hill.  The first was the annual School Picnic which was held mid-year, all the students would go to the school on the day before and be issued with our sports uniform (dark blue jacket, white shorts and white shirts with the big blue logo of School of the Air, on the pocket).  Then the next day, we would assemble in front of the school in our white uniforms, and newly whitened sandshoes ready to catch the buses out to the school picnic.  Our parents and younger family members would follow in the cars to join in the fun.  The day was full of running races, sack and egg and spoon races for all the children, followed by a big picnic lunch.  In the afternoons there were more novelty races and the parents were invited to join in.  Then the highlight of the day for all the children was the “Lolly man”.  One of the parents would don a plastic raincoat which had bags of lollies stapled to it.  He would then run around the oval with all the children running after him, trying to pull off the bags of lollies.  Just thinking about it makes me smile!

The second event for the year was the Christmas Party, which was held in the park next to the School of the Air building in Broken Hill.  Again, families would travel miles into Broken Hill to attend.  The party would start mid-afternoon and everyone  dressed in their best party clothes, would join in the games, receive a present from Santa Clause  and eat lots of party food. For children (and parents as well) who didn’t have the opportunity to socialise and mix with others because of their isolated environments these occasions were very important social events. I can remember myself and my three sisters being bundled along to the shoe shop in Broken Hill so that our parents could purchase some “good” shoes for the occasion.  (As we had always grown out of the shoes we had worn the previous year).

Our family moved away from this district when I was about 10 years old.  One of the driving forces for this move was for our family to be in a place where there were better education opportunities for myself and my sisters.  The burden on my mother of overseeing the education of four girls was considerable, and my parents thought was time that we were exposed to “main stream” education. 

In reflection I would not have changed those few years of my early education.  I believe that School of the Air and Blackfriars provided me with some skills that the mainstream education system would not have, i.e. the ability to be open to different forms of education, to be able to work independently and of course all those wonderful memories.