David Cox grew up in outback Queensland. When he left school, he went to work on sheep and cattle stations, and he particularly liked riding and schooling horses. At age twenty-one, David went to St Martins School of Art in England. While in his first year at the school, he was offered his first book illustration commission. When he eventually returned to Australia, he worked as an artist in the newspaper industry. He also wrote articles, book and art reviews, and designed theatre sets and costumes. In 1978, he was awarded the Walkley Award for newspaper illustration. David’s writing and drawing for children began in the 1960s with books about two children and their pony, called Sometimes Sam and The Picnic. He went on to write and illustrate several more books, some of which have won awards and citations in Australia and in the USA, including Ayu and the Perfect Moon and The Drover’s Dog. His illustration style is characterised by spontaneity and wit, and he has illustrated many books written by other people. In 2007 he was awarded the Dame Isabelle Rankin Award for distinguished services to Children’s Literature in Queensland. David is married to Betty Beath, a well-respected Australian composer. Together, they have written songs and operas for children, and music theatre pieces for adult audiences. About The Road to Goonong, David says, ‘I often think of my childhood and the farm that we were forced to leave. It was always the place we thought of as “home”. In fact it was the last time the whole family lived together: from then on some of us were at boarding schools, then new jobs. What is strange is that when I speak to my brother or sister, we all have very different memories. “Is that so?” we say, and, “I don’t remember that happening.” Well, it was a long time ago.’
The Road To Goonong_Front Endpapers SI.indd 4
18/03/11 11:57 AM
The Road to Goonong
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 1
18/03/11 12:27 PM
To Betty Beath, composer
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 2
21/03/11 1:46 PM
the
Road to Goonong DAVID COX
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 3
18/03/11 12:27 PM
The road to Goonong was really just a pair of wheel tracks, packed down by the buggies and drays and lorries and cars that had travelled that way over the years. It began at a small township on a railway line and ran through the forest and farmland. It passed by the farmhouses of the Johnsons and the Thorogoods, and the hut where the Schmidt boys lived.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 4
18/03/11 12:27 PM
At the end of the road was Goonong, our farm. Beyond was just a line of hills and beyond the hills was the sea.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 5
18/03/11 12:27 PM
We put our best clothes on when we went to town and our mother made sure we looked neat and tidy. My father harnessed an old horse called Robin into our gig. My father had made that gig himself, out of a motor-car trailer. He added a dashboard, a pair of shafts to go on either side of the horse, and a seat up front. The motor car that had pulled the trailer was sold, because it was the time of the Great Depression and money was hard to come by.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 6
18/03/11 12:27 PM
It took hours to get to town. Sometimes we sang, sometimes we fought, and when we got bored we jumped down and ran along behind the gig. So when we arrived, we were dusty and sweaty. My shirt hung out and my socks hung down. Mrs Hegarty, who kept the general store, said, ‘He’s a real little brunette, ain’t he?’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 7
18/03/11 12:27 PM
One day, on my birthday, our gig-horse, Robin, kicked me in the head. He knocked me out and I had to spend the day in bed. ‘You shouldn’t blame the horse,’ my dad said. When we got a new motor car, Robin went back to being a saddle horse, so I had a chance to kick him. We loved that car. To start it, my dad had to crank a handle in the front. Then the whole car shook and wobbled as if it was laughing.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 8
18/03/11 12:27 PM
We were the first people on the Goonong Road to own a motor car. We felt like royalty, and we zoomed along at thirty miles an hour. We even went to a big town that was fifty miles away.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 9
18/03/11 12:27 PM
On the way home, we picked up a swagman. He walked from town to town, and slept under the stars. He carried his swag on one shoulder and a shovel on the other. We stopped for lunch in a shady creek bed and the swagman took a little hammer from his pocket and showed us how to find a speck of gold in the centre of a white quartz stone. We never forgot our swagman.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 10
23/03/11 8:48 AM
Another day, my dad and I gave Mrs Johnson a lift to town. She was dressed up, with hat and gloves and all, and sat in the front seat next to me. But Mrs Johnson wasn’t used to our motor car, and she didn’t latch her door properly.
We hit a bump when the car rounded a bend. The door swung open and Mrs Johnson swung with it. One moment she was sitting beside me, the next she was sliding in slow motion. She clung tight to that car door like a trick rider hanging off the side of his horse.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 11
18/03/11 12:27 PM
Her mouth was open wide, but no scream came out. My dad was watching the bumpy road, so he didn’t see what was happening. He kept on driving, with two inside and one out. I had to nudge him and say, ‘I think we’ve lost Mrs Johnson.’
He stopped the car very gently then ran round and prised her from the door. We sat her on the running board and my dad said sorry a lot of times, though I think it wasn’t all his fault.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 12
18/03/11 12:28 PM
Mrs Johnson was very pale and sat staring straight ahead. Then tears came to her eyes and her shoulders shook. I thought she was crying, but she said, ‘Pretty good trick, wasn’t it, Mr Cox?’
‘Well,’ said my dad, ‘it might have been, but I didn’t see it. Would you mind doing it again, Mrs Johnson?’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 13
18/03/11 12:28 PM
Carl and Eric Schmidt were our next-door neighbours. Their hut was only three miles from our house. Half of it was a blacksmith shop.
There was a forge with big leather bellows and an anvil that rang under their hammers like a beautiful bell.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 14
18/03/11 12:28 PM
People on our road called them ‘the Schmidt boys’ even though they were old and a bit bald. But like us children, they hardly ever wore shoes.
‘Feet like iron, those Schmidt boys,’ people said. There was a story about Eric: he had once been standing on a red-hot chunk of iron and his foot was smoking. ‘Can you smell something burning, Carl?’ he said.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 15
18/03/11 12:28 PM
One day, Carl got lost in the hills and didn’t come home. Late at night Eric came to ask for help and my dad went out in his car to tell the farmers on our road. At dawn they gathered at Goonong, on all kinds of horses, and rode into the hills to search for Carl. We could hear them calling ‘Coo-ee’ to one another, and the calls would fade and then return.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 16
18/03/11 12:28 PM
We kids sat on the steps and listened. We looked at one another with worry on our faces. Maybe poor Carl was wandering, further and further into the hills. Maybe he had a broken leg and was lying out there somewhere with his lips swollen and split with thirst, and flies were feasting on his face. Maybe a snake had bitten him …
My big brother Harry rode his pony over to the Schmidt boys’ hut. He left at a trot, and came back at the gallop. He was yelling, ‘Carl is safe and sound, asleep in his bunk!’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 17
23/03/11 10:07 AM
Timber-cutters sometimes camped at Goonong. They came to fell big ironbark trees and split them into sleepers for the railway line. We would hear the ring of their axes all day long, and the sound of big trees falling. They sighed, then crashed like tumbling giants. The men stripped the bark away with axes, cut the trunks with a crosscut saw, and split them with wedges. We kids stood amongst the broken branches and breathed the sweet smell of crushed leaves and ironbark sap – the blood of giants.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 18
18/03/11 12:28 PM
Jack Sunday was one of the timber-getters. He had been a boxer. We knew him better than the others, because every Sunday he came to our house to teach us kids to box. We all liked Jack, but when our mum invited him to come inside for lunch he always said no. He knew that people wouldn’t approve.
‘Thanks, Missus,’ he said. ‘I’d sooner eat out here.’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 19
18/03/11 12:28 PM
It was likely that Jack was one of the Bayali people. Our four thousand acres had once been part of the Bayali tribal land. Just a few miles from our house was their old bora ring, a round clearing in the scrub. We could see it from our Hill Paddock.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 20
18/03/11 12:28 PM
But the Bayali people were not there anymore. Their land had been taken and they were scattered and gone.
They had danced their corroborees there. They had hunted wallabies and gathered yams in our hills, where we ran our cattle. Their kids had played in the waterhole just like we did.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 21
23/03/11 10:00 AM
Each of us was given a foal. Mine was a filly and I watched her being born. She was wet and crinkly, and she stood up in no time at all on her wobbly legs. Her mother was Apple, so we called her Blossom. I loved her right away and waited for the time when she was big enough to ride.
We loved Goonong. We had plenty of room and plenty of horses to ride. Our stallion, Monarch, was so quiet that we kids could ride him at once, with me at the back. Our old stud bull let us sit on his back too.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 22
18/03/11 12:29 PM
We learned to ride very early. When we were babies, my dad would sit us on the pommel of his saddle when he rode in the paddocks.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 23
18/03/11 12:29 PM
‘The most important thing,’ my dad said, ‘is to learn how to fall off a horse. And the next most important thing is to get straight back on the horse that threw you.’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 24
18/03/11 12:29 PM
We had beef cattle and dairy cattle. We had to learn to milk cows, and on cold mornings we snuggled in close to the warm flanks of ladylike cows and squirted milk into buckets, or at each other if the grown-ups weren’t watching.
When we walked the cows back out to their paddock, we hitched a ride on the back of the quiet old ones. Harry and I rode the calves, too, and we even taught them to pull a little cart.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 25
18/03/11 12:29 PM
The skies were always blue over Goonong. Drought came one year after another. Often my dad had to say, ‘It won’t be much of a Christmas this year, I’m afraid.’ So we made our own presents, by carving or knitting or drawing.
If there were rain spots, Mum would say, ‘Pretend you don’t notice. Don’t say a thing or it might go away.’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 26
18/03/11 12:29 PM
When it did rain, we ran outside. We stood under waterspouts and jumped in puddles and tipped back our heads and opened our mouths to catch raindrops.
But usually the rain went away too soon and there were blue skies again.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 27
18/03/11 12:29 PM
Our cows grew thin till their ribs stood out. They didn’t have enough milk for their calves, let alone for us.
The waterhole dried up and my dad and his horse had to pull weak cows out of the mud.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 28
23/03/11 10:03 AM
And bad news came from overseas. Our parents sat over a crackling radio to hear about the bombing raids on London and the Japanese invasion of China.
They read books to us at night as we lay snug under white mosquito nets in our beds on the veranda. If howling dingoes and wailing curlews kept us awake, my dad fired off his gun to scare them away.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 29
24/03/11 11:53 AM
Our toilet was way out the back of our house, along a dark track. When we wanted to go at night, two would go together. We carried storm lanterns in case of snakes or ghosts, and hurried there and hurried back…
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 30
18/03/11 12:29 PM
Once a travelling picture show came to town and set up in a large grain shed. Another time there was a big dance in the community hall. The dance floor was waxed slippery and a giant man stood on stage with a megaphone in his hand.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 31
24/03/11 11:57 AM
Musicians played saxophone, banjo and an old piano, and the big man sang songs through the megaphone. All the kids got together and did slippery slides along the floor.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 32
18/03/11 12:29 PM
Our tomboy sisters sat like little ladies in their best dresses, and two polite old farmers bowed to them. ‘May I have the pleasure?’ they said, and waltzed them at arms’ length around the floor. ‘Come on, young feller-me-lad,’ said Mrs Johnson. She held me tight enough to suffocate me, and danced around so fast that my feet hardly touched the ground. ‘What a good dancer you are, young man,’ she said.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 33
18/03/11 12:29 PM
In the end, it was drought that beat us. We had to sell Goonong and everything we had. All our cattle were sold, and the horses: Monarch and Apple, Shy-Ann and Coy-Anna, bad-tempered old Robin, they were all taken away. Our dogs and chooks were given away to other farmers. And our motor car was sold to someone in the town.
I had watched my foal, Blossom, grow into a two year old, and now I watched her being led away by a stranger. Like the Bayali people before us, we had to leave the land we loved, and it didn’t seem fair at all.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 34
18/03/11 12:29 PM
Our parents told us what would happen. Our dad would go out west to work as an overseer on a big sheep station. We would live in the city with our mum and go to school. We had a lot to look forward to, they told us. We would have real schools instead of the Correspondence School, and friends of our own age to play with. In our new home there would be an electric light in every room, and we wouldn’t have to walk through the dark to get to the toilet. We would see our grandmother. We could go to movie shows. ‘Think of all the good things,’ they said. ‘Don’t be afraid. Get right back on the horse that threw you.’
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 35
18/03/11 12:29 PM
When we travelled along the Goonong Road for the last time, we stopped at mailboxes on the way. People came out to say goodbye: women in aprons, men in overalls, the Schmidt boys, the Johnsons. They waved till we were out of sight as though we were royalty.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 36
18/03/11 12:29 PM
Old Mr Thorogood came out to his gate with a bag of oranges from his own trees for our journey. As he gave them to our mum, he said, ‘I was passing the pigsty this morning and I thought of you.’
‘You are kind, Mr Thorogood,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure you have beautiful pigs.’ I think our mum was crying just a bit.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 37
23/03/11 8:32 AM
We found our seats on the southbound train and gazed out the window at the old road to Goonong. The engine hooted, smoke and steam plumed, couplings clanked, carriages jerked, and we began to move.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 38
18/03/11 12:29 PM
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 39
18/03/11 12:29 PM
We were on our way. Excitement began to take the place of sorrow. And we all dived into Farmer Thorogood’s bag of big oranges.
The Road To Goonong_Text SI.indd 40
18/03/11 12:29 PM
First published in 2011 Copyright © David Cox, 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email:
[email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia www.trove.nla.gov.au ISBN 978 174237 521 2 Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes Set in 18pt Classical Garamond by Sandra Nobes This book was printed in April 2011 at Everbest Printing Co Ltd in 334 Huanshi Road South, Nansha, Guangdong, China. 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
The Road To Goonong_Back Endpapers SI.indd 5
21/03/11 1:49 PM
![David Cox - [Autobiography 02] - The Fair Dinkum War (retail) (pdf)](https://docer.tips/img/300x300/david-cox-autobiography-02-the-fair-dinkum-war-ret_5a4b0cb5d64ab20a7eaa2c6e.jpg)
![Shannon Freeman - Expecting [Gravel Road Rural] (retail) (pdf)](https://docer.tips/img/300x300/shannon-freeman-expecting-gravel-road-rural-retail_5a4e02ecd64ab2905dd60831.jpg)
![Linda Oatman High - That Selfie Girl [Gravel Road] (retail) (pdf)](https://docer.tips/img/300x300/linda-oatman-high-that-selfie-girl-gravel-road-ret_5a5a2fb3d64ab295eea9fd9b.jpg)
