A year has passed since I lost my beloved John. Looking at my journal now, more than half the pages are filled. I'm glad I made it a journal rather than a diary, since a journal can have an entry when there is something of importance to record, whereas a diary seems to demand a daily entry, whether anything significant happens or not. Let's face it, everyone's life has many routine days which are hardly worth recording.

I am looking back at my entries now. After that emotional day when the men hailed me as the new 'Boss', life carried on much as it had while John was still here. At first being called “Boss” came as a bit of a shock, but I gradually got used to it. The first thing I did was to call Jack the head stock-man to my office and discuss what I saw as his future role. It was not practical for me to ride out with the men on their longer trips, although I planned to do so for the odd day. Jack would therefore be my deputy and act a great deal on his own initiative, only radioing back to me if something significant needed a decision. I would of course continue to handle all the financial affairs of the station including the selling of stock, although I intended that Jack should come along with me in case there was an occasion when I couldn't attend.

Jack lives on the property in a neat little cottage which John had built for the head stock-man. His wife is called Mary, a sweet country woman he met in Quilpie about fifteen years ago. They have three children, Jack Junior who is twelve, Helen ten, and Lesley who is six. Mary and Jack had paid me the ultimate compliment of asking if they could name their youngest after me, and I, being unable to have children of my own was naturally thrilled at being accorded such a compliment. The children all call me 'Aunty Lesley', and in many ways I do feel like a surrogate aunty.

I have been present at all their Christenings, and I'm Lesley's godmother, another great compliment, even though I felt a bit of a fraud, not being religiously-minded. I even spoke to the minister about it, but he assured me that nowadays the role is largely symbolic. I do however take it rather seriously, keeping an eye out for all the children and helping in any way I can without seeming to interfere. With the permission of their parents I give them presents at Christmas and their birthdays too. They are bright children, and I hope with the increase in salary for Jack, he and Mary can afford to send them to a really good school so that they can achieve their full potential. Unfortunately, this probably means them going down to Brisbane as we only have a small primary school at Heyward's Crossing. Many of the men, including Jack went to it, and after that they started work. Over the years, John and I made donations to ensure they have a good library for a country school, but that's as much as we could do to help.

All the other stock-men are single and live in individual quarters in a large building which frankly looks like a shed. Every so often a group heads off to town for a night at the pub. Whatever else they might get up to I don't chose to inquire into. They are all tall tanned muscular guys with the ready charm of the bushman and I'm sure there are plenty of girls in Hey who are happy to keep company with them.

That leads me reluctantly to think of my own situation. John and I enjoyed wonderful intimacy and I confess to greatly missing that, but as an effective 'matriarch' I cannot indulge in casual relationships, and there is no-one in the district who is available or attractive enough for me to form a special friendship. Maybe some day, but not at present. Of course that also brings up the question of my past, but the doctors who treated me assured me that no man could tell that I was not originally born with a female body.

One thing I did notice, and other widows have told I am not alone in this, is that as a single woman, the number of invitations to dinner parties and the like dropped off. At first I assumed it was because my presence would have made an odd number, but after a while I concluded that some women considered me a possible threat to them, being quite well off and still quite young.

One thing that did cause me some distress, or maybe disgust was that not long after John died, two married me whom I hardly knew, made a point of coming up to me in the street and telling me that if there was anything I needed or wanted – anything at all they stressed, they would be very happy to oblige. It was obvious to me what they were insinuating, but I chose to deliberately misunderstand them and reply, thanking them for their offer but saying that I had a wonderful workforce at the station who could attend to any jobs that were required. I could very easily have reported their behaviour to their wives but chose not to, since it would be only too easy for the wives to think I had encouraged them in some way.

Some evenings when I really miss John, I get one of the men to pull out the heavy old 16mm projector and set it on the stand for me so that I can again watch the old home movies John and I shot of our numerous trips, and I get some solace from seeing his smiling face once more, even if more often than not the tears flow too.

One evening when Jack did the heavy lifting for me he asked about the films and when I explained what they were he remarked that they would be interesting to see. It had not occurred to me that anyone else might like to see them, so as a result, one evening we advertised a film show and the projector was set up outside, and a large sheet attached to a wooden frame to act as a screen. As I stood outside in the warm evening air watching the sun disappear and the sky above turn to a deep purple and the first pin-points of light appear, I was reminded of lines from my favourite Australian poem “Clancy of the Overflow”

'And he sees the vision splendid
Of the sunlit plains extended
And at night the wondrous glory
Of the everlasting stars.'

Here in the outback, without the pollution of street lights, the heavens are an amazing sight, and more than once I have taken my small telescope outside and spent many happy hours gazing at the stars and planets.

This particular evening though was a film show. Besides the 'home movies' over the years John had collected some Charlie Chaplin and Laurel and Hardy short films and they still result in peals of laughter from the audience. The home movies however were watched mainly in silence with just the occasional murmurs. The films were silent of course, but I provided a running commentary to explain where they were taken. When the last one was finished there was a spontaneous round of applause which helped to dispel the lump in my throat, seeing my late husband, tall and handsome on the screen, and I readily agreed to a repeat performance a few months down the track.

To be continued

Many thanks to readers for kudos and comments which are always much appreciated.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

The drought continues to worry us all. When John was alive we sometimes went for months without rain, but eventually it would come, turning the dusty paddocks green again; but this year the wet season has failed to arrive, with only a few showers to taunt us and do no more than lay the dust for a day or two. Surely no occupation in the world is more dependant on rain than that of working the land, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to provide that vital resource.

I have a small flower bed behind the homestead, that I keep going with the aid of recycled water which I transport by bucket from the bath and sinks. Apart from picking the occasional bunch of flowers for the house when I have a visitor, the chief purpose of the plot is to grow flowers for the graves of my darling John and my dear friend Jenny.

Today I picked two small bunches of the best blooms I have and drove to the cemetery. The day was hot and still. In better times, the musical sounds of the little stream that runs alongside the graveyard and the wind in the leaves of the old river red gums provides a gentle background of sound. I'm always reminded of those classic lines from Banjo Patterson:

And the bush hath friends to meet him and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

Today, all was silent. The stream has long ceased to flow and won't again until the rains come. No breeze stirred the leaves.

I saw that Jenny's grave already had fresh flowers, so Tom or Ellen must have visited recently. When that happens, rather than impose, I look around for another grave, one that shows signs of neglect, and place the flowers there.

With Anzac Day just gone, that day sacred to all Australians whether religious or not, when all the war memorials in large towns and small are visited at dawn and surrounded by wreaths in remembrance, it seemed appropriate that I found a headstone with the familiar insignia of the Australian Imperial Force.

'Sacred to the memory of Thomas Brown Sgt 1st Div AIF 23.6.1896 – 28.8.1932”

Below it was later added “and of his beloved wife Marjorie 14.5.1898 – 16.4.1965”

So much can be gleaned from those few words. Tom Brown was one of those country lads who set off on the 'great adventure' in 1915 and very likely landed on the first day at Gallipoli, that doomed campaign whose aim was to capture the Turkish forts guarding the Dardanelles and thus allow the British fleet access to Constantinople. They never got to see the Dardanelles, and after eight months and the loss of many lives on both sides, the Allies withdrew.

The Allies came up against a brilliant commander Mustafa Kemel Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey, and it was he who years later wrote that magnificent tribute:

'Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives! You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are at peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.”

Every year it is read as part of the commemorative service, and even now I can scarcely read it for the tears that come to my eyes.

Thomas must have survived Gallipoli, but worse was to come in the killing fields of northern France and Belgium. The Somme, Ypres, Passchendaele, Fromelles - even now those names strike a chord with all of us. Or was he sent to Palestine to fight against the Ottoman Empire? I wonder if he knew the McKenzie boys from our Station who gave their lives for King and Country? Surely he did for the country was lightly populated in those days. Wherever he went, he must have seen things which were burnt indelibly into his memory.

Then after the war he came home and married Marjorie. Was she a childhood sweetheart who waited for him, or did he met her after the war? What did he do then? Was he a farmer or labourer? He died very young, only thirty-six. It's often said that not all the casualties of war occur on the battlefield. Many return home wounded in body, and perhaps even more wounded in mind. Did the demons that disturbed his sleep finally drive him to seek the only way to peace? I will never know. Marjorie outlived him by thirty-three years. What trials might she have suffer at the hands of a troubled husband? Did they have children? If so, they probably moved away for their grave shows no sign of any recent visits.

I knelt down and gently placed the flowers on their grave, whispering as I did so “Rest in peace, Tom and Marjorie.”

Then I got up and walked to where my beloved husband lies.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

I was tempted to write that I am in love, but I've made up my mind to write the absolute truth in this journal – 'To thine own self be true'- as Shakespeare put it, and the truth of the matter is that I am really in lust. However, once again, I have jumped in the deep end, and I should start at the beginning.

Jack's son, Jack Junior has now finished school at Heyward's Crossing. Having been around animals all his life, he has a burning desire to become a vet. He is a bright lad and has gained a scholarship to one of the best grammar schools in Brisbane. His mother Mary wants the best for him, but I know she will miss him terribly when he goes away, so one afternoon I called in on her, and the following conversation ensued.

“Mary, you know I fly down to Brisbane on business every couple of months, sometimes more often. I would be glad of the company if, when Jack Junior is down there, you came along with me, and then you can visit him.”

“Oh Lesley, would you mind? That would be wonderful, but I wouldn't want to be a nuisance.”

(Mary was the only person on the Station who calls me by my name, at my insistence. It hardly seems appropriate for her to call me 'Boss'.)

I could see her eyes misting up as I replied “Nonsense, you'd be doing me a favour keeping me company.” I was reminded of the times that Tom's first wife Jenny used to come with me and how much fun it was for two women to attend the beauty parlour and go shopping together. This would be a real win-win situation.

So it was agreed that she, Jack Junior and I would fly to Brisbane the following week for him to get some orientation for his new life at the school. I did offer Jack senior the opportunity to come along too, but there was quite a bit of work to do, and I think he felt obliged to be at the Station in my place.

I have taken young Jack and his two sisters up in the plane for a joy flight several times, but this was the first time we were going on a relatively long flight. He sat beside me in the co-pilot's seat and I let him take the controls for a while, saying to Mary that if he's going to be a vet he will need to learn to fly to cover the vast areas of the inland where he wants to practise.

He has a natural feel for the aircraft and I see no problem in him qualifying for his license as soon as he is old enough. It seemed no time at all before we were approaching Archerfield and I took over to land the Cessna. I don't own a hanger there, but because of my frequent trips, I have an arrangement with one of the companies to store and service the aircraft whenever I fly down.

Jack senior has a cousin Ron who lives in Brisbane, and who was only too happy to have Mary and young Jack stay with him. He kindly offered accomodation for me too, but I booked a room in one of the better hotels for three nights as I didn't want to intrude on their family time together. However it was arranged that on the second day, Mary and I would go shopping together, while Jack spent time with his two cousins, and on the third morning he and Mary would go to the school to be introduced to the staff before we flew back in the afternoon.

I've stayed at the hotel before and am quite well known by the staff. I booked a table for dinner at 7pm and spent a pleasant few hours getting ready for the evening. I can never resist the opportunity to dress up, perhaps it's due to my past, so after a long and luxurious bath I dressed in the gorgeous French lingerie I can never resist buying, plus a new pair of the sheerest nylon stockings. I took great care with my hair and make-up and then put on the pale yellow silk dress I had brought along for the occasion. I felt a pang as I remembered the last time I has worn it, at John's last birthday. I told myself I was wearing yellow in his honour, it being his favourite colour. Matching shoes with six inch heels completed my ensemble, and as I checked myself out in the full-length mirror, I felt that all that preparation was worth the effort.

“Not bad for an old chook,” I murmured to myself.

It was only six o'clock, but I didn't want to hang around in my room, so I decided to go to the bar for a pre-dinner drink. I ordered a champagne cocktail and took it to a small table in the corner of the room where I could indulge in one of my favourite pastimes of people-watching, trying to decide from the way they dressed and acted who they might be and where they were from, also if they were with the partner they really should be with!

I had only been there a few minutes when I spotted Geoff. He strode into the room, a tall handsome man with an air of confidence, what is often described as a 'man's man', but nevertheless one women find very attractive. I guess I was staring at his back as he ordered a drink at the bar because as he turned around he caught my eye. I quickly looked away, but realising it was too late and seemed a bit silly, I looked back at him and couldn't resist smiling. He smiled too, and without any hesitation came over to where I was sitting. 

“Is this seat taken?” he enquired, when patently it was not.

“Not at all,” I replied, so he sat down. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome, and I suspect he knew it. At that moment though I didn't care. I could feel my body responding to his proximity and the sensation was not unpleasant. Let's face it, it was very pleasant, and something I had been missing for so long.

“I'm Geoff Waters,” he said by way of introduction.

“Lesley... English,” I replied with only the tiniest hesitation. In that split second I decided not to reveal my real name. The Brodie name is quite well known in Queensland, and for now I  preferred not to reveal it.

“Very pleased to meet you, ah, Mrs English,” he replied and I caught his glance down at my left hand. I have some beautiful rings that John gave me over the years to celebrate various anniversaries, but I don't like to wear them too often in case they look ostentatious. However I still wear my wedding ring and also one with a small solitaire diamond. “Mr English not accompanying you?” he enquired.

“No, I'm down from the country with a woman friend and her young son who will be attending school here,” I replied. “I also like to come to Brisbane to shop occasionally.” Why I added that I do not know.

“I see,” he replied. He went on to explain that he is a travelling salesman for a farm machinery company. Now this is something I do know a bit about, but I chose not to reveal that knowledge either.

We proceeded to chat amicably for a while until I suddenly realised that it was seven o'clock the time for which I had booked my table in the dining room. When I told Geoff, he smiled and said “As a matter of fact I was going to dine on my own too. Would you allow me to buy you dinner perhaps so that I can continue to enjoy your company?”

“Put like that, how can I refuse?” I said with a laugh.

As we walked into the dining room together, it seemed that Geoff was quite well known there too because he said to the maitre'd “Raoul, Mrs English has booked a table, but she'll be dining with me tonight.”

“Very good sir,” said Raoul without batting an eyelid. One of the chief attributes of the best hotel staff is their ability to think on their feet and be the soul of discretion. If Raoul wondered why I had given Geoff a false name he gave no sign of it.

As usual, the food was superb; one of the reasons I stay at this particular hotel. Geoff is a great conversationalist, knowledgeable on a variety of subjects and witty to boot, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. It has been so long since I've had an evening like this with a man, and now I realised how much I missed it.

I make it a rule never to drink less than forty-eight hours before I fly a plane, but this evening was outside that limit, so I was happy to share a bottle of wine with Geoff. When we had finished the meal with coffee and liqueurs, I was by no means drunk, but definitely relaxed and I didn't want the evening to end. When Geoff asked what floor I was staying on and I replied that it was the third, he said he was on the eighth and the view of the city lights was amazing and would I like to see it, it seemed only natural to say 'yes'. The real reason I was going to his room was obvious to us both, even though left unsaid.

Geoff was right, the view of the city lights from his room was amazing. As I stood there gazing out, he came up behind me as I knew he would, put his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck with his lips. I turned around and we started to kiss, first gently and then with increasing intensity. I could feel his body responding to mine, and mine less obviously was responding too. Then he took my hand and led me into the bedroom. He was sensible enough to carefully unzip my dress even though by now his desire was very obvious. I stepped out of it and laid it carefully on a chair, and then we enjoyed slowly undressing each other.

Geoff already had the necessary prophylactics on hand. I have absolutely no doubt that I was not the first woman he had bedded while away on his trips, but then I didn't care. I had missed the touch of a man's hand on my body for so long that it didn't seem wrong that I should take this opportunity. Geoff was a careful and considerate lover and but also an ardent one with seemingly endless stamina, and I was a very satisfied woman when I finally left his room at about three a.m.

I slept soundly until my alarm awoke me at seven-thirty and then had my shower and breakfasted in my room. I had booked a taxi for nine o'clock to take me over to Ron's place to pick up Mary so we could go into town to do some shopping. I had accepted Geoff's invitation to dine with him again that evening and since I had only brought along one 'good' dress, I decided to look around for something suitable to wear for our second 'date'.

Mary and I went to one of the largest womens-wear emporiums in Brisbane and spent several happy hours looking around and trying on various skirts and dresses. Mary found a very pretty skirt and top and I finally found a gorgeous lime green silk evening gown, rather expensive, but worth it. I did not offer to purchase the clothes Mary selected. I had previously learned when coming to Brisbane with Jenny, not to embarrass my friends with a more limited budget by buying them gifts, even though I could well afford it, since I thus drew attention to the disparity in our financial status. Sometimes being well off can be awkward

We had finished shopping, including a break for afternoon tea in the cafe where I felt it was acceptable for me to pay for us both, we took a taxi back to Ron's house and Mary asked if I would like to stay for tea with them. I made the excuse that I was feeling a bit tired and intended to get an early night, but softened the refusal by saying I would love to have a meal with them the next time we were in Brisbane together. I felt a little bit bad about making up such a story, but I wasn't going to give up my evening date with Geoff who I knew was leaving the hotel the following morning.

My second meeting with Geoff was if anything even more satisfying than the first one. Again we met in the bar and he was very complimentary about my appearance.

“My goodness, do you normally travel around with such an elegant wardrobe?” he said with a smile.

“Well no,” I replied. “I bought this dress today actually.”

“Well if it was in my honour I am truly flattered,” he replied.

It now being within my 'alcohol-free' time zone before flying, I kept to fruit juice and mineral water for the evening. One thing I liked about Geoff was he didn't ask why I had suddenly switched to soft drinks, and I didn't offer an explanation.

This second meeting, there was of course no doubt in either of our minds how we intended the evening to finish up, so while we didn't hurry over our meal, we didn't linger either. When we entered Geoff's room we wasted no time in locking our lips as our bodies pressed hard against each other. Once again, Geoff was careful in helping me to unzip my new gown, but once that was carefully laid aside, we almost tore each other's clothes off. It seemed that we could not get enough of each other and it was about two a.m. when we finally lay beside each other on the bed thoroughly exhausted and satiated.

I remember that at one point in our love-making as I gazed down at Geoff's body and we both gasped for breath, he managed to ask if I often came to Brisbane and I replied that if there was such an attraction I was sure I could do so more frequently. Before I left his room we exchanged telephone numbers and promised to see if we could meet up again. It had occurred to me to wonder if he was married, despite no evidence that he wore a wedding ring, but after such intimacy, I realised that I preferred not to know the answer to that question, and the subject had never come up in conversation.

When I met up with Mary at the airfield just after lunch, she took the opportunity while Jack was chatting to the mechanics about the plane to comment that I seemed to be glowing.

“If I didn't know better I might suspect you had met up with a travelling salesman,” she laughed. I have always blushed easily and of course my flaming cheeks gave me away again.

“Oh really?” Mary gasped, seeing my embarrassment.

“Yes really,” I replied “Do you think it was very bad of me?”

“Of course not,” replied Mary. “I don't know how to put this, but you are a single woman now and what you do is your decision. I know what I'd be tempted to do in the same situation.”

That made me feel better, but there was still one thing nagging on my mind
.
“There's just one thing I feel bad about, and that was turning down your invitation to tea yesterday.”

“That's understandable,” said Mary “You had a better offer.”

“Well not a better one, it was just an opportunity I didn't want to miss.”

Our flight home was uneventful, with Jack junior once again taking the controls for a while, which of course delighted him greatly.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Six months have passed. Jack junior is now well established in his new Brisbane school and apparently doing very well according to reports from Mary. We have flown down to Brisbane twice, she to visit him and I to conduct some business for the property. It has been decided that Jack would stay with Ron rather than boarding, and I'm sure this was a better option for him – surrounded by people he knew and with whom he got on very well.

I stayed at the hotel, although I did take up Ron's kind offer of a meal on both occasions. His wife Judy is a great cook, and no matter how good the meal is that you may get at a hotel, nothing beats home cooking. I did repay their kindness by taking them out to dinner on a couple of occasions.

On both trips I did contact Geoff, but he was not going to be in Brisbane at the same time as I, and I confess to a tiny bit of jealousy, wondering who he might be bedding as he travelled around the countryside, but there was nothing I could do about it. It might have been easier if I had remained celibate since John's death, but having tasted the delights of being in bed with a man again, I was feeling rather frustrated. Of course it's not impossible that I could have picked up another man at the hotel – I saw a couple looking at me in a speculative fashion as I dined alone on the last night of our trip, but I'm not going to jump into bed with any man just for the sake of getting sex.

Two weeks ago, I did meet up with Geoff again. He was coming down to Brisbane for a few days, so we rented a beach-side unit for a week, and I flew down by myself the day before he was due to arrive, telling Jack it was 'on business'. Mary might have guessed the reason, but then she had more or less told me I was perfectly entitled to do what I was doing.

I rather liked the idea of a self-catering unit rather than a hotel room.  I could even cook for us, and we could spend the whole night in bed together rather than me feeling obliged to sneak back to my room in a hotel before people started to stir.

I felt very excited at the thought of meeting Geoff again, and of course took great care to look my best for him, and as sexy as possible in new black lingerie under my dress.  I greeted him with a kiss which rapidly led to the bedroom before he even unpacked his case.  Everything was a good as I remembered it, perhaps even better, and I knew it was going to be a great few days. 

Geoff did actually have to go and do a bit of work, or his boss might have wondered what he was up to, but I was happy to spend the time he was away, either cooking or cleaning up – 'playing house' I suppose you could call it.  When he did return, of course we made up for lost time.

It was the last morning of our meeting that things unravelled. Geoff slept in and I suppose I might have been slightly responsible for that! I slipped out of bed without waking him, intending to make breakfast.  His clothes were strewn around the room and as I picked up his pants his wallet fell out of a pocket and fell open. As I bent down to pick it up I saw the picture.  There was Geoff with a pretty woman by his side and two small children. I suppose I had put to the back of my mind the thought that he could be married, but here was irrefutable proof.  I couldn't decide what to do, so I just folded the wallet up and put it back in his pocket. I couldn't stop thinking about it though, and at the breakfast table Geoff saw I was distracted.

“What is it darling?  You don't look yourself” he remarked.

“You didn't tell me you are married,” I replied. There – it was out in the open.

“You didn't ask,” was his reply, and it was true I hadn't
.
“No, I didn't,” was my reply.

“So, does it bother you?” he enquired.

“Does it bother your wife?” was my response “She must know.”

“Well I guess it doesn't because she's never said anything.”

“I'm sorry Geoff, I guess I'm being sanctimonious,” I said, “things are different nowadays.”

“You weren't expecting more than what we've got were you?”  Put like that he was right,  I wasn't looking for a husband, just a lover, and Geoff was a very good lover.

“No, you're right,” I replied “Please forget what I said.”

“Good girl,” was his reply, and of course we ended up back in bed and I pushed my nagging doubts to the back of my mind as I gave myself body and soul to the delights of his body.

I was flying back that afternoon, and Geoff was moving on to Townsville, so after another torrid session in bed we showered and started to pack up our things.  We had a final kiss at the doorway of the unit, as Geoff headed off north, and I drove down to Archerfield.

Flying home I had several hours to think about our relationship and I knew in my heart of hearts that no matter what Geoff did with other women, I couldn't see him again.  I didn't know how to approach my decision with Geoff but he saved me the bother by ringing me one evening a couple of days later.

“Hi darling, how's it going?”  that was Geoff, bright and breezy.  I told him I was fine.

“Look, this thing we have, I think it's reached its natural conclusion, don't you?”  So that was it, he was dumping me.

“I think you're right,” I responded.  I was determined to keep my dignity. If he though I was going to plead with him to meet me again he was mistaken.

“Right.” he said, and seemed a little surprised at my response. There was a pause.

“Don't get me wrong,” he went on, “what we had was good, but now you know my circumstances I get the impression you're not entirely comfortable with it.”

I sighed “Geoff, you're right.  I guess I'm just an old-fashioned girl.  I tried to tell myself I wasn't, but in my heart I know I am.”

“Right,” he said again “well perhaps we'll catch up some time.”

“I don't think that's likely, do you?”

“Well, err”

“Goodbye Geoff.” I said it without anger or emotion. I just put the phone down.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

A letter arrived today addressed to Mr John Brodie. For some reason my hand started to tremble when I read that. Everyone who knew John would be aware that he passed away over two years ago, so who was this person who knew his name but did not know that? The postmark was Brisbane, and I held the envelope in my hands for several minutes before slowly opening it. It contained a single sheet of paper and the contents were quite brief. It read as follows:

Dear Mr Brodie,
You don't know me but my name is John Evans and I have a personal matter that I would like to discuss with you. I would prefer it to be person to person rather than by letter or the telephone. I an wondering if you come to Brisbane very often and if we could meet up for a chat?
Yours sincerely,
John Evans.

The letter also contained his address and telephone number in Brisbane.

I have spent several hours thinking about it. Who is this man and what could possibly be so personal that he wants to discuss it face to face? I knew everything about John, at least I thought I did. Was this some scandal from the past come back to haunt him? Well they were too late in that regard. When letters like this arrive it usually means that someone wants money, either as an act of charity or to keep quiet. Right now I have nothing to go on in deciding which of these it is. Finally I decided that I would reply and I've written as follows:

Dear Mr Evans,
I regret to inform you that my husband John Brodie passed away two years ago. I happen to be coming to Brisbane in a month's time, and if you wish to discuss the matter with me, then we can arrange to meet at a place and time which is mutually agreeable. I will write again when I have the dates when I will be there.
Yours sincerely,
Lesley Brodie
 
I've read it over to myself a few times. It doesn't strike me as unfriendly, but it is non-committal. Maybe I won't hear from him again.

Most people would laugh if I said that being fairly well off has its down-side. In fact they'd probably say they would gladly swap places with me, but it is true that people especially think that a woman is an easy touch and will often devise ingenious ways to part her from her money. John and I were always as generous to charities as we could be, but I object to attempts to con me out of money. If this John Evans thinks he has something scandalous which could be revealed about my late husband, and wants to have his silence bought, then he might find he is dealing with someone tougher than he expects.

It's a month later and I'm in Brisbane. I flew down two days ago, and took care of business to do with the property yesterday. I also phoned John Evans and agreed to meet him in the hotel bar for a drink at 6pm this evening. It has suddenly occurred to me what the personal matter might be, but I will hold off until I hear what he has to say.

I went down to the hotel bar at five to six, bought myself a glass of white wine and sat in a chair which gave me a view of the door so that I could scan people as they entered. When I phoned John and arranged to meet in the bar, he asked how he might recognise me, so I gave him a brief description and told him I would be wearing a long yellow dress.
I scanned each man as he entered and just after six o'clock, a man in his late forties or early fifties came in and immediately scanned the room. On seeing me he walked over and gave me a smile.

"Mrs Brodie? I'm John Evans."

I held out my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you Mr Evans. Why don't you get yourself a drink and then come and sit down?"

I watched him as he walked to the bar, and as he returned bearing a schooner of beer. He sat down opposite me, raided his glass and said "Cheers." I responded in kind.

"Did you have a good trip down?" he inquired politely.

"Very pleasant, thank you," I replied. I wasn't going to tell him I flew my own plane down, it was too early for this information.

"I was sorry to be the giver of bad tidings," I said, "John died of a heart attack about two years ago, or I'm sure he would have been interested to meet you himself. So, would you like to tell me what this is all about?"

John Evans looked a little embarrassed.

"Please accept my condolences on your loss,” he began. “It all started about six months ago when my mother died. I should tell you Mrs Brodie that I never knew who my father was. When I was young, my mother gave me several excuses as to why he wasn't around, like he was 'away in the Army', and later that he was 'working in the country'. Eventually I gave up asking, and got used to the fact that I would never see him. When she died, as her only child I had to sort through all her belongings, including her papers, and it was then that I came across my birth certificate."

He reached into his pocket and produced a rather crumpled envelope from which he extracted a paper which he passed across the table to me. I looked down at the birth certificate. It gave John's mother's name as Mary Evans and his father as John Brodie. Even though the possibility that this was the 'personal matter' referred to in his letter had occured to me, I hadn't really believed it, but here it was in black and white. I had always felt that John and I had no secrets from each other and to suddenly find myself facing a man claiming to be his son was a startling revelation.

John could see the effect his words were having on me as he carried on "I'm sorry if this has come as rather a shock to you."

"Well, yes it has," I managed to say in return. Then a thought occured to me.

"Did you ever actually met your father?" I asked.

"No, I never did."

"So it's possible that he never knew you existed?"

"Well yes, that is a possibility. Anyway, I looked through all the Queensland telephone directories. As you can imagine, Brodie is not a common name, and after I excluded the few other possible people, I found your late husband and that's how I came to write the letter."

He paused and then suddenly said "Please don't misunderstand Mrs Brodie, I'm not after money from you, I would just like to know who my father is....or rather was."

"Yes, I understand," I replied, and in order to give myself some time to think, I said "Are you married Mr Evans?"

"Please, call me John," he replied, and then he looked embarrassed and said "I'm sorry, that was tactless of me. I didn't mean to cause you distress."

"It's alright," I replied "I can't go through life avoiding people called John can I?"

He smiled "I suppose not; and in reply to your question, I'm not married but I do have a partner." He hesitated for a moment and then said "His name's Mark."

He was watching me closely to see my reaction to this revelation and looked quite relieved when I replied "And how long have you been together?"

"Eight years," was his reply.

"That's longer than some marriages," I said, and he smiled.

"We'd love to get married of course, but that's not possible. Maybe one day."

John wasn't to know my background of course and will never know, but I would be the last person to be critical of his domestic situation.

He seemed to be making up his mind and finally said "I'd love to know more about my father, and Mark would like to know too. Could I possibly ask you to come to our place for dinner, maybe tomorrow night if you haven't already booked to return home?"

"That is very kind of you," I replied, "I'd be happy to accept. I can fly home in two days."

John looked a little surprised, so I decided to tell him about my mode of transport.

"We have a Cessna at the property, so I'll be flying back."

"What about the pilot?" asked John.

"You're looking at her," I replied.

John blushed. "I'm sorry, it was rather tactless of me to assume that someone else would fly the plane."

"Not at all," I replied "There are not that many women pilots from up my way. I should know, I've taught most of them."

"You've taught?" gasped John and then continued, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply...."

I laughed. "There's an old saying John 'when you're in a hole, stop digging!' "

We were both laughing then, and I had the feeling that we could become good friends. Before John left we arranged that he would pick me up in the hotel foyer tomorrow at 6pm.

Whenever I travel, in the words of the the Boy Scouts’ motto, I like to 'be prepared'. I had had no expectations of where my meeting with John might lead, but nevertheless I had packed a lime green silk gown which has the advantage of taking up little space in my suitcase and not creasing. I also packed some stockings and heels to complete my outfit. I spent a few hours bathing and getting ready this afternoon, and I was sitting in the hotel foyer just before six o'clock when John arived promptly to pick me up. I was pleased to see that he was wearing a suit and tie, which meant I didn't feel over-dressed.

"Good evening Mrs Brodie," he said, "My, you look very nice."

I hope that I didn't blush, something I've always tended to do, as I thanked him for his compliment. "And I think you can call me Lesley now," I said.

We walked out to his car which was in a five-minute zone outside the hotel, and I was so pleased when he opened the front passenger door for me, before getting into the driver's seat.

"We;re only about ten minutes out of the city," he said, "Mark apologizes for not coming to the hotel, but he's the cook this evening and he wants to make sure everything is perfect. I'm a bit of a 'boil an egg' person myself, but Mark loves cooking."

"I'm really looking forward to this evening," I replied.

After ten minutes we turned into a driveway beside a small block of flats and pulled in under a carport. I waited while John got out and opened the door for me again. It felt very special being treated like a lady! It's something my husband John used to do when we went out, but I'm not going there or I might find myself getting teary again. We walked to one of the ground floor flats and John opened the door and ushered me in, calling out "We're home!"

Mark appeared out of the kitchen hurriedly wiping his hands of a tea towel. I judged him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He came up to me and kissed me on the cheek, saying "Welcome to the chaos, Lesley," in a light tenor voice.

He is shorter than John, and has soft, rather feminine features and long blond hair which was tied back in a pony tail. He excused himself  saying he was right in the middle of cooking.

"Oh don't apologise," I replied "John's already told me what a great cook you are and I'm really looking forward to this evening."

Mark blushed slightly at the compliment. Looking at him I couldn't help thinking that wearing a dress and with his hair brushed and make-up on, he would make a very pretty woman. In fact he rather reminded me of myself all those years ago.

John ushered me into the lounge room. Glancing around I could see it was beautifully furnished with understated elegance, and it was quite obvious that it hadn't been 'tidied up' in anticipation of my arrival. In fact I was sure that it looked that way all the time. There was even a vase of flowers on the sideboard! John then asked what I would like to drink. I had actually brought along a bottle of rather good wine and also some mineral water.

"I'd love to drink wine," I said, "but I have a strict rule not to drink alcohol within forty-eight hours of flying, so I'm afraid it's going to be mineral water or a soft drink for me; but please don't let that stop you having the wine."

John had looked at the label and I saw his eyebrows raise slightly. It was a very good wine, and I said "Well it is a special occasion."

"It just seems a pity you can't share in it," he said, "perhaps I'll save it for another time when we might all be able to enjoy it."

I smiled my acceptance of his decision.

The dining table was covered in a lace table cloth and I suspect set out with the best cutlery and china. Just then Mark appeared bearing plates with salmon and small pieces of toast which was the entree. He was obviously squeezing in time for himself to eat before attending to the main course, so we immediately sat down to eat. It was quite delicious and I told him so, resulting in him colouring up slightly again, although he also beamed with pleasure. Then he was back to the kitchen again to bring out the main course, John helping him by bringing in the vegetables in china bowls. Then in walked Mark, proudly bearing the meat.

"Beef Wellington! My favourite!" I exclaimed.

Mark smiled and then his face seemed to crumple.

"What was I thinking?" he almost wailed, "John says you live on a cattle station. You must have beef all the time, and far better than I can serve up!"

I felt I had to do something to avert this crisis. He was standing close to me, so I touched his arm gently and said "Mark, beef is my favourite meat, and cooked with love, care and skill as this so obviously has been, I know that I will never have tasted better."

That seemed to mollify him, and even John looked less concerned. After that, Mark carved and served me some of the beef and I helped myself to the potatoes, peas and pumpkin. I wasn't wrong - it all tasted delicious and I told them so. Mark beamed. I had an idea, and I said "When I'm next in Brisbane, perhaps you'll allow me to bring you down some prime cuts from home. Just tell me what you like and I'll make sure to bring it."

This suggestion went down very well, especially with Mark who was obviously the chief cook.

Our meal concluded with home-made Tiramisu and the men had a small glass of port, while I contented myself with coffee.

"I have something to show you," I said, so we moved over to the comfortable sofa next to the coffee table, John and Mark sitting on either side of me. I reached into my bag and brought out an envelope.

"Here are some pictures I thought you'd like to see," I said.

The first one was of my husband John.

"This is my favourite picture of John," I said, "It was taken about ten years ago, and I made him stand with his favourite horse Ned."

Just looking at John standing there in his work clothes and broad-brimmed hat, his arm around the horse's neck and looking so handsome nearly brought tears to my eyes. I recall perfectly the day I took the photo and how John had said he should get cleaned up first, but I told him I wanted to record him just as I remembered him.
Both men noticed how looking at the picture affected me and John said softly "He was a very handsome man."

"Yes he was," I replied. Neither of them commented on the fact that my husband looked nothing like John Evans.

I composed myself and brought out other pictures of John, some of them taken with me by his side, and also some of the homestead and the men rounding up the cattle.

“These are copies I had made," I said, "I thought you might like to keep them. Of course you'd both be very welcome if you want to come out to the Station one day to see it for yourselves."

"That is so kind of you," said John, "I shall treasure these, especially the one of your husband with his horse."

I noticed he didn't say 'my father'. Perhaps it was too soon to think of him that way.

I took a taxi back to the hotel after a most enjoyable evening, and now, sitting in my room and writing up my journal I have time to think. Did I do the right thing by John Evans? I think I did although others might say not. The thing is that I know that my John was not, indeed could not have been his father.

I learned this some years back. I think it was after we had been invited to give out prizes at the local school sports day. In the car on the way back John had said to me "Did you ever wonder why Mary and I never had children?"

Of course it had crossed my mind, but it is a delicate subject, so I answered indirectly "There are many reasons why couples don't have children. If you wish to tell me, that's fine, but I wouldn't wish to pry."

John had smiled at me as he replied "Well we certainly tried - goodness knows we did, but after two years when nothing had happened we went to a specialist. He organised a number of tests, and it turned out that the problem was with me. You see I had mumps quite badly when I was fifteen, and it seems that a side effect in some cases is to make a boy sterile. I was one of the unlucky ones."

"I'm so sorry," I replied.

John squeezed my hand "It was one of those things. We considered adoption but in the end decided against it."

Knowing what I know, should I have told John Evans? If I had, then it would have meant two things; first that his mother was sleeping with two men at about the same time, and secondly that it would have been almost impossible to track down who his real father was.

Why had Mary Evans put down John Brodie as John's father? Was it because he was the man she hoped was the father? Then again, why had she made no attempt to tell John of her pregnancy? So many questions, and no answers.
What I do know is that John Evans really wants my John to have been his father, and I believe that my John would have liked it to be true. John's lifestyle is another reason why I don't feel obliged to tell him the truth. It is almost certain that he will never have children, so it is not likely that he will ever need to know my John's medical history.

Finally I've been thinking about Mark and how feminine he appeared in his mannerisms. I can't help wondering that if I had seen inside his wardrobe there would be one section devoted to clothes much prettier than those he was wearing this evening. I wonder if he will feel the need to develop his feminine side further and if so what effect that will have on his relationship with John?

All this thought has made me very tired and I have to fly in the morning, so it's time for bed.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Tuesday

Today was the second time I visited John and Mark, my friends in Brisbane. As promised, I arrived earlier today with an Esky* packed with selected cuts of beef and I was looking forward to seeing the look on Mark's face when he opened it. I plan to stay in Brisbane for three days and this meant that at dinner this evening I could share the bottle of wine I brought along when we first had dinner together, since I wouldn't be within my self-imposed 'no alcohol within forty-eight hours of flying' limit.

I confess that since my first visit I have been thinking quite a lot about Mark and how feminine he looked, wondering if he or John was going to reveal more as I got to know them better?

I had confirmed with John that he would be picking me up at the hotel at six o'clock, and I spent a pleasant few hours bathing, dressing and doing my hair, ready to look my best for the evening ahead. I was nearly ready to take the lift down to the foyer when I received a telephone call from John. He was very apologetic, but an urgent matter at work was going to delay him for at least an hour.

"It's not a problem," I said, "Look, why don't I take a taxi to your flat? That will save you having to detour to the hotel."

John agreed that this was the best option and said he would ring Mark and let him know what was happening.

I had the Esky strapped to a small luggage trolley with wheels since it was quite heavy, and perhaps it looked a little odd when, dressed in an evening gown and heels, I arrived with the Esky in tow in the foyer, but apart from a few curious glances, nothing was said. The taxi driver kindly lifted it into the boot of the car, and I slipped into the front passenger seat of the car. He glanced at me curiously.

"Going somewhere special?" he asked.

"I'm going to dinner with friends," I replied. I could tell he was itching to ask what was in the Esky, but I decided to tease him by saying nothing about it.

In no time we were at the door of John and Mark's flat. The driver kindly lifted the Esky out of the car boot and I rewarded him with a generous tip for manhandling it for me. There are some advantages in being a woman! I rang the bell and Mark answered the door.

"Hello Lesley, it's so good to see you!" he exclaimed in that light tenor, almost woman's voice, and kissed me on the cheek. "My, what have you got there?"

"It's the meat I promised you," I replied, handing over the handle of the trolley to Mark to manoeuvre inside. Once he wheeled it into the kitchen and opened the lid, his reaction was all I could have hoped for.

"Thank you so much, it's so generous of you," he said.

"Nonsense, it didn't cost me anything and you and John have been more than generous with your hospitality. This is just a small way of saying 'thank you'.

Mark informed me that he was preparing a Chinese meal, which was just as well as John was delayed, and he could start cooking when we knew he was on his way.

“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea while we are waiting?" he asked and I said tea would be fine.

"Actually, I rather glad in a way that John had been delayed because it gives me a chance to talk to you," Mark said.

We took our cups of tea into the lounge-room and sat on the couch together and I waited for him to begin. He looked slightly uncomfortable and I could tell this was going to be personal. I even had a slight inkling what it might be.

"Lesley," he began, "You know that John is the man of the house here, and I, well I'm not. I'm his partner and I love him dearly, and he loves me too. For some time I’ve wanted to discuss something very personal with someone I can trust, someone other than John. Of course I have friends here whom I’ve known longer than you, but if they reacted badly, I could easily become a laughing-stock. Somehow I know you won't react that way.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Alright, I'll stop beating about the bush - have you ever heard of transgendered people because that's what I think I am." He looked anxiously at me to see my reaction.

From the moment he started to speak, right up to the moment he came out with the words I had the strongest feeling that I knew what was coming, and remembering back how it had been for me and how much I had benefited from the support and help of my dear friend Jenny, I decided to do all that I could to support him in turn.

"I've not only heard of transgendered people, but I actually knew one a long time ago," I replied.

"Really? That's wonderful, so you know that they're not, not...."

"Not transvestites or drag queens," I finished for him.

"That's right," he replied, "Now you know why I couldn’t tell my friends, but somehow I knew you’d understand.”

"So are you in the process of transitioning?" I asked "And if so, how far along the path are you?"

"I haven't actually started," he said. "Perhaps I'm luckier than most since I know my body already has some feminine characteristics. I think my voice has too."

"That's true. In fact to be honest when I first saw you I couldn't help thinking that wearing a dress and make-up you would look like a very pretty young woman."

He was blushing now and I decided to play the hunch I already had.

"In fact would I be wrong in thinking that's how you do appear on occasions?"

"Nearly every evening," he replied, "Except like today when we have a visitor."

"And how does John feel about it?" I asked, although I suspected I knew the answer.

"Oh he's fine about it. Like I said, he's the man of the house and I'm, well I'm the woman, and never more so than when I’m dressed as one."

"And is he fine about it if you decide to totally transition?" I asked.

"We've discussed it many times. If he wasn't happy about it I wouldn't even consider it, because I love him and would never do anything to lose him. However he says he wants me to do what is right for me."

" 'To thine own self be true'," I murmered. "Shakespeare has a quote for everything."

Mark crossed to the sideboard and took an enlarged picture from a drawer and handed it to me. A gorgeous young woman in a pretty dress smiled into the camera and it didn't need Mark to tell me who I was looking at.

"Well I see I was right," I said, "You look amazing."

Mark was blushing happily at my compliments. Then I had an idea.

"Since you normally dress in the evening and John is delayed, how do you feel about dressing now?"

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. I mean your picture is wonderful, but to see you in the flesh as it were, would be even better."

"Alright, I will," he said and started to walk towards the bedroom, but I called him back.

"There's just one thing - I can't possibly call you Mark when you are dressed. What will your name be then?"

"Oh it's Melissa, do you like it?"

"Yes I do, it's a very pretty name," I replied, and he flashed a smile at me and disappeared into the bedroom.

'Be careful girl,' I said to myself as I sat on the couch and waited for Melissa to appear. 'Remember that the transgendered girl you are talking about is Mandy, not you, and don't reveal too much about her.'

For about ten minutes I glanced through a copy of 'Vanity Fair' that was lying on the little table next to the couch, and then I heard the bedroom door open. Melissa was standing there, wearing the same pretty dress she had worn in the picture. Her long blonde hair was now brushed and framed her face. Her makeup was not too pronounced, a common mistake with apprentice girls, and she was wearing stockings and black court shoes with about four inch heels. She looked very nervous.

"How do I look?" she said, almost like a soldier presenting for inspection by the sargeant-major.

"My dear, you look like a million dollars," I replied.

About fifteen minutes later we we were standing in the kitchen, two women chatting, when the front door opened.

"I'm home at last," called out John as he walked down the little hallway. "Hi Lesley, hi Ma...Melissa?"  The last word of the sentence had turned into a question.

"Hi John," I said, "I did my best to dress up for the evening, but I've been rather overshadowed by the hostess."

Melissa laughed "You are the most glamorous woman I've ever met," she said and now it was my turn to blush.

"Well I do the best I can for an old chook," I replied.

John approached us and first kissed me on the cheek and then Melissa on the lips. “I’m so glad you told Lesley about yourself,” he said quietly.

“Well after she showed me her picture, I couldn’t wait to see her in real life,” I said.

Melissa now put on an apron to protext her dress and set about cooking the Chinese meal she had devised, and like the previous dinner I had enjoyed there, it was truly excellent. We shared the spectacular bottle of wine I had brought along previously, and it lived up to its reputation, and fortunately matched the meal very well.

We engaged in small-talk during the meal, but afterwards as we sat on the comfortable chairs in the lounge room with our port and coffees, the talk turned to more serious matters.

"John, Lesley actually knew a person who transitioned and she's offered to help me with advice on what I have to do," said Melissa.

"That's wonderful Lesley," said John, "You really are like an angel who's come into our lives."

Natually I blushed at that, but secretly I felt good that although I hadn't been able to tell John the truth about himself, I could perhaps make up for it by helping Melissa on her journey to full womanhood.

“Firstly I have to tell you that the girl I knew underwent full transition, but she keeps a very low profile, so I know you’ll understand that I can’t tell you her name or how I came to meet her, or even too much about her present life. I met her from time to time and did the best I could to support her in what is a long and at times difficult journey, but I’m sure you realise that Melissa? I will be happy to do what I can for you too if you want me too. Remember that some people in your situation decide that after all it’s not for them, and there is no shame in that.

“The first thing you must do Melissa is to see your GP, dressed as a woman of course, and tell him or her that you want to be referred to a specialist in what's called 'gender dysphoria'. I know it's a term that makes it sound like something is wrong with you, but nothing could be further from the truth. If you can make the appointment while I'm still in Brisbane, I'd be happy to come along with you for moral support. I have to tell you though that this is the first step in a long journey. You will have to live full-time as a woman for more than a year, and that means at work too. How do you think the company you work for will react to the news?"

"I'm not sure," replied Melissa, "I can only ask them. I'm working in an office situation now as a law clerk, and all the rest of the staff are women. They know I'm gay, and they seem to treat me as 'one of girls' anyway. I'm not sure about my boss though."

"Well I'm afraid there's no getting around it if you want to stay there. Also you will have to go through intimate medical examinations and answer probing questions and it's only if you pass all the assessments that they will put you on hormones. Then you will have to deal with the effects they will have on your body and mind."

"Melissa," said John, "This is entirely your choice. I will still love you and want to be with you no matter what decision you take."

I felt as though I shouldn't really be there in what was an intimate moment between two people who obviously loved each other very much.

I know that John," said Melissa, "but if I don't try I will always wonder what might have been."

It was getting late and time for me to return to my hotel. Melissa promised to ring me tomorrow if she can get a doctor’s appointment. She rarely sees a doctor, although that’s certainly about to change, and she goes to a clinic which has about ten doctors on the staff. I suggested she might feel more comfortable seeing one of the women doctors if she can.

I do hope I'm doing the right thing here. There is a risk that she might guess that there is more to me than I am telling, but it's a risk I feel comfortable in taking.

To be continued

* 'Esky' is the brand name of an insulated portable cooler used for carrying chilled food or drinks, but is now adopted as a generic term for any brand of cooler.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Wednesday

Melissa rang me at about half past nine. She sounded excited and also nervous.

“I’ve made an appointment with Dr Mary O”Donnell for three o’clock this afternoon,” she said, “Will that be alright with you?”

“That's fine,” I said.

I had planned to visit the beauty parlour I’ve been visiting for years, so I said to her “I’ve had an idea. Why don’t I come over to your flat right away and help you choose something to wear. Then we can go to a beauty parlour I know and you can have your nails and makeup professionally done.”

Melissa enthusiastically agreed, so I quickly got dressed and then rang ‘La Belle Beauty Salon’, the same place where I had my very first make-over after my initial visit to the gender specialist.

“Shelley my dear, how are you?”

“Very well Mrs Brodie, are you still coming to see us today?” I have tried many times to get her to call me Lesley, but she never will, so I have just accepted she isn’t going to change.

“Yes I am Shelley and I’d like to bring a trainee girl with me before she goes to see her GP and starts on her journey. She can have my appointment time. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course I can, and I'm sure we can find time for you too,” she replied “What would she like done?”

“Well her nails, eyebrows and make-up, and maybe her hair cut and styled if you have time. I’ll leave it to you my dear, you’re the expert. She’s not bad at doing her make-up but she could do with some tuition. By the way, her name’s Melissa, and she's already quite a pretty girl, so she has a head start. Oh, and one more thing, she doesn't know anything about my background.”

“Of course Mrs Brodie. We look forward to seeing you both at half past eleven.”

With that I put on my coat and took a taxi over to the flat. Melissa answered the door wearing a dressing gown.

“I hope you don't think I'm being lazy,” she said, “I've had my shower, put on my undies and done my make-up but I'm not sure what to wear and I'd like your advice.”

She took me into the spare bedroom and opened the wardrobe. It contained a number of pretty dresses, but I doubted if they were suitable to wear today.

“What do you usually wear when you go out?” I said.

She blushed and said “I've only been out with John twice and that was at night. I've never been out in the day because I'm afraid that people will 'read' me.”

“I don't think there's much chance of that, my dear,” I said. “But the important thing is to blend in with other women, wearing the sort of clothes they are wearing.”

As I said this I was rifling through the dresses and stopped when I came to a smart grey pleated skirt.

“Now this is more like it,” I said. “Have you got a white blouse to wear with this? You'll blend in perfectly with all the other office girls. You'll need to wear stockings and medium heels too.”

In a few minutes Melissa was dressed and ready to go out, although she still looked a little nervous.

“You'll be fine,” I assured her, and indeed that proved to be the case. It's surprising how little we look at the people passing by when we are out on the street, so long as they do nothing in their looks or manner to draw attention to themselves.

We arrived at “La Belle”, and Shelley greeted us at the door and immediately made sure that Melissa felt welcome and could relax. She ushered us to two adjoining chairs, and attended to Melissa personally, while one of her young assistants came over to ask me what I would like done.

Melissa was given 'the works' – hair washed and trimmed, eyebrows plucked, nails shaped and given a light coating of clear nail varnish, and finally Shelley did her make-up, all the while explaining exactly what she was doing. At the conclusion, Melissa looked in the mirror and she was nearly crying.

“I can't believe it,” she said softly, “You really do work magic Shelley.”

Shelley smiled, “You're a very pretty girl Melissa, I really didn't have to do much at all.”

There was another surprise in store for Melissa when we approached the counter to pay. Shelley said “The first visit is 'on the house', but we hope to see you again in the future.”

“Oh you will!” said Melissa, and she almost danced out of the salon, leaving Shelley and I to exchange smiles.

“I'll fix up the account next time I'm in,” I said to Shelley quietly, but she responded “I really meant it – no charge this time.”

“Thank you my dear,” I said “She's seeing a doctor for her referral today and you've boosted her confidence like nothing else could.”

There was still a couple of hours before Melissa's appointment with the doctor, so we called into a cafe for a light lunch, and a chat.

“One thing I'm worried about is how my boss at work might react when I tell him what I'm going to do,” she said. “I really don't want to lose my job if I can avoid it. I like working there, and anyway I need the money.”

“I don't want to interfere, but perhaps I could offer a suggestion?” I said.

“Oh please do,” she replied, “Everything you've suggested so far has been such a help to me.”

“Very well, I suggest you don't spring it on your boss – what's his name by the way?”

“Mr Garfield, and he really is a sweetie, but I'm afraid this might be too much of a shock for him to accept.”

“Well, you know how we were saying that people whose only knowledge of trangendered persons is what they read in the popular press, and most of that is totally wrong? You are worried that he might think you are going to arrive at work looking like a drag queen, so we must show him that you will really look like all the other girls in the office. I have a small camera in my bag; I always carry it with me in case I see something interesting to photograph, so why don't I take some pictures of you the way you are looking today? I suggest you go to work dressed as Mark one more day, ask to see him privately and explain what you plan to do, and show him the pictures so he will feel reassured.”

Melissa clapped her hands, “That's a wonderful idea Lesley.”

I took a close-up picture of Melissa sitting at the table in the cafe, and later a couple of full-length shots outside in the street. She really did look exactly like the office girls who were passing by, although she was prettier than many of them.

We found a camera shop close-by that did one hour processing and printing, so we left the film there and said we would pick it up later, which would be after the visit to the doctor.

Melissa seemed quite relaxed when I was taking the pctures, but when we arrived at the doctors' surgery she seemed to have developed a little nervousness again, whispering “How am I going to explain looking like this?”

“Why don't you leave it to me?” I said.

I walked up to the counter and said to the receptionist “I've just come in with my young friend. The appointment has been booked under the name Mark Evans, but she wishes to be called Melissa from now on. Would you mind letting Dr O'Donnell know so as not to cause her any embarrassment?”

Fortunately the receptionist was an older woman and she didn't bat an eyelid, but said “Of course I will.”

We sat down together then, and Melissa surprised me by saying “Would you be terribly offended if I went in to see the doctor on my own? I really appreciate all you are doing for me, but I know you won't always be here to hold my hand, and sooner or later I'll have to start doing things for myself.”

I was actually surprised and delighted and told her so. A few minutes later a young woman in a white coat appeared in the doorway to the consulting rooms and said “Melissa Evans?”

Melissa smiled at me and got up to follow the doctor. I picked up an ancient copy of 'Vogue' (why is it that doctors' waiting rooms always have such old magazines?), and settled down to wait. It seems absurd but I actually felt quite nervous myself, mentally keeping my fingers crossed that all would go well.

After about twenty minutes, Melissa reappeared. She had a smile on her face and was carrying a piece of paper which could only be her referral. I breathed a sigh of relief. As we left the surgery after she paid the account she said “The longest journey starts with single step.”

She's right of course, and I hope her journey will be a successful one.

It's been two days since I flew home and this evening I received a phone call from Melissa. I confess I had been thinking a lot about her and wondering if despite my suggestions and confident attitude, it would all have proved too much for her boss to accept. However the moment Melissa called I could tell from her voice that my fears were groundless.

“I did exactly as you said, Lesley, and Mr Garfield couldn't have been nicer. He complimented me on my work and said that provided I was comfortable with continuing to work for his company, then he was happy for me to be there. He actually suggested that I talk to the girls in the office and tell them that I would becoming in as Melissa today, and they were all fine about it.”

“I'm not surprised at that,” I said, “I think most women take it as a compliment when someone says they would prefer living as a woman rather than as a man.”

“I did feel a little nervous when I went to work today,” Melissa continued, “but it all went fine. I wore the same clothes I wore the last time I saw you, and the girls were very complimentary. When Mr Garfield walked through the office, he nodded to me like it was the most natural thing in the world that I was now dressed as a woman.”

“Excellent!” I said, “I won't be in Brisbane for a few weeks, but please don't hesitate to call me if there is anything you think I can do to help you.”

Well, that's Melissa's first hurdle crossed. It would have been very difficult for her if she'd lost her job, but now she had a secure environment in which to develop her skills in living as a woman. I'm so glad that I've been able to make a small contribution to starting her off on her journey.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

I'm worried; we're all worried. When will it rain? I've never experienced drought like this before although some of the old hands tell tales of years past when the cattle were dying and the landscape littered with their whitened bones. I don't want to see that happen on my watch. John had three huge barns built in which we store hay, and I have added another two, but I realise that it's only sufficient to feed our breeding stock for perhaps a year. The decision has to be made soon – should we sell as many cattle as possible before the price goes through the floor? I think all we property owners are watching each other, and once one makes the decision to sell then others will quickly follow. I called in Jack for a 'council of war' today and the conversation went something like this:

“Well Boss, the way I see it, it's a gamble. You could sell and then it rains next week, but the way it's looking I think that's unlikely. The final decision's up to you of course.”

“I know that Jack, but I value your advice,” I replied.

“Then there's the stock-men,” he went on,”Without cattle what are they going to do?”

“I don't really want to lose them. We've got a good team here and I'd like them to stay together. Perhaps we can put them to work mending fences and other maintenance work. What do you think?”

Jack nodded. “There's enough to keep them busy for a month or two at least.”

“Well what I suggest is that after that, you give those who don't want to hang around, the option to take up work elsewhere if they can find it, but tell them there's a place here for them once the rains come and we restock.”

“Thanks Boss,” he replied, “I'm sure they'll appreciate that.”

Another week has passed and I can't put off my decision much longer. I've been keeping an eye on the weather forecast. There's a tropical low developing at the Top End and there's a chance we may get some rain if it travels far enough south. I called in Jack for another discussion and we decided to hold off for a bit longer, but if nothing comes of this, then I have to sell down the stock.

We were just finishing off our discussion when the phone rang. It was Reg Simmons who owns an adjoining property to the north east.

“Hi Lesley, I'm sorry to bother you with this but I've got a young chap here working as a stockman – a friend of the family, and he put down some feed far too close to the boundary. Some of your cattle broke down the fence to get at it. I'm sending some of my lads up there, but there's about fifty yards of fencing gone down, so do you think you could spare some hands to help out?”

“I'm sorry about that Reg.”

“Not your fault – the young fellow's still wet behind the ears. I gave him a right bollocking and he won't do that again in a hurry.”

I checked the map co-ordinates with Reg and hung up. Jack was listening intently, aware that something was amiss. When I told him, he immediately volunteered to head up there with a few of the men, taking the truck with enough posts and wire for one hundred yards or so to be on the safe side. I agreed and he left to organise it.

Ten minutes later, Jack was on the phone. Young Jack was home on school holidays and he was begging to be allowed to go along.

“It's alright with me if it's ok with you and Mary,” I replied, “I'm sure he won't come to any harm with you to keep an eye on him.”

Within the hour the truck was loaded and ready to go. Mary and I went down to see them off. She had insisted that Jack junior ride in the cabin, so two of the men rode in the back with the materials which were well secured against moving. I could tell that Mary seemed worried so I put my arm around her to reassure her.

“I know I'm being silly,” she said,” young Jack's almost a man now, and Jack's there to look after him.”

“It's an adventure for him,” I replied. For some strange reason I remembered an old sepia-toned photograph in a frame in Mary's house. It was Jacks great-uncle Don in uniform just before he set off on his 'great adventure' in nineteen fifteen, an adventure from which he never returned. He couldn't have been more than twenty at the time, and his resemblance to Jack junior was striking. I shivered involuntarily, and it was Mary's turn to look at me.

“Are you alright Lesley?”

“Sure,” I replied “maybe I'm coming down with a cold.”

The thunder awoke me about three a.m., and then I heard the blessed sound of rain drumming on the roof. Maybe, just maybe our luck has changed. I lay awake listening to it for about an hour before the sound lulled me off to sleep again. I wondered if it was raining where the men were, up at the broken fence. Perhaps they were all crammed into the cabin of the truck as I didn't think they'd taken a tent with them.

It was ten o'clock the next morning and I was in my office when the radio crackled into life.

“Jack to base, Jack to base, come in please, over.” Even through the static I could sense the urgency in his voice.

“Base to Jack, it's Lesley here, what's happened?”

“It's young Jack, Boss. We were rounding up some of the cattle when one of them charged him. He's got a broken arm and was knocked cold for a few minutes.”

I hurriedly reached for the first aid book on the shelf above the radio to check what it said about concussion.

“Ok Jack, is he conscious now?”

“Yes Boss.”

"Alright, keep him still and lying down. It sounds like concussion to me and he needs a doctor for that as well as his broken arm. Has the bone broken through the skin?”

“No it hasn't.”

“That's good. Get some bandages from the first aid box and use them with some sticks to immobilize his arm. I'm going to call the Flying Doctor Service right away. What's the ground situation out there – can they land a plane or will we have to organise a helicopter?”

“We had a lot of rain last night and had to cram into the truck cabin. The only clear area nearby is the creek-bed and there's water in it now. I think a chopper is the way to go,” Jack replied.

I could tell from the sound of his voice that he seemed a bit relieved now that things were getting in motion to get young Jack treated.

I immediately rang the Royal Flying Doctor Service at their Charleville base which is closest to us, and got through to a very efficient young woman called Erin. She took down the details including the map co-ordinates and put me through to one of their medical staff Dr Helen Holmes. She asked to speak to Jack to get the latest on young Jack's condition and I patched her through. In the meantime I was thinking about the best way to evacuate young Jack. RFDS only operates fixed wing aircraft because of the long distances involved in the outback, but I know a guy in Heyward's Crossing who has a six seater helicopter, so I crossed my fingers and rang him. I was in luck as he answered the phone.

“Hi Mitch, I'm wondering if your chopper is free at the moment. We need to airlift out the son of my head stock-man who's broken an arm and has concussion.”

“Sure Lesley, I had another job, but that can wait.”

That's one of the many things I love about living in the outback; everyone is so ready to help out in an emergency. I explained to Mitch the situation, and by then Doctor Holmes had finished speaking to Jack, so the arrangement was that she would fly out to our landing strip at the Station and Mitch would be waiting with his helicopter to fly her to where Jack was waiting; they would pick him up and return here, transfer him to the plane and fly him to Charleville Hospital. I explained that to Jack on the radio and told him I would go over and tell Mary.

As I reached the cottage the door opened and Mary was standing there. Before she had time to speak I hurriedly said “Young Jack's had an accident, Mary, but he's going to be alright.”

I thought for a moment she was going to faint so I hurried forward and put my arms around her, and quickly explained what had happened and the arrangements I'd made to evacuate young Jack. Mary is a strong woman but at that moment she burst into tears, so I held her until she composed herself.

“Come up to the homestead,” I said “and you can speak to Jack on the radio.”

We walked up to my office and I called Jack up and then left the two of them to have a private conversation. As I closed the door I heard Mary say “It's not your fault.”

When she came out into the kitchen I had a strong cup of tea ready for her. I'm a great believer in the restorative powers of a 'cuppa', and we discussed what would be done. I suggested that Mary pack some clothes for herself and the girls so that they could go to Charleville too.

“They may be able to take you on their plane, but if not, I'll fly you there myself,” I said.

The evacuation went like clockwork. Dr Holmes is a charming young woman and acted as though this was nothing unusual, and I suppose for her it wasn't. Her pilot radioed an ETA and Mitch was ready and waiting when the plane landed. They were back with young Jack in about an hour, and he was looking much better and wondering why all the fuss and why he had to go to hospital. There was room in the plane for Mary and the girls, so that saved me a trip, not that I minded. Jack senior had decided, obviously after consulting his wife, that since there was nothing else he could do and young Jack was now in good hands, he should stay to complete the fence repairs and then I would fly him to Charleville in a few day's time.

Three days have passed since young Jack's evacuation to Charleville. Mary has been in touch each day and after I've had a brief conversation with her confirming that he is doing well, I've then patched her through to Jack senior to give him an update. Now Jack and the other men are back, having rounded up our cattle and repaired the fence. I've also been in touch with Mitch asking how much I owe for the hire of the helicopter. He's a great guy – he absolutely refused to charge me for hire of the chopper but after much arguing agreed that I could compensate him for the fuel used.

Jack was so effusive in his thanks that it made me feel uncomfortable.

“You're all part of the family Jack. It's Mitch and the RFDS you should thank, I only organised things. Now how about you get some things packed and I'll fly you to Charleville.”

“OK Boss. Oh, by the way, Mary needs a few more things to wear for herself and the girls. Do you mind sorting them out for me?”

“Oh, OK Jack,” I replied.

I went over to the cottage with him. I felt slightly uncomfortable going through Mary and the girl's clothes, but Jack obviously thought I'd have more idea of what they would need than he did. I filled a suitcase with what I felt would be appropriate, and then we headed to the aircraft and were soon in the air and heading east.

When we reached Charleville, we took a taxi to the hospital. Mary and the girls were there to meet us, and we had a word with young Jack who was already looking a lot better, with his arm in plaster now. After that I left the family and flew back home.

It's a week since I took Jack to Charleville and he phoned to tell me that young Jack was being let out of hospital and they would take the train back.

“Are you sure Jack?” I asked “It's no trouble to fly over and bring you back.”

“You've done more than enough for us, Boss,” was his reply. For a moment I was tempted to try and insist, but then I thought that it would make me sound like a benevolent dictator who knew better than Jack what was best for his family, so I just responded by saying “Ok Jack, I'll see you when you get back."

Let's hope that's the last drama in my life for a while.

To be continued:

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

It has been raining almost non-stop for two weeks. We mustn't complain of course; after so many months of drought everyone has been praying for rain, even agnostics like myself. When I say 'agnostic', I wonder if that is quite true. While I find it hard to believe in the old man with the white beard sitting on a cloud, nevertheless I can't totally exclude the feeling that there is 'a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will' to once again quote Shakespeare.

Well that divinity has answered our prayers; the dams are full to overflowing and the waters have in places spread out over the parched lands and soaked them. Once the sun comes out again, it won't be long before the green shoots appear and we will no longer have to hand-feed the cattle. Thank goodness I did not make the decision to sell down the stock, although it had been a close thing.

In the meantime, some of the local roads are flooded, and even my 'all weather' airstrip has been too wet to risk use in my opinion, but then I have always erred on the side of caution. I want to go to Brisbane as soon as possible as I have to attend to some business, and I would like to catch up with Melissa and John once again and see how Melissa is progressing with her treatment. I know that Jack's wife Mary would like to go to Brisbane to see Jack junior too. I have made a conscious decision not to introduce Mary to Melissa and John as I feel it might make things complicated. Mary knows I have other friends in Brisbane, but then, so does she, so while we spend some time together while we are down there, we also have our own time.

The telephone rang this evening and when I answered, it was Melissa.

“Hi Melissa, how are things going?” I said.

“Oh fine,” she replied in a way which seemed to suggest that this was not really the case. “Will you be coming down to Brisbane soon?”

“Yes I will. You've probably heard about all our rain, which was a blessing of course, but it flooded my landing strip and it's only now drying out sufficiently for me to use it again, so I hope to be down there next week.”

“I'm so glad,” she replied, and then hesitated “I'm thinking that I may not continue with my treatment and I'd really like to discuss it with you.”

“Oh,” I said, and immediately realised that was a rather inadequate response.

“I know this may come as a shock to you,” she went on, “and I'd really like to talk to you face to face, rather than on the telephone.”

“Sure. Have you talked to John and your psychologist yet?”

“No I haven't,” she replied, “You have been so understanding and helpful that I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Very well,” I said, “I should be down there next week. I'll ring and let you know the day I will be arriving.”

We concluded the conversation and rang off. I sat for a long time staring at the phone. Of course I've heard of transgender people who have changed their minds, in very rare cases even after they've had surgery. I recall Dr Brentwell saying how much they try to avoid having that happen. The only transgender people I know have never had any doubts or second thoughts, so this was new to me. Another thing is that from the first moment I met Melissa, in fact even when I met Mark, I never had any doubt that this was a person who was destined to live her life as a women. The fact that she wants to talk to me about it first before even talking to her partner or health professional means I must be ultra careful in what I say to her. I wonder if I really should be taking on this responsibility.

Wednesday

Back in Brisbane again after an uneventful flight. Mary is staying with Jack's cousin Ron as usual. I explained that I would be very busy for the three days we are here, but accepted an invitation to dinner on the third day. I phoned Melissa at work and asked when she would like to meet. I don't like the idea of going behind John's back but it seems she wants to talk to me before she discusses her future with him. We arranged to meet for lunch in a cafe on the banks of the Brisbane River. The weather is warm and sunny so we could eat on the terrace which made it easier to talk without being overheard. After we ordered our meals and two glasses of plain mineral water, I sat back and waited for Melissa to begin. Looking at her I couldn't help thinking that she looked more feminine than ever; obviously the hormones are starting to have an effect.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Lesley,” she began. “You might wonder what's going on and why I'm having second thoughts.”

“Well it has crossed my mind,” I replied.

“In a word, it's John,” she said. “I don't think he's really coping with the idea of me becoming a woman full-time. You know I was dressing up before you first met us, but that was different. I was a gay guy dressing up for fun, but I was always a male. Now I'm on the road to becoming a woman and I don't think John knows how to cope with it.”

“Have you discussed it with him?” I asked.

“Oh yes, and he says he's fine with it, but I don't really think he is.” She hesitated before continuing. “The fact is that I love him too much to do anything to hurt him and I think this is hurting him, so I have two choices – continue as I am and lose John, or go back to how I was. You have been here for me from the time I started my treatment, so I thought you might be able to give me advice on what I should do.”

“Oh Melissa, what can I say? It's not a situation I've ever had to deal with before and I'm not sure that I'm qualified to give advice. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but if I say something and it's the wrong advice I would never forgive myself.”

“I'm not asking you to tell me what to do,” she said, “I know that the ultimate decision is mine, but there's no-one else I can talk to about it.”

“Well, what I can say is that I really think you should discuss your thoughts with John, and also your specialist. If you are going to stop your transitioning then I guess the sooner you do it, the sooner you can go back to your old life.”

I saw a shadow pass over her face, and I reached out and took her hand which was lying on the table. Anyone watching us might think we were lovers but I really couldn't care less.

“You really don't want to go back to being Mark do you?” I said softly, and Melissa shook her head. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“I think I've said this to you before, but Shakespeare's words 'to thine own self be true' really seem to apply in this case. While you feel you have to stop because of your love for John, he probably will say that he loves you too much to want you to make such a sacrifice.”

“That makes a stalemate doesn't it?” said Melissa and she managed a weak smile.

“It does, and I'm sorry that I can't come up with a solution to the problem,” I said “I feel that I'm failing you.”

“No, its fine,” she said “Even just talking about it is a help.”

I couldn't help thinking to myself that if my past was different would I advise her differently? How fortunate I was that I was never put in a similar situation. To be honest, I think Melissa should continue to transition because it's so obvious that she should be a woman. However, since I've been put in this position I feel I must try to offer totally impartial advice, even though I feel less and less qualified to give it.

It was time for Melissa to go back to work.

“I don't want to risk getting the sack,” she said, “and I might as well enjoy the time I still have as a woman if it's coming to an end.”

To further complicate the situation, because I have enjoyed Melissa and John's hospitality on previous visits to Brisbane, we had arranged that the next time I came down, they would come to dinner as my guests at the hotel restaurant. This will happen tomorrow evening. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing though, as we won't be able to discuss Melissa's future in such a public place, that is if she's spoken to John before I see them next.

We said our farewells and Melissa promised to get in touch as soon as she has made up her mind. She really wants to become a woman, I have no doubt of it. I can't help feeling that if she gives it up because of John, then eventually her love for him might turn to resentment because she gave up what she most desired, and that might cause them to split up anyway – a 'lose-lose' situation if ever there was one.

Thursday

This evening Melissa and John came to the hotel and had dinner with me. Ordinarily I would have looked forward to seeing them both, but after Melissa's lunchtime meeting with me yesterday, I felt uncomfortable, especially as I doubted if she had discussed her future with John yet.

I was already seated when they arrived. Melissa took my breath away as she entered the room. True beauty can do that to a person. She was wearing a cerise floor-length evening gown and I'm sure the eyes of every man in the room were on her as she and John, resplendent in a dinner suit, advanced towards my table. I greeted them warmly – they made a splendid couple and apart from Melissa, I was the only person in the restaurant who knew that their relationship might soon be in jeopardy.

The evening passed well enough, although at one point John looked at me and asked if I was alright. I passed it off as a slight business problem which was weighing on my mind and he seemed to accept the explanation. I do feel bad about my lunch and discussion with Melissa, but what's done is done and I can't do anything about it. Fortunately, Melissa complained of a headache and they left for home about ten o'clock.

Writing up my journal now, I wonder how long it will be before I hear from her and what her final decision will be.

Friday

As arranged, I had tea this evening with Jack's cousin Ron, his wife Marj and their children, and Mary and Jack junior. Marj is a great cook, and in my opinion, it doesn't matter how fancy a restaurant meal is, nothing beats good home cooking. Marj did a lamb roast, probably because she thinks I get sick of beef. After the meal was finished, the children went off to another room, leaving the grown-ups to drink their coffee and chat.

Marj said “I hope you don't mind me saying this Lesley, but you looked a bit distracted at dinner. I hope there wasn't anything wrong with the meal?”

There it was again – the second day in succession that someone had noticed I wasn't my usual self.

“Not at all, it was a lovely meal and I really enjoyed it,” I replied. I did hesitate before continuing, but decided to tell them half the story. “The fact is that I have a couple of other friends here in Brisbane who have asked my advice on a personal matter. While I don't feel qualified to give that advice, I also feel it is difficult to say nothing. What would any of you do in such a situation?”

“Perhaps they should seek professional help if it's that sort of problem,” said Mary.

“My suggestion is that you can only consider what you would do in the same circumstances and say that, but emphasize it's only your opinion,” said Marj.

Ron said nothing, but that tends to be the case with men – they prefer to stay out of personal matters.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Thursday
It's been a week since I returned home and I really thought I would have heard from Melissa by now. I don't feel it's appropriate for me to contact her because it might appear pushy. Perhaps she hasn't discussed the situation with John or her psychologist yet. It will take a deal of courage to do so, particularly if her final decision is to go back to being Mark.

Friday
There's an old saying 'be careful what you wish for.' Late this afternoon the telephone rang and when I answered, for a moment I didn't recognise the voice, so distorted it was by emotion, but then I realised it was Melissa.

“Melissa, what's happened?” I asked.

“Oh Lesley, it's John, he's disappeared. He had a day off work and went swimming, and he hasn't come home.”

“Have you called the police?”

“Yes I have,” she replied, “but they say that most people who go missing return home within a couple of days, so they are reluctant to put on a full-scale search yet.”

“But you think that something has happened to him?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I went down to the beach where he always swims and his towel, shirt and shorts were there on the beach. Oh Lesley, what should I do?”

She wasn't asking me to come to Brisbane, but I knew it was what I had to do.

“I'm coming to Brisbane,” I said.

“Could you? Oh Lesley I feel so bad about ringing you with my troubles, but I have no-one else to turn to,” she said. “The police are probably right and he'll turn up in a day or two. They've told me to stay home in case he turns up.”

I knew she didn't believe it would happen, and frankly neither did I. I also presumed she had discussed their future, but now was not the time to ask her.

“Will you be able to come down tomorrow if it's not too much trouble?” she asked

“I'm going to fly down right away. I should be there in about three hours,” I said, “If you are not at the flat, please leave me a note to tell me where you are.”

The sky was rapidly darkening outside, and I don't often fly at night, one reason being that the station's landing strip doesn't have lights, but I have my instrument flying licence and of course I've taught other people, especially women, to fly. I phoned Jack to put him in the picture. Fortunately Jack is one of those people who doesn't need chapter and verse. I merely told him that a friend in Brisbane needed me urgently and I was flying down right away. I would be in touch in a day or two to let him know what was happening and deal with any important decisions. Then I hurriedly piled some clothes into a suitcase, having no idea how long I might be away.

Jack immediately organised to bring the Cessna out of the hanger. Fortunately I had been planning to fly to Townsville on business in a few days, so the aircraft was ready to go. Jack also contacted some of the men to light the runway for me.

By the time I had completed my pre-flight checks and lodged my flight plan, it was dark. I slowly taxied away from the lights of the hanger to the head of the runway and then contacted Jack on the walkie-talkie. In the bush you learn to be resourceful. Suddenly the runway was lit up as eight utes and trucks lined up at intervals to the side and facing down the runway turned on their headlights. We had done this before and worked out the distance apart for each vehicle and also the point at which, as the lights of the last truck faded out, I would be airborne. There is one possible hazard, and that is the risk that kangaroos, startled by the lights might wander onto the strip, so each of the men had a rifle with him, not to shoot the roos but rather to scare them off if they appeared.

When I had the 'all clear' from Jack, I pushed forward the throttles and released the brakes, and the Cessna accelerated down the runway. Just as I passed the last truck I eased back the stick and was airborne. Over the radio I called Jack and asked him to thank the men who had interrupted their evening meal for me. “We'll have a barbecue when I get back,” I promised.

Behind me the sky was still a faint purple, but ahead of me it was black. I climbed to ten thousand feet and levelled off. I really quite enjoy flying at night. The faint glow of the instruments does not affect night vision. Below me the land was dark, apart from the occasional pinpricks of light indicating the presence of human habitation. Now and then I could see a vehicle's headlights as it moved along an invisible road. I contacted Archerfield and gave them an estimate of my arrival time, promising to update it when I was closer to Brisbane. One possible danger in solo night flying is that the steady hum of the engines and the darkness could easily make a pilot drift off to sleep. I have a system of avoiding this by turning on my small cassette player with favourite songs recorded and singing along with them. I don't have a great voice, but then there was no-one else present to criticise it!

Flying solo also gave me the time to think about Melissa and my relationship with her. For some time I have realised that I have grown to look upon Melissa as the daughter I can never have, so I have developed a kind of love for her. It's strange that the English language, so rich in words has only one word for 'love', whereas the ancient Greeks had about four. The Greek word that most describes my feelings for Melissa is 'philia' – the virtuous love, the sort one has for family members or close friends, but in admitting that I also have to consider that there is a danger of my advice to her being coloured by my feelings for her. Now John had disappeared, so what would it mean if he didn't return? My thoughts were starting to swirl around my head and I decided that they were best left until I was safely on the ground and could find out more about what had happened.

Soon a glow in the sky ahead of me showed that I was approaching Brisbane, so I radioed through to the tower and began a slow descent. Air traffic control acknowledged my approach and directed me to the lit runway. Soon the runway lights were rushing up to meet me and a few moments later I felt the aircraft wheels touch the runway and I began to slow the Cessna with reverse thrust on the engines. Then I taxied to the apron in front of the hanger where I normally keep the Cessna while I'm in Brisbane and switched off the engines. I was pleased to see Norm, one of the mechanics coming out to greet me as I alighted from the aircraft.

“Good to see you Mrs Brodie,” he said 'we didn't expect you today.”

“Hi Norm, it's good to see you too. I wasn't planning to come to Brisbane today but a friend rang and needs my help.”

“I thought something must have happened,” he said “I've ordered a taxi for you. He should be here soon. You're not to worry about the Cessna, I'll see to everything and have it ready for when you want to fly home.”

“Bless you Norm,” I replied “You think of everything.”

He beamed his pleasure at my words and I meant every one of them. Norm is a real treasure. Sure enough, as soon as I walked into the terminal, pulling my case behind me, the taxi driver was waiting at the desk for me, and in less than fifteen minutes I was knocking on Melissa's door.

She opened it instantly. Her face was smeared with tears, but there was a look of relief on it as we hugged and then walked into the kitchen.

“Lesley, thank God you've come,” she said.

“I'd love a cup of tea,” I replied. I am a great believer in the restorative powers of a hot cup of tea – perhaps it's something I inherited from my mother; also it gave Melissa something normal to do, and that was important too. Once the tea was made we walked into the lounge room and sat on the sofa.

Obviously there was no news about John yet, so I said “Now tell me all that's happened since I last saw you.”

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Melissa gulped, then composed herself and started to speak.

“I waited a couple of days after you left before I did anything,” she said, “I just couldn't make up my mind what to say to John. He knew that something was wrong, and eventually he sat me down and asked me to tell him what was bothering me. It was then that I told him that I'd decided to stop my transitioning and he seemed genuinely surprised.

“ 'Why-ever would you do that?' he said, and I told him it was because I knew he was not happy with it and I love him too much to risk our relationship. 'We'll go back to the way we were,' I said. 'I can still dress up any time I want to, but I will be Mark again. I know you would prefer that and so I would prefer it too.'

“'What about work?' he said and I replied that I was sure they would accept that I had given it a lot of thought and decided that becoming a woman was not for me.

I looked at Melissa as she told me this, and I knew that she was intending to make the greatest sacrifice of her life and I couldn't help thinking that it would end badly, indeed perhaps it already had. She reached out and clutched my hand.

“Then John asked me to give it a few more days before making my final decision, and he said he was sure that things would work out somehow. Oh Lesley!” she gasped, “Do you think that John has deliberately decided to disappear so that I can continue to transition?”

This was a difficult question to answer. I felt she was probably right, but how could I say that? I think Melissa read the expression on my face because she began to sob. I held her in my arms – what else could I do? Eventually her crying eased and I gave her my handkerchief to wipe the tears from her face.

“Melissa, you're exhausted,” I said, “Why don't you go and lie down for a while. There's nothing we can do now but wait.”

She nodded, so we got up and walked into the bedroom. I helped her off with her dress, and pulled back the covers. Melissa lay down and I pulled the covers over her. I was about to leave the room when she said in a small voice “Lesley, please don't leave me.”

What could I do? I was feeling a bit tired myself after the flight down to Brisbane, so I smiled at her and said “Of course not.”

I slipped off my top and pants, turned off the light and slipped under the covers. Melissa clung to me and in perhaps ten minutes I could tell from her breathing that she was asleep.

I must have dropped off to sleep myself because when I awoke it was daylight. Melissa was still sleeping but something had woken me. Then I heard it again – a rapping on the front door. I slipped out of the bed, being careful not to disturb Melissa, and putting on my pants and top I hurried to the front door. Through the frosted glass I could see two figures wearing peak caps and my heart sank.

I opened the front door and as I feared it was two policemen.

“Miss Evans?” said one.

“No, I'm Mrs Brodie, a friend,” I said.

“Can we see Miss Evans? We have news for her,” he said, and smiling he stepped aside and there was John, wrapped in a blanket and looking quite dishevelled. I hadn't heard Melissa walk up behind me wearing a robe and in bare feet until with a glad cry she dashed forward and threw herself into John's arms. The two policemen burst into broad grins.

Melissa was half laughing, half crying. “Oh thank you, thank you,” she cried.

“Glad to be of service miss,” said the spokesman. Then turning to John he said “Well, we'll leave you to get sorted out. Just call down at the local police station later sir, and write out a statement for our records, o.k.?”

“Of course,” said John, “And thanks once again for all your help.”

With that the policemen left and we went back into the flat.

“What on earth happened to you?” said Melissa as she still clung to him.

“I know this sounds silly,” said John “but I'd really like to have a shower and clean up, and then something to eat – I'm ravenous. Do you mind if I do that and then I promise I'll tell you everything that happened.”

“I think that's a very good idea,” I said. “Melissa, why don't we cook up some breakfast for all of us.”

Melissa looked like she didn't want to let John out of her sight, but she agreed to my suggestion, so John disappeared into their bedroom to have a shower, and we raided the refrigerator for eggs, bacon, sausages and tomatoes and cooked up a morning feast.

John appeared ten minutes later, looking much better after a shower and a change of clothes and his eyes widened at the food on offer. It was true about him being ravenous. We gave him twice what Melissa and I ate, and he wolfed it all down. Finally after a second cup of coffee was prepared, we went into the lounge room and Melissa and John sat close together on the sofa, with his arm around her, while I took one of the armchairs facing them.

“Thank you for being so patient,” said John, “I feel like a new man now. I presume Melissa told you about our discussion a couple of days ago Lesley?”

“Yes she did,” I replied. I was tempted to add 'and it surprised me', but decided the less I said the better.

“Well, when Melissa told me she was going to stop transitioning, I knew it was the wrong thing for her to do, and I knew that she knew it too. I could hardly believe that she would make such a massive sacrifice for me, and I knew that I could not possibly allow her to do it. I thought a lot about what I could do to persuade her to keep becoming the person she is, and I finally decided that the only way was for me to remove myself from the scene.

“My darling,” he said, turning to Melissa, “I realise now that I just wasn't thinking straight, but it really seemed the best idea at the time. Yesterday I went down to the beach with the idea that I would swim out to sea and keep swimming until I couldn't swim any more.”

“Oh John,” gasped Melissa, and she started to cry again. John hugged her tightly to him and continued his story.

“Well, I stripped down to my swimming togs and entered the water and started to swim out. AlI I was thinking about was you, and suddenly I started thinking about how much I would miss you, and the effect my disappearance would have on you, and I guess you could say I came to my senses and thought 'What on earth are you doing John?'. I decided to swim back to the beach, but it was then that I suddenly realised that I was caught in a rip and was being swept out to sea. I must say the irony of the situation wasn't lost on me. Now I didn't want to drown, but the decision might not be mine any more.

“I'm a good swimmer but I'd never been in this position before. I remembered reading that when you are caught in a rip you don't try to swim against it, but swim at right angles until you come out of the rip. However I was getting very tired and I'd swallowed some sea water. Every so often I caught a glimpse of the beach but it was empty and seemed even further away, so I was on my own. Just when I thought I was going to drown through sheer exhaustion I realised that I was no longer being swept out to sea. I had finally swum out of the rip, so I turned and started to head for the beach. I made very slow progress because I was so tired, but eventually I felt sand under my feet and I can tell you it felt so good.

“I'd been swept quite a long way along the beach and where I came ashore there are sand dunes. I felt sure there must be a road beyond them, so I started to make my way over one, but there was another one before me and at that point I think I must have collapsed from exhaustion because when I woke up it was dark. I was shivering with the cold, but keeping the sound of the sea behind me, I made my way over another sand dune, hoping to see some lights but there was nothing. I finally decided the only thing to do was to wait until it got light so I could see where I was, and all the time I was thinking of you my darling and cursing myself for being such a fool.

“I lay down in the lee of the dune so I was a little bit warmer, and waited for dawn. When it got light, I looked around but there was no-one in sight, so I crossed another dune and there was a road after all. I walked down to it and waited for someone to come past, and it was after about fifteen minutes that those two policemen drove down the road so I flagged them down. I can tell you they looked at me strangely when they pulled up, but when I explained that I'd gone for a swim and got caught in a rip, they said they would drive me home, and so here I am.

Turning to Melissa John said “My darling, can you ever forgive me?”

Melissa gazed into his eyes and said “So long as you promise to never do anything like that again.”

'Good for you, girl', I thought, 'Don't let him off too lightly after all he put you through.'

“I realise now that you are a woman and always have been, and you are the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. Promise me you will continue with your transitioning, because I know it's what you want more than anything else in the world, and I want it too.”

“There is something I want more,” said Melissa and she blushed.

“I think I can guess what it is,” said John, and he smiled for the first time. “When it's legally possible, will you marry me?”

Melissa threw her arms around him and cried “Of course I will!”

I thought for a moment they had forgotten I was there, but then John turned to me and said “Lesley, thank you so much for looking after Melissa. What a good thing you were in Brisbane.”

I didn't want to embarrass him further and was about to nod agreement when Melissa said “But she wasn't in Brisbane, John. When I phoned her yesterday and told her you were missing she flew all the way from her property to be with me.”

John looked very embarrassed at that and mumbled “Thank you so much Lesley, I owe you more than I can ever repay. You are the best friend we have."

“That's what friends are for,” I replied, “But I agree with Melissa, I hope you never do anything like that again.”

“It's a promise,” said John.

I felt that my presence was no longer required and got up to leave but John had not finished.

"There's something I've wanted to say to you Lesley for some time. I don't believe that your husband John was my father. Am I right?”

I hesitated for a second and then decided that honesty was the best policy. “No John, he wasn't your father. John couldn't have children, but if he could have, I'm sure he would have been proud to have you as a son.”

“Thank you for that Lesley,” said John, “so it means my mother was seeing another man at the same time.”

“That's why I didn't want to say anything,” I said, “I thought it was better for you to believe that John was your father, and I'm sure your mother thought he was; she even named you after him. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before; honesty is always the best policy.”

“I hope we will still be friends,” said Melissa.

"I would be proud to be friends with you both, always,” I said, “It's often said that you can't chose your family but you can chose your friends.”

Both John and Melissa then stood up and hugged me, and I confess that the tears started to flow.

After that I really did feel I had to leave and let Melissa and John spend time together. They insisted on driving me out to the airfield. When we reached the hanger where the Cessna had been brought out onto the apron, Norm was there again.

“Did you have a good trip Mrs Brodie?” he asked.

“A very good trip, thank you Norm,” I replied.

Before climbing into the cockpit, I hugged Melissa and John once more. “You must come out to the station soon and see where I live. Make it a long weekend and I'll fly down and pick you up, o.k.?”

“Yes, we'd love to,” said John.

I went through my usual pre-flight drill and then taxied onto the runway and was given permission to take off. Once I was airborne I circled the airfield and saw the tiny figures of Melissa and John still waving. I dipped my wings in acknowledgment and set a course for home.

As I flew home I thought about the last twenty-four hours. 'All's Well that Ends Well' I thought to myself, but it could so easily have turned out differently. I'm sure now that Melissa will complete her transition and that she and John will get married one day. Maybe I will get to be Matron of Honour. As for me, my only true love sleeps beneath a red river gum in the Hey cemetery. I can't imagine finding anyone to replace him, but I suppose we should never say 'never'.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

I love reading, so I visit the Heyward's Crossing library quite often. John and I supported it with some funds so that they could purchase more books and and even the 'talking books' on tape and CD that are now becoming popular with locals who sometimes have to drive for hours between towns. I have to say that we had some trouble talking around the Chief Librarian Miss Marks, a lady of some sixty plus summers who is rather 'old school' and believes that a book is only a book if it is printed on paper. I've always believed that you 'get more with sugar than with vinegar' (one of my late mother's sayings), and after judicious flattery and the suggestion that she would be considered 'forward thinking' if the Hey Library became the first in the district to offer this service, she reluctantly agreed. The first batch of 'talking books' was a huge success, not only with drivers, but also with some of the elderly who have failing eyesight.

Anyway, today I went to the library to return some books and chose some more, and in place of Miss Marks behind the counter was a rather handsome young man. Well, when I say young, he was perhaps in his late thirties, but as I approach my half century that is looking young to me.

“Miss Marks having a day off?” I said, smiling at him.

“Oh, haven't you heard? She had a fall and broke her leg. She'll be away for some weeks, so they sent me over from Charleville to fill in while she's away.”

“Oh dear, that is bad news,” I said, then hastened to add “not that you're not very welcome.”

I could feel myself blushing at my clumsiness, but what was it about this young man that was making me react this way? I surreptitiously checked his left hand – no wedding ring, not that that means a lot nowadays. Why I did it, I've no idea, or perhaps I do. Ever since I came back from Brisbane last week I've been thinking about Melissa and John and how they have each other, and I have no-one. I even thought a couple of times about my short fling with Geoff, the fling that came to an abrupt end when I found out that he was married with children. At that moment I made up my mind to never get involved with another man unless I knew they are single, and I'm determined to stick with it. Now chatting with this very attractive man, and wondering if I was flirting with him, I couldn't help thinking how much I missed male company.

“Well,” I said “I've managed to get the books back before I'm fined this time, so I'd better go and chose some more.” With that I turned and walked towards the book shelves, strangely aware that he was watching me and resisting the temptation to swing my hips.

I spent some time going through the offerings on the bookshelves. In the past I didn't care what Miss Marks thought of my choices, but suddenly it seemed important that they should meet with this young man's approval. At the same time I didn't want to take something that I wouldn't be interested in reading. I finished up with 'Pride and Prejudice', having seen the film but never read the book, and a couple of more modern novels.

When I return to the desk the library was empty of other members. The young man took my ticket and glanced at my books.

“One of the classics I see,” he smiled as he picked up the Jane Austen. I knew I was blushing, yet again – something I've never been able to control.

“Well I've seen the film,” I replied, “and I know they heavily cut the story to fit into ninety minutes, so I thought it was about time I read the original.”

“An excellent idea,” he glanced at my card, “Mrs Brodie, I'm sure Mr Brodie will approve.”

“There is no Mr Brodie,” I replied, rather flustered, ”that is to say there was a Mr Brodie, but I'm a widow now.”

'Good grief,' I said to myself, 'What must he think of me? I'm behaving like a schoolgirl.'

“Oh I'm sorry,” he replied, “That was rather tactless of me.”

“You weren't to know, Mr err?”

“James Taylor,” he replied, and smiled, “and no, I'm not a great singer.”

I smiled, “I do enjoy his music despite my age.”

James raised an eyebrow, “You must have been very young when he came on the scene.”

“Why? How old do you think I am?” I laughed, “No, you'd better not answer that!”

James laughed in turn. “ 'Never forget a lady's birthday, but never ask her age'. I've made that mistake a few times, perhaps that's why I'm single.” And in that very subtle manner he had answered the question that was in my mind, or should that be that he knew was in my mind? I felt it was time I was going.

“Well it's been nice meeting you Mr Taylor. Perhaps you'll still be here when I return these books.”

“I hope so,” was his reply. I know I was blushing again as I turned and left the library.

There is a country dance held in the Heyward's Crossing Hall every few months. I used to go with John, but since his death I've only been once, and that was when encouraged by friends. Tonight, Ellen and Tom, my dearest old friends insisted that I accompany them, and I'm so glad I did.

It's about an hour's drive into Hey from the Station, so as they usually did, Ellen and Tom suggested I bring along my evening clothes, have a shower and change when I reached their home, and stay in the spare bedroom overnight before driving home in the morning. This suits me very well. I'm quite resourceful, but the idea of an hour's drive in the dark with the ever-present danger of colliding with a kangaroo, does not appeal to me.

Early this afternoon I selected one of the pretty ball gowns that John bought for me and zipped it up in a plastic clothes bag to keep out the dust. Then I packed a small suitcase with a change of clothes and some underwear. As usual, I told Jack where I was going and that I'd be back tomorrow, and then I set out for Hey.

Ellen and Tom greeted me warmly. They make a lovely couple and I am so glad that between myself and Tom's late wife, my dearest woman friend Jenny, we had managed to find him the perfect person for his later years. It's funny that a person like myself who has no religious affiliations or beliefs should think that after Jenny passed away she somehow had a hand in bringing together Tom with Ellen who had nursed her in her final days. Of course if you saw me sitting by her graveside chatting to her, you might wonder how firm those 'non-beliefs' really are!

After a cup of tea and a chat about the latest happenings in Hey, I unpacked my clothes in the spare bedroom and then had a shower to wash away any dust accumulated in the trip down. Then I went back into the bedroom to dress. Perhaps it's the result of my origins, but I have a weakness for French lingerie, a weakness indulged by John who encouraged me to buy a new set every time we were in Brisbane. I had laid out on the bed my bra, pants, suspender belt and full slip in rose pink, all made of the purest silk and trimmed with exquisite French lace. After all, if a girl is going to wear a gorgeous evening gown, she should compliment it with what lies beneath! The lingerie was teamed with a new pair of sheerest nylons and some four inch heels. I used to wear up to six inch heels but in acknowledgment of my age have scaled back a bit.

After I dressed, put on my makeup and attended to my hair, I came back into the lounge room where Ellen and Tom were already waiting. Tom was wearing a dinner suit, and Ellen had on a very pretty ball gown in pastel blue which really suited her. They both complimented me on my appearance.

“I'm going to have two gorgeous women on my arm tonight,” said Tom, “Won't the other men be jealous?”

We climbed into Tom's Landrover for the ten minute drive to the hall, arriving there just after eight o'clock, about forty minutes after the dance started. The hall was already quite full, so we secured a table from those that surrounded the dance floor, and Tom went off to get us a drink. Hey has quite a good band – it consists of two trumpets, an alto and tenor sax, guitar, bass and drums, and led from the piano. They are all amateur musicians of course but they play well together. Tom returned with our drinks, and asked Ellen if she would like to dance as they were playing a slow waltz. Ellen looked as if she didn't want to leave me on my own, but I said I would be fine and to please dance with Tom. They went off together while I looked around the hall and smiled at some people I know.

Tom and Ellen returned when the pace of the next dance picked up and we sat chatting while they finished another bracket and went off-stage for a drink. When they returned, the leader Max the pianist approached the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Rob, our usual vocalist could not make it this evening, but I'm happy to say that at short notice we have secured a replacement with an impeccable musical name. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome....James Taylor!”

I gasped as James appeared from the side of the stage and approached the microphone to a smattering of applause. Ellen looked at me curiously.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“I've met him,” I replied, “He's standing in for Miss Marks at the library, but I didn't know he was a singer.”

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” said James into the microphone, “Thank you for that warm welcome. We're going to start this bracket with a slow waltz, so please take your partners.”

“That sounds like my speed,” said Tom with a glance at Ellen who nodded, “Would you like to take a turn around the floor Lesley?”

“I'd love to, Tom,” I replied, and took his hand as he lead me onto the dance floor. The band struck up the intro to “My Funny Valentine”, and James began to sing. I should have guessed it of course, he has a great voice, and that after telling me he couldn't sing!

We worked our way slowly around the floor and inevitably reached a point close to the stage. I glanced up at James and he smiled and gave me a wink. I blushed of course, what woman wouldn't? The next dance was a quickstep, too fast for Tom so we made our way back to the table.

“Thank you Tom,” I said “It's been ages since I last went dancing. It's good to know it's like riding a bike – you never forget how.”

“You dance well,” said Tom, “Maybe it was the music, or even the singer.”

“Stop teasing the girl,” said Ellen, and Tom looked slightly bashful.

“I'll forgive you if you go and get me a mineral water, Tom,” I said, “It's getting a bit hot in here.”

When Tom had left the table, Ellen looked at me.

“That young man has made quite an impression on you hasn't he,” she said, it coming out as a statement rather than a question.

“This is only the second time I've seen him,” I replied defensively, which didn't exactly answer her question, but fortunately at that moment Tom came back, so the subject wasn't pursued.

It's funny how sometimes we know in advance what is going to happen. The next bracket of tunes apparently didn't need a vocalist, and almost on cue the side door to the stage opened and James appeared. Without hesitation he walked over to our table.

“Good evening Mrs Brodie. What a pleasant surprise to see you here,” he said.

“Mr Taylor,” I responded, “May I introduce my friends Ellen and Tom Green?”

Tom half stood and they shook hands, and Ellen smiled at James. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr Taylor, you have a great voice,” she said.

“Thank you, but please, call me James,” he replied.

“Very well, James it is,” said Ellen, “I should tell you that there's a lady here who has been complaining that no-one is asking her to dance.”

“May I?” said James, holding out his hand. My face was flaming with embarrassment, but nevertheless I took his outstretched hand and he led me to the dance floor.

As we waltzed around the hall I look at him accusingly “You never told me you could sing so well,” I said.

“And you never told me what a great dancer you are,” he said in return. It was true that my level of dancing seemed to have stepped up a notch as I was swept around the room in the arms of this fascinating man. I knew that perhaps later I would look back on this moment in a cool calm and collected way, but at that moment I was oblivious to everything but the romance of being in James's arms. Somehow in two short meetings I knew I had fallen in love with him, of that I had no doubt. How ridiculous it seemed at my age, but it was still very enjoyable.

I know we spoke while dancing, but I can't remember very much of it. It was enough to feel his firm masculine body pressed against mine, and for me to yield to that sensation and feel like I was floating on air. One thing I do remember was asking him how he came to be singing with the band after being in town only a couple of weeks.

“It was quite serendipitous,” he replied, “Max came into the library to return some books. I could see something was on his mind and he told me about the band and how his vocalist had come down with laryngitis and he was at his wits end. I happened to mention that I've sung with a band in Charleville and 'the rest is history' as they say.”

The waltz was followed by a foxtrot, and again we seemed to move as one around the floor. I even became aware of other couples moving over to give us room. When that number finished I somehow came to earth and said that I should return to my friends' table. I saw a look of disappointment on James' face and tried to soften my decision by saying “This is a country town – after three dances they'll think we're engaged!”

“I guess they are expecting me back on stage anyway,” said James. “By the way, what's your favourite James Taylor song?”

“ 'Every day',” I said without thinking, “You know, the Buddy Holly song?”

“Yes, I know it,” he replied smiling, and then we were back at the table and he was holding my chair for me to sit, and returning to the stage. My heart was still beating wildly, and I couldn't say it was due to the exertion of the dance. Ellen and Tom looked at each other but said nothing, and I was grateful for that.

James sang another song and then I noticed him saying something to the other band members before coming back to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a request from a very special lady for a song recently sung by my namesake, and I hope you enjoy it.” With that he started to sing “Every day”, and I sang the lyrics with him under my breath:

“Everyday, it's a-getting closer,
Going faster than a roller-coaster,
Love like yours will surely come my way,
A-hey, a-hey-hey.”

'Yes, it is like a roller-coaster,' I thought to myself, 'and if I'm not careful it will get totally out of control.'

James did not come over again. I had another dance with Tom (I should mention that he did dance several times with Ellen too), and no-one else asked me to dance, and I was content with that as I wanted to remember how it felt to dance in James's arms.

Later, when we were alone, Ellen said to me “You're falling for him in a big way aren't you?”

“Is it that obvious?” I replied.

She smiled, “You're entitled to have some romance in your life, but do be careful won't you?”

“Yes I will,” I promised, “He's younger than me of course, and people can be unkind with their talk of 'toy-boys'. Perhaps it's just as well he'll be going back to Charleville soon.”

“You never struck me as a person who gives up easily,” said Ellen.

“Oh I'm not,” I replied, “but if something happens, perhaps it's better that it happens in Charleville, away from the eyes of the local busybodies.”

That night as I slept in Ellen and Tom's spare bedroom I had some vivid dreams but of course they evaporated like morning mist when I awoke. However, I'm almost sure James featured in them.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Returning home from Ellen and Tom's this morning I spent the drive turning over in my mind the events of yesterday evening. I know that I haven’t felt this way about any man since John died. It wasn't as if I'd gone looking for someone. I'd just happened to meet James and the sparks flew, at least they did for me, but did they fly for him too? I remember the old saying 'there's no fool like an old fool' and I wonder if it applies to women as well as men. There's also the question of the difference in our ages. Exactly how much it is I don't yet know, but I am acutely aware of the disapproval so often expressed when the woman in a couple is older. Add to that the fact that this particular older woman is quite wealthy and there is yet another reason for snide remarks to be made.

It's been three days since the dance, and I woke up this morning with a strong feeling in my mind that I must go to the library. I get these 'feelings' from time to time and I've learned to act on them. I haven't finished the Jane Austen, and it turned out the two other books I'd borrowed were not very interesting, so I decided to take them back.

There was only one or two people in the library when I arrived. James was behind the counter and his face lit up when he saw me, which made my heart flutter. You can't fake something like that look.

“I'm so glad you came in,” he said quietly, “tomorrow's my last day.”

“Already?” I said, surprised.

“Yes, I think Miss Marks is afraid of losing her job if she stays away any longer. She rang this morning and said she was on crutches but was quite sure she could cope, so it's back to Charleville for me.”

I'm sure he saw the look on my face as I struggled to make some response to this bad news. I made a quick decision.

“James, I'd really like to see you again, that is if you'd like to see me of course,”

“You know I do,” he replied softly, and checking that no-one was watching he laid his hand on mine where it sat on the counter. His touch was like an electric shock and I felt I was getting short of breath. I didn't want the connection to break but time was short. I reached into my handbag and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

“Here is my phone number,” I said, “and if you lose it you can reach me at Mackenzie Station.”

“I'll ring you as soon as I get back to Charleville,” he promised. I wanted so much for him to kiss me, impossible of course, but then taking my hand in his he lifted it to his lips. It was all over in a second. I don't think anyone in the library noticed, but at that moment I didn't really care if they did.

It's been two days since James returned to Charleville. I expected him to ring me the moment he arrived home as he promised, but so far I've heard nothing. Has he had time to think it over and decided that getting involved with an older woman is not really what he wants to do? It didn't seem like that when I last saw him at the library, but now he's had time to think about it......well who knows?

In the meantime I've done something I'm not totally proud about, but something I felt I had to do after the experience I had with Geoff the travelling salesman in Brisbane. James says he is single, but I had to be sure that he really is. One of the advantages of living in the country for many years and also of being married to John for most of those years, is that I have built up a large network of contacts, and it was to one of those contacts that I turned. My request was simple – 'Is James single?'

My contact called me this evening. When the phone rang, of course I thought it was James and my heart started to pound as I rushed to answer, but it settled down somewhat when I realised who my caller was; although the importance of the information I was about to receive still meant my heart rate was faster than normal.

“Yes, he is single,” that was the good news. I was asked if I wanted to know more.

“No,” I decided, 'I don't, in case I gave myself away when talking to him. I wouldn't normally ask for this information, but I've been deceived before and it was important for me to know.”

“Do you want to know anything else about him?” I was about to say “No” when a thought struck me. “Well I'd like to know if he has a criminal history, that might be useful.”

My contact laughed, “Maybe a parking ticket, but nothing else showing up here.”

I expressed my sincere thanks for the information and concluded the call. Well that was good news indeed, although why such a handsome man should be single was a bit of a mystery, and I'm totally sure that he isn't gay.

James has rung me! It was only about ten minutes after my previous call, and now, sitting here after finally putting the phone down my heart is still pounding.

“Hi Lesley, it's James here,” he began and already my heart rate was soaring.

“Hi James, did you have a good trip back?”

“Yes, fine, thank you,” There was an awkward pause. I held my breath. Was he going to let me down lightly? Somehow I couldn't think of him being unkind.

“Lesley, I didn't ring as soon as I got back because I wanted you to have time to think.”

Me time to think? I thought it was because he wanted time to think.

“Lesley, I'd really like to see you again...that is if you'd like to see me.”

I hope I did not audibly exhale when I heard that.

“Yes, I would like to see you again James, very much.” The last two words slipped out before I realised.

“I'm so glad,” he said, “but the problem is I have to work.”

“Well, I could come to see you,” I replied.

'It's a heck of a long drive to Charleville from Hey,” he said.

“Yes it's a long drive, but it's not such a long flight,” I replied, “And I do have access to a plane.”

He laughed, “There's a lot I don't know about you Mrs Brodie.”

“There's a lot I don't know about you too, Mr Taylor, but it would be fun finding out more about each other don't you think?”

“I certainly do. Look, I have to work some Saturdays, but I have the coming weekend off, or is that too soon?”

“I can do that,” I replied. “Why don't you book me into a hotel for Saturday and Sunday nights, and I can fly down Saturday morning and return Monday morning.”

“I'll do that,” he replied, “You must have a very accommodating boss at Mackenzie Station.”

I wonder how long it will be before he realises that I am the boss? For the time being though, I think I'll keep that information to myself.

Yesterday I told Jack that I was going to Charleville for the weekend and asked him to mind the Station until I get back. The great thing about Jack is that he never asks questions, he just says “Alright Boss”, and that's it. Then I set about packing my suitcase.

This morning I was up early. I calculated my flight time, having told James to expect me about eleven o'clock, and soon I was airborne and heading east. The flight was uneventful and I touched down about five minutes before the hour, pleased with myself how accurate my calculations had been. As I taxied to my assigned parking spot, I could see the tall figure of James standing near the terminal building and I confess to a fluttery feeling in my stomach at the sight of him. This man has really got under my skin.

He walked over as I switched of the engines and performed my post flight procedures and was standing there as I alighted from the Cessna. I was pleased that he expressed no surprise that I had flown the aircraft.

“How was the flight?” he asked.

“Fine, and I was pretty good with my ETA estimate don't you think?”

He laughed “I'm very impressed.”

James helped me with my suitcase – a rather larger one that I usually take with me, but I had decided to pack for all eventualities. I wasn't too sure what we would be doing, so I had spent several pleasant hours going through my wardrobes and selecting what I might need. One thing I had decided on was a suitable dress for the dinner James has promised me Saturday evening, and of course the appropriate lingerie and heels to go with it, even though I had made up my mind that intimacy was going to be limited this time. I want us to take it slowly and see where it leads. Things will be very different to my experiences with Geoff. That was sex, pure and simple, but with James I hope that things will develop in a different way. I don't claim to be immune to the obvious attractions of his body, but all in good time – that is assuming he wants it too.

“I've booked you in to the Hotel Corones,” he said “Its definitely the best hotel in Charleville and I'm sure you'll be comfortable there. Do you want me to take you there now to drop off your case?”

“There's no hurry so long as my booking is confirmed,” I said. “You did mention that you normally go to the football on a Saturday afternoon. Why don't we go there first? We can always get a pie for lunch and that won't spoil our appetites for dinner this evening. Will that be at the hotel too?”

“Yes indeed,” said James, “I think you'll be impressed by their dining room. The building dates back to nineteen twenty-four and it's where all the wealthy graziers used to stay; it's even played host to royalty.”

“Goodness me,” I said “Well if its good enough for royalty it's good enough for me.” and we both laughed.

As we drove to the sports ground, James told me that Charleville was playing Quilpie today.

“They're fairly evenly matched, so it should be a good game,” he said.

We drove into the ground and found a spot where he could park the car facing the ground. The seconds were playing and Quilpie was ahead. Being a warm and sunny day we didn't want to stay in the car, so we walked around to the bar where refreshments were being served.

“G'day James,” said a pretty young blonde behind the counter and she flashed a glance at me, not hostile but not overly friendly either. 'She's got her eye on him,' I thought to myself.

“G'day Shirl, two pies and two beers,” said James, obviously choosing to ignore the unspoken question of who I was.

After collecting our food, we walked back to the car. James had brought a couple of folding chairs, and we sat there as the seniors started their game. It was a close match with each team scoring four tries and then ten minutes before the end Quilpie scored a try but failed to convert. Now the pressure was really on with Charleville doing their best to at least equalise, and finally they scored a try with one minute to go. The result rested on whether they could convert the try, and we held our breath as the player lined up his shot. He kicked truly and the ball sailed through the goal posts to a cacophony of car horns and flashing lights. In another minute it was all over and Charleville had won by two points.

A we drove out of the ground James said to me “I'm always amazed by how many women enjoy watching football.”

I laughed. “All those fit young men in their tight shorts? What's not to like?”

James laughed in turn “Perhaps I should have kept playing a bit longer, but I retired about ten years ago.”

“Well you still look pretty fit to me.”

“I still go to the gym once a week. It seemed a shame to let myself go after all that training.”

“Well it's working,” I said and glancing at him as he sat beside me in the car, I suddenly wondered what he would look like naked and blushed at the thought which had crept unbidden into my mind. If James noticed, fortunately he said nothing.

James dropped me off, together with my suitcase at the Hotel Corones, and said he would be back for dinner at seven thirty which gave me over two hours to get ready. The hotel has maintained its classic vintage look – large rooms with high ceilings. James had booked me into one of the ensuite heritage rooms which contain period furniture and a very comfortable double bed. I felt like the Queen! Indeed I was reliably informed that royalty and famous film stars have stayed in those rooms.

I laid out my silk evening gown. It was slightly creased so I hung it in the bathroom while I spent a luxurious half hour in the bath, and the steam successfully took the creases out. In some ways I feel sorry for men. When they go out for the evening, all they have to do is have a shower and then put on their underpants, singlet, socks, trousers, shirt, tie, coat and shoes, comb their hair and they are ready. There is no sense of ritual about that. We women can spent a very enjoyable few hours bathing, doing our hair and make-up, dressing in our favorite lingerie, putting on stockings and heels and then our pretty evening gown. By the time we have finished we are feeling a million dollars and ready to enjoy ourselves. Oh well, perhaps that makes no sense to a man.

As arranged, by seven thirty I was sitting in the hotel bar sipping a cocktail when James arrived. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt and a blue tie and looked great. I must say that the look on his face when he saw me was most satisfactory. To see the open admiration of this handsome young man was very good indeed!

“Lesley, you look wonderful,” he said, and then looked slightly bashful, “not that you didn't look great this afternoon but.....” his voice trailed off.

I laughed at his confusion “It's alright James, I know what you mean, and thank you for the compliment.”

James ordered a beer and we sat and chatted for a while until it was time for us to go into the dining room. The maitre d', a tall dignified man with greying hair, advanced toward us saying “Good evening Mr Taylor, good evening madam,” as he showed us to our table.

“Are you a regular here?” I asked James, after we had been supplied with menus and the wine list.

“No I haven't been here in ages, not since....the reason Harry knows my name is that he used to be my football coach. He's being formal tonight because you're with me.” I picked up that slight hesitation and knew there was definitely something he wasn't telling me, but I decided to wait until he was ready.

The sommelier came to the table and after consulting with James left and returned with a bottle of Riesling, giving James a taste in the time-honoured tradition, and the wine having been approved, filling our glasses. I sipped the wine and nodded my approval. The the waiter arrived, and we chose salmon as an entree and decided to share a Beef Wellington. I have to say that I could not fault the service or the quality of the food – they were both of the highest order.

Much to my delight, there was a small dance floor in the centre of the dining room, and a trio of piano, bass and drums set up on a small stage in the corner. I had certainly been hoping to have the pleasure of dancing with James again and it seemed my wish would be granted.

After we finished our main course, the band had arrived and were into their first bracket of tunes. James asked if I would like to dance and I accepted with pleasure. To be in the arms of this gorgeous man once more was delight. We are both reasonably good dancers and as the dance floor was not crowded we even attempted a few more adventurous steps. When the band played a slow waltz, James held me close and I could feel his body responding to mine, and to be honest the response was reciprocated. I had already made up my mind, no matter how strong the temptation, that I would not be going to bed with James, at least not on this visit. There is much I still want to find out about him – especially why he is single. Unlike my brief fling with Geoff, I have the strongest feeling that James and I may become much more to each other than just bedfellows – delightful though that may be.

After our desert, coffee and liqueurs, and several more turns around the dance floor, I told James I was feeling rather tired after the full day, so it was agreed that he would come back in the morning to show me around the district. We walked to the foyer where we kissed goodnight, a gentle kiss on the lips, and then I went to my room. After undressing, putting on my silk nightgown and brushing my hair, I got into the bed and lay there for a while thinking how much I had enjoyed the day. Finally sleep overtook me.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Last night James told me he was going to show me around Charleville, but it didn't involve anything like strenuous walking or climbing. Today was a warm sunny day, so I decided on a pretty cotton summer dress, pale yellow with a flower print and a full skirt. I would wear sandals with it but no stockings, and take a broad-brimmed straw hat since the sun would be fierce later. After showering and dressing, I went down to the dining room and had an excellent breakfast of fruit, and bacon and eggs with plenty of toast and coffee.

James arrived at nine thirty and looked very dashing in grey pants, a check shirt and a broad-brimmed hat. If I didn’t know he was a librarian I might have thought he was a grazier! James is a real gentleman. I particularly liked the way he opened the passenger door for me to get into the car. Then we started off on a tour of the town.

“I don't know what sort of things you are interested in,” he said, “We have the Cosmos Centre which has telescopes for visitors to view the heavens. They have displays open during the day but there's more going on in the evening of course. Perhaps we can come back for that one night.”

“I am interested in astronomy,” I said, “I have an eight inch reflecting telescope myself. One of the advantages of living in the outback is that the skies at night are truly amazing when you don't have the light pollution of the big towns and cities.”

“Well, we could have a look at the Warrego River and the park-lands; there's the Historic House museum, the Flying Doctor base, the Heritage Trail. I tell you what, why don't we go to the Visitor Information Centre and you can decide what you want to see?”

“I have another idea,” I said “Why don't you take me to see the things you are interested in?”

James flashed me a smile “Fair enough,” he said.

We started with a drive around the town, then did the Heritage Trail and by the time we reached the Warrego River it was lunch time.

“I've brought along a picnic lunch,” James said, “I hope you like it.”

I helped him carry the Esky and a large tartan blanket which we spread on the lush grass near the river bank in the shade of a river red gum. He insisted that he was doing all the work, so I sat down on the blanket, spreading my skirt around me and tucking my feet under it. James opened the Esky and produced a chicken salad, some rolls, plates, glasses, and a bottle of mineral water, all of which were nicely chilled.

“I know a bottle of wine would have made it perfect, but I am driving,” he said in an apologetic way.

“The mineral water's fine,” I assured him, “and it's a very sensible choice.”

We served ourselves from the containers and settled down to enjoy our lunch. James had cut up a fruit salad to have for desert and it was excellent. When we finished, I told James that I couldn't remember when I'd enjoyed a meal more. The warm breeze had made me feel a little sleepy after the late night at the restaurant, so I lay back on the blanket and closed my eyes and soon drifted off to sleep. When I awoke about thirty minutes later it was to see James lying beside me with his head resting on his hand, looking at me. I am tempted to say it was the look of a man in love, but am I kidding myself? We've only known each other for a very short while. I smiled at him and reached out to take his hand.

“This is such a perfect weekend, so relaxing with no work to do,” I said, “In fact there's only one thing that would make it more perfect.”

“What's that?” said James, and in answer I kissed him on the lips. They were warm and slightly salty from the salad and fruit. The kiss was soft at first but then grew slightly more energetic as I felt his tongue enter my mouth, and it lasted a long time. When our lips finally parted I smiled at him.

“Now it's totally perfect,” I said.

We packed up the picnic hamper and folded up the blanket and returned to the car. Travelling back into town we visited the Historic House and checked the Cosmos Centre to find out the opening times to view the night sky through their telescopes.

Tea was a much more basic affair than the dinner last night. We called into a cafe and had a very nice pie with chips and I insisted on paying, even though as I pointed out, the cost was a lot less than Saturday night dinner..

“You must let me pay for some things James,” I said, “otherwise I'll feel awkward about coming to see you.”

At the end of a perfect day, we kissed once more as James dropped me off at the hotel. I told him that I had to return home early and intended to take off no later than eight o'clock in the morning, so I felt that I needed an early night
I was up at six-thirty this morning, showered and dressed and was the first person down in the dining room for breakfast, which in my case was a light one. The I went back to my room and collected my suitcase and proceeded to the desk to pay my bill. To my great embarrassment I was told that it had already been paid in advance by James. This could be a problem. I don't know what librarians earn but I suspect it is not a terribly well-paid job, and if James keeps paying for me I will feel awkward about coming to see him.

I was just about to ask the clerk to order me a taxi to take me to the airport when who should appear but James himself. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and proceeded to take charge of my suitcase.

As he drove to the airport, I was struggling mentally with how to approach the subject of paying for the hotel. Finally I decided that the only way was to come straight out about it.

“James,” I began, “I only found out this morning that you had payed my hotel bill, so I must thank you for that, but nevertheless it does give me a bit of a problem.”

“What's that?” he asked.

“Well, I hope to come down to see you again, but if you keep paying for my hotel bill, it's going to cost you a lot of money and I will feel bad about it.”

He smiled “Well it's worth it to see you.” Oh dear, this was getting difficult.

“Well at least let me pay for myself on every alternate visit. Is that a deal?”

“Alright, it's a deal,” he replied.

At the airport the Cessna had been brought out of the hanger and was ready for me. James loaded the suitcase inside.

“How about I take you up for a joy flight next time?” I said, and it was agreed that that's what we would do. We had one final kiss, on the lips this time.

“Thank you so much for a wonderful weekend. I'm only sorry it has come to an end,” I said.

“I haven't had such a good time for ages,” replied James. There it was again. He's definitely keeping something from me. I'm wondering if perhaps he's divorced, and goodness, if that's the case there may be children. I do hope he opens up to me soon.

I climbed into the cockpit and went through my pre-flight checks and then after permission from the control tower I took off and headed west, arriving back at the Station at about eleven o'clock.

Jack met me at the hanger.

“Did you have a good time Boss?”

“Yes Jack, I was visiting a friend and had a great weekend,” I said in reply.

Jack then proceeded to give me his report, but nothing special has happened at the station while I was away, and anyway I have complete confidence in his ability to cope with anything that wasn't major. If there was then he would have contacted me, and I was only an hour's flying time away.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

It's been nearly a month since I've seen James, not that I haven't thought about him every day. We have spoken on the phone at least twice a week and that was pleasant, but nothing compares to being held in his arms of course.

I have been thinking a lot about where this relationship is going. There are still things I don't know about James – first his age, and then the fact that there is something in particular that he is keeping from me and I need to know what it is. That said, there is of course something I am keeping from him and may always keep from him. With John it was different. He knew everything about me, especially the fact that I didn't start out in life with the appearance that I have today. How would James react if I told him? Would he inevitably be always looking, consciously or unconsciously for some trace of hidden male attributes behind my obvious female exterior? He wouldn't find them of course, I'm quite sure of that, but if this happened it would inevitably sour our relationship. Dare I risk that? I'm sure I'm not the first person who has encountered this dilemma. I wish there was someone I could discuss it with, but there isn't. Well there's Tom of course, the only other person in Hey who knows, but I'm not sure if he's even told his wife Ellen. He might consider it a breach of confidence to do so. In any case I think he would feel uncomfortable if I broached the subject with him.

Dear Tom. He didn't look too well when I saw him at the dance, but he's one of those Aussies of the 'old school' who would put a brave face on things no matter how bad they are. I must ring Ellen and have a quiet word. I could hardly bear to lose my one remaining link from when I first arrived in Australia, but he is in his mid eighties now and he's lived a tough life out in the bush. I mustn't get morbid, maybe he was just tired on the night.

It's been a week since I last wrote about it, and I have been thinking further about whether I should eventually reveal my past to James and how much I would prefer to discuss the situation with someone who knows me, and it came to my mind that Dr Brentwell, my specialist when I was transitioning would be the ideal person to ask. He must be long retired by now, but a check of the Brisbane telephone book shows he is still there, so I've written him a letter, couched in discreet terms in case it falls into other hands, asking if he would mind if I called on him when I'm next in Brisbane. I decided on a letter rather than a telephone call to allow him time to consider his response. Now I have to wait and see if he replies.

Wednesday

“And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,” to quote from my favourite Australian poem 'Clancy of the Overflow'. It's been just over a week since I wrote to Dr Brentwell and at first I was surprised that he answered so quickly, but now I think I understand why. His writing, while not exactly 'written with a thumbnail dipped in tar', nevertheless was spidery and extremely uneven, and the lines wavered. I've heard all the old jokes about doctors' writing, but Dr Brentwell's script was always very neat, the exact opposite of how it appears now.

“Dear Lesley,” it began, “of course I remember you and your friend when you first started coming to see me all those years ago. I'm unable to go out much now, so you will find me home most days. Here is my phone number so that you can confirm that I am in before you call. I look forward to seeing you, and at the risk of sounding somewhat melodramatic, I suggest you come to see me as soon as is convenient for you.

David Brentwell”

I sat for a while looking down at the single sheet of notepaper. It's obvious from the writing that while not spelling it out, he's telling me that he is terminally ill and might not have long to live. It's strange how we always think that with doctors being so in control of other people's illness and being able to cure them, that they themselves will never get sick, but of course they are as human as anyone. Anyway I've decided to go to Brisbane in two day's time.

Friday

It's been something of an emotional day for me. I arrived in Brisbane last night and telephoned the number Dr Brentwell gave me. A woman's voice answered the phone and announced herself as Diane Brentwell.

“Mrs Brentwell, it's Lesley Brodie,” I began, “I received a letter from your husband in response to my request to see him and I'm now in Brisbane. I'm wondering if I visit tomorrow would that be convenient for you?”

“Mrs Brodie, how nice to hear from you. Yes, tomorrow will be fine. How about three o'clock, would that suit you?”

I dressed carefully for my visit to Dr Brentwell. We can do nothing about the passing of the years, but I wanted him to see me as still a reasonably attractive woman now in her late fifties. To this end I brought along a cream linen suit and a white silk blouse, and teamed it with stockings and three inch matching court shoes.

Today a taxi took me to their house in one of the best parts of Brisbane. Their house is quite new in appearance and I imagine they might have bought it at the time Dr Brentwell retired, no doubt expecting that he many years ahead of him. His wife answered the door, a lady I'd judge to be in her mid-seventies, with grey hair and a pleasant face.

“Mrs Brodie, do come in,” she said.

“Mrs Brentwell, thank you for letting me come at such short notice,” I replied. “I have a small gift which I hope might be of use to you,”

I handed her a small foam Esky which I had carefully packed with choice cuts of beef, while explaining about its contents.

“I know it's an unusual gift to bring,” I said, “but I live on a cattle station, and judging by Dr Brentwell's letter I understand he is not well, so I thought some steaks might appeal to him, and you too of course.”

“Thank you so much, my dear, that's very thoughtful of you,” she replied. “David is waiting for you in the study. I'll show you where that is and then leave you alone to talk.”

She led me down the central corridor and stopped at a room halfway down. Opening the door she said “David, Mrs Brodie is here to see you.”

I walked into the book-lined study and tried my best not to show on my face the shock I felt upon seeing David Brentwell. He was sitting in a large armchair and the tall handsome man I had known thirty years ago had shrunk seemingly to half his original size and had obviously lost a lot of weight since his clothes seemed to hang off him. It was obvious to me that here was someone not long for this world.

He smiled and said “Mrs Brodie, welcome, please sit down,” and he indicated a second armchair placed at an angle and near to his own chair.

I sat down and began to talk. “Dr Brentwell, please call me Lesley. It's so good to see you again. I should have called before, but I know how busy doctors always are and I wasn't even sure you had retired.”

He managed a smile at that, although the lines on his pallid face suggested constant pain.

“I've only been retired three years,” he said, “and Diane and I had made many plans, but it appears that they are not going to come to fruition. Anyway, enough of that, what can I do for you?”

“Well I have a problem and could think of no-one else with whom I could discuss it. You are probably not aware, but my husband John died about three years ago, and my dear friend Jenny who came with me to Brisbane when I was seeing you, died a few years before that. They were the only ones who knew my background apart from Jenny's husband Tom, and I don't think he would wish me to discuss this matter with him.”

“I'm sorry to hear about your husband and your friend,” replied Dr Brentwell “and after all this time I think you might call me David, don't you?”

“Very well....David,” I responded. It felt strange to address him this way but he did request it. “The fact is that I have met a man with whom I think I might develop a long-lasting relationship, and I believe that couples should not keep secrets from each other. John and I had few if any, and of course he knew all about my transitioning. What I am wondering is, if James, this new man in my life, should be made aware of my past? Do I owe it to him to do so or is it better to 'let sleeping dogs lie' as they say? I'm sure you must have encountered this problem with some of your patients and I'm wondering what you might have advised them?”

David Brentwell was silent for a moment and then responded. “I can recall two cases where a similar thing happened. It will hardly help you when I say that in one case the man was quite accepting, and they have been together for many years as far as I know. In the other case, the man could not accept what he was told, and the relationship broke up soon afterwards. When discussing it with me later, the young woman concerned said she bitterly regretted her honesty as everything had been going fine until her revelation, and the man hadn't the slightest idea that she had started life as a male.”

I decided to press him since this is so important to me “But what would you advise me to do Dr..... er David?”

“The choice is yours of course, but since you ask, my advice is to say nothing. In my view, from the time you were born you were a female, you just happened to be born into the wrong body. I and my fellow specialists were able to help you match your body to your mind, that is all. However, there is one proviso to my advice; if you say nothing and at some future time James somehow finds out about your past, his response might well be far more negative than if you tell him now. If you do tell him then the best time would be before your relationship develops into intimacy, if there is still time for that.”

So there it was. There are pro's and con's to both courses of action, and I have to make up my mind which path to take.

“I'm really sorry that I cannot be more help Lesley, but that's how I see it. Now is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you, David,” I replied, “I've pretty much made up my mind which way to go, but it has really helped me to talk it through with someone else.”

“Well now, how about some tea?” he said, and clearly he thought there was no more to be said on the matter, so when I nodded, he pushed a button on the small table next to his chair.

“I apologise for making it look like I'm summoning the maid,” he said, managing a smile, “but since I'm no longer very mobile, Diane and I worked out this is the best way for me to let her know that I'd like to talk to her, or in this case to bring in the tea.”

A few minutes later, Diane Brentwell called from outside the door, and I got up and opened it for her. She was carrying a tray which looked quite heavy, laden down with crockery, and plates of sandwiches and small cakes.

“Please let me take that for you,” I said, and she gratefully handed it over.

“Thank you my dear. I'll just go and get the teapot,” she said.

There was a small wooden table in the room, and at Dr Brentwell's indication, I put the tray down there. A few minutes later his wife appeared with the teapot and proceeded to pour us all cups of tea, while I handed Dr Brentwell a plate and he made a selection from the sandwiches, and then I did the same for Mrs Brentwell.

The conversation then turned to general topics. They asked about my life now, and I described how after John had died, I had taken over the running of the station, and they seemed quite impressed with that. I must confess that running the enterprise doesn't seem that impressive to me, but perhaps that's because I've been involved with it for so many years. They also seemed surprised that I fly an aircraft, but I explained that it's the most practical way of travelling to and from Brisbane and other places with the long distances involved.

It was a very pleasant time chatting with the two of them, and no further reference was made to Dr Brentwell's health. Eventually I could see that he was tiring, so I said that I must be going, and thanked them for their hospitality. Dr Brentwell held out his hand for me to shake. It was cold and the skin looked tissue-thin. On impulse, I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, saying as I did so “Thank you so much for all you did for me. I will never forget it.”

He smiled and said “The privilege has been mine to make a difference to so many lives.”

Diane Brentwell showed me to the front door, and when we were out of earshot of her husband, she said. “Thank you so much for coming to see David. You can see that he is not at all well, but I know he really enjoyed seeing you.”

“It was good to see him again too,” I replied, “He has done so much for people like myself over the years, and we are all so grateful to him.”

“He knows that, my dear,” replied Mrs Brentwell as she forced a smile, “I know that over the years you have made a contribution to the costs of some of his patients who might otherwise not be able to achieve their goals, and he is very grateful for that.”

“It was the least I could do, to repay him in some small measure,” I replied.

This time it was she who leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek “Goodbye my dear, and thank you again,” she said.

Monday

My visit happened just over a week ago, and this evening I received a telephone call from Diane Brentwell.

“Lesley, I just wanted you to know that David passed away yesterday. All the family were there and it was very peaceful,” she said.

The tears started in my eyes as I replied “I'm so sorry Mrs Brentwell. I could see that he was unwell, but I didn't realise just how sick he was.”

“It was cancer of course,” she replied, “and fortunately he did not suffer long. We wanted you to know that we are having a private funeral. Because of his speciality we want to keep it low key. The last thing David would want is for some tabloid journalist to put out some crass headline, and it's for that reason that we think it unwise for any of David's former patients to attend the funeral.”

“I understand,” I replied, “Unfortunately the world is still not ready to accept people like me as just ordinary human beings.”

“Thank you my dear, I was sure you'd appreciate our concern. When you are next in Brisbane, please call by. David spent the last month or so writing short letters to his former patients, and I'd like to hand one over to you personally.”

When I put the phone down I'm not ashamed to say that the tears spilled over as I cried for that lovely man who had done so much for me all those years ago. I thought of Jenny too and how she had been a tower of strength and support for me, and the tears flowed even faster. How fortunate we are as women that we can let go of our emotions rather than bottle them up as men tend to do, and in doing so it makes us feel better.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

James rang. He has next weekend off and that fits in perfectly. I need to go to Brisbane to see my accountant, and also call on Melissa and John and see how they are going, so I'll go down on Thursday. I will fly back to Charleville on Saturday morning and from there home on Monday morning. I asked James to book me on at the Corones Hotel for the two nights and was very insistent that this time I will be paying. He could hear I was serious about it and gave in with a good grace.

Thursday evening.
I've settled into my usual Brisbane hotel and will get an early night as I will be busy tomorrow. I'm seeing my accountant at eleven o'clock and after that is over I'll be having lunch at one of the city cafes and the afternoon can be devoted to 'retail therapy'. It's been a while since I shopped in Brisbane. Of course Hey has a ladies-wear 'boutique' as they call it, but the stock is somewhat limited and there will be much more choice here. Thus, to quote a far better diarist than I will ever be, “and so to bed.”

Friday evening
It's been a busy day. I was up early and among the first in the hotel dining room where I fortified myself with Eggs Benedict which I greatly enjoy, but keep as a special indulgence. All those calories! Then I was off in a taxi to see my accountant and the results of that interview were satisfactory, considering that we've had a drought which is only now showing signs of breaking. There cannot be another occupation where one is so much at the mercy of the weather, and a few years of drought can easily bring a property to its knees. So, I will continue to proceed cautiously, a philosophy which seems to have served me well in the past and I hope will do so in the future.

This afternoon was another indulgence. Of course, without a husband, I have no-one to answer to but myself on how much I spend on clothes, but there is still that in-built sense of caution which stops me being too extravagant. In all my years with John he never criticised my spending on myself and that only served to make me more self-disciplined. That said, I did find three lovely skirts and two dresses which will do perfectly for whatever social occasions may come up in the next six months or so, without me appearing in the same clothes on multiple occasions. As a moderately large property owner I do have standards to maintain! I also bought a ruched petticoat, and there's a reason for that.

After I finished my shopping I returned to the hotel to prepare for the evening. Once again Melissa and John had invited me to dinner at their place and I was anxious to see how they are now going. When I arrived at their apartment, complete with an Esky of meat, it was obvious that things are going very well. Melissa just looks prettier and more feminine every time I see her, and there is no doubting John's love for her. I am so pleased for them.

As we ate dinner, John said “You look like you are positively glowing Lesley. What's been happening? Have you had a big win at the races?”

Melissa nudged him “John, how could you be so blind? Lesley's in love!”

My reddening cheeks made denial futile.

“Tell us all about him, please Lesley,” said Melissa.

What could I do but tell them about James? Melissa absorbed it all and said “He sounds very nice. When do you see him next?”

“Tomorrow,” I said, “I'm stopping off at Charleville on the way home and staying until Monday morning.”

“I do hope it works out for you,” said John, “You're a nice person and you deserve happiness.”

Am I a nice person? I think I'm a very average person. I have my good and bad points and I can't deny it. Do I deserve happiness? I hope so, but does that happiness involve a long-term relationship with James? There is still much I don't know about him, or he about me for that matter. Every relationship starts out with so much hope, and yet so many don't work out in the end, but perhaps that should not discourage us from trying.

It's been a very pleasant evening with Melissa and John. I had a chance to chat briefly with Melissa while John was out of the room. She told me that she is making great progress and her specialist is very pleased with her. It will be about a year before she finally has her surgery, but she is a very balanced person and seems content to take her time. The good thing is that John is completely content with their relationship. He is looking forward to them getting married when it becomes legally possible – something they could never have done as a gay couple, at least not until the Australian government catches up with the majority of the population.

Saturday
I was up early this morning, packed, paid my bill and headed to Archerfield to fly to Charleville. I arrived there without incident at about 11 o'clock and there was James waiting at the terminal for me. I confess my heart beats faster on seeing him. I think he get more handsome every time!

We drove to the hotel to drop off my suitcase and then headed to the football field. It was the Grand Final today, with Charleville playing Quilpie again, so not to be missed. Quilpie won by a point, but no-one seemed too distraught. James had told me there was an end-of-season get together at the local hall this evening and asked if I would like to go, and of course I had said 'Yes'. To me that meant a lot as it showed that he was quite happy for us to be seen in company as a couple. I had asked him what sort of event it was so that I could dress appropriately. He told me that it was quite informal. There would be a local country and western band and some dancing ('Oh good!' I thought to myself). The last one he had been to was a few years ago, but he was sure things hadn't changed. The men would be wearing jeans and cowboy boots and hats, and the women in bright full skirts with petticoats – a bit like they wear for square dancing.

“I'll take your word for it,” I said, “but if I'm the odd one out I'll insist on going back to the hotel to change.”

James laughed “No danger of that,” he said, “things don't change much in the bush.”

I was dropped off at the hotel about six o'clock and had a shower and changed ready for the evening's entertainment. I had brought along one of the full skirts, the petticoat I bought in Brisbane, and a matching blouse. After my shower I got changed and looking at myself in the mirror couldn't help thinking that I'd just stepped off the stage of 'Oklahoma!' The ruched petticoat gave body to the skirt – a very nineteen fifties look, but I've often thought that the fashions women and girls wore then were the most feminine of the modern era. I hoped James hadn't got it wrong. I did have a reserve outfit just in case I had to come back and change. I did my hair and make-up, including a brighter than usual lipstick, and smiled at myself in the mirror. I didn't think anyone would assume I was that much older than James.

When James arrived to pick me up – very dashing in his check shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, I was reassured. I confess I was not prepared for just how many people were present at the hall – it must have been half the population of Charleville. Also, to my relief, I was dressed just like all the other women present. Judging by the nods and waves, James was known to many of the people present. He lead me through the throng to the side of the dance floor where tables were set up.

“I hope you don't mind sitting with some friends of mine Jean and Jim Stewart,” he said. “Tables are at a bit of a premium as you can see.”

Jean and Jim were a couple in their mid-fifties. Jim got up to shake my hand, and Jean said it was so nice to meet me at last as James had been telling them all about me. They soon told me that they ran a small cattle property a few miles out of town. While nothing like the size of Mackenzie Station, we of course immediately had something in common to talk about, which is probably why James had arranged for us to sit with them.

“It must be very handy to having access to a plane,” said Jean.

“It's almost essential where I live,” I said, “It would take so long to drive anywhere, so when John, my late husband, suggested the property needed an aircraft I could see the sense in it. He was older than me and never learned to fly, so I was happy to take lessons, and run all the long distance errands like fetching urgent goods from Brisbane.”

James had been away for a while buying drinks and returned then and joined the conversation.

Jean said “Lesley has just been telling us about the size of the property she owns, and how she flies here and to Brisbane.”

I saw James eyes widen at that comment, and could have kicked myself. I had carefully avoided saying that I owned the property, but Jean and Jim had jumped to that conclusion and of course it was now impossible to deny it. The band was playing and James asked if I would like to dance. Ordinarily I would have been thrilled to hear him say that, but now I knew that he wanted to get me away from Jean and Jim for a quiet word. Once we were out on the dance floor he looked at me and said “You didn't tell me that you actually own Mackenzie Station – I thought you were an employee there.”

“I'm sorry James,” I replied “I was going to tell you but I hadn't got around to it because I was waiting for the right time when we know each other a little better. I was married to John who owned it and he left it to me when he died. I really wasn't intending to keep it from you. I hope you're not mad at me.”

He forced a bitter smile “No, I'm not mad at you, although I can't help wondering what someone in your position sees in a poorly paid librarian.”

He saw the look on my face and instantly looked contrite. “I'm sorry, that really wasn't what I meant to say.”

I felt like crying, and the tears weren't far from flowing. Was this how it was going to end? Thank goodness we were out on the dimly lit dance floor. Money always seems to mess things up. I was on the point of asking James to take me back to the hotel when he held me close and said, just loud enough for me to hear over the band. “Lesley, I really like you, I mean really like you. If I could take back what I said I would. I suppose I feel that the difference in our financial circumstances might be a block to us getting closer and I would hate that to happen.”

I had blinked back the tears by then and I replied, “It doesn't make any difference to me James. I like you for who you are. I hoped you could see that, but if you're worried your friends will think I am buying your friendship then it's better that we call a halt right now.”

Now it was time for James to look concerned. “I don't care what people think,” he said. “My friends know me better than to think I'm a 'toy-boy', and if anyone else does, then they're not my friends anyway.”

The music came to an end and I said “Can we go outside for some fresh air?” James nodded, and taking my hand we walked outside. It was a mild night with the stars blazing down on us as we moved to an area away from where other couples were similarly enjoying the cool night air after the heat of the day. I had a feeling that this evening was a critical point in our relationship, so if James had found out something about me, then it was time I found out something about him. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“James, now that you know more about me, there's something I have to ask you. It's been bugging me that there's something about you that you're not telling me and I'd like to know what it is.”

James stood there looking down at me, and then took both my hands in his.

“You're right, I think we know each other well enough now. The fact is that while I am single now, I was married once. Her name was Patricia and to me she was the most beautiful girl in the world. We were expecting a baby.” The look of pain on his face was almost unbearable, and I held his hands tightly.

“I was playing football then and we had to train three nights a week with the finals coming up. Pat dropped me off for training and was coming back to pick me up at ten o'clock. I was out the front of the change rooms waiting for her. She was late, not like her, and then I heard the sirens in the distance, and a bit later a police car came for me. A big four wheel drive had collided with our car at an intersection. The driver was drunk, unlicensed, no lights.”

“Oh James, I'm so sorry,” I whispered, although I don't think he heard me. The expression on his face showed me that he was reliving that terrible night.

“They gave him three years,” he said flatly, “He was out in two. I got a life sentence. That was the last time I went to training, the last time I played football. Too many memories.”

I put my arms around him and hugged him. I didn't say anything – there were no words to say. We stood there for a long time, just holding each other.

Eventually he said “That was six years ago, and I've never looked at another woman until you came along. I suppose that's why I reacted the way I did this evening. I was really starting to think that we might have a future together, and learning that you own a big property, I suppose I was thinking that it probably won't happen.”

“You mustn't think that,” I said. “I don't know what the future might hold for us, but if we let money get in the way, then we've only got ourselves to blame. Anyway, after the drought we've been having I can assure you that we're not eating off gold plates at Mackenzie Station.”

James managed a slight smile at that. “I suppose you're right,” he said. “Well this has been an evening of revelations hasn't it?”

“It was something that had to happen, sooner or later,” I replied. “Listen, the band's playing. I'd really like to dance with you again James. This time I'll be able to relax and enjoy it.”

When we finally returned to our table, Jean said “There you are! We thought you were lost.”

“Perhaps we were,” I replied, “But we're found now.”

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

James dropped me off at the hotel at about midnight and promised to return about nine this morning. We kissed for a long while before I got out of the car. This morning he entered the dining room just as I was finishing off my coffee. It was another warm sunny day, so I was wearing another summer dress and sandals. I offered James a coffee and he sat down at the table with me.

I had lain awake last night for a while going over yesterday evening. It had been an eventful night and at one stage almost a disastrous one, but thank goodness we had resolved things, and I had also resolved the mystery that had been worrying me regarding James's past. I wondered what his wife had been like – obviously she was much younger than me, probably younger than James. My heart had gone out to him when I heard that she was expecting their child.

The word 'tragedy' is used so casually nowadays, for example when a sports team loses a match. This however was a real tragedy – two people had died – his wife and their child. Perhaps he will want to talk to me about her again and if it helps him that's fine by me, obviously the memories are obviously still raw after six years. I can't help wondering why he hasn't considered marrying again. The pretty blonde who serves the refreshments at the football ground would jump at the chance I know, but he doesn't seem to even notice her. A young woman would mean he could have children and obviously that's not the case with me. Even though he doesn't know about my past he certainly knows I'm far too old to have children. Why am I thinking like this? I should just be pleased that he wants to be with me, but I can't help worrying that the novelty of being with an older woman might wear off. I suppose I'm afraid to give my heart again too, remembering how I felt when I lost John.

“Well,” said James, “What would you like to do today?”

I decided to take the plunge. “Well, it might seem a bit cheeky since you haven't asked me yet, but I'd really like to see where you live.”

He grimaced. “Well, that's fine, so long as you realise that since you didn't give me notice, I haven't had time to tidy up.”

“That doesn't matter. I'd like to see where you live as it normally looks,” I replied.

James lives in a small weatherboard house about ten minutes drive out of town. It looks very neat from the outside and appears to have been recently painted. It sits in the middle of a medium size block which consists mainly of grass, with a few fruit trees, including the inevitable lemon tree. There is a separate wooden one car garage at the end of the short gravel driveway. Like most Queensland houses it has a fairly deep verandah running around the house to keep the sun off the walls.

Inside, it was dim and cool as he had drawn down the blinds, and I had to wait for a minute for my eyes to become accustomed to the light. Walking down the central hallway, to my left was the main bedroom and I was pleased to see he had made the double bed; to my right was the sitting room with a couple of couches and a small television set. Further down the hallway was the bathroom and toilet, and then another bedroom, this time with a single bed. The third bedroom had been converted into a study, and as might be expected for a librarian, the longest wall was completely filled with bookshelves which almost groaned under the weight of the books they carried. A stereo system with a couple of large speakers was spread along another wall.

“Goodness me!: I exclaimed, “How many of those books have you read?”

“Quite a few, as it happens,” James replied, “There's not much on the television most nights, so I prefer to sit down with a good book.”

'There I go again, putting my foot in it,' I said to myself, 'what else might a man do when he spends so many evenings on his own?'

Nearing the rear of the house, we reached the kitchen. His breakfast things had been washed and neatly stacked on a draining stand to dry, and everything else was cleared away. This is a tidy man. I heard a whining sound coming from outside the back door, and James said. “I'm not totally on my own here – do you like dogs?”

“Of course,” I replied, "We've got about a dozen at the Station. Why don't you let him in?”

“It's a 'she' actually,” he said as he opened the door and a Queensland blue heeler came bounding into the room and ran up to James before sitting for a pat. “Lesley, meet Stella,” he said, 'or should that be the other way round?” Stella slowly and cautiously walked over to me for a pat. I don't know if she could smell my own two dogs on my shoes, but she sniffed them and seemed to instantly know that I'm a 'dog person'.

“You may wonder why I have a cattle dog here,” James said, “well actually it's because she's a failed cattle dog, never quite got the hang of it. She belonged to Jean and Jim as it happens, and they were too kind-hearted to dispose of her, so I took her on. I go for a run most mornings and evenings and she loves that of course, so it's all worked out for the best.”

Everything I learn about this man makes my feelings for him grow. He offered to make me a cup of tea while we discussed what we might do for the day.

“Do you mind if we don't rush around today?” I said “Last night was a little tiring and I'd really like a relaxation day.”

“Of course,” he replied, “Would you like to sit out in the garden with one of my many books for a while, and later I can make us some lunch. How about a barbecue?”

“That would be great,” I said. “It's a pity I didn't think of it, I could have brought you some steaks. That's something we're not short of at the Station.”

James set up a recliner chair for me in a shady spot in the back garden and I selected a book from his library. He asked what I would like to drink and I chose some plain mineral water. I noticed that he has a small vegetable garden, growing lettuces, tomatoes and a few herbs, and after a while James came back out of the house and after checking that I like tomatoes, he picked some off the plant. You can't get fresher than that. This was turning into a most delightful day.

A little later James appeared and said that the salad was ready and all he had to do was cook the steak and sausages when we were ready. He fetched another recliner and sat down next to me and and I reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you James. This is so relaxing – just what I need,” I said.

We sat in companionable silence for a while.

“What are you reading?” said James.

“ 'The Diary of Samuel Pepys' ”, I replied. “I've started reading it before and never got very far, so when I saw it on your shelves I thought I'd give it another try. It's really quite fascinating.”

“Did you know that he only kept the diary for about ten years and stopped writing it because he was worried about his deteriorating eyesight when he was only thirty-six? Near the end he did write something about getting a secretary to write it for him, but of course it could never contain all the private material, and in the end it came to nothing. Still the Diary covered the times of the Great Plague and Great Fire of London, and it's probably one of the most important records of the English Restoration period. He was seventy when he died, so you can't help wondering what else he might have written had he continued, but it was not to be.

“I suppose writing by candlelight was not good for the eyes,” I said, “but it's still a pity he couldn't have written it for longer.”

“That could have been the cause I suppose,” said James, “If you don't have a copy of the Diary at home you must let me loan you this one.” Then he looked at his watch. “Are you hungry yet?”

“Yes I am,” I replied.

“Then it's time to fire up the 'barbie' ”, he replied, getting up.

There's something about cooking outdoors, and of course it's a tradition that unlike most other cooking, it's almost exclusively done by men, so I let James get on with it without offering to help in that department. However I did help set up the table in the shade of the large lemon tree.

The meal was most enjoyable. James had a beer to accompany the meat and salads, while I stuck to mineral water since I'll be flying again tomorrow. I feel rather sad about leaving here, I wouldn't mind staying for a while longer, but they are expecting me back at the Station, and anyway, James has to work.

After we had finished eating, we sat for a while mostly in companionable silence again, until, feeling guilty that James had done all the work, I stood up and said that I must do the washing up. I picked up the plates and glasses and walked into the kitchen where I filled the sink with hot water and dish-washing liquid and started washing the dishes and stacking them in the rack. It was then that James came up behind me and putting his arms around my waist nuzzled my neck. I resisted for a few minutes but finally it was too much, and I turned to him and quickly drying my hands put them around his neck and drew his lips down upon mine. No woman could resist his kisses, least of all me, and soon, feeling his body pressed against mine and his obvious desire, when he took my hand and led me into the bedroom, how could I possibly have said 'no'?

How much more should I write? What happened then is forever in my heart and I will never forget it. I will always remember our anticipation as we slowly undressed each other, and the sight of James like a Greek god, or one of those statues of naked athletes at the ancient Olympic Games; and then that magical moment when our bodies became one. The French have a phrase for it “La petite mort” - that transcendental moment when it seems not only our bodies but our minds are fused, and we cry out in an ecstasy greater than any other a human can experience.

Afterwards as we lay together, our hearts pounding, James turned to me and said “I love you Lesley. I never thought I could love again, but now I know that I can.”

In turn I said to him “I love you too, James. Like you I thought there could never be another love for me, but then I met you.”

Later, we made love again, and it is true that making love with someone that you love is as different from 'sex' as the sun is from the moon. If there was one tiny cloud on my horizon, it was that I intended to tell him about my past before we ever became this intimate, and now it was too late.

So the afternoon passed into evening in joyous intimacy. Eventually I said that I supposed I had better go back to the hotel or they might wonder where I was. I didn't really want to go of course, I would much rather spend the night with James.

“I suppose you could tell them that you have to check out early,” he said.

“If I do that, the receptionist will put two and two together and make five,” I laughed.

“I don't care if you don't,” said James, and so that's what we did. He drove me back to the hotel and waited in the car, while I told the receptionist that I was booking out early – no explanation given – and that I realised that I would have to pay for the night's accommodation. In fact she didn't seem particularly concerned or surprised. I suppose working in a hotel, staff see many strange things, and someone leaving early and the possible reason for it doesn't really count among them.

So it was that James and I spent our first night together, and of course we made love again. I feel it is disloyal to my beloved John to make comparisons, but he was older than me, and James is younger and has all the vigour and stamina of a younger man, something that is making me blush even as I write it. Even so, I can't help smiling.

If it was not for the fact that we had to get up early, James going to work, and me to the airfield, who knows what might have happened when dawn broke? As it was, we showered and dressed and had a light breakfast before James dropped me off at the airfield and then headed off to work. I was in a very happy mood, singing to myself as I flew back to the Station. I can hardly wait until I see James again, and next time I won't be staying at the hotel!

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

It's been weeks since I last wrote in this journal. The truth is that I couldn't bring myself to record events which are so painful to recall, but what point is there in writing a sanitised version of my life? I will know it's a lie, and if I can't write the whole truth I might as well stop this record right now.

But as usual, I am getting ahead of myself. Since that wonderful weekend when James and I first made love, and indeed made love many times, I have been down to Charleville for two further weekends. Anyone looking at what we did might say they were not a very exciting times, but for us they were. You could say we played at being a married couple, albeit one which was enjoying a honeymoon period. We made love of course – many times, but we didn't spend the whole time in bed. We cooked meals, sat in the garden, read books, went shopping; we even went to the observatory one night and looked at the amazing stars that blaze in the country night sky. It was a truly wonderful time, and that tiny cloud on the horizon which was me remembering that I had not fulfilled the promise to myself to tell James about my past, had faded to almost invisibility. I even persuaded myself that there was really no point in telling him now.

Having visited James at Charleville several times, it seemed only right to invite him to Mackenzie Station to see where I live. We waited until a suitable long weekend could be found and at last James was able to secure a Monday off. I said I would fly down late Friday afternoon and he could meet me at the airport with his suitcase after work, and we would fly back to the Station. That way we could spend Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights together, and I would fly him back early Monday morning in time to start work.

Everything went according to plan. I picked up James at 6pm on Friday evening, and soon we were airborne and heading west. It was an overcast day which I was pleased about as it meant I was not dazzled by the setting sun. The clouds were not too low, so we were able to fly beneath them and could look at the countryside beneath us. James was fascinated by the country as we descended toward the station with its ring of surrounding hills. For some reason he seemed very impressed that I could fly a plane with such ease – something I don't think about because I've been doing it so long.

Jack was waiting to greet us when we landed, and he and James shook hands.

“G'day. Welcome to Mackenzie Station,” said Jack, “We've heard a lot about you.”

“All good I hope,” said James with a smile.

“No worries about that,” replied Jack.

It's true that I've tried to downplay my relationship with James, but I suppose inevitably my feelings for him had become common knowledge, and of course I'd talked about him to Mary, Jack's 'missus' and no doubt she had passed some of it on.

Jack gave us a lift back to the homestead, and I led James inside, showing him through the rooms. I paused at one and jokingly said “This is the guest room, but I guess you won't be needing that.” Then we walked through the rest of the house.

“Do you ever feel lonely living by yourself in such a big place?” asked James.

“I suppose I'm used to it. Even when John was alive there was only the two of us. Of course when the original Mackenzie family who built the homestead owned the property, there were quite a lot of people living here.”

It crossed my mind to tell James about the story of the Mackenzie boys who had gone off to fight in the First World War, but I decided to leave that until another time.

I had left a cold chicken in the refrigerator together with salad for tea, and afterwards we sat in the big old parlour with a glass of port in front of a fire because the nights are starting to lengthen, and we chatted for a while before James yawned and I laughingly said it must be his bed time and I hoped he wasn't too exhausted. James laughed as he stood up, helped me to my feet and then held me against him. It quickly became obvious that he wasn't too tired at all!

We held hands and walked to the bedroom and once again enjoyed the special pleasures of a loving couple. I told myself that I would never tire of James's body.

Saturday and Sunday we spent with me showing James around the station. He was duly impressed with the size.

“I've been out to Jean and Jim's property,” said James, “But it would be dwarfed by Mackenzie Station; and yet you seem to handle everything so well.”

“Well I was taught by an expert, and anyway, I don't do it on my own. Jack is a great help,” I replied. I suppose it might have felt awkward talking to James about John but somehow it didn't seem that way. I was, and am sure in my mind that John wanted me to be happy when he had gone, and now I had been given a second chance at happiness and couldn't be blamed for taking full advantage of it.

Saturday evening we had a barbecue and some of the hands came along to meet James. They all seemed to get along very well and I was pleased about that, since I had it at the back of my mind that perhaps he would come to live here.

Sunday morning we set out again, so that James could see more of the station. I had asked him if he had ever ridden a horse and he said he hadn't, apart from pony rides when he was a child. However he said he was willing to try, so we found a very docile old mare for him, and after packing some sandwiches and drinks into our saddlebags, we set off for a ride around the property. James soon got the hang of riding, and I could tell he was enjoying himself.

“You're not afraid of getting lost out here?” asked James.

“Well apart from the fact that I know the place like the back of my hand, when I first arrived here I found the ring of hills around the property was a great signpost. The homestead is more or less in the middle, so if I ever felt lost, I just kept my back to the nearest hills and eventually I'd come back home,” I replied.

Sunday evening I cooked a roast. I enjoy cooking, although it's hard to drum up enthusiasm if you are just cooking for one, which is why I often invite friends over if I feel like flexing my culinary muscles.

After dinner, we were sitting in the parlour talking about this and that, and the conversation turned to the old days at the homestead. I mentioned that I had collected some pictures of how it looked back in the nineteen twenties to fifties and would James like to see them? When he nodded, I went to one of the bookshelves to fetch down a big old photograph album and that's when it happened. As I took down the album, a single small black and white print dislodged from somewhere and fluttered to the floor. James bent down to pick it up and glanced at it as you do with any photograph.

I froze. In that instant I had realised exactly what the picture was. Soon after I had arrived at Mackenzie Station, John had taken some pictures for me to send back to my parents in England. He had two sets of prints made so that I could keep one, and this was one of those pictures. There was no disguising where it had been taken – I was standing on the broad steps of the homestead which were instantly recognisable. What was also obvious was that the Leslie in the photograph was slim, with short hair, no breasts and definitely not a female. James stared at the photo and looked at me. I could almost hear his brain ticking over.

“This is you isn't it,” he said. It was more a statement than a question. My flaming cheeks made denial useless.

“Yes it is, but I can explain,” I faltered.

“I don't think any explanation is necessary, do you?” he said.

The look on his face was strange – not angry, not sad, it was just blank, drained of all emotion..

“Why didn't you tell me the truth about you?” he said quietly, “Couldn't you trust me with it?”

The tears were starting up in my eyes but I was determined not to use tears as a woman's weapon. I have seen other women do it and despised them for it.

“I was going to tell you,” I said “But I wanted to pick the right time, and then when we...when we..it seemed too late. I'm sorry, I really am.”

“So am I,” said James. There was silence for a minute and then he sighed.

“Look I think I will take up your offer of the spare room tonight. I'm rather tired after all that riding and I need a good night's sleep.”

“Of course,” I said. What else could I say?

“Goodnight then,” said James as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I sat down again, and now that he was gone I let the tears flow. How stupid of me, how plain bloody stupid. I had been given a second chance of happiness and I had blown it. I poured myself a large glass of port and gulped it down – forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be flying James back in the morning. When the tears finally slowed, I walked to my big lonely bedroom, undressed and got into bed.

I tossed and turned for hours, going over and over in my mind the events of the evening. Where on earth had that print come from? I thought they were all safely stored in another small album in my locked filing cabinet, although thinking about it, I had wondered if one print was missing. I should probably have destroyed them, but then like most people I hate to destroy photographs – they are a visual record of our past and we almost always want to keep them.

I must have finally fallen asleep about three o'clock because when I awoke and looked at my bedside clock, it was broad daylight and nine o'clock, much later than I ever wake up. The house was quiet. I put on my dressing gown and padded in bare feet down to the room where James had slept. The door was closed so I knocked on it, gently at first and then louder. There was no answer, so I opened the door and went inside. The bed had been neatly made and on it was lying a single sheet of paper.

'Dear Lesley,
I've getting the mailman take me to the railway station to make my own way back to Charleville. I think that's for the best.
I'm sorry for what happened last night, but I need time to think.
Take care,
Love,
James

I sat on the bed for a while and the tears were brimming in my eyes again. I suppose that one word 'Love' gives me hope, and hope is all I have to cling to right now. The thought crossed my mind to race down to the station to try and see him before he left, but I realised that that was probably not a good idea. Instead I went back to the bedroom, put on my slippers and went to the kitchen.

Coorah, the young aboriginal woman who had recently come to work in the kitchen turned as she heard me enter the room and smiled.

“Morning Missus, you want breakfast?” she said.

“I'll just get myself some tea and toast, thank you, Coorah,” I replied.

“Mr James had his breakfast about six o'clock,” she continued, “He said he was going with the mailman to the train.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I had told James about Jerry the mailman coming early on Monday mornings. I couldn't decide now whether that was a good thing or not.

“He's a very nice man. You are lucky woman, Missus,” Coorah continued. I thought the remark was a bit cheeky, but she meant no harm by it and after all she didn't know how hollow that sounded to me now. Somehow I managed to summon up a smile I didn't feel.

“Yes Coorah, I am,” I replied.

I cooked and buttered my toast and took it with my mug of coffee to my office. Coorah meant well, but I didn't trust myself to continue the conversation without giving away my true feelings.

All that happened three weeks ago, and only now can I bring myself to write it down. Even so, my eyes are filling with tears again and I will have to stop because I can no longer see the paper clearly. Life will go on of course, it always does, but how different it will be from the life I thought I was going to lead.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

It's been three weeks since that disastrous weekend when James came to the Station. For the first few days I thought that he would surely see he was being unreasonable and ring up full of apologies and asking that we put the whole thing behind us. I decided I would be gracious and magnanimous, and we would carry on as though the whole incident had never happened. But the phone never rang. I even rang the exchange just to make sure it was working properly.

So then I started to think that perhaps after all it was all my fault and that I should be the one to make the first move. I decided against a phone call and instead wrote a carefully reasoned letter to James which, while not admitting any fault, still opened the way for us to restart our relationship. I read it over carefully and then slowly and deliberately tore it up and burnt the pieces. Since then I have written five more letters, each containing more and more abject admissions of fault on my part, and each in turn torn up and burnt.

I wish I could see the situation from his point of view, but ironically because I am a woman I cannot understand the male viewpoint. Did he think that because I once had a male body that I had somehow trapped him into a pseudo-gay relationship? Surely not. But then men can be very sensitive about such matters

Then I started to get angry. How dare any man criticise anyone who was transgendered, and I deliberately use the past tense, because they had the guts to realise that they were born into a body with the wrong physical characteristics and chose to do something about it? Thank goodness I and so many like me were born in a generation when something could be done, but I don't doubt for a moment that through generations past, many people felt exactly the same way but did not see any way of dealing with it.

I read somewhere that in ancient times, those who blurred gender lines were respected as having special insight; indeed there are records that many of the female goddesses dating back thousands of millennia were served by priestesses who were in fact castrated males. I shudder to think of the crude surgery which they underwent and wonder how many did not survive the experience. In those pre-Christian times, it was often the goddesses who were considered the most powerful, I suppose because females are the child-bearers, and so men respected and were in awe of them and their ability to give life. This concept was turned on its head with the arrival of Christianity and the implication of a single God who was and is always represented as a male figure. I'm sure those early Christians did all that they could to suppress the cults of female goddesses and also their followers and priestesses.

But now I am scared. What if I never see James again? I am seeing the incident from a different viewpoint. Perhaps it is not so much my transgender issue that upset him as the fact that I did not reveal it to him? Perhaps it did not occur to him that I was afraid that he would not understand and that I would lose him. How ironic that I did not reveal it and have still lost him. Now I have started to cry and don't know if I can finish this. What will life be like without him? Would it have been better if I had never met him? What was that quote from Tennyson “'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Can I really believe that? The thought of life without James now is something to endure not to live. I feel I am wallowing in self-pity. It was all my fault and now I must suffer the consequences. What can I do to get him back?

When all is said and done it boils down to one thing. I love him. Now I need a miracle.

All the people at the station have been very kind. In some ways we are like a large family, which inevitably means that we get to know each other very well. From the moment James left with the mailman, it was obvious to everyone that something was wrong. They all knew that I was going to fly James back to Charleville, and instead, there he was returning by train – a very long trip. They probably thought we had had a row – and the irony was not lost on me that we hadn't in fact had a row at all. It had all been very civilised with very few words said.

There was no-one to whom I could reveal the whole truth – the only person who learned some of it was Jack's wife Mary. She is the only non-aboriginal woman on the station. If it sounds racist that she is the only person I can confide in, it isn't really. To everyone on the station, I am 'The Boss', and they would all have been horrified – the women in particular, if I started discussing personal matters with them. Mary and I had developed a friendship, especially since I started taking her to Brisbane to see her children at boarding school. She is the only person at the station who addresses me as Lesley. However, she doesn't know about my past and I am not going to reveal it to her. The more people know a secret, the less chance that it will be kept. All I said to her was that we had had a disagreement which had escalated and James had left. She didn't ask what it was and I didn't offer to tell her.

Days and weeks have gone by and still nothing from James. I have reached the stage where I am finally accepting that I am unlikely to ever hear from him again.

Monday morning

Last night I had a dream – at least I think it was a dream. In this dream I was asleep and I woke up suddenly. Moonlight was streaming through the window and by its light I made out a figure standing at the foot of the bed. She turned her head and to my surprise it was the aboriginal elder that I had seen many years ago when my life with John was in crisis.

“Jingara Aunty,” I greeted her respectfully, using the term taught to me by the Station staff, “Is something wrong?”

She did not answer me directly but instead replied “Go to him – he needs you.”

“James? Has something happened? Is he ill?” My heart was pounding.

“Go to him – now.” she repeated.

A cloud must have passed over the moon as its light suddenly dimmed and when it brightened again, she was gone.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

All day I had been thinking about my dream, that's if it was a dream. I never knew the aboriginal Elder's name, and in any case it would be disrespectful to write it down now, since surely she is in the spirit world. I remember the other time I met her so many years ago. I was in the Station kitchen and distraught. I had fallen in love with John, and he with me, but my body was still that of a youth and confused by his feelings, John was going to send me away. Suddenly she was there and she offered me advice which changed my life, and then just as suddenly she was gone. Now my life is in crisis again, and again she has come to offer advice.

Her words keep resounding in my ears “Go to him, go to him.” and suddenly I thought 'Well, what are you waiting for?' It was like a load had been lifted off my shoulders.

The Cessna is always kept flight-ready in case of an emergency, so I rang a couple of the men and asked them to bring it out of the hanger. Then I rang Mary and told her I was flying to Charleville.

“About time, if you don't mind me saying so,” she replied and I laughed.

“Mary,” I replied, “You are the only person on this station who would speak to me like that, but you are perfectly right of course.”

I didn't tell her about my dream. She might think it was time I was locked up in a padded cell!

I went to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase to pack some clothes, and I had just finished when the phone rang. I have long since ceased to think that every call might be from James, so I no longer leap to the phone every time it rings, but something made me hurry to it and lift the receiver.. It wasn't James, but Jim, his friend with the small property outside Charleville.

“Is that you Lesley? It’s Jim here, James's friend.”

“Hello Jim, how are you?” I replied. My heart was starting to pound, Had something really happened to James after all?

“I'm fine Lesley. Look I hope you don't think I'm interfering. I gather that you and James are no longer seeing each other, and of course it's none of our business, but something has happened and Jean thought I should ring you. Hang on, I think I'll put her on, she can explain it better than me.”

There was a pause and then I heard Jean's voice.

“Hello Lesley,” she began, “look, we knew something happened between you and James because in the last month he has looked so miserable. I suppose I shouldn't tell you that, but after you first met he was over the moon and now it's quite the reverse.”

I felt tears start to sting my eyes as I listened to her.

“We didn't want to interfere, but something has happened and we decided we should. The fact is that James has gone missing.”

“Missing? What's happened?” I gasped.

“Well, James likes to 'go bush' occasionally as you know. He's always very sensible of course and he's made a habit of telling us where he's gone and when he's due back. He always takes plenty of food and water with him, and also has a mobile phone and one of those satellite phones that works almost anywhere. He said he was just going for the weekend to 'get away from it all' as he put it, and he said he'd be back late Sunday.

“Well, the library phoned us this afternoon. He didn't turn up for work and they had rung his house but had no answer. We drove down there and he wasn't home, and Stella his dog wasn't there either. We waited a few more hours, but now we've reported him missing. You may have had some disagreement, but we really thought you would want to know.”

“Oh yes!” I responded, “Has a search party gone out to look for him?”

“Well that's the problem. James went north, and there's a party of overseas tourists who went missing over the weekend. They headed south, and the police think they are in more danger than James since they don't know the area and might not have been very well equipped. So, the search party has gone out looking for them. They said they thought James would probably turn up or contact someone soon, but we're not so sure.”

My heart was racing now – James missing, maybe lying injured somewhere, maybe even...but no, I wasn't going to go there.

“Jim is going to drive out now for thirty minutes in the direction where we think he went. It's a bit too late to go very far now. We've got a satellite phone too, so I'm going to stay home in case he needs me to pass messages on.”

“I'm going to fly down immediately, Jean. He might be found by the time I get there, but if not, I can at least start an aerial search.”

“I'm so glad you said that Lesley,” she replied. “Jim will be back by the time you arrive. Would you like to stay with us tonight? We have a spare room.”

“Oh yes please. That is so kind of you.” I didn't fancy staying in an hotel room on my own and worrying about James.

Jean asked me to let Charleville airport know when I was about 30 minutes from landing and they would ring Jim to let him know to come and meet me. That's what I love about living in the country. I couldn't imagine the tower at Brisbane passing on personal messages.

In less than forty-five minutes I was in the air and heading east. I had contacted the Charleville tower and lodged my flight plan with them. I decided to make a broad sweep around to the north in the hope of seeing something, although I knew I didn't have too much time as the sun was already low in the sky and I needed to land in daylight. I suppose it was too much to hope for that I would find James so quickly in that vast empty landscape, and so it proved.

Jim was waiting for me when I landed, and I arranged for the Cessna to be refueled so that I could take off early in the morning. Then we drove to Jean and Jim's place. Jean had already cooked tea for us, and while we ate we discussed what we should do in the morning. I suggested to Jim that he might like to come with me as an extra pair of eyes, but he said he thought it would be better if he went out in his car. I was a bit surprised by his response but I said nothing more and just agreed with him. Later, when he was out of the room, Jean explained why he had refused.

“When Jim was a teenager he went up in a light plane with a slightly older friend of his who had just got his pilot's licence,” she said, “We never found out the cause but they crash-landed. His friend was killed and Jim had concussion and a broken leg. He swore then that he would never fly in a light plane again.”

I nodded sympathetically, “I understand. You can give all the statistics in the world about the safety of light planes versus cars, but if someone has made up their mind, that's it.”

Later, we spread out a map of the area surrounding Charleville for about 300 kilometres each way. It was unlikely that James would have driven further when it was just for a weekend. Jim showed me where he thought James might have been heading, and I worked out a grid pattern to search from the air while Jim said he would head up the most likely track. We both had first aid kits and food and water with us, mine in a special container that should resist being dropped from the air if necessary.

Since we had all decided to have an early night, Jean showed me to the spare bedroom not long after dinner. It was a very pleasant room, and the bed turned out to be very comfortable, so it was not long before I was fast asleep.

Tuesday morning

I awoke at dawn, but Jean and Jim were already astir. After I had a quick shower and dressed, we all sat down to breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and fried bread.

“I haven't had a breakfast like that I was last in England,” I said.

“My mother was from the Old Country and reckoned a good breakfast starts the day well, especially when it's going to be a busy one,” she replied, and she was right of course.

We spread out a map of the surrounding area once more to confirm what we would be doing, and then Jim and I drove to the airport. The maintenance crew had fueled the Cessna and it wasn't long before I was in the air and heading north to start my search. I flew over Jim's car which was heading in the same direction on a well-defined track. We had decided that I should follow the track to the edge of the search area and if I found anything then I would radio back to the tower and they would notify Jim and also the Royal Flying Doctor Service if necessary.

Having found nothing on my original run, I checked the map and turned to start searching in a grid pattern. The country below me was mostly scrub with an occasional tree, more of them dead than alive. After some years of drought, there were no cattle to be seen, indeed no sign of life anywhere. I flew the first leg and then turned back, making sure that each leg overlapped the previous one. The hours passed by and I saw nothing. It was time to return to Charleville and refuel.

I had an hour's break and a snack while the Cessna was being refueled and then took to the air again. It was mid-afternoon by now and my eyes started to sting from staring at the ground – willing myself to see something. I had checked with Jean while at Charleville and she had been in touch with Jim. He had followed the track until it petered out. He was hoping to find tracks which might have belonged to James's Landrover, but there were a lot of tracks heading off in all directions, probably belonging to roo shooters, so that was no help, and now he was on his way back.

By now I had completed the search area, so I decided to head a little further north and try again, praying that I had not missed James. I had never searched for a vehicle from the air before. The sun was starting to sink and the shadows were lengthening which might obscure his Landrover and I felt a sense of panic. James was out there somewhere, but where?

“Oh Aunty!” I cried out loud, “You told me to go to James, and I'm trying, I really am, but where is he? Please help me to find him!”

There was no answer of course – just the hum of the engines and the timeless land below me stretching out to infinity. And then it happened. I was heading east and my despair grew with each mile; and then, within a couple of minutes of turning south for Charleville I saw a flash of light ahead of me, just for a couple of seconds. It was too bright to be artificial, it had to be the sun reflecting off something. I turned the Cessna slightly and headed toward where I had seen it. Then suddenly there it was! James's Landrover lying on its right side, the bonnet hard up against a large rock. I circled and flew low, looking for signs of movement and there was Stella his dog, standing by the Rover and looking up at me barking, but there was no other movement. I gulped and radioed Charleville.

“Charleville, this is VH 59 Victor Lima Foxtrot, over.”

“Victor Lima Foxtrot, receiving you, over.”

“Charleville, I've found James Taylor's Landrover, lying on its side, no sign of movement except for his dog, over.”

Charleville tower asked for my position co-ordinates which I gave. They also told me that the tourists had been found and a helicopter was bringing them back to Charleville. The Flying Doctor Service only uses fixed wing aircraft, so they must have hired the chopper.

“Would you believe those tourists ran out of fuel?” he said, “Anyway once he's landed and refueled we'll send him out to you with a RFDS doctor and a couple of assistants, estimated arrival time two hours.”

Two hours! It would be dark by then. While this conversation was taking place, I had been circling the area, and it was flat and almost clear of bushes, so I made my decision.

“Charleville, I'm going to land and see what I can do.” The tower dropped formalities and I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Are you sure Lesley? We don't want two patients out there.”

“Yes I'm sure, base,” I said with a confidence I did not feel. The ground looked smooth enough, but what if the wheels hit loose sand and the nose tipped up? I have always been extremely cautious whenever I fly. The one time I had run into trouble was years ago when I lost an engine due to fuel contamination – not my fault of course, but now I was proposing to put myself into possible danger. Aunty's words were still ringing in my ears “Go to him, go to him!” If I had told anyone that I was relying on words I heard in a dream they would say I was mad, but somehow I felt totally cool and calm as I turned the Cessna once more, lined up the non-existent runway and started to lose height.

I felt the wheels touch and employed reverse thrust. The Cessna slowed rapidly and soon I was taxiing towards the Landrover, stopping about a hundred metres away, and switching off the engines. It was only in the silence that followed that I could hear Stella barking in a strange strangulated way. She was standing there looking at me with her tongue hanging out. Poor thing, she must be so dry. I quickly radioed Charleville to let them know I had landed safely, then I collected my first aid kit and a couple of bottles of water before stepping out of the plane. Stella raced up to me, still barking, and I patted her. I had a tin bowl in the plane, I've no idea why, so I quickly filled it with water and set it down before her and she eagerly started to gulp it down. Then I started towards the Landrover. I resisted the temptation to run, but I didn't dawdle either. There was no sound other than the crunch of my footsteps on the ground and Stella panting as she trotted beside me, and only silence from the Landrover. My heart was pounding with fear. Surely James would have heard the Cessna landing, so why wasn't he calling out? My heart was in my mouth as I reached the Landrover, terrified of what I might find.

To be continued.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

As I walked towards the front on the Landrover I suddenly felt as if I was walking in slow-motion. I noticed that the windscreen had blown out and shattered on the rock and I realised that the reflection of the sun on one of the shards had provided the beacon that had drawn me here. Then I looked into the cabin and suddenly time returned to normal. James was lying against the door, and although his face was in shadow I saw how deathly pale it was. His eyes were closed and a trickle of blood from a wound on his forehead had run down his cheek and dried there.

“James!” I cried out in agony, and then a miracle happened. His eyelids flickered and slowly opened. He stared at me and in a voice that was more like a croak and barely audible, I'm sure he said “My angel”.

He tried to lick his cracked lips and muttered “Dry.”

“Oh my darling!” I gasped, and falling to my knees I quickly uncapped the water bottle and reaching in, held it to his lips as he moved his head forward.

“Just little sips, darling,” I urged, and he obeyed me almost like a child, and then exhausted, lay back against the door.

“Oh James! Thank God you're alive.” I was crying now, tears pouring down my cheeks. He leaned forward again and I let him slip a little more water.

“Heard the plane. Knew... it was you.” His voice was a little stronger now. “Leg hurts...caught. Think it's broken. Couldn't reach water bottle. Phones went out the windscreen.”

I looked around me and saw he was right. The phones were on the ground – tantalizingly out of his reach. I suddenly realised that I hadn't reported that I had landed safely. Charleville must be wondering what had happened. Fortunately, James had the number of the Royal Flying Doctor Service entered in the satellite phone so I quickly rang them to report on James and that I was alright. Erin who was manning the switchboard sounded very pleased to hear from me and I felt guilty that in my haste to check on James I hadn't let them know I was on the ground and with him.

“You're going to need some heavy duty winches to right the car,” she said, “We've put out a call and there's a couple of roo shooters in your area who have the gear needed. They should arrive about the same time as the helicopter.”

“Thanks so much, Erin,” I replied, “That's something I hadn't thought of. Oh, and could you possible ring Jean and Jim Stewart and tell them I've found James? Jim is out searching and I'd like him to know he can return home.”

I stooped down to report back to James. “Help is coming darling. They're sending a helicopter and doctor, also some guys with winches to help rescue you.”

James nodded and even managed a smile. “I knew you'd come and find me.”

I reached in and found his hand and held it.

“Oh James, this is all my fault. If I hadn't deceived you you mightn't have been out here and this accident would never have happened. I'm so sorry.”

He shook his head slowly “Not true,” he murmured, “Not your fault.”

I was concerned that he was exhausting himself. I had a thousand questions to ask him, but they could wait. “Shhh darling, you should lie quietly and rest. Help will be here soon.”

James lay quietly for a while – every so often moving his head forward and I gave him another sip of water. I knew it was likely that he would be having surgery of some sort once he was rescued and back in Charleville, so I didn't give him anything to eat.

He suddenly began to speak again, quietly but clearly. “I've been thinking a lot the last month,and especially since the crash. I knew how much I love you but I didn't know how to make amends for walking out on you.”

I opened my mouth to speak but then thought better of it. Perhaps it was better for James to keep talking.

“Funny how the accident happened. My phone rang and I looked down for a second, and when I looked up there was an old Aboriginal lady standing on the track. I swear she hadn't been there before. I swerved to avoid her and the car tipped over.”

“Aunty!” I gasped.

“You know her?” he asked.

“Don't laugh at me but she came to me in a dream on Sunday night and told me to come to you.”

James looked serious. “I'm not laughing at you, not after what happened.”

He lay back for a while resting and then suddenly said “Can you reach the glove box?”

“Yes I think so,” I replied, wondering what was on his mind. I carefully eased myself into the cabin and reached up to I find the catch and open it. As the lid opened a small square box fell out and I caught it. Every woman knows the significance of a box like that but I hardly dared hope. I handed it unopened to James.

He winced as a spasm of pain hit him but he also managed a slight smile.

“I was going to make this really memorable – you know, a romantic candle-lit dinner, but I guess nothing could be more memorable than this.”

One-handed, he managed to open the lid of the box. It sounds like something from a Mills and Boon novel, but I swear it's true – at that moment the rays of the setting sun reflected off part of the shattered windscreen and bathed the interior of the cabin in a warm glow, and the solitaire diamond in the ring now revealed, took up the light and blazed with all the colours of the rainbow.

“Lesley, once all this is over, will you marry me?” he said.

“Oh James! Oh yes please!” I gasped, and the tears started to flow again but this time they were happy tears.

“Can you help me please?” he said, so I took the box off him, extracted the ring and handed it to him and then held my left hand out so that he could slip the ring on my finger. I gazed in wonder at it – it was a perfect fit. Then I leaned further into the cabin and we kissed.

We stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying being together as the light faded. Then I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. I stood up and saw headlights in the gloom as it drove up and stopped. A grizzled old man in the most battered hat I've ever seen stepped out and approached me, followed by a strapping younger man, about six feet tall.

“G'day. Reg Brooks from Moona Station. This is my son Geoff. I heard you've got a spot of bother.”

“G'day Reg, Geoff, I'm Lesley Brodie. James is trapped by his leg. The doctor's on the way by helicopter but they need a winch to pull the Landrover up.”

“Brodie eh? You'd be from Mackenzie Station? I met John Brodie a couple of times. I was sorry to hear about him. I heard you're making a fair fist of running the property though.”

I'm sure I blushed. “Thanks Reg. I've got a good team and was taught by an expert, so that helps.”

“Right, let's have a look at this young chap,” he said, and walking over to the Landrover, stooped down to see James.”

“G'day there young feller, we'll get you out of there as soon as the Doc arrives.”

James managed a smile “Well I am getting a bit sick of being stuck here,” he responded.

Just then came another sound, first almost like the buzz of a mosquito but rapidly increasing in volume.

“It's the helicopter darling, you'll soon be free,” I said.

“It's almost dark, will they be able to find us?” he asked.

“They'll see the Cessna. It's like a giant 'X marks the spot',“ I replied. “Anyway Reg has left his headlights on.”

The sound of the helicopter was very loud now, so I gently released James's hand and stood up to wave as the chopper slowly descended to land about a hundred metres away.

Just then I saw the headlights of another truck approaching.

“Geez, this is getting bigger than 'Ben Hur',” muttered Reg as the truck skidded to a halt.

A tall rangy man unfolded himself from the cabin and Reg said quietly “No show without Punch.”

I nearly laughed, the first time I'd felt like that in quite a while, but instead said “You know him then?” even though the answer was obvious.

The new arrival walked over and introduced himself as Ted Mortimer. Pleasantries were exchanged, at least between Ted and I. Reg and Ted merely nodded at each other and it was obvious that there had been issues between them. The important thing was that a truce had been called to help deal with the emergency. That's the great thing about country people, when something like this happens, they all band together.

The helicopter rotors stopped turning and I saw a slight young woman open the door and alighted, carrying a bag. As she approached I suddenly realised that I'd seen her before.

“It's Dr Holmes isn't it?” I greeted her. “We met when you came out to Mackenzie Station when the son of my head stockman was concussed.”

“Yes of course, and please call me Helen,” she replied, “I thought you looked familiar, Mrs....?”

“Lesley Brodie,” I replied. Well she couldn't be expected to remember everyone she meets in her job. I introduced her to Reg and Ted. Helen is a slight woman, but she immediately took charge of the situation.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, “We're going to need your help to tilt the Landrover up to about forty-five degrees to that we can get the patient out. Now let's have a look at this young man.”

I showed her around to the front of the Landrover, and she stooped down to talk to James. Once she had ascertained the problem, she suggested giving him an injection to help with the pain.

“We're going to lift the Landrover up but not let it fall onto the other wheels in case it makes your injuries worse,” she explained, “So an injection will help you keep still while we extract you.”

James nodded his assent, and Dr Holmes prepared the injection. I told her that I had give James some sips of water but no food and she nodded, saying that was exactly the right thing to do. Then she stooped down and inserted the needle in James's arm.

While this was going on, Ted and Reg had maneuvered their trucks so that they could shine their spotlights on the Landrover. They both had winches on their trucks and also some jacks, and it wasn't long before they had attached wires to the Landrover and were starting the job of lifting it up to about forty-five degrees. Helen motioned them to stop when she judged the driver's door was clear enough of the ground so that she could reach James. By now two more men, orderlies I suppose you'd call them, had appeared wheeling a trolley. This really was getting to be quite an operation.

The driver's door was jammed, but judicious use of a crowbar quickly released it and it was carefully eased open so that James did not fall out. One of the men reached in and held him, while Helen Holmes stooped down to see what was holding James's foot. It was caught under the brake pedal and his leg was twisted in an unnatural way. There was a brief discussion between the men and the conclusion was that Ted grabbed some tools from his truck and worked his way under the Landrover to free up the brake linkages and so loosen the pedal. I have to take my hat off to these 'bush mechanics'. Working as they do many miles from the nearest service station they are all experts at fixing anything they turn their hand to.

Once James's foot was free, Dr Holmes was able to examine his leg, and thanks to the injection he didn't wince when she gently moved it to check on the damage.

“It looks like your fibula is broken, James,” she said. We'll have to bind it up with a splint and you'll need an operation once we get you back to Charleville.”

She set about binding up his leg and then the two orderlies very gently lifted James out of the Landrover and onto the trolley. Once they were clear, the winch was started again and the Landrover landed on all four wheels with a crash and stood there looking a bit sorry for itself.

“I guess you'd like to come to Charleville with us?” said Helen.

“Yes please,” I replied, and then blushing I added “We've just got engaged and I don't want to let him out of my sight.”

Helen laughed. “That sounds like a good idea in the circumstances. Look there is slight problem in the number of people we can take on the helicopter, but I have come up with a solution. Craig, who's acting as an orderly tonight is actually one of our pilots and he's fully conversant with the Cessna. He's offered to camp down overnight and fly it back to Charleville in the morning if you like? He can bring James's dog back too."

With all that had been going on I had temporarily forgotten about Stella, who had been quietly sitting nearby, content that her master was being taken care of. Now like most pilots, I'm not really keen on someone else flying my plane, but in this instance I didn't hesitate “Thank you so much Helen, and I'll thank Craig too. That's a great solution.”

To be continued

Many thanks to Carla Bay for her technical advice on this chapter.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

I walked over and thanked Craig for offering to fly the Cessna back. I was a little bit worried about how Stella would react to meeting a new person, but I was reassured when Craig told me that he had two dogs of his own and would take great care of her. When I brought her over, Stella sniffed at his boots, obviously detecting Craig's dogs, and she wagged her tail when he patted her. I left the tins of dog food I had brought along, and made sure that Craig had plenty of water, including some for him of course! He had some emergency food packs so was well prepared to spend the night out in the bush. He also assured me that if he had any doubt about his ability to fly the Cessna out, he would report to base and they would think of something else.

By now James had been loaded into the helicopter and it was time to go. Everyone was seated except me, so I hurried over and climbed aboard. I sat next to James and held his hand as the pilot prepared to take off, and in a couple of minutes we were in the air and heading back to Charleville.

One big advantage of traveling in the helicopter was that we didn't need a lighted runway when we arrived in Charleville. The apron in front of the terminal building was well-lit and I could even see the ambulance standing by as we landed. Once the rotors stopped, two men wheeled a trolley across to us, expertly maneuvered James onto it and started across to the ambulance. It was then that I became aware of Jean and Jim who had come out to meet us. I hugged them both and thanked them for all their support. When I explained that I was going to the hospital with James and wanted to stay until he had his operation, Jim immediately offered to drive there and pick me up later to take me back to their place to get some sleep. I was really touched by their concern for us both and nearly found myself crying.

“That is so kind of you Jim, but I can easily get a taxi,” I said, but he would have none of it, so I promised to ring and tell him when James was out of theatre. Then I climbed into the ambulance along with Dr Holmes.

We were at the hospital in no time and fortunately it was a quiet evening. The triage nurse told us that the on-call surgeon Mr Hastings had already been contacted and asked to be notified as soon as we arrived. James was then wheeled into a cubicle and transferred to the hospital trolley. The nurse said he would go directly to theatre as soon as the surgeon arrived and this happened only a few minutes later. Obviously he lived close-by. Mr Hastings is a tall man with a very friendly manner but also with an air of competence about him which inspires confidence in both patient and relatives.

“Well young man, I hear you've been practising some acrobatics out in the bush and come off second-best,” was his opening remark. He expertly examined James' leg, and smiled down at him. “Let's get you to theatre and patch you up so that this young lady can stop worrying about you.”

I blushed at this remark. It's been a while since anyone referred to me as a 'young lady'!

I gave James a kiss and told him I loved him. Then, once they had wheeled him off to theatre, a nurse showed me a waiting room attached to the ward where he would be admitted after the operation, and I settled down to that inevitable task at any medical establishment – waiting. There was a number of chairs in the room but no-one else was there. I had been shown a machine which produced a hot fluid vaguely resembling tea or coffee, but fortunately the nurse kindly brought me a cup of real tea to drink and also a couple of small packets of biscuits. I wolfed these down, not realising how hungry I had been. There was also a pile of ancient magazines on a small table in the corner – the usual 'National Geographics' and women's magazines, most of them up to ten years old. However there were some old copies of 'Farm Weekly' and these were more to my taste. I steadfastly refused to look at the clock – well not more than every ten minutes, and an hour slowly went by. Then the door opened and Mr Hastings came in, still in his theatre garb.

“Mrs Brodie, I'm happy to say that the operation was a complete success. James is now in Recovery and should be going to the ward in about thirty minutes. I'll call in to see him again in the morning,” he said.

“Thank you so much, doctor,” I replied.

“Not a problem,” he replied, “I understand that you found him, so he has you to thank that he was in such good condition for surgery.”

I found myself blushing – nothing unusual about that.

“Well it was largely due to luck that I spotted him,” I replied, but he looked at me seriously.

“In my experience when people refer to luck there's a great deal more to it than that,” he replied, and I thought to myself 'that's truer than you'll ever know'.

Twenty minute later, James was wheeled down to the ward and transferred to the bed, his leg encased in plaster. He was a bit woozy from the anaesthetic but recognised me as I came to sit in a comfortable chair beside his bed and took his hand.

“You just sleep my darling, that's the best thing for you now,” I said, and he just nodded.

The next thing I knew was it was morning and I was still sitting in the chair beside James's bedside, feeling incredibly stiff from the awkward position in which I had spent the night. One of the nurses came in to do the regular observations and smiled at me.

“I'm Nurse Brooks. You must have been exhausted,” she said “You've been asleep all night. You didn't even stir when we came in to do the 'obs'.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said, “I was supposed to ring my friends to come in and pick me up.”

“Well they did come in but they felt it was better not to disturb you, so they asked us to ring them when you woke up. Would you like me to do that now?”

“Oh yes please,” I said, “I could really do with a shower and a change of clothes to freshen up.”

James was now awake and listening to this conversation, so I turned to give him a kiss and ask him how he was feeling.

“My leg is a bit sore,” he replied, “But apart from that I'm fine, but I'm starving.”

“Breakfast is on its way,” said Nurse Brooks as she checked his pulse and blood pressure.

“Mr Hastings will be coming in to see you later,” I said, “And I would like to get a shower and fresh clothes, and then I'll come back to see you, o.k.?”

James smiled at me and squeezed my hand “Perfectly o.k.” he said.

Jean and Jim arrived a few minutes later and were pleased to see how well James looked after his operation. We left him to his much anticipated breakfast and drove to their home where I had a shower, a change of clothes and one of Jean's marvellous 'English breakfasts'. I certainly did it justice. After that it was back to the hospital in Jim's car, Jean having insisted that he stay home and relax after such a busy few days.

James was looking even better now. The bed-head had been raised slightly and he was watching television. Mr Hastings had been in to check on him and said that while he would have to stay in hospital for a few days, after that, all being well, he could go home and recover provided that there was someone to look after him.

“Well, that's where I can come in,” I said.

“Are you sure you can stay?” said James.

“Quite sure,” I replied. “I've already phoned Jack and things are going very well without me. In fact sometimes I wonder if I'm needed at all.”

James smiled “I'm sure that's not true, but to be honest I'm really looking forward to being looked after by 'Nurse Lesley'. “

“I'm going to be a strict nurse,” I said, smiling. “You have to adhere to doctor's orders if we are to get you back on your feet as soon as possible.”

Later, while James was resting, and I was in the hospital canteen having a cup of tea and a sandwich, I had a phone call from the airport to say that Craig had just landed with the Cessna. They wanted to know what to do about Stella. I'd already discussed this with Jean and Jim and they insisted that she could stay with them for as long as was necessary, so after assuring myself that James was fine, I drove to the airport.

The maintenance staff were happy to check over the Cessna after its desert landing, and Stella was very pleased to see me when I picked her up from the luggage area. We drove back to Jean and Jim's place for my tea, and for Stella to renew her acquaintance with their two dogs. I also rang Craig to thank him for flying the Cessna back and taking good care of Stella.

Before James was discharged, I took the opportunity to head home and pick up two suitcases of clothes for my extended stay in Charleville. I had also discussed a few items with Jack that needed a decision from me, but I felt perfectly comfortable in leaving the day to day running of the station to him, and anyway I was only a phone call away.

Three days later, after two further visits from Mr Hastings and some discussions with the physiotherapist, James was cleared to go home, with me in attendance to look after him. James had been sitting out of bed, and had also been instructed in the use of crutches. An appointment had been made for him to come back to the hospital for review and some physiotherapy, and he had been given some strong painkillers to use if necessary. He was transported to his house in an ambulance, and I drove ahead in Jim's car in order to be there to receive him. It was quite a relief to see him settled in his comfortable arm chair.

We now settled into life rather like a married couple although I did have to help him to the toilet and also with showering. This was rather different to previous times we had spent together which were more like a young couple spending rather passionate weekends together, but we both enjoyed this new phase in our relationship.

We had to decide what to do about transport, since James's Landrover was out in the desert as far as he knew, and quite the worse for wear. I had decided that since he loved that old 'truck' so much, I wanted to get it retrieved and repaired for him as a surprise. I didn't want it to stay out in the desert too long in case someone thinking it was abandoned, stripped it for spare parts, so I had called in at the local garage and smash repairs to see what I could arrange. They were quite happy to send out a tow truck with a flat bed trailer to pick it up and would give me a quote for the repairs. As it turned out the garage also hired cars, so I hired a medium size sedan in which James could sit comfortably while I drove him around. He accepted that it would be some weeks or even months before he could drive again.

While I was proudly wearing the engagement ring James had given me, something was troubling me and I brought it up a few days after we arrived at his house.

“James, there's something I wanted to discuss with you,” I began, tentatively. “Do you remember when you were trapped in the car?”

“It's all a bit hazy,” he replied.

“Well that's it. The thing is, you asked me to marry you.”

“I did,” he replied and I wasn't quite sure from his voice if he was making a statement or asking a question.

“I did say 'yes',” I responded tentatively, “and you can see I'm wearing the engagement ring you gave me, but if you weren't totally 'with it' at the time, I wouldn't want to hold you to something you didn't really mean to say.”

James looked rather alarmed.

“Is this a kind way of saying you've changed your mind?” he asked.

“Of course not – I just wanted to be sure that you really meant it.”

His face broke out into a broad smile, I think of relief.

“Of course I meant it. I was never more sure of anything in my life.”

“Oh James!” Stupidly I started to cry, and he took my hand and kissed it.

“Lesley, I love you so much, and I can't wait to get this stupid leg healed so that we can get back to normal together.”

I knew exactly what he meant by 'back to normal' and found myself blushing. I couldn't wait for it either.

We did start sleeping in the same bed after a few days, but that was it, strictly sleeping. We certainly couldn't risk anything athletic for some weeks. Any damage to James's leg would need some explaining!

Two weeks passed by, and James's leg was healing well. One morning he spoke about something that was on my mind, almost as if it was telepathic.

“Darling, you've been away from the Station for quite a while now, and I'm sure you must be wondering how things are going on there.”

I blushed, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Well....it did cross my mind,” I admitted.

“Well, I'm seeing the physio again today, so if she gives the go-ahead, maybe we could fly back to the Station? What do you think?”

“I think you are such a sweet man to worry about my feelings,” I replied. “Alright, we'll do it if you get permission. We can always fly back for future physio appointments.”

The physio did indeed give permission, so we spent the rest of the day packing ready to fly back to Hey the next day. We decided to take Stella along with us. I was sure she would get along alright with the Station dogs, and anyway it wasn't right to separate her from James again.

The flight back was uneventful and we landed on the Station airstrip just over an hour after taking off from Charleville. Jack was there to greet us and we maneuvered James into the front seat of the truck to drive back to the homestead. I am so pleased that he and James get on really well.

We were soon ensconced in the homestead and continuing our 'married couple' lifestyle. I confess I was happy to be back home again where I could keep my finger on the pulse. It's not that I didn't trust Jack, but it felt good to be on the spot when decisions had to be made.

One thing that has been on my mind is that when we get married how will we work out our living arrangements? I need to be at the Station, but James as a librarian is employed at Charleville, not Hey. Ideally, it would be great if Miss Marks the Chief Librarian would retire and James could take over, but the library is her life and I reckon the only way she will leave it is when she is carried out in a wooden box. I'm going to have to talk this over with James, but for now I'll let sleeping dogs lie.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.

Author's note: I'm sorry there has been such a delay in posting this chapter, and it's my intention to post more regularly from now on.

Things seem to have returned to normal, which is great. After James's disappearance I've had enough excitement in the past month to last the whole year. He has now graduated from the crutches to a walking stick, and we've even managed to resume some gentle intimacy which is great for both of us.

I had a phone call from Melissa in Brisbane today. I confess I've rather neglected her and John recently, and perhaps I can be forgiven for that, but it was lovely to hear her voice again. I asked how they were getting on and she said 'fine' and then asked about me so I gave her a potted version of the drama of James getting lost in the bush and also of course the big news that we are now engaged.

“That's wonderful news,” she said. “Have you set a wedding date yet?'

“No, not yet,” I replied. “We have a few things to organise but I'm sure it won't be too long.”

“Well, I've got some great news too,” she said. “I've been given a date for my reassignment surgery, six months' time in Sydney. I'm so excited!”

“So was I,” I replied, and my heart thudded as I realised what I had said.

There was silence at both ends of the phone. Melissa broke it first.

“Are you telling me...?” she said.

Once the genie is out of the bottle, nothing on earth will make him go back in. I took a deep breath.

“Yes Melissa, I was once at the point where you are now.”

There was another pause and then she said “You know it did occur to me that you seemed to know an awful lot about transitioning, but you said it was someone that you knew.”

“Well it's true I do know someone else who transitioned. I met her at the specialist's rooms when I was there for a consultation. I had my dear friend Jenny with me for support, but she was on her own, and I guess I tried to encourage her. I said I was talking about her, but what I told you was chiefly about my own experiences. I was only doing it in an attempt to help you.

“I hope you don't think I deceived you. I've always chosen to keep under the radar and I think a lot of transgendered women chose that option. Don't get me wrong, I have great admiration for those women who chose to go public for whatever reason, and perhaps what they are doing is helping get greater public understanding that we are not all drag queens or transvestites as the tabloids like to imply. There's another reason too – I live in the country and the people here tend to be rather conservative in their outlook. I want to go on living as a woman who happens to run a cattle property and that's remarkable enough for some of the folks around here.”

Melissa laughed at that. “Well your secret is safe with me,” she said, “and I really appreciate all the advice that you've given me. If I can become as good a woman as you are, then I will certainly be more than content, and so will John.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “but don't talk about becoming a woman – you already are one. In a way I'm glad you know, although I don't know what on earth possessed me to say what I said. I suppose it shows that we tend to let our guard down with our friends. Something for you to remember.

"You are only the fourth living person who knows about me now. My late husband John knew of course. Well, we weren't married, but as good as; then there was my dear friend Jenny who helped me through the whole process but sadly died of cancer some years back. My specialist, who was a wonderful man, also died some months back. Jenny's husband Tom knows because he met me when I first arrived in Australia. He's since remarried but I don't think he's told his present wife. Then there's Mandy, the woman I told you about, and James knows of course.”

I chose not to explain the circumstances by which James became aware of my past because I still feel a bit ashamed about that.

“Well, I'll treat this information on a 'need to know' basis, and I don't see any reason why John needs to know,” said Melissa.

“Thank you for that,” I replied. “It always seems to me that the more people know a secret, the less of a secret it becomes. Anyway, enough about me, you must be well advanced in your treatment now if your specialist has set a date for your surgery.”

“Yes. He says I'm going really well and he sees no reason to delay it any longer. John is very happy with the way things are progressing. Once it's legally possible for us to get married, then that's what we're going to do. I would like to talk to you again sometime about the surgery. The specialist has discussed it with me of course, but nothing will beat talking to someone who has actually gone through the process.”

“Of course you can. Ask me anything you like. You know it's not going to be a walk in the park, but believe me it's worth it.”

We spoke for a few more minutes and then ran off.

I sat for a while thinking about the conversation we'd just had. Thank goodness the days of someone at the exchange listening in have long gone. Why did I utter those fateful words? Was it because deep down in my subconscious I really wanted Melissa to know, or was it just a case of letting my guard down? I really don't have an answer to that question. I have it in mind to ask Melissa to be my 'Maid of Honour' when I get married, but now is not the time to ask her. It might sound too much like a bribe to buy her silence, not that I think for a moment it is needed.

I went down to the Hey library today. Thanks to James's accident, my books were well overdue, but Miss Marks seemed in a forgiving mood and only charged me half the going rate. As she handled the books I couldn't help noticing the tremor in her hands. I looked away quickly but she had seen me noticing.

“Parkinson's,” she said. “I'm on treatment of course but it's getting worse and I fear the time is coming when I'll have to retire.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I replied, although I'm ashamed to say my heart leapt at her disclosure. There was more to come.

“I hate the thought of leaving Hey without a good librarian,” she went on. “I was wondering about that nice young man who stepped in when I broke my leg. I don't suppose you know how to get in touch with him?”

I had to stop myself from bursting out laughing. Dear Miss Marks must have been the only person in Hey not to know that James and I are an item. Somehow I managed to keep a straight face as I replied.

“As a matter of fact Miss Marks, I do. You see James and I are engaged to be married.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. There can be a wealth of meaning in two little letters. Was she surprised? Definitely. Disapproving? I'm not sure. Envious? Maybe. Pleased for us? I hope so.

“Well as you know Miss Marks, I'm on the Board of Governors of the library, so I must stay at arms length from any selection process involving someone I know.”

“Of course you must,” she replied. “But do you think he'd be interested?”

“That I am sure of, and were he to be appointed, with your assistance I'm sure a very smooth change-over could be effected.”

“I must say I'm rather relieved,” she went on, ”He did quite a good job when I was away before with that broken leg, and that hasn't always happened with locums. Sometimes I've come back to a real dog's breakfast. It's made me not want to take holidays. In view of what you've told me I will write to the Board this week, tendering my resignation.”

I could hardly wait to get back to the Station to tell James the good news. Of course there might be other applicants for the job, but living this far out in the country it doesn't seem likely. This would solve the problem of giving us both a job we love, and in the same place. Perfect!

James's birthday is fast approaching and I have a surprise lined up for him. We've decided to fly back to Charleville to celebrate with a small dinner party including Jean and Jim of course ,and some of his other friends there. A table for eight has been booked at the Corones Hotel. I enjoyed staying there and not only is the food great, but on Saturday night they have a band playing and we can dance, which I always enjoy.

I have made several phone calls to Jean and Jim and other places so that I can give James a real birthday surprise. He won't see this coming.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

The job interviews for the position of Chief (and only) Librarian at Hey were held today. I was convinced that James was a 'shoo-in' for the job, but it turned out that after doing the right thing and advertising in the local and Brisbane newspapers, there was another applicant for the position. As a member of the board of the library, I was made aware of the application, which came from a woman called Anne Prior who was Assistant Librarian at one of the larger Brisbane libraries. What wasn't in her application or CV, but had been found out by discreet enquiries was that she was a woman in her mid-thirties, recently divorced, had two small children and it seemed was intent on making a fresh start well away from Brisbane. I was still a little surprised that she had chosen Hey, which to most city people is so far 'beyond the black stump' as to make it in the middle of nowhere.

Of course as a member of the board and related to one of the applicants, I had to stay at arms length from the selection process. I was now concerned that in the panel's attempts to be scrupulously fair, my relationship with James might actually act against him getting the position.

James was not as concerned as I was, and headed off early to call into the library for some final words of advice from Miss Marks who really wanted him to get the position. I felt I couldn't hang around at home waiting for news, so I went into Hey myself to do some shopping and try to take my mind off things until I heard from James.

I walked around for a couple of hours, checking out a few stores, and finally, feeling a little peckish, called into a small café 'The Rumbling Tum' which as its name suggests, provides some simple fare to keep the pangs of hunger at bay. After ordering a cup of tea and a sandwich, I looked around for somewhere to sit. There are only four tables, and three of them were fully occupied by people I know either by name or at least by sight. At the fourth table a pretty woman in her mid-thirties was sitting alone. She wore a very stylish plum-coloured knee-length dress with stockings and high heels. I couldn't recall ever seeing her before. I hesitated and then walked over to the table. She looked up and we exchanged the sort of smiles strangers give each other.

“Do you mind?” I asked “All the other tables are taken.”

“Of course not,” she replied, removing her handbag from the table.

I sat down and by way of a conversation starter said “I'm Lesley Brodie. That's a very pretty dress you're wearing.”

“I'm Anne Prior,” she responded. “I feel a bit over-dressed actually, but I'm going for a job interview this afternoon. You don't think it's too much do you?” she added anxiously.

It's no use me pretending, my face will give me away every time, so I responded “Oh yes, you are applying for the librarian position.”

She looked surprised, obviously not a country girl or she would have realised that very few things remain a secret out in the bush. “Yes I am. I understand the other applicant is called James Taylor. Have you met him?”

“Actually, he's my fiancé,” I replied.

“Oh!,” she said “I understood he is.....” With that she came to an abrupt halt and turned bright red.

I knew exactly what she had nearly said and decided to supply the missing part.

“Yes, he is some years younger than me, but I don't think that is a problem nowadays.”

“I'm sorry, that was very tactless of me,” Anne said, her colour in no way diminishing.

“It's alright,” I replied. “It's funny how an older man with a younger woman is admired for securing a 'trophy wife', but reverse the sexes and people look at it very differently. I don't know why that is. I guess I am fortunate that James prefers older women.”

I laid a slight emphasis on the word 'older', and I guess that final remark of mine was almost an oblique 'Hands off!' statement. I don't know why I said it, but I guess there is something in a woman's mind that senses a threat even when one is not overtly visible.

Anne still looked uncomfortable and looked at her watch.

“I guess I had better head down to the library as I'm the first interviewee in forty minutes.”

I smiled pleasantly, well I hope it was pleasantly and said “Well it was nice to have met you.”

I could hardly have wished her 'good luck' when I obviously did not mean it.

“You too, Mrs Brodie,” she replied.

With that she stood up and left the café. Marg the waitress appeared with my tea and sandwich. I suddenly realised she had been waiting until our verbal exchange was over before bringing my meal. My heart was still beating quicker than normal and I couldn't help wondering if I had been less than friendly to Mrs Prior. What a pity I had chosen to enter that particular café at that time. I was put in mind of that famous line from 'Casablanca' where Rick says 'of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, and she walks into mine.' Sometimes these things just happen.

I seemed to have lost my appetite, but having ordered the meal I felt obliged to eat it, and anyway I didn't want my exchange with Anne Prior to ruin my day or be cause for comment.

I did try looking at a few more shops after I left the café, but my heart wasn't in it and I soon drove back to the Station.

On reaching home, I didn't have anything particular to do, so I took a book out of the library and sat down to read. I actually nodded off and was woken by the sound of the car tyres on the gravel outside and knew that James was back. I listened to his footsteps on the wide verandah steps and they didn't sound like the footsteps of a happy man. This was confirmed when he appeared in the doorway with a solemn face.

“Oh James, I so sorry,” I started to say, and then his face broke into a smile.

“I got the position!” he exclaimed.

I squealed, more like a teenager than a mature woman, and jumped up and rushed to him.

You wicked wicked man!” I exclaimed “You had me totally fooled.”

James laughed as he took me in his arms and kissed me. “Did you ever doubt for a moment that I would get the job?”

“Well I was a bit worried,” I replied. “I met the other applicant Anne Prior in a café in Hey at lunchtime.”

“I know, She told me when we were waiting for the board to make their decision. I think you might have scared her a bit. She told me you are a very formidable lady.”

“Formidable? Well I've been called many things before, but I think that's a first.”

“I think she meant it as a compliment. Anyway I have to agree with her, you can be quite formidable at times.”

“Well I don't feel formidable right at the moment – quite the reverse.” I murmured as I snuggled against James. He kissed me again, softly at first but with growing intensity and it was not long before we were heading to our bedroom.

Later, as we lay side by side on the bed regaining our breath, James said casually “By the way, I didn't get around to telling you that the selection committee decided that with the growing amount of work at the library we could do with two people to run it, so they offered Anne the position of Assistant Librarian.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did she take it?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“She asked for a day to consider the offer,” said James “But I think she would be quite good in that position.”

“You don't think it would be awkward, and she'd resent the fact that you got the top job?” I said carefully.

“Not at all,” replied James. Ah men! They just don't see the world the way we women see it. She'll take the position – I have no doubt about it. I'm going to have to handle this very carefully. I'm not jealous of her, there's no reason to be - yet, but she and James will spent a lot of time together and as I previously noted, she is a very pretty woman, and quite a bit younger than me.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

I feel so ashamed of what I have written in my journal and I'm sorely tempted to rip out the pages, but I made up my mind when I started keeping it that I would write what I felt at the time, and make later amendments if necessary. Looking back now it reads as though I don't trust James and that's not true at all. It also reads as though I lack confidence in my ability to hold his love and interest in the face of the first pretty woman who comes along, and I don't think that either. Jealousy is a nasty emotion, and it's ridiculous for me to be feeling it now when there isn't the slightest reason for it.

I think one word started this off – when Anne Prior said I was 'formidable'. I thought it made me sound like an 'old battle-axe' instead of an attractive woman, which is what I like to think I still am. Not beautiful of course, but still attractive – well in James's eyes at least and that is all that matters. I may be the owner of a large cattle station where the men call me 'Boss' without the slightest hint of irony, but I believe I am still very feminine. Perhaps I am hypersensitive because of how I started out in life. Anyway, when I am with James, and especially when we are in bed together, he is 'the boss' and that's exactly the way I like it to be.

I don't think it is wrong to say that women are more complex creatures than men. We can be many things, strong and assertive but also soft and gentle, switching moods in an instant, and that's what makes our sex so much more interesting, especially to men. After all, they wouldn't really find us attractive if we were just like them but with a few different 'bits and bobs'.

I've come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is to make a friend of Anne Prior, and why shouldn't that happen? I'll even invite her to the Station the next time we have a barbecue. After all, many of the stockmen are single and some are young and quite handsome!

Now I am going to put that little episode behind me and move on, but if I am honest with myself I will have to admit that it will stay there at the back of my mind.

Today was the dinner party for James's birthday. We flew down to Charleville in the early afternoon and took a taxi to the house.

“I do miss the old Landrover,” said James. “I guess I'll have to look around for another car soon.”

We unpacked our things and proceeded to get ready for the evening. James was kind enough to give me first use of the bathroom.

“I can never understand why women take so long to get ready,” James smiled.

“That's because we enjoy it so much,” I replied.

It's true of course. We do enjoy it, but then there's so much to enjoy. After a long soak in the bath, I wrapped myself in a couple of big towels and went into the second bedroom where I had laid out my clothes for the evening. I had brought along a beautiful pale green silk gown and also a set of gorgeous French lingerie, together with sheer nylon stockings and five inch heels. James is fully recovered from his accident now, so I was determined that the evening would not be ending with dinner!

I did my hair and make-up and then dressed with care. If I might be allowed a touch of self-satisfaction, I was greatly pleased with the image I viewed in the full-length mirror.

By now James had had his shower and was in the main bedroom dressing in his dinner suit as this was a real 'frock up' event. When he appeared and saw me he attempted a 'wolf whistle' – exactly the sort of reaction a girl wants! He's not the greatest whistler (but he's great at everything else!).

We took a taxi to the hotel and were the first ones there, but Jean and Jim soon arrived and they were really dressed up for the occasion too, and we complimented them on their appearance. The four other guests arrived soon after. Emily works at the library and she arrived with her partner Charlotte. This being Australia they go by the names 'Em' and 'Chas'. I knew about them of course and James knows me well enough not to ask if I minded a same sex couple being invited. Who would I be to object! The other couple was Martin, also a librarian, and Monica his wife. They have two young children who were staying with their grandparents for the night.

“I love them to bits of course,” Monica confided, “ but having a night off to ourselves is a real treat.” Something told me their celebrations wouldn't end with dinner either!

I've met Em and Martin briefly on a previous occasion at the library, although not their partners of course, but we all got on famously. Em had us in stitches as she described how she and Chas had visited the Brontë parsonage at Haworth in England and written their full names in the visitors' book with the comment. “So nice to visit the family home again.” I wonder what the Brontë Society made of that? I've been to the Brontë Parsonage myself when John and I went to Britain. I remember walking down the hill past the old cemetery with its ancient leaning gravestones, to the church where all the Brontës save Anne lie in the crypt. The last to die was Patrick who outlived his wife and all their children. He must have had a very strong constitution to avoid the diseases, especially tuberculosis which claimed the rest..

Em and Chas also explained to us how they had met at a lesbian speed dating event and their names had made an instant connection. Their parents could never have anticipated that!

Monica migrated from England with her parents and met Martin in Brisbane. It was quite a wrench for her to travel out to the bush when Martin secured the job in Charleville, but now she says she would never want to live in a big city again. She has visited Sydney and Melbourne but said she was only too happy to get back to Charleville – “except for the shops of course.”

After we had finished our main courses, I had a discrete nod from the Maitre d' which I relayed to Jim who said “Well I think it's present-giving time.”

He and Jean gave James a very stylish new cowboy hat, his old one having disappeared at the time of the accident, and everyone needs a hat in our fierce summer heat.

Em and Chas, knowing how much James loves books, produced a small parcel which when opened revealed an 1822 edition of 'Robinson Crusoe' in two leather-bound volumes. It's not a first edition of course – that would be very expensive, but it's still very old and in great condition for its age.

Monica and Martin then produced their present – a bottle of Penfolds Bin 150 Marananga Shiraz. They apologised that their budget didn't stretch to Grange Hermitage but said that the store had assured them it was a good vintage and would only improve with another few years storage. James was very pleased with all their presents.

Now it was my turn. As they all looked expectantly at me I stood up and began as follows:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do have a gift for James which I'm sorry to say is second-hand. There's also a problem in that I am unable to bring it to the table, so if you will follow me outside, all will be revealed.”

They all exchanged puzzled looks at my announcement, but nevertheless stood up and followed me out through the foyer to the front door of the hotel, and there, parked right in front was James's present.

“It's a Landrover!” he exclaimed, and then after a closer look at the number plate, “It's my Landrover!”

James turned to me with a questioning look as I broke into a smile.

“Well darling, like you I hated to think of the Landrover lying out there in the bush, especially knowing how much you loved it, so I had it brought back by the local panel beater and fixed up. With a bit of luck it's as good as new – maybe even better. Anyway, here are the keys, why don't you start her up?”

James was beaming as he took the keys, opened the door and swung himself into the driver's seat. As he looked at me there were tears in his eyes. He really loves that old car. He turned the key and the car started first time and seemed to positively purr. James sat there for a moment, then turned the motor off and got out.

Taking me in his arms he kissed me - ignoring the cheers of our party.

“Thank you so much darling,” he said. “Well, I'm certainly not going to have too much to drink tonight because I want to drive us home.”

With that we went back into the hotel for our desserts and also some dancing. As he held me close, James whispered in my ear “This is a truly wonderful evening. I love all my presents, but getting the Landrover back is something I never thought would happen. Thank you so much my darling, you're a woman in a million.”

It was a wonderful evening and one I'll never forget. About eleven o'clock we called it a night and made our farewells. James and I climbed into the Landrover. I hadn't had an opportunity to see it since it was rescued from the bush, but I was pleased to see what a wonderful job the garage had made of restoring it. It really did look almost like new.

James drove back to his house very cautiously. True to his word he had been careful not to drink too much, as we didn't want the evening to end with a ticket. Country towns tend to be fairly quiet at night and we saw very few other cars on our way back.

Once in the house we had a nightcap and then it was time for bed. Once I removed my gown, James expressed his pleasure at how I appeared in my French lingerie and of course I told him that I had one more present for him! I don't think there is really any need to go into details, but let me just say that we enjoyed a very pleasant time to conclude James's birthday!

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

With apologies to Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknowledged that the task of organising a wedding devolves principally on the 'bride to be'. As far as the groom is concerned, his duties are few – to arrive at the arranged place on the right date and time; to be appropriately dressed; to be sober (and without a hangover), and to have made sure that his Best Man has the ring or rings. The rest is up to the bride and it is quite a big event to organise, especially for an older bride like me who doesn't have parents or siblings to help her.

I have decided to have a traditional country wedding. The ceremony will take place in the local church, and we will then repair to the church hall where the ladies of the Country Womens' Association will provide the sort of banquet which would cost at least five times as much in any city venue. A local trio will provide music and that will be so much better than hiring a DJ. Who knows, I might even persuade James to sing!

Well prior to the chosen date I have had a few important things to organise. I have been in touch with Melissa and asked her to be my 'Maid of Honour', and she has accepted with great delight. The wedding will take place a fortnight before she goes to Sydney for her surgery, so I hope that will take her mind off it. We recently has a long telephone discussion about her surgery and what to expect. I laid it on the line while trying not to frighten her in any way. Reassignment surgery is fairly major, but at least she does not need any breast enhancement as her hormones have had the desired effect and she now has a nice B cup bosom.

I asked Jack's wife Mary to be the 'Matron of Honour' and she seemed quite thrilled at the idea. Meanwhile on James's side he asked his friend Martin to be 'Best Man' and we decided to ask Jack to be Groomsman, thus balancing up the numbers. One final thing needed to be arranged and that was who was to 'give me away'. In my mind there was only one possible person for the job, and that was the man who had known me the longest time of all in Australia – Tom.

I have not seem Tom for a few months, and when I heard a rumour that he has not been too well, I made up my mind to go and see him as soon as possible. I certainly didn't want to put any strain on him, so I rang his wife Ellen first of all and asked her how he was and about my proposal.

“Tom hasn't been the greatest,” she responded to my query, “He's getting on as you know. He wasn't well recently and he went to the doctor much against his will. Well you know what men are like. It seems he is developing heart failure.”

This revelation came as a shock to me. I suppose we expect our friends to live for ever.

“I was going to ask him to give me away at my wedding,” I said. “Do you think in the circumstances it would be better for you both to just come along as guests?”

“Not at all,” responded Ellen, “He would be thrilled to be asked. I know that you and he are very old friends and he would be so proud to have a part in your wedding.” She paused for a moment and then said “ I'll be honest with you Lesley – we don't really know how long he has left, so we take it one day at a time. This will give him something to look forward to and I'm as sure as I can be that he'll be there on the day.”

I trust Ellen's judgment. She is a retired nurse after all. It's true of course that the power of the mind over the body is a wonderful thing. I only had to think of how Tom's first wife Jenny hung on until she could see and hold her granddaughter. That gave me another thought.

“Do you think that Tom's granddaughter Danielle would like to be a flower girl?” I asked. “It's not going to be a really fancy wedding – I won't be wearing white, I'm thinking more cream; but I do know how little girls love to dress up for occasions like weddings.”

“Indeed they do, and she's seven now. Look why don't you call over for afternoon tea in the next couple of days and ask him both things?” Ellen said.

Danielle seven! So it's seven years since Jenny passed away. That's hard to believe, but they do say that as you get older time passes more quickly.

I called over to see Tom and Ellen today. Ellen let me in and told me Tom was sitting outside sunning himself in the back garden. Then she went off and busied herself in the kitchen. I confess I was shocked when I saw Tom. In the couple of months since I last saw him he had visibly aged. I hoped he hadn't noticed my reaction but his first words dashed that.

He held out his hand to me and said “Lesley, my dear, it's so good to see you. I'm afraid old Tom isn't what he was.”

“Please don't say that Tom, I'm sure you've a lot of life left in you yet.”

He smiled, or was it a grimace?

“Nice of you to say so, but the doc seems to think otherwise.”

“Well, doctors don't know everything, and anyway I came to see you with a special request. You know I'm getting married in a couple of months. You are my oldest friend, and I would really like you to give me away.”

This time Tom's smile was genuine.

“Why of course I would. In fact I'd be delighted. Just tell me the date and time and I'll be there.”

“Good,” I replied. “You wouldn't believe how much time and effort goes into organising a wedding and that's something for me to cross off my list. There is one more thing – do you think your granddaughter Danielle would like to be a flower girl?”

Tom grinned “Just try and stop her! That's a wonderful idea Lesley, Jenny would have been so proud. Did you know she has a young brother now, six months old, and guess what – they called him Tom.”

I smiled back. “That's wonderful Tom, I didn't know you had a grandson too. I must be slipping. I hear Danielle's seven now – how time flies.”

For a moment a shadow passed over Tom's face. “I remember when she was born. Jenny insisted she would hold her granddaughter and she did. What a fighter she was.”

'Just like you my old friend,' I thought but I did not say it. 'Ellen was right. I believe you'll hang on until you walk me down the aisle.'

I smiled at him and touched his hand gently, gnarled from all those years of hard work but warm and comforting. Tom grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I'll ring Angela and ask her tomorrow,” Tom said. “I'm sure she'll say yes.”

“Please tell her that she and Brad are invited of course, and ask her to chose a pretty dress for Danielle and I'll reimburse her the cost. She'll want to know what colour I'm wearing, so tell her I'm looking at cream silk.”

I suddenly stopped, looking at the confusion on Tom's face and started to laugh. “Maybe I'd better write it down or tell Ellen. What do you think?”

He laughed in turn. “Yes I think you'd better tell Ellen – I'm not too flash on women's fashions.”

As if on cue, Ellen appeared at the door and asked if we'd like a cup of tea.

“Yes please,” we said in unison.

“I'll come and help you,” I said, getting up.

In the kitchen I confirmed with Ellen that Tom had said 'yes' to both my suggestions and described what I was proposing for my wedding dress.

“It's entirely up to Angela what dress she buys for Danielle, but I know flower girls are often dressed in a similar colour to the bride.”

“It's going to be a lovely occasion,” said Ellen. “Don't you worry about Tom. Come Hell or high water, he'll be there.”

We carried out the tea and scones to the garden and sat there contentedly chatting. I told them about the birthday dinner and how James now had his Landrover back again.

“He's lucky to be getting a wife like you,” said Tom.

“I think I'm the lucky one,” I replied. “First John and now James – how lucky can a woman be?”

I truly believe that.

Hey is quite a good country town, but in the area of 'haut couture' it is a bit lacking. I'm joking of course, but I did know that if I wanted to find a dress for myself and my two attendants at our wedding, a trip to Brisbane was required. I contacted Melissa to find out which Saturday she would be free and then checked with Jack's wife Mary. Fortunately they were both able to make this past Saturday, as time is not on my side, so we arranged for it to be a 'girls' weekend' .

Mary and I flew down early Saturday morning and Melissa drove out to Archerfield to pick us up. That saved some time in itself. I had absolutely no qualms about Mary meeting Melissa who is now as far as anyone can see an extremely attractive young lady. I had explained to Mary that her partner John was a distant relative, and that sufficed. Melissa had of course been told of the supposed 'relationship' in advance.

We started off with coffee in a city café while we decided on our plans. I had told them both that I would really like them to chose dresses which they could wear on occasions other than my wedding day, and that I had in mind to find something in cream silk for myself. Then followed a wonderful day of shopping where we visited probably every boutique in town, stopping only for a light lunch and to rest our feet.

In the end I settled for a classic ivory silk gown with a straight silhouette design and delicate detailing around the waistline. Mary and Melissa chose dresses of slightly differing designs in subtle shades of pink both of which complimented my dress perfectly. When we lined up in front of the mirror I thought we looked really classy! Need I say that we found all three dresses at the first boutique we visited, but in order to make sure there was nothing better elsewhere, we visited at least half a dozen other establishments before returning to the first one, satisfied that it had what we wanted.

The next thing was to buy matching shoes, and another happy couple of hours was spent trawling through several shoe shops, but we finally all found the perfect shoes to complement our dresses.

Finally we went to a lingerie boutique and I indulged myself by buying an exquisite set of French underwear from Coquette in white, with stockings of course. The girls asked me to model it and blushing (as usual) I declined. They assured me that James will be bowled over when he sees me wearing it. I hope they are right!

To complete the day, Melissa and John had invited us back to their place for dinner, and after a very enjoyable evening, Mary and I took a taxi back to the hotel. I had offered to book Mary her own room, but she insisted that we should not waste money and instead we had a room with two single beds. She was even more certain she had made the right decision when she saw the price of her dress, despite me trying to keep the tag away from her. After all, despite John and I being as good as married, this was my first actual wedding, so I wanted it to be truly memorable. Shopping can really be exhausting, so sleep was not long in coming once we went to bed.

The following morning we called at Angela's house to see the dress she had purchased for Danielle who was bouncing with excitement at the thought of taking part in her first wedding. We were also introduced to young Tom who is a gorgeous baby. He chuckled and gurgled when he saw us, and of course we all had to hold him. It's crazy I know, but it's times like those that I wish so much that I could have had a baby of my own. Still we can't have everything we want in life, and I have been so lucky that I mustn't be greedy.

Angela had chosen a pretty dress for Danielle, which turned out to be more ivory than cream and so goes perfectly with my revised choice of wedding dress colour. I have not seen Danielle since she was a week old, and they brought her out to Hey so that Jenny her dying grandmother could meet her. She has developed into a really pretty little girl, so well-mannered and I'm sure she will be a perfect addition to the wedding party. I have been to weddings where flower girls and page boys have just about wrecked the ceremony by misbehaving, but Danielle is very mature for her age and I'm sure she will be fine. Angela is aware of her father's health issues so she intends to stay for a while with him while Brad will go back to Brisbane to work.

After that it was back to Archerfield to pick up the Cessna and fly back home after a great weekend.

I visited Tom and Ellen today, just two days after returning from Brisbane. I thought Tom looked a little better. He certainly brightened up when I gave him prints of some photos of Angela and his two grandchildren which I had taken on my visit.

Tom had something else on his mind too.

“I've been thinking about my old mail truck 'Sheila' that's sitting next to the garage with a tarp over it,” he said. “You remember that old film 'Back of Beyond' about Tom Kruse who delivered mail along the Birdsville Track?”

“Indeed I do,” I replied. “They showed it here in the church hall some years back.”

“Well I'm not famous like him. No-one made a film about me, but I did much the same sort of thing in old 'Sheila'. I was thinking it would be great if we had a little museum in Hey to record the history of all that's happened here and how the town has grown. Maybe 'Sheila' could be one of the exhibits”

“That's a great idea, Tom,” I replied. “By the way, you're wrong about not being in a film. Have you forgotten that years ago I went out with you and shot some 16mm film on John's movie camera as you delivered mail?”

“Why so you did, Lesley. I'd forgotten all about that.”

“I'd love to show it to you again, but that projector is so darn heavy to lug around. Maybe I could get James to bring it down. Another thought is that I could get a video copy made of it in Brisbane, and if we had a museum it could be shown there too.”

Tom was looking really animated now. “Do you think it's a 'goer' Lesley?”

“Yes Tom. I promise you it will be at the top of my list of priorities once I get this wedding over with.”

He smiled at me. “Bless you Lesley,” he said. “You're one in a million.”

Maybe it sounds like boasting to record a remark like that, but it makes me so proud that someone like Tom thinks that of me. I'm going to make that museum happen, and Tom's name will be there too. I just hope he lives to see it, but to be honest that may not happen.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

I'm writing this while sitting on the sundeck of the ship that is taking us on a cruise. My husband James (what a wonderful thing to be able to write 'my husband') is taking part in a table tennis tournament on the games deck. What stamina he has! It's made me blush to write that. I on the other hand felt like a quiet afternoon to restore my energy. More blushes, but I'm writing about all the energy I expended in organising our wedding of course!

I had no idea where we were going for our honeymoon. All James would tell me was that I had to fly us to Brisbane, and it wasn't until we took a taxi to Portside Wharf that he revealed what we were doing – taking a fourteen day cruise to New Zealand on the 'Pacific Princess'. It's a place I've always wanted to visit.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself as usual. First I'm going to record everything about our wedding while it is still fresh in my mind.

The arranging of a wedding puts me in mind of the amount of organisation involved in the D-Day landings. I used to smile when, while walking through fashion boutiques I saw young women, obviously brides to be, carrying a ring binder crammed full of papers, but now I am much more sympathetic. James was a real treasure. Far from leaving me to do almost all the organising, he took an active role which was a wonderful help, but I still had a lot to do as any bride will tell you.

One of the more difficult things about organising a wedding is who to invite and who not to invite. My only relatives in Australia are my cousin Marie's son Michael who, together with his wife Sarah, their son Jason and daughter Maureen live in Sydney. Naturally I invited them and they decided that they would drive up to Hey, towing their caravan and make a holiday of it. I phoned and invited my cousin Marie and her husband Michael in England of course, not expecting they could make it, but I was thrilled when they decided to come, even though it was at relatively short notice. For them of course it was also an opportunity to catch up with Michael and his family whom they haven't seen since they were last in England a couple of years ago. Thank goodness the 'tyranny of distance' is no longer what it was thanks to air travel.

While James was an only child, he has three uncles and an aunt scattered around the country. The uncles in West Australia and Melbourne felt it too far to come, but Uncle Henry in Newcastle and Aunty Kate in Rockhampton accepted our invitation, as did two of James's cousins, Phoebe in Rockhampton who would accompany her mother, and Maurie in Sydney, Henry's son. We booked them some rooms in the local hotel. One more task to cross off the list.

James has a few more friends in Charlevlle he wanted to invite and I of course have made many friends over the years I've lived near Hey, so the number of guests very quickly rose to nearly fifty. We also asked James's new assistant Anne Prior. This would be a good opportunity for her to meet some of the locals.

Three days before our wedding our special guests started to arrive. I didn't have time to fly down to Brisbane to bring back Angela, Brad and Danielle, plus Melissa and John, but fortunately one of my neighbours Steve Renshaw kindly offered to do it for me. I've known Steve for many years and even worked with him teaching flying, especially to local women. Steve said he had to go to Brisbane anyway, but I'm not sure if that's strictly true and think he was just being very kind. Steve and his wife were guests of course. We have plenty of room in the homestead, having seven bedrooms, so it was quite easy for the wedding party and their relatives to stay with us.

Two evenings before the wedding, James and I held a special dinner at the homestead for the wedding party and their families. We had a wonderful time, and I had arranged a surprise for Tom which I kept a secret until the meal was finished. We have some very large rooms in the homestead and I led the guests into one of them which had been turned into a temporary cinema, with the old 16mm projector set up one end of the room, a big screen at the other, and enough seats for all the guests. The moment he saw it Tom twigged what it was all about, but I introduced the film with a little speech for the other guests.

“Some of you will have seen the famous film from the nineteen fifties called “The Back of Beyond” about the mailman Tom Kruse who travelled the Birdsville Track, delivering and picking up mail and goods to the remote cattle stations. The last time I visited our Tom here I was reminded that years ago I shot a short 16mm film of the mail run that he used to do. None of us have seen it in quite a while, so with the help of James who provided the muscle to get that monster projector up on its stand, we are going to watch again “Tom of the Inland Mail”. Everyone cheered and then watched entranced as the lights were lowered and a much younger Tom and his faithful truck 'Sheila' appeared on the screen. It was silent of course, and I confess I used the original 'Back of Beyond” as a template for my production but no-one seemed to mind that. There was even one shot of a young Lesley opening a gate for the truck, something which I was later to realise would trigger a memory in Tom's mind The audience loved the film and there was huge applause at the end, and a demand that we run it again.

Tom gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for going to all that trouble,” he said. “It was great to see myself so young and fit there on the screen.”

“I'm going to get it put on video and give you a copy,” I replied.

It's a convention that brides and grooms don't spend their wedding eve night together, and as far as the bride is concerned there is a good reason for this. Well, probably a few good reasons, but one is that she wants her wedding dress to be a surprise for the groom, and this probably won't happen if he's in the same house. James was going to stay in the local motel, but Ellen and Tom offered him the use of their spare room for a night. Angela's family were going to move there after the wedding, but for the wedding day it was more practical for them to be at the homestead as Danielle was part of the wedding party and needed to be there for the preparations.

Hey now has a beauty parlour and I had booked Elise and Melody the co-owners to come out to the homestead on the morning of the wedding to professionally attend to our hair and make-up. Even Danielle was going to be allowed a little makeup and lipstick as a special treat. She is a very feminine little girl and was so excited to be joining the 'grown ups' as we all got ready.

The wedding bouquets had been delivered to the beauty parlour for the girls to bring out with them, and the florist had agreed to call at the church to make sure that the button holes for the men were securely attached in position. Was there anything I'd forgotten? I don't think so!

Jack's wife Mary came over, and we all settled into the master bedroom with the ensuite. Meanwhile Brad and Mark were shown around the other station buildings by Jack, since the men only need a fraction of the time that we women needed to get ready. Having them out of the house meant we could also use the bathroom as well and run around the house in a state of undress as needed. Speaking of 'undress', it did concern me a little that Melissa might just possibly be revealed as 'different' to the other women present, but I needn't have worried. After taking her shower, she appeared in her underwear including a very pretty full slip before putting on her dress, and there was absolutely nothing about her to suggest that she was anything other than a genetic young woman.

The highlight of getting ready was when we finally donned our gowns. I know that sounds a bit old-fashioned, but how much nicer it sounds than 'putting on a dress'. Wearing something really special feels so wonderful, and from my special bridal lingerie to my ivory silk wedding gown, and now taking my wedding bouquet in my hands I felt every inch a bride. Every woman should get the chance to experience that moment.

Melissa looked at me and almost whispered "Lesley, you look wonderful."

As I looked at myself in the full-length mirror I replied "Thank you my dear. You look fabulous yourself and so does Mary. I think we make a rather splendid wedding party."

Mary said "I haven't felt so special in ages, not since I was my sister's bridesmaid, and that's a while ago."

Later, when we were alone for a moment, Melissa said "I hope you will be my Matron on Honour." and I responded "It will indeed be an honour and a great pleasure."

Five hours of hair-dressing and make-up had passed by the time the men knocked on the door of the homestead, having got ready in Jack's house. They had to cool their heels for another fifteen minutes before we finally let them in. However their reaction to how we girls looked showed was most satisfying.

Jack is no bush poet. He said "Geez girls....." and left it at that but those two words spoke volumes.

Martin was a little more loquacious "You all look amazing. Lesley, James is going to be stunned."

"So all that time wasn't wasted?" I smiled.

"Absolutely not!"

I had hired the local photographer Terry, and his friend Vince who would shoot video, so now of course came the first photo and video session. I know it may sound like I was going over the top but this was to be my one and only wedding and I wanted it to be properly recorded. Other couples have told me that everything goes so fast on a wedding day that it's only when they see the photos and video that they remember everything that happened. While they started work, Elise and Melody checked over Jack and Martin to make sure they were perfectly presented. I don't know what they did, but when the men joined us ten minutes later for more group shots and their individual portraits, they looked that little bit extra sharp and presentable, like a car after a cut and polish if that doesn't sound like an odd way of putting it.

After concluding the shooting Terry and Vince took off to be down at Hey before we arrived.

In keeping with the 'country wedding' theme, I had hired a twelve-seat mini-bus, there being ten of us to transport to town. Elise and Melody were guests too and would be on hand for any last minute touching up of our makeup. The bus arrived on time and I was pleased to see that the owner-driver Neil had taken great care to present it in sparking condition. Nevertheless some sheets were spread over the seats to be occupied by the bridal party – 'just in case'.

Part of the plan was that Ellen was dropping James off at the church and he promised to stay in the vestry when he heard the bus arrive with Martin and Jack. The recently arrived new vicar, a very nice young man called Harry would be giving them their last minute instructions. Then we drove to Tom and Ellen's house to pick them up and take them back to the church. The whole arrangement went like clockwork and we arrived at the church exactly five minutes past the hour in keeping with tradition.

We lined up in the church porch in order and as the strains of Wagner's famous Bridal chorus started to ring out, Danielle with enormous self-confidence started slowly down the aisle scattering rose petals. She was followed by Melissa, then Mary and finally myself on the arm of Tom. We took it slowly. I was smiling and Tom was beaming with pride. I will never forget that moment, especially when James, Martin and Jack turned to watch us coming up the aisle. The look on James's face made all the hard work of organising the day worthwhile.

When we arrived before the altar, Harry the vicar stepped forward and started those age-old words we all know so well.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony....”

When he came to the part where he said “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?', Tom who was standing beside me replied “I do.” The he surprised me with a courtly gesture, raising my hand to his lips. I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, whispering “Thank you old friend.” Tom then took his place in the pew and the ceremony continued in the traditional manner. Perhaps the only break from that tradition was after we made our vows, had exchanged rings and James was told that he might now kiss the bride, we kissed with more enthusiasm than usual and a ripple of amusement swept through the church.

After we had signed the documents and register, we started down the aisle to the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, smiling broadly and exchanging kisses with family and friends. Then came the photographs – every combination of the wedding party that Terry the photographer could think of, and especially of James and me of course, while his friend Vince continued to record everything on video.

Once all the photographs were finished, we walked over to the church hall where all the guests were now seated and awaiting our arrival. I had booked the local branch of the Country Womens Association to do the catering for our reception. They are all excellent cooks of course besides their many other attributes. In fact they have an unofficial motto “It's not just tea and scones”. Three of them had drawn lots to cook the three tiers of our wedding cake, and one of the ladies is a wonderful cake decorator. They supply almost every wedding cake in the district, and having seen their work I was in no doubt that they should make ours which was now on its own special stand and looking magnificent.

After the wedding party was introduced by the M.C. Steve, we took our places at the top table and the reception began. It followed the usual course, and this of course included the speeches. In our case where both of us had been married before and lost our partners, in James's case in tragic circumstances, then the speakers need to be careful in what they said.

Steve announced the speeches and started with the Loyal Toast which is traditional in the country. Since there was no senior family member, he followed it by a toast to the bride and groom.

James stood up and spoke next, with compliments about how I and the girls looked, not forgetting Danielle, and how lucky he was to have met such a lovely lady. (Blushes from me of course.) He mentioned his new job as Hey's librarian and said he was looking forward to meeting everyone when they called in. As Miss Marks was present, he was too diplomatic to say that he had big plans for the library, but I know he has. He then proposed a toast to the bridal party.

Martin as Best Man responded with a very nice and short speech saying he had known James for many years and was so pleased to learn that he had met someone he wanted to marry. He made some complimentary marks about me and said he knew we would have a very happy life together.

At this point Tom stood up and said he would like to say a few words. As far as I can recall them they went like this.

“Today, I was given the great honour of taking part in Lesley and James's wedding, by 'giving away the bride', which is an ancient tradition, dating back to the times when a young woman was considered the property of her father. (Laughter) Of course, no woman today really needs to be 'given away', but I took it as a great compliment when Lesley effectively asked me to step in for her late father, a fine man whom I had the pleasure of meeting when he and his late wife came out to Australia.

“Another tradition at wedding receptions is to say something to embarrass either the bride or groom! Now I've only recently met James and even in the short time I've known him I can tell that he too is a fine man and he and Lesley will have a wonderful life together. So that leaves Lesley, and now I can tell you an embarrassing story. It dates back to the very first day that she arrived here to work at Mackenzie Station, and I was reminded of the incident when Lesley showed us a film the other night.

She had been dropped off at the train halt and it was a moderately warm day, about a hundred and five degrees. I don't know if the train was early or I was late, but she sat there for about an hour with only the tin shed for shade and I think she was already imagining the vultures circling when I arrived. She didn't know at that stage that we don't have vultures in Australia of course! (More laughter) Well, she hopped into the truck cabin and we started off for the Station. She had no idea of the distances involved, but eventually we came to the boundary fence and I asked her to open the gate. She hopped out and opened the gate and then to my surprise got back into the truck! (By now the guests were chortling at every sentence.) Well of course I had to put her right about leaving every gate the way you find it!

“That was her first lesson in station management, but you would have to say that she was a quick learner and had the last laugh, because she now owns and manages one of the best cattle stations in the State. (“Hear, hear” from the audience and wild applause.) So in conclusion, as the oldest guest here today, I would like you to charge your glasses again and join me in a toast – 'To Lesley and James'.”

It was now my turn to rise to my feet. It might not be a tradition for the bride to speak, but it's happening more often nowadays, and why not?

“Thank you Tom. I know I shouldn't have shown you that old film and stirred your memory! I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has come here today to join in our wedding celebrations. From those who have come the furthest, like my cousin Marie and her husband Michael all the way from England, to those who only had come come down the road; it is wonderful to see you all.

As you know, this is a second marriage for both James and myself, and I think we both feel so wonderfully lucky that we have found love again. Love is so precious and to be given another chance at happiness is a gift to be treasured. James said some very complimentary things about me in his speech and I would like to say something in return. He is as Tom said a very fine man and I count myself the luckiest woman alive to have met him and gained his love, so although it's a break from tradition, I would now like you to charge your glasses and toast - “The Groom”.

I looked down at James and saw that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears, so I bent down and kissed him.

The mood had become a little solemn, so Steve the M.C., stepped in and announced that it was now time to cut the wedding cake, which we did to the cheers of the guests. Then the band struck up for the wedding waltz. I love dancing and it was so wonderful to be held in James's arms as we waltzed around the floor. Soon we were joined by the wedding party and then the guests. When the second waltz started, James said that he had something to do and would I like to dance with Tom? We walked over to their table and Tom said he would be delighted to dance with the bride. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what James was up to, and it was confirmed when after the next waltz, Denis the band leader announced that they had a special guest singer to perform for us.

“We can't bring you the original, but we can bring you his namesake. Ladies and gentlemen, James Taylor.”

James appeared on the stage to great applause and the band struck up my favourite Buddy Holly song “Everyday” which the 'original' James Taylor has reworked so well.

“Everyday, things are getting closer,
Going faster than a roller-coaster,
Loves like yours will surely come my way....”

Tom smiled at me as we moved around the floor. “He's a talented man this new husband of yours.”

“Indeed he is, oh and by the way, I forgive you for telling that story about the station gate from all those years ago. I guess these things come back to haunt us, a bit like Elizabeth the First and the Earl of Oxford.”

Tom looked at me quizzically “You've lost me there,” he said.

“It comes from John Aubrey's diary that he wrote back in the sixteen hundreds. It seems the Earl was at court one day and while making a deep bow to the Queen he 'let forth a fart' in Aubrey's words. He was so ashamed that he left England and travelled abroad for seven years. After that time he returned and presented himself at court again and the Queen greeted him by saying. “My Lord, you should not have stayed away so long. We had quite forgot the fart.”

Tom roared with laughter. “Lesley you never cease to surprise me.”

His face took on a serious look. “Look, I'd like you to promise me something. If anything.....happens while you're away, don't come rushing back. Enjoy your honeymoon, you deserve it.”

“Oh Tom, please don't ask me to do that. I'm only away two weeks.” I could feel tears starting in my eyes.

Tom looked remorseful “I'm sorry Lesley, I shouldn't have asked you that. Forget I said it. Will you forgive me?”

I managed a smile, even though my heart felt a chill. “There's nothing to forgive. You're right though, I am looking forward to getting away for a couple of weeks – just me and James. It will be heaven wherever it is, and do you know he hasn't told me?”

“He told me,” replied Tom, “but only on the condition of the strictest secrecy. Take my word though, you're going to enjoy it.”

We continued our dance, chatting away. I had made a special request of the band that they not play too loud. I've been at dances where everyone had to shout to make themselves heard. This was a special time for me as I suspect I might not have the opportunity to dance with Tom again.

I've lost count of the number of people I danced with over the next few hours, but around midnight we called it a day. I looked over to Angela and Danielle was asleep on her lap. Tom and Ellen had gone home an hour before.

“Lesley, we've had wonderful time,” said Ellen. “It's a day we'll always remember, but Tom is tired and I think it's time to get him home.”

I walked over to where Tom was sitting and he looked grey with fatigue.

“Thank you for all you did today Tom. We're only away two weeks and I'll come and see you when we return.”

He stood up and we hugged and I kissed him on the cheek, and I kissed Ellen too. I stood there watching them as they left the hall, Tom leaning heavily on Ellen.

The bus came back and all the wedding party except James and I got on board to be taken back to the Station. James had booked a room in the local hotel for our wedding night, which was one of the most wonderful we had spent together despite us being rather tired after all the events of the day. There's something special about married life.

The following morning we returned to the Station to farewell our guests and make arrangements to see them again. Marie and Michael were going back with their son and family in their caravan, and we are going to see them in Sydney after our return. I was flying the others back to Brisbane, except for Alison and Danielle who are staying with Tom and Ellen for a couple of weeks, as James had told me that was where our honeymoon was starting. According to him, I should get a job as a field marshal after all my wedding arrangements had gone so smoothly. Quite a compliment!

That brings me up to date. The ship is taking us on a tour of New Zealand where we are stopping off at various points to go ashore and enjoy the wonderful scenery that the country has to offer. It's going to be a great trip.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

Tuesday

Day ten of our voyage. I awoke early this morning, just as it was starting to get light. James was sleeping deeply, but I felt strangely disturbed, and after lying there for a while, I slipped out of bed, put on my robe and walked to the window which provides a panoramic view. The weather had changed during the night and the wind was whipping spray from the long lines of choppy waves. I glanced up at the sky which was leaden in colour. I remembered a phrase from a favourite poem - ”a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking”. I shivered despite the warmth of the cabin, and slipped back into bed. James half-awoke and put his arm around me and I snuggled against his warm body.

The trip has been wonderful and exceeded my expectations. It doesn't matter how many films and photos you see, there is nothing like actually being in a place, and what a place New Zealand is, with some of the most spectacular scenery anywhere in the world.

We've visited Fjordland, seen spectacular Aoraki/Mt Cook, New Zealand's highest mountain, and called at Dunedin which in many ways resembles a Scottish city. Stopping at the port of Lyttelton, we were taken to Christchurch, which is very English in appearance. This is all due to the influence of the early British settlers of course. The small river flowing through Christchurch is even called the 'Avon' and there is a statue of the explorer Robert Falcon Scott who left from Lyttelton on his ill-fated final voyage to the Antarctic.

Heading to the North Island, yesterday we visited Wellington, the capital city, and we are now heading north to our final destination Auckland, before sailing back to Brisbane. The North Island is very volcanic and we are to visit Rotarua which has some spectacular thermal activity. It's a very different place to the South Island.

James is a good table tennis player and has been taking part in a tournament which winds up tomorrow, so today he is playing in the semi-finals and I will be going to watch him, which he says will give him inspiration to win. What a sweet man he is. Despite being surrounded by several hundred other people, in some ways it's been like a holiday on our own. We laze around each day, reading or playing deck games; if the weather is cool we can take in a movie in the ship's theatre/cinema. We dine spectacularly in the evenings, and sometimes take in a show. I can understand why some people get addicted to cruising. Then of course there are the nights, and what can I say about them? Being married seems to have added a whole new dimension to our intimacy, and we are enjoying getting to know each other even more.

Wednesday

James was into the final of the table tennis tournament to be played this morning. I was going to watch him play - he calls me his 'good luck charm' and while he went to the games deck after breakfast, I returned to our cabin to pick up a cardigan as the day was cool. Slipped under the cabin door was an envelope addressed to Mrs L. Taylor. For a moment I thought it had been left in the wrong place, and then smiled to myself. It takes a while to get used to a new surname. I opened it and my heart sank. The stark capital letters read as follows:

REGRET TO INFORM YOU TOM PASSED AWAY MONDAY NIGHT. FUNERAL FRIDAY. ELLEN.

I don't blame Ellen for how the message sounded. Doubtless it had been shortened for radio transmission. I didn't have a computer with me and mobile phones are no use while at sea, so this was the only way of reaching us. I sat down on the bed and stared into space for a while. Of course it wasn't totally unexpected, but somehow I'd fooled myself into thinking that it wouldn't happen, or at least not yet.

I couldn't bring myself to go and watch James play. He'd know immediately something was wrong and it would only distract him, so instead I walked to the upper deck and stood at the rail staring down at the waves, and no longer holding back the tears. Dear Tom. He had been like a father figure to me, especially since John passed away. Now my three dearest friends from my early years in Australia were all gone.

James found me of course – somehow he always seems to know where I am. When he saw my face he put his arms around me and said “Tom?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice still a little shaky. “Monday night.”

“Poor darling,” he said. “I know how fond of him you were.”

“The funeral is Friday. Can we get back in time?” I asked.

“We dock in Auckland tomorrow morning. I'll go and check with the ship's administration department. I'm sure they can radio ahead and book us a flight back.”

“I'm sorry James,” I said. “I know how much you are enjoying New Zealand.”

“We can come back,” he replied. “New Zealand will always be here. Now how about I take you back to our cabin. You can have a hot drink and a lie down and I'll fix up about our return to Hey.”

James is amazing. I am so used to sorting out other people's problems and it is a real treat to have someone sort out mine.

I did as he suggested and in no time he was back to tell me the ship was docking at seven in the morning and he had arranged for us to be booked on a flight which leaves at ten a.m. We would be back in Brisbane just before noon. It's nearly a four hour flight, but New Zealand is two hours ahead of Brisbane, so we pick up that time. James had also managed to get a message through to Archerfield telling them we were coming back early and to please have the Cessna ready by early tomorrow afternoon. The man is a genius! But there was more.

“I hope you don't mind, but I sent a message to Ellen on behalf of both of us, expressing our deepest sympathy to the family and telling her we are returning late Thursday.”

“Of course I don't mind darling, you've thought of everything.”

He smiled “Well that's what husbands are for.”

“I forgot to ask you how the table tennis final went.”

“Oh I lost,” he said, “But it was a close thing and Dave's a very good player.”

He didn't seem at all concerned. I wondered if he had been distracted wondering where I had been.

I had a quiet time for the rest of the day. We had a meal in our cabin as I didn't feel like facing the restaurant with its cheerful chatter.

Thursday

I packed most of our things last night, and we got up at five-thirty for an early breakfast. The crew were very good and arranged for us to leave the ship as soon as we had docked. We were hurried through Customs who had been notified of the situation, and then we took a taxi to Auckland Airport. I'm sure emergencies happen to other people too, but I must say everyone has been so kind and thoughtful.

We were at the airport just after eight o'clock and in good time for boarding the aircraft. We settled into our seats and were ready for a snooze after getting up so early. I've often wondered what it would be like to fly a big airliner, but for now I was content to have someone else at the controls. The flight passed quickly enough and after a light lunch and a doze it seemed no time before we were descending to land in Brisbane.

I cannot praise James enough. When I heard the news about Tom I was so emotional, but he had taken charge and dealt with everything and now I was feeling quite calm. In a way I even felt a little ashamed. Was I being selfish to have Tom's death affect me so much. How must it be for his family? I was a good friend but they are his relatives, and I thought of poor little Danielle and how she must feel losing her Grandpa. Speaking of family, it did occur to me that Brad might have needed a lift back to Hey, but when I dialed his home and mobile numbers I could not get an answer, so I deduced that he must be on his way to Hey, or perhaps was already there.

We took a taxi to Archerfield and true to their word the Cessna was ready for us and already rolled out on the tarmac. It felt comfortable to be at the controls with something to concentrate on, and it wasn't long before we were back at the Station. Jack met us when the aircraft rolled to a stop. His face was serious. Of course like so many people he had known Tom well.

“I'm so glad you were able to get back in time for Tom's funeral,” he said. “I took a message from Ellen. She asked if you could ring her when you got back.”

“Thanks, Jack. I know it wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was still a shock to get the news.”

I don't think anyone is comfortable contacting someone who has just suffered a bereavement; word seem so inadequate. I dialed the number and Ellen answered. She sounded very calm and that helped me.

“Ellen, it's Lesley. I just got back. I was so sorry to hear the news about Tom.”

“Lesley, thank you for coming back early. I know Tom tried to tell you not to come back, but when he saw it was upsetting you, he said he backed off.”

“Oh Ellen, I couldn't have not come back. I know Tom understood that. How are you all managing, especially Danielle?”

“She's very upset of course, but she had a good cry and she's settled down now. In fact we all had a good cry. Tom passed very peacefully though and that is a blessing. It was about four o'clock in the morning.”

I caught my breath. That would have been about six o'clock in New Zealand, the very time I had woken up on Tuesday. Ellen didn't seem to have noticed anything because she continued “Could I ask a favour of you Lesley? I know what great friends you and Tom were, and I wondered if you would speak at the service tomorrow?”

“Yes of course,” I replied.

“Thank you,” she said, “I really appreciate it.”

Friday

James and I arrived at the church half an hour before the service was to begin. Some rows of seats were set up outside and loudspeakers to relay the service The church was already filling up so it had been a good idea to allow for an overflow. The ushers led us up to the front and seated us in the second row which would be directly behind Tom's family. His casket of polished wood was already in position before the altar, and before taking our seats we took a moment to stand beside it and lay a hand on the surface in a silent farewell.

Harry, the vicar came out and greeted us, telling me when he would call upon me to say a few words. The organ began to play – Bach I think, and at the stroke of eleven, the family walked up the aisle and took their places in the front pew. I looked particularly at Danielle as she walked by, her little face very pale. Poor mite – it was only two weeks ago that she had walked down this same aisle happily scattering rose petals at my wedding, and now she was here to farewell her grandfather.

Harry reappeared, now in his vestments and we all stood as he welcomed us to the celebration of the life of Thomas Welsh, or Tom as everyone knew him.

We began with that magnificent Welsh hymn “Guide Me O thy Great Redeemer”, followed by a scripture reading and an Eulogy by Harry. He hasn't been at Hey for very long, but had obviously been well briefed by someone as he gave a great account of Tom's life. He was followed by Tom's daughter Angela who walked up to the lectern holding Danielle's hand. I saw her looking at the casket as she passed it.

Angela spoke well about her father, and then, somewhat to our surprise she said that Danielle had something to say too. Someone had thoughtfully provided a small box for her to stand on so she could reach the microphone.

“My Mummy says that Grandpa has gone to Heaven to be with the angels,” she started in a clear voice, “He was the best Grandpa I could have and I miss him already, but Mummy says to try not to be sad because he is happy in Heaven......” she faltered, “but I still miss him.” At this point she burst into tears and Angela picked her up to comfort her and carried her back to the pew. I confess that I was not far off tears myself, but now it was my turn to speak.

From past experience I know that it doesn't matter how much you rehearse a speech, it almost always comes out differently in the end, and so it was now. Standing at the lectern and looking down at all the faces, I took a deep breath and concentrated on just one face, that of little Danielle who now sat with her mother's comforting arm around her.

“Your Mummy was right, Danielle. Grandpa Tom is now with the angels and I'm sure he is so proud of you for being such a brave girl.”

Then looking around at the packed church, a testimonial to the esteem in which Tom was held, I continued. “Tom was my friend, and more than that, he was my teacher and very much a father figure to me from the first day I arrived here all those years ago. Only a couple of weeks ago he did me the honour of walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, and now it is my turn to return that honour.

“It is of course a convention to only speak well of someone when you come to farewell them, but that's not hard in Tom's case because he was such a genuinely nice man. I never heard him speak ill of anyone, nor anyone speak ill of him. He was the lifeblood of the community for so many years, and a friend to everyone, driving his truck around the Stations and outlying dwellings, delivering and picking up mail and other items. Everyone knew Tom and everyone liked him. We will miss him so much.

“You've already heard a lot about Tom's life, but there is something not everyone knows; Tom loved poetry – especially the Australian bush poets. He could recite “The Man from Snowy River”, and “Clancy of the Overflow” by heart, and required very little prompting to do so at various functions. (That brought a smile of remembrance to many faces.) What you may not know is that his favourite poem had nothing to do with the bush at all. Tom spent most of his life out here, and told me he only ever saw the sea on about a dozen occasions, yet his favourite poem was “Sea Fever” by John Masefield – the one that starts

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by,”

It was Tom who taught me that the magnificent words of that poem was a metaphor for life itself, which Masefield describes in sea-faring terms as 'the long trick', so it is most appropriate for me to quote the final lines which are as follows:

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream, when the long trick's over.”

Sweet dreams to you Tom, my dear friend.”

In the silence that followed I stepped down from the lectern, but on my way back to my seat, I paused and pressed my lips to the polished wood of the casket and whispered “Goodbye old friend.”

When I sat down, I reached for James's hand and held it tightly.

Harry then led us in prayer and benediction, and we sang the final hymn “The Day Thou Gavest, Lord is Ended” as Tom's casket was wheeled out of the church.

Outside the church Ellen kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you Lesley,” she said “Short and sweet – exactly what Tom would have wanted. Would you like to come with us to the cemetery?”

This I had not expected, but of course I agreed, and James and I drove up in the funeral procession, our headlights on in the time-honoured way.

When we arrived I was pleased to see that Danielle was not there, as it might have been too much for her. Apparently the friend of Ellen's who was looking after baby Tom had taken her to the church hall where the refreshments would be served.

Then Tom was laid to rest beside his beloved first wife Jenny as I knew he would be.

Later we drove back to the church hall where the CWS ladies had provided refreshments. I was pleased to see that Danielle had brightened up and was chatting animatedly with some other children. Ah, the resilience of childhood!

It's been nearly a week since Tom was buried. About once a fortnight I have been taking flowers to the cemetery to lay on the graves of John and Jenny. This time I took a third bunch for Tom's grave. After I parked and left the car I realised that Ellen was sitting beside Tom's grave. I didn't wish to intrude on her thoughts, but she looked up and saw me before I had a chance to quietly walk away, so I had no option but to approach her.

“I usually come here every two or three weeks and put flowers on John's and Jenny's graves,” I said by way of explanation.

“That's a lovely thought,” she replied.

“I brought some for Tom this time as well. I hope you don't mind,” I said, looking at his grave which was already covered in flowers.

“Of course not,” she replied. “It's very thoughtful of you.”

I carefully laid the flowers on each of the three graves – John's a little way off, and Jenny and Tom's side by side. We both stood for a moment looking at them. It's such a beautiful and peaceful spot there – the big river red gums swaying gently in the breeze, and the murmur of the little creek that runs along the boundary of the cemetery.

As we walked back to the cars, Ellen said to me “Now they're together again”. She sounded a bit wistful, and looked as though she was trying to make up her mind about something, and finally she said.

“You know when I told you what time Tom died, I heard you draw in your breath as though it had significance for you.”

I suppose I could have said it was nothing, but I felt she deserved the truth. “It's just that you said it was four o'clock in the morning – you know, that time they call 'the hour of the wolf', when most babies are born and most people die. Well that was six o'clock in New Zealand and for some reason I woke at that time and looking back it was as though I felt something significant had happened. When you told me it was the time that Tom passed away it all made sense. I don't know how you feel about such things but in my lifetime I've had experiences......well lets just say I think there is more to this world than just the things we can see. Does that sound crazy to you?”

“Not at all,” said Ellen, “And since you've shared that with me, I will share something with you. I haven't told anyone else because I thought they might laugh, but I know you won't.

“In Tom's last few minutes when his eyes were failing, I was leaning over him when he quietly, but distinctly said “Jenny”. I looked at him, and was about to say “It's Ellen, dear” when I realised he wasn't looking at me but past me. I said to him 'Yes Tom, Jenny's here too and she's come for you.' I said it because I thought it was what he wanted to hear, but now I can't help thinking that perhaps she really was in the room after all. Tom's face broke out in the most wonderful smile, and he lifted a hand off the bed as though he was reaching out, and then a few minutes later he quietly slipped away.”

I reached out and took her hand. “He did love you very much you know, he told me that,” I said to her.

She smiled “Yes, I know that, but Jenny was the love of his life. I knew that when I married him, and I never resented it. We can count ourselves lucky if we have one great love in our life.”

I didn't know how to reply to that. Was Tom the great love of her life? It didn't seem appropriate to ask. Was John the great love in my life, and if so, where did that leave James? No, in my case I am so fortunate because I've had two great loves in my life, each so special in his own way.

“I'm going to stay here,” Ellen said in answer to my unspoken question. “I've grown to love the country, and I have many friends here now.”

“I felt the same way when John died,” I said. “It's a land that can enter your heart, and you know you will never be happy living anywhere else.”

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

I have been very neglectful of my journal recently. When I first started to write it at the suggestion of a doctor – he was actually a psychologist, something I didn't mention at that time; the idea was to have somewhere to record my thoughts since I no longer had a 'soul mate' with whom I could discuss my feelings. Now, I am lucky because I have James, and the journal is no longer so important. Add to this the fact that I only have a few pages left in the book and I'm thinking it's time to call a halt. I'll still keep my regular diary going of course, but that is mainly about such mundane things as rainfall, stock feed and beef cattle prices.

However, before I finish, I should tidy up a few loose ends. About a fortnight after Tom passed away, I flew down to Sydney for a few days. Melissa finally had her operation, after a delay of a week or so, which so often happens with elective surgery. She rang me when she heard it was to be delayed, very distressed, and I had to try and comfort her over the phone – not an easy thing to do. I promised her that I would fly her back to Brisbane when she was ready to go home, remembering how much I appreciated being flown home after my surgery all those years ago. I heard from John the day she would likely be discharged from hospital, and flew down two days prior to that, since being in Sydney I had the opportunity to visit my cousin Marie who was there with her husband, visiting her son and his family. After they attended our wedding, they had all gone on a caravan tour of parts of Queensland before heading back to Sydney. She was soon due to fly home to Britain, so it was great to take the opportunity to catch up with her again.

First I visited Melissa in hospital to check on her progress. John had taken leave from work and come down with her and was a wonderful support. She reminded me so much of myself when I was in the same position. She was quite pale and admitted that she was having pain management, but was so happy to have finally achieved her goal of matching her body to her mind. John left us to go and have a coffee for a while, so that we could engage in 'girl talk'. She told me that everything had gone very well and that all the surgical and nursing staff had been wonderful. I had experienced the same thing myself all those years ago, but reassignment surgery is much more common nowadays, and that is such a good thing. No longer do so many transgendered people have to endure lives of quiet desperation, and sometimes make the ultimate decision that they cannot go on the way they are, and take that final fatal step. Even the general population is gradually beginning to understand that we are not transvestites or drag queens, not that I have anything against anyone choosing their own life style. If there's one thing being transgendered teaches you it is tolerance.

Marie and I had a very pleasant two days together, catching up on all the things we hadn't got around to saying in the lead-up to the wedding, when there didn't seem time to do anything else but concentrate on the coming event. Together with her husband, we went to the Opera House to a symphony concert, and also dined out in one of Sydney's swankier restaurants. Then of course there was some retail therapy! I did promise her that James and I would visit them in England in the next year or two, and all being well that is what we will do. In between, I paid more visits to Melissa in hospital.

Two days after I arrive, John rang to say Melissa would be discharged the next morning, so I called the airfield to check that the Cessna was ready, had an early night, and the next morning after a slightly tearful goodbye to my cousin, I took a taxi to the hospital. Melissa was already dressed and ready to go. She had been given a discharge summary and a letter for her specialist in Brisbane, and will be coming back to Sydney for a check-up in a couple of months, so that the surgeon can check his handiwork.

We took a taxi to the airfield and eased Melissa into the plane, sitting next to me in the co-pilot seat. It was a case of history repeating itself. I let Melissa handle the controls for a while, just as I had when Steve flew me home after my surgery. Melissa did very well, although I don't know if she will be inspired to train as a pilot. Only time will tell.

After we arrived back at their apartment, they insisted that I have lunch with them before I left and returned to pick up the Cessna and fly home. I will be seeing them again in a few months when I return to Brisbane to see my accountant.

While all this was going on, James, whom of course I telephoned every day, had started initiating his planned changes at the library. He is taking things slowly, but there are so many ways in which libraries are changing now and he is determined that it will be a great learning hub for the district and I know he will achieve that. Anne Prior seems to have settled in well as his assistant. The local grapevine informs me that she already has a boyfriend, the son of a local grazier, so that is a good thing.

James has decided to keep his house in Charleville and rent it out. Librarians are not on a huge salary, so this is a boost to his income. We had a discussion about money long before we got married. I know that this can be a difficult issue, especially when a wife earns more than her husband, and there is no way I want him to feel that he is a 'kept man'. Rather, I want him to feel that he is the 'man of the house', and indeed he is. Our relationship seems to grow stronger by the day. It's wonderful that we seem to be so suited to each other. I've never believed those couples who claim to have never had a cross word. That can only mean that one is acting as a doormat. When James and I have a disagreement – and it happens very rarely, then we can be sure to make it up in bed that night!

I keep in regular contact with Ellen. She keeps herself busy with a number of local clubs, the CWA, bowls club etc. I hope for her sake that in the fullness of time she will find someone to share her life with.

The Station goes well, and Jack has proved to be an excellent deputy, so all in all, I have to say like Albert Facey that I have 'A Fortunate Life'. No-one can expect a life of non-stop happiness – it just doesn't work that way, but I count myself very lucky the way things have turned out for me. I take nothing for granted, but rejoice in my good fortune to once again have the love of a wonderful man.

From time to time when I want a little free time to myself, I saddle up one of the horses and ride out, often to the ring of hills that surrounds the Station homestead and its nearby paddocks. Not long after John died and while I was still in the throes of grief, I saddled up my favourite horse named Clyde (goodness knows why), and let him take me where he wanted. He was ambling along close the an area of the hills which has a cliff face, possibly due to an earth tremor millennia ago, or perhaps even eroded by a long-gone inland sea.

I was lost in thought, and totally unaware of the darkening sky above me until a clap of thunder and a sudden downpour of torrential rain brought me back to reality. In only a minute I was soaked to the skin but the air temperature was warm and I was not concerned until a lightning strike hit a tree barely one hundred yards away. The ear-splitting thunder-clap that immediately followed spooked Clyde and caused him to rear, and I was nearly thrown from the saddle. Out in the open was not a good place to be and I peered through the curtain of rain looking for shelter, anywhere but another tree. I turned Clyde towards the cliff face and suddenly became aware of an over-hanging rock, just high enough to shelter a horse and rider. I slipped off Clyde's back and clutching the reins tightly led him out of the rain. I stroked his mane and murmured soothing words in his ear until he settled down. Fortunately the storm was already receding, and the subsequent thunder claps were not nearly so loud.

The interior of the shelter was larger than I expected, and as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I suddenly realised the the rock walls were covered in aboriginal paintings. Some showed men hunting kangaroos with their woomeras, spears and boomerangs; in others they were spearing fish. In another part of the cave were numerous hand stencils, produced when the maker placed his or her hand on the wall, and then spat a mixture of ochre, fat and water onto it. Some of the ones near the ground were small and obviously made by children; higher up were larger ones which I took to be made by women, and still higher above them were larger ones made by the tribal elders. Now I am used to visiting Western art galleries where the rules are strictly 'look but don't touch', but for some reason I found myself drawn to these relics of people who had lived here hundreds or even thousands of years ago.

One stencil in particular appeared to be of a hand about the same size as my own, and slowly I raised my own hand, and spreading my fingers, placed it gently on the wall, matching the outline. What happened next I cannot explain, but I felt a tingling sensation starting in my palm and spreading out to the tips of my fingers. It felt like a mild electric shock but it was not unpleasant, so I kept my hand there for around a minute before slowly taking it away. That was all that happened; no vision appeared and there was no sound, other than the drumming of the rain on the bone-hard ground and the rumbling of receding thunder, and yet I felt that I had somehow made a connection with the ancient custodians of the land. In the light of what happened years previously when I first encountered the Elder, and then again not long ago when James was lost in the outback, perhaps it is not unreasonable to think this way.

Since that time, I have visited the rock shelter on several occasions but never again have I felt compelled to touch the rock surface. I've told no-one but James about it, and once I took him to see those amazing images. He was as awestruck as me. No-one at the Station has ever mentioned it, although I don't doubt that the aboriginal stockmen know of its existence. For myself, I don't want it to be a tourist attraction, having heard that other such sites have been desecrated by people scratching their initials into the rock. For that reason I don't intend to record its exact location lest that should fall into the wrong hands.

Today I was visiting a favourite spot where a steep track leads up the cliff, and after tethering my horse, I climbed up it until I reached a flat rock where I can sit and gaze out over the valley. I know there is a piece of paper that says all the land I can see is mine, but in reality I don't believe that is the case. If it belongs to anyone then it belongs to the people who first saw it thousands of years ago – perhaps the same people who recorded their presence in the rock shelter. For them the land was and is everything. As for myself, I love and respect it too; this precious country, this land of my heart.

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons license with attribution.

Albert Facey's autobiography 'A Fortunate Life' referred to in this chapter may not be familiar to non-Australians, but I can recommend it as a very good read.

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Carla Bay in helping me with some technical details in this story.

I wish to thank everyone who has awarded Kudos, and especially those readers who took the trouble to write a comment. That is especially appreciated.