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.