FROM HOWLONG TO BARALABA 1960

From “The Olives” to “Dovedale”

Richard and Irene (aka Dad and Mum) performed an amazing feat in 1960.  In June of that year they bundled the six of us kids into a Ford Customline and transferred from Howlong – a village in New South Wales on the Murray River – to Baralaba, a village hidden in the Dawson Valley out from Rockhampton in Central Queensland.   We migrated from the family farm “The Olives” to the new family farm “Dovedale”.

The purpose of the journey, taken in coordination with our uncle and his family, was to seek greener pastures to support two large families.   In total the trip was around 2,000 kms due to a major diversion along the way: we spent some days in Newcastle, north of Sydney, saying hello and farewell to Mum’s extended family who lived in the area. 

So there were eight in the trusty Customline.  Bench seats but no seat belts and no aircon. And a wide space above the back seat where one of the smaller kids could sleep. Mind you we left Howlong in the winter when cooling was generally provided without cost, but it must have been stuffy inside at times.  Liz was the youngest at twelve months with Mike the oldest at thirteen and the rest of us spread in between. 

We struck a rough patch at the town of Cootamundra only three hours’ drive down the track. There was an unidentified noise in the engine – so how was the Customline trusty?  Dad had to have it checked out so we all checked into the Cootamundra Railway Hotel for two nights while the very helpful mechanic took the engine apart, found nothing, put it back together and the noise was gone.  So too were we gone from “Coota” which registered 2 degrees in the morning and 14 degrees at high noon.

Mum was not well. She was burdened with depression and deep sadness at having to leave so many friends behind and transfer to this unknown, unpronounceable place called Baralaba.  On the side, Mum had to care for six kids locked up in the cold in Coota and elsewhere locked up in the car.  I remember Dad trying to convince Mum to take the three girls and go ahead by train to Newcastle. Mum would not leave Dad, she needed him in her pain and doubt.

There are family photos of us in Newcastle, with Mum looking so tired and us three boys in our suits (short pants) and the girls in their best dresses. That was how Mum dressed us when we went to visit her three sisters who were Sisters of Mercy.  I have often wondered how it was that Mum had clothes packed for eight of us in the trusty Customline, including suits for Dad and us boys? 

From Newcastle via Toowoomba we finally reached Taroom on the Queensland Darling Downs.  We stopped for a cuppa at Palm Tree Creek outside Taroom then ventured into the unknown.  A respectable sealed road now, but in 1960 the road over the creek was but a sandy goat track and we had a further 200 kms to go through Theodore, Moura and Banana.  An excellent education into inner Queensland geography, with all us kids becoming increasingly restless.  “Are we there yet?”  I cannot begin to image what was going through Mum’s mind and heart as we moved deeper into this unknown territory. 

We arrived at “Dovedale” late afternoon.  There was a (pet) kangaroo jumping around. The owner who had sold the property to us was Mrs Cooney, a widow. The house – with two bedrooms and a veranda sleep-out – was in a mess and her nineteen-year-old son was asleep on the veranda, apparently not feeling well.  Mrs Cooney was flustered and busy trying to clean the kitchen, using pot black on the old wood stove. 

There was no electricity, so no hot running water. There was a small kerosene fridge and kerosene lamps.  There was no sewerage, just a dunny outside the back gate with torn-into-small-squares newspaper for the wiping. Our essential goods such as crockery and linen were still ensconced in big T-chests in the cluttered dining room.    

To this day I do not know how Mum and Dad managed that night, the next few days and the many years afterwards.  But I focus specially on that night.  How did Mum manage to cook a meal, where did the food come from and where did we sleep with only two rooms and an open sleep-out for the eight of us.   With six children how did they manage the dark dunny at night?  The old wood stove with a very small oven was good for toast on the cold mornings, but how to cook a meal for eight?  There was a bath but no shower and hot water had to be carried from the large copper outside near the open laundry. 

To make things harder for Mum, Mike and I had come from High School and after a month we were taken to boarding school at Yeppoon on the Capricorn Coast.  Meaning she lost the home help we had previously been able to give. In 1960 boarding school was full time, returning home to “Dovedale” happened only in school holiday time.

It took quite some time to be accustomed to the distances in Queensland.  Down south, Howlong was only 30 kms from the closest towns on either side, Albury and Corowa, and they were trips rarely taken on very good roads. In our new State, Baralaba was 185 kms from Yeppoon and in the sixties half of that was on hard, dusty dirt roads.

The telephone system was another item to get used to.  We were on a “Party Line” with five other householders each with their own special ring. A far cry from iPhones we use these days.  Our ring was three short rings.  The others were 4 short, long short long, short long short, two shorts and a long, a long and two shorts.  The system was an invitation to eavesdroppers and a story for the history books.  

With us six kids and nine cousins a new and much bigger school bus was needed.  During the few weeks Mike and I attended the Baralaba State School, we were picked to play in the footy team.  Footy for me was AFL, no one bothered to inform me about NRL.  I was a lost cause to the side because I played Full Back and as in AFL, I patrolled the goal posts and could not understand why kids on the sideline were yelling at me to “Go Forward”! I thought it was a stupid game.

In 1988 Dad and his brother sold their property “Dovedale” and retired.  In the 1960’s there were 19 members to the combined Conway Clan in Baralaba.  After 3 generations there is not a single Conway in the whole district. A diaspora of sorts.