“You know your way around and we’re lucky to have you, Greg,” said my father.

“Should do,” replied Greg, conceding the point. “I’ve been hereabouts quite a bit.”

I asked Helena if she were comfortable and she said she was.

“I should try to sleep,” I said.

“We should all try to sleep,” added Greg.

So having eaten we lay there through that hot afternoon. I half dozed and found myself thinking of all that had happened in London and how far away all that seemed from this land of hot sun, bright birds, tall eucalyptus and the seemingly endless scrub. I thought of poor tormented Joe and wondered what he was doing now; I thought of Rolf who had a habit of forcing his way into my thoughts. Would he be riding round his estate making plans to enlarge it?

I had fallen asleep.

I was awakened by movement all around me.

I heard Greg cry: “Come on now. Time to get moving.”

And soon we were riding through that sun-baked land. We went at a good pace. Greg said: “Want to make sure of our beds for tonight.”

It was just getting dark when we arrived. It was a small house of one storey. A woman came to the door as we approached. She must have heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the wheels of the buggy. It had not been the most comfortable of rides, particularly the last part when we had travelled at some speed.

I looked anxiously at Helena. She was pale but that was not unusual.

“Was it very uncomfortable?” I whispered to her.

“Well … a little.”

“We do go at a spanking pace.”

“But you feel safe with Greg,” she said; and I had to agree with that.

We were taken in to a room which was already laid for a meal. Steaks were cooking on a big stove in a kitchen where the heat must have been intolerable.

“I’ve made some dampers,” said our hostess. “They should go down a treat.”

And we sat down and ate as we were, although Mother, Helena and I would have preferred to wash first. But we were hungry and the food tasted good.

The woman and her husband—Gladys and Tom Pickory—hovered about us while we ate. They kept refilling the tankards from which we drank beer. We were far more tired than we had realized and I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

There were only two rooms available. My mother, Helena and I were put in one, my father, Matthew and Greg in the other. We were given some water in which to wash but there was not much of it. However we lay in the one big bed and were soon fast asleep.

We were to leave at dawn, the procedure being as before so that we could get as far as possible before the intense heat of the day.

I had a few words with Mrs. Pickory before we left. She said Mr. Donnelly had told her he would endeavour to bring her a party. He had called in on his way to Sydney. “Sometimes he calls in and stays a night on his journeys back and forth. He tells other people about us. We’re working this up into a real little business, thanks to Mr. Donnelly.”

I noticed how her eyes shone when she spoke of him as though there was something godlike about him. I supposed it was that innate masculinity, that sense of power which appealed to some people. Even Helena had said she felt safe with him.

Then we were off again. The scenery all around was the same as we had seen before. I could understand how people got lost in what Greg called the outback.

With customary efficiency he found us a spot to rest and eat just as he had on the previous day and in due course we were on our way to the next house of accommodation; and after that it would be Sealands Creek and Cadorsons.

We were going along at a fair pace when something happened. My father called: “Look out. The wheel’s coming off.”

Greg brought the buggy to an abrupt halt. He leaped down and stood for a few seconds looking at the wheel. My father had dismounted.

“I can see what it is,” said Gregory. “I’ve got tools in the buggy. Wouldn’t travel without them. It’ll take a little time, though.”

He was looking round him. “There’s a bit of shade over there. Not much. But it will have to do. All right. Ladies out. We’ll get to work.”

I sat down with Helena and my mother close to a wattle bush. The heat was intense and the flies swarmed round us. As we fought them off I watched the men at work.

Gregory was giving orders. Of course he would, I thought. But in these circumstances he would know what to do. My father worked with him. Matthew stood by trying to help but I doubted he was much use.

It was almost two hours before we were able to resume our journey.

Darkness was descending on us. “We can’t get to that house tonight,” said Gregory.

“What do you propose?” asked my father. “Go on through the night?”

“The horses need a rest. There is only one thing for it. We’ll camp. Leave it to me. We’ll look for a spot. I do this journey fairly often to and from Sydney. I think I know where we might stop for a rest … and we’ll be off early in the morning.”

So that was what we did.

There were sleeping bags in the buggy—one for each of us women; and there were a few rugs which would serve for the men.

Gregory said: “We’ll light a fire. That’ll scare off any dingo who might feel like investigating. Come on, everybody.”

We gathered branches of what he called boree—a kind of wattle which he told us made good firewood, and he produced a tin with a lid and a wire handle.

“It’s a billycan,” he said, “something a man can’t do without in the outback. It’ll brew us some hot tea in no time. You’ll see.”

My mother said: “You seem to have taken precautions against any eventuality.”

“That’s what you learn in the bush, my lady.”

“We’re certainly grateful for your experience,” added my father. We watched him make tea; from the buggy he produced cups for us to drink out of. They were tin but in spite of that the tea tasted good. We were very thirsty.

With an air of efficiency Gregory washed the cups and the tin can in the creek and put them back in the buggy.

“Now a good night’s sleep,” he said, “and we’ll be off at the streak of dawn. We might make Cadorsons by sundown.”

I lay in my sleeping bag looking up at the foreign sky with its unfamiliar stars. I found the Southern Cross which indicated clearly that I was on the other side of the world and made home seem very far away. I could not help thinking of what I called the cosy years; riding round with my father or Jacco, waiting for Jacco to come home for holidays, wondering what companions he would bring with him. But it had not been all cosy. There had been that Midsummer’s Eve which was something as fearful and horrifying as anything that had ever happened. Rolf … leaping over the fire, Rolf whom before then I had believed to be like one of the knights of the Round Table. Perhaps all men had their weaknesses … Joe with his ambitions and theft of Uncle Peter’s papers; John Milward who hadn’t the courage to face his family; Uncle Peter with his dubious clubs. It was a harsh world.

Thinking of that Midsummer’s Eve brought Digory back to my mind. Where was Digory? Somewhere under these stars? I wondered if he was finding life tolerable. He might be only a few miles away. While we were here I could try to find him. It might be difficult but not insuperable. Perhaps the omniscient Greg could be of use.

I should be wary of asking favours of him. I felt that might be rather unwise.

I dozed and woke suddenly to find someone standing over me. I started up. It was Gregory.

He put his fingers to his lips. “Don’t want to wake the company,” he whispered.

Floods of relief swept over me. I remembered that my father and mother with Matthew and Helena were within a few yards of me. I felt safe. For a moment, coming out of my sleep, I had thought I was alone with this man … alone out here in this wild country, and the thought terrified me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

He knelt down beside me. I could see his eyes gleaming in the starlight.

“All’s well,” he said. “I just came to see how you were.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

“I’m as comfortable as can be expected.”

“Not like a nice feather bed, eh?”

“Indeed no.”

“Be better when we get to the house. We’ll make you comfortable there. That’s what I aim to do, Annie.”

“My name is Annora,” I said.

“Very classy. I like Annie. It’s more friendly.”

“I do not like it.”

“Never mind, Annie. You’ll get used to it.”

I heard my father’s voice. “Anything wrong?”

“No, no.” Gregory was getting to his feet. “Thought I heard something prowling. Dingo, I reckon. They get a bit bold at night.”

“It’ll soon be time for getting up,” said my mother.

“A couple of hours yet,” replied Gregory.

I watched him move away and I lay there, my body trembling. There was something about his manner which filled me with apprehension.

We were ready to continue the journey at dawn. The day seemed very like the previous one, the country more or less the same, too. The land was dry and when we came to a creek Gregory looked at it anxiously to see how much water there was.

He said: “The greatest curse of this land is drought. Give us rain … just a little of what you get in the Old Country and I can tell you this would then be God’s Own Country.”

He was quite informative as we rode along, telling us how he had come out as a boy and fallen in love with the place right away.

“It grows on you, takes a grip of you. It may be that some of you will be affected in this same way,” he warned.

Just as the sun was beginning to fall before the horizon we arrived at our destination. It was bigger than I had imagined—a rather long low house of one storey. There were several buildings round it which looked like outhouses. We had ridden a long way without seeing any sign of habitation, so I imagined we were fairly isolated.

Jacco came running out of the house.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it before sundown,” he said.

He looked different. He wore no coat and his shirt was open at the neck; his face was bronzed; the country was already changing him.

“It’s lovely to see you, Jacco,” cried my mother. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve had a great time. Come on in. Hello, Greg. Good to see you.”

Gregory leaped down. “Where’s everyone? They ought to be here. The ladies are exhausted. Maud got anything good brewing?”

“She has,” said Jacco.

Several people were coming towards us … men in buckskin trousers and open-necked shirts.

Jacco said authoritatively: “Wally, see to the horses.”

A woman came to the door of the house. She stood under the porch watching us. She was tall and rather plump, Junoesque in fact. She had abundant dark hair which, piled up on her head, made her look even taller than she actually was.

A young girl whom I judged to be about fifteen came out and stood beside her.

“This is Maud,” said Jacco to me. “She’s a wonderful cook. And Rosa … that’s her little girl.”

Gregory said: “Let’s get in. Introductions can be made in the morning. What we want now is food and a bed.”

There was a big room which was a kind of living room and another of the same size which was a kitchen. The rest were bedrooms—five of them, apart from one room which was an office. Several oil lamps were burning in the living room and places were laid at a long wooden table.

There were steaks and hot bread called dampers, with tankards of ale; and Maud and the young girl waited on us.

I was too tired that night to take in my new surroundings. All I wanted was to sleep.

My dreams were jumbled. I was at the Midsummer bonfire and Rolf was there. He stepped out of his robe and he had horns on his head and cloven feet. Then he changed into Gregory and Joe was there saying, “I had to do it, I had to do it.” Then I was alone right out in the scrub and Rolf was coming towards me. Then it was not Rolf but Gregory.

It was a nightmare and I was glad to wake from it.

I was soon asleep again and when I awoke it was to find the sun streaming into my bedroom and what had awakened me was a jeering laugh which was immediately followed by another.

I sat up in bed. Then I remembered. This was the kookaburra, the laughing jackass, of which Gregory had told us. It was the first of many times I was to hear it. But it seemed appropriate that it should awaken me on my first morning here.