The Strength of Our Dreams Read online

  About The Strength of Our Dreams

  The captivating sequel of Sara Henderson’s first book, From Strength to Strength.

  The Strength of Our Dreams is the long-awaited follow-up to From Strength to Strength and its equally best-selling sequel, The Strength in Us All. It continues the story of this amazing Australian, taking us through the last six years of her incredibly varied life: the special joys of being a grandmother, the frustrations of the outback farming life, and the humorous side of fame. Here Sara shares both her triumphs and her tragedies.

  Warm, funny, and down-to-earth, Sara Henderson has become one of Australia’s living legends and an inspiration to thousands of people. The Strength of Our Dreams is full of the unforgettable outback yarns and characters that have made Sara one of Australia’s favourite authors.

  ‘Life is once again offering me unlimited opportunities with one hand, while hitting me in the face with new challenges and problems on the other. But that’s what life is all about. And who said any problem or challenge is unsolvable?’

  - Sara Henderson

  To guardian angels … and Charlie

  It’s time.

  Time to open the door to my heart

  and let in the angel of love.

  Time to love again.

  Time to think about things

  yet to be done.

  Time to dream dreams

  yet to be won.

  In my heart I know …

  the best is yet to come!

  CONTENTS

  About The Strength of Our Dreams

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Preface

  October 1993 – November 1993

  December 1993 – January 1994

  February 1994 – April 1994

  May 1994

  June 1994 – August 1994

  September 1994 – December 1994

  January 1995 – March 1995

  April 1995

  May 1995 – September 1995

  October 1995 – December 1995

  January 1996 – June 1996

  July 1996 – December 1996

  January 1997 – February 1997

  March 1997 – September 1997

  October 1997 – December 1997

  January 1998 – April 1998

  Epilogue

  Pictures

  Acknowledgements

  About Sara Henderson

  Also by Sara Henderson

  Copyright

  PREFACE

  Ever since The Strength in Us All was published in 1994, I have been receiving letters and phone calls, basically asking, ‘What’s happening now?’ So I was very tempted to name this book just that, as it answers the much-asked questions and brings you up to date on the Bullo saga!

  But The Strength of Our Dreams (the third book in the Strength Series) is a much better title, because it describes the book perfectly. This book finally brings Charlie’s dream to reality, and along the way, as we struggled to achieve Charlie’s dream, we have developed the strength to turn quite a few of our dreams into reality.

  However, even when dreams are coming true, life keeps throwing curve balls at you. I hope as you read how we’ve dealt with our problems over the past five and a half years, you gain strength and ideas to apply to your own life. For, as one man said after reading From Strength to Strength, ‘If a bloody sheila can do it, so can I!’ And what’s more, he did, saving his business and going on to further success.

  We have been through the lot—emotional worries, financial strains, physical danger and high drama—I know all these facets of life will continue as long as life itself. But if you look at the other side of life’s ledger—health, family, love, happiness, freedom and achievement—these far outweigh the problems and difficulties every time. Keeping the right attitude towards life, by focusing on the positive side of the ledger, can make your journey one long interesting, exciting road, with each and every day full of new challenges.

  Life is there for the taking, all you have to do is take it. Once you have it in your hand you are in control, where there is no limit to your achievements. Reach for the heavens and God just might hand you an armful of stars.

  CHAPTER 1

  October 1993 – November 1993

  A ringing phone shattered a very deep sleep. Through bleary eyes I could see it was 5.30 a.m. and was about to ask the hotel’s operator if he knew what time it was when I heard Franz’s voice. I was awake instantly, all my instincts telling me something was wrong. I was right. They had been mustering Nutwood Paddock and Marlee’s horse had slipped in mud on the edge of the billabong at full gallop.

  The horse came down heavily, Marlee’s head and shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. Franz and Gordon Boag, our Kiwi stockman, were the only other people on the property. Franz hadn’t been part of a medical emergency evacuation before, but with Marlee unconscious he had no choice so he went ahead. At first, he was told by the Northern Territory Health Service to drive Marlee to Katherine, but he refused, saying she could have head and spinal injuries and so he wanted a plane. Franz is very definite in his requests and he got his plane. The accident had happened right on sunset the previous night so the earliest plane into the station would be at first light.

  I held my breath through the explanation waiting to hear how Marlee was. Franz finally reached this part of the report. He thought that her shoulder might be broken and was worried about her having a fractured skull. Marlee had been in and out of consciousness all night, not making any sense at all. Every time Franz asked her a question about Air Medical, she talked about the mustering. She knew her name and where she was, but was confused about what had happened and kept harping on this. I said I would fly straight home and meet Marlee at the hospital in Darwin.

  My ailing brain snapped into action and I threw my clothes into the suitcase, called the airport and got a seat on the jet to Darwin leaving Sydney at 7 a.m. I raced down to the foyer to check out only to find about one hundred Japanese tourists checking in, so didn’t bother and left a note for the concierge.

  I was in Sydney recording an abridged version of From Strength to Strength on cassette. When my publishers had first asked me if I could do this, I told them I had no idea. I had been hopeless in school plays and thought I would probably mess this up too.

  They pointed out how popular my book tours were and how the audience loved to listen to my stories. I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t think I could ramble along on tape as I did when telling my stories to an audience, but didn’t voice this concern. We would soon find out if I was any good.

  When I arrived at my publisher’s office for the firstrecording session I voiced my doubts about my ability to carry this off. I was assured there was no pressure on me—if I was no good, no problem, they would hire a professional to do the job. So it was off to the sound recording studio to see.

  I arrived at the studio with my editor, Julia, and we met Peter, who was in charge of recording. I was happy to learn a few minutes reading was all that was necessary for him to know if I had the right voice and timing for recording. I was sure the whole thing would be over in a few minutes. Not so. Unfortunately for me Peter thought I was a natural and that I could give the reading the emotion that no-one else could. I was told a few tricks of the trade, given some coaching, and was plunged into yet another new world. One which required me to live on my nerves and perform once more.

  The recording equipment was so sensitive that it picked up a page turning or if I moved my feet and a deep breath sounded like a clap of thunder. So I had to sit stock still with my breathing regular and shallow. I could only breathe deeply at the end of a page where it could be edited out and could only turn a page at a fu
ll stop for the same reason. With all this in the back of my mind, I then had to sound relaxed and full of expression!

  The session went well and being exhausted actually helped with the recording—I had no energy to be nervous, and the tiredness gave my voice a quality of calmness, and kept the breathing regular and shallow. We were now almost one third of the way along the two-hour recording with two sessions to go.

  This second recording session, six weeks after the first, provided crucial evidence that my hectic schedule was taking its toll and I needed to slow down. One disturbing problem was that unbeknown to me, I was reading words and whole sentences that simply weren’t on the page in front of me. After I was asked to read one particular paragraph for the third time, I asked in frustration, ‘Just how do you want me to read this, I have done it every way I can! I’m sorry, you will have to show me what you want.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with the reading. I just want you to read the words that are there,’ Peter replied.

  I carefully re-read the paragraph.

  ‘You did it again,’ said Peter.

  I could not for the world see what he was talking about, and frustrated said I had read what was on the page in front of me. Peter replayed the tape, and to my amazement my version was totally off the planet. I had added and changed words making the meaning of the paragraph completely different and nothing to do with the surrounding story. I underlined the words I had changed and it was many takes before I could get through the reading with it sounding OK.

  I was up to the sad part of the book where Charlie, Mum and Marlee’s Charlie die. In the condensed version they all pile in on each other and I just couldn’t get through one sentence without crying. It was dreadful. The session just went on and on, with me crying and apologising. Sometimes just looking at the script was enough to set me off. We kept taking breaks and I would walk around the building, sobbing uncontrollably. After a good cry I’d think I was in control, only to pick up the script and burst into tears again, without uttering a word! It got to the point where I could only record a few sentences at a time without my voice breaking. Peter decided to record with the emotional breaks in my voice. Firstly, it was genuine emotion and secondly, I think he knew he wasn’t going to get this part any other way. So I cried, stopped, walked and stumbled through until we reached a lighter part. But there was still so much sadness in my voice we cut the session short, hoping I would be better the next day. Although the following morning was when I heard of Marlee’s accident and I didn’t show up.

  When I reached Sydney airport I called Franz, who told me Marlee was being airlifted to Katherine Hospital. I was horrified. Why wasn’t she going to Darwin Hospital? Katherine didn’t have anywhere near the facilities of Darwin and with suspected head and spinal injuries, Marlee should have been taken to Darwin. I was fuming! Stupid policy had come into the equation—Bullo is in the so-called Katherine district so off they toddled to Katherine!

  To get to Marlee in Katherine from Darwin that day I would have to hire a private aircraft. I certainly wasn’t going to face the hours of driving on the highway, but in retrospect maybe I should have! The only plane I could get on such short notice was a trainer plane owned by a friend. The necessity of having our own plane on the station was very clear at this point of my frantic arrangements. But I had to remind myself that Marlee was the only pilot on the station at the moment.

  Franz was about to solo, but that was a few weeks away. Not that that would have stopped him getting Marlee to hospital if a plane had been there.

  I arrived in Darwin around 1 p.m. When I got to the Aero club and saw the plane I almost cried. It was about the size of a pocket handkerchief, and comfort was not a word one would associate with it. I was hot, exhausted, and worried sick about Marlee and was about to be squashed into a flying peapod for the journey to Katherine.

  I arrived in Katherine hours later, a wreck. The flight had taken forever! The plane had a glass dome roof, so I had fried in the midday sun and perspiration ran down my stockinged legs, making my shoes soggy. My claustrophobia had surfaced during the flight with a vengeance and I spent most of the trip with my eyes closed. The pilot must have thought I was mad, answering questions with my head down and eyes closed and fanning myself.

  The weather was not on our side either. With storms everywhere the young keen pilot at the controls was sashaying all over the sky, and when we weren’t doing that, turbulence was throwing the plane about. I was on the verge of throwing up when we touched down, so as we taxied up to the terminal I opened the door and hung my head out to get some fresh air.

  Once inside the terminal I staggered into the bathroom and poured water over my head. I didn’t care what happened to my hair or my suit, I just had to get cool. A vision of disaster looked back at me from the mirror—wet, wind blown and knotted hair plastered down on a haggard face which showed definite signs of sleep deprivation, worry lines, and a recent addition, severe sunburn. I didn’t give a stuff, and just walked out to the horn-blowing taxi the pilot had kindly called for me.

  At 5.30 p.m. after travelling for 12 hours, I walked into the hospital. I was about to ask the woman at the reception desk where I could find Marlee, when she took one look at me and said, ‘Emergency is the next door down.’

  Marlee was asleep, and seemed OK. I sagged thankfully onto the chair and waited. Eventually she opened her eyes and greeted me with a grin that told me she wasn’t really with it. She smiled sweetly and said, ‘Hi Mum,’ then closed her eyes again.

  There was no-one I could find who could give me any information, but I was told the doctor would be there soon. So I took Marlee’s hand, pulled the chair close to her bed, and put my head down and slept.

  The next thing I knew it was nine o’clock and a nurse was shaking my shoulder. It seemed I had slept through the doctor’s visit—the nurse said he had taken one look at me and said not to wake me as I looked like I could do with the rest. So I was still none the wiser as to Marlee’s condition. I was so disorientated and in such a state the nurse took pity on me and brought me a cup of tea and several biscuits—the first food for the whole day. I composed myself to a degree and called a cab. I kissed my sleeping Marlee goodnight, she momentarily opened her eyes, smiled again, said, ‘Hi Mum,’ and went back to sleep.

  As soon as I arrived at the motel I called Franz. He had talked to the doctor and had more information than me, even though he was in the middle of nowhere and I’d been in the hospital all afternoon. From the examinations done the doctor didn’t think Marlee had a fractured skull, and was sure it was only concussion. And although her shoulder wasn’t good, there was so much bruising and swelling he couldn’t tell if the bone was broken or not. The doctor had ordered X-rays of both her head and shoulder and would have the results tomorrow. I put down the phone and sat under a cold shower then crawled over to the bed still wet and went to sleep.

  I had planned to be at the hospital early the next day, but slept through to nine and still felt dreadful. I called my publishers and apologised for not turning up for the recording session, and all was forgiven when they heard about Marlee.

  My hair was a major problem—I couldn’t get a comb through it. But after a few washes and a lot of conditioner, it finally looked presentable. My face was still glowing bright red from sunburn, but a heavy layer of face powder toned it down a fraction. I had no other clothes than the ones I had dropped on the floor the previous night, so I ironed the blouse and skirt, and left the wrinkled jacket in the wardrobe. But I needed more clothes, as heaven knew how long I was going to be in Katherine.

  I found a clothing store a few blocks away and bought some cotton shorts, T-shirts, a pair of sandals and a straw hat. I changed into one of the outfits in the change room, put on the hat and my sunglasses and caught a cab to the hospital. I looked a little more normal, but still felt like hell.

  The day was spent with me holding Marlee’s hand and sleeping with my head resting on her bed. Marlee would wake periodically, say,
‘Hi Mum,’ still smiling that ‘off in the wild blue yonder’ smile and drift off again. I missed the doctor again on his morning rounds. He was getting a bit concerned about me by now, but didn’t wake me, just left a message.

  We finally met around four o’clock. It was good news. The X-rays showed no fracture of the skull, just severe concussion. The shoulder had no breaks, but was severely injured. It would have been better for the healing process if the bone had broken as there was such extensive bruising and swelling it would take forever to heal. The doctor recommended to start physio on the shoulder as soon as possible while the concussion needed rest. The two instructions for cure seeming in conflict in my mind.

  The next day at the hospital Marlee was awake more than me but I was still not getting much more than ‘Hi Mum’ and the wild grin out of her. But I could see there was intense thinking going on behind those beautiful eyes. They darted constantly around the room, taking everything in and trying to work out just what was happening and why she was there. She reminded me of a wild animal that’s found itself in strange surroundings and is not quite sure how to escape.

  After four days of virtually continuous sleep at the hospital and at the motel, I started to feel slightly alive. Although at the beginning, the more I slept, the worse I felt. Yet I knew I needed the rest. I suppose my body was slowly relaxing, unwinding from the uptight spring I had wound myself into over the years, and in the unravelling there were bound to be side effects. Feeling bloody awful seemed to be one of them.

  Marlee on the other hand was recovering at a much faster pace. I kept waking to find her watching me, and our conversation finally got past the ‘Hi Mum’ stage. Apart from a terrible headache, her shoulder was the worst of her injuries, and years later it is still giving her trouble. The concussion gave her temporary memory loss and she still remembers nothing after the horse went down. One minute she was galloping along, mustering cattle, the next thing she knew she was in the house, lying on the bed, with Franz and Gordon peering anxiously at her.