Until 1981, women geologists were not permitted to work offshore on petroleum drilling rigs in Australia. This severely hampered women’s attempts to gain seniority within exploration companies. Despite frequent protests, technically competent women were always ignored for promotion, due to their ‘lack of practical rig experience’. The policy of maintaining offshore rigs as an all-male domain was industry-wide, and there was no such thing as enforceable equal opportunity legislation in those days. Complaints to Western Australian government agencies, whose brief was to promote the interests of women in the workforce, resulted in the confession that the authorities were powerless to act in this matter.

One day in March 1981 that all changed due to a technical problem. The Woodside offshore well North Rankin No. 6 was drilling and the target reservoir had not been reached at the expected depth. The question was asked, is the reservoir deeper than expected? What age of sediments is the well drilling in now? Should we go on drilling? To answer these urgent questions, Woodside decided to send their palaeontologist Marjorie Apthorpe and production geologist Judy Garstone out to the drill ship on the North West Shelf. We had 18 hours notice to assemble essential equipment (microscope and accessories, steel capped boots, overalls and so on) and present ourselves early in the morning at Perth airport to fly north.

Our arrival on the crew helicopter on 6th March created something of a stir on the drill ship Regional Endeavour. Not all the crew were happy about this radical new staff development; we were told that at least one driller had to rummage for shorts to cover his normal off-duty garb of underpants. A four-berth cabin (the smallest available) had to be emptied of men so that we had somewhere to change and get a few hours sleep between long shifts. The cabin was decorated with sexually explicit Penthouse posters of women, as was the sample logging shack where we spent most of our working hours. Finding our way around and watching the drilling operation was continually interesting.

Immediately after arrival I was busy searching for microfossils in the sediment samples pumped up by the drill, looking for the age of the rocks we were drilling through. From the fossils I could see that we were higher (younger) in the sequence than had been predicted, so the word given was “Keep drilling”. That established, Judy and I took turns monitoring the samples for a couple of days. After midnight on day two, I sent word to the chief drilling engineer to say the samples I was looking at were within 30 metres of the top of the gas reservoir. Within a few minutes the drilling bit, far below us and well ahead of the samples, was cutting into the top of the reservoir and the gas pressure was showing up on the monitors of instruments in the logging cabin. We had finally reached the sandstone reservoir, and it contained gas! Collective relief spread rapidly through the entire crew. After that, life revolved around the cutting of cores, measuring, labelling and describing rock types, and documenting the indicators of gas and oil in the cores. Now it was Judy’s turn to use her expertise as she documented the reservoir geology and reported back to head office in Perth.

We spent two weeks on the Regional Endeavour that trip and enjoyed the experience. We also learnt a lot about the practicalities of drilling and recovering samples. Later the same year I made another two-week trip on my own to the same drill ship, for another well with a different set of questions to be answered.

Our March 1981 trip was really the beginning of a new era for women in the petroleum industry. Women quickly became accepted as part of the team of geologists, reservoir engineers, palaeontologists (usually palynologists) and others who now regularly travel to offshore rigs to work. Young women entering the petroleum industry today are often totally unaware of how recently this acceptance of women occurred.

In the mid-1980s, a young Dani Nazzari followed her boyfriend North to the Pilbara where he was about to embark on a six month contract building houses for a steady stream of new Woodside employees. Jobs on the Burrup Peninsula where aplenty and Dani decided to quit her job working in the City and make the most of the money which could be made working as a clerical assistant and ‘peggy’ (trades assistant).

She spent three years working on the Burrup in a male dominated world filled with explicit photos of naked women in the crib rooms and unequal pay. It was the pay disparity – men earned $1300 while women earned $500 for working the same hours at the same site - which prompted Dani and her female colleagues to undergo a protest. The group of women and the union picketed outside the construction site on the road leading on to the Burrup and they quickly acquired the label as the ‘petticoat picket’, despite there being no petticoats in sight.

After a six year stint working in sales for Atkins Carlyle where Dani become the first female branch manger in the Company’s history, she decided to start a family with her husband, the same boyfriend she’d originally travelled North with years before. When her first baby was breech it became obvious that some things people take for granted in the City just weren’t possible in remote Western Australia. Nickol Bay Hospital in Karratha was then classified as a ‘low risk’ hospital which meant Dani had to have a scheduled caesarean, taking away her preferred choice of having a natural birth. Similarly when she was due to have her second child, she once more had to schedule a caesarean.

In 1998, Dani and her family decided it was time to leave the Pilbara after living there for 12 years. Her husband had had enough of contracting and they decided to move to the cooler climes and buy a business in the State’s South West. The family sold everything and while her husband stayed to finish his contract, Dani took her three year old and 18 month old baby and headed back to the City. After a brief and claustrophobic stint in a villa in Victoria Park, she moved her family to a beach house in Lancelin where she spent three months waiting for her husband to join them.

It was during this time away from the Pilbara that she realised just how much she missed it – the freedom, her social network, the lifestyle. Friends had become her substitute family, creating bonds which could not be easily broken, and her sense of lose proved to be extremely strong. Added to that was the winter weather ‘down south’ was freezing, while winter in the Pilbara is the best time of the year. Her advice – if you plan to leave the Pilbara leave in the summer when the intense heat and humidity can nearly drive you mad.

As it turned out her time up North was not over. The local nursery was up for sale and the Nazzari family ended up returning to Karratha and running it for the next seven and a half years. Dani went on to join the local council and eventually ended up as Shire President in 2005. It’s now been 20 years since she first moved to the Pilbara and since then she has seen a lot change and played a part in shaping the region’s future. As well as a local councillor, Dani has been the Chairperson of the Pilbara Regional Council and a board member of the Dampier Port Authority. Her focus has been on helping families and building on community sustainability to ensure that local communities will survive long after the mining interests have departed.

Background.
Married Bruce Paterson l956 when the bitumen road ended at Northampton and went to live on a large, undeveloped property out of Onslow. When much of this country was gobbled up in mining leases in the late l960s we, now with two young children, Eleanr and Rebecca, moved to a little place just out of Roebourne. Outer suburbia!

Dampier was in its infancy and soon Karratha and Wickham were under way. Some of the older residents, having for decades been big frogs in a sparsely populated puddle, grumbled a bit, but the benefits were massive. Sealed roads, hospitals, a dentist, a hairdresser,(for years we had cut each others hair, often with alarming results) supermarkets where fresh fruit and veg was always available and one had so much choice at first it was a bit overwhelming. Best of all was the increase in population; interesting people from all over the world.

Of course if all these delights were within easy reach of us, we were also within easy reach of the inhabitants of the new towns and we soon found ourselves on the local tourist map. Correspondence lessons occupied most of the morning during the week, Saturday was devoted to domestic frenzy and on Sunday a few hours free time was special. So we didn’t appreciate being regarded as a kind of zoo.

I decided this invasion had to cease. There were two roads leading to the homestead. I wrote out two notices, black texta in large print on shiny cardboard, and attached one to each gate. “SUNDAY. ANYONE DISTURBING THE RURAL QUIET BETWEEN MIDDAY AND 3PM WILL BE SHOT.” It worked like a charm and for several weeks we enjoyed a tranquil Sabbath. But not for long. One evening friends came to dinner. The following morning, realising the signs were becoming faded and needing re-doing I wandered down to the main gate. One of our “friends” had beaten me to it. In fresh bold print the sign now read “Devonshire Teas. All Welcome!” Later Judy was disgusted to learn I had discovered this iniquity. She had probably spent a couple of Sundays relishing the thought of a queue building up outside the kitchen door and complaining about the lousy service.

Until the mining boom no one I knew enjoyed the luxury of air-conditioning. Mining people lived in comfortable, well-equipped homes for which they paid a peanut rental, they lived within a few minutes drive from very adequate facilities, the toilers earned princely wages. They should have been a very happy bunch of little Vegemites but sadly this was not always the case.

From a letter written November l973 “On Saturday I was driven in air-conditioned splendour to Hedland to a conference “Women of the North” organised by the Women’s Action Group.

The conference was a great experience, over 350 there I should think, and the idea was to stimulate people’s (i.e. women’s) thinking and get them to do something rather than just sit around grizzling about life in the North. There were eight speakers, seven of whom were excellent, and then a period for questions, some of which were unbelievable. E.g. “Why doesn’t the Government do something about my crickets?” A similar gathering held locally was on the same theme.

I made two suggestions. Every new arrival instead of going immediately to one of the mining towns should spend two weeks, sans air conditioning in Roebourne. Then when they moved to their air conditioned home, in Dampier, Karratha or Wickham, they would think they were in paradise.

The other solution was simple. Turn off the air-conditioning for twelve hours every Tuesday. When it was turned back on everyone would be so delighted they’d immediately stop grumbling. “Oh no!” someone protested. “We would all have flown out Tuesday afternoon!”

When one newcomer asked how did I overcome the problem of weevils during the summer I assured her, sincerely, if one made only chocolate cakes the weevils didn’t show up. She was horrified.

Parents involved in School of the Air being widely scattered, fund-raising was limited to the annual raffle. Being almost suburban compared to the others, I had the opportunity to sell the lion’s share of tickets.

One year the prize was an aluminium dinghy, won, incidentally, by the chemist in Tom Price. The next year it was a saddle. School of the Air seems to strike a sympathetic chord with most people so ticket selling was a breeze but I felt we could sell even more tickets if the prize had more general appeal.

If one lives a few hundred miles from water a dinghy is not all that useful (except in times of flood) and who wants a saddle if they don’t have a horse to go under it? So when raffle-time came round again I suggested a good-quality dinner service. I had a friend in Perth who would choose something suitable and so it was arranged.

Judy of Devonshire Teas infamy, now living in Perth, chose a Royal Doulton dinner service, plain white with a gold rim, which duly arrived and was stowed under the bed.

One of the highlights of my ticket-selling days was an encounter with old Gus Jaegar. Gus, one of Roebourne’s early citizens, had recently retired from running a little goldmine in the form of a small general store across the road from the pub. He allegedly had three prices for his wares, one for whites, one for blacks and a third price, the highest, for tourists.

I accosted Gus in the street one day and he bought two tickets. “Wish I’d had y’ working in my store.” commented Gus. I thought “how nice.” Gus wasn’t given to delivering compliments. But then he continued.

“Yeah, anyone‘d buy anything from y’ just to get rid of y’!”

Anyway, whatever the reason, people bought tickets by the fist full. I sold about 60% of the total. Results were to be published in the local Hedland paper which few people in our area ever saw so I would assure them I’d let them know if they won.

Came the day of the draw with some local dignitary appearing in the School of the Air Studio for the occasion. As a family we are not given to winning anything, but having sold so many tickets I felt there was a strong chance I could have sold the winning ticket. So we clustered about the radio set in pleasurable anticipation.

Of course there was an appropriate introduction. We were all praised for our hard work and then the draw took place. “And the winner is ….” Suddenly there was a chorus of giggles – “The winner is – Nina Paterson!” The three of us, Georgie, Andrew and I, just sat there. “Hedland to Cooya Pooya. Georgina are you hearing me?” “Yes, Mrs. Whoever. We’re all just sitting here squeaking!”

For weeks people would stop me in the street. “By the way, who won that raffle?” “Er, well, as a matter of fact I did!” It says a lot for the communal disposition that everyone seemed not in the least disgruntled, except for an uncharitable comment from the Roebourne Postmaster. “Yeah, gets y’ dollar off y’ and then writes Nina Paterson on all the butts!”

Soon I progressed from selling raffle-tickets to more ambitious forms of fund-raising for a variety of causes. With fat populations in three nearby towns this was a breeze. The most ambitious event would be my Swan Song, a gambling event held in the old Cossack Bond Store, proceeds to go to the Assoc. for the Blind and the Multiple Sclerosis Soc. The local constabulary agreed to turn a blind eye to this philanthropic but illegal activity.

We had a friend working at the Burrup Peninsula whose nickname was Yogi. He told us his work mates were delighted at the prospect of a gaming night and he kept coming out with fists full of cash to exchange for tickets.

In my naïve, bucolic fashion I thought hard-core gamblers were just ordinary people who liked to throw their money around, but as Bruce and I stood at the door to receive our guests and accept their tickets this lovely thought was soon dispelled.

The local people drifted in, in a normal, neighbourly fashion and seated themselves at the tables arranged around the walls.

Then the Burrups, as we called them, arrived in two packed buses. Their approach to the doorway put one in mind of the storming of the Bastille. They thrust their tickets at us and just about fell over in their haste to get to the gaming tables which were discreetly situated out the back. A few grunted a greeting as they hurtled by. They were nearly all big men and some were enormous.

I began to entertain the uncomfortable thought that perhaps this time I had bitten off more than I could chew.

Throughout the evening the two groups remained segregated, the local people in the main hall, the Burrups out the back. Now and then a local would venture out to the tables but they didn’t stay there long and returned looking rather dazed.

Some noble person donated a shoe-box jam packed with $2 scratchies which sold like hot cakes but the fruits of all this frenzied scratching were dismal. There were several wins of $2 and $4 and one wild moment when someone screamed “$20! I’ve won $20!” Enough to put one off scratchies for life.

The local bank manager had agreed to act as custodian of the loot. Every so often someone would amble out and present him with an ice-cream container stuffed with notes. It was a lively evening and despite the din people seemed to enjoy themselves.

Slowly the hours rolled by. Every so often a Police car would saunter by. Came midnight and still no one had been run through with a knife. Gradually the local people drifted homewards but there was no indication that the pace was slowing out the back.

Finally Bruce and I had the hall to our selves but the Burrups played on. Would they never go home?

Then suddenly, in a body, they emerged from their gaming den, boarded their buses and were gone. There was no explanation for this abrupt departure but we didn’t care. All we wanted was to go home to sleep.

The abrupt departure of the Burrups was explained that afternoon when Yogi paid us a visit.

He told us that one of the number, a Thursday Islander or a Maori, I’m not sure which, was known as Russel the Muscle. Russel, as the name suggests, was built like a fridge. He also had a slight personality problem. Normally fairly amiable, when his alcohol intake reached a certain level he was inclined to experience an irresistible urge to wrap his ham-like hands about a human throat.

Russel’s playmates were a pretty rough lot but even they felt Russel’s penchant for squeezing throats was a bit much. So when, about l am, Russel showed signs of looking around for a likely throat it was decided the party was over.

During the trip home, Russel got into a fight and ended up having a portion of one ear lobe bitten off. Next day the Burrup Peninsula noticeboard featured this little gem. “Russell the Muscle. Ear today and gone tomorrow.”

Regards,
Nina

Going to the Pilbara at 21 was a lot like going to Bali a few years later. As my friend and I were climbing the stairs to the departure lounge some thirty odd years ago, we were most surprised to find that our air tickets stated our destination as Denpasar. We had thought that the first stop off on our grand tour of The World was going to be Bali. Where was this other place we were headed?

Yes, I was about that prepared and knowledgeable about the Pilbara as well, as I set off for two years work ‘up north’. Some impressions have remained forever planted in my mind, the first of which is the West Australian newspaper. The man next to me in the plane heading for Newman was reading it. As we headed off from Perth, the tears came – dripping down in quiet misery and alarm. I wasn’t the Pilbara type! Soon I was snivelling and snuffling in a fairly sustained manner that lasted the entire journey. The newspaper gradually rose from the lap, to ear height, and then later, appeared to be almost wrapped around the man’s head. He was almost embalmed by the time we arrived. I wasn’t in a good state to greet the receiving committee of alerted males who had wind that the new load of teachers was due to arrive at the airport, but thankfully I knew nothing about this yearly ritual until many months later.

The next ‘huge impact Pilbara memory’ moves from the public humiliation part of the brain, right over to the opposite side – to the ‘totally amazing’ part. The staggering, ear splitting, all engulfing, utter silence that I’ve never experienced before or since, in any other part of the world – no matter how solitary. After getting my motor bike licence (in a very ad-hoc fashion I must admit) we would take off into who knows where, away from the town and deep into the country. After hours of riding in red, lunar landscape we would switch off the engines and sit in the middle of the last place on earth where no thing had walked (or ridden) before. The silence would come crashing down and all the mystical things come creeping out. At night, on the verge of sleep I can remember nothing but red tracks rushing towards me and the roar of the bike, after hours in the seat.

And night in the Pilbara is another memory – this time in the ‘very precious and special’ section. We had driven deep into the desert and camped in a valley. Above and not too far away was a stunning, high outcrop of rocks and red stuff, and spinifex. It was bitterly cold, even round the fire we had made. My head was pounding with cold. Later, with the fire low and all in sleeping bags, a yearning, howling wail began, above on the rocks. Far away another responded. Back and forth and echoey. Largo. We could make out a dingo silhouetted on the rocks above. It was the loneliest sound, full of ancient things, and yearning.

The last memory I will mention here, is one about the dentist. I had left work briefly to get something done at the dentist – can’t remember what – but was packed full of local anaesthetic. I returned. There on the quadrangle were two wild horses that had come in from the desert. Stunningly beautiful brumbies. I stood there and blubbered (again) for no particular reason, and then went back to my class.

I came from Scotland to Western Australia in 1958 with my parents and three brothers. Dad found work in Broome, transferred to Wyndham and then to Point Samson in 1965, as Wharfinger for the Harbour and Light Department.

I met my husband Rob in Point Samson and for many years while he was in the R.A.N. we lived abroad and interstate, returning to Dampier to live in the 1980s with our two daughters.

Not long after that I put my name down as a volunteer for the Department of Conservation and Land Management (CALM) in Karratha and also found employment as the Local History Officer for the Shire of Roebourne.

As a CALM volunteer I was introduced to marine turtles and I still work with turtles on Rosemary Island in the Dampier Archipelago and on Barrow Island. Many a time Rob would drop me off on Rosemary Island to tag turtles and pick me up the following weekend. In the early days I was there all on my own, not another person on the island, flares my only form of communications, a beach umbrella, chair, swag and a few provisions. The fishing line always went in and the gloves packed to catch that unsuspecting crayfish. Some seasons the westerly wind would blow for the whole week, blowing straight in to my camp on the beach, always freezing cold coming across the water and too strong to put the umbrella up.

My days would be spent sitting behind the collapsed umbrella in my chair with a towel over my head trying to make a little shade. It was usually too hot to sleep in my swag during the day, so I would try to catch up on sleep sitting up. The nights were the worst, freezing cold and sand blowing everywhere. Of course, that did not put the turtles off coming ashore to lay their eggs, so out I would go to find and tag the nesting females. Turtle holes came in very handy as places to huddle in while I was waiting for a turtle to finish laying her eggs – anything to get out of the wind. It sounds horrific, but on reflection these were very special years, with a fabulous outcome - results from the data collected since the commencement of the project in 1986 show that Rosemary Island has the largest hawksbill turtle rookery in the Southern Hemisphere and maybe in the world.

In my Local History Officer role I became very distressed when our old people were passing away and most of their history was lost forever. That is when a friend and I decided to have a go at recording oral history. For a number of years we recorded on to cassette tape stories from as many people as we could and then transcribed the tapes. This was not so bad when it was in English, but proved very difficult when trying to transcribe a traditional language that did not have a word list and the informants could not read or write. One such project was the recording of the Kurrama language group’s history and culture with Peter Stevens, the Elder who instigated the project and his old friend, Nelson Hughes. This project was conducted over four years and involved some wonderful field trips to their homelands around the Tom Price area to record and document and on completion of the project a book was published. I would pick up Peter and Nelson from their homes in Karratha and off we would go. The four of us would be driving along the road, friend and I in the front and the two old fellows in the back chatting away and them quizzing and laughing at these two white women trying to pronounce Kurrama words. You always knew when they were getting close to their homelands, as they would go very quiet and slowly and softly start singing in their language. This was always a very special moment for me, they were telling the spirits they were coming home.

We were returning to Tom Price one afternoon along a back track after a long day in the bush when Peter suddenly shouted out “stop, stop, I remember this place! There is a creek over there where there are rock carvings and over there under that overhang and near that Kurrajong tree are some paintings”. I stopped the car and sure enough there was everything just like he said. I then asked the question “when were you here last?” and the answer was “when I was walking this country with my father, when I was twelve years old”. It turned out this was over 60 years ago when there were no roads and no Tom Price and he remembered it as if it were yesterday. For me, this was one of many mind-blowing experiences and one I will never forget. Sadly, he passed away this year. He was a great leader and an inspiration to all who knew him. I miss him terribly.

When we arrived in Newman in August 1970, I was the ripe old age of 8 weeks!! My dad was a chef for Poon Brothers, my Mum a fulltime mum to my two elder brothers and me. Our house was a fibro "wowick" and was the original hospital a new one was built and where it remains today.

Freedom is a word that springs to mind when I recall the early years of living in Newman. Friday nights were the night that my brothers and I were allowed to walk, on our own, to the newsagency shop in the Hilditch Avenue Shops and spend our pocket money of 50 cents (a fortune in those days!!) Mr Hassell was the man who owned the shop and we always left with an extra treat in our possession!! The "opening" of Newman from a closed town and the social changes this brought seemed to destroy the existence that I had known up until then. We had to start locking our doors and couldn't go out at night on our own. Newman was no longer the town in the middle of nowhere without a crime rate and was experiencing lots of anti social behaviour.

Weekends were often spent camping and visiting the many waterholes around town. An extra special outing was driving out to the airport to watch the planes arrive and depart. In those days it was MMA and the planes seemed massive although of course they weren't!! During the cyclone season and before the Fortescue River bridge was built it was necessary to use low loader trucks to get cars across the river. We would all wait in line, drive the car onto one of the trucks trailers and be driven across the river. After the bridge was built and a cyclone came through it was entertainment watching the young men jumping off the bridge into the raging water, swim to the edge and do it all over again, time after time!!

School in Newman was, on looking back, an interesting experience. In those days, teachers who worked at the schools were newly graduated from teachers college and sent to the Pilbara as part of their compulsory service. The majority were young women, having left home for the very first time, terribly homesick and left as soon as their two years were completed. We lived next door to a teachers house, which was occupied by teachers who shared the accommodation, so there were always new people coming and going. One teacher in particular spent quite a bit of time with our family. It was great because he would bring home "reel to reel" movies and we would have movie nights with the back wall of our fibro home the projector screen!! Children were always coming and going as well, because of the transient nature of the mining industry. The main group of children that I went to school with were in the same family position as me and we had all grown up together from young babies. I still keep in touch with some of these people and a few are still living in Newman now.

The first time I ever saw rain was not until I was nearly 5 years old. I remember being fascinated by this "stuff" falling from the sky and stood out in it for hours, so my Mum tells me!! When a cyclone came through, because we were so far inland, the damaging winds had mostly dispanded and there was only torrential rain. It was always really exciting when a cyclone was on its way - my brothers and I would constantly walk down to the police station, which was near our house, to check which alert flag was flying. We only ever got to red alert a couple of times. On the times that we did, my brothers and I and our two dogs would sit at the window watching the weather and being fascinated at trees that could bend over to touch the ground and not snap!! The best part was after the cyclone when we could get out in the mud and have a never ending supply of tadpoles to keep at home!! I remember never feeling scared during a cyclone, just very excited because our houses were built to be safe and I had no perspective of what it was really all about.

During the late 1970's we moved to a house in the newly developed South Newman area of town. Our house was on the edge of town and I remember being so excited about moving to a brand new brick home that had 4 bedrooms!! My parents put a pool in and which became the centre of the most frightening experience I will ever remember about living in Newman. On New Years Eve 1980, my family had been out celebrating and when we came home, one of my brothers and I decided to go for a late night swim. My parents and other brother sat and watched us. Shortly after getting in the pool, we heard screeching car tyres (which was normal as our street was often used as a drag strip!!) and then a car crashed through the pool fence and landed in the pool!!! My brother was hurt by the fibro fencing. The 3 young male occupants in the car managed to climb out and run off down the street. The police found them a short time later. We were all taken to hospital and thankfully my brother only received bruised ribs. The next morning when the car was lifted off the pool it was discovered that it had ripped a massive hole in the fibreglass shell. This was repaired but for a very long time I didn't swim in the pool at night and as soon as I heard screeching car tyres, I was out of the pool!!

During the 1980's I attended boarding school in Perth, which after living such a sheltered life in Newman was very difficult to adjust to. I had only been to Perth a handful of times before this. Driving trips to Perth were a major affair - before the road to Perth was sealed it was a bumpy journey on a dirt road in a small car with two adults, three children and two dogs!! Broken windscreens, blown tyres and kamakazi wildlife were all a normal occurence during a driving expedition!! Airfares in those days were very expensive so the whole family flying together was a luxury!! After finishing boarding school, my parents were affected by the downsizing of BHP and we moved to Perth in 1988.

In 2004 after completing a Bachelor of Education (Primary) I returned to the Pilbara, this time to Port Hedland. It had always been my intention to return to the Pilbara because in my heart I knew that I was a "Pilbara Girl" - it's in my blood and is home. It's a place that there are no in-betweens. Either you love it or hate it. Those that hate it can't wait to get out and those that love it can understand that it is so many things that make it the place to be - the lifestyle, the people, the weather - it's quite difficult to articulate and do it justice!! The night sky still stirs something quite amazing in my heart. It did as a child and it does as an adult. Somehow the stars always seem brighter and the experience of just sitting in the middle of nowhere, listening to the goings on of the wildlife and star gazing is quite incredible.

This time around I have a very different perspective!! My Pilbara experiences are through the eyes of an adult, with the memories of a child!!! However I have that innate understanding that I am where I want am supposed to be and this time I'll be leaving when they turn the lights out for the last time!! I am now a mother - my son is 10 years old and is a type 1 diabetic. This had added extra pressures on living a remote area of the state but we are fortunate that the infrastructure is in place to ensure he can maintain a normal life and enjoy the same things that I did growing up here!! The roads are sealed, the doctors and health professionals are exceptional and a trip to Karratha now feels the same as a day trip out in Perth!! Some of my friends in Perth who have never visited the Pilbara still find it hard to grasp that a 2 1/2 hour driving trip to Karratha is no big deal and something done quite regularly!!

I have a very different perspective on cyclones as well - they are frightening and no longer hold the fascination and excitement they did as a child!! Fortunately, since moving to Port Hedland, we have only had near misses and I haven't had to deal with the consequences of a direct hit!!

I love living in this part of the world and even though there are good and bad experiences associated with it, I wouldn't trade them for anything. This place is home and I am proud to be a "Pilbara Chick"!!!

Being married to an Army bloke takes you to the oddest places; the serene order of Canberra, the smoke stacks of Singleton, the verdant heat of Samford, the scorching Shamal winds of Kuwait City and many other destinations designed to test and delight! But no posting has quite touched me like the tour in the Pilbara.

The Army bloke, the four little kids and I camped our way across Australia arriving in Karratha during a blistering January week. The drought was biting and the town looked dry beyond measure, listless and dusty in the sun. My daughter looked at the suburban order and indignantly exclaimed, “this does not look like the outback”. How right she was….

Karratha, indeed, is not ‘the outback’. It is a confident, even brash, regional centre on the doorstep of an area too unique to be lumped in with the vast Australian outback. For an Army family, usually always the ‘new kids on the block’ the town had a warmth of reception unlike any other. Practically everyone in town is ‘new’ to varying degrees. There was an empathy with the mobility associated with employment choices, people were in town for a good time rather than a long time and the resulting acceptance and friendliness made the transition into a new community the easiest I have ever encountered.

We threw ourselves into the Pilbara lifestyle, drove thousands and thousands of kilometres and saw a world of natural grandeur without compare. Many others have exclaimed and explained about the gorges riven through ancient rock, the immeasurable beauty of the unexpected cool water in the desert and the vastness, silence and untouched nature of the space – where the engines of industry are no more than motes in God’s eye – but to feel it is a privilege not to be forgotten. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with this country… and my heart aches at the prospect of leaving.

But the richness to the Pilbara tapestry is the people, particularly the women. In all shapes and sizes, with some wildness, some tattoos, much commonsense and even more fun these are the best of Australia’s women. They work hard and play hard, they treasure their families and won’t faint at the prospect of more than 1.8 children or the odd scorpion under the bed. They make you laugh and you find that you can stand in meager shade in a dusty schoolyard waiting for the kids on a sun-ripened afternoon and agree that the weather is fantastic.

So I am driving my little ‘bush kids’ (who now exclaim loudly when they see a traffic light whilst on holiday) after some sporting activity, and I’m looking at the Burrup etched black against the orange-gold of the sky and feel at home in a way that has evaded me all my life. The Pilbara, with its storms, its reptiles, its landscapes, but particularly its women, is the best posting of all.

It was the 1st of December 1971when Robyn Crane first arrived in the Pilbara from Queensland’s Stradbroke Island. Stepping off the plane in Paraburdoo she quickly realised that the outfits she’d chosen - her daughter Tarita dressed in a pretty pink dress, husband Bill and son Scott in long sleeve shirts and ties and herself adorned in a watermelon coloured linen suit complete with white gloves and white high heels - were just a little formal for the outback town. Her husband Bill had accepted a position as a mechanical fitter for Hamersley Iron as a mechanical fitter.

No sooner had they stepped on to the tarmac than they were greeted by a surprised and embarrassed company official telling them they were supposed to have been stopped in Sydney as the mine had been put on care and maintenance. As they say there was no turning back, so the family moved into an unprepared company house which was dirty, had no grass and, like the other houses in Paraburdoo, no phone. A few weeks later it was Christmas Day and Robyn found herself with her daughter in hospital in Tom Price, as Paraburdoo had no Doctor or hospital, Bill ill with tonsillitis, sitting down with Scott to Christmas dinner both in tears wondering what had possessed them to move across Australia leaving behind family and friends. It had to get better because it could not have reached a lower point.

The Crane family later moved to the coastal town of Karratha and subsequently to the adjacent closed mining town of Dampier in 1973. A common comment by women living in the North West was that these towns had been built by men for men with little thought as to the needs of families. While the quality of housing was of a high standard for that time, facilities such as child care had not been considered by the construction team. At that stage there was a huge demand for childcare, so a group of women took on the company asking for a house to be allocated to a community based child care organisation to enable the establishment of a child care centre. A property was allocated and the community swung into action to build an approved centre.

Within five years, this community based association had built two other centres in Karratha, with the assistance of Hamersley Iron, Woodside, Shire of Roebourne and both Commonwealth and State Governments and become the largest non profit child care group in Western Australia. Robyn took on the role of the Centres Administrator between 1976 and 1985. The establishment of these centres was so important to families that came to the area without the support of extended families.

In the late 60s the Shire of Roebourne was disbanded and a Commissioner appointed to work with the Government to deal with the many local government issues that resulted from the massive works required to build communities to meet the needs of the iron ore industry. In 1974, Robyn was appointed a member of the Advisory Council that was established to advise the Commissioner on local issues. In 1976 the Council was about to be reconstituted and Robyn was asked if she intended to run for election only to be informed by the Shire Clerk that she couldn’t as the Local Government Act declared that only people with their name on a property lease could run for council. Problem was, most of the people who fitted into this category were the men who worked for the mining companies – not their wives. These rules didn’t impress the women of the Shire who picketed for the right to vote.

Robyn indicated she was prepared to stand for election if a way could be found. Hamersley Iron agreed that she could hold the lease for the Child Care Centre to enable her to nominate for one of the two Dampier Ward positions on the Shire. To this day she must be the only woman elected to local government on practically a 100% male vote. Perhaps the husbands were under some pressure to ensure one of their two votes went to Robyn who was ultimately elected to the Shire.

In 1979 she became the first female Shire President of the Shire of Roebourne, a position she held for some five years and the first woman on the W.A. Country Shire Council Association. Subsequently, Robyn was joined on Council by Betty Connell and at one stage the only two women on Council held the position of President and Deputy President of the Shire. Robyn believes that local government offers a tremendous grounding that allows for women to seek new opportunities such as appointment to Government and community boards and committees or working to improve their local facilities. Robyn is definite that she would never have been given the opportunity to work in so many exciting areas if she had not been a Shire Councillor and her three children, who now have families of their own, call the Pilbara home.

There were many times when she was told that “she couldn’t” do things, which inspired her to just get on with it and give it ago. Who would have thought on the 1st December 1971 that by April 2006 that she would have left the Pilbara having held the position of Chief Executive Officer of the Pilbara Development Commission and having had so many wonderful experiences that would have been unlikely to occur in the metropolitan area. Barriers were there to be overcome, the whole time making sure she was having fun and learning to live in this beautiful and inspiring region.

I have been to the Pilbara on four different occasions – The Cossack area; the Cooya Pooya area; the Newman area and the Old Pilbara township area. All were wonderful but the latter was extra special.

Our son invited us (my husband Eric and I) to share a gold trip with him for 3 months. We arrived with our camping gear and equipment on 21st May 1989. Each day the men brought down buckets of dirt (concentrate) from the dry blower and I was responsible for the sluicing and separating of the gold.

Who would predict that unseasonable rain would spoil our gold plans – so I enjoyed a wonderful week watching creeks run, flowers bloom, birds everywhere and the wonderful Golden Orb spider web that glistened in the sun. These are so strong that they do not break easily.

I even found a little nugget on the surface on one of my walks that I carried to the camp in my mouth for safety, hoping I didn’t swallow it. – The result would not bear a thought. One evening I was cooking a barbecue meal when I was overcome by a pungent smoke – I moved away a little and I knew nothing more till 12 hours later when I woke up next morning wondering what had happened. The men had stayed up most of the night keeping an eye on me and my strange behaviour. It was decided that I return to Perth for some medical advice and take what gold we had to the mint.

I returned about a week later after numerous tests with an “all clear” and enjoyed the rest of the stay and resumed my sluicing and separating. I visited the Aboriginal community of Yandeyarra (about 200 people) and had a talk to 3 ladies I had met previously and told them of my recent experience. I described the wood and the fungus I had observed on the wood and immediately they nodded and told me there were 3 types of “that stuff” (1) Smoke that clears the lungs, (2) Smoke used in child birth and (3) Smoke that effects the brain (in fact sends you off with the fairies). They shrugged when I asked them what kind of wood but wouldn’t elaborate.

Seventeen years later and I have had no repeat experience.

I was privileged to have been there and the Golden Orb spider web stands out from everything else. It is tough. It glistens. It is magic – Like the Pilbara.

Added by Twy's son – Phil

When Twy and Eric came to visit in 1989 while I was on long service leave and dry blowing for gold in the Pilbara we had an interesting episode with Twy. Eric and I set the fire going and then left her to cook tea on the BBQ plate. We noticed she had left the BBQ and wandered off but took little notice. She did not return immediately so eventually we turned the meat.

She wandered back and sat down quietly on a chair and ignored the cooking. Eric asked her if she was OK and she said yes. She seemed very vague so we asked her did she know where she was. She said yes she was at Stake Well (a place she had been with Eric about 5 years before). We told her no she was in the Pilbara and she picked up her diary and read it, smiled and said oh yes I am in the Pilbara. She stayed seated so we asked her if she was OK and she said yes she was fine now. So we asked again did she know where she was. “Yes” she said “Of course I do - I am at Stake Well”. This cycle kept going for quite a while. We gave her food and decided if she did not improve in the morning we would take her into a doctor.

Next morning she could remember nothing of the events the night before and she was back with us and acting normally. It took some time to analyse but I remembered seeing some fungus on one of the bits of wood and we discussed the issue with some of the local indigenous ladies and they agreed it was probably hallucinations related to the burning fungus!

My first introduction to work in the Pilbara - a two week job as a relief radiographer at Dampier Hospital. (First job as a radiographer after a few years training at RPH and Swan Districts Hospitals).

Off the plane, meet and greet the radiographer about to go on holidays. Drive to the hospital, first person we meet is at the ward entrance, lounging back in a swivel chair, feet up on the desk, smoking a fag. I thought I heard I was being introduced to the Matron, but assumed I had heard wrong. Of course not. Nurses quarters that evening, obviously some intense yet relaxed relationships amongst the nurses. I was the only one without a boyfriend permanently sharing my room. When I expressed some level of surprise that it was not frowned upon, (this being 1970's) - I was told, “dah - the matron has her boyfriend in her quarters”.

Living in the Pilbara changed my life. I grew up there despite arriving as an adult. It drew out my capabilities, my inner strength and my adaptivity. I grew to love the variety of people that the Pilbara attracted and was always amazed at the way we all accepted one another, becoming friends with people that, had we lived in a city, perhaps would never have met.

Life was an experience of extremes. There were days when it really felt like a struggle. A struggle against the heat, dust, humidity, cockroaches and small town conservatism. However this would then be tempered with experiences that lifted my spirits.

Some of the memories I hold close to my heart include:
The community pulling together. Whether it was to raise money, commemorate or celebrate, people were always keen to get together and DO something. Every weekend something would be happening, and friends and strangers would happily gather together. It might have been a fancy dress party, watching an iconic Aussie band at the Pier, or raising money at a Community Event.

The artistic underbelly.
Before I left the city to live in the Pilbara, a close friend of mine advised me to ‘Find the artistic underbelly’ of the town. My sister had been a professional Middle Eastern dancer in Perth for many years, and before I left, she recommended I join the classes that were being run up there. And this was how the enormous artistic side of the Pilbara was introduced to me. The Courthouse Arts Centre was where weekly dance classes were held and for 3 years I danced amongst gorgeous Visual Arts works, with a group of women who would become like aunts and sisters to me.

The environment.
Being a redhead and therefore easily burnt, I never thought the desert would be for me. But I fell in love with the Pilbara, especially with the beauty of the space. By day the horizon’s seamless blend of line and colour captivated me. From the orange dirt on the ground, silver grey foliage and vault of endless blue sky. By night the smell of spinifex was sweet in the air, and the inky-black starry sky gave a nightly show with its inevitable shooting stars.

I am proud of the time I spent in the Pilbara. It was one of the most challenging times of my life, but also one of the most rewarding. The Pilbara cemented in me the values of compassion, open mindedness and a love of adventure. Now, living in London, those experiences feel like a lifetime ago. But the beauty, space and character of the place resonate within me still.

Piri smith was born Piroska Steiger in Budapest Hungary on the 1st May 1914, just six weeks prior to the outbreak of world war one in Europe. One of five children, she grew up and received all her education in this city. She had a happy childhood and treasured memories of summer school holidays with an aunt in rural Hungary. Piri was an active participant in many sports in her youth though she did recall a dislike of skating and as soon as old enough she told her mother she would no longer participate in this tedious recreation. Leaving school at the age of fifteen, Piri worked in her home city for the next ten years doing clerical work and continueing to enjoy involvement in various sports. Piri said she started smoking in these early years, which of course eventuated into a lifelong habit.

In the late 1930s Piri was smart enough to see the storm clouds sweeping across europe and also mobile enough to make a move to England, coincidentally just six weeks prior to the start of world war two. In England her Hungarian nationality only allowed her a work permit restricted to domestic duties and forbade her any reentry to Europe during war years. May 1941 saw Piri joining the ‘women’s auxiliary territorial service corps’ in the British army, though her Hungarian nationality again classified her as ‘enemy alien’ and confined her to unqualified duties such as store person, cook, sickbay attendant etc so she became a ‘jack of all trades’. In peacetime 1946 Piri sought discharge from the army; she continued to work in England and became a British citizen. Post-war England was a time of restrictive shortages and rationing, again Piri’s adventurous spirit led her to the decision to head for Australia.

Piri sailed from the UK aboard the P&O liner “Maloja” in 1951. This trip which she recalled took six weeks and six days proved to be one of Piri’s most enjoyable experiences. She was invigorated by the social life of the luxury liner, being waited on hand-and-foot was something new. She had excellent sea legs and said she never missed a meal. Unfortunately the trip had to end but friendships made during this time were to endure for years.

Disembarking the “Maloja” in Brisbane, Piri enjoyed the next four years working in various queensland towns. Mainly working as a cook in country pubs she saved her money and then moved on, all the time acquiring knowledge and an appreciation of her new country. By 1955 Piri’s travels brought her to the west coast of Australia, for a brief stay in Geraldton, which did not really appeal to her and then down to Dongara. It was about this time that Piri met prospector Harry Smith and after a correspondence courtship married Harry in Marble Bar in 1955.

Harry had a hand to mouth existence working a small gold mining ‘show’ at Bamboo Creek some 45 miles from Marble Bar. Bamboo Creek became Piri’s home and she loved it. This ruggedly scenic yet inhospitable location in the outback Pilbara with a population of just seven men was to be a very happy period of Piri’s life. Bamboo Creek in 1955 consisted of a state battery and a caretaker’s house where Piri and Harry lived. To keep cool during the day she filled a galvanised iron tub with water before sun-up or made a trip to the relative cool of the mining adit into the hill where they stored foodstuffs. Along “the creek” a scatter of mining huts were connected by the rocky track along which they carted their dirt to the battery for a twice a year crushing.

Despite the contrast with sophisticated Budapest, the lack of civilised trappings and services, life could not keep Piri down. She found plenty to do in her day. She walked about a mile through the bush each morning to the old post office which she opened from 9am to 9.30am daily. She would make a phone call to Marble Bar post office to check the line was not down and then send and receive any messages. Piri who was always a prolific letter writer said she was her own best customer. Piri’s other duties included checking on the water tank levels for the little settlement, and at one time she even supervised the correspondence school lessons for one of the prospectors’ son. Piri loved to crochet and her trademark colourful cushions soon gave her bush house a homely look. Piri was the only woman at Bamboo Creek in these days so it became an unwritten law for anyone who happened to be around to dine at Smith’s for Sunday tea. Through necessity Piri acquired a taste for roo while living at the creek, something she relished for the rest of her life. Piri who was always a 5am riser started a tradition of walking the length of the creek to deliver freshly baked hot cross buns to each prospector on Easter morning (such a lovely deed but even more so for one who did not embrace the Christian faith.)

Visits to Marble Bar were rare. Occasionally one of the prospectors would make the four hour trip into Marble Bar and a couple of times she went along. She enjoyed doing her own shopping but hated the subsequent wait while the men folk quenched their thirsts at the ironclad. She understood their need but was glad to get home.

Harry smith was a diehard miner …. The elusive pot of gold was always just around the corner but in those days of “hammer and tap” mining the returns were marginal. By 1959 Piri knew this way of life was not financially viable and she had to move on. By way of luck a position as telephonist at the Marble Bar post office was vacant and the job was hers. This was the beginning of Piri’s long involvement with ‘The Bar’.

Working the evening shift on the telephone exchange, Piri filled her day becoming part of the small community. She was soon local correspondent for the Carnarvon-published “northern times” and learned the art of social reporting. Once more her homemaking flair transformed the very basic corrugated iron CWA cottage on the site of the old Byass home into her own home but also a meeting place for out-of-town women …. A place to stop and have a smoke or a cuppa. Piri in her dry way immediately named the building “the cow shed”, which aptly described its architectural merit!!!

Piri was a tireless worker for local organizations. Always willing to donate crocheted dolls and doilies to a craft stall or her continental cakes and pastries for a cake stall, and ever ready to man the booth as well. Piri was to become the official ‘doorkeeper’ for every dance and social event at the old Roads Board Hall, no one slipped by her without paying nor dared attempt a backdoor entry …. She knew exactly who had paid! Piri’s forthright manner frequently left her a little to be feared by adults but strangely she held a natural magnetism for children who appreciated her straight language and humour. Piri’s genuine interest in little people was reflected in her memory for names and birthdays of generations of Marble Bar children.

During the early sixties Piri continued her evening telephonist work while caretaking Johnson’s trucking business and fuel bowser during the day. Later in the sixties she was employed by the Ironclad Hotel doing clerical work and living on site. Around 1970 Piri made a break from Marble Bar when she was employed as storeperson on Moola Bulla station in the Kimberley. Then after years of saving and also selling the mining lease she had held at Bamboo Creek, Piri financed a round-the-world air ticket to visit friends in the UK and family in both Hungary and the States. Needless to say Piri soon returned to Marble Bar where she was caretaker of “Poinciana” which was by then operating as the CWA home. Retiring from an active working career Piri augmented her income by small clerical jobs around the town. However her involvement in community organizations never waned, for a period she was both President of the CWA as well as Secretary of the local RSL.

Piri watched with interest as the Shire decided to build an aged persons’ home in Marble Bar and made sure her’s was an early application for residency. Thus in late 1978 she was rewarded with the first of the brand new units which was to be her home for the next twenty six years. Her tireless work and involvement in community undertakings were officially recognized by the East Pilbara Shire with the award of “certificate of honour”, one of only five, during Marble Bar’s centenary celebrations in 1993.

Sadly, increasing visual problems impinged on Piri’s most favoured occupations, she lost the pleasure of a good book and had to give up her huge correspondence contacts around the world. She was now reduced to listening to current affairs, news, sport and talk back programmes on ABC radio which she termed her “school of the air”, still her dry wit and sharp observations persisted.

Failing health unhappily forced Piri to be sent to a city nursing home in early 2005. The last twelve months were very difficult for her, mainly the separation from her much loved Marble Bar. The new and different life in Maurice Zeffert home, learning to recognize new voices and adjusting to a changed environment were all met by Piri with stoic acceptance of what life had to offer and appreciation for the help and kindness she received on this last path of life’s journey. Piri died peacefully on the 14th February 2006.

It is heartening that Piri, who saw horrific events in Europe, was able to make her way through adversity and establish a happy existence and win the love and esteem of her adopted hometown which mourned her as a family member. Fitting indeed is the renaming of the aged persons home in Marble Bar as the “Piri Smith Retirement Units”.

To me this was home as I spent 20 years of my life there! I know lots of people would think this is a life sentence but not to us.

I remember coming straight from Asia and driving to Tom Price with my fiancée who is now my husband of 30 years. Both my kids were born and bred in the North West.

Who would believe it…..Me a city chick, coming straight from Asia to the Pilbara town of Tom Price to marry my childhood sweetheart.

When I first arrived in Tom Price in the late 1970s I pictured the town to look like the out back with horses’ tied up to the post just like in the western movies……but how wrong was I! To my surprise it was a little Oasis everything was so beautifully green.

The heat was just so intense and the hot air was just like a hairdryer being left on, not to mention the flies….. you just got to love it. I have some very fond memories of Tom Price, like this one time in particular that I would like to share with you. I remember it was my son’s 8th or 9th birthday and we had a birthday party for him and some 10-15 kids came to help celebrate his birthday. We had all the usual birthday party food and lots of lollies and not to mention games like Pin the Tail on the Donkey and Pass the Parcel. The party was going really well when out of nowhere a rabbit broke into our yard and our dog ‘Brutus’ (who was part British Bulldog / Cocker Spaniel) broke free from his chain and attacked the rabbit killing it. We had screaming, crying kids and parents yelling at Brutus but to no avail. It was a terrible ending to a lovely party but looking back now I laugh and think what a great party trick! Sorry all you RSPCA lovers it was not intentional.

We have met some lovely people of all nationalities and it was such a fun and sporting place to live in. I have made wonderful friends who to me are family and all this would not have happen if I had never had the chance to live in the Pilbara.

The PilbaraI think in the end it gets under your skin, the stark beauty of the country side, the lightening shows, the brilliant night skies and sunsets to die for. Most of all it is the people and the Australian sense of humour which makes us return.

I first went to Port Hedland in the mid 1970’s with my first husband and 12 month old son. We survived Cyclone Joan which wiped out most of Port Hedland about a year after Cyclone Tracey devastated Darwin. Interesting to note the first people and supplies on hand to help Port Hedland came from Darwin in the Northern Territory, not as you would presume Perth.

We left after a couple of years but I was to return 6 years later as a single parent, as my parents were living and working in Port Hedland and they were my support network. I made friends in the North to last a lifetime, but what I wish to share most with you is the humour.

If you have been to the North West you know the cockroaches’ are large (about 2 inches long) and can fly, I was terrified of them.

I met my best friend Gloria in Port Hedland. She was from Rochdale in England, and would be one of the most house proud cleanest people I have ever met. Even in dusty old Port Hedland everything in her house shone like an advertisement for Mr Sheen. On her dining room wall she had hanging 20 or so blue and white plates shining away deifying any iron ore dust to stick on them.

She had invited my second husband to be, and I around for coffee so she could give him the ‘once over”. Neither Gloria nor her husband Dave had ever met Warwick before. We were having a lovely time talking and drinking coffee when Warwick suddenly piped up “a cockroach has just run up my leg”. Gloria was mortified that something so dirty had the audacity to run up the leg of someone she didn’t know and the look on her face was classic. Dave grabbed the fly spray and looked at Warwick. Warwick thought Dave was going to rip his jeans off to get the offensive insect and so he promptly squashed it with a sickening crunch, and shook it out of his jeans leg on to the floor. I could not contain myself any longer and started to laugh. Gloria started to laugh also and soon the four of us were laughing so hard we had tears streaming down our cheeks.

They breed the cockroaches’ tough up there and it was only stunned. It flew across the room and alighted on one of the blue and white plates and as we watched in stunned fascination, it proceeded to run over every plate on the wall leaving little specks of excrement on each and every one of them. We all looked at one another and started to laugh once more, until with great presence of mind Dave finished the roach off with the fly spray.

Women in the Pilbara continually battled dust, heat and insects trying to keep their families and homes presentable, but we also learnt to laugh with each other at what was sometimes an impossible task. People arrived in Port Hedland in the 1980”s from culturally diverse back grounds with no hint of what the reality of life in the Pilbara truly was.

After 11 years in Pt Hedland I didn’t think I would ever miss it. On a camping trip to Menzies at Easter I realised I still do. I miss being able to look at the Southern Cross and the Milky Way without light pollution. I don’t miss the insects.

I have visited the Pilbara on many occasions and still feel a strong bond to the area. It is a place where all moves at an amazing pace and everything is ‘bigger than anywhere’. Or so the story goes when you visit the region.

It leaves lasting memories for all who visit. The boiling hot days and winds, the beautiful clear nights, the green plains after the ‘Wet’ and above all, the red dust which is never ending.

My association with the Pilbara began way back in 1964 when I was employed as an Air Hostess. These days very much the incorrect name for Flight Attendants. I began my time with MacRobertson Miller Airlines affectionately called MMA or Mickey Mouse Airlines by the locals. I was one of 29 young women employed to ensure the passengers were aware of the safety drill and to feed and water the brave men and women who were headed ‘North’ on the DC3.

The sixties were a time of an earlier boom in the mining and resources sectors. We aircrew saw it all growing at an astounding rate. Aircraft would land at Roebourne in the early days and later closer to the coast at what was called King Bay. It was in this time that the railway line was being built by Morrison-Knudsen-Mannix-McDonald. Many strong men from the Torres Straits were employed to build the railway line to Dampier from what we called Mt Tom Price. Now shortened by true ‘Nor-Westers’ to Tom Price.

The airline continued to grow and much urgent freight was airlifted to North West towns. For these reasons for a period, Air Hostesses were removed from the King Bay flights for their own safety and young men called Purser Loaders attended to the meals, saw to the passengers and loading requirements of the aircraft. During the early development stage MMA pilots were given a number of 35mm cameras by CRA or an associated company to record the ocean swells as the DC3 dropped down to 300 - 400 ft over what was called Hampton Harbour.

Hampton Harbour also gave the name to the sailing club established by the people living and working in Dampier. These early residents created their own fun with visits to the off-shore islands and going camping. I visited the beaches of Dampier during 1979 and the township in 2005 - much had changed. The Dampier Salt Company had expanded greatly and the little strip on the mud flat where the DC3 would land was nowhere to be seen.

Charter flights to the North West developments were always popular with the aircrews as it took us and the passengers to see ‘what was happening’ whether the passengers were Employees Federation guests or politicians. One such charter on the then most modern aircraft of the time, the F27 Fokker Friendship had the then Minister for NW and Industrial Development, Charles Court on board. This inspiring gentleman kept every one of the 36 politicians on their toes as he marched them around many new and exciting ventures. He was a great source of information and it was when the number plates on vehicles throughout the state declared that WA was ‘the State of Excitement’.

About 1967 I was lucky enough to travel on a 7 day charter by Queenair aircraft with Sir David Brand the then Premier and Minister for Tourism and other senior public officials of the day. During this trip we had a private tour of places like the impressive North West Cape Communications base (Exmouth) as well as Roebourne and Cossack with their lovely old stone buildings waiting to be restored.

On this occasion we also visited the loading facilities at Dampier and saw the massive car dumper which speedily lifted 2 cars of ore simultaneously off the railway line thus emptying the cars of ore. The rail cars seemed to stretch forever, when we saw them from the air but on the ground, this action was even more impressive. The ‘fines’ were stockpiled nearby and there was talk of pelletising this product.

An early visit to Mt Tom Price on a DC3 had the passengers and crew waiting at the red dirt strip for the tell-tale sign of dust in the distance heralding the arrival of the mini-bus bringing southbound passengers to the air strip. The ‘strip’ was a graded surface without a building, in the middle of nowhere..

All this waiting resulted in ‘the call of nature’ and while it was fine for the boys the only Air Hostess (myself) found herself tip toeing through the spinifex in high heeled shoes looking for a tree to squat behind. Great embarrassment when one was not permitted to pee while the aeroplane was on the ground. Anyone who has been to Tom Price would know the result would be prickles in the stockings and a very red face!

VIP passengers were identified on the passenger manifest and we would select the best seat for such passengers by placing reserved signs on a seat. Earlier days passengers were only seated in a particular place if the freight was loaded in the tail lockers; hence the passengers were seated up front to distribute the load. One such VIP was Gold Pass Holder Bishop John Frewer who travelled the network for many years.

During the busy exploration stages of the 60's in the Pilbara, people like Hamersley Iron’s Russell Madigan (later Sir Russell) and many other business executives often flew into the area from Eastern States, the United Kingdom, USA and Japan. All aircraft were fully booked and bigger aircraft were hired to meet the need in boom times.

Port Hedland was a destination for ‘crew changes’ and the crews would bunk down at the Esplanade Hotel in the days when the only other hotel was the Pier. We could always remember that the Pier Hotel was built along the esplanade and the Esplanade Hotel was situated on the pier!

On warm evenings crew members could be found strolling along the jetty dodging the Manganese trucks as they loaded waiting ships. At the same time State Ships were discharging passengers ‘as the tide’ would allow.

In the early days in the North West meals were fairly basic and there was always a roast on the menu at the Esplanade. One would always have to ask ‘which one is the re-heat’ so that you got the freshest meat. Also because of lack of good refrigeration food poisoning in the hot North West was common. Pilots on all aircraft had to consume a different type of meal with this in mind.

Other leisure activities while waiting for the flight returning south were to fish off the end of the Port Hedland jetty. The hosties would ‘jag’ the sardines from a school of fish and place them in a bucket. The Pilots caught mackerel on a hand line while wearing gloves - sometimes. Another favourite past time was to ‘con’ the local Priest to take us all to Pretty Pool for a swim before heading back to the beer garden (with the Priest cum taxi driver) to have a few drinks before dinner.

Our ‘taxi driver’ Father Tobin, enjoyed the company of the visiting aircrews and on many a warm evening we would enjoy a meal in his backyard and join in a sing-along as he was a very talented pianist.

Our fishing went into decline when the port began to change shape with the building of the Finucane Island Port facility. Red dust was flying everywhere and it was not a welcome sight for the women of the town to see their washing change colour! The new Walkabout Motel was built out near the airport and this alleviated the 10km trip into the port area along the causeway. The crews thought their new Motel was a real oasis.

In my time with MMA I was credited with more than 5,000 hours flying and dealt with more than 100,000 passengers. Upon resigning in 1970, MMA operated two Fokker F28 Jet aircraft along with their F27 aircraft and DC3’s. More than 29 flights were heading North each week to service the rapidly growing mining, oil and gas industries and MMA employed 95 Flight Attendants.

I agree, everything in the Pilbara is definitely bigger than anywhere!

My next 18 years were spent on a sheep station out from Leonora, still with red dirt around me. I taught our children by School of the Air before they headed south to boarding school and University.

We have retired to Perth and I work as a volunteer for the Royal Flying Doctor Service - Flying 1000 Group. We are busily raising funds for the life-saving medical fit-out of new aircraft. This is my way of ‘repaying a debt’

But that is another story for another time...

My congratulations and best wishes to Erica Smyth and Melva Stone for what promises to be a wonderful record of contemporary women of the Pilbara.

Over the summer in 1976, as a young engineering student, I spent 3 months over the university vacation at Dampier, working for Hamersley Iron in their Railways Division. The mining companies in the Pilbara have a long history in generously providing a number of summer vacation jobs for undergraduates, which helps engineering students gain the requisite practical experience necessary to graduate. My father delighted in telling friends that his daughter had a job working on the Pilbara railways, conjuring up vivid images in their minds of me, out in the desert, swinging a pickaxe. I was actually working with a group responsible for railway signalling and communications. Our job was to make sure the many trains from the mine to the port ran smoothly and that there were no hold-ups in getting ore down to the stockpiles at the port and the waiting ships. The notes below are extracts from my letters home while on this adventure:

SETTLING IN
The Single Women's Quarters, where I now lodge, is about 1km from the mess, which is down next to the Single Men's Quarters and buses come to take us down to dinner at 5:30pm, then bring us back later. There are also company buses to take us to work. There's a large dusty dog that waits patiently at the bus stops and the bus drivers always pull up to let him on board. A couple of days ago I was sitting on the bus and we stopped to let the dog get on. I was apparently sitting in his favourite seat so he came and sat alongside me and leant on me! Having a large dusty dog lean on you on your way to work is not so good - I moved to the seat behind. He looked pleased, stretched out full length on the seat and went to sleep. He's a community dog and it seems he has no specific owner. He's a good-natured animal and everyone looks out for him and he's just known as 'Red Dog'.

The meals up here are excellent. We live on steak, roasts, chicken, turkey, corned silverside and platters of cold meats and fresh salads as the staple diet, with prawns, crayfish and Spanish Mackerel thrown in occasionally. The vegetables on offer change every meal. And there are tubs of ice-cream and a choice of several fancy desserts every night. Breakfast we get for ourselves at the Single Women's Quarters, although the Company supplies tea, coffee, rice bubbles, eggs, bacon, chops, etc. We phone up and order lunch that is delivered to our work site. I'm entitled to three rounds of sandwiches plus fruit!

I have a good-sized room with a bed, wardrobe, dressing table and desk. There are 12 similar rooms in the accommodation block and three of these blocks constitute the Single Women’s Quarters. So, I guess you’ve deduced there are not very many single women up here! Several of the women have suitors who more or less live in, but it makes for a cheerful and convivial atmosphere. We share a kitchen that abuts a large common room and dining area, so there's always someone around and they seem a friendly crowd. There’s a garden of oleander bushes and a couple of trees and a paved patio area.

From our common room we have a view out across ancient smooth red rocks and over the ocean where we can glimpse ships being piloted through the islands to the port. The rocks are worn smooth by weathering in the extreme heat. At night, when it's still, you can occasionally hear a pinging sound followed by a clunk of rock on rock. It took me a little while to figure it out - I went exploring and found some recently broken rock fragments, then, fortuitously, a rock split just in front of where I was standing. I suddenly realised what it was. The rocks were exfoliating! The sound occurs as the outer layers of the rock cool more quickly that the centre of the rock and the shrinking outer layers just can’t stretch over the hot expanded rock core - the outer shell literally cracks (exfoliates) off the rock. They’re black where they crack but over time they change to red oxide colour from the iron. And so the hillsides of wonderfully smooth rounded red rocks, cascading down to the sea. It’s just stunning to contemplate the time and forces shaping these hillsides.

A TRIP UP THE LINE
The trip up to Tom Price was fabulous. We left about 9am, by helicopter! We did some work at a couple of the track-side camps then transferred to a vehicle at Camp 242 for more detailed work at each siding between the Camp and Tom Price. We arrived late at Tom Price and the town and the mine were ablaze with brilliant white lights, which was just a stunning contrast after the miles of desert we had been traversing. It was a very long day as we had been retuning and aligning the levels on the 3-channel open wire system, used for the signalling system, all the way up from Dampier to Tom Price. The guys were booked into the Single Men's Quarters, but because the Single Women's Quarters were full, I was to stay at the hotel. They reckoned it wasn't fair and made an argument for equality of the sexes i.e. they should stay at the hotel as well. They all escorted me to the hotel check-in desk and teased the rather startled looking receptionist, saying that they were all staying with me!

It had been a really hot day and incredibly dusty too, so we headed for the 'lounge bar' (a concession to my presence). After a lemon squash I went off and had a shower to wash off the layers of red dust and changed into my pink and white floral dress and white sandals (I work in my jeans and a blouse because I need to wear safety boots). When I made my reappearance in the bar it caused quite a sensation. I was greeted with exclamations of 'Wiencke looks like a girl!' then they all jumped up and down fetching me stools and lemon squashes ­ quite a stir! They're a really nice crowd and great fun to work with. When the pub closed, at 11pm, the general consensus was that we were all pretty hungry, so we went to the Tom Price mess and had dinner. There were quite a few shift workers at the mess, but they were having breakfast!

We were back on the job again at 7 am. After wrapping up the tests that morning, I flew back with the supervisor in the helicopter. I was given a front seat ride and the helicopter pilot gave me a 'Cooks Tour' of the region. On the last leg we flew really low to do a track inspection run and followed the railway track - great fun, especially when we passed trains. We arrived back at 2:30pm and needless to say I was completely exhausted after all that work, heat, dust and travel. I was allowed to knock off early at 3:30pm and it was off to bed early for some nice solid catch-up sleep.

FISHING
I like Dampier! I have been having a great time over the New Year holiday break. On Sunday some of the crowd I work with went fishing and took me along. I caught two fish but they were only 300mm long and we threw them back ­ we were after the big ones! At one stage I had a small turtle swimming around trying to take my bait. We came home with two big fish - Spanish Mackerel about 600mm long. The others were complaining that even these were too small.

After we had been trawling for a while we called in at one of the beaches out on the islands for lunch. The beach formed a large crescent of beautiful soft white sand. We walked along the beach that was criss-crossed with the tracks of huge turtles, which come ashore to lay their eggs. At the end of our crescent beach the sand gave way to rocks. One of the guys picked up a couple of small fist-sized stones, gave one to me and started to wade out into the water. I followed him out, to find the rocks covered in oysters. I've never really liked oysters before but they sure taste good freshly smashed off a rock ­ they couldn't be more ëau natural'. We went swimming and the water was really clear and warm. We had a pair of goggles with us and so were able to look at the coral and observe the fish. I was surprised to see angelfish swimming around - it was stunningly beautiful down below the ripples. Rather than walk back around the bay in the midday heat, I opted to swim and one of the others said he would come too. He wasn't a swimmer but he looked reasonably fit, so I thought he would probably be able to do the distance and we wouldn't be too far from the shore if he couldn't make it. At one stage we disturbed a school of fish which skipped out of the water, arcing up just meters in front of us, brilliant golden yellow forms against the blue sky, splashing back into the shallow water then leaping again - magic! It was about a kilometre across the bay and my companion was well and truly huffing and puffing by the time we arrived back at the boat, about the same time as the walkers.

We arrived back at Dampier about 7pm. I was sunburnt, exhausted and had a just brilliant day. The guys dropped me off at the Single Women's Quarters and handed me the big fish. Enter fisherman triumphant: I walked into the Quarters with a grin all over my face, sunburnt, fish clasped by the tail in one hand and dilly bag slung over my shoulder. The women reckoned I looked just like Tom Sawyer! A fellow who was visiting one of the women cut the fish up into steaks for us and we had an impromptu dinner party. The nurses who live in the Quarters said they were cross with me for getting sunburnt and phoned up First Aid with a request for sunburn cream, which was promptly delivered to the door. Next morning the sunburn had just about gone, which was good, because that day I had an engagement to go sailing. I imagine by now It’s fairly understandable why I think Dampier is great. The job is interesting too!

LIGHTNING DAMAGE
We have been having a fairly busy time at work lately. On Tuesday night a lightning strike blew up a railway out-station, up the track. The wrong people were called out and the ore trains ended up being delayed six hours. Most of the guys at work had been up all night and so had gone home for some sleep, when an urgent fault was reported. The supervisor decided, as he and I were the only ones on deck, that we would go. It was a round trip of 400km and we drove up in a four-wheel drive vehicle. I drove about 200km along corrugated roads, in places submerged by water. I drove through the Fortescue River and it would have been about 300mm deep. I was keeping my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t bog the vehicle - I would never have lived it down. The countryside is incredibly beautiful up the track. They've had a lot more rain up there than we've had on the coast and the vegetation looks great. The rains have brought out the Sturt's Desert Peas. There are also magnificent stands of eucalypts and beautiful gorges with lots of wallabies. I’m glad to report that we found and fixed the fault and the trains are running again.

LIFE IN THE SINGLE WOMEN’S QUARTERS.
It's nice and quiet in the Single Women’s Quarters today since the 3 of the younger women, plus suitors and stereo have gone house minding. It should be a bit tidier too... they are incredibly messy. It was getting to the stage where we were going to sabotage that stereo. The noisy crowd come in at 2am and play records ­ loud records. I'm looking forward to some nice uninterrupted nights of deep sleep.

(Next letter)... The peace in our Single Women's Quarters was relatively short-lived. The people whose house the women were house sitting came back unexpectedly, so the three women, plus suitors, plus stereo have all moved back. Noise levels have skyrocketed and the other residents of the Single Women's Quarters are threatening civil war. I calm things down with soothing comments when I can and try to maintain a low profile!

The food has been great lately. We've been getting peaches and plums.

I'm no longer the newest arrival in the single women's quarters. We have had a kindergarten teacher arrive and a new computing science graduate, working on a graduate plan with the Company. The kindergarten teacher made up a big batch of play dough for start of kindy so I pitched in and helped. The other residents were pooh-poohing our efforts, but by the time the colouring was added they were all sitting around kneading it to make the colours even.

A couple of days ago one of the suitors went out fishing with some mates and caught a huge mackerel which exceeded his height, in length! It's the biggest fish I've seen. They didn’t have anywhere to put it, so they brought it up to the Single Women's Quarters and we put it in the bathtub and filled the tub with crushed ice. It's tail hung out one end and it's head, the other. They came around later and cleaned it and it looks like we'll be hosting a BIG barbecue next weekend. The fishermen were so excited they were all grinning for a couple of days.

WAGES AND SALARIED STAFF
There’s a beaut fight brewing at work at present, although all parties are taking care to keep me out of it, for which I am very thankful. But I'm observing and learning. The workshop guys are expected to attend call-outs during the night if anything goes wrong with the signals and are issued with a vehicle when they are on this roster. However the vehicle has been withdrawn, so the guys are digging their heels in and saying they refuse to attend call-outs. As time goes on more grievances are surfacing, the discontent is growing and the issues are getting exponentially more difficult to resolve. Tempers are snapping and by the way they are all carrying on, you'd swear it was a national disaster, not just a trivial transport problem. As a student engineer I work with the wages staff but the engineers (salaried staff) keep an active eye on my work. I'm on friendly terms with everyone, so it doesn't really bother me - but I do look on with amazement at the divisions between 'management salaried staff' and 'wages'.

(The next week) The guys have decided that they don't want to strike and tell me they are 'playing the issue by ear' for a while. I suspect they plan to not make too big an issue of it so that in a few weeks time, once everyone has forgotten about it, they can start using the vehicle again. They are back to their happy dispositions, which certainly improves the atmosphere.

This week we had a new graduate engineer start at work. The signals techs reaction was 'Oh ###! Not another engineer.' They tend to forget I'm around! I asked them if they would say that if I come back as an engineer, at which they looked a bit sheepish, squirmed, then assured me that they thought I would make a completely different engineer... I think they meant this as a compliment. The main issue seems to be the division that exists between those on staff versus those of wages. It pervades life up here and social structure mirrors the employment structure. There's little fraternising or love lost across the division. It's the only major aspect of life that I've come across up here that I don't like and I think it would be a real challenge for me if I get work up here after graduating. I find the divisive approach incomprehensible - we all have valid roles that make an important contribution to the Company. So why, these artificial barriers?

MY PROJECT
My project at work has been very successful. My test rig is buzzing and flashing - it’s a spectacular sight when it's ticking over, testing cards. It's designed to simulate the signalling system up the railway line, by polling the cards under test sequentially - the first card is polled and if it works in range then it puts out a signal that I use to poll the next. Each card has several circuits and for each circuit tested there is a light that indicates a successful result. When it gets to the end it is all lit up (it looks quite pretty) and then it polls the first card again as it loops around on a continuous test cycle. If a card fails to recognise the polling, then the system stops and it's easy to identify the card that is not operating to specification. The General Manager come through the workshop last week and stopped to ask me what I was working on. He took a great interest and said that to purchase a test box from the equipment manufacturer would cost about $3000. It’s good to know my work has real value!

Not only does the test rig look spectacular, but it also works! We have had a minor fault out at one of the relay rooms. The supervisor asked me to pack up the rig and bring it out to the vehicle and we drove up to the relay room. When there, he asked me to set it up, then to slip the working cards into my test rig one by one. He stood well back and watched and I thought he maybe wanted to see how I coped - I was really enjoying being allowed to do work on the live system. The cards were all testing ok until I got to the fifth card. The tester stepped through the sequence, got to the card I had just put into the test rig, and stopped. I retested it twice and each time it showed up as out of specification. I changed the card over and finished checking the other cards which all passed the test. Needless to say I was delighted with the result and as soon as we got back to the signals workshop I rushed in and called out to the guys 'Guess what - I've found and fixed a fault at the relay room with my tester!' They startled me as in unison they roared back ‘You what?!?' It seemed that the particular faulty card had been a source of many a call-out that brought in four paid hours of overtime each time it hiccupped and which just took a ten minute drive and 5 minutes work to reset. It appeared that it might have become a lucrative income spinner to simply reset the card and to defer fixing or replacing the suspect card. Suddenly the reason for my supervisor taking such a detached stance became clear - I had been used to fix a problem that management staff knew must exist, but which they felt unable to fix. If a staff person had touched the equipment it could have resulted in industrial action. I realised I had been used a pawn in the salary versus wages game, but the wages guys didn't hold it against me. In fact, when I slipped out to collect my wages the next day, the guys made up an engraved label and fixed it to the test rig - it is now named 'Wiencke's Wonder Winker' ­ a source of much mirth!

THE WALK-INS
I went to the 'walk-ins' last night. What are the walk-ins? They’re the Dampier equivalent of the drive-ins. It's an open-air picture theatre! You have to take a towel with which to cover the dusty outdoor seats. With a couple of hundred people there you think you would be fairly safe from mosquitos, but I still got four bites. This week the film was a rollicking western adventure and it was light and entertaining. One of the suitors of a girl in the quarters accompanied me - the women in the Single Women's Quarters had strictly forbidden me to go on my own!

A TRIP TO DAMPIER ARCHIPELAGO
Next weekend is a long weekend and a group from work and their families are going to the islands in the Dampier Archipelago and have invited me along. The plan is to go camping which could be great fun - out there with all those oysters and fish!

(The next week) I set off from the boat ramp with one of the fellows and his family and went out to the islands where we were going to camp. We spent the afternoon swimming and exploring the seabed with goggles and snorkels. The others arrived during the afternoon and we had steaks cooked over a fire we built on the beach. In the cool of the evening we went walking along the beach. As we drifted back I could make out a large shape on the beach, moving down to the sea - a turtle! It was a monstrous great thing, over a metre long, but it ignored us as it plodded down to the sea. Some of the others were keen to see the tracks so I agreed to head back again and show them where we had seen it. This time, eyes craning for the tracks, we spotted a smaller shape moving across the sand. Another turtle - this one barely 75mm long! I put my hand down on the sand and it solemnly marched right across it. They are so cute! The children wanted to keep it but we managed to convince them to let it swim out to sea. There were more turtle tracks further up the beach - this time a set heading up to the sand-hills, but no set heading back down to the sea. We went to investigate and found another enormous turtle busy digging a huge hole in which to lay her eggs. What an effort it was. She would stop and rest occasionally, but ignored us as we perched on top of the sandhill and quietly watched for about and hour and a half, until she judged it deep enough and started laying eggs. She buried them carefully and then made the trek across the sand and back to the cool dark ocean.

We slept under the stars on canvas swags and woke up at sunrise next morning. The rest of the day was spent swimming, snorkelling, oystering and lazing around. The islands are beautiful ­ red rocks and snow-white beaches.

(NOT) MAINTAINING A LOW PROFILE
I find it quite unnerving the way so many people seem to know me. The other night I went down to the mess by myself as the others were all out and was sitting quietly eating my dinner when a fellow walked up, sat down at the table and said 'Hello Judith - eating alone tonight?' We chatted a bit and during the conversation he asked me when I had to leave to go back to university. It's a rather strange experience to have a conversation with a complete stranger who seems to know all about you!

I've got my plane ticket for the trip home. Looking forward to see you very much!