Our Own Farm

We returned to Broken Hill and my grandparents. In time my father identified and bought a farm. It covered approximately 3,700 acres of virgin soil, was quite a distance from Broken Hill and had never been farmed before. It was tremendously exciting for all of us.


My father worked on developing the basic structures on the farm, while my mother worked in town. We siblings stayed with my mother in the house they rented, and went to local schools. I don’t remember much about the schools so I doubt they interested me. I looked forward to going out to the farm during the weekend to see what our Dad had done.


He lived in a small sort of malformed e-shaped thatch structure that had neither door nor roof. There was only one room and that held a camping bed and a tin bath. I presume he cooked over an outside fire or ate out of tins. His first project was to build a chicken run.


In due course the farm was named Easter Farm. The poultry farming venture flourished. However, it wasn’t always easy, particularly when the red (what we called) Saruwi ants invaded. A swarm of those ants could wipe out an entire run of poultry overnight – and they did that a few times. Eventually dairy cattle replaced the chickens, and fields were developed for tobacco and maize crops. When it became a viable proposition, my mother stopped working in town and joined our Dad on Easter Farm.


What did that mean to me and my siblings? Ah no - boarding school again!