I rolled into Johnstone's Creek on a stinking hot February afternoon after a long and uncomfortable drive up from Adelaide to take up my new job as a teacher at the local Area School. The mercury had reached forty seven degrees in the shade, if there was any, and this wasn't helped by the non-existent air-conditioning in the Kingswood that the lying bastard of a car salesman had promised was working. While I was on the bitumen it was okay to use the four by eighty system, that is four windows down and eighty clicks (Km/hr) down the road, but as soon as I hit the gravel I had to wind the windows up to minimise the amount of bulldust that got into the car.
Johnstone's Creek was what is known as a one horse town, in this case it is a one horse, two dog and forty three million fly town, sweltering in the Australian Outback, the sort of place you stopped at, briefly, on the way to somewhere else. I was not on the way to anywhere else.
First things first, I pull up in a spot amongst the dust covered utes outside the pub and walked into the relative cool of the front bar. There were about a dozen dust covered blokes propping up the bar with a cold beer in hand, the station hands were in town for their Saturday booze up. A large part of the forty three million flies had hitched a ride on the ceiling fans that shoved the tepid air around the room. As I reached the bar I could feel the eyes of everyone on me as I found a gap between them, "A Coopers thanks." I said to the barmaid.
'Not on tap." Talkative soul. She looked to be in her mid forties although in this sort of climate looks can be confusing. Her face had a leathery appearance that you get from too much time in the sun and this appearance travelled south and disappeared into the valley between her twin peaks. "Do you want a can or a stubby?"
"I'll have a stubby, actually no, can I have a long neck and make that an ale." I figured that by this I was establishing myself as a serious drinker because this was one of the strongest beers around.
"Just passing through?" The man next to me asked.
"No mate, I'm here to work." I could be as taciturn as the next person.
"Station or mine?"
"Neither, I'm the new school teacher."
"Ya don't say, hey fellas this guy is the new chalkie.' There was an increase in interest from the assembled crowd.
"Hope he lasts longer than the last one, she had no sense of humour that one. Hey Muriel when he's finished that one give him another, let's make him welcome."
"Sorry guys I'd better find out where I'm supposed to be living.'
"You'll be in one of the teachers' cottages, they're around the back and down the road a bit, you can't miss 'em they're right next to the school and opposite the Institute Library."
"Thanks guys, I'll probably be back as soon as I get unloaded, I assume you'll still be here."
"Is the Pope a Catholic, we'll be here until chuckin' out time."
I followed their instructions which proved to be spot on, there were three cottages close together on the street, one larger than the others which I assumed would be the Head Master's and where I had been instructed to pick up my key. I knocked on the door. It was answered by a young woman in her mid twenties, around my age; she exuded the poise and confidence of someone who was very sure of herself. "You must be the new teacher. We've been expecting you."
"We?"
"Yes, my father is the Head Master and we were told to expect you today but they didn't give us a time. Come in won't you." She stepped back into the room and let me into a cool dark room. "I'll get Dad for you, what was your name?"
"Philip Owen, my friends call me Phil."
"Have a seat Phil, I won't be a minute." She walked from the room towards the rear of the house and I got a good look at her figure and the grace with which she moved, wow!"
She returned a minute later followed by a tall grey haired man drying his hands on a towel. "Dad this is Phil Owen our new teacher."
"Pleased to meet you," his hand was thrust towards me. I grasped it and found his handshake to be firm without being overbearing. "My name you probably already know and this is my daughter Grace."
"I'm glad to be here Sir, I'm looking forward to getting involved in this community."
"Don't call me Sir we aren't in school now, my name is Bill, Bill Jennings. You come from the bush do you?"
"Yes and no. My mother's family had a property and I used to spend all my school holidays there so I see myself as a city born country man."
"I hope you don't have too much idealism, we lead a simple life in this part of the world. What are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"I thought I'd settle in for a bit and then go over to the pub for a counter meal."
"Do you mind if we join you?"
"Not at all in fact I'd enjoy it very much." I looked quickly at Grace and caught a gleam in her eyes.
The pub was crowded when we entered the dining room, the waitress was busy delivering the massive plates of food to the hungry customers. It was typical country pub fare, massive slabs of meat with a large serving of mixed veg. or a salad followed by a dessert of fresh fruit or a pudding smothered with fresh cream, not the diet for the weight watcher. We sat at a table in the centre of the room and were the centre of attention among the locals who were checking out the new teacher.
