I had never liked towns. My early memories are of times out in the bush along the Edward River; then the clear mountain air at Kinglake and Flowerdale when my father was logging. Later it was deserted beaches and the freedom of farm life on Phillip Island.  Years later, living in a very small town, I was feeling the need to get away occasionally.

The avenue of escape came when we were at a barbeque in the hills. Our host John said, “Judy and Dennis are riding here.  You can ride Sundance, my quarter horse stallion to meet them.” My mind immediately questioned the wisdom of riding a stallion. Reason said the horse must be quiet or he wouldn’t have offered it.
 
Yes, he was different. This horse faced the open road with great anticipation. He left the farm, like me getting away from Goorambat. I said, “Okay boy, we’re off on an adventure.” When we turned into a side road his head went up and he sniffed the wind and broke into a canter. When the other horses appeared, I felt tremors running through Sundance. He was thinking of mares and by now so was I!  It was a lively ride back.
 
At the barbeque we were nurses from a small bush nursing hospital where I worked. They all had horses.  Our hostess Di, suddenly had a brain wave. There was a horse on their farm that didn’t belong to anyone; it was just being passed around the countryside. I could have it, but I would need to break it in.  Here was my bolt hole. On my days off I could go to the hills to break the horse in and ride him home.
 
Mystery surrounded the horse, Sunny. He was said to be a trotter, only 4 years old.  He appeared to have been mouthed and was quiet to handle, but as stubborn as a mule. When I heard a whisper that Sunny may be the eight year old trotter Boho Lawn, I should have listened.
​
There was no doubt that this horse had not been ridden. He was awkward and off balance.

​Through four rides we progressed, but I knew something was wrong. Di said she would come with me next time I rode him.
 
On the fifth day he threw everything at me that he had. He dropped his head and rose into the air, bucking and rearing alternately. I stayed there until he managed to slam his head in my face when he reared. The lights went out and I lost all feeling. My mind was fading but I knew I was still on a bucking horse and that by now I would have no reins and stirrups. I was thrown into the air and as I came down, met Sunny rising up again.
 
The peace of slowly regaining consciousness. The body so incredibly still and peaceful when there's no sight, no feeling and no breath. In darkness, the now thin threads of my mind questioned the crossroads I was at. Would I fade out or return to life? There was just a peaceful waiting. In this tranquillity it didn’t seem to matter. With a sudden gulp of air I returned to the world. I was at the foot of a gum tree, lying over some large tree roots. Di was wiping the blood from my face. We knew that the horse shouldn’t get away with it. I must get straight back on,  but “I cant. I’ve hurt my hip!”
 
On the drive back along the Hume, the white lines crisscrossed from one side of the road to the other. That evening the pain was so bad I asked my neighbour to drive me to casualty at the hospital. The Doctor said quietly. “Why so much pain? There cant be a fracture, she walked in here.” 
 
I knew the pain killers I was given were not strong enough. I sent for a bottle of port to swallow them with and don’t remember the rest of the evening.

It hurt to lie down. I scrapped the thought of lying in pain at night and returned to night duty after the first day of sick leave. 

A week later the Doctor looked at my black, bruised hip and said, “Holy Hell!” He checked the x-ray and to my horror, offered me an invalid pension, which I refused. 
 
I had enjoyed my mornings out in the countryside. There were no regrets about Sunny.

Later I asked what had become of him? I was told that he was swapped for a motor bike and as he couldn’t be ridden, he was broken in to harness. Then he was swapped for two motor bikes. His new owner had always wanted a trotter. The first time he drove Sunny down the street, the horse apparently dropped dead!  They threw a bucket of water over his head. Nothing happened. He couldn’t be revived.  When they were dragging the harness of the allegedly dead horse, he suddenly jumped up, destroying the harness and kicked the sulky to pieces!  I was told that no one cared what had happened to Sunny! 

Thirty eight years later, I had a total hip replacement. It was time for a change.


Bev Morton.
​September 2025

I married young, at 23. My wife quickly knocked some sense into me. She taught me to plan, to think ahead, and to act like a responsible human being. We both realised early on that marriage might have been a mistake, but we decided to make it work. For twenty years we built a life together, raised two wonderful sons, and enjoyed happiness—until we agreed it was time to change.
 
The next decade was less structured. A few short flings, a longer one with a French Moroccan air hostess (best left unspoken). I drifted back to my old ways, living by instinct. Surprisingly, it worked. Life was adventurous, sometimes reckless, but never dull. Then came Irina.
 
There are two versions of that story. One is romantic. The other is just as romantic, but far more tangled.
 
The romantic version: Two artists searching for a place to rent. They meet at a viewing above the old Marrickville Post Office. A modest flat with a kitchen, bathroom, office, and two large bedrooms. They talk about art, see the possibilities, and agree—the bedrooms could be studios, the office a shared, if cramped, bedroom. They move in together. That was 25 years ago, and they are still together. Ninety-nine percent true.
 
The missing details: I first saw Irina at a backyard party near Manly. She was stunning. Most of the guys couldn’t stop staring. She had arrived with a friend of mine, sat quietly, and looked uncomfortable in a crowd of drunk men arguing about football.
 
Months later, another friend asked me to make up a foursome at a French restaurant. Irina was the third guest. We talked about cameras, art, and life. She told me she was a nurse in a children’s cancer ward, exhausted by the relentless loss of life around her. I urged her to apply to art school and offered a way to cut costs —share a flat with me in Canterbury. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
 
At the same time, I was completing a master’s degree at the Australian Film Television and Radio School. Of course, sharing a flat wasn’t easy. I’m Irish by descent. Irina, Polish descent. Our views on living arrangements clashed often, leading to short, fiery altercations. By the time the lease ended, we were both considering separate paths. And that’s when the truly romantic story begins.
 
Ten years ago we moved from Perth to Benalla. My youngest son, Craig, now works as a paramedic in Numurkah. My eldest, Kim, is a filmmaker, constantly travelling—at present he’s in Cambodia. And Irina and I? Still together. Still creating; Still writing our story ...
​

Merv Beamish

As a child I lived with my family in a small English village in a rural area.

I loved the country life, the fields we walked across, forests we walked through, wildlife and the farm animals. I had seven siblings and plenty of mates, so I never had time to get bored.

One day, while I was walking with my brother, we spoke with a local farmer. He asked if we were interested in a job. We both jumped at the idea; we started there and then. Our job was to clean out a barn full of cow manure.

That was my next phase of living in the country. I worked at that farm every chance I had, weekends, school holidays, in the summer I worked after school till late with the haymaking etc. I loved it. I never had a problem with getting a bit of dirt on my hands.

When I moved with my family to Australia as a fourteen-year-old, things didn’t change that much. I lived, and in my spare time, worked on a farm.

The weather was a lot warmer and drier, the wildlife was very different, about the only wild things the same were foxes and rabbits.

When I left school, I had to move to work in the city. I hated it. I had various jobs until I decided to get my truck licence. As soon as I had chance I started work with interstate companies. I was out of the city most of the time, driving through the countryside which is what I loved.

I did this work for many years until I was diagnosed with Narcolepsy and Sleep Apnea.  I had to surrender my driver licences. After having to be reviewed by specialists every twelve months, I was eventually given my drivers licence for the next 10 years. Basically, to drive to Church on Sundays, as they say. Not to drive anymore than I had to. 

I spent the next few years working for myself, doing odd jobs, landscaping and maintenance work. Then I started doing domestic fencing around Melbourne.

After a few years of hard work and getting my hands dirty for other people, it was time for a change. The kids had left home, my wife was retiring from her work, I was ready to retire too. I wanted to retire in the country, back amongst the farms, the forests and the wildlife.

I started with a house on 10 acres; the land was covered in old mine shafts that were starting to open up. They had been closed in by placing a false wooden floor about 10 feet down, then filled in with whatever previous owners could find. It was like a personal tip, but there were a few of them.

We couldn’t run stock or grow much, so it was back on the market within weeks of moving in. Live and learn they say. It took months to sell, but it did.

“Time For a Change!”…, we moved to Benalla. Now I have everything that I have always wanted and more.

Tom Barnaby
​September 2025

​During my school years I can remember only one occasion where future employment was discussed. This was in one 40-minute school ‘period’ whilst I was studying for my Leaving Certificate.
 
Perhaps, had I gone on to study ‘matriculation’, there may have been a more concerted effort to prepare me for ‘life after schooling’.
 
The ultimate result was that, on leaving school, I had no idea what I wanted to do, by way of employment. Circumstances had ruled out the ‘farming future’, which was in my genes.
 
I finished my schooling and, having failed to matriculate, was living with my uncle ‘Toby’. He had taken me to see the Victorian Producers Co. (VPC), a farming associated stock and station agent in St. Arnaud, to see if a position was available. By chance the Managing Director was in attendance. He agreed to employ me as a clerk at the Benalla Branch office, commencing in February 1950.
 
I had no idea what this would involve. I didn’t even know where Benalla was located.
 
And so, I performed clerical duties for the next five years at Benalla, then five years at the St. Arnaud office, then three at the Wodonga office, then three at Head Office in Melbourne, where I was the assistant Branch Auditor. The Benalla office was experiencing internal difficulties and the branch manager, Kevin Donnelly requested that I be posted back to Benalla as office administrator. I had done the rounds, virtually ending up where I had started those 16 years ago!
 
I had long believed that I was not reaching my full potential and that ‘The time had come for a change’ of jobs.
 
At the time, there was a move at-foot for men of my vintage to take on life assurance jobs. The VPC had a subsidiary company in that field, and I transferred to it.
 
It didn’t take me long to realise that I had made a terrible mistake in changing jobs. I was a ‘fish out of water’. I was definitely not a salesperson!
 
I gave the insurance job 12 months when,in absolute frustration, I quit! No other job to go to! I was unemployed. ‘Time for a change…’ but to what???
 
Through my membership in the Lions’ Club I had befriended Jim Smith, a Chartered Accountant. Did he have a client seeking a clerical assistant? (The only job I knew).
 
Fortune smiled on me! Jim didn’t have a client seeking a clerical assistant, but he, himself, needed one!  His assistant had just resigned.
 
Kevin Donnelly, the VPC branch manager, gave me an excellent reference and Jim employed me without question!
 
As I have written elsewhere, I commenced studying accountancy, ultimately qualified as a Chartered Accountant and purchased a 50% share in Jim’s accounting practice. It became registered as Smith and O’Shannessy, Chartered Accountants.
 
I spent just on 30 years as a practising accountant and had, (to my mind at least) reached my full potential.
 
I had, rightly, taken the ‘Time to make a change’.
​
 
Ray O’Shannessy
September, 2025.

I gazed at the panoramic view with the beautiful sprawling gums dotted everywhere and cotton wool like sheep grazing peacefully.  It was a magical sight.  We went back to Melbourne and bought the 500-acre property in Greta the next day in September, 1990.

We moved in early next year on a very hot day and decided our first luxury was going to be an air conditioner.  The first week was spent unpacking and getting to know the neighbours who dropped in for a chat.  The nearest neighbour was several miles away.  It was strange at night as we couldn’t see any lights from our neighbour, however the stars in the sky seemed brighter than ever.

It was an exciting new adventure for us.  We purchased 2,000 maiden ewes and it wasn’t long before the lambs were born.  Some nights I had up to four orphaned lambs in my kitchen waiting for their bottle of Colostrum. 

When we bought the farm people said we would only last a year.  However, we proved them all wrong as we farmed our beautiful farm for 26 years through droughts, floods and fires.  It was always a challenging life, but it was so rewarding.

At the time we didn’t realise we had bought a historic property.  The house was built in 1895 and out the back was the original home or shed, build around 1860 and made up of a kitchen and sleeping quarters.   The slabs were hand cut and in one corner was a copper and the other a huge fireplace where the cooking was done.   The floor was stone; the roof was corrugated galvanised iron. We often wondered if Ned Kelly had stayed there.

​​Our daughter was born not long after we moved in and even though she loved the farm life and the animals she moved to Melbourne to commence studies at university and settled there.  After 26 years of farming, we moved into Benalla for an easier life and retirement.

On reflection the choice we made to move to the country was the right one and I can honestly say they were the most satisfying years of my life.
​

Robyn Desmier
​May 2025