In the warmth of summer the station fell spiritless. The grazings were good, they did not dry to the wheat-whites of the main under the hot sun and the drovers found little work for themselves. Chores like draining waterlogged pastures, or lambing the ewes, looked far away in time. For all the settlers, any activity was something to be seized upon.
I was baling in the hayloft when the burning in the scrubland at Welcome Heath began. The scorching of the earth had to be sinister. Black clouds perched over the land, curling and twisting, beneath a blue stretch of sky. The sun gazed on from above, directing gales to carry off the rising smoke spires.
I threw down my pitchfork and ran into the scrub. I did not know what to expect. All around me the air hung heavy and pungent and laced its wa
