While the capital cities grapple with skyrocketing interest rates and stagnant growth, a quiet revolution is happening in the heart of the Back Country. Hay, NSW - traditionally known for its vast plains and breathtaking sunsets - is positioning itself as the next major player in Australia’s regional property boom.With a massive influx of renewable energy projects on the horizon and a lifestyle that offers business opportunity with small town soul, here is why you need to put Hay on your radar before the secret gets out.Hay was recently named the strongest growth market in regional NSW, with residential land values skyrocketing by a staggering 40.3% in the latest Valuer General’s report. While property prices in the major cities have remained relatively flat, Hay has outpaced the state average nearly tenfold.NSW Valuer General Sally Dale noted that this surge is being driven by a "move west," as savvy buyers chase the rare combination of extreme affordability and high lifestyle value. With a median house price still sitting just shy of $250,000 as of July 2025, investors are flocking to the area to secure land before the full impact of the renewable energy boom is priced in. This record-breaking growth isn't just a fluke; it's a clear signal that Hay is the new frontier for Australian property investment.For the entrepreneurial spirit, the opportunity isn't just in residential housing.Currently local agent Gary Brown from Alpha1 Real Estate has two iconic local businesses for sale.Macker's Meat is Hay's only stand-alone butchery, who's distinctive exterior has become a much-photographed backdrop for visitors.But locals know the real magic is inside - many ex-locals still purchase eskies full of Macker's cuts of lam, beef and chicken to take home with them, saying they just can't get meat like home.Hay Jewellers is another busy business for sale, as current owner Denise Hyde seeks to kick back into retirement.Hay Jewellers in situated smack bang in the centre of town and is offered freehold - the main street building and the business are on offer, for just $230,000.Why Hay? Why Now?The window for "affordable excellence" is closing. As more Australians look for ways to escape the rat race without losing economic opportunity, Hay stands out as a beacon of stability and growth, with a heaps of resources for growing families.Hay has two primary schools, a secondary school, TAFE campus and a Country University Centre.There is a hospital, medical centre, Aboriginal medical service, free pool complex and sporting ovals, courts and groups.In Hay we support four codes of footy - rugby league, AFL, rugby union and soccer.From the world-class Shear Outback museum to the stunning Sandy Point beach on the river, the lifestyle here is unparalleled. Add in the projected economic growth, and it becomes clear: Hay is ready for you to escape into a life you need.

It is an active time for funding in the Far West and Riverina regions. Several major grants have opened recently, specifically targeting the agricultural transition and economic development in the Murray-Darling Basin.Here is a breakdown of the funding, subsidies, and support available for farmers and small businesses in the Hay, Balranald, Carrathool, and Central Darling shires as of early 2026.Major Grants (Current & Upcoming)• Agriculture Industries Innovation and Growth ProgramThis is a high-value program aimed at farmers and agribusinesses looking to modernise.Funding: $500,000 to $4,000,000.Purpose: To fund new technology, equipment, and infrastructure that helps access export markets, improves supply chain productivity, or lowers emissions.Status: Open. Applications close January 23, 2026.Eligibility: Must be an incorporated entity with an ABN and GST registration. A 50% cash co-contribution is required.• Southern Basin Sustainable Communities ProgramA joint NSW and Federal initiative to support communities affected by water recovery under the Basin Plan.Funding: $750,000 to $10 million.Purpose: Infrastructure that unlocks industrial development, new processing facilities, or logistics hubs.Status: Open. Applications close February 24, 2026.Eligibility: Councils, organisations, and businesses in the Southern Murray-Darling Basin (includes Hay, Balranald, and Carrathool).Agricultural Subsidies & LoansThe NSW Rural Assistance Authority (RAA) provides ongoing financial support to primary producers.• Drought Ready & Resilient Fund (Low-Interest Loan)Up to $250,000 for fodder/water storage, fencing, solar power, and training to prepare for dry spells.• Farm Household Allowance (Subsidy)A payment for farming families experiencing financial hardship. Includes an income and assets test.• SafeWork Small Business Rebate (Rebate)Up to $1,000 to help purchase safety items (e.g., ramps, guarding, sun protection) to improve workplace health.• Fencing & Fodder Tax Deduction (Tax Incentive)Immediate tax deductions for capital expenses on fencing and fodder storage assets.Climate & Environmental FundingFuture Drought Fund (FDF)The Federal Government releases roughly $100 million annually through various rounds. • Strengthening Drought Resilience on Country: Specifically for First Nations businesses to build climate resilience (currently open). • Climate-Smart Agriculture Program: Grants often available for adopting sustainable on-ground farm practices.Landholder Biodiversity GrantsIf you are a member of "Land for Wildlife," you can apply for up to $2,000 per year for biodiversity-related improvements on your property.Navigating these applications can be complex, but services area available to provide free assistance:• Rural Financial Counselling Service (RFCS): Call 1800 319 458 (Southern & Central region). They help with grant applications and financial planning at no cost.• Service NSW for Business: They offer a "Business Concierge" service to help you find and apply for relevant grants.

In February 1937, the small community of Balranald was shaken by a tragedy that would be remembered as one of the darkest moments in the town's history. The deaths of two people near the racecourse brought grief, questions and profound sadness to a close-knit community where everyone knew everyone else.On Thursday, 11 February 1937, when Jean Reid, a 17 year old housemaid employed by Mr K Boynton, failed to report for her midday duties, her employer grew concerned. This was unusual behaviour for the young woman who was known throughout the surrounding districts as an enthusiastic cyclist. When she didn't appear, Boynton informed the police that something was wrong.What followed was a search that began with careful observation. Police and other searchers picked up the tracks of a bicycle in one of Balranald's streets and began following them. The tracks led about two miles outside town, where they linked up with the tracks of a motor car that appeared to have been stationary for some time. Following the car tracks, the search party continued for another half mile until they came upon a vehicle in an isolated spot.What they discovered there brought the search to a tragic end. Jean Reid and Robert Leslie Crees, a 43 year old married road contractor with five children, were found dead near the car. Both had suffered fatal gunshot wounds. The young woman had been shot through the left temple, while Crees had a bullet wound above his right temple. A revolver lay on the girl's chest containing two empty cartridges.The coroner, Dr R H Kelly, examined the scene and the bodies. He concluded that the pair had been dead for less than 12 hours when they were discovered. The physical evidence and circumstances led to a grim determination about what had occurred in that isolated spot.At the formal inquest held on Saturday, 13 February, the coroner, Mr A S Collins PM, delivered his findings. He recorded that Jean Reid had died from the effects of a revolver shot wound to the head, feloniously and maliciously inflicted upon her by Crees. The verdict stated that Crees had feloniously and maliciously murdered Miss Reid, and that Crees himself had died from a revolver wound to the head, wilfully self-inflicted.Among the evidence examined during the inquest was a diary kept by the young woman, found in her bedroom. The diary apparently provided some insight into the events that led to that Thursday morning tragedy, though the specific contents were not detailed in the newspaper reports of the time. The discovery of the diary led to headlines referring to a "death pact," though the coroner's verdict of murder and suicide told a darker story than mutual agreement might suggest.Those who knew Jean Reid described her as having a bright and happy disposition, making her death all the more shocking to the community. She was known as an active young woman who enjoyed cycling through the district, a familiar figure on the roads around Balranald. The contrast between that vibrant life and the tragic end was difficult for the community to reconcile.Robert Leslie Crees was described as a well-known road contractor in the area, a married man with responsibilities to a wife and five children. The circumstances that led to the events of that February morning remain largely unknown beyond what was revealed at the inquest, lost now to time and the discretion that communities often maintained around such tragedies.The location of the tragedy, three miles outside Balranald in an isolated spot near the racecourse, suggests a deliberate choice of somewhere away from the town, somewhere unlikely to be disturbed. The evidence of the car that had been stationary for some time, the bicycle tracks leading from town, and the revolver with its two spent cartridges all painted a picture that the coroner used to reach his conclusions.For a small town like Balranald in 1937, such an event would have reverberated through every family and every conversation. In communities where everyone knows everyone else, where families are interconnected through generations, a tragedy of this nature affects the entire town. The grief would have been compounded by the questions that inevitably arise in such circumstances, questions that often have no satisfactory answers.The newspapers of the day reported the facts with the directness typical of the era, though even then there was recognition of the sensitive nature of what had occurred. The headlines spoke of murder and suicide, of bodies found near a car, of a girl's diary and its revelations. But behind those headlines were real people, real families devastated by loss, and a community struggling to understand what had happened and why.The formal record tells us what the coroner determined, what the physical evidence showed, and what the legal finding was. But it cannot fully convey the impact on Jean Reid's family who lost a daughter described as bright and happy, on Crees' wife who lost a husband and whose children lost a father, or on the wider Balranald community that lost two of its own in circumstances that defied easy explanation.In the years since 1937, Balranald has experienced many changes, seen generations come and go, and witnessed countless moments of joy and sorrow. But some events remain part of a community's memory, passed down through families and remembered in local history. The tragedy of February 1937 is one of those events, a dark moment in the town's story that serves as a reminder of the fragility of life and the sometimes unfathomable nature of human actions.The bicycle tracks in the street, the isolated spot near the racecourse, the revolver with its two spent cartridges, these details are part of the historical record. They tell the story of what happened on that February day when a search for a missing housemaid ended in tragedy. But they also stand as a memorial to lives cut short, to grief experienced by families and community, and to the kind of sorrow that small towns carry quietly through the generations.

This article was created from an article written some years ago by the late Rod McCully and published in The Riverine Grazier.A famous photograph hangs on the walls of hotels and buildings across southwestern New South Wales. It shows a horse-drawn wool wagon overturned in a bog, the huge load tipped sideways, horses straining, men frozen in the moment of disaster. For years it has fascinated locals and tourists alike, a dramatic snapshot of the hardships of early wool transport. But behind that striking image lies a story of resilience, hard work and the remarkable people who hauled the wealth of the inland to market one wagon load at a time.The woman who knew that story best recently shared it when a visitor brought a newspaper clipping to the Grazier office. The article, written by Joseph Glascott and published in the Sydney Morning Herald on 2 November 1985, had been carefully saved and now told the tale of one family's connection to that iconic photograph. The keeper of the story was Vera Howard, who lived on Church Street in Hay and who happened to be the daughter of the wagon owner himself.At 77 years old when she spoke to the Herald, Vera had heard the full story of those overturned wagons only relatively recently, after the death of Chris Young who had worked for her father. The details she shared painted a vivid picture of a moment frozen in time but representing years of gruelling work on the roads between Hay and the western stations.The wagons overturned in Willandra Creek at Mossgiel after the creek had come down following about 19 inches of rain in 1923. It was the kind of weather event that could transform a manageable crossing into a treacherous bog in a matter of hours. Her father, Henry Coleman, who was also known as Harry Biggar, and Chris Young were not visible in the famous photograph. They were at the back of the fallen wagon, fighting to save the precious wool from ruin.The men captured in the photograph were identified with the kind of certainty that comes from family knowledge passed down through generations. On the left of the picture stood Charlie Tait and Jack Nelson. On the right were Bill Elliott, Alex Curtis and a man named Burns. These were the faces of the wool transport industry, ordinary men doing extraordinary work in conditions that would break lesser individuals.The photograph itself was taken by a passing jackeroo with a Box Brownie camera. It's remarkable to think that this iconic image, reproduced countless times and displayed across the region, was a chance capture by someone who happened to be in the right place at the right moment with a simple camera. That jackeroo probably had no idea his snapshot would become part of the region's visual history.In the chaos of the accident, Henry Coleman dropped his wallet in the creek. It contained 150 pounds, an enormous sum for the time and likely representing months of hard-earned income. The loss must have been devastating, but Coleman returned the next day and found the wallet intact, a small piece of good fortune amid the disaster.Henry Coleman's working life tells the broader story of wool transport in the era before trucks and sealed roads made the journey routine. He carted wool from Mossgiel station to Hay between 1916 and 1925, first with bullock teams and later with horses. It was backbreaking, relentless work that kept him away from home for weeks at a time.The family he supported numbered six children and their mother, all living in Hay while Henry walked the roads beside his teams. He didn't get home very much because he was always on the road, following the rhythm of the wool seasons and the demands of stations waiting to get their clips to market. Every month he would send home ten pounds on which his wife managed the entire family. It's hard to imagine stretching that amount to feed and clothe eight people, but somehow she made it work.The distances Henry Coleman covered are staggering to contemplate. He walked 135 miles beside his teams from Hay to the western stations and back again, his boots eating up the kilometres while the wagons rolled along at the pace of the horses. In those days there were far more pubs along the way than exist now, welcome stops for a man who spent his life in the dust and heat of the road.There was The Nine Mile out of Hay, a place whose name spoke to its distance from town. The One Tree marked another stopping point, its name suggesting a lonely landmark in flat country. The Booligal Hotel provided hospitality in that small settlement, and Mrs Lyons Hotel offered another welcome break. Then came the pubs at Mossgiel and Ivanhoe, each one a social centre and resting place for the men who hauled wool across vast distances. It was thirsty work, as Vera noted with the kind of understatement that speaks volumes.When Henry Coleman was at home in Hay, he was known as a great storyteller. He would spin yarns about his adventures on the road, the characters he'd met, the challenges he'd faced, and then laugh like the devil at the memories. It's easy to imagine him holding court, his children gathered around, the stories bringing to life a world of dusty roads, stubborn horses, flooded creeks and near disasters like the one captured in that famous photograph.Henry Coleman died in 1944 at the age of 66. He'd spent nearly a decade of his life walking beside wool wagons, surviving accidents like the Willandra Creek disaster, losing and miraculously recovering substantial sums of money, and supporting his family through the Depression years when every pound sent home kept food on the table. His daughter Vera lived long enough to ensure his story wasn't lost, that the famous photograph wasn't just an interesting historical curiosity but a window into real lives and real struggles.The photograph that hangs in hotels across southwestern New South Wales isn't just about an overturned wagon or dramatic moment. It's about men like Henry Coleman and Chris Young, Charlie Tait and Jack Nelson, Bill Elliott and Alex Curtis and Burns, whose first name has been lost to time. It's about the women like Mrs Coleman who stretched ten pounds a month to feed a family of eight. It's about children who grew up with fathers who were mostly absent, walking 135 miles beside their teams. It's about a way of life that shaped the region, moving the wool that built fortunes and sustained communities.The jackeroo with his Box Brownie camera captured more than he knew that day at Willandra Creek. He caught a moment that represented decades of hard work, thousands of miles walked, countless loads hauled, and the determination of people who did what needed to be done regardless of the cost. When you look at that photograph now, knowing the story behind it, you see not just an accident but the face of an era, preserved in black and white but alive in the memories of those who lived it and the descendants who ensure their stories aren't forgotten.Gail Rosewarne's decision to bring that newspaper clipping to the Grazier office, her mother Norma's care in preserving it, and Vera Howard's willingness to share her father's story all ensured that the famous photograph would mean more than just a striking image. It would tell the truth about the people behind it, the lives they lived, and the world they inhabited when wool wagons ruled the roads and men walked beside their teams across the vast distances of inland Australia.

At just 20 years old, Corinne Stallan has already achieved what many bowlers spend a lifetime chasing; state titles, national gold medals and representative honours for Queensland. Now, she’s making her mark in the Riverina, bringing championship pedigree to the greens of Hay.Sitting at the Hay Bowling Club on a typical spring afternoon, Corinne reflected on a journey that began with watching her mum Katrina bowl every Sunday in Cooktown when she was just a teenager.“I just ran along. I used to watch her every Sunday at bowls and then a coach picked me up in Cooktown one day,” Corinne recalled. “He wanted to take me under his wing and coach me because he saw potential.”That coach’s instinct proved remarkably accurate. Within a year of starting at age 13, Corinne was selected for the Queensland under-18 team, an almost unheard-of achievement for a first-year competitor.“Everyone was a bit upset because you don’t usually get picked in the first year you're there,” she said with a modest smile. “Everyone was like, that’s crazy. How did you get picked?”What followed was a stellar junior career that saw her represent Queensland for three consecutive years in the under-18 championships. In 2022, at just 16 years old, she won gold in the fours at the Australian under-18 championships on the Gold Coast, becoming the first junior from Far North Queensland to play in a Queensland versus New South Wales match.“I came home with three medals, a gold in fours, a silver in triples, gold for Queensland and we also got the overall girls’ trophy and overall winners of the national competition,” Corinne said.But success at that level came with serious commitment. Training three times a week wasn’t optional, it was mandatory, with drills tracked on spreadsheets and emailed to the Queensland CEO.“They were very hard drills too,” Corinne remembered. “Like 40-bowl drills and grouping drills, just to prove that you are practising and how consistent you are."The dedication paid off, but by late 2024, Corinne and her mum Katrina were ready for a change. They packed up their lives in Far North Queensland and headed south to Hay, arriving at the end of October last year.For Corinne, the move was challenging in ways her bowling career had never been.“It was very challenging for Corinne because I was born here,” Katrina explained. “And it’s such a different town from where she grew up. It was very hard to make friends when you’re not in school.”But the Hay bowling community quickly embraced their newest member. The warm welcome contrasted sharply with the more serious competitive atmosphere Corinne had experienced in Queensland.“It’s more relaxed and more fun,” Corinne says. “They take it a bit more seriously up where we're from. Like, they frown upon you if you have a beer while you're bowling.“All the people in Hay, the bowlers in Hay, are just so good. They’ve taken me under their wing.”The adjustment has been worth it. Since arriving in Hay, Corinne has already made history at her new club, becoming the first female and youngest player ever to win the major singles championship. She’s also found employment at Hay Shire Council in customer service and is building a life with her boyfriend, Tyson.“I think it was one of the best moves we ever made,” Katrina reflected. “She’s got a good job, she’s got a good boyfriend. “Hay’s just been so good for her.”At the club, Corinne has become a mentor figure herself, despite being one of only three or four women who regularly play. She’s patient with newcomers, eager to share the knowledge her early coaches instilled in her.“Everyone in Hay, they’re willing to teach you,” she said. “They’re willing to stop playing to teach new people. The club just needs new people.”For those curious about trying the sport, Corinne emphasised getting started is easier than many people think. Lawn bowls has been described as “the game that takes a second to learn, but a lifetime to master”.The basic premise is simple. Take your bowls as near as possible to a smaller white ball called the jack. Most clubs have various sized sets of bowls to lend to new recruits while they learn, so there’s no need to invest in equipment immediately.The game can be played as singles, pairs, triples or fours. In singles, each player uses four bowls, while in pairs competitions, each team member also has four bowls. In triples, players have three bowls each, and in fours, each player uses two bowls.The scoring is straightforward, the player who has their bowl closest to the jack scores a point, with points awarded for each bowl closest to the jack until the opposing player has the next bowl closest.What makes the sport challenging, and fascinating, is that lawn bowls are not perfectly round in shape and are shaved on one side, which creates a bias. This means the bowl will curve as it slows down, adding complexity to each delivery.“It’s one of those games you want to perfect,” Corinne said. “You can’t pick up a bowl and expect to be good at it. It’s a game of consistency.”She’s quick to dispel any notion that bowls is simple. The sport demands consideration of countless variables; wind, weather, grass conditions, weight, line and strategy. Moving from synthetic greens in Queensland to grass in Hay presented its own learning curve.“The grass is affected by the weather and the sun,” she explained. “It beats up and stands up and sits down. So it's a bit more of a challenge. “Whereas synthetic just stays at one speed and pace.”For Corinne, bowls is ultimately about reading your opposition, adapting your strategy and maintaining consistency, skills that translate well beyond the green.Recently, she represented Hay at the under-25 state championships, skipping a team that included two beginners. Despite the challenge of mentoring newcomers while competing at a high level, her team won the under-25 shield.“They thought she was more than capable of taking them under her wing,” Katrina said proudly. “She’s so young herself.”Looking ahead, Corinne is settling into her new life while continuing to bowl competitively. She’s currently in the pairs final with club stalwart Wes Moorhouse, and has her sights set on converting her Queensland representative experience into New South Wales selection.“It’s just so hard to start from scratch when you don't have your teams down here,” she said. “You’ve just got to get your name out there.”With more than 2,000 affiliated bowling clubs and approximately 250,000 club members playing the game across Australia, lawn bowls has a strong community presence. The sport is particularly accessible because it doesn’t require high levels of fitness and can be enjoyed by people of all ages and abilities.For young people considering the sport, Corinne's advice is simple; just give it a go. Head to your local club, where experienced players are always willing to teach newcomers.“It doesn't matter what level of fitness you have, you can participate in bowls,” she says. “And the enjoyment of playing it, meeting new people, that’s what makes it special.”As Hay continues to grow on her, Corinne Stallan represents the future of lawn bowls; young, talented and passionate about sharing the sport with the next generation. From national champion to local mentor, her journey is just beginning.And for those wondering about the ‘Roll the Kate’ competition at the Hay club? That’s the weekly jackpot game where members try to roll an old bowl across a mat to hit the jack (nicknamed Kate by bowlers) while staying within a small square. The jackpot is growing, and everyone’s determined to win it, including Corinne, who brings her championship precision to every roll.

That first day of school is a milestone parents have been anticipating and possibly dreading since their child was born. You've bought the uniform, covered the books, packed the lunchbox, and taken a thousand photos. But there's a whole lot about starting school that nobody mentions until you're in the thick of it. The emotional hit affects parents far more than kids in many cases. You might cry dropping your child off on that first day, and that's completely normal. Watching your baby walk into that classroom marks the end of an era. They're not babies anymore. They're becoming independent little people with their own lives separate from you. It's exciting and heartbreaking simultaneously. Some parents feel relief that their kids are in school and they can reclaim time, while others feel genuine grief. Both reactions are valid. Your child might not tell you anything about their school day. The classic "How was school?" question gets met with "Fine" or "I don't remember" from many kids. This is frustrating when you're desperate to know what happened during those hours away from you. Kids are often so overwhelmed by the day that they can't articulate it when they get home. Information dribbles out over the following days or weeks. You might not hear about the classroom hamster or the new best friend until weeks after the fact. Some kids are private about school and don't share much regardless of your questioning. Learning to accept this takes time. School exhaustion is real and hits hard those first few weeks. Kids who never napped might suddenly need afternoon sleeps. They might fall asleep in the car on the way home. Evening meltdowns over nothing become common because they've held it together all day at school and fall apart at home where they feel safe. This exhaustion lasts weeks while they adjust to full school days. Adjusting bedtimes earlier helps, even though it feels ridiculously early to put a five-year-old to bed at 7pm. Your child's friendship dramas become your dramas too. Who they sit with at lunch, who played with them at recess, who said something mean, and who wouldn't share the blocks suddenly consume your thoughts. Your heart breaks when they say nobody played with them, even though you know it's probably not entirely true. Friendships at this age are fluid. Best friends change weekly. Kids who play together one day might ignore each other the next. Resisting the urge to fix friendship problems teaches kids to navigate social situations independently, but it's hard watching them struggle. School means sickness. Lots of sickness. Kids starting school get every virus circulating through classrooms. Expect hand, foot and mouth disease, gastro, endless colds, conjunctivitis, and various respiratory infections throughout that first year. Your child's immune system is building defences, but the process is miserable for everyone. You'll use more sick leave than you planned. Your child will recover just in time to catch the next thing. This is normal, unfortunately, and it does improve after the first year. Parent politics exist and can be surprising. School drop-off and pick-up become social events where cliques form. Some parents are friendly and welcoming, others cliquey and exclusive. Birthday party invitation politics start immediately. Your child might not be invited to parties, or you might feel obligated to invite the whole class to your child's party even though you don't know half these kids. Navigating parent relationships while trying not to let any weirdness affect your child's friendships takes diplomacy. Homework starts in kindy or prep in many schools. It's often basic, like reading a book together or practicing writing their name. But establishing homework routines early matters because expectations increase every year. Finding time after school when kids are exhausted from a full day becomes a daily battle. Some education experts question whether homework for young kids has any benefit, but most schools assign it regardless. Fighting with your five-year-old about homework wasn't something you envisioned when picturing the school years. School costs far more than expected. Uniform, shoes, hat, bag, lunchbox, drink bottle, stationery, library bag, booklist items, excursion contributions, photograph packages, fundraising expectations, swimming lessons fees, art supplies, classroom contributions, and school fees if it's a private school add up shockingly fast. Then there are unexpected costs like replacing lost jumpers, buying new shoes when they wear out within weeks, replacing water bottles that disappear, and contributing to class gifts or events. The ongoing costs throughout the year often exceed initial outlays. Your child's behaviour might regress. Toilet accidents might start happening again, speech might become babyish, clinginess increases, or behaviour at home deteriorates even though school reports say they're perfect at school. Kids use all their energy holding it together at school and have nothing left for home behaviour. They're processing huge changes and sometimes regress to younger behaviours when overwhelmed. This is normal developmental response to major transitions. It passes, but those first months can be rough. You don't have to be perfect at this. You'll forget things, send wrong items in lunchboxes, miss notes sent home, forget casual clothes day, and feel like every other parent has it more together than you do. They don't. Everyone is making it up as they go along. Teachers are surprisingly understanding about parental mistakes because they've seen it all before. Your child probably won't be traumatised if you forget library day or send them in uniform on free dress day, despite the dramatic tears at the time. Starting school is a massive transition for families. It changes family dynamics, routines, and daily life. The learning curve is steep for everyone. Cut yourself slack during this adjustment period. Accept help when offered. Connect with other parents going through the same challenges. Remember that struggle during the first term doesn't predict the entire school experience. Most kids and families adapt within a few months and wonder how they ever filled days before school existed. But nobody warns you about that adjustment period, and it can blindside even the most prepared parents.

It is the start of the new year, and some of you might have experienced the ;last child leaving the nest as their schooling lives concluded.So, the kids have moved out. The house is yours again. And contrary to what everyone keeps asking, you are not lost, broken or in need of fixing. You are standing at the threshold of one of the most exciting phases of your life, and it is time to claim it.This is not about coping with loss. This is about stepping into freedom you have not experienced in decades. After years of putting children first, scheduling your life around school runs and sport practices, and answering the question "what's for dinner" approximately seven thousand times, you finally get to ask yourself a different question: what do I actually want?Empty nest syndrome is real, and the adjustment takes time. But the narrative that paints this phase as something to survive rather than something to savour needs challenging. You have not lost your purpose. You have graduated from one incredibly demanding role and now get to decide what comes next. That is not a crisis. That is an opportunity.For women navigating this transition alongside menopause, the challenge intensifies. Hormonal upheaval combined with major life change can feel overwhelming. But here is what nobody tells you: once you get through it, many women report feeling more confident, clear headed and powerful than they have in years. The physical changes are real, but so is the mental clarity and reduced tolerance for nonsense that often arrives on the other side.The empty nest hits differently depending on your circumstances. Only children leave all at once, creating abrupt change. Multiple children create a gradual progression. Neither is easier or harder, just different. What matters is not how it happens but how you respond.Start by reclaiming your identity beyond motherhood. You are not just someone's mum. You never were, even when the role consumed most of your time and energy. The interests, dreams and ambitions you had before children did not disappear. They just got shelved. Now is the time to pull them back out and examine which ones still excite you.Think back to a time when you knew exactly who you were and what made you come alive. For many people, this is somewhere between ages ten and twelve, before the world started telling them who they should be. What did you love doing? What made hours disappear? What would you do all day if given the chance?Make a list. Everything counts. Reading. Writing. Drawing. Building things. Being outdoors. Solving problems. Making people laugh. Whatever lit you up then probably still holds clues to what will fulfil you now. You might not want to do exactly the same activities, but the essence of what drew you remains relevant.Now write down what you would do if nothing held you back. No budget constraints. No time limitations. No worries about what anyone else thinks. This is not about being realistic. This is about getting honest with yourself about what you actually want, not what you think you should want.The gap between childhood passions and impossible dreams often reveals your authentic path forward. Maybe you loved writing stories and dream of publishing a novel. Start writing. Maybe you loved making things and dream of opening a shop. Start making. The dream does not have to happen exactly as imagined to be worth pursuing. Action creates momentum, and momentum creates possibilities you cannot see from standing still.Reconnect with people who knew you before children defined your existence. Old friends remember versions of you that you may have forgotten. Reaching out can feel awkward, especially after years of lost contact, but most people respond positively. Everyone gets busy. Everyone loses touch. Admitting you miss someone and want to reconnect takes courage, but it opens doors.Suggest specific activities rather than vague promises to catch up sometime. Join a class together. Start a walking group. Revive an old hobby you both enjoyed. Concrete plans make reconnection easier and create regular touchpoints for rebuilding relationships.For coupled parents, the empty nest offers chances to remember why you got together in the first place. All those conversations interrupted by children needing things can now flow uninterrupted. Spontaneous plans become possible again. You can eat dinner at 9pm if you want. You can leave the house without coordinating multiple schedules. You can have loud conversations and intimate moments without worrying about who might walk in.This transition can strengthen relationships, but expecting immediate bliss ignores reality. You are both adjusting. Old patterns need renegotiating. Time together that once felt precious because it was rare now stretches endlessly ahead, and that can feel strange. Be patient with the process. Most couples report that after initial awkwardness, they rediscover each other in wonderful ways.Here is what you need to understand about external pressure: everyone has opinions about what you should do next, and none of them matter unless they align with what you actually want. People will ask what you plan to do with all your free time. They will suggest you get a job, start volunteering, take up golf, travel more, or any number of things they think you should do.You do not have more free time just because children left home. Managing a household requires the same effort regardless of how many people live there. If you love homemaking and finances allow it, keep doing it. You do not owe anyone an explanation for how you spend your days. Homemaking is legitimate work that creates value, and you are not less than anyone because you choose to focus on it.Working parents face different pressure. Now that children have left, surely you should pursue that promotion, take on more responsibility, push harder for advancement. Maybe you should. But only if you genuinely want to, not because someone else thinks your career should be your primary focus now.The same applies to retirement pressure. Some people face expectations to step back from work based purely on age, despite having no desire to retire. Others feel guilty for wanting to retire when they could keep working. Your career decisions belong to you. The only timeline that matters is yours.Reframe how you think about this phase. Your nest is not empty. It is evolving. You are not losing your children. They are becoming independent adults, which is exactly what you raised them to do. This is success, not failure. This is the natural progression of healthy family development.Think of your home as having an open door rather than an empty nest. People leave and return. Adult children visit. Partners of adult children become part of your family. Grandchildren may eventually arrive. The composition changes, but connection continues. Your relationship with your children is not ending. It is transforming into something different and potentially richer.This is your second act, your sequel, your next season. The first part of your story involved intensive hands on parenting. This part gets to be about whatever you decide it should be about. That is not a void to fill. That is creative freedom to design your life according to your preferences.You are enough exactly as you are, doing whatever you choose to do. Your worth is not tied to productivity, achievement or service to others. It exists simply because you exist. What brings you joy may look nothing like what fulfils other people, and that is completely fine.Some people will start businesses. Others will travel extensively. Some will write books or create art. Others will deepen their spiritual practices, volunteer for causes they care about, or finally master skills they have always wanted to learn. Some will do absolutely nothing that looks impressive from the outside and will be completely fulfilled doing it.The empty nest is a beginning. What it begins is entirely up to you. After decades of putting children first, you get to put yourself first without apology or guilt. You get to prioritise your dreams, your interests, your wellbeing. You get to be selfish in the best possible way.This is not the end of your relevance or usefulness. This is the beginning of a phase where you finally have the time, resources and life experience to pursue things that matter to you. You have spent years developing skills, building resilience and learning what works and what does not. Now you get to apply all of that hard won wisdom to creating the life you actually want.Stop waiting for permission. Stop looking for validation. Stop wondering if you are doing this phase right. There is no right way. There is only your way. Figure out what lights you up and do more of it. Figure out what drains you and do less of it. Protect your energy, claim your time, and build the life that makes you excited to wake up in the morning.The nest is not empty. You are still in it. And what you do with it from here is limited only by your imagination and willingness to take up space in your own life. This is your time. Take it.

Email tone makes the difference between getting what you need promptly and creating conflict or being ignored. Most of us dash off emails without considering how they'll be received, then wonder why responses are defensive or delayed. Understanding how tone works in written communication can transform your email effectiveness this year. The greeting matters more than people realise. "Hi Sarah" feels friendly and approachable. "Sarah," feels abrupt and possibly annoyed. No greeting at all feels rude, like you can't be bothered with basic courtesy. Matching your greeting to your relationship with the recipient and the email's purpose creates the right tone from the start. "Dear" sounds formal and distant unless you're in a very corporate environment. "Hey" works for colleagues you're friendly with but not for clients or senior managers. Getting the greeting right sets up everything that follows. The opening line establishes whether you're demanding or requesting. "I need you to send me that report" sounds entitled and commanding. "Could you please send me that report when you have a moment?" sounds respectful and acknowledges the other person's time. "I'm hoping to get that report by COB today if possible" explains your timeframe while leaving room for negotiation. How you phrase requests affects whether people want to help you or make you wait. Explaining context before making requests helps people understand why you're asking and why it matters. "I need this information for a client meeting tomorrow afternoon, which is why I'm asking for it today" provides context that makes your request more reasonable. People are more willing to prioritise your needs when they understand why something's urgent rather than assuming you're just impatient or disorganised. Avoiding all caps and excessive punctuation prevents your emails from reading as shouting. "I NEED THIS ASAP!!!" comes across as aggressive and panicky. "This is fairly urgent, so I'd appreciate your help as soon as possible" conveys urgency without seeming unhinged. Multiple question marks or exclamation marks make emails feel frantic or emotional. Punctuation is powerful in written communication where tone of voice doesn't exist. The passive-aggressive email is a workplace plague that achieves nothing positive. "As I mentioned in my previous email" implies the recipient should have already done something and you're annoyed they haven't. "Just following up" when you only sent the first email yesterday feels pushy. "Per my last email" has become internet shorthand for passive-aggressive corporate speak. If you need something that hasn't happened, clearly restate what you need and when rather than implying incompetence or unwillingness. Using "we" instead of "you" makes emails feel collaborative rather than accusatory. "We need to improve these processes" feels like a team problem to solve together. "You need to improve these processes" feels like blame. "We should think about how to handle this differently next time" invites discussion. "You should have handled this differently" sounds like criticism. Small word changes shift tone significantly. Acknowledging when requests are above and beyond normal expectations shows respect for people's time and workload. "I know this is outside your usual responsibilities, but I'm hoping you might be able to help" recognises you're asking a favour. "I realise this is a quick turnaround" acknowledges you're creating urgency for someone else. "I appreciate this might be difficult timing" shows awareness that your needs might conflict with their schedule. Acknowledgment doesn't guarantee compliance, but it makes people more willing to help. The tone you use with different recipients needs adjusting. Emails to your boss require more professionalism than those to colleagues at your level. Clients need more formality than internal staff. People you barely know need more explanation than people who understand context. Adjusting tone for audience seems obvious, yet many people use identical tone with everyone and wonder why some relationships feel awkward. Proofreading before sending prevents tone-destroying typos and unclear phrasing. Reading emails aloud helps identify unclear sections or accidental rudeness. That sarcastic comment that seemed funny in your head might not land in writing. That short sentence that wasn't meant to be abrupt might read as rude. Taking 30 seconds to reread emails before sending prevents problems you can't unsend later. Email timing affects how messages are received. Sending emails late at night or early morning implies you expect responses outside business hours, even if you don't. Using scheduled send for emails drafted outside work hours means they arrive during business hours and don't create after-hours pressure. Sending emails right before weekends or public holidays and expecting immediate responses annoys people. Thinking about when emails arrive helps manage expectations. The sign-off subtly reinforces your email's tone. "Thanks" or "Thank you" works for almost everything. "Cheers" feels casual and friendly but inappropriate in formal situations. "Regards" sounds stiff. "Best" or "All the best" hits middle ground between casual and formal. "Looking forward to hearing from you" gently reminds recipients a response is expected. Your sign-off is the last impression before your name, so choose based on the tone you want to leave. Using names throughout longer emails maintains personal connection. "I hope you're well, David" feels warmer than launching straight into business. "Thanks for your help with this, Emma" personalises appreciation. "Let me know if you have questions, Mark" sounds friendlier than just "Let me know if you have questions." Using names reminds recipients you're communicating with a person, not just firing off demands. Compliment sandwiches work for delivering criticism or negative feedback via email, though face-to-face conversations are better for serious issues. Starting with something positive, delivering the concern or criticism, then ending with something positive or constructive makes messages easier to receive. Pure criticism emails trigger defensiveness and shut down productive dialogue. Balanced emails that acknowledge both positives and areas for improvement feel fairer and generate better responses. Emoji use in professional emails is controversial and generationally divided. Younger workers see smiley faces and thumbs-up emoji as softening tone and adding warmth. Older workers sometimes see them as unprofessional. Reading your workplace culture and adjusting accordingly matters more than rigid rules. A smiley face after "Thanks!" can soften a request and make it feel friendlier rather than demanding. But emoji-filled emails to clients or senior executives might undermine your professional image. Context matters. Responding promptly, even just to acknowledge receipt, prevents people thinking you're ignoring them. "Thanks for your email. I'll get back to you properly by end of week" tells people their message was received and when to expect a full response. Not responding at all to requests leaves people wondering and often prompts follow-up emails that wouldn't be necessary with quick acknowledgment. The "assume positive intent" approach helps when receiving emails that seem rude. Text communication loses tone of voice, facial expressions, and body language that convey meaning. That short reply might not be rude, just quickly typed between meetings. That direct request might not be demanding, just efficiently worded. Assuming the sender meant well unless proven otherwise prevents escalating conflicts that don't actually exist. If an email genuinely upsets you, stepping away for an hour before responding prevents emotional replies you'll regret. When apologising via email, own mistakes clearly and specifically rather than offering vague apologies. "I'm sorry I missed the deadline. I mismanaged my time and should have asked for an extension earlier" takes responsibility. "I'm sorry if anyone was inconvenienced" is a non-apology that implies others are oversensitive. Clear acknowledgment of what went wrong and what you'll do differently shows accountability and prevents similar problems. The one-line email can read as abrupt even when not intended that way. "Yes." as a complete response to a question seems terse. "Yes, that works for me, thanks!" provides the same information with warmth. Single-word responses sometimes feel dismissive even when the sender meant nothing negative. Adding just a few words creates tone that prevents misunderstandings. Ending emails with clear next steps prevents confusion about what happens next. "I'll send the revised version by Wednesday" tells everyone what to expect. "Let me know which option you prefer and I'll proceed from there" clarifies you're waiting for input. "I'll follow up with you next week if I haven't heard back" sets expectations without sounding pushy. Clarity about next steps improves workflow and prevents those awkward situations where everyone's waiting for someone else to act. Your email tone reflects on your professionalism, emotional intelligence, and communication skills. Getting it right builds relationships, improves collaboration, and makes people want to work with you. Getting it wrong creates conflict, delays, and makes your working life harder than necessary. Taking time to consider tone before hitting send is effort that pays off in better working relationships and more effective communication throughout the year.

When we strip the unnecessary accoutrements of life away, what really matters is how we treat people, and if we have lived life in a way where we will be without regret. I am certain my lovely new friend John Clissold has achieved this; loved without prejudice, care without fear and lived life exactly the way he’s wanted. At 80 years young, or as he prefers, ‘67 and some summers’, John Clissold sits in his Hay home, the rainbow flag visible from the street when he first moved in, a symbol of a life f inally lived on his own terms. Born in Broken Hill in 1945, John’s early years followed a conventional path. His father was a metallurgist, his mother a school teacher. The family moved to Quorn, outside Port Augusta, before John moved to Adelaide for school. He spent over 40 years in the public service as an admin officer in the TAFE system, working across various campuses throughout Australia. “I had a fairly good life, I have no regrets,” John reflected. But beneath the surface of this seemingly ordinary existence, John was hiding a fundamental truth about himself. From the age of eight, John knew he was different. “I always knew I was different from other blokes, other people,” he said. But growing up in the 1950s and 60s, being openly gay wasn't just discouraged, it was dangerous. “You couldn't come out in the 60s. You'd get beaten up and probably killed,” John explained matter-of-factly. So, he did what society expected. He married, twice, and had children. He hid behind society’s expectations of what men do, living a life that wasn’t truly his own. It wasn’t until John was 57 years old that everything changed. After decades of living according to others’ expectations, he made the decision that would define the rest of his life; he came out. “I decided I wanted to be who I was,” John said simply, though the simplicity of those words belies the enormity of the decision. “I’d hidden behind society’s expectations of what men do.” He left his young wife and two young children; one wasn’t quite one year old. He left her the house, the car, everything. He went to the southeast for TAFE work and stayed there for three or four years before returning to Adelaide. When he told his mother he was getting divorced, her response was pragmatic, “Why this time?” “I’m coming out,” John told her. “Why didn't you tell me when you were growing up?” she asked. It was a question with a good answer. “Most kids think they’ll get rejected by their families,” John explained. “And there’s a lot of kids who do get rejected by their families and tossed out of home.” After coming out, John met Graham. “He was HIV positive, and he tried HIV drugs, which made him even sicker than he was originally,” John recalled. At a time when HIV/AIDS carried enormous stigma, when hospital staff wore full hazmat gear to attend to HIV patients, John's response to learning about Graham’s status was simple compassion. “I just took his face in my hands and said, ‘It doesn’t matter,’” John remembered. They’d always practised safe sex. What was the problem? “He said, ‘You don't mind?’ Graham’s relief was palpable.” John became involved with People Living with HIV/AIDS, volunteering at their community centre in Glenelg, helping to serve lunches and spending time with people at a time when society largely shunned them. Tragically, after seven years together, Graham died of a heart attack. John came home to find him dead on the f loor, a trauma that still resonates decades later. In 2012, John met Michael at what he calls the men’s club, the gay sauna in Adelaide. “He always said, ‘I know how you got me. You stuck your foot out and I couldn’t get past. I had to sit down,’” John said, laughing at the memory. They hit it off immediately and would be together until Michael’s death earlier this year. Remarkably, they never had an argument in all those years. “If I started, I’d just walk away,” John said. “I’d go, ‘This isn’t going to work, is it?’ So, we’d just sit down and we’d talk.” The connection went deeper than they initially realised. Michael’s mother had been born in Broken Hill, like John. They later met a philanthropist woman who had been born the day before John, also in Broken Hill. The threads of their lives had been intertwined long before they met. It was Michael and John’s travels that first brought them to Hay. “We used to travel through this town at least twice a year,” John recalled. They’d go from Adelaide across the plain to Griffith, stopping in the little town of Hay along the way. “The people in this town were very welcoming,” John said warmly. They loved the Rainbow on the Plains festival so much that they made a decision that would impact the community for years to come. Someone mentioned needing to buy tickets for festival events. “I thought it was all free,” John said. After discussing it with Michael, they decided to donate $2,000 to establish what they called the Gay Nomads Gift, funding specifically for young people aged 17 to 25 who didn't have the money to attend Rainbow on the Plains events. “Every year I top it up,” he said. It’s his way of supporting his people, as he calls them. In 2022, John and Michael got married, a celebration of their decade together. But it came after years of challenge. In 2017, Michael was diagnosed with non Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He went into remission, but the reprieve was temporary. In 2018, Michael was diagnosed with dementia, Alzheimer's disease. It ran through his family, his grandfather had it, his mum, his older sister, his brother. “And then he got it badly,” John said quietly. “I looked after him at home for as long as I could.” When a place became available at Resthaven, part of the Uniting Church’s care services, John made the difficult decision to move Michael there. He gradually went downhill. On May 3 this year, Michael died. “The only thing that scared me on our wedding day was Michael came outside and looked around and said, ‘What are all these people doing here?’ And I would have had to say, ‘Well, we’re getting married today.’ He might have said, ‘Well, no, I’m not,’ and walked back inside. That was the only thing that scared me on that day.” Despite the difficulties, or perhaps because of them, they grew closer in those last couple of years. “That’s what life’s all about," John reflected. “Finding somebody you love, and it’s not about sexuality or gender or anything like that, that’s your person. You are just together.” Today, Michael sits in an urn in John’s bedroom. “We still have a natter,” John said with a smile. After Michael’s death, John decided to do something for himself. At his fabulous party at the Services Club, people kept asking, “When are you buying a house? When are you coming back to live here?” So, he bought his house in Hay, “the best house in Hay,” as someone at the club told him. The welcome he’s received has been everything he hoped for and more. At the club, people come up to say how pleased they are to have him there. “The welcoming and the family-like quality that Rainbow on the Plains has developed out of nowhere is something magical,” John said. “In Adelaide, I must have had 20 good friends. "Here, I’ve got maybe 20 good friends, and they all want me here. This is where I want to be.” John’s involvement with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, the drag nun order that participates in Rainbow on the Plains, began after Graham’s death and has become an integral part of his identity in Hay. His first parade was memorable for multiple reasons. At the end of that first parade, all the sisters jumped into the pool. “The only problem with a habit, a nun’s habit, is that there’s so much material. And when you go in the water, it gets a lot heavier and it goes right over the top of your head as well. “I’m flapping in the pool thinking, “Bugger, I’ve got my phone in my pocket.” Ever practical, John has already planned his burial. He wants a natural burial, standing up. “It saves on space,” he said with characteristic pragmatism. “You just need a posthole digger.” He’s discussed it with someone on the council, who’s going to put it to the committee. If they can’t accommodate his wishes in Hay's natural burial ground, he’ll buy an acre off a farmer and be buried on their land. “I want to die at home, with my friends around me. Maybe my family will come from Adelaide. We’ll have a fabulous time. I’ll pay for you all to go out for a meal.” When asked what message he’d like to share, John doesn't hesitate. “Be who you want to be. Live how you want to live. “If your parents or your friends don’t like the way you are, it’s not your problem. It’s their problem.” It’s advice born from decades of hiding, followed by decades of freedom. At 80, John has the clarity that comes from having lived both ways, according to others’ expectations and according to his own truth. His relationship with his ex-wife has evolved over the years. “She and I are good friends now,” John said. She’s told him she was too young and too narrow-minded back then. “She said, ‘I didn’t realise that gay people can be married but still have separate lives. We could have done that and we could have co parented our children’.” It’s an observation that speaks to how much society has changed, and how much further there still is to go. John’s house in Hay, with its 51 solar panels and plans for a native garden out front, is more than just a house. It’s a statement. The rainbow flag flying outside isn't just decoration, it's a declaration that after 57 years of hiding, John Clissold is finally, fully, unapologetically himself. “Gay people need more affirmation than we actually get,” John reflected. It’s why the Gay Nomads Gift matters so much to him. It’s why he’s open about his story. It’s why he lives authentically, visibly, in a small country town. “If anybody who reads this needs help, come and talk to me,” John offered. “I live in Hay.” It’s a simple invitation, but it carries the weight of a lifetime of experience; the struggles, the losses, the loves, and ultimately, the hard-won freedom to simply be himself. At 80 years young, John Clissold has finally found home. And in finding it, he’s helping others find theirs too.

About 12pm on Tuesday January 6, 2026, police attached to Barrier Police District observed a white Holden station wagon travelling at excessive speed on Namatjira Avenue in Coomealla. Police attempted to stop the vehicle however it failed to do so and a pursuit was initiated. This pursuit was terminated due to safety concerns.A short time later, police attached to Barrier Highway Patrol observed the same vehicle near Robinvale in Victoria travelling back into New South Wales. Police attempted to stop it, however a second pursuit was initiated. Police observed the vehicle travelling at excess speeds through the township of Euston. During this pursuit, police observed an occupant of the vehicle allegedly throw an object out of the vehicle and towards the pursuing police vehicle.Police continued to pursue the vehicle west on the Sturt Highway and at times observed it to dangerously overtake other road users at excessively high speeds. Police observed the vehicle to turn off of the Sturt Highway and enter a vineyard before losing control and crashing. Police arrested the female driver and two female passengers before conveying them to Dareton police station.The driver was charged with:* Police pursuit - not stop - drive at speed;* Police pursuit - not stop - drive dangerously;* Goods in personal custody suspect being stolen (m/v);* Class A m/v exceed speed >45km/h;* Drive vehicle under influence of drugs;* Unlawfully possess number plates;* Possess vehicle part with altered/defaced etc part number;* Never licensed person drive vehicle on road;* Goods in personal custody suspected being stolen (not m/v).Police charged both passengers in relation to an outstanding warrant as well as property-related offences. Police charged one passenger for the offence of "Intentionally throw object at vehicle/vessel risk safety".The driver and both passengers were bail refused by police to appear before Bail Division court on Wednesday 7th January 2026. The driver was bail refused by the court until Tuesday 13th January 2026 to next appear before Wentworth Local Court.

We recently reached out to the community, asking if anyone remembered when the Bank Street mural was painted and we received a wide variety of dates. It was Linda Wright who finally pointed us in the direction of the 1984 Riverine Grazier archives. The mural was painted as part of the Festival of the Plains celebrations which took place in Hay in September 1984. The Festival played out across 10 event filled days, during which the mural evolved. “The mural, which has already been commenced on the wall of Miller Huthwaites, will have its Open Day, on Monday. “All residents, young and old, are invited to help paint the theme which will concentrate on early transportation. “It is expected this will take the full Festival week to complete.” The Riverine Grazier, September 19, 1984. The Bank Street mural is now part of the Foodworks supermarket exterior. The mural scene includes a drover’s dream, and a number of scenes from Hay’s history – river shipping, Cobb and Co coaching days, the Merino industry and Chinese market gardens. The western panel was given over to local children, who contributed to the mural with what the Grazier described as “free expression.” As a year four student of St Mary’s I remember walking along Pine Street in two lines, to take our place along the wall, adding a couple of paint strokes alongside school mates, before we were moved along so the next child could have a go. The Grazier featured a photograph on the front page on September 19, in the lead up to the Festival. It showed Kate Gibson, Pat Harben, Norm Connor and Maggie Clark at the mural, with paint brushes and contributes them as the first to put paint on the wall. The Festival started with a street procession led by Hay Citizen’s Band, and fun day at Hay Park. Hay Lions Club’s giant lion head parade float won first prize, and after workshops with local schools, painted clowns of all ages and stilt walkers filled the park. Dave Swan, Murray Dunn and Sharon Weymouth won the gumboot throwing competition and Ken Munn and Sean Simpson were equal winners of the nail driving competition. Leanne Congdon and Jenny Williams shared the win in the women’s section. At a grand function at the Service Club Daph Myers – representing the Old Stalwarts Committee - was crowned the Personality of the Plains. Other entrants were Liz O’Donnell (now Matthews) representing Hay Golf Club, Russell Vivian (Rotary Club) and Grant Mitchell (Youth Club). Hay Races, the One Tree Bush Picnic Races, three days of Tennis, a golf competition, a prawn and chicken night at the Golf Club and a mardi gras at the civic centre (now Hay Library) all added to the jam-packed schedule of events. Shop windows in Lachlan Street were decorated for the festivities, and Long’s Butchery (now Macker’s Meats) took first prize. Their window boasted “galah stew, fresh goanna and rabbit and quail steaks.” The Bank Street mural led the way for a series of pubic artworks that have since transformed Lachlan Street: Murals under Hay Bridge - Located under the Hay Bridge beside the Murrumbidgee River, the bridge pylons were painted by inmates of Ivanhoe’s Warakirri Centre in 2005. Bushy Bend sculptures - The walking track follows the curves of the Murrumbidgee River and features large public sculptures by artists John Wood and John Woodward. The interpretations were installed in 2012. The Spot mural – arguably one of Hay’s most photographed corners, Steph Cattanach had the distinctive mural painted in 2018 by sign writer Greg Chandler. At the time, Steph operated the unique Spot Gallery and creative art space, where Saltbush Stretch is now located. Water Street water towers - Using the town’s Water Tanks as a backdrop, artists Matt Adante and Bill Campbell created a lasting memorial to the contribution of the people of Hay to the World Wars. Completed in December 2020 the towering murals feature service personnel Lieutenant Lorna Margaret Whyte, Private Victor George Murray, Corporal Clifford Leslie Farlow, Private William ‘George’ Cannon and Private Norman Charles Flack. Mrs McGrath sculptures – John Wood returned to Hay in the middle of 2022 for the official opening of Mrs McGrath’s metal sculptures. Located on the forecourt in Whitcombe Place in the centre of town the legend of the bridge operator and her pet sheep are forever memorialised – Mrs McGrath and her sheep would lead mobs across the Hay Bridge for a small fee in the 1920s and 30s. Laudromat mural – Hay’s newest Lachlan Street artwork is painted on the side of Meg’s Laundry Lounge. It was designed by local artist Rebecca Woods, who led a team of volunteers, who completed the colourful line of laundry painting over Easter 2025.

As we approach January 26, the Back Country Bulletin is proud to spotlight the remarkable Australians heading to the Back Country. From world-class athletes to high-altitude mountaineers, the 2026 Australia Day Ambassadors bring a wealth of inspiration to our local ceremonies in Hay, Balranald, Carrathool, and Central Darling.Here is your guide to who is visiting our region:-Balranald Shire Council: Ms. Isabella (Bella) BainBalranald is set to welcome a powerhouse of innovation and resilience. Isabella Bain is the 2025 NSW/ACT Young Achiever of the Year and a world-class athlete.Who she is: A multi-talented designer, STEM advocate, and co-founder of Ambient and Co, known for award-winning light installations at festivals like Vivid Sydney.Achievements: Beyond her professional success in human-centred design at IBM and Macquarie Group, Bella is a five-time World Champion in Dragon Boating.The Inspiring Bit: Diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) in recent years, she has become a vocal advocate for accessibility and inclusion.Carrathool Shire Council: Mr. Sam Bramham OAMThe celebrations at Rankins Springs Hall will be headlined by one of Australia’s most charismatic Paralympians, Sam Bramham.Who he is: A legendary Australian Paralympic swimmer and media personality.Achievements: Sam made a splash on the world stage at the 2004 Athens and 2008 Beijing Games, ultimately claiming two Gold, two Silver, and one Bronze medal. He broke the world record for the 100m Butterfly and was awarded the Order of Australia Medal (OAM) for his services to sport.The Inspiring Bit: Known for his larrikin spirit and motivational storytelling, Sam is a master at teaching others how to turn disability into an ability through humour and grit.Central Darling Shire Council: Mr. Andrew Lock OAMIn the far west, Central Darling will be visited by a man who has quite literally stood on top of the world. Andrew Lock is Australia’s most accomplished high-altitude mountaineer.Who he is: An elite climber and the first Australian to scale all 14 of the world’s 8,000-metre peaks (the highest mountains on Earth).Achievements: Andrew’s feat is so rare that more people have been into space than have accomplished what he has. He has survived avalanches, extreme frostbite, and the mountainous Death Zone to document the world's most brutal environments.The Inspiring Bit: Awarded the OAM for his contribution to mountaineering, Andrew brings a message of extreme perseverance and risk management..Hay Shire Council: Mr. Ron DelezioThe addition of Ron Delezio will deliver a level of national inspiration to the ceremony at the Hay Gaol.Who he is: A dedicated father, humanitarian, and co-founder of the Day of Difference Foundation. He is perhaps best known to the public as the father of Sophie Delezio, whose survival following two horrific accidents captured the heart of the nation.Achievements: Since founding the Day of Difference Foundation in 2004, Ron has helped raise over $14 million to support critically injured children and their families. His work has funded vital medical equipment and research into paediatric clinical care across Australia.The Inspiring Bit: Ron is a former NSW Citizen of the Year and Australian Father of the Year. He speaks candidly about resilience, overcoming depression, and the power of "going that little bit further" when life presents unimaginable challenges.

The region lost two well-known identities in the Stud Merino industry last month following the deaths of Ken McCrabb (Avenel, Wanganella) and Craig Heath (formerly Willandra, Jerilderie). Mr McCrabb passed away on Christmas Eve at Deniliquin Hospital, aged 88. He was a noted Merino breeder and classer and with his wife, Mary, founded Avenel Merino Stud and Avenpart Kelpie Stud. They also established the Avenel Quarter Horse Stud. Despite ill health, he attended the 47th annual on-property Avenel Ram Sale in September last year, and in May was honoured for dedicated service as firefighter at the NSW Rural fire Service’s Mid-Murray Zone presentation ceremony. Following a private cremation, a memorial service is to be held on Monday, January 19.Mr McCrabb is survived by his wife Mary, sons Colin and Peter and their families. Craig Heath entered the Riverina Stud Merino scene when he married Caroline Wells, daughter of Ross and Irene Wells of Willandra in 1988. The child of wool growers, Mr Heath managed several prestigious grazing properties before becoming an integral part of the Wells’ Willandra Merino Stud. Mr Heath was killed in a tragic farming accident in western Victoria on December 14, 2025. He is survived by his wife Marion, sons Ashley and Angus and their families. The Ivanhoe community is also mourning the passing of well-known figure Mr Barry Danson. Mr Danson was a captain of the transport industry in far western NSW, founding and running Danson Earthmoving with wife Barbara and brother Graham, more than five decades ago. The business launched by working for Central Darling Shire with an Acco Bogie 12- Yard Tipper. A life-long lover of machinery, Mr Danson faithfully restored numerous historic vehicles, including a 1935-45 Caterpillar Crawler, a rare yet powerful Super 90 tractor and several Mack trucks. He was also a past president of the Ivanhoe RSL Club. Mr Danson passed away suddenly at his home on New Year’s Day. He is survived by his wife and brother, and daughter Rochelle and family.

I thought as we reach the first week of January 2025, we could look back on one of my favourite interviews of January 2025. Motherhood, and parenthood, is the hardest but most worthwhile undertaking in a person’s life. To navigate both the good and difficult times can be a challenge, but a treasure. Sadly, so many mothers and parents often go it alone, the trials and tribulations to overcome, grinning through gritted teeth and getting through silently. In a perfect world we would have extra hands, companionship of someone who knows exactly what you are going through, and someone to lean on. I believe Michael and Tarryn Hyde, and Katie Deaton and Josh Wilson have that perfect world, or as close to it as anyone will get. Katie and Tarryn both gave birth to twins; Tarryn and Michael’s Myra and Evelyn are 12 months old, and Katie and Josh’s twin daughter Florence and son Sterling are coming onto five months. Katie and Tarryn had always had a friendship, speaking often. “They wished twins on me,” Katie laughed. “They had Myra and Evelyn and after that we went to a wedding and ran into each other. “They told us we should have another baby, we should have twins, and I laughed, writing it off.” “Around Christmas, Katie messaged me and said, ‘What’s better than one baby, two and an engagement ring,’ it was so wonderful,” Tarryn said. When Katie gave birth to her twins, it was really useful to have Tarryn to ask for advice; how to pick up twins at one time, amongst other things. Before you know it, Katie and the children were around at the Hydes all the time, and they formed their little village. “I felt as though I has been out of the game for so long, as my two sons are older, it was so good to have Tarryn for support and advice,” Katie said. “It is so easy for us to be twin mum friends, we both have two; we understand what it is like,” Tarryn said. “We understand all the different issues like time management, and what to prioritise.” “It is the best thing in the world, we would not change a thing,” said Michael. These friends and little families enjoy the highs and lows of parenting twins in tandem. Navigating returning to work for Tarryn and Katie was made so much easier; Katie is with the children while Tarryn works, and Tarryn returns the favour when Katie is working. Brock, Michael and Tarryn’s three-year old son, is head over heels with his little sisters. Michael and Tarryn are justifiably proud of him and his wonderful nature, especially as the past 12 months or so have been a big adjustment for him. “Over the last 12 months Brock has gone from being the only grandchild to being one of four grandchildren,” Michael said smiling. As any parent knows, going from only child to big brother can also be a big change in lifestyle for any young child. Theodore and Lincoln, 5 and 7, Katie and Joshua’s older sons, are enamoured with their twin siblings, and are active big brothers. “They wanted to have a little brother or sister,” Katie said. “They were so excited; I think the only thing that took a little adapting for them was there were two babies.” Both mothers say they both feel a little stretched at time, ensuring all children get attention and love, but as any parent can confirm, parents always worry they won’t have enough to go around. In this little village it is abundantly clear there is not a child who doesn’t know how loved or cared for they are. “Every aspect of life with twins is definitely different,” said Michael. “If you are bathing one child you just take them into the bathroom and get it done. “Whereas with twins you have to be well coordinated, and be aware of things, such as wrangling two children at once, with a wet bathroom floor. “Everything is well thought out and has a set routine.” They are always working in tandem. If Michael is bathing the children, Tarryn is packing the dishwasher, cleaning bottles or getting other essential tasks done and vice versa. When Katie is there, she will look after the babies, Michael will sort out the older children’s bedtime preparation and routine while Tarryn is getting the tasks done. “It is chaotic but it works,” they said. “When you are on your own, four is a lot, but when we are working as a team, seven is so much easier.” As Hay is so remote, when a trip away for shopping or appointments is necessary, one parent will stay at home and be with the children while another makes the trip away. To see these little families, self-described as their little village, together, is actual magic. The children benefit from different skills, interests and nurturing. “When I cook, I like to do it myself, I have no patience when it comes to cooking with children,” Katie laughed. “Tarryn will say, let’s bake a cake or cook something and I am really happy they do that together.” “I love cooking. One time we made pasta and there was flour from top to bottom but you could see on Lincoln’s face he was having the time of his life, it was great,” Tarryn said. Michael is very hands-on and good with the older children, involving them in many parts of daily life, including getting them all outside to feed the chickens. “Theo cooked sausages on the barbecue with Michael the other day, he asked if he could cook too,” said Katie. Katie is quite adaptable, as is Tarryn, both hands-on mums and quick to step in and take care of whatever needs to be done, or whatever baby needs attention at any particular moment. As Katie’s partner Josh is away working a good deal of the time, Katie is somewhat of a solo parent during the week. When Josh comes home on the weekends, he is just like Michael, very hands-on. It is an attribute which Katie values and admires, noting he is just like her late father, who was always doting and highly involved in her life. “He has the same qualities, and was what I always hoped for in a partner,” she said. “He hates fishing, but will suck it up and do it regularly as Lincoln really loves fishing. “If we need to go somewhere, there have been times where we have left all four of the twins home with Josh, for eight or nine hours and he has been in his element.” “Absolutely,” Tarryn agreed. “I came home the last time and he was so chill and relaxed, I said you really make this look easy.” “It is chaotic but it works,” they said. “When you are on your own, four is a lot, but when we are working as a team, seven is so much easier.” The little village has bought a quad pram, to make transportation easier for their tandem twins. None of the parents mind the hectic nature of life, and they all make it look like a breeze. Times can be difficult though, as any parent could attest. “The last couple of months have been hard, someone always seems to be sick, we have all taken a turn,” said Tarryn. “I have had pneumonia recently, and Michael was quite sick, and it was wonderful to have Katie around to pick up the pieces.” Life with twins definitely has its challenges.“There is no twin trolley at the supermarkets in town,” Tarryn said. “This can make shopping with twins and a toddler hard. ‘I usually aim to meet Michael at the supermarket, and he will carry around Brock and I will navigate the twins or vice versa. “Or I will walk down with the pram, fill it up and go, but you don’t have a lot of storage space in a pram.” Tarryn participated in twin classes before Myra and Evelyn were born, and also connected with a twin mother’s group in Wagga. However, staying connected had its challenges from three hours away. “Michael’s parents and family are so wonderful but they all work, and have busy lives and businesses to run,” Taryn said. “There are very little resources in town to accommodate twins, which is natural considering it is a small remote rural town.” Also, going to a playgroup is something both Katie and Tarryn can find difficult, but manage when they can. “Sometimes it is much easier to walk wherever you need to go,” they said. “Once you get the children into the car, the pram in the car, in this time one or more babies may have become unsettled and need soothing, it is quicker to get everyone in the pram and go.” The preparation which goes into day-to day life is significant. The parents have 26 bottles each, stock up on formula, buying four tins at a time. Tins of formula last two days if that, and a box of nappies and a box of wipes have about the same shelf life. Washing is perpetually coming out of their ears, and shopping bills are quite hefty. “To eat normal food, nutritious food, the grocery shop is costly,” said Tarryn. “Blueberries, strawberries and good food is necessary but you notice the difference.” It is so clear the joy and fulfilment greatly outweigh the challenges. It is indescribably endearing to see these wonderfully capable parents and little village come together to raise their gorgeous children. A happy and well-rounded first years of a child’s life can not only have a pivotal impact on who they are, but a positive shot at early motherhood/parenthood can shape the lives of the parents as well. Congratulations to you all, you should be really proud of this life you have created, and the amazing friendship.

Jeremiah ‘Jayo’ Rivers was a talented AFL player, who moved from the Northern Territory to Balranald, to play with the Balranald Roos. After making friends in town, Jayo, a fellow NT-based footy mate, a local Balranald man and four men from Victoria left Balranald on a hunting trip. It was Saturday, October 16, 2021, so Covid 19 border restrictions were in place, which the hunting party say was why their stories became confused. In two vehicles, the group of seven headed to Wilcannia, where one man sought treatment at the hospital in the early hours of October 17. Jayo was recorded in CCTV in White Cliffs just before 11am the same morning, limping, in bare feet. It is estimated the group quietly entered Queensland through the isolated Wompah Gate around 4am on October 18, after cutting the lock on the chained border. The group say they set up camp at Wippo Creek, and the last photograph of Jayo was taken around 8.30am that day. According to the evidence given by his travelling companions at his 2023 coronial inquest, Jayo walked away from the camp, either chasing a pig, or to look for somewhere to take a swim. It was Monday. Wippo Creek is about 40 kilometres from the tiny out back town of Noccundra – population 16. On Monday evening two of the men drove to Noccundra and purchased meals for the group, but did not report Jayo as missing. On Tuesday morning, October 19, the two men returned to Noccundra to fuel their vehicle and it was then that they first mentioned Jayo as missing, to local police. The pair did not share that they were part of a larger group, and the second vehicle departed separately. Once the alarm was raised, Police launched an extensive land, air, and water search from for eight days, using vehicles, planes, and even a gyrocopter. As well as the official efforts, Jayo’s family arrived from Western Australia and the Northern Territory, and searched the harsh terrain for months. In May 2024, Queensland Police restarted a 16-day search north west of Noccundra, based on new but undisclosed information. Despite all these searches, no trace of Jayo, has ever been found. In October 2024, Coroner Donald MacKenzie ruled that Jayo was likely dead and probably met with foul play, but his heartbroken family still has no answers. Victorian man Scott Neven was on a pig hunting trip in October 2002, when he was last seen 40 kilometres from Ivanhoe. Broken Hill police say the 31-year-old Victorian was in a car with two friends when a fight erupted. The witnesses told police that Scott got out of the vehicle, crawled under a fence and ran off into the paddock. He has not been seen since Friday 11, October 2002. An inquest held in July 2006 by the Deputy State Coroner found that Mr Neven died on or about 12 October 2002. As no trace of Mr Neven has been found since, the Coroner could not make any findings over the precise place, date, manner or cause of death. The Coroner did rule that Mr Neven met with foul play. In 2025, the NSW Government offered $100,000 reward for information into the disappearance of Scott Neven, and for information leading to the arrest of Mr Neven's killer. On Tuesday January 2, 2001, Clifford Parker, left "Hazelwood Station" located on the Sturt Highway near Balranald. Clifford took with him a small grey and blue backpack and a swag marked "Hazelwood" on it. It is believed Clifford took his dogs with him, but neither Clifford nor his dogs have been seen since this date. If you have any information into the disappearance of Jeremiah Rivers, Scott Neven or Clifford Parker please contact Crime Stoppers 1800 333 000. The Riverine Grazier would also like to hear from anyone who knew any of these men, and is open to anonymous contact [email protected]

Margaret Pack was born in approximately 1885. Her mother, Maria Yew, passed away at age 35 on September 24, 1895. Margaret was thought to have Cantonese, Scottish and some French heritage. Margaret and Ah Pack settled in Hay. Ah Pack’s older brother had come into Melbourne from China. He loved the new country so he ventured back to China to bring Ah and their brothers to Australia together. The brothers travelled towards Balranald in search of work. Ah found work as a gardener on a station. His brother continued on in his search for work and sadly, the brothers never saw each other again. Years later a member of the Pack clan would report that Ah Pack’s brother was settled up on the NSW North Coast and had family there.Ah also grew vegetables to supplement his gardeners’ wages, and sold fresh grown vegetables to nearby stations. Ah and Margaret had 18 children, Florrie, Eileen, Harold, Lindsay, Grace, Olive, Amy, Joyce, Anzac, Hazel, Percy, Jacky, Kathleen, Ruth, Alec, Isabel and Iris, and Eric. This was not common for the times, and one of their neighbours in Hay had a similarly sized family.Iris and Isabel were twins, but the remainder were single births. Anzac was born on Anzac Day in 1915. Joyce was born in 1913. Olive married an Englishman Tom Hey, and settled in Hay.Jackie became an infantryman in the Second World War and was featured in the paper. Many of the children had a strong affinity with the land, with Anzac growing cotton near Narrandera, Jackie and Lindsay also ending up on the land. Life would have been tough through the depression, two world wars and the harshness and vagaries of the outback Australian weather. The youngest child Eric died aged seven months, on January 2, 1928.Alec was one of the last remaining of the children, and remined in Hay until just before his passing. Alec worked as a shearer for 35 years, the best times of his life. Alec would work at the station for the Rees family for many years and learn a lot from all the things he got to do at Daisy Plains. Rees paid him well, bought him clothes and provided meat for his family, and Alec was a valuable and loyal worker, thankful for the opportunities.As well as working for the Rees, Alec also travelled around as a shearer, starting as a younger man under the wing of his brother Anzac. He became very accomplished in his own right and at his peak could get through more than 200 full size sheep in a single day. Hard work, shearing paid well for the times. He was often up at 5:30AM eating a quick lamb chop and a slice of bread as he walked from the workers hut to the shearing shed. Working all morning then a short break from the shearing for a minimal lunch before settling in to finish the day's work around 5PM. Dinner was the main meal of the day, with workers eating well to prepare for the next day. Alec recalled ten hungry shearers eating five legs of mutton between them.Both Ah Pack and Margaret died when the youngest children were still quite small. Alec's only memory of his mother was her sitting in a chair at home and he as a toddler pulling himself to his feet using his mother’s seated knee for balance. His last memory of his father was when he was sick and in his sixties at home. Alec and Jacky were quarrelling over matches and both received punishment from Ah Peck to stop their argument.Margaret passed at 43 years of age on June 22, 1928. Ah Pack passed two years later aged 65 on 24th November 1930. There is a small headstone memorial in Hay Cemetery for Margaret.Ah Pack was not mentioned by name, but as Margarets husband, and also their youngest son Eric, who died as an infant. Henry and JoyceHenry Huie James was born in 1907 in Canton province. He ventured to Melbourne in the 1920s at 20 on a merchant boat, jumped ship and met up with his brother. He had a Chinese name, Huie, and no English comprehension. Henry and his brother separated after leaving Melbourne and never reunited. Henry saved money and bought a motor bike. He created a book in Chinese characters that he used to teach himself English. He had the special brushes needed for the proper formation of the characters and could write Chinese characters well. He was very literate in Chinese and had attained a good education.Henry did not talk much about his earlier life, most likely out of concern that his illegal immigration would come to light, with even Joyce not knowing much about his early years.Joyce Roseana You Pack lived in Hay and helped care for her younger siblings. With a strong sense of duty Joyce was a member of the Salvation Army and active in the local community.The Hay area went through a period of growth from the 1850s onwards. There was a small Chinese community centred around Sturt Place in Hay, close to the Pack residence that was believed to have come to Hay seeking opportunities after the initial gold rush was over.In Hay, Henry met Joyce Pack, one of eleven daughters, in one of the large Pack clans in Hay. When talking to Alec he said that Joyce was one of the best of the children.Henry and Joyce were married, and settled on a small property on the outskirts of South Hay. The house was to the south end of the multi-acre lot with north end of the property backing onto the Murrumbidgee River. Henry was able to show his business skills and adaptability by creating a successful market garden at the site. The access to plentiful water would have helped but he was able to change from being a tailor to being a farmer. He grew vegetables which were taken into Lachlan St the main street of Hay to sell, and business proved to be vastly successful. Allan, their first child was born on March 14, 1937, lived on the property in Hay and began school there. Allan would ride his bike from South Hay to the school across the river. After a time, Henry and Joyce decided to relocate to Sydney for Allan’s education. They moved to 75 George Street terrace in Sydney's Main Street, renting a house from the Maritime Services Board. Henry would later try to buy the property but that never happened, but it remained the family home until his retirement in the 70’s.In Sydney another son, Roger Henry James was born in 1947. Devastatingly, he died from meningitis at eight months old. In 1948, their daughter Roslyn was born.Henry had started a laundry and dry-cleaning business upon arrival in Sydney. Having had a knowledge of clothing from his earlier life would have helped but he was able to cater to the business community in Sydney with his new enterprise. Business men would bring in their laundry where it was then professionally done and nicely packaged up for them to take home. Henry’s business was featured in Pix magazine, which was as popular then as People magazine is today. Joyce and Henry remained in George Street for many years, enjoying life with the large extended family they created. Henry retired 1974. He and Joyce moved from their George St terrace to an apartment in Top Ryde, within walking distance from the Top Ryde shopping Centre. Henry was eligible to get a pension but did not pursue one, as he was in the country illegally and was concerned about deportation.  Henry had never disclosed much of this with Joyce, despite their years together. Regardless of this, he voted, paid taxes and enlisted in the Royal Australian Navy at the end of the Second World War. Allan eventually Finally, Allan contacted someone he knew in immigration, who organised a private naturalisation ceremony, and thus Henry was an official citizen. Joyce and Henry both died in 1980. Joyce from a stroke. Henry found life a struggle after Joyce's passing, and passed himself several months later. They along with Roger Henry are buried at Botany cemetery in the Church of England section.

In the scorching heart of far western New South Wales, where summer temperatures routinely exceed 40 degrees celsius, the residents of White Cliffs have mastered the art of beating the heat in the most unconventional way imaginable. They live underground. Around 100 dugout homes remain in use throughout this remote opal mining town, carved into ancient hillsides by miners who, in the 1890s, discovered that the earth itself offered the perfect escape from the relentless outback sun. Today, these subterranean dwellings maintain a constant, comfortable 22 degrees year round, naturally insulated from both the harsh summer heat and the occasional winter chill. The town's population of just 150 people has created something truly unique in Australian settlement. Unlike anywhere else in the country, the majority of White Cliffs residents have chosen to make their homes beneath the surface, transforming old mining shafts and tunnels into comfortable, modern living spaces that would astound any first time visitor. Cree Marshall and Lindsay White offer tours of their beautifully carved underground residence, located beside the Red Earth Opal Cafe. For ten dollars, visitors can step into a world that seems almost impossible, wandering through progressively renovated rooms that the couple has transformed into a remarkable subterranean dwelling. The home showcases what's possible when creativity meets necessity, with carved archways, comfortable living spaces, and all the amenities of any modern home, simply located beneath several metres of solid rock. The 100 million year old sandstone conglomerate in which these homes are carved carries two significant advantages that made White Cliffs' unique living arrangement possible. First, the rock is remarkably stable. In over a century of underground dwelling, no one has ever died from a mine collapse in White Cliffs. Second, the sandstone is relatively easy to dig, allowing miners and residents to excavate living spaces without industrial equipment. The White Cliffs Underground Motel represents the largest example of this architectural phenomenon. With 48 subterranean rooms, it stands as the biggest dugout motel in the world. Located on a mesa locally known as Poor Man's Hill, so named for its lack of opal, the motel has welcomed travellers since 1989. Guests descend into a maze of passageways that lead to comfortable rooms, all maintaining that perfect 22 degree temperature regardless of conditions above ground. The motel features a unique stairway to heaven, a passage that leads guests up to a star gazing room on the surface. Here, visitors can witness the brilliant night sky and enjoy vast sunsets and sunrises that paint the outback landscape in extraordinary colours, far removed from any urban light pollution. From above ground, White Cliffs appears almost otherworldly. The landscape is littered with around 50,000 disused diggings, creating a moonscape terrain of white dirt mounds that encircle old mine shafts. This distinctive topography, combined with the lack of ordinary buildings, gives the town the appearance of an alien settlement that has landed on the desert plains. The underground lifestyle extends beyond mere accommodation. The town has carved out community spaces, workshops, and even display areas for the precious opals that brought miners to this remote corner of Australia in the first place. Some dugouts house opal showrooms where miners sell the gems they've extracted from the earth around them, continuing a tradition that began in the late 1880s. For those considering whether underground living could work in modern Australia, White Cliffs provides a compelling answer. Residents report lower energy costs, no need for air conditioning or heating, and a lifestyle that, while unconventional, offers genuine comfort and sustainability. The constant temperature means no fluctuating power bills, no reliance on external cooling or heating systems, and a living space that remains comfortable through the most extreme weather conditions. White Cliffs stands as a testament to human adaptability and ingenuity. In one of Australia's harshest environments, a community has thrived by embracing what the landscape offered rather than fighting against it. Their underground homes represent not just shelter, but a unique Australian architectural heritage that deserves recognition and preservation.

Walk into Royal Adelaide Hospital's emergency department on any given day and you'll find a chaotic but functioning system. The wait might be 30 minutes. There are specialists on site. Advanced diagnostic equipment hums in the background. Ambulances queue at the door. Now picture Wilcannia. The Multipurpose Service there technically provides 24-hour emergency care. But as of November 2025, if you present between 7pm and 7am, you must first call ahead. Staff will decide whether to come in. The doors aren't always open.This is the reality of Australia's two-tiered emergency care system, and it's crucial to understand from the outset that our dedicated doctors, nurses, and healthcare workers are not the problem. They are the heroes holding a fractured system together through sheer determination and professionalism. What's failing isn't the quality of our medical professionals but the system that asks them to do the impossible with inadequate resources, chronic understaffing, and policy settings that haven't kept pace with demand. Every statistic about wait times and bed shortages represents healthcare workers fighting against overwhelming odds to provide care they know Australians deserve.If you've felt like emergency department waits are getting longer in cities, you're not imagining it. The data confirms what millions of Australians already know from painful personal experience. In 2024-25, there were 9.1 million emergency presentations to public hospitals across Australia. Half of all patients were seen within 18 minutes, which sounds reasonable until you realise that overall, only 67 per cent of patients were seen within the recommended time for their triage category. Perhaps most troubling is that for patients requiring admission to hospital, wait times have exploded. The time in which 90 per cent of these patients complete their emergency department visit has increased by over 6.5 hours in recent years, from 11 hours and 43 minutes in 2018-19 to a staggering 18 hours and 23 minutes in 2022-23. Let that sink in: nearly a full day in an emergency department before being admitted to a hospital bed.While city hospitals grapple with overcrowding, rural Australia faces a fundamentally different problem. Emergency departments barely function or don't exist at all in many communities. Wilcannia's situation exemplifies the crisis. The temporary change to after-hours access, requiring patients to call ahead between 7pm and 7am, will remain in place until at least 31 January 2026. NSW Health frames this as ensuring patients receive safe care during the summer holiday period. The reality is simpler and more stark: there aren't enough staff to keep the doors open around the clock. And Wilcannia isn't alone. Across rural and remote Australia, more than 400 hospital-based emergency care facilities serve communities, managing over one third of Australia's emergency presentations. But staffing shortages are catastrophic, as high as 85 per cent for specialist trainee roles, 66 per cent for junior medical officer positions, and 22 per cent for senior decision-making roles in rural and remote emergency departments.Small rural towns suffer the most. Research from the University of Wollongong found that the greatest workforce shortfalls aren't in the most remote areas but in small rural towns. These communities have three times fewer doctors per capita than metropolitan areas, and twice as few nurses and allied health workers. The nurses and doctors who do work in these communities are performing miracles daily, often managing complex cases without the backup and resources their metropolitan colleagues take for granted. They're making clinical decisions in isolation, covering multiple roles simultaneously, and working extended hours because there's simply no one else to share the load.Emergency departments operate on a five-category triage system that determines how quickly you need to be seen. Resuscitation means immediate care for life-threatening conditions, and almost all these patients are seen instantly. Emergency category means care within 10 minutes for imminently life-threatening conditions, though only 64 per cent are seen on time. Urgent means within 30 minutes for potentially life-threatening situations. Semi-urgent means within 60 minutes for conditions requiring medical attention but not immediately life-threatening. Non-urgent means within 120 minutes for minor illnesses or injuries. The system works well for the most critical cases. The problem is for everyone else, and everyone else constitutes the vast majority of presentations.But in rural areas, this sophisticated triage system often becomes meaningless. Over 60 per cent of small rural hospitals have only on-call doctors, not staff physically present in the facility. Nurses frequently must assess and manage patients without onsite medical backup, making split-second decisions that would have a team of specialists consulting in a metropolitan hospital. These rural nurses demonstrate extraordinary clinical judgement and courage, but they shouldn't have to work in such isolation. Radiology and pathology services may only be available during business hours, if at all, meaning even routine investigations can't be performed when emergencies happen overnight.The workforce crisis manifests differently depending on where you live. In metropolitan hospitals, the challenge is managing volume. Liverpool Emergency Department in Sydney receives more than 90,000 presentations annually. Despite impressive recent improvements, halving average treatment time for emergency patients from 18 to 9 minutes, the sheer numbers create relentless pressure on staff who are already working at capacity. These healthcare workers are achieving remarkable results not because the system supports them adequately but because they refuse to let patients down despite overwhelming circumstances.In rural areas, it's about basic coverage. Australian rural emergency care facilities don't always have 24-hour medical cover, emergency specialist involvement, or onsite diagnostic resources that are mandated for accredited emergency departments in cities. Rural generalists and international medical graduates form the predominant medical workforce, and there simply aren't enough of them. The Australian College for Emergency Medicine's data shows that emergency medical staff in regional areas manage a greater volume of presentations per full-time doctor compared to their metropolitan peers. In large metropolitan hospitals, the ratio is one doctor to 1,062 patient visits. In small and medium regional hospitals, it's one to 1,736. Those rural doctors are seeing nearly two thirds more patients each, and they're doing so with fewer resources and less specialist backup.One of the biggest threats to emergency department function is bed block, when patients stay in hospital beyond their expected discharge date because appropriate care isn't available elsewhere. In NSW alone, 1,151 patients were stuck waiting in hospitals for federally funded aged care or NDIS support in the September quarter of 2025, an increase of 54 per cent over the previous year. Dr Peter Allely, president of the Australian College of Emergency Medicine, minces no words about the consequences for metropolitan EDs: when every bed in emergency is occupied by patients who should already be on a ward, the next person who needs urgent care can't be seen safely. This isn't a failure of hospital staff but of the broader health and aged care system that leaves hospitals holding responsibility for patients who need different care settings.For rural hospitals, bed block creates a different crisis. Small facilities lack the capacity to hold multiple patients awaiting transfer or discharge. A single patient blocking a bed can effectively shut down emergency capacity for an entire region. Rural patients are more likely to have extended stays in emergency departments awaiting inpatient care than those in metro hospitals, leading to poorer outcomes through no fault of the dedicated staff caring for them.In metropolitan areas, if one emergency department is overwhelmed, ambulances can divert to another facility 15 to 20 minutes away. This mobility doesn't exist in rural Australia. From Wilcannia, the nearest alternative emergency department is in Menindee, 36 kilometres away. The next closest is Broken Hill, 216 kilometres distant. For someone experiencing a medical emergency at 2am, those distances can mean the difference between life and death. Many rural residents are forced to travel vast distances to access diagnostic services, specialist care, and treatment. This requires leaving behind family and community support networks, along with substantial time and expense for travel and accommodation.Behind the statistics is a bitter political dispute between federal and state governments over who's responsible for the crisis, while the healthcare workers caught in the middle continue providing care regardless of which government is technically responsible for funding it. State health ministers point to the surge in Commonwealth bed block, patients waiting for federally funded aged care or NDIS support. NSW Health Minister Ryan Park has been blunt about the serious consequences for our state hospitals, from wards to surgeries that can't be conducted to people waiting for beds in the emergency department. Federal Health Minister Mark Butler counters that urgent care clinics are making a difference and that the government is working towards a comprehensive National Health Reform Agreement. Dr Allely's perspective cuts through the political positioning: state and federal governments need to come together to get to the core of the problem. Meanwhile, rural hospitals and their communities are largely absent from this debate. The problems facing Wilcannia or similar small towns don't fit neatly into urban-centric political discussions about bed block and ambulance ramping.The federal government's flagship response has been rolling out Medicare Urgent Care Clinics, now 87 nationwide with 50 more planned. These bulk-billed facilities handle urgent but non-life-threatening conditions, and more than 1.2 million Australians have used them. The government touts their success in reducing emergency department pressure, but the evidence is nuanced and the model is almost entirely urban-focused. While one million urgent care clinic visits sounds impressive, context matters. There were 9 million emergency department presentations in 2023-24. Even if every visit prevented an ED presentation, which isn't necessarily the case, it represents only about 11 per cent of total demand. More critically, urgent care clinics offer little to rural Australians. The model requires sufficient population density to be viable and competes with general practices for the same scarce pool of GPs and nurses. The Mount Gambier urgent care clinic recently went into liquidation amid staff shortages, a cautionary tale for rural areas already struggling with workforce.Despite system-wide pressure, some metropolitan hospitals have achieved remarkable improvements through the dedication and innovation of their staff combined with targeted support. In NSW, Liverpool ED halved average treatment time for emergency patients from 18 to 9 minutes over the past year through the extraordinary efforts of their team. Westmead ED reduced similar times by over a third. Nepean ED increased the percentage of patients transferred from paramedics to ED staff on time from 65.1 to 82.2 per cent. These successes show what's possible when healthcare workers receive adequate resources and support. NSW has invested $31.4 million in Hospital in the Home programmes, allowing over 3,500 additional patients annually to be cared for at home rather than occupying beds. The $15.1 million Ambulance Matrix provides real-time hospital data to paramedics for better patient distribution. Such sophisticated systems are impossible to replicate in places like Wilcannia, where the challenge isn't optimising patient flow but simply having staff available.Underneath all policy debates lies a fundamental problem: workforce shortages affecting all of Australian healthcare. By 2025, Australia faces a shortage of 100,000 nurses. Small rural towns have the lowest number of nurses and allied health care workers per capita. The maldistribution worsens with remoteness, and healthcare worker shortages are notably more severe in regional Australia, where 21 occupations are exclusively in shortage. The government has announced additional funding to train more GPs and nurses, but training takes years. Today's shortages reflect decisions made or not made a decade ago. Meanwhile, universities like Wollongong are making a difference. UOW medical graduates are 50 per cent more likely to work in regional or rural areas than graduates from other medical schools, with nearly a third working in rural areas within 10 years of graduating. But even this success story can't bridge the massive gap fast enough.Wilcannia's after-hours model, call first and staff might come, represents a middle ground between full service and complete closure. But across Australia and globally, the trend towards rural emergency department closures is accelerating. The viability of many rural hospitals is uncertain. There's a serious threat to rural after-hours, urgent, and emergency care due to lack of investment and critical health resources. Some facilities have been forced to make the impossible choice: provide unsafe care with inadequate staffing or limit services and leave communities exposed. Healthcare services in rural and regional areas across Australia are facing ongoing challenges in health worker recruitment, as Wilcannia's temporary change to after-hours access explicitly acknowledges.Both Australia and New Zealand's public health systems are funded and delivered on the basis of universal access to healthcare, regardless of location. In practice, this principle has not delivered equity. Rural residents have poorer health and shorter lives than those in urban areas. The data shows stark health inequities according to geographic location. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, who make up a significant proportion of many rural communities, face compounded disadvantages. Rural communities have considerably higher rates of emergency department utilisation and hospitalisation than urban peers, not because they're choosing emergency care over primary care but because emergency departments are often the only healthcare available, particularly after hours.For metropolitan residents, the advice is familiar. Use alternatives when appropriate, considering your GP, urgent care clinics, or telehealth for non-emergencies. Understand that triage means long waits often indicate others need care more urgently, the system working as intended. Be prepared by bringing medications, medical history, and something to occupy your time. For rural residents, the advice rings hollow. Alternative services often don't exist. The nearest GP might be 100 kilometres away. Telehealth requires reliable internet, far from universal in rural areas. And being prepared for a wait assumes the emergency department is actually staffed when you arrive.Multiple approaches are needed, recognising that metropolitan and rural challenges differ fundamentally. For metropolitan areas, we need expanded hospital capacity with more beds and staff, improved patient flow through Hospital in the Home programmes, better discharge planning to prevent bed block, coordinated federal and state responsibilities on aged care and NDIS, and continued innovative programmes that have shown results. For rural areas, we need sustainable funding models that recognise the economics of rural healthcare, targeted workforce recruitment and retention incentives, investment in rural medical training with explicit rural placement outcomes, technology solutions like telehealth backed by reliable infrastructure, community-based models that leverage local strengths, and recognition that rural facilities need different standards appropriate to their context. The Australian College for Emergency Medicine has launched a Rural Health Action Plan providing strategic vision for strengthening emergency medicine in rural areas, focusing on workforce, research, collaboration, and service provision.Australia's emergency departments are simultaneously performing heroics and struggling under unprecedented strain, but the nature of that struggle varies dramatically by location. Our medical professionals in metropolitan hospitals are working overtime, treating more patients than ever, achieving impressive results for the most critically ill through sheer determination and skill. Many have reduced wait times through innovative programmes and extraordinary dedication. Yet system-wide pressures continue to intensify, not because these healthcare workers aren't working hard enough but because the system itself is fundamentally under-resourced.Rural hospitals face an existential crisis. It's not about optimising patient flow or reducing ambulance ramping. It's about having staff present. It's about keeping doors open. It's about maintaining any emergency capability at all. The nurses and doctors who choose to work in rural Australia deserve our deepest respect and gratitude. They're providing care in circumstances that would break many people, often with minimal support and recognition.As NSW Health Minister Ryan Park cautioned while acknowledging metropolitan improvements, I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves because these figures, while encouraging, will fluctuate. Our EDs continue to grapple with record pressure and demand, and we mustn't forget that. For rural Australians, the pressure isn't just record-setting but potentially life-threatening. When the nearest alternative emergency department is over 200 kilometres away and your local facility requires calling ahead to see if staff are available, record pressure understates the severity.The fundamental question facing Australia's health system isn't whether it can survive. It's whether we're willing to give it the resources, workforce, and policy coordination it needs to thrive, and whether we're willing to recognise that rural Australia requires fundamentally different solutions than metropolitan areas. Until federal and state governments move beyond jurisdictional blame games, until rural healthcare gets the targeted investment it desperately needs, and until we acknowledge that universal healthcare access means different things in different places, the crisis will continue. Our healthcare workers will keep showing up, keep providing exceptional care, and keep holding the system together. The question is whether we care enough to give them the support they need before more rural emergency departments follow Wilcannia's path from 24-hour service to call-ahead only to closure.If you're experiencing a life-threatening emergency, always call 000. For urgent but non-life-threatening conditions in metropolitan areas, consider contacting your GP, an urgent care clinic, or telehealth services. For rural residents, check your local hospital's current operating hours and after-hours protocols, as these may have changed.

When Ray Charles Eade walked into the office, there was something familiar about his face. It wasn't until he mentioned his sister Dawn Matthews that the pieces fell into place. The youngest of 11 children, Ray carries the unmistakable features of his family, particularly resembling his mother and his sister Dawn. At 75 years old, Ray has plenty of stories to tell, and he’s generous with them. His life began in rather dramatic fashion, born on a sulky travelling to the maternity home in Lachlan Street in June 1950. His mother couldn't wait any longer, and Ray made his entrance to the world on the buckboard of the horse-drawn carriage. It's the kind of beginning that seems to have set the tone for an adventurous life. Growing up as the baby of such a large family had its challenges. By the time Ray came along, his mother had run out of names. In a wonderfully practical solution, she named him after household appliances; Ray from the Rayburn wood stove and Charles from the Charles Hope fridge. It’s an origin story Ray shares with good humour and warmth. The Eade family lived at Willow Tree Farm on the Thorne Road, about four or five kilometres out of Hay. Life on the farm was busy, particularly for Ray's father, who had three mail runs throughout the district from the early 60s until 1970. The Gunbar run, the West Burrabogie or Balranald run, and the Jerilderie run kept his father occupied five days a week. Young Ray often helped on these runs, particularly around the Gunbar route, which featured an exhausting 168 gates. He joked that he never wants to see another gate in his life. The family moved in 1965 when Ray’s father sold Willow Tree Farm and purchased a property on the Booligal Road. Ray was about 15 at the time. His first job came with Hay Shire, earning forty dollars a week, or one dollar an hour. With his wages, he bought his first car from Harold Wilder's Motors, a 1958 Morris 1000 for one hundred dollars. That little car served him well for years, delivering an impressive fifty miles to the gallon. At seventeen, in 1967, Ray headed north to Daisy Plains, about eighty miles from Hay and thirty miles north of Booligal. He worked there for three years until tragedy struck when his brother Neville had a significant accident with a slasher in early 1970. Ray was pulled from his job at Daisy Plains to help run the family farm in the irrigation area. He never received a cent for his work, and later that year, in October, his father died of a heart attack at age 61. Ray was just 20 years old. After his father’s death, the family farm was sold. Ray and his brother Robin briefly ran the Undercut Butchery in Hay, purchased from Jeff and Betty Pocock. But butchery wasn’t Ray’s calling. He wanted to travel, and soon found work at Dunlop Station at Louth on the Darling River. Dunlop Station was enormous; one million acres with 91 stands in the shearing shed and up to 60,000 sheep. Ray became the main contract musterer for the entire property. Some paddocks were 30,000 acres, and Ray would head out with five horses, five dogs, a truck and a horse float to his camp in the middle of the property, where he’d sleep in the horse float. He worked alone, never wearing a watch, relying instead on landmarks and the position of the sun. His dogs were specially trained to jump up on the back of his horse and to respond to different whistle commands rather than voice. It was demanding, isolated work, but Ray loved it. It was at Louth that Ray met the love of his life. Among three eligible young women in town, he chose one who would become his wife. They married and shared 42 wonderful years together before she died ten and a half years ago. The loss devastated him. Even now, Ray visits the cemetery every month, taking flowers to her grave. The couple had three children, Robert, now 51, Lesley, 45, and Susan, 41. After marrying, they moved to Narrabri, where Ray worked for Auscott, the cotton company, for seven or eight years. They lived in Narrabri for 18 years before moving to Wellington, where Ray has now been for 34 years. Throughout this time, he worked for various farmers, doing cattle work, sheep work and tractor work. Ray’s mother Alice lived to the grand age of 97 and a half, passing away in 2016. Whenever Ray and his wife visited, she would have cakes and biscuits freshly baked, delighted that her baby was coming home with the grandchildren. Ray still misses both his parents deeply. Music runs through the Eade family. Ray’s father was talented on the banjo and button accordion, whilst his mother played piano. Ray inherited this gift and still plays multiple instruments today, all by ear without reading music. The family gatherings at Christmas were f illed with music and laughter, with sometimes 50 people at the farm. Ray’s father also served in the Second World War, joining up twice. After being injured the first time and recovering at the Wagga base, he rejoined and served in the 16th garrison at the prisoner of war camp in Hay as a sergeant cook. Like many of his generation, Ray’s father didn’t talk much about his wartime experiences. The Eade family has deep roots in the district. Ray’s great great grandparents, George and Maryanne, walked thousands of kilometres from their property at Lilydale, north of Booligal, after migrating from England. There’s a harrowing story in the family history about one desperately hungry night when George, devastated but thinking of the only perceived option in a very hard time, suggested leaving their eldest child under a bush to die. Maryanne couldn’t bear it and, whilst George slept, went back for the baby. The next morning they milked their horse, an old mare that had lost its foal, to keep baby John alive. That child was Ray’s grandfather. The Eade name has a long history, with family crests dating back to 911. The family held a major reunion in 1988 at the Hay Showground, where 600 people with the Eade name, or married to an Eade, attended. Ray’s daughter Susan, just a few months old at the time, was one of the youngest there. Growing up in Hay, Ray attended school from the age of four, though his first day didn’t go well. Overwhelmed by the attention, he ran away and hid in berry bushes near the showground for two or three hours before his older sister Barbara found him. His father gave him a good belting for that escapade. Life in the irrigation area was different then. The giggle hall, a big community hall for irrigation area families, was a social hub where families would gather for cups of tea whilst children ran around the floor. Ray remembers catching yabbies in the irrigation channels for two shillings a bucket, which fishermen from town would collect. The channels are all gone now, replaced by underground pipelines, and Ray joked that you can’t go yabbying anymore. School days included getting two shillings to spend. Ray would buy a shilling’s worth of chips “Lately I keep being drawn back to Hay, thinking about coming home. “There’s something about Hay which always calls me; it is always home to me.” had a wonderful time. His children encourage him to return to Hay, to revisit his roots. from the Garden of Roses Cafe, a bottle of drink for sixpence, return the bottle for threepence back, and after school, spend the remaining threepence on a big single ice cream from Hill’s Corner. The Eade and Baird families, both living on Baird’s Lane, had an unspoken rule; no one in Hay was allowed to speak badly about the other family. If anyone did, they faced consequences. It was a mark of respect and community solidarity that Ray remembers fondly. Ray grew up playing with the Baird boys - Mervyn, Brian, Graham, Ray and Robin. Ray’s father was highly respected in the community, achieving the rank of Grand Primo in the Buffalo Lodge and receiving the chain of honour, the highest award possible. Ray now has this chain, which must be passed down through male descendants with the surname Eade.Though the family scattered after his father's death in 1970, with that glue that held them together gone, Ray maintains that he had a good childhood and no regrets. When asked if he enjoyed growing up in Hay, his answer is immediate and enthusiastic, immensely. Despite spending much of his working life elsewhere, from the vast paddocks of Dunlop Station to his decades in Wellington, Hay remains the place where it all began. And judging by the warmth and detail with which he recounts his stories, it’s clear that those early years on the farm, with his 10 siblings, hardworking parents, and tight knit community, shaped the man he became; resilient, good-humoured, and full of stories worth telling.