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Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story. Campfire for the Heart is a collection of inspiring stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.  “Don’t let anything stop you.” I grew up in a sailing family when female crew was rare. My stepfather and brother would race most weekends from the Brighton Yacht Club and I’d be invited only when they needed extra weight. We lived comfortably in Melbourne in an apartment above my mother’s hair salon. My father moved to Queensland and began a new family. Had I not gone to visit my father to celebrate his baby’s first birthday, I may not be alive today.
In December 1989, my stepfather (Graham Baldwin), 16-year-old brother (Bryan) and crew set off for the Melbourne to Devonport sailing race on Graham’s yacht, Great Expectations. While I was in Queensland, my mother, some family friends and our miniature dachshund (Heidi) flew down after the race to celebrate with them. On January 4, 1990, they all set off together across Bass Strait to return to Melbourne. According to a witness, mill-pond seas in Bass Strait turned rough the day after they set sail. The entire vessel and crew of six were never seen again. I can’t remember the moment I heard the news, but I remember seeing my father when he heard it. We were in a caravan park where he lived and the caretaker came with the phone and our friend Julie was on the other end with the news. He looked over to me and I saw him go white with fear and the rest was a blur. My father, stepmother and baby brother packed up and drove non-stop for 21 hours down to Melbourne. I sat in the backseat pacifying my baby brother all way. I was only 14 at the time and didn’t have keys to Mum’s salon or apartment. I had to break into our empty home. I remember the phone ringing constantly from media, sympathetic clients, and family friends. After the sea searches stopped, hurtful conspiracy theories emerged. My father decided to block me from media exposure. We closed my mother’s business and our money quickly dried up. My father took us back up to Queensland to begin a new life in a caravan park. It was tough. My bedroom was an awning beside the caravan and the rudimentary hot water system was either too cold or burning hot! Nothing in between! Adjusting to my new school was hard. Known as a “caravan kid”, there was no way of overcoming that stigma. The permanence of my new situation struck me one day when I was buying shoes with Dad. Mum had always bought Adidas 3 stripes. All Dad could afford were runners from K-mart. I realised then that my mother, brother, stepfather, family pet, friends and life as I had known, were gone forever. How did I cope? Being adaptable helped. Accepting what you cannot change and going with the flow. Caring for my baby brother also helped a lot. I’ve always loved kids, so nurturing and nourishing him helped me to nourish myself. I also dived into study and focussed on books. I grew up very quickly then and decided that, if I work hard, I can take charge of my life and be successful. Refusing to never feel sorry for myself, I decided to never define myself as a victim of this event. On the contrary, I feel lucky. I’m lucky to be alive and lucky for all the good fortune that has come into my life. Regardless of your situation, there are always reasons to feel lucky and grateful. I believe that if you do the right thing, good things come to you. They may not come straight away, but they always come. I’m now blessed with a loving husband who shares my values, and four wonderful children. One of my sons lost $10 from his pocket recently. He was upset, but the next day he helped a neighbour remove a dead possum from her garden. Much to his delight, he was kindly rewarded with $10 from the neighbour. Kindness leads to kindness. I’ve always tried to do to others what you’d like done to you… and I don’t expect anything in return. I give because I want to give, not for any expectation from the receiver. My mother taught me to not limit myself. Don’t let anything get in your way, she’d say. That determination served me well. I put myself through a Fine Arts degree in university by delivering pizzas at night. I worked hard and built a successful career, enabling my father and ‘baby’ brother and their families to live nearby. Family is and always has been paramount to me. We’ve established new roots in a coastal area of Melbourne and a new, comfortable, secure family life. Genuine connections with people are also important to me. I like to be honest and open with people and surround myself with like-minded, positive people. I dislike hearing people talk about their continual bad luck and prefer to think positively and move on from the past. A rewarding part of my job is mentoring young people. I encourage people to not let the stigma of their past hold them back from their future. Live without boundaries and don’t be afraid to ask for help. Most people are kind and want to help. If a friend, family member or colleague expressed their vulnerability and asked you for help, you’d want to help them. It makes you feel good to help. It’s human nature. So, if you need help, you’re not a burden. People genuinely care about you. Ask for help. Louise Eacott's story Written by Natalie Stockdale
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Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story. Campfire for the Heart is a collection of inspiring stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.  “We can’t change what has happened, and if we accept that, we don’t churn ourselves up by wanting something else.” We’re a couple who’ve had a hard-working life, not a hard life. Aileen was born on Manbulloo cattle station near Katherine in 1940. We don’t know for sure which year it was because there are no records of her birth, but we thought 1940 sounded good. I was born in Brisbane in 1937, but neither of us spent our childhood in a way that our parents intended.
In 1942, when Aileen was about two years old, she was taken from her mother by the government because she was ‘coloured’. Aileen’s mother (Kabunga) was Aboriginal and her father (Ben Ahwon) was a Chinese station cook. Aileen was too young to remember being taken away, but she does remember being told that her mother died and she has a new home. The truth was that Aileen’s mother died years later (exact time is unknown) and they never saw each other again. For a few years, Aileen lived with the District Welfare Supervisor, Ron Ryan, and his wife in Katherine. They were kind and cared for Aileen. When Aileen was about seven years old, she was sent to Melville Island to be raised by the nuns. Aileen recalls that they too were mostly kind and she called her favourite nun ‘Mum’. It was a regimented life for the kids on Melville Island, where calmness, independence and respect were instilled. Education, however, was a low priority, resulting in Aileen having a low literacy level, but they had time to play and have fun. Aileen fondly remembers sometimes camping with the nuns and making good friends with the other girls, much like sisters. She describes the experience with a peaceful acceptance. There was no point complaining or being upset about it. That was life. At the same time Aileen was living far away from her mother, I was a young lad also living without mine. My mother died in 1942 while giving birth to my baby sister when I was aged five. My father was in the airforce and was away during the war, so my four siblings and I were raised by my grandmother on a dairy farm near Narrabri in New South Wales. My grandmother, Ivy May Brayshaw, was a hard-working woman. As a widow, she was managing the farm and taking care of five kids including a newborn baby. The farm didn’t have electricity, so the cows were milked by hand and all our clothes were washed by hand. She wasn’t a soft, cuddly grandmother, but she provided everything we needed. After milking the cows every morning, it was my job to deliver the milk around the town on a cart pulled by a horse. It had to be done early because the milk wasn’t refrigerated. When that was done, I’d walk two kilometres to school. I was always late. After school, I’d have to get back home quickly and do the milking and milk-run all over again. I did that seven days a week for many years. I found time to play too, of course. We weren’t allowed inside the house. “Get outside and play. You know you’re not allowed in the house!” she used to say. One cold morning, our cat climbed into the wood oven to keep warm. Unfortunately, a Polish refugee who stayed with us during the war was unfamiliar with our cat’s habits and closed the oven door. He stoked the fire and headed out to the dairy, unaware that he was cooking our cat! We were all upset of course when we discovered the dead cat. My grandmother looked at me to see my reaction and I distinctly remember it was the first time that I decided to accept what happens. We can’t change what has happened, and if we accept that, we don’t churn ourselves up by wanting something else. Aileen has the same approach to life. She finds peace by accepting what has happened instead of resisting it. The government’s philosophy that underpinned their welfare policy was terrible. They believed the black people would eventually disappear and the people of mixed colour require removal and government care. Nonetheless, Aileen doesn’t see herself as a ‘victim’ of the stolen generation. It happened a long time ago and belongs in the past. This peaceful acceptance of ‘what is’ has served us well through all our challenges. As a young man who loved adventure and the bush, I headed to the Northern Territory where I met my beautiful Aileen. I was a taxi driver in Darwin and remember the first time I ever saw her. Wearing a red petticoated skirt and red shoes, I thought wow, what a beautiful woman. I was captivated by her cheerful smile and beautiful nature. I know I use the word beautiful a lot when I talk about Aileen because she really is, inside and out. We married each other in 1960. Only five people came to our wedding and two of them were ourselves, because we didn’t have any money then. Two days after our wedding, I was sent to Lajamanu (Hooker Creek as it was called then) to do carpentry work. I stayed there for three months to earn enough money to buy our first house in Darwin (with a government loan). From then on, Aileen and I worked hard, side by side, growing our family and our financial security. Aileen was a full- time mother for our three sons, while I worked in the Darwin fire brigade. We built six houses ourselves and I mean every part of our houses. From the foundations to the roof top and the furniture inside, Aileen inspired me and helped me with everything. Some people used to tell us to go away for holidays instead of working so hard. Life’s too short they’d say! But Aileen and I enjoyed our hard work. We loved working together and building our financial security. It was rewarding. Much of our financial security can be attributed to our property development project in Darwin. It took us 10 ten years to get council approvals for the subdivision, but our patience and perseverance paid off. Patience and perseverance have been valuable virtues in our lives. They helped us manage one of the main problems stemming from Aileen’s childhood- the absence of her birth records. The government at the time had a ‘Stud Book’ in which all Aboriginal kids of the stolen generation were recorded. However, there was no record of Aileen in the Stud Book, which caused a great deal of angst when we later tried to get a driver’s licence and passport for Aileen. It was as though she didn’t exist. Standing in the Office of Births, Deaths and Marriages with Aileen I said, “Here she is. You solve the problem.” Cyclone Tracy hit Darwin hard in 1974. We all crouched down in the bathroom, huddling together as it blasted through the night. Our roof was blown away and I remember thinking, “Hell, our workmanship won’t look good after this!” When the sun rose the next day (on Christmas morning), we looked out across Darwin and saw that all the houses had been flattened. Our house was one of the few that remained. The cyclone took Aileen’s wedding dress, but we were lucky. About 70 people were killed that night. There was only one undertaker in town and not enough coffins. Being in the fire brigade, I helped to find the bodies, wrap them in blankets and bury them. A year or so later, we had to exhume some of the bodies to send back to their families in America and interstate. One of the hardest times we’ve faced was the death of our son Mark. Aged 52, he died suddenly of a blood clot which caused a heart attack. It was a shocking and sad time for our family but again, nothing can change what happened. You accept it and look forward. We now have four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and a wonderful life. We’ve been married for 61 years and I’ve loved Aileen every single day. We cuddle each other 50 times a day. Sometimes, when I’m in my workshop, I think about Aileen, then put down my tools and go inside for a cuddle, then return to my workshop. We love fishing and spend six months every year camping in our secret place in the Top End. We both have a strong connection to that country. How our sons raise their families is up to them, but we hope that they teach them what we have taught our boys- the importance of looking ahead and knowing that, whatever you’re going through, it will pass. Find peace with whatever has happened, look ahead and love. Bill and Aileen Brayshaw's story Written by Natalie Stockdale Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story. Campfire for the Heart is a collection of inspiring stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.  ‘If I can get through Sudan, I can get through anything’. I have always seen the world empathetically and made important life choices via a snap decision with no fear, just sheer naïve excitement and goodwill. Some of those decisions have led to extraordinary life experiences and others have been extremely hard lessons.
Growing up in Tamworth, New south Wales, I listened to my father’s travel stories and knew without doubt that this would also be my future. Further inspired by ‘Out of Africa’, I decided to be a nurse in Africa. More than a fanciful whim, it became a single-minded dedication. My dream was realized in 1996 aged 26. I was amazed and disgusted by Africa in equal measure. Fascinated by its wildlife and landscapes, but above that, I was incensed at the imbalance of poverty and wealth. I could not get my head around it and felt I needed to help. While looking for a job as a nurse, I lived in Nairobi painting overland trucks. After an evening of tall stories around a campfire, I noticed two pairs of eyes fixed to my every word. They were eavesdropping missionaries who told me they were taking six pallets of donated medical supplies from South Africa to Sudan and asked me if I could help itemise the goods. I agreed and started the next day. They spoke about Sudan as if it was an untouched paradise. They admitted that the country was at war and had been for over 50 years, but they never saw anything like that. It was a peaceful place and their favourite country, a country too good to miss! Would I join them, they asked. “It would only be three days!” Naturally, I said yes! In Maridi, we went to the hospital where the medical supplies were to be delivered. The hospital was utterly disintegrated. The walls were littered with bullets holes and fractures. The floor was littered with blood-stained theatre equipment and shells from air attacks. Upon returning to a compound, we were immediately detained by the Sudanese Peoples Liberation Army (SPLA) and the six pallets of medical supplies were stolen from us. We were then taken to another town, Mundri, and held captive in a compound under armed guard. After a long meeting with the missionaries and the governor of the SPLA (that I was not allowed to attend), it was agreed that the missionaries would be allowed to complete their ‘mission’. Until this time, I had known nothing of the true reason behind the journey- to deliver bibles to the front-line of the military activity. The missionaries had bargained off all the medical supplies and me! In return, they could keep their bibles and conduct their ministry to the soldiers. The deal was that I would treat the SPLA’s wounded soldiers using ‘our’ medical supplies. I was the missionaries’ bargaining chip! The average age of these ‘soldiers’ in the SPLA was about 13 years old. Their uniforms engulfed their bodies which were dwarfed by their rifles. Although I was the only woman there, I strangely didn’t feel threatened by them. When they made lewd gestures towards me, I just ignored them. Whenever I washed myself, I did so with my clothes on and kept my passport in my boot ALWAYS. Food was scarce and I stole S26 baby formula (from the medical supplies) and choked down rats and bats caught by the soldiers to survive. As a result, we were all extremely sick. At night I would stare at the moon, ‘talk’ to my mum and dad and ‘will’ them to know that I am alive and will get home. It was a terrifying experience and one that, at that time, had no end in sight. Whenever I asked when we could leave, they said, “There’ll be a truck for you tomorrow”, but the truck never came. Thirty-nine days later, one of the missionaries had almost died of cerebral malaria. My attempts to treat him were unsuccessful and we were granted a trip under armed guard, back to Maridi to seek urgent help. On our way to Maridi, I saw workers from United Nations and Medicans Sans Frontier. I figured that this was the best opportunity I may ever have to escape. I jumped out of the moving truck and ran to safety. I was immediately embraced and flown to Nairobi. Having not quenched my inquisitive nature, nor my naive ‘save the world’ attitude, I had to ‘get back on the horse’. In 1996, I continued to work as a nurse in Rwanda in the repatriation phase after the genocide. This experience too, was not without trauma. One night, I heard a gentle tap, tap on my front door. It was a young woman who needed safety from violence for the night. She slept on my floor. The next night, she returned with another woman, then another. Over time, my house was filled with courageous woman, many had their faces torn to shreds from being beaten. I treated their wounds but couldn’t leave bandages on them because their secret safety hub would be exposed. The women talked and shared their stories. One woman stopped turning up. She was murdered. Seeing my devastation, one of the other women said to me, “My dear Robyn, what you see as death, we see as survival. She has gone on to a better life.” Their unwavering faith in God gave them peace. It was the most profound and humbling time of my life. Sometimes, we all need faith and spirituality, whatever that means to you. I now have a 25- year nursing career, working mostly in developing countries (Indonesia and Papua New Guinea) and rural and remote areas of Australia with marginalized populations. As you might expect, there are inherent trauma risks in such areas and they have certainly impacted my life. The things that bring me close to breaking point are not the horrific injuries to humans or animals. We nurses can learn to prepare for them. What I found most challenging was what humans can do to each other and the sheer horror that comes from that and, secondly, my perceived inability to affect change. My sense of failure settled heavily in my mind and was my biggest downfall. Going into Sudan, for me, was a pivotal odyssey which became a benchmark for future life experiences. ‘If I can get through Sudan, I can get through anything’ became my mantra. This attitude, however, was unhealthy and unsustainable. It drove me to extremely difficult work situations. I was setting unachievable goals and over time, became highly critical of myself. I adopted the habit of gathering stress and not resilience, then wondered why I felt so miserable. Finally, I had an epiphany. No achievements could appease my self-esteem while I had low self-worth. I had to stop this self-flagellation habit and start being kind to myself. I was not respecting myself, nor the people who had expressed their concern and love for me. I didn’t have to make huge gargantuan, world saving changes. It is the little things that matter. Small, achievable goals like making a difference in one person’s life each day. When I decided to be kind to myself, I made healthy adjustments to my life. For example, I removed myself from people who did not have my best interests at heart, who used my vulnerabilities against me. Some people see giving yourself a hard time as permission for them to do the same and do it with relentless obsession. It was liberating to recognize this and free myself from them. I have been blessed with a loving, large extended family and an extraordinary community of friends who remind me of my worth. I now choose to surround myself only with positive, supporting people. I have also been blessed with other people who have entered my soul deeply. People who I will never forget. Impoverished people who offered me kindness and care, and their innermost truth. Victims of unspeakable crimes, conflict and illness, who have continuously tried to balance joy with their tragedy. I am blessed to have been a witness of their courage and, in their memory, I give them my gratitude. Life is so tough sometimes and it’s hard to turn grief and fear into strength and courage. I am inspired by the people who go beyond their oppressions and inequalities, pull themselves together and carry on. I maintain my ‘if I survived Sudan, I can survive anything’ mantra, but I have let go of the high expectations. I dug deeply into what peace and resilience means to me now and realise that there is no ‘one size fits all’ solution. Sometimes they lose their potency and effect. We need an arsenal of coping strategies. If one strategy fails, you try a new one. Gratitude is a powerful strategy. My beloved mother recently died, an event I have feared all my life. I am grateful for the life our family had with her. I am grateful that she is no longer in pain. I did absolutely everything that was humanly possible to ensure Mum had some quality of life in her final years…. and I am at peace with that. Acts of kindness also help. When I am sad, I volunteer to help someone local. It gives me a sense of worth and joy. I cook. My friends and I have a casual community cooking arrangement. I cook up a big batch of something and share it with friends who are on the own or are struggling. My friends will do the same next week. We choose to eat alone or share company. I have a fire-pit and often say, “You are welcome at my campfire anytime.” Be realistic and accept that pain is a part of life experience. We can choose to stay there and feed it, or break away from it. Accept that there are highs and lows in life. It would be foolish to think that once we get over something it is ‘up, up and away”! With resilience, we manage the lows so they don’t stay and are not as severe. Integrity is a magnificent quality for resilience. If someone treats you badly and you have done what you thought was right, walk away with your head held high. If someone chooses to walk away from you, let them. Don’t beg for anyone to treat you with respect and don’t be frightened to say no or state what you want. It’s YOUR relationship too. Be aware of your thoughts and words. Thoughts and words have energy. Instead of the word ‘suffering’, which portrays powerlessness and failure, I say ‘living with’, which portrays survival and strength. I dropped the word ‘should’ from my vocabulary. I no longer say, “I should be this” or “I should be doing that”. That’s just negative blah! You create reality with your own thoughts. Darkness cannot survive in the presence of the smallest amount of light. Light illuminates darkness. Through your thoughts, let in the light, even just a bit. Humorous thoughts and words often help. It’s ok to laugh even in times of grief. Good friends can sledge each other. I even sledge myself- kindly. Writing this has been both difficult and cathartic. Some of these experiences have left deep scars that I hold so privately and dearly, but I am ever grateful to be alive and to write anything at all. I recount these events in humble hope that at best they may be useful prompts for reflection. At worst, they may provide entertaining solace for people struggling with the same issues. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Robyn Hill's story Written by Robyn Hill and Natalie Stockdale |
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