Don's Story 04.12.19

Managing Minderoo excess of $180,000, based on the square metre rate—well over our budget. Plan ‘B’ was hatched. Judy and I flew over east to look at a few sheds. And although we saw a number of features we would have liked to have used in our new shed—such as a raised shearing board, dual level wool and press rooms, forced ventilation, cover for sheared sheep—no particular shed suited our needs. On our return Syd implemented all our new ideas into what we considered to be ‘the ultimate shearing shed’ but, when costed, it was too expensive. I then discovered that Bill Broad had built a new shed at WaggaWagga station near Yalgoo, and that proved to be the type we needed if it could be extended to accommodate nine stands. His builder, Ivan Spanjich, quoted an acceptable price, in the region of $90,000, and was given the go-ahead. The new nine- stand, all-electric shed was operational by 1983. By the time the new shed was in use, shearing teams had changed. Unions no longer dominated work relationships, and women in caravans had appeared on the scene. Shearers’ partners had a civilizing effect on the teams. At the end of season, we would hold a party in place of the couple of cartons of beer that I used to put on before the team moved on to their next job. Women worked in the shed with the wool alongside the men. Thinking about it now, I realise that this period in the history of Minderoo reflected the changes that had taken place everywhere over the last twenty years, when women were no longer identified in relation to their husbands. Women’s Rights, Civil Rights, Human Rights and Workers’ Rights were revolutionising social attitudes and values. My father and many of his generation had found such social changes difficult to accept. Actually, my father resisted any change. 71

Don Forrest - My Story Since 1951, when I’d come back from Nonning, I had pestered my father to buy a plane for mustering, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it for a very long time. His argument had always been that we had been mustering with horses since the beginning and he couldn’t see any reason to change a tried and proven system for a new and dangerous one. Even after I got my pilot licence and stations in Western Australia were proving aerial mustering to be much more efficient, he would not relent. He thought I’d kill myself. David had been killed when he was flying during the war, and my father could not think of losing another son in the same way. There was also the issue of financial investment in such an expensive piece of equipment at a time when the price of wool fluctuated between low and very low and was not bringing in the kind of returns shareholders expected and, in some cases, demanded. By 1964 however we were using contract aerial musterers. Our first aerial musterer was John Raulston, who worked out that he could muster our thirty-paddock property in ten days if he had a good team. Overseer Syd Grantham was not so sure, but he was prepared to give it a go with four men on motorbikes because, if it worked out, it would reduce mustering time considerably. On the first day, all went well and the men were home by lunchtime. The next day some of the sheep were slow travellers and the men finished mid-afternoon. On the third day, close to 5,000 sheep were travelling slowly so the boys were out until sundown and servicing their bikes well into the evening. By the fourth day, Syd was getting a bit scratchy. The fifth and sixth days were long and the team looked forward to the seventh day as a day of rest. But even after the rest day, the team set out tired. I was the spotter, and I told Syd over the radio that the team had to ride twenty miles to get to the job. He was unimpressed and told me if the team had a late night again, 72

Managing Minderoo they were all pulling out. I thought about it and decided to cut down the pace and reduce the daily muster to two paddocks. So although it took more time than Raulston had said, it was obvious that aerial mustering was the way to go. But Syd had decided it was not the way he wanted to go. He decided to retire with his family to Shark Bay. In 1971, after years of contracting aerial musters, with the help of Bob Casey, my old man’s accountant, I did finally persuade the old man to buy a plane for Minderoo, and we never looked back. Judy got her licence and became very good at aerial mustering. I was a competent pilot too … most of the time! I enjoyed mustering rather then joy riding or flying long distances. There is something exhilarating about aerial mustering and being in complete control of flying between fifty and one hundred feet, occasionally even lower when I wanted to move a few reluctant sheep by diving and giving them the bum’s rush. Turning at such low levels, sometimes only twenty feet up was fairly exacting, especially when the wing tip was almost scraping the ground. More than once I clipped branches and came home with the telltale evidence stuck in the wing. There are many places on Minderoo where I could choose to land for a break after half an hour or so of flying. I’d land and have a spell then up I’d go again. One particular time the flat I’d landed on was a bit short and there was a sand hill at the far end so I had to taxi back as far as I could, give it full throttle and, at the point of take-off, put on the flap to give me extra lift. But I didn’t get quite enough lift to avoid collecting a nice bit of bush in the elevator along the way. One time, mustering near Waralee mill, the wind gusting from the east created a little turbulence and caused the spotter on board to be airsick. Having no sick-bags, I decided to land. There was only one little flat that I could see between the 73

Don Forrest - My Story trees and landed abruptly on target never thinking how I was going to take off in such a small area. I ended up unloading everything possible to increase lift off, including the spotter, and waited for a strong wind gust. Then with bated breath I gave the little plane full throttle and had lift-off, but caught the wing tip in a treetop that swung me about before releasing. The plane hovered just above the trees at 30 knots until another gust let us climb, and my breathing finally returned to normal. 74

Ownership of Minderoo The 1960s and 1970s had proved to be difficult years for all pastoralists in the northwest. Finances were stretched to their limits as costs escalated and banks were less than helpful in understanding the pastoral plight. New ways of funding less productive seasons until better seasons came round were being sought. Some families had to sell their family businesses. As far as our Forrest family was concerned, since 1971, certain shareholders in the Minderoo Pastoral Company had been angling to sell our station. Two years later I’d had enough. I was not only a shareholder, but the manager too! I decided it was time to assert myself. Aspecial shareholders meeting was arranged for 23 October 1973. It was not the first time I had been summoned south in the past three years to consider an offer to buy Minderoo. In October 1969, the company had informed its shareholders that it was unable to declare a dividend. A few months later, the first of a long line of potential buyers appeared on the scene. The first was prepared to pay $500,000 for the shares if the property met their approval. I was put in the uncomfortable position of preparing the station to be shown at its best and preparing a report on the place. It was a harrowing experience. I wrote a heated letter to my father accusing him of selling the property from under my feet and saying most of the money would end up in Capital Gains Tax. His reply was every bit as heated: 75

Don Forrest - My Story Dearest Don, I am surprised and disgusted to receive a letter like I have just received from you… anyone would think that if we sell Minderoo for $500,000, that every dollar I receive out of it will go down the drain. I know exactly what I am doing… I cannot understand your attitude. I told you I would be able to help if Minderoo was sold for the exorbitant price we expect to get for it… to consider your idea and load ourselves with a huge debt which I know we could never raise… no. I’m really shocked with your attitude. With love from Dad I can’t remember why that sale didn’t take place, but it led me to present a plan for my father to gift his shares to me and still enjoy the dividends they brought—which he refused. And there I was, three years later, approaching my father’s house in West Perth for what I hoped would be the last meeting on this subject. The timing of the meeting couldn’t have been more inconvenient. I had been called away from shearing with no thought that it was our busiest time of year. I had worked myself into a state somewhere between anxiety and anger as I seethed at the lack of consideration the board had shown me— and I’d been given only a few days’ noticThe ‘special’ meeting had been called to discuss a solid offer from the Corio Fishing Company of Melbourne to buy all of the company shares for the princely sum of $427,500. If the shareholders agreed to the offer it would put an end to three generations of Forrest family ownership of Minderoo Station. And there was no doubt that as manager I would be out of a job. I felt as if the last 22 years 76

Ownership of Minderoo of my working life, and that of my father and grandfather, had counted for nothing. So it was with justifiable outrage and a heavy heart that I braved the meeting. My intention was to counter the Corio offer. My concern was that the shareholders would vote against me. This was indeed going to be a red-letter day for me, one way or another. As expected, it was a very difficult meeting. It was held in my father’s dining room and when I arrived the cousins were sitting around the dining table. Apart from Tony Craig and Tony Forrest the others were female. Hardly anyone noticed my entry. They were too busy reading copies of the offer and whispering with each other. None would have dared to speak out loud unless directed by my father who, as chairman of the board, was sitting at the head of the table. He alone acknowledged my entrance with a curt nod. It was clear that as far as all my fellow shareholders were concerned, I was just a junior shareholder and very unlikely to have any influence on the matter in hand. I returned my sister Shirley’s wan smile with a slight twitch at the corners of my dry mouth and took the last vacant chair. I was nervous as my father called the meeting to order. I sat quietly appearing to be listening as the conditions of the offer were read and discussed, but my mind was reeling. Minderoo was my home. I’d grown up there. I had known since I was fourteen years of age that I was destined to take over from my father as manager and I’d invested more than twenty years of my working life in the station’s success. They were simply shareholders. And pretty long-in-the-tooth shareholders at that I realised as my eyes flashed from one face to another. Minderoo was just an investment to them. In recent years, the company had failed to pay significant dividends on their inherited investment shares and they wanted out. As far as the majority was concerned, it was just a business transaction, nothing personal. 77

Don Forrest - My Story The original company had been formed in 1879 by my grandfather, his brothers—John and Alexander—and their friend, Septimus Burt. In those early days, sharing risk between friends seemed the way to go, but twenty years later the friends had been financially secure enough to forego shares in each other’s property and Minderoo became the sole concern of the Forrest brothers. In 1918, Sir John Forrest died without issue. In accordance with his will, Sir John’s shares in Minderoo were left to his wife, Lady Margaret Forrest, and in 1925 the descendants of Alexander and David decided to secure the future of the company as a family concern by buying their elderly aunt’s shares. Consequently, my father and his three male cousins—Kimberley, John, and Doy—became shareholders of the newly established Minderoo Pastoral Company. The company had functioned perfectly well while there was a small number of shareholders. However, when the third generation each inherited a share of their father’s share of the station, suddenly there were twelve shareholders in the company, and the majority were women. No-one was satisfied with this arrangement, not because of the majority of women, but because smaller shareholdings returned smaller dividends in an increasingly volatile industry. The price of wool has always fluctuated because the Australian wool industry has been subject to uncontrollable weather conditions such as cyclones, floods, and droughts, as well as disease and a volatile international market, but so far Minderoo had been able to ride out the bad times. During the 1950s, wool prices soared. But by the early 1960s, the high price of wool was unsustainable and the market took a downturn. After 1966 when Australia converted from the British £ to the Australian $ the price of wool evened out but overheads were higher. 78

Ownership of Minderoo In 1969, one of the Minderoo Pastoral Company shareholders, Mrs Peg Forrest hadn’t received a dividend for her little parcel of shares and she took me to task over the lack of return on her investment. I explained that the season had been bad and the price of wool was abysmal so we hadn’t been able to declare a dividend. I also explained that I didn’t have any control over the declaration of dividends at all but she had to have a go at somebody and, because I was the manager, that somebody was me. She said, ‘Well it’s just not good enough, Don. I rely on my little dividend from Minderoo and I think it’s a poor show…’ Ayear or so later I became concerned when I found out Tony Forrest and Tony Craig, husband of Alexander’s granddaughter Pettie, had offered their shares to my old man. My father had told them that he couldn’t afford to buy them. He asked what they were going to do next, and they said they intended to sell them. They argued that they were not making any money out of the shares and intended to sell them on the open market by advertising in The West Australian. It was then I decided to stake my claim. I called my sisters and asked them not to agree to the sale. I also asked each of them not to sell their shares to the two Tonys because it would make Tony Craig and Tony Forrest the main shareholders. It took a little persuasion because neither of my sisters was sufficiently well off to maintain an interest in Minderoo without regular dividends, but in the end both Lizabee and Shirley agreed not to sell their shares until we could get together with the old man to devise a strategy. This involved me sounding out close friends and relatives as to who might stand guarantor for me. I’m proud to say my father-in-law Sidney Fry agreed to guarantee up to $100,000, as did my good friend, Garrick Agnew. In the end the shares were advertised but it seemed that no-one wanted to buy half a share in a sheep station after a bad season and no recent dividend. So 79

Don Forrest - My Story the Tonys were completely foiled, and Sidney and Garrick were relieved of their pledges. But the seed had been sown and the future of Minderoo was still in the balance. The Tonys next move was to approach my brother-in-law John Hands, my sister Shirley’s husband. John had a financial background and some experience in dealing with shares. They asked him to help sell Minderoo and he agreed. John let me know that he was involved in finding a buyer before he started to market the sale. I was perplexed but not particularly concerned because I knew that their combined shares were not enough to force a sale. Within weeks Dalgety had been appointed as their agent and publicised a brochure detailing Minderoo’s location, type of country, itinerary, wool clip history, and selling price for the 44,000 shares. Battle lines had been drawn. I asked John to keep me up to date on developments and he agreed to do so. He also said that he thought that there shouldn’t be any trouble finding a buyer. I replied that it was imperative that I be kept informed, that he didn’t tee up a buyer before he had let me know. He assured me that of course he would keep my informed, but he went back on his word. The next thing I knew a buyer was coming to Minderoo. I was told in the middle of shearing that this buyer would be arriving the following day to have a look at Minderoo with the intention of purchasing it lock, stock, and barrel. The buyer turned out to be a hairdresser with a string of hairdressing shops in Melbourne and Perth. I was very upset because here was evidence that things were really running amok, and I was potentially about to lose my job, my home, and the lifestyle I had created for my family. I was so upset that I actually got down on my hands and knees and prayed. That night it poured with rain. There’d been no sign of any rain that day but for some very odd reason it rained 80

Ownership of Minderoo and rained and rained, so much so that the hairdresser’s plane coming from Karratha couldn’t land at Minderoo and had to fly on to Carnarvon. On arrival in Carnarvon, the prospective buyer received a telegram from his accountant in Melbourne to say that his proposal to buy Minderoo was overstepping his financial limits. Now I reckon that was purely coincidental but it could have also been providence. Who knows? Anyway, that didn’t stop potential buyers coming, and it didn’t stop John Hands finding them without alerting me. Since the first rumblings of discontent in 1969, I had begun to discuss the situation with a friend of mine, Denver Blake of Giralia Station. Like most managers of sheep stations, Denver and I had never had a bob to put together. Yet while Denver was manager of Giralia Station, he had been able to buy the property outright from his family. I went to see him one day in his Perth flat in Marine Parade, Cottesloe, and asked how he had managed to do it. He told me that he had been in almost exactly the same situation that I found myself in with so many grumbling shareholders each considering how they could get out of their investment. Denver had taken advice from Len Blyth an accountant with McLaren Stewart, Chartered Accountants. Len had informed Denver it shouldn’t be too difficult to buy Giralia. He told Denver that because he proposed buying a pastoral company and he was one of the shareholders he would be able to buy out the other shareholders as long as they all agreed to the sale. Denver asked Len how he was going to get the money to do that, and Len introduced Denver to the idea of borrowing the money from a lending institution rather than a bank. The whole procedure had been quite simple and Denver 81

Don Forrest - My Story said he could see no reason why I couldn’t do the same thing with Minderoo. At the time I responded saying, ‘Yeah, well, maybe I will one day.’ It just wasn’t the right time. I’d had serious concerns in relation to my responsibility to Sidney and Garrick when I thought I’d had to borrow $200,000 so the idea of borrowing in excess of $400,000 was so shocking that I needed time to think it through. A year or so later when numerous potential buyers still clouded my horizon and I was having an operation at St John of God’s in Subiaco, Denver came to see me. He picked up the telephone there and then, and without further ado introduced me to the man who seemed to know a way to change my life. Later Len and I met and discussed the possibility of me buying Minderoo if the occasion arose—despite the fact that, like Denver, I never had a bob to fly with. My wife and I had three children at boarding school. We used to have a little motor boat that we used for fishing off the mouth of the Ashburton River but we’d had to sell it. And Judy had sold her car—all to finance the kids’ schooling. Some time before my stint in St John’s I’d spoken to the only accountant that I knew—my father’s accountant, a fellow called Bob Casey—about the possibility of me buying Minderoo. Bob had said, ‘Don, if you do such a stupid thing, you’ll have to sell everything you possess, you’ll go completely broke, and have to take your kids away from boarding school and send them to a state school. And you’d still go broke, so just forget it. Don’t ever do such a stupid thing.’ I came away from the disappointing meeting thinking that Bob had a very short-sighted attitude. I realise now of course that it was an old-fashioned attitude that did not reflect the new era. In 1972, Gough Whitlam had led the Labor party to power and introduced a number of radical social and economic 82

Ownership of Minderoo measures that challenged the more conservative view of the world. Fortunately, by the time I met Len Blyth and he explained to me in detail how, contrary to Bob’s advice, it would be really quite simple to buy Minderoo when the occasion arose, I had a better understanding and a rational plan based on sound economic analysis. I felt quietly confident. Over the next year or so the number of shareholders wanting to sell the place continued to grow. To my surprise, and without discussion with me, my father who had supported me after our little discussion years earlier, did an about-turn and sided with the majority. They decided that the company was going to be sold. Clearly the occasion had arisen for me to make my move. It was now or never. Armed with Len’s financial strategy, I fronted up at that special meeting in 1973 and, as a junior shareholder, announced in a controlled voice that I wanted to buy Minderoo. The response was as I had anticipated—pure astonishment and disbelief. One of my cousins said, ‘You, young Donny? How are you going to buy it?’ I looked from one astonished face to another and then to my, father who was every bit as shocked as the rest of the family. I hadn’t told him of this plan because I knew he would never have supported it. I think he believed sincerely that I’d go broke if I bought the company. The cousins couldn’t believe my cheek. I was the youngest of them all. ‘Little Donny buying Minderoo?’ They wanted to know how I could possibly afford to. I said that I wanted a little bit of time. I needed two months. They nearly leapt out of their chairs exclaiming, ‘Two months! We can’t possibly do that!’ They were all sitting round in a circle, including my two sisters, Lizabee and Shirley. Shirley was clapping her hands with glee because she believed in me. Lizabee was apprehensive. Being nine years older, she was concerned her 83

Don Forrest - My Story baby brother didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Her husband didn’t believe I could successfully raise the necessary funds either. But I stood my ground and repeated my request for two months to raise the finance. Protests rained down on my idea versus the Corio Fishing Company cash offer sitting there on the table. How could they possibly let me have two months? ‘In any case, why do you want to buy it?’ asked Tony Craig. I said, ‘Look, I’ve worked on the place for twenty-two years. I haven’t done that just to see it slip through my fingers. As far as I’m concerned I know it’s a very good property. This season is one of the best and the rainfall the third highest on record. The sheep and cattle are all in excellent condition. The off- shears sheep were the fattest seen for many years and topped the Midland sheep market. We marked 8,042 lambs this season from last year’s January mating and we broke in eleven horses. I know the price of wool is down, but I know very well that it’ll go up again.’ While they were ruminating over that, I said, ‘And what’s more, I think the fact that I have run the place successfully for 22 years deserves some consideration.’ They couldn’t deny that. After much heated debate they finally decided that they would give me one week, which was quite unfair. I was getting a bit hot under the collar but said— with surprising control, ‘You know very well that’s unfair. Give me a month. I know I’ll raise the money.’ They looked at each other and groaned and bickered but finally reached a unanimous decision to allow me one month to raise the finance. I thanked them and, before they could add anything else, took my leave. I breathed deeply when I got outside and leant against the wall. I patted my inside jacket pocket. Silently, I thanked my old friend Syd Deykin who had believed in me enough to write a cheque drawn on his company 84

Ownership of Minderoo C J Deykin (1967) Pty Ltd’s account to cover the deposit that we had expected the shareholders to demand. I grinned as I took out the cheque and looked at it. It was the only material evidence I had that the last hour had not been a dream. I kissed it, folded it and replaced it in my pocket. It was going to be a busy month! What should I do first? I decided to book into the Weld Club as a semi-permanent boarder, determined to stay there as long as it took to raise the funds. Then I rang Len and we began to put our strategy together. The sale price at the time was $427,000, which was an enormous amount of money. Prudently, we decided we probably needed $450,000 to cover costs. That same day Len and I began our campaign, which meant visiting the major financial lending institutions in Perth. We had appointments with Elder’s, Dalgety’s, and the Bank of New South Wales. I was very disappointed with Elder’s lack of support because I’d been with them for years and my father before me. Any way, we kept trying the other banks and all the stock firms too. At the end of that first week, I was able to put down the 10% deposit: I’d been able to raise $50,000 the first week. I was on cloud nine, but it didn’t last too long until the cloud burst and the reality I still had to raise the other $400,000 set in. The only institution we hadn’t contacted was Wesfarmers because we thought it was a farming outfit and that they wouldn’t be interested in stations. The manager of Wesfarmers was John Bennison. I’d been to school with John, so we decided it was worth a go. We made an appointment and I told him my story, and he said he might be able to do something: ‘I’ll let you know. Don’t lose heart, Don. I think we can probably pull it off.’ Within a few days, he’d advised me that his board had agreed to lend me the funds. They considered that the property was worth half a million dollars and because it was producing 85

Don Forrest - My Story quite a lot of wool—between 700 and 800 bales every year—it was a secure loan. They did, however, point out that financially it would be beneficial if my father put his shares in my name and I paid him the dividends. I didn’t pay the balance of the money until the very last minute because I didn’t want to have to pay interest unnecessarily. Consequently, with some satisfaction, I made the shareholders hang on until the very last day to get their money. Sometime later, Tony Forrest was overheard in the Freshwater Bay Yacht Club saying, ‘Young Don will go broke, and of course he paid far too much for the place.’ Thankfully, he was wrong on both accounts. And what none of them realised at that time was that, in the end, my father had come down on my side. It had taken a little persuasion from Derek Gascoigne to convince him of the benefits of gifting his shares to me while he was alive, and how such a gift would help secure Minderoo for the next Forrest generation. A few whiskies and a convivial conversation sealed the deal. Minderoo was sold to Forrest & Forrest—Judy and I—as sole owners. We were delighted. It meant many things, but most important was that now my father no longer had legal control over my decision-making. It felt good. 86

Changes At the time of financing our purchase of the Minderoo shares in 1974, Wesfarmers had also advised that it would be in our best interests to invest in Wool Futures as a means of offsetting unpredictable and uncontrollable effects of market fluctuations. It was a good punt. Investing in the Futures system enabled us to repay the Wesfarmers mortgage in full within four years—an amazing achievement. Judy had been totally committed to running the Minderoo business with me as efficiently and as profitably as possible. She was a good friend and a formidable opponent, and she shaped our busy world for many years with her determination, fearlessness, and confidence. Unfortunately, by 1980 she had decided that it was time to make a move and create another life. The children were already making their own way in the world: David was jackarooing over east, Jane was enjoying life in America, and Andrew was at university. And, as she said, although it was a wrench leaving the place that had captivated her for 25 years, it was the right thing to do. She wanted to meet other people and experience different aspects of life. I was bereft, but a little bit of me understood, because station life was all-consuming and socially restrictive. Judy wanted to see what else the world had to offer. During those productive years my father passed away. Although he had ceased to have a financial investment in 87

Don Forrest - My Story Minderoo, his personal interest in the day-to-day running of the station never waned. Until he died, he continued to comment and advise, and I always listened with respect. It was too late to change the habit of a lifetime. I felt the loss of him more deeply than I had anticipated. After years of resenting his intrusion, I became aware of an emotional vacuum that left me heavyhearted. In the early 1980s, conversation between friends in those heady days of high profits revolved around how best to invest surplus funds and minimise taxation. I discussed the issue with my friend and advisor, Len Blyth, who had been helpful in the purchase of Minderoo. Together we considered a number of investments but when we ran the ideas past Rob Black, a lawyer and financial advisor, the ideas were knocked on the head. Rob advised me to stick to what I knew when investing, and that was sheep and land. Joe Elliot, an old neighbour, came up with the idea of me becoming part of a consortium that planned to float a company, named Warralakin Pty Ltd, in order to buy a portion of a property known as Yathroo at Dandaragan. I liked the idea. I could see the potential in relation to expanding my business while legally minimising my tax. The consortium bought the property in July 1981. I selected the homestead block, 8.1% of the whole property, amounting to 1,700 acres (695 hectares) of rich red and black loam soil, with good areas of lighter soil in red gum country. My plan was to use the land to fatten stock during the dry seasons at Minderoo but also to use the property as a staging post for stock travelling overland en route to Midland markets. Initially, I set about improving the pasture by fertilising and seeding. My investment in the homestead block, Mungedar had cost me $450,000. The cost of fertilising, seeding, cropping, and carting offset against the sale of the crop in 1982 reaped a meagre profit of $11,000. Added to this poor result, I became 88

Changes aware of the Federal Government plan to invoke retrospectivity targeting would-be investors in what it considered to be illegal tax evasion. I consulted Bay Collison, a lawyer and financial advisor for Parker & Parker, a man of integrity whose advice I heeded in good faith. Collison believed in the first component of the historic Rule of Law governing all civilised societies: “All laws should be prospective, publicised and clear.” Collison agreed with the Barwick High Court that not only was it lawful for an individual to arrange his affairs to pay less tax in accordance with the law at the time, it was his right to do so. Barwick High Court argued that in a society that honoured the Rule of Law, law abiding people could not be sued for actions that were legal but later became illegal, hence retrospectivity had no precedence. Collison advised me accordingly. But as I was clearly agitated, Collison suggested I go to Canberra and put my case to John Dawkins, the Labor Minister for Finance, to see if he could he could call off the hounds that were baying for the blood of so-called tax cheats. Len Blyth and I were hopeful of a positive outcome on our flight to Canberra. Unfortunately, Dawkins was unavailable, but just along the corridor we bumped into Fred Chaney who said it looked like a decision would be made in parliament that afternoon. He said it all rested on Harradine, the swinging voter from Tasmania. On this particular day, however, no decision was reached. We returned to Perth. A few weeks later the Taxation (Unpaid Company Tax) Assessment Act was enacted. Retrospectivity had won the day. I put Mungedar up for sale in October 1982, and I sold it in September 1983 at a significant loss. The whole venture cost me dearly resulting in Minderoo carrying a substantial debt that crippled the station’s viability. Like hundreds of other small businessmen who had burnt their fingers, I decided that 89

Don Forrest - My Story speculating to accumulate was not for me. Interestingly, however, the fat cats of the “bottom of the harbour” schemes, the men who had introduced the schemes—men like Ron Woss and Bay Collision, who had received enormous fees for their advice—fell outside the retrospectivity laws. They got off Scot-free! At the time of the Mungedar saga, David was overseeing Minderoo.And as is commonplace in families where sons take over the family business, David tended to do things differently from me. We didn’t always agree and he felt that his mild-mannered father had turned into his irritable old grandfather. Apparently, like my father, I kept a tight hold on the Minderoo reins, and we clashed. Although David was my eldest son, he’d never expected to inherit Minderoo. He knew I would ensure Jane and Andrew inherited their fair share too. David had a passion for the place and knew and loved the country. I expected him to run the station to the best of his ability and make a living for his future family. He’d studied at Marcus Oldham College and spent eighteen months or so jackarooing on cattle stations in the Kimberley before returning to Minderoo as overseer. He’d also learned to fly, which was a bonus because my pilot licence had long since lapsed. In 1982, Minderoo underwent other changes. Since the retrospectivity changes, things were financially tight, and by 1984 David had taken a job on Barrow Island to earn some much-needed cash. Compared to station work Barrow Island was like a holiday camp as far as he was concerned—and they paid you for being there! He was on Barrow when he heard that Scotty Black had died. Scotty had been an important part of life for the Forrest family. David and Andrew had gone to Onslow Primary School 90

Changes with Scotty’s youngest son, Ian. Ian and Andrew hit it off well: they were both tearaways. One of Scotty’s daughters, Elizabeth, had been David’s nanny- cum-governess for a time. Scotty taught them about Aboriginal languages, culture, and spirituality. Most of what they learned about the bush, they learned from Scotty. Andrew and I flew in my little plane to Karratha where we picked up David. David piloted the plane to Coolawanyah where we stopped for lunch then on to Yandearra. Scotty and his wife, Elizabeth, had been living on the Aboriginal-run station for a long time. When we arrived, we heard an eerie sound like nothing we’d heard before, a strange wailing. I recognised it as the Aboriginal keening. The mournful sound filled the air from at least three hundred meters away. Two school teachers picked us up and drove us to the funeral gathering out in the open where a soft breeze stirred dry grasses and a few shady trees made the heat and flies bearable. We stood at the back of the six or seven hundred mourners. There were very few white people. Peter Coppin, the most senior Aboriginal elder in the Pilbara was leading Scotty’s funeral service. He’d been born under a gum tree on the De Grey River, and had been one of the 1946 strike leaders. He had been awarded the British Empire Medal in 1972. He spoke to the mob of mourners in his language and an extraordinary thing happened: the mourners separated to make a walkway, like Moses parting the Red Sea, and David, Andrew, and myself were invited to walk through. As we did, everyone filed in behind enclosing us in the heart of the gathering. It was an emotional and very touching gesture of unity. 91

Don Forrest - My Story After the service, I gave Elizabeth an enormous armful of bougainvillea from the homestead garden and a side of sheep. Then I had to apologise for not being able to stay longer. We were in the middle of shearing at Minderoo and had to fly back that afternoon. David and Andrew stayed over at Minderoo that night and spent the evening telling ‘remember when…’ stories and toasting the memory of Scotty, truly a man among men. Shortly after Scotty’s funeral service, David returned to Minderoo to enable me to spend more time in Perth. Several years earlier, I’d had the good fortune to meet my second wife, Marie Vivian, at a dinner mutual friends had arranged. Almost immediately I felt Marie and I had a future together. I liked that she was so different from the women I’d known. She was English and had enjoyed a career as a theatre sister and, conveniently, she lived in Cottesloe. We both had grown up children who were settled into their own lives so we looked forward to travelling and seeing as much of the world for as long as we could. David managed Minderoo for almost six years, during which time he implemented his ideas on meeting market needs and did what he could to return Minderoo to a lucrative business. He belonged to a generation who challenged outmoded command and control working relationships. He was young, energetic, and focused on his way of making Minderoo sustainable. He was open to new ideas and innovative practices. In the 1980s, the market was looking for high quality fine wool. David planned to grow less wool but produce finer fleeces. He determined not to add to the already outrageously large Australian wool stockpile. He also planned to take advantage of a strong beef market to offset costs by increasing the stations cattle complement. It was a time when financial pressure was 92

Changes affecting not only Minderoo, but the whole pastoral industry. David was convinced that his plan was the only way forward. There was no way back. At that time, Minderoo had forty-five mills and fifteen dams that watered the stock. Because he was working towards 50:50 ratio of sheep to cattle, he planned to rebuild the mills in Spinifex, Tabletop, Grassy Flats, and Mount paddocks, all of which had lain damaged after a series of cyclones that wrecked them during the early 1960s. With good water from the wells, and by cleaning out silt from dams, David was sure he could overcome problems of over- stocking. He saw a viable future for the station. I considered it speculative. We were at an impasse. In 1987, Australia and the rest of the world faced a major financial crisis. World economies crashed. The pastoral industry was brought to its knees. I believed the industry was not going to recover. For the first time, I considered the option of selling. But who was going to buy Minderoo at such a time? Several plans were hatched but none acted upon, so for the foreseeable future I remained the owner and David the hands-on manager still focused on his plan for high quality wool. And he was successful. Season after season David’s Minderoo wool won prestigious Royal Show awards. His last shearing season in 1991 was one of the few times that all nine stands were in full use, shearing less sheep with finer fleeces. The wool had proved to be more drought proof, cleaner and denser than previous clips. David had achieved his goal to minimize the flock and maximise new improved 20-micron-fine wool. But success had come at considerable cost and my traditional attitude to the business’s bottom line underpinned my belief that Minderoo had to make a profit. We had been in deficit too long. I needed to see financial improvement if I was ever going to be able to retire. 93

Don Forrest - My Story By 1991, we had reached the point of no return. David agreed to stay on for three months at Minderoo to help the new overseer Joe Armstrong learn the ropes, then he would change tack: he would train for his commercial pilot licence and run his own air service business. Before he left Minderoo, David counted nineteen riding horses as he herded them into Pensioner paddock. He had already separated his own twelve horses and put them into K-Tree paddock to be picked up later. Tragically, Joe, the overseer, failed to check the water supply for the horses in Pensioner paddock and all of them perished. Among those that died for want of water was Andrew’s successful and much-loved pony, Rumple- stilt-skin. My wife and I discovered the tragedy from the air as we circled to land. I had hoped by coming back to manage my investment I could reduce the debt and return Minderoo to a more profitable enterprise. It was a heartbreaking beginning. Throughout the next four years I worked hard to make Minderoo viable. Marie had agreed to the plan, but only if she had a job. She didn’t want to be a housewife on a station. Even with her support, there were several things against us—my age, for one. Also, getting station staff was difficult, and keeping them was even more difficult. Most employees only stayed a few months, hardly long enough to learn the routines before better opportunities drew them away. Station life was hard and isolating. The pay and conditions couldn’t compete with those offered by the fast-growing mining and oil and gas industries. Added to these problems, I had responsibilities as a board member on a number of organisations in Perth and was committed to dividing my time between them and Minderoo. I also carried the financial burden of financing two homes: one in Perth and the other at Minderoo. In the end, Marie and I decided the most workable solution was to promote Nathan Blake to the position of 94

Changes Manager. Nathan and his wife would live in the homestead and Marie and I would renovate one of the cottages and stay there when we were at the station. Until 1996, I’m glad to say we enjoyed some memorable times together on the station. Marie had learned to fly but she much preferred to be my spotter during musters. She turned out to be exceptionally good at that because she didn’t get airsick despite all the low-level ducking and diving. But inevitably, travelling up and down to Perth every six weeks took its toll on both of us. It had been a stressful few years when the wool market had not performed as well as hoped, and the financial burden continued to weigh me down. I had to admit I was fighting a losing battle. Then cyclone Olivia hit the district. Enough was enough. I wanted out. Minderoo sold at auction in September 1998. Consequently, between 1998 and 2009, it belonged to a business consortium named Murion Pastoral Company. After the sale, Marie and I began to enjoy life as retirees in our home at Cottesloe. She was able to take up golf again and I learnt to play. We travelled across Australia and to many countries across the world, experiencing cultures far removed from ours. We socialised with Marie’s friends and my old friends from the northwest, friends like Syd and Diana Deykin, Bill and Olive Henwood, and the Blake family. These friendships have stood the test of time. We had raised our families and created a fulfilling life in the harsh northwest. Now it was time for all of us to enjoy retirement, and that is what we have done. Marie and I have enjoyed a vibrant life filled with our ever- growing families, grandchildren who visit us regularly and include us in their lives. We became adventurous, and in that spirit, we engaged my stepson Phillip to design a modern home that would suit us for the rest of our lives. And that is exactly what he did. 95

Don Forrest - My Story Meanwhile, the new owners of Minderoo had focused on producing beef cattle and were making headway in that industry. We wished them well. I was never sorry to lose the burden of debt that had weighed me down for so many years, but my children felt differently. None of them ever gave up hope that Minderoo would eventually find its way back into the family. Each of them harboured dreams of “going home” but after ten years, for David and Janie, the dream was still far from becoming a reality. Not so for Andrew. From the day Minderoo was sold, he had been quietly working towards buying it back, but only when the time was right, when all the cards stacked up. That time arrived in 2009. I was glad I was there. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, the auctioneer placed the property on the market at the current bid… ‘Going once, going twice, SOLD to Mr Todd Morris.’ The gavel banged loudly. The deal was sealed. It was exactly what Andrew wanted. ‘Congratulations. You’ve got it,’ Andrew’s friend, Peter, told him on the phone, but he told Andrew they had to try and contain their excitement until the documents were signed by all parties because anything could go wrong. Those few moments seemed to last an age. At last, Peter gave the go-ahead. Seconds later, Andrew, Nicola, David, and I tumbled out of the lift, almost bumping into Garry Connell and Peter Bartlett. Garry greeted us saying, ‘G’day Andrew. Sorry, mate but you’re too late. Minderoo has been sold.’ Andrew grinned and owned up. ‘Yes, mate. And I’m the buyer.’ It is a moment I will never forget. Emotions were high, hands were shaken, backs slapped, congratulatory hugs and kisses and shouts of jubilation. It was one of the happiest occasions of my life. 96

Coming Home A few months later, Shirley was guest of honour on a trip to Minderoo, enabling all of the family to reconnect with their home. She had always planned to be buried on the station but when I sold it she had been forced to consider somewhere else in the northwest. She’d gone to Broome and looked at the cemetery where Matthew Forrest had been buried in 1885. She’d gone to old Onslow’s cemetery too, but neither place seemed quite right. So while we were at Minderoo, she made it known she wanted to be buried at Minderoo. By this time, Shirley was frail but still feisty and game for any adventure. I took her for a spin in one of the four-wheel-drives. She sat in the passenger seat beside me as I took off along the overgrown tracks to Peepingee Pool, where a family picnic had been arranged. Some of the tracks were so overgrown that even I, the well-seasoned station manager, had trouble finding them. David was trying to navigate from the back seat where he and poor Marie were being tossed about as if riding bucking brumbies. When we reached the tricky sandy area that had to be manoeuvred at speed so as not to end up bogged, I put my foot to the floor and gunned it over the two-foot ridge, landing hard, almost unseating Shirley, Marie, and David. Shirley thought it was great fun! We arrived at the Pool to find a party of local Aboriginal people had prepared a big welcome. They’d cooked a large 97

Don Forrest - My Story bungarra in ashes, the traditional way, and proudly brought it over to “de ole woman” with great ceremony. Shirley passed away on 19 September 2010, in Perth. A week later, she was being buried in the family graveyard at Minderoo in accordance with her wish. I had brought a tent and arranged for it to be erected where the mourners would be standing close to the graveside as they listened to the service, because I knew that even in September, the late morning sun could be uncomfortable. It was a colourful Indian chamiana that we had bought in Rawalpindi. Jane and David’s wife, Karen, gathered bunches of bright bougainvillea from the homestead garden and decorated it. Shirley’s body was committed to the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the land she had honoured and loved. 98

Epilogue Minderoo has been home to the Forrest family since 1874. The buildings and people have changed with each generation, but the fragile land has stood the test of time. In Andrew and Nicola’s caring hands, it is comforting to know it will continue that way for many more generations. In a world fraught with change, Minderoo continues to be our sanctuary. 99

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INSIDE BACK COVER

MY STORY I started writing about my life eight years ago when I was in my eighties. I soon realised I was not a writer. Horses for courses, I decided. Talking about my life was much easier. Memories flooded my brain. Details I’d thought long gone poured out in conversation as I relived exciting times, frustrating times, sad times, devastating events: all evidence of my life as a pastoralist in the northwest - grandson of David Forrest and son of Mervyn Forrest. I was a reluctant jackeroo but I gave it a go and I survived.