A few months before I left Australia I got a letter from the bush signed “Miles Franklin,” saying that the writer had written a novel, but knew nothing of editors and publishers, and asking me to read...

Possum Gully, near Goulburn, NSW, Australia, 1st March, 1899 My Dear Fellow Australians, Just a few lines to tell you that this story is all about myself⁠—for no other purpose do I write it. I make no...

You can dive into this story head first as it were. Do not fear encountering such trash as descriptions of beautiful sunsets and whisperings of wind. We (999 out of every 1,000) can see nought in suns...

“Boo, hoo! Ow, ow; Oh! oh! Me’ll die. Boo, hoo. The pain, the pain! Boo, hoo!” “Come, come, now. Daddy’s little mate isn’t going to turn Turk like that, is she? I’ll put some fat out of the dinner-bag...

I was nearly nine summers old when my father conceived the idea that he was wasting his talents by keeping them rolled up in the small napkin of an out-of-the-way place like Bruggabrong and the Bin Bi...

Possum Gully was stagnant⁠—stagnant with the narrow stagnation prevalent in all old country places. Its residents were principally married folk and children under sixteen. The boys, as they attained m...

While mother, Jane Haizelip, and I found the days long and life slow, father was enjoying himself immensely. He had embarked upon a lively career⁠—that gambling trade known as dealing in stock. When h...

It was my duty to “rare the poddies.” This is the most godless occupation in which it has been my lot to engage. I did a great amount of thinking while feeding them⁠—for, by the way, I am afflicted wi...

“Sybylla, what are you doing? Where is your mother?” “I’m ironing. Mother’s down at the fowl-house seeing after some chickens. What do you want?” It was my father who addressed me. Time, 2 o’clock p.m...

In spite of our pottering and lifting, with the exception of five, all our cows eventually died; and even these and a couple of horses had as much as they could do to live on the whole of the thousand...

I arose from bed next morning with three things in my head⁠—a pair of swollen eyes, a heavy pain, and a fixed determination to write a book. Nothing less than a book. A few hours’ work in the keen air...

N.B.⁠—This is dull and egotistical. Better skip it. That’s my advice⁠—S. P. M. As a tiny child I was filled with dreams of the great things I was to do when grown up. My ambition was as boundless as t...

If a Sydney man has friends residing at Goulburn, he says they are up the country. If a Goulburn man has friends at Yass, he says they are up the country. If a Yass man has friends at Young, he says t...

“Dear me, Sybylla, not in bed yet, and tears, great big tears! Tell me what is the cause of them.” It was aunt Helen’s voice; she had entered and lit the lamp. There was something beautifully sincere ...

Uncle Julius had taken a run down to Sydney before returning to Caddagat, and was to be home during the first week in September, bringing with him Everard Grey. This young gentleman always spent Chris...

“Bah, you hideous animal! Ha ha! Your peerless conceit does you credit. So you actually imagined that by one or two out of every hundred you might be considered passable. You are the most uninterestin...

I had not the opportunity of any more private interviews with Everard Grey till one morning near his departure, when we happened to be alone on the veranda. “Well, Miss Sybylla,” he began, “when I arr...

Here goes for a full account of my first, my last, my only real sweetheart, for I considered the professions of that pestiferous jackeroo as merely a grotesque caricature on the genuine article. On ma...

Caddagat, 29th Sept., 1896 My dearest Gertie, I have started to write no less than seven letters to you, but something always interrupted me and I did not finish them. However, I’ll finish this one in...

About a week or so after I first met Harold Beecham, aunt Helen allowed me to read a letter she had received from the elder of the two Misses Beecham. It ran as follows: “My dearest Helen, “This is a ...

“Now, Harold, you have compelled Sybylla to come here, you must not let the time drag with her,” said Miss Beecham. It was the second day after my arrival at Five-Bob. Lunch was over, and we had adjou...

In pursuance of his duty a government mail-contractor passed Caddagat every Monday, dropping the Bossier mail as he went. On Thursday we also got the post, but had to depend partly on our own exertion...

When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybyl...

The Prince of Wales’s birthday up the country was celebrated as usual thereaway by the annual horse-races on the Wyambeet course, about fourteen miles from Caddagat. The holding of these races was an ...

Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windo...

Joe Archer was appointed to take us home on the morrow. When our host was seeing us off⁠—still with his eye covered⁠—he took opportunity of whispering to me his intention of coming to Caddagat on the ...

Monday arrived⁠—last day of November and seventeenth anniversary of my birth⁠—and I celebrated it in a manner which I capitally enjoyed. It was the time of the annual muster at Cummabella⁠—a cattle-st...

We walked in perfect silence, Harold not offering to carry my little basket. I did not dare lift my eyes, as something told me the face of the big man would not be pleasant to look upon just then. I t...

The next time I saw Harold Beecham was on Sunday the 13th of December. There was a hammock swinging under a couple of trees in an enclosure, half shrubbery, partly orchard and vegetable garden, skirti...

The Beechams were vacating Five-Bob almost immediately⁠—before Christmas. Grannie, aunt Helen, and uncle Jay-Jay went down to say goodbye to the ladies, who were very heartbroken about being uprooted ...

We felt the loss of the Beechams very, very much. It was sad to think of Five-Bob⁠—pleasant, hospitable Five-Bob⁠—as shut up, with no one but a solitary caretaker there pending the settling of the Bee...

The coach was a big vehicle, something after the style of a bus, the tilt and seats running parallel with the wheels. At the rear end, instead of a door, was a great tailboard, on the principle of a s...

It is indelibly imprinted on my memory in a manner which royal joy, fame, pleasure, and excitement beyond the dream of poets could never efface, not though I should be cursed with a life of fivescore ...

Mr. M’Swat very kindly told me I need not begin my duties until Monday morning, and could rest during Saturday and Sunday. Saturday, which was sickeningly hot and sultry, and which seemed like an eter...

When by myself, I fretted so constantly that the traces it left upon me became evident even to the dull comprehension of Mrs. M’Swat. “I don’t hold with too much pleasure and disherpation, but you ain...

Men only, and they merely on business, came to Barney’s Gap⁠—women tabooed the place. Some of them told me they would come to see me, but not Mrs. M’Swat, as she always allowed the children to be as r...

It chanced at last, as June gave place to July and July to August, that I could bear it no longer. I would go away even if I had to walk, and what I would do I did not know or care, my one idea being ...

They were expecting me on the frosty evening in September, and the children came bounding and shouting to meet me, when myself and luggage were deposited at Possum Gully by a neighbour, as he passed i...

We received a great many letters from Gertie for a little while after she went up the country, but they grew shorter and farther between as time went on. In one of grannie’s letters there was concerni...

It was a very hot day. So extreme was the heat that to save the lives of some young swallows my father had to put wet bags over the iron roof above their nest. A galvanized-iron awning connected our k...

Next day was Sunday⁠—a blazing one it was too. I proposed that in the afternoon some of us should go to church. Father sat upon the idea as a mad one. Walk two miles in such heat for nothing! as walk ...

The morning came, breakfast, next Harold’s departure. I shook my head and slipped the note into his hand as we parted. He rode slowly down the road. I sat on the step of the garden gate, buried my fac...

The morning came, breakfast, next Harold’s departure. I shook my head and slipped the note into his hand as we parted. He rode slowly down the road. I sat on the step of the garden gate, buried my fac...

The next letter I received from Gertie contained: I suppose you were glad to see Harry. He did not tell me he was going, or I would have sent some things by him. I thought he would be able to tell me ...

Possum Gully, 25th March, 1899. Christmas, only distinguished from the fifty-two slow Sundays of the year by plum-pudding, roast turkey, and a few bottles of homemade beer, has been once more; New Yea...

Shouting⁠—i.e., treating ↩ Poddied⁠—i.e., hand-fed. ↩...