They hit the road with four kids and no guaranteed work. Oh, and she was pregnant

Lyle Kent and his wife, Helen, both 74, have spent the past 30 years travelling around the outback, equipping remote cattle stations with his handmade saddles and leather goods, all while rearing their six children.

Helen and Lyle Kent. “Although I sometimes long for a quieter life,” Helen says, “I’m swept along by his pioneering spirit.”

Helen: I met Lyle at a disco at the local Uniting Church Hall in Stanthorpe, Queensland, in December 1970. He’d come along to see what the female line-up looked like after years of working on remote cattle stations in the Northern Territory. We were both 21. He saw my long, blonde hair and thought, “I’ll go and ask that one to dance and see how it pans out.” He was tall, dark and handsome – and there was chemistry from the start.

After the dancing, he asked me to celebrate New Year’s Eve with him and I said yes. We often have raisin toast and coffee on a Sunday afternoon and reminisce about that.

Just weeks after meeting, I accepted a position in Tewantin, about four-and-a-half hours away, to teach at a kindergarten. When I came home in September, after nine months of long-distance courting, he proposed. We got married in February 1972 in the same Uniting Church where we met.
Lyle owned 1600 acres (about 650 hectares) of land and his dream was to run cattle. He told me about his experiences in the north and how he’d loved working on cattle stations. He’d also learnt leatherwork. It was all very romantic to me.

Unfortunately, our land wasn’t suitable for cattle and his dream was dashed. Instead, we focused on fruit and vegetables, but Lyle didn’t really enjoy crop farming. He’d sit on the side of the bed for a long time in the mornings, just gathering the energy to head into another day. We went through some tough years. Lyle always had a bench in the house, though, where he made leather hats and schoolbags for the children. It was a kind of therapy.

‘I watched him and the manager saddle up and ride off together. My heart melted to see him doing what he loves.’

Helen Kent

In 1990, he suggested “the trip” – going out on the road, repairing and making saddles for remote station workers. On our first adventure, we had our four boys, aged 16, 13, 11 and nine, plus Jock, the family dog, piled into our Landcruiser; we towed a trailer of provisions. Our eldest child, Leah, stayed behind as she’d just started a job. I was pregnant with our sixth. We locked up our house and left the property to lie fallow.

We were essentially broke when we arrived at our first stop at Bedford Downs Station near Kununurra, but I always had confidence in Lyle. He’s very focused and very straightforward. When we say grace, he’ll say, “Thank you for the shelter from the weather and food on the table.”

Sometimes, he stands at the sink, turns on the taps and says, “Isn’t it great that we’ve got running water?” He loves the simple things.

He thrives in the outback. One day, at a station we visit regularly, I watched him and the manager saddle up and ride off together. My heart melted to see him doing what he loves.

Conversation is difficult in a noisy truck; we could comfortably travel for kilometres without saying anything. Thirty years on the road together is a big chunk of our 52 years of marriage. Some years I’ve thought, “No, you can go without me,” but he wouldn’t. Although I sometimes long for a quieter life, I’m swept along by his pioneering spirit.

Lyle and Helen’s four boys and Jock the dog on the road in 1991.Credit: Courtesy of Lyle and Helen Kent

Lyle: Helen and I were born in Stanthorpe Hospital about a month apart. I went to school in town and she went to boarding school. When I was 15, I headed to the outback for five years, then came home with the idea of buying a bit of land and looking for a wife.

I always had this dream to go back to the cattle stations. And so, in early ’91, we took off to the Kimberley in the hope of finding saddlery work. That was the incredible thing about Helen – 42, pregnant and willing to go into the unknown. We had no guaranteed work and no immediate source of income.

On that first trip, we spent six months travelling across the Kimberley, going from station to station, camping and making our own bread and meals in camp ovens. We didn’t know where we were going to be when the bub was due. In the end, Jessica was born at the hospital up in Derby, WA, in August. Leah came and spent a few weeks with us so we had all six kids and Leah’s fiancé, Josh, there for a time.

As soon as we got home, I wanted to do it again – and the rest is history. During those early years, I made and repaired saddles and Helen taught the kids and cooked the meals. One side of the trailer was the workshop, the other side the kitchen.

‘If we get on each other’s nerves, we make a conscious decision to “get over it and get on with it”.’

Lyle Kent

Now we spend half the year at home and half on the road. When we’re not travelling, we’re making the leather goods to sell on our next trip. One of our sons lives close by and keeps an eye on the property when we’re away.

We live and work together 24/7. The shop-truck is chock-a-block with stock and when we eat, I sit on the steps for the bed and Helen sits on a storage container. If we get on each other’s nerves, we make a conscious decision to “get over it and get on with it”. We can’t arrive at a station having just had an argument.

Helen is a homebody, which makes what she does even more admirable. Whenever we head off on a trip, she’s pretty quiet after leaving all the children and 16 grandchildren. Those first couple of weeks, I tiptoe around her a bit; the quieter she is, the tougher she’s doing it.

Helen just relates to people. We’ll stay a night at a station, then leave after smoko the next morning. Sometimes, I think, “We need to get going,” but then Helen will start chatting. And I think, “Oh no! Don’t ask about the kids,” but that’s what’s so special about her.

We don’t use each other’s names. It’s “Darling”, “Honey”, “Sweetheart” or “My dear” and when I want Helen’s attention, I combine them. I see young station workers grinning and nudging each other when they hear this.

When we come home to our property, there are two ways we can drive there. The usual way is the quickest, but sometimes we go the other way, which is the route we took when we were first courting. We call that “the romantic way”. It’s still very special.

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