Author: Wavell Heights News Columnist

• One of the first calls came from flood-weary Kempsey on the NSW mid-north coast, where heavy rain last week sent the Macleay River over its levee. A local café owner described the town’s sodden CBD on Friday: waist-deep water in the streets, supermarket shutters down, and volunteers ferrying elderly residents to higher ground by tinny. By Saturday afternoon the power was finally back on – and she flung open her doors immediately. “No one else was open and people were hungry,” she laughed, recounting how she served coffee by gas burner and meat pies by candlelight to a crowd of mud-splattered locals. Despite the damage (muddy floors, waterlogged fridges), her voice brimmed with optimism. “We’re a tough little town – we’ll mop up and get on with it,” she insisted, thanking the SES and “mud army” of neighbors who turned up with mops and muffins. It was a portrait of community spirit in crisis, painted in equal parts hardship and heart.

• In a completely different scene, a call from the Sydney Writers’ Festival captured a cultural high. Ange – a first-time caller and an aspiring novelist – phoned in from a buzzing Wharf Theatre at Walsh Bay. She had just stepped off stage from a dawn poetry reading and was still riding the excitement. “It’s like a rock concert for book lovers,” she said of the festival, describing crowds huddled under umbrellas between venues (a drizzly Sydney morning didn’t dampen anyone’s enthusiasm). The theme this year was “In This Together,” and Ange noted how fitting it felt: bestselling authors, local poets, and readers shoulder-to-shoulder, swapping stories in the rain. She recounted a magical Festival moment the night before – an open-air yarning circle led by First Nations storytellers, flames crackling in a fire pit as ancient and new tales intertwined. Macca chuckled that she was “broadcasting from literary ground zero,” and Ange admitted she’d grown up listening to the show from country NSW. Her call offered a joyful glimpse into Australia’s literary heart, bridging city and bush through shared love of story.

• Heading west, a grain grower in Western Australia’s wheatbelt phoned in from a tractor cab, giving a stark paddock update. He was dry-sowing wheat into parched red soil on a farm near Mingenew, north of Perth. After a promising early April drizzle, not a drop had fallen in weeks. “We’re planting on a promise and a prayer,” he said wryly, running 12-metre bars through powdery topsoil. He’s putting in 80 kilograms of seed per hectare with minimal fertiliser – “no point in wasting the good stuff if the rain won’t come,” he noted. Some neighbours have held off planting altogether, but his attitude was pragmatic. By his calculation, if a decent front doesn’t sweep through by mid-June, the canola and wheat won’t sprout at all. “We’ll know by the winter solstice who bet right and who bet wrong,” he told Macca, his tone equal parts concern and dry humour. The image of WA’s broadacre farmers gambling on weather – silos empty, fields seeded in hope – spoke to the quiet tension of the season.

• From south-western Queensland, a much more dire tale of weather came through. A cattlewoman near Charleville shared that her family station hasn’t seen proper rain since January. Now early winter, the Mitchell grass plains have crisped to brown stubble and the waterholes are nearly dust. Each morning she’s out in a paddock of gidgee trees, chainsaw in hand – “cutting mulga branches for the hungry stock,” she explained – a backbreaking ritual to provide fodder when the grass is gone. She’s also trucking in cottonseed and hay bales from the coast at exorbitant cost. Calves are being weaned early and weaker cattle sold off because there’s simply nothing left to eat. “You either destock or watch them starve – that’s the choice,” she said matter-of-factly. Her voice carried fatigue but also resolve. After surviving the 2019 drought, she’s learned to plan for the worst; their station’s dam is now just a cracked bowl of clay, and they’ve begun drilling a new bore deeper into the Great Artesian Basin in hopes of tapping drinkable water. Macca listened in sympathetic silence as she described the red haze of dust that often closes in by dusk. Still, she ended on a determined note: “This isn’t our first dry rodeo. The season will turn – and when it does, we’ll still be here.” It was a sobering reminder of the drought’s human toll, straight from the heart of cattle country.

• From the Northern Territory came a brighter update – the annual migration northward is in full swing, not of animals but of grey nomads. The manager of the iconic Daly Waters Pub, off the Stuart Highway, called in to report that their caravan park is “overflowing with southerners in shorts and sunnies.” He’s seeing one of the biggest early-season turnouts in years: dozens of caravans and campervans rolling in each day now that the dry season’s begun up Top End. “It’s only May, but you’d think it was July up here,” he laughed, describing the cheerful chaos of happy hour the night before. The pub’s nightly “Beef ‘n’ Barra” barbecue was sold out by 5pm as travellers packed the beer garden to swap road stories. The caller reckoned many retirees hit the road extra early this year, keen to escape chilly southern weather or just itching for adventure after a few quieter years. He told a charming story of one couple from Geelong who showed up with an eight-month-old kelpie pup and a homemade map of Australia they’re filling in with marker as they go – Daly Waters was a big red star on that map. Macca could hear the buzz of evening country music in the background as the publican quipped, “Mate, the birds are back on the wire – you can tell the season’s turned when every site’s filled with a caravan and a clothesline.” The influx of nomads means a boost for outback roadhouses like his, and his pride in offering a warm welcome up north was evident.

• Meanwhile, an utterly remote form of connection was highlighted by a call from Alice Springs. An amateur radio operator named Steve described how he runs a nightly HF radio “sked” (schedule) for folks in the bush who live beyond phone reception. Every evening at 7 o’clock sharp, Steve’s voice crackles out across the continent on the shortwave band, and stations from lonely cattle properties and remote national park outposts call in to check on each other. He’s been volunteering as a net controller for years, linking far-flung Australians through the radio waves. “When you’re 500 kilometres from the nearest town, a friendly voice means the world,” he told Macca. He shared an example from last week: a young governess on a Kimberley station was feeling isolated until she hopped on the nightly sked and found camaraderie with strangers-turned-friends across the Outback. Steve chuckled that sometimes the biggest challenge is the wildlife – “I’ve had dingoes howl back at my signal and geckos crawl into the radio shack, but we always manage to make our roll call,” he said. His story was a nod to the old-school bush communications that still thrive in the digital age – a blend of nostalgia and practicality that clearly struck a chord with listeners.

• A particularly special phone connection came from far, far overseas – Antarctica, in fact. In what felt like a live cross to another planet, Macca spoke with an expeditioner calling from Casey Station, where it was still pre-dawn and bitterly cold. The caller, a weather technician from Brisbane on a year-long posting, painted a vivid picture of life at 66 degrees south of the equator. “The sun set in early May and won’t be back for weeks,” she said, describing how the 19 crew members are coping with continual darkness and temperatures down to –20°C. Her team had just celebrated “Midwinter Day” a bit early with a plunge into the icy ocean (each person dunked into a hole cut in the sea ice, attached to a safety line while colleagues stood by with hot toddies and towels). She laughed recounting the shrieks as “even the penguins looked startled by the crazy Aussies.” Despite the harsh conditions, morale at Casey was high – they’ve been holding regular trivia nights, brewing their own beer, and even tuning in to Macca’s show on Sundays (albeit via patchy internet) as a taste of home. She described stepping outside at noon under aurora-lit skies, the Milky Way swirling overhead in green and purple curtains – a sight few of us will ever witness. Before signing off, she wished her mum a happy birthday back in Australia. The line from Antarctica was crystal clear, and for a few minutes, the entire country was connected to a tiny outpost on the frozen ocean’s edge.

Other calls included:

• Two young blokes undertaking a quirky tractor trek for charity. They rang in from a roadside camp on the Nullarbor Plain, having departed Perth on vintage 1950s tractors en route to Sydney. Topping out at 20 km/h, they’re raising money for the Royal Flying Doctor Service and “raising eyebrows on the highway” as one joked. “We get a toot from every road train,” he said. At night they’re camping under the stars beside their rumbling old machines. By the time they reach Sydney (weeks behind schedule, no doubt), they hope to have proved that “slow and steady can do a world of good.”
• A listener’s email gem shed light on an Aussie icon: the word “Akubra,” as in the famous hat, comes from an Aboriginal word believed to mean “head covering.” Macca was tickled by this trivia – “I never knew that!” he exclaimed – noting how a piece of Indigenous language lives on atop many a sunburnt face. (Linguists debate the exact origin, the emailer admitted, but it’s a good yarn regardless.)
• An excited whale-watcher from Eden, NSW reported the first humpback whales of the season heading north. She spotted two big spouts off Twofold Bay at dawn on Saturday – an early start to the annual migration. “They’re on their way to Queensland, and we’re the welcoming committee down here,” she laughed. The sight of those tail flukes had the volunteers at Eden’s lookout ecstatic; the caller joked they nearly spilled their thermos tea as the whales breached. It was a sure sign that winter’s on the doorstep and the humpbacks are highway-bound for warmer waters.
• A bush poetry moment came when a retired stockman from Longreach faxed in a short poem that Macca read on air. In just a dozen plain-spoken lines, the poem reminisced about “the smell of wattle after rain” and “campfire embers at midnight,” bringing a reflective hush over the airwaves. It was a humble, heartfelt piece that celebrated resilience through hard times – a fitting epilogue to a morning of shared stories from all over.

Listen to the podcast episode here.

Disclaimer: Brisbane Suburbs Online News has no affiliation with Ian McNamara or the “Australia All Over Show.” This weekly review is an attempt to share the wonderful stories that Ian broadcasts each week and add value to what is a smorgasbord of great insights. 

• Skies over the Black Sea: One of the morning’s most remarkable calls literally came from the clouds – a Qantas A380 pilot dialing in at 35,000 feet “high above the Black Sea.” The Aussie captain, en route from London to Singapore, surprised Macca by phoning in during a cruise altitude lull. In the crackling call he painted an awe-inspiring picture: a pale dawn breaking over the Black Sea far below, the silhouette of Istanbul off to the west as he flew toward daybreak. “Not a bad office view, mate,” he chuckled. He explained that he tunes into ABC via satellite whenever he’s piloting long hauls – “Hearing Macca and the callers, it’s like I’ve got Australia in the cockpit with me.” The captain gave a shout-out to his family in Brisbane and even let his co-pilot say a quick g’day. Macca was tickled by the truly all over nature of the moment, joking that it might be the show’s highest-ever call. Before signing off to prepare for descent, the pilot cheerily promised, “I’ll drop you a line again from somewhere over the world, Macca – blue skies!”

• Silo art sparks town pride: From Pingaring, WA, came a heartwarming update on how art is bringing new life to a tiny wheatbelt town. A local farmer’s wife named Ellen rang in to tell Macca about their brand new silo mural completed just days ago. The massive grain silos now bear a vibrant painting of the region’s early settlers and wildflowers, 30 metres high and impossible to miss. “You can see old Bill Jones driving his horse team across a field of everlastings – four stories tall!” she laughed, describing the scene. Ever since the mural was finished, locals have been gathering at sunset to admire it, and travelers on the highway are detouring into Pingaring for a look. The caller said the project was a labor of love by an artist from Perth and dozens of volunteers. It’s already become the pride of the community. “For the first time in ages, our town’s on the map – literally, tour companies are adding us!” she said excitedly. Macca loved the story, noting how country ingenuity and art can lift spirits and put a speck on the map in a big way. He mused that he’ll have to swing by Pingaring on his next WA visit to see those giant painted pioneers gazing out over the wheat fields.

• Roo rush at the waterhole: A southwest Queensland station owner provided a classic outback yarn tinged with the reality of a drying land. Phil from near Cunnamulla rang in to report that, after a wet spring last year, conditions have sharply turned to drought – and the kangaroos know it. He woke up this week to find hundreds of thirsty roos crowding the last functional bore drain on his property. “It was like an outback version of the Boxing Day sales – roos shoulder-to-shoulder at the trough,” he said. At first light, he counted about 200 kangaroos jostling alongside his cattle for a sip of water. The unexpected visitors knocked down part of a boundary fence and chewed through a poly pipe in their frenzy. Phil’s tone was a mix of wry humor and concern; the sight of so many kangaroos told him the country beyond his fences has little feed or water left. He’s carting water every second day now to keep up with demand. “When the roos start acting like livestock, you know it’s dry, mate,” he noted. Macca and Phil shared a laugh about the roos’ rowdy behavior – “they didn’t even queue up, Macca!” – but both understood the seriousness behind it. The caller recalled the late-’70s drought when similar scenes played out and said he’s hoping for rain before things get truly dire. The story gave listeners a vivid image of life on the land: cracking black soil, mobs of desperate kangaroos, and a stoic grazier doing what it takes to get through another dry spell.

• “Liquid gold” olive harvest: A sweet and savory report came from Boort, Victoria, where an olive grower named Marco just wrapped up an abundant autumn harvest. He manages a small family grove of about 500 olive trees, originally planted by his Italian grandfather in the 1950s. Marco’s call brimmed with pride as he described pressing this season’s olives into oil. An unseasonably mild April with just enough rain led to a bumper crop of plump purple-black olives. The first cold-press extra virgin oil of the year flowed just last week, and Marco could hardly contain his excitement. “It pours out green-gold, and the aroma fills the shed – fresh cut grass, apples, a bit of pepper at the end,” he said, practically tasting it over the phone. He’s been bottling up the new oil to share at the local farmer’s market. Macca, a known foodie, peppered Marco with questions about the process, joking that he could almost smell the frantoio (olive press) from the studio. Marco explained how his family still picks many of the olives by hand to avoid bruising the fruit, and how they cure a portion for table olives using his Nonna’s old recipe. He chuckled when he admitted his kids roll their eyes at the “old-fashioned” ways, but he’s teaching them that some traditions are worth keeping. The call offered a delicious slice of regional life – heritage trees, hard work and a product that connects bush and table. Macca signed off by congratulating Marco and suggesting listeners seek out real local olive oil if they can: “It’s the good stuff – liquid gold straight from the grove,” as Marco proudly said.

• Cross-country on a tractor: In one of the more delightfully quirky segments of the morning, Macca caught up with two mates who are driving a 70-year-old tractor across Australia for charity. Glen and “Crusty” (as he introduced himself) phoned in from the side of the Nullarbor Plain, where they had paused their vintage 1950 Ferguson tractor to take Macca’s call. They’re chugging along at 20 km/h from Perth to Byron Bay to raise money for the Royal Flying Doctor Service. Glen described the scene: the little grey tractor puttering on the endless highway with a bright orange “Slow Vehicle” triangle on the back and a support ute following close behind. “We’ve got our swag, a toolbox, and plenty of WD-40 – that’s about it!” he laughed. They’ve been on the road for three weeks now, covering roughly 100 km a day when weather permits. Along the way, strangers at roadhouses have donated to the cause and offered meals (and mechanical advice). Crusty told Macca the roughest stretch so far was crossing the WA/SA border in blasting winds: “Mate, sitting at 5 miles an hour into a headwind feels like walking pace – but we’ll get there!” The pair take turns at the wheel to stave off “tractor backache” and say the camaraderie of Aussies they meet keeps them going. Macca was clearly charmed, dubbing them the “slowest great race in Australia.” He promised to give RFDS a plug and wished them good weather and steady running. As they fired up the old Ferguson to continue eastward, Glen signed off with a grin, “We’ll give her an extra toot for ya, Macca, each morning!” – a true-blue sign of two determined blokes and one very old tractor making a difference, one mile at a time.

Other calls included:

• Dogs on parade: A quick check-in from Sydney’s Million Paws Walk had listeners practically hearing the excited barks in the background. An event organizer breathlessly reported thousands of people and their pooches flooding into Centennial Park for the annual RSPCA fundraiser. “There’s a sea of wagging tails and tutus – even the dachshunds are dressed up!” she shouted over the cheerful chaos, noting that it was their biggest turnout in years thanks to sunny skies.
• Dozen chooks delight: “Don from Dubbo” made everyone smile with his light-hearted update from the chook yard. He called to proudly share that his 12 pet hens had finally all started laying. Don rattled off each chook’s name on air – from Henrietta to Princess Layer – and joked that he’s got more eggs than he knows what to do with now. “The girls are happy and the grandkids get free brekkie, so it’s a win-win,” he laughed, inviting Macca for scrambled eggs if he’s ever out Dubbo way.
• First snow of the season: Winter’s approach got a mention from a weather watcher in Victoria’s high country. Simon from Mount Hotham rang in to confirm it snowed overnight – a light dusting, but enough to turn the peaks white at dawn. “Brass monkeys weather, Macca – minus 2 and beautiful,” he reported. Ski operators are buzzing with the earliest snow in a decade, and Simon had already broken out the snow shovel and the billy for a warm cuppa.
• Century of wisdom: Among the morning’s memorable personalities was Stan from Mackay, who phoned in at age 100 to prove you’re never too old to be part of the show. Spry-voiced and cheeky, Stan shared the secret of his longevity: “Keep busy, have a laugh, and a teaspoon of golden syrup every morning.” He told a quick yarn about hearing Australia All Over on his shed radio since the program began in the 1980s, and thanked Macca for “keeping me company all these years.” It was a simple, touching moment – one generation saluting another – and it earned a heartfelt happy birthday chorus from the studio.

Listen to the podcast episode here.

Disclaimer: Brisbane Suburbs Online News has no affiliation with Ian McNamara or the “Australia All Over Show.” This weekly review is an attempt to share the wonderful stories that Ian broadcasts each week and add value to what is a smorgasbord of great insights.