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      Colin and I sit at the bar, a couple of schooners in front of us, VB for him, light beer for me as I’m on my bike. The convivial hubbub of conversation, laughter and clinking glasses fills the air. Colin’s just finished work and walked from the office which is only ten minutes away. He’s not impressed with my dictaphone. “My grandfather and father taught me not to use tape. I just took notes and stored it all up here,” he says, tapping his head.

      Colin is the editor of the Longreach Leader, a position he’s had for about a year. He’s proud to say that he’s the 3rd generation of a North Queensland newspaper family. “This paper in Longreach started in January 1923 and my family’s paper, the Home Hill Observer started a month later in February 1923.”

      Home Hill, he explains is just south of Townsville and was named, like other towns in the region after places made famous in the Crimean War of 1853-56. Apparently, the sign writer decided to drop the ‘l’ from Holme Hill and it was never changed.

      Colin and his brother sold the family paper when he was 40, his brother staying on as editor and Colin joining the MTAQ (Motor Trades Association of Queensland) where he worked for the next ten years and started up four new magazines. “When you see opportunity you run with it,” he says. “I started a tyre magazine which took me all over the world. The highlight was visiting South Korea and the Hankook tyre factory. The Koreans were just so proud of their work.”

      Colin also visited the border and the demilitarised zone. And reckons the North Koreans could invade and take over any time they chose. “It’s a good job the Yanks are there,” he says, “and I like the old Trumpster. He’s a no-nonsense bloke. Don’t get in my way or I’ll kick your arse! That’s how you do it. Keep them guessing.”

      After being laid-off, Colin, a graphic artist by trade went out on his own. “I can operate printing presses and I did my journalism cadetship under my father and did work for many magazines, so I was a jack-of-all-trades,” he says and sips his beer appreciatively.

      He lived in Brisbane for a while but prefers the country life. “Whether it was the Home Hill era of years ago or Longreach today,” says Colin without preamble, “you just can’t get people out of the cities, I don’t know why. Why would people want to cram themselves into a city when they could have the wide-open spaces, I’ll never bloody know. I know we’re 13 hours from Brisbane and eight hours from Rockhampton and we’re remote, but I just love it out here. The friendliness of Longreach is incredible.”

      I ask him how he ended up here. “Well my father pulled me out of school at 13, so I’ve been working for 58 years. In July last year I thought I’d retire but I soon got incredibly bored. All I was doing was putting my suit on and going out for lunch with my old Army mates. Then a mate phoned me up and asked if I’d like to come to Longreach, all-expenses-paid for a couple of weeks.” He takes another pull on his beer and wipes the froth off his top lip. “I came here originally as a reliever, as the editor was on sick leave.”

      I get more beers in and Colin digresses. “What about those grey nomads. Some of them are shocking drivers! I saw one pull out of a camp site just down the highway without looking and a Landcruiser drove straight through the caravan which of course wasn’t insured.”

      “Was that a story in your paper?” I ask. “No, I missed that one. Trouble is out here you hear about these things too late. I’ve got such a vast area to cover.” The bar manager wanders by and Colin collars him, “is it stew tonight or are you still calling it a ‘roast’?” he wants to know. The bar manager smiles, accustomed to the ribbing.

      I get Colin back on topic. “So, I wrote for lots of magazines after I left the MTAQ. With the Blues and Outback magazines people would ring me and say, you’ve got to come to our festival, and I’d be expected to go to every one. Out here, the one to go to is in Winton Outback Festival, it’s a ripper. It’s just a typical festival where people come together and have a great time. So, I often visited this area and I grew to love it.” Another mate wanders in and exchanges a few words with him. It’s obvious Colin is well liked at his local.

      “I can park anywhere,” he continues, “I walk down here in ten minutes and have two or three beers. I can come in here, people know where I sit, they come and talk to me and I find out what I need to know. I hear some things I can’t print and some things I can save up.”

      Colin loves books and is still waiting for his library to arrive from Brisbane, which he had left in a hurry last year. He’s an author in his own right, having penned, A Centenary of Road Transport in Australia – 1900 to 2010, and a book he says he enjoyed writing immensely, The Life and Times of The Nullarbor Kid.

      “I laughed the whole time, writing that because I could relate to the stories. This old truckie (the Nullarbor Kid) used to drive between Perth and Sydney way back when it was just a track,” he says. “He wore a side-arm, a Colt .45 too. Nothing small, something that’s going to stop you. He got stuck in the middle of nowhere for three months once. He had to wait for another truck coming through to take a part to Sydney, and then wait for one going west to drop the new part off.”

      I’d forgotten about the custom in Australian RSLs of playing the Last Post every night. We all stand in silence for a couple of minutes as the TV screens flash images of war zones. ‘At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember. Lest we forget,’ a voice intones as the bugle trumpets. The screen nearest to us has stubbornly continued playing a rock video and Colin isn’t impressed. “This is when you need a Colt .45,” he says to the barmaid, “to shoot that screen out.”

      I steer him back on to the Longreach Leader. Colin reckons the paper was on its last legs when he took over but he just applied proper newspaper principles to it and he thinks it’s recovering. He regards himself as a servant of the locals, saying, “I was having coffee with the

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