Outback's lonely bachelors get a lifeline

In conventional terms, Steve Batterham is a good catch. Tall and handsome, he runs his own Hereford cattle stud on 34 acres of land in south-eastern Queensland. Aged 29, he is keen to settle down and start a family. So far, however, he has failed to find a partner.

Young, single women are an increasingly scarce commodity in the Australian Outback, and opportunities to meet them are limited. Social life in Mr Batterhamís local town ñ Cambooya, population 600 - is confined to one pub, where only men drink. Occasional forays further afield, to race meetings or rodeos in Brisbane, have also proved fruitless.

Now, however, help is at hand for Mr Batterham and other farmers and stockmen leading a lonely life on the land. A magazine, Womenís Weekly, has decided to play matchmaker and plans to publish details of 50 eligible rural bachelors early next year. It has been flooded with calls from men eager to be included and from readers demanding to peruse the list.

The venture was inspired by a similar initiative dreamed up by Country Living magazine in Britain, which spawned an eight-part television series called The Farmer Wants A Wife.

By comparison with their Australian counterparts, British farmers are well off. Some cattle stations in remote regions of Queensland, Western Australia and the Northern Territory are a seven-hour drive from the nearest town, and it is not uncommon for landholders to go for three or four months without seeing another soul.

Sarah Dent, spokeswoman for the National Farmers Federation, says that the geographical isolation is exacerbated by long hours. "A lot of men have told us that they spend all day out in the paddocks, then go inside at night to cook a steak alone," she said. "They are so busy that they donít have time to go out and meet people."

The problem has become more acute over the years. Women who grew up in the bush used to go to the city to study or work and then return. Nowadays few come back, and the once steady flow of urban women who took up nursing or teaching jobs in rural areas has dried up. Traditional social events such as barn dances or sporting competitions are now rare.

The shortage of potential partners troubles Charlie Hazelton, a 30-year-old cotton agronomist who lives near Narromine, in western New South Wales. "Single women donít last too long on the ground out here," said Mr Hazelton, who will be among the men featured in Womenís Weekly. "If they come into town, theyíre quickly snapped up."

Mr Batterham will also appear in the magazine, but he has a head start; after his local newspaper ran an article about him, he received 44 telephone calls from women in one week. None have so far proved compatible, though. "Some were doing it for a laugh, some were too old and some were what I would politely call strange," he said.

"Some had no idea what goes on a farm. They think that cows come out of the fridge and milk comes out of bottles."

He wants a woman who understands life on the land or is willing to adapt to it, and who is sufficiently cheerful to cope with the hazards of floods, bushfires and drought. "Iím looking for a tall, happy person," said Mr Batterham. "And it would be a bonus if she had skills such as fencing or sire selection or driving tractors."

ENDS