While it marked a sense of reclaimed freedom, Michelle Malone felt a pang of sadness when the COVID border checkpoint disappeared from the end of her street in mid-2021. 

For 18 months, army and police personnel had been stationed on and off next to her farm in Wrattonbully, a small South Australian community on the Victorian border.

Over the months, the Malones would see them every day as they collected the mail or tended the sheep — stopping for a chat and often dropping serves of lasagne or firewood.

And while largely unwanted, their unexpected arrival has led to lifelong friendships and memories.

Two years later, the Malones, and many other border families, have kept in touch with some of the officers.

The connection was far from instant.

“It was a big shock,” Ms Malone said about the arrival of the checkpoint.

The fear was noticed and one of the army officers gave her sons a ration pack in an effort to ease their uncertainty.

“They’re lovely people, we really enjoyed getting to know them all,” she said.

Easier for some, harder for others

The Malones’ back fence runs along the Victorian border, meaning they only had to pass the checkpoint as a formality.

The reality was much different for Tracy Parker, who lived in Victoria, but farmed and used most essential services like health and schools in South Australia.

The memories are still fresh driving over the unattended border today.

“When you go through that uncertainty and that angst, it doesn’t disappear,” Ms Parker said.

Despite the serious implications for her family, Ms Parker went out of her way to make the officers comfortable.

She delivered baked food every five days when the shift changed and a new group stationed themselves at the checkpoint.

“It wasn’t their fault. They were just doing their job,” Ms Parker said.

Like Ms Malone, she appreciated the unique opportunity it gave her children.

“It was actually good for the girls to humanise the police and the army, so that they’re not so scary,” Ms Parker said.

“It brought them down to a human level, I think.”

Get to know farm life

The relationship worked both ways.

While many farming families got a rare insight into metro policing and the defence force, many of the stationed personnel enquired about regional living.

“They were really interested in what we were all doing. They were here for a whole year of all of our seasons,” Ms Malone said.

At one stage, the Malones had 12 pet lambs on a big feeder, much to the interest of the checkpoint.

“I had a few visits from a few of the policemen just to check that out, and I took one lamb down to show them as well,” Ms Malone said.

Over time, a few army officers would enquire about property sales in the local paper.

“I think one or two of them purchased houses here and plan to come back,” she said.

On a few occasions, 10 or so families gathered at the Kybybolite checkpoint down the road from Wrattonbully on a Friday night.

Brett Shepherd remembers the nights well.

“Everyone met there instead of going to the pub or whatever,” Mr Shepherd said.

“There were probably 15 kids there. Because [the checkpoint] had a big streetlight and a fire. The kids played games till we went home.”

Mr Shepherd expects some of the friendships to last a lifetime.

“We’ve caught up with a few police officers a few times since the pandemic,” he said.

Among the firewood and biscuits, Mr Shepherd brought his son Brisbane Lions Brownlow medallist Lachie Neale, on one of the visits.

“There was a mad football buff [at the checkpoint], it made his day seeing Lachie and getting a photo with him,” Mr Shepherd said.

Saying goodbye

When the checkpoints eventually left for good, many of the border community members didn’t know how to feel.

“It was almost eerie because they’d been there so long. We [used to] see the lights flashing all night, it was very dark when they left all of a sudden,” Ms Malone said.

For Tracy Parker, her memories of that time are mixed.