The bush artisan saving craftmanship one stockwhip at a time

Bill Webb learned leatherwork from RM Williams and now hopes to save craft On a warm winter's day, sunlight spills through the tall timber doorframes of the memorial hall where Bill Webb is gently folding one strand of kangaroo leather over another. Dust dances in the beams of light as five women carefully follow his practised movements, cutting, braiding and conditioning at workstations dotted around the hall. Conversation ebbs and flows as they laugh about husbands, children and the joys found living in rural north Queensland. The room smells faintly of kangaroo hide and fresh country air. There is no rush. For the next three days, they have traded family and farm for sharp knives, leather gauges and sheets of finely cut kangaroo skin. The master leather plaiter is teaching them to make one of Australia's most iconic bush tools — the stock whip. Softly spoken and quick to laugh, Bill roams from one student to the next, quietly correcting a hand position here, tightening a braid there. "Lean on it with your body," he reminds them. It is advice repeated dozens of times throughout the workshop. Not because leather is difficult, but because patience is. While few Australians may know the name Bill Webb, plenty know the man who taught him about craftsmanship and legacy. Keeping RM's dream alive Those immersed in the world of leather plaiting regard Bill as one of the country's finest craftsmen, whose work has travelled to Brazil, England, Italy and the United States. He has won multiple Dame Mary Durack Awards for Outback Crafts, which Bill describes as "the Melbourne Cup" of leatherwork. But ask him what he is proudest of, he does not mention the awards. He talks about teaching. "My mission in life is to try and keep the art form of leather plaiting alive," he says. "That was RM's dream and I'm trying to do the same." 'Boy' Long before Bill became the teacher, he was simply "Boy" to legendary bushman Reginald Murray Williams, now famously known as RM Williams. The pair first met when Bill was a teenager spending school holidays mustering on neighbouring properties. His payment was not money — it was two weeks learning beside the man whose name would become synonymous with craftsmanship and Australian bush culture. "He was such a generous man," Bill says. "If you were fair dinkum, he'd give you the shirt off his back." RM also demanded perfection. A piece that looked finished to everyone else often wasn't finished to him. "He'd say, 'You can do better than that. Start again,'" Bill recalls. More than half a century later, Bill still hears RM's words every time he starts a new piece. "He was always just saying, 'Try and make the next one better than the last one and be the best that you can be,'"he said. At the Bloomsbury Soldiers Memorial Hall, about 90 kilometres north of Mackay, the ladies are starting to understand why. Making a whip involves focus and steady movements to perfect not just what is seen on the outside, but also to establish the foundations and finally the finishings on the inside too. Bill tells them 70 per cent of the job happens before the first strand is ever plaited. "Each strip must be cut to exactly the right width," he says. "Every strand stretched. Trimmed. Bevelled. Prepared. Only then can the leather start to take shape." "Look after it, and a good whip can last a lifetime … or two." Saving the trade For Jane Henley, the journey to Bloomsbury started more than a decade ago. The hairdresser from Tully first met Bill at a Lost Trades Fair in Victoria, which is dedicated to showcasing artisans who practise lost arts, rare trades and forgotten crafts. When she found out Bill was heading north for a workshop, she packed the car and convinced three girlfriends, Catherine, Rhonda and Raelene, to come too. "We've been stalking Bill Webb for years," she laughs. Her handmade whip is destined for her husband, who still uses one while mustering cattle on their small property near Tully. Jane had never worked with leather before, but now she'll have the knowledge to make another. That, Bill says, is exactly the point. He says for generations, leather workers closely guarded their techniques, but now he believes the great risk is that nobody learns at all. "They wouldn't show you because you're going to take business away from them," he says. "Now … we're trying to tell everyone as much as we can so we can keep it alive." Workshop organiser Kimberly Carey grew up surrounded by horses, dogs and stockwhips on a cattle property near Clermont in central Queensland. She worries practical bush skills are slowly disappearing beneath screens and keyboards. "If we don't keep any of these old skills alive, they're going to be gone," she said "It builds character, it builds patience, and unreal craft." Spreading the craft By the final afternoon, everyone has a finished whip. Some are a little tighter than others, some braids are more even, but none of that matters much to Bill. He knows they have learned enough to make another or to teach someone else. Kimberly turns her whip over in her hands. "It's pretty awesome," she says. "I didn't realise how much was involved in building one. "They're works of art." It will take pride of place in her home, the first of many she intends to make. For Bill, her confidence to try more is the greatest compliment a teacher can receive. When asked what Bill would like his legacy to be, he pauses for a moment. "I'd like my legacy to be that people know I've tried to pass the trade and the skills on to everybody else that wants to learn," he says. - Share options - Copy link - X (formerly Twitter)