Wednesday, November 29, 2017

JIM SMITH ~ PART 1 ©


"Where does Jim Smith live Peter?" I asked as he started the Ute.
"Burgooney, Mate."
"What?"
"Burgooney, about 3 miles from the station."
"What fucking station? My old tin shed was bigger than that station ticket office and that Joey I had could hop across that room in one hop on one leg!", I said as we drove off down the track, laughing our heads off.

     The red dust flew up behind us as we drove along and Peter turned on the radio. We drove in silence as we listened to Slim Dusty singing one of his famous Bush ballads called, 'My Home on the Sunburnt Plain'.

"Grab that gate, Yorky." said Peter as we slowed down.
     The gate was opened and closed in a jiffy and the Ute was once more kicking up dust as it rolled over large potholes.
"There's Jims' old Bedford truck, right where he said it would be."
"I can't see Jim anywhere around Peter?"
"Oh he's probably gone off in the Bush chasing a parrot."
"What d'ya mean 'chasing a parrot?"
"Jim's mad about parrots. He's got a small Avery back of his Humpy."
"He must really like parrots."
"Like 'em! If he hears a parrot he's not heard in these parts before he'll drop his tools at the drop of a hat and go off chasing it to find out where it's nesting."
"There's somebody walking out of the Bush."
"That's him mate. Let's git out and go meet him." Said Peter.
" G'day Jim, ya' been off in the Bush chasing parrots again mate?"
"Not this time mate", said Jim Smith. "I had a few minutes to spare so I went to drop mi guts. So this is mi new pommy fencer is it Pete?"
"Yeah mate. This is Yorky, Jim. Yorky, this is Jim."
"Good to meet ya Yorky.", said Jim as we shook hands on the track.
"I'm glad ya could give a bit of a hand mate. The weather's starting to heat up now and I always seem to slow down when that happens."
"I haven't fenced before, ya know.", I said to Jim.
"No worries mate. I'll teach ya all I know. It'll only take mi 5 minutes."
     This little joke from Jim let me know he was a real good bloke.
"Better put ya gear on Jims' truck Yorky, I gotta git back to my place now. I've got a few things I've got to finish today.", said Peter.
     After mi 3 cases were put on the open back of Jims' old Bedford truck, I walked over to Peter and said to him,
"I wanna thank ya for everything you've done for me mate."
"Bullshit! Enjoy ya new job mate. Ya deserve it. See ya later Jim.", said Peter as he hopped in his Ute.
"Alright mate.", said Jim. Drop in some time when ya passing."
"Don't forget to make him work Jim."
"She'll be right. I'll look after him."
"Alright Yorky, hop in the truck and we'll git ya gear back to the house. We'll start work tomorrow, that'll give ya time to unpack a bit of gear and fix up the room we've got for ya."
"Is it hard work, fencing?"
"Well, it's not easy Yorky, put it that way, but you'll get used to it mate. Just take it easy for a couple of days, then you'll be right. The main thing is ya hands. Once they toughen up to the job, bobs ya aunty mate."
     I liked this man. He was easy going and had a big heart.
"Can ya drive mate?" asked Jim.
"No, old Burt wouldn't let me. He gave me a push bike to go up into the mali."
"Oh that's no good mate. Ya gotta be able to drive in the Bush. Ya git more work that way. Anyway that's not a problem because you'll be driving as good as me in a few days."
"Ya mean you'll teach me to drive Jim?"
"No mate, you'll teach ya self. I'm gonna provide the truck!"
"Oh, that's really kind of you."
"No, it's a fact of Bush life. I had to learn to drive when I was 13 or I wouldn't have been able to git to work."
"Have you been working since you were 13?"
"Sure have Yorky. The only problem is it's habit-forming. Once you start, it's hard to stop, especially when you've got a wife and 3 young kids like I've got."
"How far to your place now?"
"About another 10 minutes mate."
"Do you always smoke cigars, Jim?"
"Yup, I sure do Yorky. That's another thing I started at 13 and now it's hard to stop, D'ya wanna try one mate?"
"If you've got enough, I'll have one."
"Oh, I think I can spare one, but if ya get the taste for 'em you'll have to buy ya own. There's a packet in the glove box. Help ya self mate."
"How d'ya like 'em?", he asked, as I puffed and coughed mi guts out.
"They're a bit strong."
"Yeah, they're beauties aren't they?", he said with a big grin on his face.
"Oh look". I said. "There's Burgooney Station."
"Yeh, that's right. Ya know Burgooney do ya?"
"Not really. It's where I got off when they sent me out here."
"Well, ya know Burgooney as well as anyone can 'cause that's all there is at Burgooney, the Ticket Station and I've never seen it open as long as I've been around here. My old Humpy's down the track a couple more miles. I think it used to belong to the railroad at one time."
"Who owns it now?"
"The cocky down the track further."
"Does it cost ya much in rent?"
"Not a penny, 'cause it's not worth it. The old place is falling down around mi ears, Yorky, but she'll do till I get something better, I suppose."
     A few minutes later Jim pulled off the main track and took a small one-way Bush track through the scrub.
"There she is Yorky. That's mi old palace.", he said as we pulled up in a large clearing which was obviously his front yard.
     As soon as the old Bedford pulled up outside the old broken-down Humpy, 2 small kids raced up to the drivers door and stared to bang on it with their small fists.
"Alright, alright.", said Jim to the kids. "Let a man git out so he can give ya a hug!"
     The kids backed away from the door and Jim jumped down from the cab onto the dirt. They were now tearing at his trouser legs for his undivided attention. He picked up each one in turn and gave them a big, noisy kiss on their cheeks. After that, they tried to drag him off into the old house.
"Come on Yorky.", he said. "We'll git ya gear in a while mate."
     As soon as I got out of the cab, Jims' kids cried out in surprise and ran off into the house. I just stood there not knowing what to do or say.
"Did I scare them off Jim?"
"No Yorky, You're the first visitor they've seen for 6 months so they're a bit shy around strangers. Come on mate, let's go inside."

JIM SMITH ~ Part 2 ~ CHAPTER 4 ~ YORKY LEARNS TO DRIVE ©


     Jim's old place really was a humpy. The house was falling down around his ears. The corrugated tin roof was brown with rust and the trough was literally down in places. The wood-board sides had panels missing so that one could see into the rooms. The inside floor-boards were warped in all directions and in some places dry rot had eaten large holes in them. But for all of this, it was hanging together by the unspoken love between himself and his family.

     When we got inside he said, "Look out Yorky, don't walk there or ya foot will go through mi floor mate!"
"G'day Shirley.", said Jim as we walked into the kitchen.
"G'day Jim.", She said to him. "This must be Yorky, is it Jim?"
"Yeh, this is Yorky, Shirl. This is mi missus, Yorky. Best little cook this side of the Black Stump Mate. Not a bad looker either, eh mate?"
     I shook Shirleys' hand and said, "Pleasure to meet ya, Mrs. Smith."
"The names is Shirley. It'll go to mi head if ya call me Mrs. Smith. Even mi kids call me Shirl."
"Alright, Shirley it is."
"D'ya want some smoko, Jim?" I've just boiled the kettle.", she said.
"Yeah, why not. We'll have some smoko and then I'll help Yorky bring his bags in. We've got a great room for ya mate. It's even got it's own air-conditioning built in."
"Oh stop it Jimmy!", said Shirl. "He's just kidding ya Yorky. What he means is, one of the boards fell off the side wall of your room and Jimmy hasn't had time to nail it back up yet. We don't even have electricity at this place, let alone air-conditioning."
"Yeh, just joking mate. It's what makes life tolerable, eh? A good joke once a day at least!"

     The temperature outside now was probably around 80 degrees and inside the kitchen, Shirley had a wood stove going so as to make the tea for us.  It was pretty warm in that old kitchen.

     Just then, Jims' oldest child, who couldn't speak too well, said something to Jim I could not understand.
     Then Jim said to Shirl, "Ya shot a snake in here this morning Shirl?"
"Oh yeh, I forgot to tell ya, with all the excitement going on."
"What happened then?"
"He was stretched out in front of the stove when I came back in from hanging out some washing so I went round the front way and got the .22 out a' the bedroom. I walked up the passage and he was still in the same place so I let him have it."
"D'ya get him?"
"Have you ever known me miss yet, Jimmy Smith? Course I got him. I blew his head clean off with one shot. Ya see that stain over there where I tried to clean it up?"
"Oh yeh.", said Jim. "Don't get on the wrong side of her Yorky. She's got six brothers all older than her and she could beat 'em all in a shooting contest. She used to go rabbit spotlighting with her Dad when she was only 7 years old. She's been shooting for 50 years mate."
"You stop that Jim Smith! I was only 20 when we got married and we've only been married for 8 years."
"Is that all? Streuth, it felt longer than that."
"I'm warning you Jimmy." Said Shirl, with a mischievous smile on her face.
"Alright. Enough's enough. Have a cigar Yorky. Ya can buy me a pack when we go to town again."
"Thanks Jim, I'll buy ya a couple of packs so I'm not in debt."
"Just one pack will be enough mate or you'll put me in your debt!"
"Can I see your .22 Jim?"
"Yeh mate. First door on the left, down the passage. It's leaning against the wall near mi bed. Check it first and make sure there's not one up the spout."
"Great!", I said, as I took off down the passage.

     The rifle was right where he said it would be so I opened the bolt and checked to make sure that it was empty and took it back to the kitchen with me.
"How d'ya git the magazine out Jim?"
"Press that catch under the back of the mag, mate. It should fall out on its own then. Not a bad little pea rifle Yorky, eh?"
"It's a beauty Jim. Would you mind if I bought one for myself while I'm here?"
"Why should I mind Yorky? Long as ya careful with it. I'll help ya pick out a good one if ya want me to. When it gets really hot we can go rabbit shootin' of a night. I made big money at it this time last year, eh Shirl."

     I put Jims' .22 back in the bedroom where I found it, then went back out to finish mi tea. I was feeling really happy now. I already felt like one of the family so I promised myself that I'd work hard for Him so he'd make as much money as possible.

"Come on mate.", said Jim. "Let's go outside. I'll show ya mi Avery I'm building."
"Toe, toe, tu?" said Tony.
"Alright mate, you can come as well."
"What did he say Jim?"
"He said he wants to come with us. All my kids, except the youngest have got a speech problem Yorky. We've had 'em to specialists all over the place but no one has been able to help so far. The last bloke said he's pretty sure they'll grow out of it as they get bigger. Once you've been around a few weeks you'll be able to understand 'em as well as me. Their IQ's have all been tested and they're well above average. I sometimes think they prefer their own language to English. The only time I can't understand 'em is the odd times when they have a blue and once they get shouting and yelling at each other, I haven't got a bloody clue what they're fighting about so I have to separate 'em and get each individual side, so I know what to say."
"Toe, toe, pa pu.", said Tony, who was about 5 years old.
"Yeh mate.", said Jim. "That's your Wee Juggler."
"Here ya go mate, said Jim, as we walked towards the Avery. "It's only small so far but this year I'm gonna make it much bigger 'cause I got mi eye on a lot of nests now and with your help Yorky we'll git a lot more mate, 'cause I'm too scared these days to climb as high as I used to."
"No worries mate.", I said to Jim, testing mi new-found Aussie accent on him.

     I'd only known Jim for a few hours so he hadn't known my full-on broad Yorkshire accent.
"Ya see that Wee Juggler mate? He's also called a Major Mitchell. Well those blokes nest up in high, in dead limbs of Gum trees so they're pretty hard to get at and that fella there is a Sulphur-Crested. They nest even higher."
"What's the others, Jim?"
"Well, there's a couple of Ring Necks, 4 Blue Bonnets, half-a-dozen Grass Parrots, 2 pair of Quarry-hens, that's those pink-cheeked ones over there. The rest of 'em are various Rosellas and Lorries."
"This is a great Avery Jim."
"Oh she's not bad mate but after the summer's over she'll be a lot bigger. Anyway Yorky, lets git ya gear inside and ya can make ya self at home. I'm gonna chop a bit a' wood for the missus this arvo, 'cause once we start this contract we'll be pretty busy mate."
     We carried my cases into the bedroom where I would stay.
"Grand Streuth!", said Jim. "What ya got in these bloody ports? You'll have to stack one each side of the room mate or they'll fall through the floor."
"Are ya serious Jim?"
"Na mate, just kidding. But I'm not kidding about the weight! You've got enough gear in here to look after a bloody army, mate!"
"It's what the Big Brother Movement told me I had to have out here."
"Sounds to me, mate, that those blokes have never been out a' Sydney."
"They probably haven't.", I said.

     It didn't take long to put mi sheets and a blanket on the bed and I opened up one suitcase to use for a cupboard. I lived that way for years 'cause it was easy to close the case and move, when necessary.

     That evening Jim lit up the hurricane lamps so we could see to eat. After, we listened to the radio for a while. I went to bed early so as to get a good start in the morning. I never had a lamp in my room, just a candle which Jim gave me after I promised not to sleep with it burning 'cause the old house was so dry, a spark or stray flame would have sent it up in smoke within seconds.

     The following morning we were up at 4:30 so we loaded the old Bedford up with steel Waratah posts (10 to a bundle), the chain saw, shovels, crowbars and picks, coils of high-tensile wire, barbwire, strainers, fencing pliers and various other tools to do the job with.

     Before we took off Jim said, "Grab a couple of empty plonk flagons and fill 'em up with tank water. You're gonna need 'em."
"I'll only need one."
"I'd say you'll need about six mate, but you'll have to make do with 2. We'll take 2 each 'cause there's no water where were going."
"Alright mate.", I said. "If you say so. No problem."

     After breakfast Jim grabbed the large esky box and we went outside to the truck. I went to get in the passengers seat and he said to me. "Hoy, git out of there. You must be joking mate. You can chauffeur me up the paddock!"
"But I can't drive Jim!", I said with a look of astonishment on mi face.
"No such word as 'can't', Yorky and ya' certainly won't learn anything sat in the passengers seat watching me. Hop in the drivers seat mate."
     This was amazing! I'd wanted to learn to drive for nearly six months and now here's this bloke telling me to chauffeur him up the paddock, out to the scrub.
"What if I have a crash Jim?"
"What if ya do mate? I'll just kick ya arse and we'll start again."
     I knew he was only kidding because he had a big, warm smile on his face which I could just make out from behind the cloud of cigar smoke.

"First of all, put ya foot on the clutch and pull her out of gear into neutral, then jiggle the stick to make sure she's still not in gear. Turn the key on, give her 5 or 6 pumps on the excelerator 'cause she's cold. Then ya press the button and she should start."

     I nervously followed the instructions to the letter and the old Bedford roared into life.
"She sounds a bit noisy Jim."
"Don't worry about that mate. The back end of the exhaust pipe is missing. Now, you've got to double the clutch on this old lady so every time you want to shift gears pull the stick into neutral, let out the clutch and push it in again. Then pull it the rest of the way down into gear. Away we go mate! We're off! That's what the monkey said when he sat on the circular saw watching the races. They're off!
Let 's go Yorky!"
     I pushed in the clutch and shoved the long stick up towards first gear.
"Let the clutch out slowly and give her a few revs!"
     The old Bedford shot forwards and started to kangaroo-hop out of the yard.
"Push the clutch back in Mate and try her again. This time give her more revs and let the clutch out slower until she grabs."
     I repeated his instructions and this time the old Bedford eased into motion without a single jerk.
"Ya got her mate! Now, once ya git a few revs up, double the clutch as ya change gear. The gears are marked on the letter H on top of the knob."
     I changed into second with a few grinds. Then I heard Jim shout, "Look out mate! We're heading for a big Box Tree!"
"Oh shit!", I said as I look back up from the gear stick knob and out the windscreen. We were off the track and heading towards a big tree! I pulled the big steering wheel around to the left and back on to the track.
"Jeesus mate! Ya had mi worried there for a minute!"
"I'm sorry mate. I was trying to read the gear numbers."
"I nearly swallowed mi Monopole, Yorky! I don't mind ya rooting the truck up but I'll be pissed if ya make me smash one of mi cigars up mate!"

     Nothing seemed to worry Jim as we bumped up the track. Sometimes on it, sometimes off it.
"Ya see that gate way up there, ahead of us mate?"
"Yeh."
"Well, we've got to go through it but preferably I'd like to open it first!"
"What d'ya mean Jim?"
"I mean, this old lady hasn't got any brakes! So make sure ya give her plenty of room to slow down."
"What? No brakes?"
"No brakes.", said Jim with a smile. "But ya can push the brake peddle if ya don't believe me. They went out a couple of weeks ago but ya never know, maybe they came back on their own!"
     I pushed the brake peddle to the floor but nothing happened. The old Bedford never missed a beat.
"Oh shit Jim! What now?"
"Ya see that Gum tree overhanging the track up ahead? As soon as ya get level with it push her into neutral and we'll cruise the rest of the way up to the gate."
"What if she won't slow down in time?", I said, very nervously.
"Well it'll save me opening the gate, won't it!"
     He gave me a reassuring wink and lit up his cigar and surveyed the scenery out of the passengers' side window, which had no glass in it.

     When we got level with the Gum Tree I pushed her out of gear into neutral. As we headed for the big iron gate a couple of large potholes slowed us down and the old truck stopped about 15 feet in front of the gate.
"PHEW! That was close Jim."
"Close mi arse mate. Ya mean to tell me ya gonna make me walk all that way to open the gate?"
"We're only 15 feet away."
"Yeh, but the gate opens the other way mate, so I've gotta git out and walk 15 feet before I git to the gate! Never mind Yorky, ya can stop closer to it on the way back home.", he said with a grin.

     By the time we got out to the paddock where we were to start fencing, I was not sure whether I wanted to learn driving or not but Jimmy reassured me by saying, "You're gonna make a beaut driver Yorky. Ya did as well as I could have done miself!"
"How do you know which Gum trees to use as markers for slowing down?"
"Easy mate, I've hit those gates miself before today.", he said with a wink.

JIM SMITH ~ PART 3 ~ BUSH LESSONS ~ CHAPTER 4 ©

     Fencing was really hard work, as I was soon to find out but the hard work was offset by Jims' kind heart and good sense of humor.
     Around lunch time I'd almost drunk all of mi water.
"You'll end up sick as a dog mate, if ya keep guzzling that water like ya are doing.". said Jim to me.
"I can't seem to stop drinking Jim. it's really hot today and I'm thirsty and dry.", I said.
"Ah well mate, don't say I didn't warn ya."

     By the time 2 in the afternoon came, I was laid out on mi belly under the truck, sick as a dog. Every 10 minutes or so, I'd spew up a colorless liquid and mi belly would get a huge cramp in it, which made me cry.
     The heat was intolerable that day. It was near 105 degrees but Jim never seemed to feel it as he worked on, regardless. Every now and then he'd come over to the truck and check on me.
"I'm sick mate. I've got cramps in mi belly and I'm still thirsty."
"You'll git over it Yorky. Don't worry mate."
"Can I have some of your water Jim?"
"No mate, I told ya you had to make it last all day. There's no water around here for miles."
"How much water do you have left Jim?"
"Just over half a gallon. Why?"
"Cause I'm dying of thirst. Mi throat feels like sandpaper. I can't swallow and I've go no spit left to swallow."
"Put a small pebble in ya mouth, but don't swallow it."

     A half hour later I felt a little better so I crawled out from under my shady spot and walked over to where Jim was still digging a 3 foot hole to put a strainer post in.
"How ya doing Yorky?", he said to me with a big smile.
"I've got nothing left in mi guts to puke up. I'm still dry but I feel a bit better now."
"Good on ya mate. Would ya like a small drink of my water?"
"I'm not sure. I drank my water so fast it made me sick but I'm still thirsty, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to drink another drop of water again. Just the thought of it almost makes me want to puke."
"Good on ya mate, that's what I've been waiting to hear. Ya learned a big lesson today Yorky. I tried to tell ya but ya wouldn't listen mate so I figured ya must have wanted to learn it the hard way. Who am I to git in ya way. Another few days mate and you'll hardly ever drink water in the hot sun again."

     A normal man could survive quite a while in the bush without food but without water he'd be dead before he knew it. The Aborigines can go much longer without water than a white man can. Over the long, hot months of working with Jim Smith, I came to realize he had given me a great gift.

     After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Come on Yorky, let's go!"
     He stuck the crowbar and shovel in the large strainer hole and headed towards the scrub, at a fast pace.
"What's the matter?", I said as I ran to keep up with him.
"I just heard the call of a 'Wee-Juggler'. It must be nesting around here somewhere. Stay behind me and don't make too much noise."
     We wandered around the Mali country for about 10 minutes when all of a sudden Jim stopped.
"There it is.", he said as he pointed to a large Gum tree. "Ya see it Yorky?"
"Oh yeh!.", I said as I saw the beautiful white and pink 'Wee Juggler' sat on a dead tree limb.
"She's nesting in that hole in the trunk right below where she's sitting.", said Jim.
"That's pretty high up."
"Yeah mate, that's why you're climbing up there and not  me."
"What!"
"Yeh mate, come on, up you go Yorky. I'll give ya a leg up to the first branch."
     Jim linked his fingers together and leaned his back against the Gum tree and I put mi boot in his hands.
"Hold it Yorky, you'll do better if ya take ya boots off. You'll get a better grip with ya bare feet."
"Ya joking mate? This bloody tree's crawling with ants. They'll bite me feet as I'm going up it."
"Nah mate, don't worry about the ants, they won't eat much."

     Once I reached the first limb, it was reasonably easy going until I got to where the parrot had chosen to nest. There were no branches under the hole in the trunk. I had to bear hug mi way up to the hole. I was about 60 feet high now and each time I looked down, Jims' bush hat seemed to be shrinking.

     The view from up in the Gum tree was really pretty. I could see way over the tops of the smaller trees. It was totally silent up there except for the rustling of a few leaves. Off in the distance, out across a flat, plowed paddock, a small whirly-wind was having a lot of fun, whizzing across the ground picking up leaves, dried bush grass and dust as it whirled across to the fence line.

     The mother 'wee-juggler' had squawked quite loud and flown off into a nearby tree as she saw me climbing the main trunk. I felt like a big Goanna as I clawed mi way up the last little bit. The parrot had chewed away large splinters of wood from around the natural hollow in the trunk so as to make it big enough for her to get in and out easier.

     Jim stood below, looking up at me now, shouting, "Stick ya hand in the hole, Yorky and be careful not to break the eggs, if there's any in there."
     Very carefully, I got a good grip around the trunk with mi left arm and both legs. I stuck mi hand downwards towards the nest.
"There's 2 eggs inside!", I yelled down to Jim.
"Alright mate, leave 'em alone and come back down."
     It always seems harder to climb back down out of a high tree but pretty soon, after being very careful, I was back on the ground again.
"Those little ants bite Jim!"
"You'll git used to 'em Yorky. Were the eggs warm?"
"Yeh, real warm."
"Good man. Let's git out of here quick before we disturb her too much. She's sitting in the Box tree over there. See her?"
     The 'wee juggler' was sat high up on a limb looking towards the hole in the tall Gum tree.
     Jim and me headed back towards where the truck was. We chatted quite excitedly as we walked through the bush.
"How will ya know when to come back for the young ones?"
"I know how long it takes for 'em to hatch. When they're ready we'll only take one of them 'cause that's mi policy. If we take both, it would upset their breeding program too much. Pretty soon they'd be well down in numbers and we don't want that to happen."
"Let's go and do a bit more work Yorky. It's cooled down a lot now. Ya feeling any better mate?"
"Yeh, I forgot all about water as I was climbing the tree."
"That's it mate. All ya have to do is concentrate on work, the same as climbing the tree and before ya know it mate, one little sip of water will last ya for an hour or tow. Besides that, it will be good discipline for ya mate."

     The rest of the afternoon, we finished digging the big, round strainer post holes so we could start on the next part of the fence construction. We lifted one of the strainer posts into the hole that we'd just dug.
"You fill the hole in while I mark out where to drop off the steel pegs, Yorky."
     I picked up the shovel and started to chuck the soil and rocks down around the strainer post hole.
"Not like that mate. This post is what will hold up our fence so it has to be as tight as possible in the hole. This is how ya do it mate. Ya only throw a small amount of dirt around the post then ya turn the crowbar around so the round knob is at this end. Then ya pound the dirt with it till it's packed as hard and tight as you can get it. Next ya throw in some more dirt and rocks but only a small amount and ram it tight again. Ya keep doing that till the dirt is packed tight around the hole, 'cause when I strain the wires up tight, the strainer post will start to lean over if it's not rammed well enough."
"Alright Jim, got it!"

     Jim grabbed the axe and a long pieces of braided wire, 18 feet long. Every one length of wire, he'd mark the ground with the back of the axe.
     After I finished mi job, I walked down the line to meet Jim.
"Ya finished Yorky?"
"Ya mate. It's as tight as a fishes arse and that's watertight!"
"If it's as tight as old Burt Booths' arse, it'll never move and we'll git a real good, tight fence out of it."
     We both had a good laugh out of our little jokes and Jim lit up another Monopol, while I rolled a Drum cigarette.

     The hot sun was now disappearing behind the Mali trees in the Western skyline.
"Tell ya what Yorky, we'll go back to the truck and drop off the steel pegs on our way home and that will do us for today. It's been a bit of a rough day for ya mate and I don't want to burn ya out the first week or I'll be stuck on mi own again. What dya think about that mate?"
"Sounds great to me Jim. Mi hands are as sore as hell. I've got blisters on blisters. Just look at 'em?, I said, as I showed him mi hands.
"Oh that's good.", he said with a smile.
"What d'ya mean, 'that's good?"
"Well mate, Stop ya floggin' ya maggot, won't it?"
"Fuck you Jim.", I said with a laugh. "Come on, let's go home. I'm a bit hungry now. I could eat a cool green salad and some cold mutton with lots of salt on it."
"Good idea Yorky. I'm so hungry I could eat the arse out of a mangy fox."
     We roared with laughter as we walked off down the fence-line together to get to the old Bedford.

     That evening, after a cold shower, outside under a tree, we had a good feed and I went to bed early. I was so tired that as soon as mi head hit the pillow, I was gone into the darkness.
     The next thing I remember was Jims' voice saying,
"Come on Yorky! Git out'a that fart sack mate. The sun will be up before ya, if not!"

JIM SMITH - Part 4 - MORE BUSH LESSONS ~ CHAPTER 4 ©


     Jim and I worked at the fence just about every day. The weather was getting hotter and hotter as the summer progressed.

"D'ya want some fried eggs for smoko, Yorky?"
"Yeh, but there's no electricity out here and it's far too dry to start a fire so how ya gonna make fried eggs?"
"Grab the shovel mate and wash it off with a little bit of water and then lay it out flat in the sun over there for a couple of hours."
     When lunchtime came, Jim took 4 eggs out of the tucker box and said to me, "Go git the shovel Yorky. It should be hot enough by now."

     The shovel had been laying out flat in the hot sun where I'd left it. I brought it over to where Jim was sat under a shady tree. He put some butter on the shovel and within seconds it started to melt. As soon as the butter had melted he said, "Put it back in the sun, mate and crack these 4 eggs into it."
     I got the shock of mi life when the cold egg yolks hit the hot butter and started to crackle. Within 5 minutes the eggs were as good as any fried eggs I'd seen anywhere, although I broke the yolks while trying to get them out of the Bush frying pan. That frying pan had the longest handle I'd ever seen and it didn't need to be washed up after.

     On another occasion, we were walking through the scrub looking for some more parrots nests. Jim spotted a used hole so he sent me up the tree. Surprisingly enough, it was not very high.
"It might be a Ring-Necks nest.", I said to Jim as I pulled miself up to the next branch.
     When I got level with the hole I called out to Jim,
"If it's a Ring-Neck it must have a sweet tooth!"
"Why?"
"Because I can smell honey in that hole!"
"Oh shit!", said Jim. "Get out of that tree Yorky. It's not a parrots nest. It's a beehive mate!!!"

     I only needed telling once! I slid down the tree as fast as I could go and ripped the leg of mi trousers in the process. I'd seen a few bees hovering around the tree when I went up but I didn't think anything of it. No sooner were my feet on the ground, the bees started to fly out of the hole. They were really pissed now as they chased after Jim and me, who, by this time, were tearing through the scrub like a couple of old gray roos with a pack of roo-dogs at their heels.
"Ow! They're on the back of my neck Jim."
"Just keep running Yorky! Don't wave ya arms around or you'll make 'em more cranky!"
"Yow!", I yelled again. "One just got me under the eye on mi cheek."
"Keep running Yorky! They're giving up now!"

     After a few hundred yards Jim stopped and turned around.
"They've given up mate..", he said between laughs.
"What are you laughing at Jim? They stung mi neck at least 4 times and once on the cheek, see."
     Jim apologized for laughing but the apology didn't stop his laughter as he said,
"A couple of them got me too Yorky. I can't help it mate. You sounded so funny when you said, 'the Ring-Neck must have a sweet tooth'. That's when I realized it was a beehive but it was too late then. They were already coming out of the hole. Give us a look at ya neck Yorky.", he said, still laughing away.
"It's not bloody funny!", I said, reverting back to my Yorkshire accent. This started him up laughing even louder.
"Stand still mate. You've got a couple of stings still sticking out of ya neck."

     He used his bush penknife and his thumbnail to remove the two remaining stings. Then he looked around for a leaf to rub the back of mi neck and cheek with. After, he rubbed the back of his arm where he'd gotten stung.
     The bee stings hurt for quite a while but as soon as the burning started to fade I could see the funny side of it myself.
"You're the Bushman, why don't we go back with the right gear and take the honeycombs out.", I said to Jim.
"Not on your life mate. I'm scared of bees and they always seem to pick up on my fear. I only went honey-gathering once. That was enough for me. It's easier to buy it at the store."

     At the end of a long, hot day and getting towards the end of the fencing contract, Jim said to me, "D'ya wanna go into town tomorrow with me Yorky?"
"Oh yea! That would be great Jim."
"Ya must have a good, few quid coming to ya now mate."
"I probably have Jim. We've been so busy I haven't had much time to think about money and even if I had, there's nowhere to spend it out here."
"Yeh mate, that's the beauty of the Bush. It doesn't cost as much money as living in town would. It would cost ya money every time ya stuck ya head out a' the front door, if ya lived at the Lake."
"What time are we off tomorrow Jim?"
"Oh, I thought we'd go in pretty early mate before it gets too hot. I said I'd take the missus and kids in with me this time' cause she hasn't been to town for a couple of months now."
"Doesn't she like town life?"
"Na mate. She's a good sort is my missus. It works well for both of us. Neither one of us like to hang around the towns much. Anyway, Bush life is nice and peaceful mate. Just the way I like it."
"Maybe I'll by miself a good rifle tomorrow."
"Yeh mate, I'll help ya pick one out at the Barbers shop. He's got a few good pea-rifles. We might try a bit a' rabbit shooting if ya like Yorky."
"Oh yeah Jim, that would be real beaut."
"Yeh, the rifle will come in real handy then. We'll git a better chance at 'em with 2 rifles mate."

     The following morning we all got up early. Jim, his wife Shirl and the 3 small kids, all squashed into his old blue Holden ute. I sat in the back. We didn't take the old Bedford 'cause it was too dangerous with no brakes.
     The ride into town was a lot of fun as we tore along the dirt roads at 60. By the time we arrived, I was covered in red dust but I was so happy to have a day off and the thought of getting mi first rifle made everything pale in comparison.
     We all waited in the Ute while Jim went in to see Blackers. He was the Publican at the Australian Hotel. Jim knew him so he took a check there to cash it and we'd all have some money.
     When he came out, he asked me how much money I wanted.
"Oh just pay for the rifle and a few quid for some Drum and Monopoles and you can save the rest for me 'cause I don't have any bank account."
"Alright Yorky, long as that suits ya. I don't have a bank account miself mate. I don't like handing my hard-earned money over to the bank. Ya never know when they'll go broke and I can look after mi own money better than they can."

     Jim gave Shirley a fist-full of money to buy some supplies to take back with us.
"I'll meet ya back here Shirl. Yorky an' me are gonna have a look at a few rifle. Come on mate, let's go."

     We walked across the street to Ray Orrs Barber Shop. The sign read OPEN so we went straight in.
"G'day gentlemen.", said Ray Orr, who was sat in the barbers chair reading the local Lake Cargelligo paper (which was all of 4 pages wide.)
"G'day. How ya going?", said Jim.
"Real good. Ya got a new man I hear.", said Ray
"Sure have Ray. Best little worker around these parts."
"They tell me old Burt Booth has gotten himself a new Pommy out at his place." Said Ray.
"Good luck to him.", I said. "He can have it for all I care."
"Didn't ya like old Burt?", asked Ray.
"That's an understatement! Anyway, I've got a much better job now and I make a lot more money so I've come in to buy one of ya rifles."
"No problem mate. Which one are ya interested in then?"
"We'll have a look at all of 'em.", said Jim. "We'll be going spotlighting rabbits soon. She's getting too warm for fencing."
"Ya not wrong there mate.", said Ray.

We took a good half-hour looking through the rifles and finally settled on a 5-shot Anshultz.
"That's a real beaut rifle.", said Ray, as Jim looked down the sights. "Not too expensive either for a German-made rifle."
"How much is it Ray?". I asked.
"That one will set you back 9 pounds."
"I'll take it.", I said.
"Better git ya self some bullets for it as well Yorky, while you're at it.", said Jim.
"What type shall we get Jim?"
"Ya probably better off with hollow-points mate. They're a better bullet for what we're gonna use 'em for."
"They come 50 in a box.", said Ray. "How many boxes d'ya want?"
"Give Yorky 5 boxes and I'll take 10."
"Ya must be gonna make a few Bob are ya Jim?", said Ray.
"Well, I won't be shooting tin cans with 'em Ray, if that's what ya mean."

     After we paid for the rifle and bullets Jim said,
"You'd better give us a haircut while I'm here Ray. It's getting too long for summer. I can't stand it once it starts growing over mi ears."
"Me too.", I said to Ray. "Ya can give me a short crewcut 'cause nobodys gonna see me in the Bush."

     We walked out of the Barber shop lighter in the pocket and lighter on the head.
"Put the rifle up on the back window of the Ute, Yorky. I'll see ya in the Degos' shop."
     I put mi new rifle where Jim had suggested and for good measure I covered it up with an old blanket that I'd sat on as we drove into town.
     When I got over to the Greek Café, Jim was buying up all the Greeks' Monopole Midgets.
"Save some for me Jim 'cause I owe ya a few packets."
"That’s a'right mate.", said the Greek Café owner. "I've got some more in the back'a. What'sa ya name?", he said to me.
"Yorky. What's yours?"
"Jimmy Stephanopolus but most-a people call me Jimmy Xmas, Its-a my nickname."
"Good to meet ya Jimmy Xmas. When ya finished with Jim, ya can give me 10 boxes of Monopoles', 5 packets of Drum and papers and a cold milk shake each, for me and Jim."
"No problem-a mate.", he said, as he went out back of his shop for the extra Monopoles.
 
     Jim helped Shirley load up the Ute with about a months supplies of the things she'd need. After that, we all got in the Ute and left Lake Cargelligo behind in a cloud of red dust as we made our way home out to the Bush again.

     The following day, we went back out to the fence line to clean up so Jim could go and see the cocky and get a check. The weather was now as hot as hell. The bush flies were in full force and the mosquitoes were eating me alive at times.

"Hey Yorky, what d'ya reckon if we try spotlighting for rabbits for a while until it cools down?"
"Why not mate. I can try mi new rifle out. That sounds great to me."
"OK mate, we'll start tonight. We should have this place cleaned up in a while and then we'll load up all the tools and take 'em home."
"Have ya got a spotlight Jim?"
"Yeh mate, I've got a beauty I bought last year. She's a real bright one. The rabbits really sit up in it as long as they're not gun shy."
"What d'ya mean 'gun shy'?"
"Well once a rabbit has been shot at a few times they know what to expect so as soon as the spot hits 'em they won't sit up and look at the light. They just sort a move around too much trying to git out a' the light."
"D'ya know where we can go?"
"Sure do mate. I've had a couple of cocky's asked me already if I want to spotlight on their property."
"What time do we go Jim?"
"I reckon we'll take off as soon as it's dark Yorky. There shouldn't be much moon tonight. The darker it is the more we'll git."

     That evening, Jim and me loaded up the Ute with the things we'd need for rabbiting.
"Put about 10 steel Waratahs' in the back of the Ute Yorky. We'll need 'em to hang the rabbits over soon as we've gutted and paired 'em up. Better wrap up warm too mate, cause she'll be a cold night once it gets past midnight."

     It was now quite dark when Jim and me hopped in his Ute and took off down the bush track and out to the dirt road.
"Where we going first mate?", I said, as Jim puffed away on a fresh Monopole.
"There's a cockys' place just up the road here. We'll stop at his house just to let him know we'll be on his property tonight, that way he won't think we're a couple of Yahbos from the city who've just drove into his paddock without permission. Those city blokes are a bloody nuisance, the bastards."
"Why's that?"
"They come out to see the bush with all their fancy gear and when they go spotlighting, the first pair of eyes they pick up they blast the shit out of 'em. Most times it's a sheep or a cockys' good steer that they end up shooting. I don't have to tell ya how the old cocky feels about that mate!"

     Before long, Jim turned off of Burgooney road onto a narrow bush track. Over the ramp we went and down the dirt track to the house paddock.
     The old Colonial style house looked quite sinister in the dim light of the new moon.
"Wait here Yorky. I'll run over and let him know who we are."
     I sat in the darkness and rolled a couple of fags while I waited for Jim. The cockys' dogs were barking like hell now at the thought of intruders on their territory.
     I saw Jim talking to the Cocky. Jim was waving his arms around, then the cocky in turn started to point in several directions, then Jim walked back over to the Ute, started her up again and off we went.
"The cocky reckons we'll git a few rabbits in his scrub paddocks Yorky, so that's where we'll try first mate. Soon as we get down this track a-ways, we'll hook up the spot, mate and you can ride in the back. OK Yorky, let's stop and hook up the spotlight mate."

     He left the motor going and pulled the hood catch. The Utes' hood popped up a couple of inches.
"You can hook her up mate. It's pretty simple, just clip one of these crocodile clamps on the positive and this one on the negative. I've put red and black electrical tape on the 'em so ya can't git 'em mixed up."
"What happens when they get mixed up Jim?"
"Ya can blow the bulb mate. That's what I did miself one nights so now I've got tape on 'em."
     After I opened up the hood, I very carefully hooked up the spotlight and then hit the ON switch. A huge, strong, bright beam of white light shot out of he 12 volt spot. I smiled and very carefully closed he hood so as not to dislodge the clamps.
"Good on ya Yorky. You're not a bad pommy bastard after all mate. I must be one of the lucky ones. Climb in the back of the Ute mate and lean on the roof of the cab so the back light from the spot shines down on mi door."
"Why's that Jim?"
"If ya don't spot from the right angle mate, I won't be able to see the back sights on the .22."
"Hey Jim, grab mi rifle and test it out for me. Let's see how good she is."
"Alright, but maybe you should put the first scratch on it. I wouldn't like to think I'd scratched the stock up on ya mate.""
"No worries mate. A scratch is a scratch. If it's gonna git scratched, I'd sooner you put on on it first. That way I'll have something to whinge about, then you justifiably call me,'A whinging pommy bastard'."
     Jim had a good laugh and then said, "Alright mate, hang on tight and keep quiet now. Just shine the spot arounds slowly. As soon as you pick up a bunny, give a light tap on the roof."
     We now turned off the dirt track and made our way slowly across the cockys scrub paddock. After a few minutes of shining the spot around, I picked up a pair of bunnies eyes. I tapped lightly on the roof of the cab.
     Jim stuck my new .22 out of the window. He took quick aim and squeezed off the trigger. BANG!!. the bunny fell over in the light and never even kicked.
"Ya got him mate.", I said quietly.
"Give me the spot Yorky and go pick him up."
     When I picked up the rabbit, I saw that Jim had hit him in the head. When I got back to the Ute, I said, "Good shot mate, straight in the head."
"That's where I aimed for. This rifle of yours is a real piss-cutter mate.She's accurate as hell."
"That's what I wanted to hear.", I said, as I put the rabbit in the back and then climbed in myself.
"Ya see that stick in the back, the one with the bent end that looks like a hockey stick? Well, stick it in the corner where it's handy, 'cause if I miss a shot, you can run up along side the beam and whack him on the head with the stick."
     That's the way most people git a lot of rabbits. They fire a hollow-point right next to 'em so it makes them sit up. They're easier to whack in the head then.

     At one time, in Australia, rabbits were considered a plague. They destroyed a lot of crops and made burrows, all over the place. The cocky was not too happy when one of the wheels of his Plough or Combine sunk into a large burrow and bust one of of the axles. In the end there was such a plague of rabbits that the Government sanctioned the use of a poison that was specially developed to rid the land of rabbits. The name of the poison was called mixametosis. Were you ever to see the devastating effects of this poison, you'd understand why head-shooting a rabbit was the most humane thing to do.

     About an hour of shooting, we stopped and gutted out the rabbits and then paired them up size -wise by their back legs and hung them across the steel posts which were sitting crossways on the  back of the Ute.
     That particular evening, we shot 400 pair of rabbits. In the morning, when it started to warm up and the blow-flys came out, we covered the rabbits over with a large mosquito net and took off to the 'Chillers' which was situated in a scrub paddock just outside of Lake Cargelligo.
     In those days, we got 2-3 shillings a pair.  For 1964, that was a profitable evenings work.

     Sometimes, Jim liked to go trapping rabbits with steel-sprung leg traps. I was not as keen on this way of hunting as I didn't like to see the rabbits caught by their leg in the trap. One morning as were walking around Jims' trap-line, a fox had got himself caught by the back leg. When he saw us approaching him, he was obviously scared. He went back to trying to chew his leg off, as he had been doing before we interrupted him.
"What the hell is he doing?"
"He's chewing his back leg off so he can get out of the trap."
     I could't stand to see this sight.
"I'm going to let him out of the trap."
"Be careful.", warned Jim, as I walked up to the fox. When I was about 3 feet away from him, he lunged at my out-stretched hand and tried to bite it, which made me recoil in fright.
"He won't let me get him out of the trap Jim."
"I could have told ya that mate before ya tried. He'll take ya hand off, if ya get too close to him."
"How are we going to get him out then?"
"If I were you mate, I'd hit him on the head with the rabbit stick 'cause you'll never git him out any other way."
     I tried to get close to the fox again, to get him out of the trap but as soon as I got close to him he stopped chewing his leg and made another snarling lunge at me. This time I could see that Jim was right. My response to the situation was incorrect because it didn't stop the foxes suffering and pain. The only other option left open to me was to hit the fox on the head. This action put him out of his pain.
     I didn't feel too good with myself after killing the fox. After a while Jim said to me, "What's the matter mate, you don't look real good?"
"I felt the pain the fox was in and I also felt the pain of killing him too. It felt like I was the one who was caught in a trap."
"Yeah mate, I know just how ya feel, I've been put in that position a few times miself. It's a hard one, especially on the heart but you'll git over it mate or you'll never survive in the  Bush. No one promised ya an easy life or ya wouldn't be out in the bush in the first place. Come on Yorky, let's git these traps cleared and re-set again.

     One morning Jim said to me, "We're out of mutton Yorky, d'ya feel like getting a roo for us mate?"
"If ya like. Where's the best place to go, where its not too far away?"
"You's probably find a few in the Bush, the other side of Burgooney Road. Mind ya look where ya goin' mate 'cause it can get pretty dense in there and I wouldn't want ya to git 'Bushed' or you'd never find ya way out mate."
"No worries Jim. I'll  just follow the fence line. That way I'm bound to find mi way out to the road again."
"That's the story mate. Make sure ya git a half-grown one. Don't shoot a big old buck 'cause they're as tough as old boots and my teeth aren't in real good shape these days and fill that small canteen up with some water before ya go. Ya never know, ya may need a drop if your out there for a while."
     After I'd filled the canteen, I slung it over mi shoulder and grabbed mi rifle and a box of hollow-points. Last of all, I grabbed mi new Akubra Squatters hat that I'd bought from Chamens, the last time we were in town. The dark brown Akubra had a wide brim which kept the hot sun off mi shoulders. I'd put the traditional Squatters crease in the top of it so it sat on mi head comfortably.
"See ya later Jim.", I said as I walked out of the yard with the rifle in mi left hand, hanging down at mi side.
"See ya later Yorky. Good luck mate."

     Once I got out to Burgooney Road I took mi bearings from the position of the Sun and made mi way off into the Bush. The trees and Bush were not too thick for the first couple of hundred yards but after that, the landscape changed to thick Bush which was now all around me. Every now and again, the Bush would give way to a natural clearing which was dotted with large rock formations.
     After about an hours walking in silence, I sat on a rock, in a clearing, for a bit of a spell. The Bush birds were hopping from bush to bush as they played and looked for small seeds to eat. A few feet away from me I saw the track of a snake which disappeared under a large rock. He was probably sleeping there, out of the hot sun.

     The air was crystal clear. Not a cloud in the sky. There were no such things as airplanes or helicopters flying around.  Every now and then, a wedge-tail eagle would call out to its'  mate as it hovered and glided on the warm air-currents. Wedge-tails are very beautiful and graceful to watch as they circle the skies looking for young rabbits or mice to take back to their nests. They nest high up in the branches of dead trees.  Their nests are quite large, as a full-grown wedge-tail could quite easily have a 6 foot wing span. Usually one of them will hunt while the other feeds the young with whatever was caught for the day.

     I walked for another half hour before I spotted a small mob of roos laying and sitting under the shade of a big eucalyptus tree. 'I had better keep down-wind of them', I thought, 'so they don't pick up my scent or I'll never git close enough to get off a clean shot at one of 'em. Usually, while most of the mob sleep in the shade a couple of sentries are left to guard the camp. The sentries usually walk around looking for bits and pieces of thing to eat, then they sit bolt upright, checking out the landscape and then put their heads down again. Very quietly, I moved slowly from tree to tree until I was in decent range of them.

     A .22 is not considered a big rifle, especially where roos are concerned but a good hunter can always bring one down with a well-aimed shot. I decided to try and make it to the next large box tree before attempting a shot. Very carefully, I moved ahead. Once I was leaning against the tree, I took a slight breather because now my heart was pumping away from the concentration of sneaking up on them. As soon as I felt steady enough, I very quickly turned around and leaned against the tree which made good support. There was already a bullet up the spout 'cause I'd pushed the bolt home when I first saw them. Very slowly, I eased off the safety catch so it didn't make a clicking sound. Then I raised the rifle to mi shoulder and leaned mi left shoulder more against the tree. Taking my last deep breath,  I sat the bead of the front site smack in the middle of the back V shape and took careful aim at a half-grown roo who had his head down in the bush grass, eating. I aimed the rifle about half an inch above his shoulder 'cause I was still a long distance away for a .22.

     The two sites of the rifle were now as steady as I could hold them. I started to squeeze the trigger. 'Careful Yorky', the inner hunter said to me. 'Don't pull it or it will pull the rifle off target.' 'Squeeze, squeeze, BANG!'  The roos were up and off as the sound of the rifle cracked the silence like a big stock-whip. A flock of grey and pink Gullahs flew into the air squawking out their warning signals.
     The mob of roos were now thumping out a retreat paradiddle as they headed off deeper into the scrub, all except for the half-grown one that was kicking it's last, under the tree. It was almost dead when I reached the spot, so I put a bullet between its ears, for good measure. The roo was a young gray male. he was not too big or too small. The first bullet had gone straight through his chest, right under his armpit. It was a fast, clean kill which was the only type of kill that was acceptable to me.

     I waited for a few minutes until the adrenaline had subsided from the run across the scub from my hiding tree. As soon as the body had calmed down to its natural, un-excited state, I re-loaded the rifle and pushed the safety catch firmly forward into the on position and then leaned the rifle against the tree. Although the roo was not full-grown, he was by no means light. I grabbed the bulk of his thick, sinewy tail and slung him across mi shoulders. As soon as the roo was comfortably positioned, I grabbed mi rifle and started back the way I'd come.

     Back-tracking was always the hardest because now I was a good few pounds heavier. Over the last 3 months I spent with Jim, I'd got a good Bush education. I was able to find mi way back out to Burgooney Road, no problem at all. Halfway back, I stopped for a rest as it was now really hot. I took a small sip of water and rolled misen a Drum. Although the body had acquired the habit of smoking, I didn't smoke a lot, not because I didn't want to, mind you, but it is always more difficult to smoke in an environment that has clean air. Smoking in the city was much easier because of all the lead pollution and other contaminations.

     I was glad to see Burgooney dirt road 'cause the roo was now getting fairly heavy and sweat was streaming down from under the brim of mi Squatters hat.
     When I got back to the house yard, Jim was busily building a new avery that looked like it was going to be 5 times the size of his old one.

"Yorky mate,", he said as I got close to him. "Ya got a real beaut there. He's the perfect size for eating. Fetch him over in the shade and we'll clean him up. The missus will make up some roo tail soup and we'll git enough steaks off of him for a couple of weeks mate. We'll make a bushman out of ya yet Yorky, ya pommey bastard!"

     It was about 3 weeks later when Jim said to me , one morning, after we'd got home from spotlighting.
"Well Yorky, it's too hot to fence and there's not enough money in the rabbits now so I've got no more work for ya mate. I'm gonna have to find a job for miself now."
"Oh shit.", I said with a sad feeling in mi heart. "What are ya gonna do for work Jim?"
"I'll probably git a job driving a header for the wheat season.  A couple of wheat cockys that I drove for last year have asked me to come back again. I'l either do that or I'll git a job driving a wheat truck to the silos in Lake Cargelligo."
"What am I gonna do? I don't really know anyone, only you and old Burt. I'm certainly not going backwards Jim."
     Jim had a bit of a laugh at this and then said, "Don't worry mate, I've got a job lined up for ya already for 10 quid a week."
"What doing?"
"Oh, this is a bludge mate. You'll git to ride around on a header all day in the wheat paddocks."
"Doing what?"
"About every hour, you'll jump off and grease a big, automatic header for the driver while he's emptying the bin into one of the semi's. After that, ya git back on and ride around for another hour. Ya can't git better than that mate."
"Who will I be working for Jim?"
"The cockys' name is Dick Skipworth. he's got a big place out on the main Lake Cargelligo-West Wyalong Road. He's a pretty decent bloke and he's got a couple of sons; Colin and Kevin. They're real-hard doers mate. You'll like 'em."
"Isn't that where Peter Smith works?
"Yeah mate, Peter's on Fred Harzeys place, just down the road a-ways. You'll probably get to see him. He usually drives the wheat semi for old Fred."
"When do I start?"
"I'll take ya over to their place tomorrow morning mate. Give ya time to pack up ya gear. I'll pay ya up all the money I've been saving for ya Yorky. It's no good hanging around here, ya not making any money sitting on your arse."

     I was still feeling a bit apprehensive at leaving Jims' place. Once again I was off into the unknown. That evening, as I lay in the darkened bedroom, I was thinking of all the things I'd learned from Jim about the Bush.  I heard the voice of silence whisper to me, 'Don't worry Yorky, everything will be alright for you. It's necessary for you to move on. Don't forget, whatever pleases you holds you back mate.'

     The next morning, Shirley made me some breakfast and gave me a couple of items of clothes she'd very graciously washed out for me." Thanks for all the meals and washing you've done for me Shirley."
"That's alright Yorky. I'm glad to have been of some help to you. Don't forget to stop in, if you're ever passing by. You're always welcome here Yorky."

     I loaded my cases and my rifle into Jims' Ute and waved goodbye to his small kids, as Jim and I drove out of the dirt yard, down the Bush track and out onto Burgooney Road. We drove in silence that hot sunny morning. I was contemplating what the new cocky and his sons would be like. Jim was probably wondering who he was going to decide to work for.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

BURT, THE AXE-WIELDING MADMAN © ~ Part 4 ~ CHAPTER 3


     While we were up in the mali paddock chopping up stumps and small trees, Old Burt was in a foul mood.
"Be careful with that axe handle! You've already put a couple of nicks in it!"
"I'm being as careful as I can be Burt. I can't do any more than my best!"
"You're a useless bastard that's why! Not only are ya a useless bastard, you're a useless pommy bastard!"
"What about you Burt? Let's talk about you for a change!"
"What about me?", he said in an angry, defensive way.
"Well, it seems really funny to me, 'cause we're really very much alike, you and I."
"What d'ya mean by that?"
"You think I'm a useless pommy bastard right?"
"Right first time mate!"
"And I think you're a useless Aussie bastard!"
"WHAT!", he roared. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."

     By this time old Burt had steam hissing out of his big hairy ears. He gave the tree a big blow with his axe and all of a sudden, without warning, the axe-head broke off the handle.
"Grand streuth! Fuck me pink! That's your fault, ya pommy bastard!"
     Now he was really pissed so he pulled a long piece of bailing string out of his pocket and tried to bind the handle back together again.
"Here, give me your axe. This broken handled one is good enough for a pommy!"
     The first time I swung the axe, a big splinter tore a hole in mi right hand first finger.
"Shit!", I cursed out loud.
"Now what's the matter with the windging pommy?"
"There's nothing wrong with me. You're the one who broke the axe-handle!"
"You trying to tell me I'm a useless bastard, are ya?"
"Yeh! You're as useless as you say I am."
"Alright ya pommy fucking bastard. You tell me one thing that you can do better than me!"
     After a couple of seconds, I said,
"Alright Burt, I can play a trumpet much better than you can and you'll never be able to play a trumpet as long as your arsehole points to the ground mate!"
     Burts' face went deep purple now and the veins in his neck were just about to pop. The sun was beating down really hot now and through the smoke and haze of the fires I could still make out Burts' distorted features.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!", he roared at the top of his voice. "I'll fucking kill you ya pommy bastard!", he said as he lifted the large sharp bush axe above his head.

     'Uh Oh!', I heard my inner voice say. 'Now you've really done it! You've pushed a big button this time! If I was in your boots I'd start running for my life, mate!'

     As soon as Burt took one step in my direction, I took 10 fast steps in the opposite direction. Off I ran as fast as I could go towards the Bush, which was about 100 yards away.
     As I ran flat out across the soft Mali red dirt it was very hard to get some traction on mi boots. I ran around some of the smoking fires, hoping I would give him the slip in the gray, billowing Bush smoke but when I looked over my shoulder, he was gaining on me like a mad, hungry roo dog!
     I jumped clean over one small fire and then over a couple of big old logs, looking over my shoulder very quickly. Again old Burt was still hot on mi tail. His slanty eyes were now wide open and bulging just like a big bullfrogs' and he had foam and saliva running out of the corners of his tightly stretched mouth.

      Faster and faster I ran across the paddock. I had a big pain in mi chest as mi breath was violently being sucked in and out. I only had about 20 yards to go now as I headed for the thickest part of the scrub I could see. I now knew how a big, old gray roo felt with an arse full of buckshot.

     Old Burt started to roar again when he realized I'd outrun him, which under the circumstances was not surprising.
"Ya pommy bastard! I'll fucking split ya in two when I get a good swing at ya!"
     I did not waste my breath trying to answer him because my heart and head were pounding with pain as the breath came in loud raspy gasps. The next second, mi right boot hit hard ground as I threw misen headlong through the dense scrub. Some of the thorny bushes ripped mi shirt and tore at my bare arms but it made no difference. I slowed down very little as I pushed the low hanging branches out of mi way.
"Come back here ya useless pommy bastard!", Burt roared from the edge of the Mali where he'd finally given up the chase.
     I was in such a state of fear and dread that I even pissed misen a little bit but I pressed on into the Bush till I felt like I was safe, away from Burt.
"You'll have to come out of the scrub before the day's out mate and when ya do, I'll git ya!"
     My breathing was still deep and raspy so I just crouched behind a Wattle bush and watched old Burt rant and rave from a safe distance.

     'Now what do I do?', I thought. 'If I stay in the scrub I'll more than likely die of thirst.' By now I was really dry and thirsty. 'If I go back to the Mali Paddock old Burt will kill me!'

     The only thing left for me to do now as to have a good cry, then I could think straight again and maybe I could work out how I was going to get myself out of the bind I was now in.

     I spent about 2 hours in the scrub watching old Burt in the distance as he wailed away with the axe at an old box-tree stump. It would be dark soon enough and old Burt would hop in the Ute, with his dogs in the back and leave me in the Bush, on mi own, all night with no food or water.
     Thirsty as I was, I had no intention of coming out of the Mali. I could probably survive for another day with no water if I kept still but I would not survive for 24 seconds with an axe sticking out of mi head!
     Finally, the sun went down and old Burt made his way back over to where I was hiding,
"Ya better come out now mate. It's time to go home."
"Fuck you Burt! You're gonna kill me with that axe!"
"I've cooled down now. I'm sorry about that."

     Now, I was close to tears again when Burt said he was sorry because I now knew he was a sick man and not in full control of his faculties.

"Come on Richard, let's forget all about it. Ya can even smoke while ya work, long as ya don't slack off."
'Ya promise ya won't kill me if I come out?", I yelled at him.
"Alright, I promise. I'll not hurt ya mate. Come on, hurry up or the missus will get worried about us being late."

     He sounded his normal, miserable self now so I decided to walk out of the scrub. When I got a few feet away from him he said,
"Ya wanna go to a tennis match with me on Sunday arvo?"
"Alright.", I said.
"There'll be some boys ya own age there. You'll have a good time with 'em."
     We walked off across the paddock together, back to his Ute. On the way home we never spoke a word to each other and when we got back to the house Kay came out and said,
"Where have you two been? Ya late! I was worried about ya. We're having rabbit stew for dinner tonight and after we'll have some homemade ice cream."

     The next time I went to town, I happened to tell someone about Burt chasing me with the axe and before long, the story was all over the town. To this day, it is well known around Lake Cargelligo that Yorky, the new Chumi from Yorkshire, was the only bloke ever to outrun old Burt Booth, off the football field.

SHEARING FOR THE FIRST TIME AT OLD BURTS~ © Part 5 ~ CHAPTER 3

     Early one Saturday morning, a cloud of dust appeared on the track to Burts' house yard. At the front of the dust cloud was a green Ute. Towed behind it was a 25 ft. caravan.
     This site caught my attention because a visitor was a rare happening at old Burts place. The big caravan rolled up the track and stopped right outside the chain-link fence. As the dust settled, I saw the sign on the side of the Ute.
                 BILL AND MADGE SPENCE, TOOLS, IMPLEMENTS AND CLOTHES.
     Bill Spence blew the Utes' horn loudly. Before long, Burt appeared at the back door. When he saw who it was, he pushed the fly-screen door open and stepped off the verandah to make his way to the back gate.

'G'day!", he called out to the visitors. "Haven't seen ya's around for a while. Where've ya been?
     Burt leaned on the drivers' side door as he spoke. After a few minutes he motioned, with his hand, to a clump of Pine trees that always offered a shady spot, out of the hot sun.

     The Ute and its' caravan pulled over to the shade trees. The door of the Ute opened and out got a short, fat, balding man. He looked to be in his 50s'. He had a fat face which was sun-browned, a fat, round nose and a thick neck which supported a double-chin and the huge head. He had a fat-barreled body and short, stocky legs which ended up in a pair of work-socks and  boots. He wore a pair of short shorts which are known in the Bush as 'Stubbies.  Bill Spences' large belly hung over the stubbies. He had on a decent-looking bush shirt.

     The passengers side door opened as I rested mi boot on the cow-yard rail. I leaned mi head on mi hands and mi arms on the top rail.
     A gray-haired woman got out of the passenger side of the Ute. She was about the same age as the man. Her face was not as fat as his.  I wouldn't say it was a beauty, by any means. She had a large, pointy nose and somewhat rosy cheeks which were not small. She sported 3 extra chins under the original one. Her shoulders were bigger than mine and her upper arms were 3 times as fat as mine were. An enormous set of udders hung from her chest.
     She wore a dark blue work singlet on her top end. On her bottom end She wore a large pair of Bombay Bloomers, which hung down to her fat knees. The back of the bloomers where pulled up so high that the crack of her huge arse was plainly visible from my point of view, which was about 50 feet away. At the bottom of her fat ankles, she wore a pair of thongs.

"G'day Kay!", she yelled, as she made her way round the front of the Ute which had a large roo-bar on it.
"G'day Madge.", answered Kay, who had just walked out in her dressing gown to see who the visitors were.
     Madge gave old Kay a hearty hug and pattered her on the back. Bill stood and talked to Burt, as he awaited his turn for a hug.

"G'day Kay.", he said, when his turn came. "Nice to see ya again. "How's life been treating ya then?"
"Oh, can't complain.", said Kay, as old Bill let her go.
"Thought we'd stop in and see ya this time around.", said Bill. "We missed ya last trip. We took another route and ended up getting a few new cutomers out of it, so it was worth the trouble."
"Come inside and have a cuppa'.", said Kay to Madge.
"We've got all we need in the caravan.", said Madge.
"Don't matter. Come in and have a cuppa' anyway!"
"Alright.", said Madge.

     They all walked through the small, steel gate, up the side of the house to the back door and disappeared inside the house.

     'I wonder who those two characters are?"', I thought, as I finished off milking the old cow, who was now running out of patience. She tried to kick the half-bucket of milk out of mi knees.

    After milking was over, I took the milk across to the butter-shed. The butter shed was a small, well-built shed about 6-foot square. It was covered in, at each side, by mosquito wire. Sometimes Burt used to hang a freshly-butchered wether in the butter-shed while it set. That way the blowflies couldn’t get at it.
     I poured the milk through a strainer and then put the milk into the stainless-steel churn. I started to crank the high-geared handle. After a while, the skimmed milk came out of a spout and the fresh butter stayed inside the churn.

     I always fed the skim milk to Burts’ ‘children’, as I called them. They were actually small, black piglets. Even the piglets had a hard time in the Bush. If the old sow gave birth to them outside, the crows would come sweeping down for the afterbirth and many-a-time the crows were not content with that so they’d peck off a newborn pigs’ tail which left the piglet with a small, upturned stump.

     As the piglets grew so did the level of torture because now the pig had no tail to swish so the bush and blowflies could sit on his arse all day with no interruption. Every now and again old Burt would douse their arses with sheep-dip. The sheep-dip kept the maggots at bay, which in turn made the pigs life a bit more tolerable. If anyone in the Bush tells you they’re ‘living a pigs life’, you know for sure he’s got flies around his arse. Hence the old Bush saying, ‘There’s no flies on me, mate!’ ‘Yeah, but ya can see where the bastards have been.’

     When I took the plate of raw butter into Kays’ kitchen, everyone was sat around the table, laughing and joking. This surprised me a bit ‘cause there was not usually too many jokes in old Burt. Kay took the butter from me and said,
“This is Bill and Madge Spence, Richard. They’ll be staying on the property for a week.”
“Nice to meet ya.” I said in mi new Aussie accent I was just starting to develop.
“G’day.” They said, as they looked me over, staring for too long at the tattoos on mi now brown arms.
“Where d’ya git those tattoos?” said Bill.
“From Rex Stoker in Bradford.”
“Oh, I know Bradford.” Said fat Madge, as she crammed a piece of fresh toast into her face. “My sister lives there. She’s been there for years. Me and Bill are from South Hampton. We’ve been out here for 17 years now.”
“18!” said Bill, as he sucked, disgustingly, on the bone of a lamb chop.

“Jesus!” said Burt. “I’m outnumbered here. I’m the only ‘fair-dinkum’ Aussie in mi own house. I’m surrounded by a bunch of bloody pommies.”
“You’re not a black fellow.” said Bill. “They’re the only fair-dinkum Aussies in Australia, Burt.”
“Suppose you’re right, technically speaking, Bill, but I was born and raised in the Bush and I work hard for a living, not like those ‘lazy bastards.  As far as I’m concerned, I’m a fair-dinkum Aussie and it’s my land now!”
     They all had a good laugh at that. Then Kay said to me,
“Sit yourself down Richard and have some breakfast.”
“Yeh”, said Burt. “You’d better have a good breakfast this morning ‘cause after breakfast we’re going up the paddock to bring the sheep in. I noticed the other day a few fly-blown weathers in ‘em, so we’ll have to shear ‘em and stick a bit of tar on ‘em.”
“Oh great!”, I said. “I’ve only ever seen sheep-shearing on the telly in England. Maybe I can have a go at it, Burt?”
“Ya can have a go but it’s the hardest job in Australia, mate. I doubt whether you’d even be able to git the belly wool off a’ one.”
“Can you shear Burt?”, I said.
“Yeh, but I’m not real fast at it ‘cause I don’t get enough practice. You’ve gotta have a heart as big as a football and a brain the size of a split pea to make a good shearer.”
“Do ya wanna’ hand today Burt?”, said Bill, whose plate now held 3 naked bones. They had been sucked dry by old Bill, who was now sat back slurping down another cuppa of hot, black billy tea.

     ‘The dogs will not be too pleased when they get those bones’, I thought. ‘He’s eaten the grisel as well!’

“Yeh, if ya like Bill. ‘Course I can’t pay ya mate but I can always use another hand.”
“She’ll be right Burt. It’ll give me a chance to work off a bit of a’ weight. I seem to pile it on these days, probably ‘cause I sit around so much, driving all over the Bush. Maybe Madge here might like to give us a hand, eh Madge?”, said Bill, as he gave her a bit of a dig in her spare tires with his elbow.
“Don’t you worry about me Bill Spence, just look after ya own spare tires and I’ll look after mine, alright?” she said in mock anger.
“Streuth you two, no need to fight over who’s gonna work with me.”, said Burt, having a bit of a laugh to himself ‘cause he’d cracked one of his little jokes.

‘Maybe he knows he’s hard to work with.’ I thought, as I stared at his bushy eyebrows and his slit eyes.

“I’m pretty easy to git along with at work.”, said Burt. “So, if ya likes’ ya can both work with me. We’ll git the job done faster.”
“No thanks.”, said fat Madge. I don’t mind eating sheep but that’s as far as it goes.”

    They all had a good laugh over this. Maybe I’m missing the joke here ‘cause I can’t see anything to laugh about, working with hard old Burt.

     After breakfast, me and Burt took off up the paddock with his two black-barb dogs to muster up the sheep. The sheep were scattered all over one of his Bush paddocks and it took the dogs quite a while to round up the rough, woolly wethers.
 
     Once the dogs had rounded up as many sheep as they could find, we started on our way back to the house-paddock where the shearing-shed stood. On the way back Burts’ old dogs saw a mob of Roos and decided to chase them. Old Burt had a shit-fit when the dogs ran off and left us to look after the mob of sheep.
“Come here, ya black bastards!” roared Burt. “Git over here ya useless fucking bastards!”
     The dogs paid no attention to Burt, whatsoever, so we had to wait for them to come back before we could move on.
“That’s what fucking happens when I let ‘em go Roo hunting! The bastards git lazy. They’d sooner chase Roos than work sheep!”
     When the dogs got back, old Burt gave ‘em a real good hiding with a stick.
“Look at the black bastards!, said Burt. “They’re not worth a portion of urine now! They’re rooted from chasing bloody Roos in the hot sun!”
     The two dogs were now laid under a shady tree with their tongues hanging out, having a breather and catching a new breath.
“I’ll shoot ya next time!” yelled Burt at his two dogs who still lay there, panting and heaving.
     We waited in the shade of a Gum tree for a while. Then old Burt roared, “Alright you pair a’ bastards, go back! Go back Rover, you black, lazy bastard! Fetch ‘em up Darkie, ya useless, stupid bastard! I could do a better job myself if I had a couple more legs!”
     Then, he turned, and had a piece of me, “And you, ya useless pommy bastard, don’t just stand there lookin', open the fucking gate! What d’ya expect ‘em to do, jump over?”
‘Fuck you Burt!’, I said under mi breath.
“What did you you say?” he roared, as he came towards me.
“Nothing Burt.”, I said, as I ran for the gate.
“Open both sides!”, he roared. “That’s why there’s 2 gates! You’re as dumb as those two fucking dogs, ya pommy bastard!”
At long last and a lot of cursing later, the sheep were now in the yards and old Burt started to settle back down again.
“Let’s go and have a quick cuppa’. We’ll fetch Bill back down to the yards. He can give us a hand. It’ll make it a lot easier.”
     When we got back to the house, old Burt was as cool-as-a-cucumber again.

     After smoko, the three of us went down to the shearing shed. We filled the shed up with the big, rough, woolly mongrel-bred wethers. As soon as everything was ready, Burt started the Briggs and Stratton motor. He pressed the governor down and swung the handle on the large fly wheel. The engine popped and backfired a few times, then spit out a cloud of blue smoke from the exhaust pipe and slowly came to life. After the engine was warmed up, Burt put the wide, long belt over the shiny pulley, which drove the long overhead shaft and the shearing shed rattled into life. The rotten floorboards vibrated and the tin on the side of the shed shook as the engine cranked away.

     Burt now stood at one of the shearing stands. He stripped down to his pants and singlet and tied some string just below the knees of his thick ex-army pants for a bo-yang. Then he picked up one of the ancient hand-pieces which were aptly named 'hot boxes'. (Some shearers call them 'bog-eyes' because they resemble a bog-eyed lizard.) He put a 3-pronged cutter in place and after that he screwed a comb down on top, screwed down the tension knob, put a good squirt of black sump oil over the comb and cutter, then pushed the ferule on the down pipe and pulled the bog-eye into gear for a test run. CLUNK! ZZZZZZZZZZZ. The counterweight swung over when Burt pulled the string and the hand-piece was now running. He screwed down the tension knob a couple more clicks before he was satisfied it would cut. He pulled it out of gear and said to me,
"Go grab me a sheep, we'd best git started!"

     I opened the pen gate which was held on by some fencing wire and went inside to grab one of the wethers. As soon as I tried to turn it over, the saffron thistles stuck in mi finger ends. I pulled my hand back quickly and removed the long thistle.
"What's the matter with ya now?" said Burt.
"The wool's full of thistles!"
" 'course it fuckin' is! They've been running in a thistle paddock for a couple of months. You'll get used to it in a few days. Anyways, how are ya gonna learn to shear 'em if ya can't stand a few burrs in ya hands!"

     Fat Bill, who was lazily leaning on a broom, started to laugh at me when I tried to get another wether over on its back.
"What are ya doing mate?" he said. "Trying to fuck it? Ya need a good strong pair of gum boots for that and I just happen to have your size in the back of mi Ute"
"Fuck you Bill!", I said, as I dragged the old wether out of the pen.
     Old Bill nearly fell over with laughter at my comment. "Oh that was a good laugh mate. I've never heard an accent like that for years. Say it again Richard!"
"Fuck you Bill!" I said as Burt took the front legs of the sheep.

     Bill roared with laughter again as Burt pulled the string and the bog-eye jumped into gear. It took Burt about 10 minutes to shear the flyblown wether. As he was shearing it, I was thinking to miself, 'I could do that and I could probably do a better job than Burt. When I get off his place, one day I'm going to shear sheep for a living.'

     After the sheep was shorn, old Burt straightened his black and then shoved the sheep out the porthole into the 'counting-out' pen. He showed me how to grab the fleece and throw it on the skirting table where Bill was waiting to skirt it.

"After you've thrown it on the table, sweep up the board and get me another sheep", said Burt.
     After he had shorn about 15 sheep, I said to him,
"Hey Burt, can I have a go at shearing?"
"Ya can finish this one off for me when I get on the last side."

     As soon as Burt had shorn the sheep to the last shoulder just below the leg, he pulled the string and the bug-eye stopped running.

"Here ya go mate.", he said as he handed me the handpiece. "Ya stick him between ya legs like that, bend over him and push down hard on the shoulder with ya left hand. Start from there and run the handpiece on the skin down to his flank. The next blow is supposed to start from here and run it down out to his toe and be careful not to hock him 'cause if ya hamstring him he's dog tucker! Are ya ready?
"Ready!" I said.

     The bog-eye hand-piece was red hot when old Burt handed it to me. I was determined not to complain. Burt pulled the string and the hand-piece flew into gear. The dirt in the wool had blunted the comb and cutter and the tension on the hand-piece was so tight it made it want to twist and spin out of mi hand. I put the comb on the skin and slowly pushed it forwards. The down-tube swung around and the comb dug into the skin as I pushed it down towards the flank.
"Keep it in the wool!"
     By now there was blue oil smoke bellowing out of the comb and cutter.
"Keep it on the skin and cutting wool, then it will stay cool!", said Burt, as I struggled to control the bog-eye.
     The rough-looking wether had worked it out that this was my first go at shearing so just to make it interesting for me, he complicated matters worse than they already were by trying to kick my head off.
"Sit down, ya bastard!" I said, as I tried to keep the hot machine down on the skin but the sheep never took any notice, he kept right on kicking.
"Ya gotta keep the bottom tooth on the skin, mate, if ya wanna make a good, clean shearer!"

     It took me, at least, 15 minutes to finish off the wether. The sweat was now pouring out of me as I bent over him. When I eventually finished shearing him, he looked like a lawnmower had attacked him. There were nicks and cuts all over his back leg and pieces of half-cut wool stuck out all over him. My hand was burned to a blister from the hot bog-eye and my back already had a sharp, crampy pain just above mi bum.
"Is that good enough Burt?"
"Gawd streuth mate! It looks as though ya plucked him! Give 'im to me and I'll clean him up for ya."

     Burt took the sheep and the bog-eye from me and finished cleaning up the wrinkly, old wether. He pulled the string out of gear and the bog-eye stopped. Then he kicked the sheep down the chute and said to me,

"Stop the engine. That'll do us for today. We'll make an early start on 'em tomorrow."
"That job is a lot harder than it looks!" I said to Burt.
"Sure is mate. I'm not much of a shearer but ya should see some of those blokes who live in town.      There's one bloke - Johnny Burt. He shore 250 one day out at Merri Merrigal. He's a real fair-dinkum gun shearer. The only problem is he likes his grog too much. They tell me, in town, that he shore over 200 a day for 2 weeks and at the end of the shed he was in debt to the contractor for 50 quid."
"What did he do with all that money?"
"He pissed it up against the wall, mate and blew the rest on the horses and cards."
"One day, I'm going to be a gun shearer."
"It takes a lot of balls to be a gun shearer and yours are no way big enough to take on that job yet."
"Don't you worry. One day I'll be twice as fast as you are."
"That'll be the fucking day a pommy bastard like you can run rings around me!" Burt said, as fat Bill laughed his head off.

  It was a sunny morning. Burt and Kay walked to Bill and Madges' caravan.
"G'day.", said Burt to Bill. who was straightening out the back of his canvas covered Ute. "Ya got any axe handles for sale this time round Bill?
"Yeh Burt, I picked up a few good-quality hickory sticks on the last trip to Sydney. They even come with their own little wedge. I got 'em at a real good price."
"They look pretty good Bill.", said Burt, as he inspected the grain in the wood to make sure it was running straight down the handle. "These two are a couple of real beauts Bill. I'll take 'em."
"How ya off for working shirts Burt? I've got some real strong King Gees in the Caravan. Madge is in the van with Kay, give her a knock mate. She'll show ya some of the new stuff we picked up."
"Have ya got any light rubber-soled work boots." I asked him.
"Sure have mate. These are the longest wearing work boot you'll find. All the cockys are wearing these boots now-a-days. Ya can't repair 'em but the leather uppers usually wear out before the soles do."
"Have ya got a size 7 Bill?"
"I sure have mate. Just give me a minute while I go through this pile."

     Bill found a pair of work boots for me. I bought 'em because the hob-nailed boots mi step-dad had bought for me were so heavy, they tired mi legs out wearing them around in the Mali country. I also bought misen a pair of King Gee green overalls, the one-piece boiler type. They stopped mi arms getting so burned when I walked from fire to fire with the long-handled shovel, re-starting and stoking up the big piles of stumps and limbs.

     Once everyone had made their purchases, Bill said, "Well Burt, we've decided to get going sometime this morning."
"Streuth, Ya didn't stay long this time."
"Yeh well, ya know how it is Burt. Madge and me have got that traveling gypsy fever now, it's hard to settle down somewhere once you've been on the road as long as we have."
     That morning, Bill and Madges rig slowly drove down Burts' dirt track road and out to the main Lake Cargelligo-West Wyalong Road. I was feeling a bit of sadness as I watched them drive away. Over the past few days, old Burt had lightened up a bit in their company. My feeling was that
as soon as the dust settled it would be all back to what what was called, 'normal'.


     Being true to my word, I started shearing when I was 16 ½ years old. The best tally I ever shore in Australia was 230 on narrow gear and the best tally I ever shore in New Zealand was 375 in crossbred Romney Ewes in 7½ hours.

     18 years I shore sheep just to prove that old bastard wrong! It would probably take me another 18 years to tell what I had to go through, but nothing appears as it truly is and that's another story! The life of a shearer prepared me for the hardest task I've ever had to face, so like it or not, I have a lot to thank old Burt Booth for. He never let me down. He kept right on being his miserable old self.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

MI PAL JOEY ~ PETER SMITH ~ Part 7 ~ CHAPTER 3 ©


     Peter Smith came back out to old Burts' place to see me. He pulled up in Burts' yard one evening and got out of his Ute.
"G'day Yorky.", he said, as he walked around the back of the Ute.
"G'day Peter. How're you going?"
"Good mate. I brought ya something."
     He leaned over the side of the Ute and pulled out a large wheat bag that was tied with a lump of bailing twine.
"What's in the bag Peter?"
"Open her up and have a 'butchers' mate, but be clever."
     He handed me the large sack. Immediately whatever was inside started to move around.
"What's inside Peter?"
"Open the bastard up mate, if ya wanna know."
     I undid the bow which kept the bag shut tight. When I peered down inside it, I saw a young joey kangaroo.
"It's a joey Pete!"
"Yeh mate. I thought ya might like it. It'll be a bit of company for ya. Ya just have to feed it a bottle of boiled milk morning and night but don't be surprised if it dies on ya 'cause they're a bit hard to raise most times."
"Where am I gonna put it?"
"Come on inside ya hut. I'll show ya how to do it mate."
     When we got inside, Peter opened the bag and stuck his hand inside and then pulled the young joey out of the bag by its' tail. It was quite scared of being out in the light so it started to kick and make a clicking sound.
"Stick him up ya jumper mate. He'll quieten down then."
     The young joey crawled up under mi jumper, back into the dark and was quiet as a mouse again, once he made himself comfortable under mi armpit.
"Ya leave the top of the bag tied like this mate, then ya hang it on a nail. This one over here will do. Next, ya cut a slit along the bag, like so. Then it resembles its mothers' pouch. That's it. That'll do mate."
"How do I feed it Peter?"
"Ya git old Kay to boil up a small amount of milk and then ya put it in a bottle and ya put a small amount of burnt cinder powder in it. That'll stop him from getting the scowers. Ya put the rubber teet on the end and the first couple of times you'll have to hold him and force it in his mouth but as soon as he knows the bottle's full of warm milk he'll hold the bottle himself with his hands and feed himself. We'll go over and see old Kay. She used to have a pet too but it got too big and cranky so she let him go. She'll be glad to give ya a hand looking after it. It'll remind her of the time she got her first pet roo, mate.", he said, with a knowing, cheeky wink.

     Peter was no mug. When Kay Booth saw the joey she was more than happy to help, so old Burt couldn't say a word about it. Kay proceeded to tell us all about her pet roo which took about half an hour and when Peter and I got back to mi shed he said,
"I told ya sport. She's on our side now. Better to have old Kay as a friend. It'll make ya life a bit easier out here. How's things going anyway, Yorky?"
     I told Peter about old Burt doing his nut and chasing me with the axe.
"Gawd Streuth mate! We've gotta git ya out of this place while ya still in one piece! I've got a place in mind for ya to go but the bloke is still waiting for a contract to come through and as soon as it does, ya outa' here. I'd take ya back to my place tonight but there's no room and there's no work so I can't do that. Ya think ya can hang on at this place for a while longer?"
"Yeh, I'll be alright. He's been a bit better since he chased me with the axe but I don't like old Burt. He's as miserable as chickenshit."
"Ya not wrong there mate and you're not the only one who thinks that. Anyway mate, I'll be back to see ya again soon so look after ya self Yorky and don't let the bastard git ya down, alright?"
"Alright mate. Thanks for the joey and thanks for looking out for me."
"No worries mate. I'd do the same for a white feller."
"Oh that's a good joke Peter. I'll save that one for old Burt one day."

     After Peter left, Mrs. Booth came over with a bottle of milk with a lambs teet on the end of it.
"Do you want to see if he's hungry Richard?"
"Yeh, let's try him. They shot his mother along with the rest of the mob so he's probably a bit hungry now and he won't feel so frightened once he gets some warm milk into him."
     The young joey kicked and scratched as he tried to get away from me when I took him out of his new pouch.
"Hold him firm while I get the teet in his mouth.", said Kay.
     Once the joey tasted the warm cows milk, he started to settle down until he had finished three-quarters of the bottle. Then he pissed on mi trousers and started to struggle again so I put him back in the old wheat-bag pouch. As soon as he saw the tear across the front of the bag he hopped in headfirst and rolled over on his back then curled himself into a tight ball and went to sleep.

     After a week or so, joey could get out of the bag himself. He could sit right up on his back legs and tail. Already he had learned to hold the bottle himself. He looked so sweet as he sat on the floor of mi hut, feeding himself and looking around.

     Sometimes at night I'd put him in mi bed but one night he pissed all over the sheets so sleeping in the bed with me was now out of bounds to him. Another week and he could hop up on the bed himself but he could not distinguish between the bed and the old dressing table so many a time he would hop up on the table and knock the photos and mi other knick-knacks all over the place. One night when he saw his reflection in the mirror he tried to kick it to death and almost cracked the mirror.

     Joey was a lot of fun. Peter was right, it made staying at old Burts' place a bit more tolerable but life being what it is, it soon took joey away from me.

     One cold morning at about 4 O'clock, I woke up with a start, for some unknown reason. I switched on the one light bulb. Nothing seemed out of place but something did not feel right. Joey was sat in his pouch with his head out of the slit in the bag. His big black eyes were staring across at me.
"Put ya head back in mate, it's a cold morning.", I said but he never moved. "Git back in the pouch where it's warm, joey, or you'll git cold."

     I got out of bed and walked across the cold oil-cloth to where joeys' bag was hanging. When I touched his furry head he was as stiff as a board and at once I knew he was dead.
"Oh fuck! Why did you have to go and die just when we were having a good time together?"
     When I tried to get joey out of the bag pouch, I saw the reason for his death. A loose strand of bag had gotten twisted around his neck as he got back in his pouch, head first and as soon as he tried to turn around, the piece of frayed string had tightened around his throat and choked him.
     I had a good cry to myself as I cut the string from around his neck and pulled his stiff little body out of the bag.

     Before breakfast, I showed old Kay what had happened and she was also quite upset about it.     When Burt found out he said,
"They're pretty hard to raise. If they don't get the scowers they git a cold and if it's not any of those two things, it's something else."
"What do I do with him now Burt? Shall I bury him somewhere?"
"Na mate, just chuck his body to the pigs. It's no good to him now so the pigs may as well eat it. Everything has some use in the bush, mate. We''ll all end up as tucker for something one of these days."

     For once, I could see that old Burt was right. Joey could no longer use a dead roos' body, so I hardened my heart and threw the dead body into the pigs pen and walked away.

      Even though I was not happy at Burts' place, I was starting to see that everything in the Bush was designed that way by Nature herself. She also taught me that all forms of attachment always end up in misery, eventually.