That evening, after dinner, we hired a couple of taxis and went down to Cabramatta, to check out the town. The taxis arrived and we all piled in on top of each other. As we were pulling out of the farm, Defoe appeared and said,
"Keep ya fucking noses and cocks clean. I don't want any of you pommy bastards coming home with a dose of the clap! This is a fucking training farm not a fucking hospital so don't go rooting around 'cause there's a few loose sheilas around Cabramatta and don't git in any fights with those budgies and fucking widgies' 'Fuckin' puftas.', he said to himself.
"Where ya like-a go?", said the Greek taxi driver.
"Drop us off where the action is.", said Ralph, who was one of the oldest boys.
"Not a problem mate. We overloaded, so if ya see-a the cops, keep ya heads down or I lose-a mi license."
The taxi man dropped us all off in Cabramattas' Main street. There was not much happening. We bought some milkshakes and walked up and down the street looking in the shop windows. When we came to another Cafe, I went inside and bought misen 2 - 2 ounce packets of Havelock rolling tobacco. I could not pass it up because it only cost 7 Aussie bob a packet.
The next shop I went into was a Army Disposal store. I knew exactly what I was looking for.
"G'dy Sport, what can I do you for mate?", said the Aussie shopkeeper.
"I'm looking for a good sheath knife."
"No worries mate. I've got sheath knives coming out the Yazoo. Have a Captain Cook at some of these sport. Ya bound to find a beauty in that case. Give us a holler if ya need some help."
I looked through the case for quite a while before I choose a German-made 6" Soligen steel, black-handled, sheath knife.
"I'll take this one."
"That's a good-looking knife sport. She's got a beaut blade on her. That'll set ya back 2 quid mate."
I paid the man his 2 pounds which left me with 15 shillings to mi name.
"Look after ya self mate and don't get that knife tangled up in a Dago."
"What's a Dago?"
"Christ mate, where the bloody hell have you been all ya life? Did ya just arrive on the last boat?"
"Yes", I said. "I've only been in Australia for 2 days."
"Gawd streuth mate, You pommies are coming out here younger every year! I suppose ya work up at the Big Brothers Dairy Farm do ya?"
"Yeah. There's 16 of us."
"Well sport, A Dago is a Greek. Another name for 'em is a 'Grill.'
"Why do you call them these names?"
" 'Cause at the end of a days work they say, 'Day Go'. Most of 'em work the milk bars and they're always grilling something or other. That's where they get the name 'grills' from. Ya see sport? Now we've also got a lot of Italians in this great country of ours. We call 'em 'wops' and the Abos are called 'bungs', cause if ya hit 'em with the roo bar of the truck, they make the sound 'Bung'. D'ya get it cobber?", he said and then had a good laugh to himself. "Now take your English gentlemen for example. In our country, we don't recognize your class system so we call you blokes 'limeys' or better still Pommy bastards cause you've got skin like pomegranates!"
The Aussie laughed again.
"G'day sport, see ya round like a rissole!", he said, as I left his shop.
There was not much to do or see in Cabramatta at 9:30 at night in 1964. We boys sat around on a couple of street benches outside the Post Office while some of the other boys posted their cards and air-a-grams. Some of the local kids just tore up and down the streets in their hotted-up Holden cars.
A short while later, a couple of young girls came walking down the street in their stiletto-heeled, high boots and hiked up skirts. They were absorbed in conversation as they drew close to our benches.
"Hello darlins', where are you two lovelies going?", said Peter, who was the oldest of our crew.
The one with the most makeup on and the high back-combed hair, turned and gave him a sarcastic smile. "Root ya fuckin' boot, ya pommy bastard!", she said and continued on talking to her friend.
"Charming, I must say.", said Peter.
"Fuck you, ya pommy bastard.", said her friend, then picked up the conversation where she's been interrupted.
We all watched them swing their arses and handbags until they turned the corner out of sight.
"You're a real charmer with the ladies Peter.", said one of the boys.
"How would you like to take those two home and introduce them to your mum?"
"Not bloody likely!", said Peter. "I hope that's not an example of the everyday Aussie chick!"
It was getting late now. We called another taxi service and drove back out to the farm. When we piled out of the Taxis and paid off the drivers, Ralph, who was one of the smaller boys said,
"Look what I found in town!"
He opened a bag and pulled out a small box of fireworks.
"You'd better not set them off here Ralph or Bill Defoe will kick your arse.", I said to him.
"Bollocks to Bill Defoe. There's no bangers, there's only Fountains, Fizzers and Catherine wheels."
Ralph walked over to the fence and stuck a couple of Fountains in the cracks of the fence post. I must admit, it was really good to see the bright, gaudy colors of the Fireworks. Then he pinned 4 Catherine Wheels to the fence post and lit them all at once. The Catherine Wheels buzzed and spun for all they were worth and after a few minutes they died out.
"That's it! The shows over. Let's go to bed. I'm knackered and tomorrow we've got to get up at 5."
The mosquitoes that evening were particularly aggressive. The more repellent I sprayed on the body, the more they seemed to like it. In the morning, even the back of mi ears had tiny, itchy mosquito bites and bumps all over them.
I was usually the first out of bed but this morning Bill Defoes' voice beat me to it.
"Get out of those fart sacks you pommy bastards. Who the fucking hell was setting off fireworks last night?"
Ralph, who was not particularly a good getter-upper, pulled the covers off his head and said,
"I was. Why? What do you want, shouting your head off at this time of night?
Defoe just about blew his stack!
"Get out-a bed you fucking yobo before I piss all over ya!"
He grabbed Ralphs bed-covers and ripped em clean off the bed, revealing Ralphs' scrawny body, curled up in the fetus position.
"Get ya plates of meat on the deck boy before I chuck a bucket a' water on ya!"
"What's the matter?", said Ralph.
"I'll show ya what the bloody matter is sport!", said Defoe. "Put ya boots on and come with me!"
"What about mi clothes?"
"Fuck ya clothes! You've got nought to brag about anyway! Come on! Hurry up!"
Ralph put his boots on and followed Defoe out of the hut. He walked over to the fence post where Ralph had set off the fireworks. We all followed Ralph and Defoe outside.
As soon as we left the Nisson Hut, I knew what had made Defoe mad. Gray smoke was still drifting out of the wooden fence post. The whole top of the post was now a large, charred piece of black charcoal.
"OH SHIT!", said Ralph as he saw the post through his squinty, sleepy eyes.
"Ya stupid, fucking pommy bastard! Look at what ya have done to mi fence post! Had ya have done that in dry bush country, we'd have a bloody bush fire on our hands now mate! If ya had another brain in ya head lad, it would be fucking lonely! Ya silly yahoo bastard, go and get ya strides on and after breakfast, I'll show ya where the fence posts are kept. Ya can dig that bastard out and stick a new one in. Then I'll show ya how to re-strain the fence backup!"
Ralph stood there in his boots and underpants. He still looked half-asleep so Bill Defoe kicked him in the arse and said,
"Wake up to ya self ya sleepy, pommy bastard! Go and get some gear on!"
Defoes' size 10 boot bounced off of Ralphs' arse. At last Ralph was back again, in the land of the living. He gave Defoe a dirty look and then took off at the double, back to the hut to put his work gear on.
After breakfast, Bill Defoe told us all about the dangers of Bush fires and how farmers had lost thousands of head of good stock. He said he'd seen black burned-up carcasses for miles and miles. By the time he finished we were all well-educated in how not to start a Bush fire.
The following morning, I was up and dressed early. Before breakfast, I went around to the barn where the bales of hay were kept. Once inside, I paced out 15 paces, then turned around and pulled mi knife out of its sheath. Pnnnnn! The knife flew through the air as I threw it towards the bales. I practiced for an hour, throwing the knife and trying to get it to stick into a bale. On one try, the knife slipped somehow and cut an inch and a half cut on the ball-part of mi thumb.
After Breakfast, I went back to the barn for another couple of throws before starting work. As I threw the knife into the bale, it bounced off and landed in the soft hay which was all over the floor.
"Not like that Yorky, ya silly pommy bastard!", he said as he came in the barn. "Give me the knife before ya cut ya fucking hand off mate.", said Defoe.
I retrieved the knife and handed it to Bill Defoe.
"Gawd streuth mate, what happened to ya fucking hand?"
"I don't know how to throw a knife Bill. I was just practicing."
"Alright mate, first thing is, ya never hold it like that or you'll cut yourself every time. Ya hold it like this, see. Now the trick is, at this distance the knife should only turn once before it hits the bale. You've got it spinning around too many times Sport. Git out a the way a minute."
Bill Defoe threw the knife with great concentration. The knife spun around only once and stuck into the bale of hay, right up to the hilt.
"What a good shot Bill. Where'd ya learn to throw a knife like that?"
"Never mind that Yorky, the point is I can. Go and git it and I'll show ya again."
After handing Bill the knife, he hurled the knife at the bale of hay and it stuck blade-first again.
"Stick a target on the bale.", said Bill, as he looked at the knife.
I put an old, flattened cigarette packet against the bale. Bill threw the knife again. The knife turned over once and the blade stuck straight in the packet.
"Have a go Yorky mate. Keep ya thumb straight along the side of the blade so ya don't cut ya self."
I held the blade as he had shown me and threw the knife towards the fag packet. I missed the packet but the blade sunk into the soft hay, right up to the hilt.
"Good on ya mate. You're a real fast learner. It won't be too long before you're as good as me!", he said with a cheeky grin.
Just then, Maurice walked into the barn. Maurice had bought a Puma sheath knife in England before he left home and he always carried it on his belt,
"What the fuck are you after Maurice, ya scrawny arsed bastard!"
"I saw you through the open door. Can you teach me to throw mi Puma like Yorky?"
"Give us the bastard here, Maurice. Let's have a look at it."
"Gawd, fuck me blind Maurice, ya must have paid a fortune for this knife! It's a top 'a the line German steel. It's even got the diamond test mark on it. See."
Maurice and me leaned over to look at what Bill Defoe was pointing to.
"Why do they make that mark Bill?", I said.
"It's a diamond test mark. They put the blade in a jig and screw some pressure on it to see how hard the steel is and if it doesn't come up to scratch, they scrap it." All good blades have that mark on 'em Yorky. That's what ya look for on a knife before ya buy it."
Bill tested Maurices' knife for balance, then threw it towards the bale. The knife just missed the fag packet but it stuck blade first into the soft hay.
"Jesus!, I missed the bastard! I must be going fucking blind in mi old age."
Bill taught Maurice how to throw his Puma and the first time the knife stuck in the hay bale, a wide grin spread across Maurices face.
"That's it Maurice, all ya gotta do is practice now mate. Alright lads, put those fucking knives away now. Ya can practice on your own time, not mine. Come on outside here, I've got a couple of jobs for ya."
"He's not a bad bloke after all.", said Maurice, as we retrieved our knives.
"He's a real great bloke!", I said. "He may be a bit rough but he's got a big heart. I'll miss old Bill when we leave this place."
A few days later Defoe gave 6 of the older boys 5 pounds each and a train ticket to a Bush town.
"The Cocky will meet ya at the station.", he said. "So, good luck lads. This is Gods' own country and with a bit of hard work and a few brains ya should do alright for ya selves."
We said our goodbyes to each other and that was the last I saw of them. As the days went by Bill Defoe kept getting phone calls from Mr. Mansell, the Aussie Director of the BBM. Each time he got a phone call, a few more boys were shipped out, until only 2 of us remained, Me and Maurice.
One day, I said to Bill, "What about me and Maurice, Bill? Haven't ya got a place for us to go to yet?
"Ya sure ya won't change ya mind about going in the Army, Yorky?"
"Quite sure Bill. I'm itching to get out to the Bush. I've been looking forwards to that for 2 years now."
"Alright mate, ya old enough to leave home so I guess ya old enough to make decisions for ya self. You and Maurice will be leaving tomorrow morning. Better roll ya swag bright and early.", He walked away resigned to the fact that Army life was not going to be for me.
It was difficult for me to sleep that evening cause all I could think of was red dust and kangaroos. When morning finally came, I was packed up within half an hour. I made mi way across to the kitchen for some breakfast. After breakfast, we said goodbye to the cook and went back to the Nisson hut. Before long, Bill Defoe came through the doorway and said,
"Here's ya ticket Maurice. There's 5 quid for ya start in life. Here's your ticket Yorky and here's a fiver mate. Make sure you look after it 'cause you'll have to work bloody hard in the Bush for a fiver."
"Thanks Bill.", I said. You're a real good bloke. You've really helped me a lot since I've been here."
"Root ya boot Yorky.", he said with a slight waver in his voice. "Ya train leaves at 2 in the afternoon from Sydney Central so don't go fucking around Sydney and miss 'em or you'll be sleeping on the station all night."
About an hour later, one of the Jackaroos loaded our cases into his car and drove us both down to
Cabramatta station. Before long, Maurice and me were humping our cases onto the Central Stations' platform.
It was now about 11 in the morning. We had to wait until 2 for Maurices' train. Mine didn't arrive until 4:15. We sat around the station smoking fags and eating hot chips, covered in tomato sauce.
There was no one left in mi life now to say, "don't do this' or 'don't do that'.
The train Maurice was due to take, arrived on time. I helped him put his 2 large bags on board.
"Look after yourself Maurice.", I said as he climbed up the steps. "Keep practicing with your knife mate and best of luck to ya."
"Same to you Yorky.", he said and then went inside to find his seat.
I watched the train slowly pull out of Central Station.
Unbeknownst to me, a couple of years later, I found out from one of the boys I accidentally met while traveling around the show grounds, that poor, old Maurice was gored to death by a large stud bull. The bull was in heat and really cranky. Maurice was walking through the paddock when the bull decided to charge him. He ran for the fence but he was not fast enough. The bull stuck one of its horns straight through Maurices' back and broke it. Then it gored him into the ground.
I was now sitting on Central Station by mi self. I felt rather sad as I sat there, thinking about all the people I had left behind; mi mother, dad and sisters, the 15 lads I'd lived with at the Training Farm, Bill Defoe. They were all in the dead past now.
'Oh well.', I thought, as I wiped away some tears that slowly trickled down mi cheeks, 'I'm left with what I started out with, mi self!'
