The day after I quite Jimmy Xmas' Cafe, I went tractor driving for a cocky, Roger Thom. He was a tall, droll sort of bloke who had his own place a few miles out of the lake. Roger was as blind as a bat without his glasses. He was a real good Aussie Rules player. Every time he picked up the ball, the opposition, or the opposition supporters would yell,
"His fuckin' specs are off! That'll slow him down a bit!"
Many's the time Roger had to go looking all over the field for his specs, even though he'd got them tied on with a piece of elastic.
I stayed out at Rogers' property so there was no problem as regards sleeping arrangements 'cause he had a small hut, not far from the main house.
Sowing wheat was quite a hard job. A flat-top truck was loaded up with seed wheat and super phosphate. It was usually parked in one of the corners of the paddock. On most occasions, a couple of 44 gallon drums of distillate were also carried on the flatbed. The combine that was being pulled had 4 long boxes on the back. These boxes had to be loaded up with seed wheat at the front and superphosphate at the back.
My job was to drive round and round the paddock until the boxes were almost empty. Then I'd have to get off the tractor and refill them. The job of refilling was not as easy as it sounds for a young bloke, just over 16 and weighing 120 pounds. The wheat bags could weigh between 160 and 180 pounds. I had to take them on mi back, off of the flatbed and walk a few yards to where the back of the combine stood. The superphosphate bags could be sorta' humped up onto the box but sometimes I'd have to walk up the back step to get the wheat bag in place. Once the boxes were full, I'd start makin' a round until they needed filling again.
Usually, a cocky would divide his paddock up into 500 acre blocks. I enjoyed drivin' around on the tractor all day 'cause I was completely alone. Most times, I'd drive 24 hour shifts before I got off the tractor, then I'd have a feed at Rogers' place, take around 5 or 6 hours sleep, then drive back up the paddock to take over from Roger.
Tractor driving was good money for me, in those days. Most cockys were paying 80 cents an hour, so in a 24-hour shift, I could clock up almost $20. Twenty dollars every 24 hours was a huge raise for me, in comparison to Showground wages.
Although night-times could be really cold, I enjoyed them the best of all. I would stuff sheets of newspaper inside mi King Gee overalls to keep the cold out. An ex-army balaclava kept mi earlobes from snappin' off. Sometimes it was pitch-dark, except for the 2 small tractor headlights.
The only part I didn't enjoy, although it was exciting, was when I'd have to walk across the paddock in the dark, on mi own, to get the flat-top truck which had to be driven up the headland.
Most times, I was miles from anywhere and all alone. Some times mi mind used to try and play tricks on me. The Mali trees would appear to move and a large mali stump would turn into a big monster. I used to check behind me, every minute or so, for the mad, chain-saw killer that I knew was sneakin' up on me, but he was always to fast! As soon as I spun around, he would disappear back into the darkness and I would run like hell, towards the tractor. Once in the seat, I would jam mi foot on the clutch, stick it into second gear and pull the throttle-stick back to 1600 revs. Away I would go on another couple of rounds before repeating the whole process again, monsters and all.
I was really pleased to see the daylight as it slowly appeared. It always made the Mali trees appear like large skeletons just before the rim of the large, flaming sun greeted me. An hour before sunrise was always the coldest part of the morning, not to mention the wet dew which would dry out as the glorious sun rose.
Sometimes the red dust almost choked me as I drove around those paddocks. At times, when I spat, a large, dirty red pile of mucus would fly out.
Tractors, in those days, rarely had a cab over the seat. The eyes, nose and ears would get chock-a-block full of the red dust.
One evening, as I was driving around, there came a point when I felt really tired. My eyes started to droop so I shook mi head a few time. This little trick worked for a while but soon the eyes drooped again. The loud roar of the tractors' exhaust pipe, along with the diesel fumes didn't help matters either. Then, I'd try singin' out loud at the top of mi voice. This soon gave way to the droopy eye syndrome again. The next trick I tried was somewhat more drastic. I'd slap mi face and yell,
"Wake up ya lazy pommy bastard wake up!" After that failed, I woke up with a hell a of fright, hundreds of yards off the line, heading towards the thick Mali trees.
"Bastard! Shit! Fuck!", I'd scream, in anger, as I turned the tractor and combine around to trace mi way beack to where I'd gone off the line.
One morning, Roger noticed a long plough-line that ran acaross the paddock, at a strange angle. The end of the line looped around and headed back towards the sown-down land.
"Hey Yorky.", he said in a droll voice.
"What d'ya want Roger?", I said, over the sound of the exhaust.
"Did ya' go on a bit of a mystery tour last night?"
I never had to say anything 'cause mi sleep ride was sown into the land for anyone to see.
"I've done that miself.", he said "But be careful mate, don't ruin mi good tractor up a tree."
"Don't worry.", I said. "It won't happen again. Next time, I'll stop for an hour or so sleep."
"Good on ya Yorky. I'm not complaining. I don't know how ya do it mate. 5 or 6 hours on that fuckin', bone-jarrin' tractor and I'm ready for a good sleep!"
Once all of Rogers' crop was sown down, I'd worked miself out of another job.
Back to Lake Cargelligo I went. This time, I had to find a place to live so I went over to Twitcheys' Hotel to enquire how much a room would cost. Twitcheys' wife, Annette, was a tall, good-lookin' Mediterranean type. She was always well-dressed. To my knowledge, she never messed around on old Twitchey.
Annette rented me a basic, dry and clean room for a very nominal price. I booked in on a residential basis which also made it cheaper. I was now in a position to hang around the bars. It wasn't that I liked hangin' around drunks but if I wanted to find casual work, all business was conducted from a bar stool in any one of the Lakes' three hotels.
I had a few bucks tucked away now from all the long hours of tractor drivin', plus I'd finished up the payments on mi Honda 90, so I was well in front.
