THE ADVENTURES OF YORKY, THE POMMY SHEARER ©

STRANGLING THE KANGAROO ©

2009-08-20T10:15:00.000-07:00

“Ya ever had a fuck Yorky?”, said Kevin.
"Na mate, I’m only 15. I doubt whether I'd git one in a brothel with a walletful of money."
We had a good laugh at this one.
"You'll have to come into town and stay at my place one night Yorky. I'll take ya down the main street after dark and introduce ya to the town bike."
"What's a town bike?"
"Not what mate, who? is more like it."
"OK, then who?"
"Who, is a young sheila that loves it. She's called the town bike because everybody rides her, Yorky. Don't ya git it mate?"
"I do now." I said. "But, I think I'll stick to walking until I git a ute."
"Yeh, that'll git ya a sheila, mate." he said with a smile.
After about an hour of joking and driving Kevin said to me, "We'll grease her up this time around Yorky. After I've finished dumping her I'll show ya how to grease her."
Once I became familiar with the header it only took me a few minutes to grease her, which I did while Kevin was emptying out her bin into the truck. Greased and emptied, we set off around the wheat paddock again.
"What's the matter?" said Kevin as I scratched away at my shoulders and the back of my neck.
"The wheat dust is making my skin itchy, mate."
"Yeh, you'll get itchy for the first couple of days, then after that you'll git used to it, mate. Wait till we start stripping the oats and barley. They're much worse than wheat mate."
"How long does it take to git used to that, Kevin?"
"Oh, once you've scratched all the skin off Yorky, you won't notice it anymore." he said with a grin.
Our days passed very much like that for about 8 weeks. One night as we were driving home, Digger said to me, "Grab the rifle off the back window will ya Yorky mate."
"No problem, mate." I said as I turned around to get it.
"There's a box of 22's in the glove box," said Kevin. "Fill the mag up will ya mate?"
"What ya gonna shoot?
"We need a couple of roo's for dog tucker. Diggers' got five dogs and
I've got six of the bastards plus the old man has a couple, so two roos don't last very long between a dozen or so dogs. There's some scrub country up the back of Diggers' place so we'll swing by there on our way home. We'll get two or three quite easy 'cause it's right on dusk now."
"There's a small mob." said Digger, as we drove along side one of his fences.
"Jump in the back with the gun, Digger. Once you've shot one we'll chase 'em down the fence line. If we're lucky you'll git one on the hop!"
Digger very quietly opened the door and climbed in the back of the Ute with Kevin's' 5-shot Bruno 22. BANG! A half-grown roo fell over on its' side and the others took off at top speed.
"Hang on Digger!" yelled Kevin as we bounced over the rough paddock dirt track.
"Wait till we git a bit closer, sport. OK Digger, let 'em have it!"
Digger fired 2 shots and a big roo hit the dust. 2 more shots rang out, but the roos kept hopping.
"Ah, ya useless fucking bastard!" yelled Kevin out the window. "Ya only got one of 'em."
Diggers rough head came into view upside-down in Kevins' side window and said, "You fucking try hitting 'em with a pea rifle off the back of a Ute with no crate on, if ya so fucking good Kevin. It's not as fucking easy as it looks, mate. Anyway, it took me all mi time to hang on. I almost fell out!"
"Ah ya fucking useless Digger", yelled Kevin. "Too much fucking wanking is your problem, mate."
"Well it's cheaper than looking after a fucking wife in town, Kevin."
At first I used to think that they were fair dinkum when they spoke to each other this way but after a while I came to realize that it was all designed to entertain me and entertain me they did.
The Ute pulled up alongside where the roo was now balanced on one leg and his tail and from looks of him he was not in a very good mood.
"He looks a bit cranky." said Kevin, as we got out of the cab.
"He's got a broken leg, that's why." I said.
"They're pretty tough bastards." said Digger, who was sitting on the edge of the back of the Ute.
"They sure are Digger." I said.
"You think you're as tough as a roo, Yorky?" said Digger.
"What d'ya mean Digger?"
"Well, for instance, it would be a bit of a shame to waste another good bullet on him, wouldn't it? "
"I suppose so." I said in my naiveté, not knowing I was in the process of being set up.
"Ya could strangle him, Digger." I said, which was exactly what he'd wanted me to say and I'd taken the bait, hook, line and sinker!
"Yeh, I probably could mate, but I'll bet mi boots a pommy bastard like you wouldn't be able to strangle him."
There was no way out of the challenge now 'cause I was in too deep, so my next line had to be "How much ya wanna bet, Digger?"
"How much ya make a week, Yorky?"
"10 quid. Why?"
"I'll bet ya half a weeks wages."
"You're on Digger." I said as I offered him my handshake.
"Ya words good enough for me, Yorky." he said with a big smile.
"Jesus Christ!" said Kevin. "This'll be a bit of fun. The pommy versus the roo, to the death!"
'Oh shit!' I thought, you let them con you Yorky, now you'll have to go through with it or they'll take the piss out of ya for weeks on end. They'll say that you're a gutless pommy bastard. You'll never hear the end of it.
"Whenever you're ready Yorky." said Digger. "Take ya time mate. He's got a real strong tail. Look how he's sitting up there mate!"
I turned to face the roo, who was now growling and raring to go. As I moved towards him he moved around a bit so he was still facing me, so I moved back around the other way. As soon as I made my move the roo made his, so he was still facing me. I thought, 'I may be able to run around the back side of him', but he saw what I was up to and hopped around on his one good leg and thick strong sinuous tail to face me again.
"Ya not making much headway with him Yorky." said Kevin.
"I think the pommy's scared of him." said Digger.
"If I go at him face on, Digger, he'll kick mi guts out mate!"
"Yeh, he most likely will Yorky." said Digger, who was now chewing on a piece of wheat stalk.
"Tell ya what I'll do for ya Yorky." said Kevin, with a smile. "I'll distract him with a branch and you sneak around the back of him and when he's not looking at ya, run in and grab him mate!"
"OK!" I said, glad for some help. "Go grab a big stick."
Kevin moved over to the side of the fence and picked up a large stick with some eucalyptus leaves on the end of it.
"Alright Yorky!" he said with a big smile. "Git ready mate!"

Kevin walked in front of the roo and shook the stick in the roos face and as the roo turned to face him I made the best of my opportunity. Running towards the roo, I grabbed him by the throat with mi bare hands. This really pissed him off. As I started to squeeze, he put his hands up to my hands that were wrapped tightly around his neck and started to claw at them, so I squeezed his neck much harder now. He fell over backwards on top of me, which knocked me to the ground, but by this time we were both fighting for our lives. As we rolled around on the ground the roos one good back leg kept coming in, up and down with great force as his large razor sharp toenail cut through the air trying to connect with some solid pommy skin. The red dust was flying quite thick now as we rolled around in the dirt. The roos' large, thick tail was thumping the ground as he tried to get his balance back so he could regain his one good leg. We were so close together now that we could smell each other and he sure didn't like the smell of white, pommy, Palmolive flavored skin, so he kicked as hard as he could while at the same time trying to twist his body so he was facing me.
I could hear Digger and Kevin laughing their heads off as Digger said, "Look out Yorky, If he gets turned around to face ya, ya fucked mate! I'll never collect mi five quid!" he roared with laughter.
"Fuck you Digger!" I screamed. "And fuck ya five quid mate. This bastard is a bloody strong roo, even with one leg!"
"Hang on to him, Yorky baby." roared Kevin from the sideline. "I think ya making a bit of progress with him, mate. Try squeezing a bit harder Yorky!"
I could feel the vibration in the roos' voice box as he growled and growled. I was squeezing as hard as I could but it was not making much impression on him as we still rolled in the Aussie dirt. He tried to regain his foot and rolled over on his other side taking me with him as I tried to get a foothold in the dust with mi work boot.
"I think ya getting one up on him, Yorky!" roared Kevin amidst a big belly laugh. "His eyes are starting to bulge a little bit."
"I can't squeeze any harder!”, I yelled to Kevin as we rolled around again.
"If he turns around to face ya Yorky, give him a big kiss. That'll confuse him mate, but be careful he doesn't bite ya lip."
"And look out for his breath!" added Kevin. "It probably stinks. It doesn't look like he's cleaned his teeth for a while, mate!"
"Give us a fucking hand, Kevin!" I yelled. "I'm stuck with him. I can't kill him I can't let him go!"
"Ya going great Yorky." yelled Digger. "I'm getting mi 5 quid out now so I can pay ya mate, as soon as he's dead."
The roo was in no worse shape now than before I started. His sinewy neck was strong as hard-core rubber under the gray and brown fur. The more and longer I squeezed, the more it seemed to piss him off. I felt like he knew I'd lost before I started and all I could do now was to hang on to his neck so he couldn't turn around and kick me to death.
As I eventually regained my feet I yelled to Kevin, "Bait him with the stick mate, I'm gonna try to let him go!"
"No.", he said. "Hang onto him Yorky. You're doing great mate!"
"Fuck you Kevin! You take over if ya want but I'm lettin’ him go right now mate, so grab the stick!"
I let go of the grip I'd had on the roos' throat and as I opened mi hands he shot forwards and regained his feet. I shot backwards as fast as I could go without losing mi footing. The roo had turned around again as he'd gone forward so now we stood face to face with each other at a distance of about 8 feet.
As we both stood there, breathing hard and gasping for breath, Digger said, "I think you've just about got him fucked Yorky. Dive on him again mate and give him another good dose. Show him what you're made of Yorky!"
"Fuck you Digger!", I said between gasps. "He's too good for me mate."
Digger was sat on a can in the back of the Ute still laughing away to himself as Kevin shot the roo and stuck him in the back of the Ute with the other one.
"Alright.” said Kevin. "Let's go. It'll be ten O'clock before I get home at this rate. The missus will be wondering where I got to."
When we got back to the homestead we threw the 2 roos into the dog pen and Kevin opened 'em up with a sharp pocketknife so as to make it easier for them to get at the meat. When we walked away the Kelpies were all fighting to maintain their positions in the pack and some of them were fighting to move up a position so they could eat before the rest of 'em.
"Look at the bastards!" said Kevin. "They won't work for a bloody week after a feed like that."
"Yeah." said Digger. "It's just as well we won't be needing 'em for a while."
That evening, after a good shower, Digger related the story of how Yorky had tried to strangle a roo on the way home. Dick Skipworth had a good laugh between mouthfuls of cold mutton and Ruby said to me, "Be careful of those two boys of mine, Yorky, they'll kid ya up a tree and chop it down it ya let 'em."
"I can see that, Mrs. Skipworth. I'll watch out for 'em from now on. I owe Digger 5 quid."
Digger started to laugh and after he'd finished he said, "I'm canceling the bet, Yorky. That's the best 5 quids worth of entertainment I've ever had in mi life, mate."

THE GANJA DEAL ©

2009-07-14T19:56:00.000-07:00

"Hey Yorky mate, are we playing anywhere on Thursday night?"
"Yea Bob, I've got a Jazz gig at a bar on the North Shore, nine till twelve."
"Well good on ya, mate. That's on my side of Sydney. What time are you gonna pick me up?
"Probably about 8:15. The gigs not far from your place so there's not much use in getting there too early."
"Have you got any gigs for over Xmas yet?"
"No mate, I was thinking of having a few nights off."
"That would suit me fine. Mi mate, who plays in a three-piece, needs a piano player. The regular bloke is off to Tassie for the week with his old lady. She's been whinging about going down there for months."
"No worries Bob, I'm off up to Coffs Harbour for three or four days."
"Jesus mate, they grow some off the best Ganja this side off the black stump. How about bringing some of it back down to Sydney with ya?"
"I'm not a real connoisseur of Ganja Bob. I've only smoked it a few times, and I've never bought it before."
'It's real easy Yorky mate, you just hand over the bucks and they hand over the stuff, ya can't go wrong pal."
"How much does it sell for in Sydney?"
"Twice as much as you can get it up there for. You could make yourself a couple of easy bucks. It would pay for ya holiday."
"I don't know anyone down here who would buy it."
"Jesus mate, my mate Bernie will buy as much off it as you can get. He's stoned 24\7. He even smokes it in his sleep; besides it's in short supply down here, no one has any.Ya' can't go wrong sport."
"Well, you contact him and see what you can do. If it's as you say, I'll think about it."
"I'll give him a ring after the next break. How's that sound?"
"Sounds good to me Bob."

After the next set, Bob came back from the bar and handed me a beer and said
"Here ya go, Yorky mate, get this into ya, I called mi mate and he said whatever the Ganja costs you he'll double ya money as long as it's good stuff."
"OK mate I'll see what I can do."

A week later I found myself heading out of Sydney in a Northeasterly direction towards Coffs Harbor. Once I got out of the northern suburbs, it was a very pleasant drive as the road, more or less, followed the coastline all the way up to Coffs. My old orange 78 Holden Station Wagon was purring along, and the sun was reflecting off of the ocean. If you've ever wanted a great, memorable experience, drive all the way up to Queensland on this road; ya can't go wrong.
After about seven or eight hours of driving I hit the outskirts of Coffs. Coffs Harbor used to be a small coastal town. That was before the developers got their greedy, bloody claws into it. Now, from what I could see, they had ruined the place. I saw malls where small shops used to be, and big new houses where once stood good old Aussie Bush, (the Bastards).
Oh, there's a familiar site; an old, large, colorful Windmill that some Old Dutch bloke had shipped out from Holland in pieces. The local people said he was homesick and that’s why he had it moved, thousands of miles, on a boat, to Coffs. Thinking about it, it might have been easier to go back to Holland for a bloody holiday. Once it was reconstructed, he turned the bottom section of it into a high-class restaurant, which I must admit looked quite unique. I drove straight out of town, past, the Plantation Hotel and onwards to my mate Ken's place. On the right hand side of me was the beautiful Pacific Ocean and on the left was acres and acres of Banana Plantations. In Coffs, bananas grew all over the hillside. This scene was much more enjoyable to me than the over developed township. After fifteen minutes more driving I was knocking on Kens' front door.
"Yorky Mate!" he said, as he opened the front door. "Good to see ya mate. Ya made it all right. How was the drive up?"
"Not bad mate." I said, as we shook hands. "I'm bloody glad to be out of Sydney for a while. Your old lady doesn't mind me hanging out with you for a few days does she?"
"No mate, she'll be glad to talk to another Pommy Bastard. She gets sick of talking to me every day; that’s when I'm not out wind surfing, which is most of the time."
"Jesus Ken, you've got a great place here, right on the beach. You couldn’t get any closer if you tried mate."
"Only place for a life-long surfer to live Yorky. Mi daughter loves it too. She's like me. We can't keep her out of the water. Anyway, come in Yorky mate. It's too bloody warm standing on the doorstep."

A few hours later after our socializing was done, Ken and I took off for a couple of cold middies at his local Hotel. Once we got situated in some comfortable chairs I introduced the subject of Ganja.
"Hey Ken, do you know anyone around hear who and sells Ganja?"
"Jesus mate there are more marijuana growers around hear than there are Banana Plantations. I don't know any of my surfing mates who don't smoke."
"Do you still smoke mate?"
"Nah Yorky mate, my old lady really cops the shits when I smoke these days. She thinks it’s a bad influence on mi daughter. Can you fucking believe that? It's her bastard pommy upbringing that does it."
"Don't you have a puff before you go Wind Surfing?"
"Some times. The problem is; if I smoke too much, I stay out in the surf all fucking day. That really sends her over the top."
"She gets cranky eh?"
"You could say that. Put it this way; no pussy for a month lets me know she's not real fucking happy."
"Jesus Ken are you shitting me?"
"No mate, I'm Fair Dinkum."
"Let me ask you another dumb question. What's the use of being married if you're not getting any?"
"Good fucking question, Yorky mate. I've asked miself that more times than once and every time I come up with the same answer. Mi daughter mate. It would really put the kibosh on her life if I pulled the pin on her mother. Not to mention the fact that sometimes she's just bloody like her. Drink up Yorky mate it's my shout. Anyway, what are you so interested in ganja for? I thought you didn't smoke."
"I don't, well not very much anyway. Let me explain the deal to you."
Kenny listened while I went through the saga of the ganja and at the end he said,
"Sounds like a good plan to me Yorky, I'm sure I can line you up with a score before you go back to the Big Smoke, I'll call this bloke I know when we get home. Him and his mate are big time dealers around here. They're sure to have as much as you need. "

Later that evening, at Kens place, the doorbell rang. Kens old lady answered it.
"Its for you Kenneth." she said, as she walked back in the room. I don't want that Yobbo in my house. Take him down stairs to the den. I heard on the grapevine that he's a big-time drug dealer!"
"Jesus love, he sells a bit of Ganja now and again. That’s not drug dealing, that’s a hobby."
"I don't care what you call it Ken. You know my views on drugs!"
"Ok sweetheart, I'll take him in the basement. We can have a game of pool. Lets go Yorky mate. This is mi mate Bruce, Yorky. Ya' got any weed for sale?"
"Does a Roo shit in the bush mate? In all the time you've known me have you ever not seen me without weed for sale?"

Bruce was a sleazy looking Bastard if I ever saw one. His shifty eyes were all over the place except where they should be, in his head.
"Yorky's looking to buy a bit of Ganja to take back down to Sydney with him."
"We'll mate, you're talking to the right bloke." He said, as his shifty eyes quickly scanned my way, averting my eyes in the process.
"How much are you looking for, a couple of Pounds?"
"No mate." I said. "More like a quarter."
"Ounces or Pounds?"
"Pounds mate."
"Jesus Christ mate, I could smoke that in a fucking night on mi own."
"Yeah well, maybe you could Bruce, but I'm not a big time smoker."
"How much is it anyway?"
"For you mate, $200 an ounce and that’s cheap. You won't find it anywhere else cheaper than that. Me and my mate have the best prices on the east coast, and the best Ganja, I might add!"
"You got any with ya now?"
"Don't be silly mate. Ya think I drive around with it in mi old Ute. The cops have been watching me for months now. They're only waiting for one little excuse to pick me up. I've been busted before. One more time and I'll be vacationing in Grafton for a few months."
"Well you won't have far to go Bruce." said Ken, laughing. "Grafton's only an hours drive from here. Your mate could visit you on the week ends with a joint."
"Very fucking funny Kenny! You should be in the clubs mate. You're a laugh a fuckin' minute."
"I'm only joking with ya Bruce, for fucks sake. So when ya gonna bring us a bud around to try out?"
"Don’t you fucking trust me mate?"
"Sure I do Bruce but Yorky doesn't."
"Ya don't trust me mate?"
"Well, it's not that I don’t trust ya Bruce, but I would like a sample before I buy."
"Jesus Christ, what am I dealing with here, a bunch of fuckin' novices? Alright then, when ya going back down to Sydney?"
"Friday morning."
"I'll be back tomorrow with a small sample. I'm not a fucking charity ya know. People around here trust me. I've got my good name to consider!"
"Don't get the shits Bruce." said Kenny. "Yorky's right. He doesn't know you from a bar of soap. You could be a real gouging Bastard for all he knows."
"I've never gouged any bastard in mi life; 'Honest Bruce' is who I'm known as!"
"We're not accusing you of anything mate. Just like to be on the safe side, ya know." "Ok, I'll see see ya tomorrow evening, about the same time."

The next evening Bruce dropped off a reasonable-sized bud, which Ken and I tried, with no hesitation. Ken was much more of a toker than I was and he reckoned that the Ganja was well worth $200 an ounce.

Driving back down to Sydney with mi 4oz of Ganja tucked under the front seat; I was smiling to myself, thinking about all the money I was going to make when I got home.
'I can sell it for $400 an ounce. That would be double mi money and still a fair price for Bobs mate to pay. This little caper is too easy; if every thing goes well, I may decide to do this more often!'

The first thing I did when I arrived back was to call Bob. He said he'd send his mate around to pick up the stuff.
"Tell him to bring the cash with him. I don't do credit." That was the last thing I said to him as I put the phone down. An hour later Bobs mate, Bernie, was ringing my doorbell. "How are ya mate?" he said as I let him in.
"I'm Bernie, Bobs mate."
"Yea I know mate, Bob said you were on your way over."
"Ya got the weed?"
"Yea, sit down at the table Bernie I'll go get it. Here ya go mate." I said, as I handed him the bag,
"Ya got the money?"
"Yea. Ya don't mind if I check it out first do ya?"
"No mate, go ahead."
With that, he tipped the bag of Ganja out on the table and immediately pulled a weird face.
"What the fuck is this shit!" he said as he moved the Ganja around on the table.
"What d'ya mean? What's wrong with it?" I asked.
"This stuff is fuckin' shit man! Is this some sort of a fucking joke? I just drove all the way over the harbor bridge to see this crap!"
"I don't know what your talking about mate." I said, as his face changed radically before my eyes.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me sport, you had me drive all the way out here to look at a bunch of fucking shake?"
"What are you talking about mate? What the fuck is shake anyway?"
"You're fuckin' serious aren't you? You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"
"Look mate." I said. as I looked him square in the eyes. "Bob asked me to bring some Ganja back from Coffs. He said Sydney was all dried up so while I was up there I met this bloke who I bought this from, that's all I know."
"Did you try it out before you bought it?
"Sure I did. Ya think I'm fucking stupid! He brought a bud around for me and mi mate to try, then dropped this stuff of just before I left to come back down here."
"Did you get ripped on it?" Course I did! Mind you I haven't smoked much, I've only tried it a couple of times. What the hell is shake anyway?"
"Jesus Christ mate, you really did come down in the last shower! Ya not shit'n me are ya.?"
"No mate, I'm not a bullshit artist. I did it as a favour for Bob and I thought I might make a few bucks in the process."
"Well mate, all I can tell you from 30 years of dealing is, you've been well and truly shafted!"
"So what your saying is the weed is no good."
"No good mate? That’s this years' understatement. This shit wouldn't make a good cup of tea!"
"Oh for fucks sake." I said. What do you suggest I do with it?"
"You can shove it up ya fuckin arse for all I care!" He said as he got up from the chair. "That was a waste of my valuable time."
"Look mate, don’t get cranky about it." I said. From what you're saying I've been ripped off. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and let you fucking well make matters worse by insulting me!"
Now I really had the shits, the pulse in my navel was starting to beat strongly and I was entertaining the idea of smacking this rude bastard in the mouth.
"Ok, Ok mate." said Bernie. "Settle down. I didn't mean any harm. You got ripped off, and you've got a right to get cranky."
"Do you have any decent suggestions for me?" I asked.
"Yea, I do mate. Never buy drugs from some one you don't know, especially when you have no idea what you're looking at. How much did you pay for this crap?"
"Eight hundred bucks!"
"Jesus Christ! Well mate, chalk it up to experience and consider your self lucky. They could have gotten you for a lot more!"

After Bernie left, I sat at the table looking at four ounces of shake. Eight hundred dollars it cost me to learn a new word, SHAKE, a bunch of stalks and leaves. Now! Let me tell you, I have been conned a few times in my life and not once has it ever felt good and this time was no exception. After ten minutes of silent contemplation with a genuine bowl of St Bruno Flake I decided that action was required. I would simply call Ken, get Bruces' number and call him up and politely explain the situation to him, and a genuine misunderstanding will be put right."
"Bruce, how are ya mate, its Yorky."
"What do ya want mate?"
"It's about the Ganja."
"What about it?"
"I tried to sell it to a mate of mine and he said it was no good."
"What do ya mean no good?"
" Mi mate said it was a bunch of shake."
"So why are you calling me?"
"I would appreciate a refund as I can't sell it."
"Look mate you tried it before you bought it you had no complaints then."
"Yea, but this stuff you put in the bag is not the same as I tried."
"Listen mate, I gave you a great deal, I put more than 4oz in the bag. You should think your self lucky mate."
"All the same Bruce I would like a refund please."
"What do you think I am mate, a fucking shop?" You get no fucking refunds from me. You bought it and your stuck with it! Don't fucking call here again ya bastard!"
With that he put the phone down as I heard a loud click in mi ear. The only course of action now was another bowl of Bruno. My second bowl of Bruno now in ashes, I decided it was time to give Bruce one more opportunity to manifest some integrity. After dialing his number I waited quite calmly as I listened to the dial tone.
"G'day." said Bruces' voice on the other end of the line.
"Bruce, this is Yorky mate."
"What do you fucking want? I thought I told you not to fuckin' call here again."
"Yea, ya did Bruce, but I forgot to tell you something."
"What's that?"
"Listen to me you fucking scumbag, cock sucking, mongrel-bred, mother-fucking drug addict, if my $800 is not returned within the next twenty-four hours you know what I'm gonna do 'fuck face'? I'm going to take this bag of useless shit you gouged me on and I'm going to wrap it up like a Xmas present and I'm going to post it off to the Coffs Harbor Police Station to 'Care of the Desk Seargeant' with your full-fucking-name and address on it, arsehole. Do you fucking well understand me, anus breath? You ripped off the wrong one this time, you mongrel bred cunt!"
With that I slammed down the phone and caught mi finger under the cradle. 'Fuck me dead!' I said out loud. 'What else can go wrong today!'
Within ten minutes my phone started ringing. I picked it up and a voice on the other end said, "Yorky, it's Bruce."
"What do you want? ya Bastard?"
"You're not going to do something you might regret are you.?"
"No mate, I'm gonna do something that you will regret. You'll regret the fucking day you ripped old Yorky off mate. I've dealt with much bigger mongrel-bred Bastards than you Bruce. Don't fucking call here again mate.!"
"Now hold on Yorky, hold on a minute. Let me talk to my partner about it and I'll call you back within the hour."
"I'll be here mate. I'm not going anywhere. I'm broke!"
An hour later the phone rang and Bruce very politely explained to me how a mistake had been made with the Baggies. He asked for my address and informed me that an over night bank cheque would be sent to me as soon as he got off the phone. He then asked me quite politely if that would be a satisfactory arrangement and would that put the matter to rest.
"No worries Bruce." was my reply.
The next day a Special Delivery letter arrived with a bank cheque made out in my name to the tune of $800! There was only one more thing bothering me now; I had mi $800 back and 4 oz of fine Coffs Harbor shake. I didn't want to rip off Bruce so I packed his 4 oz of shake in a small cardboard box and sent it back to him FIRST CLASS MAIL. I didn't want it to get lost, seeing as the scales were now well balanced.

LOOK OUT! YORKY'S IN THE SHEARING SHED ©

2009-06-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

Wool packs were put in place and the catching pens were filled up. Six pieces of paper with the numbers 1 to 6 were folded up and put in a hat. After they'd been shaken up, each shearer drew out a number, which denoted what stand he would work on. Whoever drew number 1 was expected to do the reps job, which meant in the event of a problem arising, the representative had to speak for the men. He would complain to Freeman, who was the contractor, and in turn, Freeman would go and see the cocky.
The shearers all picked up their hand-pieces after the draw and then proceeded to screw a comb and cutter in place. At the back of the hand-piece was a screw hole which had to be filled with oil at the end of every run, which lasted 2 hours.
Everything was now in place so everyone stood around waiting for the bell to go at 7:30. When 7:30 arrived Freeman rang the bell. All six shearers entered their pens and grabbed hold of a large, rough Wether. After tipping it over on its' arse they dragged it backwards by its front legs to the down-tube, where their stand was.
Gundy sat up his sheep, tucked the sheeps' right front leg under the side of his ribs, tucked the other front leg behind his left elbow and pulled the string which set the shearing machine in motion. He adjusted the tension knob and then made 3 to 4 long blows from the sheeps' brisket down to its flank. He grabbed the now loose belly wool and threw it on the floor. It was my job to pick them all up. He then ran the machine out the top at the back leg, which trimmed all the wool off. Turning the machine around he made one long blow around the sheeps' crutch, from toe to toe. Then he shore the head, which is called the topknot. Taking a step forward, the sheep was now at a slight angle between his legs as he bent over and opened up the neck wool. The machine disappeared under the wool until Gundy flicked his wrist and the machine reappeared. He then proceeded to run his blow up the side of the wrinkly neck until it was clean. Picking up the front leg with his left hand he ran the blows down it as he turned around. Once the leg was clean he dropped the big Wether on its' back and started the long blow. In no time at all the sheep was half-shorn as Gundy dragged his right foot forwards and cleaned up around the horns and head. Once this was done, he pushed his blows over the wrinkles and down to the brisket. Then he cleaned around the shoulder and picked up the last front let. In a matter of seconds the leg was clean and he pushed the hand-piece down to the last flank, letting the sheeps' head come forwards. WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, went the blows as Gundys' arm pushed the bog-eye flat on the skin, out to the toe then clean up over the tail.
'CLUNK!' Gundy pulled the string again and the machine came out of gear. The sheep, which was now shorn 'clean as a whistle', fell through his legs and he pushed it down the chute with the sole of his right boot. Straightening up, he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked into the pen for another wooly Wether.
A roustabout listens for the 'clunking' sound which the overhead gear makes when the shearer pulls the string. This means someone has just started or finished a sheep. It can be a very demanding job, picking up wool for 6 fast shearers.
At 9:27 the bell goes and the shearer is not allowed to go in the pen for another sheep until 10 O'clock. From 9:30 to 10 is Smoko. Half-an-hour to have a cup of tea and a sandwich. After that the shearer rolls a smoke and then cleans up the combs and cutters he's used, ready for grinding again. With about 10 minutes left before 10 O'clock he lays on his back on the shearing board and puts his legs up on the wall. This little trick helps relieve the pain in his back from 2 hours of bending over, working his guts out.
At 10 O'clock, the bell rings and the process is started all over again. By the time 5:30 rolls around, it's no wonder the shearer likes a few beers. He has just finished slaving his guts out for 8 solid hours in heat that can reach the 120 degree mark.
Cyclone did the first few days really hard. Each time he straightened up from shearing a sheep, the pain on his face and in his eyes could be felt by all. He must have been sat in Giltraps' bar for at least three months, boozing all his money away. Many people did not believe he could even shear a sheep, let alone be a gun shearer.
Each day, as he persevered with the task of getting fitter, his shearing tally improved slowly but surely. By the end of the shed, old Cyclone was the top tally-man. He was a good-hearted man and never abused the Rousie if a fleece was missed and left laying on his stand.
Many years later I heard ,'through the grape-vine', that Cyclone drowned in four inches of water. Apparently, him and a few mates were driving home from the Hotel, drunk as usual, when the car spun off the road and into a table drain containing water. The car flipped over on its top and Cyclone was trapped inside, face down in the water. His reckless lifestyle brought him to an appropriate end.
>><<
One evening when Gundy and Cyclone were grogging on, they ran out of beer and plonk. Gundy said to me, "Hey Chummy, ya got any plonk left mate?"
"Sure have Gundy. Why?"
"Can we have some of it?", he said with a boyish grin.
"Tell ya what I'll do Gundy. You teach me to shear and I'll provide you with a gallon of plonk and a carton of fags a week. How's that sound mate?"
"You're on Chummy! Now go and fetch ya' half-gallon flagon. We'll start ya payments off tonight!"
That evening Gundy and Cyclone almost finished the whole flagon off. I said to Gundy, "Fuckin' hell Gundy! You're like a big kid with a bag of lollies. Ya can't stop till you've drunk the lot!"
This little joke of mine sent old Gundy into fits of laughter, along with a spasm of coughing.
The following morning, true to his word, Gundy stared my shearing lessons. At the end of the first run, he called out, "Chummy! Git over here mate, if ya wanna' learn to shear!"
He pulled the machine out of gear and said, "Alright Chummy, ya can finish the last side. Pull his head forwards and put ya knees there. Now push down on his shoulder and hang on to the hand-piece."
The hand-piece was really hot from all the sand in the wool and it wanted to spin out of my hand as I tried to control it.
"Ya gotta' keep it on the skin, Chummy. It's the shortest way around the sheep, mate! Don't do any of that jabbin', mate, or it will become a habit."
The wool was actually coming off the skin as I pushed the hand-piece along the contours of the sheep.
"That's it Chummy! Keep the comb full and go slow until you've got all the blows down."
As I finished off the big wether, Athel Cook came walking up the board.
"What are ya doing with that sheep, Chummy? Tryin' to root it mate?"
"I'm leaning to shear, Athel.", I said, without raising my head.
"You shear, ya pommy bastard? You'll never make a shearer as long as ya arsehole points to the ground, mate!"
"He'll make a better shearer than you Athel!", said Gundy.
"Bullshit mate! No fuckin' pommy will out-shear me!"
"Tell ya what, Athel, I'll bet ya, before this shed's over that Chummy can shear one of these wethers under 5 minutes!", said Gundy.
"Fucking bullshit Gundy!"
"I'll bet ya 10 bucks and a gallon flagon of plonk, mate!"
"Alright Gundy, ya fuckin' on, mate!"
As I pulled the machine out of gear, the sweat was pouring out of mi forehead and the small of mi back had a cramped pain in it from bending right over.
"Ya hear that mate? I'm gonna make a good shearer out of you. Just listen to what I tell you and every spare moment ya have, stand in front of me and watch."
"I'll give it my best shot, mate. I won't let ya down.", I said.
Each day, I started and finished off sheep for Gundy. Towards the end of the first week I shore a Wether from start to finish. It took me about 14 minutes and by the time I was finished, I was drenched in sweat.
"Good on you Chummy!", said Gundy. "that wasn't too bad for a learner. We've got to work on the blow and keep the machine flat on the skin."
<<>>
The Shearing Shed on the One Tree Plain was now on it's last day. I had shorn my sheep in 4 minutes and 50 seconds! Gundy and the others had won their bet. Athel Cook was not too pleased about this. That evening, in the barroom, he tried to make things hard for me by calling me a 'pommy bastard' all evening. Eventually, his wife came out of the Sow Pen and took him home.
For the record; 15 years later, I was shearing around the Lake again. Athel, who was now about 60, had the misfortune of meeting me in Giltraps. A bloke, Mark Hargraves, had been kind enough to find me some work. Athel would be working alongside me for two weeks! On Sunday night, he was trying his best to upset me by calling me derogatory names and telling everyone in the bar that he was going to 'work me to death' in the following two weeks.
The first day, Athel shore 110 and I shore 125!
The next day, he shore 120 and I shore 150!
Try as he could, for the next two weeks, he could not keep up with me. By the end of the first week he was not looking too good. At first, everyone at Giltraps took the piss out of him 'cause he'd bragged and skited that he'd shear more sheep than that 'gutless, pommy bastard Yorky'! Halfway during the second week, he looked terrible. His ego was crushed and he could hardly walk. He was overworking his body so much that people stopped teasing his and told him to 'slow down before old Yorky works ya into the ground!' He refused to listen and kept up his pace hoping to catch up with me. At the end of two weeks he had to visit the local doctor for some pills. A week later, he had a heart attack and dropped dead.
From that day on, some shearers claimed that Yorky was the only shearer in Lake Cargelligo to work another shearer to death!
"Bullshit!", I said. "He had no hope of catching me!"

THE MOTOR BIKE ©

2008-12-09T08:53:00.001-08:00

I'd saved up a fair, few bob now by staying in the Bush and not going into town to spend it.
One day, I said to Arthur "I wouldn't mind one of those new Honda motor bikes. They look like they'd be pretty handy to git around on."
"How much do they cost?"
"Oh probably around 200 quid."
"How much ya got saved up?"
"About 150 quid. I saved a fair bit of money when I was fencing with Smithy and a few bob more at Dick Skipworths."
"Tell ya what I'll do with ya Yorky. We'll go into town and see my Bank Manager. If I go guarantor for ya, he'll probably lend ya the amount ya need for a bike."
"Fair dinkum Arthur, you'd do that for me?"
"Long as ya pay it off mate, why not mate."
"You're a bloody, little beauty Arthur," I said, with an excited grin on mi face.
"I'm goin' into town on Thursday, ya can come in with me and we'll go to the bank."
'Three days wait, that's not far away at all', I thought.
Thursday morning found Arthur and me parking his work Ute outside the Commercial Bank of Australia.
"G'day." said Arthur to the young Bank Johnny who stood behind the counter. "The boss in?"
"I'll tell him ya here, Arthur."
The Bank Manager came out to the front counter a few minutes later. He was the typical Bank Manager type with a white shirt and tie, rather large gut, pair of good shorts with a crease down the front, white socks and shoes. His black-gray hair was very well groomed along with his neatly trimmed moustache.
"Good day Arthur." he said as he approached the counter. "How ya going mate?" he said as he leaned across the wooden counter to shake Arthurs' hand.
"Pretty good Jack. Can't complain mate."
"What can I do for ya today Arthur?"
"I'd like a loan Jack."
"What do you want a loan for Arthur? You've got near on as much money as the bank has." he said jokingly.
"Not for me Jack. This is Yorky, he's working out at my place. He wants to buy one of those new Honda 90s' and he's short a few bob."
"Good day Yorky." he said. "Come through to the inside office gentlemen. I'm sure we can arrange that. Sit down.," he said as he took his seat behind the large black desk with his name on it. "How much do ya need Yorky?"
"A hundred quid would cover it. I've already got the rest saved up."
"Ya gotta' account with us Yorky?"
"No, it's in mi pocket in 20s'"
"Alright mate, you'll have to open an account with it and then we'll draw it back out and lend ya the rest. Ya gonna' guarantee it for him Arthur?"
"Yeah, give me the papers to sign and I'll co-sign it with him."
As soon as the paper work was done, the Bank Manager read the terms of the agreement back to Arthur and me; I signed it in the appropriate places.
"Alright Yorky, ya understand that if, for some reason, ya don't pay the loan in the time stated, Arthur will have to pay it, alright?"
"I understand."
"Pick ya money up at the counter on ya way out then. Thanks for ya business Yorky."
"Oh thanks for the loan." I said with a handshake.
When we got outside the bank I said to Arthur, "I really appreciate that Arthur. You're a really decent bloke mate."
"No worries Yorky. Just make sure ya pay it off in time, then if ya ever need another loan for a Ute later on, you'll have a good track record with 'em mate. Where's the Honda at Yorky?"
"Down the end of the street at Chamens."
"OK, we can walk down there mate. I'll come with ya to make sure everything goes all-right for ya."
It didn't take very long before the bike was loaded into the back of Arthurs' Ute and tied down so it couldn't move around on the way back to his place. Ya may wonder why I didn't ride it back. Well the truth is I had no idea how to!
Once we went over the ramp into Arthurs' road paddock, he said "Let's take it off the back Yorky. Ya can ride it from here."
After the ropes were undone, we got one on each side of it and lifted the back wheel down onto the dirt track. Arthur squeezed the clutch and we pushed it back off the tailgate of the Ute.
"Git on her Yorky and give her a good burn."
The Honda 90 was the latest bike of its size, out on the market. It was black & silver with the Honda wings on the side of the petrol tank. It had a double seat and a single exhaust pipe.
I sat on the new seat, turned on the key and kicked down on the starter. The bike fired up first time.
"That's a good sign." said Arthur. "Ya got yaself a real good little bike there Yorky."
"What's the gears again Arthur?"
"One up and 3 down mate."
"Clunk!" the bike was in first gear and I slowly let the clutch out and it glided off smoothly up the dirt track. I was wobbling so much on it I had to jam on the brakes 'cause I was too close to the fence and the last thing I wanted was to drop it and scratch the hell out of it. I pushed it well away from the fence and then said, "Arthur, you have a go on it mate. See how it goes."
Arthur swung his leg over her and took off up the track, no problem at all. He spun it around and pulled up right alongside of me, the Log Cabin fag was still smoldering away as he got off.
"She's a beauty Yorky. Hop on her again and take ya time. I'm going up to the house for a cuppa'"
As soon as Arthur took off, I felt a bit more comfortable at trying it out so I started her up again and put her into first gear and eased out the clutch.
'Now we're cruising!' I thought as I got used to maneuvering her around. It only took about an hour or so before I was feeling quite competent on it.
Over the next week or so, I rode mi new bike all over the property. One day Arthur said to me, "Why don't ya ride her into town Yorky. It'll give ya a bit more freedom mate."
"I haven't got a license Arthur."
"That don't matter Yorky. Call in and see the old Sarge. He's a good friend of mine. He's coming out here to do a bit of waterskiing next weekend with his family. Just tell him ya workin' for me Mate. He'll give ya a learners permit."
On Saturday morning I rode mi new bike into Lake Cargelligo. It was not as easy as it sounds though, especially when the cars and trucks went past. They threw up a heap of stones and dust behind 'em that stung the body when they hit and the dust was so thick it was hard to see where I was going.
"Good day Sergeant Montgomery." I said as I walked into the Police Station.
"Good day young fella'." He said, eyeing me with suspicion. "What can I do for ya mate?"
The sergeant was a big bloke with a large barrel chest. He had a pleasant enough face, but I heard through the Bush grapevine that he didn't take shit from no one.
"My name's Richard Swindells and I'm working out at Arthur Auberrys' place and he suggested I see you for a permit to ride mi new bike."
"All right, give us a minute or two till I can find where that Constable of mine has put 'em. How's Arthur?", he said as he looked under the counter.
"He's pretty good. He said you're comin' out to his place to waterski next weekend Sergeant."
"I'm comin' out there but ya won't catch me on no bloody waterskis. My young daughter likes 'em and I like to sit in the shade of a good tree with a cool can a' Fosters in mi hand. Here we go, fill that in and sign it here."
Once I paid for the permit, he gave me the slip and my portion of the permit and 2 cardboard L plates.
"Make sure a put 'em on."
He must have read my mind 'cause I was thinkin' about the embarrassment of riding around with the two L plates on mi new bike.
I still had a few Quid left when I drove away from the Cop Shop so I went back to Chamens where I bought mi bike and ordered a new windshield for it, 'cause the flying stones and dust were a bit dangerous.
The new Honda was the best thing that I'd ever bought. Arthur was absolutely right; it gave me a newfound sense of freedom.
Sometimes, I'd ride to town during the week and sometimes I'd go and visit Kevin up the top end of town, at his apartment.
A few times, 1 or 2 of the local sheilas would ask me to take 'em for a ride around town. This was a bit risky 'cause I wasn't supposed to carry anyone on the back until I'd gotten mi full license.
There was another couple a' young blokes in Lake Cargelligo who also had new Hondas, so on a hot Saturday afternoon, when all the shoppers had gone and the dusty, bitumen Main street was quite deserted, we used to burn up and down the street, practicing back-wheel-slides and front-wheel-stands. It was quite hard to wheel-stand my small Honda until this bloke called McFadden showed me how to sit right back on the seat. This made the front-end much lighter and up she'd go for 10 or 15 yards before she'd drop again.
The old Sear gent was not too pleased with this kind of activity so we had to keep a good eye out for him. One Saturday morning, I decided to ram a crowbar up the exhaust to knock the baffles out. When I started it up, it scared off all of Arthurs' chooks. It sounded great to me. It used to roar like a small tractor when I screwed up the throttle. Many's the time I would scare a cockies wife as I sped around her on her way to town.
It took quite a skill to control the bike on the corrugated dirt corners, especially when I had it flat out at 55 MPH. The back wheel would slide into the corner as I leaned right over. I had developed the knack of sliding mi boot and correcting the front wheel which made the bike go sideways and forward, until I pulled it up straight again.
One Friday night, as I was heading into town, I was going around the last dirt corner before the bitumen started, I was doing about 45 and the bike was skidding nicely when, all of a sudden a work Ute loomed up in front of me. I would have hit it straight on if the driver had not of swerved onto the opposite side of the road. This gave me a hell of a scare so I decided to take it a bit easier from then on.
The next morning, I was sat outside the Hotel Australian when the old Sergeant came up to me.
"Gooday Yorky."
"G'day Sergeant Montgomery."
"Ya permits run out, hasn't it?"
"I think so Sergeant."
"Listen,", he said, "I don't mind ya driving with no license but for Christ sake use ya fuckin' head mate! Fix that bloody exhaust pipe. I can hear ya set off from Arthurs' place every time ya come into town! Now, do the right thing mate or I'll run ya in next time! Alright Yorky?"
"Yes Sergeant, and thanks for telling me."
"Don't fuckin' mention it mate. I'd do the same for a white fella'"
A few minutes later as I was sat there, trying to figure out how I was gonna fix it, Kevin Skippy pulled up and reversed into the space next to me.
"G'day Kevin.", I said, as he got out of his new car.
"Jesus Christ Yorky! You're turning into a real fuckin' tear arse!"
"What d'ya mean Kevin?"
"I very nearly wiped ya out last night mate. Ya must a' been doin' 50 around that corner and ya were on the wrong fuckin' side of the road as well. Ya gave me a hell of a bloody fright, ya bastard."
"Oh, was that you?"
"Just as fuckin' well it was, ya pommy bastard or you'd be dead if it was some old Cockies wife."
"Yeah, I suppose ya right Kevin. The old Sergeant just gave me the word too."
"You're a temporary Australian Yorky.", he said with a smile.
"What d'ya mean Kevin?"
"That's what we call blokes who 'yahoo' on motor bikes, temporary Australians. Anyway, how ya doin', ya bastard? Ya like it out at old Arthurs' place?"
"Yeah mate. Arthur's a real fair dinkum bloke. He got me a loan for the bike."
"Make sure ya don't kill ya self on it then or Arthur wouldn't be happy about that, would he?"
"Yeah, ya not wrong there mate. I've decided to slow down a bit, especially after last night. It scared the shit out of me as well when you came off the bitumen and hit the dirt right in font of me. I thought I was a gonner for sure."
"Alright Yorky, I'm off to the Hotel to see Stan Booth. Look after ya self mate."
"See ya later Kevin."
I rode mi bike across and down the street to Chamens and ordered a new baffle for the exhaust pipe and the following weekend I was installing it at Arthurs' place when Sergeant Montgomery and his wife and daughter came driving down the yard.
"G'day Sergeant.", I said as he pulled up level with me.
I held up the baffle in mi greasy hand and said, "One new baffle Sergeant!"
"Good on ya Yorky. You'd better come in for a license next Saturday morning while you're at it."
"Will I have to take a test Sergeant?"
"You know all the answers in the code book?"
"Sure do Sergeant. I memorized all 26 by heart."
"Then there's not much use giving ya a test is it? I know you can drive 'cause I've seen ya riding that bike on one bloody wheel so I suppose ya can ride it just as well on two, right?"
"Right Sergeant. I'll be in the station next Saturday morning for sure."
Just then, Arthur came out of the gate and walked over to the car.
"G'day Monty. Park ya car over in the shade mate and come inside. I've got a good cold can of Fosters for ya in the fridge."
One evening, a few weeks later, Arthus said to me, "I've gotta go to town tomorrow Yorky and I'll be gone all day, so I'll leave ya a bit of work to do, alright mate?"
"No problem Arthur. Ya wanna' show me what ya want doin' now?"
"Alright Yorky, let's go out back. Ya reckon you could chop that pile of logs for me mate? That should take ya half a day and when you've finished that ya can clean out this Barley silo. I wanna' fill it with this years crop so just bag it up and when you've sewn the bags up, just stack 'em over there for now."
"That's it? Nothing else?"
"Jesus Yorky, that'll just about take ya all day mate."
"When I've done all that, am I finished for the day Arthur?"
"Soon as you've done all that Yorky, you can do what whatever ya like Mate. I should be home about 5 O'clock. I've got take Audrey to West Wyalong for the day. Mrs,Trotz will be here tomorrow, it's her cleaning day. I've already made arrangements for her to git ya dinner for ya and pick up the kids at 4:30."
"Alright Arthur, no worries mate, consider it done."
Arthur and his missus left pretty early the next morning so after breakfast I started my days' work. My plan was to work as hard as I could so I could finish early and ride to town.
I attacked the woodpile like a madman and after a couple of hours I could see that I would finish it long before lunchtime.
At morning smoko, I went into Arthurs' house for a hot cuppa and a couple of scones. My habit was to knock on on the door and walk in. When I got inside the kitchen, Audreys' cleaning lady was doing some housework for her.
"G'day", I said, as I sat down at the kitchen table.
"You will have cup of tea now?", she said
"Yeah, it's smoko time."
"Vhy zou are call it smoko time I vill never understand.", she said in a thick german accent. "Zou vill serve yourself. I am very busy voman today."
"No worries Mrs. Trotz.", I said as I poured myself some hot tea.
"Zou vill help me move furniture dis morn."
"Not me, Mrs. Trotz. I've got too much work lined up outside for me already."
Mrs. Trotz had a pleasant, if not reasonably attractive face for a middle-aged lady. She was sort of on the short side and had large hanging breasts. The usual midriff bulge and her rear end was a little smaller than the back of Arthurs' work Ute. She was a very bossy woman who was not happy unless she was exercising her power over someone. She also projected an air of arrogance, as if she felt superior to other Bush people.
I swallowed mi tea as fast as possible and made a quick exit before she tried to give me some of her housework to do. By the time 3 O'clock came, I was finished all the work Arthur had left me so I went back in the house for a cuppa tea before I got cleaned up.
"Zou haf finished zour work?", said Mrs. Trotz.
"Yeah, I'm off to town now as soon as I'm cleaned up."
"Zou vil stay here and help me finish my vork. Zere are plenty of vindows to vash and plenty sveeping to do."
"No, I don't think so but thank you for the offer."
"Nine, zou dare say 'nine' to me? I say zou vill hell!"
Now I was getting really pissed off with her orders, plus her arrogant attitude.
"I've finished my work for the day and I won't be doing any house cleaning. I'm employed as a jackaroo, not a household help maid!"
"I vill tell Arser zat zou are lazy boy. Zou are good for nothing!"
I was really cranky now, so I said to her, "Listen here Mrs. Trotz, my father went to war against you crouts for this very reason so don't expect to come over here with your attitude and arrogance and start giving me your orders. I don't work for no German, I work for Arthur Auberrry and when I say 'no', I mean 'NO!"
Her eyes started to bulge and the veins in her fat neck started to pump the blood twice as fast. I decided it was time to make my exit before she blew a fuse. As I walked out the back door, she cried out,
"I vill tell mine husband Adam how zou talk to me zou swinehund, zou pik!"
'Fuck you ya nazi bastard!', I said under my breath. Just as well England won the war or I may have been a houseboy now!
The following day Arthur said to me, "I hear ya had a little run-in with Mrs. Trotz yesterday, Yorky?"
"Yeah, she tried to force me to clean the house, windows and frames but I just as forcibly resisted her."
"Good on ya mate. Her old man used to sharecrop here. He's a real good, hardworking bloke but she can be a bit of a nazi when she feels like it. The wife employs her so I mind mi own business and keep out of her way or she'd have me workin' for her!"

THE RACE HORSE ©

2008-12-06T07:34:00.000-08:00

One bright sunny morning as I was splitting a few logs in Arthurs' backyard I heard the sound of hoofs trotting behind me, somewhere. As I turned around I saw a magnificent-looking chestnut stallion, snorting and throwing his head back as his shiny, long main danced in the mornings sunlight.
Just then, the side house-gate opened and Arthur came walking out,
"Ya got a new horse Arthur?"
"No mate, why?"
"Look over there, near the silos. Isn't that one of yours?"
"No way Yorky. I dunno' who owns him and besides he's a blood stallion. I can't think of anyone around here who would have a blood horse on his property. They can be pretty cranky at times."
As Arthur walked towards the horse, he lifted his front feet off the ground about 2 feet and threw his head back and gave a happy, neighing sound. Arthur kept walking straight towards him and when he got a few feet away, the stallion turned and ran off up the yard towards the fence. When he came to the stock ramp, he cleared it in one mighty leap and ran around the paddock, obviously to show off his breeding.
"Let's get some tucker for him Yorky. We'll put a bridle and saddle in the back of the Ute and take a few handfuls of horse-nuts. I think he's hungry."
"What's the saddle and bridle for Arthur ? Are you going to ride him?"
"No mate. You are!"
"Me! He's a race horse Arthur. I've only ridden stock horses mate, that were well-broken in!"
"No worries Yorky. There's always a first time for everything mate!"
"Tell ya what Arthur, you ride him first and I'll ride him after, alright?"
"Sounds good to me Yorky, lets git the gear."
Once the gear was in the back of Arthurs' old work Ute, we drove over the ramp and into the paddock where the racehorse was cantering around. Arthur stopped the Ute and got out to get the mall bag of nuts. He walked over to the stallion with his hand out-stretched and palm up so the horse could see what was on his hand. As soon as he smelled and saw the nuts he came cantering over. Arthur let him eat what was on his hand and at the same time he was talking softly to him.
"Fetch the bridle over Yorky.", he said softly and don't make any jerky movements or he may shy,"
Very easily I got the bridle out from the back of the Ute and took it over to Arthur who now had the racehorse eating out of his hand, without a care.
Slowly Arthur slipped the straps over his head and palmed the bit into his mouth and all the horse was interested in was some more nuts.
As soon as the bridle was in place, Arthur walked him around the paddock in a large circle. Then he said, "Grab the blanket and saddle Yorky. Here mate, you hold onto him while I saddle him up."
The horse didn't seem to mind the saddle too much but every now and again he'd jump sideways as Arthur said, "Whoah boy, steady on there big fella'."
Once the saddle was in place, Arthur took the reins and mounted the big horse. He was a bit frisky but Arthur was a great stockman so it only took a minute or so before the horse knew that Arthur was in full control.
"I'll ride him down the Lucerne paddock Yorky and we'll put him in the big open paddock across the road till I can find out who owns him. Follow me down in the Ute mate, will ya?"
"No worries Arthur.", I said as I hopped in the drivers seat. I was, by this time, a pretty good driver.
When Arthur and the horse got close to the ramp, the stallion took a great big leap with Arthur on his back. He very easily sailed across the six-foot stock ramp.
"That looked great Arthur!", I yelled from out of the Utes' window.
"Open the gate across the road there Yorky.", called Arthur.
I pushed the large gate open and Arthur and the big stallion rode through and I closed it behind them. Arthur dismounted and held him by the reins,
"Come on Yorky, hop up on him. It'll be a good bit of experience for ya mate. This is an 800 acre paddock mate, give him his head and let's see how good he really is!"
"Your fuckin' joking Arthur.", I said as I swung mi leg over him. "What if I fall off? I'll break mi fuckin' neck mate!"
"Come on Yorky, you're not gonna fall off. Just remember to keep ya knees tucked in tight. She'll be right mate."
The stallion was no fool. He knew that I was nowhere near the horseman that Arthur was and as soon as I let a' bit of tension off the reins, he was off like a bat out a' hell. Straight up the big open paddock he went, gaining speed at every stride. It was only a matter of seconds till he found his pace and then started to pull away, towards his top speed. With mi squatters hat jammed down hard on mi ears, I was hangin' on for dear life. I tried to rein him in a bit but there was no stopping him at all now. I applied a bit more tension to the reins but it made no difference whatsoever. He just kept pulling away. At one point, I looked down towards the stirrup and the ground seemed to be a brown blur.
'Oh what the hell', I thought. 'There's no turning back now.' I gave him a bit of encouragement by loosening the reins and giving him his head. A good dig from my boot heels and he knew what to do.
The fence posts were turning into a blur as he reached out for more ground. It was what I would have imagined it to be like, going around the race track. I was starting to like this so I stood up in the stirrups and leaned down over his neck like I'd seen the jockeys do on mi dads' TV. The fence was coming up soon so I put a bit of pressure on the left-hand rein and the stallion started to veer off to the left. We made a very large turn and he pushed the ground from beneath his feet as he pounded them at full gallop. The blood was pumping through our veins and the brim of mi squatters hat was standing straight to attention as the wind made it quiver. His long chestnut mane was straight back as the wind whipped it from side to side.
'What a movie!', I thought, as I looked out over his large head and ears.
I started to rein him in as we flew past the last pine trees. We still had a fair way to go to where Arthur was standing. I was taking no chances because he was a strong horse, plus the fact that I'd already experienced being thrown over a fence by Patches and I didn’t need that little experience again. It took me all my strength to pull him in and I thought I was pretty strong. The more I pulled, the more he tried to pull against me. I was almost going to panic when I felt him ease up a bit. He was hardly even blowing when we cantered up to where Arthur was standing by the old Ute. I think my heart was beating harder than his when I finally dismounted.
Arthur held the reins and I slid out of the saddle onto a pair of rubbery legs.
"We could make a jockey out of ya'", said Arthur, with a big grin on his face.
"Fuck you Arthur!", I said, as I walked around in a circle. "There's easier ways to make money than that."
"Ya' did pretty good Yorky, at least ya' stayed on him but I had my doubts at one point there."
"Yeah mate. Once he got wound up into his stride there was no stopping him. I was gonna' walk him back but he had other ideas."
"OK mate, let's turn him loose. There's a dam in this paddock so he's got some water and we'll fetch him some chaff down after breakfast, then I'll make a few phone calls tonight, see if I can find out who owns him."
As we drove back to the house I rolled a Drum and said to Arthur,
"That was a pretty exciting start to the day, eh."
"A good ride, first thing in the morning, gets ya heart started Yorky. Ask any married cocky around the Bush. They'll all tell ya the same mate."

GONE FISHIN' ©

2008-12-01T08:40:00.001-08:00

"Ya wanna' go fishin' tonight Yorky?, said Arthur on our way home from the paddock, one evening.
"Yeah, I'd love to Arthur but I haven't got a rod or a reel, for that matter."
"Ya don't need a rod for what I've got in mind mate."
"Then how are we gonn' catch fish?"
"I'll show ya when we git home."
We parked the Ute in the yard and Arthur said, "Have a look in that shed over there Yorky and you'll find a large sack behind the door. Fetch it over here will ya, it's not very heavy."
The sack was right where he said so I picked it up and took it over to where he was chopping a few logs for the evenings' fire.
"Good on ya' Yorky. I'll just split this big log and we'll go down to the lakeside."
When we were at the waters' edge, Arthur said, "There's a small tin rowing boat under that clump of overhanging trees, float it down here Yorky."
The tin boat was only about 10 feet and had a metal bench seat at each end.
"Climb in mate and we'll row out a-ways."
Arthurs' property was a very beautiful place. The back part of his yard gently sloped down through the trees to the waters edge. There was always lots of bird life to be seen around dusk. Ducks, Shags, Cormerants and even Black Swans used to use the Lake as their home and there was always an abundant supply of catfish, small cod and plenty of Turtles.
"Row out towards that stump sticking out a' the water Yorky.", said Arthur, who was sat up front undoing the old sack.
When he opened the top of the sack, I could see why we didn't need any fishing rods.
Arthur was very carefully pulling out a few handfuls of Gill net and getting it ready to tie on to the long, grey dead tree stump which was about another 20 yards away. When I maneuvered the boat into position, Arthur said, "Good on ya' Yorky. I'll tie the rope onto the stump here and you row very slowly towards that dead tree sticking out of the water over there."
"No worries Arthur. Here we go mate!"
As I rowed at a slow pace, Arthur let out handfuls of the net, shaking it out as he went. It took a while to let the net fully out, which was about 50 feet long but eventually we had it tied off to a dead, sun-dried silvery tree.
"That's her Yorky. We should get at least a couple of tasty Catfish out of that."
"How long will it take to catch a fish?"
"Oh, we'll check it out in the morning mate. It'll give it a chance to fill up."
The following morning Arthur and I were up a half hour earlier so we could check the net.
"Row us out Yorky and let's see how we've done mate.", he said as we got into the tin tub which had been left tied to a stump at the bank. It was a beautiful morning to be out on the Lake. The Shags and the Cormerants were already diving for their breakfasts and the birds were singing an tweeting in the trees around the lakeside. A Kookaburra was a good old laugh to himself as we rowed over to the dead log.
"Alright Yorky, that'll do mate. I'll lift the net from here and sort of pull the boat along as we go. You try to make sure we don't drift over the top of the net so we don't catch it on the boat."
Arthur very carefully lifted the net out of the water by sections. It wasn't long before a good-sized catfish appeared out of the water.
"Shit Arthur, how ya gonna' git him out of the net. It's all tangled up mate?"
"Yeah, that 's one of the downsides to using nets. Once I find where he got into it, I'll soon have him out."
It took Arthur about 5 minutes to untangale the net and the catfish hit the bottom of the boat with a good 'thump' and then proceeded to flop around for a while.
"How big d'ya think he is?"
"Oh, he's probably somewhere around 3 pounds."
I could see why they were catfish when I saw the long whiskers that stuck out from his face.
"What a bastard!", said Arthur as he pulled on the gill net.
"What's the matter mate?", I said as I leaned over in the boat.
"We've got a turtle caught up in it and he's made a right bloody mess of the net."
The turtle was moving all over the place as Arthur pulled the section of net into the boat. He spent a good 10 minutes trying to untangle the long-necked turtle, but the more
Arthur untangled him the more he moved his legs around and re-tangled himself.
"Grand streuth! I didn't want to do this but there's only one way to get him out of the tangle now."
Arthur put his hand to his belt and pulled out the pocketknife from the small leather case he kept it in. He opened the main blade, which he kept good and sharp because he used that knife for everything.
"Ya gonna' have to cut the net so ya can git him out Arthur?"
"Not on ya life mate.", he said, as he cut the turtles head off with one sharp thrust. He held the turtle over the side of the boat so it didn't mess the boat up with blood.
"Only way to git 'em out when they get so tangled up."
"How come there's so many turtles dead on the roads if they live in water?"
"They travel across land once their usual water hole dries up. They've been known to travel 40 or 50 miles to get to a new water hole."
"How do they know which direction to travel in?"
"They've got a good sense of smell Yorky. They can smell water when it's miles away."
That morning we got 3 good-sized catfish out of the net and that evening Audrey cooked 'em up for dinner. A sprinkling of salt & pepper and a fresh lemon out of Arthurs' orchard made for a good meal.
After dinner, I sometimes watched an hour or so of TV in Arthurs' large main room but that evening Audrey was really wound up tight. Everyone was sitting around with their feet up on a large foot stool when she singled me out and said,
"Get your feet off of my furniture! Where do you think you are, at home?"
"Oh no.", I said. "My mistake Mrs. Auberry. I saw everyone else had their feet up so I just followed."
I left the house about 5 minutes after that episode and went back over to my room. About 10 minutes later Arthur knocked on the door and came in.
"Ya alright Yorky?"
"Yeah, I'm alright. I didn't mean to offend your wife."
"That's alright mate. It's not your fault. She has a few problems which make her uptight most of the time so she's on medication and when she gets low on the medicine she tends to get pretty cranky for no good reason. Don't take it personal mate."
"All right Arthur, as long as I'm aware of that I'll be careful around her."
"Anyway mate, it's good for me that ya here 'cause if not, she'd have gotten cranky with me mate.", he said with a grin.

ON TO ARTHURS' PLACE ©

2008-11-28T07:53:00.000-08:00

"Here we go mate.", said Kevin, as we turned off Condoblin road and over the stock ramp. We drove up the track, which ran parallel to the fence and over another stock ramp, then down into Arthurs' house yard.
Arthur was chopping up a few logs when we arrived and as soon as the dogs started to bark, he turned and gave us a wave. Sticking the axe into a log, he casually walked over to the drivers side of the Ute.
"G'day Skippy, how'ya goin' mate?"
"Not too bad Arthur. Ya got all ya wheat in the silo?"
"I finished a couple of weeks ago, Skippy. We're not all big landowners like you blokes are."
"We might have a lot of land but we got a lot of headaches that go along with it, Arthur."
"Yeah, ya not wrong there.", said Arthur.
I brought ya new man over for ya Arthur. He's a pommy bastard but not a bad one. Every now and again they send a good one for us.", he said with a laugh.
We got out of the Ute and I walked over towards Arthur and held out mi hand.
"Arthur Auberry.", he said. "Good to meet ya'."
As we shook hands, I said, "Richard Swindells. Good to meet you Arthur."
"His fucking name is Yorky, Arthur. He's from Yorkshire so you can forget that other name. It's too fuckin' long anyway.", said Kevin.
"Yorky will do me if it suits you.", He said to me.
"Yorky's fine.", I said with a smile.
"Are these ya ports Yorky?", said Arthur.
"Yeah mate."
"Let's take 'em to where you'll be staying then."
The 3 of us grabbed my gear and walked across the dirt yard to a small corrugated tin hut. Arthur pushed open the door and to my surprise it was a very clean little place.
"This is where you'll be staying. Ya can have ya meals over at the house."
"Jesus Christ!", said Kevin. "This place is a fuckin' palace Yorky. It's too good for a pommy, mate!"
"Don't you believe it mate. After old Burts place, nothing is too good for this Pommy."
"Shit Yorky, the walls are lined and there's even wallpaper on 'em and you've got lino and a big rug in front of the bed. Ya even got a mirror to look in. You'll be able to see ya rough head in the mornings before ya go out and scare someone, mate."
"My head is nowhere near as rough as that bastard of yours Kevin.", I said with a big smile.
"I take it you two like each other, the way ya abuse one another.", said Arthur.
"Oh, he's not a bad, poor Aussie bastard."
"Fuck you, ya pommy bastard.", said Kevin with an even bigger smile.
"How d'ya like married life Kevin?", said Arthur.
"Pretty good mate. Just look at the gut I'm getting' on me. It won't be long before I gotta put a mirror on the end of mi work boot so I can see mi dick."
"She must look after ya then, does she Kevin?"
"She sure does Arthur. She's the best little sort in Lake Cargelligo."
"She better be Skippy. They don't improve with time!"
"All right Yorky, I'm off mate. I'll see ya around town sometime."
"Thanks for bringin' me over here Kevin.", I said.
"No worries mate. I'd do the same for a white fella."
We all walked back out of mi new room and Kevin hopped in his Ute and I gave him a wave as he spun the Ute in the dirt and tore off, up the road.
"He's a wild boy, that Kevin is.", said Arthur.
"Yeah, but he's a real fair dinkum friend.", I said.
"Make ya self at home Yorky. We'll be eating about 7 O'clock, so I'll give ya a shout a few minutes before."
"Thanks Arthur.", I said, as I headed off back to check out mi new room.
Arthur Auberry was a middle-aged man who wore a canvas Karkie jungle hat. He had pleasant features and the usual deep lines from a life in the bush. He smoked Log Cabin rollies and always had one stuck out of the corner of his mouth. Once he stuck it in the right-hand corner, he never removed until it was a quarter of an inch away from his lips.
He wore the usual clothes of a wheat cocky and there was nothing on the surface which would reveal the devastating past this man once had to live, (which I came to hear about as we developed a good, respectful relationship.)
The room where I was now living in was just as Kevin said. It was clean, comfortable and reasonable large. I took a few work clothes out of mi case and stuck 'em neatly in the chest of drawers. The .22 was placed next to the bedhead and the trumpet, which I very rarely played, now claimed the far corner near the wardrobe.
I met Arthurs' wife that evening at the dinner table. She had dyed, silvery hair and had gaunt, tight features. She appeared to be very high-strung when she communicated with her children,
Arthur Auberry had 5 children; 2 girls and a boy, who were away at boarding school and a lot younger boy and girl who were still at home.
Over dinner, she asked me a few questions about my past life but I could tell she was just being polite. She seemed, to me to be tightly wound, as I watched her.
After the evening meal, I went back to my new room and layed down on the bed for a rest. About half an hour later Arthur came across and said, "D'ya know how to milk a cow, Yorky?"
"Sure do Arthur. I've had plenty of practice at that."
"I've only got one old milker. D'ya mind milkin' her of a mornings for me?"
"Don't mind a bit Arthur. D'ya wanna show me where the shed is, and the setup?"
"Good idea Yorky."
After we'd walked around his cow yards and he'd shown me where the butter-churn was, he went back inside and I walked along the lakeside for a while before I hit the sack.
I did a bit of land clearing with Arthur for the next few weeks. It was pretty easy work 'cause Arthur was a real easygoing man to work with. Most of the time we'd work away in silence as we walked around his paddock, stacking up small timber which had been missed by the large D.8 bulldozer that stacked the bulk of trees and roots.
As we got to know each other, Arthur would ask me questions about England and what it was like living in Yorkshire. In turn, I'd make inquiries about his past, growing up in the Aussie Bush.
One lunch time, as we were sitting in the cab of his flat bed truck, he had just finished telling me a story about his younger life. Then he said, "Course that was before the war, mate."
"What war?", I said to him.
"The bloody second world war Yorky!"
"Were you in the war Arthur?"
"Yeah mate, unfortunately. I was also in the Korean war as well."
"Fuckin' hell, that must have been pretty fuckin' scary for ya mate, was it?"
"Well it wasn't too fucking pleasant mate, I can tell ya that much."
"Tell me what it was like Arthur.", I asked with great interest. " Mi dad was in the first world war. He got mustard-gassed and had dysentery twice but that's all he would tell me about it."
"He probably couldn't handle remembering some of the things that he'd seen Yorky. Same as most people who were in a war."
"Yeah, but tell me a story about it, can ya?"
He pushed his old Bush hat to the back of his head and rolled another Log Cabin. As soon as he was puffing away at the smoke and was satisfied that it was going all right, he stared out of the window and said, "All right Yorky, I'll tell ya what I saw. I was on a troop ship going over to New Guinea 'cause the japs had landed there with a sizeable force and our job was to get the bastards out 'a there 'cause it was too close to Australia for comfort."
"Were there only Aussies in New Guinea?"
"No mate, the fuckin' Yanks were there as well as us blokes."
By the tone of his voice it did not take a genius to hear he had no respect for the Yanks.
"Don't ya like Yanks?"
"They're alright in their place, mate but ya can't keep 'em in the shithouse all day."
"What d'ya mean Arthur.", I said.
"They're the worst fuckin' Army of men you'd ever come across. Sometimes our lot would get sent out on patrol with them so we got to know them pretty fuckin' well. Ya never go out on a patrol in the jungle with the Yanks backin' ya up. You've always gotta' keep the bastards to the side of ya or up front 'cause they're undisciplined and a gutless set a' bastards. They accidentally shot more of their own men and ours than the fuckin' japs did put together!"
"Why'd they do that?"
"No disciple mate and bad communication, plus the bastards were so jittery from lack of training that they'd shoot anything that fuckin' moved. The other thing is they were pretty fuckin' soft. They couldn't go anywhere without their home comforts. They had more luxuries than the whole fuckin' Aussie army put together. Now the Diggers mates were a different story altogether. If ya got into any sort a' trouble which we did at times, the old Aussie would dig in. We never let each other down like those pack a' bastards did. We were all in it together mate, as one unit. We were all prepared to die for each other and sometimes we did.", he said as he rolled another smoke. "Then there were the 'fuzzy-wuzzies.", he said as he drew a deep long drag on the handmade. "Now those big, black bastards were a different kettle a' fish altogether."
"What are fuzzy-wuzzies Arthur?"
"They're the New Guinea natives mate. They were usually big, tall black fellas' with a mop of black bushy hair. That's where they git their name from. They all chewed this stuff called beetle nut. It's a root that grows in the jungle and when they chew it, it makes their gums and teeth go dark red. Even the women chew it."
"Did ya ever screw a native women Arthur?"
"Na mate. I'd have had to be pretty bloody hard up to take on one of those Sheila's but some of the blokes did. We used to use the fuzzys as guides because those blokes were born in the jungle and they knew it as well as the backs of their hands. Sometimes, when we were out on patrol, they'd be a few yards in front of us carrying their machetes. All of a sudden they'd stop and raise one of their long, black arms."
"What for?", I said, with great interst.
"I'm just gettin' to that part Yorky, give us a go mate.", he said.
"Off they'd go, through the jungle out of sight, so our blokes would sit on our boots and wait. We didn't have to wait long because a few minutes later we heard a rustling in the bush and next minute the old fuzzy-wuzzy would appear, on the track, right beside us. He'd have a big red toothy grin on his face and in his left hand he'd hold up a japs head by the hair."
"Fuckin' hell Arthur!", I said.
"Yeah mate. The fuzzies could smell those fuckin' japs a mile away. At one time we used to give 'em 2 bob for every jap head they'd bring us, and many's the time I saw 'em walk into our camp with a big sack slung over their shoulder. They walk right up to the middle of where we were sitting, with a big red toothy smile on their face, then they'd drop the bag right in the center of us blokes. They'd grab the bottom corners of the bag and lift 'em up and 10 or 12 japs heads would roll out on the ground in front of us. This made a few of the new blokes jump like hell. We stopped givin''em 2 bob a head after that 'cause 12 japs' heads cost a pound and 2 bob. We would a' gone broke at that rate!"
"Is it true that the Fuzzy-Wuzzies still head-hunt in New Guinea?"
"Yeah mate, far as I know, they still do a bit up the Northern end of the island where the dense jungle is but most of 'em live on the outskirts of the city now. They're pretty fucked up by alcohol though, just like our Abbos. Anyway Yorky, let's git crackin' on those sticks. We've done fuck-all work for the past hour. We'll never git finished clearing at this rate."

9 FINGERS LEFT ©

2008-11-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

As the wheat season progressed, the line of trucks at the wheat silo in Lake Cargelligo could be as many as 120, all waiting to dump their load after it had been weighed off. This made it necessary to put up the field bins so the headers could dump their bins because old Dick could only get back to the paddock twice a day.
A field bin is made of thick weld-mesh and is about 12' high. The ends of the mesh are joined together to make a circle and a long roll of hessian is draped around the inside to stop the wheat falling back out. When the headers are full, they dump their loads into the field bin and the empty trucks are loaded from these central field bins when they arrive back in the paddock.

<<>>
One afternoon, Digger and I were pushing an auger into the full field bin so that when Dick arrived he could fill the truck and drive back into town as soon as possible to join the line again.
"The auger's not high enough yet Yorky.", said Digger. "Dad will never be able to drive straight under that mate, so we'll crank it up a bit. Ya see that small lever there Yorky?"
"Yeh."
"Hold her up mate while I crank the handle."
"OK mate! She's up."
"Good on ya."
Instead of cranking the handle to make the auger go up, he cranked it the opposite way which wound my finger end between 2 large cogs.
"Owwww!!", I yelled in pain.
"What's the matter mate?", said Digger, with a shocked look on his face.
"Mi fucking finger!!", I cried out.
"Oh fuck!", he yelled and wound the handle back the other way.
As soon as my finger end came out from between the cogs, it exploded with deep red blood. The blood started to run in big, fast drips down into the dry red dirt of the Paddock. It left wet indentations behind as it sank into the Earth.
"What the fuck happened?", said Digger, with concern for me all over his face.
When he saw the red blood running out of my finger, he said, "Fuckin' hell Yorky, I'm real sorry mate! The weight of the auger caused the handle to turn the other way. Let me see ya finger, mate."
The second finger on my right hand was trembling uncontrollable as I stuck out my hand.
"Fuckin' shit! The fuckin' nail is ripped clean off mate! Jump in the Ute Yorky, I'll take ya home to Mum, she's got a first-aid box in the kitchen."
Tears of pain were slowly making their way down my dusty red face as we drove flat out across the paddock towards home. A look of compassion and concern was on Diggers' face as we broadsided down the dirt road about 40 mph around the corners.
"Does it hurt a lot Yorky?"
"Yeah mate, but it's still quite numb yet."
When Diggers mum saw the finger she went straight to work on it. She cleaned it up first and then wrapped it in a clean gauze and last of all she put a finger stall over it to keep it from getting dirt in.
"Do you want to go to the Doctors in the Lake, Yorky?", she said.
"No thanks Missus Skippy. What can he do that you haven't already done?"
"He may want to give ya a tetanus shot, Yorky."
"No thanks, you cleaned it up real good. I watched how ya did it."
"Alright Yorky. It's not bleeding as bad now. We'll change the bandage tonight so we can keep it clean."
"You alright Yorky?", said Digger.
"Yeah mate, don't worry about it. At least I've still got mi finger left. The nail will probably grow back soon enough and I've still got 9 more."
"Oh you boys!", said Ruby. "Get outta' my kitchen and be more careful up the Paddock."
Digger and I drove back up the Paddock and we arrived just as Dick was pulling up under the auger.
"The fuckin' augers too low.", said Dick. "Get Yorky to hold that lever out and you crank her up a bit while I get the truck closer in!"
"You hold the lever out Dick.", I said as I held up mi finger for him to see.
"Fucking hell Yorky, how d'ya do that mate?"
"He was holding the lever and the wheel slipped the other way when I went to crank it.", said Digger.
"Fuckin' hell, you hold the lever then Digger and I'll crank the handle and watch ya fingers Digger or you'll end up like Yorky. He won't be able to pick his nose for while with that finger!"
That same evening, when we got home, Mrs. Skipworth said to me, "There's a parcel for ya Yorky. It came in the mail today.
"A parcel for me?", I said with surprise.
"Yeah, it's on the table over there."
"Open it up for me Kevin.", I said. "It looks like it's from mi mother in England."
"It's postmarked Seamail. It's got a Yorkshire stamp on it and it was sent October 9th. That's means it took nearly 3 months to get here!"
"I wonder what’s in it?", I said as he turned over the parcel.
"Here's a declaration slip. It says on here XMAS CAKE - GIFT. Ya mother must have sent ya a cake Yorky."
It took him a while to open the parcel and when all the paper and cellotape was off, he said, "Here mate, you open the lid, it smells funny to me."
"It doesn't smell too good to me either.", I said.
When I lifted the lid of the box, there was a round cake inside but instead of being covered with cream it was covered in mould!
"D'ya wanna piece of cake Kevin?", I said.
"Jeeesus! Git it outside before it smells up mums' kitchen!"
"What will I do with it?"
"Feed it to mums' chooks. They'll love it. It'll make 'em lay more eggs Yorky.", he said with a grin.
As I laid in bed that night, mi finger really started to throb. The pain was so bad I couldn't help crying a bit. Digger, who was in his bed across the other side of the room said, "Can I git ya a painkiller Yorky and a glass of water?"
"If ya will mate.", I said in a quiet voice.
"Try to keep it raised up a bit Yorky. It may take a bit of pressure off of it.
What's it feel like mate?", he said.
"It feels like a big clock going 'throb, throb, throb."
"I'm sorry I can't do anything more for ya Yorky.", he said as we both lay awake in the darkness waiting until morning time arrived.
When I sat down for breakfast, Dick said to me. "How's ya finger Yorky?"
"It stopped throbbing Dick but if I put any pressure on it, it really hurts."
"Well don't just dit there Digger. You wound Yorkys' nail off so cut his bacon and chops up for him, ya big lout!"
In a few days, mi finger end was feeling much better. The only time in pained was when I'd stubbed it against the side of a machine or accidentally knocked it up against something but by and large, it was alright.

<<>>
By the time the wheat season was over, I had developed a deep brown-olive tan and along with that, a few more muscles to add to the ones that were already developing.
One morning, Dick Skipworth said to me, "Well Yorky, there's not much more wheat to strip. We should be done in a couple more days. Have ya got anywhere else to work after that?"
"No Dick. I was sorta' hoping to stay on at your place."
"Can't do that mate. Not that I don't mind havin' ya around but we haven't got enough work for ourselves till we start ploughing the land again. Tell ya what I'll do though. There's a swag of Cockies lined up in their trucks at the Silo everyday. I'll try to find ya a job with one of them, if ya like."
"Yeah Dick. I still don't know too may people around the Lake so if you can find me some more work that'll be great for me."
Here I was in much the same position again so I decided not to let it make me as said this time.
That evening, as I walked through the backyard at Dick Skipworths' homestead, his wife Ruby was in the backyard chasing a chook. It was quite a sight to see, in a way, because she was not a young woman. I decided to give her a hand.
"Ya trying to catch a chook, Missus Skippy?"
"Yeah Yorky but I'm not as fast as I used to be. D'ya wanna' give us a hand for a few minutes?"
"No worries. Which one are ya after?"
"Ya see that rooster over there Yorky?"
"Which one? The one near the fence?"
"Yeah, that's him. Let's see if we can get him. He looks like he'd be good eating."
"Let's drive him into the corner. We'll grab him as he tries to get away."
Very slowly, we shooed a mob of hens into the corner of the fence and shed and as soon as the prospect looked good, I said, "Let's rush 'em Missus Skippy!"
The hens flew up in the air in all directions and the rooster tried to run between us. He almost succeeded but just as he tried to get through, I managed to grab a handful of wing feathers. Once I had him by the legs, Mrs. Skippy took over.
"Give him to me Yorky. I'll make short work of him. He's led me on a right merry chase for the last half hour."
I handed her the roosters legs and she took off towards a large stump. The top of the stump had been sawn off flat with a chain saw so it make an ideal chopping block. I walked towards the veranda back door and just before I opened it, I looked back to see what Ruby was up to. She now had the roosters' neck across the chopping block and a large, long-handled axe was firmly in her right hand. She raised it just above her shoulder and said,
"I'll show you, it doesn't pay to lead old Ruby Skipworth on a long merry chase Mr. Rooster."
'THUMP!' The axe head came crashing down on the Roosters' neck just behind his head. The old rooster had no idea what had happened to him. The roosters' head lay on the right hand side of the axe, which was firmly imbedded into the flat stump. She flung the rooster down in front of her and blood spurted out of its neck stump where its head had been a few seconds before. While the nerves in the roosters body were kicking and making it jump all over the place, Ruby wiped the sides of the axe on the wood chips, which were used on the ground to keep the dust down. When she was satisfied it was clean enough for her, she stuck the axe back into the stump and went over to retrieve the rooster. As she bent over to pick it up, I heard her say,
"That slowed ya down a bit sport, didn't it!"
I always felt compassionate towards something that had to be killed, although I must and admit I dismissed the feeling when I saw the old rooster on the dinner table, his legs in the air and his skin a crispy brown color.
"Have you ever missed with that axe, Mrs. Skippy?", I asked her as she cut off a leg.
"Not since I've been married to Dick.", she said.
"And how long is that?"
"Oh about 34 years."
The next day as I was packing my cases, Kevin walked into Diggers' room and said, "G'day Yorky, ya all packed are ya mate?"
"Just about Kevin. Here, sit on the case will ya, so I can lock it. I didn't pack it as good as I usually do."
"Is that all you've got Yorky?", said Kevin as I stood the 2 cases on their ends.
"Yeah mate. One's got work clothes in it and the other's got good ones."
"Is that all the possessions you own mate?"
"Nah, don't be silly mate. I've got a trumpet and a good 22. That's about all I can carry."
"Jesus Christ Yorky, ya don't have much to slow ya down."
"Suppose you're right. I've been in Australia almost12 months now and so far I haven't even unpacked 'em."
I went to pick up the 2 cases and Kevin said, "Give 'em here Yorky. I'll carry 'em out to the Ute for ya mate. You grab the horn and rifle."
Once the cases were in the back and the rifle was sitting on the back window ledge, I said my goodbyes and thanks to Dick, Ruby and Digger and then hopped in the front with Kevin. Old Dick leaned in the window and said,
"Arthur Auberrys place is not far out of town so I'll see ya in the Lake some weekend mate. Thanks for ya help Yorky."
"Thanks for the work and teaching me to drive."
Old Dick stood back from the window and relit the Log Cabin rollie which was sticking out of the sunburned fag holder.
"Where to sport?", said Kevin with a smile on his face.
"Arthur Auberrys' place and don't switch the meter on!"
"Where's Arthurs' place Kevin?", is asked as we drove along Condoblin dirt road.
"Not too far now mate. He's only about 7 miles out and the farm is right on the Lakeside. He has a paddock of Lucen that he irrigates from the Lake, that's how close it is."

KIA ORA ©

2008-11-16T10:06:00.000-08:00

<<<>>>
We drove in silence that sunny morning. I was thinking about what the Cocky and his sons would be like. Jim was probably wondering who he was going to decide to work for. An hour or so later, we turned off the Lake Cargelligo road and drover over the cattle ramp into a property called Kia Ora.
As we went over the ramp I noticed the name on the 4 gallon tin mail box which read
DICK & RUBY SKIPWORTH
We drove down the hard, dirt road which ran alongside the fence, then veered off towards a large well-built colonial house with a massive machinery shed along side of it. In the far corner of the house paddock was big, new shearing shed and yards. Further over, in the corner was a large dam with a tall windmill. The blades of the mill were squeaking as the little bit of air gently blew them around.
Jim pulled up the old Holden Ute right in front of the big machinery shed.
"Old Dick should be around here somewhere. I arranged to meet him here."
We both got out of the Ute and sat on the hood at the front. No sooner had we made ourselves comfortable, an iron gate clanked and a Cocky in a fine-quality squatters hat, walked over towards us. He was about 55 and had the usual weather-beaten lines in his face. Sticking out of his mouth was a cigarette holder with a Log-Cabin, hand-rolled in the end. He wore a pair of green King Gee overalls and a pair of McWilliams elastic-sided riding boots on his feet.
"G'day Dick.", said Jim, as he approached with a couple of red Kelpies at his heels. The dogs gave a couple of barks.
"Sit down, ya stupid bastards!", he said to the dogs. "G'day Smithy.", he said to Jim. "How're ya goin' mate?"
"Not too bad Dick."
"Bit hot for fencing Smithy, isn't it?"
"Yeah Dick, ya not wrong there mate."
"This is Yorky, Dick. He's the lad I was telling ya about. You'll like him Dick, he's a real good worker."
"G'day Yorky.", said Dick Skipworth.
"G'day Mr. Skipworth.", I said.
"The names Dick! We don't stand on ceremony around here mate 'cause we all work as hard as each other so there's no need for it."
"Alright Dick."
"Who ya driving for this year Smithy?"
"Haven't made mi mind up yet Dick. Whoever's got the best gear and pays the most, I suppose."
"That's our place.", said Dick. "I'm getting too old to drive the headers so they've got me driving the semi's this year."
"Oh well Dick, do ya good to ease up a bit mate. You've earned it after all these years."
"Ease up mi arse. If I stop working I'd probably die in a few weeks so best not to stop, eh Smithie?"
"Ya might be right at that, Dick."
I took mi two cases out of the back of Jims Ute. I grabbed the trumpet and rifle from off the front seat.
"Not a bad-looking pea-rifle ya got there Yorky.", said Dick.
"Yeah, she's not bad."
"There's plenty of Roos to shoot up the top end of my place, Yorky. Mi oldest boy Colin is always chasin' them off of the crop. They're a fucking nuisance, the bastards!"
The fact that Dick smoked and swore told me he was probably a good bloke.
"Alright Dick, I'd best be getting back. Don't worry Yorky, you're in good hands here. Old Dick will look after ya mate."
"Less of the fucking 'old', Smithie!", said Dick, with a big grin across his face.
"See ya in town sometime Yorky.", said Jim, as we shook hands.
He got in his Ute and turned her slowly around and the last thing I noticed was a puff of thick blue smoke that came out of the window from the Monopole Midget cigar.
"Git out'a there ya mongrel fucking bastard!", roared Dick.
I thought he was talking to me so I snapped to attention.
"Not you, Yorky. I was yelling at that fucking dirty dog of mine."
"Why? What's he done?"
Dick pointed to something behind me and when I turned around, his old dog Tim had pissed on one of mi good suitcases.
"Better pick those cases up Yorky before he claims the rest of 'em. Give us the small case and the rifle. I'll carry it across to the house for ya mate."
Dick Skippie took off back towards the gate where he'd just come from. We went through the tall, tubular steel gate and into a backyard, which was all fenced in so the chooks couldn't get out. The back of the Colonial-style house had a large veranda round it. We walked up a couple of steps, through the veranda and into the large kitchen area.
Dicks' wife Ruby was busying herself in the kitchen when we walked in. She was a small, gray-haired lady around the same age as Dick. Her face was also somewhat weathered by Bush life but thankfully, for her, not as bad as Dicks' was. Although she was slight of build, she had a good strong voice when she said 'Gooday' to me.
"Ya can stay in Colins' room Yorky.", said Dick. "There's a spare bed in there and it's a big room. You'll be mainly helping the boys up in the wheat paddocks. That way you'll both be able to get each other up if one sleeps in."
Dick was right. Colins' room was plenty big enough for the two of us. I slid my suitcases under the bed, along with the trumpet box and stood mi rifle in the corner after I'd double-checked that it was unloaded.
When I came out of the bedroom, Dicks' wife had made me a good cuppa' tea and a plate of homemade scones were sitting on the table in front of me.
"Help ya' self to the scones, Yorky." She said as I sat down. "There's fresh butter there and a couple of jars of homemade jam."
"Thanks.", I said, as I reached for one of the scones which looked real inviting.
After a quick smoko, Dick and I went back out to the machinery shed.
"We gotta get all these headers checked over and repaired before the season starts, 'cause once we start we won't have time to stop for repairs. We'll be flat out mate, like a lizard in the Sun."
Dick showed me a few things that he wanted doing so I busied myself cleaning and greasing a PTO header. As I was working I noticed a fawn-colored Ute screaming down from the ramp, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it.
"Here comes our Kevin", said Dick. "He always seems to be in a fuckin' hurry the way he drives!"
The Holden, with a couple of red Kelpies in the back, broadsided to a halt right in front of the shed. The door opened and a young bloke of 23 got out of the drivers side. He was a younger version of Dick but with a much strong build. He wore green King Gee work pants, boots and a bush shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows. His brown, hairy arms were quite thick and he wore a sweat-stained squatters hat, a slightly different style than Dicks'.
"G'day.", he said as he walked over to us.
"G'day Kevin", said Dick. "This is Yorky. He was workin' for Smithy but it's too hot for fencing now so he's gonna help us out for the wheat season."
"G'day Yorky.", said Kevin, with a big, cheeky smile. "How ya goin' mate?"
"G'day Kevin, good to meet ya.", I said.
Kevin had a good, firm handshake and something told me we were going to be good friends for a while.
"Give Yorky a hand to git that tire off, will ya Kevin. We got to fix that puncture before we can move that header."
"No worries.", said Kevin as he grabbed a large wheel wrench. "Ya from Yorkshire are ya Yorky?"
"Yeah. I've been out here since May this year."
"Is that old Smithy Bastard still chasing those fuckin' parrots mate?", he asked.
"Yeah. We got a lot a' young ones this year. He's building a big new Avery at the back of his house.
"Has he pumped another kid outta' that young missus of his yet?"
"Well, he's got 4 that I know of."
"That horny old Bastard has got a few more kids scattered around the Bush in various places."
"I don't know anything about that.", I said.
"Well, I suppose that's his business but he's a damn good fencer. He put a few miles of fence up around our top paddocks last year. Did a good job too. He knows his stuff when it comes to fencing, does old Smithy! Where did ya work before that Yorky?"
"Burt Booths' place."
"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ mate. How did ya git on with that mean ole Bastard?"
This gave us both a bit of a laugh.
"Not too good. He once chased me through the Mali with an axe. He was gonna split me in two."
"Christ mate, you're lucky to be alive! Old Burt's gone through more Pommies than shit-house paper. I know at least 4 good blokes that pulled the pin on him."
"Yeh, he made it pretty hard for me."
"How long were you there?"
"Five and a half months."
"Oh that's not too bad. There was a good Pommy called Stan Grantham, he was there at least a couple of years. Did ya slip old Kay a length or two to make up for it Yorky?" He said with a huge grin.
"Don’t be silly mate!", I said with a laugh. "She's an old woman and besides she had too many gray hairs on her chin for my liking, Kevin."
"That's no problem mate, ya could have tore 'em out with ya teeth and banged her regardless!"
"Didn't fancy old Kay Booth, Yorky?", said Dick in a quiet, joking way.
"Not really Dick."
"I don't think old Burt does either.", he said.
"He's too tight to fuck her.", said Kevin. She thought she was marrying a big-hearted generous cocky when she first started writing to old Burt but after a few years of livin' with him, she got dried up, just like him."
"She wasn’t a bad-lookin' woman for a Pommy when she first came out here.", said Dick.
"Anyway, hurry up and git that tire off. I've gotta go into the Lake to order some spare parts so we've got a few on hand for the wheat season. Ya might take a quick run around those sheep across the road Kevin. I noticed a couple of flyblown bastards in 'em when I drove aqround last time."
"Me and Yorky will have a look as soon as we've got this puncture fixed."

<<>>
"That'll do, the bastard!", said Kevin, as he tightened the nuts on the wheel. "Unless you can tighten 'em a bit more Yorky."
I put the large cross wrench on the nuts and gave a good heave on the handle. The nuts turned about a quarter of a turn each.
"Grand Streuth Yorky! You're a strong little bastard for a Pommy.", he said in his joking way.
"I'm gitting there Kevin.", I said with a smile.
"It must have been all those Grass Parrots old Burt fed ya mate."
"How d'ya know about that?"
"Peter Smith is a mate of mine. He just lives down the road aways. He was telling me about ya a few months ago. C'mon Yorky, that'll do mate. Let's go and have a look at those sheep that the old man was talking about."
As we drove over the ramp, a gray Holden Ute turned into the driveway.
"Where ya going?", said a tall, rough-looking, whiskery man of about 30. He wore a Squatters hat that was on its last legs. The crown had a large hole in it at the front and the sides were stained with sweat and oil marks.
"Going over the road to check on a few flyblown sheep.", said Kevin.
"Hang on till I park mi Ute and I'll come with you."
"Hurry up then!", said Kevin. "I ain't got all fucking day Sport!"
The man drove past us and parked his Ute alongside the fence.
"Who's that?", I said to Kevin.
"It's mi older brother mate, his names Colin."
"He's a rough-lookin' character."
"Yeh, he's an ugly looking bastard too. He's not as handsome as I am nor as modest for that matter but he doesn't scub up too bad when he goes to town."
"How old is he?"
"Oh, he's about 33."
Just then, my side door of the Ute opened.
"Slide over, ya bastard!", said a loud ocker accent.
I slid over into the middle of the bench seat.
"G'day Sport!, My names Colin. How ya goin'?"
"Good.", I said. "My name's Yorky."
"I know.", he said.
"How d'ya know."
"Everybody knows your name mate. All the Sheilas in town are talkin' about ya."
"Are they really?"
"No mate, I'm only jokin' with ya. I just past the old man on his way to town and he told me ya name."
He slammed the door of the Ute and we took off down the West Wyalong dirt road where the paddock gate was. As we were driving, the Kelpies in the back started to fight. Colin stuck his head out of the window and yelled, "Sit down ya mongrel fuckin' bastards. There's plenty of work for all of ya!"
The dogs went quiet as they watched the sheep.
"Get the gate Digger.", said Kevin to his brother.
"Why don't I get the gate Kevin?", said his brother in response.
As Colin got out of the Ute to get the gate, I said to Kevin, "Why d'ya call him Digger?"
"Well mate, just look at the bastard, that'll tell ya. Doesn't he look like he's just crawled out of the trenches of France?"
When I thought about it and watched him open the gate, I saw that Kevin was right 'cause Digger was wearing a pair of old stained karkie army shorts and an old blue singlet with a few holes in it.
We drove through the gateway and Digger closed it behind us.
"I'll ride in the back with the dogs.", said Digger. "It'll be easier to spot the flyblown ones that way."
"I'll drive around the outsides of the Paddocks first!", yelled Kevin. "Keep the dogs in the back till we spot one!"
Slowly we drove around the Paddock and the sheep started to run towards the center.
Digger called out, "There's one Kevin, over in that small mob."
"Send Joe out!", yelled Kevin. "He knows what to do!"
Joe was a large, young red Kelpie with a white blaze down the front of his chest. He also had a white mark which ran up between his eyes to the top of his head and a small splash of white on the end of his tail/
Joe jumped out the back of the Ute and ran across the Paddock towards where the flyblown sheep were. He split the tail-end of the small mob off from the main, larger mob.
"Fetch 'em here", yelled Kevin, who was now out of the Ute calling out orders to Joe who seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
"Come on Yorky!", He said. "We'll git behind 'em with Joe and drive 'em into that corner!"
"How are we gonna get the flyblown ones out Kevin?"
"There's only a couple of 'em in that mob Yorky, so as soon as we git 'em tight up in the corner we'll run in and grab 'em."
"I'll go around this side and grab 'em so they can't make a break for it!", said Digger. "Ya see that one over there Yorky with the flies all around his arse? When I tell ya, you grab him and I'll grab this one over here!"
"Are ya ready Digger?", yelled Kevin.
"Ready!", yelled Digger.
"Alright, GO!", yelled Kevin.
We ran towards the mob of sheep that were pushed up tight in the corner of the fence. My sheep tried to make a break for it so I dived on it as it tried to run past me. Kevin had forced his sheep up into the corner and was holding it with his knees and Digger had a hold of the back leg of another.
"Tip him over on his back Yorky and drag him over here!", said Kevin .
As soon as I was close to Kevin with the sheep, he said, "I'll hold 'em both York. You run over to the Ute and get the hand shears and that large can of sheep dip. There's an old rag tied to the end of it, grab that while you're there mate!"
The shears, stick and sheep dip were right where Kevin said they'd be so I pulled 'em out of the Ute and carried 'em over to the fence corner.
"Good on ya Yorky.", said Digger who now had his sheep on its' side, holding it down with his knee. "Give me the shears Yorky.", he said, as he rolled the sheep on its back, against his legs.
Digger started to cut the wool away from the big Whethers tail. It was a dirty, black rotten color and it started to stink more as he snipped away.
Before long, it was easy to see how the blowflies can kill a sheep if it's not caught in time. As Digger cut more wool away, it revealed a large patch of red, inflamed skin with tiny holes down into it. A few maggots were wriggling around on the surface of the skin and once Digger had snipped away all the dead-looking stinkin' wool back as far as the good wool. He said, "Give me that can of dip Yorky."
I unscrewed the cap off of the drum and Digger said, "Pour some of the dip over the bare spot and I'll dab it on with the rag."
No sooner had I started to pout the white-looking liquid on the sheeps' arse, lots of small white maggots wriggled out of the holes in the sheeps' flesh.
"That'll fix the bastards!", said Digger. "They don't like that sheep dip. Pour some more over here Yorky, there's a few more maggot holes just there."
The sheep dip worked really well. As soon as it hit the sheeps' skin, the maggots started to wriggle out.
"That'll do.", said Digger. "Stand back Mate while I let it up!"
Digger let the old Whether go. It gave a few twists of its body as it tried to regain its feet. Once it got a grip with its toes it was up on its feet and away across the Paddock to join the rest of the mob. The same procedure was followed with the remaining two sheep and as soon as they were soaked with the sheep dip, they were released to join back up with the mob.
"I can't see anymore Digger, can you?", yelled Kevin as we drove on around the Paddock.
"No Sport!", yelled Digger. "I think we've gotten 'em all now!"
"Let's go home then and have a bite to eat. It's about lunch time. Mum will wonder where we've got to, if not.", said Kevin.
After a meal of mashed potatoes, cold mutton and tomatoes, we rested for half an hour and then went back to work in the machinery shed for the rest of the day.
All that week, Digger, Kevin and myself worked around the machinery shed to get the tractors and headers, trucks and augers up to scratch for the wheat season which was due to start any day now.
One morning, Dick Skipworth said to his sons, "I was lookin' at that Paddock of wheat over at your place yesterday Digger. I think it might go today."
"Yah reckon?", said Digger. "I thought it was still a bit green."
"She's pretty close to going.", said Kevin. "So why don't we take the machinery over there and do a couple of rounds? We'll be able to tell as soon as it's in the bin."
"Good idea", said Dick. "You two drive the headers across and Yorky and me will go ahead in my Ute so we can git the gates for ya. Stick that 10 gallon drum of grease in the back of my Ute Yorky before we forget it."
Once we got up to the Paddock, Kevin pulled into line first and set off to make one round of wheat stripping to see how dry the wheat was. When he got back to the start where we were all waiting for him, Dick pronounced the golden-colored wheat to be dry enough and the season began.

<<>>
Standing at the gate, looking out over a 2,000 acre wheat Paddock was quite a sight. Let me tell you. The wheat was about 4'6" tall on average and it appeared to be an ocean as the gentle breeze blew it from side to side. The breeze made the wheat look like small, rolling waves as I stared off into the distance. My view was only periodically broken by the few, large shade trees that had been left standing for the sheep, once the Paddock was stripped.
Around Lake Cargelligo, all the Cockies used to sow clover seed with their wheat so the sheep would have something to graze on after the stalk had been burned off.
"Let's go Yorky.", said Dick.
"Where too?"
"We're off back home to pick up the Semi and the flatbed. Then we'll bring 'em back up the Paddock so the boys have something to auger out into."
When we got back to the Homestead, Dick started up the Semi-trailer which had 2 large wheat bins on the back. As soon as it was going he said to me, "Can you drive Yorky?"
"I've only driven Jims' old Bedford."
"Christ Mate! If ya can drive that old piece of shit ya can drive anything! Hop in my new Ute and go ahead so ya can open the gates mate."
"What's the gears Dick?", I said as I got in his Ute.
"Towards ya and down for 1st. Up to neutral and straight up for 2nd and straight down through neutral for 3rd. Reverse is towards ya and up."
"Does the clutch need doubling Dick?"
"No Mate. This is a fuckin' new Ute, not a fuckin' old 40s' relic like Smithy drives. We're fuckin' rich Yorky!", he said with a wink.
I closed the door of the new Ute, turned the key and it came to life. The motor was so quiet compared to Jims' vehicles that I had to listen hard to make sure it had started.
"Git a fuckin' move on will ya Yorky?", yelled Dick, out of the window of the Semi. "It'll be fuckin' dark before we get there at this rate!"
'Towards me and down for 1st.', I repeated to myself as I watched the hands pull the stick into gear. 'Clutch out slowly and give her some revs.'
To my astonishment and great delight, the new Holden Ute cruised off as smooth as butter. 'Click', 'Click', up into 2nd a few more revs and a 'Click', 'Click', down into 3rd. A big shit-eatin' grin stole across my mouth as the new Ute glided over the dirt track road.
The grin on my face turned to a big smile as soon as the Speedo hit 35 miles per hour!
Dick was right up my arse end with the big, red Semi; pushing and pulling it through numerous gears without the slightest sound of a grind. Just then, when I looked into he rear vision mirror, he was madly waving his hand for me to go faster. I took a deep breath to try and stop my happy heart pounding with excitement and pushed the accelerator
down a bit more
When I looked at the Speedo I was now doing 45 MPH. I checked the rear vision mirror again in case I was going too fast. Dick was still right up the arse end of the Ute, waving his hand madly and mouthing the words, "Git a fuckin' move on Yorky!"
So I smiled even wider now as I pushed the peddle down another half-inch. I was now doing almost 60 and when I checked the rear vision mirror, old Dick had a smile on his face.
I was so ecstatic at being behind the wheel of a new Ute at 60 MPH that I forgot about the turn and drove straight past it! When I looked in the mirror, I saw the red Semi just disappearing up the turn off behind the row of pine trees.
"Oh shit! Scungy, fucking Bastard.", I was so happy for a few seconds that I'd missed the turn off! What will old Dick say now? He's probably opening the gate right this minute!
"Where the fuck have you been Yorky? I thought you'd decided to go to Sydney in my new Ute!"
"No Dick.", I said. "I missed the turn."
"Is your foot sore Yorky?", he said to me.
"No Dick. Why?"
"Then tread on the fuckin' accelerator a bit harder! Ya not gonna hurt the fuckin' thing! We wanna' got there today, not to-fuckin'-morrow!", he said, grinning slightly around the cigarette holder.
At last we arrived back in the wheat Paddock. The timing was perfect. Kevin, who had m ade a full round of the Paddock was just coming down the last side. Pulling alongside the Semi with the 2 large wheat bins on the back, he brought the Auto-header to a stop and pulled the lever to activate the Auger. The cogs snapped into place which started the worm drive and a stream of golden Insignia wheat grain gushed into the bin making a sound like hail on a corrugated tin roof. As the golden wheat was transferred into the bin, the excess dust flew in the direction of the slight breeze.
Once Kevins' header was empty, he pulled out into the wheat again and Digger, who was not far behind him, pulled the tractor-drawn header alongside the bin and the procedure was repeated.
Dick and I brought the other flat-top truck with one large bin onboard up the Paddock and positioned it a hundred yards away from the Header.
"Climb aboard, Yorky!", said Kevin, after he emptied his load. "Ya can ride around on the header and keep me company Mate, until it's time to grease her up."
For a while we chatted about our backgrounds and lives. He told me he had been married for about a year now and that he lived in the Lake at a one-story house that his Mother-in-Law owned. Kevin was an easy-going young man who had been brought up on a wheat property all his life. He learned to drive as soon as he could see through the windscreen, which he said was around 8 years. He was a very adaptable character who seemed to be able to take things as they came. Once he said me, "What d'ya smoke those stinkin' fags for Yorky?"
"Body habit Mate. I've been smoking since I was 8, just around the age you learned to drive."
"Now I understand Mate. I learned to drive and you learned to smoke."

HUNTING IN THE BUSH ©

2008-11-10T08:52:00.001-08:00

After a few minutes of shining the spot around, I picked up a pair of bunny 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 an pick him up."
When I picked up the rabbit, I saw that Jim had him 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 of the Ute and then climbed in myself.
"Ya see that stick in the back, Yorky, the one with the bent end that looks like a hocky stick? Well, stick it in the corner so it's handy, 'cause if I miss a shot you 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 point in Australia, rabbits were considered a plague. They destroyed a lot of crop and made burrows all around the place. The cocky was not too happy when one of the wheels of his plow or combine sunk into a large burrow and bust one of the axle. 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 Miximotosis. 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.
After about an hour of shooting we would stop and gut out the rabbits and then pair them up size-wise by their back legs and hang them across the steel posts which were sitting cross-way on the back of the Ute.
That particular evening we shot 400 pair of rabbits and in the morning when it started to warm up and the blowflies came out we covered the rabbits over with a large mosquito net and took of to the Chillers which was situated in a scrub paddock just outside of Lake Cargelligo. In those days, we got 2 to 3 Shillings a pair, so 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 because I didn't like to see the rabbits caught by their leg in the trap.
One morning, as we were walking around Jims' trap line, a fox had gotten himself caught by the back leg. When he saw us approaching him he was obviously scared, so 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?", I asked Jim.
"He's chewing his back leg off so he can get out of the trap."
I couldn't stand to see this sight. I said to Jim, "I'm going to let him out of the trap!"
"Be careful!" warned Jim, as I walked up to the fox. When I was only about 3 feet away from him, he lunged at my outstretched hand and tried to bit it which made me recoil in fright.
"He won't let me get him out of the trap!"
"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 an incorrect response because it did not alleviate the foxs' suffering and pain. The only other option left open to me was to hit the old 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!"
"Yeh 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. 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 reset again."
One morning, Jim said to me, "We're out of mutton Yorky. Ya feel like getting a room for us mate?"
"If ya like. Where's the best place to go where it's not too far away mate?"
"You'll probably find a few in the Bush, the other side of Burgooney Road, but mind ya look where ya going mate 'cause it can get pretty dense in there and I wouldn't want you to git bushed or you'd never find ya way out."
"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 touch as old boots and mi teeth aren't in real good shape these days. Fill that small canteen up with some water before ya go. Ya never know, ya may need a drop if you're out there for a while."
After I'd filled the small, tin canteen up, I slung it over mi shoulder and grabbed mi rifle and a box of hollow-points and last of all, I grabbed mi new Akubra Squatters had that I'd bought from Chamens the last time 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 real comfortable.
"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 weren't too thick for the first couple of hundred yards but after 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 way from me I saw the track of a wall-eye snake which disappeared under a large round rock. He was probably sleeping there, out of the hot sun.
The air was crystal-clear and not a cloud in the deep blue sky. There were no such things as airplanes and helicopters flying around the skies. 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 clear blue 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 because a full-grown Wedge-tail could, quite easily, have a 6-foot wingspan. Usually one of them will hunt while the other feeds the young with whatever was caught for the day.
I walked for about 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 downwind of them', I thought, 'so they don't pick up my scent or I'll never git close enough to get off a good clean shot at one of 'em'.
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 things to eat and then they sit back upright, check out the landscapes 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 large Box tree, I took a slight breather because now my heart was pumping and banging away from the concentration of sneaking up on them. As soon as I felt steady enough, I very quietly 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. 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 sights of the rifle were now as steady as I could hold them. I carefully 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 Gallahs 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 its' last, under the tree.) It was almost dead when I reached the spot, so I put a bullet between it's 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 scrub from my hiding tree. As soon as the body had calmed down to its' natural, unexcited state, I re-loaded the rifle and pushed the safety catch firmly forwards into the on-position and then I leaned the rifle against the tree. Although the Roo was not full- grown, he was, by no means, light as I grabbed the butt of his thick, sinewy tail and slung him across my 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'd spent with Jim, I'd gotten a good Bush education so I was able to find my way back out to Burgooney Road, no problem at all. I stopped for a rest as it was now really hot. I took a small sip of water and rolled miself a Drum.
Although the body had acquired the habit of smoking, I did not 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, pure air. Smoking in the city was much easier because of all the lead pollution and various other contaminations.
I was glad to see Burgooney dirt road because the Room was now getting fairly heavy and the sweat was streaming down from under the brim of mi squatters hat. When I got back to use 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 mate! He's the perfect size for eating. Fetch him over in the shade and we'll clean him up. The Missus will make us some Roo-tail soup. 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 Pommy Bastard!

<<>>
It was about 3 weeks later when Jim said to me, one morning after we'd got home from spot-lighting, "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 my heart. "What are ya gonna do for work Jim?"
"Oh, I'll probably git a job driving a header for the wheat season. There's a couple of wheat Cockys' that I drove for last year have asked me to come back again. I'll either do that or I'll git a job driving a wheat truck to the Silos in Lake Cargelligo, mate."
"What am I gonna do? I don't really know anyone, only you and old Burt and 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, you'll git back on and ride around for another hour. Ya can't git better than that, mate!"
"Who'll I be working for?"
"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. One's called Colin and the other ones called 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 aways so you'll probably get to see him. He usually drives the wheat semi for old Fred."
"When do I start?"
"I'll take you over to there place tomorrow morning mate. Give ya time to pack up ya gear and I'll pay ya up all the money I've been saving for ya Yorky. It's no good hanging around here mate. Ya not makin' any money sitting on your arse."
I was still feeling a bit apprehensive at leaving Jims' place because 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 when I heard the voice of silence whisper to me, 'Don't worry Yorky, everything will be all right for you. It's necessary for you to move. Don't forget, what pleases you holds you back.'
The next morning, Shirley made me some breakfast and gave me a couple of items of clothes that 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 2 cases, the trumpet and mi rifle into Jims' old blue Holden 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 sunny morning.

THE ACTION AT GILTRAPS ©

2008-11-03T10:40:00.000-08:00

As well as learning how to shear, I had a slight handicap to work with. The wool-classer was a mongrel-bred bastard who tried to make it as hard for me as possible by saying to Freeman that my learning to shear was interfering with my board-boys job. The only reason I could see why he was acting like this was, he fancied himself a shearer. He, himself, could shear a sheep in about 10 minutes, and by now, as long as it was a good-combing sheep, I was down to 8 minutes. Freeman was very supportive. He offered to do my job while I was learning, plus the fact that he was aware that the wool-classer had bet against me, the Victorian bastard!

>><<
Each Friday night we would all drive back to Lake Cargelligo for the weekend. The first, and only stop, was at Giltraps Hotel. I was now, very slowly, starting to be able to hold a fair amount of grog. (It goes with the territory!)
The whole team, except for the wool-classer, would party on at Giltraps. After the bar closed down we would all move into the Sow Pen where we'd play the jukebox and generally have a good time.

Jimmy Kelly, who was one of the shearers, was also an Aborigine. He lived at the Mission, about 10 miles out of town. Johnny was a pretty decent bloke, (when he was sober) but like most Aborigines that drink, he would get a bit argumentative when he was full.
Most Abos, around the Lake, did not like to work very much which meant they were always short of money for grog. Every Friday night, all of Johnnys' relations would be trying to bum his hard-earned money from him for a flagon of cheap plonk. I used to sit and watch Johnny quite a bit. It must have been very difficult for him, 'cause he had one foot in the white fellas' world and the other in the black fellas' world. By then end of the evening Johnny would have given away, probably, a third of his weeks' money. This money would only be returned months later, probably when he was out of work. Saturday morning, I used to see Johnny in town in his fairly new Ute. He and his wife and children were always clean and well-dressed. Although in my eyes he was a really good bloke, most white fellas' still saw him as a 'Bung'.

Since I'd been working in the sheds, I had decided to live at Giltraps Hotel, not because I didn't like Twitcheys, but Giltraps was cheaper and a lot of the shearers used it as their watering hole. Giltraps wife was a very small lady. She was about 5'2" and weighed about 115 pounds. She had blondish-gray hair, a very pleasant face and a good, kind nature. Besides running the domestic side of the Hotel, she also worked in the bar whenever necessary. If that wasn't enough to keep her occupied, she had a swag of kids of various ages. Cath Giltrap was always polite and cordial with me. Whenever possible,
she would not put anyone else in the room with me. She understood and respected the fact that I was a 'loner'.
Even though I spent a good deal of my time in the bar, sometimes, when I was short of money, I would say to her, "I've had a slack week Cath, d'ya mind if I pay you for the room next week?"
"That's alright Yorky. I trust ya' but don't let it get too far behind."
As soon as money came in, Cath Giltrap was the first on the list to pay.
One week, the Hotel was unusually full, so she said to me, "I've gotta put someone in ya' room Yorky, in that spare bed. We're all full up this week."
"No worries Cath. I know you always fill up the other rooms first."
The new bloke who lived with me for the week was a half-Abbo from Uabalong. His name was Kennedy. He was a pretty quiet, clean and polite bloke until he was on the grog. At those times, he was hopeless!
On Saturday afternoon, I came back to Giltraps. I'd been doing a bit of shopping that afternoon down the main street. The window in my room looked out onto the main street of the Lake. As I passed it, I got a funny sort of feeling. Instead of going straight to the bar for a game of pool, something pulled me to the left, down the corridor to Number 9. When I pushed open the door, the room was full of smoke! As I looked around the back of the door, where the spare bed was, Kennedy was fast asleep and snoring! Six-inch flames were dancing around the edge of the mattress and a burned-out fag was stuck to his fingers.
"Wake up ya fucking bastard!", I roared as I shook the shit out of him. He was still as drunk as a monkey. I ran to the shower room which was at the far-end of the corridor and filled up a large bucket of cold water. When I got back to the room, he was trying to get out of bed, still in a drunken state. I heaved the bucket of cold water over him and the bed. Kennedy coughed and spluttered as he became conscious. Once he realized he was not dreaming, he jumped out of bed. It took a couple more large buckets of water to put out the fire. When Cath Gilbert found out that the bed had been charred, she was not too pleased let me tell you! Kennedy, got his marching orders and I was left, once more, in peace.
Once all of Giltraps locals found out what happened, the jokes were on me.
"G'day Yorky. I heard ya tried to barbeque a 'bung' this afternoon!"
"Very funny,", I said as they cracked up in laughter.

THE EATING CONTEST ©

2008-10-31T08:31:00.001-07:00

One evening, at dinnertime, I asked Jazzer the cook if there was any more dinner. I had been working really hard and my appetite was growing.
"There's plenty left in the kitchen, Chummy. Help ya self mate."
I filled my plate as full again as the first round. When I got back into the dining room everyone joked about the amount of food on the plate.
Roy James said, "I think I'll have another plateful myself."
He came back into the dining room with a huge amount of food on his plate.
Freeman said to me, as a joke, "Hey Chummy, ya think ya can eat more than big Roy can?"
Just for the fun of it, I said, "Course I can. Anyday! Why?"
Gundy said to Freeman, "Here's 5 bucks that says he can!"
Freeman said, "Here's 5 bucks that says he can't!"
The other shearers and shed hands all placed their bets and the eating contest began. Roy and I took our places at opposite ends of the table. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds then started to eat our platefuls."
Gundy gave a running commentary as we ate. Speed was not a factor; volume was what bets were based on. Roy and I finished off our second plate of food; mashed potatoes, cabbage, carrots, mutton and gravy. After the third plateful we ran out of the main course. Then we started on the sweets! We ate a large bowl full of Apple Strudel each and then the bowls were filled up, ready to go again. Halfway through the second bowl, big Roy said, "Fuck this for a joke! The pommy bastard's too good for me! He must have hollow, fuckin' legs."
"Come on Chummy, you've gotta' finish that bowl to win!", said Freeman.
Very slowly, I finished off the bowl of Apple Strudel and then sat back in mi chair and relaxed. The winners of the contest collected their bets and then cheered.
"Are you full yet, Chummy?, asked Chummy.
As I sat there, I began to think, 'I don't want to have to do this again so I'd better seal up my win a bit safer.'
"Not really Gundy. I could eat a big, tasty bowl of cornflakes with milk and sugar."
No one believed I could eat another morsel so the bets were all on again. Freeman filled up a large bowl of cornflakes. I sat there and loosened mi belt. After stretching mi arms over the back of mi head, I slowly started on the cornflakes! The going was much slower now since big Roy had dropped out of the contest. 15 minutes later the bowl was clean!
The winnings were all collected and Gundy was all smiles as he helped me to my room. Strangely enough, I slept quite well that night and the following day it was like it never happened.

THE ONE TREE PLAIN ©

2008-10-20T08:17:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, after the shed had finished, Don Freeman said to me, "We're starting a camping-out shed on Monday Chummy, so we'll be leaving the lake on Sunday, lunchtime. Make sure you've got enough gear for the week, including booze and fags 'cause we'll be way out in the bush, miles from nowhere."
"Where we going Don?"
"Down towards Hay, on the One Tree Plain. I contract that shed every year. We'll be there for roughly three weeks mate."
"OK mate, I'll be ready."
That evening, being Friday night and the end of a shed, Gundy was firing on all 8 cylinders already.
"Hey Chummy!", he yelled. "Come over and meet Cyclone. This is our pommy roustabout.", said Gundy to Cyclone. "This is Cyclone, chummy. He's a gun shearer!"
Cyclone was as bad, if not worse an alcoholic than Gundy. Once he had a few bucks in his pocket he would not shear another sheep until it was all gone. Cyclone, like Gundy, was a hell of a good-natured man but the booze had him. He was his worst enemy. Very seldom in the Bush will one man tell another man what he should do. Everyone figures that as soon as a boy starts to work, he's old enough to be his own master. 'cause for one thing, he's working and living in a mans' world.
When Sunday lunchtime arrived, Don Freeman picked up Boney and me, Gundy and Cyclone. We drove a long way down to the One Tree Plain. Boney and I had to sit in the back of the Ute 'cause there was no room in the front.
The back of the Ute was filled with stores for the cook. A section of the back was reserved for me and Boney, along with the cartons of beer and numerous flagons of Brown Muscatel wine.
Freemans' dogs had to balance on top of all the boxes. They almost fell out a couple of times as we sped along the Bush roads at 80 miles an hour. After a few hours of driving, we arrived at the shearing shed. There it was, a big, corrugated iron shed sat on wooden pylons out in the middle of nowhere!
The landscape was almost barren as far as the eye could see in all directions. The ground was hot and dry and every so often there was a clump of rough, dry bush grass. It was called the One Tree Plain because nowhere in sight could anyone point out a tree of any size or shape. It was so hot that numerous whirly winds chased each other round and round in circles as they sped across the barren land. There was nothing edible that Merino sheep could live on and how they survived had got me beat!
The yards were already full of big, rough-necked wethers and a few hundred were packed in under the shed in case of a freak rainstorm. Miles and miles off in the distance was a cloud of red dust. This was probably the Jackeroos mustering another large mob of sheep. It would take a full day to bring them in to the shed to wait for their turn for shearing.
The shearers' living quarters were about a hundred yards away form the shed so Freeman drove the Ute in that direction. There was no shade to park it in so it just stayed where it was stopped until it had been unloaded.
Most shearers quarters at camp-out sheds are pretty clean and have good mattresses and beds. The beds, are in most cases, two to a room. Boney and me selected a clean room at the end, before any of the other blokes arrived.
The Shearers Union, which is called the A.W.U. was very supportive towards the shearers. That's the reason the quarters were in such good shape. If it was left up to the Cocky, he wouldn't care if the shearer had to sleep on the floorboards because, by his reckoning, the quarters were only used once or twice a year at shearing and crutching time, so why bother to make them livable.
Each room had a small set of cupboards between the beds for our clothes. The one window had a fly screen to keep out he bush flies and mosquitoes. There were no fans to keep it cool and at nighttime it could be around 90 degrees in those tin rooms. There was no electricity so the two refrigerators in the kitchen ran on kerosene. Half of one fridge would be used o keep the beer cold and the rest of the grog would be wrapped in wet hessian bags and stuck under the floor outside. Whatever bit of breeze there was would keep the beer slightly cool but nowhere near cold.
Boney and I helped Don to cart the stores from the back of the Ute to the kitchen, After we'd finished, Boney said, "Come on Chummy, let's go over to the shearing shed and check it out mate!"
It was about 5 O'clock now and the heat was still stifling. Mirages of water appeared everywhere as we walked across the windy plain. The hot breeze made doing anything hard work so we took our time, laughing and joking as we walked.
We got to the big shed and walked up the steep wooden stairs, hanging onto the steel railing. I was in front, so I pushed open the small corrugated door and we went inside.
"Gaw'd fucking hell!" said Boney as we stood in the shed and looked around. "Just look at all that parrot shit on the floor! It'll take us two or three hours to clean up this mess!"
"Yeah. Just look up there Boney!"
The shearing shed rafters were packed tight with Galahs.
(A Galah is a grey and pink parrot about 9" high. They are very common around NSW and make an awful racket when they sit around on the trees. Bush people even call each other 'silly Galahs.'.)
As we walked around I said to Boney, "Why are they all hanging around in the shed, mate?"
" 'Cause there's no fucking trees around Chummy so they've taken over the shearing shed."
The shed had been closed for months on end so due to the heat inside and the layers of parrot shit all over the place the stink was awful.
"Fucking hell Chummy, we've got to get rid of these bloody Galahs and clean up this board before we can even start shearing."
"Yeah, it's a real mess Boney. How d'ya reckon we should go about it?"
"We'll kill as many of 'em as we can because if not they'll come back at nighttime and shit all over the place again."
"How we gonna' do that mate? If we shoot at 'em and miss, the bullets will put holes in the roof."
"Ya probably right Chummy. Give me a minute to think, mate."
There must have been at least 300 Galahs in the shed. Some were sitting while others were flying around and squawking like hell. As I looked around, there was shit on the floor, shit on the wool table, all over the wool press, the wool packs were covered in it and it was even in the wool stalls.
"Tell ya what we'll do Chummy. Let's take that full bale of wool and roll it over to that end of the shed."
After that was done, Boney said, "Alright mate, grab that end of the wool table and we'll carry it over to the opposite side."
As soon as the table was in place, he said, "Here Chummy, take this."
"What's the straw broom for?"
"It's not a fucking straw broom!" he said with a big grin on his face.
"It looks like a straw broom to me, mate."
"Use your imagination Chummy. It's a double-handed shuttle-cock racquet!"
"Where's the shuttle-cocks?"
"Up there stupid!" as he pointed to the Galahs.
"Now, I've got the picture mate! I'll use the table and you use the bale."
"That's the idea Chummy. You scare 'em down to my end for a while and I'll smash 'em with the broom. We'll take turns at batting. Let's see who can get the highest number."
He drew a line in the parrot shit and said, "That's your half and this is mine. We'll count up later."
I shooed all the Galahs down to Boneys' end of the shed and as they approached him, he swung the straw broom with a double back-hander.
'WHACK!' He knocked three Galahs out of the air in one blow. A double-handed forearm smash sent two more crashing to the floor.
"Alright Chummy, your turn.", he said as he giggled out loud. "I'll shoo 'em down to your end now mate. You take a couple of serves. The double-handed forearm smash seems to be a good point-scorer!"
As I stood on the table at the ready, the long-handled straw broom was over mi shoulder, cocked and ready to serve.
"Here they come Chummy!", yelled Boney.
Three hundred Galahs were now squawking like hell and flying straight for me. As soon as the live shuttle-cocks were in range, I let fly with a powerful over-head serve! One large Galah was knocked out of the air. An unconventional, two-handed upward reverse stroke sent two more to the deck. A clumsy double-handed sideswipe sent three more crashing through the ether!
"OK, your serve Boney!", I yelled, amidst the loud squawking.
I shooed the Galahs back down to Boneys' court. A well-aimed sideswipe sent three Galahs to bird heaven. A single-handed clumsy shot missed altogether and Boney fell off the big wood bale into a pile of Galah shit.
"Fault!", I shouted from my end as he slipped around in the white shit trying to scramble back up on the 'baseline' pack. Another mighty double-handed backhand sent three more Galahs to the deck.
"Alright Chummy, your serve!", yelled Boney as he shooed them back again.
After half-an-hour of strenuous badminton on center court we called 'Time-Out'
for a rest and cleanup. It wasn’t' too bad but Boney was covered in Galah shit and feathers as he walked up to me, smiling from ear to ear.
"We'll take a breather and swap ends Chummy. That wool pack is a bit hard to balance on. You've got the advantage on the table."
"Alright mate.", I said as we laughed. "We'll swap ends and play one more game and then we'll open the doors and chase the rest out. I don't think they'll come back in a hurry.
At the end of the game, we counted up the Galahs and then opened the two large doors. The remaining parrots flew out and were never seen again. It took Boney and me three hours to scrub the floor with hot, soapy water we'd boiled in the outside copper.
By this time all the other blokes had arrived. The cook made up some tucker and after dinner we sat around in our rooms reading, talking or playing cards. Gundy and a couple of the other shearers sat around drinking plonk till about 11 O'clock.
It was pretty hard to sleep that night 'cause it was so hot. We just lay on our backs sweating like hell, drifting in an out of sleep.
The following morning being Monday, everyone was up bright and early. Even Gundy didn't look too worse for wear. Breakfast was at 6 and Dons' brother Jazzer was doing the cooking. Jazzer was a few years younger than Don, which would have made him around 40. Don was a fairly handsome sort of bloke which was more than could be said for Jazzer! He was about 5'9" and a thick-set bloke. Most of his bulk was comprised of fat. He had a mop of black, curly hair and a pretty large beak for a nose and a ginormous set of choppers on him. His teeth would not have looked too bad had he have cultivated the habit of cleaning them. Instead, they were a greeny-yellow color. He had a habit of standing with his mouth open and the teeth could easily be seen protruding below his top lip. He was also quite a heavy smoker. He used to grip the ends of the tips in his large teeth. Have you ever seen a horse with its' lips peeled back as it chomps on the bit? Well, stick a fag in-between the horses teeth and there you have Jazzer!
As far as his cooking skills went, he was rated at half-a-star. Jazzer was also able to shear. When he pulled into gear his named changed to Jabber. (That's another story!)
After breakfast, we all made our way over to the shearing shed. As we entered the shed Gundy noticed a large pile of dead Galahs off to the side of the steps. When Boney related the game of Badminton, Gundy had to smile which was unusual for him at 6:45 in the morning.

INTO THE SHEARING SHED ©

2008-10-18T07:52:00.000-07:00

I was sat on the curb outside Twitcheys' at quarter to six waiting for the contractor. As I sat there wondering what shed life would be like, a car horn beeped and Don Freeman pulled into the curb.
"G'day Don.", I said as I jumped in.
"G'day Chummey. Hop in mate. we've gotta pick up the other blokes."
As I got in the front of the Falcon Sedan he said, "I hope Gundy's sober this morning. He was pissed as a chook yesterday. It took him a couple of hours to sober up. He only shore 15 sheep the first run."
"Isn't 15 sheep a lot to shear in one run?", I asked.
"That's nothin' for a shearer of Gundys' capabilities, Chummey. When Gundy's sober and he feels like working, I've seen him shear a couple of hundred in a day and not break out in a sweat. 'Course he's very rarely sober!"
We drove around Shamans corner where all the blackfellas hang out and there was a couple of them sitting on a bench, swigging on a half-gallon flagon of plonk.
"I don't know how those blokes do it!", said Don. "I've seen 'em sat there in the hot sun
all day getting' full on plonk."
"Where do they git the money from?", I asked,
"They get a government check every week and most of 'em spend the whole lot on cheap plonk."
We pulled into the curb again and a young bloke about my age hopped in the front beside me.
"G'day Freeman, how ya going mate?", he said.
"G'day Boney. D'ya know chummey?"
"I've heard of ya mate. Mi brother Kenny told me about ya."
"Good to meet ya Boney.", I said as we shook hands.
"How's Kenny doing?" asked Don.
Boney, who was a small, thin bloke with jet-black hair and a cheeky smile, said with a laugh, "He's fast asleep in the front seat of his car. He got full as a boot again last night. We drove home from Twitcheys' but he was too drunk to make it from the car to our front door.
"How long till she has the kid?", asked Donny.
"About a month, I think. I asked Kenny the same question and he said, 'what kid?"
Boney had a real good laugh over this little joke.
"This is gonna be Chummys' first day in the shed Boney so teach him all the ropes, eh mate."
"Ya haven't worked in the sheds before Chummy?"
"Only for half-a-day at old Burt Booths' place."
"They tell me old Burt's a bit of a hard man to work with.", said Donny.
"That's an understatement!", I said.
Everyone had a good laugh at that. Shearers and Roustabouts are always trying to take the piss out of each other, probably 'cause it makes the day go by easier and relieves the tension from the hard work.
The car pulled up in front of a weatherboard house and Donny Freeman honked on the horn. After a few minutes a bloke appeared at the door and called out, "Be right with ya!"
"Jesus!", said Don. "Old Gundy doesn't look too good to me this morning. I heard he was as full as a boot up at Giltraps bar last night."
"He doesn’t mind a drop now and then,", said Boney with a giggle.
"Ya not wrong there. It's a bit hard to say anything about it 'cause he's such a good shearer. Even when he's crook from the grog he's cleaner and faster than a lot of blokes."
The front door of Gundys' house opened and Gundy walked out. He looked a bit sick and unsteady on his feet as he walked over the dead, patchy grass of his front lawn.
Just before he got to the car, his old lady came running after him with a packet of fags in her hand. He took the fags from her and never said a word. As Gundy reached the back door of the car, he tripped over a crack in the cement and nearly crashed into the window.
"Open the back door for him Chummy before he hurts himself.", said Don.
Leaning mi arm over the back seat, I pulled up on the handle and pushed on the door. The door almost knocked Gundy over and he took a couple of steps backwards. Very carefully, he maneuvered round the open door and slowly got in the back of the Sedan.
"Ya tryin' to knock me arse over head?", said Gundy as he made himself comfortable.
"No, it was my fault for shoving the door so hard.", I said.
"What's your name?"
"Yorky."
"What kind'a fucking name is that?", he said, with slurred speech.
"It's a nickname, 'cause I come from Yorkshire."
"Fucking hell!", said Gundy. "A pommy fucking bastard! What ya doin' in the sheds?"
"It's Chummys' first day. We're gonna teach him to roustabout.", said Don.
"Chummy eh! That's not a bad fuckin' name. I think I'll call ya Chummy from now on."
"Did'ya have a hard night at Giltraps, Gundy?", asked Boney.
"I sure fuckin' did mate. I never got home till 1 O'clock this morning and the missus was as cranky as hell with me. She made me sleep on the couch all night. She was still cranky when she woke me up this morning. Oh shit, mi head's not too good either. Hey Freeman."
"What d'ya want Gundy?"
"Can ya go a bit easier on those fucking corner mate? Mi brain's sloshing around in last nights grog!"
"How many are ya gonna shear today, if I slow down?", said Don in a joking way.
"How many did I shear yesterday?"
"A hundred and two."
"Alright, I'll shear 140 today. How's that?"
"Could you do 150, please?", said Don, taking the piss out of Gundy.
"You fucking contractors are never satisfied?", said Gundy as he pulled a fag out of his packet. "Give us a light Boney."
"I haven't got one Gundy."
"Here ya go Gundy.", I said as I flicked the lighter.
"Good on ya Chummy, ya pommy bastard. Me and you are gonna git on real well mate!"
Gundy was a very funny character. He was about 5'10" with dry, wavy hair. He had a bald spot in the middle of his head and the hair was starting to thin at the front. His eyes were blue and his broken nose shot off to the side at a very acute angle. He was dressed in the usual shearers' garb which was a cardigan, blue singlet with a reinforced patch on the left front side, double-legged, heavy duty blue denim shearers dungarees which helped, slightly, to keep the thistles out, woolly socks and shearers boots. The trousers were held up with an elastic belt made out of good-quality surgical elastic.
"Where's that fuckin' Athel Cook this morning, Freeman?" asked Gundy.
"We're gonna pick him up now. Suppose he was with ya at Giltraps' last night, was he?"
"Yeah. The bastard tried to miss out on buying a round before he left. He can be as tight as a fishes arse sometimes."
The car ground to a halt at the far-end of town and another shearer was sat on the curb, smoking a home-made. He was a thick-set bloke with a whiskery face. Not a very good-looking bloke at all. His thick, wavy hair was plastered down on his large head and he had a sweat towel around his neck like a scarf.
"G'day, ya fuckin' bastards.", he said as he got in the back beside Gundy.
"G'day.", said Don. "This is Chummy Athel. He's roustaboutin' for us today."
"G'day Athel.", I said as I leaned over to shake his hand.
"A fucking pommy bastard eh? I've never seen a good one yet!"
"This one's a fucking beaut, so go easy on him today Athel. It's his first day."
Don let the clutch out and the Sedan sped off out of town onto the dirt road heading for the Cockys' shearing shed.
"Have ya ever had ya balls tarred Chummy?" asked Athel as were were driving along.
"No. Why d'ya ask?"
" 'Cause that's what we do with first-time Rousies!"
"Not this time Athel.", said Don. "I told ya already, leave him alone mate!"
Athel Cook was not a pleasant character. He seemed to take an instant dislike to me.
As we were driving along, Boney leaned across and whispered, "Take no notice of Athel. He's a fucking yabo."
He must have had quite good ears 'cause he said to Boney, "What's that ya fuckin' say Boney?"
"Nothing mate.", said Boney with a giggle.
Athel leaned over and twisted Boneys' ear and Boney, small as he was, got really pissed at him.
"Keep ya fuckin' hands to ya self Athel or I'll fucking job ya one mate!"
"You and whose fucking army?"
"Just try it again, ya fucking yabo and I'll show ya!"
"Come on you blokes.", said Freeman. "Ya worse than a pack of mongrel shed dogs!"
"Yeah, that's right. You tell 'em Freeman.." said Gundy. "Give us another light Chummy.",he said with a twisted grin.
The rest of the drive to the shed was done in silence as we sped along the dirt track road at 70 miles an hour. Half an hour later we pulled off the main Rankin Springs road and turned into the Cockys' property. Boney jumped out and opened the gate, Once it was closed again, we drove up a narrow, winding bush track and stopped in front of a big, old, somewhat dilapidated shearing shed. There was another two shearers cars parked out front and the yards were chock-a-block full of unshorn sheep.
When we got inside the shed Don introduced me to all the other shearers and rousies and Boney filled me in on the 'board-boys' job.
Gundy was a really fair-dinkum bloke, even though he was a chronic drunk. I stood around and talked and joked with him as we waited for the bell to ring at 7:30.
In a four-stand shearing shed there are usually 4 shearers and one board-boy, a wool-classer, a rousie to help skirt the fleeces, a wool-presser whose job it is to press the wool into large bales and sometimes a 'penner-uppa'. His job is to keep the shed pens full. The contractors job is to grind up the combs and cutters, count the sheep out of each shearers outside the pen at the end of the run, which is 2 hours and make sure everything runs smoothly between the shed-hands and the farm-hands,
"Will ya teach me to shear, Gundy?", I asked.
"Oh, I might do Chummy. Lets see how you go at roustabouting' first mate. Maybe you won't like the shearing sheds!"
"I already like 'em and when I can shear I'll be working for miself. That's what I want to do."
"Alright Chummy. Look out mate the bells about to go!"
The bell rang right on 7:30. All the 4 shearers went through the pen gate to grab their first sheep. Gundy was the last to finish and when he let his sheep go down the shute, he straightened up and I noticed the look of pain on his face.
"Jesus, Chummy, It's going to be another hard day for me."
The board-boys job, which I was doing, could be pretty hard at times. I had to pick up the fleeces from 4 shearers and keep the shearing board swept clean of dags and loose pieces of wool. At the end of my first day I was pretty tired of running about so much but I knew, more than ever, I was going to learn shearing no matter what it took.
The shearers were always in a good mood on the way home from the sheds. They laugh and joked about the days work and talked about the first cold beer they were going to have at Giltraps Hotel when we hit town.
All the blokes from the shed drank at George Giltraps Hotel that evening, George Giltrap was a big man. He had shortish hair that was combed straight back with a touch of hair oil on it. His face was always pain-ridden from the amount of beer he drank. It was easy for him to drink 'cause he owned the Hotel. Sometimes he would start drinking at 5 in the morning and at 12 O'clock at night he would be still going strong. Although he was a heavy drinker he was not lazy. He always did his job behind the bar. He was a tall man with wide shoulders who always had a fag hanging out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled the beer. When he ash on the fag got too long he would simply to the side and blow down the cigarette. The ash would fly forwards and land on the tile floor. The barroom at Giltraps was an L-shaped room with a pool table in the far corner. The bar was always stocked with shorts and liquors of all types.
Giltraps was commonly known around town as the Blood House. It got it's name from the amount of fights that took place in the bar. The fights at Giltraps were usually conducted by the Abbos or in a lot of cases, a feud between the white fellas' and the black fellas'. There were many stories floating around town about those brawls. A lot of the local people were not too keen on drinking at Giltraps in case they got sucked into one of the evenings fights.
"Isn't Giltraps a rough house Gundy?", I asked as we walked up the front steps.
"She sure is Chummy but it's not as boring as those as those other two places mate."
Giltraps was packed to the max as we entered.
"Who's buying the first round?", said Gundy as we pushed our way to the bar.
"The first one's are on me.", said Don Freeman. "What'll you have men?"
Once the orders were taken by Don, he called Giltrap over, who was busy drinking in three different schools.
"What'll ya have Freeman?", asked Giltrap.
Don gave the order, including a 5-ounce beer for me.
"How old's the young bloke?", said Giltrap as he looked at me.
"Oh, that's Chummy.", said Don. "He's old enough. He's working out in the sheds with me now."
"Whatever you say Freeman but if he isn't and the old Sarg comes in, tell him to hide his beer or I'll git in the shit!"
Drinking grog was a part of the shearers world. It seemed to go with the job. Shearers lose gallons of sweat every day so they put it back in, of an evening, as fast as they can.
We all sat or stood around for the next three hours bull-shitting and making jokes; taking the piss out of each other and generally having a good old time.
The wool-presser at our shed was Roy James. Roy James was a big rough bloke who no one put shit on. He was about 6'4" and weighed about 280 pounds and not an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. Roy was a good bloke who had a big heart although he was not overburdened with brains. His hair was swept straight back and covered in lanolin from picking up big armfuls of wool. He had a big cauliflower ear and a nose that had been broken too numerous a time to remember. His good ear had a lobe missing. The jagged line that was left resembled a half-moon. He usually wore a blue singlet, stubby shorts and a pair of elastic-sided Williams riding boots, the flat-heeled type.
As the evening progressed and everyone got drunker, I found myself wondering what had happened to Roys' ear.
"Hey Roy, what happened to your ear-lobe mate?"
A few people standing around must have heard me ask the question because our end of the bar suddenly went very quiet. Roy casually downed his beer. The glass was not too visible in his huge calloused hand.
"What did you say, Chummy?"
He sort of turned side ways to glare at me.
"I was just wonderin' what happened to ya ear-lobe, Roy."
As he stared down at me, he said, "I've killed bigger men than you for askin' much less than that!"
"Alright Roy.", I said. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful to ya but what did happen to your ear-lobe?"
"I was in a fight at the Hotel in Bourke and a little bloke was takin' the piss out 'a me and as we struggled on the bar-room floor, he bit the end off mi ear and then spit it out."
"Why didn't you git it sewn back on?", I asked with great interest.
" 'Cause when the bloke spit out on the floor, the publican Jack Russell ran over and grabbed it and then swallowed it."
"Fuckin' hell Roy, did that hurt?"
"I was too drunk to feel a thing but I felt it next morning after I'd sobered up! Whose round is it?", he asked as the tension in the room started to dissipate.
Roy walked out to go to the toilet and while he was out, Freeman said, "I never knew that's what happened to his ear."
Gundy said, "You've got more guts than anyone else in this barroom Chummy. There isn't a man alive in Lake Cargelligo who's had the balls to ask Big Roy about his ear and he's been comin' to the Lake each shearing season for years now."
Everyone started to laugh as they joked with me.
"It's not that I've got guts.", I said to Gundy. "I knew there must have been quite a story behind his ear 'cause it caught my attention. So much so that I couldn't help but ask."
George Giltrap came around the bar to where we were all in a group and he said, "Here Chummy, have a middy. It's on the house, mate. That's the best bit 'a fun I had for ages."

JIM SMITH - PART 3 ©

2008-10-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

That evening, after a cold shower outside under a tree, we had a good feed and went to bed early. I was so tired that as soon as mi head hit the pillow I was engulfed with 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 and I worked at the fence every day, just about. The weather was getting hotter and hotter as the summer progressed.
One day, he said to me, "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 processs. I'd seen a few bees hovering around the tree when I went up but I didn't think anymore 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 were by this time, 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 fence 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 costs ya money everytime ya stick 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 4 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 miles an hour. 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 into Blackers. He was the Publican at the Australian Hotel. Jim knew him so he took a check there to cash it so 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 so she could by 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?"

HARD WORK ©

2008-10-14T08:05:00.000-07:00

"Alright mate, let's unload the truck."
Fencing was really hard work and as I was soon to find out but the hard work was offset by Jims'kind heart and good sense of humor.
At around lunch time, I'd almost drank all of mi water so Jim said to me, "You'll end up sick as a dog, mate, if ya keep guzzling the water like ya are doing."
"I can't seem to stop drinking, Jim. It's really hot today and I'm thirsty and dry."
"Ah well mate, don't say I didn't warn ya!"
By the time 2 O'clock came I was layed out on mi belly under the truck, as sick as a dog. Every 5 or 10 minutes I'd spew up colorless liquid and mi belly would get a huge cramp in it which made me cry.
The heat was intolerable that day. It was about 105 degrees but old 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 mate. Mi throat feels like sandpaper and I can't swallow and I got no spit left to swallow."
"Put a small pebble in ya mouth mate, but don't swallow it."
About an hour later I felt a little bit better so I crawled out from under my shady spot and walked over to where Him was still digging a 3 foot hole to put a strainer post in.
"How ya going 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. 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 yam us have wanted to learn it the hard way so who am I to git in ya way. Another few days mate and you'll hardly 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.
Just then, Him stopped talking and cocked his head to one side. "Shhhh!", he said as he listened. 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. "Ya see it Yorky?"
"Oh yeh!" I said as I saw the beautiful white and pink 'Wee Juggler' sat on a partly dead tree limb.
"She's nesting in that hole in the trunk right below where she's sitting."
"That's pretty high up Jim."
"Yeah mate. That's why you're climbing up there and not me."
"What?"
"Yeah mate. Come on. Up ya 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 right foot boot in his hands.
"Hold it Yorky, you'll do better if ya take ya boots off. You'll git a better grip with ya bare feet."
"Ya joking mate? This bloody tree's crawling with ants. They'll bite mi feet as I'm going up it!"
"Na mate. Don't worry about the ants. They won't eat much."
Once I reached he 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 so I had to 'bear-hug' my 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 the 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 coming up 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 and 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 my left arm and both legs and then stuck my hand downwards towards the nest. The inside of the trunk was cool and the sides were quite rough as mi hand very carefully slid downwards.
"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, they were real warm."
"Good man.", he said. "Let's git out of here now before we disturb her too much. She's sitting in that Box tree over there. See her?"
The 'Wee Juggler" was sat high up on a limb looking towards the hole in the Gum tree.
Jim and I headed back towards where the truck was and we chatted quite excitedly as we walked through the Bush.
"How will ya know when to come back for the young ones?", I asked.
"I know how long it takes for 'em to hatch and when they're ready we'll only take one of them 'cause that's my policy. If we take both it would upset their breeding program too much and pretty soon they'd be well down in numbers and we don't want that to happen.
Let's go a 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 two. Besides that, it'll be good discipline for ya mate!"
The rest of the afternoon we finished digging the big round strainer post-holes so we could then start on the next part of the fence construction. We lifted one of the big wooden strainer posts into the hole that we'd just dug. Then Jim said, "You fill this hole in while I mark out where to drop off the steel pegs, Yorky."
I pick 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 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. Then ya throw in some more dirt and rocks, but only a small amount. Then ya 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 piece of braided wire which was 18 feet long. Every one length of wire he'd mark the ground with the back of the axe.
After I finished my job, I walked down the line to meet Jim.
"Ya finished Yorky?"
"Yeh 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 get a real good tight fence out of it."
We both had a good old laugh out of our little jokes and Jim lit up another Monopol while I rolled up a Drum.
The hot sun was now disappearing behind the Mali trees in the Western Sky line so Jim said, "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 today mate and I don't want to burn ya out ya first week or I'll be stuck on mi own again mate.
What d'ya think about that?"
"Sounds great to me Jimmy, mi hands are as sore as hell. I've got blisters on blisters. Just look at 'em!"
"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! Come on, let's go home. I'm a bit hungry now. I could eat a cool green salad and some cold mutton with a lot 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.

THE DRIVING LESSON ©

2008-10-08T07:59:00.000-07:00

It didn't take long to put mi sheets and a blanket on the bed and I opened up one port 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, then 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, half-mile 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 chauffer 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 the 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 paddocks 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 it 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.", said with a wink.

JIM SMITH-PART 2 ©

2008-10-07T07:57:00.001-07:00

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 nice 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 90 degrees inside the kitchen. Shirley had a wood stove going so as to make the tea for us. As you may well imagine 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 ther 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 got 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 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 now 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, 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 summers 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 that was reserved for me.
"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.

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES - JIM SMITH ©

2008-10-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

One evening Peter Smith unexpectedly drove into Burts' yard and stopped in a cloud of dust outside my tin shed.
"G'day ya bastard!" he said with a huge grin on his face.
"G'day Peter, How are ya mate?"
My use of the Aussie accent and lingo was now improving somewhat.
"I'm good sport, and I'm good because I've got some good news for ya Yorky!"
"Ya got me a new job Peter?"
"Sure have mate! It took me awhile but I eventually found one for ya."
"What's it doing and who will I be working with? , I said, as mi heart was now skipping beats like a room skips over a fence.
"Well mate, you'll be starting a new career in contract fencing with a real good bloke called Jim Smith."
"Is he any relation to you Pete?"
"Na mate, no relation at all but he's a beaut bloke."

<<>>

"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 seen in these parts he'd drop his tools at the drop of a hat and go off chasing 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."
"Nice 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 2 cases and mi trumpet 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 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 4 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, 4 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 on of 'em 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."

NO BULL ©

2008-09-09T07:21:00.000-07:00

After putting a few more days in up the the rough Mali country, old Burt decided to drench a few of his beef cattle. It didn't take very long to muster the beef because there was no roos for the dogs to chase that day and the cattle were not far way from Burts' house paddock.
Once the stock were in the yards, my job was to hunt them into the race and close the gate behind them. Burt waited at the other end of the race and pulled the lever across that trapped their heads so he could administer a good dose of drench.
It was quite a dangerous job because old Burts' steers weren't polled, meaning they had quite long, sharp, pointed horns. Rarely do the steers want to go up the drafting race on their own so the dogs and I had to give them a bit of gentle persuasion. The dogs used their teeth on the steers heels for this job and seeing as my teeth were not in as good-a shape as theirs, I used a big stick.
Sometimes they would back out of the races and swing their heads around really fast so I had to have my wits about me so as not to get gored.
The bush flies were terrible that day plus the heat and the dust from the dry dirt in the little-used stockyard and by the end of the long day I was ready for a good shower and a long rest.
Burt had an old bull called Barney. Although Barney was about 9 years old he was still quite active at his job. His toenails were all curled up at the ends which made it appear like he wore Arabian shoes on his feet.
"D'ya think ya could ride old Barney?" said Burt as we walked the steers back to their paddocks.
"I don't see why not. He's all crippled up and he can hardly walk by the looks of him."
"I'll bet you can't stay on him for 5 seconds."
"OK, you're on Burt!"
"Away ya go mate. Show us ya style."
I had seen the cowboys on the TV run up behind their horse and handspring over its behind and land in the saddle, so I said to Burt,
"I'll just run up behind him and spring up over his arse-end."
"What a great idea." said Burt with a mischievous grin on his whiskery, weather- worn face. "Don't let him see ya coming 'cause he may side-step ya."
"That crippled-up old bastard couldn't side-step his shadow. Why don't ya buy a bit more active, younger bull?"
"Oh old Barney's not too bad mate. He's got a few more years left in him yet."
"Alright Burt, here I go!"
I let Barney get a few more feet ahead of me then I took a good, deep breath and ran towards Barneys' big, wide ass. As soon as I got within springing range I put mi hands on his arse and at the same time, I sprang upwards. Barney let out a great bellow just like owner did on occasions. I was halfway up on his arse-end when he kicked both of his huge back legs high up in the air. Old Barney knocked me to the ground before I even got mi legs around him. I felt the whistle of air go past mi ears as Barneys' back, crippled toes shot up in the air at each side of mi head.
Burt just stood there in the middle of the track, bent over double and laughing like hell.
"I thought you were gonna ride him, ya pommy bastard? Don't tell me ya let old Barney throw ya before ya got on?"" He roared between laughs.
I was really pissed with Burt now 'cause Barneys' feet just missed mi ears.
"I supposes ya think that's clever Burt, ya silly old bastard! He could have kicked mi head off mi shoulders and broke mi neck!"
"Yeh, suppose he could but ya must admit he fooled you, ya pommy bastard. There's better men than you haven't been able to stay on him."
"Next time we've got the cattle in the yard Burt I'll show ya how to ride him, mate. I'll mount him off of the fence-rail and that'll fool him and you!"
A couple of weeks later Burt was selling off some steers to market and old Barney was back in the yard again. It took me a few goes to get on Barneys' back from the high, wooden fence-rail but before the day was out I'd ridden Barney around the sock yard for more than 5 seconds and on more than one occasion!
Burt had to concede in the end that I was the only pommy that had worked on his place to ride old Barney the bull.

LEARNING TO SHEAR (part 2) ©

2008-08-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

After smoko, the three of us went down to the shearing shed and we filled the shed up with the big, rough, woolly mongrel-bred wethers. As soon as everything was ready Burt started the Briggs & Stratton motor. He pressed the govenor 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 pipes 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 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 handpieces 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 and put a good squirt of black sump oil over the comb and cutter; then pushed the ferell 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 handpiece 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 burry 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 bug-eye jumped into gear. It took Burt about 10 minutes to shear the big, flyblown wether and as he was shearing it, I was thinking to miself, 'I could do that miself! I could probably do a better job than Burt and 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. Next, he showed me how to grab the fleece and throw it on the sorting 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 10 or 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 hot box handpiece was red hot when old Burt handed it to me but I was determined not to complain. Burt pulled the string and the handpiece flew into gear. The dirt in the wool had blunted the comb and cutter and the tension on the handpiece 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 downtube 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.
By now, the rough-looking wether had worked out that this was my first go at shearing so just to make it interesting for me, he complicated matters worse that 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, 20 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?"
"Grand 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 old, wrinkly 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 Bunt. He shore 250 one day out at Merri Merrigal. He'a a real fair-dinkum gun shearer, only problem is he likes his grog too much. They tell me, in town, that he shore over 200 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!" he said as fat Bill laughed his head off.

Being true to my word, I started shearing when I was 16 - ½. 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 7 - ½ hours.
"In case your listening Burt, pommy bastard or not, eat ya words mate!"
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.

SELLING MI HARLEY ©

2008-08-26T12:24:00.001-07:00

With the 50 bucks I made prizefighting that weekend I bought myself an old 1947 ex-army Harley Davidson motorbike. I got it from Gary Breaney who had purchased it from a cocky (farmer) that had purchased it from a company in Sydney which dealt in ex-army surplus.

Anyone who saw me on that old Harley would take an instant bet with his mate about the longevity of my young life.

In the time that I had him, I only fell off twice and luckily for me that happened to be in the mud doing 25 miles an hour. Still, having a bike that size fall on one’s leg was not a very pleasant experience.

I decided to sell the old bike so I put the word out around Giltraps’ Hotel that I wanted 80 bucks for him. A few days later a bloke called Harry Plunkett knocked on mi hotel door.

“How ya going Harry?”, I said as I opened the door.
“Gooday Yorky. I came to see about the old Harley ya’ got for sale.”
“Come in mate and sit down.”
“How much ya’ want for the old bike, mate?”
“80 bucks and he’s yours, Harry.”
“No worries mate”, he said as he pulled out his wallet and peeled of four 20s’ from a large wad of bills.
As I handed the rego papers to him I said,
“Have ya ever ridden a Harley before?”
“Yeah, hundreds of times mate. I used to ride ‘em in the army.”
“Alright, no worries mate. Then you’ll know about the advance and retard spark for easier starting, eh?”
“Yeah. Just show me where it is mate, that’s all.”

We walked down the passageway and out onto the main street. I showed Harry how to retard the spark which made it much easier to kick-start the big, old bike.

“If ya don’t retard the spark, Harry, it’s got so much compression it will kick like a bloody horse, so don’t forget mate.”
“No worries Yorky. I’ve ridden thousands of these old bangers.”

I threw mi leg over the bike and turned the key and screwed back the spark. It still took all of my weight kicking down on the kick-start before the old bike would fire up.
Once he was merrily popping away I got off and handed it over to Harry.

“Good luck mate and be careful on him, he’s a bloody big bike.”
“No worries!” said Harry as he pulled out from the curb, just missing a passing car.
“Be careful!”, I yelled out to him but my voice was drowned out by the sound of the slow-popping exhaust.

Sometime towards the end of the week, I was in Giltraps’ watching the news on the barroom TV that sat on a shelf, high up on the wall so it couldn’t get busted in the fights that took place at various times. Halfway through the news a wheat cocky walked in and ordered a middy. After he sat down with his beer he said to me,
“Hey Yorky, did’ya sell your old Harley to Harry Plunkett?
“Yeah mate. Why?”
“I thought ya’ must have ‘cause I just saw him start it up at the garage over the road. He must have forgotten to retard the spark on it ‘cause when he jumped down on the kick pedal from the side, it threw him over the handle-bars and it still didn’t start.”

A few days later another bloke said he saw Harry go straight through the neighbors corrugated tin fence without even losing his hat.

I never saw Harry much after he’d bought the bike and sometimes I wondered if he was still around or riding through the clouds on an ‘Astral’ Harley.

MI OLD PAN-HEAD HARLEY ©

2008-08-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

One morning Arthur Auberry came into the Café.

“G’day Yorky . I heard you were back, mate.”
“G’day Arthur, sorry about not giving ya any notice.”
“No worries Yorky. I didn’t have too much more work for ya anyway.”
“Oh that’s good to know. I felt real bad for a while for just leaving like that without telling ya.”
“Don’t worry about it. When ya coming out to pick up ya old panhead Harley?”
“Ya mean to say ya not gonna keep it on me?”
“Why should I do that? It’s your bike mate. Ya next payment’s not due till the end of the month. You were 4 payments ahead when ya left the lake.”
“Oh shit, that’s great! I’ve still got some wheels.”
“If ya can’t afford to pay for it I’ll buy it back from ya.”
“Thanks for the offer Arthur but I’ll be able to pay it off easy now seeing as the rain’s come. There’ll be a lot of tractor driving around next week so I’ll do a lot of hours and pay it all off at once.”
“Anyway ya like. It’s still in the same place as ya left it. Come and pick it up whenever ya like.”
Good on ya Arthur. You’re a good bloke. I’ll give ya a call before I come.”

The following week I picked up the old Harley. As I hadn’t ridden it for months, it took a few miles to get used to it again especially on the corrugated corners of the dirt roads. I was quite happy when I reached the stretch of tar-sealed road into Lake Cargelligo Township.

I swung into the driveway of mi mates house, He was sitting on the back veranda when I pulled up.
“G’day Yorky. How ya going mate?”
“Not bad Gary. What ya doing?”
“Not too much mate. The Lake’s a dead place on Saturday afternoon.”
“Are ya up for a bit of fun?”
“Doin’ what?”
“Let’s go for a ride on the old Harley.”
“Where to?”
“Just out along the Condo Road. We can try out mi new gun!”
“What gun? I don’t see no rifle?”
“It’s under mi shirt!”
“What d’ya mean?” he said, looking somewhat confused.
“It’s here.” I said as I lifted the front of mi shirt.
“Where d’ya git that from Yorky?”
“I just made it.”
“Give us a look at it.”
“Not here mate! If ya mother sees it she won’t be too happy about it!”
“All right mate, let’s go!”
“Back soon!” he called out to his mother as I started the bike.
“Jump on mate! We’re outa’ here.”

Out of his driveway and left up the main street we rode. Off the bitumen and onto the main Condo dirt road we flew in a cloud or red dust.

“There’s a Cockys’ paddock up ahead”, screamed Gary, over my shoulder. “I know him. He wont mind us going in for a shot!”

Once the large steel gate was opened and closed, I gave Gary the pistol.

“Shit Yorky, this is a real beauty! Ya did a pretty good job on cutting it down. Ya got any bullets?”
“Yeah. Here, I bought a box off Skippy this morning.”

The Cockys’ paddock was not too densely covered with Malley but we would have to be careful ‘cause there were lots of dead trees, low hanging branches and sharp, pointy stumps.

“All right mate, load her up but don’t cock it till we see something. It’s only accurate at about 15 or 20 feet. Once we see something, pull the pin back and hold the gun up in the air. That way we won’t have an accident!”

I put mi old Harley into first gear and we pulled away slowly from the gate.

“There should be a few ‘roos out in the middle where those shade trees are so we’ll head out that way!”

The paddock was rougher than it looked so I had to be careful not to get a stick caught in the spokes or puncture a tire.

We’d been riding around for about 45 minutes when Gary called out,
“There’s a mob of emus over near the fence.”
“I can see ‘em.” I said. “We’ll ride across the paddock and down the fence. That way they’ll run down parallel with it. If we chase ‘em from here they’ll stick their heads down and crash through the fence!”
“Let’s go!” said Gary. “They’ve heard us talking!”

Once we got level with the fence again I called out to him,

“Hang on tight mate, here we go!!”

I reversed the Harley through the gears into 3rd and the Speedo was touching 40 now. ‘Clunk’, down into 4th it went and I opened the throttle full up. The fence posts were whizzing past now as we rode like hell along the one-lane bush track. There were some large, sharp rocks sticking out in places so I had to keep a good eye out for them.
The Emus were now going flat out down the fence line as I expected. They were running in line, one after each other and their massive, strong legs pounded the dirt tracks and their huge, scaly feet kicked up small stones behind them.

“We’re gainin’ on ‘em!”, screamed Gary, over my shoulder.
“Put your right arm over my shoulder mate but keep the pistol well in front of me ‘cause I don’t want deafening!” I yelled with mi head half-turned.

The old Harley was now flat as a strap and the needle was bouncing between 50 and 55.

“Don’t shoot till I tell ya mate. Wait till they’re off to the side!”

We were now only 50 feet behind and gaining on them fast.

“All right mate! Let ‘em have it!”

BOOM! Gary let fly with the pistol and a flame about 12” long shot out of the barrel.
BOOM! He reloaded from the bullets he was carrying in his mouth. The emus pulled out all the stops now! A few seconds later and we were right up the arse of a big, cranky emu.

“Not yet mate, he’s too close. If he falls over we’ll go right over the top of him!”

BOOM! Gary didn’t listen to me and he hit the big, grizzly emu with the next shot. The emu fell arse overhead in front of us. There was no time to veer off so I slammed on the breaks in a cloud of dust. The next thing I knew we were both flying over the handlebars.

“Oh Shit!” I roared as we landed on top of the pissed-off emu.

All I remember was feathers and dust as we tried to scramble away from the emu. One good kick from him we would have been dead! The emu had somewhat regained his feet and his head and neck were through the fence as he kicked like hell to get his huge, strong body on the other side.

Mi good bike was over on its’ side and the motor was revving like hell. Gary was trying to regain his feet as I saw the emus legs kicking frantically towards mi bike now.

“Get the bike out the way or he’ll kick the shit out of it!” I screamed.

We scrambled over to the bike and pulled it back out of range of his massive kicks before he could smash it to pieces.

“Where’s the pistol?” I yelled as I limped back out of range myself.
“I dunno, it flew out of mi hand when we hit him.” He said.
“He’s getting away!” I said as the big, old emu scrambled through the fence.

A couple more big kicks and the emu was back up on his feet. His black, beady eyes were now wide open as he took one last look around at us and then tore off across a ploughed paddock kicking up patches of dust as he went.

“That was pretty fucking close Gary. We almost got killed! Why the hell did you blast him?”
“I didn’t mean to Yorky, mi finger was resting on the trigger when we shot over that lump of hard dirt in the middle of the track.”
“Oh shit, just look at mi bike! The front wheel’s buckled where he kicked it and the logo
on the side of he petrol tank has been knocked off!”
“Don’t worry mate. I know Manny at Shamens garage. I’ll get him to order a new wheel and he’ll stick the logo back on. A bit of touchup paint on the tank and it will be as good as new.”
“Look at mi good strides! The knees torn clean out and there’s blood running out of mi kneecap! I’ve knocked all the skin off of it!”
“Look at mi elbows and mi hands are tore up from the gravel!”

The old emu was now out of sight so I started up the bike and we rode slowly back to the Lake with the front wheel going ‘rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub…….’

THE DUNNY HOLE ©

2008-08-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

On Sunday morning I went into the bar to look for some work. Someone I knew introduced me to a real beaut, a young bloke called Kenny Calton. We got on well together right from the word go.

“Where ya working, Yorky?” he asked.
“Nowhere yet Kenny. I’ve just finished tractor driving out at Roger Toms’ place.”
“Why don’t ya git a job roustabouting in the shearing sheds?”
“I’d love that but I don’t know how to go about it.”
“It’s easy, mate. I’ll introduce ya to a few of the local contractors and ya can take it from there.”
“How did you learn to shear, Mate?”
“Mi old man’s a shearer, he taught me. I’ve been going out in the sheds with him since I was a kid.”
“Is it hard work?”
“Well, it’s not easy but once ya git the blows down and git fit, then it depends on how hard ya wanna work.”
“What’s the money like?”
“If ya git in good sheep ya can make a good, few bob.”
“What’s the going rate?”
“Eighteen bucks a hundred.”
“How many can you shear a day, Kenny.”
“Oh about 120-130.”
“Shit! That’s big money.”
“Yeah”, he said. If ya can keep ya self in work it is.”
I left the bar for a while to go for a feed and when I came back Kenny was still sat on the same stool, a few middies worse for wear.
Kenny was a short nuggety bloke, clean-cut and well-dressed. He had short, straight hair and a somewhat chubby face. His arms were quite big from dragging sheep. The knuckles on both his hands were big and swollen as most shearers hands are. I noticed his arms were covered in scratches and burr marks from the saffron thistles that were all over the sheeps' fleece. When I walked over to him, he said in a somewhat slurred voice, “ya see that bloke over the other side of the bar, Yorky?”
“Yeah.”
“His name’s Don Freeman. Go and see him, mate. Tell him ya looking for a job roust-abouting.”
When I went over to where he was sitting, I waited for him to finish talking to his mate.
“G’day.”, I said.
“G’day mate, what can I do for ya?”
“I’m looking for some work in the sheds. Kenny Calton said ya might have some.”
“Kenny sent ya over did he?”
“Yeah.”, I said.
“I haven’t got anything going for a couple of days but I can give ya some work down at mi house till we start, if ya like.”
“That sounds great!”
“Hang on a minute till I finish mi beer.”
Don Freeman was a tall, lanky bloke. He had wavy hair, a gaunt face and a husky, muffled voice which came from a broken nose.
He downed his 7 ounce and said, “What’s ya name?”
“Yorky.”
“A chummy, eh? Can ya work, mate? Ya don’t look too fucking big to me!”
“Don’t let the size fool ya.”, I said.
“Alright mate, let’s go.”
“Where we off to?” I asked, as we walked out of Twitcheys, down the main street towards the Lake.
“Down to my joint. It’s just down at the end of the street.”
When we got inside of his backyard he said, “I want to put a big septic tank over here so I need a hole digging. D’ya think ya can do that?”
“How big a hole d’ya want?”
“I’ll show ya.”
He walked over to a wheel barrow and took out a string line and two pegs. He stuck one peg in the ground and then unraveled the string. When the string was straight, he tied the steel peg on and then walked around with the peg scratching the hard ground as he went. Once the circle was complete he said, “That’s about nine foot across and it’s gotta be seven foot deep. Ya think ya can dig it by hand?”
“No worries, mate.”
“How long will it take ya?”
“Probably all day.”
“One day?”,he said. “That’s all? That’s a fucking big hole mate! There’s a lot of digging there!”
“Yeah! About one days’ worth.”
“Shit! I doubt whether an Aussie could dig that in two days, let alone a chummy in one!”
“One day, mate.”, I said.
“Alright chummy, the job’s yours! How much is it gonna cost me?”
“Tell ya what, Don. You don’t think I can do it in one day and ya said it would take an Aussie two days. At a dollar an hour, that’s 16 bucks for two eight hour days. I’ll make ya a deal. If you promise to give me a job as a roustabout as soon as you’ve got work, I’ll dig the hole for ten bucks and I’ll finish it within the day.”
“You’re on chummy!”, he said with a smile. “Ya can start in the sheds with me on Wednesday, that’s if ya finish the septic hole in time. I won’t be here tomorrow so I’ll leave the pick, shovel and the crowbar in that wheelbarrow over there. Alright chummy?”
“Alright Donny.”, I said, with a big smile. “Be careful ya don’t fall in it if ya come home full!”, I joked.
“I’ll believe it when I see it!”
I was up the next morning, bright and early. I had a bit of breakfast at the Hotel before I set off. As I walked down the empty street towards Dons’ place, I was thinking what it would be like to work in the shearing sheds. I’d always wanted to learn shearing ever since I had a go at it at old Burts’ place.
When I walked through the small gate and down the dirt path, I decided to put everything out of my mind except the big job that was ahead of me!
It was still pretty cool as the sun was not yet above the horizon. I stood in the rough, untidy side-yard contemplating what was the best and easiest way to go about digging the septic tank hole. After a few minutes it became obvious to me that there was no easy way to dig it. The only way it was going to get done was to start digging! The steel peg and string line that Donny had used to mark the large circle was still in the same place so I remarked the circle making the line deeper as I walked around. Once this task was complete I grabbed hold of the shovel, put the end of it on the ground where the center hole was and stomped on the edge with mi old work-boot. The shovel sank into the ground all of two inches.
‘Oh shit!’ I thought. ‘This is going to be a lot tougher going than I thought it would be!’
Then I picked up the long, fat crowbar. The end of it was in not too bad a shape, so I decided to start loosening the ground in a small circular motion, starting from the middle again. The crowbar sank in the hard ground about four inches each time I raised it above my shoulders and drove it downwards with great force. Very consistently, I enlarged the shallow hole until I reached the outer line of the nine foot circle. I took a few minutes breather, then shoveled the loose dirt and shale rock out of the hole. Once this was done I surveyed the work, still wondering if there was an easier way to do it.
Pictures of jackhammers kept floating across the minds’ eye but there was no chance of aquiring one so I dismissed them as soon as they arose. Next, I decided to have a go with the pick that Donny had left. I started in the middle again and applied the same principle. I made a small hole, then enlarged it as I moved around. Sometimes the pick would hit a hard rock and the vibration of the blow would send the corresponding vibration shattering up my arms.
Once I reached the outside circle again I cleaned out the loose dirt and surveyed the now, little bit deeper hole. A minutes rest and I started from the center again. No easier way of digging would come to mind so once that became clear to me I threw myself into the job with a great deal of determination!
As the morning wore on, the large hole got slowly deeper. The hot sun was now beginning to rise in the sky. Sweat was starting to pour out of my forehead and a gentle breeze blew the fine red dust over my face! By noontime, I was halfway there! The large hole was three and a half feet deep and the sides were perfectly straight.
I took a rest for half an hour to eat a couple of sandwiches I’d got from the Hotel kitchen. After a smoke, I jumped down into the hole to start the afternoons’ session. It was much harder now as the sun was really hot! It must have been 115 degrees down in the hole.
The ground was not getting any softer and the dirt had to be thrown up in the air and over the side so it didn’t roll back in on top of me. By 7 O’clock that evening, the hole was seven feet deep and nine feet wide. The sides were as straight as a die!
“G’day.”, said Donny as he peered down into the hole. “Grand streuth chummy, ya finished it mate!”
“Right on seven feet!”, I said as I looked up at him from down in the hole.
“You’re a bloody little beauty chummy! I didn’t think ya stood a mongrel dogs’ chance of finishing that today!”
“I told ya I could do it. Good-looking hole, mate eh?”
“Not bad chummy. It’s a pity we’re gonna fill it with shit! How ya gonna git out ‘a the hole?”, he said, with a big grin.
“Give us a pull up mate or I’ll be here all night.”
Once I got out of the hole, I said to him “So I’ve got a job in the sheds with ya now, mate?”
“Tell ya what, Chummy, ya can work in the sheds with me anytime I’ve got work. Any man who can dig a hole that big and deep in one day is good enough for me, sport. You’re a better man than most of those lazy bastards that sit around the bar all day. They ask me for a job and I take ‘em out and they’re too crook from the grog to do any good!”
“Will ya teach me to shear, mate?”
“If I get time I will and if not one of the other blokes will!”
Although I was knackered from the days work, the thought of working in the sheds and learning to shear put a shit-eating grin on my face for the rest of the evening.
A couple of days later I saw Don in Twitcheys bar.
“Ya got a start tomorrow if ya want it, chummy!”
“ ‘Course I want it! What time will ya pick me up?”
“Be ready at six. I’ll pick ya up on mi way past.”
“How many days will ya have for me?”
“Two days this week then we’ll start on a new shed next week. It should go for three weeks.”

LEARNING TO SHEAR (part 1) ©

2008-08-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

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 old 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 on 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’. So 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 big, rough, woolly wethers.
(A wether is a male sheep that has no balls. The Cocky cuts ‘em out so all the sheeps’ strength goes into growing super-fine Merino wool.)
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 leafy 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!”
Next, he turned and had a piece of me,
“And you, ya useless pommy bastard, don’t just stand there looking…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.

MY PAL JOEY ©

2008-08-20T06:45:00.001-07:00

Peter Smith came back out to old Burts' place to see me. He pulled up in Burts' yard one evening and jumped out of his blue 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 and 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 and 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 the tin hut, 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.

IN THE MALI ©

2008-08-19T19:14:00.000-07:00

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 whatsoever. 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 old 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, bush towns being what they are, the story was all over 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.

BILL DEFOE ©

2008-08-17T13:25:00.000-07:00

At around 12 O’clock on the 23rd of April, the Big Brother Movement sent a large, single-decker coach to pick up all of us boys with the exception of Liverpool Bob who did not want to be sent out to the Bush to work. It was decided that he would work in Sydney as a mechanic so the Big Brother Movement could keep a good eye on him until he reached the age of 18. After 18 the BBM would no longer assume responsibility for any of us boys. I never really saw any of the BBM Directors so it felt like we were on our own, after they found us our first job in the Bush.

All of our suitcases were loaded on the coach and the drivers headed out for the Suburbs to a small place called Cabramatta. On the outskirts of Cabramatta was a Dairy Farm which the BBM owned. That was to be our new home until we were able to get our first Bush job. The training farm was a very beautiful place which was surrounded by lush green fields. The large coach drove through a big double gate and up a dirt track road to the large Nissan hut where our quarters were. A couple of big Australian men were waiting to help us out with our cases and gear as the coach came to a halt.

Once everyones’ gear was in the large barrack-type hut, I layed down on a wire-framed bed and took a bit of a breather. I had not been layed down very long before a big, booming voice rang out,
“All right you pommy bastards, get off those bunks and lets see what type of fucking rabble they’ve sent me this time. Line up at the bottom of ya’ beds! My name is Bill Defoe.”, he said as he strode down the hut.
He stopped in front of one boy and said,“Jesus fucking christ, you sure are an ugly little bastard, son. What’s your fucking handle?”
“Mi names Morris.”, said the boy.
“Is your father an ugly little bastard like you?”
“Mi father’s dead.”, said Morris.
“Just as fucking well!”, said Defoe. “He’d have had a fucking heart attack looking at you, sunshine.”
Walking down the line he stopped at another boy.
“What’s your fucking handle?”
“Dave.”
“Can you work, Dave?”
“I’ve been working for two years.”, said Dave.
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t work in an iron lung, ya big pufta! Who curls ya fucking hair now ya sisters not around?”
“No one, It’s natural.”, said Dave.
When Defoe got level with were I was standing he took one look at me and said,
“Gawd love a fucking duck! You should be still at home on your mothers tits. Who the fucking hell sent a little fucking worm like you out here!”
“The BBM.”, I said.
“Do you know how to wank yourself off yet, lad?”
“Yes.”, I said as mi face went bright red and all the boys started to laugh.
“Does spunk fly out of the end of your dick or are you still pumping air?”
Everyone had a good laugh at that one.
I declined to answer that question and he said, “OK you pommy, fucking bastards, follow me and I’ll show you around the place.”

We all followed Defoe out of the hut and across the field to where the dairy parlour was. He showed us how everything worked, and as he went along, he attached jobs to every one. I was the only boy who never got a job and on the way back to the Nissen Hut he said to me, “Come here ya scrawny-assed little fucker. D’ya know what that building is?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s the cook house. You can helps Mrs. Blackwell to serve the meals and do the dishes .
“Alright.”
You can take some rest now and make fucking sure you’re all ready for work in the morning. Breakfast will be at 6 O’clock sharp! If you’re not out a’fucking bed, you’ll be in deep shit.”
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Defoe strode off across the paddock to the Administration building.
“Let’s go a get some rest before that big ugly bastard changes his mind!” said Dave.
We lay on our beds and tried to get a bit of rest because, for sure, Bill Defoe was going to make it quite hard for all of us. Most of the boys were asleep but I found it very difficult to rest. I decided to go for a walk, over to the milking parlour. When I walked out into the back yard it looked like it had never been cleaned out for months. There was cow shit 6 inches deep all over it.
Just then a voice said to me, ‘This yard looks very much like Spencers’ yard, but Spencer would never have a dirty yard like this one. Why don’t you grab that shovel and clean it all out.’
‘What a good idea.’, I thought. ‘It sounds as though I’m going to have a hard life over here so I’d might as well get started right now.”
I worked real hard, non-stop, till the whole yard had been shoveled clean. It took me four hours to do it. As soon as all the shit had been stacked on the old shit pile I hosed the yard down with water. By the time I had finished there were blisters on mi hands and fingers. When I looked around the yard it was as clean as a whistle.
I felt a great sense of accomplishment so I went back over to the Nisson hut and took a well-deserved lay down.
‘Now I can rest.’, I thought. ‘I’ve earned one!

OFF TO TOWN ©

2008-08-17T13:06:00.000-07:00

The next day, being Saturday, I finished mi work at 12 and by 1 O'Clock
I was showered and in mi good town gear waiting in Burts' old, blue comby Volkswagen for his missus to come out.
"They're all the bloody same, women. All morning she's had to get ready and she's still not here! Go and tell her, Burt said to git a move on or I'll leave her at home!"
I ran across to the kitchen where Kay was,
"Burt says he's gonna leave ya here if ya don't git'a move on, Mrs, Booth."
"Go and tell Burt, I'm on my way." She said.
"She's on her way.", I said to Burt as I climbed into the Comby.
In a few minutes old Kay got in the front of the Comby and said,
"OK! What ya waiting for Burt. I thought ya were in a hurry?"
"Strueth woman, what ya got all that paint and powder on ya face for? You'll scare the Bungs on Chamens Corner half to death when they see you!"
"Very funny Burt. Are you going to drive or are we going to bake ourselves in the Van?"
Old Burt started the Comby and we drove down the track, past the dam and out onto the dirt road to Lake Cargelligo. Burts' Comby rattled like hell on the rough dirt road and before long, mi good white shirt was covered in red dust. I didn't feel to bad about it because Kays' white hat with the frill of white lace on it was just the same color as my shirt.
It was exactly 12 miles to Lake Cargelligo from Burts' front gate to the strip of bitumen road, just out of town. It was a relief when the Comby hit the bitumen because the dust stopped coming through the door hinges and the rattles went almost silent. (Lake Cargelligo was like most other Bush towns except that it had a big lake at the end of the street. There was no barrier up so if one was too drunk, they'd end up in the lake and over the years quite a few did.)
There was a few houses on the left and right-hand side of the road as we made our way to the main street. A large new-looking house on the right was the Police Station and next to that was the towns' jail which as all run by Sargent Montgomery. As we drove past the jail to the first intersection, Burt turned right, down the main street. He drove to the end of the street, which was only about 150 yards long, turned the old Comby around before we got too close to the lake and then headed back up the other side of the street to angle park, nose into the curb.
He turned to Kay and said, "Lake Cargelligo, Missus. Don’t spend too much 'cause it's hard to make. I'm off to the pub to cash a cheque so I can pay him his wages. Ya can show him the Main street if ya like. I'll meet ya here in 10 minutes Missus."
It was a really hot day so I got out of Burts' Comby as soon as I could. I'd put too much Brylcream on mi hair and it was slowly running down the back of mi neck.
"Is mi shirt dirty?", I said to Kay.
"Dirty's not the word for it! It's more like muddy. You've got too much hair oil on and it's run all down ya back. Give me ya hanky and I'll clean it up for ya."
"Thanks Mrs. Booth. I'll know not to put so much on next time."
Old Kay was not a bad old sort at times. She was probably stuck with Burt herself, 'cause no one got a divorce in the Bush in those days.
"Let's take a walk up the Main street, Richard.", she said.
"Are there anymore streets?"
"No, Lake Cargelligo isn't a real big place. Theres' only one main street and where we stooped at the end of the intersection is where the shops stop, so it's about one short block long."
We walked up the street a few yards from the pub where we'd parked and outside of the Stock & Station Agents, she spoke to a young lad who looked about 19 years old.
"Hello Robbie.", she said.
"G'day Mrs. Booth. In town shopping are ya?"
"Just came in for a few supplies. This is Richard. He's working at our place."
"G'day mate. My name's Robbie Townsend. What's yours?"
"Richard Swindells, but some people call me 'Yorky'."
"Ya from Yorkshire are ya?"
"Yes,", I said.
"Pleased to meet ya mate.", he said, as we shook hands.
"I'm going into Chamens for some things. Ya can hang out here with Robbie, if ya like Richard."
"Alright.", I said, as she walked off.
"How long ya been out at old Burts' place.", He said, with a smile.
"Just a month now."
"Ya just got here from England, mate?"
"Yeh, I've been here for about 6 weeks now."
"D'ya like it out at old Burts' place?"
"No!", I said. "I think he's a mean old bastard!"
Robbie had a real good laugh at this statement.
"Ya not the first one to say that mate. Old Burt's gone through a few Pommies in his his day."
"What d'ya mean?"
"How much does he pay ya a week, Yorky?"
"Twelve pounds a month, plus tucker.", I said.
"Jesus! That's less than 3 quid a week clear!"
"Where do you work, Robbie?'
"This place, mate. The Stock & Station Agents. Mi old man owns it so I work for him."
"How much a week do you make, Robbie?"
"Fifteen quid a week mate and I pay a couple of quid to mi mum for tucker. We'll have to find you another job, Yorky. No one stays with old Burt too long, I've seen heaps of Pommies come and go through Burts' place, If ya still in town tonight, I'll introduce ya to Surry."
"Who's Surry?"
"He's a Pommy, same as you mate. He's been here a couple of years now. He got sent to Burts' place, just like you. He lasted the longest so far. I think he worked for old Burt for about 9 months, mate."
"Where's he working now?"
"Oh he's on another property about 20 miles out. I think he's sharecropping now. He should make a few quid this year but he'll probably drink it all."
"Does he drink much?"
"He holds the record at the Australian Hotel for drinkin' a yard of beer. Here's old Kay coming back now. I'll see ya later Yorky. I'm gonna' shoot through before she gets here."
Robbie took off back inside his Dads' Agency just as old Kay walked up.
"How did you like Robbie?", she asked.
"He seems like a good bloke but I don't know him very well."
"I've known Robbie since he was a little boy. He was born in Lake Cargelligo. I've got some more shopping to do so you'd might as well look around the town, if you want. The van will be parked here all day and we'll probably stay in town tonight till about 10."
"OK, I'll see ya later.", I said as I waked off down the street.
Going down towards the Lake was a pub. (This pub was known to everyone as 'Twitchys'.) Past Twitchys' place was a couple of small shops, then a hairdressers for women. The next shop was Chamens Garage. After Chamens was a couple of houses, then nothing at all but dry, flat ground. Sometimes the lake used to flood in wet weather right up to the Bitumen at the streets end. Across the other side of the street was a tool shop, a few more houses and another pub called The Australian Hotel. Next to that was a dirt street, then came Ray Orrs Barber Shop. The Barbers shop was of great interest to me because in the window there was fishing rods, knives and guns. I decided to go into Orrs shop and inquire about a rifle. Ray Orr was cutting a customers hair when I entered the small, but compact, shop. It was a typical Bush barbers shop. There was just about everything one could think of hanging of hanging on the walls or stacked in he corner.
"G'day." He said, as I entered the shop. "Something I can get ya?"
"No thanks, just browsing around."
"Where are ya from mate?", he asked as I walked around.
"I'm working at Burt Booths place."
"Ah, ya must be Burts' new Pommy are ya?"
"I guess so."
"Old Burt's due in here today sometime. He gets his hair cut once a month, regular as clockwork."
"How much are the .22s'?"
"Oh they start at 8 pounds.", he said, as he handed me a rifle. "She's a single-shot Anshultz. Just got it in last week."
"Burt won't let me have a rifle on his place, but as soon as I get another job I'll come in and buy one off ya."
"No worries mate. Make ya self at home. I can even give ya a haircut, if ya want one."
"Maybe next time.", I said, as I looked around his shop.
When I was through looking, I said "Thanks a lot."
"No worries mate. Anything I can do for ya, let me know."

Next to the Barbers was a Dry Cleaners which was also owned by Ray Orr. Next to that was Rodds Clothes shop. Then came a Café, another Stock Agents called Dalgerys and then The Commonwealth Bank.
Now I was back at the intersection where we'd turned into the main street. Across the street, on the same side, was a Picture House and a Coffee Bar belonging to old Theo. There were a couple of vacant blocks, then another pub called Gilltraps. Next to Gilltraps Hotel was a residential street and way up the Main Street was another Garage. (Oh, the Post Office was next to Twitchys' Pub and, as far as I can remember, that was about it except for Chamens Store on the opposite side of the street. Oh yeh, there was also one more Bank next to Chamens.)
Lake Cargelligo was quite a small place in 1964. Once I'd made mi rounds of the Main Street there was nothing else to do but hang out under a shady tree, down by the Lake.

The most common form of entertainment at Lake Cargelligo was, of course, the 3 Hotels. The double doors were wide open when I passed by and I could see that the place was packed with Cockies and workers. All were drinking and most were reading the race page or listening to the Saturday afternoon races.

Later on that evening I met Surry who was sat on the Hotel steps, drinking with Robbie Townsend.
"G'day. This is mi mate Surry that I was telling ya about."
"Hello.", I said, as I leaned over to shake his hand.
"This is Yorky, Surry. He'ls out slaving at old Burts' place."
"G'day Yorky. Surry's the name and Surry's where I'm from. So ya out at old Burts' property are ya?"
"Yes."
"Does the old Bastard feed ya parrots and kangaroo steaks?"
"How d'ya know""
Robbie and Surry had a good laugh at my expense.
"'Cause the old Bastard fed me the same!" said Surry. "Tll I wised up a bit. Just refuse to eat those fuckin' parrots, mate. You'll break ya teeth on those tough bastards!"
"He said everyone eats roos and parrots in the Bush.", I said.
"Then he's a fuckin' liar. He's a miserable old bastard is Burt and his brother Dick is worse! Dick is so tight he doesn't eat strawberry jam."
"Why? Is it expensive in Australia?"
They both laughed out loud.
"No mate, ya silly pommy bastard! He doesn't eat strawberry jam 'cause he's too tight to pass the seeds!"
"Now that's fucking tight!", said Robbie and they had another good laugh.
"Old Kay's not a bad sort though.", said Surry. "There's a young Sheila around here the doctors said would never walk again, on account of an accident, but old Kay worked on her legs for one year and now she can walk again. She's pretty good at that therapeutic massage. I hurt mi back one day out at Burts' place. I fell off the Combine with a 180 pound wheat bag on mi back and I couldn't hardly move and she fixed it up inside a week."
Surry told me a lot of stories about Burt, most of them bad. By the time I left them I was now more determined to get off his place and work somewhere else.
As I was leaving, he called out to me.
"Good luck mate, you're gonna need it!", then laughed his head off again.

After I left Surry and Robbie on the Hotel steps, I ran into Burt and Kay up the street aways.
"How d'ya like the town?", said Burt.
"It's not real big but I've met a few people already."
"Ya won't have to get to know people here. They'll all get to know you."
"Grand Streuth!, said Burt. "There's a fight! Let's go and see."
Across the street on Chamens corner was a crowd of black people rolling around the ground in rags, as pissed as parrots.
"Who are those blokes, Burt?", I said.
"They're all Abos , mate. It's Saturday night and they're full of Plonk. We'll get to see a real good show now. That is, till old Sargent Montgomery arrives."
"I thought Aborigines carried spears and boomerangs?"
"Not these blokes. These bastards are half white. All they carry is a bottle of Plonk.", he said, as I followed him up to the opposite corner.
"What's Plonk?"
"Plonk's a cheap brown Muscat wine. It costs 4 bob for a half-gallon flagon. They go crazy with a gut full a' Plonk in 'em. Here we go mate, she's on now!"
I felt really compassionate towards the Aboringines as they called each other 'black bastards' and rolled around on the street corner drinking and fighting with each other. Their clothes were old, dirty and tattered. One had a shirt with a sleeve torn off and another had on a pair of odd shoes with no socks. Another had on a pair of trousers with holes in the knees. Another had no shirt at all. Even the women were getting into the fight now and they could curse and swear better than the men. Some of the Abo women were twice as big as their men and they could fight better as well.
The fight lasted for about 10 minutes until Sargent Montgomery arrived in his blue Bullwagon with a young constable.
"Alright you black bastards!", said the Sargent. "In the wagon ya go! Ya can sober up and cool off in the cell for the evening."
The Sarg and his Constable grabbed the drunk Abos by anything they could and literally threw them in the back of the Bullwagon. He left the women and took all the men up the street to the local jail.
"Ah well, that's the excitement over Saturday night.", said Burt.
"What will happen to them now?", I asked.
"They'll sleep on the concrete floor for the night and in the morning the old Sarg will make 'em weed his garden 'cause they'll have no money for the fine. The old Sarg has the best-kept garden in Lake Cargelligo. He knows all those Bungs by their first names by now and by the time Sunday night comes, they'll all be back in jail again."
"Why doesn't someone help them?"
"Can't help the bastards, mate. They're all past helping. Everyone of 'em is an alcoholic. They spend every bit of their money on Plonk and they won't work again till there's no money left. Even then, they won't work until they're hungry."
That, unfortunately, was my first introduction to the Australian Aborigines. Before we went back out to the Bush, one of 'em bit me for 2 bob and I couldn't refuse him, although I knew he would spend it on Plonk.
That night, I lay on mi bed thinking about the Aborigines. It made my heart incredibly sad to see what a tragic state they were in. Most people, in the Bush, saw them as not much better than dogs.

OPEN WARFARE ©

2008-08-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

A few days later, 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 anymore 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 an 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!'
I followed the command of the inner voice to the letter. 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.
Have you ever been chased by a madman wielding an axe with the intent of burying the head of it into your head, up to the hilt? Well, let me tell you it is not a very pleasant experience! 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.
Old Burt, although 60 years old, if a day, was one of the fasted men on Lake Cargelligos Aussie rules team. There was only one young bloke on the team who could outrun Burt. 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.

THE VISITOR ©

2008-08-10T09:15:00.000-07:00

I was not happy at Burts' place and that week, to my surprise, I had a visitor whom I had never met before.
One weekday evening, after work, I was sat in mi room writing a letter home to mi mother when I heard the sound of a vehicle coming along the track. When I opened my door I saw a blue Holden Ute pull up in a cloud of dust outside Burts' garden fence.
The two dogs were barking and making a hell of a din. It was not long before old Burt came out to investigate. I saw him go up to the young stranger and shake hands with him and after a minute or so old Burt pointed to where I was standing.
The young man, who was quite well-dressed in elastic-sided riding boots and the usual Cockies type of clothing which was light fawn pants, belt and checkered bush shirt with an Akubra Squatters hat perched on his head, walked over to where I was standing. As he approached, he said in a thick Aussie accent,
"G'day sport. How are ya? My name's Peter Smith."
"Hello.", I said, as I shook his hand. "My name's Richard."
"Yeh, I know mate. Let's go for a walk sport. We'll be out of earshot of Old Burt then. Can't have him eavesdropping, can we sport?"
"No.", I said, with a tone of wonder in my voice as I had no idea whatsoever who this young man was and why he would want to speak with me.
Once we were down the track a-ways, he said "So, how d'ya like it in Australia so far mate?"
"I love Australia. But I'm not happy at this place."
"Why's that sport?"
I told Peter all about Burt and how hard on me he was.
"Ya don't have to tell me anymore mate. I was just checking. Old Burt will never change. He's a real hard old bastard. It's not the first time I've been out here and it probably won't be the last."
"Why are you so interested?"
"Oh sorry mate, I forgot to tell you. I'm from the old country misen. I've been out here 10 years now. I'm ya Big Brother, mate."
"What do you mean?"
"Well ya see, I came out here ten years ago with the Big Brother Movement and after I'd been here for 5 years they made me the Big Brother for all the new chums that they send out to this area, so it's my responsibility to make sure you're not getting ripped-off or abused mate."
"Can you get me another job somewhere else Peter?"
" I probably can mate but this is how it works see. Ya don't tell old Burt anything about our conversation 'cause if he knows I'm going to get ya another job, he won't let me on the property anymore, alright?"
"Alright Peter. Ya sure you can help me?"
"Course mate, I know everyone around these parts. Does he feed ya parrots and Kangaroo meat?"
"Yes,"
"I thought so mate. He's not changed any in all the years I've known him. You leave it to me sport. I'll have ya out of this place as soon as I can. You'll have to hang on for a couple of months till I line up a new job for ya. Can ya last that long?"
"If ya can get me out before then, I'll be alright. Just as long as I know you're gonna help me will make it more tolerable."
"Good on ya mate. How's Bill Defoe going? Is he still running the training farm out Liverpool way?"
"He sure is. I really like old Bill. He's a good, kind man."
"Were all good blokes in the Bush mate. There's just a few mongrol-bred bastards like old Burt and his brother but that keeps us on our toes mate. We'd have it too easy if not, eh mate."
"I suppose so.", I said,
"Alright sport, I'll be on mi way now so don't you go worrying yourself about a thing. Here's my phone number. If old Burt gives ya too much shit give us a call mate and I'll have a word with him."
By this time we were back alongside of Peters' blue Ute.
"How much did ya Ute cost Peter?"
"Five hundred pounds brand new. She's a beut, eh?"
"Yeh, she sure is a beut Peter. I would like to have a new Ute like that one day."
"No worries mate. You'll have one before ya know it. Ya rooted in the Bush without a good Ute 'cause it's too hot and dusty to walk and there's no such thing as buses out here. Not like the old Countr, eh mate?"
Peter hopped in his Ute, put it in first and spun the wheels in a cloud of red dust as he took off.
"See ya soon sport. Hang in there mate."
Now I was feeling more happy because I knew I had found a good friend, or should I say he found me. I finished mi letter then blew a few soft tunes on mi old trumpet which I didn't play much at all these days 'cause life had changed so much. The position I was in now would have been unimaginable a few short months ago.

A couple of months went by in the usual manner at Evergreen, (that was the name of Burts' property.) One day whilst we were Emu bobbing in the paddocks, (Emu bobbing is slang for picking up stumps), Burts' older brother Dick came over to see him. He was taller and more skinny than Burt was. The first thing I noticed was that he had bad asthma and could hardly breathe. The Bush pollens must have really gotten to him. Dick wore a one-piece green boiler suit, no matter how hot it was. It could be 115 degrees and Dick would still be in his boiler suit. In this case the suit was aptly named. Dick had a thin, hooky nose the same as Burt had and his face was sunken and gaunt-looking. Dicks' jackeroo, called Michael, had come over with him so while Burt and Dick talked to each other, Michael came over to see me.
"G'day sport. My name's Michael. Yours is Richard, isn't it?"
"Yes. How d'ya know?"
"I heard old Dick talkin' to Burt one night on the party line. Ya like the Bush mate?"
"Yeh, It's better than England."
"Anyplace is better than England mate. Why d'ya think so many pommies leave it?"
"You're probably right.", I said.
"Course I'm fucking right mate. Here, have a fag mate."
"Better not."
"Why? Don't ya smoke mate?"
"I do but if old Burt sees me smoking in working hours he said he'll dock some of mi pay."
"What!", Michael said. "The old Bastard can't do that. He's pulling the wool over ya eyes mate. He's just bunging it on. Tell him to go fuck himself! Here have a smoke sport, If old Burt says one word, I'll back ya up mate."
"Alright Michael. I'm just about sick of him telling me what to do, anyway."
"Good on ya mate. That's the way. Ya gotta stand up for ya rights in the Bush, 'cause if ya don’t, no other bastard will and as soon as Burt sees you're not gonna take anymore bullshit from him, he'll ease up a bit on ya."
"Is that your dog, Michael?"
"Ya, that's the bastard."
"What happened to his balls?"
"He kept wandering off the property looking for bitches on the next-door neighbours place. I told him what would happen if he didn't stop but he took no notice of me whatsoever. So one day, when we were marking lambs I put a rubber ring over his balls and a week or so later they fell off.
"Does he still go wandering off?"
"No mate. He never even thinks about bitches now and he's a much better worker. He keeps his mind on his job now, instead of his dick."
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"No, only if ya get the rubber ring caught on ya finger!"
This made me laugh mi head off and for the next half-hour we stood in the mali paddock telling each other jokes.
After Dick and Michael left, old Burt said,
"Come on, we've lost an hours work now. We'll have to work later tonight to catch up."
About an hour later, I stopped and rolled a Drum cigarette. As soon as Burt saw me smoking he said,
"Put that smoke out! Ya can't work and smoke at the same time."
"Fuck you Burt! I'm sick of you telling me what I can and can't do! You've got no right to tell me where and when not to smoke! If I hold the fag in mi mouth while I'm shoveling coals, how's that gonna affect mi work?"
"I said, put that smoke out!"
"Fuck you Burt."
"Alright, I'll call the BBM and get you deported back to England!"
"Call whoever you fucking like Burt 'cause I know you can't do that. I've been talking to some people in Lake Cargelligo and they told me you're full of shit! so fuck you!"
I lit up mi fag, picked up mi shovel and set about starting some new fires. Old Burt was no red-faced and cranky but he knew the game was up now. from then on, open warfare was silently declared.

ON THE BOAT ©

2008-08-06T08:00:00.001-07:00

It did not take very long for me to get to know all 16 boys who were emigrating to Australia with the Big Brother Movement. The reason for this was that we only had two cabins between us. Also, there was an Escort Officer who was to accompany us on the journey to make sure we didn’t get into any sort of trouble. He was also available to give us as much information as possible on our new home.

Our daily routine consisted of getting up at 6 O’Clock every morning. At 7 O’clock we were expected to run around the ship at least 5 or 6 times. After that the Escort Officer took us all for P.T.which consisted of push-ups, pull-ups and various other exercises which were meant to keep us sound in body and mind, in other words, it stopped most boys from going nuts while we spent 7 weeks at sea.

The food on board ship was remarkably good as far as I was concerned. Every day there was a change in menu and we had at least a couple of choices as to what we would like to eat. The dining room was quite large so the mealtimes were broken up into two sessions. Tables were allotted to everyone so no one had to worry about missing out on a meal or fighting for a place at the table.

The Aurelia was registered in Italy so all the ships crew, including the waiters were Italian. Our waiter, who served us throughout the whole trip a small, handsome man called Usepi. No matter what the conditions were like at sea, Usepi always had a kind work for all of us boys and he usually wore a good smile on his face.

“What it will be today Boysss?”, he said as he handed us all menus. “The roast-a the biff taista very the good-a and the fish-a is not a the bad-a.”, he’d say in his thick Italian accent.

It was on the second evening that we entered the Bay of Biscay. I had only ever been on a small fishing boat before and not that far out to sea, so I couldn’t see the land. When the ship started to roll around from the 20 foot high waves I found it very exciting. The large ship would roll up to the top of a giant wave and then down the other side it would go. Sometimes it would roll sideways as it went up and down. On many occasions our plates of food would go sliding off the table if we did not hang on to it. Glasses of water and wine would spill all over the clean white tablecloths. Some people would be throwing up as they tried to navigate their way down the steps to their cabins.

Myself and a few other boys went upstairs onto the deck to see the size of the huge waves. When the ship rolled down the side of a big black foaming wave all we could see towering above our heads was a wall of water. It was not long before a deck-hand spotted us hanging onto a railing. He came over to us and yelled to us to go back inside as it was too dangerous to be out on deck tonight. Just as were going back inside a large wave crashed over the side of the ship and drenched us all through. Gallons of water hit the top deck, then ran off the sides as the old ship reared up and rode another wave.

When we got back down to the dining room where the other boys were still sitting and hanging on tight to the table, it looked as though a herd of cattle had run rampant through the place. The floor was covered with broken glass. Broken plates of food, knives, forks and spoons were sliding all over the place and to top the whole scene off, people were throwing up everywhere.
“Look at that old girl over there chucking up her guts.”, said a Liverpool lad.
“Oh look at that young bint.”, said a Geordie boy. “She just heaved it all back on the tablecloth.”
“Have a butchers hook at that small kid over there.”, said a London Cockney lad. “He’s just having a big yawn all over his mothers lap!”
I had never seen so many people throwing up all at the same time. The dining room scene made us all laugh like hell. Then all of a sudden, one of our boys came stumbling towards us us on his way out to the toilet. His face was white with a slight tinge of green around the bottom of his jaws.
“Look out boys!”, said a Midlands lad, “He’s going to try and dump it in our shoes and turn-ups!”
We gave him as wide a berth as possible.
“Let’s go and help him. He looks really sick.”, I said.
“Bugger you Titch.”, said the Liverpool lad. “You can help him if you like but I’m not risking him chucking up on mi good drain-pipe trousers. I bought these especially for the trip and I’ve only had ‘em on once and already there’s some warm bile and carrots stuck to ‘em!”

That evening, as I lay on mi top bunk, I could see the giant waves out of the porthole window that was level with my pillows. The Aurelias’ engines growled, hummed and vibrated all night long. It was a bit hard to rest that first couple of nights but after about a week at sea it began to feel really good going to rest and listen to the nonstop sound of the ships droning engines. Those first few nights were the worst weather we experienced and from then on it was quite a pleasant trip.

Every morning I would look out of the porthole and all I could see was water. Every evening before resting, all I could see out of the porthole window was more water. The movie out of that window never changed for about 12 days at sea.

During the day we lads would amuse ourselves by playing table tennis and coyts out on the top deck. We had a golden rule that was agreed upon before we played ping-pong. Whoever smashed the ball over the side into the ocean had either to go get it or buy another one. Since the first option was out of the question the latter one was always enforced. Although the balls were not very expensive, some lads lost quite a few shillings of their spending money on that trip. At the end of the journey we were all skillled ping-pong players.

Some days, all we would do was sit around in the deck chairs reading magazines, smoking fags and drinking fizzy pop. One of the Escort Officers’ rules was, no Little Brother was allowed to consume alcohol on board the ship. This did not stop some of the older boys who were 18. They promptly told the Escort Officer to “go to hell and back!
“We’re not fucking kids, so don’t try to bung it on with me or I’ll give you a fucking good stoush.”, said Bob, the Liverpuddlian. A few days later Bob and the Officer had a big scuffle so the Captain of the ship had Bob thrown in the Brig until he sobered up and cooled down.

There was a geeky, red-haired boy who was part of our group. We all called him ‘Ginger’, as a nickname. Ginger was always bragging about how tough he was. One day as he lay on his upper bunk bed with his arm hanging over the side, a couple of the older boys gave it a right good whack on their way past which resulted in a broken arm for Ginger. From that day on I wouldn’t say he was quiet but he never bragged out his toughness any more and his arm remained in a cast for the rest of the trip.

Life on board ship really suited me. I loved the wide open spaces and at nighttime I would sit out on the deck in one of the chairs. The air, although cold at times, was fresh and pure just like the air and winds on my beloved Yorkshire Moors.

As soon as we sailed into warmer waters we would see all sorts of ocean life. One day we saw a large school of Flying Fish. They would literally fly about 3 or 4 feet through the air as they swam along side of the big Liner. Someone said they were after the scraps of food that were tossed overboard after each mealtime. On another occasion I saw a school of wild porpoises that jumped and frolicked in the clear blue water. They looked very much like they were smiling as they swam and played for hours on end. Sometime they would all dive out of sight and then come up out of the water on the other side of the ship. When we raced over to the opposite side they would make their laughing sound as they lept out of the blue water. It was like they were saying HA! HAA!, we fooled you stupid boys.

Some of our evenings were spent in the lounge bar. The ship had its own Italian 5 -piece band that used to play for a couple of hours every evening. On quite a few occasions I played my trumpet with them. I only knew a few Italian songs and they knew 2 or 3 Jazz songs but all in all everyone enjoyed themselves and we all had a good time.

One evening, as we all sat around a few tables listening to the band and watching some of the other passengers dance, a boy in our group decided to get drunk. Just for a joke, some of the other lads spiked his beers with some hard liquor. Towards the end of the evening he became quite violent so the Escort Officer and a couple of the ships crew had to muscle him out of the lounge and tie him to his bed for his own sake. Even at the bests of times, he was not what I would call a stable-minded boy and the overindulgence of alcohol didn’t do anything to enhance his intelligence. From that night onwards the cocktail bar staff were under strict orders from the Captain not to serve more than 3 drinks to each boy who was 17 and over. Thee oldest boy in our group were 18 and I was the youngest at 15. While I may very well have been the youngest and smallest there was no doubt in my mind, whatsoever, that for sure I displayed the most intelligence.

Our first stop on the journey was to be Port Said. Although we were not allowed to disembark, we stayed there for a day while the ship loaded up with fresh fruit, food, meat and fresh drinking water.

The native people who live in Port Said would row their small boats over to the side of the huge liner. Their boats were full of all the junky stuff that tourists are notorious for buying. Standing in their boats they would throw up a rope with a basket tied to the end of it. Whatever some of the passengers wanted to buy was placed in the basket and hoisted up the side of the ship and over the rail. The money was then put in the center of the basket and sent back down to the man in the small, loaded-down boat. One of our boys decided he would like a small trinket he saw in one of the vendors small boat. The vendor placed the item in the basket and sent the trinket up the side of the Liner, on the rope. Once the money was in the vendors hands it got really sticky, he did not want to give it back. So the boy ordered another item from the boat. The vendor tied the large leather suitcase to the rope and the boy pulled it up on deck.
“Two more English Pounds!”, said the native.
“Fuck you!”, yelled the boy and took off with the suitcase.
The Arab vendor was furious. He climbed up one of the ships large thick ropes that anchored it to the buoys. In his teeth he gripped a large sheath knife and I could hear him cursing and swearing in his own language. As he climbed over the ships railing the older British immigrants, who up till that point had been having a good time, all scattered in various directions when they saw the knife between the mans’ teeth.
‘It’s just like watching a pirate movie’, I thought, as I backpedaled away from the angry vendor.
“Someone get the Captain!”,yelled one of the passengers.
The man ran between the crowds of people and made his way down the first flight of stairs to look for the boy. The Purser and a couple of Dock Police caught the man and muscled him down the side of the ship and back into his small boat.

“I’m not finished with that thieving Arab bastard yet!” said the boy.
“What are you planning to do about it?”, I said.
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Three of us boys followed him as he made his way back down to our cabin.
“What are you up to Dave?”, I said as we all trooped into the cabin.
“Just watch this, Titch.”, he said to me.
He walked over to the bunks, then climbed up on the top one. He opened the porthole and stuck his head out.
“Just as I thought. Get me a large jug of water, Titch.”
After I filled up the jug I said, “What are you going to do with this ?”
“Open that other porthole and stick your head out.”
Looking out of my porthole I could not believe my eyes. Straight below me about 20 feet down and 10 feet to my right was the Arab vendors small boat. As soon as I saw the boat I knew what Dave had in mind.
“When I throw the jug of water on the thieving bastard, pull your head in Titch and close your porthole.”
Dave emptied the large jug of water all over the Arabs’ head and we pulled our heads back through the porthole and closed it tight.
“That will fix the bastard!”, said Dave. “And just for luck, I’ll give him another.”
The large jug was filled to the brim with water again. Then Dave opened he porthole and instead of dropping the water first, he yelled down to the vendor, “Have a drink of water you thieving Arab bastard!” As I watched from my porthole I saw the large jug of water hit the Arab right on his head.
“I fucking kill you white bastard!”, he yelled up to Dave.
“Your mother fucks donkeys, you Arab bastard”, yelled Dave.

Now this little interchange really got the Arab mad. He pulled his knife out of his belt and threw it straight up at the porthole window where Daves’ head was hanging out of. As Dave pulled his head back in, the knife bounced 2 inches from his right ear.
“Fucking hell, that was close.”, said Dave. “I felt the wind of that knife as it bounced off the side.”
“I think that’s enough Dave. Someone is going to get hurt really bad if you don’t stop now.”
“OK Titch, perhaps you’re right.”
“It’s not worth getting a knife stuck in the middle of your head.”, I said as we closed the portholes.
“Let’s go back upstairs.”, said Dave

When we got back to the top deck we very carefully peered over the side from another position, further along the rail. The Arab vendor was still cursing and screaming while shaking his fists at the other passengers.
The Arab vendors’ boats pulled away from the big liner. The ships large tie-off ropes were removed. The monstrous large diesel engines slowly droned back to life and once again we were moving.

Before long,the Purser announced to all the passengers that we would be going through the Suez Canal. He said it would be a wonderful experience for the passengers who were interested in taking photographs.
The Suez Canal was much wider and longer that a Yorkshire lad would have been able to imagine. It looked somewhat like a big river but for the fact there didn’t seem to be any current. Arabs, dressed in their traditional white robes, rode their camels alongside the Canal and at various different locations small dredging operations were ongoing.

Once we were through the Canal and back out at Sea we headed for Aden which was to be our next stop. The weather was now really warm so we boys spent a lot of our time swimming in the ships’ pool. The pool itself was not very large but there was always enough room to have a good time messing around.
Myself and a few of the boys devised some games such as water-soccer, fighting and dunking and diving from the pools’ small springboard. The springboard was a lot of fun and as the days rolled by we all became quite good at somersault diving, back-flips and jackknifes. Throwing a shiny shilling or two-bob piece into the pool and diving down to get it became one of my best games.

On board, there was a German family who was emigrating to Australia with their two teenage children. Their young daughter was about 16 so the older boys were always trying to chat her up. The main obstacle to their success was that she didn’t speak any English. Her older brother who was probably around 17 had a short crewcut, a fat face and weighed about 14 stone. The older boys had a lot of fun trying to teach ‘Fritz’, as they called him, English. As you may well guess, Fritz was not interested in learning the Queens English. He was more interested in foul language and the boys were more than willing to help him in his educational endeavor. For example, sometimes ‘Fritzie’ would come over to our table in the cocktail bar of an evening.
“Hello Fritzie, you big, fat, squat-headed Hun.”, one of the boys would say.
Fritzie had no idea whatsoever what the boy was saying, so he pulled up a chair, sat down and started to smile. One of the other older boys would say, “Hey Fritzie, fucky, fucky your sister.” Fritzie would light up with a big smile and nod his head in agreement, although he had no idea of what he was smiling for or agreeing to.
One evening, one of the boys taught Fritzie to say, in English, ‘Will you please fuck with me.’ He then pointed Fritzi in the direction of one of the younger female passengers. It was quite hilarious to watch really. While the band was playing and the passengers were all dancing, Fritz goes up to this young girl who was about 19, smiles at her and offers her his hand whilst saying, “Would you like to fuck with me?” The young girl got up from her table and red-faced she made a swift exit.
Later, the Purser, whom we all knew quite well by now, came over to our table and said, “All right boys, a joke is a joke but I think this little joke has gone quite far enough. Please see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

There were quite a few young teenage girls traveling on our ship, but most of them were accompanied by their parents, who kept a good eye on them. While the parents were not looking the girls would eye up us boys as we all sprawled around a couple of tables of a night time. It was obvious from their behavior that they had watched one too many ship-board romance movies. A couple of white lace handkerchiefs were accidentally-on-purpose dropped by our tables when the girls walked past. Seeing as there was no chance whatsoever of being alone with them the white lace handkerchiefs stayed where they were for the cleaners to pick up.

The entertainment staff devised many a night of fun and games for the passengers to play. We all wore paper party hats and generally sat there taking the mickey out of the old couples who were trying to participate in the games and have some young fun.

Our Escort officer had latched onto a very pretty woman of about 30. Each mealtime he would sit at the dinner table with the young woman and her old mother. He was really acting out the part of an English Gentleman by placing the chairs for them as they sat down at the table. For the rest of the meal he would entertain them with his well-educated accent and a few after-dinner stories.
I got to know the daughter quite well over the 7 weeks. She felt quite motherly towards me as I was quite small and only 15. She was a very good-looking woman so I did not mind her attentions at all. Whenever I was sat around the swimming pool, on my own, she would pull up a deck chair and sit next to me for hours. We read magazines and smoked as we lounged away the hours of sunshine.
One day she said to me, “I’d better go now Richard. I don’t want your Escort Officer to get more jealous than he already is. He doesn’t thinks its a wise decision for me to spend so much time with you because of our age difference plus when I’m sat here with you, he’s walking around the ship on his own like a lost hush-puppy.”

One day, the Escort Officer said to me, “Don’t you think you’re spending a bit too much time with Patricia, Titch?”
“No.”, said one of the older boys. “He’s not, but it’s obvious to us that you’re not spending enough time with her!”
We all laughed out loud as he shrank with embarrassment and slithered off back downstairs.
“That told him.”, said the boy. “He’s just a jealous old bastard, Titch. Don’t you pay any attention to him. Paricia seems to like you very much, so don’t let that old fart ruin your good friendship with her.”

By the time we had been at Sea for a month, I noticed most of the passengers had put on a lot of weight. I guess it was understandable really, because all everyone did was eat, drink and make merry. During the day we’d all just lay around on deck like well-fed Sea-lions.
One morning, the Purser announced that we would be passing over the Equator at around 11 O’clock, so for all of those who were interested, there would be a small party around the swimming pool. At 11, King Neptune came up out of the ocean and over the side railing and the party began. King Neptune was really one of the ships’ crewman who had volunteered to play the part and he was really good at it. He wore a gaudy robe covered in shell jewelry, a long wavy beard and wig and a cardboard replica of a trident.
“I am King Neptune.”, he said. “I am King of all the Oceans. I came on board today to give each and everyone of you mortals a ritual bath. So who wants to go first?”
A young man volunteered. King Neptune dipped the large shaving brush into the warm soapy water then proceeded to scrub the man with his brush from head to toe. After this part of the ritual was over, two of King Neptunes’ courtiers grabbed the man by the arms and legs and threw him into the swimming pool. We all had a great old party that afternoon and as soon as there were no more volunteers left, King Neptunes men grabbed a couple of young bikini-clad girls and soaped them up. “One, two, three!”, roared the crowd and into the pool they went.

Our next stop on the long voyage was to be Aden. On the morning we arrived, four small tug-boats came out to meet our Liner. Long, thick ropes were thrown down to the tugs and securely fastened. The tug-boat pilots were experts at maneuvering the large ship through the small channel and into the docking berth.

That afternoon, about lunchtime, our Escort Officer called a meeting in one of the cabins.
“We’ll be staying in Aden for a few days boys while the ship takes on more fuel and supplies for the rest of the journey. We will not be stopping again until we reach Freemantle, Australia. Everyone will be allowed to leave the ship this afternoon For those of you who decide to go, do not forget you travel document and be very careful walking around. Do not go anywhere by yourselves because foreign ports can be quite dangerous and we don’t want to lose anyone.
“Where’s Liverpool Bob?”, said one of the boys.
“Bob will not be allowed to leave the boat as he has caused far too much trouble. The Captain and I agreed it will be better for him to stay on board.”
Our group of boys did not like this decision so a loud roar of disapproval erupted from everyone of us.

I really enjoyed myself in Aden for the few days we were there. We just wandered all around the streets looking at the old buildings and watching how the local people lived. Nighttime was quite an eye-opener for me. At one point we looked past a large building with round, stone pillars. All around the outside wall of the building were hundreds of street beggars who were sleeping in small groups on the ground. They had no possessions whatsoever except for what they wore and an old dirty old blanket to keep them warm.
At 15 years old I had never seen anything like that in my whole life. It reminded me of the times when mi mother used to say, “You have no idea how lucky you are my boy. Some people don’t even have a bed to sleep in.” I could now see for myself, first hand experience, that her words were true.
One of the other things I noticed was the lack of dogs in the streets. Instead of street dogs, the dirty streets were crowded with thin, scrawny-looking goats. My heart and compassion were working overtime as I walked those streets. The more streets we walked around, I had the distinct feeling that I had lived in this place at some other time. Plus the fact that wherever we walked I kept recognizing certain buildings and people. I was not brought up with the concept of reincarnation so I had no explanation as to the phenomena that was happening to me. Sometimes I would lapse into a trance-like state as I stared down certain streets or up at the surrounding hills.
“Are you alright Titch?”, said on of mi pals.
“Oh yes.”, I said as I came back to the present. “I was just seeing an old movie go through mi mind.”
At one of the street-vendors stalls I saw a triangular,red piece of jewelry that was edged with silver twisted wire. In the center of the red triangular stone was a few strange markings. I do not know what it was about that piece of jewelry but it felt like I’d owned it before and intuitively I was very attracted to the marks and symbols on it, so I bargained with the Arab vendor and bought it from him for about 5 shillings. I wore that triangular medallion for the rest of the voyage and when we got to Freemantle I packed it up carefully and sent it back home to mi mum.

That evening, back on board the ship, all the boys were displaying the cheap wrist- watches they had purchased from the street vendors.
“Look at this!”, said Angus. “This cost 5 Quid in Aberdeen and I got it off one of those Arabs for 10 Bob. It’s a pretty good deal, eh?”
Eight hours later the watch had stopped and refused to go again. After Angus prized off the back with his small penknife, he discovered that all the jewels had been picked out of their sockets. The 17 jewel watch was now a no-jewel watch and no matter how much he shook and banged it,the watch refused to go, so out of disgust and frustration he threw the watch over the side of the ship and into the dirty harbor waters. Four other boys bought themselves a flash-looking watch but within 8 hours they all ended up in the same place.When one boy bought a watch on the street, he said to the vendor, “Does it go or have all the jewels been taken out?”
“No, no this first-class watch. You listen Mister.”, he said
The vendor put the watch against the boys’ ear. The boy smiled as he listened to it tick away quite nicely.
“OK, I’ll take it for 10 Bob.”
He handed the street vendor 10 Bob and the vendor gave him the watch and then disappeared in a flash. When the boy put the watch up to his hear it was as dead as a Dodo. Just for the hell of it he took the back off and when he got it open there was no trace of innards in it
Later on, the boy was telling one of the ships’ waiters about the watch. The waiter started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”, said the boy.
“I’m-a sorry young-a man but I got caught like-a that before myself-a. Those Arabs have a long thumbnail and they’re very clever at making a ticking sound with it between the winder and the case.”
We all had a great laugh over that one.

The Aurelia Liner was now refueled and restocked with food, fruit and water. The 4 dumpy tug boats pulled her back out to the harbour exit and once again we were headed for the high seas.

For the next 10 days we never saw land as we crossed the Dead Sea.

By the time we had been at sea for 7 weeks we were all glad to see the West Coast of Australia. Our first port of call was Fremantle. I felt a lot of excitement as we got closer and closer to land and at long last the Australian tug boats made their way out to the liner. Once again the Ships large ropes were thrown down, then fastened to the strong, little tug boats. The tug Captains navigated the big, old liner into the inner harbour and then pushed it into its berth where it would remain for 24 hours.
Our long journey was just about over now and Freemantle was where a lot of the immigrant passengers disembarked. Patricia and her mother had some relations in Freemantle and she also had a school-teaching job that had been arranged for her before she left England.
I said my goodbyes to her and her mum and watched as they walked down the gangplank onto Australian soil. I felt a bit of sadness arise inside my heart as I waved to them from the top deck. All I seemed to do in the last couple of months was say goodbye to people, not knowing whether I would ever see them again.

As soon as all the disembarking passengers were safely ashore, the Pursers said that the remaining passengers could disembark now but not to forget the ship was due to leave Freemantle the next morning on its way to Melbourne. That afternoon a few of us boys each put in some money and paid a Taxi man to drive us around Freemantle so we could at least have a glimpse of the place before we were due to sail.
What I remembered most about Freemantle was that it was a really beautiful city. The single-story Bungalows were not cramped together and every suburban house had a really beautiful flower garden growing in the front.
At evening time we went back to the ship for dinner, then we walked around the docks and checked out the pubs and club scene. The youngest members of our group did not go into the bars. We were content just to look at the buildings and shops and whatever else there was to see.

When we arrived in Mellbourne and unbeknownst to us boys, the Big Brother Movement had booked a couple of city tours for us. The Australian bus driver showed us all the old colonial buildings and the beautiful Botanical Gardens. We also saw the first house that Captain Cook was supposed to have lived in.
It did not take much longer before we arrived in Sydney. Mi mother had kept in touch with Bruce Whipp and that evening he and his family came to the ship to pick me up, as promised. His promise to pick me up and show me around Sydney was the only link with England I now felt I had left. We drove over the Harbour Bridge to the Northside and back over the Bridge and then out to one of the Suburbs where Bruce and his family lived. Bruce had a very big house with lots of garden space, so I said to him,
“You must be really rich now Mr. Whipp. This house must be worth a fortune.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say we’re rich, mate, but we’re not too bad off. Life is a lot easier for us now that we’re living in Australia.”

I told them all about my trip but it was nothing new to them as they had made the very same voyage a couple of years previous.

“Wow! what’s that sitting on the stove Mr. Whipp?”, I said.
“He had a good chuckle to himself as he watched my surprise.
“It’s called a possum, mate. It’s a wild one. If we leave the kitchen window open, of a nightime, he comes inside and drinks his saucer of milk every evening before we hit the sack.”
“I’d like a pet possum.”
“There’ll be thousands of ‘em where you’re going mate. You won’t need to have a pet one cause there in just about every tree there is.”

I only visited Bruce Whipp and his family for about an hour because it was quite a long drive back into Sydney and he had to work in the morning, but I was so pleased that he’d kept his promise to me. It meant a lot at my age, connecting with someone from my past. When we got back to the ship I thanked them very much and said my goodbyes again.

“Don’t forget to visit us sport, if ya ever comes down to Sydney again.”, said Bruce.
“I will do Mr.Whipp and thanks again for meeting me.”
“No worrys sport.”, he said as I watched his white Holden station wagon pulled away from the curb.

That evening as I lay on mi bunk in the ships cabin I shed a few tears. I don’t really know why but that’s how it was

The following morning we all said goodbye to our Escort Officer. He was not a bad chap really, and I felt quite compassionate towards him as he walked off down the gangplank. It must have been really hard for him, at times, trying to look after 16 young, headstrong boys who had just left home and were sampling their sense of newfound freedom.

At around 12 O’clock on the 23rd of April, the Big Brother Movement sent a large, single-decker coach to pick up all of us boys with the exception of Liverpool Bob who did not want to be sent out to the Bush to work. It was decided that he would work in Sydney as a mechanic so the Big Brother Movement could keep a good eye on him until he reached the age of 18. After 18 the BBM would no longer assume responsibility for any of us boys. I never really saw any of the BBM Directors so it felt like we were on our own, after they found us our first job in the Bush.

2008-08-06T07:45:00.000-07:00

Every morning at breakfast time old Burt would drink a large glass of fizzy stuff.
"What's in your water that makes it fizz?"
"Epsom Salts, mate."
"What's it for?"
"Stops ya getting bunged up and keeps ya on the go. Wanna' try some?"
"What's it taste like?"
"Not too bad once ya git used to it."
"Alright, I'll try half a glass."
Kay mixed up half a glass of Epsom Salts and I took a big mouthful. It was really putrid and made me screw up mi face.
"Now what's the matter?" He said as he laughed out loud. "Don't tell me ya can't even drink half a glass of salts!"
"It's putrid!" I said as I put the glass down on the table.
"Don't waste those salts. Finish it off whether ya like it or not!"
That was the last time I ever asked him what he was drinking!

After breakfast we tied an axe and a shovel each onto our bikes and he tied the Esky box on his bike rack and we peddled of on another dirt track road up into the Mali country. That day and almost every day after that for 5 months we chopped down small trees and suckers. Sometimes we would stack up big stumps and logs and then set fire to 'em. The shovel was to carry hot coals from one pile of wood to another. This was what old Burt meant by clearing Mali country. No bulldozers or tractors for me, just a big, heavy axe and a long-handled shovel!
It was like living in hell working with old Burt in the Mali. We worked 9 or 10 hours a day. The heat was up around the 100-degree mark and, to make matters worse, the heat from the big fires burned my face and arms as I tried to get close enough to shovel a pile of red-hot ashes.
The first week I could hardly open mi hands. I had blisters growing on broken blisters. I pissed on mi hands so many times that I thought I'd of run out of piss by now. Old Burt had done this kind of work all his life so he was used to it by now and at the end of a day he was just as fresh and fit as ever. I was so knackered that first week that it took all mi time to peddle the bike home.
One morning, as we were re-stoking up the fires, a 4 foot Copperhead snake came wriggling out from under a large stump.
"Look out! That's a Copperhead! Stand still and it won't hurt ya!" yelled Burt.
The Copperhead was about 5 feet away from me and about the same distance from Burt. Its head was a shiny copper color and the rest of its body was a deep reddish-brown. As soon as it turned to go, old Burt swung the long-handled shovel and hit the snake in the middle of the back with the flat of the shovelhead. It was really pissed. He swung the shovel again and this time he hit the snake with the side of the shovel and cut it clean in two! The shovelhead cut the snakes head off about 3 inches behind the copper coloring. The snake wriggled around for a few minutes before it was stone dead.
"Watch what ya doing with those bastards. One bite from those and you'll be dead in 2 minutes. The venoms so strong you'll have a heart attack!"
From that day on, I was very careful where I walked in Mali country.

The more I worked in the Bush, the more I learned its harsh lessons. There were hundreds of poisonous snakes around the Bush. Browns,
Copperheads and Tiger snakes were the most deadly and the most common in those parts. There was no lack of lizards either. Blue Tongues, Bog Eyes, Frill Necks and Goanas were in plentiful supply. After a couple of weeks old Burt would send me off up the Mali, on mi own, so I had to be real careful then 'cause one bite and I'd have been one dead Pommy bastard!

Sometimes Burt and me would go up the paddock in his old Ute. At those times he always had the .22 rifle stuck up the back of the window ledge. On this particular day we saw a mob of roos sitting in the middle of the dirt truck. Old Burt stopped the Ute and grabbed the rifle. He stuck it out the window, took careful aim, then 'BOOM'! He shot a big, gray male but it never went down. It just sat there, dazed, as the bullet sank into him.
"Come on!" yelled old Burt as he jumped out of the Ute.
I jumped out after him and we ran toward the huge gray male. Burt took aim and put another bullet into him and he wobbled over on his side.
"Grab him by the tail!"
"Not likely! He's still alive! He'll probably kick me!"
"Roos can't kick backwards. They can only kick forwards. Grab him by the tail!" he yelled!
I ran forwards and grabbed the roo by the tail. He was about 6 feet tall. As soon as I got mi hands around his thick strong tail he seemed to come back to life again. He scrambled back onto his feet and started to growl! I was shit-scared by now but I was made even more scared 'cause if I let him go he would ripped my guts out with the big, sharp, hooky toenails on the end of his feet.
"Hang on to him mate!" said Burt as he roared with laughter. "Don't let him go mate or he'll kick ya guts out!"
The big roo was really strong. He tried to twist around and grab mi head with his large hands and every time he twisted round I had to duck as well as hang on to his tail.
BOING! BOING! BOING! He hopped all over the track trying to get away from me but I was hangin' on for dear life!
"Shoot him before he kills me!"
"Hang on to him mate. It'll do ya good. Make a fucking man out of a boy!"
After about 5 minutes, I could not longer hold him so I yelled out,
"I'm losing my grip on him!"
"Hang onto the gray bastard. You're a goner if he grabs hold of you!"
After another minute Burt picked up a log, hard Mali stick and yelled to me.
"Keep ya fucking head down, Pommy, or you'll get it knocked off!" Old Burt came up close to the room that was now so pissed he had froth coming out of his mouth.
"Hang onto him mate!" said Burt, who took a well-aimed blow and brought the Mali stick crashing down hard on the roos' head. This big blow slowed him down 50 percent and another well-aimed blow from the stick sent him sprawling to the ground. The dogs, who were tied up in the back of the Ute, were going nuts!
"Let those fucking dogs loose mate."
I was so relieved to let that roo go, I almost shit misen with fear and excitement. I ran over to the Ute and unhooked the dogs. They leapt out of the Ute and grabbed the roo by the throat. Within 2 minutes, the dogs had ripped the roos' throat out. Burt called 'em off and sent 'em back to the Ute.
"He's a big, rough bastard that one. Look at the size of the knackers on him! They're bigger than mine and yours put together mate."
"Why d'ya tell me to grab his tail? I thought he was dying."
"Take more than a couple of .22's to kill one of those big bastards. Anyway, how are ya mate?"
"I was really scared he was gonna kill me. Would you have shot him if he got hold of me?
"Don't be silly sport. A .22 bullet is worth more than a pommy any day." he said and then roared with laughter.
"Fuck you Burt, ya miserable old Aussie bastard!"
Burts' bushy eyebrows raised up a ways and then he roared with laughter again. After a minute or so he stopped laughing and went back to his normal, miserable self again.
"Throw the bastard in the back of the Ute. There's enough dog tucker there for a week, mate."

On another occasion Burt sent me up the Mali on mi own to do some clearing. It was a beautiful, clear and bright sunny morning as I peddled the old bike along the dirt bush tracks. The red wattle trees were in full bloom and the slight odor of tea tree drifted on the gentle breeze. Each side of the track was dense bush. A few feet ahead of me, sitting in a small gum tree was a 6-foot Goana. He was laid along a thick branch taking in the morning sun. I stopped mi bike and got off, then leaned it against a bush. The Goana looked huge to me as I circled the trunk of the tree looking up at him.
Just then, an idea flashed across my mind. I remembered seeing David Attenborough on the TV as a child. He caught big lizards with a long pole and a slip-noose on the end. 'If David Attenborough could do it, so can I', I thought as I hunted around the bush for a suitable long branch.
The Goana just sat up the tree, not really too interested in anything but sunning himself. At last I found the right branch. I went back to mi bike and removed the axe. It did not take very long to trim up the branch. My next job was to walk the fence line looking for a piece of fencing wire. This was not as difficult as one may think because there is always a scrap of wire lying along a fence line. I made a noose in the end of the high-tensile wire and then fastened the other end to the long pole. Standing under the tree, I very quietly slid the pole through mi hands, up in the air toward the big Goanas' head but as soon as he saw it coming, he crawled a bit further up the tree out of range of my long stick.
'A cunning bastard are ya?' I thought to miself. 'Now I'll have to get a longer stick 'cause it's a battle of wits now.' The next long pole I cut, I fixed the wire noose to the end and pushed it back up in the air. The very same thing happened. The Goana crept further up the branch. Eventually he ran out of branch and could go no further so when I found the longest branch I could, I knew I had him. Very carefully, I pushed the long pole up in the air. I maneuvered the wire noose close to his big scaly head. Then POP! The noose went over his head and I gave it a good pull and started to back-peddle. The six-foot Goana came crashing down out of the tree and landed with a thud in a cloud of red dust.
'O shit! What now?' I couldn't remember what Sir David did with his big lizard once the noose was around its neck. Here I am with a large Goana on the end of a long pole and he's really pissed now. The Goana ran in all directions causing a big cloud of dust to arise as he thrashed his long, scaly tail. At one point he tried to run me over but the long pole brought him to a fast halt. It felt like having a 6-foot shark on the end of a small pole as he thrashed around on the dirt track. It took about half-an-hour before he decided to call it quits.
Once he was laid quiet, I got the axe handle and put it across the back of his neck and stood on it so he couldn't move, although he kept thrashing his tail. Next, I carefully pushed the wire back through the slip-noose till it loosened and opened up bigger. No sooner was the noose off his head and my foot was off the axe handle, I ran one way and he ran the other way, straight back up another tree. This time he chose a larger gum tree, one that was so high I could barely make him out as he lay breathing, heavily camouflaged by silvery gum leaves.
'That was a lot of fun!' I thought as I peddled on up the track. Old Sir David would have been proud of me. By this time, I had wasted about 4 hours and the next day when Burt came back up the paddock he knew, by what was left of the sticks and stumps that I'd been up to something.
"What the hell were ya doing all day yesterday? You've only done a couple hours work. D'ya think I pay you mi hard-earned cash to fuck around all day? I suppose ya were sat under a fucking tree in the shade, flogging ya bloody maggot for half a day? Next time ya slack off I'll stop half-a-days pay on ya, ya lazy good-for-nothing Pommy bastard! Ya wouldn't work in an iron lung, ya bastard! Now git ya arse up and ya head down. I wanna see this whole section cleaned up today and put that bloody cigarette out! Ya can't work and smoke at the same time. Smoke in ya own time, not mine ya lazy bastard!"
While it's true, I wasted 4 of his hours, I was not a 'lazy bastard' and at that point I decided I was going to work this old, miserable bastard into the ground before I pulled the pin on him.
I learned many more hard lessons with old Burt Booth and I even learned to respect his working ability but I never learned how to like him and what he stood for. There were even times when I had a good time with old Burt but they were very few and far between.

One lunchtime, while I was in his house, the bedroom door had been left open. Me, being very inquisitive, I looked through the small opening of the doorway as I sat at the table.
"What's laying across ya bed, Burt?"
"That? Come and have a butchers, mate."
Laying the full length and width of his bed was a beautiful fox-skin rug. When I touched it, it felt thick and soft. Along both sides of the rug hung 8 bushy foxtails.
"She's a beaut eh?" said Burt
"Yes. It must have cost you a small fortune?"
"The only expense it cost was to have a bloke cut and stitch 'em together and sew the backing on."
"Where d'ya get the skins from?"
"Shot 'em miself. They're all first-class winter skins. Shot every one of 'em with a headshot. There's no holes in those skins, mate. I made it for mi missus for an anniversary present. She wouldn't be able to sleep without it now."
"Can we go fox shooting one night Burt?"
"Suppose so. Can't see why not. Ya can hold the spot for me, I'll drive and do the shooting."
A couple of nights later, on a new moon, we took off into the paddocks on Burts' tractor, spotlighting for foxes. Once we got in a paddock Burt would drive slowly around in the dark and I shone the spotlight all around the paddock and bush looking for 2 shiny eyes.
"There's one! Hold the spot on him steady!
Burt aimed his .22 and BANG! the two bright eyes disappeared.
"Ya missed him Burt!"
"Not a bloody chance! Got the bastard right between the fucking eyes! Keep the spot where it is mate or we'll lose him!"
I kept the spotlight right in the same place as Burt tore across the paddock, bumping over the fallowed ground as we went.
"There he is mate! Dead as a fuckin' maggot. Hop off and grab him. He must have a mate somewhere around here."
When I picked up the fox by his bushy tail, I could see old Burt was right. The fox had a small, dark hole right between his eyes and as I carried him over to the tractor, blood started to drop right out of the hole and got all over mi work boots.
"Can I have a go shooting now Burt?"
"I don't think so mate. You'll probably miss and hit one of mi good steers. You just hang on to the spot. That's your job mate. Leave the shooting to me."
(As it turned out, old Burt was wrong. I ended up being a crack shot with a rifle or shotgun.)
A couple of nights later, Burt knocked on mi door.
"D'ya wanna go roo shooting?"
"Do I ever!" I said excitedly.
"Git some warm gear on then. We'll be out for about 4 hours and it's a cold night. You'll freeze ya knackers off, if not."
"Where's the rifle?" I said to Burt as he sat on the mudguard of the tractor.
"We're taking the shotgun tonight. Those bastard roos are eating all mi good wheat crops. They've already eaten more than a mob of bloody sheep! A few lead pellets in their arse and they won't come back in a hurry."

"There's a mob of 20 or so Burt!" I said, as the spotlight picked them up. The roos were quite happily sat in the middle of Burts' wheat paddock, pulling up fresh young wheat shoots, chewing the juicy roots off and throwing the rest away.
Burt put the tractor into road gear and we tore off across the paddock after the roos. With his spare hand he reached for the 5-shot pump-action Browning. As soon as the roos heard us coming, they took off at top speed across the paddock heading for the fence and the safety of the bush on the other side.
Sometimes it is very hard to shoot the roos 'cause many times a Cockies paddock would be surrounded by Mali and once the roo jumped the fence he was home and free, laughing at the Cocky on the other side. No one would blame a mob of roos for coming out of the scrub, hopping over the fence and having a good feed of sweet, young wheat or oat shoots. Too much of that and the Cockies profit would be eaten away in a month.
"Grab the steering wheel!" said Burt, as he raised the shotgun.
The roos were now going flat-out towards the safety of the Scrub.
BOOM! went the old pump-action. BOOM! BOOM! "Three shots and one roo down Burt!" I yelled.
Burt let rip with 2 more shots and 2 more roos hit the dust. The rest of the roos were now close to the fence, so Burt slowed the old tractor down.
"That'll teach the bastards! They won't come back for a few nights now. Let's go and pick up the dead ones."
Burt swung the tractor around and I shone the spot all over the paddock looking for the dead roos.
"There's one!", I said. "And ther's another!"
"The other one should be around here somewhere.", said Burt, as we hung them on the back of the tractor.
"There he is!", I said. "He's still alive Burt!."
Burt handed me a large spanner, which he kept on the tractor at all times.
"Here ya go. Bash the bastard on the bloody head and look out he doesn't grab ya. He's still got a lot of fight left in him."
Burt took hold of the spotlight and shone it on the roo. He was really pissed and cranky as he balanced on his one good leg and tail. I took a firm grip on the heavy tractor wrench and jumped off the tractor into the soft red dirt. As I walked up to the big gray, he made a loud growling sound.
"Look out mate. Keep ya eye on him or he'll have ya!:"
"How do I get close enough to hit him?"
"When he goes for ya, sidestep him and give him a good whollup behind the ears and don't fucking miss or he'll grab ya and kick ya guts out!"
I tried to circle the room but he was an old, cunning bastard and he kept his eyes on me at all times. All of a sudden, without warning, he jumped at me and quick as a flash, I jumped to the side and swung the wrench towards his head. The end of the wrench connected with his head and he fell over sideways.
"Git into the bastard. If ya let him get up, he'll have another go at ya!"
I shot forwards to where the room had fallen and gave him a good, hard whack between the ears with the wrench and another one in the same place and he kicked his last.
"We might make a good Aussie out of ya yet mate.", said Burt, as he chuckled to himself in the dark.
That night I had nightmares about the big, old roo.

After a month of works at Burts' property, he said to me,
"We're off into town tomorrow afternoon. If ya wanna come, come over to the house later and I'll pay you ya months wages."
"Sit down at the table,", said Burt as I walked into the kitchen. "Now ya see this form? It's the Award Wage Sheet. Ya see this column? 15 years old and across here it sez, 44 hour week and at the end column 7 pounds sixpence, right? Now, it says here, the maximum amount to be deducted for tucker and room, no more than 4 quid. That'll leave ya 12 pounds and 2 shillings for the month. I'll pay ya the money in town tomorrow afternoon when I cash a cheque."
That evening as I lay on mi bed, I was remembering all the hard work I'd done over the first month. '3 quid a week doesn't sound too good to me.', I thought. 'I made 25 bob a week off of a newspaper round in Yorkshire for a couple of months. I won't be able to save too much on that miserly amount!'

OFF TO TOWN
The next day, being Saturday, I finished mi work at 12 and by 1 O'clock
I was showered and in mi good town gear waiting in Burts' old, blue comby Volkswagen for his missus to come out.
"They're all the bloody same, women. All morning she's had to get ready and she's still not here! Go and tell her, Burt said to git a move on or I'll leave her at home!"
I ran across to the kitchen where Kay was,
"Burt says he's gonna leave ya here if ya don't git'a move on, Mrs. Booth."
"Go and tell Burt, I'm on my way." She said.
"She's on her way.", I said to Burt as I climbed into the Comby.
In a few minutes old Kay got in the front of the Comby and said,
"OK! What ya waiting for Burt. I thought ya were in a hurry?"
"Strueth woman, what ya got all that paint and powder on ya face for? You'll scare the Bungs on Chamens Corner half to death when they see you!"
"Very funny Burt. Are you going to drive or are we going to bake ourselves in the Van?"
Old Burt started the Comby and we drove down the track, past the dam and out onto the dirt road to Lake Cargelligo. Burts' Comby rattled like hell on the rough dirt road and before long, mi good white shirt was covered in red dust. I didn't feel to bad about it because Kays' white hat with the frill of white lace on it was just the same color as my shirt.
It was exactly 12 miles to Lake Cargelligo from Burts' front gate to the strip of bitumen road, just out of town. It was a relief when the Comby hit the bitumen because the dust stopped coming through the door hinges and the rattles went almost silent. (Lake Cargelligo was like most other Bush towns except that it had a big lake at the end of the street. There was no barrier up so if one was too drunk, they'd end up in the lake and over the years quite a few did.)
There was a few houses on the left and right-hand side of the road as we made our way to the main street. A large new-looking house on the right was the Police Station and next to that was the towns' jail which as all run by Sargent Montgomery. As we drove past the jail to the first intersection, Burt turned right, down the main street. He drove to the end of the street, which was only about 150 yards long, turned the old Comby around before we got too close to the lake and then headed back up the other side of the street to angle park, nose into the curb.
He turned to Kay and said, "Lake Cargelligo, Missus. Don’t spend too much 'cause it's hard to make. I'm off to the pub to cash a cheque so I can pay him his wages. Ya can show him the Main street if ya like. I'll meet ya here in 10 minutes Missus."
It was a really hot day so I got out of Burts' Comby as soon as I could. I'd put too much Brylcream on mi hair and it was slowly running down the back of mi neck.
"Is mi shirt dirty?", I said to Kay.
"Dirties not the word for it! It's more like muddy. You've got too much hair oil on and it's run all down ya back. Give me ya hanky and I'll clean it up for ya."
"Thanks Mrs. Booth. I'll know not to put so much on next time."
Old Kay was not a bad old sort at times. She was probably stuck with Burt herself, 'cause no one got a divorce in the Bush in those days.
"Let's take a walk up the Main street, Richard.", she said.
"Are there anymore streets?"
"No, Lake Cargelligo isn't a real big place. Theres' only one main street and where we stooped at the end of the intersection is where the shops stop, so it's about one short block long."
We walked up the street a few yards from the pub where we'd parked and outside of the Stock & Station Agents, she spoke to a young lad who looked about 19 years old.
"Hello Robbie.", she said.
"G'day Mrs. Booth. In town shopping are ya?"
"Just came in for a few supplies. This is Richard. He's working at our place."
"G'day mate. My name's Robbie Townsend. What's yours?"
"Richard Swindells, but some people call me 'Yorky'."
"Ya from Yorkshire are ya?"
"Yes,", I said.
"Pleased to meet ya mate.", he said, as we shook hands.
"I'm going into Chamens for some things. Ya can hang out here with Robbie, if ya like Richard."
"Alright.", I said, as she walked off.
"How long ya been out at old Burts' place.", He said, with a smile.
"Just a month now."
"Ya just got here from England, mate?"
"Yeh, I've been here for about 6 weeks now."
"D'ya like it out at old Burts' place?"
"No!", I said. "I think he's a mean old bastard!"
Robbie had a real good laugh at this statement.
"Ya not the first one to say that mate. Old Burt's gone through a few Pommies in his his day."
"What d'ya mean?"
"How much does he pay ya a week, Yorky?"
"Twelve pounds a month, plus tucker.", I said.
"Jesus! That's less than 3 quid a week clear!"
"Where do you work, Robbie?'
"This place, mate. The Stock & Station Agents. Mi old man owns it so I work for him."
"How much a week do you make, Robbie?"
"Fifteen quid a week mate and I pay a couple of quid to mi mum for tucker. We'll have to find you another job, Yorky. No one stays with old Burt too long, I've seen heaps of Pommies come and go through Burts' place, If ya still in town tonight, I'll introduce ya to Surry."
"Who's Surry?"
"He's a Pommy, same as you mate. He's been here a couple of years now. He got sent to Burts' place, just like you. He lasted the longest so far. I think he worked for old Burt for about 9 months, mate."
"Where's he working now?"
"Oh he's on another property about 20 miles out. I think he's sharecropping now. He should make a few quid this year but he'll probably drink it all."
"Does he drink much?"
"He holds the record at the Australian Hotel for drinkin' a yard of beer. Here's old Kay coming back now. I'll see ya later Yorky. I'm gonna' shoot through before she gets here."
Robbie took off back inside his Dads' Agency just as old Kay walked up.
"How did you like Robbie?", she asked.
"He seems like a good bloke but I don't know him very well."
"I've known Robbie since he was a little boy. He was born in Lake Cargelligo. I've got some more shopping to do so you'd might as well look around the town, if you want. The van will be parked here all day and we'll probably stay in town tonight till about 10."
"OK, I'll see ya later.", I said as I waked off down the street.
Going down towards the Lake was a pub. (This pub was known to everyone as 'Twitchys'.) Past Twitchys' place was a couple of small shops, then a hairdressers for women. The next shop was Chamens Garage. After Chamens was a couople of houses, then nothing at all but dry, flat ground. Sometimes the lake used to flood in wet weather right up to the Bitumen at the streets end. Across the other side of the street was a tool shop, a few more houses and another pub called The Australian Hotel. Next to that was a dirt street, then came Ray Orrs Barber Shop. The Barbers shop was of great interest to me because in the window there was fishing rods, knives and guns. I decided to go into Orrs shop and inquire about a rifle. Ray Orr was cutting a customers hair when I entered the small, but compact, shop. It was a typical Bush barbers shop. There was just about everything one could think of hanging of hanging on the walls or stacked in he corner.
"G'day." He said, as I entered the shop. "Something I can get ya?"
"No thanks, just browsing around."
"Where are ya from mate?", he asked as I walked around.
"I'm working at Burt Booths place."
"Ah, ya must be Burts' new Pommy are ya?"
"I guess so."
"Old Burt's due in here today sometime. He gets his hair cut once a month, regular as clockwork."
"How much are the .22s'?"
"Oh they start at 8 pounds.", he said, as he handed me a rifle. "She's a single-shot Anshultz. Just got it in last week."
"Burt won't let me have a rifle on his place, but as soon as I get another job I'll come in and buy one off ya."
"No worries mate. Make ya self at home. I can even give ya a haircut, if ya want one."
"Maybe next time.", I said, as I looked around his shop.
When I was through looking, I said "Thanks a lot."
"No worries mate. Anything I can do for ya, let me know."

Next to the Barbers was a Dry Cleaners which was also owned by Ray Orr. Next to that was Rodds Clothes shop. Then came a Café, another Stock Agents called Dalgerys and then The Commonwealth Bank.
Now I was back at the intersection where we'd turned into the main street. Across the street, on the same side, was a Picture House and a Coffee Bar belonging to old Theo. There were a couple of vacant blocks, then another pub called Gilltraps. Next to Gilltraps Hotel was a residential street and way up the Main Street was another Garage. (Oh, the Post Office was next to Twitchys' Pub and, as far as I can remember, that was about it except for Chamens Store on the opposite side of the street. Oh yeh, there was also one more Bank next to Chamens.)
As you can see, Lake Cargelligo was quite a small place in 1964. Once I'd made mi rounds of the Main Street there was nothing else to do but hang out under a shady tree, down by the Lake.

The most common form of entertainment at Lake Cargelligo was, of course, the 3 Hotels. The double doors were wide open when I passed by and I could see that the place was packed with Cockies and workers. All were drinking and most were reading the race page or listening to the Saturday afternoon races.

Later on that evening I met Surry who was sat on the Hotel steps, drinking with Robbie Townsend.
"G'day. This is mi mate Surry that I was telling ya about."
"Hello.", I said, as I leaned over to shake his hand.
"This is Yorky, Surry. He'ls out slaving at old Burts' place."
"G'day Yorky. Surry's the name and Surry's where I'm from. So ya out at old Burts' property are ya?"
"Yes."
"Does the old Bastard feed ya parrots and kangaroo steaks?"
"How d'ya know""
Robbie and Surry had a good laugh at my expense.
" 'Cause the old Bastard fed me the same!" said Surry. "Tll I wised up a bit. Just refuse to eat those fuckin' parrots, mate. You'll break ya teeth on those tough bastards!"
"He said everyone eats roos and parrots in the Bush.", I said.
"Then he's a fuckin' liar. He's a miserable old bastard is Burt and his brother Dick is worse! Dick is so tight he doesn't eat strawberry jam."
"Why? Is it expensive in Australia?"
They both laughed ot loud.
"No mate, ya silly pommy bastard! He doesn't eat strawberry jam 'cause he's too tight to pass the seeds!"
"Now that's fucking tight!", said Robbie and they had another good laugh.
"Old Kay's not a bad sort though.", said Surry. "There's a young Sheila around here the doctors said would never walk again, on account of an accident, but old Kay worked on her legs for one year and now she can walk again. She's pretty good at that therapeutic massage. I hurt mi back one day out at Burts' place. I fell off the Combine with a 180 pound wheat bag on mi back and I couldn't hardly move and she fixed it up inside a week."
Surry told me a lot of stories about Burt, most of them bad. By the time I left them I was now more determined to get off his place and work somewhere else.
As I was leaving, he called out to me.
"Good luck mate, you're gonna need it!", then laughed his head off again.

Surry turned out to be a reasonable friend. He was quite tall and had blonde, curly hair and was a ladies man, that's if he didn't get too grogged up.
After I left Surry and Robbie on the Hotel steps, I ran into Burt and Kay up the street aways.
"How d'ya like the town?", said Burt.
"It's not real big but I've met a few people already."
"Ya won't have to get to know people here. They'll all get to know you."
"Grand Streuth!, said Burt. "There's a fight! Let's go and see."
Across the street on Chamens corner was a crowd of black people rolling around the ground in rags, as pissed as parrots.
"Who are those blokes, Burt?", I said.
"They're all Abos , mate. It's Saturday night and they're full of Plonk. We'll get to see a real good show now. That is, till old Sargent Montgomery arrives."
"I thought Aborigines carried spears and boomerangs?"
"Not these blokes. These bastards are half white. All they carry is a bottle of Plonk.", he said, as I followed him up to the opposite corner.
"What's Plonk?"
"Plonk's a cheap brown Muscat wine. It costs 4 bob for a half-gallon flagon. They go crazy with a gut full a' Plonk in 'em. Here we go mate, she's on now!"
I felt really compassionate towards the Aboringines as they called each other 'black bastards' and rolled around on the street corner drinking and fighting with each other. Their clothes were old, dirty and tattered. One had a shirt with a sleeve torn off and another had on a pair of odd shoes with no socks. Another had on a pair of trousers with holes in the knees. Another had no shirt at all. Even the women were getting into the fight now and they could curse and swear better than the men. Some of the Abo women were twice as big as their men and they could fight better as well.
The fight lasted for about 10 minutes until Sargent Montgomery arrived in his blue Bullwagon with a young constable.
"Alright you black bastards!", said the Sargent. "In the wagon ya go! Ya can sober up and cool off in the cell for the evening."
The Sarg and his Constable grabbed the drunk Abos by anything they could and literally threw them in the back of the Bullwagon. He left the women and took all the men up the street to the local jail.
"Ah well, that's the excitement over Saturday night.", said Burt.
"What will happen to them now?", I asked.
"They'll sleep on the concrete floor for the night and in the morning the old Sarg will make 'em weed his garden 'cause they'll have no money for the fine. The old Sarg has the best-kept garden in Lake Cargelligo. He knows all those Bungs by their first names by now and by the time Sunday night comes, they'll all be back in jail again."
"Why doesn't someone help them?"
"Can't help the bastards, mate. They're all past helping. Everyone of 'em is an alcoholic. They spend every bit of their money on Plonk and they won't work again till there's no money left. Even then, they won't work until they're hungry."
That, unfortunately, was my first introduction to the Australian Aborigines. Before we went back out to the Bush, one of 'em bit me for 2 bob and I couldn't refuse him, although I knew he would spend it on Plonk.
That night, I lay on mi bed thinking about the Aborigines. It made my heart incredibly sad to see what a tragic state they were in. Most people, in the Bush, saw them as not much better than dogs.

BURT BOOTH ©

2008-07-29T12:43:00.000-07:00

Off in the distance, the small cloud of red dust was now beginning to get bigger and bigger and after 10 minutes or so I could see a small white dot in front of the cloud of red dust. A few minutes later I recognized the white dot as a pickup truck. Ten minutes later the pickup ground to a halt in front of me in a cloud of red dust that got up my nose and made me cough a bit. In the back of the truck were 2 black dogs with pricked ears and yellow eyes. They stared straight at me and as soon as I moved they started to bark. "Sit down ya bastards!" roared a broad Australian voice from inside the cab. The drivers' side opened and a rough-looking Bushman climbed out from behind the dusty steering wheel. "G'day." He said, "My name's Burt Booth. You must be Richard, are ya?" 'Yes, that's right." "Throw your ports in the back of the Ute mate and we'll git moving." "What about the dogs?" "They won't hurt ya mate. They're chained up to the front." The dogs lunged and growled at me as I lifted both mi suitcases and stacked them in the back. "Sit down, ya fucking bastards!" yelled Burt Booth at the 2 mean-looking black dogs. "Come on mate, git a move on!" said old Burt Booth as I arranged mi two cases so the dogs wouldn't chew 'em. "Hop in the other side." He said, so I walked around the Ute and opened the passenger door. "Christ, she's a warm one today." He said as he put the Ute into first gear.

Burt Booth was about 5'10". On his head he wore an old 'diggers' slouch hat which was covered in oil and sweat stains. The crown of the hat had two large holes in the top front crease from years of taking it on and off. His face was creased and weather-worn brown. It had long, deep lines all over it from years of working in the Sun and heat. He had a large hooked nose, just like an eagle. At each side of the nose were two small slits that I guessed were his eyes. Above the eyes were big, bushy eyebrows that grew in all directions except straight. He had dirty gray whiskers also. His clothes were old, ex-army dark karkhi. The pants were woolly and the shirts was cotton and over that he wore the karkhi battle-dress jerkhin. On his feet were a pair of big rubber-soled work boots that were covered in red dust.

Before I sat down, I dusted the seat with mi hand and when I looked at it, mi hand was a dirty red color.
"Git in mate, a bit of fucking dust won't hurt 'ya. Slam the door 'cause it'll fly open if ya don't.
Burt Booth was not a pleasant looking character and already I could feel he was mean-spirited, not at all like Bill Defoe, so I just sat there looking out of the window.
The old Ute picked up speed as it went along the bush dirt road. Red dust flew up behind the Ute as we drove along. The dirt road was covered in pot-holes and corrugation. The old Ute banged and rattled so much I thought it was going to fly to pieces before we arrived at the farm!
At long last old Burt spoke, "Ya see all this Mali country? Well, we're in the process of clearing it all so we've got some more country to sow the wheat and oats down."
"That's great.", I said, as I sat there looking at him. Then I started to think about clearing Mali country. 'Maybe I'll learn to drive big bulldozers and crawlers. That will be great!'
As we drove along in silence a few kangaroos hopped across the road in front of us.
"O look, there's some kangaroos!", "I said.
"Plenty of those bastards out here. They're a bloody nuisance those roos. One roo will as much crop as 10 sheep in one night."
"How do you stop 'em doing that?"
"Lead! We shoot the bastards with shotguns. We wait till it's dark, then we go out in the Ute with a good spotlight. Soon as we pick 'em up in the spot we let the bastards have it! Hop out and open that gate and don't forget to chain it back up. I don't want these sheep to get mixed up with the others 'cause I've just finished drafting 'em."

After a long drive through his paddocks we finally came to his place.
"This is the house paddock and over there behind those pines is the house."
The old white Ute pulled up in the red, dusty yard in front of his one-story house. The house had a chain-link fence around it which kept the stock out of the vegetable garden. Next to the house was a couple of large water tanks that sat on 2 tall wooden platforms.
The front door of his house opened and a porky, middle-aged woman came out.
"This is the missus.", said Burt.
"Pleased to meet you.", I said.
"I'm so glad you're here. You'll be a lot of help for Burt. We've been waiting for a new boy for about 6 months now."
"You'll be staying over in that shed. Take ya gear over there and lunch will be served in half an hour. The missus will ring the cow-bell when it's ready."

Burts' wife was at least 50 years old. Even she was ex-army, like his clothes. She used to be a nurse in England and when the second World War started she was sent to Australia to look after the wounded troops. Burt had met her after the war and once married he brought her out to the Bush. She had straight gray hair which was chopped
off above her shoulders. Her face was lined just like Burts. Under her nose and on her chin she had almost as much hair as Burt did. She also had a small dark mole on her face, out of which grew 5 or 6 long gray hairs. She had a bust like a Jersey milking cow which hung down to her waist, just about. Her waist was long gone and her arse was about 1 and 1/2 axe-handles wide. her legs were covered in dark stockings and she still wore her nurse-type shoes.

I picked up mi 2 cases and headed over to the shed where Burt had pointed. From the outside, the shed was made up of corrugated iron just like the locked shed at Burgooney Station. The door was a very faded blue with paint peeling and flaking off all over it. I put mi cases down and turned the warm, round handle. The door creaked open on its own revealing a small room about 9 feet by 7 feet. In one corner was an old rusty bed frame with an old, stained, flock mattress on it. Next to that was an ancient cupboard with three horizontal drawers in it and in another corner was a small wardrobe with a long stained mirror on the door. The floor was covered in cheap oil cloth that had been patched together. There were still large torn holes in it, as if someone had run out of patches. The small window as almost impossible to open and a faded curtain hung down each side of the frame. The walls of the hut were not lined so already I was noticing the heat as I stood there.
'This place is nothing but a dump.', I thought. 'Maybe everyone lives like this in the bush.'
I put mi thin bush coat over the back of the only broken chair in the place and then put mi 2 cases under the bed and sat on the edge of the rickety chair surveying the stained mattress.
'I hope no one pissed on that.', I thought as I stared at it in disbelief. I decided to turn it over to see how the other side was but it looked like it had been turned on many previous occasions. I pulled out one of mi cases and found a couple of clean linen sheets which I promptly covered the mattress with. Then I knocked all the dust out of the pillow and dropped into a brand new pillowcase. The foisty smell still emenated out of the pillow so I gave it a couple more whacks with mi flat hand and threw it into place. The corners of the small room had large cobwebs growing across them but I decided I'd knock 'em down later. I kicked off mi good shoes which were now covered in red dust and very carefully lay on mi back on the rickety old iron-framed bed.
I lay there staring at the corrugated iron roof until I heard the sound of the cowbell ringing. When the cowbell stopped ringing I made mi way across the dusty yard to the main house. Old Burt was standing under the tank stand at a small homemade table with an old aluminum dish full of brown water washing his face and neck. After he finished he threw the dirty water over the fence into the vegetable patch.
"After ya washed up, throw the water in the veggie garden. You'll have to learn to conserve water out here mate. She's been a real dry summer this year. We've only had a few points of rain over the last 7 months. Use the tap over there, that's the washing water. It's pumped up from the dam by that big windmill next to it. When you've finished, come on inside for a bite to eat. The missus has got the tucker out on the table already so hurry up before the flies carry it away!"
I put the battered old dish under the tap and turned the tap with a pair of old pliers that were sat on a stone next to it. The water came out a dirty reddish brown color and it was quite warm. the square, rough block of soap that was sitting on the old wooden table was as hard and scratchy as hell. I found out later that old Burt made it himself. No matter how hard I rubbed with the soap no lather seemed to appear. After I finished I put mi shoes where Burt had left his and walked inside.
To my surprise, Burt and Kays' house was very clean and tidy inside and the furnishings, although not new, were in really good shape. Three large pieces of cold mutton were waiting for me at the table as I sat down. Next to the mutton was a couple of medium-sized tomatoes and alongside those were 3 cold potatoes.
Old Burt was already eating as I sat down. "Dig in mate and if I was you I'd put a heap of salt on that mutton 'cause if ya don't eat a lot of salt out here in the Bush you'll end up as sick as a mangy dog."
I put some more salt on mi meat and reached for a thick piece of hand cut bread. I put the normal amount of butter on it and before I could finish old Burt said, "Christ mate, go easy on the butter. That's gotta last a few days before I make another batch!"
After lunch, Kay Booth asked me a few questions about my life so I told her about Yorkshire, mi dads' farm and the Ellan Silver Prize Band. As I finished talking old Burt said, "I'm off back up the paddock. Ya can start work tomorrow morning. Have a look around the place this arvo and don't leave the house paddock 'cause I don't have time to look for a new chum who's got himself bushed in the first afternoon!"
Back outside, old Burt hopped in his decrepit Ute and drove away out of sight. I decided to investigate the house paddock so I took off in the direction of the big windmill. There were burrs and saffron thistles all over the place and the ends of the thistles were so sharp that they went straight through my thin work jeans and stuck in mi legs.
The dam was quite large and as soon as I got close to it a group of wild-wood ducks flew off up into the air. I walked up the small dam banks and stood there looking at the brownish murky water. Just then, a mob of wild, sulphur-crested Cockatoos landed in a big gum tree and started to squawk. They were the largest parrots I had ever seen. They had jet black eyes and a big yellowish plume on top of their heads. A few of them flew out of the gum tree and landed at the waters edge to take a drink. They did not seem to mind me standing there as they stuck their beaks in the muddy water, then put their heads to swallow it. A few moments later a large flock of Budgerigars landed next to the Sulphur-crested cockeys and took up their drinking positions. When they had drunk their full they all flew up into the pine and gum trees which held plenty of shade for them.
I noticed some old sheds at the bottom end of the house paddock so I slowly walked in that direction. The Sun was already hot now and the bush flies were a real nuisance. The more I swished them away from my eyes the more it seemed to encourage them to come. There was broken-down rusty old machinery lying all over the place. Most of it, I guess, was left over from the old horse-drawn days. Some of the old sheds housed bags of seed wheat and the others were tractors and combine sheds. At the far end of the paddock was what smelled to me like a sheep-shearing shed. I also saw a few half-full bales of wool laying open in one corner.
I spent most of the afternoon walking around to familiarize myself with the place. When I got back to my tin hut I noticed, just across the way, a couple of large logs so I went over to check it out. When I got closer, I saw what it was. Old Burt had split a large log straight down the center and the white ants had eaten the whole middle of the log away. Burt had dug a small hollow in the ground and placed the half-hollow log over the top of the hole. At the back of the log was a square piece of corrugated tin that he'd hashed into the hard ground. The tin sealed up the back. At the front was a 2-foot metal stake with a dog chain welded to it.
'What an ingenious idea.' I thought. 'The dogs can go down inside the hole into the cool earth during the day when it's hot. The dog kennel looked like a natural den which would have made them feel real comfortable.'
I spent the rest of the day putting a few work clothes I would need into the old cupboard of mi tin shed and after another meal at Old Burt's house, I went to bed early so I'd be raring to go in the morning.
I was up before the hot sun next morning waiting for old Burt to come out of the house. He was up bright and early and walked across the dusty yard to where I was sitting on the small step of mi shed.
"G'day. We've got a big day ahead of us today so we'd best git crackin'. There's a couple of bikes in that shed over there. Grab the old black one and peddle down the road to that bottom paddock. You'll see the milking cows down there and we'll get started on 'em."
I found the old, dirty bike leaning against the shed wall right where he said it would be. The bike was in worse condition than my old bike in England. I turned it around and blew the red dust off of the seat and pushed it outside.
Old Burt was nowhere to be seen now so I threw mi leg over the bike and peddled down a dirt track to where he said the cows were. It was very difficult to peddle the bicycle on the dirt track 'cause as soon as the front wheel hit a hole, which was filled up with bull dust, the bike came to an abrupt halt. At one hole the front wheel stopped dead and I shot off the seat and nearly ruptured misen on the cross bar and swearing in mi newfound Aussie language, I peddled on down the dirt road. When I reached the gate that old Burt had described to me, I got off mi bike and undid the chain. The Large tubular steel gate opened back on its own. I pushed mi bike through and stood there looking for the cows. They were really hard to spot because they were grazing way off in the middle of a 500-acre paddock.
The paddock was thickly overgrown with 4-foot high saffron thistles so I just sat on the bike wondering how I was going to reach them. There was no other way that I could see except to ride through the thistles. Twenty feet into the paddock I was cursing and yelling as the hard, dry thistles stuck through mi thin work jeans and into my soft white legs.
'Fuck this for a joke!' I thought. 'At this rate it will take me all day!' I turned the bike around and peddled back to the side of the fence. When I got off the bike I pulled mi jeans down and saw 10 to 15 small, sharp barbs sticking out of mi legs. After I'd removed them I pulled the rest out of mi jeans. When I pulled mi jeans back up there was still a couple of places where I'd missed getting the thorns out but I tried to forget about it and peddled back up towards the house. A couple of thorns scratched at mi soft, white legs the hole way back.
When I eventually got back to the yard, old Burt said to me,
"What happened to the cows?"
"There right out in the middle of a thistle paddock!", I said.
"So ya just left 'em there?"
" 'course I did. What else was I supposed to do?"
Now he got really angry and I could see his meaness come up to the surface.
"Ya useless fucking, stupid pommy bastard!", he yelled at me. "Go and git my fucking bike out of the shed!"
After I came back with his bike, he jumped on it and started to peddle real fast down the same dirt track.
"Come on, you useless pommy bastard! What the fucking hell do you think I'm paying you 3 quid a week for if I've got to get mi own cows?"
I was really quite scared by now so I kept mi mouth shut and tried to keep up with him as best I could. When we got down to the paddock gate old Burt rode straight through the gate and headlong into the thistles he peddled. After a few yards I stopped mi bike 'cause by this time mi legs were burning with thistle stings again.
"Get back on that fucking bike, ya useless bastard!", he roared.
"They're pricking mi legs!"
"Ya fucking useless! You're as soft as fucking shit ya little bastard. If ya don't get back on that bike, I'll have ya deported back to England where ya bloody well came from!"
"It's alright for you, you've got real thick pants on. These blue jeans of mine are paper thin."
"Ya nothing but a winging, pommy bastard!", he roard again as he peddled off across the thistle paddock.
By this time I could take no more. The shock of the tin shed and the lack of human warmth was too much for a 15 year old boy from Yorkshire to take. I broke into tears and peddled the bike back up the dirt track. When I reached the house yard Kay Booth was throwing some feed to the chooks. I dropped the bike to the ground and headed straight for the tin shed where I lay on mi bed and cried mi eyes out.
After a while Kay came over and knocked on the door.
"Are you alright Richard?"
"Go away, I don't want to talk to you."
"Let me in Richard."
"Go away and leave me alone!", I said, between sobs.
Half an hour later I heard Burt coming up the track with the milking cows. A few minutes later I heard Kay talking to Burt and 5 minutes after that she was knocking on my door again.
"Open the door Richard."
The tears had dried up by now so I got off the bed and slid the wooden bolt back to open the door. She came in the room with a rather worried look on her face.
"You'll have to forgive Burt. He's lived and worked in the Bush his whole life and sometimes he forgets that you're only a boy."
"He's a real mean old man."
"It's not that he's mean Richard. I know he really likes you like a son but he's not got a lot of patience."
"If he likes me like a son, I'm glad I'm not his son."
Go over to the milking shed. I've had a word him so he'll be alright now."
There was not much choice in the matter and I was scared he'd have me deported so I walked over to where he was milking the cows. As I walked past the pigpens I saw a dead, skinned fox laying half-eaten in the mud and all the small piglets had all lost their curly little tails. When I climbed over the wooden fence Burt said, "Ah, there you are. Can you milk a cow?"
"Yes, mi dad showed me how to do it."
"Good. At least ya can do something. Come over here and milk this one and be careful 'cause she's a kicker. Make sure her leg is tied back like that or she'll put her foot in the bucket of milk."
The teats on the cows' bag were really small and it make milking her very difficult but as soon as he could see I'd done it before he said, "Your job's to bring the cows in and milk 'em 6 days a week. I'll do it on ya day off which is Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday."

2008-07-27T11:30:00.000-07:00

(I’ve only been resting about an hour,
when I hear Defoes’ loud Australian voice
booming and echoing through the Army-style barracks.)

DEFOE
Get out of those fart sacks you pommy fucking bastards! It’s time to eat, that’s if you mummies little darlings are not too fucking tired! (As he walks down the line of beds he says;)
Who the fucking hell took it upon themselves to clean up the fucking outer-dairy-yard without fucking asking first? Which one of you pack ‘a pommy bastards did it?
YORKY
I did. (in a nervous voice.)

DEFOE
What do you mean ‘I DID’, you little fucking pipsqueak? Who the fucking hell helped you?

YORKY
No one. I saw it hadn’t been done and it needed doing. I’m the one to blame.

(Defoe strides down the shed and stands in front of me.)

DEFOE
Show me you hands.

(I open mi hands. There are about 6 or 8 blisters on them.)

I would not have believed it unless I saw it with mi own eyes. Perhaps I misjudged you, ya scrawny looking Pommy bastard. That's what I like to see.

(He roars as he stands in front of me, looking back down the line. Then he turns to me.)

Good lad, you’re going to make it in the bush. Now go outside and piss on your hands. That’ll heal your blisters and toughen ‘em up. Where’s that ugly little bastard called Morris, and that big curly-headed pufta called Dave? Ah, there you are. You two can take the little bastards job in the kitchen and if you can work as good as him I’ll git ya a job in the Bush. Now fucking move you limey bastards, ya dinners getting cold!

(After the meal we all sit around a bit. Some of us talk and some of us write letters home to our families. At about 9 O’clock the lights in the large Nissan hut are turned out and we all try to get a good nights sleep.)

(Early the next morning I can no longer rest so I get up and dress myself in mi work clothes ready for my first days work. Just for a joke I grab mi old trumpet from under the bed. I pop the locks, put the mouthpiece in, then with a great lung full of air I blow the morning Reveille.)

BOY
Oh shit! Put that fucking trumpet away Titch. It’s only 5 O'clock!

(A few seconds later 2 or 3 pillows come flying across the room in my general direction. Then a large work-boot with a rubber heel bounces at my feet.)

YORKY
Alright boys. Just a little joke, but don’t let Defoe catch you in bed ‘cause he’s likely to do anything, you know.

(At 6 O’clock we were all in the kitchen tucking into a large plate of lamb chops, eggs, bacon and toast and a tin mug of piping hot tea. Defoe comes into the kitchen, gets himself a large plate of breakfast, then disappears back outside again. After breakfast we all go back to our beds for an extra few minutes lay down while our big breakfast digests. It is not long before Defoes’ big, rough head appears in the doorway.)

DEFOE
Alright you Pommy fucking bastards,on your fucking feet. Time to go to work! Who blew that fucking trumpet this morning?

YORKY
I did.

DEFOE
Get it out and play me a tune, Squirt.

(I pull out the trumpet and play Defoe a couple of Trad songs, then just for fun I play the theme music to the Lone Ranger. Defoe seems to love the trumpet and when I put it away he comes over and says)

Why do you want to work on a farm in the bush ,squirt?

YORKY
‘Cause I can’t get it out of mi head. Ever since I knew it was possible for me to come out here to Australia, that’s all I ever wanted to do.

DEFOE
I’ll get you a job in the Army Cadets and after that you’ll get bumped up to the regular Army. You’ll make real good money and you won’t have to go through any shit in the Army band. You could make yourself a real beaut career out‘a music, Squirt. So have a good think about it, alright?

YORKY
I can tell ya right now Mr. Defoe, I don’t want to join any Army band. I just want to get out to the Bush and work on a farm.

DEFOE
Just think about it.
(He turns and walks out of the Nissan hut.)

(That day we all busy ourselves milking cows, driving tractors, cleaning the place up and whatever jobs one generally does around a farm. In the afternoon Defoe says to us boys)

DEFOE
Can any of you lot ride a horse?
(A couple of the boys raise their hands).

Go and catch old Patches over there and saddle him up. You can all take turns in riding him. It’ll give you a bit of experience in case you need it some time.

(Patches is a big, strong-looking black & white Gelding. One of the boys throws a saddle across him and is trying to do up the cinch.)

DEFOE
Not like that ya Pommy bastard!. Go back in the barn and get me a saddle blanket.

(As soon as the boy returns, Defoe places the saddle blanket over old Patches back.Then he throw the Aussie Stock Saddle on the top of the blanket as he says,)

Don’t forget to pull the far side stirrup iron over the saddle,’cause if ya don’t, when ya throw the saddle over him the stirrup iron will hit him under the guts and that’ll spook him and make him kick. This old horse has seen more Pommy bastards then any other horse alive in Australia today and he’s not particularly fond of ‘em. So watch him cause he’s not afraid of kicking and he doesn’t mind biting a piece of Pommy arse now and again. Once the saddle is in place, once you’ve got the cinch up tight, walk him around a bit because he’s a cunning old bastard. He’ll puff his belly out to make you believe the cinch is tight and when you go to mount him he’ll let the air out and you and the saddle will go arse over head in the dirt,OK? Now after you’ve walked him around a bit, if he still keeps his belly puffed out ya give him a real good swift kick in the guts like this.

(Defoe kicks Patches right in the guts and in turn Patches kicks up both of his back legs high in the air and Defoe pulls hard on the cinch .)

Now you’re ready to mount, so watch carefully or you’ll get bit on the arse. You always mount from the left-hand side, and make sure ya hold the far-side rein tight so he can’t bite ya. Ya put ya left foot in the stirrup and then ya swing ya leg up and over in one easy movement like this.

DEFOE
(Defoe is now looming above us as he sits astride Patches.)

Ya give him a good, firm dig with the heel of ya boot, then away ya go, mate.
(After he walks Patches around the yard for a while, he gets off.)
Alright Squirt, hop on ‘im and have a go mate.

(I’d only ever ridden a donkey on Blackpool Beach as a kid for sixpence a ride but I take a deep breath and with great determination I stride up to Patches who put his head down as soon as he sees me approach him.

Grab those reins tight, Squirt! Pull on the far side one until he lifts his head up again!

(As I pulled on the rein, Patches swung his massive head around and tried to bite my bony little arse.)

Look out Squirt! The mean old bastard will have a piece of ya arse if ya not careful mate.”

(All the boys laugh. Patches knows he’s the center of everyones attention, He swings his head around for another go at my arse.)

That stirrup iron is too long for ya Squirt, so adjust the strap like his mate. That’s good enough mate. I’ll do the other side for ya.. Git up on him and watch out for the cunning old bastard. He’s likely to do anything. You got to be thinking one step ahead of that old bastard ‘cause if not, he’ll take over and run the fucking show on ya!

(I mount Patches just like I’d seen on the cowboy shows. I give him a couple of good kicks with the heel of mi boots and Patches starts to walk around.)

Good on ya Squirt.That’s the idea. He’s real hard in the mouth so you’ve got to ride him and show him who’s boss ‘cause if not he’ll take over. Oy! open that gate ya curly-headed pufta so the Squirt can go for a ride in the cow paddock.

(Dave opens the gate and Patches and me ride through into the paddock.)

Go down to the bottom of the paddock and keep ya wits about ya.

(Down the sloping paddock me and Patches ride.)

YORKY (VO)
This is a piece of cake!
(Cowboy Dick rides along with one arm down at his side.)

What a great life it is, riding the Bush Range in Australia. Maybe I’ll get misen a job droving cattle around the Bush now that I can ride a horse.

(We reach the bottom of the long paddock. I’m still fantasizing misen as a cowboy. I almost pull out one of mi imaginary six-guns that are slung low at mi hips. Just then Patches turns around, totally unexpected, and takes off back up the paddock at full speed. All I can do is hang on as mi new bush hat flies off mi head into nowhere. Faster and faster Patches gallops up the field. I’m shit-scared but at the same time the excitement of the gallop is amazing.)

Oh oh! Now what do I do? 30 or 40 yards ahead of me is the barbwire fence where all the boys stand cheering and yahooing.

DEFOE
Ride the old bastard!

BOYS
Yahoo!

(The fence now looms dangerously close and my fantasies are long gone. All of a sudden Patches applies the horse brakes and I see misen flying through the air, headlong over the fence. The next thing I remember is Defoe pulling me up onto mi feet. The back of mi head has a throbbing, dull ache in it and mi arse feels like someone has just kicked it with a size 10 boot.)

DEFOE
Jeesus bloody christ mate! What the fuck are ya playing at! You’re supposed to stop when the horse stops! You’ll bloody well hurt ya self getting off a horse that way. Now git back up on the old bastard and try it again.

YORKY
I don’t think I’m cut out for riding horses Mr. Defoe.

DEFOE
Fucking bullshit lad. You’ll make a fucking good jockey if ya stop eating. Now git back on him ‘cause if ya don’t you’ll end up scared of horses, and if ya scared of horses ya rooted for Bush life.

(Someone catches Patches and hands me the reins. Defoe gives me a leg up.)

Now watch the old bastard. He thinks he’s got it all over ya !

(Defoe is absolutely right ‘cause as soon as we go through the gate into the paddock Patches refuses to go anywhere.)

Give the rotten old bastard a decent kick in the guts!

(The heel of my boots makes contact with Patches sides. He did not take a liking to this command, so he decides to buck. Up on his hind legs he stands. Then he goes down again and at the same time he kicks his back legs high in the air.)

BOYS
YaHoo! Ride him cowboy!

DEFOE
Show the bastard what you’re made of Pommy!

(I give Patches another good command. Up and down he goes, kicking and bucking for his worth. My arse and knees are now feeling the pain as Patches continues to try to hurl me to the ground again.)

Make the bastard go down the paddock again!

(By sheer willpower I get old Patches to walk forwards and down the paddock again, only this time there are no cowboy fantasies playing around in my head, only the dull throbbing ache. When we get to the bottom of the paddock I am one step ahead of Patches. I now know what Defoe is trying to teach me. Instead of letting Patches run the show, I hold the reins in tight so he can’t have his head. After a few seconds I say to Patches in mi broad Yorkshire accent,)

YORKY
OK Patches, you fucking old bastard, this time I’m running the fucking show! Now move you Aussie bastard! Yahhhh!!!!”

(Patches needs no command from my boot heel but I give him one anyway just to let him know who'se boss. Off we go at full gallop. I give him another good heel and for good measure I give him a hefty slap on his arse with mi right hand. Yah! I yelled at the top of mi voice as Patches thunders back up the long paddock. We pass my new Bush hat and for a split second I think I might lean down and snatch it from the ground like a Russian Cossack but dismiss the thought at once.)

Yah!!!!

(Up the paddock we gallop, the barb wire fence is now getting closer. As we get about 10 feet away from it, Patches applies the brakes and this time I lean back in the saddle and pull on the left hand rein with mi feet stuck out at the front. Patches does not like this at all so he gives a few good bucks to show his disapproval.)

DEFOE
You’ve got it all over him now, Squirt. Ride him back here so one these other puftas can show off his horsmanship!

(I dismount and Patches swings his head around to bite my arse and gives me a look of disapproval)

DEFOE
Good on ya mate. We’ll make a fucking good Bushman out of you yet Squirt. Where ya from in England Mate?

YORKY
I’m from Yorkshire, Mr. Defoe.

DEFOE
Well, in that case mate, I’ll just call ya ‘Yorky’ from now on and you can call me Bill. We can do away with that Mr. Defoe bullshit, ‘cause you’ve earned it lad. Now ya can lean on the fence and watch Patches give that ugly little bastard Morris a good fucking workout. Come on Yorky.

Come here Morris you ugly little fucking pufta! Up you fucking go mate and show us what ya made of!

(It felt very strange at first to call him Bill, but before long, I start to feel what it was like to be called a man.)

(That evening, after dinner, we hire a couple of taxis and go own to Cabramatta to check out the town. The Taxis arrive and we all pile in on top of each other. As we pull out of the farm Defoe appears.)

DEFOE
Keep ya fucking noses and cocks clean. I don’t want any of you pommy bastards coming home with a dose of 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 a fight with those bodgies and fucking widgies!
Fucking puftas! (He says to himself as the taxi drives away.)

GREEK TAXI DRIVER
Where ya lika go?

RALPH (Older boy)
Drop us off where the action is.

TAXI DRIVER
Not a problem mate. We’re overloaded, so if ya see the cops keep ya heads down or I’ll lose mi license.

(The Taxi Driver drops us off in Cabramattas’ main street. There’s not much happening so we buy some milkshakes and walk up and down the street looking in the shop windows. When we come to another café I go inside and buy misen 2 –2 oz. Packets of Havelock rolling tobacco. I can’t pass it up because it only costs 7 Aussie bob a packet. I see an Army Disposal store and I go in. I know exactly what I am looking for.)

SHOPKEEPER
G'day sport.What can I do for you mate?

YORKY
I’m looking for a sheath knife.

SHOPKEEPER
No worries mate, I’ve got sheath knives coming out the Yazoo. Have a Captain Cook at some ‘a these, sport. Ya bound to find a beauty in that case. Give us a holler if ya need some help.

YORK
I’ll take this one.

SHOPKEEPER
That’s a good-looking knife, sport.
She’s got a beaut blade on her. That’ll set ya back 2 quid, mate.

(I pay the man his 2 pounds which leaves me with 15 shillings to mi name)

SHOPKEEPER
Look after yourself mate and don’t get that knife tangled up with a ‘Dago’.

YORKY
What’s a Dago?

SHOPKEEPER
Christ, mate. Where the bloody hell have you been all ya life? Did ya just arrive on the last boat?

YORKY
Yes. I’ve only been in Australia for two days.

SHOPKEEPER
Gawd streuth mate! You pommys are coming out here younger every year. I suppose ya all work up at the Big Brothers dairy farm, do ya?

YORKY
Yeah. There’s 16 of us.

SHOPKEEPER
Well sport, a Dago is a greek and another name for ‘em is a ‘Grill’.

YORKY
Why d’ya call ‘em those names?

SHOPKEEPER
‘Cause at the end of a days work they say ‘day go’ and most of them work the milk bars and they’re always grilling something or other. So that’s why they get the name ‘Grills’ from. Ya see sport? Now we’ve also got a lot of Italians in this great country of ours, so 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 has a good laugh to himself)
Now take you 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.
(laughs again)

YORKY
Thanks for the information.

SHOPKEEPER
G'day sport, see ya around like a rissole.

(We boys are sitting around on a couple of street benches outside the Post Office. It’s 9:30 at night. The year is 1964. The local kids are tearing up and down the streets in their hotted-up Holden cars. A couple of young girls are walking down the street in their stiletto-heeled boots and hiked-up skirts. They’re absorbed in conversation as they come near to the benches we’re sitting on.)

PETER
(One of the oldest of our crew.)
Hello darlings. Where are you two lovelies going?

GIRL 1
Root ya fucking boot ya pommy bastard!

PETER
Charming, I must say.

GIRL 2
Fuck you, ya pommy bastard!

BOY
You’re a real charmer with the Ladies, Peter.

GINGER
How would you like to take those two home and introduce them to your mum?

PETER
Not bloody likely! I hope that’s not an example of the everyday Aussie chick.

(It’s getting late so we call a taxi service and head back out to the Farm. We all pile out of the Taxis and pay off the driver.)

RALPH
Look what I found in Town!
(Opens a brown paper bag and pulls out a small box of fireworks.)

YORKY
You’d better not set them off here Ralph or Defoe will kick your ass.

RALPH
Bullocks to Bill Defoe! There’s no bangers, there’s only Fizzers and Catherine
Wheels.

(Ralph walks over to the fence and stuck a couple of Fountains in the cracks of the
fence post. Then he pins 4 Cathrine Wheels to the fence post and lights them all at once.)

RALPH
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 NEXT MORNING

DEFOE
Get out of those fart sacks you pommy bastards. Who the fucking hell was setting off fireworks last night?

RALPH
(Pulling the bed covers off his head.)
I was. Why? What do you want, shouting your head off at this time of night?

DEFOE
Get out-a bed you fucking yobo before I piss all over ya!
(He grabs Ralphs’ bed covers and rips them clean off the bed revealing Ralphs’ scrawny body curled up in the fetal position.)

Get ya plates of meat on the deck, boy, before I chuck a bucket of water on ya!

RALPH
What’s the matter?

DEFOE
I’ll show you what the bloody matter is sport! Put ya boots on and come with me!

RALPH
What about mi clothes?

DEFOE
Fuck ya clothes! You’ve got fuck all to brag about anyway! Come on! Hurry up!

(Ralph puts is boots on and follows Defoe out of the hut. He walks over to the fence post where Ralph had set off the fireworks. We all follow outside.)

(I see what made Defoe mad. Gray smoke is drifting out of the wooden fence post. The whole top of the post is now a large piece of black charcoal.)

RALPH
OH SHIT!!!!!

DEFOE
Ya stupid, fucking pommy bastard! Look what you’ve 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 your 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 back up!

(Ralph is standing in his boots and underpants, looking half-asleep so Defoe kicks him in the arse,)

Wake up to yourself, ya sleepy, pommy bastard. Go and get some gear on!

(Ralph gives Defoe a dirty look and takes off at the double, back to the hut to put his work gear on.)

(A few days later Defoe gives 6 of the older boys 5 pounds each
and a train ticket to a Bush town.)
DEFOE
The Cocky will meet ya at the station. Good luck lads’. This is Gods’ own country and with a bit of hard work and a few brains ya should do all right for ya selves.

(Later, after all the boys, except Morris and me, have left.)

YORKY
What about me and Morris, Bill? Haven’t ya got a place for us to go to yet?

DEFOE
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.

DEFOE
Alright mate. Ya old enough to leave home so I guess ya old enough to make decisions for ya self. You and Morris will be leaving tomorrow morning, so better roll ya swag bright and early.

(It is difficult for me to sleep,‘cause all I can think of is red dust and kangaroos. In the morning I am packed, so I make my way across to the kitchen for some breakfast.)

DEFOE (Enters Nissan hut)
Here’s ya ticket Morris and 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.

YORKY
Thanks Bill. You’re a real good bloke. You’ve really helped me a lot since I’ve been here.

DEFOE
Root ya boot Yorky. Ya train leaves at 2 O’clock from Sydney Central so don’t go fucking around Sydney and miss ‘em or you’ll be sleeping on the station all night.

(The jackaroos load our cases into his car and drive us both down to Cabramatta station.)

SYDNEY CENTRAL TRAIN STATION

(Morris and I sit around smoking and eating chips waiting for our trains. The train Morris was to take arrived on time and I helped him put his 2 large bags on board.)

YORKY
Look after yourself Maurice. Keep practicing with your knife and best of luck to you

MORRIS
Same to you Yorky.
(Goes inside train to find his seat.

(There is no one left in my life now to say “don’t do this” or “don’t do that’. All I have to listen to now is the inner voice of silence that lives in the center of my heart.)

(I’m left sitting on Central Station by myself, feeling rather sad as I sit here thinking about all the people I’ve left behind, mi mother, dad and sisters, the 15 lads I’ve lived with for the past 9 weeks, Bill Defoe. They are in the dead past now. ‘O well’ I’m thinking, as I wipe away a couple of tears that are slowly trickling down mi cheek, ‘all I’m left with is what I started out with, myself’)

2008-03-25T14:35:00.001-07:00

A few days later Defoe gave six of the older boys 5 pounds each and a train ticket to a Bush town.
"The Cocky will meet ya at the station, so good luck lads. This is Gods' own country and with a bit of hard work and a few brains ya should do all right 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 Morris.
One day I said to Bill, "What about me and Morris 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." He said. "Ya old enough to leave home so I guess ya old enough to make decisions for ya self. You and ugly Morris will be leaving tomorrow morning so better roll ya swag bright and early."
He walked away resigned to the fact that Army life was not 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 so I made mi way across to the kitchen for some breakfast.
After breakfast we said goodbye to the cook and went back to the Nissan 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 O'clock from Sydney Central so don't go fucking around Sydney and miss 'em or you'll be sleeping on the station all night."
An hour or so later one of the Jackeroos loaded our cases into his car and drove us both down to Cabramatta Station and before long Maurice and I were humping our cases onto the Central Stations' platform.
It was now about 11 and we had to wait until 2 in the afternoon for Maurices' train. Mine didn't arrive until 4:15 so we sat around the station smoking fags and eating hot chips covered in tomato sauce.
There was no one left in my life now to say. 'Don't do this' or 'Don't do that!' All I had to listen to now was the inner voice of silence that lives in the center of my heart.
The train Morris was due to take arrived on time and I helped him put his 2 large bags on board.
"Look after yourself Morris." 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 and unbeknownst to me, a couple of years later I found out from one of the boys I accidentally met while traveling around the fairgrounds that poor old Morris was gored to death by a large stud bull. The bull was in heat and really cranky. Morris was walking through the paddock when the bull decided to charge him. Morris ran for the fence but he was not fast enough. The bull stuck one of its horns straight through Maurice's back and broke it. Then it gored him into the ground. At the time the boy told me this story I knew that none of us can escape our destiny.
I was now left sitting on Central Station by myself. 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 for the past 9 weeks, Bill Defoe. They were in the dead past now and all I was left with was myself.
'Oh well', I thought, as I wiped away a couple of tears that slowly trickled down the front of mi cheek, 'I'm left with what I stared out with, myself.'

"THE TRAIN STANDING ON PLATFORM 17 WILL BE LEAVING IN 5 MINUTES. IT WILL ARRIVE IN LAKE CARGELLIGO AT 12:30 PM TOMORROW. ALL THOSE WHO ARE TRAVELING ON THE TRAIN SHOULD BOARD NOW."

"Is this the train to Burgooney?" I said to a platform ticket man.
"It sure is mate. Ya got a long ride ahead of ya. You'd best hop on her 'cause she's pulling out soon."
"Thanks mate." I said and threw mi 2 large suitcases up the 3 steps and into the carriage. After I found my reserved seat and put mi cases where I could keep an eye on 'em, then made misen comfortable. Pretty soon the old train gave a big jerk and a few clunks and it slowly pulled out of Sydneys' Central Station.
'Well, here we go.' I thought. 'There's no turning back now.' I realized that the other boys must all have been thinking the same as me when their train pulled out of Central.
There was only a couple of people in my carriage, a woman and a man, so I put mi feet up and looked out of the window at the suburbs which were now flying past. The train to Lake Cargelligo was an Express. The word Express had nothing to do with the speed of the train, which was quite slow in comparison to the English Steam Trains. On the floor, under where my feet were supposed to be was a sort-of half-round tin can. It was about 18" long, 10" wide and about 5" deep. It was the strangest contraption that I'd ever seen on a train before and when I made some investigations I discovered that each seat had the same tin can underneath it.
The first stop was Paramatta. It was a small suburb of Sydney and lay at the bottom of the Blue Mountains. I had read in the brochures that the BBM sent me in England that Parramatta was once a penal town. There was a well-known jail there, which used to house the convicts in the early settlers days. In the 1700s' there was no road or rail across the Blue Mountains so when the convicts escaped they always took 2 or 3 weaker mates with them so that they'd have some food when they ran out. The stronger convicts killed off the weaker ones and ate them just to survive. That will give you an idea of how rough that mountain range was in those days.
It was getting dark now as the old train made its way slowly up and over the Blue Mountains. Once we got through Luera and Blackheath, the train picked up some speed and headed out due west to the Bush.
"Tickets please." Said the conductor. I handed him my ticket and he said, "Burgooney, eh mate?"
"Yes."
"Ya just come out from the old country have ya mate?"
"Yes, I've been here for about nearly 2 weeks now."
"Jesus Christ mate, you're in for a right eye-opener."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll find out sport." He said as he punched the ticket.
"What's this can for?" I said.
"Oh, ya never seen one of those before mate? At about 8 O'clock tonight one of the stewards will fill it up with hot water. Keep ya feet warm mate. It gets pretty cold out West this time of year. There's a blanket overhead. You'll need that or you'll freeze ya arse off. You can get ya self some sandwiches and hot tea when the canteen opens. You'll need that too. Give us a holler if ya need anything else. There's hardly a soul on the train so I've got lots of spare time this trip."
"Thanks." I said and put mi ticket in mi back pocket so I wouldn't lose it.
After, I bought some sandwiches, hot tea, a bottle of pop and a couple of bags of chips. I ate them all and then set about rolling myself a big fat Havelock cigarette. It was pitch dark out the window now so I read an old newspaper that someone had left behind.
All through the dark night we traveled, almost non-stop. The tin of hot water was great to put mi feet on because by now it had gotten really cold. I dozed and nodded the night away and when the sun came up at 6 in the morning I could no longer recognize any of the scenery. Looking out the window all I could see for miles around was wide-open spaces. Some of the red land was quite barren in places and in others there was only Mali for miles and miles. (Mali country is best described as dense bush.)
"Lamb chops, bacon and eggs do ya for breakfast?" said the steward.
"That sounds great."
"It's being served up in the dining car in about 10 minutes so you'd might as well go through now."
I had not rested too well that previous evening because it was so cold and the thought of bacon, eggs and lamb chops with a hot cuppa tea was all I needed to get mi
stiff little body mobile again.
Soon as breakfast was over I went for a walk around the train. There was only 3 people left on the whole train now so I was beginning to wonder where the hell Burgooney was. After the train left Parks, one old couple got off and at Forbes the remaining old lady left the train. I was the only paying passenger left besides the conductor and the steward. That was it!
We passed a small bush town called Condoblin and the train chugged on for another hour or so.
"Your stops coming up shortly mate." said the conductor as he walked through the carriage.
I got mi 2 big suitcases ready by the door so it wouldn't take me so long to get off. The train started to slow down but as yet I could see no station in sight. Five minutes later the brakes started to squeal as the old train ground to a halt.
"Here ya go mate." Said the conductor. "This is Burgooney. Give us one of those cases; I'll give ya a hand off with it. Someone coming to meet ya are they?"
"Yes, a bloke called Burt Booth is supposed to pick me up."
"Christ, I hope he's not too late mate. She must be a hundred degrees in the shade today."
I jumped down off the train and the conductor handed me mi 2 large suitcases.
"Best of luck lad. You better hang out in the shade or you'll fry in this heat. It's a good job that you've got that Bush hat to keep the sun off or ya wouldn't last but 5 minutes today."
The guard/conductor blew a loud, shrill whistle and the old train and its 4 carriages took off slowly down the railway track.

Burgooney station consisted of one small-corrugated tin shed, which was securely locked, and a half-moon sign that read:
BURGOONEY
I was now in a state of shock. Almost immediately hundreds of small bush flies decided to give me a warm welcome. It must have been at least 100 degrees as I tried in vain to keep the bush flies off mi face. I opened one of mi cases and found a tin of Airoguard but it made no difference at all. When I looked in one direction there was nothing as far as my eyes could see and in the other direction all I could see was Mali bush trees. It was the most frightened and despondent time I have ever felt in mi whole life up till that point.
Miles away in the distance I could see a small cloud of red dust. Everywhere I looked was shimmering heat waves and in some places the heat mirages looked like big waves of water. As I sat there in the heat on one of mi suitcases, the sweat was streaming down mi face and the bush flies were tormenting me to death.
'Now you've really done it Richard!' a small inner voice said. 'The farmer has probably forgotten you and you'll starve to death out here and no one will ever find you. Why did you leave your mothers' warm, cozy house? At least you had food and water there and Jim Bailey was a good bloke compared to this hell-hole!'
'Piss off!' I said to the voice, out loud. The curse shattered the hot, dusty silence for a split second then got lost in the wide-open space. The only form of life I could see was 3 black crows that sat in a gum tree and cawed out loud every now and again.
I decided to move around 'cause the hundreds of bush flies were just about driving me insane now. I could feel the heat of the ground burning its way through mi shoes as I walked around the tin shed.
When I looked through the dusty window of the shed I made the mistake of putting mi hand on the tin wall, which was burning hot. Instantly, I pulled it away and cursed.
"Shit! Fuck! Bastard!" I said as I shook mi hand and then looked at the large red patch that had just formed. I was now close to tears so I walked around the back of the station shed to investigate further.
All of a sudden I noticed a great big lizard who was sat in the sunshine staring straight at me. He was a couple of feet long and had hard, thick scaly skin. Around his neck was a big frill of scales. I did not know if he would attack me or not so I bent down and grabbed a broken limb and hurled it in his general direction.
The tree limb almost hit him so he took off at full speed straight under the tin shed. As he ran he kicked up a small cloud of red dust behind him. All over the ground were these small brown burrs with tiny barbs sticking out of them. Growing up the back-side of the shed wall was a patch of brittle looking thistles about 4 feet high. The ground was as hard as concrete and it looked as though it had never rained for years in these parts. A bit further along I saw a huge mound of dirt, which had holes the size of a sixpence all over it. Picking up a hot, flat rock, I threw it at the mound. Within seconds the biggest ants I had ever seen came marching out to investigate the violent intrusion. I stood well back as I watched them scurrying over and around the mound. They had 2 little pincers at each side of their mouth and they looked very much to me like miniature black crabs. Later on I came to know they were called Bull ants and could give a nasty bite to an unsuspecting victim.
Off in the distance, the small cloud of red dust was now beginning to get bigger and bigger and after 10 minutes or so I could see a small white dot in front of the cloud of red dust. A few minutes later I recognized the white dot as a pickup truck.
Ten minutes later the pickup ground to a halt in front of me in a cloud of red dust that got up my nose and made me cough a bit. In the back of the truck were 2 black dogs with pricked ears and yellow eyes. They stared straight at me and as soon as I moved they started to bark.
"Sit down ya bastards!" roared a broad Australian voice from inside the cab. The drivers' side opened and a rough-looking Bushman climbed out from behind the dusty steering wheel.
"G'day." He said, "My name's Burt Booth. You must be Richard, are ya?"
'Yes, that's right."
"Throw your ports in the back of the Ute mate and we'll git moving."
"What about the dogs?"
"They won't hurt ya mate. They're chained up to the front."
The dogs lunged and growled at me as I lifted both mi suitcases and stacked them in the back.
"Sit down, ya fucking bastards!" yelled Burt Booth at the 2 mean-looking black dogs.
"Come on mate, git a move on!" said old Burt Booth as I arranged mi two cases so the dogs wouldn't chew 'em. "Hop in the other side." He said, so I walked around the Ute and opened the passenger door. "Christ, she's a warm one today." He said as he put the Ute into first gear.

2008-03-25T10:54:00.000-07:00

Tasmania could be a really wet place at times and my stint there was just one of those times. That evening it rained inches of rain. It rained so hard all the show tents got flooded out. Before I realized it, the water had seeped up through the ground and flooded mi blankets and soaked through mi suitcase. All mi clothes were as damp as hell and had to be hung out on a fence to dry along with mi couple of wool blankets.
This little episode did not do too much to enhance my feelings about showground life. I was very grateful to the rain though, 'cause it made my decision to leave the showground much more firmer. As soon as the Tazi circuit was over we went back over to the Aussie mainland on the same ferry.
The Chad Morgan Show stopped at a small town on the outskirts of Melbourne for a couple of days. Whilst we were over in Tazi I had made quite good friends with the Maori Troubadours who were following the same circuit. They were all pretty good, easy-going blokes. Of an evening time they would cook up a large iron pot of their favorite food, which was known as 'pooha and pork bones'. There was always plenty to spare and they were kind enough to invite me to dinner almost every evening. It sure beat the hell out of the garbage showground food.
One evening after dinner one of the boys said, "Ah well Yorky, this is our last showground for a while mate."
"What d'ya mean? Where ya off to?"
"We've had the showground scene, eh. We're all off back up to Queensland where it's warmer, eh."
"Which way are ya going?"
"Straight up north," said the driver. "We're gonna take the inland roads, eh."
"Will ya be going past a town called Lake Cargelligo in New South Wales?"
"I dunno. Let's get the maps out and see, eh."
We spread out a large map of New South out on the ground and I looked for the Lake.
"There it is. It's not too far from Griffith and West Wyalong."
"Ah, West Wyalong. We go through that place on our way, eh."
My heart was now starting to quicken as I asked, "Can I get a ride up there with ya, if ya got enough room?"
"Can't see why not. The rest of the boys are flying up North from Melbourne so you can do a bit of relief-driving for me if ya like, eh."
I was never sure whether the Maoris were telling me or asking me a question, because at the end of each sentence they would always say, 'eh!' or 'eh boy!'
That evening I quit the Chad Morgan Show. I drew the small amount of money I had coming to me. Then I took mi gear to the Maoris' tent and helped them pack up their show. As soon as everything was packed away tightly, we hit the road for Melbourne.
I was really cramped in the front cab of the truck but once we dropped off the rest of the boys outside a house which belonged to one of their sisters, we settled down and relaxed, ready for the long haul North.
It was a pretty quiet trip up North, after the driver had told me all about the North and South Island of New Zealand, and as arranged, I drove the truck when he got tired. Although I didn't even have a car license, my bush-driving skills came in pretty handy as I maneuvered the big, flattop along the highway. At long last we arrived at West Wyalong. The Maori driver gave me a few dollars to get me back to the Lake because by now, I was broke down to the bones of mi arse.
He dropped me off at an all-night petrol station that was on the main West Wyalong/Lake road. We said our goodbyes' and he disappeared up the highway in the red truck while I sat on mi suitcase outside the all-nighter waiting to hitch a ride. There were plenty of cars and trucks that used the all-nighter but none were going in my direction. At about 10 in the morning, a dusty Ute pulled in and filled up with Petrol. "Ya heading towards Lake Cargelligo, mate?" I asked.
"Sure am cobber."
"Can I get a lift?'
"Shit yeah! Toss ya gear in the back, sport."
I entertained the Jackeroo all the way to the Lake with stories about the Showgrounds. He was on his way to a place called Rankin Springs, so he dropped me off right outside the Dagos' shop, in the main street.
Was I ever glad to see Lake Cargelligo again. I picked up mi Port and trumpet case and headed straight in to see Jimmy Xmas. A new Dago was behind the counter when I got inside, so I said, "Jimmy Xmas around mate?'
"He's out fetching the soft-a drink in."
"Watch mi cases mate, I'll go out and see him."
"Not-a-worries mate." He said.
Jimmy Xmas was loading a new batch of orange drinks out of the large cooler when he saw me, "Yorky, ya bastard! Wher-a have ya bin?" I haven't-a seen ya for a long time-a?"
"I've been on the Showgrounds Jimmy.It's too rough a life for me so I came back to the Lake."
"You make-a da big money Yorky?"
"Ya must be fucking joking Jimmy. I'm fucking broke except for a buck-fifty."
"You want-a job?"
"Doing what?"
"You serv-a the table. It'll be good-a for business. You speak-a da good English and the people they like-a you."
"How much pay, Jimmy?"
"I pay-a da twelve dollar a week plus-a da tucker plus-a one pack-a the cigarettes a day. Six days-a a week, 10 in the morning till 12 at night and I throw-a in a da room. Not-a the bad, eh?", he said with a grin.
"Not bad at all Jimmy. 10 in the morning till 12 at night, six days a week, fags, tucker and a room? When do I start?"
"Right-a fucking now? You take-a dis four crate of soft-a drink inside to George, den you come-a back out-a for more."
"I want a shower and put mi cases in the room after that, all right Jimmy?"
"All right-a ya bastard." He said.

SMOTHER LOVE ©

2008-03-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

In mi downtime it was my habit to walk around the Showground and see as many free shows as possible. One afternoon, as I was sauntering along at a steady pace checking out the poster boards, a big, Melbourne City Copper stopped me.

"Gooday." He said, as I approached him.
"G'day." I said, in a friendly sort of way.

I was not expecting any more than a greeting when he said to me, "Your name Richard Swindells, mate?" I almost fell over with shock when he asked me that question.
"What if it is?" I said, not knowing how the hell he knew my name 'cause all anyone knew me by on the Showgrounds was 'Yorky'.
"Show us ya arms." He said.
"What for? I've done nothing illegal."
"I wanna make a positive ID 'cause we've got a wanted poster for you back at our local station."
"You must be mistaken!" I said, with a bit of fear now creeping into mi voice.
"Just be a good lad and show me ya arms."
"All right. But that's all!"
When he saw the tattoos on mi arms, he said "Where d'ya git those from?"
"Rex Stokers in Bradford, England. Why?"
"Just making sure I've got the right man."
"The right man for 'what'? I've done nothing wrong."
Now I was getting really scared as he questioned me. So. I run through the memories Rolodex but nothing illegal came to mind.
"We've got a missing child report out on you. It's been circulated all over Australia."
"You must be joking! Who would file a missing report on me?"
He put his hand in his uniform top pocket and pulled out a small black notebook. Then he started to thumb through the pages.
I stood in front of him, waiting in anticipation.
"Ah! Here we are. A Mrs. I. Bailey from England has filed a lost child report on you."
"Oh shit, that's mi mother."
"How long since you wrote home son?"
"Oh, probably about six weeks."
"Well, according to my information it says here that you've not been seen or heard from for three months."
"That's not true. She's a panic merchant. If I don't write every week she thinks I've been killed or something."
"All right, where d'ya live in Australia?"
"At Lake Cargelligo, New South Wales."
"How long ya staying at the show?"
"Probably till the end of it."
"Tell ya what I'm gonna do. By rights I should take ya back to the station and fill out a report but seeing as ya look healthy enough to me, I'll do it later miself. Now, you listen to me young fella'. We don't have time to looking for every Tom, Dick or Harry that gets reported missing. We've got better things to do with our time like chasing down hardcore criminals. Now! I want ya to promise me you'll write home to ya old mother 'cause it's obvious to me she's worried about ya. Is that a deal?"
"All right." I said. I'd have said 'all right' to anything at that point.
"Make sure ya do and don't get into any trouble. You're pretty young to be looking after yourself. I've got a young bloke same age as you but I'm damn sure I wouldn't be letting him work on no showground. Now take good care of yourself and if I was you, I'd head straight back to Lake Cargelligo after the shows are over. All right?"
"All right." I said and walked off into the large crowd.
'What an embarrassment', I thought as I got lost in the sea of bodies that were milling around the showground. 'Just wait till I write another letter to Iris, I'll soon put a stop to her shenanigans!'