WORKING LIKE A SLAVE © GRAPE PICKING IN MILDURA TWICE..JOHN TOWERS AND JIMMY HARGRAVES

   There were times, in Lake Cargelligo, when work was in short supply and this was one of those times. There was no shearing and no tractor driving so I spent my nights at Giltraps hoping to pick up a  job from someone who came in.

     One evening, John Towers came in the bar,
"G'day Yorky.", he said.
"G'day Johno, how are ya mate?"
"Up to shit bonza, mate.", he said.
"Sit down and have a beer. Couple of midis George."
"What's the problem Johno?
"Mi girlfriend mate. We've been going steady since we were at school together. That's about a 4 years now."
"Shit Johno, that's a long time mate."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Last night I asked her to marry me and she said she wasn't sure."
"Well, if she's not sure now, she never will be mate.", I said.
"Yeah, that's what her mum said."
"So what are ya planning to do about it?", I asked.
"Her mother thinks she's taking me for granted now so she suggested I go away for a few weeks."
"Yeah, that'll teach the bitch Johno. She'll appreciate ya  more when ya git back and if not, ya can give her the boot mate."
"I'm thinking of quitting mi job this week too, Yorky."
"Haven't ya worked for the P and G since ya left school?"
"Yeah, that's another long-term relationship that looks as if its gotta' go."
"What'll ya do for work then Johno?"
"I was thinking of going to Mildura, in Victoria."
"That's hundreds of miles away mate.", I said.  "What would ya do down there?"
"They're picking grapes about now and someone told me ya can make a fair bit of money. The only problem is, I don't want to drive all that way alone."
"Well that's no problem Johno."
"What d'ya mean Yorky?"
"Simple mate. I'll go with ya. Keep ya company."
"Are ya fair dinkum Yorky?"
"Course I am mate. There's fuck-all work around the Lake at the moment. When d'ya wanna go?"
"We could set off on Friday night mate. It'll be cooler that way."
"Alright Johno, pick us up here at Giltraps. I'll be packed and ready to go."
"You're a fucking little beaut Yorky. Thanks mate!"
"No worries Johno, I'd do the same for a white-fella.
     This seemed to cheer up Johnos' spirits so he bought a round and we talked about the drive down there.
     Friday evening found me waiting in Giltraps bar for Johno to arrive.
"Let's go mate.", he said as he walked in.
"I'll get mi port.", I said.
     It was about 8 O'clock when we set off, up the bitchumen strip, out of Lake Cargelligo. I settled comfortably into mi seat and prepared for the long drive ahead of us. As we drove along, Johno told me a few stories about his girlfriend. Her name was Jean Harzey. She was Fred Harzeys' daughter. Fred had a place out on the Wyalong Road just past Kevin Skippys' place. Peter Smith, my old pal who got me out of old Burts' place worked for Fred as a share cocky.

     We drove all night and only stopped for petrol and a bite to eat at the All-Nighters. Johno seemed to like me a lot and we got on together really well. He was a real tall bloke, quite skinny and reasonably handsome in a 'bush sorta' way'.  He drove a VW sedan which was quite small so every now and then we'd stop so he could stretch his 'daddy long-legs.
      We arrived in Mildura the next day about 2 O'clock. After a few inquiries at the local hotels, we were directed to an office at the other end of town. The grape-pickers office gave out names and numbers of the grape farmers who were looking for pickers.
     There were 2 big Victorian cops stood outside the office with mug shots of criminals they were on the lookout for.  Every grape season the Dole office in Sydney used to send the unemployed down to Victoria to pick grapes. The cops, who were aware of all this, picked up many a criminal who was working under an assumed name.
     We got jobs working for a German farmer, a couple of miles out of town. I wasn't too keen on Krauts.  Coming from England, our history books didn't exactly praise them as being good blokes. Plus, mi dad was in the first World War and he had nothing good to say about 'em.
     When we arrived at his grape farm, he was stood in the front yard throwing orders around to some other Aussies in his thick, German Accent. As we got out of the car and walked over to the small group, he said, "Ah, 2 more pickers! Zou vill be up at 5 and zou vill haf breakfast for von hour. Six O'clock  zou will starter zi pick, twelve O'clock zi lunch time, von hour. Von till 6 zou vill pick grapes!"
     He was a medium-sized bloke with a short hair cut that stuck up on end and the front of it was receding at the temples. His ice-blue eyes were cold as steel as he looked at me.
"Zou little fella', Zou can work or not?"
"Course I can work mate!", I said.
"How old are zou?"
"17", I said.
"Zou will work on boys wages till zou prove your Zelf!"
"Zou can go and get well and truly fucked Adolf. I'm not workin' for no boys' wages!"
"Vat zou say? Zou speak to me like zat? Zou get off my place before I call police on zou!
"Don't worry Fritzie, I'm goin'! I wouldn't work for no fuckin' Hun if ya were the last bastard on the planet!"
"Out zou svine!", he yelled in a fit of temper.
     Johno was really frightened now as he said, "Come on Yorky, let's git out of here quick mate!"
     Once we were in Johnos' VW and the doors were firmly locked, with the engine running, I said to him, "Get ready to take off quick mate!"
"What ya gonna' do Yorky?", he said, with a worried look on his face.
"Just watch!"
"Hey Fritzie, ya big stupid Hun. Stick ya head in a bowl of sauerkraut, you fucking ignorant Nazi bastard!", I shouted out the open window.
"Let's git outa' here Johno, he's coming!"
     Johno dropped the clutch we spun out of his yard in a could of dust! The old grape farmer was left standing in the dust, shaking his fat fist in rage!

     As soon as we were off his land and back on the road Johnos' fear turned into hilarious laughter. We both cracked up as we drove back to the Mildura grape office for another name and address. As we drove along Johno said, "That was great fun Yorky. I never had so much fun since I left school."
"Yeah, not bad was it. Fuck him mate, who the hell does he think he is? I wasn't going to let that ignorant bastard talk to me like that in front of all those blokes! Anyway, I could probably work that German bastard into the ground any day. Not to worry Johno , there's more than him to work for down here. They're cryin' out for pickers so we an afford to be choosy."

     Eventually, we found a decent bloke to work for. We put our gear in the large dormitory-style hut and made up a bed each for ourselves. That evening, we filled up the kerosine fridge with pounds and pounds of grapes. We ate so many fresh grapes that after a couple of hours we were feeling sick so before we hit the sack, we tossed 'em all away. That night, it was impossible to sleep. The heat was incredible, not to mention the mosquitos that almost ate us alive. We sprayed ourselves with Air-o-gard, but the more we used the more they bit. They must have become immune to it because in the morning we were both covered in red spots and large itchy lumps from scratching ourselves!

     After breakfast, we started the picking. It was one of the most stinking jobs I have ever had the mis-pleasure of performing. We had to pick a hundred buckets for 2 bucks a hundred! The heat was unbearable at 100 degrees. The bunches of grapes were sticky as hell and covered in cobwebs and spiders. It was a mistake to rub the sweat off our faces cause they got covered in grape juice and  attracted the flies, of which there were millions!

     A small Massy-Fergie 65 picked up the tin cans once they were full and the dust from its tires blew all over our sticky faces. It was hell on earth.

     At the end of a long, hard day we had made 15 bucks between us. 8 for me and 7 for Johno. That evening, as we lay on our flock mattresses, I said to Johno, "Let's go home to the good old Lake Mate. We're better off sitting there broke that this hell-hole."
"I'd like to go Yorky but we've only been away for 2 days and if I go back now mi girlfriend will think I miss her."
"Yeah, ya probably right mate. I know, just tell her that I missed her and I wanted to come back and see her."

     Even under those circumstances, we had a good laugh. We ended up staying there for 2 weeks before old Johnno had had enough and got home-sick for his sheila.

     Once we got into town, Johno dropped me outside Giltraps. I booked a room with Cath, shoved me port under the bed and went straight into the bar to check out the work situation. It didn't take long to find out that there was still no work around. The reason for this was that the rains had not come at their usual time.

     A decision had to be made, according to the situation. I have found out, in my life, that mans' belief in the word 'choice' is total fantasy. Whatever we are not aware of, chooses for us and each situation in life demands a correct response. When the response is correct, the problems surrounding the situation disappear. An incorrect response seems to create further problems. My response to the lack of rain was a decision to ride my Honda 90 back down to Mildura cause at least there was some work there, even if it was difficult and not a lot of money involved.

     Before I set off, I ran into a mate, Jimmy Hargraves, in the main street. Jimmy was a great bloke. He had a heart of gold. Nothing was too much trouble to do for a friend. Jimmy was 5'9", weighed 160 pounds and had very pleasant features.
"G'day Yorky, how ya goin' mate?",  he said as I approached him.
"Not too bad, apart from being knackered!"
"How was the grape-picking trip with John Towers?", he asked.
"I suppose it wasn't too bad mate. At least it was work."
     Jimmy asked me all the details of grape picking and after I'd finished telling him,  I said
"I'm gonna' ride back down there tomorrow 'cause there's bugger all work in the Lake."
"Yeah, I know what ya mean mate. I haven't worked for the past month."
     Just then, I had a bright idea. "Why don't ya come with me to Mildura ?"
"How am I gonna git there?"
"On the back of the bike mate."
"I can fart faster than that bike of yours can go Yorky!"
"Jesus mate, no need to insult mi bike. It does 55 flat out.", I said jokingly.
"How fast will it go with 2 on board?", he asked?
"Probably 45.", I said.
     We stood in the street for a long time discussing wether or not he would come with me. Jimmy had a hard time making up his mind. Eventually, he said, "I'll toss a coin, heads I go, tails I stay."
     He flicked the coin high in the air and it came down heads.
"Git ya gear ready sport. You're off on a long ride.", I said.
"Hang on mate, best out-a 3!"
     Each time he flicked the coin, it came down heads. The unanimous decision to come with me was settled.
"Let's set off tonight.", I said. "It will save me a few bucks on rent."
"What time ya wanna go mate?"
"Six O'clock, that sound alright?"
"How we gonna carry our work clothes?"
"Have ya got a backpack?"
"I've got one somewhere in the caravan but I'll have to find it."
"Ok, when you find it, pack up some clothes and leave some space for mine. I'll meet ya a Gliltraps at 6. I'll go and pick up mi bike now.", I said.

     Finally, after a lot of humming and hawing, he'd made his decision so I picked up mi bike from a friends' garage. I filled up the tank and checked the oil and after that I gave it a bit of a hose down at the garage and then rode back to Giltraps for a bit of a rest.
     Jimmy knocked on my door around 6.  I packed some work gear and a good shirt and strides into the backpack. We were now ready to roll!
     Outside of Giltraps I started the bike. She went first kick. "Alright, hop on Jim.", I said.  Once he was seated and comfortable, I kicked the gear-lever into first and we tore off up the main drag of the Lake and onto the Ranking Springs dirt road. Although mi bike had a double seat, it was not too comfortable with 2 people on it plus a large backpack. The shock-absorbers bottomed out as we rode across the large pot holes.
"It'll be more comfortable when we get back on the bitchuman Jim.", I called out over mi shoulder.
"I fucking hope so mate.", he shouted in mi ear. "My arse is aching already and we've only been going for half an hour."

     The tar seal started at Rankin Springs and it was a welcome sight indeed, especially for  Jim, who was not used to riding bikes.  We rode all through the long night and the further we rode the slower mi poor bike wanted to go. Eventually, after about 10 hours, oil started to drip out of the engine. A head-gasket had blown from the constant speed and the excessive weight it was carrying.

     Between the two of us, we didn't have much money so it was impossible to repair the bike. I made the decision to trade it in at one of the garages on the way. At the third garage, the salesman offered me an old Austin A55 Sedan.  There was not much option left but to trade her. Although I felt quite sad to see her being wheeled away, the thought of having a car made up for it.  Once the deal was finalized, we filled the tank and set off up the road again. We stopped a couple of miles from the garage to buy some toasted sandwiches. I made use of the time by checking the car over. The oil in the engine was really low so I bought a gallon can and filled her up to the full mark.

     When Jim came out of the cafe with our Sarnies he said, "I forgot to tell ya mate, I haven't got a license."
"What! Neither have I. What if the cops stop us? We'll get done. Maybe we should travel at night? It'll be a bit safer that way."
"Don't worry Yorky, she'll be right mate. No one's gonna stop us."
"Alright mate, if you say so.", I said.

     We ate sandwiches as we drove. After fifty miles the oil light came on.
"I thought ya filled her up with oil Yorky?", said Jim in surprise.
"I did mate. I put a whole fucking gallon in."
"Jesus Christ mate! We'd better stop and check it. Maybe the oil light is faulty?"
"I fucking hope so mate, 'cause if not that means the engine is fucked in this too!"
      I lifted the bonnet. It was not a pretty sight and when I checked the dip stick there was no oil on it. "Fucking hell mate, not a drop! That means she's used a gallon of oil in 50 miles."

     Luckily we found a quart bottle of oil in the boot. I poured that in and we set off at a slow pace. Once we reached the next petrol station I bought some more oil. We decided to drive  a bit slower now 'cause money was a big concern. We'd only been going for another hour or so when the sun went down.
I said to Jim, "She'll probably run better in the cool weather."
     No sooner had I said that,  a cop car flew past us going in the opposite direction.
"That was lucky, Jim. He's going the opposite way."
"Stop thinking about it mate, there's no way we'll get caught!"
     Before he got the last word out of his mouth we heard the cop siren.
"Fucking shit!", said Jim. "There's a cop car coming up fast behind us. He must be in an awful hurry to catch someone."
     As he drew level with us, he waved me over to the side of the road.
"Oh Fuck!", I said. "Now we're in the shit mate! I told ya we'd have been better off driving at night."
"Sorry mate, you were right and I was wrong."
     When I stopped the car, the cop got out of his and casually sauntered over to the drivers' side.
"G'day fellas.", he said. "Can I see ya license?"
"No.", I said.
"What d'ya mean NO?"
"Ya can't see it cause I haven't got one.", I said.
"Oh.", he said. "What about ya mate?"
"No luck there either.", I said
"Alright, show us ya rego papers."
"No luck there either."
"Pink slip?", he asked, in a hopeful manner
"Not even a pink slip officer."
"Well fellas', I'd say you're in the shit, right up to ya ears. What d'ya reckon?"
"If you say so Officer, that's unless you're gonna let us go.", I said.
"Can't do that fellas. You'd better follow me."
     Easier said than done. He got in his car and took off like a bat out-a-hell. It took me all my time to see him, never mind follow him. The cop pulled up outside the station. He had to wait at least 5 minutes for us to arrive.
"Shall I turn her off?", I asked.
"I think you'd better cause ya won't be needing it for a long time.", he said.
     We spent at least 4 hours at the cop station. The big Sargeant interrogated us both, in separate rooms. After he was satisfied with our stories, he put us both in the same room again.
"What's gonna happen now?', I asked him.
"I'm gonna lock ya up till Monday morning and then ya can go up before the Judge at the local court house."
      As soon as Jim heard this, he burst into tears and said it was all his fault. The Sargent seemed to get a bit upset himself now.
"He said, "What's the name of the local Sarg at Lake Cargelligo?"
"Sergeant Montgomery.", I said.
    The Sergeant called up the Lake cop shop and asked old Monty for a character reference for us.
After he'd spoken to him, he put the phone down and said,
"It seems like you two fellas' are pretty good blokes. The sergeant at the Lake gave you both first-class references, so here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna let you both off this time but I'm gonna have to impound that old piece of shit you call a car. Come on, let's go see the local garage owner and find out how much it will cost to make it road-worthy."
     After half an hours inspection the mechanic came up with the verdict.
"150 bucks! That should do it but that's not counting the engine. If you ask me, it's just about rooted."
     The sergeant made me sign a paper authorizing the repairs and then he told me to come back in a week and pick it up.
"Oh yeah.", he said. "And be prepared to sit for ya license. Here's a book for ya to study in ya spare time. Now git outa' here before I change mi mind."
     When we got outside, all Jim could say was, "I'm sorry mate. I should have listened to you. We would have been almost there by now."
"No worries mate. We'd better concentrate on hitching a ride now cause we've still got a hundred miles to go."
     It took us about an hour to pick up a ride. The bloke dropped us right at the farmers' gate where I previously worked. After Jimmy and I had signed on, we went over to the bunk house and made up a couple of beds. After relating the story to a few of the blokes I'd worked with the week before, we turned out the lights and took a good nights' rest.
     The following day, I introduced Jim to the joys of grape picking.  He was not too keen on it and before the day was out he was ready to go back home.
     Jim and me worked for 3 weeks picking grapes. At the end of that time we still didn't have enough money to pick up the car so the farmer, who I got on with real well, offered to loan me 80 bucks so I could at least bring the car down to the farm. By the time the grapes were all picked, I still owed the farmer 50 bucks.
     There was no more work to do. I promised him I'd send the money as soon as possible. I even signed an IOU so he'd feel a bit safer about it. Once everything was in order and our gear was packed up, we loaded it into the old bomb.

     I set off for Lake Cargelligo, only this time I had mi first car license in mi back pocket. Fortunately, the old A55 made the trip. It was a toss-up what it used most of, oil or petrol. As we neared Lake Cargelligo, the dirt roads started to get a bit wetter. Once back at Giltraps we found out that there had been a couple of inches of rain a few days previously.
     That same evening that we arrived back, Sergeant Montgomery came in to Giltraps for a beer on his night off.
"G'day Sergeant.", I said, remembering the glowing reference he'd given us, which by all accounts, kept us out of jail.
"G'day Yorky.", he said with a slight grin. "How was the grape-picking trip mate?"
"I don't have to tell you Sergeant, I think you already know."

THE ONE TREE PLAIN ~ ©

      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 lunch time. Make sure you've got enough gear for the week, including booze and fags 'cause we'll be be way out in the bush, miles from anywhere."
"Where we going Don?"
"Down towards Hay on the One-Tree Plain. I contract that shed every year. We'll be there for roughly 3 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 roust-about." 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 own worst enemy.

     Very seldom, in the Bush, will one man tell another man what he should do. Everyone figures that out themselves. 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 man's world.

     In those days, women were not allowed to drink in the bar. It was the sole domain of the men.
     At one side of Giltraps bar room there was a serving hatch that opened up into a large room with a Juke Box. This room was where some of the mens' wives did their drinking. It was called 'The Sow Pen'.
     Sometimes after the bar doors were locked for the evening, whoever was living at Giltraps would invite 4 friends from the barroom as a guest. This way the bar remained open. We would all go to the Sow Pen and resume our partying.

     When Sunday lunch time arrived Don Freeman picked up Boney, 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 Grog and numerous flagons of Brown Muscat 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 dirt roads at 80 miles an hour.

     After a few hours of driving, we arrived at the shearing shed. There it was, a large corrugated iron shed sat on wooden pilons out in the middle of nowhere. The landscape was almost barren for as far as the eye could see, in all directions. The ground was hot and dry and every so often 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 to the eyes that Merino sheep could live on and how they survived had got me beat. The yards were all ready 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 probably was the Jackaroos' mustering another large mob of sheep. It would take a full day to bring them into the shed to wait their turn for shearing.
   
     The shearers living quarters were about a hundred yards away from 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, the AWU, was very supportive towards the shearers which is the reason the quarters were in such good shape. If it was left to the Cocky he would not 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 times, 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 the bush flies and mosquitos. There were no fans to keep it cool and at night time it could be around 90 degrees in those tin rooms.

     There was no electricity so the two refrigerators in the kitchen ran on kerosine. Half of one fridge could used to keep the beer cold but the rest of it would be wrapped up in wet heshen 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 me helped Don to cart the stores from the back of the Ute to the kitchen. After we 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 in the afternoon 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. We took our time laughing and joking as we walked. Once we got to the big shed, we walked up the steep wooden stairs hanging onto the steel bannister rail. I was in front so I pushed open the small, corrugated door and we went inside.
"Gawd fucking hell!", said Boney as we stood in the shed. "Just look at all that parrot shit on the floor. It'll take us 2 or 3 hours to clean up that mess!"
"Yeah. Just look up there Boney!"
The shearing shed rafters were packed tight with Galahs. (A Galah is a gray and pink parrot about 9 inches high. They are very common around NSW and make an awful racket when they sit around 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. They've taken over the shearing shed."

     The shed had been closed up 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 start shearing!", said Boney.
"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 night 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."
"Yeah, 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, "All right 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?", I asked.
"It's not a fucking straw broom Chummy.", 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!", he said with a grin 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 3 Galahs out of the air in one blow. A double-handed forearm smash sent 2 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.
     300 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 2-handed upward reverse stroke sent 3 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 side-swipe sent 3 old Galahs to bird heaven. A single-handed clumsy shot missed all-together and Boney fell off the big wool bale in 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 base-line pack. Another mighty double-handed back-hand sent 3 more Galahs to the deck.
"All right 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 a clean up. I 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 then 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. Then we'll open the double doors and chase the rest out. I don't think they'll come back here in a hurry!"

     At the end of the game we counted up the Galahs and then opened the 2 large doors. The remaining parrots flew out and were never seen again. It took Boney and me 3 hours to scrub the floor with hot soapy water we boiled in the big, outside copper.

     By this time all the blokes had arrived. The cook made up some tucker and after dinner we sat around 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 and out of the sleep state.
     The following morning, being Monday, everyone was up bright and early. Even Gundy did not look too worse for wear.  Breakfast was at 6 O'clock and Dons' brother Jazzer was doing the cooking.
 Jazzer was a few years younger than Don which would have made him around 40 years old.  Don was a fairly handsome sort-a bloke which was more than could be said for Jazzer. He was about 5 foot 9 and a thick-set bloke. Most of his bulk was comprised of fat. He had a mop of black curly hair, a pretty large beak and a ginormous set of choppers on him. His teeth wouldn't have looked too bad had he have cultivated the art of cleaning them but instead they were a greeny-yellow colour. He had a habit of standing with his mouth open and the teeth could be easily seen protruding below his top lip. He was also quite a heavy smoker. He used to grip the end 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.

     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.
 
 

MORE OF ARTHURS STORY ~ Part 4 ~ CHAPTER 6 ~ MI FIRST MOTOR BIKE ©

     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 mi 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."
"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 we approached the counter. "How ya going mate?" he said as he leaned across the 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. We 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, "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 alright 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 pulled it back off the tailgate.
"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 and 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 mate 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 half an hour 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 back-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 Sergeant 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 cockys 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 60 miles an hour. 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?"
"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! 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 Cockys 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 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 won'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-a-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. 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 the test is it? I know you can ride 'cause I've seen ya riding that bike on one bloody wheel. 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 cold can of Fosters for ya in the fridge."

LEARNING TO THROW KNIVES ©

     One morning, Morris and I were in the hay barn practicing throwing our knives into a bale of hay. I had my German-made sheath knife I just bought and Morris had his Puma white hunter that he had bought while still living in England.
"Watch this!" I said to Morris as I threw my knife towards the bale. As the knife slid out of my hand it put a reasonably large cut on the base of my thumb.
"Oh shit!" I said.
Morris said, "What happened Yorky?"
"I just sliced my bloody thumb!"
     Right at that moment Defoe walked into the barn.
"What are you two bludging bastards doing?" He said as he strode towards us.
"I'm just practicing throwing my knife." I said, as blood was dripping out of my thumb.
"Jesus Christ!", said Defoe as he looked down and saw my thumb. "What are you trying to do Yorky  mate, cut your bloody thumb off?"
"No Bill." I said as I wiped my thumb on my work pants.
"It's pretty bloody obvious you two pommy  bastards don't know what you are doing." said Defoe.
He turned to Morris and said,
"Show me that bloody knife. God Streuth Morris, where did you get this Puma?"
"I bought it in England a couple of years ago."
"Jesus mate, this must have set you back a bloody fortune!"
It wasn't cheap." said Morris. "I had to save up for ages till I had the money."
All of a sudden, Defoe spun round and threw the knife at the bale of hay. It stuck in the hay, almost up to the hilt. I was stunned that he stuck the knife on his first throw.
"How did you do that?" said Morris.
"Well it's bloody easy when you know how, right. It's the same as everything else in life. Go get the knife Yorky and I'll teach you two bastards the basics of knife-throwing."
I retrieved the knife and handed it to Defoe.
"First of all, you never throw a knife like you did Yorky or you'll cut your bloody hand every time. You hold your hand like this and put the knife there like that with the blade sticking outwards, that way you don't get cut. Get out of the bloody way Morris."
Defoe stepped up to the line that we had made with our boot on the ground.
"The idea is, the knife is only supposed to spin once."
With that, he threw the knife at the hay bale and it stuck again.
"Pick up that empty fag packet Yorky and fasten it under the string on that bale."
After I had done this, Defoe hurled the knife again. The knife stuck right in the middle of the empty fag packet.
"You're pretty good with that knife Bill." said Morris.
"Practice Mate!" Defoe said as he hurled the knife again.
Defoe gave Morris his knife back and said to him,
"Look after that knife mate, she's a bloody beaut!".
"Hey Bill, try mine will ya? I said. "Mine doesn't want to stick in the bale."
"It's not the knife's fault." said Defoe as he took my knife and hurled it towards the bale. It stuck in the bale the same as Morris's knife did.
"Nothing wrong with that knife." said Defoe as he handed the knife back to me.
"Alright you two, put those bloody knives away now. We got a lot of work to do today." he said, as he strode out of the barn.
As he walked away, I heard him yell at the top of his voice,
"Dave, come here ya curly-headed pufta'! I got a fuckin' job for you mate. C'mon get a bloody move on."
Morris and I put our sheath knives away and were ready for another days work.

ANOTHER OF ARTHURS STORY ~ Part 3 ~ CHAPTER 6 ~ YORKY RIDES A RACE HORSE ©

     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 mane 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 saddle and bridle 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 small 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 bridle over his head and palmed the bit into his mouth. 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.", shouted 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 500 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 thrill!', 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 mi 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."

ON THE BOAT ©

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 word 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.

THE BOXING TROUPE ©

After I left Barneys' sideshow I got pretty friendly with the Aborigines who worked for Jimmy Sharmans' Boxing Troupe. I got a couple of bucks a day, for a start, to help with the putting up and pulling down of the tent.

One of the Abo fighters was called Sally. He said he'd teach me how to 'show fight', and then I could get a job with the troupe fighting instead of laboring. There were about eight Abo boxers and one white wrestler in Jimmy Sharmans' troupe, plus myself.

Every evening, after the show was closed, Jimmy Sharman would bring four half-gallons of brown Muscat wine and a packet of fags each for all the boxers.

Sharman was an ex-boxer himself but he was pretty old when I met him. He had a medium build and had a dark complexion. His clothes, although old-fashioned, were always neatly pressed.
"How ya going, Yorky?" he said, when he came in the tent. "Sally teaching ya the moves is he?"
"Yeah, I'm picking it up pretty well, Jimmy."
"Hey Sally, grab the gloves mate. Let's see how well he's going."
After a couple of minutes of sparring around with Sally, Jimmy Sharman said, "All right mate, that's good enough. It's about showmanship, see. Ya swing the arms wide. That lets Sally know where they're coming from. He'll catch the punches and take the dives. He's real good at that, is Sally."
"What if he misses one?" I asked.
"That's not your problem Cobber. Anyway, these bungs have got heads as thick as a brick wall. Ya can punch 'em around all day and they won't even feel it. Isn't that right Sally?"
Sally just gave Sharman a big toothless grin and said, "Whatever you say, Boss."
"Start tomorrow Yorky. When the boys walk out on the platform, you hang around with some of the local Yobos. Make out ya one of 'em. It's good for business, mate. Now when I start sprookin' about Sally and call for someone to fight him, you stick ya hand up high and I'll call ya up on the board and we'll make a real good show out of it. The next session we run, I'll call ya back for a grudge match. That way we'll sucker a few more of those local yobos in. All right?"
"All right Jimmy", I said.
"Oh yeah, and don't drink too much of that cheap plonk. It wasn't made for white fellers!"

The rest of the evening was spent drinking the Plonk. I only took one mouthful out of a flagon as it was passed around the circle. I donated my share to the boys. Most of the boys were half-cast Aborigines and two of 'em were full bloods that came from the Northern Territory.
They'd tell me some of their tribal stories once they got to know me but I was made to promise not to tell any mens' secrets to another white fella. I learned about the Kadaicha man who is the tribal executioner. All talk of him was conducted in the lowest of whispers, in case he heard and came after us with his weapon of choice, which was known as 'The Bone'.

The Abo boxers I lived with had no concept whatsoever of ownership, so if I wasn't first out-a-bed, someone would be wearing my good shoes or one of my best shirts inside out. I never had to ask them for anything because whatever they had, which was not much, was shared equally amongst us.

Jimmy Sharman had a really large tent. Of a nighttime we would sleep in it. Of a day we would fight in it. Outside the tent was a tall, wooden platform, which we would all stand on as Jimmy 'sprooked' to the crowd. At each side of the tent hung large posters of well-known ex-champions that, according to Jimmy Sharman, all got their start in the boxing world at his fathers' tent, which was now his.
At one end of the tall platform was a large bell, which was suspended from the steel scaffolding, and at the other end was a bright red, double bass marching drum. Jimmy would stand in the middle with the boxers on each side of him. He'd start by saying, "Ring that bell! Beat that drum! This is what you've all been waiting for! The highlight of the day! The most exciting thing you'll see on this Showground! This is where ya git ya moneys' worth folks! This is where ya see some of the best boxers in Australia! Have a look at those posters there folks. They all started out like this, at Jimmy Sharmans' World Renown Boxing Troupe! Some of the best prizefighters you'll ever see got there start right here. Have a good look to my right and left, folks. These are some of Australias' up-and-coming future champions! Now, this is what we're gonna do folks. We're gonna match up my fighters to some of your local boys. So, if there's any of you local louts out there who think ya pretty good and handy with fists, now's the time to speak up. Not after we're gone! If ya wanna do a bit of of bragging and skiting in the bar tonight, you blokes, this is the place to make a name for yourself. Ya see that tall black feller of mine, down the end? He's called the Northern Territory Tiger. He'll take on all comers, no matter what size ya are! He's 6 foot tall and weighs 180 pounds. Any of you local footballers think ya good enough to stand on ya feet for three rounds with him and I'll give ya 6 dollars. Come down here to the center stage Tiger. Let these local louts see ya muscles! Look at that!" he says, as he felt Tigers' thin biceps.
"Six bucks to anyone who can knock him out or go the distance with him! What about you young feller?" he'd say to one of the crowd. "You look like ya can handle yourself. You're a pretty big bloke for ya age. Ya wanna make ya-self six bucks or have ya no guts unless ya with a bunch of ya mates? Ring that bell, beat that drum, here he comes Ladies and Gentlemen. This is one of your own local blokes. Give him a big round of applause!"

Once Jimmy got one of the local blokes up on stage, all his mates wanted to follow so as not to be outdone. When Jimmy called for a match to Sally, I stuck mi hand up in the crowd. Most times he would match me up with Sally first because I was not that big, so he'd say, "If this little bantam rooster from the back-blocks of New South Wales has got the guts to fight, what's wrong with all you strapping big footballers down there? Don't tell me you're a bunch of puftas'?"
This little challenge to their manhood was usually enough to make them climb up the 15-foot ladder onto the platform. Once the tent was full of local people the fight would start. Jimmy was also the referee, so he'd give the local blokes a large 16-ounce pair of gloves to wear and he'd save the thin 12-ounce gloves for us. That way if any one of the locals were Police Boys Boxing Club trained, which some of them were, we'd still have a good advantage over them. Most times Jimmy told us not to hurt them unless they got smart because if one of 'em got a bit roughed up, his mates would not come forward for a go.

I traveled all through New South Wales and into Victoria with Jimmy Sharman.

We stayed in Warrnabell for a few more days and then it was time to move on to another Showground. Everyday was show day for a 'showie' but for the locals it only came around once a year. "Thank goodness." I heard a couple of locals say as they walked out of the grounds a few dollars lighter.

All the 'showies' were making their way to Melbourne, which was one of the biggest events of the year. Just before we were due to do the Melbourne show, Jimmy Sharman said to me, "I'm putting ya out of the troupe, Yorky."
"Why?" I asked. "Aren't ya happy with my performance?"
"It's not that mate. Ya doin' fine. Melbourne is a real rough show for the troupe and I don't want to see ya get hurt."
"How am I gonna git hurt?"
" There'll be too many tough blokes there, that's why. A lot of those blokes are really hungry for the bucks and quite a few of mi boys got hurt last year. A lot of the ex-cons who can't git regular work show up at Melbourne, Mate."
"Well, couldn't I just try it, Jimmy?"
" No mate, I like ya too much to risk it. Ya can ride to Melbourne with us though and ya can come in the show anytime ya like Yorky."
"D'ya think I'll be able to find a job at the Melbourne Showground?"
"Find one? You'll have ya bloody pick of 'em mate. They're always short handed as hell at Melbourne. There'll be hundreds of thousands of people go through that place, not like these pissy little one-horse towns."

Jimmy was right. I was offered five jobs in as many minutes but they were all small stalls and I'd have no freedom. I could tell from talking to the bosses that they'd expect me to work the stall 16 hours a day.