LOOK OUT! YORKY'S IN THE SHEARING SHED ©

Wool packs were put in place and the catching pens were filled up. Six pieces of paper with the numbers 1 to 6 were folded up and put in a hat. After they'd been shaken up, each shearer drew out a number, which denoted what stand he would work on. Whoever drew number 1 was expected to do the reps job, which meant in the event of a problem arising, the representative had to speak for the men. He would complain to Freeman, who was the contractor, and in turn, Freeman would go and see the cocky.

The shearers all picked up their hand-pieces after the draw and then proceeded to screw a comb and cutter in place. At the back of the hand-piece was a screw hole which had to be filled with oil at the end of every run, which lasted 2 hours.
Everything was now in place so everyone stood around waiting for the bell to go at 7:30. When 7:30 arrived Freeman rang the bell. All six shearers entered their pens and grabbed hold of a large, rough Wether. After tipping it over on its' arse they dragged it backwards by its front legs to the down-tube, where their stand was.

Gundy sat up his sheep, tucked the sheeps' right front leg under the side of his ribs, tucked the other front leg behind his left elbow and pulled the string which set the shearing machine in motion. He adjusted the tension knob and then made 3 to 4 long blows from the sheeps' brisket down to its flank. He grabbed the now loose belly wool and threw it on the floor. It was my job to pick them all up. He then ran the machine out the top at the back leg, which trimmed all the wool off. Turning the machine around he made one long blow around the sheeps' crutch, from toe to toe. Then he shore the head, which is called the topknot. Taking a step forward, the sheep was now at a slight angle between his legs as he bent over and opened up the neck wool. The machine disappeared under the wool until Gundy flicked his wrist and the machine reappeared. He then proceeded to run his blow up the side of the wrinkly neck until it was clean. Picking up the front leg with his left hand he ran the blows down it as he turned around. Once the leg was clean he dropped the big Wether on its' back and started the long blow. In no time at all the sheep was half-shorn as Gundy dragged his right foot forwards and cleaned up around the horns and head. Once this was done, he pushed his blows over the wrinkles and down to the brisket. Then he cleaned around the shoulder and picked up the last front let. In a matter of seconds the leg was clean and he pushed the hand-piece down to the last flank, letting the sheeps' head come forwards. WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, went the blows as Gundys' arm pushed the bog-eye flat on the skin, out to the toe then clean up over the tail.
'CLUNK!' Gundy pulled the string again and the machine came out of gear. The sheep, which was now shorn 'clean as a whistle', fell through his legs and he pushed it down the chute with the sole of his right boot. Straightening up, he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked into the pen for another wooly Wether.

A roustabout listens for the 'clunking' sound which the overhead gear makes when the shearer pulls the string. This means someone has just started or finished a sheep. It can be a very demanding job, picking up wool for 6 fast shearers.
At 9:27 the bell goes and the shearer is not allowed to go in the pen for another sheep until 10 O'clock. From 9:30 to 10 is Smoko. Half-an-hour to have a cup of tea and a sandwich. After that the shearer rolls a smoke and then cleans up the combs and cutters he's used, ready for grinding again. With about 10 minutes left before 10 O'clock he lays on his back on the shearing board and puts his legs up on the wall. This little trick helps relieve the pain in his back from 2 hours of bending over, working his guts out.
At 10 O'clock, the bell rings and the process is started all over again. By the time 5:30 rolls around, it's no wonder the shearer likes a few beers. He has just finished slaving his guts out for 8 solid hours in heat that can reach the 120 degree mark.

Cyclone did the first few days really hard. Each time he straightened up from shearing a sheep, the pain on his face and in his eyes could be felt by all. He must have been sat in Giltraps' bar for at least three months, boozing all his money away. Many people did not believe he could even shear a sheep, let alone be a gun shearer.
Each day, as he persevered with the task of getting fitter, his shearing tally improved slowly but surely. By the end of the shed, old Cyclone was the top tally-man. He was a good-hearted man and never abused the Rousie if a fleece was missed and left laying on his stand.
Many years later I heard ,'through the grape-vine', that Cyclone drowned in four inches of water. Apparently, him and a few mates were driving home from the Hotel, drunk as usual, when the car spun off the road and into a table drain containing water. The car flipped over on its top and Cyclone was trapped inside, face down in the water. His reckless lifestyle brought him to an appropriate end.

One evening when Gundy and Cyclone were grogging on, they ran out of beer and plonk. Gundy said to me, "Hey Chummy, ya got any plonk left mate?"
"Sure have Gundy. Why?"
"Can we have some of it?", he said with a boyish grin.
"Tell ya what I'll do Gundy. You teach me to shear and I'll provide you with a gallon of plonk and a carton of fags a week. How's that sound mate?"
"You're on Chummy! Now go and fetch ya' half-gallon flagon. We'll start ya payments off tonight!"
That evening Gundy and Cyclone almost finished the whole flagon off. I said to Gundy, "Fuckin' hell Gundy! You're like a big kid with a bag of lollies. Ya can't stop till you've drunk the lot!"
This little joke of mine sent old Gundy into fits of laughter, along with a spasm of coughing.
The following morning, true to his word, Gundy stared my shearing lessons. At the end of the first run, he called out, "Chummy! Git over here mate, if ya wanna' learn to shear!"
He pulled the machine out of gear and said, "Alright Chummy, ya can finish the last side. Pull his head forwards and put ya knees there. Now push down on his shoulder and hang on to the hand-piece."
The hand-piece was really hot from all the sand in the wool and it wanted to spin out of my hand as I tried to control it.
"Ya gotta' keep it on the skin, Chummy. It's the shortest way around the sheep, mate! Don't do any of that jabbin', mate, or it will become a habit."
The wool was actually coming off the skin as I pushed the hand-piece along the contours of the sheep.
"That's it Chummy! Keep the comb full and go slow until you've got all the blows down."

As I finished off the big wether, Athel Cook came walking up the board.
"What are ya doing with that sheep, Chummy? Tryin' to root it mate?"
"I'm leaning to shear, Athel.", I said, without raising my head.
"You shear, ya pommy bastard? You'll never make a shearer as long as ya arsehole points to the ground, mate!"
"He'll make a better shearer than you Athel!", said Gundy.
"Bullshit mate! No fuckin' pommy will out-shear me!"
"Tell ya what, Athel, I'll bet ya, before this shed's over that Chummy can shear one of these wethers under 5 minutes!", said Gundy.
"Fucking bullshit Gundy!"
"I'll bet ya 10 bucks and a gallon flagon of plonk, mate!"
"Alright Gundy, ya fuckin' on, mate!"
As I pulled the machine out of gear, the sweat was pouring out of mi forehead and the small of mi back had a cramped pain in it from bending right over.
"Ya hear that mate? I'm gonna make a good shearer out of you. Just listen to what I tell you and every spare moment ya have, stand in front of me and watch."
"I'll give it my best shot, mate. I won't let ya down.", I said.
Each day, I started and finished off sheep for Gundy. Towards the end of the first week I shore a Wether from start to finish. It took me about 14 minutes and by the time I was finished, I was drenched in sweat.
"Good on you Chummy!", said Gundy. "that wasn't too bad for a learner. We've got to work on the blow and keep the machine flat on the skin."

The Shearing Shed on the One Tree Plain was now on it's last day. I had shorn my sheep in 4 minutes and 50 seconds! Gundy and the others had won their bet. Athel Cook was not too pleased about this. That evening, in the barroom, he tried to make things hard for me by calling me a 'pommy bastard' all evening. Eventually, his wife came out of the Sow Pen and took him home.

For the record; 15 years later, I was shearing around the Lake again. Athel, who was now about 60, had the misfortune of meeting me in Giltraps. A bloke, Mark Hargraves, had been kind enough to find me some work. Athel would be working alongside me for two weeks! On Sunday night, he was trying his best to upset me by calling me derogatory names and telling everyone in the bar that he was going to 'work me to death' in the following two weeks.
The first day, Athel shore 110 and I shore 125!
The next day, he shore 120 and I shore 150!
Try as he could, for the next two weeks, he could not keep up with me. By the end of the first week he was not looking too good. At first, everyone at Giltraps took the piss out of him 'cause he'd bragged and skited that he'd shear more sheep than that 'gutless, pommy bastard Yorky'! Halfway during the second week, he looked terrible. His ego was crushed and he could hardly walk. He was overworking his body so much that people stopped teasing his and told him to 'slow down before old Yorky works ya into the ground!' He refused to listen and kept up his pace hoping to catch up with me. At the end of two weeks he had to visit the local doctor for some pills. A week later, he had a heart attack and dropped dead.
From that day on, some shearers claimed that Yorky was the only shearer in Lake Cargelligo to work another shearer to death!
"Bullshit!", I said. "He had no hope of catching me!"

MORE OF ARTHURS STORIES ~ THE MOTOR BIKE ~ Part 4 ~ CHAPTER 6 ©

      I'd saved up a fair, few bob now by staying in the Bush and not going into town to spend it.
One day, I said to Arthur,
"I wouldn't mind one of those new Honda motor bikes. They look like they'd be pretty handy to git around on."
"How much do they cost?"
"Oh probably around 200 quid."
"How much ya got saved up?"
"About 150 quid. I saved a fair bit of money when I was fencing with Smithy and a few bob more at Dick Skipworths."
"Tell ya what I'll do with ya Yorky. We'll go into town and see my Bank Manager. If I go guarantor for ya, he'll probably lend ya the amount ya need for a bike."
"Fair dinkum Arthur, you'd do that for me?"
"Long as ya pay it off mate, why not mate."
"You're a bloody 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 well-groomed along with his neatly trimmed mustache.

"Good day Arthur." he said as he approached the counter. "How ya going mate?" he said as he leaned across the wooden counter to shake Arthurs' hand.
"Pretty good Jack. Can't complain mate."
"What can I do for ya today Arthur?"
"I'd like a loan Jack."
"What do you want a loan for Arthur? You've got near on as much money as the bank has." he said jokingly.
"Not for me Jack. This is Yorky, he's working out at my place. He wants to buy one of those new Honda 90s' and he's short a few bob."

"Good day Yorky." he said. "Come through to the inside office gentlemen. I'm sure we can arrange that. Sit down." he said as he took his seat behind the large desk with his name on it. "How much do ya need Yorky?"
"A hundred quid would cover it. I've already got the rest saved up."
"Ya gotta' account with us Yorky?"
"No, it's in mi pocket in 20s'"
"Alright mate, you'll have to open an account with it and then we'll draw it back out and lend ya the rest. Ya gonna' guarantee it for him Arthur?"
"Yeah, give me the papers to sign and I'll co-sign it with him."

     As soon as the paper work was done, the Bank Manager read the terms of the agreement back to Arthur and me; I signed it in the appropriate places.
"Alright Yorky, ya understand that if, for some reason, ya don't pay the loan in the time stated, Arthur will have to pay it, alright?"
"I understand."
"Pick ya money up at the counter on ya way out then. Thanks for ya business Yorky."
"Oh, thanks for the loan." I said with a handshake.
     When we got outside the bank I said to Arthur, "I really appreciate that Arthur. You're a really decent bloke mate."
"No worries Yorky. Just make sure ya pay it off in time, then if ya ever need another loan for a Ute later on, you'll have a good track record with 'em mate. Where's the Honda at Yorky?"
"Down the end of the street, at Chamens."
"OK, we can walk down there mate. I'll come with ya to make sure everything goes 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 pushed it back off the tailgate of the Ute.

"Git on her Yorky and give her a good burn."
     The Honda 90 was the latest bike of its size, out on the market. It was black 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 ya' self 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. It glided off smoothly up the dirt track. I was wobbling so much on it I had to jam on the brakes 'cause I was too close to the fence and the last thing I wanted was to drop it and scratch the hell out of it. I pushed it well away from the fence and then said,
"Arthur, you have a go on it mate. See how it goes."

     Arthur swung his leg over her and took off up the track, no problem at all. He spun it around and pulled up right alongside of me, the Log Cabin fag was still smoldering away as he got off.
"She's a beauty Yorky. Hop on her again and take ya time. I'm going up to the house for a cuppa'"

     As soon as Arthur took off, I felt a bit more comfortable at trying it out so I started her up again and put her into first gear and eased out the clutch.
     'Now we're cruising!', I thought as I got used to maneuvering her around. It only took about an hour or so before I was feeling quite competent on it.
     Over the next week or so, I rode mi new bike all over the property.

     One day Arthur said to me, "Why don't ya ride her into town Yorky. It'll give ya a bit more freedom mate."
"I haven't got a license Arthur."
"That don't matter Yorky. Call in and see the old Sarge. He's a good friend of mine. He's coming out here to do a bit of waterskiing next weekend with his family. Just tell him ya workin' for me Mate. He'll give ya a learners permit."

     On Saturday morning I rode mi new bike into Lake Cargelligo. It was not as easy as it sounds though, especially when the cars and trucks went past. They threw up a heap of stones and dust behind 'em that stung the body when they hit and the dust was so thick it was hard to see where I was going.

"Good day Sergeant Montgomery." I said as I walked into the Police Station.
"Good day young fella'." He said, eyeing me with suspicion. "What can I do for ya mate?"

     The sergeant was a big bloke with a large barrel chest. He had a pleasant enough face, but I heard through the Bush grapevine that he didn't take shit from no one.
"My name's Richard Swindells and I'm working out at Arthur Auberrys' place and he suggested I see you for a permit to ride mi new bike."
"All right, give us a minute or two till I can find where that Constable of mine has put 'em. How's Arthur?", he said as he looked under the counter.
"He's pretty good. He said you're comin' out to his place to waterski next weekend Sergeant."
"I'm comin' out there but ya won't catch me on no bloody waterskis. My young daughter likes 'em and I like to sit in the shade of a good tree with a cool can a' Fosters in mi hand. Here we go, fill that in and sign it here."

     Once I paid for the permit, he gave me the slip and my portion of the permit and 2 cardboard L plates.
"Make sure a put 'em on."
     He must have read my mind 'cause I was thinkin' about the embarrassment of riding around with the two L plates on mi new bike.
     I still had a few Quid left when I drove away from the Cop Shop so I went back to Chamens where I bought mi bike and ordered a new windshield for it, 'cause the flying stones and dust were a bit dangerous.
     The new Honda was the best thing that I'd ever bought. Arthur was absolutely right; it gave me a newfound sense of freedom.
     Sometimes, I'd ride to town during the week and sometimes I'd go and visit Kevin up the top end of town, at his apartment.
     A few times, 1 or 2 of the local sheilas would ask me to take 'em for a ride around town. This was a bit risky 'cause I wasn't supposed to carry anyone on the back until I'd gotten mi full license.

     There was another couple a' young blokes in Lake Cargelligo who also had new Hondas, so on a hot Saturday afternoon, when all the shoppers had gone and the dusty, bitumen Main street was quite deserted, we used to burn up and down the street, practicing back-wheel-slides and front-wheel-stands. It was quite hard to wheel-stand my small Honda until this bloke called McFadden showed me how to sit right back on the seat. This made the front-end much lighter and up she'd go for 10 or 15 yards before she'd drop again.

     The old Seargent was not too pleased with this kind of activity so we had to keep a good eye out for him. One Saturday morning, I decided to ram a crowbar up the exhaust to knock the baffles out. When I started it up, it scared off all of Arthurs' chooks. It sounded great to me. It used to roar like a small tractor when I screwed up the throttle. Many's the time I would scare a cockies wife as I sped around her on her way to town.

     It took quite a skill to control the bike on the corrugated dirt corners, especially when I had it flat out at 55 MPH. The back wheel would slide into the corner as I leaned right over. I had developed the knack of sliding mi boot and correcting the front wheel which made the bike go sideways and forward, until I pulled it up straight again.

     On a 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.
"G'day Yorky.
"G'day Sergeant Montgomery."
"Ya permits run out, hasn't it?"
"I think so Sergeant."
"Listen,", he said, "I don't mind ya driving with no license but for Christ sake use ya fuckin' head mate! Fix that bloody exhaust pipe. I can hear ya set off from Arthurs' place every time ya come into town! Now, do the right thing mate or I'll run ya' in next time! Alright Yorky?"
"Yes Sergeant, and thanks for telling me."
"Don't fuckin' mention it mate. I'd do the same for a white fella'"
     A few minutes later as I was sat there, trying to figure out how I was gonna fix it, Kevin Skippy pulled up and reversed into the space next to me.
"G'day Kevin.", I said, as he got out of his new car.
"Jesus Christ Yorky! You're turning into a real fuckin' tear arse!"
"What d'ya mean Kevin?"
"I very nearly wiped ya out last night mate. Ya must a' been doin' 50 around that corner and ya were on the wrong fuckin' side of the road as well. Ya gave me a hell of a bloody fright, ya bastard."
"Was that you?"
"Just as fuckin' well it was, ya pommy bastard or you'd be dead if it was some old Cockies wife."
"Yeah, I suppose ya right Kevin. The old Sergeant just gave me the word too."
"You're a temporary Australian Yorky.", he said with a smile.
"What d'ya mean Kevin?"
"That's what we call blokes who 'yahoo' on motor bikes, temporary Australians. Anyway, how ya doin', ya bastard? Ya like it out at old Arthurs' place?"
"Yeah mate. Arthur's a real fair dinkum bloke. He got me a loan for the bike."
"Make sure ya don't kill ya self on it then or Arthur wouldn't be happy about that, would he?"
"Yeah, ya not wrong there mate. I've decided to slow down a bit, especially after last night. It scared the shit out of me as well when you came off the bitumen and hit the dirt right in font of me. I thought I was a gonner for sure."
"Alright Yorky, I'm off to the Hotel to see Stan Booth. Look after ya self mate."
"See ya later Kevin."

     I rode mi bike across and down the street to Chamens and ordered a new baffle for the exhaust pipe and the following weekend I was installing it at Arthurs' place when Sergeant Montgomery and his wife and daughter came driving down the yard.
"G'day Sergeant.", I said as he pulled up level with me.
     I held up the baffle in mi greasy hand and said, "One new baffle Sergeant!"
"Good on ya Yorky. You'd better come in for a license next Saturday morning while you're at it."
"Will I have to take a test Sergeant?"
"You know all the answers in the code book?"
"Sure do Sergeant. I memorized all 26 by heart.
"Then there's not much use giving ya a test is it? I know you can drive 'cause I've seen ya riding that bike on one bloody wheel so I suppose ya can ride it just as well on two, right?"
"Right Sergeant. I'll be in the station next Saturday morning for sure."
Just then, Arthur came out of the gate and walked over to the car.

"G'day Monty. Park ya' car over in the shade mate and come inside. I've got cold can of Fosters for ya in the fridge."

ARTHURS STORY ~ Part 3 ~ CHAPTER 6 ~ THE 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. 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?" I said.
"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, the horse 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 on him. .
"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, he may be shy,"
     Very quietly I got the bridle out from the back of the Ute and took it over to Arthur who now had the racehorse eating out of his hand, without a care. Slowly Arthur slipped the straps over his head and palmed the bit into his mouth. All the horse was interested in was more nuts.
     As soon as the bridle was in place, Arthur walked him around the paddock in a large circle. Then he said, "I'll 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  out of the Utes' open window.
"Open the gate across the road there Yorky.", called Arthur.
     I pushed the large gate open and Arthur and the stallion rode through. I closed the gate behind them while Arthur dismounted and held him by the reins.

"Come on Yorky, git on him. It'll be a good bit of experience for ya . This is an 500 acre paddock mate, give him his head and let's see how good he really is!"
"You're 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 as he pushed the ground from beneath his feet. 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 and 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 experience again. It took me all my strength to pull him in and I thought I was pretty strong. The more I pulled, his head in and down, the more he tried to pull against me. I was almost going to panic when I felt him ease up a bit. He was hardly even blowing when we cantered up to where Arthur was standing by the old Ute.
     I think my heart was beating harder than his when I finally dismounted.
     Arthur held the reins and I slid out of the saddle onto a pair of rubbery legs.
"We could make a jockey out of ya'", said Arthur, with a big grin on his face.
"Fuck you Arthur!", I said, as I walked around in a circle. "There's easier ways to make money than that."
"Ya' did pretty good Yorky, at least ya' stayed on him but I had my doubts at one point there."
"Yeah mate. Once he got wound up into his stride there was no stopping him. I was gonna' walk him back but he had other ideas."

"OK mate, let's turn him loose. There's a dam in this paddock so he's got some water and we'll fetch him some chaff down after breakfast. 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 thing mate." said Arthur with a smile.

ARTHURS PLACE~ Part 2 ~ CHAPTER 6 ~ GONE FISHIN' ©

"Ya wanna' go fishin' tonight Yorky?, said Arthur, one evening on our way home from the paddock.
"Yeah, I'd love to Arthur but I haven't got a rod or a reel." I said.
"Ya don't need a rod for what I've got in mind mate."
"Then how are we gonna' catch fish?"
"I'll show ya when we git home."

     We parked the Ute in the yard and Arthur said,
"Have a look in that shed over there Yorky. You'll find a large sack behind the door. Fetch it over here will ya, it's not very heavy."
    The sack was right where he said so I picked it up and took it over to where he was chopping a few logs for the evenings' fire.
"Good on ya' Yorky. I'll just split this big log and then we'll go down to the lakeside." said Arthur.

     When we were at the waters' edge, Arthur said, "There's a small tin rowing boat under that clump of overhanging trees, float it down here Yorky."
     The tin boat was only about 10 feet and had a metal bench seat at each end.
"Climb in mate and we'll row out a-ways."

     Arthurs' property was a very beautiful place. The back part of his yard gently sloped down through the trees to the waters edge. There was always lots of bird life to be seen around dusk. Ducks, Shags, Cormorants and even Black Swans used the Lake as their home and there was always an abundant supply of catfish, small cod and plenty of Turtles.
"Row out towards that stump sticking out a' the water Yorky.", said Arthur, who was sat up front undoing the old sack.
     When he opened the top of the sack, I could see why we didn't need any fishing rods.
     Arthur was very carefully pulling out a few handfuls of Gill net and getting it ready to tie on to the long, dead tree stump which was about another 20 yards away.
     When I maneuvered the boat into position, Arthur said, "Good on ya' Yorky. I'll tie the rope onto the stump here and you row very slowly towards that dead tree sticking out of the water over there."
"No worries Arthur. Here we go mate!"
     As I rowed at a slow pace, Arthur let out handfuls of the net, shaking it out as he went. It took a while to let the net fully out, which was about 50 feet long but eventually we had it tied off to a dead, sun-dried, silvery tree.
"That's it Yorky. We should get at least a couple of tasty Catfish out of that."
"How long will it take to catch a fish?"
"Oh, we'll check it out in the morning mate. It'll give it a chance to fill up."
     The following morning Arthur and I were up a half hour earlier so we could check the net.
"Row us out Yorky and let's see how we've done mate.", he said, as we got into the tin tub which had been left tied to a stump on the bank.

     It was a beautiful morning to be out on the Lake. The Shags and the Cormorants were already diving for their breakfasts and the birds were singing and tweeting in the trees around the lakeside. A Kookaburra was having a good old laugh to himself as we rowed over to the dead log.

"Alright Yorky, that'll do mate. I'll lift the net from here and sort of pull the boat along as we go. You try to make sure we don't drift over the top of the net so we don't catch it on the boat." said Arthur.
     Arthur very carefully lifted the net out of the water in sections. It wasn't long before a good-sized catfish appeared out of the water.
"Shit Arthur, how ya gonna' git him out of the net. It's all tangled up mate?" I said.
"Yeah, that's one of the downsides of using nets. Once I find where he got into it, I'll soon have him out."

     It took Arthur about 5 minutes to untangle the net and the catfish hit the bottom of the boat with a good 'thump' and then proceeded to flop around for a while.
"How big d'ya think he is?"
"Oh, he's probably somewhere around 3 pounds."
     I could see why they were called catfish when I saw the long whiskers that stuck out from his face.

"What a bastard!", said Arthur as he pulled on the gill net.
"What's the matter mate?", I said, as I leaned over in the boat.
"We've got a turtle caught up in it and he's made a right bloody mess of the net."
     The turtle was moving all over the place as Arthur pulled the section of net into the boat. He spent a good 10 minutes trying to untangle the long-necked turtle, but the more Arthur untangled him the more he moved his legs around and re-tangled himself.

"Grand streuth! I didn't want to do this but there's only one way to get him out of the tangle now."
     Arthur put his hand to his belt and pulled out the pocketknife from the small leather case he kept it in. He opened the main blade, which he kept good and sharp as he used that knife for everything.
"Ya gonna' have to cut the net so ya can git him out Arthur?" I said.
"Not on ya life mate.", he said, as he cut the turtles head off with one sharp thrust. He held the turtle over the side of the boat so it didn't mess the boat up with blood.
     This gave me quite a shock as I didn't expect it.
"Only way to git 'em out when they get so tangled up."
"How come there's so many turtles dead on the roads if they live in water?" I asked.
"They travel across land once their usual water hole dries up. They've been known to travel 40 or 50 miles to get to a new water hole."
"How do they know which direction to travel in?" I asked.
"They've got a good sense of smell Yorky. They can smell water when it's miles away." said Arthur.

     That morning we got 3 good-sized catfish out of the net and that evening Arthurs wife cooked 'em up for dinner. A sprinkling of salt and pepper and a fresh lemon out of Arthurs' orchard made for a good meal.

After dinner, I sometimes watched an hour or so of TV in Arthurs' large main room but that evening Arthurs wife was really wound up tight. Everyone was sitting around with their feet up on a large foot stool when she singled me out and said,
"Get your feet off of my furniture! Where do you think you are, at home?"
"Oh no.", I said. "My mistake Mrs. Auberry. I saw everyone else had their feet up so I just did the same."

     I left the house about 5 minutes after that episode and went back over to my room. About 10 minutes later Arthur knocked on the door and came in.
"Ya alright Yorky?" said Arthur.
"Yeah, I'm alright. I didn't mean to offend your wife." I said.
"That's alright mate. It's not your fault. She has a few problems which make her uptight most of the time so she's on medication and when she gets low on the medicine she tends to get pretty cranky for no good reason. Don't take it personal mate." said Arthur.
"All right Arthur, as long as I know that, I'll be careful around her." I said.
"Anyway mate, it's good for me that ya here 'cause if not, she'd have gotten cranky with me mate!" Arthur said with a grin.

ON TO ARTHURS' PLACE ~ Part 1 ~ CHAPTER ~ 6 ~THE WAR STORY ©

"Here we go mate.", said Kevin, as we turned off Condoblin road and over the stock ramp. We drove up the track, which ran parallel to the fence and over another stock ramp, then down into Arthurs' yard.
     Arthur was chopping up a few logs when we arrived and as soon as the dogs started to bark, he turned and gave us a wave. Sticking the axe into a log, he casually walked over to the drivers side of the Ute.
"G'day Skippy, how'ya goin' mate?"
"Not too bad Arthur. Ya got all ya wheat in the silo?"
"I finished a couple of weeks ago, Skippy. We're not all big landowners like you blokes are."
"We might have a lot of land but we got a lot of headaches that go along with it, Arthur."
"Yeah, ya not wrong there."

     I brought ya new man over for ya Arthur. He's a pommy bastard but not a bad one. Every now and again they send us a good one." he said with a laugh.
     We got out of the Ute and I walked over towards Arthur and held out mi hand.
"Arthur Auberry.", he said. "Good to meet ya'."
As we shook hands, I said, "Richard Swindells. Good to meet you Arthur."
"His fucking name is Yorky, Arthur. He's from Yorkshire so you can forget that other name. It's too fuckin' long anyway.", said Kevin.
"Yorky will do me if it suits you.", He said to me.
"Yorky's fine.", I said with a smile.
"Are these ya ports Yorky?", said Arthur.
"Yeah mate."
"Let's take 'em to where you'll be staying then."

     The 3 of us grabbed mi gear and walked across the dirt yard to a small corrugated tin hut. Arthur pushed open the door and to my surprise it was a very clean little place.

"This is where you'll be staying. Ya can have ya meals over at the house."
"Jesus Christ!", said Kevin. "This place is a fuckin' palace Yorky. It's too good for a pommy, mate!"
"Don't you believe it mate. After old Burts place, nothing is too good for this Pommy."
"Shit Yorky, the walls are lined and there's even wallpaper on 'em and you've got lino and a big rug in front of the bed. Ya even got a mirror to look in. You'll be able to see ya rough head in the mornings before ya go out and scare someone, mate."
"My head is nowhere near as rough as that bastard of yours Kevin.", I said with a big smile.
"I take it you two like each other, the way ya abuse one another.", said Arthur.
"Oh, he's not a bad, poor Aussie bastard."
"Fuck you, ya pommy bastard.", said Kevin with an even bigger smile.
"How d'ya like married life Kevin?", said Arthur.
"Pretty good mate. Just look at the gut I'm getting' on me. It won't be long before I gotta put a mirror on the end of mi work boot so I can see mi dick."
"She must look after ya then, does she Kevin?"
"She sure does Arthur. She's the best little sort in Lake Cargelligo."
"She better be Skippy. They don't improve with time!"

"All right Yorky, I'm off mate. I'll see ya around town sometime."
"Thanks for bringin' me over here Kevin.", I said.
"No worries mate. I'd do the same for a white fella."
     We all walked back out of mi new room and Kevin hopped in his Ute and I gave him a wave as he spun the Ute in the dirt and tore off, up the road.
"He's a wild boy, that Kevin is.", said Arthur.
"Yeah, but he's a real fair dinkum friend.", I said.
"Make ya self at home Yorky. We'll be eating about 7 O'clock. I'll give ya a shout a few minutes before."
"Thanks Arthur.", I said, as I headed off back to check out mi new room.

     Arthur Auberry was a middle-aged man who wore a canvas Karkie jungle hat. He had pleasant features and the usual deep lines from a life in the bush. He smoked Log Cabin rollies and always had one stuck out of the corner of his mouth. Once he stuck it in the right-hand corner, he never removed until it was a quarter of an inch away from his lips.
    He wore the usual clothes of a wheat cocky and there was nothing on the surface which would reveal the devastating past this man once had to live, which I came to hear about as we developed a good, respectful relationship.

     The room where I was now living in was just as Kevin said. It was clean, comfortable and reasonably large. I took a few work clothes out of mi case and stuck 'em neatly in the chest of drawers. The .22 was placed next to the bed and the trumpet, which I very rarely played, now claimed the far corner near the wardrobe.

     I met Arthurs' wife that evening at the dinner table. She had silvery hair and gaunt, tight features. She appeared to be very high-strung when she communicated with her children,
Arthur Auberry had 5 children; 2 girls and a boy, who were away at boarding school and a lot younger boy and girl who were still at home.

     Over dinner, she asked me a few questions about my past life but I could tell she was just being polite.
     After the evening meal, I went back to my new room and laid down on the bed for a rest. About half an hour later Arthur came across and said, "D'ya know how to milk a cow, Yorky?"
"Sure do Arthur. I've had plenty of practice at that."
"I've only got one old milker. D'ya mind milkin' her of a mornings for me?"
"Don't mind a bit Arthur. D'ya wanna show me where the shed is, and the setup?"
"Good idea Yorky."
     After we'd walked around his cow yards and he'd shown me where the butter-churn was, he went back inside and I walked along the lakeside for a while before I hit the sack.

     I did a bit of land clearing with Arthur for the next few weeks. It was pretty easy work 'cause Arthur was a real easy-going man to work with. Most of the time we'd work away in silence as we walked around his paddock, stacking up small timber which had been missed by the large D8 bulldozer that stacked the bulk of trees and roots.

     As we got to know each other, Arthur would ask me questions about England and what it was like living in Yorkshire. In turn, I'd ask him about his past, growing up in the Aussie Bush.

     One lunch time, as we were sitting in the cab of his flat bed truck, he had just finished telling me a story about his younger life. Then he said, "Course that was before the war, mate."
"What war?", I said to him.
"The bloody second world war Yorky!"
"Were you in the war Arthur?"
"Yeah mate, unfortunately. I was also in the Korean war as well."
"Fuckin' hell, that must have been pretty fuckin' scary for ya mate, was it?"
"Well it wasn't too fucking pleasant mate, I can tell ya that much."

"Tell me what it was like Arthur.", I asked with great interest. " Mi dad was in the first world war. He was shot, got mustard-gassed and had dysentery twice but that's all he would tell me about it."
"He probably couldn't handle remembering some of the things that he'd seen Yorky. Same as most people who were in a war."
"Yeah, but tell me a story about it, can ya?"

     He pushed his old Bush hat to the back of his head and rolled another Log Cabin. As soon as he was puffing away at the smoke and was satisfied that it was going all right, he stared out of the window and said,
"All right Yorky, I'll tell ya what I saw. I was on a troop ship going over to New Guinea 'cause the japs had landed there with a sizable force and our job was to get the bastards out 'a there 'cause it was too close to Australia for comfort."
"Were there only Aussies in New Guinea?"
"No mate, the fuckin' Yanks were there as well as us blokes."
     By the tone of his voice it did not take a genius to hear he had no respect for the Yanks.
"Don't ya like theYanks, Arthur?"
"They're alright in their place, mate but ya can't keep 'em in the shithouse all day."
"What d'ya mean Arthur.", I said.
"They're the worst fuckin' Army of men you'd ever come across. Sometimes our lot would get sent out on patrol with them so we got to know them pretty fuckin' well. Ya never go out on a patrol in the jungle with the Yanks backin' ya up. You've always gotta' keep the bastards to the side of ya or up front 'cause they're undisciplined and a gutless set a' bastards. They accidentally shot more of their own men and ours than the fuckin' japs did put together!"
"Why'd they do that?"
"No disciple mate and bad communication, plus the bastards were so jittery from lack of training that they'd shoot anything that fuckin' moved. The other thing is they were pretty fuckin' soft. They couldn't go anywhere without their home comforts. They had more luxuries than the whole fuckin' Aussie army put together. Now, the Diggers mate were a different story altogether. If ya got into any sort a' trouble which we did at times, the old Aussie would dig in. We never let each other down like those pack a' bastards did. We were all in it together mate, as one unit. We were all prepared to die for each other and sometimes we did.", he said as he rolled another smoke. "Then there were the 'fuzzy-wuzzies.", he said as he drew a deep long drag on the handmade. "Now those big, black bastards were a different kettle a' fish altogether."
"What are fuzzy-wuzzies Arthur?"
"They're the New Guinea natives mate. They were usually big, tall black fellas' with a mop of black bushy hair. That's where they git their name from. They all chewed this stuff called beetle nut. It's a root that grows in the jungle and when they chew it, it makes their gums and teeth go dark red. Even the women chew it."
"Did ya ever screw a native women Arthur?"
"Na mate. I'd have had to be pretty bloody hard up to take on one of those Sheila's but some of the blokes did. We used to use the fuzzys as guides because those blokes were born in the jungle and they knew it as well as the backs of their hands. Sometimes, when we were out on patrol, they'd be a few yards in front of us carrying their machetes. All of a sudden they'd stop and raise one of their long, black arms."
"What for?", I said, with great interest.
"I'm just gettin' to that part Yorky, give us a go mate.", he said.
"Off they'd go, through the jungle out of sight, so our blokes would sit on our boots and wait. We didn't have to wait long because a few minutes later we heard a rustling in the bush and next minute the old fuzzy-wuzzy would appear, on the track, right beside us. He'd have a big red toothy grin on his face and in his left hand he'd hold up a japs head by the hair."
"Fuckin' hell Arthur!", I said.
"Yeah mate. The fuzzies could smell those fuckin' japs a mile away. At one time we used to give 'em 2 bob for every jap head they'd bring us, and many's the time I saw 'em walk into our camp with a big sack slung over their shoulder. They'd walk right up to the middle of where we were sitting, with a big red toothy smile on their face, then they'd drop the bag right in the center of us blokes. They'd grab the bottom corners of the bag and lift 'em up and 10 or 12 japs heads would roll out on the ground in front of us. This made a few of the new blokes jump like hell. We stopped givin''em 2 bob a head after that 'cause 12 japs' heads cost a pound and 2 bob. We would a' gone broke at that rate!"
"Is it true that the Fuzzy-Wuzzies still head-hunt in New Guinea?"
"Yeah mate, far as I know, they still do a bit up the Northern end of the island where the dense jungle is but most of 'em live on the outskirts of the city now. They're pretty fucked up by alcohol though, just like our Abbos.

"Tell me more stories Arthur.", I asked.
"Alright mate, one more. One time, miself and a few of the blokes were out on patrol. We came across a small village in the middle of a clearing. We'd already heard shouting and screaming so we got as close as we could, without being spotted. What we saw made us so bloody angry. It would make your blood curdle.
     There were about 10 japs with rifles and bayonets. They were grabbing the small pik-a-ninnies from their mothers' arms and throwing them to each other to catch on the end of their bayonets. Our blokes went totally, fuckin' beserk!
     We stormed the village and shot 2 or 3 of the japs. Then we captured the rest."
"Fuckin' hell Arthur. What happened next?"
"Well, Yorky mate, we were so crazed by what we had just witnessed, we lined up the remaining japs and made 'em drop their pants and bend over so their asses were facing us. Then we charged 'em with our rifles and bayonets. We stuck those bayonets as far up their fuckin' asses  as they would go, right up to the fuckin' muzzle. Then we fired our rifles until we blew them off the bayonets."
"Jesus Arthur, that's nearly unbelievable! Do you have bad dreams about it?"
"No Yorky mate, I have plenty of other bad dreams but after seeing what I saw, I can live with that one."
"Did the fuzzy-wuzzys in the village eat the japs heads Arthur?"
"I don't know Yorky mate. We gave the crying and wailing women some of our suppplies, cigarettes and chocolates and made our way back to camp."

"Anyway Yorky, let's git crackin' on those sticks mate. We've done fuck-all work for the past hour. We'll never git finished clearing at this rate."

KIA ORA ~ 9 FINGERS LEFT ~ part 3 ~ CHAPTER 5 ©

     As the wheat season progressed, the line of trucks at the wheat silo in Lake Cargelligo could be as many as 120. They were all waiting to dump their load after it had been weighed off. This made it necessary to put up the field bins so the headers could dump their bins because old Dick could only get back to the paddock twice a day.

     A field bin is made of thick weld-mesh and is about 12' high. The ends of the mesh are joined together to make a circle and a long roll of hessian is draped around the inside to stop the wheat falling back out. When the headers are full, they dump their loads into the field bin and the empty trucks are loaded from these central field bins when they arrive back in the paddock.

     One afternoon, Digger and I were pushing an auger into the full field bin so that when Dick arrived he could fill the truck and drive back into town as soon as possible to join the line again.

"The auger's not high enough yet Yorky.", said Digger. "Dad will never be able to drive straight under that mate, so we'll crank it up a bit. Ya see that small lever there Yorky?"
"Yeh."
"Hold her up mate while I crank the handle."
"OK mate! She's up."
"Good on ya."
     Instead of cranking the handle to make the auger go up, he cranked it the opposite way which wound my finger-end between 2 large cogs.
"Owwww!!", I yelled in pain.
"What's the matter mate?", said Digger, with a shocked look on his face.
"Mi fucking finger!!", I cried out.
"Oh fuck!", he yelled and wound the handle back the other way.

     As soon as my finger end came out from between the cogs, it exploded with deep red blood. The blood started to run in big, fast drips down into the dry, red dirt of the Paddock. It left wet indentations behind as it sank into the Earth.

"What the fuck happened?", said Digger, with concern for me all over his face.
     When he saw the blood running out of mi finger, he said, "Fuckin' hell Yorky, I'm real sorry mate! The weight of the auger caused the handle to turn the other way. Let me see ya finger, mate."

     The second finger on my right hand was trembling uncontrollably as I stuck out my hand.
"Fuckin' shit! The fuckin' nail is ripped clean off mate! Jump in the Ute Yorky, I'll take ya home to Mum, she's got a first-aid box in the kitchen."

     Tears of pain were slowly making their way down my dusty face as we drove flat out across the paddock towards home. A look of compassion and concern was on Diggers' face as we broadsided down the dirt road about 40 mph around the corners.
"Does it hurt a lot Yorky?"
"Yeah mate, but it's still numb."

     When Diggers mum saw the finger she went straight to work on it. She cleaned it up first and then wrapped it in gauze. Last of all she put a finger stall over it to keep it from getting dirty.
"Do you want to go to the Doctors in the Lake, Yorky?", she said.
"No thanks Missus Skippy. What can he do that you haven't already done?"
"He may want to give ya a tetanus shot, Yorky."
"No thanks, you cleaned it up real good. I watched how ya did it."
"Alright Yorky. It's not bleeding as bad now. We'll change the bandage tonight so we can keep it clean."
"You alright Yorky?", said Digger.
"Yeah mate, don't worry about it. At least I've still got mi finger left. The nail will probably grow back soon enough. I've still got 9 more."
"Oh you boys!", said Nellie. "Get outta' my kitchen and be more careful up the Paddock."

     Digger and I drove back up the Paddock. We arrived just as Dick was pulling up under the auger.
"The fuckin' augers too low.", said Dick. "Get Yorky to hold that lever out and you crank her up a bit while I get the truck closer in!"
"You hold the lever out Dick.", I said as I held up mi finger for him to see.
"Fucking hell Yorky, how d'ya do that mate?"
"He was holding the lever and the wheel slipped the other way when I went to crank it.", said Digger.
"Fuckin' hell, you hold the lever then Digger and I'll crank the handle and watch ya fingers Digger or you'll end up like Yorky. He won't be able to pick his nose for a while with that finger!"

     That same evening, when we got home, Mrs. Skipworth said to me, "There's a parcel for ya Yorky. It came in the mail today.
"A parcel for me?", I said with surprise.
"Yeah, it's on the table over there."
"Open it up for me Kevin, will ya.", I said. "It looks like it's from mi mother, in England."
"It's postmarked Seamail. It's got a Yorkshire stamp on it and it was sent October 9th. That's means it took nearly 3 months to get here!"
"I wonder what’s in it?", I said as he turned over the parcel.
"Here's a declaration slip. It says on here XMAS CAKE - GIFT. Ya mother must have sent ya a cake Yorky."

     It took him a while to open the parcel. When all the paper and cellotape were off, he said, "Here mate, you open the lid, it smells funny to me."
"It doesn't smell too good to me either.", I said.

     When I lifted the lid of the box, there was a round cake inside but instead of being covered with cream it was covered in mould!
"D'ya wanna piece of cake Kevin?", I said.
"Jeeesus! Git it outside before it smells up mums' kitchen!"
"What will I do with it?"
"Feed it to mums' chooks. They'll love it. It'll make 'em lay more eggs Yorky.", he said with a grin.

     As I laid in bed that night, mi finger really started to throb. The pain was so bad I couldn't help crying a bit. Digger, who was in his bed across the other side of the room said, "Can I git ya a painkiller Yorky and a glass of water?"
"If ya will mate.", I said in a quiet voice.
"Try to keep it raised up a bit Yorky. It may take a bit of pressure off of it.
What's it feel like mate?", he said.
"It feels like a big clock going 'throb, throb, throb."
"I'm sorry I can't do anything more for ya Yorky.", he said as we both lay awake in the darkness waiting until morning time arrived.

When I sat down for breakfast, Dick said to me. "How's ya finger Yorky?"
"It stopped throbbing Dick but if I put any pressure on it, it really hurts."
"Well don't just sit there Digger. You wound Yorkys' nail off so cut his bacon and chops up for him, ya big lout!"

     In a few days, mi finger end was feeling much better. The only time in pained was when I'd stubbed it against the side of a machine or accidentally knocked it up against something but by and large, it was alright.

     By the time the wheat season was over, I had developed a deep brown tan and along with that, a few more muscles to add to the ones that were already developing.

       Back at Skippys, after meeting Tommy Clark,  I was thinking, 'Here I am in much the same position again. I've worked miself out of another job! I decided not to let it make me as sad, this time.'

     As I walked through the backyard at Dick Skipworths' homestead, his wife Nellie was chasing a chook. It was quite a sight to see, in a way, because she was not a young woman. I decided to give her a hand.
"Ya trying to catch a chook, Missus Skippy?"
"Yeah Yorky but I'm not as fast as I used to be. D'ya wanna' give us a hand for a few minutes?"
"No worries. Which one are ya after?"
"Ya see that rooster over there Yorky?"
"Which one? The one near the fence?"
"Yeah, that's him. Let's see if we can get him. He looks like he'd be good eatin'."
"Let's drive him into the corner. We'll grab him as he tries to get away."
     Very slowly, we shooed a mob of hens into the corner of the fence and shed and as soon as the prospect looked good, I said, "Let's rush 'em Missus Skippy!"
     The hens flew up in the air in all directions and the rooster tried to run between us. He almost succeeded but just as he tried to get through, I managed to grab a handful of wing feathers. Once I had him by the legs, Mrs. Skippy took over.
"Give him to me Yorky. I'll make short work of him. He's led me on a right merry chase for the last half hour."
     I handed her the roosters legs and she took off towards a large stump. The top of the stump had been sawn off flat with a chain saw so it make an ideal chopping block. I walked towards the veranda back door and just before I opened it, I looked back to see what Nellie was up to. She now had the roosters' neck across the chopping block and a large, long-handled axe was firmly in her right hand.      She raised it just above her shoulder and said,
"I'll show you, it doesn't pay to lead old Nellie Skipworth on a long merry chase Mr. Rooster."
'THUMP!' The axe head came crashing down on the Roosters' neck just behind his head. The old rooster had no idea what had happened to him. The roosters' head lay on the right hand side of the axe, which was firmly imbedded into the flat stump. She flung the rooster down in front of her and blood spurted out of its neck stump where its head had been a few seconds before. While the nerves in the roosters body were kicking and making it jump all over the place, Nellie wiped the sides of the axe on the wood chips, which were used on the ground to keep the dust down. When she was satisfied it was clean enough for her, she stuck the axe back into the stump and went over to retrieve the rooster. As she bent over to pick it up, I heard her say,
"That slowed ya down a bit sport, didn't it!"

I always felt compassionate towards something that had to be killed, although I must and admit I dismissed the feeling when I saw the old rooster on the dinner table, his legs in the air and his skin a crispy brown color.
"Have you ever missed with that axe, Mrs. Skippy?", I asked her as she cut off a leg.
"Not since I've been married to Dick.", she said.
"And how long is that?"
"Oh about 34 years."

     The next day as I was packing my cases, Kevin walked into Diggers' room and said, "G'day Yorky, ya all packed are ya mate?"
"Just about Kevin. Here, sit on the case will ya, so I can lock it. I didn't pack it as good as I usually do."
"Is that all you've got Yorky?", said Kevin as I stood the 2 cases on their ends.
"Yeah mate. One's got work clothes in it and the other's got good ones."
"Is that all the possessions you own mate?"
"Nah, don't be silly mate. I've got a trumpet and a good .22. That's about all I can carry."
"Jesus Christ Yorky, ya don't have much to slow ya down."
"Suppose you're right. I've been in Australia almost a year now and so far I haven't even unpacked 'em."
     I went to pick up the 2 cases and Kevin said, "Give 'em here Yorky. I'll carry 'em out to the Ute for ya mate. You grab the horn and rifle."
     Once the cases were in the back and the rifle was sitting on the back window ledge, I said my goodbyes and thanks to Dick, Nellie and Digger and then hopped in the front with Kevin. Old Dick leaned in the window and said, "Arthur Auberrys place is not far out of town so I'll see ya in the Lake some weekend mate. Thanks for ya help Yorky."
"Thanks for the work and teaching me to drive."
     Old Dick stood back from the window and relit the Log Cabin rollie which was sticking out of the old fag holder.
"Where to sport?", said Kevin with a smile on his face.
"Arthur Auberrys' place and don't switch the meter on mate!"
"Where's Arthurs' place Kevin?",  I asked as we drove along the Condoblin dirt road.
"Not too far now mate. He's only about 7 miles out and the farm is right on the Lakeside. He has a paddock of Lucen that he irrigates from the Lake, that's how close it is."

HUNTING IN THE BUSH ©

     After a few minutes of shining the spot around, I picked up a pair of bunny eyes. I tapped lightly on the roof of the cab.
    Jim stuck my new .22 out of the window. He took quick aim and squeezed off the trigger, 'BANG!', the bunny fell over in the light and never even kicked.
"Ya got him mate.", I said, quietly.
"Give me the spot, Yorky and go an pick him up."
   When I picked up the rabbit, I saw that Jim had him him in the head. When I got back to the Ute, I said, "Good shot mate! Straight in the head."
"That's where I aimed for. This rifle of yours is a real piss cutter mate. She's accurate as hell."
"That's what I wanted to hear.", I said as I put the rabbit in the back of the Ute and then climbed in myself.
"Ya see that stick in the back, Yorky, the one with the bent end that looks like a hocky stick? Well, stick it in the corner so it's handy, 'cause if I miss a shot you run up along side the beam and whack him on the head with the stick! That's the way most people git a lot of rabbits. They fire a hollow-point right next to 'em so it makes them sit up. They're easier to whack in the head then."

     At one point in Australia, rabbits were considered a plague. They destroyed a lot of crop and made burrows all around the place. The cocky was not too happy when one of the wheels of his plow or combine sunk into a large burrow and bust one of the axle. In the end, there was such a plague of rabbits that the Government sanctioned the use of a poison that was specially developed to rid the land of rabbits. The name of the poison was called Miximotosis. Were you ever to see the devastating effects of this poison you'd understand why head-shooting a rabbit was the most humane thing to do.
     After about an hour of shooting we would stop and gut out the rabbits and then pair them up size-wise by their back legs and hang them across the steel posts which were sitting cross-way on the back of the Ute.
     That particular evening we shot 400 pair of rabbits and in the morning when it started to warm up and the blowflies came out we covered the rabbits over with a large mosquito net and took of to the Chillers which was situated in a scrub paddock just outside of Lake Cargelligo. In those days, we got 2 to 3 Shillings a pair, so for 1964 that was a profitable evenings work.
     Sometimes Jim liked to go trapping rabbits with steel-sprung leg traps. I was not as keen on this way of hunting because I didn't like to see the rabbits caught by their leg in the trap.
     One morning, as we were walking around Jims' trap line, a fox had gotten himself caught by the back leg. When he saw us approaching him he was obviously scared, so he went back to trying to chew his leg off as he had been doing before we interrupted him.
"What the hell is he doing?", I asked Jim.
"He's chewing his back leg off so he can get out of the trap."
     I couldn't stand to see this sight. I said to Jim, "I'm going to let him out of the trap!"
"Be careful!" warned Jim, as I walked up to the fox. When I was only about 3 feet away from him, he lunged at my outstretched hand and tried to bit it which made me recoil in fright.
"He won't let me get him out of the trap!"
"I could have told ya that mate, before ya tried. He'll take ya hand off if ya get too close to him."
"How are we going to get him out then?"
"If I were you mate, I'd hit him on the head with the rabbit stick 'cause you'll never git him out any other way."
     I tried to get close to the fox again to get him out of the trap but as soon as I got close to him, he stopped chewing his leg and made another snarling lunge at me. This time I could see that Jim was right. My response to the situation was an incorrect response because it did not alleviate the foxs' suffering and pain. The only other option left open to me was to hit the old fox on the head. This action put him out of his pain.
     I didn't feel too good with myself after killing the fox. After a while Jim said to me,
"What's the matter mate? You don't look real good."
"I felt the pain the fox was in and I also felt the pain of killing him too! It felt like I was the one who was caught in a trap!"
"Yeh mate, I know just how ya feel. I've been put in that position a few times miself. It's a hard one, especially on the heart. You'll git over it mate or you'll never survive in the Bush. No one promised ya an easy life or ya wouldn't be out in the Bush in the first place. Come on Yorky, let's git these traps cleared and reset again."
     One morning, Jim said to me, "We're out of mutton Yorky. Ya feel like getting a room for us mate?"
"If ya like. Where's the best place to go where it's not too far away mate?"
"You'll probably find a few in the Bush, the other side of Burgooney Road, but mind ya look where ya going mate 'cause it can get pretty dense in there and I wouldn't want you to git bushed or you'd never find ya way out."
"No worries Jim. I'll just follow the fence line. That way I'm bound to find mi way out to the road again."
"That's the story mate! Make sure ya git a half-grown one. Don't shoot a big old buck 'cause they're as touch as old boots and mi teeth aren't in real good shape these days. Fill that small canteen up with some water before ya go. Ya never know, ya may need a drop if you're out there for a while."
After I'd filled the small, tin canteen up, I slung it over mi shoulder and grabbed mi rifle and a box of hollow-points and last of all, I grabbed mi new Akubra Squatters had that I'd bought from Chamens the last time were in town.
The dark brown Akubra had a wide brim which kept the hot sun off mi shoulders. I'd put the traditional Squatters crease in the top of it so it sat on mi head real comfortable.
"See ya later Jim!", I said as I walked out of the yard with the rifle in mi left hand, hanging down at mi side.
"See ya later Yorky. Good luck Mate!"
     Once I got out to Burgooney Road, I took mi bearings from the position of the sun and made mi way off into the Bush.
     The trees and bush weren't too thick for the first couple of hundred yards but after the landscape changed to thick bush which was now all around me. Every now and again the Bush would give way to a natural clearing which was dotted with large rock formations.
     After about an hours walking in silence, I sat on a rock in a clearing for a bit of a spell. The Bush birds were hopping from bush to bush as they played and looked for small seeds to eat. A few feet way from me I saw the track of a wall-eye snake which disappeared under a large round rock. He was probably sleeping there, out of the hot sun.
     The air was crystal-clear and not a cloud in the deep blue sky. There were no such things as airplanes and helicopters flying around the skies. Every now and then a Wedge-tail Eagle would call out to its' mate as it hovered and glided on the warm air currents.
Wedge-tails are very beautiful and graceful to watch as they circle the clear blue skies looking for young rabbits or mice to take back to their nests. They nest high up in the branches of dead trees. Their nests are quite large because a full-grown Wedge-tail could, quite easily, have a 6-foot wingspan. Usually one of them will hunt while the other feeds the young with whatever was caught for the day.
     I walked for about another half-hour before I spotted a small mob of Roos laying and sitting under the shade of a big Eucalyptus tree. 'I had better keep downwind of them', I thought, 'so they don't pick up my scent or I'll never git close enough to get off a good clean shot at one of 'em'.
     While most of the mob sleep in the shade, a couple of sentries are left to guard the camp. The sentries usually walk around looking for bits and pieces of things to eat and then they sit back upright, check out the landscapes and then put their heads down again.
     Very quietly, I moved slowly from tree to tree until I was in decent range of them.
     A .22 is not considered a big rifle, especially where Roos are concerned but a good hunter can always bring one down with a well-aimed shot. I decided to try and make it to the next large Box tree before attempting a shot. Very carefully, I moved ahead. Once I was leaning against the large Box tree, I took a slight breather because now my heart was pumping and banging away from the concentration of sneaking up on them. As soon as I felt steady enough, I very quietly turned around and leaned against the tree which made good support. There was already a bullet up the spout 'cause I'd pushed the bolt home when I first saw them. Very slowly, I eased off the safety catch so it didn't make a clicking sound. I raised the rifle to mi shoulder and leaned mi left shoulder more against the tree. Taking my last deep breath, I sat the bead of the front site smack in the middle of the back V shape and took careful aim at a half-grown Roo who had his head down in the bush grass, eating. I aimed the rifle about half an inch above his shoulder 'cause I was still a long distance away for a .22.      The two sights of the rifle were now as steady as I could hold them. I carefully started to squeeze the trigger. 'Careful Yorky', the inner hunter said to me, 'don't pull it or it will pull the rifle off target.'
Squeeze, squeeze, BANG! The Roos were up and off as the sound of the rifle cracked the silence like a big stock whip. A flock of grey and pink Gallahs flew into the air, squawking out their warning signals. The mob of Roos were now thumping out a retreat paradiddle as they headed off deeper into the scrub. (All except for the half- grown one that was kicking its' last, under the tree.) It was almost dead when I reached the spot, so I put a bullet between it's ears for good measure.
     The Roo was a young gray male. He was not too big or too small. The first bullet had gone straight through his chest, right under his armpit. It was a fast, clean kill which was the only type of kill that was acceptable to me.
     I waited for a few minutes until the adrenaline had subsided from the run across the scrub from my hiding tree. As soon as the body had calmed down to its' natural, unexcited state, I re-loaded the rifle and pushed the safety catch firmly forwards into the on-position and then I leaned the rifle against the tree. Although the Roo was not full- grown, he was, by no means, light as I grabbed the butt of his thick, sinewy tail and slung him across my shoulders. As soon as the Roo was comfortably positioned, I grabbed mi rifle and started back the way I'd come.
Back-tracking was always the hardest because now I was a good few pounds heavier. Over the last 3 months I'd spent with Jim, I'd gotten a good Bush education so I was able to find my way back out to Burgooney Road, no problem at all. I stopped for a rest as it was now really hot. I took a small sip of water and rolled miself a Drum.
     Although the body had acquired the habit of smoking, I did not smoke a lot. Not because I didn't want to, but it's always more difficult to smoke in an environment that has clean, pure air. Smoking in the city was much easier because of all the lead pollution and various other contaminations.
     I was glad to see Burgooney dirt road because the Room was now getting fairly heavy and the sweat was streaming down from under the brim of mi squatters hat. When I got back to use the house yard, Jim was busily building a new Avery that looked like it was going to be 5 times the size of his old one.
"Yorky mate!", he said as I got close to him. "Ya got a real beaut there mate! He's the perfect size for eating. Fetch him over in the shade and we'll clean him up. The Missus will make us some Roo-tail soup. We'll git enough steaks off of him for a couple of weeks mate. We'll make a Bushman out of ya yet Yorky, ya Pommy Bastard!

     It was about 3 weeks later when Jim said to me, one morning after we'd got home from spot-lighting, "Well Yorky, it's too hot to fence and there's not enough money in the rabbits now, so I've got no more work for ya mate. I'm gonna have to find a job for miself now."
"Oh shit", I said, with a sad feeling in my heart. "What are ya gonna do for work Jim?"
"Oh, I'll probably git a job driving a header for the wheat season. There's a couple of wheat Cockys' that I drove for last year have asked me to come back again. I'll either do that or I'll git a job driving a wheat truck to the Silos in Lake Cargelligo, mate."
"What am I gonna do? I don't really know anyone, only you and old Burt and I'm certainly not going backwards Jim."
Jim had a bit of a laugh at this and then said, "Don't worry mate, I've got a job lined up for ya already for 10 quid a week."
"What doing."
"Oh, this is a bludge, mate! You'll git to ride around on a header all day in the wheat paddocks."
"Doing what?"
"About every hour you'll jump off and grease a big automatic header for the driver while he's emptying the bin into one of the semi's. After that, you'll git back on and ride around for another hour. Ya can't git better than that, mate!"
"Who'll I be working for?"
"The Cockys' name is Dick Skipworth. He's got a big place out on the main Lake Cargelligo West Wyalong road. He's a pretty decent bloke and he's got a couple of sons. One's called Colin and the other ones called Kevin. They're real hard doers, mate. You'll like 'em."
"Isn't that where Peter Smith works?"
"Yeah mate. Peter's on Fred Harzeys' place just down the road aways so you'll probably get to see him. He usually drives the wheat semi for old Fred."
"When do I start?"
"I'll take you over to there place tomorrow morning mate. Give ya time to pack up ya gear and I'll pay ya up all the money I've been saving for ya Yorky. It's no good hanging around here mate. Ya not makin' any money sitting on your arse."
     I was still feeling a bit apprehensive at leaving Jims' place because once again I was off into the unknown. That evening as I lay in the darkened bedroom, I was thinking of all the things I'd learned from Jim about the Bush when I heard the voice of silence whisper to me, 'Don't worry Yorky, everything will be all right for you. It's necessary for you to move. Don't forget, what pleases you holds you back.'
     The next morning, Shirley made me some breakfast and gave me a couple of items of clothes that she'd very graciously washed out for me.
"Thanks for all the meals and washing you've done for me Shirley."
"That's alright Yorky, I'm glad to have been of some help to you. Don't forget to stop in if you're ever passing by. You're always welcome here Yorky."
I loaded my 2 cases, the trumpet and mi rifle into Jims' old blue Holden Ute and waved goodbye to his small kids as Jim and I drove out of the dirt yard, down the Bush track and out onto Burgooney Road.
     We drove in silence that sunny morning.