POPEYE JOHNSON, 'THE PUNISHER', MI SPARRING PARTNER ©

     War dog, being true to his word, had spoken to the boss of the Relief Work crew. I was due to start in a couple of days. War dog was right when he said it was an easy job. Although the money wasn't great, it came in real handy.
     After meeting the boss, who was a decent townie bloke, he said,
"You'd might as well work with ya mate War Dog seeing as ya know each other. You'll be clearing up weeds and garbage around the Lakeside, down the end of the street. Tomorrow, I'll have your crew filling in a few pot holes on the bitumen road at the other end of town just before the dirt starts."
"Good on ya mate.", I said. " I appreciate the work."
"No worries sport. They're lean times and anyway, it gives us permanent council blokes a chance to catch up on a bit of maintenance."

     At around 10 O'clock, Me and War dog were having smoko. He was telling me some of his bullshit war stories. Some of his stories were really far-fetched. Although I told him he was a bullshit artist, I drew the line at calling him a fuckin' liar, as some blokes did. In the middle of one of his stories, a tall, scrawny looking Abbo walked up and said,
"G'day War dog, ya got a spare smoke I can git off ya mate?"
"No, fuck you ya black bastard. I've been keeping you in smokes, since you've been on the job. If ya spent less money on that cheap, fuckin' plonk and a bit more on smokes, ya wouldn't have to be on the bite all the time!"
"Yeah, ya right War dog, I'm gonna change mi ways."
"Oh fuckin' bullshit Popeye, I've heard that story before."
"G'day mate.", he said to me. "Ya got a spare smoke?"
"I've only got rollies mate."
"That'll do mate. I'm not real fussy."
"That sounds right.", said War dog. "You'd smoke goanna shit if it was offered to you!"
"I don't know about that.", said Popeye, having a bit of a laugh at War dogs' joke.
     I gave Popeye a bit of tobacco and a rolling paper.
"Good on'ya mate.", he said as he rolled the ugliest smoke I'd ever seen.
     Once the smoke was going, he said to War dog,
"I bought a packet of 'Rochmans' last night but the missus took 'em off me."
"They're called fuckin' Rothmans!", said War dog. "Anyways, why'd ya let that fat, old Ginn of yours take all ya smokes?"
"I didn't let her mate. She took 'em off me after she knocked mi arse over head on Shamens' Corner."
"Don't tell me she knocked ya arse over head again mate!"
"Yeah, I didn't even get a punch in, I was so full."

     Popeye turned to me and said, "What's ya name mate?"
"Yorky." I offered him mi hand and said, "Good to meet ya mate. What happened to ya eye?"
"The missus did that mate?"
"How come?", I asked.
"We were havin' a bit of a party on the river bank, out near the Mission. We were all full and I called her a black bitch. She hauled off and landed a fuckin' right on mi jaw. When I went down I hit mi face on a rock and shattered mi eye socket and this is how it healed."
"Jesus Popeye, why d'ya let her knock ya around like that."
"She's bigger than me mate and she's got a real bad temper when she's on the grog."
"Are ya gonna' work today?", asked War dog.
"Yeah, as soon as I sober up mate.", said Popeye.
       
     I felt quite sorry for Popeye. As I studied his face, I thought that I had a few emotional problems but Popeye stole the show. I filled mi tin mug with some Billy Tea that we'd just brewed and offered it to Popeye.
"Have a cuppa' mate. It'll sober ya up."
"Ya wouldn't happen to have any wine in ya tucker box?"
"No mate, I'm not keen on plonk but I don't mind a few beers."
"Beer'll do if ya got a can."
"No mate, it's tea or nothing."
"Alright mate, that'll have to do if ya haven't got anything stronger."

     Popeye stomped on the burnt-out rolley and then sat down cross-legged on the bare ground in his ratty old jeans.
"Ya wouldn't have another spare smoke there would ya mate?"
     I stood up and pulled the tobacco out of mi pocket, as War Dog said,
"Ya rooted now Yorky mate! The black bastard'll be biting ya all fuckin' day long."
"No worries War Dog. I can't begrudge a bloke a smoke. Anyway mate, I've got a lot more than him in life."
"Ya fuckin' won't have if ya keep that caper up cobber!"

      It turned out, by the end of the day old War Dog was right. Mi 2-ounce packet of Drum had now been reduced to under 1-ounce. To boot, he even bit me for two bob, till payday.
   
     That night in Giltraps' bar, War Dog was well on his way. He'd been drinkin' pretty heavy with another mate of his. After his drinking mate had gone home, he came over to where I was sitting and gave me a real good ear-bashing about giving the Abbos' money and smokes.
"Once they tell their mates that you're an easy bite, Yorky, the whole fuckin' Mission will be following ya around town mate. The more ya give 'em, the more they'll take advantage of ya' good nature sport. Besides that, where's the motivation to work if you're gonna' keep 'em in money and smokes?"

     I thought long and hard that night about what War Dog had said. Try as I could, I couldn't see miself being as hard and rude to the Abbos' as War Dog was.

     One afternoon, I was sittin' in the Dagos' milk bar having a feed when a young bloke I knew, happened to walk in for a packet of smokes.
"How are ya Yorky?", he said, as he walked over and sat down at my table.
"Not too bad Phil. How are you mate?"
"Pretty good mate. Hey Yorky, someone told me ya used to box in the tents on the showgrounds."
"Yeah, that's right Phil."
"What was it like?"
"Not too good mate, unless you've got your own stall or side show. There's not much money in it and it's a pretty hard life. Why ya wanna' know? Ya not thinkin' of joining up are ya mate."
"Shit no mate. The old man would find me and drag me off home. No mate, I'm short of a few bob and I was wondering if ya wanted to buy a decent pair of boxing gloves.
"I never thought about it mate, but ya never know. Maybe I could have a bit a' fun with 'em in mi room at Giltraps."
"They're a good pair. Me and mi mate had a pair a-piece. We were using them for a bit of Aussie Rules training."
"Shit Phil, were ya gonna' fight ya way to a win?"
"Nah Yorky, we thought a bit a' trainin' would toughen us up before this years season started."
"How much ya want for 'em?"
"Ya can have 'em for 5 bucks."
"Alright mate, ya got a deal."
"Good on ya' Yorky. That'll help me out a lot."
"No worries Phil.
"When d'ya wanna' git 'em?"
" Can ya drop 'em off at Traps for me, tonight?"
"No worries Yorky mate. Are ya' livin' at Traps?"
"Yeah mate. Mi rooms number 8. If I'm not there, I'll be in the bar."
"I'll drop 'em off about 7. That be alright?"
"Yeah, no problem."
"Ya think ya could give us the fiver now Yorky?"
"Yeah, long as ya remember to bring 'em."
"I won't forget mate. I'll git mi girlfriend to run mi down."
     Phil stuck the fiver in his pocket and left the Dagos' shop, happier than when he walked in.

     Walking back to Giltraps, I started making plans for what I could do with a pair of gloves. At 7 that night, I was laid on mi bed when Phil arrived with them.
"I brought the gloves Yorky. Are they alright?"
"They look alright to me mate. They're in pretty good shape. How many ounces are they?"
"I'm not sure. The bloke I got 'em off said he thought they were 14 ounces."
"Oh well, no worries Phil. I'll have a bit of fun with 'em."
"Hey Yorky, I can't stay. I've gotta shoot through. Mi Sheilas' waiting for me, outside in her car."
"No worries Phil. Thanks mate."
"You're welcome Yorky.", he said as he closed the door behind him.

     As soon as Phil was gone, I put the gloves on and did a bit of shadow-boxin' in front of the dressing table mirror. I ran through a few moves that Sal had taught me in the Boxing Troupe. I was just about to take 'em off when there was a knock on the door. It opened on its' own and War Dog walked in.
"What are you fuckin' up to Yorky? Where d'ya git the gloves from?"
"I just bought 'em mate."
"What the fuck are ya gonna do with those stupid fuckin' things!"
"Oh I don't know mate. Have a bit of fun, I suppose."
"I though you would have had enough of that shit on the showgrounds mate."
"Here War Dog.", I said, as I pulled off the right-hand glove. "You can have the right-hander. Let's try 'em out"
"Fuck you, ya pommy bastard! Ya think I'm as stupid as I look?"
"Come on War Dog, be a good sport."
"Fuck you, ya bastard. I'm forty fuckin' years older than you. I'd be winded after half-a-minute! Go and ask Freddy, he's more ya age and size."
"Shit, good idea mate. Have ya seen him around?"
"Last time I saw him he was heading for his room. I'm off to the bar for a couple of quiet ones. I've been hittin' her a bit hard the last couple of nights."
"Yeah, ya looked a bit worse for wear last night."
"Ya not fuckin' kidding mate. I should never have graduated to the top-shelf. I didn't know whether I was Arthur or fuckin' Martha, by the time Trap kicked me out. Huroo mate!", said War Dog as he walked out and left the door open behind him.
"What about the door War Dog?", I yelled out after him.
"What about it?", he said, as he disappeared into the bar room.
     I tied a bow in the gloves and hung 'em on the hook behind the door. I took off to Freddys' room at the end of the corridor.

"Hey Freddie!", I yelled out, as I knocked on his door. "Are ya in there, mate?"
"What d'ya want Yorky? I'm having a nap."
"Not any more mate. Open the door!"
"Come back in half-an-hour, I've only just laid down."
"Open the door mate, I won't keep ya long."
     Begrudgingly, Freddy opened the door and I could see why he wanted a sleep. His face had a look of pain on it from too much grog,
"What d'ya want Yorky mate?"
" Come and see mi new boxing gloves mate. I just bought em."
"Jesus fuckin' christ Yorky mate, is that all ya got me up for?"
"Yeah mate, we can have a glove each and do a bit of sparring."
"Are you fuckin' kidding me mate. I couldn't fight mi way out of a wet paper bag."
"No worries mate. I can teach ya a bit of show boxing. It'll be fun."
"It might sound like fun to you Yorky but it sounds like shit to me. I don't want to be rude mate but I'm off back to bed for a couple of hours. I'm fuckin' rooted!
     That being his final word, he closed the door on me with a bang.

     Back to mi room I went and threw miself on the squeeky old cot, resigned to the fact that the only thing that wanted to spar around with me for a bit was the shadows (and I don't mean the music group.)  I hadn't been laid down long before a knock came on the door.
"Who is it?", I yelled out.
     No answer.
"Who is it?", I yelled out again.
     No answer.
"Fuck me dead,", I said as I got up and opened the door. Soon as I opened the door, there stood the the answer to mi sparring fun. Popeye Johnson!
"Popeye, how are ya mate? Come in. How've ya been."
"Not too good Yorky mate. I need a hair of the dog."
"Ya been on the plonk again mate?"
"Yeah mate. The missus just beat me up again and took all mi money and the last of mi 'Rochmans'!"
"They're called 'Rothmans', Popeye."
"Yeah, 'Rochmans' I know mate. Ya got a smoke mate?"
     Popeye looked a bit worse for wear so I rolled him a Drum and lit it up for him.
"Good on'ya mate.", said Popeye, as he puffed away on the Drum and then proceeded to cough his guts out.
"Sit down Popeye before ya fall down!"
     Sitting on the edge of the spare bed, he said,
"These rollies are fuckin' strong mate!"
"Would ya like me to start smoking 'Rochmans'?", I said jokingly. "Might help with the coughing mate."
"Ya got a lazy 20 cents in ya pocket I can borrow mate?"
"What ya want 20 cents for?"
"We're out a' petrol to git back to the Mission."
"Did ya mean petrol or plonk mate?"
     Popeye gave me a slight grin and said,
"Did I say petrol? Yeah, I meant plonk, mate."
"You're already well on ya way Popeye. Anymore and you'll be full as a boot again."
"She'll be right mate. I just need another glass. That'll git me back to the Mission tonight."
"What ya mean 'git back to the mission?"
"I'm walkin' mate. Mi missus drove back with mi cousin and they left me in town."
"Don't ya usually sleep on the bench on Shamans Corner mate?"
"Sometimes I do mate, but that fat, fuckin' Sargeant Monty always picks me up and throws me into the Bull wagon and it fuckin' hurts too mate."
"What's it like in the lock-up Popeye?"
"Not too fuckin' good mate."
"How come?"
"I gotta' sleep on the concrete floor and it's fuckin' cold."
"Do you have to pay a fine for being drunk and disorderly?"
"Yeah mate, but I never have the money."
"So what happens then?"
"Last time, I had to hose out the cells and weed his fuckin' garden."
"Why d'ya hose the cells out mate?"
"There's shit in the corners and piss on the floor."
"Arent' ya allowed to go to the dunny mate?"
"No fuckin' way mate. He chucks ya in when he picks ya up and you're in till mornin'."
"Jesus Popeye, that's a bit fuckin' rough mate."
"Yeah, I was in for 2 days, a while back."
"What did ya do mate?"
"I got a lucky punch in on mi missus and knocked her arse over head. First time I got one in for a while. The old Sarge picked me up for it. Ya got another smoke Yorky? I like 'Rochmans' better but a rolly will do."
     Handing him another smoke, he said,
"Good on ya Yorky. Did ya forget about the 20 cents mate?"
"Jeezus Popeye, you'll send me fuckin' broke mate."
     This little joke made him laugh a bit. I asked him what was so funny?
"You white fellas' are all millionaires mate, how can you be broke?"
"Just 'cause I've got more money than you Popeye, doesn't mean I'm a millionaire mate."
"Ya gotta' have more money than me mate. I'm broke down to the bones of mi arse."
"Why don't ya work Popeye?"
"I did. I got fired off the Relief work for being full on the job."
"Can't ya git another one?"
"Are you fuckin' jokin' Yorky? There's not much work around for black fellas'."
"Somebody told me ya git a government check every month?"
"Yeah, but the mission boss takes it off me before I git it."
"Why's that mate?"
"I drank last months up and never paid mi rent."
"Why d'ya do that ?"
" 'Cause once I start on the plonk mate, I can't stop. Ya got that 20 cents Yorky?"
"Hey, listen Popeye. I might have a little job for ya."
"Do I have to work?", he asked.
"No mate, this is gonna be fun. Ya know when ya git real full and ya missus knocks ya down and takes ya money and smokes?"
"What about it mate?"
"Alrighty, here's the deal! Every night you're in town and broke, come to mi room and I'll give ya a couple of smokes and the money for 5 ounces of plonk."
"What do I have to do for it?"
"You can be mi sparring partner mate."

     With that, I got off mi bed and took the boxing gloves off the back of the door.
"I'm only any good at fighting when I'm not full.", said Popeye, as he looked at the gloves. "Where's the other pair?", he asked. " 'Cause I don't have any."
"We don't need 'em mate. You have one and I'll have the other. We can take turns with the right hand one."
"Just for fun?"
"Yeah mate, just to fill in a bit a' time."
"Alright mate, I'll do it for a 7 ounce a' plonk and 2 'Rochmans'. I don't like that Drum Tobacco, it's too strong."
"I'll buy a pack of 'Rochmans' at the Dagos' shop and just so we're clear, a 7 of plonk and 2 Rothmans."
"Yeah, 'Rochmans' mate.
"Ya wanna start now mate?"
"Nah mate, I'm not broke yet. I've got 20 cents in mi pocket so I'm off for a drink now."
"You'll have 2 more smokes and another 20 cents Popeye."
"She'll be right mate. I might come back later."

     With that, Popeye headed for the door and back along the corridor to the bar room. I decided not to go to the bar tonight. With nothing left to do for entertainment, I was forced to write a quick aerogram to mi mother, back in Yorkshire. Once I'd finished it, I took off to the post office and dropped it in the box. On the way back, Popeye and a couple of other black fellas' were arguing and shouting at each other, at the corner of Gilltraps. I tried to sneak past 'em but Popeye caught me with his one good eye. This time, I had 3 black fellas' biting me at once for 20 cents and a smoke. I had no other alternative than to say,
"No, git fucked. I'm broke."
     The last thing I heard as I disappeared into Traps, was a slurry Abbos' voice say,
"You white fellas' are all millionaires!"

     'I made it!', I thought as I opened the door to mi room and locked it behind me. I knew it wouldn't be long before Popeye would be knocking on mi door. I rolled a smoke and waited. True to form, five minutes later I heard his knock.
"Hey mate, are ya in there?"
     I knew Popeye was pretty full by now so he'd be no use as a sparring partner this night. I kept quiet and ignored his constant knocking. After a few minutes, he threw in the towel and took off.

     At this point you've probably realized by now that a lot of grog was consumed at Gilltraps. Twitcheys' and Blackers' Hotels were not far behind. The reason for this, although not the only one, was all work and commerce was done over a couple of beers. If one did not join in the cultural pastime not much laboring work would be found. Survival would become more of a reality.

"Ya want a game of pool Yorky?", said Freddy as we sat at the bar.
"Yeah, why not mate. I'l put our 20 cents in line."
     The pool table was our only source of entertainment in the bar. Most times, there was a line-up of 5 or 6  twenty cent pieces in front of ours.
"Keep a good eye out for our 20 cents.", said Freddy. "I'm off for a piss."

     Sometimes a 20 cent piece would go missing or jump the cue on the side of the pool table which undoubtably would start a big argument and sometimes a fight. A lot of locals would not drink at Gilltraps because it was the Abbos' favorite waterin' hole. A lot of blokes called it 'The Blood House'. There were tiles, half-way up the sides of the walls, in those days. It made it easier for the Groom to wash off the blood, in the early morning.
"Are we up yet Yorky?", said Freddy, when he came back from the dunny.
"Nah mate, are ya' kiddin'? There's still another 4 games to go before we're on."
"How's our 20 cents?", he said as he looked across the room at the pool table.
"She's still there mate. I've been watchin' it."

     Eventually, our turn came round. I shoved the 20 cents in the slot. The coin dropped in the metal tin on the inside of the table. We always knew when it was getting full, as the coin made a different sound when it dropped in.  After we finished the game of pool we had one last round and called it quits for the evening.
"I'm glad I live at Gilltraps.", said Freddy, as we walked down the short hallway.
"Why, 'cause ya don't have far to walk home mate?"
"Yeah, right first-time mate!"

     Knock, knock, knock!
"Who is it?", I yelled.
"It's Popeye mate.", said a voice on the other side of the door. "Let me in."
"Are ya sober?", I said, before I opened it.
"Yeah mate, too sober."
     Opening the door, I said to Popeye, "Come in quick, before Cath Gilltrap sees ya."
     Cath Gilltrap would not be happy if she caught Mission Abbos' visiting the rooms. Only paying Abbos' were allowed in the guests' quarters.
"Ya look good.", I said to Popeye, as I closed the door behind him. "Ya not full mate?"
"I'm fucking broke mate, that's why."
"Hasn't ya missus got any money?"
"No mate, she pissed it all away on plonk."
"How ya gonna' eat till the end of the month mate?"
"We're off out Roo shootin' tomorrow night."
"Spotlightin'?"
"Yeah, spotlightin' mate."
"Don't ya use spears anymore Popeye?"
"Are ya jokin' with me again mate? I can never tell with you white fellas' whether ya jokin' or not."
"No, I'm fair dinkum mate."
"I couldn't hit a fuckin' tree at 10 feet mate, but I'm not bad with a rifle, long as I don't get dust in mi good eye."
"Can ya see out of ya dodgey eye?"
"Not real good. It's pretty blurry mate."
"How come you've got blue eyes?"
"Mi dad was a white fella, I reckon."
"What d'ya mean mate, didn't ya know him."
"No way mate. I guess he snuck on to the Mission and rooted mi mum one night."
"I thought white fellas' weren't allowed on the mission?"
"They're not mate, unless ya git permission. Back in those days they used to sneak on after the pubs closed."
"Ya know Tommy Clark, Popeye?"
"Yeah mate, he's my cousin. He lives close to me. I've been fencing with him a couple a' times but that's a bastard of a job. Too fuckin' hard for me mate. Ya got a smoke mate?"
"Ya remember the deal from the other night when ya were as pissed as a parrot?"
"Sure do mate. A bit of friendly sparring for 2- 7s' and 3 'Rochmans'."
"One 7s' and 2 Rothmans', Popeye."
"Yeah, I know mate. I was just testing ya to see if you'd remembered!"
     Popeye grinned from ear to ear as he said, "No worries mate!"
"Alright Popeye.", I said, as I untied the laces and handed one of the gloves to him. You can have the right hand and I'll use the left."
"What about the laces?"
"Just pull 'em up tight and tuck 'em in."

     Just then, there was a knock on the door. It opened before I had time to ask who it was.
"What are you two pack a' bastards up to?", said War Dog, as he marched into the room.
"Shut the door behind ya War Dog, in case someone sees in."
"G'day mate.", said Popeye, as he sat on the spare bed with a boxing glove on his right hand.
"Did ya' hurt ya' hand Popeye?", said War Dog.
"Ya kiddin' me aren't ya mate? It's a fuckin' boxin' glove."
"Ya ought to put the other one on as well. It'll stop ya drinkin' and floggin' ya maggot Popeye!"

     This little joke of War Dogs' gave Popeye a good laugh as he rolled back on the bed.
"Do you white fellas' flog ya maggot?", said Popeye.
" 'Course we fuckin' do! I bashed the old bishop five times this morning, before I got out a' bed."
"Bullshit!", said Popeye, as he almost had a belly laugh.
"Ya think I'm too fuckin' old mate?" said War Dog.
"I think ya might be.  Five times is a lot."
"You bend over that fuckin' chair Popeye and I'll show ya how fuckin' old I am mate.", said War Dog.

     Popeye  was not at all sure now whether War Dog was jokin' or not, so he said,
"Fuck you ya' bastard!", said Popeye as he stood up in a boxers' stance, with the one boxing glove on.
"He's bullshittin' ya Popeye. Take no notice of him mate."
"I had ya goin' then didn't I Popeye.", said War Dog, with a big grin on his face.
"Fuckin' oath mate, I thought ya were fair dinkum for a minute there."
"Ya' wanna' be the referee for a few minutes War Dog?"
"Might as well mate. I got fuck all else on, except bending mi elbow."

     Popeye and miself stood up and faced each other. War Dog announced the contenders to the imaginary audience.
"Ding, Ding, Ding!", said War Dog.
     I threw the first punch at Popeye that caught him on the side of the face.
"Not too fuckin' hard mate!", said Popeye, as he tried to back peddle in the small room.
"I'm not punchin' hard Popeye. Besides that, I'm at a disadvantage. I've only got the left-hand glove."
"BANG!  Popeye threw a wild right that caught me a glancing blow on the forehead.
"I thought ya' said, no hard hittin' mate. Ya almost knocked mi fuckin' head off.", I said.

     Popeye had a big grin on his face now as he knew he had landed a good blow. With more dancing around, he threw another wild punch that missed completely, which caused him to spin around and fall on the spare bed.  After two, 3-minute rounds, Popeye said,
"That's enough mate! I'm fuckin' rooted from too many 'Rochmans".
"One more round Popeye!", I said.
"No fuckin' way. I've earned mi plonk and smokes!"
"Fuck you two yobos'!", said War Dog. "I'm off for a middy! You two are as crazy as parrot shit!"
"Good idea.", said Popeye. "So who won?"
"I reckon I'd have to call that bout a draw.", I said.
     Popeye grinned from ear to ear as he removed the right-hand glove.
"Where's mi money for the plonk and 'Rochmans', Yorky?"
"Here ya go Popeye.", I said, as I handed him enough for a glass of plonk and two Rothmans.
"Can ya spare 2 more 'Rochmans' mate? Ya can take 'em off the next fight."
"No way mate. If I do that, ya won't show up again."
"Popeye smiled and said, "I was just bullshittin' ya mate. Good on ya.", he said, as he made a hasty exit.

     The deal I had struck with Popeye lasted about two weeks. That doesn't mean we sparred every night 'cause most nights he'd been on the plonk with his mates and he could hardly talk, never mind box. At these times, I'd send him away because he would get angry and abusive. On one of these occasions, he wanted to re-negotiate the deal to a half-gallon of plonk and a full pack of cigarettes.  I think his mates were using him to get some grog for themselves.

     In the bar one night, I happened to tell War Dog about Popeye wanting a better deal and he said,
"I can handle those full-blood Bungs, 'cause there's not many of 'em around and they only bite ya for 20 cents, but once they've got a bit of white fella' in 'em, the price goes up to 50 cents. Good fuckin' job they won't be around forever!"
"What d'ya mean by that War Dog?"
"Assimilation Mate! We'll breed the black bastards out."
"I don't know what ya mean War Dog?"
"Jesus Christ Yorky, don't ya know any fuckin' thing? They don't 'throw back' mate."
"What does that mean?"
"Fuck me Rome, Yorky! Where ya been all ya life? That's what ya git for living too long in that Pommy bastard country of yours!"
"It's your round mate. You git 'em, while I go and 'siphon the python'.
" What?", I said.
" 'Point percy at the porcelain' mate. I'm off for a fuckin' piss. When I git back, I'll educate ya in the ways of the bush."

     Upon his return, War Dog took a large gulp out of the middy glass, lit up a Camel, turned on his bar stool to face me.
"Yorky mate, You're a pretty good bloke for a young fella' but you've got a bit of a handicap, from being a fuckin' pommy.  Now, listen to me mate", he said in an arrogant tone of voice. "Take those coons in Africa, for instance, they throw back if ya breed 'em with white fellas'. They get whiter and whiter over the years till eventually they'll have white fellas' features and white skin. At some point, these 2 whites will breed and out pops a black kid with full-on coon features! That's called 'throw-back'.  The Aussie Abbos' are the only black fellas' that don't throw-back. That means, they get whiter and whiter till there's no more bung left in 'em."
"Why would ya wanna' do that War Dog?"
" 'Cause we're  a racist pack a' bastards and we live in a racist, imperialistic country sport! Not so long back mate, way before your time, when the bungs were still living in the Bush, we rounded the bastards up and stuck 'em on a bloody Mission. Any of the pick-a-ninis that had a splash of white fella' in 'em, we drafted 'em off, scubbed 'em up good, stuck some white fellas' clothes on 'em and trucked 'em off to Sydney to be trained up as servants for those rich bastards' houses around the harbor-side."
"D'ya think that's right War Dog?"
"Right n' wrong got fuck all to do with it mate. I'm just givin' ya' a bit of a history lesson!"
"Are you fair dinkum War Dog or are ya' bullshittin' me?"
"Course I'm fair dinkum. I've got better things to do with mi time than educate you mate. I'm tellin' ya all this 'cause ya' livin' in God' own country now and ya' should know at least a bit a' fuckin' history! Empty ya glass mate, it's my shout."

     War Dog lit up another smoke as Gilltrap pulled a couple more middys.
"At one time, according to our Imperialistic government and sanctioned by that fuckin' pommy bastard Queen of yours, black fellas' were classified as animals. If they were on ya land, ya could shoot the bastards on site!"
"How can that be true War Dog, when really, it's their land."
"Not any fuckin' more mate. It's ours now."
"But if they weren't doing any damage, why shoot 'em?"
"Sheep stealing mate. Ya think they're gonna' eat  goannas and witchity grubs when there's a lump of fuckin' mutton walkin' around on four legs. Would you?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Right mate. You've gotta' wake up to the ways of the Bush. It's not just about faking an Aussie fuckin' accent. If ya hang around those Abbos' too much and if ya' caught talkin' to those young Ginns that hang out on the pavement in front of Traps', you'll be labeled a fuckin' Ginn-jockey and bang goes ya' fuckin' chances of gittin' on to a white sheila."
"How can that be War Dog, 'cause there's a couple of townies that are married to Ginns?"
"Right mate. Let me tell ya what they're in for. Soon as they get the urge to go walkabout, they'll take off when that stupid bastards' not around and leave him with a swag a' kids to look after, on his own for a couple of months. Ya' see those Mission bungs over there, in the corner of the bar mate? That's the only place they're allowed to be served."
"Why's that?", I asked.
"Because there's a relatively new law that says, the bastards are legally allowed in hotel bars now for a drink. Before that, they got served at the back door and drank in the parking lot."
"But why keep 'em in the corner?"
" 'Cause as soon as they're full and run out of money, the black bastards will be swarming around ya, slobbering and spittin' all over the place, tryin' to bite ya for a couple of dollars. All ya gotta do is look at ya' mate Popeye. I don't see ya hangin' around with him when he's full."
"Yeah, but that's because he gets argumentative."
"They're all the fuckin' same, those bungs. They can't hold their grog!"
"Hey War Dog, have ya ever fucked a Ginn?"
"Jesus Yorky mate, ya gittin' a bit personal now aren't ya?"
"Well, have ya'? I'm curious what its like."
"Yeah, I did once mate and it was terrible. She stunk so fuckin' bad, I had to take a shit next to her before I climbed on!"
"Fuckin hell War Dog! That's fuckin' disgusting! Ya' know what mate, you're a racist, fuckin' bastard for doing that!"
"Settle down Yorky mate, don't lose ya fuckin' marbles, ya pommy bastard! I'm bullshittin' ya mate. It's a fuckin' Bush joke!"
"That's not even funny mate!"
     War Dog started to laugh and then took another gulp of his beer.
"Jesus christ Yorky.", he said between laughs. "You should have seen ya' face mate! I got ya' a beaut there. I thought ya were gonna' chuck up ya' beer sport!

     After he stopped laughing, he said,
"I've told ya before Yorky mate, You're too fuckin' naive. I'm helpin' to wise ya up mate, 'cause if ya don't, ya' not gonna' survive Bush life sport. You'll end up in the Big Smoke doing a 9-to-5'er. If that happens you'd might as well be fuckin' dead!
"Don't you worry about me, War Dog. I'll survive. I'm a fuckin' hard worker."
"I'll agree with ya there mate, but a bit of education and gray matter don't go astray."
"It's your shout Yorky mate, then I'm off to bed."
"Fuck me dead.", said War Dog, as Gilltrap put the beers down on the bar. "I'm out a' smokes. Give us a packet of Camels, Gilltap."
"We're out a' Camels sport. What about Lucky Strikes?  I got plenty of those."
"Fuck those things mate, they'll fuckin' kill ya."
"Please ya fuckin' self then.", said Gilltrap, and walked over to another school, to fill up their middys.
"Ya wanna' Drum, War Dog?"
"Not much fuckin' option is there? You'll have to roll it for me."
"Can't ya roll mate?"
"Not any more since I got this bastard, fuckin' Arthritis in mi hands. I'm flat out doin' mi fuckin' work-boots up these days."

     A couple of nights later, I'd just finished a days work, helping a Cocky repair some of his broken-down fences. I'd no sooner taken a shower, got dressed and was relaxing on mi bed, when a knock came on mi door.

"Who is it?", I yelled. No answer came. "Who is it.", I yelled again. Still no answer.  Begrudgingly, I got up. On the other side of the door stood Popeye.
"Can I come in mate?"
"Ya look half-full to me Popeye. I told ya not to come here unless ya sober."
"No mate, no. I'm alright. I've only had a couple of beers."
     I decided to let him come in, in case Gilltraps missus saw him loitering around the guests rooms. Once inside, he bit me for a 'Rochmans' and a light.
"Ya wanna do some sparrin' mate?", he said as he puffed away on the smoke, like he hadn't had one for a week.
"Nah mate, ya not sober. You'll be too slow to move."
"Bullshit Yorky mate, I'm more sober than I've been all day."
"Be that as it may Popeye. that doesn't mean ya sober."
"Come on mate, let's do a couple of rounds. I need the plonk and a couple a' smokes."
     I tried to discourage him by saying,
"We don't have a referee."
"Get Freddy. I just saw him walkin' into his room."
"Alright Popeye, but don't complain if I catch ya with a couple of good ones."

     After talking to Freddy for a few minutes, I convinced him to be the referee for a couple of rounds. Back in my room, Popeye was sat on the bed where I'd left him, only now, he had the right-hand glove on.
"Come on mate, I'm ready and raring to go!"
"He's half cut!", said Freddy, soon as he saw Popeye.
"Fuck you Freddy, I'm fit as a buck rat!"
"Alright Popeye, don't say ya weren't warned.", I said.

     Once I had the left-hand glove on and the laces were pulled up tight, I said to Freddy,
"Here mate, use the second-hand on mi alarm clock. It's easy to see. Let's just do two 2-minute rounds. He doesn't look like he'll do three minutes."
"Don't ya worry about me Yorky mate. I'm good to go! Don't forget to announce me to the crowd.", said Popeye as he got up off the bed.
"What the fuck is he talkin' about?", asked Freddy.
"Last time we sparred, War Dog was the ref and he played his part to the hilt by announcing the contenders. Just play along mate. We'll call him 'Popeye the Punisher'."
"Yeh, I like that!", said Popeye. "You can be 'Yorky, the Pommy Bastard!"
"Hey, dont' git fuckin' cheeky Popeye, just 'cause  ya got a couple of beers in ya."
"Ring the bell Freddy. I'm good to go mate.", said Popeye.

     The first straight left of the fight caught Popeye on the cheek just under his good eye.
"Hang on a minute mate, mi eye's watering. I can't see straight."
     After a few seconds, Freddy said, "Fight on!"  The next left hook sent Popeye backwards onto the spare bed. It wasn't the punch that caused it. The back of Popeye's thong had caught on the rug and down he went. By now, Popeye was on his feet again. He threw a well-aimed right that caught me fair and square on the side of mi face. As I rocked backwards, I hit the dressing table and a few odds and ends went flying to the floor.
"Oh! A massive right thrown by Popeye the Punisher just sent Yorky, the Pommy Bastard bouncing into the ropes!", said Freddy.
     Popeye was now as happy as a pig in shit as he danced around with his arms up in the air, shouting "Yeh, Yeh, Popeye the Punisher!"
"Hey Popeye, I thought you said we'd be goin' easy on each other?", I said.
"I am goin' easy on ya mate.", said Popeye, who was now grinning like a black Cheshire cat.
"Alright Popeye, you've set the tone mate. Now it's my turn!:"
"You've gotta' hit me first!", said Popeye, still grinning from ear to ear.
    As the last word left his mouth, I let go with a fairly hard left hook which caught Popeye fair on the chin. Down he went like a sack a' shit, hit the edge of the bed and slithered onto the carpet.
"Oh! Oh!", said Freddy. "What a punch! I think Popeye the Punisher is fucked!"
     Freddy started to count, 1-2-3-4, Popeye struggled to his feet as Freddy said, "I think he's gonna' make the count. He's a tough black fella' this Popeye the Punisher!"

     Popeye was not very happy now as he regained his feet.
"Yah alright Popeye?", I asked.
"Fuck you, ya bastard! You said 'no hard hittin'."
"Fuckin' hell Popeye, Ya didn't mind it when ya knocked me backwards!"
"That was a lucky, fuckin' punch Yorky. You hit me on purpose!"
"Well, we are fuckin' sparring Popeye. What d'ya expect?"
"Fuck You Yorky. I'm sick a' this fuckin' game. I'm not playin' anymore."
     Popeye ripped off his glove and thew it on the bed in disgust.
"I want mi money and 2 'Rochmans'."
"No worries Popeye, but I did warn ya that you weren't sober."
     I handed him the money for the plonk and his two 'Rochmans'.
"I thought the loser didn't get any prize money?", said Freddy.
"Fuck you too, ya white bastard.", said Popeye as he headed for the door. "You're a useless fuckin' referee anyway!

   




















   

POPEYE THE PROCURER Part 2 ©

     After leaving Shamens store one afternoon, I was accosted by Popeye who had been sitting on the bench with a couple of his mates.
"Yorky mate!", he said as he walked up to me. "Yah got a smoke mate?"
"No mate, I left mi tobacco in the room."
"No worries mate, I'll walk up to Gilltraps with you. I haven't had a smoke all day."
     I found it hard to refuse Popeye a smoke as I wouldn't like to be without one miself.
     Once I got to Traps, I said to Popeye,
"Wait here, on the pavement, outside mi window. I'll pass one out for ya."
"No worries boss. Hurry up will ya!"
"Jesus Popeye, I don't mind givin' ya a smoke but steady on with the demands mate!"
"Yeah, right. Don't be long will ya'."

     Popeye was a very simple man who was not hard to read. He probably thought that once in mi room, I'd close the curtains and forget about him. Sitting on mi bed, I rolled a couple of smokes. Before I had a chance to pass one out the window, there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?",  I yelled. No answer.
     Opening the door, my suspicion was confirmed. There stood Popeye with a painful grin on his face.
"I thought ya forgot about me mate."
"Are you fucking kidding? You won't let me forget about ya!"
"Ya got that smoke boss?"
"Come in for fucks sake before Cath Gilltrap sees ya or you'll get me in the shit. By the way Popeye, I'm not ya fuckin' Boss!
"Yeah, I know mate. Ya got the smoke?"
     Soon as I handed him him the rolly, he said,
"Where's the 'Rochmans'?"
"I don't have any Rothmans. I don't smoke tailor-mades. If ya don't like it, give it back. I'll smoke it."
"I suppose it'll do.", he said . "Ya got a light?"
"Jesus Popeye, Is there anything else I can git ya while I'm at it?"
"How about 50 cents mate?"

     Just then, I heard mi mothers voice come out of me and say to Popeye,
"You think money grows on trees? I'm not bloody Rothchilds, ya know."
"Who's Rothchild?", said Popeye. "Is he a 'lation of 'Rochmans?"
"No mate, he's a multi-millionaire?"
"Oh, another white fella' eh?"

     I must admit, this little interchange with Popeye made me laugh.
"What's funny mate? I wish I was a millionaire."
"And what would you do if ya had a million bucks Popeye?"
"I'd buy Gilltraps and fill it up with Plonk and 'Rochmans. Then I'd kick out all the white fellas and fill it up with black fellas'.
"So, you wouldn't let me in for a beer mate?"
"Yeah, you can come in for a beer mate but I wouldn't let War Dog in."
"Why not mate? Don't ya like War Dog?"
"No!"
"How come?"
"He's a cranky bastard when he's got too many beers in him."
"So why would ya let me in Popeye? I'm a white fella."
"Yeah, but you're a pommy, that's different. And you're mi mate!"

     I felt a small lump growing in mi throat as Popeye revealed his true feeling to me, so I immediately changed the conversation. At some point, there was a tapping on the window. I got up, opened the window and pulled the lace curtains back. Standing outside on the pavement were two young, half-cast Abbo girls. There were the same 2 girls who I'd spoken to, many times before,
"What d'ya want?", I asked, as they looked around nervously.
"Ya got a smoke mate?", asked the prettier one of the two.
"What's in it for me?", I asked.
"Nothin' mate.", said her friend. "We just want a smoke. You're Popeyes' mate arent' ya?
     Before I could answer, Popeye, who had heard his name being used, pushed me to the side and stuck his head out the window,
"What do you two want?, he said.
"What are you doing in Gilltraps rooms?",  said one of the girls. "If Gilltrap catches ya, he'll call the cops on ya mate."
"I'm a guest.", said Popeye, with an air of authority.
"Give us a smoke mate."
"I haven't got any smokes.", said Popeye.
"What about plonk? Ya got any plonk?"
"I haven't got any plonk either."
"What about that white fella? I'll bet he's got smokes and plonk."
"He hasn't got any. You better go before the Sargeant sees ya hangin' around outside here."
"Fuck you Popeye.", said the not so pretty one. "Let's go mate.", she said to her friend and took off down the street.

"Pull ya head in before ya git me in the shit mate." I said.
"How do those two young Ginns know ya live here mate?", asked Popeye.
"I've had a bit a' fun with 'em before and now they keep coming back."
"Yeah, you'll never get rid of 'em, now they know you're a millionaire mate."
"Do you know 'em Popeye?"
"Yeah, they're mi second cousins. They live out at the Mission."
"Ya think there's any chance of me gettin' a root off the pretty one?"
"I don't know mate but the fat, ugly one roots."
"Fuck that for a joke Popeye. I'm not that desperate mate."
"I can ask her for ya, next time I see her."
"Ya wanna' go and ask her now mate?"
"50 cents and I'll go now."
"25 cents and ya got a deal Popeye."
"No mate, 50 cents or no deal."
"Alright, 50 cents and I'll give it when ya get back and don't take all day!"
     15 minutes later, Popeye was knocking on mi door again.
"Come in mate. Shut the door. How'd ya go?"
"Where's mi 50 cents?"
     Once Popeye had the money in his hand, he said,
"The best one said she doesn't go out with white fellas' and the fat ugly one said she'd give ya a root for a half-flagon and a packet of 'Rochmans'."
"Fuck that for a joke mate, I'm not that hard up."
"Yeah.", said Popeye. "She's not the best lookin' Ginn on the Mission but a roots' a root mate."

     Popeye had a bit of a giggle at his little joke and proceeded to bite me for another smoke.
"Fuckin' hell Popeye, I just gave ya 50 cents. Why don't ya go and buy a pack?"
"Can't do that mate. The 50 cents is for a drink and it's easier to bite you white fellas for a smoke than the money for a drink."

     After another giggle from Popeye, I said to him,
"Ya seem a bit happier today mate."
"I am mate."
"How come?"
"Mi missus is in the lock-up for 24 hours."
"What happened?"
"She got full mate and tried to get a drink at Twitcheys' place and he refused to serve her."
"Why, because she was full?"
"No mate, Twitchey won't serve Black Fellas', so he told her to fuck off and get the fuck out of his hotel."
"What happened then?"
"She told him to git fucked and called him a white, mongrel-bred bastard and refused to leave so
Twitchey called the Sarg and he drove down to the hotel and dragged her out and then threw her in the back of the Bull Wagon."
"Yah think she's all right mate?"
"Yeah, she's been in the lock-up more times than me!"
"Aren't ya worried about her?"
"Not likely. If she wasn't locked up and she knew I had 50 cents, she'd have taken it off me by now."
"Why d'ya let her do that Popeye?"
"I told ya before mate, she's bigger than me. She waits till I'm full a' plonk and then she knocks me arse over head!"
"Jesus, what a fuckin' life Popeye!"
"Oh well, it's not too bad mate. Anyway, there's not much I can do to change it 'cause I'm a black fella."
     Popeye got up off the bed and headed for the door.
"Where ya off to now mate?", I asked.
"The bar for a couple of plonks!"

BURT BOOTH ~ CATS IN THE GRAIN SHED ~ Part 8 ~ CHAPTER 3 ©

     Tuesday morning, as I was sitting outside mi shack, Burt came walking across the yard from the direction of the grain shed. He was carrying an old wheat bag that was tied at the top with a bit of bailing twine.
"Hey Burt.", I called out. "What ya got in the bag mate?"
"Kittens.", he said, as he put the bag in the back of the Ute. "Grab ya' bloody gear mate and hurry up. We've still got a shit load of stumps to stack up in that boundary paddock."
     I grabbed mi smokes and mi hat and headed for the Ute.
"Go fetch that chain from the machinery shed. We're gonna' need it today. "
     Soon as we were loaded, we took off out into the Mali, for another days' hard work. After a short while, I said to Burt,
"Why d'ya bring a bag of kittens with us?"
"Git rid of the bastards. I've got more bloody cats in the grain shed than fuckin' rats!"

     A lot of cockeys, in those days, would keep a couple of feral cats around their grain sheds to keep the rat and mice population down.  Rodents can make a hell of a mess once they start gnawing on the seed-wheat bags. You can only imagine what happens when the cocky goes to load 'em up on a flat bed; wasted wheat all over the place. Some cockys even kept a carpet snake in the shed. They were  not as efficient as cats but they did the job!

     As we drove along, I wondered how the kittens would be able hunt for themselves once Burt dropped them off in the malley. When we arrived at the malley paddock, Burt stirred up one of the bigger fires that was still going, from the day before.
"Go and git me that bag of kittens, cobber.", said Burt as he put the finishing touches to the now, glowing embers.

     I still hadn't realized what Burts intentions were as I put the wheat bag on the ground. He untied the bailing twine from around the sack, grabbed the bottom corners and tipped out the kittens. I was really surprised at seeing them as I expected them to be bigger. There were six of 'em, wriggling around on the ground making a soft meowing sound. I'd grown up on a farm. I'd seen lots of baby kittens. These ones looked about 3 days old, as their eyes had not opened yet.
"What ya gonna' do with 'em Burt?"
"Git rid of the bastards! What d'ya think."

     Old Burt walked around the outside of the fire and then bent down and picked up a short, sturdy-looking stick. He picked up one of the kittens by the tail and gave it a 'wallop' on the head with the stick. Then he threw it into the fire on top of the hot coals.
"It's still alive Burt!" I said, as the kittens' legs moved around a bit.
"Bullshit! That's only it's fuckin' nervous twitching."
     Bending over, he picked up another kitten and did the same thing again. In no time, all 6 kittens were on the hot coals, sizzling away. I was now in shock!
I said to Burt, "How could you do that mate? They were only babies!"
"Bloody nuisances! Too many of 'em."
"Ya know what Burt, I think you're a cruel bloke!"
"Don't be so bloody sentimental mate or I'll bash you on the fuckin' head and chuck ya' on the fire, ya' good-for-nothin' pommy bastard! What are ya' standing there staring at mate? Git ya fuckin' arse into gear. We've got a lot a' work to do today!"





   

THE SHOWGROUND ~ CHAPTER 7 ~ Part 10 ~ ON TO THE FINISH LINE ©

     At long last, the Melbourne show came to an end. We packed everything into a large truck. Our next stop was to be Davenport in Tasmania. My ride across on the ferry was included in the price of the trucks' ticket, otherwise I might not have been able to go. Money was tight now 'cause I was only making eight bucks a week, which was less than I'd made at old Burts' place.


     I had only been in Australia for 14 months now.  I'd travelled over so much country that it felt more like a lifetime.  By this time, I was really sick of the Showground but I couldn't get off yet because Lake Cargelligo was hundreds of miles away in West New South Wales. I only had five dollars to mi name and even if I could have hitched a ride, five dollars would not have gone very far before it ran out. I planned to leave the grounds one we headed back up North, whenever that might have been.

     The tent was set up on the Davenport Showground the day before the show was about to start. I'd bought miself a cheap stock whip and Kid had taught me how to crack it. He also showed me how to make a cotton cracker which got tied on the end of the long leather thong.
     That afternoon, I was stood outside the tent with another showie bloke. The showie had very kindly consented to hold a roll of paper for me so I didn't have to jam it into a crack in one of the outside tent poles. I was pretty good with the stock whip by now and the showie was quite impressed as the stock whip cracked with a loud band and a piece of the paper would be taken off the roll he was holding.

     Just then, a Tazzie cop came walking by. He stood for a few minutes watching while I cracked the paper smaller and smaller.
"That's pretty clever mate.", he said to me.
"Not really.", I said. "It's just a matter of practice. Ya wanna' have a go?"
"Not me mate. How long ya been practicing with it"
"Only a week or so.", I said as I lit up a fag.
"Ya think ya could knock a fag out of ya mates' mouth with that stock whip?"
"I've never tried?"
"No, and ya ain't gonna' try it on me either.", the showie said.
"Come on. Be a good sport and stick a fag in ya mouth and hold it for him.", the cop said. "I tell ya what I'll do with ya. I'll give ya a couple of bucks if ya hold it out and ya mate can crack it out. How's that sound?"
"Two bucks each and you're on!", I said.
"Now just a bloody minute!", said the showie.
"Come on mate.", I said. "You're just as fuckin' broke as I am. We can make two bucks each out of this."
"What about if ya miss and ya cut the end of mi nose off?"
"Don't worry mate. I won't miss, I promise ya. I can't afford to miss anyway 'cause I'm almost flat broke don't forget."
"Have we got a deal or not?", said the cop.
"If I miss do we have to pay you four bucks?"
"No, I guess not. Now hurry up before I change mi mind."
"Alright.", said the Showie as he lit up a Lucky Strike fag.
     As I paced out the right distance I said to the showie, "Now, you hold still mate and don't puff on the fag 'cause it will get too small."
"I'm gonna take three practice shots just to get the distance right. Then on the fourth shot, I'll crack it clean out of his gob!", I said to the cop.
     This made the cop laugh. Then I said to him, "Better git ya money out mate. It'll help me concentrate."
"Alright mate.", he said with a grin as he produced 2 two dollar bills from his pocket.
"Here we go!", I said. "Hold that fag still mate, it's shaking all over the place. Lean forwards a bit so I can get a real good crack at it!"
"If you fucking miss Yorky, I'll..........."
     CRACK!
     The sound of the stock whip cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"Keep still!", I said.
     CRACK! The stock whip echoed through the afternoon air.
     CRACK! The cop was really enjoying himself now, as the stock whip flashed and snapped with a large crack in front of the showies face.
"Yowww! A fuckin' spark burnt mi lip!"
     He spat the small piece of the cigarette out onto the grass as the big cop doubled over in two, laughing. When he straightened himself up, he said,
"What a fuckin' beauty mate. That's the best bit of fun I've had for years. You're pretty good with that stock whip, Cobber, I got to hand it to ya. Here's ya four dollars. It was worth every cent of it.", he said as he walked away, still laughing.
"You alright mate?", I said to the showie.
"Yeah Yorky, it was only a small spark that hit mi lip when ya cracked the fag in half."
"Is it sore?"
"Just a bit."
"Here, rub this two buck note on it, That'll make it feel better mate."
"Well, fuck me dead Yorky. That was the easiest two bucks I've ever made."
"Me too.", I said.

THE SHOWGROUND ~ CHAPTER 7 ~ PART 9 ~ UH-OH A COPPER::SMOTHER LOVE ©

     It was my habit to walk around the Showground, in my downtime, and see as many free shows as possible. I went in to see a show with The African Pygmies.

"Showie mate.", I said to the ticket man.

"Whose show, sport?"

"Chad Morgan."

"Go straight in mate."

     Inside the tent was a roped-off area. In the center of the roped-off area was a thatched straw hut. Sitting outside the hut were four small pygmies. All of them had a tightly curled, negroid beard. Each one of them had a bone shoved through the septum of his nose. One of them had a large pair of brass earrings. The others had a large hole in their lobes where the thick rings had once hung.
     As soon as anyone entered the tent, they would make a war-like cry as they charged towards the boundary ropes, carrying their shields of bark and pointing their sharp spears. After this, they would speak to each other in their own language. Then, one of them pointed to someone, usually a young woman, then they'd all look at the large cooking pot which stood over a charcoal fire.  After this, they'd all go back inside the straw hut and the sprooker would say,

"The show's over. The pygmies are going to sleep for a while."

"That show stinks!", I heard someone say as they left the tent.

     I went off into one more show, before I went back to work. It was the Maori Troubadours. The band consisted of six Maoris. They stood an a stage, with a backdrop of a Maori village painted on a huge canvas. They took turns at singing their local songs in their own language. I only had enough time to listen to one song but I planned to come back later, as they were really good.

     As I was sauntering around at a steady pace, checking out the poster boards, a big Melbourne City Copper stopped me.
"G'day.", he said.
"G'day.", I said, in a friendly sort of way.
     I was not expecting anymore than a greeting, when he said to me,
"Your name Richard Swindells, mate?"
     I almost fell over with shock when he asked me that question.
"What if it is?", I said, not knowing how the hell he knew my name, 'cause all anyone knew me by, on the showgrounds, was Yorky.
"Show us ya arms.", he said.
"What for? I've done nothin' illegal."
"I wanna' make a positive ID, 'cause we've got a wanted poster for you, back at our local station."
"You must be mistaken.", I said, with a bit of fear now creeping into mi voice."
"Just be a good lad and show me ya arms."
"All right, but that's all!"
     When he saw the tattoos on mi arms, he said, "Where did 'ya git those from?"
"Rex Stokers in Bradford, England. Why?"
"Just making sure I've got the right man."
"The right man for 'what'? I've done nothin' wrong."
     Now I was getting really scared, as he questioned me.
"We've got a missing child report out on you. It's been circulated all over Australia."
"You must be joking? Who would file a missing report on me?"
     He put his hand in the top pocket of his uniform and pulled out a small, back notebook, and started to thumb through the pages.
     I stood there, in front of him, waiting in anticipation.
"Ah! Here we are. A Mrs. I. Bailey from England has filed a lost child report on you."
"Oh shit! That's mi mother."
"How long since you wrote home son?"
"Probably about six weeks."
"Well according to my information, it says here that you've not been seen or heard from for three months."
"That's not true. She's a panic merchant. If I don't write every week she thinks I've been killed or something."
"Where d'ya live in Australia?"
"At Lake Cargelligo, New South Wales."
"How long ya staying at the show?"
"Oh, probably till the end of it.", I said.
"Alright, tell ya what I'm gonna' do. By rights, I should take you back to the station to fill out a report but seeing as ya look healthy enough to me, I'll do it later miself. Now, listen to me young fella'. We don't have time to go looking for every Tom, Dick or Harry that gets reported missing. We've got better things to do with our time, like chasing down hardcore criminals. Now! I want ya to promise me you'll write home to ya old mother, 'cause it's obvious to me she's worried about ya. Is that a deal?"
"Yes.", I said.
     I'd have said 'yes' to anything at that point.
"Make sure ya do and don't get into any trouble. You're pretty young to be looking after yourself.  I've got a young bloke, same age as you but I'm damn sure I wouldn't be letting him work on no showgrounds. Now, Take good care of yourself and if I was you, I'd head straight back to Lake Cargelligo after the shows are over. Alright?"
"Alright.", I said and walked off into the crowd. 'What an embarrassment!', I thought, as I got lost in the sea of bodies that were milling around the showground. 'Just wait till I write another letter to Iris, I'll soon put a stop to her shenanigans!'

THE SHOWGROUND ~ CHAPTER 7 ~ PART 7~ THE CHAD MORGAN SHOW AND MORE ©

     As I walked around the showground, I saw a large, colorful banner which read

                                   THE CHAD MORGAN COUNTRY SHOW

     'This looks interesting', I thought as I read the blurb and looked at the posters. A few minutes later, as I was still stood there looking, the curtain parted and a bloke in a white cowboy had and long gray hair came through. He wore buckskin trousers, a fringed buckskin jacket, check shirt, cowboy boots and two fair-dinkum Colt pistols sat in their holsters, on his hips.

"G'day.", he said, as he lit up a smoke.
"G'day.", I said back.
"Ya lookin' for work mate?"
"Yeah, I'm just makin' the rounds."
"I can give ya a job here if ya want."
"What doin'?"
"Collecting tickets at the door mate."
"That's all?"
"That's it mate. Piece-a-piss eh? Money for old rope!"
"How much money?"
"Twelve buck a week and feed ya self. Ya can sleep in the tent."
"Alright, that sounds like a good clean job."
"Won't git any better mate. Six shows a day and you're free between shows. Not like other sweat pits where ya doing 16 hours a day for peanuts."
"Alright, I'll take it."
"Kid Young's my name.", he said as he offered his hand.
"Yorky's mine.", I said as I shook it. You the boss Kid?"
"Wish I fuckin' was.", he said with a smile. "I wouldn't be working these bloody showgrounds at my age!"
"That you, on the poster up there?"
"Was 15 years ago. They used my arm and wrist in the serial called Whiplash. Ya ever heard of it?"
"Yeah, I've seen a couple of the shows."
"I was the stuntman and the whip cracker. They used me because the pufta star of the show couldn't even crack a fart, never mind a stock whip."
"Are ya good with a stock whip?", I asked.
"Does a dog have fleas? Been crackin' stock whips since I was a kid on mi old mans' property. 'Course he lost everything in the depression so I had to find a way of makin' a living. The old stock whip came in real handy. Kept me alive all these years, so far. Where's ya swag?"
"Up at Jimmy Sharmans' tent. I'll just go up and git it."
"Ya been traveling with Sharmans' have ya?
"Yeah, for a few weeks."
"Fuck that for a joke. There's easier ways of makin' money than that. Alright, grab ya gear and store it under under the back of the stage. It'll be a safe a place as any and ya can git it out anytime ya like."
"Be back in a minute.", I said and took off back to Sharmans' tent to pick up mi case and trumpet.

"Where ya going Yorky?, said Sal as I grabbed mi gear.
"Just down the road Sal. I got a job workin' at the Chad Morgan show.
"Good on ya mate. Good ya not too far away from the family."
"See ya every day. Don't forget to come down and see the show. I'll be collecting tickets at the entrance."
"Alright mate. I'll do that."
     Just as I was leaving, Sal said to me, "This is mi last show, Yorky!"
"What d'ya mean?"
"Sick of it all mate. It's a mugs game.  I'm off back to see  mi family in Brewarrina."
"Good on you Sal! I'm a bit sick of it miself but I haven't got enough money to get back to Lake yet and it's too far to hitch-hike."

     When I got back to the Chad Morgan tent, I walked in and saw the stage. The tent was a huge one. It was big enough to pack in at least 300 people. The stage was all carpeted and there were 4 microphones and stands lined up across the front.
     I walked round back, there was a bloke packing some gear into a large crate. When he saw me he said,
"Gooday, You must be the young bloke that Kid hired are ya?"
"Yeah.", I said. Mi names Yorky."
"Snooky.", he said, as we shook hands.
"What's yer job Snooky?"
"Manager mate. I've been working the show for 10 years now. I do all the organizing and packing when we're on the road."
"Where should I put mi gear?"
"Stick it under there, anywhere ya like mate. It won't be in mi way."

     Snooky, I found out later was one of Australia's' Boxing Champions in his younger days. He'd boxed in all the championship weights but had to give it up 'cause he got hurt real bad in his last fight. He was about 50 years old and still had a good mop of greased-down hair. He sported large cauliflower ears and a nose that must have been broken in at least a couple of places.
     He was called 'Snooky' on account of his always 'snookin' his broken nose. It kept getting blocked on him, he told me, when I asked why they called him 'Snooky.' Although he was out of shape now, it wasn't difficult to see that he'd once been a big, powerful man. Nobody tried to take the piss out of old Snooky as he wasn't against throwing a good left hook when he felt it warranted it.

"Ya ready to go?", said Kid Young as he came through the curtain.
"Just about.", said Snooky. "I just wanna' check those stage lights to make sure they're all workin'"
"Give us a shout when ya ready Snooky and we'll get this show on the road!
"Pop out the front Yorky and watch the lights for me when I hit the main switches.", said Snooky.

     Once Snooky was satisfied everything was in order, he said to me
"Tell that old cowboy we're ready to roll mate."
"Any time you're ready Kid.", I said.
     He was adjusting the level of his six guns as he stood at the bottom of the stairs that led up onto the platform.
"Are ya six-guns real?", I asked him.
"What do they fuckin' look like to you?"
"Oh, I didn't mean they looked phony, what I meant was, do they fire?"
"Nah. The only way I can wear 'em in the street is if the barrels have been plugged up with weld. The cops would have mi arse in jail real quick if not. Those bastards are always on the lookout  for a reason to grab me."
"Ready to go Kid?", said a fairly attractive blonde.
"Anytime you're ready Sue."
"Who's that Kid?", I asked.
"That's Joe Gilmores' old lady. He's  'Don de Laos', world famous juggler."
"Is he world famous?"
"I don't know about that but he's a pretty good juggler, I'll say that for him."
     Kid was now ready to go. He walked up the steps onto the platform and started to 'sprook'.
"Where ya from?", said Sue as I stood near the ticket box.
"Lake Cargelligo."
"Ya been on the grounds long?"
"Couple of months. And you?"
"Ten years. I've been married to Joe for three years now."
"Where did ya work before ya got married?"
"Fred Duffys' show. Ya heard of him?"
"Yeah, I worked for him a couple of weeks."
"Everybody's heard of Fred Duffy."
"Did you dance?"
"I did, till I married Joe. After  that he wouldn't let me dance anymore. He hates old Duffys' guts!"
"He's not a real likable character.", I said.
"He's not bad, old Duffy, once ya git to know him but that can take years 'cause he's very seldom sober.", said Sue.

"Pass me that stock whip Yorky.", said Kid, who was now starting to attract a small  crowd.
     I passed him the whip and he walked back to the center of the wide platform. The stock whip was still coiled in his left hand. The curtain opened and out came a pleasant-looking young girl dressed in Indian garb. She even wore a full-feathered head-dress with a long, feathered tail.
     I asked Sue, "Who's that?"
"That's Snookys' daughter."
"Not bad-lookin'.", I said.
"What's yer name, anyway?"
"Yorky. Yours is Sue, isn't it?"
"Yeah, that's right. We should get to know each other quite well before the show's over Yorky, 'cause we'll be here in the same spot for 10 days!"
"That'll make a chance from traveling.", I said.
"Yeah, that's right. What a luxury, ten days in the same town."
   
     Kid Young was now introducing Minnie HaHa to the crowd. Then he said,
"This is what we're gonna' do now. I want a young boy or girl from the crowd to come up here and help me. All ya have to do is hold a sixpence for me. First with their hand up can come up on stage."
"There's one.", said Minnie HaHa, who was pointing to a small girl.
"Come up here Love and hold this sixpence for me."
     Once the child was helped up the steps, Kid came over and asked her name.
"Linda.", she said.
"Alright, this is my new assistant."
     He whispered some instructions into the girls' ear. Then he said to the crowd which was getting bigger by the minute,
"Alright, we're ready to go! This is what we'll do. I'm gonna' take this sixpence and put it on Lindas'  tongue. Then I'm going to attempt to cut it off her tongue with this stock whip!"
     Kid let the stock whip unravel, so the crowd could see it. He put the sixpence on the girls' tongue. The small girl was stood there with her head back and her tongue stuck out as far as it would go.
"Now, don't you move 'cause now comes the hard part. I am going to attempt to cut the tongue, oops, I mean the sixpence off of her tongue with one mighty crack of mi stock whip."
     He got the crowd to join in by saying,
"I'm gonna count to 3 but I'm not a good counter so you'll have to help me."

     ONE...TWO...and before he got to 'Three', the young girl spit the coin out into the crowd and started laughing. This corny trick suckered all the mums and dads into the tent, plus their winging kids, at half-price. Then he ran through the list and credentials of all the stars appearing with the Chad Morgan Show.

     Once the tent was packed, the show started. First to take the stage was a brother and sister called Ricky and Tammy. Their act consisted of 3 or 4 songs that they had written themselves. Most of the lyrics were about love. Ricky was 19 and Tammy was 25. He had straight blonde hair which came down to the bottom of his ears. He looked quite ordinary and wore a two-piece suit. He also played the guitar. His sister was much better looking than him. She also had blonde hair which hung well below her shoulders. She had about 10 different country outfits in her wardrobe.

     One one occasion Ricky was standing at the entrance to the tent where I was making sure no one tried to sneak in. He was a Ukrainian by birth but he was raised in Australia. He used to enjoy takin' the piss out of me, calling me a 'Pommy Bastard'. On this particular  day, I was in no mood for his 'I'm a Star!' bullshit, so I called him, 'nothing but a fancy dago'. He didn't appreciate this comment so he punched me on the top of  mi arm and then turned to go.
     Now I was really cranky. I knew if I jabbed in the face I would have got fired. Instead, I grabbed him from behind and gave him a big bear-hug. He started to moan as I applied pressure. His arms happened to be straight down by his side when I grabbed him so he was completely powerless.
"When ya promise to stop acting like a retarded schoolboy, I'll stop squeezing!"
"Alright, alright.", he said. "I promise."
     When I let him go, he was really upset, not too mention his face was bright red and I heard some of his chest bones crunch. He straightened his fancy suit and said to me,
"I'm gonna' git you, ya smart bastard! I'll git ya fired for that mate, just you see!"
"Hey Ricky, You're the one who's a smart bastard. I don't need to talk to you. In my books, you're no better or worse than the next man but I will tell ya' this much, if ya git me fired from this job, I'll make sure ya won't be able to walk ya 'pretty boy' image on that stage for at least a couple of weeks!"
"Are you threatening me?", said Ricky.
"No sport, I'm givin' ya an honest warning!"
"What d'ya think you're gonna' do?"
"Never you mind cobber.", I said. "Ya won't look too good playing the guitar on stage if ya sister has to stare lovingly into a big black eye!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Fuckin' try me. That's ya last warning, now fuck off and leave me alone. I'm busy!"

     Late one evening, after the show had closed down, I happened to be walking past Ricky and Tammys' caravan when I noticed the van was bobbing up and down on its springs. They were the only ones that were allowed to use the van. It made me wonder what the hell was going between them. I never mentioned it to anyone but it was good ammo for me if he ever decided to start up a war again!"

     Next up on stage was Kid Young, who by now had finished sprooking. As he walked on stage to his theme music, which was 'Ghost Riders in the Sky, he would start to crack his stock whip. After he had done a few fancy cracks, he'd pick up another one and crack one in each hand. A few minutes of that and the music would go soft and he'd call another volunteer from the audience. This time he'd call for a girl about 16 to 20. Once he had conned in another sucker, he'd have her hold a thin, rolled-up piece of paper, then he started cracking his whip. At each crack, he'd slice a piece off the paper until there was only a small amount left. Usually the volunteer would drop the small, remaining piece of paper and this would give the crowd a laugh.
     He'd call for another volunteer, this time he'd get a small boy. Once the boy was in position, facing the crowd, he do the sixpence act, only this time he'd knock the sixpence off the boys' tongue. His stock whips would make a really loud 'Crack'. All of this created some good entertainment so that the crowd would have gotten their moneys' worth. Once Kid had finished his act, he would introduce the following one. Then he would go back outside on the platform again and sprook up another crowd.

     Minnie HaHas' act followed Kid Young. She would come out doing her Indian Maid act to the music of 'Apache'. Sometimes she'd dance to a record and at other times she danced to Tony Woorsleys' backing band, known as The Blue Jays.  Minnie HaHas' dance lasted about 4 minutes. It was really tame and family oriented to Fred Duffys' girls. Sometimes during the late night show when the crowds were a bit drunk, someone would shout out "Git ya gear off darlin'. Snookys' daughter was a real nice girl, so these sort of comments would make her blush and on many occasions, she would walk off stage or cut short the act.

     Johnny Devlin was next up. Normally he didn't travel with the show. He was only booked to make guest appearances at the Melbourne show.  He was a tall, somewhat handsome  rock and roll singer who dressed in a maroon suit with a black collar. He sang songs like, 'Hound Dog'  and other Presley songs that were popular in those days.
     Once he asked me if I'd keep his caravan clean for him as he used to host a lot of boozing parties in it, after each show. He promised me 10 bucks, which he said he'd pay as soon as the last show was over. He turned out be be a liar 'cause as soon as the show was over, he shot through without paying me.

     Many year later, as I was traveling up the Gold Coast of Queensland, I saw his name in neon lights above a Variety Club. As I stood there, I considered going in and asking for mi ten bucks, plus interest. By this time he had become an old 'has been'. Just knowing that was well worth the ten bucks he owed me.
   
     Kevin Sheegog was next up, on stage. He also was an old 'has been' country singer. He was short, with a permanent five O'clock shadow. His hair was quite thin and his ragged, lined face gave away his chronic drinking habit. He'd sing and play songs like, 'Wolverton Mountain' and 'Jambalaya'. His voice was a deep baritone sound but the life force and resonance had long left it.

     Don deLaos was tall and italian-looking. He was born in Australia to Dago parents. 'Don the Louse' had an athletes build. He wore a tight, white, one-piece jumpsuit that had rhinestones and sparkles all over it. First, he'd balance on a round, painted log with a flat, oblong plank on top. He'd clown around, as he stood on the plank, making it go from side to side, pretending he'd almost fallen off. Once this part of act was over, he would stack four tables, one on top of each other and then perform his balancing act on top of the tables. Taking two large rings, he'd then climb through both of them, while balancing on the roller log. Don the Louse was a life-long 'showie'. He told me he'd learned everything from his Dad, who was also in the business his whole life. The final and best part of Dons' act was when he'd ride a unicycle along a slack-wire.
     I tried walking on the slack-wire many times but never succeeded in taking more than one step. Don said that this act had to be learned as a child as it took so much balance.

     Although he was not much liked by any of the 'showies', he was pretty friendly towards me. I asked him to teach me to juggle. With his help, and a lot of practice, I became quite good at it. At one time, I could juggle four balls in what's known in the biz as 'The Shower'. At the night shows, the lights would be turned down and he would juggle four flaming sticks. I must admit, it was an impressive sight to see the fiery sticks spinning in the darkness.

     The Blue Jays played a lot of the background music for the acts.  Their lead singer, Tony Woorsley, would finally take the stage. He was a decent bloke but not a great singer, although he was very well-known in the Club scene. He also appeared on TV pop music programs of that era.

      The management had booked another popular singer of his day, Normie Roe. At the time, he was well-known in Melbourne. His mother used to mange him. She would turn up at many a show to watch her 'little Normie' sing.
     Kid Young was sprookin' Normies' name one afternoon, saying he would be appearing on the inside, next show. The tent filled up to maximum capacity within a few minutes but Normie was not due to perform until the evenings' late show. Once the crowd found out they'd been gypped, they started to cause a riot and the only way to keep them from setting the tent on fire was to give 'em their money back or a free pass to the evening show, when he would be singing.

     The final act to take the stage was Chad Morgan, himself. He was the ugliest man I'd ever met, although at times when he was sober, he could be a decent bloke. He was billed at 'The Sheik of Scrubby Creek.' On his head he wore a Karki, canvas bush hat with the front turned straight up. It was held there by a large, shiny nappy pin.  He had dark eyes, a pointy nose and the largest set of buck teeth I had every clapped eyes on. Cowboy boots, pants and a cowboy fringed shirt made up the rest of his image. He was a 100% alcoholic, of this there was no doubt. Between shows, him and Sheedog would drink cheap plonk. Sometimes he was too drunk to stand up at the late night show. At times someone would have to help him up the stairs onto the stage. When he wasn't too 'full', he could be quite funny as he sang his crazy Bush songs, then peeled back his lips to reveal his monstrous, greeny-yellow bucked teeth. He even scared the daylights out of some kids when he showed his buck teeth. This became part of his act.

     A couple of times during the 10 day show, I'd usually play 'The Saints' as it was an upbeat jazz song.  Plus, it was the only Jazz song the Blue Jays could play. Each time I played it, it brought the house down and eventually they stopped me playing 'cause I was upstaging the other acts and that would not do, especially since I was an 'unknown'.
 
 

THE SHOWGROUND ~ CHAPTER 7 ~ Part 1 ~ YORKY FALLS IN LOVE ©

"Suppose you'll be off to the show next weekend Yorky, eh?", asked Arthur.
"What show, Arthur?"
"Lake Cargelligo show mate. Ya didn't know?"
"Never heard a thing about it."
"It's at the Showground mate. There's prizes for the best bulls, stud rams, dairy cattle, the greasy pig contest and a lotta' side-show events. She's a real good show Yorky. Ya don't wanna miss it mate. Everyone for 50 miles around will be there."
"Are you going Arthur?"
"Shit yeah, It's the highlight of the year mate."

     All that week as I was riding round on the tractor discing one of Arthurs' paddock, I was thinking of the Lake Cargelligo Annual Show. When Saturday morning came Arthur said,
"We'll take the whole weekend off Yorky. Ya don't have to work this morning. Anyway, it's a lousy weekend for the show. It always seems to rain on a show weekend. Has done for the last 3 years."
"Good on ya Arthur.", I said. "I think I'll ride into town early this morning."
"All right Yorky, but be careful 'cause those dirt roads are as slippy as hell, even in a Ute, never mind a motor bike."
"Can I use ya gum boots?"
"Yeah, help ya self mate."
"I'll wear a pair of overalls too. That'll keep mi good town clothes clean."
"Good idea Yorky. I'll be wearing mine too. That Showground will be like a big mud bog with all those people tramping around it for 2 days. See ya in the lake somewhere."

     Arthur was pretty right on when he said the roads would be slippy. It took me about an hour and a half to get to town that muddy Saturday morning. The rain had stopped by the time I hit the bitumen road into the Lake. I hosed mi bike off at the garage and washed all the mud from mi gum boots. Mi green King-Gee overalls had stayed pretty cleaned and for a muddy Saturday morning I didn't look to bad at all, as I pulled up at the Dago's shop.

     When I went inside the Greek Cafe, Jimmy Xmas was sat at the far corner staff-table drinking a hot cup of black greek coffee. He was puffing away on a Lucky Strike when I sat down across from him.
"Tikanyas, Jimmy Xmas", I said.
"Polyi kala Yorky. What'll ya have, ya bastard?"
"I'll have a hot cappachino Jimmy. It's a bit cool this morning eh?"
"It's-a-bastard Yorky. Every bloody year it's-a the same. It always rains on a show weekend. What-a to do mate."
"Oh well Jimmy, It'll be good for business. People will come into the cafe out of the rain."
"Many people stay-a at home today and my floor end up looking like a cattle yard. What-a to do?", he said as he threw his arms in the air.
"What you drink that Italian cappochina shit for Yorky? Why you not-a drink the Greek coffee?"
"It looks pretty strong and black to me Jimmy."
"It's-a good for you Yorky. I'll fetch you one. It's-a on the house mate. You're a good bloke Yorky. You're open to learn-a bit of Greek culture."
"Thanks Jimmy. It doesn't look too good to me but I'll try it anyway."
Jimmy Xmas comes back over to the staff-table with a small hot cup of Greek coffee and a glass of cold water.
"Here-a ya go Yorky. This is my favorite. I usta drink-a dis coffee back in my own-a country."
He put the small cup of jet-black coffee down in front of me with the glass of cold water next to it.
"You like-a some Ouzo in it Yorky?"
"What's Ouzo Jimmy?"
"It's-a aniseed drink. We drink it all the time in Greece."
"It it alcoholic?"
"Too bloody right-a it is. Whats-a use if it's not?"
"No thanks Jimmy. The coffee looks strong enough for me mate."
     Very carefully, I took a sip of the Greek coffee. It was real hot, jet-black and very gritty.
"How you like it Yorky?"
"It's different. What's the water for?"
"Thats-a to wash it down after."
"Oh, that's a great idea. How thoughtful Jimmy."
Maybe the inventor didn't like the taste of his own coffee, I thought, as the black, tangy grit-water slid down my throat.
"You drink-a the water now Yorky.". Jimmy said as I finished off the small cup.
"The water tastes great."
"You make-a the joke, you bastard. Here, have a Lucky Strike."
"Yeah, I'm only joking, Jimmy, but I will try one of those Cappachinos now."
"Bastard Italiano coffee!", he said as he got up to make one.

      As I was sat there having mi Cappachino and another fag, a young bloke called Gary Breany walked in.
"G'day Yorky, I saw ya bike outside mate. Thought I'd come in and see ya."
"G'day Gary. How ya going mate?"
"S'truth Yorky, you're picking up a pretty good Aussie accent mate. Another ten years and you'll be one of us."
"Sit down mate and less of ya bullshit. D'ya wanna hot Cappachino?"
"Why not. The old man gave me the day off work so I can go to the Show. What about you Yorky? Ya off to the Show mate?"
"Sure am. Mud or not it should be a real good day."
"Sure as hell will be mate. All the Cockies daughters will be in town today. I've got mi eye on one of 'em. They tell me she's a pretty fair sorta root."
"Yeah, sure mate and where ya gonna root her. Behind a stump in the mud?"
"Na, don't be stupid mate. Mi parents are going away for the weekend so I've got the place to mi self, apart from mi young brother, that is. Find ya self a good-lookin' Sheila, Yorky and come on down if ya like."
"All right mate.", I said. I'll see what I can come up with."

     Gary Breaney was a month younger than I was. He was about the same build with a shortish hairstyle and a broad 'Occa' accent. I'd met him a while ago at a tennis match out at a Bush court and we remained good mates over the years I spent around Lake Cargelligo.

     It was 10 O'clock now so I decided to hop on mi motorbike and cruise up to the Showground to see what sort of show it was going to be. I parked mi bike in the muddy paddock that had been roped off for parking, then paid the nominal fee for entering through the turnstyle. Although it was not raining now, the dust around the Showground had quickly turned to mud as quite a large number of people were already making the rounds of the shows.

     I went straight over to where the Stock show was being held and talked with quite a few of the local Cockys. The local Cockys around Lake Cargelligo were, on the whole, pretty friendly blokes.
It was good for me to meet as many of them as possible, that way I would be able to find work for miself whenever I needed.

     Stan and John Booth were leaning on the sheep-yard rails. As I walked around, Stan called out,
"Yorky, ya bastard! How ya goin' mate? Come over here sport."
     When I walked over to where he was standing in a small group, Stan said to me,
"Why aren't you workin' out at old Burts' place anymore mate?"
"Cause he's a miserable, old bastard.", I said. "And we didn't see eye to eye."
"Jesus!",  said Stan. "That's your brother he's talkin' about John. Ya not gonna' take that are you?"
"Course I am. He's no fucking brother of mine Stan. You get on with him better than I do, Mate.", said John.
"Are you really related to Old Burt, Stan?"
"Course we are Yorky, he's our step-brother."
"Oh, I'm sorry mate. I didn't realize. I should have known by the last name."
"Don't worry about it Yorky.", said John. "We feel the same way about the tight-arsed old bastard as you do mate."
"Are you sure?", I said.
"Fuckin' oath mate.", said Stan. "You're lucky sport, you only had to work with him for 5 months. We had to grow up with the mongrel-bred bastard."
     Stan and John had a real good laugh at this.
"Tell John about the time he chased you with a fucking big axe Yorky. We could do with a good laugh mate. This fucking weather is really miserable."

     I spent about half an hour with Stan and John and we all had a good laugh at my expense. I spent most of the morning walking around, until the sideshow events opened up their stalls. I blew a few dollars on the entertainment.  Further around the outskirts of the Showground was a large crowd of men staring up at a wooden platform outside of one of the show tents.
     On each side of the tent was a big metal framework which held large posters of big-busted strippers, smiling down at the crowd. Stan Booth and Kevin Skippy were looking up at the wooden platform, waiting for something to happen.
"G'day Skippy.", I said as I approached them.
"Yorky, ya bastard! How ya goin' mate? D'ya ride that bike of yours in today?"
"Yeah, it was a bit slippy in parts."
"Ya not right in the head, Yorky. Ya wouldn't catch me on one of those bastards in this type of weather, sport, not on ya bloody life mate."
"What ya doing here Kevin?", I asked. "It's a striptease show isn't it?"
"Course it is mate, That's what I'm here for."
"What about ya missus?"
"She's over at the scone contest mate and I'm here at the breast contest. Look out Yorky!", he said all of a sudden. "They're coming out mate. We should git a real eye-full now!"

       The sign, above the platform where the girls were walking up to, said,
                               FRED DUFFY PRESENTS EXOTIC STRIP TEASE
     A few girls with big tits, clad only in a bikini top and long, lacy bottoms walked up onto the wooden cat walk. Fred Duffy was standing at the ticket booth with a big stick and a microphone in his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Fred Duffy proudly presents, for the first time at your local Showground, a talented group of gorgeous beauties know as THE FRENCH FOLLIES! Let's have a round of applause for 'em folks as they walk out for your entertainment and pleasure!"
"Jesus!", said Kevin to Stan. "They're a rough-looking bunch of Sheilas!"
"Yeah. They get worse every year. Last years crew were a lot better than this bunch of whores." said Stan.
"I like the blonde in the grass skirt on the end, Kevin.", I said.
"She's the best of a bad bunch, Yorky."

     Fred Duffy was 'sprooking' on the microphone for all he was worth now.
"Have a good look at 'em gentlemen. Where have ya seen as lovely a bunch of ladies like this before?"
"In mi shearing shed." Yelled Stan.

     Fred Duffy ignored Stans funny comment as the crowd roared with laughter.
"These are the girls of your dreams gentlemen. Not one of them over 18! Young, tender virgins, here in the flesh, just waiting for an opportunity to dance for you on the stage, inside the tent. Come on gentlemen, git your money out. Fifty cents a ticket, right over here. All right ladies, down you go before ya git cold. First to pay gets the best spot. There they go down into the tent. Follow 'em in gentlemen and we'll get this show on the road."
"Come on Skippy", said Stan. "Git ya 50 cents out mate. Your too Yorky. It's too cold standing around out here. At least it may be a bit warmer in that tent!"

     Kevin, Stan and Miself were one of the first customers in the tent and Stan was right, it was much warmer inside than it was outside. It took about 10 minutes before the show started because Fred Duffy wasn't going to run a show with a half-empty tent.
      On one side of the tent was a wooden stage with red curtains down each side and a small pelmet curtain running across the top. The back of the stage had a burgundy curtain that fell in a mass of folds. A sign across the front of the stage read, THE FRENCH FOLLIES.

     A young bloke with a microphone walked out on stage and everyone booed him and said,
"Git off the stage, mate. Where's the Sheilas we paid our good money to see?"
"Ladies and Gentlemen.", said the young, pudgy announcer. "We're ready to start the show!" The first young beauty you're gonna' see is The Exotic Jasmine! She is gonna' dance the Dance of the seven Veils. So give her a large round of applause. She dances better when she hears your appreciation!"
     Someone out the back of the stage put on a scratchy old record of Egyptian exotic music. The young bloke on the stage said,
'Here she is, the exotic Jasmine!"

     A large-breasted brunette, dressed in colored lacy veils, came out onto the stage. The Cockys and the Jackaroos clapped and cheered as she wiggled her barely covered rear-end.
"Hurry up and git ya gear off Jasmine!", someone yelled from the crowd.
     Jasmine didn't seem to mind the shouts and cheers. She kept right on moving her hips and bust to the rhythm of the music.  Every now and again she'd very suggestively remove one of veils and the crowd would shout out the number of the veil.
"One to go!", shouted someone from the back of the tent.
"Hurry up and git it off!", yelled another bloke.
"Show us ya tits!", yelled a voice near me.

      Jasmine finished off her act, clad only in a G-string and nipple cones. For her finale, she bent over and looked at the crowd through her legs. They roared with approval as she wiggled off the stage, blowing kisses.
     The young bloke with the mic came back on stage and said,
"Isn't she lovely. Give her another big hand, all you blokes."
"I'd like to give her something else that's big!", yelled on of the town drunks.
"You haven't got anything that's big.", said the bloke with the mic.
     The crowd laughed loudly at that sharp wise-crack.

"Now, for something completely different. We're taking a trip to Hawaii with the sexy, blonde, blue-eyed beauty, LOLITA!", said the MC.
     A scratchy, Hawaiian slide-guitar song came out of the speakers and the dancer called Lolita shuffled onto the stage in a grass skirt. She had a grass top around her breasts and a lei of artificial flowers around her neck. In her long, wavy blonde hair she wore another artificial flower, pinned above her ear.
"This is it Yorky!", said Skippy. "This is the Sheila for you mate. Look! She's even lookin' at ya sport."
     Halfway through her dance, she took off her grass top to reveal a large pair of breasts sitting in a scanty bikini top. The music stopped all of a sudden and the MC waked to the front of the stage.
"Alright gentlemen, who would like to come up and dance with the lovely Lolita?"
"Yorky would!", yelled Kevin.
"Shut up Skippy.", I said, with embarrassment. "I'm not goin' up there in mi gum boots and overalls."
"Come on mate! Show 'em how it's done. it'll be fun."

     The MC was zooming right in on me now. He said, over the mic, "What's ya name mate?"
"His name's Yorky.", yelled Stan. "He's a pommy jackeroo."
"Come on Yorky.", said the MC over the Mic. "Ya git to dance withy Lolita and take off her grass skirt."
"We want Yorky.", said the MC
"We want Yorky.", yelled the crowd of Cockys.

     Lolita stretched her arm out to me and Kevin Skippy gave me a good push towards the front of the stage.
"Yeah!" roared the crowd.
"Good on ya Yorky.", they yelled.

     There was no escape now so I decided I'd give the crowd a good show for their money. The MC and Lolita helped me up the front of the stage in mi somewhat muddy rubber boots and mi King G overalls. I threw mi Squatters hat to Kevin and the crowd clapped in approval. The music started up at he beginning again and Lolita whispered in mi ear,
"Just do the same as I do Yorky and you'll be great."

     Lolita wiggled her hips and so did I. The crowd clapped and cheered. Lolita slowly turned around in a circle with her arms stretched out to the side make a wave-like motion with her hands and so did I. The crowd was now hootin' and hollerin'. Loud whistles could be heard filling up the tent. After a few seconds of this, Lolita put her arms around mi neck and her hips rotated as she stared into mi eyes. For me, this was the best part.
     For a few seconds, the roar of the crowd faded out and I was  transported to a beautiful Hawaiian Island. The Palm trees were swaying gently in the warm breeze and the smell of coconut oil was everywhere. It was now sand beneath my bare feet and I'd forgotten, completely, that I was dressed in gum boots and overalls. Lolita slowly leaned over to me and whispered in mi ear,
"Slide your hands down my back and undo the string belt that holds up the grass skirt."

     It felt like all my boyhood dreams had manifested before mi very eyes. Slowly, I slid my hands down the soft flesh of her damp skin. Mi hands felt for the string which held up the grass skirt.
"Just pull.", said Lolita, as she stared deep into mi eyes.
     A warm smile appeared across her face as I felt the 2 strings start to move. When the string would move no more, she said, "Let them go now and the grass skirt will fall down on its' own."
     The grass skirt started to fall away as she wriggled and gyrated her hips round and round.
     Just then, I was snapped out of it by the roar of the crowd, as Lolitas' grass skirt fell at her ankles.

"You bloody little beauty!", yelled a voice which I knew belonged to Stan Booth.
"What a bloody ripper!", roared Kevin. "The pommy undid her skirt."
     Lolita took her arms from around mi neck and said,
"Keep on dancing Yorky."

      As the music came to an end, Lolita bowed low to the crowd so they could see her large cleavage. The crowd yelled and clapped with approval. Then she walked over to me and put her arms around mi neck and gave me a big kiss on my cheek. She smiled at me and then made her way off stage, wiggling her exposed butt-cheeks as she went.
"Give her a big hand gentlemen.", said the MC, as he walked on stage from the wings. "The lovely Hawaiian beauty called Lolita!"  He said 'Lolita' in a low, soft growl.
"What's ya name again sport?", he asked me.
"Yorky.", I said as the crowd clapped.
"And a big round of applause for a really good sport. The one and only local Hawaiian dancer, gum boots and all, Yorky!"

     The crowd cheered and laughed as Skippy and Stan gave me a hand off the stage.
"What a fuckin' great show Yorky.", said Stanley.
"Jesus Christ Yorky, ya never told me you were such a good dancer when you were out at our place.", said Kevin.
"We were too busy for dancin' Skippy.",  I said with a grin.
"Ya stole the show Yorky.", said a big cocky, Lucy McGuinnis, as he slapped me on the back.
"Ya gonna' have another go next show?", said another.

     The show continued and the last girl to dance was a tall blonde, who was supposed to come from Texas. She wore boots, a cowgirl skirt, a frilly bikini top and a cowboy hat. At the end of her act she removed her bikini top but very carefully held a large piece of cardboard in front of her tits which read, HANDLE WITH CARE ~ BREAKABLES.
     After the show was finished and I was walking out, the MC came over to me and said, "That was a real good show you put on Yorky. Lolita would like to dance with you again next show. Are you game Mate?"
"Sure I am.",  I said. "I'd dance anywhere with her."

     I must have danced at least eight times with her over the next two days. Between shows, the girls invited me backstage to meet everyone.

     I'd stayed at Garys' place over the weekend and when I saw Arthur again, early Monday morning, he said to me,
"Did ya have a good time at the show Yorky?"
"Yeah, it was pretty good."
"They tell me you're a bit of a showman Mate. I didn't know you could dance."
"It must have been your gum boots Arthur.", I said with a wink.

     All that following week I could not get Lolita out of mi mind. I disc-ploughed another of Arthurs' paddocks and normally mi mind was totally silent as I drove round and round a 500 acre block of land watching the back wheel to make sure it was running the correct distance from the last furrow.

     When the weekend came, I decided to ride mi bike to Condoblin, which was 60 miles away. Condoblin was a much larger town than the Lake but it was still considered a Bush town. My one main reason for riding there was the Condoblin show being held at the Showgrounds and the Blonde-haired, Hawaiian dancer called Lolita would be performing again.

     Saturday lunchtime found me filling up the small petrol tank of mi Honda 90.
"Going to town?", said Arthur as he drove past.
"Yeah, I'm off to Condo Arthur, to see the show again."
"Ya wanna' be careful Yorky, those showgirls are not worth it mate."
"Oh, it's not that Arthur, there's a few blokes from the Lake going, so I said I'd meet 'em there."
"Alright mate, ride careful and look after ya money Yorky."

      Arthur was nobodys fool. He'd guessed right from the first time that I was going to the Condoblin show to see my little striptease friend. The ride to Condoblin was not too bad, although it was all dirt road. The ground had dried out and this time I was off to the show in mi good blue jeans and sport shirt and a decent pair of shoes that I'd bought from Rods Clothing store.

     Thinking about it now, I would say that going to the Condoblin Show to see Lolita was another big turning point in mi life. It was not that I'd planned it that way but it seemed quite obvious to me that she was the next frame of a long-running movie I was watching.
     When I reached the outskirts of Condoblin, the Showground was easily found as large red and white signs were nailed on almost every tree so I couldn't miss it. I seemed like all the signs were pointing out mi next step in the destiny of mi life.

     When I rode onto the Showground, a couple of 'showies' soon pointed me in the direction of Fred Duffys' tent.  As I parked mi bike around the back of the tent, one of the girls, Sheila, was walking out of a caravan. Sheila was a tall, leggy and rough sort of girl. She was about 22 and came from England. We had a lot in common which made our friendship a good one, right from the start.

"Yorky! What are you doing here? I though you lived at Lake Cargelligo?"
"G'day Sheila, I came over to see the show again."
     Sheilas' exterior was pretty hard 'cause she came from a lower-class, working family. Her straight, dyed-light hair didn't do too much to soften her face and her language was very course.
Even with all these apparent negatives, I could tell that beneath all the powder and paint, she had a very beautiful soft heart and I understood why she appeared as she did.
     Sheilas' part of the act was the long-legged Texas cowgirl who held up the 'Handle With Care' sign in front of her breasts.
"Ya sure ya didn't come to see Lolita (Christine)?", she said to me.
"Well, that's part of it Sheila."
"I don't think you'll do any good Yorky. I was talking to her about you the other night. Your name came up in our conversation."
"What did she say about me Sheila?"
"Oh, nothing bad Yorky. In fact, she said she thinks you're a really great bloke. She also said she thinks that you're too good for her and that she would probably end up hurting you somehow. Plus the fact she already has a boyfriend who works on the Showground."
"Oh well, I'm here now so I might as well hang around for the day. Will you tell her I'd like to see her between the shows at some point?"
"Alright Yorky. I'll pass on the message when I see her. She's still in bed asleep. I'll let her know, soon as I can."
"Thanks Sheila, You're a real pal."
"Don't say I didn't warn you Yorky.", she said, as she walked away.

    The Condo show was almost the same as the Lake Cargelligo show had been the previous weekend. There were the usual Stud-Stock Ring, side shows and amusement rides, plus Condo warranted a large ferris wheel.
     After the French Follies had performed their first show, I went backstage to see all the girls who I'd made quite good friends with the week before. When I walked into the small area behind the stage, they all looked surprised.
"Yorky, what are you doing here. We thought you lived in Lake Cargelligo?"
"Yeah, I do, but I wanted to see you all again."
"We're only here till tomorrow night.", said Jasmine, "Are you staying in town tonight?"
"I don't have anywhere to stay 'cause I don't know anyone in Condoblin."
"You could stay in the tent.", said one of the other girls. "Old Fred Duffy wouldn't know 'cause he's gone ahead to a place called West Wyalong, to fix up a space for us."
"Who's running the show then?", I asked.
"Doug is, and he probably wouldn't mind."
"Who's Doug?"
"He's my boyfriend.", said Jasmine. "He's the one who MC's the show for us."
     Just then Doug walked into the room.
"Alright girls, I'm going back outside on the Mic now, so be ready to come out when I call for you."

"Hello mate.", he said, as he turned and saw me standing there. "Come to join the show again, have you?"
"Not today.", I said. "I'm just a spectator."
"Hey Doug, can Yorky sleep in the tent tonight so he can be here all weekend?". said Jasmine.
"Don't see why not. Duffys out of town so there's no problem there. I'll talk to you later, after the next show Yorky. Hang around mate."
     The girls all followed Doug out, into the large tent. As Christine (Lolita) walked past me, I took hold of her arm and said,
"I'd like to spend some time with you, after the show finishes up this evening."
"Alright.", she said quite shyly.

     That evening after the last show, I walked around the grounds with Doug and the girls. The show had closed down to the public but the rides used to run for an extra half-hour. This way, any of the 'showies', who wanted to have a bit of fun, got to ride for free. Because I was walking in a group with Doug and the girls, I got to go on many of the rides also. The showground blokes were pretty kind to me and many of them said,
"Ya joining the show mate? It'll be good to have ya around sport."

     I spoke to Christine of one of the more gentler rides that evening. She more-or-less told me the same thing as Sheila had said a few hour previously. The problem for me was, I didn't want to hear the truth. At that point, I decided to ask Doug if he could get me a job on the Showground.

"Just come with us when we move mate.", he said when I asked him. "I'm sure, when I see old Duffy, he'll give ya a job putting up and pulling down the tent, 'cause at the moment, I'm doing it all on mi own and along with driving the truck, it's getting too much for me."
"Alright, I'll do it. I'll go back to the Lake tonight and pick up some gear and I'll see ya all tomorrow afternoon sometime."
     I said goodnight to Christine and hopped on mi bike and took off back to Lake Cargelligo. It was pretty dangerous riding back home at 12:30 at night 'cause the Lake/Condo road was a favorite haunt for kangaroos. I had to keep a good look out for them or I'd have made a real mess of miself and the bike, if I hit one. I'd already seen how much damage could be done to a Ute that had hit a roo at 60. That was enough to make me slow down a bit.

     I stayed out at Arthurs' place that night and early in the morning, before Arthur was up and around, I rode into town, hoping to meet someone who would be driving over to the Condo show.
     At around 10 that morning, as I sat in the Dagos' shop, a couple of young blokes came in and were joking with Jimmy Xmas.
"Dont-a spend all ya money at the show. Save some for me ya bastards.", said Jimmy.
     I walked over to them and said,
"Ya going to the Condo show are ya?"
"Sure are mate.", said one of them.
"Isn't your name Yorky?". said another.
"Yeah, how d'ya know?"
"Surrey tole me about ya. He said ya worked out at Burt Booths place for a while."
"Yeah, that's right, Can ya give me a ride to Condo with ya?"
"No worries, Yorky. Hop in the Ute mate."
"I've got mi bike outside. I'll need to drop it off at Arthur Auberrys' place if ya don't mind."
"No worries sport. Arthurs place is on the way."
"Alright, I'll meet ya out there.", I said.

     When I got to Arthurs' place, there was no one home. The family town car was not in its' usual place and Arthurs' Ute was parked under one of the yards' shade trees. It only took a few minutes to throw whatever bit of gear I'd taken out of mi suitcases back in. I left a short note telling Arthur I'd be back in a week or so and that I was taking one case with me and I'd leave the other and the rifle and pick it up later.

     The motor bike was paid up 6 payments in advance so there was  no problem there. I put in the  note that I'd left the bike covered over in the machinery shed and if he needed to use it at all he was quite welcome to. With this done, I threw mi case and trumpet in the back of the Ute and the three of us sped off, up the yard, over the ramp and out onto the Condo road.
"What's the case for?", said one of the young fellas.
"I'm off to the Show Grounds for a while."
"Shit Yorky, how can ya do that? Ya mean to say, you're just going to up and leave?"
"What ya gonna do on the Show Grounds Yorky?", said one of the young blokes mate.
"I'm gonna work at a striptease joint. This real beaut young strippers' madly in love with me."
"Jesus, You're a lucky bastard Yorky. My old man wouldn't let me do anything like that. He's got me picking up sticks in a paddock we're trying to clear."
"That's alright mate. I served my apprenticeship at the scungy, fuckin' job."

     It was much faster going, driving a Ute to Condoblin. An hour later, we truned off at the red and white Show Ground signs. When we got to the turnstyle gate, the bloke in the ticket booth asked me for a couple of bucks.
"What d'ya mean 2 bucks?", I said. "I work here."
"Who ya workin' for?"
"Fred Duffy. He owns the French Follies tent."
"Alright Cobber, ya can go straight through."
     When I walked through the slit at the back of the tent, where the caravan was parked, the girls were all sat around a small table. They were halfway through a show.
"So you're really coming with us Yorky, are ya?", said Sheila.
"Sure am. I brought mi case and mi trumpet."
"You'll have to play us a few tunes after the show tonight.", said Jasmine.

     Christines' Hawaiian music was playing. I knew she was out on the stage. When the music stopped and the applause started, she came through the side of the stage curtain and down the back steps.
"Ya boyfriends' arrived with his gear.", said Sheila.
     Christine looked nervously at mi case and then at me. "Hi, ya really coming on the Show Grounds then?"
"Yes, I said. "I won't git to know ya if I'm not around ya, will I?"
"Ya may not like me when ya git to know me.", she said.
"Well, there's only one way to find out, eh?"

     She didn't quite know what to say so she went out of the tent into the caravan. Just then, the slit in the tent-side opened and a girl of about 20 walked in. She had long black hair, dark brown eyes and a sharp, upturned nose and a pretty good figure, from where I was looking. She wore a tight-fitting sweater which showed off 2 large tits. A pair of black, skin-tight jeans shoved into a pair of black cowboy boots. Around her waist, she wore a wide, rhinestone belt. She had a black patent leather bag on her arm.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!", she said, as she entered the tent. "This is the slowest, fucking show I've done for a while. These fucking local Yabos' are the most tight-fisted set of fuckin' bastards I've ever met.
They're so tight, they'd try to sell their own fuckin' shit to their grandmothers!"
     She saw me sitting there and said, "What are you staring at fuck-face?"
"I didn't realize I was staring."
"Well, you fuckin' are. What are you fuckin' doing back here anyway?"
"This is Yorky.", said Sheila, who was just about to go on stage. "He's going to be travelling on the grounds with us for a while."
"G'day'.", I said.
"This is Nerada, Yorky. She's got the Snake Pit, a couple of tents down.:
"Pleasure to meet ya."
"What the fuck does an innocent kid like you want on a scungy, fucking show ground?"
"He's in love with Lolita.", said Sheila.

     This comment made mi face flush. I could feel the heat rising at the back of mi neck.
"So, ya think by joining the show ground you'll git a fuck out a' Christine, do ya Mate? Well, I can tell ya, before ya even start, you'll git no fuck there 'cause Sampsons been fuckin' her for months now and he's about 10 times bigger than you, ya little fuckin' sawn-off!"
"Cut it out.", said Jasmine. "Don't be such a bitch. She doesn't mean it Yorky. Once ya get to know her, she's a pretty neat girl. Her boyfriend just dumped her for another girl. She's been cranky and bitchy for days now."
"Mind ya' own fuckin' business Jasmine.", said Nerada. "Just you look after Doug before someone steals him from under ya' nose!"
"That's not very likely Nerada. I look after my man."
"Ya mean, I didn't?"
"That's not what I said Nerada."
"Maybe not, but that's fuckin' close enough for  me!"

     By this time, Sheila was back down off the stage. When she saw the girls were still arguing over their men, she said, "That's enough you two fucking bitches! One more squeak out of either of you and I'll knock the pair of ya arse over tits and I'm not fucking joking either!"
     Nerada was put back in her place with all that.  She got up, mumbling to herself, as she made a fast exit.
"Ya see Yorky, nothing is as it appears, on the surface. If ya looking for a romantic life, ya won't find it travelling on the show ground.", said Sheila.

"Hey Yorky, I just called Duffy at the hotel where he's staying. He says you're hired. Start tonight when the show's over. I'll show ya the ropes mate.", Doug said as he came down off the stage.
"How much is he gonna pay me?"
"Ten dollars a week mate. Sleep in the tent and feed ya self. Welcome aboard Yorky!"

     Australia had just changed over to dollars and cents at this time and I was still gettin' used to them. Seeing as two dollars made a pound, that was 5 quid a week and no tucker. That wasn't much of a wage but what the hell I thought. It's gotta be easier than working a farm.