BURT BOOTH ~ Part 1 ©

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

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

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

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

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

     I picked up mi 2 cases and headed over to the shed where Burt had pointed. From the outside, the shed was made up of corrugated iron just like the locked shed at Burgooney Station. The door was a very faded blue with paint peeling and flaking off all over it. I put mi cases down and turned the warm, round handle. The door creaked open on its own revealing a small room about 9 feet by 7 feet. In one corner was an old rusty bed frame with an old, stained, flock mattress on it. Next to that was an ancient cupboard with three horizontal drawers in it and in another corner was a small wardrobe with a long stained mirror on the door. The floor was covered in cheap oil cloth that had been patched together. There were still large torn holes in it, as if someone had run out of patches. The small window as almost impossible to open and a faded curtain hung down each side of the frame. The walls of the hut were not lined so already I was noticing the heat as I stood there.
'This place is nothing but a dump.', I thought. 'Maybe everyone lives like this in the bush.'
I put mi thin bush coat over the back of the only broken chair in the place and then put mi 2 cases under the bed and sat on the edge of the rickety chair surveying the stained mattress.
'I hope no one pissed on that', I thought as I stared at it in disbelief. I decided to turn it over to see how the other side was but it looked like it had been turned on many previous occasions. I pulled out one of mi cases and found a couple of clean linen sheets which I promptly covered the mattress with. Then I knocked all the dust out of the pillow and dropped into a brand new pillowcase. The foisty smell still emanated out of the pillow so I gave it a couple more whacks with mi flat hand and threw it into place. The corners of the small room had large cobwebs growing across them but I decided I'd knock 'em down later. I kicked off mi good shoes which were now covered in red dust and very carefully lay on mi back on the rickety old iron-framed bed.

     I lay there staring at the corrugated iron roof until I heard the sound of the cowbell ringing. When the cowbell stopped ringing I made mi way across the dusty yard to the main house. Old Burt was standing under the tank stand at a small homemade table with an old aluminum dish full of brown water washing his face and neck. After he finished he threw the dirty water over the fence into the vegetable patch.
"After ya washed up, throw the water in the veggie garden. You'll have to learn to conserve water out here mate. She's been a real dry summer this year. We've only had a few points of rain over the last 7 months. Use the tap over there, that's the washing water. It's pumped up from the dam by that big windmill next to it. When you've finished, come on inside for a bite to eat. The missus has got the tucker out on the table already so hurry up before the flies carry it away!"
     I put the battered old dish under the tap and turned the tap with a pair of old pliers that were sat on a stone next to it. The water came out a dirty reddish brown color and it was quite warm. the square, rough block of soap that was sitting on the old wooden table was as hard and scratchy as hell. I found out later that old Burt made it himself. No matter how hard I rubbed with the soap no lather seemed to appear. After I finished I put mi shoes where Burt had left his and walked inside.
To my surprise, Burt and Kays' house was very clean and tidy inside and the furnishings, although not new, were in really good shape. Three large pieces of cold mutton were waiting for me at the table as I sat down. Next to the mutton was a couple of medium-sized tomatoes and alongside those were 3 cold potatoes.

     Old Burt was already eating as I sat down. "Dig in mate and if I was you I'd put a heap of salt on that mutton 'cause if ya don't eat a lot of salt out here in the Bush you'll end up as sick as a mangy dog."
     I put some more salt on mi meat and reached for a thick piece of hand cut bread. I put the normal amount of butter on it and before I could finish old Burt said, "Christ mate, go easy on the butter. That's gotta last a few days before I make another batch!"
     After lunch, Kay Booth asked me a few questions about my life so I told her about Yorkshire, mi dads' farm and the Ellan Silver Prize Band. As I finished talking old Burt said, "I'm off back up the paddock. Ya can start work tomorrow morning. Have a look around the place this arvo and don't leave the house paddock 'cause I don't have time to look for a new chum who's got himself bushed in the first afternoon!"

     Back outside, old Burt hopped in his decrepit Ute and drove away out of sight. I decided to investigate the house paddock so I took off in the direction of the big windmill. There were burrs and saffron thistles all over the place and the ends of the thistles were so sharp that they went straight through my thin work jeans and stuck in mi legs.

     The dam was quite large and as soon as I got close to it a group of wild-wood ducks flew off up into the air. I walked up the small dam banks and stood there looking at the brownish murky water. Just then, a mob of wild, sulphur-crested Cockatoos landed in a big gum tree and started to squawk. They were the largest parrots I had ever seen. They had jet black eyes and a big yellowish plume on top of their heads. A few of them flew out of the gum tree and landed at the waters edge to take a drink. They did not seem to mind me standing there as they stuck their beaks in the muddy water, then put their heads to swallow it. A few moments later a large flock of Budgerigars landed next to the Sulphur-crested cockeys and took up their drinking positions. When they had drunk their full they all flew up into the pine and gum trees which held plenty of shade for them.
I noticed some old sheds at the bottom end of the house paddock so I slowly walked in that direction. The Sun was already hot now and the bush flies were a real nuisance. The more I swished them away from my eyes the more it seemed to encourage them to come. There was broken-down rusty old machinery lying all over the place. Most of it, I guess, was left over from the old horse-drawn days. Some of the old sheds housed bags of seed wheat and the others were tractors and combine sheds. At the far end of the paddock was what smelled to me like a sheep-shearing shed. I also saw a few half-full bales of wool laying open in one corner.

     I spent most of the afternoon walking around to familiarize myself with the place. When I got back to my tin hut I noticed, just across the way, a couple of large logs so I went over to check it out. When I got closer, I saw what it was. Old Burt had split a large log straight down the center and the white ants had eaten the whole middle of the log away. Burt had dug a small hollow in the ground and placed the half-hollow log over the top of the hole. At the back of the log was a square piece of corrugated tin that he'd hashed into the hard ground. The tin sealed up the back. At the front was a 2-foot metal stake with a dog chain welded to it.
     'What an ingenious idea.' I thought. 'The dogs can go down inside the hole into the cool earth during the day when it's hot. The dog kennel looked like a natural den which would have made them feel real comfortable.'
     I spent the rest of the day putting a few work clothes I would need into the old cupboard of mi tin shed and after another meal at Old Burt's house, I went to bed early so I'd be raring to go in the morning.

     I was up before the hot sun next morning waiting for old Burt to come out of the house. He was up bright and early and walked across the dusty yard to where I was sitting on the small step of mi shed.
"G'day. We've got a big day ahead of us today so we'd best git crackin'. There's a couple of bikes in that shed over there. Grab the old black one and peddle down the road to that bottom paddock. You'll see the milking cows down there and we'll get started on 'em."

     I found the old, dirty bike leaning against the shed wall right where he said it would be. The bike was in worse condition than my old bike in England. I turned it around and blew the red dust off of the seat and pushed it outside.

     Old Burt was nowhere to be seen now so I threw mi leg over the bike and peddled down a dirt track to where he said the cows were. It was very difficult to peddle the bicycle on the dirt track 'cause as soon as the front wheel hit a hole, which was filled up with bull dust, the bike came to an abrupt halt. At one hole the front wheel stopped dead and I shot off the seat and nearly ruptured misen on the cross bar and swearing in mi newfound Aussie language, I peddled on down the dirt road. When I reached the gate that old Burt had described to me, I got off mi bike and undid the chain. The Large tubular steel gate opened back on its own. I pushed mi bike through and stood there looking for the cows. They were really hard to spot because they were grazing way off in the middle of a 500-acre paddock.

     The paddock was thickly overgrown with 4-foot high saffron thistles so I just sat on the bike wondering how I was going to reach them. There was no other way that I could see except to ride through the thistles. Twenty feet into the paddock I was cursing and yelling as the hard, dry thistles stuck through mi thin work jeans and into my soft white legs.'     Fuck this for a joke!' I thought. 'At this rate it will take me all day!' I turned the bike around and peddled back to the side of the fence. When I got off the bike I pulled mi jeans down and saw 10 to 15 small, sharp barbs sticking out of mi legs. After I'd removed them I pulled the rest out of mi jeans. When I pulled mi jeans back up there was still a couple of places where I'd missed getting the thorns out but I tried to forget about it and peddled back up towards the house. A couple of thorns scratched at mi soft, white legs the hole way back.

     When I eventually got back to the yard, old Burt said to me,
"What happened to the cows?"
"There right out in the middle of a thistle paddock!", I said.
"So ya just left 'em there?"
" 'course I did. What else was I supposed to do?"
     Now he got really angry and I could see his meanness come up to the surface.
"Ya useless fucking, stupid pommy bastard!", he yelled at me. "Go and git my fucking bike out of the shed!"
     After I came back with his bike, he jumped on it and started to peddle real fast down the same dirt track.
"Come on, you useless pommy bastard! What the fucking hell do you think I'm paying you 3 quid a week for if I've got to get mi own cows?"

     I was really quite scared by now so I kept mi mouth shut and tried to keep up with him as best I could. When we got down to the paddock gate old Burt rode straight through the gate and headlong into the thistles he peddled. After a few yards I stopped mi bike 'cause by this time mi legs were burning with thistle stings again.
"Get back on that fucking bike, ya useless bastard!", he roared.
"They're pricking mi legs!"
"Ya fucking useless! You're as soft as fucking shit ya little bastard. If ya don't get back on that bike, I'll have ya deported back to England where ya bloody well came from!"
"It's alright for you, you've got real thick pants on. These blue jeans of mine are paper thin."
"Ya nothing but a winging, pommy bastard!", he roard again as he peddled off across the thistle paddock.

     By this time I could take no more. The shock of the tin shed and the lack of human warmth was too much for a 15 year old boy from Yorkshire to take. I broke into tears and peddled the bike back up the dirt track. When I reached the house yard Kay Booth was throwing some feed to the chooks. I dropped the bike to the ground and headed straight for the tin shed where I lay on mi bed and cried mi eyes out.
     After a while Kay came over and knocked on the door.
"Are you alright Richard?"
"Go away, I don't want to talk to you."
"Let me in Richard."
"Go away and leave me alone!", I said, between sobs.

     Half an hour later I heard Burt coming up the track with the milking cows. A few minutes later I heard Kay talking to Burt and 5 minutes after that she was knocking on my door again.
"Open the door Richard."
The tears had dried up by now so I got off the bed and slid the wooden bolt back to open the door. She came in the room with a rather worried look on her face.
"You'll have to forgive Burt. He's lived and worked in the Bush his whole life and sometimes he forgets that you're only a boy."
"He's a real mean old man."
"It's not that he's mean Richard. I know he really likes you like a son but he's not got a lot of patience."
"If he likes me like a son, I'm glad I'm not his son."
"Go over to the milking shed. I've had a word him so he'll be alright now."

     There was not much choice in the matter and I was scared he'd have me deported. I walked over to where he was milking the cows. As I walked past the pigpens I saw a dead, skinned fox laying half-eaten in the mud and all the small piglets had all lost their curly little tails. When I climbed over the wooden fence Burt said,
"Ah, there you are. Can you milk a cow?"
"Yes, mi dad showed me how to do it."
"Good. At least ya can do something. Come over here and milk this one and be careful 'cause she's a kicker. Make sure her leg is tied back like that or she'll put her foot in the bucket of milk."
The teats on the cows' bag were really small and it make milking her very difficult but as soon as he could see I'd done it before he said, "Your job's to bring the cows in and milk 'em 6 days a week. I'll do it on ya day off which is Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday."

THE DAIRY FARM ©

(I’ve only been resting about an hour,
when I hear Defoes’ loud Australian voice
booming and echoing through the Army-style barracks.)
DEFOE
Get out of those fart sacks you pommy fucking bastards! It’s time to eat, that’s if you mummies little darlings are not too fucking tired! (As he walks down the line of beds he says;)
Who the fucking hell took it upon themselves to clean up the fucking outer-dairy-yard without fucking asking first? Which one of you pack ‘a pommy bastards did it?
YORKY
I did. (in a nervous voice.)

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

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

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

DEFOE
Show me you hands.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

YORKY
I did.

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

(I pull out the trumpet and play Defoe a couple of Trad songs, then just for fun I play the theme music to the Lone Ranger. Defoe seems to love the trumpet and when I put it away he comes over and says)
Why do you want to work on a farm in the bush ,squirt?

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

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

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

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

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

DEFOE
Can any of you lot ride a horse?
(A couple of the boys raise their hands).
Go and catch old Patches over there and saddle him up. You can all take turns in riding him. It’ll give you a bit of experience in case you need it some time.

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

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

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

(Defoe kicks Patches right in the guts and in turn Patches kicks up both of his back legs high in the air and Defoe pulls hard on the cinch .)
Now you’re ready to mount, so watch carefully or you’ll get bit on the arse. You always mount from the left-hand side, and make sure ya hold the far-side rein tight so he can’t bite ya. Ya put ya left foot in the stirrup and then ya swing ya leg up and over in one easy movement like this.

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

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

(I’d only ever ridden a donkey on Blackpool Beach as a kid for sixpence a ride but I take a deep breath and with great determination I stride up to Patches who put his head down as soon as he sees me approach him.
Grab those reins tight, Squirt! Pull on the far side one until he lifts his head up again!

(As I pulled on the rein, Patches swung his massive head around and tried to bite my bony little arse.)
Look out Squirt! The mean old bastard will have a piece of ya arse if ya not careful mate.”

(All the boys laugh. Patches knows he’s the center of everyones attention, He swings his head around for another go at my arse.)
That stirrup iron is too long for ya Squirt, so adjust the strap like his mate. That’s good enough mate. I’ll do the other side for ya.. Git up on him and watch out for the cunning old bastard. He’s likely to do anything. You got to be thinking one step ahead of that old bastard ‘cause if not, he’ll take over and run the fucking show on ya!

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

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

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

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

(Down the sloping paddock me and Patches ride.)
YORKY (VO)
This is a piece of cake!
(Cowboy Dick rides along with one arm down at his side.)
What a great life it is, riding the Bush Range in Australia. Maybe I’ll get misen a job droving cattle around the Bush now that I can ride a horse.

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

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

DEFOE
Ride the old bastard!

BOYS
Yahoo!


(The fence now looms dangerously close and my fantasies are long gone. All of a sudden Patches applies the horse brakes and I see misen flying through the air, headlong over the fence. The next thing I remember is Defoe pulling me up onto mi feet. The back of mi head has a throbbing, dull ache in it and mi arse feels like someone has just kicked it with a size 10 boot.)
DEFOE
Jeesus bloody christ mate! What the fuck are ya playing at! You’re supposed to stop when the horse stops! You’ll bloody well hurt ya self getting off a horse that way. Now git back up on the old bastard and try it again.

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

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

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

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

(Defoe is absolutely right ‘cause as soon as we go through the gate into the paddock Patches refuses to go anywhere.)
Give the rotten old bastard a decent kick in the guts!

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

BOYS
YaHoo! Ride him cowboy!

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

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

Make the bastard go down the paddock again!

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

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

(Up the paddock we gallop, the barb wire fence is now getting closer. As we get about 10 feet away from it, Patches applies the brakes and this time I lean back in the saddle and pull on the left hand rein with mi feet stuck out at the front. Patches does not like this at all so he gives a few good bucks to show his disapproval.)
DEFOE
You’ve got it all over him now, Squirt. Ride him back here so one these other puftas can show off his horsmanship!

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

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

YORKY
I’m from Yorkshire, Mr. Defoe.

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

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

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

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

DEFOE
Keep ya fucking noses and cocks clean. I don’t want any of you pommy bastards coming home with a dose of clap. This is a fucking training farm not a fucking hospital! So, don’t go rooting around ‘cause there’s a few loose sheilas around Cabramatta. And don’t git in a fight with those bodgies and fucking widgies!
Fucking puftas! (He says to himself as the taxi drives away.)


GREEK TAXI DRIVER
Where ya lika go?

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

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

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

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

YORKY
I’m looking for a sheath knife.

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

YORK
I’ll take this one.

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

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


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

YORKY
What’s a Dago?

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

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


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

YORKY
Yeah. There’s 16 of us.

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

YORKY
Why d’ya call ‘em those names?

SHOPKEEPER
‘Cause at the end of a days work they say ‘day go’ and most of them work the milk bars and they’re always grilling something or other. So that’s why they get the name ‘Grills’ from. Ya see sport? Now we’ve also got a lot of Italians in this great country of ours, so we call ‘em ‘Wops’ and the Abos are called ‘Bungs’ ‘cause if ya hit ‘em with the roo bar of the truck they make the sound ‘BUNG’. D’ya get it cobber?
(he has a good laugh to himself)
Now take you English gentlemen for example. In our country we don’t recognize your class system so we call you blokes ‘limeys’ or better still, ‘pommy bastards’ ‘cause you’ve got skin like pomegranates.
(laughs again)

YORKY
Thanks for the information.

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

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

GIRL 1
Root ya fucking boot ya pommy bastard!

PETER
Charming, I must say.

GIRL 2
Fuck you, ya pommy bastard!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


RALPH
That’s it, the shows over! Let’s go to bed. I’m knackered and tomorrow we’ve got to get up at 5.


THE NEXT MORNING

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

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

DEFOE
Get out-a bed you fucking yobo before I piss all over ya!
(He grabs Ralphs’ bed covers and rips them clean off the bed revealing Ralphs’ scrawny body curled up in the fetal position.)
Get ya plates of meat on the deck, boy, before I chuck a bucket of water on ya!


RALPH
What’s the matter?

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

RALPH
What about mi clothes?

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

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

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

RALPH
OH SHIT!!!!!

DEFOE
Ya stupid, fucking pommy bastard! Look what you’ve done to mi fence post! Had ya have done that in dry bush country we’d have a bloody bush fire on our hands now mate! If ya had another brain in your head, lad, it would be fucking lonely, ya silly yahoo bastard! Go and get ya strides on and after breakfast I’ll show ya where the fence posts are kept. Ya can dig that bastard out and stick a new one in. Then I’ll show ya how to re-strain the fence back up!

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

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

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



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

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

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

DEFOE
Ya sure ya won’t change ya mind about going in the Army?

YORKY
Quite sure Bill. I’m itching to get out to the Bush. I’ve been looking forwards to that for 2 years now.

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


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

DEFOE (Enters Nissan hut)
Here’s ya ticket Morris and 5 quid for ya start in life. Here’s your ticket Yorky and here’s a fiver mate. Make sure you look after it, ‘cause you’ll have to work bloody hard in the Bush for a fiver.

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

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

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


SYDNEY CENTRAL TRAIN STATION

(Morris and I sit around smoking and eating chips waiting for our trains. The train Morris was to take arrived on time and I helped him put his 2 large bags on board.)
YORKY
Look after yourself Maurice. Keep practicing with your knife and best of luck to you

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

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

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

BURGOONEY, MATE! ©

A few days later Defoe gave six of the older boys 5 pounds each and a train ticket to a Bush town.
"The Cocky will meet ya at the station, so good luck lads. This is Gods' own country and with a bit of hard work and a few brains ya should do all right for ya selves."
We said our goodbyes to each other and that was the last I saw of them. As the days went by Bill Defoe kept getting phone calls from Mr. Mansell, the Aussie Director of the BBM. Each time he got a phone call, a few more boys were shipped out until only 2 of us remained, me and Morris.
One day I said to Bill, "What about me and Morris Bill? Haven't ya got a place for us to go to yet?"
"Ya sure ya won't change ya mind about going in the Army, Yorky?"
"Quite sure Bill. I'm itching to get out to the Bush. I've been looking forwards to that for 2 years now."
"Alright mate." He said. "Ya old enough to leave home so I guess ya old enough to make decisions for ya self. You and ugly Morris will be leaving tomorrow morning so better roll ya swag bright and early."
He walked away resigned to the fact that Army life was not for me.
It was difficult for me to sleep that evening 'cause all I could think of was red dust and kangaroos. When morning finally came I was packed up within half an hour so I made mi way across to the kitchen for some breakfast.
After breakfast we said goodbye to the cook and went back to the Nissan hut. Before long Bill Defoe came through the doorway and said, "Here's ya ticket Maurice. There's 5 quid for ya start in life. Here's your ticket Yorky and here's a fiver mate. Make sure you look after it 'cause you'll have to work bloody hard in the Bush for a fiver."
"Thanks Bill." I said. "You're a real good bloke. You've really helped me a lot since I've been here."
"Root ya boot Yorky." He said with a slight waver in his voice. "Ya train leaves at 2 O'clock from Sydney Central so don't go fucking around Sydney and miss 'em or you'll be sleeping on the station all night."
An hour or so later one of the Jackeroos loaded our cases into his car and drove us both down to Cabramatta Station and before long Maurice and I were humping our cases onto the Central Stations' platform.
It was now about 11 and we had to wait until 2 in the afternoon for Maurices' train. Mine didn't arrive until 4:15 so we sat around the station smoking fags and eating hot chips covered in tomato sauce.
There was no one left in my life now to say. 'Don't do this' or 'Don't do that!' All I had to listen to now was the inner voice of silence that lives in the center of my heart.
The train Morris was due to take arrived on time and I helped him put his 2 large bags on board.
"Look after yourself Morris." I said as he climbed up the steps. "Keep practicing with your knife mate and best of luck to ya."
"Same to you Yorky." he said and then went inside to find his seat.
I watched the train slowly pull out of Central Station and unbeknownst to me, a couple of years later I found out from one of the boys I accidentally met while traveling around the fairgrounds that poor old Morris was gored to death by a large stud bull. The bull was in heat and really cranky. Morris was walking through the paddock when the bull decided to charge him. Morris ran for the fence but he was not fast enough. The bull stuck one of its horns straight through Maurice's back and broke it. Then it gored him into the ground. At the time the boy told me this story I knew that none of us can escape our destiny.
I was now left sitting on Central Station by myself. I felt rather sad as I sat there, thinking about all the people I had left behind, mi mother, dad and sisters, the 15 lads I'd lived with for the past 9 weeks, Bill Defoe. They were in the dead past now and all I was left with was myself.
'Oh well', I thought, as I wiped away a couple of tears that slowly trickled down the front of mi cheek, 'I'm left with what I stared out with, myself.'

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

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

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

BACK TO THE LAKE ©

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

SMOTHER LOVE ©

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

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

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

THE BOXING TROUPE ©

After I left Barneys' sideshow I got pretty friendly with the Aborigines who worked for Jimmy Sharmans' Boxing Troupe. I got a couple of bucks a day, for a start, to help with the putting up and pulling down of the tent.
One of the Abo fighters was called Sally. He said he'd teach me how to 'show fight', and then I could get a job with the troupe fighting instead of laboring. There were about eight Abo boxers and one white wrestler in Jimmy Sharmans' troupe, plus myself.
Every evening, after the show was closed, Jimmy Sharman would bring four half-gallons of brown Muscat wine and a packet of fags each for all the boxers.
Sharman was an ex-boxer himself but he was pretty old when I met him. He had a medium build and had a dark complexion. His clothes, although old-fashioned, were always neatly pressed.
"How ya going, Yorky?" he said, when he came in the tent. "Sally teaching ya the moves is he?"
"Yeah, I'm picking it up pretty well, Jimmy."
"Hey Sally, grab the gloves mate. Let's see how well he's going."
After a couple of minutes of sparring around with Sally, Jimmy Sharman said, "All right mate, that's good enough. It's about showmanship, see. Ya swing the arms wide. That lets Sally know where they're coming from. He'll catch the punches and take the dives. He's real good at that, is Sally."
"What if he misses one?" I asked.
"That's not your problem Cobber. Anyway, these bungs have got heads as thick as a brick wall. Ya can punch 'em around all day and they won't even feel it. Isn't that right Sally?"
Sally just gave Sharman a big toothless grin and said, "Whatever you say, Boss."
"Start tomorrow Yorky. When the boys walk out on the platform, you hang around with some of the local Yobos. Make out ya one of 'em. It's good for business, mate. Now when I start sprookin' about Sally and call for someone to fight him, you stick ya hand up high and I'll call ya up on the board and we'll make a real good show out of it. The next session we run, I'll call ya back for a grudge match. That way we'll sucker a few more of those local yobos in. All right?"
"All right Jimmy", I said.
"Oh yeah, and don't drink too much of that cheap plonk. It wasn't made for white fellers!"
The rest of the evening was spent drinking the plonk. I only took one mouthful out of a flagon as it was passed around the circle. I donated my share to the boys. Most of the boys were half-cast Aborigines and two of 'em were full bloods that came from the Northern Territory.
They'd tell me some of their tribal stories once they got to know me but I was made to promise not to tell any mens' secrets to another white fella. I learned about the Kadaicha man who is the tribal executioner. All talk of him was conducted in the lowest of whispers, in case he heard and came after us with his weapon of choice, which was known as 'The Bone'.
The Abo boxers I lived with had no concept whatsoever of ownership, so if I wasn't first out-a-bed, someone would be wearing my good shoes or one of my best shirts inside out. I never had to ask them for anything because whatever they had, which was not much, was shared equally amongst us.
Jimmy Sharman had a really large tent. Of a nighttime we would sleep in it. Of a day we would fight in it. Outside the tent was a tall, wooden platform, which we would all stand on as Jimmy 'sprooked' to the crowd. At each side of the tent hung large posters of well-known ex-champions that, according to Jimmy Sharman, all got their start in the boxing world at his fathers' tent, which was now his.
At one end of the tall platform was a large bell, which was suspended from the steel scaffolding, and at the other end was a bright red, double bass marching drum. Jimmy would stand in the middle with the boxers on each side of him. He'd start by saying, "Ring that bell! Beat that drum! This is what you've all been waiting for! The highlight of the day! The most exciting thing you'll see on this Showground! This is where ya git ya moneys' worth folks! This is where ya see some of the best boxers in Australia! Have a look at those posters there folks. They all started out like this, at Jimmy Sharmans' World Renown Boxing Troupe! Some of the best prizefighters you'll ever see got there start right here. Have a good look to my right and left, folks. These are some of Australias' up-and-coming future champions! Now, this is what we're gonna do folks. We're gonna match up my fighters to some of your local boys. So, if there's any of you local louts out there who think ya pretty good and handy with fists, now's the time to speak up. Not after we're gone! If ya wanna do a bit of of bragging and skiting in the bar tonight, you blokes, this is the place to make a name for yourself. Ya see that tall black feller of mine, down the end? He's called the Northern Territory Tiger. He'll take on all comers, no matter what size ya are! He's 6 foot tall and weighs 180 pounds. Any of you local footballers think ya good enough to stand on ya feet for three rounds with him and I'll give ya 6 dollars. Come down here to the center stage Tiger. Let these local louts see ya muscles! Look at that!" he says, as he felt Tigers' thin biceps.
"Six bucks to anyone who can knock him out or go the distance with him! What about you young feller?" he'd say to one of the crowd. "You look like ya can handle yourself. You're a pretty big bloke for ya age. Ya wanna make ya-self six bucks or have ya no guts unless ya with a bunch of ya mates? Ring that bell, beat that drum, here he comes Ladies and Gentlemen. This is one of your own local blokes. Give him a big round of applause!"
Once Jimmy got one of the local blokes up on stage, all is mates wanted to follow so as not to be outdone. When Jimmy called for a match to Sally, I stuck mi hand up in the crowd. Most times he would match me up with Sally first because I was not that big, so he'd say, "If this little bantam rooster from the back-blocks of New South Wales has got the guts to fight, what's wrong with all you strapping big footballers down there? Don't tell me you're a bunch of puftas'?"
This little challenge to their manhood was usually enough to make them climb up the 15-foot ladder onto the platform. Once the tent was full of local people the fight would start. Jimmy was also the referee, so he'd give the local blokes a large 16-ounce pair of gloves to wear and he'd save the thin 12-ounce gloves for us. That way if any one of the locals were Police Boys Boxing Club trained, which some of them were, we'd still have a good advantage over them. Most times Jimmy told us not to hurt them unless they got smart because if one of 'em got a bit roughed up, his mates would not come forward for a go.
I traveled all through New South Wales and into Victoria with Jimmy Sharman.

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

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

THE SHOW GROUND - PART 1 ~ YORKY FALLS IN LOVE! ©

"Suppose you'll be off to the show next weekend Yorky, eh?"
"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. Next to the coffee was a glass of cold water. 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 the time demanded.

     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 ey."
"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 Suatters 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 as part of FRED DUFFYS FRENCH FOLLIES.

     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 facial features 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 ferric 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. Old 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 show ground 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 Show Ground.
"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 Old 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.