OFF TO TOWN ©

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

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

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

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

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

BURT THE AXE-WIELDING MADMAN © Part 4 CHAPTER 3

     While we were up in the mali paddock chopping up stumps and small trees, Old Burt was in a foul mood.
"Be careful with that axe handle! You've already put a couple of nicks in it!"
"I'm being as careful as I can be Burt. I can't do any more than my best!"
"You're a useless bastard that's why! Not only are ya a useless bastard, you're a useless pommy bastard!"
"What about you Burt? Let's talk about you for a change!"
"What about me?", he said in an angry, defensive way.
"Well, it seems really funny to me, 'cause we're really very much alike, you and I."
"What d'ya mean by that?"
"You think I'm a useless pommy bastard right?"
"Right first time mate!"
"And I think you're a useless Aussie bastard!"
"WHAT!", he roared. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."

     By this time old Burt had steam hissing out of his big hairy ears. He gave the tree a big blow with his axe and all of a sudden, without warning, the axe-head broke off the handle.
"Grand streuth! Fuck me pink! That's your fault, ya pommy bastard!"
     Now he was really pissed so he pulled a long piece of bailing string out of his pocket and tried to bind the handle back together again.
"Here, give me your axe. This broken handled one is good enough for a pommy!"
     The first time I swung the axe, a big splinter tore a hole in mi right hand first finger.
"Shit!", I cursed out loud.
"Now what's the matter with the windging pommy?"
"There's nothing wrong with me. You're the one who broke the axe-handle!"
"You trying to tell me I'm a useless bastard, are ya?"
"Yeh! You're as useless as you say I am."
"Alright ya pommy fucking bastard. You tell me one thing that you can do better than me!"
     After a couple of seconds, I said,
"Alright Burt, I can play a trumpet much better than you can and you'll never be able to play a trumpet as long as your arsehole points to the ground mate!"
     Burts' face went deep purple now and the veins in his neck were just about to pop. The sun was beating down really hot now and through the smoke and haze of the fires I could still make out Burts' distorted features.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!", he roared at the top of his voice. "I'll fucking kill you ya pommy bastard!", he said as he lifted the large sharp bush axe above his head.

     'Uh Oh!, I heard an inner voice say. 'Now you've really done it! You've pushed a big button this time! If I was in your boots I'd start running for my life, mate!'  As soon as Burt took one step in my direction, I took 10 fast steps in the opposite direction. Off I ran as fast as I could go towards the Bush which was about 100 yards away.
     As I ran flat out across the soft Mali red dirt it was very hard to get some traction on mi boots. I ran around some of the smoking fires, hoping I would give him the slip in the gray, billowing Bush smoke but when I looked over my shoulder, he was gaining on me like a mad, hungry roo dog!
     I jumped clean over one small fire and then over a couple of big old logs, looking over my shoulder very quickly. Again old Burt was still hot on mi tail. His slanty eyes were now wide open and bulging just like a big bullfrogs' and he had foam and saliva running out of the corners of his tightly stretched mouth.

      Faster and faster I ran across the paddock. I had a big pain in mi chest as mi breath was violently being sucked in and out. I only had about 20 yards to go now as I headed for the thickest part of the scrub I could see. I now knew how a big, old gray roo felt with an arse full of buckshot.

THE VISITOR ©

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

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

BURT BOOTH -2 ©

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BURT BOOTH ~ 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’)