One Sunday morning I went into the bar to look for some work. Someone I knew introduced me to a real beaut, a young bloke called Kenny Carlton. We got on well together right from the word go.
“Where ya working, Yorky?” he asked.
“Nowhere yet, Kenny. I’ve just finished tractor driving out at Roger Toms’ place.”
“Why don’t ya git a job roustabouting in the shearing sheds?”
“I’d love that but I don’t know how to go about it.”
“It’s easy, mate. I’ll introduce ya to a few of the local contractors and ya can take it from there.”
“How did you learn to shear, Mate?”
“Mi old man’s a shearer, he taught me. I’ve been going out in the sheds with him since I was a kid.”
“Is it hard work?”
“Well, it’s not easy but once ya git the blows down and git fit, then it depends on how hard ya wanna work.”
“What’s the money like?”
“If ya git in good sheep ya can make a good, few bob.”
“What’s the going rate?”
“Eighteen bucks a hundred.”
“How many can you shear a day, Kenny.”
“Oh about 120-130.”
“Shit! That’s big money.”
“Yeah”, he said. "If ya can keep ya self in work it is.”
I left the bar for a while to go for a feed. When I came back, Kenny was still sat on the same stool, a few middies worse for wear.
Kenny was a short nuggety bloke, clean-cut and well-dressed. He had short, straight hair and a somewhat chubby face. His arms were quite big from dragging sheep. The knuckles on both his hands were swollen as most shearers hands are. I noticed his arms were covered in scratches and burr marks from the saffron thistles that were all over the sheeps' fleece.
When I walked over to him, he said in a somewhat slurred voice,
“Ya see that bloke over the other side of the bar, Yorky?”
“Yeah.”
“His name’s Don Freeman. Go and see him, mate. Tell him ya looking for a job roust-a-bouting.”
When I went over to where he was sitting, I waited for him to finish talking to his mate.
“G’day.”, I said.
“G’day mate, what can I do for ya?”
“I’m looking for some work in the sheds. Kenny Carlton said ya might have some.”
“Kenny sent ya over did he?”
“Yeah.”, I said.
“I haven’t got anything going for a couple of days but I can give ya some work down at mi house till we start, if ya like.”
“That sounds great!”
“Hang on a minute till I finish mi beer.”
Don Freeman was a tall, lanky bloke. He had wavy hair, a gaunt face and a husky, muffled voice which came from a broken nose.
He downed his 7 ounce and said, “What’s ya name?”
“Yorky.”
“A chummy, eh? Can ya work, mate? Ya don’t look too fucking big to me!”
“Don’t let the size fool ya.”, I said.
“Alright mate, let’s go.”
“Where we off to?” I asked, as we walked out of Twitcheys, down the main street towards the Lake.
“Down to my joint. It’s just down at the end of the street.”
When we got inside of his backyard he said, “I want to put a big septic tank over here so I need a hole digging. D’ya think ya can do that?”
“How big a hole d’ya want?”
“I’ll show ya.”
He walked over to a wheel barrow and took out a string line and two pegs. He stuck one peg in the ground and then unraveled the string. When the string was straight, he tied the steel peg on and then walked around with the peg scratching the hard ground as he went. Once the circle was complete he said, “That’s about nine foot across and it’s gotta be seven foot deep. Ya think ya can dig it by hand?”
“No worries, mate.”
“How long will it take ya?”
“Probably all day.”
“One day?”,he said. “That’s all? That’s a fucking big hole mate! There’s a lot of digging there!”
“Yeah! About one days’ worth.”
“Shit! I doubt whether an Aussie could dig that in two days, let alone a chummy in one!”
“One day, mate.”, I said.
“Alright chummy, the job’s yours! How much is it gonna cost me?”
“Tell ya what, Don. You don’t think I can do it in one day and ya said it would take an Aussie two days. At a dollar an hour, that’s 16 bucks for two eight hour days. I’ll make ya a deal. If you promise to give me a job as a roustabout as soon as you’ve got work, I’ll dig the hole for ten bucks and I’ll finish it within the day.”
“You’re on chummy!”, he said with a smile. “Ya can start in the sheds with me on Wednesday, that’s if ya finish the septic hole in time. I won’t be here tomorrow so I’ll leave the pick, shovel and the crowbar in that wheelbarrow over there. Alright chummy?”
“Alright Donny.”, I said, with a big smile. “Be careful ya don’t fall in it if ya come home full!”, I joked.
“I’ll believe it when I see it!”
I was up the next morning, bright and early. I had a bit of breakfast at the Hotel before I set off. As I walked down the empty street towards Dons’ place, I was thinking what it would be like to work in the shearing sheds. I’d always wanted to learn shearing ever since I had a go at it at old Burts’ place.
When I walked through the small gate and down the dirt path, I decided to put everything out of my mind except the big job that was ahead of me.
It was still pretty cool as the sun was not yet above the horizon. I stood in the rough, untidy side-yard contemplating what was the best and easiest way to go about digging the septic tank hole. After a few minutes it became obvious to me that there was no easy way to dig it. The only way it was going to get done was to start digging! The steel peg and string-line that Donny had used to mark the large circle was still in the same place so I remarked the circle making the line deeper as I walked around.
Once this task was finished, I grabbed hold of the shovel, put the end of it on the ground where the center hole was and stomped on the edge with mi old work-boot. The shovel sank into the ground all of two inches.
‘Oh shit!’ I thought. ‘This is going to be a lot tougher going than I thought it would be!’
Then I picked up the long, fat crowbar. The end of it was in not too bad a shape, so I decided to start loosening the ground in a small circular motion, starting from the middle again. The crowbar sank in the hard ground about four inches each time I raised it above my shoulders and drove it downwards with great force.
I enlarged the shallow hole until I reached the outer line of the nine foot circle. I took a few minutes breather, then shoveled the loose dirt and shale rock out of the hole. Once this was done I surveyed the work, still wondering if there was an easier way to do it.
Pictures of jackhammers kept floating across the minds’ eye but there was no chance of getting one so I dismissed them as soon as came up. I decided to have a go with the pick that Donny had left. I started in the middle again and applied the same principle. I made a small hole, then enlarged it as I moved around. Sometimes the pick would hit a hard rock and the vibration of the blow would send the same vibration shattering up my arms.
Once I reached the outside circle again I cleaned out the loose dirt and surveyed the now little bit deeper hole. A minutes rest and I started from the center again. No easier way of digging would come to mind so once that became clear to me I threw myself into the job with a great deal of determination!
As the morning wore on, the large hole got slowly deeper. The hot sun was now beginning to rise in the sky. Sweat was starting to pour out of my forehead and a gentle breeze blew the fine red dust over my face. By noontime, I was halfway there! The large hole was three and a half feet deep and the sides were perfectly straight.
I took a rest for half an hour to eat a couple of sandwiches I’d got from the Hotel kitchen. After a smoke, I jumped down into the hole to start the afternoons’ session. It was much harder now as the sun was really hot! It must have been 115 degrees down in the hole.
The ground was not getting any softer and the dirt had to be thrown up in the air and over the side so it didn’t roll back in on top of me. By 7 O’clock that evening, the hole was seven feet deep and nine feet wide. The sides were as straight as a die!
“G’day.”, said Donny as he peered down into the hole. “Grand streuth chummy, ya finished it mate!”
“Right on seven feet!”, I said as I looked up at him from down in the hole.
“You’re a bloody little beauty chummy! I didn’t think ya stood a mongrel dogs’ chance of finishing that today!”
“I told ya I could do it. Good-looking hole, mate eh?”
“Not bad chummy. It’s a pity we’re gonna fill it with shit! How ya gonna git out ‘a the hole?”, he said, with a big grin.
“Give us a pull up mate or I’ll be here all night.”
Once I got out of the hole, I said to him “So I’ve got a job in the sheds with ya now, mate?”
“Tell ya what, Chummy, ya can work in the sheds with me anytime I’ve got work. Any man who can dig a hole that big and deep in one day is good enough for me, sport. You’re a better man than most of those lazy bastards that sit around the bar all day. They ask me for a job and I take ‘em out and they’re too crook from the grog to do any good!”
“Will ya teach me to shear, mate?”
“If I get time I will and if not one of the other blokes will!”
Although I was knackered from the days work, the thought of working in the sheds and learning to shear put a shit-eating grin on my face for the rest of the evening.
A couple of days later I saw Don in Twitcheys bar.
“Ya got a start tomorrow if ya want it, chummy!”
“ ‘Course I want it! What time will ya pick me up?”
“Be ready at six. I’ll pick ya up on mi way past.”
“How many days will ya have for me?”
“Two days this week then we’ll start on a new shed next week. It should go for three weeks.”
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Friday, February 16, 2018
FIRST TIME IN THE SHED ©
The following morning I was sat on the curb outside Twitcheys at a quarter to six waiting for the contractor. As I was sat there wondering what shed life would be like, a cars' horn beeped and Don Freeman pulled into the curb.
"G'day Don." I said, as I jumped up.
"G'day Chummy. Hop in mate, we've gotta pick up the other blokes."
As I got in the front of the Falcon Sedan, he said, "I hope old Gundy's sober this morning. He was pissed as a chook yesterday. It took him a couple of hours to sober up. He only shore 15 sheep the first run."
"Isn't 15 sheep a lot to shear in one run?, I asked.
"That's nothing for a shearer of Gundys' capabilities Chummy. When Gundy's sober and he feels like working, I've seen him shear a couple of hundred a day and not break out in a sweat. 'Course, he's very rarely sober."
We drove around Shamens Corner where the blackfellas' hung out. There was a couple of 'em sitting on the bench swigging on a half-gallon flagon of plonk.
"I don't know how those blokes do it.", said Don. "I've seen 'em sat there in the hot sun all day getting full on plonk."
"Where do they git the money from?", I asked.
"They get a government check every week and most of 'em spend the whole lot on cheap plonk."
We pulled into the curb again and a young bloke about my age hopped in the front beside me.
"G'day Freeman, how ya going mate?", he said.
"G'day Boney, how ya going mate? D'ya know Chummy?", said Don.
"I've heard of ya mate. Mi brother Kenny told me about ya."
"Good to meet ya Boney.", I said as we shook hands.
"How's Kenny doing?, said don.
Boney, who was a small, thin bloke with jet black hair and a cheeky smile said, with a laugh,
"He's fast asleep in the front seat of his car. He got full as a boot again last night. He drove home from Twitcheys but was too drunk to make it from the car to our front door."
"Jeezus", said Donny, "What does his new missus think about that?"
"She ain't too pleased about it.", said Boney between laughs and giggles. "They've been married for two months now and he's only slept with her about half a dozen times. The rest of the time he's been drunk in his car."
"How long till she has the kid?", asked Don.
"About a month, I think. I asked Kenny the same question the other day and he said 'what kid?"
Boney had a real good laugh over this little joke.
"This is gonna be Chummys first day in the shed Boney so teach him the ropes, alright mate?"
"Ya haven't worked in the sheds before Chummy?"
" Only for half a day out at old Burt Booths' place."
"They tell me old Burt's a bit of a hard man to work with.", said Don.
"That's an understatement.", I said.
Everyone had a real good laugh at that.
Shearers and roust-a-bouts are always trying to take the piss out of each other, probably 'cause it makes the day go by easier and relieves the tension from the hard work.
The car pulled up in front of a cream-colored weather-board house and Donny Freeman honked the horn. After a few minutes a bloke appeared at the door and called out, "Be right with you."
"Jeezus", said Don. "Old Gundy doesn't look too good to me this morning. I heard he was as full as a boot up at Giltraps' bar last night."
"He doesn't mind a drop now and then.", said Boney, with a giggle.
"Ya not wrong there.", said Don. "It's a bit hard to say anything about it though cause he's such a good shearer. Even when he's crook from the grog he's cleaner and faster than a lot a' blokes."
The front door of Gundys' house re-opened and Gundy walked out. He looked a bit sick and was a little unsteady on his feet as he walked over the dead and patchy grass of his front lawn. Just before he got to the car, his old lady came running after him with a packet of fags in her hand. He took the fags from her and never said a word. As Gundy neared the back door of Don Freemans car, he tripped over a crack in the cement and nearly crashed into the glass.
"Open the back door for him Chummy before he hurts himself.", said Don.
Leaning mi arm over the back seat, I pulled up on the handle and pushed on the door. The door almost knocked Gundy over and he took a couple of steps backwards. Very carefully he maneuvered round the open door and slowly got in the back of the Sedan.
"Ya tryin' to knock me arse over head?", said Gundy as he made himself comfortable.
"No", I said. "It was my fault for shoving the door so hard."
"What's your name?", he said with a drunken grin on his face.
"Yorky.", I said.
"What kinda' fuckin' name is that?", he said with slurry speech.
"It's a knickname 'cause I come from Yorkshire."
"Fuckin' hell.", said Gundy "A pommy fuckin' bastard! What are ya doing in the sheds?"
"It's Chummys first day.", said Don. "We're gonna teach him to Roust-a-bout."
"Chummy eh?", said Gundy. "That's not a bad fuckin' name. I think I'll call ya Chummy from now on."
"D'ya have a hard night at Giltraps Gundy?", asked Boney.
"I sure fuckin' did mate. I never got home till 1 O'clock this morning and the missus was as cranky as hell with me. She made me sleep on the couch all night. She was still cranky this morning. Oh shit, mi head's not too good either. Hey Freeman."
"What d'ya want Gundy?", said Don.
"Can ya go a bit easier on those fuckin' corners mate, mi brain's slopping around in last nights grog."
"How many are ya gonna' shear today if I slow down?", said Don, in a joking way.
"How many did I shear yesterday?
"102.", said Don.
"Alright, "I'll shear 103 today. How's that?"
"Could ya do 150 please.", said Don, taking the piss out of Gundy.
"You fuckin' contractors are never satisfied.", said Gundy as he pulled a fag out of his packet.
"Give us a light Boney.", He said.
"I haven't got one Gundy.", said Boney.
"Here ya go Gundy.", I said as I flicked the lighter.
"Good on ya Chummy, ya pommy bastard! Me and you are gonna git on real well mate."
Gundy was a very funny character. He was about 5 foot 10 with dry, wavy hair. He had a bald spot in the middle of his head and the hair was starting to thin at the front. His eyes were blue and his broken nose shot off to the side at a very acute angle. He was dressed in the usual shearers garb which was a cardigan, blue singlet with a reinforced patch on the front-left side, double-legged heavy-duty blue denim shearers dungarees which helped slightly to keep the thistles out, wooly socks and shearers boots. The trousers were help up with an elastic belt made out of good-quality surgical elastic.
"Where's that fuckin' Athel Cook this morning Freeman?", said Gundy.
"We're gonna pick him up now. Suppose he was with ya at Giltraps last night was he?", said Don.
"Yeah.", said Gundy. "The bastard tried to miss out on buying a round before he left. He can be as tight as a fishes asshole."
The car ground to a halt at the far end of town and another shearer was sat on the curb smoking a home-made.
He was a thick-set bloke with a whiskery face. Not a very good-looking bloke at all. His thick wavy hair was plastered down on his large head and he had a sweat towel around his neck like a scarf.
"G'day ya fuckin' bastards.", Athel said, as he got in the back besides Gundy.
"G'day.", said Don. "This is Chummy, Athel. He's roust-a-bouting for us today."
"G'day Athel.", I said as I leaned over to shake his hand.
"A fuckin' pommy bastard eh?" I've never seen a good one yet."
"This one is a fuckin' beaut, so go easy on him today Athel cause it's his first day.", said Don.
Don let the clutch out and the sedan sped off out of town onto the dirt road heading for the Cockies' shearing shed.
"G'day Don." I said, as I jumped up.
"G'day Chummy. Hop in mate, we've gotta pick up the other blokes."
As I got in the front of the Falcon Sedan, he said, "I hope old Gundy's sober this morning. He was pissed as a chook yesterday. It took him a couple of hours to sober up. He only shore 15 sheep the first run."
"Isn't 15 sheep a lot to shear in one run?, I asked.
"That's nothing for a shearer of Gundys' capabilities Chummy. When Gundy's sober and he feels like working, I've seen him shear a couple of hundred a day and not break out in a sweat. 'Course, he's very rarely sober."
We drove around Shamens Corner where the blackfellas' hung out. There was a couple of 'em sitting on the bench swigging on a half-gallon flagon of plonk.
"I don't know how those blokes do it.", said Don. "I've seen 'em sat there in the hot sun all day getting full on plonk."
"Where do they git the money from?", I asked.
"They get a government check every week and most of 'em spend the whole lot on cheap plonk."
We pulled into the curb again and a young bloke about my age hopped in the front beside me.
"G'day Freeman, how ya going mate?", he said.
"G'day Boney, how ya going mate? D'ya know Chummy?", said Don.
"I've heard of ya mate. Mi brother Kenny told me about ya."
"Good to meet ya Boney.", I said as we shook hands.
"How's Kenny doing?, said don.
Boney, who was a small, thin bloke with jet black hair and a cheeky smile said, with a laugh,
"He's fast asleep in the front seat of his car. He got full as a boot again last night. He drove home from Twitcheys but was too drunk to make it from the car to our front door."
"Jeezus", said Donny, "What does his new missus think about that?"
"She ain't too pleased about it.", said Boney between laughs and giggles. "They've been married for two months now and he's only slept with her about half a dozen times. The rest of the time he's been drunk in his car."
"How long till she has the kid?", asked Don.
"About a month, I think. I asked Kenny the same question the other day and he said 'what kid?"
Boney had a real good laugh over this little joke.
"This is gonna be Chummys first day in the shed Boney so teach him the ropes, alright mate?"
"Ya haven't worked in the sheds before Chummy?"
" Only for half a day out at old Burt Booths' place."
"They tell me old Burt's a bit of a hard man to work with.", said Don.
"That's an understatement.", I said.
Everyone had a real good laugh at that.
Shearers and roust-a-bouts are always trying to take the piss out of each other, probably 'cause it makes the day go by easier and relieves the tension from the hard work.
The car pulled up in front of a cream-colored weather-board house and Donny Freeman honked the horn. After a few minutes a bloke appeared at the door and called out, "Be right with you."
"Jeezus", said Don. "Old Gundy doesn't look too good to me this morning. I heard he was as full as a boot up at Giltraps' bar last night."
"He doesn't mind a drop now and then.", said Boney, with a giggle.
"Ya not wrong there.", said Don. "It's a bit hard to say anything about it though cause he's such a good shearer. Even when he's crook from the grog he's cleaner and faster than a lot a' blokes."
The front door of Gundys' house re-opened and Gundy walked out. He looked a bit sick and was a little unsteady on his feet as he walked over the dead and patchy grass of his front lawn. Just before he got to the car, his old lady came running after him with a packet of fags in her hand. He took the fags from her and never said a word. As Gundy neared the back door of Don Freemans car, he tripped over a crack in the cement and nearly crashed into the glass.
"Open the back door for him Chummy before he hurts himself.", said Don.
Leaning mi arm over the back seat, I pulled up on the handle and pushed on the door. The door almost knocked Gundy over and he took a couple of steps backwards. Very carefully he maneuvered round the open door and slowly got in the back of the Sedan.
"Ya tryin' to knock me arse over head?", said Gundy as he made himself comfortable.
"No", I said. "It was my fault for shoving the door so hard."
"What's your name?", he said with a drunken grin on his face.
"Yorky.", I said.
"What kinda' fuckin' name is that?", he said with slurry speech.
"It's a knickname 'cause I come from Yorkshire."
"Fuckin' hell.", said Gundy "A pommy fuckin' bastard! What are ya doing in the sheds?"
"It's Chummys first day.", said Don. "We're gonna teach him to Roust-a-bout."
"Chummy eh?", said Gundy. "That's not a bad fuckin' name. I think I'll call ya Chummy from now on."
"D'ya have a hard night at Giltraps Gundy?", asked Boney.
"I sure fuckin' did mate. I never got home till 1 O'clock this morning and the missus was as cranky as hell with me. She made me sleep on the couch all night. She was still cranky this morning. Oh shit, mi head's not too good either. Hey Freeman."
"What d'ya want Gundy?", said Don.
"Can ya go a bit easier on those fuckin' corners mate, mi brain's slopping around in last nights grog."
"How many are ya gonna' shear today if I slow down?", said Don, in a joking way.
"How many did I shear yesterday?
"102.", said Don.
"Alright, "I'll shear 103 today. How's that?"
"Could ya do 150 please.", said Don, taking the piss out of Gundy.
"You fuckin' contractors are never satisfied.", said Gundy as he pulled a fag out of his packet.
"Give us a light Boney.", He said.
"I haven't got one Gundy.", said Boney.
"Here ya go Gundy.", I said as I flicked the lighter.
"Good on ya Chummy, ya pommy bastard! Me and you are gonna git on real well mate."
Gundy was a very funny character. He was about 5 foot 10 with dry, wavy hair. He had a bald spot in the middle of his head and the hair was starting to thin at the front. His eyes were blue and his broken nose shot off to the side at a very acute angle. He was dressed in the usual shearers garb which was a cardigan, blue singlet with a reinforced patch on the front-left side, double-legged heavy-duty blue denim shearers dungarees which helped slightly to keep the thistles out, wooly socks and shearers boots. The trousers were help up with an elastic belt made out of good-quality surgical elastic.
"Where's that fuckin' Athel Cook this morning Freeman?", said Gundy.
"We're gonna pick him up now. Suppose he was with ya at Giltraps last night was he?", said Don.
"Yeah.", said Gundy. "The bastard tried to miss out on buying a round before he left. He can be as tight as a fishes asshole."
The car ground to a halt at the far end of town and another shearer was sat on the curb smoking a home-made.
He was a thick-set bloke with a whiskery face. Not a very good-looking bloke at all. His thick wavy hair was plastered down on his large head and he had a sweat towel around his neck like a scarf.
"G'day ya fuckin' bastards.", Athel said, as he got in the back besides Gundy.
"G'day.", said Don. "This is Chummy, Athel. He's roust-a-bouting for us today."
"G'day Athel.", I said as I leaned over to shake his hand.
"A fuckin' pommy bastard eh?" I've never seen a good one yet."
"This one is a fuckin' beaut, so go easy on him today Athel cause it's his first day.", said Don.
Don let the clutch out and the sedan sped off out of town onto the dirt road heading for the Cockies' shearing shed.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
THE QUEEN BEE ©
On Sunday afternoon, I noticed an older woman, sitting at the bar in the Argent, having a few beers with a group of men and women. She kept staring over at me. I said to Soreback,
"Who's that old bird over there that keeps staring at me?"
"They call her the Queen Bee mate. She's not that old, she's only about 50, if that?"
"Well, I'm only 19 Soreback. 50 seems old to me."
"They tell me she's a bit of a go-er. She looks like she's got her eye on you!"
"Don't be stupid Soreback. She's old enough to be mi mother."
"Maybe so Yorky but she's taking more than a bit of interest in ya."
As the afternoon wore on, I forgot all about the Queen Bee 'cause I'd had one too many beers for my liking. I said to Soreback,
"I'm off upstairs for a lay down. Give us a shout at Seven, will ya mate?"
"Alright Yorky. Lend me another 50 will ya mate?"
"Jesus, Soreback, you and money part company pretty quick."
"Yeah mate, I know. Don't worry about me not paying ya back Yorky. I always pay up mi debts."
"Alright Soreback, here's another 50. That make 200 bucks now, alright?"
"Good on a mate. You're a real good cobber."
Once Soreback had the 50, he bought himself another beer and then looked around the bar for another school to join in.
As I walked up the stairs to mi room, I was walking along the passage when the Queen Bee came walking around the corner from the opposite end.
"G'day, ya staying in one of the rooms for the weekend?", she said.
"Yeah, Number 17s' mine."
I'd had a few beers that afternoon so I was not my usual shy self.
"Why don't we have a beer together?"
"I just came up for a rest. I've had a couple of beers too many already."
"Well one more won't make much difference. I'll go back downstairs and bring up a bottle. Leave the door open for me for when I get back."
She took off down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. I shot in mi room and locked the door. 'Maybe she was only joking', I thought, as I lay on the bed, mi heart pounding away. I was remembering what Soreback had said about her being a bit of a go-er.
Some one turned the handle of the door. When it wouldn't open, I heard of couple of light taps. Although my heart was now pounding away with fear, I saw myself get off the bed and walk over to the door. Mi hand reached up and turned the lock. When mi other hand turned the knob and pulled open the door, the Queen Bee quickly stepped inside.
"Lock the door in case anyone comes. I'm not supposed to be up here."
She put the bottle on the table next to the bed and then said,
"Aren't ya gonna offer me a drink?"
"Oh yeah.", I said, as I popped off the top with the corner of mi round tobacco tin. I poured out a couple of glasses. She said,
"Cheers mate!
It only took her about 2 swallows and the middy glass of beer was gone. She asked me mi name and where I'd been shearing. As soon as I put the glass down, she stood up and pulled down her knickers and then stepped out of them, all the time not taking her eyes off me. She lay down on the bed and pulled me over on top of her.
"Come on, let's go! Give me a real good, hard fucking!"
The fear I had been experiencing now turned to incredible excitement as she stuck her tongue half-way down my throat. When I responded, she started to move around on the bed. At the same time, she pulled mi t-shirt out of mi jeans. I'd only ever been with a couple of young girls before. This was a brand new experience for me.
The Queen Bee started to moan a bit as she dug her fingernails into my back. Although it hurt somewhat, I did not find myself complaining. She started to tear at mi belt trying to undo it. To make matters easier, I gave her a hand.
I heard a strange growling sound as I pushed myself into her body. The fear started to come back as she growled and tore at mi skin. Her hips pounded away at mine as her arms and legs wrapped around me in a vice-like grip. The growling grew even louder as she bit my shoulder muscle really hard!
I used to think I had what it took to be a bit of a stud until the Queen Bee got her teeth into me. All I could think of now, was how I was going to get away from this thrashing, biting and scratching tiger. The growling got loud at one point that I opened my eyes to check and see what it was that I'd let into my room. When I saw it was an old woman, all sorts of feelings started to flash through mi mind.
Just then, I heard a voice in mi head say, 'What's it like fucking a pensioner?'
Another voice said, 'Jesus mate, she's old enough to be your mother!'
A voice I recognized as mi mothers' said, 'Don't forget son, treat every woman you meet with respect like you would your own mother!'
Then another voice, which I didn't recognize said, 'Don't listen to those wimpy voices. Give the horny, old bitch the best fucking she's ever had in her life!'
By this time, what with the voices and her animal-like growling, I was totally confused. The energy had built up to such a point now that I could no longer control it. The next thing I felt was a huge explosion from between mi legs. This uncontrollable orgasm sent the Queen Bee into an orgasmic fit of her own.The growling now turned into a scream as she squeezed her thighs together and thrust her crotch into mine.
I now became aware of the pain in my back as her fingernails dug into mi skin and clawed their way downwards. After it was all over, I pulled her arms from around me. It was like trying to get away from an octopus with nails.
When I eventually got free, I said, "You better go before someone finds you up here."
"Yeah, perhaps you're right."
As I watched her get dressed, I was feeling all sorts of emotions again, not to mention the burning sensation in mi back. Once she was dressed, she re-adjusted her skirt and said, "See ya around honey."
"Yeah, see ya later.", I said as I quietly locked the door behind her, in case she changed her mind.
As I sat on the side of the bed where she had just lain, I could smell her odor all over the place. I sprinkled some of mi Old Spice After Shave on the top cover, to get rid of it. I pulled off mi good white t-shirt and discovered it was blood-stained. I walked over to the long mirror and turned mi back to it, twisting mi neck so I could see.
It was not a pretty sight. There were long, red fingernail marks all the way down mi back. They started at the center of mi back and curved down towards mi ribs. There were still drops of blood trickling down the tracks.
A new feeling started to creep in, as I stood there. I felt incredibly dirty. I grabbed the towel which was hanging over the end of the bed and made mi way along the corridor to the shower, hoping not to bump into any of the other shearers that were staying there.
Once the hot water was adjusted right, I stood under the shower for ages trying to wash away the voices. The water stung mi back as it washed over the open skin. After a while I couldn't feel it. 'It must have gone numb.', I thought.
The next time I saw the Queen Bee in the Argent Hotel, she looked past me like she didn't even know me. I lit up a smoke, picked up mi beer and carried on with mi life like it had never really happened.
The next shed I shore at, one of the shearers asked me if I'd got drunk and fallen into a barb-wire fence, when he saw mi shoulders.
"No mate, I had a dream I was fighting a huge tiger and when I woke up the scratches were there!"
"Right mate! Pull this one, it's got fucking bells on it.
"Who's that old bird over there that keeps staring at me?"
"They call her the Queen Bee mate. She's not that old, she's only about 50, if that?"
"Well, I'm only 19 Soreback. 50 seems old to me."
"They tell me she's a bit of a go-er. She looks like she's got her eye on you!"
"Don't be stupid Soreback. She's old enough to be mi mother."
"Maybe so Yorky but she's taking more than a bit of interest in ya."
As the afternoon wore on, I forgot all about the Queen Bee 'cause I'd had one too many beers for my liking. I said to Soreback,
"I'm off upstairs for a lay down. Give us a shout at Seven, will ya mate?"
"Alright Yorky. Lend me another 50 will ya mate?"
"Jesus, Soreback, you and money part company pretty quick."
"Yeah mate, I know. Don't worry about me not paying ya back Yorky. I always pay up mi debts."
"Alright Soreback, here's another 50. That make 200 bucks now, alright?"
"Good on a mate. You're a real good cobber."
Once Soreback had the 50, he bought himself another beer and then looked around the bar for another school to join in.
As I walked up the stairs to mi room, I was walking along the passage when the Queen Bee came walking around the corner from the opposite end.
"G'day, ya staying in one of the rooms for the weekend?", she said.
"Yeah, Number 17s' mine."
I'd had a few beers that afternoon so I was not my usual shy self.
"Why don't we have a beer together?"
"I just came up for a rest. I've had a couple of beers too many already."
"Well one more won't make much difference. I'll go back downstairs and bring up a bottle. Leave the door open for me for when I get back."
She took off down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. I shot in mi room and locked the door. 'Maybe she was only joking', I thought, as I lay on the bed, mi heart pounding away. I was remembering what Soreback had said about her being a bit of a go-er.
Some one turned the handle of the door. When it wouldn't open, I heard of couple of light taps. Although my heart was now pounding away with fear, I saw myself get off the bed and walk over to the door. Mi hand reached up and turned the lock. When mi other hand turned the knob and pulled open the door, the Queen Bee quickly stepped inside.
"Lock the door in case anyone comes. I'm not supposed to be up here."
She put the bottle on the table next to the bed and then said,
"Aren't ya gonna offer me a drink?"
"Oh yeah.", I said, as I popped off the top with the corner of mi round tobacco tin. I poured out a couple of glasses. She said,
"Cheers mate!
It only took her about 2 swallows and the middy glass of beer was gone. She asked me mi name and where I'd been shearing. As soon as I put the glass down, she stood up and pulled down her knickers and then stepped out of them, all the time not taking her eyes off me. She lay down on the bed and pulled me over on top of her.
"Come on, let's go! Give me a real good, hard fucking!"
The fear I had been experiencing now turned to incredible excitement as she stuck her tongue half-way down my throat. When I responded, she started to move around on the bed. At the same time, she pulled mi t-shirt out of mi jeans. I'd only ever been with a couple of young girls before. This was a brand new experience for me.
The Queen Bee started to moan a bit as she dug her fingernails into my back. Although it hurt somewhat, I did not find myself complaining. She started to tear at mi belt trying to undo it. To make matters easier, I gave her a hand.
I heard a strange growling sound as I pushed myself into her body. The fear started to come back as she growled and tore at mi skin. Her hips pounded away at mine as her arms and legs wrapped around me in a vice-like grip. The growling grew even louder as she bit my shoulder muscle really hard!
I used to think I had what it took to be a bit of a stud until the Queen Bee got her teeth into me. All I could think of now, was how I was going to get away from this thrashing, biting and scratching tiger. The growling got loud at one point that I opened my eyes to check and see what it was that I'd let into my room. When I saw it was an old woman, all sorts of feelings started to flash through mi mind.
Just then, I heard a voice in mi head say, 'What's it like fucking a pensioner?'
Another voice said, 'Jesus mate, she's old enough to be your mother!'
A voice I recognized as mi mothers' said, 'Don't forget son, treat every woman you meet with respect like you would your own mother!'
Then another voice, which I didn't recognize said, 'Don't listen to those wimpy voices. Give the horny, old bitch the best fucking she's ever had in her life!'
By this time, what with the voices and her animal-like growling, I was totally confused. The energy had built up to such a point now that I could no longer control it. The next thing I felt was a huge explosion from between mi legs. This uncontrollable orgasm sent the Queen Bee into an orgasmic fit of her own.The growling now turned into a scream as she squeezed her thighs together and thrust her crotch into mine.
I now became aware of the pain in my back as her fingernails dug into mi skin and clawed their way downwards. After it was all over, I pulled her arms from around me. It was like trying to get away from an octopus with nails.
When I eventually got free, I said, "You better go before someone finds you up here."
"Yeah, perhaps you're right."
As I watched her get dressed, I was feeling all sorts of emotions again, not to mention the burning sensation in mi back. Once she was dressed, she re-adjusted her skirt and said, "See ya around honey."
"Yeah, see ya later.", I said as I quietly locked the door behind her, in case she changed her mind.
As I sat on the side of the bed where she had just lain, I could smell her odor all over the place. I sprinkled some of mi Old Spice After Shave on the top cover, to get rid of it. I pulled off mi good white t-shirt and discovered it was blood-stained. I walked over to the long mirror and turned mi back to it, twisting mi neck so I could see.
It was not a pretty sight. There were long, red fingernail marks all the way down mi back. They started at the center of mi back and curved down towards mi ribs. There were still drops of blood trickling down the tracks.
A new feeling started to creep in, as I stood there. I felt incredibly dirty. I grabbed the towel which was hanging over the end of the bed and made mi way along the corridor to the shower, hoping not to bump into any of the other shearers that were staying there.
Once the hot water was adjusted right, I stood under the shower for ages trying to wash away the voices. The water stung mi back as it washed over the open skin. After a while I couldn't feel it. 'It must have gone numb.', I thought.
The next time I saw the Queen Bee in the Argent Hotel, she looked past me like she didn't even know me. I lit up a smoke, picked up mi beer and carried on with mi life like it had never really happened.
The next shed I shore at, one of the shearers asked me if I'd got drunk and fallen into a barb-wire fence, when he saw mi shoulders.
"No mate, I had a dream I was fighting a huge tiger and when I woke up the scratches were there!"
"Right mate! Pull this one, it's got fucking bells on it.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
HONG KONG TATTO ©
The first stopover, on my flight to England, was in Sydney. I stayed at a hotel in Kings Cross which was paid for by Air New Zealand. I spent most of the evening saying 'no' to the endless parade of prostitutes that walked the streets. When I was sick of walking around, I went into The Paradise Club to listen to some live music. The club stayed open until 3:30 after which I had a meal and then walk back towards Kings Cross Fountain and my hotel, which was just around the corner.
As we drove through the streets in my private taxi at 2 in the morning, it looked like 2 in the afternoon. The streets were packed with people who seemed to be totally lost, as they wandered along through the bright, gaudy neon lights of the city. The taxi stopped outside the Hotel front entrance. A bell hop grabbed hold of my suitcase before I knew what had hit me!
"Yes, Yes.", he said. "You please to come this way sir."
I knew that he was talking to my money but it was too late now. I'd have had to kill him before he would let go of my case. I thought,
'What the hell! I'm on holidays!'
After I checked in, the small bell hop carried my big case over to the lift and up we went. He wore a permanent smile from the ground floor to the top. As we rode up in the lift, the only time I saw his smile disappear was when I thanked him very much for carrying the suitcase and then asked him to leave. He looked at me and then his empty hand. After 3 times of this little act, I gave him 2 dollars, the smile came back quickly.
"Just testing mate.", I said in broad Occa.
"I am begging your pardon?"
"Nothing sport. See ya later."
The room was 5-Star. I dived on the double bed to test it out. No complaints. All paid for by Air New Zealand, after I'd paid them a thousand dollars for the trip! As I laid on the bed, staring up at the light fixture, I decided to have a good hot shower and then go downstairs to ask where the action was. Showered and dressed, I made mi way way downstairs.
Once I reached the lobby, I asked the desk clerk if he knew of any good bars where it was safe for one man to go to alone.
"The Jolly Swagman.", he said with a smile. "Take a taxi outside and only pay what's on the meter."
"Meter price to the Jolly Swagman mate.", I said to the taxi driver as he opened the door.
"No no
The next day, the complimentary taxi picked me up and drove me back to Kingston-Smith airport. I boarded the plane and we took off to the next destination which was to be Hong Kong. When we landed in Hong Kong, I was driven to the Miramar Hotel where I was to stay for 48 hours.
As we drove through the streets in my private taxi at 2 in the morning, it looked like 2 in the afternoon. The streets were packed with people who seemed to be totally lost, as they wandered along through the bright, gaudy neon lights of the city. The taxi stopped outside the Hotel front entrance. A bell hop grabbed hold of my suitcase before I knew what had hit me!
"Yes, Yes.", he said. "You please to come this way sir."
I knew that he was talking to my money but it was too late now. I'd have had to kill him before he would let go of my case. I thought,
'What the hell! I'm on holidays!'
After I checked in, the small bell hop carried my big case over to the lift and up we went. He wore a permanent smile from the ground floor to the top. As we rode up in the lift, the only time I saw his smile disappear was when I thanked him very much for carrying the suitcase and then asked him to leave. He looked at me and then his empty hand. After 3 times of this little act, I gave him 2 dollars, the smile came back quickly.
"Just testing mate.", I said in broad Occa.
"I am begging your pardon?"
"Nothing sport. See ya later."
The room was 5-Star. I dived on the double bed to test it out. No complaints. All paid for by Air New Zealand, after I'd paid them a thousand dollars for the trip! As I laid on the bed, staring up at the light fixture, I decided to have a good hot shower and then go downstairs to ask where the action was. Showered and dressed, I made mi way way downstairs.
Once I reached the lobby, I asked the desk clerk if he knew of any good bars where it was safe for one man to go to alone.
"The Jolly Swagman.", he said with a smile. "Take a taxi outside and only pay what's on the meter."
"Meter price to the Jolly Swagman mate.", I said to the taxi driver as he opened the door.
"No no
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
THE GUN SHEARER ~ REDPATH ©
I was introduced to a gun shearer, Ian Redpath. He was a tall bloke who always wore a pork-pie, punters hat when he wasn't shearing. He was mostly bald at the front of his head which made his appearance seem older than his years. A heavy drinking problem did nothing to correct it either.
Redpath was a quiet bloke until he had too much grog and then he could become very argumentative or he'd simply go to sleep on the bar stool with his head on the counter until the Publican decided he'd had enough rest then he'd wake him up. Upon waking, the first words out of Redpaths' mouth were,
"Give us another middy mate."
In town, Redpath was a hopeless drunk but when he got back in the sheds, after a couple of slow days he would be ringing the shed again. I became very fond of Redpath, despite his drinking habit. When he told me he was leaving the Lake to drive over to Western Australia, I asked him if I could go with him.
"No worries mate. Sling ya swag in the back of mi Ute. I'll be leaving tonight after Giltraps closes."
It didn't take me very long to pack up mi case and as soon as Giltraps did close, Redpath very casually sauntered out, carrying a dozen cans under his arm for the ride to Hilston where he was based.
We arrived in Hilston well after midnight. Instead of going to his room, which he rented at at a mates house, he made his way to the back door of the Hilston Hotel. Once inside, we stayed there for at least 3 hours until the Publican refused to serve anymore beer.
The following day, Redpath got up at 1pm and headed towards the bar again. He kept this activity up for at least 3 days until I finally said to him,
"I'm going back to the Lake mate. I didn't come with you to watch ya drink ya self to death. I'll be leaving as soon as I find a ride back."
This statement of mine must have given him a bit of a shock because he finished his beer, bought another dozen and said, "Alright, come on mate, let's hit the road!"
Pretty soon we were on our way with my self behind the wheel of his brand new Ute. I knew he really liked me, otherwise he would have stayed at the bar drinking until he was broke. Also, he liked me to drive. No one lets a bloke drive his new Ute unless he enjoys his company.
We must have been on the road for around 6 hours. We'd changed seats and Redpath was now driving. Drunk or sober, he drove the Ute at around 80 miles an hour. Just as I was settling in for the long haul a big, semi passed us on the dirt road. The next thing I heard was a loud 'BANG' as a stone shattered the windscreen to pieces. Immediately, Redpath applied the brakes and at the same time he pushed out a big enough hole in the windscreen, which enabled him to see where we were heading. As soon as the vehicle ground to a halt, we pushed out the whole windscreen. There was shattered glass all over the place.
"What a bastard!", said Redpath. "This calls for another beer!"
I cleaned up as much of the small pieces of glass as I could without a small dust pan and broom. When it looked all right to Redpath he said, "Fuck it Yorky, that'll do sport. Open ya self a beer mate and well get moving again."
It's amazing how uncomfortable one can be in a Ute with no windscreen, especially traveling on a dirt road. Every car that drives past kicks up a huge amount of dry red dust.
When we finally reached a town called Wilcania, we were covered in a thick layer of dust from head to toe. Once we found the largest garage in town, the owner said he'd have to order a windscreen because it was a new Ute and he didn't carry spares for new vehicles. He also said that it would take at least 4 days before it arrived. Redpath ordered it and then drove straight to the Hotel to contemplate what to do, over a few cold middys.
That evening, as we made friends with a few of the local shearer, Redpath, who was known all over the Outback of NSW, managed to pick up some shearing and crutching for us. At least we'd make a few dollars while we waited in Wilcania.
That evening, we drove out to a station called Mount Pleasant. It was anything but. There was only a few sheep to shear. so the rest of our time was spent crutching, daggy-arse sheep.
Crutching consists of dragging out sheep, shearing the wool off of their rear-end in a fan-like shape. Under normal conditions, one can make a lot of money out of crutching. Unfortunately, we were not crutching in ideal conditions.
Once sheep have been let into a paddock that has plenty of green feed they tend to get the scours. They shit all over the wool around their arse. Over a period of time, the blow-flys, who see sheep shit as a five star meal, land all over the sheeps' arse. In the process, the blow-flys lay their eggs on the shit. After some time, the eggs hatch out as maggots. Maggots, being what they are, will look for food. Once they are firmly on the skin, they will start eating the sheep alive! They bore holes deep down into the sheeps' rear end. If not caught in time, they will kill the sheep.
Any shearer knows a fly-blown sheep. He can smell it. The antidote for this little trauma is to shear off all the wool where the maggots have been. After he's done this, he yells out "TAR BOY!" A roustabout runs down the board to the shearer with a can of liquid, which he daubs all over where the blow-flys have been, which stops them getting re-infected.
The other operation that one encounters while crutching, is when the shit on the rear end of the sheep has dried hard as a rock. The only way to get this off is to chip away with the hand-piece until it's all gone. That was how we spent our time at Mt. Pleasant.
After we finished our few days, he luckily found another 2 weeks shearing for us. It was decided that we'd forget about driving a few thousand miles across the Nullabar Plain and remain in Wilcania for as long as the work held out.
The following Friday evening Redpath and me drove back into town from a weeks hard work in rough old wethers. We decided to try out one of the other bars, just for a change in scenery. We already knew quite a few shearers now which made the stay a bit more enjoyable.
At around 9:30 I decided to go for a walk down the street for some fresh air. I was not interested in getting blind drunk with Redpath that night. Once I got outside a couple of Aborigine girls smiled a big smile at me and asked me my name and where I came from. Once I said, Lake Cargelligo they asked me if knew all of their relations who lived out at the mission. After 10 minutes of talking they suggested that after the bar closed down, if I bought some beer and wine we could all go for a bit of a party out at the place they were living. I agreed to meet them later.
After I had a feed at the local Dago shop, I went back up to the bar to see how old Redpath was faring. By this time, he was firing on all 8 cylinders and was already quite argumentative when the Publican called 'Time' at 11. I told Redpath about the the 2 Abbo sheilas I'd met earlier. He seemed to like the idea cause he said,
"At least it's somewhere to go where we can hang around and drink some more grog."
When we went around the back of the Hotel where Redpath had parked his Ute, the girls were waiting for us.
"G'day", they said as we approached. "Ya got some grog?"
"Of course I've got some fucking grog.", said Redpath. "Have ya ever known me not to have any?"
One of the girls said, with a smile,
"How would we know? We've only just met ya mate."
"Then fucking go and ask anybody that knows me, they'll all tell ya the same thing. Ya might see old Redpath without food on many occasion but grog, you'll never see him without."
"Alright mate.", said the older one. "Keep ya fucking hat on. We only asked."
"Where the hell are ya taking us anyway?", asked Redpath.
"Few miles out of town. Got a humpy out there. We can have a party without being disturbed.", said on of 'em.
Once we were all squashed in the front seat of the Ute, he started it up and drove out of the car park and then up the main road. For some reason, he was driving very slow tonight which was totally out of character for him. He was driving so slow in fact, one of the girls said,
"Can't this Ute go any fucking faster?"
"Course it fucking can. It's a brand new Ute.", he said. "What d'ya wanna go faster for?
"Well mate, some one might see us with 2 white fellas."
"So fucking what?", said Redpath, who had now opened a new can.
"Don't worry me mate, but if the local cops see us with ya, you'll git into big trouble.", said one of the girls.
"Fuck the cops. I've been in jail overnight more times than I can remember so once more won't make any difference to me.", said Redpath.
At long last, we arrived at an old rusty, broken down tin shack at the end of a dirt track on the outskirts of town. When we went inside, I got quite a shock as I looked around me. It was a one-room place with a dirt floor. The inside walls were just as rusty as the outside. The only furniture in the room was 2 single beds, one at each side of the room. On the actual bed part there were no mattresses, only a sagging chain-link spring affair which was supposed to hold at least a flock mattress. Instead, all that covered them were an old wool blanket. The only other furniture I could see was an old wooden chair which only had 3 legs.
Redpath walked over to one of the beds and sat down on the edge of the frame with the booze at the side of him.
"Alright mate, give us a drink.", said one of the girls to him.
"I don't know whether or not I should waste mi good beer on you Abbo sheilas. Here, ya can open up this bottle of Plonk, if ya like.
"Is this where you live?". I asked.
"Sure is mate. What else do we need?"
"Where d'ya cook?", I asked, cause there was no electricity or running water.
"Outside mate. We make a fire when we wanna cook up something."
"Where d'ya put ya clothes?", I asked.
"On mi body. Where else would I put 'em?"
"No, ya spare clothes.", I said.
"What spare clothes is he talking about?", said the other girl.
"Fucked if I know." said the other one. "He must know something we don't."
"Are these thin cotton dresses the only clothes ya have?
"Course they are. What do I need anymore for. I can only wear one dress at a time."
"What d'ya do when ya have to wash 'em?"
"I wash it in the river and hang it over a bush till it dries. What else."
As we sat and talked, I asked them many questions about their lives. Most of the time, they thought I was pretty weird. Eventually Redpath started to talk politics to the girl who was now sitting next to him. He asked her for an opinion on the war in Vietnam.
"What you mean, 'Vietnam?' What war? Where abouts in New South Wales is Vietnam? I haven't never heard of it mate."
"What about all those young white kids that are dying over there so that you bastards can be 'free'?" said Redpath, who was now pretty drunk.
"What bullshit you fucking talking white fella?", she said. "Maybe you had too much grog. Black fellas never have war. No white fella ever die for black fellas but plenty black fellas die at the hand of white fellas. If ya so worried about this Bush town, Vietnam, why don't you go to war instead of gittin' on the grog?"
"Ya stupid, bloody Giin.", said Redpath, as he took another big swig out of his can. "Vietnam ain't in the Bush. It's another bloody country all together. Didn't ya learn anything at school?"
The girl who was now sat next to me said to him,
"She never went to no white fellas school mate. She learn from tribal family everything about ancestors. Same as me mate. White fellas learning no good to black fellas. Only good thing white fellas have is plonk and Marlboroughs.
"Yeah that 's the bloody problem with you black bastards.", said Redpath. "Ya never work or look after the land."
The girl who was sitting next to him took another swig out of the wine bottle and said,
"What d'ya mean, black fellas not work or look after the land. Just look at you white fellas. You come to our land and in a few years it's almost dead! Ya put those chemical things on the land and then ya put up fences and tell us it's yours and if we walk on it, we're trespassing. Then ya go and call the white fella sergeant on us."
"Ya can have ya land back for all I care.", said Redpath, who was by now really drunk.
The Abbo girl, who was now herself a bit drunk said to him,
"We don't want it back now. You white fellas fucked it up so ya can have it. It's no good to us black fellas anymore."
As they were arguing back and forth, the girl who was sat with me said,
"Come on mate, I wanna show ya something. Come outside."
When we got outside, she closed the door and then grabbed hold of my hand and took off at a fast pace into the Bush. After about 10 minutes of walking we came to a big clearing in the Malley. The full moon was directly up above now and filled the clearing with a warm glow.
"Pretty place eh?", she said as she looked around.
"Yeah,", I said. "It's really peaceful out here."
"I wanna give you some thing very special.", she said as she pulled off her dress. "You are a very special white fella. You are a very good man. Come on.", she said as she laid down in the thick red dust. "Take off ya clothes and put it in here. I've got a gift for you."
We laid down in the Bush for at least 3 hours. When we were finished, I looked more like a black fella than a white one 'cause I was covered all over in layers of red earth.
"Let's go back now.", she said. "The Sun will be comin' up soon. It's not good for you if white fellas see you with a black Gin."
When we got back to the tin humpy, Redpath was fast asleep in the front of his Ute. The other Abbo girl was asleep on one of the rickety beds.
"You'd better wake him up and go now before some of my family show up."
It took me ages to wake up Redpath. When he eventually came too, he said,
"Gives us a middy mate!"
Come Sunday evening Redpath and me drove back out into the Bush for another weeks hard work shearing Wethers.
The cooks name was Paddy Slaven. He was an old Irish immigrant with a bald head, fat round face and a chronic drinking problem.
People who live in the Bush that have bad drinking problems are not called 'alcoholics' as long as they can get up and go to work everyday but once the grog has really gotten hold of 'em and they can no longer work, then and only then are they branded as close to being an 'alchy'.
Old Paddy was as close to being an 'alchy' as possible, without actually being labeled one. He drank from 5 in the morning until 11 at night, when he eventually ran out of grog. If he couldn't borrow a half-gallon of plonk, he would start on the Vanilla Essence. Many a contractor thought that Paddy would be baking a lot of cakes by the amount of Vanilla Essence he ordered for the stores but I can't remember ever eating one of Paddys' cakes.
When we finished that shed, we drove back into Wilcania for the weekend. On Saturday morning old Paddy was propped up at the bar drinking with one of his mates he'd met in town. By the time the afternoon arrived, he was broke down to the bones of his arse. When I walked into the bar, he made a bee-line for me. He gave me a sob story about having no money left for food.
I was still pretty naive in those days. It only took old Paddy a few minutes to relieve me of a 10 dollar note, after promising to go to the Dagos' shop and buy himself a good feed. When he walked away from me with the 10 bucks, I decided to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't forget the purpose of the loan.
As I watched him closely, he slid the 10 dollar bill over the counter for the Publican to change. When he got it back in two fives he gave his drinkin' mate $5 and ordered another round of booze out of his 5. Once I saw that, I was really pissed! I walked over to where he was sittin' and said,
"Hey Paddy, ya told me ya wanted to buy ya self some food cause ya hadn't eaten for 24 hours!"
"Yeah, Yeah Yorky. Ya know how it is mate."
"No I fucking don't Paddy. All I know is that you're a fucking liar! If I had known you were gonna blow it on booze, I'd have never given it to ya!"
"You'll git ya fucking money back mate. Why are ya so angry?"
"Cause you're a real fucking con-man Paddy and on top of that you're a chronic fucking alcoholic!"
"Don't ya fucking dare speak to me like that ya pommy bastard!"
"Why Paddy, what ya gonna do about it. You'll never be sober enough to remember what I called ya."
"I'll knock ya arse over head in a minute."
"You and who else Paddy, ya drunken alchy mate? I could beat the shit out of both of ya with one fucking arm. Anyway, I'll tell ya one thing for sure, ya fucking lush. If I ever saw ya starving in the gutter, I wouldn't piss on ya if ya were on fire. You're better off dead! As far as the 10 bucks go, ya can keep it Sport. From now on I'll warn everybody I know about ya, ya fucking con-man!"
With that, I left him to his misery and went to the cafe, miself, for a good breakfast. I didn't very often get angry with people but that morning, if old Paddy had have pushed the issue too far I would have put him out of his fuckin' misery.
I spent most of the afternoon playing pool and having a few beers with some of the shearers I'd met. As I was scanning the local paper, I read a small article about 3 blokes who'd killed themselves in a car crash on the outskirts of town. The article said that they were all blind drunk and had hit a Semi-trailer head on. The articles' headline read, TWO MEN AND A SHEARER KILLED! That headline was the usual local attitude toward shearers or anyone who worked in the sheds.
Later on that evening, I saw the Aborigine girl I'd met the week before. I took off into the Bush with her again before the long night was over. The following morning, as I was having a beer with Redpath, who was in a pretty bad state, the local Wilcania Sargeant appeared at the front door of the pub. I know, because I could see him in the large mirror behind the bar.
"Oye! You, ya bastard. Come out here."
Every one in the bar turned around, except me.
"Oye!", he said again. "If I have to come in there and git ya, you'll be in deep shit mate!"
Slowly, I turned around on my stool and faced the front door.
"Yeh, you ya bastard."
"Come out here, I wanna a fucking word with you!"
"G'day sport.", he said in a nasty tone of voice.
"G'day, Sergeant what can I do for ya?", I said.
"Ya can't do a thing for me cobber but I've got a message for you!"
I had no idea whatsoever what the big, ugly Sergeant was talking about so I just kept quiet and waited.
"I understand from my source that ya fucking one of our local Gins."
His nasty tone and bluntness took me by surprise, but only for a second. I said to him,
"Your understanding from your source is wrong, Sargeant."
"I don't think so cobber, so listen to me and listen real good sport. If ya still in Wilcania by 1 O'clock this afternoon, I'll fucking lock ya up!"
"Why would ya do that? I haven't broken any of ya laws?"
"We've got a law in this town called 'Consorting'. If I was you sport I'd get the fuck out-a this town and don't fucking come back!"
With that, he walked off down the street to where he'd parked the local blue Bull-Wagon.
When I walked back into the bar, Redpath, seedy as he was from his Saturday night binge said to me,
"What did that big ugly bastard want?"
"He told me if I was still in town by 1 O'clock today, he was going to jail me for consorting."
"Fuckin' streuth!", said Redpath, who was now wide awake. "Let's grab a couple dozen bottles and git out of here before the ugly bastard comes back."
"Why, what does 'consorting' mean?"
"It means, ya not even allowed to talk to those black sheilas. If he finds out for sure that ya fucked one of 'em, he'll fuckin' lock both of us up and throw away the fuckin' key!"
Redpath downed his middy in one large swallow. He paid the Publican for 2 dozen large bottles of Pilsner, then said to me,
"Let's git our gear from the hotel and git out a' here. I'm sick of this scungy, fucking town anyway!"
Once our swags were packed and put in the back of the Ute, we were once more on our way. We left Wilcania behind in a cloud of red dust.
Redpath only drove a few miles before he said to me,
"I'll pull over to the side of the road and you can drive, if ya like. This driving caper is interfering with a mans' drinkin'."
When the Ute stopped, we exchanged seats. I pushed mi foot down on the accelerator and I said to Redpath,
"Where to now mate?"
"I think we'll head off South, Yorky. We'll see if we can pick up a pen in those big, fat Corradale sheep. I'm a bit sick of shearing rough Whethers. Besides, that Victorian Bitter is not too bad a drop of grog. I haven't had any since last year. We'll head down to a place called Hamilton. I'll git the road map out and once we know where we're heading, I can relax and have a few beers while you drive."
On the way down to Hamilton, we stopped at a place called Horsham. Redpath ran into a contractor that he'd worked for a few years before.
His name was Ron McClure. McClure was looking for one shearer. He had about six weeks worth of work so Redpath took the pen.
As we sat in the bar, I was starting to worry a bit because I had no work and no way of traveling without Redpath. At the end of the evening Redpath said,
"We're gonna stay at McClures' place tonight and tomorrow I'm gonna drive ya down to Hamilton. McClure says you're sure to pick up a pen shearing at this time of year. They're in full swing down there."
The following day, we took off early cause Redpath had to get back to Horsham. He dropped me off at the local shearers' pub. After I booked in, we had a couple of beers together.
For all his problems, old Redpath had a big heart. Anyone else would have left me stuck in Horsham, but not old Redpath. After we said our goodbyes, he took off and I ordered another beer. I remember it was somewhere around 3 O'clock in the afternoon. I had another 3 hours to wait until the local shearers started to roll in.
One thing about a shearers' pub is it doesn't take very long before one gets to know the local crowd. By 10 that evening, I'd met who a bloke who arranged a pen for me, starting in a few days.
A couple of days later as we drove onto the cockys' place, I noticed the size of the sheep. A Merino sheep is usually pretty light unless they've been on real good tucker. These sheep I was now looking at were huge, wooly Coradales', probably weighing around the 150 pound mark.
The cocky was and old German called Shultz. Him and his son, who was about 22, ran the place. The shearers quarters were an old run-down house which had no electricity or fly screens on the windows. Because the grass around that area was long and green, mosquitos were a constant plague.
In the morning, I got into mi shearing gear and made mi way over to the main house for a bit of breakfast before I started. Shultz was also the cook. He told me his old lady had died a few years back and he was left to raise the boy on his own.
At 7:30 I was loaded up and ready to start shearing. The shed was a small 2-stander and just after 7:30 another shearer turned up from town. He walked into the shed with his tucker box and a comb and cutter tin. As soon as he looked over the wall into his pen, he said to me,
"Jesus Christ mate, these fucking sheep look like baby elephants! I'll be flatstrap shearing a fucking 100 a day in these bastards!"
It took me all my my strength to drag the big, wooly Coradale Ewes out of the holding pen, not to mention shearing them. I'd only been shearing for about a year but not consistently so my lack of experience did not enhance my ability to shear a good tally.
Normally, if I worked mi guts out all day I could shear anywhere between 80 to 100 Merinos. After 2 hard hours of shearing old Shultzs' Coradales, I had only managed to poke out 15! The wool was really long and hard-cutting which meant I had to change the combs and cutters a lot. Because the sheep were so fat they did not like being sat up or rolled on their backs. To show their disapproval, they kicked like hell. The bloke next to me cursed and swore as he sweated over the huge Coradales.
By lunch time he had shorn 45. Once old Shultz was out of earshot, he said to me,
"I'll be looking for another pen tonight when I git back to town. The bloke who told me about this place said they were not bad shearing. Wait till I see that lying bastard again!"
"How long ya been shearing?", I asked him.
"15 years mate. How about you?"
"About a year, but not every week."
"You've only been shearing a year mate? Jesus sport, you're going real well in these mongrel bastards!"
"Not really. I'll be flat out getting 60 today."
"But that's pretty good for a learner Yorky. Look at me, I've only done 45. The last place I was at, I was shearing 150 a day."
"So ya think I'm going alright?"
"Listen mate, I'm one of the fastest shearers in Hamilton. Any bastard will tell ya that. As far as I'm concerned, if you can shear 60 for the day in these bastards, you're alright in my book sport."
At first, I was feeling really down cause I expected to shear at least 80 a day but this bloke on the stand next to me helped me feel a lot better about miself. He was a real supportive bloke.
He stayed at the shed about a week before he pulled the pin on the old cocky. Over the next few days he stopped several times to give me some good pointers on how to make the job easier for miself.
On Friday night, I drove into Hamilton with him and booked into the Hotel. Over the weekend I met quite a few shearers in the barroom. Some of 'em were good blokes and some of 'em were real bastards. One bloke asked me how many a day I was shearing. When I told him 60, he started to laugh and take the piss out of me. As he was doing this, the shearer who had been working with me all week came into the bar. He was a well-known bloke around Hamilton. People greeted him as he waked in. When he saw me at the bar, he came over and said,
"Drink up Yorky, I'll buy ya a beer mate."
"Good on ya.", I said. "Good to see ya again,"
The shearer who had been taking the piss out of me knew the gun shearer who had just bought me a beer. He said to him,
"Where ya been shearing at mate?"
"I've been shearing with Yorky all week out at Shultzs' place."
"How many ya doing a day there?", he asked him.
"90 was mi best day,"
"Fucking hell sport, they must be real tough going for you to only shear 90 in 'em?"
"They fucking are.", he said. "Old Yorky here was doing as well as me for the length of time he's been shearing."
"Jesus Christ.", said the piss taker. "I'm sorry for taking the piss out of ya mate. I didn't realize how touch a-goin' the sheep were."
The bloke I worked all week with said, "They been taking the piss out of ya Yorky, have they mate? Well don't let it worry ya sport cause these lazy bastards wouldn't shear 50 a day in those sheep. I'll put mi money on you any day of the fucking week mate. Drink up Yorky, I'll buy ya another beer."
From that point on, no one else took the piss out of me. In fact, I had a pretty good time in Hamilton the 6 weekends I spent there."
After the bar closed down at 10:30, I made mi way out to the lounge. The lounge was open at least another 3 hours for residents and their guests. I met a shearer called Brian Cullen. Brian was a pretty big, strong bloke who came from Cunnamula. We hit it off right from the beginning. That made mi stay there a lot more comfortable.
Once that shed was finished, I left a message for Redpath at McClures' place. He returned my message saying, 'Hitchhike up to Horsham. I've got a pen for ya, shearing with me.' The message made me feel really good. I packed up mi case, paid mi bill at the bar and made mi way up to the Hotel in Horsham where I found Redpath, full as a boot, propping the bar up.
Redpath was very supportive of my shearing efforts. The following day we drove out to the Bush to start another shed. One weekend, whilst hanging out in the bar, I met a bloke, Clay O'malley. He was a handsome-looking bloke with wide shoulders and a reputation to match. He was very popular with the sheilas and the contractors for his respective talents.
Redpath and me were sat quietly at the bar drinking a cold beer when he made his grand entrance. Modesty was not one of O'malleys' better qualities. Before long, he was bragging about the amount of sheep he could shear, the amount of sheilas he'd had and the amount of grog he could hold.
During his bragging session, the subject somehow got on to snakes. As expected, O'malley was also an authority on poisonous snakes. To prove it, he said he'd head out into the bush and catch one. The Publican told him no to be so stupid because he had too much grog in him. True to form, O'malley would not have a bar of it. He downed his beer in one mouthful, picked up his change, then made his exit from the bar.
Whilst he was gone, no one gave it another thought because most people were used to his ways. It wasn't until he made his grand entrance again, carrying a small sugar bag that anyone took him seriously.
"Give us another middy.", he said to the publican as he sat down on the bar stool and put the sugar bag on top of the bar.
"What's in the bag Clay?", said Redpath, who was not at all keen on snakes.
"It's a copper-head mate?"
"Oh Bullshit!", said Redpath, who was now sliding his stool a couple more feet to the right of the bag.
"I tell ya, it's a copper head mate. As soon as I've finished this beer, I'll get it out and show you.
O'malley didn't wait to finish his beer, instead he slid his bar stool back from the counter and started to undo the string which held the top of the sugar bag securely tied. Once the string had been loosened he held it closed with his left hand.
"Now I'll show you bastards what's in the bag!", he said as he felt around the outside of it. "Ah, here we go!" he said as he held onto something from the outside.
"I've got hold of his head now. I'm gonna put mi hand inside the bag and pull him out!"
Everyone, including myself, stepped back at least another 3 feet as he let go of the bag opening. O'malley pushed his hand, very carefully, into the bag as we all looked on. Just then he pulled his hand back out at great speed and said,
"Shit! Bastard! He fucking got me!"
"What d'ya mean, 'he got me'?", said Redpath.
"I thought I had hold of his head securely but he wriggled free and bit me thumb!", he said as he closed the bag tightly.
"Hurry up!", he said in a panicked voice. "You've gotta get me to a hospital!"
Redpath, drunk as he was, sprang into action!
"Alright, hurry up mate. My Ute's outside. I'll take ya!
The publican told us where the closest hospital was. Before we went any further, O'malley cut his thumb and tied a piece of string around it as fast as he could. In no time at all, we were doing 90 miles an hour up the wide bitchuman highway towards the hospital. On the way, O'malley kept saying to me, "Undo the tourniquet and move it up a bit and then pull it as tight as ya can." Once this was done, he said, "Well, it looks like I'm really fucked now. I'll never make it cause once the tourniquet's up to the top of mi arm, there's no where else to tie it!"
Redpath drove like a first-class racing car driver as he steered the Ute around the wide corners with the needle bouncing on 105, most of the time. Before long, I had made the last tie, just below the shoulder muscle in O'malleys' left arm.
"That's it. We can't move it again. I'm out of time mate! I always wondered how I was gonna die. Now I don't have to wonder anymore."
"You'll be alright mate.", I said. "Don't worry, there's not too far to go now!"
"How far to go, Redpath?", asked O'malley.
"Twenty miles mate but at this speed it won't take long."
"I'm fucked! Now I'm really fucked! Tell mi old lady what happened will ya and do what ya can for mi kids."
O'malley was now starting to get groggy. His eyes started to close and his breathing became shallow and slower.
"Don't let me go to sleep." he said in a whisper. "Keep me awake."
The only thing I could think to do was to slap his face and shake him.
"Tell me how many sheep ya shore last week mate?", I said
"I was the fastest in the shed.", he said softly.
"Just as fucking well for you that I wasn't shearing next to you, ya gutless bastard. I'd have run rings around ya!", I said.
This statement brought him back a bit, so I pursued it further.
"The only problem with you fucking Aussies is ya full of shit and ya got no balls. A fucking good pommy could blow ya arse off, in a shed!". I said, as his head lolled from side to side.
"Wake up, ya gutless bastard!". I screamed at him as I slapped his face from side to side.
"That fucking hurts.", he said in a soft whisper.
"That's because you've got no fucking guts O'malley. You're all fucking talk and no action!, I yelled in his face.
"I could work you into the ground, ya fucking pommy bastard." he said as his head lolled forwards.
"You haven't got the fucking balls O'malley!", I screamed at him.
I pulled his head up and I slapped his face around a bit more.
"Hospital's coming up on the left", said Redpath. "Smack him around a bit more mate. Don't let him drift off!"
As we pulled up outside the Emergency entrance, a couple of doctors were waiting with a wheel chair. The publican had called ahead and everyone was fully prepared for him. It only took seconds before he was out of the Ute and into the wheelchair heading for the front door.
Redpath and me parked the Ute and then went into the Emergency waiting room to wait for some information. After about an hour, a doctor came out and said,
"He's gonna be alright now. We gave him a shot of anti-venom and he's sleeping peacefully. It's a good job you kept him conscious, cause if not, he'd be dead by now."
"How long will he be kept in?" asked Redpath.
"At least 5 hours or so. We want to make sure he's alright before we let him go."
We decided there was no more we could do. We filled up the Ute with petrol and drove back to the hotel, only this time the speedo needle never got above 60.
"You're not a bad driver.", I jokingly said to Redpath.
"You're not a bad psychologist. Ya really got his attention when ya called him a gutless bastard and told him ya were gonna run rings around him if ever you were in the same shed together."
"Yeah mate, but I wouldn't dare tell him that, had he been alright."
"Fucking hell no. He's knocked some real big men arse over head for just looking sideways at him."
"Oh shit. I hope he doesn't remember!"
Late that afternoon, O'malley made another grand entrance into the barroom. This time his thumb was bandaged and his ego was a bit bruised.
"Are ya alright mate?", I asked him.
"Course I'm fucking alright. I'm an Aussie. If it had been a pommy bastard that'd gotten bit, he'd have been dead by now."
Redpath piped up, in a drunken slur, and said,
"If it wasn't for this pommy, you'd have been one big, dead, fucking Aussie. I think you owe us, at least, a round of beer so quit your skiting and put ya fucking money where ya mouth is!"
"We'll have 2 more middys' publican." said O'malley.
Not long after that Redpath and me did a couple of sheds in South Australia at a place called Narrow Court. We both lost a good few bucks on a horse called Tobin Bronze. According to Redpath, he could not lose! After that, we drove to a place called White Cliffs where they mine for Opal.
There was not much work around by now. Redpath told me to go to Broken Hill cause he was gonna get on the grog for at least a week. He said he'd had it with shearing for a while.
I said goodbye to Redpath the following day and got a ride with the mail truck to Broken Hill. I never saw Redpath again after that. I firmly believe that if he's still alive, he can be found propping up the bar at the Hilston Hotel in New South Wales!
Redpath was a quiet bloke until he had too much grog and then he could become very argumentative or he'd simply go to sleep on the bar stool with his head on the counter until the Publican decided he'd had enough rest then he'd wake him up. Upon waking, the first words out of Redpaths' mouth were,
"Give us another middy mate."
In town, Redpath was a hopeless drunk but when he got back in the sheds, after a couple of slow days he would be ringing the shed again. I became very fond of Redpath, despite his drinking habit. When he told me he was leaving the Lake to drive over to Western Australia, I asked him if I could go with him.
"No worries mate. Sling ya swag in the back of mi Ute. I'll be leaving tonight after Giltraps closes."
It didn't take me very long to pack up mi case and as soon as Giltraps did close, Redpath very casually sauntered out, carrying a dozen cans under his arm for the ride to Hilston where he was based.
We arrived in Hilston well after midnight. Instead of going to his room, which he rented at at a mates house, he made his way to the back door of the Hilston Hotel. Once inside, we stayed there for at least 3 hours until the Publican refused to serve anymore beer.
The following day, Redpath got up at 1pm and headed towards the bar again. He kept this activity up for at least 3 days until I finally said to him,
"I'm going back to the Lake mate. I didn't come with you to watch ya drink ya self to death. I'll be leaving as soon as I find a ride back."
This statement of mine must have given him a bit of a shock because he finished his beer, bought another dozen and said, "Alright, come on mate, let's hit the road!"
Pretty soon we were on our way with my self behind the wheel of his brand new Ute. I knew he really liked me, otherwise he would have stayed at the bar drinking until he was broke. Also, he liked me to drive. No one lets a bloke drive his new Ute unless he enjoys his company.
We must have been on the road for around 6 hours. We'd changed seats and Redpath was now driving. Drunk or sober, he drove the Ute at around 80 miles an hour. Just as I was settling in for the long haul a big, semi passed us on the dirt road. The next thing I heard was a loud 'BANG' as a stone shattered the windscreen to pieces. Immediately, Redpath applied the brakes and at the same time he pushed out a big enough hole in the windscreen, which enabled him to see where we were heading. As soon as the vehicle ground to a halt, we pushed out the whole windscreen. There was shattered glass all over the place.
"What a bastard!", said Redpath. "This calls for another beer!"
I cleaned up as much of the small pieces of glass as I could without a small dust pan and broom. When it looked all right to Redpath he said, "Fuck it Yorky, that'll do sport. Open ya self a beer mate and well get moving again."
It's amazing how uncomfortable one can be in a Ute with no windscreen, especially traveling on a dirt road. Every car that drives past kicks up a huge amount of dry red dust.
When we finally reached a town called Wilcania, we were covered in a thick layer of dust from head to toe. Once we found the largest garage in town, the owner said he'd have to order a windscreen because it was a new Ute and he didn't carry spares for new vehicles. He also said that it would take at least 4 days before it arrived. Redpath ordered it and then drove straight to the Hotel to contemplate what to do, over a few cold middys.
That evening, as we made friends with a few of the local shearer, Redpath, who was known all over the Outback of NSW, managed to pick up some shearing and crutching for us. At least we'd make a few dollars while we waited in Wilcania.
That evening, we drove out to a station called Mount Pleasant. It was anything but. There was only a few sheep to shear. so the rest of our time was spent crutching, daggy-arse sheep.
Crutching consists of dragging out sheep, shearing the wool off of their rear-end in a fan-like shape. Under normal conditions, one can make a lot of money out of crutching. Unfortunately, we were not crutching in ideal conditions.
Once sheep have been let into a paddock that has plenty of green feed they tend to get the scours. They shit all over the wool around their arse. Over a period of time, the blow-flys, who see sheep shit as a five star meal, land all over the sheeps' arse. In the process, the blow-flys lay their eggs on the shit. After some time, the eggs hatch out as maggots. Maggots, being what they are, will look for food. Once they are firmly on the skin, they will start eating the sheep alive! They bore holes deep down into the sheeps' rear end. If not caught in time, they will kill the sheep.
Any shearer knows a fly-blown sheep. He can smell it. The antidote for this little trauma is to shear off all the wool where the maggots have been. After he's done this, he yells out "TAR BOY!" A roustabout runs down the board to the shearer with a can of liquid, which he daubs all over where the blow-flys have been, which stops them getting re-infected.
The other operation that one encounters while crutching, is when the shit on the rear end of the sheep has dried hard as a rock. The only way to get this off is to chip away with the hand-piece until it's all gone. That was how we spent our time at Mt. Pleasant.
After we finished our few days, he luckily found another 2 weeks shearing for us. It was decided that we'd forget about driving a few thousand miles across the Nullabar Plain and remain in Wilcania for as long as the work held out.
The following Friday evening Redpath and me drove back into town from a weeks hard work in rough old wethers. We decided to try out one of the other bars, just for a change in scenery. We already knew quite a few shearers now which made the stay a bit more enjoyable.
At around 9:30 I decided to go for a walk down the street for some fresh air. I was not interested in getting blind drunk with Redpath that night. Once I got outside a couple of Aborigine girls smiled a big smile at me and asked me my name and where I came from. Once I said, Lake Cargelligo they asked me if knew all of their relations who lived out at the mission. After 10 minutes of talking they suggested that after the bar closed down, if I bought some beer and wine we could all go for a bit of a party out at the place they were living. I agreed to meet them later.
After I had a feed at the local Dago shop, I went back up to the bar to see how old Redpath was faring. By this time, he was firing on all 8 cylinders and was already quite argumentative when the Publican called 'Time' at 11. I told Redpath about the the 2 Abbo sheilas I'd met earlier. He seemed to like the idea cause he said,
"At least it's somewhere to go where we can hang around and drink some more grog."
When we went around the back of the Hotel where Redpath had parked his Ute, the girls were waiting for us.
"G'day", they said as we approached. "Ya got some grog?"
"Of course I've got some fucking grog.", said Redpath. "Have ya ever known me not to have any?"
One of the girls said, with a smile,
"How would we know? We've only just met ya mate."
"Then fucking go and ask anybody that knows me, they'll all tell ya the same thing. Ya might see old Redpath without food on many occasion but grog, you'll never see him without."
"Alright mate.", said the older one. "Keep ya fucking hat on. We only asked."
"Where the hell are ya taking us anyway?", asked Redpath.
"Few miles out of town. Got a humpy out there. We can have a party without being disturbed.", said on of 'em.
Once we were all squashed in the front seat of the Ute, he started it up and drove out of the car park and then up the main road. For some reason, he was driving very slow tonight which was totally out of character for him. He was driving so slow in fact, one of the girls said,
"Can't this Ute go any fucking faster?"
"Course it fucking can. It's a brand new Ute.", he said. "What d'ya wanna go faster for?
"Well mate, some one might see us with 2 white fellas."
"So fucking what?", said Redpath, who had now opened a new can.
"Don't worry me mate, but if the local cops see us with ya, you'll git into big trouble.", said one of the girls.
"Fuck the cops. I've been in jail overnight more times than I can remember so once more won't make any difference to me.", said Redpath.
At long last, we arrived at an old rusty, broken down tin shack at the end of a dirt track on the outskirts of town. When we went inside, I got quite a shock as I looked around me. It was a one-room place with a dirt floor. The inside walls were just as rusty as the outside. The only furniture in the room was 2 single beds, one at each side of the room. On the actual bed part there were no mattresses, only a sagging chain-link spring affair which was supposed to hold at least a flock mattress. Instead, all that covered them were an old wool blanket. The only other furniture I could see was an old wooden chair which only had 3 legs.
Redpath walked over to one of the beds and sat down on the edge of the frame with the booze at the side of him.
"Alright mate, give us a drink.", said one of the girls to him.
"I don't know whether or not I should waste mi good beer on you Abbo sheilas. Here, ya can open up this bottle of Plonk, if ya like.
"Is this where you live?". I asked.
"Sure is mate. What else do we need?"
"Where d'ya cook?", I asked, cause there was no electricity or running water.
"Outside mate. We make a fire when we wanna cook up something."
"Where d'ya put ya clothes?", I asked.
"On mi body. Where else would I put 'em?"
"No, ya spare clothes.", I said.
"What spare clothes is he talking about?", said the other girl.
"Fucked if I know." said the other one. "He must know something we don't."
"Are these thin cotton dresses the only clothes ya have?
"Course they are. What do I need anymore for. I can only wear one dress at a time."
"What d'ya do when ya have to wash 'em?"
"I wash it in the river and hang it over a bush till it dries. What else."
As we sat and talked, I asked them many questions about their lives. Most of the time, they thought I was pretty weird. Eventually Redpath started to talk politics to the girl who was now sitting next to him. He asked her for an opinion on the war in Vietnam.
"What you mean, 'Vietnam?' What war? Where abouts in New South Wales is Vietnam? I haven't never heard of it mate."
"What about all those young white kids that are dying over there so that you bastards can be 'free'?" said Redpath, who was now pretty drunk.
"What bullshit you fucking talking white fella?", she said. "Maybe you had too much grog. Black fellas never have war. No white fella ever die for black fellas but plenty black fellas die at the hand of white fellas. If ya so worried about this Bush town, Vietnam, why don't you go to war instead of gittin' on the grog?"
"Ya stupid, bloody Giin.", said Redpath, as he took another big swig out of his can. "Vietnam ain't in the Bush. It's another bloody country all together. Didn't ya learn anything at school?"
The girl who was now sat next to me said to him,
"She never went to no white fellas school mate. She learn from tribal family everything about ancestors. Same as me mate. White fellas learning no good to black fellas. Only good thing white fellas have is plonk and Marlboroughs.
"Yeah that 's the bloody problem with you black bastards.", said Redpath. "Ya never work or look after the land."
The girl who was sitting next to him took another swig out of the wine bottle and said,
"What d'ya mean, black fellas not work or look after the land. Just look at you white fellas. You come to our land and in a few years it's almost dead! Ya put those chemical things on the land and then ya put up fences and tell us it's yours and if we walk on it, we're trespassing. Then ya go and call the white fella sergeant on us."
"Ya can have ya land back for all I care.", said Redpath, who was by now really drunk.
The Abbo girl, who was now herself a bit drunk said to him,
"We don't want it back now. You white fellas fucked it up so ya can have it. It's no good to us black fellas anymore."
As they were arguing back and forth, the girl who was sat with me said,
"Come on mate, I wanna show ya something. Come outside."
When we got outside, she closed the door and then grabbed hold of my hand and took off at a fast pace into the Bush. After about 10 minutes of walking we came to a big clearing in the Malley. The full moon was directly up above now and filled the clearing with a warm glow.
"Pretty place eh?", she said as she looked around.
"Yeah,", I said. "It's really peaceful out here."
"I wanna give you some thing very special.", she said as she pulled off her dress. "You are a very special white fella. You are a very good man. Come on.", she said as she laid down in the thick red dust. "Take off ya clothes and put it in here. I've got a gift for you."
We laid down in the Bush for at least 3 hours. When we were finished, I looked more like a black fella than a white one 'cause I was covered all over in layers of red earth.
"Let's go back now.", she said. "The Sun will be comin' up soon. It's not good for you if white fellas see you with a black Gin."
When we got back to the tin humpy, Redpath was fast asleep in the front of his Ute. The other Abbo girl was asleep on one of the rickety beds.
"You'd better wake him up and go now before some of my family show up."
It took me ages to wake up Redpath. When he eventually came too, he said,
"Gives us a middy mate!"
Come Sunday evening Redpath and me drove back out into the Bush for another weeks hard work shearing Wethers.
The cooks name was Paddy Slaven. He was an old Irish immigrant with a bald head, fat round face and a chronic drinking problem.
People who live in the Bush that have bad drinking problems are not called 'alcoholics' as long as they can get up and go to work everyday but once the grog has really gotten hold of 'em and they can no longer work, then and only then are they branded as close to being an 'alchy'.
Old Paddy was as close to being an 'alchy' as possible, without actually being labeled one. He drank from 5 in the morning until 11 at night, when he eventually ran out of grog. If he couldn't borrow a half-gallon of plonk, he would start on the Vanilla Essence. Many a contractor thought that Paddy would be baking a lot of cakes by the amount of Vanilla Essence he ordered for the stores but I can't remember ever eating one of Paddys' cakes.
When we finished that shed, we drove back into Wilcania for the weekend. On Saturday morning old Paddy was propped up at the bar drinking with one of his mates he'd met in town. By the time the afternoon arrived, he was broke down to the bones of his arse. When I walked into the bar, he made a bee-line for me. He gave me a sob story about having no money left for food.
I was still pretty naive in those days. It only took old Paddy a few minutes to relieve me of a 10 dollar note, after promising to go to the Dagos' shop and buy himself a good feed. When he walked away from me with the 10 bucks, I decided to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't forget the purpose of the loan.
As I watched him closely, he slid the 10 dollar bill over the counter for the Publican to change. When he got it back in two fives he gave his drinkin' mate $5 and ordered another round of booze out of his 5. Once I saw that, I was really pissed! I walked over to where he was sittin' and said,
"Hey Paddy, ya told me ya wanted to buy ya self some food cause ya hadn't eaten for 24 hours!"
"Yeah, Yeah Yorky. Ya know how it is mate."
"No I fucking don't Paddy. All I know is that you're a fucking liar! If I had known you were gonna blow it on booze, I'd have never given it to ya!"
"You'll git ya fucking money back mate. Why are ya so angry?"
"Cause you're a real fucking con-man Paddy and on top of that you're a chronic fucking alcoholic!"
"Don't ya fucking dare speak to me like that ya pommy bastard!"
"Why Paddy, what ya gonna do about it. You'll never be sober enough to remember what I called ya."
"I'll knock ya arse over head in a minute."
"You and who else Paddy, ya drunken alchy mate? I could beat the shit out of both of ya with one fucking arm. Anyway, I'll tell ya one thing for sure, ya fucking lush. If I ever saw ya starving in the gutter, I wouldn't piss on ya if ya were on fire. You're better off dead! As far as the 10 bucks go, ya can keep it Sport. From now on I'll warn everybody I know about ya, ya fucking con-man!"
With that, I left him to his misery and went to the cafe, miself, for a good breakfast. I didn't very often get angry with people but that morning, if old Paddy had have pushed the issue too far I would have put him out of his fuckin' misery.
I spent most of the afternoon playing pool and having a few beers with some of the shearers I'd met. As I was scanning the local paper, I read a small article about 3 blokes who'd killed themselves in a car crash on the outskirts of town. The article said that they were all blind drunk and had hit a Semi-trailer head on. The articles' headline read, TWO MEN AND A SHEARER KILLED! That headline was the usual local attitude toward shearers or anyone who worked in the sheds.
Later on that evening, I saw the Aborigine girl I'd met the week before. I took off into the Bush with her again before the long night was over. The following morning, as I was having a beer with Redpath, who was in a pretty bad state, the local Wilcania Sargeant appeared at the front door of the pub. I know, because I could see him in the large mirror behind the bar.
"Oye! You, ya bastard. Come out here."
Every one in the bar turned around, except me.
"Oye!", he said again. "If I have to come in there and git ya, you'll be in deep shit mate!"
Slowly, I turned around on my stool and faced the front door.
"Yeh, you ya bastard."
"Come out here, I wanna a fucking word with you!"
"G'day sport.", he said in a nasty tone of voice.
"G'day, Sergeant what can I do for ya?", I said.
"Ya can't do a thing for me cobber but I've got a message for you!"
I had no idea whatsoever what the big, ugly Sergeant was talking about so I just kept quiet and waited.
"I understand from my source that ya fucking one of our local Gins."
His nasty tone and bluntness took me by surprise, but only for a second. I said to him,
"Your understanding from your source is wrong, Sargeant."
"I don't think so cobber, so listen to me and listen real good sport. If ya still in Wilcania by 1 O'clock this afternoon, I'll fucking lock ya up!"
"Why would ya do that? I haven't broken any of ya laws?"
"We've got a law in this town called 'Consorting'. If I was you sport I'd get the fuck out-a this town and don't fucking come back!"
With that, he walked off down the street to where he'd parked the local blue Bull-Wagon.
When I walked back into the bar, Redpath, seedy as he was from his Saturday night binge said to me,
"What did that big ugly bastard want?"
"He told me if I was still in town by 1 O'clock today, he was going to jail me for consorting."
"Fuckin' streuth!", said Redpath, who was now wide awake. "Let's grab a couple dozen bottles and git out of here before the ugly bastard comes back."
"Why, what does 'consorting' mean?"
"It means, ya not even allowed to talk to those black sheilas. If he finds out for sure that ya fucked one of 'em, he'll fuckin' lock both of us up and throw away the fuckin' key!"
Redpath downed his middy in one large swallow. He paid the Publican for 2 dozen large bottles of Pilsner, then said to me,
"Let's git our gear from the hotel and git out a' here. I'm sick of this scungy, fucking town anyway!"
Once our swags were packed and put in the back of the Ute, we were once more on our way. We left Wilcania behind in a cloud of red dust.
Redpath only drove a few miles before he said to me,
"I'll pull over to the side of the road and you can drive, if ya like. This driving caper is interfering with a mans' drinkin'."
When the Ute stopped, we exchanged seats. I pushed mi foot down on the accelerator and I said to Redpath,
"Where to now mate?"
"I think we'll head off South, Yorky. We'll see if we can pick up a pen in those big, fat Corradale sheep. I'm a bit sick of shearing rough Whethers. Besides, that Victorian Bitter is not too bad a drop of grog. I haven't had any since last year. We'll head down to a place called Hamilton. I'll git the road map out and once we know where we're heading, I can relax and have a few beers while you drive."
On the way down to Hamilton, we stopped at a place called Horsham. Redpath ran into a contractor that he'd worked for a few years before.
His name was Ron McClure. McClure was looking for one shearer. He had about six weeks worth of work so Redpath took the pen.
As we sat in the bar, I was starting to worry a bit because I had no work and no way of traveling without Redpath. At the end of the evening Redpath said,
"We're gonna stay at McClures' place tonight and tomorrow I'm gonna drive ya down to Hamilton. McClure says you're sure to pick up a pen shearing at this time of year. They're in full swing down there."
The following day, we took off early cause Redpath had to get back to Horsham. He dropped me off at the local shearers' pub. After I booked in, we had a couple of beers together.
For all his problems, old Redpath had a big heart. Anyone else would have left me stuck in Horsham, but not old Redpath. After we said our goodbyes, he took off and I ordered another beer. I remember it was somewhere around 3 O'clock in the afternoon. I had another 3 hours to wait until the local shearers started to roll in.
One thing about a shearers' pub is it doesn't take very long before one gets to know the local crowd. By 10 that evening, I'd met who a bloke who arranged a pen for me, starting in a few days.
A couple of days later as we drove onto the cockys' place, I noticed the size of the sheep. A Merino sheep is usually pretty light unless they've been on real good tucker. These sheep I was now looking at were huge, wooly Coradales', probably weighing around the 150 pound mark.
The cocky was and old German called Shultz. Him and his son, who was about 22, ran the place. The shearers quarters were an old run-down house which had no electricity or fly screens on the windows. Because the grass around that area was long and green, mosquitos were a constant plague.
In the morning, I got into mi shearing gear and made mi way over to the main house for a bit of breakfast before I started. Shultz was also the cook. He told me his old lady had died a few years back and he was left to raise the boy on his own.
At 7:30 I was loaded up and ready to start shearing. The shed was a small 2-stander and just after 7:30 another shearer turned up from town. He walked into the shed with his tucker box and a comb and cutter tin. As soon as he looked over the wall into his pen, he said to me,
"Jesus Christ mate, these fucking sheep look like baby elephants! I'll be flatstrap shearing a fucking 100 a day in these bastards!"
It took me all my my strength to drag the big, wooly Coradale Ewes out of the holding pen, not to mention shearing them. I'd only been shearing for about a year but not consistently so my lack of experience did not enhance my ability to shear a good tally.
Normally, if I worked mi guts out all day I could shear anywhere between 80 to 100 Merinos. After 2 hard hours of shearing old Shultzs' Coradales, I had only managed to poke out 15! The wool was really long and hard-cutting which meant I had to change the combs and cutters a lot. Because the sheep were so fat they did not like being sat up or rolled on their backs. To show their disapproval, they kicked like hell. The bloke next to me cursed and swore as he sweated over the huge Coradales.
By lunch time he had shorn 45. Once old Shultz was out of earshot, he said to me,
"I'll be looking for another pen tonight when I git back to town. The bloke who told me about this place said they were not bad shearing. Wait till I see that lying bastard again!"
"How long ya been shearing?", I asked him.
"15 years mate. How about you?"
"About a year, but not every week."
"You've only been shearing a year mate? Jesus sport, you're going real well in these mongrel bastards!"
"Not really. I'll be flat out getting 60 today."
"But that's pretty good for a learner Yorky. Look at me, I've only done 45. The last place I was at, I was shearing 150 a day."
"So ya think I'm going alright?"
"Listen mate, I'm one of the fastest shearers in Hamilton. Any bastard will tell ya that. As far as I'm concerned, if you can shear 60 for the day in these bastards, you're alright in my book sport."
At first, I was feeling really down cause I expected to shear at least 80 a day but this bloke on the stand next to me helped me feel a lot better about miself. He was a real supportive bloke.
He stayed at the shed about a week before he pulled the pin on the old cocky. Over the next few days he stopped several times to give me some good pointers on how to make the job easier for miself.
On Friday night, I drove into Hamilton with him and booked into the Hotel. Over the weekend I met quite a few shearers in the barroom. Some of 'em were good blokes and some of 'em were real bastards. One bloke asked me how many a day I was shearing. When I told him 60, he started to laugh and take the piss out of me. As he was doing this, the shearer who had been working with me all week came into the bar. He was a well-known bloke around Hamilton. People greeted him as he waked in. When he saw me at the bar, he came over and said,
"Drink up Yorky, I'll buy ya a beer mate."
"Good on ya.", I said. "Good to see ya again,"
The shearer who had been taking the piss out of me knew the gun shearer who had just bought me a beer. He said to him,
"Where ya been shearing at mate?"
"I've been shearing with Yorky all week out at Shultzs' place."
"How many ya doing a day there?", he asked him.
"90 was mi best day,"
"Fucking hell sport, they must be real tough going for you to only shear 90 in 'em?"
"They fucking are.", he said. "Old Yorky here was doing as well as me for the length of time he's been shearing."
"Jesus Christ.", said the piss taker. "I'm sorry for taking the piss out of ya mate. I didn't realize how touch a-goin' the sheep were."
The bloke I worked all week with said, "They been taking the piss out of ya Yorky, have they mate? Well don't let it worry ya sport cause these lazy bastards wouldn't shear 50 a day in those sheep. I'll put mi money on you any day of the fucking week mate. Drink up Yorky, I'll buy ya another beer."
From that point on, no one else took the piss out of me. In fact, I had a pretty good time in Hamilton the 6 weekends I spent there."
After the bar closed down at 10:30, I made mi way out to the lounge. The lounge was open at least another 3 hours for residents and their guests. I met a shearer called Brian Cullen. Brian was a pretty big, strong bloke who came from Cunnamula. We hit it off right from the beginning. That made mi stay there a lot more comfortable.
Once that shed was finished, I left a message for Redpath at McClures' place. He returned my message saying, 'Hitchhike up to Horsham. I've got a pen for ya, shearing with me.' The message made me feel really good. I packed up mi case, paid mi bill at the bar and made mi way up to the Hotel in Horsham where I found Redpath, full as a boot, propping the bar up.
Redpath was very supportive of my shearing efforts. The following day we drove out to the Bush to start another shed. One weekend, whilst hanging out in the bar, I met a bloke, Clay O'malley. He was a handsome-looking bloke with wide shoulders and a reputation to match. He was very popular with the sheilas and the contractors for his respective talents.
Redpath and me were sat quietly at the bar drinking a cold beer when he made his grand entrance. Modesty was not one of O'malleys' better qualities. Before long, he was bragging about the amount of sheep he could shear, the amount of sheilas he'd had and the amount of grog he could hold.
During his bragging session, the subject somehow got on to snakes. As expected, O'malley was also an authority on poisonous snakes. To prove it, he said he'd head out into the bush and catch one. The Publican told him no to be so stupid because he had too much grog in him. True to form, O'malley would not have a bar of it. He downed his beer in one mouthful, picked up his change, then made his exit from the bar.
Whilst he was gone, no one gave it another thought because most people were used to his ways. It wasn't until he made his grand entrance again, carrying a small sugar bag that anyone took him seriously.
"Give us another middy.", he said to the publican as he sat down on the bar stool and put the sugar bag on top of the bar.
"What's in the bag Clay?", said Redpath, who was not at all keen on snakes.
"It's a copper-head mate?"
"Oh Bullshit!", said Redpath, who was now sliding his stool a couple more feet to the right of the bag.
"I tell ya, it's a copper head mate. As soon as I've finished this beer, I'll get it out and show you.
O'malley didn't wait to finish his beer, instead he slid his bar stool back from the counter and started to undo the string which held the top of the sugar bag securely tied. Once the string had been loosened he held it closed with his left hand.
"Now I'll show you bastards what's in the bag!", he said as he felt around the outside of it. "Ah, here we go!" he said as he held onto something from the outside.
"I've got hold of his head now. I'm gonna put mi hand inside the bag and pull him out!"
Everyone, including myself, stepped back at least another 3 feet as he let go of the bag opening. O'malley pushed his hand, very carefully, into the bag as we all looked on. Just then he pulled his hand back out at great speed and said,
"Shit! Bastard! He fucking got me!"
"What d'ya mean, 'he got me'?", said Redpath.
"I thought I had hold of his head securely but he wriggled free and bit me thumb!", he said as he closed the bag tightly.
"Hurry up!", he said in a panicked voice. "You've gotta get me to a hospital!"
Redpath, drunk as he was, sprang into action!
"Alright, hurry up mate. My Ute's outside. I'll take ya!
The publican told us where the closest hospital was. Before we went any further, O'malley cut his thumb and tied a piece of string around it as fast as he could. In no time at all, we were doing 90 miles an hour up the wide bitchuman highway towards the hospital. On the way, O'malley kept saying to me, "Undo the tourniquet and move it up a bit and then pull it as tight as ya can." Once this was done, he said, "Well, it looks like I'm really fucked now. I'll never make it cause once the tourniquet's up to the top of mi arm, there's no where else to tie it!"
Redpath drove like a first-class racing car driver as he steered the Ute around the wide corners with the needle bouncing on 105, most of the time. Before long, I had made the last tie, just below the shoulder muscle in O'malleys' left arm.
"That's it. We can't move it again. I'm out of time mate! I always wondered how I was gonna die. Now I don't have to wonder anymore."
"You'll be alright mate.", I said. "Don't worry, there's not too far to go now!"
"How far to go, Redpath?", asked O'malley.
"Twenty miles mate but at this speed it won't take long."
"I'm fucked! Now I'm really fucked! Tell mi old lady what happened will ya and do what ya can for mi kids."
O'malley was now starting to get groggy. His eyes started to close and his breathing became shallow and slower.
"Don't let me go to sleep." he said in a whisper. "Keep me awake."
The only thing I could think to do was to slap his face and shake him.
"Tell me how many sheep ya shore last week mate?", I said
"I was the fastest in the shed.", he said softly.
"Just as fucking well for you that I wasn't shearing next to you, ya gutless bastard. I'd have run rings around ya!", I said.
This statement brought him back a bit, so I pursued it further.
"The only problem with you fucking Aussies is ya full of shit and ya got no balls. A fucking good pommy could blow ya arse off, in a shed!". I said, as his head lolled from side to side.
"Wake up, ya gutless bastard!". I screamed at him as I slapped his face from side to side.
"That fucking hurts.", he said in a soft whisper.
"That's because you've got no fucking guts O'malley. You're all fucking talk and no action!, I yelled in his face.
"I could work you into the ground, ya fucking pommy bastard." he said as his head lolled forwards.
"You haven't got the fucking balls O'malley!", I screamed at him.
I pulled his head up and I slapped his face around a bit more.
"Hospital's coming up on the left", said Redpath. "Smack him around a bit more mate. Don't let him drift off!"
As we pulled up outside the Emergency entrance, a couple of doctors were waiting with a wheel chair. The publican had called ahead and everyone was fully prepared for him. It only took seconds before he was out of the Ute and into the wheelchair heading for the front door.
Redpath and me parked the Ute and then went into the Emergency waiting room to wait for some information. After about an hour, a doctor came out and said,
"He's gonna be alright now. We gave him a shot of anti-venom and he's sleeping peacefully. It's a good job you kept him conscious, cause if not, he'd be dead by now."
"How long will he be kept in?" asked Redpath.
"At least 5 hours or so. We want to make sure he's alright before we let him go."
We decided there was no more we could do. We filled up the Ute with petrol and drove back to the hotel, only this time the speedo needle never got above 60.
"You're not a bad driver.", I jokingly said to Redpath.
"You're not a bad psychologist. Ya really got his attention when ya called him a gutless bastard and told him ya were gonna run rings around him if ever you were in the same shed together."
"Yeah mate, but I wouldn't dare tell him that, had he been alright."
"Fucking hell no. He's knocked some real big men arse over head for just looking sideways at him."
"Oh shit. I hope he doesn't remember!"
Late that afternoon, O'malley made another grand entrance into the barroom. This time his thumb was bandaged and his ego was a bit bruised.
"Are ya alright mate?", I asked him.
"Course I'm fucking alright. I'm an Aussie. If it had been a pommy bastard that'd gotten bit, he'd have been dead by now."
Redpath piped up, in a drunken slur, and said,
"If it wasn't for this pommy, you'd have been one big, dead, fucking Aussie. I think you owe us, at least, a round of beer so quit your skiting and put ya fucking money where ya mouth is!"
"We'll have 2 more middys' publican." said O'malley.
Not long after that Redpath and me did a couple of sheds in South Australia at a place called Narrow Court. We both lost a good few bucks on a horse called Tobin Bronze. According to Redpath, he could not lose! After that, we drove to a place called White Cliffs where they mine for Opal.
There was not much work around by now. Redpath told me to go to Broken Hill cause he was gonna get on the grog for at least a week. He said he'd had it with shearing for a while.
I said goodbye to Redpath the following day and got a ride with the mail truck to Broken Hill. I never saw Redpath again after that. I firmly believe that if he's still alive, he can be found propping up the bar at the Hilston Hotel in New South Wales!
LEAVING BURTS PLACE ~Part 9 ~ CHAPTER 3 ©
I'd been working on Burts' property for quite a while now and things had not improved one bit. One evening, Peter Smith unexpectedly drove into Burts' yard and stopped his Ute, in a cloud of dust, outside my tin shed doorway.
"G'day ya bastard.", he said with a huge grin on his face.
"G'day Peter. How are ya mate?"
My use of the Aussie accent and lingo was now improving, somewhat.
"I'm good sport, and I'm good because I've got some good news for ya Yorky!"
"Ya got me a new job Peter?"
"Sure have mate. It took me awhile but I eventually found one for ya."
"What's it doing? Who will I be working for?"
"Well mate, you'll be starting a new career in contract fencing with a real good bloke called Jim Smith."
"Is he any relation to you Peter?"
"Na mate, no relation at all but he's a beaut bloke. Ya can start with him in a fortnight from today."
"That's really great, but why can't I start tomorrow mate?"
" Cause first you've got to give old Burt a couple of weeks notice."
"Why should I do that Peter? Why not just leave the old bastard in the shit where he belongs?"
"Can't do that. For one thing, it's not the done thing in the Bush and for another you've probably got almost half a years holiday pay comin' to ya. It would be stupid to forfeit that so old Burt could keep it. Besides mate, we'll have a hell of a battle getting it out of him as it is!"
"Alright Peter, whatever you say. When should I break the good news to him?"
"Tell him first thing tomorrow morning. If he gives ya a hard time, tell him to call me. I don't particularly want to get on the wrong side of Burt but it's my job to look after ya, if ya need any help. I was a bit luckier that you when I first came out here. They sent me to Fred Harzeys' place and he's not too bad a bloke. Mind you, he can be a bit of a bastard when he wants to be but he know he can't find a better worker than me. Most of the time we see eye to eye on things. Anyways Yorky, give us a call as soon as ya 14 days are up and I'll come and pick ya up and take ya over to Jims' place. I think you'll like him, he's a real kind-hearted sort of bloke."
"I don't know how to thank ya mate."
No need mate. I told you once already, I'd do the same for a white fella' anyday!"
This statement eased the situation and made us both laugh out loud.
"Alright mate, gotta run. See ya later and don't forget, give us a ring if ya need me."
I expressed my gratefulness once again. Peter turned the key of his Ute, put it in first and spun the wheels in the red dust as he tore off down the Paddock track, over the ramp and right, towards Lake Cargelligo.
That evening, I found it hard to rest because of all the unknown factors that were about to come into play in my young life. The main source of excitement came from the fact of knowing I was about to pull the pin on old Burtie!
The following morning I was up earlier than usual. The cows were brought in and milked with time to spare. I decided to go back to mi room to wait for breakfast. I left mi door open, as I lay on top of mi bed with mi boots resting on the bottom rail. I'd just rolled a home-made Drum cigarette when old Burt came striding across the yard. I'd left mi door open so I could see him or anyone else, who was up and around.
"Come on!, he called to me in an un unusually rough manner. "What are you doing still in bed, laid there smoking? We've got work to do! Go and get the cows in. I'm runnin' a bit late this morning!"
"They're in! Milked and back out in the paddock already."
"What d'ya mean. It's only 6 O'clock?"
"I couldn't rest so I started a bit earlier this morning."
"Alright then, ya can go and weed the wifes' veggie garden before breakfast!"
Old Kay had a good veggie garden that she was real proud of. She was always skyting about how clean she kept it but it was me who always had to pull out the hard chickweed and skeleton weed so I said to Burt, 'NO'!
"What d'ya mean NO? Get up off ya lazy pommy back and do as ya told, ya bastard!"
"FUCK YOUR BURT! I didn't start at 4:30 this morning to end up pulling lousy weeds out of your wifes' garden!"
Burts' face was not turning a dark crimson color by the second.
"I'll knock ya arse over head if ya talk to me like that, and further more, I'll call the BBM and have ya deported, ya ungrateful pommy bstard!"
"Hey Burt, You've been cursing at me for quite a while now and I did not leave home and come 12,800 miles to live with someone worse than mi stepfather and furthermore I came out here to learn a trade of some sort. So far, all I've done is to swing a bloody axe, shovel hot coals, pick up bloody stumps and weed your wifes' veggie garden. She's so proud of that veggie patch, she can weed it herself!"
Burt was so cranky now, he was starting to stutter.
"I'll-I'll I'll- knock ya arse over head ya bastard and then I'll fire ya, ya pommy bastard!", he roared.
"You'll do nothing of the sort Burt.", I said in a cool manner. "Cause I'm pulling the pin. I'm giving ya 14 days notice, from this morning and when I leave I'll expect some holiday pay as well as mi monthly 12 quid!"
"What did you say, ya cheeky bastard?"
"You heard Burt! I'm pullin' the pin on ya mate."
"Ya can't pull the pin on me mate!", he roared. I'm gonna call Sydney now and have a word with Mansell about you!"
"Call whoever ya like Burt, Mansell knows I'm leaving here. Peter Smith already called him and Mansell says he'll not send anymore pommys to this place if ya don't give me my holiday pay at the end of 14 days and furthermore Burt, for every day you make me wait over the 14 days, you'll be charged a penalty! How d'ya like that Burt?"
'You'll git no holiday pay out a' me, ya lazy mongrel bastard! I'll see you in hell first!"
"I'll be waiting for ya when ya get there Burt!, I said, then laid back on mi bed and finished mi smoke.
Old Burt strode off across the dirt yard at double his normal speed now. The garden gates slammed shut and the back fly-screen door bounced on its hinges more than its usual twice.
Mi heart was now beating 10 to the dozen and mi hands had a slight shake to them as the life-force banged out a kettle drum beat in mi navel.
'At long last,' I thought, all these long months of putting up with that miserable, tight arsed old bastards abuse. Months of living in fear of him deporting me, but today is Yorkys' day! Let that be a lesson to you Yorky mate, said my inner heart, Once ya buy into fear ya rooted! You'd may as well lie down and die!'
Twenty minutes later old Kay rang the cow bell for breakfast. I walked slowly over to the house, not knowing what was going to happen. When I got inside, Burt was chomping down on a small mutton chop bone. His hands were still shaking as he picked up his cup of tea. When I sat down, Kay said to me, "Burt tells me you're leaving us Richard. Aren't you happy here anymore?"
"It's nothing to do with you, Mrs. Booth, but I've never been happy since they sent me hear from Cabrammatta."
"Oh, I had no idea ya felt like that. Why aren't you happy here?"
"Ask Burt, he'll tell ya."
"It's no good asking me.", said Burt. "Far as I'm concerned you've been treated well."
"Yeh, I thought we'd been very good to you Richard.", said Kay.
"Oh really, d'ya think it's good being abused all day and getting chased through the bush by an axe-wielding madman?"
"l've got no idea what you're talking about Richard.", said Kay.
"Then Burt, obviously, doesn't tell you much Mrs. Booth. Anyway, it's nearly all over now and there's nothing you can say will change mi mind. I've pulled the pin now and I'll be off in 14 days. I'm not very hungry this morning Mrs. Booth. I'll wait for ya outside Burt.", I said, as I pushed mi chair back and walked out of the kitchen.
Over the next 14 days, Burt carried on as normal. I thought he might loosen up a bit but he never changed, right up until the morning Peter Smith drove up the track to pick me up.
"Ya got ya gear all packed up mate?", he asked as he leaned out the window of the Ute.
"I never unpacked it. I knew from the first day, I wouldn't be retiring here."
Peter had a chuckle and then said, "Put ya gear in the back, mate. I'll let old Burt know where to send ya holiday money to."
Just then Burt called to me from the back veranda,"You better come and git ya money before ya go mate."
"I'll be there in a minute.", I said.
"Go and pick up ya pay said Peter."
"Alright.", I said and than walked over to Burts' house for the last time.
"Ya gotta months pay coming.", he said, as I entered the kitchen.
"A months' pay and 5 1/2 months holiday pay,", I said to him.
"You'll git no holiday pay from me mate!", he said, as he wrote out a check for 12 pounds and 2 shillings.
"The Award Sheet says I'm due for holiday pay, Burt."
"I don't give a rats' arse what the Award Sheet says, you'll git no holiday pay from me mate!"
"Ya don't mind working off the Award Sheet when it comes to paying wages and taking board and tucker though eh Burt?"
He didn't bother to answer me, he just said, "Here, sign here if ya want ya wages. I got work to do today!"
"Did he give you ya holiday pay Yorky?", said Peter, when I got back to the Ute.
"No mate, he said he won't pay it."
"Alright mate, wait here for me. I'll go and have a word with him."
"No luck mate.", he said, as he returned. "He's determined not to pay it, so we'll have to call Mansell in Sydney. If anyone can get it, he will.", said Peter. "Hop in the Ute Yorky, Let's git out of here. Jim Smith is waiting for us at Burts' far boundary fence."
"G'day ya bastard.", he said with a huge grin on his face.
"G'day Peter. How are ya mate?"
My use of the Aussie accent and lingo was now improving, somewhat.
"I'm good sport, and I'm good because I've got some good news for ya Yorky!"
"Ya got me a new job Peter?"
"Sure have mate. It took me awhile but I eventually found one for ya."
"What's it doing? Who will I be working for?"
"Well mate, you'll be starting a new career in contract fencing with a real good bloke called Jim Smith."
"Is he any relation to you Peter?"
"Na mate, no relation at all but he's a beaut bloke. Ya can start with him in a fortnight from today."
"That's really great, but why can't I start tomorrow mate?"
" Cause first you've got to give old Burt a couple of weeks notice."
"Why should I do that Peter? Why not just leave the old bastard in the shit where he belongs?"
"Can't do that. For one thing, it's not the done thing in the Bush and for another you've probably got almost half a years holiday pay comin' to ya. It would be stupid to forfeit that so old Burt could keep it. Besides mate, we'll have a hell of a battle getting it out of him as it is!"
"Alright Peter, whatever you say. When should I break the good news to him?"
"Tell him first thing tomorrow morning. If he gives ya a hard time, tell him to call me. I don't particularly want to get on the wrong side of Burt but it's my job to look after ya, if ya need any help. I was a bit luckier that you when I first came out here. They sent me to Fred Harzeys' place and he's not too bad a bloke. Mind you, he can be a bit of a bastard when he wants to be but he know he can't find a better worker than me. Most of the time we see eye to eye on things. Anyways Yorky, give us a call as soon as ya 14 days are up and I'll come and pick ya up and take ya over to Jims' place. I think you'll like him, he's a real kind-hearted sort of bloke."
"I don't know how to thank ya mate."
No need mate. I told you once already, I'd do the same for a white fella' anyday!"
This statement eased the situation and made us both laugh out loud.
"Alright mate, gotta run. See ya later and don't forget, give us a ring if ya need me."
I expressed my gratefulness once again. Peter turned the key of his Ute, put it in first and spun the wheels in the red dust as he tore off down the Paddock track, over the ramp and right, towards Lake Cargelligo.
That evening, I found it hard to rest because of all the unknown factors that were about to come into play in my young life. The main source of excitement came from the fact of knowing I was about to pull the pin on old Burtie!
The following morning I was up earlier than usual. The cows were brought in and milked with time to spare. I decided to go back to mi room to wait for breakfast. I left mi door open, as I lay on top of mi bed with mi boots resting on the bottom rail. I'd just rolled a home-made Drum cigarette when old Burt came striding across the yard. I'd left mi door open so I could see him or anyone else, who was up and around.
"Come on!, he called to me in an un unusually rough manner. "What are you doing still in bed, laid there smoking? We've got work to do! Go and get the cows in. I'm runnin' a bit late this morning!"
"They're in! Milked and back out in the paddock already."
"What d'ya mean. It's only 6 O'clock?"
"I couldn't rest so I started a bit earlier this morning."
"Alright then, ya can go and weed the wifes' veggie garden before breakfast!"
Old Kay had a good veggie garden that she was real proud of. She was always skyting about how clean she kept it but it was me who always had to pull out the hard chickweed and skeleton weed so I said to Burt, 'NO'!
"What d'ya mean NO? Get up off ya lazy pommy back and do as ya told, ya bastard!"
"FUCK YOUR BURT! I didn't start at 4:30 this morning to end up pulling lousy weeds out of your wifes' garden!"
Burts' face was not turning a dark crimson color by the second.
"I'll knock ya arse over head if ya talk to me like that, and further more, I'll call the BBM and have ya deported, ya ungrateful pommy bstard!"
"Hey Burt, You've been cursing at me for quite a while now and I did not leave home and come 12,800 miles to live with someone worse than mi stepfather and furthermore I came out here to learn a trade of some sort. So far, all I've done is to swing a bloody axe, shovel hot coals, pick up bloody stumps and weed your wifes' veggie garden. She's so proud of that veggie patch, she can weed it herself!"
Burt was so cranky now, he was starting to stutter.
"I'll-I'll I'll- knock ya arse over head ya bastard and then I'll fire ya, ya pommy bastard!", he roared.
"You'll do nothing of the sort Burt.", I said in a cool manner. "Cause I'm pulling the pin. I'm giving ya 14 days notice, from this morning and when I leave I'll expect some holiday pay as well as mi monthly 12 quid!"
"What did you say, ya cheeky bastard?"
"You heard Burt! I'm pullin' the pin on ya mate."
"Ya can't pull the pin on me mate!", he roared. I'm gonna call Sydney now and have a word with Mansell about you!"
"Call whoever ya like Burt, Mansell knows I'm leaving here. Peter Smith already called him and Mansell says he'll not send anymore pommys to this place if ya don't give me my holiday pay at the end of 14 days and furthermore Burt, for every day you make me wait over the 14 days, you'll be charged a penalty! How d'ya like that Burt?"
'You'll git no holiday pay out a' me, ya lazy mongrel bastard! I'll see you in hell first!"
"I'll be waiting for ya when ya get there Burt!, I said, then laid back on mi bed and finished mi smoke.
Old Burt strode off across the dirt yard at double his normal speed now. The garden gates slammed shut and the back fly-screen door bounced on its hinges more than its usual twice.
Mi heart was now beating 10 to the dozen and mi hands had a slight shake to them as the life-force banged out a kettle drum beat in mi navel.
'At long last,' I thought, all these long months of putting up with that miserable, tight arsed old bastards abuse. Months of living in fear of him deporting me, but today is Yorkys' day! Let that be a lesson to you Yorky mate, said my inner heart, Once ya buy into fear ya rooted! You'd may as well lie down and die!'
Twenty minutes later old Kay rang the cow bell for breakfast. I walked slowly over to the house, not knowing what was going to happen. When I got inside, Burt was chomping down on a small mutton chop bone. His hands were still shaking as he picked up his cup of tea. When I sat down, Kay said to me, "Burt tells me you're leaving us Richard. Aren't you happy here anymore?"
"It's nothing to do with you, Mrs. Booth, but I've never been happy since they sent me hear from Cabrammatta."
"Oh, I had no idea ya felt like that. Why aren't you happy here?"
"Ask Burt, he'll tell ya."
"It's no good asking me.", said Burt. "Far as I'm concerned you've been treated well."
"Yeh, I thought we'd been very good to you Richard.", said Kay.
"Oh really, d'ya think it's good being abused all day and getting chased through the bush by an axe-wielding madman?"
"l've got no idea what you're talking about Richard.", said Kay.
"Then Burt, obviously, doesn't tell you much Mrs. Booth. Anyway, it's nearly all over now and there's nothing you can say will change mi mind. I've pulled the pin now and I'll be off in 14 days. I'm not very hungry this morning Mrs. Booth. I'll wait for ya outside Burt.", I said, as I pushed mi chair back and walked out of the kitchen.
Over the next 14 days, Burt carried on as normal. I thought he might loosen up a bit but he never changed, right up until the morning Peter Smith drove up the track to pick me up.
"Ya got ya gear all packed up mate?", he asked as he leaned out the window of the Ute.
"I never unpacked it. I knew from the first day, I wouldn't be retiring here."
Peter had a chuckle and then said, "Put ya gear in the back, mate. I'll let old Burt know where to send ya holiday money to."
Just then Burt called to me from the back veranda,"You better come and git ya money before ya go mate."
"I'll be there in a minute.", I said.
"Go and pick up ya pay said Peter."
"Alright.", I said and than walked over to Burts' house for the last time.
"Ya gotta months pay coming.", he said, as I entered the kitchen.
"A months' pay and 5 1/2 months holiday pay,", I said to him.
"You'll git no holiday pay from me mate!", he said, as he wrote out a check for 12 pounds and 2 shillings.
"The Award Sheet says I'm due for holiday pay, Burt."
"I don't give a rats' arse what the Award Sheet says, you'll git no holiday pay from me mate!"
"Ya don't mind working off the Award Sheet when it comes to paying wages and taking board and tucker though eh Burt?"
He didn't bother to answer me, he just said, "Here, sign here if ya want ya wages. I got work to do today!"
"Did he give you ya holiday pay Yorky?", said Peter, when I got back to the Ute.
"No mate, he said he won't pay it."
"Alright mate, wait here for me. I'll go and have a word with him."
"No luck mate.", he said, as he returned. "He's determined not to pay it, so we'll have to call Mansell in Sydney. If anyone can get it, he will.", said Peter. "Hop in the Ute Yorky, Let's git out of here. Jim Smith is waiting for us at Burts' far boundary fence."
MARKING LAMBS
On Monday morning at 10 to 6, I was sitting on Gilltraps' steps waiting for Kevin Skippy to pick me up for a couple of days work, marking lambs.
"G'day, ya pommy fucking' bastard.", he yelled out the window as he pulled into the curb. "Chuck ya tucker box in the back and hop in mate."
"How are ya, ya Aussie fuckin' bastard?", I asked as we shook hands.
"Jesus!", said Kevin, as he spun the wheels and left a small dust cloud behind us. "Ya really gettin' our Aussie lingo down Yorky mate."
"Yeah, I've been gettin' a bit sick of people mimicking my Yorkshire accent and taking the piss out of me."
"Oh, don't worry about that sport. We've been extracting the urine out a' pommys since they've been coming out here. Ask Stan Granthem, he speaks good Occa lingo now and we still take the piss! So what have ya been up to Yorky? Ya got yourself a good root since ya been livin' in town?"
"No mate. No such luck in that department."
"What about some of those young Mission sheilas' that hang out around Gilltarps?"
"No mate, no luck there either."
"Ya still haven't had a root yet Yorky mate?"
"In one word Skippy, No!"
"I've got a pretty good-looking sheep in the backyard at our place. I could put a good word in there for ya, if ya like."
"Fuck you Skippy. I'm desperate but not that desperate."
"I don't blame ya.", he said as he laughed out loud. "Anyway it's too hard to pull their head around to kiss 'em!"
This little joke gave me a really good laugh as I said,
"Oh mate, what a fuckin' great joke. I'm gonna' remember that one."
"Good on ya Yorky mate. She's a pretty tough life out here in the Bush sport and a good joke never goes astray. They tell me ya gittin' a few middys into ya self since you've been living at Traps."
"Yeah, there's not much else to do in the Lake, if ya single."
"Ya not gonna' end up like some of those old Alchis' are ya?"
"Course I'm fuckin' not. Just because I'm a pommy doesn't mean I'm stupid."
"You'll have to give me a few minutes to think about that one mate!
"Fuck you Skippy.", I said with a smile. "What we doing today anyway?"
"Marking lambs mate, before we fatten 'em up for the auction."
"I've never done it before, ya know."
"No worries mate, you'll be catching 'em, Digger's gonna' mark 'em and I'm gonna' draft 'em off and shift 'em back into the paddocks."
Pretty soon we were driving over the ramp at Skippys' property. I could already see a large mob of Ewes and lambs in and around the sheep-yards. We parked the ute under a shady tree and walked towards the yards. Digger was filling up a back-pack of drench. As soon as he saw me, he said,
"Yorky, ya pommy bastard. How are ya cobber?"
"Good mate.", I said as we shook hands.
"Ya like living in town mate?"
"It's not bad mate. There's still not much to do though."
"I don't know about that Yorky. A little bird told me that ya rootin' one of those pretty little half-cast ginns from out at the Mission."
"Bullshit Digger.", I said. "Ya little bird's full a' shit!"
"That's not what I heard Yorky. I don't wanna' see ya sittin' on Shamens' corner with a couple a' pic-a-ninis' on ya knee next time I'm in town."
"Fuck you Digger, you're such a bullshiter mate."
"Yeah, I know, but it's good fun Yorky. You're always good for a laugh mate."
"G'day Yorky.", said Dick as he walked over to where we were laughing and joking. "Didn't ya' bring that pretty little half-cast sheila I saw ya with on Saturday night?"
"Fuckin' hell Dick, you're just as bad as ya sons."
"Right, first time Yorky. Where d'ya think they git it from? Hey Kevin, bring that mob a' ewes and lambs in from the back boundary paddock, near Diggers' place. We'll git started on this mob. I'll draft 'em off while we're waitin' for ya."
"So, what d'ya want me to do Dick?", I asked.
"Digger will show ya mate. He's the expert."
"Bullshit Dad, I'm the mug that ends up with the shitty end of the stick!"
"Come on Yorky mate. Let's git started.", said Digger. "Sooner we start, the sooner we finish."
Digger and me walked over to a part of the sheep-yard fence that had a 2 foot long, 1 foot wide plank that was screwed onto the top rail.
"Right mate, you catch the lambs after they're drafted off from the ewes and carry them over here. I'll go grab one and show ya how to hold 'em."
Digger grabbed hold of a lamb and carried it over to the fence.
"Alright, ya hold it like this mate, with his front and back leg together on each side. Ya sit his arse on the plank and push down a bit. Ya got it mate?"
"Looks easy enough to me Digger."
"It's easy at the beginning of the day Yorky, but by Sundown tonight ya hands will have cramp in 'em from the little bastards' struggling. Grab hold of this one mate while I get on the other side of the fence."
As soon as Digger was ready he said,
"Now hang on to her mate!"
First up, he grabbed a pair of ear-marking pliers. He took half of the lambs' ear and clipped a piece out of it which left their brand hole in it. The hole filled up with a small amount of blood.
"This is a ewe mate, so ear-mark and tail is all we do on this one."
Then he picked up a small, sharp-bladed knife which had 2 spring-like jaws for a handle. The spring jaws had serrated teeth on each side.
"Ya see this bit of bare skin under her tail, here right before the wool starts growin'?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"SWISH! Ya cut the tail off right there." The tail came off quite easily as the knife was really sharp. "If ya cut it too short mate, the blow-flys will get on its arse-hole and chances are they'll blow it"
"What happens then mate?"
"Maggots, mate. They'll start boring holes into and around its tucker-shute. How d'y like maggots boring into ya tucker shoot Yorky?"
"Not fucking likely!", I said as Digger had a good laugh.
Digger dabbed a bit of tar on the lambs tail and then said,
"Let her go mate!"
Once the lambs' feet were on the ground again, she ran around a bit, twitching her tail and ear, bleating for her mother. The next lamb I caught turned out to be a male.
"Jesus mate, ya got a whether, or soon to be. Hold him steady mate." said Digger as he marked the opposite ear.
This time he cut the top of the lambs ball-sack. Then he pushed back the ball-sack with his fingers and two small pink testicles popped out.
What he did next, fuckin' shocked me! Digger put his head between the lambs back legs, grabbed one of the balls between his teeth and then pulled his head back. He now had a pink testicle in his mouth which had a small tube hanging off of it. Then he spit the testicle onto the dusty ground. Almost immediately one of the red Kelpies ran in, grabbed it and swallowed it in one gulp. Repeating the process, the lamb was now short his 2 small balls. After he cut off the tail, he chucked it on the ground, dabbed the stump and empty ball-sack with tar and said,
"Let it go Yorky mate. He's done!"
The front of mi singlet had now acquired blood streaks, which came from cutting the tail off, all down the front. Each time a tail was cut, the hairline veins spurted out a thin stream of blood. I now had it on mi face as well as mi arms. It wasn't long before the bush flies arrived, which by days-end was torturous.
"Don't some cockys put rubber rings on their balls and tail Digger?"
"Yeah mate, but that hurts 'em a hell of a lot more than this way."
"How d'ya know that mate?"
"Well mate, once ya let 'em up doing it this way, they run around and jump up and down a bit, right?Now when ya put a ring on their ball sack and tail, they run and jump a little bit and then they lay down on the ground for quite a while."
"Why's that Digger?"
"Why d'ya think mate."
" 'Cause you've cut the blood supply off?"
"Right first time mate. It also takes a good few days for the nuts and tail to rot off."
"Fuck that for a game of tin soldiers Digger! I'm fuckin' glad I'm not a sheep!"
Just then, old Dick came over and said to me,
"I think when we've marked all these lambs Yorky, we'd better do you mate! It'll save ya havin' a swag of pic-a-ninis to look after. What d'ya reckon mate?"
"Fuck you Dick! My balls are staying right where they are, even though I haven't needed 'em yet!"
We all had a good laugh over that one till Digger said,
"Alright Yorky mate, it's your turn. I'll go catch one for ya."
"G'day, ya pommy fucking' bastard.", he yelled out the window as he pulled into the curb. "Chuck ya tucker box in the back and hop in mate."
"How are ya, ya Aussie fuckin' bastard?", I asked as we shook hands.
"Jesus!", said Kevin, as he spun the wheels and left a small dust cloud behind us. "Ya really gettin' our Aussie lingo down Yorky mate."
"Yeah, I've been gettin' a bit sick of people mimicking my Yorkshire accent and taking the piss out of me."
"Oh, don't worry about that sport. We've been extracting the urine out a' pommys since they've been coming out here. Ask Stan Granthem, he speaks good Occa lingo now and we still take the piss! So what have ya been up to Yorky? Ya got yourself a good root since ya been livin' in town?"
"No mate. No such luck in that department."
"What about some of those young Mission sheilas' that hang out around Gilltarps?"
"No mate, no luck there either."
"Ya still haven't had a root yet Yorky mate?"
"In one word Skippy, No!"
"I've got a pretty good-looking sheep in the backyard at our place. I could put a good word in there for ya, if ya like."
"Fuck you Skippy. I'm desperate but not that desperate."
"I don't blame ya.", he said as he laughed out loud. "Anyway it's too hard to pull their head around to kiss 'em!"
This little joke gave me a really good laugh as I said,
"Oh mate, what a fuckin' great joke. I'm gonna' remember that one."
"Good on ya Yorky mate. She's a pretty tough life out here in the Bush sport and a good joke never goes astray. They tell me ya gittin' a few middys into ya self since you've been living at Traps."
"Yeah, there's not much else to do in the Lake, if ya single."
"Ya not gonna' end up like some of those old Alchis' are ya?"
"Course I'm fuckin' not. Just because I'm a pommy doesn't mean I'm stupid."
"You'll have to give me a few minutes to think about that one mate!
"Fuck you Skippy.", I said with a smile. "What we doing today anyway?"
"Marking lambs mate, before we fatten 'em up for the auction."
"I've never done it before, ya know."
"No worries mate, you'll be catching 'em, Digger's gonna' mark 'em and I'm gonna' draft 'em off and shift 'em back into the paddocks."
Pretty soon we were driving over the ramp at Skippys' property. I could already see a large mob of Ewes and lambs in and around the sheep-yards. We parked the ute under a shady tree and walked towards the yards. Digger was filling up a back-pack of drench. As soon as he saw me, he said,
"Yorky, ya pommy bastard. How are ya cobber?"
"Good mate.", I said as we shook hands.
"Ya like living in town mate?"
"It's not bad mate. There's still not much to do though."
"I don't know about that Yorky. A little bird told me that ya rootin' one of those pretty little half-cast ginns from out at the Mission."
"Bullshit Digger.", I said. "Ya little bird's full a' shit!"
"That's not what I heard Yorky. I don't wanna' see ya sittin' on Shamens' corner with a couple a' pic-a-ninis' on ya knee next time I'm in town."
"Fuck you Digger, you're such a bullshiter mate."
"Yeah, I know, but it's good fun Yorky. You're always good for a laugh mate."
"G'day Yorky.", said Dick as he walked over to where we were laughing and joking. "Didn't ya' bring that pretty little half-cast sheila I saw ya with on Saturday night?"
"Fuckin' hell Dick, you're just as bad as ya sons."
"Right, first time Yorky. Where d'ya think they git it from? Hey Kevin, bring that mob a' ewes and lambs in from the back boundary paddock, near Diggers' place. We'll git started on this mob. I'll draft 'em off while we're waitin' for ya."
"So, what d'ya want me to do Dick?", I asked.
"Digger will show ya mate. He's the expert."
"Bullshit Dad, I'm the mug that ends up with the shitty end of the stick!"
"Come on Yorky mate. Let's git started.", said Digger. "Sooner we start, the sooner we finish."
Digger and me walked over to a part of the sheep-yard fence that had a 2 foot long, 1 foot wide plank that was screwed onto the top rail.
"Right mate, you catch the lambs after they're drafted off from the ewes and carry them over here. I'll go grab one and show ya how to hold 'em."
Digger grabbed hold of a lamb and carried it over to the fence.
"Alright, ya hold it like this mate, with his front and back leg together on each side. Ya sit his arse on the plank and push down a bit. Ya got it mate?"
"Looks easy enough to me Digger."
"It's easy at the beginning of the day Yorky, but by Sundown tonight ya hands will have cramp in 'em from the little bastards' struggling. Grab hold of this one mate while I get on the other side of the fence."
As soon as Digger was ready he said,
"Now hang on to her mate!"
First up, he grabbed a pair of ear-marking pliers. He took half of the lambs' ear and clipped a piece out of it which left their brand hole in it. The hole filled up with a small amount of blood.
"This is a ewe mate, so ear-mark and tail is all we do on this one."
Then he picked up a small, sharp-bladed knife which had 2 spring-like jaws for a handle. The spring jaws had serrated teeth on each side.
"Ya see this bit of bare skin under her tail, here right before the wool starts growin'?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"SWISH! Ya cut the tail off right there." The tail came off quite easily as the knife was really sharp. "If ya cut it too short mate, the blow-flys will get on its arse-hole and chances are they'll blow it"
"What happens then mate?"
"Maggots, mate. They'll start boring holes into and around its tucker-shute. How d'y like maggots boring into ya tucker shoot Yorky?"
"Not fucking likely!", I said as Digger had a good laugh.
Digger dabbed a bit of tar on the lambs tail and then said,
"Let her go mate!"
Once the lambs' feet were on the ground again, she ran around a bit, twitching her tail and ear, bleating for her mother. The next lamb I caught turned out to be a male.
"Jesus mate, ya got a whether, or soon to be. Hold him steady mate." said Digger as he marked the opposite ear.
This time he cut the top of the lambs ball-sack. Then he pushed back the ball-sack with his fingers and two small pink testicles popped out.
What he did next, fuckin' shocked me! Digger put his head between the lambs back legs, grabbed one of the balls between his teeth and then pulled his head back. He now had a pink testicle in his mouth which had a small tube hanging off of it. Then he spit the testicle onto the dusty ground. Almost immediately one of the red Kelpies ran in, grabbed it and swallowed it in one gulp. Repeating the process, the lamb was now short his 2 small balls. After he cut off the tail, he chucked it on the ground, dabbed the stump and empty ball-sack with tar and said,
"Let it go Yorky mate. He's done!"
The front of mi singlet had now acquired blood streaks, which came from cutting the tail off, all down the front. Each time a tail was cut, the hairline veins spurted out a thin stream of blood. I now had it on mi face as well as mi arms. It wasn't long before the bush flies arrived, which by days-end was torturous.
"Don't some cockys put rubber rings on their balls and tail Digger?"
"Yeah mate, but that hurts 'em a hell of a lot more than this way."
"How d'ya know that mate?"
"Well mate, once ya let 'em up doing it this way, they run around and jump up and down a bit, right?Now when ya put a ring on their ball sack and tail, they run and jump a little bit and then they lay down on the ground for quite a while."
"Why's that Digger?"
"Why d'ya think mate."
" 'Cause you've cut the blood supply off?"
"Right first time mate. It also takes a good few days for the nuts and tail to rot off."
"Fuck that for a game of tin soldiers Digger! I'm fuckin' glad I'm not a sheep!"
Just then, old Dick came over and said to me,
"I think when we've marked all these lambs Yorky, we'd better do you mate! It'll save ya havin' a swag of pic-a-ninis to look after. What d'ya reckon mate?"
"Fuck you Dick! My balls are staying right where they are, even though I haven't needed 'em yet!"
We all had a good laugh over that one till Digger said,
"Alright Yorky mate, it's your turn. I'll go catch one for ya."
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