Warrigal's Way (9 page)

12

Over the next year or so we got a lot of small jobs—one to two months with two to four hundred head. But we could all see the end coming—the trucks were killing us.

The last big job we got was to bring fifteen hundred head from the Territory to Townsville. We picked them up from the yards at the Sudan, just over the Territory border. They had come from Humbert River and were bastards, a mixed mob with a heap of scatterbrained heifers among them to keep us on our toes. Lucky that Barkly Country is so open or we would have lost them a couple of times.

Sleeping out in that country from June through to August, I'd be wrapped in an oilskin coat with about three layers of clothes on and still be blue with the cold. And roast in the sun in the daytime. And your horse would be saddled and bridled with the bit slipped from its mouth, the reins slipped through the stirrup irons, a picket rope around its neck which you held in your hand while you slept, because the electrical storms might set the cattle rushing, and you'd need to have your horse handy. Those electrical storms they get out there were frightening but they were beautiful. When I hear the Yanks talking about the prairies being big and wide, I think of that country.

There were too many cattle for the three of us this time
and because they were a scatty mob, Hugh hired a couple of Territory blokes who were willing to go with us. Jim was a blackfella, a top stockman and an ace bloke. Some droving teams had two camps, one for the blackfellas and one for the whitefellas, but we didn't. Hugh liked his blokes to be one efficient mob and he had no time for bigots. If this didn't suit, you weren't in our camp. (And it didn't suit a lot around the bush. Bigotry is not just for the squatter class—cattle and droving plants had their fair share of it as well.) Hugh was Dad, God, the highest authority figure in my life, Ted was my mentor and teacher, Mike, my absolute best mate, but Jim, Jim became my hero. I had never met anyone like him. In my mind he could do anything. He was the only bloke I ever knew who was completely at home in the bush, and whatever he did he made it look so easy. I wanted to be just like him.

We were having a yarn one day and he asked me how come I was out on the cattle so young. I didn't quite know what he meant, so he asked, “Did you run away from home?” I had no hesitation in telling him I was running away from the Department, and explained that although my skin was as white as any white Australian's I was actually a quarter-caste, and that was good enough for the government. He knew what I was talking about, as all the black families had been touched by the policy.

My life changed radically after this, as Jim took me in hand and started to teach me the bush and tell me Dreamtime stories. I knew nothing of the Aboriginal side of me, and I told him the only place I ever heard Mum talk of was Lake Nash on the Queensland-Territory border. He said, “Your Mother must be Warlpiri or Allywarra woman. Anyway, this is your Mother country,” and he moved his arm in a wide sweep. “And I am your Brother.”

From then on my Aboriginal education went hand in hand with my campfire education. Ted taught me reading and writing around the campfire at night (or I should say
printing—I still haven't got much of a clue about scratchy writing, although I sign my name pretty good.) Jim told me about the rainbow snake, and how the crow brought fire, and a hundred others I have forgotten till I hear them again and then the memories come flooding back. He taught me how to live on and with the land, what to eat and how to find it, what tracks were whose. Every day was a learning day although I sort of didn't realise it as it was all so exciting and new.

I wasn't too fussed with Ted's stuff, but paid close attention as I knew I could get a number ten boot delivered swiftly by him or Hugh for slacking, if they reckoned I needed it. I didn't realise what I was getting from Ted until later, when I'd sit on my horse at the back of the mob, and my head would be in an iron mask, or I'd be swordfighting with the Musketeers—I'd be D'artangan and the dogs my friends Athos and Porthos. The afternoons I spent on Treasure Island with Long John Silver and Jim Hawkins!

I had a good arsenal of swear words, which I didn't know were swear words for a while because I didn't know what they meant. I listened to the boys getting a mob into the yards through the gates, and picked up some of their language real quick, and got a tanning from Hugh for dropping a few of my newly learnt words.

Russell, the other stockman, was teaching me to tail-down a beast. “It comes in handy, mate, when you want to have a look at a stranger, or teach a beast who keeps breaking from the mob some manners.”

I was keen and reckoned I had got the hang of it, so the boys cut a young steer out of the mob and I was going to give it a go in the night paddock before we got on the road. Everyone had a seat along the fence except Ted, who was over by the truck leaning on the mudguard.

I galloped up on Shorty, leaned out and grabbed the tail and gave it a pull. The steer give it a flick, and shot me straight out of the saddle for three orbits of the moon. It
then waited till I got up off the ground and chased me to the truck, all in front of my adoring audience, who were hooting and yahooing, and bloody near falling off the fence in mirth at the sight of a bull the size of Townsville's Tattersalls pub trying to murder me. I headed for the truck at a hundred miles an hour and got there about three cigarette papers before it did. Ted was standing at the front mudguard, bent over laughing and nearly busting his gut, when the bloody bull went past him and just grazed his top lip with his horn. I was on the running board laughing, but Ted went from outer space mirth to purple-faced rage in world record time—it was my fault, I'd brought the bull over to get him!

By the time he had his boot cocked and taken aim at my behind, I had crossed the paddock and was back up on Shorty. The old scrag had cooled down by tea-time, thank Christ. And that was tailing-down a beast!

Russell and all the other boys used to give my ears a hard time about getting off my horse around the mob. “These buggers are myalls,” Russell kept telling me. “You ask Jim. On a horse they think we're one of them, but on foot you're one of the enemy and they'll up you.”

Me being a typical young smartie and not having enough brains to listen, I got my comeuppance the hard way, and just gave the boys more ammo for when they wanted to tease me or raise a lump on my ego. We were turning out this government holding paddock one morning, and Hugh called out to open the gate. I rode over to it and it was a horrible arrangement of wire and battens—the famous cocky gate. I was having a hell of a time trying to open it on Shorty so I got off. The boys had pushed the mob right up to the gate and they were backing up behind it. I got the gate open and turned around to get back on Shorty who had wandered about ten feet away. I heard Mike yell “Look out!” and a bloody old cow with a calf was coming at me like a bulldozer. Shorty had more brains than me—he was
off. There was a gum tree across the road with the first branch about twelve feet up. I don't know to this day how I got up there, but the boys reckon I was going so fast I just ran up the trunk. Either that or I'm a bloody good jumper under pressure. I could feel that old cow's breath on my neck every step of the way, and she hung around under the tree, old scrag.

The boys left me up there, the swines hooting and giving me crow calls. That bloody old cow wouldn't leave the tree till the mob was way up the road. Then her and her rotten calf finally decided to join them. I got down out of the tree and had to walk about three million miles before I could catch Shorty. He was playing little games and the air was blue with every swear word I had ever learned, and some I invented, before I caught him. Did I learn a lesson? Let's just say I never had to be told again.

Ted taught me how to cook and smoke, although he didn't know about the smoking, I thought! I used to pinch a plug of his or Mike's Log Cabin tobacco whenever they left it where I could get my hands on it, then I would destroy a dozen ciggy papers trying to roll a smoke. Ted also had a flagon of Bundy rum—medicine, Ted used to call it. It was used for slugs in the pannikins on cold or rain-soaked days, night rides, or freezing mornings. I became quite an expert at sneaking a drink when I thought Ted wasn't looking. I thought I was so flash. Have you ever heard the expression “give him enough rope”? The boys had me sussed from the start, but were just waiting for the right moment to give the rope a hefty yank. Learning is never easy in the bush, and the harder the lesson learned, the longer you remember.

We were overnighting in a tiny place on the Isa side of Maxwelton, called Nelia. We had pushed the mob a bit and they were bedded and quiet. Ted had been into Maxwelton to stock up, and just after tea, instead of doing the dishes, he came over to the fire—for the pleasure of a yarn, he reckoned. He sat down beside me and pulled out a packet
of tailor-made cigarettes. He pulled one out and lit it, and offered me the packet. “Want a smoke, mate? Go on, I know you have a puff.”

I sneaked a look at Hugh to see if he was going to lower the boom, but he was talking to Jim and not taking any notice of us, so I swooped on the packet like a rat biting a finger. “Yeah. Ta, Ted.” I was so bloody dumb. I reckon the boys used to plan these things months ahead and when entertainment was needed they would whistle up the goose. I fell into this one like the favourite at Doomben race course. He gave me a light and watched as I drew back, and then give me a big slap on the back. I choked, I went green and I coughed my heart out. As soon as I stopped coughing he whacked another smoke in my mouth, “Puff her up, mate. We got plenty left.” Off I went coughing again, feeling real crook. He slapped a pannikin of Bundy in my hand. “Drink her up, mate. Gotta have a drink with a smoke, us grownups.” He threatened me with the diabolical things he would do if I didn't drink, so I drank. He filled the pannikin again. “You should enjoy this, it's the other half of the flagon you been sipping on. Drink her up.” I took a swig and felt the volcano starting to build up around my big toes and like an express train shoot up my throat and bounce off the front of my skull and spray out my mouth like a sun-warmed can of Mortein. I felt like I had an atom bomb in my gut. My sight had it, my head was thumping—I was dying. Hugh rescued me and put me into a world that spun, wobbled, and moved up and down.

I crawled out of the swag next morning like a survivor from the “Titanic”, to get a plate of half-cold greasy bacon and eggs pushed under my nose. That cleaned out the rest of my stomach. Then the rotten old bugger put a slug of Bundy in my tea. That was it. After that I had the occasional glass of cold shandy, once or twice a year, but it was a bloody sight longer than that before I tried Bundy and cigarettes again.

We didn't have any drama getting to Townsville and as Hugh paid us off he told us he was closing the plant so we would be splitting and going our separate ways.

“What will you do, mate?” Mike asked me.

“I think I might go and see if I can find Mum. She will be worried, not hearing from me for so long.”

“Well, if you come to Brisbane, look in the Kangaroo Point pub. If I'm not there, I'm bush.” I asked around when I went up there a year or so later, but I never caught up with him.

Jim had his swag rolled and he told me, “Don't forget, mate. Come back to the Territory. It's your country.” He shook my hand and gave me a hug. “I'll see you when I see you. Look in the Tennant Creek pub, someone will know where I am.” But I didn't see him again. I heard he'd been killed in a road accident.

Ted was heading north and Russell was going with him, into the Gulf country. I felt really sad at parting from Ted. I am who I am today because of his and the other boys' efforts to take a kid in hand. Today I realise his gift to me is worth more than all the riches on earth. I have dedicated this book to Ted in memory of a sandstone rock and a charcoal stick from the fire. He was able to teach a dumb kid to read and write using a Micky Spillane novel of Mike's as a textbook.

Me to Ted: “What's panting with desire mean?”

Ted: “Well, you get puffed when you run, don't you?”

Me: “Yeah, but what's desire?”

Ted: “Christ, don't you know anything? It means you badly want somethin'.”

Me: “So panting with desire is runnin' after somethin' you badly want?”

Ted: “That's it, you got it.”

Hugh was sitting with a cup of tea and a strange look on his face. “Mate, you're the best,” he said to Ted. “I'm gunna
buy you the first half dozen beers in town. That's the best explanation of desire I ever heard.”

I heard the boys sniggering in the background. I remember that because that was the first time Hugh had ever commented on my teaching, and he had never offered anyone half a dozen beers before.

Hugh was not sure whether to stay in Townsville or go to Rockhampton. He hadn't made up his mind.

They put me on the train, amid my swag and saddle, and waved as the train pulled out. That was the last time I ever saw the boys. I felt like it was the end of the world and was pretty close to tears, but I was an entirely different kid from the one who had come up four years before. Dressed in my stockman's gear, well worn but clean and ironed, thanks to Ted, stockwhip coiled and buttoned under the epaulette of my jacket, I looked a pretty self-assured young bloke. The smartie guard asked me. “Is it for show?”

I asked him if he wanted me to show him how to take flies off his nose with it. “Get about your work and stop bludging,” I said.

He didn't hang around. He went off mumbling under his breath about cheeky young buggers. I wasn't going to take cheek off him. The boys had taught me to fight and I was only too willing to be in it.

13

The train journey bored the pants off me and we finally got into Brisbane about nine in the morning. The Sydney train didn't leave till early evening, so I went into town and wandered around for a while, had a feed, went to the Commonwealth Bank and withdrew ten pounds and arranged to have my account sent to the main branch in Melbourne. I had saved nearly two hundred and thirty pounds in the four years, thanks to Hugh banking my five pound each month, so I wasn't broke. It was a tidy sum in those days. Jim had told me that if the Department got me they would take it and I would be bloody lucky to see it again. “Blackfellers can't have money down there,” he reckoned.

So I had my eyes tuned to Black Suits again. I thought I would be alright, as I was bigger and older and looked like any other white Australian kid my age. But Jim had told me, “Don't get too cocky, mate. Those buggers have their ways. Just when you don't expect it, they'll grab you, so keep your wits about you.”

I thought that was good advice, and intended to follow it.

I had heaps of time so I decided to go to the pictures. Her Majesty's Theatre had “Ben Hur” on. It was about an
old time Roman bloke, with a fast cart and a heap of horses. I wouldn't mind his horses but the picture didn't make a lot of sense to me. The hero was a muscley bloke, and a good-looking sheila was chasing him, but he didn't want her. He must have thought she was a bit crook, so he spent all his time fighting anybody that got near him and chasing another lady that didn't want anything to do with him. At the end of the picture he won a race with his horses. I didn't dwell on it too much as it was too confusing.

Thankfully I got on the train at six. My gear was already aboard, so I just had to find a seat. There were a couple empty in the smoking car so I grabbed them. Did I hack a smoke? Not bloody likely!

I sat down and pulled my hat over my eyes and slept. I woke stiff and sore at Casino. I jumped down and fought my way into the refreshment room for a pie and a bottle of orange juice. Then I couldn't get back to sleep, so I was bleary-eyed and tired when I landed in Sydney.

I booked my saddle and swag into the left luggage office and rang Nancy. Sue answered and went crazy. “Where are you? Get a cab and come straight around.”

I saw Sue outside waiting as we turned the corner into the street. I paid the cab and got out, and she just stood and stared, I thought something was wrong, my fly undone or something. I was getting uncomfortable when she finally said, “Ed, I don't believe it! Is that you?” She came up and gave me a hug, then held my arms and stood back and looked at me again. It sounded funny being called Ed again after years of the boys using my Aboriginal name.

“I wouldn't have believed you would have grown so much in four years. How old are you now? Fifteen?”

“Nearly,” I told her. “Fifteen in three months time. Plenty of good tucker, open air and hard work,” I told her.

“Come inside, Colin will be home soon. We've been married about a year now, he'll be rapt to see you. Sit down and I'll make us a cup of tea. Oh yeah, you wouldn't know.
The pig left his wife and he and Nancy have gone to Perth to live in sin.”

Sue was telling me this as Colin came in the door. “Well, I'll be buggered. Geez, g'day Ed. When did you rock in?”

“I more or less just got here,” I said. “Sue's just put the jug on. Geez, married life must be good. You're both looking terrific.”

Colin laughed and put his arm around Sue and gave her a squeeze. “Nearly a dad—another four months. Come and have a cuppa and tell us what you got up to when you left here. I'm dying to know.

So we settled down around the table and had a cup of tea and I told them all that had happened to me since I left.

“Well, I'm buggered,” said Colin, “you've had quite a time, I often wondered what happened to you. The girls wanted you to stay, and they were worried about you for ages after you went.”

“Yeah, but I couldn't stay. They would have got into all sorts of trouble for harbouring me. I'm a ward of the State, whatever that means, something nasty anyway. They want to bung me in a home. You can still get into trouble you know.”

“Stuff them, we'll take our chances,” Colin said.

“What are you going to do now?” Sue asked.

“Go back to Melbourne and see if I can find Mum,” I told her.

“Do you think you will find her?” Colin asked.

“I don't honestly know. Four years is a long time, but at least I might find someone who knows what happened to her.”

“Well, you can only try,” agreed Colin.

Colin and Sue wanted me to stay for awhile, but I wanted to get down to Melbourne, and they understood. So next day as the train pulled out they were on the platform to see me off.

The trip back to Melbourne was pretty uneventful except
that I ran into this real snake's armpit, or should I say he slid up on me. Without doubt this was the slimiest piece of human garbage I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He was sitting in the seat opposite me and we sort of got talking, small things, such as did I have friends in Melbourne? Did I have a job to go to? Then he told me that if I stuck with him we could clean up. He told me he had all these collector's cards and he went house to house, using these cards to hoon money off people. He explained how to put the touch on the local priest, the Sallies, St Vinnie's, Treasure Chest, and get this, the poor box at the local Court House. I tell you, this greasy mongrel never missed a trick. He even had his head shaved to con people that he had leukaemia. As I said, the armpit of a snake. I politely asked him to move or have his body damaged. I'd have given him a hand out the train window, if I thought I could get away with it.

When I landed in Melbourne I took a cab to the YMCA, got a room and left my gear. Then I went into town and got a tram to Moonee Ponds. I went back to the flat and asked at the deli, but they had never heard of Mum, of course. Dejected I walked down the main street towards the station, and a voice said, “Is that you, Mickey?” I looked up to see Auntie Milly. She was not my auntie really, but an old friend of Mum's. They had been frightened kids in a home together. (The Mickey may confuse you. Mum was going to call me Michael before I was born, but then decided to call me after the old man. Everyone who knew her then and knew me from the time I was born called me Mickey anyway. That's how that came about.) “Hello Auntie Min,” I said, giving her a hug.

“You looking for your Mum? She married again, proper this time, and gone to New Zealand.”

“Proper” meant another white bloke, and where the hell was New Zealand? I asked Auntie.

“Gee Mick, a long way I think, overseas anyway. You know
that bloody Department's still looking for you?” she told me seriously. “Otherwise you could come home with me. But they watching my place for Ronnie. You watch yourself, eh!”

“Nah, I'll be right Auntie. I'm bigger and wiser and I can outpace those mob, and you'll only get trouble if they find out I've been at your place. I'll just float about keeping my eyes open. I've got a quid.”

“Well, if you need help, you get in touch. Uncle Robbie and I still in the old house.” She gave me another hug. “You take care, love. I got to go.”

I hugged her back. “Thanks Auntie. I'll be alright.”

I watched her walk away, then went back to the YMCA. I knew that all sorts of creepy departments of the government looked at the form you had to fill in for the YMCA, but I filled in Ted's name and they weren't looking for him.

I was up early next morning, and I grabbed my gear and floated. I knew I couldn't stay there. This was Department territory so I had to find a bolt hole. Lugging my matilda, I walked down Normanby Road towards the Port, Port Melbourne that is. I knew I had to get off the streets, boarding houses were out and if the police picked me up I had had it.

I got lucky. I discovered an empty car crate half full of straw, tucked in alongside a fence on an empty section. I shifted in like lightning. The straw was a bonus as it was about July and as cold as stink at night. I rolled out my swag, then went and bought some tucker and tea from a corner dairy. I still had my quart pot and a small primus stove, so I cleared a spot and brewed a cup of tea. I was satisfied. This was pretty snug.

Sipping my tea, I flicked through a book Ted had given me as a parting gift—
Ivanhoe
by Sir Walter Scott Pommie bloke, Ted reckoned. It was a bit heavy going, but thanks to Ted I could read it. Skimming through, I got the idea Ivanhoe was some sort of hero ringer that wore iron all over
him and his horse and slew baddies with a sword and a lance (whatever a lance was). I wondered what sort of a horse could carry a bloke dressed in iron. It must have been bloody big—a Clydesdale or some work horse like that probably. I hung in, reading until the light beat me, then turned in.

Next morning I was up with the crows. I threw a towel, soap and teeth gear into my small port and mooched up the road towards town, having a wash under a tap at an Ampol garage, and brushing my teeth. I was still trying to swallow the taste of toothpaste as I came to a milk bar, dairy type place, which served light meals. I ordered baked beans on toast and a cup of tea. He gave me the tea straightaway and I was sipping on it when I realised the bloke a couple of seats down had asked me a question.

“Did you front the seagull, mate?”

I didn't have the faintest clue what he was talking about, so I looked blank and said, “Eh?”

“No luck at the wharf?” he said again, smiling.

I think he thought I was simple, but by then I had caught on. “No, no luck,” I said, having a good look at him. I wasn't going to trust anyone. This was Department heardand. I knew I would have to be pretty unlucky to be caught, but I couldn't even afford to be questioned by the police. I was convinced they would know who I was. It sounds silly now, but I was scared as hell then.

“Yeah, I got to admit that wharfs hard to crack. Mostly father and son, or they have a mate that gives them a knock down. Bloody hard alright. I'm going out to Strathmore after this, give the grain stores a go. Come out if you want. We might have a better chance as a team.”

“Yeah, I might just do that. What's it pay?” I asked casually. “Never done it before. I been out west ringin'.”

“Pays two quid a day. All you need is a strong back and a weak brain. Two quid's not bad for shovellin' out the
bottom of silos. Anyway, my name's Barry,” he said, coming up and holding out his hand.

I told him my name was Ed. I was a bit worried, as Strathmore was a bit close to Moonie Ponds. But there was only a handful of people who knew Mum or me, and they would keep stumm. They had no reason to love the Department either.

We finished our meal and Barry said, “You ready? Let's hop a tram. We want to get there before eight or there's no hope.” He sort of gave me a look before we got on the tram, and said as we sat down, “You mind if I ask how old you are? They'll want to know at the job.”

I decided I couldn't tell him I was not yet fifteen, so I told him I was going on for sixteen.

“Yeah, I thought you looked young. Tell this mob you're sixteen or they'll hit you with boys' pay, and that's bugger all.”

So all the way out there I was trying to work out a birth date that would make me sixteen. Being Aboriginal, I was never registered, and I only knew that I was born in March 1948. So seeing that sixteen was cropping up all over the place, I decided to make my birthday the sixteenth of March 1948, or 1946 for this job.

“Hello Roy,” said Barry to the man on the gate. “They pickin' up?”

“I think there's a nibble. Nick in and see Tom,” Roy told us.

“Come on mate. Oh Roy, this is a mate of mine. Ed, meet Roy.”

“How you goin' Roy,” I said, shaking hands.

“Alright mate. You stick with Bazza, he'll see you right.”

Tom signed us on and told us that there was no work in the silos, but that there were a couple of rail wagons to bag.

“No worries,” said Barry. “Lead the way.”

I had no idea what was going on. If I had I might have run for my life. I had never worked so hard. We walked
around to the back of this big tin warehouse, which had a hole in the wall with a conveyor belt coming out of it leading down to two railway wagons sitting on the siding. There were four other blokes waiting, all big and well built. Tom introduced us. Barry seemed to know them and told me he had worked with them a couple of times. “This is Blue, Jacko, Paul and Harry.” We shook hands, they had one last smoke, Tom turned the conveyor on and we were off.

“You just watch for a few bags and you'll get the idea,” Tom said. So I watched as the boys walked under the bags as they came off the end of the conveyor, took them on their right shoulder, walked over and sort of shrugged them into place on the wagons. Well, there's nothing to that, I thought, and took my place in line behind Blue.

The bag hit my shoulder like the Hiroshima atom bomb—absolutely flattened me.

“Geez, you alright mate?” asked Blue, lifting the bag off me.

“Christ mate, you gotta take them high on the shoulder,” said Jaco. “See this,” he said, pointing to a green button on the side of the belt about six inches from the end. “This lifts the belt up and down. You want the bag about two inches off your shoulder. The buggers weigh about a hundred and ten pounds a go. This other button, the red one, stops the belt if you get into trouble. You be right now?”

“Yeah, thanks Jacko, I'll get it right this time,” I said ruefully and got back into it. It wasn't easy, but I managed, and hung in until knock off time. I had had it. A hundred and ten pound, I thought. No wonder the boys all look like Charles Atlas' brothers.

“That's it,” said Tom, turning off the conveyor. I have never heard a sweeter sound than that silence. I just flopped on a bag, totally worn out.