Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers, Tall Tales and Dinkum Yarns will delight you with its unique take on the Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures and amazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey with colourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australian fauna. Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickers turned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and lighthearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in the wake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to this highly entertaining book. Open a page, sit back, and have a laugh!
Tall Tales and Dinkum Yarns
Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in red dust or looking after wild animals masquerading as household pets, Clive and Jan, aka the Travelling Boozeburys, have done it all.
Tall Tales and
Dinkum Yarns The Real Adventures of the Travelling Boozeburys Part 1
Clive A. (“Adventure�) Smith
Born in England, I immigrated here with my family in 1964 and I have called Australia home ever since. I love this land and its people so much that I am now addicted to exploring its diversity. So much so that my wife Jan and I have been on the road for years now, having one adventure after another. And finally I've realised that it is these travelling stories that I'm passionate about sharing with you, my reader. How lucky I am to live in this Lucky Country and to live my dream!
Clive A. Smith
I have always had a passion to write. I never knew quite what it was that I wanted to write, but the passion was there. I also have an over-active imagination and I've put it, and my sense of humour, to good use over the years.
ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7
Travel Memoir
A&A Book Publishing w w w. a a m p e r s a n d a . c o m
Clive A. Smith
TallandTales
Dinkum Yarns The Real Adventures of the Travelling Boozeburys — Part 1
Clive A. Smith
A&A BOOK PUBLISHING admin@aampersanda.com www.aampersanda.com First published 2007 Text Š Clive A. Smith 2007 The author does not condone the use of hallucinatory drugs unless it is a full bodied red or an oaky white. Cheers! This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means or process whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publishers. Illustrations by Philip N Parish Photography: Jan Hendren and Clive Smith Text and cover design, typesetting by David Andor Wave Source Design www.wavesource.com.au ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7 A Cataloguing-in-Publication record for this work can be found at the National Library of Australia.
Fishing in Red Dust
The author was not paid by Nike™ in any form or manner for his comments and views on horse safety, worse luck. he stay at Rusty Springs Station was very interesting to say the least. I was a city slicker out of his element — a fish out of the perpetually safe realm of his bigpond (dot com) — whereas Jan had worked with horses and other farm animals. We had joined an organisation called ‘Outback Helpers’ who arrange helping hands for farmers in remote areas.They believe that everyone has a use and if matched to someone in need the help goes a long way, so Jan and I became Outback Helpers.We had found out about their organisation from other travellers. Even though I was apprehensive, I was still quite excited about what lay ahead. My apprehension lay in the amount of skills that I could bring to the country
T
44
FISHING IN RED DUST
table. I had a feeling that Mr and Mrs Farmer probably didn’t need their chicken coop advertised in the local ‘To Let’ column of the local papers, and I was also sure that they had successfully connected their hi-fi and already mastered the complex VCR. We rolled into Rusty Springs early April on a Monday evening at around 6pm.The ever-present swirl of red dust followed us in as it had done for the last 450 kilometres or so on our drive from the coast. We were greeted by a menagerie in various forms — numerous barking dogs (one starts and they all get going), a goat (who thought he was a dog), a couple of cats (the true owners who refused to move for anyone), a playful kangaroo (Noddy), some children (how is it two children can look and sound like twelve on first impression?), Mrs Farmer (“G’day”) and a real live Jackeroo (leather skin and thicker hide). Our wagon was circled by this welcoming committee as Jan and I attempted to straighten our backs and stand in an upright position. Mrs Farmer showed us to our patch and we immediately went about making our camp.The jackeroo went about his business, which included lighting a fire beneath the donkey* (need that warm shower when it’s a cool 40 degrees) and frying two dinosaur ribs for his dinner.The latter would take quite some time due to the size of the ingredients versus the size of pan and flame. It was in this patch that we met Spot, a stubborn calf that the jackeroo had rescued. A stubborn calf that the jackeroo was in love with. It was hard to believe that the *
A donkey is a container of water, usually a barrel, with a fire underneath to warm the water. 45
TA L L TA L E S A N D D I N K U M YA R N S
man with the leather skin could so lovingly whisk up a batch of calf milk — not too hot and not too cold — with just the right amount of powder. We paid special attention to these details as this was to be one of our chores over the next couple of weeks. Oh, that stubborn little calf. Later I would dance and frolic with this hairy steak with beautiful cow eyes, but for now I was simply trying to figure out what the hell it was and did I actually have to touch it? The jackeroo (“Name’s Jack, what’s ya cook’s name?”) and I headed off on what the Farmers call a ‘windmill run’.The main idea is to check the bores are all working and clean out the water trough, check stock and leave some salt mixture for the cattle to lick. This was salt, sulphate of ammonia, urea and crushed lupins mixed together in a small cement mixer — mixing the ingredients really brought the Italian out in me. The jackeroo whispered many words of wisdom (thanks to Paul and Mother Mary) and uttered words of Mickeys, Bungarras and Clean-skins (unbranded cattle, not cheap wine). He also spoke of thieves in the night and modern day rustlers.As I sat in the passenger’s seat I listened and tried to imagine his life. He now walked with the aid of a walking stick — good for whacking the odd pig into place — his bones were not what they used to be and I wondered why. I had to wind my window up so I could hear his stories, not completely due to the sound of the dirt track whistling by but also because of his fag-in-mouth mumbling (has anyone seen Dick Tracy?) The art of smoking a rolled durry down to a few millimetres and still have it clinging to the corner of the lips while he holds a conversation is something he will 46
FISHING IN RED DUST
probably take to Jackeroo Heaven when he goes. As he is led to this heaven (with a hand made bridle keeping him in check), where the pearly gates are replaced with a bush gate (the type you have to open on large properties) and an electric fence either side, it will be St Davo sitting on the back of the Holden ute with a few questions to ask before the jackeroo can enter such a kingdom. Davo (sorry, St Davo) will note that he took time out to talk to the calves and cows that he tended and took time to give the younger ones a good scratch under the neck. Some even got to pucker up and have a good kiss. St Davo would also take note on how the jackeroo would put an animal in pain out of its misery without blinking an eye but would lose sleep when a sow gave birth to a bunch of tender pink bacon rashers, concerned about whether she fell asleep and rolled over on one or two of them. Yes there is a jackeroo with a good heart. No time for city slickers though.They’re just a waste of space — what they good-fer? As the musical says, “Take a look at his soul, its whole is a whole lot greater than the sum of its parts.” I am sure that if I could have spent more time with the jackeroo I could have learned plenty.The few pearls of wisdom I did pick up though, will serve me well in life.“Don’t eat bread from the bottom of the fridge after it has defrosted,” “If the sow kills a piglet, bend a piece of wire and pull the body from under her. But watch out for the sow, she’ll go ya!” “If you see an Eagle near a piglet, shoot the eagle.”“Don’t eat road kill” and “Don’t accept a dinner invite if they expect you to do the dishes”. He also gave me explicit instructions on how to kill and gut a kangaroo. When the jackeroo spoke his conversation was littered with a range of expletives like 47
TA L L TA L E S A N D D I N K U M YA R N S
“all city slickers are bastards” and “all pets are mongrels”, but none to be heard when a woman was present. St Davo will like that. As the days progressed we settled in. Day by day our list of chores grew, and one of our chores was feeding the animals around the homestead. The variety of animals needed a variety of foods; “Now see here City Slicker.This one is oats (1), and you top up from this silo.This one is lupin (2), and you top up from this silo.This one is chaff (3), see Mr Farmer if you need more. This one is wheat (4), also see Mr Farmer. Now, to feed pigs (there were three girls, two of them pregnant, and one boy); the mum-to-be girls get 2½ of 1 to ¾ of 2, the other two get 2 of 1 to ½ of 2 (soak in water overnight). And while yer at it feed the horses (2 nags, 1 stockhorse and PJ the calf). 2 of 3 to 1 of 1 all in their own containers. Half a thingy of 4 to the chooks.You got that?” Sure. Now which one was called lupin…? One fine day Jan and I went to feed the variety of animals their variety of food. We had pre-soaked the pigs’ food the day before as per the instructions. When making up the concoction, I did question Jan that the correct fraction of the correct ingredient had been placed with the water. It was our first time and we were alone as the jackeroo had gone to the big smoke for a couple of weeks. Anyway, Jan thought it was close enough.The next day as we poured the concoction into the pigs’ bowls (a tyre cut in half, no the other way) we did notice a fermented type smell. The smell reminded me of wine tasting in the Barossa Valley. Who knows why? Jan and I agreed that the pigs would probably eat well, have a bit of a giggle and sleep soundly. For some 48
FISHING IN RED DUST
reason the pigs were a bit slow and grumpy the next morning‌? PJ was a calf or a young cow, another animal rescued by a caring jackeroo. PJ ate with the horses but was able to wander freely around the homestead. Bundy is a dog whose eyes remind me of a cod when looking at him from above. He was the protector and companion of PJ, and PJ would come and visit Spot (that stubborn little calf) at our patch each day. PJ would poke its head through the fence and shove its tongue down Spot’s ears as far as it could. Must have been a cow thing. Often PJ would sleep next to the fence with Spot just the other side and Bundy would always be nearby. Eventually we did allow PJ into our patch to teach Spot how to eat. This seemed to work, but meant there were a lot more unexploded mines to be wary of when walking around.
Ode to PJ PJ was a young cow we held dear Who we let in our patch with no fear She liked to mother a lot A young calf called Spot By sticking her tongue down its ear. Is this what they mean by Wax Lyrical?
49
Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers, Tall Tales and Dinkum Yarns will delight you with its unique take on the Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures and amazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey with colourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australian fauna. Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickers turned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and lighthearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in the wake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to this highly entertaining book. Open a page, sit back, and have a laugh!
Tall Tales and Dinkum Yarns
Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in red dust or looking after wild animals masquerading as household pets, Clive and Jan, aka the Travelling Boozeburys, have done it all.
Tall Tales and
Dinkum Yarns The Real Adventures of the Travelling Boozeburys Part 1
Clive A. (“Adventure�) Smith
Born in England, I immigrated here with my family in 1964 and I have called Australia home ever since. I love this land and its people so much that I am now addicted to exploring its diversity. So much so that my wife Jan and I have been on the road for years now, having one adventure after another. And finally I've realised that it is these travelling stories that I'm passionate about sharing with you, my reader. How lucky I am to live in this Lucky Country and to live my dream!
Clive A. Smith
I have always had a passion to write. I never knew quite what it was that I wanted to write, but the passion was there. I also have an over-active imagination and I've put it, and my sense of humour, to good use over the years.
ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7
Travel Memoir
A&A Book Publishing w w w. a a m p e r s a n d a . c o m
Clive A. Smith