the old Standard Ten finally limped into Norseman.
‘I had no money but I felt great now the trip was over and my companions had convinced me to go straight. WA was a chance for a fresh start where nobody knew me or my past.
‘There was nothing on offer in Kalgoorlie so we headed up through the cropping country. It was winter time and all the farms looked great. We didn’t know much about farming but they all looked pretty good to us. We were heading into the open spaces when we drove into the little town of Yalgoo. A bloke in the shop told us they were looking for workers at Mount Magnet about fifty miles to the west.
‘We didn’t take long to decide to hit the track in that direction. And it was a track. We groaned as we did battle with the dust and corrugations again. We almost made it but the poor battered Standard Ten finally gave up the ghost with about ten miles to go. We pronounced it dead and while we were wondering what our next move would be, or if we were going to die out there, a bloke came along and gave us a lift into town in his truck.
‘We were standing in the mess at the Mount Magnet mine inquiring about jobs when a copper strolled in. It’s amazing how coppers can sum up a person by his looks – and this one definitely didn’t like the look of me. He was very cold and aloof as he questioned us about our movements and what our intentions were in town. The fact that we were looking for work didn’t impress him much but out of the blue he asked, “Do you blokes play Aussie Rules?” When I mentioned that I’d played for Port Noarlunga he changed his tune immediately. “There’s three teams here in town,” he said as he glared at me. “There’s Towns, Mines and Bigardi. If you play for Towns, that’s my team, you can stay. Otherwise piss off. Please yourself.” We were in and I played football on this oval of red dirt, stones and prickles. You made sure you never fell down or else you lost a lot of skin and picked bindies out of your hide for the next week. It was good fun though and we had the best team. That was probably due to the copper’s novel brand of recruitment.
‘We clocked on at Hill 50 Gold Mine and when I went underground for the first time all the walls were glistening. Everything that shone I prised out and put in my pocket. This is okay, I thought to myself. A bloke could make a tidy profit here! When I got back to the surface I asked a miner what I had. He rolled on the ground laughing and told me I was a stupid mug because all I’d stolen was pyrites and it was completely worthless. There went my plans of making a fortune.
‘My work at Hill 50 was mainly on a Grizzly. They’d drop big rocks onto a grid and the ones that wouldn’t go through I had to break up with a sledgehammer so they would. Pushing hand trucks and smashing rocks made me super fit and during my stay there was the best football I ever played.
‘We worked there for four months. In that time I learnt to work an air bogger, a little thing that ran on rails like a front end loader. That was a better paid job so I kidded to the bogger driver to give me a go occasionally.
‘News around the traps said there was better money to be had at the asbestos mine at Wittenoom Gorge, so the three of us hitched a ride there on a truck. I’d already broken new ground as I’d earned a reputation as a good worker at Hill 50 and I’d done what I was told for a change. At Wittenoom I told them I was an expert so I went straight in on the air bogger.
‘No-one was crook at the mine in those days. There was no talk of asbestos being fatal or of the long-term effects. We all lived in a cloud of asbestos in the form of these grey hairs that were in the air. We’d come into the crib room after doing two or three hours work and cough and blow into a handkerchief. It would be full of these grey fibres and shit from your nose. We all coughed a lot but no-one complained because we were all the same and it was just part of the job. It was many years later that we heard it was bad for you. It’s probably the reason why I’ve got a weak chest today. Perhaps I should sue James Hardie!
‘Like most mines the work was hard and dull and monotonous. The days were long but the pay was unheard of. We got ten quid a shift at that time which was twice the weekly wage for most jobs. I actually had a bank book with honest money in it. I couldn’t believe how pure I’d become!
‘On our days off the three of us used to go to a place called Dales Gorge for a swim. It was a great place to have a picnic but the novelty of the area soon wore off. It was only a small town and very isolated and didn’t have a footy team. I was missing that.
‘I worked there for six months before one night they had a cave-in at the mine. It was on the shift after I knocked off so I was lucky not to have been involved. A lot of men were hurt in the fall. The cave-in closed the mine for some time but by then I’d had enough any way and left the next day.
‘By the time I moved on, the big money I’d been getting meant I could purchase my first decent car, a 1959 Ford Customline Star. I was that proud of her. The change had done me good. I’d kept my nose clean with the law and was making something of myself. It was a great feeling.
‘My next stop was Port Hedland where I got a job as a yardman at the Esplanade Hotel. In the 60s it was a great place. I went back later in 1976 but I just kept going. There was nothing there for me. It was all houses and completely spoilt - but that’s another story. Still, old habits die hard because I never bought any petrol during my stay in Port Hedland. I cut a hole in the Shell Depot fence around the back in the bush. A tradesman would have been impressed with the job because I could close the fence up again like a mesh trapdoor. It backed onto a scrubby area where no-one went. I’d get my pliers and pull the lids off the 44-gallon drums standing there. Then I’d drain some petrol out of the top of each one to fill my two twelve gallon drums. That would be sixty litres today. Then I’d seal up the 44s to make them look untouched. I must have done a good job because there was never any trouble about it.
‘I remember after about my twentieth illegal visit to the depot I saw the caretaker’s light come on at the other end of the yard. I put a full twelve gallon drum under each arm and jogged back to the hole in the fence. I was very strong and fit in those days. Now I’ve become old and fat, I couldn’t even lift one, let alone run with two! Yep, fuel was cheap in Port Hedland.
‘While I was working at the pub I saw one of the funniest performances I’ve ever seen. This little skinny young blackfella was in the bar minding his own business when this big white bloke about six foot six picked on him for no reason. The little blackfella tried to defend himself but the big bloke made about four of him so it wasn’t much of a contest. He copped a hell of a flogging. I was sitting there drinking my lemon squash and wondered if I should help him out, but I reasoned that it was nothing to do with me.
‘The little bloke staggered to his feet with blood gushing everywhere. As he limped toward the door with his head down he looked around at the big bloke and said, “I’m going to get my big brother. He’ll fix you, you big prick.”
The white chap grinned and said, “Good. Bring him along and I’ll flog him too. Let’s hope he can fight better than you you weak bastard!”
About ten minutes later, the little blackfella came to the door and yelled, “Hey you big shit. I warned you. My big brother’s out here.”
‘ “Good,” the white bloke answered, “I could do with some more exercise. You didn’t give me any.”
With that the big bloke walked outside to do battle. I heard this – whack, whack - and thought the poor little chap and his big brother were both copping it. Then I heard – whack, whack – again and the little chap saying, “And there’s plenty more where that came from you big white shit! I told you my big brother would fix you!”
‘I went out to see what had happened. It was a classic. The little blackfella had grabbed a steel star picket and had stashed it behind
