Gotta Go

GOTTA GO

Geoffrey Rawson

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Published by:

Geoffrey Rawson at Smashwords

Copyright (c) 2012 by Geoffrey Rawson

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Suggestions for preface and/or back cover. (blurb?)

Ever witnessed a murder?

Sailed the south Pacific?

Shifted heaps of elephant droppings?

Earn’t a Black belt in Judo?

Stolen a Big-Game hunter’s rifle?

The author of this memoir has.

From a naive country bumpkin to a

World traveller, he tells his story with

Refreshing candor and a perspective on

life different from that of street-wise city contempories.

A fast moving original work.

Young, naive and straight from a farm. An 18 year old Australian launches into the wide world.

‘Bugger the farm, I want to try my luck down in the Big Smoke’, he tells his father.

The time is the 60’s when fares were cheap onmigrant ships returning half empty to the UK.

Within a short time he has fallen in love, witnessed a murder, sailed the South Pacific and worked as an elephant shit-shifter in an American circus.

Told with refreshing candour and without a dull moment, the author lives the dream of many young men. His background as a country youngster adds a different perspective on life than that experienced by many of his city contempories.

This is a fast moving page turner.

GOTTA GO.

Recollections of a young Australian’s experiences overseas.

Chapter one.

It started about the same time I met an attractive girl named Helen at dancing classes. She was tall, almost too tall but it didn’t matter as I was taller. So here we were, two seventeen year olds falling in love. We became engaged and everything was great for a while, until I got the travel bug. My physical lust she could manage, but my wanderlust was a different matter.

‘Don’t you want me any more Geoff?’ She looked me straight in the eye and I knew it was serious. This was damn hard. I loved the girl, but the big wide world was calling.

‘Of course I love you, you’re my woman, but I’ve just got to do some travelling.’

‘Why can’t we get married now and travel together?’

‘Oh Darl, I’m just not ready yet and you know I haven’t got much cash so I’ll need to travel rough. Anyway, I’m about set to go.’

She let it drop, but things had reached rock bottom. A week later she returned the engagement ring and said goodbye. As a parting-shot she told her mother about my intentions. I should have known that there are times when it pays to keep your mouth shut, especially around girl friends. Her mother rang mine, Dad was informed and I faced a family court martial. The Oldies thought that having a career, settling down and being responsible was more important for me than seeing the world and having a good time. I decided to do a runner and clear off.

I reckon I was influenced in my thoughts by a friend of my father. He was a Bushy named William and lived somewhere they called ‘The back of Burke’. I called him Uncle, and as a young boy I looked forward to his visits, although he would put my mother in a tizz when she heard he was coming. One visit that stands out in my mind was where Mum had arranged for a ladies tea party on the same day he was to arrive. Dad reckoned Mum should put the visit off as he thought William was, ‘a rough diamond and he may not go down too well with the ladies.’

Mum’s friends were busy chatting when the doorbell rang. Uncle stood there in pants held up with a belt fashioned from an old tie. His long grey beard was flowing in the wind. He had no coat on although it was cold and his shirt sleeves were rolled-up to the elbows. Uncle had a sort of twinkling face. His blue eyes twinkled, his mouth twinkled and the lines around his eyes reminded me of Father Christmas.

Mum was no light-weight, but Uncle swept her off her feet and gave her a big hug. He swung me high into the air and bellowed.

‘Who’s this Whipper Snipper? Looks like a desperate villain to me.’

At afternoon tea-time it was my job to bring in the food and serve the ladies. I carried in a plate of scones and a huge cream cake mum had made the night before. It was quiet in the lounge, except for Uncle’s voice as he spun yarns about life in the bush... That would have been ok except I don’t think the ladies appreciated his language which had bloody and bastard in just about every sentence.

With the three visiting ladies, Uncle, Mum, Dad and myself there were seven of us, so Mum cut seven slices off the cream cake. As Uncle was sitting nearest to her she made the mistake of offering the plate to him first. Without hesitation he got a big hand around the uncut half of the cake and shoved it into his mouth. Everyone stared and Mum’s face went a funny colour. Unfortunately Uncle tried to continue telling a story while eating and he started to choke. He gave a big cough and a fair amount of the cake sprayed out over the table. The guests went home shortly after that and I didn’t see him again for a long time. Somehow however, his disregard for the rules must have rubbed off on me and caused me to buck the system later on.

‘Where do you plan to go son? Why couldn’t you let us know? How do you think your mother and I feel finding out second-hand from Helen’s mother?’

‘How could I’ve told you? You’d have only tried to stop me. Anyway, I’ve booked a seat on the train to Sydney.’

Mum came in with her two bob’s worth, giving me her well-practised look of disapproval.

‘If you must go deserting your family and your friends then don’t go to Sydney, it’s a really wicked place.’

I kept my mouth shut and let her carry on. Dad was a reasonable sort of a bloke. I guess he must’ve been young once himself and would see the problems trying to confine me to barracks. I should have felt guilty being a disappointment to them but I only felt angry that they couldn’t see what it was like being my age and stuck on a farm miles from where the action is.

Dad wound up the conversation.

‘I’ll talk this over with your mother and we’ll discuss it further in the morning.’

With the engagement to Helen at an end, there was no other girl in my life. The only one I knew who was near my age was Nancy Bull,

the daughter of a nearby farmer. Mum had pushed me in her direction in the past, and we’d once gone to a dance. It had been a disaster. I didn’t think she wanted to go and I know she didn’t like me very much. I couldn’t wait to get home

The Oldies bedroom was next to mine and I heard them arguing in bed that night. Sometimes you just don’t know what people think of you unless you overhear a conversation. Mum was sobbing and I could hear; ‘brainless, impulsive and wet behind the ears’ coming from Dad. That hurt, but my mind was made up. At breakfast the next morning I got the green light to go to Adelaide, the city of churches instead of Sydney, the city of sin. I was expected to return to the family farm in a month or two and settle down like my farmer-type older brother.

I hadn’t flown before but I thought it would be worth the extra cost for the experience. I paid what seemed to be a small fortune for a one-way ticket on an Ansett Airlines DC3. It had twin engines and free tucker. I was seated between two people who had been around more that I had. The bloke on one side was a Uni. student flying over for the day to ask some professor a couple of questions. A lady on the other side was also returning to Melbourne that night. She was off to Adelaide to have her hair done.

‘Forced to go to Adelaide darling. There simply isn’t anyone in Melbourne who has the faintest idea how to cut.’

Her hair didn’t have a strand out of place. It even sparkled a bit like the diamonds on her fingers

I looked out the little window. Bright sunlight, with us coasting along on top of white clouds. As we neared Adelaide I could see into people’s backyards. There was a good-looking girl hanging out washing. I wanted the pilot to circle around so I could get her house number, but I wasn’t game to ask. As we came in to land, the view was so clear I could see a bloke herding cows.and puffs of dust as each hoof hit the dirt.

Adelaide had churches all right, but I didn’t need a sermon, I needed somewhere to live and a job. Once in town, I humped the backpack to a YMCA hostel, got a feed in their cafeteria and a bed in the dormitory. There was a notice board with offers of accommodation. A family was offering two bedrooms for ‘paying guests’ in a house at Glenelg, a seaside suburb.. I took the tram out there and found the woman running the place was friendly and didn’t look like she was going to mother me. She gave me the front bedroom and a local paper so I could hunt for work.

A job for one day looked interesting. A publicity outfit advertising a cowboy film needed an experienced rider to take a horse around the city. I rang and the bloke asked me what experience I’d had.

‘Mate, I was raised on a horse farm and had a future as a jockey only I grew too big.’

‘What about riding in the city? This isn’t a job ploughing a paddock. It could be tricky.’

We’d had an old draught horse on the farm and it’d only bucked me off once, so I reckoned I could handle some tame city nag.

‘No worries there, mister. I used to ride country races. You wouldn’t believe how tricky they can be.’

The job was mine. The next day I reported to stables on the edge of town, where I was decked out in a cowboy outfit. I felt real silly. The pants were too small, the hat too big and I had to wear this poofy white scarf that looked like it belonged on a store dummy advertising women’s clothes.

The plan was for the horse to have billboards strapped on each side advertising a film The Cave of Outlaws, showing soon at the Roxy.

I mounted the nag and a stable hand strapped one billboard on. Things went wrong in a hurry when he tried to pass the second board to his mate on the other side. Instead of walking around, he flashed the board in front of the nag’s eyes as he passed it over. The horse bolted with me clinging on and yelling back at the silly coot who’d put me in this spot. Pulling on the reins made no difference so I wrapped my arms around its neck and hoped for the best. By the time the galloper was ready to pull up we were in the centre of Adelaide. Before it settled had down to a canter, we’d passed several trams on the wrong side and gone through two intersections while the lights were red.

Back at the stables, search parties had been sent out in various directions, but none had found me. Luckily the cops hadn’t been alerted and as I had already galloped around most of the city area, I reckoned it was time to head back. The boss looked relieved when he saw me.

‘Jeez son, you had us worried. I’ve had blokes out looking for you everywhere. We had reports that you were seen right over the other side of town. Are you ok?

‘Yeah boss, I got him under control all right and we covered the whole city.’

‘You did a good job son. Here’s yer twenty quid.’

He chucked in an extra fiver, telling me I must be an excellent horseman. He also suggested that when I get home I better not explain to anyone why there had been some traffic problems in the city that day.

Back at the boarding house I asked the landlady about regular jobs in the area.

‘You should talk to Fritz. He’s the boarder in the back bedroom. Fritz works for the council and might put in a good word for you.’

Fritz was the Pest Control Officer. He did put in a good word for me and I started as an Assistant Rat Catcher. I liked the look of old Fritz. Bald as a bandicoot, sporting a decent beer-belly and he had twinkling eyes like Uncle William.

‘Dis job is goot’. He told me. ‘Ve fix cat and dog nobody vant. Can you play chess? Ve have plenty vaiting-around time.’

The job was to destroy stray animals brought in from the city Pound. These poor buggers were pushed into a sealed metal box and Fritz pumped in gas from the main’s supply. You could hear them struggling for life as the gas hit, but I somehow I got used to it pretty quick. We set baits, caught a rat or two, hired out possum traps, drank gallons of tea and played chess.

One day a bloke came into the tea room and Fritz introduced him as John, the council’s Land Surveyor.

‘Fritz,’ he said. ‘Can I borrow this young bloke for a few days? My offsider’s busted his leg and I’ve gotta take some sights on the new subdivision.’

‘Yar, dats ok. Ve haf few animals yust now and he is not a goot chess player anyvay.’

The surveying game interested me. I liked being outdoors and we moved around alot. My job was to hold up a long stick with numbers and lines on it and John would look at it through a kind of telescope and make notes. It got a bit boring until one day he asked if I would like to have a go at yachting as he had a sailboat moored on the bay.

‘Do you mean, at weekends?’

‘Nuh, during the week. We can nick off between jobs and Fritz will let me know if he needs you.’

‘Alright by me chief, lead the way.’

I soon discovered that sailing was not all blue skies and white sails. Sea-sickness was a new experience. All I wanted to do was lie on a bunk and die. John knew that the thing to do was to stay on deck. He kept me upstairs with excuses like how he needed a hand to do this and that.

‘Why can’t I just go downstairs, John? I hate heaving my guts out and trying to pull ropes around on deck.’

‘Believe me boy, you need to be where you can see the horizon and judge when a cranky wave is coming.’

He was right. After a while the sickness passed and I rejoined the world. The yacht was a new one and from then on, every few days, it needed a run to stretch a sail or test the motor or something. This was a great job, with sandwiches and plonk lunches and I was learning a load of stuff that could be handy if I ever had my own boat.

What with Fritz and all the chess games I let him win, the surveying, plus the yachting caper, life was prety good. The only thing bugging me was transport. Going to work involved catching two buses and I needed a set of wheels.

Passing a motorbike shop one lunch time I strolled in for a look.

‘What have you got that’s cheap and cheerful?’ I asked this flash-looking sales bloke.

He stared at me like I needed a wash, then he brightened up when he remembered a bike he had out the back.

‘Got just the thing for a bright young fella like you Brand new and won’t cost you an arm and a leg.’

He led me to a store room and here was this classy looking bike, a Szepel which was a make I’d never seen before. A 125cc two-stroke that looked like the popular BSA Bantam. Lots of gleaming chrome and a genuine leather saddle.

‘I can let you have this little beauty for half the price of a new Bantam and the sheilas will be all over you for a ride.’

He gave me this leer and wink when he said ride, so I got interested in a hurry.

‘What’s the catch is it stolen or something?’

He looked offended and explained that this magnificent machine had come from Hungary in a trial shipment that had some problems.

‘What sort of problems?’ I didn’t like the look of this salesman, but the Szepel looked good.

‘The bikes were stored on deck and rusted up bad when the ship hit heavy weather. Only two were under cover and this is one of ‘em. We refused delivery on the rest and I sold the other one to a bloke going home to Darwin. This is the only one in this part of the world.’

I’ve always been a sucker for a bargain, so I agreed to buy and collect it after I got cash from the bank. Fritz let me have the afternoon off and the bloke at the bike shop gave me ten quid discount for cash. As I wheeled it out to the street, I remembered to ask about spares.

‘No problems about spares. Just let me know what you need and I’ll find the factory address in Poland, err.., I mean Hungary or where-ever and drop ‘em a line.’

That sounded a bit vague, but what the heck, I had wheels! When I think back on it I figure I wanted this bike, not only because it was cheap, but also because it was new. Having an older brother meant that I’d lived on hand-me-downs. The Old Man had a quid, but he didn’t spend a penny unless he had to. Besides, what father would spend money on a son who was brainless, impulsive and wet behind the ears?

The Szepel was a great bike. I soon got the hang of it and started looking for members of the opposite sex that wanted a ride. One day I spotted a couple of good-looking girls just past a set of traffic lights. I stopped on the red, but then took off a little early. A big bike coming from my right smacked into me. The rider had tried to make it across on the yellow and went arse-over-tit while my bike stayed upright. In a flash a second bike pulled up alongside. They were motorbike cops, complete with proper riding gear and dark looks for law- breakers.

The bloke I’d knocked off his bike was Officer Michael O’Toole. He wasn’t really injured and his bike was only slightly damaged. I couldn’t wait to get away from these blokes. Ok we were in a public place, but I reckon if it had been at night on a side road I might have had my features rearranged. O’Toole wrote stuff in a notepad and they buggered off. A summons came in the mail a week later and I had to appear in court. Both cops were there and didn’t look pleased when the magistrate gave me a small fine with no conviction. I reckoned it was time to quit Adelaide before the officer sent some of his mates around to straighten me out. I said goodbye to everybody and rode the bike back to Victoria without any problems.

At home on the farm with the Oldies, I finally decided I wasn’t cut out for the agricultural life. One miserable winter’s morning, hands numb with cold after hours on my knees weeding the massive kitchen garden, I decided to call it quits. Dad was planting stuff a couple of rows away. I stood and faced him. I was a bit nervous but it had to be done.

‘Dad, I’ve had enough of all this. To hell with the weeding, bugger the farm; I want to try my luck down in the Big Smoke’

He had a short fuse and could rear up real quick when you crossed him.

‘Listen, you silly young coot, you’re under twenty one, so I’ll decide what you’ll do. The farm’s good enough for your brother and it wouldn’t hurt you to do some real work. If you’re not man enough to be a farmer you better get an office job. Your mother thinks you should be an accountant. Maybe not a bad idea, I’ll look into it.’

That was the last straw. I already knew what he thought of me and I was old enough to make decisions about my own life. Besides I thought there must be some law that prevented parents from standing in the way of their young wanting to see something of the world. Must be something. The Geneva Convention maybe? I wasn’t too worried. The Adelaide trip had given me the confidence I needed to go it alone.

Melbourne was a two-hour bus ride away. That night I stuffed a backpack with gear and climbed out the bedroom window. I could have shot through on the bike, but it was noisy, getting hard to start and I needed to clear-off quietly. Both the Oldies were snoring and I flagged down the eleven o’clock bus. It was early morning when I thumped on the front door at the South Melbourne YMCA. A decent old night- watchman let me in and didn’t even charge for the night’s kip.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. I had the guilts about doing a runner from the old folks, but it would have happened sooner or later. It was a pity they couldn’t be positive about it all.

Next morning I looked up job vacancies in the daily papers. One that sounded right was for a real estate salesman. Charles Claymore and Co. was opening a branch in an outer suburb. I arranged for an interview over the phone, and caught the train out there. The owner was only a few years older than me. A skinny bloke that looked like he was born in a suit.

‘Have you sold real estate before?’

‘Oh yeah, been working for a country firm. Done well too, big properties mostly.’

‘Which firm was that?’

‘Err…, Dalgety’s.’

That was the company my father sold his wool clip through and I knew they handled real estate. I was sunk if he asked for a reference, but he didn’t.

‘Ok, I’ll give you a start. Ten pounds a week retainer, five quid more for vehicle expenses and one percent of the sale price, payable when the deal is completed.’

I tried to look doubtful about the wages but this joker wasn’t about to offer more to an eighteen-year old from the bush. I reckoned he was