Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Great Northern Territory Stories
    Great Northern Territory Stories
    Great Northern Territory Stories
    Ebook218 pages3 hours

    Great Northern Territory Stories

    By Bill Marsh

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook


    Master storyteller Bill 'Swampy' Marsh travels our wide brown land collecting yarns and memories from the authentic voices of rural Australia. the people you will meet in these stories will touch your heart as Swampy brings to life all the drama and delight of life in the outback. By turns frightening, hilarious, wonderful, tragic and poignant, these tales are sure to get you in, hook, line and sinker.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateJul 1, 2011
    ISBN9780730498667
    Great Northern Territory Stories
    Author

    Bill Marsh

    Bill ‘Swampy' Marsh is an award-winning writer/performer of stories, songs and plays. Based in Adelaide, he is best known for his successful Great Australian series of books published with ABC Books: More Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories (2007), Great Australian Railway Stories (2005), Great Australian Droving Stories (2003), Great Australian Shearing Stories (2001), and Great Australian Flying Doctor Stories (1999).

    Read more from Bill Marsh

    Related to Great Northern Territory Stories

    Related ebooks

    History For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Outback Advocate

      Jan 25, 2024

      Outback Advocate
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Cup Of Tea With.. TINA CROSS

      Jan 17, 2021

      In 1979, Tina Cross shot to stardom when she won the Pacific Song Contest. The promising young vocalist went on to become a household name, both in New Zealand and Australia. In 2007, she received a New Zealand Order of Merit for her services to musi

      3 min read

    • Article

      Come From Away

      Mar 21, 2024

      Come From Away
      3 min read

    • Article

      The Cheadles

      Oct 2, 2019

      The Cheadles
      2 min read

    • Article

      Call Of The Wild

      Jun 22, 2022

      Call Of The Wild
      10 min read

    • Article

      Could you spend THE HOLIDAYS WITH YOUR EX?

      Oct 31, 2023

      Last year, for the first time ever, I spent Christmas with my whole family: sons, daughters-in-law, five adult grandchildren – and my ex-husband. But the 11 of us weren’t crushed round a too-small dining table, as in an Alan Ayckbourn comedy. Nor wou

      4 min read

    • Article

      I REMEMBER… Paul Nicholas

      Nov 16, 2021

      I REMEMBER… Paul Nicholas
      5 min read

    • Article

      “We’ve Found Our Strength”

      Oct 6, 2019

      “We’ve Found Our Strength”
      8 min read

    • Article

      Over The Rainbow

      Feb 22, 2024

      Over The Rainbow
      4 min read

    • Article

      Guest Editorial by Mary (nee Atteridge) Smith

      Sep 29, 2021

      I STARTED work in the post room as a messenger girl in 1964, at 15 years old, in Dorset House, Stamford Street, Blackfriars. I was allocated the first and second floors to take the post to the IPC [former publisher of this paper] publications on thos

      2 min read

    • Article

      Following His Bliss

      Apr 4, 2021

      Following His Bliss
      6 min read

    • Article

      My Country Childhood

      May 15, 2019

      My Country Childhood
      5 min read

    • Article

      Mum’s PRECIOUS LEGACY

      Mar 25, 2020

      Mum’s PRECIOUS LEGACY
      9 min read

    • Article

      Summer Of ’41

      Mar 15, 2021

      Summer Of ’41
      3 min read

    • Article

      Song of Joy

      Dec 29, 2019

      “I can be tough, but I think I’ve mellowed,” says Joy McKean with the sort of smile that tells you she hasn’t mellowed an inch more than she wanted to. It’s a warm summer morning when we meet at her house in a retirement village on Sydney’s leafy Nor

      8 min read

    • Article

      A Pilgrim’s PASSION

      Aug 27, 2021

      A Pilgrim’s PASSION
      5 min read

    • Article

      I REMEMBER… Andy Hamilton

      May 17, 2022

      I REMEMBER… Andy Hamilton
      5 min read

    • Article

      We’re In The 100 Club!

      Feb 20, 2020

      We’re In The 100 Club!
      3 min read

    • Article

      Steady On

      Mar 12, 2024

      Steady On
      13 min read

    • Article

      Swansong.

      May 3, 2020

      Swansong.
      10 min read

    • Article

      Flying High

      May 12, 2019

      Flying High
      7 min read

    • Article

      Around The World

      Nov 29, 2021

      Around The World
      5 min read

    • Article

      Out Of The Loop

      Mar 19, 2019

      Out Of The Loop
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Island Guy

      Jul 11, 2023

      The Island Guy
      8 min read

    • Article

      A Hero’s Goodbye

      Oct 6, 2022

      A Hero’s Goodbye
      4 min read

    • Article

      THE WOMEN Who Shaped Me

      Mar 8, 2021

      THE WOMEN Who Shaped Me
      6 min read

    • Article

      Your LETTERS

      Nov 11, 2022

      Your LETTERS
      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Great Northern Territory Stories

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Great Northern Territory Stories - Bill Marsh

      A True Legend

      This is an interesting story about a fellow, a true legend, who was a pilot with the Royal Flying Doctor Service for I-don’t-know-how-long. His name’s Phil Darby.

      At the time this particular incident happened I was Chief Pilot with the RFDS here in Cairns, in far north Queensland, and also their Senior Checking and Training Pilot. So, in that capacity, I quite often found myself out at different RFDS bases for a couple of weeks either checking and training pilots or doing relief work while one of our pilots went on holidays or something.

      In this case it was one of my very early trips down to Charleville, in south-western Queensland, and while I was relatively new to that area Phil had previously been the pilot down there for — oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know — maybe ten years or more. Actually, Phil worked with the RFDS when it first opened down at Charleville so by then he’d had a chance to solidly cement his persona within the township and the surrounding countryside.

      Anyway, by this stage, Phil had been posted over to Cairns and I was relieving out at Charleville and while I was there we were called out to this property — Thylungra — which was then owned by CSR [Colonial Sugar Refining Company]. It was also the place where they had a polocrosse weekend, you know, the polo they play on horseback. But Thylungra was run on behalf of CSR by a manager chappie whose surname was Green. Anyhow, this chappie’s wife fell ill and we were called to go out there. So the doctor and I and a Nursing Sister, we climbed into — I’m not sure if it was a Queen Air or we took the King Air that time — but anyway, off we went out to this property.

      When we landed, there was the truck waiting at the airstrip so we pulled up and we all got out of the aeroplane and the manager bloke, Green, was there with his wife, and she was looking very grey, indeed. She was not well at all. So the doctor went to have a closer look at the wife. Anyway, the manager, this chappie, Green, I could see that he was sort of eyeing me up and down in an extremely suspicious manner. And he was rolling a durry — a roll- your - own cigarette — in the fashion that they can only do in the outback. You know how they roll the durry, sort of nonchalantly while they’re deep in thought about something or other, and in this particular case I had the strong feeling that it was me he was thinking about.

      ‘G’day,’ I said, ‘my name’s Nick Watling. I’m flying the aeroplane today’— Nick Watling

      Well, I said to myself, this feller obviously doesn’t know who or what I am. So I went up to introduce myself. ‘G’day,’ I said, ‘my name’s Nick Watling. I’m flying the aeroplane today.’

      ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, in a half-interested sort of way. ‘So where’s Phil?’

      ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Phil’s been posted. Phil and I are at the same base in Cairns these days.’

      ‘Oh,’ he grunted, sounding none too pleased with this turn of events.

      Then he left it at that, but you could see that what I’d said wasn’t really sinking through to this feller, Green. So there he is, he’s still rolling his durry and he’s deep in thought then he looks at me and says, ‘But Phil’s the pilot for Queensland, isn’t he?’

      And I thought what a brilliant job of PR Phil had done during the years he was out there, in the Charleville area. Because, this feller, Green, he just could not possibly imagine that anyone else other than Phil Darby flew aeroplanes for the RFDS. And the fact that Phil had gone to Cairns, you know, 800 nautical miles to the north-east didn’t affect a thing. If anybody was flying out to pick up anybody’s wife or anyone who was sick or injured, the pilot had to be Phil. Nobody else would do, and so who was this strange bugger by the name of Watling, and what right did he have to be out there flying ‘Phil’s aeroplane’? And that’s the way it felt to me.

      So that was Phil Darby, a wonderful feller, a brilliant bloke who was tremendously valued and loved as both a man and a pilot, particularly throughout the Charleville area, where they virtually looked upon him as a god. Oh, he’d give you the shirt off his back, Phil would, he was that generous. And if you ever wanted someone to fill in anywhere, there’d always be Phil. He’d be the first to put up his hand, every time.

      But, on the other hand, if you wanted someone to obey the rules to the strict letter of the law, well then, perhaps not Phil. Of course, being Chief Pilot, I was responsible to the Civil Aviation Authority for the running of the place and Phil had to be reined in on occasions. So we had our moments together. But, in saying that, Phil went through his many, many years flying for the RFDS without having one accident relating to that sort of approach to life. In fact, I’d reckon that Phil could land the aeroplane on a postage stamp, in the middle of the night, you know, and there’s not too many that could do that.

      A True Privilege

      Well, I suppose, something that pops straight into mind was my first lesson in cultural safety. To be more accurate, I guess I should say that it was a real lesson in how to work appropriately with an Aboriginal patient.

      There was one old fella, he was into his seventies and it was the first time he’d ever been in an aeroplane. The only trouble was that I didn’t speak his language and he didn’t speak English so we had this real communication problem right from the start.

      Anyhow, we got him into the aeroplane and I’m trying to tell him to put his seat belt on, but he couldn’t understand what I was on about. So then thinking I was being helpful, I went over to show him how it was done. And, well, didn’t he take exception to that. He got angry at me for trying to interfere with him. Obviously he didn’t know what was going on because he got stuck into me. Oh yeah, he was hitting out at me and everything. Then finally I worked out how he must’ve been seeing the situation, from his point of view, what, with it being his first time in an aeroplane and then, to make matters worse, here was this white woman pushing and pulling him around.

      ‘That’s okay. Now I understand,’ I said and I got one of the other patients to explain to him what he had to do, and he was alright after that.

      Then I had another old patient who was incredibly incontinent in the aircraft, so then we had an overflow problem, out onto the floor, didn’t we. And at the altitude we were flying, it was so cold that the urine froze. At the time I was unaware of what had happened, that was until I went to stand up and I felt this crack, crack, cracking. That’s funny, I thought, and when I looked down I saw that my shoes were stuck to the floor of the aeroplane.

      And there was another old fella who obviously didn’t understand the principals of aircraft safety because he decided to light a fire on the floor of the aeroplane. Oh, he just got cold so he started pulling old bits of rubbish and stuff out of his pockets and then he tried to light it with a match. Yeah, on the floor of the aeroplane, as we were flying along, because he was cold.

      Of course, when we saw that we freaked out. ‘No, no, you can’t do that!’

      ‘But I’m cold,’ he said.

      ‘I’ll turn the heater up! I’ll get you a blanket! I’ll do anything, but don’t light a fire on the floor of the aeroplane!’

      So, yeah, I must say, it’s a true privilege sometimes with these Aboriginal people, particularly with the real old traditional people, to see them when they’re having a first-time-in-their-life experience. I remember when I took one old fella from here, in Alice Springs, down to Adelaide. Oh, he was a lovely man. I’d say he’d also have to be well into his seventies and, anyhow, he’d never seen the ocean before.

      At first, I found it really hard to believe. But then, when I thought about it, I realised that he wouldn’t even have come across an ocean on television or anything because he’d never even seen a television before, either. Maybe he’d seen a dam. I guess he’d seen a creek and probably a river, but it was obvious that he couldn’t grasp the concept of what an ocean actually was. But you just think that everybody knows, don’t you? We just sort of take it for granted.

      Anyhow, I pointed out the window of the aeroplane and I said to him, ‘Out there, that’s the ocean.’ And he gazed down upon that huge, vast expanse of water, spreading all the way out over the horizon, and he was so shocked. He just couldn’t believe there could be so much water anywhere. Even the word ‘ocean’ was strange to him.

      ‘Ocean?’ he kept asking. ‘What is ocean?’

      I said, ‘Water. Karpi.’ Because karpi is the word for water in their language.

      So he stared back out the window of the plane for a while, then he looked back at me and he said, ‘No, no, not Karpi. Too much for Karpi.’

      Aladdin’s Lamp

      Railways run in the Nicholls family. My grandfather was a train driver at Kalgoorlie. It might sound a bit odd, but even though he was stationed in Western Australia he was employed by SAR (South Australian Railways). Then my father was a cook with the Commonwealth Railways; my uncle was a fireman with them as well. But I was a cleaner at Oodnadatta first, then one day the fireman on the Ghan took crook so they grabbed me to do the firing back to Quorn, and that’s how I became a fireman. Then I went on to be a driver.

      In those days the old Ghan line went from Port Augusta through Quorn, Hawker, Copley, Marree, Coward Springs, William Creek, Oodnadatta, Eringa, then up into the Northern Territory through Fink, Ewaninga and on to Alice Springs. See, a lot of people have the idea that only one Ghan train worked the line but there were heaps of others. Other than the passenger train there were stock trains, goods trains — you name it — work trains, coal trains, the lot.

      Now as far as dates go, let me think; I left the Commonwealth Railways not long after I got married in 1950. Yes, that’s right, because I met my wife, Coral Brooks, in Quorn, in ’48. So I joined SAR in 1951, then I became a fireman, then a driver in 1953, and then that became AN (Australian National). But to be a driver on the Ghan in the old days was a real bloody honour, you know, because it was only the senior men, like the firemen, the guards and drivers, that ever worked the line.

      But there were some characters, I can tell you. We had one guard by the name of Pud and, gawd, he’d pinch the milk out of your bloody coffee. You can’t mention this, of course, but when we were working the cattle trains, if any of the cows calved along the way, to save them being trodden on and die, Pud’d take them down to the compo-brake van and put them in the bloody shower recess. The shower recess was the only place you could keep them, otherwise they’d shit everywhere. So there they’d be, all these bloody newborn calves in the brake van going, ‘Moo, moo, moo’, all bloody night.

      Lavatory must not be used while train is standing at station — Geoffrey Higham

      Then when we got home, Pud’d take all these calves out to his place and, over time, he ended up with this bloody great big herd of cows. Oh, he had Herefords, he had Black Polls. He had bloody everything, which, of course, he then sold at a 100 per cent profit.

      Then there’s another story about Pud, which I also shouldn’t mention. It was during the war and he was on a supply train going to the Alice and there was all this timber on a flat top. Well, Pud’s got his eye on this timber, see, because he knows that he’s got a few jobs back home that it could be used for. Anyhow, Pud knows that there’s going to be a change of crew at Peak Creek; just before you get to Algebuckina. So the train stops there in the middle of the bloody night in amongst all these sandhills and Pud’s up on the bloody flat-top sliding along this timber with the aim of hiding it in the sandhills and picking it up on his return journey. Anyhow, he’s moving all this timber about and a bloody torchlight hits his eyes. It was the provos, the military police.

      ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ one of the provos said.

      ‘Thank Christ yer came along,’ Pud replied. ‘Some’a the bloody timber’s coming off and I need a hand to get it back up on the flat-top.’

      I mean, how’s that for presence of mind, eh? But that was Pud. He was a nice guy but, as I said, give him half a chance and he’d nick the milk out of your coffee.

      Then there’s another favourite story of mine about a different bloke, a bloke called Bonny Fry. Bonny was the train examiner in Alice Springs. Geez, wasn’t he a rough diamond. As a train examiner, it was Bonny’s job to go along and check the brakes and everything on the Ghan before it departed the Alice. Now, I’d just finished shunting and I was going back to rest-out and, on that particular Monday, the Ghan was late leaving. Anyhow, I hooked up with Bonny and we were having a chat while he was doing this testing, and we came across this sleeping car.

      Well, back in those days they had, like, the long-drop toilets on the trains. There wasn’t even a pan or anything, so your business just went straight down onto the track. Inside the carriages they had all these signs telling everybody not to use the toilets while the train was standing at the station. Anyway, Bonny and me were going along beside this sleeping car and we hear this ‘plop, plop’ on the ground, and we see this stuff coming out the bloody chute.

      ‘Gawd,’ said Bonny, ‘I’ve gotta clean this bloody mess up after they go.’

      Now, Bonny had what was called a slush light. If you can imagine, a slush light’s an oil can with a bloody big wick on it. To give you some idea, it’s shaped exactly like a huge Aladdin’s lamp. It was a hell of a size. Anyhow, he lights this Aladdin’s lamp-looking thing, and he shoves it straight up the flue. Next thing, the window flies open but, instead of a beautiful genie appearing to grant us three wishes, this old dowager sticks her head out and, boy, didn’t she start abusing poor old Bonny. Gawd, she was as mad as hell.

      ‘Well, lady,’ he said, ‘if yer wanta have a shit here, then have it in the bloody station toilets where you’re supposed to have it.’

      But, geez, that lamp had a hell of a flame on it. I reckon it must’ve burnt every hair on her bum, and more besides.

      Amazing

      In about 1958 I was working at Alice Springs Hospital. Back then the RFDS didn’t have their own specialised nursing staff so, if there was a call out, the Matron would come along and just grab whoever she could from the hospital’s nursing staff. I actually worked in the Maternity Ward for white women, but it didn’t matter what ward you worked in, you might even be lying in your bed — it could even be on your day off — and the Matron might come around and say, ‘Hoy, Kitty, we’ve had a call from the Flying Doctor Service. Get on the plane, you’re going out to where ever it was.’ And you just had to jump to it, grab whatever medical supplies you thought you might need

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1