Fair Dinkum Yarns from an Austrlaian View

Fair Dinkum Yarns from the Australian View

Copyright © 2013 by Peter Rake

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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The stories

Arthur

The Awakening

Notty: Targaroo's Disgrace Bar-fly, bludger and sneak-thief turned unlikely hero

The Coachman

The Pup

Tranquillity

Hard Times

Arthur

The Outback can do strange things to some folk but that is fair—people do some strange and nasty things to the Outback. The harsh climate, the flies—millions of flies, constantly flies—droughts, floods and bush-fires, seem to take their toll on those that lack the pioneer spirit.

Arthur Brian Bonfield was just one of those non-copers. A shearer, not a gun shearer, but a handy shearer that could end up with a fair check at the end of a shed if he applied himself.

Arthur often got into more strife than Paddy McGinties goat once the check was cashed and the beer flowed in the nearest town.

Let me digress for a moment on the pub thing. In Longreach in the mid 50s, the town boasted a population of 3500 people, and it had nine hotels. Aramac, a little town out towards Muttaburra, held a permanent population about a third the size of Longreach, and Aramac had three pubs to its name. I only mention this to show that blokes like Arthur were well catered for in the Outback. This was probably why Arthur stayed as long as he did.

As far as anyone knew or guessed Arthur had spent at least two shearing seasons in the Longreach district. Some remembered him as a rather sullen and silent bloke who did a fair days work in so far as a fair days work is considered.

When waiting for the contractor to come up with another shed on another property a contingent of shearers, wool pressers, wool classers, and a sundry supply of roustabouts (for piece picking, wool rolling, and picking-up), plus the most important bloke in any shed, the cook, would as a crew wait in town, in a favoured pub.

When Arthur was sober he was a reasonably congenial bloke, and would shout in turn when with the crew. However, he always had a dark side to him, something that most of us could not put a finger on, or even cared to put a finger on, as we all had something. .We all had our own problems, we also had no room for anyone else's doom and damnation, if you know what I mean.

We knew Arthur in his moods, moods that would take him from a normally happy almost-drunk to a morose more-than-drunk. This is when the Arthur Anthem, as we named it, would be heard.

That's it, I've 'ad enough ... I'm gunna end it all.

It was some time before the word got around about Arthur's attempt of 'ending it all'. We didn't know if this was the first attempt or if Arthur had tried to 'end it all' before, nor did anyone seem to care. That is how life is in the Outback, unless you are in real trouble—then everyone will come to help. However, under the recent considerations of things, Arthur's attempts to 'end it all' were not considered real trouble.

Arthur had left the Railway Hotel which, funnily enough, was near the railway station in the 'Reach. Looking at the local situation in Longreach now I see that the Railway Hotel is now called the Longreach Hotel which used to be the name of the pub at the end of Eagle Street down toward Gin Creek. The first Longreach Hotel got burned to the ground I am told, so I guess this is how the name moved up to pub near the railway station. At any-rate, at the time I speak of, Arthur was in the Railway Hotel near the railway station as I mentioned before.

That's it, I'm gunna end it all.

There were a few versions of Arthur's attempt to 'end it all' but the same basic elements were in each version, so I will relate the most prolific.

Arthur had left the Railway Hotel and headed across the dusty road to the Midland rail link between Rockhampton and Longreach. The Midlander, the train that travelled the 410 miles from the coast to this Capricorn town, was often packed with travellers either going to or from Rockhamtpon or the coast.

Longreach and Rockhampton were both on that lateral line that is called the Tropic of Capricorn, which made little difference to Arthur's attempt to end it all.

Settling down in a dark area of the railway track, Arthur rested his head on the iron rail, lit what he considered his last smoke, and then dozed off to wake headless if everything worked according to plan. It didn't of course, as Arthur had lain in wait on a Tuesday evening and the scheduled run for the Midlander did not occur until the Wednesday evening.

Arthur over slept and on waking he found himself bathed in the morning summer sun. Flies were feasting on any part of Arthur that took their fancy, plus a few carrion or kite hawks were circling over-head in anticipation.

Arthur staggered back to the bar of the Railway Hotel some fourteen hours since he had left, and ordered a pot of beer, which was gone in two gulps.

Bit thirsty, mate? said the barman.

This layin' in the sun could kill a bloke. Lucky I woke up in time to save me'sef, Arthur lamented.

At this time of the day Arthur was very shaky; his hands shook like a politician's does on the election trail; however, Arthur was resourceful and used his handkerchief slung around his neck, with his drinking hand holding one end of the cloth to the glass while he pulled the other end down, thus lifting the glass to his waiting lips. Rather clever, we thought.

Most times Arthur only needed topping up, as his previous consumption never depleted by the time he started again. He never had a hang-over as he was never sober, such was the way with poor old Arthur on his breaks from the shearing shed.

Even in the shed he had half a cup of over proof rum in his water bag, a matter frowned upon by most contractors, but in Arthur's case it was a necessity of life.

A few days passed before Arthur became despondent again. The other drinkers in the Railway Hotel could see the signs—the withdrawal from all conversation, other than with himself, the mumblings, the staring into his beer glass and then came the expected ...

That's it, I've had enough. I'm gunna end it all.

As Arthur staggered from the bar a few of the blokes called, See ya' tomorrow, mate.

The poor bugga was off to the railway yards again, not that he was a train buff or anything, it was that his mind was on his next 'ending'. As it turned out this time he really applied himself to the task.

He looked around until he found half a full length sleeper—a sleeper that someone had sawn in half for some reason or other, making a convenient article for Arthur's job at hand. He hefted this lump of wood onto his shoulder and set off to the Thompson River, which was about two miles to the west of where he started out.

On the way he gathered some bailing twine from the rails of the stockyards of the show grounds, and staunchly staggered on, reaching the river in the early hours of the morning, still dark and mild in weather.

Arthur sat for a while, catching his breath, and rolling a wobbly sort of smoke to help him breath proper.

Determination set in and Arthur got to his feet, reached for the bailing twine and tied one end to the half hardwood sleeper, the