PLEASE NOTE
MY BOOK IS IN THE PROCESS OF BEING RE-ORGANISED AND RE-FORMATTED ... THE ORIGINAL BOOK CHAPTERS AND SUBJECT WILL NOT BE ALTERED BUT PICS ARE BEING INCLUDED ... SO, IF YOU COME ACROSS THIS POST THEN PLEASE UNDERSTAND IT IS A WORK IN PROGRESS AND IS BEING CHANGED OVER TIME ... THIS IS NOT A COMPLETED WORK
The first 50 years
Published in November 2004 by John Andrew Green.
This book is published subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise be lent, re-sold, hired out or other
wise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form
of binding or cover other that that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being imposed
on the subsequent publisher.
Hey Shorty - Chapters
01 - In the beginning
02 - You can pick your friends but not your rellies
03 - Childhood memories that last a lifetime
04 - Catholic dogs sitting on logs
05 - A school of thought
06 - Get out and get a job – look when I was your age
07 - Moving on
08 - Party, Party, Party – 21 today
09 - Who is Elvis Presley?
10 - Way out West where the sun don’t shine
11 - On the road again
12 - The Top End
13 - A decade of waste
14 - Bradley James and Mitchell Thomas
15 - Fourth generation Aussie
16 - Remembrance Day
17 - The one that got away
18 - Girls, Girls, Girls
19 - Set ‘em up again bartender
20 - Working for the man
21 - Cooking with gas
22 - The Big C
23 - Recipe for a fruitcake
24 - If you don’t mind umpire
25 - The light is on – ready – racing now
26 - How’s that
27 - Cars and things
28 - Cock a doodle doo
29 - Where was I when?
30 - Music, music, music
31 - Lights, Camera, action
32 - These are a few of my favorite things
33 - Who, what and why?
34 - James Edwin and Joan Winifred
35 - Hey Shorty
36 - Houston, we have a problem
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1 - IN THE BEGINNING
November 26th 1954 is the day it all began. In a delivery room of the Lady Weigall Hospital at Barmera in the Upper Murray region of country South Australia at 10-30am on a Friday morning. Doctor Geoffrey Hasenour delivered an eight-pound full term baby and my life was off and running.
I was here, I was ready for the journey. This would be my life.
The next 50-years was to be some adventure. Highs, lows, down time, sad times, happy times, drama, success and failure, they have all been a constant.
Today as I reflect on that time, I can only think that I have had a fortunate life. To say I have been blessed would never seem adequate, so much has happened since that 1954 November morning.
Life and the world today barely resemble how it all was on that day 50-years ago. So much change, enormous change in fact and I feel honored to have been a part of how it all unfolded. Thankfully I have a great memory and can instantly recall events, times, dates, people and places that have shaped this past half decade.
History is important to me and I embrace with all my might how mankind has navigated its way through these wonderful years. My life has been shaped in part by history and my life has also been shaped by my own ability to navigate and live these wonderful years.
Contentment comes from within, and I must acknowledge that while I have many misgivings as to how I have handled the years, the reality is that I have made it through to be here today, And that is some achievement.
Am I content, yes and no. I have covered so much ground in that time and have experienced decades of personal change and world change. Disappointments are mixed with achievements for me and really, I guess I have done ok knowing my own shortcomings have contributed to my awkward society standing.
That said, would I change anything, do things different? Here I can say with great clarity that I would not change a thing. I would not change a single day or single act or single event. To do so would not have me at this day with the wisdom, brokenness, knowledge, understanding and memories that make me this 50-year-old Aussie bloke.
Sure, I could have done things better in parts and who knows how that may have played out but the person I am as I reflect over a half a century is the person I created through that 50-year adventure. Life is about making choices and sadly I have made some real howlers, those around me will testify to that, they know I have messed up often. But through all of that I have made it to this point.
God has given me a personality and brain in extreme measures in many areas and that is not something everyone could handle. Many times, my extraordinary talents have been poorly used bust just as that is true at other times those same talents have allowed me to take on and take in so much of what the world offered.
Thankfully I have so many memories of so many life events, of times when that very life has been so darn good and rewarding.
Do I thank God for giving me this brain, this gift of remarkable academic talent, this ability to navigate situations with cutting edge precision, this ability to battle and then to battle some more to regain my self-worth at such times when I should really have called it quits.
Yes, I do thank God. He has set me apart from others, that is a given and in His infinite wisdom and love He gave me the necessary tools allowing me to navigate the minefield of life and then somehow, I was able to make it all work.
I am blessed and I am fortunate. And I am me.
Dad and Mum had married on Saturday December 9th, 1950, at Barmera and I was the second born child. My older brother Rodney had been born at Woomera on May 2nd, 1952, while Dad was serving there in the RAN.
Mum had a daughter before she marries Dad, Veronica Joan was born on December 24th, 1944, in Adelaide. Veronica was our sister, she did not sadly grow up in our household but that is a story told later.
Once Dad and Mum were married, it would be a few months before Mum was able to move to Woomera to be with dad. So, from early 1951 Woomera would be their home for just on two years.
Dad was posted back to the Flinders Naval Base in Melbourne in early 1953 as his next move. As Dad was married, he was allowed to live off base, so with Mum and Rod they stayed with the Johnson Family at Ferntree Gully in the Dandenong's on the outskirts of Melbourne. Aunty Alice Johnson and her boys ran a vegetable and pig farm in the area at the time.
But it would be somewhat of a scratchy start for me joining the Green clan in November 1954. When Mum became pregnant with me, she went back to live in Barmera while my dad Jimmy remained in the Royal Australian Navy and was now away serving on the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne at the time of my birth.
I would be three weeks old before my father was able to obtain leave from his Naval posting and return to be with us in Barmera for a month. When Dad returned to Sydney to join his ship, I spent my early days with mum and Rodney staying at my Grandparents, Henry and Winifred Danvers, house on their fruit property just out of the Barmera township.
It would be October 1955 before dad was able to secure a discharge from the Navy, once that happened, he came back to Barmera and our family has been a part of the local community to this day.
Dad took a job at the Barmera Co-op Packing Shed in November 1955 starting on the weigh bridge in a laboring capacity and that included some clerical knowledge.
From there his academic smarts were clearly recognised and he was moved into a front office role as a clerk. Dad would work his way through the ranks being the company accountant by 1964 and was appointed General Manager in 1969. He held the top job until his retirement in 1987.
With Dad quickly become entrenched in his working life in Barmera, as a family we moved from staying at my grandparents' home into a house belonging to Jack and Madge Richards on their fruit property just off the Sturt Highway. Madge is my mother's older sister.
Mum would always tell me it was a 'pretty ordinary house' but it was our first family home. Naturally I have no memory of living here but I do remember as a kid being at the Richard's playing, and I would see the concrete slab that was foundation for this house.
From here we moved to live on a property that belong to Les Saint, a Danvers family friend and neighbor to my grandparents. Les had moved into the Barmera township and offered the house to mum and dad and we would stay at this property for just on a year.
Then the South Australian Housing Trust had a home available in the township at number 15 Hague Street so this was the next move for the Green family.
My younger sister Jan was born August 1st, 1968, during the time the family spent at Hague Street.
I am told a story that is entrenched into family folklore that on the day dad went to collect Mum and Jan from the hospital that I said to Dad, "Don't forget to bring the baby home". Now, I can neither confirm or deny having said that because I have no recollection of saying such a thing. I am simply taking the word of others at this point. Look, I have said all the thoughts here in this story will be my own but, on this comment, I will have to make an exception because if this is true or not, it is too good a story not to be included.
Memories from this time are not great but I do clearly recall living at Hague Street. The house was a duplex just like the other houses at that end of the street. The lounge room had an open fire and long before the days of TV a highlight for us kids would be that on Saturday night, we would lie on the lounge floor and watch the coals drop out of the fire grill and onto the bricks below.
But this odd entertainment came with some perks. Dad would bring home a bottle of Pikes Lemonade in a brown paper bag from the pub bottlo' and a bag of mixed lollie's from Gertie Bishops Cafe that was on the corner near the pub. We would cut the lollie's in pieces with a knife and that made them last longer. I know I loved Saturday nights; it was a special time for a kid, I always looked forward to it.
The yard at Hague Street was neat and tidy, I have some memory of it and over the years I have had the chance to look at family photos from that time and they show a garden and a vegetable patch in the back, think I do remember that. I do know the front veranda had a few steps leading down to the front lawn. The fences were standard Housing Trust, wooden slats all the way around the back yard with a gate that led into the back lane and the front fence was timber and mesh with iron gate on the driveway side.
One vivid memory I have was on a Friday evening, us kids were playing in the front yard and were inside a kids tent with the front flaps tied together with a strip of ribbon. Jan was just starting to walk and ran from inside the tent only to get tangled in the tie; it caught around her neck. I screamed for mum and she ran out to see what was happening and yelled for me to race inside and grab a knife. Thankfully, for some reason I grabbed a carving knife and mum was able to free Jan and everything was now ok. I know mum said at the time it was a miracle I grabbed the carving knife and not just a kitchen knife because that would not have cut through the tie, time was running out mum said as Jan was choking.
The Hague Street neighborhood was constant in the time we lived there. A family name McDonald lived next door, Ron and Helen but I do not recall if there were kids. Ron was a car mechanic and later would go on to be the first full-time St Johns Ambulance employee in Barmera.
Perce and Millie Millington lived two doors down and I recall as a youngster tagging along with mum on visits to their house. As a couple Perce and Millie would take Rod and I to the Murrayline Drive-in on the Old Sturt Highway in Berri, not sure how that connection came about but it was something we did often. There was no drive-in at Barmera at this time, so it was always Berri for movie nights.
I can only assume that Perce was a 'tight arse' because he would always get Rod and I to get down on the back floor of his little blue and white Morris and he would cover us with a blanket. It seems we would get in for free that way as the gate attendant had no idea we were in the car. Strange what odd memories we can carry in life and this is one such memory. But, in favor of Perce, this antic seemed to work, I don't ever remember being sprung. For the record, the Berri drive-in closed in September 1983.
So, who else lived in Hague Street in the late 50's. On our side the Shabrel family lived in the end house, on the other side the family names were Hartwell, Law, Butterworth, Cocksedge, Smith and Harrison.
The Butterworth family kids Gary, Peter and David (Rocky) were similar in age to us so we played together. Corky Butterworth was a gun footballer at this time for Barmera Monash and his wife Betty still lives in that house to this day.
In the vicinity of our home some of the family names I remember are Mudge, Goodfellow, Jenke, Morgan, Rowe, Tonkin, Milich and also the Barnden family were in our street but closer to the old Barmera Primary School. Paul Barnden was a mate, we also attended St Joseph's Convent School being Catholics, other kids were Neil and Carmel that I can recall.
The old Catholic Church was close, it stood on a dusty block of land across the lane from our back fence, the area now contains houses as well as the church building. Two houses were built on the Hague Street end and allocated to Aboriginal families and on the Eyre Street side two units were built but at a much later date.
My very special memory from living at the Hague Street house is that I started school from there in February 1960. I do remember the day well, at that point in life I actually loved the fact that I was school age, but gee did that feeling soon change.
Now the final move for the Green Family would be on April 29th, 1960; the Housing Trust of South Australia was able to offer a home to purchase on Nookamka Terrace and mum and dad still live at number 132 Nookamka Terrace to the day. The Green Family home is where we were raised so naturally it holds some very dear and precious memories. Our family was shaped here, we just embraced the place and made it the best home we could.
So yeah, what a great place to grow up in, we were blessed as a family to have this place. When we first moved here in 1960 it was the last home on the newly constructed street. Four houses had been built here and initially we were number 7, at that time nothing existed between Nookamka Terrace and Lake Bonney except for a massive bushland area.
The four new homes were each built on quarter acre blocks and backed onto the houses on Bice Street, the yards separated by a generous sized laneway that ran between the back fences. That was the way the yards and housing blocks were in that section of the Barmera township.
The scrub area at the front of our block was a great area to play in, dad and our neighbor Art Farrow petitioned the Barmera Council to come and clear an area at the front of the scrub and this little park became play home for us kids. We spent copious amounts of hours playing here with footy and cricket played in season and the park was a magnet for the neighbor kids. So simple yet so much fun, it was nothing but a dust pile or a mud heap, but it really added to some of the great early memories of living here. We would have been lost without it.
This was a time in life when most activities around play and leisure activities were outdoors, so this little park certainly added to our options to just go out and play and have fun with the other kids. And sports, we always had a footy to kick around or had a cricket bat in our hand and we were able to hone our skills over in the park. So good, so lucky.
When we moved to Nookamka Terrace the road in the front of our house was dirt. During the winter months or after rain the road would turn into a slippery mess. Dad would drive the car to get to our gate and the car would slide and wheels spin as it negotiated its way along the road. I do have childhood memories of laughing at the sight of the car struggling to get along to the front gate.
As time went on the road was sealed. But we always had a streetlight right at our gate, originally it was just a single bulb type that naturally became a Fluro when the ETSA infrastructure changed.
Something that became a nightly ritual was to be out on the road under the light finding a menagerie of bugs and crawlies. Some just fun to watch and some really creepy. The Green Beatles scurried everywhere, they were interesting but with centipedes and scorpions ever present then it could be a testing time. It was not unusual to have the creepy crawlies number in the dozens, truly an amazing yet scary sight.
So, after dark we would head and see what was around. And as said, there was always plenty of bug action. I loved this part of being a kid and despite a scorpion sting and a centipede bite over these years my memories are very special. Such simple family fun.
Dad did suggest to us that the area around where the house was built was probably some sort of insect colony that existed in the bushlands and that was then disturbed by the earth works as preparations went on to make this a building site. The area was certainly infested with these bugs but oddly I recall they were only ever found at night and under the streetlight, they never invaded the house.
And I am not sure how long after we moved to Nookamka Terrace that this nightly bug fest ceased, my memory is that it went for ages. It was a fun time and something very different.
Originally the porch was open at the back but was later built in to provide an extra storage and lock-up area. The sleepout was very small but was extended some years later and the new room doubled in size.
Floor covering was lino throughout, eventually Feltex was laid in the main rooms of the house and much later this was changed to carpet. All floors were wooden in the main house, out the back the laundry, toilet, back porch and sleepout had concrete floors.
The lounge room had a large mat in the center of the room, and this made a great play area especially for me and my toys. It was my favorite area to be in.
As was the case with most houses of the era the lounge had a fancy China cabinet with lots of glass shelving and doors, two lounge chairs and some small pieces of furniture. In the late 60's we eventually added a TV and Radiogram as a three-in-one set and in mid-1970 the furniture was totally updated with a lounge and new chairs the feature.
This time the obligatory nest of tables was added, also a reading lamp with shade that seemed a necessity with furniture make-up from this era found its way into the lounge room. A display cabinet with a drop-down shelf now stood on the kitchen side wall and a chrome phone table made up the lounge room furniture.
Oh, and back at the beginning, three ceramic ducks hung on the lounge wall, it seemed every house in the country had a similar set of ducks, naturally we could not be the odd one out. Mum had a shadow box on the wall with an assortment of ceramic figures on the shelves.
A collection of ornaments was dotted around the room including a ceramic elephant and a crocodile. I swear these ornaments were a part of the family, it seems like they were there from day one and still have a spot in the lounge all these years later.
The front door led out onto a small front verandah that was a step up from ground level. The wooden door led straight outside, and a screen door was not added until years later. Two windows in the lounge, one on the back wall and one on the side wall were both single frame which slid up from the bottom. The window screen was secured outside, wood frame with fly wire. I don't remember that there was ever much change to the windows.
The curtains were changed at about the time the new furniture was added, but the pull-down blinds were long term additions. They had a spring roller at the top and the blinds could be adjusted up or down. They were very basic and rather bland yet always serviceable. Some curtain pelmets were also added at one point.
When we moved into the house, a four-leg bathtub sat over against the side of the bathroom wall and an overhead shower was a part of the plumbing. There was no hot water at all, instead to have a shower a chip/paper heater was used but it only gave limited warmish water, so showers were all rather quick.
The bathroom had a small window with louvers on the back wall and this opened out into the back porch. That window is still a part of the bathroom.
A wash basin with a cold-water tap was under the window. A shaving cabinet was attached to the side wall, it had a door that doubled as a mirror so it played a significant role.
Like a number of other areas and fittings in the house, a makeover to the bathroom came with significant change. The bath was removed, the chip heater went, and a shower alcove was added. Hot water was now available so this meant we could at least have a long hot shower. The plumbing for the hot shower was messy and is yet another relic that is still in place.
The laundry is another room that has been through a number of different renos throughout the years. A stone wash trough and a wood copper to boil water for washing were there at the beginning, the wash trough remained for many years, but the wooden copper was replaced with a kerosine model. At the time we moved here in 1960 there was no hot water in the laundry.
All washing was boiled in the hot copper, mum had a wooden washing pole that she used to first mix the clothing around and then to get it out of the hot water and onto the rinse stage. A thing called 'Blue' was added to the water to help the whites stay, well, white. I think! And no washing powder was used in this era, Velvet Soap was the go.
Eventually an electric washing machine was added, it was round, had a control lever on the outside to change the water spin direction, it was on wheels and had a ringer that could be swiveled to go over the wash tubs. So Mum was able to use the machine to wash the cloths then run them through the ringer straight into the wash tubs.
She did have a wooden wash basket for many years to get the washed clothing out to the back line. And a washing trolly became a part of the washing process and I am sure that helped Mum considerably in getting the load of wet clothing out across the lawn to the line.
The washing machine was further upgraded in more recent years to a top load twin tub. And the stone wash trough made way for a laundry unit that was placed under the back wall window, and by now hot water had also been added to the laundry.
We always had a rainwater tap in the laundry. It was copper/brass and first sat over the wash trough and later the new cabinet. So we always had good drinking water.
At the time of moving to the house a small cupboard sat in the laundry corner, it had a multitude of uses but it was the shoeshine hub for the Green family. Our shoes all required shoe polish, and this is where the deed was done. A small brush dipped in the shoeshine stuff was used to spread on the shoes then we polished off with a bigger brush to make the perfect shoeshine. It was a work of art.
The laundry led off from the kitchen and was separated by a wooden door that could be locked. A small step led down into the room. The toilet then led off the laundry at the side and a back door led out into the enclosed back veranda area. A widow again with louvers was on the back wall and was opened to the outside.
I remember a curtain rod was added in the laundry to divide the room. It was a plastic shower curtain type thing that was attached to the rod with round plastic shower curtain hooks. This thing was a monstrosity, a Green family original and every time someone tugged on the curtain, it and the rod would come crashing down. It happed literally thousands of times, and I mean thousands.
Every poor unsuspecting kid who came to visit pulled it all down at least once. I never understood what the attraction was to tug on it but inevitably every kid did. Crash, the sound it made when it hit the concrete floor was unmistakable and over the years we would just say, "There goes the darn curtain again."
The kitchen was small but functional. There were no built-in cupboards other than at the kitchen sink so standalone pieces of furniture were added. A kitchen dresser that was dated to the time took up one wall, it was a multipurpose unit and held much of the kitchen necessities. Another small unit stood at the side of the sink.
A fridge was placed, a work bench next to it, the sink was under the side kitchen window, it was built in and provided some storage space. The kitchen table and chairs again were indicative of the time, chrome and the chairs did have padding on the seat and back rest area.
A wood stove was under a mantle on the lounge room wall, the mantle doubled as a chimney. The wood stove was in use for many years and was then replaced by a gas appliance.
In the lounge room a combustion type wood heater was against the kitchen wall, but the chimney ran through the wall into the kitchen, then went up the wall and through the ceiling. A fine mesh grill protected the chimney; boy, it was an ugly set up, typical of a trust home that were really poorly designed, and the finishing touches always looked like they were tacked on as an afterthought. But it was what we had in the house, and we made do.
We spent many hours as a family in the kitchen, mornings were always in this room, breakfast, ABC radio with news and some music. Tea as we called the evening meal was always in the kitchen, as a family we sat together and ate. That fitted that era of life.
The lounge as described earlier was simple but homey. The heater was always in good use, naturally it was the only warmth the house had. A wood box sat by the heater and was kept topped up right through winter.
The heater had glass louvers in the door, they would regularly shatter and needed replacing. Not sure if it was a poor design or was damaged if a lump of wood fell against it and the heat shattered the glass. Either way we replaced many of the louvers over the years, The heater top open upwards and a hot plate was then able to be used, as explained in other sections of my story the hot plate was often put to good use.
Once electric heaters became the go then the lounge heater was removed altogether. that freed up some space in the lounge and it meant that hideous chimney and mesh guard in the kitchen were also removed.
The contents and structure of the yard has changed significantly across the years. I still think the original completed layout was best, the yard was full, it was busy, and it was productive. And while dad was anything but a typical gardener or DYI bloke he really excelled with how the yard developed. It was a credit to him.
How long the yard took to be at that completed look I am not sure; I would think it took a fair time. Lawns and trees and gardens and pathways, it was many hours of hard work.
And naturally mum played her part, she was the green thumb, her trees and shrubs were always a delight to look at, she had a real gift as a gardener. And she grew flowers, real flowers and my early memory of the colorful flower beds are a really happy and strong recollection.
Mum made do, most of what she planted were cuttings from other gardens, she nurtured the cuttings protecting them during the cold winter times and frosty mornings and then in summer she spent many hours out watering in the yard as the day cooled.
The very first area of the yard planted out was a square patch of lawn hand planted with runners under the cloths line at the back. This original patch of lawn was then extended and then made even bigger. But the odd thing was each new addition was a slightly different level and for many years the back yard area that had lawn was a real mix and match. But gee it was a great place to play in and hang out.
Lawn was planted at the front in a rectangle shape and another planting of lawn was on the side of the house between the wall that was Jans bedroom and the side fence. Once the lawn had grown both areas were important especially to us kids as we spent many hours in play in these two places. As said a few times, this turned into a great yard.
Once the back lawn patch once extended was bordered by a thin concrete edging. I do not remember it being made but for that said I always remember it being there. It did finish the lawn off very well. And in the back yard from the lawn up towards the back fence dad did lay a number of flat stones to create a pathway. It was around in the early years but like many things in the yard they made way for more lawn.
At the front there was a fence with iron gates, again typical of trust homes of the era. All four houses built at this end on Nookamka Terrace had matching fences, the green timber frame with wire meshing. The pics below show the front driveway area, the iron gates and the wood and mesh housing trust fencing. In the pics are Jan Green and Sue Starks.
Shrubs were planted inside the front fence; the original plan was that they would grow to be fashioned into a hedge. But they never really played the game and were eventually removed and replace with rose bushes. For whatever reason they never really took either so didn't grow and blossom as I'm sure mum planned. They lasted for some years before being removed.
Two trees, Jacaranda I am thinking, were planted in the front yard in the lawn patch, these trees were symbolic for so many years at the front of the green home. They provided plenty of shade and cover Eventually the trees were replaced with bottle brush bushes, but this was way down the track.
And trees were planted on the footpath in front of the house once the road was sealed and the guttering installed, I am not sure if the district council planted the trees out there or mum did. The footpath was just covered in crusher dust for many years but in later times it was sealed.
The front gates were later removed and some years on the front fence also came down meaning the front of the house was now open to the footpath. I had loved the enclosed fence look but once the front opened up then that too was a good look, took me a while to warm to it and the appearance of front was now changed forever.
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With all the cosmetic changes mentioned at the front, the back yard also had its share of plantings and change over time.
Fruit trees were planted basically from day one. A peach tree was in the back corner, then an apricot tree and in front of that a nectarine tree. Two orange trees and a mandarin tree were also planted and later a second peach tree was planted.
As a family we were treated to bucket loads of free stone fruit over many years, the peaches were divine I remember, big and juicy, straight off the tree. And the apricots were in abundance most years although every few seasons there would be a light crop, this was common with some stone fruit.
We were blessed with mandarins each year, the tree always seemed loaded and as a kid I loved eating the mandies and while the orange trees did produce fruit, my memory is that they were never a real success. I do think they were a touch finicky to grow in a yard without all the proper attention and sprays etc they would get in a citrus orchid.
The tree section of the back yard was another gem of a place, it fitted so well and also doubled down as a good play area. I loved our home-grown fruit.
I am thinking the shed came as a kit, timber, steel frames and corrugated iron that had to be assembled and again my memory is that it went up over a weekend. Dad would say it cost him a few longnecks as that is all Jim would take for his work.
The two front doors on the shed opened out and really it played an important role as a fixture in the back yard. A side door was important, and a window be is small was on the back wall. The shed only had a dirt floor, and it was used as a car shed initially. It has been extended in length a couple of times over the years to be the structure that it is today. It would become home for dad's boat and the additions allowed for the back section to be used for storage.
There was no concrete at the side of the house leading up to the shed, that was added at a later date and a carport was then erected. It ran the length of the house on the Farrow house side and extended to fit onto the original shed. The back area between the house and the tank stand was also covered making an area that mum used for her pots and hanging baskets.
With all the concrete and building additions it really did transform that area of the yard. It became well used and when the Jayco caravan was around it would always parked under cover. Before the laying of concrete at the back of the house poor mum had her work cut out stopping dirt and mud from being tracked inside. That part of the yard would get very messy in winter. Wheat sacks were used as mats at the back door, but I am sure mum still had lots of cleaning to do from what was tracked inside.
One major thing that did change was the sewerage at the house. Originally a pit collected the wastewater and toilet flush, the pit was alongside the car shed near where the tank stood. The Barmera Council eventually introduced a town sewerage system that meant all waste was now directed to this system.
My memory is the council sewerage pipes ran down the side lane by our fence and it was the landowner's job to then connect the sewerage pit to the council pipes. The pipes were earthenware when first put in but I seem to recall they were much later replaced with PVC. Although I seem to recall that there was at times issues with the sewerage in the pit not flowing as it should, and a Pump Truck would come in to drain the pit. The thought was that over time tree and shrub roots had grown and broke the earth ware pipes meaning they would get blocked with the damage.
Lots of domestic trees were planted around the yard. I am sure some were to be forever trees but like life itself forever can change, and it did for the trees. Most of them however served their purpose, the yard always had plenty of shade and over the years it entertained many times for family get togethers and later for the famous Joan and Jim squid days. It was the best yard you could have possibly hoped for, first as a play area when we were kids growing up but later as that entertainment mecca. Mum and Dad did a great job. Thank-you.
For a long period of time, we had an old caravan sitting in the back corner of the yard. It was a bit of an eyesore really but gee, it served a great purpose, it was well used as a sleep over venue, and it was also a great place to play in.
As a part of the Jim way, a section of the back fence was removed, and the caravan pushed in. That section of fence then sort of hung in place, it never went back properly and over many years it was iconic, and it just sat as a reminder of the Jim skills at DIY repairs. The caravan belonged to Veronica and Joff Linger, they had lived in it out on the Danvers fruit block when they first married.
My memory is that dad purchased the van from them when they left to live in Tasmania at the end of 1963. Then Reg Albrecht and his wife rented the van from dad for some time before it took its final resting spot in the back yard at 132 Nookamka Terrace.
And the worms, yeah, the worms. Dad or grandpop as we now called him was always the fishing tragic, so he cultivated his own earthworms. An area down near the back fence become worm town, these worms had a great life, well cared for and very well fed and nurtured. We reckoned dad had names for each of his worms and if anyone was visiting the house then a trip to worm town was generally part of that visit.
We always had a telephone connected at Nookamka Terrace and our original home number was 172. Phones were very basic back in 1960, to make an outgoing call you would simply lift the handset on the phone, wind the handle, that would connect you to the local PMG exchange and the operator would ask what number you wanted and then she would connect you.
For an incoming call the phone in the house would ring and you just picked up the receiver and your call was waiting.
Once the local exchange was automated then the phone numbers changed, 882 was the Barmera prefix so our number became 882 172. And there was an Area Code system at this time, for Barmera (Upper Murray/Riverland) it was 085. A few years back all Australian phone numbers were changed to 8 digits and Barmera had 85 added meaning our original 172 number was now 85 882 172 and the area code was shortened to 08 for South Australia.
Phone handsets have changed over the years, we went from that ring type handset from 1960 to a dial phone and now we have this push button handset that is very sleek and very modern. And mobile phones are the latest trend in communication, although the oldies at 132 Nookamka Terrace are likely to be challenged by this new fandangle electronic technology. Our telephone at the house has always been in the lounge on a table near the front door.
The sleepout come bedroom that Rod and I shared gave us some privacy from others in the house. The room was very small, not much space once two single beds and a small wardrobe were added. Simply no room for anything else. But in this time when life was simple it is all we needed.
Eventually the two single beds were replaced with a bunk bed and that opened up the room. Rod for some reason chose the lower bunk and I was given the top. That suited me, I loved the bunk bed and being on the top was special.
Eventually the sleep out was extended and doubled in size. Rod had a single bed put back in to sleep on but I kept my bunk bed. Rod spent a lot of time in his room; he was a good student who studied for hours. He also always had a radio on and at night, we listened to Rod Spargo on 3UZ from Melbourne. At one point in 1964, from the radio listening we wrote away to 3UZ and asked for some station transfers and memorabilia. We were sent some information along with the transfers. I remember Rod stuck them to his bedside cupboard. Then from somewhere, we obtained a list of addresses for all radio stations in Australia and we sent letters to them asking for transfers and station advertising material similar to what 3UZ had sent us. Over the next few weeks, we received the replies and I remember that most radio stations sent us what we had asked for. We received so many replies that Rod and I made up a list so as we had half the replies to open each. It was a time of great excitement. Each day we waited for dad to come home after work with the mail to see what we had. Not sure why we did this but it was great fun at the time. I do remember that we collected other transfers from places like petrol stations, BP, Shell, Ampol, Mobile, Caltex and from any business that had them really.
16 - Remberence Day
After 50 years of living through all sorts of triumphs and tragedies I guess it should be difficult to put your finger on one single event that can be described as the worst day of your life. But for me, that defining day is sadly very simple to pinpoint.
November 11th, 1973 is my horror day, sadly I was part of a tragedy that resulted in the deaths of two young brothers. Unfortunately, I can relive the day in my mind as though it happened just yesterday. The memories and images are still very defined despite the passing of so much time.
Sometimes in life it is easy to lay blame when we need to justify certain happenings, certain things we do, but I firmly believe this day in my personal history damaged my life in many ways. A big call I know, and it could sound like a 'poor John' excuse, but I understand the inner turmoil that I have lived with as a result of the accident and deaths that happened that morning at Paruna.
I often wonder how soldiers who have lived through the horrors of war can ever move on once they return to society. How do they allow their mind to deal with the destruction and death that they witnessed on a daily basis on the battlefield? How do rescue workers, ambo paramedics, cops, first responders who must see some horrible carnage as part of their working life ever process and sort the trauma from these events? How do they block it out and work through their personal issues around such experiences?
Because, for me, I know I was never able to leave that day behind, I struggle to rationalise what happened. It has never been easy for me in my mind knowing that I played a part in the death of the two young brothers.
It could have and likely should have been so different. I do not believe that any one person or one event is responsible for the accident, but naturally, I do believe it was a needless waste of life. Events that led up to the impact could have so easily been different.
The following memoir is something I wrote as a personal exercise last year on the 30th Anniversary of the tragedy. I was trying to write about my thoughts and feelings in a hope I could maybe find some form of inner peace. I understand this is my take, my memory of what happened. The family of the young lads are not forgotten, and I try to show the respect I feel and have for everyone affected by the accident.
I include the memoir here as written at that time, it is sad and confronting in ways, but it is my honest take.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
I REMEMBER
I was only 18 on this day 30 years ago when my world had its first defining moment of change. At 11-58am on Sunday November 11th, 1973, a ballast train heading into Paruna station in the Murray Mallee of South Australia collided with a Datsun sedan killing both occupants of the small car. I was the fireman, the co-driver on that train. I sat helplessly and watched as the car drove directly underneath my seat of locomotive 965 'B' end.
It was such a horrible feeling as the car hit and then the sound as it was torn apart as the locomotive dragged it over the next 100 or so metres before spitting it out alongside the railway tracks.
Finally, the train came to a screeching halt another 100 metres further up the track. In my haste to scramble from the loco cabin and go to help I had not noticed the impact had torn away the side steps and I fell to the ground.
Stumbling, I got back to the car before sprinting to the only shop open in the town's main street and raising the alarm. I returned to the car, it was a twisted wreck and behind the wheel was the driver; he just sat there covered in blood. It was a sad sight and on checking I figured he was dead.
The passenger seat was empty with that side of the car mostly torn away but at the time of impact on the crossing I had seen more than one person in the vehicle.
Back along the track I found the body of the younger lad, he had taken the full force of the impact. He was clearly dead and despite the blood I sat and cuddled him there next to the railway track. In those hectic first minutes I was just wanting him to know he was not alone and that somebody cared for him.
This young kid had looked up from the passenger seat and into my eyes that split second before the crash. Maybe he knew his fate, maybe he knew this was it and that he would die. The look on his face has remained burned in my memory since that fateful day, I reason I was the last person he saw on earth.
A tough moment in time, these two young men had lost their life and while nothing would change that, I felt a connection and somehow, I simply tried to be a comfort as they passed from this world. Right then, it was just these two dear young souls and me.
This had been a tragedy. Two lads had died. A family would clearly be devastated and life for many people was changed in the blink of an eye because of this fateful crash.
My life certainly changed. Yes, I got to go on, I had work, I got married, had kids, I had a fortunate time and I got to experience all life offered. But I was not complete, sadly, mentally I was never able to fully get over that morning in Paruna.
Being confronted with this horrible and sad scene by the rail tracks is something unimaginable and with no time to grasp the enormity of the moment as it unfolded, then I came away traumatised and I know I was broken. I was just a kid myself; I did what I could, but I was a shattered young man.
And I am often left to reflect on how it could have all be so different. The train normally would not have been at the crossing at this time on this day. In the Mallee, no trains ran on the weekends and very few ran during the daylight hours. Most freight trains passing through this small farming town did so late at night or in the early hours of the morning and only during the weekdays. But this was a scheduled work train and Sunday was a workday; we were working on the line upgrade.
But, as mentioned, yes things could have been so different on this Sunday. We had travelled from our base in Wanbi and as our train sat that morning at the ballast loading dock on Pungonda siding 38km from Paruna, the contract-based groundwork loading crew had been involved in industrial action. And that had delayed our departure by an hour or so. It would prove a deadly twist of fate.
For me, in a further twist of fate, I recognised the driver of the car; I had played junior football against him. His team Brownswell and my former side Cobdogla played in the same footy competition.
The younger boy who I would learn was a brother was not known to me but as I cuddled him alongside the track, I promised that I would not leave him until help arrived. It was just the two of us and despite my feeling of helplessness I somehow believed staying with him was the right and only thing to do.
Silly though because I knew that he was dead. For me, it was sort of my duty to be with him. I was shaking and crying and cuddled him tightly to me, there is no doubt I was in shock. But this young fellow who I sat with, and his brother were not on their own. Both the boys were treated with respect and dignity in death.
Finally, the ambulance workers arrived, and I was led away; it was a shocking moment leaving the young boy. “He is dead,” one of the ambulance crew said, “You can’t do anything for him”. But I wanted the youngster to know how sorry I was, how sorry I felt that his life was snatched from him so tragically. It left me felling so cold and so bloody helpless. The lads died and I was alive.
I watched as the two bodies were loaded into the ambulance and taken away to the morgue at Loxton.
Later I was given permission by the Railway officials who had been summoned to the scene to phone my parents in Barmera and to be allowed to go home. It had been a tragic day indeed.
With Mum and Dad, we now drove to my house at Tailem Bend to collect a few things and then on to my parents' home in Barmera. Clearly, I was upset and struggling so I was taken to a doctor at the local medical clinic later that night and given a shot to help me calm down and to sleep.
But I did not sleep. From that day on my mind changed.
I stayed in Barmera for the next couple of days finally leaving after my father made an unfortunate statement. He knew I was struggling but told me, “It was your choice to be a train driver, so you just have to live with what happened”. I know that hurt but I also knew he was right and I had to get on with it. I do not hold the comment against Dad, that is how things were in this era, rightly or wrongly it was the done thing to just move on. He was simply stating a fact.
So, I returned to work at Tailem Bend the following Friday. The Railway Investigation Unit was taking the train driver and I back to recreate the scene of the accident to prepare a report for the coroner. That was a very hard thing to do, it was a hard day, a zombie mood type experience. But life had to go on I guess, and I was simply advised to move on and to get over it.
Attending the funeral to show my respects to the boys and their family was not something I could do. For whatever reason I was not strong enough and while I regret the decision after all the years, I did not attend.
But sometime in the new year I did have contact with the Verrall family. This bit is somewhat hazy as to how it all came about but I went to a farm on the outskirts of Paruna a number of weeks after the accident and had a visit with one of the older brothers and his wife Paula. It had been Paula I remember, that organised the contact and from that visit I was connected with boys' parents who had moved to or were staying with their daughter in Stirling.
A visit was arranged some months later, but it was not good, The boy's father was clearly struggling with the loss of his sons and my memory is that he got very upset with me as he blamed the train crew for the accident. Again, I never ever held onto that, my understanding being at this sad time he felt the need to lash out. I accepted his anger as a part of his grief and his personal healing process and while I knew his blame was not correct, I felt for the dad and to this day I am so very sorry for what he and the whole Verrall family went through. Their personal and collective grief would be profound.
I know I was not responsible for the accident but at my young age and with little life experience I did feel every bit responsible. It would be hard not to, knowing you had killed two young lads, regardless of how the circumstances played out. For me, I felt the loss in a massive way, naturally my loss was not that of the family, their grief and heartache was not something I could begin to imagine. Their loss was total, it was forever.
From here I had to move on. I stayed in the railways, went back to working on the trains and while that was somewhat difficult, I was able to embrace my work and continue my time as a driver. Naturally, while this was all still so raw when I made the decision to go on as a driver, I had no idea of the long-term implications the tragic events of that day would have on my life.
For all of that, to this day I believe I did not move on in a good way, there was no help, no counselling, no follow up, it was like the entire tragedy was just forgotten. It is easy to look back and say that in this era of life, that is what happened. Now, we know that was wrong, things could have certainly been handled better.
So, while I did move on, I never ever, ever forgot the boys and what happened that morning at Paruna, I got to live, and they did not.
My connection to them was never downplayed from my perspective, I respected and honored both lads in every way I could possibly do across all the years. It was never going to bring them back but my need to honor the lads was always profound. And I knew for the Verrall family life would never be the same but as the years rolled on, then all I could do was to carry my personal memories and honor the two boys. They deserved to be remembered.
And for me, over the many years I have relived many times the last moments of that morning before the fatal impact and questioned everything the driver Les Bienke and I did. As instructed in my job, I sounded the train horn continuously once I spotted the car as we headed out of the cutting and onto the rail crossing. It all happened so quick, the car just kept coming so I yelled to the driver in control of the train, and he applied the brakes seconds before impact. But with 850 tonnes of ballast pushing us forward, stopping quickly was never a possibility.
In my heart I believe we took every possible precaution as an engine crew to prevent the accident and apart from the visit to the scene with the investigation team I have never heard from the railway authorities to this day any more about what happened on that Sunday morning. So, my understanding of that is all aspects of the collision cleared the driver and me of any wrongdoing. And for me personally, that sat as it should because as said, I know we did all we could.
And naturally I do not in any way blame the car driver. He too was just 18 and no doubt had anything but meeting a train at the crossing on his mind in the moments before the crash. Again, as mentioned trains did not run on the line on a Sunday. This had been a tragic accident, one with horrible consequences but an accident just the same.
I know in my mind that the boy I cuddled beside the tracks that morning was asking for help in that split second before impact, but I hope he can forgive me and know that I did all I could so as to prevent the crash. I could not help him!
He should not have died as he did. But his death has played on my mind in such a way that when my son Bradley James turned 11 in 1994, I was so sure that something tragic would happen to him, I had a knot in my guts for the entire year. Mind over matter type of thinking I know but I was so sure of something happening. Thankfully, it didn't.
Now, as I sit here today and write this, I still think of the young lad I cradled in my arms on that Sunday, and I pray that one day he can let me move on and put the tragedy to rest. To the driver of the car, you are also always in my thoughts. I wish with all my heart this could have all been different.
For me it has been a very long 30 years. I really hate November 11th, a famous day in Australian history it may well be, but I hate how and where this day stands in my life story. I feel for the dad and mum, for the siblings, please know I have never forgotten you and how this must have affected each and everyone in the family. I am so sorry for your loss.
Graham Bruce Verrall and Richard John Verrall, RIP. You are always remembered.
After the accident I continued to work as a fireman in the SA Railways at Tailem Bend. Perhaps I could have stayed as a railway worker but transferred to a different section, got away from working on the trains.
But like I wrote in the memoir if I knew then what I do now, then yes, a transfer was the best outcome. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and at the time I decided to continue I naturally had no idea how this would all play out in my mind as the years rolled on.
The trauma of being on the locomotives did manifest fairly soon after the accident, I was in a state of shock for so long, it messed with me, but I guess I learned to hide things. Being so young at that time gave me no insight whatsoever into what might lie ahead.
I would do things like close my eyes and sing to myself as we powered over level crossings, I would be petrified if I saw a car approaching and would just hope against hope that it was slowing down. I did this for years.
The stress I put myself under was massive. I would make light of any situation when my stress levels were off the page and simply mask any feeling that would give indication as to how I felt. Not good, but in my defense, it was what I did.
A near miss one night on a level crossing was almost my undoing, it was hard to hide my fear. I am not sure how I completed the trip back to the Tailem Bend loco depot but once off the locomotive I simply crumbled.
To this day I have no idea how we missed the semi that night, it was just too close, I remember I thought it was my turn to die. To cope, I went home once that shift ended, locked myself away and just hid. I managed a trip to the local doctor before I had to work next and faked an illness that gave me some time off. For the next week I became a hermit, it was just plain awkward. Somehow, I came through and willed myself back to work. I never told anyone about how that semi all but took us out. But it scared me stupid.
Something had to be done, so after this near miss experience, I made myself toughen up. Again, rightly or wrongly I commanded a mindset that gave me some form of coping ability. It must have worked because I did move on and managed to hide how I was really battling in myself.
My ability to mask feelings seemed to work and life was now manageable. I still stressed and cringed when things happened on my train journeys, however I was getting a handle on this, and I coped. Somehow, I coped. This was not a good way to live but it was how things were.
Nothing I did would bring the two lads back, that was a given. To let that accident disturb me as it did was dangerous and anything but healthy, yet I knew no other way. I truly and very sadly did not know how to let it go.
Eventually, in 1977 I did transfer to Port Pirie to continue as a train driver and from there my work life moved to the Pilbara in Western Australia when I took a post with Hammersley Iron driving iron ore trains.
Railway life had been my first job out of school, it was a job of choice at the time. January 6th, 1970 was my start date with the South Australian Railways at Berri and over the next decade I worked with and on trains at a number of stations and depots around the state and in WA.
It was a great experience I have lots to take from that time. I met and worked with some amazing people, and I learned so much about life in this time. So, my memories are generally good allowing for that fateful November 1973 morning and the trauma carried after that day.
Once I left WA and headed back to Barmera then my time in the work force headed in other directions and my railway workdays were over.
21 - Cooking with gas
Growing up as a young kid across the years at home in Barmera I guess I was culinarily challenged.
What you ask, ok, I will explain.
We were basically raised as a meat and three vegetable family and as a result our taste buds were never extended beyond what would become a fairly routine diet. The food that would be served was plentiful and mum was a great cook. Her meals were always great tasting, and I am sure very nutritious.
However, the staple family diet did revolve around the meat and vegetable idea. As such, I guess that I never got a liking for any other type of cooking or a liking for tastes outside of what mum dished up.
Of course, at the time of being fed by mum then I suppose I knew no different.
And in fairness to my mum the period in time that I am referring to was far different to now in terms of what is available from different ethnic cultures that have integrated their food and cooking styles into our daily diets.
Today the food products available to us barely resemble what was around when mum was cooking for me as a kid growing up. So much of what she made was from scratch, no packet mix or tin foods.
I do remember stock cubes being a part of Mum's cooking but have no idea of the flavors available.
Cooking salt was in bulk, well it came in a bag and was then dished off into a salt canister that in our house sat on a kitchen bench. All just so different to what we now have available.
So, it was not until I left home and had to fend for myself that I had to challenge the way I prepared my food.
To this day, I still use the cooking basics that Mum taught me all those years ago, but now I have learned to add my own touch to expand the taste of what she taught me.
From that I believe that our taste buds don't change rather they develop as we are introduced to new food tastes. Sometimes it is simply a matter of giving something a try and often I find I actually like what it is that I am tasting.
So Mum, yep she is a great cook; I love most of what she served up. She is a great roast cook, a great stew and mornay cook, a very good soup maker.
Her pea and ham and vegetable soup is easily the best I have ever eaten. Pumpkin soup was another of her best winter dishes, oh how good is that soup. Nobody makes pumpkin soup like Joan Green, and who ever tried her soup would never say anything other than her pumpkin soup was absolutely delicious.
Mum is not just a main course type of cook. She is always a great cook of sweets and many other dishes and treats.
She made the best homemade sausage rolls and pasties for us as kids, puts together a mean trifle, has the best of many things savory or sweet and is a whiz with cake and biscuits.
The kitchen table at home was a hive of activity on cooking days. Nothing was electrical with cooking utensils, the beater Mum used to mix cakes etc was hand operated. Maybe in latter years she progressed to a small power mixer but gee, that green wooden handled beater was a jack of all trades on cooking day.
Mixing bowls, cooking spoons, rubber scrapers, biscuit cutters, so many bits and pieces, all on the table and each played a part. Having the right cooking utensils was as important it seemed as the cooking ingredients. And naturally as kids our job was to lick the spoons clean at the end of the day and fight over who got to have the beater to lick clean.
All pastry was homemade, rolled out with a wooden rolling pin, each pastry sheet was perfectly rolled into a set thickness. Baking trays were plentiful, the pastry and raw ingredients all assembled and off to the oven in the wood stove to be turned into homemade pasties and sausage rolls.
These days were like food heaven. As a kid I loved it. Not sure who did all the cleaning and washing up but I guess we delegated that roll to the mother person.
Mum could cook anything it seemed, and she cooked it well. She was probably the complete chef really; she never made lumpy gravy or lumpy custard! Not too many chefs, trained or not can boast such a cooking record.
Her gravy was all home made using the meat juices and adding some flour and coloring. Mum never had the luxury of packet gravy, no way, always dark rich flavored gravey made the Mum way.
Hey, I am a gravy lover and yeah, guilty of crossing to the dark side and using gravy powder but I have never ever produced gravy as good as Mum made.
To this day I also love custard and I believe that I do so because I never had to eat lumpy custard. If I now come across someone who does not like to eat custard, it is usually because they associate it with being lumpy!
Custard aside, I have very fond memories of the simple things mum would serve up to us; things like her sausage meatballs, which were a Saturday lunchtime favorite. You grabbed a handful on your way through the kitchen after finishing work and on the way out to sport, put them in between two slices of bread, pour on the tomato sauce and ate until you were full.
Oh yeah, so good. Plain as but as good as. They were a Joan specialty.
And then there was fried fritz in batter. Something so simple but so good, I still love fried fritz to this day either with or without batter. Basic but oh so nice! Oh, yeah, Joan made great batter, I make my batter exactly as Mum did.
Friday night we would get home cooked chips served on greaseproof paper and we would be allowed to stay out and eat in the yard. To this day, I still love home cooked chips made just as Mum did all those years ago.
This was an era of homemade ice cream. Mum had these ice-cream dishes that went into the freezer full of the liquid mix and set into yummie creamy blocks. She would serve us kids on a hot day with milk flavored ice blocks wrapped in a piece of newspaper so as we could hold onto them.
Nutty biscuits that Mum makes are still just as good as ever and a favorite biscuit. Now they are known by this generation as Anzacs, that is good thing, but in the days of being a kid, we ate Nutties.
Other great biscuits I remember her making were Monte Carlos and another was called Cockles, I think?
Her nut loaf cake is second to none, her pumpkin cake is so tasty, the sultana cake she makes is the best I have ever had, and I assure you, I love sultana cake. I am not a massive lover of fruitcake but mum's I like, and the list could go on.
I must also give her a plug for the way she makes curried eggs, again she has the knack of presenting this delight and her eggs are eaten by all.
Oh, and bread and butter pudding, Joan was the boss of this desert, just perfect every time. To this day I love her B&B pudding, don't make it myself, don't like it made by anyone else, just like what my mum made.
However, for as good as her cooking is in so many areas it still comes out of the era when cooking was very basic. The staple diet did revolve around the meat and three vegetable idea!
And in her time of cooking, it was always done with dripping. How did we ever survive when the food was saturated with this greasy substance called dripping? All meat juices were just poured from the pan in on top of what was already in that tin and this mass of fats just grew and grew.
Then it would be used over and over and when not in use it was kept in a tin by the stove or in a kitchen cupboard under the sink. In the summer it was liquid, in the winter it was solid. Seriously, how did this dripping muck not kill us?
Today we cook with oil, but it is used sparingly and for things like greasing the surface of a pot or pan and not for saturating the food. Chips or fries as we now know call them do require a little more oil in the pan, but we have this block lard called Superfry, it is a solidified oil.
So, as said, for all of that, when I had the opportunity to cook for myself, I guess I had a great base to start from courtesy of what my mum had shown me.
I prepare meals that again follow in the tradition of what mum did, but I have simply expanded on the mix, the preparation, the contents, the cooking style and the delivery.
Hence that means an expansion in taste.
Savory mince is but one example. Mum would make us this stuff she called mincemeat for breakfast as kids, and we loved it. Golly it was bland and runny but always plentiful and we embraced the meal.
So, the savory mince I make today barely resembles what I grew up on. Yeah, I go with the mince base, but I have learned to add a couple of spices and sauces to the gravy, throw in some vegetables and it takes on the look of a main meal not just a breakfast dish. It is delicious and I eat a lot of it.
Tuna Mornay is another dish I tend to cook a lot. Again, using mum's basic recipe of butter, flour and milk as a starting base but then by adding extras it gives a more defined and detailed taste. Lots of pepper and some spice, vegetables, grated cheese in the mix and also as a top coating and walla, you end up with this creation that is so darn yummie. It is almost my favorite home cooked quick make meal.
Being a Catholic family, we never ate meat on a Friday. I remember Friday lunch for Dad was always a tin of salmon, plonked on a plate and somehow it became a meal. But salmon patties were also a Friday staple, not bad and always filling. Oh, they did need lots of tomato sauce but Mum was the salmon pattie queen of her day.
Put the mixture in the fridge for a time to set a little, then take it and craft the burgers by hand into whatever size suits, roll in a good coating of breadcrumbs, pop them back in the fridge for an hour and then it's time to cook. Delicious.
Oh, there is a secret ingredient or two added in the mix but to save my reputation as a tuna burger guru I must keep secret.
If Mum's patties were good, my burgers are simply the best.
The same Mum rule is true for a roast or a stew. I do as Mum did then simply by adding extra spices or ingredients at preparation time or during cooking time changes the overall taste. I love my roasts, probably Lamb is my favorite, chicken I like, and pork is not far behind.
And as I now have a stomach problem due to an operation that I had a couple of years ago I cannot eat a lot of red meat.
So, the roast lamb can be a bit of a battle to get down at times but I still try. Although as long as the softer red meats are well cooked and tender then I can generally eat it.
Because of the tummy problem, this means steak and the like are generally off my eating and cooking list. In fact, the tummy problem has in a lot of ways spoiled my liking of food. There is so much I cannot eat at all and even some foods that are ok one day may not be ok the next time I eat them. It is a bit of a bummer really.
But, that aside I believe I cook a mean steak.
When I worked in the railways, I was Fireman for a time to an older German gent, Allie Wilhelm and he showed me the art of cooking a steak. And I learned well so over the years I have enjoyed many a delicious piece of rump, scotch fillet or a T-Bone.
With what I learned I do not go down the quick cook and sear idea that the modern chef pushes as the ideal way to cook a steak. I am definitely a medium-well done man and do not enjoy a red steak at all.
My steak is cooked a little slower, I add some flavor as I go, sprinkle of pepper etc and I tend to slow down the cooking and let the juice become a part of the process. Sometimes it can even be a sort of braise method but for me it works well.
Now however with my tummy restrictions on red meat I have to be content to cook them for others who often comment on how good my steaks are.
Guess getting a decent cut of meat can make or break a steak, but cooking can also ruin the end result if it is not done properly. With a bit of prep and the right cook then the perfect steak is always possible.
Chicken has really become my go to meat of choice so I am guessing as time goes on then it will be a major part of my cooking menu.
But we didn't eat much chicken at all in my days at home as a kid, maybe at Christmas we had a chook. From that time of year, I do remember a few 'headless' chooks running around the back yard before they eventually found their way to the kitchen table after being 'plucked' in the hot copper in the laundry.
At home, the main meat types we ate were mutton and beef. Or rabbit in the earlier days. Rod and I would catch rabbits with our handful of traps and from an early age learned to skin and clean the rabbits for mum to use. She made a great tasting curried rabbit dish.
Mum was an expert at making stuffing, the rabbits were sometimes eaten as a roast meal with this yummy homemade stuffing that mum put together.
Sausages were often on the menu; crumbed sausages are a favorite of mine to this day again thanks to how well mum made this simple but tasty food. I often make crumbed sausages.
And then there was a curry sausage thing mum made, again so good. As a family over many years we all ate and loved her very tasty curried sausage meal. I now sometimes make what I call devilled sausage, yeah, it does stem from what she made way back in the day. But I must say, what Mum would make is much better than mine.
Another area that I have learned to change things up from what my mum taught me is the cooking of vegetables. I do not boil the vegetables until they become mash, as she tended to do.
No, I try different ideas like potato bake, honey carrots, fried cabbage and bacon, white sauce on my cauliflower and pumpkin and I try to keep the vegetables a little on the crisp side. Just makes them more defined and a little tastier.
I love a great variety of vegetables. I guess I am somewhat old fashioned, my veg of choice is probably very similar to what Mum cooked but with a couple of extras added across the years. I love potatoes, pumpkin, carrots, brussel sprouts, peas, corn, cabbage, cauliflower and broccoli as a green.
The modern yuppie vegetables are not my thing. All different colored things that look and taste, well, bloody awful.
Potatoes can be prepared in so many different ways, Mum made great mashed spud, no lumps and always smooth in texture. I learned well. For me, I add more milk and butter than Mum did, it means a creamier taste. I add some spice, lots of pepper, sometimes some grated cheese and I always end up with a great taste. I am a whiz with the potato masher, lucky about that because there is a knack to mashing spuds.
Just on the mum thought with mashed potato, she did make a mean shepherd's pie with minced beef and lots of mashed potato as a topping. Yet another Joan classic dish. The beef would often be left over from say a roast, it too would then go through the hand operated meat grinder and the shepherd's pie filling resulted. It was certainly an era when nothing was wasted.
Yet another example of the Joan cooking ability. In latter years when she would get a side of lamb, the flaps were sort of superfluous, but mum would bone them, make this very tasty filling and from that fashion a seasoned lamb roll using the flaps. It was just delicious. The loaf was used as a hot roast meal or simply eaten as cold meat. Not a meal we had at the time of growing-up but one well remembered over the years that followed.
Potatoe Bake is a favorite for me, hassleback potatoes is something I have worked at and now get a really good product. Jacket baked potato is a regular for me and by experimenting with ingredients then these dishes just get better.
I will add that spinach or silver beet is not on my veggie to be eaten list. We ate bucket loads of the stuff as kids and for me, it cured my desire to have any leafy green vegetable from that time on.
And I believe that I am a good cook of fish. This is something that I have definitely inherited from both of my parents.
As a family, we have always been blessed with a lot of fish to eat, as fishing has been a big recreational and social activity for all of us across a lifetime in both fresh and salt water. Loved fishing, loved eating fish.
He seems to always get the perfect fillet regardless of the type or size of the fish in question.
Sometimes the enjoyment of a good fish meal is spoiled by the fact that bones have been left in the flesh. Makes eating difficult but Dad never left a bone and Mum always cooked the fish to my liking.
Guess Mum and Dad made fish the perfect meal. I always say that we are spoiled when it comes to fish as not only have we eaten a lot of it over our time but also, we always ate the very best. And I figure that as a consumer then I am very fussy with my fish because as I have said we were always given the best species to eat.
So when I began my own life as a single man then fish remained as a part of my regular eating pattern.
And unlike most of the basics I learned from Mum in cooking where I have changed things up, I have actually changed little however from what Mum taught me as a fish cook. The biggest difference between her style from my time as a kid and mine as a cook is that I rarely cook with batter; I like to eat battered fish when out for a meal but when cooking at home I prefer crumbed for baked fish.
I really do love a good feed of fish, smothered in lemon juice and served with chips or even with mashed potato and salad.
And I have learned that fish cooked on the bar-b-que can add something extra to the taste, fish wrapped in foil with salt, pepper and lemon juice added is a superb alternative to frying in it a pan.
Over my time as a ‘wanna-be’ cook, I have extended my taste for food to the point that I am now able to have a go at almost anything. I guess I alluded to the fact a little earlier that as Australia has become a multi-cultural society then we have embraced a number of ethnic food ideas and tastes and incorporated them into our daily diets.
A classic example is that once I would never have cooked a dish that required a rice base. I thought rice was the pits; well truth is I had probably never really tried it and just guessed that it was awful.
How wrong was I, now I love rice.
But when cooking rice it is make or break. I believe that doing something simple like taking extra time to wash and drain the cooked rice gives it a fluffy texture and a totally different taste to the glug some people dish up!
Years ago, an aunty of my wife, Margaret Hole from Naracoorte showed me the art of cooking good rice and how to drain it. I have been grateful to this day for her advice and now my rice is eaten and liked by all that try it.
And as rice is often eaten with dishes of Asian and Chinese origin then I have become a fan of these foods. My cooking smarts have not extended into cooking this type of dish, but I have had a shot at making a stir fry and that goes well. And I have tried a curry or two but really fail in getting the taste right, but it is something I am keen to explore. Watch this space.
Pasta is another dish that I simply did not eat for many years; I really did not like it. But a few years back I would go with a friend to the Fasta Pasta restaurants from time to time but I always ate fish or schnitzel. Then I was eventually persuaded to give a pasta dish a go and to my surprise, I found it ok and now I can handle pasta all be it in moderation.
I struggle with all the pasta types and all the different shapes so stay away from cooking the stuff but yeah, I do enjoy a dish of pasta. And I am also enjoying pasta added to some dishes like tuna mornay as example.
It is a product that I again did not eat but it has grown on me and today I love to cook Pizza or to order take-away.
And while I don't cook them I have a liking for spring rolls and dim sims. This further shows how diverse our food expansion has become with the ethnic influx.
I mean, as take-away once we ate hamburgers, steak sandwiches, chicken or schnitzel hot packs and maybe Chiko rolls but never really ventured outside these limited food groups.
Now, different, totally different and our choices are better, more diverse and to be honest some of the newer food types are actually not bad.
One area of cooking that I cannot get a handle on is with sweets. I simply do not enjoy cooking with pastry for example and as a result, my sweet cooking is negligible. In fact it is almost non-existent.
Somehow, sadly, I did not inherit my mum’s knack of sweet making! I really stink in the sweet cooking area, just not my thing. If I ever make a cake as example, which is rare for me to attempt, then it would be a packet mixture.
However, I do make great pancakes although having said that I will be buggered if the BI-LO supermarket chain ever closes down. I know that hardly makes sense as a standalone statement, but I have a reputation to protect here; certain people think that I have this secret you-beaut pancake recipe that turns out superb maple syrup flavored pancakes.
BUT all is not how it would seem? Thank-you BI-LO for that pancake mixture in the plastic container! Add water, shake the crap out of the mixture and the result is pancake bliss.
Another sweet that I do have a go at is scones but again I would be buggered if a certain manufacturer stopped making a certain helpful boxed mixture.
I do make jelly from time to time but again it is made from a packet by adding water, der, and a line of pudding called Instant Pudding is another often made desert. However, it too comes out of a packet and by adding milk, you make a likeable and editable product.
Oh yeah, I do eat a lot of fruit but again it often comes from a can so the hardest thing about its preparation is using a can opener!
Unlike my mum who in my days as a kid, made all of her own preserved fruit and jams.
I remember Mum making bucket loads of preserved apricots and peaches. Some of the fruit was grown on trees in the backyard and I'm sure if needed, then other fruit was sourced to be used in the preserving process.
Mum had this electric preserving machine and the whole kit and caboodle of jars, lids etc. A sugar-based syrup was made and added to the jars packed with fruit. Once full, the jars were sealed with these red preserving rubber bands and a clip was then placed over the lid to help with the sealing process.
I'm thinking it was about a 24-hour time frame once the machine was operating before the fruit was preserved. The clips were eventually removed and I'm guessing they stayed on a few days to make sure all the lids sealed correct.
It was very much a production to get the preserving job done. All hands-on deck to cut and prepare the fruit. But it was well worth the effort because it meant as a family, we had a cupboard load of fruit to eat all year round.
But the preserved fruit was so good just as it was, and I would often eat a whole jar for a meal.
And because fresh fruit was always plentiful in season, Mum also dried the apricots for later use.
The apricots were from our own tree, but they were cut and dried at Jack and Molly Huckle's block out on Maple Road. They grew and dried apricots on a commercial scale, but the Green family would go to their cutting shed after hours, cut our own fruit and Jack would add them to his overnight Sulphur Box load. Next morning, they would be laid out to dry in the sun and after a week or so once the apricots were dried, they were collected and taken home.
Mum stored them in an old pillowcase in the wardrobe in Jan's room and during the winter months we had the most delicious apricot pies made from the dried apricots. They just had a special taste about them, dried apricot pies were just the best.
And because dried apricots are so tasty as a snack, I'm reckoning that Mum's stash was always under threat from us kids as we helped ourselves to the apricots stored in the pillowcase. I still love dried apricots to this day.
On pie making day Mum would also make these very basic jam tarts. Any leftover pastry was never wasted, Mum simply fashioned the pasty into a base for jam tarts, baked them in the oven and as said very basic but we ate them by the truck load. A Joan special but so darn good.
Naturally with so much fruit available Mum also made her own jams.
The jams were special as well and again as a kid, I would hate to think of how many rounds of fresh bread covered in Mum’s jam and cream that I ate.
Cream from the top of milk: the cream formed like a skin on the milk, and you just scraped it off and used it as it was. So nice on the jam. Then later it was possible to get packaged cream and that still got a decent work out.
And in season we always had an abundance of stewed fruit. Apricots were always my pick of the stewed fruit and I certainly ate my share. Mum made great stewed apricots, naturally lots of sugar was added but I did and do eat them a touch on the tart side.
Sometimes we added this wafer type cereal biscuit to the apricots, and I remember that was a good touch. But the name of this stuff eludes me and not many others seem to know what I'm talking about let alone remember what they were called.
Stewed fruit is something I always make in season and while it is fairly basic to cook, I do like the product I make for myself.
At that time in life, it sat well with me because I did not like homemade sauce. At the Green family home we always had Rosella sauce in a glass bottle and that was good stuff. As time rolled on, I have developed a real liking for homemade sauce, but it is not something I have ever attempted to make myself.
I do however have a memory of Mum making tomato relish, I am guessing it is something she liked but here my personal take is that it was not my go. Now however, not so, I love relish and eat lots of it but again, it is not something I have ever attempted to make.
And Mum also boiled her own beetroot, grown in the garden and cooked to suit. I hated the smell of beetroot as it boiled away on the stove and to this day it is not something I can eat at all. I have no liking and make a point of always saying 'no beetroot' if ordering a burger or anything that this awful goo might be a part of. But Mum cooked a lot of it over the years.
She also made her own mayonnaise. I don't remember watching her cook mayo and I don't really know how she made it, but it was another of the foods I did not like. But, and yeah there is a few buts in this food chapter, I now love mayo and eat it often. It is not homemade, nope it comes in a jar off the supermarket shelf.
Before I finish on the food theme, I must add about how different it was at mealtimes when I was a kid growing up at home.
The evening meal would always be served at the kitchen table; we all sat together as a family and ate. You would eat everything dished up and you would not leave the table without asking, “Please may I leave the table.” That is simply how it was at that time.
I can remember the odd times that we would eat in the lounge room. A Saturday night for example particularly in winter, we would get home from the football and mum might use the fireplace in the lounge to heat up our soup or to boil our saveloys on. We would be allowed to sit in the warm and eat.
Of course, as we got older and times began to change then we would sit and watch TV while eating but even then, it would only be on occasions, it was certainly not a regular thing.
In my early childhood and school days we sat together for breakfast but as we got a little older then starting times for our days varied for each of us so it was a hit and miss affair. I probably ate more ‘brekkies’ on the run than I did sitting at a table.
It was things like mince, the Joan style mince I spoke about, or poached eggs, baked beans even. I also remember eating fruit at times on my breakfast break, Mum would open a jar of preserves either apricots or peaches and I would have a decent feed.
And I guess lunch was hit and miss as well but if we were home as kids like during school holidays then lunch was similar to the evening meal structure, and we sat together to eat.
As a family we were never really a cereal mob at breakfast time. Maybe some Rice Bubbles or Corn Flakes every now and then and even the odd serve of Wheat-Bix but not often.
My memory is that the main attraction to breakfast cereal was the surprise you got from the box, I recall these plastic toys being a perennial fad and a favorite.
If we did have cereal, I remember it was always with scalding hot milk and I'm thinking I did not really like that, it made the cereal go mushy and even with spoons full of sugar it was not enticing.
Somewhat surprisingly I now eat cereal; it is often on my breakfast menu. And I always have cold milk and add fruit, I do not have sugar at all.
Scrambled Eggs is another breakfast meal I enjoy from my mum’s days but again making it just a little more like an omelette gives the dish a different taste. Add onion, grated cheese, cream maybe and not so much milk makes this breakfast dish a delight.
Oddly enough I do also remember eating some can food at breakfast and at other times of the day. Baked Beans of course came from a can, but I also remember things like Steak and Vegetables, Irish Stew and Sausage and Vegetables. The brand of the tin meals was Harvest. I am not sure at what time in childhood the can foods kicked in, I am guessing probably about my teenage years but that is a guess.
We did eat cans of soup, Heinze Tomato Soup from a can and again I'm not sure in what years we started with the soup from the can.
Oh, I must mention crumpets. They were always a favorite in the winter months, back in this era they were very much restricted to the cooler time of year, they were not available all year round. The two brands I recall were Golden Crumpets or another pack made by Gibbs. We didn't get crumpets a lot but often enough to remember they were always well received.
And another couple of Joan specials, one was what she called 'Mock Fish' which technically was potato not fish. The finished product was fashioned like burgers and fried in a pan, wasn't bad from memory and I will admit to having made this 'Mock Fish'.
Omlettes were another meal Mum taught me to make, once the basic egg mixture was ready then by adding the right amount of water helped made the omlette a success and cooking it covered but with a small hole to let the steam out worked. I do make omlettes now and always remember Joan as I tuck in and enjoy the food and recall how those small but useful hints work wonders.
So Mum, thank-you for all the meals cooked across the years, some very special memories that still continue to grow over time from how and what you cooked in that kitchen at Barmera. First with the wood stove and later with your gas top. You excelled and did all you could. Brilliant.
In fairness again, Mum did expand her cooking understanding in the years since I was a kid and flew the coup. As different ingredients became available and as shopping habits and selections changed then her meals did also change.
But really, as a kid growing up at home and eating what Mum cooked, the meals were very simplistic and probably boring by what we cook today. Hey, as said, Mum always cooked plenty, and always the meals were filling and tasty,
Now Mum, every time I cook it seems I think of you, I regularly smile when I remember what you taught me. My cooking is so different yet so similar. It is common for me to tell someone of why I cook the way I do and how I learned as a kid to have this love of cooking.
It came from my Mum.
That is so special for me, it ensures your memory will live on once you are no longer with us. Sometimes I wonder if you ever had any idea of the influence you had on me when it comes to having time in the kitchen.
Maybe you always knew how this would play out, either way I am so blessed to have this great common interest with you. Special memories indeed, now and always.
Joan Winifred Green, you taught me so very well. And I guess old habits die hard as I follow your cooking basics.
And with Mum covered what about my Dad? Did he cook, was he an influence?
The era I grew up meant that mums were the chief cook and bottle washer. And the Green family household was always along that theme. Dad was the hunter and collector, Mum the nurturer. And cook.
He loved them and I guess I ate them at the time without much thought. As life rolled on I do use mushrooms sometimes in my cooking but I never sit down to have a plate of mushrooms on toast as my dad did.
Lambs fry and kidney was another meal Dad put his touch on as a cook. My memory is Mum hated the stuff and the smell it produced when being cooked so I'm guessing Dad had free reign to cook for himself. The kitchen was his.
I will admit to liking Lambs Fry and kidney. For whatever reason I never cook the stuff, but I did eat the meal as a kid. With that noted, I have always liked steak and kidney, Mum made it in pie form, and it was something I enjoyed yet have never made.
Sometimes I will grab a steak and kidney pie from a bakery but I'm thinking it is somewhat of a delicacy in this day and age and is not a pie flavor that is sold everywhere.
White pudding was another food I recall my dad had a liking for. It was not cooked but rather came in stick form something like metwurst did. I'm guessing it was purchased from the local butcher, not sure. Look, it was ok but not something I lined up to eat.
An odd memory I have is that Dad loved pepper, white pepper, he covered his food with the stuff.
As a kid I was not big on pepper but as those taste buds developed, I use a lot of pepper now. Both in my cooking but also on food. Maybe my dad was onto something. But I do prefer black pepper either from a shaker or black pepper corns out of a grinder.
I mentioned Mum being a great chip maker, she was. But Dad also made great chips, he seemed to prefer round slices of spud as his chips rather than what we now call fry shaped. Sometimes I cook the chips as Dad did and now as I write this, I realise he did have some influence on my cooking.
Now, Broad Beans, another Dad delicacy.
Well, broad beans and delicacy should not be in the same sentence, I mean they are foul smelling, crap tasting lumps of, yeah, I have no name for it. But somehow I did eat them as a kid. Guess I have no idea why but Dad and I would have broad beans as a feed. Strange that.
and on an odd note here, I remember I used to even try to run like a horse; I sort of skipped along instead of running. Obviously I did this at other times as well because I recall at the Convent school in Barmera Sister Leonie even told me off one day when we were practicing for the school sport day races. She told me I looked like a horse when I ran. I know I did not need to humiliate myself by telling this but hey, that is how it happened so why not!
In this era, there were some great race callers about and Bill Collins in Melbourne was the standout. I tried to model my calling on his colorful description of a horse race. He had a happy knack as a caller to be able to paint you a picture of how a race unfolded even though you were listening to his description on a radio so naturally you could not see what was happening. I remember thinking that Collins called a race just for you, it was like you were his only listener and he called the action, as you wanted to hear it. This would be a great early broadcasting lesson for me as I always tried to emulate what it was that Collins was so good at doing.
He was not the only caller I listened to. Bert Day, Des Hoysted, Bert Bryant, Joe Brown, Frank O’Brien, Alf Guard, John O’Neil, Ken Howard and others but it was Collins who I enjoyed listening to best. I also remember at this time that I had a record at home of phantom races. It was with caller Ken Howard, he had two races with six runners and each race had a different ending. You did not know who would win any race; the record had six different finishes for each race and depending on which grove the record player needle fell into determined the race result. It was fun to hear and it gave me an idea of what to say in a call and what not to say.
My first public call was at the Barmera Convent in grade 7 when we had a school concert at the end of the year. I had to get up in front of the class and do a call so I made it of the 1966 Melbourne Cup. It was easy to do and while I always had an ambition to call races, I never had the opportunity as life unfolded. As a punter, I would often go to the races or to the trotting. Remembering and recognizing the colored silks worn by jockeys or drivers in harness racing was always easy for me. I simply committed them to memory and I was able to recall the information as a race unfolded. So, now I knew that I could translate my ability as a phantom caller into remembering silks and by putting it all together then calling actual races would be possible for me. However, time moved on and I was never in a position to give race calling a go.
It was not until 1985 that my break would come. One afternoon I was in the Barmera Hotel Saloon Bar having a few beers with a group of locals and Mike Burns, the Riverland Racing Club Chairman was with us. We talked football and racing and the conversation somehow got around to race commentators and I simply said, “The best race caller in the Riverland does not even call races.” Mike asked me who that was and I said, “Me.” Everybody just looked and I thought nobody took me serious. We went on drinking and the subject was changed. Even I thought no more about it, the comment had been made but it had no impact so I had no reason to give it a second thought.
A couple of week’s later Mike’s son Chris asked me at the pub to give his dad a call. Mike wanted to know if I wanted to call a race at the next Berri meeting on the Saturday. I took him up on the offer and went to do the race. It was a three-horse field over 1000 metres and a Mildura visitor Zinderlazar won the event. It was a Grey and with only two other sets of silks to remember, it was an easy introduction. But now it would get serious.
Club secretary Kevin Stone phoned me the next week to ask if I would call the entire New Years Day meeting at Berri as regular track announcer Dean Caporella was going to be away. I jumped at the chance and called the five-event meeting without much trouble. It was a quite New Years Eve for me, I wanted to be at my best for the next day. After all this could be my big break and having, any sort of hangover to contend with would be silly! I know I often say this about aspects of my life but I was a natural at this caper, race calling was something that I could just do.
I guess right from being a kid until now I had always harbored a desire to call races, I had literally done thousands of phantom calls at different times in my life, I would need to make this day a success for John Green the race caller. Anyhow, Caporella never returned to the Riverland and the job as course broadcaster at Berri was offered to me. I said Yes and the job was mine. I called all meetings that racing season and with the job came a regular spot with local TV and radio to further enhance the profile.
Calling at Berri was never difficult as the track had a safety limit of 12 runners in any race so the fields were generally small. I guess we would average about six to eight runners per race. So, it was a good venue to hone my race calling skills at. The trainers who came with horses to race at Berri generally supported most meetings so this made the calling even easier as I tended to get the same horses over and over to call in races.
Or even if the same horses did not keep appearing then the trainers would still return so learning their stable colors was easier as the same silks went around meeting after meeting. I know you still had to put a name to the colors but I have a great memory and my sight to thought transfer is excellent so again I will say that I was a natural at calling. All the years of practice at home calling colored marbles being pushed around the floor or calling the running races around the back lane was about to pay off.
And just on that point I guess I had listened to so many race broadcasts in my life from some of the great race callers in the country that I was able to get the ‘lingo’ right. Remembering the colors was one thing but getting the call to flow was I believe the secret to being a good caller. So, here I used the brilliance of blokes like Bill Collins and added my own flare to make my calls as colorful and accurate as possible. And I did study the colors the night before a meeting and check out horse names so that way I was confident when pronouncing even the tricky names. I did my homework so to speak. Sometimes I would stumble over a name but I was again blessed in the fact that I am a good ad-libber so I was usually able to talk my way through any blunder or forgotten name.
My worst nightmare in a call was at Berri when I was calling a 10-horse field and the favorite was a nag named Even Green. I mean how could I forget that name? But I did. When the field jumped, Even Green was parked just off the pace and for the life of me; I could not remember the name. I knew the silks were carried by the favorite but the name escaped me. I called the race calling Even Green ‘The Favorite’ and yes, it won the race. So in the end I simply said, “The favorite races clear to win.” Guess everybody knew whom I meant because nobody queried the call and how I did not call the name Even Green for the entire 1000 metres.
As well as the course-announcing job with the Riverland Racing Club, I was also to act as its Public Relations man. I was involved with TV, Radio and newspaper work in the area of previews and reviews and wrote a column for the Murray Pioneer called “Track Talk” on a weekly basis. At the track, I was the official course announcer along with being the race caller. If a trophy presentation was to be made at a meeting then I was the PA announcer; I did all of the introductions.
I compared any social nights that the club would have including the presentation evening. As a further extension to the position, I was elected to the RRC committee and was one of its two representatives for the South Australian Country Racing Association. It was a good position to be in and I loved the involvement. By now, Barry Lewan had replaced Mike Burns as RRC Chairman and Geoff Hibbard was our new secretary.
During my time of calling races at Berri I had a great friend and offsider so to speak as my back up. Brian Featherston, my cousin and a mate as I have mentioned before, would attend all of the meetings with me. He was a good race caller in his own right and he would call one race at each meeting for me. Brian and I had a lot to do with each other at a number of different times through my life and in this aspect of our friendship we worked together very well. We bounced off each other with a natural understanding and Brian was a part of my radio work on both 5RM and the ABC.
His knowledge and understanding of horse racing was as keen as mine and we would make our radio time as entertaining as possible. Sometimes it was rehearsed but even then, I remember that in the presentation we would still add something extra and make the other one think to say something off the cuff. Something that might be controversial and get the attention of the listeners.
I am sure it made for great listening and I know that both Brian and I enjoyed the banter and the work. We were always on the same wavelength and I believe that as a team we presented to the listener what it was the listener was wanting. I recall that Brian was a good supporter of mine and his balanced assessment of my calling and work was always well received. He told it as it was and with him, there were no Grey areas and no back slapping gibberish just for the sake of being nice. Having Brian in my corner was a great boost to my race calling particularly early on.
I was able to meet many of the top country trainer and jockeys. I remember that David Jolly was a great supporter of Riverland racing and he had a real speed machine, a part-quarter horse named Run a Drum who won a number of times at Berri over the 1000 metres. Jolly would always use an apprentice rider on the horse and Richard Jolly as well as Malcolm Viant I remember both rode their first race winner at Berri on the horse. Richard Jolly now trains in the metropolitan area after a very successful career as a jockey and Viant became a hoop of note in SA. David Jolly incidentally stills trains but has made the big time and is a leading trainer in the state.
I must tell how the hospitality side of the RRC job had some lighter moments. I was asked by the secretary Kevin Stone to entertain some ‘reps’ from Carlton and United Brewery who were visiting the Riverland as part of a club sponsorship deal. It was leading up to our cup day meeting at Berri and I spent the Thursday night entertaining Stuart Baird who was the SA distribution and sponsorship manager for CUB. He was a bigwig with a lot of pull and I got him very drunk on this night at the Berri and Barmera Hotels and then at my home. I was not really aware of just who he was at the time. But he played along and we partied into the wee small hours. On the Saturday at the track, I was worried that he would be negative about our night of drinking but he was a good sport and we became mates.
However, on this day he had with him the Australian Sponsorship Manager for CUB, Tom Stamp. This bloke only attended three race meetings that year, the Melbourne Cup, the Riverland Cup and one in country Victoria. Why he chose our meeting was beyond me. But here he was as large as life at our premier race day. I entertained Stuart and his boss between my official duties and after the races we all went to the Berri Hotel for an official dinner. But both CUB boys again let their hair down and carried on like country hicks. Boy did they like their product; they were soaks. I remember ending up drinking back in their Motel room at some wee small hour. But from this night came a three year deal for the RRC worth a lot of money, I was given sponsorship work with them and fitted out in all the latest CUB gear. And I never spent a cent that night, CUB picked up the entire tab.
I had a lot to do with Stuart after this weekend and he always had a laugh about how I got him drunk to secure the sponsorship deal. And I remember that my mate Brian Featherston and his wife Wendy did well out of the night. Wendy was heading overseas shortly afterwards to compete in the World Sailboard Championship in France and CUB came on board with some sponsorship. Everyone backed a winner that night!
And what was my most embarrassing moment calling at Berri. The day that I called my last meeting before moving to Darwin. The club had provided a marquee and refreshments for me to use as an entertainment area to have a few drinks and to say goodbye to those in the industry. One thing I did not do was to drink on race calling days. I left that until afterwards and yes, I would make up for lost time. But this day I had a few grogs during the afternoon and by the main race, I was getting into the swing of the day.
So much so that I did not notice the horses come onto the track for the main event and the first I knew that it was race time was as I heard the runners thunder down the home straight from the 1450 metre barriers. I ran to my stand and picked up the call as the runners were heading into the back straight. Fortunately there were only three runners so I managed to get the call right if you can ignore the first 600 metres.
The race calling opened some other doors for me and I was able to be involved with a number of sportsman’s night in the Riverland area. I was asked by Peter Van Enkhuyzen from the Barmera Football Club to compare and present a phantom call at the annual Melbourne Cup night at his club. I did a similar thing at the Barmera Hotel for Frank Morena. Malcolm Hill from the Berri Hotel had me compare a couple of nights for him and Steve Bland at the Cadell Club had me there to present a phantom call of the Melbourne Cup. They were not general well paid jobs but all expenses were always met for Sue and I so it was a worthwhile sideline. Plus I had the enjoyment factor. And a bloke named Max Thorburn from Mildura had me go to Balranald in New South Wales one Saturday to call the meeting there in his absence.
That was one hell of a day. In NSW, the horses run backwards. That might sound like no big deal but I soon discovered that it was in fact difficult to call a race in the reverse direction. And this track had hidden areas. An example was the 1200 metre start where a toilet block and trees in the middle of the course blocked the start from my stand. The race had gone 100 metres before the runners came into view. And in the distance race when the runners reached that part of the track you lost the field again for 100 metres. Made things a little tricky.
But the best trick of the day was in the main race when two runners from the same stable came onto the track with exactly the same silks on. Normally one set of silks carries a different cap or has an armband but not here. The silks were identical. I pointed it out to the Chief Steward who then had one of the runners return to the enclosure and someone attached a pompom to the cap to make it different. I was not sure if to laugh or cry because when the runners were racing at high speed and at a distance how was I supposed to be able to pick out a pompom?
Somehow, I made it through the day and we drove back to stay with Max and his family at their motel in Mildura. He was a decent sort of bloke and entertained us well that night. Despite the comedy of errors at the track, my memory of the day is fine. I did however ask Max not to ask me to go to Balranald again. I did work for Max again but only at Robinvale or Wentworth Greyhounds.
Once I established myself with the races, I was also given the chance to be involved at the Barmera Greyhound track with the Riverland Greyhound Association. I was not the course announcer but always called a couple of races at each meeting. I was asked by Darryl Mader to be involved with the greyhounds and he sought my advice about the printing of the race day guide. I took on the job of producing the publication and did all the work from typing up each page to photocopying the entire publication. I was paid by the club to do this.
I would meet the Riverland bus from Adelaide on a Wednesday night and collect all of the nominations that would be sent to me by the greyhound officials in Adelaide. I would go home do the typing and then go the RGA office at the Barmera track and do the printing to have the books ready by Thursday night. It was a big job. I called the publication The Green Guide following on from the very successful Angle Park race book known as the Gold Guide.
I approached Leo O’Leary, the President of the RGA one day and put a proposal to him to be given complete control of all sponsorship and promotional work for the club. He agreed and I was paid a percentage of all revenue that I raised through the race book and race day sponsorship. And as with the horse racing I had the TV, radio and newspaper work for the greyhounds as well. It expanded to also include the Sunday Mail. I was also elected to the RGA committee and in the last year of my involvement, I was the Vice-President.
Calling the greyhounds was something I really enjoyed. Each race has a maximum of eight runners and the rug colors carried by the greyhounds is always the same. So, this meant calling the dogs was much easier than having to remember all the different sets of silks, as was the case at the races. So easy was it to remember the dog rug colors that my son Bradley James learned to count this way. Number one rug is always red, number two check, number three white, number four blue and so on. Well, Bradley first learned to count as red, check, white, blue through to pink being number eight. Not sure if I really should have told that story!
On moving to Darwin, I was soon to be involved with the greyhounds and as luck would have it the course broadcast job became available just weeks after I arrived. I was offered the job and naturally, I accepted. Here I would become similarly involved as to what I was back in the Riverland. I was even elected to the DGA committee. But calling the whole meeting each Thursday night was a buzz and all races were shown trackside on closed circuit TV. It was always nice to go down to the lounge and watch a race replay.
Darwin was also a part of the national greyhound circuit and hence the operation was a lot bigger that the Riverland had been. We would send a runner to the national sprint and distance championship finals. My call of the Darwin heats would be shown on Sky during a preview of the national finals. I became involved in the production of the race night guide and did some promotional work for the DGA.
Being the course broadcaster for the Darwin Greyhound Association had plenty of other advantages. I had a weekly radio spot with TOPFM, the official NT TAB radio broadcaster at that time. The Thursday afternoon presenter Warren Pain would have me on his program and I would present all the news from the sport as well as give the preview for the meeting that night. I was also the greyhound writer for the NT News, the daily Darwin and Top End newspaper. The racing editor Phil Jackson contracted me to write a weekly preview and review for all meetings and some weeks write other reports about greyhound racing. I was paid $50 for each article and for the preview and the review.
The preview was of course in the Thursday paper and the review in the Friday morning edition. I would collate the results and write the review once I was back home from the track on race night so it was mostly written in the early hours of Friday. I would then have a Taxi courier call to collect the copy and have it at the paper for the 6am deadline.
So naturally, the article would be written after I had had a few grogs at the club after the meeting. Well, yes true often it was a lot of grogs. But it was always well received and I believe always well written despite the late hour of sitting down to put it all together. I was also given the opportunity to do a weekly write-up in the National Greyhound Weekly. And I was also able to go to the national final of the Australian Sprint Championship at Angle Park in 1988 as the NT media representative. I was a part of all the pre-race official functions and it was a most enjoyable few days. I had made the big time and I was given the chance to call a race at Angle Park.
My break into horse race calling in Darwin came when I was asked by Peter Evans, President of the Halls Creek Race Club in Western Australia to fly down and cover their two-day race meeting in August 1989. I accepted the offer, flew to Kunnunarra from Darwin on the Wednesday afternoon, and was then driven the 300 kilometres to Halls Creek. When we arrived, we went to Peter’s house and I was introduced. He had a beer on the table and offered me one, I said ok and who knows how many grogs later I went to the motel where I was going to stay. Despite having an almighty hangover on the Thursday, I came through the weekend ok. I enjoyed the time and calling races again was a real high for me. Also, calling at a track for the first time with names of horses, trainers and jockeys who were all new to me was a challenge.
The highlight of the weekend was on the Saturday night when the annual race club ball was held at the track. It was a great night of fun, dancing and drinking and gee do these country folk know how to party. However, I must tell of one odd sight at the racetrack. There was an enclosure for white people and a separate one for the blacks, I have never seen anything like it. An eight-foot hire wire mesh fence separated the two enclosures. Every now and again, some one would yell fight and the crowd would gather by the fence and watch the blacks slug it out. It was hard to believe what it was that I was watching this race crowd do. Then when it was over everyone returned to what ever it was they were doing before the commotion started. Strange happenings indeed.
And this is nothing to do with the race crowd antics but another odd Hall’s Creek happening with the blacks was the town jail. It was situated right in the middle of the town centre on a grass clearing and again it was an eight-foot high cyclone fence with a few building and not much else. It housed about 50 aboriginals on this day but the strangest sight was the number of aboriginals who would gather outside the enclosure. The crowd outside the jail fence was massive and looked to be in real party mode, drinking, smoking and handing things through the wire. It was a sight like I have never seen before! If you did not see such happenings then you would not believe it could happen at this time in Australia!
I was lucky enough to get the Hall’s Creek gig again the following year. The race club had decided on a Saturday only meeting this year. Again, I flew to Kunnunarra but this time I went on the Thursday evening, the club had organized for me to have a hire car waiting at the airport. However, I spent Thursday night in a motel in Kunnunarra and traveled to Halls Creek in the daylight on the Friday. It was driving in cattle country and night driving was very dangerous.
So, I drove the 300km and arrived at the motel in Hall’s Creek just after midday. The racing was on the Saturday but at the Motel on the Friday evening was a racing dinner and Calcutta auction that the club wanted me to present. It was a great night and went down well, I did the auction and presented a phantom call. The races went well the next day and it was a long night of entertainment.
I headed back to Kunnunarra with the hire car on the Sunday morning and as the flight to Darwin was evening time, I went out to have a look at Lake Argyle. It was about 70 kilometres outside the town but it was a picturesque drive and the lake itself was magnificent. It was well worth the effort to go out and to have a look. I was glad that I had the opportunity to do so. I remember that this year my mum and dad were visiting Darwin at this time and they babysat the house and kids while I was away. I was offered the trip again the next year but I had work commitments in Darwin and was unable to go. That was disappointing as it was a great venue to call at, a great place to visit, it was a great race club and the people were always fantastic.
While I never went back to Halls Creek, I did plenty of other race calling in the Northern Territory. I was contacted by Brian Moy from Tennant Creek and asked to be involved with the Renner Springs two-day Easter meeting. The club raced its meeting at the Tennant Creek track. Brian was the club chairman and he had sought me out to try to get me involved with his club. I took up his offer and in 1990, I went to Tennant Creek for Easter and this would then become a regular visit for me. I would stay at the local motel but were always so well looked after by Brian and his wife Patsy.
They became good friends over my time in the Top End. I loved this weekend of racing and on the Sunday the club had a rodeo and camp-draft at the racetrack. Rodeo watching has never been my thing but when coupled with the weekend activities it sat well with me. From here on I was also asked by a local businessman, Norm Brachan to cover the St. Patrick’s day meeting at Tennant Creek each year. And with the race calling Brian Moy would also link me in to go to Brunette Downs Station each June to cover the two day ABC Race Club meeting.
The first Easter visit was long as I traveled down and back to Tennant Creek by bus. After that first year I was able to get Brian to at least fly me down and that way I only had to do the bus trip one way. The planes from Darwin to Tennant Creek were only nine seater aircraft but it was a much better and quicker way to travel than by bus. With the St. Patrick’s meeting it was always on the Saturday after St Patrick’s Day but for this trip, I again had to use the bus. However, I would travel down on the Friday night, call the days racing and go home on the Saturday night bus. At least this way I was tired and I could pass away a part of the bus trip by sleeping.
However, I was well paid and thoroughly enjoyed the meetings and I remember I was very thankful for the opportunity. One strange happening at the St Patrick’s Day races was that I won the best-dressed male award in 1991. Now, for those who know me then that is odd in itself. A coat hanger I am not but I was on this race day, believe it or not, the only male on track wearing a tie. I mean, after all, we were at Tennant Creek but hey, I won the prize regardless!
On one of my visits to Tennant Creek, the plane from Darwin stopped over in Katherine and we had an hour break. I was sitting in the terminal building reading a racing paper and a lady asked me if I had a winner for her. I explained that I was on my way to Tennant Creek for the Easter races and it came up in conversation that I was the course announcer. She was traveling with her husband and a friend whom she then introduced me to. He was Frank O’Brien, the ABC race caller of many years who had recently retired. Frank O’Brien was a household name in Australian racing and called races on the ABC for as many years as I would care to remember.
Anyhow, Frank and I got talking and we chattered all the way to Tennant Creek. He was flying on to Alice Springs and then out to Ayres Rock with his mate but the time spent talking with him was great. It was like talking with a hero from my childhood days, somewhat unreal in a way. He was one of the race calling voices that I had modeled my calling on. Frank was also a mate of my uncle Brian Green who had been for many years the track manager at the Sandown racecourse. It is a small world at times.
And on the small world theme, I must mention Greg Drummond. Now this is an odd story. I met Greg at Tennant Creek on my first visit; he was the proprietor of the local supermarket and a major sponsor of the meeting. Somehow, we got talking about Barmera and he said, “I know Barmera, do you know a fellow named Bruce Garrard.” Well, I did as Bruce had a Serv-Well Supermarket in Barmera for many years and he was well known to me through my family.
So, now the connection. Greg Drummond was a country representative for Cadburys back in the early 70’s and he would come to Barmera in his job and service the supermarket of Bruce Garrard. But on top of that, Greg would have all of his advertising props sent ahead by rail and he would come to the Barmera Railway Station when I was working there to collect his goods. So, I knew him from there. I remembered him once all of this came to being.
But the story has another twist. Greg liked a beer and on this night, he ended up rather drunk and then threatened to pull his sponsorship of the Tennant Creek Racing Club Cup Carnival if I was not invited to be the course announcer. But the Alice Spring race caller handled this job, as on the day of the Tennant Creek Cup they did not race at Pioneer Park in Alice Springs. Greg made the night a little difficult for me and I remember I had to explain to local race club officials that I was not behind his outburst. Thankfully, next day Greg had forgotten what happened and it was never mentioned again. The sponsorship deal from his supermarket went ahead as planned.
I mentioned earlier the ABC Race Club. It had a two-day meeting, Thursday and Saturday, each June at Brunette Downs Station way down on the Barkley Tablelands in Central Australia. The racetrack and rodeo grounds were on the station property and for the week of racing and rodeo activities, it became like a big town. The camping grounds sprung to life and the station workers from far and wide converged on Brunette. It was a massive show. However, being out in the outback so to speak there was no motel or luxury living. You had to stay with one of the station camps and as Brian and Patsy Moy were involved with Brunchilly Station then I always-shared there camp.
It was camping at its roughest but at its best. You slept in a tent and cooked over an open fire. The shower was a portable rig hung in a tree with a Hessian covering. To get hot water there was a 44-gallon drum filled with water and kept warm with a fire that burned day and night. You would get a bucket full of the warm water when it was your turn to shower, poured it into the portable shower container and pulled on a rope to open the device that allowed the water to shower you. Primitive stuff but a great experience all the same.
There was no contact with the outside world down here other that a solo powered telephone at the racetrack. And it was a full on few days of racing, eating, drinking and socializing. On the Saturday night at the racetrack, the club had its annual ball. This was something you had to see to believe. The Jackaroos and the ladies dressed for this once a year show in there finest, some of the sights were unbelievable. However, as I said it was a great thing to be involved with. The few days spent at Brunette Downs each year was one of my highlights from my time in the Top End. If you traveled by car, it was a long trip, just over 1000 kilometres. You headed down the Stuart Highway to the Highway Inn roadhouse opposite the Daly Waters turn off, turned east to head towards Borroloola. About 230 kilometres on, you came across the Heartbreak Hotel and here you headed south/east for another 170 kilometres to Brunette Downs Station.
Very long stretches of road with little to see but all roads were at least sealed. It was an experience that I am so grateful to have had. My memories of these trips are very special to me. The last trip I had was in a six-berth campervan that the club hired for me to use. It also made sleeping a little easier at the camp as the beds in the tents could be a little on the hard side. The Brunchilly mob had a petrol generator that I was able to plug into to have power in the van.
I do remember one year that I went to Brunette for the week of racing and festivities that I was on my own. On the return trip Brian Moy put me on a specially arranged flight by the station pilot in a light plane from the airstrip near the racecourse. The pilot flew me to the Roadside Inn Hotel Complex up on the Stuart Highway on the Sunday morning after the activities had finished and I was given a lift, again pre-arranged on a road-train back to Darwin. It was a shocker of a ride, road-trains are awfully difficult to travel in and it was a six-hour ride of crash-bang, jerk and generally rough going. If nothing else though, I can at least say I got to ride a road-train into Darwin.
The racing at Brunette was as good as I have seen. Big fields and plenty of good finishes. The drawback was there were no starting stalls and all races were strand starts. And if you have never witnessed 12 runners lining up behind a strand for a race start then it is worth watching. It did not help with the calling either because a part of the silk learning process for getting colors and names right was to do a final check at the barriers. However, with the strand start barrier positions did not exist and it was like an all in brawl at the start.
But I got used to it and once the starter dropped the flag they were off and racing. In my first ever call at Brunette I had two owners on the broadcast stand behind me. As the field set off I called one of Alan Hansen’s horses and he said from behind me, “No it’s not.” I thought ‘shit’ but I was sure I was right and as I went back through the field I called his other runner and I knew I had it right. He was the owner and mixed up his own colors. But I had to tell him to never do that again; it was extremely off putting to have that said as you were in the middle of a race call. He was very apologetic afterwards and made it up to me that night as he fed me beer after beer.
Another odd moment with a racehorse owner from this time is the day I called my first St. Patrick’s Day Cup at Tennant Creek. My mate Brian Moy had two runners in the race with the same silks but one had a blue cap and one white. He had the favorite and a roughie named Bob. When Bob burst from the pack to hit the front at the 100-metre mark I called, “And here’s Bob bursting through to hit the front.” Brian told me later that he nearly fell over because he thought I was wrong and that it was his other runner. He had backed Bob but he too messed up his own runners. I must add here that my call of the St. Patrick’s Day Cup at Tennant Creek was relayed to Pioneer Park in Alice Springs as the bookmakers and punters at that track would bet on the race.
Anyhow, back to the story of Brunette Downs before I finish, the final race of the day was always a stockman’s race. It was a great attraction and again drew a big field. A Calcutta was held at the track after the end of the main races and it was a part of my job to auction off the runners. I found this hard, as I did not know enough about the locals and whom it was bidding for whom. I probably sounded unprofessional at times because I could not tie in the bidders with the horse owners, if I was a local and knew more about the people bidding I could have handled it a lot better. But I got through and I guess I was given a little extra understanding as the club continued to get me to do the job.
And now my race calling days is all over. I miss the involvement and these days my interest in horse racing is negligible. I follow the racing action around Melbourne Cup time and find that I still have an interest at this time of the year. I have not been to a race meeting since I returned to Adelaide. I did go to Angle Park greyhounds a couple of times but the landscape has changed and the people different so I stopped going. I guess I will never again have the opportunity to get behind the microphone on the broadcast stand and say, “The light is on, ready, racing.”
As For Tom Cruise, I never liked him as an actor but that said he was in some good movies.
What do I like to do, what do I enjoy, what are my hobbies, what do I like to do to relax? What don't I like? Who don't I like? I have a very broad interest base in most aspects of life.
The best town or place I have lived or visited. Melbourne is my city; it is hands down the best. It is alive and has a buzz that never stops, great city. Put me in Melbourne and I am in my element.
The worst place I have visited, Coober Pedy, what a hellhole. Hot, dirty, dusty, no lawn or greenery. I was staggered at how bad it was. Loved the underground motel I stayed in, what a great concept but the town itself was a dive.
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What is the most odd thing I have ever done? Wow, that gives me plenty of scope doesn’t it! But I remember as a kid winning a food eating competition. Look, the back story here is funny.
Way, way back when the Barmera Monash Football Club had social Sundays at the old Loveday Hall, one day I was one of three kids who were asked up on stage by band leader and I guess MC Ross Hill to be part of this eating competition. We were each given a sandwich and the first kid to finish the sandwich was declared the winner. Guess it was a bit of fun for the adults who would get to laugh at us poor kids.
Anyhow, I remember looking at the sandwiches on the plate, two had pickles and one did not. I thought quickly and I said, “I hate pickles,” and with that I was handed the best sandwich of the three and of course, BOOM, I won. The prize that Ross gave me was two Violet Crumble bars. Odd but a memory that I often get mileage from when telling the story.
So, they are a few of my favorite things, now, what about my not so favorite things. What do I dislike?
I do not like smoking, never have and never will. It is a dirty habit that I never had an interest in. How we ever survived as non-smokers in the era when smoking was so common in the workplace, the pubs, the clubs, the car or anywhere you wish to mention I do not know. It made many a situation uncomfortable to say the least and what must it have been doing to our health?
And who ever thought that placing hand dryers in public toilets was a better idea than providing paper towel to dry your hands with. I hate those bloody noisy blowy hand machines that rarely work properly. Good old paper hand towel is the way to go!!!
I do not like Richard Charleton, Cathy Freeman or the Liberals.
I have no tolerance of ignorant people, people who do not have the vision and foresight to understand that the world does not revolve around them. My dislike extends to people that do not give up a seat on the bus, people who ridicule less fortunate groups like homeless people or people with mental health issues.
I dislike aggressive drunks and bullies, if you need to add alcohol to be an instant 'arse' then do not drink. I have no time for rude salespeople or for counter staff who do not listen to the consumer. And here in Adelaide, city bus drivers rank with lawyers as the pits of society.
I detest reality TV. It features desperate people who undermine what society is about. “You’re fired,” or “The tribe has spoken,” or “You are the weakest link, goodbye,” or “It’s time to go,” is hardly what humanity should be about towards each other. I do not think that society does itself any favors when it turns on itself as shown by reality TV.
And with music, reality TV makes stars out of contestants without them having done the hard yards. You earn stardom; it should not be handed to you after a month of TV exposure. It does nothing for bands or artists who build up a following through hard work like working the pub circuit or club circuit. Their following is gained over time by exposure to music fans, not by a handful of TV watching desperates with mobile phones who apparently vote for you.
I could never have been a deep-sea diver. I hate being under water, I love swimming and I can dive but I need to surface immediately. I hate things being close to my face so I could never snorkel for example because I could not wear a facemask. I am not good with heights and as such, I could never sky dive.
My fears are many. Snakes, geez how I hate the darn things, and I mean hate, with a passion type hate. Sharks, no thanks, they scare me pointless, goats and elephants are not far behind and from the bird family, seagulls and plovers' have history with me and they are high on my dislike list. Scorpions and centipedes' get a mention here, they are simply downright scary.
And this final bit is not really suited to anywhere but I do not know where else to add it. It is a funny side of a dislike, I guess. One day at the Convent school in Barmera when I was in grade six, Sister Leonie was asking the kids in the room questions to eliminate one kid at a time in a fun game we were all playing. The last kid left in was the winner.
The questions were many and varied and then came this question. “Who has the biggest nose.” To a tee, all the other kids said Johnny Green! I was shell-shocked; I had no idea I had a big nose. Ok, thank-you I do now but at the time, I was innocent to the fact. Bloody Catholic kids!
So, add Sister Leonie and all the catholic kids who were in the classroom that day to the dislike list.
33 - Who, What and why
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