The One Tree Plain slowly becomes the wooded hills of Goolgowi and then back onto the plain country of the Lachlan into West Wyalong, Lake Cargelligo and finally Condobolin. By the time we reach Condo the wildlife is stirring. The big red kangaroos are seen hustling toward their evening travels. Hopefully we dont see any on the road.
DOWN BY THE RIVER
Chapter 19 – Mildura to Condolbolin
Its over. The quest to remove 200 carp from the Might Murray has been concluded. Without the need for sneaky adding to while we are looking to hook up, pack the vehicles and be on our way.
The cleaners are waiting for us. It seems they have to turn around the houseboat quickly for another group embarking not long after we leave. One of the attendants likes my shrimp net and as it won’t collapse anymore I am happy to give it to him, with a earning of using bread for enticement given what happened not far from the berth all those days ago.
We had done most of the packing the night before and the task of relaying the bulk to the vehicles is made easy with the use of the trolleys provided.
For us we are not going directly home. We are looking to split the trip up into two legs. First leg here to Condobolin, spend a couple of days with family in the spiritual home of my mothers side of the family then head home Sunday, three days hence.
The goodbyes are done. Lyn is feeling better after her “turn” a few days a go and is pleased she has made it to the end of the trip without disrupting the plans for the “holiday”. Holiday is an interesting word for the small business people like us. Unlike me, where my business tends to run reasonably on its own, the others were never far away from the pulse of driving theirs. Yes I spent several hours brainstorming ideas and creating no end of butchers paper diagrams etc but for me the trip was a time to relax.
By all reports we ate and drank far too much to expect there not to be consequences on the bathroom scales, but we were on leave. You are allowed a few eccentricities aren’t you?
Being Victorians our partners in crime head back via the south eastern highways whereas we stay north of the Murray for now. First problem encountered on the road home is the Cruiser seems to want to pull into Trentham Estates for the obligatory morning tea and perhaps a case of wine. We have had this problem previously where the Cruiser will not allow us to pass this establishment without it getting its chance to check out the scenery. A daughter of one of my cousins is on duty today and we allow her to sell us the good stuff as well as a hot chocolate and a cup of tea.
But the road must be travelled and we have a long trip ahead of us today. A little more than 600 kilometres in fact. Thankfully much of the road is open highway and, save the wildlife and the overly larger vehicles we should be able to maintain a good speed.
Due east it is, along the Murray, not that you get to see it from the road much, to Hay. Left turn then its due north across the One Tree Plain. The Bushwackers ring in my ears – All among the wool boys, all among the wool. I can do a respectable tally myself whenever I like to try, Shearing for Old Tom Pattersn ont eh One Tree Plain. Now thats not how the song goes but its how it rings in my ears.
I used to shear – well rous-about really. I can shear, but not very quickly and I found it a struggle with the back breaking nature of the work. My very first real job was working for one of the great shearing contractors of my time – George Johnson. That’s the first job that was not on our family property as was required at shearing time. As a favour to my father who was a friend of George, I was asked to rous-about at the next door neighbours property just after leaving school in Year 12.
Turning up day 1 I find instead of 2 people to cover the 8 shearers there is only me. I knew the manager of the property quite well and after asking me, told George not to worry I would be fine. The shearers played the game and kept themselves to a regular rate of about 100 sheep per day each, and while I managed to keep up, it was not without the help of the wool presser penning up for me if I looked like getting behind.
A rous-about in a shed is the responsible link between the shearers and the wool table. Not only did the fleece need to be picked up and taken to the table you needed to return and sweep away anything left over before the shearer returned with the next sheep. 8 shearers doing 100 per day in 4 lots of 2 hour stints, 800 times per day, pick up delivery and re-readying the position was required plus keeping the pens of unshorn sheep full is the bulk of the work and a few other errand type jobs and you have it.
It was a two week shed. The team didnt haze me at all, although they did give one of the table hands a good ride one afternoon.
Paid with a cheque of $238 I felt a regular given I had been paid the same for a similar project at home, where we only had 3 shearers and if need be penning up was far more than one pen to the front. It meant the entire shed after work time.
When it came time to be paid the shearers accompanied me to the paymaster, for which I did not understand until i got there. The head shearer (the ringer) quickly intervened, not that he had to, when the cheque write asked me for my union ticket. He was very quick to advise him of the adversity I had undertaken during the time and it doesn’t matter if I had a ticket or not, if they wanted this team to head to the next shed then I would be paid.
As it turned out George and dad and foreseen tis as an issue and enured I already had one. My godfather was actually the local union representative from his barbers shop in town and we had done the formalities before I set foot in that shed.
They did only pay me for the work I was supposed to have done, not what I actually did covering the 2 positions. Later at the breakup session in the local pub, I did not have to buy a drink as each shearer “shouted” me, thanking me for keeping up.
Invited to move with them to the next shed, as it was not far from home and owned by the same people who owned this one – the Kelly family of New Haven Park fame, I was happy to take advantage of the chance to earn some more money.
Given I had coped with the first shed George let the team ride with the same numbers for Red Hill. It was here you found out just what a gun team could do.
It happened late one afternoon. The shearers, like at the previous shed had been going along at their 100 per day each, a number the owners were happy with. Some idiot wool table staffer yelled “ more wool” suggesting they were being underutilised and the shearers were cruising.
What happened next was a blur. The rates of the gun shearers in the group doubled if not tripled. Wool was going everywhere. I more than struggled to keep up and the wool presser was seemingly locked in the back herding sheep to their pens. Instead of taking the wool from the floor directly to the table, stacks of unclassed fleeces began to build up in the area adjacent to the tables.
Normal finishing time for a “run” is 6.00pm, at which time the shearers head to their quarters for a shower and dinner. . Normally we wouldn’t be far behind, perhaps 15 minutes. This night we didnt join them for dinner until well after 7.30pm. And just to show our appreciation of his big mouth, that staffer had his shower in the dam.
Mid winter, it would not have been warm
The One Tree Plain slowly becomes the wooded hills of Goolgowi and then back onto the plain country of the Lachlan into West Wyalong, Lake Cargelligo and finally Condobolin. By the time we reach Condo the wildlife is stirring. The big red kangaroos are seen hustling toward their evening travels. Hopefully we dont see any on the road.
Sure enough, we have to slow as a number of them are crossing the highway in front of us. No damage done, they managed to stay on their way rather than become simply stuck in the headlights.
Its sundown by the time we pull into the Little Prairie, the home of my Uncle Lionel and Aunty Kerre. We are greeted with the warmth only family greeting family can give. A hot meal is on the go and once we get the vehicle and caravan sorted (we left the van here for the duration) we all sit down to a big meal and even bigger download of the fortnight past.
I had wanted to catch up with Uncle Brolga over the next couple of days and he has left word he will be here to pick me up in the morning for a fish and a discussion about days gone by. There will also be time to go over the business plans of the juniors, Casey and Mitch who have purchased the property next door and are now looking at expansion.
The sunsets in the west as only a Condobolin sunset can. The ochers going from the stark yellows of the overhead sun through the oranges and reds of the setting sun and through the purples and onto the darkness as the sun goes behind the horizon and shines its last light to the underside of the clouds.
A normal magical end of the day where if you take it as a mundane “here to there” you might be driven into thinking not a lot of it. But the memories of days gone by, triggered by something as simple as the memory of the name of a place then added to by Mother Nature splashing her splendour across the night sky, cna turn even the most boring day into something special
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