Down By The River - Chapter 9 - Mildura & the Houseboat Day 5

DOWN BY THE RIVER

Chapter 9 – Mildura & the Houseboat Day 5

Unlike Rick Wakeman’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth (1974 Journey to the Centre of the Earth, A&M) – Cumulus clouds did not form up in the south “like huge wool packs in picturesque disorder”, more like in the east – but who is checking. The onset of  a cold front and with it a change in the wind particularly in ferocity meant we spent the day watching in awe. Today was not going to be a pleasant glide on the glassy Murray like the days before. Today was going to be a day inside watching as Mother Nature unleashed.

For the four of us that presented no issues. The houseboat was well secured and although all the weather was coming from abeam the port side (don’t you just love nautical terms), we were safe and out of the weather occurring on the other side of the bay windows.

The fish kept biting of course – those bloody carp never seem to stop, but my need to rescue hooked fish was somewhat retarded by the chance of getting drenched once the storm hit. In the short term through as the storm approached, the shrimp filled net provided much bait.

Alternating between darkening grey and streaks of light as the sun poked through the ever forming thunder clouds created silhouettes of trees against the darkening background.

When the wind and rain finally hit the mirror-like Murray became a turgid washing machine of water pounding and spraying against the side of the houseboat. 

The storm reminded me of times gone by, A football game at Blaney, a place not far from where we went to school but notorious in schoolboy lore as a place of poor weather, where as much as the opposition the elements were the protagonist. First half and we are running into what could only be termed a blizzard.

We had a powerful team that year and expectations were high about our chances of winning the East West (or Cook) Cup for the first time. This game in Blayney was round 2. In the first round we had accounted for Grenfell 51 to Nil (with the game being called early we were later told) with the first tackle of the game not only setting up what was to become our first win but a hint of better things to come.

The local radio disc jockey a “coolly” named Cabbage McDonald previewed the game on the radio in the days prior and gave us little or no chance of progressing past the first round. 

We had a couple of forwards who knew how to tackle and I mean could stop you in your tracks and put you on  your back with ferocity. Kick off came to my side of the field and one of the forwards – Wayne Carey (RIP), a player particularly adept at the crash tackle and my outside centre partner Robert Clark hit the opposing centre in such a way, the young Grenfell footballer was carried from the field and did not return.

51 to Nil – well called Cabbage

The commencement of the second game against Blayney saw us running into the wind and sleet and it was tough in the first half. By half time we had the opposition at 6 to Nil but turning around with the wind in the second half the possession started. I scored 4 tries that day and kicked a goal. 55 to 5 in the end

Cabbage had given us even less chance of winning this game than the first. Little did he know we had several secret weapons, the main one being our coach. Alan Arkins, an English teacher, had the reins of our side. He himself was a country rugby representative who had distinguished himself in the code they “play in heaven” but was able to take those skills and instil on his charges a will to win that saw us through all sorts of adversity including the chiding by Cabbage McDonald which he used to great effect each time we went out to play.

The memories of those days playing rugby league for Boorowa Central School in 1975, winning the grand final after the bell in mud up to our knees at Bathurst stay with me. It also, intriguingly, comes back to me every time I visit Peak Hill Central School, our opponents in the grand final that year. My Rotary Club, Belrose Rotary Club, having assisted the town in a great drought in the early 1980’s each year takes students from the year 11 cohort, brings them to Sydney to show them the sites and visit potential vocational opportunities and then the following year head up to the school to conduct mock employment interviews with the then year 12 students, giving them a leg up to life after school.

Peak Hill is a project close to my heart and each visit brings back cherished memories of school and football and friends I should remain in contact with but never seem to find the time. I do call or drop in my closest of old school friends, one being Tom Horton (now residing in Crookwell where like me he runs an accounting practice) and Tony Croker, a true local of his area, still living on the working family farm at Rugby. Looking back it seems only I make the effort but only as far as I was driving by anyway.

The Big Chill (1983 Columbia) sums it up “I feel I was at my best with you people. I know what you mean. When I lost touch with this group, I lost my idea of what I should be”. But it goes on to the truth “Getting away from you people was the best thing that ever happened to me. I mean how much sex (for some maybe), fun (ditto), friendship can one man take”. Clearly my “friends” cups appeared to have runneth over. The last line to quote then has to be “I’d hate to think it was all… fashion”

Fashion borne out of proximity, being thrust together by geography and needing to simply survive as small town kids thrust into a larger town world where the ability to fit in was measured in terms of sporting prowess and the ability to provide the answers to a need. Subjects for another time.

As soon as the front had passed it was gone and the mirror returned as we moved into sunset and the “glass” of the river returns.The fading clouds along with the fading sunlight coupled with a full moon rising bring not only the fish on the bite but with them the mosquitoes in their droves.

The light of the mozzie zipper goes on and the cacophony of death starts. Dinner is served and consumed followed by more Rummikubs and frivolity. The students are now regularly beating their tutors making the tension of competition much more enjoyable.

The wiling away of the time at the end of this day of differing aspects, from the calm tranquillity of the early morning and late afternoon and the interceding ferocity of the storms allows the memories the day caused to erupt to fade away again.

Its the eruption of memories, thoughts of “better” times (and worse) causing feelings of differing types to emerge and subside. Time the great healer – what a load of rubbish. All time does is allow the physical wounds to turn to scars and fade. The physical might fade but the brain remains to torture us, just like the William Hurt character in the Big Chill the true response to the torture is “Whats for Dessert, I am not cynical about”. “I think I’ve been just too slow to realise that people our age with histories like ours…”. 

“Could have told you that a long time ago”