The Willies The big adventure of migrating to Australia is a book in itself and for another day. This is about what Tassie Kids call the Willies and my second story begins here. After arriving in Oz from a freezing Scottish February and landed directly into a summer full of Adelaide scorchers. HEAT, HEAT what’s that. This was a strong culture shock in itself. From the very cosmopolitan immigrants’ hostel we were staying in to the strange new form of humanity we were amongst called “Australians” we encountered, life as odd. The food was weird the insects scary and my folks were desperate to do something stupid. They were committed by law to at least 2 years in Australia under our immigration agreement. Believing they’d made the mistake of a lifetime meant make the next step wise. They really just wanted to go back to Scotland immediately. Some would say what they did was jumping from the coals to fire but they decided to take us to the coldest and therefore most familiar place in Australia. Tasmania. Dad found work in a small country town in Tassie and returned to Adelaide to take us down. The journey was epic for all concerned and involved a 2 day, 900 km broken down car trip and a very rough Bass Straight ferry crossing. It felt longer than our trek from the other side of the World and we were all desperate for it all to end. We arrived in Tasmania the day after the 67 bushfires. We were oblivious to the disaster having no news while travelling and besides we had no idea what a bushfire was anyway. As we drove through Tasmania to our new house everything was blackened by fire and eerily still. We thought we were on Mars. I was expectant of a home not a house and got one. We persevered to journeys end at the small town of New Norfolk and found our new place. The back fence had literally burnt down. Our ignorance of exactly what a bushfire is had blinded us to the truth that we came very close to being homeless on arrival. Even worse we could have been there the day before and lost a lot more. It wasn’t till later that we understood the horror of what had just happened. Mum and Dad’s apprehension about Australia and Australians was dispelled by the grace of the New Norfolk towns folk. What won them over was how the people who had been through such a trauma, some even having lost loved ones, were so welcoming and keen to help us. US! Mum and Dad both began work, Dad at the Paper Mill and Mum at the Hospital. This was odd for my Sisters Brother and I as we were used to a stay at home Mum but we soon adapted. My oldest Sister Carol became especially bold chested in her new formed authority. Eventually we met a magic Family of one of Mums nursing workmates, the Munnings and slowly we integrated. We were a novelty to the town as were the first Scots, or poms as they kept calling us, to arrive in New Norfolk. The town was a small rural town and mostly Norfolk only had three employers. One was the paper mill; one was the match factory and the other the huge mental hospital. The short straw was the match factory as it was a particularly bad reputation as a job from hell. Mum and Dad both had to work swing shift. How they did it I don’t know but they balanced everything up and at least one was always home. The shifts worked five days a week and stopped promptly every Friday at 5pm. So Friday nights were huge for us. Friday nights were family Saturday were Mum and Dad’s big night out and my big sister Carol became the bossy babysitter from hell. The schools were magnificent and well advanced from the mainland. They were at the same standard as Scotland and I loved it. What won me over as a kid was the massive amount of space to fall over in and the palpable sense of freedom. The main events in town were football in winter and Cricket in summer. But there was a strange aside. The town was on a river, the river Derwent. Apart from the fact that the paper mill was dumping tons of toxic chemicals into the river was the fact that the River had claimed lots of lives due to its strong and invisible current. That had activated the community who had built their own Olympic pool with their own money. It was staffed by locals and it was the real best gig in town on a hot summer’s day. As sometimes happens the pool became somewhat more and began producing State and National swimming champions. After nearly drowning in it I learnt to swim and we became true locals. The kids had an innocence and honesty I have never seen matched. It can be said that the whole town and the whole state had the same feel to it. It wasn’t a backwater but definitely challenged in infrastructure. For example we left Scotland the first year of Batman on TV and it was in colour. We arrived in Tassie the day after TV started and there was only one channel, it was black and white and only ran for an hour a day. Fun was self made. Along with this visceral zest for life there was a strange feeling I still don’t fully understand. Another story had begun. Just didn’t know it. I felt a strong lingering sadness I wouldn’t understand till years later. The kids talked about a strange feeling called “the willies” which at the time I attributed to having a huge mental hospital with a famous ward for the criminally insane that we all Kids made great note of. The greatest part of this rare place was the raw wilderness that surrounded it. For the Kids raised there it was just the bush and they were anesthetised to its abject beauty and wonder. To me it was the stuff of fairy tales full of weird and wonderful things that bite and fly upside down and make strange noises. To them it was just the Bush. Aside from this was I and indeed all of my family had been through a strong culture shock and we saw this beautiful place for what it was. I had many friends but, then as now, I only held one or maybe two people close and felt uncomfortable in crowds. I’ll talk about this later but it leads me to the 3 major events that landed while I was there. These again involved danger and heights, a tragedy and a true Aussie fairytale. The story of the rock began when a group of us discovered this wonderful place called the council dump. It sounds like a waste dump but it was really a place where the pulp mills farm etc. dumped their broken machinery. This was the days where recycling wasn’t heard of far less responsible disposal of dangerous machinery. There was broken rusted out tractors massive obsolete paper pulping rollers and heaps of stuff that looked like space ships just enough to be real. We found it one Saturday and by the next we were laying claim to it as our gangs territory, all 5 of us. All the kids in our club lived in my street and were a force of nature, at least we thought so. The council dump seemed abandoned so we claimed ownership. Three weeks in and we had adapted a huge concrete half pipe into our headquarters. We were bringing food from home and driving our Mothers crazy by secretly acquiring doilies, pillows and blankets to make the clubrooms more homely. Our Mothers would immediately interrogate us if jam, peanut butter or flavoured milk went missing but saw no reason to bother us when their household cushions went missing. My Aunty Marie actually sat up one night, with a shotgun mind you, trying to catch the cat burglar that stole her woolly picnic blanket. They never knew. Our clubrooms were heaven on Earth to us and we spent every minute we could there even close to the witching hour of dinner time. Then came the great invasion. Some kids from a couple of streets away found the dump and did the same thing as we had. Even at 8 and 10 years we had the macho thing going on and this dump was ours! We told them to leave and they said no. The Vietnam War was all over the news and we just followed suit and declared war. First we trashed there headquarters then they trashed ours. For us this was worse as they hadn’t been acquiring their families’ bits and pieces and we didn’t think we could raid any more without getting caught. So unlike the raging war we were witnessing on television we did the sane thing and called a truce. The result actually worked and joined forces and instead of 5 we became 10. The negations were tough but we got them to get some cool stuff from their folk’s houses and the new half pipe clubrooms became palatial. This was all happened in early spring. Not too hot not too cold and swimming hadn’t started so it was the place to be. But this dump wasn’t really a dump but a temporary measure until the weather improved enough for the heavy lifting machinery to remove the material. Either way one Saturday the dump disappeared. It simply vanished with all our Mums doilies and pillows in tow. We were devastated. We resolved to search for where ever our stuff was, at least for a fortnight until the swimming pool opened. The first week we searched all weekend but we found nothing. We decided to investigate and started asking the kids at school. Then the answer came. It came from a strange place. I was talking about it in the school yard when a girl said my Dad moved that. Yes this was serious, it was a girl, and true to form she wouldn’t tell me where it was. After 2 days of trying I wore her down bribing her giving her some of chips from the fish and chip shop. These were a valuable commodity at Norfolk south primary but the sacrifice was worth it. She told me they were parked on a hill north of town. You could see it from the very fish and chip shop I got my contraband from. It was being moved again as a barge was coming down the river from Hobart to pick them up the next Monday to take it away. We had to move quickly to salvage our gear and hopefully retrieve some materials for a new clubhouse. Then the story took up pace and fateful aspects intervened. The girls name was Tina and I haven’t forgotten her to this day some forty years later. That Saturday we mounted our expedition. 10 little kids determined and in search of high adventure. We climbed the hill and found the scrapyard below but it had Dads there strapping and loading stuff up. We couldn’t get anything. We went back on the Sunday with the same result. We were twice as dejected as before as we could see and almost touch our prize. The next Monday lunchtime we bolted to the chip shop to see if it was there. But Tina’s Intel was spot on and it was gone and the clearing was empty. It was an hour’s walk so about 2 kilometres away. Our hopeful enthusiasm took over and we all swore we could still see the half pipe even though it was impossible to see that far. Again we trailed back up there the next weekend. We were so determined that we even missed the first day the pool was open. It was a sacrifice but in our eyes worth it. It poured that Saturday. We didn’t care we were going. We met at the same chip shop and walked up the hill shovels, bags and junior macho in hand. When we finally arrived soaking wet freezing and miserable and things went from bad to worse. There was nothing there at all. Our faithful band of brothers dissolved and we ending yelling at each other. The tallest of the group Graham started screaming at me as I was the one with all the information. Then he pushed me over. That was a big mistake. The second biggest of the gang was my big Brother Mel and he had a temper. No one was allowed to beat up his little brother up, except for him of course. Mel threw what I reckon was his first ever punch and it was beauty. It knocked poor Graham flat on his back. All Grahams street ‘creds’ were lost as he immediately burst into tears. Mel had lost his balance in the follow through and he too fell flat on his face. Graham seized the opportunity and escaped down the hill quickly followed by Mel in hot pursuit. I got a rush of blood and Family pride and followed running after them down the hill. That was my big mistake. Three or four metres down they both fell over each other in an abortive attempt at wrestling. I immediately caught up. But that hill was too steep. I simply couldn’t stop running. I kept on running trying not to fall and then completely out of control I suddenly I heard a loud bang and everything went black. I had run straight into a huge boulder and knocked myself out. The war injury brought the troops back together and they carried a mostly out cold Iain home where of course my Mum, ever the great healer, was waiting. She patched me up and frog marched me to hospital where I spent a night in observation for concussion. My brother of course got punished for not looking out for me even though he had. I was off school all week and had two huge shiners as war injuries to show everyone back to school. I went back to school expecting a hero’s welcome that never came. Our adventure was last week’s news and besides the swimming pool was open. To end a bad week badly the following Friday I lost my lunch money and couldn’t get my weekly treat of hot chips. Dejected and hopeful of scraps from my Brother I still went down to the chip shop at lunchtime. Of course my Brother didn’t give me any as he still remembered the spanking he saw as my fault. Little Tina saw me sitting without any chips and shared her chips with me. I was amazed. She was a girl. She was nice to me. Why? She then said “do you know how lucky you are”. I said “you call this luck? She said “come with me. We’ll be late back at school but you can say you feel sick and they’ll send you home. I’ll say I helped you get back but it took ages OK.” I agreed and she walked me down the tree lined river in silence as we shared her chips. It was all a bonus and the chips tasted so good and hey I was wagging school for the first time. About ten minutes into the walk she stopped at a boat jetty that took us out through the trees and directly over the Derwent River. Above us on the opposite bank was the clearing where I’d gone for my downhill run. You could clearly make out the clearing above a cliff with a twenty metre drop. The clearing was partially obscured by a huge overhanging boulder. At the base of it all was guess what, our precious half pipe. I was so excited and bursting to get back to tell the gang. So excited I still didn’t get what Tina was trying to tell me. Lucky aren’t you” Tina said. “Yeah I found the headquarters” “No idiot” “Look at the clearing, do you see now?” “No not properly, I replied, “that rocks in the way” “Don’t you realise silly? Do you know what’s on the other side of that rock?” “What?” I asked. “Your blood” she answered. Then I realised the rock that knocked me out had saved my life. Then I felt it, the feeling came loud and clear, the stories arrived for the first time. I must have looked terrified at her revelation as she quickly tried to calm me by saying “you OK, you OK.” Eventually she said, “don’t worry your still here have some Friday chips while there still warm”. I turned 9 that summer and the strangest thing came over me. I made friends with a girl. Innocent and always distant in the company of others, neither of us wanted our friends to realise were friends. That’s what you do at 9. But ritually every Friday we’d share hot chips together. She never used my name she always just referred to me as “silly”. We found out that if we pooled our money together we got three times as many chips. It was too much for us to eat but we never shared them with anyone else and through the remains away rather than admit to the antisocial primary school behaviour of a boy and a girl being friends. Summer ended and Mum got promoted to a surgery nurse. This meant she was on call but basically home most of the day. She started picking us up from school in our new car and taking us home for lunch. I stopped having my Friday lunch with Tina and we could only manage nodding at each other in class. I missed her but a new dynamic had begun school fads. It started with yoyos then it was football cards, then marbles and on and on it went. Normally these fads would last a month or so before the next took over. Then a fad hit school that changed me forever. The match factory had a new product, very exciting. Safety matches and the Premier of Tasmania had come to town to launch a new production line. He even visited our school. All we saw was a fat guy walking past out classroom door so it really wasn’t all that impressive. Unfortunately the matches were. All the kids took to playing with matches as it said it right there on the packet “SAFETY MATCHES”. No Mums or Dads noticed until a kid burned himself in the schoolyard accidently lighting up a whole box. The hammer fell immediately and we had a special assembly about the dangers of matches all very ho hum. Out in the school ground the Kids were defiant and were saying I use them all the time and their safety matches. I even overheard Tina saying how she uses them to light the fire when her Mum and Dad are at work. That made me sad for Tina and I felt it wasn’t fair that my Mum and Dad were home for me but hers weren’t. I remember I wanted to say hi and I missed our fish and chip Fridays but of course primary school protocol denied that. The next Saturday night Dad and Mum were off to a party when the phone rang. Mum was called in to the hospital on an emergency. I remember her saying forget it Peter this will be a late one. Mum vanished into the night and we spent the night playing snap with a very concerned Dad. The next morning Mum and Dad were strange. They were looking at each other and were whispering. Dad got my Sisters and Brother and took them to another room. Mum made herself a cup of tea and me a Milo. This was strange as I never got Milo for breakfast. I heard my big sister crying in the other room and thought they had all done something wrong and I was getting Milo as a treat for being good. Mum gave me my Milo, sat down, took a big sip of her tea and put it on the coffee table. “I have some news Son there’s been a terrible accident. One of your school friends was horribly hurt last night and Iain I am sorry to say the wee girl died.” I didn’t understand. I remember when my Gran died but at that age death is an alien concept even in the knowledge of what it meant. “Who was it,” I asked and the worst of answers came. It was my Tina. Mum explained she had been horribly burnt while lighting a kerosene heater at home. That was all I knew or ever knew. The thing I most remember of that morning was that for the first time I saw my Mother cry. It wasn’t whaling cry just a teardrop on her cheek as she looked at me. I knew even as a child her hardened heart at the suffering of others and her pain wasn’t for Tina but for me. I didn’t understand and to add to my confusion everyone was really nice to me. The following Monday I went to school and it was like nothing had happened which was strangely reassuring. At the end of the day as we stacked our chairs to go home the teacher called us all to attention. We all noticed our Mums were waiting outside when the Teacher with tears welling in her eyes began to speak. I remember her words to this day. “We have all had a great loss. I know you are all close to each other and this must be confusing for you all. Try to tell me or your Mums if you are feeling sad. We are, and we do know how you feel.” At that all the little girls started crying and most of the little boys started to as well. I wanted to but for some reason I couldn’t. There was a flurry of flannelette aprons and Mums grabbing hands and I went home with Mum. When we got home Mum said “oh my wee boy this is your first death” Then I said I don’t really care and finally cried. In the weeks after school seemed normal but different at the same time. Still ever the loner I retreated even further into myself. My parents were worried and did their best to bring me out but smiles were rare I and I didn’t feel much like talking. I found myself thinking more and more of the friends I had lost when we left Scotland. The circumstance had brought out more than just grief for Tina but grief for my past life. Looking back I can see I was in real trouble. I was a very sad little boy. Over time people stopped asking me if I was OK and took my withdrawal as shyness. My Parents knew better but there was truly little they could do. Xmas came and went and I in turn took to football and eventually swimming practise with a vengeance, an escape perhaps. The reward for my hard work was I came second in the swimming club championship. The downside was I didn’t care. When swimming ended I used school work to escape and got all A’s in my last primary school report, but again I didn’t care. I overheard Mum and Dad talking and Dad saying high school will help. His primary school has too many ghosts and the change would do me good. He was right. My first day at High school was both terrifying and exhilarating. There were so many people and they were all twice my size. You had different teachers for different classes and the science room smelt like chemicals, the home economics classroom smelt like lunch and everything felt like change. With all of the pain in my heart I needed something magical to wake me up from my slumber but even this wasn’t enough. Then the package came containing a curious magic that was impossible to ignore. It came in a boy called Robert Glen. He came dressed in rags and shoes full of holes. He was shaking and obviously terrified when a teacher brought him into my first high school homeroom. “This fella got himself lost I believe he’s one of yours” he told my teacher. I was later to discover he wasn’t lost it was just his school bus arrived at 9.30 half an hour after school began. The poor kid kept his eyes down never looking up as he was shown his seat. He was shaking and obviously terrified looking as ragged and broken as I felt. I immediately decided to adopt him. With that something lifted and a familiar feeling returned; that feeling of the stories. I was beginning to get used to it and I knew he was going to be interesting. That being said the main thing was that it was just that, a feeling after a long absence of any feeling and in that moment the dam broke and I was back. Again the social nexus of the lunch break came forth when I got to hear Roberts story. Away from the class room and the crowded environment you couldn’t shut this Kid up. In the space of an hour I had his life story. I’m sure I didn’t say one thing for that entire hour. He was the son a Black Hills share cropper, a potato farmer. This yet again was an alien concept to me. I had always been a city kid and I had never really seen true country and farming. I had visited my Aunty Cissies farm but that was more of a country house than a functioning farm. What I also had no experience of was the abject poverty he described even though he had no idea he lived so poorly. To him he was rich and his enthusiasm for his life in the bush was contagious. Robert’s his Sister and Mother and Father lived on the farm which was a 50 minutes each way bus trip away from New Norfolk. New Norfolk was back country but this kid came from the wilds. He told me that they had no power on the farm and how they used oil lanterns at night. I was stunned and fascinated. He told of how his Father only came to town 3 times a year to drop of his crop. His Mother hadn’t been to town in 5 years. The only people she had seen were his Father his sister. Apparently his Uncle came to visit one Xmas as an exception; he described it like a royal visit. He told of his least favourite chore. It was cleaning something called a thunderbox. I didn’t know what he was talking about and the conversation degenerated into gesticulation and hand signals before I realised he was talking about emptying out a dry toilet. He was so interesting. Over time we became the best of friends and he was hilarious, that is along as no-one else was around. He’d clam up if there were more than three people there; he just wasn’t used to it. One night the school bus broke down and he couldn’t get home. He had nowhere to go so I told Mum and she had him stay at our house. It was a gift to watch his kid experience things he had never seen before and a great lesson in life. Dad smelt him and said “shower boy” and my Mum was also desperate to wash his clothes scared of fleas. Dad took him to the bathroom, gave him a towel and said “drop your clothes outside of door and I’ll get you a dressing gown so Mrs Martin can give your clothes a wash”. After fifteen minutes the clothes hadn’t appeared and shower wasn’t running so Dad knocked and asked if he was OK. He asked for me and I went in. He didn’t know what a shower was. I showed how the shower worked gave him the dressing gown and Mum washed his clothes. When he came out they were drying by the fire. He was amazed and curious as to how this had happened so quickly so I showed him our washing machine. My Dad had come from a similar background of dirt poor farming and took to Robert like his own. The next morning Mum gave him a bag of hand me downs to take home and we went to school. A week later there was a knock at the door. It was a gruff looking guy who announced he was Roberts Dad and he wanted to speak with my Dad. He thanked him for looking out for his Son and had given Dad a huge chicken for his trouble. I told Dad how Roberts Father rarely came to town and this must have made a special trip. Dad found this endearing as it harked back to the values he had been raised with. Then he broke the news to me, “feel like a holiday Son” he said with a huge smile on his face. “Sure Dad” I replied when his smile turned to laughter. It turned out Roberts Dad invited me to stay for a weekend at their farm. Dad knew exactly what that meant. I just thought it was a sleep over. I had no idea. The following Friday I caught the bus home with Robert. My Dad had given me a mystery package to take with me. He had dropped me off at school that morning with my bag of clothes and bit and pieces but had left the heavy package at the School office. I had picked it up before leaving school but was so distracted by the excitement of the journey that it was an irrelevance. I had strict instructions to give it to Mr Glen when I first saw him. The Bus driver was an angry old Man who yelled when any of us spoke so Robert and I spent the trip whispering behind our seat. The Bus was a Second World War veteran and only had 6 kids on it. This consisted of three kids who got of ten minutes into the expedition, the two of us and Roberts 16 year old Sister who duly ignored us. By journeys end it was dark and much to my surprise we were let off in the middle of nowhere with no one to meet us. The most potent thing I remember, even stronger than the freezing cold, was the roaring silence. Another strange sensation was the smell. Clean air. New Norfolk smelt like sulphur and burning wood. This was the cleanest of clean air with an unmistakable sweetness to it. The three of us walked for what seemed an eternity and I was frightened as the darkness was absolute. Later I discovered we were walking through a thick bush track where huge Gum tress obscured even the stars. I was completely blind and relying on Robert eventually having to hold his hand in fear of tripping over my own feet. I was still ignorant of the wilderness as my Parents were weary of it and we really hadn’t ventured far from the civilisation of the town. Also the Munning Family loved to scare us with tales of Bunyips and things that go bump in the night which, much to their pleasure, we believed. With these tales in mind I was sure we were going to be attacked by a Tasmanian tiger or a crazed Platypus. Robert as usual didn’t stop talking the entire way while his ominous big Sister continued on in silence. Eventually light appeared from the darkness, we entered through a gate down a winding track in the middle of a large ploughed field to a small shack and the familiar smell of a log fire. On entering the shack there was an explosion called Roberts Mum. She was a small Women with a huge girth and of course wearing the standard flannelette apron above brown knee length dress and a just as grey cardigan. She was screaming here’s my boy, here’s my boy. Then here’s my Girl here’s my Girl. Frankly she was weird in the way she kept kissing them repeating the same words... Here’s my Boy here’s my Girl. Eventually she relented and turned to me. “Here he is, here he is, what’s your name city boy”, she yelled. Before I could answer she screamed “Dad, Dad the kids are here and they’ve got that city boy”. A low toned but loud voice grunted something indiscernible from the other room and the Mother continued saying here’s my boy here’s my Girl while clapping her hands like a 3 year old on Xmas morning. I was freaked out but eventually I was escorted in to meet Mr Glen. “Come here city boy let me see ya”, Mr Glen said. That was now my name, not Iain but city boy would remain my name for the rest of my visit. He was seated by the fire and I felt like I was having an audience an absolute ruler by the eyes down reverence shown by Robert and his Sister. My Dad was tall, just a little less than 6ft, but when Mr Glen stood up he had seemed twice Dads size. He reached hand extended and very formally said “how do you do” and shook my hand. Already spooked by Roberts weird Mother and her greeting I was now terrified by this giant of a Man and as an act of appeasement immediately produced the heavy package from my Father and gave it to him. He grunted at me in recognition sat back down and opened the brown paper wrapping. There was another brown box inside and a note. He handed the note to Robert who read it to him aloud. I later realised he was illiterate another thing I had never encountered. “Thank you for the Chicken the Family enjoyed it immensely. Thank you a second time for having Iain to visit. I have sent through a wee dram in appreciation and hope you enjoy it........Peter Martin.” Robert wasn’t the best reader and it took ages for him to struggle through. His Dad asked “what’s a wee dram MMM city folk.” At that he opened the box and a huge smile burst across his face. Of course it was a bottle of Scotch, my Fathers standard thankyou present. “Mother will you look at that. It’s top shelf cheer. Children get your dinner and BED!” We were then shuffled of the room into the kitchen where Roberts Mum dealt out a stew boiling on the stove. It was delicious. She starred over the table with her head parked on folded arms and parked elbows leaning on the table. She starred at me like I was an oddity the whole time I ate. When you consider that she rarely saw outside of her Family I now understand why I was so interesting to her but at that time it was off putting but I used my manners and ignored what I saw as rudeness. Immediately after we finished eating were escorted without comment by Roberts Sister to a Bedroom and went to bed. I was stunned it was 7 o’clock and Friday night. But excited by the absurdity of my surroundings and a sense of adventure I was happy just to go to bed. I was expecting Robert to stay awake talking as he never shut up. For the first time ever he didn’t and went straight to sleep. I couldn’t sleep as all I heard was loud singing and laughter from the main room. For the first time I heard Roberts Sisters voice joining in the party and then there was stomping and the whole house shook. Then it all stopped and the house went silent. I fell asleep. I was shaken awake the next morning by Robert’s Sister. “Come on Dads sleepin’ he tied one on so we can go up the gully he’ll sleep till at least 12..... Oh I’m Missy.” It seemed by sleeping in their house I now qualified for conversation with Missy. Robert stood ready as Missy explained to me we had to leave quietly. We’re supposed to be turning the spuds in the paddock today. “Dad will sleep till at least lunch but if he wakes up we’ll have to start without him.” Then came the hugest of huge shocks as Missy tore of her night gown and was stark naked underneath. She did so without any sense of modesty. She did so while waving her hands in a hurry up manner as she put on a pair of overalls. I nervously dressed in front of her confused by another strange feeling of having had observed my first naked female. Something I was to grow to enjoy immensely but then it was just another strange sensation. They seemed exited to the tones of Mr Glens snoring. It was a snore I had heard when my Dad had had too much to drink. Judging by the empty bottle of Scotch on the floor Mr Glen had downed it in one sitting. Very carefully we tip toed outside and gingerly made our way across the mist covered potato paddock. Once we reached the gate Missy and Robert turned from Children into a force of nature and just ran and ran and ran. It was hard to keep up. They took off in 2 directions and I first followed Robert and then Missy swapping to and fro as I lost sight of one and spotted the other. This darting back and forth went on for what seemed like an eternity until we came across a clearing and they both froze. I stopped panting and started to say slow down I can’t keep up but was hushed by fingers on mouths. The panic of the chase had put away any fears of the wilderness I had and I now began to notice where I was. The clearing was surrounded by Gum trees and shrubs with the rocky out crops triangular almost symmetric in their position in relation to the open space. The grass was short with small but again evenly placed bald patches. It seemed organised almost manicured like a well loved urban garden. They were together about 5 metres away from me and statuesque in their absolute stillness. The roaring silence of the night before returned, only this time occasionally punctuated by bird song and the rustling of the wind through the trees. We stood silent for about five minutes and just as I was beginning to get restless of to my side came a terrifying sight. Robert walked over to me taking slow deliberate footsteps much like he had when we had left the shack. Off to my right was a small round hole in the ground. It was too big for a Rabbit snake or Bunyip and had loose dirt all around it like something had been digging. Close to the hole was pronounced claw prints of different sizes. There was definitely something in there. The claw marks weren’t big and I took comfort in whatever was inside was big enough to eat me. Robert whispered “that’s where Wombat lives. He’ll come out but he’s been sleeping and he’ll just be checking were not hunters and go back to bed. He’s got youngans in there and he’ll be grumpy so don’t stare him down” Almost immediately 2 beady red eyes peered out of the hole. I was terrified but then put at ease when what looked like a teddy bear appeared at the entrance. I wanted to pat it but was quickly shown it was a wild animal when it let out a horrible barking noise. It sounded like a dog with a cold. I had seen animals in the zoo but this was different and Wombat had done exactly as Robert had said. It was like they were friends or at least familiar with each other as after an accusing leer at me it gave a last glance at him with an OK he can stay but I’m watching kind of a way. He only barked once then turned and waddled back in the darkness of the hole. It was exhilarating and I felt privileged to be allowed to visit his home. Robert spoke a little louder but still in a hushed tone and said “Stay still the mob will be here soon.” After what I had just seen I followed orders and stayed still and quiet. I then realised the rustling of the wind was getting louder and coming from 2 directions. It wasn’t the wind. Robert tapped me on the shoulder and whispered “we’re being watched by the boss”. My eyes were drawn to one of the rustling sounds behind me and I turned to look but there was nothing there. Then, suddenly, a little head appeared from behind a shrub. He was straight and proud as he looked around the clearing. It was a Wallaby. Wallabies are small Kangaroos and act pretty much just like them just smaller. They move in numbers and this guy was the leader checking out the clearing for danger. He came out walking on both his small front and large back paws and then stood up straight. He stared me down and I stared back ready to run. He then turned and hoped around us towards the middle of the clearing. At that rustling sounds came from everywhere and one by one more and more Wallabies emerged into the clearing to join him. They congregated in the centre of the clearing quietly eating the grass. I was blown away. It was beautiful and gentle and that feeling of gentleness was overcoming. I kind of thought I was a Wallaby. Then Missy walked straight up to them and began to pat the boss and Robert did the same. I was still scared and happy just to watch. After a short time the boss shook off their petting with a shake of the head and hopped away into the bush. The rest immediately followed. Then Robert screamed pointing to the sky “look out the plovers are out’ and he and Missy ran straight for cover under a large tree behind me. I stood still following Robert earlier orders when wham, something hit me in the back. It was like the Rock and shocked me more than hurt me and I bolted to a tree in terror. They were laughing and Missy said “the bugger got ya aye; she’s mean when the chicks are up”. The mysterious attacker was a bird. Plovers get very territorial when breeding and their only defence is what I can only describe as Kamikaze dive bombing. Their small so what that bird had just done had hurt it more than me but it had the desired result was I had left her protectorate. With Robert and Missy laughing at me we walked on. They explained that they only go there at first light and at twilight. Whether they went there to show me or to see the Mob themselves I don’t know but the experience was thrilling, my first true encounter with wild animals in the wild. This memory is a favourite as I was not just encountering the animals I was encountering nature’s innocence in the most elegant of wilderness surroundings. Robert and his Sister seemed part of this innocence and I envy them that to this day. The feeling of what the Tasmanians call the Willies and I now call the Stories was now strongly with me. For the first time I acknowledged this feeling to myself assigning it to what I had just witnessed. I was wrong. There was a story needing find its end and it was just about to. I was completely enthralled by my surroundings. Entrenched in massive trees and strange noises I was desperate for the next thrill when Missy announced “OK we’re nearly there city boy. Just be careful she’s a fair drop”. We climbed up a steep embankment and as we crested it was yet another unforgettable sight. At first look it just seemed like a denser glade of trees with a gap in the middle. The embankment had concealed it but there was the unmistakable sound of rushing water. Robert pulled back the bushes in front of us revealing a track. The track wasn’t well worn or very wide for that matter but easily made out. “STAY ON THE TRACK”, he insisted finger pointed. Subservient in acknowledgement I said nothing and followed the 2 as the started walking down the track. Immediately I knew why. There was a sheer drop right next to us that fell to a river underneath so far off I could just make it out. Scared to look I went eyes front and held Missy’s shoulder fearful of falling. The ground was dew soaked and this was flat out dangerous. Even she was watching her steps. Then again from behind a thicket of bushes, came the reward. The Gully opened up to a small but open area where I could see it fully. It was long thin and narrow with a fallen tree that crossed it like a bridge. Yes yet again another bridge. It was a huge old Gum tree and had been embedded so deeply into the two sides that it was flush to each side of the divide. On the other side was another small clearing and it almost looked like a purpose built crossing. I now think it was. Robert and his Sister quickly scrambled across the old tree bridge arms extended to give them balance and I followed carefully looking at my feet to make the next step safe. They had done this hundreds of times but this was my first but still I wanted to show them I wasn’t scared and avoid being laughed at again. It didn’t work. A little over half way across I mistakenly looked away from my feet and realised I was very high up on a tree in the middle of nowhere and this was extremely dangerous. Fear of heights kicked in and I froze. I slowly got down onto all fours and began crawling towards the other side keeping my eyes firmly on them who were of course hysterically laughing at me. Then like Smithy it was my turn to hear invisible voices. From behind came another set of laughter. I stopped and tried to dart a look behind but couldn’t as I was too scared to turn my head and held on. I again I started making my way towards with the laughter from both sides louder and Missy was bent over holding her side as Robert pointed. This wasn’t funny and I was in complete terror and three quarters of the way across completely froze and couldn’t move. Missy, still laughing saw this for what it was and started towards me to help. Robert screaming in laughter said “na he’s nearly here let him go’” at which she returned to the other side. Although I’m sure it was funny to them they were now taunting me and I felt like I was being bullied. I sat there and sat there with laughter and yelling from both sides. Then came a voice I recognised but couldn’t quite make out from behind and it said: “You’re OK silly” I knew that voice but who was it. It sounded like another Kid but who, and who would be out here? I was confused by the voice and it distracted me from my fear enough for me to summon the courage to continue on to the other side. When I finally got there I was furious and screamed at Missy and Robert for abandoning me. They realised how scared I was or maybe just worried by my yelling at them and apologised. I said who’s on the other side. Robert said “Oh that’s just the Aborigines’”. Now I’ll spare you the History lesson but there were no natives in Tasmania they had all been slaughtered in Tasmania’s very dark past. So knowing this I said to Robert come on “stop playing I know that’s not Aborigines who is it!” He insisted it was in a straight faced manner that was sincere. I turned to the other side and could see no-one. Still angry and frustrated at what made no sense I yelled out: “Who is there?” No answer came just muffled giggling. So I yelled out again “Who’s there?” I got the same reply so I used the Aussie bush call of coowee Then that same familiar sounding voice answered. “It’s me silly” That Familiar voice was that of a little girl I knew well. It was Tina. I have never been as confused as I was at that moment. The stories had fully arrived and Tina had announced them. I didn’t understand and sought confirmation from Robert of what I had just heard. He said it was just something about chips. He put his hand on my back like Father and Child and quietly said. “Aborigines are clever like that”. Missy almost dismissively started walking away. “Come on let’s go see.”I wanted to get an answer but there was no way I was going back across that log alone and followed them. It was a long journey back to the farm. I couldn’t talk it was all too much. I went back into myself both in the same introspection I had after Tina’s Death. Roberts’s explanation of the wise Aborigines and his seeming acknowledge that what I had experienced as being normal was inexplicable and confusing. Hearing Tina’s voice and what she had said was the same but even so it brought my grief to a conclusion. This confusion over time has become the norm for me. Over time I neither doubt or question and I’ve have learned just to accept the stories. I feel that whatever and wherever the Stories are they are partially sent to me by Robert and Missy to learn what they are; even though I still don’t know I have learned to accept them. My introspection wasn’t allowed to linger as when we returned to the shack we were put straight to work in the field in the back breaking work of digging up potatoes. After the sun went down we another delicious dinner and went straight to bed. I was so exhausted I went to sleep immediately. The next day I was again stirred in the dark but this time by Mr Glen who took us back out to the field where we dug up potatoes all day. I sometimes wonder if my visit was not a gesture by him but a way to get an extra pair of hands. On the Sunday night after dinner I was again exhausted and Mr Glen called me into his sitting room. “You’ll do city boy” he grunted at me. Tell your Dad I’ll drop in some spuds when I go to town to thank him for letting you come.” I thanked him still terrified of him but dying to say “A bag of spuds is that all I get for all my work?” of course I didn’t and went off to another good night’s sleep. The next Morning yet again before dawn we were woken this time by Roberts Mother. “Come on city boy off to school.” Then, as in all school day homes, came the rush of half asleep children and flustered Mothers trying to motivate them on their way. As we were leaving Mr Glen appeared and he and Mrs Glen walked us to the gate. I said my goodbyes and thankyous. Just as we were leaving Mr Glen grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. “You are welcome to come again Iain” (Hurray he does know my name I thought) “Missy told me you went to the Gully. When you do come back remember the Gully’s not allowed that’s for Blackfellas”. Sorry Mr Roberts but I really want to go back to the Gully. I hope to one day. I miss Tina and you all. After School I went home and told everyone about my adventure. My Dad was particularly amused when I told him about how hard I had to work and seemed smug when I told him of the bag of spuds, “A lesson well learned Iain“ was his answer. “Never think Farmers are poor they live a great life, I bet you encountered a wonder or 2 in the Wilderness as well. It seems to have changed you for the better.” If he only knew, a lot later I found out he did.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Jul 2014 08:32:18 +0000
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