In those days large American cars were popular among the Australians who loved racing them, so it was common on our morning bus rides to Evetts Field (near Range E) to encounter the wreckages. We would also see kangaroos boxing and pairs of emus, emuing. In fact, it was during the hundreds of journeys on that 30-mile route (48-km) that I developed a keen (bushman's?) eye that made the desert suddenly come alive with normally unseen creatures. I was able to take advantage of this a few years later in Kenya when I was one of only two people in a party of twenty who immediately spotted a nearby Giraffe - the rest never saw it. I didn't ask where the other guy got his bushman's eye.
Living in huts like that we were close to the natural world. We were also able to make conversation with our neighbours without paying them an actual visit. One morning I was awakened at about 5am by a thumping noise, followed by, 'Can you see that crow, Les?' (craa, craa, craa). More thumps, then, 'Can you see that crow, Morrie?' (craa, craa) Thump. Thump, thump, can you see the crow, Pete? Then ... 'BOOM' and craaaaa, followed by silence. And we all went back to sleep.
You see, we slept with our doors open in the hot weather and that made it convenient for people wanting to discharge firearms without interrupting their rest.
Then there was the swy school situated in the centre of the mens' quarters, with a curtained doorway to keep in the light and preserve its secrecy. The fact that the players' voices could be heard from 50 yards away was neither here nor there , 'I'll back the tail, I'll back the tail' and 'I'm bringing him in, lads, hands up!'. I've always considered myself to be fairly rational but some of the things I saw in that place made me acutely superstitious. Like the way the regular tail backers would change sides for a particular spinner who would then throw 13 heads in a row. Apparently they'd sensed he was on a lucky streak. I'll swear he was using the same dice as the rest of us (marked in heads and tails!). Occasionally the chief copper would stagger in, ostensibly plastered, with a 'Where-on-earth-can-I-be?' look on his face. He would speak to nobody but play for a while and then stagger out. The management didn't like him there but at least it meant that he couldn't charge anyone else with illegal gambling. The Management, a well-heeled young man who worked in the kitchens, ended his days hanging from a tree in an Adelaide suburb, having crashed his white MG sports car under legal pursuit, or so rumour had it.
At weekends I sometimes went for a long hike in the desert, alone
and wearing only flip-flops and swimming trunks. I would stay within
a mile or so of the pipeline which had valves (to water the sheep?) which
would provide a drink and shower at the same time. The chances of
meeting anyone out there were almost nil and I sometimes reflected on the
likelihood that I was walking on ground that no other human had ever trod.
After all, those were the days before mass-produced, 4-wheel-drive domestic
vehicles. On one occasion I decided to emulate the aborigines and
remove my trunks. The result was that my backside peeled about seven times
and then turned completely black, or so I was told.
(Continued in Memories 21b).
Norman (Vic) Vickers
Lincolnshire, UK
E-mail: home@normanvickers.go-plus.net
(Thu, 20 Sep 2001)
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Memories of Woomera |
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