Mischief not so grand
I guess adults in the town wonder about things that may have happened in their time, like the few missing packets of cigarettes and soft drinks from machines. The odd broken window and forced entry where nothing was taken. While I wouldn’t think of admitting to any crime as a matter of public record or passing on long held information of youthful/teenage transgressions, please be assured that the smokes and drinks were well shared. In fact, some of the plunder was hidden and buried in very secret spots. As a matter of fact, some of us had a number of caches around the place and in a lot of cases I imagine they have lain undisturbed for 30 odd years.
The bar staff at the ELDO Mess probably wondered how they sometimes ended up short the odd 18 gal Keg from time to time. Well, I won’t cop it for that one, but I do remember spying on some of the older boys on a number of occasions. I don’t know how they opened those kegs, but I suspect they may still in mint condition somewhere out by Phillip Ponds.
Who could forget the Woomera sewerage farm, the town virtually lived on the second grade water. As a younger lad my friends and I used to wonder at the fascination the sewerage farm held for some of the older boys. We followed them secretly one day and from the safety of the black caves watched their every move. They seemed to do a whole lot of nothing but eventually departed with armfuls of green weeds, weird huh.
Guns, Motorbikes and Rabbit traps
For us kids, we considered we had the best play ground in the world,
when we looked out at the “donga” we saw more than just a oppressive gibber
desert. We instead saw the multitude of different landscapes from sand
dunes to interesting little creeks, salt lakes, claypans, caves, deserted
homesteads and many other wonders. Mind you even
as young kids we had the tools to tackle our wonderland, many of
us had motorcycles, slug guns, the odd .22 and rabbit traps. What more
could a lad want.
We had real adventures - from taking pot shots at Americans on motorcycles to blasting crows and rabbits (this may seem a little brutal and I certainly wouldn’t condone it today but it was great fun). Thinking back, it was a wonder that none of us was shot and killed as there was the odd long range gunfight with .22s between rival groups.
During my time I did see numerous gunshot wounds, thankfully these were slug gun (air rifle) wounds and usually well covered by the time the recipient went home. I do remember one incident in our group when Gwyn Rich shot Darren Christie in the chin. Blood streaming from the wound the rest of us rolling around laughing and Gwyn almost beside himself offering his gun to Darren if he didn’t tell his dad. I didn’t escape my time without being ‘wounded’. I remember peeping through a fence of my mate Philip Oldfield’s house when his big brother Paul took a pot shot at me which came through the inch hole from 20 yards and struck me just below the right eye. Ouch, but what a great shot. (Lets not mention the consequences of another few millimetres.)
I remember vividly sitting out around a dwindling campfire at Phillip Ponds scaring ourselves witless with talk about the min min and our own nonsensical urban myths, or returning late to the village and having to walk through the cemetery in the pitch black.
Who could forget cracker night in Woomera, in fact we were lucky we had two. Thanks to our American friends the 4th of July gave us another excuse. These of course were the days where kids could buy and use ordinance that is for obvious reasons illegal nowadays. The squib, penny banger, right up to the awesome thunder which could obliterate a letter box. Who could forget the fantastic 4th of July fireworks, the free Sloppy Joes and hot dogs and the times the fireworks went off with out warning prematurely ending the show before it got under way.
Phil Spehr
Ex 4 Karnang St / Ex Flat 346 Dewrang Avenue
ymee@dodo.com.au
E-mail: ymee@dodo.com.au
(22 August 2003)
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Memories of Woomera |
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