Explanation
Before I moved to Denmark I was living in Australia. Over a period of four years, I travelled up, down and around this fantastic continent. I travelled by motor-bike – 35,000 kms – as well as by bus, train and a lot of hitch-hiking. I also gathered material for this book by interviewing people I met.
The book consists of my own story punctuated by the stories of these wonderful, historically fascinating, Australian characters.
There are 120 pages, with 26 chapters most of which are short. It is a fun read with a fast pace plus that ‘can’t put it down’ touch. Some of the chapters are controversial.
Chapter One. Arrival Sydney, then north to Cairns, and Cooktown.
Chapter Two. Cooktown. Hans, musician
Chapter Three. from Cooktown back to Cairns and then further south back to Sydney.
Chapter Four. Sydney to Melbourne. University student.
Chapter Five. Melbourne to Mildura. Grape picking.
Chapter Six. Mildura. Murray, spiritual cook and vegetarian.
Chapter Seven. from Mildura to Melbourne, Adelaide and Glendambo.
Chapter Eight. Glendambo. Carmel. Safari operator.
Chapter Nine. Coober Pedy Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. (Ayers Rock and The Olgas)
Chapter Ten. Alice Springs. Darwin.
Chapter Eleven. Darwin. Aboriginal woman.
Chapter Twelve. leaving Darwin for Sydney, via Three Ways and Townsville.
Chapter Thirteen. Cloncurry, Northern Queensland. Ted Burke. Adventurer, farmer.
Chapter Fourteen. from Cloncurry to The Gold Coast.
Chapter Fifteen. Australian Barrier Reef. Boat Skipper.
Chapter Sixteen. Jondaryan Woolshed. Joe Goulding. Drover, stockman.
Chapter Seventeen. from Jondaryan to Tasmania.
Chapter Eighteen. Tasmania. John, Duke of Avram.
Chapter Nineteen. from Tasmania to Melbourne. The Overlander train to Adelaide. The Ghan to Alice Springs and from there, by motor-bike, back to Darwin.
Chapter Twenty. from Darwin to Port Hedland and out into the desert to work in a line camp – mining iron ore.
Chapter Twentyone. Port Hedland, Western Australia. Don McLeod. Miner. Human rights activist.
Chapter Twentytwo. from Port Hedland to Perth.
Chapter Twentythree. Perth, Western Australia.
Chapter Twentyfour. Lotto winner. Western Australia.
Chapter Twentyfive. from Perth across the Nullarbor to Adelaide, and Port Elliot.
Chapter Twentysix. from Adelaide to Melbourne and then on to Sydney where the whole journey started, and now ends.
*
No Worries.
Introduction.
He jumped up and set out at a vigorous pace. If he had stopped to think, it might have dawned on him….. He was not stupid. Far from it. He was a much more than ordinarily thoughtful man. But he was impatient. He had never, unless forced to, looked at the fundamental
points of a subject in his life.
Hence the fact that he was trudging through the wilderness, ragged, starved, utterly debased and alone, when his was a nature that craved comfort and a place of respect in ordered civilization……….
The solution of the one great problem of his life was admission of his caste to himself and carelessness of what others thought of it.
From “Capricornia”
by Xavier Herbert.
*
Chapter One.
The end of the 20th century was fast approaching and I didn’t want to start another hundred years of solitude in Ireland, so I left. It was a dreary Dublin I left behind that September and, after a short stop-over in London, a delightful spring morning when Maeve Kennedy met me at Sydney airport.
Maeve, from London, had come out to Australia two years earlier and was living in Wollstonecraft when I arrived. Wollstonecraft is situated across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, i.e. on North Shore, where the gardens were in full bloom and the sound of bird calls filled the sweet, warm air.
There were parties everywhere as people celebrated the end of winter with large quantities of alcohol, drugs and barbecued meats. People were friendly and cheerful. I was introduced to vitamin B and zinc tablets which cure all hangovers, even those, I was told, when your teeth hurt. I quickly learned that Australians laugh at anyone and everyone and that nothing is sacred, except Soap Operas and Royal Families.
A long-awaited report on crime and corruption in Australia had just been published and no one was surprised when the juicy bits were suppressed and the author of the report sent on a long holiday. Around that same time the wife of a senior, and infamous, politician vehemently announced to all and sundry – ‘Australia is a Christian country and if foreigners coming here don’t like our Christianity, well, they can go to hell’!
Meanwhile, I spent the days looking around Sydney. In the afternoons l’d get the train back to Wollstonecraft, meet Maeve at the station and together we’d enjoy the slow walk up to her place. Then we’d start into the wine before preparing a meal. Later on we’d visit friends of Maeve’s, or stay home and play Australian ludo. The weekends, if not quite so demanding, were much more hectic, with both afternoon and evening parties. Most nights we didn’t get home until 5 or 6am so, after a few weeks, even the zinc and vitamin B tablets were struggling to keep up.
I wanted to find another girl, from Ireland. We had been going together for a while before she left and, in her latest letter, she told me she was heading for Cairns. Her name was Leslie, I decided to head after her.
Then, in Sydney, I heard of a bloke who wanted to return a car to his parents in Brisbane, but didn’t have the time to drive up there himself. I ‘phoned him, went around to collect the car and the next day was happy to leave Sydney and head north, up along the coast. Two days later I arrived in Brisbane after a journey which was uneventful, apart from my nearly falling asleep at the wheel a few times. Thank goodness I didn’t crash but in the next four years I was not to be so lucky. It took nearly getting killed before I realised I can’t handle driving long distances, not even on a motor bike.
The fellow’s parents invited me to stay for a while, and hold on to the car, so I could have a look around. Like so many Australians, these were friendly, easy going, hospitable and most generous people. Brisbane itself seemed to be a most respectable place with correctly dressed citizens, armed policemen everywhere and an ambience which reminded me of South Africa. After a few days I left Brisbane and travelled by coach to Cairns, further north along the coast, which journey took thirty hours. At first I was going to hitch-hike but was strongly advised against it. On that particular stretch of highway, murder and assault were all the go just then. Sure enough, at one of the road cafés where the coach stopped along the way, I heard about two fellows who had hitch-hiked through there a week earlier. One of them was murdered, the other savagely beaten up.
In Cairns I finally caught up with Leslie. I had been looking forward to seeing her and, with the idea of finding ‘love and fortune’, both of which had eluded me in Ireland, I was full of enthusiasm to see how it would go between us in sunny Australia. Mind you, Marcel Proust once said that he who searches for love is not after happiness but is after pain, so who knows? Anyway the bold Leslie was in the cart with some Queensland surfing hero when I fronted up at the address she had sent me. What with bus-lag, not to mention my up-dragging, I was a bit slow catching on. This gave Leslie time to remove her things from the surfer’s room and relocate them in her own. The next day she told me what the story was.
When she’d arrived in Cairns she’s first stayed at a hostel. Then she’d met these local blokes, one night at Pirate’s bar, and they invited her back to their house. One of them said she could rent a room if she liked, and that’s how it started. The hero in question turned out to be a decent sort and the house itself was charming, one of those old wooden Queensland-style houses, built on stilts. The three residents were John, Meggs and Warren and they all loved the ganja. They also had a large bee-hive on the lounge table, with an old ivy plant creeping in through the window and around this bee-hive. When things got ‘uncool’, the bees would get annoyed. If things continued ‘uncool’ they would then fly out and start stinging people. At parties they were the best of bouncers. With most Australian parties there’s usually one or two ‘yobbos’ who turn up and they often start trouble. The three lads knew how to make the bees real angry, and when it was time to move to the garden. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the ‘yobbos’ would come charging out, shouting and roaring as the bees started to sting them. It was great fun.
After a few days Leslie said she didn’t feel comfortable in the house, so we moved out and into one of the new apartments on Lake street, just across from Cairns Base Hospital. Cairns itself is a beautiful place with big wide streets, lined with mango trees, plus the magnificent Esplanade which looks out over the quiet mudflats.
We heard that these were to be filled in and covered with more ‘development’ – thus continuing the now more than 200 years old tradition in Australia of ‘rip her out and sell it’. The house on Abbott street has since been knocked down, and replaced by yet another hotel block, thus speeding up the process whereby Cairns is quickly losing its unique Queensland charm and joining the ranks of identical ‘tourist centres’, all over Australia.
Anyway, one day Leslie was asked to deliver a vehicle back to an Englishman who lived on the edge of the rain forest, further up the coast, at Cape Tribulation. No easy trip I can tell you. Leslie asked me did I want to come, I certainly did. The van was a bit of a jalopy but Leslie somehow managed to get us there in one piece. I wasn’t much help, probably more of a hindrance, especially with my silent comments on her driving abilities, but we did manage to have a lot of laughs when the thing stalled in the middle of a river-crossing and wouldn’t start again. The area was notorious for crocodiles. Luckily for us it wasn’t too long before some bloke came along in a 4WD, and pulled us out.
Ken, the Englishman, unlike many of his fellow countrymen, turned out to be interesting. He had abandoned a career in the Sydney Opera House, for a life ‘in nature’. The rain forest was absolutely fantastic and we had a great time. Even a few days stay in this lovely spot would surely be enough to convince most people that the destruction of rain forests can only be described as tragic folly. However, in Loyal Queensland, architects of such folly seem to thrive, as do corrupt and ruthless real estate agents, not to mention their even more corrupt politician ‘mates’. The net result of this Christian enterprise is that the once uniquely beautiful and majestic Cape Tribulation area, is today carved up into scores of ugly little ‘units’.
After a few days Leslie and I got a lift back to Cairns with a friend of Ken’s. Then, a week or so later, things started to cool off between us. I asked her did she want to come with me around Australia in a kombi-van I proposed to buy. She declined, so I told her I was going to set off by myself. I later decided not to buy the van but to hitch-hike instead, first up to Cooktown, also on the coast, and from where I hoped to hitch an airplane ride to Thursday Island.
The journey north was remarkable. First I hitch-hiked to Cape Tribulation with no great difficulty. I had to walk the last bit, through the rain forest, out to Ken’s place where I stopped for a few days. He introduced me to three girls he’d met and with whom we went ‘skinny-dipping’, i.e. naked, for shells and things. This was exciting enough, especially when the young ladies were climbing back on board the boat. The next day I headed up through the rain forest on the new mud road, about which there had been much controversy. Few people used the road, because it was so dangerous, and I waited for two days beside a creek before getting a lift. Rain forests are lovely places, and all the rest of it, but, once the sun goes down, out come the mosquitoes, as big as donkeys, and they’d eat you alive.
At last, early the second morning, this car came along with a young bloke driving straight to Cooktown. I got in and we headed off. It was like being in the dodgems at a carnival only this didn’t stop after ten minutes, it went on for hours and how we didn’t get killed I don’t know. However, we arrived safely that afternoon, hot, thirsty, hungry and filthy dirty as we’d had to get out and push the car in the mud a few times. When we got there this bloke announced that he had now ‘done Cooktown’ and would quickly drive back to the Daintree crossing for the last river-ferry before nightfall! I managed to convince him to stay and at least have something to eat, at the café in town. It was my shout. Afterwards I nearly went with him rather than face this hot, strange place but stubbornness prevailed, and I stayed. After waving him goodbye I went across to the Cooktown Hotel to get a room for the night. Cooktown was like a town in the old Wild West movies, with only one Main Street and not a lot more.
The next morning I was up early and went for a walk down by the wharf. It was about 6 o’clock but already people were out fishing and enjoying the soft heat of a tropical morning. I got talking to this German fellow, Hans, who was there looking on and greeting mates of his. He looked and sounded very content as he proudly told me he had been living in Cooktown for nearly thirty years. When I told him I was aiming for Thursday Island he told me there was a small airport, just outside Cooktown, and that I might be able to hitch a ride there, with one of the private planes. A few hours later I hitch-hiked, by land, out to the airport. A bloke driving a jeep stopped and told me it was an un-manned airport, there would be no one out there and that, as he was doing nothing in particular just then, he’d drive me out and let me see for myself. A woman and a small boy were with him and this was John Bird, his wife Susan, who is from Papua New Guinea, and their youngest child, Johnny. As it happened, an airplane had just landed when we drove up, and Hans was there talking to a group of people, but nothing was doing as far as a ride to T.l. was concerned. John and Susan offered to run me back into town and then invited me around to their house for lunch.
First I went back to the hotel and at one o’clock I went up to their place and had a delicious feed of fish, which Susan had caught and cooked, followed by lots of juicy mangoes. John was telling me stories about his 30 years in PNG, Papua New Guinea, and about what he had been doing there. Then four more children raced in from school, on their lunch-break, and there was a lot of laughing and shy introductions. When they went off back to school John told me he wanted to paint the roof of his house and offered me a place to stay, plus tucker, if I helped him working on a one-day-on, one-day-off basis. I accepted his offer, moved into their caravan in the garden and started working the next morning around 5.30 am.
By 11am a corrugated roof in Cooktown gets so hot the brush starts sticking to it as you paint, and so does your skin if you touch the roof. I worked only in the early mornings and late afternoons, with a long break for lunch in the middle of the day. For the first few days I used to sleep for a few hours after lunch but then one day I decided to go for a walk and have a look around the place instead.
First I walked up the street, away from the town, to check out the local launderette which was about three streets away. I walked along slowly in the scorching heat, on ground which was baked dry and hard. The launderette was on the left hand side of a long and wide residential avenue. Every twenty metres or so there was a fine big tree standing, i.e. both sides of the street were lined with these beautiful trees. There was no one around and the heat was so strong, there was a veritable hum in the air. Then I heard some noise behind me and looked around. Coming along the path I saw about seven or eight small children, boys and girls. Judging by the time, plus the satchels which were nearly as big as the children themselves, I guessed they were on their way home from school. Now they were gathered around a tree, chirping and chattering away happily together. Then, suddenly all together, they skipped along quickly to the next tree where they stopped for more discussion. I myself had stopped beside another tree in whose direction they were heading. Slowly it dawned on me what they were doing. As a child I had done the same, only in Ireland it was to get out of the cold rain. Here these children were getting out of the sun, they were running from the shade given by one tree to the shade given by the next.
Suddenly they were at my tree, with nearly all of them talking at the same time. Like young chics they stepped on and around each other, all jostling for a good spot to land. I was surrounded by lots of tanned little arms, legs and brightly coloured cotton clothes and I could smell their lovely childish freshness. They seemed not to notice I was there and then they were off again, the run from tree to tree being executed not with any great excitement but as a necessary interruption to their lively gatherings at each stop.
Launderettes are the same everywhere so, after looking around this one for a minute, I walked back down the town. Like I said, Cooktown has one long main street with about a dozen buildings on either side and that’s it, a quiet place. I went over to the supermarket and bought a bottle of juice. At the cash-desk there was a girl in front of me paying for her purchases. We were the only customers and I thought l’d seen her before someplace.
– So you decided to stay, she said, packing her things into cardboard boxes. Then I remembered she was eating at the café the day I got something to eat with the bloke who gave me the lift. I got a bit of work, I told her. I heard, you’re painting John and Susan Byrd’s roof, she said and added, word gets around quickly here. Hej look, she asked me, can you do me a favour? She wanted me to carry the boxes out to her car. For a moment I wondered why she couldn’t carry at least one of them herself but okay, I said, put my juice in one of them, placed it on top of the other and lifted them up. Then I noticed she was limping and had a bandage around her left foot. When I was at sea, i.e. working on ships, I learned that usually it’s best not to ask questions so I said nothing. Over here she said, pointing to a big old juice-guzzling station wagon. As she opened the back door she explained it wasn’t her car. Her’s was a ute, (a utility truck) she told me. Some bloke down at the garage had loaned her this one, which was automatic. See, she said pointing, I can only use one foot. There was a huge dog on the back seat, which didn’t look too pleased to see me, and it was growling. It’s okay Caesar, she said to it and told me l’d be alright. I put the boxes into the back and closed up the door. Thanks she said. No worries, I told her.
Look, what are you doing, she asked me. Having a look around, I told her. Yeah, well, if you like you could come out and have a look around my place. How far out do you live, I asked. Oh, in this heat, about an hour’s walk, or five minutes in the car, I can run you back in, it’s no trouble. Okay, thanks, I’d like to. Hop in then, she said. When Caesar started growling again she told him to ‘quit it’. He’s only showing off, she informed me, but don’t try to pet him or he’ll bite you. Caesar was the size of a small horse, I had no intention of going near him.
Inside the car was hot. About my foot, she said, a fishing accident nearly six weeks ago. She’d been out with a bloke she referred to as ‘this dumbo’ and she’d caught a fish called I can’t remember what. Anyway it had spikes along its back. When she got it on board ‘dumbo’ had moved about like he shouldn’t have, which made her lose her balance, and she trod on the fish. Three spikes went into her foot. They were barbed and the fish was still alive, jumping around. Luckily they had a tool kit with a pair of pliers, which they used to snap off the spikes. Then ‘dumbo’ had panicked a bit and flooded the outboard motor. Eventually they got in to the shore and he’d driven her to an Aboriginal fellow who knew about these fish. Instead of trying to pull the spikes out he’d pushed them right through the foot. She told me she’d been screaming enough for them to hear in Sydney. Now the foot was nearly better. The pain was all gone except if she knocked it or walked more than a few metres on it.
Then we turned right and right again up a narrow lane and stopped outside an old house. You could see the sea. Nice, eh? she said getting out and opening the door for Caesar. Yes, I agreed, you’ve got a nice view here. When I got out, Caesar started growling again. He won’t touch you, don’t worry, she informed me. I’d heard that before and it always made me worry. I got back in the car. She told him to ‘go home’, which was under the house, and he went. Taking a tray from beside the steps, she washed it under a tap before filling it and putting it down for him. Okay, you can come out now. I got out and lifted the shopping boxes from the back. She held the fly-door open for me and said, ‘Welcome’. Thank you I said, where do I put these? Straight through to the kitchen, she pointed and followed me. In the kitchen she sat down saying the foot was now throbbing a bit. You tell me where things go and I’ll pack them away, I told her. It took about ten minutes.
It’s always interesting to see what people have in their fridge and cupboards, or what they buy in supermarkets. One thing here was there were no cigarettes, the fridge didn’t smell and you could see she wasn’t big on junk food. You know something, she asked. What’s that, I asked. You’re funny. So why aren’t you laughing, I asked her. No, really, I mean it, she said, I’ve only just met you but it feels like you have been here for ages. It’s because I’m so domesticated, I informed her. Oh, is that it, she said and got up. lf you’ve only just met me why did you invite me here, I asked. At first she didn’t say anything.
After a minute or two she told me that for the past month she’d been stuck in the house by herself, she’d gotten the wagon on Monday, it was now Friday, gone into town to treat herself to a milkshake at the café and seen me there. Then today she’d gone into town for a shopping trip and again she’d seen me. She was fed up talking to herself, I seemed like a decent bloke so she’d invited me here and does that answer your question? It’ll do, I told her. I am going to get a drink of juice, she said, would you like some? Yes, I told her. She opened the fridge and took out the fat jug of juice, poured two glassfuls and handed one to me. Pretty good, eh? she said as I was still pouring it into me. She was right, it was delicious, made mostly of mangoes. More? Yes, please, I said. Why don’t you sit down, she asked me. I did. So did she and put her injured foot up on another chair.
What are you doing in Australia, and why did you come here, she asked me. The suddenness of it sort of struck me, I didn’t know what to say. I’m travelling around seeing the place and writing a book about it, I told her. Oh yeah, so why’d you come here then, she repeated. I was astonished at her questioning me like this. I thought she was rude, even ignorant. Well, I started, I came here to get away from Ireland, to get away from the cold and rain. For a few long minutes I looked around in my mind at the other whys. There was a lot of them. When I looked at her she was watching me, waiting. I suppose I came here because I felt I was a failure in Ireland and that I could do better out here. She just looked at me. What do you mean by failure, I knew she was asking. I told her I always felt lonely in Ireland, not just that, but I had this feeling that I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt that l’d always be lonely, I told her. She still didn’t say anything. I felt like an idiot for having said so much and that what l’d said seemed stupid.
So what are you doing about it, she asked me. I told you, I’m travelling around and writing a book. I heard you the first time, she said, I’m asking you what do you want in Australia, what do you think you’re going to find here that you couldn’t get back there in Ireland? I forced out a dry sort of laugh and said, love and fortune. What do you mean when you say,‘love’, she banged the nail on the head. Oh wait a minute, I thought, what is this, and how can she be asking me all these questions? The way l’d been dragged up you didn’t ask personal questions, it was rude. And yet she wasn’t really being rude. I looked at her, she was looking straight back at me. She was good-looking, in fact she looked like a pretty boy. I tried to think of what do I mean by love.
Well, you know, I stammered. No, I don’t, that’s why l’m asking you, she said. Girls, I announced. What about them, she asked. Oh God no, l’d got myself rightly cornered and shuddered to think of what I had let myself in for. You want to meet girls here in Australia, is that it, she asked. Yes, I welcomed this simple solution. How many? she fired. I started laughing. Do you want to meet girls or do you want to meet a girl, like a settle-down-with girl? Girls, l repeated without pause. Okay, what do you want with these girls, she asked, when you meet them that is. Well, I’d like them, I mean her, or one of them, to be my girlfriend, I suppose. Okay, you suppose you’d like to have a girlfriend. Well, suppose you did get a girlfriend, what would you want from her? I wouldn’t want anything from her, I protested indignantly. I mean what would you like to do with her, she explained. Oh, well, go swimming together I suppose, just be together and that sort of thing, you know. Wouldn’t you like to touch her, she asked. Of course I would, I said as though she was some sort of fool. I’d like to kiss her and all that good stuff, like my uncle Jim would say. Well, like my aunt Martha would say, what’s keeping you, she said with a wide grin on her good looking face. What do you mean, I asked incredulously. Do I have to spell it out for you, she asked. Yes, I said, you do.
Okay, you’re in Australia, right? Yes. You want to meet girls, right? Yes. Now you’re in Cooktown? I nodded. And you’ve met a girl. I said nothing. And the girl is sitting in front of you, talking to you like this and asking you what’s keeping you? I started laughing again. Ah, wait a minute, I couldn’t, not just like that. What do you mean, not just like what, she asked. I mean we’ve only just met each other, I told her. You don’t like me, is that it? No, that’s not it. You’re scared, aren’t you, she said. Yes, I’m scared. Another hero, she said and laughed. Look, I said, l like you, you are very good looking and all the rest but, anyway I should be going, John Bird will be wondering where I am and he’s expecting me to paint his roof this afternoon, I added, putting down the glass. Okay, she said. Do you want to come back here tonight, I’ll cook supper. Yes, I said, I’d like to. Okay, I’ll run you back into town, drink up, she said, and poured another glassful of juice each.
Can I ask you a question, she said. Is this a joke, l asked her. What do you mean? I mean you have just asked me more questions than l’ve been asked in my whole life and now you’re asking me can you ask me a question! Okay, then, you’re a Catholic, aren’t you? Yes and no, I said. Oh, so you are one of them. What do you mean, I asked. You’ve given it away, haven’t you? Yes, when I was 15. Well, you’d want to watch out, she said. You drink too, don’t you? Sometimes, I half lied. Yes, and you’d want to watch that too.
With the earlier questions, dealing with girlfriends and my desires in that area, l’d felt like a stranded whale but when anyone starts on about religion I feel more like a shark. I was getting angry too. Just what are you going on about, I demanded. Look, she replied, my Dad is Irish, he’s Catholic and he drinks. He’s not a bad bloke really but he’s a bitter old complainer. My Mum left him years ago. You know what, he wouldn’t even go to the beach with us. My Mum tried to help him but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. No, there was nothing the matter with him, he would shout, but there was. And all his old mates, always drinking and talking about how the English should get out of Ireland, it’s not their country and everyone of them frightened out of their wits if a woman came near them. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not saying you’re exactly like them, but I’m telling you mate, you need to watch it. I don’t know what those Irish Catholics do to men, but they’ve done it to you and you can’t change that. Drinking won’t help either, it’ll only make things worse. You should see my Dad, a complete no-hoper. Australia’s full of them, lrish Catholic men, all messed up by religion and drink and going around like heroes as though nothing was wrong. The hardest part is most of them are real good blokes, always friendly and fun to be around. They’re good looking too, my Mum said my Dad was like a film star when she met him. Of course he loved his mother like he loves his old Ireland and all the rest of it, but what about his wife and kids? You love your mother too I bet, and write to her every week, she said in know-all fashion. No, I don’t, l can’t stand the woman, I told her. There was no reply to that so we sat looking at each other for what seemed like a long time.
Oh, don’t mind me, she said, when I get started on about my father, just don’t listen to me. But it’s true, mate, those Catholics, they got you so don’t you try to pretend they didn’t or else you’ll end up crazy, or a bitter old drunk. I couldn’t think of an answer to that. Come on, let’s go, she said and limped out of the house.
Neither of us said anything on the way into town. On a street of vacant lots not far from John and Susan’s place she stopped the car to let me out. Do me a favour will you, she asked, don’t tell John Bird you met me. Okay, I said. I’m a teacher here, she told me, and word goes around quickly. John’s alright, I like him and Susan is beaut, but some of the others! If you think Catholics are bad you should meet some of the Protestant weirdoes we have in Australia. She didn’t need to tell me about Protestant weirdoes.
You know where the museum is, she asked. Yes, I said. Okay, she said, I’ll be outside it just after sunset. I’ll be there I told her. Good, she said. Tell me, I asked her, if your father was such a big Catholic how is it you managed to escape it all? My Mum, she said. From the start she told him he wasn’t to put any of the Catholic stuff on us kids or else she’d leave him. In the end she did leave him but that was because he wouldn’t get himself together. She waited for me to get out of the car. I want to tell you something, I said. What’s that, she asked. You’ve got an awful big mouth, I told her. Yeah, I know, she replied, I got it from my father. She just sat there looking at me and smiling. You can’t beat this one, I thought. Have you got condoms, she asked. Yes, I have, I told her. Good, well don’t be shy, bring them with you tonight and unless you are working this weekend we might just need more than one. I’m not working, I told her. Good, I’ll see you later, she said moving back behind the steering wheel. Remember, don’t say anything. I won’t, I said and got out of the car. She drove off slowly.
When I walked into the garden John was sitting on the porch fixing one of the girls’ bicycles. G’day mate, I thought you’d gone walkabout, he greeted me. I told him I was having a look around and was down at the supermarket. Oh yeah, he said, you don’t look like someone who’s been down at the supermarket, you look more like the cat whose had the cream. You’ve been up to something mate, I can see it on your face. It was true, when I walked in I must have been grinning like an idiot and then, when John started, he only made me grin more. I liked him a lot and he always made me laugh.
What did you buy then, tell me that, he said. Then I remembered the juice I’d left back at the girl’s place. He was on me like a crocodile and he wasn’t letting go either. You’ve met someone, haven’t you, he eyed me slyly. I said nothing. You’ve met a sheila, that’s it, isn’t it? Well, I’ll be blowed, who is she then, he asked. I’m not telling you, I told him. Well, if that doesn’t beat the band, I was right, Susan! Susan!, he got up shouting and roaring, this rotten no good Irish has gone and met himself a sheila down the town. Can you believe it? Come out Susan, come out here and just look at the state of this bloke!
When Susan came out I was still grinning, I couldn’t stop. As soon as she looked at me she started laughing. I grinned wider. She slapped her thighs and laughed more. What exactly she could see I didn’t really know, but I knew she could see it alright. The more she laughed the more I grinned and that only made her worse. Then the children came running out, and the dog. They all started shouting, wanting to know what was going on and the dog ran over and tried to bite me. I let him know I’d kick him so he ran over and started snapping at Johnny, the smallest fellow. He started crying and then the girls were screaming at the dog. Over the top of all this John started roaring, ‘ah stop it’ and ‘that’s enough now, I’m telling you’ which no one took any notice of and only made Susan shriek with laughter. By this stage the dog was running around snapping at everyone and
I’d started laughing as well. John got angry then and shouted ‘ah you lot give me the pip!’ and slammed into the kitchen shouting ‘I’m going to have a beer, that’s what l’m going to do’. John was always as quick as anything. He knew Susan didn’t like him to drink so as soon as he saw a chance, he took it. He wasn’t angry at all, he was only putting the situation to the best possible use.
Sure enough, a minute later he was shouting out to me. Come in here you no good Irish, come in here and have a beer. No thanks, John, I’m going to do some painting. You won’t paint any more today, she’s gone mate, so come in here and have a beer. No thanks, John. I got the ladder out and climbed up on the roof to see where to start, and to get away from the bedlam. As soon as I got up there I realised John was right, the day was gone. The tin roof wasn’t very hot, just nice and warm so I sat down and looked around. Below I could hear John answering the girls’ questions, telling them that I’d met a sheila down the town but wasn’t saying who. He was telling Johnny there was nothing wrong with him and shouting at the girls to put that dog out.
I came down off the roof and put the ladder away. John came out and everything was quiet again. No worries mate, he said, you’ve done enough for today. Come on in and have a tinnie. No, thank you John, I don’t want any. Oh come on mate, you know Susan doesn’t like me drinking, she only let me buy a case because I said it was for you, after you’ve worked all week so come on, mate, let’s have a beer together. Okay, I said, I’ll come in, but no beer. Okay okay, he said, I’m not going to force you. We sat down at the kitchen table. You want a cordial? John asked. He got the jug out of the fridge and put it in front of me with a glass. Help yourself mate, no one else will, he added. To sit down with John like this was pantomime, theatre, adventure and story time all rolled into one. Other times, when we’d both drink beer, he would tell stories until the cows came home. I used to laugh so much, and so would John. After a while he’d be so happy telling stories he’d actually radiate happiness and his children could pick it up, even from the other room where they’d be watching television. Out they’d come and he’d have one of them on his lap, then two, even three with the bigger girls lying across his shoulders and he’d still keep talking. What a great bloke. You couldn’t say he was pretty, but he was totally lovable.
You going out tonight? he asked me. Yes, I told him. And you’re still not telling? I shook my head. That’s okay, I’ll find out later anyway, he smiled and drank some beer. Don’t mind me mate, he said, I’m only kidding you, you know that. I’m glad you’ve met a sheila, I’m happy for you, mate, it’s good for you. He asked me did I want to have a shower, as though entering into a conspiracy. He shouted to one of the girls to fetch a towel for me. When I was having the shower he came in quietly. Here’s some after-shave, mate, Susan’s people sent it from Papua, it’s good stuff. I’m not giving it to you though, you can have some, that’s all. Okay, thanks John, I said. And listen mate, you’re too skinny, you need to get a bit of meat on you, it’s not good you being skinny like that. I know, I said. Okay, don’t use all that after-shave. No, I won’t.
It smelled good too. l got dressed up out in the caravan and, after hanging the towel on the line, went back into the house. The sun was just going down and the whole family was about to eat supper. Oh you smell, one of the girls said. That’s my after-shave you cheeky brat, her father said. You don’t want any supper then, Susan asked me. No thank you, Susan, I told her. Of course he doesn’t, John said, he’s getting his supper somewhere else tonight, but he’s not telling, the rotten Irish. I gave him the after-shave and thanked him. You haven’t used it all have you, he asked, shaking it. The girls were looking at me with wide open eyes. Well, I’ll see you all later, I said. You coming home tonight or what? John asked. I don’t know, I said. Okay then, but you ring here if you get in any trouble, you hear? Yes, Daddy I answered, running over and sitting on his lap. Get off me, you big poofter, he shouted and the whole circus started again. The children were screaming and the dog was barking and trying to bite me. I jumped up and ran out the door. You rotten Irish, John was shouting after me. Then he shouted, go for it, mate and you better tell us when you get home. The girls ran out after me saying ‘bye ‘bye and the dog was making a shocking racket. It was just getting dark when I ran up the street past the school.
A few minutes later, as I was walking around the corner to where the museum is, the car drove up and stopped beside me. Am I late, I asked getting in. No, we’re both early, she laughed. I’d picked up some blossoms along the street and gave them to her. She put them behind her ears and asked how she looked as she tried to see herself in the rear-view mirror. You look great, I told her. Thanks, she said and smiled. Then she fixed the mirror, looked around behind her and drove off.
What’s that smell, she asked. It’s John’s aftershave, special stuff from Papua. So you told him then, she said. No, I didn’t tell him anything. Well, I told him I wasn’t going to tell him anything. He sort of tricked me. He guessed I’d met someone and then guessed it was a girl, but he was only guessing. He doesn’t know where I was going tonight, or anything else. He’s just real quick and said he’d find out later anyway. The old goat, she said. He doesn’t mean any harm, I said. Yeah, I know, she said, John’s okay, he just loves gossip.
I related the afternoon’s pantomime, starting with me walking into the garden grinning like a half-wit. When we got to her place she couldn’t get out of the car, she was laughing so much. I kept imitating John and she was saying stop, stop. Next minute Caesar let a roar out of him that put the heart sideways in me. I thought he was going to go for me. Get out Caesar, she shouted at him, opening the back door. Did he frighten you, she said looking at me, you’ve gone all white, mate. I don’t know what’s happened, I said, I think I’ve shit myself. Oh no! she said trying to cover up her laughing. I got out of the car keeping my legs wide apart and put my hands down, feeling. No, it’s okay, I didn’t, I only thought I did. Now she was laughing like a hyena so I kept pretending and feeling down inside my pants and making faces. Then the brute started barking again and jumping about the place. Ah shut up you mongrel, I suddenly shouted at him and can you believe it, he did, slouching off under the house. Well, I’ll be blowed, she said.
Inside the house I asked could I give her a hand with anything. Give me a hug, she said. Oh yes, okay, I said. She got me by the head with her two hands and started kissing me. I first held her by the rib cage and then moved down to her waist, her hips and her bum. Through her dress I could feel she had funny sort of pants on underneath. Next I was hugging her and she was pressing herself against me. She’d washed her hair and smelt good enough to eat. Who’s got a hard-on, she asked. It’s only a book I‘m reading, I told her. Well you can put it away until later, she laughed, we’re going to eat now. Are you hungry, she asked. Letting go of her felt like having a piece torn off me and for a moment I stood there stunned. I thought I was starving, I said, but now I don’t know what I am. Well sit down, she said.
About three or four times she stomped in and out carrying different dishes and things. She wouldn’t let me help so I just watched her. She was beautiful. The dress she was wearing looked good too. It was made of silk and was like a painting, as though the painter had put a lot of different colours on all over the place, no actual design or anything, just colours. Signal red, sky blue, yellow, green, brown, purple and violet. In a fun way she had picked out the purple, with a piece of material of the same colour which she had put over the bandage on her foot. You’re dress looks good, I said as she passed by. The next time I told her the foot looked good too. She told me she was fed up looking at the bandage all the time. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful. Quit talking, she said, and start eating. Okay, I said, and what a meal it was. We didn`t say much, we just ate and looked at each other, smiling every now and then. How come you’re so skinny, you eat like a hog, she said. I scare easy, maybe that’s why, I told her. Yeah, that’s probably it, she said.
After a while we were both full and I thanked her for a delicious meal. She said she was glad I’d enjoyed it and asked did I want anything else. I didn’t, except to say something. What’s that, she asked. It’s about what’s between pretty and good-looking. What do you mean, she asked. I mean it’s not only girls who are pretty and boys who are good-looking, I mean you are both. You are a very pretty girl but in fact you look more like a boy. What I’m trying to say is I think you are beautiful. Is that what you want to say, she asked. Yes, I said, you are beautiful. Thanks, she said. That’s okay, I told her. I wanted to tell you that since this afternoon but I couldn’t, you’re not annoyed or anything, are you? Why should I be annoyed, she asked. About me saying you look like a boy. No, I’m not annoyed she said, I know I do, it doesn’t bother me and it didn’t bother me when you said it. Good, I said, that’s okay then. Yeah, that’s okay, will you do something for me, she added. Do what, I asked. Help me with the dishes. Sure I will, I told her. In fact, in my book if one person cooks then the other one cleans up after, but she wouldn’t let me so we did them together. It took about half an hour. In the tropics, if you’ve got sense, you don’t leave dirty dishes lying around.
Then we went back in and sat on the settee and she showed me a few photo-albums. There was a lot of pictures of her and her friends, mostly on the beach with the surfing hero types. There was a few of her with other girls on some beach all with no clothes on. Then a few of her mother who, she told me, works for a fashion company in Sydney. Then various boyfriends who looked like various boyfriends and a few of her father who looked like a right hard case. And then that was enough of pictures, so she put them away. She asked could she sit on my lap. Sure, I said. Hold me, she said, so I put my arms around her. Will you sleep here tonight, she asked. You mean with you, I asked. With me, she replied. Okay, with you, yes, I said, yes. Did you bring condoms? Yes, I repeated. Will we go to bed now, she asked. Good idea, I said. Carry me, she said, please. Okay. I got up and leaned down over her so she could put her arms around my neck. Then I lifted her and tried to straighten up. Jesus, you’re heavy, I said as I started plodding off towards the bedroom. She began slipping immediately and I knew I couldn’t manage it. We’d only gone a few steps so I turned back towards the sofa. I can’t hold you, I was shouting. She was laughing. I knew I was going to drop her and I did, I just dropped her.
Luckily she fell onto the sofa and not the floor. She didn’t even hurt her foot, she was roaring laughing. I think l’ve hurt my back, I said, holding it. This only made her laugh more and she was trying to say something to me through the laughing. Wimp! She was calling me a wimp! Don’t you call me a wimp you fatty, I shouted at her. You big fat heap, I said and started tickling her. She was screaming ‘wimp’ and I was shouting fatso, and tickling her. Actually she was skinny. Then I stopped because she was gasping for breath. Peace, I offered. Okay, peace, she agreed. And then suddenly things got a bit serious, like physical, and it felt as though her tongue was in my stomach. After a minute or so we both got up and went into the bedroom. I didn’t carry her, she held on to me and hopped in on the good foot.
I took off my t-shirt. She opened her dress, let it fall down, stepped out of it and hung it on the wardrobe. She looked fantastic. Her pants were boxer shorts made of the same silk as the dress. They had a bright red band around the waist, bright yellow edges around each leg and blue strips up the sides. They look great, I said. Thanks, she said, my Mum made them for me, and the dress. That’s some mother you have, I told her. Yeah, she’s great, get your pants off. In one move I took them both off. She pulled the cover back and we got on the bed, which was huge. Do you want to fuck or make love, she asked. This sort of took me by surprise, I didn’t know what to say, so I quickly answered, both what about you? Mate, I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked in your life before, or will be again. Taking off her shorts she said, by the time I’m finished you won’t know what’s up or down and that’s how an Australian girl makes love, Australian style, she told me. That’s okay by me, I told her.
At first it was a bit awkward, all elbows with arms and knees getting in the way, plus I had to watch out not to kick her sore foot. But it was okay. I want to sit up on you, she said. No worries. She got on top. Smiling down at me she took a condom and carefully put it on my prick which she then held against her fanny and sat down so I went up inside her. She looked wonderful sitting there. Her hands were on my belly and she was squirming herself around on me. Your prick feels good inside me, she said. It feels okay from this end too, I told her. She pinched me on the stomach and ouch, it hurt. Then she lay down on me and we were kissing. Don’t come yet, she said. No, I won’t, I told her.
After a while she wanted me to be on top of her. She held my backside so my prick stayed in and stuck her bad foot away out to the edge of the bed so I wouldn’t knock against it. I was nearly going to come, so we didn’t move for a few minutes. Outside I could hear the insects making their noise and that was all, except a loud sort of silence. I could feel her heart beating, or maybe it was my own. I could feel her thighs, her belly, her breasts and her face against mine. l was holding her head with my fingers like a comb through her hair. She had short hair like a boy. Then everything was okay again and like a steam-engine I was ready to go. I moved back up off her a bit. My prick was like a pole, it felt like I could lift her up with it. Looking at her face and eyes, I slowly drew out, but not fully. Then I pushed right into her, quickly. Again I slowly withdrew, waited and again plunged right into her. After a few minutes her face changed and she started moaning. I kept doing it and then a little bit quicker. She started howling. I’d read how to do it like this in a book written by a fellow called Frank Harris. He was travelling around the United States, and meeting beautiful black girls. l was travelling there too at the time. I drove this car from Cape Cod to Los Angeles via Albuquerque where I stayed for a while with a great character called Sean O’Leary. He had a big crucifix in his garden. Instead of Jesus he had Micky Mouse nailed up there. It was hilarious. Meanwhile back in Cooktown things were getting wild and I was trying to think of anything to stop me coming early. Then she started shouting she was going to come so I went for all out. It was like two road-trains running into each other head-on, keeping on going straight up in the air together and then collapsing back down again in slow motion.
I can tell you one thing, I didn’t know whether we were up on the bed or down on the floor, I didn’t know where I was. After a while I realised I was lying like a sack of potatoes on top of her and we were still on the bed. Carefully I held the condom in place and moved back so my prick came out of her. This is the only bad thing about using condoms, you’ve got to be careful right to the end and not fall asleep or lie there together after you’ve come. It’s a bit like having to get out of a warm bed to turn off the light before you can go asleep but at least it’s better than having to get up and feed a child you didn’t want. Anyway I tied a knot in the condom, wrapped it in a tissue and dropped it on the floor.
The next morning I woke up feeling sweaty. The girl’s hair was wet and stuck to her forehead. It’s the start of the Wet, it’ll be real hot today, she said and sat up. What do you want to do? I’d like to go for a swim, I said. Okay, we’ll pack an eskie and go to a place I know. It’s not much of a beach and there might be stingers in the water but there’ll be no one else there. I need to water the plants, she said. So did I. Then we had a shower. She tied a plastic bag around her foot and put the foot up on a stool. I soaped her as she stood there on one foot and then washed myself. After the shower we went out on the veranda to dry ourselves. There were no mosquitoes then so we lay down on an old bed. I started licking the water off her face and her breasts and then I had to go in and get the condoms. Again she got on top and sat with my prick inside her. We stayed like that for a while talking about what we’d have for breakfast and what we’d bring to the beach. Caesar came out from under the house and watched us for a few minutes before going back under again. She asked me had I ever done this out in the scorching sun. I hadn’t so she said we could give it a go if I liked, but that I’d have to wear a hat. Meanwhile the bed was too narrow for us to switch positions so we went for it with her conducting. When we came we both started laughing, which was funny.
After another shower and then breakfast we packed some food and things and headed off. Caesar came too. The beach wasn’t much, it was dirty looking and there were lots of stones. Still, there was no one else there so we didn’t have to wear clothes. It was very hot so I had a cautious roll around at the water’s edge. I’ve seen pictures of what stingers can do and heard some awful stories about how they destroyed people. A stinger is a large jelly fish, sometimes called a Portugese Man of War.
On the way to the beach the girl said I didn’t know her name and wondered why I hadn’t asked. I told her I liked not knowing her name and that if she told me it would change things. This way there was just her and me and whatever there was between us. If we get married I’ll ask you your name I told her. That’s not funny, she said. It wasn’t either and I was sorry for being stupid. Anyway we agreed to let it sit like it was and not say our names. It felt strange in one way and it felt good, like I didn’t have to explain anything, or myself, to her. She said it was the same for her when I told her this and she never asked me mine. Until later.
When I got cooled off by the water she took a few pictures and showed me some shells she’d found. She had brought a bucket so I helped her down to the water’s edge and poured the salt water over her as she sat in the shallow part with her foot stuck up in the air. Then the heat was becoming unbearable so we called it a day and started packing things up. Everything we touched was roasting hot but at last we got going and cooled off a bit with the windows open. On the way through town we stopped to buy ice-cream. As we were coming out of the cafe I met the German bloke, Hans. We said g’day.
Back at the house we had a welcome shower and afterwards she put aloe vera cream on me, which felt great. We sat out on the veranda talking until the sun went down and then the mosquitoes were out so we went inside and started to prepare a meal. I ‘phoned John to tell him I was staying out again that night. Good on you mate, he said, it’s good you called, and told me to have fun. The girl was telling me afterwards that around here, if you go off someplace, to always ‘phone or else people would think something had happened and they’d be out looking for you.
When we’d eaten and washed up we played records for a while and talked some more before going to bed. During the night the first rain fell and it cooled the place down. We woke up late and listened to the radio from Sydney in bed which was fun. I also read some stories in a Somerset Maughan book which were really good. After breakfast I fixed up an old bicycle of hers which I then borrowed and cycled off on, back to John and Susan’s. Before leaving I told her Id return the next day, after I’d finished painting.
And so it went. I was up the next morning before 5 and painting by 5.30. In the afternoons, when it was too hot, I either sat in the kitchen talking with John or else had a sleep in the caravan. In the evening I’d talk with John and Susan for a while, play with the children and then cycle over to the girl’s place. One afternoon, walking back from the supermarket, I again met Hans who, it turns out, lives just down the road from John and Susan’s, where the old German Consulate used to stand. We got talking. I told him I was writing a book and asked him would he tell me about how he came to Australia and what he thought of it. Strange, he told me is the best word he could use, strange. He invited me around to his place that evening after sunset, and then he would tell me more. When I went around there, we sat out on his back veranda and Hans told me about his life, and Australia. Here is his story.
*
Chapter Two.
Cooktown.
Hans, musician, brave explorer, great worker and business man
When I came over here, that’s the way I saw Australia, strange. This vastness, which Europeans are not used to, this open space, you can get lost, and not just in the country, you can get lost with the people. We have such a variation of people here, it’s not always easy to make a judgement, you have to be very steady in your judgement to get near the point. I never argue the point, if I’m right or if I’m wrong, I only express my opinion and I would not expect that you have the same opinion because you come from a completely different background and living standard.
Now alright, we’re human beings and we have the benefit that we can adapt, we adjust ourselves to circumstances, but this doesn’t mean that you are like those circumstances. You adapt yourself, but your thinking can be different.
Anyway, I came over to this country through circumstances which, more or less, well, it was the end of the line. I was four and a half years in the last war and got my experience there where I did not agree, as a human being, just as a human being I did not agree with what was going on. Never mind which uniform, which language or which side.
It reminds me of my father. We were three boys and we did more or less have to go in this war. Father had been in the first world war. He said to each one of us, now boy, don’t do anything bad in the war, they are good people as what we are, maybe even better. That was a guideline for me through all that time and I can say I am proud of this, that I can go back wherever I was in the war, back to any place because I always tried to run on this guideline, to be human.
Alright, you were forced through the war circumstances that you maybe, well most likely you were forced to kill, or burn houses down and so on. It was under the law. If you refused, well then they shot you, your own army. That’s very easy done. There were thousands of them shot, and hanged, in Germany anyway. At the end of the war everyone saw that it’s just a humbug, what we call a schvindle. Here were all these militarists and generals throwing their uniforms away, and clearing out, but only the day before they were shooting the poor soldier, or hanged him, for cowardice and deserting in front of the enemy.
Anyway it came to this, that in 1954 they started in Germany the army again and I said, oh no, not again. We, that’s my wife and son, he was eight years old, we made our mind up to leave. We could have gone to Canada or South Africa or Australia. Canada was in the northern hemisphere but all wars, major wars anyway, were in the northern hemisphere so that was out. South Africa had this racial problem, it was the Maw-Maw in those days, and so, Australia.
First I started to gather information about what the country and surroundings were like. There was hardly anything known, so I got a map with all the capital cities and here was this place, Cooktown, on it. Automatically, as a European, you think it is one of the bigger places. Then I got hold of a book, printed in 1882, which was the boom time of this place, Cooktown. We couldn’t speak English and in the book it said there’s a German settlement here and I thought, that’s the perfect place to work myself in and so we prepared for all this and made our way to Cooktown. When we got here of course it was a ghost-town, but having only sixteen pounds in the pocket, and a family with me, I did have no other choice than to stay here.
Alright, that’s the way I am, make the best out of it, so I was quickly asking around for a job and I got straight away a job in a saw mill. It was stacking timber, very simple work for which you don’t have to speak and that gave me then a chance to start learning the English language from the blokes. The people were very good and helpful. You know, they could see our handicapped situation, us sitting here and not knowing a thing about anything.
We were living in this old place, it was a derelict building, and the possums were roaming around during the night and we didn’t have the slightest idea what it is. They screamed like cats when they were mating and my wife said, oh, somebody gets murdered now, but, you know, there was nobody around anywhere. Finally I find out that it’s a kind of animal.
Then the flying foxes flying over you sitting on the veranda and then seeing these birds, by Joe, in the thousands, and thinking, hey, what birds are they and then suddenly you couldn’t hear anything, no noise, complete silence. You see, everything was strange, so of course you had to adapt yourself. We were stranded, we were by ourselves and we couldn’t ask anyone for help so we said okay, first thing learn the language, earn a bit of money and we clear out again.
As things happened we stayed. I was still working in the saw mill, only about four or five months here then, and they heard that I can play instruments. In Germany I used to play in orchestras but I don’t know how it comes out, I mean how the people got to know I could play, because most of the time I didn’t understand what they were talking.
Anyway they approached me if I would play music. Oh, I said, I have no instruments, so anyway they brought me an old tenor horn. You can’t play dance music with a tenor horn, alright you can play a few solos but not for the average dance music, like ‘Pride of Erin’ and so on. That music was completely new to me. The first dance which I played here was on St. Patrick’s Day, for old Father Breen, a real Irishman, oh he was as hard as a rock I can tell you, and from then on we played nearly every evening. There was Mrs Ward, she’s still around, she’s really the gentle side of this country, the real ‘girl in a million’. Anyway she was playing piano and Jim Savage on the drum. I organized back from Germany a trumpet and a saxophone and that’s how we got started. Of course, when you were playing for dances, and that was the only entertainment in this town because there was nothing here, you’d be straight away on the platform and you meet everyone and so on.
Well, after two years finished we were intending to leave but the Chairman and the Postmaster and Council Foreman, he was President of the R.S.L., they came and said, oh no Hans, don’t go away, look we give you anytime a job. People were good so we said alright, why should we start somewhere else, here everyone knows us and our handicapped communication situation, so we stayed.
After we made up our mind that we stay, we said this will be our home, and for our kids too. So that’s what I took for granted, that you had to put yourself in the community life as best for all the community. That’s where being a little bit advanced, may I say so, about what could be done in business, comes in. You see this community was so stagnant, completely isolated and stagnant. The people were more or less behind the Black Stump. The saw-mill closed down and then the railway closed. I bought a few businesses which were closing down and I said look, we’ve got the potential, in the history of the place, we have the potential.
It was a hard job to convince people who never had anything to do with tourism, so I also went my own way about it. I published my own little book about Cooktown, for promotion. I established connections with the travel agents and the Tourist Bureau, the RACQ and everyone who has something to do with the travelling people and so it built up and quite a few business people saw the light, that this is the way to go. Look, you could buy property here for 150 pounds in those days. You could buy a pub for 1,500 pounds, that’s 3,000 dollars but today you wouldn’t get the same pub for 300,000 dollars. Then nobody wanted to invest money, there was no confidence whatsoever in this place but now it has changed and the whole thing works. I bought more businesses, got them organized again and here now they’re running privately and very successfully. The same with the museum, I was one of the instigators to have this museum established for the tourist benefit.
In the earlier years my experience was mainly bush, working on the road and the railway. We had to camp out in the bush, there was no going home after work then. I wasn’t used to manual work, I was a musician, but alright, the main thing was that I keep my head above water and so there I was swinging the sledge hammer for weeks and weeks, spiking the sleepers on the railway in this hot summer, no shade, no nothing, and at first I hated it.
But alright, I earned my money and if I want to go ahead then I had to sacrifice, or cop a bit, as they say. Whether you like it or not, you cop it. So I was out in the bush and after a while I got to know the country pretty well and to like it, and I’ll tell you this, I still like it. I like the bush and the animals, all of it. Actually the Australian animal is not really a vicious or aggressive animal. They all try to get away from you and look, when you hear that a crocodile took a person or a snake bit someone, it’s only because they interfered with them. I went crocodile shooting for a while, just for experience. This head here was the biggest one I shot. (Hans pointed to a crocodile head mounted on the wall). I got a few smaller ones which I sent over to Germany, to the relatives and so on.
Yes, I like this country, here you be a little bit yourself. Alright, some like to have a bit of higher standard than others but then you have the bloke in his little humpie and he’s as happy as the king in a castle because he can live his life the way he wants to. Of course that is not everyone’s pigeon but I like Cooktown the way it is and I hope it stays this way. It’s hard to say how long it will last but in my opinion Cooktown will go in a slow motion build-up, not like Cairns.
Look, twenty years ago Cairns was a little provincial coastal town, now it’s four times the size and all built up like it’s hard to believe. Here (in Cooktown) the tourists come, and they go. In my 30 years here I’ve seen it going down and picking up again and now it’s quite a nice little place. You don’t need a car, everything is within walking distance. You have a little bit of a garden here, a bit of fruit there, get a few fish, sure a king can’t eat more.
But nowadays it’s becoming more matter over mind. People want what the other fellow has, they want more and more, and now they’re even talking about this ‘culture’. Look, I was playing in orchestras back in the old country, classical music and chamber music. Alright, I wouldn’t mind to enjoy it again and be back there but on the other hand you have to come down to this point, you can’t have the cake and eat it, you have to make your choice. Cooktown is my choice. I have experienced all this higher class business. Here they call it ‘culture’, they’ll tell you they’ve been to the classical concert and all the rest of it and, like in Germany, when you be in this game and you hear people talk like that it shows you the hollowness and pretense in this ‘culture’.
And here I have to say this, stick to nature and nature tells you everything. You go out bush, you watch what nature does, the animals, the plants, you watch it and you can learn the sense of life, what is the essential point. Nature gives always a message but if you don’t understand it that’s where you go down, like Australia itself.
Never mind what political party we have on top here, because they are all dictated to from America anyway. The thing is, you see, this country supports you, it’s got everything. Never mind the electric, there’s plenty of firewood. If you haven’t got petrol anymore, well, light a fire. You can cook, you can eat, you can sleep so, there again, nature provides all. Even Captain Cook wrote in his log book as he described the way of life of the native people here. He said, ‘land and sea provides all daily needs and the people live in a tranquil atmosphere’. That’s Captain Cook and he really hit the nail on the head and it’s still the same, you can still live off the land like the Aboriginals did.
Now, of course, it’s different for the Aboriginals. I have nothing against them, they are human beings like what we are. The only thing is we have to realize that what the European took over 2,000 years to develop these people have had maybe only 50 or 60 years. When I came here I met more or less half wild people. We have to realize that their way of life is completely different. Alright, some more easily adapt themselves but I would say, even now, 70% are still lagging behind. It’s just the natural way. You can’t make a brumbie, you know what a brumbie is, it’s a wild horse, and you can’t make a race horse out of him in one generation. You have to breed it for generations and generations to come to improve it and this applies to the human beings in the same way.
Now what our politicians try to do is they try to push those people too fast in the white man’s way. Money, they just can’t handle it, they go on the grog. The women, they eat all the sweets and lollies and sugar so I would say they kill them with kindness, intentionally or not I don’t know, but it’s definitely the wrong way which they go about it.
The average native person is a bit shy, they like to be amongst themselves. Alright, let them be amongst themselves and if they have the urge to join the white community, so let them. But not push them. From the human side there is nothing wrong with our native people, only they are caught like in a spinner in the washing machine they are put in, and they’ve lost their grip. It’s too fast, they can’t keep up. Look, white people can’t keep up with how fast the time goes these days with the technology, so how the hell can we expect the Aboriginals to keep up with us?
And then we keep trying to push them down. That’s where the lost attitude of those people comes. Before they could go walkabout, they had their tucker, but now it’s settlement camps and money. They’ve got to have money to buy tucker but they couldn’t care less, so they go on the grog. As human beings the Aboriginals have qualities just as we have, I’ve nothing against them, I have never felt any discrimination. Of course as the old saying goes, a little education is dangerous. They get told something, that it’s their country and it’s the white man who stole this country from them and he has to give it back.
As Hans spoke a young wallaby came springing into the garden and he got up to greet it. This was a beautiful creature which Hans told me was a female which often called by to say hello and have a break from her young which she left in the bush. She showed no sign of fear when Hans spoke to her and gave her some milk which she sipped gracefully before lying down to sleep beside us. For a while we sat there quietly. Then, as it was getting late, Hans called it a day. After thanking him I walked back to the caravan.
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