by Stuart Kells
Thursday, 4 September 1924
When the boss was in Adelaide last he visited the Fiat Motor agents – Adelaide Motors Ltd – with the intention of buying a Fiat. The terms they offer are ‘half down and half in twelve months’ and the price of the model the boss was keen on is £450, lately reduced from £495. They would not allow more than £50 on our old Ford and the boss was unable to raise the balance, £175, but he managed to arrange terms of his own. Pass our old car in, pay £100 cash, £75 in eight months, £125 in twelve months and the balance, £100, within two years; very good terms indeed. The car he ordered was model ‘501’, painted grey and to be fitted with a luggage carrier. So far so good. But when he comes back to Renmark he finds the bank is not at all sympathetic with the idea and will not lend him any money. From outside sources he can only obtain £50. That is how the matter stands just now.
There is no money to be obtained in Renmark at all. The boss sent into the packing shed nearly twelve tons of dried fruit and all he has received so far is £100. Into the distillery he sent well over forty tons of fruit and all he has received from that source is one pound per ton. Not enough to pay harvesting expenses. If only this car can be secured and passengers run down to Adelaide, ready money can be obtained and that is what is so badly needed. Even if we don’t get this car, this will show you how near I was once to becoming a track driver. And if only £50 can be raised I shall become one. It seems such a pity that it should all fall through for the sake of a few pounds. On what small affairs do our destinies depend?
Today I have been traffic superintendent for the Renmark Racing Club. The spring meeting took place today.
*
Box 185 Renmark
4th Sept. ’24
Mr Ryan
Immigration Dept.
Dear Sir,
Enclose your cheque for £10 on a/c of R.G.W. Lane. Up to time of writing have had no payment from Distillery but we still live in hopes. As soon as I am able to square this up the boy will be leaving the scheme as I informed you. It will not be longer than I can help.
Yours faithfully
A.B. Withers
*
Tuesday, 9 September 1924
To carry on with what I was saying, I was an official of the Renmark Racing Club at their last meeting. One of the entrances had been stopped and all I had to do was to see that no vehicles were to go down a certain road which led to the entrance. I was on duty at 11am. The first race was at 12.45pm, and as there was no traffic about after 3pm I came back here at that hour. For my four hours ‘duty’ I shall receive 12/6. Not bad pay. I drove down to my station in Lizzie and fully half the time I was sitting in it reading John O’London’s Weekly. Now this is the kind of job I like. It gives me great pleasure to be able to read an interesting paper like John O’London’s and to muse on the fact that I am receiving roughly 3/- an hour for doing it. No, I don’t really mean it. It’s a rotten job and I only took it on as the Secretary, Mr Woods, had not arranged for anybody else to be there. But after it was over I felt that I had picked up 12/6 rather easily.
We started watering last Wednesday and did not finish until yesterday. For the last two days, however, we only had a very small stream of water. It was not too good an irrigation, as the land was terribly hard and the water was inclined to rush down the rows without soaking through. When the water had to soak, through being blocked by a bank, it did so in a cheerful manner and the water disappeared as fast as it ran in.
We are still trying to raise enough money to buy a Fiat. But people will not lend money on a car, the depreciation is too rapid. If the money were for use on the block we should have no difficulty in raising it. The boss went into Renmark this morning to see about it, and tried a fresh source. Whether it will be any good or not, we shall not know for a couple of days.
The boss is to be initiated into the Renmark Lodge tomorrow night and he has rather ‘got the wind up’ over it. Of course, none of the Masons have told him anything about it save the ridiculous. All they have done is to try and pull his leg and although they have not fully succeeded they have at least created a lot of mystery about it in the boss’ mind. I think he will be glad when tomorrow night is over. Its very mystery is baffling.
When I was on ‘duty’ last Thursday a ‘swaggie’ came up to me and asked the way to a certain place. He spoke rather good English, which is very unusual for an Australian ‘swaggie’. He was born in Hastings well over sixty years ago and is the eldest son out of a family of thirteen. Before he was twenty years old the ‘wander lust’ settled on him and he has been wandering ever since. He said it is as bad now as it was forty years ago. Very rarely does he stay in one place more than a fortnight. He has travelled England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Europe, parts of Asia, India, Colombo, Canada, U.S.A., South America, Africa and all the states of Australia and New Zealand. He is a remittance man and receives £50 every three months from home. His father, aged ninety-four, is still alive. He is a born gambler and never has any money. His last £50 lasted him seventeen days which was almost a record. He was rather interesting to talk to and when his aged but upright figure retreated down the Avenue, his ‘swag’ on his back and his ‘tucker bag’ in his hand, a wave of pity surged over me and I prayed, like the Pharisee: ‘God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are.’
May I never be like him, and yet he was not sorry for himself. He thought the ‘wanderlust’ might leave him when he was about forty. But it didn’t. He said he has tried to settle in one place times without number but he cannot. He told me, with a genuinely sad expression on his face, that ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss’. And how true it is?
Spring has stolen a march on us this year all right. Small almonds may now be seen on the green almond trees. The weeping willows are now clothed in their luxuriant spring mantles. Peach blossom can be seen everywhere. Already are the sultana shoots one and two inches long. The buds on the currant vines are either swelling or have burst into a tiny ball of red, which is characteristic of them. Every time a gentle breeze blows through the apricot trees white petals fall like snow to the ground.
Sunday, 14 September 1924
There is one thing about this book, or really I should say about these books, which I must say now before I forget and it is the same as a famous author once said about one of his books: ‘It would be a lot better had I taken more pains over it.’
I have just received a copy of the School Chronicle and its contents give me much to think about. Firstly, three masters under whom I was a pupil have left. Mr Beames, Mr Hutchings and Mr Fortey. Dear old Billy, dear old Eggy, dear old Fifty. Not until today did I know that Mr Beames was known by a Christian name that was not his own. That he was no more ‘W. Beames Esq.’ than I am! And Mr Hutchings. I wonder if I am different from other ‘O.B.’s’ but I really must confess that I have a terribly soft spot in my heart for ‘Eggy’. Sometimes I really love him. Yes, I always got on very well with Mr Hutchings. Well do I remember the true tale told by Allen during his first term at the ‘Gram’. He was asked by a master to take a note to Mr Hutchings. He hesitated; he did not know Mr Hutchings. Seeing his dilemma, a boy in the class whispered ‘Eggy’. Off went Allen, he knew the master. There is one word that always brings back memories of that venerable master and ninety-nine point nine per cent of the population of the British Isles would never guess that word. Not in a dozen lifetimes, not with the aid of a dozen dictionaries, for they would not find it there. It is ‘Chumblepump’.
I have always held Mr Hutchings in great esteem, for beneath his well-cut clothes and mild and gentle voice he has a mild and gentle nature. At one time I thought that he took little interest in the affairs of life which mean so much to a schoolboy. For example, fights for the championship of the world in boxing. But I was wrong. It was after an English lesson during which he had given back some corrected English ‘essays’. The conversation somehow or other turned on to the question of the hour. Who would win the Carpenter-Dempsey fight? And he told
us, backing up his statements with technical terms and displaying a knowledge which I had never dreamt he possessed, that there was no possible doubt that Dempsey would win. And, of course, he was correct.
Then Mr Fortey. I was a pupil when he arrived, I think I must have been a pupil two terms before he arrived. For three very pleasant terms he was my form master. He used to take us for scripture on Monday afternoon. How interesting those scripture ‘periods’ were. We would start on scripture and one subject would lead to another and we nearly always finished up by listening to him telling us how he nearly ran down the Aquitania with a half-ton yacht! They were ‘good old days’ all right. To an ‘O.B.’, especially abroad, the Chronicle is most interesting.
I was talking to Mr J.M. Smith last night and he was telling me that he was ploughing.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ he said. ‘I bought a new plough last week – nothing startling about that, I’ve bought lots of new ploughs in my time – and I have been using the plough this week. Now, I’ve been ploughing for the last thirty-six years and yet never before have I been able to plough as well. Thirty-six years have I been ploughing up here and before that I ploughed the ocean wave and yet, I tell you, never before have I ploughed so well. What’s the cause of it?’
‘Well, Mr Smith,’ I replied. ‘I should think that you must have been taking Kruschen salts during the week.’
He, however, assured me that that was not the case. Mr Smith is one of the pioneers of Renmark. He is a bit of a wonder for now, at the age of about seventy-five, he still ‘follows the plough’. During his thirty-six years in Renmark he has naturally ‘put a little bit away for a sunny day’ (we don’t worry about the rainy days here). But now, during these hard times, he is forced to draw out some of this money he put away. As I don’t think this information can ‘come back’ to Renmark again, I don’t mind telling you what he has lost – drawn out – of his savings account during the last three years. It is £1,000. That will show you that things are not too good just now.
Tuesday, 16 September 1924
Most of the seasonal operations which I perform during the year do not call for any great skill and a lot of them can be done ‘mechanically’, that is, without using any brain force. Perhaps you will disagree with this, but I don’t think you will disagree if I say ‘without using any apparent brain force or power’. This leaves me a fair amount of time for thinking, and I think of all subjects it is possible to imagine. But usually one subject will predominate for a certain period, this period sometimes stretching into many days. For the past few days I have been thinking a lot about the ‘Gram’. The school itself, the boys, the masters, the games, the playing fields, the Corps. In fact, everything connected with the school. Naturally, I thought a lot about the three masters who have just left and who I mentioned a few pages back.
So it is over three years ago now that I left school. Then came Long Ashton – the Agricultural and Horticultural Research Station of the Bristol University. ‘Breeches and highly polished field boots, sports coat, neat collar and tie, cap, and motorbike.’ How different are things now: old khaki working pants, real farm boots, blue working shirt with what is politely termed a ‘tennis collar’, any old coat, and any old hat as long as it has a wide enough brim to keep the sun off and no motorbike.
I have bought khaki working shirts, but I found that they did not wear so well as blue ones. It’s not the colour that makes the difference, but the material is vastly different. And as for a ‘collar and tie’, you try and wear one when you are working with a shade temperature of 110°F. I haven’t tried it – don’t want to – but would not recommend it. A shade temperature of 100°F is warm, but one of 110°F is decidedly ‘hot’. Anything over that, in my estimation, is unpleasant.
Wireless is beginning to make itself felt up here. Already there are half a dozen installations in Renmark. The papers predict that in a few years we shall be able to speak to people in England. How marvellous it all is. What should I say if one day the ‘phone rang and on answering it I found that someone in Bristol was ringing me up? I’m afraid I should be too startled to speak. And yet there appears no reason why such an occurrence should not take place in the course of a few years.
Sunday, 21 September 1924
I have either been terribly busy or terribly tired lately, or I would have written before. But the time I am going to write of now is when I was terribly busy and terribly tired.
The occurrence took place on Friday night. The weather looked very threatening all day, but we only had a couple of light showers. In the evening was the annual meeting of the Renmark Growers Packing Union which is the largest packing shed in Renmark. The boss is a member of it. So, naturally, he wanted to attend the meeting. As there was a lecture in Renmark the same evening – ‘Across Australia from Adelaide to Darwin by Motor Car’ by Captain White – I thought I would go in with the boss and attend the lecture.
The weather looked so doubtful at the time we intended to start that we nearly turned it in, but when a neighbour, whom the boss had promised to give a lift to, arrived, we decided to risk it. We arrived in Renmark quite safely after picking up Mr Smith en route. The lecture was most interesting. But it rained the whole time. When the meeting was over, and the lecturer had finished, we approached the car. Mr Smith sat in front and the boss and the other passenger behind. I set the levers, turned the switch on and started to crank her up. Don’t forget two things: it was raining and I only started to crank her up. This sometimes is a long job. You have guessed right. Not a kick would she give. Then the boss tried. Same result.
We thought there must be some water in the carburetor, so we drained it. Still it would not go. We tested the plugs for a spark. Only one was firing, so we took the plugs out and cleaned them. Still no sign of life. It was still raining, and I was beginning to get wet. At eleven, or after we had been at the job for about an hour, our passengers started to walk home. Still raining.
We took off the commutator, discovered the trouble (too complicated to give now), walked across to the electric power station which was only a few yards away, and remedied there. We put it back, she gave one feeble kick, hardly noticeable. This was the second during the evening. I was getting tired and forgot the first took place. Still she would not go and, to cut a long (painfully long) story short, we turned it in at 1.40am and went into the power station. The man in charge was very obliging and helped us in any way he could. We sat in front of the furnace and dried our clothes. I was wet to the skin, everything from my collar to my socks. Still it rained. We wandered around the building and looked at everything. I could not stay in the engine room long for the noise was appalling.
At 4am the chap in charge made a cup of tea, which I greatly enjoyed. At 5.30am it began to get light. Still it rained. We had another go to try and start the old bus, but everything was soaking so it was no good. At 6.45am I started to walk back; there were the horses to feed, the cow to milk, the fowls to feed etc. Then it stopped raining, but the roads were in a terrible state and for every step I took forward I slipped back two or very nearly.
Not a car or cart passed me, so I had to walk the whole way. I arrived back at 8.15am footsore, weary and tired, and started the jobs. I had just finished at 9.30am when the boss arrived. He had waited until the garages were open and had then had Lizzie towed into one. They will do nothing with her as she was soaked everywhere. The ignition was short circuiting everywhere, so he left her there and managed to get a lift most of the way back. We then had some breakfast and sat down for a couple of minutes. I woke up at 2pm, so we had some dinner. A few minutes rest, a few odd jobs, milk, have tea, read the paper for a few minutes, then I went to bed and remembered no more until 6.30am this morning.
The quotations on my calendar are always appropriate. For yesterday: ‘Keep on just as long as you can then keep on a little longer. Persistence wins.’
It is now 10.15pm, so good night.
*
Box 185.
Renmark
21st September 1924
Dear Mr Ryan,
Referring to Mr Withers’ interview with you when he was last in Adelaide, I am now desirous of withdrawing from the Boy Immigration scheme as from the 18th August as from this date I have made other arrangements with him.
I shall be in Adelaide shortly, probably about the end of the month, when I shall be glad if you will have my account ready and any papers that you wish me to sign.
Should there be any monies owing to me by Mr Withers at that time I shall bring it down with me so as to have the account in order.
May I take this opportunity of thanking you for all the trouble you have taken from time to time on my behalf.
Yours sincerely.
R.G.W. Lane
*
Monday, 22 September 1924
As I have still quite a lot to say, I think I will do a little ‘overtime’. It is strange what a great affection I now have for this, my ‘long letter’, diary, or whatever you like to call it. It is now my dearest possession. If the house caught on fire and I only had time to save one of my possessions, I am nearly sure that I should dash for my ‘books’. It is also strange how I manage to fill up so many pages. Renmark is really a very ‘slow’ place to live in. And yet I manage to fill up page after page. Very strange.
It gives me great pleasure to secretly do something which will give pleasure to somebody else, and watch with joy the look of surprised pleasure on their faces when they see what has been done. This is a very hard thing to explain and I’m afraid I have not made myself clear. Anyhow, it would give me great pleasure to watch the expressions on your faces and hear the remarks you make when you receive this and read it. This, I’m afraid, is impossible but if it gives you any pleasure or amusement I shall be quite satisfied.