by A B Facey
We arrived at the Police Station and Stan was already there. The Boss introduced me to the Sergeant and the Sergeant said, ‘So this is the boy that was lost. He doesn’t look to be any worse for seven days without food.’ The Boss and Stan told him about the storm and the stampede and how I was found. The Sergeant wrote it down on paper and the Boss and Stan signed it, and so did I, in my own way. The Sergeant witnessed our signatures and then he thanked us. The Boss and I left and went back to camp but Stan stayed in town. He said that Darkey, George and Arthur were at the pub and that they would stay in town and see us tomorrow some time.
The next morning I went to the Boss and told him that I wouldn’t be taking the job he had offered me. I said, ‘I will be going back to Perth for a few weeks, then I may come back if that’s all right with you Bob.’ That was the first time I had called him Bob for a long time and it seemed to please him. He remarked, ‘I like you calling me Bob, but thanks for the respect to me while I was your employer. In answer to you wanting to go to Perth, you just do what you like Bert. If you have trouble finding suitable employment just pack up and come to my place and you will have a job. I will treat you like my own son.’ I felt sure that he meant it. I thanked him again, then went and packed my few things together, intending to walk into Geraldton. Bob wouldn’t hear of it and he sent one of the blacks to bring in Dinnie and another hack, then he said to him, ‘Take Bert into Geraldton, then bring Dinnie back.’ With that he shook my hand and I rode away.
We arrived at Mrs Stafford’s place just before lunch. Charlie, the black man, wouldn’t stop for lunch but went straight back to camp. The hardest thing was saying goodbye to Dinnie. I cried and hugged her and when I went back into Mrs Stafford’s I had tears in my eyes. She noticed that I had been crying and she hugged and kissed me and said, ‘I understand. You can become very close to a faithful horse.’ She gave me the same room I had when I first came to Geraldton.
I had lunch that day in the kitchen with Mrs Stafford and the girls. Mrs Stafford asked me what I intended doing. I explained about the job Bob had offered me and told her that I wanted to get some more learning on reading and writing. I said it was impossible to learn anything at all on the drive and I hoped if I could get a job of some sort in or near the city, that would give me a chance to take some sort of lessons in that direction. I said, ‘I feel terrible out of place in any kind of company.’ She said that she understood and she thought I was doing the right thing.
After lunch I went to the shipping office and made enquiries about when the next ship to Fremantle would be calling. The officer in charge said that I would have to wait six days as one had left that morning. So I went back to Mrs Stafford’s and told her. She said, ‘That’s good. If you like you can stay here on the same terms as before, when you were here. Just keep the wood-box full. We are so glad that you will be staying here for a few days.’
So for the next six days I had a nice holiday. I had all my meals in the kitchen with Mrs Stafford and the girls, and I tried my hand at fishing but was not successful. I caught a few small ones but felt sure I wouldn’t make a success as a fisherman.
There was a rail running from Geraldton to Perth but I was advised that the rail was terrible and it would be better to go by boat. I saw Stan, Darkey and George several times but nothing of Arthur. When I asked Stan what became of Arthur, Stan said, ‘He hasn’t been sober since he got paid and he won’t sober up until he is broke. That Arthur has troubles. When he is sober you couldn’t find a nicer bloke alive but when he is drunk there isn’t a worse one.’
Finally, having put forty pounds in my State Savings account, just keeping enough to pay my board and boat fare to Fremantle, plus some pocket money, I left Geraldton on the twenty-fourth day of July 1909 on the Kenalpi, the same boat that I had arrived on nearly eight months before.
KNOCKING ABOUT
1909–1914
‘JUST CALL ME PUNCH.’
37
CITY LIFE
The sea was calm when we sailed but became very rough towards evening. The Captain and crew members recognised me and they all wanted to know about where I had been, but before I was able to tell them much I got very seasick. All through the night the sea was rough and it tossed that little boat about like a cork. How it managed to keep afloat I will never know.
Next day, near midday, we sighted Fremantle, and it was early in the afternoon when we came into the harbour. Wasn’t I glad when I stood on firm ground again.
I hadn’t written home since I had left eight months before. I made my way to the railway station and paid my fare to Subiaco. On arriving at Subiaco I put my trunk into the care of the Station Master and went to Mother’s address. But when I got there I found that she wasn’t living there any more. I hadn’t counted on that. (My mother had never owned a home of her own – our stepfather always rented a house. This was something I couldn’t understand. He was a good, first-class tradesman and always had plenty of work. Well, that was his concern but my grandma used to say that people should own their own home because paying rent was just throwing money down the drain.)
Anyway, my worry at the moment was: where was my mother? I went to the local butcher and to the store where I used to work, and was told that she had shifted to West Perth. No one knew where but it was suggested that I go to the Post Office as there was certain to be a forwarding address there. I made enquiries at the Post Office and they gave me the address. I then hired a cab (in those days cabs were horse-drawn carriages) and went to Mother’s new home where I got another surprise – she and my stepfather were renting a large store with a top storey.
The ground floor of the building consisted of a lounge-dining room, kitchen and a large double-fronted shop, and there were two bedrooms upstairs. The shop was stocked with all sorts of ironmongery for sale. My mother was looking after the shop, besides doing the cooking for all the family and the housework. She was so pleased to see me. She reminded me that I hadn’t written to her to let her know where I was. I explained that I couldn’t send her my address because I had no way of receiving a letter while I was on the move all the time. She told me why they had shifted and said that my two older brothers were working for Bill, my stepfather, and that they were doing well.
The time was four thirty in the afternoon. Mother showed me where I would sleep – I would share a room with my stepbrother Harry. I put my things in the room and lay down. I was dog-tired and hungry. I hadn’t had any sleep since I left Geraldton, and had been too sick to eat on the boat.
I fell sound asleep and the next thing I knew Roy was shaking me to wake me up. When I came into the dining-room they were all sitting at the table having dinner. I said, ‘Goodday,’ and they started asking questions all at once until Bill said, ‘Just a minute. Let him get inside and settle down. He’ll tell you all in good time where he’s been and what he’s been doing.’
My mother was a good cook and this dinner was no exception. We had grilled fillet steak and I thought it was delicious. I was too busy with the steak to talk, although I knew they all wanted to know where I had been and all about the cattle drive. As I unfolded my story they all sat and listened in silence. Then I was flooded with questions until bedtime.
When I awoke the next morning my stepfather and brothers had gone to work. Mother was waiting for me in the kitchen and she and I had our breakfast with the three kids.
When the kids had left for school my mother told me some bad news. My sister Myra had been brought down from the hospital at Coolgardie to the Infectious Diseases Hospital at West Subiaco. She had got worse and died two months ago. Mother said that she had tried to find me but couldn’t find anyone that knew me or where I had gone. This news about Myra shocked me and Grandma’s remarks about how my mother treated us came back to me. It left me speechless. I felt terrible. I felt that I hated my mother. Without saying a word I got up from the table and went to my room and had a good cry. Myra was only two years older than me and we were always together when we we
re living with Grandma in Victoria. She was a pretty girl and had lovely long, dark hair. She must have died during the time that I was lost.
Later that day my mother came to me and said how sorry she was and claimed it wasn’t her fault. She said that when she married Bill he made it very clear that he wouldn’t have any of the children from her first marriage living with them unless they could pay board, and as Myra was to go to school, she had to put her into a home under the care of a religious group. That was where she developed pneumonia and then the consumption that finally killed her. Mother told me that when Myra got old enough – the people managing the Home used to take in washing and ironing – she and the other little girls had to work. Mother said, ‘Myra used to tell me about this when I went to see her, and I used to complain about it but all they would say was, “If you don’t like what your daughter has to do then take her away.” I begged your stepfather to let me bring her home but he wouldn’t agree, so what could I do?’
After hearing my mother’s story I felt a little better towards her, and the damage was done – Myra couldn’t be brought back. I told Mother that she should have let Grandma know because she would have done something to save Myra’s life. I was sure of that.
I spent the next few days having a holiday, then Bill gave me a job helping two men dig drains to lay sewerage pipes and put in septic systems. He paid me three pounds a week and out of that I had to pay my mother one pound for my board. After a few weeks he paid me three pounds ten shillings a week and told me, ‘If anyone asks your age tell them you’re sixteen.’ (The Union insisted that boys under sixteen weren’t allowed to work at the job.) I worked Monday to Friday from half past seven in the morning until five in the evening with one hour off for lunch, and Saturday mornings.
I got along fine on this job. The two men I worked with treated me well and wouldn’t let me work too hard.
Every evening after we finished dinner I would study my books, and Roy and Eric, who had had some education, used to help me. Eric went out a lot of the evenings. He was at the age to take out girls and he was always short of money. Roy was different. He only went out on Saturday nights and I used to go with him sometimes.
At the end of August one of the men I worked with found out I was a good boxer. From then on he used to tell me all about boxing and about the boxing school he was helping to run. His name was Ernie Hickland and he told me that he used to help teach boxing with a one-time champion heavyweight called Charlie Burns. He invited me to come down to the school and see how it was done and said that, if I would like to learn to box, I could join the school for five shillings and pay two and sixpence a lesson.
I decided to join after seeing how it was done. They taught me to skip and to do ball punching. There were about thirty boys attending, some three to four years older than me and some younger. After a few visits my shyness wore off and I really did enjoy myself. The boys were put into age groups. I was big for my age so I was put into the fifteen to sixteen age group. I turned fifteen the first week that I joined.
I had no idea how to box properly but Mr Burns, who did the teaching for my group, soon showed me how to go about it. He was very strict and would not allow any boy to smoke, and he made all the boys go straight home after lessons each night. He was one of the nicest and kindest men I had met. If something turned up so that one of us couldn’t make it to a lesson, he never charged us but always wanted to know the reason for not attending. He considered that defence was the first and most important thing about boxing and we had to practise foot-work, side-stepping and the art of avoiding being hit without having to use your gloves to block punches. Mr Burns insisted on practice and more practice until each movement was perfected.
Bill kept my two brothers and I in a job and I stuck with him until February 1910. During this six months, I also stuck with Mr Burns’ boxing school and kept on learning to read and write. I also learnt a lot about money matters and arithmetic. It was easier for me to learn about figures than about reading and writing.
Bill finished the contract he had been handling and he had nothing for me to do, so I tried to get a job. One day Mr Burns told me about a job at a foundry in West Perth. He said he knew the boss there and gave me a letter to take to him. The next morning I went to the foundry, saw the man and gave him the letter. After reading it he asked me my age. I told him the truth – that I was fifteen years old – and he asked me all about myself and what work I had been doing. He then asked me to follow him to the part of the foundry where they made parts of various kinds. He said, ‘We will give you a trial for a few weeks and see how you go.’
The parts were made of cast iron and moulded in damp sand. My job was damping the sand, and packing it firmly around a sample part before it was lifted, leaving an impression for melted iron to be poured in. A man about fifty years old was working with me, pouring the iron. His name was George McDonald and he was a very nice, understanding, well-mannered man and wouldn’t let me lift anything very heavy. He would say, ‘Don’t do anything that will cause strain. It could be the undoing of you physically.’
I had been working at this job for about six weeks when the boss sent for me. He asked me, ‘Would you like to be an apprentice to a trade here with this foundry. We are very pleased with you and your work and there are several good trades you could be apprenticed to.’ I told him that I would love to learn a trade but I would like to know what my mother thought about it before anything was agreed to. He then asked me what grade I had made at school and was shocked when I told him that I hadn’t ever been to school and was trying to learn all I could myself. He said, ‘Well, without proper schooling you wouldn’t be able to take a trade.’ He said he was sorry and asked why I didn’t go to school. I explained the reason and about my life up to then and he remarked that he was afraid I would have a hard time. With that he got up and showed me out and said he was looking for a lad like me but he must be educated.
So that was that – out again in the cold hard world. I went home and told my mother the sad news. She wasn’t very well and asked me to look after the shop for her for awhile, which I did. I liked the shop work although my mother couldn’t pay me wages. I stayed in the shop for over a month until mother recovered – she suffered from what was said to be appendicitis and at times she was in great pain. I had to put hot packs on her stomach where the pain was most severe and this relieved it.
One morning in May, Mother drew my attention to an advertisement in the newspaper for a lad to work on a farm at a place called Lake Yealering, only a few miles from where I had worked for Charlie and Mrs Bibby. The advertisement was for a firm called Coad and Tindle. I went straight away that morning to the address given – an office in Perth. Mr Tindle asked me some questions about stock and farming, and he also asked if I had any references. I didn’t have references but I told him where I had been working at the foundry and that I had worked for a Mr Bibby. As soon as I mentioned Mr Bibby he said, ‘What? Charlie Bibby?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Righto lad,’ he said, ‘you have a job. I know the Bibbys well. I’ve stayed there many times. We want you to go to Wickepin – there is a train out to there now – and our manager, Mr Kent will meet you. He is managing our property at Lake Yealering.’
Mr Tindle then told me that he, his brother and Mr Coad had taken up four thousand acres of land about four miles west of the lake and were running sheep on it. My job would be looking after the sheep, doing a bit of boundary riding and general work on the property. Mr Tindle then asked, ‘What about wages?’ I said, ‘What do you think?’ He replied, ‘What about thirty shillings a week and keep?’ I agreed to those terms and was told that I had to leave the following Monday morning.
38
BACK TO THE BUSH
When I arrived at the station Mr Tindle was there to meet me. He handed me a railway ticket to Wickepin with a pound note and said, ‘You will have to stay at Narrogin overnight. The train gets there about midnight and the Wickepin train leaves at eight in the morning, s
o you can stay at the Coffee Palace just east of the station. The pound note is to pay your way.’ He saw me onto the Albany train, then left saying that he would see me soon and that he hoped I would like the job. I couldn’t help thinking how oddly things turned out. Here I was going back to almost the same place I had worked before I left to see my mother.
This job was good. Mr Kent was a single man and a terrible cook but we got along fine.
The property was fenced all round with a dog-proof fence, and I had to ride around the boundary every five days to see that the fence was intact. I carried an axe and a shovel with me, and I also carried my rifle. If the fence was broken or the limb of a tree had fallen on it, I had to put things right. The rest of my time was taken up looking to see that the sheep were all right. I learnt a lot about looking after young ewes, especially when the lambing was on. Mr Kent showed me how to help them if they had trouble when giving birth.
I liked this job. I felt that I was doing something important. There were fifteen hundred sheep on the property and I felt that I was responsible for them, especially when my boss told me that he was depending on me to look after them.