Warrigal's Way

by Warrigal Anderson

  We walked about and he showed me where they cooked all the scraps and bones. “They get tallow, meat meal, and blood and bone,” Mike told me. “But you’re gunna have to work those out for yourself. I’ve got no idea what they use them for.”

  I’m watching a bloke with a big knife cutting the tongue out of the face of a cow. He looks bored and I feel a bit sick. I looked behind me just in time to see a bloke pull a big heap of runny guts and slimy stuff out of a cut he had made in the belly of a beast and drop them on a table at his feet. There was another bloke busy cutting a beast from neck to tail with a dirty big saw, and another couple of fellers with knives and a machine ripping their skin off.

  That was my lot. Fresh air and the pie that was sitting like a block of lead in my stomach came up and nearly knocked the back wall out of the urinal. But it made me feel better.

  “You okay?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks mate. All that gore and slime, and the bloody stare of all those empty eyes. Man, I couldn’t handle that. To think I was lining up for a job. Christ, I was dumb.”

  Mike put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be right, mate. Just a matter of getting used to it. That’s where rump steak comes from.” He grinned. I thought, no wonder people eat vegies.

  “Come on, let’s get out horses and go and watch the dipping,” Mike said.

  “Is there any blood and guts?” I asked.

  “Nah, just cows going for a swim.”

  Cows swimming. I had to see that. So we picked up our horses and rode down to a round yard full of cattle, dismounting outside the rails. We put our horses in a small yard with a trough, and Mike took their bridles off and hung them on the gate.

  “Let them pick a bit,” he said, and we walked over to where Artie was standing with a stick prodding those cattle who were a bit too shy to jump into a long concrete trough filled with green-coloured water. It was about eight feet deep, Mike told me. Sid was standing on a walkway above the trough, with a long pole with a bit on the end that fitted over the cow, and he pushed them right under with it. I asked Mike what he was doing and why he had to duck all the beasts.

  “Cattle, dogs and sheep all get a thing called lice, and ticks, like this,” he said, and he bent down and picked up a horrible looking thing—grey with legs sticking out of a balloon body, that Mike says is full of blood sucked out of the host animal.

  He flicked the filthy thing into the green dip water. “That dip kills all sorts of things like that, and they have to push them under so there’s no place for the nasties to go. Come on, we’ll give them a hand.”

  We walked around the back of the mob, and waving our hats and yelling we gave the dogs a hand. It was a hell of a hullabaloo. Dogs barking, us yelling, and Arthur and Sid with shakers—tin lids with a hole drilled in the middle and threaded on a piece of wire bent to suit the hand and rattled while yelling. It sounded like a banshee picnic! We helped put that mob through. I don’t know how long it took, but I sure enjoyed it.

  “Well, come on, old mate. We better head home and see if anyone’s back yet.” We put our bridles on and set off. I could still smell the greasy stink, but it didn’t make me queasy now, and I was even getting hungry.

  Mike told me that Arthur and Sid took charge of any cattle that came into the works and were responsible for their welfare right up until they got up the ramp onto the killfloor. “They do what they were doing today, dipping, or they might have to hold a mob that’s wormy, and drench them, then keep a close eye on them until they’re right. They feed out, raise orphan calves, and do everything a cocky running a farm does. It’s a big job.”

  We rode the rest of the way in easy silence and turned into our driveway. “Hey! Hugh’s back,” said Mike. “We’ll know what we’re doin’ now.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “Work my laddie, work. He’s been negotiating a contract price with Angliss, so now we might finally go to work.”

  “Do you know where we’re off to?” I asked Mike.

  “Yep, out the Gilbert River. Ted tells me we got four hundred mixed Angus, Brafords and Herefords, all steers, to go to CQME in Rocky.”

  “How long will that take us?” I asked Mike.

  “About five months, depending on how fast Hugh wants to push them, or how soon the meatworks wants them, what condition, how much feed’s about. You’ll like it on the road. It’s relaxin’, free and time don’t seem to mean much. When everything’s going right you wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  I unsaddled Shorty and rubbed him down, filled his feed bin and topped up his water, and limped after Mike up to the kitchen. We sat on the back steps and took off our boots. I gave a big sigh of relief and luxuriously stretched my feet. They were sore and tired from being so tightly confined all day. They were the first boots I ever owned and I was so proud of them I could put up with a bit of pain, but oh the relief to free my feet.

  “Your dogs howling, mate?” Mike asked, seeing the look on my face.

  “Yeah, you’re not wrong, they’re smarting alright.”

  “Look, I’ll give you the mail. See that bucket? Go fill it with water, drop your boots in it, soak them overnight, put them on wet in the morning, and they’ll stretch to a good fit.” He gave me a smile. “I guarantee it.” (Willing for anything I tried it and it worked a treat.)

  We went inside to find Ted getting tea ready and Hugh poring over all sorts of papers.

  “How did you go?” asked Mike.

  “It’s all on, brother. We can get ready to leave day after tomorrow at daylight. We’ll use tomorrow to go over everything and fine tune our gear. Ted’s got everything in place.”

  “Yeah, this is going to be a ripper trip, mate. Country’s lookin’ good, plenty of feed and water everywhere, billabongs and turkey nests chock-a-block.” Ted smiled. Billabongs I knew about, but what the hell was a turkey’s nest? I asked Mike after tea.

  “A turkey nest? It’s a name for a dam—you know, a man-made waterhole for stock. It gets its name because of the shape. Once the dozers have finished pushing the dam, it looks like a turkey’s nest. Clear now?” He smiled and pulled out his tobacco and rolled a smoke.

  I was working on my saddle, soaping it to get the leather nice and supple. Ted told me it would be easier on the rear end. “Softer the leather, softer the ride,” he reckons.

  At the breakfast table next morning Hugh said, “Anything you want from town you better go get it. You know the form, Mike.” Then he added, “You stay behind after breakfast, Warrigal. I got some papers for you to sign.”

  I had a small panic attack at those words. I couldn’t read at that stage much less write or sign my name. But Hugh was great. He explained that the paper was an agreement between him and me, that he agreed to teach me to be a drover, and I agreed to learn. Then if the Department turned up, at least he’d have something to argue with. So he signed my name and I put my thumb on the ink pad and rolled a thumb print alongside the signature. Hugh said that was legal.

  I went with Mike and Ted after that, and we had a furious burst of checking gear, and by half past ten we were finished. Hugh gave us all a sub on our pay—we got two quid each—and we went into town in Hugh’s car. He said he’d see us at the Crown later, so we piled into his ‘52 Chev, with Ted driving, and me sitting in the middle in all my new gear, my hat in my lap.

  The boys let me off just before the bridge by the Shamrock Hotel, and told me they would at the Crown and to come over there when I’d done my shopping. I headed up the main street with the money burning a hole in my pocket.

  A great big double cone ice-cream was the first thing, then a bar of chocolate. I saw a shop selling cakes, little dainty ones that reminded me of Nana Rose, and I felt a bit sad and homesick when I thought of her, but I didn’t know how to find her, or Uncle Manny or Uncle Fred.

  I brought myself back to the present, and walked up the street looking in the shop windows. In the saddler’s I saw this bag. It was a fair size—about a foot
by a foot and six inches wide—with a long strap. It would carry books or a lunch, a coat, or whatever other junk I wanted, and was cheaper than a saddle bag. You could carry it over your shoulder or strap it to the saddle.

  “How much?” I asked the bloke.

  “Twelve and six,” he told me.

  “Aww, I dunno. Don’t look worth that much. I’ll give you eight and six,” I said.

  “Aww, I might come down to ten bob, but I’ll be robbing meself,” the shop bloke reckoned, with a smile on his face and gleaming eyes.

  “I can go to nine and six, but then I’ve had it,” I told the man.

  “Done,” he said, taking my money and giving me the bag.

  I was happy and totally amazed. Mike had been teaching me how to bargain like this as we went about our work. I thought it was some sort of a game.

  “It is,” Mike told me, “but you’ll find shopkeepers like to bargain too, makes things more interesting.” And here, it bloody works. Wait till I tell Mike.

  “See you again, young feller.”

  “Yes, thanks very much,” I said with a grin and a wave as I went out the door, bag slung over my shoulder.

  I brought a couple of big handkerchiefs, and another couple of pairs of socks, had a banana milkshake and then went to meet the boys. I stood a while at my favourite spot on the bridge, and took the blue boat with the white top for a sail, in my mind, pickin’ bananas off trees in bunches, coconuts for a change, loaves of bread off the bread tree—I was getting right into this—tins of tropical fruit salad off the fruit salad tree. I had Danny for my first mate and our crew was all the princesses we had rescued, dozens of them—we didn’t muck around.

  “Hey dreamer! Hey!” I came out of my daydream with Hugh shaking my shoulder. “Come on, tie up your boat and come ashore,” he said in my ear. “Are you going or coming to see the boys?” he asked me. “Hey, that’s a great bag.” I felt good straightaway. A bit of praise from the boss never hurts.

  “Yeah, it cost me nine bob. I bargained with this man just like Mike taught me. He wanted twelve and six for it.”

  “And you bargained him down to nine bob, eh? That was well done. Proud of you, mate.”

  I walked with him down to the pub, three feet off the ground with pride.

  “We’re gunna have a few beers. What are you gunna do?” Hugh asked me as I put my gear in the car.

  “I’m gunna do some fishing. You wanta pick me up at the wharf when you’re ready to go?”

  He said he would and went into the pub, as I headed for the corner shop for a line and hooks, sinker and bait. I went back to the car and got my bag and Hugh’s folding knife that he kept in the car, and wandered off down to the wharf, picking up two pies and a bottle of soda squash on the way.

  The fishing was great. The tide was coming in and the bream were committing suicide. I had about twelve on a gill line and a couple of cod, all a good pound and a half.

  When the boys pulled up and tooted, and I showed them my catch, Ted was full of praise. “That’s great, mate. Last night in town and we can have a big feed of fish before we go. Be a while before we see fish again, so we might as well have a good lash at it.”

  The others agreed. I noticed that whenever the boys went on the grog Hugh drove the car or truck, and at all other times Ted drove. I asked Mike why and he told me that Hugh didn’t like anyone drunk at the steering wheel. “He drinks lemon squash in the pub,” said Mike. “If he’s drivin’ he takes it all serious. His best mate, Woolfy, was killed in a car accident, drunk drivin’, hit a truck. He’s been like this ever since. We don’t mind. It’s safer this way.”

  I had to agree. We fell into our jobs as soon as we got out of the car and in no time Ted had heaps of bream fillets on the table. They were terrific, and we all stuffed ourselves—just undid the belt and the top button of our pants and sat and let the fish settle down.

  7

  Out on the track

  It was all go as soon as we got out of bed. We folded our blankets and sheets, rolled up the mattresses and stored them in the cupboard, while Ted got breakfast. A quick breakfast, a quick wash-up, then the final jobs. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to help, but I kept getting underfoot and in the road, and was roared at by Hugh and cuffed in the ear by Ted.

  Mike put me in the front of the truck. “Let them buggers do it, mate. You’ll be safe here. We’re nearly ready anyway.” He grinned and walked off to do I don’t know what, but about half an hour later we were ready.

  “Right, hop up on the back with Mike, young Warrigal,” Hugh told me. I nipped up into the front compartment, Mike giving me a hand up. I crawled up on swags, bags of horse feed, drums of water, and cartons of tinned tucker, giving Shorty a scratch between the ears on the way. We drove over to the meatworks, through a gate, and down to the dog kennels. Ted and Hugh got out and went over and let three kelpies and four blue cattle dogs off the chain. They tore around, running and knocking each other over, having hijinks. Hugh gave them the time. He rolled and smoked a cigarette, then called them and tossed them up to me and Mike. They would be company for us.

  “See that blue feller with the tattered ear, that’s Hugh’s Bob, a really good dog on a mob, head and heel. And that long-haired black and tan kelpie down there with his tail up and the look in his eye, well, that’s my dog, Rocky. He loves a blue and hates Bob, so give us that bit of rope next to you and I’ll tie him to the crate, and we’ll have some peace.” I handed it to him and he nicked down and tied Bob to one side, and Rocky to the other. “That’s sorted that out.” He pointed to two dainty looking blues. “That’s Flirt and Fly, wing dogs, good too. The other blue bloke, he’s just started runnin’. He’s Pat, Flirt’s pup from last year. Dunno how he’ll go but he’ll probably be alright. See that black and tan long-haired kelpie? Yeah, the one with the white feet.” He pointed her out to me.

  “Yeah, what about her?” I asked.

  “Best eye dog in Queensland,” Mike told me with pride. “Hugh could of sold her for big bikkies but no way will he part with her. The other one’s Jessie’s pup, Skipper. He’ll eye too. Ted’s had him on the ducks and chooks and he’s a boomer. Artie said he was working the poddy calves, so he’s goin’ to be alright. Be a real good dog if he turns out as good as his mum.”

  We were really on the way now, and everything was great. The horses were quiet, the dogs a bit restless. It was a nice sunny day, and we just sat up on top of the swags and watched the country pass by, gum trees and red dirt, an occasional roo. I saw two dingos just standing at the side of the road, beautiful yellow dogs. Of course, our dogs got the scent and started barking and jumping up the side of the crate, going spare. The horses started to get a bit nervy, tossing their heads and stamping, so we reached in and stroked the ones we could reach, and talked to the others. We sang them “buttons and bows” and the dogs helped us with barks and howls, till the boys stopped the truck and we all had a fit of laughing. It was about nine-thirty, so we decided to brew up a billy of tea.

  “Macrossan’s just up the road. We might stop there and give the horses a drink, a feed and a stretch. Do the dogs good too. You separate Bob and Rocky?” Hugh asked with a big grin. “I wouldn’t put up with it if they weren’t such good bloody dogs.”

  The dogs had got down with Mike and me and had a drink from the buckets of water Ted put out for them.

  We made sure the fire was out, stowed the gear, called the dogs aboard, and we were under way again. We stopped at Sellhim instead of Macrossan and unloaded the horses, putting a headstall on them, hobbling them and giving them a drink. We let them pick about while we fed the dogs and watered them, then got stuck into the Vegemite sandwiches Ted had made. I grabbed one of the sandwiches and it was full of sugary stuff that dripped all over the place, sticky as stink.

  “What’s this stuff?” I asked Mike, I was covered in it.

  “That’s golden syrup, the old cocky’s joy,” he said.

  I was getting right into, this cocky�
�s joy, it was real good tucker. It was made from sugar cane, Mike told me. I’d seen paddocks full of cane, like corn with no cobs. You wouldn’t think you could get something like this from it. Sugar too, scientific alright. I could hear the boys arguing over the way to go. Or at least Ted and Hugh were. Mike is like me—we just want to get there.

  “What the hell’s the difference?” he said to them both. “The roads are all shithouse once you get to the end of the tar. Christ, you both know that. If we go out through Greenvale, through Einasleigh, Forsayth, and up onto the development road, then down to Esmeralda, it’ll be less jaw-breakin’ than goin’ out through Hughenden and Richmond. Big heap of real bum-killin’ corrugations, once you turn left of Richmond. We gotta take the mob back around the ranges through Forsayth way, so we might as well go that way and see what the country’s like. You stocked the paddocks that way anyway. Eh, Ted?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell him. The Greenvale road is excellent right through, right to the Esmerelda turn-off.”

  “Well, there you are, brother. I vote with Ted. If we’re coming back that way, it’s only sense. You are just bein’ pigheaded and jackin’ up to get your own way,” Mike said to Hugh. “You got a sheila in Richmond or what?”

  “He’s a dark one alright, Michael. Bit like a sailor, except he’s got a girl in each town instead of each port,” ribbed Ted.

  “Alright you pair of bloody wingnuts, let’s not start rumours. You’ve had your win. I can’t fight both of you, plus common sense. We’ll go through Greenvale.” Hugh laughed. “Jeez, it’s givin’ me a terrible headache getting you mob to agree with me.”