Warrigal's Way

by Warrigal Anderson

  The kids who were swimming later in the water laughed at us when we told them about the shark. They are fearless young buggers. All the kids of the top end could pick up your spirits with their laughing and joking. I think if I could pick a place on earth to live, it would have to be Elcho Island—it had the loveliest people you could ever want to meet, in a beautiful place.

  We went to Gove and then down to the Roper River. After we’d unloaded at the Roper, we had about two hours to wait for the tide.

  “Hey Ed,” called Russel, one of the settlement blokes who had been giving us a hand to unload. “You want to get a photo of a real big crocodile? I tell you, man, it’s huge!”

  “Geez yeah. Hang on and I’ll get my camera and ask the skipper if we’ve got time.” I headed off to get my camera, and noticed Bob doing the same. We met on the Bridge, and Joe told us we had heaps of time.

  We set off, Russel leading the way, and we walked for ages across sand, through high grass, and in knee-high mud.

  “Christ, I hope this is worth it,” Bob said to me. I agreed.

  On the way Russel told us that this was a sacred croc. I got a bit uneasy at this, a sort of jittery feeling, but he just grinned and said, “She be right.”

  We finally came out on the bank of a large billabong with sloping muddy sides. “Now look,” said Russel. “When I slap my hand on the water this bloke will come out, and you can get a ripper photo. You ready?”

  We nodded. Russel slapped the water and nothing happened. I had the old instamatic screwed into my eye socket waiting. “He must have had a feed,” Russel was saying, when the water erupted and this enormous croc came roaring out of the water.

  Take a photo? I couldn’t even get its head in the viewfinder, and my feet didn’t need my brain to tell them to leg it. Christ, it looked bigger than the Loch Ness Monster. I reckon I broke the sound barrier. I could feel its breath on my legs and when I put my hand behind me, I reckoned I could feel it. Bob was about one step in front. I tell you, man, if that barge had gone, it wouldn’t have mattered as we’d have beaten it back to Darwin by about two days. Did we get a photo? I reckon we ran a mile flat out before we even realised we had cameras.

  Bob said, “I don’t think we should do this kind of thing again.”

  I sort of gasped out, “Not until JC comes back and teaches me to run on water. From now on, swimming in billabongs is a great big no-no!”

  I worked on the barge for about three months, but that was enough for me. Back on the mainland, I went to the boarding house and old Rosa made a fuss over me, which was a bit sus. But then again, I had a quid, so that might be it. Her favourite saying was, “Dermarmie, Dermarmie”, and I thought she was saying tomorrow, but Dave, another of the blokes staying there, and one of the deck crew on our sister ship, “Warrender”, said, “No mate. That’s pure English. She’s saying, “the money, the money”. When I listened closely, I realised he was dead right, but she was good to me.

  Dave and I had decided to go to Western Australia, and I was waiting around for him to get back. His ship was travelling down the West Australian coast on a cattle trip. So I hung out at the Buff club, playing pool and darts, and yarning with Sue, the girl working behind the bar. One day Kevin and Bob and a few others I had worked with came in, and Kevin told me about a mate of his who’d just bought a block out by the Onoonamah Pub. It had an old shed on it and all sorts of junk lying around, and they were going to have a working bee to give him a hand to clean it up. Everyone used to pitch in in those days, and although I didn’t know him, he was a mate of Kevin’s, so I said I’d help. Next day, Saturday, we got stuck in, and by mid-afternoon we had done the deed and had a huge pile of rubbish.

  Kevin’s mate Fred was just about to drop the match into the pile when Bob said, “Look,” and about a half mile down the track was a tourist bus.

  “What do you reckon?” said Fred with a grin. We all rushed over to the shed, where there was a heap of old coats and jerseys and hats, and when the tourists got off the bus, sweltering in the ninety-five degree heat, they saw six blokes standing, rugged up to the nines, warming their hands over this huge fire.

  The girls at the pub told us later that the tourists had thought we were fair dinkum.

  That’ll give them something to tell the folks back home, I thought.

  Dave and I were having a night on the town and we ended up at the club. Kevin and the boys were dancing and I was sitting at the table on my own, when a bloke I knew well sat down at the table with me. He was a cop, but he was a member and a decent bloke. “I want to give you a quiet word on the side, mate,” he said. “We’ve got a warrant out on you at work. It’s old but still in force. There’s not much information, but you must have been a kid when it was taken out. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  With my heart thumping, and visions of jail, I explained the situation.

  “Christ, is that all? Bastards getting us to do their dirty work again. Don’t worry about it, mate. I’ll bury it in the back of a file somewhere. Christ, you’re bloody near grown-up. Nah, don’t worry, we’re not all bastards.” He gave me a tap on the shoulder and went back to his table.

  I was shattered. The bubble of freedom had burst. How long are they going to hound me?” I thought. I was feeling panic-stricken and just wanted to get out of here. I got up and blundered my way to the door, sweating and sober. Kevin and Dave followed me.

  “What’s wrong, mate?” Kevin asked.

  I told him and Dave the whole story.

  “And they want to whack you in the can because your mum’s Aboriginal?” Kevin said in wonder. “I never heard of this sort of bullshit.” Dave agreed.

  Even though I knew my cop friend wouldn’t dob me in, I was in a bit of a panic and just wanted to get away. Kevin knew that a mate of Ben’s had a station wagon for sale, so we went out to the caravan park where Ben and his mate lived and fortunately they were still up, drinking and yarning. I bought the wagon on the spot. It had five months rego and the motor was sweet. I dropped Kevin and Dave off, and told Dave I would pick him up in the morning. I was so keyed up that I headed straight home, packed my gear into the wagon and drove out to McMillans Road and slept in the car.

  21

  West to Western Australia

  At seven the next morning I picked Dave up at Perkins Yard. Like me he only had his swag and a port. We took off, only stopping to fill up with petrol before heading off to Katherine. We stopped at Hayes Creek for a beer, and Dave got a carton of VB and a bottle of Bundy. We had a few cans and then sipped on the Bundy all the way to Pine Creek where we filled up with petrol, got a bucket and a bag of ice for the cans and went over to the pub for lunch. Katherine was only an hour away, and when we got there we topped the car up again and had a feed and a beer at Kirby’s Pub. Dave took over the driving, and I nodded off as soon as we got onto the Victoria Highway. Dave woke me just before Timber Creek, where we topped up the petrol again, bought a sawdust pie, more ice and another carton of VB, then, with me behind the wheel, we headed for Kununurra just over the border in Western Australia.

  As soon as we pulled in, a bloke put the touch on us. “Got half a quid, mate?” he said.

  Dave answered him in language I won’t repeat and we went into the pub. We had hardly downed our first beer, when the local sheilas homed in on us.

  “Buy us a beer, love?” said some woman who was hanging all over me.

  I might have been just passing through but I wasn’t stupid. I’d knocked around a bit and the promise of a battered eye didn’t stir me one bit. As soon as I heard, “Let’s get a flagon and go out to the dam”, I was pretty sus. Dave was still pretty cross-eyed from what he had drunk on the road, but I had been driving and was pretty sober. I’d been checking out the blokes over my beer, and they were trying to look like they didn’t know the sheilas, and mad bloody Dave wants to go with them. No way, I think to myself. I can feel my wallet heading for the bottom of my pocket. My one thought was to finish the beer, grab
Davo, and get out of there. That was the surest set-up I’ve ever seen. We would have been mad to slope off with those sheilas. About the only thing we’d have got was a biffing and an empty pocket. I put the kibosh on the idea and poured Dave into the car. He was moaning and groaning, but I just ignored that and headed for Fitzroy Crossing.

  In Fitzroy at the camping ground we ran into a mob of black stockmen who were on a weekend off and were partying up, with beer and plenty of music. It was a real good night, but by three o’clock, I decided it was time to hit the swag. Dave had crashed about two hours earlier and was sleeping like a baby.

  Next morning Dave used my primus and boiled the billy, and the cup of tea was exactly what my body needed at that moment. Talk about the dry horrors. I was watching this bloke and his woman while I was rolling the first smoke of the day. Yeah, I’d taken up smoking again, but it wasn’t too bad this time around. I tell you these two were something to see. It must have been their last can, and he was taking a big swig. When the old girl considered he’d had his whack, she gave him a tremendous punch on the ear, and grabbed the can as he dropped it. She got into it, and then he belted her and claimed the can. Christ, I’d rather play tennis. That’s about the hardest can I’ve ever seen drunk.

  We packed up our gear, got a carton and a bag of ice from the pub, and headed for Derby. Just up the track. Derby’s claim to fame was an old hollow boab tree where they used to jail Aboriginals in days gone by. Once we’d seen that, well, it was off to the pub. We had no chance of falling over. All the hands stretched out to bludge a buck would hold up the leaning tower of Pisa. We had a few beers and decided to keep going for Broome.

  22

  Broome in the golden west

  Now Broome was a different kettle of fish. Its population was about fifteen hundred, if you count the jail population. It was a pretty place, the main street a mixture of Chinese and Australian shops, and the street ran down to a park by the sea, or Roebuck Bay, as we were told. We found a Chinese restaurant right alongside the jail wall, and I had the best feed of sweet and sour prawns I have ever eaten.

  “What do you reckon we have a look at the wharf?” Dave suggested. “I seen a couple of rig tenders—we might know someone.”

  So we went down there to have a look around. Funny, the first bloke we ran into was Greg, a Murri bloke from Darwin that I knew slightly. We had a yarn with him and then Jim, the seaman’s rep from Darwin, came over to say g’day.

  “What brings you pair down this way?” he asked, shaking hands and smiling.

  “We got sick of the Top End, and decided to have a look at the side,” I told him with a grin.

  “Geez, this is a stroke of luck. Do one of you two want to do a rope watch on the San Remo? Give the crew a run ashore?”

  Dave was looking at me so I said, “Let’s draw straws.” He pulled a match out of a box, broke one, put the two pieces between two fingers, and of course with my luck I drew the long one.

  It is vital to have someone stand rope watch in Broome. With a rise and fall of the tide of twenty-five to thirty feet, if you don’t tend the rope your boat can end up hanging from the bollard, or can pull the bollards out of the deck doing awful damage. The locals can tell you plenty of stories about smarties who didn’t listen to their advice. You have to pay out on the ebb and retrieve on the turn.

  I knew the skipper and crew from Darwin, and the job went without a hitch. The cook left me a big pile of books, and showed me where the goodies were kept. So while Dave and the boys were ripping it up ashore at the Roebuck Pub I was cooking the biggest meal of steak, onions and eggs you ever saw. They were all back at about midnight, Dave coming back with them, and they were off on the morning tide. I reckon I got the best deal, as with penalty rates I had made a hundred and fourteen bucks for the watch, and had had the best feed I’d had since leaving Darwin. Jim said that her sister ship was coming in the afternoon, and I could do another shift if I wanted to, but Dave said he would do this one and give me a turn ashore.

  The wharfies had their noses out of joint, as they reckoned the rope watch was their job, but Jim pointed out that under maritime law it was a seaman’s duty and we held our books and union cards. If there were no seamen available that was different, but we didn’t do their work and they didn’t do ours. They saw reason. They didn’t want a blue they couldn’t justify or win, and didn’t want to lose a perk job for good. There were only a couple of greedy buggers turning it on anyway.

  We thought Broome was great and decided to stay a week or so. Greg’s family owned some land around Cable Beach, and he told us that if we wanted to camp he would clear it with his old man. We picked a spot down by the wharf, then went into town for bread, salt, butter and other assorted goodies.

  In town we ran into the local cop and I let Dave do the talking. He told him who we were and what we were doing. The cop just smiled and said, “Thanks fellers, have a good stay. Don’t give me any work and we’ll get on like a house on fire. See you about.” He gave us a wave and drove off. I had been holding my breath, and after he’d driven off I realised I was shaking and sweating.

  “Christ, are you all right?” asked Dave.

  “Yeah, a touch of the heat. I’ll be right soon. Let’s go and get a beer. That’ll fix me up.”

  So we went down to the Roebuck where we ran into Greg. We had a session with him, and bought our stores on the way back to camp.

  During the night I woke at some ungodly hour and Dave was going spare. The tent was full of land crabs. They were in everything, and he was grabbing them and chucking them out as fast as they were coming in.

  “Bugger this. Grab the tucker. It looks like a night in the car for us,” said Dave.

  I was in total agreement.

  What a bastard it was sleeping in the car. Every time I moved, some thing stuck into me and the bucket seats were breaking my back. Dave had the back seat with his feet out the window.

  As it was impossible to sleep, I thought I might as well get the primus out and make a cup of tea. Running into that cop had shot my nerves all to bits. I was hoping that my mate in Darwin did bury that warrant real deep. I wondered whether the cop here had one down at his station. Thank Christ he doesn’t know who I am, I thought.

  I shook Dave. “Dave, it’s cracking daylight. Give us a hand to get this camp in the car, and we can get the hell out of here.”

  “Where the hell we gunna go?” Dave asked me as we were folding up our fly and groundsheet, and stowing them in the car.

  “I reckon we just take a drive around towards Cable Beach and keep our eyes open. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, can’t do no harm. We might see something.”

  So I drove while Dave kept an eye out. We’d gone about half a mile when Dave said, “Let’s investigate that.” It was a set of wheel tracks off the main road leading out to a small headland. About five hundred yards down the track we came to a sort of clearing that was either an old quarry or an old metal dump. There was a fireplace of sorts, so we decided we would give this a try. We put our camp up again, and once we’d put our groundsheet over the metal and rolled out our swags the camp was nice and snug. We would have to carry water from the wharf but we were going to fish anyway.

  The beach was just down the hill from our camp, so we went for a look and found crabs, oysters, clams and periwinkles. I was on my way back to camp to get a pot to collect some oysters for tea when Dave called, “Come and have a look at this!”

  I went over, and in one of the rock pools was a blue-ringed octopus. I had heard of them, as a year before a soldier had been bitten by one and died and it was in the papers. I couldn’t get over the size of it. It was only about the size of the palm of your hand, sort of dark green with perfect blue rings, like blue Life-Savers. It was a real pretty thing, and I could see how you could pick one up if you didn’t know it was lethal. We both agreed we would leave it well alone.

  Dave had a long cone-shaped shell in his hand. “See this bludger,” h
e said. “It has a stinger on the skinny end, so never pick it up by that end. I’m not sure if it’s deadly, but it would make you bloody crook.” I had a closer look. It just looked like a long skinny shell. I had seen hundreds of them and never knew they were poisonous. Crikey, you learn something new every day.

  We had gathered a heap of periwinkles as we were going fishing later down at the wharf. But at the moment all we wanted was a good kip. It was still only about five am or thereabouts.

  “Davo, get out of the sack. Let’s have a cuppa and get at these fish.” I had to laugh, seeing him getting out of the swag. He looked like Burke or Wills on their last day. “Geez man, dip your head in a bucket of water. You look horrible enough to scare a pub full of rascals.”

  Dave just grunted and poured a pot full of water over his head. “Geez, I still feel had it. He took a sip from his mug of tea. “Ahh! Man, that’s good. Now, what about lines, hooks and stuff?”

  “I’ve got a couple of hand lines and a tackle box in the car. We’ll go down the wharf, eh?”