by A B Facey
I was awakened by one of my brothers shaking me. Dinner was ready; it was about half past five. When I walked out into the dining-room all the family were there. My mother ran to me, put her arms around me and kissed me many times. Then she introduced me to my stepfather, who shook hands with me and said that I was a big boy for my age. He told me to call him Bill, and that I was very welcome and to make myself at home. Bill was a Master Plumber and taught plumbing two nights a week at the Perth Technical School. He had his own business, and he said that he might be able to use my brothers on contract work. He would see what he could do.
This was the first meal I could remember having with my mother. After dinner I volunteered to do the washing-up but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She said, ‘Not tonight, you must be tired. Jack and Harry can do it tonight.’ Harry was about twelve years old and Jack was nine.
So Mother, Bill, my two brothers and I all went into the sitting-room. My mother and Bill asked a lot of questions about my work and they were amazed at what I had been through, and how I had been robbed of my wages and flogged. I showed them the whip marks which were still very clear over my back and upper arms. They were shocked.
I was told that my sister Myra, who was left with Mother when we first arrived in Kalgoorlie from Victoria, had taken ill just before Mother came to Perth, and was in a sanitarium for consumption at Coolgardie. Mother told me that she hoped to get her transferred to a hospital at West Subiaco. She hoped it would be soon so that Eric, Roy and I could see her. It was something I looked forward to as I loved my sister Myra. We were always together when we were little, but I hadn’t seen her since I was five. Mother also told me that my oldest brother Joseph was in the wheat-belt somewhere, still working for a firm of surveyors. My other brother Vernon was still in the Royal Australian Navy. I hadn’t seen either of them since they had come west with our father when I was a baby, so I really didn’t know them at all. We talked about many things until bedtime.
Next morning our mother woke us at about eight o’clock. Bill had gone to work and the kids were ready for school. Mother prepared some breakfast for us, then when we sat down at the table she said, ‘Now I have something to say to you three boys. Your stepfather is only a working man with limited means. He’s trying to work up a business but it is a battle and I cannot expect him to keep you boys. He has three children of his own.’ Then she suddenly said, ‘How much money has each of you got?’ I felt myself blushing as I said that I had enough to pay my way for a few weeks. Eric said he had enough to do him until he got his wages and he continued, ‘I’m starting work on Monday next.’ Roy said the same. We were keeping our financial position to ourselves. Mother then said, ‘From tomorrow I want one pound a week board from each of you, whether you are getting wages or not. That is what you would be paying in a boarding-house. The only difference is that I will do your washing and ironing, and at a boarding house you would have to pay extra for that.’ Eric remarked that she was being a little hard on me. ‘He is only a kid,’ he said. ‘Hell have a hard time getting a job.’ Mother replied that if I could not pay my board, I would have to go back to the country—I was fourteen years old now and they couldn’t send me to school. Eric and Roy looked disgusted and I knew then that I didn’t like my mother. What Grandma had said was right. At that moment I felt that it was a terrible mistake to have come from the country. Everything was so different. In the country the people were more friendly and I felt like I was wanted.
After breakfast we went to the Port of Fremantle to have a look around. We went by train to Cottesloe beach and lay on the sand, then hired some bathers and went for a swim. My brothers and I discussed our mother’s attitude towards us, and Roy said, ‘She only took a couple of days to put the screw on us to know how much money we had.’ Eric let himself go and said that he had a good mind to clear out and not bother to see her again. Roy made the suggestion that if I was unable to find work, he and Eric would pay my board between them. I told them that I would be all right for about two months and surely something would turn up in that time.
The next three weeks were a nightmare to me. Besides paying my board, I had to split up enough wood blocks to keep the fire going. Mother would send me out job hunting and I had little knowledge of Perth and got lost trying to find the places. When I did find them I would be too late or would be told that my reading and writing was not good enough to do the work.
Then one Friday evening I was walking down the main street of Subiaco, and a storekeeper standing outside his grocery store stopped me and said, ‘Are you the boy who is looking for work?’ I replied, ‘Yes, sir.’ He then asked, ‘Do you think you could help me by cleaning up in the mornings and evenings, filling up the grocery shelves, bringing in fresh supplies from the storage places at the back as they are required, and delivering small orders around Subiaco?’ I said I could, and he said, ‘All right, you can start Monday morning at seven-thirty. I’ll pay you one pound a week.’ The wages would at least pay for my board, so I decided to take the job. I still had enough to keep me going for pocket money for a week or so and something might turn up. I would try it for a few weeks and keep learning to read and write.
I had been learning every chance I could get. I was coming along nicely and could write very well and sign my name without any trouble. In fact, last time I made a withdrawal at the bank, they came and questioned me about my signature. When I explained about my improved writing and learning to read they were very nice, gave me a pat on the back and said, ‘You keep on son, you’ll come good.’ This was an inspiration for me to work harder.
The first week in my new job was not happy. I had to learn to ride a cycle with a large cane basket strapped to the handle-bars to carry the groceries. It was hard to manage. I doubt that I could count the number of times I fell off and tipped the groceries out on to the road—spilling sugar, breaking eggs. Not being used to the city, I had a problem finding the places where the groceries were to be delivered. But although my boss growled and threatened me many times, he also gave me encouragement and said, ‘Never mind, lad, you will learn in time.’
At the end of the second week the boss told me I was doing fine and he was very pleased with me. But I didn’t like the job; there was no hope of advancement, working only for my keep. This disheartened me and I decided to go back to the bush.
I got Roy to write two letters for me; one to Grandma and one to the Bibbys asking would they like me to come back to work for them. My Grandma wrote back and said that things were very bad in the country. The crops were a failure. Not enough rain had fallen during September and October to bring them to maturity. Most farmers would be lucky if they got enough wheat for their seed for the next crop. A few days later I got a letter from Mrs Bibby and her story supported Grandma’s; she said they wouldn’t be able to pay my wages. I felt sorry for these people doing all that heart-breaking work for nothing. I got Roy to write a letter to tell them how sorry I was, and wish them better luck next year.
After I had been at the store for nearly four weeks, Bill came home one evening and said he had been talking to some cattle station owners. They had told him that cattle stations up North were looking for lads who could ride a horse, for mustering around Christmas time. They told him the lads could get up to thirty shillings a week and keep all year round. This appealed to me; I liked the bush and I liked horses. I got Bill to make enquiries about how to get up there. The station owners told Bill I should go by boat from Fremantle to Geraldton or Carnarvon (two northern seaports on the Western Australian coastline).
So the next day Roy booked my passage to Geraldton on the Kanelpy, a small steamship heading north, sailing on the first Monday in December. I felt pleased with myself, but Mother was very annoyed with me and said, ‘What will you do if you don’t find a job up there?’ I told her Roy said that I was to send him word and he would lend me money if I got stuck. My mother turned on him and told him he would want his money to buy clothes and boots. He replied, ‘Bert will send
it back as soon as he gets settled in a job.’
I finished up with the grocer on the Saturday and Mother washed my clothes and got them ready for me. Early on Monday morning I went into the city and withdrew some money out of the savings bank, enough to last for a month. I arranged with the bank to send my specimen signature to the Geraldton branch. I had thirty pounds left in the account, and considering I had been in the city for nearly nine weeks I hadn’t done too bad.
Before my brothers and Bill left for work that Monday morning, they wished me luck. The three kids said goodbye to me before going to school. After lunch my mother said she would see me off at Fremantle. So, carrying my trunk, we set off for the wharf. The Kanelpy was so small that we had to go down a ladder to get on to it from the wharf, and a man in uniform met us and showed me my cabin. It had four bunks; mine was one of the lower ones. I put my trunk under the bunk, then Mother and I had a look over this boat that was called a ship. It was bigger than it looked from the wharf. I felt better after I had seen it from end to end.
We went back to the railway station, and I sat with Mother until her train to Subiaco came. I knew I wouldn’t see her again for a long time. She said goodbye to me and kissed me, and I noticed a few tears in her eyes. As I went back to the ship it seemed to me my mother showed she had a little feeling for me—enough to shed a tear. That was something I had to remember her by, even if I never saw her again.
The boat sailed a little after four o’clock in the afternoon. The water was very calm, and I sat on a hatch cover and watched Fremantle get farther away, wondering what was ahead for me. I felt free. It was a feeling of wonder—not lonely, not afraid—a feeling of independence. Here I was, only three months over fourteen years of age, and free to go and do as I pleased.
The Captain of the boat asked me if I was enjoying the trip. I said, ‘Yes, when the water is like this I’m a good sailor.’ He told me that it would get rough later but I’d have no worries as we would be in Geraldton early in the morning. ‘What is a kid like you doing on your own?’ he said, and he was surprised when I told him I was looking for work.
We were now out of sight of Fremantle and the sea was a little rough. When the dinner gong went I didn’t feel like a meal. That night the sea got into a swell and I spent most of the night vomiting over the side.
When I got off the boat at Geraldton I spread my travelling rug on the ground under a big shrub and lay there for over an hour before I felt well enough to bother about finding somewhere to stop. Then I managed to carry my trunk and rifle up to the main street of Geraldton, where I saw a sign in front of a large building that said ‘Coffee Palace’.I knew people could get lodgings and meals there, so I went in and a large lady came to me. I told her that I was looking for work and wanted somewhere to stay and she said, ‘The board and lodging will cost you one pound a week in advance.’ I agreed to pay one week in advance and see what turned up. She said that I should have gone on through to Carnarvon where I would have had a better chance of getting a job on a station. I told her that if I had gone any farther on that boat I wouldn’t have been alive to want a job.
Then she said, ‘I bet you could do with a cup of tea.’ We went into the kitchen and as I ate tea and sandwiches she asked me how a boy like me was alone in the world. I explained about my position and all the cruel people I had been unlucky enough to meet up with, and also the nice ones I had met.
She seemed a kind lady. Her name was Mrs Stafford and she and her daughter Jean ran the Coffee Palace. They employed another girl to do the cleaning and wait on the tables, whose name was Mary.
After the tea and sandwiches, I became sleepy, so I asked Mrs Stafford to excuse me as I wanted to go to my room and have a sleep. She said, ‘You do just that. You look all in. We have dinner at five-thirty. If you don’t waken, one of us will call you.’ I had a small room at the back of the building all to myself, and I had no sooner laid down on the bed than I was sound asleep. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me and saying, ‘Come on, dinner is on.’
Mrs Stafford and the girls were sitting at the kitchen table. Mary jumped up and said, ‘I will bring your dinner into the dining-room for you.’ I said, ‘Could I have my meals in here with you? I don’t understand the names you put on the menus.’ Mrs Stafford said that they would be pleased to let me have my meals with them.
After dinner I helped the girls to wash up and then I walked around Geraldton. It wasn’t a very big town. Some of the streets had gas lights, and as night came they were lit by a man on horseback.
I must have slept soundly that night because when I woke up the sun was shining. I got dressed and went into the kitchen. Mary was there and she said, ‘You’re just in time, I was going to call you. Mum’s out chopping wood.’ She always called Mrs Stafford Mum. I went out to the backyard and there was the lady swinging an axe like any man. I asked if I could cut the wood for her, and she handed me the axe and stood and watched me.
My way of cutting the lengths to oven size was different from Mrs Stafford’s. The pieces that were three inches thick or less, I cut into foot lengths. The thicker pieces, I split down to two or three inch strips, then cut these into lengths to fit the oven. After watching me for a few minutes, Mrs Stafford went back into the kitchen. A few minutes later she called me to breakfast.
I took an armful of wood into the kitchen and as I sat down at the table, Mrs Stafford said, ‘Where did you learn to cut wood like that?’ I told her I had worked for a new settler in the wheatbelt and he had shown me how to use an axe. Mrs Stafford said, ‘Do you think you could cut me enough wood each morning to fill the wood-box while you’re here? If you do that, I will give your board to you for fifteen shillings a week because cutting that wood is killing me.’ I said I would be glad to. So I filled the wood-box each morning.
On one of my walks around Geraldton I came across a camping ground. I was startled by two large half-breed stag hounds coming towards me, barking and looking as if they were going to tear me to pieces. Then I heard a man’s voice calling the dogs off, and to my relief, they obeyed. ‘They won’t hurt you,’ the man yelled.
He was a big man with a large black beard, and he told me he was a kangaroo shooter and that he always came into Geraldton around December to sell skins. He said, ‘I never stay here for Christmas though. I like the bush. Geraldton is too rowdy for me.’
He then asked me to have a drink with him. I said, ‘I promised my grandma that I would never drink.’ He looked at me, then he said, ‘Son, once you make a promise, no matter what happens, don’t ever break it. You no doubt think that I am an untidy and don’t-care person, but I like a body with principles.’
This rough, bearded man was something out of the ordinary, and I liked him. His name was Bill Oliver. I told him all about my past and how I came to Geraldton looking for work, and that I was stopping at Mrs Stafford’s place. ‘A man from up North told my stepfather there are plenty of jobs for lads up there on the stations,’ I said. ‘Things are bad this harvest down in the wheatbelt.’ He was quiet for a while and then he said, ‘You’ve come to the wrong place. You should have gone much farther north to get a job on a station. The station managers and owners generally go to Carnarvon but sometimes they come into Mullewa, about sixty miles from here. I’m going out there next week, kangaroo shooting. If you like, you can come with me. You may pick up a job there.’
Then Bill told me he was going to work the stations north-east of Mullewa. He stayed from one to three months on each station. The station owners and managers all gave him his supplies free to encourage him and also paid him a bounty of one pound on dingo scalps and two shillings on emu heads. He also got a two shillings bounty for each goat he shot and he sold the goat skins for three to four shillings each.
I promised that I would come out to his camp in a day or so, and let him know if I was going with him to Mullewa, then made my way back to town, wondering how I would like travelling with Bill. It seemed exciting. I like shooting and I knew I w
as a good shot.
When I arrived back at the Coffee Palace I asked Mrs Stafford if she knew Bill Oliver. She said that he was a kind, honest and respected man. I told her that he wanted me to go with him to Mullewa next week as he thought I would have a better chance of getting a job on a station from out there. She said, ‘I think he’s right. If you don’t get a job, you can come back with the mail coachman. He goes out there every fortnight and carries passengers either way.’
I made up my mind to go with Bill and I went out to his camp that afternoon and told him so. He seemed pleased. He wanted to be in Mullewa for Christmas dinner with a friend, a lady whose husband, a good friend of his, had broken his neck falling from a horse three years before. Bill told me that the lady, May, worked at the hotel and lived in a small house on her own. ‘You’ll like her,’ he said. ‘When her husband was killed, she was left all alone. I came in from the bush and stayed with her. She sent word to me by a black stockman, and he rode over two hundred miles to get me. Her husband and I were good mates.’ Bill gave her money as a loan and helped her, so she made him promise to come and have Christmas dinner every year. So, about five days before Christmas, we left for Mullewa.
Nine
I asked Bill how long it would take to go the sixty miles to Mullewa and he said, ‘About three days. I never hurry my horses, I let them go at their own pace.’ Bill had two horses and he loved them, so we travelled very slowly. The sun as it climbed in the sky got hotter and hotter. Bill said, ‘There’s a watering place about a mile farther on. We’ll stay there and rest for a few hours. It’s better to travel in the early morning and late in the evening these hot days.’ The two dogs walked in the shadow of the cart during the heat.
Later we set off again and travelled on with the sun behind us. There was a long period of twilight, then night came. Suddenly the horses turned off the track. Bill said, ‘They know where they’re going. This is the twenty-three-mile well. It’s where we camp tonight.’ After we had a meal, we lay down to rest for the night.