Pat Ritter. Books

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Thank you Brillo for your kind thanks: here is the page for today: 'The Shearer' - Page 58:

‘Great Sarge, thanks for helping me. You did help me, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I let your horse go in the paddock beside the station and your buggy is outside.’
‘Thank you. Can I use your toilet please?’
‘Yeah – it’s at the back of the station.’
Fitzgerald left the office and after visiting the toilet, returned, ‘I’d better register this fellow’s death.’ He took the certificate from his pocket and handed it to Sergeant Gray.
‘I’ll check to see if he’s a local.’ Gray checked the office records, ‘Here he is, Graham Simpson, known as Bluey, a shearer. He hasn’t any next-of-kin to contact so check with the Court House when you register his death.’
‘Thanks Sarge.’ Fitzgerald walked from the Police Station to the Court House a building next door.
‘Good-day Spike.’ He’d known the Clerk Of The Court by his nickname ‘Spike’ since he’d arrived in Eulo.
Spike looked at Constable Fitzgerald. ‘Look what the cat dragged in! You look awful mate. What can I do for you?’
‘Here’s a death certificate on Bluey Simpson, bitten by a mulga snake yesterday. Had the post mortem this morning and Doctor Pike issued this certificate as to cause of death.’ He handed Spike the certificate.
‘Any next of kin?’
‘Not to our knowledge. Sergeant Gray checked the office files and came up with no one.’
‘Alright, leave it with me. Did he have any property or money?’
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'The Shearer' - Page 59:

‘Yes, I’ve got his swag in the buggy. I’ll leave it with Sergeant Gray.’
‘I’ll follow this up with the council undertaker and fix everything for you as usual. You heading back to Eulo?’ Spike queried.
‘Yeah – I’d like to get back before dark. See you next time I’m in the big city of Cunnamulla.’
He farewelled everyone to return to his town. Once he reached the banks of the Warrego River he plunged into the water, uniform and all, to rid himself the smell of death.

Chapter 8

Joe waved goodbye to the police officer and started walking across the open country toward Tilbooroo Station. As far as the crow flew he estimated his arrival at the station by late afternoon or early evening. A light breeze swept against his body; lucky the country was open with few trees. He sighted a dead tree far in the distance as a bearing to head to. There he’d rest until he regained his strength and walk on to the station.
His mind filled with the death of Bluey, together with seeing the snake latch onto Bluey’s neck. Joe never a favourite of the police; however on this occasion he couldn’t sing their praises loud enough. His mind finally at peace when handing over Bluey’s body to Constable Fitzgerald.
He headed toward the dead tree. Once he reached the dead tree he saw smoke billowing from a shed in the distance. He estimated another three to five miles to walk before reaching his destination.
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Thank you dub for your kind thanks. Here is the page for today: 'The Shearer' - Page 60:

Taking a rest for half-an-hour he dozed, but couldn’t sleep and soon continued his journey to the homestead. Finally arriving before the sun set in the west the first shearer he met was Jack Reardon. ‘Joe, sorry to hear about Bluey mate, come on in and meet the cook.’
Jack beckoned Joe toward the kitchen - if one could call it a kitchen because unlike his previous station this one resembled an open area with a thrash roof. ‘Scott, this is Joe Ryan, one of our shearers. Joe this is Scott Driscoll, our cook.’ They shook hands.
‘Welcome Joe. Take a seat. We’re about to have dinner - stew and pudden.’ Scott pointed to a spare seat at the table. After a quick introduction to the other workers, a plate of steaming hot stew piled high on an enamel plate placed in front of Joe. ‘Get this into ya - mate.’ Said the cook.
Joe was famished. His taste buds exploded as he forked the morsels into his mouth. He’d not eaten for a couple of days since leaving Moonjaree Station. ‘Where do we sleep?’ Joe asked the person seated beside him.
‘Out on the flat mate. There’re no shearers quarters here. If it rains, we get wet.’ He replied.
At that moment Joe thought of an idea - probably the most important idea to ever enter his mind. Why do shearers need to put up with these conditions and wages for the work they do? They’re not slaves. What could he do about these conditions? He needed the work as did other shearers, but there had to be something done. What could he do?
After dinner he spread his swag on the ground near a gum tree; sleeping under the stars didn’t worry Joe because he’d been used to it. What about these other shearers and the young ‘tar boy’? Memories of when he was a similar age to the ‘tar boy’ surfaced. At least he had a good shearing contractor to lean on until he graduated to become a shearer.
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'The Shearer' - Page 61:

Daylight the next morning Joe was awakened by the sound of a bell and the voice of the cook. ‘Come and get em’. Joe rubbed the sleep from his eyes, rose from his swag and combed his fingers through his hair.
‘Where can we have a wash?’ He asked his mate sleeping beside him.
‘Over at the trough.’
He picked up his shaving gear and a towel, stood up and walked to the trough. Other shearers used it but there was plenty of room for Joe to take his place.
After washing his face, shaving and combing his hair, he returned to his swag. He’d have breakfast first, and then tend to his daily ritual to make his shears in good working order before he set out for a day’s work.
Seeing the food dished up on a plate in front of him, he realised the cook was a good one. Lamb chops and onion gravy piled high on his plate with a pannikin of steaming black tea – what more could he ask? No conversation was had during their meal.
With no shearing shed, this property was different to the previous shearing sheds Joe had worked. Rough timber bearers covered by thatch roof, the length of a normal shearing shed kept the sheep cool. Shearing was done in the open. Each sheep dragged by the shearer to be shorn from underneath this bush building to a huge tarpaulin spread along the ground with room for three shearers.
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'The Shearer' - Page 62:

Each shearer took up their position on the tarpaulin and began to shear their sheep. After separating the fleece, a roustabout gathered the shorn fleece to be taken to a wool press where the wool presser was waiting to press the wool into bales. After the shearer completed the sheep, he let it go and ringers mustered them into a mob for driving into a paddock.
This was a simple operation, but unclean from his previous station at Kahmoo Station where he had met the love of his life – Hannah. His thoughts constantly reminded him how lucky he was to have a love like her and he wondered where she was and how she was coping. Did she return to Brisbane to continue her schooling and still be thinking of him?
Within a couple of days his strength sapped because the heat drained his body working in the midday sun. Joe didn’t want to give up; however, his thoughts were more on his fellow shearers and what could be done to improve their conditions.
After dinner one evening he sat beside the tree where he had his swag, smoked a rollie and looked at the sky to see the stars. His body was exhausted from his day’s labours. Jack Reardon lay on his swag beside Joe. ‘Beautiful night Joe,’ Jack said.
‘Beauty mate. I could sit and watch these stars all night,’ Joe responded.
‘Yeah. Good alright. How did you go today?’
‘Bloody tough mate if you ask me. We shouldn’t have to work under these conditions. Just shorn at Kahmoo Station and it was a palace compared to this hell hole,’ Joe commented.
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'The Shearer' - Page 63:

‘Never shorn there, only been shearing at places like this one. Don’t know any different.’
‘Mate Kahmoo Station had everything laid on for the worker,’ said Joe.
‘Ah – it doesn’t matter because this cocky isn’t going to make any changes if his life depended upon it!’
‘They should make our conditions and wages better. Wonder how we can go about improving things.’
‘I hear a fellow, name of William Spence formed a Shearer’s Union. He’s from Ballarat joined up with another union, Amalgamated Workers Union.’ Jack informed Joe.
Joe looked at Jack in amazement, ‘how do you know? Are you fair dinkum mate?’ Joe’s enthusiasm grew deep within.
‘Too right I am. They talked about it in the pub the other night and one of the shearers here knows this fellow Spence and says he’s a great bloke.’
‘I’ll be in a union if they can get the cocky to make things better for us.’ His heart filled with joy to know something was going to happen if it only started in Victoria it could move to Queensland, eventually. He’d make certain it worked.
‘Hey Jack where can I get onto this fellow Spence, how do I contact him?’ Joe wanted to know.
‘I suppose you can write to him. I’ll find out more for you from this other shearer who was telling me about him. I’d better go to sleep, Joe, because it’s going to be a big day tomorrow shearing those woollies in the sun.’ Jack rolled over in his swag and soon snored.
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Thank you dub for your message of support. Here is the page for today: 'The Shearer' - Page 64:

Joe couldn’t sleep, his mind filled with excitement to think someone down south fought for shearers to have improved wages and working conditions. A union with thousands of members would make a difference. He soon went to sleep.
Heat beat down on each man, perspiration flowing free from their brows, and down onto the sheep they were shearing. Time for a break for morning smoko, Joe couldn’t wait to stop. His body drained of strength, but he had to keep going to finish the run.
Smoko break Jack moved next to Joe. ‘Hey Joe, I was speaking to this other shearer this morning and he’s keen to start something but wants to meet you. By the way his name is Joe Gibson, same Christian name as you.’
‘When can I meet him?’ Joe asked.
‘On our way back to shearing; he’s the shearer on the other side of you.’
‘I’ll introduce myself – thanks Jack. We’ll see what can be done.’ Joe finished his food and black tea, left the table to return to the place where he was shearing. A dark haired man, about Joe’s age, height and weight stood waiting for the bell to ring. Joe looked at the man and gave him a nod of greeting.
Ring of the bell sounded for the shearers to enter beneath the bough shed to retrieve their next sheep. Work continued for another couple of hours before lunch when Joe decided to speak with his fellow shearer about the seed developed in his mind to help all shearers with better working conditions and wages.
‘Joe is it?’ Joe Ryan said to Joe Gibson, placing his hand out to shake.
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