Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears' - Page 53:

‘He’s my uncle. We don’t talk about Jack. He's one of those shearers who went on strike. You go on strike?’
‘No – ah no, I knew Jack when I worked at ‘Tilbooroo Station’, great shearer and a good bloke.’ Bloody hell I didn’t know the strike affected everyone. Honestly I thought I was doing the right thing. Joe thought. ‘How many here?’
‘Only you, me and the Boss, the cook. You meet him?’
‘Yeah. No other shearers?’
‘You’re it. I’m the ‘tar boy’, roustabout and the Boss is the wool presser. That’s it. The Boss don't want any of those union shearers on the place.’
‘How many sheep in the yard,’ Joe asked.
‘Two thousand,’ Harold answered.
‘Bloody hell, I only shear about sixty a day. We’ll be here til Christmas if we don’t get any more shearers.’ Joe exclaimed. Twelve months since I shore a sheep, he thought.
‘Can’t do anything about not having shearers If they didn’t go on strike and bugger up the country, we would’ve been right. Serves them right. You camping on the veranda?’
‘Yeah, I can’t stand those stuffy rooms; love to sleep in the open.’
‘Wonder what the cook's got left. I'll turn in myself. Bloody big day tomorrow.’ he walked along the veranda toward the kitchen.

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 54:

Joe lay on his swag pondering the affect the strike had on the country. Never in his wildest dreams he thought the strike would’ve caused this much trouble. The sun sank below the earth surface; I sure miss Hannah and Ma. If only I didn’t stir up those fellars to go on strike, Hannah and I could’ve been married by now and settled down. She must be close to finishing her teaching studies and with me shearing we would’ve made it. Joe closed his eyes, his mind filled with failure.
Sound of a clanging noise woke Joe the next morning. ‘Come and get it.’ He heard the call from the cook. After dressing, shaved, washed his face and walked to the kitchen where Harold was seated, the cook served up his breakfast. ‘How did ya sleep? I slept like a log.’ Joe said entering the kitchen.
‘Yeah I know, and snored, the bloody dingoes heard you,’ Harold ed.
‘Smells good,’ Joe sat in the place he sat the night before. The cook served bacon and eggs with Johnny cakes. Joe ate to his heart’s content, ‘tell me what happens today Harold?’
‘Seven-thirty start, the Boss normally set to shearing, but you’re here now, I’d say he’ll leave the shearing to you. My job to sweep the floor, gather the wool, carry it to the Boss and he packs it into the wool press. Pretty simple really.’ Harold kept eating.
‘Three men team.’
‘You could say that, with you working the hardest.’ He smiled in between eating.

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 55:

Both men finished their breakfast, thanked the cook and left the kitchen. ‘Morning smoko at 9.30,’ the cook shouted when they left.
John Cartwright waited for Joe and Harold to meet him inside the shearing shed. The shearing was similar to Kahmoo Station with seven stand shed, Joe thought before John said, ‘you ready.’
‘Ready when you are Boss.’ He said with a slight grin on his face. Opening his bag he extracted five pairs of shears from inside and laid them on the floor near the first pen. He hooked his canvas water bag on a wire dangling from the ceiling. Walked into the catching pen, grabbed the first sheep, turned it onto its back and dragged it onto the board.
Hope I remember to do this, bloody hell, two thousand sheep, got myself to blame. This won’t get it done. Joe removed the belly wool from the sheep, continued on to finish the fleece while Harold quickly gathered up the fleece in his arms to carry to the Boss who operated the wool press. Everything appeared to go in slow motion until Joe regained his self-confidence with each sheep. Nine-thirty bell rang for morning smoko.
‘What’s your usual tally for a day Joe,’ John asked before they left for smoko.
‘About sixty, particularly these wethers. Why, am I going too slow?’

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 56:

‘No, you’re doing fine, much quicker than I am, just wanted to work out how long until we finish the shearing.’
‘If I can keep up this pace, should be finished in about five to six weeks if we go seven days a week.’ Joe answered thinking how was he going to keep up the pace.
‘With three of us, pity those bloody shearers went on strike. You were lucky not to join them. Catch up with you both in half-an-hour.’ John walked away heading toward the homestead.
Joe and Harold walked to the shearer’s quarters and took up their usual seat in the kitchen. The cook served up hot scones with strawberry jam. After morning smoko Joe said, ‘I'm going for a walk before I start again.’ He told Harold.
He didn’t want to venture too far from the shearing shed and walked to the head of a bore. Water spewed from an opening of a huge pipe from underneath the ground into a pond, the water hot, enough to scold a pig. Water in the pond cooled before it flowed along bore drains to different parts of the property to water the stock.
I'll soak in the pool after I finish today. My bloody muscles will be sore and tied. Joe returned to the shearing shed in time to start shearing sheep until lunch time.
After six weeks, with a couple of days break in between of continued shearing Joe dragged the final sheep from the pen. ‘We should’ve shorn this one first Harold, we wouldn’t have any left.’ He said with a smile.

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 57:

‘You’ve done well. Where’re you off to from here?’ Harold asked whilst sweeping up the belly wool.
‘I’m heading north. Want to reach Barcaldine if I can. Why?’ Joe asked whilst finishing the final fleece.
‘Would ya mind if I tagged along. I got nothing else to do after this job is over.’ Harold dropped his eyes to pick up the final fleece.
‘Suppose it’s alright, you work hard and we’re better off as a team than on our own. You do remind me a lot of your uncle.’
‘Don’t remind me, I'll never forgive him for going out on strike.’ Harold completed his chore and carried the fleece to his Boss at the other end of the shearing shed.
I ought to be careful I don’t let the cat out of the bag with this young fella, Joe thought whilst he gathered his shears and wrapped them in canvas. Better collect my pay. Joe worked out his wages for shearing 2000 head of sheep; he should receive forty quid: twopence per sheep.
‘Here’s your pay.’ John handed Joe a cheque for the amount of forty pounds, ‘thanks for helping us out. Here’s your pay Harold,’ he handed the young lad a cheque for ten pounds.
Joe shook hands with his Boss, ‘may be back next year. Young Harold’s coming with me. We’re heading north.’

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 58:

‘Best of luck to you both.’ he left them standing in the shearing shed.
Joe and Harold gathered their swags early the next morning after a hearty breakfast, farewelled the cook and both headed north. Along the way they meet other shearers and roustabouts looking for work and followed the sheds. Finally after a couple of months shearing at different sheds along the track they arrived at Charleville.
‘Harold, we’ll camp by the Warrego River and see if we can find any work on our way to Augathella. We should be able to find work there,’ Harold agreed with a nod of his head. Charleville was larger than Cunnamulla with wider streets to enable bullock wagons to turn around.
At the top end of town the railway station where most of the bullock wagons could be found. There they unloaded bales of wool onto rail wagons to be trained down the track to Roma and beyond.
Joe noticed a bullocky unloading his load near the railway line, ‘g’day mate, where you from?’ Joe asked this huge bullocky wearing a beard grown almost to cover his enlarged stomach.
‘Heading to ‘Barduthulla Station’ soon as I reload at the general store,’ the bullocky answered in a slow drawl.
‘You mind if my mate and I tag along? We’re heading to Augathella.’

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'Click Go The Shears' - Page 59:

‘Don’t mind at all, great to have company, gets a little lonely talking to old Bobby. You’re welcome to join me. Not going as far as Augathella.’
‘Where’s the general store? We’re camped on the Warrego River on the outskirts of town.’
‘I’m going that way, got to cross the river to head home. What about I meet you and your friend at the crossing, you know the one at the north end of town.’
‘Yes, I do, thank you very much. See you there after lunch.’
Joe found Harold wandering along the main street, ‘Harold,’ he called, waving, ‘we’re got a lift out of town, a bullocky is going to give us a lift to ‘Barduthulla Station’. He’s heading there after lunch.’
‘We’d better eat before we head off. Where’s this place, ‘Barduthulla Station’? Harold asked.
‘Don’t know exactly, must be on the road to Augathella,’ Joe explained.
After finishing their meal at the café they waited for the bullocky on the edge of town. ‘Here he comes,’ called Joe waving to the bullocky.
‘Get up there Bobby,’ the bullocky shouted each bullock moving in unison, ‘hey there, you want to jump up on top of the wagon, make yourself comfortable, and we’re a way to go until sunset.’ The bullocky shouted to Joe and Harold who threw their swags upon the wagon, jumped from the ground and swung their weight onto the wagon tray amongst the load. The bullocky kept on driving his beasts of burden and walked beside them with a long whip thrown over his shoulder.
Nearing sunset the bullocky stopped, ‘we’ll camp here tonight, I’ll unharness the bullocks while you fellars build a fire to put the billy on and have something to eat.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Harold replied excited to be doing something, his bum sore from each bump on the road. He quickly gathered sticks and soon had a fire blazing. After filling the billy with water from a nearby creek he placed it beside the fire. Harold loved the bush, sounds of birds calling the close of the day, smell of the wattle, mulga while watching the billy boil.
‘Got some dried corn beef in the tucker box. By the way, the name's Salty,’ he shook hands with Joe and Harold.
‘Sure appreciate the lift’, Joe said after releasing the broad hard hand, ‘I’ll get the corn beef. Got any bread?’ Joe asked.
‘Yeah, damper's there, only a couple of days old, should do.’ Salty answered, ‘pleased you fellows joined me, awful lonely here at times.’