wagger wagger

travellin' in 1962

chp 6 part 2 "Wagger Wagger"

 

Just over the Victorian border I found Ouyen. I'd never noticed it on a map before and the dry sunset looked painted by Salvador Dali. A blood orange sun sunk out of sight and the night got cold.

" I will spend Garry's money on a rooming house and luxuriate ." I hired a room, got into bed and studied Utang's "Art of Loving" chapter. When I found a girlfriend I wanted to know my stuff. I dozed off and awoke to the landlady bashing on my door yelling,

"We don't do breakfast after 9 so if you want some come now ". In the kitchen I ate a lot and stuffed more into my bag. The town outside was quiet: no people about. The road split 3 ways. Shall I go east to Sydney or south to Melbourne? A semi came along heading east so neutral Fate chose.

Country rock blared out of the radio but truck noise drowned it. The driver yelled,

"Where you heading mate?"

It was time for my usual lie.

"Wagger Wagger" I hollered. The great city of Wagga Wagga is pronounced, by the whole country except me, "woggah" (just one word). The bloke was smiling, so I thought,

"What a nice fella. This'll be a pleasant ride."

"Do you live in Wagger Wagger?" he screamed.. I yelled back.

"Lived there all me life. Been working at Lameroo." He sped along cutting corners and singing with the radio. I was proud of the way I could imitate singers so I joined in. At Toolybuc he bought us pies and beer and asked if I'd help unload at Balranald. I said I would.

 

The one thing that bugged me about travelling penniless was having to hurry to the next big city that had a soup kitchen. I vowed to try harder to get money even if it meant working. To the left I saw a wide river .The radio played Johnny Horton's "Battle of New Orleans". I sang solo. When I got to "along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip' "a vision of my Mississippi (the Murray) flashed into my head and I longed to set up camp under weeping willows, play Tom Sawyer and raft downstream. Someday I would. Meanwhile I had to press on, and at Balranald there'd be hard work, so I lay back and absorbed energy from the Universe. I'd need it.

We pulled into Balranald station. The driver groaned,

"Bugger it we're late. It's 6 o'clock and the fork lift's knocked off." He walked around undoing those knots truckers love and pulled back the tarp. I saw what I'd promised to unload. 864 cartons of sultanas: each weighing 25 Kg.We began dragging them off the truck and stacking them on pallets. Every 20 minutes we stopped for a smoke and a beer. I was working hard and fast trying to do my share but after an hour my limbs shook with fatigue. I flopped down on a carton and said,

"Sorry mate, I can't do any more. I'm buggered.."

He sat too, lit a smoke and glugged a beer.

"That's OK mate. I thought you'd only last 5 minutes but you did well. I can handle the rest". He reached into his shorts and handed me 2 one pound notes. I thanked him.par

"Go on--Piss off," he said kindly.

 

A sign said "Yanga Lake 15 miles". At a cafe I bought 3 days food, hitched to where I could see a lake, walked for ten minutes then came to water that looked clean enough to drink. It was half mile across and half mile long. Nearby was a wooden shed with a padlocked door. I couldn't see inside. I washed my shirt and lay down to nap in the sun. Like many paleface I wanted to look browner. Every summer I sun baked and now I'm 64 my face looks 84. I woke up at sunset and rushed around gathering twigs and arranging a rock fireplace. The shed hid me from any cops on the highway and as flames danced in the dark I chomped my tucker and was very happy.

. On the 2nd day I saw a bloke running around the lake as if training. I moved sideways keeping the shed between us. The only observers I wanted were ducks and crows. Crow caws described the land and I cawed back to them.

 

The sun went down. No moon in the sky: everything beyond the fire boot polish black.

Glowing ember heat on my face: my back is cold. Like a piece of toast, I turn over.

On the 3rd day I woke up cold. My fire had died. Nothing left to eat and no money. The sun peeked over the horizon. I stood on tiptoe, stretched up my fingers to greet the sun and felt warmer: although it was just in my mind.

An FJ Holden took me along the Sturt Highway to Hay. I imagined Captain Sturt and crew rowing / sailing west along the Murrumbidgee River heading for the SA coast as I, in a sedan heading east, flashed by. Our soul-spirits free from Time and aided by Creativity, wave in passing. The Holden left me near a sign: "Darlington Point 7 miles".

A police car pulled slowly over and asked cop questions.

"I'm heading for Wagger Wagger" I answered. The cop smiled, told me how to pronounce "Wogga", drove me to a good hitching spot and gave me 7 shillings.

 

That evening I made Wagga, hid my bag in a park, found a cafe with a jukebox and played Wanda Jackson's "Lets Have A Party" and the flip side "Cool Love"(to show the locals I was fun loving) and Brubeck's "Blue Rondo a la Turk" (to show I was a hip cat) and "Blue Moon" by the Marcells and Chubby Checker's "Pony Time" (‘cause I liked 'em). At 9 pm I found a movie theatre and sneaked in at interval. I saw John Wayne in "McLintock" walked back to the park, retrieved my blanket, stretched on a bench and tried to sleep. Murrumbidgee mozzies bit my face. When I covered my face my ankles were attacked and when I covered ankles my face copped it. I got up and searched around for cigarette butts. A car with no lights came slowly through the park walkways. It stopped, someone shone a torch on me and a butch voice said,

"Come here." I did.

"Get in the back seat".

''Why should I?" I sneered like John Wayne would've done.

"'Cause we're coppers, that's why." That wasn't good enough for me.

"Show me your ID" I demanded. He showed me what may have been a cop's ID, but could've been a RSL badge for all I knew.

"Get in the f****n' car or I'll f****n' kick the s**t outa ya!" I gave up and got in.

They drove slowly through the park. The guys might be rapist / murderers. I plotted how I'd escape: but they drove out the gates and up the silent street to the cop station. Inside they asked about myself and I gave bullshit.

"I'm heading to Sydney to stay with Uncle Tom. He's lined me up a job with Coles."

They seemed to swallow it but one said,

"We'll 'phone Adelaide and check you've got no warrants out. Wait here." He unlocked a cell, motioned me to enter, and left. Half an hour later he brought me a hamburger, a pot of tea and 5 cigarettes.

 

It was a classy country lockup containing a single bed, thick clean blankets, washbasin and a genuine toilet. A pile of comic books were on the bed. An amazing 14 Phantom comics in serial form. Like a child at xmas I searched the covers for issue numbers and arranged them in order .

Comics recalled childhood sprawled on the floor turning pages as mum sang and worked her Singer sewing machine. When I was 6 dad posted me a monthly bundle of comics from his Woomera rocket range workplace.

 

Wrapped like a baby in clean blankets I joined the "Ghost Who Walks-Man Who Cannot Die".

Reading, dozing, reading, dozing: an enjoyable night. At 2am a young constable looked in and said,

"We checked with Adelaide and you're free to leave, but if I were you I'd stay 'til morning."

I agreed.

 

In the morning a new shift of cops gave me a gigantic breakfast then let me out. Back on the road I met a fruit picker who'd been fired for getting drunk too often.

"I was flirting with the boss's wife," he bragged and told me a good lurk.

''In Labor Party states like this you front up to a cop-shop in any country town and the coppers will give you a 30 shilling food voucher. You gotta say you're travelling through lookin' for work. It's called a "track ration" and you can only get it once. You can’t get tobacco or booze --only tucker." I thanked him for the information and in Goulburn, shaking with fear I might get arrested for vagrancy, gathered my courage, walked in and "fronted" the desk sergeant. He was quite nice and wrote one out. Next afternoon I arrived in Parramatta and, without a ticket, hopped on a train to Sydney.

 

 

--end of chpt----------