Cops, Crocs & Leopard-Skin Jocks. Bob Magor
around the traps said there was better money to be had at the asbestos mine at Wittenoom Gorge, so the three of us hitched a ride there on a truck. I’d already broken new ground as I’d earned a reputation as a good worker at Hill 50 and I’d done what I was told for a change. At Wittenoom I told them I was an expert so I went straight in on the air bogger.
‘No-one was crook at the mine in those days. There was no talk of asbestos being fatal or of the long-term effects. We all lived in a cloud of asbestos in the form of these grey hairs that were in the air. We’d come into the crib room after doing two or three hours work and cough and blow into a handkerchief. It would be full of these grey fibres and shit from your nose. We all coughed a lot but no-one complained because we were all the same and it was just part of the job. It was many years later that we heard it was bad for you. It’s probably the reason why I’ve got a weak chest today. Perhaps I should sue James Hardie!
‘Like most mines the work was hard and dull and monotonous. The days were long but the pay was unheard of. We got ten quid a shift at that time which was twice the weekly wage for most jobs. I actually had a bank book with honest money in it. I couldn’t believe how pure I’d become!
‘On our days off the three of us used to go to a place called Dales Gorge for a swim. It was a great place to have a picnic but the novelty of the area soon wore off. It was only a small town and very isolated and didn’t have a footy team. I was missing that.
‘I worked there for six months before one night they had a cave-in at the mine. It was on the shift after I knocked off so I was lucky not to have been involved. A lot of men were hurt in the fall. The cave-in closed the mine for some time but by then I’d had enough any way and left the next day.
‘By the time I moved on, the big money I’d been getting meant I could purchase my first decent car, a 1959 Ford Customline Star. I was that proud of her. The change had done me good. I’d kept my nose clean with the law and was making something of myself. It was a great feeling.
‘My next stop was Port Hedland where I got a job as a yardman at the Esplanade Hotel. In the 60s it was a great place. I went back later in 1976 but I just kept going. There was nothing there for me. It was all houses and completely spoilt - but that’s another story. Still, old habits die hard because I never bought any petrol during my stay in Port Hedland. I cut a hole in the Shell Depot fence around the back in the bush. A tradesman would have been impressed with the job because I could close the fence up again like a mesh trapdoor. It backed onto a scrubby area where no-one went. I’d get my pliers and pull the lids off the 44-gallon drums standing there. Then I’d drain some petrol out of the top of each one to fill my two twelve gallon drums. That would be sixty litres today. Then I’d seal up the 44s to make them look untouched. I must have done a good job because there was never any trouble about it.
‘I remember after about my twentieth illegal visit to the depot I saw the caretaker’s light come on at the other end of the yard. I put a full twelve gallon drum under each arm and jogged back to the hole in the fence. I was very strong and fit in those days. Now I’ve become old and fat, I couldn’t even lift one, let alone run with two! Yep, fuel was cheap in Port Hedland.
‘While I was working at the pub I saw one of the funniest performances I’ve ever seen. This little skinny young blackfella was in the bar minding his own business when this big white bloke about six foot six picked on him for no reason. The little blackfella tried to defend himself but the big bloke made about four of him so it wasn’t much of a contest. He copped a hell of a flogging. I was sitting there drinking my lemon squash and wondered if I should help him out, but I reasoned that it was nothing to do with me.
‘The little bloke staggered to his feet with blood gushing everywhere. As he limped toward the door with his head down he looked around at the big bloke and said, “I’m going to get my big brother. He’ll fix you, you big prick.”
The white chap grinned and said, “Good. Bring him along and I’ll flog him too. Let’s hope he can fight better than you you weak bastard!”
About ten minutes later, the little blackfella came to the door and yelled, “Hey you big shit. I warned you. My big brother’s out here.”
‘ “Good,” the white bloke answered, “I could do with some more exercise. You didn’t give me any.”
With that the big bloke walked outside to do battle. I heard this – whack, whack - and thought the poor little chap and his big brother were both copping it. Then I heard – whack, whack – again and the little chap saying, “And there’s plenty more where that came from you big white shit! I told you my big brother would fix you!”
‘I went out to see what had happened. It was a classic. The little blackfella had grabbed a steel star picket and had stashed it behind the door. When the big white chap rushed outside he wore it fair between his eyes. The little chap had nearly killed him and I watched as he gave him a couple more – for interest. Shit it was funny and I laughed along with the little blackfella and even bought him a beer for the entertainment. I couldn’t believe what had happened but it really served the big bloke right. Ever since then I’ve carried a baseball bat in my Toyota and I call it “Big Brother”!
‘I enjoyed my stay in Port Hedland. I shacked up with an Aboriginal girl called Joanna Kelly and lived with the local blackfellas. I had my Customline and I felt pretty flash as I carted my extended family around. When I wasn’t working I’d go out hunting with the blackfellas. I’d shoot scrub turkeys and they’d spear turtles. Joanna’s brother David Kelly was an expert with a spear and we always ate well.
‘I was beginning to feel like a normal person. It had now been twelve months since I’d sneaked out of South Australia and I hadn’t been in trouble with the police. It felt good. I’d been in Port Hedland for about three months, and while it had been a very pleasurable stay, there was lots of country still to see.’
Roy spotted his workers moving amongst the trees.
‘Chop up tomorrow’s crab bait and fill up the boxes,’ he yelled. ‘Get it done now before you get stoned, you useless pricks,’ he added. All movement ceased and then they changed direction to head begrudgingly towards the crab shed.
‘They only understand one thing,’ Roy grumbled as he shook his head. ‘Abuse. Without that I’d get nothing done.’
That night had a party atmosphere with the family there. Anne took over the kitchen with lenice. al an and I cracked a beer. Roy had his usual lemon squash and Kimberley ran amok trying to get some attention amongst all the animated talk.
When I got them all on track I heard that during the ‘60s and ‘70s Roy was really a lost soul. A smattering of six years schooling wasn’t likely to give him a wide choice of career paths. Like the majority of lads of that time he could only expect to be a labourer. But he always had big ideas for himself. He could be a good worker if he wanted to be. He was strong, shrewd in a lot of respects, street smart and a survivor. All he had to do was find his niche. He had to keep looking.
‘I said my goodbyes to my girlfriend Joanna and my new found mates and headed for Broome,’ Roy reminisced as he settled back in his ever complaining chair. ‘The road was just a dirt track and I had a bit of a problem near Anna Plains, just above where Sandfire Roadhouse is these days. I came over a crest and there were a heap of cattle lying half asleep in the middle of the track. I saw them a bit late and they didn’t see me at all. The next thing I knew I’d hit one. As I ploughed into their bedroom I did a fair bit of damage to the first cow and also to my beautiful Customline. I have been known to react before I put my brain into gear and this time was no exception. I grabbed my rifle and shot the wounded cow. But I was still mad … so I shot three more!
When the gunsmoke cleared I thought, ‘ Shit! What have I done? ‘ Thinking quickly, I grabbed an old axe from the boot and broke a couple of legs of each dead animal with the back of the axe. The next