The Real Adventures of theTravelling Boozeburys Part 1The Real Adventures of theTravelling Boozeburys Part 1

Clive A. SmithClive A. Smith

Clive A. Smith

Clive A. Smith

Tall TalesTall Tales

Tall TalesTall Tales

andand

andand

Dinkum YarnsDinkum Yarns

Dinkum Yarns

Dinkum Yarns

A&A Book Publishingw w w. a a m p e r s a n d a . c o m

Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in reddust or looking after wild animals masquerading ashousehold pets, Clive and Jan, aka the TravellingBoozeburys,have done it all.

Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers,will delight you with its unique take on the

Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures andamazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey withcolourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australianfauna.

Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickersturned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and light-hearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in thewake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to thishighly entertaining book.Open a page, sit back,and have a laugh!

Tall Tales andDinkum Yarns

Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in reddust or looking after wild animals masquerading ashousehold pets, Clive and Jan, aka the TravellingBoozeburys,have done it all.

Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers,will delight you with its unique take on the

Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures andamazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey withcolourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australianfauna.

Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickersturned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and light-hearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in thewake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to thishighly entertaining book.Open a page, sit back,and have a laugh!

Tall Tales andDinkum Yarns

I have always had a passion to write. I never knew quite what itwas that I wanted to write, but the passion was there. I also havean over-active imagination and I've put it, and my sense ofhumour, to good use over the years.

Born in England, I immigrated here with my family in 1964 andI have called Australia home ever since. I love this land and its

people so much that I am now addicted to exploring its diversity. So much so thatmy wife Jan and I have been on the road for years now, having one adventure afteranother. And finally I've realised that it is these travelling stories that I'mpassionate about sharing with you,my reader.

How lucky I am to live in this Lucky Country and to live my dream!

Clive A. (“Adventure”) SmithClive A. (“Adventure”) Smith

Travel Memoir

ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7

The Real Adventures of the Travelling Boozeburys —

Part 1

Tall TalesDinkum Yarns

Clive A. Smith

and

A&A BOOK PUBLISHINGadmin@aampersanda.comwww.aampersanda.com

First published 2007

Text © Clive A. Smith 2007The author does not condone the use of hallucinatory drugs unlessit is a full bodied red or an oaky white. Cheers!

This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under theCopyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by anymeans or process whatsoever without the prior written permissionof the publishers.

Illustrations by Philip N Parish

Photography: Jan Hendren and Clive Smith

Text and cover design, typesetting by David AndorWave Source Designwww.wavesource.com.au

ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7

A Cataloguing-in-Publication record for this work can be foundat the National Library of Australia.

The author was not paid by Nike™ in any form or manner for

his comments and views on horse safety, worse luck.

The stay at Rusty Springs Station was very interesting

to say the least. I was a city slicker out of his

element — a fish out of the perpetually safe realm of his

bigpond (dot com) — whereas Jan had worked with

horses and other farm animals.

We had joined an organisation called ‘Outback

Helpers’ who arrange helping hands for farmers in

remote areas.They believe that everyone has a use and if

matched to someone in need the help goes a long way,

so Jan and I became Outback Helpers.We had found out

about their organisation from other travellers.

Even though I was apprehensive, I was still quite

excited about what lay ahead. My apprehension lay in

the amount of skills that I could bring to the country

4 4

Fishing in Red Dust

4545

F I S H I N G I N R E D D U S T

table. I had a feeling that Mr and Mrs Farmer probably

didn’t need their chicken coop advertised in the local

‘To Let’ column of the local papers, and I was also sure

that they had successfully connected their hi-fi and

already mastered the complex VCR.

We rolled into Rusty Springs early April on a

Monday evening at around 6pm.The ever-present swirl

of red dust followed us in as it had done for the last 450

kilometres or so on our drive from the coast. We were

greeted by a menagerie in various forms — numerous

barking dogs (one starts and they all get going), a goat

(who thought he was a dog), a couple of cats (the true

owners who refused to move for anyone), a playful

kangaroo (Noddy), some children (how is it two

children can look and sound like twelve on first

impression?), Mrs Farmer (“G’day”) and a real live

Jackeroo (leather skin and thicker hide). Our wagon was

circled by this welcoming committee as Jan and I

attempted to straighten our backs and stand in an

upright position.

Mrs Farmer showed us to our patch and we

immediately went about making our camp.The jackeroo

went about his business, which included lighting a fire

beneath the donkey* (need that warm shower when it’s

a cool 40 degrees) and frying two dinosaur ribs for his

dinner.The latter would take quite some time due to the

size of the ingredients versus the size of pan and flame.

It was in this patch that we met Spot, a stubborn calf that

the jackeroo had rescued. A stubborn calf that the

jackeroo was in love with. It was hard to believe that the

*A donkey is a container of water, usually a barrel, with a fire underneath

to warm the water.

man with the leather skin could so lovingly whisk up a

batch of calf milk — not too hot and not too cold —

with just the right amount of powder. We paid special

attention to these details as this was to be one of our

chores over the next couple of weeks. Oh, that stubborn

little calf. Later I would dance and frolic with this hairy

steak with beautiful cow eyes, but for now I was simply

trying to figure out what the hell it was and did I

actually have to touch it?

The jackeroo (“Name’s Jack, what’s ya cook’s

name?”) and I headed off on what the Farmers call a

‘windmill run’.The main idea is to check the bores are

all working and clean out the water trough, check stock

and leave some salt mixture for the cattle to lick. This

was salt, sulphate of ammonia, urea and crushed lupins

mixed together in a small cement mixer — mixing the

ingredients really brought the Italian out in me.

The jackeroo whispered many words of wisdom

(thanks to Paul and Mother Mary) and uttered words of

Mickeys, Bungarras and Clean-skins (unbranded cattle,

not cheap wine). He also spoke of thieves in the night

and modern day rustlers.As I sat in the passenger’s seat I

listened and tried to imagine his life. He now walked

with the aid of a walking stick — good for whacking

the odd pig into place — his bones were not what they

used to be and I wondered why. I had to wind my

window up so I could hear his stories, not completely

due to the sound of the dirt track whistling by but also

because of his fag-in-mouth mumbling (has anyone seen

Dick Tracy?)

The art of smoking a rolled durry down to a few

millimetres and still have it clinging to the corner of the

lips while he holds a conversation is something he will

4 6

TA L L TA L E S A N D D I N K U M YA R N S

probably take to Jackeroo Heaven when he goes. As he

is led to this heaven (with a hand made bridle keeping

him in check), where the pearly gates are replaced with

a bush gate (the type you have to open on large

properties) and an electric fence either side, it will be St

Davo sitting on the back of the Holden ute with a few

questions to ask before the jackeroo can enter such a

kingdom. Davo (sorry, St Davo) will note that he took

time out to talk to the calves and cows that he tended

and took time to give the younger ones a good scratch

under the neck. Some even got to pucker up and have a

good kiss. St Davo would also take note on how the

jackeroo would put an animal in pain out of its misery

without blinking an eye but would lose sleep when a

sow gave birth to a bunch of tender pink bacon rashers,

concerned about whether she fell asleep and rolled over

on one or two of them.Yes there is a jackeroo with a

good heart. No time for city slickers though.They’re just

a waste of space — what they good-fer? As the musical

says, “Take a look at his soul, its whole is a whole lot

greater than the sum of its parts.”

I am sure that if I could have spent more time with

the jackeroo I could have learned plenty.The few pearls

of wisdom I did pick up though, will serve me well in

life.“Don’t eat bread from the bottom of the fridge after

it has defrosted,” “If the sow kills a piglet, bend a piece

of wire and pull the body from under her. But watch out

for the sow, she’ll go ya!” “If you see an Eagle near a

piglet, shoot the eagle.”“Don’t eat road kill” and “Don’t

accept a dinner invite if they expect you to do the

dishes”. He also gave me explicit instructions on how to

kill and gut a kangaroo. When the jackeroo spoke his

conversation was littered with a range of expletives like

4747

F I S H I N G I N R E D D U S T

4 8

TA L L TA L E S A N D D I N K U M YA R N S

“all city slickers are bastards” and “all pets are mongrels”,

but none to be heard when a woman was present. St

Davo will like that.

As the days progressed we settled in. Day by day our

list of chores grew, and one of our chores was feeding

the animals around the homestead. The variety of

animals needed a variety of foods;

“Now see here City Slicker.This one is oats (1), and

you top up from this silo.This one is lupin (2), and you

top up from this silo.This one is chaff (3), see Mr Farmer

if you need more. This one is wheat (4), also see Mr

Farmer. Now, to feed pigs (there were three girls, two of

them pregnant, and one boy); the mum-to-be girls get

2½ of 1 to ¾ of 2, the other two get 2 of 1 to ½ of 2

(soak in water overnight). And while yer at it feed the

horses (2 nags, 1 stockhorse and PJ the calf). 2 of 3 to 1

of 1 all in their own containers. Half a thingy of 4 to the

chooks.You got that?”

Sure. Now which one was called lupin…?

One fine day Jan and I went to feed the variety of

animals their variety of food. We had pre-soaked the

pigs’ food the day before as per the instructions.When

making up the concoction, I did question Jan that the

correct fraction of the correct ingredient had been

placed with the water. It was our first time and we were

alone as the jackeroo had gone to the big smoke for a

couple of weeks. Anyway, Jan thought it was close

enough.The next day as we poured the concoction into

the pigs’ bowls (a tyre cut in half, no the other way) we

did notice a fermented type smell.The smell reminded

me of wine tasting in the Barossa Valley. Who knows

why? Jan and I agreed that the pigs would probably eat

well, have a bit of a giggle and sleep soundly. For some

reason the pigs were a bit slow and grumpy the next

morning…?

PJ was a calf or a young cow, another animal rescued

by a caring jackeroo. PJ ate with the horses but was able

to wander freely around the homestead. Bundy is a dog

whose eyes remind me of a cod when looking at him

from above. He was the protector and companion of PJ,

and PJ would come and visit Spot (that stubborn little

calf) at our patch each day. PJ would poke its head

through the fence and shove its tongue down Spot’s ears

as far as it could. Must have been a cow thing. Often PJ

would sleep next to the fence with Spot just the other

side and Bundy would always be nearby. Eventually we

did allow PJ into our patch to teach Spot how to eat.

This seemed to work, but meant there were a lot more

unexploded mines to be wary of when walking around.

Ode to PJ

PJ was a young cow we held dear

Who we let in our patch with no fear

She liked to mother a lot

A young calf called Spot

By sticking her tongue down its ear.

Is this what they mean by Wax Lyrical?

4949

F I S H I N G I N R E D D U S T

The Real Adventures of theTravelling Boozeburys Part 1The Real Adventures of theTravelling Boozeburys Part 1

Clive A. SmithClive A. Smith

Clive A. Smith

Clive A. Smith

Tall TalesTall TalesTall TalesTall Tales

andand

andand

Dinkum YarnsDinkum Yarns

Dinkum Yarns

Dinkum Yarns

A&A Book Publishingw w w. a a m p e r s a n d a . c o m

Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in reddust or looking after wild animals masquerading ashousehold pets, Clive and Jan, aka the TravellingBoozeburys,have done it all.

Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers,will delight you with its unique take on the

Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures andamazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey withcolourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australianfauna.

Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickersturned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and light-hearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in thewake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to thishighly entertaining book.Open a page, sit back,and have a laugh!

Tall Tales andDinkum Yarns

Whether trying their hands at farm work, fishing in reddust or looking after wild animals masquerading ashousehold pets, Clive and Jan, aka the TravellingBoozeburys,have done it all.

Ideal for sea changers and armchair travellers,will delight you with its unique take on the

Australian outback, wild coastline, even wilder creatures andamazing cities. Hop in the back seat as you share the journey withcolourful characters, wonderful flora and truly unique Australianfauna.

Readers will find themselves in the rollicking tales of city slickersturned outback adventurers. A spoof titled 'da BG Code' and light-hearted interviews with some of the traumatised animals left in thewake of the Travelling Boozeburys, add a touch of the absurd to thishighly entertaining book.Open a page, sit back,and have a laugh!

Tall Tales andDinkum Yarns

I have always had a passion to write. I never knew quite what itwas that I wanted to write, but the passion was there. I also havean over-active imagination and I've put it, and my sense ofhumour, to good use over the years.

Born in England, I immigrated here with my family in 1964 andI have called Australia home ever since. I love this land and its

people so much that I am now addicted to exploring its diversity. So much so thatmy wife Jan and I have been on the road for years now, having one adventure afteranother. And finally I've realised that it is these travelling stories that I'mpassionate about sharing with you,my reader.

How lucky I am to live in this Lucky Country and to live my dream!

Clive A. (“Adventure”) SmithClive A. (“Adventure”) Smith

Travel Memoir

ISBN 978-0-9775696-8-7