AVALON SURF CLUB 3.. NICKNAMES AND THE NEWPORT ARMS. Everyone is tagged with a nickname, a publication about "Wharfies" and their pseudo names is a good read; The Judge, always on the bench. Opium, slow acting dope. I have lent my copy to someone, will update. Some nicknames have been mentioned. Doug, (Kegs) Wells is an example, old members will attach the description to a man of barreel proportions.  In many cases the name will be embarrassing to the so christened and I will not go there. And I will not bore you with; slim, bluey, lofty, curly, cab doors. Derogatory names are just that; boofhead, numnut, and Big Brian's Favorite; Mango. Well it was not long before Farley came in contact with this phenomena. It would have been very early in my career when I found myself in the presence of Doug, (Kegs) and Brian, (The Bear) at the Newport Arms. (http://www.newportarms.com.au/). Brian has suggested that a man is not a camel, and we should have a drink of that wonderful liquid called ‘Resches". Brian in his inimitable gentlemanly fashion inquires, "what your poison" my reply was just like the add, "I'll have wot your haven". A fatal mistake. A round of SCHOONERS is ordered, a big glass for small person. The record is somewhat hazy from my perspective, was it 5, 6, 7 schooners and I am legless and incoherent. While not proud of my condition, then and not now, a move was made back to the club, will not describe the circumstances of my ‘upheaval'. The name ‘Schooners' stuck for some time. There is a moral here for all young boys, and girls and high ranking sports people; I made a decision to keep pace with my elders, problem; you haven't earned the respect of you peers yet and grog and drugs will be your downfall. If the reader has not understood where I am coming from, try looking at the Football codes. Brian and Doug were my elders they allowed me one breach of the Uncle Syndrome. Girls have an Aunty Syndrome. They helped me out on many occasions. Anyway, to all of you guys and girls with a nickname, you earned it and you deserved it. THE NEWPORT ARMS. My repartee can not be completed without reference to this meeting place. Many social occasions will be held here, it was the place to meet after Carnivals. Many tales of bold achievements' will be related at the side bar, the public bar, the garden bar and where ever you could collar somebody. The hotel has a long and equitable history, you social historians can research this, my story will be centered on it just being there. My first recollections are scenery oriented, like garden stuff. The building was mainly timber and impressive, the expansive beer garden was a place where couples could have a tete de tete, (ozzie French). The Garden Bar was enshrouded by a wonderful grape vine emanating from trunk of a substantial proportions. Many flowers and small scrubs were the frontdrop to a view of the upper reaches of Pittwater, and across to your left was---- and straight ahead was Bayview and Scotland Island. In the early days ‘Rum Runners' plied this area, another story. Many girls would frequent ‘The Arms', that's good and many boys, that's bad. They were the opposition. They were also the Scenery and some were a sight to behold. In later years a Juke Box was installed, it became sadly, a place for drop kicks to drop their dacks. Many many stories have come from the famous place, I imagine we did have an input into its history, club members that is. But there were two famous people who made a mark on the NEWPORT ARMS. On any day in my time a ritual occured; One man cooked and packed peanuts, he would purvey, more French, his wares in a large ‘Grannies Basket' calling out, famously, "BACK A TAIL". HIS NAME WAS RICHARD, WE KNEW HIM AS ‘DICK THE PEANUT MAN'. You want to sample his wares toss a coin, remember he backs a tail!, if it comes down a tail you pay double, comes down a head you get a free packet of nuts. God and Dick know the mathematical results. They were the best those nuts, more importantly was the friendly banter emanating from this friendly man. Some smarty's would have a go at Dick and suggest he was a wrought, enter the other famous person. Tim was a big bloke with a colorful history, he would not tolerate fools, dickheads or trouble makers. He had ‘Radar hearing' for the sound of a glass breaking and would appear in an instant if an indiscretion occurred. Newport Arms was a very cosmopolitan watering hole, the only Pub from Narrabeen north. To enjoy the hospitality you had to reside 30 miles from the GPO. Wait, who is this masked man. 10/27/2007 1:50:25 PM, sorry time travelers, just preparing some ‘Rogan Josh' and Farley's fried rice. It's a while before tea wanna join me? We will talk about Tim. Had another incident at Dunoon, tornado twisted the little hamlet into rubbish, we feel for you.  TIM THE, AH, ELIMINATOR OF THE PROCRASTINATOR?  Because his family may object if I disclose his surname, they may send people with bent noses and cauliflower ears and will beat on my door and my face. That is not fair, a mothers son is invincible and Tim was a family man, he was a mans man. I met Tim on a few social occasions, not to mention the Bob the Head occasion. Tim was a very large man with a deep timbre to his voice, he would present himself and you take him for what he was. His secret life was his own, his public life was very public, I do know that if Tim knocked on your door, 9 out 10 times you were in serious arrears', if not errors in your ways. Tim was the coordinator of patrons having fun and idiots making pricks of themselves, can we be any more succinct? He was the epitome of "Patron Care', HE HAD THIS SAYING, "play up and I will take care". Tim helped John Wetterkamp my brother in law one night, John managed the fish shop opposite the hotel. Drunks have accosted him, Tim has come to John's aid, he was like that. He was a Rugby man was our Tim, and patrolled The Arms like a cover defense should, he made the premises safe from never was'es and never will be's. To sum it up in a nutshell, Tim was the mediator, without mediation. The management requests the status quo to be addressed, Tim was the addressor, sometimes with a  non return address. Tim's story is not for to me to complete, I can tell you he and his brother Max were members of Avalon for a short time, two Rugby Boys were good value. And Maxie Watt and he had great competitions' in the ski races. ADMISSIONS OF A COUNTRY BOY. How many stories have to go un-reencountered, those memories of secret times and secret encounters, me, I am a simple person with simple needs, I have been forward in my memoirs, you and I know will know that famous people in high places have secret things and they are equal to us. Live it and get on with it, my young friend said; "it was your life, tell it". You have to pull the plug at some stage. Swear words aside you and I have a life of basic secrets, we are on an even keel. This rumination will contain only facts, but I had some good things happen in the social sense. A very good Surf Club friend, once said; "nice girl quite night", a nice girl said, "nice boy, could have been better", thanks Alan. 10/27/2007 3:52:53 PM, I TAKE NOTICE OF THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF OUR MEMBERS. Meanwhile, I can feed 4 people for Tea, if anybody else wants a feed we can order out, but you are all welcome. The rice is! The years of comradeship will never be emulated, you will have me pass through and never know my name, you too will know this feeling. Hang on to your aspirations', believe that your every moment was dedicated to a unique bunch of people with a common goal. Avalon Beach Surf Club is the greatest place you will ever be. In the interim, play good. Michael, how am I going? THE ‘OAKS', THE SINGER, THE BSA & 1200 ROUNDS, oh THE SNAKE. Michael, O.A.M, YOU WERE the WORST MARKSMAN. The expression goes; you could not hit a bull in the arse with a bouble barrel shotgun full of wheat, a barn door at 10 paces or a nail with an anvil. But we were mates, great seeing you at the 75th. Brian's uncle had a dairy farm near Campbelltown, a place called the ‘Oaks", we were invited to use his property for ‘hunting'. Brian owned the BSA motor cycle, Don had an Aluminum bodied Singer, open top. There were Michael, Paul, Don, Brian and me, Somehow I got to order the chops and sausages, somebody else bought beer, bread and butter etc, some one organized tents and stuff, a BBQ plate. We all had shooters and 1200 rounds of ammunition of various calibers, mostly .22. Don's car was laden, we all piled in I think I went pillion on Brian's bike and we ‘headed west young man, and south'. Don't remember, was it Saturday afternoon? And stayed that night. Set up camp any way, first priority; place the bottled beer in a Hessian sack and consign to the Frig, the creek that is. Surveyed the hunting grounds. Had a light tea, had a yarn around the camp fire and laid down and dreamt of the day before us, and what a day it would be. Don had said he wanted a black snake to make a belt, and we would not let him down. Breakfast was prepared on waking. Now I believe that yours truly had ordered the meat, and when I look back, over catering may of occurred. We consumed 55 sausages, some bacon, toast and butter and 4 lamb chops, somebody missed out on chop, probably me. Suitably refreshed we plan the attack on the country side. We agree to form two parties, split up and meet behind a large hill to the west. So we are on our way, regrettably for us the wild life has decided to take the day off. Rabbits were not in plague proportions as in other areas, those that were in the area evaded our attention, except one. We met around back of the hill and then made another plan, probably this is where we saw "The Snake", the snake that Don so desperately wanted. "Get a clean shot" says he, "in the head", have to pull up here. Snakes are protected but not then. This the signal for a fusillade, Don's snake has more holes than a colander, he is not a happy chappy. Think it might have been Paul who quipped, "well mate now you have plenty of holes for the belt buckle". We all return to the creek for a swim, then set up some targets in a creek gorge and use up the 1200 bullets, the gorge will become a lead mine. Soon it is time for us to pack and return to, guess where, Newport Arms of course. One last reflection on our trip; We had purchased 2 lbs of butter, we used 1 lb. Don has complained about the awful odor issuing from his car a few days later. Deep in the boot he discovers the greasy wrapping of the missing butter, the contents had melted and permeated every nook and cranny, The Singer was really, well, humming.    Lots yet to recount, I will fill in the period up to around mid 1962 / 63. Shirley and I married in 1962, this was when my responsibilities as husband and eventually father commenced. Most of my travels, Surf Club that is, ceased, although very soon a position in the engineering sector saw me travel extensively across this great continent. As a member of Avalon for six years I sought a leave of absence for a short time to concentrate on my married life and the milk run. I did an occasional patrol and frequented the club quite often. Returned to complete a further 11 years gaining the coveted active reserve in the next 7 years. Again, I served as a patrol member and when they trusted me as patrol Captain, this was continuous until leaving to go north in 1974. THE 190 BUS, THE 189 BUS, the Turkish bath, TRAVELLER AND AN INTRO TO A RESTRICTED SITE. Never owned a car until 1962, my means of transport to and fro from the City was generally by the 190 Bus from Wynyard. Doug, he started me down path of surf things, and I think he had a Singer as well, sometimes picked me up and we would proceed to Avalon. I cannot remember missing a weekend at the club, for 18 years, or at least bring close by. After work on Fridays it was a ritual. Grab the over night bag and head for St James's station, take the underground to Wynyard and catch the 190 to Avalon, alight sometimes at the Arms or continue to the club. Frequently, a detour was made to a Turkish Bath in Liverpool Street, clean out the accumulation of cast iron dust and cutting oil, feeling great and onwards to my retreat. Ever had a Turkish Bath? Well try it sometime; You enter a place enshrouded with steam, you are struck by humidity and heat and blokes. You disrobe and wrap a towel around you personal items, if you wish. You then enter a room of oppressive temperature and steam, the secret ingredient, and sit down and chat to a bloke beside you. The room is tiled from top to floor. Very soon gallons of perspiration exude from your body, and girls us men sweat also. After a time you will shower and return to the steam bath. Now the best part; when you look like a skinned cat usher yourself to the massage area, you are greeted by an Ozzie, but he has Turkish ancestry and he is very big man and hairy. You lay on a table, a marble table, a rock hard marble table. And the masseuse commences to give you the going over of your life. He uses the massage techniques handed down over centuries, he is a little rough but boy is it good. His application of the massage medium is done expertly, he uses bloody bar soap, like fair dinkum. He lathers up his hands and give you the works all over, some parts of your person are not explored by his hard hands, however, any person who is getting worried by my description better think twice about having this non-sexual encounter, or is a-sexual, ok, close your mind and have a go. Do not tell me that any person who lets another person into their personal space has a problem with trust, any contact in the Turkish Bath will proceed as far as the parties will let it, may be there are connotations. Professional people know they acquired your trust and will provide the service in good faith.   Well that was a bloody detour, but I must tell you when you walk out of Liverpool Street Turkish Steam Baths you are ‘flotin man', the pores of your skin are cleansed, you could have lost half your body weight, your little frame is free from pain, and you are ready for the action at the Club. We board the bus and most afternoons the impulsive urge for a ‘travelers' nap" strikes one. How many times have we fallen asleep on the old ladies shoulder, she will not stir you until she has to alight. I have undergone many embarrassing moments and had to apologize profusely. Some afternoons would stretch to a late hour, maybe a movie in town whatever. You were faced with the last bus, the 189 to Newport. This meant alighting and being faced with the walk up the hill to Bilgola and down into a place of Paradise, up the hill and come out where the milk run started and down the hill to the Surf Club, your home to your favorite place in the world. Many of the boys will have had similer experiences, quite a number of our members lived on the south side. Mention was made about "Travellers", I have prepared a restricted site to describe this Malady, all persons of tender age and of the opposite gender to mine will be aware that access is inquisitive and will be frowned upon. BUTCH. In my AVALON JOBS page much reference is made to my faithful friend ‘PANCHO', suffice to say he was only on loan for the Milk Run. Avalon Surf Club had a similar friend , and his name was ‘Butch', he would be waiting at the bus stop on Friday afternoons for any body alighting who looked like a surf club member, he would follow us to the club and spend the weekend looking after the beach. Some body in the early days has been in contact with his parents and alerted them to his whereabouts, he had a collar with a strange name, a name that did not suit him, so they called him "Butch'. He was a Bull Dog was he, relatively young when I joined and very strong, he slobbered and he wasn't particularly pretty, and he became our mascot. He was never aggressive to people and kids, although the kids were always wary of such a mean looking animal, other dogs gave him a wide berth. We would feed him and provide him with water, when not resting, always with one open, he would wander down to the patrol area and help out. He loved a swim, especially when there were little kids around, Maxie or Jackie I am sure have taken him out on their surf skis, in fact there may have been a photo in the newspaper at some time. Mention was made that Butch was non-aggressive, strictly speaking this is not true, he had this thing about people playing with beach balls or footballs on ‘his beach'. He was quite agile and would wait for the appropriate moment and then pounce on the unsuspecting ball and retain / restrain it until submission, this was done humanly, and he would gnaw away until a loud hiss or sometimes a loud bang indicated the demise of the offender. If the owners of the said offender had of realized they could have simply taken the ball from Butch, he was mean looking but harmless. For many years he would join us for the weekend, then he got old and his visits became infrequent, his real name was "Raybrooke the Second", and he was a full pedigree show dog with heaps of ribbons, he preferred the company of the ordinary people of Avalon Surf Club, no pretences with our ‘Butch'. THE MONTHLY SURF SWIMS. On a certain Sunday of the month we would have a compulsory surf swim, a buoy was set and the boat would be on stand by. All of the competitors' would line up and a handicap time was allotted to each swimmer, over the next 2 minutes the swimmers could be seen leaving the beach as the time keeper progressed through the seconds. Basically, the swimming threatened people went first and as the time was counted down the brighter people were dispatched. I have related my swimming prowess, generally I would hit the water any where from 1 second to 5 seconds, nah, sometimes 30 seconds. The good people had to give the scratch markers up to 2 minutes. I always reckoned the swims were far to long, people would pass and disappear with great regularity until from first place last place was your lot. You did your swim that was the main thing. A little bit of luck came my way, I have a couple of ‘B' grade pewter's some where. Also a pewter for an inter patrol R and R, Paul was Patrol Captain, Ron,---.----.---. Best was at Bilgola, must have been a zone carnival, we had just been beaten in the boat race final, swear we won by an inch, Michael and Alan were the two Avalon Judges could of shown a little bit of nepotism. Well, into the surf race, a fairly good surf this day waves breaking out near the buoys and a hard swim across the bank. I was going to run nowhere, probably half way back turning the cans, and then this wave stood up and I am swimming for it. Head down and planning with my outstretched hands, must have been 12 seconds at least before I could look up, there's the beach and there's only 3 people sitting on the finish line, I've come fourth. But that wasn't good enough the buggers wanted confirmation that I circled the buoys, duly confirmed, never got a prize but the points countered towards the overall standing, we probably won the meeting, again. Any how I must reiterate that my days with Avalon Surf Club were the greatest days. What a bunch of people, all striving for the same goal and having loads of fun doing it. There are many more stories, some a little risqué and will not be addressed here, I will return as memories enter my feeble mind, "oh no", somebody said. Into MY SURF CLUB 4.

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