A bloke growing up in the bush and the city, how it lead to bush poems, I think

NEWBOOK#2 STUFF, #5

BRUNSWICK HEADS NSW, a fishy story.

Can you see me? I’m a little tiny Whitebait, just had learnt to swim.

Who’s that lurking underneath…. he’s silver, slimy, with a great big toothy grin.

It’s all gone dark; I don’t care, I’VE MADE A CONTRIBUTION TO WORLD, ‘cause it’s my claim to fame.

I’m feelin’ mighty first-rate…. I AM WHITEY, AND, I am in LIFES big food chain.

TELSTA TELLS US WE HAVE AN INTERNET SERVICE IN THE "BUSH", so if it’s not broke why sell it. Rather, IT, Supersedes the Bush Radio, remember that? OH SORRY, this is Brunswick heads NSW, AUSTRALIA.

BLOODY EMAILS.

Useless, hopeless, sometimes baseless my site is hit by crappy text.

Rubbish bin, delete button, save, no way, get a life. But I wait, I hopes LOTTO will be the next.

Electronic web mail super hyper cyber crappy paper, your method is so really pushy.

We wish and hope to get a letter, I do, well forgive me folks ‘cos I’m half Bushy.

Liked your blog, ‘wanna’ enter a contest, wanna’ earn a million, did you like mine too.

Couldn’t give a rat’s arse, a bunion, six warts and a (crock of spew).

Where ya been, what’s ya seen you person out there in the esters.

Do you think you hit web people with limited intellect, bugger off, we are the bushies so buddy do not testus.

There was a tome, when your home, was your families’ personal address.

Interfaces, many places, unknown faces, of all races has this one stuffed the test.

I’ll beat this "mail", I’ll have a read, and maybe give some serious thought.

After all I have the power, it’s my pen, I’ll tell you when through the soft ware I have bought.

But if I was you, and I’ll give you clue, never open attachments.

Cos’ it’s fatal blokes to make those strokes, you will never beat the harassments

So for all of us but wait awhile, and have a smile, let little fingers initiate all the rest.

AND THEN I WILL DELETE FOREVER, YOU BLOKE, and you bastard, YOU BLOODY CYBER PEST.

PS: BIGBLOG members are excluded from my ramblings, john f.

SHIRLEY AND ME BOYS.

THE VERY IMPORTANT STORY OF SHIRLEY AND THE BOYS.

What an anti- climax, our story should have commenced my journey through life. This story will never end, the many kids from our extended families and being together will see to that.

All that aside and never forgetting the good is fleeting and the not so good is inevitable, I have mentioned never give up hope, ‘cause money can’t buy it you make the best of your lot’. Shirley and I had some great loving times; we were young and ready for the life ahead of us. She came into my life when things were good, we both had jobs, we are still good looking, and we were looking for a partner. We met at Avalon, we lived at Avalon, and we worked at Avalon. We had a short life together; I wish we could be together still.

LIVING ON THE NORTHERN BEACHES, AVALON BEACH RULES.

I have held off writing this portion of my life because it is full of personal reflections and things personal, at this point may I relate the good times we had, can I tell you how we adopted extended families, and ‘girls’ how the families are extending as we speak. We met at the Avalon "STOMP DANCE", and that was that from the start.

I would meet Rowie, Dawnie, Betty, Peter and Lindsey and their father Alan, the family had moved from Young in NSW. Our romance commenced and the ritual of ‘Courting’ was fraught with many problems. As a boy without a car things were difficult in relation to seeing my girl on a regular occasion. Rowena and Dawn and Shirley lived at Mona Vale, Betty and Kerry lived up the road, they would produce Mark our first Nephew. I was living at Newport.

Shirley fell for my trap very early, we married in 1962 and moved to Newport, we had another place in Newport before moving to Avalon. A dear lady we met suggested if we renovate her downstairs flat we could have cheap rent. WE painted and prepared our nest, we laid lino and made it comfortable. Shirley worked locally and I was between the RSL club and the milk run. Our social life was minimum; we have what you would call a happy time. We had several trips to Bega and this is another story.

THE WEDDING, THE WEDDING BREAKFAST, THE HONEYMOON.

But wait, the ‘Wedding", we were married at Mona Vale, we progressed to my place at Newport for the Wedding Breakfast, at 5pm is it still called breakfast. I was still working at the Avalon RSL, they provided the food at cost and I worked until 15 mins before arriving to the Church after preparing the feast. She arrives on time, plus 20 mins, that’s normal. Shirley looked resplendent in white, she is so preety, my Surf Club mates and Shirley’s family were there. The best man was there, how did I chose Phil Kemp? I know, he was Rowies boy friend and milkman.

Shirley gave her consent and I am over the moon. Back to Newport and a few drinks and some food. My best man has planted the Mini Minor and the traveling bags, we bid our farewells and ‘Kempy’ drives the car to the front door, ready for our departure, and off for our Honeymoon.

First stop Wollongong, next day Nowra and finally the Marlin Hotel at Ulladulah, and the spellchecker has gone mad. We can’t tell you the personal details; I can’t even relate them in the ‘Naughty Page’. Shirley and I laugh to this day; we ate heaps of chocolates and enjoyed each other’s company. We had a great stay at the MARLIN HOTEL; the staff was God all mighty friendly, lots of smirks’ and smiles. The next morning we bade our farewells, waved our farewells, and made our farewells. That low life

Phil, I forgot, I trusted you and you filled our suitcases with confetti.

I guess we made it to the ‘Gong’ when I noticed the room key in the little glove box, "Shirls, you pay the bill?’ a silence, "didn’t you?" a perplexing moment occurs and suddenly vanishes, we will pay for our accommodation when we get home.

BUT ONLY A MOTHER WILL KNOW THAT.

We lived at Central Road Avalon for a short time and moved to Mona Vale, Shirley is pregnant, and we are about to have our first child. All people except mothers look away. WE had been to Bega to see Grandma Snowdon, she was living in town, we had a lovely time, I went fishing and re-visited MOON BAY, we had a swim in the river and took Grace for drives. We sung songs around the Pianola and listened to Grace’s stories. I am 23, we first met when I was 10. Shirley fell pregnant, and only mothers now that.

The bloke you see on the home page, you thought it was I, is David, he was born at Mona Vale Hospital.

We moved back to Avalon and rented a house, we attempt to raise David, he has a noxious odor in his duds, and he is the best thing in our lives. Along comes Michael, my Little Buddy Michael, now we have two best things in our lives. I have begun to travel with my company.

The sisters are very close and form a closer bond than usual, we are all living close by and babies are popping out all over, today we have; Betty times 3, Rowie times 3, Dawnie times 3, Peter times 2, Lindsey times 3, and oh, the Mothers and the Fathers of the Clarkson Family. I am talking in to-days terms when love for all off the ‘tackers’ is unequivocal, touch my niece or nephew, or my son and you will answer.

We take David and Michael, hang on, we take David to Bega first because he was conceived there, and then both the boys to Bega, Michael was, sorry Michael, conceived at Avalon you are truly an Avalon Boy. You are very little, you boys, Shirley is a great mother and our mate, how did we manage without her. Remember the Bega River and the ‘Gold’, we remember. Remember the days at Avalon, we remember. Life is a shitter, why are we separated from happy things. My partner and friend part company, we keep in contact and her parting words echo to this day; "you look after those boys".

Had a bit of a problem with the now deceased ‘Frank’, new name Little Buddy Michael. He was 5lb 3ounces dripping wet, Shirley gave him to the world on the 2^nd, April, 1968 nearly in front of my eyes, I fainted just as his little body came into view. What about the trials and tribulations of rearing children, the things we do to make their little lives comfortable, the devious stuff, the moments where we take them for drive to bring them to ‘submission’, we used to comfort them when they were ill, offer ‘bribes’ of promises and bloody lollies. We loved them then and we love them now. Shirley is a caring mother; she will never ever leave me. My love for Shirley has never died. Shirley will never be replaced in my life. She lives today.

THE BOYS AND I MOVED NORTH IN 1974.

Shirley was a Queen and she WAS a queen, she was the Cherry Festival Queen of Young of her hometown, I will dig out some photo’s. We made a few trips back to Young, mainly to catch up with old friends and a wedding, we had happy days, and except for the day the bee’s invaded our little Mini.

I suppose we were approaching the township when up ahead what seemed to be cloud was hovering over the road, we drove into the cloud and suddenly the windscreen is covered in a sticky mess, the side windows are down and the cabin is invaded by dozens of bent and not so bent angry bees. We come a frantic halt, beating at these invaders, incredibly we suffer no stings, so we get all of the bees from the cabin, wash the windscreen with water and realize what has happened. If there is a cloud on the horizon, and life can be like that, wind up your windows.

Shirley let me teach her to drive; many domestics and strained friendships are caused by this innocent maneuver. We were driving to Bega to see Grace, Shirley had her learners and she felt comfortable driving when there was not so much traffic.

Don’t quite remember where it was, but she is behind the wheel and behind a slow semi, we are suddenly being tail gated by another semi and the object is to pull over and let the trucks get ahead. Well this is easier said than done, to see where to pull in of the road was hampered by the truck in front, the truck was behind was nearly in the boot and any quick tactic will spell disaster, it seems for ever until a passing lane allows her to let the trucks clear to buggery ahead, Shirley decides she has had enough.

BEGA, BEGA VALLEY, TATHRA.

I have described the Bega Valley in previous pages, it has many memories of the years myself and then Shirley and I, and then Shirley and I and the boys visited this wonderful area. It may have been the time of the above run in with the trucks. Our roof rack had a recommended load 35 lbs, the tent weighed 60lb, instructions, what instructions? David wasn’t far away, but only a mother will know that.

SHIRLEY FREEZES HER TITS OFF.

We had packed our little car to the rafters, the intention was to spend a couple of days camping at Tathra and return to Grace’s house for a while. Called briefly into Bega and drove to Tathra Beach camping area, the days were sunny, time of year was winterish. This would be our undoing. We had bought a canvas tent and poles and camp stretchers, we had a gas cooker and all the cooking stuff, and so we set up our little site, probably had a counter lunch up at the Tathra Pub and would have certainly visited the Tathra Sea Wharf. We went to the Bega River entrance, this was before the Bridge Mark #1, we, well I went fishing while Shirley spread the towel and sun baked herself. Got some photos somewhere of the 4 or so sea bream I caught, they were to be for tea.

The afternoon was drawing to a close and we decided that ‘Moon Bay" can wait for tomorrow, so we returned to the camp site and prepared to have our fish, what a meal. Now we were aware that it was going to be cold night, we had brought some blankets and sheets, but we were not prepared for bitterly cold night ahead. Camp stretchers are not well insulated, they can only sleep one person, so out the door go’s cuddling, Shirley woke up freezing, she put on all the clothes she could, still to no avail, she was cold as a frog, and I’am not much better. The best we could for her was to lay newspaper and towels on the stretcher to give her some insulation from the rising cold. Our night was miserable, a hot shower early and with a phone call to Grace we canned staying at the camping site another night.

We put off packing until we returned from that beautiful place just up the road, it’s secret. (http://www.begavalley.nsw.gov.au). It was providence, Grace had the spare room ready, big dooner, fireplace, it was providence, but only a mother will know that.

WE had a great time just being in Grace’s company, went driving and shopping and eating home made scones with jam and Bega Cream, we didn’t pitch the tent again on this trip, we returned about 15 months later with a 3^rd person, his name was David and he was 6 months old, anybody good at math’s?, but only a mother will know that.

And we pitched the tent again. Incidentally, a description of ‘Moon Bay’ will be the in the above Web address soon. I will make this comment one more time; refer to unabridged page, BORN IN THE BUSH 2, PLEASE EXCUSE THE SPOKEN WORD, or if you want to see the edited version, a very good version its is, thanks LINDA ALBERTSON, BEGA VALLEY SHIRE COUNCIL LIBARIAN, YOUR PATIENCE WITH MY GRAMMER IS, WELL, PATIENT.

Be back soon to update SHIRLEY AND THE BOYS.

11/11/2007 3:49 PM; A very special day has almost elapsed. In the free world on this day we take leave to remember the fallen, the Soldiers, the people, and strangely the horrors of war. Today is not a celebration of victory or defeat; it is a combination of sorrow and disbelief. Why so many brave soldiers and innocent citizens gave there lives only the Aristocrats will ever know. We will all give up this existence at some time, the time is not written. Our soldiers and Sailors and Seaman knew their tenure on life was limited, ‘Remembrance Day’ offers up a brief time to give our thoughts, our thanks for their ultimate sacrifice.

Do I need to remind you guys of my comments; I am just a simple person, an ordinary bloke. But still I plough on with my very ordinary story. The above comments make us all humble.

Mainly, SHIRLEY AND THE BOYS commenced as a brief recount of our time together. Only memory has robbed me of the many good times we enjoyed, only time has softened the blows, memory has not diminished her presence in my life.

I am reminded of her presence when David and Michael and I meet, I see her face in their face only parents see that. I envy the people who have long and lasting times together, I am bitterly saddened when a partner leaves the other and yet for most of us we are not prepared for separation, we would / should have an inbuilt ‘Software’ to carry us into "our time", the inevitable demise of our body and the commencement of another life form. Now this life form could be a rock, or a knitting needle, a combination of cells that produce SOMETHING.

My theory on our Shirley’s Life will be she has not left us, she is here, she is the SOMETHING, she is my BOYS and she is not demised and ‘us’ are the result of her body. We never had the opportunity to travel overseas, but that’s no problem, we had many travels to places we felt comfortable in; Bega, Ulladullah, Mona Vale, Young, Blue Mountains, Avalon.

Not impressed, what about Moon Bay, Avalon, Shirley had a sense; a need to relate to something we could see was a happy place. I will bet you that Shirley knew when to, OK, have a baby; Michael and David were given life when she was ready and only a mother knows that. Shirley’s body died too early, baby, you’re always there.

JUST A LITTLE DIGRESSION. AUSTRALIA’S HIDDEN SOCIETY, "THE VOLLEY"

VOLLEYS AND ME; for that matter any self-respecting ‘Aussie’.

Many people have tried to describe the all-encompassing status symbol; I make reference to this "life style" in my web page. No intention was envisaged to make light of the hours of fun derived from wearing my DUNLOP VOLLEYS, in fact you will understand, you don’t wear them they wear you, you become part of their world and abide by their social ramifications.

The Volley has been an AVALON MILKMAN, a FENCING CHAMPION, (I wish), a member of an EMERGENCY ORGANISATION, they have caught many fish; they relish fish guts and scales.

A Volley I know suggested an incredible addition to their tribe; "Cover ME in fish scales, attach bottle tops to my ‘souls’ and I will carry you over rocks to your favorite fishing spot". They can play squash, and I understand have ventured on to a tennis court and won many titles. They will have notable success in the building industry; they have led our country to great heights in combating the housing shortage.

IT'S A LIVEN' THING, THE DUNLOP VOLLEY, THAT IS.

The Volley is a living thing, and deserves to be treated so, it has a heart and lung of its own. It has its own particular endorphin glands; you will feel yourself being dragged to places against your wish. When the seemingly magnetic attraction abides you become aware of something very strange; if you look down there is all these Volleys with people standing in them.

A Volley is a proud personage. When they are born they arrive into the world in many colors, now isn’t that strange, no it’s not! Before the advent of the condom, putting on the rubber, ment:

"COVERING YOUR 'FOOT' WITH THE VOLLEY, OUCH, WOUL'NT THAT SMART."

Think about it, underneath they are just like you and me, they live and draw breath and deserve to place in society, just like all colored people. They have this need to return to a basic color, washing machines and scrubbing brushes they will not tolerate, they recon we all should be color liberal, and remember Volleys will revolt when any mention of an ‘odor’ is made in their presence. A Volley once told me; "He who complains of a smell ‘down under’ has two options, vote Labor or wash your feet".

Volleys are a copyright issue, they are intellectual(s) property of Australia, Mr. Dunlop has the father rights, Mrs. Dunlop is the Mother of all Volleys. © john Farley, AKA; johnfarlsbrunz.com, johnfarls.com

ME VOLLEYS.

There’s a whimper on me front porch, it’s being goin’ for a while.

Guess it’s time to talk the walk and take in a country mile.

Me dog your wondering? I would do to if I was you, and would probably surmise.

But give a minute, three at best, it’s not me dog, AND I’m not trying to give you all a rise.

Yep, I have had me share of man’s best friend, had the pleasure of many a faithful canine.

But the whimper’s not coming from the pooch on the porch; it’s from another stench? (Read staunch), real good friend of mine.

My best friends are made of rubber, the heading gives a clue.

It’s name is real Australiana, ©VOLLEYS is it’s name, and no other name will do.

And so I pulls them on and off we goes, we are chatting all the while.

Spinning yarns of days gone yonder, many with a smile.

"Remember, Pancho, when we owned the Milk Run, Avalon Parade.

We braved all weather you and I, had good times us three, no time for life’s charade".

"Clareville Beach, bloody Torpedoes, spiders and other stuff we went through".

Can I have the stage, cogitate and disseminate, give a thought or two.

We can’t separate our existence our experiences, and recollections we have been through

Me Volleys and I must offer some info’, in regards to family history.

Your faithful dooorg, your frivolous Pussy, have a life expectancy, for certain, and that will be.

Me Volleys are one, contextual, they are all encompassing, from one special place they come.

One Mum, one Dad, one son gender changing, like a Seahorse progeny, like, life is goin’ on.

All that went before concerns close relations, pre-dispatched they are, but in fact there’re free.

Me sand shoes are part of me, like Vegemite, Victa and Aborigine.

Losing time and space, your author, an explanation for the comments past.

Mister and Missus Dunlop had a kid, however he came from a boot makers last.

I will conclude this narration; some will say prose and "Bushy" theme.

Oh how do you WRITE a blues song come out with Brunswick Valley?

Can you listen to the mournful sounds of ANZAC and the sounds of old reveille?

Well I’ve listened to the white folk, the black folk, the down and out and just no hope.

I just don’t need any misery, but I guess we all go down that awful slope.

And I don’t need someone to love me just follow my big mistake.

Had a good time doin’ it, thanks to all the girls, give yourselves a break.

Been living in the Valley, bangin’ at recallin’ what the hell I’ve done.

Tried to bring me boys up in a way that folks expect, had me problems, and then more then some.

Well I got a bagful of worries but go from woe to go, give your head a bloody fist.

Dream, it ai’nt really funny folks, how you do’in? you guys followin’ this round of tryst

If you can learn how love go’s you’re a winner baby, live it with respect put in a good feeling every day.

Don’t let good things bring up much, a sad time is commin’, the love of life so precious will bring dismay.

Every time the sun goes’s down think of family, have a cry then think of really good times… have a think the good shoes.

Dwell on faces, have a look at a flower, then picture the happy days, my face is worn out, this is my idea of the blues.

Mother’s day at Brunswick Heads, me Mum resides with me her ashes, her presence will never leave my span.

I’ll go with her, I’ll be happy, but I’ll swear we had happy days, wish I knew her dreams before this life.

I recon half her ashes were the cigarette ash, the ash thats in the omelet pan.

SMELL THE FLOWERS, while the blossoms bloom, takes the time my friend to sing a happy tune.

You could be my everything, my Mum and I invite you in…will ya come by soon.

Words slip away, all these words were written using JERRY REEDS ANTHOLOGY. The best bloke ever who could pick’n and sing. © John Farley, thanks jerry bloody reed.

THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE RIVETTED BY SOME OF THE JOBS I’VE HAD.

OTHER JOBS, AND FILL IN DETAILS.

While working at Repetition many details were omitted regards change of address and recreational things. I did have another life besides the surf club, although it would have to be a distant second. Grand Ma sold 112 Palmer and purchased a property at 3 Knight Street St. Peters. We lived here for couple of years. Circa 1956 / 58. I would travel by train to work and Tech., caught up with most of my mates on occasion, although the club had first priority on weekends. When Marconi School of Wireless came along many hours building valve wireless sets kept me occupied.

I bought 3 or 4 not so old cabinet and a couple of bench top kaput radios and pulled them to bits and salvaged the valves, and resistors and capacitors. Using a second hand circuit tester, and using the wiring diagram usually found in the cabinet or a diagram from School, start from scratch and build my radios. From all of the bits and pieces, and with out ‘shocking’ myself, I managed to build a couple of radios. My Uncle Bruce had shown me how to french polish, with this skill and a fair bit of sanding the cabinets came up real good.

From St. Peters we moved to Marrickville, then Avalon Beach. When I total up the moves we had over the years I am astounded. Including all of the places mentioned, I remember Coogee, Bondi, Paddington, Taylors Square. The country netted around 15 places, Avalon was 8, up here has been 15, talk about sleeping around! MY ANNUAL HOLIDAYS WERE SPENT AT THE CLUB and other beds..

MILK RUN A.D.

There wasn’t much of a break after selling the run, I obtained work with Farley and Lewers, they’re mentioned in Avalon stuff, (see sharks). We dismantled the sand plant at Roseville and re-assembled it upstream. This was only a casual job, around 6 weeks. A job came up almost immediately at Ferris Bros. at Brookvale. They employed me as safety officer and maintenance fitter for the 2 factories. They sent me to the NSW National Safety Council training school to gain my qualification in safety management. Ferris Bros were leaders in car radio production, although we also manufactured strangely, boat trailers and die cast components, and we had a chrome plating section. An assembly section produced TV aerials; many fittings were made for stereo units.

MR. FERRIS'S FLY BRIDGE CRUISER.

One of the highlights was to completely dismantle the bosses’ big Ford V8 marine motor and rebuild it. New rings and bearings, crankshaft re-ground, cylinders re-bored, rewired, chrome plate the rocker covers and carburetor covers, and anything else, (this will make it go faster), re-spray a brilliant red. And all with only a basic idea of mechanics.

The gearbox was serviced elsewhere, bit beyond me. We benched tested the you beaut power unit and she ran like a dream, nothing like the burble of a V8. Brought up revs slowly, to 3000rpm and run her in for a couple of hours, at reduced revs. We drained the oil, loaded her on the works truck and off to Cottage Point where Mr. Ferris had his boat moored. For some reason we removed the spark plug leads before man handling into the engine room.

The motor was bedded down and connected to the propeller shaft, all the electrics were connected, the instrument connections made good, re-oiled, fuel connected and we are ready for the big test, again.

The starter motor was engaged and bingo, there’s that sound again. But problems, the throttle is slowly opened to bring up the revs, 400rpm and that’s it she won’t go any faster, bugger. You mechanics will know the problem, we had taken of the plug leads, closer inspection indicated 4 leads were connected incorrectly; we rectified this over sight and this time she was away. Double checked our work and went for pleasant cruise.

THEY HAD ME BUILD A GOLD PLATING PLANT, WASHING TANKS, STRIPPING TANKS, PLATING TANKS AND TANKS FOR RINSING.

For special radio and TV components, the surrounds’, knobs, escutcheons’ etc, we would gold plate them for enhanced appearance. The gold was in solution, the 10-gallon containers were really quite heavy, and the thickness of gold applied was very thin. But not thin enough for a Volkswagen Beetle owned by the plating foreman. ‘Foreign orders’ it was known as, he gold plated the bumper bars, the hubcaps, any thing that moved and a lot that didn’t. The door handles, the dash, even his car keys. This foreign order took a few weeks to complete; he was still working there when another change in direction came my way.

THE WATER WORKS. WHAT? PERMU T.I.T.

It came from a mate of mine from Mona Vale Surf Club; he suggested that I apply for an interview with a water treatment company at Brookvale. This particular company very rarely advertised positions vacant; they relied on personal references’ from current employees. The position in question was for installation fitter to fabricate and install water treatment technology.

Another successful interview, I commenced work for Permutit Water Treatment Company soon after. Nearly 10 years I was employed in the possibly most interesting profession of my working life. It lead to frequent travel and technical know how, I met many great work mates and advanced to senior positions.

Our factory was fashioned after an aircraft hanger; the assembly floor was covered by a huge ‘Quonset’ type roof, the 2-story admin. block was at the eastern end of the building. The senior people and engineers and drafts men and women were on the top floor; secretaries and the accounts people resided on the bottom floor as well as a large store facility. The industrial chemical laboratory was on the northern side adjacent to the Service Dept, a place where I progressed too later.

It was astounding to discover the extent of water treatment in industry; the application of technology to give high quality water was never ending. The ability to use tools and read plans and the ability to logically combine both were in my favor from the start, we built very serious boiler feed water plants on the floor of the workshop, marked where every thing goes, dismantled the equipment and shipped it to site.

We built portable and semi-portable ion exchange units, mainly for use in the medical, pharmaceutical, and science laboratories’. De-mineralized water was used in many many fields; softened water was for low performance boilers, cordial manufacture, washing components and storage vessels and casks in the wine industry. Used in town water supplies, beer-making uses softened water. However, the major application is to produce high quality water for large steam generating boilers in power stations, I worked in many of Australia’s major electricity generators.

LIKE MUNMORRAH, LIDDEL, PYRMONT, BALMAIN, VALES POINT, WALL, somthing, WANG, WANGI, OTHERS.

From day one I searched for knowledge, you couldn’t build something and not know how it worked, "what’s that goldy stuff, how does it work, what does all the chemicals do", what’s this what’s that. Mention was made in school days about my favorite subjects; science and chemistry, Mr. Pollack thanks. And it is a complex subject, we don’t realize the crap that resides in our water, undoubtedly a lot of good minerals are present, for drinking we have to have them present, for industry they have to go.

This then was my introduction to the world of treating water, never forgetting that we are pretty good at treating water ourselves, a pisspoor effort that.

WATER AND SECURITY.

While the building and installation of equipment was very interesting and produced pride in my work, the places and many applications I would see were astounding. I have been to places of great inherent danger, I been to places where most people are verboten. Oh, and yes I had to join a Union. Many industrial sites require workers to be union members, and in most cases this is rightly so, some track of qualified personnel is necessary, for harmony on the site and to receive correct salaries’ and conditions a union is required, but not the milk run.

In a short time, maybe a couple of years, I advanced to the Service Department and a salaried position, i.e.; no overtime, but we still needed our ‘ticket’ to enter. Places like I.C.I. Botany, A.P.M., B.H.A.S., ALL Power Stations, The Steel Works, Cockle Creek Zinc, Lucas Heights. PERMUTIT were aware of this fact and in ‘fact’ paid our union fees. Incidentally, try spelling the companies name to a Receptionist; it’s P.E.R.M.U.-------TIT. In time the Government and Restricted sites required a security pass, an "A" class security pass endorsed by the Commonwealth. "I have never done anything for what I am ashamed off", that seemed to work, although the process of securing a "pass’ was not that easy. Many questions, swear allegiance etc.

WATER AND THE ‘BIG BANG’ THEORY.

I.C.I. BOTANY, is a potentially explosive place, there were ‘Cat Crackers’ everywhere and the noise!

We had installed the boiler feed water plant at their new power station, (circa,1964), this was my first site job as a trainee installation fitter, my boss was a guy called Les Cook and he gave great advice and some horse betting tips as well. We returned to I.C.I. on frequent occasions, mainly for service procedures on existing installations and some smaller installations.

It must be remembered that the management were all too conscientious of the potential dangers inherent at this facility and many safety guidelines were / are in place. You will be greeted at one of the many security gates, ID please, and could I have the car cigarette lighter and your matches and your lighter, and your Union Ticket for reference.

M.E.G. AND SOME OTHER STUFF=DETERGANT.

This particular day we were to service our plant at the MONO ETHELYENE GLYCOL facility, the site is isolated and shut down for the duration of our service. People with gas detectors have given the OK and we commence to carry out our duties. You want to smoke? A bunker is provided with a shrouded lighter. Work progressed smoothly, and so it should for professionals, there were several other service people from other companies, fitters, instrument fitters, technicians, welders!!!!, and the next thing this God Almighty bloody bang.

Manhole covers are being sent skywards a matter of 3/4 feet, men were running ever where, but to one place, the marshalling place as described in the safety briefing. Every body is quickly ushered from the site, a matter of 100 yards away. MONO ETHELENE GLYCOL IS A VERY EXPLOSIVE CHEMICAL, I can’t remember its chemical ID, but it has to contain the element Hydrogen.

The only place the gas detectors had not checked was in the many drains under the site, a welder is cutting steel over an open grate, say no more, the volatile gas has built up in the drains, one spark and ‘whammo’. The substance we are referring to will be combined with a suitable perfume and another chemical from just over the road, it produces dish washing detergent. We complete our duties, everybody is unscathed but stressed.

An I.C.I. person will tell me, were the pressure relief valves at the Chlorine Plant set for 300 atmospheres? Maybe. I was never present, but they have activated in the past causing great angst to the surrounding population, the yellow pungent odor would play havoc with your washing.
WATER AND FISSION CHIPS.

One place you did need your Security Pass was Lucas Heights Nuclear Research Establishment. When you arrive at security a thorough going over is your lot, once passed the guards you are ushered to a change room and issued with white overalls and over boots, where are we going? To the reactor that’s where, our De-min plant supplies the water for the cooling pond, a real big pond, don’t know how deep but you can clearly see to bottom, good place to cool of on a hot day, well that is if you want to be ‘nuked’. But the residents are ‘hot chips’.

Your job was to service the upright Ion Exchange Unit and live, and all sorts of precautions are place. You will see numerous people with IQ’s slightly greater than mine, (they can do their own shoe laces up unaided), all sorts of experiments are going on, but don’t ask me what. People will have their arms inside glass fronted small rooms encased in thick rubber gloves, or manipulating articulated handles, just like my flight simulator joystick.

So you complete your work and you are taken away, you are none the wiser.

A man will place your hands and forearms in a machine, panic sets in as you feel a clamp grab your hands for a couple of seconds, a needle on a dial registers some figure, only word I can think of is roentgens’, but there aren’t any. While there you go to a couple of Laboratories’ and perform your service duties on some more equipment. And then the ritual of getting out the gate, you have returned your ‘whites’, now they search your car and your person and wave you goodbye.

WHAT, EAT A 12 MONTH OLD ORANGE?

A few months later Ken, the Boss asks me to return to Lucas Heights and install a de-min plant in some "concrete building", now I will learn something from this exercise. With all the security dispensed with we proceed to a newly completed building, this is not just any old building; it is circular, it has walls 2 yards thick and internally lined with 4 inches of lead, the door is about 3 yards wide wedge shaped and 2 yards thick with the lead on the inside.

The door will open and close moving on a small railway line. Inside is an empty, stainless steel lined deep pond and an area is indicated where our Ion Exchange plant would be located. Folks, I cannot contain myself but the equipment is installed and commissioned and water begins to fill the pond, this will take some time and I will not be there to see it filled, and now the questions.

NUKED STUFF.

Irradiation is the word; I.C.I. has built a prototype irradiation laboratory, my questions will be answered by my guide. We go to a building to see the most marvelous stuff, it’s a large room we enter and all around the walls are glassed cabinets, I must stress the room is at ambient temperature. There is every fruit and vegetable you see in "Farmer Charlie’s", all the produce is on small plates and containers, every item looks as fresh as the day it was harvested. My guide explains that some of the items are 6 months old and you can eat them if you want, but not now. "We haven’t got the ‘dose’ right yet, this will allow you to have your Fission Chips one day soon-------."

How can this be, well as near as I understand, the irradiation destroys the fungus and bacteria that produces decay, (give me some I will live forever). Probably this technology is used today. Remember, what has happened in the past with nuclear has been abhorrent, we have a lot to understand, get it right you ‘Boffins’ and you so called elected by the citizens, shinny bum Pollies.

I will see other great advances and interesting things through being involved in Water Treatment.

WATER, AND ‘KNOCK KNOCK YOUR BELL’S STUFFED’

Apologies’ Mrs. Avon, your facility was a great place to visit. When we first installed the water demineralising plant the security guards were armed, that will indicate how much credence they placed on their range of products.

The de-min plant was serviced at regular periods; we cart all of our service equipment to the top floor and commence our work. Regular visits by the security insure all is in order. I will point out that you could purchase perfumes and other items, at cost, you put your order in on arrival at it was delivered in a sealed shopping bag when your were leaving. Some really great products were available, no seconds.

All of the ‘damaged’ stuff was taken to the tip, security guards would be on hand to watch the bulldozer crush all of the rejects, and they would leave when it was all buried.

GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION.

I often wonder what would have happened on the day I pinched some cream and some perfume. A worker had been around to lend us assistance at some stage and inquired; "you like Avon products?" we nodded and nothing was thought of it until leaving.

We carried extension leads and the ‘rattler" gun in a canvas bag, as we pack up I throw the bag onto my shoulder and unfortunately it drops the floor, a muffled sound of breaking glass can be heard followed by the delicate aroma of perfume. The bag has been ‘salted’, what do I do, report it to the guards’, leave the premises? Well I chose the latter, throwing the bag back on my shoulder we proceeded past the security with a nod, packed the service vehicle and off.

The short story is the worker has deposited 1/2 a dozen items of cream and perfume in our bag, I swear we didn’t have a clue, in the fall a jar of cream has shattered, my shoulder reeked of the stuff. It pays to check. Suppose I could tell you Farley was popular at home, suppose I could tell you the canteen was a veritable sight for sore eyes, never seen so many ‘chicky babes’.

WATER AND THE ‘HUNTER’.

As one progressed up the ‘food chain’ reliance on your availability to move at a moments notice was your position in life. All too frequently a phone call over the weekend would be for a request to; "can you be at Mascot Monday morning, 7am, a ticket is waiting at Ansett check in, we have a urgent job at-------". We always had a travel bag half packed, these were our responsibilities as service personnel. Whyalla wasn’t quite that urgent, but important never the less.

As well as the BHP Steel Mill, Whyalla was a rather large ship building yard, many large boats and oil drilling rigs were constructed in the area. I say area because the bow section is built at one place, the center sections somewhere else the bridge decks and engine room in another place. All will be brought together and assembled and welded. Bet the measurements had to spot on.

One particular Ship was the Iron Hunter, 55,000 tons of bulk iron ore carrier, forgotten all of the other statistics. The power unit was steam turbine, single screw, this was where Permutit entered, and me. Boilers mean water, water means de-min water and we supplied the equipment. In the latter stages of construction our plant was installed, the great ship was launched; wish I could have been there. But I got my turn again. Several months later and its time to commission the boiler feed water plant, this will be in preparation for the ‘shakedown run’.

A workmate, Billie Griffin, would comment; "when I was in Submarines this beauty would be sitting duck, one ‘fish’ in the after engine room and down she goes". Well, I am not in favor of war things but I guess he was right. Something did happen to the Iron Hunter, relate soon. The feed water plant was duly commissioned.

A matter of many months elapsed, our ship picked up and delivered thousands of tons of iron ore to many ports IN THE WORLD. A tragic event was to occur resulting in disaster; a serious engine room fire resulted in loss of life and the crippling of the ship. When it was time to re-install the boiler de-min plant my work mate and me were sent to Port Kembla to complete the job. Bill Griffin was a real sea dog, he had been in the Royal Navy for 22 years, 11 of those years he was a Submariner, his story deserves to be related, more interesting than mine. He had made the comment about the "fish". Didn’t give all the details about the Iron Hunter, and by the way her sister ship the Iron Monach and I had a close encounter several years later.

Our ship was crewed by 8? Engineers, a couple of oilers, the Captain and Bridge crew, the Cook and Galley crew. Most of the crew had separate quarters, we had been escorted through the ship prior for the "shakedown cruise" at Whyalla, this day we were head down and tail up, no time for sight seeing. But Bill had not seen the engine room. It was more than a ‘room’, it was a vast cavernous area and very noisy.

WHAT A NOISY BASTARD OF A PLACE.

A huge generator mounted aft on the port side was delivering enormous decibels, the boiler was making steam in readiness for a departure that afternoon, and so we were all go. To get to our plant location you caught the lift, must have been 3 floors down, we worked frantically, but coolly, to get the water flowing. And just on time! We were going down the gangway as the mooring lines were being cast off, Bill and I could have been going to sea, again.

WATER AND APOLLO 13.

I had been to Darwin twice before Apollo, our plants were in BP air re-fuelling depots in most large airports and service and installation was ongoing. The first trip to the top end was an eye opener; we seemed to be in the air forever, Sydney, Brisbane, Townsville, Mt. Isa, Darwin. You get off the plane and are struck by heat and oppressive humidity, the other thing that strikes you is walking 50/60 yards to the terminal and seeing the machine gun bullet marks on the steel RSJ’s, great holes are gouged in the metal. Cyclone Tracy in 1974 destroyed the terminal; probably don’t want to remember our dark days.

This third visit I was greeted by the foreman of BP air re-fueling, dropped at the Dolphin Hotel Motel on Baggat Road and prepared for the next day. Had a good feed, Barramundi of course, watched the entertainment and retired for a good sleep. I was prepared for the night. And here they come, all night all you hear was the sounds of jet motors, some landing some taking off, and there wasn’t many Domestic aircraft, if any. The Vietnam War is producing all that carnage and horror and the bombers and fighter aircraft use Darwin and many other bases as staging areas, the R&R planes are dropping in as well.

THE C-141 STARLIFTER, WHAT A BIG SUCKER.

The manager picks me up and off to the airport we go, the air re-fuelling depot is adjacent to the airport, of course, but instead of the usual small planes that would be near by was this bloody monster, all gray, huge wings and gaping jet motors. On top was this great disc on a pod; several-armed American MP’s were in attendance, ready for anything. How can I concentrate on my job, I must know all about this huge plane. It was parked a matter 50/60 yards from our de-min plant, the manager begins to tell a fascinating story while I begin the service process.

OH, "SOMETHING ABOUT OXYGEN".

Apollo 13 has returned to earth, this I knew, what was not known was something about the logistics in getting them to safety. History tells us they had problems. The problems can be researched, what was related to me was that this great aircraft, we can call it a Starlifter now, was one of three that circled the globe tracking the space vehicle. One would take off while the other two prepared to intercept as they passed by they had a radar-tracking configuration on the module for the duration.

Did I get close to the plane? Well how about 10 yards, "can I see inside", the MP was quite friendly, "sorry buddy but if you walk with me I can show you some things of interest", what a blast. The tail was up there and out there, 35/40 feet, the tires were taller than me, and the wings drooped from the top of the fuselage almost to the ground. Two pods on each wing, a jet intake you can stand up in, and I have forgotten the reason for De-Mineralized water in planes. Tell you in the next story.
WATER AND ‘JUMBO’s and FOAM ON THE RUNWAY.

Very close on the heels of Starlifter was the 747 Jumbo, 1970. I see one the monsters at Mascot during one of my many service trips to BP re-fueling, what a hulk, the tail is probably taller than the Starlifter but a bigger plane all round. Now where was I? The reason for de-min water, as this writer believes, was mixing it with Methanol, it was injected into the turbines and produced a cooling effect for take off. One can imagine the incredible temperatures generated at ‘lift off’, the turbine blades are spinning at peak revs. I don’t know if this was new technology for the 747 or for other jet planes or not, so there.

Prior to all of the above, a service call is requested for our presence at BP. Leaving Brookvale to travel to Mascot I do not know this will be the quickest trip through the city ever. Reaching Taylors Square you used to travel to Mascot along Anzac Parade and out to the Airport, I am one of only a few cars on this normally busy road. All of the side roads are barricaded, police at every intersection. Without one stop I reach Mascot and then the fun starts. People are running everywhere, people are on hanger roofs, there’s fire tenders and ambulances and police cars.

Our plant is located near the tarmac where I am ushered; the foreman apologizes for the rush then explains the predicament. I think it was an Electra aircraft, and its got problems, the nose wheel will not come down and the aircraft personnel are preparing a contingency plan. The foreman takes us close to the tarmac.

HOW DID THAT DUDE DO THAT?

What turns out to be the stricken plane makes a low pass along the landing runway, fire tankers are spraying huge amounts of foam as he passes overhead, and the foreman explains what will happen. The pilot will get as many passengers to the rear of the plane as possible; he will attempt to land on a flat approach. I wont give any more information; let me describe what happens next.

AND HERE HE COMES, BUGGER ME.

The fire tenders seem to be spreading foam for miles up and down the runway, it must be many feet thick and then the plane flies low again and this will be his final pass. For what seems an eternity nothing happens, and then way down south coming across Botany Bay you see our plane, he is low and sure enough the nose wheel has not dropped.

At about the start of the foam he is very low and the plane seems to touch down right in the middle of the mess. At this stage he is dead horizontal with the runway, he has touched down, a huge wave of foam seems to be pushed in front of him, and by now he is some 200 yards from passing in front of us, the plane is still parallel to the tarmac, the nose is still up, how’s he doing that?

As he passes us the foam is flying every where and I swear he disappears momentarily, the plane is slowing rapidly at this stage We go out as far as we are allowed and see a remarkable thing; as the plane comes almost to a stop it gently falls forward on to its nose, a matter of 50 yards it takes to completely stop.

Every tanker in Australia is quickly on the spot, doors open and people pour from the cabin doors.

I guess this was when every one all over the air field spontaneously began to yell and clap wildly, I saw that I was there, what a hero that man. Now what am I here for?
WATER and a POT PORRI OF PLANE STORIES.

My company had me fly many hours and to many places, I traveled to every State by plane except the ACT. At one stage my log book showed (1) hour per week, a commercial pilot would say.... dickhead.

Flying is good stuff, although always pensive departing and arriving. One little narrative concerns a gin and tonic; the young female trainee Cabin Attendant has accepted my request for one of my favorite drinks, we are between Mt Isa and Darwin.

ME NEW CREAM DUDS.

She returns with my order and places the nip of gin in the glass, very deftly she removes the lid from the tonic bottle, reaches over to pour it in my glass and the driver hits a small pothole, the tonic bottle ends in my lap, upside down its contents emptying between my legs. The poor dear is so embarrassed, my private parts are freezing, have you ever had a girl try to remove..... doesn’t matter.

Possibly the worst thing was the cream pants I am wearing, standing up to get off the plane you could clearly see the stain of the drink I didn’t have, we left friends.

STORMY WEATHER DURING AND AHEAD.

Adelaide to Sydney is a pleasant trip on the afternoon flight that is if it the weather is fine. This particular time the conditions were not good, storms were brewing and became uncomfortable for the entire journey. Sydney is approaching and the late afternoon has developed into thunderstorm conditions.

The crew informs us we will be delayed while fuel is dumped, from all windows an occasional lighting strike can be seen. A pretty bumpy descent in the DC9 and we landed, I recon the pilot had engaged the disc brakes before touching down, we stopped within 10 seconds, still shaking we walked through the rain to the terminal and I went looking for a cab.

MASCOT TO AVALON PLEASE.

It was a crappy night by this time and the Taxi driver was glad for a fare to Avalon. I am still a little shaky from the turbulence when we approach the Spit Bridge, red break lights appear in front of us, the ‘Cabbie’ hits the breaks and we do a 360, get me home, GET ME HOME TO CHANGE ME NAPPIE.

ALWAYS TAKE A TOOTHBRUSH.

We always flew Ansett, they offered great service and the cabin boys and girls were always out there, even you young lady. I had a chance to repay this service on a few occasions; one occasion was the time I traveled to ANSETT WORKSHOPS at Dubbo NSW. I had been to their workshops before this particular occasion but this was Easter and bookings were heavy. A boarding ticket was waiting at the terminal; it would be a return flight that afternoon, I thought.

NO MUN, NO FUN, YOUR SON. AND NO BLOODY TOOTHBRUSH.

Traveling light I was greeted and driven to the workshops and commenced to service the Ion Exchange plant, and then problems, no flight out till tomorrow morning, that would not have been a problem except; no tooth brush, no change of clothes. Anyway, ANSETT WORKSHOPS serviced all their prop engines, don’t think jet motors at Dubbo, they completely stripped the motors of Fokkers, Viscount, Electras and the Sunderland, x-ray all of the components’, repair and reassemble the motors.

A really old truck was used to mount the re-conditioned motor to, the cabin had to be sound proofed I imagine. A large wooden load prop gave the motor some semblance of a plane and off would go the testing. For how long? The test pilot sat in the truck cabin and monitored all the instruments, "she’s a goer". You will fly with this motor next week.

Anyway, they got me on a flight. THE MILKRUN, FOKKER FRIENDSHIP F-47, 40 SEATS.

i COUNTED 47 PEOPLE IN THE CABIN.

WATER and THE PLANTATION MANAGER EXTRAODINER.

Its not often you get to live on a wine plantation. PENFOLDS WINES had one of their facilities at Wybong in the upper Hunter Valley, this vineyard grew mostly grapes for fortified wines, although the area was excellent for growing just about any grape variety. The Wybong Creek meanders through the property, the land gently slopes back from the creek. From the creek back the soil gradually darkens and is rich in minerals. A large dam is on the northern? Side of the of the Winery Complex, all the wine making stainless steel vessels and pumps and wooden kegs and vats are installed in this imposing building.

The laboratory is situated at the front of the building; the grape unloading area and the great auger is at the front of the building. I will struggle to describe accurately the Homestead; the main residence faces east, there is several smaller homes that border a main street leading to the big house, these residences house the permanent workers and the vast vineyards surround all of this.

I would like to tell you the Managers name, will seek permission, however, he and his staff will be the most hospitable people who ever grew grapes, AND HE SEEMED TO KNOW A THING OR ABOUT WINE.

My job? Install water softening plant, Precipitator, Sand Filter, Ion Exchange vessel and pumping equipment. The polished water is to be used for cleaning and washing winemaking equipment, some for drinking? Well I book into a Motel in Scone and travel to Wybong to await the arrival of our transport semi, meet the Manager and have a quick look through the facility. In due course the truck arrives and work commences, the first day went quickly, should have it up and commissioned in a couple of days, I thought.

I was getting ready to pack up that afternoon and drive back to Scone when the Manager tells me "I’m going nowhere", I will be staying on the property, "but I am booked into the Motel", during the day the Manager has gone to the Motel and picked up my belongings and booked me ‘out’, I’m going to spend the next couple of days in the country, I can handle that.

And so the installation proceeds smoothly, had a BBQ tea with the plantation people last night, couple of drinks and a game of cards. Had a bed in one of the cottages and slept peacefully, it has been a while since I fell asleep to the quietness of the country. The second night was all of the above, the third day will see almost completion and ready for commission, then problems arise, well not exactly problems, the manager has suggested that ‘a’ pipe supplying water to our plant will not be installed until the day after tomorrow and can I inform Ken, my boss, of the ‘holdup’.

Ken suggests that there is no point coming home until the job is completed and on line, as I put the phone down the Manager informs me that, ‘miraculously’ the pipeline has reached the initial pluming connection, "no need to tell your boss". I don’t think Ken ever knew the extent of our indiscretion.

I Had the plant on line mid morning the following day, it was time for sight seeing and more fantastic hospitality, we went all over the property and surrounding districts, enjoyed their company heaps, thank you Mr. Manager, I have heard your name mentioned on frequent occasions, I have enjoyed several bottles of your splendid wines, best wishes and continuing success in the Hunter, and thank you again, (Mr. Brian Mcguigan).

Some years later I became a Tutor in Hospitality Food and Beverage, 55 subjects in total, I will bet that all of the tips and knowledge concerning grapes and wine passed on to me by the ‘Manager’ have stuck, including Wine and Wine Appreciation, I am sure he told me that all of the information you will need is written on the bottle, then drink the bastard silly.
WATER AND THE APOLLO 11, AND EXPAND YOUR BELT.

I probably need to explain that we all shared the service trips to the ‘Bush’, Bobby, Les, Bill, Peter and myself will travel extensively. My question was how come I would get the trips around NSW in the middle of winter.

The south western trips would see us, (me), at Cowra, Blayney, Murrabura / Harden, Young, Cootamundra. The southern trips were to Goulbourne, and Canberra ACT, mid western was Orange, Bathurst, Kandos, Mudgee. Any body that lives in these regions know the chill factor in winter. Possibly one is as cold as the other at times, Blayney has the reputation of being the coldest place in NSW, and this will not be disputed.

WHERE IS THAT WHEAT STRAIN?

OK I had my whine, actually I am having one now, Mcguigans actually, a red label Shiraz. But this story involves Canberra with a little bit on Goalbourne, if ever you want the best ‘Mixed Grill’, try The Odeon in Goalbourne. Worked at the Abattoirs there, one of many we would travel to. You arrive in Queenbeyan and book into a Motel, heated; generally you will have time to do a small service job at the C.S.I.R.O. PHYTOTRON a small de-min plant in the Laboratory Area.

The actual plant is in the open under a cover, the moment you arrive it has began to rain, the rain becomes sleet the sleet becomes snow, bugger this, back to the Motel and some creature comforts, your nipples are like frozen peas. After watching some TV news a Chinese meal is in order, how about Special Fried Rice and Crispy Skinned Chicken lemon and shallots, wish you were here.

The following day is a little more conducive, we finish our previous days job and head for the PHYOTRON, security is waived and we dress into, sorry we get all our gear off, change into complete whites wash our feet and proceed to the glass houses of The Controlled Environmental Research Establishment, service our water plant and ask questions. The experiments currently are endeavoring to produce a strain of wheat, a seed to go inland by a paltry 2 miles and grow.

No big deal we think, well after all it is explained, the 2 miles by many hundreds will produce thousands of tons of wheat, we are impressed. What ever happened to this technology, maybe we sold the patent rights, again. A recent article has outlined that the Australian Government will commence EXPERIMENTS AGAIN, WHO GOT THE PATENT RIGHTS FOR THE WHEAT SEEDS?

MISTER ARMSTRONGS ‘SADDLE BAGS’.

Your going to leave me now, but your welcome to join me, stay in the background and please don’t steal my thunder. I go to the National University, The A.N.U, and God I wish I could think of his name, Professor Ludowski? 1970. We had several small de-min plants in the ANU the most outstanding on this trip was in the Science Laboratory; I saw a great big magnet too. Serviced the gear and passed water, then the esteemed Professor has suggested I am entitled to see the most remarkable thing.

IT WAS ALL DONE WITH MIRRORS.

My Mum reckons that Mr. Armstrong was a movie actor, "all of that stuff was in a studio, APPOLO 11, was American ‘beat-up", she wasn’t that out there, but what follows will do me.

In a Laboratory he asked me to looked down the tube of a microscope, I see many perfectly spheroid objects, all are grayish and somehow translucent, they look like marbles, they remind me of ‘Big Ring little Ring’, under another microscope is a rock, just a rock, can I just tell you that The Professor has shown me the contents of Neil Armstrong’s side pocket, or part thereof. I have been inches from the moon. Special permission was granted by the "Webmaster ANU" TO PRINT THIS MATERIAL.

Through out this passé attempt at self recollection I am thinking who can be interested, what’s the point, men and women have wrote their eulogies, people who have gained much recognition, I just remembered, this is for me.

Any personal reflections are for you to decipher and if you have come this far, you’re my hero. WE are somewhere about the mid 60’s /70’s.

	CITY AND THE BUSH, "BUSHY POEMS" ALSO........ WOOLLOOMOOLOO, AVALON BEACH TO BRUNSWICK HEADS. A BUSHY BLOKES LIFE.