I'm Going to Rabaul

Life in Port Moresby is a bit of a ritual. There is not much to do. No TV, but there are three Picture Theatres in Port Moresby, and a Drive-In.

Most Evenings, after eating at Watkins’ Mess, Willie and I sit in one of the rooms at Barlows’ Mess and drink a few beers while reminiscing of our previous lives in Switzerland.  Working in such intense heat all day means drinking beer doesn’t affect you as much.

Friday nights we all go to the Drive-In Theatre near Racecourse Road and have dinner there, then we sit on top of the bonnet or on camping chairs in front and enjoy the movies.

The two Willies at the Ela Beach RSL

Sunday mornings, we drive down to Ela Beach to the RSL and have a few beers and a counter lunch in the Beer Garden, which is facing the beach. 

Carrier Air Conditioning have the service contract with the Australian Federal Government looking after all the installations of Public Buildings in the whole of the Territory of Papua and New Guinea. It is a quarterly contract and it needs an electrician and a refrigeration mechanic to travel to each site and do a routine maintenance service.

Dave asks me if I would like to go to some of the places and Willie would go to the others. I am looking forward to see more of New Guinea so I agree. I am given an air ticket and am told to fly to Rabaul, where Ted Stuyvender a Carrier refrigeration mechanic would meet me. We would do the services in Rabaul and then fly to Wewak in the Sepik District to do the services there.

Ansett Fokker Friendship

The following Monday, Willie takes me to the airport and I board a Fokker Friendship plane to Rabaul, via Lae. It’s a four hour flight and Rabaul is beautiful. As we fly in, we circle over a volcano and we can see right into the crater. The lagoon is deep blue, there are lots of palm trees and quaint little native villages among the palm trees.

Ted greets me at the airport. He is a big bloke with a big black beard and a big gut and speaks with an American Accent. In the hire car on the way to town, I ask him where he is from.

'England, he says,

'England'?

'Yes', he insists.

He could have fooled me, he sounds very American not at all English. Well, maybe I’m wrong, maybe they do speak like him somewhere in England.

We drive under the palm trees to the heart of Rabaul. The CDW hostel is in the middle of town. Ted has already organised my room and gives me my key and shows me to my room. All the rooms look the same from the outside. They are small, but clean with a single bed and a cupboard as well as a small table and a couple of chairs. 

Harry has to be sorted out

          I finish the army project within a few days and ask Willie what I should do. He says, if you like, go to start the Medical College, and he drives me there.

        My old mate Harry is there with Freddy Henshaw who was in Mt Isa with me, singing opera, Harry instructs me they are running behind with the ductwork erection and needs me to help him hang up ductwork, before starting the electrical installation. He really is trying it on with me. I tell him no way, that I wasn’t sent up here by the company to install ductwork. I remind him, in case he doesn’t know that I’m holding the electrical license that keeps Carrier Air Conditioning’s Electrical Contractors’ License. I tell him, that If I go back to Brisbane, the company is in trouble and they would have to send another qualified electrician up from Brisbane. He storms out and into his ute swearing and carrying on.

Freddy laughs and tells me not to worry, 'He’s all hot air' he smiles. 'He's the only on who thinks he's second in charge'. But a few minutes later he returns with Dave Scott in tow. 'Now refuse', Harry shouts.

'Do you really want me to hang ductwork', I ask Dave Scott. 'Well, hmm, what you think', he asks me. I point out to Dave that I’m an electrician, I have no idea how to assemble and hang up ductwork and remind him as well that I hold the license that keeps the Contractors’ License for the company in New Guinea.

'Yeah, I suppose you’re right', he agrees. Harry is shaking with rage. He is cursing and swearing but I don’t understand a word of his Irish brogue.

I am finally able to start my own job which is wiring the air conditioning installation. It’s a large building and we’re there for some weeks, always having lunch at the top pub in Port Moresby.

The Chain Of Command

        Monday morning after breakfast at Bev’s, we drive to Carriers Office in Boroko. I meet Ann Tussle, the secretary in the outer office. Then Dave Stott, the Manager arrives in the office. Dave is a nice gentleman and asks me to take a seat in his office. He informs me that I would be answerable to the sheetmetal foreman Harry Browne and would be required to do everything Harry tells me to do.

      'I don’t think so', I say. Dave is taken aback, 'Why not?' he asks. 'I'm not taking orders from a sheetmetal worker', I stubbornly declare 'and in any case, Urs told me I’m answerable to him in Brisbane'.

      'Urs'! he explodes, 'what the hell has Urs got to do with the New Guinea operation'? 'He told me I’m to answer to him and nobody else' I insist. 'We’ll see about that', he says. 'For now I want you to go with Willie to the Papuan Medical College and start wiring the air conditioning there'.

      I’m confused. Who am I to obey. Urs, Dave Stott or this Harry Browne? Willie told me not to worry, just do as you wish, nobody takes any notice of either Harry or Dave, just do what you feel is right. I’m still confused.

      With that, Willie and I drive to the company store which is not at  the same place as the office, grab some materials and drive to the Army base, where we were the day before.

      Willie drops me off with the material, a set of plans and drives off. 'I’ll pick you up before lunch', he says and disappears through the camp.

      I start working out what is what and get started with the electrical installation. It is very hot and humid and within an hour I’m soaked to the skin in perspiration.

      Just before lunch the ute arrives as promised and we take off to Port Moresby for lunch. There we meet the other Carrier people including Harry Browne an Irishman, who asks me why I didn’t come to the Papuan Medical Centre as he had instructed Dave to tell me. I tell him I’m working at the Army Base. 'That’s not what I want you to do', he says.

     I can see a confrontation coming up but it has to be sorted. 'I’m not going to take orders from a sheetmetal worker'. I tell him, if he wants me to work with him, he'll need an electrical license. 'We’ll see about that', he says.

      I’m starting to feel bad for being obstinate but I feel very strongly about that but so does Harry with his Irish temperament. He insists he is Carrier’s foreman in New Guinea, second in charge to Dave Stott, the rest of the blokes around us burst out laughing and tell Harry to sit down and behave himself. He sits down and shuts up, but he is fuming.

      

A Swiss Tea Store in TPNG

We arrive at Barlow’s Flat. It’s a two bedroom flat, Carriers are renting for their unmarried workforce. It’s small, has two bedrooms and a common room which also has a bed, shower and WC, no cooking facilities. I get one bedroom, Willie lives in the other. I unpack my suitcase and find lots of Swiss Tea bags in the cupboard. All sorts of tea, including lots of herbal teas. 'Who owns these I ask?' 'I do' he answers, don’t worry you can have them if you like''.

A tea store in my cupboard

'Tell me about it', I say. 'Well', he explains, 'When I came to New Guinea, my mother (in Switzerland) wanted to know what I drink in this heat. I was too scared to tell her beer, so I said tea. So now she sends me tea every few weeks'.

The RSL club on Ela Beach is a great place. It’s situated right on the beach under lots of coconut trees and has a beer garden right under the trees. All patrons are white and we join the fellows we had met earlier at the Gateway Hotel. It seems drinking beer is the major past time in the Territory, but then again, it is very hot and humid.

By dinner time, we go back to the flat, have a shower and walk to the Watkins Mess across the narrow street from the flat. Willie explains that we eat all our meals there except during the week. Big Bev, the cook makes us sandwiches to take to work, but he adds that when we’re working in town, they usually go to the pub for a counter lunch. I’m going to like it up here.

     After dinner, we sit on the bed, and have a yarn about life in Papua New Guinea. I see a stuffed turtle under Willie’s bed poking it’s nose out and ask him where he got it. Oh, he says, When Urs Deutsch came up here, we went up to the Rona Pub for a drink, where a Native sold these things, we both bought one for ten bucks. So far for Urs walking through the jungle and shooting his turtle. I feel sorry for him, he keeps having his lies exposed.

       

I leave Australia for New Guinea

An Ansett-ANA T-Jet takes me to New Guinea

It’s been a while since I’ve been on an International flight and I board the Ansett plane with apprehension. I don’t know what awaits me in Papua New Guinea but I’ve come to Australia not knowing what to expect so I guess the feeling is similar. The flight is pleasant and when we land a few hours later and disembark at Port Moresby Airport, I find out what I can expect. The temperature is very high, in the mid 30’s and the humidity is very high as well.

It’s Saturday when I arrive and Willie Steiner, the other electrician and a Swiss compatriot from Basel meets me at the airport. We climb into his ute and drive 50 metres to the Gateway Hotel.

I need to pick up Mathew, he says, but first we have a beer. I don’t object, it’s so very hot and humid. We park the ute and walk up the stairs to the lounge bar. There are some more Carrier fellows there, mostly sheet metal workers and we have a few beers and a counter lunch, before Willie says it’s time to go. We go back to the ute. Willie whistles and  a small black man comes running along and jumps in the back. Hey, Matu, meet nu-pela boss-man, Willie says to the black man at the back. That's Mathew, one of our our boys, he says to me. Mathew just stares at me, says nothing.

You don’t mind if we just go and have a look at a job, Willie asks me. No, of course not, I reply. I suggest Mathew sit up front with us, I’m worried about him at the back. Don’t be silly, Willie says, the boys always travel at the back, they’re used to it.

We drive towards Boroko but head towards the Army Camp. There we’re greeted by an Australian soldier at the guard house who obviously know Willie because we drive straight through and the soldier just smiles and waves to us. We continue through the base until we come to an unfinished building.

Willie takes me into the unfinished plant room and tells me that’s where I’ll be working next week. It’s very hot and reminds me of Mt Isa.

Mathew is no longer on the ute. Willie calls his name, we wait for a while but Mathew is no longer here.

Don’t worry, Willie says, he’s gone walk about, he’ll find his own way back. With that we’re back in the ute, heading towards town.

Are we going to Port Moresby now? I ask, No, we’ll go to the flat and settle you in, then we go to the Boroko RSL for a few beers, he replies. That’s fine with me in this heat I think.

New Guinea Beckons

Urs mentions they need another electrician in New Guinea, one with a proper license. There is already a Swiss Electrician up in New Guinea, but he hasn’t got his full license yet so they need someone up there so they don’t lose their Contractors’ License. He wants me to go up there until they find someone permanent for three weeks and to help out on a few projects.

I think about it, Ben’s gone to Sydney, there is really nothing stopping me from going up there for three weeks, so I agree.

Urs informs me that although there is a Manager in New Guinea, I am not to take any notice of him, I’d still be answering to him in Brisbane. Ok with me, I say.

My TPNG Entry Permit

Carriers are organising me a Territorial Entry Permit and I get some shots for this and that, plus I buy a large bottle of Malaria Tablets and another of Salt Tablets apparently required if you live in New Guinea.

I finalise my affairs in Brisbane, store my stuff at Ray’s, cancel the flat, stop the electricity and have a last drink with people I know. My gay neighbour next door tells me I’ll be wearing white shorts and white shirts and long white socks with white shoes in New Guinea. We’ll see.

I say good-bye to Fred, Sue and Shelley and Ray and Zenya and the work mates at the workshop and leave Australia for three weeks.

My First Fishing Trip

Ray comes back from New Guinea and tells us a lot of stories about his experiences in the Territory, he’s been to a few places and we learn about his fights he got into in various pubs.

Urs tells me later, he was asked to leave New Guinea as he was getting into too many fights. I believe him, he goes to the pub every day and insists we go with him, but there he is argumentative and makes a lot of people upset. At home with Zenya he is different. We still have dinner together frequently and he is a different person during those times. It must be Zenya who keeps him calm.

Sue invites me on a boat trip. Another lady who lives in her block of flats, has a sugar daddy, an architect from Melbourne who owns a boat permanently moored at Jacob’s Well. He is coming up for a long weekend and has asked Sue and me to join them on a four day fishing trip amongst the islands off Jacobs Well. We leave on Friday and come back on Monday.

I talk to Brian about having Friday off. He is very understanding and tells me to take a ‘sickie’ on Friday. If Urs would ask, he would say I had called in sick. He is a great bloke for a non-drinker.

Friday, we drive down to Jacob’s Well. The four of us plus another chap from Melbourne. The boat looks great. It’s quite big and sleeps six people. We motor out amongst the islands and throw fishing lines in the water. It doesn’t take long before we catch a few decent fish and the girls prepare lunch consisting of cooked potatoes, salad and fresh fish. We drink a bottle of white wine with it. It beats working.

Jacobs Well

At dusk I feel itchy. I notice all these little bites on me everywhere. Sandflies I’m told. During the night I’m in agony. I scratch and scratch, I hardly sleep at all.

At breakfast, the other chaps prepare a sailor’s drink, rum and hot milk. Yuck! I try but I can’t get it down, I stick to coffee.

We’re cruising up and down through the islands, fish and have a great time. In the evenings we listen to the old architect’s stories of which he has many to tell. The four days go by much too quickly.

Urs calls me into the office and hands me my full electrician’s license. I didn’t need another interview. The license just came in the mail. Australia is a great country. 

Cookie's Car gets damaged

We’re walking through the streets of Brisbane and come across a Coffee Shop called ‘St Moritz’ in Albert Street. It has Swiss flags displaying outside. We go in for a cup of coffee and find out the bloke who owns it is a Swiss fellow from Central Switzerland, hence the name. He is an elderly chap, married to a big fierce looking Australian woman. He sits down for a chat and offers to show us Brisbane. He says, we’ll be closing the shop around ten o’clock, if you get here I’ll take you to some places you’ve never been.

Ten o’clock we’re at the coffee shop and he takes us to his car. He insists Ben drives, he doesn’t like driving. Ben is thrilled, it’s a fairly new Ford and we take off over the Victoria Bridge up Grey Street and up to the cliffs in Kangaroo Point. The view of the city at night is spectacular. From the Story Bridge the city looks like something out of the movies. We have come to a great place.

We drive up to Mt Coo-tha passed the Television towers and stop at the Lookout. The city is covered in bright lights and looks great.

We invite the fellow to our place for coffee before taking him back into town. He accepts and Ben drives into Kennedy Terrace towards the flats. Cookies old van is parked outside his shop and as Ben attempts to drive into our yard, he clips Cookie’s van. Glass is flying, metal crunches and as we get out of the car in our yard, Cookie’s lights have come on as have the lights in all the flats in our building.

We inspect the damage, Cookie’s rear light is smashed and surrounding panels are slightly dented. The new Ford also has it’s left indicator light missing with some superficial damage to the panels. 

The old chap is whimpering. What’s my wife going to say? It’s her car, Oh, dear, oh dear!

Ben, who works in the car repair industry, promises to restore his car to its former glory at no cost. That calms the old Swiss chap down a little. He doesn’t want any coffee and we take him back to the St Moritz and he hopes his missus won’t see the damage.

Ben picks up the damaged car a few days later, he’s organised a new light and he takes the car to his workplace where he repairs the damage and fits the new light. When he returns the car, the old chap is very pleased, mainly because his wife never saw the damage.

Cookie never came out to see what had happened to his old van and complained a few days later that someone had smashed into his van. We kept our mouths shut.

A Heavy Lunch

Ray and I are asked by Urs to finish wiring the plant room at the Lutwyche Shopping Centre. Carriers are running behind and they need more people on site to move the project along. We get there and start in the plant room where the temperature is in the mid thirties. Lunchtime Ray says let’s go to the pub. We walk to the Prince of Wales Hotel in Nundah not far from the job. Ray orders a couple of pots, don’t worry about food, he says there is enough protein in each pot to keep us going all day. Several pots later, I am having troubles with my vision as we walk back to the job. I don’t feel so well. Ray, who is used to drinking heavily, doesn’t seem affected.

He tells me to lie on top of the large conditioner in the plant room and I’m off to dreamland, when Urs walks into the plant room. Where’s Willie, he asks. He’s gone to the hardware shop to buy some bolts, we ran out, he lies. Urs is not convinced. He smells Ray’s breath.

Have you been drinking, he asks?

Certainly not, Ray objects.

If I find out you’ve been drinking on the job, you’ll be looking for another position, Urs insists.

Ray is just hoping I don’t start snoring up on the conditioner. But I oblige and don’t make a sound. I only find out about Urs’s visit when Ray wakes me up to tell me, time to go home.

Ray is drinking heavier and heavier every week. He’s been transferred into the Test Department and is out on sites most of the time. I have noticed that when he has too much to drink, he becomes argumentative and aggressive and insults his friends around him, including me. But as soon as he is sober, he is all apologetic and feels bad about it.

There is a big project finishing in Papua New Guinea and Urs sends Ray up there to finish off and commission the plant. I’m unhappy to see him go and Zenya cooks us a great meal the night before he leaves. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be up there and I promise to keep in touch with Zenya from time to time.

We’re very busy at work. Brian, the foreman never does any work other than handing out new jobs to us, then he spends most of his time fixing transistor radios or other electronic appliances on his private workbench for people in the office. When he is not fixing transistor radios or other electronic appliances on his private workbench he just sits there reading books. Mostly electronic books.

There is a rumor going around that he takes his sister on Saturday nights up to Cloudland for a dance, but stays in his car reading electronic books until she is ready to go home. But he is good to me, so I don’t complain.

Our Boss has a problem with the Truth

Next Saturday, the same thing happens. I get to work and around eleven o’clock, Urs calls and invites us back to his club. This time we drive in our own cars, we don’t want a repeat of last Saturday’s performance at the gate. At the club we do the same, eat, drink and play snooker, all on time and a half. Urs talks Swiss-German to Werner and me and tells us his father was the Lord Mayor of Winterthur and that they own Radio Steiner, one of Switzerland’s largest Radio and Television Retailers.

Around four o’clock Urs asks Werner and me to go to his flat and pick up his car keys. He claims to have forgotten them and says he came to the workshop by cab that morning. He says he’s got friends coming over tonight and he needs to take some cartons of booze with him later. We drive there in my car and find the flat in a mess. I need to go to the loo and find a plate of food on the cistern with a half-eaten t-bone steak on it. The bedroom is a pigsty clothes everywhere and when we look in the fridge there is only a can of beer, some butter and a bottle of milk that had gone sour, nothing else.

What’s he going to feed his guests, Werner asks. A can of beer, some butter and a bottle of milk that had gone sour, nothing else, I reply.

We find a stuffed turtle in his flat

In the lounge room under the TV is a large stuffed turtle. I wonder where he got that. It doesn’t look like anything Australian.

We grab his car keys and return to the club, I ask Urs where he got the stuffed turtle from. Ah, he says that’s a long story. He tells us when he was in New Guinea, on the other side of the island, a Native took him on a safari through the jungle and after some days working their way through the dense growth, they came to this beautiful river full of these turtles. He hunted one of them with a spear and the local villages stuffed it for him. He then carried it back to his  hotel and brought it back to Port Moresby in the airplane. It sounds exciting

Later, Urs is very drunk and in no fit way to drive home. We load him into my car and drive him home to his flat. What time are your guests arriving, I ask him, what guests, he asks back. He mumbles something and falls asleep. Werner and I carry him upstairs and dump him onto his bed.

We drive to Fortitude Valley and go for a meal at a Chinese Restaurant.

Werner says, I must ask my father if he knows Urs, Good Idea I agree.  It has now been a few times I have caught Urs lying to me. Why?

It’s not long after that; Werner gets a letter from his Dad. He made some inquiries, there is nobody by the name of Deutsch in the management of Steiner Radio and he sends a list of all the Lord Mayors of Winterthur dating back to the First World War. My suspicions are right, our boss is liberal with his truths.

My introduction to the South Brisbane Club

We have a new Swiss electrician who started on Monday. He is Werner Utzinger and he is from Winterthur in the canton of Zürich.  He has come up from Melbourne to look for work in Brisbane. Werner tells me his father is a Police Sergeant in Winterthur. Werner and I become mates, two Swiss electricians in a strange town. He comes to my place and teaches me to cook pizza, it’s very easy he says, and he makes it look easy. Mix dough, roll it onto a pizza pan and fill it with ham, cheese, kabana and other stuff and bake it for twenty minutes. It’s great, I love pizza. I’m grateful for some new food variety.

Werner teaches me to cook Pizza

I still keep borrowing twenty dollars from Urs every week, paying him back next payday. He doesn’t mind, but insists I start working on Saturdays to earn some overtime. That’s the only way you will start saving, he says. Ok, I agree, so next Saturday morning I’m off to work. The factory is shut except the electrical workshop where we are building and wiring switchboards. Eleven o’clock Urs turns up and invites us all for lunch at the South Brisbane Club, his club he says. Brian declines, he doesn’t drink or frequent clubs. I leave my car in Carrier’s car park and get a lift with Urs.

We play snooker on company time!

It’s a nice club, the lunch is good and we have quite a bit to drink. After lunch, Urs challenges us to a snooker competition and by four o’clock we’re in full swing in more ways than one. By six o’clock Urs says he has to go and get changed to go to a party. We’re calling for cabs to get back to Carriers to pick up our cars. When we get there, the yard is shut, locked up with our cars inside.

What are we going to do? We can’t leave the cars here till Monday morning. Someone tries to phone Urs at home but there is no answer. Great what are we going to do now?

Someone phones the company accountant at home. Charles Thomas, the accountant tells us to wait; he’ll be there soon.

It’s embarrassing,  Saturday night six o’clock and the electricians are drunk with their cars locked up in the company yard. It’s moments like this I’m glad I have a language problem. Ray, who is quite familiar with drinking situations tells the accountant that we were all called on a job to a breakdown and couldn’t get back to the yard until we had solved the problem.

Yea, yeah, I believe you, the accountant says, nobody else would, he mumbles as he walks back to his car after he has unlocked the gate. Good night everybody, he adds.

I’m worried about Monday morning. Is he going to dob us in to the Manager? But then, our engineer invited us to his club.

Monday comes and nobody mentions anything. We got away with it. Urs comes to the workshop for a chat with Brian and behaves as if nothing had happened. Brian keeps quiet.

Friday my pay has increased by about thirty percent. That’s great, I even got paid for having a great time.

I'm always broke

I have become friendly with another electrician at Carriers, Ray Belcher and his wife Zenya from Poland. They have taken me under their wings and we often go out together, on weekends, to the Gold Coast and other places. Ray, like myself is always short of money. By Tuesday we’re both broke and we pool our money, and Zenya cooks with what we can afford to buy and during those periods I eat at their flat in New Farm.

I'm always broke by Monday

I often borrow twenty dollars from Urs and pay him back on Friday when I get paid. The trouble is I refuse to work on Saturday. No one works on Saturdays in Switzerland so I’m not likely to start now. But every Friday, when I see what the other electricians get compared to me I’m starting to wonder.

Often I go out with Sue, Fred and Shelley, to restaurants or to the coast and that costs money, sometimes a lot of money, that’s why I’m usually broke after the weekend.

Ray and Zenya suggest I should get a one-bedroom flat at New Farm near them as I spent most of the time there anyway. This would save me money and I wouldn’t have to drive so far.

I start looking for a one-bedroom flat and find one in Merthyr Road, New Farm. The flat is in Alexandra Court on the ground floor. It has a timber-paneled wall in the lounge room, a kitchenette a bedroom and a bathroom with shower. It is fully furnished and I am impressed. It’s much cheaper and I move in a few days later. Ray borrows a ute from Carriers and on Saturday after I say good-bye to Ian and the girls upstairs, he helps me move my possessions from Red Hill to New Farm. 

My neighbour next door, a nicely dressed young man knocks on the door and introduces himself and invites me in to his flat for a drink. I am happy and except. A little later on his ‘boyfriend’ arrives and I realise that my neighbour is gay, but he never tries to convert me so I accept him and his ‘boyfriend’.

I invite Sue to come for dinner to my new flat and she is impressed as well. It’s a great flat, owned by an Italian who calls every week for his rent.

There are lots of great shops near the flat, in the hub of New Farm and it’s only about five minutes walk to Ray and Zenya. The washing machine is broken but Zenya points out a Laundromat just a few yards from the flat, and every week I take my washing there and bring it home wet and hang it on the line. I don’t have an iron but I have a few army tricks up my sleeve to keep at least my trousers pressed.

My flat mate is in Love

Back in Brisbane, the other flat that was empty downstairs is now occupied with two New Zealand barmaids from a city pub. Ben is head-over-heal in love with one of them. They spend every spare moment together.

My favorite Martian TV Show teaches me English 

Just as well I have friends upstairs. Jennifer comes down nearly every night after studying to teach me English. Mainly written English. The spoken word I learn from TV shows such as ‘My Favorite Martian’ and ‘My Three Sons’, shows that are on after I get home from work at night.

After a few months, the barmaids next door decide Brisbane is too much of a country town and they leave for Sydney. Ben is heartbroken. He mopes around at night after night for a few weeks and eventually decides there is nothing stopping him in Brisbane. He wants to move to Sydney too to look for his lost love.

I ask him, have you got her address? No, but I’ll find her, he says. But Sydney is a big place, No worries, I’ll find her, he insists. No matter how much I try to persuade him from heading south, he is determined he needs to find his barmaid. 

We split everything we own, half the sheets, blankets, knives, forks and spoons and he is packed to the brim the day he takes a bus to Sydney. I am sad to see him go and I feel alone in a large two-bedroom flat. 

La bohème in a mining donga

On the weekend, one of the other sub-contractors asks me if I want to go up to the highest point of Mt Isa. Yes, I say, he organises a key, hard hats, and we climb up on the highest mining tower on the mine. We step outside onto the flat roof of the tower, the sight is magnificent,  360 degrees and not a hill in sight. I have never seen anything like it. Just flat brown country. In the background I see what looks like a lake. My mate tells me that’s a dam, supplying the water for Mt Isa. We can go there for a swim tomorrow, he says. 

Mount Isa

We walk down the stairs again, just to see the mine shaft lift door open. 'Can we go down and have a look' my mate asks the mine foreman. 'Your contractors, here, aren't you?' he asks. 'Yes,' we confirm. 'Go on then', he says and we all climb into the lift which takes us about 20 floors down into the bowl of the earth.  The foreman shows us around an area where train carriages are full of iron ore, the carriages are turned upside down and the material disappears down a huge shaft. We climb back into the lift and descend even further down a level. 


There we walk into an even larger area about the size of a cathedral, where we see the material coming down through the shaft from upstairs and is broken down with very large chains that rotate through the raw material, breaking it up into smaller pieces. This whole setup is gigantic. Eventually, the lift takes us back up top. It was an amazing experience.


Sunday and we all climb onto the ute.  It’s not far to the lake. There are lots of families, bar-b-que areas and a changing hut. We get changed into our togs, the water is nice, not cold but it cools us down from the heat anyway.

We have brought prepared food from the mess and have a picnic by the side of the lake.

I’m full and have a snooze, when I wake up by an ambulance siren. There is a commotion near the lake, when I’m fully awake I see someone being carried into the ambulance. Apparently he got into trouble in the water after a heavy lunch.

After dinner, back at the barracks, we are in Bill’s room, having a few beers and singing opera arias. Bill is a good singer, so is Freddy Henshaw, a sheetmetal worker. I join in and we sing the Rodolfo and Marcello duet from La Boème. I wonder what the other sub-contractors are thinking.

I stay a few weeks in Mt Isa. The temperatures don’t drop during the day but at night it’s getting cooler.

Another Sunday we go to the local Swimming pool and I am being thrown into the pool. I’m terrified, I can’t swim, but somehow get to like the pool and eventually jump in myself a few times. By the time I leave Mt Isa, I can swim. At least better than before.

A few of us are invited to a party in someone’s home in Mt Isa on Saturday night. It’s great. There is a keg of beer and all the blokes are standing near it. The ladies are under the washing line by themselves. I have never seen anything like it. By midnight the keg is empty and the house owned comes out with a carton of small bottles of beer. Have a ‘stubby’ he says as he hands me a small bottle of beer. I know I shouldn’t drink anymore. I know I had enough but one more won’t hurt.

Some of the blokes had enough too. A couple of them are having a sleep on the grass and another is throwing up over the back fence into the neighbour’s yard.

A week later my job in Mt Isa is done, not so for the others. I fly back to Brisbane.