The Crate Escape, page 16
“Does he wear knickers?” I asked the lads.
“No, we planted them in the bag,” answered the one.
“And that’ll teach him a lesson,” replied another!
We all had a good laugh as I wished them good luck, and after telling them that when they arrived back home to give my best wishes to the UK, I reported back to the ship’s officer.
Later that day, I was put ashore in Wellington by the same officer who had helped me on my sea voyage and who then left me to my own devices. I hung around until midday, met up with Jack, got my suitcase back and then gave some thought as to what I was going to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wellington was not just a new city to me but was also located in a new Country and to be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about either the Country or the City! The thought of being here on my own didn’t exactly excite me; in fact, it had the opposite effect and scared me to death. Even Sydney seemed a much friendlier place as at least I knew people there and had somewhere to live. I dragged my suitcase behind me for a while, unsure of where to go or what to do, until I made a beeline for somewhere that I had learnt a lot about whilst living in Australia.
Wellington’s main railway station was only a few hundred yards from the entrance to the port, and so I went there, sat down on a bench, and tried to work out my next move.
The time ticked on, but as hard as I tried to think, I couldn’t come up with any good ideas to save my soul. Eventually, bored and with no idea what to do, I caught a commuter train and went on a local trip. The train travelled past some of the most breath-taking scenery I had ever seen. After going through the suburbs of Wellington, the train started to climb up the hills that surrounded the city, and soon we were high above sea level. We were heading to a place called Upper Hutt which is a small township not too far outside of Wellington. To get there we travelled midway between the mountain peaks towering high above us and the ocean far below. We were travelling on a strip of land that looked as if it had been carved out of the rock face. The views were stunning, and even for someone like me, who thought that he had all the worries in the world placed on his shoulders, couldn’t help but just sit back and feel amazed at the scenery.
It wasn’t too long before my trip was over, and as I returned to Wellington Railway Station the sky was darkening as night-time descended. I started to think of how to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Local trains, which were equipped with automatic doors, were pulling into the platforms; the drivers turning off their lights and, as I suddenly noticed, leaving the doors open. This was an obvious choice of accommodation for the night and so, when no one was looking, I sneaked aboard a local train and settled down to wait out the darkness.
I spent a fitful night trying to sleep without having too much success. I just spent the night tossing and turning, sitting up and laying down until the dawn finally broke. Not wanting to find myself caught on the train when it left the station to start its journey later that day. I stepped off quite early and just wandered around on the platform trying to waste the time. The suitcase I was carrying was a big problem as it was too heavy to carry around with me all day and so, as soon as it opened, I checked it into the station left-luggage office and took a slow walk to nowhere.
My walk took me back to the port, the only place in Wellington that I knew and as I walked past the entrance, I bumped into some of my old seafaring mates, who were returning to the ‘Southern Cross’ which was about to sail for its next destination later that day.
I chatted with them for a while and told of my predicament and of how I only had a few Aussie pounds left with no idea of what to do. Their first suggestion was that they would smuggle me back on board the ship and hide me away until we reached the UK.
As much as I liked that idea, I turned it down and told them that if I got caught a second time I would be in deep trouble. They suggested that the only other alternative was for me to go to the ‘Catholic Seamen’ Mission’ and throw myself at the mercy of the priest who operated it. Telling them that it might be a problem as I wasn’t either a seaman or a Catholic, they advised me to explain that I had stowed away and to do the same as everyone else about being Catholic; if asked, just lie!
Later that day, with a heavy heart, I watched as the ‘Southern Cross’ left port and sailed into the blue beyond. As the ship continued its journey, I told myself that now I was homeless, stateless, jobless, knowledge less, almost moneyless, and friendless!
After one last wave to the ship, I managed to find the Mission’s address and made my way, half-heartedly, to the place. Not expecting too much I managed to locate the priest and sat down with him for a long chat. I told him my whole sorry story and that my aim was to get back to the United Kingdom. He listened to all I had to say before telling me that the only help he was able to offer was a few days of free food and a bed for the night on his sofa. I thanked him and accepted the offer before he asked me if my friends in Australia knew where I was. I told him that I didn’t know but that it was unlikely that they would have any idea of my current whereabouts. Smiling, he told me that one of the other services he could offer me, if I gave him the Joneses telephone number, was to contact them and let them know where I was. This would help as if for no other reason than to set their minds at rest. I gave him the number and then at his suggestion I went off to collect my suitcase and bring it back to the Mission.
After retrieving the suitcase, I returned to where the Holy Father was waiting for me; he had a smile on his face and seemed genuinely happy to see me again. As soon as I sat down, he explained that he had phoned the Joneses in Sydney who had been quite shocked to hear that I was in New Zealand and had offered to lend me the airfare to return to Australia. On my behalf he had accepted their offer and a ticket was currently being arranged for me to travel. That night, I slept in the Mission and the following morning, I went to the office of Air New Zealand to collect my ticket back to Sydney. The Mission’s priest arranged my trip to the airport and barely one week after leaving Australia I was on my way back to the place that I had been so glad to leave.
It is interesting to note that in those days people didn’t require passports or any other documents to travel back and forth between New Zealand and Australia so, boarding the plane was quite easy and straightforward. I spent a very unhappy time on the aircraft trying to work out what I was going to say to the Joneses when I got back.
After the plane landed in Sydney, I made my way to West Ryde still feeling very anxious as to what I was going to say. Arriving at the Joneses’ front door, I gingerly knocked and was pleased when it was opened by Bob. He had a big smile on his face, a smile which grew even larger when I whispered to him that I had no idea what was going to happen!
“Don’t worry about a thing” was his answer. “They know it was all Jack’s fault”, he had told them the story and arranged everything for my return.
Mrs Jones seemed pleased to see me and told me that if I had followed her advice, I would never have listened to Jack in the first place. I was happy enough to agree with her and let the matter rest.
We spent the rest of the evening with me enthralling them about my stow-away episode, my experience on the ship and what it was like in New Zealand. In one way, it was good to be back as at least I had a bed to sleep in. However, for all the promises I made that night, one failure at getting home was not going to stop me from trying again!
I was pleased to find that for some reason my job at the chemical plant had been kept open for me and so the following morning I sheepishly returned to work only to find that other employees were smiling and asking me if I felt better. From those comments, I gathered that I had been ill so, whilst thanking them for their concern, I carried on filling the forty-gallon drums just as if nothing untoward had happened.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Things had pretty much returned to normal in West Ryde. After a few weeks I had returned the money lent by the Jones family for my airfare. I continued to go to work then, as usual, either sat on the front steps chatting to Bob or watching television with Mrs Jones. All we talked about was how much I detested Australia and how I was planning to do something again to get home.
In truth, I had no idea how I was going to achieve this feat, but the chatting gave me ideas to dream about later each night.
One evening, Bob came back from work and intimated that he needed to speak with me urgently. Not wanting Mrs Jones to listen in I nodded my head in the direction of the front steps and we both went to our usual meeting place. Bob looked worried and I couldn’t wait to ask him what the problem was. Finally, he told me that the police had paid a visit to his workplace, and whilst confused I asked him what did that have to do with us? “Those cheques,” he gushed back. “I think it might have been about the cheques!”
To be honest, I had completely forgotten about them, but his urgent-sounding voice brought the whole stupid thing back to life. I kept asking him if he was sure the police visit was about us, and for some illogical reason, he was positive. What were we going to do? If they had found out it was us and where he was working, it wouldn’t take them long to discover where we were living. Bob suggested that, as we were the modern-day equivalent of the Ned Kelly gang, the entire Australian police force were probably out looking for us and perhaps we should go to the main police station with our hands held high and surrender so avoiding another shoot-out as had happened to that law abiding young man! I vetoed this idea on the grounds that the Kelly gang never surrendered, and neither would we. They could come and get us! Quite apart from coming to get us, as it was still rush hour in Sydney, they would be busy controlling traffic.
One idea was that we could board the house up and arm ourselves with deadly weapons, but what if they never came or didn’t turn up on time? We’d need to stock up on food and prepare for a long siege, but even that idea had its drawbacks. Mrs Jones would surely realise that something was going on and we didn’t want her to know the sordid details. We needed to disappear, and the sooner the better at least, that was Bob’s idea. Luckily, for us, it was a Friday and so we’d both just been paid from work; now was the ideal time to do it. We went back into the house and Bob, after explaining to Mrs Jones that he was going out that evening, retired to the bedroom under the pretence of making himself look pretty, and packed his bag and my suitcase. I sat with her as she happily told me that she and I would have a wonderful night watching television.
After packing our bags Bob opened the bedroom window and dropped it all outside onto the grass strip at the side of the house, before coming back into the lounge and telling Mrs Jones and I that he was off out. After saying goodbye, he left the room and went around to the side of the property where he collected our entire luggage, and after moving it onto the pavement, he waited for me to join him.
After a few minutes, I made some excuse for going into the bedroom before returning to the lounge with Bob’s empty wallet. I told Mrs Jones that he had forgotten his money before racing outside under the pretence of returning it to him. Within minutes and each carrying our own property we were both on our way to the railway station.
Once again, we travelled up north to Queensland with for some reason the crazy idea of reaching Darwin still etched in our minds. Arriving at our new destination we left the train and reverted to the by-now well-rehearsed plan of hitchhiking. The main difference between this and our last time was that apart from a waterproof sheet that we had managed to obtain, we had little by way of camping equipment. We slept under the sheet at night whilst during the day we were eating in any small or cheap café that we managed to come across.
In those days, kangaroo hunting was a favoured occupation for those living in the outback. The hunting was mainly centred around one of the many small towns lucky enough to accommodate a branch of a company that was rich enough to install an abattoir with a large freezer. Companies would employ ‘kangaroo-shooters’. Men or boys, who, at night, would travel in the back of pickup trucks armed with a bright spotlight and various arrays of guns. The driver would locate one of the many packs of kangaroos and then switch on the truck’s light beam. The animals would stand stock still staring into the light whilst the ‘roo-shooters’ would annihilate as many of the animals as possible. Once the pickup was full of the dead carcasses, the driver drove at breakneck speed to the local abattoir where the night’s kill was processed before being placed in the large freezers to be picked up the following day by articulated freezer trucks. They were then transported to Brisbane and turned into pet-foods! Over the years, the Aussies very nearly wiped out the kangaroo population until legislation was finally introduced to stop the slaughter.
Shooting these kangaroos was a rough existence and was just as dangerous for the hunter as it was for the hunted. With the rough terrain, it was not unheard of for the pickups, whilst at speed chasing their prey, to overturn and land on top of the occupants who were travelling in the rear of the truck.
Quite apart from overturning trucks, ‘Roos’ that had been shot but not killed could prove extremely dangerous adversaries. Stunned by a bullet, the animal would appear to be dead but would return to life when approached by the hunters. Lashing out with its tail or razor-sharp claws it could soon take a man down. Beginners such as Bob and I were even more susceptible as it took quite some time to get used to this dirty business and to be told to load the ‘hopefully’ dead animals whilst putting up with all the shouting and activity from the guys whose full-time job it was to kill them.
Surprisingly, the shooters were welcomed by the locals and farmers in the area as a way of culling the many herds of kangaroos running wild and destroying crops and property.
Bob and I joined one of these ‘roo-shooting’ teams where we helped to hunt the animals and were paid a pittance, the amount depending on the number of animals slaughtered. We slept under our waterproof sheet during the day and worked during the night. After two successive nights we had both had had enough of it and, after collecting our miserable pittance we packed it in.
Moving away from the town we were unsure as to what to do next. Money was getting extremely low and it didn’t help with us having to eat in any small café that we could find. If this carried on, we would completely run out of funds before the end of the week.
Having one of his rare brainwaves Bob hit upon an idea; in a small outback town about thirty miles from our present position lived an aunt and uncle of his; we could go and pay them a visit. After telling them that we were on holiday they would put us up for a few days, giving us a chance to think about our next move. I didn’t like the idea too much, but as I didn’t have an alternative, I agreed to go along with it anyway.
After managing to hitch a ride in a car that was heading in the direction we arrived at the town and soon managed to find the house. Bob’s relations seemed genuinely pleased to see him and after listening to the holiday story, they invited us both to stay at their place if we wanted to. After thanking them for their offer we were shown to a bedroom with the suggestion that perhaps we would like to have a shower, change our clothes and join them for dinner.
We had a very pleasant meal followed by an interesting conversation which involved such questions as, where were we planning to go? Did Bob’s parents know where we were and how had Bob and I first met? Bob answered most of the questions truthfully whilst deviating slightly from the truth when the occasion arose. All in all, it seemed like a successful evening, and when it was time for bed, we both congratulated ourselves on a job well done! We had a good night’s sleep for the first time in days, and the following morning, we were both full of life and bouncing around like two-year-olds.
During the day we ran a few errands for the aunt and generally, in between meals, made ourselves useful. In the early evening, the uncle returned from work and we all sat down to dinner before Bob asked them if they would mind if, after the meal, the two of us went for a walk and explored the town. After telling us that there was not much to see, they willingly agreed, and so we both went to see what the town had to offer.
It was nothing but a sleepy Australian outback village that catered for the surrounding sheep stations. It had one central street with a small assortment of shops, two pubs, and little else. After walking the full length of the street, we turned around and, whilst chatting to each other, started to return toward the house and call it a night. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I sensed, rather than saw, a hand sweep down and smack Bob across the side of his head. Suspecting that, for no reason we were about to be attacked by the locals I turned around and squared up to the two massive-looking guys that were standing behind us. I was just about to throw a punch at one of the two attackers when Bob spoke up and I let my arms fall to my sides.
“It’s my father!” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The four of us walked back to the house with the father showing and letting it be known that he wasn’t exactly pleased with his son. We learned that Bob’s uncle had phoned the father the night before, and the two had between them, arranged to let us remain there whilst the father and his friend, taking it in turns to drive, travelled by car overnight from Newcastle to the town where Bob and I were staying.
Under instructions from his old man both Bob and I packed our bags and after apologising to the aunt and uncle for the lie and thanking them for their hospitality, we both got into the backseat of a car and with his father driving and the friend in the front passenger seat. With Bob and I sitting on the back seat we started on the long drive to Newcastle, New South Wales.
We had been driving for hours with no one speaking when I felt Bob quietly tap my leg. Glancing down, I could just make out in the darkness that he was trying to pass me something and realised that it was all the money that we had left between us. I took it from him and quickly slipped it into my trousers’ pocket. We travelled on and on in the car with no conversation apart from the odd words between the father and his friend. Sometime later Bob’s father stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and unceremoniously told me that this was where his son and I would be parting company. I got out of the car and without so much as a goodbye the three drove off, leaving me standing there in complete silence alongside the dirt road whilst watching the red taillights disappear into the distance.
