Ian Granland

Early in 1967 I purchased a new maroon Morris Mini Minor from the Larke Hoskins Dealership at 177-185 William Street Sydney. In fact, the salesman who did the deal was Don Perkins who also played with the Western Suburbs Aussie Rules Club. I had seen him on the field and recognized him when I walked in.

A Morris Mini Delux (Minor) was a popular small car of the day. It was a two door

sedan with an 848cc motor. Mine was a manual, four and on the floor with a 22.7 litre fuel tank. According to the manual it would do about 17 kilometres to the litre with a top speed of around 120kph. I think it cost me about $1100.

I traded the 1958 Green Holden Special which I had (part) bought from my father. Well I never did finish paying him off.

I had obtained a loan from the ICI Credit Union to buy the car. Uncle Fred (Fred Handley) from next door in Caley Street was a director of the Credit Union for some years, so I had no problem in joining. In those days there were difficulties in getting loans generally and in this situation because of my age and lack of a financial history, my father had to go guarantor.

I soon altered the vehicle. Put wide wheels on it, dual carburettors, a big exhaust, lowered and a few other things. Had everything except the nodding dogs in the back window.

By August 1968 I had been in the police force for over 12 months and planned to take holidays with my friend, Geoff Cann to Cairns in Queensland.

I had first met Geoff in 1963 after had moved to Sydney with his family and came to the South Sydney Aussie Rules Club to play football. We teamed up the next season and were inseparable for a couple of years. So much so, he ended up in my bridal party much later, when I was married.   I was also his best man at his two weddings.

I planned everything for the trip. I took the car to a Morris/Leyland car dealer in Anzac Parade, Kingsford to fit a crash bar and driving lights. I also had four wide rimmed Goodyear tyres fitted to the vehicle.

The car began to look like a typical hoons car with a noise that would wake the dead. I know the neighbours could hear me coming 500 metres from home in the early hours of the morning. A fact I quite often received a subtle reminder about this from them.

During the time I owned the vehicle, I was stopped on several occasions by police motor cyclists expecting an easy conquest. Luckily, and because I was in the police force, enough I was never booked.

Geoff and I had become a bit estranged after he moved to Ermington with his family. Ermington was a long way from where I lived and consequently, I didn’t see him that often and when time came for the trip he was a bit hesitant. Nevertheless he wanted to honour his obligation to me and snatched the job at Bulla Cream, Sydney with his manager father (only later to be reinstated when he came back as if nothing had happened). The only problem was his lack of preparedness, particularly with money.

Bulla Cream, which in those days was located in Sturt Street Kingsford, had a petrol bowser and I straight away suggested that a) we fill up before we leave and, b) that we take several 4 gallon (17.5 litre) drums of petrol with us to use on the way. Bulla Cream used square metal 4 gallon drums in which they transported bulk cream so had an ample supply on hand.

The day before we left we filled the car plus eight of these drums which were placed on the back seat the car.

We departed Sydney early on Saturday Morning 19 October and headed north.

The drive was uneventful, apart from the fumes from the fuel in the back seat and Geoff’s want to light up a smoke. He did, with the windows wound down and of course me besides myself with fright.

I kept the back windows opened at all times when we carried the petrol in the car. The rear windows in the Mini were hinged from the front and opened at their rear to about 5 cm.

We did the first refill just north of Taree about 300ks out of Sydney and left the empty drum besides the road. I must admit always feeling guilty about that and each time I pass the spot on the Pacific Highway I remember what we did.

Passing through Kempsey we grabbed a bite to eat and a chocolate milk each. We drove a little further on to the small village of Frederickton where we turned off the highway towards the river to relax and finish our feed.

Where we parked, a punt was moored right next to us which was used by the vehicular traffic to cross the Macleay River. Why so close to Kempsey and the bridge, I don’t know, maybe it was left over after the bridge had been constructed. At the time we arrived the punt was not in operation. It was secured about 2 metres from the shore and during our conversations I bet Geoff that he couldn’t jump from the shore to the punt without getting wet.

Forever the gambler, he accepted the wager and jumped, just splashing his toes. He vowed that he didn’t touch the water but fortunately I had taken a photo of him in action and it was only after I had them developed that I had evidence.

Stupid really, in getting back onto dry land he slipped and fell in the water, much to my mirth. Initially, that’s how he explained how his clothes were wet.

We reached Coffs Harbour and booked into the Plantation Hotel on the main drag.

I had a friend in the police force who worked at Coffs: Col Green, and looked him up.   He suggested we stay with him at Sawtell for free in his big house. So we made up some story which got us out of the commitment at the Plantation and hooked up with

Col.

We had a night on the grog and kipped at Col’s then got up early for a surf. Col was a member of the surf club at Sawtell and both of us had been members of the South Maroubra Club so thought we were pretty competent trio.

In any case, we were reasonably good body surfers. Well, I thought I was.

After a while I got myself into a bit of trouble in the water and started to get carried out with a rip. Panic set in and I had to call to Col to give me a hand. At first he thought I was putting it on but soon realised that I was having some difficulty and managed to drag me into shore. That was the only time I have ever been in real trouble in the water. Once bitten, twice shy.

After brekky we said our goodbyes (I have never seen Col since) and journeyed up the highway through Grafton then on to Casino where we stopped at the Charcoal Inn for a box of beer. We also purchased some Wheaties and produce for our short stay with my sister Pat and her husband at a place called Mummulgum, about 27ks west of Casino, just off the Bruxner Highway. I used to feel guilty about dropping in on them so I would always make sure I came armed with food and drink.

My brother-in-law, Roy Blackford, was a timber cutter, a top bloke and a hard worker. I used to say he had muscles in his shit, he was so fit. I stayed with them on many occassions when I was a kid and sometimes, I would wonder how he put up with me - and my ADHD.

Having said that, he appeared to enjoy my company and loved a drink although he was not what you would class as a ‘piss pot’.

Pat and Roy and their two girls lived in a very simple house in a farming community. They rented the house from Phil and Betty Humphries who were were dairy farmers. The house was timber with a corrugated iron roof. Roy had done a marvellous amount of work, building additions and enhancements to the place. They moved from there in about 1981 to their very own 200 acres in an adjoining valley. I am told the original home at Mummulgum has since been demolished.

Despite what I have said with all the editions to the house, they had a dry dunny up the back and for a hot bath (no showers then) you would literally have to boil the water in a big copper in the back yard, fuelled by wood chips then bucket it into the bath. The stove in the house was the same: a timber fuel stove, lit in the morning and going all day. It always had a pot of hot water on it and because of the heat the stove gave out, it consistently made the kitchen very hot, particularly during summer.

For Pat this was every day life, a big change from a city girl who was used to the luxuries of life before she moved there. For the likes of me, it was a pure adventure, nothing permanent though I didn’t like roughing it.

I had some wonderful times there when I was a kid. I used to visit them during school holidays but things used to get so boring and I would end up becoming a real pain in the backside. One time my sister had had so much of her ADHD syndrome brother, she put me on the train to Sydney and said “Good bye and bugger you”. (never to be seen again – but, she loved me and I was back there next year)

We spent a day or two with them then again headed north, first stop Surfers Paradise. As we navigated our way along the Pacific Highway we came to the town of Murwillumbah and just off the main road was this tin shed serving beer. I was so absorbed. It turned out that the hotel had been recently destroyed by fire and under the Liquor Act, the publican (a woman) was allowed to operate a bar in whatever makeshift condition she could construct. It was honestly just a tin shed so we had to stop and have a noggin just to say we had done it.

Then it was next stop Surfers Paradise. We had been here only 12 months or so before so it was nothing new. We ended up at Tugun Surf Club in O’Connor Street Tugun.

They had a bunk house so members living out of the area could stay over. This encouraged more country and Brisbane people to join the club.

We paid our $1 accommodation fee and were issued with a pillow and blanket and bedded down in double bunks for the night. One dollar doesn’t sound much now, but it was reasopnable fair for the night’s sleep. I was knackered and didn’t take long to drop off.

Of course being in a dormitory configuration blokes were yelling and shouting at the tops of the voices until everyone settled into sleep.

During the next year I was to conscripted into National Service and lived with men in close quarters most of the time, but this was something else. The snoring, farting all night was punctuated by the shouting of peoples names to check if they were there. Sleep of course was minimal.

I awoke about 7.00AM to sight of a rock hard 7” dick poking in my face – well not that close. Some of the locals realised there were a couple of blow-ins in the dormitory and decided to give them a Tugun styled welcome.

It didn’t take me long to grab my gear, shake a laughing Geoff Cann out of his bed and head off.

Gradually our petrol supplies from the back seat diminished (thank christ). We still had four drums with us and with them a never ending and sometimes serious discussion on the merits of smoking in an enclosed vehicle permeated with petrol fumes.

Next stop was Bundaberg. It was here that I first saw a train carrying the cut sugar cane amble its way up the main street - amazing. We stopped and I can remember taking a photo of this unique event.

Sugar trains are only small and run on a very narrow gauge. They ran everywhere on the Queensland Coast.

We pressed on to make Gladstone by nightfall. The car was performing well and (thankfully) the petrol stocks were getting lower.

We worked out that if we hired a motel room, it would cost us less for one as opposed to two. We drew straws and then sought out a motel.

I booked in whilst Geoff slinked around outside. When I was safely in the room he came and bunked in the other bed. In the morning he made up the bed and was out before the owners were any the wiser.

I had breakfast. Lovely bacon and eggs and very glad I got the better of the deal.

Queensland is a big place and the Pacific Highway just seemed to go on and on.

The condition of certain stretches of the highway though we just beyond comprehension.

I have added a photograph of a section of the road somewhere about midway between Brisbane and Cairns. Honestly, I couldn’t get over the state of the road. I don’t know how the army trucks managed it during WWII because as you can see, when we were there it was just over one vehicle length wide and most not even sealed. Unbelievable this was the main national highway.

Whilst travelling on a tarred long open stretch of the road we had a blowout on one of the rear tyres. Geoff was driving at around 90kph and handled the car beautifully as we slowed and subsequently replaced it with the spare.

We called into the Goodyear Dealer at MacKay, the next big town and I got into the manager about the poor quality of the tyre, that it was just days old and that I wanted a replacement tyre.

After examination of the tube, the parts of which I had also with me, he said that the tube had been inserted incorrectly and it had been rubbing on the outer casing. This caused the tube to blow and the tyre to fracture. I had no choice, he was not going to replace it so I purchased another tyre and we continued on.

We eventually got to Cairns with no further trouble although I was a bit worried that the other tyres might blow as well.

It was late so we found accommodation in a boarding house. It cost us about $7.50 a night each which we thought a little over the top and a cost we could well do without, even if we got ourselves a job.

Geoff’s money had dwindled to almost nil whilst I had ample savings in my bank account which I could access at the local branch of the Commonwealth Bank having forwarded them my sample signature to the Cairns Branch as well as other branches along the Queensland Coast.

We decided to rent ourselves a flat and seek work. We ended up securing the top floor of an old ‘Queenslander’, furnished for $17 a week with garage in a reasonable part of town.

The house had been sub-divided and in fact was two flats. Next to us was a couple with a 17 year old daughter. One night when going to our car in the garage, she was showering with the window wide open and a wonderful view of her body. Ahhh……. Alas, nothing came of that.

We did the rounds of the pubs which was OK.

The next day we read in the local paper that labourers were wanted for work unloading a coastal ship. (heaven knows what the wharfies were doing) at the Cairns Wharf.

We attended at the muster time of 7.00am with about 100 others. They only wanted 20.

There were all sorts there: old, young, fat, skinny black and white, all obviously unemployed. There were quite a few no-hopers in the line-up as well.

The boss cocky started to select his team of fit strong looking men. When he asked if anyone had done this type of work before I put up my hand and shoved Geoff’s up as well. We were accepted and I thought we had a victory.

The job consisted of carrying a 25 kilogram bag of Nitro Phosphate fertiliser from a conveyor belt bringing it out of the ship, carrying them into a wharehouse on the wharf and stacking the bags for ultimate sale. I would estimate that 10,000 bags had to be moved.

It was hard, boring and laborious work. Not many breaks and we worked for 24 hours straight to be paid the princely sum of $20 upon completion. In today’s terms, I would think that was around $80. I think we went home and slept for most of the day, although sleep was difficult in the hot weather.

We got ourselves to a couple of parties whilst we were there. I can remember sitting round a room where the locals were drinking and some were smoking dope (which at the time I must admit I very much looked down on). Discussion got round to National Service and the Vietnam War. I remember saying that I was going into the army shortly and I think one reply I received was “who gives a rats arse”. (I did).

Prior to this I had to register for National Service in Sydney and had received my call-up papers and was now awaiting a medical.

On another night we sat drinking in a pub on the water front and one of the locals came in and asked me if that was my mini parked out the front. When I told him it was he challenged me to a race. Fine I said, but where? Down the main street of course. (oh silly me – the main street, I should have known).

He had a Mini Cooper S which had a much bigger motor than mine and additionally had all the bells and whistles to go with it.

Now in the main street was the police station and I certainly didn’t want to get myself into any trouble. It wasn’t NSW here. Nevertheless, we both lined up our cars outside the pub and by this time the drinkers had swarmed onto the footpath and roadway to watch the derby.

“Go”. As we sped off (towards the police station) my opponent got in front of me, so I dropped back knowing that I couldn’t win, his vehicle was much more powerful than mine, so just before the police station I turned left. He went on at some ridiculous speed only to have the local traffic cop waiting for him and a nice big fat fine. Me, I just got beat – darn.

There was no more work available although I did go off to the Department of Labour and Industry (Centrelink) and tried to register under an assumed name for the dole. When I told him my age he asked if I had registered for National Service which kind of threw me for a loop and I never went back.

Whilst in Cairns, we took the opportunity to take a tourist boat out to Green Island which is a picturesque little coral cay, situated 27 kilometres off the coast from Cairns. The trip took about 60 minutes. There was an underwater observatory and a very small resort on the island, more like a motel.

We did other drives around the city and environs and found a terrific amount of cane fields. I walked into one whilst a machine was harvesting and took a great photo which I have attached.

One time we were sitting in a pub having a beer and chatting to this black fella. He seemed like an OK kind of guy to me and I was telling him I was from Sydney. He said he would like to visit so I gave him my address and told him if he ever did then to look me up.

A local sitting nearby said “You have got to be kidding, you don’t invite black fellas to your house”. I just shrugged it off. Anyway, he never turned up.

With Geoff's money situation getting very low we thought about looking for work. We were told that they could be looking for workers at the Hambledon Sugar Mill just south of Cairns at Edmonston. The mill has gone now and a leisure park has taken its place which has incorporated some of the mill’s features. Edmonston then was just a pub and a few shops.

The personnel officer at the mill agreed to put us on. “Ever worked in a mill before?” was the greeting. When we replied no, he just said, “you’ll get used to it”.

First off though we had to go for a medical at the local doctor's surgery at Edmonston. It was a pleasant enough place. The aging medico asked me if I had worked in a mill before (he obviously could see my lilly white soft hands) "No" I replied. "Well you will find this an experience. You are OK" And off we went.

The best part about working in the mill was that they provided accommodation which meant we could give up our Cairns lodging for something relatively cheap, if not free.

Sugar is a seasonal job with the mill only open for about 6 months of the year. It provided barrack styled accommodation for single men who needed it and they had just built new brick lodgings, which unfortunately for us, were all taken.

“Yous can have the old timber ones if you want” the personnel officer told us. We accepted but didn’t realise how dirty they were. They hadn’t been lived in for over 12 months. So the first day on the job we just swept cleaned and removed spider webs and set rat traps. No-one else was living in these long, derelict, army looking buildings which we both considered had been condemned.

The beds were basic and the mill provided linen and blankets.

After fixing the room, we drove into Cairns, told the Real Estate Office that we no longer wanted the flat (luckily we didn’t sign a lease), grabbed our gear and travelled back to the mill.

One problem was security. There was none, the doors weren’t lockable, so we kept our valuables in the boot of the car.

On our first day we reported to the personnel officer who sent us off “chipping weeds”. We had to chop the weeds which grew around the molasses tanks with a hoe. This was good and easy work and we would hide as much as we could. In the mean time we would play golf with the cane toads which were in their thousands.

When sugar is extracted from the cane, the juice is stored in big round tanks, somewhat like oil reservoirs you see at oil refineries before transportation to the refinery.

As I think back the mill knew that they would need extra hands and employed us just as a stop gap. Well the easy stuff didn’t last. The personnel officer came and found us stuffing around with the can toads and sent us to work in the ‘bagasse’ which is the by-product or excess of the sugar cane plant after the juice is extracted from it.

This mulch would be conveyed into large bins high in the factory and it was our job to stand in the bins and pitch fork it into a hopper which funnelled the stuff to the fires to power the mill.

Boring and laborious work with a grumpy old boss dressed in faded navy blue work clothes.

After work it was up to the pub at Gormonston (called the Hambledon Hotel). No draught beer, just XXXX Stubbies, playing pool and talking. Most of the blokes were OK.

I remember one time we got close to one of the guys there, a big blonde headed man who didn’t seem that much older than us.

I thought he was a bit of a weirdo, just odd but other than my gut feeling he didn’t convey anything really bad. We kind of hung with him and one time went to the pool at Edmonston for a swim together. I took a picture of him and Geoff and I joked how much he looked like a dugong after he had told us that the Aborigines used to screw the dugongs in the tropics. We really thought he was the one who would be doing that, but never said.

A dugong is a large fish, well a mammal really. To look at they appear to be a cross between a seal and a very small whale. They travel the tropics swimming very slowly. I am told early seafarers used to think they were mermaids. Recently I read where they numbers are diminishing at an alarming rate because of aborigines killing them as easy prey.

Anyway, this guy worked where the cane trucks were unloaded.

After the pub closed on a Saturday Night we would always take some stubbies back to the barracks. I can remember sitting round and singing and talking and by that time, the grog was doing most of it for us anyway. One guy was a big country (and western – in those days) fan. He had written several songs, a verse of one I still remember:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Today it is my birthday and tonight I should be glad,

But you’re not here to share it,

And Inside I feel so sad,

I didn’t want your money, just your sim-ple com-pan-ee

And you just here to tell me,

Happy birth-day, to me.

He also had written a song about the 1954 Melbourne Cup winner, Rising Fast which I can often remember Geoff singing much later in life after he had had a few beers:

(to the tune of Robin Hood)

Rising Fast, Rising Fast

Galloping round the bend.

Rising Fast, Rising Fast

(I forget the rest)

They were a nice bunch of people, single males with ages ranging from 20 odd to about 60.

One fellow, an Italian, really treated the place as his home, he was even an active member of the local Bowling Club (or Bowls Club as they are called in Queensland) and would bowl there of a Saturday. I have mentioned this because it will give you an insight of how some of these seasonal workers treated living in the mens’ barracks at the mill. It was their home.

The hardest job at the mill was working in ‘the fires’. We had been warned about this and advised to avoid it if we could.

‘The Fires’ was the kiln or kilns where the ash dropped after being burnt (to power the mill). For some reason, I copped a couple of days work there. This labour intensive work was always carried out in tandem. I think, as I look back they probably saved it up for new, young and inexperienced workers such as us.

The kiln was an enclosed brick room, as I have said, directly underneath where the fires were. There were about 3 or 4 of these kilns. They were very hot at all times. Very hot.

The job was to periodically rake out the ash. The implement used in this was a 4m long metal rod with a square of sheet metal about 300mm x 300mm on one end. This would be inserted in a small vent in the kiln and then both men would proceed to withdraw it from the kiln dragging as it did. This would be done several times at regular intervals.

I worked there with a guy about 50 who was as skinny as a rake but could work like a thrashing machine. Turns out he was an alcoholic. He expected big soft Granny to do the same work as himself. I tried. We were always drinking water doing this work because the sweat just poured out of you.

Of a Sunday the management would solicit workers to clean out the kilns properly. By this time the fires would be extinguished but still the heat would be retained in the bricks and so it was extremely hot work with no ventilation. No OH&S here.

The door to the kiln would be open and a worker would enter the small room to shovel the ash towards the door. Because of the heat, the worker could only do this for short periods at a time. I took my turn but because I really didn’t need the money (this overtime was paid at time and one half), I snatched it soon afterwards and went back to my room to sleep. Geoff continued for the shift.

Again, I don’t remember any of the regulars doing this. They were obviously a wakeup.

I think we worked at the mill for about 2 weeks. We had some stuff stolen from our room so we decided it was time we started our trek back to Sydney.

The workers had a drink for us at the pub as a bit of a send off and it was there that I told them I was a cop on holidays. They told me that they thought I was chasing people evading National Service. Me? Just turned 20? Its amazing how some peoples minds’ work.

For some reason rather than use the toilets at the pub, we would walk outside to take a leak on the grass on the land next door. On this night a very irrational person who was full as a state school followed me. He picked up a paling from the fence and threatened to belt me because I was in the police force. I deducted he was obviously a psychotic criminal (try a looney). It just tells you how careful we should be when mixing with people of unknown backgrounds.

I managed to talk him round and lodged that piece of self-advice of telling some people too much about myself in my memory bank. You know, even after I have been out of the police force for 20 years, I still get it.

Geoff stayed drinking with the contingent whilst I, ever the conscientious person I was, put my head down and got some sleep for the big journey the next day.

We didn’t muck around driving back and made it back to my sister’s place at Mummulgum in two days. We drove all night in one 24 hour period and we knackered when we got there.

We travelled over the back ranges across the NSW border through ….., such a picturesque drive but very lonely.

We stayed at Pat’s for a few days and one night went off to bed early. I’m glad we did because about 9.30pm Roy’s brother Bruce arrived, apparently full as a fool and another one who wanted to take a policeman to task. Thank god I was laying in their lounge room on the floor trying to sleep, but heard all the commotion and carrying on. Roy threatened to take his brother outside and give him a hiding if he didn’t leave. Thankfully he did. I don’t know what I did to the man. I had never met him, but some how he had heard that I was staying at his brothers place. Bruce was later killed in a forestry accident by a falling tree.

After our short stay, we motored on home and got back with our lives.

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