'Dream Angel' - Page 16:

[tab=30][tab=30] We loaded his motor bike onto the back of the truck and set off for the hut. The weather was hot, extremely hot. I wore a pair of boxer shorts, tee shirt and football socks and work boots. The old truck groaned its way through the soft sand. Up ahead I saw the ruminants of an old homestead. A strange feeling came over me. I needed to stop.
‘Where are we?’ I asked.
‘It’s the old Wirragen Homestead, see the fallen brick chimney.’ his answer shocked me. It was an eerie feeling. I looked and a vision came into view of a young girl near the homestead.
It was Mam when she was fourteen years old and worked as a kitchen maid. The vision left me as quickly as it formed. It was a hologram, or it may have been my mind playing tricks in the heat. It was a hot day. We drove on.
The motor in the Thames Trader truck sat between the driver and the passenger. A cover a console fitted over the motor to make it easy to lift off when any work needed to be done to the motor. We drove along a dirt track when the motor in the truck suddenly exploded into flames. Fire roared upward from the cover and forced it off its hinges; flames jetted out. ‘Get the hell out of here, quick.’ I screamed.
He opened his door and jumped from the burning cabin. I desperately tried to open the driver’s side door. I pushed the handle, pulled it and of all times it wouldn’t open. I honestly thought I was going to die. I tried a couple of times, twisted, prodded, and pulled the handle but it still wouldn’t open. The flames were through the cabin licking the roof and roared out the passenger’s door.
The only way I was going to escape was to jump across them. I smelt hair burning. I rolled from the cabin onto the ground. The boundary rider’s face was white and pale. My football socks were on fire, hair singed on my legs. I scrambled to a safe spot, brushed my legs and socks with my hands and put out the flames. We watched the truck burn. We were lucky, especially me...

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'Dream Angel' - Page 15:
[tab=30][tab=30]Shearing was now in full swing and somehow, I’d managed to cheat my way through repairs, in a rough fashion, of trucks and other machinery. This time it was different.
Shearing had started and exactly two minutes to ten o’clock when the shearers were to stop for morning smoko, the motor stopped. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get it started, or else!’ ordered the Manager.
Or else what, I didn’t need to guess at what would happen. It would be the Shearers Strike all over again. I desperately hoped for a miracle while sweat formed on the palms of my hands and my heart almost pushed itself out of my chest. Five minutes left and I’d checked all the small things, like fuel, water, and spark plugs. All these were clear. Two minutes. I prayed for the Lord to grant me one last wish to have this motor working before the shearers finished their morning smoko or hell would break lose. I pulled the cord on the motor to give it one last try. Suddenly it fired into action. I was saved with no idea how it had happened. The Manager thought I was a miracle worker.
After the episode of fixing the motor for the shearers I had the run of the place to myself. One day I drove the old Thames Trader Truck out to Wirragen Hut to install a gas stove. It was a forty-mile drive from the homestead over rough and corrugated road. The boundary rider met me at the mailbox to show me where to go. The mailbox was a twenty-gallon fuel drum fastened to a post on the side of the main road. One end of the drum removed to hold the mail...
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'Dream Angel' - Page 14:
[tab=30]How did I decide to work on Dyvenor Downs? Was it the isolation, distance from anywhere, no shops or entertainment, or could it be the bush characters who were charming, easy to talk to and courteous? They did not have a care in the world with their laid-back country drawl.
Perhaps it was the pristine huge grey gum trees scattered across the open plains reaching for the sky, giant red kangaroos clearing a boundary fence in one bound and sprinting emus with their long spindly legs thrown out in front of them when they tried to outrun one another.
There was Dyvenor Lake. Its banks stretched ten kilometres in one direction and half the distance in the other, in the middle of nowhere. Swans, pelicans, and other bird life of all variety used the salt-water lake as their playground. Our earlier pioneers believed there was an inland sea when millions of years ago Australia was split in two.
The Manager’s wife introduced herself, ‘Hello. You must be the mechanic?’
‘Yes, I’m Paddy Ritter, pleased to meet you.’ I muttered not sure whether to kiss her on the cheek or shake her hand. I did neither.
‘Come with me,’ she commanded. I am following her like a sheep dog when called, ‘to get behind’ as we entered the main homestead.
‘How many other mechanics have you working here?’ I asked nervously when served with a mug of tea and a piece of cake.
‘You’re it. We could never get anyone to come this far west,’ she said.
Blood drain from my face. A faint feeling came over me and I felt sick. I was on my own. I wasn’t a mechanic. I’m a fitter and turner.
‘Are you alright?’ She looked concerned.
‘Yeah, yeah, it must be the heat. I’m not used to it yet.’ I hoped the subject would be closed until I could work out a way to stop this charade. If I told them the truth, I’d be on the next mail truck back to town. What if the boss wanted me to fix a truck, I wondered? I wouldn’t even know what to look for. I’d tinkered with old bomb cars in my time, but to be paid a wage as a mechanic. That’s a different proposition. I hadn’t even brought any tools with me. They say, you can fool some of the people some of the time but you can’t fool all the people all the time and it had to happen sooner or later...

'Dream Angel' - Page 13:
[tab=30] I applied for a position as a station mechanic on Dyvenor Downs, a million-acre property west of Cunnamulla. When the lady at the unemployment bureau told me about the position on a property west of Cunnamulla, I thought Cunnamulla of all places, was this meant to happen for a reason? Over the years I’d listened to many stories from Mam when she worked on ‘Wirragen Station’ an outstation on Dyvenor Downs and I was about to return to the same property.
I knew nothing about sheep or cattle and knew less about life in the west with the sun as hot as one hundred and twenty degrees in the water bag. Before I left on the Westlander I listened to more stories from most of my relatives who lived in Cunnamulla and were born there. Was it a sign I was returning home?
Cunnamulla was a busy place being at the end of the railway line. Jacky the mail contractor delivered the mail from Cunnamulla to Thargomindah. There is an old saying told by people in the west to always remind a visitor whenever you cross the Warrego River you will cross it again. He dropped me off at Dyvenor Downs homestead.
‘Thanks for the lift mate, I’ll see you around.’ I said as I slid down from the front seat of the mail truck.
‘You sure will. Once you’ve crossed the Warrego, you’ll cross it again and again.’ Jacky croaked in his western drawl. He drove off and left me to choke in a cloud of dust.
So, this was Dyvenor Downs, one million acres and one thousand kilometres west of Brisbane in the outback. It was rugged, harsh climate as I watched the artesian bore water spew out of the ground into drains then snake its way through paddocks to water the stock.
There were flies, millions of them. Each step needed the Australian wave to swish them away from my eyes and face with either hand all in one motion. What it was about the bush had beckoned me, I wondered...

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'Dream Angel' - Page 12:
[tab=30][tab=30] I became a tradesman as a fitter & turner at twenty-one years old. My desire to be a detective never died. It was now my turn to join the Queensland Police Force and this time I didn’t need anyone’s permission.
In those days when you joined the Queensland Police Force you went to the front desk at Petrie Terrace Police Barracks in Brisbane and requested to join. I sat an entrance examination of spelling; grammar; writing and a medical examination and failed all four. They must have got it wrong, I thought, it’s only grade 8 education to pass and I failed. I was guttered.
Before I left, a Sub-Inspector wanted to speak with me. He was concerned. My name was cross indexed with other members of the Queensland Police Force and my mother’s cousin, who oversaw the Mounted Police Unit at Oxley, verified my relationship to him. The Sub-Inspector wanted to help me.
Electric welding had weakened the sight to my left eye to 10-20 vision. Spelling was shocking. I received three out of twenty marks. I couldn’t spell scissors, nuisance, and a few other words. He asked me one question; do you want to be a police officer? My answer was a definite YES! I’ve wanted it since I was eight years old, I told him. You’ll need to go to an eye specialist to have your eyes examined; purchase a grade 8 spelling book and memorise each word and read as many books as you can. Come back and try again were his final words.
I made an appointment to see an eye specialist and after a thorough examination he gave me a letter to show my eyes were perfect. I purchased a grade 8 spelling book to memorise each word.
Life at home with my parents was uncomfortable. I needed to escape...

Dream Angel' - Page 11:
[tab=30][tab=30] It was a ritual and I didn’t want to change anything. Up until this time I’d never placed a wager as large as this one.
The horses left the saddling enclosure and Prunda looked magnificent. He pranced along the track to the starting gate. Prunda looked graceful as he jogged to the barrier in front of the crowd; his neck bowed with his chin pressed hard against his chest, a real athlete. His brown coat glowed in the afternoon sun; his jockey looked confident and relaxed.
Each horse took their place in the starting barrier at the opposite side of the racetrack. The starter moved onto the starting platform. After he made certain all the horses were in line and ready, a red light flashed. The starter pressed the starting button, the barriers opened together and the horses exploded from the barriers as one.
In previous races Prunda always led, but this time he had more weight to carry so his jockey eased him back into the field. Desert Glance was behind him waiting for Prunda to make his move. Around the turn they came and the thunder of the horses’ hoofs echoed through the grandstand.
Prunda hit the front, cheers rose from the crowd; my heart almost ripped out of my chest when I saw Prunda’s jockey ride like the champion jockey he is, I knew he’d win. One furlong to go Desert Glance came up beside Prunda. I felt my throat thicken with fear. Prunda accelerated. Desert Glance went with him and was on his good side, the one with the eye. Prunda crossed the winning line in first position. I won four weeks wages. What a win. I felt sad for my uncle and his father.
In the final year of my apprenticeship my parents returned to live in Queensland. My mother was ill and needed to be near a doctor. She developed a kidney disease through taking Bex powders. Eventually the drug in the Bex powders destroyed her kidneys. She was sick for many years and still was Mum and I loved her and the more she fought the disease the worse it became. I was sickened to see her body fall away to skin and bones and there was little I could do to help...

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Dream Angel' - Page 10:
[tab=30][tab=30]
To wager a bet you need to have nerves of steel, belief in yourself and a good judgement on the form of horse racing. I had neither. Over the previous couple of weeks, I’d saved ten dollars to bet on Prunda to win. I knew he would win. He trained on the mudflats at Nudgee Beach and the race was named The International Stakes; the jockey came from England to ride in front of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11. Apart from Prunda having only one eye, his left eye, he was blind in the other, what could go wrong?
Uncle Vivian’s father had a horse in the same race. Her name Desert Glance and the family came to the track to punt on her. Was I the traitor for wanting to punt on Prunda?
When you first think of punting a horse, you work out how much money you have; look at the starting price with the bookmakers; work out the amount you want to wager and part with your money by giving it to the bookmaker and they give you a betting slip.
Prunda was priced at 5-1, that is, for one dollar I punted on Prunda I received five times the amount plus the wager if he won. Desert Glance showed odds of 40-1 and if I bet one dollar on her I received forty times plus the wager if she won.
My final decision was to have a wager of five dollars each way on Prunda at odds of 5-1. If Prunda didn’t win I covered my bet by having a wager of five dollars a place on him to run either second or third. One of the first lessons to learn in punting is never change your mind. I did.
Each time I watched a race at the track I always walked to the same spot near the finishing post and stood holding my hands together, not in prayer, but to control the nerves...