Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

‘Mate, we’re here to witness Jackie Howe break a record for shearing tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to miss it. We’ve come from all over the district’. The stranger told Joe.
‘This way you fellars, follow me,’ Jackie called to his four companions. They walked toward the shearing quarters Jackie threw his swag on the veranda, ‘I’m sleeping out here.’
‘I’ll join you if you don’t mind,’ Joe said and threw his swag along the veranda, Harold joined them, ‘hate sleeping in those small rooms’, Joe finished.
The crowd of men walked toward the shearing quarters, one called, ’we got a book going Jackie, if you’re interested, reckon you can’t shear three hundred sheep tomorrow in eight hours.’
‘What’re the odds?’ Jackie called back standing on the edge of the veranda.
‘Five to one’.
‘I’ll take a hundred.’ Jackie called back, took his wallet from his pocket and handed the caller five twenty pound notes. The caller handed Jackie a ticket.
Suddenly a roar from the gathered crowd erupted when men swamped the caller to place their bets, fists filled with pound notes being pushed toward the bookmaker. Joe and Harold followed the others to place their bets on Jackie.
After a meal at the kitchen they returned to the veranda, ‘catch up with you fellars in the morning, got to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.’ Jackie lay on his swag and was soon asleep.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

‘Isn’t this exciting, Joe, I’ve never witnessed anything like this in my life.’ Harold told Joe before he rolled over and was soon asleep. Joe lay in his swag thinking about if Jackie would break the shearing record, he’d never met anyone like Jackie Howe before. Many stories about his shearing feats, he'd been told, like shearing on average of one hundred sheep a day; also about his athletic ability when he ran 100 yards in his socks to beat more accomplished runners. Joe grinned with excitement about the next day. He rolled over and was soon asleep.
Just as daybreak glistened across the horizon, Joe woke to sounds of huffing and puffing from someone near where he was sleeping. He rose and looked toward the sound. To his astonishment he saw Jackie performing exercises of push-ups, running on the spot, stretching his arms and legs and other exercises punishing his body, sweat running from his face and body.
Joe estimated Jackie weighed about 18 stone, his huge chest, much larger than his own, his legs and upper thighs, the size of tree trunks and his biceps. Joe couldn’t believe the strength of the man seeing him push his body up and down from the ground.
‘What’re you doing?’ He called to Jackie.
‘Working my body, I do it each morning before I start work, it loosens the muscles, less pain when I’m shearing,’ Jackie stopped, wiped perspiration from his forehead, arms and legs with a towel, ‘I’m off for a shower, then breakfast before I sharpen my shears.’ Jackie finished his workout and entered the showers. Joe felt tired looking at this man of steel.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

A couple of minutes before seven-thirty Jackie with his entourage, walked from the quarters to the shearing shed, others gathered to witness history. ‘Good on ya Jackie’, a call came from the crowd of on-lookers, ‘you show em mate, best of luck.’ Jackie raised his arms in recognition.
Everything appeared official with the cocky of Alice Downs standing on the board ready to ring the bell, or in this instance clang an iron bar onto a steel triangle to start the day. Jackie earlier sharpened his shears said to be so sharp they glided through the wool instead of cutting it.
Silence until sharp on seven-thirty the only noise, clattering of steel against steel to start the run. Jackie dressed in his renowned ‘Jack Howe flannel shirt’ cut off at the shoulders, blue in colour, his brand and design. First sheep took him less than eighty seconds to shear.
Crowd astonished to witness an event which would go down in Australian history. Some of the other shearers, who’d bet against him, tried to tickle him, to no avail, even jumped on his back to slow his pace, nothing stopped Jackie. On and on Jackie sheared only taking the required break called by the cocky.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

Seven hours and forty minutes later Jackie Howe busted the Australian record for shearing 321 sheep in that time. Cheers erupted from the crowd of on-lookers. Joe raised Jackie’s hand to show what a champion he became. Joe started to sing:
Oh, down at the catching pen an old shearer stands,
Grasping his shears in his long bony hands ;
Fixed is his gaze on a bare belled ewe,
Saying " If I can only get her, won't I make the ringer go."
Others joined in the chorus:
Click goes his shears; click, click, click.
Wide are the blows, and his hand is moving quick,
The ringer looks round, for he lost it by a blow,
And he curses that old shearer with the bare belled ewe.
Joe continued singing:
At the end of the board, in a cane bottomed chair,
The boss remains seated with his eyes everywhere ;
He marks well each fleece as it comes to the screen,
And he watches where it comes from if not taken off clean.
The "colonial experience" is there of course.
With his silver buckled leggings, he's just off his horse;
With the air of a connoisseur he walks up the floor ;
And he whistles that sweet melody, "I am a perfect cure."
"So master new chum, you may now begin,
Muster number seven paddock, bring the sheep all in ;
Leave none behind you, whatever you do,
And then we'll say you'r fit to be a Jackeroo."
The tar boy is there, awaiting all demands,
With his black tarry stick, in his black tarry hands.
He sees an old ewe, with a cut upon the back,
He hears what he supposes is--" Tar here, Jack."
"Tar on the back, Jack; Tar, boy, tar."
Tar from the middle to both ends of the board.
Jack jumps around, for he has no time to sleep,
And tars the shearer's backs as well as the sheep.
So now the shearing's over, each man has got his cheque,
The hut is as dull as the dullest old wreck ;
Where was many a noise and bustle only a few hours before,
Now you can hear it plainly if a pin fall on the floor.
The shearers now are scattered many miles and far;
Some in other sheds perhaps, singing out for "tar."
Down at the bar, there the old shearer stands,
Grasping his glass in his long bony hands.
Saying "Come on, landlord, come on, come!
I'm shouting for all hands, what's yours--mine's a rum;"
He chucks down his cheque, which is collared in a crack,
And the landlord with a pen writes no mercy on the back !
His eyes they were fixed on a green painted keg,
Saying " I will lower your contents, before I move a peg."
His eyes are on the keg, and are now lowering fast;
He works hard, he dies hard, and goes to heaven at last.
Others joined in the chorus:
Click goes his shears; click, click, click.
Wide are the blows, and his hand is moving quick,
The ringer looks round, for he lost it by a blow,
And he curses that old shearer with the bare belled ewe.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

The song went on until everyone sounded horse from singing, slaps on backs extended, Jackie stood in front of the group raised his arms. Silence fell across the gathering. Jackie said, ‘thank you all for coming.’ He went to walk away when the representatives from Coleman & Sons, and Wolseley Shearing Machine Company stood before him each shaking Jackie’s hand expressed their delight in witnessing the greatest shearing record of all time. They each placed a gold medal around his neck for establishing the record of shearing the most number of sheep in one day with blade shears.
Joe and Harold couldn’t believe their good fortune of meeting Jackie Howe at the hotel at Blackall, being invited to witness this great event and now needed to be on their way. Joe wanted to reach Barcaldine, his reason to meet the real Joe Gibson who by now would’ve been released from prison. Joe had much to explain to his friend who’d taken his place after the strike.
Word reached Joe that when the thirteen leaders of the strike served their time in St Helena Island Prison they would return to Barcaldine when the town celebrated to welcome them back where the strike commenced. His feelings for allowing his friend to take his place and serve his time in prison repeated in nightly nightmares. To make amends he needed to speak with his friend and tell him how sorry he felt for allowing him to do such a brave deed. He would never forget his bravery and courage to carry out such a feat of unselfishness for another human being.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

Much water had flowed under the bridge of life since they changed places. Joe wished he could return to that moment when his friend wanted him to change places. He’d not only ruined his chances with Hannah, he’d lost Ma who’d been like a mother to him. Since the time of their exchange Joe had learnt much about comradeship, particularly learning from Harold, who only was a boy in Joe’s eyes but since their journey together become mates. How was Joe going to explain his feelings to his friend? He hadn’t worked out at this time, but by being there when they arrived at Barcaldine would help.

Chapter 8

A beautiful sunny day dawned on Barcaldine; a crowd of hundreds lined the roadway in front of the railway station headed by a committee of union delegates waiting for the train from Rockhampton to finally arrive with thirteen special travellers. Earlier the committee met under the ‘Tree Of Knowledge’ in the centre of Barcaldine. This ‘Tree Of Knowledge’ became a symbolic place for shearers to gather to discuss their business.
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[patritter]

'Click Go The Shears':

The significance of this tree, when shearers staged a torchlight procession through the streets of Barcaldine to hold their meetings to begin ‘The Great Shearers Strike of 1891’ on the 28th February of the same year to declare their strike against the pastoralists for better wages and working conditions. Now their heroes returned home after being imprisoned at St Helena Island Prison. Their imprisonment served to represent all the shearers who went on strike.
News of their release reached Barcaldine the previous day instantly throwing events of their return into a celebration. These thirteen men sacrificed three years of their lives in St Helena Island gaol, each man, woman and child saw them as their town hero and wanted to join in the celebration on their return. This became a memorable day for the townsfolk of Barcaldine.
Smoke puffed from the chimney, steam gushed from the engine coming to a halt in front of the platform at the railway station. The station master quickly left his office to attend his duty of meeting these thirteen important guests of the railway department. People swarmed onto the platform each trying to get a bird’s eye view of these thirteen important travellers. A carriage door opened, a huge man stepped from the carriage followed by other men, ‘there they are,’ someone called in a loud voice, ‘how’re you going Bill, welcome home,’ another called and tried to push his way through the barrage of people standing on the platform.
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