Things I Should Not Have Done

The Fire

In Cairns, there was a chap that was a bit simple, Pom Lesina he was known as and he spent of fair bit of his day travelling around in busses with his head out of the window shouting weird remarks to all and sundry.

Now just after brother Douglas was born, a school friend and I went to the local swamp and played with matches. Well you all know what happens when you play with matches, yes, we set the swamp alight. Valiantly we attempted to put the flame out but to no avail, so we scurried back across the railway line and nonchalantly walked home.

Sure enough the sound of the Fire Brigade could be heard, and as we casually strolled back to the scene of the darstardly deed where people were gathering. We spread the word that Pom Lesina must have lit the fire, and nobody seemed to question it.

When my father came home, the fire was not mentioned, and later that night, we went off to the hospital to see Mum. When brother Peter mentioned the fire, my heart thumped, but the topic was not taken any further. I had a fitful night and terrible conscience for the next few days until we decided that “we had got away with it”.

Being Respectful to the Cops

The names of two policemen in Cairns were Bonney and Zuppey. Well, that what they were known as anyway for there was a rhyme;

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If Bonney don’t get you,
Then Zuppey must.

There was a terrible accident one night in 1958 involving a motorcycle and I assisted the poor chaps till the ambulance arrived. The police also arrived and Zuppey took a statement from me, saying that I would have to see him again to sign the statement.

After a few months, I hadn’t heard anything and being in town one night, I asked a patrolling policeman “Is Zuppy around?” I wish I hadn’t. For the next ten minutes I was given a public lecture by this cop to the amusement to all the other patrons waiting to go back into the theatre. It was Senior Constable Z…….. unpronounceable that I wanted, and in future I was to address members of the police force….etc.

Ah well, the army turned out to be a bit like that.


Blowing up the school

I had a friend in the last year of school, Geoff Steele. He and I did all sorts of things, but the most spectacular was to make some touch powder. We had no idea what to do, but went to the chemistry lab and mixed iodine and ammonia and filtered it out onto a piece of blotting paper and let it dry on the schools first floor verandah.

It can be a bit hot in Cairns and I guess the mixture dried out fairly quickly. We had our after lunch assembly, we were all lined up listening to the hearmaster, Mr Croswell giving us the latest instructions from the first floor verandah, not more than a yard from our touch powder. W H O O M P it went, the noise was tremendous and I vividly recall a gigantic cloud of brown smoke that engulfed the Headmaster as the entire assembly went for cover.

Geoff, my good mate, and also the school champion athlete for that year, bolted, jumped on his motor bike and rode off into the distance. There didn’t seem to be any point in prolonging any investigation, so I admitted to the production of this explosive. Another lecture, it went on and on. Mr Croswell had just signed a reference for my application to Duntroon and I was somewhat relieved he didn’t withdraw that.

And as for my good mate….. oh well.


The Bomb

This is about our car purchased in 1955 for £50. A 1929 Chev which had been converted into a ute. When it was purchaed, it had painted on the back tail board … T.W.H.A.F.S … This was a bit of a mystery till I met up with one of the kids from the family that owned it previously. It stood for “The Wandering Hands and Fingers Society”. I think my father knew as he would occasionally ask, “What does that mean?”. I would just shake my head.

At 15 like most 15 year old kids, I knew everything including all about this truck. So on the first day it was a home, and my father was at work, I got into the drivers seat and pressed the starter button on the floor. The thing was in gear and moved forward with a jolt as the starter motor turned. I panicked and lept out of the ute and skulked back inside.

When my father came home, we were going to go for a drive and all preparations were made, water, oil and tyres checked as per a pamphlet my father had on the Bren Gun Carrier. Phew, no one noticed it had moved forward 2 inches. In we all get and my father presses the starter button. Nothing, what is known as a flat battery problem.

My heart sank, I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable questioning, but it didn’t come, just a bland statement that the battery was no good and it would have to be cranked. Out came the Bren Gun Carrier pamphlet again, another set of checks, crank handle in, one, two, contact and away it went. That’s what we did for the next three years.