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Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad.
(For Those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a smalltown,
west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland )
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too.
Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than
workin' on the farm -
tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I
wuz a bit slow in
settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta bed until
6am.
But I like sleeping in now, *** all ya gotta do before brekky is make
ya bed
and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no
calves to feed,
no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not
so bad, *** there's
lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks
or possum stew
like *** Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and by that
time all the city boys
are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez its only
just like walking to
the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting medals for shootin'
- dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it
don't move and it's not
firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got
into their prize cows
before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself
comfortable and hit the target -
it's a piece of ****!! You don't even load your own cartridges, they
comes in little boxes, and
ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo
shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful *** they break easy
- it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and
Steve and Muzza all at once like
we do at home after the muster.
Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best
the platoon's got, and I've only
been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and
15 stone and three pick
handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and
eight stone wringin' wet,
but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Sheila
(For Those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a smalltown,
west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland )
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too.
Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than
workin' on the farm -
tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I
wuz a bit slow in
settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta bed until
6am.
But I like sleeping in now, *** all ya gotta do before brekky is make
ya bed
and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no
calves to feed,
no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not
so bad, *** there's
lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks
or possum stew
like *** Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and by that
time all the city boys
are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez its only
just like walking to
the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting medals for shootin'
- dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it
don't move and it's not
firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got
into their prize cows
before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself
comfortable and hit the target -
it's a piece of ****!! You don't even load your own cartridges, they
comes in little boxes, and
ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo
shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful *** they break easy
- it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and
Steve and Muzza all at once like
we do at home after the muster.
Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best
the platoon's got, and I've only
been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and
15 stone and three pick
handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and
eight stone wringin' wet,
but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Sheila
