|
|
|
Life in the Australian Army
supplied from OZ by Tom
Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad. (For those
of you not in the know, Eromanga is a small town in the outback west
of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland). Last line's the
punch line!
~~~~~~~~
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil
that the Army is better that 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, cuz 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,coz there's lots a
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 what Mum makes. You don't get fed again
until noon and by that time all the city boys are buggered because
we've beeen 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 piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges they
comes in little boxes and ya don't have to steady youself against
the rollbar of the roo shoooting trusk
when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful coz 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 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
|
|
Features - Humour
