The Backpacker.
The bus pulled into the
roadhouse like a mirage one hot Novermber’s day
Deposited its load of sleepy inhabitants and continued on its way
It didn’t take long to spot him – he stood out like a "cow in a
bog"
Another backpacker hired in a long line of "poms",
"yanks" and "frogs.
He bore the typical tell
tale signs that only backpackers bear
Enough gold on his fingers to sink a ship and far too much facial hair
His body was light and limber – far to frail for the size of the bag
Not to mention the paraphernalia handing off it and sewn on Welsh flag.
The boss shook his hand
in silence and in a effort to avoid further confrontation
Whipped the bag right off the lads’ back and threw it to damnation
Loaded in the ute, not a word between the pair had transpired
The backpacker was quick to deduct…petty talk was not required!
On arrival at the
homestead, he was given linen and shown to his quarters
Invited to join the family for lunch and be assigned his first lot of
orders
The boss did not hesitate, he was quick to leave not a doubt
As to where he stood and what was expected for this little foreign lout.
"Welcome to the
outback, no more nine to five in these parts
Out here we work till the day’s last light and start at sparrowsfart"
"We’ll all be mustering steers tomorrow" came the bosses’
throaty bark
"And if you can’t ride a motorbike, you had better have learned
by dark!"
Well. I give that
backpacker some credit, next day he was rating to go
And amidst our doubts and taunting, I don’t think any of us could have
known
How hard that first day would have been with the boss looming near
Ready to pounce the moment he made a mistake or showed any sign of fear.
During the next few weeks
the boss displayed mercy, no letting up
He was especially demanding in the days that followed and
uncharacteristically abrupt
To all of us other workers it was becoming ever so blatantly clear
That the boss had no intention of seeing this backpacker through the
year.
About this time I deemed
it necessary to see more country side
So handed in my resignation and did my farewells and said by goodbyes
I often thought about that poor chap and just how long he’d prove to
last
Making a quiet promise to myself to find out next time I’d be driving
past.
It was a good year later
while heading up north, I detoured and decided to drop in
And whilst paying my respects to the boss I intriguingly inquired with a
grin
"So what ever became of that Welsh backpacker you hired when last I
was here?"
But the boss said nothing, allowing a smirk to cross my face from ear to
ear.
My courtesy call had too
quickly come to an end and I said my last hooray
As I ascended into my vehicle and prepared to drive away.
When from around the shed corner a wiry specimen suddenly appeared
Faintly familiar, but something about him was also oddly weird.
An Akubra masked his
hairless face and double-pluggers adored his feet
He was a real Try Dann look-alike amidst the flies, the dust and heat
A Jackie Howe Singlet, King Gee shorts, faithful kelpie by his side
And that expression he wore on this face – he was absolutely brimming
with pride!
If upon first viewing
this spectacle I had so much as the slightest doubt
It was all confirmed the moment he opened his mouth and that thick
accent fell out
My little Welsh backpacking mate had really adapted to life on the land
Complete was calluses on his palms and a consistent all over tan.
I guess his hardy sprit
endured to leave a good impression on the boss
So much to gain (and with the exception of some facial hair), nothing it
seems lost
And in the years I’ve served in the outback no prouder ringer have I
met
Nor a boss so adamant that he never had any qualms, hesitations or
regret.
Nowadays for every bus
that pulls into the roadhouse, I chuckle as I note
The confused looks upon the faces of the assembled local folk
With those distinguishable backpacks there’s no second guessing where
they’re from
And you can hear them muttering in unison "Not another bloody pom!"
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