Even though Jack left school when he was fourteen, he could still read and write very well...
When Dad was eighty-three years of age, I encouraged him to write something down about his life. Little did any of us know of the tale he had to tell, but we are glad now that he took the time to write his story.
We hope you enjoy reading the following excerpt from Jack’s Story. Jack would have been about nine or ten when this burning incident occurred…
I’ll never forget the time when Harry Boundy was hauling timber for transport by train to Cairns. The logs were being taken out of the reserve by the forestry and Sheppersons got the contract for the log timber and cartage. Harry was a good mate of mine, as he often talked to me about his stormy love affair with my sister, Dot. Dot knew this so I was in the unhappy situation of being pumped by each one in turn. I really had to be diplomatic. Anyway this day Harry asked me to go with him and, with Dad’s permission, off we went.
Harry had a seat to sit on, but all I had on my side was a case of benzene. He had taken the boards off the side for easy access if he had to top the tank up, so I sat on the benzene tins. By the way, this truck had solid rubber tyres – a band of rubber about four inches deep by the width of the steel wheel, close to a foot wide. It cushioned the ride slightly but gee it was rough! Going into Malanda with three huge twelve feet girth by twenty feet long maples on board wasn’t so bad, but coming back empty at full speed, twelve miles per hour, hell it jumped around! I was flat-out hanging on to my seat. I was going up and down like a yo yo, and back and forth and sideways at the same time. My good felt hat had blown off a couple of miles back. I liked that hat too – it was my best one, and it hadn’t gone to seed yet. I’d probably get into trouble when I got home.
We were roaring down the long hill to the Johnston River, hanging on for grim life, with all sorts of thoughts of what was to come, when, bloody hell, all of a sudden my bum started to burn. Oh no! My flying up and down had made a small crack in the top of the benzene tin. I took a look over in Harry’s direction to see if I could get his attention but to no avail. He was hanging onto the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. I suppose it did too, as he had nothing else to hang on to. He had his eyes glued to the road, and he had no intention of looking in my direction.
By this time I didn’t know whether to yell my silly head off or jump off and make a run for the river. Anything would be better than this awful burning, stinging around my bum. It was getting worse. The hole was letting more benzene through. We roared down across the bridge and shot up the other side. I got a fleeting glance of the water as we screamed over the river. Hell it looked good! We still had about three miles to go before I could get off this bloody thing and get my rump into the water. Harry was too interested in dodging the ruts and the potholes to take a glance in my direction. I suppose he could see me out of the corner of his eye and was pleased with the thought that I was still there. I had to hang on like a monkey. I often wonder what a monkey would have done in the same situation. By this time, I was sitting in a nice pool of benzene and my poor bum, well I couldn’t feel it. The burn seemed to be getting up further. My other bits and pieces were burning and stinging as well. Gee, I was in a pickle!
We had crawled down over the rough, stony stretch and across Battle’s Creek and by now were half way up the long hill coming up to flat country. Only another mile and a half to go. Still Harry wasn’t going to look at me, so I would have to ride it out. Once we reached flat country and were coming up to Glen Allyn hall we had a much smoother ride so the benzene wasn’t slushing around so much in the tin, perhaps. So what did I have to worry about? I had my nice little pool to sit in. That didn’t go away!
At long last we were on the home stretch. I could see Short Bridge and there was water, plenty water. We roared over Short creek and up a little hill to our road gate. What a welcome sight! Harry brought the monster to a grinding stop at the gate and he asked me if I would like to go down to the reserve and watch him load up again. I was off the truck like a rocket, grabbed my bum and things to make sure they were all there and then went like a scalded cat for the creek, scrambled out of my pants and sank down in the cool, lovely water. I sat there as long as I was game to, and before long things seemed to be coming back to normal. Yes, the sting was getting less, but they would have seen the truck drop me off from the house and would have been wondering where I had got to. I washed my pants out and wrung them as dry as I could and put them back on again. That was good. It felt almost nice – the cool dampness seemed to soothe the sting. Good thinking Jack! You might become a doctor someday. At least I would be able to tell people how to get rid of stinging bums and things.
When I turned up at home, I was put through the third degree. How was the ride in the truck? Or on the truck, it should have been. Did I want to do it again? No, bloody thank you! Not until they put a seat on that side and something to hang on to. Someone said they thought they could smell benzene. I think I must have burped just then. I didn’t like to tell anyone about my stinging bum and things just in case they wanted to have a look. After about three days I was dropping flakes of skin around my room, and I used to shake out my pyjamas when I took them off so there weren’t any telltale skin flakes hanging around. About a week later everything seemed back to normal – what a relief.
What others have to say about Jack’s Story:
“I feel as though I know Jack now. It’s such a great story – so funny and yet so sad. I’m sorry that it ends. Thanks Jack.” Laraine Ellingham
“Jack was a trainee motoring writer. This is certainly a book that deserves to have a sequel.” John Weinthal, Journalist.
” We are originally from the Atherton Tableland, and we know a lot of people Jack mentions in his story. In fact, I wish we could have got together when he was writing it, as I know what became of some of these people. I really enjoyed the book. Thank you.” G.Golt