ele__13
10th March 2006, 10:39 PM
For those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a small town west
of
Quilpie in the far south west of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1>Queensland</st1></st1:state>.
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, 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 shave though, but its not so bad, coz
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 wot 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 it's 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 Johnson's 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 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 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
of
Quilpie in the far south west of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1>Queensland</st1></st1:state>.
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, 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 shave though, but its not so bad, coz
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 wot 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 it's 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 Johnson's 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 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 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