. . . God help me!
Yes, I am the first grandchild for “Bulldog” Byrne and Philippa.
Let me introduce myself. My mummy and daddy (Amanda and Rory) have named me Connor Shane (Shane is also my grandad’s middle name).
I was born last Thursday, 16 March, at the Flinders Medical Centre – way down south of Adelaide, and a long way from the Lyndoch Badlands, where my new grandies had to drive from to see me on Saturday. It was about as far as the drive from Old Reynella to Meggsy’s farm in Two Wells, they tell me!
Anyway, Grandad Bulldog said I was a beautiful baby. “Beautiful babies run in the family,” grandad said.
I said “If that’s the case, grandad, what happened to you! chuckle, chuckle”.
I love my grandad, but he’s a bit of a Gunna. He has been promising to write an article for the Old Guv Legends’ website forever, but it has never eventuated (that’s a big word). Here I am, less than a week old, and I am posting my first article!
I don’t know whether to call him Grandad Bulldog or Gunna Grandad. I think I like Gunna Grandad the best.
Oh oh, I think I have just sh*t my nappy! chuckle, chuckle – so I’ll have to go now.
Our Next Old Guv Legends Luncheon
will be held on Friday, 28 April, 2017 commencing at 12 noon.
Venue: West Adelaide Football Club, 57 Milner Road, Richmond.
A Salad Bar is now available at Westies.
Pictured above is David Walker (Printing Machine Minder) who is going to be our Next Old Guv Legend.
And have we got the goods on Mr. Walker.
Contact: Alex Riley on 8370 1911 or Rod Parham on 0424 294 450
Without doubt one of my best memories of the NETLEY years were the Friday night cookathons in the comp room.
Each Friday various staff were given specific roles to provide what for the evening meal.
Generally one person was allocated the role of cook which was carried out usually in the small kitchen, next to the typesetting room.
Everyone knew that they were expected to put the hard yards in early and break the back of the workload before the 9.30 pm teabreak.
By this time the ROAST was usually well on the way and the bottles of red well and truly aired.
Our little treat was nearly brought undone when Ron Fletcher decided one night to stay back to catch up with his duties.
From his office he could smell the odour of the food cooking coming via the air conditioning ducts and he decided to investigate.
Naturally our forward scouts, (that’s army talk), gave us fair warning that he was walking around the comp room trying to find the responsible parties and we were able to relocate the cooking facilities to another place temporarily until Ron finally got sick of the search and decided his sinus buds were playing tricks on him.
These nights were very entertaining and usually it was very difficult to get willing help to clean the process rollers so they would not go hard over the weekend.
The Leading Hand generally accepted that that would be his penalty.
However on several occasions the night staff were treated to a very special treat.
Caption: Where are the hardworking Ladies of the Printing Office?
Members of the Government Printing Office photographed during their 13th Annual Wayzgoose Outing held on 4th March, 1893, at Bridgewater, South Australia.
Bridgewater is a beautiful town situated in the Adelaide Hills.
Bridgewater well before our Alex Riley (The Toff) was permitted to live there.
On a Sunday Night on an Australia Day Long Weekend, in the late 1960s, a young half pissed Russell Wight and an even younger pissed Warren Pietsch left their “Prince of Wales” Hotel rooms to journey into the deep dark heart of Melbourne.
It was about Midnight and they were going to “The Catcher” Disco, a well known notorious haunt that raged on into the early hours of the morning.
They got off their tram in Swanston street and walked to Flinders Lane. The big Question was whether they should go up or down Flinders Lane. They went Up!
After about 45 minutes of huffing and puffing it became obvious to our two desperadoes that they were going in the wrong direction. Turning around it was downhill all the way, crossing Swanston Street and continuing on down the Lane.
At about 2 a.m. a heavy blues sound could now be heard in the distance by our now sober heroes. Another quarter mile and there it was!
No. 471 Flinders Lane, the dirtiest, black, creepiest shit hole they had ever confronted…
At the door great big bouncers (see above picture) stood menacingly.
Abo turned to Russell and said. “I’m not going in there”. “What about you?” Russell who by now was shaking his head said, “I’m game”.
But, and lucky for them they both turned on their heels and went back to the “Prince of Wales” Hotel.
“The most notorious club at the time was the Catcher, in the dark deserted & desolate end of Flinders Lane, an austere painted black disused warehouse that you could hear from blocks away before you could even find it.
It was a walk on the wildside, the surly sociopathic end of the rock music crowd slouched around a bare room listening to the harder and wilder end of the music scene. Bands like The Purple Hearts, Running Jumping Standing Still & The Wild Cherries raged until the early hours.
There was a totally dark, mattress filled room called The Gobble Room and everyone had an edge that may have come from raiding their mother’s diet pills”.