Place: Canteen, Netley, South Australia.
Activity: Fundraiser that went Arse Up.
The Coppers crashed through the entrance to the Netley Canteen at midnight wearing white overalls and swinging their sledgehammers and smashing pool tables.
They took the Chocolate Wheel and the pinball machine
The South Australian Flying Vice Squad had raided the GPO Cricket Club’s “harmless little Fundraiser”.
Evidently, someone’s wife had tipped the Police off and the coppers had been inside watching us since 8 p.m.
I was the dickhead that let them in, not noticing through an alcoholic blur that the plain clothes detectives were all dressed in suits and very tall.
That horrible night almost bankrupted the Club, what with replacing the broken equipment and defending our poor old mate Jim Fisher in Court our final Bill ran into the thousands.
But in an act of great generosity the Victorian Government Printing Office Cricket Club rescued us with a huge donation of cash and an interest free loan.
The media uproar was deafening.
However Don Woolman, Government Printer knew “nothing” and Bill Voyzey, the Permanent Head of State Supply knew “nothing”.
Anatoly Onishko (Publications Officer) didn’t have a clue where his missing cash register had gone to, until it finally turned up after some weeks.
We all blamed poor old Casino Bob Allen (very unfairly I might add) for the disaster.
Pictured: Russell Wight sticks it up the Vics in a kindly and dignified manner after the Game.
This will bring back a few memories for the South Aussies who entertained the Vics in 1985.
Once again our Victorian GPD Cricket Club friends visited us on the January long weekend, one of the best weekends that has ever been. As usual, credit goes to that small band of people who worked tirelessly to make it the great success that it was.
The match: Victoria’s 8 for 140 after its 40 overs seemed like a reasonable score, but was made to look like kids’ stuff by Darryl Platten, 71, and Ross Amiguet, 58 not out, passing the required score with 7 overs and 8 wickets in hand, giving the S.A. boys their third win in a row.
The Saturday Night cabaret was a joyous affair, with the beautiful Tina St Clair and Lew Murray’s band for entertainment.
Even the involvement by members of both clubs in a talent contest brought a spontaneous reception by the audience, although one of the contestants “spat the dummy” and threw away his rattle!
Does anyone know who this person was, all these years down the track?
Come Monday, arguably THE best day of the weekend, and members and partners boarded the Show Boat for a trip down the Port River. Kevin Lindblom provided the bawdy entertainment and a great feed was on offer.
Darryl Platten – Man of the Match Pewter.
Lew Morrison – Jeff Morey Trophy for idiotic performances OFF the field and $35 worth of diesel fuel
Bob Allen and his committee were congratulated for giving everyone “a weekend that will live in our hearts forever and ever”.
Boof is on the left in this photo taken at the Unley Oval, probably back in the 1980s.
It was at the Annual Cricket match between the South Australian Government Printer and our Victorian counterpart. These stirring encounters took place on the Australia Day Weekend in January and started in the early 1950s.
Were they a chance to have a wild time, get pissed and watch others sweat it out in the middle of a cricket field in the sweltering heat of an Aussie Summer? Most definitely, YES!
Anyway, here we have Boof, Boofhead, Scooter Boots, Colsa or Molsa (alias Colin Rawlings) with his little toady mate Dave Barber.
I think they were imitating (very poorly) some skit that Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee) had done on his weekly show in the Oz.
Boof had been an apprentice in the comp room at the Griffin Press in the 1960s and had graduated to the Old Guv in the 1970s.
Big timer, done everything, knew everything sort of bloke who could be a mate one second and then….
Nick Penn and Ashley (Mork) Williams were the two most jealous and envious men ever to “work” at Netley.
These two henpecked home hubbies were not allowed to join the Cricket Club and they were green with envy when a trip was coming up.
So they both decided to Sabotage one of our trips to Victoria.
Leading up to the Friday departure John Freebairn and I put three large 20 litre Plastic Bottles by our work tables.
They would be used for p****ng into during the Bus Trip to Melbourne.
During the afternoon shift our two jealous cretins put holes in the bottom of the three large bottles.
Now Nick has always claimed that he didn’t do it, he just watched!
Nick will always be seen as an accessory to this fiendish and loathsome act of two very envious men.
By the time we arrived at Bordertown it was obvious what had happened.
Stinking piss was running down the bus aisle and causing absolute chaos amongst our senior members.
We dumped the foul bottles in a rubbish bin on the side of the Highway.
When we arrived back at work on the Wednesday, all Nick would say was, “It wasn’t Me!” “It wasn’t Me!”.
The Cricket Trip wasn’t spoilt by these two malicious cretins.
Did I get them back? “Of course!”
For the next six months Mork’s morning tea or lunch would sometimes mysteriously disappear from the Tea Room fridge whilst Nick accused someone else for his unfortunate bit of “bad luck”.
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”.