I remember well that day in the 1960s, when NINE brave senior men decided it was appropriate to threaten three young apprentices, that if they did not get their beautiful hair cut at the barbers, they would cut it for them.
Two of the intended victims rushed off to the hairdressers during the lunch break but only one stood firm against the vigilante group.
After spending most of the morning avoiding his assailants, he was obliged to return to his work frame because he had not yet achieved his necessary time quota on his timesheet.
That afternoon, the inevitable happened, eight big men held him down whilst the ninth cut his hair.
The next day, the victim stormed into Les Hawes’ office, the then Government Printer, and demanded the matter to be addressed.
Les Hawes reminded the apprentice that it was his office and it was not considered appropriate to bang your fist on his desk.
A week later the apprentice was sent a cautionary letter from the Association President, that the association rules did not allow him to go to the Government Printer without Association representation.
Quite humorous really, when the President, may well have been one of the nine people who were involved in the HAIRCUT thuggery.
The great white hunters from KWR led by the intrepid Ken “Bare-Handed” Davis, Graham “The Guide” Mutrie and Barry “Gunman” Basford, descended on a property at Langhornes Creek to denude it of its rabbits.
After the dust and gunsmoke had settled the score was:
Rabbits Shot Dead, Zero –
Wabbits caught with a Crab Net, Three –
Rabbits not shot dead or caught in the Crab Net – Lots! –
Casualties of War (hurt while wrestling a bunny and injured whilst turning the car radio on), Two.
Ken Davis after emptying a full magazine at a bunny, at less than a metre then savagely leapt upon the bunny and Kenny “Bare Hands” sustained severe lacerations (the bunny escaped).
Graham “The Guide” Mutrie came up with the idea of using the Crab Net and the bewildered Wabbits not knowing this unique method of capture were caught, all three of them.
Sleeps (Graham) has now written a manual during his sober moments called “Crabbing the Wabbits”.
The quiet, earnest and depressed Barry “Gunman” Basford had a very poor day. (He was worrying about Lost Overtime).
The Bunnies demanded a Return Match with the great white hunters.
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.
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.