Me (middle) terrorising the Punters in Dubbo
Not a candidate for Toddlers & Tiaras, clearly...
Stale cigarette smoke and the gentle aroma
of urine. Sweaty men in shearer’s singlets drinking large schooners of KB while
listening to the races on the radio. The large steaks going out to punters over
the bar, as my parents poured beers and kept the banter going.
Not a scenario that one many kids may
identify as one’s first memory, but it is mine.
I
was the child of Country Publicans.
Mum and Dad owned country pubs in New South
Wales. Narrabri and Dubbo to be precise. This was an honorable pursuit in an
era where the Country Pub was the heart of any rural community. Dad would call “Last Drinks” before escorting the
intoxicated out to their waiting cars. There was no such thing as a booze bus
back then. The biggest worry was wrapping your car and yourself around a
telegraph pole or collecting a kangaroo on route to home.
Mum was the cook in the pub and her
specialty was Corned Silverside with Onion Sauce. She was famous for it. Men
would travel from afar to eat her silverside, which was boiled in water seasoned
with cloves, carrots and celery.
Donna
Hay? Thoughts? Are we still advocating such culinary practices?
During the 1971 floods though, her cooking
reputation came under fire after an incident that saw dozens of men’s health
put at risk. The trucks were unable to pass through the town, due to the fact
that all the roads were underwater, so the drivers took it upon themselves to
make the most of their situation.
This particular situation centered around
fermented liquids.
Because they were either bunking upstairs
in the lone star accommodation my family’s hotel provided, or in the cabin of
their trucks, all meals were taken at the pub.
Day three of the unplanned stranding, the
truckers arrived and the lads were hungry.
My grandparents had been visiting and found themselves stuck in town and
on the unpaid payroll. The men filed in expecting breakfast, so Mum got
cracking.
Eggs.
A dozen fellas hoovered up plates of
scrambled eggs and toast and washed it down with a glass of amber liquid.
Praised was heaped on the chef before another day of watching the water flow
through the public bar commenced.
Later that morning, Mum gave herself a time
out and along with her Dad, enjoyed a cup of tea. Mum asked her father to pass
the milk, as he had done during her epic egg-whisking episode earlier. She looked concerned as the milk curdled in
her tea and even more concerned when she realized that she had used cloudy
ammonia floor cleaner in her much praised scrambled eggs.
She immediately walked into the public bar
and demanded that all the truckers put down their schooners and drink a litre
of milk, proper non-floor-cleaning milk, really quick.
This was back in the day when you did not
get sued for looking at someone sideways.
My parents were particularly proud for
being pioneers when it came to introducing Dubbo to strobe lighting.
Particularly proud. Someone had to start the disco, and it was Mum and Dad.
What is YOUR earliest memory?
Did you grow up in a different scenario
than your kids currently are?
