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Johnny goes home
I haven’t been back to my home town for years. There isn’t much there for me anymore, but I had to have one last look before my last big sleep. The town is deserted now, a victim of drought, pestilence and disease. The whole area is under foreign ownership and being “landbanked” for the future.
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It looks like Aus. Where is it?
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That make Issan look prosperous
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The old home. We were really poor but we had a brick house. It was a bit crowded at times in there with 6 kids, but in the winter time we were happy to have the body heat.
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This is the neighbour’s house. I can remember sitting in front of their huge fireplace delousing Peggy Campbell’s hair. She was my girlfriend for a while. They were Scots like us and her father trusted me with her on my honour. Even though I very often had lustful thoughts about her, I never allowed my hands to wander. I later found out that one of my friends was servicing her anyway.
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This was the house of the rich people. He was a stock agent, a sort of a cross between a real estate agent and a used car salesman. He was a miserable bastard and we used to throw rocks on his roof for fun.
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This was the local cop shop. I remember getting dragged there by my ear for some minor misdemeanour, lectured by a loud copper with bad breath and then kicked up the arse with a size 11 boot onto that path out front. I often look back fondly at that experience and believe that it forged my future life. Yes, I never got caught again.
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The local pub. Mum used to send me down to drag dad home for dinner. Women weren’t allowed in hotels in those days unless they were women of ill repute.
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This log construction house was typical for the poorer people.
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The local milliner lived here. She was an attractive, dark haired woman who always looked a million quid. She used to walk around town sticking her bosoms out and we young fellas used to lust over her and her daughter. One of my friends used to reckon that she had her way with him, but I think he was bullshitting.
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The school.
Many happy days were spent here. Everyone had a job to do, and if you failed to do your duty, you would get whacked unmercifully with the cane. The teacher had a cabinet with bamboo canes of all thicknesses and lengths. He would take great pleasure in pulling the different canes out, flexing them and making swishing sounds with them whilst you were awaiting punishment. Once, a fella pissed his pants during this process, to the immense amusement of the class.
My job was to bring in sufficient firewood. One day I found a relatively harmless Whip Snake there, bought it in and put it in his desk drawer. The poor teacher got a hell of a fright and was also bitten on the hand when he tried to remove it. My classmates were laughing like drains. When asked who was responsible, no one snitched, so he caned the whole class except the girls. He was a poor unhappy bastard with a cranky face, and a wife as ugly as a hatful of bums.
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This was the Harbourmaster’s house. He was a lovely old sea captain who had been given this job after a life at sea. He had cut his teeth as a boy on the old sailing ships and what he couldn’t teach you about boats, wasn’t worth knowing. He taught me how to sail.
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This was the brickworks. The old kiln would make great pizza oven.
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The farrier’s house and stables. He would do my horse for free and was an all round good bloke with huge broad shoulders and hands as big as dinner plates. The horses would shudder when they saw him coming and he would smack them in the head if they tried it on.
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Rather enjoy these structural pics. Have this rustic romantic manner about them.
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The Blacksmith’s place complete with bellows and air forced forge. The metal strips against the wall are for putting around wooden cart wheels.
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Is it somewhere around Bendigo or Ballarat?
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Nice pics mate. Any chance of letting us know where it is?
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^ I have been asking that too Marmite. Eucalypt trees in the background.
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This thing is the crow’s nest. The harbourmaster’s assistant would climb up here to sight ships coming up the estuary.
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An old trading boat. Well beyond repair but still afloat.
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This used to be the old Harbourmaster’s boat. He would be turning over in his grave if he could see this skeleton. I remember it as white with blue trim. It had a mast and sail which he would use instead of the new fangled motor whenever he could.
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