One of the proudest moments in my career

“No fighting” in Australia

The job interview at the construction gate was brief, as were most conversations out in Western Australia,

“Any work?“

“No.”

“Where you’re from?”

“Canada.”

“Fair dinkum, Mate! Be back here at 8.”

“OK. “

“There’s no fighting.“

I found the job market in Australia to be great! I worked in 3 states.

I think it was partly the White Australia Policy, officially abolished 3 years after I worked down there. Also, Canadian guys probably had a reputation for showing up in the out of the way places exploring the land of the never never, and were willing to do the tedious strenuous jobs others wouldn’t.

On these sites I got paid cash at the end of every day; the Aussie dollar was worth 10 per cent more than the American dollar; and when I got home a year later, virtually all my income tax was waiting for me.

The next morning my hometown buddy Mike Hoskins and I joined a 5-man pile driver crew, part of Frankipile International. I’ve seen their rigs elsewhere in the world. This one used a 5-ton winch-driven hammer.

Our days were 10 hours shoveling gravel and sand to be pounded. There was some variety as we would lay sleepers (railway ties) in front of the tracks to move the pile driver to a new location. Everyone looked forward to their turn to climb the tower with a heavy hammer (sledge hammer) to drive out the pin so the hammer could be lowered to replace the frayed end of the cable.

It was February, 100 degree days of course, and the 4 of us would create a 10-hour sundial as the shade of the tower rotated across the sand.

Work attire was shorted and flip flops; there is no more agile creature, able to leap to great heights and distances, than an Australian construction worker without steel-toed boots.

The other company on site was simply known as Concrete and, as with many company towns or sites, they were the enemy.

It seemed every day one of our coworkers would remind us,

“No fighting. “

And we would ask,

“Do you get fired? “

“No; you’ll see how it works Saturday night.“

Our accommodation was a crude bunkhouse on a farm wagon. We ate flake (shark), pies & pasties, and a kangaroo we shot one night.

When not working most guys slept, except for Saturday night and Sunday.

Every little community had a resident mascot kangaroo: or crow or, in this case being on the Southern Ocean, a seal .On Saturday night everybody from Franki pile, Concrete, and even the town seal would go to one of the few buildings in Esperance, which was a combination warehouse, beer/wine hall, and dance hall, although there really weren’t any women in this part of Australia.

Everyone was given the opportunity to have a dance with the boss’s wife.

At the end of the night our boss from Frankipile and the boss for Concrete would square off in the middle of the dance floor, take off their shirts, and beat the living shit out of each other as only Australians can do. It was always a draw.

All of us in the hall from both companies, except maybe the seal, were fully aware that this would be what we would be dealing with if we were to get in a fight, either on or off the job; this was the way it worked.

When Mike and I worked our last day, the boss told us we could knock off early. As we worked our way across the sand dunes to the gate, all the machinery and equipment went silent. We turned around. Every man from both companies had lined up, and our boss was balanced on top of the tower holding a salute.

Probably one of the proudest moments in my long working career!