Page 105 - moondani kyema
P. 105
ndani kyema, My Story - Ray Moore 105
I worked for Lifeline for eight or nine years and then had a year or so in which I was
unemployed. During this time I did a writing course with International
Correspondence Schools, but later in the year I had to find work again. This time it
was the local abattoirs. I reported for duty and had to don a white apron and a
rather ridiculous looking paper hat. I was sent to the export section where I had to
place a light bag over each of the sheep carcases, and then write on the outside the
weight of the sheep.
My next job was upstairs in the sorting section for beef. Here I had to push two
quarters of beef which were hanging on hooks on a sliding rail overhead and get
them into a room and line them up in a particular way. Now two quarters of beef is a
fair bit of weight, and I was not very fit. After the first push I was out of breath. After
the second push I was wheezing like an old man, and after the third push I was
dying. The shift boss came past and asked me how I was and I put on the most
pathetic look that a dying man could, but he walked straight on and left me to carry
on. I had no choice, but fortunately I got a second wind and eventually started to
enjoy it and looked forward to the challenge.
For some years I had been having trouble with my neck. For instance, when driving
the car, I found that I could not look around to the right or to the left fully without a
good deal of pain. Visits to the chiropractor had been in vain. While I was at the
abattoir I was given another job in which some of the other workers pushed sheep
carcases along the overhead rails to a point at the top of the stairs where I was
stationed. My job was to lift each carcase off the rail they were on and place them on
another rail which would allow them to be pushed downstairs to the loading dock.
This meant that most of the time I had to have my head bent backwards looking up at
the rails to make sure I shifted the hooks to the right place, while at the same time
lifting a couple of hundred fairly heavy sheep carcases. This turned out to be a cure
for my crook neck, because after that I never had any further trouble or pain from it.
And then this same year I had one more job. I went fruit picking near Shepparton at
Tatura. It was a pear orchard and I had driven up with a small caravan which my
brother Alan had loaned me. I was directed to the pickers’ quarters and was glad I
had the caravan as the quarters left much to be desired. When I was ready for work,
I was shown to a section of the orchard where there was a large crate which was
situated between the rows of pear trees with maybe a dozen trees on either side of it.
This was my realm. I could start or finish when I wished and when my crate was full,
I reported to the tally man who would then allocate me another area.
So I was up at 6 am and into the work. I had been given a ladder and a bag which I
hung around my neck and filled with pears. When it was full, I went over to the crate
and undid a hitch on the bottom of the bushel bag and the load of pears dropped out
of the bottom and into the crate. I was ready to give up the job after I had collected
a dozen bags full and deposited them into the crate and it still seemed terribly empty.
However I persevered and eventually filled my first crate. When I heard how fast a
‘gun picker’ could fill one of these crates, I despaired.
I made a good friend while I was working at this orchard. He was an itinerant picker
and was called “Rocky”. Rocky was from South Australia and was a nuggety little
fellow who was probably an amateur boxer. At any rate I was glad I was his friend
and not his enemy. Rocky told me that he was in trouble with the law in South
I worked for Lifeline for eight or nine years and then had a year or so in which I was
unemployed. During this time I did a writing course with International
Correspondence Schools, but later in the year I had to find work again. This time it
was the local abattoirs. I reported for duty and had to don a white apron and a
rather ridiculous looking paper hat. I was sent to the export section where I had to
place a light bag over each of the sheep carcases, and then write on the outside the
weight of the sheep.
My next job was upstairs in the sorting section for beef. Here I had to push two
quarters of beef which were hanging on hooks on a sliding rail overhead and get
them into a room and line them up in a particular way. Now two quarters of beef is a
fair bit of weight, and I was not very fit. After the first push I was out of breath. After
the second push I was wheezing like an old man, and after the third push I was
dying. The shift boss came past and asked me how I was and I put on the most
pathetic look that a dying man could, but he walked straight on and left me to carry
on. I had no choice, but fortunately I got a second wind and eventually started to
enjoy it and looked forward to the challenge.
For some years I had been having trouble with my neck. For instance, when driving
the car, I found that I could not look around to the right or to the left fully without a
good deal of pain. Visits to the chiropractor had been in vain. While I was at the
abattoir I was given another job in which some of the other workers pushed sheep
carcases along the overhead rails to a point at the top of the stairs where I was
stationed. My job was to lift each carcase off the rail they were on and place them on
another rail which would allow them to be pushed downstairs to the loading dock.
This meant that most of the time I had to have my head bent backwards looking up at
the rails to make sure I shifted the hooks to the right place, while at the same time
lifting a couple of hundred fairly heavy sheep carcases. This turned out to be a cure
for my crook neck, because after that I never had any further trouble or pain from it.
And then this same year I had one more job. I went fruit picking near Shepparton at
Tatura. It was a pear orchard and I had driven up with a small caravan which my
brother Alan had loaned me. I was directed to the pickers’ quarters and was glad I
had the caravan as the quarters left much to be desired. When I was ready for work,
I was shown to a section of the orchard where there was a large crate which was
situated between the rows of pear trees with maybe a dozen trees on either side of it.
This was my realm. I could start or finish when I wished and when my crate was full,
I reported to the tally man who would then allocate me another area.
So I was up at 6 am and into the work. I had been given a ladder and a bag which I
hung around my neck and filled with pears. When it was full, I went over to the crate
and undid a hitch on the bottom of the bushel bag and the load of pears dropped out
of the bottom and into the crate. I was ready to give up the job after I had collected
a dozen bags full and deposited them into the crate and it still seemed terribly empty.
However I persevered and eventually filled my first crate. When I heard how fast a
‘gun picker’ could fill one of these crates, I despaired.
I made a good friend while I was working at this orchard. He was an itinerant picker
and was called “Rocky”. Rocky was from South Australia and was a nuggety little
fellow who was probably an amateur boxer. At any rate I was glad I was his friend
and not his enemy. Rocky told me that he was in trouble with the law in South
