Page 98 - moondani kyema
P. 98
ndani kyema, My Story - Ray Moore 98
As I mentioned in my story of my National Service experience in 1954, I have always
loved driving, so having my own wheels was very important to me.
Vehicles have been a part of my life for a long time. My first vehicle was literally a
dream come true. At 18 I was working just off the top end of Elizabeth Street in
Melbourne, and my lunch hours were always spent walking the few hundred metres
down Elizabeth Street. Here I was able to look at and dream about owning one of
the powerful motor bikes which graced the windows and much of the footpath.
Finally I became the proud owner of an AJS 350. Much of our courting was done on
this magnificent machine and most week days I took Bev to work in the city before
going on to my place of work in Port Melbourne. I worked in an office and had to
wear a suit, so part of the equipment I needed was a lap rug fitted to the bike and a
leather jacket and gloves with water proof overpants to keep me dry on wet days. All
this equipment went over the top of my suit, and when I arrived at work I was able to
walk through the door of the office, immaculate, even on the wettest of days. The use
of the word ‘immaculate’ is probably not well chosen as I have never been great at
dressing up.
We had some good times on our
AJS, and I always felt so good
with Bev behind me with her
arms held tightly around my
waist. One episode occurred
when I was on my own. Paul
Grant, who was also born in
China (we had met before I was
12 months old) invited me to
spend a holiday with him at
Urana in southern NSW to look
after a friend’s farm while they
were away on holiday.
I enjoyed the long drive there
from Melbourne on my bike, and arrived safely at this wheat belt town, but not before
I had run out of petrol a few kilometres short of my destination, and been helped out
by a friendly and generous farmer.
Paul and I had a great time. We shot rabbits and I cooked them. We drove around
the sheep to check them and some cattle that were also on the farm. One day we
set up a target on the gatepost at the entrance to the house block. The fence line to
the right of the gate was largely marked by a high hedge which acted as a windbreak
for the house. After we had been shooting for a while with, in my case, a
questionable degree of skill, we heard a groan from behind the hedge just after one
of my shots. On investigating, we found one of the cows on the ground with a bullet
hole right in the centre of its curl, the spot on the head where professionals aim for a
quick death. But this was some metres to the right of our target, and, bad as my aim
might have been, it couldn’t have been that bad! We soon discovered that the bullet
had hit a knot on the gatepost and deflected at a sharp angle and the cow had not
been in a good position. The local butcher would not take dead meat as he was
As I mentioned in my story of my National Service experience in 1954, I have always
loved driving, so having my own wheels was very important to me.
Vehicles have been a part of my life for a long time. My first vehicle was literally a
dream come true. At 18 I was working just off the top end of Elizabeth Street in
Melbourne, and my lunch hours were always spent walking the few hundred metres
down Elizabeth Street. Here I was able to look at and dream about owning one of
the powerful motor bikes which graced the windows and much of the footpath.
Finally I became the proud owner of an AJS 350. Much of our courting was done on
this magnificent machine and most week days I took Bev to work in the city before
going on to my place of work in Port Melbourne. I worked in an office and had to
wear a suit, so part of the equipment I needed was a lap rug fitted to the bike and a
leather jacket and gloves with water proof overpants to keep me dry on wet days. All
this equipment went over the top of my suit, and when I arrived at work I was able to
walk through the door of the office, immaculate, even on the wettest of days. The use
of the word ‘immaculate’ is probably not well chosen as I have never been great at
dressing up.
We had some good times on our
AJS, and I always felt so good
with Bev behind me with her
arms held tightly around my
waist. One episode occurred
when I was on my own. Paul
Grant, who was also born in
China (we had met before I was
12 months old) invited me to
spend a holiday with him at
Urana in southern NSW to look
after a friend’s farm while they
were away on holiday.
I enjoyed the long drive there
from Melbourne on my bike, and arrived safely at this wheat belt town, but not before
I had run out of petrol a few kilometres short of my destination, and been helped out
by a friendly and generous farmer.
Paul and I had a great time. We shot rabbits and I cooked them. We drove around
the sheep to check them and some cattle that were also on the farm. One day we
set up a target on the gatepost at the entrance to the house block. The fence line to
the right of the gate was largely marked by a high hedge which acted as a windbreak
for the house. After we had been shooting for a while with, in my case, a
questionable degree of skill, we heard a groan from behind the hedge just after one
of my shots. On investigating, we found one of the cows on the ground with a bullet
hole right in the centre of its curl, the spot on the head where professionals aim for a
quick death. But this was some metres to the right of our target, and, bad as my aim
might have been, it couldn’t have been that bad! We soon discovered that the bullet
had hit a knot on the gatepost and deflected at a sharp angle and the cow had not
been in a good position. The local butcher would not take dead meat as he was
