When Bill Haley hit the airways with ‘Rock Around the Clock’, it started a revolution of both sound and lifestyle. Closely followed by Buddy Holly and Elvis, this intoxicating music had an incendiary effect on the teenagers of the time. The Young Farmer dances became alive with rock’n roll which went on into the small hours. A number of parents allowed our Young Farmers Club to use their homes for parties but none were more hospitable than Mr and Mrs Stuart Hollins of Dalyston who renovated their home with open hospitality in mind. The parties we held there were amazing for they had great sound and the space to dance. Mrs Hollins did express wonder as to how so many bottles managed to be in the garden the next day. Overall they were tolerant and felt, I believe, it was better to have us, including their two sons and a daughter, under some sort of supervision than none. It was a happy time and I was grateful.
All these events were happening for the most part at night because I worked at the factory seven days a week through the flush and for much of the season. I had been 15 when I had started at the Glen Forbes factory. By now I was 16, beyond parental control. Cheese making was hard and heavy work with no distinction made between what was done by a man or a boy, it was all the same to management. I was doing a man’s work so I spent my spare time and money in pursuit of a good time to distract myself. While on the surface I was apparently happy, inwardly I craved the guidance and intervention of a stronger hand because I knew I was wasting time that might otherwise have led to a productive, stimulating career. Like my fellow workers at the factory, we were resentful of the indifference and the poor conditions but opportunities were limited due to our lack of education and in my case, the need to be financially independent.
Another mutual friend of Roger and I was Ken McKenzie. Ken was about 10 years older than us and owned a taxi he ran in the bayside suburb of Hampton. He also owned a large beautifully kept Jaguar in which he frequently turned up at many local dances because his family lived in Grantville. Between dances we would retire to the car for refreshments and, as it happened, Ken always had a boot full. His generosity seemed to know no bounds. Thus began a ritual that went on for years and only ceased when girlfriends were able to provide more compelling entertainment. Long after we had cars of our own we would take girls home and then meet at different agreed locations to party on through the night. Ken even had a PA sound system in the boot of his car. The usual six to ten of us had a great time with music while drinking.
One Sunday morning Mum came in to see me as I was recovering from such a night. She knew when I had drunk too much because I was unable to start the motorbike when I returned from Roger’s place. They lived so high on the hill I could roll from there down the gorge to our gate and leave the bike lying on the side of the road. This morning she sat on my bed in tears, ‘You will become a drunk like your Grandfather,’ she said, and then asked who I had been with. I replied, ‘I was with Ken.’ She sniffed back a tear and offered the most amazing observation, ‘Ken,’ she alleged, ‘is employed by Carlton and United to recruit new drinkers.’
In about 1957, during the slow time of autumn, Ken, Rochfort Abrahamson (known as Tex) and I drove to Queensland in the Jaguar, sleeping at night in makeshift camps on the side of the road. The holiday was an eye opener for unsophisticated country boys such as us. We called into the new development of Surfers Paradise before arriving in Brisbane. I recall the steam train we caught at Roma Street to visit the beach at Sandgate. Overall it was a wonderful, informative time and Ken bore most of the cost.
By 1958, I was entertaining all manner of different career choices but none created more angst than my attempt to join the Navy. In response to an advertisement, I applied for the position of trainee engine mechanic and was invited for assessment at the centre in Queens Road, St Kilda. I passed the physical examination and was then assessed for aptitude before finally having a psychological exam in which I was asked, ‘How do you think you will manage the discipline?’ I hesitated on this at some length, but, was finally passed and invited to sign on for nine years. I was not yet eighteen and I had to obtain parental consent. Mum refused to sign and an almighty argument ensued. She refused to sign because she felt I could do better and maintained I would never manage the nine years. My protestations were ignored and slowly the opportunity passed. Then I saw an advertisement offering the opportunity to train as a herd tester. I applied and was accepted. During my holidays, I attended the three week training program for herd testing at the Burnley Horticultural College and qualified. Ironically, the butter factory offered me a course at Werribee to train as a qualified cheese maker, but it was too late.
CHAPTER 7
THE HERD TESTER
Once qualified, I successfully applied for the position of herd tester with the Phillip Island & Archie’s Creek Herd Test Association to begin on the 1st of December 1958. This was in anticipation of obtaining my driving license in January when I would be 18. To carry the equipment for testing, I bought a 1930, V8 Oakland car in almost original condition, but it succumbed within months to the extravagant demands I made upon it. Flush with a salary of £23 a week, I bought a Hillman Husky on time payment and became a reliable herd tester. The Hillman was essentially a small two door station wagon with a simple lift up rear seat when required. The small side valve motor ensured I had to be content with reliability rather than speed. Being a herd tester entailed working for the Archie’s Creek and Phillip Island Association of twenty four farmers who received an incentive from the Department of Agriculture to test their cows for butterfat. The results of the testing provided an objective production record from which farmers could select and breed from the best cows. I carried ten test buckets with lids, a centrifuge turned by hand and about 200 test bottles with rubber stoppers set in tin trays of 24. For the sampling I had an assortment of glassware including a burette, a number of pippettes, graduated test flasks and a large carboy of sulphuric acid. The test buckets were placed in the line of the milking machine so that each cow’s milk could be trapped, allowing me to weigh it and take a proportionate sample before tipping the balance into the large vat for collection by the butter factory truck. This was done for both the evening and morning milking.
I stayed on each farm once a month because the farms of the association were widely spread. The process was repeated every month. Farmers not in the association would also approach me and request a periodic test so for additional income, on completion of my regular round, I would test them also. For much of the year I worked every day either testing or doing farm work on an hourly rate. In Victoria at that time, the State herd average per cow was less than 300lb of butterfat. A number of herds in the Archie’s Creek and Phillip Island Association exceeded 300lb while the top producer in our association, averaged over 400lb per cow each year.
The calving records required that all calves be tattooed in each ear so that each animal carried a reliable record of its breeding. The tattooing of calves could be great fun because it required the farmer to know which calf belonged to which of the cows that had calved since the previous visit. In general, it was the farmer’s children or his wife who knew best because they were more often involved in the calf rearing process. The numbers put in one ear recorded the number assigned to the calf and the farm code, with a prefix for the year. The other ear carried the dam’s number and the sire’s code. It could be great entertainment running down frisky calves in all weathers while adjudicating the odd family argument about which calf belonged to which cow, remembering that every cow had a name as well as a number. On the larger farms at this time, it could mean up to 200 calves being born over three months.
The testing results were a valuable guide for the future breeding program of the farm for most, but for a few it was a chance to get their name in the paper because the results listing the top ten producers were published each month in the local newspaper. To be high on the list carried considerable kudos in a rural community, especially if it could be achieved consistently.
I would arrive on the farm around 3.30 p.m. in time for afternoon tea. I would then set up the equipment while the farmer gathered his cows.