Beneath the Southern Cross

26. Beneath the Southern Cross

It was December 1961. Every year the West Australian and Daily News newspapers took on two new cadet photographers. I had been watching for the ads and when they never appeared I wrote to the newspaper and asked when they would advertise. They wrote back saying that due to a financial cutback they weren’t taking on any new staff. Suddenly my world looked empty and I needed an alternative.

I checked out all the advertisements and started applying for jobs. I applied to the WA Government Railways, Royal Globe Insurance, several banks, Southern Cross machinery and the Education Department.  I gained interviews for all these jobs and received offers from most. I was offered the position of a junior clerk at the Wyalkatchem Railway Station, a trainee bank officer with the Commonwealth Bank, another with Royal Globe Insurance. I was hesitating, unsure and procrastinating.

Then I attended the most bewildering interview of my life. It was for the position of trainee windmill salesman with Southern Cross Machinery. The factory and administration buildings were  non-descript, corrugated iron buildings alongside a railway line in Welshpool. Mr Savage was the manager; Savage by name and nature!  A tallish, mid-weight ‘suit’ in his forties he greeted me in a friendly professional manner. He told me that he had some ‘tests’ for me. That was a surprise – I expected an interview or chat. Mr Savage started by reading a list of about nine digits like 5, 7, 1, 0, 6, 1, 4, 8, 9.  He then smiled at me and asked me to repeat the numbers! I had a shot but missed by one or two.

That was just the warm-up. Then came the big one! With a glint in his eye, Mr Savage took a single sheet of quarto paper and folded it about six times until it was a small rectangle. I was confused. He then removed a pair of scissors from his top drawer and cut a series of dolls or paper pattern from the rectangle. I was more confused than ever. Mr Savage then handed me a second blank sheet of paper and a pencil. I could see he was enjoying this.

‘I want you to draw the pattern that will appear when I unwrap my sheet of paper’

(What? Holy hell!)

I had no idea at all what the resulting pattern would look like. But I had a go and drew a pattern on the paper.

Savage unwrapped his pattern and it bore no resemblance whatsoever to my drawing.

Finally Mr Savage looked at me thoughtfully.

‘What’s your appetite like?’

‘Good, really good’ thinking I was to be offered coffee and cake

‘For work’, he continued

‘You can start on Monday.’

I was shocked. I thought ‘What did the other applicant’s drawings look like!’

So I had a job. I was to be trained as a windmill salesman but I started as an assistant in administration – mainly opening the mail and sorting some simple accounts. Each day I caught buses and trains from Wembley to Welshpool in stifling heat wearing a shirt and tie.  

It was stinking hot in mid-summer and I had to wear a shirt and tie. They didn’t tell me that a trainee windmill salesman started off by opening mail, filing invoices and making the morning tea! Making the morning tea was the worst. The office staff were mainly young women in their twenties. Each morning I had to buy milk and cakes from a delicatessen on the other side of the railway line about half a mile away. So while the office girls sat around and gossiped I trekked daily to the deli and back. Then I made tea and coffee for the office staff. I soon tired of this job and decided on a plan. Next day I dropped a bottle of milk on the railway line and they went short. The office girls weren’t impressed. Two days later I squashed all the cakes. The day after that I was relieved of morning tea duties.

Southern Cross Machinery sold black polypropylene pipe for water pipes on farms. One morning I opened a letter from a farmer complaining that termites had eaten the pipe. Mr Savage wrote to the farmer telling him he was wrong; it was impossible that termites could eat poly pipe. A week later I opened a package from the same farmer. Inside was a three-inch section of black poly pipe aerated with holes and complete with half a dozen live and running termites. The note inside said ‘Just to prove a point’.

For six weeks I continued opening the mail, filing the invoices and putting up with the female jibes. I felt I was harnessed to a desk job and I wanted to be outside and not wearing a shirt and tie. One Thursday I arrived home hot and tired and Mum handed me an official looking envelope. The letter was an acceptance from the Education Department to train as a teacher. I was so relieved and happy. I thought anything would be better than Southern Cross. My mind was made up in an instant. I would give my notice to the ‘Savage One’ the following day.

Just after lunch on the Friday I gingerly approached Mr Savage’s office and knocked. He looked up momentarily from his paperwork.

‘Yes, what is it?’

I was very nervous. My voice faltered.

‘I just wanted to tell you that I am leaving and giving a week’s notice’

He was silent for a second or two. I could hear my heart beating.  His jaw dropped. Oh, shit, I thought. Maybe my heart wouldn’t be beating much longer. He looked as though someone had just run over his dog or his mother-in-law had come to stay.

Then he stood up. His face looked as though it was going to ignite.

‘That’s a fine bloody thing to do to me.’ His voice rising.

‘And just what are you planning to do?’

‘I’m going to go to Teachers College; I’m going to be a teacher’

Then he went crazy.

‘We selected you from all the applicants! We trained you! We’ve given you a good job. You’re just bloody ungrateful. Good riddance to bad rubbish.’

He slammed his fist down several times on his desk.

‘GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! GET OUT!’

I backed out of the office not daring to turn my back on the raging bull. As I did so I caught the eyes of some of the office girls. They had heard the commotion but didn’t understand what it was about. And I didn’t tell them. But for the remainder of the afternoon they were whispering and sniggering to each other and giving me suspicious looks.

My last week at Southern Cross moved like treacle in winter. I counted the days, the hours and the minutes. I did my work and spoke only if spoken to. Gradually, the office girls found out I was leaving. They said little or nothing to me. On my last day I braced myself for any last minute altercations. Mid afternoon one of the senior girls came to me.

‘Mr Savage wants to see you in his office.’

Dam. I hadn’t seen Savage all week and was hoping to depart without any further ill will. But I had to front up to him.

I went to his office and knocked. Mr Savage invited me in and asked me to sit down. We looked at each other. I had prepared myself for a final tirade. But it didn’t arrive.

His voice was measured. He was restrained and composed, but not happy.

‘Sorry about what I said last Friday. Its just that I was expecting you to stay’

‘That’s OK’ I tried a smile but my face was frozen.

‘Look’, he hesitated

‘You were doing quite well here and the girls in the office liked you’

I thought he was wrong on both counts but I wasn’t going to argue with him while I was on a winning streak.

‘Thank you Sir’

‘And one more thing’

Savage looked me in the eye.

 ‘If it doesn’t work out for you at teacher’s College, Southern Cross has a job waiting for you here anytime in the next six months.’

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

The guy with the paper dolls had a heart after all. A savage one. But a heart.

I shook his hand and bid him good day.

Treat me nice
Treat me good
Treat me like you really should
'Cause I'm not made of wood
And I don't have a wooden heart

I went back to my desk and packed my bag and said goodbye to the office girls. I walked in a dream cloud to the station. As the train pulled I bid farewell to windmills, office girls and the savage one. Forever.  I could feel a hidden rhythm stirring in my body. Sharp sunlight splintered on the faces of the passengers at 24 frames a second; snapshots of their faces; where was my camera?  There were so many miles to go before I die. Miles filled with choices. Miles with adventure. Miles with crossroads. I had just reached a crossroad and made a choice. My eyes closed and I drifted and sailed.

I saw her gentle, fine face.

She was part of me and I was part of her.

Wherever we may travel.

Whatever we may go through.