I had a pretty wild time growing up in Orbost on the mouth of the Snowy River. It was a working town with a mix of dairy farmers, timber fallers, sleeper cutters, truckies and labourers. There was work for those who wanted to work, and our social life centred around the two pubs in town, a couple of billiard rooms, AFL footy, cricket, boxing, and tennis on the weekends, and the popular country dance in the Newmerella Hall on a Saturday night.
We were high-spirited young blokes and spent the odd night as guests of the local constabulary from time to time. It mattered not that they were also our fathers’ mates! Our publican was also the local Justice of the Peace. The standard cost of the night’s accommodation was ten quid, which equated to a week’s wages and kept us on the straight and narrow.
The cycle was broken when my National Service call-up papers arrived in the mail.
