I am Australia's Lorikeet,
And I wrote this very fast,
You are a beaut, I thee salute,
Elizabeth the Last.
Denis Kevans
It could be said that in 1954 I had a fairly intimate relationship with the Queen of England. I pissed in her toilet, sat at her dining table and waved from her balcony in the approved regal manner at the passing loyal objects.
I lie not.
After the 1949 coal strike I started work in the N.S.W. Railways.
Airconditioning had just begun to be installed in NSW country trains. I had served my time as an electrical fitter so was fairly skilled all round and not just a 'common wire jerker' (an electricians' in joke). At the Leichhardt bus workshops where I started my five year apprenticeship there were thirteen electricians. Six were CPA members, three were 'fellow travellers', two were neutral and two hostile. What chance did I have? Besides which the Party was illegal. So I joined the majority.
It wasn't quite like that at Eveleigh. Maybe a fair number of 'sympathisers' but no party members amongst us 'bribed aristocracy of the working class' that Lenin referred to when writing about the 'labour lieutenants of the bourgeoisie' who provide the Social Democrats with their cadres. G'day, Barrie Unsworth, old mate!
The Party branch of some twenty to thirty were spread all over the Carriage workshops from Refern to Macdonaldtown. Similarly over the tracks at Loco from Redfern to Erskineville. So too at Chullora and elsewhere. Someday we will write the names and stories of these working class heroes.
Most of the more politically skilful and developed comrades were from the ranks of the 'unskilled' workers. Funny that.
This widespread network of activists was shown in the Shop Committee and Shop Stewards' Union movement. These basic class organisations did not confine themselves to trade union demands. They took up wider issues of politics as you shall see.
The Railway Shop Committees were coordinated through a Central Council. The Council and it's workshop committees were an important adjunct of the trade union movement. At the same time it was independent of them. It was not constrained by Labor Party affiliation nor the strictures of the State Arbitration system. Handy indeed. And this grass roots movement weilded great influence among tens of thousands of railway workers for many years.
Ted Walsham was the father figure and General Secretary. He worked in the bogie section of the Carriage Workshops, one of the dirtiest jobs. Always impressive, albeit sometimes dogmatic, he was highly respected by the militants and other workers. The CCRSC produced a paper called. the 'Magnet' that had wide support throughout the rail system. It played an important ideological role among the troops and organisationally.
Settled into the job, my main work was to overhaul the motor and compressor unit on the original Silver City Comet running to Broken Hill. This meant removing these very heavy machines from under the train with the assistance of two off-siders. If you ignored the baked shit and piss, the stinking, dead bush animals, the layers of congealed grease and bulldust, it wasn't such a bad job.
The problem was, it was charged with the old time refrigerant, Sulphur Dioxide. Deadly. Pungent and choking as Dante and others have described about the place that awaits all you sinners. The method of removing this crap was to pump it out into holding containers as a liquid until only gas was left in the lines. Then, the main valve had to be cracked and you let her rip.
The next problem was - that to do this you had to be under the train where they had located the exhaust valve. So you had to move quick when it opened. The trick was to dive under the mass of hanging equipment and wriggle like a snake over the rail before it got you. At this stage my two helpers always scarpered.
One day I missed. In the dive my boot caught on a vee flange and jammed. By the time I'd ripped my foot out of the boot I had a lungful. So I've been to the nether sulphur regions before you all and why do people still keep telling me to give up smoking?
In due course I became ETU shop steward (g'day again, Barrie) and Secretary of the local shop committee.
At a meeting to relay the decisions of the Central Council, I came to the bit about opposing Australia's involvement in the yank war in Korea, going strong at the time. I suggested we call a lunch hour meeting and invite a speaker from the anti-war movement. Mick Croot, a nice enough bloke and ALP stalwart on the job, jumped up and made a speech about manipulating Communists, this not being trade union business and the need for a bit more patriotism. He got to yelling and thumping the table. Real heated. Pisser Davis was chairing and he said:
"Listen here, Mick. This is serious business about peace in the world. You're only bringing politics into it .... and if you don't shut up, I'll take you outside and punch your fuckin head in."
Anyway we had the meeting, had a chuck-in and raised a few quid for the cause.
Now we get to the important part of the story.
Reg, the foreman, comes to me and says. "What's your attitude to the royal family?". So I said to Reg:
"After the revolution all those bludgers will be given jobs over at Loco shovelling shit in the cinders and ashes pit."
Reg said, "I shouldn't have asked. I expected that from you. The thing is the queen is coming next year and we have to do up the royal carriage. They want it airconditioned and we want you to do it. I was TOLD to ask that question." Pause. "There'll be lots of overtime and maybe a bonus if you work over Christmas and New Year."
He won me. Never knock back an easy quid. So I said, casual like, back to Reg.
"Yair."
The old, turn of the century carriage was beautiful. Artist tradesmen had built it so. Intricate wooden scroll work, hand crafted. Gold leaf everywhere. Rare antique furniture. And the bed? Even the dunny was a thing of great artistry. Priceless, as Paul Keating might say.
Now we get a bit technical. Sorry. After we had done all the machinery and piping installation underneath it had to be charged with gas. Unlike friend Sulphur the refrigerant was Dichorodiflouromethane. Try saying that with a mouthful of Smith's chips. Freon for short.
The five foot metal bottle swung from a weight scale to measure the amount to be charged into the system. You heat the bottle with an oxy-aceteline torch. Just enough to change the liquid to gas and drive it into the system. Gently, ever so gently, so as to not get it too hot or the safety plug might blow.
I was listening on the radio to Rosewell and Hoad beat the stuffing out of the yanks in the fifth and deciding set of the Davis Cup that year. Very exciting.
Yes! I overheated the bastard. BANG/WHOOSH! The plug blew, the bottle ricocheted off the tripod, a bit like the NASA Challenger. I dropped the torch and ran. Stuff the queen. The oxy torch landed on all the carpenters shavings in the pit and a fire started.
Deadly!
Not to worry, no real damage done. I think I convinced the subsequent inquiry by the powers-that-be that it must have been a faulty plug. It couldn't be found anyway - probably down past Redfern Station.
And so came the test run. We pulled out of the siding past Erko, ran through St. Peters, Sydenham and down the track. And on the back platform we proletarians stood, giving the royal salute (YES! YES! TWO PIES WITH SAUCE!!) to the amazed peasants at every station, over their back yards and along the side roads.
That's the closest I ever got to royals. Mind you, I didn't think the royal throne was all that comfortable. Dunno what she thought. As Gertrude Stein might say --- 'a shithouse seat is a shithouseseat isashithouseseatisashit.................
***** [The Lorikeet called her the Satin Dracula. He said the Dodi family made their enormous wealth from the arms trade].
SO.
THE SATIN DRACULA WHO SUCKS THE BLEEDING STUMPS OF LITTLE CHILDREN BY DAY AND IS FUCKED AT NIGHT BY THOSE WHO SELL THE LAND MINES. PARASITES ALL.
LONG LIVE 'CREEVE ROE'!
And I wrote this very fast,
You are a beaut, I thee salute,
Elizabeth the Last.
Denis Kevans
It could be said that in 1954 I had a fairly intimate relationship with the Queen of England. I pissed in her toilet, sat at her dining table and waved from her balcony in the approved regal manner at the passing loyal objects.
I lie not.
After the 1949 coal strike I started work in the N.S.W. Railways.
Airconditioning had just begun to be installed in NSW country trains. I had served my time as an electrical fitter so was fairly skilled all round and not just a 'common wire jerker' (an electricians' in joke). At the Leichhardt bus workshops where I started my five year apprenticeship there were thirteen electricians. Six were CPA members, three were 'fellow travellers', two were neutral and two hostile. What chance did I have? Besides which the Party was illegal. So I joined the majority.
It wasn't quite like that at Eveleigh. Maybe a fair number of 'sympathisers' but no party members amongst us 'bribed aristocracy of the working class' that Lenin referred to when writing about the 'labour lieutenants of the bourgeoisie' who provide the Social Democrats with their cadres. G'day, Barrie Unsworth, old mate!
The Party branch of some twenty to thirty were spread all over the Carriage workshops from Refern to Macdonaldtown. Similarly over the tracks at Loco from Redfern to Erskineville. So too at Chullora and elsewhere. Someday we will write the names and stories of these working class heroes.
Most of the more politically skilful and developed comrades were from the ranks of the 'unskilled' workers. Funny that.
This widespread network of activists was shown in the Shop Committee and Shop Stewards' Union movement. These basic class organisations did not confine themselves to trade union demands. They took up wider issues of politics as you shall see.
The Railway Shop Committees were coordinated through a Central Council. The Council and it's workshop committees were an important adjunct of the trade union movement. At the same time it was independent of them. It was not constrained by Labor Party affiliation nor the strictures of the State Arbitration system. Handy indeed. And this grass roots movement weilded great influence among tens of thousands of railway workers for many years.
Ted Walsham was the father figure and General Secretary. He worked in the bogie section of the Carriage Workshops, one of the dirtiest jobs. Always impressive, albeit sometimes dogmatic, he was highly respected by the militants and other workers. The CCRSC produced a paper called. the 'Magnet' that had wide support throughout the rail system. It played an important ideological role among the troops and organisationally.
Settled into the job, my main work was to overhaul the motor and compressor unit on the original Silver City Comet running to Broken Hill. This meant removing these very heavy machines from under the train with the assistance of two off-siders. If you ignored the baked shit and piss, the stinking, dead bush animals, the layers of congealed grease and bulldust, it wasn't such a bad job.
The problem was, it was charged with the old time refrigerant, Sulphur Dioxide. Deadly. Pungent and choking as Dante and others have described about the place that awaits all you sinners. The method of removing this crap was to pump it out into holding containers as a liquid until only gas was left in the lines. Then, the main valve had to be cracked and you let her rip.
The next problem was - that to do this you had to be under the train where they had located the exhaust valve. So you had to move quick when it opened. The trick was to dive under the mass of hanging equipment and wriggle like a snake over the rail before it got you. At this stage my two helpers always scarpered.
One day I missed. In the dive my boot caught on a vee flange and jammed. By the time I'd ripped my foot out of the boot I had a lungful. So I've been to the nether sulphur regions before you all and why do people still keep telling me to give up smoking?
In due course I became ETU shop steward (g'day again, Barrie) and Secretary of the local shop committee.
At a meeting to relay the decisions of the Central Council, I came to the bit about opposing Australia's involvement in the yank war in Korea, going strong at the time. I suggested we call a lunch hour meeting and invite a speaker from the anti-war movement. Mick Croot, a nice enough bloke and ALP stalwart on the job, jumped up and made a speech about manipulating Communists, this not being trade union business and the need for a bit more patriotism. He got to yelling and thumping the table. Real heated. Pisser Davis was chairing and he said:
"Listen here, Mick. This is serious business about peace in the world. You're only bringing politics into it .... and if you don't shut up, I'll take you outside and punch your fuckin head in."
Anyway we had the meeting, had a chuck-in and raised a few quid for the cause.
Now we get to the important part of the story.
Reg, the foreman, comes to me and says. "What's your attitude to the royal family?". So I said to Reg:
"After the revolution all those bludgers will be given jobs over at Loco shovelling shit in the cinders and ashes pit."
Reg said, "I shouldn't have asked. I expected that from you. The thing is the queen is coming next year and we have to do up the royal carriage. They want it airconditioned and we want you to do it. I was TOLD to ask that question." Pause. "There'll be lots of overtime and maybe a bonus if you work over Christmas and New Year."
He won me. Never knock back an easy quid. So I said, casual like, back to Reg.
"Yair."
The old, turn of the century carriage was beautiful. Artist tradesmen had built it so. Intricate wooden scroll work, hand crafted. Gold leaf everywhere. Rare antique furniture. And the bed? Even the dunny was a thing of great artistry. Priceless, as Paul Keating might say.
Now we get a bit technical. Sorry. After we had done all the machinery and piping installation underneath it had to be charged with gas. Unlike friend Sulphur the refrigerant was Dichorodiflouromethane. Try saying that with a mouthful of Smith's chips. Freon for short.
The five foot metal bottle swung from a weight scale to measure the amount to be charged into the system. You heat the bottle with an oxy-aceteline torch. Just enough to change the liquid to gas and drive it into the system. Gently, ever so gently, so as to not get it too hot or the safety plug might blow.
I was listening on the radio to Rosewell and Hoad beat the stuffing out of the yanks in the fifth and deciding set of the Davis Cup that year. Very exciting.
Yes! I overheated the bastard. BANG/WHOOSH! The plug blew, the bottle ricocheted off the tripod, a bit like the NASA Challenger. I dropped the torch and ran. Stuff the queen. The oxy torch landed on all the carpenters shavings in the pit and a fire started.
Deadly!
Not to worry, no real damage done. I think I convinced the subsequent inquiry by the powers-that-be that it must have been a faulty plug. It couldn't be found anyway - probably down past Redfern Station.
And so came the test run. We pulled out of the siding past Erko, ran through St. Peters, Sydenham and down the track. And on the back platform we proletarians stood, giving the royal salute (YES! YES! TWO PIES WITH SAUCE!!) to the amazed peasants at every station, over their back yards and along the side roads.
That's the closest I ever got to royals. Mind you, I didn't think the royal throne was all that comfortable. Dunno what she thought. As Gertrude Stein might say --- 'a shithouse seat is a shithouseseat isashithouseseatisashit.................
***** [The Lorikeet called her the Satin Dracula. He said the Dodi family made their enormous wealth from the arms trade].
SO.
THE SATIN DRACULA WHO SUCKS THE BLEEDING STUMPS OF LITTLE CHILDREN BY DAY AND IS FUCKED AT NIGHT BY THOSE WHO SELL THE LAND MINES. PARASITES ALL.
LONG LIVE 'CREEVE ROE'!
