About Pom Gone  Walkabout  A website of stories, fun and  adventure. Eric Cullen, age 47 and still very much a young boy at heart. He's a product of the 1960’s, born of English parentage in the midlands town of Loughcaster. Forever young in mind, spirit and adventure, Eric is horribly trapped inside the rapidly aging body of a middle aged adult. Greying hair, a spreading midriff and frustrated with the world, he is forever searching for that elusive something. Eric has a yearning for the past and is never quite satisfied with his lot in life. Luckily Eric always kept his sense of humour about him. A midlife crisis? No not really it’s always been this way. “Eric! You are never satisfied, I really don’t know what is to become of you” His mam often told him. Even after all these years it still rings true in his ears and the words are etched forever, deep within his brain. When Eric left school, he was unsure of what he wanted to do with his life. An apprenticeship became a trade, a steady income found him a wife, house and a mortgage. Banks love a steady income don't they? The years went by, birthdays came and went, Eric grew weary of his mundane life and likened himself to a hamster in a cage, stuck on a treadmill. Never ever quite satisfied, Eric was still searching for that elusive something.             One day whilst Eric was reading a copy of “Boys Own Adventure” he started to smile, “Workers wanted" Australia. The lucky country, cricket champions, A land of opportunity, she’ll be right attitude and a fair go for all” the advert proclaimed. "Champions of cricket, my arse!” Eric muttered in disgust. True 1989 had indeed been a pretty bad summer for English cricket but cogs began to whirr in his brain, thoughts and ideas were set in motion. One Saturday morning Eric cycled into town and purchased a book from WH Smiths. "The Adventurers guide to Australia". Not long after Eric had finished reading the book, immigration forms were carefully filled in and posted. It was only a short matter of time before his house was sold. Months went by until one day, a large blue lorry with “Pickford’s” written down the side pulled up outside his house, the neighbours curtains twitched in unison, Eric whistled happily. Many mugs of tea and biscuits later, all of his belongings were packed.  A few weeks later and the big day had finally arrived, it was time to say goodbye. A few teary farewells were made at the airport, and then a big silver bird with a kangaroo on its tail sped down the runway taking Eric and his wife off to a new life in a land downunder. Eric worried that he might not like vegemite on his toast, or if at all. A new home in Sydney, a career in television, an opportunity to work with the stars, life was good, Eric thought that he was happy. One evening whilst Eric made his way home from work, he noticed that a very large dark cloud had formed over the harbour bridge, “something’s brewing” thought Eric. It was, and a divorce just like lightning came like a bolt from out of the blue. Eric was all alone in a strange land. A few years passed, but all was not lost, Eric found himself an English nurse, who shared his love of travel, freedom and adventure. Life was good again. The English nurse and Eric settled down together in a nice little flat, not far from the city and near the sea. She even let him have a Land Rover and Eric was very happy. The Land Rover took them all over the country, and to places that other 4WD’s could only ever dream of going to. One day the English nurse said “Shall we just pack up and go?” Eric’s eyes lit up, for they had both realised long ago that life in the city was too noisy and hectic. The long unsocial hours at work and people always seemed to be in a hurry. “Where's it to be then?” asked the English nurse. The answer was easy for they had both often dreamt of moving to a quieter place, a place that their Land Rover had taken them many times, the Great Australian outback, the final frontier? A few months later, with a job secured it was goodbye cable TV, farewell private patients. The Land Rover was packed, fuelled and ready to go, another day, another adventure. Eric’s huge grin got bigger by the mile and soon the city had been left far behind. The English nurse was very excited too “Hey we could get a dog, I’ve always wanted a dog” she said. “A Labrador!” she added sounding even more excited. Eric, along with the English nurse and Banjo the yellow Lab now live 600km from the nearest city, 275km from the nearest set of traffic lights and a million miles from care. A place in the outback, scorching heat and flies in summer, long cold winter nights, lovely deep blue sky, and red dirt that runs through your veins. Eric really believes that he has finally found that elusive something.... For the time being, that is! A Pom Gone Walkabout, that's me! STOP THE PRESS.  Eric and the English Nurse gave up their life in Woop Woop in Far North South Australia after being ran out of town by some possessed yokels. Talk! about village of the damned! Do I jest? They now reside in Far North Queensland, for the time being that is.

Pom, Pommy, Pommy bastard  noun -- Australian English, informal disapproving of an  English person.  Gone  adjective -- No longer present or in existence.  verb -- Move to or from a place.  Walkabout   noun -- Temporary migration undertaken by Aborigines,  also has the wider meaning of a journey.  Maroon  verb -- Leave stranded, Put ashore on a deserted island.  noun -- An exploding firework, used as a distress signal.  Adjective -- Dark brownish to purplish red.  In all cases it is pronounced  MAROON as in Harpoon, Baboon, Lampoon, Buffoon etc.  It is not pronounced MAROWN anywhere! Except that is by  a few million Queenslanders that incidentally drive the state  of NSW and myself quite mad!  Especially during the annual State of Origin Rugby League matches.      Listen Here. ey?  Still when in Rome do as the Romans do?  So who's for a pot of tea and a plate of homemade  Macarowns! Anyone?

 

Eric and the English nurse along with Banjo their Yellow Labrador have moved to Far North Queensland approximately 320km inland from Cairns. They arrived in June last year. It was but a short journey of six days, two thousand, five hundred and fourteen kilometres to drive from the bottom to the top of the continent.

It was a wonderful trip in their Land Rover Defender, a real adventure.
But Eric was amazed. No! Dumbfounded. Totally lost for words, but not for long! "How on earth can the Queensland Government allow huge monstrous road trains on roads that resemble little more than iced lollypop sticks!" Because that is what they are. "Potholed, jagged edged and narrow excuses for roads barely the width of a pop stick, with a dollop of tarmac thrown down as an after thought." The English Nurse listened.

If there’s a Gypsy in England reading this in need of a quid or two, then get you, your mates, your shovel and your caravan out here now. You will make a killing. The Queensland Government urgently needs a driveway tarmacing. Approximately, I would hazard a guess, a driveway all up of about 10,000 kilometres in length. Hurry up! The roads north and south of Charters Towers are absolutely shocking.

Eric is used to dirt roads obviously but these take the biscuit! There you are driving along minding your own business in the comfort of a Land Rover Defender with all four wheels nearly off both sides of the tarmac because the road is that narrow. All of a sudden glistening and menacing in the distance and bearing down fast you sight the mother of all road trains. Watch out! They don’t take prisoners.

Eric’s procedure for survival is simply to pull over by the side of the road, if there is one. Pray that your windscreen is made from the same armour plated glass as guaranteed by living Presidents of the USA and wait two hours for the dust to clear. Replace underpants and drive on.

 Only a Tiddler!

On arrival in Charters Towers, Eric dazed, fell out of the truck and through the window of the local Tourist Information office. “Here you are Sonny, are you alright?” Shell shocked! Eric gratefully accepted the offer of a pamphlet and a cup of sweet tea from the kind old lady volunteer.

Once his hands had stopped shaking and Eric had managed to wipe the tea from the front of his shirt and made a donation to the Royal Flying Doctor in lieu of the broken crockery, He tried to make sense of the soggy pamphlet. “The gist of it is this” he told the English Nurse.

These Road Train heavyweights can be up to 55 metres long (the length of 10 cars) and weigh up to 130 tons. So get out of the fucking way and be quick about it. In case of an accident dial 000. Please press 1 for Burial, 2 for Cremation. The local undertakers are really quite good and go about their business in a reverent and dignified manner. Cheap too, they always charge a flat rate.

Eric didn’t get much sleep that night. He was staying at the caravan park by the main road in Charters Towers. It was the sirens from the emergency services that kept him awake. Apparently two road trains had collided head on! One of them was carrying Ore, the other a big mob of cattle. If you prefer your steak ‘Well done and gritty’ you would have been in luck. 

Eric over the last few months is slowly coming to terms with his new life in FNQ. He feels a little more safe and reassured thanks to the hard work of those civil servants who toil away largely unnoticed in the offices of the Queensland Governments Stationery Department.

 Eric has purchased one of those plastic shoe holders, the type that hang on the wall. He got the idea from an Asian family whose Television Eric was fixing all those years ago in England. It is here that Eric keeps handy all his Government Public Information pamphlets. He has them filed in order of concern.

Where the Size 1 shoes should go he has placed the pamphlet on Road Trains, because that was his first after all. Next there is a pamphlet on “How to survive a cyclone” Box Jelly Fish stings and treating snake bites amongst many others. Eric has read that a bottle of Vinegar is best for Jelly fish stings and a compression bandage for snake bites. So he has stored one of each at the bottom of the shoe holder next to Banjo’s lead.

 Eric is just thankful that he lives with a nurse. He’s so glad that his Hairdresser wife left him. No a haircut would be the last thing on Eric’s mind when confronted by a large Saltwater Crocodile or an Inland Taipan.

Eric thinks that in time he may get to like Queensland, the people are friendly and welcoming enough and there is so much to see and explore.

But if truth be told and it must. Both Eric and the English Nurse still miss the outback. Well they do say that the red dirt seeps into your veins and like the Hotel California (Eagles) “You can check out any time, but you can never leave.” They may have left physically, but their hearts are still out there somewhere on the Oodnadatta Track. Dodging the Road Trains no doubt.

But as the song goes “Don’t Look Back (Boston.)” So anyway for the time being they have left the desert behind. Current location is Woopity Woop Woop. Tropical and humid. Population 65. Twelve dogs,

The English nurse is the new Bush nurse in town. She is on a year’s contract, has even been given her own 4WD. She performs weekly clinics in town and further afield, when the roads aren’t under water that is. Eric works at the school.

It is currently the wet season and rains nearly every day, Eric doesn’t mind that. He quite likes the rain especially after living in the arid Far North of South Australia for the last 3 years. The far too frequent electric storms are quite amazing. Sometimes they are really quite scary and much too close for comfort, especially for a wuss like Eric who as a child unplugged the TV aerial and hid on the upstairs landing away from the windows.

The local creeks and rivers are in full flow. Towns to the west of Woopity Woop Woop are at present cut off from the rest of the world due to the river bursting its banks. Sounds idyllic.
The flood levels yesterday were over 3.5 metres. It’s a wonderful experience to see it running and helicopters are being used to ship in vital supplies. So that’s good news about the beer, I wonder what the food situation is?

 POST SCRIPT.

The other day Eric was on a 626km return trip to Cairns to buy a new battery for the Defender. He was driving along what he calls “The bloody lollipop road” Some wag has written 'Death Alley on the back of a road sign. Eric smiled when he noticed that the Department of Main Roads on behalf of the Queensland Government had erected a sign.

“HIGHWAY UPGRADING” Eric was pleased for the Gypsies, as their travel visas had obviously been approved. He turned on the radio and AC/DC blasted through. Appropriately enough they were playing

“I’m on a Highway to Hell!”  

 Eric dropped the Defender down into 5th and whistled along. 

 

I heard a funny tale the other day or should I say tail? A keen eager to please young lad was giving his Mam and Grandma a helping hand on the cattle station that his family runs. Listen, I’m no John Cannon and the only thing I know about beef is whether you want it rare, medium or boot leather so bear with me. Now apparently during the dry season there isn’t enough nutrients in the grass so the diet of the cattle has to be supplemented with molasses. From what I understand the molasses is dished out into large tubs or even laid out on rubber lined holes in the ground. The cattle love it.  So anyway one day whilst all three of them were out checking on the condition of the Molasses pits they came across one complete with resident Freshwater croc. No cattle! No wonder! The croc looked dead. There was a head at one end of the pit and a tail at the other, nothing in the middle, but mud and molasses.  “Yes it’s dead, pull it out son” said mother. So the eager and ever willing to please son, grabbed hold of the tail and pulled, and continued to pull right up until the dead croc leapt into life. The young lad as you can image got the shock of his life as the tail, body and head of the croc shot towards him.  He ran for his life as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Emus crossing.