:)
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that
the
Army is better than workin’ on the farm - tell them to get in bloody
quick
smart before the jobs are all gone!
I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get
outta
bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before
brekky
is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows
to
milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin’!!
Blokes haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot
water and even a light to see what ya doing! At brekky ya get cereal,
fruit
and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum
makes.
You don’t get fed again until noon, and by that time all the city boys
are
buggered because we’ve been on a ‘route march’ - geez its only just like
walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting
medals for shootin’ - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody
possum’s
bum and it don’t move and its not firing back at ya like the Johnsons
did
when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the
Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the
target - its a piece of piss!! You don’t even load your own cartridges
they
comes in little boxes and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the
rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful
coz they break easy - it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack
and
Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the
muster.
Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the
platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the
Engineers- he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pickhandles across the
shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet,
but
I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can’t complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word
gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Sheila
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that
the
Army is better than workin’ on the farm - tell them to get in bloody
quick
smart before the jobs are all gone!
I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get
outta
bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before
brekky
is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows
to
milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin’!!
Blokes haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot
water and even a light to see what ya doing! At brekky ya get cereal,
fruit
and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum
makes.
You don’t get fed again until noon, and by that time all the city boys
are
buggered because we’ve been on a ‘route march’ - geez its only just like
walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting
medals for shootin’ - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody
possum’s
bum and it don’t move and its not firing back at ya like the Johnsons
did
when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the
Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the
target - its a piece of piss!! You don’t even load your own cartridges
they
comes in little boxes and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the
rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful
coz they break easy - it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack
and
Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the
muster.
Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the
platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the
Engineers- he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pickhandles across the
shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet,
but
I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can’t complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word
gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Sheila
