Just Another Day at the Office

By Robert Beath

A rambling, shambolic account of my life and career written as short storiessome rude, some funny, some tragic. I started this as an aid to my recovery from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in 2014 after a long period in hospital. I was very lucky after a week in a government mental ward to get accepted at Lakeside Clinic at Warners Bay Private Hospital, where I was treated with care and kindness and, for the first time in my life, learned something about my own emotions and to speak of thema very hard lesson to learn.

Take my word, though, if you suffer PTSD or depressiondont let the hole get too deep. Talk to someone no matter how hard or how much it hurts; it is not just important to your well-being but of your family and friends as well.

Some of my friends say I am a uniform collector, in my time being a scout, senior scout, cub instructor, soldier, police officer, special constable, MSS security officer, scout leader, volunteer firefighter, Atlanta Olympics security team officer, Sydney Olympics OVIP, Northern Agencies security officer, and lastly, a transit officer.

Anyway, if you have gotten this far, I hope you enjoy the rest of this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503504288

Book preview

Just Another Day

At The Office

___________

ROBERT BEATH

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Beath.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/18/2015

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

698758

CONTENTS

Foreword

My Life

1970—The Day I Won the Lottery

1988—Surry Hills, 8 p.m.

1988—Australian Bicentennial

1991—Fires

1996—Christmas Day

1996—Atlanta Olympic Games

Firestorm

The Sydney 2000 Olympic Games

2004—Transit Training

2005—Blessing of the Fire Truck Fleet

The London Bombing 7 July 2005

2006—Circular Quay with the Cops

15⁰th Anniversary Rail in Newcastle 2007

2007—Groovin’ the Moo, Maitland Showground

2008—NYE Newcastle

Australia Day 2009 at 2.30 p.m.

NYE 2009

Aliens

Boxing Day Races, Broadmeadow (Newcastle NSW)

Concrete Truck Fire F1

Death by Train

Drug Dog Op ‘Woof’

Fat as Butter

Glass Jaw

Fire Call to Macquarie Hills

1988—Moving the Street People

Patrolling Newcastle Railway Station Front Entrance

1971—On Parade

2009—Operation Unite Friday

Patch Collecting

Patrolling the East Hills Line (Popeye)

Pensioners—Premier Gala Concerts

Priscilla (Not the Queen of the Desert)

Urgent Fire Call to Redhead

Revenue Protection Operation

A Few Rhymes from My Great Granddad

Roger Rogerson

Saturday Night Patrol at Central Railway Station

The Shark Attack

Steamfest at Maitland

The Captain

Transit Officers

Why Do People Hit You, Beathy?

Wingecarribee Fires

Ticketing at Wynyard

Foreword

A rambling, shambolic account of my life and career written as short stories—some rude, some funny, some tragic. I started this as an aid to my recovery from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in 2014 after a long period in hospital. I was very lucky after a week in a government mental ward to get accepted at Lakeside Clinic at Warner’s Bay Private Hospital, where I was treated with care and kindness and, for the first time in my life, learned something about my own emotions and to speak of them—a very hard lesson to learn.

Take my word, though, if you suffer PTSD or depression—don’t let the hole get too deep. Talk to someone no matter how hard or how much it hurts; it is not just important to your well-being but of your family and friends as well.

Some of my friends say I am a uniform collector, in my time being a scout, senior scout, cub instructor, soldier, police officer, special constable, MSS security officer, scout leader, volunteer firefighter, Atlanta Olympics security team officer, Sydney Olympics OVIP, Northern Agencies security officer, and lastly, a transit officer.

Anyway, if you have gotten this far, I hope you enjoy the rest of this book.

My Life

I was born in March 1950 at Rosslyn Private Hospital in Belmont. At this time, we lived in a small house on the hill at my grandparents’ orchard at Warner’s Bay.

I remember moving into our new house down the road a bit when I was five. I got a little blue and red wheelbarrow and recollect helping Dad shift stuff and picking up fallen oranges from the fruit trees.

We grew up on the farm at Warners Bay—a great life. I had an elder brother, Terry, who never wanted much to do with me. I had a sister, Kris, one year younger than me, and we were inseparable, getting into much mischief. A few years younger again, another brother, Grahame, then after Dad died, sister Lesley was born.

Mum and Dad loved the outdoors, both keen surfers and Dad a mad fisherman of all sorts—boat, beach, and rocks.

For three weeks every March, we holidayed in a family-owned house at Shoal Bay, which is where I remember most of my birthdays up to age ten. The house was near the water, and we swam, fished off the jetty, and wandered all over the place, collecting soft drink bottles to cash for our spending money. These fetch 3d (2c) and 6d (5c). Mum was a great cook, and many were the times I helped her to bake, though thinking back, licking the beaters and such was not really helping, but she never shooed me away. I used to cut out all the recipes from Mum’s books (Women’s Weekly, I think).

Dad worked for the Shell Company, servicing petrol bowsers, and he had a neat Dodge van with all sorts of pump parts and cans for measuring petrol, etc. I loved playing in it when allowed.

My grandparents (Mum’s) lived next door. We called them Mardie and Pappy, great people. Uncle John, who was only a couple of years older than Terry and lived with them, was a bit of my idol, with a bodgie haircut and a neat little Austin-Healey Sprite sports car. Next to their house was a huge iron shed that was both parking and workshop. Pappy and John were both mechanics at Hawkins trucks at Boolaroo, though I guess John was an apprentice then. Next to that block were Aunty Tiny and Uncle Jack, who had three boys.

Just before I was ten, Shell had laid Dad off, and he was offered a service station, so off we all went to live at Swansea—the house adjoined to the Shell station on the main street. As Mum and Dad worked such long hours, my great grandmother came out to help look after us. Every Wednesday afternoon, Mum and Dad would have their only time off and go out. This day we were all given 6d (5c) each to buy chips and a battered rissole 3d. In my mind, a great bargain.

We had a huge backyard, about an acre at least, and the garage was huge, with all sorts of good kid stuff. The backyard had some huge fig trees, and these figs were very good for throwing. We also used to let off lots of fireworks. No way could you get away with the noise we used to make with twopenny bungers in these days.

Sadly my dad passed away, and we stayed with the Stamm’s, nice people who owned the newsagents next door. I hate to this day that we were shut out as this is what happened to kids back in those days, and I was only to find out how Dad died when I was in my twenties.

So the garage was sold, and we were back to our house at Warner’s Bay, which was great as I never really made any friends at Swansea. Sadly less than a year after Dad passed, Pappy had a heart attack and fell out of the grader he was driving and was killed, weirdly enough, at Swansea.

I had many great memories of both Dad and Pappy. They were both mad scientists, always building stuff, welding metal, and seemed great friends. I remember one NYE where they built a toilet seat that was connected to a battery and gave you a shock when you sat on it. This also caused a devil’s head on the toilet door to light up. Remember in those days, the dunny was outside in the backyard, no lights and all.

The NYE parties I remember were huge with a big marquee erected and lots of people. The local cop, Sgt Brad, would play the violin.

Pappy and Dad made prizes for the competitions they ran, and one year, this was goat poop (we had chooks, pigs, goats, bees), which they painted with red fingernail polish and threaded with cotton into a necklace. Never saw the result as all kids were sent to bed at nine o’clock.

I remember Christmases and New Years as always being hot and humid. Christmas presents were done on Mardie’s back veranda with all three families present. We always had a bush Christmas tree.

In those times, Guy Fawkes Day, mostly known as cracker night, was a half-day holiday, and we always had a huge bonfire and lots of crackers (bungers, double happies, tom thumbs, sky rockets, and all sorts of coloured fireworks).

When the bonfire died down, we would throw potatoes into the ashes and roast them. Back then we also had Empire Day (I think this became Australia Day), and this was another holiday. People were very patriotic then. We stood at attention at assembly at school as the flag was raised and sang ‘God Save the Queen’, whose picture hung on every classroom’s wall.

Warner’s Bay School was a great place, with an influx of migrants after WWII.