The Mungonana CWA

By Michael Hutchison

The book’s audience will be anyone that appreciates a swiftly moving novella containing Aussie humour and the nuances therein.

Wacky characters abound in this fictional 1920s village, Mungonana and its surrounding districts.

It will appeal to readers who can identify with the characters’ less outrageous behaviour and no doubt, to some who can identify with the outrageous stuff.

Having indigenous content, the story should meet with their approval.

There are numerous fantasy animals in the mix. These will draw in younger adults and intrigue others from the above groups.

The main character is a 6 feet 4 inches, 16 stone blonde lady who is, at the age of 20, the uncompromising and undisputed leader of Mungonana.

She has scant regard for the male sex, however, near the end of the story we find a subtle change has occurred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398459816

Book preview

About the Author

It first became apparent at around 8 years of age that the drawing and story I bought home from school depicting a very well endowed bull, if nothing else showed a burgeoning interest in agriculture. I have retained that agricultural interest all my life and I have spent decades working for farmers and pushing a shearing handpiece. Back to the supremely endowed bull. As I recall both the bull and the story scored well at school and caused quite some surprise at home. Since leaving home, I have worked as a storekeeper, a psychiatric nurse and in rural endeavours. During these activities drawing and painting came to the fore. It is only in the last decade that the writing of poetry and stories has pushed its way to the surface. The quality of all the above I leave for others to judge. I know I get great satisfaction and pleasure when entering into any of these activities.

The Mungonana CWA resulted from an imagination given free rein which was then guided back, sometimes unwillingly, into reality every so often.

Dedication

To my family and friends who put up with me drifting off into Mungonana at inappropriate times.

To my family (MOB) who contributed unknowingly to some of the verbally outrageous stuff appearing in the book.

Copyright Information ©

Michael Hutchison 2024

The right of Michael Hutchison to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398459809 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398459816 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

To my family and friends, thank you for your help.

Synopsis

This is a work of fiction circa the 1920s. It contains some of the most bizarre collection of humans and animals ever assembled.

The animals and some other weird imaginary creatures are right up there with the humans when it comes to foibles and endearing qualities.

The above assembly of characters inhabit an ex-mining town, Mungonana and its surroundings. Mungonana resides in rocky, inhospitable country situated in the tablelands of New South Wales.

The heroine of the Mungonana C.W.A is not your average heroine. Standing six feet four inches tall and weighing around 16 stone.

Joany Me Ardle is blond and formidable. Joany at the age of 20 years has become the natural leader of Mungonana’s 300 odd citizens, due to her superior ability to, outwork, outfight and outdrink anyone else in and around Mungonana.

Aligned against Joany and all other Mungonana residents, are two of the most incompetent bushrangers ever in the history of New South Wales bush-ranging. Delilah O’Brien’s finest. Bag Trolley Billy and his brother Arnold O’Brien.

By the way, tough uncompromising Joany ends up falling for Tommy Williams. They are joined in holy wedlock as the usual Mungonana chaos reigns supreme on the great day.

Chapter One

The sides of the ancient weatherboard pub creaked and groaned under the onslaught. Dust puffed from cracks in the walls as bodies inside crashed into them. From the heaving, wrestling, fighting mass of Mungonana citizens inside, came cries of…

You swine, Jones. Take that yourself! Oof!

Finlayson, you’re for it, have you any last requests?

No! And you’re the one in need of medical care, Bungaree!

Just because you’re a woman, I’ll not take that from you! Hellfire, Maisie, you’ve kicked me in the groin, ooh! Have ye no sense of fair play? Ooh!

All’s fair in love and war, Barnes, you big boofhead!

Just as the noise reached ear, splitting dimensions and the old pub was in danger of being demolished, a huge blonde woman burst through the front doors.

Hold it! Hold it! she bellowed as she strode to the centre of the room carefully walking around broken furniture and one or two unconscious citizens. Joan McArdle, six feet four inches tall and weighing 16 stone, was anything but petite. Only 20 years of age, she nevertheless had everyone’s complete attention. Apart from heavy breathing and the odd groan, you could have heard a pin drop. Slowly turning and in turn, fixing every combatant with her brilliant blue eyes, Joan, after a moment’s pause, addressed her fellow citizens.

Now what’s going on you mob? Look what you’ve done to Black and Baldy’s pub, you’ve wrecked it! Here Joany completely disregarded the fact that she had often been guilty of exactly the same thing.

The red-faced, panting citizens wisely chose to ignore this, as Joan had a fearsome reputation as a pugilist. They also had a fair idea of what Joan, or as she was more commonly known as, Joany, was going to say next.

Fair crack of the whip! Black and Baldy’s tables and chairs are a mess, there’s broken glass and worst of all, there’s grog spilt everywhere. What a waste! How about we all dive in and help clean the joint up?

The ‘mob’ sheepishly agreed, feeling just a little remorse for their earlier high spirits. So, gathering string, glue, hammers and nails, they set about the task of re-mending with gusto, the oft re-mended furniture.

As the first signs of peace and cooperation began in Jack O’Leary’s pub, a bald head slowly rose from behind the bar, somewhat akin to a full moon rising from a distant horizon. Jack O’Leary’s bald head with wisps of jet-black hair hanging limply over each ear had caused the locals long ago, to dub him, Black and Baldy. Jack didn’t mind, in fact, he seemed to, kind of like it.

Jack smiled a huge toothless smile as the ‘mob’, including Joany, set to work mending his re-mended furniture. With chair legs askew, bound with string, glued and with the odd four-inch nail half protruding from the chairs and tables, the ‘mob’ weren’t likely to get much work as furniture restorers but nevertheless, they were willing to have a ‘lash’ at it.

How’s it looking, Jack? a perspiring Joany enquired as the cleanup neared completion.

Grouse, Joany, grouse. Could not have done better meself, a beaming Jack stated as he viewed his renewed premises. It was so long since Jack had seen his furniture in pristine condition that he had forgotten what it looked like. Jack was happy and Joany and the ‘mob’ were thirsty. The beer flowed, glasses clinked, and conversation droned on as everything in Jack O’Leary’s Imperial pub returned to normal.

In the wee small hours around 2 am, finding she was all alone, apart from a loudly snoring publican, Joany decided she’d had enough grog for one night. Politely bidding Jack good night, she managed a Goodish nitsh Blackish n Baldish, as she lurched through the front door of the Imperial. She wobbled across the road and headed for her favourite outdoor sleeping spot. Pushing aside a few crackly dried branches on the ground, she was snoring in minutes, caressed by the soft, pungent leaves of a huge pepper tree.

Chapter Two

The Tellamongtalydon shearing shed was a hive of industry. Proudly boasting 30 stands and around 25000 sheep for those 30 shearers, it, along with a few similar stations, provided most of the employment around Mungonana.

The shearers, all using hand shears, clacked their blades open and shut, and then let them glide half-open when they got into free combing wool. They click, clacked away and swore with gusto if their sheep wriggled, sometimes they swore just for the hell of it, even if their sheep didn’t wriggle. Looking after the sweating blade shearers, were a bunch of lively rouseabouts. When a sheep was shorn, a rouseabout would rush in, pull the fleece aside, sweep up any short bits, pick the fleece up and throw it on a slatted wool table in one easy motion. Or so they liked to boast later, in Black and Baldy’s pub.

A couple of wool classers assisted by shed hands worked on the wool tables, pulling stained or daggy wool off the fleeces. They then placed the skirted fleeces into, up to, half a dozen walk-through sections, depending on the type of wool. On the other side of the walk-through sections were the wool presses, usually manned by big strong men. They placed fleeces into the wool press boxes, every now and then jumping into the boxes and squashing the wool down with their feet. When the boxes were full, they elevated one box on top of the other and forced the contents of both boxes into a hessian wool pack situated in the bottom box. Huge levers and ratchets allowed them to achieve this result. A bale cap and some bale clips later and out popped another Tellamongtalydon bale. These wool pressers became very strong and very fit. Joany McArdle had breached this men-only vocation at the age of 18 years. Now 20 years old, she was just as good as any man and proud of it.

In between all the racket of the dogs barking, men shouting at dogs, sheep baaing and the click, clack, of the swearing shearers’ blades, Joany worked like a woman possessed and cursed her rotten hangover. The year was 1920 and Australia was a land of enterprise and adventure.