The Bush Publican

For the benefit of those who don't know how to speak proper, and to assuage those who would rather not have explanations in parenthesis in the body of the story, I have included a Glossary of Terms at the end of this story.

No-one that I know speaks grammatically correct English with perfect syntax. So I write it as these people would speak it. CM

The Johnsons Creek of this story does not exist. Instead it is an amalgamation of several towns in the North Flinders Ranges and arid desert region of northern South Australia. Towns that flourished briefly in the mid to late 19th century, before a long period of drought saw some die, and others struggle to eke out an existence in the beautiful, but harsh, environment.

Johnsons Creek is one of those places that you would not care much for, unless you were tired, hungry, or having car troubles. It was, to quote that famous Australian poet A B (Banjo) Paterson, 'On a road seldom crossed 'cept by folks that are lost.' It sat baking in the hot sun for six months of the year, while for the other six months you freeze your tits off overnight, when the temperature drops to freezing, and you barely thaw out during the day.

In the middle of town, on the main and only street, sits a General Store complete with Garage and Workshop and the Johnson's Creek pub. I preside over this fine establishment 24/7, mainly because it doesn't make enough for me to afford a holiday, and there is no-one prepared to run the show if I did get away for a while. There is another street just up the road where the old rail siding sits rusting, that heads six hundred kilometres to somewhere else,

The name over the front door told the world that I was David James Roberts, Publican, but to the people around here I was Dave, or Davo, depending on who you were.

This was a 'boom and bust' business. The boom begins first thing Saturday morning and lasts until 'chucking out time' Sunday, when the lads would be loaded onto various Utes for the journey back to the remote stations and work. We, and I use that term loosely, get the occasional guest in our accommodation section, while they wait for parts to come from whatever city they come from, to repair their broken down vehicle. It doesn't matter where the parts come from, it was always a three day wait, one to locate the part and two days to get it here. Rumour has it that I'd done a deal with the local mechanic, he'd take his time getting the parts and fixing the vehicle in exchange for free piss. Let me reassure you that this rumour is untrue, he gets a discount. Nothing is free in this world.

I used to have a staff of two, but I'm down to one now, a part-timer who comes in during the boom and whenever we have guests. The other staff member pissed off back to the big smoke around two years ago. Whatever happened to 'for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health' and all that other bullshit you say when you get married. Good riddance I say, I don't know whether it's the beer or the melancholy speaking, but I do miss her from time to time, usually on those freezing winter nights, because my electric blanket gave up a year ago.

There are times, during the milder weather when we have tourists come through here, when I need extra staff. This is seldom a problem, back-packers will often be prepared to stick around for a few days in exchange for food and accommodation and a few bucks to buy fuel for the next part of their trip. There have been times when one of them, female of course, has been willing to share my bed for a night or two, but these times are few and far between. So you see, I don't get a lot of action, just enough that the local sheep are safe, at least from me.

I was out front sweeping the dust from the front veranda when I noticed a cloud of dust approaching. It wasn't much of a cloud, not the kind you see from a truck or a fast moving vehicle, this one was limping into town. I stopped sweeping, it was a waste of time anyway, when the wind picked up it'll all be back, and watched it as it approached. It didn't sound good, unless of course you're Bert the local mechanic, in which case it sounded great, as it rattled its way into town, shuddering to a stop fifty metres from the garage.

Bert strolled out, wiping his hands on the oily rag that he had hanging beside the door, and that he used to convince people that he was busy on some repair. He hadn't picked up a spanner in days, it was all for show. The driver got out of the car and gave the front tyre a vicious kick before limping toward him. She took of her hat and shook out her shoulder length hair. "Shit a sheila, and on her own, she's game or on a mission, to be coming along this road on her own." My thoughts were struggling into life as she hobbled to the waiting Bert.

"Got a problem, have ya?" He asked in that slow drawl of his. Bert never hurried with anything, including speaking.

"I will refrain from telling you that it is bloody obvious that I have a problem, I'm much too polite for that, but yes, I do seem to have a problem, and I need you to look at it so that you can tell me what I can do about it." Her voice had a mixture of anger, frustration and just plain being pissed off.

Bert crawled under the 4 wheel drive, otherwise known in other parts as an SUV, or a Toorak Tractor, and had a look. He only just managed to squeeze under it, nothing sylph-like about Bert, and grabbed the drive shaft and shook it. It rattled expensively. Crawling out he brushed the dust from his overalls that had not had the benefit of soap and water in living memory. "It don't look good, your drive-train's shot, the uni joint has chewed out and the centre drive-train bearing has shat itself. Are you a member of the RAA?" He had noticed the South Australian plates.

"Yes."

"Good, is it an ordinary or premium membership?"

"Premium, why?"

"Well they'll pay for the repairs, all that you'll have to pay for are the parts, that's the good news. The bad news is that it'll be at least three days before we can get the parts here, and another day to fix it. Now the RAA will pay for your accommodation costs, so that's not a problem, so why don't we get your bags out and I'll help you carry them to the Johnson's Creek Hilton, you might even get the Presidential Suite if you ask nicely."

They looked a sight as they trudged along the main drag, little puffs of dust kicked up by their shoes, Bert tall and lumbering and she, small and striding, small being a purely relative term, everyone's small next to Bert.

Bert stamped his feet to get rid of the excess dust before walking in to the shaded bar. We didn't have a reception desk in this place, all transactions are carried out over the bar, it saves me from moving too far in any one go. "This lady needs your best suite for a couple of days, do you have one available?"

"Let me check for you." This was part of the show that we put on for the visitors. I pulled a note book to me and flipped it open. It didn't matter at which page it opened, the result would have been the same. "Yes we do happen to have the deluxe suite available. If you give me her bags I'll take them to her room while you sort out your paperwork, and I'll fix my side of it up when I get back."

I was back a few minutes later having run a duster quickly over the room and squirted it with a deodorizer to freshen it up a bit. We have to keep the rooms shut up when they're not occupied to try and keep the dust out, but it still manages to get in. I took a good look at her as I came into the bar. She wasn't from around here, and that was obvious, her face wasn't weathered and her right arm wasn't suntanned from exposure through the driver's side window. Apart from that, she had shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips and a great smile that she flashed at me. She wore a pale blue shirt, opened just enough at the top for me to get a glimpse of her cleavage, and tucked into a pair of jeans, on her feet were a pair of heavy duty hiking boots. As well as a small wheelie bag she had a large camera bag, the type that serious photographers lug around.

"Seen enough?" She smiled as she said it so I didn't take offence.

"No, but I'm getting there. I suppose I should get some details for the record."

She took a wallet out of her small carry-all and pulled her drivers licence from it and passed it to me. I copied the details onto a blank page of my notebook.

"Did Bert give you any idea how long it will take for him to fix your car?" I asked.

"He said that it would be at least four days."

"That should be fine, we don't have any forward bookings that will get in the way."

"Do you two always go through this charade with stranded motorists?"

"Damn, we're going to have to go back into rehearsals if we can't fool anyone. Yeah, we do this with everyone in your situation, it's just a bit of harmless fun, adds to the local colour."

"I enjoyed it actually, it's just what I needed right now."

"Troubles on the home front, or is it work?"

"Both." I thought that she was going to burst into tears, but she held it together. "I was asked to come up here on a project for my department, and my husband wasn't happy about it, at least that's what he told me. But I'd forgotten something and went back to get it, only to find him up to his balls in his boss's wife, in our bed, would you believe that?"

"Ouch. And what did you do?" I was expecting her to tell me that she had screamed at them and stormed out. "I slipped out and got some super-glue and thin nails and jammed up the door locks of her car that was parked behind his, it wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. And then I rang his boss and told him what was going on. I'm sorry that I wasn't around when the shit hit the fan, it would have been fun."

"I'd better watch myself then, wouldn't want to get you upset with me."

"I can't see that happening somehow. For a start, you're not my two-timing husband."

I looked at the clock over the door and it told me that it was 'beer o'clock', it told everyone that because it hasn't moved in years. "Would you like a drink, the sun's over the yardarm somewhere? I can do you a white wine, I think, actually I know I can, or else I can get something from my vast array of local and local beers. What's your poison?"

"White wine would be lovely thank you."

I went to the glass fronted fridge and selected a good drop and removed the screw cap. I poured us both a generous glass and handed hers to her. "Cheers." I raised my glass to her.

"Cheers." She took a sip and her expression changed. "This is nice, not what I expected at all."

"Did you expect that I'd serve up any old rubbish to my best customer?"

"Only customer." She corrected.

"Well yes, now that you mention it." While we talked I was taking stuff out of the fridge and loading it onto a tray in readiness to take it to her room. There was the usual motel type stuff, some teabags and small containers of single shot coffee powder, those little containers of long life milk, cups and saucers, a drinking glass, a jug of cold water and an electric kettle. "If you want to make yourself tea or coffee, use the water from this jug, the stuff in the tap is only suitable for washing and flushing the toilet."

"All the mod cons I see. What's in the mini bar?"

"Nothing yet, I've only just turned on the fridge so it'll take a while to cool down, so there's no point." I took another sip from my glass and made a mental note to get some more next time I saw the Rep. "I notice the huge camera bag, does that have something to do with why you're here?"

"Yes, it has everything to do with it. I work for the Tourism department and there's a big push to sell this part of the world as a tourism destination, so I've been sent here to take happy snaps of the scenic wonders of the place and interview the locals for the human interest side of it. We can't sell the product if it's populated with grumpy old bastards such as yourself." She had a huge smile on her face so I thought that I should join in.

"That's it!" I grabbed the glass from her. "The tap's off, now pack your bags and get your sorry arse out of here, and good luck hitching a ride, you were the first car to get here in almost a week." I slid the glass back to her, just to let her know that I wasn't serious.

By the time that we'd reached the end of this by-play and become serious, the bottle was empty. "Thank you so much for lifting me out of the blahs that I was in."

"My pleasure, you have helped me out as well, I was really crapping myself off, I was even arguing with myself."

"Who won?"

"Me, who else." I picked up the tray. "Come, can I call you Dianne?"

"If you call me Mrs Wellings, I swear I'll belt you one."

"Like I was saying, come with me to your palatial temporary abode." I led her through the kitchen and out to the accommodation block, a row of six Dongas. I opened the door of the one closest to the kitchen and ushered her inside.

"If this is palatial I'd hate to see the cheap rooms." She said, looking around her at the layout. There was a double bed that took up almost the entire width of the room, a small table and four chairs, a cupboard complete with sink, a microwave oven and a cook top. A closet large enough for a couple of hangers and drawers for personal items, and, on a bracket on the wall, the piece de resistance, a small LCD TV with a DVD slot. We had satellite coverage up here.

"The cheap rooms are over there." I pointed to two half tanks, old and very large and, at one time galvanised, rainwater tanks that had been cut in half and a door cut in one end. "The amenities block is just over there," I pointed out the concrete block building. "There's showers and toilets, just remember, when you go in lock the door after you, we don't come to segregated facilities. The key to get in is on a hook just inside the kitchen door."

She sat on the bed and bounced up and down a few times, it didn't squeak. "This is good, I can entertain without being heard."

"We'll have none of that lascivious behaviour from you young lady! If I hear of any hanky-panky going on out here, I'll . . ."

"You'll what?"

"Want to be included."

"Hmmm, play your cards right and who can tell what might happen." There was that smile again. "Do you think that we can get serious for a while?"

"Yes, what's the problem?"

"As you may have gathered, I don't know my way around here, so I don't know where the interesting places are to be found. Do you think, if I were to pay you for your services, that you could be my guide while I take my photos?"

"I'll think about it. You do realise that I'll have to get Deb, she's my part-timer, to look after the place while I'm out gallivanting around the countryside with you, don't you?"

"That's all right, my budget can stand it."

"She doesn't come cheap."

"How much do you pay her?"

"Twenty bucks an hour and I have to feed her husband?"

"How much would he eat in a sitting?"

"You've met him, Bert, I'll probably have to chuck a whole sheep on the spit for him." I laughed at her expression. "Nah, for a big bloke he doesn't eat that much, something to do with his metabolism." I was getting to like this woman, this Dianne. I couldn't understand why her husband would want to go shag someone else if he had her.

"It's just about lunch time, what would you like?" I asked as I stood to go.

"What culinary masterpiece is on the menu?"

"Come with me and you can help." I led her into the kitchen. It was a proper commercial kitchen, part of the renovations that I carried out when I took over this pub about five years ago. Along with the solar panels to generate all the power we needed, there is the water tower with its built in pedestal gravity filtration and purification plant, that I had designed and built in an attempt to make the water from the artesian bore half-way drinkable.

"This is impressive." Dianne said as she looked around.

"Only the best, you could mention this in your brochure or whatever it is that you're producing.

"I'll reserve judgement until I've tasted your food."

Lunch was simple fare, a ham and salad sanger. The bread, because we use little on a normal day, is frozen and thawed. If it is still cold, a couple of seconds in the microwave to take the chill off works fine. Dianne busied herself with the salad ingredients, although I sliced the onion, couldn't have her crying, could I? I sliced the leg ham off the bone and we joined forces to put it all together. Dianne took one bite and gave it an enthusiastic 'thumbs up'. "This is nice." Another bite. "I have been told that nothing beats pub food out in the bush, but I didn't believe it until now."

I have to tell you now that the term 'in the bush' refers to anywhere outside the major cities. It shouldn't be taken as an indication that we were surrounded by trees, because we aren't. Except for the trees that line the almost always dry creeks, there is nothing bigger then salt bush, and that grows to less than a metre tall.

"Would you like another wine, or would you prefer something a little more prosaic?"

"Such as?"

"Coopers Pale."

"Hit me." She was starting to talk like us, with a minimum of words.

I grabbed a couple of stubbies from the fridge and opened one for her. "Do you want a glass, or is the bottle okay?"

"Bottle will be fine." She took a good mouthful. "Ah, that's good."

"Yeah, it's a pretty good drop, but if you're into serious beer drinking it has to be the Sparkling Ale."

"I'm not that serious right now. What are your plans for this afternoon?"

"I suppose that you want to make a start with your pictures, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll call Bert and get him to ask Deb to slip over and keep an eye on the place. We should be back in time for dinner."

"Do that while I get into something a little more appropriate to the occasion."

"If you even think about one of those stupid hats with the corks, you'd better forget it. I'll get some repellent for us. The flies are pretty bad out here."

I rang Bert and organised for Deb to come over. "Do you want to spin this out a bit longer?" He asked.

"Ask me again when we get back, but it looks a possibility."

"Lucky bastard. If I wasn't married I'd give you a run for your money."

"Bullshit, have you looked in a mirror lately? If you even so much as thought about it, Deb would cut your balls off."

"She would, wouldn't she? Jealousy is a curse for us handsome blokes, isn't it?"

Dianne came back in with moleskin pants, heavy duty long sleeved shirt for sun protection and an Akubra, not a new Akubra, this one had seen some use. She struck a pose. "Well, how do I look?"

"Very nice, and practical. Shall we?" I led her out the back where I had my truck garaged. It wasn't an actual truck, a long wheel-based Land Rover Defender. It had a Bull bar and a couple of heavy duty spot lights at the front, a winch mounted on the bar, and a heavy duty tow bar bolted on the back. This I used to rescue stranded vehicles that couldn't be towed. I had a heavy duty car trailer to winch them on to. I, of course charged a lot for this service, because there were very few of the major break-downs that were not operator caused. Some of the clowns that come up here in their fancy SUV's think that they're bullet proof until they hit a causeway at high speed and rip their front suspension out. If they stay upright they're lucky, and should buy a Lotto ticket.

Dianne chucked her camera bag on the floor and jumped in, literally. "Very utilitarian, I must say, not like mine."

"Yeah, you could say that. She's got a few K's on the clock and few, if any of those, have been on the black stuff."

"Where are we going?" She asked, dragging an impressive looking digital SLR from her bag. She took the lens cap off and checked the lens for dust, gave it a quick flick with the lens brush, just to be on the safe side.