GoGo Adventures (part7)
© Janet Lane, 2024. Image: Looking south towards the homestead from a rocky outcrop, Gogo Station, ca. 1957-1958, State Library of W.A.
At last we got into Ian’s 4WD. Slowly, very slowly as apparently one must look out for anything from goannas to small children on the dusty roads, we went into Port Hedland so Ian could get the money to pay Gopher. He was getting $20,000 from Ian, a vast sum. $1,000 a head. I don’t know what Gopher paid Harry, that was their business. I got nothing as I paid my own way to help, simply to save the Waler breed which at that stage was looking at extinction. They were also the first W.A. ones we’d got, and the best result was them staying in the state. Ian worked for the mines so had a good secure income, and wife Ros worked as a teacher, she too a top sort indeed. So the horses had a very safe home.
When we finally got to the bank, it turned out they didn’t have $20,000 cash which is what Gopher insisted on. Cash. For God’s sake. We. Will. Miss. The. Plane. I was getting fatalistic. One can’t nag, just go blank and work out how to rob a bank or something (joking) after a very good sleep.
So Ian begged and arranged in the bank with Gopher, I waited in the car, and it turned out we had to visit every bank in Port Hedland to gather up the cash. Ian’s bank somehow arranged it. If I get home to Tasmania I’m kissing the ground and never, ever, ever leaving again.
At last we had the money, Gopher thought it funny it was in several denominations, but he’d double checked it was all correct. I thought it was funny someone wanted that much cash with no notice. We’re all different. But only minutes to get to the airport. The. Plane. Was. About. To. Leave. God! I was beside myself. Gopher was anxious too. I sat in the back of course.
“Can we hurry please?” I asked, leaning forward. Ian again said we mustn’t go over 30 km an hour as you never know what will run onto the road. He could not bear the thought of hitting anything. I agree, but you know, the vision was good as no trees for a thousand miles, and maybe even 50km an hour would be safe. We could be extra eyes to watch out for stray lizards and camels. It was rather a long drive to the airport. Slow. Very. Slow.
My reliable old Tissot watch told me it was past flight time. A really bad feeling, I’d never be able to get out of Port Hedland, way up the coast of W.A. You can’t walk home to Tasmania. That’s why you feel so trapped on the mainland. And there’s so much of it.
Then it happened. Yes, our plane went over our heads. It had departed for Perth without us. I felt as if I was on planet Pluto. Far away and in the dark. Hopeless.
“Don’t worry, there’ll be another one,” cheered Ian. But it was evening. The airport seemed very quiet. No planes in sight. No people. No traffic. He dropped us at the front glass doors, we grabbed our bags, I had one and Gopher had three and his good stock saddle. One of his bags had his $20,000 in it.
“Bye!” said Ian, “better get back to the horses!” he hadn’t stopped talking about them the whole time. Goodo. It wasn’t the time for me to enjoy chatting about them as much as I’d like to, there were other things on my mind. Like getting home. How? I had no money and couldn’t charter a small plane to get to Perth even if there was such a thing. Let alone stay in a hotel for the night. Or even get a meal. Or anything.
We went into the airport, Gopher struggling with his bulky things. I carried one of his bags, a red one. No-one there but a few staff. It looked grim. I went up to the counter and explained we were late. Was there another plane for Perth please?
“No,” said the woman there crossly, “we called you for ages but they had to leave. There are no more planes today, you’ll need to buy a ticket for one tomorrow. We’re shutting up now.”
Then I saw it. Out there, in the last rays of golden evening light, right at the far end of the long tarmac, out of the heat haze a vision shimmered and became real – a big, fat, proper passenger jet plane was trundling about, about to do its run up to take off. Light shimmied off its sleek shiny exterior, it was like a Christmas Creek truck with white wings, and a blue belly like a fat dolphin. Wings! with big motors on them! Farting very loudly and proudly!
“That’s a plane!” I said excitedly, “we can catch that!”
“No,” she said, shocked, as if I was a nutter, “That plane’s about to take off! It’s gone. Last one of the day. We’re shutting. Go away.” She was annoyed.
Oh that vision, it was meant to be. Her words spurred me to action. I dropped Gopher’s bag but hung onto mine, after all it had my ticket from Perth to Melbourne, Melbourne to home. Jumped over a little complicated barricade thingie. Clatter clatter it went, cheering. Ran to the glass door to the tarmac. The startled man there was caught by surprise and I pushed past him, squeezed through another glass door and ran out across short dead stubble that pretended to be grass, onto the open runaway.
A couple of other chaps outside tidying up or something, looked surprised but unable to think.
Now, never, ever do this these days as you’d be shot on the spot, but things were more laid back in the old days, and after all we were in the country.
I made it onto the runway, thankfully the dying light was taking a lot of the heat with it, dumped my bag down and waved both arms above my head at the jet. It was now making that take-off racket they do, revving madly, roaring like a dragon, heading straight at me. It got bigger and bigger.
Hoping my arm waving was like the staff one sees at airports, which seems to say Stop Here in airport semaphore, I was not going to budge. They had to see me. I had to get to Perth. If they didn’t slow down maybe the engines exhaust would kill me but the pilots would know that and not be keen on murder, after all they were on a timetable and had to get to point B. Most pilots were sensible people with a sporting attitude. Weren’t they?
The jet engines roared a lot more as the jet’s attempt to speed up was foiled, and it finally snuffled politely and trundled to a halt, quietly rumbling like an old judge reading the newspaper. I had to actually grab my bag and step aside as it couldn’t quite stop in time. The front wheel is a lot bigger than you’d think. I was aware of faces peering down at the windows but ignored them. Ahem. They were not to know the strange ways of airports. Looking at me wouldn’t solve any mystery. Look at the view.
High up above me, a little window opened – who knew pilots had a little opening window? Like those tiny triangle ones in old cars. “Hallo!” said a bright voice, “What can we do for you?” Oh a good, sporting, sensible pilot. Of course!
“Oh please please are you going to Perth?”
“Yes we are!”
“Oh please please can two of us hitch a lift? We missed out plane, it’s a long story but we urgently need to get to Perth for connecting flights. Urgently!”
The head withdrew and a little pilot to pilot discussion was had. There might have been a little radio chat. The head appeared again, ”Righto!” he said, “get in, make it snappy as we like to keep on schedule.” I looked up. Yes there was a door, but so high up, and firmly shut.
“Thank you, thank you!” I said, hoping he wasn’t joking. Where was Gopher? He should have been backing me up! This sort of thing always happened. If I get back to Tasmania I’m kissing the ground and never, ever, ever leaving again.
By now, several airport staff had come out. They were shocked. One uniformed man tried to grab me. I deftly avoided him and he almost fell over. His friend stopped him falling. That kept them both busy. ”Excuse me!” I said, “please, this plane kindly said they can take us to Perth. It’s urgent!” Sometimes a black belt in judo comes in handy, very quietly, when it comes to dodging people and accidently getting them off balance…
“Yes let them board,” called down the pilot, “bring the stairs out. Pronto!”
Now that man was a leader, like all good pilots. They obeyed. I suppose in that sort of situation, it’s rather nice to relinquish responsibility.
So the staff, by now getting late for their dinner and wanting this bizarre situation over, quickly pushed the big staircase out. Gopher and I climbed up, the plane door opened, but Gopher was stopped before entering.
“No room for luggage,” a very cross air hostess said, indicating his big stock saddle and bags. Gopher ran back down the stairs and dumped them on the ground, keeping the smallest bag, which was still a good size. The air hostess ushered us into the plane. She frowned at my bag but luckily it was a carry on size. I clutched it so firmly she probably thought I’d fight to keep it and we were holding up the plane as it was. The pilot looked out and winked at me, he knew the hosties were furious at us for some reason. But what a lark! Oh what a hero, a bloody hero! Both of them heroes! The pilot’s door shut.
“This is the mail plane,” said the hostess as she shut the door.,” it stops at every single place on the way to Perth. You will have a very long, very uncomfortable flight.”
“Oh that’s ok,” I said politely, “it was nice of you to stop for us. It’s just urgent we get to Perth.”
She showed us to seats beside each other. There were a few empty seats but a surprisingly lot of passengers for a country town, of course many would be fly in fly out mine workers. By luck for us, but possibly another reason the hostess was crabby, was that we were in first class, so it was nice and roomy. We held our bags on our knees as she said there was no time to store them above, we’d wasted enough time.
The plane trundled back around, then did its run up, roaring, and soon we were in the air.
Bye bye Port Hedland, phew, phew phew, phew. Goodbye darling horses and best of luck, Ian will see you right. Sorry Ian there was no time to stay and help but there seem to be plenty of helpers anyway.
With all the stops collecting and leaving mail, would we make Perth before the midnight special left for Melbourne? Maybe we’d get there too late? Even if I was stranded in Perth it was disaster, couldn’t walk home from there either. God, please please let us get there in time, and when I get to Tasmania I’ll kiss the ground and never, ever, ever, leave again.
Gopher’s plane for Texas was to leave the next morning, it wasn’t so urgent for him. He could go home in Perth and have a good shower and change.
“Sorry about your saddle,” I said.
“It’s ok, he answered, “Hutch might get it and send it down.” Hutch is what he called Ian, an abbreviation of his surname. It was nice to be getting along, now all the stress was over, I could never have done it without him, he’d done it all really. Top job.
After a bit, the cross hostess came along getting orders for drinks and food. She went past us. On a return trip she stopped. “Don’t think you two will be getting a thing on this plane!” she hissed. The other hostie came up behind her and also looked at us disapprovingly.
“Oh, it’s ok,” I said, although I was terribly thirsty, “sorry about all this, it’s just very urgent.” It was the only word I could think of. Maybe I could find the toilet and maybe there would be water in a tap.
Just then Gopher said “Oh my God!” loudly.
“What?” I asked, and the hostesses also looked at him with interest, they seemed to like the big handsome fellow, after all it was me who’d criminally stuck up their plane, not him. They may have thought I was his mother.
“The money!” he said, “Did we get the money?” We looked at each other in horror, recalling the bags and saddle left on the tarmac at the mercy of disgruntled staff. We both stared at the blue bag on his lap. He slowly rearranged it and put his big hand on the zipper. The hosties and I watched. He carefully drew the zipper along, and opened the bag. There were wads and wads of cash. “Thank God!” he said softly, “it’s my clean undies bag that’s why I took it, I wasn’t thinking. Lucky eh?”
“Well, lucky it’s got the money,” I said with relief. I suppose storing money in your undies bag is a thing when travelling. Who knows the ways of the rich, not me.
“Drinks?” asked the hostie very politely, her face suddenly transformed into one of adoration as she gazed at Gopher, “Snack? Fresh sandwich? What can we get you?”
I had a very large g & t with lemon, God it went down a treat. Thanks Gopher.
We got to Perth just in time – 5 minutes to midnight – I had to run to make the midnight special. Upstairs and down in the airport, it was pitch black outside, it was confusing, there were lights inside, in all the wrong places, and echoing loud speakers no-one could understand, but I made it. Phew, phew, phew. Once safely on the big plane, I fell soundly asleep. Probably snored like billio crossing state borders but who cares. And made it home the next day. Kissed the ground. Not at the airport as that’s dirty concrete and looks weird, but privately at home in the country, as you do. Swore to never, ever leave Tasmania, ever again.
Read the rest of the story: Part1, Part2, Part3, Part4, Part5, Part6
