Letter from Australia #7

I had to get out of the electrical game, I knew that. The union rep was right, in Sydney there was plenty of work. Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald advertised literally hundreds of jobs in the 70’s, from brain surgeons to unskilled laborers. It was a case of turn up, show your qualifications (if needed), show some enthusiasm (optional), negotiate wages and conditions (usually non-negotiable) and start the next day. And that’s what I did.

‘Motorcycle Assembler to work in small inner city workshop.

Some mechanical experience preferred. Immediate start.

What was I reading here?

Was this for real?

For someone who lived and breathed motorbikes since before I could walk, this was Nirvana. I had bought my first motorbike since arriving in Australia only two weeks before – a black 650 ex-police Triumph Saint. I hadn’t even learned to drive a car yet!

I rang for the address and rocked up to the ‘small inner city workshop’ just as they were opening the doors. The black shiny Triumph was all I needed to convince them of my qualifications and enthusiasm and the next day I was assembling CZ’s, Jawa’s and BMW’s as if I had been there all my life. The bikes were 90% complete when they arrived, all I had to do was bolt on the petrol tank, crash bars and a few extras that came in the crate, clean off the grease, add fuel and oil, check the tyre pressures and fire them up. Now for the icing on the cake – I had to test drive every bike I assembled.

Sydney was wonderful! Life was great! It seemed like you could do almost anything.

In 1986 me, my wife and our two children moved to Tasmania to ‘get away from Sydney’. The searing heat of the outer western suburbs had finally worn us down. For the last three or four summers we had considered moving back to England after spending 13 years in one of the world’s greatest cities. But a short holiday in Tasmania changed our minds completely. This island of half a million people has been home for 32 years, but we will never forget our humble beginnings on Botany Bay. Or Sheffield, the city we turned our backs on so many years ago yet will always be in our hearts.

I had to get out of the electrical game, I knew that. The union rep was right, in Sydney there was plenty of work. Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald advertised literally hundreds of jobs in the 70’s, from brain surgeons to unskilled laborers. It was a case of turn up, show your qualifications (if needed), show some enthusiasm (optional), negotiate wages and conditions (usually non-negotiable) and start the next day. And that’s what I did.

 

‘Motorcycle Assembler to work in small inner city workshop.

Some mechanical experience preferred. Immediate start.

 

What was I reading here?

 

Was this for real?

 

For someone who lived and breathed motorbikes since before I could walk, this was Nirvana. I had bought my first motorbike since arriving in Australia only two weeks before – a black 650 ex-police Triumph Saint. I hadn’t even learned to drive a car yet!

 

I rang for the address and rocked up to the ‘small inner city workshop’ just as they were opening the doors. The black shiny Triumph was all I needed to convince them of my qualifications and enthusiasm and the next day I was assembling CZ’s, Jawa’s and BMW’s as if I had been there all my life. The bikes were 90% complete when they arrived, all I had to do was bolt on the petrol tank, crash bars and a few extras that came in the crate, clean off the grease, add fuel and oil, check the tyre pressures and fire them up. Now for the icing on the cake – I had to test drive every bike I assembled.

 

Sydney was wonderful! Life was great! It seemed like you could do almost anything.

 

In 1986 me, my wife and our two children moved to Tasmania to ‘get away from Sydney’. The searing heat of the outer western suburbs had finally worn us down. For the last three or four summers we had considered moving back to England after spending 13 years in one of the world’s greatest cities. But a short holiday in Tasmania changed our minds completely. This island of half a million people has been home for 32 years, but we will never forget our humble beginnings on Botany Bay. Or Sheffield, the city we turned our backs on so many years ago yet will always be in our hearts.

Great stuff Phil, will be in touch very soon. T

I do know someone who did come back to England after living 4 years in Sydney because of the weather and the insect bites, this was in the 90s.

Another great story and enjoyed reading every word. I will keep looking out for more.

Here’s hoping we might get a Christmas special. Would be nice to know what your first Christmas was like in Australia.