Publican, Sporting club Manager, Justice of the Peace, dad extraordinaire, and Thoroughly Good Hand.
George has long since passed on from this world, (2016) but all who knew him are unanimous in their praise for him.
His guest book.. displayed after his funeral..has entries from Lesmurdie, Dowerin, and Carnarvon, and demonstrates a part of his history with a racing club, football club, various hotels and sporting clubs.
This wee article/blog in no way attempts to sum up this glorious man’s life and achievements..I can only impart to you lot/mob what I have learnt along the way.
George was first known to me in a little Wheatbelt town that I lived in and around for some twelve years, starting in 2001. I really got to know him…better maybe, when he took over the local sporting club cum bar as an interim measure, them failing to attract a suitable manager at the time. George had a brother locally, who was a farmer, and like most of us there, keenly interested in the continuance of this little towns one and only watering hole.
I was always up for learning new things, and George asked me to “give him a hand” in the cool room/grog storage, out the back of the Country Club. Once o week or so, we’d have a pallet delivered to..the local stock and station lot, and we’d then have to pick it up, utilising a forklift, shared by us and the local shop. I, some time later, scored myself a forklift license, and then it was Up to Me to..trundle along, pick up the grog, trundle back, race inside, open the small roller door, and place the pallet plus numerous delightful goodies, in the back. Then, unload, kegs to one side, cartons of beer et.c stacked along the back wall, prepatory to Loading up the cool room. Use by dates were noted, the oldest grog went into the Cool Room first. I had a great time! No money changed hands..well, in the early days, before things got legal like..here and there, beer that had passed its use by date was..offloaded, shall we say, for..personal consumption by yours truly. It was that, or throw it out. Some interesting beer came my way here and there, there wasn’t much of it, let me hasten to add.
Cold beer was rotated to be the first in line to be put in the fridge, and warm beer stacked behind It, and then progressed to the Next in line line after it had been there long enough, to satisfy the Discerning tastes of the local Drinking Public.
Then, I progressed to loading/hooking up kegs onto their various beer lines. Nah, Tooheys old didn’t rate high enough to be served on tap, ie a keg, so it was cartons that had to suffice. Empty kegs were stacked away from the full ones..and loading the fridge was made easier by a back loading fridge..load it from inside the cool room. Much easier than out two doors, and load it through a third!
Then, weekly cleaning of the beer lines. Yaas, initially a scary process!
I had just about progressed to yardie status, when it all changed. The Committee got themselves a Manager. Well, a couple of them came up, moved into the Club Managers residence, a stones throw from The Club. My services as yardie were soon curtailed, after the new manager wondered how come she wasn’t getting her full promised salary. To all accounts, her package included paying salaries that she wasn’t aware of..mine was one! No longer required, thanks Bill! Mowing lawns there was it, then, along with bits and pieces that the Committee couldn’t be bothered with. A large farming community surrounded the town, the Committee comprised mostly of farmers, and there’s not much a decent farmer couldn’t do., or turn his/her hand to.
George! Off the subject for a bit.
Bill! Have you heard of an orphans Christmas? Ahh, nope!
So, come around next week, on…whatever day was Xmas day, eleven or so. Two of us orphans fronted up, Xmas lunch served up. Glorious! For orphans, read people without a place to go, for Christmas lunch…us two had relatives..in the Eastern States..as the rest of Australia was referred to. The term being almost a swear word.
Mrs George..didn’t come at leftovers..so, here and there, amazing food ended up in my larder.
The same two orphans were duly invited to..it might have been George’s wedding, but don’t quote me! Due west, a seaside town.
George ended up in Carnarvon, being the licensee of its main hotel, the Gascoyne. I asked if he had a spare room for a day or three..yep yep yep. Come over, and bring a suit. You have got one of those? I did, I’d never seen anyone in WA with one on..maybe a few pollies, news readers, that sort of thing. George cleared out a junk room he had upstairs..and we went places..getting veggies, amongst other things. Then..races on tomorrow, Bill. Time for that suit. I am the main sponsor, guests of mine have to spruce up. Ah!
Next day dawned, and found us on a courtesy bus..me tarted up, feeling a tad out of place, everybody else with short sleeves and shorts. George might have had a business shirt on…yaas. All that day, he’d grin when he saw me..sigh..with the coat over my shoulder and tie off, there was still the suit trousers, long, and me looking decidedly uncomfortable! To all accounts, it was a favourite trick of his.
George had a school aged son, and was concerned that there wouldn’t be enough money to pay for his schooling..hence the move to Carnarvon. I rather think that he held down a few manager jobs towards the same ends; providing for young Jed.
In the early years, I had a monthly trip down to the big smoke; and if George found out beforehand, I’d be loaded up with bags of sheep manure, for example, to be given to his Mum, who lived in an outlying suburb of Perth. These bags were the Best of the Best..unprocessed, straight from under a wool shed..just the best way to get your veggies and roses going.
I mentioned to Ade that George had given me some advice, but wouldn’t elaborate. Ade was curious..and when the story came out..aha! You’re privileged, to say the least! To all accounts, a man in George’s position is privy to lots of ..private information,..and it behoves him to keep it to himself. Seeing as George is long gone, it matters not in the slightest..but, if it wasn’t for George’s timely advice, I would not have gotten a job at the local primary school. As it was, it had its moments. I started as gardener, then progressed to stand in cleaner..thanks to a school principal, who helped me out no end. Actually, it was up to him to get the school cleaned, and if he couldn’t get anyone to do it, he had to do it himself! Strewth! A much pruned down version all the same…I lost that job, due in part to my reluctance to apply for my own job – again..This is where George’s advice came in handy..the person who took up that position left town, and her job was up for grabs…
I later scored a job at a local Special School, gardener…and then cleaner, here in Queensland…I had some experience with School cleaning by then!

Vale, George.