It goes on a bit but the punch line is worth it.
THE AUSTRALIAN ARMY
Letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad. [Eromanga is a
small town west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland]
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and
Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get
in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone!
I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't
hafta get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all you
gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya
No blo ody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin'!!
Blokes haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa
hot water and even a light to see what ya doing! At brekky ya get
cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew
like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon, and by that time
all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez
its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting awards for shooting - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a
bloody possum's bum and it don't move and its not firing back at yer
like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their
prize cows before the Ekka [State Rural Exhibition Show] last year!
All yer gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target
its a piece of pis s!! You don't even load your own cartridges - they
comes in little boxes and ya don't have to steady yourself against the
rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes yer gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil
and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home
after the muster. Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like
I'm the best the platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one
bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three
pickhandles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and
eight stone wringin' wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried
me off to the boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,