Australia has been receiving a steady stream of migrants of one sort or another, ever since white settlement commenced in 1788. The first migrants were the convicted criminals, a flow which did not cease until the middle of the last century. The free settlers of the last century were attracted by promises of cheap or free land and of gold to be readily gouged and washed from mountain and creek bed.

Later in that century, when the age of steam was firmly established, fast voyages to Europe coupled with the new science of refrigeration, led to large scale production of wool, meat and grain.

The rush for land, led to the settlement of land where steady rain fall could not be relied on. A while ago I travelled in such an area in South Australia, and wrote a poem about a man, George Goyder, a surveyor , who did much to ralionise the concept of areas where adequate rainfall could be assured.

I arrived in Australia in the 1960's part of that postwar wave of migrants that largely fueled Australia's rapidly growing industrial base.The country seemed to me to be old fashioned at first, for example I remember searching for hours in downtown Brisbane for table wine. Eventually I got bottles of red wine that had come from central Queensland packaged in ribbed poison bottles. You see in those days "real men" only drank beer. Looking back I think Australian's might have laughed at our strange pronounciations ,I remember the place names Parramatta and Wooloomooloo giving me trouble. Over the years we have had nothing but the best of Australian workmates and neighbours.I picked up a variety of skills like buildings fences and bush camping that I treasure to this day.

Those Australian skills and attitudes can be best expressed in an event that I once witnessed.

Back in the 1960's in Western Australia a DC3 aircraft bearing the MacRobinson Miller logo on it's tail but invariably known as 'Mickey Mouse airlines' bumped and flapped it's way over the West Australian outback towards the next of many stops that hot summer afternoon.

The first officer was at the controls and had began the landing procedure. "Propellers - fine pitch",."Check" replied the captain. "Mixture rich" -"Check". "Flaps 30 degrees ".--- "Check". "Landing gear down". ---"Check". Through the p.a. came the polished voice of a female flight attendant 'Ladies and gentlemen we will shortly landing at Learmonth airport. Please fasten your seatbelts and refrain from smoking until------". The aircraft continued to bump it's way downwards towards the dusty red airstrip.
Suddenly there was an explosive rush of air and frantic movements in the seat behind me. The startled hostess bounded towards the cockpit shouting "Captain ! Captain'! come quickly, a window's blown away". The captain , middle aged , moved steadily down the gangway, cap firmly in place and a face that exuded a modest confidence, a demeanour that suggested he had met and overcome much worse in his years of wartime flying.
"How're you going there mate'" the skipper addressed the passenger seated next to the offending window. That passenger being in the process of stuffing his briefcase and blanket into the hole . The captain added "Yer that'll do it" and returned to the cockpit.

Minutes later we were on the parking apron and the hostess used the p.a. to announce that we would be on the ground for approximately twenty minutes.
"You'll be bloody lucky'" boomed a voice from the cockpit .

It was late afternoon and the few passengers gathered around the shelter shed which served as the terminal building. We speculated on how long it would take to get a relief aircraft up from Perth, twelve hours maybe?. I'll swear it was only a matter of minutes before the skipper appeared around the side of the plane, smiling broadly. "She's right now, I've fixed her" he said. '"I Iearned years ago never to fly a Dakota .without a screw driver and pliers. The window had jumped out of it's grommet, and I forced it back in".

"All aboard''.

Alan Tosell, 1998