History (Fossilized)
Melbourne Carnival Part 3
As if we had not seen enough football Norm and I went to Punt Road to watch an
intraclub scratch match. We were appalled at the standard of the ground when
compared to the family friendly ones in Perth. The spectators stood on a stepped
area which was formed with old railway sleepers. The space between the sleepers
was packed with cinders which blackened everything in reach. The locals were
smart enough to roll their cuffs up a turn so we followed their example.
Much had been written, in the papers, about a young ruckman who was joining
Richmond so we decided to take a look. He was a skinny kid but showed, we were told,
exceptional promise. I suppose you could call him the Kreuzer of 1958.
The umpire bounced the ball for the start of the game and Roy Wright, Richmond's
legendary big man, was opposed to the new kid. Roy thumped the ball downfield and
the kid fell in a crumpled heap. It transpired that he had broken a leg.
Richmond legend, Roy Wright.
Big Roy picked the young man up in his arms and carried him off the ground.
As they drew close to us we saw that Roy had tears streaming down his cheeks.
If I remember correctly, that promising young ruckman never played senior football.
It was time for me to go home. I went to the Post Office near where we were living
and collected £35 (about $1400 in today's money) which my mother had telegrammed.
Thus armed I went to the Kew Pub and ended up the reluctant participant in a punch-up with
a local. A couple of Kew Amateur players who had no regard for my opponent were
pleased with my showing and got me into a taxi just as the police were arriving. My
head was ringing a bit and when I finally found our flat the driver said "Geez mate, we've
been past it six times". When the taxi left I suddenly realized that my wallet had
gone and the taxi tail-lights were just a single red blob in the distance. Then, as I
watched, the red blob slowly become two distinct tail-lights. The driver, who must
have backed up half a mile, handed me my wallet.
In the 50 ensuing years I have often spared a thought for that taxi-driver. He
has my total respect and I hope his life has been bountiful and happy.
