The life and times of Australia's "Nullarbor Kid". True stories from his past.

His name was Charlie Sinclair, a sergeant in the Victorian Police Force and attached to the Country Roads Board. He was middle aged, quietly spoken and a gentleman. His main job was to police all interstate trucks and follow up with the collection of all outstanding fines, either accepting money on the spot or escorting the delinquent to jail.

The speed limit in Victoria was lower than New South Wales, and it was very frustrating to have to plod along the flat country side after the up and down of the N.S.W. mountains, waiting for policeman to jump out of the bushes to book us for a couple of miles an hour over the limit.

We were caught many times and being always on the move, never able to appear in court. The fines were posted to our interstate addresses and naturally we forgot about them, being half way across the Nullarbor Plain or up in the New England Range.

That meant a warrant was issued for your arrest and imprisonment on sight. On being stopped the only way out was to have the ready money in your pocket. They preferred your money not your body.

So one day a month or two later driving through Victoria there would be Charlie Sinclair on the side of the road checking on a truck for a permit or what ever. It was no good thinking he didn't know you... he did, he knew every truck he was looking for a mile away.

You then pulled up and waited for Charlie to finish and over he would stroll. "G day Ray, I think you owe me some money."

He would then open the boot of his car where he kept a one draw filing cabinet of outstanding fines. He would rifle through them and all of a sudden  "Well, well, well... Look what I've found." ...

While the busy fingers were clicking the files over I would be shuffling around from one foot to another hoping like hell that he would find nothing ... knowing all along that there could be warrants out for my arrest. I was hoping against hope that the office in town had not sent them yet.

No such luck with super efficient Charlie. That is when unbreakable agreements were made ... "Got any money on you? I want $50 or your body in Pentridge jail for 30 days."

That was 2 and a half weeks wages.

"Not enough, I got $24 only."

"OK pay the $50 into the Melbourne office tomorrow without fail ... right?" This was if you were on the way into Melbourne.

"Yep no problem"

"If you don't pay in tomorrow, the next time we meet ... it’s in the hoosgow for you and every time after that. No more favours. no more Mr. Nice guy ... understand?"

Done Charlie no problem ... and you did if you knew what was good for you.

If you were traveling north then as soon as you reached home you wired the money to head office and Charlie kept an eye out for it.

For a time there the Country Roads Board were repacking the highway with fill and putting empty 44 gallon drums down the centre of the road to force the traffic back and forth to bed it down solid out to the edges of the road. Now this made for a delightful game of snooker or pool if you like, for us rebels that was not wanted.

(Back then was not the day of chrome and flash paint.)

Our 3/8 big heavy steel bumper bars curled slightly around on the ends were for brushing aside sheep, cattle, kangaroos, horses, anything that suddenly appeared out of the darkness too quickly for our useless brakes to handle.

So leaning out the window a bit bored and taking careful aim we could clip the drums lightly and away they would fly end over end out into the darkness and into the bush. Great fun when no one was around.

Then the gangers woke up why so many drums were missing each morning or somebody snitched on us ... because, near Benalla one night I decided to bounce a couple. I lined up one and just grazed it, there was a jolt and the drum wobbled a bit, that's all. I was puzzled.

"Funny I thought. I'll have another one".

The next one rocked on its base, moved sideways a little and gushed water all over me from its top filler hole.

As I wiped my face with my hand I smiled, they are filling them with water to stop them getting bowled over. Bloody cheats.

To prove I could do it I bowled about three good and hard and over they went.

It was dry weather and as I wandered into Wangarratta the next town, there was Charlie that is Senior Sergeant Sinclair of the Victorian Police force, waving me down with his torch.

To him I was just another set of headlights approaching, till I rolled up to a stop.

"What have I done", I called out with a guilty conscience thinking of the drums.

My AEC was the fastest truck on the road between Sydney and Melbourne and I was always getting into strife.

"Oh its you young Ray" he said, seeing me "For once you don't owe me any money."

"No I don't. Can I go now?"

"Well what are you worried about"

"Nothing ... I haven't done nothing"

Charlie then took a close look at my truck.

"Where did you get all the mud over the cabin, the roads dry?"    

My heart skipped a beat.

"Maybe out of the back of Winton Service Station, there were some puddles of water"

"Ok" Charlie swept his torch for a closer inspection of the cab and bumper bar "get going and behave yourself" he said with a bit of a smile on his face.

I think maybe he had inkling what I had been up to.

It wasn't long after that I met him on the top of Pretty Sally a hill just out of Melbourne. It was midnight and freezing. As I climbed to the top I looked out and it was snowing. Yes snowing and it was between Xmas and New Year’s Day. It was mid summer, unbelievable. I stopped up top and climbed out to convince myself it was snow. Yes it was.

Just then Charlie pulled up in his patrol car going the opposite way.

We shook hands and wished each other the best both wondering what the other had done wrong to be working at this time of the year. I asked Charlie was the road quiet, he said yes any sensible person would be home on a night like this and he was on the way home himself. I asked him was he sure he was going home and not going to follow me.

He laughed and said "The roads all yours to night Ray, I've got all year to catch you."

With that he took off down "Sally" and I took off for the border.

The next year he caught me three times, it should have been more but I was lucky occasionally.

They were the days of another time and tall men.

This is for you Charlie; you were a gentleman, and a fond memory.

From; "My Way on the Highway", Copyright 2005 Ray Gilleland

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