Brian Robson - The Crate Escape

Why, oh why, was I here?

It was a question that I had asked myself a hundred times over the months since I had arrived in Australia, and even now whilst walking around the Melbourne exhibition site, I was unable to answer. There were many booths exhibiting British-made products, ranging from furniture to Guinness and from tourism to industry; even shipping lines such as P&O Lines and The Shaw Saville Shipping Company had their services on display. My two friends and I continued to walk around, with me getting more and more depressed with each step I took.

Paul and John, my two mates, looked at meI must have been showing my feeling of depressionand said, Come on, Brian, cheer up; the world hasnt ended yet!

It may as well have, I grumbled, but to be honest, the sound of their Irish accents seemed to cheer me up a bit.

I tell you what, lets all have a good old glass of Guinness, said John.

I dont like Guinness! I answered with a scoff.

And neither do I, said Paul, pulling a face.

Well, just for old times sake, John insisted. His insistence won the day and going to the Guinness booth, we ordered three glasses of the black stuff.

Paul and John were the same as me, immigrants from the United Kingdom who, for various reasons, had mistakenly chosen to travel to Australia in search of a better life but, after arriving, had found the place not to their liking. We were all about the same age and found solace in commiserating with each other. They were slightly better off than me in that they had been friends since early school days, whereas, I had travelled alone. One big difference between us was that they had virtually made up their minds that they would have to stay the full two years that their contract with the Australian government specified, whereas I was determined to get back to my home in Cardiff, as soon as possible, if not sooner!

The three of us spent most evenings together; they worked for the Victorian Railway and managed to exist in the shack the railway called a hostel. I rented a bedsitter in St Kilda, a suburb of Melbourne, and had just recently started working in a paper mill. The two of them had only been living in Australia a few months, but I had been here for around ten months and originally had also worked for the railway and lived in the same place that they were living in.

We had first met one evening when, after leaving the paper mill which was located near to their place, I had popped into the hostel just to remind myself of how my Australian nightmare had first begun and we three had met in one of the hallways. We had been friends ever since.

We drank the Guinness and continued with our walk around the exhibition hall when we chanced upon a booth that was hosted by a company with the name of Pickford Removals. I stopped dead and the other two bumped into me.

That company has a depot at the bottom end of my street in Cardiff, I exclaimed. I always thought that they were just a local business; how wrong can you be!

One hundred and one per cent, said John with a grin.

Paul added, They must be pretty big; their sign says that they move anything anywhere!

Pity they cant move us, I chipped in and we all laughed.

Completing our tour of the exhibition, we grabbed a bite to eat before my friends started their short walk back to their hostel and I caught the train back to St Kilda; after all, we had to work the next day, and it was, by now, getting fairly late.

When I arrived back at the bedsitter, I took a shower, and then I lay down on the bed. Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned, with my mind constantly returning to the Pickford Removals booth I had seen a few hours earlier. Would it be possible? I kept asking myself. I mean even to me it seemed a bit far-fetched.

Far-fetched or not, it was worth a try. I got off the bed and scribbled down a few notes before attempting to go to sleep again. As soon as dawn broke, I was up, dressed and out of the bedsitter. I quickly walked to the station to catch the train into Central Melbourne and to pay a visit to a certain airlines office. So eager was I that I arrived before the office had opened, and so, whilst hanging around outside, I constantly checked my scribbled notes so that I would memorise the questions that I wanted to ask without forgetting my lines. Finally, the doors were opened, and I went inside the building with the feeling of urgency, desperately hoping to get positive answers to my questions.

Inside, a few desks greeted visitors, with each having a single chair behind it for a Qantas agent to sit on. Two chairs were placed at the front of each desk from where people could make inquiries or book tickets, each having a sign above reading Passenger Inquiries. These were not for me, and it was a few moments before I spotted a stand-up counter with a sign that read Freight Inquiries. Knowing my rightful place in life, I walked up to the counter and spoke to the man standing behind it.

Hi, can you help me? I asked cheerfully.

I can try, he answered. What help do you need?

My company has sent me here to ask about sending freight to London; Ive made a few notes, I said before I pulled my scribbles out of my pocket. Okay, if I ask you a few things?

Thats why Im here; fire away, he said, and I started to read from the notes I had made the previous evening.

I did not go to work that afternoon but thoughtfully sat in a milk bar, considering the answers I had received from the agent and waiting for my two Irish friends to finish their daily grind. I was extremely excited about my mornings visit, and I just couldnt wait to meet up with them again.

Keeping a careful eye on the time, I waited until I knew that they would have returned to the hostel before leaving the milk bar and walking there to meet them. With a quick tap on the door and without being invited, I walked into the room and sat on Pauls bed. He glanced up from the magazine he was reading, smiled and in his broad Irish accent said, Youre early this evening?

I told them that I hadnt been to work and that instead, I had paid a visit to the airline office of Qantas. Thinking of doing some travelling? John asked jokingly.

With your help, I might be, I answered with a smile.

I had their full attention immediately; I could almost see the inquiring look in their eyes. Knowing that I had extraordinarily little money, Paul asked, Are you serious?