Jacqui Lambie - Rebel with a Cause: You cant keep a bloody Lambie down - My story from soldier to senator and beyond

All photos from authors collection unless otherwise stated.

First published in 2018

Copyright Jacqui Lambie 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

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Web: www.allenandunwin.com

ISBN 9781760293598

eISBN 9781760639143

Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Cover design: Deborah Parry Graphics

Cover photograph: Gary Ramage

Contents

14 August 2009: Devonport, Tasmania

After too many years of consuming pharmaceuticals and wine on a daily basis, I had reached a point where I no longer felt anything. I certainly didnt feel like the feisty young soldier that I was in the 1990s, a GI Jac, taking on the world and anyone in it. My physical, emotional and spiritual decline had seen me sink to the lowest of the lows. I was reduced to an empty carcass.

On a wintry night, I wandered slowly and aimlessly down a gentle hill on one of the main streets in Devonport, Tasmania, that led to the centre of the town. One reason I moved slowly was that I was overweight, like a drifting blimp, carrying 103 kilograms on my tiny skeleton.

I was not a pretty sight, and sadly I no longer cared for myself. I didnt feel pretty; I didnt feel anything anymore. I was in such a bad state that I didnt want anyone to care for me, and I had done all that I could to bring that about.

I was cold to the bone. The air was heavy with chilled moisture. I was numb. I was lost in the fog, just like the car that coasted downhill on Steele Street, heading right toward me. The only difference was that the car had a road to follow; I didnt know where I was heading anymore. I just didnt care. I was at the point where my future was only seconds away.

My early ambition was to join the Tasmanian Police, but people may not be surprised to hear me say that that was not going to be hardcore enough to satisfy me. Which only left the Australian Army, or organised crimethe first choice seemed the easier option of the two to pull off.

Thinking about it, I could see myself riding a Harley with leathers on. There was a point when I actually could have gone either way. Some of my best childhood friends did go the other way, touching petty crime at fifteen and set up as bikie girlfriends by seventeen.

That was not the life for me.

Even at a young age, my girlfriends said that if any one of us was going to make it, well, it was going to be me to do it. I dont know how they were so sure of that, but its what they said.

It may have had a lot to do with the other influences I had, my family and especially all the sports I was playing, being fully committed to basketball and hockey. If I joined a team, I would turn up, attend all the training and take part in the games. I was motivated to participate and to play and to work hard on myself.

Basketball was easy to train for. As a teenager, my mum, Sue, my younger brother, Bobby, and I lived almost next door to the basketball stadium in Devonport. (Mum and my dad Tom had separated when I was thirteen.) I could drop in and do hoops for half an hour or more early in the mornings. I knew the woman who cleaned the change rooms, and she would let me inher son and I did a lot of horse riding together.

As I got older, one way or another, the army was calling me. While enlisting was not something I had directly considered, unlike climbing up the ladder from the Tassie Police to the Australian Federal Police (crime was affecting my friends), I came to think about the skills I would leave the army with.

According to my dad I have a bit of family history with rebel soldiers, which I didnt realise as a child. He says we are either related to Robert the Bruce or William Braveheart Wallace. It doesnt take much to encourage him to call up the ancestral Scottish heritage. A born storyteller at any family gathering, he is getting worse with age. We may never know which of those Scottish warriors is the ancestor, but Dad swears there is a link. (Mind you, if I believed Dad too much he might tell me that we actually had a family castle in Scotland, but there was too much unpaid tax, so we just had to let it sit there.)

My uncle is a veteran and served two tours of Vietnam. He had been shot in the head and lived to tell the story, although he never really spoke about it when I was young. I did, however, get a glimpse of the emptiness and torment in his eyes. I still call in for a cuppa to see him every fortnight.

With age, he and I have become besties and we like nothing better than to sit as one and tell our war stories, sometimes with laughter, other times with sadness, but at least now he can talk about his experiences. These memories with my uncle will be with me for a lifetime. He always knew he would never recover from his troubles, so he did everything he could to bring me out of my deep despair when I left the army and help me get through it. Well get you up and fighting again, Jac, hed say.

Early on in my life, I had a fair bit of contact with the Tasmanian police. I was the longest-serving casual in the history of a Devonport supermarket, I was once told, but despite that I was a restless teenager. I got into a bit of trouble.

I saw myself as Jaclyn Smith from Charlies Angels, which was on television at the time. I was a huge fan of the series, and I dreamed of being the long-awaited fourth Angel. So, in my misspent youth, I fantasised about trying to save the world while getting tangled up in a few innocent misdemeanours, like underage drinking.

My first misadventure with the legal system and my first encounter with the police was brought about with the help of some Stones Original Green Ginger Wine, Passion Pop and (the best of the best) cans of UDL.

I was fourteen years old and in Year 9. I wasnt far off turning fifteen, not that this gives me any justification for my behaviour.

This is how it went down. My dear girlfriend had a stroke of luckher mum and dad were going away for the weekend.

Yippee!

Of course, we jointly decided that we would have one big friendly slumber party, so that I did not have to worry about my 10 p.m. curfew at home. Only there was a bit more than that going on.

By then, my girlfriends and I were moving into the big league, seeing men who drove various done-up Holdens, Toranas, EHs and some HQsno Fords, sorry. These blokes were in the higher echelons, as they had the best fluffy dice hanging from their rear-vision mirrors. One thing led to another; long before Facebook and even mobile phones, word had got around.

I had been about as smart as the rest of the crowd at the party, mixing my drinks. I reckon there would have been up to 70 people in the tiny little house. There were only a few irresponsible adults there, plenty of alcohol and very little to eat. By 10.30 p.m. I was starving and so was my friend, so we decided to get some fish and chips.