In 1972 I was penniless and needing money for the usual things a Moss Vale High Year 12 student desired.
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Petrol so I could borrow dad’s car, 33 rpm long playing Tina Turner, Neil Diamond records, electronics bits to support my radio amateur hobby, maybe a beer or two or a couple movie tickets to try to turn some girl’s head.
I knew nothing and was really unemployable. I had to start at the bottom. So dad arranged that.
A word to a few people and I was a casual at the local abattoir, Berrima District Meats (BDM).
Of course, I had to borrow dad’s car on the few days I worked. He was proud of that car.
A light blue Ford Falcon that looked just like most unmarked cop cars of the time. It was fun driving that, especially if my P plates were hard to see.
My recollections are a little vague on but one memory is still clear as day. The stench!
The job was to stand in front of a large steel chute.
A thud upstairs and a few seconds later, down came the warm glistening intestines of a cow, very very fresh.
Then another and another, and another.
My job was to skewer a dozen of these on a large steel hook in front of me, take the ends in both hands, pull and unravel them, while squeezing and stripping the excrement into a large stainless steel sink constantly flushed with water.
The desired end result was long strings of empty intestines which were used as sausage skins.
Sometimes there would be a blockage.
An intestine would burst, spraying me with you know what. I soon figured out that keeping my mouth closed and breathing through my nose was the safest option.
I stank, my clothes stank, my hair stank, dad’s car stank. Two days were enough. I never returned and spent a lot of time the next day cleaning the car.
I don’t think I ate a sausage after that day. Today I’m vegan.
I was lucky to be paid anything. The paltry amount went to dad for petrol and cleaning materials for the car.
After leaving school 8 or 9 months later, working for the PMG (now Telstra) was soooo good.
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