I can clearly remember the thrill of getting a handful of cash for my very first paid job.
Living on the family farm at Bullio I had been earning some useful pocket money with three other ventures - collecting bottles, selling rabbit skins and a neat little scheme where I sort of borrowed some of my dad's ewes, bought a ram with my rabbit skin money and produced my own lambs.
But the steady flow of income from those sources didn't match the absolute euphoria of actually being paid wages when Clive Goodfellow, a Wanganderry grazier and legendary Highlands cricketer, employed me to work in his shed at shearing time.
I'd start at daybreak penning the sheep then pick up the fleeces for the three shearers during the day.
When shearing finished in the late afternoon I'd help drench the freshly shorn sheep and return them to their paddocks on horseback.
Next day the routine would be repeated.
They were long hard days and I don't think the pay was too flash, but that didn’t matter.
I’d been doing the same sort of work in my dad's shearing shed for years without pay, so this was gold.
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