First Class on the Ghan. The old Ghan. Yes, that is right.
TRAVELLING First Class on the Ghan – by error.
I am going to sharer my Ghan Story. It was getting close to Xmas 1972 and I was living on my trimaran in Hobsons Bay, Williamstown, Victoria.
I had to get home to Darwin for Xmas. This was the usual thing. Everybody did it. You just had to get home for Xmas. But there were two problems, no money and the other one was “no bloody money.”
Due to cash issues, I decided to hitchhike to Darwin. Let’s face it! It is not that far from Melbourne to Darwin. No, it is only 3755 km or thereabouts.
Stage one: Hitchhike – Melbourne to Port Augusta.
With time to spare, I set off with next to nothing but a small amount of cash. Xmas day was just several days away but I reckon I could make it by then, and as per usual it was to be a surprise for Mum and Dad. They did not know I was coming.
Hitching a lift to Port Augusta was surprisingly easy. A few decent people here and there, some short and some longer rides, and, magically, I am in Port Augusta ready for the train trip. I had sensibly given away any idea of travelling by road from Port Augusta to Alice Springs.
For a start, the roads were pretty ordinary, just dirt, and the towns far spaced one from the other. The second obvious reason is that most people didn’t drive it. No way. They didn’t drive the dirt. They put their cars on the train. That is on the famous Ghan. Not the new Ghan but the old one.
When I arrived in Port Augusta I recalled my first trip on the Ghan, one taken just a few years earlier. I had travelled with my family and we stopped overnight in Port Augusta. It was a good night because we met Slim Dusty who was charming. He put on a concert there and we enjoyed the music.
Back to this trip! First Class on the Ghan.
LINK TO THE GHAN EXPERIENCE TODAY.
As for me, now with Xmas approaching, I had no interest in stopping overnight, but it was not up to me. The Ghan was scheduled to leave for Darwin in two days!
It would be leaving for its last trip before stopping for Xmas.
Shit. Oh, bother.
First night.
Well, the first night I slept on the lawn of the church. The lawn was well tended and my sleep not too bad, save for a couple of mosquitoes.
Second night.
For a change of scenery, the next night I slept on a park bench. A nice policeman woke me in the morning and wished me a good day.
Stage Two – Port Augusta to Alice Springs.
Down to get my ticket. There were 3 options.
- First Class. Simply stunning on the Old Ghan. A private room beautifully decorated, a private bathroom, walls festooned in walnut and the whole thing dripping with silver. No way I will be travelling first class on the Ghan.
- Second Class. Four bunks in a private cabin. Two up two down. Very nice. This is how I had travelled on my earlier trip with my parents.
- Third Class. Not the same thing old chap.
I have to admit that this was cheap and therefore attractive to me. The job was “sitting up all the way,” and one must bring one’s own sandwiches and “tea in a thermos” kind of thing.
- Trucks. They also had a number of flatbed trucks to take cars. Usually about 30-40 cars I think.
For economy, I chose economy. My ticket in hand, I went for a wander and came back when the train was getting ready to go.
A sudden and unwelcome announcement.
“Due to track conditions we will not be taking the Third Class carriages. As a result those travelling Third Class may either upgrade to Second Class or First Class or cancel the trip.”
A shock! No go! Words to that effect.
That moment gave me pause to reflect on my “Third Class” status in the world.
First Class on the Ghan, or Second Class?
Hells bells! I cannot afford Second Class.
What to do. Think. think………. Hell.
Eventually, after a struggle with my mind and my pocket, I saunter up to the counter.
“Hi there. I have decided to go 2nd Class,” I declare, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. But it was, especially right that moment.
“Sorry sir, we have sold the last of our 2nd Class berths.”
“What?”
It is difficult to speak. Although I am not totally aware of it, I am a bit like a stunned mullet, and so the attendant needs to repeat his statement for the benefit of the village idiot.
“Yes, sir, sorry, but it is now First Class or wait for the next train.”
Shit! Shit!
Down the platform the guard is getting fidgety. He is pacing up and down with his flag, and he is itching to use it. The guard calls out a few times.
“Hurry up,” he says. “This train has got to leave.”
This causes me to look blankly at the ticket office guy.
“I will never get home to Darwin for Xmas now”, I say, sadly.
My soon to be friend the guard is flourishing the flag. He is quite impatient.
Calls again.
“Hurry! Please sir; the train must depart.”
The ticket seller looks at me, and he surprises me to the extreme.
“There you go, Merry Xmas Son.”
He gives me a First Class on the Ghan ticket.
I do not have to pay.
Of course, I thank this gentleman of gentlemen profusely, my faith in humankind restored. I will never forget him.
My green flag guard with his happy flag is now content. He is puzzled when he sees me running down to First Class but he soon changes his demeanour, for is it not the case that I am special? A First Class passenger of some substance.
First Class on the Ghan – paying 3rd class.
The train departs.
I check over my accommodation.
- The Sleeper. As I said, and I do know, as I slept there in my feather bed, with the silver and the walnut. I enjoyed complimentary wine and a well-filled ice bucket. I admired the view from my window as we rattled along. I also admired a most impressive painting of Schloss Wilhelmstall.
- The Dining Car. The First Class folks had their own Dining Car, and it was fabulous, just like the Windsor Hotel in Spring Street Melbourne. I been there too, man.
- The Lounge. A bar and music room. A grand piano, impressive bar and what a life. A man could get used to this.
First Class on the Ghan. Friends and other folks.
As you do, I wander down to see how the other folks live in the inferior world of 2nd class. What a huge stepdown for a man of my stature. Admittedly, a fine dining car, but not up to my standard. A piano too. Goodness, they do seem to live O.K.
And there were friends too, except that they were not travelling first class on the Ghan. I remember Ted Steele and Gary Hawthorne but there were others. We have a few drinks.
It turns out that Gary has just finished his National Service and he is on the way home. His car is travelling with us, unlike the bulk of the Third Class passengers whom we left stranded on the platform at Port Augusta.
My sympathies go out to them, especially given that I was one of them until elevated by some chance of fate.
LINK TO GARY AS ONE OF THE MISSING MILITARY – NOW FOUND.
Gary knows I am travelling First Class. Everyone knows. The truth is that I am now an object of curiosity.
In the conversation he asks me, “How are you getting from Alice to Darwin?”
I say, “Oh, I haven’t thought about it yet.”
He has no idea that I am about to be sticking out the thumb and hoping for a ride. But going back to Darwin always has its moments. Its stories.
The innocent Gary is clear and he needs my help. He says, “Well come with me then. Let’s share drive and I am sure that I will enjoy your company.”
“O.K. Mate.” I say.
“I will help you out. The trip will be good for the pair of us.”
This is what happens to people who travel first class on the Ghan.
Stage Three. Alice Springs to Darwin N.T.
When we eventually get off the train Gary’s car is one of the last to be offloaded. Most of our fellow travellers have sped off up the track.
The track is the Stuart Highway. It is still 1500 km to Darwin, but now it is possible to drive on a sealed road.
There are only 4-5 other cars left stuffing about. We ignore them, and head off.
We put the foot down, meaning we travel at a very fast speed.
Our make believe Ferrari is obviously travelling faster than many, as car after car, we pass in a blur.
Zoom…Zoom…Zoom.
Some distance off from the Barrow Creek township we are still zooming along. Zooming? We are doing close to 100 miles an hour in the old speak.
Suddenly, we both shout at the same time.
“A wallet!”
We both spotted the wallet, lying quietly in the middle of the road.
We pull up. It takes a fair while to stop when you are zooming along.
We reverse, and there is quite a bit of reversing here for obvious reasons.
I pick up the wallet. It is filled with cash.
But this stash of cash belongs to a good friend of Gary’s. He is one of the very few, perhaps the only traveller, still up ahead of us. He got a good start, fair enough, but the bloke is obviously a lead foot.
He is “sans” wallet, but he is not alone. He has got his wife and two little kids with him.
Gary and I drive on into Barrow Creek. At Barrow Creek, we decide to have a beer.
In the pub we go. There he is at the bar!
He sits on a stool, a very sorrowful look on his face.
He smiles, sort of, when he sees us, but it is more a rueful smirk than a smile. Later we find out that he has borrowed a fiver off the police sergeant so he can buy his family a drink.
“I don’t s’pose you fellers have seen a wallet in your travels? I have lost mine.”
We laugh, quite vigorously, which kind of surprises him.
“You mean this one?” says Gary, waving the wallet.
“Joy, oh joy.”
He buys us a beer with his bundle of cash, recently recovered, and in full. Naturally, he is obliged to reduce the cash and buy us a few beers. Still – a good save there chaps!
I have always thought our semi-reckless driving at great speed saved his bacon, because maybe not all of the travellers on that road would have resisted temptation. I hope I don’t offend anyone by saying this, and perhaps it should not be said because Territorians back in that time were a damn good lot.
We had a couple of beers, absolutely free at Barrow Creek, apparently, and then we went on.
And on and on.
Late at night on Xmas Eve we pull up at my parents’ house in Alawa, Darwin N.T.
It is quiet. It looks like Mum and Dad are in bed. Of course, they don’t know that I am coming. And come to think of it, there were a few moments when I felt the same.
Gary says, “Well, thanks for your help. It was great and I really enjoyed listening to your stories. So yes, again thanks a lot.”
I looked at Gary, and I said, “Gary, you cannot go yet. I have to tell you my story.”
Gary is a bit surprised as we have been on the road for hours.
“What, another story? So late at night?”
“Yes,” I say. “The true story.”
“It is my story of how I travelled First Class on the Ghan for a Third Class fare. You see……………………………..”