Ticket ambush:
It doesn’t pay to be dishonest because you can often be found out in the most interesting of ways. Dad spent about 16 years as an employee of the Victorian Railways rising up through the ranks of porter, ticket seller and finally, signalman. This was probably the job he liked most during those years working in a variety of locations along the Eastern rail link. He particularly enjoyed his stint at East Richmond where he met all sorts of people especially after midnight, and he had an easy rapport with the ‘down and outers’.
His friends dropped into the signal box for a chat and a smoke on a regular basis and even more so on cold mornings because there was always a wood fire burning. Dad seemed to study people and noticed that many were creatures of habit. He commented that certain individuals did the same routine day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year. It certainly was not Dad’s idea of living, having been raised on the free open space of a farm where the only clock you saw was on the mantel piece in the kitchen.
One of his visitors thought Danny was exaggerating about city people and their routines so Dad decided to prove his point. “Look”, he said, “At about 10 minutes past eight a tall, gentleman will cross over the foot bridge, buy the ‘Age’ newspaper, roll it over four times and place it under his left arm.” Also, to labour the point, Dad went down from the Signal Box, crossed the tracks and drew a chalk circle on the platform. The visitor was amazed that the man in question followed the routine precisely and stood inside the circle.
In the later months of 1973, I decided to try my hand at working for the railways. At that time there was almost full employment and it was relatively easy to find a job. I was interviewed and very soon found myself in a variety of occupations at Flinders St. Railway Station. On some days I loaded the yellow parcel vans, while on other occasions I swept platforms, but usually the job involved collecting tickets from commuters. Can you imagine performing tedious employment like that for eight hours a day? I can tell you that the fifth and sixth hours were usually the hardest. We only had one day off every two weeks, but on Saturday we were paid time and half, Sunday double time and Christmas was double again, because most sane people wanted to be home with their families. Another disadvantage to this occupation was the shift work.
It was after spending quite a few days collecting tickets at Flinders St. that I sought advice from Dad. With so many thousands of people giving me tickets, how were you expected to check them? Usually, the daily ticket was divided in two by a dotted line. White was used for the incoming journey to the city and red half for the return leg. The current date was also stamped on the tickets which were only the size of a small matchbox. As soon as our hands were full, we emptied the tickets into a long solid brown box which was located adjacent to our stand. We were instructed as well to stop anyone who didn’t have a valid ticket and refer them to the inspector who would be waiting nearby.
Dad casually said, “Son, its easy!! Don’t look at the tickets. Just stare vacantly ahead but look at everybody’s eyes. The first clue is the person who won’t look at you and the second hint will be when they press your hand down trying to disguise the illegal ticket.” Sure enough, I tried this technique and as my hand was suddenly jerked down I glanced at the ticket and found it to be the wrong colour and had an obsolete date stamped on it. The young commuter was suitably stunned with my quick action and I referred him to the ticket checker.
It’s all very well to be smug about this, but we experienced the ticket checkers vengeance on a few occasions. It could send a shiver down our spine when they boarded the carriage, placed their white badges on their lapels and said “tickets please”. Sometimes either our school term ticket had expired or we were travelling in the first class compartment with a 2nd class ticket. But we were resourceful, and as the train pulled into each station we were always on the lookout for the well dressed gentleman equally spaced along the platform in neat suits. It was easy! As the inspectors got on, we got off.
