I asked around at work if anybody knew anybody who had a tractor for sale very cheap. Almost everybody at work knew that a farm must have a tractor otherwise it’s an imposter farm or worse still, a hobby farm. I was quite scared that my farm would be labelled a hobby farm, implying I was playing rather than working. Mary-Anne asked why I needed a tractor; a typical woman question. She told me her father had a tractor on his place and all he did was drive it around the boggy paddocks never seeming to actually use it for anything productive. I ignored her question and gave her a difficult database to work on.
The first vehicle I ever drove was a tractor officially called a Fordson, but it did have other names. It lived in a field at the top of a slope so it could be started by running down the hill. If that didn’t work the tiny petrol tank was part filled and switched in and the handle at the front cranked. The handle had a vicious wrist-breaking kick-back. As soon as the engine fired, a kerosene tank became the fuel source and the precious petrol was tipped back into its container for next time. It was a joy to drive for a fourteen year old having only one foot pedal (brake and clutch combined) and a throttle controlled by pulling a piece of wire. It was so tempting to try to use the brake down the steep hill into the village when being pushed by a huge load of hay on a trailer. That released the clutch and off you sped, totally out of control for the stop sign and right angle bend at the bottom. The farm where I worked had three tractors and it was less than 100 acres. On that count My Farm should have four.
Garry found a suitable tractor. It was similar to his but newer and bigger: a 1955 International with 3-point linkage, PTO, a huge blade at the front and a cab so you could keep working in the rain. He was enthusiastic particularly about the PTO. I had to do some quiet reading to find out what that was. He reckoned the owner might throw in some extra agricultural implements at the price. These included a chisel plough, harrow, super spreader and hoist. It’s a bargain he said. We drove over to near Goulburn to see this bargain. Danny wasn’t expecting us. The tractor had a flat tyre, no battery and looked very lonely sitting in the middle of a big unproductive paddock. Garry was smart. He had brought a battery, some nostril-tingling Aerostart spray and never went anywhere without a small air compressor. In about 20 minutes the red dragon was blowing dense blue smoke out of its chimney. Danny was visibly impressed probably thinking it would never go again.
Take it for a drive said Danny. Can you show me first because I’m a Fordson man I replied? I clung on while we bounced wildly across this seemingly smooth field. He demonstrated its prodigious power in top gear by rolling two cars over and into a dam. They disappeared in a gurgle of brown and green bubbles. My go included kangaroo hopping the first 10 metres, and being scared.
The extras were thrown in for free with the full sum coming out at $2,500. And it seemed a pity to leave without a couple of gates and a sheep crush, also free. $2,500 for a shed full of rubbish seemed good at the time. I was ecstatic. Garry and I drove back to Canberra full of the future.
Garry continued to provide amazing service. He had a real-sheep- farmer neighbour who was prepared to move the tractor from Goulburn to Creewah, a mere 300 km, for $500. I had to guide him to both ends and load and unload the beast onto his truck. He would do the rest. A high bank was found, the tractor positioned at the top and the truck backed into a receiving position; easy after Danny’s fence had been rearranged. The reverse process at my place completed the deal.
Mary-Anne still wanted to know what I was going to use the dragon for. She got another database to complete. I avoided the question to myself by vigorous activity, raising the dull red of the dragon to a glorious deep sheen with a can of Repco Heavy-Cut Duco Polish. I pumped grease into hidden nipples and topped up oils and hydraulic fluid. Gordon next door, sensing my lack of purpose with the new machine, generously asked if I would like to level his drive and the area for his unbuilt garage. I enthusiastically spent half a day on it finally bouncing and rattling away with the whole place looking like a ploughed field.
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