Down Under (Chapter 9 - Adelaide, Australia)

There she was! Our goal for the past six months. As our boat steamed up the long, narrow channel from the harbour to the wharfside, a thin cheer rose on the early morning air as a sprinkling of Australians burst from the cramped cabins to see their homeland almost within touching distance. We, too, felt as though we were arriving home.

The sight of waiting families, crowds of relatives and friends in colourful, informal summer clothing, exchanging affectionate Anglo-Saxon repartee across the quayside created a welcoming atmosphere in which we were included. It was quite stimulating to hear good round oaths again in the English tongue.

And what a wonderful experience-as a Britisher-to go through the Australian Customs and Immigration. 'She's right, sport,' drawled a lean, smiling young man, eyeing our scooter and modest baggage. 'Here for the Games, or are you going to stay with us for keeps?'

I told him we would certainly like to see something of the Olympics when we reached Melbourne, but that our ultimate destination would be the Northern Territory, after a leap-frog tour from city to city until we finally reached the bush.

'Lord, you'll know more about Australia than we do ourselves by the time you've finished!' Then followed the spontaneous invitation which was so typical of Australian generosity. As with everything, they were big-minded with their hospitality, as we were to realize on many future occasions.

'When you reach Melbourne, sport, my sister lives out at Moonee Ponds. Call along and she'll fix you up for tucker and that, for all the while you want to stay there. She's a character for throwing the house open.'

'It's nice of you to offer,' said Nita, 'but first we have got to reach Melbourne.' (She was obviously thinking of our diminishing bank balance.)

'Well, that shouldn't be too difficult, should it?' said this delightfully unofficial officer, glancing at the list of countries painted across the scooter headlamp.

Happier than we had been for at least three weeks, we sailed out of the dock gates to the accompanying cheers of bronzed dockers ('wharfies' in Australia) and set off down a long straight road into the city of Adelaide.

At last we were there, in Adelaide, our first Australian city, almost twelve thousand miles from London and home. The princely sum of ten pounds lay in Nita's purse and we were faced with the ambitious itinerary of an almost-round-Australia trip. Part two of our scoot to adventure began on that warm, sunny South Australian morning, with the somewhat gigantic query in our minds as to how we would get the money to complete our trip to the Northern Territory and its aborigines.

After a couple of hours in the sunshine of sleepy Adelaide we felt that the South Australian capital did not hold the answer. We should stand a much better chance of attaining financial security within the city limits of Melbourne. We decided we would push on directly after we had visited the NSU agents in Adelaide and had the scooter checked over and the battery (which had expired on the voyage) changed for a new one.

Adelaide, city of churches, wide streets, and veranda-shaded shops, was filled with alpaca-suited men wearing wide-brimmed hats, and women in colourful summer frocks. A nice, easy-going tempo gave the impression of an overgrown country town rather than a city. It was extremely pleasant. Contemporary buildings-some almost skyscrapers-thrust up from the wooden, shallow-roofed ranch-type houses which were the buildings of yesteryear in this the sheep-farming railhead of the old pioneering Australia. Hitching posts were still prominent and behind them milk and espresso bars, with garish American cars (outnumbering the popular British makes) parked in front.

In Adelaide we saw our first Holden, 'Australia's own car', which boasts a high-output engine with a surprisingly light body, half American and half European in style; judging by the number we saw, it must be ideally suited to Australian conditions.

Searching for the agent, we spoke to an Australian policeman who stood, peak-capped and smiling benignly, in the centre of a cluster of churches.

'Can you direct us to Elizabeth Street, please?'

'I can, but first you tell me how long it took you to make the overland trip from the Old Country,' replied the curious cop.

'Six months,' we told him.

'My word! And did you get tangled up with any wild animals or larrikins during the trip?'

'Larrikins?' I asked.

'Yeah, larrikins, bludgers, no-hopers, thieves.'

'Not once in twelve thousand miles,' I replied, not wishing to become too involved.

'My word!' said our inquisitor. 'And you mean to tell me that you and your little lady here travelled all the way on that little motor-bike?'

'On that little scooter, yes.'

'My word!' This time it was said with an expressive finality which signalled the end of the interview.

We received our directions and sailed up the wide traffic-lined avenue in search of our agent.

'I hope all the Aussie policemen are like that,' shouted Nita.

‘My word!' I replied.

We spent half a day, later, going over the Prima with a factory-trained German mechanic, who was obviously settling down nicely as a New Australian. He knew his job and in record time we were out of the shop and looking for the Salvation Army hostel (as recommended) in order to get a good night's sleep before tackling the four-hundred mile run to Melbourne. In a clean, simply furnished room we slept like the dead, and steak and eggs made an excellent change for breakfast after the insipid pasta on which we had been living during the sea voyage.