Goondiwindi's Wheels Of Fortune
Sun Herald
Sunday January 27, 2002
She has a cricket ball on her gearstick, stumps on her bonnet and paw prints all over but John Harms's old Camira is the most highly prized car in town.
This is the story of a car and a cricket club. Not just any car: a 1982 Holden Camira with a past. Not just any cricket club: the Railway Hotel Cricket Club, a collection of drinkers with a cricket problem, who play in the Goondiwindi and districts competition in south-east Queensland. It is the story of how the two came together and of the significant part the car plays in the life of the club. And it's all true.
You have to go back to the start. In 1998, I had never heard of the Railway Hotel CC. I knew one bloke in Goondiwindi - Kruges, a Camus-reading, cricket-loving vet who had found a country town far enough away from the metropolis to pass himself off as a thinker, an expert on bovine surgery and, most importantly, a batsman. We met up at the Brisbane Test match each year.
Preferring the romantic (if not the fairytale) to the existential, I had always dreamed of playing Test cricket. I remained hopeful; a true disciple of Einstein's dictum: imagination is more important than knowledge. I especially wanted to be part of a Test tour. But, of course, it was never going to happen - conventionally.
One night I announced to those around the table (which was creaking under the weight of empty red wine bottles) that I intended going on my own Test tour. I would follow the 1998-99 Ashes series around the country in my beloved Camira.
I would attend each day of each Test. Dinner guests laughed. The Camira was lucky to make it to and from the bottle shop. Her back bumper bar was held on by electrical tape, to start her you had to jiggle the wires near the driver's-side headlight, and between late August and early May she tended to overheat and wheeze smoke when caught in traffic.
But the tour actually happened. The Camira made it from the Gabba around the country to the SCG. Along the way we met many characters.
One woman, a septuagenarian wearing tracky dacks and a purple jumper she'd knitted herself, was the proprietor of a corrugated iron servo in a place that made Goondiwindi seem like Paris. Having poured the petrol, she looked at the Camira and, unprompted, said, "It's a beautiful car." This was typical of the summer.
Kruges joined the cricket odyssey in Melbourne. He was a superb tourist. Forever the philosopher-vet, he amused us with his fine conversation and his theories on cricket and life. More importantly, he never missed a shout (even in the hot Milo round at the MCG on Boxing Day, when it was just 11 degrees). It was sad when the Sydney Test finished and we all had to go back to real life: Kruges to his elbow-length surgical glove in Goondiwindi and me to my keyboard in Brisbane.
The months went by and the Camira kept plugging on. But her days were numbered. The beautiful car loved the freedom of the open road but struggled in the city. If we sat too long at traffic lights, her imminent departure was heralded by a little puff of smoke. The little puff didn't take too long to become a big puff, and eventually a felonious puff, and I started to approach lights by looking in the rear-vision mirror for police cars.
It was only a matter of time: I finally got nicked trying to make a right-hand turn at a busy intersection. I knew I was in trouble when the boys in blue cruised up behind. As I took off, it was like Merrie Melodies - dense smoke engulfed the squad car, and I expected Officer Dibble to emerge looking like a raccoon.
He put his lights on and pulled me over (he was playing bad cop). His partner suggested I had one month to get the problem fixed or the Camira was off the road (he was also playing bad cop). I tried to explain that this was a vehicle which enjoyed minor celebrity. It was the subject of a book. I expected a "Yeah, sure." But I got more of a "So what?"
What was I to do? She couldn't be abandoned to some scrapyard. It wasn't really appropriate to cut her top off, fill her with soil, and grow chokos in her. She needed
to see out her days with dignity. I knew that the requirements of roadworthiness were inversely proportional to the distance from the Department of Transport's bureaucratic epicentre in Brisbane. There was a safe place for her somewhere beyond Cunninghams Gap.
So I rang Kruges and his mate, Hoff. I had driven through Goondiwindi a couple of times (once when I drove the Camira all the way to Naracoorte in South Australia to watch my horse in the Naracoorte Cup) and always spent the night there. I'd met Hoff.
Hoff is a very different character to Kruges. He's more the fertiliser magnate-pisspot than the philosopher-vet. Hoff loved the stories of the cricket tour - and he adored the Camira. "What do you think of this idea?" I asked. "I'm keen to give the Camira to the Railway Hotel CC."
Hoff was on to it. At first he thought it could be cut in half longitudinally, and that he'd have no problem convincing the publican, John Klein, to mount the half-body above the bar. But there was a better idea, an inspired idea: the Camira would be done up and become the Man of the Match award for the Railway Hotel CC. Each Saturday, the best performer would be presented with the keys and would be free to drive the beautiful car around Goondi for the week. The idea was met with universal approval.
The Camira and I enjoyed one last trip together: the four-hour drive out to Goondiwindi where, on behalf of the club, a very excited Hoff - and a somewhat less excited Kruges - took her into their care. They presented me with a bottle of 1994 Grange.
The boys wasted no time in having her done up. Between the mechanic (smoke reduction), the auto-electrician (making her start) and the sign-writer (helping to earn a few bucks for the club), they transformed her into a work of art.
When I turned up a few weeks later for the handover dinner, I could hardly believe how good a job they'd done. They'd put a cricket ball on top of the gearstick and three stumps on the bonnet. Across the windscreen were the words, "Man of the Match".
No panel was left without a sponsor: Repco, Progress Petroleum, North West Seeds, Border Vet Surgery (paw prints over the whole car), the Railway Hotel, Incitec Fertiliser, Nick's Signs, and "Follow the cricket in the Goondiwindi Argus". The owner of the Goondiwindi Argus, Joe Hoffman - a classic maverick country newspaper proprietor - was a great supporter of the venture. He gave the car, and the dinner, front-page coverage. Everyone
was happy.
It is now more than a year since the Camira arrived in Goondiwindi. Recently I returned to see how Railways and the Camira were faring. Railways were struggling. But she wasn't looking too bad - although these days, the rubber seal on the front door hangs out like an old jock strap and when there was a shower of rain that afternoon, someone had to turn her around, away from the rain, because one of the windows doesn't wind up. Ian Healy had signed the bonnet when he was out there. I had a little drive: she still runs well.
It's not hard to spot the Camira in Goondiwindi and she's generated a lot of interest. Rather than ask, "Who won the cricket on the weekend?" the locals tend to ask, "Who won the car?"
And the boys are pretty competitive.
PE teacher Stan McDonnell delights in parking her out the front of the primary school for all his kids to admire. He's won her a few times. Vet Craig Bimby wants to win her - but even when he performs well, the boys vote him out. Hoff is no chance. The awarding of the Camira is hotly debated in the pub after the match.
On this day, Railways played Yagaburne and had a rare win by just a handful of runs. Tim Keefer had been deposed as captain since my last visit but was still known as Pol Pot in memory of his leadership style. Hoff finally got off the mark for the season (it was the week before last Christmas). Stan got among the runs again.
But it wasn't enough to be Man of the Match. The Camira went to Youngy for his 6-40 (despite the fact he got hit for one of the biggest sixes you'll see in his first over). Back at the pub, Youngy was presented with the keys. As is the custom, he handed them straight back to KKK (Kleiny, Key Keeper), who would make a decision later that night as to whether Youngy could drive home. The bar had developed the hubbub and swill of life made more acceptable by an afternoon of country cricket, and the reliving of it into the night. The Camira spent Saturday night where she usually did - out the front of the pub.
The next morning, I left happy. The beautiful car was where she belonged: the much-sought-after Man of the Match award at the Railway Hotel CC, Goondiwindi.
© 2002 Sun Herald
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