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The sign
on the side of the road said, FERN VALE Pop. 871 I had never heard of
the place and it didn't show on the road map, but there it was as I drove
over the rise, just as if it had been dropped there in the valley, surrounded
by rolling hills and lush grazing land. I felt as if I was being watched
to see if I was going to go right on through, or stop and be the one to
bring a little excitement into an otherwise dull existence. After driving
for four hours from the city, heading for a Rugby League referee's seminar
still three hours drive away, the thought of a short break for a meal
and a rest seemed like a good idea and this appeared to be a nice enough
place to stop. Many eyes followed me as I pulled into the kerb outside
the Local. An old two story Pub set right up to the footpath on a quiet
corner, in the middle of town. A lazy creek ambled down one side next
to a gravel car park and small beer garden. On the front of the building,
above numerous advertising signs, a wide rotting verandah hung precariously
over the double doors leading to the Public Bar. The Bar had the usual
smell of stale beer found in most pubs, but the pungent odour here was
almost overwhelming. There were two old men sitting at a table in one
corner staring at dog eared playing cards held in knurled hands which
had obviously seen many years of hard work. Each had dribble soaked roll
your own cigarettes hanging out of the corner of their mouths into nicotine
stained beards. Three other men stood at the bar. Two of them almost mesmerised
as they gazed into their beers, their sad faces reflecting on what they
could have done with their lives. The other man, much better dressed than
the others was quite tall with thin features and exuded an aura of dignity
and knowledge The only thing that kept me from turning around and walking
out, was a very attractive middle aged lady behind the bar with her head
cupped in her hands, reading a copy of Cosmo. She looked up at me with
some contempt. "What'I ya have?" She growled "Can I get a meal here?"
I asked as politely as possible "Only if you've got a death wish," She
pointed to the blackboard hanging from the stained wall behind her. "I
am very hungry" I said, "I'll try the snags." She walked away mumbling
something about it being my funeral, and returned a few minutes later
with a plate of wrinkled sausages and soggy chips covered in a gravy that
looked as if it had almost set over the food. She dropped the plate and
a knife and fork in front of me. "Do you want a drink?" She asked "I'll
have a schooner." I said, "Where is everybody?" "At the game." She answered
quietly. "League?" I queried, my eyes lighting up at the thought of a
good country game. "Yup, local derby." She answered with just a little
pleasantness I tried to think how long it had been since I had watched
a game in the country. Maybe 4 years or so, just before moving to Sydney
to try my luck at refereeing in the big smoke. I could go to the game
and still drive the three hours to the pre-seminar dinner at 8.30 tonight.
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