Caught In Slips Pt 11
By Christie Myr

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To celebrate reaching double figures, I've changed the photo on the summary page. I just hope there's no problems with it, or else it's back to the old clipart picture. I’d also like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for her advice about names and places mentioned in this chapter.
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When the following Sunday morning rolled around I was quickly out of bed and showered, legs smoothly exfoliated (necessary everything considered) and generally primped. Then wearing a billowy caftan over my Basque and panties set, (that I’d shed once I got to work) I got into Sunny and drove towards the hotel near Liverpool, about 20 minutes away from home. My first Sunday shift was from 10am till 4pm and Trudy (the supervisor) had told me over the phone that I’d be working in the beer garden bar.

On arriving I was quickly directed to Trudy, who asked if I’d worn my outfit. I quickly showed her by lifting the caftan off over my head and shoulders that I’d come dressed for work. She chuckled saying she’d introduce me around the staff, telling me that she’d already reminded everyone there, I’d only ever worked at country hotels (pubs), and they’d probably need to show me “the ropes” (?) and warn me about any of the usual Sunday regular patrons!

I was quickly introduced to each person working (until noon) at the five bars in the hotel and who I’d hopefully be working with during the day if things turned out alright. Four of the five rostered on were women, but even the sole guy working that morning remarked on how different my attire looked compared to the women’s uniforms and thought it was a good idea, that he hoped the customers would approved of. The women all seemed pleased both with my outfit, along with my youthful fresh faced appearance. Trudy explained to each employee she introduced me to, that she wanted feedback from them after their shift as to how the patrons reacted to what I was wearing.

During the shift and provided my outfit seemed to be accepted by the majority of hotel patrons, they’d all get given some time to go try on some of the eight sample outfits that had been purchased to choose from. Trudy told them they’d only be allowed two at no cost if the change was implemented, “provided” of course the licensee (Dominic) agreed to everything.

I suddenly remembered to tell Trudy that I’d bought along some of my sister’s outfits, if anyone wanted to try them on for size. She chivvied me to go back to my “car” and bring them back inside, where they were immediately seized upon by the other women and passed around and held up infront of them, to see how they looked. It was already very obvious that I was the junior barmaid “up top” compared to each of these women, although they were all keen to wear something sexy if it meant no longer having to wear tissue paper for clothing (referring to their see through thin gauze tops) and their breasts could be given support.

I’d also brought along a thin wrap around skirt that ended just above my knees, explaining to Trudy that I was worried about working in the beer garden, wearing only lingerie might upset some of the families who had children with them. My remark was greeted with boisterous laughter from everyone and was told that would be the least of my worries. With Trudy telling me that the till float was $500, I was ushered by the girl nominated to look after me over to the beer garden / sports lounge bar counter, where I’d mainly be working today, telling me I could call her Samantha, Sammie or preferably just Sam if I had any problems.

My next surprise was finding out that the mess I’d expected to have to clean up even before I started work, wasn’t there and remarked on it to Sam. She told me that Trudy was adamant about every bar having to be spotless before staff could leave of a night after closing up and “staffies”*

I soon watched both the sport's lounge as well as the beer garden begin to quickly fill with patrons, even though it wasn’t yet five minutes past opening. Almost immediately I was serving thirsty demanding patrons, every one of them acknowledging my sexy attire sometimes, quite bawdily but almost always accompanied by the silver in the change handed back (sometimes the gold too) being left on the counter (for the tip jar). In next to no time, I bit the bullet and nervously headed out into the beer garden to start collecting empty glasses.

As soon as I stepped out from behind the bar the wolf whistles and cat calls grew suddenly louder and I saw Trudy looking on from nearby watching me work outside in the garden. There had to be about 50 tables out there, (66 Trudy told me later) each with a giant shade umbrella over them and at 10.20am (on a SUNDAY) about a quarter of them were occupied by at least 3 people, (mainly 5 or 6) per table. I quickly scurried from table to table picking up empty glasses and placing them on the tray I was holding while receiving lots of remarks, compliments or bawdy invitations. But NO ONE made a move to touch me.

In return I’d give varying answers to some of the patron’s suggestions including several cheeky ones, along with a beaming smile, especially to the male patrons I thought were old enough to be in a museum. Any of the women patrons were spoken to courteously, answering the obvious questions about my attire. Without exception the women all seemed to agree they preferred to see a barmaid walk around in a sexy outfit any day instead of wearing one of the usual see through tops.

When I came back in carrying another full tray of empties, Trudy was serving behind the bar and told me that Samantha had gone to get changed into one of the samples her and Dominic had gotten, whispering to me that Samantha had seen how much the patrons liked what I had on and how easily they were tipping me! Knowing already what my sister looked like upstairs in a Basque compared to me, was nothing to how Samantha’s girls looked when she reappeared wearing my sister’s red outfit. The patrons must have agreed, as the noisy appreciation she received when she returned in the outfit, even had patrons from out in the beer garden coming in to find out what all the commotion was about.

Samantha simply offered a cheeky grin that I would come to know so well and slid in next to me beside Trudy, before informing Trudy in a loud voice if you want to work in this bar, you’d better get with the program and wear the new uniform, or piss off. Her “deliberately obvious” loud remark to Trudy was greeted by another loud outburst of catcalling and bawdy suggestions, before Trudy left the bar, definitely pleased with the results of the lingerie outfits on the patrons so far.

After about an hour of constantly serving drinks with Sam, Trudy came back into the bar and asked me to go with her. She then led me to another bar further inside the hotel about 20 metres away and separated by a solid wall and door, where she told me to go through and serve there while Kirri went and got changed as well. The door opened to a narrow hall where after several paces, I found Kirri serving drinks. Walking up to her and saying I was her relief, saw the same reactions from the patrons that I’d already received out in the beer garden and sports lounge. Almost immediately there was a sudden rush for orders of new drinks from the patrons, which I frantically tried to fulfil while Kirri told me (with a huge smile) she’d be back as soon as possible.

I cheerfully did my best to serve patrons now suddenly eager to drink and talk to a girl wearing lingerie. They’d accompany it with tips both in silver as well as gold coins for the tip jar. By the time Kirri came back to take back over serving, I was wishing I’d been born with four arms and hands and three mouths, before her startling reappearance saw a new surge towards her instead of me by patrons clamouring for drinks.

It wasn’t that I had done anything wrong that caused the sudden change. I put it down to the dangerously straining Basque she was wearing. It only just managed to hide “her nipples”, while the briefs were definitely in danger of tearing under the strain placed on them. If it hadn’t been for the fact the panties she had on were dark purple in colour, Kirri could have been arrested for being indecently dressed in public and this was at a topless hotel!!

And just as before Trudy was nearby watching everything with an eagle eye, a smile as wide as a lorry on her face. She simply signalled by her hands to me to tell me I could go back to my beer garden sports lounge bar. When I got there, I now found Dominic standing behind the bar besides Samantha serving, but only those customers who didn’t mind who served them drinks. Excusing myself to him, I seamlessly slid in and took over from him, with Samantha asking Dom if he wouldn’t mind picking up the glasses from outside before he left, which he soundlessly obeyed.

Around 12.30 the pace of serving turned even more hectic in both the beer garden as well as in the sports lounge as customers started coming in for lunch. After that it didn’t really see a lull serving drinks until almost 3pm. Sam(antha) and I were now working like a finely tuned machine, taking turns clearing tables, or helping the other serving drinks. Sam quickly discovered how fast I was at making cocktails and quickly handed over those orders to me while she’d do any overflows or serve beer.

I never meant to on my first day (and normally wouldn’t have back at the hotel in Wagga) but Sam’s constantly remarking about how high the tip level jar was getting, was now a distraction made worse by Sam offering to hear my guess as to how much was in it. Just after the lunch time rush had eased, she remarked in a quiet moment about how many gold coins there were in it (which means either $1 or $2 currency, while silver coins range from 5 cents up to 50 cents per coin).

The tip jar certainly did seem to have a lot of gold coins in it, much more than I’d see back in my old hotel. Simply telling her I had no idea, left her to give her own estimate, which she’d be constantly updating every 15 minutes or so. She was forever thanking me for letting her borrow one of my sister’s outfits she had on, saying she just hoped that Dominic would approve the new outfits she and some of the girls now wanted to wear. She also hoped that Dominic would buy the better quality merchandise she’d seen inside (which was far too small in size for Sam to wear) and not afterwards buy cheap rubbish he thought looked the same and he could save money on.

Before I seemed to realise it and with a quick glance to the clock on the wall, I saw it was almost four o’clock and time to finish my shift. I’d worked constantly all day taking only enough time to look after Mother Nature. I asked Sam if today was a usual Sunday trade, to be told that it seemed to be much busier than usual. She thought that was because she saw and heard a few of the regulars phoning others and telling them about the sexy outfits we were wearing, as well as about the new young piece serving the garden. Sam reckoned that new staff always caused a short spike in business, before everyone grew use to them as an attraction, which really didn’t surprise me to hear.

Just before 4pm our two replacement bar staff along with most of the other staff turned up for work. Sam’s enthusiastic recommendation about wearing the lingerie as a new uniform, while gushingly pointing out the almost overflowing tip jar, had several of the incoming staff somewhat annoyed. One of the new shift staff, Barb, eyes lit up at the full tip jar Samantha showed her. She started to complain about not being told in advance to wear lingerie as a uniform today, (adding cattily that “we two” must have “obviously” been told about it) and asked if there were any spare samples she could wear for her shift. Samantha told her to go and check with Trudy.

She then selfishly asked Rick (the other bartender rostered on for the shift Sam and I were finishing) would he’d mind if she asked Trudy to move him to another bar and swap with a barmaid to move over to this one, if she could find some lingerie to wear. She then asked Samantha in a desperate tone of voice, if there were no spare outfits to wear that fitted her, could she borrow hers! (yeech)

Rick was a genuine piece of eye candy if ever there was one to my way of thinking. He was miffed about Barb’s request and it might have turned extremely unpleasant, if Trudy hadn’t appeared almost practically out of thin air and asked me if I could possibly work an extra part shift till 6pm. She said it was so that the evening staff could judge for themselves if they wanted to wear the lingerie or stick to their normal apparel. I was happy to agree (I mean it WAS my 1st day there and I didn’t want to lose the job by not trying to appear to want to help out), not to mention the extra money would always be useful!

Trudy turning up when she did also allowed her to hear Barb’s comments. So she calmly took Rick aside to talk to and then I saw him follow her somewhere else. Barb didn’t seem to think twice about Rick leaving and again asked if there was any spare lingerie for her to try on to see if it fitted. Sam exasperatedly said she’d go and find out, while also taking the tip jar with her (no flies on her) and placed a new empty tip jar on the bar counter for the next shift. I didn’t see her again before I left.

I was genuinely surprised 15 minutes into the shift, to actually find myself beginning to like Barb’s sense of humour, having been worried by her treatment of Rick was her normal disposition. She had quickly gone and gotten changed into the top she usually wore for work, reappearing in a see through gauze tissue uniform top and immediately began serving patrons, although far more patrons wanted me to serve them instead of her. Just before 5pm Trudy reappeared now dressed in an incredibly saucy black corset with matching coloured suspenders and stockings and low heels telling Barbara to go and look at the left overs in the conference room and see if she could find anything that fitted her.

While she was gone, Trudy thanked me for staying back to help out on my 1st day, as well as telling me that Sue and I should give her a bill for the cost of the garments I’d bought along with me, adding that should include the ones I had on now. She told me I’d be reimbursed in cash for them on Tuesday, plus I’d get to keep the outfit I had on already, as well as getting two free lingerie outfits for my new uniform, once everyone was in agreement over the preferred styles.

I spent the next hour visiting the three other bars in the hotel, where I showed off my lingerie outfit to the patrons while the girls working those bars looked on as I served the patrons. In each bar, the barmaid(s) noticed and commented on the sudden increase in tips, as well as how the patrons reacted to what I was wearing. They were all in favour of the new outfit idea. This was even though their breasts and nipples (always bigger than mine) were openly on display, while you could only see the top half of my bust. I suppose that walking round showing off my derrière in satin panties (as a distraction) may have encouraged a few more tips, but I think that the regular female staff just wanted to have their breasts supported more firmly than wearing no bra at all.

Sam had said something like that earlier on. In the bar I’d just come from, Christina (the poor Yorkie thing) had a set of girls that needed a size E bra to allow her breast to be restrained sensibly. She definitely liked the idea of support for “her” bosoms and to hell with people seeing her in underwear (she claimed that provided they were clean, she was more than happy to show off her knickers).

Trudy caught up with me just before 6.15pm and after putting my caftan back on, escorted me to my car and I drove off home. When I got home and explained to my sister about how she’d just lost her sexy lingerie, Sue simply said she’d have never believed me if she didn’t know Trudy as well as she did, promptly telling me the bill for her lingerie would be $450 and $100 for my two outfits. When I handed Trudy the invoice two days later, she didn’t bat an eyelid and simply handed me over the money (along with my tip share from Sunday) when I signed off for the day, saying if I had any more good ideas I shouldn’t hesitate to tell her about them. Oh, in case you were wondering, my ½ share of the tip jar for my 1st day there was $77.30 which was far higher than anything I’d ever gotten from the hotel back in Wagga.

The sexy lingerie outfits were happily accepted by the female staff along with enthusiastic patrons alike. Soon variations came into play, with some staff wearing shorts, some wearing skirts (with or without suspenders and stockings), while sometimes it was simply neither. The outfits voted on as the preferred choice as the staff uniform saw the majority choosing a full lace up corset (with or without briefs) which although very arousing, also limited body movements (at times). But almost to a person, they all agreed they were no longer suffering from shoulder pain any longer, because their breasts were now supported. A few of the women (myself included) chose Basques and matching briefs, which in my case allowed me to wear a shorty shorts or a skirt when I preferred to.

My silent idea (Trudy’s suggestion) of displaying and selling uniforms for the public to buy, saw it becoming a “small” additional income stream for the hotel, while increased patronage and sales of alcohol actually stayed higher after the introduction of the new uniform. The licencing permit was reviewed, that would allow Dominic to save quite a deal of money at the following renewal of the licence. The various male bar staff working at “The Sheaf” came to accept wearing tops similar to the see through gauze tops the women used to wear. It seems as if the female patron’s liked men’s muscular chests (which had to be a job requirement from then on) too.

After several months of working at The Sheaf” my bank account was now “far more” healthier then when I had first moved to Sydney. I was also now ensconced in a very good study group for most of my university subjects, so everything seemed quite rosy. Of course I never let on to any of my university friends about my part time job and because I didn’t do Saturday night shifts (greatly in demand by staff, due to “tips” factor) the chances of any of them finding out was almost too remote to imagine.

Sue and I managed to drive home to Wagga to be with mum and dad for Easter and it was a fantastic (if too short) break to be with family. My brother Greg was now serving operational “sea duty” and the number of curios and knickknacks waiting for Sue and I at home would have enabled us to set up a gift stall at any outdoor markets.

When we got back to Fairfield again, Sue told me something in private that if our parents had found out about, might not have caused the wonderful short stay we had back home in Wagga. My sister was almost two months expecting and decided over Easter that her and motherhood weren’t quite yet ready to meet. She asked me (and I did) to accompany her to the clinic that did her birth termination and the atmosphere in and around the unit for several weeks after was decidedly different. But slowly and eventually Sue found her happy place again and saw both me and her boyfriend being more relaxed around her.

My barmaid’s job was going well and I seemed to get on with all the other staff and even the licensee Dominic. I now found myself rostered onto more shifts where the tipping (which had quickly slowed down from my first day’s shift) was much better, although I couldn’t complain either way, because I was making far more money at “The Sheaf” than I could ever have dreamed of working at the hotel back in Wagga. Between my “Sheaf” money and my scholarship monies, my bank balance was gently rising. Not dramatically you understand, but inching well above what it had been when I’d first arrived at Fairfield thank you very much.

My love life wasn’t much to boast about, although I’d often go to parties being thrown by university colleagues if the party wasn’t too far away. I also had Craig (and a reluctant sister) invite me along in the company of one of his “mates” every so often, but Sue and I had already agreed that unless the guy was a Leonardo DiCaprio look alike, I shouldn’t ”shit in my own nest” so to speak, so my mattress remained still not broken in yet.

Around the middle of June I received a phone call from the Fairfield Liverpool cricket club (FLCC) advising me that try outs for the lower grade teams was commencing at the end of June. The secretary who phoned said that although the club was happy to encourage anyone to play cricket, he’d also give me the names and numbers of several women’s teams that I could contact to arrange to trial at. But in the next breath, he told me that the club was actively attempting to recruit enough women for a ladies team and he was hoping that I’d want to be part of that. I hung up thanking him for the information and tossed the paper scrawl I’d been taking everything down on into the kitchen tidy bin.

Thank goodness when Sunday June 21st came round and I drove over to the FLCC’s home ground to trial. Quite a few guys remembered my last visit, although a number of others were quite bemused to see a small woman in shorts and tee wanting to trial with a men’s team. The try outs were being organised for players hoping to play from 2nd to 5th grade (as the 1st grade side squad had already been determined) although a few players trialling were asked to attend the 1st grade’s practices on their days.

The trials that morning had over 80 players turning up (many in club t-shirts) to try out for a place in one of the FLCC teams. I quickly found myself being moved over to the large squad practicing warm ups followed by fielding drills, waiting a turn to either bowl or bat in front of the club’s selectors. As each team normally allowed for only 11 players, the mathematics alone showed that of the 80 plus guys (and 1 girl) there’d be a few people disappointed by the end of the day (4 teams meant 44 players, so over 36 hopeful aspirants might end up having to go elsewhere to play cricket, although first day’s trials never saw anyone - except the completely hopeless……being told they weren’t good enough to be selected, I’d already been advised.

As for myself, I bowled reasonably well in the nets, troubling every batsman I bowled to, although I was completely at sea when “I” batted, which didn’t help raise the value of my stock in the selector’s eyes. The club secretary also reminded me that the women’s team trials would be taking place in a month’s time! Having seen the number of male spin bowlers trialling and judging their skill level against my own, I was confident that provided there wasn’t any discrimination, my ability to bowl leg spin could even see me in 4th grade or at worst the 5th grade team.

To make sure, I paid my full season’s fees during the first day’s trial to the club’s treasurer, which made him have to ring around and find out if they had a clothing size small enough for me to wear the club’s training shirt to future training sessions.

Premier competition clubs in Sydney included a training outfit (sponsors logo) as well as a club cap in their yearly season fee, which (partly) accounted for the outrageously high costs to play for a team in it. FLCC’s policy rules stated that any person having paid their full season fees was automatically to be selected in one of their teams for each match, so my season’s payment up front, was my own way of bending the selectors arms to choose me to play……….sneaky I admit, but rules are rules.

But by the time the trials were over for the day, the very same treasurer (accompanied by the secretary) came over and told me that they didn’t yet have my clothing size available in stock, but would have them in a few week’s time. He also took the opportunity to tell me that if I wasn’t selected for the men’s teams, the women’s team’s annual fees would be $130 less, which I’d be refunded if I played with them.

After two more Saturday trials, it wasn’t a case of where I’d play (the male or female teams) but more a case of how high up in the grades of the men’s teams I’d be selected to play. It wasn’t just my spin bowling that seemed to impress team selectors. It also helped that I was always willing to help out with the packing up after practice (when everyone else suddenly vanished) as well as in the club house, serving food and cans of alcohol and soft drinks behind the counter (obviously easy with MY experience). I’d even help with the vacuuming afterwards before I left, which was making me appreciated among the non-playing volunteers, as well as becoming better known by the club’s behind the scenes workers which included the selectors.

By the end of July, I was more or less training with the 3rd grade squad who now considered me to be one of the team. I was also being allowed to bowl at the 1st and 2nd grade batsmen if a slow bowler wanted to take a breather, or was next to bat in the rotation. Both they and I enjoyed the experience. My line and length offered the 1st and 2nd grade batters as much difficulty playing my bowling as they’d expect from opposition players. So I’d have to privately admit I felt just a touch cheated when my name was read out for the first game in the 5th grade side! The 5th grade (along with all the club’s teams) was to play a 2 day trial game the following week against North Sydney to prepare for the forthcoming season.

The 5th grade captain Trevor didn’t seem to mind that a girl had been selected in his side to play. He warmly welcomed me to the fold, although quietly asking me to tell him if during the game I suffered any “ladies” problems. Then if need be I could quietly talk to him and let him know so he could accommodate me! It was just like my first few games back with the WWCC and realising this, I didn’t take any offence at Trevor’s well intended advice.

Our trial match was listed to be played at a ground called Tunks Park somewhere near Northbridge. A few questions as to where that was, saw Trevor telling me he’d better drive me there (along with another new player to the side). So that was how I ended up playing on one of the more pleasant grounds around Sydney (as it was so close to Sydney harbour)

The night before my trial game against a team called North Sydney, saw me making sure my playing gear was cleaned and my boots polished. Dad’s words when I was younger “even if you can’t play cricket well, you can at least look like someone who can” was too ingrained into my psyche.

When Trevor’s “truck” (old sedan) pulled up next to where I was waiting outside my unit the next morning, my excited haste to get in the back (as Jerry, the other player, was in the front passenger’s seat) might give you an indicator as to how I felt to be playing cricket again (even if it was only a trial match). The trip to Northbridge was an adventure in itself considering the condition of Trevor’s car. I quickly grew use to hearing the clutch failing to properly engage the car’s gearbox, causing crunching and grinding sounds as well as short sharp exhaust explosions. Anyway the car finally got us there.

Of course Trevor’s car ensured that we arrived at the ground with only minutes to prepare. (Competition rules stated somewhere that umpires and players were supposed to arrive at a game, 1 hour prior to the commencement of said game) I also saw several other cars from either team arriving at about the same time, or even later than we turned up. Both teams chose to warm up as far from each other as possible. Being so far away and since I was wearing my hair tucked up under my club cap and wearing whites, no one from the opposition had any idea as to who I was until I took my cap off to retie my white cascading locks. That started the usual comments from our opponents about girls trying to play a men’s sport, (along with the same old jokes).

Trevor won the toss and decided to bat first.

I quickly found out our team even had its own “groupie” called Darren, who was a long serving club stalwart and good friend of Trevor’s. He was our scorer, which the other team also had to provide or else accept one of the opposition scoring for them, which was an unpopular past time for most players. I didn’t think so and accepted the score book from their still surprised captain before going over to the nearby shade to sit with Darren and score the innings.

It seemed as though Darren and I clicked from the start at how we wrote in the scorebooks as well as with the nitty gritty statistics. We both recorded the times each batsman went in or was out and used a dot in the scoring area of the book each time the batsman didn’t score a run. We also discovered we shared the same likes and dislikes about cricket and just about everything else in general. Our genial conversations often saw us being interrupted by players wanting to look over our shoulders to check on the score.

When the afternoon half way break came around for “tea”, it was already apparent from the lack of drinks available for the hourly “drinks break”, that anyone who hadn’t bought lunch with them had to either drive like a madman to the nearest shops, race across the field and queue with the several other game’s players already lined up at a kiosk 500 metres away, or simply starve. I mentioned to Darren about how we use to do “tea” back in Wagga and we agreed to talk about it over the phone later the following week. When our number 8 batsman walked toward the wicket to bat, I hurriedly said I had to get ready and called out for someone to replace me scoring, leaving Darren to look after scoring.

With very little in the way of building facilities for getting ready in, I was forced to stand behind a parked car to put on my thigh guard as well as a padded chest protector, which meant having to duck down very low behind the car to put the latter on. Then with my batting pads firmly strapped on I lumbered back over to sit down next to Darren. Two appeals within minutes of each other saw me getting up and putting on a helmet to walk out to take my turn to bat. The North Sydney players were expectantly watching me head out to the middle, where I marked my guard “two legs” before the umpire informed me of the state of play remaining in the over, then allowed the bowler to commence his run up to bowl.

At first the bowler (one of their opening bowlers coming back after a long spell) didn’t know what to bowl at me. Perhaps he was frightened of hitting me with the ball and hurting me. I quickly took advantage of it and scored my first run for Fairfield Liverpool, to the accompaniment of loud cheers from my own team. The timid courtesy shown to me initially by said bowler was soon thrown out and I got to “enjoy?” what all tail end batsmen get to face. That was short pitched fast bowling erratically aimed somewhere in the general direction of the stumps I was protecting.

I ended up scoring 7 runs but more importantly allowed my batting partner to score several more boundaries before he was caught out slogging towards cow corner (not caught in slips!). Our team ended up scoring just over 200 which was (in this grade) quite acceptable I found out, if perhaps not quite a pass mark that our opposition couldn’t chase down.

The final hour of play saw our fast bowlers taking a pair of wickets between the four of them, while being hammered by North Sydney’s number four batsman, who looked well above 5th grade standard. Trevor threw me the ball with about ten minutes to go, saying he wanted me to try and break up the partnership. He stood next to me, as we repositioned the field for my bowling, before heading off to his own position. I think the opposition batsman (their very good number four) decided to see what I bowled like before thinking about smashing me around, so my first delivery gave him an unexpected nasty surprise as the ball spun sharply off the pitch, snicking the edge of his bat before being dropped in slips.

The loud groan of disappointment from my teammates showed how much they wanted his wicket. My next ball a “wrong un” (a ball spinning from right to left instead of from left to right) saw the batsman picking my grip, but in trying to pull it (hit it) away behind square leg, saw it instead catching the shoulder of his bat and go skying into the air towards our square leg fieldsman, where an absolute dolly of catch was hopelessly fumbled to the ground. Further load groans, were followed by shouts of encouragement for me from my teammates, which my next ball saw the batsman nervously prod forward at the ball and miss it entirely.

The following ball saw him attempt to slog sweep me over square leg, only to again see him lobbing up a catch to the same square leg fieldsman, with the same result. “David you couldn’t catch a cold if you were living with Santa at the bloody North Pole” our captain Trevor bluntly informed him, having just witnessed the best batsmen in the opposing team being dropped three times in the same over (all relatively easy chances). My last ball saw another hopeless prod forward just managing to hit the ball along the ground back towards me.

Our 2nd change fast bowler Dennis bowled out the final over for the day, which the North Sydney batsmen delayed for as long as possible, perhaps so as not to face another over of my leg spin before the umpires pulled the stumps for close of play. Our opponents had managed to reach 2 for 69(!) and if our team had only taken just one of the catches off my bowling, our side would’ve been in a much better position for the following Saturday.

We had the usual packing up of the kit along with the normal noisy “post mortem discussion” about the day’s play, with everyone saying how unlucky we’d been for not getting the third wicket. I knew that David was feeling particularly bad about everything, although John (at slip) was noticeably silent as well. Since Trevor was responsible for the team kit, our car was the last to leave.

Turning the key on his car had the three of us inside it, hearing nothing but a loud click instead of the motor starting up. Several more attempts (and only clicks) heard a flurry of descriptively colourful obscenities being said about car batteries by Trevor, although it didn’t sound to me like the battery was to blame.

Getting out of the car without saying anything other than for Trevor to lift the car hood, with a few spot checks of the more important places to look for trouble, I found the true cause for the motor not starting. A few shouted questions from me under the hood to Trevor, then with a bit of adroit fiddling with the wiring, saw my shouting out to start it up again. This time the motor caught and slowly turning over just enough, started. I called out for him to rev it gently while I dropped the hood and wiped my now grease covered fingers on the grass nearby. Silently remembering not to put my hands anywhere near my cricket whites, I calmly got back into the rear seat and we headed for home……..Dad’s car repair classes had worked once again for a family member!

Trevor’s boisterous gratitude for my repair work quickly tempered after I informed him that his alternator was gone, as was the wiring to the distributor cap. I suggested he’d do best not to turn the engine off until he parked it outside his mechanics workshop, otherwise he’d probably need to get it towed there. The trip home was even longer than the trip there (the motor running roughly in part due to the alternator no longer charging) and in typical cricket player’s fashion, the trip was spent talking about missed opportunities and wondering about next week’s performance. After taking my kit out of the car and thanking Trevor for the lift, I went upstairs to wash the grease off my hands before trying to take my whites off. After that was done I quickly decided on BOT for dinner (Beans On toast) and watched the usual rubbish you always see on Saturday night TV, before going to bed early for my shift at The Sheaf the following morning.

At practice the following Tuesday, Trevor was declaring to all and sundry that he wanted me playing in 5th grade for the rest of the season. He was telling everyone how I seemed to know not only how to bowl leg spin, but also knew how to repair his car if it broke down at games! Hmmm, not what I really wanted to hear, but I’d much prefer to hear someone say something like that instead of saying I was “bloody hopeless”.

Lectures for the rest of the week as well as my two shifts at The Sheaf dragged a bit, so I was quite eager when Saturday came round again, this time with me driving Trevor along with the team kit to Northbridge (Jerry had organised his own lift). He told everyone the following Tuesday about how extremely unique the trip there and back was sitting low down in a car with no sides and being able to look “up” to see other car’s door handles above him……..

The second week saw us losing the trial match although I personally took three wickets for not many runs. Trevor’s friend and club stalwart Darren had agreed down at practice on Thursday afternoon, that he’d bring along his BBQ and an esky filled with ice. I’d agreed to supply about 4 kilos of steak, having the butcher I always used slice the steak thinly, along with several loaves of buttered bread. Our combined efforts allowed Darren to cook an afternoon BBQ for both teams, along with managing to sell an esky full of soon chilled soft drinks, which I’d purchased and placed in the back of Sunny along with the meat and loaves of bread.

Everyone from both teams agreed it was great not having to run around trying to find food somewhere and Darren played not only chef, but corner shop owner taking the money of everyone wanting food or drinks. Luckily for me I was able to recoup not only what I’d spent, but also make a small profit ($14), which I told Trevor I’d hand over along with any monies from future tea breaks to the club treasurer at the end of the season.

Darren eagerly volunteered to bring his small BBQ to every game from then on, as long as I could organise the food (which in return for, neither of us had to pay for our lunch or drinks) and after a few more games either away or at our 5th grade home ground, it saw the club’s reputation being given a “nice” improvement in 5th grade.

The FLCC 5th grade side often had trouble selecting teams, due to last minute player withdrawals in the higher grades and the necessary promotions they caused, so it wasn’t unusual to have a retired ex first grader (or two) reluctantly agreeing to come and play the odd game for out team. Without exception once these same retired players witnessed and tasted a Fairfield 5th’s BBQ lunch, the team soon never had to worry about asking retirees to play a game to help us out. They applauded the fact that 5th grade was making cricket enjoyable again and having them play for us actually improved our batting line enormously, because even a 1st grade player who hadn’t played for several years, was usually always far too skilful for most of the bowlers playing 5th grade (except those old dogs in other teams who’d been 1st grade bowlers themselves and were now playing retiree’s cricket in 5th grade).

I soon discovered that Trevor always knew who those players were well in advance of our playing those teams, because he was an ex 1st grader himself. He was playing in the lower grades both for enjoyment (and fun), while also helping to mentor players who could potentially play higher grades with plenty of encouraging advice. He must have seen something in me, (or else he had a crush on me) as I got to do far more bowling than I ever had at the WWCC. He’d often prepare me at the net practices for possible weaknesses in a batsman I’d face in the next game, with both of us getting a thrill if his ideas worked out that way in the actual game.

When the game against Gordon came around (in all grades) I learnt that it was historically a sort of grudge match between both clubs, because apparently they didn’t like us (for whatever reasons – although I was told of several, mainly upper class rubbish reasons for not liking the club). Our 5th grade side found itself having “four” ex 1st graders selected to play the match (definitely not normal), which matched Gordon’s usual number of retired senior players who played for them on a regular basis. Grudge game or not, retired 1st grade players all know one another and so were jokingly familiar with one another throughout the game.

It actually provided for quite a good, hard, interesting game, which along with the BBQ lunch was a novelty for the Gordon players (having played us on our 5th grade home wicket many times before where food was never available). It also made for a sociable friendly “tea” break where the old stagers from both clubs sat and reminisced over past tales and incidents. It also saw both captains publicly criticising younger players if they stepped out of line during the game saying or doing something wrong (another bizarre thing to have happen).

I turned even more bizarre when I was asked to come on and bowl. The two batsmen already in, (both ex 1st graders) had obviously been told a bit about me by someone or other (I could think of four culprits right away). Our wicketkeeper for the game Jason, (one of the four culprits I could have named) was soon talking to me before the beginning of my second over, giving my tips on what to bowl and where to land the balls, which I endeavoured to do as best I could.

It soon turned into a long dour (but deliciously enticing) struggle. I'd attempt to make every ball I bowled perfect. In return, if I made a mistake, the ball quickly found its way to or over the boundary fence, but I’d also get an acknowledgment from the batsman if I bowled an exceptional ball that beat him. I ended up bowling 22 overs unchanged (unheard of both for me and the club in our grade) and managed to take three of the four 1st graders wickets along with two other batsmen. I ended up with figures of 5 for 82 or (22-4-82-5) and was still trying to get the last ex 1st graders wicket when the umpires pulled stumps and saw the game being drawn. Gordon still needed to score 17 runs to pass our total and FLCC needing only to take the 10th and final wicket to win on first innings.

By the end of November, I was a well-known and popularly accepted person at the club, not only for playing cricket, but also because I'd helped (in a small way) to slowly change the culture of the FLCC. Our other teams soon found people who’d volunteer to come to games in 3rd and 4th grade to help out managing off field things such as food, hourly drink breaks and even the scoring. The word slowly got around the other clubs that FLCC could now provide tasty food, which cold be bought at all of our lower grades fixtures, depending on whether the other team had kiosk facilities or not at its home ground. Usually they didn't and generally appreciated our offer to buy food and drink.

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*Staffies: Free drinks that staff are “usually” allowed to have, once the public have been cleared from the premises.

I have intentionally used a BCTS member’s name (with their written approval obviously) in this chapter. Any similarity by name to any other BCTS member is entirely accidental or coincidental……provided of course you aren’t claiming to be some type of fictitious 3rd world country occupant.

I've also had to think about "another" change in the story still yet to come. My idea about music played in hotels down there, hasn't turned out to well after listening to a number of songs, none of which you could reasonably expect a 5'5" "young woman" to be able to sing alone by herself. So I now ask if anyone out there can give me a few Australian singers who are more "middle of the road quiet" and not so rough, loud and head banging. Same deal applies as before. You'll get credited or mentioned. C.M.
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