My name is Rob Bell, and I was born in East Bankstown (later Greenacre) in 1945, into a solid working-class family. By 1964, 5 years after leaving Punchbowl Boys High, I was requested by the local gendarmes to leave town. This was also issued to many of my friends who, like myself, travelled down the wrong roadway.

A friend who had been off the scene for a while was back in town and was going on about working on the railway as a fettler in a place called Burren Junction. Where the hell is B J, we all cried, North West NSW, have you heard of Walgett? Well, it's this side of Walgett, and they are looking for workers.

So come Monday, we all troop down to Central Station (about 6 of us) for a medical and get the guts on this Fettler business. Being good, strong Aussie boys with an average age of around 20, we were in. Some of us were sent to Cryon and others to BJ.

Following Sunday, we caught the North West Mail out of Central, and from memory, we were in the back carriages as I think the train split at Werris Creek.

Monday morning, we arrive in Cryon, and nothing, just a railway station, absolutely nothing. The station master took us to a row of tents and a very big tent with a huge fireplace, and wished us well.

4 mates in the middle of nowhere, and along comes our boss, who was, from memory, Charlie Fuller, a beautiful old man, who quickly sized us up.

This was to become the life of many of us through 1964, as many left and were replaced by other mates, fights were common, people pinching food, the kero fridge never bloody working and relying on food bought in BJ and sent out to be picked up off the platform.

There wasn't too much happening in Cryon except at the local hall where we would match it with the locals at table tennis, and we could get a cup of tea and some cake, and we were welcomed by all. To earn extra money in Cryon, my mate John and I would empty the dunny cans from the station. That meant getting a pole and carrying the pan out into the paddock, digging a hole, tipping it in, while the flies buzzed and covered over..For that, I think we got two shillings a can..

Cryon was way too lonely, and after a month or 2 we all jacked it in and headed back to Sydney, and went back to living on the streets, or in cars or caravans, and bad habits were returning. So back to the railway.

There were no computers, no age/identity papers, just needed a name, but not your real one. So I started with my favourite Rolling Stone, and I became Robert Jones and this time I asked for BJ. For some entertainment whilst at Cryon, we would catch the afternoon train to BJ and stay at Dillons Hotel, mainly on a couch and have some tucker and a drink and maybe play some cards, plus it was warm and they had electricity, and then head back the next day. Cryon was tough, and we learnt plenty.

For us, city kids, we had never really seen mobs of kangaroos, not too many in Bankstown. The sight I remember most of them is the huge mobs approaching a fenceline and leaping over the fence like a huge wave, simply awesome.

Arriving at Burren Junction, we were better prepared, at least we bought a blanket and warmer clothes. In Cryon, all we had to put over us was a tarpaulin, but we would keep the fire going; after all, we had plenty of old sleepers.

This time we were in town next to the track and life was very different, and our boss in this gang was a tough nuggety bugger called Ronnie Hancock, who lived down the track a bit in a house with his girls, in their late teens. Food and eating properly were still a problem until Mrs Hancock offered to cook for us during the week for a reasonable price. We jumped at the chance.

We were now in huts, as seen in the pics, that's my mate Dessie Evans, who was a pain in the arse and one time whilst riding the trike, we were both engaged in quite a tussle until Ronnie stopped the trike and threatened to sort both of us out. The trike had a Volkswagen motor and could really fly, but at the back, it was bitterly cold on the trike, and we would be rugged up no end.

This is how the day went from what I can remember. 100 sleepers to be laid, old ones taken out, new ones in.

Then, depending on the passing time of the train, we would jack up the track, as that was being done, one person with a sledgehammer would be knocking out the sleepers, then another following behind would be using a pick to slide out the old sleeper. Around this time, as I was the Nipper, I would get the fire going from some sleeper pieces and have the Billy on the boil, keeping my eyes on the gang down the track. As soon as I saw them coming, I threw a handful of tea in the Billy and started swinging it over my head. Then I would set it down and tap the sides, so the tea was settled, and they would pass me their cups. We all had special Railway lunch boxes, big square things that also doubled as a seat.

With smoko over, the new sleepers would be pulled, holes drilled as Charlie is doing in the picture. By this time, I am back in the gang and getting the new Dogs ready for the drilled holes. We would then drop the rail onto the new sleeper, and here it was a choice of how to knock them in. I was on the Dog Hammer mostly, and I would have to have guys go along and start them, and then I would hammer them home in about 5 to 7 hits. I think Ronnie could do it in 3. Once all the rails were hammered in, we would pack the line as much as we could could stabilise the sleeper. Whilst this was going on, I had to make sure again that the Billy was boiling for lunch, and old sleepers would be thrown into a pile and burnt.

The next job was straightening out the line, and we all had our own crowbar, where we learnt never to lay it on the ground, always have it upright, otherwise it would become red hot. It was during the straightening of the rail that colourful language ensued..Ronnie was hard to please as we yelled arheave!, only to pull too far. Useless bunch of Sydney faggots, bloody hopeless the lot of you and much, much more. It was important that we had the rails done for the afternoon train. I remember yelling "ppppaaape" on the morning train, hoping a newspaper flew out, which it sometimes did. Then we would pack up and head home, and head for the bore, how we loved that bore. Some guys would go into town for a beer or up the Dillons on the station and meet back at Mrs Hancocks' for dinner.

Some of us would look for extra work to try and save some money and make it all worthwhile. Johnny and I did wheat lumping, laying the floor in the shed for the wheat bags and stacking. Gee, that was hard work. We did some voluntary work, I think we painted a boxing gym, but mostly we kept to ourselves. Ronnie had pig dogs, and he would take us out to Pilliga scrub to catch some pigs, but sometimes the dogs wouldn't let go, and we had to help. Also, any pigs we caught, we had to kill ourselves..I did once, never again...not a pretty sight watching a pig run around with blood spurting from its throat.

As we had 4 free train passes back to Sydney, we would often catch the afternoon Friday train and go back to Sydney. Many of us would go up to the Paddington and get a tattoo from the great Alex Chater. Some had homes to go to, and I had a cousin I could stay with. We made the most of the Sydney weekend. It was always a lottery as to who would turn up back at Central on the Sunday arvo.

I have many memories of BJ I remember walking back from the Bore one night, and we were blown away at the amount of open sky and stars, living in Sydney, we had never seen. If you got crook, you just took a couple of days off, no need for a doctor, but one time I had a toothache, and it was bad. So Ronnie said I will run you into Walgett and get it out. Now, Ronnie had a 1956 Customline, and he was a petrol head. We averaged 100mph all the way, and he was laughing. In Walgett, there was no dentist (away on holidays); however, we were told to find the dentist's father, who was a vet. But he said he wasn't allowed to use a needle to deaden the pain, so if you want it out..Out it came, the pain was unbearable, and he didn't charge me, and Ronnie took me across to the pub and bought me a whisky. I had the 2 days off..still feel that pain today.

As 1964 progressed, I again left and came back, this time under the name Robert Wyman (of the Stones), and this time I was sent to North Star, again with some Bankstown boys who turned out to be nutters, and I came down with Berry Berry. Here we stayed in sleeping carriages, a single room, just enough for a bed. But too many fights and crazy people, including a guy from Boggabilla who would sleep standing on his head..

I again left and returned to Burren Junction under Robert Jagger! I stayed until close to Christmas, and that was it. 1964 was over for the Boys from Bankstown. I think one of the boys married one of the Hancock girls.

We all learnt so much during that period, the secret hot bores / Pilliga Scrub / being chased back to the ute by a mad boar, and another chasing Colin up a tree, and nicking him, so off to the hospital. Meeting people like Les Pottum, a lovely, lovely family, Charlie and Ronnie our gangers, oh, I nearly forgot that beautiful lady in the Bread Shop in BJ, we were all in love with her. I took my kids back in 1995 (approx), and it was so sad for me..I found the back part of our huge fireplace and stood it up..If you look really closely, you will see "Little Bankstown" and at the bottom, I painted "Fords Forever Holdens Never". The train would sometimes slow down for the people to read. In 2023, I went back again to BJ and Cryon, and actually cried when I saw what was now left..All those workers, the wonderful station buildings, all gone. Later this year, I will go back again for a final look.

Its funny how we all did the Fettler thing, something completely out of our safe haven of city living, maybe 20 of us made the trip over 1964 of an average age of 19 to 20, to various places in the North West with names like Come By Chance /  Pokataroo / Coolarenabri/ Rowena / Cryon / North Star / Boggabilla. We were always treated right by the local people and never got into any fights with the locals.

Good memories

Rob Bell