The T-Team with Mr. B (36)

Then. Thump! Thump! Thump!
I bolted upright.
Dad scrambled out of his cocoon like a scalded cat. ‘What’s that?’
He waved a torch in every direction.

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The T-Team With Mr. B (35)

Clang! Clang! Clang! ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ Dad yelled.
I dragged myself out of the tangle of grey army blankets and shuffled to the door. The thin worn lino stung cold on my bare feet.
Dad marched past hammering a saucepan with a wooden spoon. ‘Get up! We have to get an early start!’
Mr. B stumbled to the bathroom and grumbled, ‘It’s too early, surely we could’ve had an hour’s more sleep.’
‘No, we must get going! We have a lot of ground to cover.’

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The T-Team With Mr. B (34)

‘Hey, Rick, look!’ I pointed. ‘The Gosse Range, it’s just like the painting Grandma’s got in her lounge room.’
From the front of the Rover Mr B asked, ‘Did you say, David that you met the famous Albert Namatjira when you lived up in Hermannsburg?’
‘Oh, of course. My father-in-law was a great supporter of Albert’s art.’
‘How did the Gosse Range come about?’ I asked my audience from the back of the Rover.

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The T-Team with Mr. B (28)

At Haasts Bluff station we filled up with petrol, water, and supplies to last us in this virgin land. We were going where not many people, except the Indigenous, had gone before. Upon entering the land belonging to these people; there would be no shops, no houses, and no roads. To salute our departure from civilisation, we bought something to eat and drink. I ate a meat pie.

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