Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad.

(For Those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a smalltown, west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland )

Dear Mum & Dad,

I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the
Army is better than workin' on the farm
tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya dont hafta get outta bed until 6am

But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform.
No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing

At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but theres no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes.
You don't get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are ******ed because we've been on a route march
geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin
dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it don't move and it's not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year
All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target it's a piece of ****

You don't even load your own cartridges, they comes in little boxes, and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy
it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.

Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers
he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet,
but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.

Your loving daughter,
Sheila