By John Larkins * THERE could have hardly been a more Australian pub than the old tin Continental at Broome. A great, ugly edifice but oh, so charming. One day they decided it had lived too long. So they began… Read More ›
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Bruce Howard
Praire Hotel, Praire
“What are ya lookin’ so upset about, mate?” “Oh, we’ve been stuck in the mud out west for about 15 hours.” “Could’ve been worse.” “How?” “You could’ve been stuck there the rest of ya life.” “Suppose you’re right.” If you… Read More ›
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Commercial Hotel, Hebel
ONCE there were three things in Hebel, Queensland (not counting the dust). There was the Commercial Hotel (HEBEL’S LEADING HOTEL, says the sign outside), there was the store, and there was a pile of empty bottles which rivalled the pyramids… Read More ›
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Newcastle Hotel, Sydney
“A kid of 14 painted a couple of trees on the way home from school, came here, and stuck the picture on the wall in the pub. It was there for months. He came in every day. ‘Have you sold… Read More ›
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Gin Gin Hotel
THE best example of community spirit and good fellowship is in a little Queensland township named Gin Gin. There are three hotels, and three nights per week the drinking section of the community visited each one of these hotels in… Read More ›
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Marlborough Hotel, Marlborough
THE little lady schoolteacher was positively outraged by the swearing at the pub (though she did admit that “bull” was allowable, this being the heart of Brahmin country). So she put a large bottle on the bar: “SWEAR BOTTLE, IN… Read More ›
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White Horse Hotel, Charters Towers
NORM Kelly (pictured) knew there was tin in that hill; he knew it deep in his heart. But he was out prospecting with his uncle, who was the boss, and he said, “No.” So they went fossicking somewhere else. Then… Read More ›
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Tattersalls Hotel, Barringun
BY John Larkins* IN the good old days when the shearing shed at Tinnenburra was the biggest in the world, Annie Lack’s arms grew tired just opening beer bottles. But the shed is disused, silent now. The shearers have gone… Read More ›
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You’re terrible Muriel
By John Larkins* The wind howled its lament across the drought country, through the gasping trees beside the track, and raised a flurry of dust from a road cracked like the lips of a man lost in the blazing desert…. Read More ›
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Hoppy Tom
HOPPY Tom had to drink alone. Oh, his mate had been with him earlier, but suddenly the door of the Warialda pub (NSW) burst open, and in stormed his chum’s wife. A giant of a woman, six axehandles across the… Read More ›
