My fondest childhood memory ..., page-115

Here is another Dave

At the end of my final year of high school, an incident occurred that made me wonder about the possible outcome. Having recently purchased my first car, a lime-green 1963 Holden, it allowed for freedom to roam the district, attracting people needing transport.

With some final year students we ventured to a Christmas party held in a larger town twenty five km away and a pleasant evening was had by all, but exhaustion began to take its toll.

On the return trip, it was not long before my passengers had fallen asleep and near our town, I also succumbed on a bend, causing the car to continue in a direct path towards a ravine.

Only the improbable presence of a white marker post in our path caused a loud crashing sound awakening us all and with perfect timing, the car was steered from the edge of the ravine, avoiding a tragic incident.

The chance of hitting a white post was small and it was a lucky escape for our group, potentially cutting our lives short or causing serious lifelong injuries. My car must have been charmed as it had avoided the wrecking yard, going on to save the day on other occasions.

The following morning, a quick check revealed a small dent on the front bumper, hiding the precarious situation we faced the night before. About ten years later an unlucky young man from our township failed to navigate the same bend and his vehicle rolled down the ravine leaving him a paraplegic.

That incident was the result of fatigue. I was rarely interested in driving fast, feeling it would be a shame to flog my car, something I came to treat like a good friend, but many young men did just that to impress friends. They drove at at high speeds, indifferent to wear and tear on the motor, not to mention the danger they placed themselves and others in on the road.

There was a competition during the seventies to see who could drive the fastest between two nearby towns. The road was about 10 km in length, containing many bends and tight turns. My older brother was quick to remind all while he held the record, an average of 95 miles per hour, something marveled at by youths in the early seventies.

Joy rides between the towns were a hair-raising affair when a car load of youths were transported at high speed by a driver, often under the influence of alcohol, regularly coming to within a hair's breath of leaving the road into disaster.

One evening our group of seven stacked into a station wagon and took to the road. We were taken for a ride where our combined weight must have prevented the vehicle from becoming airborne. It was a miracle that lives were not lost or severely disabled during that white-knuckle ride.

As one of the few teenagers with a car in our small town, I carted our group to nearby towns where we met friends and sometimes strangers, resulting in friction and at times violence. I was not interested in fighting for the sake of doing so, but others in our town did just that for entertainment.

Living in an isolated region meant young men drank, played sport, and if not occupied with a girlfriend, took to car racing or fighting. There were aggressive young men, often missing teeth, thinking nothing of abusing someone in order to provoke a fight, not caring if they won or lost.

An amiable young man who stood out as an interesting character among many tough youths, was a Hungarian who could only be nicknamed, Attila the Hun. He was a friend of my older brother, and together they enjoyed relative peace, being more interested in girls than fighting, but if someone bad-mouthed him, he would arrive to set the record straight.

He was short, giving larger opponents a false sense of security, soon finding this powerfully-built and fearless young man was an unusual force of nature. Should someone manage to hit his rock-hard head first, it made little difference. He simply moved forward, felling the assailant with one heavy blow. Fights with Attila rarely needed a second round.

One day Atilla came to hear someone made unflattering remarks about his pedigree, causing him to find the source and resolve the issue man-to-man. He found the perpetrator in a hotel front bar and while he asking him to come outside, two friends were eyeing my brother and myself, a situation that could have easily escalated.

Fortunately the man Attila wanted to fight knew better than to go out, so the issue had to wait for another suitable occasion. It was easy to see how Attila became so tough once I met his brutal father. He would not hesitate to punish his boys for the slightest misdemeanor, and having to do a man's work on their vineyard from a young age, they soon hardened.

Another young man from a nearby town had a fearsome reputation as a thuggish and uncompromising boxer. He was lightly built, but used his trademark technique with good results. He feigned a retreat, allowing his opponent to relax, then suddenly turned to deliver a knockout blow.

His weekends were not complete if he had not beaten someone, and the bigger his opponent, the more he liked it. One evening he decided it was time to challenge Attila as the town was not big enough for both.

He delivered his well-practiced punch, causing an egg-sized lump to grow on Attila's head, but it did not knock him out, it just pissed him off for a while. Attila was not one to prolong a fight and would normally let someone fall, but on this occasion, a lesson in etiquette was in order.

While holding the former champ with his left hand, he brought home his message with the other, making his point clearly and forcefully that it was not the right way to fight, and the boxer came to understand the error of his ways.

A tough youth living nearby was a good friend and we fished, swam and explored the local area. He was big for his age, regularly bullying students until they gave him some of their lunch, helping him to get even bigger!

He enjoyed the challenge of fighting strangers, usually doing well, but he lost some and eventually his front teeth. As a teenager, he thought it would be a good idea for our group of five to start a fight with some older, stronger-looking youths from a nearby town.

I did not like the plan and went along grudgingly as we would surely get belted. Fortunately, his loud and aggressive taunts deterred those youths who did not want to fight, so we avoided some pain. I never got to ask how he lost his front teeth, maybe one fateful evening he met Attila!