My story starts in 1975. I was waiting for my divorce from my beautiful wife, when the Army in their wisdom thought it would do me good to be promoted to Sergeant and sent back into the real Army. For the last five years I’d been in Canberra in a cushy job as an illustrator. The only parade I’d ever go on was the pay parade. I didn’t know my left foot from my right foot – didn’t have a clue what “Present Arms” was.
Oh well. I’d hide behind my three stripes; I was after all promoted to Sergeant. Was I in for a shock. I’d learn what my Sergeant Major meant when he said I’d get promoted to match my incompetence.
I was posted to Puckapunyal, 100 kilometres from Melbourne. In no time at all, I became known as Sergeant Bumdrum, cause I didn’t have any idea. The good thing was I was a sergeant so I ordered myself to go to Melbourne as often as possible and forget my troubles. There I met Peta – the answer to all my problems. She was female, and I was a Dickhead Army Jerk on good pay with nothing to do.
She had a habit on this stuff called heroin. Give me some of that shit – it can’t be all that good. Well, was I a Dickhead! Boy, this was good. Only trouble was I couldn’t buy it without Peta, cause I knew no one in the scene and I found out I couldn’t boot myself, even though in those days I had veins like drainpipes. Also I couldn’t get a fit anywhere. If I wanted to use this shit, I had to stay with Peta. This suited her, cause I had plenty of Bugs Bunny and I only had a small tolerance, no more than $50 worth and I’d be doing projectile spews.
So helping support her habit, plus my growing taste, my money soon ran out, after 18 months on weekend use only, then every second day and finally every day.
I finally learnt how to boot up myself. Now I was well on my way. I could also score by myself, but for some unknown reason I fell in love with Peta. After all, she gave me my habit. Plus she was pregnant. In those days heroin actually improved my love making, I could actually last a few minutes. For all these reasons we stayed together.
She was a hooker – but being pregnant was a handicap. “Fuck you” she’d say, “I can’t work cause you had to give me a gut full.” She did have a point. It was either cut down our use, get on this stuff called Methadone and do the right thing, or keep going the way we were. We decided to keep going.
“You’re in the fuckin Army, can’t you get a gun? Peter Poo?” I was already thinking the same thing. Now I had the gun, well several guns, all I needed was the guts and a place to hold up.
It’s not as easy as you think. The first place I held up was a brothel where Peta used to work. She hated the place and her boss, this Turk called Fat Sam. Peta’s job was to do was to make sure the back door was unlocked.
Well it didn’t go to plan. For starters, Fat Sam wasn’t scared of me. I had the gun but I was worried he was going to take it off me and shove it up my arse. He wouldn’t stop cursing me and I couldn’t stop shaking. Finally Peta took control. She just grabbed some cash from a drawer and took Sam’s wallet and we decamped. I was a Nervous Wreck.
Next time. “Next time” I said, “There’s not going to be a next time.” Anyway after some Beautiful Medication, I cooled down. “That’s it – I need to be stoned for Dutch Courage.” Plus my first choice of Fat Sam was a bad one, cause he was a stand over type man. He’d eat guys like me like marshmallows.
Anyway, after a few months I was getting the hang of this. Also I was starting to get cocky and starting to boast to people I wanted to impress. By this time Peta had given birth to Phoebe, my daughter. I was also doing well in the Army. Believe it or not, heroin was making me a better sergeant. I had balls, plus now I had some idea of my job. The only problem was cash. We both had bloody habits. Also I now had tracks on my arms. I wanted help but didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t tell them I was on heroin; I was in the bloody Army. Also I’d done a few hold-ups. I was on a one-way street and couldn’t get off.
I actually cut down on my use. From about $500 per week I got down to just $150 per week. (In the late 70’s, heroin was $200 per gram). Peta was hopeless. In fact we lost Phoebe to her parents. I still lived in the Sergeant’s Mess, she lived anywhere and she was a hopeless loss. But me being totally loyal, I stayed by her and still helped her. My plan was to do one last hold-up, buy one ounce of Heroin and take Peta out of Melbourne to Queensland and reduce her off little by little, taking one month’s leave. I was going to do a bank, cause I wanted $10,000 plus. Anyway I did it, but Peta didn’t want to go. I finally got her to Brisbane, but all that happened was she used the ounce then came back to Melbourne.
I should have cut my losses then, but I gave it one more try. This time, due to my boasting to hookers and talking to them about Peta and what I should do, I think I gave myself up. If I could have seen a doctor or a social worker, I would have got away ages ago. I had no one to talk to, cause I was in the Army, and they had a Zero Tolerance Policy to drug use. All I could talk to were other users and hookers. I couldn’t even talk to my Army mates, I was living like Superman, and there were two of me. The top Army sergeant from nine to five. Then after hours and week-ends, the drug-using hold-up man with a huge problem. Trying to help my girl friend who didn’t want help. She just wanted to get STONED.
Anyway the cops finally got me. I still remember their faces when they opened the boot of my V8 Holden. There was a S.L.R., a sub-machine gun F1 and a 9mm Browning plus boxes of ammo. I often wonder if I would have made a run for it and had a shoot out.
When the cops were questioning me I had to be careful cause I didn’t know what hold-up they were talking about.
Anyway I finally got out on bail and on one charge of Armed Robbery. I found Peta and tried to speak to her. She didn’t want to know me. In fact she told me to Piss Off or get on for her. My strong point is loyalty and I expect loyalty back to me. This was the lowest thing she could have done. Dropping me when I was down, after all I had done for her. In my confused mixed-up mind I decided to kill her, then probably myself. She knew somehow something was up and wouldn’t even see me. I would have to shoot her.
I went to Pucka and borrowed a .22 rifle from a mates’ wife while he was at work. I was on bail and all I did in the Army was sign a book every morning then watch TV. I was sort of confined to barracks. When Glen came home his wife told him Peter came over and borrowed the rifle to go shoot some rabbits. Luckily he told the cops and they sort of worked out what I was up to. They knew Peta was my partner in the robberies but had no proof without me giving her up.
Anyway by the time I reached where Peta was staying the cops were in hiding waiting for me. This sergeant I knew appeared and told me to drop the gun. I cocked it and told him to fuck off. Next second I was on my stomach, knocked flat by some 120 kilo copper and this fuckin police dog had started chewing my leg. I can’t remember much cause I was almost knocked out, but I had size 15 boots standing on me and a police dog chewing my leg.
Somehow I was put into the nut house, cause I had a complete mental breakdown. The nut house is another story in itself. However after I got out of there, I was given five years with a bottom of three years for my hold-up in Pentridge. I soon learnt the ropes; in fact it was a piece of cake after doing rookie training in the army!
In jail, my daughter Gita was born to another girl I met while I was on bail. She got pregnant even though I told her I could be going to jail. I’d already met her parents who thought I was still a sergeant in the army, a nice straight guy who their daughter could have a child with and maybe marry.
As they say, shit happens. It may be an okay story now, but it was the pits back then — it cost me my career in the army and probably ruined my life.
- P.
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