Below is yet another musing from Uncle Butch, apparently he was given this via his daughter, my cousin Michelle, from a relative living in Australia. Please read it carefully from the beginning to end.... I promise you you will enjoy it.

It is the text of a letter from a soldier from Eromanga to Mum and Dad back home. Eromanga is a small town in the far South West of Queensland.

A letter from the Army:

Dear Mum & Dad,

I am well and I hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the Farm - tell 'em to get in B****y quick smart before all the jobs are gone.

I wuz a bit slow settling down at first because ya don't hav ta get out of bed till 6 a.m. here. But I like sleeping in late now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed, shine ya boots and clean ya uniform, no B****y daft cows to milk, no calves to feed and no feed to stack.... nuthin'

Blokes haz to shave tho', but its not so bad, plenty of hot water and even a light to see what ya doin'.

At brekky ya gets cereal, fruit and eggs ... pity there's no Kangaroo steaks or Possum stew like what Mum makes tho'

Ya gets fed again at noon, by which time all the city boys are b********d cos we been on a 'route march' - geez its only like walking to the windmill in our back paddock - strewth mate!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil - I keep gettin' medals for shootin ..... dunno why? ... the bullseye is as big as a Possums bum, it isn't movin' and it don't fire back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber Bull got into the paddock of their prize cow last year!

All ya gotta do is make yaself comfortable by having a lie down, then hit the target...piece of p....dead easy!. Ya don't even have to load ya own cartridges they come in little fancy boxes. Ya don't even hav ta steady yaself against the roll bar of the 'Roo shootin' truck

Sometimes, I 'ave to wrestle with the City boys, I'm real careful tho, 'cos they break so easily! It's not like fightin' with Doug, Phil, Jack, Boori, Steve and Muzza all at once like at home in the muster.

Turns out I'm not a bad boxer too, looks like I'm the best the Platoon's got!

Only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he was 6'5" and 15 stone and three pick handles wide across the shoulders, as ya know I'm only 5'7" and 8 stone wringin' wet, but I fought the blighter for ages, 'till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I got no complaints about the army, tell the others to get in quick before word gets round how good it is!

Your loving Daughter,

Jill.