He loved his little Mooney Mite. This was a tiny single seat airplane that was fairly fast – two miles per hour per horsepower, but not a lot of hor...epower – and very maneuverable. The little 65 horse power engine could fly all day at 120 knots. You couldn't do any aerobatics in it as it had gravity fed fuel. It had retractable landing gear, so dad felt like he was in a fighter again. He flew that thing every chance he had, using it to go for farm parts whenever he could. There wasn't a lot of. He was a swagman of unknown parentage possessed of an interest in easy fortunes that was far larger than his five foot tall, ten stone heavy frame. He lay awake at night and schemed. Orwell’s was the only bar for fifty miles, north, south, or otherwise out of Dubbo. Anyone who needed a beer bad enough to drink there, which was everyone who worked the sheep stations, lived with the patter of Fred’s ideas. ‘Transportation’s the thing, mate’ was his customary refrain. He had not coined this idea,. More

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