{"id":9146,"date":"2025-10-14T00:20:59","date_gmt":"2025-10-13T14:20:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bardonnews.com.au\/index.php\/2025\/10\/14\/the-oct-12-show\/"},"modified":"2025-11-03T18:48:52","modified_gmt":"2025-11-03T08:48:52","slug":"the-oct-12-show","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bardonnews.com.au\/index.php\/2025\/10\/14\/the-oct-12-show\/","title":{"rendered":"The Oct 12 Show"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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It was the kind of Sunday that only Macca could conjure \u2014 a cross-country chorus of voices, stitched together by warmth, wit, and a weather report or two. From foggy Bemboka to sun-washed Esperance, truckies, farmers, and flyers rang in to share their patch of the world. What unfolded was a morning of stories about endurance, kindness, and that unmistakable Australian mix of humour and heart.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian from Bemboka \u2013 The Road That Never Ends<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The first voice of the morning was Ian\u2019s, steady as the diesel hum behind him. He was somewhere between Goulburn and Hay, hauling bricks to Adelaide, when he called through the crackle. From Bemboka, near Bega, he described the fog and the way frost clung to the edge of the road. \u201cBit of a white one, mate \u2014 you could hang your breath on the mirror,\u201d he said. He\u2019d left at three a.m. and told Macca that he liked those dark hours when the world is half-asleep. They talked about the life of long-haul drivers \u2014 servo bacon rolls, half-finished coffees, and the comfort of the road\u2019s rhythm. Ian admitted he sometimes pulls over just to listen to the dawn chorus. \u201cMagpies don\u2019t care if you\u2019re late,\u201d he said with a grin you could hear down the line. For a while the two compared favourite routes and truck-stop characters before Ian signed off to keep the wheels turning. \u201cYou keep us moving, mate,\u201d Macca said. \u201cSomeone\u2019s got to,\u201d Ian replied, and the laugh that followed sounded like gravel under tyres.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mitch and Roy from Kalbarri \u2013 Fences, Floods and Family Humour<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

A burst of static, then Mitch came through from Kalbarri with his son Roy chiming in from somewhere nearby. \u201cLost the gate in that last blow,\u201d Mitch said. \u201cFound it two paddocks over,\u201d Roy added, setting both of them laughing. They\u2019d spent the week wrestling with twisted wire and a restless flock after storms had torn through their place. Macca joined the fun, teasing that Roy ought to be on wages. \u201cHe\u2019s on one \u2014 it\u2019s called dinner,\u201d Mitch shot back. The conversation bounced from weather to wool prices to a story about a neighbour\u2019s sheepdog that chased a fence panel clear across the yard. Between jokes, Mitch talked about how hard seasons test patience and how families hold farms together. \u201cYou\u2019ve just got to keep showing up,\u201d he said. Before hanging up, Roy shouted, \u201cTell everyone Kalbarri\u2019s still standing!\u201d \u201cAnd laughing,\u201d Macca added, still chuckling as the line dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Danny in Melbourne \u2013 Waiting Rooms and Resilience<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Danny\u2019s call slowed the tempo. He was phoning from Melbourne, his voice quiet but clear. He\u2019d spent time in hospitals recently and wanted to talk about waiting \u2014 not the inconvenience, but the humanity in it. \u201cYou see people who\u2019ve been there longer than you, still smiling,\u201d he said. He spoke about strangers sharing sandwiches, nurses who remember names, and the way small talk becomes a lifeline. Macca, listening intently, said, \u201cThat\u2019s courage too, mate.\u201d Danny agreed, adding that real strength isn\u2019t loud. \u201cSometimes it\u2019s just keeping your seat while the hours crawl.\u201d The conversation ended softly, leaving a pause that seemed to linger through the next song.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo Credit: Royal Melbourne Hospital<\/a><\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Clarky from Cambelligo \u2013 Wires, Dust and Bush Ingenuity<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Somewhere outside Cobar, Clarky was knee-deep in red dust, elbows in a Telstra phone box that had stopped working weeks ago. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t believe what\u2019s in here \u2014 ants, dirt, someone\u2019s old lunch,\u201d he told Macca between bursts of static. \u201cDust gets in everything out here \u2014 even the bread.\u201d He works out at the Mount Poppy Gold Mine and said the phone box is their line to the rest of the world. \u201cWhen it dies, the fellas reckon civilisation\u2019s over.\u201d Macca laughed as Clarky described cleaning the terminals with a toothbrush and coaxing a faint dial tone back to life. \u201cGot her singing again,\u201d he said, and behind him came the sound of miners cheering. \u201cTelstra should give you a medal,\u201d Macca told him. \u201cJust send me a new screwdriver,\u201d Clarky answered. They both laughed, and for a moment listeners could almost smell the dust and grease of the outback, where persistence and humour fix everything eventually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris \u2013 Between Accents<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Chris, a British expat now living in Australia, rang to talk about language. \u201cBack home you say \u2018cheers\u2019 for everything,\u201d he said, \u201cbut here \u2018mate\u2019 does the lot \u2014 hello, sorry, even goodbye.\u201d Macca teased that he\u2019d gone native. \u201cI probably have,\u201d Chris said, laughing. They traded examples of how Aussies stretch vowels until they sound like music. Chris confessed he still catches himself using British slang that earns him funny looks at the pub. \u201cYou learn fast,\u201d he said, \u201cif you order a \u2018pint of bitter\u2019 in Queensland, you\u2019ll just get bitter looks.\u201d Macca roared with laughter. Then Chris turned reflective. \u201cI still miss the rain,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I wouldn\u2019t swap this light for anything.\u201d It was one of those small, smiling calls that show belonging is often found in conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pete from Watheroo \u2013 Machines and Miracles<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Pete from Watheroo sounded energised by the season. \u201cThe crops are a picture, Macca \u2014 best I\u2019ve seen in years.\u201d A machinery dealer by trade, he spent most of the chat describing how the new harvesters talk to satellites and to each other, sending yield maps straight to a laptop in the ute. \u201cThey\u2019ll tell you moisture, speed, even how level you\u2019re sitting,\u201d he said, \u201cbut they can\u2019t tell you when the weather\u2019s about to turn.\u201d Macca asked if he trusted the tech. Pete laughed. \u201cI trust my gut more. You know it\u2019s a good year when you can hear the bins filling before the thunder.\u201d The pride in his voice made it sound like music \u2014 steel, rain, and satisfaction blended together.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Watheroo Farm
Photo Credit: Google Maps<\/a><\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

Anthony and Catherine from Petrie \u2013 The Sunday Market Run<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Anthony and Catherine called from the car on their way to the Petrie markets, radio on loud enough for Macca to hear the turn signal clicking. \u201cNot selling, Macca \u2014 buying,\u201d Catherine said. \u201cPlants we don\u2019t need.\u201d Anthony laughed that they were \u201crescuing ferns from neglect.\u201d Macca told them they were single-handedly supporting the nursery industry. The trio chatted about Sunday rituals \u2014 coffee, markets, and the small extravagances that make weekends feel earned. Catherine said, \u201cThat\u2019s what Sundays are for \u2014 spending a little on happiness.\u201d It was a short, sunny exchange that felt like a smile on air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ken in Missouri \u2013 Flying Far, Listening Home<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Half a world away, Ken, an Australian pilot living in Missouri, tuned in before take-off. \u201cStill flying freight across the Midwest,\u201d he said. \u201cFlat country \u2014 if you squint, it could be the Nullarbor.\u201d He misses the magpies and the scent of eucalyptus after rain. Every Sunday, before the engines start, he streams the show through his headset. \u201cYou\u2019re my bit of home, Macca.\u201d The reply was gentle. \u201cGood to have you aboard, mate.\u201d For a moment, the static between them sounded like wind over open sky, the distance folded small enough to fit inside a radio wave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeff from Palm Beach \u2013 A Paddle-Out for Jack McCoy<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Jeff rang from Palm Beach, his voice still carrying the hush of the morning. He\u2019d just returned from the paddle-out for surf filmmaker Jack McCoy. \u201cThe water was glassy, not a ripple,\u201d he said. \u201cHundreds out there, boards in a circle, quiet as a church.\u201d He spoke about McCoy\u2019s gift for finding beauty and his generosity toward young surfers. Macca answered softly, \u201cThat\u2019s a life well lived.\u201d The silence that followed was brief but full \u2014 the sound of listeners remembering someone they might not have known but somehow felt they did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rhonda from Esperance \u2013 Wildflowers and Wonder<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Then came Rhonda from Esperance, her voice bright as the morning she described. \u201cYou\u2019ve never seen colour like it, Macca \u2014 pink wreath flowers everywhere.\u201d She was calling about the Ravensthorpe Wildflower Show, where tourists lie on the verge to photograph blooms shaped like halos. \u201cWe had one couple arguing over which pink was pinker,\u201d she said, laughing. Her family runs a broadacre farm nearby, and she told Macca that after months of dust, the sight of wildflowers lifts everyone. \u201cEven the blokes who never smile start whistling.\u201d They talked about how the show brings the town together, school kids painting signs, locals baking for visitors. \u201cOut here, spring doesn\u2019t arrive,\u201d Rhonda said, \u201cit bursts in.\u201d Macca agreed that Australia could always use more bursts like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n