There was an Australian fellow in our frat house when I was at U of Iowa back in 69-70. He was doing a doctorate in pharmacy.
He loved tennis, ladies and big block Corvettes, in that order.
She also said that, if I hadn't come along, she would have never gotten married to an Australian man. In her words, "The only way that you know that an Australian man loves you is that he will come home to you and beat you up, after a long night of drinking with his mates and spending all of his paycheck at the pub. If he didn't love you, he'd just go off with some other Sheila ...".
My Great Uncle Carl was in the Navy and was stationed in Australia during WWII. He fell in love and married an Aussie Lass, and moved there after the war.
It’s been fun through the years having our Aussie Cousins come to visit us, ‘in the states.’ My parents took my Grandma (Carl’s sister) and Grandpa to Australia in the mid-70’s and Dad has been back twice, since.
It’s still on my Bucket List. :)
My Dad has some interactions with Australians in the Pacific in WWII. He wasn’t negative, but only said his main memories were 1) he couldn’t understand what many of them were saying, they had heavy accents, and 2) that his ship picked up a load of Australian mutton that literally made everyone on the ship sick. He was on an aircraft carrier - he said everyone was throwing up on the flight deck
My CV made a port call to Fremantle/Perth, and out of that one week visit came no less than seven marriages to Australian women, all beauties, among the 32 officers in our squadron..and I was dang near the eighth! We operated with the Royal Australian Navy, no finer fighting forces in the world, and noble allies. But Australian men treat “sheilas” worse than their animals, all to the benefit of Americans with a bit of courtesy and the promise to Australian ladies of escaping Oz for the USA. True story.
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Where was the problem? Sounds like my Marines to me.
I pulled some liberty in Australia back in the early 70’s. The people were wonderful.
I went to Sydney on R&R from Vietnam in 1968. Volunteers operated a welcome center that arranged for me to have dinner at the home of a retired auto racer named Lou Kingsley. Lou and his wife were gracious people and I thoroughly enjoyed their company. He picked me up at the train station in his modified Ford Falcon (289 V8 with Weber carbs, headers, etc..) and still drove quite briskly at the age of 78. I left with high regards for the Aussies!
It looks like it was drawn by the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not cartoonist.