A Modest Farmer [Bert Kelly], “Problems in hopping on cheap fuel bandwaggon,” The Australian Financial Review, November 23, 1979, p. 11. Reprinted in Economics Made Easy (Adelaide: Brolga Books, 1982). pp. 38-40, as “Petrol for Farmers.”

As Mavis and I stand quietly on the banks of the political stream watching the torrent of events and words go hurrying past, Mavis is always looking for some cause to come bobbing by which I could adopt as my own, to carry me back into parliament. Mavis wants this more than I do; my life is full enough, keeping one bound ahead of the banker with Fred chewing my ear. But Mavis yearns for times past, when she was treated with an outward show of respect when she attended functions as the Member’s wife. She loved sitting in the platform, fondling her posy of flowers and looking benignly down on lesser ladies in the audience. She always had ready an especially thin smile for the wives of my State parliamentary colleagues if she was placed above them in the peck order. And always there loomed the fond hope that some day, somehow, I might be made a minister and so get a State funeral in the end.

For a while I was attracted to the cause of less government intervention. This is becoming increasingly popular as we all see how disastrous government intervention has been. But when Mavis discovered that Eccles was keen for me to die on that barricade, her enthusiasm quickly evaporated. She said firmly:

If Eccles is for it, I am against it. Look what happened when he pushed you into the tariff battle. You would have been a minister by now if it wasn’t for that wretched man, instead of having to work for your living.

So I had to let the fair cause of less government intervention go bobbing out of sight.

Then one day a really exciting and imposing craft came cruising by; indeed it looked like a floating band wagon. Its name, “Cheap Petrol for Farmers,” was proudly emblazoned on its side. Its crew were a mixed lot. There were some lightweight politicians, some farming industry leaders on the make, a few Freds to do the stoking and some really smartly dressed gentlemen.

When Mavis saw this imposing craft she tried to push me into the water to make me swim for it. But I was unwilling to do this; I was frightened that, when I reached it, those already there might stamp on my fingers as I tried to clamber aboard. But I agreed to Mavis calling a meeting at our place a week later so that we could form our “Cheap Petrol for Farmers Party.” About fifteen people turned up. The local fuel agent was the first. He came in a large car with a gleam in his eye. There were some farmers and other local identities. Fred was there too but he sat well back. I couldn’t help noticing that everyone came in separate cars, instead of giving one another a lift.

Mavis moved quickly and I was made president. She thought that this was better than chairman. Then we drew up a manifesto spelling out the reasons why farmers should get cheap petrol. We said that we were entitled to special consideration because we produced the exports that were essential to the country’s survival and we only did this because of our noble natures, not because we were activated by a mean motive like money. Then there was a bit about having to take our kids to school and how cars were necessary to get to the doctor. Past experience has taught me that a touch of sentiment is desirable when preparing political platforms.

The doctor rather spoilt things by asking where he fitted into the scheme of things and then the undertaker asked rather plaintively if his too wasn’t an essential service. “Particularly State funerals,” he added with a low cunning typical of the man. But the fuel agent quickly came to our rescue. “Just you leave those little details to me,” he said quietly. “You get the petrol into the district and I will soon share it around.” He would too, he is a smart man.

We then arranged to meet a week later and everyone went away, each in his own car. But Fred stayed behind and I could see that he had something on his mind. He took me aside and gave me a real lecture. He said grimly:

My advice to you is to keep this silly idea away from Eccles. You know, and I know, that we farmers have used petrol carelessly in the past because it was cheap. And you know that the only way to stop us doing this is to make petrol dearer. You can lecture us until you are black in the face and we will clap like made at the end of your speech, then we will go away and do what the price signals tell us to do.

I have a sinking feeling that Fred is right. I know that I use petrol carelessly. And I know too that, if farmers get cheap petrol, it will be impossible to stop it being sold on the black market to our non-farming friends. But how am I going to explain this to Mavis?