Cracow, Queensland, Fred Brophy's truly remarkable pub

(Editor's note: A mate mentioned the other day that he'd had a session with Fred Brophy at the Kilikivan Pub and my mind went back to a very memorable night with Fred at his (unfortunately now on the market) pub at Cracow a few years back. This is the yarn I did on Fred and his pub back in 2014)

Look, I’ll get onto the pub in a sec, just want to yarn a bit about the publican himself for a moment because the Cracow might be an impressive two story classic Qld country watering hole, but Fred Brophy, who owns it casts a far larger shadow on the Australian Countryside.

Fred runs the last touring boxing tent in Australia. He’s out-lasted that other icon, Jimmy Sharman and now might just be the only boxing tent showman in the world.  He’s the fourth generation of Brophy to bang the drum and shout, “Who’ll fight my boy?” and in 2011 was awarded the OAM. Not sure what it was for but if you told me it was for pugnacious larrikanism then I’d believe you.

He’s been boxing since he was six, (which wasn’t recently), but in 1990 (ish) he bought the Cracow pub as a base when he’s not on the road to Mt Isa Rodeo or the Birdsville races or to any of countless other shows mainly in outback Queensland.

It was a clear cool Monday afternoon when I rocked up there to stay for a night, and with no-one else in the bar, Fred was in the mood for a chat, and, ah, a glass of red.

He asked me where I was headed and why and when I told him I was on the trail of Nat Buchanan, Australia’s greatest ever drover, he got up from the table and headed into the bar, returning in a few minutes with a fragment of an ancient fence-post which carried remnants of some fencing wire.

The amazing story of this great drover is tied to the story of Henry Readford, our most infamous cattle thief as tightly as that wire was round around that post. In 1870 Readford stole over 600 head of cattle from Bowen Downs Station which Buchanan had founded as his base a few years earlier. Readford drove them to South Australia and along the way created a chain of holding pens for the duffed cattle.

A mate of Fred, a copper up in Mt Isa, found one of these old yards, souvenired one of the posts and somehow it ended up at Cracow!

Now not too many people know of Nat Buchanan and not too many know of Readford but Fred doesn’t just live on the surface of the country, he lives in the country and he knew the tales, the myths and the history.

We moved on to boxing and illness which is mainstream pro boxing where the champions never face the number 1 challenger, where ‘champions’ feel in-ring expertise can excuse outrageous social behaviour.  Fred yarned on past the end of his and my first bottle and as we sorted out replacements, we went into fixed bouts, betting scams, bouts thrown and contracts put on boxers by the Melbourne Underbelly when they lost a ‘bloody’ pile.

“That,” says Fred, “is the thing about my tent. It’s fair dinkum.” He has a regular team of pugs and when I ask if they ever lose, he replies, “Oh hell yeah! Especially down south where they have all them boxing clubs and they are all going for bloody Australian titles and that sort of thing and they are all keen on boxing in the tent, fighting the real thing and not just messing around. The trainers all bring their boys in. Couple of months back at Sherwood they turned up with their champion and he fought on the Friday and got beat. Blued about it so they fought again on the Saturday and my bloke just beat him and then three weeks later he went out and won a ‘bloody’ Australian Title.”

My tapes from that day are almost four and a half hours of talking on the verandah of the pub, punctuated by yells to the dog to git orf the road, serving a couple of others who strayed in and having a feed.

Four and a half hours and you’d be interested in most of it but the editor hates me running over the word count so I’d better get inside and tell ya about the pub!

But first let me just say this: Cracow lies on what Fred reckons is the most direct route between Brisbane and Darwin. The road that passes through was originally a defence road built during the last war for military vehicles to get north to face threat posed by mates of the makers of Yamahas, Hondas, Kawasakis etc.

For years it’s been pretty quiet and free of HGV’s and caravans due to an unsealed strip to the east of the town. That’s now changed. The last section was sealed in 2014 despite the alleged opposition and long term inaction from the vested interests of Biloela businessmen on the local council who saw their through traffic in jeopardy once this much more beautiful road was opened up. (Sounds a bit like Coffs Harbour!)

Which brings me to the pub:

I don’t usually start filling out the rating forms for pubs until I arrive and my regular reader will know, a coupla months back I added points for unique and special character. When I rang to book at the Cracow, Debbie took my call and, as no-one had booked that night, casually said she’d put my in room 6 because it is furthest from the ghost in room 1.

Neither Fred nor his partner, Sandy, has seen this female apparition but on the very first night they moved in, alone in the place, Fred heard footsteps and doors opening and closing. He said nothing but the same thing happened the next night and the following morning Sandy confirmed that she too had heard the movements. It’s not uncommon for doors left locked at night are found unlocked and swinging in the morning. A few guests have been confronted by the ghost during their stays. Always in room 1.  I slept well in 6!

All rooms have aircon, plenty of hangers and hanging space, a small TV and comfortable beds. They don’t have openable windows but their doors open out onto the beautiful balcony which gets all the morning sun.

There’s a top class common area with fruit, toaster, bread and cereal in addition to the tea and coffee but you’ll need patience in the shower for the hot water to come through. Oh and the tap with the ‘H’ on it is the cold!

There’s no TAB or Keno but there are pool tables in the bar and out in the huge beer garden which features the best camp-oven BBQ I’ve ever seen. This place really would suit a night stop for a large group ride.

The bar of the Cracow is up there with the heavyweight champions of Australian Bush Pubs: places like Hebel, Prairie, The Blue Heeler at Kynuna….the walls and ceiling and a lot of the floor carry pieces of the past, all with a story, all with a myth and all known by Fred.

He also obviously subscribes to Quentin Crisp’s theory that dusting is pointless as things that get used shed the dust when in use and if you don’t use something then there’s no point in dusting it. The ceiling ornaments all carry massive cobwebs and when I tell Fred of my principle that you can’t kill spiders and then complain about the flies, he points out there’re no flies in the bar and says he’ll take that saying on board.This is not a bar to have a quick coldie and then go. You need to have couple of hours to take it all in and really that means bunking upstairs. (The nearest pub heading west is the art deco beauty at Theodore but it’s impersonal, overrun by miners and expensive.) I can’t rate the friendliness of the locals coz I didn’t come across any!

The Cracow is a truly unique pub, anchored around its iconic owner. If you have any claims to be an afficianado of bush pubs then you must visit this place. But ring ahead early in your planning to make sure Fred will be home. Without him it would be far more ordinary, another great shell staffed by backpackers.

Footnote:        Penguin have released Fred’s book, Fred Brophy, The life and times of an outback legend . It’s in, as they say, all good bookshops but not for sale at the pub. Grab a copy. You’ll read it in one go and you’ll soon be planning a trip up to see the great man in the flesh!