No 31 Orroroo

Orroroo! That word, employing only two letters of the alphabet, has always fascinated me. It is melodious, and it is native. What does it mean? My advice is not to ask that question, unless you are prepared to enter into an argument. Every man you meet has a different version, and each is ready to swear an oath that his translation is above suspicion. I, at any rate, am not prepared to indicate a preference. I am willing to accept Orroroo as a nice, euphonious appellation, and let it go at that.

Here are the four most generally agreed on definitions of the name: —

1. It was the native name of a creek flowing through Pekina station, on the site of which Orroroo stands today.

2. It was the name of a young native girl who used to run about the station in the days before Orroroo existed.

3. It means "the wind," and represents to the native mind the sound of the wind whistling across the plains.

4. It means "Early start after kangaroos," from the fact that it was the site of the meeting place of the blacks for their morning kangaroo hunts.

Probably I shall be told it was none of these things at all, but something entirely different. If so, my critics may save themselves the trouble, for I shall meet their remarks with a stony silence.

I was indiscreet enough to enquire about the name when I met several old residents— Messrs. H. J. Cottrell, W. Toop, K. T. Kierschner, J. H. Mc Dougall, and W. C. Addison— in the council chamber one hot morning. They gave me a lot of information about Orroroo. But they were not unanimous about the meaning of the name. It would not surprise me to learn they are still arguing the point. It is one of those subjects on which you may talk yourself dumb without getting any nearer a satisfactory solution. The one definite fact which emerged from the discussion was that the name was bestowed at the instance of Mr. C. J. Easther. Documentary evidence on this head exists at the local institution in the shape of a letter from the Surveyor-General of the day agreeing to Mr. Easther's suggestion that the new town should be called Orroroo. I asked to see that letter. It could not be produced. But I was assured that it was there.

This O. J. Easther was the pioneer settler of Orroroo. In the old coaching days, before the town was surveyed, he had an eating house, the ruins of which may still be seen, on Pekina Creek, about a mile distant from the town. This was a stopping place for the coaches running between the Burra and Melrose. When in 1875 Orroroo was surveyed Easther abandoned his eating house, built an iron shop on a corner block, in the new township, and opened as a storekeeper and wine dealer. This was the first building erected in Orroroo.

Pekina Station

When you come to write the story of Orroroo you have to go back to 1851 — or even earlier. It was in July of that year that pastoral lease No. 80 was granted to Price Maurice. Officially, Price Maurice was the first squatter to take up the country known as the Pekina run — the present site of Orroroo. Unofficially he wasn't. He was preceded by the Chambers brothers. The story is interesting. In those days the country was in its virgin state— treeless and practically waterless. There were only two sandalwood trees on the site which is now the town. The land was moderately well grassed with ferns, bushes, and a little saltbush. There was spinifex in the hills and portion of the 320 square miles carried oak, wattle, and mallee. It was not an uncommon thing in pioneer times for sheep farmers to go into the wilds in search of country. Having found it they stocked it. They did not always comply with the formality of securing a title. Sometimes they were unceremoniously kicked off by newcomers who had taken the precaution of acquiring a legal tenure, and sometimes they abandoned the country voluntarily as not being up to expectations.

When the Chambers brothers "squatted" on the Pekina run they stocked it chiefly with cattle. They were there for 17 months, and in all that period no rain fell. They were disgusted with the country. One day they had ridden up a hill, and were sitting their horses, strongly silhouetted against the skyline, when they espied a stranger coming over the barren landscape. It was Price Maurice. He explained that he was looking for a site for a sheep station, and had decided on this Pekina country, not knowing it was already in occupation. "Huh!" grunted James Chambers, "you're welcome to it. We've been all over the country and we haven't found a drop of water. Give us our money back, and, we'll leave you in possession."

The deal was promptly concluded. The Chambers removed their cattle to Lake Bonney, on the Murray, and Maurice became the owner of Pekina. The station changed hands for the proverbial song. The strange part of this affair is that the arid region of which the two Chambers were glad to rid themselves for the actual amount of their outlay turned out immediately to be some of the finest sheep country in the State. Years later, when drought held Maurice's other runs in its ruthless grip, it was Pekina which enabled him to hang on until the tide turned. And some people say there is no such thing as luck!

James Chambers

A word or two about these pioneers of the country which is now Orroroo — especially James Chambers, perhaps one of the most interesting of our early pastoralists. He was a pretty shrewd head, with fingers in many pies, as I decipher his record, Pekina was his only blunder. There were two brothers— James and John. The former was the elder. He came to Adelaide in the Coromandel in 1837 from London. Fellow-passengers were Edward Stephens, South Australia's first banker, and Charles Mann, the first Advocate-General.

It may be news to many who bowl merrily along the Port road nowadays without ever thinking of the days when there was no road between the capital and the sea that the great wood blocked thoroughfare which carries more traffic than any other road in the State was pioneered by this very same James Chambers. He drove a bullock dray between the city and the port, and the track he then cut is virtually the same route as the road follows today. That in itself entitles Chambers to a niche in the hall of Fame.

But he was a live wire, was Jimmy, and he left his mark on early South Australia. The extraordinary thing to me is that so few know anything about him in this year of depression. Looking round for means of augmenting his bank account James saw that immigrants arriving at Holdfast Bay were obliged to walk six and a half miles through the virgin forest before reaching the new Mecca — which was Adelaide. So he organised a transport system between the Bay and the city— and South Australia took another step forward on the road to civilised luxury.

I cannot tell you definitely what sort of system he inaugurated, but I'm guessing it was a dray. You see, what time he was not counting the new lambs on his northern runs he was conducting a livery stable in Adelaide, and he had in his hands the contracts for practically the whole of the mail services of the interior. When Tolmer organised his famous escort to bring the gold of the South Australian diggers from the Victorian goldfields. to save this colony from bankruptcy, it was James Chambers who found the horses at a time when there were none too many in the country.

John McD. Stuart

But, historically, I suppose Chambers' greatest claim to fame was his connection with the explorer, John McDouall Stuart. Possibly, but for the generous financial backing of James Chambers, Stuart would never have crossed the continent. I am not going to give you the story of Stuart's three attempts to get from the southern to the northern sea-— any encyclopaedia will give you that - but I think I can say that the third and successful effort would not have been made but for the encouragement given by Chambers, who liberally financed all Stuart's transcontinental expeditions.

Chambers first encountered Stuart when he wanted someone to find pasture lands for him in the north. From that time on the squatter was a most enthusiastic supporter of the explorer. By the irony of fate Chambers never lived to hear of his friend's success. He was only 47 when he died while Stuart was returning as quickly as he could to tell the world that he had at last planted his flag on the shores of Van Diemen's Gulf. But Stuart left a remarkable monument to the memory of his supporter — a unique natural pillar which he discovered in Central Australia, and which he called Chambers' Pillar. And Chambers Pillar it has remained to this day, and will, I hope, for all time.

Price Maurice

When visitors to Adelaide go to the Morialta Gorge to gaze on the massive rocks and rugged scenery which make the locality one of the show places of the State, they are, incidentally, standing on ground which comprised Price Maurice's Fourth Creek property. My impression is that he held that country prior to taking up Pekina, but as I have no records at hand I cannot give that as a fact. Maurice was 22 when he came to Australia in 1840 in the Caleb Angas. He had already declined a commission in the service of the East India Company. He was determined to take up life on the land, and he began in quite a small way in 1843. It was he who introduced the Angora goat to South Australia, but that was not until he had been some thirty years in the colony.

It was with Pekina, however, that his real history as a squatter began. He took up that lease on July 1, 1851, and shortly after added Oladdie. The two runs gave him 671 square miles of country. Other runs associated with these properties were Booleroo, Tarcowie, Walloway, Mucra, Appila, Talubra, and Weepowle. At its peak period 118,000 sheep went under the shears, giving a yield of 2,000 bales. Maurice's outstanding success at Pekina must have made James Chambers think a lot. I am not going to tell you about the other stations which Maurice founded, for their story has nothing to do with Orroroo. In the seventies the Government began to worry the owner of Pekina with talk of resumption and gradually the big sheep farm came under the scheme of agricultural settlement. Finally, on July 21, 1875, the death knell of Pekina as a pastoral proposition was sounded by the Government taking over the remaining portion of the property.

One hears strange tales of the early days in connection with these old stations. For instance: — One night a weary stranger turned up at Pekina station, when a man named Jones was manager. Actually his name was not Jones at all, but I am calling him that for the purpose of this story. The stranger told Jones he had just concluded a long and successful search for the Colony Springs. These springs were a permanent supply of water in dry country.

Their existence had been rumored for years, but could never be proved. Jones, amongst others, had searched for them without success with the object of adding them to the station property. Now came this stranger who claimed to have found the springs, and who said he was on his way to Adelaide to take up the property. Jones listened to his story with interest, and pressed his hospitality upon him. The stranger was invited to stay for the night. When all was quiet Jones crept out through the window of his bedroom, saddled his horse, and rode fast for the capital to lodge a claim to the land.

Next morning, when the manager failed to put in an appearance, the stranger became suspicious. He found that the station's fastest horse was missing. Mounting his own steed he gave chase as fast as he could. He reached Adelaide just in time to see Jones coming out of the Lands Office with his title to the land secured.

Blackfellow And The Wells

In the thirsty north one doesn't worry much about the quality of the water one drinks — or didn't before the Government came along and provided up-to-date reservoirs like the Pekina Creek scheme. But here were times in the bad old days when even a thirsty outbacker drew the line at well water flavored with dead blackfellow. On one occasion, however, the Pekina station hands relished all unconsciously Nature's XXX from a station well so contaminated. The story was told me by Mr. H. J. Cottrell, who now owns the Pekina homestead block, and he vouches for its accuracy.

There were two wells near the station cookhouse, one a considerable distance from the other. One day the cook sent an aboriginal for some water. The man did not come back. After an hour or two it was surmised that the nigger had fallen into the well and been drowned. In those times a nigger or two the less made little difference; nobody worried about the fate of the missing man. But it was a different matter when the station hands wanted water, and it had to be supplied from one of the wells. The question arose, "Which well did the nigger fall into?"

Knowing the habits of his black assistants, the cook opined that the blackfellow went to the nearest well — and his mates agreed. For the next fortnight, therefore, all drinking water was drawn from the farthest well.

Then the horrible discovery was made— the dead blackfellow was in the well from which all hands had been drinking!

By the way, the father of Sir Hubert Wilkins was once a shearer on Pekina station.

Birth Of The Town

It was on October 2, 1873, that Orroroo was born. But It was not called Orroroo originally. It was proclaimed as Pekina, and was known as such until March 9, 1876, when the name was changed to Orroroo under the circumstances I mentioned at the beginning of this article. The Hundred of Orroroo came into being on June 17, 1875. The name Pekina is still preserved in the small settlement about nine miles from Orroroo. I have already told you that the first settler in the new urban section was C. J. Easther, whose iron stove was the nucleus of the town. Easther had not been there long before the Orroroo Hotel was built, and it still stands, though it has been considerably altered in the intervening years. Easther's store, on the other hand, has disappeared, except for a small portion at the rear of a modern shop which now occupies the site.

There was a real need for a hotel in Orroroo in those days. It was an unwritten law of the bush that no station should refuse hospitality to a traveller. Pekina, which was right in the line of march of those making north, virtually itself became a hotel on no small scale. There was scarcely ever a meal served on the station that was not graced, and sometimes disgraced, by ths presence of strangers. Some of them were prepared to work for their "tucker"; mostly they were not. But after the advent of the public house the station people were able to exercise a better discretion as to the hospitality offered to their unbidden guests.

It was on Pekina station that the first school in the district was conducted. The teacher was Mrs. Ulett (formerly Miss Reed), the wife of Joe Ulett, a teamster. She was an educated woman, and to while away the tedium of her husband's long absences in the days when there was no railway to carry the wool over the ranges to be shipped at Port Augusta, she got the station children together in a small room in the hut and taught them the rudiments of the three 'R.'s'—readin', 'ritin', and 'rithmetic.

The march of progress continued. John Cameron started a smithy, and Ernie Solly erected the first dwelling house of pine and daub. It still stands, and is known to this day as Solly's hut. Solly was a teamster who had a "cueing pen" in Orroroo. I don't know whether your education extends to that term. Mine didn't, and it floored me until I was informed it was a place were bullocks were half-shoed.

The great event in the life of the little town was the inauguration in 1874 of a flour mill by E. Trussel. It was Orroroo's first two-storey building. The erection of a modern skyscraper today would not cause the residents as much pride as did the advent of that massive piece of architecture of the early seventies. In 1879 A. R. Addison joined Mr. Trussel as a partner. That was long before Mr. Addison entered the Halls of Incessant Oratory on North terrace as one of his country's chosen to receive £200 p.a. and perks.

As I stood in the main street of Orroroo in the year of grace, 1932, I tried to visualise the place sixty years ago, when carts and bullock teams stood in front of Easther's store, and a small crowd of whiskered men, long-skirted women, and crinoline garbed girls gazed out across theopen plain, or idly watched the sweating bullocks hauling their heavy loads of wool along the tracks which served for roads on their 50-odd mile trek to Port Augusta. I couldn't do it. You see, today Orroroo has bitumen in its main streets, one-way traffic, silent cops, and all the other etceteras of a modern prosperous town. It has radio, and its people follow the Tests ball by ball, just as we do in the city; its girls and its boys troop off to tennis in flimsy summer frocks and snowy flannels, and they know more about Greta Garbo and Doug. Fairbanks than I do. It was there I learned that Greta was the girl with "It." That sounded very interesting, but I'm bothered if I knew what it meant. I am afraid I am a little old-fashioned— and I don't speak American.

On Goyder's Line

Orroroo is right on the fringe of Goyder's line. [George Woodroffe] Goyder is the gentleman, you will remember, who drew a zig-zag track across South Australia, and then said, "It will rain here, but it won't rain there," or something to that effect. I suppose he caught the habit of laying down commands from his father, who was an English parson. However, as far as I can verify, the former Surveyor-General's line of rainfall, he made a very good job of locating the country within the 10 inch limit.

When I saw Orroroo, its fields were stretches of fast yellowing green, afflicted by one of the plagues of Egypt— locusts. As I drove over the thirty-odd miles of natural roadway, innocent of metal, which separate Orroroo from Jamestown, the insects rose before the car in swarms, dashing out their brains— if locusts have brains — in an endeavor to puncture my windscreen, or committing hari-kari on the radiator. When I reached my hotel the pests were crawling up the legs of my unmentionables, and dropping down the back of my neck. Presently down swooped a swarm of sparrows, and in two minutes those locusts were as scarce as a treasurer's credit balance, and the faces of the sparrows wore smiles of gratified achievement. Anybody who has seen a big, plump locust disappear into the crop of a hungry sparrow knows with just what gusto the feathered friends of the wheat growers can dispatch the crusted insect. From that hour my respect for the sparrow was born.

When I met some farming friends, I expected to find their faces as long as a J. B. Priestley novel, and to hear that the locusts had swallowed up their bank balance. Hastening to get the worst over at once, I ventured, "I suppose these pests have eaten up your wheat, and left only the mortgage?"

"Them," was the contemptuous reply. "They're harmless. The wheat is too far forward."

The Big Bore

Orroroo produces wheat. It also produces butter. It surprised me to find fields of lucerne so far north, for this town, with only two letters to its name, is 172 miles from the capital. But there is plenty of green feed and plenty of water. Mr. J. H. McDougall took me into the hills about a mile distant, and showed me the Pekina reservoir. It was half full. Then we motored out on the Walloway Plain about five miles, to a big bore, on the property of Mr. J. Arthur. Here a great pipe from the earth is discharging 100,000 gallons a day. A quarter of a mile away another bore was delivering 1,000 gallons. I stared in amazement. This, then, was the "dry" north!

"Yes," said Mr. McDouglall, "but you should have seen the country three years ago." But I'm glad I didn't. Three years ago the country was in the grip of a drought. Great clouds of red dust swept across the plain and hid the town. When the spell broke forty tons of fine red powder were taken out of one shed alone. So impregnated with these fine particles was the atmosphere that a baby's milk had to be drawn direct from the cow into a bottle, and sealed, to avoid contamination. Tea cups had to be carried inverted from one room to another. The atmosphere was so thick that there were days when one could not see ten yards ahead. I was shown odd corners where the dust is still heaped up feet high.

It is a wonderful country, this north. Life there is more a gamble than anywhere. Poverty today; affluence to morrow — such is the economic cycle of the northlands. But the north is full of hospitality, full of kind-hearted folk!

NEXT WEEK Peterborough: Marvel Of The North.

Images:

• A Godsend in the thirsty north. Bore on Mr. J. Arthur's farm, delivering 100,000 gallons of good water daily.

• Pekina Reservoir, which enables extensive dairying operations to be carried on around Orroroo.

• Everybody smiles in Orroroo. It's a friendly, hospitable town.

• Chambers Pillar, Central Australia, named in honor of James Chambers, by John McD. Stuart.