21 July 1932

BLACKFELLOW'S CURSE ON SOUTH-EAST PROPERTY

HELL'S MOUTH: ONE OF NATURE'S MYSTERIES

Not a great distance from Mount Gambier is a property which lies under a black man's curse. It has ruined more than one owner. A gruesome cave is close by— a sort of bottomless pit like the nether region itself. It is full of subterranean water which flows no one knows whither, though there are several theories.

Hell's Mouth.

— About eight miles from Mount Gambier, out beyond the rich O.B. Flat land, there is a property which, according to tradition, lies under an aboriginal curse. Absurd, of course, but — well, the story persists. Certainly it has ruined more than one owner.

Yet some of the land is very good, and with capital spent in clearing and working it, could be made almost as rich as the fertile O.B. Flat. There is much poor, stony land with no depth of soil; again there is stringy bark and fern country, which could be used for forestry purposes. Pinus insignis grows well there, and some day there will be forests of it where now the rabbit reigns and fattens on the grass and young fern roots.

On entering the gate of the property you drive across country through stringy bark and tall bracken until near the middle of the place, you come suddenly on an extraordinary cave in the hill side, known as Hell's Mouth. It is full of water, and the banks surrounding it shelve under, so that if one fell in, getting out would be a serious problem. More than likely your exit would be the sea, for if you look steadily at the dark water below, you will see that it is not stagnant, but a running stream, one of the many subterranean rivers of the South-East. It is said that it flows underground until, emerging as the charmingly pretty little Eight-mile Creek, it reaches the sea, and this is most probable.

The Mount Gambier blacks (who belonged to the famous Booandik tribe) had a legend about Hell's Mouth closely resembling the old Greek story of Charon and the Styx. On the brightest day there is an air of gloom and ill-omen about the place, and I have seen it when the sun was not shining, sometimes with snakes swimming round and round vainly seeking escape. I can sympathise with the feelings of one visitor who said shudderingly, 'Well, if Hell's Mouth is like that, I shall play for safety, and try to be good for the rest of my days.' — 'Gambierite,' Adelaide.

Old Time Coaching Episode.

— When Hill & Co.'s coach used to run from Normanville, via Yankalilla, to Adelaide, Guy Dunstall was the driver, and a splendid 'whip' he was.

On one occasion when there was only one passenger on board, a lady on the box seat, and the coach was starting to go down Sellick's Hill, something went wrong with the skids. The horses began to get faster and faster. The only thing 'Guy' could do was to keep them at a gallop all the way down. Had one horse stumbled, or 'Guy' lost his nerve, nothing could have saved coach, occupants, and horses from going headlong to destruction.

When 'Guy' finally brought the horses to a standstill on reaching level ground, he turned and shook hands with the lady, and congratulated her on being a brave woman. She had not uttered a sound the whole time, but simply 'hung on!' The lady was Mrs. Herbert, who lived at 'Wissanger,' the house on the side of the hill overlooking Yankalilla, now the home of Mr. and Mrs. George Smith. — E. Rosbuck, Wise, Normanville.

Old Man's Extraordinary Will

— ln the early days of Millicent three womenfolk decided to drive to Mount Gambier. It was before the days of the railway. They were taking a four-wheeler, with room for four persons.

The husband of one of the trio was a most eccentric person. Without asking for the third seat, he decided that he would go, too. Another woman, whose husband was lying seriously ill in the Mount Gambier Hospital, asked for and was granted the spare seat.

When the day was barely twenty-four hours away the self-invited male asked what time they were going to start. His wife informed him that they would be going at nine o'clock the next morning. 'But why are you asking?' she enquired. He said he was going too. The wife replied, 'There isn't room.'

He asked in a deliberate manner, 'How is this?' 'Why,' said the other, 'Mrs. H. is going.' 'And how long has this arrangement been made?' His wife informed him that Mrs. H. had asked Mr. C, if she could have the seat, and it was so arranged.' In a sneering manner he replied, 'I don't believe you.'

In due course the old man made his will. He left the greater part of his property to his sister in Bristol (England). He left 6d. to Mrs. O. 'to buy a treatise on scheming,' and to his wife one shilling, 'to buy a treatise on lying.' When the sister [in England] heard what he had done she refused to have anything to do with the property. It is doubtful if ever the will was lodged for probate, though the property involved has been occupied by at least two persons since. — 'Tanta Tyga,' Millicent.

'Mickey' Has His Revenge

—Some fifty years ago the Millicent races were held at a place known as the Wyrie. At one particular meeting an old identity named 'Mickey' Blank was present. Mickey was well known for his capacity to drink and his lurid language.

On this occasion he was worse than usual, and the local policeman told him to clear out. Mickey cleared out, but with vengeance his his heart. On reaching the town he saddled his donkey, fortified himself at the town's 'pub,' and again left for the races.

Now, for some reason or other, Mickey's donkey could put the 'breeze up' most of the horses in the district, and the constable's horse was no exception. Therefore, at 'Mickey's'' approach on his donkey, the trooper's horse became restive. At last, unable to stand the proximity of the donkey, the horse bolted.

'Mickey' promptly set out in pursuit, bawling, 'Hi, constable, stop! I want you.' But the horse heeded neither 'Mickey's' shouts or the officer's efforts to stop him, and did not pull up until it had reached its stall at the police station. So 'Mickey' had his unique revenge in chasing the constable back to the town in front of most of the local residents and much to their enjoyment. — 'Latimer,' Millicent.

Bushman's Resource.

— In the seventies home-and-home cricket matches between villages were played about twice a year. It was the custom for the visiting team to be entertained by members of the home team after the match, usually at dinner, with a jolly evening in song and story to follow.

On one occasion a team from Woodside had visited Mount Torrens, and the jollities of the evening were in progress. An outsider came into the room and had a few words with one of the visitors. The visitor— we will call him Jerry — rose and stated: 'Gentlemen, I am sorry, but unfortunately I shall have to leave you. I have just had word that I am wanted at home.'

The announcement met with a storm of dissent. Someone said, 'You can't put that over us.' 'No good, gentleman,' said Jerry, 'I must go; it is urgent'.

While the company was trying to prevail upon him to stay, a couple had slipped out of the room, found Jerry's light buggy, took off the back wheels, and hid it away. When Jerry went to his buggy and found the wheel missing he appealed to them to bring it back, but to no avail. The crowd still thought he was making an excuse to get away.

When the missing wheel was not forthcoming, Jerry said, 'I'm going, wheel or no wheel.' There was a general laugh. Jerry went to the wood heap in the yard, pulled out a long, stout wattle pole, put one end over the front axle of the buggy and the other under the back axle, leaving a long end out behind the buggy, tied them securely to each axle with the neck ropes, put his horses in, and started off. The wattle pole held, and he arrived at Woodside safely, the distance being eight miles. The track made along the roadway by the dragging wattle was known for weeks as Jerry's Track.

General regret was expressed when it was found that the call home was urgent, for that night a son was born to the house of Jerry. — B. T. Bartholomew, Mount Torrens.

The Strong Man.

— One day a good many years ago, this man, called the 'Long Bloke,' was supposedly suffering from a severe attack of rheumatism. A calf about five months old that had been tied up got loose, and, with the chain still attached, got into the 'Long Bloke's' hay yard.

Breathing fire and slaughter, he set out to catch it, at the same time enlisting the help of a 'devil-my-care' young brother. The boy stood at the corner of the stock and waited. But when the calf came along, instead of following instructions, he gave it 'a boot to go on with.' It did.

The 'Long Bloke' seized the chain, but it zipped through his fingers. After several repetitions he managed to hold it. With his temper well up, he said, as he swung calf and chain around his head two or three times, before he flung it about 25 yards over a four-foot fence, 'I'll teach you to get at my haystack.' Womp. She landed.

One day the 'Long Bloke' visited Luna Park. He saw a 'Test your strength' machine. 'I'm going to have a try at this,' he said. He did— 1,000 lb. After a while he added, 'By jingo! I think I can beat that.' So he tried again, and lifted the tester clean out of its setting. But if you ever meet the 'Long Bloke' and enquire after his health he will thump his chest and confide in you that 'his ticker's not too good.' — 'Pansy, Milang.

Dad Knew His Own Daughter

Years ago a Millicent young man asked a pal to go for a walk. 'Where are you going?' asked the pal. 'Going out to ask old Peter for his daughter,' was the answer.

When they got to the camp Peter greeted them with, 'Now, then, what are ye boys doing out here? I guess you are going to steal old Blank's fruit, and we'll get the blame.'

When the young fellow started to put his case, his pal left him to carry on, moving a little distance away. But the air was still and clear, and he heard dad say, 'Well, I am no good, and her mother is no good, and I don't admire your choice. Before you do what you are thinking about go to the local storekeeper, buy six feet of rope, and hang yourself.'

The young man didn't take the advice, but the marriage turned out far from happy. — 'Tanta Tyga,' Millicent.

Mind Speaks To Mind.

— Having had personal experience of telepathic communications, I am a believer in the wireless power of the mind. The Bluff at Encounter Bay is the station where the message I am about to speak of was received from a person residing on a hill some two miles distant. On the eastern side of the Bluff, just over the shoulder from the little wharf, was a spot known as 'Salmon Rock,' a favorite fishing ground.

Two brothers, Alfred and Thomas, the former in his teens, and the other a few years younger, were keen fishermen, and availed themselves of every opportunity to chase the salmon. One afternoon they trudged to the Bluff. Tom said he would stay on the wharf, but Alfred climbed over the shoulder to Salmon Rock, it should be explained that from the ridge of this shoulder both Salmon Rock and the wharf are visible. The boys fished on heedless of time, until it was nearly dusk. Suddenly the lad on the rock distinctly heard his father call "Alf ! Alf !" Without turning his head, as his attention was on his line, he replied, "All right, I'm coming."

After leaving the rock and climbing a short distance he expected to see his father on the ridge. But no one but his brother on the wharf was to be seen. Scrambling down he urged his brother to wind up quickly, and then asked, 'Where is father?' 'Father,' answered Tom, has not been here.' The boys were puzzled, and hurried home.

They found their father pacing the verandah in a great state of anxiety. He threatened to prohibit such excursions. 'You boys,' he said, 'have given me a very anxious hour. You know how dangerous it is at Salmon Rock.' Alfred asked:— 'Did you come down there, father?' 'No,' replied Mr. Smith, 'I did not leave the house. What was the use of calling you at that distance?' 'Well, father,' said Alfred, 'I heard you call twice loudly.' The father then confessed that he had exclaimed, 'Oh, Alf, Alf, if you were drowned, how could I bear it.' This then was the explanation. Mind had spoken to mind. — 'Barnacle,' Victor Harbour.