16 June 1932

WHEAT-LUMPER'S REMARKABLE FEAT

FISH, A DOG, AND A FUSE

All parts of South Australia are covered by the series of true incidents — historical, entertaining, and informative — published below. Most of the events related happened many years ago.

The Kangaroo Meets The Mail.

— For many years the mail contracts between Port Lincoln and Streaky Bay and Streaky Bay and Fowlers Bay were held by a well-known identity of the West Coast, and one of the drivers was the brother of the contractor. The old "coachy" was very fond of a joke, and passengers were always assured of plenty of fun if a new chum were on board. The jokes, however, were so well carried off that the victim, was often gone many days before he realised that his leg had been "pulled." He must surely have had quite a laugh about himself then.

The most famous joke probably was about a certain new chum bound for the far West Coast, seeking romance and adventure in that alleged 'wild and woolly' land. The new chum was sitting on the box of the coach, talking to the driver and a third person, asking the usual questions, and having his leg "pulled," when they reached a certain patch of scrub between Elliston and Streaky Bay, where a big old man 'roo was frequently seen on a little clearing near the mail box of one of the settlers.

Thinking to have a prime joke, Mr. Jehu told the new chum that a little further on they would come to the mail box of a settler who had a tame kangaroo which always met the mail. This greatly intrigued the new chum, who could hardly contain himself until the coach reached this box.

Sure enough, as they drew near to the box there was the 'roo standing in all its splendour against the setting sun. As they drew opposite, the driver called out, 'Nothing today,' and cracked his whip, whereupon the animal went bounding off through the scrub. The new chum thought this was wonderful. The old hands inwardly shook with merriment, but did not enlighten their fellow passenger, who recounted the 'wonderful happening' several times before reaching his destination.

The mail which should have been dropped at the box was dropped at the next one, the driver knowing the owner would send it to its rightful destination, thinking it had been over-carried. — 'Wesco,' Ceduna.

The Hazards Of Fishing.

— Some years ago a party of young men on the West Coast went fishing off the rocks. One of them not being content with the results of the line, as they could see myriads of fish about, suggested dynamiting next visit.

The following Sunday down they came again, and rigged up a bomb with a fairly short fuse. It was not a success, because the fish swam away between the time of the splash and the explosion. To overcome this it was suggested that a time fuse on a stick used as a float should be put into the water. It was reckoned that, by the time the charge was ready to explode, the fish would be getting inquisitive again, especially if some 'call bait' was thrown into the water to decoy them. One of these charges was thrown into the water, and which it had no sooner hit than there was another mightier splash.

Much to the anxiety of the party it was seen a retriever dog belonging to one of them had grabbed the stick and was swimming back to the party. No amount of shouting or yelling could induce the dog to drop the thing, so the party scattered and the dog went after his lawful master. For a little more than a minute perhaps one of the most strenuous races ever held took place. It was terminated by an awful explosion. Not enough of the poor dog was recovered to give decent burial, and a very mournful party decided in future not to break the law by dynamiting fish. — Wesco, Ceduna.

Three In One.

— In the days of the pioneers, there lived some giants capable of performing feats of strength, which, to the public of today, are unbelievable. Such a one lived in the Crystal Brook district years ago. He had a unique reputation for lifting weights. His chief accomplishment was carrying bags of wheat up a plank and into a waggon.

Waggons in those days were not equipped with patent bag-lifters. To load, a plank was placed from the ground to the waggon, and up this the man loading was forced to carry a bag. Bags were not the undersized sacks of today, but good four-bushel receptacles. The average man found carrying one hard enough work.

When visitors heard of a man capable of carrying three bags up the plank, they did not believe it. They were told to take some beer with them to where the man was working and to see the feat performed. They promised the giant a pint and a half bottle of beer if he would carry three bags of wheat up the plank in one trip. One thing noticeable about this man was a double row of teeth, a rare thing, and this was reputed to be the secret of his accomplishment. He picked up one bag under each arm, and taking another between his teeth, he lifted all three and walked up the plank with a load of over 600 lb. There are people living here today who vouch for this feat. — John F. Everett, Crystal Brook.

Private Property.

— Most of us at one time or other have hitched our waggon to a star, but few can say that they have hitched their guy, ropes, to a post and wire fence, like 'Old Charlie.'

I met him when the 1931 flood was almost at its peak— an old pensioner standing alongside the little bag tent which housed his worldly possessions. One end of it 'anchored' rather insecurely to the boundary fence of the commonage, a strip of river frontage a chain or two wide. Just an old man who had possibly done more for his country — he might, did he desire, decorate his breast with service medals bestowed by a grateful Queen— than his country had done for him.

Accepting the inevitable he had given way to the ever-encroaching flood, until he found himself at the very edge of his sanctuary — the commonage. Who knows but that he had unconsciously parodied the losing battle which for him had been life. 'Fisherman?' I queried by way of opening a conversation. 'No, mister,' he replied, 'I'm only a pensioner.' The still rising floodwaters lapped within a few feet of his front door, but he had reached the limit of his gradual retreat and was hanging to this last haven as it seemed long after the eleventh hour. There was no alternative.

'I used to camp over there,' he said, indicating an expanse of water in which old gums were the only suggestion of the hidden river bank. 'I can't move again,' he added, 'I'm right on the fence now.' I suggested the apparent necessity of an early moving day, and pointed to an admirable camping site with shady trees and on high flood-proof ground, just across the road which skirts the commonage boundary. He was almost shocked. 'I couldn't camp there, mister.' he said, 'I'm all right this side, but over there — that's private property.' — 'Jay Emma,' Berri.

First Child Born At Lyrup.

— Lyrup, on the River Murray, is, I believe, the only village settlement that has survived. On February 28, 1694, my mother and father, among a lot of other pioneers, were landed there from a boat to the river bank. At that time the country was all scrub, and the pioneers had to camp in tents.

On April 15 I was born in a tent on the river bank. The settlers were on rations, but they had to work for them. A board meeting was held, and the chairman said to my father, 'Your child is the first born on the settlement. If you name him after the settlement and the river we will give you a present.'

Dad agreed, and they gave him an extra candle in his rations each week, 'in case you should want a light during the night' for me. I was brought up on treacle, weak tea, sugar, and bread. One gang of settlers cleared the land, another was fencing, and a third used to go out rabbiting to help the food supply. They used to be away all day and would come home at night with between 100 and 200 rabbits.

The settlers never lost heart. They eventually built a brickyard, made a lime kiln, and built houses. They planted the land with fruit trees and vines, and later the Government cut it into blocks, and each settler was allotted one on a 99 years' lease. Most of the settlers are now men of independent means. I have seen the Murray so low at Lyrup that one could walk across it without wetting one's feet. I have also seen it in flood when it has been miles wide. — Lyrup Murray Weaver, Magill.

How Penneshaw Acquired Its Name.

— Penneshaw, on the northern coast of Kangaroo Island, was founded in 1803 by Captain Flinders. But it was not until many years afterwards that it was named by the then Governor of South Australia. When his Excellency was requested to christen the town, he could not think of a suitable name. After much thought, he named it Penneshaw, a double-barrelled name. The first part ('Penne') was taken from the name of the Governor's secretary, Mr. William Pennefather, who later became Professor Pennefather at the Adelaide University. The terminal ('shaw') commemorates Miss Shaw, an English journalist, who was sent to Australia to study the problems of the country. She stayed at Government House, and her abilities impressed the Governor. In 1902 Miss Shaw married Colonel Sir Frederick (now Lord) Lugard, then Governor of Nigeria. — Margaret Murray, Penneshaw.

Centenary Of The Discovery Of South Australia.

— To Mount Gambier belongs the honor of putting South Australia on the map. Prior to the close of the 18th century, the southern coastline of Australia from Fowler's Bay in the west to Wilson's Promontory in the east, was absolutely unknown. The honor of discovering the State rests with Lieut. Grant, R.N., who had been commissioned by the Duke of Portland to 'search for the strait which separates Van Diemen's Land from New Holland. . . .'

With his crew of 15 in the little 60-ton vessel, 'Lady Nelson,' the intrepid navigator sighted the coast at 8 a.m. on December 3, 1800. Above the skyline stood two prominent inland peaks. He named the higher 'Gambier's Mount,' after a British admiral, and the smaller 'Mount Schanck,' after an inventor friend. His sketch of them may still be seen on the side of the chart used on that occasion.

ln May, 1900, the then Under Treasurer, Mr. Thomas Gill, an acknowledged authority on colonial history, suggested that the centenary of such an important event should be suitably celebrated. Writing to the mayor, Dr. McDonald, he said, 'Mount Gambier has the distinction of being the first spot and the first mountain honored with a name in South Australia. On September 8 it was decided to erect, on the summit of the mount, a red dolomite tower, 28 ft. high, with an upper room to hold a magnificent telescope, presented by the Kingston Government.

On December 3, 1900, the committee had the satisfaction of seeing the Lieutenant Governor, Sir Samuel Way, lay the foundation stone of the first centennial memorial in South Australia. The day was wet and windy. Had similar weather prevailed in 1800 it is doubtful if Grant could have made his discovery. — T. A. Brown, Mount Gambier.

Surprise For The Jokers.

— New Year's Eve in Allandale East used to be eagerly looked forward to by 'the lads.' It was the one night of the year they thought they were privileged to shift their neighbors' property without fear of the long arm of the law. Nowadays, however, there is not the same interest taken.

It was common many years ago to arrange a meeting place on New Year's Eve, and there form plans. The party would have parts of the town allotted to them. If a member of a gang was unfortunate enough to get into difficulties, the others were to go to his assistance.

On arriving at one particular house, the revellers thought their movements had not been detected. Cautiously opening the door of the buggy shed, they proceeded to take the vehicle. They passed through the gateway end were proceeding down the road at a great pace, when, to their dismay, they discovered that one member of the house was very wide awake. They felt a series of stinging blows from a whip, and, looking round, saw the old gentleman of the house seated on the driving seat, thoroughly enjoying himself. In spite of the opposition, they succeeded in taking the buggy a good distance, and then left it to its satisfied owner, who, for that night at least, had had the pleasure of driving a 'four-in-hand.'

For about sixty years the Allandale races have been held on Easter Monday. On the same day an Easter tea was also held, usually followed by a concert. This gave another opportunity to the practical jokers. They decided to play a joke on a man who had to travel a long distance on his homeward journey. The back wheels of his buggy were transferred to the front and vice versa. When, asked what kind of a trip he had had, the old gentleman answered, 'Not too bad, only, you know, somehow I seemed to be driving up-hill all the way home.' — 'Interested,' Allandale East.

Early American River.

— The first boarding-house at American River was owned by Nils Ryberg. It was only a tiny place, for conditions in the early days were primitive. There was no landing stage, and his fishing boat had to meet the Karatta in Backstairs Passage, where passengers were transferred. On arriving at American River the tourists were piggy-backed ashore.

Nevertheless, the little spot was popular, and numbered among its guests Sir Robert Kyffin Thomas, Judge Gordon, and Mademoiselle Dussau, who afterwards became governess to Queen Mary's children.

Pennington Bay was a favorite picnic resort, and several places along the coast bear the name of the gentle, well-loved Nils Ryberg. The best known— Ryberg's Basin— is a small cove, surrounded by high cliffs. On the rocks below the waves thunder and roar, sending up huge showers of spray. It is a magnificent sight, but dangerous to linger too near the cliff's edge.

Rather than allow a foolish young girl of his party to climb down alone, Mr. Ryberg once risked his life by accompanying her. The pair made their way back to safety after skirting the cove and a huge headland. As far as is known no other person has ever attempted this feat.

Long names and large families seem to have been the fashion. A quarter of a mile from Pennington are the ruins of a small hut, where a husband and wife brought up a family of fourteen children, and a mother of twenty-two evidently ran short of names, for she called one daughter 'Atlantic Ocean May,' another 'Phyllis Pharas Aurori.'

Bird life along these parts has suffered severely. Yachting parties from Adelaide caused wanton destruction. Old settlers affirm that years ago, at every ebb tide, a continuous stream of the dead bodies of pelicans and other birds could be seen floating out to sea. Other parties took kerosene tins full of partly incubated eggs and used them as ammunition in sham fights. Now birds do not breed here to any great extent. — Wynnis J. Hughes, American River.