5 May 1932

The third budget of tales of South Australian country towns is published below. Further stories are invited from local writers, subject to the conditions set out in the special notice on this page.

Yongala Has A 'Bust.'

— The event of which I purpose to write took place about 1900. On a calm Sunday afternoon, as most of the inhabitants were about to settle down for their weekly nap, there was a tremendous roar, and a sound of falling masonry and breaking glass. People hurried out to see a black column of smoke rising from the rear of one of the general stores. The magazine at the back of a shop where explosives were stored, had gone up. Children on their way to Sunday school had noticed smoke issuing from the small building, and informed Mr. Higgins, the proprietor. He went down to investigate, but considered it too dangerous to try to extinguish the fire. When the dump exploded, stones flew in all directions, one narrowly missing Mr. Higgins. It passed through the iron of the kitchen as he was trying to open the door. Nearly all the windows in the National Bank, and a number of nearby houses, were smashed. Several outhouses were levelled to the ground. The origin of the fire was never ascertained. The general opinion was that the explosives themselves generated the heat. — Mrs. A. E. Bradtke, Murray Bridge.

Laura

— Whence came the name? It was, in honor of the widow of the late Mr. H. B. Hughes, the owner of the splendid Booyoolie Estate. Her Christian name forms the name of the town. Henry Bristow, and Hughes streets were named after the Christian and surnames of her husband. Samuel and White streets were named after her father, and Booyoolie street after the estate. The four streets in North Laura— Henry, William, Alexander, and Walter— derived their names from the late Mr. H. W. A. Walter, the first settler. A story is associated with the achievements of a Laura boy (Cyril McDonald), who won an exhibition, and finally graduated as a B.Sc. of the Adelaide University. Being unsuccessful in obtaining a position in our Railways Engineering Department, he went to America and rose to a very important position. During the war his services as an engineer were availed of in America to supervise the building of destroyers. Another instance of native talent being passed over by one's own State. — 'Rusticulus,' Adelaide.

'Absent-Minded Beggar.'

— It was in the early eighties that a certain minister of religion graced Port Pirie with his presence. To many fine qualities worthy of his calling was added a remarkable trait of absent-mindedness. Fortunately it was responsible, as a rule, for more good humor than serious result. One day, paying a visit to one of his deacons residing on the outskirts of the town the clergyman was invited to stay to dinner. He was shown to a bedroom to groom himself in readiness. When dinner was ready he had not presented himself. After waiting some time the hostess enquired at the door of the room. She discovered that he had absent-mindedly gone to bed. Another time he was making a series of calls through outlying parts of his parish. On returning home his good wife proceeded to unpack his clothes. She could find no shirts. Enquiring what had become of them, she received the reply, 'Well, dear, really I cannot remember. Surely I must have left them where I changed.' But when he was retiring it was revealed that he was wearing the whole five shirts. He had forgotten to discard the soiled ones. On another occasion, while making his usual calls in the country on horseback, the sun was registering about 140 degrees. He was met by a friends crossing a belt of sandhills. He was walking, leading the horse, and carrying the saddle. His friend persuaded him that the horse was better able to do the job than he, and he promised that when he passed over the hill he would remount. He did so, but when met by another friend, he was still carrying the saddle. He had forgotten to put it back on the horse. — Alf J. Parker, Glenunga.

Song of Australia.

— In a quiet spot, within sound of the sea at Wallaroo, stands a headstone, unpretentious and in no way aspiring to notice. It covers the remains of one to whom we, as South Australians, owe a debt that can never be paid. Who has not been thrilled by the beautiful words of the 'Song of Australia?' No verse ever written shows our country in such glorious terms. The grave of Mrs. Carleton, the composer of the words, is in the Anglican portion of the Wallaroo cemetery. A few years ago the A.N.A. took up the matter of a fitting memorial to Mrs. Carleton and erected a marble obelisk. It bears the inscription, 'In memory of the late Mrs. Carleton, writer of the Song of Australia.' The first verse of the song is also inscribed on the stone. This memorial stands near the pedestrians' entrance to the cemetery, and in close proximity to the only wattle tree growing in the grounds. It seems fitting that the memorial should be shaded and sheltered by a golden wattle, which is so essentially Australian. — Mrs, A. T. Tims, Wallaroo.

Comedy of Errors.

— One Sunday evening, just as the church bells in Port Lincoln were beginning to ring, a big garage caught fire. Scouts and master hurried to the scene, and a zealous deputy made a valiant attempt to break open a window and get into the office to save the papers. The wire-netting covering the windows was already hot, and beyond burnt hands the enthusiast achieved nothing. He dashed to the back, broke open a door, and pushed his way into the smoke filled building. A search revealed nothing more portable than an anvil. This he proceeded to 'rescue.' Although small, it was apparently hotter than anticipated. The amateur fireman dropped it— on his foot! He was carried to the hospital. In the meantime the flames had gained a tremendous hold. This was the first fire since the water service had been connected with the town. There was delay and confusion in getting out the new fire hose, which was stowed away in one of the town hall rooms. It was unearthed at last. Then a fresh difficulty arose. No one knew how to get to the water hydrant, which was apparently locked securely in its cement case in the roadway. The whereabouts of the key being unknown, and the position growing desperate, one bright soul procured a crowbar and proceeded to dig the hydrant out! Luckily the Superintendent of Waterworks arrived before any damage was done, and simply lifted the lid off. It hadn't been locked at all! The hydrant and the hose turned out to be of different sizes, and the hose wouldn't fit. Another hose was secured and fitted. But it was an old one, and the force of water was so great that streams shot from the hose in all directions. Much patching with insulation tape remedied this. The garage by now was hopelessly beyond redemption. The following Thursday the local paper suggested, that the Volunteer Fire Brigade should adopt 'The Anvil Chorus' as its own particular battle hymn. — 'L.B.J.,' Kensington Gardens.

'Kidnapped' By A Kangaroo.

— After having my crop eaten down by a number of kangaroos, amongst them a remarkably large one, I decided that something must be done. Knowing how they are attracted by a light, I strolled out one night with my gun, and a hurricane lantern swung round my neck. I had not gone far when one came hopping toward me. I promptly potted him. This seemed too much like murder in cold blood, so I decided to try a novel way of taking the big fellow alive. Being rather expert in my younger days at lassooing, I made a dummy next day, and taking it out, fixed it in the crop, about fifty yards from the scrub. That night at dusk I hung a lantern on the dummy and, armed with about 8 yards of rope, one end of which I fixed to my waist, concealed myself behind the bush. After waiting about an hour I became drowsy, and was just dozing off when I was suddenly awakened by the thump of hocks on the ground. Peeping through the mallee leaves I saw a huge 'roo standing on his toes watching the light. Further back was a doe and a joey. Swinging my lasso, I waited whilst the old chap cautiously approached the light. Just as he was in the act of hugging the dummy, with a remarkably accurate throw I caught him just below the arms, getting the top of the stake as well. Throwing myself backwards, I hauled in the slack. For a couple of seconds the stake held and then slipped out. With a mighty bound, which landed me in a lovely nose dive, the 'Roo' made for the scrub. Then I quickly realised two things— first, that I was no match in strength for the marsupial, and, secondly, the stupidity of fastening the rope round myself. Before we had gone a chain my waist felt as if it had assumed the circumference of a flapper's of forty years ago. The thought of a single barbed wire fence skirting the scrub diverted my attention from this. Bowling me along, the old chap soon reached it and, much to my relief, I heard the snap of parting wire. Then, over the low bush, silhouetted against the skyline, I caught a glimpse of a pair of legs and huge tail. The wire had held long enough to turn him a lovely somersault. Before I could release myself he was up again and seemed to 'step on it' with more vigor than ever. Reaching the scrub, the terrified 'Roo' plunged headlong into a thick broom bush, and my feet sliding against the butt, gave me the first advantage in the uneven tussle. Rearing and struggling as he circled round the bush, he landed on top of me, causing me to gasp. Not until confronted with real danger did the instinct of self-preservation assert itself. My skinning knife was in my belt. I had not thought of it before. I drove it with all my force into the Roo's body. He let out a whistling kind of snort, and leapt into the air. Coming down, he grabbed the sleeve of my coat. Having had enough of two hundredweight of lean meat dancing on top of me, I grasped the rope and slashed it through. Scrambling to my feet I was much relieved when I heard the brute bounding through the bush. Thinking that perhaps the knife thrust might have taken effect, I set out next morning, with my gun. Following the tracks I could see from the blood spots in the ground that my knife had struck a vital part. Creeping quietly through the scrub, I came upon the old man about a mile away, evidently weakened by loss of blood. He was sitting up on his haunches dozing. A shot from breech loader finished him off. He weighed 219 lb. — Lindsay Harvey, Langhorne's Creek.

Punishing A Husband.

— In the early days of Burra, when the Burra Copper Mine was in full working order, the men worked long hours, and it was the custom for the women to take their husbands a hot dinner to the mine. A Cornish pasty was always relished by the miner. One pay day a miner of Redruth, who had imbibed too freely, and had squandered his earnings at one of the hotels, felt that he was ruler of the universe. On arrival at his home, his wife upbraided him for his condition, and for having spent the money she was waiting to receive. The miner would not tolerate this from his wife, and proceeded to break up the chairs and furniture. Monday morning his wife was in a sad way with a black eye. But, as usual, she prepared the hot dinner which she took to the mine. One can well imagine the husband's discomfiture, when, in the presence of the other miners, he opened his pasty and found it to contain the chips of the broken chairs. — E. P. S., Aberdeen.

Early Story Of Meningie.

— The small grassy alluvial plain on which Meningie is situated was once leased to Mr. John Baker for grazing purposes. Over sixty years ago the flat was sold and then three or four buildings were erected. The flat borders a bay, on Lake Albert, named after Prince Albert, husband of Queen Victoria. This land was formerly very boggy, and the aboriginals gave it the name of Meningie, which, in their vocabulary, meant a muddy place. The natives belonged to the powerful Narrinyeri tribe, which extended to both lakes, and the Coorong of the lower Murray, and was the most important tribe of Southern Australia. Probably no region was more kind to the native. Fin, fur, and feather abounded. Scrub, particularly large banksias, and sheoaks, extended down to the plain. This was inhabited by kangaroos, tool-ache and brushtailed wallabies, opossums, wombats, and a large and small species of native cat. The rabbit and the fox had yet to arrive. These native animals, once so numerous, are today represented only by the kangaroo. Exterminated, also are many species of birds, while flora of many kinds has disappeared. Lake Albert was once perfectly fresh, and a veritable paradise for fish. Today it is neither fresh nor salt, and is useless to the angler. Water fowl, however, are still plentiful. The black is gone, as are many of the native creature he held dominion over — all the consequence of the coming of the European. —V. H. Mincham, Meningie.

Owing to the popularity of these stories, it has been decided to continue them. Writers are invited to send . in contributions for these columns. All matter published will be paid for at usual rates, but will not, of course, be eligible for prizes, which are restricted to stories sent in up to April 14. Contributions should be marked 'Real Life Stories.'