27 October 1932

Early Days On Kangaroo Island.

— Many of the name-places of Kangaroo Island recall early settlers, many of whom arrived before 1836. One farmer's pigsty at American River now encloses the remains of an old hut and occasionally, when ploughing in nearby paddocks, bricks are unearthed. Although two places have been named alter an old sailor who lived there — Jack, the Gardner's, at American River, and Jack's Creek, at Penneshaw— very little is remembered about the man himself.

Stokes Bay, on the south coast [sic] [north coast], is connected with a tragedy. John Stokes was a master mariner. When he returned from a certain voyage it was generally understood he would marry. He was so long away, however, that when he returned to London he found his sweetheart had married his younger brother, Harry. So upset was John, that he took his ship and sailed for an unknown port, and nothing was heard of him for many years.

In 1836 Harry Stokes, also master mariner, came to Kangaroo Island, as chief officer on board one of the boats bringing the early colonists. The first person he met when he stepped ashore was his brother, who had been living at Emu Bay for some years. How he came there was not known, and this John refused to tell.

In the Kingscote Cemetery is an old grave, bearing the following inscription:— "Sacred to the memory of Margaret Stokes, the beloved and affectionate wife of Henry Stokes, who died Oct. 9th, 1894, aged 76."

Sal's Creek marks the resting-place of Big Sal, the Tasmanian black, who died somewhere in this vicinity. Luke, a blind lubra, was her mate and, after Sal's death, she came down to Stokes Bay, where the settlers tried to detain her for the night, by locking her in a room. Luke, however, escaped, and was not seen again. Probably she fell over the cliffs or down one of the many gullies, as formerly she had always been led by Sal.

Morrison's Point recalls Fred Morrison, who lived there for a few years. Very little is known of him, and he is generally supposed to have been buried at sea off this point. About half a mile away is Jacob's Gully. Here lived Jacobs, a seaman. He grew very fine potatoes along the creeks, but these were usually stolen by his fellow whalers. The ruins of his hut, which was searched by Tolmer when he came to the island to arrest the notorious Gilkes, can still be seen.

Smith's Bay is named after a Dutchman known as Big-Mouthed Smith. He is reputed to have been able to lift a 200 lb. bag of salt with his teeth. Here, too, according to local tradition, treasure is buried. Smith knew of its whereabouts, but died suddenly without disclosing his secret. Barkly Point is a corruption of Barclay, this being the place where Alexandria Barclay had a small hut. He belonged to the old gang, and made a living by whaling and wallabying. Christmas Cove, at Penneshaw, was named by Captain Flinders, as his men landed here on Christmas Day. French names scattered along the coast recall the visit of Captain Baudin in 1803. — Wynnis J. Hughes, Wisanger.

Wreck Of The Marion.

— In May, 1851, the S.S. Marion, laden with cargo and immigrants, left England. The following September she struck some reefs— now known as Marion reefs— and went to pieces.

Eighty-one years have elapsed, but there are a few alive today who were passengers on that ill fated ship. My mother is one. Though then only six years of age, she has a vivid recollection of the closing scene of that eventful voyage.

It was a bright, moonlight night when the vessel struck the rocks, but she did not break up at once. The captain gave orders for the women and children to be taken off first. Several boat-loads left the ship. My mother can clearly recall being lowered into the captain's gig, along with her mother and other women and children. Orders were given for the boats to follow each other, but the four sailors who manned the one in which my parent was placed, thinking that the Marion might be refloated, conspired to desert. Covering up their lights they rowed in another direction.

When morning broke no land was visible, and not having a compass, they had no idea of direction. All day they rowed anxiously. To make matters worse, the boat sprang a leak, and all they had for bailing was a tightly woven wicker basket which my grandmother had brought with her. The position became so serious that the sailors suggested throwing the children overboard to lighten the load. They desisted when the mothers said "If you throw our children out you will have to throw us as well."

Late in the afternoon all were overjoyed on sighting land. Landing at dusk, in an exhausted state, the sailors dragged the boat ashore. Propped up on its side, it made a shelter behind which the party camped that night.

Next morning two of the sailors set off to seek assistance. After going about two miles they met a sheep farmer to whom they told their story. He at once procured a bottle of brandy and accompanied them back to the shipwrecked people.

Later the authorities in Adelaide sent bullock drays to take the immigrants to the city. My mother is not certain in regard to the place where the boat came ashore, but she thinks it was near Yankalilla. This belief is strengthened by the fact that the country surrounding where they landed was so rugged as to be inaccessible to the drays. The survivors had to climb a steep hill to reach them. — Lindsay Harvey, Langhorne's Creek.

The New Variety.

— Doubts are some times expressed as to whether those who act as judges at small country shows really know their work. The following incident occurred at a show on Eyre's Peninsula some years ago.

My father had prepared several exhibits for the cereal section. In one of our paddocks was a patch of very tall wild oats, and for a joke he decided to take a sheaf of them to the show. He entered them in the class open for a sheaf of green pats, any variety.

Imagine his surprise when, the judging over, he saw a first prize ticket on that particular sheaf. Later he was approached by the man who had judged the cereals. He said, "I was impressed by the luxuriant growth of the plant. The heads are a trifle undeveloped, but otherwise it is a good specimen. May I ask by what name they are known?'

"Oh," father replied, "they are known as the Australian Wonder." "H'm!" said the judge, "I haven't heard of them before. Evidently a new variety!" — 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Kapunda As I Knew It.

— Kapunda was my birthplace. From my early recollection it must have been a thirsty town. Between the railway station and the North Kapunda crossing, perhaps a mile and a half, there were nine hotels, eight of which were on the main street, and all seemingly prosperous.

In the background, on either side of Main street, were seven churches and the Salvation Army. If Kapunda was a thirsty town, it was also broadminded, for churches and hotels alike were substantially built.

The Anglicans sometimes held a mission in a distant part of the town, it was at one of these services that a very big woman down on her knees said, in audible tones after the final Amen, "The Lord knows how I got down, but God only knows how I am going to get up." I believe manpower did a great deal towards getting her on her feet again.

When the Salvation Army first paraded the streets they met with a good deal of ridicule, but they soon settled down in barracks close to Main street, and did a great deal of work.

Kapunda in those days was a prosperous town. With the building of other railway lines, much of the prosperity vanished. — 'G. B. G.,' Adelaide.

Mother And Her Brood.

— In 18??, when the Murray was in full flood and the flats many feet under water, four of us procured a boat near the boundary and commenced a holiday by drifting slowly down stream.

We drifted through the polygonum into an open space about 200 yards across. As we neared the centre we espied what looked like a cluster of deep yellow water lilies. There is no Victoria Regia nor water lily on the Murray, so we were puzzled. The object was quite motionless and fairly flat on the water, but as we drifted nearer it showed signs of life. A dozen little heads popped up out of the bundle. Ducklings— a compact little parcel of them A dinner plate would have covered the lot.

The oarsman, resting on the oars, asked quietly, 'What kind are they? Can we catch them?' The man to the stern seat, a sport and gun lover from the age of 13, answered. 'Black ducks, I think. No possible hope. They are two or three days old, and the little creature are expert divers a few hours after leaving the shell. The mother is not far away. She has her eye on them, and will not leave them to the mercy of hawks, crows, or water rats. That brood is out of season by at least three months.'

We were gazing at the little bunch of yellow down, almost within touch, when there was a commotion as a dark object rose to the surface slowly. The mother duck. She had been submerged underneath them, all except her beak. With one little duckling remaining on her back and drops of water rolling off, she swam slowly away closely surrounded by her brood.

'Well done, old girl,' quickly cheered the artist. 'Your confidence was not misplaced. We would not shoot you if we were starving.' — M. Payne, Brighton.

In The 'Good' Old Days.

— When they landed in Adelaide my paternal grandparents decided to settle in the South-East, Penola being the chosen spot. Their first problem was means of getting there.

The journey they found could only be accomplished by bullock dray. On hiring the dray it was found that on it there was only room for their goods and chattels, not an inch of space for them to ride. There was no alternative to walking. So away they set on their journey.

Besides the husband and wife there was one child, an infant of some months, who was so cross that he would go to no one but his mother. Imagine walking 273 miles carrying a cross infant!

My great-grandfather was, I believe, the first schoolmaster in Penola. The building in which he conducted school was afterwards used by the Sisters of St. Joseph. Here Miss Mary MacKillop (afterwards Mother Mary) taught for many years. The building was subsequently used by my grandfather as a stable. It stood for many years, getting very dilapidated. Eventually it was pulled down. Some of the timber is still to be seen in sheds on adjoining property.

When my grandparents died the land on which this building had stood came to me. I have since sold it to the Sisters of St. Joseph, Adelaide. They no doubt bought it because of its historical association with Mother Mary. This lady has recently been canonised [and made a saint in 1995]. — 'R.W.,' Millicent.