1 September 1932

WAUKARINGA IN THE NINETIES

THE ASSYRIAN COMES DOWN

About 235 miles north of Adelaide lies Waukaringa. Today it is mostly surrounded by stations. Forty years ago it led a hectic existence as a mining centre. There are still men there searching for the elusive yellow metal, but much of the excitement of the old days has departed.

Old Waukaringa Memories.

— Situated 25 miles north-east of Yunta, the old mining and pastoral township was an entrepot in the nineties. Twice a week a coach left the railway town for Waukaringa and stations up to Erudina, on a swamp on the Siccus River. I was the last official postmaster there.

The Glamorgan mine, late Victoria and Alma, in charge of Captain Deeble, was making a gallant effort to find a rich lode that had petered out. Some nice ingots were mailed away.

About nine miles distant was Lovely Gully. The name had been given in grim irony. On the day I visited the alluvial field I got a rude shock. A few stunted mulga trees, shrivelled bluebush, and saltbush, hundreds of trial holes. and a few deep shafts, interspersed with tents. There were quondong trees with glistening leaves, and rosy fruit now ripe, blushing like a maiden's cheek, but the taste of the fruit was not equal to the appearance. Lovely Gully had a sinister reputation. A murder had been committed a few months before. To the confusion of the well-known slogan that 'dead men tell no tales,' an empty shaft, down which the body of the victim had been thrown, gave up its secret through the curiosity of a Waukaringa butcher. On his periodical visit with meat to the field he observed a large number of blowflies emerging from the mouth of the shaft. They furnished the clue. A police search revealed the rest.

Out from 'The Reef,' as the township was often called, was the Ajax mine, yielding good results. In another direction was Lillinghoo. Prospectors were often temporary residents of this central north-eastern village, where deep deserted shafts, the poppet heads of the Glamorgan mine, and many iron shanties spoke of departed glories. The township boasted a large rambling stone hotel, a police-station, and post office, two stores, a butcher's shop, and a schoolroom, with a few occupied dwelling-places.

One incident in my experience showed what was expected of a postmaster. I received a letter from a 'knock-about' five miles away, reading— 'Dere Sir— My missus has been near dead with toothache. If I bring her into the reef would you be so kind as to draw her teeth?' I declined the contract! It was also my lot to read the burial service over a housekeeper at Melton station.

The climate is beautiful, and conduces to health. The days in winter during the four years 1900-1904 were superb. Even in the hot summers, during which the thermometer on the post-office verandah showed up to 116, the nights were cool and sometimes cold.

South Australia owes a debt to the squatters of the north-eastern country, for from that angle has come great wealth. Splendid fellows, too. I recall Mr. James, of Erudina; Mr. Regan, of Curnamona; the late Mr. John Murray, of Koonamore; and O. Wade, of Panaramitee. Their hospitality was boundless. Then I recall Charlie Downer, of Melton (a son of Mr. H. E. Downer, one of South Australia's leading men), a fellow utterly fearless with horses, who made his own paths over the salt bush hills. He has gone 'where we all must go.' His cousin, Harold Rivaz, assisted him at Melton. He is, I believe, at Brighton, where he has exchanged saltbush for vines. — Sexagenarian, Prospect.

Bounding Up The Thieves

— About a quarter of a mile from the Blanchetown punt, east of the river, stood a little wayside store kept by an Assyrian, who also owned a farm adjoining. The farm occupied most of the daylight hours, the store only being open in the evenings.

During his absence one day three swagmen, finding the place unprotected, broke in, helping themselves to canned meat, fruit, biscuits, and a jar of wine. The owner, on discovering his loss, mounted his horse and tracked the thieves to their camp about a mile up stream in a river bend.

They were big, burly fellows, and, although muddled with wine, anyone of them would have been more than a match for the slightly built Assyrian on foot. However, he had the advantage of being mounted, and, armed with a trusty stockwhip, he proceeded to deal with them as if they were refractory cattle. Bounding them up he steadily drove them back towards Blanchetown. If one loitered the whip woke him to fresh energy. If they stooped for a stick or stone a sharp slash made them abandon their purpose. The same weapon prevented them from spreading single-handed.

The Assyrian delivered the three ruffians, thoroughly cowed and beaten, to the Blanchetown police. — R. J. Graham, 61, Whitmore square, Adelaide.

Thought He Might Hurt Hackenschmidt.

— A recent story of a horse pulling a load of eight tons through the main street, Clare, was recently told in these columns. But Clare could also boast of her strong men. When the tug-of-war craze was on in the eighties Clare had a team that defeated all-comers, and their admirers were prepared to challenge any team in Australia. About that time the world champion (Hackenschmidt) was giving exhibitions of weightlifting and wrestling in South Australia.

Arriving in Clare he made enquiries for a likely local strong man to assist him in his entertainment in the town hall. He was prepared to insure his assistant against accident or injury. He was advised to interview Fred Jarman, a farmer living at White Hut, about three miles out of the town.

He drove out that way and at about the three mile post he was delighted to see a man who, judging by his build and height, was the very man he was seeking. The man had been ploughing a firebreak in a paddock adjoining the road, and had just unhitched his horses from the single-furrowed plough.

'Excuse me,' said Hackenschmidt, 'You must be Fred Jarman.' 'No,' replied the ploughman, 'I am his brother,' and, picking up the plough by one handle and using it as a pointer to indicate an other giant ploughing in another paddock, 'That is Fred over there.'

Needless to say, Hackenschmidt had no trouble in getting a wrestling partner, and the only fear the Clare audience had was that Hackenschmidt might get hurt. The Jarman family, both boys and girls, were well over six feet in height and broad in proportion. The famous 'Greenman' and Paddy Ruciak (who beat Donald Dinnie at putting the weight) also belonged to the Clare district. — R. Graham, Adelaide.

'Him My Veat'

— In a certain northern town many years ago there lived a big man, a German, He weighed at least 18 stone, and was a strong, healthy type of farmer. When unloading a table top waggon he would place his toe against a bag, and, taking hold of the other end, would lift it with foot and hand. He would deal with a second bag the same way, walking with a bag on each foot to where they were to be unloaded. The horse derrick was still in use there.

One day a bag, as it was travelling to the top of the sack, 17 or 18 feet above the waggon, looked as if it would slip out. The German watched it anxiously. It slipped out, and every one yelled to him to get out of the way. But instead he stepped forward and caught the sack again in his arms. When told that he should not do a thing like that, he smiled and said, 'Yes, but him my veat, my veat.' — 'Country Scribe,' Crystal Brook.

South Australia's Golden Point

About 60 years ago [c.1870] to South Australia came news of the wonderful Bendigo gold 'rush' in Victoria. At the time many men were making good wages on the Stoney Creek diggings at Forest Range. When the news of the Bendigo find filtered through there was a general exodus for that part.

Yet, strange to say, only a mile due west from where these men had been working lay fortunes for many men. It lay there for another 20 years, and then only by a rare chance was it discovered.

Four pioneers, Messrs. Jack Biggs, James East, James Mason, and Charles Norton, were bringing a heavy load of laths to Adelaide when the wheels of the bullock waggon broke off a piece of quartz from an outcrop. Jack Biggs, casually picking up the stone, was astonished to see tell-tale flecks of coarse gold studded every where in it. Needless to state that load of laths never reached the city.

'Golden Point' was the name bestowed on the field, and many and large were the nuggets that were won from it. The largest tipped the scales at 48 oz. So Dame Fortune smiled in no uncertain manner on those four hard working sons of the bush that afternoon in late autumn. — S. Barrand, Forest Range.

Walking Mad.

— Many readers will doubtless remember that in 1902 and 1903 a walking craze seized the city and large country towns. Nearly every trade and profession arranged a walking contest. Therefore it was no surprise when the Fire and Marine Insurance clerks decided to get up a match. The route was about 10 miles from the Botanic gates to Hectorville, Burnside, Greenhill road, West terrace, and North terrace to the starting point. I borrowed a navy blue football jersey and had rubber heels put on my shoes. Just before the start someone came behind me and said, 'I have put a pound on you.' Says I. 'You are very foolish; you'll lose it.' I could not see who the gentleman was. We all started scratch, regardless of ages, which ranged from 18 to 52. The pistol started us on the long journey. It did not take long to realise I would be hopelessly left behind. I had a faint hope that some of the younger ones would soon give in, so I plodded on. When passing Payneham I could not see the others. There was a dip in the road, so they were out of sight. An elderly lady, seeing me all alone, asked what was the matter. Says I, 'It is a walking match.' She said, 'You need not hurry; there is no one in sight yet.' But I knew different. 'Excuse me, lady,' I said, 'I had better get on.' The next I saw was a man on the road with a lemon. 'This will help you,' he said. 'The juice of a lemon is good. They are past the Glynde Hotel. If you cut across this paddock you will come up to them.' 'No,' says I, 'I shall be disqualified.' So I pressed on. At Burnside I was still alone. The others had passed the corner down the Greenhill road. Some boys called out when they saw me, 'Here's one with whiskers.' Going down the Greenhill road. I caught sight of the Lunatic Asylum, so I decided to give up. I was picked up by a cab which I found full of derelicts, some of whom had only walked a mile. — 'T.E.F.,' Wayville.

Haunted Quarry.

— It was during the early '70's that a man was supposed to have been murdered in a little limestone quarry near Tantanoola. It so happened that the man, Ben Bounty, was prospecting for a 'gold reef' which was supposed to exist in the district.

Walking into the quarry, he saw a Chinese sailor who had evidently been smuggled ashore near Cape Banks. On seeing Bounty, the Chinaman drew from his belt a short knife and, balancing it for a moment upon his hand, he threw it into the unfortunate prospector.

Bounty was never seen again, but, when asked where he had been on the night Ben had disappeared, this Chinaman is said to have told the above story. Only a few people know of this happening.

But if you visit the old quarry at 8 o'clock on a Friday night you may see a white-clothed figure leaning against the side of the quarry. Those who venture close may also see the hilt of & knife protruding from the chest of the 'ghost.' — 'M.D.', Tantanoola.