2 February 1933

IN THE LAND OF TANTALUS

Lost On Nullabor Plain

This is the story of two men who were lost on the treacherous Nullabor Plain— treacherous because, in the burning heat of summer, there is scarce a drop of water to be found, yet the whole plain seems to be dotted with cool, fresh water lakes. The Nullabor is the country of the mirage.

Towards the end of 1879 [sic] [1878] two young Victorians, Messrs. Fairey and Wooley, who had taken up several hundred square miles of country north of Eucla, chartered a small schooner to carry their equipment, or horses, waggon, tanks, and provisions to Fowler's Bay. The horses were purchased in Adelaide prior to sailing, and were unknown to the buyers, and to each other.

The Annie Taylor left Port Adelaide in charge of Captain Andersen, who was making his first trip to the West Coast. After several days, late one evening they espied a point of land that the captain mistook for Point Fowler. He steered a course for this, thinking he was entering Fowler's Bay. About 10 p.m. found the Annie Taylor was aground in breakers, which forced the vessel high and dry on shore, about a mile east of Eyre's Bluff, and 20 miles east of Fowler's Bay.

Two sailors were dispatched on a walking tour to Fowler's Bay. There they informed M.C. T. P. Richards, of the police station, of the mishap. The police officer, with Mr. Hillman, telegraph station master, rode down to the scene of the disaster.

They found Fairey and Wooley carting their equipment, under great difficulties, along the sandy beach. The horses would not work. After a deal of persuasion they got one load to Bookabie, about ten miles north of their 'forced' landing, on the main road to Eucla. At Yalata they exchanged two of their worst horses for two others from Mr. John Murray.

Eventually they arrived at Eucla. After a spell they filled their tanks, and continued their journey towards their tract of country. They told the telegraph operators they would be back in about a week.

The week passed, and a few days over. The telegraph people became anxious. Two of them drove out on the track. They found the waggon, but no sign of the men or horses. The camp looked as if no one had been near it for some days. When Fairey and Wooley left Eucla a severe heat wave was commencing. The temperature on several days was from 100 to 116 degrees. It was difficult to pick up tracks on the hard plain.

The telegraph men returned to Eucla and reported to the police. M.C. Richards, of Fowler's Bay, arranged with Mr. Murray, of Yalata, to send Dick Dorey to search. Dorey was a first-class bushman, used to camels, of which he had five. Two black trackers accompanied him. Eucla is 240 miles west of Fowler's Bay. Although Dorey took long stages, by the time he arrived on the scene nearly a fortnight had elapsed, and there was little hope of finding the missing men alive.

On reaching the waggon Dorey's blacks picked up tracks of the lost men. It appeared to the trackers as if the men had started to track their horses. One tracker said, 'Him go alonga after pony.' Later they came to a broom bush on which a rug had apparently been spread to keep the sun from the lost men. An empty tin canteen was found by the bush, on which a message was scratched, 'Lost and no water. Awfully hot.' This was about 15 miles north of the waggon.

The Nullarbor, as its name implies, is a treeless plain, with here and there a broom bush. There are shimmering mirages of phantom lakes glimmering like silver wherever you look. These 'lakes' appear to be bordered with large trees. They are most delusive. When one has steered for one, and happens to look behind, he finds that he has walked through miles of 'lakes of cool water,' which, he knows, are only a tantalising mockery. This, it is supposed, is what happened to Fairey and his companion. Dorey and his trackers did not find them; nor have their remains ever been, discovered.— 'G. Penon,' Penong.

New Chums.

— When immigration was in full swing, and the English boy was 'green' to conditions here, I knew one who was sent into the scrub for the first time.

When he saw a stumpy-tailed lizard he thought it was some rare reptile. It was very tenacious, and gripped hold of a stick, by which he carried it home in that fashion. He tied it up with a piece of string while he had lunch, and needless to say, when he returned for it, it had disappeared. He knows now that the old stumpy is not so rare after all.

I heard from an employer once, that he had an English boy working for him. After a day or two he sent him to get the sheep in and catch one. The sheep were some distance away, and the 'boss' was surprised to see a few minutes later a cloud of dust in the yard. He found the new hand running round the yard after what he thought were sheep— but were actually four poddies. But he knows the difference between sheep and calves by now.

These English boys are 'green,' but they are smart, and they soon learn the rudiments of life in the bush, and mostly come to laugh heartily over their early inexperience.

But it is not only the 'new chum' who is 'green.' Recently it came to my notice that a farmer decided to lunch in the paddock. He took out his penknife preparatory to cutting some meat, and, having heard something about the necessity of sterilising such articles, he dipped it into some Condy's fluid and then wiped it on the horse's sweaty coat, talking the while about the ethics of cleanliness.

Of Such Were Our Fathers.

— We have heard tales of strength handed down to us from our forefathers. The most remarkable that has come to my ears was from the lips of a grandparent, now 86.

It was of a bushfire at Point McLeay in 1871. Mr. Anders Helberg was a young farmer of Point McLeay. There was a mission station near the Knob of Point McLeay, and it was through the blacks there that the trouble started. Towards the end of harvest in January, several aboriginals were burning stumps. Desiring a swim, they left the fires, and a whirlwind did the rest. Fanned by a strong north wind, the fire gained quickly on the plains of Baker's Run. Thence burnt into Campbell House run and the farming district. The flames attained a thirty-mile frontage. Some scores of men were organised to fight it.

The fire raged for three days and two nights. It was during the last day that my grandfather and Bill Brown, a huge giant of a fellow, were leading a party who were trying to save Campbell House by burning a break to a lagoon. If they did that they saw the fire would be beaten for good. But the fire roared towards them at a terrific pace. It was a race between the savage fiend and two men.

My grandfather was lighting the break so that it would run towards the fire, and Bill Brown kept putting it out where it threatened to run in the wrong direction. Suddenly the pair came to a fallen sheoak, about eighteen inches diameter. This had to be shifted from the track for, if left, it would remain burning and might mean the whole catastrophe over again.

Bill Brown and my grandfather strained every muscle. Finally, with a mighty heave, they turned it over. My grandfather began to fight again. Helberg cast an anxious glance at the fire, racing towards them at incredible speed. 'We can just make it,' he muttered.

Crash! The great sheoak, badly balanced, had rolled over, and pinned him to the ground. He was helpless, and in a few moments the fire would sweep over him. It was at this stage that big Bill Brown performed his prodigious feat. Seeing that my grandfather was threatened with a horrible death, he raced to the log and, with one mighty heave cast it aside.

Gasping, 'I don't know how I did it,' Bill pulled my grandfather clear. Helberg had a nasty wound in the spine. Bill said, "Take the horse home," and rushed back to the break, completing it by doing the work of two men. With blood pouring from his back, and his shirt sticking to his skin, my grand father completed a nightmare journey of twenty miles in the saddle, had his wound roughly dressed, and tumbled into his bed. Next evening he was again helping to quell some minor outbreaks of fire.

Though, now eighty-six and surprisingly active, Mr. Helberg has always had a bad back, the after effect of his terrible wound. — J. E. Broomhead, Buckleboo.

An Unexpected Header.

— An old chap named Ryan, back in the early seventies, was a bit of a 'rough-neck.' He used to hurry to the table to get a good 'possy' from which he could get the 'best cuts.' This generally meant the back of the table along the bunks. If he was finished first he would make a short cut for the door by stepping among the plates and pannikins, and jump for it.

One day he tried it with indifferent results. Just as he was going to jump one of the younger shearers caught him by the foot, and he went head foremost to the floor. He was too dazed to make any remonstrance, even had he known who tripped him up, and he had made himself so unpopular that no one 'split' on the culprit.— 'Tanta Tyga,' Millicent.

What He Hit.

— A local farmer intended killing a bullock. With the aid of an 'abo' he roped the beast and after some trouble got it to the gallows. He hitched the rope around the gallows post and told the 'abo' to hang on to the end so that when he shot the beast he could slacken the rope and let the animal fall. Taking careful aim, he fired. What was his consternation to see the bullock careering away for dear life, and the abo struggling on the ground. Rushing up to the abo,' he said, 'My God, have I shot you?' 'Mucka no, boss, only plurry rope break.' On examining the rope he found the loop that had been round the bullock's horns was cut in two. He had missed the bullock but hit the rope.— 'Coaster,' Denial Bay.

Early Settlers.

— At Little Swamp, near Port Lincoln, is an old two storied stone house which was among the first of its kind to be built in South Australia. It was the home of the Hawson family in the early days. They arrived in their own ship, the Abeona, in 1839. A party landed near Happy Valley and hoisted the Union Jack. It was arranged that a volley was to be fired by the land party and answered by a similar salute from the ship. Owing to a misunderstanding, the mate, James Hunter, attempted to fire a second salute, but the charge exploded while he was ramming it into the cannon, and he was badly injured.

The first home of the Hawson family was at Kirton Point. It was while there that Francis was speared by a party of hostile blacks under circumstances previously told in this column. The blacks at this period were very treacherous. During the next two years they murdered four white men and one woman, it was after the murder of Francis Hawson that the family moved out to Little Swamp. In the building of their home they used timber which they had brought out with them in their ship. The cedar panelling in the old building is in almost as good a condition today as when it was put there over 90 years ago. Having a selection of several thousands of acres of land, the family settled down as sheep-farmers. Captain Hawson brought the first sheep and cattle to Eyre Peninsula from Hobart in the Abeona.

It was a common sight in those days to see whales disporting in the ocean near Port Lincoln. Whaling vessels began to go there, and good catches were made. At that period several parties were organised to explore the surrounding country. It was a dangerous thing to venture far from the settlements unless well armed. A party of nine or ten men went north as far as the Marble Range. Here they had the misfortune to become separated, and the man who was carrying the food for the others got lost in the bush. The others, after great hardships, managed to capture a black and forced him to show them where the rock holes of water were to be found. In that way they succeeded in reaching the settlement.— 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, February 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 17. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90892558