5 January 1933

MYSTERY OF JOSEPH PENNINGTON

HOW THE BAY GOT ITS NAME

What happened to Joseph Pennington— the man after whom Pennington Bay, Kangaroo Island, was named? This is one of many mysteries this romantic little patch of South Australia holds.

Pennington Bay, on the south coast of Kangaroo Island, was named after a young man who was lost in that vicinity and whose fate until a few years ago, remained a mystery.

Joseph Pennington was associate to Mr. (afterwards Sir Richard) Hanson Pennington came to Kangaroo Island in 1855, in company with Captain Tapley and others, on the ship Young Australia.

They anchored in Eastern Cove on Sunday, December 30, and proceeded up the lagoon in a small dinghy. The party walked to Osmanli Beach on the southern coast. On the return journey to the dinghy, Pennington lagged behind.

The last time his companions saw him he was sitting on a sandhill. The men waved to him and went on, expecting him to overtake them. Several hours later, when Pennington did not appear his companions started to search. They searched all Sunday night, Monday, and Tuesday. On the Wednesday the Young Australia left Eastern Cove, but the search for Pennington continued.

Mr. John Buick, of American River, and a black gin 'Sal' joined the searchers. The young man's footprints were found but lost again. At this time the scrub was dense and hard to penetrate.

Some years ago Jim Buckly was leaf cutting at White Lagoon, about twenty miles from the scene of Joseph Pennington's disappearance. Buckly found a gold watch which was proved to have belonged to Pennington. The screws between the cap had rusted away, but the cap was found a little way off. About the same time some charred bones were also discovered and subsequently declared by Museum authorities to be those of a human being.— Wynnis J. Hughes, Wisanger.

Pioneering: Some Comedies And Tragedies.

— These episodes occurred many years ago on the West Coast. Amusements were few and far between. The outstanding event of the year was the New Year's Day picnic at Cowell, followed by a ball in the evening.

Two young girls sent to a city firm for frocks each for day and evening wear. The parcel was to come by a little sailing vessel called the Postboy, the only means of transport between Cowell and city. Being a sailing boat, and having to depend upon the wind, it was often overdue.

As the time drew near the girls anxiously scanned the horizon day after day for a sign of the white sails of the Postboy. Christmas Day passed. Many disappointed residents had expected their Christmas groceries and mails by the Postboy.

New Year's Day dawned, and still the boat had not arrived. Two very despondent damsels decided to abandon the idea of attending the picnic or ball.

Someone whispered news of the tragedy at the ball. Thereupon a large number of young folk gathered conveyances, and drove to the home of the distressed girls. Much to their surprise a happy and informal dance took place at the homestead.

A few years later the little steamer Ferret ran a more regular service from coast to city. Residents still had inconvenience to contend with. Intending passengers had to row out from Cowell jetty in a small boat for seven miles to the 'entrance.' There they would cast anchor, and await the arrival of the steamer.

Often they tossed about the ocean for several hours. The Ferret sometimes did not arrive till midnight. Then the nerve-racking experience, especially to the female passengers, of climbing from the boat to the steamer in the dark by means of a rope ladder.

One resident living 18 miles from Cowell, out in the hills, received word to say his wife was dying in Wallaroo, where she had gone for medical attention. The regular mail boat was not due for a couple of weeks. Despite the protests of well-meaning friends, he and an old boat-hand set out in a rowing boat across the ocean, 40 miles to Wallaroo. A fierce storm arose, and the little boat and its occupants were long overdue.

All night long the jetty at Wallaroo was thronged with sympathetic residents watching for the tiny craft, and the two men. Finally hope was abandoned for the safety of the boat and crew. Then it crept in, a pathetic dot on the horizon. The long, agonising journey had been in vain. The poor husband learned his wife had died only a few hours before his arrival. After the funeral the grief-stricken widower returned by steamer to his five motherless children.— 'M.J.B.,' Macclesfield.

Lost In The Bush.

— Many years ago a young lady from the city visited a far northern station. Many good tracks were there, and she learned to ride.

While she was there a party of surveyors stayed for a while. When they left the station the city girl rode with them for some miles. The country was unfenced and there were no roads— just a track, made by the mail drivers, and station people. If one got off the track, it was hard to find it again.

On this occasion the girl, after leaving the survey party, either rode in the wrong direction, or lost sight of the track. She did not return to the homestead that night, or the next day or night. As soon as it was certain the girl had been bushed, a search party set out, and the mail driver was also asked to keep a lookout. She was eventually found, aimlessly riding about, hopelessly lost. She explained that when she found she had lost her way, she just rode about hoping to find the track again.

During the night she rode among some horses hobbled, and with bells on; but she became alarmed and rode off again. These horses belonged to the mail driver, and had she stayed among them she would have been found next morning. Being inexperienced in the ways of the bush, she had not thought that her horse would have taken her home had she given him a loose rein.— A. L. White hair, Kielpa.

A Trotting Cow.

— At one time we possessed a cow that could trot as fast as most horses. She was a fine-looking yellow animal, and often would disappear for several days. It was almost impossible to make her go out of a trot.

She could be milked anywhere, but often when the milker arrived she would trot around in a circle. When satisfied with her performance she would stand still and be milked. When hard pressed by horse or dog she would trot, lifting her legs high, head up, tail straight out, and it took a good horse to head her.

On one occasion she disappeared from home, and a member of the family went after her, riding a part-bred racehorse. They caught up to her seven miles from home. As soon as she found she was pursued she started. It was impossible to turn her.

When she became winded she stopped suddenly; the horse shot past several yards before it could be stopped. By then the cow had regained her wind and went off again. This process was repeated several times.

Then she went through a new five-wire fence and across country. Time was lost while an opening was found for the horse. By this time the cow had disappeared over a hill and was out of sight. Only her tracks could be found.

After riding about for hours the tired horse and rider returned home, and there found the cow quietly feeding among the rest of the herd. After that it was decided to let her come home of her own will, which she always did.

She came to a sad end through helping herself to too much wheat.— A. L. Whitehair, Kielpa.

Spirited Days After Wreck

— The wreck of the Loch Sloy, recently re-called by 'The Chronicle,' was unquestionably one of Australia's most appalling sea tragedies. Nevertheless, it had a lighter sided reflex which bore out the old maxim, 'It is an ill wind that blows no one good.'

Included in the cargo of the vessel was a large quantity of whisky, in casks of various sizes ranging from kegs of a few gallons to huge barrels of fifty gallons. Whisky being considerably lighter than water many of the casks escaped from the ill-fated ship as she was battered to pieces on the merciless rocks.

Many of the casks were likewise battered to pieces, but others were carried by ocean currents and cast along the South Australian coast between Robe and Kingston, where a number of people took advantage of the opportunity to secure free liquor. Some of the spirits were somewhat diluted with sea water, but many of the tough old hands were heard to aver that 'it was of no great consequence, provided it had the smell of whisky.'

Many an unpretentious shack housed a fine barrel of whisky, and the proud and convivial owners invited all-comers to partake, loudly proclaiming (like Banjo Paterson's McPhierson of Whiskyhurst), that there was 'muckle whusky in the hoose.'

Some of the more mercenary beachcombers made easy money by disposing of their finds to a local hotelkeeper.

One tough old Irish man found a huge cask of whisky, which he hid in the sandhills, and each day he would betake himself to his plant and imbibe deeply. Finally he became in such a state that he swore he could see the Loch Sloy sailing through the sandhills after him. Then some of his family tracked him to his hiding place, and, as in McPhierson's case, they 'left the whusky spigot oot.'

The local constables endeavored to trace these whisky plants, and In several instances got very warm on the scent. But, judging by the number of Inebriates around during the following few months, there was more liquor than they were aware of.— A. H. Barroman, Robe.

Sausages Not Meat

— Pat Burke was one of the drainers who worked on the cutting at the Millicent bridge in 1867. He moved to Naracoorte and spent his later years as a purveyor of domestic firewood.

On one occasion Pat was having a meal in a tearoom, and ordered sausages. It was Friday, and Pat was supposed to be a good Catholic. He was reminded of his oversight.

Pat stubbornly refused to admit that they were on the prohibited list, declaring 'They are not meat; they are sausages.'

Some time later the man who had reprimanded Pat ordered a load of wood. Pat repaired to a sawmill, got a load of sawdust, and tipped it in the man's yard.

'What is that you're doing, Pat?' asked the man.

'Sure, it's the load of wood ye ordered.'

'But,' said the man, 'that's sawdust.'

'Sure,' replied Pat, 'if sausage is meat, then sawdust is wood.'— 'Tanta Tyga,' Millicent.

Cat's Strange Feat.

— When the National Bank closed at Robe in the early 70's, a young man named Hawker was on the staff.

The manager had a cat which he did not like to leave on the. empty premises.

Young Hawker agreed to take the animal to Wangolina, where he had relations. The cat was duly installed in its new home, and in the course of a few days had a small family. Next day she and a kitten were missed, but another kitten, was still in the box. The family wondered what had become of the mother and the first kitten.

The next day the other kitten disappeared. In due time word came through that the cat and both kittens had taken up their residence at the old home at Robe, about 14 miles from Wangolina. — 'Tanta Tyga.' Millicent.

Who Did They Bury?

— About 12 or 14 years ago a man left Hawker in a semi-intoxicated condition somewhere around Christmas. He struck off in an easterly direction. That night there was a flood, and among others the Wonoka Creek ran a 'banker.'

Some time later a blackboy reported there was the body of a man in the fork of a tree. The policeman, doctor, and a J.P. went out to investigate. They identified the victim as the man who had left Hawker the day of the flood.

After burying the corpse, no more was thought of the matter until six months later, when the man they had 'buried,' or thought they had, the previous summer, walked into the hotel.

When questioned, he gave an account of his movements since leaving Hawker, and the stations he had worked on to the north-east. As no other man had been reported missing, it is not known to this day who was buried.— 'Bushite,' Alawoona.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, January 5). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 17. from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90891714