9 March 1933

At the south-eastern corner of Eyre Peninsula is Memory Cove, where Flinders erected a tablet in memory of some of his crew who lost their lives in the vicinity. An interesting find was made there by the artist of the party— a series of strange drawings, the origin of which is still a mystery.

The first discovery of the south coast of Australia was accidental. The Dutch vessel, Gulden Zeepaardt, outward bound from Holland, made a bad landfall, and instead of sighting Australia about Houtman's Abrolhos and thence skirting the coast north to their possessions at Java, they rounded Leeuwin, and sailed east to the islands which bear the Christian names of the super-cargo of the vessel (Pieter Nuyts) and the skipper (Francois Thijssen).

In 1718, Jean Pierre Purry, a French-Swiss in the employ of the Netherlands East India Company, drafted a memorial portraying the advantages of settling the south coast of Australia. He argued that whereas the countries of the old world lying within the 30th and 36th degrees latitude were fertile, it was reasonable to suppose that the Land of Nuyts, lying within the same degrees, was likewise. The Dutch refused to be interested, so Purry approached the French and English Governments. Though he battled hard for his scheme, they likewise were not prepared to consider anything 'so foolhardy.' So England lost her second chance of colonising Australia.

Flinders continued the explorations of the south coast in 1802, when he connected with the Dutchman's turning point of 1627 at Nuyts Archipelago. With the exception of D'entrecasteaux's visit to the Australian Bight in 1792, there is no known record of any callers in the intervening years.

Westall, the artist of Flinders' expedition, found an interesting drawing on a cliff at Memory Cove, which makes one think perhaps all the history of the 'South Land' is not yet known. The drawing depicted a procession of thirty-two men and women following a kangaroo. Most of the figures are draped to the ankles, and two much larger than the rest brandishing a hilted sword and long staff respectively. Another form wears a turreted hat; arrows are carved (a weapon Australian Aborigines do not use), and there are ten well-executed representations of the Jewish seven-branched candlestick.

Dr. Leigh, writing in 1837, speaks of perhaps an act of vandalism, but it is worth recalling. On the Cygnet River, Kangaroo Island, while sheltering in the hollow trunk of a tree, he noticed, cut deep into the bark, the inscription, "This is the place for fat meat; 1800." Kangaroo Island, Thistle Island, and St. Peters Island all had their communities of sealers and lubras many years before colonisation in South Australia was mooted.

On St. Peters, a renegade named Bryant made his home with two native women and their half-caste children. Sometimes the American whaling ships called in, then the sealers bartered the fresh water and greens for any stores they required. When a gang of sealers from Kangaroo Island, led by John Williams, lost a boat, they made their way to St. Peters Island. In three months, out of timber cast ashore from wrecks, they had built another vessel. Perchance relics of the first settlers could still be found on the islet. — 'Yacko,' Point Morrison.

Cat Came Back.

— My father told us of an experience of his in getting rid of the family cat. It was customary for this cat to present the household with a number of kittens periodically, and finally grandma said, "That cat must go. Take her and one of the kittens over to auntie's place tomorrow."

Father set off on horseback next day with the cat and kitten in a bag. He had over 20 miles to go, and arrived late in the afternoon. Auntie, who had no cat, was overjoyed at the contents of the bag. She gave the animals milk and put them in the barn. Next morning father started for home. "Thank goodness. I've got rid of that wretched cat!" he thought as he rode along.

But the first thing that met his gaze when he reached home was the cat and her kitten sitting on the kitchen doorstep. The animal had returned during the night, carrying the kitten, which was too young to walk the full 20 miles. Everyone agreed it was a remarkable feat. — 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.'

What She Didn't Expect.

— This incident occurred in a suburb of Adelaide. There had been a number of petty burglaries committed in this district. If a family was absent from home for a few hours something would be missing when they returned.

One afternoon the members of a certain household decided to go for an expedition. The mother stayed at home. She locked the doors, and after putting the kettle on to boil for a cup of tea, she sat down and read.

After a while she heard footsteps outside. The bell rang, but she hesitated to answer it. Then she heard the person outside try the doors. Finding them locked, he evidently thought the house was unoccupied. The intruder broke a small pane of shaded glass at the side of the door, put his hand through, and groped for the latch.

The woman was just about to dash out of the house for help, when her eyes fell on the kettle boiling on the stove. She grabbed it up and tipped it over the groping hand and arm. There was a stifled yell of pain from the intruder, and the sound of retreating footsteps.

Nervous and upset, the woman decided to go to a friend next door, to stay until her family returned. Receiving no reply to her knock, she walked to the back.

The first thing that met her astonished gaze was the sight of the 'friend' having a scalded hand and arm dressed and bandaged by his wife. — 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Outback

— At Andamooka station, nor'-west from Port Augusta, in 1889 (the day Bravo won the Melbourne Cup), a race meeting was held about five miles from the homestead on the road to Yarloo.

All the "heads" from surrounding stations of that time were present. They included T. P. Gourlay (Mount Eba), with his overseer, the evergreen Mick Kelly; John Hawks Mules (Arcoona) and his head man, Jack Lamphere; Harry Harslet, of Tancred fame, then manager of Parakillya; the renowned J. H. Bevis (Oakden Hills), A. McArthur (Coondambo), Dan Davis (Wirraminna), and scores of others.

The late Alfred Brown, managed Andamooka, and his overseer was the well-dressed and consequential Jack Harris, who was a stickler for propriety. In his capacity as clerk of scales, Harris insisted upon every rider wearing a distinguishably colored jacket. These, apart from blue or white shirts, were not easily obtainable.

The head drover on Andamooka was Charlie Collins, noted for his wit and devil-may-care actions. This day he lived right up to his reputation by bringing to the scale the black boy, 'Dick,' from Parakillya, in bare skin from the waist upwards, and, tying a red handkerchief round his body in the form of a sash, declared his colors, "Black jacket, red sash, and black cap." This resulted in much laughter. When 'Dick,' carrying his novel colors, succeeded in landing his mount a winner, the general hilarity caused the fastidious scales clerk to capitulate, and thereafter each rider chose his own garb; in fact, 'ere the last races were run nobody cared much what colors were worn. — 'Mick D.,' Broken Hill

Punch's Last Journey.

— It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, sunny and warm, no wind, not a cloud in the sky. The sight of the horses in the stockyard suggested a ride to the next station, nine miles north, for a yarn and cup of tea.

"I'll take Punch," said one of the hands, "he hasn't been ridden for some days, and will be lively and fresh."

For the first two miles he was so, but he commenced to slow down, a circumstance attributed to want of company. As he had never needed spurs they were not worn, but the pace being now unsatisfactory, a polygnum switch was obtained, and for a time the horse responded willingly, slowing down again when the destination came in view. He was tied to a fence and his rider spent a pleasant hour with the neighbor who, when bidding him adieu at the door said, "I see you are riding Punch; good nag that, the best cattle horse you've got."

"Yes, but he's a bit sluggish today, for some reason."

"Touch of colic, perhaps," answered the neighbor. Punch had apparently not moved from the one position when tied to the fence, and now, though steering for home, his pace was lifeless.

"Come along, old chap, this won't do, unless you are suffering." No response. Slower and slower until, a mile along the track, the horse paddock was again reached. Through that, and another half mile, when the pace became little more than a creep. It was necessary to dismount. Something wrong.

'What is the matter, old chap You are not yourself at all; where's the pain?" One of life's tragedies is the suffering of dumb animals. They cannot tell you where the pain is, and it is only in extreme agony that a horse will give the scream that, seldom heard off the battlefield, is never forgotten. Punch raised his head slightly, gazed down the track in the direction of home, and rubbed his forehead gently against his rider's shoulder. It was then noticed that he had broken out in sweat.

"Well, old man, you are evidently in a bad way and I can do nothing for you. You cannot carry me any further, that is certain."

The saddle and bridle were taken off, and the rider, waiting awhile, said, "Look, old man, if you are able, just follow me home slowly; there are no more gates to open." He then placed the saddle and bridle on his own head and started the seven and a half mile walk home. About fifty yards on he turned and looked back. Punch, who had not moved, gave a last goodbye look down the track and, with stiff limbs, turned off slowly into the thick scrub. He was never seen again.

His rider resumed the walk, the loneliest and saddest of his life. At half-past ten that night the squatter listened to the story and gave his verdict.

"Broke out in a sweat, you say, and walked off into the scrub with stiff legs. A bit swollen, I'll bet, but you didn't notice that. Snake, of course. Probably bitten during the morning, down the swamp paddock. He would make for the nearest water, but would never reach it. Poor old Punch." — 'M.P.,' Brighton.

Chiefly About Lizzie.

— Who does not recall the advent of the first car to their district? The pride of the owner in his new possession is still a thing to be wondered at!

Although I've driven thousands of miles since, my first ride in a motor vehicle is one that remains as an outstanding event.

One lady, in the absence of her husband, decided to take 'Lizzie' out of the garage for a spin. All went well for a time. But when she wanted to stop she found that procedure had entirely supped from her memory! Fearing that she should touch the wrong thing she continued to career around and around the field near the house. Several hours later the husband returned to find an hysterical woman still hanging to the steering wheel and muttering, "Oh! what shall I do to stop it?"

A neighbor of ours who had not built a garage decided temporarily to park his car in a little brush shed. Bringing the vehicle home for the first time he steered it into the shed, leaned back in the seat and said, "Whoa, there." The car, not responding to that horsey talk, continued on its way, pushing the back wall out of the shed and bringing the straw roof down over itself and the driver!

A certain farmer who had driven a pair of horses all his life, purchased a Ford. When he took his family to the local church he absent-mindedly pulled up at the usual 'hitching-post,' hopped out, and with a request to his boy to throw him the neck-ropes, walked around to the front of the car to tie it up! Such is the force of habit. - 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia. (1933, March 9). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90897610