25 May 1933

TALES OF THE EARLY DAYS

Native Burial In Park Lands

Among the stories told this week, of incidents of bygone years is a graphic description of a native burial in the Adelaide Park Lands.

Forgotten Aboriginal Rites.

— The following account by an eye witness was made in Adelaide in 1837. It recalls a time when, far from being the lords of the soil, the British settlers were on a narrow fringe of civilization on the skirts of the wilderness and when the new and the old rubbed along together shoulder to shoulder. It is recorded that on February 20 a native woman Wariato, second wife of Numaitja, died at about the age of thirty. As she died late in the evening, the natives could do nothing for the moment but weep over her.

On the new morning, however, after having again lamented the fate of their deceased sister by loud cries and abundant tears, they wrapped her up in old clothes and dry grass, pulling her arms together against her shoulders and her legs against her abdomen, so that she retained only half her natural length. Alter this, she was laid on a sort, of bier and carried by eight or ten men in a peculiar way; first, they moved round for some time on the spot where she died, then went to and fro, and turned round attain in opposite directions. In doing so, they frequently would stand still and one man whisper to her, laying his mouth close to her head. When asked what all this was for, they answered that one of the Mari-mejo (Eas men) [?] had stabbed her by means of Kainjo, an evil spirit which by so questioning her would appear.

On the following day, they again went through these ceremonies, touching all those places on the park lands where they had lately encamped. The final obsequies took place a day later. At an early hour in the morning all the natives were sitting on the ground in a circle with the corpse in the middle, while one man was engaged in digging the grave. The only instruments he used were a katta (cudgel) and a joko (wooden scoop) and yet he performed his task in a comparatively short time.

When the grave was nearly finished, two men cowered on the bank of it, sometimes whispering to each other, sometimes calling into the grave with a low but ghastly voice, all the time eagerly looking into it; and several times one of them shook with both hands the cloak thrown over his shoulders.

While this ceremony was performed, four persons went off, two men to the south and two women to the north. They however, soon returned but from opposite directions, the men from the north and the women from the south, the former bearing in each hand a piece of burned black wood and holding it up close to their ears, the latter, instead of wood, bearing dry grass.

They came running fast in a somewhat stooping posture and, although the women were nearer the grave than the men when the parties came in sight, of each other, they arranged it so as to come in at one moment to the grave.

As soon as they arrived, they surrounded the grave and planted the men their wood, the women their grass in the earth thrown out of it. All the others then rose, some laying dry grass, some bark in the grave.

After this, the husband of Wariato and some others surrounded once more the corpse, leaning their heads on it and weeping bitterly. Then some men took the body and sunk it into the grave. As soon as it reached the bottom they shook their heads and uttered a murmur of deep disgust which was imitated by all.

When they were asked what all the ceremonies meant they constantly said that it was on account of the wicked Kainjo. In a few moments the grave was covered, everyone that could come near being anxious to help with hands and feet.

At this point, the observer was astonished to notice that the grave digger was still in the grave, and to see him rise when it was nearly full, striving to work through the earth thrown upon him. When this was done he and the two augur before mentioned remained sitting on the grave while the others went to a short distance where they stopped. The three men rose, and one of them threw first the katta and then the joko used in digging the grave. Hundreds of hands were stretched out to catch the former, but the latter they let fall to the ground, apparently with intention.

This no doubt, was deemed a happy omen, since the calmness and mourning that had hitherto prevailed made room for good humor and happiness. After the natives had walked a short distance they stopped again and made a row of from eight to ten fires, and the ceremony was over.— "Kestril."

An Exciting Search.

—Some years ago an infant of about four years of age wandered off ......

[Apologies ... article barely legible]

A Ghost Story.

— Many years ago two young men took a wattle-barking contract in the Adelaide hills. As the place was a long way from the nearest town they decided to camp in an old hut nearby.

This building was constructed of sawn gum planks, which had been erected green, and in the process of drying had warped considerably, so that the wind blew in whistling gusts through the cracks and spaces.

A queer old man had once lived there and, though he had nothing to tempt robbers (and anyway, they could have almost walked between some of the planks), he had fitted a lock to the door, and so no doubt slept peacefully.

The two men visited the township to lay in a stock of provisions, and while in the local store, mentioned that they intended camping in the old hut. There was also in the shop one of these men who are always ready for a joke, and when he heard what the men said he joined in the conversation. With a wink at the storekeeper, he remarked, "Oh, gosh! I wouldn't camp there for a fortune, why everyone knows that shack is haunted. The old chap who lived there committed suicide, you know. Cut his throat, he did, and they didn't find him for several weeks. They couldn't bring him into the cemetery; had to just bury him there in the hut, and no parson or anything."

"No," he concluded. "I wouldn't like to be you. I bet you hear the poor old chap wailing night after night asking you to bury him like a Christian."

Well, our two friends were not exactly thankful to the joker for his information. One remarked that though he reckoned he wasn't ever scared of ghosts, still he thought that all tellers of ghost stories ought to be taken out and buried with the ghosts; and the other said that if the old man came wailing around their residence they possessed a double-barrelled gun that was guaranteed to settle any ghost, old or young.

They returned to their camp, and spent the rest of the day in patching up the bigger openings; and generally putting things in order. As the night was calm they retired to rest, leaving the door open, and were soon sleeping soundly.

During the night, however, the wind began to moan, and one of the men, who was a light sleeper, got up and closed the door. The wind was now nearly a gale, and was whistling and sighing round and through the hut, and the wakeful one couldn't help feeling just a bit creepy as the thought of the joker's ghost yarn.

He felt quite frightened a little later when the door swung open— and instead of closing again— stayed so. His mate was awake by now, and got out of bed and closed it, but they were only dropping off to sleep again when it opened as mysteriously as before. Together they inspected the catch, which seemed quite all right, and, finding the key hanging on a rusty nail nearby, closed the door and locked it.

"If anyone is playing monkey tricks from outside, that'll fix them," said one of the men, as they went back to bed. But it was not a bit of use. No sooner were they again settling into the land of dreams the door opened once more.

Now thoroughly puzzled, and quite a little scared, they found, on examining the door, that it was still locked, though open! It was now early morning, and as neither of them felt like sleep they dressed and prepared some breakfast. That day they hired a tent from a nearby farmer and pitched their camp a long way from the hut. They were firmly convinced that the place was haunted, and people to whom they told the tale passed it on— with the joker's details added, and the ghost of "Windy Gully" became an accepted fact.

One windy day, some years afterwards, a visitor to the hut solved the mystery. The warped planks on which the door was hung and on which the latch box was fitted, bent in and out with the wind, and so allowed the door to open. But there are still lots of people who won't believe such a simple explanation, but prefer to think that the ghost of the queer old man (who, by the way, died in England, for the jokers tale was, of course, not true) still wanders round the hut on windy nights— "Aunty Bee."

Imaginary Bushrangers.

— In the days before a macadamised road had been constructed between Beachport and Robe, travellers used to follow a bush track which ran between Lake George and the sea. Much of the country over which the present road extends was frequently covered by four or five feet of water, but today drains keep the water below the level of the road. At the back of the lake the scrub through which the old route led is now buried under huge hills of drifting sea sand which are rapidly encroaching father into Lake George which, incidentally, has become famed for the excellent fishing to be had therein. Considering the drifting of the sandhills, it is fortunate that the present-day road was not, as suggested by some people, brought by the old route which had the advantage of being shorter.

When the old road was used, a coach used to run regularly between Robe and Beachport and for many years it was driven by a man named Eb. Smith. Mr. Smith possessed quite a keen sense of humor and while driving along the deserted road which passed through a sparsely populated country, it was his custom to regale his passengers with tales of hold-ups by bushrangers and murders which he declared, had taken place along this road. He would relate his stories so convincingly, that the more gullible of his passengers would generally be fully convinced as to the authenticity of his tales. At one time he made a life size dummy of a man which he suspended by the neck from a tree at a point, which he usually reached about dusk on his return journey. If he had any strangers on board he would relate tales of a gang who he averred were terrorising the district and then, on sighting the swinging figure he would cry out in alarm and whip up his horses until the lumbering coach fairly bounced over the ground. On arriving at their destination his passengers would narrate their blood-curdling experience to amused listeners and some times it would be days before they would find out how they had been hoaxed. Despite the fact that the coachman saw so much humor in life his career finished tragically enough, for he took his own life.— A.H.B.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, May 25). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90888325