2 November 1933

A MEETING WITH ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

When The Poet Gave A Little "Pincher" Sixpence To Buy Lollies

FOLLOWING the article in 'The Chronicle' on the life of Adam Lindsay Gordon, a reader has sent in an interesting account of a meeting with the poet — 'a lanky chap,' who gave the boy of seven who was introduced to him, sixpence to buy lollies.

In 1868 or 1869 I met Adam Lindsay Gordon in Hamilton, a rather important town in the Western District of Victoria. Gordon and his wife and baby were on their way to Ballarat to take over a livery stables which the poet had secured there. Before going on to Ballarat. Gordon, just down from the South-East, decided to spend a few days with his old mate, W. Trainor, who was then staying at the Criterion Hotel, in Gray street, Hamilton, earning an honest crust as a horsebreaker, using the stockyard at the back of the Criterion for the purpose. I was only seven at that time, but my meeting with the poet is fresher in my memory than many instances of later years. A week or so before the Gordons arrived at Hamilton, I got mixed up in an argument with a poodle dog owned by the landlady of the Criterion Hotel, and nearly lost my nose in that disturbance. I was sitting on a door step of the hotel one day nursing the dog in quite a friendy sort of way, when I happened to hurt one of his feet, which had already been injured. With an angry snarl he gripped my nose and tried his hardest to pull it off. I remember fighting the dog with my little fists, but still he hung on and pulled. My yells brought the landlady's son to the rescue, and he choked the dog off. My nose was torn, all around, and a doctor had to be called in by the land lady. The doctor stitched the wounds and left the rest to sticking plaster, a universal remedy in those days for wounds of any description. The landlady insisted that I should pay her a daily visit so that she could see how the wounded 'boko' was progressing. At each of these visits I was always given a large piece of bread and jam, a sufficient inducement to guarantee regular attendance for a personal inspection. ' One morning, when I called for my daily bread and jam, I was brought into the private parlor of the hotel and exhibited to a rather short and plump woman, whose baby was resting along side her in old-fashioned English cradle. I was invited to rock the cradle, and while I was filling that job a long, sparely-built man came into the room. I was pointed out to him as the youngster who had nearly lost his nose a few days previously, and he was interested sufficiently to lift me up to a window so that he could make an inspection. I forget what his report was, but I later learned that the reason for the lifting up was due to the lanky young man's shortsightedness. I remember that he gave me sixpence to spend on lollies.

A couple of days later the boys of the village were mounted on the rails of the hotel stockyards, the attraction being a colt-breaking, exhibition by W. Trainor and the lanky chap. I was in tow of a brother a few years older, who promptly climbed up to the top rail, leaving me to express my disapproval of his unbrotherly conduct by yelling loudly enough to disturb the horsebreaking proceedings on the other side of the rails. Then the gate was swung open and the tall man who had a day or so before held me up to a window came out and wanted to know who was 'looking after this little pincher?' My brother, being pointed out as my custodian, the tall man once again lifted me up, and quietly told my brother to look after me. The word 'pincher' stuck in my mind for years, and whenever I visit my old home town I am plainly reminded of that fact by the old people still in the land of the living. At first 'Pincher' was my nickname, and in time it was cut down to 'Pin.' Later on 'Nipper', replaced 'Pincher' as a pet-name for kiddies. When Adam Lindsay Gordon shot himself on the Brighton Beach, I was not allowed to forget the lanky chap was Adam Lindsay Gordon, 'the new chum steeplechase rider.'- C.W.C., Maylands.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955927

Stalked For A Kangaroo

About the time the Onkaparinga River gold rush took place I was camped on a hill two miles down the river. It was usual for me to take a stroll on Satur day afternoons with my gun in search of kangaroos. One afternoon, after a stiff jaunt, I found myself at the bot tom of a deep gully, timbered with big stringy bark and some titree. The place was a junction of several gullies, quiet and secluded, just the place for kangaroos. I selected a place and sat down on an old stump and waited about half an hour. A slight rustle of something coming through the bush attracted my attention, and on turning my head I spotted a little English terrier snuffling along with his nose to the ground, but on the scent of something. Where that dog is, thought I, a man cannot be far off. I raised my head and shoulders cautiously above the bushes. There, sure enough, was the owner of the dog, gun in hand, carefully and quietly stalking me. He had mistaken me for a kangaroo. With one jump I placed the butt of a big stringy bark between myself and the man with the gun and yelled. 'Hullo! What's the game?' 'My God,' he called back, 'in another minute I would have shot you.'— G. A. Payne, Marino Rocks.

Stalked For A Kangaroo (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. Retrieved September 5, 2021, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955928

Bounding up the Cows.

I was visiting some friends on a northern farm. The first morning after my arrival I was asked to bring in the milkers. After plodding across a big saltbush paddock I noticed there was a bull with the herd. He began to take notice of me. So I ran. As I sped along what I considered the safe side of the fence, the bull came with a dash which landed him on my side. I scrambled back, and the bull charged. He got entangled for a time, which enabled me to make a sprint for a pine tree some distance away. I clambered up just as the bull drove his horns into the trunk. After a few wild attacks on the tree, he went back to the cows. I made a bolt for home. When I told my story of adventure I was called a coward. A child, a little girl of eight; was called and told to bring in the cows. I climbed on to a stable roof , which enabled me to take a clear view of the situation. I saw the child, her head just peeping over the saltbush, round up the stock, bull Included, and bring them safely home. This little girl is a woman to-day, occupying a high position in Perth (W.A.). The incident happened over forty years ago. Since then I have read of many lives being lost through vicious bulls.— 'Mulga Wire,' Peterborough,

Rounding up the Cows. (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955925

Mistaken For A Wild Cow

In the early days of Cowell, the scrub was thick, and the haunt of big herds of wild cattle. As meat was scarce and dear, the settlers used to shoot these animals for food. The cattle were timid and cunning, and the only way to approach them was to wait for them at dusk at a waterhole, and to slaughter them as they came to drink. On one occasion a man asked permission to shoot a beast on a neighbor's property. This was accorded. He took up a position as night was falling, accompanied by a blackboy. Presently there was a rustle in the long grass, and two indistinct forms were seen moving. He raised his gun, and the boy called out a warning not to shoot. But it was too late. The farmer fired, and the shot was followed by a human cry. He had shot a man— one of the two brothers who had given him leave to kill a beast. There was no doctor in the district. The only thing to do was to get the injured man to Adelaide. But ships only called irregularly, and no one knew when the next was due. The settlers got a dray and carted the sufferer into Cowell many miles distant. Their luck was in. There was a steamer in port, and the sick man was put on board and taken to the capital. He eventually recovered. Such was life in pioneer times.— 'Sparks,' Buckleboo.

Mistaken For A Wild Cow (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955926

A Night In A Strange Place

I was travelling a while ago, and we had to call into a house to stay the night. They gave us a room out from the house, fenced all around. My woman friend had two children with her, so I had to take the smaller bed while she and the children occupied the larger. My friend soon went to sleep, but I stayed awake. I was alarmed when suddenly I felt a touch on my back. Then I felt a tug, and off went the bedclothes. Turning around in the dark I saw that the door was open, and a shadowy form was disappearing through the doorway. I called out, but got no answer, so I struck a light. My friend was still fast asleep, and I didn't like to wake her. I put a box against the door to keep it shut, as the night was windy, and I thought it must have been a dog that had wandered into the room when it found the door open. I went to steep then. I was telling my adventure in the morning at the breakfast table, and the householders said, that my visitor must have been their little tame 'roo. Jack, which usually slept in the bed I took, and used to be pulled out of bed by the big 'too.' The big 'roo had been chained to a log for the night, but he must have taught the little 'roo the trick of pulling off the bedclothes. —'LIGHT SLEEPER,' Verran.

A Night in A Strange Place (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955936

Early Days Of Franklin Harbor

When Franklin Harbor and the surrounding inland hundreds, near the hills, were opened, a large variety of game was available. Many an early settler lived on game and damper. Wombats were fairly frequent in the hilly parts. Out Carpa way a big wombat had his burrow, and some of the settlers' daughters used to take him bread and milk and water, and he became so tame that they used to sit and watch him eat it. When my father first took up land the wallabies were a menace. While sitting around the camp fire of an evening he would shoot them as they came within the circle of light. He sometimes shot a dozen a night. Some where in the same locality a corro boree ground was situated. The Harbor blacks used to invite the Gawler Range natives down occasionally, and they would hold a corroboree. Nearly all of the Harbor blacks have died out now; only a few old gins remain, and they have pushed further back inland. Landing was a very nerve-racking job in the early days. The women were put in a basket, slung overboard, and lowered until they reached a small dinghy, in which they were rowed ashore. The men merely climbed down a rope.— 'Laska.'

Early Days Of Franklin Harbor (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955939

The Dog Followed

The young fanner and his wife were moving from their old home to a new farm, more than 100 miles away. They had an old dog, which never followed their waggon, but always stayed at home. 'We shall have to leave him here with you, mother,' the young wife had said, 'You'll look after him, won't you? We would like to take him, but he will never follow.' When they left one morning with horses, implements furniture, and everything they intended to take, the dog followed them without a word of coaxing. Somehow he seemed to know that they were all moving, and didn't intend to come back:— 'MARLEEN,' Forster.

The Dog Followed (1933, November 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90955930