12 October 1933

SOME OUTBACK EPISODES WHERE TIME DOES NOT EXIST

Time does not exist for some people — the Australian aboriginal in particular. One day is as good as another, and the longer he can procrastinate the happier he is. These episodes are based on this native peculiarity.

The Australian aboriginal is a never failing object of interest. Time holds very little meaning for him. If he wishes to interview the 'Boss' he thinks nothing of reclining against the verandah post (with pipe going well) for hours, hoping the 'Boss' will see him sooner or later. Tomorrow is as good as today; and the day after is better. But it is doubtful if Jimmy Blackfellow ever thinks in terms so far ahead. This sublime indifference to the calendar has its disadvantages at times. In bush country, one seizes any opportunity of dispatching the mail. Letters are often taken to the nearest sheep station by the natives, and from there are carried on by anyone who happens to be passing through. Mail day outback causes excitement, and sometimes keen disappointment. One morning while I was visiting a station in the Flinders Range, news came that Tommy, a well-known native, had arrived. He intended going on to Y— about midday, and would take any letters that were ready. For the next hour or two all work was suspended, save for the scratching of pens. Every one wrote feverishly, delighted at the opportunity of getting an extra mail through. When everything was com pleted, and letters sealed and stamped, life became normal again. But there were no signs of Tommy. The after noon wore away, and finally the 'Boss' sought the black, and learned that he was not going to Y— for another day, or perhaps two days. He was going out bush again, as he had heard that an old prospector had a young camel to sell. Tommy would like to buy a young camel for his boys to break-in. But such little incidents are all in the daily round outback.

An amusing spectacle met our eyes one morning, soon after our arrival. A native donkey team, which made the quaintest sight imaginable, straggled over the hill. First and foremost came an ancient and decrepit buggy driver, by a couple of natives, and drawn by three donkeys, with a young one ambling alongside, and a dog or two underneath. Then a few yards behind came an old bush waggon drawn by twelve donkeys and accommodating about as many natives, attired in a weird assortment of clothes. Around the sides of the waggon were gum branches, with the greenery at the top, and a very grubby blanket suspended from one side. Thus rather rude but effective shelter from the sun was obtained. The blacks were having a 'walk about,' and were probably going through to Udanamatana.

The Australian nigger is probably the most care-free individual on the face of the globe! He asks little, and if he gives little in return— well, the balance is at least equal. His pipe, his 'tucker,' his freedom to indulge in a 'walk-about' as fancy prompts him— these things constitute his heaven. He has few financial worries, as the age-old system of barter still meets all his requirements. By this means I secured an interesting souvenir of my stay in the Flinders — a finely carved boomerang with which Tommy willingly parted in exchange for a frock for his lubra, Dotsy. The frock was old and worn, but had managed to retain most of its original color, which greatly charmed Dotsy's feminine eye, and no doubt compensated for minor defects of fit and style. It is problematical which of us received the better bargain. But, at any rate, both were satisfied.— 'G.LD.,' Royston Park.

Wild Cattle

In the infant days of Franklin Harbor mobs of wild cattle roamed the district. They were a menace to the public safety. Running with the herd was a particularly ferocious bull. A resident of Utera Plains decided to put an end to the beast. Selecting a reliable horse, and arming himself with a stout stock whip, he set off in pursuit. After much hard riding he had the beast exhausted. Drawing rein beside the animal, he slashed its hamstrings with a knife, rendering it incapable of further mischief. Many an exciting chase took place by parties organised to dispatch these bovines. It was from the young stock of these herds that some of the settlers drew their meat supplies. Wild horses were also a nuisance at this time. Periodical 'round-ups' were made, and the brumbies destroyed.— 'Peggotty,' Cowell.

Babies In The Bush

Outback women have some strange experiences. Over sixty years ago, on one of the northern stations, there worked a rouseabout and his wife. Women being scarce Mrs. Mac was often called upon, in cases of sickness. Early one morning a call came for her to go to a woman some miles away. She jet off on horseback, taking her youngest child of 18 months with her. Mrs. Mac arrived at her destination, and that evening went to bed on the floor, her patient made comfortable for the night with the latest arrival beside her. An hour later the ration cart arrived. The driver, telling Mrs. Mac not to get up, started to take the things in. His companion, who was on the tall side, held a light high up to see where he was going. This accidentally set fire to the ceiling, made of bags. In an instant the place was ablaze. There was only time to pick up the patient, baby and bedding. Mrs. Mac followed with her own child in her arms. It was a queer procession which arrived back at the station next morning— the woman and her baby made as comfortable in the ration cart as possible, whilst Mrs. Mac. clad in a man's shirt and dungaree trousers, rode on horseback. The rest of her belongings were burnt in the fire.—'J.H.J.,' Oakbank.

The Black Bear

Somewhere in the hills near the Gorge a 'remittance man' built a hut of wattle and dab with & bark roof. He cultivated flowers, and on the banks of the creek he ringed some gum trees and planted grape vines, which crept up the trunk and limbs. He brought two one black cats for company. Time passed, and he had about 'one hundred black cats,' according to the butcher boy.

One day the boy found the owner dead on the floor, with black cats sitting solemnly around him. Many of these cats found homes. Other went wild. The land around was taken up. Fine orchards were carved out of the bush. A rumor started, 'A big black bear had escaped from the zoo.' A woman visiting a neighbor at dusk had seen it jump from one bush to another. It was afterwards seen in the fruit trees at night, and at dawn, or else swinging on the old vines.

At last a gardener shot it. It was found to be an enormous aged black cat, which had returned to the haunts of its youth.— 'S.M.J.,' Maylands.

Queer Bolts

One of our neighbors had nearly finished reaping, and was driving his eight horses in a header round a clump of trees, when something caused them to bolt. For half a mile they careered across the paddock until they came to a five-wire fence.

Swerving down this, the comb of the harvester went through the first two wires. The first post struck the frame of the harvester between the comb and the big wheel, and for nearly three chains the fence rolled up underneath the harvester, each post breaking off at the ground until the 'ball' of broken posts and fencing wire pulled the horses up.

A remarkable thing is that not one of the horses was hurt, or any part of the machine damaged.— 'Mercowie,' Crystal Brook.

Tale Of A Dingo

In 'The Chronicle' lately I noticed arguments for and against dingoes attacking humans. If the worrigal is alone and well fed he is an arrant coward. Even where they are numerous, if the food is plentiful, they will get out of your way if possible. But a pack of starving dogs, or even one, is another matter.

An old dog in a trap is a nasty proposition, and for this reason lots of trappers adopt the plan of poisoning the jaws of the trap, so that the animal, in licking its wound, will "sign its death warrant." If one is foolish enough to get between a mother and her young one is asking for trouble.

Years ago we had a pet dingo. The men brought him home as a pup and gave him to my brother. We children used to wrap him in a shawl and make a doll of him and wheel him about in the pram. He showed no signs of his wild origin until he was about 12 months old.

An old sheepdog, 'Mary,' had a family, and the dingo was worried about them being so near the house. About half a mile away there was a rooky hill, containing several deep quarries overgrown with acacia, which he decided would be much more safe. He watched his chance, and when 'Mary's' back was turned transferred all the pups to the quarry.

Of course 'Mary' was of the opinion that the best home for pups was near the kitchen, and she started bringing them back. But while she went to fetch the second one, worrigal took the first one back to the quarry. The argument went on all day. The men shut the dingo up at night, and 'Mary' succeeded in getting her family home. But before dinner time next day the wild dog had them all back in the quarry. He would watch his chance, seize a pup, and make off, much faster than a domestic dog travels under the same conditions. Moreover, he showed fight if anyone interfered with him.

He had to be kept imprisoned until the pups were out of the way, then he celebrated his release by killing about a dozen fowls. After a sound thrashing he became a good dog or a few months, then the killing spirit broke out again, and a litter of pigs went west. He met his match in the old sow, who tore his side open, and he had to be destroyed.— 'Auntie Bee,' Ceduna.

Lucy Meets The Debble-Debble

One of the lubras in our district was a real cadger, everlastingly asking for something. If you declined she was inclined to be abusive. One day she was pestering me for sugar. I told her I didn't have any to spare. 'You gortem some all righ,' she said. 'I wait till you not busy.' It happened I was cleaning a pair of gloves with petrol. I thought I would give her a scare. Having finished with the petrol I threw it into the back yard. I said, 'You better go, Lucy, or debble debble come out of the ground and burn 'em you up,' with which words I threw a lighted match on the petrol. It blazed up. There was a shriek and a yell, and Lucy went for dear life.— 'Eldeebee,' West Coast.

After Many Years

Probably one of the strangest stories connected with the early days of South Australia was that of a child of be tween two and three years old, who was lost in the scrub of northern Yorke Peninsula. The tiny wanderer left no clue, and after the district had been scoured by neighbors for days, he was given up for lost. The mother, how ever, could never be persuaded that he was dead. Twenty years passed away. But she still hoped he would return.

Then one day on his deathbed a wealthy farmer living near Kadina confessed that a boy who had always been regarded as his son was merely a waif whom he had picked up wandering across country between Kadina and Port Pirie. He didn't know who he was. He said he had left all his property to the lad. They would find the clothes he was wearing when he was picked up in a bundle in a box, and he hoped they would be the means of tracing the young man's parents. His conscience clear, the farmer died.

Now a wealthy man of about 25, the young fellow set out to find his parents. After many disappointments he at last was directed to a cottage where, he was told, an elderly couple had lost a child many years ago. There was a grey-headed man sitting at the door, and the youth spoke to him. The mother was inside, but as soon as she heard the voice she rushed out crying. 'It's our Herbert.' For some moments mother and son were locked in each other's arms. Then the boy spoke to his father. The old man did not reply. He was dead. The shock had killed him.— 'Sub Ross,' Murray Bridge.