26 October 1933

Travelling Sleepy Lizard

One That Crawled Three Miles To Feast On Tomatoes

One would scarcely believe that the common sleepy lizard has a sense of direction, but here is a story that will show that one, at least, knew enough to crawl three miles back to a place where it could get abundant food without looking hard for it.

We had a lovely crop of tomatoes, in a garden some distance from the house. As soon as the fruit began to ripen, nearly every other tomato would be half eaten. At first I was puzzled, but on diligent investigation I discovered the culprit to be a big sleepy lizard. Being, apart from spoiling the tomatoes, quite harmless, I thought rather than kill the creature I would carry him to different pastures. Several times I had carried sleepy lizards half a mile over a hill into another paddock, and always they appeared again.

At last I came to suspect that it was the same sleepy lizard I carried away each time, for it was always the same size and color, and seemed to be becoming accustomed to being handled.

One day we were going for a drive, to a farm about six miles from home. We stopped at the garden, and I discovered the sleepy lizard hard at work on the tomatoes again. I decided to take him for a longer ride this time. I happened to have a piece of red cord in my pocket, so I tied this securely about the sleepy's neck. When we were more than half way out to the farm I dropped the lizard out of the buggy with his red necktie still about his neck, saying, "You'll have to crawl a long way if you want any more of our tomatoes, old boy".

For about three weeks there was no further trouble in the tomato patch. Then I found some more fruit half eaten, and I searched for another sleepy lizard. But to my amazement, on lifting up a big bush, I found my old friend with the red cord still on his neck, and a half-eaten tomato in his mouth.— 'C.B.L.,' Ceduna.

Isolated House On Coorong

About seven miles from the Murray mouth, at the foot of the Coorong sandhills there is a solid four-roomed brick house. This building has the distinction of being the only house, other than fishermen's huts, that has ever been erected upon the 90 miles long strip of land on the coast side of the Coorong. It was built about 60 years ago for a Mr. Dodd (widely known as Tommy Dodd), and served as a residence for his manager Mr. Jack King). Mr. Dodd owned and lived on Mundoo Island.

He took up a large quantity of land on the Coorong sandhills which he used principally for horse-breeding. Huge sheds and stockyards were constructed, and about 200 head of horses were carried. To avoid making a long detour when crossing stock to the main land, it was necessary to swim them across the Coorong channel. This was usually done at a point known as Narlong which, in the native tongue, is shallow water.

Besides horses, cattle and sheep were carried, Mr. Dodd owned a small steamer called the Mundoo, and with this he used to cross sheep to the sand hills. Sheep brought from the main land in poor condition, after a short spell on the sandhills became prime fats. Splendid crops of barley, rye, and oats were grown, and luxuriant grass and herbage waved knee-deep.

Today the same areas are mostly covered by huge sand drifts, and with the exception of a strip along the water's edge, are practically grassless. This amazing transformation is principally due to rabbits having destroyed the grass and impoverished the country. All signs of sheds and stockyards have disappeared. Only the deserted house stands like a monument to prosperous times which have gone for ever from the Coorong.— 'A.H.B..' Goolwa.

One New Year's Day

New Year's Day at Victor Harbour used to be the star event of the year for the folk in the southern districts. Near Sandergrove, midway between Strathalbyn and Finniss, a farmer of the old English type did not wish his family to have this holiday. He determined to "practise what he preached" by working, stripping the corn.

The youthful son of the settler also made a determination— that his father would not go stripping. When the farmer came down with his horses to the stripper on New Year's Day, a chaotic mass of harness, machinery, and parts greeted his vision. His day was spent untangling harness, swingle-trees, pieces of iron and wire, and replacing, each in its correct position. His task was a lengthy one.

In the evening, when the culprit arrived home from the seaside, his father was offering £5 reward to any person who could supply him with information about the wreck, and incidentally blaming various persons for it. He never discovered that the culprit was his own son.

Both have now passed over the range, and let us hope, are peaceful comrades in the land where no shadows fall— 'Lone Star,' Coorow (W.A.).

Story Of Two Graves

On a certain sheep station on the West Coast there are two lonely graves. They conceal a tragedy which occurred some 50 years ago.

In the early eighties two men were sinking a well on the station. They were working at an isolated spot many miles from the homestead, and it was the custom of the 'boss' to visit them once a week with provisions.

On this particular day the station manager had paid his usual call. The men told him they were down 180 ft., and intended that afternoon to do some further excavating. Their method of entering and leaving the well was by a rope hung over a windlass. The rope had a loop at the end in which the men put a foot and then raised or lowered themselves by hauling on the other end of the rope.

It was a boiling hot day in mid summer when the 'boss' left them, and nothing more was heard of them for a week. Then the manager took out the usual rations, and was astonished to find that those he had left the previous week had not been touched. Sensing a tragedy, he called down the well. There was no response, nor was there any means by which the shaft could be descended. He returned to the homestead for help.

On descending the shaft later he was horrified to find the bodies of the two workers. It was evident they had died an agonising death. How the disaster had occurred was all too obvious. While both men were below the rope had slipped over the windlass and fallen down the well, and they were trapped 180 ft. below the surface. There, in the stifling heat, with no water and no food, they had perished slowly and miserably, miles away from help. The victims were father and son.— 'Sparks,' Buckleboo.

Unfortunately some facts have been lost in the retelling of this legend. See newspaper clippings below:

Lonely Life And Death

Near to Cape Jervis and around the old whaling station, a flock of sheep roamed, shepherded by a man and his dog. Sheep runs were not fenced 60 years ago.

Every fortnight the shepherd would ride his old nag some miles away to the nearest store to obtain flour tea, sugar, tobacco, tallow, candles, and, if possible, a paper or book. Luxuries were scarce those days. The last twice he came he added a bottle of chlorodyne. The shopkeeper asked why he wanted it. He replied he had neuralgia badly, and he rubbed it around his gums. Sometimes he took a dose inwardly when he got a chill. The grocer warned him not to take an overdose.

When he did not turn up at the usual time, and a week passed, the shopkeeper became uneasy, and organised a search party. His hut was desolate; the horse grazing quietly, far away. Sheep were scattered about. The men whistled and shouted. At last they heard the dog bark on a distant sand dune.

When they reached it— it began to whine and dig into the sand. They found the decomposed body of the shepherd and the empty chlorodyne bottle. The dog kept near the hut, but it would not have a new master or mind the sheep again.'— 'S.M.J.,' Maylands.

The Homing Instinct

Miss Newell's 'homing' horse [18 May 1933] is in no way remarkable. At the auction of the first overland cattle in April, 1838, J. W. Bull purchased a beast and left it at his property at Bull's Creek. Shortly afterwards the bullock was missing.

Next year it was included in another draft of cattle from the River Goulburn (New South Wales), and thence passed on to the butcher. The animal, on its lonely trail to familiar pastures, had travelled hundreds of miles and swam innumerable rivers.

Captain Sturt, too, owned a cat with a highly developed bump of locality. Evelyn Sturt, visiting at the Grange, took such a fancy to the big black tom cat that he persuaded his brother to give him the animal. Puss was taken per boat to his new owner's home near Mount Gambler. Six months later Tom had arrived at his favorite spot on a particularly sunny window sill of the 'Grange.' The medium of his return remained a mystery.

Here is an instance of animal sagacity of more recent days. The Croziers, of Rapid Bay, took up land in the Victorian mallee. Their horses were driven overland. One old nag, not receiving much attention, left his new domicile. A few months later he was found contentedly cropping grass at the old home at Rapid Bay. —"Jacko," Point Morrison.

Frog Soup.

In the forties, when land was being cleared to the south of Adelaide, a young couple started married life on plain food, few comforts, plenty at hard work, and small capital. Prosperity smiled on them for ten years. They had cleared, fenced, and stocked their small holding and paid for it. In addition, they had three sturdy children.

Then the father began to ail. He gradually got worse. Finally he gave up and took to his bed, suffering keenly. A doctor was forty miles away. Locomotion was slow, tracks rough, and the neighbors far apart. The poor wife looked at her husband sorrowfully.

'He will die,' she said to her self, 'but I wish I could give him something to ease the pain and make his going easy.' A frog croaked in the underground clay tank. 'I have it! I'll give him frog soup.' She collected tadpoles and made soup. Her husband drank it eagerly and asked for more. He drank it for days. His pain abated. By and by he began to rally, and soon he was up again doing little jobs. To everyone's joy he regained his health. Frogs boiled and frog soup became one of the commonest dishes at that family table.— 'S.M.J.,' Maylands.

The Sage and the Sailors.

Matthew Flinders, in referring to the disaster of 1802, which gave Cape Catastrophe its name, relates a curious coincidence. John Thistle, master of the 'Investigator,' who lost his life in the disaster, just prior to sailing from England interviewed a fortune teller. The wiseacre predicted a long voyage, that on reaching their destination they would be joined by another vessel; but that, before the two ships joined forces Thistle would be lost.

Thus he was drowned at dusk on February 20, 1802, when a cutter in his charge capsized, and the entire crew of eight were lost. So the first of the forecasts came to pass.

On reaching Sydney the Lady Nelson was deputed to act as tender to the 'Investigator' on the survey of the northern (Queensland) coast. Thus the second act, as pre-ordained, took place. This same seer told other members of the crew before they left England that they would be shipwrecked before they returned home, but it would not be in the 'Investigator.'

That, too, came to pass, for the 'Porpoise,' in which Flinders and some of his crew were returning to England, struck a reef 739 miles north of Sydney.— 'Jacko,' Point Morrison.