26 April 1934

SOUTH AUSTRALIA'S FIRST CONCERT 

STATE WAS FOUR YEARS OLD

Four years after the province of South Australia was founded the first professional concert took place, under the immediate patronage of his Excellency the Governor, on February 19, 1840. 

In introducing the company in the newspaper style peculiar to the time, the 'Register' pointed out that "on a spot that three years ago was a desert waste, now stands a public assembly. In a place that not long ago was a howling wilderness is now advertised the first professional concert. Where the owl shrieked, and the wild dog yelled in emulation of its savage master, the strains of art and fancy — the notes of Beethoven, Martini, Bishop, &c. — are to sound their varied melody. Success to you, Messrs. Platts and Bennett, we know not your performers, and speak not of merits which we can only guess at; but credit and encouragement be yours for the attempt. A crowded and good-natured audience, we hope, will smile upon your efforts." 

The concert, which was held in Mr. Solomon's rooms in Currie street, did not have a great number of performers. In 'part first' Handel's overture, 'Samson,' was played at the beginning. Then followed a glee, 'Mariners of England,' a violin solo, a 'duetto,' another glee, and finished with an overture. 'Part second' was on similar lines, but its main attraction was a 'duett concertante' on violin and piano by Platts and Bennett. As a finale, 'God Save the Queen' was featured. Despite the fact that 7/ was charged for each seat, the concert was 'so successful and so numerously attended by the most respectable inhabitants' that the 'Register' 'confidently looked forward to a repetition of the attempt.' On the whole it appears the concert was most enjoyable, but 'the concerted pieces were possibly the most defective — instrumental music admits of no mediocrity — but the songs were very respectably given.' Mr. Edwards gave 'Mariners of England' 'with much vigor,' and later 'another very beautiful song, well suited to his superb voice, in which he was rapturously encored.'— H.

A Ruse And Its Failure

When the northern country was first taken up and well sinking was the order of the day there were some tough customers, employers and employes. The particular pioneer of whom I write was very mean, and had driven a hard bargain in a contract for a certain sum to be paid when water (meaning a supply) was struck in a well being sunk some distance from the homestead. 

As the work proceeded and the well-sinkers got further down, many arguments ensued as they realised they had taken the job too cheaply. The employer, who was a very garrulous old chap, wasn't keen on going down the well, and his sons, who could have gone down, wouldn't because they were "fed up" with their father's miserly ways. The job went on, and though neighbors were very distant, the story of the well sinking contract was talked about all around. 

At last, the day arrived when water was struck, but not a supply. The hardened well sinkers could see there was no hope of getting more than a few gallons, so they concocted a scheme. They sent up a few bucketsful. Its merits and demerits were discussed. The men vowed the well was half-full, and eventually got the old man so nearly convinced that they were telling the truth, that he wrote them their cheque on condition that they would let him down to see for himself. 

So with the cheque safely stowed away they set off for the well in great glee, and lowered their employer to the bottom. There they left him loudly be wailing his troubles, and making no end of a row. They yoked their horse, gathered their things, and set off, well pleased with themselves, reckoning that as everyone else was absent, their employer might even have to spend the night at the bottom of the well. They never thought of hurrying, but just jogged along talking about the joke they had played. 

But this was where Fate took a hand. A few minutes after they left the well on their 35-miIes journey to the town to cash their cheque, two neighbors thought they would go across and see how the well was progressing. Judge their surprise when they found the owner at the bottom and no one else about. He was ranting and raving at the way he had been duped. 

They immediately hauled him up, and, after hearing his story, assisted him to harness up and set off in pursuit of 'those scoundrels.' He took a short cut and reaching the bank before the contractors had even got to the town, stopped payment of the cheque. He returned home thoroughly satisfied. The well sinkers were frantic at having their carefully planned scheme upset, and never returned to finish the contract. The old chap was so pleased that they didn't get at him about the cheque that he never sued them for breach of contract.— 'Casey,' Hallett.

Unfortunate Jack

Jack was unlucky all his life. He began at twelve months by getting whooping cough, and nearly lost his life. At five he tumbled out of a swing and broke a leg and arm. 

Before 7 years he had measles, diphtheria and scarlet fever, and fell from a tree and broke his arm and some ribs. 

At 10 on the playground he broke a collarbone. At 20 he married a consumptive, and at 22 was left a widower with a daughter. 

He took contracts in the country, was temperate, hardworking, and of a saving turn. At 27 he bought a shop on mortgage where his mother made a living by selling goods. At 29 he bought three blocks of land and put up three nice cottages on mortgage. The rents of these and his savings were put in a land agent's hands to pay interest and redeem the mortgages. 

Then Jack had an accident, broke his right leg and hip. While in hospital the land agent went bankrupt, and all Jack's property was lost. A friend of the family rescued the shop for the mother. 

Jack pluckily went back to the country, but that year the winter was very severe. Jack had insufficient nourishment and warmth. He contracted pneumonia, and that was the last of him — a crowd of trouble in his 34 years. 

His mother is still fairly strong at the age of 92. Jack's daughter is a widow with four children. — 'S.M.J.,' Maylands.

Hot Weather In The North

The recent hot spell brought back to my mind many memories of years gone by, in the north. March of (I think) 1874, was very similar to the present one. 

After a long stretch of drought the north-west of Port Augusta had a very bad time. 'Euro Bluff' and 'Yudnapinia' were the farthest out permanently settled pastoral areas. 'Whitata' and 'Pernatty' were unoccupied. 'Elizabeth Creek,' 120 miles from Port Augusta, was the farthest out occupied pastoral country. 

I was at 'Euro Bluff,' and only a boy, when an important letter arrived for the manager, who at that time was located at the 'Elizabeth,' which belonged to Euro Bluff Station. I was instructed to take the letter to him over seventy miles, and no water. 

Selecting a riding horse, and a notorious buckjumper for a pack horse, I started about 5 p.m. I jig jogged along, over the sandhills and sandy roads all night, and at about noon next day I reached the deserted 'Pernatty Station.' The water holes were dry. I only had a mouthful or two of water left in my canteen. There were no water bags then. My riding horse knocked up, and lay groaning under a shady tree. There were still twenty miles to go to reach my destination. It was a case of walk, and lead my packhorse, or ride him.

I decided to try to mount the animal. He had no shoes on and was a bit tender footed. I carefully saddled him and led him down into the bed of Pernatty Creek, which had a stony bottom. I mounted quickly and he was nearly as quick to start bucking. I stuck to him as though my life depended on it, and very soon the stones proved too hard for him. Then I rode him along the stony creek for some six miles, and knocked the 'gas' out of him. Then I followed the road along and about 5 p.m. came in sight of the 'Elizabeth Hut,' with the gum waterhole some two hundred yards beyond it. 

I tried to make for the hut, but in vain. My horse took charge and made a rush for the waterhole. With the water up to his knees he plunged his head in up to his eyes, and gorged himself, while I bailing water up with my quart pot, did likewise. That was one of many similar incidents that occurred to me in those old days.— 'UNO-HOO,' Medindie.

Dusty Day

Residents of Yunta 38 years ago will probably remember the happenings in the following story. 

Although Yunta had no great cricketers to break records, still a record was put was put up there on Friday, April 10, 1896, when they had the biggest, strongest, longest, and worst dust-storm that had ever swept over South Australia. 

The people in the township had to burn lights all day long. The dust started at 9 o'clock in the morning, and lasted till five o'clock in the evening. It was so fine that, even when all the windows and doors were shut, it got into the house, and one could not see the other side of the room. It was impossible to set the table to have dinner. All that could be done was to have a piece of bread and walk about the house, holding a handkerchief up to one's mouth to keep the air out. 

At the railway station the dust was heaped about three feet high. The railway men were kept taking the dirt off the lines all day so that the wheels of the trains would grip. The signals were of no use. The porter had to walk down me track to the waiting train to tell the driver that the signals were 'clear,' and the train could come on. 

The school was in a terrible state; it took nearly two hours to clean it; the dust was an inch thick all over the floor. The coach driver left the town ship about nine o'clock in the morning, and only got about a mile out. He could not see the road for the dust. He had two passengers on board. He had to set out of his trap and lead his horse. One of the passengers also got out and walked behind. While he was walking along the cape of his overcoat blew over his head, and while he was taking it off he lost sight of the trap, though it was only a few yards away. The passenger continued walking until he bumped against a house. He asked the people inside where the hotel was, and they told him. He went along until he got into a verandah, and there he waited till the coachd-river came for him. 

— 'Wattle Blossom,' Port Germein.

J.O. And The Whale

About 1849 a ninety-foot whale was washed ashore at Sleaford Bay, near Port Lincoln. 

One of the blacks who was shepherding for Mr. Borthwick came into the township and told the news to Mr. Swaffer, proprietor of one of the two hotels. Mr. Swaffer organised a party, set out, and look possession of the whale, pitching his camp near the spot. 

Although every thing was done to keep the whale a 'secret,' the rival hotelkeeper, my great-grandfather,  James Owen, came to hear of it. He got together a larger party than his rival, and set out in hot pursuit. The new party camped the night, just before reaching the whale. 

While they were there an Aborigine appeared on the scene, apparently on his way to Mr. Swaffer. The opposition invited him to spend the night with them, which he did, proudly displaying the message he was bearing to the whalers, which read:— 'All well. Things quiet here.' 

Early next morning the black presented this cheerful message to Mr. Swaffer, who read it, then looked across at the whale. There was J.O. calmly planting the Union Jack on the carcase, and taking possession of it himself! Nor, when remonstrated with, would he retreat. He was there to stay. But he was quite willing to share the proceeds with the first comers. So the rival parties came to an agreement, joined forces, and began work together. 

Some boilers and casks left there by whalers were called into service. One of the members of the party was sent to Adelaide to find the owner of these utensils and buy them. After two weeks he returned to Lincoln, having purchased the casks and boilers from Captain Hart, the owner. Much oil was naturally lost during operations, as the amateur whalers knew very little about their task. It is said, however, that enough money was made to pay wages, and the incident was certainly fraught with interest 

— 'D.K.P.,' Kensington Gardens.

Early Newspaper Difficulties

In the early days of South Australia, all kinds of difficulties were encountered in endeavors to produce a newspaper. The three papers were each published weekly, and even then it was difficult task to ensure regularity. 

Labor was the chief trouble, and in view of the organisation of the modern newspaper, this admission, which preceded the leading article of the 'Register' in 1840 is amusing. 

"The continued illness," it reads, "of two of our compositors renders it impossible for us to give more than six pages this week, instead of eight. In consequence of this. 'Van Dieman's Land Fictions,' Mr. Menge's letter, and several articles are unavoidably postponed."— H.