1 February 1934

DOLLY BRYAN'S DOLLARS 

Strange Case Of Seventy Years Ago

In the old cemetery at Robe there is a stone under which lie the remains of Dolly Bryan. Connected with this former resident of the South-East is rather a remarkable story, which is given below.

Over seventy years ago there arrived in Robe one Mary Ann Bryan, but whether Mrs. or Miss I never heard, for everyone spoke of her as 'Dolly.' 

She conducted a school near the Robe Hotel, and ran a small shop in conjunction therewith, the stock consisting of haberdashery and small drapery lines. Hers was the third school in the old seaport town. 

The first was conducted by Miss Jane Draper, who held the first teacher's licence south of the Murray. When she became Mrs. Alex. Campbell, the school passed on to Miss Bessie Hampshaw, and when she became Mrs. John Ekers, 'Dolly' was apparently the next in order. 

"Dolly's" little business prospered, and she moved into a property on the sea front between where the institute now stands and the Robe Hotel. She added to her stock of drapery, and conducted dressmaking. Having good taste in those things, she soon commanded the squatters' feminine trade. She prospered exceedingly. 

But in the late sixties she fell ill and died. When she knew her end was near she called her maid of all work to her bedside, and told her to take her desk and give it to Mrs. Peter Roberts, whose husband had been one of the early squatters out from Kingston. 

When 'Dolly' died next of kin were advertised for, but no heirs could be discovered. Mrs. Roberts, concluding that the giving of the desk constituted some sort of moral right, put in a claim on the estate, and eventually went to law against the curator of intestate estates. The court awarded her about £700, and the Roberts family disappeared from Robe for ever. 

The residue of the estate, amounting to £10,000 or £12,000, remained unclaimed in the curator's hands for several years. On one occasion when the Auditor-General's representative was auditing the accounts an officer remarked to him, "There is a claimant for that, and it will probably be paid out before next audit." 

It was. But the officer— I will call him 'Blank' —and a young 'lady friend' went along with it. Blank was entitled to three months' leave of absence, and he took it and drew the money. His friends, whom he had left behind, having no word about him for some time, instituted enquiries, but nothing was heard of him until a convenient period for the levanters had passed. 

Later it was discovered that they were in Mexico, with which country, then, Great Britain had no extradition treaty. So the absconders had a high old time on 'Dolly's dollars.' Detectives endeavored to get the man out on bogus fishing excursions with the intention of taking him beyond the 'three mile' limit, and there arresting him. But the wily Blank was too cunning to be caught in that net. 

Dolly's remains lie at rest in the well-kept God's acre at the old seaside town, but it was said that her ghost once visited the Church of England during tidying operations for the service of the morrow, and when retiring told the church cleaner that she 'was coming again.' Her grave is enclosed with a hand-hammered iron railing, which probably reduced the value of the estate by no small sum.— TANTA TYGA, Millicent.

SAVED BY A DOG

The intelligence displayed by dogs is, at times, little short of marvellous. A man who lives in our district had a dog, which one day saved his life. 

The man was rolling a young crop of wheat in preparation for a hay cut. He had a team of horses harnessed to a wooden roller. During the morning when repairing the roller he slipped over the front of it. At the same time the team plunged forward, and the roller was pulled up on to his legs, pinning him underneath. He managed to grasp the reins and to hold the horses. 

But his plight was desperate. One of the horses was restive, and there was the chance that at any moment the roller might be pulled over his body and head. He was too far from the house for anyone to hear him call. His dog, as usual, was in the field with him and came up to him, whimpering, greatly concerned at his plight. 

Suddenly, the man remembered. He had a pencil, and a piece of paper in his pocket. With difficulty he scribbled the words, 'Send help; am under roller.' He said to the dog, "Carry it home, good dog; carry it home." 

The animal took the note in its mouth, and, as if it understood the need for haste, raced off over the hill to the house. He rushed up to the first person he saw there and dropped the note, barking and springing about, so that attention was immediately drawn to it. Within a few minutes the man was rescued from his perilous position — 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

WHEN THE PARENTS MEET

There is no doubt life in the old days made people resourceful. Seeing a farmer recently rounding up his sheep on a motor bike, and a number of work men off to toil in a motor car, made me think of the old days, and the undoubtedly healthy people of those times. 

At a parents' meeting at a country school, we were criticising our primitive 'kitchen,' a hessian length thrown over a few rough poles, a bench to cut up supper on, and a window to hand food through. We remarked on the back-aching work with the low bench, and suggested something higher. Old Stick-in-the-Mud suggested digging a trench in front to save expense. 

We then discussed a shelter shed for the children on wet days. The old chap grunted that they could do as he did. 'Same sort of tussocks around as was,' he barked. 'Get under 'em!' 

Presently we got on to the school sports. We decided on a collection. One enthusiastic father threw down a pound. The other males looked hard. Times were poor, but why look poor? So an other recklessly said 10/. Father No. 3 gulped and said 6/. Blood was up. The others plunged. Indignation on the faces of the wives. Our idea was about a shilling each at the most. The meeting closed. 

Bright moonlight, calm and still, we walked to our carts in silence. As we went our respective ways we could hear the other woman giving hubby the same tune as we were giving ours. Next sports we collected about 5/, all donated by the women. The children said it 'wasn't as good as last year.'— 'School-days,' Millicent.

BILL JONES GOT EVEN

There are elements in connection with horse racing in the bush which have characteristics all their own. Tricks 'put over' by racing men are accepted as a matter of course, and looked upon as a good joke. Protests are often dismissed before they are heard, and the victim of any trickery usually resorts to more trickery to outwit the perpetrator. 

At a bush meeting in Queensland not far from the South Australian border a man I will call Bill Jones brought along a horse specially to win the principal race— the cup. The horse was a fair performer in South Australia and was installed favorite for the race. The starter also had a horse running (S.P. 4 to 1), and being a big punter he had laid out enough to win a nice little 'wad.' 

Of course, at most of the bush meetings, it is quite legitimate for judges, stewards, clerks of courses, and starters to run horses in any race. Bill Jones's horse was a fractious brute at the barrier. He would do everything except face the ropes. The starter suggested to Bill who was leading the horse, that he should take him back about 30 yards and get the jockey to trot him up to the barrier. 

But when Bill had led his horse back a considerable distance with his tail still pointing barrier wise, the starter said 'go.'  The starter's horse had no difficulty in annexing the race with, Bill's horse 100 yards in the rear.

The sequel came two days later. Bill learned that the starter had backed Tomboy very heavily to win a certain race in which Bill had no interest. Bill quite unostentatiously and obligingly assisted the black boy rider of Tomboy to saddle up, at the same time dexterously using his sharp pocket knife in an operation on the girth strap under the saddle flap. 

The race started, Tomboy was well in the lead, but something happened at the turn into the straight. Tomboy passed the post first, but minus the rider and saddle, and that's how the starter lost his cash, and how Bill squared the account with a satisfied grin into the bargain.— 'Old Timer,' Adelaide.

'Cranky Jimmy'

A blackfellow known as 'Cranky Jimmy,' was the actor in the tribal murder of a white family in the Blyth scrub over 50 years ago. But he turned Queen's evidence at the trial, and got off, though he had to clear out of the district in fear of the rest of the tribe. 

He travelled west until he struck an unoccupied strip of country between Wallaroo and Port Broughton. 'Jimmy' found plenty to eat in the bush, but no water, and he had to make excursions in land for drinks. The scrubland at that time was just being selected, but the native found plenty to eat— kangaroo, wallaby, fish, wild turkey, snakes, lizards, peaches, yams, pig-face, asparagus, and berries. Though he preferred the settlers' camps as an easier way of getting a feed. 

Jimmy always carried a tomahawk, and the first thing he would do on coming to a house would be to go to the grindstone and sharpen it. He was not an elegant sight for a lonely woman, with his gleaming blade, one eye gone, and his body full of spear wound scars. He wore a hard-hitter hat and a pair of old pants, the latter being discarded as soon as he got to his wurley. 

Yet he was harmless, and never, after his first crime, gave any trouble. He preferred to camp at the married settlers' place, knowing the tucker was better there than at the single men's place.

Life in a black's wurley is wretched, miserably cold, and uncomfortable. The wurley is made by placing boughs over the arched limb of a bush or tree that had gradually bent till one end was resting on the ground. The boughs are laiden each other in the shape of a shell, open in front. There is an open arch-way about three feet high in the centre. The sloping roof is always to the wind, and when the wind changes the wurley is changed round with it. The abode is neither watertight nor windtight. The natives keep a small stump fire burning, and curl around that as close as they can get, discarding his clothing. But he must have a poor time of it, with the wind blowing through the boughs on to his back. He says— 'White fellow one big fool. Make big fire. Can't get near it. Blackfellow no fool. Him make a fire, get all round. It keep him warm.' 

On one occasion Jimmy found us when we were on our new selection, camped in a dugout. He made a wurley near us, discarded his top hat and swallow tailed coat, and curled up in his abode. We told him to dig a piece of ground for a garden. As he had no boots we offered to lend him some 'Me dig; blackfellow no want boots,' he answered. Events amply proved it. We showed Jimmy the spot, stuck the fork in the ground, told him how much to do, and left him. When we returned, some hours later, Jimmy was standing in exactly the same spot. He had never touched the fork nor moved an inch.— 'Old Scrubber,' Plympton

Last Horse Wins

It was reported in 'The Chronicle' the other day that the last horse in a race in England had been declared the winner. Such a case occurred in South Australia years ago. A race meeting was held at Pinnaroo, or, rather, where Pinnaroo is now, for in those days the country was all scrub leased as stations.

In the race I am going to tell of there were three acceptors. I've forgotten their names, but for convenience will call them Magpie, Hot Dog, and Devilment. Magpie was a red-hot favorite; Devilment was supposed to have no chance at all; and Hot Dog was somewhere in between them. The owners of Magpie and Hot Dog agreed that Magpie should win, but was to weigh-in light so that the prize would go to Hot Dog, about which the local bookie would give longer odds. 

Things would have turned out O.K. only Hot Dog's jockey failed to keep sober, in the mad rush up the straight he fell off his mount, and as Magpie's weight was not correct, Devilment was declared the winner. I've often wondered just how much Devilment's owner made out of that race, and what share he gave Hot Dog's jockey to fall off. Many old hands will no doubt remember this incident.— 'Auntie Bee.'