8 February 1934

ADVENTURES OF 'DIXIE'

An Andalusion Cock With A History

"Dixie" was a Napoleon of the poultry yard. But he did not confine his activities to his own kind. He was afraid of nothing, neither man nor beast. Some of his exploits are told below.

One of the best watch dogs round a place is a properly trained fighting rooster. When we were children, we lived on a farm where we kept fowls. Mother left a nest egg for a clucky hen and she hatched out a little chick, an Andalusian. Mother brought the little chick inside, and we reared him, a little pet about the house. 

As he grew older, we teased him and he became very savage. Many of our friends (also tradesmen) will remember Dixie. It was a common occurrence if you happened to be walking along, and forgot about the bird, to get a bang in the legs with a couple of sharp spurs. 

Boys would have fun teasing Dixie, and then run away from him, but he could generally catch them. They would get a good few scratches. Dixie would stand and crow, and wait for the next one. 

Visitors would come on Sundays, on horseback, or in buggies. They would put their horses in the yard, and give them chaff in the feed boxes. But no horse was allowed to put its head in the box until Dixie had scratched chaff right and left and picked it all over. If he did the results were a good hard smack on the nose. 

One day a boy was passing carrying a bridle. The rooster flew at him. The boy hit at him with the bridle, but lost his hold on it. He tried to regain it, but Dixie walked round and round the bridle crowing lustily. The boy had to wait until something else claimed the bird's attention before he could venture near. 

Another time my auntie stood in the doorway talking to mother. She had her little girl in her arms. All at once the rooster was on her shoulder and had pecked the child. 

One day my step father and my sister were playing a game, and had a little dice. The dice rolled on the floor. They searched, but could not find it. Dixie was wandering around, so they caught him and felt his crop and there was the dice. He had swallowed it. 

One morning we were having breakfast, when we heard a child screaming. I ran out to see who it was. A little boy— he afterwards fought a bigger foe in the Great War, but could not manage this warrior. Paul had come through the gate, but could get no further. Dixie was flying at him like a mad thing. I hunted the bird away and asked the boy what he wanted, but he was too scared to speak. 

Dixie was known for miles around. Teamsters coming through the gorge with their loads of wheat on the way to Port Germein would often stop and two or three at a time would come over to the yard to have a few rounds with Dixie. They would kick at him with their heavy boots and he would fly at them. I have seen the poor old chap kicked over and lay panting for breath. But after a while he was as game as ever, and up and at his opponents again. They would generally go away with some scratches. 

People coming to the house would have to creep in quietly as I have seen the old boy come from ever so far from the paddock, or wherever he was feeding, if he saw a cart or visitors about. 

But like all other things he had to come to an end. A tramp came to the farm one night and took Dixie and a big black rooster off their perch and screwed their necks. He left them near the next door neighbors next morning. Needless to say it was night time, or the tramp would not have had such an easy win with Dixie.— 'Wattle Blossom,' Port Germein.

'Oh! What A Night!'

Our home was the scene of some lively times when occupied by its former owners. They were kind, neighborly people at normal times. But they were often too fond of 'looking on the wine when it was red.' 

Coming home from township one day, after having a merry time, the 'boss' brought a generous supply of bottles. His lady helped him to reduce the contents. By nightfall things were only fair to middling, and steadily went from bad to worse. 

Eventually the maid became really afraid, and, taking the only little child with her, ran to a neighbor, some half a mile away, for assistance, declaring that her employers would kill one another if someone did not intervene. 

When the neighbor arrived at the homestead, the place was in darkness. But, from the noises he heard, he could tell that the occupants were in the dining-room. 

Lighting a match, he opened the door, and the sight that met his eyes held him spellbound. Not an article in the room had escaped wrecking. Even the table was minus a leg — and furniture was furniture in those days. Blood appeared to be every where. Every lamp in the place was broken. 

After a lot of hunting, some candles were found, and the neighbor went back to the dining-room. The 'lady' appeared to be all right, but the 'boss' was bleeding freely from a large cut on one foot, which needed medical attention. There was no telephone, and another neighbor had to be called to ride in for the doctor, who said the 'boss' had a half a beer bottle in his foot. The 'boss' was made comfortable on what remained of the couch, and his troubles and pains were soon forgotten in peaceful slumber.

As the lady had also retired to her room, the neighbors thought they would get along home. As they were leaving, out came the woman again, this time with a broom in her hand. She started to clean up the place. The neighbors, thinking she had sobered up, thought it safe to go home. But, on turning to close the door, they were horrified to see her with the broom above her head, bringing it down with full force on the head of the sleeping 'boss.' I suppose she thought she would put him to sleep; if she did, she was quite successful.— 'M.E.B..' Millicent.

Butcher And The Pig

In the 'nineties many pigs were kept in the South-East. In one town lived a butcher who had a reputation for taking practically any animal he thought he could steal. 

One evening, while he and his assistant were killing a stolen pig, they took the gag from the pig's mouth, thinking there would be no one within hearing distance. A lad happened to be passing, and heard the butcher say "Hold him on that bag. We don't want any blood left around to tell tales." 

The terror-stricken boy, thinking that someone was being murdered, ran as quickly as he could to the police station. Soon he, the policeman, and about twenty farmers were running to the scene of the 'murder,' and one of the bravest of the farmers, who had the lead, was just in time to come upon the butcher putting one of his prize hogs, now quite dead, into a waiting cart.— 'G. Roy,' Tantanoola.

Shipwrecked Excursionists Walk Ashore

'Twas on a bright May morning many years ago when an excursion steamer at Port Pirie started off on a Gulf trip to Wallaroo. A merrier crowd never sailed. Men, women, and children were out for a day's enjoyment, full of determination to achieve their objective. But it was another instance of 'best laid schemes.' 

All went joyously until the excursionists got down the Gulf, opposite Port Germein, when disaster, foul and sudden, befell the excursionists. The steamer ran aground on the edge of the channel, and assumed a dangerous sort of tilt that made the merrymakers think of home. 

An old deepwater skipper, then keeping one of Port Pirie's hotels, conferred with the steamer's master, who was none other than Captain, John Medland, as well-known at Port Adelaide as the local post office clock, but for years had been stationed at Port Pirie. where he was in charge of the Ferret, which had been transformed into a tugboat after a sensational career as a sort of incipient buccaneer on the deep seas. 

The Ferret, it will be remembered, was stolen from a seaport on the coast of England, and had a short life and a merry one until recaptured at Port Melbourne. That is another story, however. 

In the late 80's and up to the commencement of the 20th century, the Forrest was stationed at Port Pirie, and was kept busy tugging the coke ships in and the bullion ships out. In between times she was popular as an excursion boat. 

I forgot to mention that the excursion I am referring to was on a Sunday, and on board the Ferrett was a big school of poker players, who were engaged in an exciting game when the steamer ran aground, and the passengers were ordered to take the boats and make for Port Germein. 

"Women and children first!" was Captain Medland's order. And the poker players continued their game, notwithstanding the Sabbath day and a steamer in a precarious position. 

Writer was one of four men to take an oar each in one of the boats loaded with women and children, and it can safely be said he felt the importance of his life-saving job. The boat was fully loaded, and we found it a pretty tough job to row against a coming out tide. 

We were all out when I happened to look overboard and at once yelled out, "I'm full up of this. I'm a foot passenger for Port Germein," and at once stepped out of the boat and started for what is said to be the longest jetty in South Australia. 

The occupants of the boat and those in the other boats striving to reach a haven of safety thought at first I was doing a walking-on-water stunt, but they soon recognised the fact that we were in about 18 inches of water, and had been so almost since leaving the Ferret.

Soon after all the other boats grounded, and the one-time badly scared shipwrecked people also had to set out and walk. As the Ferret was stuck hard and fast the excursionists had to get back to Pirie— 15 miles or so away— the best way they could, mostly per medium of farmers' drays. 

However, the poker fiends stayed in Port Germein until next day, when they got back by Milbank's coach. They were so keen on card-playing that time was no object.— C.W.C.