14 June 1934

WHAT MILLIE DID WITH HER EXTRA POUND 

Story Of A Girl's Self-sacrifice

"You have been so good during the children's illness, Millie," said Mrs. Dickson, "that Mr. Dickson and I have decided to give you an extra pound for the fortnight." Mrs Dickson was the local store keeper's wife, and Millie her 16-year-old daily 'mother's help.' 

An extra pound! With her fortnight's wages that made two pounds. Millie seemed to be walking on air as she clutched the two crisp notes in her hand on her way home. Now she could buy that new winter coat that she so badly needed. She could get a nice one for thirty shillings. She would hurry home, get dressed, and go down the street right away and buy it - that was, provided her mother could manage without her money this week. It was not often that Millie's mother found it possible to manage without, then she could not help that. She was always at her wit's end to know just how to feed and clothe the eight children younger than Millie, and pay the rent on dad's wages. 

Millie sighed. But with this unexpected pound, surely she would be able to buy her coat. Millie hated her faded, old, blue coat. Sitting among the other girls in the village choir, she felt so shabby. Somehow all the other choir girls had managed to get a new coat this season, but she so far had had to put up with her old one. But now with this extra pound, she would be able to remove that reproach. 

As she entered the gate her younger sister holding a fat baby on her hip, came down the path to meet Millie. "You take Ronnie, Millie," she begged. "I'm tired of minding him." The baby knocked Millie's hat off, and grabbed a handful of her curly hair. She kissed his rosy cheek and went inside. 

Her mother was ironing in the kitchen. Millie heard her heavy sigh before she reached the kitchen door.  "You are home early today, aren't you, Millie?" was her only greeting, as Millie appeared in the doorway.

"Yes." Millie sat down on the chair beside the kitchen table and nursed the baby.  "Tired, mum?"

"Sick and tired of everything," her mother answered.

"Why, mum what's the matter?" Millie's voice faltered. From experience she knew that when her mother appeared more worried than usual there was a pressing need for ready cash.

"Matter!" her mother answered bitterly. "Oh, nothing new. Your father took the last few shillings I had in the house to back a 'dead cert' he'd heard of. It lost! I don't know what I'll do; things are bad enough now, but with another baby coming ——" 

"O, mum!" Millie gasped. "Another baby?"

"Yes! That'll be ten of you." Millie's mother sat down on a chair and bowed her head to her hands. Millie gazed at the bent head for a moment, and her lips trembled. 

At last she said in a steady voice, "Well, mum, I've got two pounds here. That will help you out now, till pay day any way."

"Two pounds!" Had Millie mentioned two thousand pounds her mother could not have appeared more surprised.

"Yes! Mrs. Dickson gave me an extra pound because of the extra work while the children were ill. You can use it, mum, and my fortnight's wages, if it will help you out."

"Two pounds!" her mother repeated, her eyes filming with tears. "Oh, Millie! You are a good girl. I don't know how I would manage without you, really I don't."

Millie put the money down on the table out of the reach of the grasping, baby fingers. "That's all right, mum. You use it," she said. She gathered the baby in her strong, young arms and walked towards the door.

"Millie," her mother's voice reached her. "Isn't there something you would like to buy for yourself with the extra money?"

"Oh!" Millie's face was pressed against the baby's curly head. "Oh, no, mum; you take it." She hurried outside and put the protesting baby down beside two of her brothers playing on the lawn. "Look after Bonnie," she told them abruptly. 

She walked back inside and into her room, there lay down on her bed and closed her eyes, but she could see the girls seated In the village choir wearing smart, new season's coats — all except one, whose coat was an old faded blue one.— M.E.M., Port Pirie.

Tom Toms Of The Night

That a blazing fire, beating of tins, firing of guns and loud shouting do not always mean a burning stable, neighbors, living about half a mile from my boyhood home near Naracoorte once proved to us. 

One night their stable seemed to be on fire. My brother and I ran all the way to their assistance, and galloping hoofs soon denoted another arrival. When this man could make himself heard above the din, he asked, "What's the matter?!" and was told, "The war is over. Hooray! Hooray!" And 'bang, bang,' went a gun. 

One of the sons, returning from Naracoorte at night fall, had brought news of the end of the Boer War. To celebrate the occasion, straw was carried out from the stable and lighted close by. Disgusted, the rider turned for home. He was loyal enough, but he did not approve of 'such carryings on.' Still, the beating noise was symbolic of African tom toms of the night. —A, Mudge, Buckleboo.

Absent-Minded Shepherd

Some 20 years ago there lived on a far northern station an old shepherd whose absent-mindedness was notorious far and wide, and many exaggerated tales of his eccentricity are still told. 

Frequently, it was stated, he would saddle his horse with the intention of riding round his flock, but would set out leading it, and would return, still leading it, after having walked all day because he had forgotten to mount it. 

One morning, the old shepherd and his son, aged 20, to whom I will refer as Jim, had to visit an out station, about 15 miles away. As there was only one horse available, they agreed to 'ride and tie;' that is,  Jim was to ride on ahead, until he reached a water-hole, approximately half-way, and after securing the horse to a tree, was to proceed to their destination on foot. 

Meanwhile, the old man would walk as far as the waterhole, and then, mounting the horse, would continue his journey. 

Jim reached the waterhole after an hour's travelling, and as the day was hot, lay down beneath a shady tree and fell asleep. Some time later his father arrived, and remembering their arrangement, untied the horse, and after waking Jim and speaking to him for a few moments, started off, leading the horse. 

After following on foot for a few hundred yards, Jim stepped up quietly behind the old man, and untying the leading rope, left his father dragging it. Having mounted the horse, he made a detour round him, and rode on to the station. 

Some time later the old man appeared, still trailing the rope, and after solemnly tying it to a post, stepped inside just as his son was coming out. 

Staring at Jim in amazement for a moment, he passed on, and the overseer who was present heard him mutter, "I never ever thought she'd do a thing like that." 

''Who do you mean? Do what?" asked the overseer. 

"My Mary," said the old chap in shaken tones. "She done had twins 20 years ago, and never told me any thing about it."

— 'Varnee,' West Coast.

Early Days At Glen Osmond

In June, 1856, the residents of Glen Osmond experienced the most exciting day on record in the history of that district, Osmond Gillies, the first Colonial Treasurer, after whom Glen Osmond is named, was at that time living at 'Woodley.' 

When news of the discovery of gold in Victoria in the early fifties reached China, hundreds of Chinese made their way to the goldfields. To stop this incursion the Victorian Government imposed a poll tax of £10 on each China man landing at Victorian ports. To evade this they landed at South Australian ports and journeyed overland to the diggings. 

In June, 1856, a party of about 120 Chinese started from Adelaide in bullock drays, bound for the goldfields. They camped a night at Glen Osmond, and great was their dismay when they awoke next morning to find that their treasurer had been robbed while asleep. The bullock drivers refused to go on until they were paid, so the Chinese held a mass meeting and decided to hang the unfortunate treasurer. 

News of the impending disaster reached the local inhabitants, and the mounted police were sent for immediately. The police were compelled to draw their swords and rescue the treasurer, and it was some time before order was restored. The next day, with the addition of a dray carrying their wounded, the Celestials proceeded upon their way.— D.K.P.

Flood Of The Seventies

In December [sic] [11 January], 1874, a thunderstorm of unusual severity burst over Mintaro. Water flooded through the township. Scarcely a family escaped its effects. The storm lasted two or three hours. 

It was believed by many that a vast waterspout had burst behind the town, about Mount Horrocks. What gave rise to this supposition was that a breast of water came down suddenly. The water ran with such force that when it reached any obstruction it carried it away, or leaped into the air foaming. 

The width of the stream could not have been less than two hundred yards, and on the level ground, in front of Mr. Lathlean's store, it was up over the middle of a tall man's body. Great damage was done to the roads and the approach to the new bridge was carried away at both the northern and the southern ends The bridge had only been finished two days, and the roads, until the calamity, were the admiration of all beholders. 

No lives were lost, but some very narrow escapes occurred. Mr. Rowe's two daughters, with several other children, went into a hut near the blacksmith's shop, thinking to have a view of the creek rushing past. Suddenly the thatched roof fell on them. They received no injuries, but were imprisoned. Their shrieks attracted no one, as they could not be heard above the roaring of the water. 

Eventually the Misses Rowe came and succeeded in dragging the children out, but not until they were up to their necks in water. A few minutes more and five lives would have been lost. They then got on to a roof and had to stay there for hours in the pelting rain. 

Mr. Cain's house was surrounded by water. A rope was thrown over and a boy tied to it to be dragged across. When in mid-stream the knot slipped. The boy would have been lost but for the presence of mind of a young man, who dashed in and saved him. 

Great anxiety was felt for Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Turpin, who had been accouched only a day or two previous, their houses being surrounded to a depth of three feet. People, regardless of Sunday clothes, rushed through the seething water to their aid, and some were thrown down by the torrent. One person was bringing a child to a place of safety through the flood, when he fell with it, but did not relinquish his hold, and eventually placed it in safety. Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Turpin were also removed to the homes of neighbors.— "Kestril."