22 March 1934

OLD MAN OF CRYSTAL BROOK 

Story Of A Kangaroo Hunt

Many years ago, about the time the northern areas were being cut up for agricultural purposes, I found myself with a party of surveyors camped near the boundaries of the Crystal Brook run. 

At that time, scrub grass and kangaroos were more plentiful than anything else in that part of the country. Kangaroos were especially plentiful, and, for size, some of the biggest I ever saw. 

One in particular used to look like a great red bullock, sitting on his haunches. His special haunt was a deserted sheep yard, with nice green herbage, and it was about a mile from our camp. 

I was only in my teens when I joined this party, and was having my first bush experience. All the kangaroos I had seen before this were safely yarded in the Adelaide Zoo. Well, one Saturday afternoon I determined to have a kangaroo hunt on my own. None of the men cared to come along with me. I borrowed the bosses three kangaroo dogs and a pocket knife from the cook, and sallied out after the Old Man of Crystal Brook. 

After about a mile of uphill and down dale, I came in sight of the deserted sheep yard. There, to my delight, was the King of Kangaroos, quietly feeding, unsuspicious of eight eager eyes fixed on him. I had the fleetest and lightest dog on a leash in my hand. With a wild cry, I loosed her. She sped down the hill like a rolling hoop, close followed by her two pups on their first big run. 

The old man saw them, and, with one mighty bound, cleared the sheep yard, and took us up a long, gently sloping hill for about a quarter of a mile. Then over the top, down the other side, and out of sight. I was on foot, so I had to trust almost entirely to the dogs sticking the old man up and leading me in the right direction by barking. 

On reaching the top of the hill pretty well winded, I stopped and listened and, sure enough, about a mile off I could hear a faint barking. I tore away through the scrub down a long slope of a hill down to a dry creek with sand pebbles and boulders in the bottom, and there the banks of the creek were broken away. There were signs of a terrific struggle having taken place. I was on the right track evidently. I listened again and heard furious barking and yelping at intervals. 

So the red king was stuck up. Away I went full speed and at last came into the clear. Half-way up a big steep hill was raging a furious fight. Like a huge red giant the kangaroo was hurling the dogs right and left, and they were covered in cuts, dust, and blood. So was the old man. He looked as if he meant to fight until he had killed everything on earth. I did not bargain for this. I was in hopes the dogs would have killed him before I arrived on the scene, and I would have only to cut off his tail as a trophy from my first kangaroo. 

I climbed to within twenty yards of the combatants and I can safely say things looked serious. The dogs were knocked up, and every time they made a jump at the old man they were hurled yards, yelping, or half choked in his loving embraces. I had no firearms. There was not a stick worth handling for a tough job like the present. 

However, while I was considering what to do the king made off downhill straight for the deep creek. On the bank the dogs overtook him and the whole team pitched head long into the creek. When I arrived judge my surprise when I found all four fighting like demons. Presently the king got the lightest dog in his grip, and she was fast choking. 

This won't do, I thought. I must take a hand, whatever the cost. So I jumped into the creek with the opened pocketknife in my hand, the only weapon I had. I drove at the old man's ribs, and this caused him to let go the dog. He grabbed for me as I scrambled up the bank. Before I could reach the top he had ripped the coat off my back. But it saved my skin. 

Immediately all three dogs tackled the old man again. This time they threw him, and a furious life and death struggle began. I considered this my chance. Getting back to the creek I picked up a round heavy pebble and bumped the noble king's head with it. I had to do it for my own and the dog's sake, or else be out all night. Already the chase had been two miles, and the fight had lasted quite three hours. It was now moon-light, and 9 p.m. when I again reached camp. I cut off the old man's tail, and I can tell you it was a whopper. Exhausted as I was, I thought I should never fetch camp with it. 

Those who smiled when the 'new chum' left the camp on his first kangaroo hunt were loud in his praises when, covered with blood, dust, and glory, he told the story of the fight over and over again. — G. A. Payne, Marino Rocks.

Tale Of The Clock

On a northern station many years ago a family of natives were working. One was a lad of about twenty, who had a very taking disposition. He was a favorite with everyone, including the governess. 

In the afternoons if Tommy was not wanted for anything she used to take him in with the other five children and give him a few lessons which she thought would be helpful to him. He was very smart at most lessons, but there was one thing which puzzled Tommy greatly— learning to tell the time. 

It was explained to him several times, and he knew the figures very well. But Tommy would always end up the lesson by saying, after every thing had been explained about the big hands and the little hand, 'Yes, that's all right, missie, but you can't tell me that big fella fast enough to go round twelve times while little fellah go round once.' — 'Three Star,' Middle North. 

Some Wind

In September, 1927, Kingston witnessed some terrible gales. One shifted the roof off a pub. 

Four miles out on the Adelaide road I was ploughing, and had my camp well sheltered. I was having breakfast when Charlie came running to me as white as a sheet. He shouted, 'Did you hear that?' I said, 'What?' 'Wind, wind,' he shouted, 'it nearly blew mv hut away.' 

Looking across the paddock I could see it must have been a very strong wind, for it had shifted his hay a quarter of a mile towards the Adelaide road. I then went over with Charlie to his hut, for he was too frightened to go by himself. The first thing I noticed was the door broken off its hinges. I said, 'Did the wind blow your door down, Charlie?' 

'No, damn fear,' he said, 'I rushed through it and broke it, for I thought it was the finish with me.'— 'Scrub Squatter,' Kingston.

Santa's Baby

In the early days of South Australia there lived to the south of Adelaide a poor clergyman, his wife and four young children. His stipend was small, his kindness proverbial, and his industry great, and his faith in God's goodness greatest of all. 

One Christmas eve he could only command a few pence to buy his boys a tin whistle and ball, while mother made some rag dolls for the girls. On Christmas morning the children were delighted with their toys, by-and-bye they dressed and played a game of 'Catch me who can.' They ran to the front of the house. The mother heard screams of laughter, then silence — and four children with wonder on their faces came softly in carrying a wash basket. 

'Mum, mum, look what Santa has brought us. He left it on our front doorstep. A big doll that can open and shut its eyes, and smile on us.' Sure enough, there was a baby girl with blue eyes a few weeks' old smiling at them. In the basket was a bundle of small clothes and a letter from a distracted and sorrowing mother, asking the clergyman to take the child as a Christmas gift, and rearing it up as his own. 

'Oh! How can she have the heart to leave her child?' the mother said. 'It is a lovely babe. But how can we keep her?' The children cried, 'Mum, mum, do not send her away. She is our baby — Santa gave her to us.' 

'My dear,' the clergyman said, 'the children are right; she is God's gift to us. He will provide, and we will call her Dorothy.' The children adored that baby. She grew up to be a blessing to her adopted people. She made a good marriage and had worthy children. — 'S.M.J.,' Maylands.

Jacky's Bad Night

A blackboy had not long left the mission station. He was working for us, and, being afraid to sleep by himself, had made his bed in an old reaper in a shed, close to the house. On going to bed at night we could hear him reciting his prayers and passages from the Bible. At times he would sing hymns. 

One night we had just retired. There was a terrible commotion, and the black boy was calling, 'Help, help; he's got me.' My husband, dashing out, was told someone had knocked on the side of the reaper several times, and had hit the boy on the head as he got out. 

He was terrified. Investigation showed the 'intruder' was a cat, which had run over the top of the reaper and as the boy got out in a hurry he had bumped his head on the door. But reasoned explanations were no good to the superstitious Jacky. He tried his utmost to get us to let him sleep in our room, but eventually was satisfied to camp just outside our door. — 'Lolliepop,' Coorabie.

As Sly As A Fox

In the early days of Millicent district foxes were very numerous, and heavy losses were sustained by graziers. 

We had in our possession a very intelligent black and tan cattle dog. As well as being useful with both cattle and sheep, he was a great hunter, and had many fox scalps to his credit. 

His one peculiarity was that he had a very large neck and a small head, so that when he felt so inclined he could slip out of any collar put around his neck. This later in life proved his undoing. 

As father had land in different parts of the district, he had often to camp out for a week. It was on the way home from camp one week-end that an incident occurred which altered the whole outlook of that dog's life, as far as fox hunting was concerned. 

When travelling along the bank of one of the largest drains in the district, the dog put up a huge fox. A fierce fight took place, but after a severe tussle the dog again looked to be a winner. But here the cuteness of the fox showed up. As he rolled along with the dog down the steep embankment, plunging into the water below, it being the fox's move, he was the first to find his feet, and gripping the dog, dragged it under water with the intention of drowning it. 

It was only after a mighty struggle that the dog was able to free himself and make for the nearest bank, the fox escaping up the opposite one. 

It was a very sorry dog that arrived home that night. Although he lived to be a good age, never again could he be coaxed to go fox hunting. In his old age, through slipping the collar as usual, he fell a victim to a bait laid by his owner.— 'M.E.B.,' Millicent.

The Green Horse

There appeared in the Strathalbyn district some eight or nine years ago, a most curiously colored quadruped—a green pony. The animal was purchased in the city by a man for his daughter, who later used to ride the peculiarly shaded pony to school. 

Practically the whole of the school children were agog with excitement, and every child wanted to see it. The pony was not taken into the town, but was left at a friend's farm just outside the boundary. However, it was not long before its rider was persuaded to fetch it along for her schoolfellows to view. 

The pony was advertised for sale in a newspaper, but no mention was made of its peculiarity. The purchaser was surprised at the unique sight and enquired the reason of it. He was told that a man was given the loan of the pony to cart his exhibits to the Adelaide Royal Show, whereupon he promptly dyed the poor animal a vivid green and exhibited him as a sideshow. 

Many months passed before the color left the horse and he regained his original shade, which was white. Even then his tail still appeared to be of a pale yellow color. — 'Lone Star.'

The Twins

Mysteries are easily solved once one holds the key. Some four years back we were expecting a fresh cow in. Unknown to each other, both father and my brother went one day to inspect the cattle in the lower paddock. 

Father arrived home first, with the news that the ' old red cow' had a strawberry calf. Some time afterwards my brother came with his news. His version was that the 'old red cow' had a red calf. 

Father looked at son, son looked at father. Both declared they had good eyesight, and each was equally sure that it was not he who had made the mistake, much to the amusement of the rest of the household. 

Next morning we were on pins and needles until the cattle were brought home, to see who had been in the wrong. Imagine our surprise to find that both were right. Home came the 'old red cow' with a splendid pair of bull calves, one a red, the other strawberry.— 'M.E.B.,' Millicent.