25 October 1934

ADELAIDE'S MOST DISASTROUS FLOOD 

Bridges Washed Away And Crops Destroyed 90 Years Ago

Not even its most enthusiastic admirer would call the River Torrens an impressive stream, and in the early days it was but a string of waterholes in the summer. In winter, however, it often became a raging torrent, and the early settlers experienced great difficulty in keeping it bridged. 

Year after year, floods washed away the wooden structures which spanned it, and one or me most disastrous of these floods occurred just 90 years ago — in 1844. 

Although the province had been founded only eight years, there were already a number of bridges. That one of these should be kept open for traffic to Port Adelaide was essential. 

Following heavy gales towards the end of September, torrential rain fell in the hills, and on Saturday evening, September 21, the bridges at Hahndorf (now Ambleside) and at Hack's road, on the Onkaparinga, were swept away. 

The Torrens rose to such a height that the wheat and potato crops of the German settlers at Hahndorf were washed out. At Gumeracha (then spelt Gumerracca) trees and shrubs, which had been planted near the river bank, were swept away. Spicer's dairy was thrown down by the floods, and all the dairy utensils in it were swept into the stream. 

Other incidents which show the turbulence of the Torrens were the uprooting of 2,000 trees imported from Sydney, with the result that (as the 'Register' reported) 'scarcely a handful of soil or solitary twig was left as a memorial,' and the flooding of Dr. Davy's starch factory at Walkerville. The whole of the furniture, clothing, and machinery in the building was swept away. The 'resistlessness of the merciless element' was such that Dr. Davy even lost his gold watch. 

With such damage as this higher up the stream, it was expected that the bridges near the city would be sorely tested. The Frome road bridge, which had been erected only a short time, suffered considerable damage, and the Chain Bridge, a little further down the stream, was lifted up and swept away en masse. 

The City Bridge (between the existing Adelaide Bridge and the Morphett Street Bridge), which was at the time the principal route to Port Adelaide, was completely undermined, and huge sections of it were swept downstream. The bridge had been repaired shortly before, and had been certified as safe, but the flood proved too much for it. A tablet on the southern bank of the Torrens lake new marks the site of this bridge.

Further down the stream the Government gardens were inundated, and Shand's brewery 'came down with a crash' in the afternoon. As it neared the Reedbeds, the river rose considerably, and at Moore Farm, 'where the river ran into a deep channel with very high banks,' it rose 10 ft. in an hour and a half; the last 4 ft. rise having taken place in a quarter of an hour. 

German Bridge gave way and Payne's Bridge was impassable except on foot! Farms were several feet under water, and David Smith's dairy at Hindmarsh floated away completely. In spite of the heavy rain in the hills, which was responsible for all this damage, there had been only half an inch at Adelaide.— C.V.H. 

How Two Friends Met. 

On what was at that time the run of Mr Alan Baker, situated on the eastern side of the River Murray, camped in huts about four miles apart were two lifelong friends. 

Their names, when registered by their parents were James and William, respectively, but to their numerous friends they were known as Jim and Bill. 

One night, unknown to each other, these friends each decided to give the other a call. Between the camps there was no road, but a clear sandy track ran for many miles with mallee scrub on either side. It was a very dark night. There was no moon, and heavy clouds blotted out the light of the stars. The thick timber on either side of the track added to the blackness, but once on the track it was easy to follow however dark the night might be. 

Jim had a pony which he decided to ride, but Bill, having no other mode of transport, had to walk. 

Bill got along very well until he was about half-way to his friend's camp, when he fancied he could hear the thud, thud of hoofs in front of him. He knew what that meant. There were steers on the property and something had disturbed them; they were on the move, and one or perhaps two were on the track in front of him. 

Bill, however, was not afraid of steers. He was one of the best bullock drivers in South Australia. But this was different; this steer coming along in the darkness might easily run into him, and Bill did not want anything like that to happen. But Bill knew of a splendid way to scare an animal out of his way; he had tried it on several occasions and it had never failed, so he was not long in putting it into practice once more. 

He went down on all fours in the sand and went along a little way. When he thought by the sound of the hoof beats that he was close enough he gave, what he was pleased to call his main-spring, and at the same time uttered a blood curdling yell. 

To Bill's amazement the echo of his yell had scarcely died down before something hurtled over the top of his back and landed with a thud in the sand. Whatever it was it just grazed his back as it went over. 

It was Jim, whose pony had stopped short at the noise in front of it, and Jim, all unprepared, had gone on over Bill's back. Not a word was uttered not even a swear word. The very night air seemed to be charged with danger. 

The thing that had sprung at Bill in the darkness and only just missed him was not going to have the second chance if he knew it. He groped for the nearest tree and swarmed up it. 

Jim thought his life had been saved because his pony had thrown him over the back of some growling monster which had attacked him, and to remain on the ground was little short of suicide, so he, too, perched himself on the limb of a tree. 

They stayed there for about an hour, and when all was quiet and the danger seemed over they came down as quietly as they could and wended their way home. Jim's pony was home before his master. 

It was not until a week later that they knew what really had happened. They met in the daytime (no more night business for either for a while), and when Jim, who was a fluent speaker, began to unfold the tale of his adventure, Bill's eyes opened wider and wider. As the tale proceeded, enlightenment came to Bill with overwhelming force, and merriment shook his frame as it had never done before. When he could speak, which was some considerable time, he said, "Why, Jim, that was me. I thought it was a steer coming!" 

— 'A.C.,' Houghton.

Strange Music. 

When the residents of Charra built their present hall, an organ was left behind in the old hall. For years boys passing would amuse themselves by playing the organ, but it slowly got worse and worse, until no more music could be coaxed from it. But the boys continued to try, and on one occasion achieved some success, but it did not sound like music. On looking in the organ they found a nest of starlings. 

— A.M., Buckleboo.

Made A Splash 

Two little boys, aged five and three years respectively, who saw a man draw water from a well, thought that they would like to look down it. They managed to draw back the cover, and, in peering down, the elder boy over balanced and tumbled in. 

The well was 40 feet deep to the water, and had four beams across it at intervals. After his brother had disappeared, the other mite replaced the lid, walked home; and told his mother that Bobbie was down the well. 

His mother immediately rushed for her husband, who ran to the well and uncovered it. 'Are you all right, Bobbie?' he called. To his relief and astonishment the boy answered, 'Yes, daddie.' He was standing on one of the cross beams up to his waist in water. 

His father let down the bucket and the child climbed into it. As the bucket came to the top, a smiling face greeted his troubled father. 

Although wet, there was not a trace of fear on the child's face, and two grazed knees were his only injuries, which he informed his, parents he received, 'trying to climb up the pole.' He was taken home, and after a hot bath, put to bed. 

Next morning he woke up happy and well, and greeted his mother with the words. 'Gee whiz, mum, I did make a splash, didn't I?' —Fanner's Girl. 

No Shake In Them 

Some years ago a storekeeper at Burra had as a customer a German farmer, from whom he used to obtain eggs and butter. 

On one occasion, when the farmer delivered a consignment of eggs, the storekeeper shook them and, because he could not hear them shake, declared that they were not fresh, and 'docked' the farmer accordingly. 

The farmer knew that his eggs were fresh and good, but he could not explain why they shook. 

Next time he went into Burra he took some more eggs into the store. He knew perfectly well this time that they were all fresh, and so when the storekeeper took one up to test it, he was confident of the result. But again the grocer made the egg shake and, in spite of protests, the farmer was again docked on his eggs. 

The farmer now realised that he was not getting a straight deal and determined to have his revenge. So every night he put a huge saucepan on his stove and placed the day's eggs in it and boiled them well. On his next visit to Burra he took his eggs into the store and said to the storekeeper, 'If you vos make one of them shake, I gives you the lot.' The grocer picked one up and tried it, but could not make it shake. He tried an other and another, but none of them shook, and so he had to admit that they must be fresh this time and paid the German the correct price. 

Next day there was a string of customers coming to the shop complaining about his boiled eggs; one woman had tried to make a cake and found that the eggs were already cooked. 

After several had complained the store keeper began to realise that he must have sold a few dozen boiled eggs and that it could have been no accident. Suddenly the incident of the German's confidence regarding his last lot of eggs standing up to all tests for freshness flashed across his mind. He then realised how cleverly the German had beaten him and taken his revenge.

— 'Farmer's Girl.' 

Why The Charge Was Refused 

Some years ago a small township about 50 miles north of Adelaide possessed a rather fussy mayor. 

He was not quite satisfied with the way in which the police did their duty, so he resolved to attempt some amateur work on his own account. 

He was found by a constable one night kicking violently at the door of a not too respectable house in the main street. As the constable approached, he saw the mayor take hold of another man, a private citizen, who had been attracted by the noise. The mayor insisted on this man being taken to the police station. 

But the policeman on duty there, a senior constable, knew his business and refused the charge. The explanation put on record could scarcely have been expressed in fewer words:— 'Charge refused. Mayor drunk.'

— A. Daly. 

Power Of Prayer 

A young market gardener, who was sometimes pestered by youths of the rough element, was sorting seeds by candlelight in an outside room one night. He had a big tray of onion seed in front of him. Such seed is fine and somewhat resembles gunpowder. 

Some youths were out to molest him that night. He felt the cool breeze as they softly opened the door. They were all masked, and informed him that they were going to duck him in the waterhole unless he joined in their fun; he was too serious and good for them, they said. 'Yes, you are right. One needs to be serious when powder like this is around,' he replied, pointing to the onion seed. 

'Now, I purpose putting my candle into this powder to blow us all up. It will be an easy way of getting out of our troubles, but first let us pray.' He stood up with the candle in his hand and purposely made a long prayer. When he had finished he was alone. He was never molested again. — S.M.J.