25 April 1935

RACING COUP OF FIFTY YEARS AGO 

"Brumby Filly" Wins Every Race At Tennant's Creek Meeting

I have for a neighbor William Oliffe, the last survivor of those who pioneered the cattle country of Central Australia and Western Queensland 60 years ago. This description of an outback race meeting of long ago, and the part played in it by a man who afterwards became notorious, was told to me by Mr. Oliffe. The story is well known in the outback, and I now take the opportunity of putting it into print.

In 1886 the telegraph station was the only white settlement at Tennant's Creek. Thousand-pound race meetings had already been held at Alice Springs, but this year Tennant's Creek had been chosen, on account of its central situation. 

From all over Western Queensland, the Territory, and the far north of this State men came to the meeting; among them was a big, quiet-spoken, good natured looking man who introduced himself as Harry Redford, manager of Brunette Downs Station, on the Barkly Tableland. He chummed up with Billy Benstead, who took him along to the telegraph station, where the bookmakers and stewards were assembled. 

"I've brought a couple of horses with me," announced Redford. "They're out at my camp in the mulga. One of them is a little mare I've called The Brumby Filly. I want to nominate her for every race. She's only a little bit of a thing, but she can gallop like the wind." 

Some of the men present went out to Bedford's camp, to find that his horses were a couple of weedy ponies in appearance. Redford sung the praises of the one named The Brumby Filly, but the visitors were not impressed. 

When the filly ran her early morning trials the bookmakers voiced their opinions of her chances by offering odds of 20 to 1. Whenever a bookmaker called the name of The Brumby Filly the suave, cultured voice of Redford would reply— "I'll book that bet, sir." 

The crowd was at first amused, then grew suspicious. Redford sensed their attitude, and said — "You doubt my financial position, gentlemen? I can cover all my bets. Look here." From one pocket he drew a bag of sovereigns, and from the other a wad of notes and stock agents' cheques. That settled all doubts; the bookmakers announced that Mr. Redford was a genuine sport to come so far with his horses and back his opinions so heavily and laid further bets with him. 

A few men thought it was a shame to see this big honest, and simple bushman robbed in this open fashion, and tried to persuade him to hedge his bets. He thanked them gravely, and backed his filly for an additional sum. 

When the horses lined up for the start of the first race, Redford led his weedy, rough-coated filly out of the scrub, pulled off her bag rug, gave his jockey a leg-up, and in the hearing of all present told the boy to get a good position at the start, hold it to the one and a half mile post then give the filly her head. The bystanders grinned knowingly at each other when they heard it. 

Then smiles faded when the filly gained a good position and held it; nobody was smiling when the filly led up the straight and won comfortably. In the silence which followed the announcement of the judge's placing Redford was heard to say, "Well, gentlemen? what do you think of my little brumby now?" The filly won every race she was entered for, beating Puck, one of the favorites, and also winning from Exile, a famous horse from Alice Springs, which had been heavily backed. 

By the time the meeting came to an end the crowd was in a very ugly mood. Angry and threatening, they gathered about Redford. The big man remained calm and unflurried. "You want an enquiry into the running of my horse?" he said. "Come, come, gentlemen, that would be too absurd for words! I told you all along that my horse was good; I backed her to win in front of you all, and she won fairly. Everyone in Australia will laugh at you for holding an enquiry into the running of my horse. Wouldn't you do better to hold a enquiry into the running of some of the horses which my little filly beat so easily?" 

That pertinent speech took the attention of the crowd away from Redford with a vengeance and caused some other owners and jockeys to go through an unpleasant half-hour. But it didn't calm down the anger of the bookmakers. Some paid him in silence; others were abusive. The last one to square up flung every penny he had at the big man, then roared. "You've broken me— if you're a man you'll come out and settle this with your fists." 

Redford declined the challenge, "in the first place," he said. I wouldn't soil my hands on a man who can't lose like a gentleman. Secondly, I'd beat you, and everyone would say that it was because I'm twice your weight. If you wish to fight I'll back that cook of mine against you and give you a chance to get back some of your losses by backing my cook for £50." 

The bet was soon covered, other bets were laid, and a ring was formed. Redford's cook knocked out the bookmaker in the second round. As he collected his winnings Redford said. "In case you think I wouldn't be game to enter a ring myself, gentlemen, I'll now back myself against the best-man here for another £50." Nobody accepted the challenge. 

Within a few years' time Redford had earned a notoriety second only to that of Ned Kelly. He lifted 1,000 head of Bowen Downs cattle, took them down the Cooper to Blanchewater station, and sold them to Mules, who managed the station for the Hon. John Baker.  His sensational trial is now history and this exploit was used by Rolfe Boldrewood when he was writing 'Robbery Under Arms.'  [See The Greatest Cattle Stealing Case In Our History (1944, May 26). Western Grazier (Wilcannia, NSW : 1896 - 1951), p. 4. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article139555917 ]

Redford also lifted a big mob of horses near Roma and took them up to North Queensland, where he sold them. While still a young man he was drowned when trying to cross a flooded river. 

But long before his cattle duffing exploits had made him notorious, the men who attended that first race meeting at Alice Springs [Tennant Creek?] had discovered how neatly Redford had tricked them. It turned out that his horse had been bought at the Sydney yearling sales, taken north to become acclimatised, and christened 'The Brumby Filly.' Her rough appearance was due to artful horse-coping; the boy who had ridden her was a Sydney jockey, and the cook was a second-rate professional pugilist. The whole business, from start to finish, was a well planned ramp which had put nearly two thousand pounds into the pockets of the three accomplices. 

And yet Redford had broken none of the rules of racing. The fact that you christen a mare 'The Brumby Filly' doesn't make her a brumby; he had done everything openly. One man is not legally responsible for what another chooses to imagine. Redford had won handsomely by telling the simple truth. If others did not believe him, that was their lookout. 

And that is the story of the first race meeting at Tennant's Creek, a station on the overland telegraph line which has come into prominence lately as being a promising goldfield.— H. A. Lindsay. 

How A Boaster Was Silenced 

Between Robe and Millicent, on what is known, as the Gillap track, stand the ruins of an old hotel. These moss grown walls and old-fashioned chimneys are all that is left of the Kangaroo Inn, which at one time was one of the best-known wayside houses in the South-East. In the early days, the Gillap track served as a main road, and the hostel did a roaring trade. When the present road via Beachport was constructed it diverted the traffic and sounded the death-knell of the old inn. 

For many years annual race meetings were held at the Kangaroo Inn. Horses were brought from many miles around, and the meetings proved very popular. Among the riders at several of them was a man who later became known as the best rough-rider of his time in Australia. The man's control over horses was little short of uncanny. Unbroken colts and intractable horses he could reduce to such a state of subjection after a few minutes' handling that he could stand upon their backs with perfect safety. 

In addition to his extraordinary gift, this man was credited with having at least one other claim to distinction. He was acknowledged as a champion boaster. No matter what subject was under discussion, he would boast of his prowess in any and every field— with one exception; he never boasted concerning his ability with horses, for in that direction he could substantiate all of his claims. 

One of his beliefs was that he was a wonderful runner. Be frequently boasted that he could easily beat a man named McKeand, who was regarded by all who knew him as a most outstanding athlete. In those days, running did not arouse the same interest as at the present time. Consequently, McKeand did not receive the publicity which nowadays would be his due. Nevertheless, even without training, he is reported to have done times which compare more than favorably with present-day champions. McKeand was a man who said but little of his own-ability, but it chanced that he had heard of the other man's boast. Both men happened to be present at a race meeting at the Kangaroo Inn. 

Others on the course seized the opportunity of putting the boaster to test. Accordingly, a distance was measured off and the two men were escorted to the starting point. When all was in readiness, it was noticed that McKeand was wearing an overcoat. On this being pointed out to him, he did not trouble to remove it. 'It's not worth while taking it off,' he said. 'I can easily beat that—— boaster with it on.' 

On the signal being given, the two men started off side by side. After a short distance McKeand opened out, and, with the tails of his overcoat streaming out behind him, sped past the winning-post with a dozen yards to spare. Being beaten by a man wearing an overcoat hurt the boaster deeply, and, in at least one direction, left a profound impression on him. Never again was he heard to speak of his ability as a runner.— A.H.B. 

Outwitting The Police 

Crawly was a fisherman well-known at Port Adelaide many years ago because of his skill in disposing of other people's property. 

One day, while sauntering along the waterfront, he saw two 16-feet oars, apparently without an owner, and carried them off to his boat. Their disappearance was soon noted, and the Port Adelaide police informed. 

Noticing Crawly's cutter in full sail down the river, the police drew their own conclusions, and were soon in pursuit. Crawly had seen them almost from the time they had left the wharf, but, was quite equal to the occasion. The oars were weighted, dropped overboard and anchored, an empty matchbox attached to a fishing line marking the place. 

Before long he was forced to hove to for the police to come on board, and Crawly looked on with an air of injured innocence while a very thorough search of his cutter was made. It, however, revealed nothing. 'Well, Crawly,' said the sergeant, as they were leaving, 'it seems as if we are wrong this time.' 'You generally are,' drawled Crawly, as he watched them prepare to depart. 

It was now getting towards dusk, and the wily fisherman only waited for his visitors to get out of sight be fore he drifted leisurely backwards, found the floating matchbox, and hauled the stolen goods on board. He then sailed to a small Kangaroo Island port, where he sold the oars for 16/ each.— 'Wisanger.'

 A Ruse That Failed 

When I started digging at Mongolata gold mines I had only a 200-gallon tank for drinking water. On one occasion I had to leave my claim for a week or two, and during my absence the field received a few showers of rain. Upon my return to camp I looked into my tank and found it more than half full. It was dry when I left. 

Next day I met Tom B.——and told him about the nice lot of water that was in my tank. 'Yes!' he said, ''you have me to thank for that!' 'Oh!' I replied, 'how is that?' 'Well, you went away and left your tap turned on,' he said. 'Oh, thanks very much old chap,' I said, 'come along and I'll buy you a drink.' 

Another fellow, Fred L—— was away from his diggings about the same time as I was. When he returned, he too looked into his tank and found his supply of rainwater considerably replenished. A few days later, Tom, Fred, a few other fellows, and I were talking together. In the course of the conversation Fred said, 'That rain we had last week put a lot of water into my tank. It is nearly three-quarters full now.' 

'Yes!' said Tom, 'you have me to thank for that.' 'How do you make that out?' said Fred, in a puzzled voice. 'Well, you went away and left your tap turned on. I turned it off for you,' said Tom. 

If I had wanted to make Tom feel uncomfortable I could have told him that Fred's tank did not have a tap, the water being hauled up through a hole at the top! As it was, I suppose Tom wondered why Fred failed to offer him a drink.— 'Rat-Bag.'