20 June 1935

HOSPITAL RECEIVES UNEXPECTED WINDFALL 

Constable Gets Judge Out Of A Difficulty

There is nothing better than an outback race meeting to produce keen rivalry; quite often it develops into open hostility. Such meetings are usually annual events and take a prominent place in a district's social activities. 

At a small centre which we will call Yarro, the annual race meeting was held in early March, one of the most interesting events being the 'donkey' race — so called because the horse that finished last received the prize money. 

The day for the Yarro picnic meeting duly arrived, and crowds assembled early in the forenoon from the various stations and farms in the district. There was a gala air about the place in spite of its rude appointments in Brady's paddock. 

The various cars and buggies were drawn up close to the judge's box, and the publican's booth was handy to the course. The day was very hot, with the result that the booth was well patronised. 

The events were all well contested, limited though they were to about five or six horses per race. Many of the horses ran in every race, and some of the thin and wiry ones put up times that would not have disgraced a metropolitan course. 

All the main events having been duly completed, entries for the donkey race were called for, and a large field lined up. There was much speculation when it was seen that Larry— a well-known local identity —had entered his hack Koko, and that Sid, the mail driver, had entered his old carthorse Mabel. Both horses were as well known as their owners. Koko was a good mover, but undoubtedly Larry had something up his sleeve for this event. So he had.

Koko, if left to his own devices, would gallop nicely, but Larry knew that a sudden application of the spurs would set him bucking — a handy thing when one wanted to waste time in a race. 

No one knew how Mabel would shape. Some said that she had never been ridden, but Sid did not seem at all perturbed when he led her out to the starting post. The judge took his place as soon as the horses were well in line and started them with a flag. 

None of the horses crossed the line, however, for no one wanted to move off first. The horses pranced around, and some of the riders dismounted to attend to girths or to adjust other parts of their saddles. All, of course, were doing their best to waste time and were waiting for someone to lead the field off. 

After a lot of bother and many scathing comments from the starter one horse got the better of its rider and tore away. The rest slowly followed, most of them cantering side on, being held back by their riders. 

Koko, however, remained at the post bucking like a circus champion, Larry had given him the spurs and he was now getting a little of his own back. He kicked, reared, and plunged, and finally threw Larry off. He then dashed away, making for the open plains. Two or three men on horse back went in pursuit of the runaway, and later brought him back. 

But what of Sid and Mabel? The old mare was at her best for the occasion. Instead of trotting off at a nice pace, as everyone expected, she refused to budge. Then she started to back in a most insistent manner. Slowly she backed down the course, and, in spite of kicks and cuffs, seemed quite content with her lot. 

The crowd roared with laughter. Soon the leaders of the field, having circled the course once, passed Mabel, still steadily backing, in spite of all Sid could do. When the field had completed the course, Sid managed to turn Mabel's head, and she backed past the winning post to receive the congratulations of the crowd and the judge's decision. 

By this time, however, Larry's horse had been returned to him, and, having mounted him and ridden him round the course, Larry rode up to the judge's box and claimed the prize. But Sid had already been declared the winner. 

Larry, therefore, lodged an emphatic protest, claiming that his was the last horse to finish. The judge was in a dilemma and wanted to call it a dead-heat, but a nasty look from Sid caused him to change his mind. Sid drove the mails, and it paid to keep on good terms with him. But there was another difficulty, for Larry was one of the judge's best horse-breakers. It was undoubtedly an awkward situation for all concerned. 

Finally, it was decided to call the stewards. A search, however, revealed that those officials, having patronised the booth freely, were not in a fit condition to adjudicate. 

While this was going on, Larry and Sid started to exchange words, and, before anyone could prevent it, the argument led to a fight. Larry was getting the worst of it, and Sid was about to administer a knock out blow, when Bill X., a local station owner who was a special constable, came along and handcuffed them both to a fencepost. Bill, who was also a justice of the peace, said he would release them if the judge called the race a dead-heat and handed the prize-money to the district hospital, otherwise he would demand that they pay the money into court as a fine. Needless to say, the local hospital received the prize-money next day.— 'Karratta.' 

The Doctor's Joke

Living in a small south-eastern town was a man known as 'Stuttering Hades.' He owed the former part of this unusual nickname to his habit of stuttering; the latter portion was due to his frequent references to the nether regions. He was of an eccentric and rather excitable nature. As is usual in such cases, he stuttered much more violently when excited. 

Feeling a little off-color, and hoping to obtain a little free advice, he mentioned his symptoms to the local doctor, who had a keen sense of humor. Having on several previous occasions been approached for free advice, he decided to teach 'Stuttering Hades' a lesson. Accordingly he declared that the symptoms were very serious and that a thorough examination should be made immediately. 

He took 'Stuttering Hades' to his surgery and subjected him to a thorough overhaul. After finishing his examination the doctor looked very grave and said that he had some very bad news to give him. 'T-t-tell me the worst, Doctor. Tell me the w-w-worst,' stammered 'Stuttering Hades.' 'Well,' said the doctor. 'Perhaps it is best that you should know the truth. I regret to say that you have no more than three weeks to live.' 

Needless to say, 'Stuttering Hades'' was greatly upset. As he made his way homewards he told the bad news to all whom he met. Most of the people, guessing something like the truth, were very sympathetic and congratulated him on the courageous manner in which he was bearing up. By the time he reached home 'Stuttering Hades' felt himself to be a much talked-about personage, and not a little like a hero. 

For the next few days he was busily engaged in putting his affairs in order and passing on the tidings of his soon-to-be demise. By this time practically all the towns people were sharing the doctor's joke. 

It happened that prior to learning of his condition 'Stuttering Hades' had tendered for a stone-breaking contract. He was now notified that his tender had been accepted. Not wishing that his deposit should be wasted, and all his legal affairs having been settled, he decided that he might as well fill in his time by going on with the contract.  'Not that I'm likely to see it finished,' he said. 

However, he continued to live and, strangely enough, felt no indications of the approaching end. In fact, he felt so well that he suggested to the doctor that perhaps there was hope after all. 'I'm afraid not,' said the doctor. 'However, if you like I'll make another examination.' But remembering the bill he had received for the last over haul, 'Stuttering Hades' decided that if he had to die he would do it as cheaply as possible. 

Day by day the heap of unbroken stones dwindled in size, till at last came the final day of the three weeks. On that morning 'Stuttering Hades' cogitated for a time as to whether or not he should go to work. Concluding that he might as well be working as sitting down waiting for the end, he took up his stone hammers and went on with the job. 

By this time, there remained only a few yards of unbroken stone, and the realisation came to him that if he could only have had an other day he could easily have finished the job. In an effort to keep himself from thinking, he worked as though his life depended on it. 

During the afternoon, two young women from the town chanced to come across 'Stuttering Hades' as he toiled by the wayside. 'Hullo!' they said. 'What are you doing here on your last day? We thought that you were at home dying.' 

'I'll die at my work,' said 'Stuttering Hades,' scarcely pausing to look up. 'If you don't ease up a bit,' said the girls, 'you'll kill yourself before the time is up.' They sat down on the heap of broken stones and said that they were going to watch the finish. 'Stuttering Hades' answered not a word. The more they talked the harder he worked. 

Another passing humorist stopped to ask whether 'Stuttering Hades' had entered a stone-breaking competition. The young women enlightened him as to the reason for the haste, and pointed out that there would be trouble if 'Stuttering Hades' didn't finish his contract.

Others joined the group. They watched the terrific onslaught on the stones and spurred the breaker on to greater efforts. 'Go it, 'Hades,'' they said. You'll never do it. You haven't got long to go now.' They made guesses as to what quantity of stone would remain unbroken, and finally started making bets as to which direction 'Hades' would fall. 

This was too much, and the victim's anger flared forth. 'You-you-you can go to h-h-h-hell, the lot of you,' he said, bringing his hammer down on a hard piece of stone. 'I-I-I-I'll be d-d-d-damned if I'll die to please you!' He was as good as his word. Since that time, he has broken hundreds of yards of road metal. But never has he beaten the day's record he established on the occasion when his hours were numbered. — 'Memo.' 

[What a particularly unpleasant story! I'm only reproducing it to make us reflect on how community (and professional) attitudes to those who are marginalised have changed since 1935. - Ed.]

A Night Of Terror 

Shakespeare has truly said that 'Conscience doth make cowards of us all.' So does imagination very often, as the following experience shows. 

My husband and I have an orchard on the Murray, and one day he had occasion to go some miles up the river on business. Consequently I did not expect him home until next day. 

That night there was no one in the house but myself and Wally, our 14-year-old house boy. He had gone to bed, and I was sitting by the fire reading, when all at once I heard a soft scraping sound behind me. I looked round nervously, but saw nothing. 

Then the sound came again— swish, swish — like paper being dragged along the floor. I got up and walked to the door of the adjoining room, whence the sound seemed to come. I was about to step on the strip of carpet that ran from door to door, when it moved from under my foot, making the swishing sound I had heard before. 

My hair almost stood on end with terror, as I gazed at the carpet with almost unbelieving eyes. It moved again, another few inches, and a cold feeling ran down my spine. I thought of what a neighbor had told me of how she had seen her carpet moving out under the door one night, and upon opening the door had found a man crouching on the step, rolling up the carpet. She said he had left hurriedly when he saw her. 'But,' I thought, 'if there is a man outside this door, will he, too, leave hurriedly if I open it?' I dared not try.

About 2 ft. of carpet had disappeared under the door, when I heard a plaintive 'Meow!' Only then did I remember that our big tabby cat, which used to sleep by the fire every night, had not yet come in. I opened the door and there was puss on the step with the 2 ft. of carpet under her. 

She had been scratching at the door in an endeavor to open it, and her claws had caught on the end of the carpet, which I had carelessly left protruding beneath the door. Feeling it move, she had kept on pulling, and had thus given me a great fright. I closed the door, and the cat followed me back to the fire, where I resumed my reading. 

All was still outside, and after a time I got sleepy. I was just dozing off, when the sudden cry of 'Butcher!' came from outside the window. I woke up with a start and glanced at the clock — 10.15 p.m. 'Butcher!' came the voice again from outside the door. 

I went to the door of Wally's room and called out, "Wally! Someone is trying to frighten us. What shall we do?" ''I'll fix 'im," growled Wally, as I turned away. 'Butcher!' came the cry again, this time accompanied by three sharp raps on the door. I walked slowly towards it and opened it inch by inch till I could see out on to the verandah. And then I recognised the voice of our butcher — he had an impediment in his speech— trying to explain. "I-it's all r-r-right, Mrs. V..' he said. 'It's only m-m-me. I-I've b-b-brought y-your m-meat tonight c-c-cos there's races tomorrow, a-and I w-w-want to -g-get an early s-s-start!" By now I had the door wide open, and there stood Mr. X. with our order of meat. I noticed him looking past me into the room, and the look on his face made me turn round. 

There stood Wally, holding his trousers up with one hand, and in the other, high above his head, he held a boot! He looked so funny standing there that Mr. X. and I burst into laughter, and when Wally saw who the man was he, too, laughed as heartily as either of us. — 'Rat-Bag.'