5 September 1935

DONKEY'S DRAMATIC INTRODUCTION TO TOWN 

Responsible For Two Fights And A Stampede

Micky Lyons was an Irishman. That in itself, according to Micky, was a very great distinction. Be that as it may, he was quite willing to be convinced that there were countries offering greater opportunities than 'Ould Oireland.' Accordingly, he came to Australia to seek his fortune, and eventually found himself in the, at that time, thriving township of Robe. 

As soon as he was comfortably settled, he journeyed to a neighbouring town and bought Paddy. Paddy was a donkey —the first and last four-legged one to reside in Robe. 

The children of the town were delighted, and Micky, for a time, seemed quite the most important man in the district. He only needed to ride up the street to be come the centre of attraction. Children would rush to the roadside, while their elders peered through half opened doors and between curtains. So great was the stir he caused that many of the young men of the town were inclined to be jealous, and gazed after Micky's donkey in much the same manner as members of the present generation stare at the latest model stream-lined motor car. 

On the Saturday night on which Micky first brought Paddy into the village the donkey created such a disturbance that, even though more than a half a century has elapsed, the occasion is still spoken of. 

In those days, even a humble push bike would have appeared as a Rolls Royce of the mechanical world. Apart from one very high and strange looking tricycle, the only means of conveyance known to the residents of Robe was by either horse or bullock power. Therefore, on a Saturday night, it was not at all unusual to see twenty or thirty horses tethered at the favorite parking place, which was around the railing of the local blacksmith's yard. 

It was after dark when Micky proudly rode into the town and tethered Paddy among the horses at the yard. The horses displayed visible signs of alarm, but Micky remarked that the 'foolish crathers would soon get used to Paddy.' 

Later in the evening Paddy became tired of standing among a collection of obviously hostile and ill-tempered beasts. He was overcome with loneliness and a desire for one of his own kind with whom to commune. In hopes of there being one such somewhere in the vicinity, he lifted his head, and putting all his great vocal powers to best, uttered a long, drawn-out cry of 'Hee haw! Hee haw!' 

The bray carried for miles on the calm night air, but there was no response. Nevertheless, the result was astonishing. The horses tied around the yard plunged and pulled madly. Within half a minute, practically all of them had disappeared down the road, while the few for whom ropes and reins proved too strong tugged and strained frantically at their halters. 

Paddy was so surprised that he uttered another loud hee haw, and two of the remaining horses went tearing down the road with a rail off the yard trailing behind them. 

Further up the street, amazed towns people heard the strange cry with a mixture of surprise and alarm, 'Guid God!' said one, who was generally believed to be a Scot, 'What the deil was that?' Micky Lyons, who happened to be standing near, chuckled affectionately. 'That's only Paddy,' he said. 'Oh aye, laddie,' said the Scot. 'And who might Paddy be?' 'Why bedad, an' it's Paddy Lyons, of course,' said Micky. Jock stared at him in astonishment, meanwhile wondering what Paddy could have been drinking to make him sing out like that. 'I tak' it that he's a close relative o' yours, laddie?' he hazarded at last. Micky didn't win the fight, but he came in second. 

Later that night, when Micky returned to get his donkey, he found a large crowd of angry men standing around Paddy, who appeared to be the only four-legged beast within sight. Paddy seemed to have caused something of a sensation, but he wasn't very popular. 

Neither was Micky. One, an aggressive-looking red-haired Scotsman, with visions of a ten-mile walk, was quite rude about it. 'Ye pumpkin-headed Sassenach,' he said. 'Tak' your brother and get tae Hull oot o' it while ye can.' 'Sure, an' it's afther insultin' me donkey that ye would be. Is it ye carrot-topped, monkey-faced Scothsman?' said Micky. 'Hooroo for Ould Oire land!' In the ensuing fight Micky again filled second place.

Micky Lyons did not permanently settle in Robe. He decided that there were too many Scotsmen in the district. When he left, he could not take the donkey with him, so Paddy was liberated. 

For a time the animal wandered about the town making a nuisance of himself. At last, after a particularly serious escapade in someone's garden, he was captured and lodged in the local pound. As nobody came forward to claim him, he was offered for sale, and was eventually bought by one of the local youths for £1. 

But again horses' fear of Paddy proved a handicap. His new owner declared that he would soon get his riding-horse accustomed to the donkey. Accordingly, he shut the two animals together to a small paddock. The experiment, however, did not prove a success, for Paddy, being a friendly soul and pathetically lonely, used to follow the horse around the paddock. 

After about a week the horse had to be shifted for it was kept so busy running away from Paddy that it never got time to eat and consequently, was starving to death. Horses of the town refused to be come accustomed to Paddy, and held him in greater dread than if he had been a Tantanoola tiger. He caused so many bolts that eventually public opinion became strong against him. 

At last he was declared a public nuisance, and ordered to be destroyed. In company with three men and a rifle, he was taken to a lonely part of what is known as the West Beach. Midst the dreary sandhills, far from his homeland, he paid the extreme penalty of the law.— A.H.B.

'Music Hath Charms'

Once, at a shearing-shed in the Middle North, there worked a boy who was very quick at learning any new piece of music and playing it on his violin. His father was a typical old Irishman, and was very 'touchy' on any Irish matter.

One day the shearers thought that they would have some fun with the old man. So that night they persuaded the lad to fetch his fiddle down to the 'quarters.' and they started playing a piece of music on their mouth organs. 

'Do you know that tune?' one asked him. 'No,' said the boy. 'What? You don't know that tune? Why, it is one of the best known Irish airs. See if you can play it.' So the lad practised the tune a few times, and soon could play it as well as any of the shearers. 

Then one of them said, 'Now, when you go home tonight, you play that tune in front of your dad; and see how pleased he will be. It's a real old Irish melody.' 

So, accordingly, the lad started to fiddle this tune that night in front of his father, who was reading the newspaper. At first the old fellow took no notice, as the boy used to play his violin every night. But as the music went on, the father pricked up his ears and glared at his son, as if unable to believe his ears. 

At last, leaping from his chair, he caught the startled youth by the collar, and flung him one way and his fiddle the other. 

It was not till some time later that the boy found out the name of the piece of music that had so affected his parent. It was 'The Boyne Water.' 

—'RAT-BAG.'

When Rabbit Skins Were Dear

It is surprising how many tricks were played when rabbit skins were a good price in order to obtain more money for them. 

Once a lad went into a country store with a bundle of skins which he said weighed a certain number of pounds. The store keeper, who usually did not trouble to open the bundles to inspect them, however, felt a trifle suspicious about the weight of this particular bundle and on opening it found a number of pieces of lead, packed between the skins. 

One afternoon two trappers came in with a large bundle of skins and wanted the balance of the money, after buying a few articles in cash. The storekeeper obliged them, and taking the bundle of skins he put it on the verandah, where he kept his skins and hides and such produce, before taking them to town. Being out in the country, he had no fear of having any of them stolen. 

A little while later another lad came in with a bundle of skins, which again were paid for in cash. When putting the bundle out on the verandah, the shop keeper saw that it was the same bundle of skins he had bought off the two trappers only a few minutes before. It was a bundle of skins weighing 50 lb., and as they were bringing over 3/6 a pound, he had paid, dearly for them, but being unable to prove anything, he had no remedy. 

A trapper who used to inspect his traps only twice a day, morning and night, was annoyed because so many rabbits had got away through pulling off their legs. So he decided to pay another visit to his traps about midnight. Imagine his surprise when on arriving at his traps he found a neighbor there, calmly at work. He would first wring the rabbit's neck, then take his knife, and cut off their legs. Rather a sly way of thieving. —'RABBITER.'

Midnight Discovery

Two Port Pirie 'bus drivers had just taken up their residence at the 'bus depot. One of them and his wife lived in the house there, and the other slept in a room attached to the sheds. The owner of the buses and the mechanic were absent in the North on a holiday, and the drivers were carrying on alone. 

One night, after running the midnight bus from the smelters, as usual, they locked the buses in the sheds and went to bed. The driver who used the room at the sheds had been asleep for about an hour, when he was awakened by a weird noise, the like of which he had never heard before. 

He sat up in bed and listened, but for a time could hear nothing. Thinking that he must have dreamed it, after all, he lay down, and was just about to fall asleep when the terrible sound came again. 

In his sleepy state it seemed to him like no thing on earth— like the long wail of agony of something, he knew not what, stricken unto death; and, what was worse, it appeared to be close at hand.

Sitting up in bed, with a creepy feeling running up and down his spine, he listened until the wails died down to a series of short grunts. Then he decided to investigate. 

Arming himself with a stout pole, and clad only in pyjamas and slippers, he crept out of his room and bumped into a ghostly figure, also armed with some formidable weapon. It was the other man from the house. His wife had been awakened by the strange noise, and had sent him to investigate. 

Together the two men searched the garden and grounds, but could find no thing. They were wondering what to do next, when the noise started again. This time they were sure that it came from the locked bus sheds. They flung open the shed door and switched on the light. 

There, on the floor, lay a huddled squirming heap, that rose up in the form of two bewildered camel-calves. The amazement of the men can be imagined, as they themselves had locked the sheds after midnight, when they contained nothing but the buses. 

The explanation was forthcoming next morning. After the drivers had gone to bed, the owner and the mechanic had arrived back from their trip up North, bringing the camel calves with them. Feeling too tired to find suitable accommodation for the babies that night (or morning), they had dumped them in with the buses for the time being. 

The two camel-calves were subsequently presented to the Port Pirie children's playground, and remained there for some time. Later, I believe, they were taken down to the Adelaide Zoo. — M.E.M.