2 July 1936

A WEST COAST SHEARERS' TREAT

Kangaroo Hunt And 'Bucks' Ball'

Shearing had been in progress at Fowler's Bay for some weeks. The time was the early 'eighties, and in the vicinity of the Bay there were about 60 shearers busily engaged on the numerous sheep which the station then carried. As good progress had been made, and everybody thought that it was time for a 'break.' Captain Tullock, of the Wollomai, decided to give the shearers a treat. This was to consist of a kangaroo hunt, followed by a "Bucks' ball" in the evening.

Throughout the surrounding district in those early days kangaroos were extremely numerous. They abounded in the scrub lands and grazed at will over the stretches of plain. Inoffensive though they were as far as the settlers themselves were concerned, they were a constant source of loss to the station owners, as they, ate the feed wanted for the sheep. The consequence was that the Government offered sixpence each for kangaroo scalps, and as the skins also found a ready sale at remunerative prices, kangaroo hunting became a profitable business.

The blacks were the chief exterminators. They worked cheaply — a cotton shirt, a pair of corduroy trousers, tobacco, and rations, which consisted of tea, sugar, meat, salt, and flour, satisfied them. Given these and plenty of ammunition, they betook themselves to their task with enthusiasm, little realising that they were bringing ultimate ruin on themselves by the destruction of their chief food supply. Under the direction of a white man, they did the work, while the white man collected the cash.

It was to join in this hunting and slaughter that 30 shearers on the day of the treat, mounted on horses, set out for the scrub country beyond Fowlers Bay. They were joined by a few sailors and station hands. A number of blacks also accompanied them on foot. The method employed for the capture of the kangaroos was a very simple one. A race was made, stretching far back into the scrub, the side fences, which were made of brush, getting wider apart the further they went. At the narrow end of this race was constructed a yard into which the kangaroos were driven. The yard was usually square, and built of long posts driven into the ground about a yard apart. In between these were logs, jammed in and tied with wire, thus making it impossible for the kangaroos to break through. On top of the gateway there was usually perched a white man, or a native, armed with a long pole, with which he beat back any kangaroo which attempted to break out of the yard.

Once they had arrived in the vicinity of the yard the shearers spread out into the surrounding scrub, going back some miles. They then drove the kangaroos out of their various lairs to wards the race of brushwood, which guided them down to the yard. Occasionally a kangaroo would break through the flimsy structure and escape, but the majority kept to the relatively clear pathway of the race. So the hunt went on, until the race was crowded with kangaroos and hunters, white men and natives, shouting and yelling at their prey, urging them on in a maddened mob to their captivity in the yard.

It was while this was going on that one native, who had managed to get a horse, had a narrow escape from injury. He was riding madly down the run-way, when a large kangaroo managed to dodge the stick of the guardian of the gateway. Once into relative liberty, the kangaroo bounded down the runway at a great pace. At the same time the native came rushing down towards the yard. He caught sight of the escaping kangaroo. Wildly he yelled and waved his arms to frighten the animal back, but the kangaroo came straight on. It seemed as though nothing could pre vent a head-on collision. The native could not turn his horse, neither would the kangaroo budge from its course. The eyes of the native grew wide with excitement and not a little alarm. He gesticulated and shouted more wildly than ever. Still the kangaroo came straight at him. Then, just when it seemed that a collision was inevitable and the bystanders were waiting for the thud of the impact, the kangaroo gave a mighty leap, up it went like a rocket, straight over the head of the horse, native and all. For a moment it seemed as thought it would clear the leap; then with a dull thud its tail hit the chest of the native, who went flying backwards over the hindquarters of the startled horse into the dust of the race. Kangaroo and native fell not far apart. The kangaroo, first to its feet, dashed off at a mad pace. The native scrambled to his feet, surprised to find himself still sound.

Once the dust cleared about him, the shearers saw him standing in the middle of the race, jabbering in his own tongue and shaking an angry fist at the retreating kangaroo. 'Good old Jackie!' cried several shearers when they saw that he was unhurt. 'Let's see you do it again, you're a giddy marvel as an acrobat.' Jackie turned from cursing to kangaroo to glare at the shearers. He seemed to be on the point of making some fitting remark, when a number or kangaroos appeared out of the dust not far from him. Quickly he seized the reins of the horse and remounted, just in time to miss being trampled on by the mob.

At length four hundred kangaroos had been driven into the yard. Then began the slaughter, mostly by the blacks. Deftly they went to work, while the shearers, station hands, and sailors sat around on the fences smoking. The blacks had almost finished their work. Only a few old men kangaroos were left. These were not only large, but savage. One of the station hands, Bill Reynolds, sat on the fence watching the slaughter. In his hands he held a large stick, ten feet long.

Suddenly he called the blacks from their work and jumped down into the enclosure. With his long stick, he approached a big kangaroo. When near enough to the animal he poked it with the stick. The old kangaroo snarled and advanced towards him, only to receive another severe jab in the ribs. The animal backed away, and the shearers laughed uproariously at its discomfiture. Bill, with a broad grin, followed up the kangaroo, jabbing it with his stick. The animal made another attempt to attack its tormentor, only to meet with the merciless opposition of the heavy pole. So the affair continued, the kangaroo retreating, snarling and fighting, while Reynolds relentlessly pursued it with his pole. This went on for some time.

Suddenly Captain Tullock called out. 'Look out, Bill!' Reynolds looked quickly at the kangaroo, from which he had taken his eyes for a moment, but it was in full retreat. He glanced up at Captain Tullock, but before the captain could say anything further, Reynolds felt him self suddenly grabbed from behind, in a heavy, sharp grip. Over his shoulders appeared the forepaws of a large kangaroo. There was a wrench, and before Reynolds could escape, his clothes were torn from his back. An other kangaroo had come to the rescue of its fellow. Much disconcerted, Bill scrambled to safety, his clothes hanging in ribbons.

Once it was seen that he was safe the shearers roared with delight. The tables had been turned. 'How do you like that, Bill?' they cried. 'What about another go? We don't see that every day.' But Reynolds declined to repeat the performance, even for the amusement of the shearers. When the last of the kangaroos had been slaughtered and skinned by the blacks, the white men returned to the Bay.

That evening the shearers' treat was continued In the 'Bucks' Ball.' As there were but few women in the district, dances were carried out entirely by men. Some acted as women partners with all the shy decorum that custom demanded. Full sets were formed, and the whole evening was carried out as though there were indeed equal numbers of both sexes. Some of the shearers were expert dancers, light upon their feet, rhythmic and graceful in their movements, courteous and debonair. Others added to the hilarity of the evening by their awkwardness and confusion. Those who had no interest in the dance found plenty of other ways of amusing themselves, and so the entertainment went on into the early hours. All voted the treat a huge success, but shearing was slow and arduous work for most of them next day.— CYA.

Law-Breakers Have No Redress

Some years ago, when opossum snarers had anticipated the opening of the season in a certain district In Queensland, a man driving a large mo tor caravan stopped at a camp, where we were spelling our horses. Although the stranger was non-committal, I presumed that he was a hawker, but, as he did not offer any wares for sale, I asked no questions. Whilst we were conversing on sundry topics of the day, a half-caste in my employ returned to camp with a couple of kangaroo skins, and, as he was pegging them out to dry, the stranger enquired if I knew of any shooters who had skins for sale. I replied that I did not. The stranger let it go at that, and soon afterwards drove on his way.

About a fortnight later, when in the township getting stores, a young fellow I knew came up to me and told me that he and his mate had been caught by a skin buyer. A cheque for £80, returned from the bank, marked 'No Account,' was shown to be as evidence of the ramp that had been worked. A description of the skin buyer and his covered-in motor van tallied with our visitor, of a fortnight previously.

To give him his due, the skin buyer had executed a shrewd move in quite a simple manner. Evidently having obtained inside in formation that the opossum season would open, the stranger had found out where snares were operating before their due time. The yarn he told the young fellow I met was that he had big overseas orders for opossum' skins, and that he wished to get away a shipment before the season opened. The stranger explained that he had a method of baling skins that would trick the Customs' officials. To impress and to intrigue the young fellow and his mate into selling their skins, the stranger offered them a high price. They were delighted with the offer, and willingly accepted the stranger's, cheque for £80. As a matter of fact, they would have taken half the amount. The police were busy inves tigating reports of opossumers being illegally at work, and he and his mate were afraid that their hidden skins might be found.

A few days later it leaked out that half a dozen other opossumers had sold their skins to the stranger also, and that all their cheques had returned. Knowing that they would be liable to prosecution for obtaining opossums out of season, those imposed on by the stranger could not very well take action for the recovery of their money, and, as a consequence, all they received for several weeks of illegal operations, were worthless cheques. It does not do to mention that skin buyer's name— an assumed one, undoubtedly— in the hearing of certain kangaroo shooters in a certain district in Queensland; memory of him is still bitter.— 'Opossum.'

Stopped The Waste

Old 'Kanga' owned more stations than he did fingers, but still stuck to the frugal ways he had picked up as a struggling selector. If a stockman rode in with a worn-out saddle, the old chap promptly gave him his own, but took care to use the old one himself for another couple of years beyond its utmost period of comfort and reason able life. Tucker also was finely, although justly, calculated. The back runs did fairly well for themselves, except at mustering, when 'Kanga' was on deck, but the head station was gaol in the open.

On Sunday mornings, 'Kanga' him self sallied out with a 22 rifle, a blunt knife, and a few feet of window-sash cord. With much heart-searching he picked out the toughest wether in the flock and reluctantly hoisted the corpse on to the gallows to drain. For dinner, there would be Bombay duck, a bit light on onions, but otherwise the treat of the week. With the exception of the legs, thus disposed of, the rest of the carcase went into brine with a splash, and came out at a steady dribble, until it just cut out the following Sunday morning.

When the railway line came through, a lot of his old hands cleared out for the outback, and one or two unbroken lads were taken on. Tom was the eldest, and also the one who had had most salted mutton at home. A fortnight sickened him. The next time he was out, one of the bullocks he was chasing happened to break its leg jumping over a log. Strangely enough, that was the only log for five miles round that had not been burned. All hands had a welcome change to roast beef, boiled beef, grilled steak, and everything but corned mutton. Old 'Kanga' could not even squeeze a bit of brisket into the cask, despite his ardent efforts.

The next week the barrel slowly disgorged its cargo of sheep. As soon as 'Kanga' had the next carcase in pickle another bullock broke its leg, and in the same spot! Once again the menu livened up. Once more a fortnight went by, and Tom rode in to report another accident to 'Kanga.' The old man looked concerned. 'I was afraid this might happen!' he growled. 'If you get one bit of bad luck, there's always a run of it. Ride over, Tom, and tell that butcher-bloke with the navvies to come out and get his beef. Luckily, I made arrangements with him. And tell your mate to give me a hand with the killing and dressing!' 'Kanga' had no more accidents until the railhead moved on, and by that time he had a new staff, who never had the brains to think out a good method of assisting bullocks to commit suicide.— C.M.P.

Real Life Stories of South Australia (1936, July 2). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92459870