22 October 1936

ABORIGINAL ARTISTS OUTDONE 

The Dalhousie Springs Corroboree

In the early part of 1886 the survey party led by the late David Lindsay assembled its plant at Dalhousie Springs Station, Central Australia. Few outback stations are as well watered as Dalhousie, whose fine springs are one of the wonders of the inland and there the natives used to gather every year for one of their big playtime corroborees. Our stay there coincided with the holding of the biggest of these native theatrical shows.

Charley Bagot was managing the station at the time; he was one of the greatest humorists I have ever met. When the dusky actors started to ornament themselves for their show, Charley had a brainwave. Some drums of red, blue and yellow paint had been sent up for painting the station vehicles; he offered to use this paint on the natives for corroboree decorations, and his offer was rushed. The scene which followed has never faded from my memory. 

Charley started work on the first native by painting a huge and gaudy sunflower on his chest and a grinning gargoyle of a face on his back. Yells of delight from the assembled natives greeted his efforts. 

The second buck was painted with spots which gave him the appearance of having suddenly contracted some weird skin disease, and the third was given colored stripes which made him look like a walking barber's pole. 

By this time Charley was 'getting his hand in' as he put it, and from then on his artistic efforts beggared description. Some natives were 'dazzle-painted' in a way which suggested a futurist's nightmare, others had painted on them the weird and wonderful creatures which drunkards are supposed to see when they have a fit of the horrors. When Charley finished his job the natives were almost beside themselves with excitement, while the station-hands and the members of the survey party were aching with laughter. 

Bright and long did the corroboree fires burn that night; loud rose the songs, accompanied by the stamp of feet, the clashing of boomerang blades and the thudding as the lubras beat their thighs in time to the music. 

I can still remember the names of some of those lubras — Pinta, Abmoaca and Amineeri were three of the dusky belles, and the words of the crow corroboree song still run through my mind. 

In memory the scene lingers too; the clearing lit by the leaping flames of the rows of fires, the lines of chanting lubras with their wide-eyed little children grouped behind them, and beyond them the prancing, stamping ranks of the men, with Charley Bagot's artistic efforts gleaming on their bare, brown skins. If only our Aborigines had remained unspoilt, and had been able to withstand the curses of civilisation, what unique attractions those corroborees would be for tourists today.

But within the next few days the popularity of Charley Bagot began to wane. Corroborees are great fun, from the native point of view, but one cannot do without food, and soon it became necessary for the bucks to go out hunting to replenish the larders. 

Then arose an awkward complication —those wonderful corroboree decorations would not wash off. A clamoring crowd gathered around Charley, beseeching him to remove the 'stinky feller' paint, but he was powerless to aid them. The bucks went out hunting, but came back empty-handed, for, painted as they were, it was impossible to get within killing range of any game— the decorations made them as conspicuous as the proverbial snowflake on the coal heap. Until scrubbing with sand and time had made the decorations fade, the natives had to subsist on a diet of roots, grubs and snakes. Charley killed a few bullocks, but they did not go far when hundreds had to be fed. 

Poor old Charley Bagot died a few years later. When he was taken ill, his mates took him to the nearest telegraph station, and the operator got into touch with a doctor in Adelaide who diagnosed the complaint as impaction of the bowel, and gave instructions for treatment, but all efforts were in vain, and Bagot died that night. He was one of the most likeable and humorous of the many fine, men whom I met in my 15 years outback. — G.S.L.

Shearing Records

From time to time reports appear in New Zealand papers of extraordinary tallies put up by shearers in that country. One which stated that a half caste Maori had shorn more than 400 sheep in eight hours would seemingly place our best shearers in a secondary mark has ever been achieved in Australia. 

Though not disputing the fact that a tally of over 400 may have been made in New Zealand, experience amongst Australian and New Zealand sheep and shearers convinces me that records made in New Zealand cannot be compared with those made with Australian Merinos. 

It is a long time now since Jacky Howe shore 321 sheep with the blades at Alice Downs, near Blackall, in Western Queensland, and, although I have seen scores of 'gun' shearers in action since, I have yet to learn of Howe's blade record being beaten by machine shearers. 

From time to time one hears of big tallies being put up, but these reputed records will seldom stand investigation.  316 sheep shorn by Danny Cooper with machines at Bundooran station, near Richmond, Queensland, has ever been beaten in Australia. There is no doubt that Cooper's tally was a genuine one. 

There is a vast difference, however, in shearing conditions in Australia and New Zealand, as far as the sheep themselves are concerned. New Zealand records have been put up with sheep other than Merinos. New Zealand sheep are not a patch on Merinos for toughness in cutting, and New Zealand shearers who have had big tallies to their credit amongst their own easy cutting sheep have been all at sea when operating on Merinos in Australia. 

I remember once being boss of the board at a shed in southern New South Wales, where four 'gun' shearers from New Zealand had pens. From their references, ones that were quite in order, too, it was proved that all had shorn well over 300 sheep in a day. One of the four had averaged a few over 300 for three weeks' shearing. 

The New Zealanders, however, soon realised that they were not shearing the sheep of their home country, and, although the Merinos in question were not unduly rough, the best day's tally of any of the quartet was 130. 

At the same shed several tallies of over 200 were made by shearers who were regarded as only up to the average. Among some rough wethers I knew of at another station, I doubt if any of those New Zealanders would have shorn 100. They were used to shearing the crossbreds and English breeds in New Zealand, and could not manage Merinos at all. 

Records are only made to be broken, but in spite of the great improvement in shearing tools since the year when Cooper shore 316 sheep, I doubt if his tally has been bettered in Australia. I know of several tallies of over 300, and personally saw 306 sheep shorn in western Queensland a few years ago. I have my doubts, however, of Coopers record ever being eclipsed amongst Merino sheep. I am firmly of opinion also that Jacky Howe's blade record of 321 will remain for all time.— 'Wool Hawk.'

'The Ragged Thirteen"

Many and varied are the tales told of 'The Ragged Thirteen,' a band of bushmen who overlanded from Queensland to the Kimberleys (W.A.) just after the latter had blossomed out as goldfields. Actually, the feat was nothing out of the way, as smaller parties of men had previously trekked across the route.

The 'Thirteen'— many of them wanted by the law in connection with horse-stealing— had come together in North-western Queensland, and as matters were a little sultry for most of them in that State, the decision was made to get across to the Kimberleys in a body and then separate. Hard drinkers all of them, the 'Thirteen' soon parted with whatever money they had in Burketown, and from this last outpost town of Queensland's north west, the band set off. 

At the outset, the band's horses consisted of about two apiece, but long before the last cattle station had been passed, the plant of the 'Thirteen' consisted of a couple of hundred head. 

Horses were 'borrowed' and rations, if not handed out when asked for, were taken by force. Even in those early days — the mid eighties — cattle stations had been established in the Northern Territory, but with long distances between homesteads, it was imperative the 'Thirteen' should procure ample supplies of flour, &c., at each port of call. Beef was secured when wanted; the 'Thirteen' had plenty of firearms, useful both for dropping a bullock and for keeping at bay the Myall blacks. 

Eventually the 'Thirteen' reached their destination and, well aware that the law would have been apprised of their pilfering activities on the way across, the members split up into twos and threes. Some of the 'Thirteen' indulged in mining activities, others secured employment on cattle stations in the north-west, whilst two, a little more enterprising than their fellows, commenced butchering on the field. 

The most extraordinary feature in connection with the 'Ragged Thirteen' have been the hundreds of names still mentioned in the outback of those belonging to the band. During my forty years' rambling in the far outback I have heard of at least two hundred and fifty different names, who were members of the 'Thirteen.' 

My informants, both young and old, had it for fact that 'so and so' had belonged to the 'Thirteen.' In most cases 'so and so' would have been a babe in arms at the time of the band's existence. 

Only last year, when the death of an old North-western Queenslander was reported in the papers, I heard several persons remark: he was the last of the 'Thirteen.' All rather amusing considering the fact that the one referred to had not arrived in Australia until the 90's, and had never been astride a horse in his life, except maybe at a merry-go-round. 

The tall tales told have had the effect of making the 'Ragged Thirteen' out to be a band of heroes, but in reality they were just a crowd of rough bush men, who relied upon weight of numbers to get them what they wanted, whether it was drink or food. Although outside the law and proved horse-stealers, the 'Thirteen' did not resort to murder. If they did shoot a few Myall blacks it was as a means of self-preservation. 

One romantic idea prevalent for many years, however, deserves to be erased for all time; the 'Ragged Thirteen' did not pioneer the track from Queensland to the Kimberleys. Hundreds had preceded the band and had journeyed across in a manner that brooked no comment; as did that trip of the notorious 'Thirteen.'— 'Old Timer.'

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