FARCE AND DRAMA OF ELECTION

'Paddy's' Open House Did Not Deter 'Honest Tom'

South Australia is already preparing for another election, and, if the custom of the last decade or so is followed, it will be quiet. In the early days elections were lively affairs, and in this article 'H' tells how 'Honest Tom' Playford managed to beat 'Paddy' Coglin, who provided free beer, even for those who had no votes.

If one goes back a little more than 50 years one comes on the 'Thow' controversy, involving the Minister of Railways and the chief of the Railways Department. Thomas Playford — 'Honest Tom' to the outside world — was Minister of Railways, and he was adamant in decreeing that Mr. Thow, chief of the Railways Department, should be dismissed. He refused to reconsider his views, demanding either Thow's resignation or dismissal. Playford was roundly abused for his attitude, and the public regarded Thow as a victim of Playford's perverseness. Playford had been a member for East Torrens for 16 years, but had to seek re-election shortly after the controversy. His electorate turned him down. 

At Port Augusta, the sitting member, Patrick Boyce Coglin — 'Paddy' Coglin to his friends, and the 'poly-syllabic member for Newcastle' to the House was organising a meeting in the institute as a formality to his being returned. Paddy owned and raced horses, and in this sphere made himself popular. People knew of him, apart from his being in Parliament, through his having a racehorse with a wooden or cork leg. The racehorse was kept solely for stud purposes, so the wooden leg did not make it a freak horse on race courses.

 When Parliament forgot about his polysyllabic tendencies, he was the 'roads and bridges member.' The district embraced a long stretch of Spencer's Gulf, and it seemed every settler along that coast wanted a jetty, road or bridge. Paddy supported their claims gallantly, and would concentrate on the Minister in charge of those public works, and make his life such a burden that Paddy generally obtained something, if only a culvert or a crossing. Neither Port Pirie nor Port Augusta worried much about politics in those days. They were quite content to have Paddy as their representative — his lobbying certainly brought results — until someone better turned up. For years Paddy had had no opposition. 

But at length the days of the 'walkover' vanished. Putting the railway through to Farina had meant new settlers, and Paddy had to fight for his seat at last. Paddy arrived at Port Augusta on a Tuesday, and a motley crowd took him to his hotel. They knew Paddy Coglin's hospitality. 

'Begorra, he's a broth of a bhoy!' he said, 'it's himself that can sphake like a booke. Come on me lads, ye're all on the committee!' On arrival at the hotel Paddy declared it an open house. In those days no one worried about trifles like political bribery and corruption. Irish whisky, beer, or anything else could be had for the asking, although often those that seemed thirstiest did not have votes. But Paddy knew that if he shouted drinks for them, they would shout for him when he wanted them. Some of them were spoiling for a fight, 'to shed their own or any one else's blood,' as one writer put it. 

The train did not arrive until 10 p.m. in those days, but before closing time, Paddy had found many supporters round the bar counter. Paddy gave them a 15 minutes' harangue in a mixture of Gaelic and many of the polysyllabic words in the dictionary, with a few of his own for full measure. His audience was not particularly interested. They had heard him before. He spoke at such a pace, however, that a newcomer's attention was at once attracted to him. 

He paused for a moment. There was a wild cheer, and anyone would have said Paddy was as good as elected. They were let out or fell out of the pub, and Paddy remained with a dozen or so of his real supporters to plan the following night's meeting. All wharf lumpers, navvies and station hands came along when an open house was established. They said they would put Paddy at the top of the poll, even if they had to 'murder' the other two candidates. 

About noon on the day of the meeting, when Paddy was at the height of his popularity, the rumor went round that 'Tom' Playford had been defeated for East Torrens, and had decided to nominate for Newcastle. Later a telegram was received stating that Playford would arrive by the 10 p.m. train, and requesting his supporters to secure the hall at the close of Paddy's meeting, and to hold the audience, if possible. 

Paddy was disturbed. He knew how tenacious Playford had been about the Thow business. The populace rather liked the idea, for now the election would not be a drab, one sided, affair. 

At 8 p.m. the hall filled rapidly. Paddy's chairman — he was supposed to be chairman of the meeting — called on the candidate. 'Electors of Newcastle and Gintle-men,' he began, his round, red face looking 'positively apoleptic' and his rotund corporation placing a strain on the buttons. So long as a word was polysyllabic, Paddy did not mind how or when he used it. He plunged into a torrent of high-sounding words. 'Never before or since have I heard such utter jargon and farcical rhodo montade,' wrote one of the audience many years later. 'The tears lite rally ran down my cheeks, with the grotesque strut and squawk of the little bantam, and the tornado-like speed of the waterspout.' At the close of every paragraph, it seems Paddy referred to a jetty or bridge or culvert. 'I done that for you,' or 'I got that for you,' he would tell them, before diving off again. He told them everything he had procured for them in the last 15 years, and all he intended to get in the next 15. Paddy's supporters cheered wildly; the rest shrieked with delight. It was pandemonium, but Paddy went straight on. Thunders of applause followed. Questions were asked for, and Paddy began again on his 15 years' experience. Paddy's 'wet' supporters became a little tired. Some went to sleep on the chairs; others found various engagements pressing. 

The rest of the audience, exhausted from laughter, or, a few, bored to tears, sat expectantly, waiting for Paddy's rival to appear at the door. Paddy had just reached something that sounded like. 'Contraption, re fraction, subtraction, multiplication and long division. Begorra, look at that now, I got that for you,' when he stopped short. 

Honest Tom, standing 6 ft. 3 in. or 6 ft. 4 in., and weighing 17 or 18 stone, strode towards the platform. Paddy grabbed his notes, hat and overcoat, and fled through the back door. There was wild cheering for the new candidate. Many saw him for the first time, and could not but be impressed by his very size. East Torrens had rejected him, but they would give him a hearing. 

'Electors of Newcastle,' he roared at them, 'when I was turned down by my old constituency, after 16 years, I made up my mind to quit politics and go back to my garden.' (Here he took from his pocket a roll of papers.) 'These,' he said, 'are telegrams from my friends and sympathisers all over the colony. I was feeling tired and dispirited, when a wire came from my old friend and colleague, Charley Kingston, it said: — 'Playford, go for Newcastle, and you're bound to win! And here I am.' And from that moment Playford's stocks rose. Newcastle returned him. — H. 

[See also Campaigning In The North Fifty Years Ago [1887] with an image of Paddy Coglin.  9 Aug 1934]

Mule That Journeyed 300 Miles Home 

Whilst travelling overland with the late Tom Hyland who at the time had a buck-jumping show, we heard that a peculiarly colored mule might be bought at Innisfail, Northern Queensland. As the town was on our way, Hyland decided to inspect the mule and if the price was reasonable to buy it. In due course we arrived at Innisfail and located both the mule and its owner. 

Undoubtedly the mule was unique. It was cream-colored with dark stripes on each side of its neck. But what added to its value as far as Hyland was concerned was the fact that as soon as anyone got on its back it would start to buck just like a goat. The mule was just what he wanted for the youngsters to try and ride at his show. 

After a deal of haggling the mule was sold by its owner, who, after taking the money and handing over the receipt said, 'You'll have to chain the mule up at night time or he'll come home. Lance Skuthorpe bought him a few years ago, but he came home from a couple of hundred miles away.' Hyland said that he would see that the mule remained with him even if he had to use a padlock. 

Tom Hyland was nearly blind at the time, and being an old friend, I had volunteered to help him with his horses until he arrived at his destination. As we had several pack horses, Hyland decided to carry some feed for the mule, and to keep him tied up at nights until we got well away from Innisfail. 

During the day, as we drove the mule along with the horses, the animal never made the slightest attempt to break back; it seemed quite contented to walk along with the horses. A fortnight after leaving Innisfail we arrived at our destination, the mule was still with us. I stayed a few days and then returned to where we had started from. I forgot all about the mule until six months later when I again saw Hyland. 

'Mule Went Home' 

The first thing Tom said to me was 'The mule went home.' And he told me of it. For a couple of months the mule did his turn in the buck-jumping show, and then Hyland decided that he would give his horses a week or so's spell. He turned them and the mule out in a paddock that was securely fenced. 

On riding out with one of his men next morning, the mule could not be located. On riding the fence, tracks were seen where it had got out. For a couple of days the country in the vicinity was searched, but neither was the mule seen nor had anyone noticed it. 

Hyland wired the former owner, little thinking that the mule would find its way back, as the distance was well over three hundred miles, with hundreds of fences and scores of deep creeks and rivers in between. Hyland gave the mule up as lost, but greatly to his surprise he received word from the original owner that it had arrived back home again. 

Judging by the short time it had taken to get home, the mule must have travelled day and night, but the mystery was how it had managed to get through the fences. Hyland said that he was so pleased at hearing that the mule was safe that he sent a man down by train to get it and truck it back. But after getting it again he never gave the mule an other chance to put its homing instinct into effect; it was tied up with a strong halter and heel-roped as well at nights.— N.Q. 

Doctor Told Patient To Count 

Some years ago a patient in the Adelaide Hospital observed doctor's orders in a way that made his fellow patients think that he had gone mad. 

One Saturday night the house surgeon was kept so busy that he practically had no rest. Early next morning he was called to attend a new patient. Hastily dressing, he made his way to the ward, where a stalwart young fellow claimed his attention. 'Well, my man, what is your trouble this morning?' enquired the doctor, concealing a yawn and taking the patient by the hand to examine his pulse. 

'Faith, sir, there's something wrong with my limbs.' the man replied. 'Every time I do that I can't,' at the same time making a gesture with his hands. 

'Your pulse is normal, but let me examine the lung action a moment,' replied the doctor, kneeling beside the bed and laying his head on the man's chest. 'Now, let me hear you talk,' he continued, closing his eyes and listening attentively for sounds of pulmonary congestion. 

'What will I say, doctor?' asked the patient. 'Oh, count. Count one, two, three, and so on.' murmured the physician drowsily. 

'One, two, three, four, five,' started the patient. 

Just then the doctor was called away to an urgent case. He informed his patient that he would return presently. After the patient in the operating theatre had been attended to, the doctor thought that it was a good opportunity to get a little sleep. When doing his round later in the morning the nurse informed him of a queer patient in the ward. 

'He's been counting for the last hour, and has reached the two thousand mark,' she said. 

'What's your trouble, my good chap?' asked the doctor. 'Oh, I'm just obeying doctor's orders, that's all,' said the new patient. Then the doctor remembered. — A.D.