7 January 1937

MORE POWERFUL THAN BONE POINTING 

How A Station Manager Broke Fatal Spell

Not all Aborigines die when they become imbued with the idea that an enemy has 'pointed the bone' at them. Almost invariably, however, if an Aborigine gets the idea into his head that the bone has been pointed at him, he will accept it in a stoical manner, and refuse to eat anything at all. But death seems to come from worry, rather, than from starvation, some of the fatalists dying in a remarkably short time.

Some years ago, in Western Queensland, word came to the manager of the station where we were mustering store bullocks for the road, that an old walk-about Aborigine, a self-admitted 'rainmaker,' had 'pointed the bone' at Billy, one of the young station boys. That the boy would die seemed certain; the lubras in the camp were anticipating his death, and were collecting copii to plaster on their hair when death eventuated. Copii, a white substance, found, in some creeks and waterholes, is always worn as a mark of mourning by the lubras. Mixed like mortar, it stays glued to the hair for weeks; the longer it remains, the longer do the lubras mourn their dead friends or relations. 

Billy was one of the best boys on the station, and the possibility of losing him did not suit the boss at all. Good boys were at a premium just then, and, with drought conditions prevailing, it was essential to get the cattle away as quickly as possible. The services of the other boys could not be spared to bury Billy; and, as the latter was the most reliable of the lot and a special favorite of the manager, steps were taken to get the 'bone' belief off his mind. 

Knowing that reasoning would be of no avail, the manager decided to make Billy drunk. When offered a nip of rum, Billy refused to drink it; but, nothing daunted, the manager had him brought up to the homestead. 

When describing the incident afterwards, the manager said, 'I had to drench Billy, as a man would a foal.' But, after he had swallowed a little, that way, Billy came to and eagerly drank all the rum offered. He was kept at the homestead and treated to liberal quantities of rum, with the result that he was more or less drunk for two or three days. 

In the meantime, the old walk about 'rainmaker,' who had caused all the trouble, was given short shrift and hustled out of the district, word being conveyed to Billy that he had died.  Whether it was the rum or the news of the bone-pointer's death that broke the spell, I cannot say, but soon afterwards Billy came back to the mustering camp his old self. 

The aftermath was rather amusing, for, just prior to the finish of the muster, where long days had been spent, one old buck in the camp, evidently learning of Billy's rum cure, decided that at him too had 'the bone been pointed.' But it did not work to his satisfaction. He was given a small dash of rum in a cup of castor oil. That knocked out all his ideas of dying. — 'Drover.'

Ocular Demonstration 

Many years ago an itinerant quack used to tour the country towns in a horse-drawn caravan. His principal stock-in-trade was based on the halitosis complex so much exploited by advertisers today. It was a small pink pill, put up in bottles of a dozen or so for half-a-crown. 

Whenever he reached town, generally on show day, the back of the caravan was converted into an impromptu stage. His properties were simple enough — a glass of water and a glass tube. He then called for volunteers, and usually invited some young fellow who had a girl with him to come up on the stage and help him. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he always commenced, "most of us suffer from a variety of minor complaints in the stomach. In the ordinary way the symptoms are not sufficiently marked to cause any noticeable distress, but they nevertheless, cause serious inconvenience. For instance, just take one of them. Food is not properly digested, and the products of its decomposition in the abdomen affect the breath. In severe cases this leads to bad breath, so repulsive in character that people refuse to have anything to do with the unfortunate sufferer, who goes through life wondering what his unpopularity is due to. Minor cases are offensive, and which of us can say for certain that we are not sufferers?"

By this time the young volunteer on the stage usually started to look alarmed, while his girl friend heightened his agonised impressions by turning pale, although her thoughts were probably just the opposite to those with which he credited her. The quack at this stage produced his glass of water and tube. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, you, can see for yourself that this is only a glass of plain, ordinary household water," he would say. "If you wish, you can pass the tube round, too, and examine that for yourselves. I am now going to ask this young man to blow into the water through the tube." 

The volunteer then blew hard, sending a multitude of bubbles whizzing up through the glass. To his consternation the water gradually turned a dirty creamy color. 

"You see the results of the troubles I was telling you about," the quack went on, "in the shape of this horrible discoloration. Bad breath is responsible for the whole thing. I am going to ask our young friend to take one of my pink pills, allow it three or four minutes to act, and then blow through the glass tube again. In a few minutes the victim blew again, quite satisfied from the nasty taste of the pill that it had done him a lot of good. Almost miraculously the water cleared. In a matter of seconds it looked as crystal-sweet as before the experiment. The rest was merely a matter of wrapping up pills and counting the change. 

The old fellow lasted for years, only being run out of business as chemists became established in the country towns. Their professional jealousy inspired them to disclose the fact that what the glass contained was merely lime-water, which precipitates when a certain amount of oxygen is brought into contact with it, but clears again with a further supply.— 'Greenhide.' 

When Are Sheep 'Wet'? 

Lack of rain was not sufficient to prevent shearers of some years back bringing about a cessation of shearing on a 'wet' sheep vote if a spell was desired. An experience I once had proved just how ridiculous at times the vote on sheep is to determine whether they are 'wet' or 'dry.' 

A mob of sheep I was droving in Western Queensland had been taken to a depot shed for shearing. A start had been made on the sheep on a Tuesday, and with a full board I expected to get away on the Friday. The first intimation that I might be at the depot over the week-end came from my cook.

'There's races on at the town on Thursday and Friday,' he said. 'Them shearers are sure to go.' Personally, it would have been to my benefit if the shearing were prolonged, as the sheep were on splendid feed. Having had several weeks on the bare stock routes, every extra day on good grass counted. I sincerely hoped that the two race days would be declared a holiday. 

My hopes came about in an unexpected manner. No word had been said about the shearers going to the race by the boss at the depot, and as late as Wednesday evening he had told me that my lot would be cut out the first run on Friday. 

On the Thursday morning, after each man had shorn two sheep, the 'rep.' called the shearers together. The boss of the board was furious and wanted to know what was the matter. The information from the 'rep.' that some of the shearers said the sheep were wet only added to his annoyance. 

When in a blustering manner the boss asked how was it possible for the sheep to be wet, since no rain had fallen for weeks, one of the wags among the shearers replied, 'I heard they had a big storm on the coast last night, so some of these sheep must have been on the edge of it.' As the coast was five hundred miles away the retort did not improve the boss's temper. 

It was a foregone conclusion what the vote would be; every shearer voted the sheep 'wet,' much to the jubilation of the shed hands. Seeing that he was defeated, the boss accepted the verdict in a reasonable manner, and said that all could go to the races, but that it meant the sack for anyone, shearer or shedhand, who did not turn up for work on the Saturday morning. 

Financially, it meant nothing to me, but the two days' extra spell on good feed meant a great deal to the sheep. Nowadays, however, it is tempting fate for shearers employed by contractors to vote dry sheep 'wet,' because of a storm a few hundred miles away.— 'Drover.'

Old Skinflint 

Almost every district has its mean man, but ours used to have the champion. Even as a boy he earned the name of 'Skinflint,' which clung to him for the rest of his life. 

I had the first example of his mean-ness when I was a schoolboy. In company with my brother and sisters. I was going home from school when we put up a hare. It was in a netted paddock, so we set to work to run it down, and at length drove it into a hollow log. While we were debating as to how we could get it out, Skinflint came along the road on his bicycle and rode over to see what we were doing. 

'A hare, eh?' he said. 'One of you run home and get an axe. I'll soon have him out.' We were all fairly tired after our running and chasing, but my brother set off and soon returned with an axe. Skinflint set to work, chopped a hole in the log, thrust his arm in and pulled out the hare. He killed it, got on his bicycle and rode away with it, leaving us to carry home the axe. 

My father was highly indignant when we went home with the story of the trick that had been played on us. He said he would get even with him for it. But some months passed, and as there was no sign of father taking any action, we gradually forgot about the incident. Father, however, was only biding his time.

Skinflint earned his living by buying and selling. He had a flair for dealing, out of which he made a comfortable living. It was as a result of this that father's chance of scoring off him eventually came. 

The wealthiest woman in the district was an elderly and somewhat eccentric widow, who always kept a cow for her own use. Her cow died one day and she sent for Skinflint. 'Get me another cow at once,' she directed in her autocratic way. I must have a Jersey, and she must be here by tonight. I can't drink my tea without milk, and I'll only use the milk from my own cow.'

Skinflint had no cow in milk of his own, so he came straight to father, who had the best Jersey herd in the district. He wasted little time in haggling, for the widow always paid cash for anything and never bothered about the price as long as she got what she wanted. Father showed him a fine looking cow with a magnificent udder. 

'You want a good milking cow?' father said, 'Well, here's the best I have, but you won't buy her; she's too dear for you. She's won two prizes and I won't part with her under twenty pounds.' 

Skinflint looked the cow over, and suggested that fifteen pounds was her value, but father only laughed at him. The dealer then put his hand in his pocket, took out a wad of notes, and counted twenty pounds into father's hand. 'She's mine,' he said, and led the cow away. 

He took her straight to the widow, told her of the cow's successes in the show ring, and collected thirty pounds. Three hours later the widow sent for him again. 'You rascal,' she said in greeting 'What do you mean by this? That cow you sold me is dry — bone dry!' 

The flabbergasted dealer found this to be a fact. The widow demanded her money back at once, and got it. Then she told him to take the cow away and never come on her place again. 

Skinflint led the cow back to father and demanded his money back. 'You can't trick me like this,' he cried. 'You said this cow was in milk. ' 

'I said nothing of the kind,' my father replied. 'As my wife and sons can bear witness, you came here and asked me for a good milking cow. I sold you one. You wait until she comes in and you'll find her a beauty. If you'd asked me for a good cow in milk, of course, it would have been a different matter.' 

Skinflint argued, threatened and pleaded, but it was useless. Father was adamant. 'Get the police. Do what you like, but you can't and won't get your money back,' he said. 'And now clear out.' 

Never again would the widow deal with 'that rascal,' as she characterised Skinflint; so he lost his best customer, as well as being saddled with a dry cow. The story went round the district — father saw to that— and he came in for some unmerciful chaffing. It was an expensive hare that he took from us that day!— H.A.L. 

A Mother's Endurance 

Over fifty years ago conditions in the Gawler Ranges were very trying for men, but they were far worse on occasions for women. The following incident gives some idea of the trials some endured and overcame. 

A woman was on one occasion left by her husband at a shepherd's hut while he and others went down to Port Lincoln. They were away some days longer than they expected. As the days passed the water supply at the hut was gradually used, until nothing was left. The well was over four miles away, across a series of sandhills. The woman had a young baby and two other little children to care for. 

Presently there came from the children demands for water. These were put off as long as possible, until at last their cries could not pass unheeded. Hardly knowing what to do in this extremity, and always anticipating the return of the men, the mother, at last was forced to suckle the other children as well as the babe. But this extreme measure could not go on for long, as she herself was beginning to feel the effects of her lack of water. 

At last she managed to fasten several large nails in the ends of a keg. To these she attached ropes and wound them over her shoulders. Accompanied by her children, the oldest of whom pulled the second child in a little hand-cart, she trundled the barrel over the sandhills until at last she reached the well. Here they were able to satisfy their thirst. They camped by the well overnight. 

Early next day they set out again, this time with the five-gallon barrel full of water. As they toiled over the sand hills, the woman often felt that she could go no further. But, with frequent rests, she managed at last to reach the hut. With the five gallons of water to help, the whole family recovered their strength, and after a day or two the menfolk returned. But the brave endurance of the woman had saved the lives of both her children and herself.— C.Y.A