Jack Gault Was A Perfect Husband

Gave Wife Everything But She Wanted More

Mrs. Gault was charming, her husband adored her. Wives of neighbors were jealous of the comforts he provided for her; the luxuries he bought. Yet she left him. What happened is told by 'Mick O'Mulga' in this story from real life.

Jack Gault was a sandy-haired little chap with mild blue eyes and a soft voice. Although somewhat lightly built, he could outwork most men, and he was full of tireless energy. When I knew him he was employed on a big station as carpenter and black smith; as a tradesman he was most competent. The manager thought a lot of him and he received good wages; we all liked him as a friend and workmate. 

When I first knew him, he seemed to live for one thing— the arrival of the mail car once a fortnight. He was always the first to meet the car, and as soon as the bag was opened he would hurry off to his room with a letter in his hand, to be seen no more for the next half-hour. When the mail went out he never failed to send a bulky letter to his fiancee. This went on for a year, and then he announced that he was going to be married and that his wife would live with him on the station. 

The manager had one of the married men's cottages put in order for him, but Gault wasn't willing to bring his wife to an abode with bare walls and packing-case furniture. He worked every night until late, as well as the whole of each week-end, and within six weeks he had transformed the place. It was only a little two -roomed stone hut with a skillion kitchen at the rear, but as far as com fort went he made it better than the manager's house. Every window and door had a fly-screen, one end of the kitchen was turned into a bathroom, with a little overhead tank to supply the water for shower-baths; all the furniture was sent up by a factory in the flat to save freight, but by the time that Gault had assembled it and had done the polishing, it could not be told from stuff straight out of a show room. He enclosed the garden with a neat brush fence, and when the job was completed that little home and its furnishings was the envy of all the other married women on the place. 

We received a bit of a shock when he returned with his bride after a month's honeymoon. In the outback, where one so seldom sees a new face, even plain women seem attractive, but Mrs. Gault was really pretty and charming. It was obvious that her husband worshipped the ground she trod on, and never have I seen a man who tried harder to please a woman. We others looked upon our evenings and Sundays as a time for rest, but Mrs. Gault's devoted slave would spend an hour or more every evening watering her little garden and his Sundays were usually devoted to making something for her. Every mail brought her a pile of magazines and papers to keep her entertained. We seldom saw fruit on that station, but once a fortnight Mrs. Gault received a box of oranges, bananas, passion fruit, pineapples and other stuff which does not deteriorate in transit. Somebody calculated that he used to spend nearly a pound a week on luxuries for her. All the other women regarded him as a model husband and made unkind comments about their own treatment. Mrs. Gault, they pointed out, always had plenty of firewood and kindling stacked ready to her hand and never had to cart water on washing day. 

A thing which lingers in my memory is what I saw one hot and sultry night. Walking down to see the manager, I went past Gault's cottage. Through the window screen I could see her lying back in a canvas chair, reading, while her husband sat opposite her, waving a fan to keep her cool. The manager and I talked for more than an hour. When I went past the cottage again she was still reading, and he was still fanning her. And yet it was obvious that she wasn't happy. Her expression seemed to become more and more petulant as time went on; soon she was always finding fault with him and growling at him. 

The poor little beggar never tried to talk back; the only effect of her constant nagging was to make him try harder than ever to please her. In those mild blue eyes of his I sometimes saw the hurt, bewildered look, which you can see in the eyes of a dog which cannot understand why it is being punished. 

Then I went off with a droving party, followed by a trip to New Zealand. It was more than a year before I saw the station again. Almost the first thing I noticed was that Gault's cottage was shut up and deserted. 

'Didn't you hear about it?' said the manager, when I enquired after the young couple, 'it was a rotten business. Six months ago that fool of a woman cleared off with 'Big Tim' Brannigan, who came here to do some colt-breaking. Gault went after them to try to get her back. Next thing I heard was that he was painting a town red. He boozed up all his money; heaven only knows where the poor devil is now. It'll be many a long day before I'll be able to employ as good a man as he was.' 

I've never seen the sandy-haired, soft-voiced little Jack Gault, since nor have I heard of him, although I have often enquired. But I have seen Mrs. Gault — and it was seeing her that caused me to write this. She is still with Brannigan, and at present is living in a tent and a bough shed. I saw her when we were watering a mob of sheep at a water hole. She was struggling up to the camp with two heavy buckets of water, and with a pair of grubby-faced children clinging to her skirts. Cooking over an open fire had ruined all her former beauty, and in appearance she had aged by ten years. 

I later heard that Brannigan, who is working on a fencing contract, knocks her about a bit. Yet it is a strange world; something about her manner and expression gave me the idea that she is happy. 

For obvious reasons, I have changed all names, and have endeavored to give no clue to the location of the station where this occurred. Perhaps if Gault had treated her roughly at times, had let her chop her own firewood sometimes, and hadn't been so devoted to her, she might still be with him.— 'Mick O' Mulga.' 

Fowler's Bay Had Primitive Inquisition 

In the early days of Fowler's Bay one of the treats which the blacks enjoyed was the gift of marrow bones. On one occasion when a contractor walked into the room of the telegraph assistant he found the latter annoyed. 

'Those boys have been in here and have broken my watch,' he exclaimed. 

'Have they?' enquired the contractor sympathetically. 

'Yes,' replied the telegraph assistant, 'just look at it.' He held the watch up to display its broken glass and its grimy appearance. 

'How do you know it was the boys?' asked the other. The telegraph assistant pointed to a large bone on the table. 

'One of them left his bone here.' It so happened that the contractor had noticed that particular bone before so he interviewed one of the natives. 

'This your bone, Pidia?' he asked. 'No,' replied Pidia. 'Then, whose is it?' 'I don't know, Johnny, might be Nuberie's.' Johnny turned to Nuberie, but Nuberie was equally indefinite. 'Might be Pidia's,' he replied. 'All right,' said Johnny, 'it's somebody's bone.' 

With that he went away, but soon returned with a rope and a bridle rein. He threw them over a beam of the building and put one around each of the necks of the natives. 'Now,' he asked, 'whose bone is this?' 'I don't know, might be Pidia's.' 'I don't know, might be Nuberie's.' 'Up you go then,' said Johnny grimly, and he hoisted the two natives up till they were dangling well above the floor. He kept them there until they looked as if they had had enough, then he let them down. 

'Now,' he said, 'you tell who broke that watch or next time you dead altogether.' They then both confessed to having had a hand in it. 'All right, then,' said Johnny, 'but next time you tell me a lie, you dead altogether.' Pidia and Nuberie kept away from the telegraph assistant's room after that, and also left watches alone. — C.Y.A. 

Youngsters Fearful Of 'Wild Blacks' 

One night shortly after my mate and I had turned into our blankets, our conversation was interrupted by the sound of running over the gibbers. There was no habitation near, and naturally we could not understand the reason for anyone to be running in the locality. Two boys, both breathless and frightened, ran to us. Between gasps, the elder of the two, about twelve, said. 'Wild blacks.' 

I questioned the boys and it appeared they were camped out at a well some miles from where we were, pumping water for their mother's few head of cattle. The elder boy said that they had heard wild blacks call out just after dark and, becoming frightened, they had started to run for their home, but on seeing our camp fire had made for it. 

My mate and I were a bit puzzled, for the nearest aboriginal, tame or otherwise, would have been at least 100 miles from where we were. I began to think the boys were romancing, and thinking they might have a different yarn to tell after a meal, we set out what we had for them. The meal over, my mate and I got together a couple of spare blankets and with the addition of our saddle cloths a bed was made. 

Suddenly both boys exclaimed at once:— 'There they are again.' 

Neither my mate nor I had heard anything and it looked as if two youngsters were making fools of us. 

'Listen,' said the elder boy, 'can't you hear them?' Soon we heard the 'wild blacks'— the call of the curlew. We spent the next few minutes convincing the youngsters that birds were making the weird cries but it was some time before both were satisfied and turned in. 

After breakfast next morning my mate and I for curiosity took a boy up in front and rode out to the well where they were pumping. A couple of miles away, as we had been led to believe the night before, turned out to be about six. After we delivered the pair and started back to camp my mate would not have it that the boys' fear was genuine, but when one comes to think of it, the weird call of curlews in the quietness of a bush night; is enough to make boys jumpy. — 'Up North.' 

Boys Who Curbed Bully 

Two boys were coming home from school at Port Adelaide and, when passing down a side street they saw a man attacking a woman. They crossed over and tried to intercept the bully. One boy called him a coward and told him to leave the woman alone. The ruffian retorted by telling the lads to go home!  These boys, however, were made of sterner stuff. One of them got between the bully and his wife; a fact which enabled her to run into her house and slam the door!  In the meantime the other boy went in quest of a policeman. 

Shortly afterwards, the boy returned with the officer. The husband, who was partly drunk and in a raging temper, was attempting to kick his front door in! When the police man went over to question him, he landed a terrific blow on the officer's jaw. After a fierce struggle, the ruffian was handcuffed and taken to the lock-up. 

When the court case came on the following day the two lads were summoned as witnesses. Because of the manner in which one boy gave evidence he was highly complimented by the magistrate. His Honor remarked that but for his courage the defendant might have been arraigned on a more serious charge. The solicitor who appeared for the husband was also impressed with the boy, so much so that he called at the boy's home that evening and offered him a position in his office. Today that lad is a managing law clerk in a leading Adelaide office — A.D. 

£5 For Facing Mallee Tiger 

About 18 years ago, tigers were supposed to be prevalent in the district of Bright, and yarns of a tiger living in a patch of scrub spread. People who had passed said they had heard him roar. An old bachelor living near always had two fire-pokers heated red hot in the fire, so he could stick them down the animal's throat if he attacked. 

One day at an hotel a man, whom we will call Dick, bet his mate £5 that he had sufficient courage to enter that patch that night. Tom drove Dick to the patch, and Dick, revolver in one hand torch in the other, went into it. 

He found his way cautiously, treading precariously, because he had heard that it was honeycombed with rabbit burrows. After going about a chain he was suddenly brought to a stand still, because he thought he heard a throaty gargle, which seemed to come from his left. 

Turning around he was confronted by what looked like two pale but eerie eyes, which flickered with a rather uncertain glow. He could hear his heart thumping with fear, but nevertheless he fired two shots from his revolver at the tiger. 

Those two eyes were still there, so, losing courage, he turned and crashed through bramble, with a dim recollection that the tiger was after him. Nearly exhausted from running between bushes and trees he reached the edge of the patch. He stopped and looked around and then walked to the car. 

After explanations they drove home, but early next morning twelve men, with rifles, went to view this monster, which Dick had seen. To their great astonishment, especially from Dick, they discovered that the tiger was nothing was an old mallee root, which had been grubbed and left standing on four roots. The eyes were two bright quartz stones embedded in the rotted wood at one end. Although somewhat shaken, he had £5 to spend in drinks. — 'S.'

Papered Walls With Sweep Tickets 

The swagman seemed rather annoyed when I tore up my sweep ticket after looking down the list and noting that it was not a prizewinner. 

'There's many things that a man with any brains can do with tickets like that,' he remarked, 'even if they don't win prizes.' 

He took me into the bedroom of his two-roomed hut. He was papering the walls with the old tickets. He had some given to him, and a number of mates saved them for him just like a boy saves cigarette cards. He reckoned he would have the room finished in a very short while, and he was working out a design with them. 

I asked him what he intended to do with any surplus of tickets when the room was completed. He assured me that there was a ready sale for them among starting price book makers. 'You see,' he said, 'they make excellent betting slips.' — G.