Station Staff Poisoned

Simple Explanation Of Baffling Mystery

In this Real Life Story there are ingredients for a first-class crime story: a baffling poisoning mystery with a simple explanation. 'Far North' tells the story.

The general routine of the station suddenly snapped when the staff at 'Government House' was laid low with a mysterious illness. The few station hands in the men's quarters were also affected with the exception of one elderly man. His mates were at a loss to understand why he should escape, as he had eaten the same food. All were suffering from severe abdominal pains accompanied by thirst and a general condition that none had experienced before. It was several days before they were on their feet again and even then some were far from well. 

In an effort to solve the mystery, cooks were interviewed, while foodstuffs, water tanks, and cooking utensils all underwent a searching investigation. All these were as they should be and as they had been in the past. Nevertheless, suspicion grew. Food was feared and the dread of another attack caused a rigorous form of dieting. The old 'exception' came to light with the information that he did not consume milk in any form and in his opinion the milk supply was responsible. 

The milk came from a mob of healthy bush goats milked every morning by two half-caste girls. All was scrupulously clean and under the supervision of the manager's wife. The young kids were separated from their mothers every evening and the goats camped around until they were milked and their kids liberated next morning. Then they cleared off to the hills until they were brought in by the blacks or returned of their own accord. The girls were questioned, but could throw no light on the subject. They said they washed the teats before milking, and that the milk went straight to the cooks. New milk vessels were supplied, and after a few days things were normal again. 

The cause of the mysterious happening was still debated, and the old 'exception' used to say when he referred to the milk maids, 'I wouldn't drink milk that those so-and-so gins had anything to do with. That's why I'm off it.' He still persisted in his belief but the possibility of his being correct seemed remote. His propounded theory earned for him the sobriquet of Sherlock Holmes. 

This banter was all right as long as it lasted, but when the homestead staff went down again with the same symptoms, this time necessitating the services of a nurse, there was almost a panic. One of those splendid Australian inland Mission girls was brought to the station, and when she questioned her patients she said — 

'This is arsenic poisoning. Where are you getting it from?' The answer was beyond them, and next day, when she herself was stricken and staggered around, at tending her patients, consternation increased. All poisons were kept locked in the 'poison house' and only given out when required for the destruction of vermin. 

The occurrence was reported to the city, and an expert was engaged to carry out an investigation. But it was the old 'exception' who solved the problem after all. 

At dawn one morning he saw the goats coming out of the woolshed and making their way to the milking yards to await the release of their kids. An inspection of the wool shed showed that all doors were fastened. But one of the small side openings through which the shorn sheep leave the board had apparently been blown open some time before, and had remained like that unnoticed. Through this on some nights the goats filed into the shed for shelter. The floor was covered with sheepskins spread out and thickly painted with raw arsenic. The goats camped on the skins, and the hair on their udders and bellies collected the poison. In the process of milking this shook out and fell in the milk pails. 

A rather humorous, but very thorough, washing of the flock restored health and peace of mind to all. But the old 'exception' didn't apologise to those two gins. —FAR NORTH. 

Digger Honored A Promise 

During the early months of the Great War, two men from an Adelaide workshop enlisted together. But during an engagement in France, the younger man was seriously wounded. Dying, he asked the mate to promise that he would, upon his return to Australia, take care of his wife and children. The promise was duly given and the soldier died. 

When the lonely digger returned home, his first act was to call upon the widow and children of his dead comrade. He found them fairly comfortable, and he promised to call again, but neglected to do so. 

Shortly afterwards, he committed a breach of the peace, for which he served a term of imprisonment. When he came out of prison his former associates would not recognise him. This affected the ex-digger so much, that he went on the drink, and gave himself up to a life of despair. He came from a good family, but through his drunken habits they finally disowned him. 

Eventually he was placed in an institution. In the meantime, the young widow was wondering what had become of her late husband's friend, so she paid a visit to his people. They informed the woman that he was in a retreat and that his case was hopeless! 

Next day she visited the institution and found her friend in the depths of despair. She chided him for his self pity, and suggested that he pull himself together. 

'It's too late,' said the inebriate, 'no one cares whether I live or die.' 'Oh, yes, someone does care,' she replied. 'Someone?' 'Yes; my children. Joan and Harry have been enquiring for you.' 'For me?' queried the astonished man. Instantly there was a change in his features. 'Well, can you get me out of here?' he asked. 'I want to make good the promise I made to Bill.' 'I will if you'll go straight, she replied. 'I'll never touch drink again!' he affirmed. 

The woman got to work to secure his release, but it was a difficult task, because the patient had already been out twice on probation and had returned a failure. The authorities, however, deeply impressed with the woman's concern, decided to give him another trial. The ex-digger secured a position in the country, and remained there six months. Not a week went by without his writing to his friend and the children, asking if he could help in any way. 

Then he returned to Adelaide and honored the undertaking he made in France in a practical way. He married his dead comrade's wife. Seventeen years have elapsed since the wedding and they are still a happy family. 

I met the husband some time after the happy event, and I asked what it was that had brought such a change in his life. 

'When I hear those children calling me 'Daddy' he said, I realise that I have something to live for.' 'But,' I replied, 'how did you overcome the strong temptation while you were in that lonely country town? The same two reasons, he said. And he took from his pocket two crumpled photos of two bonny children, Joan and Harry. — A.D. 

Master Found Clarendon School Ghost 

Sixty years ago a small boarding school for boys at Clarendon was disturbed by whispered tales of the ghost that troubled the window of a small back room in which slept one of the pupils. 

The boy, indeed, became so oppressed by his supernatural experiences that he recounted them to the schoolmaster. Although the master pooh-poohed the whole matter as the boy's fancy, his wife persuaded him to sit, with the lad in his bedroom for a while. 

They had been sitting in the darkness for some time when, suddenly, a scream sounded from the other side of the glass. The master flung up the window. 

'Who's there?' he shouted angrily into the darkness. For answer he was struck in the face by a branch of the almond tree that grew outside the window. Swaying in the wind, it had been rubbing against the window pane and producing a ghostly wailing and screeching. — I.M.

Bullocky Who 'Got Religious' 

Anyone passing along the roads of a certain Peninsula town some fifty years ago would have heard some thing like this: — 'Come up, you beautiful brown-eyed beauties; oh, bless your lovely eyes; oh you sleek coated creatures. Get up, you marvellous footed beasts of the field. Oh, you b—b—b—s."

It was the voice of a bullocky, who, having 'got religious,' was attempting to cure himself of his old habit of swearing. Only occasionally, however, did he break down, and in a few months his tongue was incorruptible. Before long, too, he took to butchering and to lay-preaching. Still, however, his voice was heard about the roads. He now spent the whole week practising his sermon aloud — to his horse.— I.M.