DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A GOOD MAN AND A FINE FATHER.
Edited and published by his son.
I was lucky enough not to have to face the choices which drove my father to re-invent his life when circumstances deprived him of what is everyone’s birthright, the roots of his family. My children and their descendants deserve a clear view of their roots and this was my aim in this work. In passing it is also a testament to the birth pains of a nation I have great regard for, Australia.
If you are tempted to be critical, remember your Bible. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’
I have little doubt that some will look askance at the demolition of a legend and question my motives. If you read the book you will find that my father once told me that, faced with a difficult decision you have to justify it to yourself and then take the consequences. My justification is that neither father of mother sought the burden of secrecy they carried all their lives, it was forced on them by circumstance. My intention was to clarify the record and lift the burden. I have an idea they would have approved.
AN AUSTRALIAN LIFE
LESLIE GRAHAM MACDONALD
1893 - 1973
AS HE TOLD IT TO HIS SON
STANLEY CHALLENGER GRAHAM
PUBLISHED ON LULU.COM 2010
Stanley Challenger Graham. 2010
The rights of Stanley Challenger Graham as author of this work have been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright, Design and Patent Act of 1993. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced stored or transmitted in any way without the express permission of the author.
The ISBN number of this book is 978-1-4457-4826-9
The picture on the front cover is Leslie Graham McDonald in 1950.
Also by the same author and available on Lulu.com:
‘Barnoldswick’ the history of a Pennine Town
‘Bancroft’ the story of a Pennine weaving shed
‘Brown and Pickles’ the story of a Pennine engineering firm
‘Steam Engine Research Resources’
‘Old Barlick’ A personal memoir (1915) by W P Atkinson
Stanley’s Story. Volumes I, II, III and IV
See oneguyfrombarlick.co.uk for more articles.
Caricature of father in 1945 made by A E Schofield, draughtsman at General Gas Appliances.
CONTENTS
Father’s story. 1 to 244
The rest of the story 245 to 304
The last word 305
Appendices 309 to 318
Summary of research 319
The Gray diary 320 to 325
L & S McDonald timeline 326 to 357
Uncle Stan’s war poems 359 to 364
Index 365
Father’s backyard. You’ll find most of the places he mentions in this part of New South Wales.
INTRODUCTION.
The best form of history is story-telling. This is nothing new, humans passed stories down from one generation to the next before they learned to write or even use tools, any spare time they had was either taken up by sleeping or talking to one another. In our more complicated world, we seem to have lost the art of handing on information in this way, there are too many distractions for it to be a commonplace activity, the old are seen as a burden rather than a resource.
I came to this conclusion about thirty years ago and having a tape-recorder and a father with an interesting story to tell, I got him to sit down and tell me about his life. What follows is a near-verbatim transcript of those tapes, all I have done is light editing to help the reader. It’s important to recognise that this is exactly as he told it to me. [There were subsequent developments where further information modified the story and I have incorporated these in the text.]
One question that is always asked about oral evidence is how trustworthy is it? The answer I always give is that they used to hang people on oral evidence. In my experience, almost everything that a person tells you on tape is absolutely accurate as long as it is first hand. Doubt creeps in when they are reporting what someone else told them. A classic example in this story is father’s version of the capture of Dunn the bushranger. He relates a story he was told by an oldster, this was corroborated by his father and it differs from the official history of the event.
Of course, memory can play tricks with details and there is also the occasional topic which is painful to the informant and is glossed over or left out. The trick is to identify where these influences are at work, the more personal the narrative the more critical the biographer must be and this is a very good test of integrity in both parties. You can rely on what is said once it has passed your forensic test. The best evidence for integrity is the way the story holds together and the checks you can make by cross-referencing other people’s accounts of the same incidents. A good example is father’s story of how he escaped from behind the enemy lines in Gallipoli via a tunnel under the mountains. I always thought this sounded a bit far-fetched but my brother Leslie looked it up in the official Australian history of the Great War and the tunnels were there and were used by escapees. So, the tunnels existed but this doesn’t prove the informant was there, as you will see, further research can clarify this.
What it comes down to is that we should trust our story-tellers until we find out that they are wrong. One thing I am sure of, for all its faults, what follows is an accurate description of what life was like in Australia at the turn of the century and beyond. It is full of incident and adventure and makes me envy my father for the opportunities that he saw and grasped. Reading it, we can learn much about what made Australia the unique and marvellous country that it is today. We also get a glimpse of the roots of some of the problems which still have to be dealt with.
I have not altered the transcripts beyond eliminating repetition and have tried to keep the language exactly as it comes over on the tape. Anything that is bracketed [ ] is an insertion by me in order to keep track of the chronology or the story line, apart from that, here is the story as father told it to me, this is his voice. If the transition from one chapter seems arbitrary this is because each chapter is the product of one three-quarter hour tape and by preserving these divisions it is easier to go to the recording medium to find the original voice.
************
That was what I wrote over ten years ago when I made the first digitised transcript. I sent Dorothy and Leslie, my siblings, a copy and the Imperial War Museum in London digitised the whole of the original tapes and accepted a transcript. (There are 16 CDs and the accession number is 20528/33 GRAHAM) I made contact with Dubbo Library but did not get a lot of response. In March 2004 the website oneguyfrombarlick.co.uk was started by my friend Dave O’Connor and he put the transcript up so that it was public and could be downloaded. I had done my duty, job finished – how wrong I was!
Time passed and the next generation started to take an interest and do a bit of digging. The development of genealogy on the internet helped as more archives came on line. My nephew Mike and his minder Sally even went to Australia to investigate on the ground. They identified long-lost relatives and we all started to cooperate in the research. The consequence was that as we learned more we began to realise that vague doubts I had voiced when I did the original recording were justified. The later parts of the interviews where father described his time in South Africa and war service in Gallipoli were a legend, our hero had feet of clay! I had decided to publish his life in printed form for archival security and it became obvious that a major revision was necessary. This couldn’t have happened without the wonderful data resources of the Australian War Memorial at Canberra, individual librarians and archivists and in particular Sandra Smith at the Dubbo Library who has become almost an honorary member of the family. I met Marion Dormer and Bill Hornadge when I was in Dubbo to put my father’s ashes in the river, they gave me many clues and copies of their books which have been very helpful.
I didn’t want to spoil the original transcription but at the same time I had to make it easy for the reader to understand the revisions so I have inserted our current research inside square brackets and in italics so they are easily recognised. Much of our basic research is from war service records available on the War Memorial site at Canberra, some is information from relatives we found and the rest is research from the internet. I wanted to keep the clutter down as far as possible so there are a number of markers inserted where the source needs to be identified.
Sandra and my friend Janet Barnes read the text and saved me from the worst infelicities. Any that remain are down to me!
Abbreviations used:
MB is Medals Board Précis of service record.
GD is used to denote dates extracted from the diary of Charles Edmund Gray who was a passenger on HMAT Beltana.
SGM denotes records relating to Stanley Graham McDonald, Leslie McDonald’s elder brother.
MH = Michele Hutchison + family oral history
MK = Mike Kinsey + family oral history
LM/T = Leslie McDonald Tapes
JM = Jude Maloney
I have also placed a timeline based on our research in an appendix so that if you want you can go and check up on us. So, if you have taken the trouble to get the book, read on and don’t be too harsh on the Old Man. He was doing what he thought was best and with all its faults, there is much to learn from his story.
SCG/March 2010, Barnoldswick, UK
CHAPTER ONE
[Father’s voice:]
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this life story and it has struck me that I have quite a lot of things to do before I can start to tell the story of my life, such as make some notes so that I’ve got everything down in chronological order and I’ve got to have some notes of suggestions so that I won’t be speech-bound when I start recording. The other thing that worries me is whether some of the words, like place names will be understandable when they are heard on a recording. Places names like the Warrambungle Mountains, Gulargumbone, Murrumbidgerie, Tacklebang, Uabalong and Eeegidgeriegeebung. The other point is that, not having kept any records, all the recording that I do will have to be from memory. It’s possible that some of the incidents, while the gist is there, I will have forgotten the minor points and to make the story complete I shall have to improvise and fit in names which will not always be correct. Another point is that I will have to use some names which are fictional because of hurting someone’s feelings in talking about things which don’t throw them up in a very good light.
I’ve been wondering what we’re going to call this tale and the best name I can think of for it is to call it ‘The confessions of a transgressor’.
On an April night in 1893 [Sunday, 17th April 1893] at a little place called Rocky Creek, about half way between Dubbo and Wellington in New South Wales, my mother gave birth to her seventh son. He had arrived about a fortnight early and because of this, the lady friend who was going to attend to her during the confinement wasn’t there. [This was Jack Minogue’s wife, the widow leFevre, she lived at Murrumbidgerie, now Wongarbon.] It was a very wild and stormy night and my brother Jim [Step-brother actually, he was James Prince from an earlier marriage by his mother Lillian but father never makes this clear.] was sent off to bring this lady who lived about eight miles away, he went off on horseback but by the time he got back I’d already arrived.
Because of the fact that my mother had had no attention something went wrong and as far as I can understand I was almost drowned. But anyhow they got me right and everything was alright as far as they knew and everything went alright for about a fortnight, then I became ill.
Dubbo Station today.
They didn’t know what was the matter with me so they took me to a doctor in Dubbo called Doctor DuMoulin. He examined me and said to my mother “The best thing you can do is take him home. You’ll be lucky if he is alive when you get there. There’s nothing I can do for him.” So mother set off home, she had to go by train. Whilst she was waiting for the train at the railway station she told the stationmaster what the doctor had said. The stationmaster was a lay-preacher and he said to mother, “Has the boy been christened?” She said no. He said, “Well, if he’s going to die, we can’t allow him to die without being christened and if you like, I’ll perform the ceremony.” So mother agreed and the next thing they had to do was to find someone to act as godfather or godmother. They found a lady, a complete stranger, waiting on the station who readily agreed to act in this capacity so I was christened Leslie MacDonald. Mother took me home, I didn’t die, in fact I slowly recovered. [The birth was registered at the Presbyterian Church in Dubbo on 23 May 1893]
Now, all this I know because it was told me by my mother and I don’t have any clear recollection of anything else until we were living at Eumalga when I’d be about five years old. Eumalga was a place which was owned by a man called William Brownlow and father had got a job there acting as his farm manager growing wheat, cattle and sheep. [The Pastoral Register for 1899 shows W Brownlow as owner of Eumalga with 3,850 sheep.]
At this stage I think I had better give you some particulars about the family. I was the seventh son, my elder brother Charlie was away from home working at sea. [Charles Prince (Jim’s brother) was reared by his biological father and killed at Ypres in September 1917. In one of Molly Crawford’s letters to Base Records she mentions that Lillian/Lily had lost two sons, one in the war and one by accident.] My brother George died when he was only two years old. There was brother Jim, sister May, brother Stanley and sister Doris, a younger brother Alec and of course, myself.
Eumalga was a wonderful old place. It had been the family home of some people called Serisier who were a wealthy French family who went out to Australia in the early years with the idea of starting a vineyard and growing and producing wine. There was a vineyard of about 150 acres of vines, a cellar, oh, it must have easily been fifty yards long and twenty five yards wide with barrels of all descriptions and when we went there the vineyard was still in operation but not being run to its full capacity as it had been in the days of the Serisiers. The house was built on a bungalow style with a veranda all round and the main bedrooms and living room and one big entertaining hall which acted as our dormitory. The beds were all put round the walls and we brothers and sisters all slept in this one big room. [Jean Emile Bouillon Serisier, born 1824 in Bordeaux, is well documented because many hold him to be the founder of Dubbo. He bought Eumalga in 1868 and died in Paris on a visit from smallpox in 1880. By 1890 the remaining family were in financial trouble and it seems to be about this time they sold Eumalga to Brownlow.]
From Bill Hornadge’s book ‘Dubbo Walkabout.
The ruins of the Serisier mausoleum near Old Eumalga in 1987.
I remember this room particularly because the day we got news that Queen Victoria had died [22 January 1901] mother congregated us all in this room and made us kneel at our beds and say prayers for the Queen whilst we gazed at her photograph hung on the wall. Mother was crying and you’d have thought that one of the family had died. That’s a very vivid recollection with me, I can remember it as if it had happened only yesterday. I can hear her voice now as she led us in the Lord’s Prayer and before the prayers were over she had all of us crying too but it’s still a great memory.
We had at that time a girl servant, I’ll never forget her, her name was May Real. Eventually May was taken away to an asylum and I’ve often wondered whether we boys didn’t contribute in some measure to her going mad. She used to look after us when mother and father was away and it was when the Governor gang was out, a report came one day to say that they’d been seen in the neighbourhood. [Sandra Smith tells me that May Real died in Dubbo 1903. 1445/1903. Father John Real, mother Margaret.]
Stanley and Mary Hunter at Escort Rock, Eugowra in 1987.
Now these Governor boys, they were coloured lads who’d gone bush ranging after some dispute they had had with a farmer that they were working for. They’d started off by murdering the whole of the family and then set out to take revenge on any other people they knew in the neighbourhood who had ever done them what they considered to be a bad turn. [The Governor gang (Jimmy and Joe Governor plus Jacky Underwood) started their rampage on the 20th of July 1900. Jacky Underwood was caught and hanged at Dubbo on 14 January 1901. Then, on 13 October two civilians came across Jimmy and Joe and fired at them. Joe got away but Jimmy was seriously wounded in the mouth which resulted in his being unable to eat and probably inflicted such pain as to affect his thinking, he was caught a fortnight later on 27 October and taken to Darlinghurst Gaol where he was hanged on 18 January 1901. Joe managed to remain at large a few days longer. Alone, he headed for the Aboriginal settlement at St Clair, just north of Singleton. On 31 October as he neared his destination he was tracked and spotted by two graziers. They called on him to surrender but he refused to do so and tried to escape into the bush. The two men immediately opened fire and five shots ended his life. The last of the outlaws had met his Nemesis and with him ended an era. (Many thanks to Andrew Stackpool for posting his well researched article on the Governor gang on the internet. My information comes directly from him.) So we can date this memory from about 1901 ]
This day, mother was away in Mudgee, father was somewhere off the station and wasn’t expected home that night. The report came through that the Governors were in the district and May got us all into the big room, bolted and barred all the doors, got Father’s .44 Winchester with a supply of shells and built herself a barricade in front of one of the French windows and lay there waiting for the Governor boys to show up. What she intended to do with them we found out later on when Father arrived home in the middle of the night. He tried all the doors, couldn’t get in, came round the house shouting, May let go at something and eventually Father got her to understand that it was him and not the Governors that was there and she let him in.
Eumalga gave me some marvellous memories. We had a wonderful time, particularly with the three boys and May all growing up together. We got up to some terrible pranks, I remember that on one occasion we were out hunting and we chased a big iguana and it run down a rabbit hole. We dug this iguana out and took it home tied on a piece of wire. Stan had been given a toy farm wagon and Jim had the idea of harnessing this thing up to the farm wagon and giving May a shock with it. So we harnessed the old iguana up to the wagon and we took it down to the bottom end of the garden and they sent me to bring May out on some pretext or other. I got her outside and when we got into the middle of the garden, Jimmy let the iguana go. It came tearing straight at us and went straight through May’s legs. She threw up in the air and landed on her backside and the old iguana went underneath the house, he smashed the strings and left the farm wagon standing at the veranda steps but he went underneath the house and we never saw him again. May threatened to give us no tea that night. We weren’t going to get anything to eat so we took a bucket of water and slopped it all over her and beat her with a wet towel until she got us some supper. When Mother came home of course we got a bloody good hiding when May told her what we had done.
When I was at Eumalga in 1987 I saw these old tree trunks used as dog kennels and reflected that they could easily have been there in Father’s day.
Another link with the past at Eumalga in 1987 was the use of these old Lysarght’s Colonial Ceiling panels in an old slab hut near the woolshed. I wonder if they were part of the old homestead which father described.
Another day, there were some young steers in the paddock and Jim thought it would be a good idea if we got these steers in and did a bit of rodeo work. We got ‘em in and roped a young steer, oh, about twelve months old he’d be, and we drove a stake into the ground and tied this rope to it, the idea was to get on him and see if we could ride him round the ring without falling off. Well, Stan had a go, Jim had a go, we didn’t get May to have a go and eventually I said I’d have a go. I got up and got about half way round the ring when he pitched me over his head and as he went over me he put his hoof into me mouth. It cut a hole right through me mouth so we decided to let him go but the trouble was what we going to tell mother and father about this sore in me mouth. Anyhow we thought of all sorts of excuses and reasons about how it had happened but in the end May decided she’d tell on us so she told. Stan and Jim got a bloody good hiding but I didn’t get touched because I had a sore mouth.
Another day we were trying to find the twelve bore gun because we wanted to shoot some crows. We couldn’t find it but we found a box of cartridges. Well we wondered what we could do with these cartridges so Jim said “I’ve got an idea.” He went off and come back with a piece of half inch drainpipe. He put this cartridge into the drainpipe and got a hammer and a nail. He fastened it to a stake in the vineyard, he put the nail on the cap and hit it with this bloody hammer and there was a hell of a bang. Where it went I don’t know, but the shell wasn’t there, we could see no shell and the bloody hammer went flying up the vineyard, it was a wonder he didn’t get his head knocked off. So, that being a failure we decided we’d have an explosion of some kind. There was a lot of dried grass in the vineyard so we put two or three shells in some grass, heaped it up and set fire the grass forgetting that we were setting fire to the vineyard. Luckily, the wind was blowing away from the house and within ten minutes there was a fire raging right across the vineyard. Father was working at the woolshed about half a mile away and Jim said to me, “You go and get father and we’ll try putting it out with wet sacks”. So I hared off but on the way I met father coming down, he’d seen the smoke and he came racing down on his saddle horse and he said to me “Where’s the fire?” I said, “It’s in the vineyard” and he said “Come on, climb up behind”. So he got hold of me hand and pulled me up behind him and off we went till we came to a wire fence. He wasn’t going to stop for this fence he was going to jump it but the horse didn’t see the wires unfortunately so he raced into the fence, I shot over the old man’s head, he went over the horse’s head but he didn’t stop running. He picked himself up and went running towards the house.
Anyhow by the time he had got there two or three neighbours had shown up from close about and they soon had the fire under control. Then the inquest. How did it start? Don’t know, nobody knew. So one chap, Rick Brownlow, said “Have you seen anyone about?” Stan said, “Aye, there was a tramp come for some water”. “Did you give him anything?” We said no. They said “Did he ask for anything?” “He asked for some water and some grub and we said we’d give him some water but we had no grub to give him.” So they just put their heads together and said, “Huh, he’s thrown a bloody match in it while he was walking away.” Course, there was no tramp and they never got to know how that started for about twenty years afterwards. One night I was talking to father and I told him all about it and he only laughed, I don’t think he’d have laughed the day it happened though if he’d got to know, somebody would have got a good hiding. Although come to think, father never used to give us a hiding, mother always used to do the whipping.
An old wool press at Eumalga. This shed is about half a mile from Old Eumalga and could be where Old Alex was when the lads started the fire in the vineyard. The press is old enough to have been the original.
One of the great milestones of my life was the first time I went to school. The school [Eschol] was about eight miles away from where we lived and we either used to walk there or if a horse was available we used to go on horseback. We had one old horse that we used to ride to school and Jim, of course, being the oldest, would be in the saddle. May would be behind Jim, Stan sitting on the horse’s rump and I used to have to sit on the horse’s withers. This old bloke got a bit cunning after a while and he realised that if he put his head down quickly I used to slip off, which I very often did do but we used to get to school alright with him.
One day at school we went up a hillside which was quite close to the school looking for five-corners. That’s a little sweet berry that grows wild and looks very much like whinberries do in this country. We found so many and were having such an interesting time that when the school bell rang we didn’t bother to go back. The schoolteacher come out with one or two of the big boys shouting to us to come down. We didn’t come down so they decided they’d come up and get us. They started off up the hill and Jim said, “Come on, get some rocks and let’s roll some rocks down at ‘em. That’ll stop ‘em coming up!” Anyhow, we got big boulders as big as we could handle and started ‘em off down the hill and these fellows sheered off in all directions. Anyhow they didn’t come up after us so we stayed up there all afternoon and when they’d all left the school we went and got the horse and went home.
Next day when we went to school we all got the cane and Jim was kept in. Well, we went out of school at letting out time and sat waiting for him to come. All of a sudden we heard a noise and saw Jim come flying out of the window. He was shouting, “Get the horse, get the horse!” We didn’t wait for the saddle, we just put the bridle on him and all four of us were up and away with the old schoolteacher after us on his bike but he couldn’t catch us and we got away. He followed us home and told Father about it and Father says “If anyone gets a good hiding it’ll be you so you’d better get off and leave them alone.” After the schoolteacher had gone away, Father called Jim and asked him why he’d jumped through the window. He said “Well, I was told I had to write ‘I will regularly attend school’ a hundred times. I sat down and wrote it all out and two or three times whilst I was writing it the schoolteacher come and looked over me shoulder and when I took it to him to show him I’d written it he said “You’ve spelt regularly wrong, go back and write it out again”. Jim said, “I’m blowed if I will.” He hit him with the slate and up and out of the window and that’s how he came to break out of school. We went to school the next day and the schoolteacher never said a word about it, it might never have happened. We left it completely alone.
The Serisier mausoleum again. Such a shame to see it in ruins like this. We didn’t disturb anything but the bodies are almost certainly still in there.
CHAPTER TWO
To give you some kind of an idea what sort of fellow Jim was, I think I can illustrate it by telling you a story about a ghost. There was a bridge across the Macquarie River at a place called Eschol near where the school was that we attended. At a certain night of the month when the moon was full it was reputed that a man used to sit on the bridge rail with his head cut off, this was supposed to be the ghost of a man who was murdered there by convicts some years ago. On this particular night we’d been to a concert and were riding home, when we got near to the bridge Jim said “I wonder if the ghost will appear tonight.” So I pulled back and got to the back, I didn’t want to be in front coming up to this bridge. Anyhow, as we were approaching this bridge, the horse that Jim was riding reared and shied and squealed and whipped round, Stan’s did the same and so did mine. They were absolutely terrified, we couldn’t get them near the bridge at all.
I said to Jim, “Let’s go up the river and swim it.” He said, “No, we’re going across this bridge if it’s the last thing I ever do! I’m going to find out where this ghost is and what he is!” So he said to us “You stand here, can you see him?” We said “Yes, we can see him”. He said “I’m going up, you tell me if he disappears.” So he walked towards the bridge and we stood watching this ghost. He got right up to where he was and said “Is he still there?” We said “Yes, he’s still there.” So he came back again and went down below the bridge and looked up from there. He came back again and said “Is he still there?” We said “Yes, he’s still there but he’s shifted a bit.”
Well, this went on for about an hour and eventually the ghost disappeared so we got the horses and rode off home, went across the bridge with no trouble at all. Well, the next night Jim said to Stan, “I’m going out to see this ghost again tonight, are you coming?” Stan says “Yes, I’ll go.” and I said “Yes, I’ll come too.” So we went and we got there at about eleven o’clock, I know the moon wasn’t in quite the right spot because there was nothing on the bridge when we went out to it. We got into a place where we could watch and we watched until this thing slowly appeared, very very slowly. One minute we thought we could see it and another minute we thought we couldn’t. So Jim says “Right, we’re going to lay this ghost.” and he went off away into the wood and he climbed a tree and he started chopping. We said to him “What the bloody hell are you chopping that down for?” He chopped a limb off the tree and the ghost was never seen again. Now, there was hundreds of people who knew about this and there were grown men who wouldn’t go near that bridge at full moon at a certain time of the night, not for any money in the world. But Jim was that phlegmatic type that said that if there was something there, he didn’t believe in ghosts, he knew there was no such thing as a ghost and he was going to find out what was causing it. But the thing that always amazed me was, or the thing that made me wonder, was why the horses were frightened of it, why were they so scared? And yet immediately the shadow disappeared off the bridge rail the horses went over and weren’t affected in any way, they weren’t afraid at all. Anyway, that was the sort of fellow that Jimmy was, he would have a go at anything.
Whilst we’re talking about ghosts, I can tell you another story about Jim and a ghost and this one was a little more dramatic than the headless man sitting on the bridge. We were taking some ponies which had been sold for polo playing, we had to make one night’s camp and when we got to this place there was a deserted farmhouse where there had been a murder or a number of murders and the place had been allowed to go derelict. As it was coming up like a storm, Jim said, “ I think about the best thing we can do is to put into the old Lacey place for the night. We’ll at least get some shelter there from the rain.”
The stable was attached to the house, built very similar to some of the farmhouses you see in England with the living quarters and the barn all under the same roof. We put the horses in the stable, fed them some cut grass and bedded them down and they seemed quite contented. We went into the main house, rigged up a fire as best we could in the old fireplace, boiled the billy and had our tea. We only had a candle to see by and we were sat yarning when Jim decided it was time to go to bed. By this time it had started raining and the wind was blowing and it was a pretty wild night.
We’d just got nicely bedded down when I heard a noise that I hadn’t heard before, it was like a chain rattling, I said “ Can you hear that noise?” He said, “Ah, it’s nothing. Go to sleep.” Stan said “There’s something out there, I can hear something.” Then, all of a sudden, we heard the horses, they started kicking and squealing and Jim said “There’s somebody in with the bloody horses!” So we dashed out and we had a job quietening the horses down. We eventually got them quiet and all of a sudden, right over the horses heads, we heard this chain rattling again. It sounded like a chain being dragged across ruts or something.
Now, knowing that there had been convicts there we wondered whether it was the ghosts of these convicts ‘cause the place had a reputation for being haunted. I said to Jim, “It’ll be those convict’s chains!” He said “ Don’t talk so bloody silly, there’s no convicts in any chains. If there’s a noise going on there’s some reason for it. Get hold of those bloody horses and get them outside!” So we got halters on ‘em and got them out into the open where they quietened down.
After about half an hour shivering in the rain he shouted, “It’s alright, you can come in now.” So we come in and put the horses in the stable. He says “The ghost is gone.” We said “Where was it?” He says “ It was quite simple, there’s a tree growing outside the house, you’ve all seen it. The branches are close down on the shingles and at some time they must have had a pet bear or something and there was a chain they must have used to chain him up to. With the wind blowing, this chain was dragging back and forwards across the roof so I removed the chain and the ghost is gone.”
Well, that all sounds very simple but for my money it took a bit of courage to go up there and find out what was causing it. Anyhow we slept peacefully through the night and went on the next morning to deliver the ponies.
I’ve jumped on ahead a bit to tell you that story. At the time it happened I was about 11 years old. [1904] I now propose to go back and carry on the story in its proper order.
Mother and Father were fond of social life and our home was very popular. I think this was because we had this very large room that I’ve mentioned before which made an ideal dance hall. We used to have a party about once a month when all the farmers from near and far used to turn up and they’d dance and sing and eat until daylight but on occasions we used to have what they called a surprise party. About four o’clock in the afternoon they’d start arriving. Mother and father would know nothing about it but the people who came would bring roast turkeys, some would bring cakes, bread and butter, all kinds of food and they’d just roll in, unharness their horses, put them in the stable or in the home paddock and announce that they were going to have a dance.
The women would all set to and prepare the meal and dancing and singing would start. There was always musicians available, one chap, Paddy Flannery played an accordion and there was a coloured lad who used to work for me Father, we called him Jimmy, he was a very good concertina player and there was an old chap called Bob Jones who use to play the fiddle, that made up the dance orchestra. We kids used to have a good time because we couldn’t go to bed, they were in our bedroom so we were allowed to stay up. Our good time consisted of eating plenty of food and listening to the men talking and boasting and bragging about what they could do and what they couldn’t do. Occasionally a fight would start, two fellows falling out over a girl or something like that, I know today it doesn’t sound very much but in those days it was quite an event. On this particular occasion that I speak about a lot of young fellows had arrived on young horses, during the night they got into an argument about who was the best rider and who could do this and who could do that. Next morning after dancing all night, at about seven o’clock in the morning they were out on the field with these horses seeing who could put up the best show on a rough horse. The way they made them buck was they put a flank rope on them, the rope was round the horse’s flanks, the fellow that was doing the riding got in the saddle and somebody else got hold of this rope and tickled it to make the horse buck. About nine o’clock in the morning they’d all sheer off to wherever they were going and the party was over for another month.
Of course we very often went away to other people’s parties, the children were never left at home, they were all taken and they bedded down with the other kids, spent the night with all the other kids all bedded down together and we all had a good time and it was a very happy life.
But all of a sudden something went wrong. I don’t know what it was but without any warning news came that we were leaving Eumalga. [1902] It all happened in a flash we were never told anything about it but I’ve often wondered what went wrong between Father and old Billy Brownlow, whether it went back to something a bit more serious than anything that had happened at Eumalga.
I’ve often wondered what father did in his young days. He was never very communicative, he didn’t tell us much. A lot of things happened in those days, I never thought about it at the time but since I’ve grown up they’ve had a significance for me.
His young days were spent at the time when the Kelly Gang were ranging the country around Euroa and those places and father came from over that way. I’ve often thought since, things would be going all right then all of a sudden, bang, it all…, connections were broke and we set off somewhere else. Now what the cause of it was I don’t know and I never will know but I’ve wondered. [The more time I spend with this story and the research and the more I see parallels between my grandad’s hot temper and propensity to up sticks and have a move when things got difficult and father’s subsequent history. There is also the inclination to secrecy.]
So we left Eumalga and went to live at a place not very far away [Eulomogo]. Father left home and went somewhere out into the bush to work, he only came home about once a month. He generally arrived home on the Saturday and was off again on the Sunday night, what he was doing we didn’t know but then after a time he took a contract to sink a dam. There was a valley run down past the house we lived in and his contract was to sink a dam and build a bank across this valley to make a water catchment place for a farm nearby. So we had him at home for about six months.
He was a great shot with a rifle. I remember one morning going in and telling him there was some ducks on the lagoon. He took his rifle and he said “Come on with me and show me where they are.” So I took him along the bank of this lagoon behind some brush and I said “If you just go past that brush you’ll see them out in the middle”. He went ahead and he had one shot at these ducks while they were sitting on the water, he shot the head clean off one. They rose in the air and flew over and he shot another one, with a rifle, as they flew over our heads. That’s pretty good shooting. I’ve also known him knock a kangaroo over easy four, five hundred yards away, shot clean through the head. [When I was doing my National Service in 1954 I got my Marksman qualification when we fired for classification on the ranges. This was very high standard and I can remember how pleased father was when I got it.]
I remember one amusing occasion he had some friends at the house, it was Sunday afternoon and as men always will they started doing a bit of shooting. The railway line ran past the house about three hundred yards away. In this valley there was a big embankment so they put a target on the railway embankment and were firing at it. A bloke came along in his sulky just as they fired at this target. The bloke stopped his horse and come across and started to play hell with the Old Man about the danger of shooting across a main road. The Old Man said “What are you worrying about, it was a good six inches above your head!” I thought well blimey Charlie, if he can tell to six inches about two hundred yards away that he’s missing a bloke and he thinks he’s quite safe he must have some confidence in himself.
This was in 1901 the time of the Great Drought when it never rained for eighteen months. [Often called the Federation Drought. It extended into 1902 with a brief respite in NSW when it rained in August. Father’s date fits.] Somewhere, somehow, Father got hold of a few beasts and we were running them on a bit of land that he rented. It was a bit of wild scrub country and there wasn’t a lot of grass on it so we had to start feeding. He spent all his money on hay and fodder for these cattle and he got as much on tick as the store would let him have. Then he went to a farmer who was next door to us who had two stacks of straw, not hay, straw. He offered to buy this straw from this fellow, anyhow old White wouldn’t sell it. The Old Man’s idea was to buy the straw and get some molasses and feed the cattle on straw and molasses but he wouldn’t let us have it. So the old fellow decided that rather than have them starve he’d feed ‘em on the railway line which was against the law of course. We used to make way through the fence, it was a post and rail fence, shift these rails so we could put ‘em in and out in dark of night. We used to put ‘em in and then we used to have to get up in the morning before daylight and have ‘em out before the fettler’s gang used to come along and see them in there. They must have known they were in because there was droppings and hoof marks all over the place. Anyhow, we did that for a time until all the grass on the railway was eaten up and one night Old White’s two straw stacks caught fire and were burnt out. I never knew what started that fire, I’d love to know but it seemed to me to be poetic justice when I came to think about it years afterwards. The Old Man decided he’d have to sell, he took the cattle to the stock market in Dubbo and they brought 18/- a head and a fortnight after he sold them it rained like hell. Anyhow it was too late, they’d all gone.
CHAPTER THREE
When we shifted to the new house we went to a new school called Eulomogo School. There was an old fellow there that was the schoolmaster and his name was Bentley. He was an old bugger. I got the cane every day I think and Stan and Jim the same.
One holiday time we decided we’d get our own back on him, we hadn’t enough sense to realise that what we were going to do wasn’t going to harm old Bentley at all, it was just going to harm the school. We went to the school, we broke it open, we took all the books out and burnt them, tore them up, shoved some of them up rabbit holes and God knows what. Then when the school opened up again there was a hue and cry for the people that had broken into the school but nobody knew. There was one lad named Woodley who was with us, he let the cat out of the bag and one day I was playing at home when I saw the police sergeant and the old schoolmaster drive up. I thought this is it.
So they started asking questions and eventually said “Well, you’ve got to go to gaol. We’ll take you to Dubbo to gaol.” So I said “Alright, if I’ve got to go to gaol I’ve got to go.” They took Stan and I and put us in one of these sulkies and we set off to the gaol in Dubbo. They’d had a talk with the old man before we left and I think it had been agreed to take us so far and then chuck us out and let us come back home to get a damn good hiding because they didn’t take us to gaol, they took us about two miles up the road and then let us go. We went back home and mother gave us both a bloody good thrashing. That episode closed.
I think at this stage I’d better say something about my parents and their background. My grandfather on my father’s side was a Scotsman. He had been, I believe, a ship’s steward and he deserted his ship to go gold mining. [Our research yielded this; Old Alex [1823/1833 in some accounts, 1840 in this account] marries on 17 August 1861 (1410/1861 at Young). Marriage certificate shows Alexander as a Gold miner of Burrangong, CofE, age 21; she also 21, (makes dob 1840), married by Robert Hansen Mayne in presence of Frederick and Julia Payes, to Catherine Elizabeth Young aka Jung (also spelled as Katherine with a Germanic ‘K’ and Elisabeth with an ‘S’. LM/T -‘a German lady, family from Hamburg’) She died Sydney 1918. Children x 11(?) including Alexander (Father’s father) born 1856. Catherine born 1844 (or 1838 or 1840) at Frankfurt (MH states Oder/Odenwald/Ou’dlaive/Owdlaive. Probably Frankfurt am Oder area, on death cert states born at sea 1844 en route to Victoria with family) Catherine dies 17 September 1918 (10165/1918) at ‘Kelanscott’, Monomeeth St, Bexley, Sydney, age 80 (dob 1838) witnesses A McDonald (son) & Thos. Hardy. At various times father’s father was also described as ‘stonemason’ and appears on the electoral roll of 1861 as residing at Lambing Flats. We think Alexander (b.1840) died before 1910 but haven’t identified a specific record.] His wife [Father’s grandmother] was a German lady who emigrated to Australia with her parents in the early 1850’s or 1860’s. Grandfather was a miner, in fact he was an adventurer, he’d have a go at anything where he thought there was some easy money. He was an incurable gambler and he had quite a bit of luck at gold mining but it never did him any good in the end because as fast as he made money he gambled it away. One time, he bought a pub, it was a small country shanty pub, I don’t suppose it cost him more than a thousand pounds but he had great ideas about what they were going to do with it I believe. One night they were playing poker and a cattle owner came in and joined in the game. I believe that some time in the early hours of the morning there was only old Alec and this cattle owner left in the game. The Old Man lost steadily until eventually he had no ready money left and he said to this cattle owner, “You know that little pub at Appletree Flats?” and he said “Aye.” He said, “I’ll put this hand up against you and we’ll have one straight hand for a thousand pounds” and the cattle owner said “Right, you’re on.” So they played one hand, I don’t know what it was they played but it was what they called “sudden death”. The cattle owner won and the Old Man was broke and lost the pub. Anyhow, that’s just the type of fellow he was. His wife was an entirely different type altogether, she was a very gentle, kindly lady and she was very good to us when we were small.
On my mother’s side, her father was an Italian although he didn’t like to be called an Italian, he always claimed he was a Neapolitan and hated the sight of the Italians. [Our research yielded: MH- Ferdinand Johansen born circa 1823 Fuen, Denmark –known later in Australia as Johnson or variations, William and William George, from around 1880. Birthplace shown as Germany on marriage cert, occupation as gold digger age 35 giving a yob of 1821.]
His wife was an Irish lady and I do happen to know what her maiden name was, she was called McFadden, I know this because her brother lived with us at Eumalga for quite a long time. She was a different type altogether than our father’s mother, she was full of fun, she liked people, she liked mixing with people and I always remember her as a very gay old lady. [Our research yielded this: Marriage of Ferdinand Johansen. (cert no 001667/1856) 22nd April 1856 at Meroo (nr Mudgee): Johansen, Ferdinand, Hickey, Margaret Jane at Mudgee.
Margaret Jane Hickey born circa 1832 at Pitt Town, NSW. There are multiple birth entries for Margaret but the information on the marriage certificate suggests a birth date of 1835. Her father was John, mother Margaret, her occupation domestic servant age 21 (gives yob 1835) She died 1915 at Appletree Flat, certificate shows Margaret Jane Johnson. Her family was of Irish origin (catholic?) Her surname shown as White on Lillian’s marriage cert). We have found no mention of the name McFadden, could it have been her maiden name?.]
So there you have it. My father’s father was Alexander Neill MacDonald, I never knew his wife’s Christian name. My mother’s father was George Johanstone, lots of people referred to them as the Johnsons but that wasn’t correct. He was a very religious man, I remember the few times that I met him we always had to say grace before meals and afterwards. He was very strict with all the family but nevertheless he was a good man. We will now continue with my experiences at Eumalga.
I think it was in the year 1898, there was great excitement one day and we were all sent out on a picnic. I remember Father filling up some picnic baskets and taking us away up on to a place called Green Hill, we were told that we hadn’t to leave there until he came for us. We stayed there all day and just as the sun was going down he arrived in a spring cart to take us back home. When we got home we found that we had a little brother, that was Alec’s birthday. I know this was some time in the Fall, I’m not quite sure of the exact month he was born but I do remember that at about that time every year, mother used to go away to Mudgee for a visit to her people and we were left in the care of May Real. [Our research yielded: Alexander N (Neil?) born 1898. Little known of him, in photos he appears quite a dandy, family stories have him as a ‘black sheep’ and report him as having died young or killed in the war (he never served). He was on the run from something. Vera believed she saw him in Katoomba in about 1938 or 1939 from a bus as she passed by. There are possibilities in NSW BMD deaths, but inconclusive.]
A later picture of young Alex by Vincent of Dubbo. A handsome lad but regarded as a black sheep. The inscription on it reads “To Les, from your fond brother Alex.
One day I was messing about with some gunpowder, the idea was that I was going to blow up some ducks on the pond. I got hold of some black powder and a cap and I put it into an old treacle tin. I threw some bread into the pond to get the ducks to come over the top of the powder tin which I had already rolled gently into the pond and when the ducks got feeding over it I lit the fuse and waited for the explosion. Nothing happened for about four or five minutes and I came to the conclusion it must have been a dud cap I had put in so I pulled the tin out by a piece of wire I had attached to it and was prising the lid off with a knife when the whole thing went off in my face.
Of course, I couldn’t see, I just screamed and they came running to see what was the matter with me. With mother and father being away, May didn’t know what to do with me so they sent Stan off to Brownlow’s for some help. They came over and all they could think off was to rub some lard on my face, anyhow, they put me into a buggy and took me off to Dubbo to Doctor DuMoulin. He treated me and for about three weeks I couldn’t see, I had a mask over my face but the funny thing about that time is that I can never remember feeling any pain, I haven’t any recollection of feeling pain at all but I do remember very vividly the day the old doctor came and took this plaster off my face. I remember it came off just like one of those dummy masks that you see kids wearing at Christmas time. I remember the first thing he said to me was “Can you see?” I said “Yes, I can see”. He said “Can you see the bottom of the garden?” I said “Yes, I can see the bottom of the garden.” He said “Oh, thank God for that, he isn’t blind.” Anyhow, my eyes were bad for a long time, they were always weeping, they used to run very easily, but they seemed to get stronger as time went on. As far as I knew at the time I had suffered no ill effects.
I was to find out later that I had been permanently injured in the right eye. The first indication I had of any injury was that I couldn’t see to shoot off my right shoulder. I didn’t realise that I wasn’t seeing right but I could never hit anything so I tried off my left shoulder and all my life I shot off my left shoulder until recently [1958] I went to a doctor about my eyes and he told me that I had a traumatic cataract caused by an accident. Of course, that all harkened back to the old days when I tried to blow the ducks up on the pond. [Father once told me another explosion story. He decided one day to find out if Dynamite would explode if you hit it hard enough. He took a small piece, placed it on the anvil in the workshop at Eumalga and hit it with a hammer. He got his answer, the explosion blew the hammer through the roof of the shed! He never mentioned any lasting injury.]
My next misfortune was that I contracted typhoid fever. No one else in the family had it and they were always at a loss to know where I had got it from. I think I have got a good idea. Anyhow, the doctor had been to see me and said there was nothing they could do only keep me in bed. Whilst he was there an old Chinese gardener came round, he used to come round periodically selling greengroceries and melons. His name was Wong Lee. Whilst they were talking he heard the doctor say that one thing that would help me would be some ice. Old Wong said immediately, “Ice? You want ice? I go to Dubbo and I get ice.” Off he went and just took his horse out of the shafts of the spring cart and tipped the damn thing up, tipped all the things out on the floor, put the horse back in the shafts and set off to Dubbo. Some time in the afternoon, he arrived back with a block of ice about three feet high and two feet in diameter wrapped up in sawdust and blankets. I’ve never forgotten old Wong for that, he was a decent old scout. But anyhow, after some time I got right from fever and seemed none the worse for it as far as I knew.
During our school holidays it was our custom to make a bit of money by trapping possums, gathering dead wool and gathering bones. One of our favourite occupations was what they call “mooning” possums. This could only be done when the moon was almost full and the idea was that you went out in the moonlight with a gun and you walked around the trees keeping the tree branches between yourself and the moon and of course you get the possums in silhouette and it was an easy matter then to shoot them out of the trees. In this way we used to get ten, fifteen, we’ve had as many as twenty possums in a night. We also used to snare possums. There was one place, Murrumbidgerie Station, owned by a man called Jim Rutherford, who would never allow people on his place and trespassers were prosecuted rigidly but we used to go to his place at night and set our snares after dark and then round next morning just at daylight to get our snares out and the possums before any boundary riders came round and caught us there.
Opossum skins at that time were worth about 36/- a dozen and it was a common thing during our holidays for us to average oh, ten to fifteen possums a day. Then we used to go gathering wool. That was sheep that had died and the wool was left lying on the ground. When the carcass had decayed away we went and picked the wool up and bagged it and bagged the bones. When we had got so many ready we would take a horse and cart and go out and load up the bones and wool and take them into Dubbo and sell them at the skin depot. On one holiday, we made, between the three of us, a little fortune of just over £50. This was put in the bank for us and we were supposed to draw it out when we went on holiday but we never ever had a holiday and never saw the £50 again!
Another way we had of making a bob or two was kangaroo hunting. We had a rifle but at most of the places around there we were afraid to fire it because we were trespassing on somebody’s land. In Australia at that time trespass was a very serious offence and we could be fined as much as £50 so we had to be careful, in the main, we used dogs. We had one dog, a kangaroo dog called Tip and an old cattle dog called Brownie and a fox terrier, I’ve forgotten his name now, I just can’t remember his name.
Down on the Macquarie there was an old wallaroo there, he’s supposed to have stood eight feet high, he didn’t stand anything like that but that’s what they all said. One day we ran into him and the dogs took after him but he didn’t bother to go very far, he just hopped down about thirty to forty yards and backed up against a log near the edge of the river. The dogs went in at him and he kept knocking them off and knocking them off. Eventually he got hold of this terrier in his arms and was holding him up against his chest, he put up his foot to try and rip him and just at that moment old Brownie flew at his neck. He ducked his head to try and miss the dog and fell in the river. He stood in the river up to his waist and we swore blind that he was ducking the terrier under, so Stan took a tomahawk and rushed into the river and knocked him on the head with it and that was the end of the old wallaroo. We skinned him, took his skin home and when Dad saw it he said “Well, you’ve been wasting your time with that, it won’t bring two bob!” So that was a day we had out that didn’t return us any money at all, but we had a lot of fun.
This dog Tip was one of the hottest numbers I have ever seen on hares. I never ever remember seeing him start out after a hare that he didn’t catch. He had a most peculiar way of picking up, when he caught up with the hare he used to put his nose under its body, flick it up and catch it in the air. I know father won many a pretty five bob piece by backing him against other dogs, there was no dog in the district that he wouldn’t take on at coursing.
In the year 1899 it was shearing time at Eumalga. When shearing was on, everything else stopped. It was only a small shearing shed, I think there were eight stands and in those days shearing was done by the blade, machines had not become popular. When shearing was in full swing, mother used to do the cooking for the men and we used to get in outside help. I remember that there was one girl that was there helping and her name was Esther, I don’t remember her other name, in fact I don’t know whether I ever heard it. I remember her because she was a bit of a flirt, she used to be always talking to the shearers and the roustabouts, she was always knocking about the pens when she had nothing to do in the kitchen.
Sheep waiting to be sheared at Eumalga in January 1987.
One day, I was playing about when father went to the bunk-house with a stock whip in his hand, he came out of the bunkhouse with a young fellow, I don’t know his name. If I ever knew it I’ve forgotten it. He brought him out in front of all the other men and he turned to these men and said “This man has betrayed a very sacred trust. He was given some letters to take to the Post Office and on the way he opened one of the letters and read the contents and asked the woman in the Post Office to give him a fresh envelope so that he could re-direct it and send it on. That envelope contained a letter for this girl’s sister. I’m going to teach him a lesson, one that he won’t forget in a hurry.”
Saying this, he set back and he started on this fellow with the stock whip. I don’t know whether I ever witnessed anything quite so horrible in my life, it certainly scared the living daylights out of me but I couldn’t go away, I had to stay and watch it. He flogged this man - he begged and prayed Father to stop, he said he’d apologise and all sorts of things but father flogged him and then he said to him “Now git!” As this fellow went into the bunkhouse for his things he flogged him all the way to the door and when he came out he flogged him all the way to the horse yard where he got his horse and rode off. Then father turned round as though nothing had happened and carried me off up to the cookhouse where mother was.
In the dry weather it was the practice to cut branches from the tree called the Kurrajong for the stock to eat. These leaves from the Kurrajong tree were very nutritious food for the cattle who really loved ‘em. One day I was out with the men cutting Kurrajong and of course I was taking a hand, I had a tomahawk. I climbed up this tree, started to cut a branch down, when the tomahawk slipped and went into my foot making a gash about two inches long in my ankle. I fell out of the tree and was bleeding like a stuck pig, I thought I was going to die and the chap who was with us, a fellow named Louis leFevre, he didn’t seem to know what to do. He took me trousers down and ripped the tail off me shirt and wrapped it round it. The coloured boy Jacky said “No, wait, I’ll stop bleeding.” He went off and found this cobweb, he put the cobweb over the wound then wrapped the shirt tail round it and took me home. Father got a needle and cotton, I think it was silk cotton, and put two or three stitches in it for me and I went on alright after that, I was hors de combat for a week or two but there was no ill effect afterwards.
Another day when we were birds-nesting Stan met with an accident. We were taking it in turns to climb the tree when we found a nest and this particular tree happened to be a pine tree. Now these pine trees grow with a tremendous number of branches, they are very easy to climb because there are branches all the way up but he was up this tree trying to get a nest which was right up in the uppermost branches. It’s very brittle timber and he got up a bit too far and the thing leaned over and broke and he fell down through all these branches. Well, he got a hell of a scratching on the way down, he was cut all over when he hit the floor. When he hit the floor he hit his head against a stone and it knocked him out. I didn’t know what to do, there was no one else with us so I thought the best thing to do was to go home and tell ‘em he was dead. I rushed off home and told Mother what had happened and she set off with me to go back to him. We got about half way there when we met Stan coming down, although he was cut all over the place he wasn’t badly hurt, it was all scratches but he looked like a butcher’s shop.
Our only sporting weapon in those days was an old muzzle-loader, father wouldn’t let us have a breech-loading gun. The way we used to operate was that we each used to take a shot in our turn. Of course, if Jim and Stan and I were out Jim always had first shot, Stan had second and I got third shot, but this day there was only Jim and me. We went out and put up a hare and Jim shot it. I said to him “It’s my turn now. I’ll load up.” He said “No, it’s not your turn, Stan always has second turn, he isn’t here today and I’m going to have his turn”. I said “You are hell as like, it’s my shot next.” He said it wasn’t, anyhow we loaded the gun and he walked off with it. I was carrying the hare and he was carrying a rabbit we’d caught. We were going down a blind gully and I saw some rabbits and I said to Jim “Give us the gun, it’s my shot.” He said “It’s not your shot it’s mine.” So I struggled with him for the gun and I got it away from him. He got up and he swung this rabbit and hit me in the left ear with it, he knocked me for six. Anyhow, he must have realised he’d hit me too hard because he never made any attempt to pick the gun up but I picked it up, I aimed it at him and he run away and he’d be about twenty or thirty yards away from me when I pulled the trigger but by the grace of God, the gun didn’t go off, I hadn’t put a cap on it. By the time I had got the cap out of my pocket and put on the gun he was too far away, I’d cooled down then and was sorry that I’d made an attempt to shoot him. I often thought afterwards that it was a piece of luck that I wasn’t branded as a murderer because I really did intend to kill him I was that mad with him.
On our way back from this hunting expedition we had to climb up a steep hill, it was in a paddock called Dunrobin. About half way up this hill Jim said to me “ Let’s get some shelter, there’s a storm coming up.” We could see these big black clouds rolling up and we found some shelter under an old dead tree. We’d hardly got into the shelter before it started to rain gently at first but within ten seconds it was coming down in sheets. As a matter of fact, when we looked up the hill we could see the water coming down just like a river running down the side of the hill. Some cattle grazing on the lower slopes of the hill were hit by the water and just washed into the river. I don’t know how many of them were drowned but it was my first experience of a cloudburst. We had to hang on to the log to save being washed away. The storm lasted only about twenty minutes and when it was finished we were none the worse for wear but the creek which had been almost dry when we crossed it was running a banker and the cattle had been swept away downstream.
It was about at this time when I first met my favourite aunt, Aunt Maggie. We were coming home through the fields one afternoon when we met a well-dressed lady and gentleman carrying a suitcase. They stopped us and said “Excuse me but can you tell us how we can get to Eumalga?” We said “Yes we can tell you, we’re going there ourselves and we can show you the way.” The lady said “Do you live at Eumalga?” We said “Of course we do, who do you want to see at Eumalga?” She said “I want to see your mother and your father, I’m your Aunt Maggie and this is my husband Mr Sergeant.” Well, I took a fancy to her right from the start. I thought she was a lovely girl and I still think she’s a very nice woman if she’s still alive. Unfortunately, her husband didn’t live very long. They had one daughter called Vera, she was a very pretty girl too. She was my favourite cousin. [Not to be confused with the Vera born to Alex and Lillian in 1909] Aunt married again to a man called Rochester, they had one son and he is now a priest in a teaching college at Bathurst in New South Wales.
We had some very great friends who lived at Murrumbidgerie, their name was Minogue. Old Jack Minogue was an Irishman who emigrated to Australia as a young man and his wife was a widow woman called Mrs leFevre and by the way, she was the woman who was to attend my mother when I was born. Jack Minogue was a shearer, in fact he was a top-class shearer and he used to go up to Queensland and start shearing on the Queensland border and follow the climate down until he got into the temperate zones then he’d come home and go on the spree until he was spent up, then he’d go on shearing right down into Victoria and sometimes across in New Zealand. He was a blade shearer and later became a machine shearer and could always knock off anything up to 150 a day. I know that’s nothing like the record but for a man to do it day after day and to do a top class job, he was no slouch at the job.
Jack was a queer cuss. He had met the Governor boys at one time and there’d been some trouble between him and the Governors. When they were reported in the district, at the time when I told you that May Real had us all in the bedroom, Jack Minogue, remembering the trouble that he’d had with them thought that they might be coming to get their own back on him so he decided to box clever. They waited until after dark then he shifted his wife and all the kids out into the open and they camped in the open so that if the Governors should come, he’d have the drop on them with his .32 rifle.
This went on for a night or two, I think it was about the third or fourth night, it was pitch black and Jack heard what he thought was the Governors sneaking along the palisade fence looking for a way into the house. He couldn’t see anything he could just hear someone moving along. As the palisade fence was painted white this dark colour showed up against the fence even in the dark and he decided that he’d at least finish one of them off, so he let rip with about two rounds of .32 out of his repeating rifle. He heard a grunt, then a groan and then no more. He was afraid to go out and see which one of them he’d got, because he thought the others might be about somewhere and he thought they might get him but he sent his son, young Jack Minogue off for the police. If it hadn’t have been for him sending for the police we would perhaps have never heard the story because when it came daylight the next morning and Jack went down to see which one of the Governors he’d shot, he found out that he’d shot his own old boar pig. Of course when the police came they spread the story all round the district and things were almost unbearable for Old Jack for a few months after that happened.
It wasn’t long after this that the Governors were captured or should I say slaughtered. It was one of the most disgraceful episodes in the history of the Western Police. They were found asleep in a forest in the afternoon by a trooper and I think his name was Kilpatrick. He shot Jimmy and Joe, Jimmy had eight bullets in him and Joe had four in him. Their own guns had never been touched, these men had been shot in cold blood whilst they were lying asleep. The feeling was so high against this chap that he had to resign his job from the force and move on to some other district. [1901. See above.]
[One story that father told me about Eumalga which doesn’t appear in the transcript concerns a snake which used to live in the old wine cellar. The cellar was used for settling milk in tubs so the cream would rise to the top and could be skimmed off. The snake used to drink the cream but was left alone because it ate mice as well and was doing a good job. Probably because it lived below ground most of the time and drank milk it was white. One day a Sundowner arrived at Eumalga and when he saw this snake coiled round a post on the veranda he shot it and couldn’t understand why the Old Man ran him off the property.]
CHAPTER FOUR
In 1902 [May] the Boer War ended. I remember my two uncles with some of their friends riding across our home paddock to pay us a visit dressed in their Light Horseman’s uniforms with their Emu feathers flying, their rifles and all their accoutrements. They did seem a brave lot. But there was one sad thing, that was that one uncle never returned, he died of black water fever on the boat on the way home. It was shortly after this that we left Eumalga. [Anchors the date of the move to mid 1902. There is an attestation document for George McDonald dated Feb 8th 1902 at Sydney. Service number 121, enlisted for 1 Battalion Australian Commonwealth Horse (NSW) , unmarried, age given as 26 (dob 1876 on this reckoning) Particulars for next of kin were mother at Apple Tree Flats (Mudgee). Document is headed Commonwealth contingent for service in South Africa. A bit of a puzzle here, the second Boer War lasted from 11 October 1899 until 31 May 1902 so if George enlisted in Feb 1902 he can’t have seen much service.]
We will now return to Eulomogo. It was shortly after the school incident that we lost our favourite dog, Browny. He developed a habit of chasing the trains. One day as we were coming home from school (he used to come and meet us every day by the way and sit outside the school waiting for us and chase rabbits on the railway track) on this particular day a goods train was passing and Browny chased it. He must have tried to get hold of the wheel, and having got hold, he couldn’t let go. Anyhow, he was thrown under the train and cut to pieces. I never remembered what happened to Tip, I don’t seem to remember him after we left Eumalga. Possibly he died or Dad sold him, anyhow we didn’t have him any more.
One of our favourite pastimes while we were living in this house was to have sing-song parties. People used to come from the surrounding farms and we’d all congregate in the big living room and everyone had to do something. Dad used to call it the “sing a song, tell a yarn or do a recitation party.” He always used to sing the same song, I forget the name of it but it was something about “My boat lies on the other shore and all I want’s my Mary dear and I’ll be off to Baltimore.”
It was during one of these parties that I saw for the first time a snake being killed by having its head cracked off like a whip. We were sitting out on the veranda and it was just going dust when one of the girls screamed and pointed, and there, crawling slowly up towards the house was a black snake. Father turned to go for his gun and a young chap, I forget his name, said “No, it’s alright, leave him alone, I’ll fix him.” He quietly got up, walked down off the veranda, walked round behind the snake, got hold of it by its tail, swung it round his head and then cracked it like a whip and its head went flying off into the garden.
About this time we had a visit from Aunt Maggie. She was now a widow, her husband had been dead some few months and she had with her Vera the only child. She was still a young woman and very attractive and for the time of her stay in the house we were never short of visitors. There was young fellows coming from miles around on all sorts of pretences but at the back of it, they all wanted to have a look at Aunt Maggie and if possible, take her out somewhere. There was a young chap called Alf Wilson who fancied his chance with Aunty. One Sunday morning I saw a damn good fight between him and another lad named Salter, when it was all over we boys were wondering what it was all about and Jim came over and said “Well, don’t you know? They’ve been fighting over Aunt Maggie, Alf thinks he’s got a chance and young Salter thinks he’s got a chance but if they only knew it none of them have got a bloody chance at all, the schoolteacher took her away this morning in the sulky.” [Rochester?]
By this time father had finished sinking the dam and putting in the embankment across the valley so he was out of a job. Just at that time there was a development scheme started at Eulomogo on the railway, they were putting in a marshalling yard, he got a job with a horse and dray carting muck away, he was at this a few months and got to know the superintendent in charge and this led to him getting the contract on the Dubbo to Coonamble branch line which had just started. Somehow he got hold of a number of horses and drays and engaged drivers and got the job as a contract job removing the soil from the cuttings and building the embankments. [This line was a new build and opened in 1903]
We left Eulomogo and went to live in Dubbo [1903. Aged 10 years] so that he would be nearer to his work. We went to live at a place called ‘The Peppers’ on Fitzroy Street which is on the north side of the town at the end of a long weary street running from the showground out through the cattle stockyards and into the country. Before the building of the railway this had been a very prosperous quarter but when the sale yards were situated on Fitzroy Street and the loading stage for the railway a bit further on, the three prosperous hotels closed down immediately.
Shortly after we arrived at the Peppers, mother and I were at home on our own one day when she came in from the back with her mouth wide open and she couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what was the matter with her and I didn’t know what to do but she pointed in the direction of another house which was about a quarter of a mile away and I dashed off over there to see the lady who lived there who didn’t know us at the time, in fact we didn’t even know her name. Her name was Mrs Brogan and I told her that mother had lockjaw, it was the only thing I could think of telling her to describe it, anyhow, she said straight away “I’ll come with you.” So she came over and had a look at her and she said to me “Well son, she hasn’t got lockjaw but I don’t know what she’s got either so the best thing we can do is send for the doctor.” She said “You stay here with her and give her a drink of water if she wants a drink of water but don’t try to do anything else for her and I’ll send me husband for the doctor.” So she went back home and her husband went for the doctor and about an hour afterwards Dr Burkitt arrived. He took one look at her and said to Mrs Brogan “Get me some water so I can wash me hands.” He washed his hands and he just put his two thumbs in her mouth and did something and her jaw snapped shut. He said “You’ll be alright now, you yawned and dislocated your jaw.”
That meeting with Mrs Brogan was the beginning of a very long and happy friendship. They had no children although they’d been married some years. They’d a wonderful big orchard and they used to milk a few cows and grew a bit of wheat but not very much. He was more interested in playing cricket than earning a living, as a matter of fact I think they had a private income. We used to very often go over and help with the picking of fruit and he used to let us have the run of the orchard, we could have what we liked out of it. There were only certain trees that we were barred from and of course these were the trees that we wanted to get into and sample the fruit off. There was a wonderful big mulberry tree there, we spent many a happy hour in this mulberry tree ostensibly picking mulberries for mulberry pie but stuffing ourselves with fruit until we were sick. He also had a number of beehives and we used to help look after these hives and occasionally get a bob or two for our labours. In fact, we got so friendly that at one time, later on, there was a rumour that there was an affair going on between Stan and Mrs Brogan, whether that was true or not I don’t know, I never ever saw anything. [Research revealed what could be an interesting connection. There is a marriage (2944/1878 at Dubbo) Between James Brogan and Mary Longobardi.)
About two miles from our home there was the racecourse. Whilst father attended the races regularly when he was at home he barred us from going. Now we were very friendly with a trainer named Langley, his son Cherry and Stan and I very often went to the races when the Old Man was away from home. On one particular occasion I had decided to go to the races on me own, father was away. I got in on some pretext or another, I know I didn’t pay because I had no money to pay with but I got into the grandstand and was enjoying meself watching the races when I looked down the road and saw Father riding up. I thought blimey, what am I going to do now so I watched him and he rode up and got off his horse and tied it up to the hitching rail and started to walk straight towards the grandstand. I went further and further up to the top of the grandstand and I saw him coming up from the bottom but he hadn’t looked up and he hadn’t seen me. At the top there was an opening about three feet from the ground and it would be about four feet high to the roof. So I thought well, I’ll get through here and hang on. But after a while I got so I couldn’t hang on any longer and I let go, I dropped about twenty feet to the ground and landed on me left leg. I don’t know, it did something to me thigh, I don’t know what it was but me leg has always been a bit shorter since and I also turn me ankle over. I don’t know how I got home but I did do and he never knew I was at the races and I told him that I’d fell out of a tree. They believed it but for a long time I couldn’t walk at all. Then eventually, when I did get going, I was gammy on that leg and I’ve been gammy ever since.
Mike’s picture of the showground stand. I think the stand at the racecourse was smaller but the same design.
They used to hold a pigeon shoot on this racecourse. We spent many an hour there during the pigeon shooting because all birds that dropped out of a certain radius were for anybody that liked to take them and we used to go and wait for the birds that came over the fence and we used to take them home for pigeon pie and after a while we got the idea of breeding pigeons and selling them to the pigeon club, in those days they used to get a shilling apiece. Any birds that got away, they came back and you had them for nothing. We did quite well at it, we had about twenty or thirty breeding birds, they used to have four chicks a year so we used to have anything up to sixty or seventy birds a year which wasn’t bad going for school kids.
Stan and I were supposed to be partners in this venture but we couldn’t agree so it was decided that we’d split the birds up and he’d have one half and I’d have the other half. We did this but as usual, an argument arose and I claimed a bird which he said was his. I said it was mine and we had a fight over it and on this particular occasion I licked him. He said to me “I’m going to have that bird back.” I said “You’re not getting it back.” He said “I’ll take it from you.” I said “You won’t.” and I run into the lavatory and shut the door. Now the lavatory was one of those old pits and it was built about fifty yards away from the house. I got in there with the pigeon and sat in there quite comfortable and he was shouting for me to open the door. I said “I won’t open it.” He says “Well I’ll bloody well make you open it.” so he went off and after a while he came back. He said “Are you going to open the door?” and I said “No.” I heard a bang and a bloody hole come in the door just above me head. He said “The next one will be a bit lower down, are you going to open the door?” I said “No. I’m not going to open the door.” Anyhow, there was another one come through a bit lower down than t’other and by this time I was down on the floor. He let off another one that went through the door. I don’t know whether it was three or four he let off altogether but eventually he gave up and I was looking at him through a crack and I saw him walking away. I let go the pigeon and I dashed out and I saw the bottom of an ink bottle, one of those old stone ink bottles so I picked it up and threw it at him. After I’d thrown it I could see it was going to hit him and I panicked and shouted to him to look out and instead of ducking he turned round. It hit him just under the jaw, in the throat just under the jaw. I dashed out to him and he was bleeding like a stuck pig and I thought I’d killed him. I dragged him down to where we had a five gallon tin of kerosene and there was a pump on it and I got him under this pump and I pumped kerosene onto him. What the hell I thought that was going to do I don’t know, anyhow, it didn’t stop the bleeding, it seemed to make it worse so I wrapped a towel round him and headed off over to Mrs Brogans. She came over and had a look at him and said there’s nothing we can do for him, we’d better take him to the doctor. So they got the buggy and pair out and they whipped him off down to Dr Adams. He stitched him up and he said to me “How did it happen?” I said that he was on the roof and fell head first and caught himself on something jagged at the bottom. He said it was bloody lucky because if it had been half an inch further up it would have cut his jugular vein open and he would have been dead before you got him here. We took him home and put him to bed and I said to Mrs Brogan “What am I going to tell Mother when she comes home?” She said “Well, you leave it to me and I’ll tell her something, what time do you expect her home?” This would be about five o’clock so she said “I’ll be here when she comes then. I’ll tell her something. Don’t you worry too much.” Well, I don’t know what she told mother, she must have told her some sort of a tale because I didn’t get a hiding. It was the first time I had done something and not got a hiding and that of course further endeared Mrs Brogan to me. [November 6 1916. Uncle Stan’s medical report on enlistment states “Distinctive marks. Scar on left side of neck”.]
The Macquarie river at Dubbo where father learned to swim.
It was whilst we were living at the Peppers that I first learnt to swim. The method of my introduction to the water was when Father took us along and told us to get undressed and he picked me up and threw me in. I went down and when I came up I was dog-paddling. I couldn’t swim but I kept meself up by dog-paddling and he sat on the bank undressed and ready to come in if I was in trouble and said “Come on, get your way back into the bank and you can get out.” So I struggled back to the bank and he pulled me out and he said to me “Now you watch me. I’m going to go in and I’m going to swim slowly across the river and I want you to go in and try to swim across the river to me and swim the way I swim not the way you were trying to swim.” I said “What about if I drown?” Father said “You won’t drown, I’ll come for you if you get into trouble.” So anyhow, he dived in the river and crawled across and he shouted me to come in so I jumped in and I started to crawl. Of course, I started sinking and then I found to my amazement that I didn’t sink, I was alright. I got about half way across the river and I started to panic and I turned round to go back again and I forgot about crawling or anything else and I started to sink. Anyhow, he came in after me and dragged me out and he said “Well, that’ll be enough for today.” We kept on at that for about a week and I wasn’t a good swimmer but I could swim reasonably well. That was the beginning of our days on the river. Many a time we went swimming instead of going to school, we knew we’d get into trouble for it but we used to think well, if we go to school we’ll probably get the cane and it will be monotonous and if we go swimming we’ll have a good time this afternoon but we’ll get a hiding when we get home. So it always turned out that we went swimming.
Another great excitement was when the river was in flood. Somebody’d come and say the rivers running a banker and we’d be off like a shot to try and swim it. Well, Stan and Jim could get across easy but I was quite a while before I was able to make it. It was more from fear than from lack of ability but I remember one time we went down and they jumped in and swam across. I was frightened, the river was running very strong and there was an old cow there. I got hold of this cow by the tail and drove her to the river and made her cross and I followed hanging on to her tail. When she got out the other side she run away so we couldn’t get her to swim back so I had to swim back, I found out that when I had to do it I could do it quite well. Of course, by this time, I was getting to be a pretty good swimmer because we were at it almost every day and Father used to make us go with him in summer and have a swim first thing in the morning, it was no trouble at all.
It was about this time that I first really broke the law. I was mad on bicycles, most of the other kids I knew about my age had bicycles and Stan had just got one so I decided that I must have one. I went to a bicycle shop in the town and asked them about the price of bicycles and all that sort of thing. They told me all about it and they showed me a bicycle, it was called a ‘Speedwell’ [The Speedwell cycle was made at that time by Bennett and Wood of Sydney] and it was nine pounds odd, you had to pay a pound deposit and you paid the rest off at so much a week so I decided that I’d have this bike and I’d bring the deposit down. He said I would have to have me father’s signature before I could get the bike because I was only a boy and they weren’t allowed to sell things to me on time payment. I said “Alright, I’ll get me father’s signature if you’ll give me the form that I’m going to have it on.” and he said “Right, you take this form with you and get his signature, then you come back, bring a pound with you and the first week’s payment and you can have the bike.” So off I went.
I had the problem of getting hold of twenty five bob so I went to Mrs Brogan and told her that Mother had sent me over and that she was a bit short of cash and could she lend her thirty shillings. Mrs Brogan said “Yes, of course.” So she lent me this thirty shillings and I hared off back to town and presented this form with what was supposed to be me father’s signature, I’d signed it meself, and got the bike. When I got it home I had to tell another story and I really forget now what I did tell them but it was some cock and bull story about how I got hold of this bike, but I said that Alf Long, a chap we knew, gave me the money to pay for it.
So I had the bike for quite a while, father was away, nothing was said and then one day a man turned up at the house. When they enquired what he wanted he said he’d come to see about the payments on the bicycle that I’d bought. I hadn’t paid for it for some weeks, in fact I hadn’t paid anything after the first payment. So mother didn’t know what to do about it and he said “Well, I think the best thing that we can do is for me to take the bike away and then I’ll see Mr MacDonald when he comes home if you’ll tell him that I want to see him.” So mother said “Alright, we’ll do that.” He took the bike away and it was left until father came home.
Well, eventually he did arrive home. I was in fear and trembling as to what was going to happen because I hadn’t had a beating from mother over it and I thought when father gets to know about this he’ll half murder me. I went to bed at night, I don’t think I slept that night I was so worried about it and the next morning was Sunday morning. I got up and was mooching about the house and at about nine o’clock he said to me “Get dressed. So I said to him “What do you mean, get dressed.” He said “Never mind about that, get your best things on.” So I got dressed and he said “Come along with me.” We set off down the street and we kept walking, we went past the showground and kept on going, I wondered all the time where the hell he was taking me. So anyhow, we eventually landed up at a big house on the south side of the town where a man called Dulhunty lived.
Now Mr Dulhunty was an alderman and he was also a magistrate. We went in, he took us into the lounge and he sat down and Father told him this story about what I’d done. He said “I’ve come to tell you this because eventually it’ll have to be reported to the police unless something can be done now to prevent the cycle shop from reporting it and having to go to court.
This picture was sent as a postcard dated 8th April 1918. Very difficult to make out the handwriting but one part seems to read “We are all thinking of Stan and Les”. I have had to guess at the identities. From the left, Alexander then the two girls who I think must be Margaret and Vera (born 1907) Then Lillian on the end with I think Doris stood behind her. The handsome lad is young Alex the dandy. The child between Margaret and Vera is almost certainly the last child born to Alex and Lillian, no birth records beyond 1909.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mr Dulhunty said to Father “I think the best thing we can do is to send the boy outside, let him go out and wait in the garden and we’ll send for him later on.”
After about half an hour, they called me in and Mr Dulhunty said to me “I wonder, do you realise that you’ve broken the law. For the offence that you’ve committed you could be sent to the Soubronne.” Now the Soubronne was a training ship in Sydney harbour where all the bad boys used to be sent instead of to a detention home like they do in this country. I said “Yes, I realise that I broke the law and I’m very sorry for it, I’m sorry that I forged me Father’s name and I’m sorry for the trouble I caused the man at the cycle shop.” He said to me “Well, if you’re prepared to give me an undertaking that you won’t do anything wrong again, your Father and I between us can put the matter right and you won’t be taken in by the police.” I gave the undertaking and he told me I could go and wait for me Father outside, I thanked him and went outside, I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier in me life. After a while Father come out and he said to me “Come on, we’ll go home.” As we were walking home I was thinking all the time about the hiding I’d get from mother when I got home but strangely enough nothing was said. Father never mentioned it again to me and to all intents and purposes the matter was forgotten. It often struck me since that the more serious the crime, the less punishment you got for it. But anyhow, it didn’t teach me a lesson, I was still inclined to go me own way without regard for what was right or what was wrong.
It would only be a few months after this incident that I was again in trouble but this is a longer story and it started with a friendship I’d developed with a man named Thompson who lived just beside the racecourse. He was an astronomer and again, they had no children and I used to go and play in his garden and talk to him and they made rather a pet out of me. Mrs Thompson told me I could go any time I wanted and they used to invite me to stay to tea. One day I went into his study and he was busy writing, I sat there fiddling about whilst he was writing and suddenly he said to me “Dubs, how would you like to go on a trip with me?” I said “Where to?” He said “Well, I’m making a trip across the Great Sandy Desert and I want a tent boy, if you’d like to come and your Father’ll let you go I’ll take you with me.” I said “Oh yes, I’ll go!” Well he said “You go home and ask your Father and if he says you can go I’ll come and talk to him and we’ll make all the arrangements.” So off I went home and I assumed that they’d let me go because I said to me Father “I’ve just made arrangements to go with Mr Thompson on one of his expeditions. He’s going to take me with him across the Sandy Desert.” Father said “Who says he’s going to take you across the Sandy Desert?” I said “He did, well he told me to ask your permission but I know you’ll let me go.” Father said “You know nothing of the kind and you’re not going.” Well, I begged and prayed of him to let me go but he was adamant and said “You’re not going, you’re staying at home and go to school.” So that was that. [I found a childless marriage in Dubbo which might fit. 3889/1883, James Maher Thompson to Anne Woods.]
Well, I still kept going to the Thompson’s while they were getting ready and the day came for them to go. I went down to the train to see him off and he just happened to say to me “If your Father changes his mind within the next day or two, you’ll have time to catch me up if you take the train to Bourke because we’ll be there for some days getting ready with our camel train.” I said” Right, I’ll try, I’ll ask him again.” Anyhow I didn’t ask him.
For about a week after they’d gone I kept fretting and worrying about it and wishing I was with them but I’d almost given up the idea of the whole thing when one morning, I was going to school. We had to be in school at half past eight and to get to the school I used to go across what we called the Sleeper Yard, it was a big stock-yard right up at the railway station. I was walking across the yard this morning when I heard the whistle of the train. It was the eight o’clock mail train to Bourke coming down the hill. [Dubbo was a regional centre for sleepers for the railway. Marion Dormer has found references to huge wool wagons coming in loaded with sleepers from the surrounding countryside.]
All of a sudden I dashed across the yard, over the railway line and up on to the platform. I waited until the guard came along, they used to change guards there and there was a man called Jack Longobardi who was the guard who took the train from Dubbo to Bourke and then he’d bring the next train back. [According to a muster roll of railway employees dated 31st of December 1902 John Longobardi was a guard at Dubbo and his wage was 10/- a day.] I went to him and I said “Mr Longobardi, me Father told me to see you, he wants you to get me a ticket to Bourke and he’ll fix up with you for it when he next calls at your pub.” This fellow kept a pub as well as being guard on the train. He said “The best thing you can do right now is hop into the guard’s van.” which I did.
When the train got out of the station he came along and said “What are you going to Bourke for?” I said “Oh, I’m going up to stay with some relations for a while.” He said “What about your clothes? You haven’t brought any clothes with you.” I said “No, I haven’t brought any clothes because last time I was up there I left some behind and they’ll do me when I get there.” He said Have you got anything to eat?” I said “Yes, I got something to eat.” I had me schoolbag. He said “The best thing you can do is get bedded down in a corner there, it’s no good going into a carriage. I didn’t realise at the time but he was taking me on the never, he wasn’t going to get a ticket for me. Anyhow, I bedded down and we spent a pleasant journey and we got into Bourke about half past four in the afternoon, I thanked him and said goodbye.
There are some great old pictures of NSW Railways on the State Railway site and thanks to Tony Eyre we have this typical scene on a country line. The loco was built by Beyer Peacock in Manchester, another link with that city.
First thing, I went down the town because I didn’t know the name of the man that had the camels for them. So anyhow, I made enquiries and found out that he was a man called Biddolph and I was going to get to know him a lot better in later years, I didn’t know that at the time. I went up to his house and saw him and I told him that I was going with Mr Thompson’s expedition. He said “Well, you’re a bit late, they’ve gone. So I said “Oh, when did they go?” I thought that’s buggered it, I’ll have to go back home now. He said “They only went the day before yesterday, if you want to go with them I’ll have to send somebody to take you, you’ll soon catch them up.” I said “How are we going to go, in a buggy?” He said “No, you’re not going in a buggy you’ll have to go on a camel if you want to go at all, what is it to be, are you going after them or are you going to let them go?” I said “I’m going after them.” He said “Alright, you call up here first thing in the morning and I’ll have somebody ready to take you out and pick them up.” I said to him “Where can I sleep?” He said “Haven’t you got any money?” I said “No, I haven’t got any money and I haven’t got anywhere to sleep.” “Oh well, in that case, you can sleep here, we’ll fix you up for the night.” Anyhow they gave me a feed and fixed me a bed and woke me up the next morning about six o’clock. He said “We might as well go before the heat of the day.”
So I went out with him to this settlement where the Afghans and the camels were and he introduced me to a bloke, he could hardly speak English, but we could make one another understand what we were talking about. He said “Up you get onto that camel.” There was one laying down there, so I got in the saddle, this fellow said something to it, umpala or something he said to it. Anyhow it got up and he hopped onto his an it got up and off he went, he was leading mine. Anyhow, I got on alright, it was a bit different to riding a horse but still I could manage to keep on it alright.
We were going all day. At night-time he said to me “I don’t know whether to make camp and go on tomorrow or whether to keep going and try to catch them tonight.” I said to him “I’m tired and I want to have a sleep.” So he said “Right, we’ll make camp.” So we made camp and he hobbled the camels out, we cooked some fritters and we had some jerky and billy tea. I just lay in the saddle and went to sleep. He woke me next morning just as it was breaking day and we got the camels saddled up and off we went. We rode in on to them about mid-day when they stopped for their mid-day meal. Mr Thompson was very surprised to see me, he said “Oh, you’ve got permission from your Father at long last have you?” I said “Yes, everything’s alright, he didn’t want to let me come but I talked him round and he eventually agreed to me coming.” He said “Right, you’d better get your clothes.” I said “I haven’t got any clothes with me, I’ve only got this schoolbag.” He said “Why didn’t you bring some clothes?” I said “He made up his mind all of a sudden and I hadn’t got time to get any clothes so I come without them. Anyhow, I don’t want any clothes, these’ll last me, we’re not going to be very long are we?” He said “Well, we won’t be back home for three months.” So I said “Oh, that’ll be alright I’ll not bother about any clothes.” He said “Well, if we stop at a store anywhere we’ll see whether we can get you something.” Anyhow, we did come across a store right out in the Never-Never and it was run by an Irishman or a Scotsman, I forget what he was and they had no boys clothing but they got me some small men’s clothes which they cut down with a pair of shears and we made do with them alright.
Well, I expected this trip to be full of high adventure and excitement but it was nothing of the kind, it was very dull and very ordinary. We had very little excitement until we got almost to the MacDonnell Ranges. One night, one of the men came in who’d been on watch and he said “There’s some blacks watching us, I thought I saw them this morning and I’m sure I saw them again tonight.” So they had a bit of a pow-wow and decided they weren’t unfriendly and it was nothing to worry about.
Next morning when we got up one of the camels was gone. Now this was a very serious matter because it meant dumping some of our supplies or somebody having to walk. The man that was in charge said to Thompson “If we let them get away with this, before we get through their territory, they’ll have taken all our camels, the best thing we can do is to give ‘em a lesson.” Thompson said “Well, I don’t know anything about that, I’m leaving that in your hands.” So he said “Right, we’ll deal with it.” These fellows went out and they rounded these blacks up, mind you, they’d done nothing else only pinch the camel for some food, but they rounded them up and they shot about half of them. Well that got rid of the blacks, they didn’t bother us any more but I’ve since thought that it’s no wonder that the blacks hate us when we take such drastic action against them as that fellow did that morning.
Anyhow, we got through after that with no trouble at all but on our arrival at the foot of the MacDonnell Ranges it was decided that we should spend three days exploring the hills. We went off on foot first thing in the morning up the hills and they were taking geological samples, samples of the grass that was growing, anything that might be of any interest, different types of timber that were growing. We came across a pool, you couldn’t call it a lake, it was a pool in a rock. It would be about twenty or thirty yards across and it was I don’t know how deep, you couldn’t see to the bottom of it but the water was as clear as crystal so we decided to have a swim. The first fellow that dived in let out a howl, you’d have thought he’d been murdered, we all experienced the same thing when we jumped in the water, it was as cold as ice but it was beautiful clear spring water. Where it come from, because we’d be at least two thousand feet up, I don’t know, I couldn’t see any other peaks around it that were higher than that, but there must have been a pressure of water from somewhere. Where it was trickling away, it was going underground and you couldn’t see where it was going to. When they’d finished their mountain survey we made a weary trek right down through Kalgoorlie into Fremantle. When we arrived at Fremantle I had a shock coming to me because the police was waiting for us.
I wondered how they’d got to know, but anyhow they said that I’d got to go straight back home again. Whilst we were waiting in the police station, I asked the sergeant of police how they knew that I was with the expedition. He said “Oh it was quite simple, when your mother and father missed you they got to making enquiries, the guard on the train told about you going to Bourke, the owner of the camel train told us that you’d gone with Dr Thompson and all we had to do was wait at this end until Dr Thompson come in. Tomorrow, you’re off back home.”
The only candidate I could find for the SS Mongolia. It looks about the right age and was in the waters round Australia at the time.
The next day they took me down to the quay and they put me on a boat called the Mongolia, it was an old banana boat and I don’t know how old it was but I’ll bet it was at least fifty years old. [The only ship that I can find which matches in Australian waters is the RMS Mongolia, 4,892 tons with an average cruise speed of 12 knots. It was owned by the Indian & Peninsular Steam Navigation Co Ltd Glasgow and used as an Australian troopship during WWI. Torpedoed and sunk on 21 July 1918.] They put me in a cabin and I was introduced to the various people on the ship and they were told that I had to be delivered in Sydney, New South Wales. So we set off. Everything went alright until we were rounding the Leeuwin. We’d just got round Cape Leeuwin when it started to blow and the bosun said to me “Have you ever been to sea before?” I said “No.” He said “Well, you’re going to have a good trip, if we get across the Bight alive you’ll be lucky. Can you see those white horses?” I said “What white horses?” “Can you see those white things out there?” I said “Yes.” He said “That’s a sign there’s a blow coming up. This ship will only do eight knots an hour and when we get into the gale we’ll be very, very lucky indeed if we can keep away from the coast.” Anyhow it wasn’t very long after that the skipper ordered the ship to change course and we set due South. It blew all day and at night time I could still see the places that we could see in the morning, we didn’t seem to have shifted although we were running full steam ahead all day. When it got dark, the skipper ordered everyone below and told them to batten the hatches down and all night long we lay there with the old engines pumping away and pumping away and next morning it had blown itself out. We got up, went on deck and we could still see places that we could see when the blow started so it’ll give you some idea, we hadn’t gone more than ten or twenty miles but after that everything was alright. We had an uneventful trip round, we stopped at Adelaide and Melbourne and then we set into Sydney Harbour and I was met by the police and put on the train to go home. When I got home, father was away and mother was so pleased to see me that nothing happened. I didn’t get a cross word said to me and I had nothing said to me until about three months after when Father gave me a good talking to for not obeying him when he gave me an instruction.
It was about this time when we first got to know the Skinners. Mrs Skinner, at one time, used to keep the Occidental Hotel in Talbragar Street. [Molly Skinner. See below re the Skinner family. Molly was like another daughter to the McDonalds, and largely brought up Vera. George Gain killed in action in WW1 was a mate of Les. Molly was born as Mary Ellen Skinner around 1884 in Dubbo, NSW. Father William Skinner, Mother Ellen Jane Reed. There is a death certificate for Ellen Jane Skinner daughter of George and Catherine at Dubbo in 1915. 17640/1915. Molly died around 1962 in Bathurst, NSW and is buried in the Old Church of England Section Bathurst Cemetery, Bathurst, NSW] They had a daughter named Molly and a son named Dick and then there was one son by her first husband a man named George Gain. He had a wife and four children and they lived together with Dick, Molly and their mother in Fitzroy Street. I never got to know Dick Skinner very well, he was always a mystery to me, he never seemed to work but he used to go out every morning about nine o’clock and return in the afternoon about five o’clock then he’d go out at night and return at all hours of the morning. There were all kinds of rumours about him but even Molly, who later become my more or less adopted sister, never would talk about him, in fact I don’t think she knew what he did. He never used to speak to anyone and therefore I don’t think anyone knew very clearly what sort of a life he led.
The old lady was a grand old lady and I used to spend many happy hours cleaning her casements, looking after her pony, cutting wood, getting water and all that sort of thing, doing all sorts of jobs about the house. I always used to like staying for my meals because she kept such a good table.
At the time we got to know them, George Gain wasn’t at home. He was the ‘man that was away’, he was doing time in Melbourne gaol. The fact that George was a wrong ‘un was a source of great sorrow to the old lady but he was a kindly good-natured, friendly sort of a bloke and I suppose, being her son, she loved him and that was that. Father took an interest in him, I think it was because of sympathy for Mrs Skinner, and later in life that interest was going to get me into very serious trouble but I’ll tell you about that later on.
At about this time, father got a job on a farm, I think he was engaged on a share basis, for a man named Payne at a place between Eulomogo and Murrumbidgerie. [Payne owned Standford Hall, now Valley Fields 1888-1912. Marion Dormer has a record of him being a building contractor in Dubbo as partner with a man called Benham.] So we left Dubbo and went to live at, I think the name of the farm was Sunnyside. It was a fairly big farm, quite a lot of it was arable and we also milked quite a few cows. When we first went there the farm was in a very run down condition, there was only one farm hand engaged on the place and he was a ‘go day, come day, God send Sunday’ sort of a bloke. He’d been an orphan and this man Payne had taken him in and reared him and apparently was now using him as cheap labour on the farm.
When Father got there things changed considerably, the place was tidied up and painted, improvements carried out, the horse stock built up, the cow stock increased and we started sending cream to the Dubbo butter factory. Now it was our job, I mean the boy’s job and mother’s, to look after the cows. I don’t know how many cows we milked but I know that my share was six. I had to milk six cows before I went to school in the morning. We didn’t milk in the afternoons but we used to have to feed the calves on skimmed milk when we come home from school and feed the pigs. We not only used skimmed milk to feed the pigs but we used to trap rabbits and we had to skin and gut these rabbits and boil them down and mix this with wheat for pig food, that was another of our jobs. I can tell you that in the winter-time to get out of bed and milk six cows before going to school was quite an effort for a young lad. On top of that, we used to have to get up at four o’clock in the morning to walk and feed the horses. In the ploughing time there’d be anything up to thirty or forty horses in the stable that wanted feeding and grooming and watering.
Our daily routine used to be; four o’clock in the morning get up, one of us would let the horses out and take them down to the dam to drink whilst the other two would fill the mangers with chaff and oats. We’d bring them back, put them in the stable and then go and get some breakfast. This would probably bring up about five o’clock. Then, as soon as we’d had breakfast we had to hare off again to get the horses brushed down and the harness on them ready for the ploughmen taking over. One annoying thing that used to occasionally happen at this stage, father would walk down the yard and look between the horses legs and under their collars and if he saw the slightest bit of dried sweat he’d make us un-harness them and brush them down and wait for him to come and look at them before we put the harness on them again before he’d let the ploughmen take them over.
About this time if we were lucky it would be between six and half-past, it was then time to get ready for the morning milking. Whilst one of us took the night-horse and went to bring in the cows the other two used to get the bail ready and the pails for holding the milk and wait for the cows to come in. Then we’d set to and milk our quota and by then it was time to get ready for going to school. If Mother was in a good humour we’d have a little bit of something to eat before we set off to school.
At this time we were going to the school at Murrumbidgerie. The schoolteacher there was a man named Lovett, he was a very good teacher and I think he taught me as much as any other teacher I was under for the length of time that I was there. Whilst the teacher was very good to me I still couldn’t get out of the habit of playing truant and I evolved a method of getting letters from mother taken to him whilst I played truant. Doris used to take the letters and then she used to tell mother that I’d been to school with her and had gone birds-nesting if I didn’t get home at the right time. I used to play truant with a girl called Vivienne McAuliffe and we used to go into the forest bird-nesting or playing about doing all sorts of things. When it was time to go home we used to hide in a tunnel under the railway line until we saw the kids going by when we knew that school had been let out and we just made our way home. She lived at a railway crossing with her parents, her father was a ganger on the railway in charge of a permanent way gang. [There is a record of a Thomas McAuliffe who was a ganger on the Dubbo line in December 1902 on a wage of 9/- a day. Almost certainly the same family. There is also a marriage 3437/1894 at Dubbo. William McAuliffe to Minnie Tregaskis (An old Cornish name) with a daughter Gladys M (6370/1896 at Peak Hill). No Vivienne found so take your pick!] I’d go on home about a mile further on but like all good things this arrangement had to come to an end because one day mother was going visiting some friends called Crowleys who lived a few miles away and she had to go to Murrumbidgerie to get to their place. On the way she decided that she’d call at the school and take Doris and I for a bit of a break. Anyhow, when she called at the school, Mr Lovett said to her Doris is here but we haven’t seen Dubs for about a week and we’ve got a note from you saying that he was ill. Mother shut up like a clam and said no more, took Doris and off she went. When I arrived home there was nobody there, she hadn’t got back from Crowleys, I thought everything will be alright and wasn’t looking forward to any trouble at all when she arrived home and said “Where have you been today?” I said “I’ve been at school.” She said “You haven’t been at school.” Then she told me what had happened. I owned up then and said that I’d been playing truant and she wanted to know who I’d been playing truant with. I said I’d been on me own but anyhow she said she’d go and see the schoolmaster and ask him who else was missing and they’d find out who I was with. So next morning I had to get ready for going to school after milking the cows and I decided I wasn’t going to go. Anyhow, she flogged me up to the gate and I run off down the road and she went back and I sat down on a log. She came after me and gave me another hiding and I still wouldn’t go. She was there beating me and telling me to go to school and I was saying I wouldn’t go when father come out with a load of wheat on a wagon. I thought oh blimey, here’s trouble. Anyhow he came up and he stopped the team and he said to Mother “What’s the matter?” She said “You’ll have to speak to him, he won’t go to school.” Father said “Oh? Leave him to me. Come on you, get up on that wagon.” I hopped up on the wagon, I thought he was going to take me to school because he was going past the school. He was going to a place called Suntop with a load of feed wheat.
Murrumbidgerie (Wongarbon now) Main Street in 1987.
Anyhow, when we were getting near to Murrumbidgerie I started to get a bit itchy, I was wondering if I ought to make a break for it because I knew what would happen when I got back to school with Mr Lovett. Anyhow, we got to Murrumbidgerie and we passed through it and I thought he’s forgot so I just lay doggo and said nothing about anything and just kept to myself. We got into a place called Geurie so I was laid down in this wheat and he couldn’t see me from the ground and then he shouted to me “Hey up there!” I said “Yes?” He said “Come on down!” So I come down and he took me into a shop and he said to me “Would you like a lemon squash?” and I said “Yes I would please.” So he bought me a lemon squash and he bought me some sweets and he said “Go on, get back on the wagon again.” So I got back on the wagon, we took the wheat out to Suntop and delivered it, it was getting on about four o’clock in the afternoon then.
We set off back home, we got back about eight o’clock at night and do you know that for the whole of that trip both there and back, he never said a word to me about going to school until I was going to bed that night. He Said to me “Remember, tomorrow morning you go to school.” I said “Yes dad.” and I went to school the next morning and took me hiding from the schoolmaster. The Old Man had queer ways of dealing with you, you never knew when you had him and when we were doing things wrong he always used to come out sort of sympathising with us. I don’t know, I could never get to the bottom of what was in his mind, he was like a sphinx.
You can’t help wondering about genes and hereditary traits. Here’s Stanley with Joe his lurcher.
I remember one incident that upset the Old Man quite a bit. One afternoon a fellow came up the road leading a greyhound, a black greyhound bitch. He said to the Old Man, “Do you want to buy a dog?” and the Old Man said “Well, it all depends.” He said “Well, she’s a thoroughbred dog, she’s a very good one.” So the Old Fellow said “How much do you want for her?” He was always a sucker for a greyhound. They were talking it over for a while and eventually the Old Man decided to buy her and he gave the fellow twenty five quid for her. The fellow had hardly got out of the yard before the Old Man was off down the field to see if he could find a hare and I remember him putting up a hare in a ploughed field and she was just like a hoop bowling along after it. It didn’t get more than four hundred yards before she caught it. Well after that he used to have her out nearly every day but hares couldn’t live with her, he was boasting to the men, but he never said anything to us, that he was going to send her to Maryvale, that was the coursing place at the time where they used to course hares out of traps. What he wasn’t going to do with her, he was going to win the Waterloo Cup and all sorts of things with it.
The Dubbo papers used to come out once a week, there was the Dubbo Liberal and the Dubbo Dispatch and we used to take both of them. The next paper that came out, there was a notice in about a black greyhound bitch that had been stolen from a man called Jack Manning who was the editor of the Dubbo Dispatch. [Martin Manning was editor until 1903 when he died, he was succeeded by E. M. Manning who died in 1906] Well, the Old Man saw this in the paper and he realised that he’d been taken for a ride but I think he first debated with himself whether he should report it to the police or go and see Manning about it but eventually he decided to take the dog back and go and see Manning and see whether he could get his twenty five pounds back. Anyhow, Manning wouldn’t pay him the twenty five pounds but he said that he’d split the difference with him as a reward, so Manning got his dog back but it cost him twelve pound ten, the Old Man lost his dog and it cost him twelve pound ten. But this dog eventually did go on to win a number of big races, if it ever won the Waterloo Cup or not I don’t know.
More evidence of genes? Young Stanley having a conversation with Jack his bearded lurcher. A very strong, fast coursing dog.
CHAPTER SIX
Wongarbon (Murrumbidgerie) store in 1987.
It was whilst we were living here that I was sent one day to Murrumbidgerie to the store for some things that mother wanted. On the way back I saw a man on a buckboard in front of me going hell for leather and I noticed something dropped off the buckboard. When I got up to it I stopped and picked it up and it was a bag full of money. I’d recognised who the man was, it was Jimmy Rutherford the owner of Murrumbidgerie station. I set off after him, he’d turned off the main road just after he lost his bag and went down what was more or less a private road leading about five miles or six miles down to the station house where he lived. [James Rutherford came to Australia from America in 1861 as managing partner in the Cobb and Company coaching firm. He bought the Murrumbidgerie holding in the 1880s and built it up to almost 250,000 acres. (Marion Dormer in her book ‘Dubbo to the Turn of the Century’.)]
I caught him about half way there and I galloped up along side of him with this thing in me hand and I shouted to him “Mr Rutherford, I’ve got a bag here that you dropped.” So he stopped and he took the bag off me and he opened it and had a look in it. I don’t know whether he thought I’d been in it or not, I don’t know how he thought I’d get in because he had to use a key to open it. He said to me “Right, how much does a revolver cost?” I said “I don’t know, I think they cost about four or five pound.” He said “Well here you are, here’s a fiver. Go and buy a revolver and some bullets and shoot yourself for being such a bloody fool. If I’d have found that bag I’d have never galloped after the fellow that owned it.” He hit the horses on the rump with his whip and set off and left me. Anyhow, I was five pounds better off, I was a millionaire. I took it home and gave it to mother and told her what had happened, I don’t know whether she believed me or not but she took the fiver and never said any more about it.
It was also while we were living here that I saw the my first stampede of cattle and it was the most frightening thing that I’ve ever seen in me life. We knew what cattle did when they stampeded, we knew that there was nothing would stop them. Being country boys we’d been told all about this and we’d heard tales about stampedes but we had a lad with us from the city, his name was Barton, I forget his Christian name but it might have been Dick Barton, in fact I think it was. But all day long he’d been telling us that he couldn’t climb trees because we were birds-nesting and he didn’t take his turn at climbing when we found a nest. We heard this rumbling and Dick said “What’s that?” Stan said “I think it’s a stampede, anyhow we’ll get to know later on.” Anyhow, it was coming nearer to us and Stan said to him “Now then, it’s a stampede, the best thing you can do if you can’t climb a tree is to get behind a big tree and stand behind it and don’t move whatever happens.” We run and found the first decent sized tree and hopped up it, when we looked he was up a bloody tree too, he couldn’t climb but by God he went up that one. The stampede missed us by about a quarter of a mile, there was no need for us to get up a tree at all, they’d sheered off and gone in a different direction but they went through a fence, a six wire fence, and they laid it as flat as a flounder on the ground. Nothing in their path stopped them they went straight on, where they finished up I don’t know but the last we saw of them they were going like hell.
One night, shortly afterwards, somebody came dashing into the house shouting “Bush fire!”, we all run outside and we could see the smoke from the fire over a hill. As far as we could reckon, the fire would be about eight to ten miles away from us but the wind was blowing in our direction. For the next two or three hours you never saw such activity in your life. Father went out, got the horses harnessed up to a plough and they hared off across to our boundary, other ploughs followed him out and there they were ploughing like mad, ploughing a fire break to try to stop the fire getting into the wheat crop which was just then ripening.
Anyhow, other people had been doing the same thing further afield from us and the men harnessed up horses and carts, some went by saddle and some in these carts and set off to help fight the fire. At night time we got Mother to let us go and we went up on top of a hill just about three miles outside our boundary fence. I can remember very clearly standing on that hill and seeing the fire burning and it was just the time when we got there that it was burning in a field that had been ring-barked the year before and it was all dry timber. You could hear the birds screaming. There was things coming towards us, there was rabbits and hares, kangaroo rats, wallabies, all sorts of life just coming with one idea in mind, to get away from the fire. We even saw snakes trying to get away, we were so excited we didn’t even bother to try and kill them. Anyhow, we were fortunate, the wind changed and it came on to rain and the fire was got under control before it reached our place but quite a number of farmers round about had had their crops burned. [It looks as though this was the culmination of the ‘Federation Drought’ we saw earlier. Many reports of bush fires in NSW at this time. The drought finally broke in October 1902.]
That year, we had a wonderful harvest. In some fields it averaged as much as ten bags to the acre, each bag weighed 200 pounds so it will give you some idea of the weight of grain we were taking. Our hay crop was just as good, I think they took somewhere about 300 tons of hay in.
Whether Father’s share in this scheme was more than Old Payne wanted to pay I don’t know but I think that that was the trouble between them. But anyhow, once again it was like Eumalga, all of a sudden bang she goes and we’re off again and this time we moved to Murrumbidgerie. This would be, as near as I can remember in the March or April of 1905. [Father would be 12] Whilst father was settling up his affairs with the Payne family we did quite a lot of odd jobs to make a pound or two. We did rabbit trapping and I used to go with him when I come home from school. The method of trapping in those days, we used the old gin traps and we’d set the traps in the afternoon, we had about 150 traps. We’d set them at burrows and dung hills and on rabbit runs and on each one where we made a setting we’d make a mark pointing to the next trap set. You had to remember these in the dark because you had no other way of finding your traps, if they were buried under the ground or if you weren’t very accurate you’d miss half of them. Well we used to get first what we called a “sundown catch”, we’d know whether we were getting any ‘cause from our camp we’d hear the rabbits squealing. Then, just after sundown we’d take a hurricane lamp, go round, take the rabbits that were in the traps, kill them, bleed them and gut them and hang them up at some nearby gathering spot. Reset the traps, then at about 11 o’clock at night we’d go round again, clear the traps and then at first light in the morning we’d go round and take what were caught in the early morning catch. They were taken off then to Murrumbidgerie station, we had a spring cart and horse, some mornings we’d have as many as fifty or sixty pair, I think the most we ever got was about seventy five pair.
We used to get a shilling a pair for the rabbits, they were inspected on the spot and you were paid cash for them on the nail. The general routine was that when we got them to the station, which was about half past seven in the morning, I’d go home, father would see the rabbits passed and those that were condemned he’d bring home. Sometimes we’d have rabbit pie out of them, sometimes they were fed to the dogs or, if we had too many, we used to give them to Jack Minogue for his pigs. Then I’d get ready for school. Father would do what he had to do until about mid-day then he’d go and set the traps to get ready for the night. That went on day after day and he carried on at this for about a month or so and then eventually he disappeared. Of course, Mother knew where he was but we didn’t know, we just knew that he’d gone. The next we heard about him, when I say we heard about him I mean the kids, he was at a place called Berida on the Marthagai Creek about fifteen miles out of Gilgandra on the Dubbo Coonamble line. He came home and he took Jim with him. Stan had not quite finished school, he wanted to go but Father wouldn’t let him. Anyhow he went off and they used to come home about once every three months. I know that Stan says in his letter about once a year but it was more often than that, it was about once every three months.
It was the Dubbo Show and father and Jim had come home from Berida and as usual we were all looking forward to a day at the Show. Father must have been doing pretty well because he gave us a pound apiece to go to the show and I know that when we got to Dubbo I had to go and pick up a parcel in the town. Mother had given me some money to pay for this parcel and I had some loose change in me pocket and enough money to pay me way into the showground and on top of that I had this pound that I’d been given for spending money.
I went into the showground and was walking up towards the pavilion when a fellow stopped me and he said “Have you just come in?” and I said “Yes.” He said “Oh, you won’t have heard about that monkey biting the boys arm off this morning will you?” I said “No, I never heard anything about it. Did the monkey get out of its cage or something?” He said “No. It was tied up behind the tent and this boy went playing with him and it bit his arm off.” So I never said anything and he said “Would you like to see the monkey?” I said “Aye.” So he said “Come on along with me and I’ll show him to you but you mustn’t go too close to him because he might bite you.” So anyhow we went round behind this tent and sure enough, there was a monkey there on a chain, he didn’t seem very vicious to me but alongside of him was a fellow with a little table and he was playing with a thimble and some peas. I’d never heard of the thimble and the pea game, or the three card trick or anything like that, I was a complete mug. This fellow said to me “I wonder what he’s doing there?” So I said “Let’s go and ask him.” So the fellow said he was just playing a friendly little gambling game on his own, anybody could join in and it was a matter of finding the pea. He had these three thimbles, he showed you where the pea was, moved them about and you had to find the pea and he’d bet you that you couldn’t find it.
So anyhow he shoved them round a bit and he had a newspaper and he pretended to be reading this newspaper and the fellow that was with me picked one of the thimbles up and he said it’s there. So I said “Oh.” So anyhow the fellow puts his paper down and says “Well, are you going to have a bet?” So I said “Aye, I’ll have a shilling on.” So I picked this one and he turned it up and he says you’re lucky, you’ve won. So he paid me the shilling and he started of with them again. I had another bet and I backed a thimble that the chap that was with me had indicated and I won that so I thought oh, it’s easy money this, I’m right in clover here. So he goes on again, shoved ‘em round again and I was wondering whether to have a good bet or not and again he started looking at his paper and this chap picked up the thimble and, sure enough, the pea was under it. He put it down again and said “That’s it!” He said “Come on, have a decent bet.” So I get this quid out of me pocket and I put the quid on it, the bloke picked up the thimble and there was no bloody pea there, it had gone. Well, I was so dumbfounded, I was amazed at losing this pound, I turned away from the table and was walking off. I’d even forgot to pick up the parcel I’d been carrying but anyhow the fellow came running after me and gave me the parcel. I spent all that day and I daren’t tell any of the family I’d lost this pound. I never had anything to eat, I couldn’t spend anything and I had a perfectly miserable day but it was a good thing in one way because it taught me a lesson. I never forgot it and years afterwards I got even with the thimble and the pea man, but that’s something I’ll tell you about later on. [Frustrating but he never got round to that story.]
Well, the show over, we caught the train and we went home. Father and Jim went back to Berida and we settled down to the normal humdrum life. I don’t remember how long it was after the Dubbo Show but mother was confined and gave birth to triplets, I can tell you there was some excitement in the MacDonald household that day! Mrs Minogue was again officiating and when the first baby was born she thought that was it and about ten minutes after we heard another scramble and excited voices in the bedroom. She come out after a while and said you’ve got another baby sister. About an hour after that there was another scramble and the third one turned up. We were all agog, we thought it was wonderful to have three sisters all at once. I remember us going into the lounge to try to listen to what was going on in the bedroom and I distinctly remember one thing, I heard this Mrs Minogue say “There’s no use to worry Lilla, if there’s another one it’ll come when it’s ready.” Anyhow, there wasn’t another one, that was it.
There was all kinds of people come to visit to see these children, mother got the King’s Bounty I think it was called in those days. I think it was twenty pound or fifty pound I’m not quite sure which. Then there was the question of the christening, there was terrific arguments about what they were to be called. Anyhow, in the finish, to try and satisfy everyone, they settled on calling them three names apiece. The oldest one they called Margaret Iris Emily, the second eldest one they called Vera Mary Grace and the youngest was called Vanessa Phyllis Sarah. Unfortunately, the youngest didn’t have very long to bear the burden of three names, she died when she was about a fortnight old. She took ill suddenly with convulsions, they sent for the doctor and he didn’t have much hope of her recovering and said that it would be advisable to send for Father. They sent him a telegram and they also went to the police station and asked the police to try and get in touch with him. Well a couple of days went on and he didn’t show up and they come to the conclusion that neither the telegram nor the police had been able to locate him, so it was decided to ask for volunteers to go after him and bring him back. [Triplets born to Lillian and Alex, 15 Dec 1906 (listed in order) at Wongarbon. Registered in January 1907. Birth certificate for Margaret I E McDonald 2964/1907, Dubbo. Born to Alex and Lillian. Death certificate 15402/1923 records death at Dubbo. Also certificate 2965/1907 for Venessa P S [sic. This is the reason for the spelling on the tombstone] 2966/1907 for Vera M G born to Alex and Lillian at Dubbo. Margaret Iris Emily died 22 Sept 1923 age 17 buried at Dubbo. Death Certificate: 15402/1923. Vanessa Phyllis Sarah died 10 Feb 1907 age 8 weeks, buried Wongarbon. (Spelt ‘Venessa’ on tombstone.) Vera Mary Grace died 11 July 1986 buried Dubbo. Married Bryce Lang, (daughter Marianne, grandchildren Michelle and Leon)]
Mike’s picture of Vanessa’s grave. He said he could imagine Grandad making it wider so the coffin could go in.
I am told that this picture is of Jack Crawford and his son Jack. I think Jack Senior was husband of May who went by the name of Molly.
There was a young fellow named Jack Crawford, he was courting May at the time and he had a pal called Jimmy Coburn and they came along and they said to Mother “We’ll go and see if we can find him. We’ll go on our bikes.” They gave them all the information they could which was very little, they directed them to Gilgandra and then they had to find their own way to Berida. They set off about eight o’clock one morning and we just had to leave it at that and wait for them to return. They turned up the next day about mid-day, they hadn’t found Father, they’d got lost somewhere in the bush and hadn’t even reached Gilgandra so they gave up and come home. In the meantime, he had got word through our telegram or the police, I don’t know which, and he arrived home. But shortly after he arrived Vanessa died. In Australia, when anyone dies, particularly in the summertime, they’ve got to be buried within forty eight hours at the outside being a hot country it’s not possible to keep them any longer than that. Anyhow, all arrangements were made for the funeral and she was buried in Murrumbidgerie cemetery.
There was an incident during the burial that I remember clearly and it also illustrates the type of man that me Father was. The fellows that had dug the grave had not dug it big enough or they hadn’t dug it straight or something but when they were lowering the coffin, when it got down about half way it jammed. They were fiddling about trying to get the coffin down and it was affecting the womenfolk they were fainting and swooning and weeping. Father left the mourners and went up to the grave and he said “Lift the coffin out.” so they lifted the coffin out and he said “Give me a pick.” and he got down in the grave himself and straightened the wall out sufficiently to allow the coffin to be lowered in. It was lowered in and that was the end of that.
Catholic church and presbytery at Dubbo in 1906.
There was one very amusing incident occurred while Father was at home from Berida. There was, in Dubbo, a catholic priest by the name of Father Dunne, [Later Bishop of Bathurst] he used to travel the districts visiting his parishioners. Invariably of course, he always called on mother. Father wasn’t a catholic, in fact, he hated the sight of them but mother was a very devout catholic and the old priest used to call periodically. One day, he turned up and we had a little plot of land alongside the house that father had been growing some experimental wheat in. Whilst he was away I tended this plot, it was only a very small plot and when he come home it was ready for cutting, he’d cut it and stooked it up to dry and was going to thresh it by hand. When the old priest arrived he pulled into the yard and unhooked his horse, he saw these sheaves of wheat stood up and he went and got a couple of sheaves and fed ‘em to his horse. After he’d been there a while in the house, Father arrived home and he said “Whose horse is that?” One of us said “Father Dunne’s.” He said “Who’s fed that wheat to him?” We said “Father Dunne.” So he just turned round and walked off, he was away about five minutes when Father Dunne came dashing out of the house with Father after him. He stood there while the old priest hooked his horse into the buggy and the Old Man said to him “Now you can take this to help you on your way!”, he fetched a whip out and started flogging his horse. The horse went tearing up the lane with the old man hanging on and the Old Fellow said “If ever you come back here again it’ll be you I’ll flog not the bloody horse!” Anyhow, the old priest always made sure father was away before he come visiting again. Of course, it didn’t stop him from visiting, he used to come pretty regularly.
It was now the school holidays and I got my first job, I went to work on a farm which was owned by some friends of ours named Crowley. I went there as a roustabout, doing all kinds of odd jobs round the house and helping the women-folk during harvest. The first day I went, old man Crowley said to me “Have you ever used a scoop?” I said “No, I’ve never used one but I’ve seen them used and I know how to use one.” He said “Do you think you could use one, are you strong enough?” I said “Yes, of course I am.” He said “Right, I’ll get Denny to take you out to a dam. It’s almost empty and you can scoop the silt out of it.”
So we loaded the scoop up in a dray and got a set of chain harness, hooked the old horse up and away we went. Denny took me out and showed me the job and he said “Well, there you are, you can ride the horse home tonight if you’re not finished and we’ll come back for the scoop when you’re finished.” so I started scooping the dam out. Now the procedure was that these dams were made for water catchment where there was no creek water or river water available. The idea was that they’d sink a tank in a favourable position and then they’d plough trenches away from it to trap the water and run it into the tank but with the stock going in to drink and the silt coming down with the water they gradually silted up and then they had to be scooped out. I thought this was a lovely job because I had to strip off everything but me boots and drive this old horse in to about a foot of water and scoop the muck up and take it out to the low side of the dam and tip it where it wouldn’t be washed in by the next rainfall. This job took me about three days. I eventually finished it and the old man came out and had a look at it and he thought I’d done a good job and he gave me five bob extra.
Another of the jobs they gave me to do, and the one I liked best, was running errands for spare parts for machines which had broken down, taking letters to the post and all that sort of thing, they gave me a lovely little pony. It was about 11 miles into Dubbo and if they had a breakdown on a machine I was sent off for the spare part about 11 mile there and back and I really enjoyed meself on those trips because it was across country most of the way and I used to be jumping logs and racing the pony to see what I could get out of him, altogether having a damn good time. But then they put me on to a winnower, winnowing wheat and it was a back-breaking job. This decided me that I probably wasn’t old enough to go to work so I went home and never went back again.
Before we leave Murrumbidgerie, I’d better tell you the story about how it came to change its name. There was two or three versions but the real one I think was that people got to analysing place names, wondering how they got their name. The story come out that during the railway construction, there was a shanty at Murrumbidgerie, that was before it got any name at all, and the blacks used to come into this shanty and if they could, although it was illegal, they’d try and buy liquor, one of their favourite drinks was rum. One fellow was suppose to have come along one day and the boss of the pub said to him “What do you want Jacky?” and he said “I want more rum bidgeree.” Now bidgeree means very good and this rather tickled the landlord’s fancy and they decided to call the place More rum bidgeree. It got to be known roundabouts and there were so many jokes in the paper about it that the town committee got together and decided that the best thing they could do was change the name because it wasn’t doing the place much good being held up to ridicule.
They brought out a story that they were having difficulty with the postal authorities that mail supposed to be going to Murrumbidgerie was going to Murrumbidgee down on the Darling and they were getting Murrumbidgee mail at Murrumbidgerie. So they thought it would be a good thing all round if they changed the name and called the place Wongarbon. I think they were as bad with Wongarbon as Murrumbidgerie, it was out of the frying pan into the fire because Wongarbon is an aboriginal name, I don’t really know what Wongarbon means but I do know that it is a composition of aboriginal words. [According to Marion Dormer the change took place on July 1st 1908 and the new name was supposed to be that of a local aborigine tribe.]
After the death of Vanessa [Feb. 10 1907], Mother couldn’t settle down at Murrumbidgerie and Father decided that the best thing would be to move back to Dubbo where she would be amongst more people that she knew and closer to the church because this was always a grumble with her that she couldn’t get to church as often as she would like to go. We didn’t move into the Peppers again, we moved into a bigger house nearer to town.
Stan had now left school and had gone to the bush with Father and Jim. I was very disconsolate, I had nothing to pass me time away and I missed Stan a great deal, I had friends right enough but it didn’t seem the same without him and I was counting the days until I would be able to get away from school and join them. I once again took to playing truant. That was simply because I felt so lonely that I couldn’t be bothered trying to learn so I used to spend the day in the park rather than going to school. One day I was playing about in the park when I saw the school attendance officer coming across the park, he spotted me and took off after me. I made a dash for it but I could see that I wasn’t going to get away from him. Running through the park was a big open drain which run into a sewer which went down through the town and out into the Macquarie River. Now it’d be from the park to the Macquarie, it’d be about half a mile so I thought I’ll duck into this sewer and he mightn’t see me and I’ll wait until he goes away and then I’ll come out again. Anyhow, I went into the sewer, I went in about a hundred yards and sat down, there was plenty of room to move along if you kept your head down a bit. I wasn’t there very long before I heard noises in the sewer and it sounded as though there was a team of wild horses coming down it so I went further in, these noises followed me and I kept going and eventually the noises stopped. It was pretty stinking in the sewer but there must have been enough fresh air, I didn’t feel any ill effects from it. I thought the best thing I can do, I’ve got this far, keep going. So I kept going and I come out on the bank of the river and I went off swimming for the rest of the afternoon. That was the end of me playing hooky for a while because when I got home Mother had heard all about it and I got the usual bloody good hiding and the next day she took me to school personally and saw me into the classroom. I got the cane again from the teacher, we used to call him Old Baldy Jones. He was an old bugger but I had to put up with it because every day after that Mother used to take me to school and see me inside before she left.
I didn’t last much longer at the Dubbo Public School. I was always getting into trouble for fighting and disobeying the teachers and in the finish, I don’t know whether I was expelled or whether they advised mother to take me away and send me somewhere else but anyhow I was taken away from the school and I was sent to a grammar school which was run by a Mr Sweeney. Now life at the grammar school was entirely different because we played games and we had all kinds of interesting studies and I really enjoyed going to school. This Mr Sweeney was a bachelor and his sister was his housekeeper. I got on very well with her right from the word go, Mr Sweeney used to go about three nights a week to his club and I used to go and sit with Miss Sweeney and keep her company until he come home. To pass away the time she used to tell me tales and read books to me and she always saw that I had plenty of sweets and a good meal before I went to bed at night. Rather than it being a chore for me, I always used to look forward to the nights when he was going out and I could go and spend the evening with his sister.
Mr Sweeney’s approach was far different to anything I had experienced before in schoolteachers, while I was at the public school they didn’t seem to take any interest in me at all except to give me lessons to do and give me the bloody cane when I didn’t do them right. I never got a chance to play with a cricket team or a football team and I knew that I was a reasonably good cricketer and I knew that I was a very good footballer because I played a lot with scratch teams round about the place and always did very well. Well I hadn’t been there a week before it was games afternoon and one of the assistant teachers said to me “What sort of games do you play best?” I said “I don’t play any very well.” He said “Well, this afternoon we’ve got some tennis and some cricket going, would you like to have a game of tennis?” I said “No thank you, I’ll play if you tell me to but I can’t play, I never have played, I haven’t got any interest in it.” He said “Would you like to have a game of cricket?” I said “Yes please.” He said “What are you, a batsman or a bowler?” I said “Well, I don’t know whether I’m anything in particular, I’m a pretty good fielder, I’m not very good at batting and I’m not very good at bowling.” Anyway he said I could have a go.
I knew nothing about the finer points of batting in those days, all I knew was there was a ball coming down and I had to hit it as hard as I could and make as many runs as I could and depend on the fieldsmen not catching me out. I knew nothing at all about playing a ball down on to the ground, I just used to hit it and trust to luck. Anyhow, this afternoon I think I scored about twenty and then they give me a bowl and I took two wickets so they were very pleased and I was delighted. When it came to swimming I really was in me element because I’d had plenty of swimming and I was like an eel in the water, we used to have a swimming afternoon once a week from the school. I never won any prizes that I can remember but I used to take part in all kinds of races but there was always somebody a little bit better than me but I always made the school team up and they used to tell me that I was good club man, whatever that meant. The main thing from my point of view was the fact that I enjoyed it so much.
There was another lesson that we used to get, it was a course called Natural History. We used to go out in country on a suitable day and when we come back we had to write an essay on what we had seen. Although I’d lived in this district all me life, until then I’d never appreciated the beauty of the countryside in Spring. You could go out on to the hills, climb up the hill and look down into the valley and see a blaze of golden Wattle, the varying shades of green of the different kinds of tree, the Box trees, the Gum trees, the Kurrajong and the Wattle all blended together like one big picture and the birds, the Cockatoos, Gallahs, Rosellas, Quarry Hens, Parakeets, Budgerigars, Magpies, Butcher Birds, all the wealth of bird life that I’d walked about all me life and never taken any notice of until these lessons drew our attention to them. For me, that two years under Mr Sweeney was the best years of my school life.
When it was about time for me to leave school, his [Mr Sweeney’s] father who was the principal of the Dulwich College at Solihull died and as it was a private school it was decided that he should leave Dubbo and take on his father’s job at Dulwich. He asked me if I’d like to go to Sydney with him and I said I would and he said that he’d talk to Father and tell me more about it later on. Anyhow, when Father come home he saw him and he told him that he was prepared to take me and keep me and to put me through college, the only condition being that I only come home once every six months and that my parents would be prepared to leave me there until I was 18 years of age. When I got to know about this I cooled off a bit about going to Sydney because I didn’t want to be stuck in a school until I was eighteen years of age but father’s attitude saved me any worries on that score because he said that I couldn’t go, that I had to stay at home and that anyhow, I had to go out into the bush with him. Mr Sweeney said that he was very sorry but if that was Father’s decision it had to be abided by and therefore we said goodbye.
I think it was about this time that father decided to start a sideline. You’ll remember earlier on I mentioned a man named Wong Lee who was a Chinese market gardener between Dubbo and Eschol. Quite near to Wong’s place was a piece of river flat that somehow or other hadn’t been included in any of the local surveys. All ground in Australia is surveyed out in squares, one mile square and this is called a homestead selection. Then it’s built up by these squares into bigger areas going up to almost unlimited size, nevertheless it’s all marked out into 640 acre plots. Somehow this site was sandwiched in between two others and there was no record of it so father went to the lands office and got control of this land, I think it was on a thirty three year lease.
At that time in Dubbo the sanitary arrangements were what we used to call a night soil system. There was no water closets and the lavatories just had a canister in them, this canister was emptied every so often and taken away and disposed of in the country. A family called Rich had the contract of clearing the night soil, father was friendly with Mr Rich, by the way they were a Jewish family, it’s not very often you come across Jews doing this kind of work. They were a family, there was 21 children in the family, 19 of them living and they run this undertaking as a family concern, they also had a big tailoring business in the town.
Father arranged with Mr Rich for the disposal of the sewage on this place and as it was a few miles closer than where he was already dumping and a better road to get to it he quickly snapped up the chance. The method of disposal was that they should get a subsoil plough and they used to plough drains, I don’t know how deep because there was no subsoil for about ten feet down, it was all silt that was washed up from the river and there was no such thing as getting into subsoil you could get as deep as you liked, it was topsoil all the way. So they dug these trenches and they used to fill them in with night soil, they’d put so much in then they’d put soil on top of it and they carried on like that until the trench was filled up then it was laid fallow for about a year and it was ready for use.
Anyhow, when old Wong got going with his vegetables on this plot they’d some of the best vegetables ever seen in the district. As a matter of fact it wasn’t long before they had a monopoly of all the hotels and boarding houses and greengrocers in the town and it was famous for miles around. This went on for a year or two and then suddenly somebody, I suppose it would be some interested party, got to know what was going on and they started a campaign in the Dubbo Liberal about it, about this “filthy proceeding” they called it. They said that the vegetables weren’t fit to be eaten and all that sort of thing which was a lot of tommyrot. Still, to the ignorant section of the population and to a lot of other people as well, they didn’t like the idea of the food they were eating being grown on that kind of manure. Hotels, boarding-houses and greengrocers all cancelled their contracts. To try and keep carrying on they decided to send the stuff to Sydney but it was such a chancy business that after a time they had to give it up because there was occasions when there was a glut on the market and they had to send money after stock to pay for its disposal, instead of making money they were losing it. So they called it a day and put the plot down to Lucerne and I suppose it’ll be Lucerne to this very day. [Father once told me about a Lucerne plot he knew that was on river bottom land and where the river cut the bank away you could see the roots of the plants going down well over fifteen feet into the ground. Lucerne is noted for being very deep-rooted and I wonder whether it was Wong Lee’s plot he was talking about.]
About this time, my inability to resist the temptation to rob an orchard got me into very painful trouble. There was a Chinese garden near to where we lived and amongst other things he used to grow a lot of melons. It was a fairly warm afternoon and we were playing in a bit of spare ground with some other boys and a lad named Dick Samuels who was one of my bosom friends said to me “What do you say if we go to the Chinese garden and get ourselves a melon?” I said “Right, I’m on if you’re game.” and he said “Right, well we’ll go.” He told his brother Clive, and this Clive used to stammer. He said “We’re going to go and rob the Chinese garden.” His brother stuttered out that he would come to so off we went. There was a lot of low scrub along the boundary fence of this garden and after discussion it was decided that Dick and Clive would keep watch and I would go in for the melon because I knew where they were so off I went. I crawled in keeping out of sight, I couldn’t see the old Chinaman anywhere. So I looked round until I found a melon, I tested it to see if it was ripe. The method of testing was to cut a three cornered piece out with your knife and have a look if it was ripe, if it wasn’t ripe you just stuck it back in again and it healed itself up and you went and looked for another one. Anyhow, I found one that was ripe and it was a big ‘un. I cut it off the vine and I started to roll it. I noticed that rolling it over the hard ground, it was cutting through the skin. I thought, that’s no good, I’ll have to carry it so I picked it up and I was running with it in me two arms, stooped down and all of a sudden I heard Dick shout “Look out! The Chinaman’s coming!” I decided to stick to the melon, I didn’t intend him to catch me. I hadn’t gone more than about ten yards when I heard the report of a gun and a terrific pain in me backside. I still hung on to the melon though and I got through the fence. I think the old Chinaman was that frightened he’d turned back and didn’t come after us again. Whether he knew he’d hit me I didn’t know, but he was about a hundred yards away from me when he fired at me and he knew what was in the cartridge. It wasn’t buckshot, it was saltpetre. My God, the pain of that when these things went into my backside! Well we set off for the river, took the melon with us of course. I got into the river thinking that might ease the pain but it didn’t so I had to lay on the grass whilst Dick picked these bits of salt out of me with a pocket knife. For a month after that I always thought of the melon when I sat down but fortunately none of the wounds went the wrong way so I didn’t have to report the matter to mother and father.
Mother decided that she’d like to go back and live at the Peppers and as the place was now empty it was decided to buy it. [1908?] The deal was put through and we moved back to our old home but before we went it was found that I walked in me sleep. One night, mother tells me, I was sleeping in the front bedroom, it was a big house, bungalow type, there was six rooms at the front of the house and then there was a long veranda with wash house, bath house, kitchen and etc, storerooms, running along this veranda. She heard me one night get out of bed and come down the veranda and she followed me, I went into a room and turned the tap on and washed me hands and then I went out and went to the well that was the water supply for the house, it stood in the yard. I lifted up the door of the well and had a look down the well, she was so frightened that I might fall down at this stage that she grabbed me and I woke up and asked her where I was and she told me all that had happened. She was so worried about me that she took me to doctor next day and he told her that there was nothing she could do about it but that it was very fortunate that she didn’t cause me some injury by waking me up. He said in future if he walks in his sleep just leave him alone he’ll not come to any harm.
When we got settled in at the Peppers I took a horse and cart and went out into the bush to get some firewood because in those days there was no such thing as buying coal, your fuel supplies were gathered from the countryside round about. You usually had to get permission from the owner of the property but he was always very glad to give you permission because they wanted the dead wood collecting from the ground as it interfered with the growth of grass. I was out this day cutting wood and loading up the dray on the bank of the river. I met an oldster coming along with his scythe, it was almost dinnertime so I invited him to have a bite with me. He sat down and shared me meal and he gave me some tobacco which I rolled in a piece of newspaper and had a smoke. He was me friend for life because he’d given me a bit of tobacco and he started talking and I asked him where he had come from. He said he’d come from Venn, up round the Coonamble district but he’d spent most of his time on Cooper’s Creek.
He got yarning away and I sat and listened to him telling me about things that he’d seen and things that he’d done and he’d been a drover and fought with cattle duffers and all that sort of thing. He got on to talking about bushrangers and he said that he knew two, Gilbert and Dunn. He told me the story how they were finally captured. These two chaps weren’t very notorious bushrangers but they had broken into one or two banks and they’d stolen cattle and shot one or two people and there was a price of £500 on their head. This chap said to me “You know, there’s been a piece of poetry about Gilbert and Dunn written by a fellow named Banjo Patterson.” I now know of Banjo Patterson very well by repute but I hadn’t heard of him at that time. He said “I’ll just tell you about it.” and he started off. I can remember the piece of poetry because in later years I learned it. It started off: ‘There is never a stone for the sleepers head, there is never a fence beside, but the smallest child on the Watershed can tell how Gilbert died....’ Then of course it goes on, he recited the whole thing to me as he told me the story but I’ve forgotten it now. These two chaps, the police were after them, they made for a place in the Warrambungle Mountains where the father, no I’m wrong, the grand-father of Dunn, was a stockman on a station. They went to his hut, his name was Ford, and asked for shelter for the night and he said “Yes, come in and we’ll drink a drink to the roving boys and to hell with the black police.”
So they went in, tethered their horses outside, he cooked them a meal, they drank some rum that he had in the place and they went to bed. During the night he couldn’t get at their revolvers but he got at their rifles and he drenched their rifles, that was by pouring water down the barrels. He got out and went to where he knew the police were camped and told them that Dunn and Gilbert was in his hut. They surrounded the hut and early in the morning just as day was breaking Gilbert woke, he woke Dunn and said there was something wrong, there was somebody outside. He turned to the bed that the old man was sleeping in and he wasn’t there. He said to Dunn, “I know now that there’s something wrong, your grandfather’s not here, he’s split on us.” Dunn didn’t know what to say, in fact there’s no record of him saying anything as far as this chap knew. Gilbert said “There’s only one chance for us, it’s a cert that we can’t both get away, one of us has got to go. So you give me your revolver and I’ll go out and meet them and you get out the back way as best you can and get a horse and try and make a break for it while I fight it out with them. If I’m lucky, I’ll follow you.”
So this was agreed on, Dunn gave him his revolver and Gilbert went out and called to the police to come and ‘fight you bastards’. Anyhow they fired on him and he returned their fire and a battle took place and Dunn got out the back way and got on a horse but as he was getting away one of the troopers shot him in the back, Gilbert was shot dead. The Warrambungle Mountains are about a hundred miles, probably a bit more from Dubbo but Dunn next showed up in a Scotch thistle patch behind the Dubbo showground. He was found there by some children who were rabbit hunting and he asked them for water and food, they could see that he was wounded but they didn’t know that it was Dunn. They went home and told their parents about it and the father straight away jumped to the conclusion that it must be Dunn so he went to the police. The police surrounded this place and Dunn was taken, he was later tried and hung. I checked this story later with father and he said that it was perfectly true. I also learnt that father had a great sympathy for Dunn and Gilbert, I don’t know whether he knew them or not, he never said, but when he learned that the man who reported Dunn’s presence in the thistle patch to the police was Mr Byrum he was furious and he made it his business to see Byrum and tell him what he thought about him. Although they’d been very good friends for years, Father never spoke to him again as far as I know. [Myth is creeping in here again. The official accounts of John Gilbert have him being involved in the robbery of the gold escort at Eugowra Rock on the 15th of June 1862 and eventually he was shot by police on the bank of Billabong Creek near Binalong on 13 May 1865. Dunn’s grandfather John Kelly informed on them and during the attempt to get away Gilbert was shot dead. Dunn escaped, but was caught later on 26th December 1865 and was hanged at Sydney on 19 March 1866 aged 19. Our research found 6120/1864 McDonald, Alexander (John?) dob 9th April 1864 at Young (Lambing Flats) and so he can’t have had any part in the story.]
There are quite a few lads in Dubbo that I like to remember and I’ll just mention here a few of my bosom pals when I was going to school. First and foremost of course there was Dick and Clive Samuels, they were my real buddies because we hunted and fished and swam and surveyed the surrounding countryside, always together, one would never dream of going anywhere without the others. There was Cherry Langley the son of a racehorse trainer who was also a very good friend and with whom I spent many happy hours. There was another lad called Horace Findlater, I have a very kindly thought for him because one day when I was walking across the sleeper paddock I met the town bully, a lad named Gutter[?] Clark, he’d be a chap about sixteen years of age then, I was then about twelve or thirteen. I was a good marble player and he knew that I had a lot of carnelian[?] stones so he stopped me and said “We’ll have a go at marbles.” I said “no, I’m not playing marbles today, I’ve got to go down town for mother.” He said “let me have a look at your marbles.” I said “No. I’m not going to let you have a look at them.” because I knew what Gutter Clark was and I knew if I let him get hold of me marbles I’d never get ‘em back again. So he said “If you don’t let me have a look at your marbles I’ll give you a belting.” So I said “All right, you’ll have to give me a belting.” because I knew he could do ‘cause he was a lot bigger than me. Anyhow I was shaping up to him and he clouted me a time or two and I could see I was going to get hell knocked out of me when all of a sudden I heard a voice saying “You lay off Gutter!” and when I looked up it was Horace Findlater, he was about Gutter’s size. He said “You leave this lad alone or I’ll teach you a lesson.” Anyhow he was a bit of a coward this lad Gutter Clark, he wouldn’t face up to Horace and he took me over to where he lived and his mother washed me face and the nose bleed and after that Horace Findlater was one of my heroes. I have a story to tell about him but it comes later on because eventually he became a driver on the railway. Anyhow, I’ll tell you that story when we get to it in the proper order.
It was through Cherry Langley and a lad named Gil Henderson that I was invited to play in the North Dubbo Rugby Team. It was the first time I’d ever had an opportunity to play club football and I wondered how I’d go on amongst the older fellows. I mentioned this to Gil Henderson and he said “You’ve got no need to worry about it because I’ve seen you play and I know very well that you’ll be able to hold your end up with the best of them.” Anyhow I was picked and when we got down to the ground I remember ‘em giving me my jersey and me boots and shorts and I was very proud to think that I was going to play in front of spectators. I said to the captain of the team, a fellow named Bob Steele, “Where am I playing Bob?” He said “You’re going to be playing on the right wing today. You play out there and see how you go on.” I thought well I’ll have a go at that because I like playing on the wing and we were playing a little place called Narromine. The referee was our local padre a fellow named Ernie Coverdale.
I was lucky, I scored two tries and kicked a goal so I was a hero first time out. Five minutes from time, I forget what the score was but we were about even, anyone who could score looked like winning the match and we’d had a row of about five yard scrums but we couldn’t get over and they couldn’t break away, we had a terrific match. Anyhow we finished, I think we just won or perhaps they just won, I’m not quite sure. That wasn’t of any importance to me, it was the fact that I’d got a game with a club team. The only thing that I was sorry for was that I was shortly going to leave home and that my chances of playing more football with them would have gone because we were expecting father home at any time now and I was hopeful that when he returned he’d take me with him.
Anyhow he did arrive home and the two boys were with him and they were telling me what sort of a life it was out in the Never-Never and I was counting the hours until I could be with ‘em. The day before they went away, father came to me and said “Got your bag packed?” I said “Aye, I’m ready to go.” He said “I’m taking you with me this time but you must remember that you’re not going for a picnic, you’ve got to work, and you’ve got to work hard, you’ll have to settle down.” I said “Alright, I’ll do anything at all, just let me go.”
The next morning we got on the Dubbo to Coonamble train and went out to Gilgandra and there we picked up our horse and spring cart and set off for Berida, father hadn’t come with us on the train because he always used to go by bike, the forty mile ride was nothing to him and we thought to ourselves that we’d get there before him and get settled in before he gets there because we never thought that he could beat the train. We didn’t realise that the train that we were travelling on was a mixed goods and passenger train and used to stop at every siding to shunt trucks off and pick trucks up and the trip from Dubbo to Gilgandra, although it was only about forty mile, it used to take about half a day.
Anyhow we got the horse and cart and got some rations that he’d instructed Jim about and we set off for camp. When we got to the camp, I thought it was one of the most romantic looking places I’d ever seen in me life. It was in a big Bullargh[?] scrub, the Bullargh tree is a tree which grows very high and it always grows in swampy country and it’s not much good for anything at all in the way of building material - well for any use at all really. Well, we were camped at the edge of a lagoon and it was called the Tacklebang Lagoon. There were three lagoons in this area, this one was Tacklebang, the next one was Uabalong and the one further on down the Marthagai was called Eegigaleegeebung. I don’t know what Tacklebang meant or what Uabalong meant but Eegigaleegeebung meant that the place was haunted with the spirits of the aborigines who’d died and you could never get aborigines to go there at night time, it was said that all the Bullargh trees in the lagoon housed the spirits of their ancestors. There was a water tank quite close to us as well but we used to use the water for drinking from the lagoon which was about three hundred yards away. The method of carrying it was two five gallon kerosene tins with handles in them on a yoke. I quickly learnt that that was one of my jobs, carrying the water.
The first night we were there, father went out with a gun and shot a couple of curlews. He brought them back, we plucked them and he put ‘em in the camp oven to roast and we had them before we went to bed that night. Well, I thought this was marvellous, I’d heard them talking about shooting duck and brush turkeys and pigeons but to actually experience having some game on the first night in the camp was quite a thrill. I found me bed in a little six by eight tent sleeping with Stanley on one side and Jim on the other. I went to sleep, thoroughly one of the happiest boys in Australia, I was soon to learn that being in the camp in the bush wasn’t all adventure but I’ll tell you more about that when I start again.
Berida was a sheep station of some 60,000 acres of land almost entirely devoted to sheep. They kept a few cattle to slaughter for themselves and for milk and there was a bit of arable farming, only just sufficient to keep the saddle horses supplied with hay in the winter time or when grass was scarce. The place was owned by two brothers, Jim and Mac Barry and they came into the squatter class. Now the squatters derived their name because of the fact that they’d squatted on the land before it was surveyed and laid claim to it. As the government of that period was very anxious to settle the country they put no obstacles in the way of anyone who wished to go beyond a certain distance line from the coast and claim and take up land. The usual procedure would be that a man who intended to start squatting would get himself a mob of sheep or a flock of cattle and put all his household goods onto a wagon, family and all included, and set off across country in the hope of finding some suitable settlement. Sometimes of course, they’d already surveyed the country themselves and they knew where they were going.
This is my Uncle Stan in about 1955 I think. The lady will be my aunt Sarah Jane but I can’t guess at the other man even though he looks familiar.
The mis-spelt headstone on Vanessa’s grave. They took the spelling from the birth certificate.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the case of the Barry’s, I had heard that the land that they were on was a grant given by the government to their father for services rendered.
For the first few months that I was there I had a busy time learning about all the things that went on on a sheep station. We were at that time engaged on erecting a rabbit-proof fence right through the heart of the station run and when I went there it was almost finished, it was only about two miles to do. Now the standard fencing was, I can remember the specification perfectly well, the posts used for the job were to be either box wood, pine or Buddha. Buddha is a sort of bastard sandalwood. For the small posts like Buddha they had to be a minimum diameter of four inches at the top and for the thick posts, they had to be no less than six by six. The posts had to be spaced ten feet apart and they had to be twenty two inches into the ground with a straining post every hundred yards which was not less than a foot diameter at the small end and sunk three feet into the ground. There was six wires and wire netting of one inch mesh, three foot six wide and this had to be buried a minimum of six inches into the ground.
Our other job was ring-barking as most of this country was in its wild state and no attempt had ever been made at any cultivation of any kind. As the sheep flock grew they wanted more grass and therefore they had to turn to clearing the land to get a higher production of grass. There was a law in Australia, or in New South Wales at any rate, that when ring-barking the forest, a belt of two chains had to be left all the way round the edges of the forest, the idea of this was to stop soil erosion also to encourage rainfall. There were a number of types of ring-barking and for boxwood trees we used to do what was called ring-barking. That was a ring of bark six inches wide was taken off all round the tree. If there was gum trees in the plot then they had to be what was called sapped, that was that you had to cut a scarf out all round the tree right through the sap wood, if this wasn’t done they would overgrow and the ring-barking would be no use at all. On things like Bullargh(?), Buddha, Sycamore and all other kinds of scrub timber, oak, they were what we called frilled, that was one axe cut around the tree leaving a frill. That was generally sufficient to kill that type of tree. The worst tree to kill was the gum tree because immediately you sapped it, within the next two or three weeks, it would throw up suckers and you’d have to go round again and cut the suckers off and that went on until eventually the tree died.
Our hours of work were up at daybreak, breakfast and off to work, we’d get away to work just shortly after sun-up. We worked until mid-day and had our mid-day break. If the weather was hot we might have a couple of hours for lunch, if it was normal then we’d have about an hour and we were off again, this went on until sun-down. There was no stop for a drink of tea at ten in the morning or four in the afternoon, you just had a water bag and if you wanted a drink you had a drink out of that. You used to work in lines when you were ring-barking and you had to hold your end up with all the other people and keep a straight line as you went along.
When you were fencing you used to dig the holes by digging so many holes then going round each other and that kept you up to the mark, you had to dig as many holes in the same time as the rest of the gang, the same thing happened on the fencing. The only break that I got was when we were running the wire and if the Old Man set me on the reel while the other fellows ran the wire out I used to get a bit of a break then. I also got a bit of a break when we got the wire netting in position because when we’d done about half a mile, he used to send me back with small wires to secure the wire netting to the fence wires. I soon learned that it wasn’t all beer and skittles, you were always very glad when the Old Man had to go away anywhere for a day or half a day because we had a bit of a break, we didn’t do much work when he wasn’t there I can assure you.
When the fencing job at Uabalong was finished we moved away to another camp on a ring-barking contract. This was a pretty big job and the Old Man decided to hire some labour. He brought out two of my uncles, uncle Art and uncle Ernest [Ernest born 1865 and I think ‘Art’ is me mis-hearing Archibald born 1876.] and a friend of ours named Louis leFevre who was the son of the lady I’ve spoken of before, Mrs Minogue. We also had one or two fellows that had drifted into the camp and the Old Man had given them a job.
Whilst we were on this job we noticed a terrific amount of rabbits. We got together and had a talk about it and we decided that it mightn’t be a bad idea to have a rabbit drive. At that time, rabbit skins were worth about 11d [Almost 5p] a pound and there were about eight skins to the pound so we thought that if we got a few rabbits it might supplement our spending money a bit. We had a word with the Old Man about this and he said “If you want a rabbit drive you can have one but all the arrangements will have to be made in your own time, you’re not knocking off work to go chasing rabbits.” So we said alright.
Now we used to knock off earlier on a Saturday and we had Sunday to ourselves ostensibly to do our washing and all that sort of thing. We decided to go in to the home station and have a word with Mr Barry. We told him what we had in mind and he was all for it of course, he promised that he would lend us sufficient wire netting and wire, anything we wanted. Also when we were ready for the drive he would send the men out from the station to give us a hand with the drive.
We worked two or three weekends on this thing, we built a yard first and then we built an outer yard and then we run a wing out, we set our yard and wire netting fence and we run our wing out about a mile. About a quarter of a mile from the yard we put what we called a drop net across, that was wire netting supported with sticks so that when we drove the rabbits through we dropped it and they couldn’t get back.
Everything was set for this rabbit drive which was to take place on a Sunday morning. Just before daylight we went out to start the drive, there was about 40 men had turned up, there was all sorts of blokes arrived from round about and they had tin bowls and rattles and cans and all sorts of things. We started the drive, we drove the rabbits on and as we got further down the wing the ground was just moving with rabbits. We got ‘em in through the drop net, dropped the net on them. Of course a lot got back and got away but we got ‘em through into the big yard and started driving through into the small yard and we found the small yard wasn’t big enough to hold them so we made the big yard secure and started killing. We killed all the rabbits and counted them and we’d just over 4,000 so then there was the problem of skinning and by this time it was getting on towards mid-day so we went back to the camp and had our mid-day meal. Father said “Well what are you going to do now, you’ve got all the rabbits, what are you going to do with them?” We said “we’re going to skin ‘em.” He said “You’ll have to get busy if you’re going to skin all them today, there won’t be much in it by the time you’ve paid all these fellows for working.”
We hadn’t thought about that, we’d thought about sharing this thing amongst five of us. The Old Man said “You needn’t worry about it, I’ll let the men help you with the skinning and you can start tomorrow morning, have the rest of the day off.” That suited us fine, we went next morning and started skinning, I could skin about twenty or thirty an hour, Stan could skin about the same amount, Jim could skin more. Anyhow we were at it all day and well into the night before we’d finished these things and it took about a mile of old Mac Barry’s wire to put these skins on to dry. We got them all pegged out and hung up to dry but there was a bit of trouble about half way through the skinning session.
I don’t know what happened but my uncle Ern was a bad-tempered bloke and he didn’t like Jim. I had a knife that Jim fancied and while we were stopped for a break he pinched this knife and left his own knife for it. I tackled him about it and he wouldn’t give me my knife back so I rolled into him and he gave me a belting. Well this just suited Ern because he had a down on Jim and he rolled into Jim but he’d lost sight of the fact that although we could fight between ourselves, it was a private fight and no outsider was allowed in. As soon as he tackled Jim we all tackled him, he took a knife in his hand and he hit Jim under the chin with the butt end of the knife, not with the blade, he shut the knife and held the knife in his fist and then hit him under the chin with it and cut his chin.
Anyhow, we weren’t satisfied with giving him a good hammering we took to him with sticks and gave him a belting with sticks so he went off to the camp to tell the Old Man all about it. Anyhow, we went back to the camp when we’d finished and he’d already told the Old Man his story and before the Old Man said anything to us he went and had a word with Louis LeFevre and me uncle Art [Arch?] joined in the chat as well. Then the Old Man went to uncle Ernest’s tent, he was lying in the tent, and he said something to him. About ten minutes afterwards he had set off towards Berida. I daren’t ask the Old Man what had happened to him, he never said anything to us but we learned afterwards that the Old Fellow’d given him his time, sacked him and told him he needn’t come near the camp again because he wouldn’t get a job if he come there.
About this time, May [Known as Molly later] become engaged to big Jack Crawford and we were looking forward to the wedding because we knew we’d have a good time, the wedding day was fixed and we got ready to go off home to attend the function. That month that we were waiting between the time we heard of the engagement and the wedding was one of the longest months I’ve ever spent in me life. We were counting the hours every day, how long it would be before we got back to Dubbo. It came at last and Father went off on his bicycle and we took the stage coach to Gilgandra and the train home. She was married in the Catholic church and the reception was held at a restaurant in Talbragar Street [1909. 16 years.]. We all had a good time because there was lashings of everything bar booze of course but everything else that one could wish for was there. There was about a hundred guests. I had no idea that May and Jack Crawford were so popular until the marriage, people that I didn’t know that they knew turned up and of course I suppose they were invited. It was a very grand affair. [Lillian May (Molly) born 9 Aug 1889 at Murrumbidgerie (now known as Wongarbon) 15845/1889. McDonald Lillian M, born to Alexander and Lily at Dubbo. Married Jack Crawford at Dubbo certificate no. 1233/1909. Died 1954. Death certificate, 6912/1954 Crawford Lillian May, parents Alexander and Lillian, at Balmain. SG note: I get very confused because she was known as Molly in later life and can be confused with Molly Skinner. Molly Skinner was like another daughter to the McDonalds, and largely brought up Vera. She died around 1962 in Bathurst, NSW and is buried in the Old Church of England Section Bathurst Cemetery, Bathurst, NSW. I can find no indication that she ever married. See research appendix for the Skinner family.]
Jack Crawford was a big chap about six foot six. He weighed about sixteen or seventeen stone and was nothing but bone and muscle, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He was a big slow-going fellow, slow speaking and slow thinking, if you asked him a question he always considered it a minute or so before he answered and I personally never saw him lose his temper. I know he could lose his temper and he was a pretty rough handful when he did but I never ever saw him lose his temper. At the time they were married he was working around on farms and sort of doing odd jobs up and down, he was nowhere very permanent. Of course this didn’t suit May, she wanted a permanent job and a permanent home, she said she didn’t want to be like Mother. To satisfy her wants, Jack took a job on the railway as a fettler, that is what you’d call platelayer in this country. We call platelayers at home the men who lay the permanent way, Jack’s job was maintenance of the permanent way.
Well the wedding was over and back we go to Berida. On our return trip we only took Louis LeFevre with us and a new character by the name of George Gain. Now Louis LeFevre was almost one of the family at that time because he was the son of Mrs Minogue’s first marriage and really, the friendship between Mother and Father and the LeFevres, the Minogues later on, was really founded at the time when she was married to Mr LeFevre. They came from Italy but whether there’s any connection or marriage between them and the Johanstones I don’t know. I never heard her talk about it but I’ve often wondered if there was a connection between them before they emigrated to Australia.
George Gain was the son of Mrs Skinner, he was the only son of her first marriage. [There is a birth registered in 1886 (32168/1886 at Orange) of George A Gain to John H Gain and Ellen which looked as though it fitted but it is followed by a death certificate (12186/1887 at Orange). It looks as though our George was born after this infant death but I can’t find anything. He may have been known as Skinner because that is the name he enlisted under.] He was a peculiar chap, he was one of the most likeable fellows I ever met in me life, he was good-hearted to a fault, he’d do anything for you, in fact he’d do anything for anyone but he just could not keep his fingers to himself, if he saw anything that he thought he could make a bob or two out of he’d steal it. He’d been in gaol and because of mother and father’s friendship with his Mother she prevailed on the Old Man to take him out into the bush where he couldn’t get into trouble. Little did she know that he could get into as much trouble in the bush as he could anywhere else! Anyhow, he came with us and for a few months we all got along very well together, he joined in, he shared things, hunting shooting and fishing, anything that was going and he worked like a tiger.
As we were miles away from the nearest town, it was up to ourselves to create our own entertainment. This was generally done by probably visiting some other camp or being visited by fellows from another camp and we’d sit around the fire yarning and singing and telling recitations. It was amazing the things of interest that you heard because you met men from all over the country and they all had there own special yarns to tell. Some of them had been miners and some of them just tramps, sundowners, and they’d had all kinds of occupations. There was one chap that used to come to our camp, he was a remittance man. A remittance man was a man who was a neer-do-well in this country and his people sent him off to Australia and they paid him so much a quarter. Well, this fellow, he used to get his money from home every three months, when he got it there was nothing would hold him back from town. He’d go into town and he’d get on the booze and he wouldn’t stop drinking until it was all gone and they chucked him out and then he’d go back to work again but he was a well educated man and he told some very interesting stories about not only England but other countries he’d been to as well as his life in the army, he’d been an officer in the army, but was cashiered. All in all he was a very interesting fellow.
As very few of the fellows could sing, giving a recitation was the favourite entertainment. I’ve no intention of inflicting recitations on you at this juncture but I once did win a prize for saying nearly a hundred pieces of recitation by memory. This will give you some idea of the studies I must have put in learning them.
One day when I was out hunting I come across a Bower Bird’s run. We knew there was one in the woods nearby because we often used to hear him at night time imitating all sorts of things. He could imitate a saw or he could imitate a dray, the way the wheels of the dray knocked going over the rough ground and he’d imitate other birds. He’d even ‘coo-ee’ like a man but we were never able to find his run and one day I stumbled on to it. It was very interesting to see, he had a main hall and this hall was built up with branches and leaves and that sort of thing then there was a passageway and a sort of outer courtyard and this was covered with all sorts of things, I don’t know where he’d found them all but there was bits of crockery, bits of stone and all sorts of little things like that spread on the floor. I waited about three hours to see him and eventually he did come down to the nest and did one or two struts through it and made one or two calls, they were his natural calls he wasn’t imitating anything at that time but it was very interesting to see and when I went back and told ‘em at the camp that I’d seen it they wouldn’t believe me because it was very very seldom anybody ever found a Bower Bird’s run but I took them back and showed them where it was and they were quite satisfied, they saw the run but they never saw any birds. He wouldn’t come anywhere near whilst we were there.
When the ring-barking job cut out, father went back to Dubbo and we went over to the main homestead where we had a bit of a job to do and also we were going to help with getting in the hay. George Gain went with father as far as Gilgandra and there he met a fellow that he’d known before and he told Father that he’d get on the train later on and Father went off home on his bicycle. Within a couple of days we got word that George was in the police station in Gulargumbone. He’d met this fellow and apparently he was a chap that he met in gaol and they teamed up together and decided they’d break into a skin and hide warehouse in Gulargumbone which they did. They got the skins and brought them back and sold them to the skin and hide warehouse in Gilgandra so of course it was an open and shut case and they were found guilty and got six months in Bathurst Gaol.
After May’s wedding mother felt very lonely and as there was only her and Doris and the two kids [Margaret and Vera] she prevailed on father to take her out to Berida on the next job that they went on. We did have a job to go to and it was at the Berida homestead. [Barry’s] We had a bit of fencing to do and father had agreed to help them with the haymaking so we went to the homestead after buying some new tents and equipment in Gilgandra and started to prepare the holiday camp. We put up a big tent sixteen by twelve and this was supposed to be a living room and sleeping quarters for mother and father. Then we put a ten by eight tent up for the three girls and we also put up the big tarpaulin flies for them to cook under and eat under and made everything as comfortable as we could for them.
It was a lovely spot where we were camped, it was right on the banks of the Marthagai Creek. There was a big weir which was used as water conservation for the homestead, there was boats on it and you could go fishing and shooting, anything to pass away the time. They arrived out eventually and got settled in, we lads thought it was a wonderful thing because we had the pleasure of mother’s cooking. We didn’t have to do quite so much of the camp work after we’d finished work during the day.
We went on with this job and got it finished then we went on with the hay-making and that went off uneventfully. There was only one little incident that was a bit exciting while it lasted, they had an immigrant chap who’d worked on a farm in this country [England] and he was on the wagons loading the hay, the other lads were pitching it up from the stooks down below. There was plenty of snakes about and one day, a chap threw up a sheaf of hay and there was a snake in it, this snake ran up this lads trouser leg, he must have had great presence of mind because he just grabbed hold of his trousers, or this was what he told us afterwards, he grabbed hold of his trouser leg, got his knife and slit the trouser leg from top to bottom, the snake dashed out and he slid off down to the ground. He was very fortunate that he didn’t get bitten because it was a brown snake and they give rather a nasty bite. [This an understatement. The Brown Snake is the second most venomous snake in the world after the Inland Taipan. I met one in 1987 and was given a severe warning at the time.] Anyhow, the job finished and Mother and the kids went back to Dubbo, we moved out to another contract on one of the out-stations and we were putting a line of fence in there. We were on a boundary between Berida and a man called Big Bill Ring. Now Ring and Father were at daggers drawn over something, I don’t know what it was but it was something that had happened that I knew nothing at all about. We were cutting the posts for this fence in some Buddha scrub on the boundary. Inadvertently either father or one of us had felled a tree over the boundary line on Ring’s land, this was a trivial thing which the majority of squatters wouldn’t have thought anything about but Ring happened to come along and see this tree and he accused the Old Man of trespass. The Old Man said there couldn’t be trespass because there was no line of demarcation as to which was Ring’s land and which was Barry’s land. Anyhow, Ring made a case of it, he had the Old Man summoned, he was taken to court and he was fined five bob for trespassing on Ring’s land. The judge, very politely, told Mr Ring what he thought about him.
We had another exciting experience here, or at least, it was exciting for me. We’d been out shooting and were coming home through an ironbark forest. A thunderstorm come up and either Jim or Stan shouted let’s run for it, there’s going to be a storm. It was a fixed rule there that if there was a thunderstorm you got away from timber as quick as you possibly could well out into the open. Anyhow, the thunderstorm beat us. I was running through the forest when, I don’t know how far it was in front of us, it seemed about a yard but it must have been about twenty or thirty yards, lightning struck a tree right in front of me. I stopped dead, I was rooted to the spot, I couldn’t have moved if anybody’d given me a thousand pound. When I did move my legs were so weak they’d hardly carry me. Anyhow I got over the fright and we got out in the open without anything further exciting happening and fortunately, none of us were hurt.
When this job finished, we moved off to Curban on another job putting up a telephone line. At this time, Berida was just installing, from the home station to all the out stations, telephone communication and Father got the contract of putting in the telephone lines. This was a very interesting job because we had first to find a forest for suitable poles and they were felled and barked and painted with creosote. We got the line up and telephones through to the home station in record time. We had a little bit of a celebration because when we got through to the home station Mr Barry invited us to come up to the boundary rider’s hut that night and listen to some music which they played on their gramophone in front of the telephone, it was a bit of an occasion for us.
Jim had been showing marked signs of discontentment for some time now and one day he and I and Stan were sitting together having our mid-day meal when he broke the news to us that he was going to make a break for it. We discussed ways and means of him getting away, what he was going to do when he got away and that sort of thing. He hadn’t any idea of what he was going to do, his one idea was to get away because the job had become so monotonous to him and I think he resented Father’s authority over us as we all did and he said “I’m off.” So we said, “When are you going”. He said “I’m going to go on Sunday night, I’ll get to Curban and I can hide out there until the train comes which is about ten o’clock in the morning and if I get on the train alright I don’t think the Old Man will ever find me.” Anyhow, we gave him what bit of cash we had, it wasn’t much, only a bob or so but anyhow we gave him all we had and helped him to pack his things and about midnight he went off. Well, that was alright for him but we had to face the Old Man the next morning. When we got up and were having our breakfast he said “Somebody go and call Jim”, Stan went to the tent pretending to go and call him and he came back and said he wasn’t there. The Old Man asked where he was and Stan said he didn’t know. “When did you see him last.” He said “We saw him when we went to bed last night”. He didn’t sleep in the same tent as us, we didn’t know what time he’d got up or where he’d gone to. So he never said any more, we had our breakfast and went off to work. The Old Man said nothing, he just carried on, we thought he’d go looking for him but he didn’t. So in the evening when we were having our meal he just said “Anybody see anything of Jim today?” We said “No.” He said “I suppose he’s made a break, well, if he wants to go, let him go.” A few days after this, father came in and said “I saw a Quandong tree while I was out today and it’s loaded with ripe fruit.” We said “Where is it?” He directed us to where it was so Stan and I thought we’d go on the Sunday and have a feed of Quandong nuts. Now these Quandongs, they were very pure quality fruit, a stone about as big as a plum but a bit bitter and we took them back to the camp and eat them and my God, about twelve o’clock at night we were rolling about all over the place, I thought I was poisoned. Anyhow, Father heard us groaning and he came to see what was the matter, he said we had bellyache and said it served us bloody well right for making gluttons of ourselves, he said it was the Quandongs we’d eaten. Anyhow we got a dose of salts and we were alright next morning.
Very shortly after this, the job on Berida cut out and we left Berida and go to Gilgandra.
I met this red-bellied black snake in 1987. About 4 feet long and when I asked I was told the venom took about twenty minutes to kill. That was after I’d taken the picture from about six feet away!
CHAPTER EIGHT
We made camp on the outskirts of the town [Gilgandra] and Father said he was going away and he’d be back in a day or two. He didn’t tell us where he was going or what he was going for, we didn’t know whether he was going home or what was in his mind. We didn’t like to ask him and he didn’t tell us he just said “So long, I’ll see you in a day or two.” [Late 1909? Father would be 16 years old.]
Well, time went by, he didn’t return and we were getting short of food and we had no money. Well I got looking around the town and eventually got in touch with a teamster who was carting sawn timber from a sawmill about thirty mile out of Gilgandra, he wanted a horse boy so I took the job. I went back to camp and told Stan about it and he said “Well it’s alright for you, you’re alright for grub but what about me?” I said “Well I don’t know, you’ll have to do the best you can for yourself but somebody’s got to stay and mind the camp and I’ve got a job.” So he said he would do the best he could. There was a butcher in Gilgandra who we knew fairly well and I suggested to Stan that he went to see him. I said “You go and see Mr Higson and borrow a pound or so off him to keep you going until the Old Man gets back, anyhow he might be back any day.” Anyhow he didn’t come back. We went out and picked up a load of timber and brought it in and he still hadn’t returned but Stan was getting on alright so we went off for another load.
An eight horse team of the same vintage.
Well I was enjoying myself because this fellow let me drive the team. I think, if I remember right it was a team of about twelve or fourteen horses on this wagon and they were driven entirely by word of mouth, there was no reins or anything like that used on them, he used to go off to places on his saddle horse and leave me to drive the team. It was great sport for me because it was the first time I’d ever driven a team, I’d seen them driven but I’d never actually driven a team myself. The method of driving was you had words of command for the horses. If you wanted them to go away from you you’d shout wee hiddle hod gee(?), if you want them to come back to you that is to come to the nearside, you shout wee whoa back wahoo. To the shafters and the pinners, if you wanted them to move over or come to you to miss a gate post or some object that was in the road you just shout git over to go away and come here for them to come to you. If they’re properly trained horses, as soon as you speak they’ll answer to your command. Anyway, we got back into Gilgandra with the second load and while we were unloading at the railway station Stan came to tell me that father had come back, I had to come back to camp.
There was one interesting thing which I heard whilst I was with this old teamster, it turned out that he knew my uncle Arthur [Arch?], that was Father’s eldest brother, [Can’t find any mention of Arthur, from the information we have Charles W (b.1863) was Alex’s elder brother by a year] he’d seen a fight between uncle Arthur and George Goddard, the Barrier Slugger. This fight lasted about thirty rounds, of course you don’t know how long thirty rounds would last in those days because the end of a round was a fall. A round might only last about ten seconds, it might last four or five minutes. He’d seen this fight and was always talking about what a great fighter Arthur MacDonald was and he said that if he’d taken it up professionally he’d have done very well out of it.
Anyhow, we went back to camp, into Gilgandra and stocked up and set off for the Warrambungle Mountains. Father had got a job of fencing there for a man called Mr Lowden(?). Whilst we were loading up, one of the items was a five gallon tin of kerosene which we used for the lamps. Either Stan or I, I don’t know who it was, had put this kerosene on top of a bag of flour. Nothing was said about it until we got to camp. We got out to the site where the fence was to be erected, it was an old homestead, it was deserted and in ruins when we went there but we were told that it had been the home of a dummy squatter. Now a dummy squatter is a man who takes up a selection for a big squatter. He complies with the law in that he’s got to live on it for five years and he’s got to do a certain amount. If at the end of five years he wants to leave then he can sell out the improvements that he has done. He can’t get anything for the land because that’s on a ninety nine year lease from the government but he can sell his improvements. It was a racket that was worked to a very large extent in the early days, a squatter would get men to “dummy” for him in a block, they wouldn’t bother about the land and the fences, they’d just take up the land all round the outside perimeter of the block that he wanted and if it was in river country they’d take up the land on each side of the river say for ten or fifteen miles. He paid ‘em wages while they were dummying for him and at the end of five years the dummy cleared out and he supposedly bought the land from them.
Anyhow, that was the site that we’d camped on and we’d been warned before we went there that there was a lot of Deaf Adders in this country and that as they looked very much like a lizard we had to be careful not to pick one up or go too close to them.
Whilst we were unloading the rig, Stan said to me “This bloody kerosene’s been leaking on the flour bag.” Anyhow we had a look and about a quarter of the kerosene had gone. So we never said anything to the Old Man about it, we just unloaded it, we never realised what we were in for, we just unloaded it and said nowt, we turned the tin upside down so it wouldn’t leak any more. It broke on us when we had our first bread that was baked out of this flour, it tasted just like kerosene. We complained to the Old Man about it and he said “You thought I didn’t know anything about it. If you are careless when loading foodstuffs up you have to pay for the consequences and you either eat this bread or you get nothing at all to eat until its all gone.” This was a two hundred pound bag of flour and we had to eat it. As we got further down the bag it didn’t taste quite so bad, as a matter of fact when we got well down the bag it didn’t taste at all but for the first few weeks it was bloody awful having to eat this bread tasting of kerosene. We did all sorts with it, we tried putting honey and jam and treacle on it, frying it in all sorts of things but you couldn’t get rid of the kerosene taste.
One day Stan and I were coming home from the job and we saw a lizard, we thought it was a lizard, and Stan said “Wait a minute, it might be a Deaf Adder.” I said “Well, a Deaf Adder has got a sting in its tail and when you touch it with a stick its tail goes up in the air.” So we said right we’ll try it. He got a stick and just touched this thing, it jumped about two feet in the air when he touched it and its tail did go up in the air so we killed it and we carried it on a forked stick down to the camp. The Old Man had a look at it and he said “That’s a Deaf Adder alright. The best thing you can do is take it over there somewhere and burn it.” Well, we’d heard a tale about Deaf Adders and they reckoned that if you skinned a Deaf Adder, on the inside of the skin there was a rhyme. It said “If I could hear as well as I can see, no man on earth could conquer me.” So we thought if we cut its head off and cut its tail off it can’t do us very much harm then and we’ll skin it and see if this legend is on the inside of this skin. Anyhow, we did this and we pegged the skin out to dry. There was a lot of marks on the underside of the back skin but there was nothing that we could make out - we couldn’t make any writing out so we told the old Man what we’d done and asked him if he’d come and have a look at it and see whether he could make anything out about it. He had a sly grin on his face when he come to have a look at it and he said “Aye, of course it’s there.” We said we couldn’t see it and he said “No, of course, because you can’t read Latin!”
I don’t know whether it was because we had been playing around with this Deaf Adder and it had got on me mind or not but that night I couldn’t help thinking about it. We went to bed about seven o’clock, we used to go to bed early because it was dark about sundown and that was about six o’clock. There was only a few of us in the camp and there wasn’t much to keep us out of bed so the usual thing used to be to go to bed and read wild west stories by the light of a slush lamp. Father wouldn’t allow us to burn kerosene for reading because he said it was a waste of kerosene so we used to make a slush lamp, we used to get a jam tin and put some earth in the bottom of it, get a piece of old blanket and wrap it round a stick, put it in the centre for a wick and then melt some tallow down and fill the tin up with tallow and set fire to it, it made quite a good light.
This night, I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I woke up and what was a dream, although I didn’t realise it at the time, was that I had been bitten by a Deaf Adder. I felt at the back of me head where this pain was coming from to see if I could feel any punctures where he’d bit me. I felt something rough there and when I struck a match there was blood. I didn’t know what to do, whether to wake Stan up and tell him I’d been bitten by this thing or what to do, I was scared stiff. Anyhow, I thought I won’t waken them up, there’s nothing they can do, it’s about fifty or sixty miles to the nearest doctor and I’d be dead long before he got there. So I went outside and lit the fire up, made a roaring fire and I sat in front of this fire for about an hour and I kept getting drowsy. Well, that was the first effect you get from a venomous bite, you want to go to sleep. Well, I got up and walked around trying to keep meself awake and when I sat down again and was drowsing off I thought to myself my God, what if the bloody thing bites Stan so I thought I’ll go in and kill that bugger if it’s the last thing I ever do. I went into this tent and I grabbed all these blankets back and there was an old coat I was using for a pillow, I dragged that away and as I was dragging it away it got caught. First I thought this bloody thing was still there and it had got hold of the coat. I struck a match and I could see what it was, we’d got some old weatherboards and put them on the ground because it was damp and we’d made our bed on top of these weatherboards. There was a couple of bloody nails sticking through this board and I’d put it down with the nails upwards and rolling about in me sleep I’d rolled on to these nails and they’d stuck in the back of me neck. My God, I’ve never felt such wonderful relief in me life, I woke Stan up and told him about it and he said “You bloody fool, go back to bed again.” Of course, next morning we told Father about it and there was a good laugh all round. [I looked Deaf Adder up and it seems father and Stan were under a common misapprehension about the snake. It bites in the normal way injecting venom with its fangs. What many people believed to be a sting in its tail was in fact a lure that it used to attract prey by waving it.]
A deaf adder.
We had some pretty happy times in the Warrumbungles because there was plenty to do, apart from our work I mean. We could go prospecting, it was said there was gold there although we never found any and some people said there was diamonds there, we never found any of them but we found a few topaz. The place was lousy with rock wallaby, kangaroos and birds of all descriptions. All our spare time we could fill in very nicely by wandering about in the hills shooting wallabies and looking for bird’s nests etc.
I had another terrifying experience whilst we were on this camp. We had an out-camp where we had a lot of tackle stored and the Old Man got it into his head, I don’t know whether he’d had some information from someone or not, but he thought that this tackle might be stolen so it was decided that we could take it in turns and one of us sleep at this site. So we went out and rigged up a tent, there was no necessity for cooking utensils because we could have our meals at the main camp. After a bit of discussion it was decided that I could take first night and after that Stan and I could sleep with the tackle every other night. Before they left me they said watch out you don’t get eaten by a dingo or something like that and the Old Man said “It’s reported that there’s some wolves here but you don’t want to take any notice of them, if you throw a fire stick at them they’ll run away. Of course there’s no bloody wolves there, never had been I think, but I didn’t know this.
So it wasn’t long before I got into bed, it was a bright moonlight night and I hadn’t been in bed very long before I heard a strange noise, it was something like coohoo, coohoo, and this bloody noise kept getting closer and closer and I thought I wonder what that is then all of a sudden there was a howl from the other side and this howling went on all round the camp. I don’t know whether it was dingoes or it may only have been foxes, I’m not sure but to me they were man-eating monsters that were out there and I was terribly frightened. I daren’t get out of the tent although I’d a twenty two rifle with me and perhaps if I’d fired a shot they’d have gone but I was too scared to open the front of the tent. This went on for about half an hour and there was all kinds of noises. All of a sudden, what appeared to me to be about five yards outside the tent I heard this long howl go up. I didn’t wait for any more, I got out me knife and slit the back of the tent because if I’d gone out of the front of the tent I’d have been going towards the noise, and I hopped out and I never stopped running until I got to the camp. I didn’t let them know I was there, I sneaked in with some gear that was under the tarpaulin and I slept under this tarpaulin until morning. I got up before they did and they were never any the wiser about it because I knew that they’d laugh their bloody heads off if they knew what a fright I’d had. So I thought I’d see how Stan got on. Well, he was a bit more experienced than me and I had a talk with him after he’d spent the night there and asked him if he’d heard any noises. “Aye” he said “There’s a few foxes and a few dingoes round and about and a few old Mokos [Bell-birds] too, that was the bird I’d heard making the coohoo noise. Anyhow, I was alright after that, I wasn’t afraid of it but it’s a job to explain how frightened a young boy can get when he’s on his own and he doesn’t know what he’s up against. I think that’s the most terrifying thing, not to know what you’re up against.
Anyhow the job here finished eventually and we moved back to the Lowden homestead to do a job there. It was like being back in town again because there was about eight or nine men employed on the station as boundary riders, roustabouts and that sort of thing and there was one fellow there who was a professional boxer, he’d got out there to get some heavy work and train for a fight he had coming off in Dubbo in about a month or two months time. This chap’s name was Jimmy Logue, he was never a very high class boxer but he was a reasonably good knockabout welterweight and Stan and I agreed to act as his sparring partners. He had permission from Mr Lowden to train in the wool shed, it made an ideal boxing ring, in this wool shed on the shearing board there’s plenty of room and good floor conditions. We spent many a happy night there taking it in turns boxing around with old Jimmy, sometimes boxing each other although when Stan and I boxed each other it always ended up in a fight because after a while one or the other would land a heavy punch and there’d be a case of loss of tempers and before we knew where we were we were at it hammer and tongs. Well, I could always beat Stan even though I was younger than him, I was a better boxer or I could punch harder, I don’t know which it was but I could always beat him.
One night, Father turned up, he never showed much interest in these things but he showed up. I suppose he thought that he’d have a bit of company and some of the lads were saying come on Alec, you put ‘em on, see how you can shape, I’ll bet you can do a bit and that sort of thing and the Old Man he didn’t seem inclined to bother. Anyhow they kept at him and got his dander up a bit and he said “Alright, I’ll put ‘em on with anybody that wants to have a bit of a do.” and they did. The chap that got in the ring with him was a big bloke, about thirteen or fourteen stone, the old man would be about twelve stone but my God, when the Old Fellow got cracking on him he blinded him with science. He used to hop in and clout him with a left and right and then out again before the other fellow realised he was coming. This went on for about a couple of rounds and the fellow said “I think the best thing for me to do is pack in, I’ve had enough unless somebody else wants to have a go.” Anyhow there was no takers.
I don’t know what had got into Stan, or at least, I didn’t know then, I think I do now but he got very discontented and got talking about a man spending all his life out in the back blocks and he wanted to get working for himself where he could earn some money of his own to spend and all that sort of thing. But in the finish he said to me that he was going to make a break for it. Well, I never said anything, I wasn’t against it. We talked it over, I asked him where he was going and he said he didn’t know, he said he’d make off somewhere and try and pick up a job. Anyhow he got his things together and we talked it over for a while and we went to bed. Sometime during the night he woke me up and he said he was off, we just said so long and away he went. [See Uncle Stan’s letter of 16/3/64 in the appendices.]
Next morning, when we got up I didn’t give Father a chance to ask where he was, I told him that he’d blown. He said “Do you know where he’s gone?” I said “No. He didn’t tell me, I don’t think he had any idea where he was going, he was just going away.” So he said “Oh well, if that’s what he wants that’s alright. Let him go.” same as he said when Jim went. He said to me “I suppose you’ll be the next?” I said “I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it but when I do decide to go I’ll tell you.” He said “That’s alright, you do, and then I’ll find a way of stopping you.” So we let it go at that, I said no more about it. We just carried on with the job and eventually we finished with the help of Jimmy Logue who rolled in in Stan’s place and helped us to finish the job off. We packed up and went back to Gilgandra.
Just at that time the sanitary arrangements in Gilgandra had been changed over from the ordinary soil closet to what they called the night soil system which was that the pans or containers were emptied from the lavatory by contractor and the night soil disposed of. Father got a job, or at least he set up as a contractor, converting lavatories. I don’t know how much he charged, I think it was somewhere about two pound a time. I know he used to do about three a day so he wasn’t doing too bad out of it. My job was to clean out the old closet and fill it in and then cement it over. There was plenty of sand quite near the town, there was a big sand hill there. I used to go and cart the sand, mix the concrete and put it in and he’d come along and level it off. We had an arrangement that we could do every second house and whilst we were doing this the people who lived where we were working could use the convenience next door and so on, we went on like this until we had worked our way through the street. Well, this was a back breaking job, I thought I was doing all the donkey-work. Father was doing all the joinery, rebuilding the lavatory seats and putting trap-doors in the back for the pans to be withdrawn from. I was doing all the concreting and it didn’t go down very well with me I can assure you because it was very hard work to get through three of these lavatories in a day. In fact, the Old Man talked about trying to do four and I said I can’t do it, I’m doing all I can now. The Old Man said “You’ll do more if I want you to.” Anyhow we let it go at that but he never tried to shove it up from three to four.
After he’d been on the job for about three months, other people started horning in and cutting the price. The Old Man decided that if they wanted it at a cheaper price they could have it, he didn’t, we’d had the cream of it anyhow and we’d get out so the first time people got at us to work for a lower price, the Old Man said I’m not going to do it, you can get somebody else to do it, we’ll leave it to them, if they can do it any cheaper than I can, well let them have it, I don’t want any more of it. So we gave up.
About that time there was a farm to be sold in the Gilgandra district and this farm belonged to a relation of a man called Mr Webb who had a very good farm in the Dubbo area, it was through Mr Webb that this man asked Father to organise the sale for him. There were all sorts of things to be sold, the farm including the farm dead stock and livestock, horses, ploughs, pigs, cattle and all the things that go with a general farm. Well, we took over and he organised a stockyard where the animals were to be sold and he arranged for a caterer to come and cater for the buyers because we weren’t near any place where they could go for a meal so it was decided by the auctioneers and I believe at Father’s suggestion, that we should supply them with a meal free of charge, I should say that the farmer would supply them with a meal free of charge.
Everything was got ready and the day of the sale came along, we went over about nine o’clock in the morning. Father said to me “Now this is your job today. There’s beer and whisky and wines and everything there and I want you, as the prospective buyers arrive, to meet them and greet them and offer them a drink. When you’ve offered ‘em one drink that’s the end of it as far as you’re concerned, you’re just there to receive them and to give them any information that they want. Here’s all the information they’re likely to require and he gave me a sheet of paper saying times and whereabouts the various items were offered for sale.
Well, they started coming in, I started meeting them and every time I offered them a drink I had one with them so you can imagine how long that would go on with a lad that wasn’t used to drinking. I don’t know how many I had, too many, I don’t remember where I stopped. The next thing I remembered was that I was in the lavatory and I was trying to be sick at the same time and I can remember clearly seeing Father’s face look in at the door and then the door slammed and I was left there. I didn’t come conscious until sometime in the middle of the night but I saw nothing of the sale and when I woke up I went outside and got a drink of water and I thought “They must have all gone home.” I had no watch, I couldn’t say what time it was, I reckoned it was getting on towards morning.
Anyhow, I walked back to Gilgandra to where we were camped. I didn’t bother getting into bed, I just lay down on the bed because it was just coming daylight and it was Sunday morning so there was no work to do. So I lay there until I heard Father knocking about and I got up. He just took a look at me, I expected to get a tongue banging from him, but he never said anything but he said “You’ll not be needing any breakfast will you?” I said “Why?” He said “Oh I thought you might have had enough yesterday to last you a day or two.” I said “No. I want me breakfast.” Anyhow he cooked breakfast for me and we had it and I was surprised that I didn’t feel ill. I’d heard them say that after a night out they always felt very ill but I didn’t feel bad at all.
Anyhow, with the farm sale over and I suppose Father had drawn his commission, we set off to Dubbo and this time he put his bike on the cart and we had all our camp tackle and that on and we set off to go to a place called Coonabarabran. Now this was a bit off the main route to Dubbo, it was like making a bit of a detour and I wondered what he was going round this way for. Anyhow, I didn’t get to know, I was asking but he didn’t seem to think it was worthwhile telling me but we went that way home. He must have known people there, well, I know he did know people there because people spoke to him as if he’d knocked about there a good bit. But I never knew of him being there before or what he used to do there.
He told me one interesting story while we were there, he said he was in Coonabarabran at one time when a horse thief was caught and brought in by a trooper. They had him in the gaol and this fellow said that he wanted to go to the lavatory. The lavatory was outside and it was one of these night soil lavatories, this bloke took his boots off while he was in the lavatory and put them down near the door, there was a gap of about six inches from the door to the floor, like anyone stood out in front of the lavatory could see the boots on the floor. Somehow he got the night soil pan out of the road, went down through the opening and got out the back way and escaped. The Old Fellow said he thought the story was worth telling because it showed the fellow was a very ingenious sort of a bloke.
Sorry about the quality but here’s a picture of the main street in Dubbo at about the turn of the century.
This is a picture Dos sent me of Clem her nephew and his son Blaise aged 3. I found a marriage 7259/1957 at Blayney. Clem Maloney to Nita Beryl Sparke.
CHAPTER NINE
Well, we eventually arrived back in Dubbo [Late 1909 or early 1910?], and as far as I could see, for the time being at any rate, there was no attempt or prospect of a move and Father told me that the best thing I could do for a while would be to look round for a job. So I got a job at an engineering works as an apprentice fitter. I hadn’t been there very long before I started to get itchy feet so one day I decided that I’d had enough, I went in to see the boss and told him that I was packing it in. Anyhow he wouldn’t pay me, he said he’d have to see me father because arrangements had been made through him and I was supposed to stay with him until I was 21 years of age and therefore he wasn’t going to give me any money so I just left without it. I went home, I didn’t tell mother and father was away and I went to see a fellow that I knew called Bert Lathom. Bert was one of the chaff-cutter gang and I asked him if he could get me a job. “Well, as a matter of fact I think I can because we are short handed but whether they’ll take you on or not I don’t know, you’re a bit young.” [About 17 if this is 1910] So I said “I can hold me end up.” He said “I’ve no doubt you can but anyhow we’ll see about it.” Now he had a brother called Tugger and he was a big strapping bloke. Anyhow they went to see the fellow that owned this machine and after a bit of argy-bargy he decided to give me a trial and they said that if I couldn’t pull me weight they’d help me along.
This was a contract job, you weren’t paid so much a day, you were paid so much a ton and if a fellow couldn’t pull his weight he was letting the rest of the gang down. So I made a start and they set me on feeding the steamer. The hay, before it’s cut is put through a tube and steamed so that when it goes through the rollers it’s not broken up too fine and it cuts cleaner and makes a better looking chaff, so my job was feeding this steamer. Well, I could do it on me head, there was nothing to it. After a while I asked for a shift and I got shifted round to other jobs, I learned to feed the machine and I learned to sew the bags and that sort of thing. That was a pretty slippy sort of a job because the bags were coming off at the rate of about 60 bags an hour, that’s a bag a minute and to sew them up and stack them, because there was only one man behind the machine, it really kept you going. For a start, I couldn’t do it, I kept getting behind and either Bert or Tugger or one of the other lads would hop in and help me to catch up. Eventually I got the top side of it and I could keep them going. Well, we used to do round about 60 bags an hour that’s an 8 hour day, that’s about 24 or 25 ton a day we’d get through and if we could average 20 ton a day we were making about £5 a week which is pretty good wages. Course we didn’t always average 20 ton a day because you weren’t paid anything for your trips from one farm to another or if it was raining you couldn’t work so you didn’t get paid for that either. I suppose on an average we were on about £4 a week.
We had a chap came to us there, he was an Irish immigrant who had only just arrived in the country and he’d never even seen a snake. We used to sleep round the haystacks at night, we didn’t sleep in tents we used to bed down anywhere and if the weather was bad we’d throw a tarpaulin over the steamer and sleep under that. There was always a lot of sparrows in the haystacks and this Irishman one night heard these things rustling and he said to this chap named Dubber Parker “Dubber, what’s that? What’s that making that noise?” and Dubber said “Oh, go to sleep Pat it’s only snakes”. “Snakes! says the Irishmen and he jumped out of bed and off he went down the field and made his bed up about a hundred yards off in the field, he wouldn’t sleep where there was snakes he was absolutely terrified of them. The next night we thought we’d have a bit of fun with Paddy so we went and caught a lot of these sparrows and tied them on a string, a string of them. We waited until he had gone to sleep and we lifted his blanket up and threw the sparrows in on top of him, he naturally thought it was the snakes he had in his bed and he got up and made a run for it out into the bush and wouldn’t come back. When the foreman of the plant got to know about it he played merry hell with us and made us go out and find him and fetch him back and show him what we had done to him. When he got to know what we had done he wanted to fight everybody but there was nobody looking for a fight that night.
I soon got fed up with chaff-cutting and I went back to the engineering works and they decided they’d take me back if I promised to behave meself in future. Course, I gave the promise and everything went alright for a month or so when I got fed up again, I didn’t bother to tell them I wasn’t going into work I just went off onto a farm which I knew wanted some ploughmen and it was this man Mr Wade that I mentioned earlier on. I told him who I was and asked him if he could give me a job and he never thought to ask me whether I could plough or not, he just took it for granted that being the Old Man’s son that I would be able to so he gave me an eight horse team with a six furrow disc plough and sent me into a hundred acre field to plough it. I ploughed it alright, I had no trouble at all and he was very pleased with the job so then he started to give me other bits of odd jobs around the place.
Australian National Library picture of a six horse disc plough at about the same period.
One day he asked me to harness his buggy and pair he was going into Dubbo. I went to harness them and was in the process of harnessing them when he came along. He saw me lead these horses out, I set ‘em together and put the reins on them, coupled the reins up and put them back over the buggy before I coupled them to the pole and traces and he said “Oh, I see you do know how to harness a buggy and four.” I said “What gave you the idea that I couldn’t?” “Oh” he said, nothing but not many lads your age know anything about that. I was only just mentioning that I could see you know how to do it.” For no reason at all, I was entirely in the wrong, I lost me temper and swore and played hell with him and told him he could stick his job where Paddy stuck the nuts and would he give me my time and I’d walk out. He paid me up and when I was going out he said “If you feel like coming back when you’ve cooled down it’ll be alright, you can have your job back.” I said “I don’t think I’ll cool down for while and anyhow, I’m not coming back.” So that was that, my ploughing days were over.
I went back home and I think it was because I knew that I was in the wrong with Mr Wade, I think that upset me more than anything else because when I come to think it over he’d said nothing that I should have taken any offence at, I don’t know what it was but I was just fed-up with myself. So all of a sudden I made up me mind, I’m off. Doris was away somewhere at the time and I couldn’t talk to her but I talked to Molly [May?] about it and told her what I was going to do and she said she thought I was very foolish to run away, I should wait ‘til I was a bit older. I’d be about 16 now [17 if it was 1910] and I thought I was big enough to take care of myself. She said “What are you going to do?” I said “I’m going first to Gilgandra.” I’d decided on Gilgandra because it was the only place I knew, I had no idea of where else a man could go and I said I’ll see what I can do when I get there. So she said “Have you got any money to pay your fare?” I said “I’m not going to pay me fare, I’m going to jump the train.” She said “Have you got any money at all?” I said “No I haven’t got any money at all.” I’d given mother what Mr Wade had paid me so she got a few bob together from somewhere and gave it to me. I waited until mother wasn’t about and I packed me clothes, pinched a blanket and made it up into a swag and then I went off down to the railway station or at least I went to the loco shed.
The old timber rail approach to the river at Dubbo in 1987. I remember looking at it and being moved by the fact that this was Uncle Stan’s railway and that all the people I knew about in Dubbo had used it.
There was a lad there called Heeny who was a fireman on the Dubbo to Coonamble mixed goods and passenger train. I told him what I wanted to do and he said well, I don’t know, I’ll have to see the driver. So he had a word with the driver and the driver said it would be alright and he would give me a lift providing there was no one of authority on the train. He said that if there was no one on, he’d slow down at the crossing and I could jump on the best way that I could but if there was anyone on the train then he wouldn’t slow down and I’d have to wait until the next day. Anyhow, the train came along, he slowed down to about 5 or 6 mile an hour, I got on quite easy and made meself as comfortable as I could on the footplate and they took me out to Gilgandra.
I got off the train, I went over to the hotel near the station and walked in and asked for a beer. The bloke looked at me and gave me a bit of a queasy look, anyway he served me with the beer and I said “You know who I am?” and he said “Yes, I know who you are.” I said “Well, Father told me to come here, he’s coming out in a few days time and he said that you’d put me up and he’d settle up with you when he got here.” So he said that was alright and they showed me to a room where I settled in. Then I started looking round for something to do, I didn’t want it to get known at the hotel that I was looking for a job because I thought that would make him suspicious.
Well, after a while I bumped into a fellow called Gypsy Waugh. Gypsy had a [Horse] breaker’s yard about a mile out of town and he used to come there every so often and the farmers living round about who only had a few horses to break used to bring them in to Gypsy and he’d break them for them. I asked him if there was anything doing round the yard and he said “No, I’m not wanting anyone but if you want to make a bob or two you can come out and you might give us a bit of a hand roping or mouthing a horse or two and it’ll keep you going until your Dad gets here.” So I said “Right, I’ll go. So I went out and he gave me all sorts of odd jobs to do, cleaning a bit of harness, repairing harness and mouthing a colt or two. He let me have a ride or two on horses that were partly broke, I didn’t get put on anything that was absolutely raw, I kept getting thrown. Although I could ride fairly well there’s a lot of difference between riding a spirited horse and riding a buck-jumper. Anyhow I kept having a go at them and kept asking to have a go and one day he said to me, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you, I’ve got a colt here and you can put a saddle and bridle on him and take him down into that ploughed field and stay with him until you ride him.” So I said “Alright, I’ll have a bash at that.”
I took this colt down, I don’t know how many times he threw me, I lost count. I was black and blue all over but I still kept getting back on him and he kept throwing me and I kept getting on again and eventually after a couple of hours of this battle he give in. I rode him up to the yard and got all kinds of praise from old Gypsy, he said “Well, you’ll make a buck-jump rider in the end if you keep at it.” Anyhow, he said to me “Your Dad’s a long time getting here isn’t he?” I said “Aye.” He said “Is this a true story about you waiting for your Father or have you made a break for it?” so I told him the truth. He said “What are you going to do?” I said “I don’t know, I’m going to look for a job.” He says “There’s nobody going to give you a job at your age, you’re too young to be knocking about on your own, they don’t want the responsibility of you.” I said “Well, I’m not going back home again, I’m going to look for a job.” He says “I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you. I got a lad in town that’s looking for a job and he’s a man, he’s a chap about 22 or 23. If you’d like to team up with him I’ll grubstake you and I’ll fix you up with a camp and all the tackle that’s necessary and put you out poisoning rabbits and then when you’ve made a catch and you bring the cash in you can pay me back what I’ve laid out on you plus a bit of profit for me and you can have the rest. You can buy the tackle off me and then you’re on your own.” I said I’d have a go at it and he’d arrange for me to meet him.
So we went into town. He brought this lad down and we had a talk and we took to one another straight away, I think I took to him because he was a Sydney lad and he knew all the Sydney slang and all that sort of thing and that appealed to me being a young boy. Anyhow we decided that we’d have a go at it. [The partner’s name was Mick Duggan]
So Gypsy got the tackle together for us, harnessed a horse into the buggy and took us out to this place and we set up our camp near a waterhole and mixed our first batch of poison. The technique was that we mixed strychnine with quince jam, the jam used to come in big 7lb. tins and we mixed it well with strychnine and then you went out to the hole, made a mark on the ground to attract the rabbit’s attention and put the jam and strychnine down on this disturbed ground. Well we did this and we run a trail about ten mile long on the first day and we went round and we only got about seven or eight rabbits. We had a pow-wow about this because nearly all the bait had gone, we decided that we must have made some mistake in our mixing so we was more careful next time. The next day we did better, we got about eighty or ninety. We thought this was alright, we started to reckon up, if we got 100 a day that’d be about 12lbs a day of skins, they used to run about eight to the pound. 12lbs of skins a day at ten pence a pound, well that wasn’t so very much, it was only about three and odd a day, this was no good we wanted to get at least 200 to 250 a day to make it worth while at all. Anyhow we went on but we couldn’t get more than round about a hundred and we both got fed up with it.
At this time we had about a thousand skins or something like that. I said to him “I don’t know what you’re going to do but I’m hopping it.” He said “Where are you going?” I said “I don’t know, but I was thinking about heading towards Longridge.” That’s up on the New South Wales Queensland border. He said “Right, well I’m with you.” So I said “What are we going to do about this camp?” He said “What can we do about it? We’ll just make it secure and leave it and leave a letter for Gypsy and tell him that we’ve gone, he can have the skins, that’ll pay him for his trouble. When he comes out to see how we are going on as he said he would do he’ll find the letter and the skins and the camp and he can have all the gear back and the skins’ll pay him for his trouble so we’ll just take what we want and we’ll go.” So we did do, we set off first to go to Coonamble and then we were going on to Longridge. What we hoped to find at Longridge I don’t know, it was just one of those things, a name came into my mind and that was all there was to it.
It was our idea to strike across and hit the Castlereagh River and follow that out to Coonamble and carry on from there to Longridge. Anyhow, we got on to the river, there was no water in it, it’s a dry river is the Castlereagh and if you want water you’ve to dig down about three or four feet in the sand, you can usually strike seepage water about three or four feet down. We came across a camp about the third night out I think it was, there was a sundowner camped on the riverbank and he was in pretty poor shape. We asked him what was the matter with him and he said it was stomach trouble, he felt that he couldn’t go on any further and he’d just made camp and was staying there hoping to get a bit better. Well we talked it over and decided that we couldn’t leave him there, we’d have to get him somehow to where he could get a doctor. There was a shanty about a mile away and I went up to this and I asked them where the nearest doctor was. They said there was a doctor in Coonamble and one in Gilgandra but there’s none any nearer than that so I asked him where the nearest troopers headquarters was. He said there’s a trooper stationed at Gulargumbone but he’s not there all the time, he spends most of his time out on the runs. So I asked how far is it to Gulargumbone? He said not far, about ten or twelve miles so I thought I’d go and see if I could find this trooper. I went back to the camp and told me mate what I was going to do and he said right, I’ll stay here with him and you see if you can find a trooper. I went into Gulargumbone and fortunately for me the trooper was home, I told him about this chap that was ill and asked him whether he could make some arrangements to have him picked up. He said they’d have him picked up if I showed them where he was, he got the tracker to hook up a buckboard and they came out to fetch him.
Anyhow, we went out. I showed them the way out and had a ride on the buckboard and we told this chap that we were going to see him into a hospital. He was very grateful to us for what we’d done and he said that he knew he was going to die, he’d never get over this lot and there was something he wanted us to have in appreciation for our kindness. We said we didn’t want anything but he said he was going to give us this because it was no good to him, he would never be able to use it. He pulled a dirty piece of paper out of his pocket. I said “What’s that?” He said “This is a map and it’ll show you where there’s an opal patch. There’s opal there, there’s slabs as big as your hand, if you can find this place you’ll make a fortune.” So we had a look at the map and he showed us where we was on the map and we had to follow the river along until we came to, I think it was the third or fourth creek running in from the East, and we had to follow this creek along and follow the directions on the map and we’d find these workings. He said we’d be able to find them because he had been digging there and we would be able to see where he had been working.
So off we went, course we only had a few days grub and we didn’t know how we were going to get any more but anyhow we went to this shanty and we bought what we could pay for there and he gave us a bit extra and we told him where we were going. We were damn fools for telling him because if the mine had been worth anything they might have got there before us and got the lot, anyhow, we got fixed up and off we went.
We came to this creek that we were supposed to follow up and we followed it along until we came to the spot that was indicated. We looked round and found these workings, we were that bloody eager we had to start digging straight away! We weren’t digging long because opal’s only, at the most, about five or six feet under the ground, it’s not in mines, it’s generally always close to the surface and we came across this big lump of opal. Oh, there was loads of it there. In about three hours digging we filled a soujee bag, that’s a 28lbs sugar bag. We filled this sugar bag with this stuff and we covered the workings up again, threw branches over it so nobody would be attracted to it and decided that we should take this stuff into Coonamble and sell it. Then we could get a camp together and go out and mine the job properly.
Anyhow, we set off lugging this stuff. He was taking a turn at it and I was taking a turn at it and we eventually get into Coonamble dead broke but with a fortune in the soujee bag. We made enquiries around the town as to where we could sell opal. Well nobody knew nothing at all about opal there, there was no opal round about Coonamble and therefore there was no buyers there. They said that the nearest buyer that we could find was at Lightning Ridge, we didn’t fancy going all the way to Lightning Ridge so eventually the sergeant trooper suggested that we should send this stuff to Lightning Ridge and wait in Coonamble, if it was of any value they’d let us know. We thought that was a good idea so we packed it up, we got a packing case from one of the local stores and we packed this stuff up in it. From the land office we got the address of a local assay man in Lightning Ridge and we sent it off to him. We planned to wait until we heard from him.
As we had no money it meant looking round for something to do. I went down to the agents place on the main street, there was no such thing as labour exchanges in those days, there was employment agencies. It was run this way, if they found you a job you paid them so much out of your first weeks wages and your employer paid them so much for finding them the man. He said that he had quite a number of jobs on but there was only one that was anywhere local, this was about 15 miles away and he said they were wanting an engineer on a boring rig, the engineer had been taken ill and had been sent away to Dubbo for an operation and there was no one to look after the engine so I said I’d take the job on. He said alright, you be here tomorrow morning at eight o’clock and we’ll have someone take you out.
I turned up next morning at eight o’clock and we went out to this boring rig. It was shut down when I got there because there was no one to run the engine, no one knew anything at all about it, I lit up and got steam up and we started boring. Well, it looked to me to be a pretty ramshackle sort of a place, the bits they were using had seen better days and I noticed a lot of the rope tackle was splintered and altogether I didn’t like the look of it much. I got talking to the lads on the job and I found out that they hadn’t been paid for a month and I thought well, this is no bloody use to me because I want me money on the nail so I went to the foreman and I told him that I wanted to get a sub. He said I couldn’t have any money in advance. I didn’t call it a sub then, I told him I wanted some money in advance, I didn’t know that it was called a sub. He said “You can’t have any money in advance, in fact you can’t have any money at all until we strike water.” I said “To hell with that for a tale we might be here a month before we strike water and I’m not going to work a month for nothing.” So I packed in and went off to Coonamble. When I got back we had just received the letter from Lightning Ridge about our opal find.
The assay bloke started off by saying that he was interested in our find in that location because he had never heard of anybody finding anything like opal in that district. He said that as far as you’re concerned you’ve arrived on the job about 400 years too soon, the material that you’ve sent us is what we call potch opal, it’s opal in the early stages of development and looking at these samples I would say that they are about 400 years off being developed. He said if you mark the spot and record it, in 400 years time somebody might be able to get a nice find of opal there. So that was goodbye to our dreams of wealth and prosperity.
As we’d no prospect of fortune in the opal field we had to think about our bread and butter so we decided that we’d go and look for a job. We went down to the labour agency and he said yes, they could fix us up, there was a fellow going stick-picking out on the Warren Road and he wanted some men and if we liked we could go along. I asked what the wage was and he said it was thirty bob a week and your keep so we took it on. Arrangements were made that we had to join the gang at the railway station at about ten o’clock at night and they were going to travel all night so we got our swags together and we set off down to the railway station. I can remember we passed a roller-skating rink on the way down and the band was playing “This is the end of a Perfect Day.” It was the end of a perfect day for us - we were still feeling sore about the opal.
We eventually joined the gang and when we had a roll call and found out that we were all there he told us to put our swags on the wagon but we’d have to walk unless we got very tired and then it might be permissible to allow one or two to ride on the wagon but he said it was overloaded already so we set off and walked into the night. About three o’clock in the morning we stopped at a dry camp and had a meal, he decided that as some of the fellows were complaining about us walking at night-time that we’d camp until morning so we got our rolls out and were soon into bed. I remember that particular night well because it was a bright moonlight night and as we were lying out in the open, just before we went to sleep somebody said tonight is the night we should be able to see Halley’s Comet so we laid awake waiting for it. In about an hours time we saw the light in the sky and we lay there talking and watching this thing as it went over. [A nice firm date of 20th of April 1910 which confirms the estimated chronology.] It was only in our view for about ten or fifteen minutes and then it was gone so we went off to sleep.
The next morning we packed up and set off, we got to the site where the job was late in the afternoon. It was too late and we were too tired to bother about rigging up a camp so we just slept out in the open that night, the boss decided that we could have the next day to set up our camp. Now this job was being done on a station belonging to a big sheep farmer by the name of Jacky Dowle and the name of the place was Cadooga. Anyhow, we rigged up the camp and got settled in. We noticed straight away that the food was very rough, there was plenty of it but it was very roughly cooked and served. Anyhow the next day we set off to work.
Now stick-picking is an operation that’s carried out three or four years after the forest has been ring-barked. When the trees die the branches start to fall off them and the ground gets covered up by timber laying all over the place. There’s two ways of carrying out this job, one is to stack all the fallen timber round the dead trees and burn the trees down and then go round and cut them down and put them into heaps and burn all the dead timber on the ground but on this job we were not bothering about standing trees we were only picking up the fallen timber and burning that and leaving the trees standing.
On a job like this they generally set you out in a line across a field and you sort of worked within your own lane, the idea is that you all have to keep up with each other. Well, we went on alright the first day and at night time I was told off to help light the fires because you don’t set fire to the timber as you go along, if you did and the wind was in the wrong direction or you got a change of wind you might find yourself working under very unpleasant conditions in the smoke from the fires. So the burning was left until night time and the technique was that when you were coming towards the end of a days run, two or three fires would be lighted just so that there’d be some hot coals. When you went round to light up you just took a shovel of coals and threw it into the heaps and they were soon afire and going well. Well, we did this and we got home a bit later than the others and we were told that next morning we could have half an hour spell before we set out to work to compensate us for the bit of overtime that we’d worked, they didn’t pay overtime they only worked a set day.
Well, we went on like this for two or three days, I don’t know exactly but we were discontented about the food. On this particular morning the boss came along to me and told me that I’d have to work a bit faster, I wasn’t keeping up with the other fellows. I said “I’m not keeping up with the others because there’s more timber in this bit of ground that I’m on at the present time, that’s why I’m getting behind.” Anyhow I said “I’m not going any faster.” He said “If you don’t keep up with the others you’re no use to me.” So I said “You’re no bloody use to me either because if I’ve got to work for a slave driver I’ll do it somewhere else but I’m not going to do it here so you can stick your job where Paddy stuck the nuts and give me my time. I’m off.” So Mick saw us talking and he came over and asked “What’s the blur?” “Oh,” I said “I’m packing in, I’m not working for this bugger, he’s a bloody slave driver!” So Mick said “If you’re packing in I’m packing in too.” There were one or two other fellows packed in when they saw us doing it, this sort of thing always happens in a new camp. Fellows haven’t got settled down and got to know the conditions and the people they’re working for and the least little bit of a flare up and everyone wants to leave. When I thought about it afterwards, I owned up to myself that I was in the wrong because this fellow was regarding me as a lad, which I was, and he was only trying to jerk me up a little bit because he thought I was slacking and I probably was. But anyhow I wouldn’t admit that to him so he gave us a note, I think it was three days pay so we packed our swags and we set off for the homestead. We had to go to Cadooga homestead to draw our money, he just simply gave us a chit.
We set off and there was about fifteen miles to walk across this plain and it was the first time that I’d ever really seen a proper artesian water irrigation scheme. There was canals cut right across the plain and the water was flowing down a main canal which had branches running off it and flood gates which they could close or open at will and the whole plain was covered with grass, there was grass up to the sheep’s bellies. It was quite different from the ordinary plains you’d come across in the outback when you’d see nothing but roly-polies and saltbush. Well, we got about half way to the station when it started to rain, we knew it was the rainy season coming on we expected it any time, anyhow it caught us flat out in the middle of this plain and it rained cats and dogs. We were wet through to the skin, all our blankets were wet, everything was wet, we were walking in mud up to our ankles. We couldn’t stop, there was no dry place to stop we had to keep slogging on. Eventually we pulled up at the homestead, we went to see the storekeeper, at nearly all these places the storekeeper acts as cashier, he’s like the purser aboard ship, he looks after all the financial matters and also looks after the food for the outlying stations and hand-outs to sundowners and all that sort of thing.
Anyhow, we drew our money and when I went to get mine he said to me “You’re a bit young aren’t you to be knocking about out here?” [17 years] I said, “Oh, I don’t know, I’m able to look after myself.” He said “Oh, I don’t doubt that at all but I’ve got some lads meself, how old are you?” I said “That’s my bloody business.” He said “What are you going to do now?” I said “I don’t know, I’m going to look for a job somewhere.” He said “Well, I think I can put you onto a job.” I said “Is there a job for me mate as well?” He said “I think so, I’ve heard that Mr Fraser was wanting some men and you might do worse than go out to his place and see whether there’s any chance of anything.” So we asked him directions to the place and when the other fellows had gone we set off for Mr Fraser’s ranch.
We got out there late in the evening and the storekeeper took us for sundowners when we got there. He didn’t ask us what we wanted or anything, we just walked in and he said hello and gave us a handout of grub and said that if we liked we could go and sleep in the bunkhouse. So I said to him, “We’ve come out here from Cadooga, we’re looking for a job and we’ve heard that you want some men here.” He said “Yes, we do want some men but the boss isn’t here at the moment. He’s away and he won’t be back until later tonight so the best thing you can do is to get into the bunkhouse and rig yourself up for the night and by the way, if there’s anything left in the cookhouse you see the cook he’ll give you your supper.” So we went over and the cook fixed us up with supper and we put our things in the bunkhouse, they were still damp, they weren’t properly dry then from the drenching we’d got.
When the riders came in we heard all about the background of station life. Mr Fraser was a man about 72 or 73 years old and he’d only lately been married to a barmaid from Mungindi who was only about 23 or 24 year old. He had a reputation for being a bit of a martinet but all in all they said he wasn’t a bad bloke to work for. Next morning, we went over to the store and asked the storekeeper whether we could see the boss and he said that we couldn’t see him just yet because he was having his breakfast but he said if we just hung about he would let us know when he was free. It wasn’t very long before he came along and said “You can go along and see him now.” and he pointed out the door on the veranda of the main house. He said “If you go and knock on that door he’ll be in his office.”
So we went over and knocked on the door and he shouted to come in so we went in. He said “Good morning.” We said “Good morning.” and he said “What do you want?” We said “We’re looking for work.” He said “What sort of work are you looking for?” I said “Any sort of work as far as I’m concerned, I think it’s the same for me mate but he can speak for himself.” He said “Can you ride?” I said “A bit.” He said “What else can you do?” Of course, being a bragger I said “I can do anything.” So he said “Well, we’ll see about that, I can use you but it’s only for a short time, just for this mustering and when the mustering is over of course I won’t need the extra hands.” So I said “That’s alright with me if it’s only a week or a fortnight it’ll do.” so he said “Alright, you’re on, go down to see the foreman and he’ll fit you up with tackle and horses and then he’ll put you with one of the station riders and you can go out mustering.”
Well, on the way down, Mick said to me “What the bloody hell am I supposed to be?” I said “I don’t know, you can ride a horse can’t you?” He said “I’ve never been on a bloody horse in me life, I wouldn’t know which way to get on him.” I said “Oh, that’s a bit of a problem.” Anyhow got down and the overseer came out, he said “Are you two lads signed on for riding?” and I said “I am but my mate’s a roustabout.” He said “Oh, I can find him a job, there’s plenty he can do.”
So that was a relief, he said to me “Come into the saddle room and I’ll give you your saddle, bridle and whip.” We went in and he said to me “You can pick any of those saddles there you can see on the wall.” There was about a dozen there and I looked around and picked a likely looking saddle and bridle and a whip. He said “You can go out into the yard now and you can take anything that’s in that yard.” When I went out the horse toller was there and I said “Which one would you pick if you was me?” He said “Well, if I was you I’d pick that big yellow bay, he’ll draw all day.” I didn’t fancy the look of this horse much, he was a raw-boned wild-eyed sort of a gelding and I said “What about one of those walers?” [Cavalry horse exported to India from NSW] He said “Oh, they’re alright but that’s the best ride of the lot.”
So anyhow I put a rope on him, put a saddle on, led him outside and this bloke never says a word to me and I was no sooner aboard than he started to pitch like hell, I wasn’t long before I parted company with him and of course there was a general laugh about the place. I got up and rubbed meself down, and some of them in the meantime had caught the horse, and I turned around to this horse toller and said “You bastards can say what you like but I haven’t come here to give an exhibition of buck-jump riding, I’m going to get another one, I’m not getting on him again.” They said I’d have to get on him again but I told them to go to hell, I said “I’m not getting on him again and I’m not riding him. I can ride him and if you like, next Sunday I’ll bet a fiver with you that says I can ride him but I’m not riding him this morning.” Anyhow I let him go and I caught another one and she was alright, she was nice and quiet.
So we went off and we did our mustering for the day, next day was the same and the next day the Old Man told me that I could have a spell in the yards. He said “You’ll be a bit saddle sore, it’ll give you a chance to get over your soreness a bit.” Anyhow I went roping in the yards that day. We went back at night time and when we got up next morning the overseer said to me “They got a bit of work round the house today. They want some wood cutting and one or two other jobs to do. There’s a couple of wheels to do, the tyres want cutting and shutting and you can give the blacksmith a hand. We went to cut the wood first and when we got there there was nothing but a cross-cut saw but I saw standing alongside a portable steam engine and a saw bench. I said to one of the chaps “What the bloody hell are we doing cutting wood with a cross-cut saw when there’s a saw bench here?” “Oh” he says, “It’s broke down.” I said “What’s the matter with it?” He said “The engine won’t go.” So I went off back to the overseer and said to him “Why can’t we cut this wood with the engine and saw bench?” He said “You can’t because the engine’s broke down and we’re waiting for someone to come out and repair it.” I said “What’s the matter with it?” He said “If I knew what’s the matter with it I wouldn’t have to send for someone to repair it, I might be able to repair it myself.” Anyhow I said “Can I find out what’s the matter with it?” He said “Yes.” So I said “Can you give me anything to go by?” He said “The only thing that I can give you to go by is that when we light it up there’s steam keeps coming out of the top and we can’t stop it so we can’t get up steam.” So I said “Alright, we’ll go to have a look at it.”
Anyhow I went and had a look and it was an old Ruston Proctor engine and the safety valve was a deadweight valve. It was an arm actuated the valve and it had a deadweight you could slide backwards and forwards to either increase or decrease the head of steam that you wanted, there was no weight on this thing, it was missing. So we had a look round and I told him what I was looking for, I told ‘em it was a circular block of cast iron with a rectangular hole through it and I thought it would be about five or six inches in diameter. Anyhow we looked around for a while and we eventually found this thing in the cook’s galley, he’d been using it to make pressed beef, he had it for a weight to put on the tin to weigh the beef down so we took it back and shoved it on, lit the boiler up and away she went.
A similar age engine to the one father describes. I found this one in Minnesota.
Well, that did me a lot of good with the old man and the overseer, they thought I was a wonderful bloke. They asked whether I had any experience with engines and I said “Yes, I got quite a lot of experience with them.” Anyhow we cut the wood and we helped the blacksmith with his cutting and shutting of tyres and next morning I reported for riding again. The overseer told me to go over to the house and report to the missus, they wanted something doing so I went over and told her that the overseer had sent me. She found me one or two jobs but they were something and nothing, she wanted a bit of gardening doing. I knew nothing at all about gardening and I said that if she showed me what to do I’d do it but I didn’t know anything about it. Anyhow we pottered about in the garden for a bit and then she invited me inside for a drink of tea when it come about ten o’clock. We went in to have a drink of tea and she didn’t seem anxious for me to go to work again and we sat there talking. Anyhow, to cut a long story short, I did nothing that day and she told me to come back next morning so I went back next morning and Mr Fraser had gone away to some neighbouring station for the day and wouldn’t be home until late at night, at least, that was what they thought. He came back earlier than anyone thought and caught his wife and I in a very compromising situation and I was ordered off to the bunkhouse. I don’t know what went off with them but I thought well this is it. I wasn’t in the bunkhouse very long before the storekeeper came down and he said here’s your time so I said “What about me mate?” He said “Well I don’t know about him, he’s somewhere about the place.” So I said “I’ll go and see him.” I went and found Mick and told him what had happened and he said “What have you been fired for?” I said “You mind your own bloody business, I’ve not been fired for anything that’s any concern of yours but I’ve been fired.” He said “Well, I’ll pull out too.” I said “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He said “If you’re going, I’m going too so I’ll go and get me time.”
Anyhow he went and got his money and just as we were getting ready to go a fellow with a wagonette and six horses pulled into the yard. We had a chat with him and he said that he come from Warren, he was a regular carrier on that route, he used to bring goods out from Warren for the stations and then on his return journey he used to buy skins and hides or any small merchandise that they had and take it back to Warren and sell it, doing a bit of dealing. So we said to him “Where are you heading to from here?” He said “Well I’m going from here over to Crawley’s place. That was a place about 20 or 25 miles away. He said that he had heard that they were wanting men so I said “Do you know what it’s doing?” He said “No, I don’t know what it’s doing but if you like you can come over with me and if you’re lucky you might strike a job and if you don’t, I’ll be back this way in about a week’s time and you can come back to Warren with me if you like and you’ll easy pick up a job there.”
So we said we’d go over and have a look. We found out this place was run by a widow woman and her two sons. The name was Crawley and the job was crutching sheep. There’s always a lot of trouble just after the first rains with blow flies on the sheep when the green grass comes, the sheep get very loose and with the dung sticking to the wool it gets fly blown and if it’s not cleared away the sheep are soon in a very sorry state. So we said “What are you paying for the job?” He said “Well, it just depends on how many you can do in a day.” I said “Well, I dunno how many I can do in a day, I’ve never crutched a sheep but I’ll be able to if I get shown how and I’m sure my mate here is in the same category as me, he knows nothing about it. So he said “You can have a start and I’ll pay you what you’re worth.” I said “That’s no bloody use to me, I want to know what wages I’m going to draw.” So he said “I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you, I’ll start you at thirty bob a week and if you are as good as the other fellows than you’ll go up to the two pound five a week which is the standard rate of wage round this area for the job.” So we said we’d take it on at that and when did we start. He said “It’s too late to start now, you can start tomorrow morning.”
So we got ourselves into the bunkhouse and got ourselves rigged up there and there were six other fellows in the gang. We were having our meals in the main house, they hadn’t opened up the cookhouse in the men’s quarters because there was only eight of us with my mate and I and the Mother and two sons so the cooking was being done by the old woman and a coloured girl in the main house.
Well, it seemed to me like the middle of the night when a fellow came shouting that it was time to get up. It was pitch dark, anyhow we got up and I said to somebody “What time is it?” They said it was five o’clock, I said it’s a bit early to be getting up. Anyhow we went in to breakfast and breakfast was ready for us and it was a good one too. We set off for the woolshed which was only about a quarter of a mile away. The sheep had been in all night and we started at this crutching. Well, I soon got into the knack of crutching, there was nothing to it, before the first day was over young Crawley come to me and said “Well, you’re on two pound five a week, I can see you’ve got the hang of it. I don’t know about your mate, he’s not doing quite so well.” I said, “You want to give him a bit of time, he’s a city lad but he’ll soon pick it up.” Anyhow, it come about five o’clock in the afternoon and I thought it was time we were knocking off so I started straightening me back and looking around. I said to one of the blokes “What time do we knock off?” He said “When it’s too dark for us to see.” so I went on and it was six o’clock before we finished. By the time we had got home and had a wash and got ready for tea it was after seven o’clock. I weighed this lot up, from five in the morning until seven at night for two pounds five a week was a bit hot so next morning when he rattled the bed I didn’t get up. I said I’m getting up a bit later on. He said “Oh, you’re feeling a bit stiff are you.” I never answered him so I just lay there and me mate lay there too. They didn’t say anything to us and we got up about seven o’clock and went over to the house and asked if there was any breakfast. She said “Yes, we’ve saved some breakfast for you.” Then we went over to the shed and made a start. He come round after we’d been going for a while and he said to me “Well that’s five bob off your wages.” I said “What for? You’re paying us two pounds five a week and when we’re late you reckon us at half a crown an hour? It’s not on.” Anyhow, we got through that day alright so I said to Mick that night “When McKenna comes back with his team, I’m packing in.” He said “Right, we’ll both pack in because I’m fed up with the bloody job.” So we carried on until we thought he was due to be back and we went and saw Mrs Crawley and told her that we wanted our time, she tried to persuade us to stop on, she said there was only a few more days and we’d be finished. I said I wasn’t staying on, I’d had all I want, we were going to get out. She made our time up for us and paid us and I said to her “Do you mind us hanging on here for a while? McKenna will be coming back this way won’t he?” She said “Yes.” So I said we wanted to wait for him and see if there was any chance of getting a lift into Warren with him, she said we could wait there as far as she was concerned but they couldn’t feed us. We said we didn’t expect feeding, we’d feed ourselves if they sold us the grub and wait in the bunkhouse. Anyhow, this was agreed on and we settled in in the bunkhouse. One of the young Crawleys came and tried to put us off the place but we wouldn’t go, we told him his mother had given us permission to stay and we were going to stay whether he liked it or not, he didn’t push the matter any further so we were alright. Anyhow, McKenna turned up and we asked him whether the lift to Warren was still on and he said “Yes, if you want to go I’ll take you.” So we said “Right, we’ll be with you, you let us know when you are ready to go and we’ll be with you. He said he’d be ready to go first thing in the morning so next morning, after he’d made his deal for what skins and hides they had to sell we loaded up the wagon and we said goodbye to Wambie station and set off for Warren.
We were going along the road about ten or fifteen miles from Wambie and I saw a straw wrapper lying in the road so I said to Geoff McKenna “Pull up, I’m going to get down and see what that is.” I jumped down and had a look and it was a quart bottle of Wolfe’s Schnapps. We were laughing at finding this bottle of schnapps, we said we’d have a go at it when we stopped for dinner and he said “We’ll be stopping for dinner, there’s a billabong just down the road here and we’ll stop there and have some water and a bit of grass for the horses.” Anyhow we got to this billabong and pulled off into the shade of a tree. We didn’t unhook the horses, he said it wasn’t worth unhooking them, we’d put nosebags on ‘em. We boiled a billy and had a feed and then we decided we’d sample the schnapps. So we boiled the billy of water and kept putting a bit of this schnapps into the pannikin and putting the boiling water on it and some sugar and it didn’t taste too bad at all. Well we went on having another and having another and eventually I passed out and I woke up somewhere about sundown. The other two were still flat out and the team with the wagonette was in the billabong, the horses must have got thirsty during the afternoon and went in the water to get a drink, they were all tangled up, still with their nosebags on soaked with water. So eventually I roused the other two up asked Geoff what he was going to do now. He said “The first thing we’ve got to do is get out of this flaming billabong because if we go any further in there we’re sure to get bogged down. Just leave it to me and I’ll try to get ‘em out.”
Well he got up and got them straightened out and he tried to turn very sharp to get out of the billabong, it was going in at an angle of about 45 degrees and he turned out too quickly. To make sure of getting out, when the horses were coming into line, he let go with his whip and started shouting, they slammed into the collar and the bloody pole broke. Well they went for a while, they was going one way and the wagonette was going the other way because it had nothing to guide it when the pole broke. He got ‘em stopped but they were further into the swamp than before they started, then there was the question of the broken pole. We weighed it up to see whether we could take it out of the undercarriage where it was broken and shorten the pole but we found out if we did that it was too short for the horses, their rumps would be rubbing against the front of the wagonette so we thought the only thing we could do was go and look for a pole. We set off with an axe and we must have walked a couple of mile before we found a sapling that was suitable. We cut it down and then we had to carry it back on our shoulders and then shape it with the axe. We had no brace and bit to bore holes in it, that was our next trouble so we got it in and found a bit of iron on the wagon and we burnt holes through with the hot iron, eventually, sometime during the night, the pole was fixed in. I suggested to him that perhaps the best thing to do would be to hook the team on to the back of the wagonette and Mick and I would hold the pole and steer it and he could pull it out backwards, he said “I think we’d better leave that operation until first thing in the morning” which we did.
Next morning we tried it, it worked and we got it out and got on the road to Warren about ten o’clock, we camped that night a few miles outside Warren and next morning we went into town. We took up our abode in an empty house, McKenna said it’d be alright as nobody had lived in it for years, a lot of the tramps used it at odd times if the weather was bad. We settled in and made ourselves as comfortable as we possibly could.
We didn’t do anything for the first couple of days, we just went round looking the town over and having a good time but funds were getting low so we had a bit of a pow-wow and decided that we’d have to look for job. We had a look round but there were no jobs about so Mick suggested that we should go into the paper flower trade, I said that would be alright but did he know anything about it. He said “I know all about it, I can make paper flowers, all sorts of flowers, tulips and roses and anything you like.” So I said “Righto, it suits me.” He said “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll put so much money into it, buy the materials, providing they could be had in the town, and I’ll make the flowers and you can go round selling them.” I said “Right, that suits me.” So we went down town and bought a lot of rolls of coloured crimp paper and some wreath wire and went off back to the factory to make a start.
Well, I worked with him the first afternoon until we got a supply made, first we made buttonholes and small bouquets of flowers. Next morning I found an old cardboard box and pierced a lot of holes in it with a nail and stuck these flowers in and set off down the town to try and sell them. Well I got down on the street and I was mobbed, people were running after me, things that he’d told me to charge sixpence for I was charging a bob and things that he said were half a crown I was asking three and six and four bob or as much as five bob for ‘em. Anyhow I was back again in about a couple of hours sold out. He had some more ready and I sold them, I came back again and I said “The best thing we can do, I’ll settle in and help you and we’ll get a good load for tomorrow because I believe there’s a gang of fellows coming in tomorrow and they’ll be buying flowers for all the girls around the place. So I said we wanted to get a lot of buttonholes and small bouquets ready which we did do.
The next day I set off again and the story was the same, I could sell the flowers quicker than we could make them. On this particular day I’d been going round these fellows that had come in from the job, I don’t know what sort of a job they’d been on, that doesn’t matter, but I was talking to them and they told me there was some fellows bedded down out in the stables and they might want to buy some so I went off out into the stables and I went in. There was only one fellow there and he was asleep, dead drunk and he had a black silk shirt on and in his shirt pocket there was a wad of notes as big as a blanket, I’ll bet if there was one note there was two hundred. I felt his other pockets and he had a little canvas bag and I don’t know how much was in that because I didn’t open it, I pulled that out of his pocket and I took his wad of notes and I shoved ‘em inside me shirt and went out into the street.
The police station was on the opposite side of the road and just a little bit further up than this pub that I’d been in. So I went up to the police station and asked to see the sergeant. They took me into a room and he said “What do you want?” I said “I’ve got these.” and I put me hand in me shirt and pulled out this roll of notes and this bag of silver money or whatever it was. He had a look at it and said “There’s getting on for a couple of hundred quid here, where did you get it?” I said “I took it off a bloke down at the Commercial Hotel.” He said “You took it off him?” I said “Yes, he’s out in the stables dead drunk, I couldn’t wake him up and there’s sure to be a few deadlegs about, there always is when fellows come in from the station and I thought it would be better if I took it off him and brought it over to you.” He said, “You did the right thing.” He took my name and address, I told him where we were camped and he said that was alright. He’d send a trooper to find out who the fellow was and when he was sober they’d give him his money back. Well, I was to be very glad afterwards that I did what I did in regards to this bloke but I’ll tell you about that when we get to it.
I still went on with me flower selling job and I started to get orders for fire screens and great big bunches of flowers, the Royal Hotel told me that they’d take as many bunches as I could make up, they wanted them for decorations in the rooms. Anyhow, we had to come to a stop because we’d bought up all the crimped paper there was in the town, they said we’d have to wait for new stocks so that brought that little proceeding to an end. In the meantime we’d made quite a bit of money and this left us at a dead end again so one morning I went down the town and was looking for a job. I hadn’t found anything and I stayed in town and had a meal in a little cafe in the town and I went home in the afternoon about four or five o’clock.
When I got to the house I saw a trooper there, I thought hello, they’re after us for selling these paper flowers without a licence because you were supposed to have a hawker’s licence. I knew this and I suppose Mick knew it too but neither of us said anything to each other about it. Anyhow when I went in the constable said to me “Do you know anything about this?” I said “Anything about what? This paper flower business?” He said “No.” I said “I don’t know anything about anything else ‘cause that’s all we’ve done since we come here.” He said “Do you know anything about this swag?” I said “No, I’ve never seen it before.” He said “Have you been with your mate all day?” I said “No. I haven’t been with him at all, he’s been here as far as I know.” He said “Was you with him yesterday?” I said “No, I wasn’t with him yesterday, I haven’t been with him at all since the first day we come here because he’s been working here and I’ve been hawking these flowers around the town.” Then he said “We suspect that either him or you has stolen this swag, it was reported lost to us yesterday and we found it under the floorboards here this morning.” Well these houses were built about two or three feet above the ground because Warren’s in a low-lying place and when the heavy rains come there’s likely to be floods and they’re built off the ground to prevent flooding. I said “Where’s me mate?” and he said “He’s down at the station.” So I said I’d go down and see him but they said I wouldn’t be able to even if I went down, the best thing I could do was stay here and if they wanted me they would come for me. Anyhow, they didn’t come for me, not that day at any rate.
The next day I went down to the station to see what had happened to Mick. I didn’t see the sergeant, I saw a trooper and he said to me “Well your mate is on his way to Sydney.” I said “Has he gone?” He said “He hasn’t gone, we’ve taken him, that’s what we were waiting for, we were waiting for a wire from Sydney yesterday when I was talking to you, he’s wanted in Sydney for robbery.” I said “I didn’t know anything at all about that.” He said “No, I don’t suppose that you did, but if you take my advice you’ll get yourself a job and you won’t bother yourself any more about Mr Duggan because when that case is over he’ll have to answer this one and for that reason you won’t be able to leave Warren.” I said “Well, that depends on how long it is before he gets tried for this case, I’m not staying here, I’ve got to make a living.” He said “Anyhow, you try to find yourself a job and wherever you go to let us know where you are and if you’re wanted we’ll come for you.”
I went back to the house where we were camped and I started thinking and I thought well, the best thing I can do is to get out of this place because there might be other tramps coming in and I might get mixed up with them. If I go and stay in a hotel I’ll have a lot better chance of getting a job, I wasn’t short of money then, I had forty or fifty quid in me pocket so I decided to go and stay at the Royal Hotel.
There was a groom at the Royal Hotel called Jimmy Greenaway, he was a half-caste lad. I hadn’t been there very long before I found me way out to the stables, I told him I was looking for a job and he said “Where do you come from?” and I told him. He said “You’ll know a bit about farming won’t you?” I said “Aye.” He said “Well, there’s a man, he’s in Warren now, his horse is in the stable here and I know that he’s looking for some men to run a chaff-cutter, do you know anything about chaff-cutting?” I said “Aye, I know something about it.” He said “He’s a Mr Grogan and he’s staying in the hotel, if you hang about I’ll either point him out to you or get one of the girls to point him out to you.” So anyhow, he saw one of the girls and told her that I was looking for him and when we went in for our meal at midday she came to me and said “Do you see that man sitting over in the corner, that’s the man you’re looking for, Mr Grogan.” I thought I’ll not bother him while he’s at his lunch, I’ll catch him when he comes out.
I hurried up and finished me dinner and I went out and sat on the veranda until he came out. So when he come out I got up and I said “Are you Mr Grogan?” He said “Yes.” I said “I hear you’re looking for some men.” He looked me up and down and said “Where do they get their boys from round about here?” I didn’t know what to say for a while but then I said “I’m looking for a man’s job and I can do a man’s job, I hear you’re wanting some fellows to run a chaff cutter.” He said “That’s right, I do. Do you know anything about chaff-cutting?” I said “I know a bit about it, what sort of a machine have you got?” He said “I’m not so sure.” I said to him “Is it a John Bunker or a Cliff and Bunting?” because I knew that these are the two makes most popular around the Western districts. He said “Now you come to mention it I think it’s a Cliff and Bunting.” [The Cliff & Bunting Company was founded in Melbourne by Harry Cliff, who arrived from England in 1882, and Jonathan Craven Bunting, also from England.] I said “What sort of an engine have you got?” He said “It’s a stationary engine.” I said “It’s a stationary engine? Do you have to take the hay to the chaff-cutter and not the chaff-cutter to the hay?” He said “No, we take the chaff cutter to the hay.” So I said “Well you haven’t got a stationary engine, you got a portable engine.” He said “I don’t know whether it’s portable or stationary.” I said “Has it got shafts on it?” He said “Yes.” I said “Well, it’s a portable engine.” Well, my idea in talking this way to him was to give him the idea that I knew something about chaff-cutting. He said to me “What jobs can you do on a chaff-cutter.” I said “I can do any job at all, I can either pitch or go steaming or feed the chaff-cutter or attending to the bagging, anything that you like.” “Well,” he said, “You’re a cheeky young bugger, I’ll give you a job, where are you staying?” I said “I’m staying here at the hotel.” He said “I’m not going until tomorrow.” I said “Well, that suits me.” He said “You be here tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you at breakfast time what time we’re leaving.” So I said “Right you are, you’ve got yourself a man.” and he went away laughing.
Victoria State Museum image of a Cliff and Bunting chaff-cutter at work. This is the bagging end of the machine.
When we got out to his place it was getting on for teatime and I took me swag off the buckboard and by this time his wife had come out. I said to him “Where’s the bunkhouse?” He just started to point to the stables and his wife said to him “No you don’t Jim Grogan, you’re not sending that child over there.” He looked at her and said nothing, she said “He’s coming in the house with us.” So anyroad he says “If that’s what you want. You’d better go with the wife and she’ll show you where you’re going.” So I went inside and she asked me my name and she showed me to a little bedroom on the veranda of the house. It wasn’t actually in the house it was a sort of an annexe to the house, she said “You can make yourself comfortable in there for as long as you’re here and I’ll give you a shout when tea’s ready.” I said “Oh, it’s alright, I’ll go over to the bunkhouse and have me tea with the men.” and she said “No you won’t you’ll have your tea with us.” Well I had me tea and it was the first time I’d ever seen pumpkin pie, we had our meat course and then she said to me “Would you like some pie?” and I said “Yes please.” and she brought this out and it was the loveliest dish I’d tasted for a long time and I said to her when I’d finished it “What was that?” She said “That was pumpkin pie.” I said “I didn’t know that you could make sweet pies out of pumpkin.” “Oh yes you can,” she said, “You can make anything out of a pumpkin.” She was perfectly right as far as the pie was concerned, it was lovely.
So next morning he got the gang together and we went and set the chaff-cutter up against the stack. I said to him “Is this all you’ve got to cut?” He said “That’s enough isn’t it?” I said “This isn’t going to last us long, there’s only two stacks here, we’ll be lucky if there’s more than sixty tons.” He says “You’re right, I’m told there’s about sixty tons there.” I said “Well that’s not going to last us long.” He said “Why, how much can you do a day?” I said “Well, if you’re working an eight hour day, we should get through an average of twenty tons a day so we’ll be out of a job in three days.” He said “You’ll never get through that in three days, it’ll take you a week or a fortnight.” I said “Well, if these blokes can get it to me I’ll get it through the machine, how many men have you got on the bagger?” He said “We’ve got two.” I said “Have they ever done this job before?” He said “They can sew bags.” I said “They might be able to sew bags have they ever been at the end of a chaff-cutter before?” He said “Best thing to do is go and have a talk with them, you seem to know more about this machine than I do, if you’re not careful I’ll be making you the boss in a bit.” So I said “I’m only trying to help.” So he called these blokes out and he said to ‘em “This fellow wants to have a talk to you.” So I said “How many bags an hour can you sew?” Oh he says “I dunno, I reckon I can do a bag every five minutes.” I said “That’s no bloody good you want to be able to do a bag every minute.” He said “I can’t do a bag a minute and I’m not going to try.” I said “Get your tackle ready and let’s see how you’re shaping.
So they went and got their tackle ready, got their bags and put them down. I said “That’s no good, you want two heaps of bags, one on either side of the machine so all you’ve got to do is bend down and pick a bag up.” Well we got the bags lined up for ‘em alright and then they got the string. Well, they got a hank of twine and they just cut it and hung it up. I said “That’s no good either, you want to wet it.” We got this twine wetted and I said “Show me your needles.” Well, they were ordinary packing needles, the ones with the big curved ends on them. I said “That’s no good either.” Grogan said “It looks to me as if there’s nothing right about this place, the best thing you can do is take over the manager’s job and I can go in the gang.” I said “Well, it isn’t, that needle’s no good.” He said “What are we going to do about it?” I said “I’ll make ‘em right, give me a couple of needles and we’ll go over to the blacksmith’s shop and we’ll soon put ‘em right.” So we took these needles and I cut the ends of them, got ‘em hot and drew them out into a straight needle about four inches long. We ground ‘em up on the grindstone, got them in shipshape order and Grogan said to me “Well, that doesn’t look anything like a packing needle now!” Anyhow I said “I’ll show you how to use ‘em when we get started.”
We got them lined up and we got the bloke feeding the steamer lined up alright, told him what he had to do, and the pitchers on the stack, all they had to do was to throw the sheaves down. There was a fellow looking after the engine, he’d never looked after an engine before but with a bit of tuition we got him doing the right thing. Well, we couldn’t average the three ton an hour because they had nobody to sharpen the blades and you had to sharpen them every hour so every hour I had to spend about twenty minutes sharpening blades. When we got started I took it easy for a while to give these lads at the backside a chance, they got into a hell of a mess and we used to run for so long then I’d go down and give them a hand to catch up but they were catching on at this bagging pretty good. If we’d have had much to do it wouldn’t have been long before a couple of them would have handled sixty bags an hour. Anyhow we kept ploughing on and it took us about a week and we cut out.
So I said to Mr Grogan “I suppose that’s that. What’s the best way to get back to Warren?” He said “I shouldn’t bother going back to Warren if I was you if you’re still looking for work. There’s a man called Mr Wingate who owns Warraby station and I was talking to him out on the run yesterday and I was telling him about you. He’s looking for a man for chaff-cutting, they got their hay still to make. They’re going to make the hay and take it straight to the chaff-cutter and cut it without stacking it.” So I said “How do I get in touch with him?” He said “I think if you leave it and you just hang round for a day he’ll be turning up because he said he’d very likely come over and have a word with you.” So anyhow he did turn up and he asked me if I was interested in going to work for him and I said yes. So I said “What sort of machine you got?” He said “It’s only a small machine ours, it’s not as big as this one, it’s only got one of those drums at the back.” This was a single bagging machine, you’d be lucky if you did twenty five hundredweight an hour on it. Anyhow I said I’d go. He said “If you get your swag I’ll take you back with me on the buckboard. So we set off, got back to Warraby and he showed me where I was to sleep, showed me where the dining room was. This station was built with the main house and the crews quarters in a long building. There was a long main building and a wing down one side with the wash-house, outhouses and all that down one wing and the crews quarters down the other side, then it run off, there was an “L” shaped wing, there was a butcher’s shop and a small bedroom at the end that they put me in. I wasn’t sleeping actually in the big dormitory where the rest of the crew were sleeping and I think they’d done this because they thought I looked a bit young. Anyhow I got settled in and the first thing was to start making hay.
CHAPTER TEN
He said to me “Have you ever driven a reaper and binder?” I said “Yes.” He said “Do you know anything about them?” I said “I can drive one and operate one but I dunno whether I know any more than that about it.” So he said “Well, I want you to go in the morning and see whether the machine’s in good order and try it out and get ready, then when you’re ready we’ll get some men in for stooking.”
A modern restoration of a reaper and binder in NSW like the one father describes.
I went and looked this machine over and as far as I could see everything was alright about it and I was talking to a chap and he said it had never been touched since the expert was out here from Warren and put it in good order about six months ago. So I went out to this wheat field and there was about fifty acres, I thought before anybody gets about I’ll have a bit of a go and see how I get on with it. So I hitched six horses into it and run ‘em round a bit for a start on a bit of open land just outside the field and it seemed to me to be alright so I went in and tried meself out. I did one round of the field and everything was going alright, the machine was cutting alright and the knotter was working, that’s the main thing on a reaper and binder so it seemed to me I was all set. I reported to him that I was ready when they were. This was about mid-day so he said “Alright, you get on with the cutting and we’ll get over as soon as we can for the stooking.” I went over, made a start, and I think I was about two and a half days on the job. I got it cut out and incidentally got a bit of shooting as we were cutting out because there was rabbits and hares and kangaroo rats in this field, I borrowed a shotgun and had quite a bit of fun shooting as we were cutting out. I used to carry the gun on the machine with me and as soon as I saw anything I used to stop the horses and have a go at it.
Anyhow we finished up and it was stooked and it had to be left for about a week then for the hay to make. He told me and he said “In the meantime I’ll give you a bit of riding to do.” I said “Righto, I’m game for anything.” He said “tomorrow morning report with the rest of the boys and I’ll give you a job.” At the stations in Australia in those days and I suppose it’s the same now, every morning after breakfast all the station hands congregate at the stockyard and the owner or the overseer or the foreman will come out and he’ll give the men their jobs for the day. Some had to go here and some had to go there, whatever the duties were this man in charge lined them up for the job. So when he come to me he said “You can go into the saddle room there and pick yourself a saddle and pick yourself a horse.” That again was a standing practice, they never told you that this was your horse and you must ride it, you picked your own.
I went into the saddle room and there was a few saddles hanging on the wall and they were a decrepit bloody gathering if ever there was one. There were saddles with pommels broken and some with broken stirrup leathers and they were a sad lot, I thought this is going to take a while sorting one out from here. I glanced across to the wall on the other side and I saw a saddle and bridle hanging on the wall and it looked to be pretty well new. I went over and had a look at it, and I had it in the back of me mind that I wasn’t supposed to touch this saddle because it wasn’t hanging with the general saddles on the other side, anyhow I took it. I went out to the yard and I caught meself a horse and saddled up and just as I was saddling up the boss came along, he took a look at the saddle and he never said anything, he just said as he walked past me “Well, you’ve picked yourself a saddle.” and left it at that. Well, a bloke come up to me and he said “Are you Dubbo?” I said yes, he said “Well, you’ve got to come with me.” We went off to such and such a paddock to bring the sheep in for lime-marking. I said “Right.”
We went off and we were riding along and he said to me “How did you come to get that saddle?” I said “I went in the saddle room and took it.” He said “Did the boss tell you to take it?” I said “Nobody told me to take it.” He said “Has the boss seen it?” I said “Yes.” He said “Well, that’s bloody funny that he’s let you ride in that saddle.” I said “Why? What is this about this saddle?” He said “Well that’s his brother’s saddle and his brother was killed out of that saddle and it’s been hanging there now for nearly two years and nobody’s ever touched it, it’s been cleaned periodically and put back there but nobody’s been allowed to use it.” I said “Well, nobody said anything to me about it and as far as I’m concerned I’m going to keep it.” So he said “Well, if he hasn’t said anything about it that’s OK. Of course I have me own saddle, I never bother about station saddles, I wouldn’t ride in the bloody things.”
Anyhow, we went out and did our mustering. We brought a mob of sheep in, about two or three thousand and penned them up for the night and we did the same next day and went out to another paddock, brought sheep in from there and took other sheep out. We were doing this for a few days and the boss noticed that I was a bit stiff and sore. He said “Is the riding job a bit hard on you?” I said “Well, it always is until you get used to it and I haven’t done a lot of riding for while, I never really got settled down to it. He said “Well, We’ll see if we can find you a job round about the yards, take a turn at catching the lambs.” So anyhow, I went in catching these lambs and by midday me arms were raw. He came round to see how we were going on in the afternoon and he said to me “How are you going on?” I said “You can put me back in the bloody saddle tomorrow, I’m fed up with this job. Look at me bloody arms they’re as raw as a boil.” He said “Aye, they don’t look too good do they, you should work with your sleeves down.” I said “I’ve not got any sleeves, they’re cut out at the elbows.” so he said “Oh, we’ll see what we can do about it.”
So the next morning we lined up for our jobs and he says to me “Well I don’t know what to do with you today, do you know anything at all about windmills?” I said “Yes, I know something about them, not a lot but I know a bit.” He said “Well, we’re just installing windmills all over the station for the water supply, they’re all out on the sites, all that’s wanted is someone to erect them.” So I said “Is the foundations in for them?” He said “Yes, all the foundations are in, we had a firm from Warren come and put the foundations in.” The foundation that a windmill is built on is only four concrete pads that the four feet stand on. I said “Well, there’s nothing to stop us having a go at it.” He said “Right, I’ll give you two mates and you can go and erect this windmill.” This was only about five or six miles from the main station. We went out and erected it, it took us about a week to get it up but by that time me arms were getting better. I kept going to have a look at the hay, so one night I said to him “I reckon that hay is about ready now, will you go and have a look at it?” He said “It’s no good me going to have a look at it, if you say it’s ready, it’s ready as far as I know because I don’t know anything about it.” So I said “Well, in my opinion it is ready for cutting.”
Now the way hay is made in Australia, of course we do make grass hay too at times but that is always wild grass, it’s generally made for rough feeding for stock in them winter time. It’s not taken into the home barns or anything, it’s generally stacked up in the field and a fence put round it and when winter time comes they take the fence away and let the sheep eat into the stacks. But hay that’s used for the feeding of farm and station horses is invariably made from wheat. The wheat is allowed to grow until the ears have formed but while it’s still green it’s cut with a reaper and binder and then stooked up to make in the same way that hay is made when grass is used. We reckoned that this was ready and I said to the boss that it was time for us to start cutting. He said “We can’t start cutting yet because we’re waiting for a fellow to come out to repair the engine, the engine’s broke down.” I thought blimey, another engine broke down. I said “What’s the matter with it?” He said “It won’t go.” I said “Have you had steam up in it?” He said “Yes, we’ve had steam up in it but the flywheel keeps going backwards and forwards but it won’t go round.” I said “Has anybody been tinkering with it?” He said “No, not as far as I know, the last time we used it was for shearing and it was alright then but it won’t go now.” Well, I thought I knew what was wrong with it and I said “Do you mind if I go and have a look at it and see if I know how to put it right?” He said “You can go and have a look at it if you want to but I don’t think you’ll be able to put it right.” I said “I’ll have to get steam up in it to find out anyhow won’t I?” He said “Yes.”
So I went and had a look at this engine and I could see straight away what was the matter with it. On a portable engine there’s a cam that operates the valves and if you turn this cam backwards towards the back of the engine the engine will run towards the back, that’s the flywheel running over towards the back of the engine, if you turn the cam towards the front of the engine as far as you can on the shaft, and lock it up there, the engine’ll run forward. I noticed that the bolt was loose and it was about central, that’s why when they tried to start it up it just went backwards and forwards because it was almost on dead centre and the valves couldn’t open to push the pistons any distance in any direction. So I set it right back in the back position and started it and the engine ran alright backwards. I went back to the station and told him everything was alright and we could get cracking as soon as we liked.
We had the chaff-cutter already set up and it was just a matter of getting men set on to cart the hay in and in this case we had no steamer, it was fed direct into the machine so we started cutting. Well, we averaged about five or six tons a day. We didn’t do well at all as the machine was in bad order and kept breaking down, anyhow it took us about a fortnight to finish the job off. I expected when it was finished that I’d be on the road again but anyhow, I wasn’t. When the job finished he said he could find me some more work about the place, he said there were some cyclone gates wanted hanging, could I hang some of them? Well, of course I could, that was one of the jobs we used to do when we were fencing. We used to hang cyclone gates, and they had to be hung with a cill-plate put in at the bottom close up to the gate so that a rabbit couldn’t get through to make it a rabbit-proof fence. He said “How long will it take you to hang the gate?” I said “Well, if I’ve got the tackle and the gateposts are in position and there’s a cill-plate there me and a mate’ll do one a day if it’s not too far away from the homestead.” He said “Alright, you can get on with that job.” He gave us a list of three or four gates to hang and we went out and did them. He came out to have a look at them and was quite satisfied with them, then he started finding me all sorts of odd jobs about the place.
One day I was shoeing a couple of horses and a fellow came in on a winded horse and he said that he’d come from one of the outstations. There was a madman on his way to the station who said he was going to kill everybody there and he had an axe with him. I said “Well, I’m the only one here and a woman. There’s that dago cook but he’s no bloody good because he’d run a mile if he saw anyone showing any signs of aggression.” He said “Well I can’t stop, I’m off to Warren to get the police, I’m going to get a fresh horse and then I’m off.” so he got a fresh horse and he buggered off. I went over to the house and saw the woman and I told her about this fellow coming but I said there’s no need for you to get excited, if Mrs Wingate’ll get the children inside and lock the doors and leave the rest to me I’ll do the best I can with him. So this dago bloke, he was dashing around wondering what they could do, he wasn’t going to be murdered and that sort of thing and his wife said “I’ll give you a hand with him if I can.” I said to him “If you’re frightened the best thing you can do is to get up into the loft, he won’t look for you up there.” So anyhow he disappeared, I don’t know where he went to so we waited. Well, we had to wait quite a long time, it come dinnertime and we had to get a meal so I arranged with this girl that I’d keep a lookout while she had something to eat and she’d do the same while I had a meal. Eventually she come dashing in and she said “He’s here!” So this fellow come along and his eyes were staring, I could see that he wasn’t a madman, at least, I didn’t think he was a madman, he had the DT’s. He was flashing this axe about and said he was going to murder Mr Wingate. I said “Well, he’s not here, so you won’t be able to murder him, his wife and children are away too, there’s only me here”. I asked him if he would like a drink, he said he would, yes he would. So I went inside and he stood on the veranda. I asked her to give me some tea, so she got me a mug of hot tea and he downed it in one gulp, he must have been absolutely famished. Then he started dashing about and he ran through the kitchen and down the veranda towards the room that I slept in. On the way down he had to pass the butcher’s shop, he saw all these knives in the butcher’s shop and he dashed inside. I was right behind him and I slammed the bloody door to. So there he was in the butcher’s shop and he was poking knives through the cracks of the door, I stood guard, I thought yes you bugger, you can cut your throat but I’m not letting you out of there.
So, the afternoon wore on and it got towards sundown and the bloke that went for the police turned up and he’d met a trooper on the way to Warren and brought him back with him otherwise they wouldn’t have been back until the middle of the night. The trooper said to me “Where is he?” I said “He’s in the butcher’s shop.” He said “He’s where?” I said “In the butcher’s shop.” He said “Well, that’s a bonny bloody place to put him!” I said “I didn’t put him there, he went there, I just shut the door on him.” Anyhow we went round and he tried to talk to this fellow but he couldn’t get any sense out of him, the bloke wanted to get out, he wanted to kill Wingate who’d done him some injury or he imagined he had. So the trooper said to him, “How would you like a drop of whisky?” “Oh aye.” he’d like a drop of whisky. So they opened the door and let him out and he says you can’t have any whisky as long as you’ve got that knife in your hand you’d better put it down and he gave him this flask of whisky. Whilst the bloke was drinking it we got hold of him and we bottled him into a room and he said well he can stay there for the night. They’d put him some grub in during the night, the trooper looked after him.
Next morning the trooper said “We’ll have to get him into Warren.” I said “I can’t go with him unless Mr Wingate comes back and tells me to go.” He said “Well, somebody’s got to take him.” This other fellow, who had been for the police didn’t want to have anything to do with him either. Anyway, the argument went on until nearly dinnertime when Wingate come back. The trooper told him he wanted somebody to take this chap into Warren and Wingate said “Well, it’s alright. Dubs can take him in, you can ride behind and keep an eye on him.” So we harnessed a horse up into the sulky and got this bloke up alongside of me and I thought well, this is a bonny trip. Every now and again he tried to snatch the reins from me and getting hold of me and I kept belting him with the buggy whip, the boss end of the buggy whip and this trooper was riding behind with his hand on his revolver. I don’t know whether he would have shot him or not if he’d have got rough but eventually we got into Warren.
It was getting late in the afternoon, we took him to the police station and they put him in a cell there. The sergeant said to me “The best thing you can do is to get off back to Warraby.” I said “I’ll be travelling all night.” Anyhow I set off for Warraby and I hadn’t got more than a mile away from the police station and I met another trooper coming in, he stopped me and said “Where are your lights?” I said “I haven’t got any.” He said “Don’t you know that within a five mile radius of the town you’re supposed to have lights on after dark?” I said “No, I didn’t know.” He said “Well, you are, I’ll have to take your name and address and report you.” I said “That’s a bit of a bugger, I’ve just been working for the police.” and I told him about this chap that had been brought in. He said “That’s got nothing to do with me, all I can do is take your name and address and report you and then they can decide what they’re going to do about it.” Anyhow, I gave him me name and address and a week or two afterwards we got a summons, I showed it to the boss and he said “Oh, you can leave that to me, I’ll deal with it.” Anyhow I think I got fined five bob but he paid it and attended with a solicitor to plead the case for me so I didn’t have to bother any more about it.
Shortly after this, he sent for me one day and said “I want you to go into town and meet the train, I’ve got a cousin coming up from Sydney, Mr Len Wingate, he’s coming up here for a holiday. Whilst he’s here it’ll be your job to look after him so don’t get on the wrong side of him when you first meet him, and by the way, take those two last colts in the buggy, they’re good quality and a sixty mile run won’t do them any harm.” So I said “Righto, I’ll set off first thing in the morning.” I did, I got up about half past three, got ‘em hitched up and set off for Warren.
I got into Warren about half an hour before the train was due. The railway station stood away from the town and at the back of the station there was a big open field, it was a good job for me there was. Instead of waiting until the train got in and going round to pick this chap up, I went round before the train got in. Where I stopped was just where the engine stopped, the engine pulled in and the horses were a bit frisky. Then the fireman started worrying about, making noises with his shovel and steam blowing off and one thing and another. Then he sounded his whistle, I don’t know whether he did it to frighten the horses or not, I think he did, but they set off and I couldn’t hold them, they went round this field and I took ‘em round about twice before I could pull ‘em up. Anyhow, I finally got them pulled up and got back to the station, this chap and his wife were waiting for me. I got them aboard and I said to him “Do you want to go into the town for anything?” She said “Yes. I want to go to a store.” I said “Do you need to have a meal?” They said that they had had a hamper meal on the train, so I took ‘em round to this store and fortunately for me the horses kept fairly still while they got out and went in. Anyhow, they came out and got aboard again and we set off. Well, half way down the street we met a traction engine and this fellow was pipping his bloody hooter and they set off again. This chap said to me “What’s the matter with them? You’re driving them too fast aren’t you?” I said “I’m not driving them, they’re taking me, they’ve got the bit between their teeth.” So he said “What are you going to do about it?” I said “I’m not going to do anything at all, I’m just going to let ‘em run.” Anyhow, I let ‘em run and after about three or four mile they got winded and they steadied up so we went along without any incident after that.
We pulled up somewhere about half way there at a waterhole they had a meal by the wayside, I had some sandwiches that I’d taken with me from the station and we boiled a billy, they really enjoyed it. Anyhow, we got out to the station without any further trouble and they got settled in for the night. Next day they were going to start lamb marking and I was picked to go with Len and do a bit of mustering. We got on really well together, he was a decent sort of a bloke, he was the head of a labour agency in Sydney. These labour agents found work for people who were out of work, they found men for employers who wanted people and worked on a commission basis.
For the next two or there weeks we rode together and hunted together and did a bit of fishing and really got pally. I’d been telling him that I wanted to get out of the country for a while, he said “Where do you want to go?” I said “I don’t care where I go as long as I get away from here for a bit, see somewhere fresh.” He said “Well, when I go back I’ll see if I can fix you up with a job, we do a lot with the contractors who are going to places like New Zealand and Tasmania and the islands round about and it’s quite possible I could fix you up with a job with one of those people.” So I said “Alright, if you can fix me up I’ll only be too grateful.” Anyhow, he went back to Sydney and we parted on that understanding that if he could, he’d fix me up with a job.
It wasn’t long after he had gone away when there was more trouble. There was a married couple worked on the station, he was a dago bloke and his wife was a Sydney girl. I don’t know whether he knew or not but she was a bit of a fly-by-night and of course I started messing about with her, I don’t know why, I suppose it was just that young fellows do that sort of thing. This fellow found out, he made a complaint to Mr Wingate and he said that if they didn’t get rid of me, they’d go. Now married couples on these stations were like gold, they had a hell of a job to get them and they had a bigger job to keep them once they had them. Wingate sent for me and he told me about this complaint and asked if it was true. I said “I don’t know, there might be some truth in it but there was never anything wrong happened.” He told me that he thought the best thing I could do was to part company because if he lost these people God knows where he could get some more, they’d written to Cato’s, that was the station next door asking for a job there, of course Cato’s wouldn’t give them a job unless Wingate agreed to it. He said “I’ve got nothing against you but the best thing you can do is go.” So I said “Alright, I’ll go when the next chap’s going into town, I don’t want to walk from here to Warren.” He said, “That’s alright, I’ll let you know when there’s somebody going.” Well anyhow, he did and he paid me up and I shook the dust of Warraby off me heels and ended up back in Warren.
I went to stay in the Royal Hotel in Warren and I heard from the police that Mick’d got time for the job he’d done in Sydney and I was warned that I might be wanted as a witness. I told them I wasn’t going to hang about long and if they wanted me as a witness, the best thing they could do was to take a statement from me and then they’d have it if ever he came up for trial again. Anyhow they didn’t take a statement and I never heard any more about it.
I just landed in Warren at the right time, the local show was on and there was also a race meeting the same week. This race meeting was what they call a grass-fed meeting, that is that all the horses competing must have been on grass for at least three weeks before the race day, it was usual for the squatters and farmers and riders who had a good horse to enter their horses and the races were keenly contested. There was one chap there, a horse breaker with a horse, he had it in a small paddock about a mile out of Warren, he was staying at the Royal Hotel and told me that there was a lad coming up from Sydney to ride for him, he couldn’t ride it because he was about seventeen stone. Anyhow the day before the races he got word that this lad couldn’t come, so he said to me “Have you ever ridden in a race?” I said “I’ve never ridden in a recognised race, I’ve ridden in plenty of bridle races and all that sort of thing.” He said “Well you can be my jockey tomorrow.” So I was game, I thought it was a great thrill to be riding in a real race on a real race course.
Anyhow the next morning we were up bright and early and saddled this horse up. I took it out to the race course which was about four mile away, there was no stables, you just tied them up anywhere you could. You were allowed to feed them corn that day, you’d give ‘em a nosebag. Anyhow, it came time to saddle up for the race, we saddled up and in the meantime we’d registered with the committee and I think I had to pay two bob as a registration as a rider, I think that covered insurance in case you got hurt. This fellow told me exactly what to do, he said “Never mind using your own judgement, I don’t want you to do anything at all about it, you just keep this horse where I tell you to keep it.” So he gave me my instructions and they were that I had to get into about fourth position and stay there until about three furlongs from home then let him have his head, I did this and he won by about ten lengths. I got me money for riding him and I got a bob or two that he’d put on and we went back home to the hotel very happy.
There was a sequel to that, about three or four days after the race meeting one of the committee came to me and asked me if I knew this fellow that I’d ridden for. I said that I’d never met him until I’d seen him before the race. They said “Did he say where he was going from here?” I said he’d never said anything to me, he’d just left. I said “I know he went on the train, they might be able to tell you at the station where he went to but he didn’t tell me.” He said “Well, we’re looking for him because that horse that he won the race with wasn’t a grass fed horse at all, we’ve since learned that he had it in Narromine and he’s been training it there and it’s been corn fed all the time.” I said “I don’t know anything at all about that.” Anyhow, I don’t know whether they found him or not but if they did I never heard anything about it.
The night before the show opened I got talking to the bloke that run the boxing booth, I was interested in boxing and I went down to the place where they were camped. They weren’t staying at the hotel, they were camped in an old livery barn, they were boxing or sparring, training and this fellow said to me “Are you going to the show tomorrow?” I said “Yes.” He said Can you talk?” I said “Yes. I can talk a bit, what do you want?” He said “I want someone to do a bit of barking for me, our bloke has left us and there’s nobody only meself and I’ve got too many other jobs to do looking after the cash desk and the boxers and that.” I said “Well, if you’ll give me some idea of what you want me to say I’ll have a go at it, if I’m no good you can tell me and that’s the end of it.” So he gave me the tale to spiel, we wrote it down and I learned it off by heart, I didn’t know anything else. It went something like this, I used to have to stand up and shout “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you will give me the space of a few moments, I will endeavour to inform you in the shortest manner possible who we are, what we are and what we are here for. We’re not here to mesmerise, brutalise or blackanise, we’re simply here to illustrate the battles that have been fought and won in our Australian colony.” Then I had to go on to introduce the boxers. The method of getting boxers in was to introduce a man, to say that this was “Joe Chinowski, the man who rode the black bullock through Drongaloo with blood and shit all over and fought eight rounds with a man armed with a back chain and come out without a scratch, will anyone have a go with him?” Course some bloke would stick up his hand and you threw him a glove and he was matched with Joe Chinowski and it went on like that until you got all the boxers matched up, there was about five or six of them and then the crowd was invited in. Fights went on and as one fellow finished a fight you were barking away trying to get another punter for the second house and so on. Well, it went on for two days and this fellow said I did alright, at the end of the two days he gave me a five pound note. He bought me quite a bit of drink and that in the meantime and meals for me so I was quite satisfied and it was a bit of an experience for me.
Just after the show was over Mary Gain, that’s George Gain’s wife arrived in Warren to visit some friends at the Commercial Hotel. [Birth Certificate 18799/1873. George White Gain Father George Sause Gain, mother Ellen Jane Gain at Tambaroora. Marriage Certificate 2039/1891. George Gain to Mary A Corrigan at Albury, we later found that George was killed in action in August 1915.] I was walking down the street one morning and I got the shock of me life, I run slap bang into her. We talked for a while and she invited me to come round to the hotel for tea, I said I would. I went round and we talked about home and one thing and another. Talking to her made me feel a bit homesick so I decided that when she went back, I’d go home with her, I told her this and she was very pleased. She said that the reason she’d come to Warren was not only to visit friends but to see if she could get in touch with me because Mother was very worried about me, she was more than pleased when I decided to go home with her.
Anyhow I went home and I’d only been home a few days when I got discontented again. Mother was getting at me about staying away from home, my place was at home and all that sort of thing. So I got fed up and I told her that I couldn’t stay at home, that I had a job in Warren and that I was going with some surveyors and I’d be away for about five or six months, she wouldn’t hear from me at all while I was away. Of course, that was all baloney, I only meant to create the belief that I was out in the bush somewhere so that if I got the chance to go abroad I needn’t tell them anything about it.
When I got back to Warren, I heard that Mrs Cook at the Royal Hotel had had some trouble with her groom, he was a fellow named Billy Greenaway, a half caste lad, they’d had some trouble during the show week. It had built up and in the end Billy had packed his job in and she had been left without a groom, she asked me whether I’d take the job on. I said I didn’t want to do it permanently but I’d take it on for a while if she was stuck. She said “You do that, I’ll give you two pound a week and your keep and you have what you make in tips.” So I said “Right.”
Well I hadn’t been on this job very long when a big drag pulled into the yard one day with six horses and the fellow driving it was a tough looking old customer, I didn’t know who he was, got out, chucked the reins to me and said “Take care these and see that they’re fed on corn.” So I said “Alright Sir.” I unharnessed them, put ‘em in the stalls and rubbed ‘em down and this fellow Billy Greenaway came round. He said to me “Do you know who that is?” I said “No, I don’t know who it is but he’s some big nob by the look of him.” He said “That’s old Bull McKenna, he comes from out on the Bogan and he’s one of the wealthiest squatters round here, he’s a real tough nut.” He told me a yarn about him to illustrate what sort of a bloke he was.
He said that one day old Bull was going along the road with two horses in a buckboard and he passed two tramps so he stopped and asked them whether they wanted a job and they said yes. He said I need a couple of hands about the station to do a few odd jobs so you better throw your swags aboard and get up so they did and he set off across country. They reckon he was running over logs and stumps and boulders and that and they hit a stump and one of these fellows fell out. The other fellow was afraid to tell him and he kept pulling at his sleeve saying “Mr McKenna, Mr McKenna.” and in the end old Bull turned round and said “What the bloody hell do you want?” He said “Will you stop, me mate’s fell out.” Bull said “Well throw his bloody swag out, he’s no use to me if he can’t ride on a buckboard!” The bloke had to throw his swag out and he didn’t stop for him, that’s the sort of fellow Bull McKenna was.
Another tale that Billy told about him was that he had some visitors up from Sydney and amongst them was a young fellow about 22 or 23. He was very la-di-dah and he kept talking down to Bull and the old fellow didn’t like this so he was wondering what he could do to take the wind out of this young fellow’s sails. One day a party of them were coming into Warren and before they set off old Bull invited this young fellow to have a drink with him. He put some jalap [A very powerful purgative] in his drink. When they got into the drag, he invited this young lad to sit alongside of him, up in the driver’s seat. Well, they hadn’t been going very long when this young fellow wanted to go to the lavatory, he whispered to old Bull and Bull said “Well, you’ll just have to hang on for a bit, we come to a gate up here and when we come to the gate, you jump down to open it and when I drive through the gate, you shut the gate but before you get up into your seat again just say that there’s a bolt loose under the drag and you can get under there and relieve yourself” so the young fellow thought right, I’ll do that. Well, they come to this gate and the young fellow jumped down and opened it, they drove through and he shouted out that there was a bolt loose under the drag and he’d get under and tighten it up. Old Bull waited while he had had time to get his trousers down and get cracking on the job and he drove on and left him there so that all the women in the drag could see him. Of course the fellow was made to look small and old Bull got his own back on him.
But to get back to Bull and me, I had unharnessed his horses and hung the harness up and I happened to say to Billy Greenaway “By God, that’s a lovely set of harness.” He said “Aye, but the old man doesn’t like it, I’ll tell you what, if you were to get some stain and dye that harness black and get it nicely polished up by the time he goes back I’ll bet you’d get a couple of quid off him.” I said “Well, the stain and that is going to cost me quite a bit, I’ll ask him.” He said “Oh, I wouldn’t ask him if I was you, just get it done and I’ll give you a hand with it.”
Anyhow, we got some stain and we washed the harness with soft soap first and let it dry. Then we stained it with this stain and put some black lacquer on and rubbed it in and then I polished it. When he was ready to go, it was about three days he stayed there, he sent word out that he wanted his team harnessing so I got them all harnessed up and stood in the yard ready for him and he came out. Well, he stopped dead when he saw these horses and he said “Where’s me own harness?” I said, “This is it Sir.” “What have you done to it!” I said “You can see what I’ve done with it, I’ve done it black, I believe you didn’t like the other colour.”
Well, he was speechless, he just spluttered and splathered and then said “I’ll see you get the sack for this lot!” So he went off back into the hotel and he brought Mrs Cook out with him, she was apologising and he was going to sue me for damaging his harness and all that sort of thing. I said “Well, you can sue me if you want but I haven’t got any money to pay, I’ll have to work it out if it comes to a verdict against me.” I didn’t tell him that Billy Greenaway had told me about it. Anyhow he simmered down after a while, Mrs Cook had sacked me so I buggered off and got out of the road but as they were getting ready to drive away I went up and said “I’m awfully sorry Mr McKenna but I thought I was doing you a good turn, I thought I was doing something that you’d like to see, if I’d known it was going to upset you like this I wouldn’t have done anything like that with it.” He lowered his voice a bit and he said “As a matter of fact sonny you’ve just done what I would have liked you to have done but I’ve got to make a show because it’s the wife and the women that’s demanded this flashy harness. There’s no hard feelings as far as I’m concerned but I’m sorry you got the sack.” I said “Oh, I would have left in any case so it doesn’t make any difference, I’ve no hard feelings about that. Anyhow, Billy Greenaway got his job back and I went back to living in the hotel.
They were telling me there in the hotel that they had a Chinese cook and he was the most marvellous pastry cook in the world. They never could get to know how he made his pastry and he always made it at night time. So one day I said to the Boots that worked in the hotel “There’s a loft over the kitchen.” and he said “Aye.” “So what say we get up there and bore a couple of holes and watch old Johnny and see how he make his pastry?” He said “Aye, not a bad idea, let’s do that.” So we went up and we got an auger and bored a couple of holes right over the table where we could watch him. We took a few bottles of beer and went up into this loft at about eight o’clock at night and eventually old Johnny come in and started to get his pastry ready. When he got it made and started rolling it out he kept rolling it out and then he’d take a mouthful of sugar water and blow it all over the pastry out of his mouth like out of a spray, then he’d lap it over and roll it again. Well, next day we told everybody in the hotel how he made his pastry. That caused another bloody row, I fell out with Mrs Cook about that, she said that I’d no right to go up into this loft and all that sort of thing and so I packed me bags and went down to the Commercial Hotel to stay. [SG note: Being a nosey bugger I asked a man who knew about these things what the idea of the sugar water was. He said it would be puff pastry and the mixture of sugar water and enzymes from the cook’s saliva would ferment if the pastry was left overnight and this would separate the layers making perfect pastry, I’ve tried it and it works.]
Whilst I was hanging about waiting for a letter from Len about this job abroad I was in a bar one day when the sergeant of police came in. He asked me to have a drink and I bought him one and he got talking about Mick. I said to him “How did you get on to him as quick as you did?” He said “Hah, you’d like to know wouldn’t you?” I said “Aye.” He said “We were on to him, or as we thought, we were on to both of you, within a couple of days of you coming to Warren.” I said “Why was that?” He said “Well, we had this fellow listed as a wanted man but the description wasn’t very good because Mick didn’t answer the description but he’d been in gaol before and in this gaol that he was in one of the things they taught them was the manipulation of paper, making paper screens and flowers and that sort of thing. As soon as you started selling flowers on the street that was a lead to us that if he wasn’t the fellow that we wanted, at least he was a fellow that’d bear watching so it was due really to the paper flower business that we first got on to him. We wouldn’t have got him nearly so quickly if he hadn’t started making flowers.”
At last I got a letter from Len Wingate telling me that he could offer me a job in Fiji, they were installing new rollers at the cane mills there and although the job would only last two or three months, it was well paid and I had me fare there and back home again. So if I just wanted a trip out it should be right up my street. He mentioned that the wages was five pounds a week and all found living in a hotel. Well, that was pretty good for somebody my age so I wrote back to say I was on me way. Anyhow I called in, saw him at the office and he directed me where to go and who to report to and they’d fix me up with me passage.
So I went to the place, it was the Bundaberg Sugar Company’s offices and the man in charge was a man named James. Well, Mr James gave me all the papers that I wanted, he gave me some money for expenses on the trip and a ticket on the boat. There were two other fellows going out with me and we had a very pleasant trip out. When I got there, I was told that they didn’t want a fitter, they wanted someone in the blacksmith’s shop, I said I’d signed up as a fitter and he said “Well, there’s been a mistake there because we’re not behind in the fitting department, we’re behind in the smithing department.” So I said “Well, I’m not going to argue the point, what do you want me to do in the blacksmith’s shop?” He said “We want a striker.” I said “Right, I’ll take that on.” He said “Have you ever done any striking?” I said “Yes, I’ve done a bit, not much but I’ve done a bit.” So he said “I’ll take you down and introduce you to your mate.” So we went down into the smithy and he introduced me to a fellow called Vic Hansen, a big fair-headed Dane about six foot six and I bet he’d be about sixteen or seventeen stone, he was about my age or probably a bit older, we had a talk and he said “Oh, we’ll get on alright together, we’ll manage.” Anyhow we did, everything he asked me to do I was able to do it to his satisfaction, in fact he said I was one of the best strikers he’d ever had. We had a few natives working for us as well, like you didn’t do any of the donkey work at all they did all the carrying and the fetching. They used to get these blokes down every morning and they give them a ticket for the days work, if they took that ticket back at night initialled by the man that they had to work for, they got paid their wages, a shilling a day. They didn’t understand any English and we didn’t understand any Fijian language and it was a bit of a bloody picnic, the only thing I ever learned in their language was lackamay[?] which means come here and puckatoo [?] which means pick it up. Those were the only two phrases I ever learned and Vic didn’t seem to know any more. We got on alright with them, they weren’t bad fellows, if they knew what you wanted them to do they’d do it happily enough. Anyhow, it wasn’t quite three months and the job finished, they’d got the new rollers in and we’d done all the fitting up of the guards and all that was necessary and the job was cutting out.
Whilst talking to Vic Hansen in the hotel about what was going to happen when the job finished, he said that he was going back to Australia. He’d only been there about six months when he got this job in Fiji, he didn’t know where he was going but he wanted to get out into the country so I gave him the name and address of a man called Jim Mullins in Narromine who ran a big general engineering place and who was nearly always short of blacksmiths particularly in the busy season. I told Vic if he wrote to Jimmy I thought it was pretty near sure he’d get a job, he could tell him that I’d given him his name. Anyhow, he did do this and he got a job with Mullins and I was to meet him again later on.
When we finished I wanted to get away as soon as I could, I’d had enough of Suva and there was nothing there but the sugar mills. There was one or two interesting facts about the place, one was that they had a gaol there and there was a wall built three parts of the way round this gaol about nine feet high. While I was there there was town meeting to discuss the possibility of completing the wall because the prison authorities were having trouble, not keeping people in the gaol but keeping them out! They used to find out at meal times that they had twice as many people to feed as they were supposed to have prisoners.
Another point about the Fijians was that I think the coloured people there was the most moral people I ever come into contact with. Their women would have nothing at all to do with the whites, they lived on their own side of the town and you’d never see them in the white quarters. White men who went into the native quarters got very short shrift from the women, not the men, the women chased them out. They were very patriotic people, the King was a god to them and England was the only place in the world to them, they looked up to England as being one of the mightiest countries in the world, as a matter of fact it was at that time.
Well anyhow I was in a hurry to get away and I heard that there was a firm called Smith and Timms who had been doing some contracting work on the jetty at Suva had a ship in loading at the dock, I thought they’d be going back to Sydney so I went down and I met a fellow named Willy Campbell who was the man in charge. He said “If we were going back to Sydney I’d take you back with the greatest of pleasure but we’re not going back to Sydney, we’re going to Jamaica from here, we’ve got a contract out there. If you want a job on that I can fix you up alright.” So I said “What are the terms and conditions?” He told me what the cost of living was there and what the wages were, I had to sign on for six months and if I stayed the six months I got a free passage home. If I left before six months I had to find me way home the best way I could so I said “alright, I’ll take it on.” He said “Well, you’d better get your things on board because we’ll be sailing tomorrow or the next day. You can go aboard and live aboard ship whilst you’re waiting if you like.” So I said “Thanks”, I went and got me bag and went aboard and we eventually set out for Kingston. [Late 1911?]
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When we arrived in Kingston [Late 1911?], by the way, Campbell wasn’t with us, he’d gone back to Sydney on another boat, it was another man I was working under when I got there, I found out that the cost of living figures which had been given to me in Fiji were the assessment of the cost of living for a native not a European. From what I could make out it was going to take the whole of me wages to enable me to live anyway decently, I talked to the other fellows and they said their wages was a lot higher than mine. I went to see the foreman on the job and he said he couldn’t do anything about it, I’d have to see the manager. I said “Well, who is the manager?” He said “It’s young Mr Smith, he’s in charge.” I said “Where is he now.” He said “We don’t know, he’s been away for a couple of days but he’ll be back any time now.”
In the meantime, we was getting ready to start and drive some piles. We got the first pile into position and we had it held up in the crane and steered it into the correct position. We got the pile-driver up to it and let it go so that we could get the bridle on to it from the pile-driver and it slowly sank into the mud. It sank down until there was only about eight or nine feet of it above water, somebody said “What are we going to do about that?” One of the fellows said “Let’s hit it and see what happens, it might strike bottom because it has been surveyed. Anyhow, we give it one belt and it went out of sight.
A steam pile driver at work in Wisconsin. The rig father was working on was essentially the same. (courtesy of Flickr.com under Creative Commons)
In the meantime, young Smith had returned, he wouldn’t discuss my problem because he was too worried about this pile. So he gave instructions for two of these piles to be joined together. They made a sleeve out of quarter flat steel plate and put it round the top pile and let another pile down alongside the one we’d knocked in and when it got nearly to the bottom we put this other pile on top of it. It sank down, and although they had to tap it, it was still going about two foot every blow. That meant they were about eighty feet into the mud and they hadn’t found bottom.
Well there was trouble in the camp then, somebody had made a mistake and it was the surveyor who had surveyed the site because on all those jobs, before they quote for them they send surveyors out who do trials to find out what the rock bottom is so that they know the length of the piles. This fellow had give a rock bottom figure of somewhere about 30 odd feet. Anyhow work was suspended whilst some more piles were brought in, they were going to bring steel piles in. I made that an excuse that I couldn’t stop there under the conditions that they had me working under if they couldn’t find me something to do, were they going to pay us for doing nothing? Young Smith said everybody was on half pay whilst we were waiting. Well, that was no use to me so I went into the town to see whether there was anybody there who could take me out such as the consul or the Crown Agent or something like that. I did find a Crown Agent but of course he was in cahoots with the Smith and Timms people and whilst he didn’t do anything against me, he didn’t do anything for me.
In the town I met a priest and he was one of these priests who went round amongst the sailors and the various floating population, more like a missionary sort of a bloke. He could talk good English and I told him what my problem was. He said “Yes, I’m afraid that happens quite a lot, that sort of thing. There doesn’t appear to be anything you can do about it, if you’ve signed the contract you’ve got to honour it but I’ll tell you what you can do if you want to, you can come and live with me whilst you’re here and though I can’t feed you, if you come and live with me you won’t have any lodgings to pay. You can buy food and cook it at my place and things might work out a bit cheaper for you.” So I decided to do that because I liked the bloke, he was a nice sort of a fellow and I went and lived with him whilst I was there.
I learned quite a lot from this man, he used to sit at night and he’d talk to me for hours and I never ever once found what he was saying to be uninteresting. He could go on and on and on talking about interesting things and expounding his philosophy, he was the man who decided me that the Buddhist way of life was the only reasonable philosophy for anyone to live up to because it gets right down to realistic things. There’s no such thing as read and believe, for everything that he said he could give you a feasible reason. Every belief he had he could give you a reasonable explanation for it. We had some very interesting arguments and every time I had to admit that his philosophy was a lot more plausible than what where then some of my beliefs.
One of the things he said to me, one of the first things he ever said to me was he said “Don’t you get the idea that we don’t believe in God. The only difference between you and me is that you call it God and I call it the Supreme Being. We believe in a Supreme Being but we don’t believe that your sins can be forgiven on this earth, if you commit a sin then you’ve got to pay for that sin in your reincarnation.” I said “Will you explain to me how it works?” He said “To start of with, we believe that the Supreme Being is a gentle and a kindly and a just person or Being. If that is so and there is no hereafter, how is it that some children are born with a silver spoon in their mouth and never want for anything, they never have to work, they never suffer any illnesses and they have an easy and pleasant life. Another child is born, it’s probably deformed, it’s born of poor parents, it suffers hunger, malnutrition, has severe illnesses, meets with serious accidents and that sort of thing. Now, if there is a God and that God is a just God, he’s not going to start two people off under entirely different conditions unless there is some reason for it. We believe the reason for it is that the one that’s born with a silver spoon in its mouth and lives a free and happy life, on its previous time on earth, lived a good life, committed no sins and is reaping the reward. The other ones that have all the ill fortune, ill health and trouble, they are paying for the sins they committed during their previous time on earth and that we believe is a reasonable solution to the problem of punishment for sins committed.” He went on with lots of other things, he always used to say to me “You’ve not got to convince other people that what you do is right, you’ve got to convince yourself. If you can convince yourself that you’re right then you are right but for goodness sake be honest with yourself and don’t try to pull the wool over your own eyes. Don’t worry about what other people say, you be satisfied that what you are doing is the right thing and go ahead and do it, you’ll find out in the long run that what you have done has, in fact, been the right thing to do.” [I can remember my father passing this on to me when I was very young and I never forgot it, I always tried to put it into practice in my life.]
The pictures that I see on television screens today about Jamaica are nothing like what I saw when I was there fifty odd years ago. Amongst the natives at that time there was nothing but poverty and squalor. The only thing that seemed to be easy to obtain was rum, you could get a bottle of rum for a worn out shirt or a pair of trousers or even for a pair of socks without any trouble at all. Jamaicans seemed to be able to get hold of that but they had no money and they lived very very rough, I think they were often short of food. Then there was the other side, the wealthy side of the town and they really were wealthy, they had everything, four or five servants, they lived in big houses, drove about in flash buggies and pairs and that sort of thing and seemed to be having a whale of a time, the two classes were miles apart.
Anyhow, I got fed up with things, we were doing no work and playing about so I decided that I’d make a break and get away. I heard there was a ship in port that was going back to Australia and I went down and had a word with the captain. He said that they didn’t want anybody, they had a full crew. I told him what things were like there and it was pretty bad. He said “Well, we’re not sailing until the day after tomorrow or the next day, come down again tomorrow and I’ll see how things are then.”
So I went down next day and he said “No, we’re still not wanting anybody, but I’ll tell you what, you can come aboard and work your passage home, come as supercargo.” I said “That’ll do me.” so he said “Alright, we’ll sign you on as a greaser and you’ll get two bob a day, your passage home and your food.” I said “Right, that suits me.” I was a bit worried because I’d missed being home for Christmas. It was then January (1912) and I knew I’d have a bit of explaining to do when I got home. Anyhow, eventually, I got home somewhere in February 1912.
Mother let me know that she was disappointed that I didn’t get home for Christmas, I got the usual sermon about getting further and further away from home and not visiting the relations and old people. Of course, she believed that I’d just come from Warren, she didn’t know that I’d come up from Sydney because I went from there to Narromine, stayed there the day and came back on the evening train because I knew if I went home off the mail train in the morning they’d smell a rat.
I stayed at home for a while. Things wasn’t too good so I soon got fed up of being at home and I decided that I’d make a break for it again. I went down town to see if I could pick anything up and while I was down there I met a lad called Cherry Langley that I’d been at school with. We got talking about what was going on and he said I was just the bloke he wanted to see because he was organising a pigeon shoot and they were a bit short of competitors. He said “You’ve done a bit of pigeon shooting haven’t you?” I said “I’ve done a bit but it’s a while since I shot.” He said “Will you have a do?” I said “How much does it cost to enter?” He said “Oh, you don’t want to bother about that, me Father’ll pay that.” I said “What’s the prize if I win?” He said “Are you sure of winning?” I said “Well, I wouldn’t be going in for it if I didn’t think I could win.” He told me what the prize was, I forget but it was only a few pound it wasn’t very much. I said “Well, I’ll have a go.” and he said “Alright.”, he arranged to pick me up and take me up to the shoot.
We went up and to cut a long story short, after shooting all afternoon I was in the last four and we were to get ten birds apiece. Now, the way that the scoring goes, it’s who can bring down the most birds per barrel, if you can get a bird with every barrel you can be tied with but you can’t be beaten. One fellow shot and he got eight birds with ten barrels, that wasn’t too bad. The next fellow shot and I think he got about seven or eight birds with twelve or thirteen barrels. The other fellow was somewhere the same and then it come my turn to shoot last. I won it, I got nine birds with nine barrels and the other bird, the gun misfired so I didn’t get a shot at him or I might have got the ten. We had a bit of an argument, I wanted another shot because this cartridge had misfired but they wouldn’t give it to me. The reason they wouldn’t give it to me was that one cartridge, the cartridge in the choke bore, hadn’t been changed. It was a spent cartridge and they said that I would have had a chance with a second barrel. Well, that was quite true.
Anyhow, I got me winnings and went home and decided that the next morning I would go up to Narromine and have a look round there so I got on the train next morning and went to Narromine, I stayed at the Railway Hotel which was run by a man named MacDonald. I went round to see Jimmy Mullins the chap that I knew and I asked him if there was any jobs going. He said “Yes, I could give you a job, they were busy.” He said “I’ve got an old friend of yours here, perhaps you’d like to go and see him.” I said “Who’s that?” He said “Go down in the blacksmith’s shop, you’ll find him down there.” So of course as soon as he mentioned the blacksmith’s shop I remembered Vic Hansen.
I went down there and old Vic was there and he was glad to see me, I was glad to see him too. I arranged with Jimmy to start work the next day and I asked him what I was going to be doing. He said “I’m going to put you with a fellow called Ernie Schnapps, he’s a German fitter I’ve got here and he’s a good un, he’ll probably teach you something.”
The first job I had with Ernie Schnapps was repairing a boiler that’d sprung a leak in the foundation plate between the foundation plate [ring?] and the inner skin. It meant boring out the rivets that were leaking, opening the holes out and putting oversize rivets in. To do this job one had to work inside the boiler and one outside. Well, I was the one inside with a dolly holding the rivets up whilst old Ernie riveted them over from the outside. We were having trouble getting the rivets in, I think it was because the holes we bored were a little bit on the tight side and with the rivet being hot, if you tried to knock it up, it jumped it up and it was hopeless to get it in at all. This had happened a couple of times and old Ernie said to me “If you can’t get ‘em in shout.” so I said I would do. Well, we come to one and I got it nearly in but not quite but it was through far enough for him to start riveting. I shouted but he didn’t stop, he went on riveting. Eventually I stuck me head out the boiler and shouted at him but of course he’d riveted it over on the outside then and it meant cutting it off again. Well he came down and stuck his head in the fire hole door and started abusing me and I jammed the hot dolly on his forehead, I burned a big hole in his forehead with it. He come after me with a hammer and there was hell to play for a while but anyhow I got out, I run away, I went out of the shop altogether and went to the pub. He quietened down after a while and Jimmy Mullins come and smoothed things over a bit and we got back together again. We didn’t have any more trouble after that. He used to get my goat because at that time, he used to tell me that there’d be a war and he was always talking about Der Tag. It used to get my goat but all in all he was a very clever engineer and I learned a lot from him.
Whilst I was working for Mullins I was sent one day to a place in the town that’d had something wrong with the pump that they pumped the water from the well with. Nearly all the houses in Narromine was supplied by wells, you struck water about thirty feet down, it was seepage water from the river. Some had windmills, some had pumps and some had to wind it up with buckets, these people had a pump. The plunger was worn in this pump and I had to get a new plunger made because it would have taken too long to wait for one coming up from Sydney. I got the size of it and went back to the shop and we couldn’t find a piece of phosphor bronze or a bit of cast iron the right size to make a plunger out of so old Schnapps and I decided we’d make the phosphor bronze from some brass and copper and tin mixture and cast one. This we did and turned it and I took it back to fit it in. Anyhow I got the pump working alright and the lady of the house had asked me in for a drink of tea, in fact she’d given me my meals while I was there and she said to me “Where do you come from?” I said “I come from Dubbo.” She didn’t know me name and she said “Do you know anybody in Dubbo or round about Dubbo named MacDonald?” I said “Aye. My name’s MacDonald.” She said “What’s your first name?” and I told her she said “Wait a minute, and she went inside and she said afterwards that she was looking at a diary. She came back and said “Would you be surprised to know that I’m your Godmother?” I said I would because I didn’t know I had a Godmother. She told me the story about the christening on the railway station, they’d forgotten all about it. Of course she was thrilled to bits because she’d met her godson and I had to go round on the Sunday to have dinner with her, her husband and her children and in fact she got a bit of a bloody nuisance. She was trying to mother me a bit too much and it didn’t go down very well with me so I cooled her off the best way I could.
Well, I was going home, not every weekend but every second or third weekend just as the fit struck me. I went home one Saturday, Father was at home and he said to me “What are you doing tonight?” I said “I’m not doing anything in particular, I thought I’d go down town and perhaps have a game of cards or something like that.” He said “Well, George Gain is home and I was wondering whether you’d take him down with you and let him be seen about with you, he hasn’t got too many friends.” So I said “That’s alright with me.” he said I’m going down there now, I’ll tell him, you can pick him up when you go down tonight.” I said “We won’t wait for tonight, I’ll go down this afternoon.” The pubs were open all day and I thought we might go down and have a drink or two, I didn’t tell the Old Man that. Anyhow I went about three o’clock and picked George up and we went off down town.
We were in one or two pool rooms and we played a game of cards, we was just trailing round doing nothing in particular and we met a fellow that had been out in the bush working. He had come in with a roll to spend it, he was flashing it about and I said to him “The best thing you can do is to get rid of that money somewhere matey or you’ll be losing it.” He told me to mind me own business and we let it go at that. That night, we made arrangements to play cards in the back room of a pub, we’d been with one or two shady customers in the afternoon ‘cause you’re bound to do in these poolrooms and that sort of thing. Anyhow, we went playing nap and we played all night, I got home with George the next morning and we’d never been apart, we’d never been away from each other so I thought nothing at all about it. I’d got a lot of money, well, it was a lot of money for me in those days, about fifteen or twenty pounds and a lot of it was in silver. I remember I had it tied up in a handkerchief and I didn’t quite know what to do with this money, I daren’t give it to Mother because she wouldn’t have took it knowing it was gambling money. Anyhow I gave it to Doris and asked her to mind it for me, she said she would and she took it and that was that. I went back to Narromine on the Sunday night.
I never heard anything about it until the following Saturday when the police came down to the works. The trooper said to me “Will you be going home today?” I said, “I wasn’t thinking about it, why?” He said “The police in Dubbo want to see you.” “Oh.” I said, “Do they, what for?” He said “I dunno but sergeant has been speaking to us on the phone and they’ve asked us to tell you that they want to see you. If I was you I should have a run home tonight and go and see him and get it cleared up.” so I said “I will do.”
Anyhow, I didn’t get chance to go to the police station to get it cleared up, there was a trooper on the station waiting for me. He said “Would you come down to the station.” I said “Right.” We went down to the station and he started asking me questions about the previous Saturday, if I’d been in with George Gain and if I’d been with Billy Bean who was another tough character round the district, I didn’t know what all this was leading up to. So in the finish he said to me “Well look, if you know anything about this job the best thing you can do is to tell the truth because you’ll not do George Gain any good and you might do yourself a lot of harm. Now someone has had this money, there’s no doubt at all about that. It’s got to be George Gain or you because we know of nobody else who was in this man’s company.” So I swore blind that I knew nothing at all about it. He says “Well, where did you get all the money that you gave your sister to keep for you?” I said “That’s nothing to do with this man and I’m not going to tell you where I got it.” “Right” he said, “It’s up to you whether you tell us where you got it or not but it’ll want some explaining away, there’s fifteen or twenty quid there. I know it’s not half of the roll that he says he’s lost but it’s a bit of it and if there was more than two of you in it that could explain it, that could be your share.”
So I still stuck to it that I knew nothing about it and I was certain that George Gain didn’t know anything about it. I told him people we’d been with and I owned up in the finish that we’d been playing cards and that I’d won this money gambling, I gave him, as near as I could, a true story about what had happened. He said to me “If it wasn’t for your Father I’d take you in, but I’m going to take George Gain in because I’m sure that he had something to do with it and if we get him inside he’ll own up to it.” I said “I don’t think he will because he had nothing to do with it.” Anyhow, they decided to arrest old George. There was nothing I could do about it but I went down town at night time and I met this Billy Bean and I was telling him about it. Well, he’d been away from town and he didn’t know anything at all about it. He said “Oh, I know that George Gain didn’t get the money, I’ll tell you something else, that fellow was going to hide his money, he told me he was going to hide it.” I said “Well, will you go to see the police and tell them that?” He said “Yes, I’ll go and tell them.” Anyhow he went and told the police and to cut a long story short, when they got down to it in the end, this fellow remembered that he’d put this money in a treacle tin and buried it down on the bank of the river so they went and searched and eventually they found it. Well of course this let old George out and it let me out but it was a bit worrying while it lasted and I was dead sure that Mother and Father would get to know about it. Anyhow they didn’t get to know anything until it was all over and I told them then, I also told them that’s the last time I’m going to go in George Gain’s company, I didn’t want to go in gaol. [The more we look into George Gain the more it seems that this was one of father’s better decisions. Sandra looked into his prison records and he was well known to the authorities not only under his own name but also as George McCarthy. We know for certain that he was arrested in Dubbo and sent to Wellington to be tried on a charge of being ‘found in a building with intent’ on 17th of February 1903.]
I was getting a bit fed up with working for Jimmy Mullins, it was all hard work and we were too close to the pub. I was spending more than I was earning and the bit of money that I’d saved up was beginning to disappear, I decided that I’d try to get a job where it wasn’t so easy to spend money. With this end in view I went to see a man that I knew, a man named Reg Rainer who was the manager for a firm of hay and corn merchants called Bishop and Bailey.
Reg offered me a job on a chaff cutter. I said “Reg, don’t put me on this job thinking that I’m going to stay a long time because I’m not. As long as you know that I’ll only be on for a few months that’s OK.” He said “Oh, that’s alright with me, this is our busy time and if you’ll give us a hand out, when you’re ready to go that’s OK, I don’t mind.”
I took this job on. We were working pretty close in around Narromine, close enough to get into town every weekend at any rate. They were a hell-bending mob that was on this machine, they were as wild as March hares and I can tell you we had some pretty lively times in town. Reg’s wife knew that I didn’t go much for this boozing and fighting business that used to go on in the town so she encouraged me to spend more time at her house. I went one weekend and there was a girl there, she’d be about eighteen or nineteen I should think, she wasn’t twenty, it was Mrs Rainer’s sister, a girl called Bertha White and she had a baby with her. I could see that they were a bit embarrassed explaining this baby away and in the finish I took Reg to one side and I said “Look Reg, it’s perfectly clear to me that this is your sister-in-law’s baby so why not tell me that she’s a widow woman or that her husband’s away somewhere, that’ll save embarrassing her or your wife.”
Anyhow they did this and the next day, being Sunday, I asked this girl if she’d like to go out to a garden with me, out on the Macquarie River. She said yes, she’d like to go, so we harnessed up the pony in the sulky and off we went. At this garden, you could go in there and buy all sorts of fruit, melons and vegetables, anything you wanted and there was also a cafe there where you could have a bit of a meal, spend the afternoon on the river, eating fruit and melons and having a feed.
Well we did this and we got talking and eventually she told me her story, she said that she’d met a fellow and they’d become engaged to be married and she got in the family way. When he found out she was going to have a baby he hopped it and she never heard anything from him afterwards. I said it was nothing to be ashamed of or worry about, if I was her I’d just take no notice and go on. Whilst she was in Narromine I’d go anywhere she liked with her, I enjoyed being with her, she was nice girl and I was rather fond of her. Anyhow, that went on for a time and she had to go back home to her people’s place, they were farmers about twelve miles out of Orange. I was going home on Saturday afternoon and she was going to Orange the same afternoon, they were going to pick her up at the hotel in Orange on the Sunday morning. Anyhow I said I’d travel down to Dubbo with her and we got in the train and when the train was running into Dubbo she began to cry so I said what’s the matter and talked to her. She was weeping because she was going home and feeling very sorry for herself. I said “Would you like me to come to Orange with you?” She said she would so I hopped out at Dubbo and got a ticket to Orange and got back on the train with her.
My idea was to take her to the hotel and leave her there, put up somewhere and catch the train back home in the early hours of the morning. Well, we got into Wellington on the way down and who the hell should appear on the platform but Stan! He come running up and said “Hello, what are you doing here?” and all that sort of thing. I felt a bit embarrassed with this girl being with us and he said to me “Who’s your friend?” Straight away without thinking I said “It’s me wife, we’ve just been married, well, we’ve been married a while now, this is our baby.” Of course he opened the carriage door, flew in and kissed this girl and making a hell of a fuss of her and I thought blimey Charlie, that’s done it, what am I going to do now?
I thought oh blast it, let it go. I said to him “Where are you going?” He said “Oh, we’re on our way up to Dubbo, we’re taking a train of empties back, I’ll be home tonight.” I thought that’s good, you’ll be home before I get a chance to talk to you. Anyhow, we had to let it go at that. We went on to Orange and he went back to his engine. We put up at this hotel and about two o’clock in the morning I got up and went into the bedroom and said goodbye to this girl, got me bag and caught the train. We’d done nothing wrong, there was nothing wrong, there could have been perhaps but there wasn’t, I’m not claiming any medals for it but there was just nothing wrong done. Before I left she asked me if I’d come and see her, I said yes I’ll come down and see you the first time I get a chance. I’m sorry I can’t stop here and meet your people this morning but I want to go back. I left her, caught the train and went back home.
When I got home I’m faced with this story about being married. They were none to pleased about it either, why hadn’t I told them and why didn’t I bring her there to see them and why this, why that and why everything. I thought oh, to hell with this, I’m off so I went down town and I never went home again. I caught the train next day and went back to Narromine to the job.
When I got to Narromine I thought I can’t stay here, they’ll hear this story before very long and I’ll get in trouble with them so I decided to pull out for a while, I told Reg I was off. I packed me bag and I got on the train on Monday morning and went up to a place called Nyngan. I don’t know why I went to Nyngan, I was just poking about to see what I could hear. Whilst I was there I heard that there was a big re-sleepering job going on between Byrock and Bourke, I was told that they wanted some men there. I went down to the station and had a word with the station master and he said, “That’s right, they do want some men and I’ve got instructions that anyone I sign on, I’ve to send them out to them. What are you? are you a navvy?” I said “No, I’m not a navvy.” He said “Well, it’s navvies they’re wanting.” so I said “Well, that’s alright with me I’ll go as a navvy.” So he said “Well, you be down here for the train tomorrow, we’ll send you out on the train and they’ll put you off at a place called Girilambone. You’ll have to walk it from there but it’s only about five or six miles.” So I got on to the train, went out to Girilambone and went out on to the job. [1912]
The foreman, or the ganger as he was called on the job, I’ve forgotten his name now but he was a half caste chap and he looked like a mountain, he was a mountain of flesh. He said to me “Do you think you can do this job alright?” I said “I don’t know whether I can or not but I’ll have a go at it, I want some money and I want a job.” He said “alright, we’ll see how you go on.”
I’m always affected when I read accounts like father’s from this period because we know what was coming. The war memorial at Wongarbon in 1987.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They had a lot of Irish navvies on this job and those blokes, if ever someone new starts on the job, they try to “run him into the ground” as they call it, because everybody’s got to try to keep up with the fellow next to him. Anyhow, we were shovelling ballast out of trucks and there was one bloke each side of me and they kept going and going and by the time we got the train emptied I was about beat. Then we had to start throwing this ballast back into the four foot, that’s the space between the two lines. We were throwing it in and I was trying to keep up with them. It was very hot, I’ll bet it was 120 out in the sun [The heat fits in with it being early in 1912], and the last thing I remember is straightening up and turning and seeing this mountain of flesh alongside of me. The next thing, I woke up and I was lying under the shade of a tree, this bloke was knelt down by me side. He said to me “You went out.” I said “Did I?” He said “It’s a good job I was near you, I could tell you were getting beat and I come and stood behind you, it’s a good job I did or you’d have fallen down that embankment, you might have broke your neck. Anyhow, you just lay there and cool off a bit.” My God, I did feel bad, my head was aching, I wanted to be sick and I wanted to go to the lavatory and me stomach was aching, I was in a terrible mess.
Anyhow, I lay there all the afternoon and when the sun got down a bit I got up and made me way back to camp. I cooked meself something to eat and I decided to get into bed, I thought I’d get the sack anyhow, I didn’t think they’d keep me. Anyhow he came up to see me, this foreman, and he said “How do you feel now?” so I said “I don’t feel so bad, I’ll be alright in the morning but I suppose I’m fired am I?” He said “Oh, I didn’t say you were fired, do you know anything about blacksmithing?” I said “Aye, I do.” He said “Can you sharpen a pick and temper it?” I said “I can.” He said “I’ll find you a job where you won’t be up against these tough necks.” So he set me on sharpening picks and there seemed to me to be hundreds of picks there for sharpening, I spent all me time sharpening picks and tempering them. Fellows were bringing me their favourite picks to sharpen and telling me how they wanted ‘em sharpening and all that sort of thing and I was a very popular fellow in the gang. I stayed with them about six weeks and I was on that job the whole time. I got to know this foreman chap fairly well, I wish I could think of his name, he was a damn fine fellow. He was a coloured lad but by God he was a decent bloke.
Whilst I was at this camp I met old Abdul Fazaldin. I don’t know whether I’ve mentioned this before but I did meet him years before when we lived at Eulomogo, he was one of these fellows who used to travel up and down the country selling all kinds of things, wearing apparel, mouth organs, pipes, razors, anything you liked old Abdul would have it. He camped with us for a couple of nights, I know it was over the weekend because some of the fellows were trying to take the Mickey out of him and I got into a fight over him. Because he was coloured they were talking very disrespectfully about him, treating him as though he was something less than the dust and I got into a fight with a bloke. Anyhow, I was lucky, I picked a fellow I could beat, I beat him and they left Abdul alone.
This chap had a disease, I don’t know what it was but there were spots all over him, the skin turning white and he told me what they called this disease and he said “When I turn white all over I’ll die.” If he is dead, he’s only just recently died because strangely enough I saw in a book, not very long ago where Abdul Fazldeen had taken a flock of goats right across the dead centre up into the cattle country in Arnhem Land and whether it was Old Abdul or whether he had a son or not I don’t know but it was Abdul Fazaldin.
Well, the re-sleepering job cut out and the gang was paid off with the exception of about four or five of us. I was offered a job to go to Byrock on a bridge building job and I took this on, I went there and I had to report to the ganger, a man named Sloane.
We camped in Byrock. The two bridges we were working on were on the Byrock to Brewarrina line, we used to go out every morning on what they called the ‘Sheffield truck’ which was a truck that you stood up on and pumped the handle up and down. You could knock along at twenty or twenty five mile an hour on these on level ground, that was our means of getting to and from work. We built these two bridges, it was only a matter of taking the bearers out and putting new bearers and rails in each one and doing up the approach to the two bridges. When we finished them we were told there was a job in Coonamble and if we liked we could go there. I decided to go and two of the other chaps as well, one decided that he wasn’t going. We loaded our things on to a truck and we went off to Coonamble.
The job at Coonamble was putting in some cow-catchers. That’s a sort of a grid to prevent cattle from crossing from one property to another when the fence runs up to the railway line because the railway line wasn’t fenced. While we were there the Coonamble football team was in a final, they were a rugby league team. The day before the match they found they were a man short, they knew there were some young fellows on this job at the railway and they came down to see if any of us played football. I said I’d played before and they said “Would you like a game tomorrow?” I said “I don’t know, I can’t play rugby league because if I do I’ll be disqualified from playing rugby union.” They said “Well, who’ll ever get to know that you played rugby league.” I thought that’s right enough so I said “I tell you what to do, you book me as A N Other and we’ll trust to luck.” They did this and asked me where I played, I said I didn’t mind where I played, I’d play with the forwards or scrum half or I’d play on the right wing, I didn’t mind where it was, anyhow they put me on the right wing. These lads that we were playing against were all college boys, they certainly could play football but we had the better of them, at any rate we won about twenty odd to nine or ten or something like that. I scored two tries and kicked three goals and I was a hero for the side and it was all very enjoyable.
We’d played this game in the morning, I had to get the morning off to play because there was a luncheon afterwards. As the pubs closed at six o’clock at night it was decided that the game would be played in the morning and then they’d have the luncheon and then the teams could have a few drinks if they wanted after the luncheon was over. Anyhow, we attended the luncheon and we had a few drinks after lunch and we were still having a few drinks when the pubs closed at six o’clock. There was one of my pals from the railway gang, a fellow named Dargin who liked his ale, at six o’clock he was well and truly canned. We stayed in the pub until about seven or half-past. They kept having one for the road and one for the road, anyhow, they threw us out about half past seven. To get home we had to cross the bridge over the Castlereagh River. This fellow, Jimmy Dargin was using some pretty bad language, in fact we all were but he was the worst of the lot of us. We were trying to quieten him down, we were just crossing this bridge and I saw a trooper coming the other way, or I thought it was a trooper. So we said “Jimmy, watch yourself, don’t swear until this fellow passes.” Just when we got almost up to the fellow he started to come out with a mouthful and I put me hand over his mouth. He knocked me hand away and said something like “Don’t do that to me you bastard or I’ll chuck you over the bridge!” Of course, the copper pounced on him. We started to argue the point with the policeman and it turned out that I knew this fellow, he come from Dubbo. I said “Now look, we admit he’s drunk and we admit he used some bad language but there’s nobody about, nobody’s heard him but ourselves and you and we’ll undertake to get him home without any further trouble if you’ll let him go.” So he said “Well alright, if you’ll do that we’ll say no more about it, off you go.”
Just as we were walking away this fellow Jimmy Dargin says “What the bloody hell does that so and so want to interfere with us for?” Of course the copper turned round and said “Right, for that I am going to take you in.” I very foolishly started to argue the point and wrestle with him, anyhow in the finish he’d forgotten Jimmy and him and I were wrestling in the road. We got against the rail of the bridge and I was trying to tip him over the rail and into the river, or down into the river bed, there was no water there but anyhow, he got some help and we were taken in. They come up from the pub and bailed me out some time in the night. Next morning we couldn’t find Jimmy anywhere, I went down to the gaol to see whether he was in the gaol and they started a argument with me these troopers when I got down there and I could see they were going to slam me in again, they were trying to pick a row with me. They made me turn me pockets out and all sorts of indignities they subjected me to so we got into an argument and eventually they slammed me in again. They never told me anything about Jimmy. So they came down again and got me out, Jimmy hadn’t turned up and they’d told this chap that came down to bail me out that they didn’t know anything at all about him.
So next morning, Monday morning we were up before the beak. When my case come up I was accused of being drunk and disorderly, using bad language and assaulting the police. I thought Oh God, I’ll get six months here. They asked me how I pleaded and I told them what had happened, I apologised for what I’d done but I also told them about the police picking a quarrel with me the second time when they took me in. Anyhow it ended I got fined a pound on each count and six and eightpence costs. I was just turning to walk out of the court after paying me fine when I hear somebody going ‘psst’. It was old Jimmy up in the dock and he was making signs for me not to go because it turned out he had no money to pay his fine. He was charged with being drunk and disorderly and using obscene language. He was fined five bob. I had enough to pay and so paid his fine but he got away with a fine of five bob and I got two pounds six and eightpence all through trying to help him. Anyhow we went back to work and not very long after that the job cut out and I went back home for a day or two. [Mid 1912]
When I got home I found a letter waiting there for me from a man named Bishop who had been a partner with Bailey, Bishop and Bailey, hay and corn merchants. He told me in this letter that they’d dissolved the partnership and they were both going on their own, he was taking over the business in the Narromine area and Bailey was taking over the other end of the business. He wanted to know if I was interested in a job as a plant manager because Mr Bailey had no one to run his chaff-cutting plant, he told me that if I was interested should get in touch with Mr Bailey either by phone or by letter but he also said that he thought if I went up to see him everything would be alright as he was sure that the terms and conditions would satisfy me. So I didn’t bother to write to him, I told them at home I was going off looking for a job, I didn’t tell them where I was going I caught the train next morning and went up to Trangie and Mr Bailey.
He was delighted to see me, he said he certainly had the job and he hoped I would take it and he hoped I would be very happy with them. I knew him but I didn’t know his sons or his daughter. He took me and introduced me to his sons, there was Abe, who was the youngest, Maurice was the eldest lad and the daughter, I forget her name now but she was a nice bit of homework. He took me up and showed me the plant, it was up at the place where he lived, a little bit of a farm about a mile out of town. He had a big warehouse in the railway yard where he kept his stocks of hay and corn. The first thing I had to do was to go over the plant as it was a second-hand one that he’d bought and put it in good working order. In the meantime, they’d be raking up a gang.
Sorry about the quality but this gives an idea of the size of the chaff cutting outfit when on the move.
Well, I did this, there wasn’t very much to do. Both the chaff-cutter and the engine were in pretty good order, it was a Fowler eight horse power engine and it was the sort of job that I fancied, I liked them better than the American engines. When we were ready to go I said to him “What about it? What have we got in the way of a gang?” He said “Well, I think the best thing we can do, you and me will go out and look at one or two of the places where we’re going to cut at so that when you get going you won’t want any help or information from anybody for a week or two.” So we went out to these farms and had a look and there was about a thousand ton of hay on three places, that was sufficient for us to make a start with.
We got the gang together, they were a pretty rum crew but we got them away from the pub as best we could and got ‘em lined up at the house on the Monday morning. We set off for the first farm. We got into position, got the machine going, with a new crew it always takes a week or two to get them to settle down but these fellows, although they were pretty rough and a drunken mob were alright when we got them going. Some of them didn’t know their jobs too well but they soon picked it up and we got going pretty well. In a very short time I would have backed that gang to knock out as much as thirty ton in a day easy.
Well we went on cutting hay, cutting out, going to town, getting drunk and back again to work round the various farms and eventually we got down into old Bishop’s country down around the Narromine area and out to Peak Hill. It was whilst we were coming one day from Peak Hill that I had an experience that scared the life out of me. There was still a lot of things I didn’t know, I found that out. Coming back on the Narromine road from Peak Hill there was a long downhill slope. It wasn’t very steep, it might have been about one in seventy or eighty or something like that, it wasn’t what you’d call a steep hill. About half way down this hill we had to turn off the main road on to a farm road. This farm road was almost at right angles to the main road, not quite, but almost. Where the intersection was there was a bit of a cutting and on the right hand side there was a bank, not very high, about two or three feet high sloping gently away off the road. When we got to the top of this hill I got the idea, very foolishly, why go down the hill in gear? Why not run down free-wheeling? I forgot for the moment about the turn-off because if we’d have gone to the bottom everything would’ve been alright. I forgot about the turn-off and slipped it out of gear. As it gained momentum, which it did at an alarming pace, I tried to get back into gear again, I couldn’t, I tried racing the engine, tried to get me speed something like so that I could get it into gear but it wouldn’t go in. I probably would have done if we had gone a bit further but we were coming to this intersection and I thought I’ll try and turn. I kept out as far on me wrong side as I could to give me self as big a turn as possible but by this time we were belting along at about twenty, twenty five mile an hour, it must have been all that, that’s a lot for those big heavy engines. Anyhow, I threw the wheel over, the fellow that was steering, he’d let go and he’d jumped off. I started to make the turn, I got about half way round and I could feel the engine lifting on the near side. I thought gor blimey we’re going to turn over but just at the moment when I think we would have turned over, fortunately for me, we hit this bank. Of course that threw us back on a level keel again but when we hit the bank with the chaff-cutter, pots and pans and bloody luggage and everything went flying all over the place. The old steamer that was behind suffered the same fate and the truck between the steamer and the chaff cutter that carried all the gear, that was a flat topped truck, everything shot off that.
Anyhow, we pulled up about a hundred yards away from the road and apparently, apart from a bit of bruising and one or two things broke, no real damage was done, we set to and loaded up again and went off to camp. While it was happening I think I was the most scared man in Australia, I could see this bloody engine tippling over and falling on top of me and all sorts of things, I was lucky to get away with it.
It was whilst we was at this farm that I saw one of the worst dusters that I’d ever seen in me life. We were working away and suddenly one of the fellows shouted to me “What about it? There’s a duster blowing up!” I looked in the direction he pointed and I couldn’t see anything only a big red wall. I stopped the machine straight away and we couldn’t do anything about fastening anything down, all we could do was stick our head into a bag and get somewhere out of the main blow as well as we could and wait for it to blow over. One thing I noticed before it got to us, there was whirlwinds and there seemed to me to be dozens and dozens of these whirlwinds and they sort of started in a big circle and got smaller and smaller and were taking what appeared to be solid pillars of earth up into the air for hundreds of feet. Eventually it struck us and we had to lay there for about half an hour before it blew itself out. When we got up we were almost choked, even though we had our heads in chaff bags we were still spitting red and everything was blown all over the place. Half the stack was blown away and there was a terrible mess. The people from the farm sent some men out to help us to clear up but they’d had their own troubles, they said that it had blown the roof off one of their outhouses and the farmer told me, he was an old chap who had been there for many years, he told me he had never seen one like it in his life. It was terrific.
A Fowler eight horse power traction engine similar to the one father had on the chaff cutting outfit.
We run into a bit of trouble also while we were here with the engine. During the cleaning out, some mud had got left in one corner of the boiler down on the foundation ring and a rivet started to leak. When I looked in the firebox I could see a definite bulge. Well the only thing that could be done would be to bore this rivet out and put an oversize rivet in or if it was very bad to have a patch put on the boiler, I got in touch with Mr Bailey about this and he sent his son out. He came out next day and he asked me what I was going to do about it. I said I was going to continue using it until we cut out and he said we might burst the boiler. I said we’ll not burst the boiler, we’ll continue using it and then we’ll get it into Narromine to Jimmy Mullins and get it repaired. Anyhow this leak got worse so I decided to have a go at caulking it. I was working on it late in the evening, I couldn’t see very well in this firebox so a lad said to me “Why not bring the boss’s car up, it’s got big headlights on it.” It was the first motor car I’d ever seen with electric lights on it, I didn’t know that these electric lights were run off a battery, I should have known but anyhow I didn’t know, I thought there was some bloody magic that give these lights. He said “If you like we’ll bring the car up and shine the headlights in and you might be able to see.” so I said “Right, we’ll do that.”
Anyhow, we brought this car up and we stood it in position with the headlights on so that I got some reflected light into the boiler and I could see quite well. I worked on this thing for about, oh, I must have been three or four hours on the job, and we were using the lights of this car for all sorts of things. Well, eventually they started to get dimmer and dimmer, these lights, and eventually there was no lights at all hardly. Well, when we come to start the car, we couldn’t start it, the batteries had gone flat and we couldn’t start it at all. We did eventually get it started by pushing it and took it back home and said nothing about it, but I’d learned me lesson about electric lighting on motor cars. Anyhow we got the engine fettled up enough to run it until we cut out on the job and I took it back into Narromine and I rung Bailey up. He started to play hell with me because we had a leaking boiler. I couldn’t see that I was to blame for it because I didn’t clean the thing out, it was another fellows job to do the washing out of the boiler. He said I was in charge and I should have seen that it was done right and all that sort of thing so I told him that he could stick the engine and the chaff-cutter and all concerned where Paddy stuck the nuts. I asked him to give me my time and I’d get out which I did do. So that finished me with Mr Bailey, this would be in the June or July of 1912 as near as I can remember. [19 years old]
When I got settled up with Mr Bailey I had a few pound in my pocket and I thought it was time I had a bit of a walkabout so I went up to Nyngan. I stayed there for a few days having a few drinks and meeting a few people that I knew and generally buggering about. All of a sudden I got an idea to go to Cobar, I thought I’d go and have a try in the mines there, see what it was like working in the copper mines so I got on the train and went off to Cobar. When I got out to Cobar I decided I’ll not stay here, I’ll go out to Broken Hill and get a job out there. I had an idea in going to Broken Hill that if I didn’t get on there I could go over to White Cliffs which was an opal bearing country and try me luck at digging for opal. Anyhow, I got the mail coach out of Cobar for Broken Hill and I put up at a hotel there and the next day I went up to the mine to look for a job.
Now Broken Hill had a terrible reputation for accidents. I had heard a great many tales about it but I didn’t believe them because I didn’t think it could be as bad as people made it out to be. Anyhow, I went to the labour office which is on all these jobs, run by a sort of a storekeeper cum paymaster cum labour agent. I asked him if there was any work knocking about. He said “What are you. Are you a miner?” I said “Yes.” I’d never been down a mine in my life but I thought if I get down I’ll be alright. He said “How long have you been waiting here?” I said “Oh, about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.” He said “Well there’s nothing at the moment but if you wait until you see the ambulance come out of that gate and come across here, I might be able to fix you up with something.” So I hung on for a while and sure enough, about half an hour after he’d spoke to me, the ambulance came in and went out again. I knocked on this little window and he came to the window. I said “The ambulance has just gone out.” He said “Well I haven’t heard anything about it as yet but hang on a bit and we’ll see.” After a while he came back and said that there was a job down on the fourteen hundred foot level working with a fellow named Lowe. I said “When do I start?” He said “You start now.” I said “Well, it’s in the middle of a shift isn’t it?” It’d be about ten or eleven o’clock. He said “Aye, I suppose it is, never mind, you needn’t go down now but be here at six o’clock tomorrow morning to go on the morning shift.
So next morning I showed up and found this fellow Lowe that I was working with and he said to me “Have you had any experience of mining?” and I said “No, I don’t know anything at all about it.” He said “Oh, you’re not the first one I’ve had that way, we’ll see how we go on, have you ever used a pneumatic drill?” I said “No.” He said “Well, you’ll be using one this morning.” Anyhow we got in the cage and we seemed to drop like a stone. Eventually it stopped and some men got out and then it went further down and stopped and eventually we come to our plat [Plat is a common mining term used in the Cornish mines which is where many of the miners originated. Shortened form of ‘platform’.] We got out and he said come on. I thought well, this isn’t too bad, it was like walking down a street, electric light and trams running down the centre, plenty of room to walk in. We walked for a good while, I don’t know how far it was but he said “This is our stope up here.” [Another Cornish term, for a void from which ore has been extracted.]
We had to climb up to it, up a sloping tunnel which they call a rill. The method of working there was, you didn’t dig down into the ground. You start as we did at the fourteen hundred foot level and you keep bringing the roof down and throwing the ore down this rill and then letting all the rubbish fill up. We sort of dug the ore out and filled in as we went along. They were constantly sending soil and rock down from what they called a glory hole on the surface. They used to dig this rock and it went down a pass and you used this to fill in and keep the floor a reasonable distance from the roof so that you could work on it. Drilling was carried out by wedging a bar between the floor and the roof. The drilling bar was something very much like a long screw jack, you put it up to the roof and put some good solid stones underneath it at the bottom and then you screwed up on the jack until it was jammed tight between the floor and the roof. Then the pneumatic drill fitted on to this bar and it had a swivel attachment. It was one fellows job to hold the drill and the other fellows job to slowly revolve it as it hammered into the roof, the fellow that was holding, he also put the pressure on with a ratchet sort of thing. That is the pressure on the drill, not the compressed air.
Lowe said to me “What are you going to do? Are you going to hold or turn?” I said “I don’t know, you’d better tell me.” So he said “I think the best thing you can do is to turn, I’ll do the holding and you watch me and when you get used to it we’ll change over and work turn about.” So we got off drilling, I was doing the turning and he was putting the pressure on and we got away great guns. We drilled three or four holes and then he said to me “You can have a go at holding and I’ll do a bit of turning.” I had a go at it and I seemed to be doing quite well, he seemed quite pleased with me. Anyway, we got about twelve holes in and he said “Well, we can’t do any more today because we’ve to wait for the powder monkey to come and fire these.”
The usual procedure was that the miner worked for one shift putting in holes, on the next shift the powder monkey put the charges in and fired it. On the next shift, the people they called the boodlers, they were the fellows that shifted the ore, they came along and got the stope ready for the next shift for the miner. We carried on like that for about a week.
I had one little bit of excitement, I was very intrigued with this pneumatic drill, the way it worked. We’d just finished boring a hole and something went wrong with the bar and Lowe was taking the jack part of it down to the underground stores to get the new component part, he said “You have a spell while I take this down.”
When he was away I kept looking at this thing, the drill, and I thought well, I’ll just turn it on and see how it goes. Well, I didn’t realise but when this thing was turned on and it was laying on the floor, there was nothing to hold it and it just jumped all over the place, I turned it on and before I knew where it was it was dancing round the stope and blowing up a cloud of dust, I couldn’t see and I kept grabbing at it and lost me cap with me light in it. Me light went out and I was in a hell of a mess. Eventually I grabbed it in the dark, fiddled about with it and found the valve and turned it off. Just as I turned it off old Lowe come in. “What the bloody hell’s been going on here.” he said. “I got a bit of bad luck, I just kicked it with me toe and it started up.” He said “Oh, did you, you want to be careful.” I didn’t tell him I’d started it myself and anyhow we carried on.
The next shift he sent me on an errand down to the store. When I was coming back, I’d just got to the bottom of this rill that I had to climb up, I didn’t know it but some of the labourers had been in to gather the drills that were in the stope and wanted sharpening. I’d just started to climb up this rill, I’d got up about eight or ten feet when all of a sudden I heard a roar at the top and somebody shouted ‘steel’. I could hear this clattering and I took a back somersault and I thought the mine was collapsing. I just got out of this thing in time and these steel bars came shooting down, about a dozen of ‘em, one after another and they were making a hell of a clatter. When they got to the bottom, they hit the steel platform and skittered all over the place. Anyhow, I went up and started playing bloody hell with them. They said “It’s quite normal, it’s what happens here, when we shout steel you get out of the road.” I said “But a man might be half way up!” They said “Oh no, we knew you were only just coming up, we heard you come in, you had plenty of time to get out of the road if you’d taken your time.” So I thought that’s alright, no wonder there’s a lot of bloody accidents here.
Well, I don’t know what happened but after the first week, when I went to draw me pay the fellow that was paying out said “We’ve got a new job for you next week.” I said “Oh. Why is that?” He says “Well, Lowe’s mates coming back, he’s been with him a long time so we thought we’d have to find you another job, we’ll find you a job on the surface.” So I said “Oh, I’m not working on the surface.” I didn’t really want to work at all, I was only passing me time away and it was a good excuse for me to get out so I thought I’ll take it. So I said “No, if I’m not working as a miner I’ll pack in so best thing you can do is pay me up.” He said “Alright, if you want it that way it’s alright with me.” He paid me up and I went back into the town and knocked round for a day or two, then I decided I’d go back to Cobar. I went down on the next stage out of the town.
Whilst I was in Broken Hill I did see some interesting things going on in the chemical world. There was a big dump at the mine where all the rubbish from the smelter was tipped, it was just a big slag heap as far as I could see. There was some fellows erecting what appeared to me to be a big retort so I asked someone about it and they said “Oh, it’s a lot of bloody fools from Holland. They’ve come over here and they’ve bought that slag heap and they’ve bought the smoke from the retorts” and the bloke laughed you know, he said “What a bloody thing, buying smoke!” They went on erecting it and I thought no more about it until some time after I read in the paper that it was a chemical firm from Holland that’d bought this slag heap and the smoke from the retorts. They’d built a big canopy over the retorts and had a fan sucking in the smoke and it said in the paper that they were making about five or six different chemicals from these fumes from the smelters. The slag heap, they were putting that through crushers and were claiming quite a few valuable materials from that. In fact it said that the output from the plant would pay for the installation within three years and it must have cost some thousands of pounds to have the plant erected there.
Anyhow, I got back into Cobar and I met a fellow I knew there that was working in the Cobar copper mine. He said “Why don’t you come up and see whether you can get a job in the mine?” I said “I don’t mind, I’m not particular but I’ll go for a week or two and see what it’s like.” He said to me “Where are you staying?” I said “I’m staying at the hotel.” He said “Well, we’re staying together, we’re batching, there are eight of us and we’ve rented a house, hired a woman to do the cooking and cleaning for us and our keep and lodgings is only working out about eight or nine bob a week. You can come in with us if you like.” I said “Right, I will do.”
I went up to the mine and got a job and I said to the fellow “What will I be doing?” He said “You’ll be in the glory hole.” So I didn’t mind being in the glory hole, this was a big open cut like I mentioned at Broken Hill and it was about six hundred feet deep. My job when I got down there I found was tipping these jubilee trucks as they came down loaded. I just unhooked them as they came down loaded and tipped them down a pass. This soil was going down to make up the ground in the various stopes that were being worked below. These jubilee trucks were run on an endless rope, they were only pulled along by the rope dropping into a ‘v’ which was on a bar sticking up at one end of the truck. When they came along to you all you had to do was lift the rope up out of the ‘v’, tip the truck and push it down to the turn-round and hook it into the return rope and that was it. Well, it was a bobby’s job and sometimes there’d be hold-ups, sometimes you’d have to go the lick-of-your-life the trucks ‘ud be coming that quick, when there was a hold up you’d have a rest.
A good example of a ‘glory hole’ where the ground is deliberately collapsed into the mine workings below. (Thanks to Wikipedia Commons.)
One day I was having a bit of a spell, there was no trucks coming at the moment, there’d been some hold up at the top, and the underground manager came along. He said “Is this all you can find to do?” I said “I’ve not got anything to do, my job is tipping trucks isn’t it?” He said “That’s right.” I said “Well, there’s no trucks coming so I’m having a rest.” He said “Well, get up off your arse!” I said “I’m not going to get up off me arse at all, all I’m here for is to tip these trucks and as long as I get them tipped you haven’t got any complaint.” He said “Well don’t sit down there while I’m about!” I said “Why, who are you? Are you Jesus Christ or something that we should jump to attention when we see you?” He said “You’ve got too much to say for yourself!” I said “Well, probably I have but from now on and for the rest of the shift, you can tip the bloody trucks, I’m going up the ladder.”
So I just picked me coat up and me ration box, I had to get out of this place, it took about quarter of an hour to climb up. He was shouting me to come back but I wouldn’t go back I went up and told ‘em that he’d sacked me so I got me money and I went off and squared up with me pals what I owed ‘em, packed me bag and got on the train to Nyngan.
I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do, I started wondering what would be the next move. I thought about going home but then I thought it’s no use going there because I won’t be more than a day or two before there was trouble of some kind. All of a sudden I remembered me Aunt Maggie, I hadn’t seen her for some years and I thought I’ll go down to Mudgee and visit her. So I sent her a telegram saying I was coming and I got on the train and went down the same night. Although Mudgee is not very far from Dubbo across country, to get to it you’ve got to go away down the Western line the other side of Orange to a place called Willerawang and then you get a train out of there which comes nearly all the way back to Wellington to get to Mudgee, that’s on the Parkes line.
Anyhow, I got to Mudgee and Aunt hadn’t arrived but I went to the hotel and booked in there. I made some enquiries about my uncle who lived in Mudgee, it was uncle George Johanstone that was Mother’s brother. They told me where he lived and I decided to go and pay them a visit. I went to see them, told them who I was, they’d never seen me before. Uncle and Aunty made me welcome, invited me to tea, introduced me to all me cousins and we had quite a time talking about different people that we both knew because although we didn’t know each other we knew quite a lot of people that were relations and had visited them in the past and they were interested in what I had to tell them.
Whilst we were talking about things that had happened we got on to talking about horses. My uncle said “Aye, talking about horses, that reminds me of the time your Father got arrested.” I said “Oh, what for, horse stealing or something like that?” He said “Oh no, he came down to visit us and he was going round visiting different people in Mudgee and Apple Tree Flat. Whilst he was here the races were on, he called at where I had a little farm at the time and suggested that we should go to the races. I said to him well, I daren’t go, I haven’t paid me tithes and the Father is sure to be there, if he sees me at the races and I haven’t paid me tithes there might be trouble.” The Old Man said “Oh, to hell with that, let’s go to the races, let’s have a day out, never mind about the priest.” Eventually, they decided to go. They hadn’t been at the races very long before they ran slap bang into this old priest, he said “Hello Johanstone, what are you doing here? You’ve no right to be here!” He said “I’ve just come with my brother-in-law.” He said “It doesn’t matter who you’ve come with, you’ve no right to be here, you haven’t paid your tithes, the best thing you can do is get back home and earn the money to pay them.” At the same time, he hit me uncle with a riding whip he was carrying. Father straight away snatched the whip off him, hit him with the whip and then knocked him down, while this scuffle was going on, the police arrived and the Old Man was arrested.
Well, when he didn’t go home, Mother got worried about it and thought that something had happened to him. She wrote a letter to my uncle and he didn’t know but what the Old Man hadn’t gone home because when he was arrested he was bailed out and had to appear later on. He made enquiries and somebody told him that the Old Fellow’s horse was still in the police paddock so he went down to the police station and found out that the Old Man was back in gaol again, he had some kind of trouble with the police over his horse and they’d slammed him in. So, when his case come up he was tried and fined and he came up home. My uncle thought it was quite a joke that he’d given the old priest a bloody good hiding.
[I’ve done my best to sort Aunt Maggie out and here’s as far as I have got. I found a marriage 2975/1891 at Broken Hill between George E Sargeant[sic] and Margaret M Hardman and a death, 10213/1915 of a George E Sargeant aged 55 years at Glebe. There is a marriage 5051/1907 at Mudgee between Frederick Rochester and Margaret Sargeant. If what father thought was a death was actually separation this would fit. However I have not been able to find Vera.]
About seven or eight o’clock that same night, my aunt arrived from her farm and she had my cousin Vera with her. We got the bags and we set out for Apple Tree Flat, I remember it was pretty cold at the time, it was coming to the end of winter but it was still cold. I was very glad when we got to the farm, found a good fire burning and got in out of the cold.
I stayed with Aunt and Vera for about a week. She was now a widow, her husband had been dead some years and Vera at that time would be about seventeen or eighteen years of age, probably not quite that old I’m not sure about that. She was a very attractive girl and I had ideas about her but I think aunt realised that this was the case and she saw to it that we weren’t left alone at any time, Vera seemed quite willing to do a bit of flirting but her mother had different ideas. Anyhow we did a lot of knocking about together. We went fossicking one day after there’d been a heavy rainstorm because they’d told me that after such a storm, you could go down on to the old diggings which were long worked out and if you just walked around and kept your eyes open you could pick up specks of gold. So Vera and I went this morning, there was other children there too, doing a bit of fossicking and we got a few specks and I eventually come across a piece, it was about as big as a bean. It was a queer shaped piece something very like the statues of Buddha that you see, anyhow I kept it and I said to Vera “I’ll have this mounted and put it on me watch chain.” We didn’t find any more, not of any consequence anyhow but we reckoned that during the morning we’d picked up about a pounds worth of gold specks including this little nugget that I’d found. It came time for me to leave them and I decided to go back home.
Jim had been married some time before this [On 4 February 1911 at Nyngan NSW Olive Mary White (Min) of Cowra aged 30 married James William Prince (same forenames as his Dad) aged 23. Jim’s parents names on the certificate are James William Prince of Mudgee, Farmer and Lily Johnson. Olive’s parents were George White, farmer of Cowra, and Sarah Ann Marshall (deceased at the time of the marriage).] and my information was that he’d married a girl from a place called Cowra down near Young. I understood that she was a girl named Min White who was the daughter of a farmer down there. When I got back home from Mudgee I met Jim and his wife, he’d got a job up in the Western Districts [as a post office linesman] and he had come up to Dubbo to live, they were temporarily staying with Mother and Father at the Peppers. Anyhow, when they introduced her to me as Jim’s wife I nearly dropped through the floor, I didn’t want to say in front of them that I knew her, that I’d met her before, but she could see that I recognised her and of course she recognised me. Anyhow the introductions went all right, I never said anything, I was waiting until I had a chance to talk with her. During the afternoon I said to Mother I think I’ll go down to the river and do a bit of fishing. I didn’t intend asking her to come with me or anything like that, I just wanted to get away on me own for a while to do a bit of thinking. I was getting the tackle together and she came out to me and said “You’re going fishing are you?” I said “Aye.” She said “Can I come with you?” I said “Well, is Jim coming?” Jim heard me say this and he said “If Min wants to go with you that’s OK, take her down and show her the river.” He made some remark about me only being home for an hour or two and I was running off with his wife, meaning nothing of course.
We set off for the river, it was only about half a mile away and we went down through Denny Brogan’s place and down into the river and there was a big couch grass flat where I used to like to go fishing under some willow trees, we settled down on this flat to fish. Well, we hadn’t been fishing very long when she said “What about a swim?” I said “It’s a bit cold for a swim isn’t it?” She said “Oh, it’s alright.” I said “Anyhow, I haven’t got any trunks with me.” She said “It doesn’t matter about trunks, I’ll turn me back while you get in the water and we’ll be alright then” I said “What about you, you aren’t going in are you?” and she said “I’m going in too.” Well, I thought this is a bit of a bugger, anyhow, if she was game I was so I said “Well, you get in first.” She started to undress herself in front of me but when she got her clothes off she had some swimming tights on underneath, she’d made up her mind about this before we left home, anyhow, she went in to the river. I slipped me clothes off and dived in and we swam about for a while mucking about. Eventually I said to her “It’s too bloody cold in here for me, I’m getting out so you’d better turn round and swim out the other way for a while if you’re stopping in.” She said “No, I’m getting out too.” So I said “You go first and get dressed and I’ll come out afterwards.”
We did and we lay down on the grass and she said “I’m glad you didn’t say you knew me when you was introduced to me.” I said “Well, I didn’t know what to say.” I’d met her some few years before. I went in to a dentist’s surgery to have a tooth pulled, I had toothache. I was let in and put in the chair and whilst I was sat there a girl come and she said to me “Which one is it?” I opened me mouth and showed it to her and I think she was going to pull the bloody thing but a bloke come in and he started to play hell with her and told her to bugger off upstairs. Well I remembered her, that was the only meeting I had with her but I remembered her. When we were laying talking about it I asked her whether Jim knew about this. She said “Yes, Jim knows about it, in fact everybody knows about it but we’ve agreed not to mention it in front of the children or anything like that. It isn’t that I’ve deceived anybody, Jim knows all about it. Apparently she hadn’t been married to this bloke, she’d gone to work for him as a receptionist and he’d got her in the family way and she was afraid to go back to her people, she was dependent on him and he kept her, altogether she had two children by him. Eventually he died and she went back home to her people and she was living with them when Jim met her. She was a most peculiar girl, she had a wonderful personality, you could say that you weren’t going to have anything to do with her and by God she’d get on the top side of you one way or another, she had a wonderful way of getting round people. Although there was nothing wrong with her as far as I know, she was, to say the least, very daring. I dunno whether there could have been anything wrong, I don’t like to say, but there wasn’t as far as I know. They were very happy together and they had two children. [Evidence of Christine Whiting, great grand daughter of Lillian Prince: “Jim married Olive ‘Min’ White in 1911 who seems to have lived very closely with the McDonalds and they had kids which led to Christine. Christine says: “James Prince (Father’s brother Jim) married Olive White when she had 3 children already, Jack, Alice and Charlie White – don’t know what happened to the father, but rumour is that he was a mate of James Prince who then married his widow. Between 1911 and 1915 they had 3 kids, so Olive then was a widow with 6 kids. She married again in 1925 to Arthur Jamieson, and died in 1946 aged 66. I never knew her, I was born in 1948.”]
I noticed that the relationship between Father and Jim had improved tremendously from the days when we were working at Berida, they were as thick as thieves. They always had their heads together talking about something and wherever one went, the other one went, they used to go on fishing expeditions together, race meetings and one thing and another, in fact you might almost say they were inseparable. Jim bought a motor-cycle, well, it was a motor-cycle combination. I remember it as well as if it was yesterday seeing him ride up one morning on this machine. It was an American machine called a Hudson and the sidecar was one of those wicker chairs that you used to see during the Victorian period mounted on the side of this machine. He was taking the Old Man out somewhere, I don’t know where they were going, but anyway the Old Man couldn’t go and he said to me “Would you like to go?” I said Where are we going?” He said “Oh, we’ll go anywhere at all.” So I said I’d go with him. He said “Where would you like to go?” I said “Let’s have a run out to Eschol and we’ll have a look at that bridge where you laid the ghost all those years ago and just see if we can see some of those people we went to school with and have a chat with them.” So he said “Righto.” and off we set. We were going along this road, we’d been to Eschol and we were going further down to some people called McHattie that we knew. In the old days the fences used to come up to the road and there was a gate which you had to get out and open but after the surveys were made, the road was fenced off into a four chain lane and the fences and gates were done away with but at this particular place, although they’d done away with the gate and pulled the fence down, they still left the two gateposts, one at each side of the road, right close up and right at the edge of the road.
A Hudson motor cycle combination similar to Jim’s.
I would say then that Jim was about the worst driver that there was in the country although I didn’t realise it at the time as I’d had no experience of driving a motor-bike and sidecar. I could see these two posts ahead of us and there was a vehicle coming down the opposite way. I said to Jim “Don’t you think you had better stop and let this vehicle past?” He said “Oh no, we’ll be alright.” Anyhow, he kept going and I said to him “Look out for that bloody gatepost in front of us, you’re going to hit it!” He said “Oh no we’ll be alright.” Anyhow, there was a bang, he put the sidecar one side of the gatepost and he went the other and we just wrapped ourselves round it, I shot off into the ditch, he went over the handlebars but fortunately neither of us was hurt any more than a few scratches and gravel rash but the bike was a bit of a mess.
Anyhow, he had it taken back to Dubbo and repaired. After it had been repaired the brake on the bike wasn’t too good, the Old Man had been passing some remark about this brake not being safe and Jimmy had had it seen to at the garage. They tell me, I wasn’t home at the time, that he drove up on it one morning and Father was there and he said “Are we going for a Sunday morning spin?” The Old Man said “I dunno about those brakes.” Jim said “Oh, the brakes are alright now, they act wonderfully.” They were going down through the town, Talbragar Street runs from east to west and it joins Macquarie Street which runs direct north and south right on the bank on the Macquarie river. It’s not a steep fall down into the river but there’s a very steep bank and a bit of flat at the bottom and then down the next bank into the river. As they were going down Talbragar Street Jim said “I’ll show you how good the brakes are when we get to the bottom because we’ll have to steady up to go round the corner into Macquarie Street.” So they were batting along and all of a sudden Jim slammed the brakes on when they got to the bottom and there’s no doubt at all they were efficient, the bike stopped dead and the Old Man shot out of the sidecar, took a somersault over this bank, rolled down about thirty or forty feet almost into the river. So he came back and said “Well, I see that the brakes do work alright but in the future, don’t put the bloody things on so hard!”
A contemporary post card of Mudgee main street.
I had to breathe on this picture to bring it back to life, sorry about the quality but are we looking at Lillian Mae and Doris McDonald in Vivian’s studio in about 1900?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
[We have significant gap here because we suddenly jump from late 1912 or early 1913 to 1915 as we’ll see shortly. We found this record of a marriage: Father married 20 July 1913. 11611/1913 Leslie McDonald to Norma Sutherland at Warren. His occupation blacksmith age 20 born Wongarbon residing Narromine, she is nurse age 20 born Bourke residing Never???; Consent given by his father Alexander McDonald occupation contractor (mother Lillian Johnstone) and Norma’s father William Charles Sutherland occupation grazier, mother Gertrude nee Hoskins, as both were under 21. Married in the presence of LM & J Crawford (Leslie’s sister Lillian Mae and her husband Jack). According to Les’s service record Norma is his next of kin and there is a child, possibly a daughter called Norma born 1914. Then the record for Norma’s later marriage: (MK- the name Considine shows up in Les’s service record in 1923, perhaps trying to tidy up loose ends) 8026/1933 James Considine to Norma E McDonald at Broken Hill. This is where father evades mentioning the marriage and in a strange way confirms the previous chronology because once we accept this it all fits. So we start this chapter in 1915. “Getting fed up at home could be true, the marriage to Norma isn’t going well.]
I was getting fed up with being at home and I decided to look round for a job. I heard from the station master that there was a job out at a place called Girilambone on the Great Western line somewhere up the other side of Nyngan, it was a job on the railway and I asked him if there was any chance of getting it and he said “As far as I’m concerned there’s every chance because we know you and we think you can do the job but he said why don’t you go in for a permanent job on the railway?” I said “No, I’m not ready yet, I might do later on, anyway what’s this job up at Girilambone?” He said “Oh, it’s nothing, you’re only booking the trains in and out, changing signals, booking any goods or stock or anything like that that’s being despatched from there, it’s nothing of a job, in fact if you’ve got a hobby of any kind you could amuse yourself at that because there’ll be very little else to do but there’s got to be somebody there.” I said “What’s the living conditions like there?” He said “There again, I don’t know, but the last fellow that was there lived in a boarding house and I believe he wasn’t very well satisfied with it.” So I said “Alright, I’ll go out but I’ll see what I can find for meself.”
I set off for Girilambone and I got meself installed at a little shanty pub that was there and I found out that it was a very rough place, I got talking to some of the railway men and they said that there was a ganger that had a place about ten miles out and they thought that he’d be willing to take me in as a lodger so I said “What’s this ganger’s name?” He told me his name but I’ve forgotten it since but it doesn’t matter very much, I borrowed a bicycle and went out to see him. Well, he wasn’t there but I saw his wife and she said yes, they’d put me up and I’d have to find some way of getting to work and back home again at night so I said “I’ll overcome that difficulty alright.” So I went back and got me things and I arranged with the train to stop when they got to this place and I’d get off, they agreed to that and they pulled up and let me off. In the meantime I’d borrowed a bicycle from a fellow in Girilambone and I used to ride to work and home at night.
I stopped there for quite a while, as a matter of fact I was sworn in as a juror there once at a trial. There was a fellow who was being tried for stealing a sheep, they hadn’t enough jurors to make up a panel and they come and asked me if I’d sit in it and I said yes. Anyhow we heard all the evidence, there’s no doubt this fellow was guilty from all we heard. Anyhow we heard the evidence, found the fellow not guilty and he got off.
After I’d been there for quite a while, one day I was at home from work, I hadn’t been so well. When the mail train was passing, we always used to go out to see the mail train through, everybody did in those places just to get a look at something different but as the train was going through the driver leaned out of the cab window and threw a parcel out. It was a note wrapped up in a piece of coal, it was telling me that Jim had met with an accident, he was in the Dubbo hospital not expected to live and would I come as soon as possible. [This date is cast iron because we later found that the accident happened on October 20 1915 (Newspaper reports and date of coronial enquiry) and this gives us a problem with chronology as we’ll see later when father talks about his time in South Africa because according to him he heard about the outbreak of war while he was there. The war started in August 1914 and Australia participated straight away by sending troops to Egypt and onwards to Gallipoli. We are certain he was still in Australia over a year after war started.]
Well there was train back to Dubbo that night, the mail from Bourke to Sydney and it used to get into this place about two or half past in the afternoon. I got ready and flagged the train down, got on it and went home. I went straight to Jim’s home when I got there to see whether I could get any information about him but when I arrived they said that I was too late, he had died and he was to be buried the next day.
Well of course, as you can imagine, everything was at sixes and sevens. Father seemed to be in charge of all the funeral preparations and running things so he said to me “We’re going to take Min and the children up home tonight, she’s too cut up to be left here on her own and I’d like you to stay here and Pauline will stay with you.” Now Pauline was a girl named Pauline Barton [There is an earlier mention of Dick Barton. Birth records show that Richard Barton and Selina J Barton had Pauline E Barton (15703/1889) and Richard A R Barton (12193/1891) so Pauline would be 26 years old.] who was a relation of the Skinners, her Father was the station master at Paddington in Sydney. [On 31st of December 1902 Richard Barton is noted in the railway records as being officer in charge at Lindfield near Sydney, salary £150 per annum and a free house.] I knew Pauline well, she’d stayed at our place many a time in fact she was one of my schooldays sweethearts, Stan and I used to compete for her favours very keenly. Anyhow, these arrangements were made and they all went off home and left Pauline and I alone together with Jim laid out in his coffin in the front room. Now I never thought that I could be affected so much by his death as I was, I was absolutely heart-broken and I could think of nothing else but the days we had spent together when we were kids. Pauline kept messing around making me drink some tea, she got a meal ready, she was doing the best she could I suppose but when it got to be about ten o’clock at night I said to her “Pauline, I think the best thing you can do is go to bed.” She said “Alright, I’ll make a drink of tea and then I’ll go to bed.” and she did this. When she was going into bed she came to say goodnight to me and said “When you go to bed will you come and tuck me in?” I said “Yes, I’ll do that.” Anyhow, I gave her a little bit of time to get ready for bed and I went in just to more or less to appease her a bit and she wanted me to go to bed with her. Well, perhaps under different circumstances I might have done but Jim’s death was laying too heavy on me at the time and I made some excuse about not being able to go to bed and that sort of thing and I think she understood, anyhow, I sat up all night.
The funeral was next day and he was buried in Dubbo cemetery. After the funeral I asked Father what had happened because I didn’t know up to then what had really happened to him. The Old Man said it was all the Post Office’s fault, if it hadn’t been for them he would still be with us. I said “How do you make that out?” He said “Well, there’s two things, firstly he should have had somebody with him, he was working by himself and when he got hurt there was nobody to give him any help until he was found by the fettler gang on the railway. The other thing was that they made him wear a safety belt when he was up a pole when, if he hadn’t had the safety belt on this day he’d have been able to jump clear, whilst he might have got hurt he certainly wouldn’t have got killed.”
Jim’s grave in the cemetery at Dubbo.
Apparently Jim had been working without the safety belt and the Post Office Superintendent in charge of lines got to know this and they wrote him a letter warning him that if he met with an accident when he wasn’t wearing a safety belt he wouldn’t be entitled to any compensation as he was disobeying the rules. Of course, after that Jim, thinking about his family and that sort of thing, started wearing a safety belt. On this particular occasion he was tightening a wire that was sagging on a telephone line and there was a slight bend at this post that he was up tightening the wire on. The tree that the post had been made from had been examined and there was a little tag nailed to the bottom of each telephone post showing when it was last examined and found sound, whether he looked at this tag or not nobody knows but if he had have done he would have been no better off because the tag said that the post had been examined on a recent date and it was found to be alright. So he went up and whilst he was tightening the wire, the post broke off at ground level and he was strapped to it with his safety belt, he couldn’t get away from it. It fell across the railway line and it must have kicked back when it hit the line because it had hit him in the forehead and his head was smashed in, well Father said he was almost unrecognisable until they put his face back together again after he had died, he hadn’t a chance of living. These railway men found him and put him on a train to Dubbo but the doctor said that he hadn’t a chance even if they’d got him straight away after the accident, he was so badly injured. The pole that had broken was examined and it was found that all the core had been eaten out of it by termites and there was only a shell, about half an inch thick all round the outside it was solid so it was perfectly evident that whoever had examined it and put the OK tag on it had not done their job properly. That was made a very strong point at the hearing of the case for compensation later on. Eventually they came to a settlement out of court regarding compensation and I don’t know what the figure was but I think it was somewhere in the region of a thousand pounds and in those days, that was fairly good compensation, in lots of cases, the injured or killed person got nothing at all. [See the report of the coronial enquiry in the appendix containing our research. This account isn’t accurate.]
Well, the funeral over I set off back to Girilambone but before I left I promised Mother I’d be home for Christmas whatever happened [1915]. I hadn’t been back at Girilambone very long when I had a letter from home telling me that young Alec had been up that way and had bought a horse. [Alexander N (Neil?) born 1898 to Alexander and Lillian. Little known of him, in photos he appears quite a dandy, family stories have him as a ‘black sheep’ and report him as having died young or killed in the war (he never served). He was on the run from something. Vera believed she saw him in Katoomba in about 1938 or 1939 from a bus as she passed by. There are possibilities in BDM deaths, but inconclusive.] When he left the place he was working at he left the horse behind and there was some trouble over money because this horse was a swap deal somehow with this bloke, I don’t know exactly what the facts of the case were. Father had straightened out the financial side of it and they asked me, when I was coming home for Christmas, whether I’d collect the horse and bring it home, they said I’d find a saddle and bridle at the place, I wouldn’t have to go to any expense on that account so I wrote home and said yes I’d collect it and fetch it home with me at Christmas time. [1915]
Doris at about this date.
Well, when it come to Christmas time I went out to see these people, they lived about forty mile away out of Girilambone and they said the horse is in the field there and the saddle and bridle are in the harness room. They showed me where it was and they sent a horse tailor out to fetch the horse in, I had a look at it, it seemed alright, it seemed a decent sort of a horse, he was a big strong fellow and his feet looked alright to me. I saddled him up and had a ride on him, he was a bit frisky, a bit perky but all in all I couldn’t see any trouble with him so I had a meal with ‘em and I set off. I got back to Girilambone at night time, stayed there for the night and set off next morning.
Well I don’t know exactly how far it is from Girilambone to Dubbo but it’s a pretty good ride, it must be all of a hundred miles if it was a yard. Anyhow, I left early in the morning and we were getting on alright together until sometime early in the afternoon I noticed that he was walking very tenderly, I wondered if his legs were sore. I got off him and felt him all over and he felt alright as far as I could see. I had a look at his feet and I could see what the trouble was, he wanted shoeing. With him having been running on pasture for so long I didn’t think he’d want shoeing for quite a while, they must have been using him I think because his hooves were well worn down, he was on the frog of his hooves. [Horses which aren’t working on roads or hard ground didn’t need shoeing, nature intended them to manage without. The frog is the sensitive middle part of the hoof.]
Well the next thing to do was to get him shod and there weren’t many places round there where you could get a horse shod. Anyway I kept on with him and each bit of a settlement I come to I enquired whether there was a blacksmith about and they said no. Eventually, I did find a blacksmith’s shop and I dug an old fellow out of the pub and he agreed to come and shoe him, he had a look at him and said “He’s pretty far gone, he wants turning out for a day or two.” He said “This horse’ll never get you to Dubbo tonight.” I felt inclined to agree with him. Anyhow I said “You shoe him and we’ll see how we go.” so he made him a set of shoes and put them on and charged me seven and sixpence. He said “Another thing we can do that might help, warm some Stockholm tar and put his feet in Stockholm tar for a while, that might take some of the soreness away.” I said “Right, you do that.” He did it and cleaned his feet off afterwards and we set off. Well, it was getting about four or five o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was getting down in the west and he was getting tenderer and tenderer all the time in fact I’d got off and I was leading him. I was wondering what the hell I was going to do, suddenly I looked away to the west and I saw a spiral of smoke going up into the sky. Now I knew it wasn’t the mail train because it was the wrong time of the day so I reckoned it must be a goods train of some kind. I knew there was a little siding about a mile further on and I thought if I can get there before the train gets there I might get him on the train. I don’t know how the hell I thought I was going to get him on the train but that was the only thing I could think of. So I did, I got there before the train and I got him up on the platform. At these wayside sidings, the general rule is that if you want to stop the train there’s a flag and a light always hung handy and you can either flag them down with the red flag or a red light at night time. Anyhow I got the flag and flagged the train down and this bloody horse, he hadn’t seen a train for... well I don’t know if he’d ever seen a train. He played merry hell, I had a hell of job to hold him, eventually he quietened down when he saw the train wasn’t going to do him any harm and the engine stopped opposite the platform.
Lo and behold, there on the engine was two fellows that I knew very well, one was Horace Findlater [James and Grace Findlater had a son Horace R (12165/1890) at Dubbo so Horace would be 25 years old.] an old school friend and the other fellow who was fireman on the train, I’ve forgotten his name now but he was a big curly-headed fellow that I’d met in Bourke. After greetings Horace said “What have we got here?” I said “What’s it look like? It’s a horse, have you got an empty wagon on the train, a cattle wagon that I can get him into, I want to get to Dubbo.” He said “We can do better than that, we’ve got a horse box on here but if you go in that we’ll have to put you off at Narromine because we’re picking a horse up at Narromine that’s going down Bathurst way somewhere to a race meeting. If that’s OK with you we’ll put him in the horsebox and push you off at Narromine.” I thought well, that’s alright, Narromine’s only about twelve or fifteen miles from Dubbo and I was quite happy about that. He reckoned we’d get into Narromine somewhere about midnight. Anyhow we tried to get this horse into the horse box, he wouldn’t go in and we had him down between the train and the siding, at least, one leg down, I thought he was crippled. Anyhow we got him out and he didn’t appear to be any the worse. Eventually the only way we could get him in, we got a rope and tied it to one side of the door of the loose box, run it through the handle of the other door, put round his hocks, and I had hold of his head and the guard was beating him with a brush stale and Horace Findlater and the fireman were pulling on this rope. Well, eventually when we got him in he was in back to front so I said to him “Leave him there.” He said “Fetch him out and let’s put him in the right way.” I said “Not bloody likely, we’ll leave him in, he’ll stand just as well as any other way and anyhow, he’s facing the engine.” So we put the door up, got aboard and away we went.
When we got into Trangie, I knew they were going to be there a while shunting, so I hopped over to a pub where I knew the landlord although it was past closing time, and I got a bottle of whisky. Just as I was getting back the train started off and I had to run like hell to get aboard it. Anyhow, I got aboard on a truck which was about ten or twelve trucks behind the engine. I had the bottle of whisky in me pocket and I crawled along the top of these cattle wagons on to the tender and down into the engine. They looked round when they saw me coming and said “What the bloody hell are you doing there?” I said “I brought you a drink.” so we got the pannikins out and we had a go at this whisky. The poor old guard, he was in the brake van at the back, he wasn’t getting anything. Between the three of us we finished this bottle of whisky and by the time we got to Narromine we were all in pretty good spirits. I said to Horace “Now where do I get out here? You’ll have to let me out at a platform or a loading stage of some kind.” “Well,” he said, “Just hang on a minute because I been thinking where this other horse is because I think there’s room for two in that box and we could take the partition down and put yours on this side and his on the other side and then when we get to Dubbo you can just slip him out.” Anyhow, they didn’t turn up with this horse and the time come for them to pull out and he said to me “Well, it looks as though he’s not coming so we’ll leave things as they are and take you through to Dubbo.” so off we set and eventually we arrived at Dubbo.
On the way down we were discussing how we were going to get the horse off. Findlater said to me “I tell you what we’ll do, if the road is clear we’ll overshoot the station and we’ll run up to the loading pens and we can unload him there but anyhow, when we got into Dubbo the home signal was against us and we had to just crawl into the station, there was another train shunting on the main line further up so we couldn’t run up to the loading pens. I was now riding on the engine with these lads and I said “What are we going to do now?” He said “There’s only one thing we can do and that’s unload him on the platform, you jump off the engine when we get to the platform and you give us the office when the horse box is opposite the platform and we’ll stop.” Well we did this and in the meantime I’d gone to have a look at the gate, there was a gate at the end of the station for wheeling luggage and that off and I gone to have a look at that to see whether I could get it open but it was locked so they came down and I said “Well, we can get him off here but there’s only one way I can get him off the station and that’s to take him through the waiting room. Now this waiting room at the station had a cellar underneath it and even when you walked on it, the floor was like a sounding board, it made a hell of a noise with just a man walking on it. I wondered what sort of a noise it’d make with a horse walking on it but that was the only thing that we could do. We let down the door and they said “now you get him out and bugger off, we’ll look after it from here on.” I’d left the saddle and bridle on him, all I had to do was lead him out and get on him and buzz off so I led him through this waiting room and you’d have thought the whole station was coming down, it made a hell of a noise. The night man in the station must have been asleep because they told me he come dashing out just after I’d got away, wanting to know what all the row was about, they acted silly and said they’d never heard any row and thought he must have been dreaming but anyhow I got on the horse and got him away. I got home about five o’clock on Christmas morning [1915] I think it was, I gave him a feed, unsaddled him and let him go in a small paddock that we had attached to the house.
The station platform at Dubbo today. It’s the original wrought iron canopy so I think we can imagine father leading the horse into the waiting room.
I went and looked for somewhere to sleep. When we were lads at home, in the summertime, we used to sleep in a double bed under the pepper tree. This morning, it was as dark as could be, you couldn’t see a yard in front of you, I went poking about and I bumped into a bed under this tree and I thought oh, Alec or somebody must be at home and they’ve brought the bed out here to sleep in the open so I took me boots and trousers off and sneaked into bed. I wasn’t in bed very long before I was asleep.
When it come daylight I woke up and I had a look to see who was in bed whether it was Alec or Stan or who it was and it was Molly Skinner, I was in bed with her and she was sound asleep so I thought well the best thing I can do is get out of bed as quietly as I possibly can and she’ll not know I’ve been in bed. Anyhow, I was crawling out of bed and I heard this voice saying “You’re not getting up yet, it’s too early to get up yet.” It was her, she’d known that I’d got in bed but she said she hadn’t liked to say anything to me, she didn’t mind me sleeping in the same bed as her, we were almost like brother and sister anyhow. I felt a bit embarrassed for a while when I woke up and found meself in bed with a girl.
Whilst I was at home for Christmas I saw quite a lot of Min and I was amazed at the change in her since Jim’s death. Although he hadn’t been dead very long, it was apparent to me that whilst Min was prepared to be everything that a wife should be to a man when he was living, she didn’t intend to let his death interfere with her pleasure. She was flirting with every man she came into contact almost and she made quite a set at me, inviting me down to her home and wanting me to go and stay with her instead of staying at home. I was trying to dodge her in all the ways I could, not that I hadn’t the desire to go and spend a bit of time with her but I thought it would cause trouble with Mother and them at home. Anyhow, do what I could I couldn’t dodge her, she found ways and means of getting me to do the things she wanted me to do. Mother tackled me about it and said that I was spending too much time with her and it would be talked about, she said “Anyhow, what about Molly?” I said “What about Molly?” She said “I was always under the impression that it was your intention to marry Molly.” I said “I don’t know where you got that idea, has Molly said anything to you about it?” She said “Yes, she has.” so I said “Well you leave my love affairs to me and I’ll deal with them myself, I don’t want you interfering with them.” But I made up my mind I should have a talk with Molly. [All fiction of course because everyone knew he was married, in fact Norma’s address when he enlisted was given as being with Alex and Lillian in Dubbo.]
This I did, we went out for a walk one day and we had a heart to heart talk and I made it perfectly clear to her that whilst I thought the world of her I only looked on her as a sister. She said that was what her feelings were about me and she asked me “Is that the only reason that you just feel like a brother to me? Is there nothing else that causes you to feel that way about me?” I said “I know what you’re talking about but it has nothing to do with me.” Molly had a little boy who was supposed to be the son of the Barton family, some people thought that it was Molly’s illegitimate child, I didn’t know whether it was or not and I wasn’t interested. She started to assure me that this wasn’t her child and she told me the reason why it couldn’t be her child, she had something wrong with her and she couldn’t have children and that was the reason why she hadn’t married. [As far as we can make out she never did marry.] I knew that a lot of people round about, although they didn’t say anything, believed that this boy was Molly’s but I believed after she told me that she was quite truthful when she said that it wasn’t her child.
With the situation between Molly and myself made quite clear I thought I was at liberty to have a bit of fun with Min. I saw quite a bit of her whilst I was at home that Christmas time but I found out that she was knocking about with another chap, I forget his name. Once or twice while I was there he called up to see her so I thought the best thing I could do was back out, get away and stay away. So I went off back to Girilambone but before I went there was a bit of trouble at home over money.
I happened to walk in on a discussion between Mother and Father one day and they didn’t stop talking when I went in and it was obvious to me that they were in some kind of money difficulty. I started to apologise and walk out and Father said to me “Oh, there’s no need for you to go, it’s not anything private, it’s a matter that concerns all of us.” I thought Hello, here’s an invitation coming, so I couldn’t do anything else but say “Well, what is the trouble?”
They explained it to me and it appears that Mother had got into debt and she hadn’t told Father about it. Of course that was nothing uncommon, she was a devil to spend money and they were about seventy or eighty pounds short. It struck me all of a sudden that I had some money that I’d forgotten all about. In 1908, when the American fleet had come to Australia there was a fight for the heavyweight championship of the world between Jack Johnson and Tommy Burns, the same week the Melbourne Cup was run. [Johnson won the world heavyweight title on December 26, 1908, when he fought the Canadian world champion Tommy Burns in Sydney.] Now I was a great fight fan in those days, I used to read the Sunday papers when I could get hold of them, reading all the sporting news, particularly the fight news. I really did believe that Tommy Burns would beat Jack Johnson, I’d seen both of them while I was in Sydney, course I was prejudiced in favour of Burns because he was a white man I suppose, but I’d saved up ten pounds. They were laying odds against Burns at the time, he was four to one or five to one or something like that and I went to the local bookmaker in Dubbo and put five pound on Tommy Burns and I also put five pound on Mountain King for the Melbourne Cup at eight to one. Well, as history shows, Tommy Burns was beat in seven rounds, the police had to stop the fight so I lost me fiver there but Mountain King won the Melbourne Cup and I had forty five pound to come back from the bookmaker. [Father’s memory is at fault here. In 1908 J Mayo’s horse Lord Nolan won the cup. Comedy King won in 1910 but no record of a horse called Mountain King.] When I drew this money I wasn’t wanting ready cash at the time so I put it in the Post Office Savings Bank, it’d been there ever since. I said to me Father “Just hang on a minute.” and I went and got this bank book out of me case and I brought it out to him. I said “Now look, there’s forty five quid in here and you can have it if you can draw it.” He said “I can’t draw it, you’ll have to draw it.” I said “You’ve got to give seven days notice haven’t you?” He said “Something like that.” Anyhow I said “Leave it with me and I’ll arrange for you to draw the money so you’ve got forty five quid towards your seventy quid there, that’ll help a bit.” They thanked me and I made arrangements with the Post Office that I should sign for the money and give Father a letter of authority to collect it and he could collect it any time after the seven days was up. Those arrangements were made and the matter was cleared up as far as I was concerned.
Jack and May had been home for Christmas that year and Doris had just started courting. Her boy friend was a draughtsman in the lands office and his name was Allan but I can’t think of his second name, he went to the war when war broke out and was killed in France, he was a pilot in the air force.
With the Christmas holiday over I returned to Girilambone [1916] and when I got to the place where I was staying I noticed there was a distinct air of coolness everywhere. I didn’t make any enquiries but I could see that this attitude of iciness was directed towards me and I thought well, I’ll just wait and see what happens. Now this place where I was staying was one of a number of cottages where other members of the fettler’s gang lived. Amongst them was a couple that’d not been long out from England. The wife was a girl about twenty three or twenty four or something like that, their name was Houston. We’d seen quite a bit of each other as was only natural whilst I was staying there over the weekends and in the evenings, playing cards and one thing or another. Perhaps we’d seen more of each other than we should have done, at least that’s what the husband thought. When I got a chance to talk to her I found out that there’d been a hell of a row over the Christmas weekend and it was because of stories that had been told to the husband about my relations with her. Well, I thought there’s not much good staying here with this trouble on because it’ll only get worse and worse, I didn’t want to cause any trouble between this man and his wife, perhaps I had been a bit foolish so I decided to pull out. I paid them what I owed them and went back into Girilambone where I stayed at the shanty pub for a day or two whilst I was settling up with the railway people because I was determined to get away altogether. So I left Girilambone and I went out to Brewarrina. There again, I don’t know why I went to Brewarrina, I just went there, it was getting away from Girilambone, that was the only thing I had in me mind.
Whilst I was in Brewarrina I met some fellows that were getting a team together to go out to Mungindi to pick up some cattle to fetch back to Bourke, loading at the rail head, to go to the sales in Sydney. I went and had a word with the boss, a man named Cullen, and he said “Yes, he could use a man but what about tackle, did I have a saddle, bridle, rope and whip and all that?” I said “I haven’t got any tackle at all because I tell you, I’ve been working on the railway.” He said, “Have you ever done any droving?” I said “No, but I’ve handled stock and I know the routine of droving.” He said “Well, if you’ll find yourself an outfit I’ll take you on, it’s not going to be a very long job and it seems to me to be rather foolish for you to buy an outfit and only use it for three months.” I said “Well, leave that to me to worry about, I’ll get an outfit, you find the riding stock and we’re on, how much a week do you pay?” He said “We pay thirty bob a week, all found and a bonus when we get to the railhead if we haven’t lost too many cattle.” I said “Right, that’ll suit me.” because I was only looking on it as a bit of a break.
We went out to Mungindi and we were to pick this herd up from a cattle station called Amphitheatre, why it got that name I don’t know but that was its name.
]The name Amphitheatre fascinated me so I went digging but apart from finding a tourist attraction of that name I drew a blank. But as I was searching for images for chaff-cutting I had a bit of luck…]
I found this picture of a chaff cutter working at Amphitheatre station in 1908 on the Victoria State Museum website. It’s not too big a leap of the imagination that some of the men in this picture could have been around when father was there.
Anyhow, when we got there the herd was all collected and inoculated and was ready to go. All we had to do was to get up and get on our way. Well, we made the trip to Bourke, we had no trouble at all, they were nearly all white faced bullocks and they behaved very well, we didn’t have even one breakaway during the whole of the trip. It was a very happy trip too because the weather was starting to cool off a bit and we were in bed each night just after dark when it wasn’t our turn on guard. To wake up in the morning and see the sun coming up over those western plains, and you could see for miles because there was very little timber, a bit of gidgee and a bit of jarrah and mulga but nothing to speak of in the way of forests.
As far as fodder was concerned, well there seemed to me to be nothing other than Spinifex and roly-polies but the cattle seemed to do alright on it. They made the trip and were in pretty good nick when we got into Bourke. They were loaded up at Bourke and I said to this chap “Who’s going to Sydney with them?” He said “Well, we generally pick up somebody in the town who’s wanting to go to Sydney, none of these lads want to go with them.” I said “Well, I’ll go with them if you like.” He said “Well, we’ve got another job, a longer job now, we’re going up north, would you like to stay and come with us?” I said “No, if you don’t mind I’d rather go with these cattle.” So he said “Right, suit yourself.”
So I sold me tackle, got aboard the train with ‘em and took ‘em down to Homebush where I handed them over to Dalgety’s agent. Dalgety’s were big stock and station agents and they had a big sale yard at Homebush at Sydney and they also had a lot of pasture land there for the stock to run on whilst they were waiting for the sales. My responsibility was over when I handed them over to their agent and I went into the city for a day or two, then I decided that I’d go back home. [I think that this is the point in early 1916 where Father first offers himself for the army but is refused on medical grounds. This would fit with the known chronology. His account of working on the railway and the droving seems authentic and it makes you wonder if it was all to do with keeping away from what must have been a very unhappy situation with Norma. Uncomfortable for her as well because she was most likely living at home in Dubbo. What follows is pure fiction, it doesn’t fit the known chronology. I’ll alert you when we slip back into reality!]
I went onto the railway station to catch the train and who should I bump into as I was on the station but a chap that I knew at school, he was older than me, he was in the top class when I was in the bottom, but I knew him very well because they lived only about a mile from us, a fellow named Charlie Darling. [I found a Charles Darling born 1884 at Wellington who could fit the bill. Father William Darling and mother Elizabeth. (32707/1884) 9 years older than father so he would fit.] We got talking whilst we were waiting for the train and he asked me what I’d been doing. I told him some of the places I’d been to, you know, just as young fellows will talk together and he said to me “I’d like to go abroad.” I said “Well, I’ve been toying with the idea of going abroad again and I fancy going to Africa. He said “Aye, I’d like to go to Africa too.” So I said “Well, what’s wrong with us going to Africa?” He said “Nothing as far as I know.” I said “Have you got any ties at home?” He said “No, there’s nothing at home, I’ve got me Mother but she doesn’t need me, she’s alright without me.” I said “Well, let’s forget about this train, let’s put up somewhere for the night and talk it over a bit tomorrow.” He said “Right, we’ll do that.”
We went and found a place to sleep, as a matter of fact we went to the People’s Palace in Pitt Street, it’s a sort of temperance hotel, I’m not sure whether it’s run by the Salvation Army or the Y.M.C.A. Anyhow we talked about this the next day and made some enquiries and found out about the fare and what we had to do to go to South Africa, whether we needed passports or anything like that. We were told that all we had to do was to be vaccinated, we didn’t need a passport because South Africa was part of the British Empire and in those days, as it is now, you don’t need a passport to go from one part of the Commonwealth to another. So, that settled, we found out what the fare was, I forget now but it was somewhere about fourteen or fifteen quid on the Australian Line. There was only one class, there was no such thing as steerage or first class so we booked a passage on the Bendigo to Durban, the boat was to sail in about a weeks time. I said to Charlie “How much money have you got Charlie?” He said “Oh, I’ve got a bit, somewhere about a hundred and odd quid.” I had getting on for a hundred quid after we’d paid our fare so I said “we’ll be alright for money.” [This where we really start to run into trouble with the chronology. We had the fixed point of Jim’s accident so we should now be at about mid 1916 which would fit with the later assured chronology. The Africa trip is a legend. He was making it interesting all right! (See his letter to Stan dated March 2008: “To fill in some gaps and make it a bit more interesting I have introduced a bit of fiction here and there so don’t let me down if Stan sends it to you.”)]
Nothing very much happened on the boat, we got to Durban [Father knew about Durban and Capetown because the troopship Beltana called in at both ports on its way to the UK from November 25 1916 to Jan 29 1917.] and we started to see the town. We really did start to see the town, we had a hell of a good time in Durban for about a week, one of our main occupations was driving about in rickshaws. Then we thought we’d like to go down to Capetown to have look at it, we made enquiries about the fare and off we went down to Capetown. We had a look round there, went round the Seven Sisters and up on to Table Mountain and learned quite a few things about life in Capetown, we went and had a look at the notorious Claypan where the slum quarters are and all the booze and prostitutes congregated. As a matter of fact any white person seen in the Claypan was ostracised by the rest of the people in the city because they reckoned that a person had gone native if he knocked about down there, the place had such a bad reputation.
Anyhow, after a week or ten days there we decided to go back to Durban. We landed back in Durban and we woke up one morning and started to have a look at our financial resources. Now we knew that if we were to get a job of any kind we would have to go up into the country somewhere because there was too many people hanging around the cities looking for work, immigrants who wouldn’t go out into the bush. We decided that our best chance would be to go up to Johannesburg, this we decided on. We enquired about the fare and when we got to know the fare we counted up our money and found we just about had enough to get us to Johannesburg with a bob or two left over.
We eventually arrived in Johannesburg but you’ll realise we hadn’t enough money to book us in at a hotel. We took our suitcases, we were loaded up with suitcases and clothes and no money, we took this lot and holed up under a bridge in the town, that was the favourite place for all down and outs to go, under the nearest bridge because you got a bit of shelter from the rain if there was any. We started to look for a job.
The usual thing in those days in Africa when you went to look for a job, it was what’s your name, what religion are you, where do you come from, how old are you? We kept telling the truth when we were asked these things. As soon as we said Australia they seemed to cool off straight away, it was usual for them to say that they had nothing now but call back in a day or two when we might have something for you. So we were walking down the street one day and we met a fellow that I knew in Coonamble, he was the reporter on the Coonamble paper at the time when I got done for my run in with the police. He’d come over to Africa and he was working on a paper in Johannesburg, I don’t know whether it was the Randfontein Gazette or something like that they called the paper. He asked us how we were going on and I said “We’re not doing so good, we’re skint.” He finished up by giving us a couple of bob or half-a-crown or something like that. We decided that we’d go and get a meal with this money. Now in those days, in nearly all the towns both in Africa and at home there were places that they call ‘bushmen’s homes’, places where you can go into and, on payment of a small fee, you can cook yourselves a meal providing you find all the ingredients for it. We decided that we’d buy some bread and meat and eggs and tea and sugar and what have you and go to one of these bushmen’s homes and cook ourselves a meal. Anyhow we bought some steak and some bread and some eggs and by the time we’d got those three items we were getting short of money so we set off for this place and it cost us fourpence for the use of the kitchen and you could buy brews of tea, that was little bags of tea and sugar, enough to make about a pint of tea for a penny I think it was or a halfpenny, it was something and nothing. We got one of these and I started cooking the steak at the great big fireplace. This fireplace sort of stood out into the room and there was some alcoves at either side and in these alcoves was benches where you could do any cutting up or mixing or anything like that. Whilst we were cooking this stuff Charlie said to me “Have we got any money left?” I said there’s about twopence or threepence, that’s all.” He said “Well, give it to me and I’ll go up and see whether I can get some milk.” So, there was an empty tin there, we washed it out and he went off to see the steward of this place to see whether he could buy a gill of milk or something like that. I got the steak cooked and the eggs in and I thought to meself I’ll just get a bit of salt now to sprinkle under these eggs and I went round into this alcove to get the salt and when I come back the bloody frying pan was gone! Well, the other fellows sitting round were sitting absolutely dumb, deadpan faces, nobody saw anything, nobody saw the frying pan go and I was standing there bewildered when I saw Charlie coming down. He came down with a grin on his face and he was holding this tin out in front of him and I said to him “Charlie, the tin’s not much use to you now because if we’re going to have anything to eat it’ll just be tea with milk in it. He said “Why, what’s the matter?” I said “Somebody’s pinched the steak and eggs.” He said “Pinched ‘em, what do you mean, pinched ‘em?” I said “They’re gone!” He just opened his hand, the one that was holding the tin of milk and let it fall on the floor and he rolled into me. Well, we fought up and down this place and eventually I got hold of a chair because he was getting the best of me and I clocked him with this chair, they got hold of us and the steward come along and they chucked us into the street. There we were, out in the street with not even the tea, I had a black eye and he had his nose cut, we were a sorry looking pair.
Well, we went off back to our abode under the bridge and cleaned ourselves up as well as we could. We had a good laugh and shook hands over it, we weren’t really bad friends at all it was just one of those things that happen with young fellows who were knocking about the same as we were. Anyhow, I said to him “We got to do something, we can’t go without food.” He said “Well, it’s getting too late in the day to do anything about it now, the only thing we can do is too have a drink of water and go to bed.”
Well, we hadn’t had anything to eat that day and I can tell you, I could have eaten a dead Chinaman I felt that hungry. I toyed with the idea of going round to one or two houses and asking for a handout but I couldn’t bring meself to it so we went to bed.
Next morning we got up, cleaned ourselves up and went up the town. I said to Charlie “Well, we’re going to have something to eat if it’s the last thing we ever do, we’ve got to do something.” Before we decided what we were going to do we met this reporter bloke again, he said “are you fellows still knocking about here? Haven’t you got yourselves a job yet?” We said no, we didn’t seem to be able to drop on anything. He said “What do you tell them when they question you about things when you’re going after a job?” I said “Oh, they just ask the usual questions, your name, your age and where you come from, your religion and that sort of thing.” He said “What do you tell them?” I said “We tell them the truth.” He said “Oh, that’s why you’re not getting a job, I can see it now. You mustn’t tell them you come from Australia.” So I said “Where the bloody hell are we going to tell them we come from then?” He said you can say anything you want except Australia, you can say England or China or anywhere you like but you mustn’t tell them you come from Australia.” I said “Well, they’ll know we come from Australia by our accent.” He said “Not necessarily so, if you said that you come from England and you picked somewhere like the London area, we talk a bit like cockneys and they might think that you’re cockneys.” So I said “Why won’t they employ Australians?” He said “Well you ought to know. You’ve heard about the Boer War haven’t you? You’ve heard about how the Australians carried on whilst they were over here with the Light Horse and how they were supposed to have raped and murdered people all over the place and burned farmhouses out? Well, these people haven’t forgotten it yet and they haven’t got very much love for Australians. Anyhow you tell them that you come from England and I’ll bet you’ve got a job within a couple of days.” So we said we’d do that.
We left him, I didn’t like asking him for any more money and as we walked away from him I said to Charlie “You go down this side of the street and I’ll go down on the other side and every likely looking bloke you see tap him for a shilling. When we’ve got a couple of bob we’re made up so he said “Right, we’ll do that.” We hadn’t got very far before he’d picked up I think it was three bob or so. He shouted to me and he said “where are we going for a feed?” So I said “We’re going to the best hotel in the town.” He said “We won’t get much at the best hotel in the town for three bob.” Well I didn’t know how much meals were in Johannesburg but I knew that in Durban you could get a good meal for a shilling. Anyhow, I wasn’t bothered about that, I said “We want to go and buy a piece of rope, about quarter inch rope about twenty feet long, something like a clothes line.” He said “What do we want that for?” I said “Never mind what we want it for but that’s what we need, you leave this to me, I’m engineering this, we’ll get away with it alright, so don’t you bother, just do as I suggest.” Although he was older than me, he was quite prepared to be guided by what I said, in fact, I seemed to be the boss of the party. I’m not swanking about it but I seemed to make all the suggestions and he carried them out and we got on alright that way. Anyhow, we went and bought a piece of clothes line and I said “Now we’ll go back to the bridge and get our luggage.”
So we did this and we went up to the hotel and for the purpose of this story we’ll call it the Randfontein Hotel. We went in to the bar and we called for two beers, beers were sixpence each in those days. They brought us two schooners of beer and we put a bob down. Charlie looked at me as if to say that’s a third of our life savings gone already. I said to the fellow behind the bar “Can I see the manager?” he said “yes, I'll fetch him.” He brought this fellow out, he was a little, I don’t know whether he was an Italian or a dago, Greek or something like that but he was from somewhere about that area. He said “Good morning gentlemen, what can I do for you?” I said “We want a room apiece.” He said “First or second class?” so I said “First class.” So he said he’d get the porter to get our bags and show us up to our rooms. I said “What time do you have lunch?” He said “It’s on from about twelve o’clock until about two, any time to suit yourself.” So I said “Right, we’ll go up to our room and wash off and clean up.” He was eyeing us up a bit, me with a black eye and Charlie with a scar across his face but he never said anything because those fellows were used to that sort of thing. We went up to our rooms and we had a wash and brush up and lay down on our beds waiting for twelve o’clock. Dead on the dot of twelve o’clock we were in the dining room then we went upstairs again and lay down a bit more, we still had a shilling left because we’d paid a shilling for the clothes line and a shilling for the beers. I said “Well, we’d better go and look for a job now.”
We didn’t go to any of the places where we’d been to before. We found another agency and asked them whether they had anything on. What’s your name, what age are you, what’s your religion and where do you come from? Of course we both said England and I saw him look up when we said England and he said what part of England and I like a bloody fool, couldn’t think of anything else, said Manchester, simply because I’d heard a lot about Manchester and I thought, in those days, that it was close to London. He let it go at that and then he took Charlie’s particulars. Then he asked me what I did and I said “Well, I’m an engineer, I’ll take on anything, any job at all.” He said to Charlie “what about you?” Charlie said “Well, I’ve not trained at anything, I’ve been in the police force.” I thought oh blimey Charlie here it comes, he’ll ask him which police force and the silly bugger’ll say Dubbo or something like that. Anyhow he never enquired, he said “We can fix you up with a job, the job I’ve got in mind for you is on a road job, we want somebody that’s used to pile-driving.” I said “Well, I’m your man there, I’m used to pile-driving.” I said “I’ve been on pile-driving and boring rigs and all that sort of thing, I understand a bit about constructional engineering.” He said “Right, that’s you fixed up” and to Charlie, “As far as you’re concerned, we want somebody to take charge of a lot of natives on a grading job.” Charlie said “What’s a grading job?” I said “It’s alright, I know what it is, I’ll explain it to him but he’ll be able to do that job alright it’ll be right up his street.” He said “Right, well what about salary?” I said “Well, what about salary, what’ll we get?” He said “You’ll get fifteen pounds a week and you’ll have to keep yourself out of that. The cost of living round here runs out about a pound a week. You’ll each be allowed four servants.” Charlie’s wages would be ten pounds a week. We each agreed to this and said “When do we start?” He said “We’re not quite sure yet but there’s an ox caravan going out to the job, it’s about forty mile out, we’ve got to get some more men together and some native labour. We’ll let you know when you’ll be leaving, you’d better leave your address and we’ll get in touch with you.” We didn’t want him to know where we were staying because we intended to do a break from the hotel. We thought if he knew where we were staying and they knew where we were going they would be able to get in touch with us. I said “No, don’t you bother getting in touch with us, we’re on the street here and we’ll call in every day, we can easy pop in, we’re staying with some friends and we don’t want them to be bothered with any of our affairs.” So he said “All right, have it your own way, if you come in once a day we’ll let you know when we’ll be ready to start.”
So we hung about for a day or two, I think it was about the third or fourth day, we went in one day and he said they were ready to go the following morning. We said “What time in the morning?” He said “The caravan will leave as soon as it’s light in the morning, the best thing you can do is get to the assembly point round about four or five o’clock.” We asked where the assembly point was, he told us and we went round to the yard and had a look. We had a word with the fellow there that was in charge and made all arrangements for getting our things aboard first thing in the morning then we went back to the hotel and spent the rest of the day lounging about, we spent our last remaining shilling on cigarettes. By the way, I’d asked the chap at the office what arrangements there was about supplies and he told us that there was nothing to worry about there as there was a stores on the job and all that we had to do was to draw out and sign for what we wanted and that would be stopped out of our wages at the end of the month. When it come night time we had our supper and went up to our room, we had a talk and we decided it wouldn’t do to leave it until early in the morning to get out because somebody might hear us knocking about and come and see what was going on. We weighed up the position and we come to the conclusion that the best thing to do would be to make a break about ten or eleven o’clock.
Well, sometime between ten and eleven o’clock we got our bags and tied them all together. Outside our window there was a little conservatory and we were on the first floor. Charlie said to me when we had got the bags tied together, “Now, what do we do? How do we get these out without somebody seeing us going down the corridor?” I said “We’re not going down the bloody corridor, you go out the front way, speak to the porter as you go out, make some excuse to have a word with him so that you’re sure that he notices you. Then you make your way round under the window, I’ll be waiting for you and when you arrive I’ll lower the suitcases down to you and you can tie ‘em up together and sling ‘em round your neck and make a break for it down that back alleyway. Go down towards the yard and when you get a reasonable distance away, wait for me and I’ll catch up with you.” He made some remark about being the bloody donkey but he went. I heard him come under the window and I lowered the cases out to him, dropped the rope down and sat on the bed to have a smoke. I give him about half an hour and then I went downstairs. The night porter was sat at his desk, I said to him “It’s hot tonight.” and he said something about it being too hot to be comfortable and I said “I’m wondering what’s become of my friend, he went out a while ago and I haven’t seen him since.” He said “Aye, he went out about an hour since, I saw him going out.” I said “Did you notice which way he went?” He said “I didn’t.” so I said I’ll just go and see whether I can bump into him.” I just strolled out and went off up to the point where I was to meet Charlie. When I got there he was sat on the bags, he said “You’ve been long enough coming haven’t you?” so I said “Well, I’m here now.” We got the bags and made our way down to this place where the team was congregated. When we got there there was a fellow on watch, he said “You’re a bit early aren’t you?” We said we couldn’t sleep and so we’d come out to get here in plenty of time and make a bed out in the open, we might sleep better outside. So no more was said and we were woke up about four or five o’clock in the morning with this jabbering going on round us. When we looked round there seemed to be natives everywhere, dozens of ‘em, we got up, boiled our billy, made ourselves a bit of breakfast because the cook hadn’t come into operation then, he would cook the first meal on the journey out. We got our things aboard and the caravan set forth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We were riding on an old lorry but it could only go at the same speed as the bullocks because we all had to keep together, they had coloured people marshalling the natives. These fellows were walking alongside of them and behind them in case any of them decided to make a break for it. We got talking to a fellow and asked him how they got all these natives together so quickly. He said “Oh, you’re new here are you?” We said “Yes.” He told us their method of recruiting labour. Nowadays, when I hear of the bitterness and the hatred that the coloured people have for Europeans I don’t wonder at it because we never made any attempt, when I say we, I mean the European authorities, they never made any attempt at all to try and organise the coloured labour in a reasonable and fair manner. This fellow told us that the procedure was that if a contractor or a farmer or anyone for that matter, wanted labour all he had to do was to make a request to the commissioner that he wanted so many men. If these men weren’t in gaol, they’d just go round, arrest the requisite number to make up the party, try them, find them guilty and sentence them. They were then handed over to the contractor and he had to pay a shilling a week, I don’t know where this shilling a week went, it was paid to the district commissioner. The contractor’s responsibility was to feed the men and look after their health. Well that was their method of recruitment, they were allowed in some cases where it was a married man, his wife could go with him. You had to feed her but you could make use of her for duties round and about the krall.
On this occasion, we were going along the road, it was afternoon because we’d just set out after the midday meal, and there was a woman I’d noticed before. She looked to me as though she would be confined any minute. I mentioned it to the serang and he said she was alright, there was nothing to worry about. After a while she dropped out and went into some scrub and nobody seemed to take any notice of her, I mentioned it again and said she’d dropped out and gone into these bushes. Again I was told it would be alright. Anyhow we went on and we stopped just before sundown to camp, we’d done about twenty odd mile I should think. While we were getting ready to camp for the night this girl landed along with a baby on her back, she’d gone into those bushes, been confined, done what she had to do or could do for the child and there she was with it on her back just as if nothing had happened. She didn’t lie up, she just carried on as if there had been nothing at all.
We set off next morning at sunup and made our way along the road, it was very pleasant country that we were passing through, it was heavily timbered but enough growth about to make it pleasant, I noticed one or two farmhouses close to the road as we went along. By the way, up to now we were travelling on a new road, this was the road which we were going to work on. We soon got fed up of travelling on the lorry, it was a corduroy road and with travelling along at about four or five miles an hour it was bump, bump, bump all the way, you were much more comfortable walking. Now their idea here was that as this was a newly graded road, there’d be too much settlement for them to put macadam on it straight away so they made corduroy roads and after it had settled it was their intention to macadam it. Now perhaps a lot of people don’t know what a corduroy road is, it’s a roughly graded embankment to give the road elevation above the surrounding countryside and it had logs, not big logs but logs about six to eight inches diameter laid across it. That accounted for the bumping as you went along. We were later to find out that on these roads, travelling in a motor car at ten or twelve miles an hour was terrible, travelling at twenty miles an hour it just felt as though somebody had a pneumatic drill up your backside but when you got up to forty or fifty miles an hour and speeds above that, you hardly felt any roughness at all. The car wheels seemed to fly from one log to another and it was very smooth but anyhow, we weren’t in motor cars, we were in an old motor lorry. We carried on and that night we got to our camp site. It was just about four or five miles on the Johannesburg side of the Vaal river on the Bloemfontein road. Our job was putting a viaduct across a bit of a swamp and then later on we were to drive the piles for the bridge across the Vaal.
Charlie’s job was about ten mile further on. I’d already explained to him what it was but I’d asked the superintendent Mr Croome if I could go with Charlie for a day to make sure he’d got the hang of the job alright. He said “That’s a very good idea, if you go on with him I’ll send somebody to fetch you back tonight.” so we set off. We got to the job about midday. Well, they were working on the job so after we’d had some lunch I went down with Charlie and showed him what the job was, explained everything to him.
The method of grading they were using, it’s commonly used all over the world in road-making, they would plough down each side of the roadway and then fetch the muck up with scoops and built up the embankment. Their method there was that it was the local farmers who were doing the ploughing on contract work, there was an arrangement that each farmer got the job for the length of road through his land. So it evened things out a bit for the farmers who had land on the roadway, they each got the opportunity to earn a bit of extra money. They used to roughly scoop up on this job and then the natives, with wicker baskets would carry up the muck that was left and clean up the ditch way as they went along. Then it was stamped down with big lumps of wood on the end of a handle and that was their method of firming the road down before the timber was laid on it. Anyhow, he said he’d got the hang of the job alright, he had it explained to him how they run it and he got fixed up in his tent and I left him and went back to the main camp.
Now the method of handling labour there was that you didn’t have the same boss every day over the gang. By the way these bosses, they called them serangs, they were given a whip and they were permitted to use it on these boys although a European wasn’t allowed to do this. You’d make a fellow serang today and he’d knock hell out of them, well tomorrow you’d pick another one out and make him serang for that day. Well of course, the fellow that was serang the day before, he was lucky if he didn’t get a bloody good hiding before the day was out and it went on that way. These people were kept in a compound which was more to keep marauding animals out than to keep the boys in because none of them showed any signs of wanting to get away. That was the method of running the gangs.
Now on my job, I had a pumping engine, an old Galloway pumping engine, to look after as well as the pile driver and there was three boys on that. One was to cut the wood and the other one was to carry it and the other one was to look after the boiler, turn the water cocks on when the water got down to a certain level in the boiler and to keep a head of steam up. Regarding our personal servants, we all had four personal servants, we had a cook, his job was to cook and he wouldn’t do anything else, then we had a boy to fetch the wood and water and then we had a houseboy whose job was to keep the tent clean and to do my washing and then I had a personal servant who fetched me my meals and cleared the table away after me, went to the store if I wanted anything and all that sort of thing. Our method of drawing stuff from the stores, we had chits and we’d just fill in a chit and sign it and send it in with the boy and he got the stuff and that was booked up against you. We could buy what we wanted in the way of spirits from the stores but we’d been advised by the doctor before we left Johannesburg that we should lay off the drink, take as little as possible and to have nothing whatever to do with the coloured women. That was the urgent advice given to us by the company’s medical man, of course he gave the usual advice that if anybody made a mistake and didn’t follow these instructions he had to report it immediately.
Anyhow, next day we made a start at pile-driving. This plant hadn’t been run for some time because they had no one to take charge of it, it took a while to get together the necessary people to run the job. There was carpenters on the site but they’d been doing nothing for a week or two, in fact everybody’d been having a pretty easy time of it since the last engineer had left. We got things into ship shape order, got steam up in the old hammer and set the first pile up and started to drive it, it was pretty easy going, it was in very decent ground, there wasn’t much loose rock about to divert the point.
In those days the method of pile-driving was to set your pile up and hit it with a big deadweight, they hadn’t got down to the vibratory pile-drivers that you see in operation today. In our case we had to do something to prevent the top of the pile from splitting. The method used here was to pare the top of the pile down until a cap would fit over it, these were a tapered cap and you just dropped it on, if it was made a good fit it probably wouldn’t go right down but you dropped it on and then you knocked it down with the deadweight. You drove your pile until you struck bottom, in this case we were judged to have struck bottom when a full blow with the hammer didn’t drive the pile more than half an inch. When you got to that point you withdrew your driver, the carpenters came in and cut the pile off at the right height and level and you went along building your roadway as you drove your piles. Once everybody got used to the job it was very easy, everything went along swimmingly, before the end of the first week we got to the stage where we were driving eight piles a day and that’s pretty good going. The superintendent was very pleased with the gang.
It was the custom for people on these gangs to visit the surrounding farmhouses to buy such things as a few green vegetables, a chicken now and again or sometimes a sucking pig, anything that they had spare which could break the monotony of the diet. I found at first that these people treated you very warily, you weren’t welcome at all, that was the impression I got. But after a time, they got more friendly and after we’d been there for a few weeks they were inviting you to their home for a meal, I went to two or three places. We were invited out for picnics on the Sundays, I went to two or three of these. My trouble was that Charlie wasn’t a bit closer because I didn’t get to see him very often and I think that things would have been different if he’d been working with me and we had got to know more people and had something to pass our time away over the weekend. As it was, I only met him at the end of each month when we were going into town. Anyhow, we went along alright, I heard one or two rumours that Charlie was drinking a lot but I didn’t know whether to believe it or not.
The end of the first month came and we were to go to town. We all got dressed in our Sunday best, got aboard the old motor lorry and set off for Jo’burg. When we got into town Charlie said “We’d better look for somewhere to put up for the weekend.” I said “We’re going back to the Randfontein to put up.” He said “we’ll get locked up.” I said “I’ll bet we don’t.” To cut a long story short, we went back, went into the bar, asked for a drink and the bartender looked up and his head jerked a bit when he saw us but he never said anything, he drew the beer and passed it over and we paid for it, I said “Is the manager about?” He said “I think so.” I said “I’d like to see him.” In come the manager and he came round the front of the bar, he come dashing in and when he saw us he stopped dead. He didn’t say anything though so I said “Hello.” to him. He said “Hello.” I said “I suppose you thought you were never going to see us again.” He said “Aye, I thought it was something like that.” I said “Can we go in your office?” He said “Yes.” so we went into his office and I said to him “Ring for some drinks and then we can talk better.” Anyhow he said “There’s no need to do that, I’ve got some here.” So he brought a bottle out and gave us a drink. Between us we told him the story of how we were fixed when we came to his hotel the first time, we said we hated to do what we did but in our opinion it was the only thing we could do under the circumstances. He said “Well you might have come and told me, I would have trusted you.” I said “Aye and you might not.” Anyhow, I said “What do we owe you and can we have a room for the weekend? He said “When are you going back?” I said “We’re going back on Monday, now come on, how much do we owe you?” He said “We’ll settle it all up when you’re leaving on Monday, we’ll settle the whole lot then.”
So we stayed the weekend, had a good time and on the Monday morning we went into his office to settle up with him and said “What do we owe you?” He said “Well, this might surprise you, but owing to the fact that you came back when you needn’t have come back and were prepared to pay me the money that I thought you’d bilked me out of, I’m not going to charge you anything for this weekend and for those couple of days will you be my guests and it’s all on the house.” So of course we said thank you very much but we couldn’t quite make this out. So as we were walking down to the place where we were going to be picked up by the motor lorry I said to Charlie “It’s a funny thing but I don’t know what he’s got in his mind.” He said “Well, I do.” I said “What?” He said “When we go back we’ll tell everybody about him and the next time we go back there instead of there only being you and me at the Randfontein Hotel all the rest of the blokes’ll be there because I know quite a few of them aren’t satisfied with the place they’re staying at and would be glad to make a break.” I said “Perhaps that is it, we’ll see he gets as much publicity as possible.” We did see to it that he got the publicity and the next time that we went in I think there were about twelve of us staying there where there’d only been the two before so in a way, he was very wise in treating us the way he did. Of course we thought he was a very decent fellow as well.
Well, we carried on with the job and we were there for about three months. We were getting to the point where the river was our next objective and the grading gang was getting to the point where they would make a ten mile jump further ahead but on this particular weekend I’d been invited by one of the local farmers, or the local farmer’s wife I should say, to come to dinner, that’s the midday meal. I had asked her if she minded me bringing me pal along and she said “No, by all means.” By this time, the people round about had got to know we were Australians, it had slipped out somehow during a conversation. Anyhow it was known we were Australian but it didn’t seem to make any difference to these people.
I was talking to this woman on the day she gave me the invitation about the Australians during the Boer War, at that time she was a girl of about twenty. I asked her if it was true, the stories that we’d heard about the rape and pillage that was committed by the Australian bushman contingents and she said “Well, you can say that it was but a lot of the girls that were ‘raped’ were very willing to be raped and as far as the pillage was concerned these men were only doing what anybody else would have done if a farmer was giving information to the enemy or helping them in any other way, they just burned his farmhouse down and that was that. As far as I know they were no worse than anyone else.” But of course, what happened in most cases, the women that come in contact with them whose husbands were away from home, either in the army or on some kind of service, these girls, with their menfolk away, they were sometimes quite willing to fraternise with any troops which were available at the time but of course when they got in the family way and they had to make some explanation for it they claimed, to cover themselves, that they’d been raped. There were lots of cases where women which she knew claimed they had been raped by Australian soldiers and it had been nothing of the kind, they had been fraternising with the soldiers and going about with them. She said “Now we want to get away from all that and let sleeping dogs lie but you can take it from me that they weren’t as bad as they were made out to be.” But there is still a pretty keen hatred of the Australians in that part of the country.
Well I’d made arrangements with Charlie to come for the day and we were going to do a bit of shooting in the morning, going to this farm for our dinner and then we were going to spend the afternoon poking about and he was going back at night. Sunday came round and I expected him fairly early in the morning because he was only fifteen miles away, he was coming on a truck that they used to have for running about so I reckoned he should have been at my camp about eight or nine o’clock at the latest, but he didn’t turn up.
It got later and later and I thought he must have slept in. Anyhow he didn’t come and it got dinnertime and he still hadn’t come so I went off to this place to have dinner with them. I apologised for him, I said something must have gone wrong, he hadn’t turned up and let it go at that but when I went back at night I was worried about it and thinking about this rumour that he’d been drinking a lot and wondering whether he had gone on the bottle. So I went to the superintendent and I told him that I’d made arrangements for Charlie to come over and he hadn’t turned up and I wondered whether he was ill or something like that. He said “Well, the best thing to do is to go over and have a look, we’ll give the boys a day off in the morning and you and I will go over, I’ve got to go over there so you might as well come along with me.”
Anyhow, we set off. They’d just shifted their camp. The method was to make a ten mile jump with the camp every time and they’d camp five miles on from where they’d graded up to and then they’d work the grading along for ten miles so that they were never more than five miles from the camp. This meant that the boys wouldn’t have too far to walk to and from work. We got to the part of the road they were supposed to be grading and there was nothing going on, everything was lying with the exception of a Boer farmer who was doing some ploughing. We had a word with him and he said he hadn’t seen anything of ‘em or any of the boys either. This didn’t sound too good so we went on to the camp. When we got there there was no one in the compound, there wasn’t a bloody soul in the compound so the boss looked at me and he said “I don’t like the look of it, let’s go and see where Charlie is, he’s probably drunk in his tent.”
We went in his tent and he wasn’t there. Now there was a brush shelter which he’d built, there was a table and a few stools and that in it where he used to eat, there was also a bit of a bunk in the corner. When we went in we saw him lying on the bunk. Of course we thought he was asleep and I went up and grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him and I could see he wasn’t asleep, I could see blood. We examined him as best we could but he was dead then, he’d been dead for some time, in fact he was starting to deteriorate. I didn’t know what to do, I was absolutely shocked. The super said to me “Well, the only thing we can do is to send word to the commissioner.” I said “Well, that’s going to take a day or two.” He said “Yes, but that’s what we’ll have to do and in the meantime we’ll have to carry out the burial service ourselves. We can take a list of all his injuries, there’s nothing more that we can do about it.” So this was decided upon and we went to a place where the farm people had a burial ground. We were a bit too far outside the nearest town, a place called Potchefstroom, we couldn’t see any reason why we should take him in there, he hadn’t any relatives or anything and there was this little local cemetery so the farmer helped to dig the grave and made up a rough coffin and the superintendent read the burial service and that was that, we buried him. Anyhow next thing was to look for the boys where they were. The old super knew where to look for them, he wasn’t long before he had them rounded up, they’d all gone up into the bush. He got hold of one or two of them and made them serangs to go and look for the rest and in three or four hours we had ‘em all herded back into the compound and then he started his questioning. He couldn’t get to know anything at all, nobody knew what had happened, nobody saw anything happen, nobody knew anything. So he said “The best thing we can do is leave it to the commissioner to deal with, he’ll know what to do with them.” But we did a bit of questioning round the place and we found out that Charlie had been very foolish, he was beating the boys himself when they did anything wrong and when he got drunk he was giving odd ones of them a bit of whisky and gin or whatever he was drinking, a thing which was entirely taboo. All in all, it had been his own fault, although it seems a very hard thing to say, but it was the way he handled them that brought about his death. Him being dead I didn’t know what to do for a while. I went back to work but me heart wasn’t in it, I felt like pulling out. I knew I’d be letting this fellow down if I pulled out so I told him that the best thing he could do would be to look round for another man, that I wouldn’t leave straight away, but I’d go as soon as he could get somebody to take my place.
Well now, in the meantime, there was rumours of war between England and Germany, not that war had broken out at that time, it hadn’t, but you know the sort of rumours that go about before a war does break out and there was all sorts of rumours flying about. Of course in Africa there was a lot of Germans and their activities in South Africa were very significant. The governments at home were also worried because there was a statement in the paper that any Australians abroad who wanted to join the forces could apply to the district commissioners and arrangements would be made for them to be given a free passage home providing that when they got home they’d submit themselves for either the army or the navy. Well, knowing about this I was on tenterhooks to get away. They had a bit of a job finding someone so I had to stick it out a while longer, we went on and did our job but I was very glad eventually when old Croome come and told me that they had a fellow coming up from Durban to take over the job. As soon as he landed I packed me bags and set off for Jo’burg to settle up and then go down to Durban to wait for a boat home. I went into Johannesburg and I saw the Commissioner, he had me examined by a doctor and the doctor said I was OK. He gave me the necessary papers to go down to Durban and I had to present them there to the Australian agent which I did and he arranged for a passage for me back to Sydney.
[I promise that this isn’t 20/20 hindsight, but when father was telling me this story the crap detector in the back of my head was whining softly. There was something about his manner and what really bothered me was the fact that throughout the story he is the dominant partner in the team. He makes all the decisions, thinks up the wheezes and does his job perfectly. It wasn’t him that got murdered! Looking back now I’m of the opinion that this story hangs together too well to be pure invention. I have looked at what was happening in the districts he talks about and everything is a good fit. I think he must have heard the story of this experience from someone else who had actually been there and done the work. This adaptation of other people’s stories might explain also why his account of Gallipoli is so accurate.]
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Before I left Johannesburg, I went to the firm that I’d been working for, I’ve been trying to remember their name but I’m blowed if I can think of it, it was some construction company. They told me when I went in to draw me money and settle up with them that although they had no liability regarding Charlie’s death, they felt that they would like to do something for any dependents that he might have. They asked me whether he had any dependents, I said “As far as I know he has no one only his Mother and she’s an old woman between seventy and eighty years of age and I don’t know of any other relatives.” He said “Well, when you come in tomorrow morning to get your cheque I’ll have another talk with you, in the meantime I’ll speak to my partner.” Next morning when I went in to get me money he gave me my cheque across the table and he said “This is a bank draft on the Commercial bank at Dubbo and it’s made out in favour of Mrs Darling, I’m going to hand it to you to see that she gets it and there’s also a letter inside expressing our sympathy.” I thanked him very much and took his letter and left, I thought that was a very nice gesture because they had no liability whatever, he didn’t meet his death whilst he was on his job, he lost it whilst he was on the booze. They could have just said we’re very sorry and that’s that.
There was one thing before I forget, before I left the office this chap said to me “You know, I always knew that you were Australian.” I said “What do you mean, you always knew.” He said I didn’t know when I first engaged you but I soon got to know afterwards by the way you talked and the things you said.” I said “Well, if you’d have thought we were Australians would you have engaged us in the first place?” He said “Well, I don’t know, I think I would but I don’t know.” I said “Well, you didn’t sack us when you found out about it.” He said “Oh no, I didn’t and if you ever want a job again and you’re this way there’ll be a job for you whatever it is.” That pleased me immensely, I was leaving without any ill-feeling on either side and it was very pleasant to think that every thing had gone off as nicely as it did do after such a sad incident.
[Here’s the reality alert! The following section fits with the known chronology if it followed delivery of the cattle to Sydney sometime around May/June 1916.]
Well, we arrived back in Sydney and the first thing I had to do was to go to the military authorities and offer myself for enlistment so I went out to the artillery barracks in Paddington and handed in me papers. The officer in command said “Right, you’re the first one we’ve had that’s come from so far afield as that but let’s see how you shape up.” so he sent me first to the doctor for examination. The doctor examined me and when he finished examining me he said “Put your clothes on, wait there.” I sat down and waited and he come back about ten minutes afterwards. He said “It’s alright now, you can go into the commander’s office.”
Father at about this time.
The sergeant took me along and when we went in I expected to go in and sign up but this fellow said to me “Sit down.” so I sat down in the chair and he said “Well, you’ve come a long way to join the army haven’t you?” I said “Yes.” He said “Well, I’m sorry, we can’t take you.” I said “What do you mean, you can’t take me, what’s wrong?” He said “You’re not medically fit.” I said “I’m not medically fit? What’s the matter with me?” He said you’ve got a complaint which is known as varicocele.” I said “Oh, have I, I didn’t know I had it and I don’t know what it is.” He said “Well, it’s a varicose vein in your testicle.” I said “I didn’t know I had it, I’ve played football and cricket, I’ve worked hard, rode horses and all that sort of thing and I’ve never known that there was anything, I didn’t know there was anything there.” He said “Well, according to the medical officer it’s there.” so I said “What do I do? Do I go into hospital?” He said “Well you can if you like but you’ll have to go in at your own expense. We’re not empowered to operate on you to enable you to join up, if you were already joined up, then we could operate on you but your not so therefore, you’ll have to have the operation at your own expense.” So I said “Where do we go from here?” He said “You can go where you like as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more we can do with you.” I said to him “What about giving me a pass home?” It was a bloody cheeky thing to do but I thought I’ll try it. He said “Where is your home?” I said “It’s in Warren.” So he said “I’ll give you a voucher to Warren.” He straightaway wrote me out a railway voucher, I got the shock of me life when he gave it to me, it was only a try-on as far as I was concerned but it worked.
Now the reason I said Warren was that I wanted to go up to Warren and then write a letter home leaving them at home under the impression that I’d been up in the Western Districts all the time, I didn’t want them to know that I’d been to Africa. Anyhow, I went to Warren and stayed at the hotel, the old Royal, and wrote a letter home, I thought well, I’ll have to stop here a week or ten days just to give meself time to get a reply from Mother and all that sort of thing.
Whilst I was knocking about I met a fellow named Darwin Cato, he was the son of one of the biggest sheep farmers in the western districts, they run about two hundred thousand head of sheep and they owned the ground on each side of the river almost all the way from Warren down to the Overflow, not all the way but most of the way they’d got the river frontage. Darwin said that they were organising a pig shoot down at the overflow and asked me if I’d like to go along. I was very glad of the opportunity of going because I had nothing to do to pass me time away. I said “Well, I’ve got no gun or anything like that.” He said “Oh, we’ll fix you up with a rifle and we’ll go down this weekend.” I went out to their place on the Friday night and on the Saturday morning we hooked up a drag and took camping gear aboard and off we went down to the Overflow. The place we were going to was about forty miles from the station, we got down there sometime in the afternoon.
On the way down Darwin had been boozing and his brother, I can’t think of his older brother’s name, [Later remembers that it was Donald. I found a Donald Cato born 1899 Ulverstone Tasmania died 1970, could be the one.] he’d been on the bottle as well and there was two other lads from Sydney, I’ve forgotten their names. When we got to the camp I was the only one that was sober as I’d been driving the team. They didn’t bother about tents or anything, they just lay down under the shade of the nearest tree and went to sleep so I thought while they are asleep I’ll go and do a bit of shooting on me own.
So I took the rifle and a gun, a twelve bore shotgun and a thirty two rifle slung on me back. I’d never been in the reed-beds before, I had no idea what it was like only from what I’d heard people say. There’s runs through these reed-beds where the wild pigs make a run, they keep to it and it’s like a path about two to three feet wide where the floor is padded down fairly solid, you occasionally come to some places where there’s some ooze and you bog up to your knees in it, but you could get along fairly well. I went in this place and I’d been walking quite a while, I’d heard nothing and seen nothing when all of a sudden I saw the head of a snake go across the path in front of me. He was a big diamond snake, I don’t know how long he was but it seemed to me it took him about half an hour to cross the path. I thought oh blow this, I’m getting out so I set off out. I just got near the edge of the reed-beds when I disturbed an old boar pig, he just jumped up and come straight at me because there was nowhere else for him to go on this path only at me. I threw the shotgun away and hopped it! Fortunately I was only about twenty yards into the bed and I got out and there was a stunted old box tree about twenty yards away and I went up this tree like a rat up a drain spout, he just rushed past and took no further notice of me and went off back into the reed-bed. I thought oh bugger this shooting, I’ll go and see if I can find the shotgun and go back to camp. Anyhow, I did this and when I got back I had to put their tents up for them, they were still out for the count.
The next morning they were all suffering from a hangover and none of them wanted to go shooting. As far as shooting was concerned the weekend was a complete washout, none of us ever shot anything, we never saw anything to shoot, it was just a boozing expedition as far as they were concerned. I think that was the idea in the first place, their father was very strict about drink and both of them liked a booze up now and again so I think the whole thing was engineered and arranged to get away for a weekend on the booze. [I can’t find a record of Darwin Cato but there was a Cato family in Sydney who were very strong Methodists and would therefore be strict abstainers in 1916.]
On the Sunday afternoon they’d sobered up and we were sat in the shade talking about one thing and another and it came up that this country that we were in was Clancy country. Clancy, the great drover and stock rider, Clancy of the Overflow. We got talking about him and somebody mentioned ‘the Man from Snowy River’. This led on to us talking about the various Australian poets that there’d been, people like Banjo Patterson, Henry Lawson and Adam Lindsay Gordon and Darwin said to me “You seem to know a lot about these fellows?” I said “Well, I ought to do, I’ve read them over and over again.” He said “Do you know any of the pieces of poetry that they wrote?” and I said “Yes, I know dozens of ‘em.” He said “Well come on, give us a recitation.” So I said “What about ‘The Man from Snowy River’?” and he said “That’ll do fine, we’re all interested in horses” Of course, it’s people who are interested in horses that’s interested in recitations of this kind so I made a start and the story goes something like this..... [Father recites the whole of the poem from memory on the tape and because it is so much part of the story, here it is.]
The Man From Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast;
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won't say die
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited, sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough;
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."
So he went; they found the horses by the big mimosa clump,
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."
So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and Kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
no man can hold them down the other side."
When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull
It well might make the boldest hold their breath;
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
He sent the flint-stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.
He was right among the horses as they climbed the farther hill,
And the watchers on the mountain, standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely; he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
They lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges—but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.
And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam;
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten; then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.
And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reed-beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The Man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
That story was composed by Banjo Patterson but about the same period there was another man called Henry Lawson, his famous book was called ‘While the Billy Boils’ but he was more on the comic side, he always seemed to see the funny side of things. Then there was another great poet, Adam Lindsay Gordon. Now Adam Lindsay Gordon was born in Scotland and he came of a very good family, he went to college and eventually into the army. He was cashiered from the army because in one of the army point-to-point race meetings he got hold of a horse and had it painted and entered it in a race which he won, the painting and dotting had been found out by the authorities and that was the end of him as far as the army was concerned. He went to Australia, he did almost everything in Australia from cattle-droving to being a member of parliament. He wrote a number of poems some of which have now been graded as classics but in his lifetime he never became popular with the general public, as a matter of fact he died a pauper in a garret in Melbourne. Today, once a year, thousands of people go to put flowers on his grave, it always seemed to me to be a great pity that his ability and talent was not recognised whilst he was still living. Banjo Patterson was a real Australian, he lived Australia, he believed in Australia and he knew Australia from coast to coast and he wrote some very fine poems about the outback. There doesn’t seem to have been any other great poets apart from these three which has come up in Australia but I dare say that in time to come when a lot of the contemporary writers are dead, people will start to appreciate their ability.
Anyhow, we left the Overflow and went back to Cato’s station, this I think was somewhere about Tuesday or Wednesday. Darwin Cato asked me if I would stay on a few days, they were having a cricket match at the weekend and he’d like me to stay and play for the station team. As I had nothing better to do, I was only killing time waiting for a reply from home, I agreed to stay. Well, we did go into Warren and when I got there I found a letter waiting for me from home, also a letter from Bertha White whom I had written to from Sydney. I had a yen to see her and I wrote to her and told her that I proposed to come and visit them for a day or two. Anyhow, in her letter she said that it wouldn’t be convenient for me to pay a visit to the farm but if I’d come down to Orange she’d arrange to come and meet me at the hotel, I’ll tell you more about that a little later on.
We went back to get ready for this cricket match. It was a lot of chaps coming up from the College in Sydney that Donald, that’s his name, had been educated at, they were making up a scratch team from round about to play against these fellows, of course Donald was playing with the university boys. Well, it was just like any other country cricket match but this fellow Donald, he was one of those blokes that knew everything. He was always telling you what you ought to be doing and if somebody bowled a good ball or made a good catch he always put it down to good luck or a fluke or something like that. Anyhow, he’d scored about twenty runs and Darwin, who was captaining our side, put me on to bowl. I said “I can’t bowl Darwin, I’m no match for these blokes.” He said “You go in and send a few down and you might be lucky.” Anyhow, I had a go and I used to bowl a ball, a back spinner and it was a ball that, when it hit the ground, it just stopped for a moment. The third ball I sent down, old Donald made swipe at it, he hit over the top of it and I took his stump, he was as mad as wet hen because he’d been bowled by a mug. When we went in afterwards he said to me “You couldn’t have done that again in a thousand years, I had a look afterwards and the ball landed in a hole about two inches deep and stuck there for a second before it rolled on and that’s how I got out.” Anyhow he did get out and the country team beat the college boys, I think we beat them by about nine or ten runs or something like that. We had a good time and a good weekend and on the Monday I went into Warren and packed me bags to go down to Orange to meet Bertha White.
I’d written to her and told her when I’d be down there. I went to the hotel and sure enough, when I got there, she was there so I asked her why she didn’t want me to go out to her home and she said “Well, I didn’t want you to come out home because certain things have happened and I thought you might feel uncomfortable.” Anyhow, we talked for a bit and I got out of her what had happened, she’d become engaged to be married. I thought that’s a very good thing, I always had the idea that she was expecting me to marry her. Anyhow we talked away and went to the pictures and came back home again to the hotel, I said “When are you going home?” She said “They’re coming for me tomorrow.” so I said “Oh.” , I told her I was very glad she was going to get married and settle down. Apparently her Father and this lad’s Father had got together and were setting them up on a little farm and I thought well that’s just the job for her but before I left, or before she left in the morning, she told me that if I wanted to marry her she’d tell this bloke that all was off and we’d get married and I said no, it was best to let things go as they are because I’d be no good to her, she’d do better with this chap than she would with me. So she accepted that and it was the fellow himself who had come to pick her up. He took a very dim view when he found out that she’d been in there seeing me but we had a talk about it and I talked him round and we left good enough friends. I said goodbye and I never saw either of them again. [Already married of course so I don’t know what’s going on here. I found a Bertha H M White born to Charles E H White and Agnes E (36154/1897 Wagga Wagga) and a marriage for the same Bertha (16134/1916 Hamilton) to Henry C Webb which seems to fit.]
I went home to Dubbo and spent a day or two going round visiting all the friends and relations and I really enjoyed being back home for once in a while. Mother seemed to be very amenable, we didn’t have any rows or anything like that and everything was very happy. I took Molly to a show or two and I took Mother to a show. All the news was about trouble on the continent and I decided to go and look for a job but I didn’t feel like settling down, I had a bit of money but I thought I’d better get away from home before we did fall out with each other so I said goodbye and went off to Cobar to the copper mines.
I got a job in the mines. I worked there for a while and whilst I was there, war broke out. [4 August 1914 but obviously wrong unless this is actually a rerun of his first account of Cobar and Broken Hill.] Everybody was talking about the war and they were urgently calling for volunteers to join the army. I thought well the best thing I can do is go and see about this operation and get into the army, so I packed in at the copper mine and went back to Dubbo.
Dubbo hospital in 1884 from Bill Hornadge’s book. Probably essentially what it looked like thirty years later.
When I got there I went to see a surgeon that I knew very well, a man named Burkitt. I asked him to examine me and he said he couldn’t find anything wrong with me. I said “Well, they told me that I’d got varicocele.” He said you might have but the best thing to do is to get another doctor’s opinion then we can decide what ought to be done.” I said “Well, there’s only one thing to be done and that’s to have an operation.” He said “yes, if you’ve got varicocele, go round and see Doctor Adams, he’s a physician and get him to examine you and if he thinks you have varicocele and you need an operation then come back and see me.”
So I did this and Adams examined me and said “Oh yes, you’ve got varicocele alright, how have you got it? Have you had an accident?” I said “No. Not that I know of.” He said “It’s funny, you must have had some sort of an accident to get this, to rupture this blood vessel because it has been ruptured.” I said “Could I get it playing football?” He said “You could do but I don’t really think that you would.” I mentioned this accident I had when I jumped out of the pavilion at the racecourse and he said “Aye, that could cause the trouble, that’s probably what’s happened, you got a shock when you jumped from that pavilion.” My left leg always was bad after that, as a matter of fact it’s about an inch and a half shorter than the other leg. He said that that was due to some injury to the hip joint. Anyhow, I went back to see Burkitt and asked him whether he’d operate. He said yes and I asked him how much it was going to cost me, he said “Well, I don’t know, fifteen or twenty pounds, it won’t be more than twenty pounds.” I said “When can you operate?” He said that it could be done straight away so we made arrangements for me to go into hospital the next day. They operated on me the following day, Adams was the anaesthetist and Burkitt did the operation.
Well the operation went off all right and I was out of hospital in about three weeks time but I wasn’t right. [I’d guess at August 1916] I couldn’t offer meself for enlistment in the army until I got right so I had to spend a bit of time convalescent. I went to see the district superintendent on the railway and I told him all the history of my case and I asked him if he could find me a bit of temporary work, a light job, until I was completely well and was able to go into the army. He said “I don’t know anywhere now but if you come and see me tomorrow or the next day I’ll have something for you.” When I did go back to see him he said “I got just the job for you, you can go out to Curban on the Dubbo to Coonamble line and book any stock or wool or any goods that might be loaded there for despatch.” They told me at the station what I had to do, what sort of book-keeping it was and that sort of thing and they also told me that one of the fettlers lived in a house at the siding and they’d be able to put me up for the time that I was there.” So I went to see the superintendent and thanked him and he said “You can stay there until you’re fit, it’s something and nothing of a job but we can justify you being there so you go out and take it easy and get well as soon as you can.”
So off I went to Curban. I’d been there about a fortnight, I wasn’t feeling too good but I wasn’t feeling too bad. Then one night I felt sore in the groin and I kept feeling to see if I could find anything and I felt a small lump, I thought it was probably nothing and it would get better but it got worse very rapidly. I stuck it for two or three days and it seemed to me like a boil that was coming up, it had no head on it, it was just an angry red lump. It got that bad I could hardly walk so I said to the people where I was staying that I wasn’t feeling too good and I was going back to Dubbo. I got on the train, and went back to Dubbo.
The train gets into Dubbo from Coonamble about half past four or five o’clock in the afternoon. I got off the train and I thought the best thing for me to do is go down to the doctor now, I was feeling pretty bloody awful. It wasn’t very far, only about half a mile and I thought I’ll walk it so I walked down and I got into this street where the doctor’s surgery was and this pain got terrific, it was so bad that I couldn’t walk, I was hanging on to the railings as I went along. There was houses on the side of the street that I was on and I’m going along hanging on to these railings when all of a sudden a policeman loomed up. He said he was going to run me in for being drunk, he thought I was drunk. Anyhow, after a while I convinced him that I wasn’t drunk but ill and I said “Instead of standing there and telling me what you’re going to do to me help me across to Burkitt’s surgery!”
So he did this after a while and Burkitt come out and said to me “How are you going on?” I said “I’m bloody awful, have a look at this.” so I went into the surgery, he put me on a couch and took me trousers down and had a look at it. He never said anything to me, he just looked at it and said “You’ll have to go into hospital.” I said “When.” He said “Now.” I said “Is it that bad?” He said “You’ll have to have an immediate operation.” So I said “Why, what’s gone wrong?” He said “I don’t know but there’s something gone wrong and you’ll have to be operated on right away because you’ve got blood poisoning.” So I said “Well, we’d better send for a cab and I’ll go to hospital in a cab.” He said “We won’t do anything of the kind, you’ll go with me.” He put me in his car and took me up to the hospital himself.
They got me into bed and he came out to see me, he said to me “Normally we would operate on you tomorrow morning but I think this is so very urgent that if you agree I propose to do it immediately.” I said “Well, what does that mean.” He said “Well it means that you’ll have to have the operation without an anaesthetic, it isn’t all that terrible, I’m only going to put a small incision in, what about it?” I said that’s all right with me, anything to stop this pain, it’s driving me crackers.” So they got me into the operating theatre and somebody held me feet and somebody me hands and somebody me head and he cut me open but it didn’t stop me seeing that as soon as he put the first incision in I saw something jump out through the hole. I saw him shove it away into a kidney bowl that was lying on the table and I said to him “What’s that?” and he said “Oh it’s nothing, it’s only discharge.” Anyhow, when he finished, he didn’t seem to do much more than that, he put a tube in, stitched me up and they put me back into bed.
I tackled him again about this thing that jumped out when he cut me open and he said “It’s nothing at all, it’s just that there was a hard core there and it popped out as soon as I made the incision.” Well I got no more information from him but a day or two afterwards I got to know from a nurse that I was friendly with that when they’d operated on me in the first place, owing to some mistake, they left a clip inside me, it was one of those clips that they put on a blood vessel to stop bleeding. They’d completed the operation and this thing was left in and that’s what caused the abscess to start to form. Well, I was in hospital for six weeks with that, I kept having abscess after abscess and the pain was something bloody terrible but eventually I got alright and got out of hospital. [Mid September?] Min prevailed upon me to go and stay with her for a while until I got a bit stronger because they thought it was a bit too much for Mother to look after me and Doris was going out to work so I went along and stayed with her. I was about two or three months before I was able to get about but as soon as I was fit I went and offered meself for enlistment and I was accepted. [Definite enlistment date of November 6th 1916 at Dubbo. Notice that there is no mention of Norma.]
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I probably wouldn’t have rushed into the army so quickly if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was scared of what would happen between Min and meself, she was doing her damnedest to get me to team up with her. She said that she had enough money to buy a hotel and if I was to go with her we could go away somewhere and start in a business on our own. She was so blatant about this relationship that Mother was getting to know about it and she was throwing out some dirty hints so I thought bugger it, the one way out of this is to get into the army. In the meantime, George Gain had come out of prison and immediately joined up, I don’t think he finished his time, I think they offered certain classes of convict a pardon if they joined the army. [When father joined the army his wife’s address was given as c/o A McDonald, Fitzroy Street Dubbo so I think we can substitute Norma for Min as far as pressure to join up is concerned. We also have the comment by Molly of May 6th 1920, “He had a lot of trouble in his home life before he went to the war and hoped that his going would change things but I am afraid he was sadly disappointed.” As father would say in later years, there seems to have been a ‘rift in the lute’.]
Anyhow, George joined the army and he was only in a week or two and they were off to Egypt. [I had never been able to find any record of George in the army but Sandra Smith at Dubbo Library came up trumps when she found that he enlisted as George Skinner and was killed in action on 27th August 1915 and so he could have been at Gallipoli.] Just at that time Molly’s Mother died, her family went to live with some of her relations and Molly went to live at home with Mother and Father. [There is a death certificate for Ellen Jane Skinner mother of Molly and daughter of George and Catherine at Dubbo in 1915. 17640/1915. This would be the time when Molly was said to be looking after little Vera Mary Grace born 15th December 1906, died 11 July 1986 buried Dubbo. Married Bryce Lang, (daughter Marianne, grandchildren Michelle and Leon)] When I got into the army everybody felt a lot better because of this business with Min. I had words with Mother about it and I told her she had nothing to worry about as I didn’t intend to do anything that would cause any scandal, to my great surprise, she said to me “Do you know you almost broke Molly’s heart.” I said “What do you mean, almost broke Molly’s heart?” She said “Well, Molly’s very fond of you.” I said “I’m very fond of Molly but not in that way, anyhow if I’ve broken Molly’s heart I’ll have a talk to her.” which I did but Mother was only dreaming because whilst Molly was very worried it was only because she didn’t want to see me getting into a mess. She said that the agreement we had made years before that we would regard each other as brother and sister still stood as far as she was concerned so I was quite happy about that.
Father with an unknown mate. Looks like a first photograph in uniform.
We spent the next week or so going through the various performances like doctors, dentists, eyesight tests and all sorts of things. [Enlistment date at Dubbo is 6th of November 1916] They never found out I had a bad eye because the method of testing your eyes was that you put your hand over your face to read the letters. Well when I come to reading them with me right eye I just put me hand over me left eye and left the fingers apart so I could read them that way, whether the fellow saw me and didn’t take any notice or not I dunno but they didn’t ask any questions and I was passed out OK. We were given twenty four hours leave and told we were going down to Sydney, to Liverpool racecourse to prepare for embarkation. One thing I dreaded was Mother coming to see me off at the station because I knew that she’d cut up very rough so I went home and said goodbye to her there and asked her not to come down to the station but anyhow when we left aboard the train, Mother was there but she was very good, she didn’t go into hysterics or anything like that and we eventually got off.
We landed at Liverpool racecourse next day and the real training started then. I’d joined up for the Light Horse but I could tell from the training we were getting that it had nothing to do with horses, in fact I never saw a horse all the time I was there. I asked to be paraded to the Colonel and I pointed out to him that I joined for the Light Horse and he said “Oh, you’ll get drafted to them when we get out there but we’ve got to put you through an infantry brigade now because we haven’t got enough fellows for the Light Horse to warrant forming a separate unit.” Anyhow I thought that’s what you say but I have me doubts about it.
Whilst we were at Liverpool there was an outbreak of meningitis, that held us up for a bit. We used to be paraded every morning and the order was anyone with a pain at the back of their head step forward. If you had a pain and you stepped forward you was whizzed off to a bit of an isolation camp and they were dying like flies. Anyhow I never felt any pains at the back of me head or anything and after about three weeks we were all ready to go aboard and we were given 48 hours embarkation leave.
Well I hadn’t time to go home and come back but I thought if I don’t go home there’ll be a lot of hard feelings so I went to the Colonel and I asked him if I could have immediate leave, if I could get away immediately I could get home and back on the next train and then be back in time to see relations in Sydney and be in time for embarkation. He said “Well, it can be arranged but we’ll have to do something about your kit because you’re going down to Centennial Park to muster for embarkation, so you’ll have to make some arrangements for someone to take your kit down to Centennial Park. If you do that I’ll grant you immediate leave.” This meant that I would be able to go home and have the day with them and then come back on the night train.
Father’s mother Lillian at about this time.
So I did this but of course, nobody at home knew I was coming so when I got there, there was Mother and Doris and the two kids and of course I went to see Min and her family. Funnily enough when I went to see her she had a bloke there and they looked as though they were doing a bit of courting. Anyhow I said goodbye to her and she said I’ll come and see you off at the station tonight and when it come time to go back I said “Where’s Father?” she said “he’s down in Wellington, we’ve sent him a wire but I don’t think he’ll be able to get home.”
So I got on the train to go back at night and when I got to Wellington, who should be there but the Old Man. He came to say goodbye, we didn’t have long to talk together because the train only stopped there for about two or three minutes, he never said anything much until the train started to go, he just stood there and had hold of me hand. When the train started to move he jumped on the running board and he kissed me, I could see tears in his eyes, he jumped off and that was the last I saw of him.
This parting had a great emotional effect on me particularly because of the doubt that I had whether I was really his son or not. The only inkling I had had that time that I might not be his son, I got from Jim. That was one day when we were having a row, something came up about the MacDonalds, something was said about them and he said to me “Well you’ve no right to call yourself MacDonald anyhow.” I said “Why is that?” and he said “Well you’re not a MacDonald, you ask Mother about it, she’ll tell you.” So anyhow, I did ask Mother and I didn’t get any further with her because when I asked her she went into a towering rage and almost into hysterics and by the time I’d got her quietened down I’d forgotten for the moment about this thing which was uppermost in my mind. Therefore, I was gratified to see the show of emotion made in saying goodbye because it didn’t appear to me to be the attitude that a man would have for someone who wasn’t his son, anyhow, for the time being, that had to be left just where it was, I was no further towards getting a clear statement of the position. [I think we now have an explanation for this. Alex McDonald had taken Lillian away from Mudgee and her husband sometime before father was born but they didn’t get married until Christmas 1910. So when father was born she was probably still legally Lillian Prince or her maiden name and so father’s name couldn’t have been McDonald. This was probably what Jim meant, not an aspersion on Leslie’s parentage but on his right to the name and might have been because he was in the same position, he was Jim Prince of course. Funnily enough I found myself in exactly the same position because when I was born my mother was still married to another man. As the law stood in UK in 1936 I had the choice of four names, McDonald, Graham, Challenger or Bowker!]
When we got into Sydney the next morning I went to see friends and relations and spent the day drinking innumerable cups of tea and pints of beer. We were supposed to be back with the battalion by twelve o’clock midnight, but by six o’clock I just seemed to be hanging about waiting. I was at Stan’s house and I said to him and Sadie “I think the best thing I can do is get back to camp, I’ll have to find me kit and get everything ready for embarkation in the morning.” [Stan enlisted January 15th 1917 so this fits.] Anyhow, I went to camp and me kit was there in the guardroom for me, I found the rest of the company, reported to the guard and they took me pass off me. Then I went and reported to our commanding officer, the man on duty that night was a man named Lt. Chapple. [Later research revealed: Lt. Charles Bolingbrooke Chapple, 4th DAC, 13/02/15. Returned to Australia 15/04/18. Almost certainly the same officer]
Uncle Stan, the man I was named after, on enlistment in 1917.
Then I went to the canteen and had a drink or two and something to eat, at about half past eight they sent for me to the guardroom. When I went there the officer of the guard said “We’ve got a visitor for you.” and I said “Who is it?” and he said “It’s your sister Molly.” So I said “Well, what’s she doing here?” He said “She’s come to see you.” So anyhow, he took me through into the office and Molly was there. He said to me “What do you want to do? Do you want to go out now?” I said “Well, I’ve handed me pass in.” He said “That’s alright, I’ve got it here, it’s been cancelled but I’ll initial it and as long as you’re back at twelve o’clock everything will be alright.” So I got me pass and off we went.
I didn’t know where to go and I said “Have you had anything to eat?” and she said “Yes. I’ve had me tea.” I said “Shall we go and have a cup of coffee and have something to eat, we can’t go to a show now, it’s too late and although I’m not very hungry we can go to one of these dago restaurants and have something to eat.” We did this and then we went and sat in the park. It’d be about half past nine when we got in the park and of course we were only a stones throw away from where the battalion was so we just sat on a seat and talked. We had a heart to heart and really we were both very fond of each other I think, I know I was fond of her but not in the way that one would think about marriage or anything like that, anyhow she was older than me. We just sat there and talked about days gone by, the good times we’d had together and all that sort of thing. Anyhow it came quarter to twelve and she walked back with me to the guard room and we said goodbye and promised to write to each other. We both had a bit of a cry, anyhow the officer said he would arrange for one of the permanent staff to see her home and this he did do, she told me in a letter that she wrote me afterwards. [I have no evidence but a strong feeling that this was Norma trying to patch things up. We shall never know.]
Next morning we were woken up about four o’clock, got our things together, went down to Wooloomooloo Dock and went aboard His Majesties Australian Troopship Number Seven which was the old Beltanah one of the old government owned boats which travelled between Australia and England. [She sailed at 2.30pm on Saturday Nov 25th 1916.] She was about fourteen thousand tons and she was a well-deck type of boat with a top speed of about twelve or thirteen knots. There was quite a few of these boats owned by the Australian Commonwealth, there was the Beltanah, the Bendigo, the Ballarat, the Banally and they were all sister ships to the Waratah, although the Waratah wasn’t owned by the Australian government. A lot of older people will remember her, she disappeared between Durban and Capetown in about 1912 or 1913, I’m not quite sure which. There was never any sign of her afterwards, not even lifeboats or rafts, she just disappeared completely.
Her Majesty’s Australian Troopship Beltana. [Read Gray’s diary of this voyage and compare with Father’s account. See the research appendix.]
Anyhow, we got settled down aboard and were allocated our various places where we ate and slept, we had to look forward to a period of getting our sea legs. We didn’t pull in at Melbourne, we stopped to pick up some troops but we stood out in the stream and they were brought out by lighter so we didn’t get a look at anybody at the Melbourne docks, we went off from there and our next port of call was Fremantle. We put into Fremantle and we were given shore leave there, we spent it by going swimming. There was the usual crowds of people, wherever troops massed there was people running along giving them things and exchanging addresses and all that sort of thing. In the crowd I picked up a girl named Driffield, I forget her other name but there was two sisters of them, their Father was a surveyor in the Lands Office and we exchanged addresses. They promised to write to me and I promised to write to them and that was all I ever saw of them, I only saw them as I was marching along in column. I did write to her afterwards and they certainly didn’t forget me, they sent me parcels and lots of little things, they continued to send them right throughout the period of the war.
Well, when we’d got what we put in for at Fremantle we put to sea again and we were out of Fremantle about three or four days I think, when the alarm went up, there was a fire in one of the holds. Well they got the fire-fighting gang on the job but they didn’t seem to be making much headway with this fire, it was getting worse. I suppose the colonel in charge of the troops and the ship’s captain must have had a pow-wow and they decided that the safest thing would be to turn around and put back into Fremantle. Well, this meant, steaming full speed ahead, at least three days to get back into Fremantle. Then rumours went round the ship that there was explosives in the hold and the ship might go up any minute. The decks was being crowded by soldiers ready to jump over the side if there was an explosion.
Although the authorities knew there was no explosives in this hold, they called the men together and they told them time after time, but you could hear the fellows mumbling amongst themselves, its all right them telling us that, they’re just hoping for the best. Somebody said they daren’t take the covers off those hatches and that’s why they can’t fight the fire, they’re frightened if they took the covers off there’d be too much air get in and the whole ship’d go up. Well, the fire was burning pretty good because I noticed at night time, every time that we plunged into a wave, there was steam coming off the side of the ship which meant that the plates were getting pretty hot. Things got so bad in the finish that the captain ordered everybody below and a lot of the fellows wouldn’t go below. They mustered a guard, there was so many from each platoon in this guard, I was one of them. We were given live ammunition and we were put at the stair heads into all the holds with orders to shoot anyone who tried to come out. I don’t know whether I’d have shot anyone, I might have hit them with the rifle but anyhow nobody tried to come out so I was never put to the test.
Eventually we got back into Fremantle. The fire tender was standing by, we were disembarked and we were sent up to a camp at Perth whilst they dealt with the fire. I understand they had it under control and out in a very short time once the boys that knew what they were doing got at it. The ship hadn’t taken any harm apparently, she was still considered seaworthy and I think we’d been in Perth about a week when we were told that we were going back to Fremantle the next day to go aboard. [See the diary of Gray in the appendix for his, much less exciting, account of this incident which happened before they arrived at Fremantle.] We did this and set out for Durban. Well, it was a very uneventful trip to Durban apart from the fact that there was a lot of seasickness. It was the only time I’ve ever been seasick in me life, there’s fellows running to the side and heaving their heart up and others sitting round about that looked as though they might do it any minute. I was trying to make them sick by pretending to vomit meself and all of a sudden I did vomit and I was as sick as a dog for about ten minutes. As soon as I got the first spasm over I was alright again but I kept meself to meself after that and I didn’t bother to poke fun at other people who were sick, it taught me a lesson.
We had some sickness aboard, I myself was in the sick berth for a few days, I had a touch of malaria but it wasn’t anything serious, I was soon out and about again. [According to his medical record it was a cold in the head.] But there was one man aboard with appendicitis and they decided that he’d have to be put ashore. They pulled in to put him ashore at Mauritius and we couldn’t get in there. He had to be put into a boat, they lowered him on a stretcher with a winch and into this small boat and he was taken ashore in this boat. We didn’t get a chance to get ashore but we did get a chance whilst we were stopped there to do a bit of shark fishing, we just had butcher’s hooks out of the galley with a lump of meat on and we were chucking ‘em overboard and the sharks were taking them as fast as we could throw them in. A lot of them were too big for us to haul up but we did get one or two on deck. Then the old man came down from the bridge and started playing merry hell with us, he made us throw the things back again and stop messing his ship up. [Gray tells almost the same story but places it at Fremantle.]
[From here on Father’s account of the voyage of the Beltana is fiction. She actually sailed to Capetown, Sierra Leone and Devonport arriving on January 29th 1917. Once more, I’ll issue a reality alert when we get there!] It was very monotonous, we left Durban and we made our way up towards the canal. The reason why we were going to Durban was that we had to pick up a convoy there, I can’t think of the name of the naval base there, anyhow we got in this convoy and we went up towards the canal. We were off-loaded at Alexandria and from there we were sent to Mersa Matruh to guard a chlorination plant which was being erected there. After we’d been there for a week or two we were sent back to Cairo. The camp we were in was just outside Cairo, I think it was called Tel el Kebir as far as I can remember. Anyhow I know there was little single decker trams used to run into Cairo and when we got leave we used to get on these trams. It was like a swarm of bees, there was men on the running boards, men on the roof, I suppose the trams would seat about forty people and there’d be anything up to one hundred and fifty, sometimes when the drivers tried to put us off we put the driver off and drove the trams ourselves. Anyhow we had a wild and uproarious time for a few weeks and then we were mustered up into the Australia New Zealand Army Corps which should have had another name added to it because the Manchester Regiment was put in with us to make up the corps. I think it was the twelfth Manchesters that made up the corps. We were told that we were going on to the peninsula but we were also told that it was a piece of cake. All that we had to do was go in there and take the peninsula from Johnny Turk and just sit back and hold it. Well, there’s nothing could have been further from the truth.
I don’t profess to know very much about what happened there, all I know is that we landed [Invasion was 25 April 1915 19 months before he left Australia.] at the wrong place and that we were in water up to our neck when we left the landing craft and when we got ashore, there was a cliff that seemed to me to be about two hundred feet high, in fact it was about half that. Anyhow with struggling and hauling and cursing we got up this cliff and got our light field guns up as well and in the meantime we’d lost a lot of people because we were under direct machine gun fire from the Turks but eventually we gained a footing on the top and got roughly dug in.
Well that was the beginning of one of the most uncomfortable and unhappy periods of my life and of course the lives of a lot of others. There was a shortage of water, there was a shortage of food, by this I mean a variety of food, there was plenty of tinned stuff but nothing to break the monotony of biscuits and bully beef and pork and beans. The organisation, altogether, was pretty terrible. We, as soldiers, didn’t know much about what was going on, all we knew was that everything seemed to be going wrong, we didn’t know then and I don’t know now, who was to blame for it. Officers were blaming one another and the Navy and the Army seemed to be at loggerheads. The Navy was supposed to come up to support an advance that we were going to make, they came too late and when they did come they were dropping the shells in amongst us instead of in front of us. I think our own Navy killed almost as much as what the Turks did in that advance.
It seemed to me that it was stalemate until word went round that we were going over the top next morning and we were going to take the peninsula. When it come round to getting on for zero hour, everyone was on pins and needles and when we did go over the top eventually, this was just before dawn, we could see that no one on either side of us was going. Apparently the hop over had been cancelled but they’d forgot to tell the officer commanding our lot or he hadn’t understood the order, I don’t know what it was. Anyhow, we went over and we went so far and then we were ordered to retreat, we went back again and just as we got back the other two lots went over on either side of us and they were left with a gap and they got a blasting. Then we were ordered to go over again. Eventually we got almost to the top, we had opposition, but it wasn’t anything like we were to see in France. Mind you, this was the first time we had been under fire in an advance and we didn’t know much about it. It seemed like all hell let loose to me. Anyhow, we got over most of the top and then for some unknown reason, we got orders to retire. We went back down into the trenches again.
Well, nothing happened for a couple of days, and then we got word that we were going over again the next morning, so we did. In the meantime the Germans had got a lot of field guns up to the Turks and they had some big guns standing back with shrapnel and they gave us one god-almighty pasting. There was fellows that got wounded, and it was full of ravines and gullies, there was no level country to work on, lots of these fellows that were wounded, they weren’t found for days and when they brought them in they were absolutely fly-blown. Some with their tongues black where they hadn’t had a drink for a couple of days and it was all of one hundred and forty or fifty in the shade I’ll bet, it was just like standing in a furnace.
Anyhow, it just ground on and we were sent out one night with a reconnaissance party, the idea was to get over into the Turkish lines and if possible, get through them and find out what was at the back. We got through but we got caught coming back and we were taken prisoner. They took us down on to a bit of a plain and we were put into this compound. The compound was only wire-netting, it wasn’t barbed wire, they must have been short of barbed wire, it was a wire-netting compound. There were no guards in the compound, it was Turkish women that were looking after the feeding of the prisoners and that. I don’t know whether some of our fellows had had a talk with these women or how it happened but I knew nothing at all about what was going on until, at teatime when they were coming round, they gave us a little parcel each. I was saying “what’s this?” and one of the blokes said “Never mind what it is, you’ll find out later on.” So when it got dark this woman came back and she led us out to where there was a hole in the wire netting, somebody had cut a hole in it.
When we got through, she’d given directions as to which way to go to get back again. Anyhow, we set off, we had no idea what time it was because none of us had a watch, we thought we were going to get caught on the wrong side of the Turkish lines in the daylight. We were looking for somewhere to hole up and we found what we thought was a cave. So we went into this cave, we kept going on and on and on, and eventually we decided it must be some sort of a tunnel, we thought it might go right through and come out the other side. We decided we’d try it so we went on, oh, we must have gone about a mile in this tunnel and eventually we heard a noise. We listened and we couldn’t hear very well what was going on or what was being said so we sneaked along until we come to a place where the tunnel turned slightly. Just around the corner we could hear these voices and they were talking in a foreign language, we didn’t listen long enough, if we’d listened longer we’d have realised who they were. We just listened and thought it must be either Turks or Germans or somebody, we had no ammunition or weapons of any kind so we decided that we’d all get as many stones as we could carry and we’d rush them, try to overpower them and get their arms off them.
Anyhow we made a rush for it, shouting like hell, and eventually heard voices shouting in English. We pulled up and when we got up to them it was some Maoris and they’d been playing cards and talking in their own language. They were in this place, there was a way out of it just near where they were, but they were sent there to guard this tunnel to see that nobody got through it. So they let us through and we got back to our lines again, we made a report what had happened and what we’d seen on the other side but we hadn’t much to tell which was of any use to us.
Well, time went on like this. I got a letter from home in which they told me that George Gain had been killed in action. He must have been killed somewhere quite close to where I was but I never saw him. [Sandra found the answer to the George Gain mystery. He enlisted as George Skinner and was killed in action 27th of August 1915. Father got this news while he was still at home.] I didn’t know he was dead until I got a letter back from Australia to tell me. This went on for a time and eventually, thank god, the powers that be decided to evacuate. Elaborate arrangements were made for the evacuation and as a matter of fact, if the landing had been as well planned as the evacuation, we’d have taken Gallipoli within forty eight hours. There wasn’t one casualty during the evacuation, we went aboard the troopships and everything was planned down to the last minute. It was only when they blew up the ammunition dumps that the Turks realised that there was anything going on then they started shelling and firing but of course there was nobody there for them to shoot at. Everybody’d got aboard and we were away.
We went to an island by the name of Lemnos and there we licked our wounds and got ready for the troopship that was to bring us to England. Eventually we embarked for England and on the way over we had a boxing competition, I won the light heavyweight class and was a bit of a hero with me mates. I’d also palled up with a chap named Charlie Bullock. Charlie was a brother of Frank Bullock the one-time jockey and now a trainer of race horses in France, Charlie and I started to collect bottles on the boat and there was a penny apiece on these bottles if you took ‘em back to the canteens. Between leaving Lemnos and arriving in England we made over seventy pounds on empty bottles. That was what we had in our pocket, not accounting for the money that Charlie had lost playing Crown and Anchor because he was a devil for playing Crown and Anchor, he used to be coming to me every now and again for the loan of a couple of quid to see whether he could break the Crown and Anchor board but he never did it.
[The Beltana arrived at Devonport on January 29th 1917 and this is where we rejoin reality.]
Anyhow, we landed at Plymouth and we were entrained for Erdcote on Salisbury Plain. We were all very glad to get ashore because we’d had a terrible rough passage through the Bay of Biscay, there was waves there, I’ll bet they were nothing short of forty feet high. In fact you could stand on deck and you had to crane your neck to look up and see the top of the waves, you wondered how the boat ever got on top of them. I thought two or three times that we were going to be engulfed by one of these seas. Anyhow, we got ashore alright and we went to Erdcote. [Service record states: January 30 1917. Joined training battalion ex Australia, which fits with the actual arrival date of the Beltana. February 2 to hospital. February 20 to March 5. spends 14 days in military hospital at Fovant [West of Salisbury] with inflammation of the Larynx. March 6, Joined training battalion ex hospital. April 12. Awarded 7 days field punishment No. 2 for conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline.]
We were assembled at Erdcote and were told that we were going to get embarkation leave and then we’d be off to France within a week or two. It was just coming up to the time of the Battle of the Somme [The first battle of the Somme was 1st of July to 18th November 1916. Over before father left Australia.] and we were told that we were going over to take part in what would be one of the biggest assaults that the Allies had made on the Germans since the war began.
Well after a time we got our embarkation leave. Charlie and I went up to London and spent our seventy quid. In the meantime I’d been crimed for marking me kitbag, I’d painted me name and number all over it. I got fourteen days number two field punishment and I was fined twenty five pound for defacing His Majesty’s property. Well, that put me in debt and I never got out of debt again whilst I was in the army.
Shortly after this criming over the kitbag I got into trouble with the sergeant on parade, he threw a rifle at me and I threw it back at him. As soon as I threw it I heard a voice behind me say “Arrest that man!” so I was marched off into the guard room. I got another twenty eight days number one field punishment. [Not on his service record.] While I was in the cooler, we got word that King George was going to review the Brigade before they embarked for France. The review was to take place at a place called Rolleston. I don’t know how far it is from Erdcote, but it’s a long way, I think it’s about twenty mile, but we marched over one day with full pack. We were better off than the rest of them because when we got there we were put into the guard room for the night, the rest of the fellows had to sleep under canvas and it was raining like hell. They had us up next morning about four o’clock, we got a very scanty breakfast and we were marched out on to this parade ground which seemed to me to be about three or four miles square, I don’t know how big it was but it was a hell of a big place.
We were lined up standing at ease waiting for the King to come. Anyhow, he didn’t come and we were given orders to stand easy, then we were told that we could sit down and smoke. This went on to about half past ten before we were called to attention again and we saw these fellows riding up on horses. It was the usual thing for Australians, if something happened or if they didn’t like somebody, that they’d count ‘em out, like counting up to ten and shouting ‘out’ the same as you do a boxer. Anyhow, they counted old King George out! It didn’t seem to upset him, I don’t think he saw any of us, he just rode along hunched up on his horse. He never spoke to anybody, he never stopped he just rode up and down the lines and left us. We were marched back to Rolleston where we got a meal. That would be about two o’clock so it’ll give you some idea of the time we had standing about, with the meal over, we were marched back to Erdcote again. Two or three days after that we went aboard ship to go to France. [According to his service record father embarked for France May 29th 1917, same date as Uncle Stan but we don’t know if they were on the same boat.]
The boat that I was on, it was a railway boat belonging to, I think it was the Great Western Railway, was the Viper. [The Viper seems to have carried troops from Southampton to Le Havre.] On the way over we picked up a torpedo. These boats had steel wire and chain curtains hung round them, they hung away from the ships side, about eight or ten feet. The idea of this was that they’d explode a torpedo before it actually hit the ship, anyway, this one didn’t explode, it must have been a dud because they had it in the nets when we got into Le Havre the next morning. None of us knew anything at all about it, I didn’t see or hear anything during the night, it was there next morning for us to see.
We went into camp and somebody was found in my platoon to have mumps so we were all put into quarantine for the requisite period, I forget how long it was, a week or ten days or something like that. We went into quarantine and spent our time lounging around the camp there. When the quarantine period was over we were told that next day we would leave to go up to our battalion at Loos. [The battle of Loos was in 1915.]
The Viper was built in 1906 for the Irish ferry trade and was a fast ship, 22 knots. Used for cross channel troop carrying during WW1 and sold to the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company in 1920. Re-named ‘Snaefell’. (Thanks to Roll of Honour.com for the image)
THE REST OF THE STORY
[It’s 1965 and father has left us hanging in limbo, I still thought we were on the Western Front so I tried to fill in the rest of the story from my own knowledge.]
At this point I stopped recording, it was a particularly murky November in the North of England and father got one of his frequent chesty colds which rapidly became bronchitis. He was quite ill but we were used to this as he had always had a weak chest, the result of having been [As we thought then] gassed in the Great War and a steady diet of 60 cigarettes a day for most of his life. So I went on with my life and waited until he was well enough to carry on.
My mother collared me one day and said “You know what’s making him ill don’t you? Haven’t you noticed that he’s always ill in November? It’s Remembrance day and it brings back memories of the war.” Mother’s father had been killed in the Great War and it suddenly struck me how powerful the memories of that time were to their generation. “Do you mean that talking about the Great War is likely to make him ill as well?” She said it did and she would be much happier if I stopped so I did. I waited to see whether he would raise the subject of the tapes again but all he said when he recovered was that he thought mother was right and so I left the subject alone. [I’ve since wondered whether he was fed up with the strain of relating his legend. His letter to Uncle Stan shows that he was aware of the danger of being found out. As a matter of fact he’d given the game away when he put down the marker of Jim’s death but we didn’t know that at the time. If he had known that we would have the resources of the internet 45 years later he would have been more circumspect perhaps but he had already used the legend. Deep trouble and I’m glad he never had to face it.]
With hindsight I regret that we didn’t finish the tapes but am quite sure that it was best not to. We stopped taping in November 1965 and he lived until August 1973. However, all is not lost, father and I did a lot of talking and I shall set down what I know of his life after the point we reached in the tapes. It won’t be anywhere near as detailed as his account but at least it won’t leave anyone who has had the patience to read this far hanging in the air wondering what happened afterwards.
One puzzling thing about Father’s account of his childhood is that he makes no mention of having tuberculosis and going to a convalescent home on Mt. Kosciusko where he said he first saw snow. He definitely told me that he had been there but I never followed it up.
Father and I spent a lot of time talking about the Great War. The most vivid impression I got was the change that was wrought in him by being forced to endure the four years of hell that he was thrown into. Like so many others, the brash young man who went into the war came out with a complete education. On the subject of Gallipoli, he was very angry with what he saw as the ineptitude of the people who had put them in there. He said that the idea was alright but the execution was bloody horrible, and that if people working for him had shown the same level of expertise, he’d have sacked the buggers. On the war in general, he was appalled by the pointless waste of the whole thing. All that effort and sacrifice in foul conditions to no purpose whatsoever. He didn’t dwell on the monstrosities, in fact, most of the things he told me were about the amusing incidents that can happen in the worst of circumstances. I suppose it was some form of a defence mechanism at work. Anyhow, here are a few of his war stories.
He found Uncle Stan in France when he got there, being a railway man Stan was working on a light railway unit running supplies up to the front, usually under the cover of darkness. [This story is possible because we know he embarked for France on the same day as Stan. The problem is that the date was May 29th 1917 and from May 31st 1917 until July 1st he was in hospital. He rejoined his unit in France but was back in hospital again on October 27th. On November 7th he rejoined his unit and was sent to England on leave. On December 2nd he was in hospital in England whilst on leave, as far as we can tell all these spells in hospital were for ‘Inflamed Larynx’. It seems he was back in France for Christmas 1917 and this may be when Stan got into trouble with the rum but there is nothing in his service record. He actually served for six months at the front and as far as I can tell from his records he was with the 15th Australian Light Railway Operating Company (ALROC) Stan rejoined the same unit in February 1918 after a three month detachment with the Anzac LROC and has a clean record up to July. On July 16th 1918 father was on leave in Glasgow busy contracting Gonorrhoea from a professional lady. On July 27th he was admitted to hospital in UK for this reason and was eventually discharged to Depot on October 12th 1918. By October 19th he is back in hospital with the same infection. He was in hospital until April 26th 1919 when he was discharged to 1st Army District HQ staff. This discharge never happened or if it did he was immediately re-admitted because we know from the hospital records he was still in there on July 9th 1919 and we have no discharge date. The last entry we have is him being reported absent without leave on October 12th 1919. He was on the run and heading for Manchester.] At one point, it being Christmas, Stan was given the job of running a train up carrying the Christmas supplies for the troops. A very important part of these supplies was the rum ration and Stan decided, it being a cold and snowy night, that he deserved a nip of rum for his trouble. Father said that when Stan’s train didn’t arrive they sent a search party out and eventually found it stopped on the line and Stan asleep under a tree, covered in snow with the rum bottle by his side. I can’t remember whether he was punished or not.
[Stan did get into trouble about this time but for a different reason: Note by 1st ROC dated 24/5/19. Field General Court Martial at Courtrai 30-31/1/19. 1st charge. Whilst on acting service [WOAS] committing a civil offence viz. shooting with intent on 5/1/19 contrary to section 18 of the offences against the person act of October 1861. 2nd Charge WOAS drunkenness 5/1/19. Findings: Not guilty to first charge, guilty to 2nd charge. Sentenced to 90 days FP no 2 31/1/19. Period under charge 6/1/19 to 9/2/19. Total forfeiture 115 days pay.]
Another subject that occupied their time a lot was the constant fight against vermin, father’s particular hate was lice. He said he couldn’t understand how they could survive, they used to wash their blankets and clothes and hang them out. Many a time in winter they would freeze like boards, yet when they were dry and they started using them again, the lice were still there.
One thing that particularly incensed him was the use of horses at the front. Having worked with horses all his life it devastated him to see them killed or struggling through the mud, under fire and frightened out of their wits.
He never talked much about the fighting but he had a big scar on the back of his neck which he once told me was caused by a “jerry bayonet”. It must have been quite a wound and it was obvious from the shape of the scar that it had never been stitched. You could see the mouth of the scar was stretched open just as if it had been freshly cut. We found out later, when he was given the MBE by the British government for his work during the war that he had the Distinguished Conduct Medal. He never talked about it but I do remember him once saying that it was a matter of luck who got the medals, they were really for everyone concerned in a particular piece of action and one name was more or less picked out of the hat.
Father went right though the War until the Armistice, I think I have heard him mention Ypres and Vimy Ridge but I can’t be certain about that. What I am certain about is that after the Armistice his unit was brought back to England and they were put in a tented camp to await shipping to take them home to Australia. He said they were kept in lousy conditions with bad food, no facilities and nothing to do. It wasn’t long before some of them decided they’d be better off with a civilian job than rotting waiting for transport. Father was one of the ones who did this and became a deserter. He took Graham as his surname and headed North. [This is where we rejoin reality. It was October 12th 1919]
If you remember, when he told us about South Africa he was asked where he came from and he said the first thing that came into his head, Manchester. The city must have had a good press in Australia because when he deserted, he headed for Manchester and got a job on the maintenance gang at Armstrong Whitworth’s in Trafford Park. He lodged in Droylsden and he once told me that at first he thought all the people went to work on horses because as he lay in bed in the morning he could hear them going down the street. What he was actually listening to was the mill worker’s iron shod wooden clogs clattering on the stone pavement as they poured down the street to the local mill which started earlier than the engineering works.
Typical Lancashire weavers in Barnoldswick in 1924. They all wore iron shod wooden clogs, the ‘horses’ father heard in the street.
Mary Challenger, my mother, in 1916. Waiting in the wings to enter the story. It intrigues me to think that this picture dates from the time when father was delivering the cattle to Homebush yards at Sydney. She was nine years old.
Mother in about 1926. Almost certainly a 21st birthday portrait. Easy to see where I get my good looks from!
I got the impression he enjoyed working at Armstrong Whitworth’s. They were one of the most important heavy engineering firms in the world at the time and were responsible amongst other things for making many of the heaviest naval guns. He once told me about them making the guns for the battleship King George the Sixth. At the time they were made, they were the most powerful naval guns in the world, in fact when the King George the Sixth was scrapped the guns were re-used on the Vanguard which was built after World War II. One of the stages in making the gun barrels was heat treatment, this was done by heating the barrels up and then quenching them in huge vats of whale oil. During the course of his work as a maintenance man he fell in one of these vats, luckily, the oil was fairly cool at the time. He said the only ill-effect was the stink, it took him about a fortnight to get rid of it.
Shortly before he died father told me a story about an engine that they had a lot of trouble with at the time. The company made its own electricity using high speed Willans steam engines direct coupled to generators. There were several of these sets and the fly shaft bearings on one of them gave continuous trouble, overheating and stopping the generating set. After one or two attempts to cure the fault without stripping the engine down, it was decided that the only cure was going to be to take the shaft out, re-finish the journals and make fresh bearings for it. They did this and Father said they went to a lot of trouble to get the best finish they could on the shaft and the bearings. The whole lot was put back together, started up and the bearings immediately overheated and stopped it.
This was serious trouble and the top brass gathered around the offending piece of machinery for an inquest. At some point during the conversation, an old labourer who was sweeping up nearby chimed in with “It never will bloody go like that!” The foreman of the gang who had done the job turned round and gave the old bloke a mouthful about minding his own business but the manager said “Hang on a bit, let’s hear what he has to say.” Father said that the old bloke used to be a top fitter but he had hit the bottle and eventually finished up as a sweeper in the works. The manager must have remembered this because he asked the old bloke if he could cure the fault. He said yes and was sent off for his tackle. He said he wanted the flywheel and shaft lifting out so that the journals were accessible and he’d come back that evening when it had been done.
They lifted the shaft out and got all ready and the old bloke turned up. Father said he was in a suit and freshly washed and shaved, he looked like a different bloke. He got on some steps and surveyed the beautiful finish on the journal. Shaking his head he dipped into his bag and produced what Father described as the “biggest, nastiest blacksmith’s rasp I’ve ever seen in me life”. He set into the journal with this making long scoring marks across the beautifully finished face. The foreman saw this and tried to stop him but the manager said “No, let him be, I can see what he’s about.” He did both journals and left them to clean up the faces with a smooth file. He then looked at the brasses, pronounced them alright and told them to put it back together again as it would be alright. They did this and the machine ran perfectly. Father told me this story to illustrate a point he was making to me about lubrication of big bearings because I was following in his footsteps and was in charge of a big stationary steam engine at the local mill. He said he’d learned a lot from this old bloke.
Genes again. Father and I both liked big machines. He was intrigued when I had a cattle wagon sixty feet long and even more pleased when I took him to see my new toy before he died. This is the steam engine I ran at Bancroft Shed.
I don’t think Father stayed on the heavy gang for long as he told me once that the most interesting jobs he had at Armstrong’s was helping to make the propellers for Sir Henry Segrave’s boat Miss England for the attempt on the world water speed record (1930). He said he learned more about cavitation doing that job than in the whole of his career to date. Another job was doing experiments on large steam piping to determine whether there was any advantage in using swept bends as opposed to right-angled joints, the conclusion was that a right angled bend was just as effective as a swept bend.
At some point Armstrong Whitworth got the job of refurbishing Baldwin locomotives that had been brought over from America as part of the war effort. The foreman in charge of the job was a stickler for accuracy and at one point father volunteered the information that in loco-fitting it was recognised practice to give the side rod bearings a lot of clearance to allow for distortion in the frame when going round bends. He was ignored and when they tried the first loco out they found father was right and had to ease all the offending bearings. [Being right about engineering matters seems to run in the family. I have to admit that I have the same disease.]
A Baldwin locomotive at work with the army on the Western Front.
Somewhere around this time Father set up as a bookmaker. He told me he was doing well in his spare time taking bets in Armstrong’s and other factories round about. At that time, off-course betting was illegal and street bookmakers and their ‘runners’ were the only way a working man could get a bet on. Father was doing well until one day he got a lot of bets on a horse he knew couldn’t possibly win, normally he would have laid this off with either another bookmaker or the Victoria Club in Manchester but this day he decided to back his judgement. The horse came in first, he was cleaned out and that was the end of a promising career as a bookie. Years later Father was still bemoaning the fact that he had held on to those bets, he reckoned we would have been a very wealthy family if he’d used his head. I got the impression that during this period he was quite active in the seamier side of city life and this was when he met many people who were close friends of his in later years. This all fits with his predilections when he was younger and knocking around Australia.
Sometime whilst he was at Armstrong’s and lodging in Droylsden the Australian government issued a general amnesty for all deserters (1920?). For some reason the police knew that Father was a deserter and a sergeant came round and had a word with him. He told Father about the amnesty but said “It’s all a trick to get you back to Australia, if you go for the amnesty you’ll be treated alright and put on a boat for Australia, however, when you get back, you’ll be arrested, charged with desertion, fined any amount the Australian government owes you and then turned loose. You can please yourself whether you go for it or not, we’re quite satisfied with your behaviour and as far as we’re concerned you can stay here.” Father decided to stay but I know that in later years he missed home and always had a yearning to go back even if only for a visit but it was never to be. [There is a note in his service record that he applied to Australia House for repatriation on the 8th of February 1923 but nothing about the outcome. Perhaps the terms of the original amnesty had expired?]
Meanwhile in another part of the forest, mother married Bowker in 1929 and this was to hang over her for the rest of her life.
Mother in 1930. She had been married to Bowker for a year.
Here’s a snap that has intrigued me for years because I have no information. I think it’s one that Auntie Dos sent me years ago. I think I can have a pretty close guess now. Lillian in the centre of the window, the two girls bottom left will be Margaret and Vera. If they are about 17 years old this will be about 1924. Bottom right is Doris. Now then, who are the others?
General Gas works trip to Llangollen in 1931. Father is at right hand end of the second row. These men are with drink taken!
We have a fairly good idea what triggered the move to the new house. Here’s a picture of a very young Stanley in about May 1936. I’m on my grandma Mary Challenger’s knee. Mother is stood at the back and the formidable lady on the right is great grandma Shaw, mother of my grandad John Shaw Challenger who was killed in action in 1918.
Sometime in the late twenties or early thirties he must have moved from Armstrong’s and taken a job at General Gas Appliances on Corporation Road, Audenshaw near Manchester. I say this, not from direct knowledge but because I know that it was at General Gas he met my mother Mary who was working there as an enamel sprayer at the time. She was born in Dukinfield and had polio as a child which left her with a club foot. They must have got on well together because by February 1936 they had bought a brand-new semi-detached house in Heaton Norris, Stockport and I was born there on St Valentine’s day. Father would be 42 years old at the time and mother was 31.
38 Norris Avenue, a new modern semi in 1936. It even had a garage.
Mother’s job at General Gas, spraying enamel on items before they were fired in a furnace. She once told my sister Dorothy that they used to notice this handsome Australian as he went about his work.
My early memories are of this great big man who used to go off early in the morning to some mysterious place called ‘work’ and never came back before I went to bed. The first major event which sticks in my memory is of Father getting the next door neighbours Arthur Thompson and Walter Pitcher to help him dig an enormous hole in the back garden next to the garage for an Anderson Shelter. This was a heavy corrugated iron construction which was designed to be buried in the ground, covered with earth and used as protection during air raids. Father had decided that rumours of war were true and was making sure that his family had some protection from enemy bombers. This was before the war began and I can remember them getting their legs pulled by some of the other neighbours but when the air raids started the shelter was a very popular place!
The backyard of 38 Norris Avenue in 2002. The Anderson shelter was in the space to the right of the garage
General Gas went on to war work and Father’s hours grew even longer, sometimes he never came home at all for a week. The factory was making flare cases, bomb cases and later in the war, in collaboration with the Planet Foundry next door, frigate decks. They reached their peak of ingenuity later in the war when they made complete landing craft. These were ‘launched’ at General Gas on an Edward Box low-loader, taken to Manchester Docks where they were lowered into the water and given their ‘sea trials’ on the Manchester Ship Canal on their way to be handed over at Ellesmere Port. [A great friend of father’s, Eddie Clark, was heavy haulage manager for Edward Box and after transport nationalisation took the same post at Pickford’s heavy haulage.]
Once war was declared in 1939 everyone expected immediate bombing raids so father decided to move Mother, Dorothy and Stanley to the safety of the hills in Derbyshire. He knew a farmer called Hancock at Burrs Mount, Great Hucklow and moved us up there for about three months while he stayed at home. I was four and we’d been out looking for a rabbit for the pot.
A ‘naval person’ used to come up to supervise the trials and I went with them on occasion. I remember the man who usually inspected them was Lt. Charles K Warren. He was a pugnacious little man with a beard who later took Holy Orders, was vicar at Leytonstone and eventually became a high cleric in Tasmania. You would never have thought this could be his future vocation if you had heard him swearing at the bridge keeper at Barton swing bridge on the Manchester Ship Canal when the landing craft hit it whilst on trials. I was there and I swear he didn’t repeat a single curse as he berated the man for what seemed to be an eternity. I remember being awestruck at the time, I often thought afterwards that if he put half as much passion in his sermons he would go far. Father went on all the trials on the Ship Canal and was often the steersman. In the early 1950s he and his superior at GGA, Mr H C Wilson-Bennett had a thirty foot motor launch which they had great fun with. It was called the Marita I think and I once saw it at Birkenhead. I remember Mr Bennett having a very bad cut on the forehead from the starting handle which kicked back as he was swinging it.
A ‘Landing Craft Minor’ leaving General Gas for Manchester Docks in 1943.
Father at the wheel of an LCM on the Manchester Ship Canal.
On the home front Father was a member of the G.G.A. Platoon of the 51 County of Lancaster Battalion Home Guard. I can remember being convinced that my Dad was 51 years old because the shoulder flash on his uniform was ‘MAN51’. He was also an Air Raid Warden, one of the dreaded band who used to go round at night checking that people had blacked their windows out properly and that no light could be seen. The uniform for this was a dark battledress, a gas mask and a black tin helmet with A.R.P. on the front in white. The only war injury he got was whilst in the wardens, he walked round a corner one night and ran into Arthur Thompson from next door who was also a warden. Trouble was that Arthur was so short his helmet brim was in just the right place to catch Father on the bridge of his nose and it cut straight through and broke the bone. I can remember our old doctor Tommy O’Connell telling Father “No, it can’t be left open even if it does make it easier for you to breathe!”
Dorothy, mother, Leslie in the pram and Young Stanley on holiday in 1943. Notice the women in uniform behind us, a common sight then but so old-fashioned now.
The GGA home guard stand-down parade, 25th February 1945. Father is in the middle of the second row with his ‘war medals’.
Tommy O’Connell and Father seem to have known each other from way back. Father once told me about the time him and Tommy bought a greyhound, they seemed to spend quite a lot of time at the White City greyhound stadium in Manchester and had this dog in ruinously expensive training but it never did anything. The trainer told him that he could get £50 for this animal so Father and Tommy decided to sell. Next time out, the dog ran over the hurdles and was placed in every race it entered. Father said the trainer had seen them coming and taken them for a ride. He’d always told them it was no good over the jumps but eventually it got sold for an enormous amount of money into Ireland, I can remember Tommy confirming this story one day while he was visiting. As with any family doctor, Tommy figured large in our lives. I can remember father getting very worried about the size of my head and making mother take me to the doctors. Tommy examined me and in his lovely Irish brogue told Mother “Tell Mac not to worry, he’ll grow into it!” [All his friends called him Mac even though McDonald didn’t appear in his name.]
1950. Father with Frank Wightman and Ernie Hommel. Wightman was the chief instigator of the 1954 coup against father and Ernie was an American supplier of enamelling frits who used to send us care parcels during the war.
During the war all food was rationed except bread and potatoes. Father often arrived home with extra food obtained from clandestine sources known in those days as ‘the black market’. This was strictly illegal but speaking as a growing lad at the time, very welcome. He had two mates who were occasional sources, one was Harry White who was a sign writer in Stockport. He was a great bloke and I used to visit him in his house on Heaton Moor ostensibly to help him but actually to have a bloody good feed, his wife Lal used to play the accordion and Harry had guns in the house which he allowed me to fire in his back garden under strict supervision. This may not sound very exciting to someone born in Australia but was very unusual behaviour in a suburban garden in the North of England. Harry was always mixed up in something, I think this was the attraction of him to Father, it seems to me that Harry would have made a good out-back man in Australia. I have an idea that he and Father first met in France but this is only a vague recollection of a conversation I overheard when I was very small. It’s worth retelling because it illustrates Harry’s character perfectly. He was a sergeant in charge of horses in the Great War and one of his duties was to doctor any minor ailments they had. Mercury based ointment was used a lot in those days for animal treatment and Harry had a good sideline treating his comrades unfortunate enough to pick up what we would now call an STD, a sexually transmitted disease. He was handing out this mercury ointment right left and centre and in the end the Medical Officer took him on one side and said that if Harry would promise not to treat his patients he would leave Harry to deal with the horses. Harry protested that he was curing them and the MO said you think you are but what your actually doing is making them infertile! Harry admitted to father in the conversation I heard that the MO may have been right, he didn’t know of any of the men he had treated having any more children. Harry thought he’d made a killing one day just after the war when he bought a job lot of war surplus soap very cheaply. Soap was rationed at the time and he was looking forward to a good profit. The problem was when he got it and opened one of the tins it was foot soap which was loaded with grit to make it more effective. Nice try Harry but no cigar.
Luminous buttons were only a small part of the war effort. Air Raid Shelter signs were in great demand.
At the beginning of the war the advent of the blackout was seen as a great problem because all street lights were extinguished for the duration. Harry got the bright idea of going round painting house numbers with luminous paint which was highly radio active. He did quite well at this for a while. At general Gas they did a similar thing making ‘Luminous Buttons’ (It must have been a government contract). These were about three inches in diameter and glowed in the dark. The idea was that pedestrians wore them to avoid accidents running into people in the dark. I often wondered about the long term health hazards, Dorothy and I had one each for years but never used them.
Another early scare in the war was of enemy paratroopers. Father brought home what we always knew as the ‘Parachute Gun’ and gave it to Mother for her to use. It was actually a small starting pistol that fired .22 blanks and mother never had anything to do with it. I had some fun one day throwing the blanks on the fire but it brought down a large fall of soot and I never saw anything of them after that. [Shades of the vineyard fire all those years ago, perhaps these things run in the blood.]
Another great pal of father was Mac Parker who was the manager of the Carlton Cinema in Stockport (later renamed the Essoldo.) He had in his gift free seats at the cinema and we used to go every Thursday night for years and always had the best seats in the circle. Even during the war, father used to try to get home so that he could go with us, I’ve seen mother make him a flask of coffee and sandwiches to take with us so we could get there in time. Phyllis Hill, wife of Ewart Hill was in the paybox, they were frequent visitors also. For some reason that I never could fathom, Mac could always get hold of fresh fish, we had many a good feed on this, what father was doing in return I don’t know. I forget what Mrs Parker’s first name was but we often visited her because they were only about fifty yards away on Norris Avenue and there was usually some sweets about. Father used to laugh about Mrs Parker because he said she had a funny habit, she used to leave the washing up in the sink overnight. Mac hated this and every night when he came home from the cinema he opened the window and dropped everything that was in the sink into the flower bed under the window. I don’t think he ever cured her! We also had some fiends called the Cohens who lived on Moorside Road about half a mile away. From a very early age I used to walk up there on Saturday mornings to light Mrs Cohen’s gas ring for her. They were strict Orthodox Jews and weren’t allowed to make fire on the Sabbath. I was always rewarded with Jewish food and got quite a taste for it.
Young Stanley, father and Dorothy at Cleveleys on holiday in 1941.
Father had another friend, Reg Lawley who had a Diatto open sports car and I can remember pre-war going up into Derbyshire in this car. Mother told me later she was amazed I remembered this because it was in 1936 and I was less than six months old at the time. I seem to have small memories like that from a very early age.
Another great social lubricant was the Anderson Shelter in our back garden. Walter Pitcher and his wife together with Arthur Thompson’s wife and their son David always came in with us during an air raid. Arthur and father (when he was at home) were always out and about during a raid because they were Air Raid Wardens so there used to be eight of us huddled together in the shelter with a couple of candles perched on the girder framework. Dorothy and I (Leslie wasn’t born until 8th of February 1942) can remember Walter making little animals out of candle wax for us to pass the time. Walter always brought a suitcase with him and it wasn’t until after the war that I found out what was in it. He had a jeweller’s shop in Tommy Field at Oldham and the case held the most valuable items from his stock. He brought them home every night because of fear of bomb damage. Father took his duties as warden very seriously and only occasionally came back for a rest in the shelter if things were particularly dangerous. The shelter had a pump to dewater it and there was a design fault, if not fastened securely or if disturbed by a near miss, the handle used to fall down and was just at the right height to trip you up as you came down the steps. I can remember more than one occasion when father tripped over it and came flying in through the door. In the early years of the war we were heavily bombed because we were very near the big railway viaduct over the Mersey which was a prime target for the Luftwaffe as it carried the West Coast main line. They never hit it but we had plenty of near misses from very heavy bombs. Father and Arthur had a couple of narrow escapes from bombs but funnily enough the biggest danger to them was the rain of shrapnel that came down from the exploding anti-aircraft shells. These were serious lumps of very sharp iron and could easily have been fatal. We used to collect shrapnel on the way to school and father took it to General Gas and put it in the scrap bin.
We soon became experts on bombs and I remember one night there was a tremendous thud that shook the shelter and father immediately reported an unexploded bomb. The Bomb Disposal Squad came immediately and started digging. After a while they reported that we were safe, it wasn’t a bomb but a complete length of rail track blown out of the nearby sidings which had missed us by about twenty feet. As far as I know it is still there. The only time I ever saw father jump at an explosion was one night when a nearby anti-aircraft battery of Bofors guns opened up. It was louder than any bomb we ever heard.
The great LNWR viaduct over the valley at Stockport. A key target for the Luftwaffe in WW2 and the reason why we were treated to such heavy bombs.
Dorothy, Leslie and Stanley in 1944.
I have some memories of father at Norris Avenue that don’t really fit anywhere so I’ll pop them in here. He got quite worried about his weight at one time near the end of the war and I remember him getting a massage machine which was an electric motor bolted to the garage wall with an eccentric drive to a broad leather strap which vibrated fiercely. He used to go in there and give himself a good work out with it, the fad didn’t last long. When he was a lad old Alec used to shave the lad’s heads when they clipped the horses each year so he shaved my head once and mother cried when she saw me. I liked it and still shave my head when my hair gets longer that about an inch, I don’t like my hair long. After one of his business trips he brought me a jack knife back and the first thing I did was cut my knee as I sat on the back door step whittling a piece of wood, I still bear the scar. Father just stuck a big plaster on and said “You won’t do that again will you.” He decided one day that he’d put a new gatepost in for the front gate. I was stood about ten yards away watching him hammer a wedge in to hold it tight and he must have miss-hit and struck the handle of a wood chisel lay on the floor. It dislodged the blade and it flew straight at me like an arrow, it missed my left eye by a fraction but took a piece out of the side of my head, another scar I bear to this day. I think it put the wind up him because it was such a freak accident and a close shave. My overall impression was that he treated me like an adult, having read his account of his relationship with his father it’s fairly obvious what he based his attitudes on, it was exactly what he got off his father. I think it’s significant that as we both mellowed, like Jim and Stan with their father I came to an accommodation with him and we became friends. Perhaps we both had to reach a certain stage in our development before we could do it. I’m so glad it happened.
In 1945 the Second War ended and life became more normal for us. The family had grown and we needed four bedrooms so father bought Harry White’s house off him and we moved up to 6 Napier Road Heaton Moor. It was a large Edwardian terraced house with a big back garden, cellars and attics and was ideal for us. Father took up gardening, built a new garage at the end of the garden and General Gas gradually got back into its peacetime role, making gas and solid fuel cookers. Till then we had a car provided by General Gas but father decided he wanted a better one so he bought a 1937 Vauxhall ‘14’ car and we settled down to being a normal family.
6 Napier Road just before it was demolished in 1988.
An immaculate Vauxhall 14 car at a rally. Father’s pride and joy. (Thanks to Wikipedia commons for this image)
One day in June 1946, Father got a letter from the Prime Minister at 10 Downing Street, not one of his usual correspondents. It was to inform him that he was a candidate for the MBE in the forthcoming Birthday Honours for war services and would this be alright? Father accepted but didn’t go to London for the ceremony, he got the medal by post.
The kitchen at Napier Road just before demolition. 50 years after I last saw it, this was a time warp. Everything was as I remembered it. This is the General Gas Rayburn solid fuel stove that father had installed in 1947. I think it was even the original wallpaper! This was the room where Tommy O’Connell cauterised the wound on father’s back after I operated on him.
It was about this time that we had to call on Tommy O’Connell for emergency aid. One of my jobs was to scrub Father’s back when he had a bath. I always had to be careful because he had two polyps close together on the small of his back and I was always admonished to “Mind you don’t catch those bloody things!” One day, whilst I was scrubbing his back he told me to get his razor and “Cut the bloody things off.” I got his cut-throat razor and did as I was told, well, you’ve never seen as much blood in your life as came out of his back. The water in the bath turned red immediately and even Father got the wind up. “Ring Tommy O’Connell up and get him out here as soon as you can.” Luckily, Tommy was in and he told me to get Father out of the bath and hold a towel over the wounds until he got to us. When he arrived he played hell with Father and got him down into the kitchen, he then took great satisfaction in cauterising the two holes, this stopped the bleeding alright but Father never forgot it. The good thing about it was that I’d made a good clean job of cutting them off, a couple of months later you could hardly see where they had been.
By 1947 I was going to the local grammar school and had a sister and brother. Dorothy was born thirteen months after me and Leslie was born in 1942. Father was still works manager at General Gas which by this time had been taken over by Allied Ironfounders together with the Planet Foundry next door. My life revolved around school, my Meccano set and Saturdays with father. On Saturday morning I used to go to General Gas with father and spend the morning with him while he went round the works. There was usually something exciting to play with there and I think that it was on these trips that my love of machine tools was first awoken. In winter we used to go home and Father would go to the football match, he supported Manchester United. In summer, if Lancashire were playing at home, we used to go into Manchester, have lunch at Stevenson’s near the cathedral and then we went to Old Trafford for the afternoon to watch the cricket. Father was a member and I was a junior member, I wasn’t allowed into the member’s pavilion but this was no sweat, I used to buy a packet of fags and go off and smoke myself silly while watching the cricket. I have one strange memory from these days. We came out of the restaurant one day and father stopped in front of s shop window. He said “This where they sell dirty books”, that’s all, I think it was the sum total of my sex education!
Things went on like this for a few years, we had regular holidays and Father got even more keen on gardening. He had built a flat roofed garage at the bottom of our back garden and later we built a greenhouse on top of it. I’ve never, before or since, seen this done but it was very successful. He was a good gardener, we built a pond and a rockery and it was a credit to him, I was old enough to be useful and we did a lot of the work together. We had a coke-fired stove in the garage to heat it and the greenhouse and it was one of my jobs to keep this stove going during the winter months. I was to become very familiar with firing boilers for a living later in life.
Pat Crawford with Old Alex at Dubbo in 1950
Uncle Stan with grandfather outside his cottage near the Dubbo show ground in about 1952.
Father had a particularly rich circle of friends in Manchester. I suppose he had met many of them due to his work at General Gas. This was certainly true of Eddie Clark who used to be heavy haulage manager for Edward Box, a famous firm of hauliers in Manchester, they used to move the landing craft from Audenshaw to Manchester docks and I have no doubt that Father met Eddie then. Later, when Edward Box was taken over by Pickfords, Eddie did the same job there. Eddie was a Catholic and it was through him that Father met Father Sewell and Jimmy Fitzsimons. Father Sewell was a noted priest in Manchester and Jimmy was a councillor and eventually Lord Mayor of Manchester. What I remember most vividly is some of the pub crawls they went on, sometimes with me as a passenger. I remember being intrigued by the fact that when he had got one or two drinks down him Jimmy used to knock on the windscreen rather than use his horn, what amazed me was that it seemed to work. Jimmy was one of the leading lights in promoting Ringway Airport which later became Manchester Airport. Two things come to mind about Jimmy, one was that once while I was in his house I knocked an ashtray onto the floor and it landed upside down displaying in large letters the legend that ‘this ashtray has been stolen from the White City!’ The other thing is a story he told father one day while I was with them. It concerned his son Jerry who he had caught one night at the family business, Fitzsimons Tyre Depot near Belle Vue. He was passing late at night and saw a light, this was when tyres were strictly rationed. He went round the back and found Jerry loading tyres into a van so he asked him what he was doing. “I’m stocktaking!” Perfectly accurate.
In July 1950, Father applied for British Citizenship. I have an idea that what triggered this off was the fact that in 1949, when asked by General Gas to go abroad, he applied for an Australian passport and only got a temporary one with great difficulty. The problem was that they wanted proof that he was an Australian citizen and he had none. The situation was complicated by the fact that no birth certificate existed for him because he said when he was born they didn’t exist. After a long correspondence he got evidence of the registration of his birth at Dubbo Presbyterian church on 25 April 1893 and an affidavit from Uncle Stan that he was Father’s brother and that the entry related to him. It was during this correspondence that I realised that Uncle Stan’s full name was Stanley Graham McDonald so Graham was a family name and this perhaps explains why Father took it as his new name when he deserted from the army in 1914, he was granted citizenship on 7 September 1950.
In 1953 I was seventeen years old, I had done pretty well in my exams at the Grammar School and the teachers there were expecting me to go on to university. However, I knew we were short of money at home and I was fairly sure that we couldn’t afford this course of action. We were always short of money at home, it never stopped us having good Christmas presents and holidays but we were always aware that the finances were tight so I decided that it would be better if I left school and got a job. This was an attractive prospect to me but I felt I had little hope of pulling it off so I decided to tackle Father.
When I asked him if I could leave school I got the shock of my life. He said “What do you want to do if you leave?” I said “Go farming.” (I still don’t know where this sudden yearning to farm came from.) He said “Right. Well the best thing you can do is to find yourself a job.” So I got the Farmer’s Weekly and went through the adverts. The second job I picked out was down in Warwickshire living in on a farm at Whatcote with Lionel and Addy Gleed. Within a fortnight I had left home (I was 17) and was down at Harrods Farm having the time of my life. Years later I asked Father why he had agreed so quickly to let me leave school. He said it was because he always felt he had missed out by not going away to Sydney to college when he had the chance. He felt that his Father had stood in the way of what he wanted to do and there was no way he was going to do that to me.
While I was farming I reached 18 years old and was conscripted into the army, I joined the Cheshire Regiment for my initial training and after six weeks we went down to Colchester to await embarkation for Berlin where I spent the rest of my service.
The garden at Napier Road in 1955. Notice the greenhouse on top of the garage.
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Old Alex, Christmas 1955 at Dubbo. He died in 1956.
Auntie Dos in 1950.
It was whilst I was in the army that things started happening again to Father. The first major event was that my cousin, Pat Crawford, who I assume was May’s son, came over with the Ashes team in early 1955. He stayed with us for a while and I knocked about with him a bit when I was on leave from Colchester. He stayed over here after the tour and played Lancashire League cricket as professional for Church. He met a lass called Sheila who lived in Blackburn, they got married and had one child but on a visit to Australia by himself Pat disappeared and was never heard of by us again. I got most of this story in running instalments during letters from home, we all thought it was a lousy trick.
Pat Crawford’s wedding to Sheila. Father, Pat Crawford, Sheila, mother and Leslie
[21 January, 2009. Cricket Australia has offered its condolences to the family and friends of former Australian, NSW and Lancashire League fast bowler William Patrick Anthony (“Pat”) Crawford after receiving family advice that Mr Crawford died peacefully in his sleep earlier today after several years of ill health. Pat Crawford, born in 1933, played four Tests for Australia in 1956, making his debut at Lord’s before breaking down early in that match and later playing three Tests against India in India in the same year. He was awarded Baggy Green cap number 202. A total of 406 Baggy Greens have been awarded since the first Test match ever played, in 1977. Crawford’s career was shortened by injury but he took 110 wickets at 21.02 for Australia and NSW in 37 first-class matches between 1954/5 and 1957/58.]
Father in about 1950. This was a passport photograph. You can clearly see the droop in his right eye caused by the premature explosion of the bomb he made when he was ‘fishing’.
Father at Napier Road in 1955 with the Bedford van he had bought for the new life in Yorkshire.
Six months after I arrived in Berlin I got a letter from home giving me a change of address, instead of having Napier Road in Heaton Moor as a home I now lived at 99 Colne Road, Sough, Earby, West Yorkshire wherever that was! Evidently father had left General Gas and had bought a grocer’s shop and the whole family had moved up to Yorkshire. About six months later I got some leave and Father told me the full story.
Shortly before I joined the army, I remember Father having a colleague called Jimmy Braine who had come up from one of Allied Ironfounders southern factories to give father a hand with some project or other they had on at General Gas. He was a frequent guest at Napier Road and he and Father seemed to get on very well, later, when I had gone abroad, Jimmy Braine came to Father and told him a strange story. He told Father that his main purpose in working at General Gas wasn’t to help with the project but to get enough dirt on Father to enable the firm to sack him. For some reason which I never quite understood, after a big change of top management inside Allied, father, as one of the old guard, was seen as dangerous. I suspect that this might have had something to do with his close links with some of the top men as he had trained them at General Gas, in particular, there was a man called H. C. Wilson-Bennett. Father reckoned it was simpler than that, he said it was because he knew too much. Be that as it may, Jimmy Braine told Father that he was sent up to gather information and add it to what they had already. It turned out that Jimmy’s main qualification for his job was the fact that he said he’d been with Naval Intelligence in the War, he told Father that a security file on him existed and that he had access to it. I suppose this file had him marked down as a deserter but apart from that Father knew there couldn’t be anything else particularly terrible on it. Anyhow, Jimmy said that, having investigated Father and getting to know him he was certain that there was no case against him but that he would have to make his report to his masters. He gave Father some clues as to what direction the attack would come from and who, at General Gas, would be behind it. With this, Jimmy bade goodbye to Father and retreated south. [I have often wondered what else this file had in it. Did it blow holes in father’s legend? I don’t suppose we will ever know.]
In May 1955, the blow struck. Father was summoned before the Board of Directors at General Gas and accused of stealing from the firm. Fore-armed by Jimmy’s warning, he had receipts for all the items he was accused of stealing and had brought a solicitor, the case against him collapsed. He had the upper hand and demanded immediate leave of absence, his pay made up to the end of the year and his pension rights paid up so he could start to draw it, he left General Gas that day and never returned. When he got home, he and Mother sold the house and bought the grocery shop in Yorkshire, the idea was to get away to fresh pastures and have a way of making a living for all of us.
Father was flooded with letters from his friends and colleagues in industry, without exception, they expressed regret and astonishment that he had left G.G.A. so precipitately. I don’t think I ever got the full story, there was more to it than met the eye. I have an idea that it had something to do with the exit of a man called Shaw who was chairman of Allied Ironfounders whilst Father was works manager at Audenshaw. Whatever the reason, it left Father very bitter about the way he had been treated, he always used to say to me, “Never trust big business, they’ll walk all over you if it suits their purpose.”
By late 1955, Father was settled in at Sough with Mother and Dorothy helping him in his new trade as general grocer. Leslie was at Skipton Grammar School and I was in the army in Berlin. The old Vauxhall car had gone and was replaced by a Bedford van and the Graham family set out to make their mark on the retail trades.
Father, Dorothy, mother and Leslie at Napier Road just before the move.
The new Graham enterprise, the shop at 99 Colne Road, Sough. Near Earby in the West Riding of Yorkshire.
Mother at Sough in 1956. She was to be father’s mainstay as his sight deteriorated.
Round about this time Father realised he had another problem. For years, his right eye had been bad, ever since he tried to blow up the ducks on the pond at Eumalga. Now, the sight in his left eye began to fail. This was particularly serious as part of the business of the shop was running a mobile grocery service to outlying farms in the district, I found out about this when I came home on leave late in 1955. I was due for demobilisation in July 1956 and the failure of Father’s eyes plus the fact that Dorothy was getting married and going to live in Stockport persuaded me that I should come home rather than resume farming with Lionel and Addy Gleed or stay in the army. I was offered immediate promotion from full Corporal to sergeant If I would sign on for another seven years, I often wonder what the course of my life would have been if I had taken the chance but have never regretted the way I went. In July 1956 I came back to Sough and settled in to help run the shop.
Father at the shop at Sough in 1956. A troubled man in many ways.
When I got home I realised that everything wasn’t as it should be, the shop was losing money and no matter how much we tried to get the profits up we slid slowly backwards. It wasn’t really our fault, the fact was that it was a very bad time for such businesses with the rise of the supermarkets and a shop the size of Sough would have had difficulty keeping three people even in the best of times. The bank was uneasy with the fact that father was carrying the debt and was going blind. The plain fact was that the overdraft was almost as big as the value of the business and stock. In the end, they agreed to carry on the account if the debt was signed over to me instead of Father so we did this. It was at about this time that I had a good win on the horses and went mad and bought a Philips four-track tape recorder, at the time I was simply fascinated by the technology and had no inkling of how I was to use it later.
Mother in the shop at Sough in 1956.
I went out and got a job wagon-driving, I hadn’t any qualifications for anything else apart from blowing things up! I worked full-time driving at the local dairy and the rest of the time in the shop and on the van going round the farms. It was hard work and long hours but we survived and Father went in to have one of his eyes operated on at Burnley. This was a success and his sight was greatly improved but we decided we wanted out of the shop and put it up for sale. We were very lucky, we got a customer for the shop at a price which cleared the overdraft and found a seven acre farm for sale in Barnoldswick, about four miles away, for £2,200 so I bought it with a loan from the bank.
Things were looking up. Hey Farm a few years after we moved in, we were getting it tidy!
We moved into Hey Farm in 1959 and I got married the same year and brought my bride Vera home. Father had his works pension and his state pension and I had regular work as a driver. The financial pressure was off them and onto my back and on the 9th of October 1960 Vera had a girl, Margaret, who immediately became the apple of her grandparent’s eye. We had a few calves and pigs and I bought an old Land-Rover.
One of the first things I did was buy an old Land Rover and tidy it up. This became father’s personal transport because I was never at home, too busy working long hours on the road.
I think this period was the happiest Father had been for years, he had the animals, the gardening and his family and no worries. There were to be problems with us all under one roof but on the whole, it was a very good time for everybody. Shortly after we moved into Hey Farm, Father had his other eye operated on. It wasn’t the success that his right eye had been, it was too severely damaged, but there was a definite improvement and he could do all he wanted to.
By 1961 we were a family again. Mother, Norma Capstick (a friend of Vera and I), father holding Norma’s daughter Janet, my wife Vera and her mother Mary Agnes, Dorothy with her son Michael in the cart and our daughter Margaret helping her, Leslie my brother is on the end.
At about this time there was a strange little incident that I didn’t pay too much attention to at the time. I was working for the local dairy on long-distance milk tanking and often when I was on my way home at about noon with my load of milk for delivery anywhere within a 150 mile radius I would give a lift to an old Irish man called Bill Brennand.
Bill had come into the area in the 1940s as a labourer on a contract to build a concrete silo at Marton Hall Farm but liked the area so much he settled and eventually became the horseman at Southfield Farm. Though retired he still lived in a large wooden hut in Southfield yard and helped with the horses. He used to walk into Barnoldswick every day to get a steak and have a Guinness in one of the pubs. Bill liked walking but never refused a lift and this is how I got to know him.
How I earned my money in the 1960s, a lovely clean job with plenty of hours and unlimited free milk for the house.
One of the things Bill did to make some pocket money was make hay by hand on the canal bank and one day I asked him if I could buy it from him, I always let father deal with the animals and so I took Bill up to Hey Farm so he and father could come to an arrangement. As soon as they got talking it became obvious there was an old connection. They started talking about illegal trotting meetings up on the Pennine moors at the Flouch Inn and realised they knew the same men so they must have come into contact at the time.
I remember thinking to myself that typical old blokes that they were they didn’t delve into this too much, they passed it off but I’ve since realised that this could have been a nasty jolt for father, his past had come back to haunt him. Bill was part of the secret years between the wars and I have little doubt father had no desire to talk too much about it. Remember that at the time we didn’t even know that he and mother weren’t married.
Mother and father at Hey Farm in 1960. Perhaps the happiest they had ever been. The pressures were largely off their shoulders and the children were a bonus.
It was round about this time in the early 1960’s that I first really got to know my Father. I was settling down and moved into a phase where I neither hated or pitied my Father. I say this because, like most young men, I went through phases where I hated the Old Man because of the authority he had over me and pitied him because he was so ignorant. To paraphrase a famous quotation, it was marvellous how much he improved round about 1960! We actually started talking to each other and gradually became good mates, it was to be like this until he died. I used to spend hours listening to him talking about various parts of his life and eventually it dawned on me that he had a good story to tell and that it would all be lost when he died. I remembered the tape recorder and about 1962 started making the tapes which are the basis of this life story.
Father went back to his youth. I made sure there were always animals about for him and the children.
Looking back, there were things which he told me in these conversations which never got on the tapes. I’ve covered a lot of these already but there was one big question that he always shied away from and which was never resolved. This was the question of whether he was old Alec’s son or not, the one thing I am sure of is that he desperately wanted to be. I think he convinced himself that he was in the end but I have doubts about his certainty, apart from the fact that Jim was certain he wasn’t, and his Mother’s refusal to discuss the matter, I always remember something he said to me when we were discussing whether I was to stay on at school or go away to work on the farm. He told me that he had once wanted to go away to college in Sydney (This would be Mr Sweeney’s offer to take him to Dulwich College at Solihull) but ‘his stepfather wouldn’t let him go because he didn’t want the neighbours thinking he had got rid of him’. I can remember this conversation very clearly and for this reason have always had my doubts about Father’s certainty that old Alec was his Father. The funny thing is that it never came up in any of the letters from Uncle Stan and Auntie Dos in Australia during my long correspondence with them or in any of their letters to Father. I don’t suppose we will ever get a definite answer to this one now but on the whole, I think that Father wasn’t old Alec’s natural son.
[Many years later, in the period when we were all digging into the past to try to find out more about father’s life I think it was Mike Kinsey (Dorothy’s son) that found a birth certificate for my uncle Stan. This certificate seems to prove that Father’s assertion that there were no birth certificates in April 1893 was either a mistake or a lie. Stan was born on the 14th of April 1891 at a place called Jones Creek. His father is noted as Alexander McDonald, Bushman, 27 years old and born at Young, NSW. His mother is Lily Johnson (Johanstone?), 24 years old and born at Merrindie, NSW. The date of the marriage is given as the 17th of January 1884 at Mudgee and a note in this column says that there was one male child and one female living at the time, presumably from a previous marriage. If Alex was Lily’s husband (or claiming to be so) at that time we have to assume that he was also the father of Leslie. Of course there is nothing to say that Alex was the father but I feel the strong assumption must be that he was. Maybe the slip when father talked about his stepfather in the tapes was because he had an idea that they were actually not married. As you already know, we nailed this one down. Old Alex may have removed Lillian from Mudgee but he didn’t marry her until Christmas 1910. This means that Uncle Jim was right, father couldn’t have been a McDonald, in fact none of them were because Lillian’s name was either still Prince or Johanstone, her maiden name. The question remains, why did he dissemble about the birth certificate. My theory is that he may not have wanted to open up any sort of an audit trail that could lead back to the records and perhaps reveal details of his marriage later to Norma. All conjecture but part of the puzzle the old bugger left us!]
By late 1965, Vera and I had two more daughters, Susan and Janet and Hey Farm was bulging at the seams. Father made the decision that he and Mother should move out into a rented council house in Avon Drive not far away, leaving Vera and I ruling the roost at Hey Farm. They moved down there and Father immersed himself in the garden and lived his life out quietly. This he did until 1973 when a combination of diabetes, his bad chest and old age got to him, he died peacefully in Airedale Hospital after a short illness on 22 August 1973. I registered the death the same day, the cause of death was Left ventricular failure, Chronic bronchitis and type II diabetes. On small thing about his final illness. When he was admitted he was asked what his religion was and he said Buddhist. At one point the ward sister had a quiet word with me and said they were having a problem finding a Buddhist priest so I told her not to bother too much as he was not a man who practiced religion. Later, after he died the sister told me that they had found a priest and he had visited with father and spent a couple of hours with him so who knows how powerful his faith was?
I was with him the night he died and he said he was fed up and wanted to go. I told him that he hadn’t decided when he came into this life and he couldn’t decide when to go out. I asked him if he was going to last the night and he said yes so I said good, I’m going home for a bath and a sleep. In those days the police brought bad news and later in the evening a young bobby knocked on the door and I finished up giving him a whisky because he was more upset than I was.
Father’s handwritten will is interesting. He got a DIY form and wrote it himself on 16th of March 1969. He heads it Leslie Graham, MBE. DCM. It says; ‘To Mrs Vera Graham any Premium bonds that I hold. All other money or possessions I leave to Mrs Mary Graham of 13 Avon Drive Barnoldswick. I tender her my grateful thanks for her kindness and loyalty over the last 35 years. No flowers please, leave them where they belong in the garden.’ (Then a request that his ashes go back to Australia.)
There was another great mystery that was solved before Father died. For many years, we children (Dorothy, Leslie and I) had been puzzled by various small matters inside the family. I remember when we were at Napier Road there was the occasional letter for Mary Bowker which always disappeared as soon as Mother got hold of it. Now this was strange as we knew that Mother’s maiden name was Challenger. Another strange thing was that we never celebrated any sort of anniversary as a family, even birthdays were very low key. At the time, I always put this down to the fact that we were poor but in later years I began to suspect that there was more to it. I don’t know what eventually triggered my curiosity but one day while I was visiting Mother I asked her “Are you and Father married?” She jumped as though she had been shot and said “No, we never have been.” I said “Why didn’t you tell us years ago?” and she said “I don’t know.” We sat down with a cup of tea and the whole story came out.
When mother was a child she had what was then known as ‘infantile paralysis’, this was what we call polio nowadays. It left her with a withered left leg and a club foot and to the day she died, she couldn’t stand the smell of neat’s-foot oil as the treatment she had was to rub the leg twice a day with it. As she grew up, she was very conscious of her disability and at the back of her mind doubted whether she would ever get wed because she would be seen as a cripple. The consequence of this was that she took the first chance she got to get married, this was to a bloke called Bowker. They hadn’t been married long when he got into trouble with the police and was gaoled. At about this time, she met Father and they started living together. She had never got divorced and was still technically Mrs Mary Bowker. Well, this explained a lot of things, I had a word with father and told him what Mother had told me and he said “Thank God you know!” I said “Why didn’t you tell us before?” He said “Well, it’s a funny thing to tell your children but I suppose things are different nowadays.”
This wasn’t the end of it because when Father died, Mother didn’t qualify for a pension because her husband was still alive and working. We asked the Social Security people for help and they sorted it out for us. Amongst other things they told me that this bloke Bowker had been claiming allowances as a married man and that Father had never claimed for either a wife or children. This explained a lot about why we had always been short of money in the early days. It also explained why there had always been a barrier between mother and the society that father moved in. She was never invited to any functions connected with G.G.A. because they all knew about her as she’d worked there. Over the years, it must have been a cause of much hardship and distress but they just soldiered on with the job of minding their own business and rearing us children.
There was to be another strange consequence to this marriage. Years later my daughter Janet needed proof of who her parents and grandparents were. The evidence father had gathered together for his naturalisation papers came in useful again but they also wanted a full birth certificate for me. I had only ever seen the short form and when I applied for a full certificate to the Registrar at Stockport they couldn’t find me. I asked if this meant I could have all the tax and national insurance back but they said no, they would go on searching. Eventually I got a phone call from the Registrar who said they had found me filed under the wrong registration district but there was a small problem. Because of the rules that governed registration in 1936, as my mother had registered me without my father being present I had a choice of four surnames, Graham, MacDonald, Challenger or Bowker. I told them to leave it as it was to save a lot of trouble but I have to admit that Stanley Challenger MacDonald has a fine ring to it! In another context I had already chosen Challenger as a forename. When I finished my degree course at Lancaster University in 1982 I was asked what name I wanted on the Degree Certificate and I don’t know what prompted it but I thought it was about time mother was recognised so I said Stanley Challenger Graham and I have used that name ever since. I gave mother the certificate to hang on her wall and when she read it she started crying and gave me a kiss, the first I can ever remember having from her. I got the feeling I had done a good thing.
The fireplace in the front room at Hey Farm. Yes, we were getting straight by 1976! If you look carefully at the left hand end of the wooden mantelpiece you’ll see an oak box. This is father’s ashes and they lived with us until I took them back to Australia in 1987.
I can only speculate about father’s reasons for constructing the legend that he lived his life by from October 1919 onwards. I think the obvious fact is that a deserter who had spent almost all his army service in hospital with Gonorrhoea would be less likely to get a job than a war hero with medals and experience working in other areas. South Africa, Gallipoli, the DCM and service in France became his CV. I was talking to my friend Daniel Meadows about it and he suggested a deeper motivation that I think is valid. As soon as father did a runner into the army to escape the decision of whether to return to Australia and face the problems at home (and I believe this was the major factor in his decision) he started laying a false trail. It becomes fairly obvious from the letters from his family to Base Records that he had reported that he was in hospital ‘seriously wounded in action’, how could he tell them the real reason? Even more worrying, how could he avoid them finding out about his less than glorious war service?
He had plenty of time to think in hospital and no doubt met men who had been in South Africa and Gallipoli, his descriptions of both these phases are too accurate to be pure invention. I have little doubt that a man was murdered on that road contract. He must have realised at some point that he had dug a hole and he had to find a way out of it. If he went back to Australia he would face the same problems he left plus the truth about his war service. I doubt if his going over the wall in October 1919 was the result of a carefully laid plan, I suspect he was still looking for a way out but once he assumed his new identity and life he must have realised that he had burned his boats. As Daniel pointed out he was now a man who had cut himself off from everything he knew and from then on he had no choice but to live a lie which he never deviated from for the rest of his life. Add to this the fact that his living with mother was another lie, one which had effects on both of them. Remember that attitudes towards marital infidelity were far more harsh in those years than they are now, witness mother’s ostracism from father’s social life. Between them they had a heavy load to bear and this explains the strange atmosphere that we were all brought up in, very caring but no overt love or emotion. I’m sure that this left marks on all of us, I have always said I was deficient in close personal relationships but assumed this was my fault. It could well be that some of my parents angst rubbed off on me. Think of the precarious position father was in when he was recommended for the MBE and took British Citizenship. I suspect big sighs of relief when those perils were negotiated. It would only have taken one application for information to the Australian government to blow the whole legend out of the water! Was the reason he took the quick way out at the interview with the General Gas directors because he wanted a clean break before anyone dug further into his past? How much did Jimmy Braine know from the intelligence files?
The wonder of it is that mother and father managed to function for all those years but there must have been a price to pay. It makes me sad to think about it but like all their generation, once they had made their bed they lay on it. One last opinion, I don’t think my mother ever questioned the legend or knew anything about it. In later years she never gave any indication otherwise.
1982. Mother in the doorway of her house in King Street opposite mine in Barnoldswick. Dorothy and Leslie were over for a visit. She died on 1st of April 1985 after a short illness aged 75.
Well, that’s about it. I set out to tell you what I knew of my Father’s life because I think it was exceptional. I never had any doubts that I was my Father’s son and my Uncle Stan said that I was old George Johanstone all over again. My Brother Leslie is more my Father’s build, I don’t know who Dorothy takes after. My feelings about my Father are all good. I’m glad I knew him and his story. He was a good man and a fighter, I never saw him stuck for how to do a job, he had had experience of just about everything. He had faults, he was human, but I still miss him even today, if the priest in Jamaica was right, he will come back to a very good life in his next incarnation, I hope so.
Perhaps the best way to finish this story is to tell you what happened when I went to Australia. When Father died he asked that his ashes should be taken back to Australia and scattered on the Macquarie river opposite Eumalga. After keeping him in a box on the mantelpiece for 13 years I went out there in late 1986 for the first time and with help from Mary Hunter’s parents we headed for Dubbo. When I got there I had no surprises, I had spent so long listening to Father that I was at home straight away. I visited Eumalga and saw the old Serisier homestead where Father had spent his early days and the owner of Murrumbidgerie Station, Paddy Driver, took me to a spot on the Macquarie and I put father’s ashes in the river. It was very satisfying for me to do this and I think the Old Man was pleased as well, at last he was on his way down to Clancy country, the reed beds of the Overflow.
Paddy Driver in 1987. He found the ideal spot for us.
The Young Lad pouring the Old Lad into the river in 1987. Very satisfying.
The Young Lad explaining to the two reporters on his left why he was laughing as he poured father’s ashes into the river. I should explain that when the Dubbo branch of the Returned Serviceman’s League heard about my mission they wanted to have the full Monty, a band and speeches. I fended them off because I didn’t think this was what father would have wanted. I think everyone expected solemnity but as I poured the ashes into the water I realised that there might be a flaw in father’s plans to drift quietly down to the Overflow. As I poured the ashes in they separated, the bone sank to the bottom, the black oily part floated away on the surface and the rest dissolved in the water. I was laughing because the thought came into my head that he was going to have a hell of a job to get his act together! Bert Knaggs is stood behind me in the white shirt, Paddy is facing me and I think the man on the extreme right is Bill Hornadge.
THE LAST WORD
It’s been an interesting ride and some would say a pretty ruthless demolition job. I don’t see it like this, we should never be afraid of the truth, it can only improve things. Far better to get father’s story sorted out so we can be sure of the good things that are left and rely on them as a genuine part of our roots.
Looking back at my parent’s experience makes me realise how lucky they were in most of the important facets of life. True they had big problems but they also eventually found a lasting supportive relationship, reared three children and had the benefit of seeing their grandchildren, in the case of mine, even living with them. I can look back at my life and make comparisons. In some ways I was even luckier because I didn’t have to face the choices they encountered but in essence I have had the same experience, a good marriage, three wonderful daughters and six grandchildren. Not only that, but like father and mother, we are all still talking to each other. I know of many people who haven’t managed these fundamental things.
The other thing that strikes me is the way chaos theory rules us. I find it fascinating to look at people’s lives and how fate determines what happens to them. A butterfly flapped its wings in Dukinfield in 1905 and the results are still echoing down the years. We can’t control this chaos, all we can do is manage the results. I don’t see how Leslie McDonald and Mary Challenger could have done any better with the cards they were dealt.
I can only speak for myself but my final conclusion is that my father was a good and interesting man who, like all of us, was flawed. Faced with difficulties his method of regaining control over his life was to re-invent himself and who can say this was wrong? I believe that you are judged by what you leave behind you when you die, your work and your children. Based on those criteria Leslie Graham didn’t do too badly, many men have left less. He is my father and I still love him and cherish his memory. I hope he lies easy.
SCG/28 March 2010
APPENDICES
UNCLE STAN’S LETTER TO FATHER 16/03/64
16 Minna Street
Burwood
NSW
16/03/64
Dear Les,
I have had your letter and also Stanley the youngsters for some weeks trying to make up my mind what to write to you. I am not very good at it lately, anyhow, here goes.
You should be getting out of the winter now and we are just coming to it. I don’t blame you for not liking the cold Les, I don’t like it myself. We must be two of a kind as I start the winter with bronchitis or cigarette cough also. I have taken on eating a spoonful of honey every night, sometimes in orange or lemon juice, it seems to ease it a bit. Of course, it could be imagination. We have had one of the hottest and driest summers here for about five years but have had a good rain lately. According to the photo Stan sent me of your garden Les, it looks a pretty green one. I should imagine it would keep you pretty busy. I do no gardening now, Alan does that. We grow no vegetables, he has a good few shrubs and some trees, including gums. Sade grows a few flowers now and again. Sade and I are in a flat at the rear of the house, it is quite big enough for us. Alan bought the place some time ago, they live in the main part. Alan got out of the foundry about eight years ago, he is with Manufacturer’s in Burwood now. It is a much cleaner and better job, five days a week and I think he gets more pay out of it than he got in the foundry. Lesley, their daughter, is chasing seventeen years now. She left school at 15 after getting an intermediate and then did twelve months at a business college, now she is doing twelve months at the Technical College learning lady’s hairdressing.
You say Les you often recall our young days at Eumalga. I often do too. People sometimes say Les that we old folk live on our memories now. Whilst I often recall the past Les, I do not live entirely in the past, but it undoubtedly does give me some pleasure to look back on our childhood, if it is only to compare the past with the present and wonder what the younger generation’s reaction would be if they were temporarily transferred back to those times. Most young people today Les, at least, those here, are not interested in our young days. We did have some good times at Eumalga and Berida and Warrumbungles though Les and I don’t regret them.
It was out on Hoskins place near the Warrumbungles that I left Dad. I often think that was a mistake on my part Les. Poor old Mum always told me it was. I am not sure that she ever forgave me for that Les. She often mentioned it to me even years after. Dad never ever said a word about it. I was pretty sure he knew where I was though as the chap I was with, Tot McGuire, was engaged to Hoskin’s daughter and subsequently married her. I was in Bathurst and Wellington not long ago and I told Dos about it Les. You giving me threepence and half a loaf of bread before I left. I think I only had a very hazy idea about what I was going to do but I was lucky. As you know, I had a job with Tot McGuire the next day ring barking at 25/- a week and tucker. I was a millionaire so I thought. We went out to the Warrumbungles after and did some fencing on a place Hoskins had out there. Later did some on Tundubrine [Tonderburin.] I don’t know if I ever told you Les. There was a chap on Hoskin’s place out there called Bray. Dad told me not long before he died that this Bray was his cousin. One of his Mother’s sisters did marry a Bray from Young NSW. It was then known as Lambing Flat.
Berida was cut up long ago, they grow wheat there also sheep and beef cattle. All round Traweenak [Tooraweenah], Coonabarabran, Gilgandra and up to Coonamble and Walgett is wheat country, sheep and cattle. Most of those large stations being sub-divided. I think Eumalga was sub-divided into two places also. Of course, Brownlows left it years past. Around Dubbo, Wongarbon and Geurie have quite a lot of sheep and cattle and of course, wheat. There are quite a lot of studs around those places, cattle and sheep, some merinos but mostly fat lambs. It has become a bit of practice now in the good rainfall areas to have a bit of a stud on the place. Dubbo is one of the best towns in the West now. It is one of the few towns out there which is still growing. Wellington has improved but not to the extent of Dubbo. Bathurst and Lithgow are falling back.
There are not many round Dubbo that I know now Les. There are a good few of the old names but younger generation. Some of the Salters and Woodleys are still there. The last time I was there I met Albert Salter, he asked me after Dubs or Snooks was it. I told him you were still in England. Cherry Langley and Claude Salter were still there then, also Gill Henderson, he asks after you every time I see him. He has a shop in Talbragar Street, Mrs Dennis is still there, she was Fanny Sullivan, they lived opposite the showground in Fitzroy Street, her husband died not long ago. They have a first class abattoir there now, it is in what we called Bucks Paddock not far from the old place, also new cattle and sheep yards at Troy Junction. They hold about four sales a week there. There are quite a lot of abattoirs in the country now. Practically all the one-man slaughter houses have been abolished except in isolated places.
The old place is still standing but it is practically in ruins. Dos and Vera got that when Dad died. They had an offer to sell it some time ago but Vera would not agree so I don’t know what has been done with it.
You know Les, Dad could have done a lot better for himself, and I think we could have too. When you look back at some of the opportunities there were. I know that Dick Brownlow twice offered to put him on a place at Dubbo. Old John Murray wanted him to go on that farm he had at Gilgandra, but he knocked them back. He told me not long before he died that Mac Barry wanted him to take up a block out near Collie. Another man and his sons went on it. Dad earned a lot of money for other people. He was a pretty smart man, there was not many jobs he couldn’t do. He used to say to me in later years when he became more communicative “Show me how to do a job and I’ll do it.” I believed him too.
He never used to talk too much to us when we were young but in later years he got more confidential to me at any rate. I always went up there on my holiday and after I was retired I went up once and often twice a year for a month at a time, always at show time. He told me quite a lot about his past life. He told me his Mother’s Father wanted him to go with him when he was a young man but he wouldn’t go. There were five daughters and no sons in his Mother’s family then. Later, there was a boy when the old man married again after his wife died. Many of the offspring are still around Young. Although he used to get very close to telling me his exact age he never did so. I mean he never stated the year outright. He did claim to Fred Wise and Rick Brownlow that he was a hundred years old at the Dubbo Show in 1956 (May). He was living with Vera and Mollie then opposite the Show Ground in Wenguiana [Wingewarra] Street. They gave him the freedom of the showground that year and the man who declared the show open mentioned it in his speech and gave him a bit of a leg up. Uncle Harry always claimed he was one hundred and one. He told Dos that when he (Harry) was born at Coonabarabran, Dad was about 22 years of age. Uncle Harry was 79 when he died in July 1956. Dad died in August 1956. I asked him once about that and he said "Oh, I was a big lump of a young man then.” He said he was doing a fencing job on Guntywong [Guntawang], old --------‘s place when he got word he had a young brother. So it could be right. I used to give him a pipe each birthday. I know it was in April, so I said once when I gave it to him “Many happy returns Dad, whenever your birthday is.” He said “It’s on the 9th of April.” Mum always said Dad was born at Lambing Flat but he told me definitely that he was born at Araluen near Majors Creek, it was a gold mining place then, his Father used to follow the gold it seems. Incidentally, Dad said that was the reason why his Mother’s Father wouldn’t help Dad’s Father as he was opposed to gold mining. He helped all the others it seems.
After Araluen they shifted back to Lambing Flat, of course there was gold there too, quite a lot at one time. We were talking one day at Dubbo, about 1955 I think, he was a bit more confidential this day, there had appeared in one of the Sydney papers about that time an account of Frank Gardiner’s holding up the gold escort at Eugora rock. He said to me that a few days after that his Mother pointed out to him some horsemen riding along a ridge somewhere out that way and she told him they were Frank Gardiner and his gang. So, trying to get a line on his age I said to him “How old were you then Dad.” He said “I was six or seven years old then clamped up and would say no more. Well, Frank Gardiner and his gang robbed the gold escort at Eugora Rock on a Sunday (I think) it was in May or June 1862. The year is correct. So if he was six then he would be a hundred and five months at his death. If seven, he would be a hundred and one and five months, that tallies with Uncle Harry. I tried to get a record of his birth from Araluen, also from Young but was unsuccessful. I had to give all his particulars and register his death, it was about a month before I got them such as his Mother and Father’s Christian names, where they were born and where they were married etc. They were married at Lambing Flat, his Mother was born in Frankfurt in Germany and his Father was born somewhere in Fifeshire, Scotland or so I was informed. Anyhow, that is the information I gave them, also age 100 years. But I am personally not sure about that between you and me Les. Sometimes I reckon it at 101, other ways at 100 and then again I reckoned it at 93 years. Which is correct I can’t say. I wasn’t about then.
There are some of Uncle Ern’s family living around Liverpool, Sydney. I have not seen any of them since they were young. Some of Uncle Arthur’s family live at Haverfield, Sydney. I have never met any of the Haverfield ones. There was one of them had a shop at Waterfall on the South Coastline. I met him once or twice years ago. I haven’t seen any of the Crawfords for about four years. Les lives at Petersham, Kathy is at Greenacres near Sydney. Dora and Be—are in Trangie. I hear from them at Christmas when I send cards to them. Marianne and Vera are at Wilcannia on the Darling. Vera’s house is let to someone. I haven’t been up there for some time, I’m thinking of going up there in May if I can raise the wind. Sade says it’s too far for me, I don’t know, I went to Wellington and until I came back she thought I was only going to Bathurst. She reckons that’s far enough. But the trains are good now Les, about four hours to Bathurst and about eight hours to Dubbo. That’s on the daylight trains, all electric to Lithgow then diesel to Dubbo.
I don’t know what became of Pat Crawford. I haven’t seen him since he came back from England after playing cricket with the Australians. He gave cricket up when he came back and see his name mentioned in connection with the game now. I heard once some years ago that he was in Bourke, then I heard he was in Nyngan but I haven’t been able to verify that. I received a letter from his wife about that time asking me to give him a letter that was enclosed. I sent it to Bourke but it was returned unclaimed, then I sent it to Nyngan and it was returned again. I still have it. I am very sorry I have been unable to get in touch with him. I have asked Les but I don’t know whether he knows or not where he is now. I don’t know what you think Les but I was hostile over that. If I ever do contact him I will give him the letter but it is a bit late now. The last time I wrote you Les, I think it was about Christmas 1958, I sent [him] a card and letter. I told you about it then, but they were both returned to me from England marked not known or gone away.
I haven’t seen Alex since about 1944, he was working for a firm Kell and Rigby, builders at Katoomba. He came here and had some Xmas dinner. I haven’t seen him since. One of the Ryan boys told me he was talking to him at Springwood one day but that is a long way back too.
Poor old Mollie had no property left when she died. I don’t know what happened to it all. I suppose Dos has told you all about that Les. Well Old Chap, it is 1:30am. on the 17th of March 1964 now so I had better shut the trap eh! Sade is in Wollongong for a few days. I am batching. She has a week every now and again at Katoomba. I stay at home. I give her a break. I’ve been sticking around the house now for 18 years since I retired. They must get a bit sick of men hanging about especially after the railway job, away for days at a time.
Tell Stanley the Younger I will follow up with a letter for him. I wish you could win the pool Les. We would all like to see you again, especially myself and Dos, Sade and those here too. It’s a long while you know, 45 years next June. I doubt whether I will ever get enough to go over there unless I win a lottery and I’ve been trying to do that for 33 years now. Anyway, here’s luck to the pool.
It is now 2:00am. I have smoked a packet of cigs. No wonder I get the cigarette cough sez you.
You never said whether you had your eyes fixed Les. I hope you have. Also I hope you, Mary, Doris [Dorothy] Leslie and all the family are well. The Younger I will write to. Love and best wishes to you all from myself and all at home.
From your fond Brother, Stan.
PS. I never ever had the address of Pat Crawfords wife. Otherwise I would have written to her.
I am enclosing a photo of Dad taken Christmas 1954 (?) The two little girls are Arthur and Fanny Dennis’s girls. They were very good to Dad and to Mollie and Vera.
Stan.
LG LETTERS TO STAN MACDONALD 1964 AND 1967
[these letters were sent to me by Coral and Alan Macdonald and arrived 11th March 2008]
Letter from Hey Farm, Barnoldswick dated 6th of August 1964. Air letter, postage sixpence.
Dear Stan,
It was a real treat to receive your letter which came to hand some time ago. I was glad to see you are all well. We are not in bad shape with the exception of myself but that is a normal condition. Since I got your letter I have been in bed with Pneumonia and chronic bronchitis but I am back to normal now. Stan and Vera and the kids are away to the seaside for a weeks holiday. Les has just come back. Mother has had a week with Dorothy and Bill. I am not going anywhere, I can’t afford to indulge my expensive tastes. Dorothy has used one of your names for her youngest boy, she has called him Phillip Graham. Your mention of the old days brought back some nostalgic memories Stan. They were good days, we weren’t very wealthy but we had a lot of fun and family meant something. I did not know that Dad came from the Young area, he did not talk much and that I think was a pity but I am afraid I have been like that with my kids. Stanley once told me I was an enigma. Perhaps we don’t talk because we are afraid of making a slip. [My italics, a telling phrase I think] Sheila has divorced young Pat, I think she is very wise. She might meet someone and get married again. I haven’t seen her lately because I cannot go out on my own on account of my eyesight and hearing. Stanley has got me recording my life story which he plans to publish when I am dead. We are still in the process of recording, I do a two hour period about once a week. To fill in some gaps and make it a bit more interesting I have introduced a bit of fiction here and there so don’t let me down if Stan sends it to you. By the way, I am going to record a tape and send it to you. It will be in the form of a letter to everyone. I have some photos for you but I will send them later.
So long Stan, Love to all, Les.
Letter from 13 Avon Drive Barnoldswick dated 8 March 1967. Air letter costing nine pence.
Dear Stan,
You are dead right Stan, it’s a long time between drinks for ……. These days I have to drive myself to do things. There are times when there is a programme on the wireless which is annoying me and I’m too lazy to get up and turn it off. I have had a letter from your friend Harry Cobb. He is coming to see me when the daylight hours get a bit longer. We have been very lucky this year, we have had a very mild winter, it has been cold but we have had very little snow and blizzards. The continent has had it rough this year with floods and landslides and we have just missed it. Les has given up his job in the bedding industry and has taken up nursing in a mental health hospital. He has gone back to school for two years and if he gets a degree he hopes to go abroad for some institute for the care of mentally retarded people. He gave me a bit of a shock when he made his move because he was doing very well and had good prospects. But it is his own life he has to live and I hope he will be successful. We are a queer crowd, I had a letter from Sheila (Pat’s wife) the other day. Young Ray is ten years old, time flies. It seems no time since Pat was over here. What a bloody fool he was. He could have come over here and played for Lancs League for two years and then joined Lancs County. Anyhow he didn’t and that’s that. Mary and the kids are all well. Dorothy is the exception. She has some trouble with the muscles of her neck, she has to wear a collar in the cold weather to support her head otherwise she gets very tired. Stan’s girl, Margaret, is doing very well at school and Janet is walking and talking. Stan is still flogging the road and raising a few cows. He is as happy as a pig in muck, he has a jewel of a wife who lets him have all his own way. Our lads got a tanning in South Africa and in my opinion they deserved it.
So long Stan, Love to all at home, write soon, From your loving Bro. Les.
SCG/11 March 2008
LESLIE GRAHAM MACDONALD. INFORMATION IN SG FILES RE CITIZENSHIP APPLICATION AS OF 04 FEBRUARY 2005.
Temporary Australian passport no. C 2384 issued Australia House on June 1st 1949. Valid until September 1st and ‘not to be renewed except upon production of definite evidence of Australian citizenship’.
Entry visas etc for Netherlands 15th June, Sweden 17 June 1949; Norway 21/22 June.
UK passport no. LO 476475 issued 13th September 1950. Issued at Liverpool and valid until 13th September 1955. No visas, never used.
National Insurance number from a receipt for a stamped card issued 3rd July 1958 for 1957/58 card is TY290250D.
Letter from 10 Downing Street dated 27th May 1946, ref. 14?732/B.E.5. informing that MBE was going to be in the forthcoming Birthday Honours List. Father’s reply dated 28th May 1946. letters of congratulation during July 1946 after list was published.
Letter from the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood, St James’s Palace dated 4th March 1948 to accompany the MBE warrant.
Funnily enough while looking through the papers I realised that father’s place of birth is Jones Creek, near Dubbo and not Rocky Creek as he always said.
The certificate from the pastor at the Presbyterian church in Dubbo certifying father’s birth date of April 17th 1893 and baptismal date of May 23rd 1893 is dated 30th July 1951. Uncle Stan’s affidavit is dated 2nd August 1951.
I have the duplicate Form R. 1. Application No. G50561, 4794. Australia. The application is dated 20th July 1950 and a stamp stating that it has been registered and father is a citizen of the UK is dated 7th September 1950.
Letter from the Nationality Division at the Home Office dated 24 July 1950 asking for birth certificate, any other evidence of birth. Copy of Letter from Father dated 25th July 1950 explaining that there was no birth certificate and asking what evidence they could suggest. Another letter from the same office dated 10th August 1950 asking for mother’s maiden name and a better address than just ‘Dubbo’. A further letter dated 11th August 1950 asking for the restricted Australian passport and discharge papers from service in the war.
It looks as though the Home office gave up the struggle, gave the citizenship but continued to chase the evidence. Uncle Stan certified a photograph and got a certificate of the baptismal record and this evidently satisfied the civil servants as they never rescinded the citizenship.
It’s worth noting that on the application father gave mother’s name as Mary Graham and stated he was married to her. Of course he wasn’t and she was actually Mary Bowker and still married to her husband. I often think about the pressure this must have put on them both. Big sighs of relief when the application was granted and Uncle Stan’s evidence accepted I suspect.
The LG Story is archived at the Imperial War Museum in London as accession number 20528/33, Reels 1 to 30.
Leslie Graham MacDonald the informant was works general manager at General Gas Appliances, Corporation Road, Audenshaw. There is a collection of 124 images from GGA dating from the late 1920s to 1950 in the Tameside Local Studies Library Archive.
SCG/04 February 2005
SUMMARY OF LG RESEARCH
Abbreviations used:
MB is Medals Board Précis of service record.
GD is used to denote dates extracted from the diary of Charles Edmund Gray who was a passenger on HMAT Beltana. [HMAT Beltana
11,120t. 14 knts. P&OSNCo. Commonwealth control ends 14 Sept. 1917.]
SGM denotes records relating to Stanley Graham McDonald, Leslie McDonald’s elder brother.
MH = Michele Hutchison + family oral history
MK = Mike Kinsey + family oral history
LM/T = Leslie McDonald Tapes
JM = Jude Maloney
SGMcD = Stanley Graham McDonald letter
The summary given by the Australian National Archive for father’s service record (record number 1842656) is brief but contains the following information: Service number 4577. Place of birth Dubbo which was also the place of enlistment. Next of kin is reported as Norma McDonald, wife.
Further: Leslie McDonald, service number 4577. Rank, private. Unit on enlistment is 30 Infantry Battalion, 7th to 12th reinforcements (May-November 1916). Embarked on ship number A72, HMAT Beltana at Sydney on 25/11/1916. [The Gallipoli campaign is generally reckoned as starting on the 25th of April 1915 and ended on the 9th of January 1916. Therefore father could not have been at Gallipoli.]
I checked the roll for the 12th reinforcement of the 30th battalion and Private Leslie Graham 4577 is included. Religion given as CofE, occupation as miner, age 23, next of kin his wife Mrs Norma McDonald, care of Mr A McDonald, Fitzroy Street, Dubbo. Enlistment date is 6th of November 1916. [Only 19 days before embarkation]
EVIDENCE OF CHARLES EDMUND GRAY DIARY.
We found the diary of Charles Edmund Gray on the internet, he sailed on the same ship and it’s useful because it gives some clear dates and timings:
“We sailed at 2.30pm on Saturday Nov 25th 1916, leaving behind us all that was near and dear. But carrying with us the good wishes and kind thoughts of our homes, friends, and the Australian people.
It did not take us long to settle down to the life of a troop ship. The men, more or less, were used to roughing it, and we were soon at home. Hammocks were provided for sleeping in. And these are not too comfortable when one has been use to a feather bed, but they are better than the hard floor. The food on board is not to grumbled at, of course there were a few flaws, but these were rectified in time. We got a good variety of foods, amongst which the most noticeable is the plum pudding of which we got a good supply. This pudding did not do credit to the cook, and there’s one thing certain, and that is, if we should have gone down entertained[sic]. But still what did it matter when we must go through all sorts of hardships. Concerts were freely given on board, and together with picture shows and other games served to keep the men amused without which the voyage would have been absolutely dead. As for the weather during the voyage, it had been beautiful with the calmest seas. And as one old sailor said. The calmest for the last twenty five years he had experienced.
There was a fair amount of sickness on board, a few went under, but that was only natural, being caused no doubt, by the change of climate, and altered conditions of food, and living. But of late everybody has been well and everything has a more cheerful outlook.
On nearing Fremantle W.A. a fire was discovered on board. There was no panic, but some excitement prevailed among the troops occupying that part of the ship where the fire was. [This is interesting because Gray’s description is much lower key than father’s]
However it was soon got underhand, and the ship put full steam ahead for Fremantle. Arriving there upon the 2nd of Dec 1916 early in the afternoon. While lying in the harbour some amusement was caused by the catching of a small shark. [Again, ties in with Father but lower key] We remained anchored in the harbour all night, and early Monday morning we tied up to the wharf, where we disembarked. This operation took up little time, and soon we were entrained and rushed to Claremont near Perth, where we entered camp for a few days. While at Claremont we took the opportunity of seeing Fremantle and Perth. The trains and trams being free. An example that could easily be taken by New South Wales.
Fremantle harbour is rather a nice one, though not to be compared with Sydney but the Port of Fremantle itself is very up to date possessing many handsome buildings, and large well kept streets, with double decked electric trams. Perth also is a very clean city possessing many charming buildings, and a grand esplanade. The city is only a small one but it is altogether well laid out, and seems to be a busy place. A thing one first notices here is the narrowness of the railway gauge and the jerkiness of the trains.
But our stay was only short being but three days, and on Wednesday December 5th 1917 we again boarded the boat and once more started on the voyage; being farewelled on the wharf by many of the Perth people, who are very patriotic. For the next three weeks our journey was quiet, nothing but the usual Physical Drill and daily routine taking place, and this at times becomes monotonous. But the time soon went by, and we were soon nearing the African Coast. All being eager to get ashore, and stretch their legs, as being on board so long without any real exercise, has a bad effect upon the muscles of the body, and one gets horribly cramped up. Early on the morning of Dec 19th 1916. A slight grey mist could be seen and as the mist rose, and we came nearer, land could easily be seen. Then as we came closer, the sugar cane farms and houses could be seen on the cliffs along the coast. We arrived at Durban Harbour at 7PM on Dec 22 1916, and of course had to remain on board until the next morning.
A good number of blacks gathered along the wharf as soon as we pulled alongside and they would dance and sing, and then ask for a penny. They were very funny in their antics, and if half a dozen pennies were thrown down; they would fight and tear each other about to get one. Shortly after 8PM we commenced coaling and it was very interesting to watch the niggers work. Baskets of coal were filled by black labourers, and placed on their shoulders who ran up the gangway and dumped the coal in the bunkers, after dumping they ran down again, and had another placed on their shoulders, it is wonderful how quickly they work.
One nigger was covered in ribbons, which had been colored some time or other. He also had a whistle which he would blow all the time he was running up and down the gangway. He was the pace maker for the gang. When they were tired they just tumbled backwards into their baskets, and slept for a couple of hours then up, and at it again. After watching the niggers for some time, we turned in for a good night’s rest in preparation for the morrow.
Thursday Dec 22 1916. Reveille at 6AM. The order is full dress for parade. We filed out from the ship, and formed up in a square opposite the wharf, each Battalion with its colours flying. After a brief lecture from Major Sasse D.S.E. who is the C.O. on the ship. The Battalion formed up in column of route, and marched through Durban. After dinner at 2PM we were given general leave. The weather by this time; for we were nearing the tropics, was very hot, although the temperature is not as high as at home, it is very oppressive.
However disregarding the heat, we set out on a sight seeing expedition. One of the things that first strikes the visitor at Durban, are the number of Kaffirs that inhabit the place. These niggers do nearly all the work in the place. The white population are mostly well to do. A white man would not thrive in this town, unless he has plenty of money or is a tradesman. The wages of a nigger range from £1 to £2 per month. Poorly clad, and with their antics they are amusing. They are very cute and are always out to catch you if they can. A Class of blacks (Zulus) run Rickshaws for hire, by this means making a good sum of money. I am sorry to say that often their life is of short duration. Some catch pneumonia through not taking care of themselves. Whilst others weaken their hearts by over running. Great upright men of magnificent physique. They would make a fine army of soldiers.
The city of Durban is a beautiful place. The streets wide and clean, with beautiful buildings that makes the place, an attractive one for visitors. Among the public buildings. The Town Hall, perhaps (which is built of pure white stone) is the most handsome. During our stay, we visited mostly all the places of interest, and the people received us well. Again trains and trams were free. Which makes us wonder how other countries, can throw their trams and railways open to the soldiers, while we are deprived of these rights in our own state.
The Y.M.C.A. treated us well, and we found their huts very cool and attractive, when needing a rest. One of the most striking features of Durban harbour is the Bluff. A high ridge of land, running well out to sea, forming an excellent protection to the harbour. And can be seen long before the harbour is reached. Mangroves and Pineapples, grow in abundance on the ridge, and can be procured by a climb to the top of it. After seeing all the places of interest, and having enjoyed our stay very much. We boarded the ship and started for Capetown. By this we were approaching Christmas, and we regretted that it should be spent on sea. We left Durban on Dec. 23rd 1916. [They seem to have done a lot for one day in port]
Xmas eve was kept up on board with the usual carols, and the boys enjoyed themselves to the best of their ability, and as far as circumstances would allow. Christmas Day came round and with the gifts from the Y.M.C.A and the N.S.W. War Chest Society was spent very pleasantly. Xmas Day, Officers Playing Cricket on board the Beltana, the deck was reserved for officers & nurses. At dinner we toasted the health of our homes and friends and wished by next Xmas we would be home again. Boxing day found us near Capetown. Soon we saw the Table Mountain in the distance, and we knew that we were nearing the shore. As we came nearer, the land became more clearer and the Table Mountain towering above the city came prominently into view. At 8AM we entered the harbour which is rather a nice one, having more shipping accommodation than Durban. After dinner we were allowed ashore and started to view the city.
Capetown lying at the foot of Table Mountain (which derives its name from the fact that it much resembles a table on top with a snow cloth on) is much admired by all who happen to see it. It possesses many handsome buildings, and tourist resorts. We visited many places of interest, chief amongst these being the Museum, Gardens, Pier, Cecil Rhodes Memorial, and Camp’s Bay. Contained in the museum is undoubtedly one of the finest collections of animals you would see anywhere. Here a sample of almost every animal that could be procured in the jungles of Africa was to be seen, and together with the other collections made our visit both interesting & educating. Passing the handsome Parliament Building we found ourselves strolling in the Beautiful gardens at the entrance of which is a fine statue of Cecil Rhodes and in which stood the public Library. The esplanade and beach were places much admired. After Visiting Cecil Rhodes Residence, we boarded a tram bound for Camp’s Bay.
And the drive round the edge of the mountains is a grand one overlooking the sea & Town.
During the evening we strolled along the Pier, which is said to be one of the finest in the World, not because of its size, but the way it is designed, with the concert rooms and Band stands, and its lighting. And a stroll along it on a hot summer’s night, is both healthy and invigorating. On the whole our stay at Capetown was much enjoyed, and we left feeling pleased that we had the opportunity of seeing another fine City of Africa.
On Wednesday afternoon at 4pm together with seven other transports, we steamed out of the harbour to continue our voyage under escort. Thursday found us well out at Sea, and for the next six days nothing of note occurred. Favoured with fine weather still, the run over was very enjoyable.
6.30am on the 3rd of January, 1917, found the column of transports alongside the Island of St Helena. The Island, bound by high rugged cliffs, is only 8 miles long by 6 wide. On which is a population of 3500 inhabitants, whose chief industry is cattle raising, though a quantity of lace and potatoes, which are said to be the best in the World are exported from there. The soil in the interior being of a most fertile nature.
The Island itself is not much to look at from the sea, being a rugged volcanic formation, but it is historical being he island to which Napoleon was banished, and it was here that he ended his days. Though later his remains were removed to France. We didn’t go ashore here, but were anchored off all day. [Gray doesn’t mention a reason for stopping at St Helena]
On the January 4th we once more moved on. The temperature was rising and the heat crossing the equator was intense. On January 11th, Thursday at 6 o’clock in the afternoon, we again sight land and in a few hours we are anchored off Freetown the Capital of Sierra Leone Protectorate. We remained in the bay and for four days we endured the hottest of weathers.
The population of Freetown is about 3000 Blacks with about 150 white officials. Freetown lies at the foot of many green hills, beautifully studded with coconut, and banana palms which form an excellent background to the town, and viewing it from the harbour, it presents a picturesque, and delightful scene. All tropical fruits grow in abundance and the blacks bring them across in canoes and sell to the ships. Making very good money. The place is noted for many kinds of sickness, so natural in these hot climates, and this makes this part of Africa very unhealthy for white people. The chief exports are Gold, Palm oil, and rubber. Sierra Leone was the first place to liberate the slaves.
Sunday January 14th, 1917 at 9AM. We once more started on our journey, which was the last stage. Very little of note occurred, except target practice, a precaution against submarines. One day I was pleased to notice several schools of flying fish. These looked very pretty in the sunlight looking like a shower of silver leaping from the water. Whilst flying, their wings make them resemble silver birds. The last few days of our trip, were very cold, and the weather inclined to be a little boisterous, and on January 29th 1917, we reached England.
Jan 28th 1917. As we near the coast of England the destroyers become alert and rush backwards and forward across our bows Ever watching and guarding us against our enemy the Submarine. Eddystone lighthouse is passed and we eventually come to anchor and tie up near Devonport dockyard. We passed a training ship on our way up the harbour and despite the severe cold weather (Jan 29th) the training boys were out to give us a rousing cheer. We responded vigorously and discarding our lifebelts, put on our packs in readiness to disembark. We left the Old Beltana at 4.30PM and were placed in 3rd Class carriages. (these are not too bad and nearly as good as our 1st Class in Australia) [This man was enrolled in the 6th Reinf of the 35th Battalion, 9th Inf Brigade. The thing that strikes me about this is that this is the same sailing that Father was on, this bloke confirms the fire. It looks very much as though Gallipoli was a romance.]
TIMELINE BASED ON THE SERVICE RECORDS OF LESLIE AND STANLEY GRAHAM MCDONALD AND OTHER INFORMATION.
One of our informants is Christine Whiting who is a great grand daughter of Lillian Prince nee Johansen/Johnson, who left a chap called James Prince and settled with old Alexander ‘Alec’ McDonald in Dubbo … producing of course Leslie McDonald in 1893! Lillian Johnson married James Prince in Mudgee. They had sons including ‘Jim’ who was killed in an accident when a telegraph pole he was working on broke and he fell. Jim married Olive ‘Min’ White in 1911 who seems to have lived very closely with the McDonalds and they had kids which led to Christine. Christine says: “James Prince (Father’s step-brother Jim) married Olive White when she had 3 children already, Jack, Alice and Charlie White – don’t know what happened to the father, but rumour is that he was a mate of James Prince who then married his widow. Between 1911 and 1915 they had 3 kids, so Olive Prince then was a widow with 6 kids. She married again in 1925 to Arthur Jamieson, and died in 1946 aged 66. I never knew her, I was born in 1948.”
Charles Prince (Jim’s brother) was killed at Ypres in September 1917. In one of Molly Crawford’s letters to Base Records she mentions that Lillian/Lily had lost two sons, one in the war and one by accident.
1823
This is the start of the Lillian connection. I thought it was worth putting this in as 1823 because it is the earliest evidence we have. Go from here to 1856 for the marriage. MH- Ferdinand JOHANSEN born circa 1823 Fuen, Denmark –known later in Australia as JOHNSON or variations, William and William George, from around 1880. Birthplace shown as Germany on marriage cert, occupation as gold digger age 35 giving a yob of 1821.
1833
Alexander McDonald b 1833/1844 at Edinburgh (or Fifeshire?) Father’s grandfather. Occupation, known to be Gold miner, Miner and Stonemason; resided Young (used to be called Lambing Flat. Present on electoral list of 1861) NSW. Died before 1910.
LM/T. Alex(1833) is reputed to have at some point owned a pub or hotel at Appletree Flat ( not that far from Dubbo) and lost it in a game of cards. (Echoes of the SKINNER story there!)
LM/T/MK. The common family story is that he was a Scot (variously from Fifeshire or Edinburgh) and ‘followed the gold’ when he got to Australia . He may have been a steward aboard ship who jumped when he got there, or have worked his passage. He settled around the area of Young, NSW.
1856
Marriage of Ferdinand Johansen. (cert no 1856/001667) 22nd April 1856 at Meroo (nr Mudgee): 1667/1856 JOHANSEN, FERDINAND, HICKEY, MARGARET JANE at MUDGEE.
Margaret Jane Hickey born circa 1832 at Pitt Town, NSW. There are multiple birth entries for Margaret but the information on the marriage certificate suggests a birth date of 1835. viz. Father was John, mother Margaret, occupation domestic servant age 21 (gives yob 1835) (Hickey family of Irish origins). She died 1915 at Appletree Flat, certificate shows Margaret Jane Johnson. Her family was of Irish origin (catholic?) Her surname shown as White on Lillian’s marriage cert)
[RECORDS.NSW.GOV.AU Significant numbers of Germans then began migrating to New South Wales and by 1856 the number of German-born immigrants in the colony had risen to 5245. German immigration peaked in the 1880s and early 1890s and at the census in 1891 the figure had increased to 9565. There were large German settlements in towns such as Albury, Grafton, Tenterfield, Armidale, Bega and Temora. It has been estimated that as many as 15% of Germans living in rural districts were located on the goldfields near Young and Uralla (Rocky River) with smaller settlements at Araluen, Bingara, Tumut and Cooma.]
[MK - Germany and Denmark are of course neighbours, and parts of the two countries were ‘owned’ by each other at various times, so a Dane living in a German community and at some times calling himself a German and later anglicising his name is entirely feasible.][SG note: Anglicising surnames of immigrants is very common, often done by an official who used the nearest Anglo-Saxon equivalent. Very common in immigration records for the United States]
Children of Ferdinand and Margaret Jane: (all we know at present is the basic BDM information)
5916/1856 JOHANSEN WILLIAM, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born 1856
9401/1860 JOHNSTONE FERDINAND E, FERDINAND MARY J at MUDGEE. Born 1860, died 1861.
10405/1862 JOHENSON MARY E, FERDINAND & MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born 1862
10466/1863 JOHNSON FERDINAND, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born and died 1863
11513/1865 JOHANSEN JOHN F, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born and died 1865
11365/1866 JOHANSEN LILLA, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE
12742/1868 JOHANSEN ALBERT, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born 1868
13180/1871 JOHNSON JAMES HUGH, FERDINAND MARGARET at MUDGEE
13250/1871 JOHANSEN GEORGE H FERDINAND, FERDINAND MARGARET J at MUDGEE. Born 1871
[George has children -
14772/1895 JOHNSON HANORAH R, GEORGE H F ANNIE at MUDGEE
14521/1896 JOHNSON GEORGE H F, GEORGE H F ANNIE at MUDGEE
13976/1898 JOHNSON MARY M, GEORGE H F ANNIE at MUDGEE
33362/1900 JOHNSON ANNIE P, GEORGE H F ANNIE at MUDGEE
32164/1903 JOHNSON WILLIAM C, GEORGE H F ANNIE at MUDGEE]
Lillian May aka Lilla JOHANSEN born 2 July 1866 at Merrendee, NSW. Father Ferdinand Johansen, digger, age 43 (yob 1823) born Denmark, children 1 boy & 2 girls living, 3 boys dead, registered at Mudgee 10 Sep 1866)
Marriage to PRINCE circa 1873. 1888-89 resettled with Alexander (see below), married him 1910. Died 3 Jan 1933 (cert ref 1933/003335) at Dubbo hospital of heart attack after 3 month illness, buried with family at Dubbo cemetery.
SG note: Lillian/Prince marriage. A small discrepancy here because if birth date is right she wasn’t 17 but 19.
Lillian marries James W Prince at Sydney aged 17(?).
493/1885 PRINCE JAMES W + JOHNSON LILY at SYDNEY
and they have 3 children:
George Charles dies age 3 yrs
Charles, Killed in action WW1 21/9/17 in France. (NB George and Charles are twins born 1885 at Mudgee.)
[LM/T, ‘brother Charlie was away working at sea’; MH. Father Prince asked for one of his sons back after the break-up and Charles agreed to go. MK. There is a sense of family secrets here, Les didn’t know the truth, nor did he mention him in terms of military service, so he probably knew nothing about him]
James William born 22/10/88 (‘brother Jim’, ’Dubbo Jim’) He died in October 1915 age 27 while working as a telegraph linesman when a telegraph pole he was working up fell down, his harness stopped him from jumping clear. See reports under 1915.
Death Cert 17638/1915 PRINCE JAMES W (son of) JAMES W & LILIAN at DUBBO
Married to Olive WHITE (‘Min’), they had three children, James, Olive and George. Min remarried in 1925, as did 2 of the children in 1930 and 33. [Min re-marries] Marriage 4156/1925 JAMIESON ARTHUR M + PRINCE OLIVE M @ DUBBO
James and Olive marry in turn -
12784/1930 SALDERN LESLIE T and PRINCE OLIVE L M at NEWTOWN
5799/1933 PRINCE JAMES A and SOWTER DOROTHY M at ASHFIELD
[ MH. There is a story of a granddaughter from Tasmania making enquiries to locate family, but no details of her are known.]
MH -PRINCE treats Lillian badly in some way, Alexander turns up in a sulky one day at Mudgee and takes Lillian and the 3 (or 2 ?) boys away. PRINCE later asks for one of his sons back, Charles goes. (LM/T, ‘brother Charlie who was working away at sea’. How much of this did Les know? Is this where the talk of whether the ‘old man’ was really Les’s father comes from?)
Lillian and Alexander take up together, unmarried until 27/12/10 in Wellington. a Christmas wedding (Alex the romantic?) registered at the start of 1911 which produced several more children including Leslie:
Marriage cert 1911/003490. Wellington Methodist church, his occupation labourer age 46, hers domestic duties age 44, his residence Pibon (?) near Coonabarabran hers Dubbo. Alex: son of Alexander McDonald, stonemason and Elizabeth Catherine Young. Lillian’s parents William George Johnson, miner and Margaret White. [MK. Why give different addresses, embarrassment ? Why is her mum’s surname White, divorced & remarried?)
Children:
Lillian May (May) born 9 Aug 1889 at Murrumbidgerie (now known as Wongarbon) 15845/1889 MCDONALD LILIAN M, ALEXANDER LILY at DUBBO. Married Jack CRAWFORD Marriage Certificate 1233/1909 at Dubbo. Died 1954. Certificate, 6912/1954 CRAWFORD LILLIAN MAY, ALEXANDER LILLIAN at BALMAIN
[Child William Patrick Anthony CRAWFORD b 3 August 1933 (‘Pat’ played cricket for Australia in 1956 test v England]
Lillian’s next child: Stanley Graham b 14 April 1891 at Jones Creek (nr Dubbo?) 12262/1891 MCDONALD STANLEY G, ALEXANDER LILY at DUBBO
[Stanley married Sarah Jane (aka Sade) BOURKE, 2040/1914 MCDONALD STANLEY G to BOURKE SARA J at LITHGOW
Worked as fireman on the railways. WW1 service in Light Railway Operating Company in France. Wrote some poignant poetry while serving. Evidently felt the loss of Sade’s brother Charles, killed in action in France. Died 1968, ashes interred with Sarah’s in Burwood. Death certificate: 29126/1968 MCDONALD STANLEY GRAHAM, ALEXANDER LILY at BURWOOD.
[JM. I remember him as a great public orator and champion of the labour party. Child Alan ( currently resident with wife Coral in Burwood Sydney), grandchild Lesley.]
Leslie b 1893. Recorded his life story for son Stanley in mid 60’s – transcripts on www.oneguyfrombarlick.co.uk
[MK - A great adventurer and storyteller, always in a scrape, he seems to have had his father’s talent for being able to turn his hand to any job but it took him 40-plus years for his feet to stop itching!]
Leslie married 20 July 1913. 11611/1913 MCDONALD LESLIE + SUTHERLAND NORMA at WARREN. His occupation blacksmith age 20 born Wongarbon residing Narromine, hers nurse age 20 born Bourke residing Never???; Consent given by his father Alexander, occupation contractor (mother Lillian Johnstone) and her father William Charles Sutherland occupation grazier, mother Gertrude nee Hoskins, as both under 21. Married in the presence of LM & J Crawford (Leslie’s sister Lillian May and her husband Jack). According to Les’s service record Norma is his next of kin and there is a child, possibly a daughter called Norma born 1914.
[This looks like the BDM for Norma’s later marriage: (MK- the name Considine shows up in Les’s service record in 1923, perhaps trying to tidy up loose ends) 8026/1933 CONSIDINE JAMES + MCDONALD NORMA E at BROKEN HILL.]
[MK. Was the child the reason for the marriage? Les deserted her before 1916 when he joined up for WW1 and never came home. He died 1973 in hospital in Yorkshire. I remember visiting him , and that he was murmuring a song to himself; Mum worked out that it was ‘somewhere over the rainbow’. There’s a lot more could be said about my Grandad Les. My bet is that there’s a lot we’ll never know, and a lot that yet could be discovered (watch out for the skeletons in the closet)! But I do know that he was a fascinating human being , and what a life!]
Lillian’s children again:
Doris Kathleen b 1895 aka Dos or Dorrie. Died 18 April 1987 age 92.
[JM. She was without doubt the most full-on up-front feisty person I have ever had anything to do with. But we all loved her and she played a great role in the lives of us kids. SG note, I wrote to Aunty Dos for years and of course lost all the letters when the family moved while I was in the army.]
Dos married Daniel MALONEY of Geelong, they separated in the late 1920’s. After this she was housekeeper at the West Bathurst Presbytery until her death. They had 3 boys, Raymond who died as a child and is buried in Dubbo with Margaret and Lillian. Kevin and Clem. Clem was a butcher. Kevin a mechanic and later a funeral director in Bathurst, married Joan Kennedy and produced Jude, Helen, Michael and Marie. Jude is a retired policeman and lives in Dubbo. Joan, now 84, lives on the coast.
Alexander N (Neil?) born 1898. Little known of him, in photos he appears quite a dandy, family stories have him as a ‘black sheep’ and report him as having died young or killed in the war (he never served). He was on the run from something. Vera believed she saw him in Katoomba in about 1938 or 1939 from a bus as she passed by. There are possibilities in BDM deaths, but inconclusive.
Triplets born to Lillian and Alex, 15 Dec 1906 (listed in order) at Wongarbon. (LM/T. This was big news, ‘they got the King’s bounty for producing triplets’)
Margaret Iris Emily died 22 Sept 1923 age 17 buried at Dubbo. Death Certificate: 15402/1923 MCDONALD MARGARET, ALEXANDER LILY at DUBBO.
Vanessa Phyllis Sarah died 10 Feb 1907 age 8 weeks, buried Wongarbon. (LM/T. Relates very sadly ‘she didn’t have long to carry the burden of those three names…’. Alexander was away working and only arrived as the funeral was in progress. The tiny coffin was too large for the grave and so he grabbed a pick , jumped in and enlarged it. MK. I stood at this grave picturing that awful scene, it was impossible not to be touched by it.) 1101/1907 MCDONALD VANESSA P S, ALEXANDER LILIAN at DUBBO.
Vera Mary Grace died 11 July 1986 buried Dubbo. Married Bryce LANG , (daughter Marianne, grandchildren Michelle and Leon)
NB. Molly SKINNER. See below re the Skinner family. Molly was like another daughter to the McDonalds, and largely brought up Vera. George Gain killed in action in WW1 was a best mate of Les. Birth Certificate 18799/1873. George White Gain Father George Sause Gain, mother Ellen Jane Gain at Tambaroora. Marriage Certificate 2039/1891. George Gain to Mary A Corrigan at Albury, no death cert found. Molly was born as Mary Ellen SKINNER around 1884 in Dubbo, NSW. Father William SKINNER, Mother Ellen Jane REED. [There is a death certificate for Ellen Jane Skinner daughter of George and Catherine at Dubbo in 1915. 17640/1915] Molly died around 1962 in Bathurst, NSW and is buried in the Old Church of England Section Bathurst Cemetery, Bathurst, NSW
[MH. Dear Molly lived with the McDonald family in Dubbo, NSW. Molly also took care of my mother Marianne Mary LANG. Molly was like a mother to her. Molly later in life went to live with Aunty Doris MON in Bathurst, NSW. That’s where I saw her as a little girl when we went there one time to see my brother Leon at the time he was going to school in Bathurst and was boarding with Aunty Doris and Molly. I would sing to Molly in her bed room, “Molly put the kettle on” and do a little dance for her. She was a lovely lady.]
Molly’s father and mother had the Occidental Hotel (now the Dubbo Hotel) her father was there till he died in 1888. The Occidental Hotel burnt down in 1900 and was rebuilt. Mrs SKINNER carried on holding the license from 1888 to 1898, she was alderman of Dubbo Council. Prominent member of the Presbyterian Church. Director of Protestant Hall. Mr William F R SKINNER (Molly’s father) born around 1843 Nova Scotia, educated public school in native place. Around 1868 came to Australia Gympie Gold Fields and rewarded with great success. From Gympie Queensland to Hill End was his next move with indifferent success then to Green Valley then to Orhir Diggings. 1872 to Dubbo, NSW and married Mrs GAIN (mother of Molly, and George by previous marriage) who at the time was licensee of the Albion Hotel and for 12 months Mr SKINNER kept that hotel holding licenses from 1879 to 1880 then he bought the “Telegraph Hotel” held license 1880 to 1882 then bought “The Occidental Hotel”.
Marriage-
7277/1896 GAIN GEORGE W + PEARCE ELLEN J at DUBBO
Deaths-
30808/1957 GAIN VICTOR GEORGE, GEORGE WHITE ELLEN JANE at PETERSHAM
29235/1958 GAIN OSWALD ROY, GEORGE WHITE ELLEN JANE at NEWTOWN
6631/1914 GAIN WILLIAM F, GEORGE ELLEN J at DUBBO
17976/1955 GAIN ELLEN JANE, JOSEPH REBECCA at BURWOOD
41737/1971 SKINNER FRANCIS REED, WILLIAM FRANCIS AGED 89 YR at DUBBO
15189/1952 SKINNER WILLIAM HENRY, WILLIAM HENRY ELLEN JANE at WELLINGTON
(Not strictly family, but Molly was so close – where are the descendants of these folks now?)
1861
Old Alex [1823/1833 in some accounts, 1840 in this account] marries on 17 August 1861 (BDM ref 1410) at Young. Certificate shows Alexander as a Gold miner of Burrangong, CofE, age 21; she also 21, (makes dob 1840), married by Robert Hansen Mayne in presence of Frederic and Julia Payes, to Catherine Elizabeth Young aka Jung (also spelled as Katherine with a Germanic ‘K’ and Elisabeth with an ‘S’. LM/T -‘a German lady, family from Hamburg’) Name anglicised to ‘Young’ from perhaps ‘Jung’. Died Sydney 1918. Children x 11(?) including Alexander born 1856. Catherine born 1844 (or 1838 or 1840) at Frankfurt (MH states Oder/Odenwald/Ou’dlaive/Owdlaive. Probably Frankfurt am Oder area, on death cert states born at sea 1844 en route to Victoria with family) Catherine dies 17 September 1918 (BDM ref 10165) at ‘Kelanscott’, Monomeeth St, Bexley, Sydney, age 80 (dob 1838) witnesses A McDonald (son) & Thos. Hardy. Parents not known beyond Father’s surname Young. Undertaker Charles Kimsela. Buried 18 Sept 1918 at Presbyterian Cemetery, Woronora, Sydney.
Children to the marriage:
On death cert of Catherine (= DCC ) it states also 2 males + 2 females deceased.
[MK - Below are the probables/possibles, ten living plus 2+2 deceased, and there could be others.]
Elizabeth 1862, DCC age 56
Charles W 1863
Alexander 1864,
Ernest C 1865
(gap after a child death in 1865?)
Annie F 1868
Emma Matilda 1869
Alfred 1871, DCC age 45
George 1873
Archibald 1876, DCC age 42
Henry Malcolm 1879, DCC age 39
Ernest Percival 1882, DCC age 36
(BDM’s, ref shown)
5556/1862 MCDONALD, ELIZABETH to ALEXANDER CATHERINE at BURRANGONG (date & place fit, name echoes mother, DCC ref)
4858/1863 MCDONALD, CHARLES W to ALEXANDER CATHERINE at BATHURST (date fits, family name seen later) [?marriage 3236/1891 MCDONALD CHARLES W HEWITT JANE at BURWOOD) 1863 makes it possible, could have died, certificates not seen]
6120/1864 MCDONALD, ALEXANDER (John?) dob 9th April -ALEXANDER CATHERINE at YOUNG (all fits, MK he may have used a middle name John )
5863/1865 MCDONALD, ERNEST C -ALEXANDER CATHERINE at BATHURST (see note below)
(?marriage 148/1894 MCDONALD ERNEST C ELLIS ELIZABETH at SYDNEY also 1108/1894 MCDONALD ERNEST C ELLIS ELIZABETH @ SYDNEY) [SG note: Married twice? Registry and church?]
Children of this marriage:
9965/1895 MCDONALD WESLEY T, ERNEST C ELIZABETH at SYDNEY
9598/1897 MCDONALD VERA G. ERNEST C ELIZABETH at SYDNEY
33495/1899 MCDONALD ARTHUR A, ERNEST C ELIZABETH at PADDINGTON (Sydney)
32409/1901 MCDONALD ERNEST C, ERNEST C ELIZABETH at INVERELL
(Is this a coincidence in names – Why two Ernests, here and then again later, the latter fits DCC ? But this one appears to marry and produce kids which show family names.)
[Back to Alexander and Catherine]
6585/1865 MCDONALD (MALE), ALEXANDER CATHERINE at YOUNG [Father’s father]
6748/1868 MCDONALD, ANNIE F, ALEXANDER CATHERINE at YOUNG. also 11786/1868 MCDONALD, ANNIE F, ALEXANDER CATHERINE at MAITLAND (date and place fit, a double recording).
[Annie F Marriage 5698/1889 KEAR, JACOB A. MCDONALD ANNIE F at MUDGEE name and initial fit, Mudgee fits.
Death 6398/1899 KEAR ANNIE F, ALEXANDER CATHERINE at MUDGEE. Death in childbirth perhaps.
Annie F children:
23099/1891 KEAR HAROLD ERNEST, JACOB ANNIE F at MUDGEE
23784/1892 KEAR PERCIVAL H, JACOB ANNIE F at MUDGEE
22248/1894 KEAR EMILY V, JACOB ANNIE F at MUDGEE
24556/1895 KEAR WILFRED A, JACOB ANNIE F at MUDGEE
5253/1898 KEAR DULCIE I C, JACOB ANNIE F at MUDGEE]
[Back to Alex and Catherine children:]
7372/1869 MCDONALD, EMMA MATILDA, dob 31 Aug, ALEXANDER CATHERINE E at YOUNG [MH – cert shows father age 37 a miner and mother age 34; at that time 2 boys and 2 girls living] Emma Matilda marriage 1891 to Peter Cram. Died 1900 at Mudgee ref 2443
13563/1871 MCDONALD, ALFRED, ALEXANDER CATHERINE ELIZABETH at GULGONG (date, place DCC all fit)
14511/1873 MCDONALD, GEORGE, ALEXANDER CATHERINE ELIZABETH at GULGONG (Date and names fit, place possible, the 1904 death below would fit DCC. ?death 15950/1921 of MCDONALD, GEORGE, ALEXANDER CATHERINE at REDFERN). (? Death 6196/1904 MCDONALD, GEORGE -ALEXANDER ELIZABETH C at MUDGEE. No certificates seen, inconclusive, but a good possible.)
There is an attestation document for George McDonald dated Feb 8th 1902 at Sydney. Service number 121, enlisted for 1 Battalion Australian Commonwealth Horse (NSW) , unmarried, age given as 26 (dob 1876 on this reckoning) all particulars for NOK is mother at Apple Tree Flats (Mudgee). Doc is headed Commonwealth contingent for service in South Africa.
15617/1876 MCDONALD, ARCHIBALD -ALEXANDER CATHERINE ELIZABETH at GULGONG (Father now 43 mother 32, all fits, LM/T. This would be ‘Uncle Arch’)
(?death 12972/1943 MCDONALD, ARCHIBALD -ALEXANDER ELIZABETH CATHERINE at ROCKDALE )
12076/1879 MCDONALD, HENRY MALCOLM, ALEXANDER CATHERINE ELIZABETH at COONABARABRAN (Date and parents fit, unusual forenames, place could fit, DCC does fit, certificates not seen but highly probable) ?death 20252/1954 MCDONALD, HENRY MALCOLM, ALEXANDER CATHERINE ELIZABETH at PADDINGTON.
22053/1882 MCDONALD, ERNEST PERCIVAL, ALEXANDER CATHERINE E at MUDGEE (Date, place and names fit, father now 49, LM/T this is ‘Uncle Ern’)
[? marriage - 9598/1916 MCDONALD ERNEST P and TORR LILLIAN P I at REDFERN. (?death 28142/1946 MCDONALD, ERNEST PERCIVAL. ALEXANDER KATHERINE ELIZABETH at PICTON.
1907
Birth certificate for Margaret I E McDonald 2964/1907, Dubbo. Born to Alex and Lillian. Death certificate 15402/1923 records death at Dubbo. Also certificate 2965/1907 for Venessa [sic. This is the reason for the spelling on the tombstone] 2966/1907 for Vera M G born to Alex and Lillian at Dubbo. This is the December 1906 triplets.
1911
Marriage (3490/1911) MCDONALD ALEXANDER - PRINCE LILY at WELLINGTON. Father’s father died 27th August 1956 cert ref 25743, MCDONALD, ALEXANDER -ALEXANDER at DUBBO. [He professed to be 100 at death, but DOB in 1864 seems proved, therefore ‘only’ 92) Cert also shows died of heart blockage (MH. He had had a bath and got a chill). Occupation civil engineer, born Araluen, mother’s maiden name Young, informer son Stanley. Children Stan Les Dos Alex Vera, 3 females deceased i.e. Lillian May has died also (Died 3 Jan 1933 cert ref 1933/003335). Residing 203 Wingewarra St Dubbo. MH. He was a building contractor and ganger on the railway. Worked on the Dubbo-Cobar line, helped build the round house (loco shed). Foreman on the telephone line over the Blue Mountains (i.e. Sydney toward Dubbo), labourer , bushman, farmer. For many years in later life he was caretaker at Dubbo Showground and lived in a cottage in the grounds, then 201/203 Wingewarra St. Also ‘Eumalga’, Dubbo; ‘Sunnyside’, Eulomogo; The Peppers in Fitzroy St, Dubbo.]
1911
On 4 February 1911 at Nyngan NSW Olive Mary White (Min) of Cowra aged 30 married James William Prince (same forenames as his Dad) aged 23. Jim’s parents names on the certificate are James William Prince of Mudgee, Farmer and Lily Johnson. Olive’s parents were George White, farmer of Cowra, and Sarah Ann Marshall (deceased at the time of the marriage). Christine adds “Have a Baptisms Register entry for 3 children on 17 December 1915, which was after Jim Prince died in the accident. Alice Isabel born 7 March 1909 parents names Charles and Olive Mary White, address Darling St Dubbo, father’s occupation Labourer. Olive Lillian Margaret born 16 October 1912 parents names James William and Olive Mary Prince, address Darling St Dubbo, father’s occupation Labourer (this is my mum). George William born 1 October 1915 parents names James William and Olive Mary Prince (the rest as above). George William was less than a month old when Jim died.”
1915
George Gain (Alias George Skinner) KIA 27 August 1915.
October 22
Jim Prince (Father’s brother Jim) killed when telegraph pole broke as he was working on it.
October reports:
FROM DUBBO PAPER (did not note exact date, think Friday 23/10/15 edition)
A FATAL FALL
Mr J.W. Prince killed
With deep regret we report that a distressing fatality occurred at Eumungerie yesterday afternoon, the victim being Mr James William Prince of Manning Terrace, Darling Street, North Dubbo. It appears that the unfortunate man, with Mr G Dalton and another workmate, was engaged telegraph line-repairing at Eumungerie. He had ascended a telegraph pole which apparently had decayed near the ground. It broke and precipitated Mr Prince heavily to the ground. The pole fell on Mr Prince, who sustained shocking injuries, including a fractured skull and broken ribs. The injured man was taken to Dubbo by the evening train, and conveyed in the ambulance to the District Hospital. He lingered till about 1 o’clock this morning when death released him from his sufferings. The deepest sympathy is expressed on all sides at the dreadfully sad calamity which has overtaken the family. Deceased was a native of Mudgee and was a son of Mr James Prince of that town. He was 27 years of age. A widow and six children (three of whom are stepchildren) deplore their irreparably sad loss. Their names are James, Olive and George Prince, and John, Charles and Alice White. The distress of the family is accentuated by the fact that two of the children are ill. Private Charles Prince, who is serving his country at Gallipoli, is a brother of the deceased. Only a few days ago the subject of this obituary forwarded his brother a present for Xmas. An exemplary husband and father and a kindly man has been suddenly taken from our midst, and the Dubbo community deeply condoles with the grief-stricken relatives. The funeral will take place tomorrow afternoon.
CORONIAL REPORT
The Eumungerie Fatality - Coronial Inquiry
On Saturday morning at the Court House, Mr A Gates, Coroner, held an enquiry into the death of James W Prince who met his death at Eumungerie on Thursday last. Mr D McGuinn appeared to watch the case in the interests of the relatives of the deceased. Sergeant Meagher deposed that deceased was a married man residing at North Dubbo. He was employed by the Telephone Department of the Commonwealth of Australia as linesman. His life was insured for £200 in the National Insurance company. Witness went with the local engineer, Mr McKay, on Friday to the scene of the accident, and saw a telephone pole lying just outside the railway yard at Eumungerie. He cut off a piece of the butt of the pole about a foot long, where it had broken off. The whole of the heart of the pole had rotted away where it had snapped off, but was perfectly solid a few inches further up. He also cut off the stump in the ground about four inches. The top portion showed that the inside of the butt of the pole had rotted away. One side showed solid for about two inches but on the opposite side the pole had almost rotted away. He saw the butt of the pole taken out. It had almost rotted away. This butt was about four feet in the ground. The portion which rested on the ground was solid.
Dr Burkitt, Government Medical Officer, gave evidence as to the cause of deceased’s death. He examined Prince at the hospital and found that he was suffering from fracture of the base of the skull, with symptoms of concussion and laceration of the brain. On the right side of the face were severe contusions and lacerations, showing the application of great violence, as from a fall from a great height to the ground. His condition on admission to the hospital was regarded as hopeless, and he succumbed to his in juries about 1 am on Friday morning.
By Mr McGuinn: Deceased’s condition was not prejudiced by the removal by train to Dubbo. By Sergeant Meagher: There being no hospital accommodation at Eumungerie, and a train being available an hour after the accident, it was in deceased’s interests to be brought to Dubbo. A fall from a pole would cause the deceased’s injuries.
Robert Henry Rowling, labourer, of Dubbo, said that he went with deceased to Eumungerie to assist in the alteration of the telephone line at the railway station. They had to shift three telephone posts. Deceased went up the centre telephone pole and disconnected six wires. The post was then taken out, and deceased adzed off the sap part for a distance of 5 ft up the post. The bottom of the pole was then tarred. The pole appeared sound and was re-erected in the new hole. When it was in position deceased climbed up to put the wires on the insulators. Witness assisted Prince to put up the wires. When he was handing up the last wire he heard the pole crack and looking up he saw it falling. Deceased was strapped to the pole by a body strap. Witness jumped out of the way of the falling pole, and deceased fell on top of it, face downwards. His head hit the ground. He never spoke after he fell. He was bleeding from the mouth and ear.
Michael George Dalton, labourer, who went out with deceased and the last witness to effect alterations to the telephone line at Eumungerie, corroborated the evidence of Rowling.
R.V. McKay, District Engineer, Postmaster-General’s Department, Dubbo said that deceased was employed as telephone lineman. He had about two years’ experience. Witness gave Prince instructions to do some work at Eumungerie and told him to get the necessary assistance. Witness knew nothing of the happening until he got a telephone message from Eumungerie. Witness examined the pole, which was a yellow pine. There was nothing to show by its appearance that the pole was rotten. It was only by testing that the state of the pole could be ascertained. This test had not been made. The cause of the pole breaking was dry rot, and the pull of the wires which were on an angle on the top of the pole. The pole was 30 ft long, 25 ft being out of the ground and about 10” in diameter at the butt end.
By Mr McGuinn: Deceased was a competent, reliable, sober man. The dry rot extended for about 18” down the butt of the pole. The rot was more pronounced on one side than the other. If deceased had found the defect in the pole it would be his duty to cut the defective part off.
The Coroner found that deceased, James W Prince, died at the Dubbo District Hospital from injuries accidentally received by the breaking of a telephone pole at Eumungerie on the 20th October.
1916
There is an undated form letter in the dossier on Leslie Graham to be used when informing next of kin of the award of the Military Cross. One wonders why this was in the file.
November 6.
Attestation paper on enlistment.
Service number 4578[sic. A mistake, should be 4577], 30.Btn, 12th Reinforcement. McDonald. Leslie. Dubbo Depot Battalion. Pay book no. 147263. Natural born parish of Dubbo, NSW. No apprenticeship. Married to Norma McDonald, 242(?) Lane Street, Broken Hill, (Note below: ‘9/12/19. When returning also advise Mrs L McDonald, Fitzroy Street, Dubbo.’) Previous rejection due to varicocele. Signed Nov 6 by Leslie McDonald. Also, same date, certificate of the attesting officer, Lieut. H W Mylchrist certifying that the oath had been taken and signed in his presence on Monday 6th November.
November 6.
Certificate of medical examination. 23 years and 7 months. 5ft 10”. 156lbs. Chest 35/39 inches. [Relaxed/inflated] Complexion dark. Eyes brown. Hair black. Religion CofE. Distinctive marks Scar on left side of neck. The certificate specifies what defects were not present, eyesight certified as correct. Signed by Captain G Mwish[sic], AMC. Certified by commanding officer at Dubbo Depot, Capt William Lea on same date.
November 6
Duplicate of Application to enlist. Same information as above but below his signature as applicant father states his occupation as miner. No consent needed from his father as he was over 21. Certified as fit my the MO and acceptance signed by Lieut. H W Mylchrist.
November 6
Three fillings by dental officer at AIF camp Dubbo.
The next doc in the series is a later one [undated] which is a précis of LG service intended for the Medal Board. I shall insert the entries under the appropriate date and distinguish the source by adding [MB doc] One slightly puzzling thing about this document, and almost certainly inserted at the Medal Board is that there are two clear stamped endorsements. One says ‘Automatically forfeits’ but there is also ‘Restoration recommended’. [See letter dated January 1923 to P Considine below]
[SG note: My brother Leslie did some research on the medals because Father said he had the DCM. He was asked what medals father had got: “Again, don’t know as far as the DCM is concerned. There was some story about him throwing his medals away but can’t vouch for that. I’ve got his MBE and also a DCM medal ribbon. I did some ferreting on the DCM and some years ago wrote to the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood to see if, when he was awarded the MBE, they would check if the DCM had been awarded, or if they would accept that it had. They said they would ‘assume that any previous awards had been verified by the recommending Department’ (presumably the Ministry of War Production or some such). I’ve also got a book that lists all recipients of the DCM but haven’t found anything that fits. As far as other medals are concerned he should have at least had the Victory Medal 1914-1919 and the British War Medal 1914-1920, these were colloquially known as “Mutt and Jeff”, two cartoon characters of the time. (The 1920 date for the British War Medal 1914-1920 is there to cover those who served in Russia between 1919 and 1920). If he were in Gallipoli he would also have had the 1914/15 Star. That plus the above two were known as Pip, Squeak & Wilfred (more cartoon characters). Along with the DCM they also must have been lost/thrown away at some time. Not all medals had the name engraved on the edge by the way.” [SG note: The only conclusion that can be drawn on the evidence we have is that whilst he may have been eligible for some minor medals there is no evidence at all that he was ever awarded any. The only tantalising bit of evidence is the blank form in his army records.]
November 22
Vaccination record.
November 25
Embarked for active service. [MB doc. Confirmed by Gray diary as 2.30pm on that day.]
November 30 to December 2
On Board HMAT Beltana, in hospital 3 days with Coryza. [Cold in the head]
December 2
Gray’s diary says they arrived at Fremantle in the afternoon and that the fire had been discovered en route from Sydney and put out by the crew. He also mentions shark fishing.
December 5
Gray’s diary says that this is when they left Fremantle after being billeted at Claremont for the duration of their stay.
December 14
First Inoculation
December 20
Second inoculation.
December 22
Gray’s diary says the Beltana arrived at Durban at 7pm on this day. Says they left Durban after coaling on December 23.
December 26.
Gray’s diary says Beltana arrived at Capetown at 8am.
December 27
Gray’s diary says they left Capetown at 4pm with several other transports.
1917
January 3
Gray’s diary says that the Beltana was lying off St Helena at 6.30am and moved off on January 4. He makes no mention why, father says it was to offload a seriously ill recruit.
January 11.
Gray’s diary says Beltana arrived at Freetown, Sierra Leone at 6pm and stayed there four days in very hot weather.
Jan 15
[SGM] Attestation paper N 74063. Stanley Graham McDonald. Born Jones Creek, Dubbo. Natural Born, age 25 years and nine months. Occupation loco firemen, no apprenticeship. Married, wife is Sarah Jane McDonald, 10 South Avenue, Petersham, Sydney, NSW. Same day oath administered by Lieut A F McGlynn. Place administered is Royal Australian Show Ground, Sydney. Same day medical examination. Age 25 years 9 months. Height 5ft 9”. Weight 156lbs. Chest 39”. Complexion dark. Eyes grey. Hair black. Religion CofE. Distinctive marks: Birthmark behind left shoulder, scar on right forearm. Passed fit for active service by Captain R Quinn. AAMC. Place of medical is R A S Ground, Moore Park, Sydney.
There is a second attestation paper same date. Top left corner pencil note ‘Class I’. Service number changed to 697. Allocated to 2nd Australian Light Railway Operating Division. All other details same as the first copy. Same date. There is what appears to be a service record started on the day of enlistment. I shall note the entries under the day they were made.
January 17
[SGM] Statement of service doc for Stanley Graham McDonald. Recruited as private 15/1/17 at RA Ground Sydney. Allocated to Railways section as supernumerary on 17/1/17.
January 29
Disembarked England. [MB doc] [This date agrees with Gray’s diary above which says at Devonport]
January 30.
Joined training battalion ex Australia. [MB doc]
February 2
To hospital. Sick. [MB doc]
February 9
[SGM] Another attestation doc with many alterations and pencilled notes. Has revised service number 697 and after the name, McDonald, Stanley Graham, various allocations to unit are crossed out and 1st ALROC written in red ink above the name. Age is now 25 years and 10 months. Sarah Jane’s address is expanded to “Blair House”, 10 South Avenue, Petersham, Sydney. All other details are the same. Reverse of this doc is the endorsement of the attesting officer, Leo G Casey and another confirmation of the oath. Address is expanded to RA Show Ground, Sydney.
February 12
[SGM] Another medical report. Interesting to note differences to first one. Height 5ft 7 ½”, 154lbs, medium complexion, blue eyes, hair dark. CofE. Distinctive marks: Scar right side of neck and scar on right big toe. Signed by Captain J Malcolm AAMC and dated 12/2/1917. Below is the commanding officer’s certificate signed by Captain C J Duncan OC 2nd Section Railway Unit to which Stan is allocated. Place of certification is Royal Park.
February 16
[SGM] Transferred to Railway Unit. Section 2.
February 19
[SGM] Embarked on HMAT Ballarat (A70). A further note reads: Embarked Melbourne 19/2/1917 Aboard Ballarat. Disembarked Devonport 25 April. [SG note: Torpedoed by a submarine in the English Channel 25 April 1917 and sank the next day.]
February 20 to March 5.
Leslie spends 14 days in military hospital at Fovant [West of Salisbury] with inflammation of the Larynx.
March 6
Joined training battalion ex hospital. [MB doc]
April 12
Awarded 7 days field punishment No. 2 for conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline. [MB doc]
April 25
[SGM] Uncle Stanley disembarked from HMAT Ballarat at Devonport.
April 29
[SGM] Marched into Borden, England on 27th April. Officer making entry is OC 1st ALROD.
May 18
Leslie transferred overseas to 1st Light Railway Operating Company. [MB doc]
May 29
Proceeded overseas to France. [MB doc]
May 29
[SGM] Entry by OC 15th AROD. Proceeded to France ex Southampton. [Could Stan and father have been on the same transport?]
May 31
To hospital sick. France. [MB doc]
June 12
A manuscript will on lined paper.
Date 12-6-17. In the event of my death I give the whole of my property and effects to (my wife) Norma Elizabeth Mc Donald. Signed Leslie McDonald. Sapper. 15th Coy. ALROD. 12-6-1917
June 30
[SGM] Request from Pte S G McDonald to district pay office to pay his wife 3/- a day after his embarkation.
July 1
Leslie rejoined unit ex hospital. [MB doc]
September 21
Pte Charles Prince, Service Number 1821. 1 Company Machine Gun Corps. Killed 21 September 1917. Cemetery or Memorial Details, 29 The Ypres (Menin Gate) Memorial Belgium. War Grave Register Notes. PRINCE, Pte. Charles, 1821. 1st Coy. Machine Gun Corps. 21st Sept, 1917. Age 32. Son of James William and Lilly Prince (nee Johnsen), of Apple Tree Flat, Mudgee Rd., New South Wales. Native of Redfern, New South Wales. [This Charles is Jim’s brother by Lillian’s marriage to James William Prince.]
October 17
[SGM] Entry by 15th LROC states that uncle Stan was detached from his unit and sent to 17th ANZAC LROC. Returned Feb 1918. See separate entry.
October 27
Leslie to hospital sick. [MB doc]
November 7
Rejoined unit ex hospital. To England on leave. [MB doc]
November 21
Letter from M Crawford [Molly?] Wongarbon, NSW to officer i/c base records. (Received Nov 23) asking ‘Can you give me any information about my brother 4577 Sapper Les McDonald, 15th company Australian LRO, AIF. He is supposed to be severely wounded, the cable is supposed to have come through about the second week in October. His wife is somewhere in Broken Hill with her father, he is dying, so I suppose in her trouble she has forgotten us. Trusting you will let me know if he is wounded. I remain, yours faithfully, M Crawford. In the bottom right corner there is a note in red ink, ‘20/2/17 Admitted Mil. Hosp. for acute[?] inflamed Larynx.’
November 26
Letter from Base Records office, Victoria Barracks, Melbourne To Mrs J Crawford, Wongarbon, NSW. From Major J M Lean, officer i/c Base Records. Text reads: Dear Madam…. I have to inform you that no official casualty report has been received here concerning your brother 4577. Private Leslie McDonald, 30th Battalion but if you will forward documentary evidence that he is severely wounded …. Investigations will be instituted and the result transmitted to his wife. There is no record of his transfer to the 30th Battalion.
December 2(?)
Leslie to hospital sick while on leave from France. [MB doc. I have found no record of him rejoining his unit but in the light of the entry below it looks as though he may have done so. Could this period, be when he and Stan were in the same unit until July 1918 when he was evidently on leave again?]
1918
February 13
[SGM] Stan rejoined 15th LROC after detachment to 17th ANZAC LROC on 17/10/17
July 16
Leslie busy getting Gonorrhoea in Glasgow from a prostitute.
July 27
Admitted to hospital with Gonorrhoea. Length of stay 77 days. Note on record in same handwriting and colour of ink states that the infection was contracted in Glasgow from a prostitute 11 days earlier. July 16th. Incubation 9 days.
August 13
[SGM] Stan. Entry by 1st ALROC. Crime. Whilst on active service conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline, whilst in the streets of Beaurainville [Pas de Calais. West of Etaples, north of Abbeville] under the influence of intoxicating liquor behaved in such a manner as to bring discredit upon the unit to which he belonged and was incorrectly dressed. 13/8/18 Award: 14 days Field Punishment No 2 by Acting CO 1st ALROC, 13/18/18.
August 31
[SGM] Note by 1st ALROC. Stan detached to ADBR 3rd Army.
September 14
[SGM] Note by CO B213. Stan rejoined unit.
September 26
Leslie. File note referring to a will extracted from pay book No. 147263 of 3577, Pte McDonald. L. 15 Coy ALROD. Reconciliation Section. Rubber stamp dated September 30, AIF Estates Branch, London.
October 12
Discharged to depot ex hospital. VD 20. [MB doc]
October 19
To hospital. VD 20. [MB doc]
December 14
[SGM] To Paris on 14 days leave. Rejoined unit on 26/12/19
1919
January 30
[SGM] Brief note regarding a court martial. 697 Sapper S G McDonald 1st ALROC sentenced to 90 days field punishment. Attorney General’s file no 20144.
January 31.
[SGM] Note by 1st ROC dated 24/5/19. Field General Court Martial at Courtrai 30-31/1/19. 1st charge. Whilst on acting service committing a civil offence viz. shooting with intent on 5/1/19 contrary to section 18 of the offences against the person act of October 1861. 2nd Charge WOAS drunkenness 5/1/19. Findings: Not guilty to first charge, guilty to 2nd charge. Sentenced to 90 days FP no 2 31/1/19. Period under charge 6/1/19 to 9/2/19. Total forfeiture 115 days pay.
March 1
[SGM] Rejoined unit ex MP Guard Room Courtrai(?)
March 8
[SGM] To Detachment M P Guard Room, Cambrai.
March 29
[SGM] Rejoined unit ex detention at Cambrai.
March 30
[SGM] When in confinement in camp, escaped 1/3/19. 7 Days confined to barracks by CO.
April 12
[SGM] To hospital sick. Note for 19/4/19 states he had Scabies and had rejoined unit ex hospital.
April 26
Leslie discharged from hospital to staff of 1st Army District HQ. [MB doc] 190 days in hospital.
[Date of discharge on medical records is April 25 but on the same day he is still receiving treatment in hospital. If he was discharged he was re-admitted immediately]
June 21
[SGM] Stan scheduled to embark for Australia on Karigialise(? Indistinct entry and I can’t find a match. Was this the Karmala? See below.) but did not embark.
July 1
[SGM]. 697 Pte McDonald, S G returning to Australia per HT Karmala, embarked 1/7/19. Karmala departed London 5/7/19. Passenger list 306. Disembarked 3rd MD 17/8/19. [Karmala wasn’t a dedicated troopship but a regular mail and passenger ship. There is a remark in one of Molly’s letters which says that Les was disappointed because he couldn’t return to Australia with Stan.]
July 5
[SGM] Brief service record note Headed: Sapper S G McDonald. R to Australia per Karmala from Devonport. 5/7/19. See note above. Was this the date it was recorded?
July 7
Leslie still on strength at 1st ADH. [MB doc]
July 9
Leslie still in hospital receiving treatment. No discharge date found.
August 18
[SGM] Brief note stating that 697 Pte McDonald. S G. 1st ALROC returned on Karmala 18/8/1919. Disembarked 17/8/19 Discharged 11/10/19. No embarkation date.
October 11
[SGM] Noted as being discharged 11/10/1919 2nd TPE(?). Noted as sailing home on HMAT Karmala but no date of embarkation given.
October 12
A W L. [Absent without leave] [MB doc]
November 17
Letter headed Military Forces of the Commonwealth. 2nd Military District. Headquarters Area 54, Dubbo. From Area Officer 54C Dubbo to Staff Officer for invalids and returned soldiers, Victoria Barracks, Paddington. Text reads: Mrs L McDonald, mother of Sapper Leslie McDonald, 1st Australian Light Railways, AIF, has called at this office for particulars of the return of her son which I would be glad if you could furnish. Sapper McDonald is a married man, enlisted at Dubbo, but some trouble exists between him and his wife. The mother is anxious to know when he is returning and wishes to make application for a rail warrant to meet him. I shall be vary glad if you will advise. Signed ? Area Officer. Lieut.
November 22
Note from Captain S.O.I & R S. 2nd MD to officer i/c base records. Refers to Sapper Leslie McDonald, 1st Australian Light Railways referring to an attached communication. Date stamped November 28, receipt at base records?
November 29
Letter from officer i/c base records to Area Officer 54C, Dubbo, NSW. Refers to a letter from him dated November 17th forwarded to base records by the Staff Officer for Invalid and returned soldiers, Victoria Barracks, Sydney. No advice has been received to date that 4577 Private L McDonald, AIF Depots HQ has embarked for Australia. Suggest that Mrs L McDonald be advised to contact base records to add her address to the records and for advice about free railway pass.
December 5
Handwritten letter from Mrs J Crawford, Wongarbon to officer i/c base records asking for information about her brother, 4577 Sapper Les McDonald, 1st Australian LROC company, AIF Abroad. Text reads: ‘When my elder brother left England in July last he was a guard on the Headquarters Staff. My mother is very anxious for news of him and to know if he will soon sail for home. I would be very grateful for any news.’ (Received at base records December 11 and dealt with December 16th.) [SG note: Tantalising letter. Molly is evidently under the impression Leslie left UK in July, with Stan? Was this the expectation in what must have been his last letter? Molly knows he was disappointed at some point, was this a later letter?]
December 8
Undated hand written letter but stamped as received at base records on December 8. To the officer i/c base records from Mrs L (Lily?) McDonald, Fitzroy Street, Dubbo. Text reads: ‘I am the Mrs L McDonald the area officer at Dubbo wrote to you about. Mother of 4577 Sapper Les McDonald. The area officer informed me that you would inform me of his arrival and re a pass if I sent you my name and address. Thanking you for your favour. I am, yours respectfully, (Mrs) L McDonald.’
December 10
Letter from officer i/c base records to Mrs L (Lily?) McDonald, Fitzroy Street, Dubbo. Acknowledges receipt of her letter re her son 4577 Private L McDonald, AIF Depots HQ and states that next of kin is recorded as his wife resident in Dubbo and when it is officially reported he has embarked for Australia she will be issued with an application form for a free railway pass together with the notification of his return. The NSW government will issue free railway tickets (First Class) to the official next of kin and one other relative to meet each soldier on arrival at Sydney for demobilisation. He suggests that She should make an arrangement with the wife to have her name included on the application for tickets.
December 16
Letter from officer i/c Base Records at Melbourne to Mrs J Crawford, Wongarbon Post Office, NSW. Replies to her letter of December 5th and states that no communication has been received in connection with her brother 4577 Private L McDonald, AIF HQ, records at present show him to be still abroad. ‘It is to be anticipated however that he will shortly be returning to Australia and when advice of his embarkation comes to hand his mother will be promptly notified.’
1920
February 6
Letter from the secretary of the returned sailors and soldiers imperial league at Broken Hill to Officer Commanding Base Records Office at Melbourne. Makes an enquiry from Mrs McDonald, 242 Lane Street, Broken Hill regarding notification she has received that her husband is illegally absent and her allotment ceases on February 19th 1920. Asks to be informed of any news. Received at Melbourne on February 9th and dealt with on the 10th.
February 11
Letter from officer i/c Base Records to the Secretary, Returned sailors and soldiers, Imperial league of Australia, 31 Chloride Street, Broken Hill, NSW. Acknowledges receipt of an enquiry on behalf of Mrs McDonald of 242 Lane Street, Broken Hill and stating that 4577 Private L McDonald, 15th Railway Company was posted as illegally absent from October 12 1919 and that any reports of him will be forwarded to Mrs McDonald.
April 29
Letter from District Finance Officer, District Accounts Office, Victoria Barracks, Sydney to Officer i/c Base Records, Melbourne.
Re No 4577 Pte McDonald. L AASC. Cable advice dated 3-1-1920 from the Chief Paymaster AIF, London shows the above mentioned soldier as an Illegal Absentee from 12-10-1919. I shall be glad to hear if any information has been received as to his apprehension.
Reply dated May 6th on bottom of the same letter. DFO, 2nd MD. No advice ….. received to date.
April 23
Hand written letter from Molly Crawford to the officer i/c base records at Melbourne.
‘Dear Sir. Can you give me any news of my brother 4577 Sapper Les McDonald late of 15th Coy LROC but now believed to be on the Headquarters Staff. You wrote to me before Xmas and said that you had reason to believe that he would be home shortly. We have had no news of him since and my mother is very anxious. I would be thankful for any news or an address that will find him.
April 30
Letter from OC Base Records to Mrs M Crawford, Wongarbon, NSW.
CONFIDENTIAL.
Dear Madam, I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter of 23rd of April concerning your brother No 4577, Private L McDonald, 15th Light Railway Company and to inform you that according to the latest information to hand this soldier is illegally absent since 12/10/1919. The Military authorities abroad are investigating such cases and any news obtained in regard of your brother will be transmitted to this office.
May 6
Letter from Molly Crawford to Major L McLean, officer i/c Base Records. Text as follows:
‘Dear Sir. I am very much surprised with the information I received from you concerning my Brother No. 4577 Private L McDonald. I cannot understand it at all. I know he was very disappointed at not getting home with my brother Private S G McDonald [Uncle Stan] He had a lot of trouble in his home life before he went to the war and hoped that his going would change things but I am afraid he was sadly disappointed. Can you give me any more information? I dare not tell my mother, the uncertainty would nearly kill her, she has had a lot of trouble these last few years, one son killed at the war, one killed here by the fall of a pole and now this one. She is very anxious. Could you give me his wife’s address and the address of any of the members of the company he was last in, perhaps my request is unusual, I don’t know but I am very worried. Please address any information to me and not my mother, my father’s work takes him away from home a good deal so it is better to send it to me. Yours faithfully, (Mrs) M Crawford, Wongarbon.
May 12
Letter from officer i/c Base Records to Mrs M Crawford, Wongarbon, NSW. Text as follows:
Dear Madam, I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter of 6th of May and to state that nothing further has been received regarding your brother No. 4577 Private L McDonald, 1st Australian Light Railway Operating Company since you were communicated with on 30th April. It is to be clearly understood the information then furnished is strictly confidential and must not under any circumstances be divulged. Departmental instructions preclude me from furnishing next of kin names of members of the Australian Imperial Forces.
Owing to the amount of work experienced by this branch it would not be practicable to make a search of the records of the 1st LRO in order to furnish you with the addresses of several members of the AIF attached to that unit. [SG note: Molly seems to have been doing her best to find out what has happened to her brother, poor lass]
May 19
Letter from Thos J Thomas, Finance Member, Defence DB. To officer i/c Base Records asking ‘Please advise date of illegal absence of this soldier and whether any subsequent advice yet received.’
May 5th. Reply on same sheet: Finance Secretary, re 4577 Pte L McDonald Rly Coy. The latest report received in this office concerning above named soldier is as follows:-
12-10-1919. Illegally absent.
April 1
Declared illegal absentee. [MB doc]
June 1
Hand written letter from Mrs Norma McDonald, 242 Lane Street, Broken Hill to officer i/c Base Records.
‘Dear Sir, I am enclosing my husband’s address. No. 4577 Leslie McDonald, 30 Batt. 11 reinforcements, AIF.
Stamped as received at Base Records June 5 1920.
June 8
Letter to Mrs N McDonald, 242 Lane Street, Broken Hill, NSW. From officer i/c Base Records. Text reads:
Dear Madam, I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter dated 1st June furnishing the regimental particulars of your husband No. 4577 Private L McDonald, 1st Light Railway Operating Coy (originally 12th Reinforcements, 30th Battalion) and as there is no record of a recent communication from you it is requested that you repeat your enquiry, or if your letter was returned to you for your husband’s particulars to be inserted, forward the original to this office when the matter will be given attention. It is added for your information that no report has been received regarding your husband since he was posted as illegally absent from 12/10/1919.
July 21
Discharged in consequence of illegal absence. [MB doc]
July 24
What looks like an internal memo from H W Preston to OC Base Records: Would you pleased advise me when documents are received from London in order that Mr Considine may be further communicated with.
The reply on the same piece of paper dated July 28 1922.
‘re No. 4577 Pte L McDonald, 30th Battalion. Secretary, Arrangements have been made to notify you when the necessary documents from abroad come to hand. A shipment of records is expected to arrive in about a month’s time. Officer i/c Base Records.
1921
April 29
[SGM] Letter from Returned Soldiers section, Victoria Barracks, Paddington, Sydney, District Accounts Office. To Officer in charge, Base Records, Melbourne, Victoria. Re 697 McDonald, S G. 1st ALROC. I am forwarding herewith under registered cover Army Form B 103 for the above named soldier. Kindly acknowledge receipt. J Fitzgerald, District Finance Officer. Receipt sent back 4/5/1921.
1923
January 17[?]
Letter to Mr P Considine, Laura Street, Caulfield. [May refer to a letter received by base records 18/1/22 as there is a notation of that date]
Text reads; ‘Dear Mr Considine, I am sorry that after this long delay I am not yet in a position to tell you anything definite regarding the case of No. 4577 Private L McDonald. A memorandum from London dated 13th of November [1922?] has been received however which states –
“A précis is being made of each file and as soon as all the files have been received they will be despatched to Australia. This work will occupy about one month and you will be notified further when the files are despatched.”
As soon as this comes to hand the matter will receive immediate consideration. I shall further advise you as soon as possible.
[A file note in the papers confirms this date as 13/11/1922 and also has a handwritten draft of the letter to Mr Considine]
April 20
Letter to Secretary. [Dept of Defence?] from officer I\c Base Records. Text reads: re No 4577 Pte L McDonald, 30th Battalion. Attached hereto for your information are copies of correspondence relative to the case of the above-named soldier.
June 18
Letter to DFO, 2nd DB, Victoria Barracks, Sydney, NSW from officer i/c Base Records. Re ex-no 4577 Pte L McDonald, AIF Depot and ex-no 604 Pte A E Piesley, 3rd MG Bn.
With reference to your M41/2/304 of the 5th October 1921 addressed to the Secretary, Department of Defence acknowledging receipt of documents concerning the above named illegal absentees – as these are urgently required may they be forwarded to this office at an early date please?
[SG note: This is the end of the research to date. I think we have reached the stage where enough of the loose ends have been tidied up for me to do the definitive account. There will always be mysteries but time marches on. It’s time we came clean about what we have discovered. In particular I’m aware that the Imperial War Museum still regards the original transcript as a gem. I must tell them the truth!]
SCG/20 March 2010
UNCLE STAN’S WAR POEMS.
I got a letter from the son and daughter in law of my Uncle Stan in Oz Alan and Coral. They’ve been going through some of Stan’s papers and have sent a lot to the museum at Canberra but saved some poems written by Stan in the trenches during WW1.
[HUGHES, WILLIAM MORRIS (1862-1952), Australian prime minister, was born on 25 September 1862 at Pimlico, London, son of William Hughes, a carpenter from North Wales employed at the Houses of Parliament, and his wife Jane, née Morris. His father was Welsh speaking, a deacon of the Particular Baptist Church and a conservative in politics. His mother, a farmer's daughter from Llansantffraid, Montgomeryshire, who had been in service in London, was English speaking and Anglican. She was thirty-seven when she married, and William Morris was her only child.]
The freedom of the cities of England
Have been conferred on Billy Hughes
In exchange for a slavery called conscription
That he would try to impose on you
I see Billy is off to London
To misrepresent us once again
The best Australia wishes him is
That he may there forever remain
He kids he is high and mighty
But he will get an awful jolt
When he comes a cropper
Because he has shot his bolt.
(undated)
Dedicated to the memory of Cpl. Charles Bourke. 3rd Bat., 1st Brigade AIF who was killed in action in France 21st July 1916. [Coral thinks that this bloke was Uncle Stan’s brother in law.]
He was but a youthful warrior
Honourable, steadfast and brave
He fought for Liberty and Justice
And paid the penalty in a hero’s grave
He was loved and revered by his family
Who deeply mourn the loss of the one they held so dear
But the cause for which he gave his life
Will cause the shedding of many a tear
In years to come, his family
Will recall with honour and pride
The memory of the soldier boy
Who bravely fought and died
We fully admire the principle
For which he gave his life
And died for the cause of freedom
In this bloody and deadly strife
He was one of the many who fought to uphold
The traditions of the British race
And now he is sleeping the sleep of a hero
Some other will take his place
In distant lands so far away
They are heroes one and all
Who freely give their life’s blood
At their country’s call
And when the strife is over
And the men return once more
May we uphold the principles
They fought for in this war
(S G McDonald. Originally written 1st August 1916)
Reminiscences of the Past
November 28th 1916. S G McDonald.
You remember the days of our childhood
When we were free from all troubles and care
When we tramped through the scrub and the wildwood
And hunted the rabbit, the rat and the hare
We chased them o’er hills and through valleys
With never a thought for the blisters or pain
Which was caused by the stones and the thistles
Bruising and scratching our feet again and again
We have shared each joy and each pleasure
We have fought and been friends all in one
Ah it gives me great pleasure to remember
The joys and the times that are gone
You remember the fight in the cow yard
Over a question on which we could not agree
When Mother stepped in with a Quince stick
And decided to act referee
8th December 1916. S G McDonald.
Behold Australia rallies to
The standard of the free
To fight for Britain’s honour
And defend our liberty
Fight on, fight on Australia’s sons
May we be ever free
‘Twere better to die before the guns
Than to Germany bend the knee
Your heroic deeds we will cherish
‘Mongst the bravest of the brave
That we may never perish
You have sought in a hero’s grave
You have nobly upheld the traditions
Of the race from which we came
In the annals of our history
You have carved a glorious name
May Australia recompense you
For the deeds that you have done
And from hunger and poverty guard you
When the victory is won
You are worthy of a better fate
Than to beg upon the street
And may vengeance overtake us
If the past we should repeat
So please accept these verses
From my humble pen
To you I raise my hat with honour
You have fought and died like men
May good luck always attend you
Wherever you may go
May God’s loving hand defend you
When you face the foe
Farewell
(Undated)
Well old fellow, glad to see you, fancy meeting you around!
Ain’t it luck to come across you in a transport homeward bound
Guess a liner couldn’t travel fast enough for me you know
Don’t you think she simply dawdles, ain’t the engines running slow
France is just a bit unhealthy when the shells are bursting near
While the vicious German bullets come a-whizzing past your ear!
When the squelchy trenches gather all the mud in Sunny France
And you leave your boots behind you as you struggle to advance
Someone will be glad to see me when we reach the other side
Somebody will run to meet me with a smile of loving pride
How her eyes will shine and sparkle like the sunshine on the sea
And her lips will give the message that they always hold for me
(Bless her heart) she’s worth the hardships, worth the danger and the
pain
When there’s one who waits and watches till my ship returns again
That is land before us surely? We are heading for it fast
Look man, Look! It’s England – England! We are home again at
last.
[Transcribed SCG 15 June 2008]
INDEX.
38 Norris Avenue 259, 261
6 Napier Road 274
Aborigines. killing 46
Accidents in mines 169
Accused of stealing 1955 286
Adams. Doctor 37
Adams. Doctor, Dubbo 226
Adelaide 48
Afghans & Camels 45
Africa fiction starts 198
Air Raid Shelter signs 269
Air Raid Warden 264
Alex McDonald 23
Allied Ironfounders 276
Amnesty 1920 255
Amphitheatre station 195, 196
Anderson Shelter 260
Apple Tree Flats (Mudgee) 32
Appletree Flats 21
Apprentice fitter. 1909/10 102
Armstrong Whitworth’s 249
Arnhem Land 161
Artesian water 113
Ashes to Australia 304
Assay office 110
Astronomer 42
Bagging chaff 127
Bagging needles 128
Bailey. Abe & Maurice 164
Bailey. Finishing July 1912 168
Bailey. Trangie 164
Banjo Patterson 73
Barking. Fair ground 140
Barrier Slugger 91
Barry. Jim & Mac 77
Barton swing bridge 263
Barton. Dick 57
Barton. Pauline 184
Bathurst Gaol 86
Bean. Billy 155
Bed under Pepper tree 192
Beltana 237
Beltanah 236
Bentley. Teacher Eulomogo 20
Berrida 59, 76, 86
Berrida. Leaving 89
Bicycle. Stealing 39
Biddolph & Camels 44
Billabong. Bogged in 121
Birds-nesting 28
Birkett. Doctor 34
Birkett. Doctor. Dubbo 226
Birth registered 2
Bishop and Bailey 156, 163
Black market 267
Blood poisoning. 1916 228
Boar pig. shot 31
Boer War 32
Bogan 141
Boiler repair Narromine 152
Bones. gathering 25
Boring rig. engineer 110
Bourke 43, 189, 196
Bower Bird 86
Bowker. Mary 299
Box trees 69
Boxing 96
Boxing booth 140
Braine. Jimmy 285
Brewarrina. 1916 195
Bridge repairs Byrock 161
British Citizenship 279
Brogan. Mrs 34
Broken Hill. Mining 168
Brown snake 87
Brownlow. Rick 10
Brownlow. William 2
Bubbah 80
Buck jumping 17
Buddhist priest 149
Budenberg Sugar Company 145
Budgerigars 69
Bulge in firebox 167
Bullargh 77
Bunyan. Mr 74
Burrangong 20
Bush fire 57
Butcher Birds 69
Buttonholes 122
Byrock 161
Byrock and Burke. line 158
Byrock to Brewarrina 161
Cadooga sheep station 112
Camels 44
Campbell. Willy 146
Carlton Cinema 269
Castlereagh River 108, 162
Cataract. 1958 24
Cato. Darwin 218
Caulking rivets 167
Cellar. Eumalga 31
Chaff cutting outfit 164
Chaff-cutter at work 126
Chaff-cutter gang 102
Chaff-cutting 134, 156
Chaff-cutting. Trangie 165
Challenger 299
Chinese gardener 25
Clancy of the Overflow 220
Clark Eddie 278
Clark. Gutter 75
Cleveleys holiday 1941 270
Cliff and Bunting. Chaff cutter 125
Cloudburst 29
Cobar 168
Cobar copper mine 172
Cobb and Company 56
Coburn. Jimmy 63
Cobweb. Stopping bleeding 28
Cockatoos 69
Cohens 269
Commercial Hotel. Warren 123, 144
Compromising situation 118
Cook. Mrs, Royal Hotel 141
Coonabarabran 99
Coonamble 33, 108
Coonamble contract 161
Coonamble drinking 162
Cooper’s Creek 73
Coursing with dogs 26
Coverdale. Ernie 76
Cow-catchers 161
Crawford Jack and Molly 83
Crawford. Jack 63
Crawford. Molly 3
Crawford. Pat & Sheila 283
Crawley’s place 118
Crowley 65
Crowley. Denny 65
Crowleys 51
Crown Agent. Kingston 149
Crutching sheep 118
Curban 88
Curban. 1916 227
Curlews for supper 77
Cutting and shutting 117
Cyclone gates 134
Dalgetty’s. Stock agents 197
Dam sinking 33
Dam. Sinking 18
Dargen. Jimmy 162
Darling. Charlie 197
Dead wool 25
Deadweight safety valve 116
Deaf adder 95
Deaf Adder 92
Demolion. Doctor 2
Deserter. October 1919 249
Diatto car 270
Disc plough 104
Dislocated jaw 34
Distinguished Conduct Medal 248
Doris 51, 187
Doris in 1950 282
Dormer. Marion 43
Dorothy, Leslie and Stanley. 1944 272
Dowle. Jack 112
Driving horse teams 91
Droving cattle 1916 195
Droylsden lodgings 249
Drunk and disorderly 163
Dubbo butter factory 50
Dubbo Coonamble line 59
Dubbo Dispatch 54
Dubbo Feb 1912 151
Dubbo hospital 226
Dubbo Liberal 71
Dubbo main street 1890 100
Dubbo Public School 68
Dubbo rail bridge 106
Dubbo Show 59
Dubbo station 191
Dubbo Station 2
Dubbo to Coonamble 76
Dubbo to Gilgandra 76
Dubbo. Catholic church 64
Dubbo. Move back 1907 67
Dubbo. Move to 1903 33
Dubbo. Sanitary arrangements 70
Dubbo. Second operation 227
Duggan. Mick 107, 144
Duggan. Mick, arrest 123
Dulhunty. Mr 40
Dulwich College 69
Dummy squatter 91
Dumoulin. Doctor 24
Dunne. Father 65
Dunny building Gilgandra 97
Dunrobin 29
Durban 239
Duster 166
Dyeing harness 142
Edward Box 261
Eegigaleegeebung 77
Eight horse team 90
Ellesmere Port 261
Embarkation France May 1917 245
Engine repair 133
Enlistment attempt June 1916 216
Enlistment. Successful 1916 229
Erdcote 243
Eschol 14, 70, 178
Escort Rock 5
Essoldo 269
Esther 27
Eulomogo 17, 32, 49, 161
Eulomogo School 19
Eulomogo. Leaving 1903 33
Eulomogo. Railway work 33
Eumalga 2, 3
Eumalga (1899) 26
Eumalga dog kennels 7
Eumalga shearing 27
Eumalga wool press 11
Eumalga, leaving 1902 17
Eumalga. 1898 22
Eye operation 1960 293
Fairground barking 140
Family at Hey Farm 294
Farm sale Gilgandra 98
Father at Napier Road 285
Father at Sough. 1956 289
Father with pig 297
Father. 1916 217
Father. 1917 231
Father. 1950 267
Father’s ashes 301
Father’s ashes in river 305
Fazaldin. Abdhul 161
Federation Drought 18, 58
Fiji. Job offer 144
Fijian labourers 145
Find the Lady 60
Findlater. Horace 75, 189
Fire break 57
Fire on Beltanah 238
Fire. Straw stacks 19
Fire. vineyard 9
Fitzsimons Tyre Depot 279
Fitzsimons. Jimmy 278
Flannery. Paddy 16
Flood. River in 38
Food rationing 267
Fossicking 176
Fowler eight horse engine 165
Fowler traction engine 167
Frankfurt am Oder 20
Fraser. Mr. rancher 114
Free-wheeling traction engine 165
Fremantle 47
Fuen, Denmark 21
Gain. George 48, 84, 154
Gain. George & family 49
Gain. George 1916 230
Gain. George, in gaol 49
Gain. Mary & George 140
Gallahs 69
Games at school 68
General Gas 260
General Gas Appliances 259
General Gas works trip 258
Geurie 52
GGA home guard 266
Ghosts 15
Gilbert and Dunn 73
Gilgandra 59, 76, 89, 105, 108
Gin traps 58
Girilambone 182
Girilambone. 1912 158
Girilambone. 1915 186
Girilambone. 1916 193
Girilambone. Leaving 1916 195
Glory hole 172, 173
Goddard. George 91
Godmother. finding 153
Governor boys 30
Governor gang 4
Grammar school 68
Grandstand. jumping from 35
Grass fed races 139
Great Australian Bight 48
Great Drought 18
Great Sandy Desert 42
Green Hill 22
Greenhouse 276
Greenoway. Billy 141
Greenoway. Jimmy 125
Greyhound 266
Greyhound. Con-trick 54
Grocery shop 286
Grogan. Jim. Farmer, Warren 125
Gulargumbone 86, 108
Gum trees 69
Gunpowder & ducks 24
Halley’s Comet 112
Hamburg’ 20
Hansen. Vic 145
Hansen. Vic. Narromine 152
Hay in Australia 133
Heaton Norris 259
Heeny. Railway firemen 106
Henderson. Gil 75
Hey Farm 292, 298
Hickey. Margaret Jane 21
Higson. Mr, butcher Gilgandra 90
Hill. Phyllis & Ewart 269
Home Guard 264
Homebush. Sydney 197
Horse boy 90
Horse in station waiting room 190
Hudson motor cycle 179
Hudson. Motor Cycle 178
Infantile paralysis 299
Jalap 142
Jamaica. Job offer 146
James. Mr 145
Jewish family 70
Jim takes off 88
Jim, argument with 29
Jim’s grave 185
Jockey. Warren 139
Johansen. Ferdinand 21
Johanstone. George Mudgee 174
John Bunker chaff cutter 125
Johnson 21
Jones. Baldy, teacher 68
Jones. Bob, fiddler 16
Jung 20
Juror in sheep-stealing case 183
Kalgoorlie 47
Kangaroo hunting 26
Katoomba 22
Kelly Gang 17
Kelly. John 74
Kerosene in flour 93
King’s Bounty 61
Kingston. 1911 147
Kitchen. Napier Road 275
Kurrajong 69
Kurrajong as fodder 28
Kwong Lee 25, 70
Labour agents 137
Lacey place 15
Lambing Flats 21
Lancashire League cricket 283
Land Rover 293
Landing craft 261
Landing Craft Minor 264
Langley. Cherry 35, 151
Lathom. Bert & Tugger 102
Lawley. Reg 270
LCM on trials 264
Leeuwin. Cape 48
LeFevre. Louis 81
LeFevre. The widow 1
leFevre. widow 30
Leslie as truant 52
Leslie goes bush 76
Leslie takes off 105
Leslie's death August 1973 298
Leytonstone 263
LGM christened 2
Lightning Ridge 110
Lightning strike 88
Lillian. 1916 234
Local train 1900 44
Logue. Jimmy 96
Longobardi. Jack 43
Longridge 108
Lovatt. Mr. Teacher 51
Lowden homestead 96
Lowe. Miner Broken Hill 169
Lucerne 71
Luminous Buttons 269
Luminous paint 269
Lysarght panels 8
MacDonald. Narromine 152
MacDonnell Ranges 46
Macquarie river 37
Macquarie River 14, 67
Madman. Wingate’s 134
Mae 63
Maggie Aunt 174
Maggie. Aunt 30, 33
Magistrate 40
Magpies 69
Man from Snowy River 220
Manchester Ship Canal 263
Manning. Jack 54
Marbles 75
Margaret Iris Emily 61
Marita 263
Marriage. False 157
Marthagai 77
Marthagai Creek 59
Mary Challenger. 1916 251
Mauritius 239
MBE 248, 275
McAuliffe, Thomas 51
McCally. Vivienne 51
McDonald Alexander (b1840) 20
McDonald family 41
McDonald. Alec. b.1898 186
McDonald. Alexander (1856) 20
McDonald. Alexander N (b1898) 22
McDonald. Arthur 91
McDonald. Doris 194
McDonald. Ernest & Arch 81
McDonald. George 32
McDonald. Leslie. marriage 182
McFaddean 21, 22
McKenna. Bull 141
McKenna. dealer 120
McKenna. Geoff 120
Melbourne 48
Melbourne. 1916 237
Melons 71
Mercury based ointment 268
Meroo 21
Milking cows 50
Minogue 30
Minogue. Jack 30
Minogue. Jack & pigs 59
Minogue. Jack Jnr. 31
Minogue. Mrs 81
Molly. Fiction about 192
Molly’s Mother. Death 230
Money. Stolen, Dubbo 155
Mongolia. steamship 48
Mooning possums 25
Moorside Road 269
Mother and father 296
Mother at Sough in 1956 288
Mother in 1930 256
Mother in the shop 291
Mother. 1925 251
Mother. Marriage certificate 255
Motor-cycle combination 178
Mt. Kosciusko 247
Mudgee 6, 21, 174
Mulberry tree 34
Mullins. Jim 146
Mullins. Jimmy 152
Mungindi 114, 195
Murrumbidgee 67
Murrumbidgerie 1, 30, 49, 52
Murrumbidgerie school 51
Murrumbidgerie Station 25
Murrumbidgerie. Name change 66
Napier Road garden 280
Napier Road. 1955 287
Narromine 76, 146
Narromine. 1912 152
Natural History at school 69
Naval Intelligence 286
Navvies. Working with 158
Never-Never 46
Night soil system 70
Norma as next of kin 1916 230
North Dubbo Rugby Team 75
Nyngan, late 1912 174
Nyngan. Move to 158
O’Connell. Dr Tommy 264
Occidental Hotel 48
Opal patch. Map 109
Opal. Mining 109
Opossum skins 25
Orange 174
Orange. 1916 225
Orange. Trip to 157
Orchard robbing 71
Overflow 218
Paddy Driver 305
Paper flower trade 122
Parachute Gun 269
Parakeets 69
Parker. Dubber 103
Parker. Mac and Mrs 269
Parkes line 174
Parties at Eumalga 16
Pastry cook’s secret 143
Pat Crawford 277
Pat Crawford’s wedding 283
Payes. Frederick & Julia 20
Payne. Station owner 49
Peak Hill 165
People’s Palace. Sydney 197
Peppers. Fitzroy St 33
Peppers. Move back 1908 72
Philosophy. Buddhist 149
Pickfords 278
Picks. Sharpening 160
Pigeon shoot 36, 151
Pigeon. Argument with Stan 36
Pigeons. breeding 36
Pigs. Feeding rabbits to 50
Pile driver 148
Pile-driving. Kingston 147
Pitcher. Walter 260
Pitt Town 22
Planet Foundry 261
Plymouth. 1917. Beltanah arrives 243
Poisoning rabbits 107
Polyps. Cutting off 275
Portable engine 117, 125
Portable steam engine 116
Possums. trapping 25
Potch opal 111
Price. Jim. Accident 183
Price. Min Dubbo 1915 192
Prince. Charles 3
Prince. James 1
Prince. Jim. marriage 176
Pumpkin pie 127
Purgative 142
Quandong tree 89
Quarry Hens 69
Rabbit drive 81
Rabbit pie 59
Rabbit trapping 58
Rabbit-proof fence 80
rabbits. poisoning 107
Race meeting. Warren 139
Racecourse. Dubbo 34
Railway Hotel. Narromine 152
Rainer. Reg 156
Reaper and binder 130
recitation. poetry 85
Reed-beds 219
Reed. George & Catherine 49
Reel. Mae 4, 22, 30
Remittance man 85
Rich. Mr 70
Ring-barked 58
Ring-barking. methods 80
Ring. Big Bill 87
Ringway Airport 278
Riveting boiler 152
Rochester & Maggie 30
Rock bottom 147
Rocky Creek 1
Rolleston 244
Rosellas 69
Roustabout 115
Royal Hotel 138
Royal Hotel. Warren 123
Rugby league & union 162
Ruston Proctor engine 116
Rutherford. James 56
Rutherford. Jim 25
Sacked. Royal Hotel 143
Safety valve weight 116
Salter & Aunt Maggie 33
Samuels. Dick and Clive 71
Schnapps. Ernie 152
School attendance officer 67
School. Eschol 11
Scoop. Cleaning dams 65
Sergeant. Mr 30
Serisier mausoleum 4, 13
Serisier. Emille 3
Sewage as fertilizer 70
Sewage in Gilgandra 97
Sewell. Fr. 278
Sex education 276
Sharpening blades 128
Sharpening picks 160
Shearing 26
Sheep station 80
Shovelling ballast 160
Showground 35
Shrapnel 271
Skinner. Dick 49
Skinner. Mary Ellen 49
Skinner. Molly 48, 192
Skinner. Mrs and family 48
Skinning rabbits 82
Sleep walking 72
Sleeper Yard. Dubbo 43
Sloane. Ganger Byrock 161
Slush lamp 93
Smith and Timms 146
Snake. Killing 32
Snake. White at Eumalga 31
Solihull. Sydney 69
Sough shop 288
Sparring partner 96
Speedwell cycle 39
Spinifex 196
Squatter. Dummy 91
SS Mongolia 47
Stampede 57
Stan falls from tree 28
Stan takes off 97
Stan. Gone to bush 1907 67
Stanley with lurcher 53
Stanley with reporters 306
Steele. Bob 76
Stick-picking 111
Stock whip, punishment 27
Stockport viaduct 272
Striker for Vic Hansen 145
Strychnine 107
Sun-stroke 160
Sundowner 31
Sundowner & opals 108
Sunnyside. farm 49
Suntop 52
Supercargo 151
Suva gaol 146
Sweeney. Mr, teacher 68
Swimming at school 69
Swimming lessons 38
Sydney 48
Sydney 1916 enlistment attempt? 197
Sydney. 1916 196
Sydney. June 1916 216
Tanker at Hey Farm 295
Target shooting 18
Tasmania 263
Telephone line 88
Thimble and the pea 60
Thompson. Arthur 260
Thompson. Mr 42
Thompson’s expedition 43
Three card trick 60
Trafford Park 249
Trangie 164
Trangie. 1915 189
Tree climbing 57
Tregaskis. Minnie 51
Trespass 87
Triplets 61
Truanting 1907 67
Tuberculosis 247
Tucklebung 77
Typhoid fever 25
Uabalong 77
Uncle Stan enlists 1917 235
Uncle Stan, Old Alex 278
Uncle Stan. 1917 236
Valves. adjusting 133
Vanessa Phyllis Sarah 61
Vanessa. Burial 64
Vanessa’s grave 62
Varicocele discovered 218
Varicocele. Dubbo operation 226
Vauxhall 14 car 274
Vegetable sales 71
Venn, Coonamble 73
Vera Mary Grace 61
Vera. Alex and Lillian’s 1909 30
Vera. Cousin 175
Vera. Maggie’s 30, 33
Vineyard, fire 9
Vineyard. Eumalga 3
Viper 245
Viper, ferry 245
Wade. Mr. farmer 103
Walers 115
Wallaroo 26
Wambie 120
War work 261
Warraby station 128
Warraby. Leaving 138
Warrambungle Mountains 73, 91
Warren 118, 138
Warren. June 1916 218
Warren. Lt Charles K. 263
Water closets 70
Watershed 73
Wattle 69
Waugh. Gypsy, horse breaker 106
Webb. Mr farmer Dubbo 98
Wellington 157
White City 266
White Cliffs 168
White. Bertha 156
White. Bertha 1916 224
White. Farmer Eulomogo 19
White. Harry and Lal 267
White. Min. research 178
Willarawang 174
Wilson-Bennett. H C 263
Wilson. Alfred 33
Windmills 132
Wine cellar, Eumalga 3
Wingate. Len 136
Wingate. Mr and Len 128
Winnowing wheat 66
Wolfe’s Schnapps 120
Wongarbon 1, 67
Wongarbon store 56
Woodley 20
Woolamaloo Dock 236
Young (Lambing Flats) 75
Young. Catherine Elizabeth 20
. Mayne. Robert Hansen 20
LESLIE GRAHAM STORY
-
Stanley
- Global Moderator
- Posts: 99369
- Joined: 23 Jan 2012, 12:01
- Location: Barnoldswick. Nearer to Heaven than Gloria.
LESLIE GRAHAM STORY
Stanley Challenger Graham
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!
-
Stanley
- Global Moderator
- Posts: 99369
- Joined: 23 Jan 2012, 12:01
- Location: Barnoldswick. Nearer to Heaven than Gloria.
Re: LESLIE GRAHAM STORY
Bumped as a reminder that this account of one man's life is here on the site. It's long I know but is well worth a read I think.
Stanley Challenger Graham
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!
-
Stanley
- Global Moderator
- Posts: 99369
- Joined: 23 Jan 2012, 12:01
- Location: Barnoldswick. Nearer to Heaven than Gloria.
Re: LESLIE GRAHAM STORY
Bumped again. I know at least one member of the family is reading it at the moment.....
Stanley Challenger Graham
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!
Stanley's View
scg1936 at talktalk.net
"Beware of certitude" (Jimmy Reid)
The floggings will continue until morale improves!
Old age isn't for cissies!