SOME OF THE NED KELLY, DAN KELLY  HISTORY TRACKED !

Despite what you may have seen in a recent movie  Dan and Steve didn’t shoot or kill themselves.

Dan Kelly kicked down the front door and  offered to shoot it out with  4 policemen inside, at the Aaron Sherrit  incident, just before the Glenrowan stoush.   He was no coward!

A bushman tracker knows the way to to follow horses here........every hoof is different

He’ll find the track one hoof placed  wrong........all have different tracks

And remember it a year!

He’d know the colour of the horse

By the hair  left on the ground

They roll every day of course

Hair left in the rolling mound

An earmark seen on a beast

Is also logged the same

Remembered on a cow or sheep

If the owner comes to claim

The Kelly’s  have their earmark mate................Dan and Ned have no earlobes,  a family trait!

No earlobes   all you’ll see................................a definite breed characteristic.....distinct as a blue heeler!

Fred- Layton's Grandson fits the part.....................Fred Layton alias Steve Hart, but secretly..... Dan Kelly

Frank Harpers family tree.......................   Amiable characters  and 1960s drovers of south west Queensland

Dan Kelly and Steve Hart escaped...................Steve died overseas! Dan went under double cover used

                to India by boat                                                        Steve’s alias, “Fred Layton.”  Many Dan Kelly's appeared...

With Walers left the country...........................Walers were remount horses for the Indian Army

And the Police they didn’t know it?.........................They  knew Steve Hart alias Fred Layton died overseas!

At Glenrowan Ned fought on alone..................Game as Ned Kelly the people would say..

Joe Byrne had died in vain................................mortally wounded in the groin at Glenrowan...

A copper said they saddled up.............Constable Bracken  ,” the Kelly's were saddling up” Dan and Steve..

2 drunkards took the blame................................After drinking all day in the wayside pubs many men

                                                                                   passed out and slept the effects off. Smoke killed these two!.

                       2 unmarked bodies in the Glenrowan fire?

Frank Harpers family has this trait

DNA could prove me right

Without some help we’ll have to wait

Till me hairs gone grey and white?JLJ

A Kelly family tree?

djohnson@gil.com.au

     CHAPTER 118                                

   ................... JOE WHITE'S STORY                                                                                 

                          Joe White was born in 1860 at Richmond N.S.W. and

died at Aramac Qld. 1943 He is the main character mentioned in the Book

HORSEMEN BOLD. The author DONALD HAMBLETON JOHNSON being his

grandson. I  am the son of the above author having the same name. Joe spent

a life time on horse back, traveling all over Australia. He spent a lot of the

time around Mungindi, St George, Dirranbandi, Hebel,

Cunnamulla, Charleville, Quilpie, Mitchell, Roma, Aramac,

Longreach, and the Adavale areas. Joe met all the old Bushmen camped on the

job in the bush. The traveling swagmen he passed on the track so often, he

knew them also. Joe knew the drovers, graziers, and the men who were on the

run escaping the law. Yes he lived in the days of the bushrangers , and was

friendly with the KELLY GANG.           Joe would always carry rough provisions

on his pack horse.

Tea sugar, flour, baking powder, curry powder, dates, dried fruit, rice, rolled

oats. He would cook a damper or brownie in the camp oven. The meat was

mainly corned, and when the meat was like old leather to look at, it was boiled.

It was chewy ; if not palatable to the taste. Of course fresh meat was shot a

rabbit, duck, pigeon; a spot of fishing if on a river When Joe saw dust on the

horizon he would kick the coals together throw on a log of wood; put the Billy

on to boil. He knew it was a hungry wayfarer , by the time the horseman rode

up a meal was ready. Bushmen valued a friendly face and a yarn. Joe would

fill his pipe and  pass his tin of tobacco around. They would talk of whom they

had seen  on the track, of whether they had seen any police.                           

     JOE WHITE.

Back in 1880 you will find, Joe White he was about.

The brumby runner master mind. Of this I`ll leave no doubt .

He took from Mugan station, 600 brumbies yes my friend.

Had the best riders of the nation, on which he could depend.

From Mungindi to Sydney town, drove brumbies didn't fail.

They'd stop em block em right around, horse broke em for the sale.

The horse who broke and left the mob, got grabbed by the tail and threw.

A sideline or a hobbles job, made of green hide it'd do.

Wet greenhide sideline when applied, front to back the legs were held.

He couldn't canter if he tried, to stay he was compelled.

Joe saw the difference in every track, to read from them he knew.

He was as good as any black, he`d track ants across the dew.

Two Dancy boys they wandered lost, were gone a day or too.

At black tracker`s, oh these kids did scoff,  Joe found them pay his due.

These small dark boys they had some fun, yes hid their tracks with care.

Joe saw the tracks of only one, or the other ones were there.

One boy would carry piggy back, then came the others turn.

A way to hide one fellows track, gave the tracker some concern?

Joe followed cantered in their wake, knew their tracks in any bunch.

To find them was a piece of cake, so he took em home for lunch.

Joe's brother Dick was branded bad, now an outlaw on the run.

A publican robbed him, made him mad, Dick smashed his grog, the bum.

The traps they came but couldn't find, Dick's cave the hideout site,

Couldn't follow the White's, who didn't mind, scrub galloping day or night.

So Dick White he then set off, with brothers Joe and Charlie too.

They rode due west three states they'd cross, till Broome came into view .

Dick's wife and kids by ship did pass, then on to Broome by overland .

Joe left Dick there safe at last, rode east through desert sand.

Joe and Charlie back they came, through the land that worked the horse .

They'd throw scrubbers, brumbies they were game, horse breakers yes of course.

They'd throw a brumby on his side, quickly lugged his head by force.

Would saddle  up and mount and ride ,and coax him home a horse.

Joe entered the open campdraft mate, with a wee small handicap.

Left his bridle and girth straps on the gate, won the Mungindi cup old chap.

Joe's brumby runners one was Dan, at Glenrowan hadn't died.

Alex Wilkie chased as off they ran, and Moffat he could ride.

The legend lives of Joe this man,

true master of the horse.

The drovers talked of him and Dan,

and Hippy yes of course.

     by D H Johnson

CHAPTER 119

Smile awhile with Nells Stories...

                               There were so many old battlers who every one knew like

BOOMI JACK, JACK THE NATIVE, CUBBIE JACK, NAVY JACK, GERMAN

JACK, LOUSY JACKS, BRONCO GEORGE, BOB THE BUMPER KING,

DESERT LAIR,    DEATH ADDER JOE, FAT DOG HARRY, BUSTED OVEN,

and many more. Joe liked to talk about the above,  it would always raise a

smile; and Joe was a story teller at heart. BOOMI JACK had often  came up

against Joe    because Joe he valued horse feed; Boomi was a arsonist and set

fire where ever he went. One time Joe arrested     Boomi when he caught

him at it.                                    

JACK THE NATIVE was well known to Joe White, he had camped down on

the  river at the slaughter yards near Dirranbandi. A handy old chap who use to

help the butcher clean up after they killed, he received meat in payment. Joe

knew he had done time, 17 years and 9 months in Goulbourn jail for bank

robbery. He use to travel by foot once a year into N.S.W.                  They said he

had the money hidden and used to collect it in small portions. Joe said he had

served his time so let him live in peace. He is buried about 50 yards north of

the slaughter yards near the Dirranbandi bridge on the ballonne river.             

 Taken from an article printed by the Ballonne beacon newspaper of St George Queensland

 by

Ellen May Brummell

Born 7/June/1924

I read with interest the stories under “Remember When “ and “Memories of the St George district” in your paper.

Thought I’d write of my memories of growing up through the great depression in Dirranbandi.

Our family consisted of my Dad Charles Brummell, his wife Alice and sons Bill, Walter, Keith, Charley, Viney and myself Nell. We shifted to town because my mother needed medical attention and the children needed schooling. My mother died in 1933 and my father took on the enormous task of rearing us in a depression.

We were lucky to have a home under the Workers Dwelling Scheme.

Lots of people lived in houses with dirt floors, hessian bags opened and used to divide the rooms. No lining on the ceiling or fly screens. In fact the windows were made of boards with a stick to prop the window open .

The continuous use of the wood stove  burning smoked the walls and everything in there. Some people used lime to whitewash the tin around the fireplace the ashes were spread on the ground floor and wet and open hessian bags pushed into the floor until they became hard and used as the floor.

Smoke would also come from cow dung , fly and mosquito buckets .

The dry dung would burn producing a smoke that would chase the mosquitos and sandflys out of the house. Not forgetting the smoke from the fat lamp, being a jam tin filled with fat (sheep kidney fat)

And a piece of old hat (felt)used as a wick.

Of course there were kerosene lights and gas lights , no electricity!

Water was always a problem, the river was often dry except for a few deep holes. People made little carts  that were pulled by wether goats  

On which were put two kerosene tins to cart water in.

The children did this chore before and after school. The rain water in the tanks was kept for drinking and babies. A small piece of carbide would be put in the river water to clear it. People never wasted water, they knew how precious it was . The town had a large mob of goats  that were owned by many owners . Goats were kept for milk, meat and their skins were sold .  So it was another chore for the lads to get the goats in off the common at night for milking next morning . I remember Jack Cott the pound keeper used to come every six months to collect agistment on the goats . Some people hid  a couple in their dunny (outhouse toilet) building, to avoid paying for more than one . talking of the old time dunny, news would come on the grapevine that the health inspector would be out on the train for inspection, this was about every six months .

Every one would scrub the seat and floor with phenol and see that the gauze on the thunderbox was flyproof . Also the gauze on the rain water tank was doing its job. More times than not old newspaper was cut and impaled in a nail in the toilet for use as toilet paper. Really the dunnies were always clean, most people even buried their rubbish for fear of tetanus. People those days made the most of what was available, they saved the labels off milk tins and tea packets. You’d often find people at the Common Rubbish Dump gathering these.   If you sent them down, the makers sent tea towels and all sorts of handy things back  .

The Rolled Oats bags had traced on them by the maker Goldy Locks or a Bear. These were hastily sewed up and filled with what could be found and given to the children as dolls. Aprons were made from sugar bags .

Must not forget face powder and face cream, “Ponds” and “Charmson”.

You could fill in a coupon enclosing stamps for postage and a sample would arrive by post, always with the photo of a film star. I guess to let you  see how beautiful you could be . Food was mostly baked rabbit or curried. Goat the same procedure. Their hides could be sold and the fur from the rabbits. Pigeons, Wild Ducks, and Galahs all for the stew pot with dumplings. Although I rather liked dumplings with golden syrup . Emu eggs were handy could be used or sold to the cake manufacturers in the city.

Fish could be caught if the water was there, could be sold to the pubs and cafes. Fat and sugar were used in many ways, there was sugar on bread , sugar on rolled oats, bread and milk with sugar. I think the children used it up with their energy at work and play. Now fat was used top make fried scones and pufterloons and  In cakes and biscuits.  Fat was used on bread fried and especially after meat baked. To wipe a piece of bread in the brown fat was heaven to some. I found syrup mixed with fat tasty.

Of course there were more scones and damper than bread.

Butter was a scarcity having no fridges to keep it firm .

Of course there was the old charcoal cooler, and the billycan with the damp piece of bag around it, swinging in the breeze.

When the Moore Government abolished the Basic Wage ,

The Employer could pay what he liked, and work you as long as he liked .

Some of the older men had worked hard and brave to get better conditions. With everything collapsing around them, they became outspoken and stood their dig.

I remember one such man Snow Seaton whose wife sowed to make ends meet. He managed to get a truck and with two of his sons went away to fill his truck with oranges , came back to town and sold oranges door to door 2 bob a bucket . people were pleased to get these oranges so cheaply.

I never forgot that people can be ostracised for simply speaking out or defending their work conditions.  Grandfather Bill Moogah Wilson was another well respected local who was black balled for similar action .

He was the town cordial drink maker and they were excellent drinks .

But the powers that be in the town and the Squatter hierarchy who controlled them decided to bring in Orbells drinks from interstate in Dubbo New South Wales

And the town shops pubs and cafes refused to stock Bill Wilson’s  local product, so he lost their support in their effort to push Bill out . 

Undeterred bill moved away and started again and sold his drinks .

Later both these men returned to the town Snow with a boarding house and Bill had the Taxi and a local store . You can’t keep a good man down, a timely warning! I must mention my Dad, he walked 20 miles out to work fencing on the A.P.Company He did the walking on Sunday carrying his clothes and rations in his sugar bag . On Saturday he walked home from work to town with a little meat in the sugar bag and his clothes. He had no car or horse , he had a family to support . Also a house keeper was paid for caring for his children through the week.

The single men couldn’t get the dole more than one week in each town .

They had to walk into the next town looking for work . They called at all the stations looking for work between towns to get a feed you might have to chop some wood or bury the garbage or maybe dig a toilet hole.

Sometimes they would jump on the rattler or train to save walking further and wearing the soles off their shoes. At time the police would catch them. They  gave them  a night in jail. This gave a prisoner a rest and a feed . Next day they would cut wood and clean the windows for the police, so it worked both ways. These men made up the first division

of the A.I.F.  the dole men.  They proved to be excellent soldiers,

who could march and fight on an empty stomach . So be very careful when you use the word dole bludger. Probably many of them have helped to save this country . They were used to one change of clothes, sleeping out didn’t bother them. I salute all of them.   The first jail in Dirranbandi was a Coolibah Tree, and would have stood in front of Bill Waterson’s  House.  The police used to chain the prisoners to the tree. There were two drunk prisoners chained to branch of the tree one night after the races.

They pulled the limb off the tree . They arrived shortly at Billy Richardson’s Old town pub still chained to the limb of the tree..

They certainly needed a drink on arrival.

Thinking back it was it was always the policy of even the poorest family to offer a drink of tea to a visitor. Even if it was only damper and syrup.

The bagman on the riverbank  would kick the coals together, throw on a piece of wood ,  and on would go the billy.  I was pleased to read Henry Noble’s story. He is right, Dirranbandi was never racist  .

We all worked and lived together in Dirranbandi, colour of the skin or social standing meant nothing. There was always a job for everyone,

after all we were all equal in the sight of God .

So keep up the good work Henry the Elder  

BRONCO GEORGE   was a long time friend of Joe White. They had met

when Bronco first came out from the U.S.A. with a WILD WEST SHOW.

They worked together on the A.P.Coy.  So it was not surprising when

Bronco told Joe he was worried that a friend of theirs who

had given a lift in his sulky to a stranger to go St.George. A      few days

later Bronco saw the sulky come back with only one person headed for

Hebel. Bronco was always seated on a up turned drum gazing into space.

News came that a body was found in the sand on up the river; his arm was seen

sticking out. It seems someone called Clown had killed him and cut off his head

with an axe. Bronco was    able to help police with the case.  Bronco

had a lovely dark lady from some where I know not. She was always decked

out in jewels and shawls. I won't say they were expensive jewels; but they

looked fabulous on Mary Ann. He lived in a covered in wagon pulled by two

horses. Mary Ann would be seated on a seat in the wagon like a Queen on her

throne.

Every now and again a small group of olive skinned people would suddenly appear

In the town. They arrived in a horse drawn covered in wagon. Some walking and

beating the frying pans and pots. to get attention. They were a mixed mob, young

and old  What I noticed most was how happy they seemed.

They brought a few chooks; dogs and things they sold. They set up camp on the river

 bank. The men  carted the wood for the fire and threw in the fishing lines.

The pretty young women with scarves on their hair came visiting the houses

With home made jewelry  and pots and pans to sell. Also a lot of odd size clothes

to sell that were second hand. Some told your fortune for a few shillings.

I was surprised to see so many young men visit that tent!

Then washing started disappearing from the line over night. Chooks went missing;

and the dogs seem to bark all night. when the gypsies were in town.

It appeared they stole from one town to sell at another. They ate the chooks they stole ;

and  always had the few chooks to cover the feathers that might be found.

Many a stray sheep that had wondered into the river for a drink; ended up in the bag.

The police were always kept busy at this time. They packed up and went over night.

To me people had a hard time to get food; the gypsies were doing it their way.

During this period in life; other children would join us in play in the wilga’s.

In the wilga’s  in a covered in wagon under a bushy tree lived Bronco George

and wife Mary Ann. To us children they were a source of wonderment. We were

sure Bronco had stolen a dark princess.; and was holding her prisoner.

Why else did he sit guard on a turned upside drum?

We were determined to peep through the flap at the back of the wagon. With

heightened curiousity we sneaked up and I was the first to peep in.

  There sat the lovely princess on a throne covered with purple velvet. Her

Long black hair covered with a pretty scarf. Her frock red velvet ;the sort

A princess would be expected to wear. Around her neck and on her arms;

beautiful coloured  jewellery. All around her on the floor pretty paper flowers.

Scattered all over the floor space. But there was a sort of sadness about her.

I hoped help would arrive and save her in time.

Some of the smaller girls had to be held up to peep in. They wet their pants with

 excitement. Such is the minds of children in their belief in fairies.

We had eaten napan fruit  from the wild napan bushes. It was here that the butterflies

gathered  .To us they were fairies and never harmed.

Not forgetting the snotty gobbles that the boys threw down from the trees. We ate

them with relish!  They were also the food of the fairies. from the misiltoe

It was usually around 40 degrees hot ;and we carried a small billy can .It

contained cowdung which was lit to chase mosquitoes., flies and sandflies away.

 So perhaps the haze from the heat and smoke affected our eye sight

In reality Bronco had a bird trap out the back made of wire netting. It was on

A wooden frame to which a rope was attached .Also he would put a stick under

One side ; bird seed or corn scattered under the frame. He would give a tug

;and the trap would come down over the birds.

He sold the young birds as talkers. But the old ones as meat. People often said of

 them they needed a stone put in with them to cook . When the stone softened they

 were cooked .

No wonder he sat so still and patient; birds are cagey if they think they are about

to be caught.

Mary Ann wore the clothes she wore in the buck jump show .When Bronco would

throw knives at a board; all around her..  She made the paper flowers to hawk

 around for sale. The jewellery was made from broken glass bottle; melted a little

 and a hole shoved through to use fine wire. to make things for sale..

Tell that to us girls at that time; it would be like denying there were fairies.

Yes where were the boys? Oh they were busy cutting the heads off the meat ants,

to feed the fairies

Often in the bush where a dead tree was fallen for fire wood.; a skeleton would fall out.

It was a bundle of bones of some long dead Aboriginal. They use to tie the body into

 a small as they could bundle; and put it in a hollow of a tree. When found  they would

 be buried in the ground near by. Don was asked by an Aboriginal did he say prayers

 when he reburied them?

Well they had already been through a burial ceremony; so he just said rest in peace.

In the Wilga’s with only the thick bushy leaves for cover lived a family of six.

The wife would wet a piece of the coloured paper used to making red paper

roses. This she would. rub on her cheeks to make them pink Over this she. dabbed

flour. Mother of invention right from the start.

Those were the days when people didn’t worry what religion  or political party

you voted for. No TV  or wireless to make you believe there was a better life

else where. A number of people lived in dwellings with earthen floors. Most had

a wood stove. You would often have the invitation “call anytime; the kettle is always

on the boil” They took advantage of the wood stove. Casserolls, stews, jam, and pickles

were often left simmering. A home made cake popped in the oven; which was only

controlled by the burning wood and stove damper.

Boys were taught to use a pea rifle to shoot some thing to eat. They could

Fish and swim and trap rabbits

Fat children were few and far between. They walked every where ,and food

wasn’t that plentiful. Xmas time was the only time one could safely be a

glutton..

I remember the Bishop arrived for confirmation. A certain lad was upset

because he had no shoes. So he ran up into the bush.; just as the Bishop was

ready to start. On being told the Bishop retrieved the lad and bought him a

 pair of shoes. Then proceeded to confirm him.

At the breakfast after; the Bishop having seen another  lad  gormandiseing the

food said .”Gluttony was a sin !” and chastised the offender.

In that  era people just dropped in when ever they passed by. They were lucky

if they got a piece of  bread  and jam. with their tea The kids would hoe into

damper and cockies joy They children played outside and had their ears boxed

 if caught listening.

Some of the women were wonderful at making the home livable out of rubbish.

Covering a car seat into a recycled  lounge seat. Opened and flattened kerosene

tins made a  chest of draws. Rubber strips cut from car tubes substituted

for elastic. Sorry me being the time traveler I am; my thoughts  often take me

back to those days. Imagine the life of the first women settlers ;they had no rubbish

to fall back on!.

If a mother had to go  away to have a baby; the children just climbed into bed

at a friends place. After all  the old man was probably miles away working.

When diptheria struck the houses of such people ;only the doctor visited

The house had a sign on the gate to keep out. You would see. people

standing back ten yards from the fence ;calling out to their friends inside.

They had brought some little thing they’d cooked for them.

A death would be felt as if it was one of their own. Yes to me it is a place of

today ;but echoes of yesterday persist.

So it. was a busy life I lead within the family. But it was a learning curve ; some how

you knew it was all done for your benefit later. Even the teacher at school was

there to give you a good start in life later. They seemed to take more interest in

those days. Perhaps we feared more the punishment they were able to dish  out.

Teachers were treated with the respect they deserved.

So when Viney and I were the last of our family at school; Dad  decided to sell

The boys were all working; so together with Dad they could pay our fees at

Boarding school in Brisbane. They had left school at an early age to.go to work.

Bill worked as a wardsman at the hospital. Walter went out on a station to work

as a station hand. Charlie a cowboy at twelve on a property. Keith on a station

as a stockman. The boys never queried  it  ;gave portion of their pay to support

my sister and I. in good faith. Until the war broke out and they volunteered

for the AIF.

Bronco's watching paid off that day. They retired to Texas

Qld.. and are buried there.                       THE DESERT LAIR was well

known to Joe, he often came upon him on a lonely track fighting with his

swag; cursing it as though it was some person. He use to slick his hair with

brilliantine. He loved music and never failed to play the juke box if one about. He

was wont to leave his fly undone as he traveled the roads. He has been seen in

a cafe playing "He's got the whole world in his hands," dancing in a frenzy with

his old tool in his   hands, fly undone. Did no one any harm, seldom accepted a

lift.     BOB the  BUMPER KING  was getting about the towns in the time of

the depression. Joe would often see him bent over picking up smokes that

others had discarded. Some he would smoke as they were; others    would be

undone and rolled in newspaper ready to smoke. Some were even sold to the

craving  public. No one in that day thought of aids, hepatitis or lung cancer.

These days people would have been horrified to see Bob bending to retrieve a

dirty cigarette.                                                                       '                   

of GERMAN JACK.....

Just before the second world war Robert Nielson jumped ship in Australia never

wanting to return to Germany.  Bob remained in Australia till he died at 92 years

of  age. His family back home in Germany had all died in the political uprising

before the war started.

Bob liked this country and its people and never spoke of his past life.

When he first arrived he had ridden a pushbike from Melbourne to Sydney.

He finally got work with the Atkinson family on "Gunnavarra Station".

Bob made friends of Ann and Ted Jones. They in turn introduced him to the

Stenhouse and White families. Thelma Stenhouse married Charles Pedersen, and

first saw Bob on her Grandfathers' dairy farm "Roadale" at Atherton. He was

visiting with Thels' aunt and uncle , Ann and Ted Jones

Later Bob went to work for Ted Jones cutting sleepers to supply to the railway.

Later still he worked at the Brisbane meat works in the boning room.

When the war started Bob was interned in a camp for German people.

Some thought it was through jealousy that he had been informed on.

He was not alone many German and Italian people were interned during the

hostilities.

Near the end of the war he was "man powered" and sent to Dirranbandi south

west Queensland,

and put to work by the local Station Owners cutting scrub , swinging  an axe all

day. There was a drought happening and the sheep or cattle needed bushy leaves

to eat to live.

A good percentage of the men were away at the war in New Guinea. Bob went to

"Yamma Station" owned by Jim and Doreen Hegarty . It was to end as a lifetime

job, Bob remained employed on their two properties "Yamma" and "Waldor". Bob

kept in touch with the Stenhouse family even after Mrs Stenhouse married Albert

White and went to live outside Armidale in New South Wales. It was here that

Laurel White first met Uncle Bob as he was known to the family .

Laurel White later was to marry Ray Foo. Her uncle Bob used to send expensive

presents for all the family at Christmas time. Both Thel and Laurel speak highly

of their Uncle Bob and to this day love him very much. Around 1950 Bob visited

their home near Armidale for a few weeks .

Bob was working at "Yamma" when he became sick , the doctor discovered he had

TB and sent him to Toowoomba for treatment. The Doctor said the hot dry

conditions were suitable for a recovery. So Bob returned to his friends the

Hegartys. Rhonda and Wally Hegarty echo the words of Thel and Laurel in their

praise of the kindness and love for this old man. There is no sign of hesitancy

when they tell of the things he did for them . Rhonda speaks of the lovely garden

he made. Tell of how they found him twice waiting patiently in his car to tell them

of things that had happened while they were absent. This was late at night when

they arrived home. On one occasion he had broken his leg . And the other time a

"bandi bandi" snake had bitten him. It never entered his head to go for help; his

job was to stay on the job. He went to the Races and Shows at Dirranbandi and

always made sure he kept his taxi fare home  with the Publican.

 Bob always dressed in a white shirt and tie when he came to town, a gentleman.

When he finally became hospitalized and was dying , the White family hired a

small plane and came to visit him , but he died before they arrived.

Bob entered this country illegally ; but he made loyal friends , to the extent that

they called him Uncle Bob . Now even after he snapped his hobbles, he is still

thought of with love and respect....

    DEATH ADDER JOE certainly lived dangerously He use to stomp on death

adders to kill them; killing hundreds over his life time. Joe ran into him over

in the pear country near Mungindi. The adders would hide under the pear

plants but GOD help you if you if you trod on one. A bite will kill you in a short

time. Some people built bird netting fences   to try and keep them out of their

houses.             

Joe White knew one drover who sent a young lad he employed as a cook to

make camp. They had pack horses and the lad took them to the river and

unloaded them. He picked up a few logs and prepared to make a fire. He raked

up some dry leaves as one would do, and a death adder bit him on the finger.

Knowing he could die, he grabbed the gun and shot his finger off. The drover

found him dead; he had bled to death.                   

      CHAPTER   120

Don's story continues

  After leaving Port Moresby by ship, I found myself very ill. I could hold nothing

in my stomach not even water  and my urine was blood. With the help of my

mates, this condition was kept hidden. For me I felt I had one thing in mind to go

home. On reaching Australia and finally      Dirranbandi, which I did. I knew Id

either live or die. While traveling I was laying on the floor     of the train,

sometimes sweating sometimes shivering, and

only semiconscious. Once when I came to and looked around me. Two old women

were stepping over my body. One said to the other so scornfully.  "Isn't it

disgusting  this drunken soldier is just laying here?" I glanced up and replied, "

Get out you old tart, you’ve got no pants on!" They escaped screeching in horror

and I slipped away again.

I was taken by the Dirranbandi people from the train, and lodged in the

Dirranbandi Hospital. Here I lay for three weeks delirious. I now had Blackwater

fever, a very dangerous stage of Malaria. My chances of survival were uncertain

the Doctor said, temperatures up to 109 degrees.  The sheets were changed often,

as I lay in a pool of blood from Kidney damage.  One lunch time I came around a

bit, and noticed there was a girl standing at the side of my bed with a plate of

chicken broth. My first remarks on seeing her were " Who the hell are you?" She

told me her name was Nell Brummell, and I said to her, " That's good, for you’re

the girl I’m going to marry! " She said to me, " When did you decide to do that?"

  I told her It was during one day before the war when I was riding down to the

river to water my horse, a little gray mare called Possum.      

At the time I saw her playing in the yard with her sister, Alvina.  I distinctly

remember how they were dressed. They had just returned from Boarding school

and were still in their uniforms. White Panama hats, white blouse and a navy

pinafore, white socks and black shoes. She was nine years old at the time, but now

quite a young lady at eighteen.  From that day onward we were good mates, and

eventually married on the first of April, April Fools Day 1944.

I had returned to the bush and stock work. We returned to Dirranbandi, and at a

race meeting on the eighteenth of march 1945, I met Frank Harper. I remember

this day, as it is the birthday of our first son, Donald Hambleton Johnson . So I

was talking to Frank while having a few drinks at the races. I wanted to confirm

what my Grandfather  Joe White, had told me. So I said to Frank, " Who was your

wife? "

 Without hesitation, he told me that she was a Miss Layton of Dungle Bore, and

that her father was Steve Hart the Bushranger. 

While at the races I accidentally dropped a ten shilling note on the ground. A black

fellow stepped onto it and said that's mine. I asked for it and was refused loudly.

So I downed him with a whistling upper-cut. Three of his mates ran in to get me

so I downed them. After ten minutes of fighting I had a total of seven "lations" all

out cold. I piled them up   in a heap. The police asked what I was doing with

them. I said for a laugh, "I'm going to

burn the bastards." The copper laughed and said,

" They are too green to burn!" So that night I'd taken Nell to the hospital, she was

having a baby our first child. I was at home in Jane street Dirranbandi, my nerves

were still pretty taut from my war experiences. I was laying on the bed thinking

about Nell and our new baby. I was finding it very hard to go to sleep and about

midnight I heard a slight creaking of the floor board. Sixth sense still working,

nerves taut I was awake and ready for an enemy. I rose and stood behind the

door. In crept a black fellow with an empty

beer bottle in his hand. I clubbed him to the floor with my right hand, then I

dragged his unconscious form into the bath room. I then propped a chair against

the bath room door to hold him inside. I quickly checked the house and found it

empty. Outside in the yard there were a crowd of Aborigines, about twenty all

shades of black and white. Some that didn't have beer bottles for clubs, they

carried two handed sticks. They had come to give me a hiding nothing surer!        

         I took up my old .303 army rifle, checked the magazine ten rounds.  I

sprang into view suddenly, down the high front steps, right amongst them

shooting as I came. There was much screaming and panic, I had cast a little

bit of fear among them. The Dirranbandi Aborigines never, ever, gave me anymore

trouble after that lesson!

                ELLEN MAY JOHNSON.

          Yes Ellen Brummell was her name,

          our good sweet Mother dear.

          We wouldn't trade this girl so game,

          I'll surely make that clear.

          When droving sheep with her off we went,

          back in the early fifties.

          She drove the truck wherever sent,

          and set up camp so swiftly.

          She fed the mob and kept us neat,

          and educated too.

          She always was so good and sweet,

          of mother this is true.

          She always gave us of her best,

          waited on us hand and foot.

          With such a mother we were blessed,

          these words I’ve poorly put. 

          If ever with her down you set,

          She'll fill your plate my friend.

          The fastest meal you'll ever get,

          If not your arm she'll bend.

          How she ever put up with our mob,

          watched over us with care.

          Only mother could just do the job,

          of this of course I swear.

          So when you see her run about,

          too busy to sit down.

          Just you she waits on have no doubt,

          or some stranger from the town.

                 :  for my sweet little mother

                         by        Don Johnson.

CHAPTER 121

     I rode a horse out to Bollon some seventy odd miles away. I was using a pack

saddle on one of my horses to carry my swag and a bit of corn meat, damper, tea

leaves and sugar. I got a drink with the stock at the bore drains in this red Mulga

country.  I was  bringing to Dirranbandi some 360 head of cattle to the Railway to

be trucked. I was coming in from Mona Station. The cattle, and my seven horses

were a roguish mob. I needed help. Charlie Brummell   Nells father had my blue

cattle dog.

 This dog Blue was as good as another man to me, at working and driving cattle.

So I got a message sent into town to Charlie,

 " Send Blue out with the Mailman for me."  The Mailman drove a truck and

delivered mail and stores to the stations on the Bollon road. He was a welcome

sight bringing fresh bread and butter etc. He would Deliver to the Drovers too, if

asked! I'd got Blue off a Northern Territory drover who was passing through. I

had been having trouble with these cattle and my horses and I had been watching

them day and night. Well this night the cattle they were walking back towards

Bollon going home! All my horses were going separate ways too! So I got the cattle

together in the thick Mulga scrub and drove them hard towards Dirranbandi down

a fence line. I had to tie the horses up to trees to stop

them leaving me while I slept. I had made camp on a boredrain about a mile off

the road. So being dead tired, after no sleep for three days. I lay down in my thin

swag to sleep off my exhaustion. At 2 am next morning I was dreaming of New

Guinea, having a nightmare in fact. When someone grabbed me by the foot, in this

very lonely place. He said " Hey! " I sprang up still asleep and knocked the

Mailman out, still defending my life!

He fell backwards into the boredrain and was drowning. I immediately pulled him

out and was so terribly sorry to have hurt a friend. He had been standing there

holding my dog Blue. I apologized to this good man, and again every time I saw

him on many occasions.

So I got up then and made him a cup of tea, using my Quartpot boiled up on a

small fire using the water from the boredrain.                                                 

I was very sad about my treatment of this good man. The Blue dog made the

difference.

I set him onto any animal horse or bullock that wandered off, they soon came back

to the mob for safety. We delivered the cattle to the Railway they were all there,

although we had come through seventy miles of scrub country. I was always

counting them and riding back on the tracks of the escape artist cattle who

wanted to return home. Just to keep the mob together till we came to the trucking

yards at Dirranbandi!

 CHAPTER  122

     About this time I met again, "Boomi Jack the Arsonist," He was an eccentric,

who used to knock about the rivers and towns of Mungindi and Dirranbandi. He

worked on the A.P.Company and got around with a pack horse in tow. When I met

him he called out to me loudly! " Hear em Hear em?" I'd say " What are they

Jack?"

  " Them Russian Planes," He'd be burning down Belah trees. I'd ask " What are

you burning down trees for Jack?"

 " I'm making a landing site for the Russians, the Russians are coming," He would

say with a wide grin.    He lived up the river on the bank of a creek, under an old

tarpaulin under another old tarpaulin very low to the ground. He used to go into it

on his hands and knees, it was so full of holes that you could see the stars from

any position. He would say again,

" Can you hear em? They went over half an hour ago."

Or perhaps he'd say " Can you hear old Crothers laughing out there, can you hear

him?   Boomi Jack’s got a sheep down come and get the gall fat Harry, come and

get the gall fat Harry, Old Boomi's got one down!"  Harry Crothers owned

Moorenbah Station at Dirranbandi out on the Hebel road, and Boomi was partial

to Harry's sheep. Boomi Jack burnt down millions of Belah trees, then he'd burn

them in half, cross burn them. Then he would roll them into heaps and burn

them, it satisfied his Arsonist persuasion. He was

the bush Arsonist, and stayed like this till he died. Old Bill Lunds had got the

sack off the A.P.Company many years before. Then feeling bitter, he gave old

Boomi five pounds to go down and burn out the eight mile on the Hebel road.

There were miles of Mitchell grass down there.  A couple of fires had gone up and

Old Joe White had put them out.

Then Joe, after tracking the Arsonist down, he caught Boomi lighting another fire.

So he pulled an old 32 Winchester rifle on Boomi and walked him into town with

his hands high over his head, right up to the Police station.

Joe then told the police if he caught Boomi back in the eight mile again, they

wouldn't have to come looking for him.

     Back on the Barwon river as a boy, I knew Boomi when I lived in the tin Hut

there with my brothers. Many a log he rolled up to our fire there and got the toast

coming along in the morning.  If he lit a green Belah log about six feet long it

might burn for a fortnight.

In Mungindi back then, the coppers grabbed him and they were going to 'Vag.'

him, get him for vagrancy, no lawful means of support.

             The Police said to Boomi " We are going to 'Vag' you Boomi we are going

to put you in jail, and give you three months, down south!"  Boomi said " I've got a

job I'm working?" The police man said " What job do you do?" Boomi said " I've got

a bloody Pliceman's

job, robbing the drunks and drinking the stale beer." The Police released him,

perhaps he had struck a nerve?    

                    SQUATTER JACK.

          Have you lived awhile in west Queensland,   out in the red soil dust.

          Where the crows will pick your eyes out and,  bore water is a must.

          Have you seen a thin and starving cow,    with not a blade of grass to eat.

          The timber’s gone no Mulga now,   just the deadly summer heat.               

          The squatter flogged his paddocks out,  too many cattle there.

          He thought good seasons were about,   but we know they are rare.

          So now he tears his hair out, and cries poor bloody me.

          We'll have to subsidize the lout,  when he whines so publicly.                    

          The old cow bogged in the dam today,  and there she'll likely lie.

          The crows will take her eyes away,  before she gets to die.

          Scrub Mulga`s tucker in a drought,  on the bushy limbs they'll thrive.

          Where some mugs had it bulldozed out,   no cattle left alive.

          Then the rain it comes after years of drought,

          and the grass is green and sweet.

          They'll forget the bad times have no doubt,

          till dead cows are flyblown meat.

                                        by D H Johnson.

CHAPTER 123

In the early 1950's I was on the road droving cattle and we had made camp with

them near the Hebel township before handing them over to their owner at a

nearby station..  Deafy and I went to the pub in this little town comprising 5

houses a pub and a racecourse.

We had been drinking most of the day at the pub the river was up cutting the

road to Dirranbandi and home.   Deafy and I took a room at the hotel and we

were still drinking beer in our room.

It was pouring rain and the ground was a quagmire ..

A young girl came to our room to tell us supper was being served and Deafy

grabbed this 13 year old girl and was interfering with her . I knocked him down

and told him off over it.

But the girl took his side and I was thrown out of the pub by the crowd in the bar.

So leaving the girl to Deafy's lechery I crawled under my wagonette like a dog and

joined the working dogs chained up there..

Many  years later I was droving on the road between Dirranbandi and Bollon with

traveling stock sheep this time about 3000 wethers . A car stopped and the driver

had the bonnet up looking at a boiling radiator.  So out of my supplies in my stock

truck I produced a soldering iron the type you put in the fire, with a copper

element. After an hours work we had soldered   his radiator and he was ready to

drive away.   We had become friendly and we exchanged names ..  He was the

publican at the Hebel pub on the night I was cast out..  I then got to tell him of

my side of the story and he broke down and cried . The girl had become pregnant

and wouldn't name the father .

When just a boy I  had ridden into visit a station on the Bollon road and

I  asked the boss for a drink for me and my horse. I was immediately ordered off

the place and went...20 years later when passing the place again droving with

traveling cattle, the boss came to see me, urgently asking me and my men to help

him put out a fire in his house. I smiled and said "A cup of water would have

put your fire out!" 

CHAPTER  124

   During the 1960's I was a Pound Keeper, Stock Route Inspector,

and I had cattle of my own to make some income other than my wage. I was in

charge of stock routes in the Dirranbandi area and the drovers would approach me

for permits to travel the routes with sheep or cattle. A certain drover from

Mungindi had collected a mob of cattle near Bollon town. Albert he was driving

them down the long paddock, past Dirranbandi across to the border town of

Mungindi, for trucking to Sydney abattoirs. One of my cows was in the mob

and easily recognized as such therefore the verse.

                THE PIEBALD COLT.

I was the piebald colt, born on the Barwon River.

Who used to buck and bolt, with sweat and froth I'd shiver.

Albert drove me in the wagon, he drove me in the dray,

he drove me in the wagonette, yes every bloody day.

So we started out from Mungindi then Dirranbandi we did pass,

When we came to Wippel's lane, the fat ran out my ass.

He jerked the winkers from my head, and set my frame alight.

And he yoked the bally mare up just to keep the chains a tight. 

For they trotted and they wobbled, Albert chuckled with delight.

One would think that they were hobbled, in their poor and bloody plight.

For Albert had to be at Moorandoah, at the breaking of the dawn.

For the Bally cows were waiting, in the stockyard’s early morn. 

Old Albert cracked his whip and slowly gave a grin,

Saying to the manager, “I’ll take these Bally bitches in."

But alas he didn't know it, the route he had to take.

It was there he met the Bushman, at the Bollon common gate.

Oath said "you can take them through Bullingie,

and three boredrains you will pass,

If that doesn't suit you Albert, you can jam them up your ass."

Old Galloping Don was on the Ballonne, and sitting rather pretty,

when Albert brought the mob along. Don saw the cow a pity.

Albert had a cow with big down horns, her udder swelled and tight.

So when Johnson came along, he knew that cow, on sight.  

 For he pointed her out, on open route and swore to do or die.

Old Albert said he'd have the cow, when he got to Mungindi.

Old galloping Don spoke up, he said, "you'll have her, I'll see to that, if you

haven’t my

colonial boy, I'll have you on the mat."

At Mungindi Albert tried to truck the cow, but Johnson came along.

He'd stopped the blighter anyhow, put her in the pound yard strong.

For she never went up the chute, no battery hit her hide.

Old Albert said he owned the cow, but Johnson said he lied.

                                            by D H Johnson.

CHAPTER 125

 More of Nell's stories on Joe White...

JOE WHITE often came across accidents that happened because   the young had

no experience. There was the young lad  working for the drover. He came to the

bore head       to water  the stock .

He was so hot he stripped off and jumped into the turkeys nest  which joins

the bore. He was impaled on a iron peg under the water.                       

 The water   in the turkeys nest was     very deep; having been pumped up to

water the cattle in  the troughs. The drover found    him when he arrived     

 a short while after.                                                

Another time a boundary rider rode out on the inspection of the fences. Miles

from no where he took a pack horse and water bags. He tied the horses to a

tree. The horses broke loose and left him with no water. The station rule was

you always removed the water bags when you tied up a horse. He broke the rule

and lost his life.

Joe liked to go to the races. This time   he went with a mate to St George.

After the races he went home with his friend for the night It was away back

early 1900'S.  There  were a lot of snakes in the area and the house had been

built on the roof to make bedrooms away from the snakes. So they had a rope on

a pulley that enabled you to go up on the rope from the lounge to the bedrooms

above. Well Joe was pretty drunk when he went up the rope. Through the night

he was taken short; but just wasn't up to going down the rope. So he decided

to urinate  over the rail; next morning  he was hurriedly forced to come down

the rope, after the wife had seen what happened to her lounge. So Joe left in

disgrace. He said the snakes were so bad that they kept sticks in      the

shower; which was under the tank stand. A bit hard to believe but I did see

the rope  still doing its job years after.                         

 They would say to Joe of his grandson Don Johnson

"can he track Joe".  Joe would shake his head sternly and say with a

disgusted tone "No he can't track, he can track a Geegar (little black ant) up a crowbar after

six inches of rain! Or track a frog over couch grass, no he can't track!"

CHAPTER 126

The Mc Govern Boys

Joe White always said that the Mc Govern boys were the most comical people in

the bush.  They were alcoholics and never married.  Their father Shannon

McGovern managed "Brenda Station"

for the Church of England.  He didn't drink nor did their mother.

The boys run a mail service between Dirranbandi and Goodooga using a sulky at

first.  Later Aubrey got a T-model ford car.  He would tie it to a tree before

he cranked it so it wouldn't get away from him. The reason he did this

was he had once used the crank handle and started the car and it jumped into

gear and  chased him through an open gateway, he sidestepped it and it came

round in a circle after him and knocked down the fence..  If he had a trouble

opening the tin of camp pie he swore that the meat was that of his old horse

"Redfern" who was a rogue to handle.  He said she would not come out of the tin.

Joe said Aubrey was the only man he had ever met who had come face to face

with the devil.  He had been drinking for days and was cooking out in the open

on some coals.  He had a pot of potatoes.  The devil, a little being with big

ears and horns, attacked him with a pitch fork.  Aubrey let him have the spuds

straight on.  He took off and came back in a couple of days when Aubrey had a

stew on boiling.  He let him have that front on.  He cleared then but Aubrey

was always on the lookout for him.

          AUBREY MC GOVERN         

Aubrey McGovern and Eddie Mc'Keefe

lived down on CUBBIE on damper and beef.

The damper was easy McGovern could cook

the beef it was shady and Mc'Keefe was a crook .

When the meat bag was empty and had to be filled,

the first neighbors beast just had to be killed.

It was a bush law that you don't kill your own,

when picking one out it was mostly a roan.

These cattle are softer and won't hurt your gums,

digestion is better and won't hurt your bums.

Whips could be made from their soft roan hides,

and last for years when properly applied.

You could make hobble straps out of greenhide you know,

bell straps for the horses,

but twisting hide ropes was ever so slow.

They would last for years if you kept them well oiled,

and kept under cover so they wouldn't be spoiled .

With head ropes and leg ropes and a Bronco horse,

the branding was done on the old water course *               

* ( CUBBIE Station.  Dirranbandi)

McGovern was evil when on the grog,

Swore until his death he'd met the Devil agog.

He met him front on with a pot full of spuds,

he threw it all over him and scalded his duds.

Yes the Devil took off Mc Govern did say,

and he didn't come back for many a day.

The tools of the Bushman are simple and few.

So he hit the old devil with a bucket of stew.

Sometimes when sober and a few friends around,

They'd query him about the Devil,

he declared the story was sound.       by D H Johnson.

Shannon Mc Govern (Aubrey's father)was almost hung for murder by mistake.

There was a butcher who used to buy cattle to kill.  He always used a cheque book

to pay.  A bad type killed this man to get the cheque book.  Then went to Shannon

Mc Governs' tent and took out his boots and wore them over to where the dead

man was.  In the mean time the police came and arrested Shannon for the

murder.  The thief went in to town and passed a cheque over the counter for

1 ,000 pounds.  The shopkeeper asked him to fill it out in words.  The chap

being illiterate couldn't fill it in so the shopkeeper became suspicious and

rang the police.  Old Mc Govern was only a whisper off being hung.

Aubrey told a story of when he was living on Brenda station near Hebel as a boy,

he and his two brothers were outside sitting on logs eating around the fire one

night in the early  1900s, they looked up to see a long cylinder rocket ship with

colored portholes passing overhead it went down and crashed miles away, but no

one ever looked for it?

Joe White always said a set of false teeth were the hardest thing he ever had

to track. It started with Les, he was batman to the local  G.P. at Mungindi  he

would drive the good doctor in a    'T'  model ford on his daily rounds, attending to

his needs.. When the time came for Les to need dentures the worldly doctor

advised Les to have gold ones made. He said they would be his funeral expenses

perhaps the doctor liked the idea of a distinctly different batman.             Les as

years rolled by took up crutching; and used to drink a little it was on a

drinking party with other shearers out of Bourke that Les lost his teeth.  The

teeth  weren't missed until next day . They knew Joe White was in town so they

got him to track them down.            Joe looked in the sand  ;  he hoped they

hadn't slid down a rabbit hole from the movement in the sand.  He  had just about

given up hope when his sharp eye spied a bower bird. Joe followed it to its

bower nest  ; and  there were Les's gold teeth proudly portrayed as a center

piece. Joe said he thought that it would be a piece of cake tracking gold

teeth ; they couldn't walk away  on their own. But alas he was wrong ,he had over

looked      a special out side interference.   Bower  birds love

color and shiny items. The only thing the birds must have found the

transporting of the teeth hard going; but then the teeth were a prize. Les

mislaid his teeth many time, but he still had them when he died.               

  CHAPTER 127

Les Hulin was crutching for 5 shillings a hundred sheep, he could crutch 1200

a day . He also had a wad of union tickets that he had saved all his life. Ok

cards he had a list of scabs from back in the old days till the day he died.

He drove a 37 Ford Ute  .  (Scabs were the strike breakers who would work

for the master when other men were out on strike  .)

Les was at Bourke in New South Wales and spotted a well known scab and

swerved to run him down , Tuppy wrenched the wheel and saved a scab from

sudden death..       Les drove the doctor in the first T model ford in Mungindi

   and it was the doctor who recommended that Les get gold  teeth.

Les always said he carried his funeral expenses in his mouth,

and he was right.     Les sometimes used chewing gum to keep his teeth stuck in place..

Les often lost his teeth when on a drunken binge and had a hurricane light

searching for them in the gutter..

        Joe White's stories wouldn't be complete without mention of the  

1.   Mc Ewans, there were one hundred and one of them in the Ballonne river area

     during the depression. Joe White remembered meeting James and  Gran.

   Mc    Ewan  walking up the track to Dirranbandi . She was pushing a wheel

     barrow with her baby in it, and her worldly possessions; the rest of the

     children following alongside. She was most upset that some graziers

     along the track refused her a drink for her children.  They  managed some

     how  and got work with the     Crothers. In 1902 the Mc Ewans were

     descendants of convicts that were in Tasmania. A number of them couldn't

     read and write. Joe came along one day just as one  Sam and his son were

     finishing off a fence . The grazier had given them a stick with notches

     on it of where the wire was to go through; by holding it against the

     post. The trouble was Sam had put the stick upside down; so the wires

     were all in the wrong place.                               

 One     couldn't go to a race meeting without seeing a MC EWAN there, either

     attending  the horses in their stable; or as a jockey. They were great

     riders;       Joe White often competed against them; but the Mc Ewans

     ended up with the ribbons. Joe said they would rather feed their horse

     than feed them selves. They even fed their horse fresh hen eggs, done

     with out themselves. The Mc Ewans always made up numbers at

     Races, Rodeo's, Shows, and it would be a rare day not to see a few Mc Ewans

     about. But voting day was the daddy of them all. They would be first

     there and say loudly "I want a Labor vote" because they couldn't read

     and write.            One called AGGIE would never wear glasses because

     she thought they would wear her eyes out. Never  had electricity

     installed  for danger of it burning the house down . Yet she would leave

     tin meat and sausages open in the tin for a couple of days and eat them.

     Aggie lived to 98  years   she  never  missed a funeral  and was liked by

     every one. The MC EWANS  were known by lots of nick names being Black

     JACK, RED JACK, CATTLE DOG, CATTLE PUP, SPRING ONION, RED

ONION, OLD JIM, YOUNG JIM, ACKIE, to mention just a few.      A remarkable

large family that

     never seemed to be in any trouble  and always at peace with one another.

               CATTLE PUP Mc’Ewan

          Young Cattle pup he was around,

          back in the early fifties.

          He worked about old Dirran. town,

          a drover that was Cliffy.

          but when in Dirranbandi town,

          for sport on saturday night.

          These men they didn't frig around,

          they surely loved to fight.

          Of one such fight here’s what he said,

          this fight I’d day he’d won.

          "I just went whoosh, god strike me dead,

          and his pizzle went to the sun!"

          Still later on when full of grog,

          he fought a squatter beat him up.

          When Munro called for the Cattle dog,

          "He’s here !"said the Cattle pup .

          This squatter came to even up,

          he’d been taught to fight so well.

          He said" Keep your guard up Cattle pup,

          don’t come out till the bell."

          Old cattle pup he’d met his match,

          though he’d dodged both left and right.

          Munro’s straight left the pup did catch.

          no he never won that fight!

          Old Aub McGovern was on the show ground gate,

          when I passed through there at noon.

          I asked "how many in there mate?"

          said " A thousand McEwans there soon!"

          Old cattle pup his life force spent,

          his  number it came up. 

          I won’t say that he to heaven went,

          just see you there cattle pup.

                              by D H Johnson.

CHAPTER 128

                 JOE WHITE   again ..

     Joe once  was sacked from a job he didn't have through being under the

influence of   alcohol. He was riding home to NOONDOO STATION after a heavy

night on the  booze. When he spotted the railway gangers    tents along the

road. So he  decided to have a sleep. Unlucky for him, the BOSS was out on

inspection     that day. The boss liked to surprise the workers, so seeing Joe

sleeping     he grabbed him by the neck. He said  you re   sacked get off the place

this   minute. They say that there   were heated  conversations  later; but

     Joe was glad to be on his way.                           Joe never

     failed to tell the story of  a young aboriginal who  was in court for

     being in a fowl house thieving chooks. The owner a new Australian was

     questioning the lad. The lad got sick of this                           

     and put his questions to the accuser      "Did you see me in  there." To

     which the irate owner  replied ,"Of  course I saw you in  there."  "Well did

     you see me  come out?"        The owner  replied, "No  I didn't see you come

     out, I went to ring  police." "Well  I must be still in there !“ The  magistrate

     did no doubt consider this evidence when summing up in the boys favor.                     

     Another story Joe  liked to tell was about a tiny store keeper who was

     one of the best when she had problems to solve. The front window of her

     shop had wire netting for glass. She went away on business and left JOE

     in charge. On her return  she found a bag of sugar missing. Looking up the

     docket books she said "you sent out thirteen country orders; I will send

     everyone a bill for the sugar; the ones who didn't get it will complain

     'Little did she expect that they all would pay. This was the famous

     Mrs Murphy of Dirranbandi. Joe would bring her bags of cow manure to make

     smokes to keep out the mosquitoes and flies.. She never worried about

     cutting wood; she always pushed a log in ; or a sleeper and put a chair under  

the  protruding end and pushed it further in as it burnt.  She was  far too busy

     running the shop on her own. Joe said she was worth her weight in gold...

Young children Nell and Viney were in her store  with a penny for bulleyes,  the girls found

something  to giggle about, while looking out the shop window with its bird netting wire

in the frame.  So Mrs Murphy confiscated the penny and they got no bullseyes that day!

       CHAPTER 129

 NELL S STORY                                             .                     

              A few stories of life on KULLINJAH Station  with Don.

     Life with DON was often varied and interesting but never dull. We had

     500 head of cattle, and also around 20 scrub bulls to  tend with. These

     bulls bred  up from scrubber cows; left behind by previous owners. If not

     mustered and handled  ; over  long periods they become wild and

     unmanageable. The trouble was the bulls would break away when mustering

     ;and the young weaners would go with them. In no time the young stock

     would become unmanageable. So the only thing to do was to shoot the rogue

     bulls on sight. There were BRAHMA BULLS and quite a number of inbred

     bulls  ready  to escape on sight.                                      

                          One day Don shot a Brahma bull in the curl on its

     forehead, and the bull fell to the ground. Don rushed over and got astride

     the bull; and proceeded to peth the bull with his pocket knife.

( A cut into the spinal cord to paralyze the beast).He always

     kept his knife razor sharp. He called to me to bring over the steel and

     butcher knife to cut off some meat for the 25 dogs.   Just as I was

     handing him the knife the bull suddenly got up with Don still on its

     back. By now it was in  a rage; all animals that are wounded get very

     angry. We both rushed for the Toyota; Don still shooting at the bull; which

     went down about a quarter of a mile before dying. Often animals go back

     to where they were born to die. Don  said it died about where it was

     born. Another time we were checking a watering point when we spotted a

     bull drinking with the cattle. Don took his rifle and followed it into a

     pine scrub. I heard him shoot once and call out to the animal. Shortly

     after he came back with a broken wrist .Apparently he was following the

     bleeding bull when it turned and charged straight back at him. He just

     had time to throw himself on the ground holding his rifle above  him for

     protection. The bull broke his wrist and the gun stock was smashed by the

     force of the bull hitting it. Don's glasses were also knocked off and

     never found. He was lucky when he shouted at the bull as it went over him

     that it changed direction and didn't turn and horn him. We looked for the

     dead bull for days but it was one that lived to fight another day There

     were no sign of crows carking ;or stinks like there is if something is

     dead. They are powerful animals with brains and stamina. We had a high

     stock yard fence with watering troughs inside. Now and again the

     scrub bulls would drop their guard and come in to water with the

     cattle. This day we managed to shut the gate  behind one.  So Don by drafting

     managed to get the bull into the crush and cut the sharp portion of its

     horns off with the chain saw. Then he branded it and bobbed its tail; put a

     Condamine bell on its neck and let it go. 

      Of course          the bell made it easier to find the cattle when mustering.      

                                Of all the  cattle I preferred the HEREFORDS , they

always walked the furtherest out

     from water to feed, where as the shorthorns hung about the water holes

     even when the feed was eaten out around them. I think the most tragic

     thing I saw was when the drought was on and the water holes became

     boggy and stock became bogged. A lot of the cows had calved away out in

     the back of the paddock miles from water. They would stagger in for a

     drink. Others might get bogged and too full of calf and too full of

     water to have the strength to pull themselves out of the situation they

     found themselves in. Don would tie a rope on to their horns and pull them

     out with             the car. Then would start the long process to get

     them on their feet. Some cattle become disorientated and its just

     impossible to get them to budge and help themselves They     even

     charge the hand that seeks to help them. But the feeling one gets when

     they do manage to get one on its feet; well it makes your day. The sad part

     is if you don't succeed there is always the thought of there could be a

     baby calve perishing out in the paddock. Usually hidden in the bushes and

     hard to locate until to late. Don did try to save calves with mothers

     that had eye cancers .He obtained a needle with a solution that he could

     inject into the cow that would put it to sleep while he removed its

     cancerous  eye. It was successful to a point; but the pain when the drug

     wore off was horrific; the crazy beast would go down through the scrub

     bashing its head on trees. It never stopped running with the pain driving

     it mad. The calves couldn't keep up and didn't get a drink. So         Don

     decided never to operate again. But to shoot the cow and put the calf on

     the bottle. In the old days before the needle treatment was available, the

     poor beast was put in a crush and had its eye removed and stitched up

     bearing the pain right from the start. One knows what they meant by the

     words "poor cow." Usually it was Hereford cattle that had sun cancer in the         

eye. 

       CHAPTER 130

      KULLINJAH STATION was lucky that MULGA grew on it , a real treasure

in drought. We often relied on it ; even cows with calves would survive the

drought with a bit of lick to go with it. Although have seen a lot of sticks in

the paunch of dead beasts after being on Mulga for a long period. I am always

amazed  when I see on TV. the grazier pulling the Mulga out by the roots with a

chain on the tractor. One should never pull Mulga out by the roots; lop the

branches by chain saw or axe; then the  tree would be there next year. I don't

know what people have for brains  that destroy Mulga trees.     

The coming of the dung beetle was greeted with joy. One time you couldn't

eat your lunch  , without  fighting the flies for it. Always when you killed a

beast in the bush, and opened its paunch the flies would be there in

hundreds. With the dung beetles as soon as the paunch was opened, they would

appear and in no time there would be only a bit of fibre left on the ground

.No flies insight ; to me that was magic.

Talking of cattle reminded me of how spooky cattle can be, it only takes the

smallest thing to panic them. Whilst droving once we enclosed a mob in a erected

enclosure of barbwire for the night. Around midnight a light breeze sprung

up; causing a small branch to fall from a carbean tree. At midnight cattle

usually turn over to the other side to sleep. So the circumstances were right

for the cattle to rush  , taking  the fences with them. It took half a day to

muster them and get on the road with them.

Another time Don and Mark were driving home from scrub cutting, when they

saw

a Jersey       heifer down as though injured. Thought perhaps a car had hit it

because it was close to the road. Don said "get out  and give it a toe in the

ribs and see what happens." When Mark  did this it flew  up and went berserk;

horning

the ground and bellowing. In attempting to escape its wrath Mark  tripped and

fell. The beast came straight for Mark  , but miscalculated when it charged him    

 ; landing on the other side of him. I can tell you Mark made a mad dash for the

truck. I have since learned that the Jersey breed of cattle are known to be

very excitable when aroused.         

 Another  time Don  and  Mark were coming home from scrub cutting when they saw

a very large kangaroo around 7 foot tall. Don shot the roo and drove over close to

cut some meat  off for  the dogs  from   it. He took hold of its tail and commenced to

drag it closer  to the truck. The roo came to  life  grabbing him around the

chest at the same time raking his gut with its hind legs. Don being a smart

Bushman reached into the back of the truck for an axe  with one arm; then using

all his strength hit the roo in the head .The roo let go and Don was able to

escape from it. I feel people aren't aware of the danger that can arise in close

contact with kangaroos, tame or other wise. Never touch a roo in water, it will

drown you. Roo’s often kill dogs by ripping their stomachs        open with

their hind legs.         

I met a man called Les who told me he had only once in his racing career as a

jockey won a race. Apparently there were three chestnut horses in the race; and

the stewards got it wrong when announcing the winner. He said he ran third on

his mount; but the stewards gave him first., right or wrong. There was a lot of

controversy then and ever since    but he is still the winner.   

CHAPTER 131

 On a droving trip with a large mob of sheep in the Glenmorgan area in 1956 we

had a close

shave with death. We had been camped for lunch under some BOHEMIA trees.

Don noticed the big holes in the ground  As we moved off camp  Diana s  hat blew

 off   .

 She  ran to retrieve it ; suddenly she screamed. We rushed over and there was the

ugliest large spider we had ever seen. It had sort of rose barbs on its legs

;and was angry. Don dug deep into the two puncture marks on  her  instep. Then

sucking the blood out and spitting it  out. Using a elastic belt for a

 tornaque, we set off for SURAT to get help. The Ambulance     was our best

source of help. He advised we kept Diana warm and give her  aspro  . She  was

crook

for some time. We found out it was a funnel web spider, that people had been

bitten around there before  . I  think the spider may have bitten a sheep just

before it bit Diana; therefore lessening the severity of the bite which often

kills  . Each  year the bite area would break out about the time she was bitten. 

                               One night when we were around the fire having

 supper ,a snake crawled up. Don grabbed the billy of hot tea from the fire and

poured it over the snake. The snake died; but I wouldn t advise that action for a

novice. When camped out droving Don would sleep on the ground . Often a snake

would get  into  his swag, and he would kick it  out  .   Don he always checked his

swag before bed time, and his boots for wildlife before putting on his boots next

morning, such  is the life of a Bushman.

           Another time Don was on the road droving and was asleep on dinner

camp with a few thousand sheep .  The sheep were stirring a bit and out of the

mob came a big brown snake.

It attacked the sleeping man on the ground. Don sensed the attack and threw up

his arm as the snake struck and received a bite on his thumb tip. He jumped up

and killed the snake and then went into doctoring mode. Out with the pocket

knife and sliced off  his thumb tip. Then he sucked the venom out and applied

condys crystal to the bite .(the old bush cure for snakebite)

Then he went chasing pigs all night to keep awake .

He always claimed to suffer from pins and needles afterwards ...

Life with Don was always interesting and varied; and often dangerous but never

dull.

When Don was droving he employed a young lad just left  school as a horse

tailer. He use to hobble the horses so they could be caught in a hurry, One

morning the cattle rushed   from a fright they got, Tommy got out of bed and

saddled Don's horse. Don in his haste to get after the cattle flew on his horse

and took off, Imagine his dismay to find the horse was still hobbled and

almost threw him; but imagine the dressing down the lad got.      

 This story sure was a close shave with death. Grandfather Brummell always went

for a walk along the river at Dirranbandi; he would stop and yarn with the

people camped there. Also the goats of the town would go down for a drink; and

then feed about. Grandfather was taking a short cut   home walking  in and out

the gum trees, and the goats. Just as he went past the tree ; a woman made a

grab at him with a sharp butchers knife in her hand. It appears she was waiting

for a goat she intended to grab by the head and slit its throat to use for

meat. She got just as big a shock as  Grandfather did. Neither knew the other

was`  there; but I’m sure they took more notice next time.                

VICTOR  and friend were playing HAZARDS with a dice in a bush hotel one

night; it being illegal to gamble  those days. There were two detectives in plain

clothes in town that night. The gamblers didn ‘t  realize who they were; and

resisted arrest and were taken to jail. The MAGISTRATE charged the friend with

gambling and resisting arrest fined  five pounds. VICTOR when his time came,

produced a dice and said to the MAGISTRATE "come on you old bastard I will bet 

you double or quits”. The fine was double for attempting to  bribe the JUDGE.       

   CHAPTER 132               

Another episode that has stayed in my mind for over fifty years .We were going

out to a job in a isolated boundary riders hut miles from town. We bought a

sulky with the baby bonus; but the horse had never been in harness. Don put the

horse in the shafts; called to me to throw baby Don aged six months up to him

as he came around  past me. He couldn t stop for me to hand him up; this  I  did

with my heart in my mouth. Then my turn came, I had to jump out and grab the

sulky where I could, get my foot on the step and hoist myself up onto the

seat. I can tell you I was never so pleased to get Don back in  my arms. When

we came to the rough built bridge I would always get out of the sulky and

carry baby over the  bridge. This was because the sulky wheels just fitted

neatly inside the width of the bridge planks.      

  WE arrived there at  Three Holes  to find a very

primitive cottage to live in. A very small rainwater tank, kept for

drinking purposes only. The water from the bore drain was very dirty

and red from the dirt trodden in by the stock. Besides there were

dead stock and animals at times in the drain; there for unsuitable

for cooking or drinking purposes. So I would bucket the water into a

forty four drum and add a piece of carbide to help clear it for

washing or bathing. We had no stove or electricity; or gauze to keep

out the flies or mossies  .

Don decided to take a job as Overseer  on South Muthong next door.

The house was a mansion compared to Threeholes. By this time  we had

Don, Diana and I was expecting Mark to be born in two months. Don

got hurt on a horse and went by ambulance to Greenslopes Hospital.

He was away  five weeks and came home to rescue his dog, and shift

us to town. His dog would only eat from Don's hands and therefor was

starving. Don didn't like other people feeding his dog. He said it

was less likely to pick up a bait this way. Don came home two days

before Mark was born.    

    Later on when we acquired a  old T Model Ford, the bush road was still only  a

dirt

track that the flood water use to go over and made very rough .At this time we

had Diana a baby as well. One night after a flood , the grass was two foot high

and the lights failed. So Don strapped  my six year old nephew to the head light

and gave him a torch to shine on the road. We would never got home if he hadn t

been such a smart child; who all the time would be advising Don if there was any

obstructions on the road. In fact he had find the road half the time. He

certainly was worth his weight in gold.......DON BRUMMELL..                          

             It was while we were living here at "Three Holes" that I saw with

my own eyes the terrible after effects of a flood. As the water dries up the

sandflies and mosquitoes make  life hell  for humans, animals and birds. They

are tormented by sandflies by day; rushing madly trying to stop them biting. At

night there is no rest with the swarms of mossies that attack. When a smoke is

made in a dried up tree, the animals often end up badly burnt. They end up

rolling in the ashes that are still hot.                         The fowls

eyes are attacked and they end up blind. Even kangaroos eyes are affected.; and

they become displaced in their predicament. The stock instead of gaining weight

with green grass that follows the flood; become poor from the constant

galloping they do.                                                           

Yes I know they need floods to replenish the rivers and water holes for stock

to water; but why , oh why the torment that precedes the benefits?  .           

               DAN KELLY LIVED!

      I know you've heard the story, of the Kelly’s, how they fell.

     At Glenrowan Dan and Steve, were said to die as well.

     Well listen to me friend, and a true story I will tell.

     How Dan and Steve the youngsters, escaped that fiery hell.

     Ned Kelly had said to them," I'll cover your escape,

     go north to Sydney  you young men, I'll stay to meet my fate."

     Two of their saddle horses, were never to be found.

     Just Ned and Joe’s two mounts were there,

     the rest were northward bound.

   Two horses they were ridden hard to dodge the traps  with care.

   Steve and Dan’s horses traveled well, two riders they did bear.

   They went with remount horses, from Sydney town my friend.

   By ship they left the country, to India and then.

   The Boer war it got going hard, so a hand they went to lend.

   Stand by your mates is what they said, on this you may depend.

   The War came and they soldiered on, of death they had no fear.

   For no one waited to care for them, or to shed a tear.

   They fought the Boer, played his own game, made him pay quite dear.

   They thought his war was pretty tame, and drank his lager beer.

     A Journalist confronted them, the Kelly gang old mate.

  He changed his mind on whom they were.

          'His death' he said 'could wait.'      

   The War was over and they came back, to the Aussie bush once more.

   Liked the solitude upon the track, down near the Dungel bore.

      Young Steve and Dan they did ride north, rode

   right across the state.

   Stayed with the Whites of Mungindi then came to Queensland mate.

   Joe White took them brumby running, he taught them of the trade.

   On how to catch the brumby horse, to read the tracks he made.

   They knew Joe from days they’d spent,

   at Sydney’s horse sales too.

   When buying mounts they’d met him there, he always sold a few.         

  The General he did tell them, of safe places that he knew.

  Of Thunderbolt and of his haunts, of a people good and true.

  They soon found work they did so well,

  breaking horses for their pay.

  And they met together secretly, but never in the light of day.

  Dan Kelly with some humor, took a new name right away.

  From an Irish highway man, the notorious 'Jack O`day.'

  And Steve Hart the Bushranger, of him to you I'll tell.

  He became 'Fred Layton horse breaker', and

  station hand as well.           

  Another used Dan Kelly’s name, in Brisbane he did find.   

        That  his pockets they might maybe fill?

  or his mouth with low grade wine.

  Jim  Ryan a first cousin knew, the Kelly saga well.

  This gardener grew in stature too, as Dan’s story he did tell.

  He got his story into print, yes the  papers  surely tell.

  Of his claim to the Kelly name,

  did they line his pockets well? 

  His accidental death, 'run down', came quickly to him mate.

  The train he met near Ipswich town, has signed

  and sealed his fate.

  Jim Ryan has gone on ahead, to meet Gabriel at the gate.

  Dan’s legend lives, but died with him. He was no Kelly mate.

  Ned by his subtle quote so rare, spoke of Dan Kelly’s fate.

  Three of the Gang they’d thought died there,

   Ned knew how two escaped.

  When the train did past Glenrowan go,

  Prison chains, Ned, he had to wear.

  They heard him say of his mate Joe,

     "A good man had died there!".     

                               by DH Johnson

CHAPTER 133

Joe White had an old hut near  a sandhill where he kept some old gear.

He was thinking on a way to keep bush burglars away.

So he placed a trap gun behind the door, it was  made of 3/4inch water pipe .

It had a shotgun cartridge inserted and used a trip wire to release a

spring  loaded a nail on the detonator.  This small shotgun type was used against

dingoes by the trappers of the day.

Of course Joe forgot the trap and walked into  the shed to get some traps

and the gun blew a hole in the roof. Joe had to check his underpants

for damage...

                   Kelly Ghosts!

          Dan Kelly lived and Steve Hart too,

          though the police were fooled or lied.

          These men were written off it's true,

          though two bush rangers hadn't died

          Glenrowan caused a cover up,

          and innocence died in the fire.

          The higher ups were sold a pup,

          by the coppers some admire.

          The Kelly mob  had had  a win,

          two drunkards paid the price.

          To like free grog their only sin,

          Father Gibney didn't look twice.

          The Kelly's said they died in the fire,

          their bodies burnt to ash.

          To cover up I'd be a liar,

          to save two friends so rash.

          Many of these coppers left the force,

          and their masters did retire.

          The Glenrowan inquiry was the source,

          yes that bloody awful fire.                                         

          Two men so dead and written off,

          would appear amongst the mire.

          Their ghosts were walking tall and soft,

          up near Hebel's border wire. 

          Two horse breakers earned an honest wage,

          no rope for them no noose.

          They both lived till a fair old age,

          died unfettered and foot loose.                         by D H Johnson.              

CHAPTER 134

Don's Story CONTINUES

     While working for the Stock Routes Department , I did a bit of wheeling and

dealing. With the backing of a local Stock Agency I bought cattle and fed them

with difficulty in Drought conditions on Mulga trees and bushes. By using a

chainsaw daily to get them a meal , I also fed the town milking cows and kept

them alive through the 1965 drought

. Other stock losses were fierce in the immediate area . After a few years I had

enough cash to buy at auction 360 acres at StGeorge on the Ballonne river above

Dirranbandi. On my retirement in the early seventies

I had my Dirranbandi house transported to StGeorge by Semi trailer. I used flood

irrigation on this property after clearing it . I had swapped a few head of cattle for

a D6 bulldozer which helped in the clearing of my farm land. The Farm " Pori Pori

or Witch Doctor"  is opposite StGeorge over the river from the town.

It had been a blacks camp for generations known as Hollywood.

After a few years work I had improved the farm so much that it appealed to the

Hill family. Clem Hill a good friend, offered me a property on the Bollon road in

an exchange for the Farm.

So I moved again out on to 20,000 odd acres in the red Mulga country. I needed a

house there so I bought a wing of the old StGeorge hospital , and moved it out the

28 miles to Kullinjah Station. So now I had a Cattle Station . I had achieved a

lifetime ambition. On Kullinjah there were Scrubber cattle cantering about

through the scrub knocking down trees . Some of the older Bulls were ten year old

and more, Brahman cross types.

There had been built at the back of the property a cattle yard to hold the

Scrubbers it had a trap gate . It had been built around the water trough, and was

welded up out of good steel railway iron and very heavy duty weldmesh . This

yard stood six feet high and looked the part for the job. But some of the scrubbers

were inclined to jump out of the yard especially the Brahman cross types.

 We had a high stock yard fence with watering troughs inside. Now and again the

scrub bulls would drop their guard and come in to water with the cattle. This day

we managed to shut the gate one. So Don by drafting managed to get the bull into

the crush and cut the sharp portion of its horns off with the chain saw. Then he

branded it and bobbed its tail; put a Condamine bell on its neck and let it go; and

of course  the bell made it easier to find the cattle when mustering. Our son Don

had been putting up the slip rails to hold the brute, when it suddenly charged him

and came under a rail to do so. Don ran across the yard with the bull inches

behind him . In this steel welded yard sealed with half inch weldmesh made to

trap scrub cattle,  there stood a water trough. We had a protective cover of heavy

rails over it to keep the cattle out of the trough.     Don jumped onto the cover and

sprung over the 7 foot high top rail of railway iron. The enraged bull dented the

weldmesh in his fury. This yard built of railway iron and half inch weldmesh had

been bent previously by the wild cattle trapped in there.

Of course  the bell made it easier to find the cattle when mustering.                    

CHAPTER 135

NELLS STORY....

At last its come time for me to add my own story to give the reader an insight into

my life with a Bushman. Life was never boring ; always a new challenge  on the

horizon .I found my life as a wife and mother was only a small part of what was

expected of me as a partner in marriage. Don needed my assistance with book

work; and his right hand man when necessary. There to listen when he blew his

top; and to praise his achievements. One who knew when to speak; and never say

he was wrong. After all Don was usually right; he had great knowledge of

anything pertaining to stock, dogs, horses, fencing, yard building, ring barking,

and old cars and engines. Not complete without mention of his tracking and

fighting abilities. Yes one could say with confidence he was up there with the best

as a Bushman.

Don returned from the second world war only a shell of the man he was before he

went. His nerves were shot and he would drink to overcome the problem. He

would fight at the drop of a hat; and there was always some one who would step

up. Lots of aborigines would come up from Goodooga to have a round or two. They

soon found he was no pushover, Don would end up with a broken nose and thumb

. But he always won , seemed to get a lot of satisfaction in doing so. He would

never take the blame for starting the fight; always said they picked on him. At

that stage the aboriginal young men were being taught to fight in the bush towns;

later ending up fighting in the ring.

Don at this period   found it hard to settle down  to a peaceful way of life.

The war had left him in a state of anxiety; he slept always with his 303 rifle near

his bed for protection. At night in bed I would have to be very careful if I wanted

to get up, because he would grab me by the  throat. Don thought I was the enemy

out to get him.                                                 

 Mind you we never feared anyone doing any of the family any harm with Don

around. Don't get me wrong Don was mentally sound and quite intelligent right

through his life time. His 303 rifle was his way of protecting himself  in the army;

he continued on the same way in peace time. A gun is necessary in the life of a

Bushman. Bush children from early age are taught how to handle one. Quite a

number of the last war soldiers came into the army with this knowledge; together

with knowledge of how to survive on very little rations. After all many of these

men were on the dole and were often hungry; and walked miles in search of work. 

     Talking of the 303 rifle brings back to my memory one time Don had been

having a row with a chap. Jack  had broke a beer bottle and attacked Don with it.

Jack jumped in a taxi and went home to a tin  shelter shed   at  the Ballonne  bridge.

Don and his nephew Bill  Brummell took  off after him in a old army truck a Blitz

wagon. Don had been drinking and had his rifle with him. At the bridge he called

out for a inspection of the occupants of the tin shelter shed. Jack didn't appear,

but Don spotted him rolled up in a blanket  on the ground under the open shed.

He drove straight in over Jack; the truck wheels on either side of him. Jack took

off into the scrub with Don firing at him. The roof of the shed collapsed when the

truck went under it thus giving Jack the extra time needed to escape. He never

came back to the town for years after and I was pleased to see him return. After

all one never knows for sure when a gun is fired what might happen.           

Even Don's friend didn't trust Don's constant companion. I remember Don's

droving mate Bandy Nolan always visited him at home; bringing a carton of

stubbies with him. Bandy when he got drunk would always sing "CHEATING

HEART”. The slobber and the mucus from crying didn't go over well; Don wanted

to put a stop to it.

So he grabbed his rifle and let a shot off through the verandah blinds. All hell

broke loose; Bandy thought his number was up, he made a dash down the high

steps. He fell head first and got up and fell into his car. I doubt if the car was ever

on the road that night; a hit and miss job. A devil for punishment, he was back a

few nights later.                                     

Another friend of Dons, a chap who drank little Colin Mc Dougall also escaped

from one of Don's shots. They were sitting on the bottom step , Don had his trusty

rifle by his side. Don was annoyed with Colin because he said "I think so."  To

which Don had replied.  "No good worrying till the crows build   a   nest  in your  arse;

then you’ ll have to worry how  they  got the sticks   there without you feeling it."  He

grabbed the rifle and shot between Colin's legs. He said he did it to wake him up;

he certainly did but I doubt if Colin saw the rifle go off. With Don it all happens in

a split second. I noticed this often...                                                                  

     CHAPTER 136

   NELLS STORY ....

My brother Charlie was run off his feet, a jack of all trades. He would come home from

school, walk a mile out on the common and bring the goats back .The kids had to be

locked up at night to enable people to milk in the morning. Often whether goats would

be killed for meat. Remember we were in a depression, and money was as scarce as hens

teeth.

Charlie would then cut a few armfuls of wood and carry it inside. Then he and his mates

would walk a few miles over the river and set their rabbit traps. The rabbits they

trapped and eaten ; and skins sold. Of course any extra were soon sold, food was scarce.

(But our wise government stuffed up our free food supply, myxometosis, and lately a new

rabbit killing  virus was released. Of course the rabbit lives well in this drought cursed

country and the Squatter counts every blade of grass as his own!)  When he returned he

would trot up town and bring back the    mail and bread. Then into his school

home work after tea. Then early at Piccaninny Dawn  the boys would be off over the

river to collect their catch and traps. If there was water in the river ,they would check

their lines; fish was a great prize to catch. It meant a change of diet and if plentiful

,money.  Later on when he was seventeen he joined the Light  Horse  Brigade  at

Warwick. From there he went to the A.I.F  14th . Garrison Btn. Thursday Island. Then

later transferred  to the 2/15. A.I.F.     Borneo , and was in NEW GUINEA when the

war ended.

Charlie

He later married Pat Forbes  children Christine .,Robin ,Stephen, & Greg.   Alvina Mary

(VINEY) my  only sister has always been there for me. Although miles separated us for

many years; we have never lost sight of our relationship. We have similar views and

never quarrel; always pleased to be with one another. Its  only now in my old age I m

back near her again; I m able to visit her  and talk of the old days.                    

Viney married and had two sons Mervyn  and Tony. Later she divorced and married

Graham Kelso. She has many grandchildren  to keep her busy. She is a woman who has

learnt through life to stand on her own two feet; and face life as it comes. Family to her

always comes first.

Keith

My brother Keith was the restless one of the family; a daring person when it came to

horses and cars. He would drive a old T Model Ford  down a steep river bank. Have us

all holding our breaths with fear of something going wrong. So it wasn’t surprising to see

him join up and go off to war. He was with the 2 /31st  A.I.F. in NEW GUINEA in

1945; two days before War ended he broke his back. A jeep turned over with him .

His wife Agnes Hack and children Don, Shirley  Lynette all were devastated. After all he

had been through ,and so close to freedom, what a blow. He was bedridden  from the

age of twenty five, until he died at forty seven. What a cruel blow  to such a dare devil ,. 

Walter

My brother Walter  was always a important person in our family. He  became our house

keeper when our mum became ill. He was there by her side always ; gave  her the

injections. Cooked and washed for the family. We all missed him when he went off to

war.

He joined the 2/31st Btn.; was with his brother Keith in NEW GUINEA. Married Jean

Robinson , children  June, Sid & Max .Even then still liked to get his hand in now and

again cooking etc.     

My brother Bill was the eldest and I think the most placid of the  four. He worked hard

and had many worries ; I think he accepted what life dished out. He worked hard as a

boy as wards man at the hospital, he married Grace Moore their children were

John, Alice, Bill, Margaret, Walter , Heather, & Bob. He gave more to his children

than he kept for himself. He loved to paint ; and carve EMU eggs. He made paper

flowers; and wooden toys. There was never a idle moment  with Bill. He was natures

gentle man.   

Dad was what all fathers should be, upright and always there for us all  no matter how

small or big the problem was. He always had good advice , after all he had been through

the mill and  had learnt by his mistakes . A man left with six children to rear in a

depression  was worthy of listening to. He always said not to worry over what happened

today; tomorrow it mightn't happen. Have a good nights sleep so you can cope with the

day.   

After Keith  came home Dad every day visited and cut the wood and shopped for the

family. He was devastated when he had strokes and was bedridden, unable to visit Keith.

A further blow when Keith first then Bill died; My mum had been dead thirty eight years

when Dad finally passed on. He was  a remarkable man who gave love and advice not

only to his family but to others who sought him out.

CHAPTER 137

Joe White returns.............

      The local undertaker approached Joe White in Mungindi , and

asked him to find a black horse for his hearse; no white on it at all.

 Joe  caught a black horse he owned , but it had one white

foot. He blackened the foot suitably ; took him and sold him to a

very pleased man. About a week later the horse was seen to have a

white foot, the owner thought some one had stole his horse. Joe

claimed the horse with the white foot saying the horse had been

the mate of the horse. The undertaker again bought the horse from Joe ,

so   he was well paid for the horse.  In the early days Joe White was

injured when a horse rolled on him, he had no memory of what had

occurred . He had an eighteen day endurance test thrust upon

him. Wriggled more than forty miles through burr and scrub to get

home . The Poetry below aptly describes his epic achievement.     

     In the old DAREEL Pub, long since disappeared from sight; once

located between Dirranbandi and Mungindi.

Joe was a casual drinker.  A regular drinker there was in the

D.Ts. often calling out to the customers "Look at them

crawling .look at em crawling!  . So Joe thought on a cure for his

sickness. The next time he came to DAREEL Pub he brought a saddle

bag full of brown snakes; all with their mouths tied shut . Joe waited

until the shaker started  , then walked past him and tipped the

contents over him from the saddle  bag. He looked at them crawling

all right;  the delirium tremens victim rose screaming and left the pub. He

never drank alcohol again; no one could convince him to do so, he

was cured for all time.                                          

 CHAPTER 138

Don Johnson returns...

 At  WILLAMORINGLE on the CULGOA  RIVER lived a remarkable

woman.  She was  ABORIGINAL  and had half her foot burnt off in a fire

as a child. She couldn t walk very well; but could ride a horse very

well. She had worked in droving camps as a horse tailer all her

life. I met some of her children ;and served in the second world

war with her son Jack Bishop. He said they called her HOPPING

ANNIE.                                                           

 Don takes on TAXI  Driving. He spent more time in the hotel  and

ended up on the wrong side of the ledger. Many a fight he had

trying to collect his fare. He just wasn't cut out for the job;

luckily he realized before he went broke...     

While driving three Aborigines to the bridge Don overheard the customers

saying "we will take this cab off him and beat him up."

So Don opened up the 1948  Ford Mercury V8 to 90 mph then slammed on the anchors

broadsided it and stepped out with a crank handle . As the men jumped out to

attack him, Don slammed each one with the crank handle across the back of the neck

laying them out. After collecting fares from the sleepers , he left them to sleep it off.

 The Balonne Shire Council gave him the job  of Stock Route

Supervisor and Pound Keeper. This suited him fine, work amongst

traveling stock, mostly traveling by car. He worked at this job

for fifteen years.

Nells story of Blue....

  Blue was the proud owner of a stallion and some mares; but he came

unstuck when he  decided to take pot luck and put it over the shooting

sheriff. Don was the Pound Keeper and  Stock Route Supervisor;  he ruled

by the book and made certain  the   rules  were obeyed.    Late one evening Blue

asked permission to put his horses on the town common for a few days. On

the town common there were agisted  stock including mares. Don told Blue

on no account to let his STALLION go there; he would have to take it in

hand if he did  Blue  wouldn t  like the result. Blue decided he  would take

pot luck, he was too smart for the SHERIFF; he would rise at Piccaninny

Dawn and remove the Stallion  before  Don  got on the job. But he misjudged

his opponent; Don was one never to let the grass grow under his feet.

Over night  Don had on his own castrated the Stallion, after all Blue

knew he would. In rage Blue came to the front steps, only to be told "I

told you so"  Blue resorted to fisticuffs and was chased out the gate by Don.

Much  a do, then he went away  with his tail between his

legs, lamenting his costly mistake.   My father was not called the

Shooting Sheriff for nothing; he had four years in the Army and the old

303 rifle was always not far from him. He carried a less powerful rifle

in his truck on the job; often used to put down wounded stock, stray

dogs, as part of his job. He  use to see Drovers' with traveling stock

pretty often and knew them all.  This fateful day Don was with a Drover

from CHARLEVILLE who was complaining he couldn't get any money to get a

store order in town. So  Don  lent him one hundred pound to see him  through.

Later  that day  Don  saw them drinking in the Pub. So in he went and after a

few drinks things got nasty; they accused him of cheating. Don was never

one to back off, always one to defend his honor with his fists.  They  the

so called mates of the morning attacked in force. After a bit Don went

out and got in his car, they followed him to carry the fight on. Don

grabbed his rifle to scare them off, aiming at one mans ear. The man

pushed the open door shut  busting Don s cheek bone with the force of it.

In rage Don pulled the trigger and shot a bit off his ear!               

           Don took off but the police soon caught up with him, and took

him to jail. The bloke that was shot  had left  town and wasn't seen back there

for seven years. Don was charged with drunk driving  and his license was

suspended for three months. He wasn't allowed to have a gun for twelve

months. He gave up drink and it was restored.       It is one of those

things that could have been worse. People were a little careful in their

dealings with Don from then on; referred  to Don as the Shooting Sheriff 

 You could like him or hate him; but you couldn't take away the fact he

was  a excellent Bushman, one of the best. He could be on a dark rainy

night in the scrub miles from nowhere; yet never would he be lost, never

failed to make it home. I remember once he was called on to act as guide

to      pilot  a land rover bringing a doctor to a badly burnt toddler on

Cubbie Station. There was a flood and all the roads were under water; the

grass was high and it was over cast raining at night. Don said only once

on that trip was he uncertain and as he stood up to gather his thoughts

the moon came from behind a cloud; just long enough to steer him right.

Sorry to say the little girl died in hospital later.    I remember the

day the police asked Don to lead a party to look for an aboriginal couple

Billy and his wife. They had left the picture show to walk to their home

near the Ballonne bridge south of Dirranbandi in Queensland.

The flood was up and over the Hebel road. And when Don was just out of

Dirranbandi town he saw tracks leading away to the flooded swampy area

on the town trucking reserve. This was flooded and covered with dense

lygnum bush eight foot high. The woman’s   tracks were digging in showing

she was pulling back no wanting to go. Don you'll remember was an expert

tracker who also knew the aboriginal people, and their customs. Don on

horseback  followed the tracks to the lygnum bushes there he found the

old lady draped over one of the bushes dead. He signaled the police to

come and continued  on, he found the old aboriginal further  on south

near the Hebel road. He had shed his clothes and rolled in black mud to

escape the sandflys  and mosquitoes. Billy thought that traffic would

come down the Hebel road and pick him up. But he didn't know that the

road was cut by floodwater further back. The first thing Billy asked Don

was   is my wife all right.   He thought Don was Joe White the Tracker and said

 be careful what you say Joe.  They put him in the hospital and sent him to

the Aboriginal Mission, he was too old to bother with. His wife's sister

she went to the mission too. To the local's consternation. She was his

other wife.

 CHAPTER 139                                                                        

 About this time in the mid 1960's Don went  to  Mick Dancy s place near

Dirranbandi to visit Frank Harper, said to be Steve Hart s son in law. The old man

had a wagonette and a few gray  horses and was camped there.

A drover passing through needed to borrow a horse for one of his                               

men Lenny, whose horse was lame. Old Frank offered the loan of an old chestnut

gelding for the  day,  for a bit of  mustering.  Late that afternoon Don returned to Franks

camp .

Don and Frank were sitting there drinking black tea and talking of old times

 both smoking cigarettes. And then Lenny appeared on the old chestnut gelding at the

camp.

The horse was covered in dried white foam and sweat and was raw with spur gouges,

 from his shoulder to his flank.   Useless  bastard   yelled young  Lenny as  he drove his

spurs rowel deep into the old horses shoulder, before dismounting . Old Harper swore ,

 and Don grabbed his own stockwhip from the truck and stepped lightly up

onto the old horse, he  then proceeded to  flog Lenny across the town common at the

 canter, hitting him across the back and rear end every few strides of the old horse.        

            After they had gone about 2 miles the Drover  slightly shocked, drove  his stock

truck between  them     rescuing the soundly flogged Lenny from death.                          

CHAPTER 140

 We  were able to buy a few head of cattle, and gradually  built up a

small herd . From the money we got from the sale of the calves we bought

more. By the time we were ready to retire we had  cattle agisted in

paddocks  about. So we bought  365 acres  over the river from St George.

It was the old Aboriginal camp. The Council having shifted the families

into homes in town. We shifted our old home fifty miles onto this block.

Pori Pori meaning Witch Doctor in Aboriginal had a bora ring where the

blacks would gather for their ceremonies. The Aboriginal’s had lived there for years

before they were shifted into town at St George.

After we fenced it in and shifted our home there now and again a stray one would

wander in looking for the old camp. but they didn't  reckon  on the old bull terrier 

 Tyson   on duty there. Early one morning about 2am we were awakened  by dreadful

screams "help police murder." Old toothless Tyson had an aboriginal down  trying to

chew on him.

Don had to flog the dog off with a shovel. Once on his feet the dark man sprang  into 

nearby river and swam across to the town to escape.

Gone now is the bora ground and campsites, it’s now a huge dam fed by the river

Pori Pori is no more.

We planted fodder for the cattle; but the drought came. We needed more

land for the cattle to survive. So we swapped " PORI PORI " for "KULLINJAH"

21000 acres  twenty seven miles from town.  We bought a portion of the

old St George Hospital and took it out twenty seven  miles. COST $1500.    

CHAPTER 141

Nells Story continues...

I don't know whether I told the stories of my granddaughter  Camilla Kelso who  came

on a visit to KULLINJAH Station aged two. She  made her presence felt by naming all

the cattle pups. She knew the names of people mentioned in the Bible stories; and   

promptly named the pups Mary, Elizabeth, Peter, Matthew, Jesus and Bartholomew. Don

named the last one Damper. He always called them by name and I have heard old

Bushman say "Old Don must have turned religious  in his old  age." They were all first

class dogs; snake killing was a pastime pleasure to  them, they had a taste for the big

brown mulga snakes.

Camilla got very grubby attending her  pups, and needed several baths a day. Don said

she could only have water in the bath a cup high. Water was very scarce; we had to cart

water from the bore drain for baths, washing, etc. The tank water was kept for drinking

and cooking. So imagine the uproar it caused when a special visitor was having afternoon

tea with us. Camilla in all her glory  approached her POP saying in a pleading voice

"POP can I have a cup of water for a bath please?" The visitor  showed his disapproval

by suggesting that it was time Don improved his water supply.                                   

 Even the wash up water was caught in a drum; later I would  siphon the water on to my

trees in the garden. To me water had always been a luxury, always a shortage  to be

carefully used. In my early life in Dirranbandi  we carted water from the river in

kerosene tins in a cart pulled by goats. The river would be low most of the time.

This was before the weirs were put in. Often one would have to dig in the sand to find

water. The rain water tank water was used for babies, drinking and cooking. We would

go to the show ground  tanks  if our water run out. Carting it home in a Kerosene tin at

night.

No fridges then; mostly a water bag hung under a tree. (A great place to find a brown

snake curled up under the dripping water on a hot night) Later on my Dad would cart a

load of water in his spring cart      emptying it into a small tank  at home. He would fill

a tank from the Railway supply  pumped from the big deep hole in the river; used

mainly to supply trains with water.                                       

Then when I married and went with Don to "THREE HOLES"    station; water was a

problem again. There was a small rain water tank  which I used for my two babies.

I had to bucket water from the bore drain into a forty four drum. This water was putrid ,

often with decomposed bodies of animals  left in it. To clear it good enough for washing

etc I would have to put pieces of carbide into the drum. Carbide was used in a light  that

sometimes exploded, so I mostly used the kerosene  lantern. The water used for bathing

the babies was put  into a kerosene tin on the wood stove to boil the babies nappies .

Then the rest of the washing was done with it. Finally the water was used to scrub the

floors, never wasted always never enough of it.            

CHAPTER 142

   The time the circus was caught in  Dirranbandi Queensland  owing to flood

water, caused a few minor problems . The animals had to have space

to exercise; and graze where possible. After all Elephants get tired

of being chained up around the leg  to prevent them from taking a

stroll. The horses were no problem a paddock was found for them.    

 The COUNCIL decided the CIRCUS could use a empty space in the town

to help with the elephants problem; provided they were under

supervision at all times. The animal  supervisor  wore a uniform like

the SALVATION ARMY wear; but it had seen better days. It was raining

, and had been for days. So the CAMELS and the ELEPHANTS had that

special rainy feeling all animals get to run and kick up and buck.

The guard was curled up under a tree dozing, his mind not on the

animals. In this part of the town were stables with race horses in;

who when they smelt the camels became agitated and raced around

their day yard. Then they spotted the elephants blowing their

trumpets and heading for their stables. This was too much for the

well bred horses they jumped and fell over the rails; and headed for

the bush. Their  owner  grabbed what they could to attack the

elephants; but in their rage took it out on the supervisor. He  was

too slow ; took him hours to capture the fleeing animals. It was the

only time that I have ever heard of a circus that wasn't welcome in

a town.              The lions and tigers were also restless and use

to roar at night; many of the people were afraid they might escape

and eat their pets. The good side of the situation was forgotten;

having the circus stranded meant more money was spent in the town.

But tell that to the race horse owners that had a horse ready to go

next weekend; the horse had done its race.       Must tell this

story of a man, every one who ever lived in the Ballonne Shire must

have seen him, at one time or other riding his bike going some where. He

is ALEC FELLOWES who ran away from home to join the circus; his

brother ERIC searched for him for fifty years. Alec use to ride his

bike to MOREE from ST GEORGE 200km away, for a hair cut. At one time

he lived in a shack near the rubbish  dump at StGeorge.  Don gave him a kerosene

fridge  so he could have some where to keep his perishable food. A

council worker supplied him with kerosene to keep it going.  We called

one day to see how it was working; only to find a bottle of water in

it. ALEC said he only wanted it for cold water, and it suited the

purpose. When he was younger he use to travel the roads with a wheel

barrow loaded with all his worldly goods. He also had a old bike; he

would take the wheel barrow on a few miles, then walk back and get

the bike. One time he put a notice in the paper informing the public

that he would sue anyone who called him FEATHER CHOOK, and many

other names. When the children were young they always waited until

ALEC would appear; before they would have their XMAS dinner. Sure

enough there he would be, and always came in to join them. I can't

remember him failing to appear; it made the children's day.

   Bernie was a blacksmith and a very good one, he was a big strong tall man

and the district depended on him. A squatter had rang his order through

earlier in the day. He was having a meal with his wife in the Greek

Pipposes cafe. Bernie came to the door to give him his order. Seeing the

squatter had company he asked a waiter to inform him that he wanted

to see him outside. Bernie was in the habit of always rolling his

sleeves up; I think it had to do with nerves. Anyway the squatter

annoyed at being asked to step outside, which   was the usual way of

picking a fight and defending oneself with your fists. The squatter

noticed  BERNIE rolling his sleeves up, went straight in for the

kill. It always paid to get the first punch in. Imagine the surprise

the squatter got when he discovered Bernie only wanted to give him a

parcel. Bernie still continued to roll his sleeves up; and was often

misunderstood.                                

    CHAPTER 143

          The advantage of being dark skinned was brought to my

notice by my friend JESSIE. She was an islander who had been

educated in a mission; and what a treasure she was. She was loved by

children and adults alike. She could sing, cook, house keep and

ride. What I liked about her she was always ready to laugh at

herself. For example, when I asked her if she was frightened at

night on her own she replied "I  strip off and lay naked on a dark

cover; being black in the dark of the night, no one can see me ".

She use to smoke; on a dark night the glow from the cigarette was

all that would be seen, then JESSIE would speak. I think she enjoyed

the power she had of being black; something we didn't have. She told

me of how once she blew her cover; her tongue let her down. A

gentleman who had been pestering her to go out with him  knocked on

her door. She was expecting him and had turned all the lights out.

She hid in the house, and heard him speaking saying "are you there

JESSIE?" Next thing she heard herself saying "nobody home." Her dark

skin didn't help much that time.                                  

Mrs Norma Seaton of Dirranbandi, what a woman sewed for years for a living to put the

food on the  table. Snow her husband had been blackballed and had to seek work

elsewhere . She had a large family and by the time she snapped her hobbles, she had

over one hundred descendants.

Some of her sons married three times.  

My first memory of her , she was camped in the Wilga’s under a Coolibah tree. But not for

long Snow would pinch a couple of sticks of  timber  from the many buildings that were

being erected

he would put them into his new home to be overnight. She told me

with pride of Snow's accomplishment, he was very resourceful

when he was  blackballed  he got an old  truck  and filled it up with oranges and the

children sold them by the bucketful around town.

I remember seeing Mrs Seaton loading a young steer in her V.W. Combi van, she asked

me to hold it while she taped its mouth shut.

She told me she was going through Mungindi over the border to Warialda , she said it

stop it from making noises when she pulled up for petrol or at the border gate. She took

off late in the evening, she assured me that the steak would be in the butcher shop in the

morning.

She owned 2 pubs a store boarding house a taxi and owned many houses in her lifetime .

She often had fires but always rose from the ashes. Towards the end of her long life she

lived in Toowoomba in a small house that she referred to as the Boundary Riders hut .

She always had a pea rifle and wasn't afraid to use it . She wrote to me from there, with

a wandering scrawl

but I got the message , she asked what day it was. it appears she was always sparing with

the water and in the end it paid off.

She put her usual cup high amount in the bath and got in.

It appears she then had a bad turn, and she couldn't remember how many days she was

there. Her long hair soaked up all the water.

And it dragged on her when she tried to get out of the bath .

She was disappointed that her son Dan Seaton who died in New Guinea fighting the

Japanese there, had his name left off the honor roll for many years, the same goes for

Leo Judge who also died there, Don finally got their names put on the roll.

This set a wrong to rights.

    CHAPTER 144          

Nells brothers  enlisted in the AIF, Walter Brummell QX25075 was in the 2/31st battalion

and fought on the Kokoda trail when Don Johnson QX18024  fought there.

Clarence KEITH Brummell QX32251 of the 2/31st also was there.

All returned intact except for Keith, he broke his back in Borneo on 14-8-45 ,

a jeep turned over there.

They both had returned several times to New guinea and wound up fighting in Borneo  at Balikapann .

Roy CHARLEY Brummell joined up while under age and served in the 2/15 AIF

he was to fight in new Guinea and Borneo.

CHAPTER 145

NELLS STORY CONTINUES

I myself worked through the  war years at the Dirranbandi  hospital.It

was here that I first met  Don, he had just returned from NEW GUINEA

and the KOKODA TRACK. He was in hospital with Blackwater fever , he

was very sick. His nerves were bad , he was very restless. He was

inclined to become aggressive with drink and usually ended in a

 fight .Mind you he seemed to win all his fights and got a lot of

satisfaction from doing  so. Lots  of Aborigines came up from Goodooga

to try there luck with  him.  They soon found he was no push over; and

most went home sore and sorry. Mind you many a night he came home

with a broken nose, a damaged thumb and a torn shirt. Not to mention

a black eye and cuts. To Don that was all a part of showing them who

was boss. He always said he didn't  start the fight. Some times it was

because a chap on the far side of the bar gave him a dirty look.    

                            We married on the first of April 1944

,and went to work at Leander  station Longreach . Don rode the steers

and horses at the Rodeo and soon showed he had not lost any of

smartness  winning first prize. Thinking back Don was in his usual

 form,  upper cutting the porter because he knocked me over in the

crowd. On the train we were seated near a lady with a sick baby   

on her way to Brisbane Hospital. She only had a small school port

with her. She told me she had on four dresses , she intended removing

one each time it got soiled. The baby was dressed like wise. My

brother Charlie was on his way back from leave. He use to get the

lady refreshments; but Don told him that some old ladies passes a

remark that it was a pity that a handsome young soldier had such a

dirty wife.                                             When I was

pregnant with baby Don , we returned to Dirranbandi .   I think I

should now tell you about the advents of the day leading up to his

birth on 18th. March 1945. Don had been to the Races; and had one too

many. He dropped a ten shilling note on the ground and a aboriginal

picked it up. Don  demanded it back; he got into a fight with  some

 chaps.  Mind you  Don may have baited the trap. He threw the chaps up on

a pile of fire wood and set fire. The wood was there to boil the

copper for tea making. The police hearing the commotion came around

and inquired of Don what was he doing. Don said he was burning the

thief; to which the Police replied he was too green to burn. Don

came home at dark ; and after he took me to  hospital, lay down on

the bed,                       Don was a very light sleeper;

probably from the war  and his need to be alert. I know for years after I married Don,

 I could never get out of bed at night without Don grabbing me by the

neck. So it wasn t  surprising that he heard the footsteps on the

gravel and up the steps. Don never slept without his 303 rifle near

his bed for protection. He jumped up and let off a few rounds; the

aboriginals  he had fights with earlier that day were there in

force. They had sticks, bottles and were drunk also. Don shoved one

chap into the bathroom. He was surprised to find it was one of his

friends. The town folk thought it was Don celebrating the birth of a

son. Don t get me wrong, Don was mentally sound, and quite

intelligent. It was just his way of protecting himself.             

Of course myself and family  never feared anyone doing us any harm

with Don around. After a time Don decided he would go back to Droving; he had worked

with drovers in pre war days. He was a expert stockman; he could

track and find his way day or night.      

We use to go droving with him on school holidays. I would do the

cooking etc; the boys would ride their horses behind the stock.

Diana would nurse maid Cecily who was only one. She was doing this

when she was bitten by a funnel web spider      

CHAPTER 146

          Colin McDougall and Don remained close friends and Don was upset when he was told

Colin had a stroke and died.                                                                            

Often things don't end up the way they  started out to go. A neighbor’s dog kept the

whole street awake at night. So one night Don got up and took a piece of meat from the

fridge and put a sleeping tablet inside it . He gave it to the dog; and in no time the dog

shut up barking. Next morning at five the dog owner came over and asked Don to take it

away and shoot it ; he thought a snake had bitten it and he couldn't wake it. Don thought

awhile; decided to do as requested , best for everyone in the long run.                

There is the story of Cecily my daughter, who when walking behind the cattle  driving them from one

paddock to another was suddenly startled to find a brown snake curled around her leg.

Luckily she was wearing a knee length pair of fashionable leather boots. She screamed

and kicked  and the snake fell off and that ended Cecily's nature walk. Often stock

stir up snakes and a animal will be bitten . This reminds me of the stories the old timers

told me of the aboriginal tribes who use to travel from one place to another at night.

They would always walk behind each other , and make a noise to frighten the snakes.

They did like wise in the crocodile infested rivers ; the young people first, then last of all

the elderly . The crocodiles would know that if  they waited they could out smart the tail

enders.

CHAPTER 147

Don was used to shooting dogs ; part of the pound job. Kids would get pups but once

they got older they neglected them. Better to be a dead dog than a starving one no one

wants.

Another time we had been to Dirranabndi fifty miles from "Kullingah Station"

and were dropping in on Bill Wilson on our way home. Don had told him he would leave him

a dozen stubbies. Bill told him that wasn't possible, the savage dogs wouldn't let him get

inside the house. When we drove up sure enough there were the guard dogs barking

ferociously. Don got me to walk over to the furthest corner of the yard and throw pieces

of meat to the dogs slowly. The dogs rushed over to the corner, and like all dogs

proceeded to eat. Don in the meantime scaled the fence and run to the back door. Like

all things the best laid plans often   come unstuck. The meat run out and he had to get

out. So he let the big tom cat out . It made a dash for the tree ; the dogs in mad pursuit.

Don made a mad dash for the fence ; one dog spied him and came after him. Don jerked

his jacket off and put over the head of the dog. This stopped the dog in his tracks long

enough for Don to get up on the fence out of reach of the dogs jaws. I must say Bill was

amazed that his dogs had failed to protect his home. As Don said it's a weak person who

can't out smart a dog.

 Pat Flanagan and wife were old fencers ; she was as good a worker as he was . She was a

great cook, made her own bread  and there was always a drink of tea at their camp and

a yarn. In old age Pat got T. B . and was put in hospital. The old lady use to roaming

freely , would drop in on town people . There was a lady who being partly blind  kept

her curtains drawn to stop the glare. The old lady often visited her. This day her

daughter and husband to be were visiting; and the mother was excited .When they

arrived he sat on the couch with the daughter. Later the girl rang her mother saying her

man was disgusted with her weeing on the couch. By this time the couch was really

smelling and the lady soon realized who the culprit was.

The old lady Mrs Flanagan wore odd shoes  and no underclothes. My children would run and hide if

they saw her coming. We had windows that pushed up; and a thing would stop them

from falling down. Well Mrs Flanagan knew how to open them and would climb through

them. At times she would like a sex minx pull her dress up and display her operation

scars. So one would be nervous if one had men visitors. She was awfully jealous  of the

nurses around Pat . Even took a stick to deal to them. When Pat died they sent her to a

home. I reckon she helped to liven the place a bit.

While I am writing of things that happened in the small town I will mention things that

happened which I found very disturbing at the time and still do. While the war was going

on , a certain group decided to round up the known communists. Or so they said they

were. They were working class people who thought the party was to upraise the worker

,give him a better deal. The Communists' met at  Bill's home, and  the other group would hide behind the

gum trees to spy on them. They wrote all their names in a note book, and still referred to

it years after. They blacked  balled all of them and would not  employ them. Really the

poor worker wouldn't have known a communist if they met one. After all  the communist

way of life was to share. I couldn't see a Australian sharing anything  rich or poor. The

aborigines are the only people who seem to  share what they have. If a worker spoke out

of turn he was branded a communist. I know Snow Seaton  did just that and was

blackballed , couldn't get work. So he got a old truck and picked oranges and sold them

by the bucket to the town people. You can't keep a good fellow down, he later owned a

pub, shop, boarding house. Another man Bill Wilson was blackballed for speaking

out he was a good worker in the shearing sheds and well

liked by the people. Bill then started making soft drinks  and

had the working class people all buying from him as well he had

orders from the pubs and cafe. Then the powers that be moved

in and got Orbells to come and supply the pubs and people. he had

to move to Goondiwindi and start again. But it is a long road

that has no turning, he came home to own a taxi, and a  small store

so he won the day.

The first jail in Dirranbandi was a coolibah tree in front of

Watersons house ,  they use to chain the prisoners to the tree.

There were two drunks chained there one night  after the

races, they pulled the branch off the tree and arrived at

Billy Richardson's old town pub still chained to the limb of the

tree, they certainly needed a drink.

Big Ball Billy

Near old Dirran, on the river, an old time pub had its day.

Billy Richardson was the owner, had a rupture so they say.

There he sold the watered whisky and the rum to all who'd pay.

Earned a quid and made a nest egg till the Murray's came his way.

Sitting on his front verandah chanting calling laughing low,

"big ball Billy, big ball Billy," soon the rum began to flow.

So enlarged was Billy's rupture, so apparent his dismay,

every time the chanting started, fiery rum, he'd have to pay.

In the early nineteen hundreds medicine was touch and go,

poisons nasty, drugs so deadly, all were used by the medico.

Not the knife for big ball Billy, fifty fifty die that way.

Better get another keg, stop the Murrays chanting, hey?

CHAPTER 148

There was a family who went to the pictures , when they came

home late , one of the girls went to the outside dunny. She

screamed she saw a ghost in there, of course the neighbors

all came running to see for themselves, it appears their dad

had pinched a goat and killed it, he put a white sheet around

it when he hung it up. It wasn't uncommon to steal and kill

meat; but I would say with confidence  that dunnys were a no

no . I do know that goats were hid in the dunny to escape

paying agistment fees, I might add here  that when I was a

child , the health inspector arrived by train every six

months. We would know he was coming and would make sure

the dunny was scrubbed clean and phenyl was used to give it

a good smell, not forgetting the gauze in good order to keep fly's out.

Also tanks all had to have gauze tops on the open portion, I must

say people in those were more careful to bury their garbage

than they are today, they were afraid of tetanus.

CHAPTER 149

 I first laid eyes on Don my husband  when he was very sick in the Dirranbandi

Hospital . He had only came home from NEW GUINEA  the week before and was

very ill with Blackwater Fever. I was trying to get him to eat ; and was surprised

when he knew who I was. My sister Viney and I had been away at Boarding

School when Don had worked in Dirranbandi  prior to the war. He knew  my

four brothers well ; and had recently seen them in the Army. To be in the Army in

wartime was as good a  reference as any. After all they were there defending our country

men of courage. It went down well with my Dad  when Don asked  for my hand in

marriage fifteen months later.

We  married on 1st.APRIL 1944 at Goondiwindi and went to  Longreach  to

work for Archie Moffat. It was while catching a train Brisbane  that I first

became aware  of Don's  love of a fight; and his ability to fight. The porter knocked me

flying in his haste;  and Don  took the opportunity to knock him down . Since that day I

have accepted the fact that this was Don's way of settling the  many  arguments and

brawls he was involved in. Mind you  I think at times he purposely lay the bait for a

stouch. At  times in a hotel he would accuse some one on the other side of the bar of

staring at him. This was just to start a fight; which often ended in a few fights. Don didn't

seem to mind if he had his nose broken , a thumb broken  , and black eyes. They were

wounds of honor soon forgotten; it was Don's way of protection, second in line to his

303 rifle.         

I have seen some of these fights turn nasty, a eye being gouged out with a finger. Luckily

the recipient was able to wriggle free and thus escape with eye intact. I have seen noses

flattened on their faces  that needed surgery. Not unusual for a portion of a ear to be

bitten off. The trouble is when the old dog gets older and slower ; he doesn't get

wiser. Then the young pups decide they will take his crown. Some times  the old dog

knows he's good for a few rounds and can out smart the inexperienced pup. Don up to

his death still had the capacity to win a fight  by giving all he had from the first few

minutes of the fight. He taught our sons Don and Mark how to  defend  themselves and was

quite proud of the fact.   

CHAPTER 150

A lot of my fifty one and a half years of marriage to Don was spent in the bush. I was

never afraid with Don around for protection. He was a great tracker, stockman, and could

repair just about anything. He was a bush Vet, able to save animals lives; even to removing

cancer from the cattle’s  eyes. He didn't have a ticket , but was never   lost for what to

do. Horses were his life, for years we had no car. In fact in the bush we had  no

power, phone, fridge, and mostly no wood stove . I learnt to fence, ringbark, to brand cattle

and be a right hand woman to Don  on the property.                            

It all paid off when we bought "Pori Pori " 365 acres joining the weir at St George over the

river from the town. We shifted our home from

Dirranbandi, and our cattle we had bred up. We worked hard but soon realized that

we needed  more land. So we bought "Kullingah" almost 20,000 acres. about 27 miles

from St George on the Bollon road. We bought a portion of the St George

Hospital and had it shifted out on to Kullingah .The hard work begun with new

fences needed right away to keep stock in. For help we depended on the family coming

on holiday and helping us out with the mustering.

There was a bore that we pulled three times before we found the tiny hole in the  thread

of the pipe. A very tedious job that tries ones patience, also the strength. Windmills

weren’t so trying , cursed often when the wind wouldn't blow. The  dams or tanks needed

desilting  to enable them to hold more water for the stock. The bore drain was always a

problem. People up above us would shut it off so they could fill their small tanks; thus the

water would be cut off for the stock. Besides it needed delving  more often to remove the

silt. Constant watching for stock dead in the drain, other wise the drain would stop

running . Then the next door neighbor would complain and we had a lot of explaining. The rain

water tanks were precious ,and used for drinking and cooking only.

There was yard building to do to enable us to trap the scrub cattle that earlier had

escaped into the scrub and became wild.

Don always mustered his cattle up each week to keep them manageable. The scrubbers

would rush into the scrub,  taking the weaners with them. The only way to stop this was

to shoot the scrub cattle. Did try mustering with dogs to yard them, this method was

unsuccessful. The  over heating caused from the beast constantly running  caused kidney

problems  when they at last were yarded. They died before they could be trucked. Whips

don't lighten loads.; but you don't know until you try. It  could be very hot in summer.

LAST PAGE

Joe White was oft to tell the story of an arrogant old trapper who

was so sadistic that he forced his children to walk on the hot coals

as punishment for shirking their duty.

But his family punished him at the very end he went to a paupers

grave - Shame on them!