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.