For my sister, Pat.
These Memories we do share.
First printed in 2016.
Reprinted 2017.
2017. PA Daw and J Hill
The inspiration for my book comes from time spent with great Australian bushman, stockman and drover, Douglas James Scobie (1910 1991).
All verse, history, and experiences are written by
Peter A. Daw.
About thirty miles up the track from Marree is the
Dingo Fence, and outside the fence its open country.
This is where a lot of great Bushmens stories come from.
Australia had a Cattle Disease Eradication Program
which required, among other things, that all
properties had to be fenced.
During this time, big changes were taking place:
Road trains had taken over, and hence, no more
drovers. For cattle work on the stations, light four
wheel drives and motorbikes did the job.
All the old Bushmen and horses have gone.
This maybe amongst the last of the stories told.
Back in Fifty-four,
I told the teacher I will not be here anymore.
Tomorrow you will be back.
No I am heading up the Birdsville Track.
At fourteen the old bushman came to me,
He said, At school you can stay.
Or come bush and learn things our way.
On the train to Marree we did go.
Through Pichi Richi Pass was very slow.
Being young and impatient it did seem a long way,
Heading to my new home where I would stay.
Into Marree at last.
Stepping on to the platform,
All one could see;
Was a pub, post office and shop,
That was the lot.
This is going to be my home.
I felt all alone.
Leaving Marree and heading up the track,
I knew it would be a long time;
Before coming back.
There was no grass or stock about,
The country was in drought.
Out through the first gate,
Then the Frome,
On the way to our new home.
At Dulkaninna we met a family named Bell,
In time, they would be our friends we could tell.
On to Etadunna that night to stay,
Such nice people; helpful in every way.
Past Copperamanna Bore,
Through Coopers Creek,
Over a big sand hill called Oldfields Leap,
Onto a long stony flat,
In the distance, what we all saw,
Was the homestead called Mulka Store.
On arrival at Mulka Store,
We found a large old homestead.
The building was made of limestone and pug,
This is lime, clay and fibre made into mud.
In the bathroom, there were no taps,
The floors did not have any mats.
We knew it would be tough,
This was very rough.
We made it a nice home to relax and be,
Happy to have friends and family come to see.
It was one of the worst droughts,
We did not have any money or stock,
I can tell you it was a hard lot.
We poisoned dingoes with baits,
To get money for their scalps;
This put food on our plates.
Drovers started coming our way,
Water for their cattle they had to pay.
Three pence per head,
Helped keep us fed.
Then having a few pounds more,
We bought groceries from the wholesalers,
To sell in the store.
The rains came.
We were now Mulka Cattle Station.
The transformation was so great,
We could now have a good life eating steak.
The first vehicle we had at Mulka Store,
Was an old Dodge Flying Four.
It was a city green grocers cart.
We had to have something for a start.
It had a hot busted exhaust under the floor,
The Old Lady complained her feet were burning.
Im not going out in that thing anymore.
Everything started to pick up.
The Old Lady bought a Blitz army truck.
This was a better ride;
No window her side.
The old lady did not complain anymore.
This was better than the old Dodge Flying Four.
A large brown snake stretched out by the door.
The Old Lady stepped back she never swore.
The snake took off across the yard.
To find him again would be hard.
Mulka Store had many holes in the walls.
The Old Lady knew the snake would be back,
He could get in through any crack.
She saw the snake come in.
After being caught;
The snake was put in the bin.
Mixing up her lime and pug,
She blocked many holes in the walls,
With this mud.
She did this every day,
Trying to keep the snakes away.
Four in the morning the dust storm would roll in
with a blast,
The Old Lady would wonder how long will this last?
At sundown, it would be gone.
Windows, doors and ceiling the dirt came in.
The Old Lady did not know where to begin.
All this dirt must break her heart.
With bucket and spade she must start.
It takes a lot of her day,
To clear this dirt away.
Its a hard life on the track.
Shes a tough old lady,
This will not break her back.
The rains came; dust storms had gone at last.
The Old Lady built her new homestead.
Now to sit back and ponder the past.
My first day as a stockman was not so great.
A cow charged my horse. I fell, broke my wrist.
Off to Broken Hill with the Flying Doctor,
To get it fixed.
For six weeks in Broken Hill I did stay,
Making lots of friends while away.
Ben was a great guy,
We lost contact I dont know why.
Many friends I had in Broken Hill while young.
I still remember some.
After six weeks, my wrist mended,
My time in Broken Hill ended.
When the drovers from up north,
Started coming our way,
They could not keep;
New born calves each day.
We bought a few milking cows,
To raise calves, from the drovers.
As they kept going past,
Our herd grew fast.
Cows were milked standing in a bail.
Calves were taught to drink out of a pail.
It was not long,
Our herd became fifty head strong.
Milking cows was a tedious chore,
After the rains, I would not do it anymore.
Sandy the Rain Maker
The Old Bushman being a bit of a wag,
Said to Sandy, You make it rain,
I will buy you a new swag.
Rains came everybody was happy again.
Including Sandy; he had his new swag to claim.
He did not get his new swag.
I will cut the rain off at your boundary,
Your land will get bad.
Natterannie Sand hills are on the boundary,
Thats where the next rain stopped.
Next year was another good rain,
At the boundary, it stopped again.
The Old Bushman bought Sandy his swag.
It rained. There was lots of water and grass,
Sandy the Rainmaker had his new swag at last.
How that happened I cannot explain.
The Rainmaker had done it again.
Tom Kruse
