Bill Marsh - Great Tasmania Stories

Like I said, in the days before the Royal Flying Doctor Service was set up here in Tasmania, back in about 1960, basically the only aircraft that were available for evacuations from the Bass Strait islands and other remote areas were aircraft owned by the states two major Aero Clubs. Those clubs were the Tasmanian Aero Club, which was based at Launceston, and the Aero Club of Southern Tasmania, based at Hobart.

Now I wasnt ever a commercial pilot and Ive never flown for the Flying Doctor Service, as such. I was just a private pilot who flew out of our local Launceston club back in those early days. The aircraft we were using at the time was the single-engine Auster J5 Autocar, which was a small four-seater fabric aircraft.

But the most heart-wrenching trip I ever made was after a couple of children had been severely burnt, out on one of the islands. These kids got inside a car and were playing with matches or whatever. There they were, mucking about when the vehicle exploded in flames, leaving them trapped inside. So we got the call during the night and I think it mightve been Reg Munro, our Chief Flying Instructor, who flew out and brought the children back to the Launceston Hospital.

Anyway, the following day I went over to the island to pick up the childrens mother. Now just before I took off I heard that one of the kids had died. The problem was that, when I picked the mother up, it was obvious that she hadnt yet been informed about the death. Remind you, I was just doing the job as a private pilot through the Aero Club so it wasnt really up to me to inform her that her son had just passed away.

But, God, I felt for that poor woman.

I reckon that thered be nothing worse than to lose one of your own children, especially one as young at that little fellow was. So there I was flying this woman back to Launceston, knowing that her child had just died, and knowing that she hadnt yet been told about the death. And there she was sitting in the plane with me, full of a mothers concern, full of a mothers hope, full of a mothers love.

A word of warning. Look, I know some of these drovers that youll be talking to, I know them well, so just be a bit careful because, lets face it, theyre going to try and lay the bull on. Youll get inundated with stories about rushing cattle and roping brumbies out of trees and riding them next day, and theyll be on about just how smart they are, horse-tailing and the like.

Take for instance, When I got to the Armstrong River it was in flood and the only way I could get the cattle across was to swim them. So there I was battling against the raging current and I was getting a bit tired and thats when this log came floating by so I grabbed onto it and blow me down if it didnt turned out to be a 40-foot crocodile! That sort of rubbish. Or, One day we had a massive cattle rush. The whole lot of them went. So there I was, riding flat out. Then when I finally got up the front to try and turn them around, blow me down if there wasnt a wallaby sitting up there on the lead bullock.

Now, those bullshit type of stories were okay once because everyone knew that it was bullshit. But nowadays theres people that think its true. And thats why I say that that sort of stuff should be clearly labelled tall stories.

Then therell be others saying, I did this and I did that and I did something else. Well, to be honest, skites give me a pain in the arse too, Im sorry to say. And anyway, youd think that if some of these blokes had been any good in the first place then someone else wouldve been talking or writing about them long before they started blowing their own horns. I mean, all youve got to do is to read the books that these blokes write. Some of the things they reckoned they did, well, if you did that sort of stuff with a good boss drover youd get your arse kicked pretty quick-smart, I can tell you.

Tell it as it is, I say, because, you can take it from me, youll get inundated with crap, all right. Just take them horse whisperers. As a friend of mine says, Nowadays theyre jumping out from under every bush and toilet. What a load of rubbish. Theres nothing special there. Because, to be honest, thousands of drovers and stockmen black, white, bridled and with pink spots had that sort of insight into animals, and thats because they liked them. Thats the thing, liking them.

No one can teach someone to love animals, you know. Thats got to come from within. I mean, theres a lot of instruction-type books about Natural Horsemanship and Australian Horsemanship, and all that. But if a kid starts off working with a couple of rough pricks well, naturally, hes going to learn bad habits. I firmly believe that every young feller should work for, and with, good drovers and stockmen because then the good habits will rub off on him.

But even then, you can teach a bloke the proper ways but you cant make him love it, can you? Its like sport. If a kids got all the talent in the world but he doesnt like the game, well, hes not going to succeed at it, is he? So its that love and instinct for animals. Its like when you go to someones place and within two minutes the cats sitting on your lap. Thats because he knows you like him. And dogs; theres that old saying about how you might be able to fool the parents but you cant fool the dog or the kids. They know if someones a mongrel bastard or not, aye.

So, just tell it as it is, I say. Because the thing about droving is that, when its done properly, theres not too many stories to tell. Just as long as you watch your lead and you do the right thing, then the cattle will, generally, conform. Of course therell be times when theyre hard to handle. Take a dry storm, for instance. When that happens the cattle get all tense and move around, trying to get to the smell of the rain, especially when its been a dry day and theyre thirsty and theres rain falling in the distance. They get a bit on their toes then and you can hear their horns clashing. But mostly, drovings pretty monotonous in many ways, so I think that a lot of these stories are just made up because some of these blokes have to find a way of occupying their time and imaginations.

But I was no different from a great number of kids back in those days. I just got my swag and my saddle and I headed off. Thousands of kids did that; going to the big stations out around Longreach or Windora. Some went to Bedourie: all over Australia.

I went up into the Gulf Country first. I was about fourteen. Im sixty-nine now, going on seventy. I dont mind saying my age. Then after three years, I went across to Camooweal to work on another station and thats when I started thinking that Id like to go droving. So I just asked a boss drover for a job and I ended up riding over to the Kimberleys and helping bring cattle back into Queensland, to the fattening depot or to a railhead. Then on another trip we went out to Gordon Downs, in north-western Western Australia.

But what I liked about droving was that it was nice and enjoyable and satisfying just to be riding around on a horse and reciting poetry or singing on night watch, even though I couldnt sing for shit. And I liked looking after cattle. I must have, aye. I did it for fifty years. And I liked knowing that they were full and they had somewhere to camp at night.

I just liked animals, all animals, though Ive never worked sheep. But thats just the way it was. But I did like goats. There were goats in my little home town. I loved goats milk. Of course, the old billies used to piss all over themselves but when you grow up with them you even get to like that smell too. Most Queensland fellers like goats. And as the Victorians say, If it hadnt been fer rabbits n blackberries wed-a starved to death. Rabbits were called underground mutton, you know. But no, Ive got a soft spot for goats, and I like mules and donkeys too. I dont mind camels either.