Best Australian Yarns

by Haynes, Jim

  Both the Jamberoo tiger, shot in 1932, and the Grampians puma, shot in 2005, turned out to be large feral cats.

  I once asked northern New South Wales newspaper editor and local historian John Sommerlad what he thought the Emmaville panther was. The beast had been supposedly sighted at night on bush roads over the years and was variously described as a large, cat-like black beast with eyes like coals of fire.

  John replied that he wasn’t sure what it was, but it was very useful when there wasn’t much news to put in the newspaper!

  JH

  THE RAINBOW

  TRADITIONAL/JENKYN THOMAS

  Far to the west in the deep blue sea, there dwells a great serpent named Thugine. His scales are of many shimmering colours. When a rainbow appears in the sky, it is Thugine curving his back and the sun reflecting the colours of his scales.

  Many years ago, a tribe camped close to a sea beach. One morning, they all went out to fish and hunt, with the exception of two boys, whom the old men left in charge of the camp. ‘Wander not into the forest lest the wild dogs eat you, or to the beach, where Thugine the serpent is—waiting for children who wander alone.’ This was the parting advice of the old men to the boys.

  When the men had departed, the boys played about the camp for a while, but they soon grew tired of their games. The day was very hot, and, in the distance, the boys could hear the dull, deep booming of the surf. Both the boys were longing to go to the beach, but were afraid to speak their desire.

  At last the elder boy spoke, and said: ‘The fires of the sun are burning bright today, but on the breeze I can feel the cool breath of the sea. Let us go to the beach, and we shall return before the shadow of night has fallen. The men will not know.’ The other boy hesitated and was afraid, but at last he yielded, and together they wandered hand in hand through the bush.

  After walking for some time, they came to an opening in the trees, and, before their expectant gaze, a wonderful scene unfolded. A golden beach stretched far away until it was lost to view in the dim distance. The cool waves rolled lazily in great green billows from the outer reef, and dashed in a haze of sparkling white foam on the hot sands of the palm-fringed beach. The song of the sea rose in a deep, loud booming, and gradually died away to a low, soft murmuring.

  The boys were lost in wonder at the beauty of the scene. Never had they seen such an expanse of water sparkling in the sun like the blue sky. Over its rippled surface, the shadows of the clouds floated like sails across the sun.

  Thugine, the serpent, had seen the boys coming from afar, and, while they played on the beach, he swam swiftly and silently to the shore and seized them. When the men arrived at the camp, they discovered the absence of the boys. They searched the bush all through the night, and at dawn came to the beach.

  Far from the shore, they saw two black rocks jutting out of the sea. Then they knew that Thugine had taken the wandering boys and turned them into rocks. The men turned their faces again towards the camp; their hearts were heavy and their thoughts were sad.

  To this day, the rocks remain between Double Island Point and Inship Point. When a rainbow appears in the sky, the old men of the tribe tell the story of the disobedience and punishment of the wandering boys.

  THE GHOST OF THE PRINCESS THEATRE

  Gounod’s opera Faust was being performed at the Princess Theatre. The opera ends with Mephistopheles returning to the fires of Hell with his prize, Dr Faustus, who had sold his soul to the devil.

  In March 1888, at the Princess Theatre in Melbourne, the role of Mephistopheles was being played by Frederick Baker, who used the more operatic sounding stage name of Federici.

  The opera climaxes with a trapdoor opening and an invisible force taking Mephistopheles down to Hell. Federici vanished from the audience’s view but evidently fell as he attempted to descend the ladder provided, and the fall brought on a fatal heart attack. He died moments later in his dressing room.

  The rest of the cast were waiting in the wings to take their curtain calls and had no knowledge of the incident. The cast took its bows to the usual applause. When the cast was later told Federici had died and could not have returned to the stage, they replied in confusion: ‘He’s just been onstage and taken the bows with us.’

  Over the years, a figure assumed to be the ghost of Federici was often seen by theatre staff sitting in an empty box observing various productions. New staff members would report that an audience member had somehow entered a closed section of the theatre but when they went to eject him he wasn’t there. Long-time staff would reply, ‘That’s just Mr Federici, he’s often here.’

  Fast forward from 1888 to the early 1970s. George Miller (later well-known for his Mad Max movies and the Oscar-winning animated film Happy Feet) was filming a documentary at the Princess Theatre when a photograph was taken of the film set. The photograph revealed an ashen-faced, partly transparent observer in a cloak. No one had seen the figure on the set that day, and it only appeared in the photograph.

  JH

  EVENING STAR

  TRADITIONAL/JENKYN THOMAS

  Rolla-Mano was the old man of the sea. The blue ocean, with all its wonderful treasures of glistening pearls, white foam and pink coral, belonged to him. In the depths of the sea, he ruled a kingdom of shadows and strange forms, to which the light of the sun descended in green and grey beams.

  The forests of this weird land were many trees of brown sea kelp, whose long arms waved slowly to and fro with the ebb and flow of the water. Here and there were patches of sea grass, fine and soft as a maiden’s hair. In the shadow of the trees lurked a thousand terrors of the deep.

  In a dark rocky cave, a giant octopus spread its long, writhing tentacles in search of its prey, and gazed the while through the water with large lustreless eyes. In and out of the kelp, a grey shark swam swiftly and without apparent motion, while bright-coloured fish darted out of the path of danger.

  Across the rippled sand, a great crab ambled awkwardly to its hiding place behind a white-fluted clamshell. And over all waved the long, brown arms of the sea kelp forest. Such was the kingdom of Rolla-Mano, the old man of the sea.

  One day, Rolla-Mano went to fish in a lonely mangrove swamp close to the seashore. He caught many fish, and cooked them at a fire. While eating his meal, he noticed two women approach him. Their beautiful bodies were as lithe and graceful as the wattle tree, and in their eyes was the soft light of the dusk. When they spoke, their voices were as sweet and low as the sighing of the night breeze through the reeds in the river. Rolla-Mano determined to capture them.

  With this intention, he hid in the branches of the mangrove tree, and, when the women were close to him, he threw his net over them. One, however, escaped by diving into the water. He was so enraged at her escape that he jumped in after her with a burning fire stick in his hand. As soon as the fire stick touched the water, the sparks hissed and scattered to the sky, where they remain as golden stars to this day.

  Rolla-Mano did not capture the woman who dived into the dark waters of the swamp. After a fruitless search, he returned to the shore and took the other woman to live with him forever in the sky. She is the evening star.

  From her resting place, she gazes through the mists of eternity at the restless sea—the dark, mysterious kingdom of Rolla-Mano.

  On a clear summer night, when the sky is studded with golden stars, you will remember that they are the sparks from the fire stick of Rolla-Mano, and the beautiful evening star is the woman he captured in the trees of the mangrove swamp.

  THE DEMON SNOW-SHOES

  A LEGEND OF KIANDRA BARCROFT BOAKE

  The snow lies deep on hill and dale,

  In rocky gulch and grassy vale,

  The tiny, trickling, tumbling falls

  Are frozen ’twixt their rocky walls

  That grey and brown look silent down

  Upon Kiandra’s shrouded town.

  The Eucumbene itself lies dead,

  Fast frozen in its narrow bed,

/>   And distant sounds ring out quite near,

  The crystal air is froze so clear,

  While to and fro the people go

  In silent swiftness o’er the snow.

  And, like a mighty gallows-frame,

  The derrick in the New Chum claim

  Hangs over where, despite the cold,

  Strong miners seek the hidden gold,

  And stiff and blue, half-frozen through,

  The fickle dame of Fortune woo.

  Far out, along a snow capped range,

  There rose a sound which echoed strange,

  Where snow-emburthen’d branches hang,

  And flashing icicles, there rang

  A gay refrain, as towards the plain

  Sped swiftly downward Carl the Dane.

  His long, lithe snow-shoes sped along

  In easy rhythm to his song;

  Now slowly circling round the hill,

  Now speeding downward with a will;

  The crystals crash and blaze and flash

  As o’er the frozen crust they dash.

  Among the hills the first he shone

  Of all who buckled snow-shoe on,

  For though the mountain lads were fleet,

  But one bold rival dare compete,

  To veer and steer, devoid of fear,

  Beside this strong-limbed mountaineer.

  ’Twas Davy Eccleston who dared

  To cast the challenge: If Carl cared

  On shoes to try their mutual pace,

  Then let him enter for the race,

  Which might be run by anyone—

  A would-be champion. Carl said ‘Done.’

  But not alone in point of speed

  They sought to gain an equal meed,

  For in the narrow lists of love,

  Dave Eccleston had cast the glove:

  Though both had prayed, the blushing maid

  As yet no preference betrayed.

  But played them off, as women will,

  One ’gainst the other one, until

  A day when she was sorely pressed

  To loving neither youth confessed,

  But did exclaim—the wily dame,

  ‘Who wins this race, I’ll bear his name!’

  These words were running through Carl’s head

  As o’er the frozen crust he sped,

  But suddenly became aware

  That not alone he travelled there,

  He sudden spied, with swinging stride,

  A stranger speeding by his side;

  The breezes o’er each shoulder toss’d

  His beard, bediamonded with frost,

  His eyes flashed strangely, bushy browed,

  His breath hung round him like a shroud.

  He never spoke, nor silence broke,

  But by the Dane sped stroke for stroke.

  ‘Old man! I neither know your name,

  Nor what you are, nor whence you came:

  But this, if I but had your shoes

  This championship I ne’er could lose.

  To call them mine, those shoes divine,

  I’ll gladly pay should you incline.’

  The stranger merely bowed his head—

  ‘The shoes are yours,’ he gruffly said;

  ‘I change with you, though at a loss,

  And in return I ask that cross

  Which, while she sung, your mother hung

  Around your neck when you were young.’

  Carl hesitated when he heard

  The price, but not for long demurred,

  And gave the cross; the shoes were laced

  Upon his feet in trembling haste,

  So long and light, smooth polished, bright.

  His heart beat gladly at the sight.

  Now, on the morning of the race,

  Expectancy on every face,

  They come the programme to fulfil

  Upon the slope of Township Hill;

  With silent feet the people meet,

  While youths and maidens laughing greet.

  High-piled the flashing snowdrifts lie,

  And laugh to scorn the sun’s dull eye.

  That, glistening feebly, seems to say—

  ‘When Summer comes you’ll melt away:

  You’ll change your song when I grow strong,

  I think so, though I may be wrong.’

  The pistol flashed, and off they went

  Like lightning on the steep descent,

  Resistlessly down-swooping, swift

  O’er the smooth face of polished drift

  The racers strain with might and main.

  But in the lead flies Carl the Dane.

  Behind him Davy did his best,

  With hopeless eye and lip compressed:

  Beat by a snow-shoe length at most,

  They flash and pass the winning-post.

  The maiden said, ‘I’ll gladly wed

  The youth who in this race has led.’

  But where was he? still speeding fast,

  Over the frozen stream he pass’d,

  They watched his flying form until

  They lost it over Sawyer’s Hill,

  Nor saw it more, the people swore

  The like they’d never seen before.

  The way he scaled that steep ascent

  Was quite against all precedent,

  While others said he could but choose

  To do it on those demon shoes;

  They talked in vain, for Carl the Dane

  Was never seen in flesh again.

  ***

  But now the lonely diggers say

  That sometimes at the close of day

  They see a misty wraith flash by

  With the faint echo of a cry,

  It may be true; perhaps they do,

  I doubt it much; but what say you?

  THE MYSTERY OF THE SS WARATAH

  Late one afternoon in July 1909, the steamship SS Waratah, Blue Anchor Line’s newest addition to its fleet of twenty vessels, pulled away from the wharf in Durban, South Africa.

  With Captain Joshua Ilbery watching from the foredeck, a tug steered the vessel safely out of port into deep water. Captain Ilbery waved the tug goodbye and the passengers lining the deck did likewise.

  That was the last time any of the 211 passengers and crew of the SS Waratah were seen alive or dead. The ship and all aboard simply vanished without a trace.

  The Blue Anchor Line’s newest luxury passenger and cargo steamship, the SS Waratah had sailed on its maiden voyage from London to Australia on 5 November 1908 under the command of a sixty-nine-year-old Captain Ilbery, a man with thirty years’ nautical experience.

  At 150 metres long and weighing 9339 tons, the Waratah boasted eight state rooms, a hundred first-class cabins, a saloon and a luxurious music lounge. With its role in bringing emigrants to Australia from the Mother Country, the cargo holds could be converted into large dormitories capable of housing 700 steerage passengers. She had lifeboats for 921.

  When not carrying passengers to new life Down Under, the Waratah could carry 15,000 tons of cargo and coal in her separate watertight compartments, which were similar to those built into the unsinkable Titanic a few years later. As an insurance risk, the Waratah was classified ‘+100 A1’ at Lloyds—their top rating.

  There were, however, some misgivings about the way she handled in rolling seas and Captain Ilbery took on more ballast to attempt to counter a list the ship developed in heavy weather.

  On her first voyage, one passenger reported that, in heavy seas, she developed a list to starboard to such an extent that water would not run out of the baths, and she held this list for several hours before rolling upright. Another passenger, physicist Professor William Bragg, theorised that the ship’s ‘metacentre’ was below her centre of gravity and when she slowly rolled over towards one side, she reached a point of equilibrium and would stay leaning over until a shift in the sea or wind pushed her upright.

  One passenger on the vessel’
s second voyage from Australia to England was Claude Sawyer, a seasoned ocean traveller who also had some reservations about the seaworthiness of the Waratah. He noted that she seemed to behave oddly on big seas, leaving her nose down into every second wave and listing to starboard.

  Other passengers and crew members later said the Waratah was perfectly stable, with a comfortable, easy roll.

  One night at sea, during the return leg of her second voyage, Claude Sawyer dreamed he was standing on the ship’s boat deck staring into the sea when a knight on a horse rose out of the waves swinging a medieval sword. A bloodstained flag was fluttering behind him. The apparition screamed out ‘Waratah! Waratah!’ then faded. Sawyer woke up screaming in his berth.

  The following day, Claude Sawyer related his fears to several people and told them of his vision. One was Mrs Alexandra Hay, a lady from Coventry, who was going home with her daughter. While shocked by the story, she said she was not going to change ships.

  Sawyer also pleaded with the man sharing his cabin, John Ebsworth, a solicitor on his way to defend a case in London, to get off the liner with him at Durban. Ebsworth was concerned enough to discuss the premonition with Father Fadle, a South African priest travelling on the ship, but the priest scoffed at the dream.

  Claude Sawyer was the only London-bound passenger to leave the ship at Durban. He sent a telegram to his wife which read: ‘Thought Waratah top-heavy, landed Durban.’

  Sawyer explained his experiences in detail to the Board of Trade inquiry held in London in December 1910.

  After leaving Durban, the Waratah headed south along the Transkei coast for Cape Town. With the sky clear and the headwinds increasing, Ilbery anticipated reaching Cape Town in four days.

  The next morning, Waratah was spotted by the freighter Clan McIntyre, which had departed Durban the previous day. After learning via morse signals that the liner was the Waratah, the Clan McIntyre asked about the weather they’d encountered coming from Australia.

  ‘Strong southwesterly and southerly winds,’ replied the Waratah.

  ‘Thanks, goodbye. Pleasant voyage,’ was the final message from Clan McIntyre.