Larrikins, Bush Tales and Other Great Australian Stories

by Graham Seal

  Used to tell the boys and me

  They were there when Central ’Stralia

  Was a roarin’ inland sea!

  I was cook at old Marengo

  When McTavish had the run,

  And his missus died and left him

  With a boy—the only one.

  Jock McPherson was his nephew,

  Lately came from Scotland, too,

  Been sent out to get ‘experience’

  As a kind of Jackeroo!

  Well, this kid of old McTavish

  Was a daisy. Strike me blue!

  There was nothing, that was mischief,

  That the kiddy wouldn’t do!

  But he was a kindly kinchen

  And a reg’lar little brick,

  And we all felt mighty sorry

  When we heard that he was sick!

  But, McTavish! Well, I reckon

  I am something on the swear,

  But I never heard sich language

  As McTavish uttered there;

  For he cursed the blessed country,

  And the cattle and the sheep,

  And the station-hands and shearers

  Till yer blinded flesh would creep.

  It was something like a fever

  That the little bloke had got,

  And McTavish he remembered

  (When he’d cursed and swore a lot),

  That a chemist down in Sydney

  Had a special kind of stuff

  Which would cure the kiddy’s fever

  In a jiffy, right enough!

  So he sends me into Birdsville

  On the fastest horse we had,

  And I has to wire to Sydney

  For the medsin for the lad.

  They would send it by the railway,

  And by special pack from Bourke;

  It would take a week to do it

  And be mighty slippery work.

  Well, I gallops into Birdsville

  And I sends the wire all right;

  And I looks around the township,

  Meanin’ stopping for the night.

  I was waitin’ in the bar-room—

  This same bar-room—for a drink

  When a wire comes from McPherson,

  And from Sydney! Strike me pink!

  I had left him at Marengo

  On the morning of that day!

  He was talking to McTavish

  At the time I came away!

  And yet here’s a wire from Sydney!

  And it says: ‘Got here all right.

  Got the medsin. Am just leaving.

  Will be home again to-night!’

  Well, I thought I had the jim-jams,

  Yes, I did; for, spare me days!

  How in thunder had McPherson

  Got to Sydney, anyways?

  But he’d got there, that was certain,

  For the wire was plain and clear.

  I could never guess conundrums,

  So I had another beer.

  In the morning, bright and early,

  I was out and saddled up,

  And away to break the record

  Of old Carbine for the Cup.

  And I made that cuddy gallop

  As he’d never done before;

  And, so-help-me-bob, McPherson

  Was there waiting at the door!

  And the kid was right as ninepence,

  Sleepin’ peaceful in his bunk,

  And McTavish that delighted

  He’d made everybody drunk!

  And McPherson says: ‘Well, Ginger,

  You did pretty well, I heard;

  But you must admit you’re beaten,

  Joe—I rode the Oozlum Bird!’

  Said he’d often studied science

  Long before he’d came out here,

  And he’d struck a sort of notion,

  Which you’ll think is mighty queer—

  That the earth rolls round to eastward

  And that birds, by rising high,

  Might just stop and travel westward,

  While the earth was rolling by!

  So he saddled up the Oozlum,

  Rose some miles above the plain,

  Let the Earth turn underneath him

  Till he spotted the Domain!

  Then came down, and walked up George-street,

  Got the stuff and wired to me;

  Rose again and reached Marengo

  Just as easy as could be!

  ‘But,’ says I, ‘if you went westward

  Just as simple as you say,

  How did you get back?’ He answered:

  ‘Oh, I came the other way!’

  So in six-and-twenty hours,

  Take the yarn for what it’s worth,

  Jock McPherson and the Oozlum

  Had been all around the earth!

  It’s a curious bird, the Oozlum,

  And a bird that’s mighty wise,

  For it always flies tail-first to

  Keep the dust out of its eyes!

  And I heard that since McPherson

  Did that famous record ride,

  They won’t let a man get near ’em,

  Couldn’t catch one if you tried!

  If you don’t believe the story,

  And some people don’t, yer know;

  Why the blinded map’ll prove it,

  ‘Strike me fat!’ said Ginger Joe.

  ‘Look along the Queensland border,

  On the South Australian side,

  There’s this township! christened Birdsville,

  ’Cause of Jock McPherson’s ride!’

  Another variation exists in the United States military, where an ‘Oozlefinch’ has been the official mascot of the Air Defense Artillery since the early twentieth century. As befits an air force mascot, the featherless Oozlefinch flies at the incredibly fast pace that sped Jock McPherson to Sydney and back, but has the additional military advantage of tearing enemy aircraft from the skies. Like our own species, the Oozlefinch flies backwards, but is not thought to perform the same unique vanishing act when alarmed.

  The Tea and Sugar Train

  The world’s longest stretch of straight railway line runs for 478 kilometres along the track that tethers Port Augusta to Kalgoorlie, forming part of the Trans-Australian Railway. It was a condition of Federation that the ‘Trans’ be built across the Nullarbor Plain to link up the east and west coasts. When the rails were finally connected in 1917 it was possible to travel across the continent by rail for the first time—as long as passengers did not mind frequent stops and transfers to the different rail gauges that were then a feature of the railway system. As the visiting American humourist Mark Twain remarked after experiencing this irritation in the 1890s—‘Now comes a singular thing, the oddest thing, the strangest thing, the unaccountable marvel that Australia can show, namely the break of gauge at Albury. Think of the paralysis of intellect that gave that idea birth.’

  During the gruelling seven years of surveying and building the nearly 1700 kilometres of the Trans, workers had to be supplied by trains coming from the South Australian and the Western Australian ends of the line. At an indeterminate time during and after the construction of the line, the regular service that came to be known as the ‘Tea and Sugar Train’ appeared. No one knows just when it started running, but the ‘Tea and Sugar’, as it was affectionately known, was well established by 1917. At this stage, the train consisted of a fruit and vegetable carriage, a butcher’s shop and a general supply van. Because there was no refrigeration at that time, the butcher’s van had to carry live sheep, slaughtering them as they went. The train was gradually improved, though it was still lacking a stove in 1919. Staff had to jump off the train when it stopped, light a fire and boil their billy beside the line. It was not unusual for the train to leave before they could brew a cup of tea.

  Because the line was so long and crossed some very tough terrain, maintenance was—and is—a big issue. A number of settlements of railway workers and thei
r families grew up along the track, including a number named after prime ministers and other notable Australians, as well as Boonderoo, 913 Mile, Rawlinna and Ooldea. Somehow, these tiny settlements had to be supplied with the necessities of life—including water—and the Tea and Sugar was the only way to do it. The needs of these communities were stored in a vast warehouse in Port Augusta, from where the Tea and Sugar would roll out for the four-day trip to a few miles outside Kalgoorlie. The journey took 57 hours, though the train travelled only by day, stopping at night to take orders for the next trip.

  In 1925, life was still a frontier experience for the people living along the Trans:

  Sometimes the scene is picturesque. Bush men mounted on horses, mules or camels may rub shoulders with uniformed railway employees and their women folk and children and it is not unusual for scantily clad aboriginals to patronise the moving stores. The train-shopkeepers are smartly clad in the regulation garb of their particular trade. Mr. K.A. Richardson, who for many years prior to the coming of the East-West train, carried mails from Port Augusta to Tarcoola, has seen wild natives hovering about the train. That was in the early days of the line, and most of the natives are now semi-civilised.

  Conditions for those living and working on the line were extreme, as an observer related in 1928:

  Here and there along the railway line are little settlements mostly composed of railway workers. The huts that these workers live in are of the two-compartment shanty type or one room. At least, you can hardly call them rooms. In the hot summer sun (the temperature is 116 degrees in the shade) the workers and their wives suffer and stew, and the little children cry for a cool drink. Meanwhile, in the trans train, the toff-class enjoy themselves to the limit.

  The highlight of the year for the children of the Trans was Christmas. The anxiously awaited Tea and Sugar would arrive with a special load of seasonal treats, otherwise impossible to come by in the emptiness of the Nullarbor Plain.

  The importance of this lifeline was highlighted during World War II, when shortages prevented the Tea and Sugar running. After two to three weeks without bread, meat and other supplies, the workers along the line threatened to stop work. The Australian Workers Union had to step in to get the train running once again.

  By 1955, the pioneering efforts of Dr Eleanor (or Rita, as she was known) Stang (1894–1978) saw an infant health and mother-care ‘oasis’ attached to the Tea and Sugar, bringing much-needed medical care and advice to the isolated mothers along the line. In the 1970s, general medical services were also sometimes available through the train.

  The Tea and Sugar Train continued to bring food and comforts to the families along the line until 1996. By then it boasted air conditioning and a conversion to a rolling supermarket through which buyers walked and selected their needs from rows of shelving. The Tea and Sugar is still fondly remembered by many.

  The black stump

  Where is it? How did it originate? What does it mean? That iconic Australian expression ‘beyond the black stump’ or ‘not this side of the black stump’ refers to any location considered to be far away from the speaker, usually well beyond the rural urban fringe, in the bush or in the outback. No one is quite sure where the outback begins and ends, but we all know that it’s a long way away and very big. So important is the black stump that it has evolved its own considerable body of lore and legend to explain its existence.

  Some stories rely on what the dictionary makers call etymology, the history of a word from its origins—at least as far as these can be determined—and its appearance in books, newspapers and other documentary sources. There are various tantalising allusions to the black stump in nineteenth-century sources of this kind, but nothing very conclusive; we have to wait until the twentieth century to find references. Before that, so the story goes, the term originated among rural carriers who used fire-blackened tree stumps as way finders; for example, ‘Turn left at the third black stump after the river.’ Needless to say, there is absolutely no evidence for this belief, which, of course, does not mean it is wrong, just unsubstantiated.

  A number of bush towns claim the honour of being the location of the original black stump. As in all good folklore, each has an elaborate tale to justify its claim. In Coolah, New South Wales, it is said that one of the early ‘limits of location’ involved the boundary of a property known as the ‘Black Stump Run’. Later, in the 1860s, an inn was built in the area and named The Black Stump Inn. This establishment was an important stop for travellers and so ‘beyond the black stump’ came into use as a reference to going beyond the boundaries of settlement. Variations on this theme include the suggestion that blackened stumps functioned as unofficial markers for property boundaries.

  A colourful legend underlies the Riverina village of Merriwagga’s claim to be the location of the original blackened stump. In 1886, the wife of a passing carrier, Barbara Blain, was burned to death when her dress caught alight in the flames of the camp fire. It is said that in describing the body, her husband said it resembled a black stump. A local waterhole is named Black Stump Tank.

  Not to be outdone by New South Wales, the Queensland town of Blackall has a scientific legend to bolster its claim. A surveying party visited the area in the late 1880s and established a site for observing longitude and latitude. Theodolites mounted on tree stumps were used for this work, a number of which were fire-blackened. The remote country beyond this site was considered to be ‘beyond the black stump’.

  Just how remote and isolated the black stump and beyond could be is highlighted in at least one traditional yarn.

  Some time in the 1930s a boundary rider is well out beyond the black stump. He comes across an old prospector who asks him how the war is going. Taken aback, the boundary rider tells him that the 1914–18 war has been over for years.

  ‘Really!’ exclaims the prospector. ‘Can you tell me who won it?’

  ‘Our mob won, of course.’

  The prospector cackled. ‘I expect Queen Vic is happy then, she never liked the bloody Boers.’

  It has also been said that the term originated in an Aboriginal story. A giant Aboriginal man once threw an enormous spear high into the sky. When it eventually returned to earth most of the wooden spear had been burned away, leaving only the blackened stump in the ground where it fell. Apparently, the legend does not say exactly where the spear fell, which is the whole point (ouch!) of the story.

  There are also outrageous assertions that New Zealand actually originated the phrase. The Kiwis might use it, but of course they got it from us!

  Whatever we might think of these passionately held claims to the first black stump, they do not explain those other essentials of bush geography like Oodnagallabie, Woop Woop, Bullamakanka or simply ‘out to buggery’. Where are these places?

  The rise and fall of Cobb & Co.

  The legendary coaching line known as Cobb & Co. has a special place in Australian history. The company, in one or another of its various forms, was an integral element of everyday life from the 1850s to the early twentieth century (for more on Cobb & Co., see Chapter 4).

  The company saw off its many rivals over that time, basing its success on its ability to provide a faster and, sometimes, more comfortable means of getting from place to place. Then, as now, time was money, and the men who established and ran Cobb & Co. profited handsomely from their ability to exploit this reality.

  Cobb & Co. was established during the Victorian gold rush era by expatriate Americans Freeman Cobb and three others. The company imported ‘Concord coaches’ from the United States, a sturdy design well suited to the difficulties and distances of Australian roads and tracks. One of its features was a suspension system of leather straps supposed to make the ride a more comfortable experience for the passengers, which gave Cobb & Co. a competitive edge over their many rivals.

  Freeman Cobb sold out after a few years and returned to America, leaving the company in the hands of a consortium, the main figure in which turned out to be ano
ther American. James Rutherford was a chronic over-worker, almost continually on the roads, railways and coaching routes from before dawn until after dark. He kept up a punishing schedule of surprise visits on the company’s employees, deal making and generally powering the enterprise that would make a modern CEO wilt.

  A secret of Cobb & Co.’s success was its ability to win government mail contracts. And when they could not win them, there were always competitor companies holding such contracts to be bought out and closed down. Almost continual expansion and agglomeration were key features of the business model.

  As the enterprise expanded into different colonies, it split into different businesses, though all retained the valuable asset of the Cobb & Co. name. It is arguable that Cobb & Co. was Australia’s first iconic brand name, so widespread, influential and recognised did it become.

  From the mid-1860s, the success of the business allowed its owners to branch into other areas of opportunity, including extensive pastoral properties and minerals development. Success also allowed the continual improvement of the vehicles and their horses, though coach travel always remained the ordeal it had been in 1860 when a visiting Englishwoman described her experience of travelling ‘up the country’:

  But oh! The crushing misery. The suffocation of these public conveyances… These vehicles are licensed to carry far too many passengers—from forty or fifty, including those outside. Inside they hold twelve to fifteen. I do not know how many inches are allotted to each passenger; I fancied that only about fifteen fell to my share … I know that I was condensed to a smaller compass than I could have imagined possible.

  She went on to describe the closeness of those beside her and those opposite her ‘keeping from us the pure air’. Just as she felt that she would faint, the woman sitting beside her did so.

  Despite these discomforts, by the mid-1860s it was possible to travel on the Cobb & Co. brand from Cape York, down the eastern seaboard and into South Australia. The coaching company’s mileage was probably the world’s most extensive, larger even than that of the American Wells Fargo.

  The main threat to Cobb & Co. was the railways. Rather than try to compete head-on, the coaching men worked with the railways to provide transport to and from railheads and important stations. This strategy served the company well until they were tempted to have a try at railway-line building. While this might otherwise have been a smart move, the company’s inexperience in building transport routes as opposed to developing and running them was an expensive financial disaster.