Memories of my life

by Mrs. J. S. O. Allen

At first I was afraid of the blacks, of whom there were a great many about the house. They all had nicknames, and had been trained to be very useful. One morning I plucked up courage to venture near their "wurlies." I shall never forget the scene. A number of little black babies were crawling about in the wet, dewy grass, and the sunlight was glistening on their naked little backs. But the children were afraid of us, and would creep under the bushes when they saw us coming. We used all go to see their "corrobories." Sometimes they would be away for days fighting with another tribe, but no strange blacks ever came to attack them. They were fond of showing us their implements of war, of which they had a great variety. I was surprised to hear them talk in fairly good English, and sometimes with a broad Scotch accent. Even the children spoke English well.

They were remarkably agile, too. They would mount perfectly wild horses that would have succeeded in killing a white man. As soon as they were fairly mounted they would fly in the air like rockets, but, like cats, they always landed on their feet. They were splendid mimics, and used their powers of imitation to play many tricks. Some of them would go off among the bushes and imitate the hens. This would bring out the old cook with her basket. When she found the trick that had been played on her she would be very cross, much to the delight of the blacks. But sometimes they would do her a good turn. If she wanted a wild turkey she had only to tell them so, and one of the blacks would dress himself up with boughs and lie down where the wild turkeys came to drink. When the unsuspecting bird came close to what he imagined was a bush a black hand would shoot out and grab him by the leg. So, after all, it paid the cook to be friendly with the blacks.

This was an ideal place for a naturalist. The blacks used to bring in a wonderful variety of eggs, and the place was famed for its bird-life. We had many pets. In fact, what with tame kangaroos, opossums, and emus the place resembled a menagerie. I made a pet of an emu, which used to wait for me at the laundry door every morning. I dressed it up in an old pinafore, and it was so pleased that it followed me wherever I went.

In the early days the wild dogs had been a great pest. Wild cats were numerous, but no one minded them much. At the end of the laundry there was a slab hut, where they kept the beef and mutton hanging. The cats would come here in dozens when all was dark and quiet. If a light was brought they would immediately scamper off. They were beautiful creatures, partly black and partly white.

I marvelled at the bravery of the men who opened up the interior. Mr. John Binney, Mr. Clark, and Mr. McLeod were the first white men to form settlements on that great expanse of country. With so many hostile blacks around they must have had a fearful time. Mrs. Binney showed us a tree, in the trunk of which Mr. Binney used to hide from the blacks. Our nearest neighbors were ten miles away, and the Tatiara township was about sixteen miles from the station. The police had their quarters at Tatiara, which, in those days, was composed of huts. I went there once, and found only one substantial building. It was an hotel. Once in every three months a bush missionary held services in this hotel. We all went to these services, some on horseback and some driving.

The months passed on, and I grew to like the life. Everybody was busy, for there was plenty to do. The lowing of the cattle, driven in for branding, became familiar music to my ears. But, isolated as we were, and simple and rough as the life was, I could not complain of any monotony. Sometimes a hawker would visit us with a large van drawn by a team of bullocks. He would camp for days, and do a brisk trade as a general provider of the wants of the little community. He found good customers among the blacks, for they earned a little money during shearing-time.

Nor were we entirely devoid of the amusements of town-life. More than once a travelling Christy Minstrel Company came to the station. The performers would stay all night and give a theatrical show in the laundry, which I gave up to them for the purpose. From miles around the place station-hands would come to see the show.

The young girl, who went up with me and myself got on nicely together. In the light of added years I can look back now and feel grateful for the hard training I went through then and the lessons those early days taught me. Sometimes we caught glimpses of the many mysteries of the silent bush. The presence of troopers and black-trackers about the station would tell us that something unusual had happened. It might be that the dead body of a man had been found a little way from the station. A consultation of all hands would be held, and the unknown would receive a decent burial, while efforts would be made to discover his identity. When any of the station-hands died they were buried in a little enclosure near the station. If they had lived far out on the boundary of the run they were buried near their huts.

What the blacks did with their dead puzzled us. Mr. Binney insisted that they must be buried, and the dusky relatives would obey. But, shortly afterwards, the graves would be rifled, and the corpses would mysteriously disappear. I asked a very old lubra to tell me what was done with the dead, and she horrified me by replying, "Big one, cookem on sticks."

While I was there Mr. Binney sent a mob of horses to Adelaide. Some of the blacks went with them to help the drovers. They came back by water. Then it was amusing to hear them describe what they had seen in Adelaide. They called the steamboat "Big one wheelbarrow." They said that something pulled them along with "tether ropes on the big one water."