Outback Penguin

by Stuart Kells

  The weather was much better and the track quite good again when I next set off for Adelaide. Miss Howell, aged about ten years, and Mr Langsford were my passengers; the former from her home in Twelfth Street and the latter from the Renmark Hotel. He is the Chief Inspector of Agencies of Savery’s, one of the largest musical instrument shops in Adelaide. And a real decent chap. He is an elderly man, married with two children, has been an organist and for some time was Immigration Officer of South Australia. In the course of business he does a lot of travelling, yet he told me that never before had he travelled 100 miles in a car without stopping. I usually stop at Morgan, but on this occasion we went right to Blanchetown, which is just over 100 miles without a single stop. I got on very well with Mr Langsford and before we reached Blanchetown he had asked me to have tea with him at his home in Brighton, have a swim afterwards and also to stay there for the night. Miss Howell had lived all her life in Renmark and had never before seen a tram, a city, or the sea. After we had left her at Glen Osmond, we proceeded to Brighton where we had tea and afterwards a swim, which was very pleasant. I did not stop the night as Mrs Low was expecting me. So, after thanking him, I proceeded to Keswich. Coming back I had one passenger: Miss Margaret Murphy from the Isolation Hospital. She is a great friend of Mrs Withers. We had a good trip up but there was no special incident to mark the journey. True, we had one puncture – in the Gorge – but the trouble began after the journey was over.

  On this trip I brought up a full-sized treadle sewing machine for Sister Rogers, and I took it in to her in the evening. Mrs Withers and Miss Murphy also came in to see her. You know the result. They wanted to stop and talk the whole evening and so it was after 10 o’clock when I returned from Renmark. I had to go down to Adelaide again the next day and before I left I had to mend a puncture, drain out the oil from the engine and replenish with fresh oil, test and fill batteries, grease and oil the car, and make several minor adjustments. I had, at that time, no tyre tools at all and the puncture took me hours to mend. It was getting the split rim closed that took the time. I turned it in at 1am and went to bed. I was up again at 4.45am and the boss joined me at 5.30am. He took the tyre and rim over to Bundy’s and said he would fix it up over there. I went on with the other jobs. The day, by the way, was Xmas eve.

  Presently the boss came back and said that he had fixed up the tyre, but when he started to inflate it he found that in putting the tube back he had pinched it and so there was a worse puncture than before. I started off on the trip with a spare tyre that was ‘flat’. I first picked up Sister Blair in Twelfth Street (she is a ‘Baby Welfare’ Sister), then I proceeded to the Renmark Hotel for Mr Artland. I enquired at the office and eventually found out that he was shaving. Then he had breakfast, and after leaving his luggage in the car he went to the bar for a ‘spot’. Twice I tried to entice him out of the bar and the third time I dragged him out. He bought a bottle of Port to last him until he reached Morgan. My third passenger was Mr Scholtz and I picked him up at Olivewood. Owing to Mr Artland, I was three-quarters of an hour late in starting.

  So I tried to make up for lost time and managed to reach Morgan in two and a half hours, which means an average speed of roughly thirty m.p.h. I had the spare tyre mended at Morgan and for the second time I had to drag Artland out of an hotel. It was a very hot day and how he managed to drink Port by the bottle-full I don’t know. We had dinner at Blanchetown and for the third time I had to push Artland into the car. Mr Scholtz’s destination was Nuriootpa, so I had to go a different track: Truro, Nuriootpa, Tannunda, Gawler, Adelaide. At Nuriootpa, Artland again managed to enter the hotel and I again had to drag him out. He kept on talking to Sister Blair and myself and saying that ‘he was the only fly in the ointment’. I eventually landed him at his destination in Adelaide and then proceeded to Henley Beach, where Sister was staying. Then back to Keswick again.

  I had two passengers when I went back on the 27th December: Mr Waldie, from Glenelg, and Mr Gell, whom I arranged to meet at the Gresham corner. Mr Gell did not knock-off work until 11am, so it was 11.35am before we made a start. We had dinner at Mount Pleasant, stopped for ten minutes at Sedan and Blanchetown, and for half an hour at Morgan where we had sandwiches and coffee, and reached Renmark at 8.45pm.

  My next trip down was on New Year’s Eve and, as I have mentioned before, it was a record as regards to speed. Left Renmark with Master Haig and Miss Murphy at 8am, two or three stops, arrive Isolation Hospital 3.45pm. I brought back three passengers: Sister Blair and Mr Mount from Henley Beach, and Miss Curtis from Croydon. I had a terrible job to find Miss Curtis as I did not know the name of the people she was staying with. After enquiring at dozens of houses in Robert Street, I eventually found some people named Curtis and they informed me that, a few days previous, they had received a telegram for a Miss Curtis, but it was not for them. They had directed the telegraph boy to the only house where they knew there was a visitor staying and they thought her name might be Curtis. I enquired at the house to which they had directed the telegraph boy and found my passenger. She sat at the back with Don Mount and Sister Blair sat in front. Miss Curtis was quite an attractive passenger, and at Blanchetown Don drew me aside and told me not to worry too much about the bumps as in Miss Curtis’ company he did not mind them at all, in fact he quite enjoyed them. Why? I’m afraid I cannot say. I was too busy looking at the track – you cannot take your eyes off the track for a moment – but I daresay that Don had to hold on to Miss Curtis when going over a bump. Anyhow, they both enjoyed the trip and that’s the chief thing.

  Only one passenger again on my next trip down: Mr Lucas from Kulkyne Street. He had written to the people he was going to stay with in Ward Street, North Adelaide, and told them that he would arrive at about 4.30pm and it was exactly that time when I pulled up outside 316 Ward Street. The only unusual incident I can remember about that trip was the fact that I broke my pipe at Morgan in knocking it out. So nothing extraordinary happened on that trip.

  The weather was terribly hot when I came back. My passengers were Mr and Mrs Martin, and Mr Martin’s mother and sister. Considering the weather, we had a good trip. But it was warm alright. Mr Martin had been steward on a boat – steward, second steward and ‘B.R’ (bedroom steward) were the positions he had filled. While having dinner at Blanchetown, he marked the waiter as an ex-steward and he had a long talk with him afterwards. The waiter had had about thirty years at sea as a steward on nearly all the big liners and he appeared to be quite a notorious character. His name is, I believe, Jack Sullivan.

  My next load down was a load for the Test Match. I went down on the 14th Jan. 1925 and the Test commenced on the 16th Jan. I had a full load, five passengers: Mr Heath, Tareoula Street; Mr Strachan, 25th Street; and Mr Higgins and two of his daughters, from Renmark Avenue. The roads were just drying-up after a heavy storm and soon after starting we ran into several showers. After Morgan, however, we had a very good run.

  All the way down nothing was talked of except cricket. All the passengers were charmed with the trip and greatly enjoyed the scenery of the Gorge. Mr Heath I left at the Returned Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Club in Angas Street. The rest of us went on to Mrs Low, as my passengers had written to her and asked her to try and fix them up. Mrs Low agreed to have the two girls, and the two men could get ‘bed and breakfast’ next door. The Test Match was to commence on the day I was due to leave Adelaide and, as I had no passenger, I was not over anxious to go. I had had a row with Bob Beer just before I left because he did us out of some money, quite a ‘tidy’ amount, and had told him that this would be my last trip. On enquiring at our agents, I found that two passengers had booked up for Tuesday and Mr Lucas, who I had brought down the trip before, wanted to go back on Tuesday. The two passengers who had booked with our agents had paid them and they paid me, so I decided to wait until Tuesday before returning. I rang up the boss on Friday morning, at 6.30am, to see if he agreed and as I had the money he did. So on Friday morning off I went to the Test
Match. This was the third Test. The English had lost the first two and if they lost this one they lost the ‘Ashes’, so excitement was at fever heat. Adelaide was upside down. If you went to see a man he had invariably ‘gone to the Test’.

  The opening was sensational enough. Collins was clean bowled by Tate for three runs, the wickets fell rapidly – three for twenty-two; then a stand; four for 114; five for 118; six for 119. I think these figures are correct, but they are all from memory. Then the tail wagged, and wagged, and kept on wagging. It was anybody’s game right until the last man was out and England again lost by eleven runs, less than three boundary hits. Poor old England! I think I shall have to take up cricket myself!

  I had a fine time during my few days’ holiday in Adelaide. I watched the cricket all day Friday and Saturday afternoon, went for a swim on Saturday night. I was yachting Sunday morning in Mr Potter’s homemade, canvas covered, fourteen-foot yacht. We just cruised about between Glenelg and Brighton. I had dinner at the Potters and in the afternoon we motored to Morialta to see the falls. We left the car at the entrance to the Gorge in which the falls are situated and then walked up as far as the falls. Owing to the time of the year, there was very little water anywhere and only a trickle descending the falls. The scenery, however, was beautiful, but I cannot describe it to you as I was only there such a short time. To describe it one would have to take pen and paper with them and write amid the glorious surroundings. Bill and I, in order to get an even better view, separated from the rest of the party and climbed up the steep, winding steps that lead to the Second Falls. At the top of the long flight of steps, which are cut out of the solid rock, is a natural balcony or, rather, it is a natural path around the side of a steep cliff that has been turned into a balcony by the simple addition of a cement (ferro-concrete) railing. Bill hugged the cliff here, but I stepped up to the railing in order to admire the view. Below me was a sheer drop of hundreds of feet. On the left could be seen a tiny pool of water into which, in the winter, the water pours and splashes after descending the fall; but then it looked very placid. On the right was a stone bridge over the stream that was then non-existent. After walking along the winding cliff path for several hundred yards we suddenly saw a lovely view of a portion of Adelaide in front of us and, beyond that, the sea, the glorious sea. On Monday I did some writing and in the evening I again went swimming and spent the evening at the Potters.

  On Tuesday morning I left for Renmark, my passengers being Mr and Mrs Slade, who I picked up at Fullarton, and Mr Lucas from North Adelaide. Between Taylorville and Overland Corner the engine developed a suspicious squeak which gradually became worse and worse and when I, at length, reached the Corner I was frightened to proceed any further. I carefully looked at the engine, but could find nothing wrong with it. At length, by an absolute fluke, I spotted the trouble – nothing more serious than no oil or grease on the fan bearing. I soon remedied it and again proceeded on my way. I left Mr Lucas at Kulkyne Street, and Mr and Mrs Slade at Mr Ritchie’s block in Block E. Then back to Chowilla Street. I was up early the next morning, mended a puncture, greased and oiled the car and drove around to Olivewood to pick up my passengers: Mrs Young and three children. Her destination was Birdwood, but she wanted to go there via Bower as her sister lived there and she wanted to see her. Only three kids, there seemed to be kids everywhere. If I looked to the left there were kids and if I looked to the right there were kids. If I looked up there were kids in front and kids behind and, yet, there were only three, all boys.

  It rained part of the way to Morgan but not sufficiently to cause me to put the side curtains up. At Morgan I got my first puncture. They had dinner while I changed the wheel and procured more petrol. I then went on to Bower and after half an hours’ searching found her sister’s house, a three roomed cottage on the side of the railway line. We stopped here an hour and I had a cup of tea and a couple of pieces of cake. Then I had to try a fresh track from Bower to Sedan. Not a bad track, but a few very rotten bumps. I passed through Sedan all right but between Keyneton and Eden Valley I had two punctures which delayed me over an hour. And this is where the kids came to light. If I put down a spanner a kid collared it. If I wanted any tool or spanner a kid had got it. And in chasing one kid to get back a certain spanner another kid would collar another spanner. Mrs Young is very deaf, so the kids could yell as much as they liked without annoying her. When I jacked-up a wheel and took the rim off, the kids would try and push the car over and it does not take much force to do this when a car is jacked-up on a bumpy road. Oh, the terrible kids. It was twenty-five miles from where I had the last puncture to their destination, three miles from Birdwood, and I did it in forty minutes, so you can tell I ‘shifted’ and the kids yelled the whole way. After I had ‘dumped’ them I felt very thankful and jogged merrily along all by my little self.

  Coming back, I brought the ‘Test Match crowd’: Mr Strachan, Mr Higgins and his two daughters. Left Adelaide just on 9am and arrived in Renmark just before 6pm and no trouble at all.

  And that is all the trips I have done to date. Yet several persons have told me that track driving has made me look five years older. There was a person here yesterday who, quite seriously, guessed my age as twenty-five and I am not twenty until next July.

  I don’t think I have ever before made quite such a long entry in one day in my diary. I have certainly spent a few hours writing today, but if only it interest you, to whom it is written, it is time well spent. In case I do not have any time for writing this evening I must mention one item of great importance and that is that Mr Withers is now a ‘happy father’. Mrs Withers presented him with a son last Wednesday. He was born with a caul. I have read about such things – it is a popular fallacy that a possessor of a caul cannot be drowned – but never before have I seen one. As a preventative against drowning they have been known to fetch £10. What fools some people are.

  Sunday, 15 February 1925

  I cannot resist the temptation of scribbling a few words in my diary. Mrs Withers is still at the hospital, so we are still baching.

  This morning I had an invitation out to breakfast at Don Mount’s camp. He told me he would try and provide a fish breakfast. An hour before I arrived this morning, he placed a ‘dip-tin’ containing one slice of bacon in Clement’s dam and then went back to the Westes – he is baching on their block – filled the copper with water and lit the fire. He was going to cook the yabbies he hoped to catch in the copper. In Clement’s dam yabbies are seen, but only occasionally. We walked down to the dam together, he took the dip tin out of the water and it contained exactly … what do you think? A dip tin is roughly the size of a kerosene tin. Well, it contained exactly one slice of bacon.

  ‘What a nuisance,’ said Don. ‘I shall have to get something else for breakfast now.’

  We went back to his camp and after a prolonged search found three slices of bacon.

  ‘What a nuisance,’ said Don for the second time. ‘I am afraid that will hardly be enough for two of us. I shall have to get something else for breakfast.’

  After another search he found some money and he then departed for Water’s to buy some eggs. While he was away, I lit the fire. When he returned, he asked me what I would like for breakfast.

  ‘If you don’t like eggs, have bacon,’ he said. ‘If you don’t like bacon, have eggs. And if you don’t like either, have both or neither.’ (Note the poetry in the last sentence.)

  ‘Which are you having?’ I asked him.

  ‘Eggs and bacon,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, I’ll have bacon and eggs, thanks.’

  He then went over to Weste’s to borrow a cup and a knife and fork. He hadn’t been back many minutes before he discovered that he had no bread. I went to Weste’s to borrow some and while returning I met him on the way to Weste’s to borrow a drop of milk. I went back to the camp and looked through a pile of books he had there – he is a great reader – until he announced that breakfast was ready. We started off with Granose, a
prepared breakfast food, which was followed by eggs and bacon and bacon and eggs. Tea was served from a huge enamelled teapot. I had the ‘chair of honour’ which was an old deck chair re-covered with a chaff bag, but I do not recommend this type of chair for ‘sitting up’ to a meal. It may be alright for afternoon tea but for breakfast – no.

  During, and after, breakfast we talked about books and poetry. Just before I departed, Don placed all the plates, knives and forks (two of each) in a dish ‘to soak’.

  Sunday, 22 February 1925

  Last night I received two letters from England, one from home and one from Allen. I read them for the first time when I was in bed (this was the first opportunity I had) and I have just read them again. The content of these letters has properly stirred me up. I feel as if I cannot rest. I want to go and jump a fence, or play some strenuous game, or jump in the car and try and break some speed record. I don’t know why. I can only ‘suppose’. And what I suppose is that the letters make me feel unsatisfied with my present position, and as I can do nothing to alter it for several weeks, perhaps months, the feeling comes to me to do something strenuous in order to forget the fact that I must remain here for what appears, at the moment, to be some considerable time. Rather an unsatisfactory explanation, I admit, but I don’t feel much inclined to write now. I would rather have a game of cricket.