by Stuart Kells
For looking after his sheep Mr Clifton gave me one pound, which goes to prove what a generous man he is. It cost me about fourteen shillings, so I netted six shillings. The fare cost nothing, as I had a drover’s pass. I lost no sheep, for which I was very thankful. The unfortunate part of the whole business was the fact that when I went to ‘Millamolong’ I had not anticipated anything like this and I did not take working togs with me save work pants. I was unable to borrow any there. So, on the trip, I did one pound worth of damage to my coat and spoilt my best hat. Still – it’s all good experience.
When I arrived back, I found a parcel and seven or eight letters awaiting me. The parcel contained a beautiful Christmas cake, a pipe, books and numerous John O’London’s. Three of the letters were from home and what letters they were, too. Just as perfect as they could possibly be. One was outstanding in its goodness, for it contained some good English notes. Another letter was from Auntie Emma and Auntie Edith; one from Gladys; one from a friend in Adelaide, enclosing a tie as a Xmas present; and one was from Mrs Thompson, telling me that our proposed trip around the State was ‘off’ owing to numerous reasons which she would give me when she saw me in Sydney. She also sent me a present in the shape of a box of chocolates.
My room was in a lovely mess as it had been used as a children’s playroom.
My first morning back I fetched a load of wood and have been ploughing ever since. This morning I helped Mr Brown tidy up the garden, as some relations of his are coming to visit him. I was left in charge of the children last night while all the rest went to the pictures. They have all gone into town again tonight, but I don’t expect they will be long. I sincerely hope not, as the baby is very restless.
Saturday, 16 January 1926
I have just written a letter of condolence to Peter Vandershar, whose wife died the day I left ‘Millamolong’. It must be a terrible thing for him, for this land is foreign to him, his home being in Holland. Miss Rowlands tells me that she has taken charge of the child who is quite a bonnie little fellow.
Every day this week I have been ploughing. The ground is very hard and, consequently, it is very dusty. Sometimes it has been so hard that I could not see a trace of the horses a few feet away, and had to trust to luck about going in the right direction. It has been hot all the week, with warm winds, so I have had a most pleasant time.
Mr and Mrs Charlie Thompson arrived at Coonabarabran last Tuesday, and they come out here nearly every day. On Wednesday Mr Thompson senior arrived; he is staying here. About fifty-five years of age, he is one of the keenest business men I have ever met. He was born in the north of England but has spent most of his life in Sydney. We have got on very well together and I think I might be able to touch him for a ‘fiver’ before he goes. He told me today that he does not think I am cut out for the land and that I should try to get a job as a newspaper reporter. He said, judging by the way I talk, a literary life would suit me better than this.
This afternoon we all went out to Timor, where we had tea, arriving back at sundown.
There’s no doubt that it’s hard for a physically tired man to write. I am feeling that way myself and, after careful consideration, have decided that ‘bed’s a good place’. So, I will retire.
Sunday, 17 January 1926
I was thinking this morning over various conversations I have recently had with various people, and I was surprised at the number of anecdotes etc. we use in ordinary conversations. I was talking to Mr Thompson yesterday afternoon at Timor. We spoke of books and authors, and to show how absorbed some artists become in their work I mentioned the case of a famous artist who one day called on his best friend in a very worried state of mind. A man was going to summons him for an overdue account of £40 unless he met it in a day or so. ‘I haven’t a bean,’ the artist said, ‘and I don’t know where I can borrow it.’ His friend suggested that he should see his bank manager about it. The artist jumped at the idea and asked his friend to accompany him. The bank manager was very sympathetic and ended the matter by saying, ‘There is no need for you to ask for an overdraft, as at present your account is £7,000 in credit’.
A little later on, to emphasize the fact that some really clever people in one direction seem unable to turn their brains to another, Mr Thompson told me that a friend of his, who was a qualified chemist, wished to start out on his own. He was able to borrow a certain amount of money from some chemist’s association, but still needed about £200. He could think of no means of how to raise it and asked Mr Thompson for advice.
‘How did you learn to become a chemist?’ enquired Mr T.
‘My father paid a premium of £100 to a certain chemist and in twelve months I had passed all my exams.’
‘Yes, and if you managed to start on your own, would you manage the place by yourself?’
‘Oh no, I should have to have a couple of assistants’.
‘And you would have to pay them?’
Then the ‘would be’ chemist saw the gist of Mr T.’s remarks and question. ‘You mean I should take pupils’
‘Why not, aren’t you qualified to do so?’
‘Well, I never thought of that. Of course, I could. A couple of pupils at £100 and there I am’. He did so and is now getting on famously.
Tuesday, 19 January 1926
I have received certain news, or information, today and I do not know how to classify it: good, bad, or indifferent. Here it is. Everybody that knows me reckons that I shall never do any good at sheep farming or, in fact, on the land. It was at tea time this evening that this gradually leaked out. First one name was mentioned and then another; eventually practically everybody that I know, or knows me, was spoken of and his or her views given. Some were quite flattering and others were certainly not.
Mr A. Brown thinks that I have plenty of common sense and my head screwed on the right way, but my chief interest does not lie in my work but in books. Mr R. Brown: never do any good on the land. Mr Thompson: ‘That chap Lane is quite a clever fellow and will make a name for himself if he gets off the land.’ I attribute the first part of this remark to the fact that, when conversing with him, I did more listening than talking. Mr T. Rowlands, Doug Rowlands, Bob Rowlands, Miss Rowlands and Mr Zell all told Mr Brown that, in their opinion, I should never be any good on the land – not that I was a ‘mug’ but just that my heart was not in the game. These views were also expressed by Mr Clifton. And I think that they all know what they are talking about.
I received a letter today from Messageries Maritimes stating that I could obtain ’tween deck accommodation on the Ville de something or other, due to sail on the sixteenth of February (a month today), and I’ve a jolly good mind to reserve accommodation. I am informed that I should have a berth to sleep in, should have the same food as the crew and that showers would be available for my convenience.
Saturday, 23 January 1926
Nearly every day I think of some fresh plan about returning home and today’s plan is as follows: book a ’tween deck berth on the Ville de Strasbourg on the condition that, if I find the accommodation unsatisfactory, I can, by paying extra, secure a superior accommodation. By doing this I safeguard myself. If the conditions under which I shall have to exist are too bad I shall ‘move up one’.
The Ville de Strasbourg is due to sail on the sixteenth of next month, that is, three weeks next Tuesday. Ye gods, and I have promised to visit ‘Millamolong’ again before leaving for home. So if I do go by this boat I shall have to get a move on. Luggage to forward and insure, passport to renew, affairs to settle up. Mr Brown has advertised for another jackaroo and he said that I could go whenever I like. All going well, I shall have left here in three weeks’ time, never to return.
As it is, I sit on a cultivator all day – I had harnessed up by 5.30am this morning – and think and hope and scheme, ‘building castles in the air’ perhaps. By April I shall be in England. Shall I cable home that I have left Australia or shall I make a surprise visit? I think I had better cable, as if I
don’t all the family might keep on sending me letters. Also, if I don’t let them know I am coming how can I expect the railway station to be decorated and the band present? No, cable I must, even if it costs me a week’s wages.
I believe I really am getting excited. In a month’s time I might have started! Two months – somewhere on the Continent. Three months – settled down at home, perhaps never to travel again.
Last week, while I was ploughing, the dust was sometimes so dense that I could not see the horses. It was hot, too. Not the dust but the weather, although, strictly speaking, I suppose the dust was hot. I doubt whether you would have recognized me as I had a pith helmet on and was wearing my motoring goggles with dark glasses.
Australian Farmer’s Commandment:
Six days shalt thou labour and on the seventh day thou shalt do all thy odd jobs.
Tuesday, 26 January 1926
Today has been the warmest, or hottest, day of the year, or season. In Australian language it has been a snodger, a corker, a humdinger, a cow, a stinking hot, a pig, a brute etc., etc., of a day.
Although I don’t suppose the temperature was anything startling – 100°F to 105°F, I expect – the humidity was very high. At midday it was a still, stuffy, killing heat and as the occasional blast of wind blew across the paddock I was cultivating they were similar to the blast of hot air which escapes when the door of a hot oven, or gas stove, is opened. All the time I was enveloped in a dense cloud of dust with which I was covered from head to foot in a few minutes.
Monday, 1 February 1926
Last Thursday the whole family left for Manly (Sydney) where they hope to spend three weeks on holiday. So I am all on my pat, baching. And things are rotten. The weather has been terrifyingly hot for about a fortnight and what with baching, ploughing and the weather it is enough to make any man swear. But it’s not for long, as I have secured a berth on the Ville de Strasbourg due to sail on the sixteenth.
Also, I am trying to make the best of things while I am here. Yesterday, being Sunday, I did not rise until nearly 9am. I was not feeling too good, so had no breakfast and for dinner a cup of tea and half a dozen biscuits. As it was hot, I did not get out of my pyjamas till 6pm when I changed to ride into town to post some letters.
I think you would have smiled if you had seen me taking the rams down for a drink, about 5am, dressed in a pyjama suit, slippers and pith helmet. I rise fairly early in the morning – 5am or 5.30am – and get as early a start as possible. I knock off ploughing about 12.00 noon. Today I came straight into the house, had a shower, changed into pyjamas, had dinner and am now amusing myself with a little pen pushing. In half an hour’s time I shall change into working togs and do another four hours ploughing.
As regard food, I am living very high. Don’t be surprised, for I mean the word absolutely literally. For breakfast this morning I had one egg and two boiled chickens. Unfortunately, the chickens were not boiled long enough and also they were very small. To be absolutely candid, they were cooked for three and a half minutes. And as regards size, as they were both encased in ordinary sized egg shells you can imagine that they were not too large.
Um, yes, it was a very high breakfast. For dinner today I had bread which was a week old (and in this weather it manages to become quite hard in that time), butter which had to be scooped up with a spoon and one cucumber which I had given me yesterday. And to drink, three or four glasses of tepid water.
Wednesday, 10 February 1926
Verily, verily, the time is drawing nigh for my departure from this land of milk and honey and, incidentally, sun and flies. For tomorrow morning, at 9.30am, a car should arrive here for the purpose of conveying me to Coonabarabran. The train leaves at 11.45am for Sydney and then I commence to get a move on. My affairs are in a bit of a muddle. I cannot get my ticket from the shipping company until I show them my passport all in order. I have sent to get this renewed, but cannot get this done until a visa is produced from the French authorities allowing me to cross through their country. And I cannot get either of these until I produce a certificate from the Taxation Department showing that I owe them no money. So I shall have to hustle around to all these places and try and straighten things up a little.
Last Thursday I received a cablegram from Allen asking when I was coming home and thanks to his generosity it was a reply paid one. I wrote a reply and Mr Roy Brown took it into town for me. Now this cable had been addressed to ‘Millamolong’ and from there it had been sent on by post, so that Coonabarabran P.O. did not know anything about it. They said they would have to wire to Mandurama before they could send the reply and – would you believe it possible – they did not do this until Saturday morning. I think it is disgraceful. Firstly, to send on a cable by mail instead of by telegram and, secondly, to wait a day and a half – in fact, two days – before attempting to find out about the reply paid condition. This, however, is fairly typical of Australia’s P.O.s. As I am writing, the train is just passing by over an hour late – again, typical.
We still have the hot weather with us. Never before in this district has such a long spell of hot weather been known. It has lasted since Christmas. I was at Loveband’s three times last week and the temperature there was 98°F, 104°F and 108°F, and the thermometer was hanging in a real cool place. Usually the nights here are quite cool and during the last six years there have not been more than an average of two a year, and yet we have just had a dozen in succession; nothing like this has ever been known here before. Last night was the coolest we have had for a month and yet today is a real scorcher. Since I have been baching I have taken on the ‘pyjama habit’. As soon as work is over I have a shower, don pyjamas and remain in them until the next morning. They are certainly the coolest clothes I have, so why not? Last Saturday night I rode in to Coonabarabran and went to the pictures. I was informed, about 11pm, that Dr Docker, Dick Busby, Jack Middleton and Mr Roy would be playing tennis on our court on Sunday morning. I arrived back at 1am, went to bed and rose at 5.30am, weeded, levelled, swept and marked the court – which took three hours. Then I settled down to writing business letters for an hour. I had not time for breakfast, but rode on into town where I went to the chemist’s. I helped him to develop a film I had left there the previous evening, and the prints I enclosed in my letter to the Passport Department. I then had to collar a J.P., bank manager, clergyman or doctor to sign certain forms, but could not locate one until 5.30pm. Then I rode back and had something to eat.
I have been very unlucky during this time of baching. I rode into town last Wednesday and, among other things, purchased one and a half pounds of steak. The next morning I went to cook some, but it was all green. So I soaked some dried apricots and the next morning cooked them. As they were not cooked by the time I left to go on with the ploughing, I left them on the stove. When I came back three or four hours later, I could not see them and could hardly see the saucepan for ants. I tried to strain them, but it was no good. I then tried my hand at baking apples and, as I did not like leaving them in the oven for fear of the same fate as the apricots, I left them on top of a kitchenette thing we have. While I was away a fowl got into the kitchen, and besides losing all the apples it took me a quarter of an hour to clean up the mess. Yesterday I ran out of bread, so last night I cooked a cake – my own recipe. As much flour as you think advisable, plus baking powder and a fair amount of sugar, a pinch of salt – if you think of it (I didn’t), a couple of eggs, and half a cupful of butter (it is really butter oil this weather), a handful or so of currants and sultanas. Mix all up together with milk or water, or both, and bake in any old sort of an oven – that is, hot or cold – until it is cooked. I did it, and it was a great success. I also fried some Jonny Cake. This too was ‘good o’.
I was surprised to meet Miss Herbert in town last Saturday; she used to be a school mistress here. Since leaving here at Christmas time she has visited Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Mildura and then back again via Melbourne and Sydney. Quite a nice holiday. Yesterday a
fternoon I did some washing, and now I most get along and do some ironing.
Thursday, 11 February 1926
I am sitting on a cane chair on the verandah of ‘Bective’ waiting for the car that is to take me into Coonabarabran for England via Sydney, Marseilles, Paris and Calais. C’est fini, at least I hope so – ploughing, cultivating, harvesting and all the other operations that are necessary to make a grain of wheat bear a hundredfold.
I am just beginning to realize that, in some ways, I am not suitable for farming. One (and that an essential one), my whole heart is not in the game. It is easy enough to say ‘put your heart into it’ or words to that effect, but it is hard to do so. To be absolutely candid, I am far more interested in books than in rams.
Many months ago Mrs Brown told me that I ought not to spend so much of my spare time in writing and that it would pay me better to read more about sheep and farming, and I laughed at the idea. Now I see that she was perfectly right. However, as I have been writing the last few lines the car has passed through the front gate and is rapidly approaching, so I must away. Cheerio, ‘Bective’.
SYDNEY TO LONDON
‘Blanothol’, Fairlight Street, Manly
Saturday, 13 February 1926
Everything is going on very smoothly and according to plan. I had a rotten trip down as it was hot and, being hard up, I had to travel second class. The most comfortable way is to travel first, for then, by paying 12/6 extra, one can obtain a sleeper and this makes all the difference. As it was, I had to sit on a hard seat from 11.45am to 5am the next morning and, incidentally, from 7.30am – when I had one and a half slices of bread and jam at Mr Roy’s – I had nothing to eat until 8pm, when I was able to obtain a pie and cup of coffee. Arrived Sydney station at 5am and had breakfast there.