G
Guest
IN THE NICK OF TIME.
One morning, seventy-two years ago, young Charlie Cook was working' at the claim with his father, at Chow Flat. Now where was Chow Flat? Well, it was in the vicinity of Wattle Flat, which is three or four miles from Sofala. The little creek that drained the flat made its way down into Bell's creek, which enters the Turon river below Springs creek, which yielded "Roger's Nugget." I trust that, after all that explanation, Chow Flat will stand out conspicuously as a blind boil on the end of the reader's nose. There are so many creeks and flats associated with mining fields that one has to be explicit in locating them. Now, let's get back to Charlie. He was in charge of the puddling-tub and cradle, while his father was "kyooting" after some washdirt, so as to save stripping six or eight feet of overburden. The wash was puggy and had to be puddled well before it was put through the cradle. Things were looking blue with the Cook family where there were ten mouths to feed. The storekeepers at Wattle Flat and Sofala had stopped Dad Cook's credit, which brought things to a crisis that day, seventy-two years ago, when the kyooting was going on. It was just a forlorn hope. Chinamen had worked around the spot, and Chinese rarely leave ground till they've taken the last available speck of gold. Cook carried the washdirt to the boy in buckets, piling the yellow stuff in a heap beside the tub, which the lad was stirring vigorously. Charlie doubted whether they would make a penny weight the whole day. He was feeling the tucker-pinch at home, and he was gloomy and dull in spirit. Draining off the yellow sludge from the tub, he shovelled the gravel, into the cradle-hopper, and started rocking with his left hand, and ladling water in with his long-handled pot. Rattle, rattle, went the stones, and the fine stuff disappeared gradually through the holes of the hopper. Charlie shovelled in more washdirt and kept on with his rocking. Thud, thud went his father's pick twenty yards away. The boy seized the hopper, lifted it out, and was about to toss out the stones, when, "Christopher Columbous!" he yelled, as he picked out a beautiful glittering nugget weighing ten ounces! They had Irish stew for supper that night.
Camperdown Chronicle
Thursday 16 July 1936
QUEER THINGS I'VE SEEN.
Greybeard and the Fiddle.
( By Ion L. Idriess)
Wild animals are sometimes attracted by music. A greybeard mate of mine in Cape York Peninsula (Queensland) lived for the evenings and his fiddle. Sitting on a log by the tent door he would play for hours, forgetting everything but the voices from his fiddle. Occasionally he would charm an audience that was fascinating to me, sitting motionless while listening and watching. First would come the big brown snake, he would stay there just out from the glow of the coals, his head slowly swaying to the music. When the snake had 'business elsewhere, would come a 'flop,' then a pause followed by another flop' as the big old frog hopped along to squat right at the feet of the player. His eyes would shine like black diamonds. One could not help wondering if 'his soul were his eyes.' On clear, still nights 1 used to have a treat. Then would come a 'thump! thump! thump!,' and out there, well away from the glow of the coals, appeared the shadowy form of a big kangaroo He would sit straight up by the edge of the clearing, his dainty ears twitching to the lively melody. On many nights there would be no visible audience, but I could hear rustlings in the bush nearby.
Burra Record
September 1937
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/
One morning, seventy-two years ago, young Charlie Cook was working' at the claim with his father, at Chow Flat. Now where was Chow Flat? Well, it was in the vicinity of Wattle Flat, which is three or four miles from Sofala. The little creek that drained the flat made its way down into Bell's creek, which enters the Turon river below Springs creek, which yielded "Roger's Nugget." I trust that, after all that explanation, Chow Flat will stand out conspicuously as a blind boil on the end of the reader's nose. There are so many creeks and flats associated with mining fields that one has to be explicit in locating them. Now, let's get back to Charlie. He was in charge of the puddling-tub and cradle, while his father was "kyooting" after some washdirt, so as to save stripping six or eight feet of overburden. The wash was puggy and had to be puddled well before it was put through the cradle. Things were looking blue with the Cook family where there were ten mouths to feed. The storekeepers at Wattle Flat and Sofala had stopped Dad Cook's credit, which brought things to a crisis that day, seventy-two years ago, when the kyooting was going on. It was just a forlorn hope. Chinamen had worked around the spot, and Chinese rarely leave ground till they've taken the last available speck of gold. Cook carried the washdirt to the boy in buckets, piling the yellow stuff in a heap beside the tub, which the lad was stirring vigorously. Charlie doubted whether they would make a penny weight the whole day. He was feeling the tucker-pinch at home, and he was gloomy and dull in spirit. Draining off the yellow sludge from the tub, he shovelled the gravel, into the cradle-hopper, and started rocking with his left hand, and ladling water in with his long-handled pot. Rattle, rattle, went the stones, and the fine stuff disappeared gradually through the holes of the hopper. Charlie shovelled in more washdirt and kept on with his rocking. Thud, thud went his father's pick twenty yards away. The boy seized the hopper, lifted it out, and was about to toss out the stones, when, "Christopher Columbous!" he yelled, as he picked out a beautiful glittering nugget weighing ten ounces! They had Irish stew for supper that night.
Camperdown Chronicle
Thursday 16 July 1936
QUEER THINGS I'VE SEEN.
Greybeard and the Fiddle.
( By Ion L. Idriess)
Wild animals are sometimes attracted by music. A greybeard mate of mine in Cape York Peninsula (Queensland) lived for the evenings and his fiddle. Sitting on a log by the tent door he would play for hours, forgetting everything but the voices from his fiddle. Occasionally he would charm an audience that was fascinating to me, sitting motionless while listening and watching. First would come the big brown snake, he would stay there just out from the glow of the coals, his head slowly swaying to the music. When the snake had 'business elsewhere, would come a 'flop,' then a pause followed by another flop' as the big old frog hopped along to squat right at the feet of the player. His eyes would shine like black diamonds. One could not help wondering if 'his soul were his eyes.' On clear, still nights 1 used to have a treat. Then would come a 'thump! thump! thump!,' and out there, well away from the glow of the coals, appeared the shadowy form of a big kangaroo He would sit straight up by the edge of the clearing, his dainty ears twitching to the lively melody. On many nights there would be no visible audience, but I could hear rustlings in the bush nearby.
Burra Record
September 1937
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/
