TRYING TO GET BACK ON THEIR FEET AGAIN

After being flooded out and then burnt out where is there to go for these two English farmers?  Son Len has taken off for parts unknown and there are further problems ahead for all.

Excerpt from 'THE CLOCK OF TIME" by Gertrude Ruston.  (pp 75-79)  (The pictures I have added are free pictures I find on the internet as I do not have any photos taken at this time.   I just like to add them to embellish an already wonderful story).

"At the time following our tragedies with flood and fire we came up against the world recession, and we were going through the terrible depression that hit this country, so things were very difficult.  We were having to chop firewood in the bush and truck it to Albany to obtain the very little we had in the way of stores, and there was practically no money.

When Harry drove into town one day he was asked to go along to see the local policeman.  Somewhat mystified he went to the police station and was asked if he would give a home to two Englishmen to keep them going as they could not find any work.  They were penniless and there was no unemployment benefit in those days.  The policeman explained that while Australians might put themselves out for their own people, they were less willing to take in two inexperienced pommies.  The two men offered their services for food and shelter and, as they were our countrymen, Harry was put on the spot.  He explained that we were up against it ourselves, living in a humpy on very plain food, and that we could only bed them down in a rough shed.  They promised to help us and agreed to Harry's suggestion that we all try it out for a while.

Imagine my surprise!  Instead of having one man come home I had three.  The two strangers made themselves comfortable in the shed and joined us in the humpy for a meal.  They came from two distinct levels of society.  Taylor, tall, slender and with an Oxford accent, fitted perfectly the usual conception of a remittance man., whilst Tommy was a typical cockney railway porter.

They were both bridge players so, after tea, we played cards.  I enjoy a game of bridge but like to be able to make an occasional remark, as did Tommy, but we were very much discouraged by Taylor who obviously, when he played cards in the usual way, did so very seriously for money.  In our case we played for matches, and even those were hard to come by so we had to hand them back after the small satisfaction of winning.  Smoking was OUT - nobody could afford it - and such things as radio and television did not exist.

Taylor claimed to have been a Commissioner on one of the nearby islands.  Whether or not this was so, he did describe in detail a large residence with a row of stones around it painted white.  We later saw a picture of such a place and wondered whether there could have been any truth in his story.

Fortunately for all of us, both of them had a sense of humour and this helped us over a very difficult period, but I am afraid the amount of work we got out of them was not very profitable, so they really did less than Harry and I would have done on our own.

The extremes of birth and character of the two men were an entertainment in themselves, and they did not hesitate to make fun of each other.  It was not at all strange for us to go down to the paddock with the idea of planting potatoes, fertilising and so on, to find Taylor singing something from one of the operas, or with flowers around his head acting as Simplicitas, while Tommy, as soon as he saw Harry and me approaching, would start singing "where did you get that hat?" because, being fair skinned, we were both obliged to wear large straw hats.  Altogether, although an anxious time, it was not an unhappy one, and perhaps helped us to over come a little of our private problems resulting from flood, fire and the Great Depression.

On Christmas day all we could muster were two large tins of herrings in tomato sauce, and new baked rolls with jam and cream.  Fortunately we did have some laying hens and one milking cow.  We held a conference as to what we could do with the available fare and Taylor offered to make a special dish with the herrings, mustard, eggs etc.  We warned him what would happen if we could not eat if but, surprisingly, it was very tasty and went down well together with some potato cakes.  The hot rolls, jam and cream finished off an enjoyable meal, if not a traditional Christmas dinner.

 While Taylor was busy with his cooking I noticed that Tommy had disappeared.  He later came along with four fancy hats made from newspaper he had found in the shed which we all wore and which helped to give us a party feeling.  We were all friends in distress and made the best of things.

The men were with us for quite a while and then Tommy managed to get himself a job with one of the neighbours.  Taylor was not so easy to place as he always disappeared if any visitors came round and he did not fit into the farming life.  He was absolutely hopeless with horses.  It was hilarious to watch him trying to drive a horse and saying "get up you silly blighter" or "you blithering idiot:, all with the Oxford accent and obviously nervous of the animal, which would either stand still or do whatever it felt inclined to do.

Things were getting a little better locally and Harry thought Taylor might be able to do something about a job in town, so he sent him to Albany by train with sufficient money for his return fare.  He also gave him an order for stores which we required from Barnett Bros., and £5 of our very little money to pay for them.  We never saw Taylor again.  He pocketed the return fare and the £5 for the food without even having the decency to give the order into the store.

How different were the two men!  Tommy was always straight and decent - an honest working man.  Taylor, on the other hand, left us without a word and in a desperate position without stores, despite the fact that we had taken him in when we could not afford to do so, and he had never earned his tucker.  However, we once again took the blow philosophically and set about chopping firewood again to earn enough for the badly needed groceries.  At least there were only the two of us to feed.
During the winter we went into the bush with two axes and a maul and wedges and cut firewood to send by truck to Albany to pay for our food (about £40 then - probably several hundred of dollars today) to carry us along until the crops matured.

Whilst at Chorkerup we had reduced our milking cows to one small Jersey named Biddy,  She was quite tame and we could call her up, give her some food, and she would stand by a post and allow us to milk her without much difficulty.  I used to milk her night and morning and she gave us sufficient for our own use.

I remember one occasion when I went along with a bucket and stool ready to milk.  I was going along nicely when there was a very loud grunt behind me.  The boar had got out of his sty.  He was an enormous black Berkshire, nearly as big as a cow.  Well, I went, the cow went, and the milk went.  There was nothing more done until Harry's return to help fasten the boar once more in the sty.  Pigs seem to have an uncanny knack of knowing when the man of the house is away!

 We gradually built up our herd of milking cows until they brought in enough cream to pay the grocery bill and, occasionally. a little meat from town.  For the rest we would kill a pig, make brawn, save a small piece to roast and turn the rest into bacon.  We had been shown an excellent method of curing bacon and it became a wonderful standby.

I remember our first attempt to build a smoke house for the bacon; it caught fire and cooked the meat.  Fortunately we had experimented with a small amount and were able to use it with some kangaroo to make a tasty meal.  We certainly had to learn by experience, the hard way.

After eighteen months in our hump we decided to look for a property with a decent house on it and a larger and better swamp, which we might be able to get through the government.

While still at Chorkerup Harry decided to experiment with a small crop of peanuts, which were said to be profitable.  They came up well and intrigued us as they looked like healthy clover plants.  The nuts form underground and have to be dug like potatoes.

To our annoyance we found that some of the bush animals had discovered the plants and were eating them.  Harry said he would put a stop to that and put up a scarecrow and the result was not exactly as we had expected.

We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw every emu for miles around come to investigate the scarecrow, which was complete with an old hat and tins that rattled in the wind.  Unbeknown to us they are apparently extremely curious birds and they enjoyed the entertainment and remained to eat the crop.   Another brainwave discarded!"

A big change is coming up for our farmers and I will tell about that in the next episode of my mother's story.  Please let me know if I should continue with this story and, if you say yes, then stay tuned.   *_*

I AM COMPLETELY DISENCHANTED

Phil and I do have a mobile (cell) phone.  We don't like them but we have one so that if we are out together and there is an emergency such as a car breakdown (heaven forbid) we can contact the necessary people.   Phil always takes the mobile with him when he goes shopping etc., in case I should need him urgently or he wishes to ring me to check should he buy anything else or to let me know he is running late.  The rest of time the mobile is turned off and we use our landline.  We know so few people that there is little likelihood anyone would want to contact us at odd hours.

This week we found our mobile would not hold a charge so realise it is either the battery is flat or it is totally kaput.   It is not a phone either of us have ever enjoyed using so decided to replace it, preferably with a senior friendly one.  (Our current mobile looks like this but is a pretty blue/green colour).

 I telephoned Telstra and asked a very nice lady (yes she was in Australia) about the type of phone which would suit us best.  She recommended a Telstra Easy Call T303 and told me that is the type she bought for her nanna who is 82.  That sounded just the phone for us (larger keys for Phil's fingers etc., and NO camera but has an FM radio for some reason) but I was told if we wanted to keep our little $10 mobile plan with Telstra she could not sell us the phone but we would have to go to a Telstra store to buy the phone over the country for $99.  I was told it comes in black or white....aren't they just great how Telstra apparently don't think older people need a little colour in their lives.........so I decided a white one as it would be easy to find if I should carry it in my handbag and Phil agreed so a white one it would be.  This is the phone we are after:

That all sounded great so I telephoned our nearest Telstra store in Booragoon (4 times).  No answer to any of my calls but was told they were busy serving customers and I could leave a message and they would get back to me either today or the next business day.   "Whoah" I thought "how do they know I'm not a customer?"  "Is there nobody in the store to pick up a phone and ask the caller to wait a minute or two?"  There was an alternative person I could speak to which I decided to do.  He, I think, was possibly in the Phillipines, but was very helpful and said he'd check on the availability of the phone I wanted.  He came back to be and said yes that the Booragoon shop had 3 white and 1 black of that model phone.

I thanked him for his assistance and off went Phil to Booragoon to buy said phone.  He arrived home to tell me that after standing in a queue for 10 or more minutes he handed the person behind the counter the written description of the phone.  The chap then went to the store and said "we only have 3 black in that particular phone".   Back home came Phil and we both just sat there feeling somewhat let down by this firm who is always advertising what a great service they offer.  By this time I had wasted time and money on phone calls (13 numbers cost 35 cents each now) and Phil had wasted time, energy and petrol for no return.  That store wants to be very thankful that I'd not decided to accompany Phil in that venture!!!  He can be so patient with people but as I've aged I've learned to speak up for myself if I feel the need to do so.  I know employees only do what they are told to do so it is their boss to blame more than anything, in this case Telstra.

This morning we telephoned 3 other Telstra stores not too far from our home but not one of them answered their phone.   Phil then found another number he could ring ...a 13 number ...and he found himself talking (yes, you've guessed it) to a chap in the Phillipines (Phil asked him where he was).  This man also tried to be helpful but said he couldn't tell Phil why none of the Telstra shops we'd tried were answering their phones.  Phil just said thank you and hung up!!

I then found another 13 number to ring and the young lady (also I am sure in the Phillipines) asked how she could help.  She wanted to know my name and all that detail and I asked her why she needed that when all I wanted to know was the availabilty of a mobile phone.  She explained it was for security purposes which I think i carrying it a bit too far.  I asked her how would a person get on if they had only just arrived in Australia, wanted to buy a mobile phone and then start up an acccount.  She then asked how could she help and would I like her to find if the specific phone was available in a store near my home.  I told her Fremantle and Success were the closest (already having had a failure with Booragoon).  She asked me to wait ("please, don't hang up") and eventually came back and said neither store had that type of phone in either white or black.

I am now wondering what to do and I do feel very angry.  Do I get Phil to go to Battery World and have them check the battery in our existing little phone which we really would like to be rid of or do I persevere and try and buy the phone we want.  I have already put a complaint on Telstra's Facebook page and their answer to my not getting answer was that I should have left a message.  A big help that was.  I have also sent them an email explaining the whole sorry saga and they will contact me within FIVE business days.  Great service eh?

I know people that have fallen out so badly with Telstra they won't have anything to do with them and I now understand why that is.   We are a little too old and tired to be looking around for another phone service but I fear what is going to happen should the NBN ever reach our suburb if Telstra are in control.

Thinking about this as I type I have decided a letter to the Minister for Telecommunications will be sent voicing my disappointment with Telstra and its non-existent service..  I think the Minister may be Malcolm Turnbull who I feel at present has his mind on other matters but that is another story which I guess will unfold next week.  I do not discuss politics on my blog so will leave that alone.

THE FARMERS BATTLE ON AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS

We left the farmers, who now have their son Len home with them, still trying to make a go of it.  It's hard to imagine that things could get worse but get worse they certainly do.

Excerpt from 'THE CLOCK OF TIME" by Gertrude Ruston.   (pp 70-75)  (*I have added pictures to help illustrate the story.)

"Flood and Fire

Christmas in Australia always seemed topsyturvy as it occurred in summer instead of winter and although we mostly celebrated it to the best of our ability, it has never really seemed to same. Having our own chickens and ducks we mostly had poultry for Christmas dinner, often accompanied with a piece of our own pork or bacon.

We also had a Christmas pudding, the nearest approach to a traditional Christmas cake, mince pies and other home made goodies.

Somehow we managed to scrape up a few presents, but they were mostly essential items of clothing of which we were sadly in need, and which we could buy on credit from the store, and pay for when the crop came out.  Every farmer depended on his storekeeper for credit.

Country districts mostly hold picnics on Boxing Day and they are very happy affairs, each family taking along a share of the food.  We all started off one hot day dressed for summer and looking forward to a jolly time.  

 All the local neighbours and friends came along, and we were busily engaged organising races and games when one family arrived loaded up with umbrellas and raincoats.  They said it had been predicted by a reliable weather forecaster, whose name I think was Wragg, that there would be very heavy rain later in the day and they had always found him accurate. Nobody took them seriously as it was such a glorious day without a sign of a cloud.  However, towards the end of the afternoon it gradually clouded over and by 5p.m. we certainly were not laughing.  It rained in torrents for hours and we all realised that, unless it stopped, our crops would all be under water in the swamps.

There was to be a fancy dress that evening in the little local hall and we all went along despite the rain, hoping it would stop and that the crops could be saved.  Harry didn't want to dress up but I wore a white suit of his and blackened myself as a darkie, taking care to put some grease on my skin first so that it would wash off easily.  Mrs Levitzke went as a native gin and we paired up.  We tried to enjoy ourselves but the sound of the continual rain on the roof was frightening, and the only ones who really had fun were the youngsters.  Len went as a peirrot, and I remember making his hat with white paper decorated with black paper blobs.

It was still raining when we went home and kept on all night, so next day the crops were under water and a total loss,  It was our last crop on Carty's place and would have been a bumper.  This meant we had no money, bills to meet, and no prospects.

We still had the small place at Chorkerup which had a small swamp on it which was not waterlogged, so we decided to try to plant a quick crop on it in an effort to save something from the tragedy.  There was no building on it, but I put some bags over a framework that had been used for passion vines, and Harry and I slept under that while we started the planting.

While we were away we left Len in charge of the home at Redmond, so that he could take care of the animals which were running on Carty's block, particularly a very nice young foal from my mare Betty.

On the following Sunday morning Len got up and made himself some breakfast and then went out to play cricket.  In the evening when he returned home he found the house burnt to the ground.  It must have been a great shock to him.  There was nothing he could do so he had to come along and tell us the bad news.  It was about the last straw and we wondered how much more we could take.  We were both quite stunned but I don't think we put the blame on Len at all.  The place was near a road and a lighted cigarette end, thrown carelessly, could have done the damage on such a day with the temperature in the vicinity of 105ºF and high wind blowing.

There was not a thing we could do in the dark so we all camped down after giving Len some tea and decided to go over in the morning.  I think Harry felt responsible for having left the boy in charge."  (it must have been heartbreaking arriving home to find a scene similar to this one.  There would have been no walls standing as the house was made of timber)

"Although we knew what had happened, it was still a terrible shock.  The only things left standing were the kitchen stove, the framework of an open fireplace, the burnt iron from the roof and the water tank; even the tank stand had gone.  It seemed impossible to believe that we had lost all our personal treasures, and we scraped about amongst the ashes in the hope that something had survived, but the only thing we found was Harry's M.B.E. medal.  The ribbon and clasp had gone, but the medal itself must contain an allow that does not melt.  (Later the ribbon and clasp were replaced)"  (The medal in its box would probably have looked a lot like this.  This is an MBE from 1918)

Sadly for Harry he lost many medals and a file of newspaper cuttings acquired when he was leading soccer player in England.  He had had his County Cap and had also played for England. " (Dad played as goalie for Tottenham Hotspurs)

 "In addition I lost medals for elocution, singing certificates and a collection of precious photographs.  The frame of a valuable canteen of cutlery, which had been a wedding present, fell to pieces when we touched it.  Being a jarrah dwelling lined with matchboarding it as easy to imagine how quickly it had been consumed.

For the time time in our lives we were almost completely penniless.  The only clothes we had were those we were wearing for work at the time, and we had a meagre supply of camping utensils and food at Chorkerup.  It was very hard to keep a stiff upper lip after this double catastrophe in two weeks and without a roof over our heads.

As far as we were concerned that would have been the end of the matter but neighbours, who were deeply concerned for us, thought the fire could have been deliberately lit, as the owners of the house had a fire some years previously for which they had claimed insurance.

Thinking they were being helpful they advised the police of the fire without our knowledge.  Enquiries revealed that the place was insured and the trackers were called in.  There is no doubt about the ability of native trackers,  It was found that Len had lighted a fire with wood chips to make his breakfast and forgot to close the door of the stove - it was still open.  Without thinking it seemed he had left a container of wood chips in front of the stove and, being a very hot windy day it was assumed that a spark must have blown from the stove, caught the chips alight and the wind did the rest.

When the police found how the accident had happened they asked Harry to go to see them in Albany.  Fortunately we had a little money with us for his fare and to buy a little food. 

While Harry was away I walked down to Redmond to collect our mail and to post a letter to my mother, telling her of the fire, ad asking her to send me any surplus things she and my sister Amy may have about the place, explaining that we had nothing and would welcome anything at all they could spare. 

Poor Len!!  He was, of course, the only one of us who knew what had happened and must have been very worried and felt very guilty.  When I left to go to Redmond, instead of doing a small job on the farm that Harry had asked him to do, Len took his pony and cleared out while we were both absent and didn't even leave note.

When I returned to the camp and discovered that Len had gone I decided to walk to Chorkerup siding to meet Harry at the train, because I wanted to tell him, while other people were present, that Len had
taken his pony and gone before either of us knew the tracker's findings, or had spoken to Len about what they had told us.

Harry had managed to get a very small amount of credit in Albany with which to buy a few necessities, including some clothes for Len.  After a few days we were told he was working a few miles away for a farmer we knew and Harry sent the clothes on to him.  Len did not acknowledge them and we did not see him again for some years.

The last blow, and really a heartbreak to e was the loss of my foal  The poor creature was caught in the fence at Carty's place and had died there.  I sometimes wondered how much more we could really take.

Only a person who has been burnt out can realise that nothing remains - not so much as a duster.  I heard later that the local farmers, badly hit themselves through the flood, had offered us some help but Harry was too proud to accept it.  Once again we had to pass on bad news to the owner of the house, but as he was insured he made no claim against us.  Our association with him regarding the vegetables and the house had been disastrous and we were glad that he had been covered by insurance.

We had to provide ourselves with some decent shelter and there was no money with which to buy anything.  While Harry was working on the crop I went into the bush and cut down straight saplings and put them into the ground in a square to provide a temporary home.  It had to be a lean-to and I cut the necessary lengths for a roof, which Harry put on.

The burnt out iron from the fire was of no value to anybody and we were allowed to take it to keep out the weather.  It had numerous holes in it, of course, some of which we were able to fill with solder.  For the rest I put up an inside system of gutters to take care of any leaks.  The old burnt out fireplace was used, and the stove from the burnt house became the kitchen stove, and stood in what we made the kitchen/living room.

Fertiliser bags, of which we had a good supply, were sewn together to make outer and dividing walls, and also to act as carpets which we changed weekly, hanging the dirty one on the fence for the sand to be beaten out.  The bags on the walls were whitewashed and, if very rough, looked clean and respectable.  I gathered together kerosene tins and boxes of all kinds and made furniture from them.  Even quite comfortable armchairs were made from boxes and bags.  Necessity is certainly the other of invention!

We managed to get a secondhand double bed and a cheap kitchen table while we gradually gathered a few cups, plates, and cutlery, the minimum for our needs.  Annie Dakin got down to basics, bless her, and sent me a few essential personal things including a pair of scissors, pins, needles and some cotton.

Without my family in England things would have been much more difficult.  They sent out surplus clothing, linen, and so many essential and useful items, and being secondhand we did not have to pay duty on them.

Mother was very upset about our misfortunes but I tried to portray things in a humerous light rather than making it sound too tragic.  After all, I said, we were pioneering and were still young enough to make it.

When there is a calamity now (1980) caused by such things as flood, fire and cyclone, help is available from a special fund set up for the purpose, but there was no such assistance in our day and it was simply a case of sink or swim.

Harry was President of the local Farmers' Association, and we had meetings in our bush humpy.  Everybody enjoyed our simple hospitality and applauded what we had done.  They were especially impressed with my indoor guttering system, also whitewashed, which, if not ornamental, certainly worked.

We had a mixed crowd of visitors, some curious, some concerned with farming, others with railway transport, education and so on.  There were enough children living close to Chorkerup siding to warrant a small bush school, and the Education Department had been asked to consider the matter. The Inspector of Schools who came down happened to be a distant cousin of my father's, of whom I had heard and, even had I not known his name I could not have missed the family likeness.

P.R. had told me there was a William Rockliff in W.A. who had been over in England during the 1914/18 war and calling on my father, had expected to be treated as a V.I.P. and to have the local band and red carpet put out for him.  When this did not happen, because they were all too busy with the war, he more or less refused to have anything more to do with the family in England.

He lacked manner and was certainly quite rude to me, and I gathered that our humble abode was beneath his social status,  Perhaps I was paid out for the family's apparent neglect of him in England.  I have since learned that he was most unpopular in the Education Department here.

That is a good place to leave our intrepid pair.  In our next episode we will see if there is any more disaster awaiting them.

*All photos shown so far (except the one of dad using the milk separator) have been obtained free from the internet.   Up to this point I had not arrived on the scene and, of course, all photographs mum and dad had were destroyed in the fire.

MORE HARD WORK FOR OUR INTREPID FARMERS

We left mum and dad determined to succeed in their farming endeavours and, after much very hard work, it seemed to be going well.

Excerpt from "THE CLOCK OF TIME" by Gertrude Ruston (pp 66-70).   (with pictures I have added which I feel may help add to the story)

"The local post office was the news service at Redmond.  As is usual in small communities, nothing was private, and we often thought our mail may have been censored before we received it. It seems there is usually somebody who cannot resist acting as broadcaster in such places, and being first with the news.  We became quite friendly with a number of the local farmers and their wives, and often spent evenings playing cards with them after sharing dinner at their place or ours.  At times, when the weather unexpectedly turned too bad to travel several miles home in the rain in an open cart, we played cards through the night, served breakfast and, depending whether one was the host of the visitor, we or they would then travel home in daylight in time to milk the cows.

One middleaged couple Mr and Mrs Levitzke, living within a mile or two of the siding, had built a tennis court with a clay surface on which we sometimes enjoyed a game.

They had a small organ, what we called a harmonium in England, and mother and father and their two daughters played several instruments, such a flutes and cornets.  They were nice people and we were asked to visit them from time to time so that I could accompany them on the organ, and we played together as a small orchestra, which went quite well as long as I remembered to pedal!

Having only been used to a piano, I frequently forgot that the organ needed wind.  We spent one Christmas Day with this family and, as we reached the outer gate of the farm, we received a welcome from the host who was playing "Christians Awake" on the cornet.  He put so much vigour into it that it could be heard for quite some distance.

We had a very pleasant day mostly given over the music.  Harry, being the only one not performing, was sent outside to listen to the band and return to tell us what he thought of it.  It must have been pretty dreadful at times but he was most diplomatic.  Had he told the truth I am afraid a pleasant friendship would have been shattered.

Harry and I used to ride into the bush gathering brown boronia which we had discovered growing a few miles out.  We stripped the flowers and sold them in large quantities to a manufacturing chemist's agent to be used for perfume, which was another way of earning a little money."  (I think I remember mum telling me they, at one time, also picked boronia and sent it by train to Perth where it would be sold, quite often by street vendors selling it from baskets on the pavements in the city). 

"I remember one particular day out in the boronia patch when,  as usual, we had the dog with us.  Flossie found a racehorse goanna and chased it.  In order to escape the dog the goanna went up the leg of Harry's horse, and I have never seen anybody alight from a horse quicker than Harry did then.  The dog eventually caught the poor goanna and Harry recovered slowly, while being extremely annoyed with me because I could not help laughing at the incident."  (Racehorse goannas are quite large when fully grown).

"The Chief Government Botanist from Perth, Mr Gardner called on us one day and asked to be taken out to our brown boronia patch, where the plants were taller than the horses' heads.  He was most impressed and delighted to learn that we stripped them on the spot instead of cutting the plants down and taking them away. 

He was also delighted that I could show him pitcher plants growing in the moist part of the district.  While he was with us I deplored the fact we had bush fires which destroyed the plants, and was surprised to learn that regular bush fires are essential to crack the hard casing of seeds of many native plants, so that they germinate at the right time. One of nature's safeguards apparently.

As an experiment I put some of the boronia flowers twice through a mincer, mixed in some glue and rolled the mixture into round beads which I strung on knitting needles and left to dry.  The result was a most attractive string of rough brown beads which kept their perfume for years.  When I wore them people always began to look around to find the boronia, especially when it was out of season.

By this time we both rode quite well and had become familiar with the surrounding country.  Harry obtained an option on another block a few miles away by road, but which would be much nearer by taking a route straight through the bush, as the crow flies.

We decided to ride from one block to the other straight through the bush, and took a line by compass and map.  Harry marked trees with a tomahawk as we went so that we could find our way back.  We were immensely proud when we landed at the corner post of the block we were seeking, especially as we had to cross a small stream where there were a number of fallen trees.  After we had finished what we set out to do we started for home, and decided to leave it to the horses to see if they would find the way.  It was fascinating to see them go exactly along the line were we had marked the trees.  So much for 'green poms'.

Shortly after we rode straight through the bush to Denmark with a number of others so that the men could play at a cricket match.  Harry was no cricketer but he had good eyesight, hit out blindly, and managed to make 50 runs before being bowled.  We won the match and Harry was the hero of the day!

Speaking of horse riding, I remember one occasion when Harry had gone to Albany to buy a horse and was riding back.  Bob McGough, the son of one of our neighbours, was with me when we heard the horse coming along the track, and we went out to meet them.  Harry landed at the gate all right, but the horse went on!  I am afraid we laughed and Harry was rather cross.  Fortunately he was not hurt, and we soon caught the horse.

That beautiful grey, named Bonnie, became a special favourite of mine.  He was quite a character and,  having been employed in Albany, had acquired union habits.  He absolutely refused to work after 5p.m., his usual knock off time, and it took us quite a while to realise why he stopped at the same time each day and definitely would not do any overtime.  (I thought I remembered seeing, years ago, a picture of me sitting on Bonnie's back when I was a small child but can no longer find it so perhaps it was lost in that wonderful place 'somewhere'.)

We had been constantly using capital, and the time came when we were obliged to bring Len home as we had no money left to board him in Albany.  It grieved me very much to have to do this as, like my father, I believed education to be of major importance, and I had little faith in the local bush school.  However, the woman teacher took an interest in Len and encouraged him in his singing, so that by the end of his rather piecemeal school days he had acquired a reasonably amount of knowledge.  We encouraged him to read which always stood him in good stead.

We gave him a pony to keep him happy and I remember that he would spend ages chasing it round the paddock trying to catch it, rather than walk one mile to the siding. 

 I had my own mare, Betty, always rather skittish, but I managed to ride and drive her without difficulty, while Harry rode one of the larger horses.

Len was very fond of our delightful tabby cat, Tommy, which, like the dog, was one of the family.  If we walked down to the siding Tommy would go with us until nearly there, when he would dive into the bush and amuse himself until we were on our way home again, when he would rejoin us.

On one occasion when we had gone visiting and been away some hours, Tommy apparently had got tired of waiting for us and had made his own way home.  As we neared the house Len rushed up gleefully to stroke him, as he thought he saw him sitting on a gate post, but just as he put his hand out the creature silently took flight and gave Len and all of us a fright - it was a huge owl and very spooky."  (You can see how, in the dark, an owl could be taken for a tabby cat.)

Once again I will leave the little family, now numbering three, and continue next time telling of more misfortune overtaking them and how they overcame even more serious problems.  Thank you for your patience but it takes me a while to type out the story as my silly hands are not as obedient as they once were.

MUM AND DAD CONTINUE TO PURSUE THEIR DREAM

We left mum and dad wanting to acquire more land as they felt they would not make a living on their present property.  Here we also read about 'how the other half lives" and how sheer grit and determination wins the day once again.  Not a lot of excitement in this episode but to me still quite interesting, but then I suppose it would be as after all, they were my folks.

Excerpt from 'THE CLOCK OF TIME" by Gertrude Ruston (pp. 62-66)     (with pictures added by yours truly to embellish the tale a little).

"The Second Property

Close by Chorkerup siding there was another small swamp which was unoccupied.  Harry made application for it and it was granted to him.  Nearby there was a family which was rather well-known in the district for 'borrowing', and we were warned to avoid 'lending' because that would mean the article or item of food would not be returned.

The father seemed to spend his days by the fire with books and could quote Henry Lawson to all and sundry, while his wife and daughter had to cart water from a distant swamp.  The living quarters were a humpy; the bags rather the worse for wear; the beds were made of bush timber and bags; kerosene tins and boxes provided the furniture; while a birch broom provided the only means of sweeping out the rubbish.

There were five children - 2 girls and 3 boys - and everybody sat around on the floor and dipped into a saucepan of soup mostly made of kangaroo, rabbit, squeaker or some other wild creature, which the boys had managed to shoot with their .22 rifle.  Even the eight year old had a gun, and they were all encouraged to go shooting for tucker.  I often had a lucky escape from their shots.

The mother and father were educated people but they never bothered to send their children to the bush school, nor they they have decent clothes.  The mother was generally wearing a chaff bag with a hole cut for the neck and two for her arms, and two slits fastened with safety pins to permit her to feed the baby.  I often wondered how an educated woman could sink so low.

Once again we set about planting potatoes, but this time we had a 3-furrow plough, three horses, as well as good seed potatoes and the required amount of fertiliser.  The soil was not the best but we had a reasonable crop of spuds, and the neighbour's boys came to dig for us.  They were quite nice boys and we paid them the ruling rate for the job, so much per bag  However, we were living away from the property, and there was no way of knowing how many potatoes went home with the boys each night or were gathered after dark!

Being close to the siding the carting of the saleables was reasonably easy and empty trucks were left for the purpose.  The smaller potatoes were brought home for me to sort into seed potatoes and those suitable only for the pigs or fowls.

We rigged up a sloping sorting table with a wire netting base, which allowed the dirt and small potatoes to fall through, and made it quite easy to sort the good seed from the rejects, and the seed was retained for the next crop.  Williamson and Pugh handled most of the potatoes in the district. although Harry used to sell some direct to Barnetts in exchange for goods, and to an agent by the name of Knight.

This was one more step on the way to achieving our goal but we were still hoping for something better.

We Move

It had become known that we were looking for another property, preferably with a swamp, and Harry was approached by a man named Jim Carty, a railway ganger from Redmond, a district nearby, whose wife ran a small local post office there.  Carty owned a property about a mile from Redmond siding on which there was a large peat swamp which had never been cleared and which was extremely boggy.  He offered Harry the use of the swamp and property for a limited period in return for us clearing and ploughing it.  Local people warned Harry that the swamp, about ten acres, was so very boggy that he would never be able to plough it.  It was winter time when we saw it and it was under water, but Harry had made up his mind that we could and would do it, and he agreed to the terms.

There was no house on the property but there was a house on the other side of the adjacent bush road belonging to a man named Harry Tanner.  The Tanners wanted to leave the district and told Harry we could occupy the house if we took over an extremely good vegetable garden and cared for it until it matured, when we were to sell the produce and pay the owner half the proceeds.  It was a very good offer and we were delighted to accept it.

The house was a four roomed jarrah structure lined with match boarding, which was excellent for our needs and quite good by bush standards.

We spent a great deal of time caring for those wonderful vegetables, and when they were ready to market they were absolutely magnificent.  Harry and I decided to go to Albany together to arrange for their disposal and we were offered a very good price.

Imagine our horror when we returned at night to find a herd of cows feeding on the vegetables, and what they had not eaten they had trampled down.  Had it been our own produce it would have been bad enough, but we had just arranged to sell them on behalf of the owner, and I think Harry would have shot the beasts had he possessed a gun.  As it was he decided to milk them and drove them into the cowshed.  He found all the cows were dry and the last in line was a bull!!

The place was very well fenced and we felt sure it had been deliberately broken down to allow the cattle into the property, as it was the first time we had seen them anywhere near, and the only time we had been absent at the same time.

Harry demanded compensation but without success, and we had the very unpleasant job of explaining the disaster to Mr Tanner.  He was very decent about it and we felt possibly some of the neighbours had told him what happened.  Fortunately we were allowed to continue living in the house.

The locals had not exaggerated when they warned us about Carty's swamp.  Clearing and planting it was a nightmare.  First of all we had to clear and burn the rushes which were about 5ft high, and it was so boggy that we could hardly stand up on it.  It was a tremendous job to cover the large area, and we had to follow the water down and stack the rushes to dry before burning.  I remember we both had to wear rubber boots or our feet would have been wet all the time.  However, everything comes to an end, and eventually we had the satisfaction of seeing the rushes cleared and burnt and the swamp dry enough to commence potato planting.

We had bought excellent seed potatoes and the necessary potato fertiliser.  All the locals said we would never be able to plant the swamp. and there were times when we wondered how far we would get.  It was not possible to employ labour as our capital was going downhill, and we had to look at every penny in order to keep Len at Albany High School as long as possible.

A short trial run proved that the horses could not pull the plough without becoming bogged, but they were able to do the job if we put a carpet of potato bags down to stop them sinking.  The horses were scared of the swamp but as long as the bags were there to hold them up, they were able to carry on.  This meant we could only plough a few yards at a time and then pull out the bags and rearrange them after the horses had trodden them into the peat.

I planted the seed potatoes, Harry ploughed and replenished the fertiliser distributor from time to time, and we both arranged the bags for our poor horses.  It was hard work for the animals but they had frequent rests while we changed the bags, and there was a respite at the end of each furrow.  I doubt whether Australians would have undertaken this task and I am sure that they thought us quite mad.  It was a mammoth task, but we accomplished it and the resultant crop was magnificent.  Once ploughed the swamp firmed down and there was no more trouble.  In later years a machine called a rotatiller was available, which was capable of going over the surface and breaking up the peat so that it could be ploughed.

It was impossible to wear shoes in the wet peat and rubber boots were too clumsy for planting, so I had to wrap my feet in rags to prevent them from becoming sore.  Over the years Harry and I planted some hundred of acres of potatoes and we had some excellent crops despite scab, frost and floods on various properties.  When crops were ready we engaged men at contract rates per bag to dig the potatoes.  They picked up the larger ones, known as saleables, first and then the seed size and piggies together for sorting at the shed.  We would follow along and sew the tops of the bags ready for carting.  The saleables were put in stencilled bags and sent to the siding to be railed for marketing, the name of the grower and origin being clearly marked.

After sending them away we would wait anxiously to hear whether there would be enough from their sale to buy food and fertiliser to see us through another year. *A great deal depended on the Eastern States; if they had surplus crops they often flooded our market and dragged down the price, and the Federal constitution prevented action being taken to stop them dumping their excess interstate.

A rough calculation of the size of the crop as it was dug gave a fair indication of the possible result.  It was estimated that a bag of saleables standing every chain (22 yards) meant a four ton crop per acre."

There we once again leave the busy farmers working away,  and next we see how they meet up with others in the area and lead a more social life which they richly deserve.

* Western Australians often felt 'put upon' by those in the eastern states of Australia and on 8 April, 1933 a secession referendum was held in Western Australia on the topic of withdrawing from the Federal Commonwealth.  The proposal was accepted and a petition was sent to London where a Joint Select Committee of the British Parliament ruled it invalid because it had come from a State and not the Commonwealth.  Voting was compulsory and the result was 138,653 in favour of secession with 70,706 against.   The establishment of the Commonwealth Grants Commission in 1933 did help address some of the grievances that motivated the secessionist movement.  A strong secessionist movement still exists in Western Australia and the subject frequently comes up in discussions about how many Western Australians feel about the matter in general.  (Whenever I feel W.A. has been hardly done by I say to Phil "It's time to secede!!!" and at times he agrees with me.)

MUM AND DAD BEGIN THEIR FARMING LIFE

We left mum baking bread (among other things) and dad having horse problems.  They have just cleared the swamp and now want to plant some potatoes.

Excerpt from 'THE CLOCK OF TIME' by Gertrude Ruston (pp. 58-62)    (Where I can I've added a few photos.   I hope I am not making these 'episodes' too long.  It is difficult to know just where to stop without breaking the continuity of the story).

"Mr Wallinger had told us that the seed potatoes we had been sold were only fit for pigs, but we decided to sort and plant the best of them, and I did the planting and put some fertiliser along the rows.  The resultant crop was terrible, but we did manage to obtain sufficient potatoes for our own personal use.

After finishing the swamp Harry decided to plant a vegetable garden, and chose a spot near the house which was covered in grass, and which he thought would be an easy job.  Poor Harry!  The grass turned out to be couch.  We had not seen couch grass before and, of course, the poor horse had no chance of getting through it.  As you may imagine, the result was a horrible mess, the grass patch was spoilt and we had no hope of a vegetable garden near the house.  It took us a long time to make it tidy again using our spades.

We had only been at the block a few weeks when Mr Wallinger came over one day and asked me to help his wife who was about to have a baby.  Although I had been a V.A.D. I had no knowledge of childbirth and told him I could not assist him, much as I would have liked to have done.  He said he could look after the birth as he had brought all his children into the world, but he wanted me to look after the children, do the washing and feed the family.  Can you imagine me faced with this?  I had always had charwomen, maids and housekeepers, and now had to try to wash for a family in kerosene tins, bake bread and cook for all of them.

Well, no doubt there were problems, but I do not remember much about them.  We overcame them, whatever they were, and the mother was soon up again with the new baby.  Nobody seemed the worse for wear for my poor efforts.  It had to be a case of giving a helping hand whenever it was needed in the bush.

In time we visited our other neighbours the elderly mother and her daughter. and were intrigued by their very comfortable home.  It had wooden uprights, and all the walls, inner and outer, were made of fertiliser bags, cleaned and whitewashed.  Flour bags were used for tea towels and aprons.  Furniture was made out of kerosene boxes, and the carpets on the floor were also made of bags.  I remember describing it when writing to mother as having canvas walls, and she wrote back that an old friend of ours had remarked - "how handy - you could paint your pictures straight on to them".

These people had a very nice flower and vegetable garden and we were very impressed with their home and surroundings.  We were very shocked to learn that, not long before we reached Australia, a man named Charlie Hyde, who was the son of the Mrs Parker from whom we were renting our place. had attacked the young woman and attempted to rape her.  He was put in Claremont Mental Asylum and everybody hoped he would remain there.

Meantime we had ordered food for the animals and, when fetching it from the siding in the spring cart, I had visited Mrs Elliott.  She was a widow with grown up children the only unmarried one being a daughter named Grace, a little younger than I.   Grace was working at a boarding house in Albany at the time, and when she came home to see her mother she brought with her a small puppy.  It was a delightful animal and I fell in love with it.  I asked Grace to let me have it she should decide to part with it.

At the time she wanted to keep it and took it back with her to the boarding house.  Like most puppies, it got into mischief and often took shoes, slippers, nighties and other articles belonging to the staff and visitors out onto the law, so Grace was told she could not keep it there.

That is how I became the owner of the puppy.  He name was Flossie and she was a much loved member of our family for many years.  She was beautiful to look at, easy to train, had a wonderful nature, and the whole district loved her.  Sad to say, when she was about 10 years old she developed a growth and the vet could do nothing for her,  She was suffering so we had no choice but to have her put to sleep.  We all grieved and we have never had another dog. " (Note:  I well remember mum talking about her beloved Flossie.  I have an idea she could have been a collie but don't recall ever being told what breed she was.)

"Dairy Farming

The cows had to be milked.  This was one skill that Harry had acquired in England and he taught me.  What a fool I was to learn!  We bought a separator and started to make butter which we sold in Albany.  Then we bought cream cans and sent the cream to Albany by train, receiving a monthly cream cheque from the butter factory; not a very large cheque but a very welcome one."  (Here is dad on the farm using the milk separator.  I have no idea how old this photo is or who took it or even which farm it was on).

 
" Keeping food was a problem in the bush and the only things available for the purpose were known as Coolgardie safes.  They were actually wooden frames covered in hessian, a water container on top from which strips of cloth carried water onto the hessian to keep it damp, and provided one remembered to replenish the water and take care no flies got in when the door was opened, most if us managed reasonably well.  In the towns they used ice chests and regular deliveries of ice were always available. "

 (The type of Coolgardie safe I remember was similar to the one mum described, but the water container on top had a small tap under it which dripped and kept the hessian covering of the safe damp at all times.  I feel it was a much more efficient cooler than the earlier one and you could regulate the drip rate.  My friend Judy had one of the later type on her back verandah at her home in Katanning n 1950s.)

"It was fun when Len arrived home for school holidays.  On one such occasion he was with us when our sow had to be taken over to a boar on a neighbouring farm.  The pedigree pigs were enormous, like small cows, and we wondered how we could transport it.  Harry had heard that it was possible to drive a pig with a rope on its leg, but our pig had other ideas, so Harry decided he would sink the wheels of the spring cart so that the pig could be driven into it.  Meantime I was told to hold the pig by the rope on its leg but, being very big and heavier than I, she pulled away.  Harry called out "sit on her" which I did and was taken for a ride around the paddock.  Can you imagine a very precise English girl, straight out from London, riding helplessly on a very large and determined black pig? " (I've often tried to imagine my mum on the bag of that pig and perhaps she looked a little like this.)

 "Harry managed to lower the cart and, with some problems we did eventually get "Krojan Jean" into the cart and tied down.  We had a plank which fitted across the sides of the cart for a seat and off we went.  Len opened the gate to let us through and, at that moment, the pig decided she had certainly had enough of this, so up she got and Harry and I and the seat were sent sprawling, much to Len's amusement.  Somehow we finally got the pig to her destination, but I often think how green we were and how the neighbours must have laughed at us.  We could certainly certainly have written a good yarn about our experience similar to "Dad and Dave". "   (Note:  Dad and Dave was a radio serial about a farming family that went to air for many years during the 1940s and perhaps beyond then).

"The pigs were fed with pollard and skim milk and did well; the cows improved and, after a while, having learned the hard way, we continued to work hard but to better purpose, and realised that the farm we were on would not provide us with a living so we began to look around for better land.

One day, while Len was still on holidays, Harry had to go to Albany on business and Len and I drove him to the siding at Chorkerup, a few miles away.  Before leaving I had baked a batch of bread and left it to cool on the kitchen table with a cloth over it.   We watched the train leave and then started for home at a leisurely pace, disturbing a few kangaroos along the way and enjoying the early morning in the bush.  After unharnessing the horse we went into the house to make a cup of tea.

Imagine our astonishment and concern to find a big fat man sitting at the table eating my new bread,  He had found himself some butter and made a cup of tea, having eaten nearly two of the loaves.  I guessed he was the infamous Charlie Hyde and was very scared.  He wanted to know what we were doing there and said it was his place.  I told him his mother had rented it to us and asked him to leave but he refused  There was an old fashioned couch in the kitchen on which he lay down and went to sleep.  I did not know what to do.  I was afraid to leave him alone for fear of him setting fire to the place, and I could not risk leaving Len with him."  (I can imagine what must have been going through mum's mind when confronted by this man that she knew was dangerous."  (I am so glad he slept so soundly and did no harm, apart from helping himself to two loaves of bread.   I borrowed this free picture from the internet and would think the guy would have looked perhaps a little like this.)

"In the end we had some lunch and did a few odds and ends round the house until it was time to fetch Harry from the train.  The man was still asleep and I took Len with me and chanced whether or not it was wise to leave the place.  When we reached home nothing untoward had happened and the visitor was still asleep.   Harry woke him up and told him to get out but he refused and said it was his home.
Apparently he had walked out of Claremont Asylum and continued down the railway line until he reached the farm which must have been about 300 miles, which explained his hunger and the fact that he was very tired.

Harry went to the neighbours and discovered that Charlie had a sister married to Claude Harris, one of the larger local farmers.  The latter arranged to take Charlie over, got in touch with the authorities, and Charlie was returned to Claremont to finish his term.  Years later, in Perth, I saw him in the distance but he did not recognise me.  He was still extremely fat, and the story went that he had been given treatment and was no longer a danger.  Whether or not this was the case we did not discover, but he had obviously been released from the mental hospital.

I took Len back to Albany at the end of his school holidays and stopped overnight at the Clifton boarding house,  It was there that I had my first experience of bed bugs.  I had no idea what they were when I was attacked by them in the dark and was nearly driven made with the irritation.  The rooms were lined with match boarding and, when I put the light on, I saw the wretched things disappearing into the grooves.  I was scared of taking the pests home with me and put everything I had been wearing into disinfectant as a precaution."  (I've heard of bed bugs and even that there is an epidemic of them in some of Perth's suburbs but fortunately we don't have that problem.  This is a picture of the one of the horrible little critters).

"It made a change to spend a few hours in Albany, but I did not wish to remain there.  I was quite happy on the farm and fascinated by the animals and birds and the deadly quiet of the bush at night."

We now have mum and dad settling in nicely and learning the right and wrong ways to farm.  There is a search underway for more, or another, piece of land.   The decision they make will be revealed in the exciting next episode of this epic of the Ruston family.  This is beginning to remind me of one of those radio serials we used to listen to each night when I was a youngster.   I do hope you are continuing to enjoy it.   I know I am enjoying re-reading mum's story and sharing it with you). 

MUM'S STORY AS SHE TOLD IT (1920s)

Mum, Dad and Len arrived in Albany and safely disembarked.  They found somewhere to stay and met some very nice people.  They now have to decide what their next move will be.

Excerpt from 'THE CLOCK OF TIME' by Gertrude Ruston (pp. 51-58)      (Where possible I have added photographs to embellish the story a little).

We Start The Great Adventure

Harry was determined to become a farmer and spend the rest of his life, if possible, in the open air rather than at an office desk.  However, he had very little knowledge of farming and certainly knew nothing of Australian conditions and methods.  One of his brothers-in-law was a gentleman farmer in England in a small way, and Harry's only knowledge had been gained when he had spent a few days there from time to time.

While considering our next move, Harry was approached by a man named Benstead and invited to go out to a farm on the Hay River, about 38 miles from Albany, where he was to work for food only (or "tucker" in Aussie lingo), and be taught something about sheep and cattle farming.  As we had a reasonable bank account Harry thought this a good opportunity to obtain some basic knowledge and so he accepted the offer.

Benstead had one of the few "T" model Ford vehicles about the district and he drove us out, dropping me at Narrikup siding, where I was to board with a Mrs Elliott, about ten or twelve miles from where Harry would be working, so that we were all three living separately at that time.  Harry was told he could ride or drive in to see me occasionally and fetch goods and mail for the farm.

Mrs Elliott was a dear old Australian woman for whom I developed a very warm regard.  It was from her I learnt very much about the country and the people.  One of the first things she told me was that it was unwise to speak to one person about another in the district, as they were practically all related, having descended from early settlers who had, of necessity, intermarried.

It was in Mrs Elliott's home that I first tasted kangaroo and squeaker and quite enjoyed both, although I probably would not have done so had I known beforehand what I was eating.  The squeaker tasted like chicken, and the kangaroo minced with bacon was most tasty.  I was often glad to eat both in later years when times were hard and we were reduced to living off the land.  (Note:  I know the 'squeaker" is a bird of some kind but unsure exactly which.  When I googled "squeaker" it showed the currawong which is native to southern Western Australia, so perhaps that is the bird that tasted like chicken.)

Narrikup siding is on the Great Southern Railway Line, handling a large amount of goods and many passsengers for an extensive farming area.  At that time it had a small post office and a bush school, while Mrs Elliott's house was close by.  Later a man named Sam Jolly built a small store in Hay River Road, near the siding, and Williamson and Pugh started up as dealers in produce, adjacent to the railway."  (Note:  When Phil and I visited Narrikup many years ago I took these photos of the old produce store and shop mentioned in mum's book.  We visited the shop which had been Jolly's store and which is now run as a tearooms and souvenir/craft shop.  We had morning tea and I bought a table lamp base made from a blackboy (now called a grass tree to be politically correct).  I imagine at some time in my young years I would have gone into these stores with mum and dad.  It was a strange feeling going into the shop so many years after I had left Narrikup.  Quite eerie.  Trains no longer run from Perth to Albany and haven't done so for many years which is a great pity.)

 

"Hay River Road led straight out from Narrikup siding and I used to stroll along the road to meet Harry if it was his day off while he was working with Benstead.  It puzzled and annoyed me sometimes when some of the typical bushmen with beards, wearing sun hats decorated with fly nets and corks, informed me that they had seen where I had been, where I had stepped off the road to pick a flower or sit on a log. and where I had continued my walk.  In later years I found that I also took notice of footprints and tracks.  It became second nature.

One man rather frightened me as I thought he might have improper designs, so I always got off the road when I saw him coming.  Later I found him to be extremely nice, pleasant and quite harmless, and he told me he only watched my comings and goings because he knew I was a "new chum" and might not know the danger of wandering in the bush.

Harry was not having a good time.  He had been given the job of collecting large pieces of ironstone in a spring cart over a 50 acre paddock, and he had not seen one animal.  He asked Benstead about the animals and was told that the paddock had to be cleared before he could do anything about the sheep and cattle.  Harry, whose hands were very sore from the unaccustomed rough work, realising he would be lifting ironstone for many more weeks, told Benstead that he was leaving as he felt he had been taken on under false pretences.  Benstead must have been  a very hard man because he wanted to charge Harry for his food, and refused to cart him and his gear to the siding.

So ended Harry's efforts to gain experience before actually starting farming on his own behalf.  My stay with Mrs Elliott also ended, but I often stayed with her overnight when planning to catch the train into Albany in the early morning, and we remained friends for many years.

Our First Home in Western Australia

We decided to look for a small farm to rent in the Narrikup area and were told of a vacant place about four miles out from the siding which belonged to a widow named Mrs Parker. It had a small cottage on it and was partly furnished with the simple basics.  As the rental was reasonable we arranged to take it over for a short period in order to gain experience.  We had our crates sent up from Albany and bought the few additional items of furniture that we needed.

There was a small uncleared swamp on the block covered with tall rushes, and Harry decided to clear and plant it with potatoes as our first farming venture.

There was an old horse on the property and a poor looking single furrow plough with which Harry considered he might be able to make a start.  Before doing anything else we were pesuaded to buy a few cows to provide us with milk, cream and butter, and to purchase some pedigree pigs from which to breed and, finally a small quantity of seed potatoes with which to plant the swamp.

I have head of much criticism of 'pommies' in Australia, and must agree that some of it appears to be deserved.  On the other hand I must say that, from our personal experience, starting with Benstead, there are some Australians who will, without any compunction, take down any newcomer with whom they do business and considered it smart to do so.

Harry went to a man who was said to be a reputable agent, explained that we were newly arrived and inexperienced, and asked him to find us four really decent cows; a pedigree boar and sow; and a small quantity of seed potatoes.  Later we discovered the cows were very poor; the boar was sterile; and the so-called seed potatoes were throw-outs, known as 'piggies'.

We should, of course, have taken legal action against the people concerned, but it was some time before we discovered how badly we had been taken down, so that was another unfortunate experience we had to write off.  We later heard that the people in question had boasted about their smart deals and thought it a joke to take down a new chum.  We never again trusted an Australian without a thorough investigation, and one family in particular became very suspect as far as we were concerned.

We had a spring cart and the one horse with which we carted our goods from the siding and we moved in,  young and enthusiastic, determined to let nothing deter us from making a success of our farming venture.

Len, of course, was boarding in Albany, so Harry and I, two Simple Simons as far as living and farming in Australia were concerned, started the great adventure.

We decided to have a cup of tea and, for this, discovered that our only water was from the tank outside, fortunately full as there had been good rains.  The Metters No. 1 stove was entirely different from anything we had seen before but we realised that, if we wanted to heat our water, we had to find some wood, and Harry gathered some twigs and kindling which boiled the kettle without trouble.

It was cool weather and we required some decent wood to keep the stove going in order to warm the cottage and cook our meals.  Harry found a good dry log not far from the house and decided to split it up.  His tools, brought from England, consisted of a small cold chisel and the usual domestic hammer.  In addition he had a tomahawk and a small hand saw.  In England, with our soft white wood, the log would have presented no problems, but this was very old and very dry jarrah, and although Harry did manage to get the cold chisel into a crack he never got it out again, nor did he make any impression on the log.  This was our first experience of hard wood, and we ended up looking for dry boughs we could use until we had the correct tools to tackle the jarrah.

There were three neighbours within walking distance.  The nearest, adjoining us was owned by an old English farmer type named Archer and his wife, together with their adult son and daughter (twins).  They were certainly not friendly or neighbourly in any sense of the word and we left them well alone.

Beyond them and adjoining the Archers were Mr and Mrs Wallinger, also English with a family of small childrem and beyond them again was an elderly woman with a middle aged daughter, whose names I cannot recall."  (I can remember over the years, mum talking fondly about the Wallinger family).

"Mr Wallinger came over to see us and was most friendly and helpful, and from him we learned that we needed a maul and wedges to deal with the jarrah log.  He also told Harry to make a jarrah roller, and for this he required to cut down a straight tree from which to cut a length of about 6ft .  Having found a likely tree Harry proceeded to cut straight through it.  Of course, as soon as he neared the end the weight of the tree made it split up.  After three attempts he woke up to the fact that he had to cut halfway from both sides and he finally achieved his purpose.  I often wondered if anybody had written a book telling mugs what to do when they first came out to pioneer in Australia.

Thanks to acquaintances in Albany I was able to bake bread, and was delighted when my first attempt proved eatable.  I had bought bread tins in Albany and, most important, a large dish in which to mix the dough and a small bath which served many purposes.  We stood in the latter in order to have a daily washover. 

 We had acquired a number of kerosene tins, full and empty, and the boxes in which they were packed, and these filled a number of needs.  For years my washing was boiled in a kerosene tin, we carried water in them, they were out milk buckets, our rubbish bins our washing-up dishes and, turned upside down, we used to sit on them and the boxes made good cupboards.

Everything we did was a source of amusement. and a good sense of humour carried us over many small tragedies.  We often stopped and looked at one another and thought how different we were from the precise people who had left England a short time before.

Next we started on the swamp.  We made everything a combined effort, and we had two new spades which had been sharpened according to Mr Wallinger's advice.  Instead of cutting through the rushes on the surface and being left with the stubble, we were told to slide the spade below the surface under the rushes. when the whole thing came away clean.

It was a very hot day but we thought we had to get used to the heat and so we plodded away, stopping every now and again for a breather.  We had not been going long when Mr Wallinger came along and told us we were quite made as it was 105ºF and nobody worked outside in the heat.  It sas wonderful to be told that we could stop and not be thought slackers, and we took him in with us and we all enjoyed a cup of tea.

We finished clearing the swamp when the weather cooled, and then Harry started to plough it with the horse and single furrow plough.  It was his first attempt at ploughing and he and the horse did not see eye to eye.  I have never seen a more crooked furrow!"

How about we leave mum and dad there with mum feeling proud about her bread baking efforts and dad and the horse trying to come to terms with each other.   When I come back I will have more tales to tell of the experiences that happened to this inexperienced twosome.