Western Mail 21 April 1938, page 11
OVER THE PLATES – Dolly Pot Conducted by Non-Com
A water problem
A Canine Burial
The Siberia Rush
Slugs from Kurnalpi
Water was a serious problem in the Old Camp before the famous water scheme came to fruition. Washing of oneself or one’s clothes was looked upon with disfavour. Little Billy Guy, an Englishman, was the centre of attention of all eyes as he paraded forth each week-end, resplendent in freshly washed white moleskin pants and shirt. How he managed it puzzled the brains, while it tickled the risible faculties of the community. Poor Billy, despite his inordinate cleanliness, was one of the first victims of the fever epidemic.
Men wore their flannels until, sometimes, they parted company with their wearers of their own accord. A periodical visit to an ant bed would rid the garments of undesirable tenants. The early mornings ablutions consisted of tipping a few precious drops out of the water bag onto a corner of a towel, and with this wiping out the eyes. As we all, more or less, resembled Red Indians – our faces being covered with the red Coolgardie dust, after the morning toilet, each man, at a distance, appeared to be wearing spectacles, altogether a very droll effect!
If a digger craved the luxury of a bath, he might be seen standing outside his tent in his birthday suit gravely removing the dust from his person with a clothes brush, or, lacking that, a hair brush. As a wise provision to obtain water, we used to cut an encircling groove in the bark of a Salmon Gum, bringing the groove down to a V point at a lower level. Then, inserting a piece of bent tin at the lowest point, to act as a spout, we awaited the promised shower, and. when that fell, we placed a receptacle on the ground directly underneath, and so secured a supply of fresh rainwater.
An Old Prospector – Photo SLWA
The natives had another method, which an aboriginal man demonstrated to me. Spearing around the base of a big Salmon Gum, searching for one particular root that he presently struck, the fellow dug down and then chopped off some six feet or so of the root. Putting one end of this to his mouth, and upending it, ecstatic swallowing signified the quenching of his thirst.
There were boundless possibilities for men of initiative in the early days of Coolgardie. A little Jewish man named Mandlestam, being broke, set to work to gather up all the old tins, of which there were thousands, around the camp. These he stacked in heaps, and cutting scrub and burning same over the tins, melted the solder, which he recovered by dry blowing the ashes. As solder at that time was of considerable value, he made a small fortune with which he opened a hotel.
Jimmie Reid had an inseparable companion in a sharp little fox terrier named Spot. One day Spot saw a sinuous menace on the track, and, with joyous abandon jumped in to inflict dire vengeance upon the reptile, but the snake got in first, and his master sorrowfully carved a little wooden cross, which he erected on a little mound on the spot where Spot had spotted the enemy with such dire results to himself. And this, to my knowledge, was the first burial in the Old Camp.
The first Coolgardie athletic meeting was a great success, the whole populace, including the women then residents on the field, attended. Charlie Dunn, the professional bruiser, having entered for the 100 yds handicap, borrowed a pair of black silk running shorts for the occasion. Being a big burly individual, the pants were as tight as the skin on an eel. Charlie, being possessed of a fine burst of speed, came home first, but not before something had happened halfway along the track, which I must leave to my intelligent readers imagination! The men folk guffawed, but I was too bashful to notice how the ladies behaved. As I remarked before, the meeting was a huge success.
On October 22, 1893, a number of us left Hannans bound for a new find which Billy Frost had made at a place appropriately named Siberia. Reaching a soak 35 miles from Coolgardie, our party wisely made camp there. The news coming through, mostly from a few sadder but wiser diggers back pedalling from an inhospitable, waterless field, was anything but reassuring. Men were daily losing their reason and their lives along the road. One man, a German, blew his brains out on the road, not far from our camp. Then the Government ordered men off the field and forbade others to go there until they could inaugurate a service of camels bearing water and provisions.
At this juncture, after six days of indecision, experiencing nostalgia for my long deserted home and people, I said goodbye to some of the boys, and with a few boon companions, including Mat Crowe, Dan Pryke, Billy O’Neill, Jack Doyle, Syd Beetham, and Tassy Connors, I left the goldfields on November 2 for Perth. On November 25, we left Perth in the SS Adelaide, arriving in Melbourne on December 4.
We attracted considerable attention in Melbourne, being, I suppose, conspicuous by our bronzed and bearded figure heads, one Mat Crowe, being uncommonly so on account of his great stature. Going places, it was amusing to hear the street urchins saying, “There’s a Coolgardie digger’ and, “Yes, there’s another one,” and “Look at the gold nuggets,” this last referring to sundry nuggets pendant from watch chains.
After a week’s enjoyment, I engaged a berth on the SS Waihora which sailed me back to my native heath in old N.Z. Arriving back at the Old Camp on March 15, 1894, after my short sojourn in New Zealand, I found great excitement prevailing. Jack Reidy, with the aid of some natives, had specked 1,300 oz of rough gold at a place called Kurnalpi or “Billy Billy” some 70 miles or so N.E. of Coolgardie. Reidy was carting water at the time, so throwing the gold into the tank, he delivered the liquid to the tents as usual, then drove on into Coolgardie, deposited the gold in the bank, and applied for a reward claim. This much I gleaned from the man in the street.
A small party of horsemen, comprising Jack Lang, of Dunedin, N.Z., Jack and Tom Maher, and myself, made all haste to reach the scene of the latest sensational discovery. Halting the first evening, Tom Maher, acting as chef, prepared an appetising Irish stew, which smelt mighty good to four hungry wayfarers. The ubiquitous tea billy was suspended alongside and the open stewpot was boiling merrily. Tom, taking a large handful of tea inadvertently stirred it into the stew to our consternation and bitter disappointment. We dined disconsolately on I tinned dog and damper.
Kurnalpi! The field of big slugs! lt was mostly a slug or nothing. I pegged claims on the main patches and struck ‘blanky blanks’. In Slater’s Gully, Billy Minto, Tom Frawley, Tom Burgess and I held dud claims, whilst above and below and around us heavy gold was unearthed. The ill luck of Tom Burgess, a worthy and industrious fellow, was typical of goldfields luck, and of Kurnalpi in particular.
Tom pegged a claim in Slaters’ Gully, working out the gutter for practically nothing. He then stripped a paddock of wash on the side, preparatory to putting it through the dishes. Just then, along strolled three ‘Tired Tims’, notorious for their dislike of hard work. Tom, being heartily sick of the claim, and wishing to attend an auction sale being held in the camp, told the men they could have it, and, lifting his tools, walked out. Out of the small patch of wash Tom had obligingly stripped for them, the men took out three, big slugs, the smallest weighing 75oz.! With this easily won wealth, they opened a general store.
No one will ever know how much gold was got on Kurnalpi. Every day, for several months, slugs from 50 up to 100 oz. and more were brought to light. I think Cemetery Gully was the most prolific, although Slater’s Gully and Social Flat were also rich.
ALEC OF LANG SYNE. Auckland, N.Z.
Moya Sharp
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