Product Description
When gold was first discovered in the arid regions of Western Australia it attracted from all parts of the world the rich, the adventuous, the hard-working family man, the characters, the villians, and a miscellaneous array of misfits. Together, they created a kind of history the author has endeavoured to record with both pathos and humour.These vivid stories have authentic backgrounds and some stem from gossip, yarns, pub talk, with origins that are hazy. But nobody who lived throughout the early days of the pioneer town of Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, would deny the possibility of any of them.
About the Author
Born into the hard and thankless world of a pioneer gold-mining town where suffering was unspeakable, Filton Hebbard has always yearned to write. Now, grateful for those painful years that had so much to offer, his head is full of storiesand books! Tipsy Marsh is his second novel to come out of his early Kalgoorlie experience. Branigan, his first novel, remains one of the most vivid tales about pioneering life in the Australian outback. In Memories of Kalgoorlie: Tales from the Australian Outback he brings together picaresque and vivid stories, told with humour and pathos, which reveal the stark realities, the swift, sometimes cruel justice of the bush in the old mining days of Western Australia.
Excerpted from Memories of Kalgoorlie : Tales from the Australian Outback by Charles Muller. Copyright © 2001. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
From "WALKING MATES"
Jonathan and Toby were walking mates. Well, not in a chosen way. They were waling mates because they were both walking between Southern Cross and Kalgoorlie when they met. In a sense, that is.
Jonathan was sitting by his wheelbarrow enjoying a billy of tea when he saw Toby tramping on at the edge of the road.
"Hi, mate," Jonathan called, "I've just wet the billy."
It was like that in those early pioneering days in the bush of Western Australia: it didn't matter if you were going and someone else was stopped, or if you were stopped and someone else was going, you yelled out to each other to make certain that the stopped one was O.K.
When Jonathan called out to Toby it wasn't quite like that because he was the stopped one enjoying his sweet, black tea and Toby was walking. Actually, Toby was almost stopped because he wasn't walking very fast.
"Thanks, mate," he said, as he flopped onto the dirt beside Jonathan and took the battered mug, brimful of tea. "I was getting jagged out."
"There's no sense in bustin' your guts to keep going," Jonathan stated philosophically, "There might be nothing up ahead better than where you are, anyhow. I'm Jonathan."
"No, but you don't know that until you get there," Toby replied, "So you've gotta get there to find out. I'm Toby."
"Makes sense," Jonathan agreed with a bit of a nod of his head. "Makes sense."
"No sense in pushing that wheelbarrow of yours. Makes walking harder. You can pick them up pretty cheap at the end."
"What end?"
"Whatever end you're heading for. Coolgardie, Kalgoorlie, Kanowna - they'd have lots of wheelbarrows there."
Jonathan sipped at his tea, sizing up Toby out of the corner of his near eye. "What makes you think it's a wheelbarrow?"
Toby screwed his head sideways as if his neck was versatile and did a bit of worried thinking at the same time. Jonathan looked O.K At least he wasn't pouring his tea over his head or anything. "Of course it's a wheelbarrow," he said. "Everybody knows what a wheelbarrow looks like. There's a wheel upfront and two handles going to the back and the tin part in the middle is what you shovel dirt into -- where you've got your clobber."
Jonathan shook his head. "Sorry, mate," he said. "It's a house."
Toby put his mug of tea onto the ground and stood erect. He was still hot and exhausted from the day's walk, and the few sips of tea that he'd had were insufficient to revive him like it said on the outside of the packet. So he was irritable, hospitality and all taken into account. "It's a bloody wheelbarrow," he insisted, walking across and standing between the handles of Jonathan's wheelbarrow as if he were about to march off. "It's got a bloody wheel up front, two bloody handles right here where I'm standing, and a bloody flat bucket sort of a guts where you shovel all sorts of sh** when you're working."
Jonathan stirred his tea a bit more with the stick that had stirred up his sugar in the first place. "Sit down and finish your tea before the flies take to swimming. I know where the wheels and the handles are, and that shit in the middle is all I own in this wide world. And I'm not working, Toby, which is why I'm walking. It's not a wheelbarrow, it's a house."
Toby sat down and picked up his mug of tea. "And you're a bloody kook"
Jonathan and Toby were walking mates. Well, not in a chosen way. They were waling mates because they were both walking between Southern Cross and Kalgoorlie when they met. In a sense, that is.
Jonathan was sitting by his wheelbarrow enjoying a billy of tea when he saw Toby tramping on at the edge of the road.
"Hi, mate," Jonathan called, "I've just wet the billy."
It was like that in those early pioneering days in the bush of Western Australia: it didn't matter if you were going and someone else was stopped, or if you were stopped and someone else was going, you yelled out to each other to make certain that the stopped one was O.K.
When Jonathan called out to Toby it wasn't quite like that because he was the stopped one enjoying his sweet, black tea and Toby was walking. Actually, Toby was almost stopped because he wasn't walking very fast.
"Thanks, mate," he said, as he flopped onto the dirt beside Jonathan and took the battered mug, brimful of tea. "I was getting jagged out."
"There's no sense in bustin' your guts to keep going," Jonathan stated philosophically, "There might be nothing up ahead better than where you are, anyhow. I'm Jonathan."
"No, but you don't know that until you get there," Toby replied, "So you've gotta get there to find out. I'm Toby."
"Makes sense," Jonathan agreed with a bit of a nod of his head. "Makes sense."
"No sense in pushing that wheelbarrow of yours. Makes walking harder. You can pick them up pretty cheap at the end."
"What end?"
"Whatever end you're heading for. Coolgardie, Kalgoorlie, Kanowna - they'd have lots of wheelbarrows there."
Jonathan sipped at his tea, sizing up Toby out of the corner of his near eye. "What makes you think it's a wheelbarrow?"
Toby screwed his head sideways as if his neck was versatile and did a bit of worried thinking at the same time. Jonathan looked O.K At least he wasn't pouring his tea over his head or anything. "Of course it's a wheelbarrow," he said. "Everybody knows what a wheelbarrow looks like. There's a wheel upfront and two handles going to the back and the tin part in the middle is what you shovel dirt into -- where you've got your clobber."
Jonathan shook his head. "Sorry, mate," he said. "It's a house."
Toby put his mug of tea onto the ground and stood erect. He was still hot and exhausted from the day's walk, and the few sips of tea that he'd had were insufficient to revive him like it said on the outside of the packet. So he was irritable, hospitality and all taken into account. "It's a bloody wheelbarrow," he insisted, walking across and standing between the handles of Jonathan's wheelbarrow as if he were about to march off. "It's got a bloody wheel up front, two bloody handles right here where I'm standing, and a bloody flat bucket sort of a guts where you shovel all sorts of sh** when you're working."
Jonathan stirred his tea a bit more with the stick that had stirred up his sugar in the first place. "Sit down and finish your tea before the flies take to swimming. I know where the wheels and the handles are, and that shit in the middle is all I own in this wide world. And I'm not working, Toby, which is why I'm walking. It's not a wheelbarrow, it's a house."
Toby sat down and picked up his mug of tea. "And you're a bloody kook"
