Today is really out last day of sightseeing as by lunchtime
tomorrow we will be back in territory that we have visited before, only three
more sleeps! The alarm went off at 6:50, ridiculously early for us, we
eventually managed to get to the breakfast table by 7:30 and were at the front
gate by 9am, heading back to the Stockman’s Hall of Fame.
The boys, with whip in hand, headed straight to Anthony, the
whip maker’s, stand where he proceeded to put a new fall and cracker on their
whip and then took them outside to make sure it worked and giving it an grease
to boot! What a nice bloke!
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| The boys in their new Akubras |
We then visited the remaining galleries covering
the RFDS and Stockman which were both great. While there is a lot to read about
the ‘artefacts’ around the museum and heaps of small videos that the boys
really enjoyed one of my favourite parts was the poster boards that had the
stories of the Unsung Heros of the bush. Blokes who were one of twelve children
who had left home at 12, become drovers and ended up owing vast amounts of
territory or ladies who had endured incredible hardship raising families while
working the land.
We rolled out of Longreach, bound for home, 1350 kilometers
in just under four days and while we will be making a few stops to look at a
couple of things leaving Longreach was the end of our 'experience'!
100kms down the road we stopped in Barcaldine to see the
“Tree of Knowledge” the place where the Labour party started and the boys had a
great time playing some very oversized musical instruments.
Another hour later
and we stopped in Blackall to visit the statue of Jackie Howe and was not surprised that this bloke is such a
legend having shore 321 sheep in 7 hours and 40 minutes!!!
We have been on the otherside of the black stump for a while
now so we thought that we had better visit the ‘original’ (location of the)
black stump on the way back. Now being on ‘this side of the black stump’ we are
heading to a free camp on the Barcoo River for the night, and I think I might
have to recite some bush poetry tonight around the camp fire.
Another stretch of lifeless road strewn with roadkill later we pulled into a cute little country town called Tambo. It has a couple of pubs, a general store and a few other conveniences like most other towns we have seen. However it did have one big difference, and that isn't the teddy shop in the main street, it was that it had just been re-named.....
We pulled into camp and deciding that building a fire would be to much of a task, the boys set about refining their whip cracking routine. Amazingly enough despite their fathers complete lack of timing and ability, and as such competence on a whip both of the boys have gone from strength to strength....what use it will be in a suburban Brisbane life is yet to be determined! Meanwhile I repaired my thong with needle, thread and a pair of pliers!
Whilst the boys cracked their whip and the wife sipped her beer I sat on the edge of the table, looking over the Barcoo River and recited some prose by a A.B. 'Banjo' Paterson from a book given to the boys by their Me Me Ma and Pa not long after they had completed their big trip around Australia.
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, `If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
`What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened --
`'Tis outrageous,' says he, `to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the `praste' cried aloud in his haste,
`Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
`I've a notion,' says he, `that'll move him.'
`Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy -- don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
`Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name --
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout --
`Take your chance, anyhow, wid `Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled `MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened `Maginnis'!
'A Bush Christening' was first published in the Bulletin, 16 December 1893.
We had dinner inside and did not dare to open the door until the morning, as it was nothing short of ridiculously could out there!!!!
