The old days...
Dec 7, 2017 9:13:14 GMT 12
Post by eoinc on Dec 7, 2017 9:13:14 GMT 12
Although not directly related to dredging, the original rushes of NZ hold great interest for me, and may do for some of you, too. Whether it's Barrington's misguided orienteering in the Red Hills and Olivene area, or those who braved the remoteness of Cromarty at Preservation Inlet, there is something captivating about the calculated (or uncalculated) risk that drew so many to abandon their regular way of life for a taste of opportunity.
For those who know the area, and are interested in such things (and don't mind a long rambling tale - if not, look away now!), here is a story related by my Great Grandfather in 1926 (at the Gore Settlers Association), about when he took a bullock team from Otokia to Dunedin to Kingston return, when he was about 15 years old, supplying goods for the Miners working around the Wakatipu area...
"DUNEDIN TO KINGSTON WITH A BULLOCK DRAY IN 1864
...There passed away at Tapanui recently one whose name was
well known in this district — viz., James Chittook, of
Pinnacle Hill, and formerly of East Gore. In the early
’60’s the Chittocks and ourselves were neighbours at Otokia,
near Henley. I was then but a lad, having arrived there
from Scotland with my parents in 1860. The roads were then
only beginning to be formed, and we found it necessary to
sledge our belongings from Allanton. My uncle, who did the
sledging, had been resident in the district for several
years prior to our arrival.
Well do I remember my first Christmas dinner in the Colony.
I had this with Te Raki, a Maori chief, his wife, and an old
whaler, John Bull. It was a great ”plum duff” we had that
day. In those early days there many Maoris around Taieri
Mouth, while even to—day John Bull’s gully can be pointed
out.
Among the interesting personalities who were then resident
around the district were Antonie Joseph, who kept the inn at
Henley, while Mr Leitoh, who died a few years ago, was the
school teacher at Otokia. The schools were then private
institutions, and the late Mr Leitch turned out some very
good pupils. Rev. J. Ferguson, sometime of First Church,
Invercargill, and later of Sydney, was a product of this
school. It was to this seat of learning that I was sent, as
also were the Chittocks. I well remember the first day Mrs
Grant, mother of Mr W. Grant, butcher, Gore, went to school.
Another pupil was Mr James McPhail, now of Waikaka Valley.
Of the others who formed the school, the majority were
either Maoris or half—castes.
On leaving school I went to work for a relation of Mr
McPhail, a Mr Younger. A constant stream of men and of
vehicles was at this time to be seen daily, all pressing on
to the one goal — the goldfields. The gold fever was at its
height. Wakatipu was the scene of operations, and thither
the surging stream wended its way. Great was the interest
that centred round the first horsemdrawn two—wheeled vehicle
that was driven through Henley, and the honour of doing this
was held by either Jock Graham or McIntosh. How everyone
looked out for the turn—out as it passed on its way carrying
the mails to Milton.
Work on the farms was then being done with bullocks.
Draught horses only came, as also did wagons, with the
formation of roads, subsequent to the outbreak of the gold
fever and the trek to the diggings. Mr McPhail will still
relate to you how he walked several miles to see a pair of
horses working in a plough. One hundred pounds per ton for
carting! Think of it and then visualise for yourselves the
many types of vehicles pressed into service.
Many and strange were the vehicles brought into commission. The high
price ruling for carting, coupled with the dearth of work on
the farms, doubtless settled the issue for some of the
farmers who decided to share in this rich harvest. Carting
to up—country diggings was to help swell the family coffers.
James Chittock, who was a few years older than I, had been
to Dunstan on a previous occasion, while another man named
McLaren had previously been down south working on one of the
stations. He knew the lay of the land and the best tracks
to follow.
The fateful decision was made — we would cart goods to the
diggings.
The arrangements made, G. McLaren drove his own team of
eight bullocks, James Chittock his father’s team of six,
Edward Chittock his brother—in—law’s (Johnston) team of six,
and I drove Mr Younger’s team of six. The drays were
heavily constructed affairs with a pole tilt under which we
slept at night. The auspicious day duly arrived, and one
fine morning we set off for Dunedin, and we arrived there
the same evening after an uneventual trip.
We loaded up with flour, sugar, tea and other groceries in smaller
quantities, making a load of about 25 or 3cht, though
McLaren's load was correspondingly more, as he had a greater
team. The next evening found us back at Otokia with the
loaded drays bound for Kingston. This was somewhere around
the end of ’63 or early in ’64 — I am not sure which. The
diggings at Queenstown were then going full swing.
Leaving Otokia the next morning we crossed the Taieri River in a
punt. What a slow and cumbersome job that was. It took
quite a long time for the four bullock drays successfully to
be taken across the river, with the result that the end of
the day found us camped for the night somewhere between
where Milburn and Clarendon now stand.
Our feelings may be better imagined than described when the sun rose
next morning on our peaceful camp but not upon our bullocks
anywhere near the line of vision. While we slept the
bullocks had headed homewards, and they had covered quite a
fair tract of country. The work of following them and
returning them to our camp lost us the whole day, so we
camped for another night in the same place.
The next day's journey carried us as far as Lovell’s Flat, and the
succeeding day found us on the eastern side of the Clutha
River. Here we pitched camp on the rise at the top of the
ridge overlooking what is now the town of Balclutha. Next
day we had another experience of crossing a river on a punt,
as there was then a punt on the Clutha River near where the
traffic bridge now spans the waters. The crossing occupied
the greater part of the day, and nightfall with its usual
halt saw our retinue beside a creek three miles from the
Clutha.
Where Clinton now is was the completion of a
further day’s journeying, and here we found a small
accommodation house. There were no roads on the southern
side of the Clutha, but tracks were well defined and
crossing places had been formed at the streams.
Our progress on the next stage of our trek was slow and
wearisome owing to the soft nature of some of the ground we
had to cover, and we camped for the night where Waipahi
stands to—day. The only signs of human habitation at
Waipahi at that time were evidenced by the timber being
deposited for the erection of an accommodation house.
Otherwise there was nothing.
Continuing the trip the next day, we made over the Landslip
Hill. The slip then looked quite fresh, as though the slip
had occurred but a short time before. The face of the slip
was very bare and showed plenty of white sand. It was a
novel sight then, though of recent years it appears to have
been overgrown with vegetation. From the summit of Landslip
Hill we secured a fine View of the surrounding country. What
a view! As far as the eye could see waved the golden
tussock.
Back on the Clinton Hill there was bush and also
at Croydon and on the distant Blue Mountains. Not a fence
nor a human habitation was to be seen. Looking at this same
country to—day and visualising it as I first gazed in awe
upon its surface, it all seems to have been an unrealistic
dream. No a sound came from anywhere except for the
occasional creak of the drays or the jingle of the yoke
rods, or perhaps the craik of the woodhens around our camp.
Tramping along beside our leading bullocks, steadily we
pushed on, averaging approximately 15 miles per day.
McLaren, with his eight—bullock team, was always in front,
with the others following his trail — sometimes close behind
him, sometimes well behind him. Occasionally the peaceful
air would reverberate to the sound of a high-sounding
bullocky adjective as one or other of the bullocks attempted
to make fresh tracks, but it was seldom that we had any
trouble.
Dogs were not included in our perquisites for
various obvious reasons. Dogs and bullocks do not mate
well, and in any case it would have been too hard to attend
to both. The language or sounds that will meet the
requirements where bullocks are concerned will never serve
the same purpose for dogs. They did not do so then. The
phraseology or terms used by the bullocky I have forgotten,
but I am of the opinion that they would not interest you
even if I did remember them, and they might call for more
explanation than I could give. You have doubtless heard the
phrase "Not fit for a dog to hear." This might account for
the absence of dogs. There I will leave the subject.
Following the ridge, we came down the spur to where Maitland
School is now found, and here we had our nightly halt. In
this region we struck what was perhaps the worst part of our
journey from Dunedin to Kingston. What a time we had coming
down and over those ridges. We found it expedient to fasten
ropes to the drays, and on these we had to pull with might
and main to prevent them from tipping headlong down some of
the sidelings.
Next morning, proceeding up the rise from
the Waikaka Stream in the direction of where East Chatton
lies we experienced further difficulties owing to the fact
that we could draw only one dray at a time, using all the
bullocks with the exception of the polers. The result of
this was that we were able to reach no further than the
Washpool (Okapua Creek), somewhere near Chatton where we
pitched our camp. Resuming our journey next day at the top
of the rise near Chatton we got a glimpse of Knapdale
Homestead, and in the distance we saw Croydon House, lying
at the edge of Hokonui Bush.
The next day we crossed the Mataura River near where the Pyramid
bridge now crosses the stream, and here we all but had an accident.
One of Ted Chittock’s bullocks turned in its yoke in midstream.
Those who have never been privileged to witness such a calamity
will scarcely realise the awkwardness of the predicament nor
the difficulty of the situation. On land it would have been
bad enough, but in midstream it was awful. Ted Chittock
received the fright of his life. Fortunately the bullocks
stood still, and although we all got a real good wetting in
the doing of it, we successfully extricated them none the
worse for the experience.
Here We camped for the night, and that same evening a spring—cart
arrived with a load of "grog", and on our return trip from Kingston we
found the owners set up as a "pub”.
Our next camp was in the vicinity of the present Balfour
township, and on our way we passed Waimea Homestead lying on
our right. At our camp site an old man had set up a shelter
with a few sticks, some rushes and red tussock. Here it was
possible to camp and to boil the hilly, etc., for a
consideration. On the succeeding day we went up the Five
Mile Ridge, and the falling of the shades of evening found
us somewhere beyond where Lumsden now is and where the
tracks from Invercargill and Dunedin met. At that
particular time the place was known as ”The Jolly
Waggoners.“
Going down the other side of the Five Mile
Ridge we had to screw down the brakes and we had also to tie
the wheels with ropes. The brakes were worked by means of a
big screw behind the draws somewhat similar to the old
woolpress. Although clumsy, they fulfilled their functions
and served the purpose for which they were intended,
although in a sudden case of emergency I should not imagine
them being of much use as we had to stop to screw them off.
Next day we went from ”The Jolly Waggoners" up the Five
Rivers Plain to a spot somewhere near the Rogers’ station.
James Chittock and I went across to the station, where we
procured some mutton, and here We were offered a job. I
expect that, like many others, his hands had preferred to
try their luck on the diggings rather than to continue at
work for Rogers. He showed his surprise when he was told
that the lad was driving a bullock team, and he would have
pleased had I started to work for him.
The next stage of our journey found us camped on the other
side of the Mataura River near where Garston or Fairlight
now are, and past Athol. Lucky were we that we had crossed
the river before camping, for during the night the stream
rose considerably following rain, and next morning a team
that had camped on the far side was unable to negotiate the
channel.
The next day we arrived at our destination, Kingston.
Soon we had our drays unloaded. In those days
Kingston was a town of canvas. There were no steamers on
the lake. Plying on the waters were several large boats
which were propelled by both oars and sails. We wasted no
time, and soon we were wending our way homewards.
G.McLaren had heard of a short cut, and he decided to try it on
his own. He did, and the result was that he somersaulted, and
some of us had to go to his assistance. We camped that
night on the spot we had left that morning.
On the return trip we made better progress, and we traveled
easier as the drays were empty. At the various halting
places we Would unyoke the bullocks and leave them. They
never wandered far but were content to graze on the
plentiful grass. When eventually we arrived back at Otokia
the animals were fatter than when we had set out from there.
Jim Chittock showed me the way to make flapjacks, but I
could not attain to any degree of efficiency in the art.
"Come on, I will show you how it is done,” he would cry, and
taking the frying—pan in his hand he would give it a sudden
jerk and neatly turn over the flapjack into the pan. When I
endeavoured to emulate his example half of the mixture would
find a resting place in the fire and the remainder would
land elsewhere. Flapjack making was evidently not my forte,
and I gave it up — bested.
When we got back to Clutha we had the good fortune to cross
on the same punt and again in front of the teams of horses
over which we had had precedence on our outward journey.
Although they could travel faster than our bullock teams
they were were stuck oftener, and as they lost practically
the whole day at the punt they could not have been expected
to appreciate it. When they were eventually on the better—
formed road to Dunedin, however, they left us behind with
ease.
At Lovell's Flat I nearly met disaster. A bridge had been
erected across the stream and at either end there was an
embankment. The leading pair of bullocks had crossed the
bridge and they then rushed down the embankment to the
water, forcing the other bullocks and the dray to the side
in their careening rush. The construction all but
collapsed, but fortunately one of the other drivers, rushing
down, succeeded in turning the bullocks up the embankment
again and the situation was saved. It was touch-and—go with
that bridge though.
Rabbits were unheard of in those days -
there were none. Tussock covered the. country in all
directions and woodhens and pukakos were plentiful. Of
ducks and caw—caws these was an abundant supply.
While we were at Kingston we heard of a way back through Switzers
and Beaumont, but we did not care to try it, and exactly one
month from the time we left Otokia we landed back. We had
no accidents whatsoever, and the entire outing was almost as
good as a picnic. The four of us got on well together, and
we were all young. Now I am the only one left."
Cheers,
Eoin
For those who know the area, and are interested in such things (and don't mind a long rambling tale - if not, look away now!), here is a story related by my Great Grandfather in 1926 (at the Gore Settlers Association), about when he took a bullock team from Otokia to Dunedin to Kingston return, when he was about 15 years old, supplying goods for the Miners working around the Wakatipu area...
"DUNEDIN TO KINGSTON WITH A BULLOCK DRAY IN 1864
...There passed away at Tapanui recently one whose name was
well known in this district — viz., James Chittook, of
Pinnacle Hill, and formerly of East Gore. In the early
’60’s the Chittocks and ourselves were neighbours at Otokia,
near Henley. I was then but a lad, having arrived there
from Scotland with my parents in 1860. The roads were then
only beginning to be formed, and we found it necessary to
sledge our belongings from Allanton. My uncle, who did the
sledging, had been resident in the district for several
years prior to our arrival.
Well do I remember my first Christmas dinner in the Colony.
I had this with Te Raki, a Maori chief, his wife, and an old
whaler, John Bull. It was a great ”plum duff” we had that
day. In those early days there many Maoris around Taieri
Mouth, while even to—day John Bull’s gully can be pointed
out.
Among the interesting personalities who were then resident
around the district were Antonie Joseph, who kept the inn at
Henley, while Mr Leitoh, who died a few years ago, was the
school teacher at Otokia. The schools were then private
institutions, and the late Mr Leitch turned out some very
good pupils. Rev. J. Ferguson, sometime of First Church,
Invercargill, and later of Sydney, was a product of this
school. It was to this seat of learning that I was sent, as
also were the Chittocks. I well remember the first day Mrs
Grant, mother of Mr W. Grant, butcher, Gore, went to school.
Another pupil was Mr James McPhail, now of Waikaka Valley.
Of the others who formed the school, the majority were
either Maoris or half—castes.
On leaving school I went to work for a relation of Mr
McPhail, a Mr Younger. A constant stream of men and of
vehicles was at this time to be seen daily, all pressing on
to the one goal — the goldfields. The gold fever was at its
height. Wakatipu was the scene of operations, and thither
the surging stream wended its way. Great was the interest
that centred round the first horsemdrawn two—wheeled vehicle
that was driven through Henley, and the honour of doing this
was held by either Jock Graham or McIntosh. How everyone
looked out for the turn—out as it passed on its way carrying
the mails to Milton.
Work on the farms was then being done with bullocks.
Draught horses only came, as also did wagons, with the
formation of roads, subsequent to the outbreak of the gold
fever and the trek to the diggings. Mr McPhail will still
relate to you how he walked several miles to see a pair of
horses working in a plough. One hundred pounds per ton for
carting! Think of it and then visualise for yourselves the
many types of vehicles pressed into service.
Many and strange were the vehicles brought into commission. The high
price ruling for carting, coupled with the dearth of work on
the farms, doubtless settled the issue for some of the
farmers who decided to share in this rich harvest. Carting
to up—country diggings was to help swell the family coffers.
James Chittock, who was a few years older than I, had been
to Dunstan on a previous occasion, while another man named
McLaren had previously been down south working on one of the
stations. He knew the lay of the land and the best tracks
to follow.
The fateful decision was made — we would cart goods to the
diggings.
The arrangements made, G. McLaren drove his own team of
eight bullocks, James Chittock his father’s team of six,
Edward Chittock his brother—in—law’s (Johnston) team of six,
and I drove Mr Younger’s team of six. The drays were
heavily constructed affairs with a pole tilt under which we
slept at night. The auspicious day duly arrived, and one
fine morning we set off for Dunedin, and we arrived there
the same evening after an uneventual trip.
We loaded up with flour, sugar, tea and other groceries in smaller
quantities, making a load of about 25 or 3cht, though
McLaren's load was correspondingly more, as he had a greater
team. The next evening found us back at Otokia with the
loaded drays bound for Kingston. This was somewhere around
the end of ’63 or early in ’64 — I am not sure which. The
diggings at Queenstown were then going full swing.
Leaving Otokia the next morning we crossed the Taieri River in a
punt. What a slow and cumbersome job that was. It took
quite a long time for the four bullock drays successfully to
be taken across the river, with the result that the end of
the day found us camped for the night somewhere between
where Milburn and Clarendon now stand.
Our feelings may be better imagined than described when the sun rose
next morning on our peaceful camp but not upon our bullocks
anywhere near the line of vision. While we slept the
bullocks had headed homewards, and they had covered quite a
fair tract of country. The work of following them and
returning them to our camp lost us the whole day, so we
camped for another night in the same place.
The next day's journey carried us as far as Lovell’s Flat, and the
succeeding day found us on the eastern side of the Clutha
River. Here we pitched camp on the rise at the top of the
ridge overlooking what is now the town of Balclutha. Next
day we had another experience of crossing a river on a punt,
as there was then a punt on the Clutha River near where the
traffic bridge now spans the waters. The crossing occupied
the greater part of the day, and nightfall with its usual
halt saw our retinue beside a creek three miles from the
Clutha.
Where Clinton now is was the completion of a
further day’s journeying, and here we found a small
accommodation house. There were no roads on the southern
side of the Clutha, but tracks were well defined and
crossing places had been formed at the streams.
Our progress on the next stage of our trek was slow and
wearisome owing to the soft nature of some of the ground we
had to cover, and we camped for the night where Waipahi
stands to—day. The only signs of human habitation at
Waipahi at that time were evidenced by the timber being
deposited for the erection of an accommodation house.
Otherwise there was nothing.
Continuing the trip the next day, we made over the Landslip
Hill. The slip then looked quite fresh, as though the slip
had occurred but a short time before. The face of the slip
was very bare and showed plenty of white sand. It was a
novel sight then, though of recent years it appears to have
been overgrown with vegetation. From the summit of Landslip
Hill we secured a fine View of the surrounding country. What
a view! As far as the eye could see waved the golden
tussock.
Back on the Clinton Hill there was bush and also
at Croydon and on the distant Blue Mountains. Not a fence
nor a human habitation was to be seen. Looking at this same
country to—day and visualising it as I first gazed in awe
upon its surface, it all seems to have been an unrealistic
dream. No a sound came from anywhere except for the
occasional creak of the drays or the jingle of the yoke
rods, or perhaps the craik of the woodhens around our camp.
Tramping along beside our leading bullocks, steadily we
pushed on, averaging approximately 15 miles per day.
McLaren, with his eight—bullock team, was always in front,
with the others following his trail — sometimes close behind
him, sometimes well behind him. Occasionally the peaceful
air would reverberate to the sound of a high-sounding
bullocky adjective as one or other of the bullocks attempted
to make fresh tracks, but it was seldom that we had any
trouble.
Dogs were not included in our perquisites for
various obvious reasons. Dogs and bullocks do not mate
well, and in any case it would have been too hard to attend
to both. The language or sounds that will meet the
requirements where bullocks are concerned will never serve
the same purpose for dogs. They did not do so then. The
phraseology or terms used by the bullocky I have forgotten,
but I am of the opinion that they would not interest you
even if I did remember them, and they might call for more
explanation than I could give. You have doubtless heard the
phrase "Not fit for a dog to hear." This might account for
the absence of dogs. There I will leave the subject.
Following the ridge, we came down the spur to where Maitland
School is now found, and here we had our nightly halt. In
this region we struck what was perhaps the worst part of our
journey from Dunedin to Kingston. What a time we had coming
down and over those ridges. We found it expedient to fasten
ropes to the drays, and on these we had to pull with might
and main to prevent them from tipping headlong down some of
the sidelings.
Next morning, proceeding up the rise from
the Waikaka Stream in the direction of where East Chatton
lies we experienced further difficulties owing to the fact
that we could draw only one dray at a time, using all the
bullocks with the exception of the polers. The result of
this was that we were able to reach no further than the
Washpool (Okapua Creek), somewhere near Chatton where we
pitched our camp. Resuming our journey next day at the top
of the rise near Chatton we got a glimpse of Knapdale
Homestead, and in the distance we saw Croydon House, lying
at the edge of Hokonui Bush.
The next day we crossed the Mataura River near where the Pyramid
bridge now crosses the stream, and here we all but had an accident.
One of Ted Chittock’s bullocks turned in its yoke in midstream.
Those who have never been privileged to witness such a calamity
will scarcely realise the awkwardness of the predicament nor
the difficulty of the situation. On land it would have been
bad enough, but in midstream it was awful. Ted Chittock
received the fright of his life. Fortunately the bullocks
stood still, and although we all got a real good wetting in
the doing of it, we successfully extricated them none the
worse for the experience.
Here We camped for the night, and that same evening a spring—cart
arrived with a load of "grog", and on our return trip from Kingston we
found the owners set up as a "pub”.
Our next camp was in the vicinity of the present Balfour
township, and on our way we passed Waimea Homestead lying on
our right. At our camp site an old man had set up a shelter
with a few sticks, some rushes and red tussock. Here it was
possible to camp and to boil the hilly, etc., for a
consideration. On the succeeding day we went up the Five
Mile Ridge, and the falling of the shades of evening found
us somewhere beyond where Lumsden now is and where the
tracks from Invercargill and Dunedin met. At that
particular time the place was known as ”The Jolly
Waggoners.“
Going down the other side of the Five Mile
Ridge we had to screw down the brakes and we had also to tie
the wheels with ropes. The brakes were worked by means of a
big screw behind the draws somewhat similar to the old
woolpress. Although clumsy, they fulfilled their functions
and served the purpose for which they were intended,
although in a sudden case of emergency I should not imagine
them being of much use as we had to stop to screw them off.
Next day we went from ”The Jolly Waggoners" up the Five
Rivers Plain to a spot somewhere near the Rogers’ station.
James Chittock and I went across to the station, where we
procured some mutton, and here We were offered a job. I
expect that, like many others, his hands had preferred to
try their luck on the diggings rather than to continue at
work for Rogers. He showed his surprise when he was told
that the lad was driving a bullock team, and he would have
pleased had I started to work for him.
The next stage of our journey found us camped on the other
side of the Mataura River near where Garston or Fairlight
now are, and past Athol. Lucky were we that we had crossed
the river before camping, for during the night the stream
rose considerably following rain, and next morning a team
that had camped on the far side was unable to negotiate the
channel.
The next day we arrived at our destination, Kingston.
Soon we had our drays unloaded. In those days
Kingston was a town of canvas. There were no steamers on
the lake. Plying on the waters were several large boats
which were propelled by both oars and sails. We wasted no
time, and soon we were wending our way homewards.
G.McLaren had heard of a short cut, and he decided to try it on
his own. He did, and the result was that he somersaulted, and
some of us had to go to his assistance. We camped that
night on the spot we had left that morning.
On the return trip we made better progress, and we traveled
easier as the drays were empty. At the various halting
places we Would unyoke the bullocks and leave them. They
never wandered far but were content to graze on the
plentiful grass. When eventually we arrived back at Otokia
the animals were fatter than when we had set out from there.
Jim Chittock showed me the way to make flapjacks, but I
could not attain to any degree of efficiency in the art.
"Come on, I will show you how it is done,” he would cry, and
taking the frying—pan in his hand he would give it a sudden
jerk and neatly turn over the flapjack into the pan. When I
endeavoured to emulate his example half of the mixture would
find a resting place in the fire and the remainder would
land elsewhere. Flapjack making was evidently not my forte,
and I gave it up — bested.
When we got back to Clutha we had the good fortune to cross
on the same punt and again in front of the teams of horses
over which we had had precedence on our outward journey.
Although they could travel faster than our bullock teams
they were were stuck oftener, and as they lost practically
the whole day at the punt they could not have been expected
to appreciate it. When they were eventually on the better—
formed road to Dunedin, however, they left us behind with
ease.
At Lovell's Flat I nearly met disaster. A bridge had been
erected across the stream and at either end there was an
embankment. The leading pair of bullocks had crossed the
bridge and they then rushed down the embankment to the
water, forcing the other bullocks and the dray to the side
in their careening rush. The construction all but
collapsed, but fortunately one of the other drivers, rushing
down, succeeded in turning the bullocks up the embankment
again and the situation was saved. It was touch-and—go with
that bridge though.
Rabbits were unheard of in those days -
there were none. Tussock covered the. country in all
directions and woodhens and pukakos were plentiful. Of
ducks and caw—caws these was an abundant supply.
While we were at Kingston we heard of a way back through Switzers
and Beaumont, but we did not care to try it, and exactly one
month from the time we left Otokia we landed back. We had
no accidents whatsoever, and the entire outing was almost as
good as a picnic. The four of us got on well together, and
we were all young. Now I am the only one left."
Cheers,
Eoin
