Shanks pony and dog carts

Plough Inn which was the watering hole in the village.

It’s no longer published and when it was it was rare. Not that many noticed, for a start who would know where Ardglen was or the Shale mine; Crawney pass or Temi and Nundle?

City folk have little or no feeling or understanding of a bare country road which might not host a car for a week or so or the single, solitary cry of a bird hidden in the folds of a sad looking tree alone in a paddock.

They can't feel it because they haven't experienced it. Therefore, for this writer anyway, when a friend of mine handed me William Birrell’s Up to the Collar with a couple on a sulky on the cover. I tucked it away for future pondering. Being a web man, reams of paper perfect-bound by a machine somewhere in China was not important. To make it worse, the author was a teacher and my experience with teachers, like historians, was not enlightening.

Naughty boy. The book awakened reminiscences of my younger years in the bush.

William Birrell kept a diary which went ….

The telegram informed me my next job was: to take charge of Crawney and Glen Dhu half time schools via Willow Tree. The year was 1910.

After much searching how to get there the conclusion was a train to a town called Murrurundi and from there he should be able to reach Glen Dhu.

On the map it looked possible but maps are deceptive. Specially 1910 road maps

William boarded the train in Newcastle with a Murra ticket. He had a plan. Also on the train was a sheep man from Scone who told him to get off the train at Blandford and seek a lift from there.

I got out onto the platform with my luggage and wondered what to do next. I learnt there was a hotel in the town and I could reach it by travelling in the buggy which was in the yard.

The pub was the Plough Inn, a single-storey pub and was glad to have a bath although it was stone cold. After a meal, plain but good, I hadn't faced up to mutton roast before.

He asked the proprietor how to get to Glen Dhu. He had no idea but suggested Bill go over the road to the Harden Vale homestead and ask someone there.

The owner was R. W. White. He told me my best chance was to go and see Jim McGivvany. He was quite willing to drive me out in his dog cart.

That could have been a back passenger facing sulky or a cart actually pulled by a dog … William did not elaborate. That night, despite not drinking or smoking, William spent in the bar listeing to stories and meeting the locals.

“In those days Hindus (I think they were called) carried two woven cane baskets hanging one at each end of the pole about 3 inches through, across the shoulders behind the neck. Their goods were usually clothing for either men or women. When they did a town they went on by train to the next.

“Another young fellow whom I met and went into his room to see his wares. He opened the baskets up and showed us a great assortment of clothing. I think half a dozen handkerchiefs each were brought by us. That was as much as I could buy as I didn't know what I'd have to pay to get out to Glen Dhu.

“The baskets were very heavy and it was as much as I could just to clear the floor with a lift.

“He told us he had been a champion wrestler in Greece and to substantiate his claim he produced photographs of himself wearing a belt which he had won. He was a very powerful man.

“Elias Stern, who was the burner-off on Harden Vale Station and apparently by the look of him, had spent a good deal of his adult life among smoke. He wore a beard and where the skin could be seen on arms, hands, neck, face and throat, it looked like a smoked ham and moreover I doubt if it had had contact with soap.

“Joe Sidebottom told a yarn about a Ronnie White and Elias one day after Elias had spent his money on booze. With hands shaking Elias opened up with 'It’s a perisher, Mr White, it’s a perisher.'

“Mr White was sitting at his desk in the office and didn't even turn around as he was aware from past experience what Elias’s mission was.

“Joe said that for a few minutes while Elias was clasping and unclasping his hands and moving from one foot to another, the boss reached in a drawer and took out a small 22 calibre revolver, turned around and said in his gruff voice, 'can you dance, Elias? Can you dance?'

Before Elias had time to reply, White fired three or four shots into the floor fairly close to where Elias was. Before he had time to ask any more questions, Elias was out of the office, through the gate and off to his quarters in quick timer. According to Joe and backed up by one or two others nearby, that was a joke that R. W White appreciated.

In another story William writes “Harden Vale was noted for its blood stock and often raced in Tamworth and other country centres as well as Sydney and Brisbane. One Sunday morning he drove up to the Plough Inn in his dog cart with a young polo pony in the shafts.

“He pulled up and of course the men sitting on the verandah were loud in their praises about the fine looking pony. A minute or so later R. W. doubled the reins from the driving end into to section and tossed them onto the pony’s back, cross wise, then stepped down and said to those around 'That’s the way I deal with a newly broken pony.'

The words were barely out of his mouth when the pony took off along the road towards Murrurundi which skirted the Page’s River. A couple of miles along there was a sharp bend where the dog cart overturned down the bank and took the pony with it. It was apparent the pony had kicked herself out of the harness and smashed the dash board to pieces and later made her way back to the station gate where RW found her. I didn't hear any details regarding the pony, the trap or harness.