Memories

Edie Creek

By Old- Timer

A Lousy Tale!

BY 1930 the cream had been skimmed off Edie Creek, so far as the claim workers were concerned, and one began to hear such terms as “gully raker’’ and “gravel scratcher.”

In 1928 it had been beneath our dignity to work tailings; but by 1930-31 we were prepared to work any damn thing at all with a bit of gold in it.

I was working a tribute in one of the gorges at the lower end of the creek, putting in time, from daylight to dark, making big stones into little ones—not getting much gold, but collecting an occasional specimen to sweeten things up a bit. We’d reached the stage where we were putting down the pennyweights in the tally book.

I started to “clean up the box’’ one evening and placed one boy at the fum ing to control the flow of water while I cleaned up. The riffles had been removed and the little bit of gold brought to a thin stream across the head of the box when, without warning, a heavy gush of water threatened to scour all the gold and everything else from the box.

“juasy along water you brainless so-and so,” I yelled.

Along came another heavy gush of water. “Fasten water, you blanky cow!” [ screamed. “Haven’t you got any blanky crains in your blanky head?”

“Brains,” said the native with a puzzled look. “Me no savvy brain.”

“Brain,” I said, “*e something along lead belong you.”

A look of enlightenment dawned on his iial. “Me savvy,” he said. “Me got plenty, rhat’s all, me no call ’im brain, me call im louse!”

Gratitude!

[WAS just coming to the end of a fairly successful recruiting trip and had a line of assorted natives to show :or about a month’s work in the villages iowards the top of the Wein Valleys. The ;rack led down a long spur between the Vein and the Erap River.

We’d done a fair day’s travelling, and [ decided to camp for the night at a ullage where there seemed a chance of maring another two or three bush kan ikas for a two-years’ spell on the gold ields.

I had hardly got settled in, and dis :arded my mud-soaked socks and pants, vhen a village kanaka came along with i tale of woe. His little picaninny was lick.

“You good fella master, you got medi ;ine you can make him better?” he asked ne.

I went along to investigate. His pica ainny was a little girl, about four or five [.ears of age. My medical knowledge is lot extensive, but she seemed to have a )ad dose of fever. Questioning elicited the 'act that she had been sick for two or ihree weeks. I managed to get her to take >ome aspirin, and before I turned in I ?ave her a small dose of quinine. In the norning she seemed a bit brighter, but still very sick.

During the day I dosed her again, and rot her to eat a little milk and bread :rom my tucker-box. Towards evening she seemed much improved, and next morn ing appeared to be out of danger. I left a couple of tins of condensed milk and a few tins of soup out of my packs, plus medicines and instructions for feed ing and dosing. Then I gave instructions to fasten the packs and get moving. After all, what did a day or so’s delay matter?

The patient’s papa came along to speed us on our way. “You good fella master too much; you give ’em me medicine, give ’em me kai-kai, look-out good along pica ninny alia same doctor. You good fella master too much. Master, you got tobac?”

Rum

WHEN the aeroplanes came and made transport a bit more assured, one’s financial and social standing on Edie Creek was determined by the variety and quantity of grog available to offer visitors. Over 10 oz. a day meant a choice

of Scotch, rum and, occasionally, beer.

Five or six oz. a day qualified for rum and sometimes Scotch. If a man were making reasonable “money” rum would always be available. But a battler could only offer coffee.

It was a bit chilly on the Upper Edie once the sun went down, and an enamel pannikin of rum and coffee went really well, once the day’s work was finished.

Old Dick Berriman and I made a prac tice of having a good stiff rum and coffee together every evening when work was finished.

(Continued on page 77.)

j Old Tom’s hut was only 30 or 40 yards away, but we couldn’t offer him a drink, because we’d put him under the “Dog Act.” Tom had been on a bender for two or three months, and had had several (goes of the horrors.

Tom’s own grog had run out, and he was waiting for his boys to come back from the coast with more. We had had grog all the time, but had told Tom our stuff was finished.

Poor Tom was suffering all the tortures of the damned, with a really classical attack of the “dry horrors.” He came barging up the track to where Dick and I were sitting on the log, each holding a steaming pannikin of hot rum and coffee.

We parked the bottle when we saw him coming.

He sat down between us. Dick offered him a cup of coffee, which he refused. He put his head between his hands and groaned. [T wish to hell I had some rum,” he said. “I know you blokes haven’t got any, but it’s getting on my blanky nerves. I can see it and feel it all the blanky time, I can even smell the blanky stuff now!”