MEMORIES OF THE SHEOAKS

by WIN BURFORD (d: 5/6/92)

Win Burford, nee Winifred Moyle, was one of eight children born to Walter and Lucy Moyle, between 1902 and 1914. In order of appearance, they were Aileen, Les, Bob, Win, Ada, Mary (Mid), Nell and Kath. Mother Lucy died soon after the birth of Kath, leaving the father to bring up the six girls and two boys.

The family came from the area around Clare, in the Mid North of South Australia, but, due to circumstances which should rightly be the subject of another story, all but the first two of the children were born in New Zealand.

They returned to Australia, and moved to a farm property called “The Sheoaks”, in the hills above Watervale in (what year?) In the following pages, Win reminisces about the years at The Sheoaks. A few little things I remember about The Sheoaks.

PEOPLE

The first visitor we had after our move to “The Sheoaks” was George Washington Parker, and, typical of our father, he was invited in for a cup of tea. To Ailie’s and my consternation, there was nothing to eat but a few pancakes left over from dinner, so we served them up with jam on them. A common fare these days, but a shock for dear old Dad. When we first came to Watervale, we thought it was all Graces, and how we used to giggle at the family on the corner, who peeped at us from one window after the other.

We were really rude to poor old “Lation” who would come over and sit all night watching us play ping pong, and when we wanted to go to bed we’d say, “Isn’t it time you went?

Then there was Arnold Smith and his sniffs, but how we liked his buckets of grapes, and melons, etc. He was a good friend and we had many rides in his sidecar. He tipped it over once, and suffered a broken leg. He was a regular for Saturday night tea, and we invariably had jam tarts. It was an effort to keep a straight face when he used a knife and fork to eat them.

Lots of Clare folk used to come down to see us. They liked to think of our place as the place where they threw the bread around. Dad always cut the bread, and was an expert at landing a slice on everyone’s plate. We always put the cream on the bread before the jam, and, believe me, there was always plenty of cream, at least. No wonder I was robust. The girls carried the bread home in sugarbags after school, from Burgess’ shop.

The Geordie Pattersons were our neighbours when we lived east of Clare, and moved to Watervale after us. They moved into Hunter’s old place, where Ted Ireland lived for ears. We caught up with them once again at the “Back To Watervale” school reunion in 1987. Jean, Helen and Alex. They used to visit us and talk of old Presbyterian days. Aunty Mary and Uncle Dave often drove their buggy and pair of ponies down from Clare, and always brought us fruit and vegies from their garden. Lovely apples, and good cake and flowers. It was a case of tidy up quickly if we saw them coming.

Several of the teachers visited us. Palmers came out often, and played Five Hundred. Mrs. Palmer was neurotic, and would say, “Never mind about me” in the middle of a game, much to our horror. Aileen and Jean were good friends of our girls. I wonder what happened to them?

Keith and Lena Potter were another pair who often came out. The Munros were somehow related to the Bodgers and so felt a connection with us. No, it was not Lauries; who was it? (Don Munro.) He was a good tennis player.

I remember once, Jack Castine coming to tell us that tennis was off. He caught us talking very loudly about someone local, and we wouldn’t answer the door. I had to be the mug eventually, when he called out my name. Oh, the embarrassment! We were doomed about those Castines, as we were when Mollie called to see if we would join the Guides. She caught muggins me chewing a big piece of crust and jam. I had to drop it in the woodbox, and I knew she wondered what the noise was. I didn’t even ask her inside. We never joined the Guides anyhow; we couldn’t afford to.

I remember taking our New Zealand aunties, Charlie and Alice, for a walk up over the railway line. It must have been a good year, as the crops were as high as we were in some places. The men were busy making silage. They used an old cellar down by the swamp as a silage pit That swamp was a wet patch, and one of the girls once lost a boot. It was just covered in mud and she couldn’t get back to it. We had to go way up to the creek to cross, or risk bogging.

Old Mabel Harding lived in a hut down in Ward’s paddock, and a real old German character she was. She had dozens of cats and Dad once found her very ill with a poisoned hand from where a cat had bitten her. Try as he would, she wouldn’t go to a doctor. Treated it herself, with hot vinegar. We were afraid to go looking for her, in case we found her dead, but, no, she got over it.

She had a boyfriend who used to call in on her, carrying a swag. I think that swag might have been filled with wine, as there was always a beano when he arrived. Paddy Sullivan, she called him. Somehow, Dad once unrolled one of Paddy’s swags, and found in it a well-worn prayer-book, so there must have been some good in old Paddy. Mabel was a sister of ??? who lived nearby and did jobs for Auntie Janet down at Boucat.

Aileen was glory-boxing, and old Mabel gave her a collection of dishes (no questions where she had gotten them) and sold her some very nice things.

Funny how things stick in the mind. I remember being told about that sister, Mrs. ??? starting on her honeymoon and her new husband calling to the driver, “Stop the wagon! Stop the wagon! My Pauline wants a widdle!” I hope they stopped in time. As a kid, that tickled me a bit. That big Peter Cornwell from Hilltown is the little boy Dad used to give rides on his horses.

DAD

Dad didn’t like heights, and used to go up the windmill to grease it at night, so he couldn’t see the ground. The wonder was that he never fell.

Poor old Dad used to read in bed by lamplight, and admitted to reading everything in the paper, even the advertisements, in an effort to get to sleep. Many times when we got home from an evening out we would sneak around the verandah and peep in his window to see him asleep with his glasses still on, and the paper on h1S chest. Try as we would

to put his light out without waking him, he’d always have a look at the clock and so know what time we’d arrived home. I often think of the anxiety we must have caused him.

How hard he worked to get a few pounds in cash. He even went ploughing firebreaks on the line. He used two horses with a single furrow plough behind, and went right down to Rhynie. He had some depots, one being at Cornwells at Undalya, where he could leave his horses overnight. I used to go down in the Tin Lizzie and bring him home sometimes.

He never had enough horses, and used to look so funny on Spotty, as his long legs nearly touched the ground.

We used to love Dad to go and sell something at the Auburn market. He would bring home sausages, and always white peppermints and chocolate shapes. He was a sweet-tooth.

HOUSE AND HOME

Those steps out the back were Mintaro slate, and it was a regular Saturday job to scrub them all. They looked clean and blue, and were cool and shady under the vines.

We used to wash out there, but frosty mornings weren’t so good. Our bathroom facilities weren’t so good either. When we had Hockey girls they just had to wash in the bedrooms and the jerries used to fill with soapy water. Oh, the horror of that these days, when everyone showers in hot water. We used to take a kettle of hot water in and tip it into the bowl. I’ll always remember Ada’s embarrassment the first time Reg came there and asked where the bathroom was. It just wasn’t. We did have a tub in the lean-to on the verandah, and carried buckets of water from the copper. Never any need to cart cold water, as it cooled off en route.

We girls were always expected to have a copperfull of water for Les, especially on Saturday, if it was tennis season. We often had to walk to tennis. Money was always scarce, and the cream cheques didn’t last long.

We had old iron bedsteads on the verandah. Les was so long that his was pushed out of shape. Those bedsteads would be worth pounds today. We mostly used home-made paddies to keep us warm. They were made by stitching together old woolies and covering them with cretonne. Mid bought us a pair of blankets when she started teaching, and they were the only new blankets I can remember. We mended sheets by turning them sides to the middle, and of course bought unbleached ones, as they wore longer.

Our mattresses and pillows were mostly made of rags. Lumpy, they were. We saved the feathers from the many chooks we killed, and put them into the pillows

One of the biggest and quickest cleanups was when we heard that Aunty Charlie and Aunty Alice were coming over from New Zealand. We scrubbed out and whitewashed the old washhouse, and stripped the old wallpaper from the dining and sitting room walls and painted them. We removed the old gas fittings. We cleaned up the garden and the cellar, and generally put on a new face for them.

The old dunny was a dreadful setup, down a path that in winter was muddy and slippery. The men once decided to clean it out and use a bucket instead. Those buckets filled up far too quickly and they were glad to go back to the pit arrangement.

My fear and dread was that the backward sloping seat arrangement would give way, but it never did. It wasn’t until Wendy and her husband Nick went there, that a septic system was put in. They also put a bathroom inside the old kitchen.

The fig trees which grew on the South side of the house were a breeding place for blowflies and they just swarmed over the cellar steps. It was a battle against the flies to go down. The wretched things used to get into the meat safe and many times we threw away egs of mutton because the flies had got at them. I well remember cooking one and cutting into cooked maggots. Ugh! The horror of it!

It was before refrigerators, and the meat was just hung in the cellar, or else salted in jars. You put enough salt in water to float an egg, and the meat would keep for about a week

When we killed a pig, Dad would dry salt it on the big slate table in the cellar. Every day it had to have salt and saltpetre rubbed into it. I can’t remember how many days, but I do remember it was hard to keep the flies away. We used to cover it with sugarbags. Those sugarbags were useful. We used them for milking aprons, and always boiled them on washing days. They made excellent peg bags, too.

The kitchen floor was worn cement. We used to get down on our knees and scrub it weekly.

We had no carpets, and used to polish the brown Iino in the big lounge and the dining room. What a lovely smell it was, a freshly polished floor and doorsteps painted with Ezywurk. The fireplaces got their share of Ezywurk too.

Firewood was sometimes a problem, and many times we girls went up the hill and gathered armsfull of wood to tide us over, if the men were busy. A gathering of morning wood was essential every day , and of course we always set the fire in the stove at night, ready for breakfast.

We always cooked porridge for breakfast. How cross Dad got, if he called us before going to feed the horses, then came looking for his breakfast, to find that we’d fallen asleep again.

The old pine tree at the front of the house produced some weird noises, and possums scared the daylights out of us when we first went down there. We had never heard the weird noise they made. It took a few good shots to clean them up. It was years before the pine was cut down, and we filled the old well with rubbish.

There was a wooden windlass on that well, but we never had good well water. One year, we grew some beautiful melons down by the tennis court, and the next year the salt was so bad in the soil that nothing grew.

JAM

I remember those sour plums that grew In the corner of the house yard, and the sour jam they made. Jam by the four gallon jars we used to make, in copper too.

I remember the time we were picking figs out of the spring dray and old Rose (the horse) decided it was time to move on, and left Ailie and me hanging in the fig tree. Poor Ada!

Those figs, we used to take down to Fred Grace’s, and sometimes to Perry Dunstan’s, and hope they would take them on their rounds. At times they didn’t, and we would be left with cases of figs. More jam!

HOCKEY

Arnold Smith was our hockey umpire for years. Hockey really took on at Watervale. I well remember going to Mrs. V. Sobels’ place for a hockey dinner, where she served coffee. I couldn’t drink it in those days, and lost the lot while walking home afterwards.

I wasn’t much good at hockey, being slow and heavy. Ada and I used to ride our ponies Spotty and Brownie to practice, and would undress on the way home so we could go milking. One of us would go down the paddock to bring the cows in, while the other got the fires going, etc.

HORSES

We learned to ride on a big horse called Jenny, and no saddle, and consequently nothing to hang onto if we started to overbalance. Many times I slipped off before I was allowed the saddle. My horse Spotty was a shyer, and dumped me in Watervale street once, and again on the way home when I thought I’d read the paper.

COWS

Cows were our only source of income, and we milked up to fifteen in an old straw shed and a muddy yard and carried four-gallon buckets of milk down to the old wash-house to separate. Then we fed the calves. One Clare Show day, we decided to stay in Clare for the pictures and didn’t go home to milk at night. The cows were in full milk, so we rose at daylight and got to a lot of bellowing beasts. I can see Dad to this day, and I’m sure it was the closest we came to being kicked out. He just came up and leaned against a post and glared silently, while we milked our hardest. We didn’t do that again in a hurry. How we envied Vera Burford, who never milked a cow.

One cow, old Beauty, was a kicker, and each of us would leave her to the other as often as we could. Another young heifer was named Squire, after a Wallaroo footballer who came to Watervale one year. We were caught nicely when our twin cousins Bert and George Moyle came to stay with us from Wallaroo and we had to call that darn cow in. It was she that Dad threw a rock at, breaking her leg. Being a butcher by trade, he decided to skin her, but we girls refused to eat that beautiful meat. Aggie McKinnon was there, and she took home that cow’s tail to make soup, much to our horror.

Overton’s butcher-cart driver by King Stephens used to call up at Mabel Harding’s and he did any business for her, but he never would come out to our place. We were lucky if Whistling Wilson, or, prior to him, Mr. Farquarson came out for our cream. At one stage, we girls used to carry the cans up to the gate. We took it to Auburn on market days.

CHOOKS

Catching chooks was a circus. We girls would chase them until they were worn out, if they didn’t beat us to the pigsty, where they could hide under the floor. When we eventually caught one, next came the head chopping. A painful business. Sometimes the beheaded bird would get away and flop around, to our amusement. We were always happy to see a hen come home with a batch of chickens,because they surely laid in some strange places, and a constant source of worry was the old dunny.

CARS

The Burgess’ shop in Watervale had a petrol bowser at the front. One night I was driving the Ford home and ran out of petrol about where Hilton’s house is. Desperately trying to turn around, I backed over the bank, which really ran the petrol back, and Ada and I were stuck there. Some lads came to our rescue, however, and pushed the car down

to Burgess’ bowser.

I drove the Tin Lizzie, and was not so keen on the Maxwell, as the gears were different. The first time I drove it, I took my foot off the clutch, and – bang! Into the front of the shed. The same old Maxwell was up on blocks when I got married, as we couldn’t afford to buy tyres for her. Dad later cut her top off and made a buckboard which he drove until he died.

BROTHER BOB

Bob was an awful tease, with me in particular. I thought I was so ugly and awkward.

His rhyme about Kath was: Kathleen Frances did like dances With young Teddy Gare,

And in The Lancers, folk shot glances At that loving pair.

Once, our little new pup was missing, and Les said he had seen it up at Jack Smith’s. To this day, I’ve never understood why Bob rubbished me when I said, “How did you know it was our puppy?” How I hated his teasing.

He also never forgot that I once stepped backwards down a step onto a little kitten and demolished it. I’m not sure if it was Mr. Gallagher or Mr. Sheen.

SUNDAYS

We had a lot of fun on the dirt tennis court. To start with we were not allowed to play on Sunday, but Dad eventually softened, and we played on Sunday, he too.

One Sunday, we were on the court, Lorna Bert, George Moyle, and me – all Sunday School teachers – when we saw Rev. Gilding’s car come down to the gate. To our relief he turned around and went off, but on talking about it, we agreed he should have come down and embarrassed us.

Things were different in those days, and Sunday was Sunday, and Dad had the say whether we went for a picnic or not, and it was mostly not. Even Hockey picnics were not popular, although we usually took visiting Hockey girls for a picnic on Sundays. The first time, somehow, the Baker girls were forgotten, and they were so offended, they never went to another one.

I remember the flannel petticoats, which they wore in summer, assuring us they kept out the heat as they kept out the cold. Our father and Oliver Burford’s father had the same idea, and sweltered in flannels in the summer.

We thought nothing of walking to Solly’s for tea on a Sunday, and then back to the evening church service and then home after that. I remember once walking up to Penwortham on a Good Friday night, to their annual Sunday School social, playing Twos and Threes after the social and then walking home again. About ten miles.

BUSHFIRES

How we hated those very hot days.

I used to watch the steam train come up the line in fear of fires. Once, we saw one start, and threw some bags in a tub of water, and ran up to the line Just as the men got there, thankful for bags to soon control it.

I don’t expect Dad ever rode Spotty harder than the day of the big fire. Les on his horse, Dad on Spotty and Eric on Mr. Stacey’s horse were over by Hughes Park when word came that the fire had crossed the railway line. They set out for home knowing they couldn’t do much, but they had rescued the wheat cart-notes out of the wagon and dragged the implements out of the straw sheds when miraculously the wind changed

and the fire just stopped, half way across a stubble paddock where Clarrie Hill’s house now stands, and only one paddock away from our sheds and home. The paddocks over the line were all burnt, but Ailie and Ada, with the help of Ting Holder, had brought the sheep over the line into a fallow paddock. That was the only bushfire we experienced.

I was working up at Mrs. E. G. Scott’s when that happened.

Claude Duncan was badly burnt when as a small boy he went to get their cow out of Duncan’s and the fire caught up with him. As for house- fires, I can’t remember any curtains burning at The Sheoaks, but I well remember two lots in Clare.

The only other mishap at Watervale was when I was reading in bed outside by candlelight and went to sleep, only to be rudely woken to find the paddy burning fiercely on the bed. Nell was in the bed with me; lucky for us our hair wasn’t alight. Once more, sensible Dad did the right thing, pulling the paddy off the bed and throwing it on the

ground, where it lay, a black mess, for some time. I was banned from reading outside again.

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The Barwell Bulls were a blessing. If we heard the train on the Hoyleton line it was always a sign of rain coming.

SICKNESS

We didn’t have much sickness, but I had tonsilitis once, and was delirious. I can still remember the feeling of the ceiling coming down on top of me. I must have been really ill, but no doctor. I was tough. I was sent for a holiday to Jamestown with Cousin Ada after that bout. Holiday alright!! I was scared stiff of old Art, who was always drunk. On the Saturday that we were to come home, he stormed into their detached kitchen, at the back of the house, and, because his dinner wasn’t on the table, he went straight out and back to the pub. We had to just wait in fear and dread for him to come back at three o’clock and then set out for Watervale. That dear Cousin Ada must have put up with hell for him, and never a cross word. She even jumped through a window screen once, when he threatened her.

I had my first period up there at that time, and was so ignorant I thought I was dying and never told a soul about it.

Ada gave us a bad fright when she had an appendicitis. Poor girl. Dad said he’d “give her oil” and it wasn’t ’til she’d been in agony for four days that he sent for Doctor Chinner. He took her off in his car, peritonitis had already set in. It was a miracle that she came through that, and a lot of thanks to Sister Thompson at the little Auburn hospital. She was a sister of Mrs. Geordie Patterson.

ERIC AND AILEEN

Eric used to come down to see Ailie by train on the Wednesday afternoon half holiday, and go back on the night bus. He’d walk from the station too. We’d make a fresh coffee cake for him, which he loved with lots of home-made butter on it. He learnt to milk cows, and was a willing helper. After they were married, we were always pleased to see them come in the fruit van.

It was for Ted Southgate’s wedding that Ada and I went to Adelaide with Eric and Aileen in the van. It was a very hot February day, and Ailie was pregnant with Colin. Anyway, the van broke down near Roseworthy College, and Eric rang a chap at Gawler, who had to get a part from Adelaide and bring it out. Well, we pushed the thing along, and ran it down rises and so on, and eventually met the guy coming out of Gawler. What a trip.

They went to the wedding, and Ada and I went down to Glenelg.

BEACH PICNICS

Our trips to the beach were mostly Beach Picnics, when we went on a special train to Semaphore. We would hire neck-to-knee bathers and have a dip in the shallows, being unable to swim, and if we had any money, usually had a fish dinner. We were usually with Sollys and Burgesses, and would have high jinks on the train going home. I remember one year, old Ma Dallisson and her Pattie got into our carriage and refused to move, so the boys really put on a show of shocks for her, and she never shut her eyes, and didn’t the gossip fly around Watervale!

It was for a Beach Picnic that I had to tell Dad I was keeping company with Oliver. He had said we couldn’t afford to go that year, but Oliver wanted me to go, and bought me a ticket. I had to explain this to Dad, and he relented and said Ada may as well go too.

One year, we had to milk the cows before we went, and then walk to the station. We were late, and would have been left behind, but the train stopped down the line, and we ran down through the paddock and climbed aboard. They didn’t mind waiting if they knew someone was coming.

SOCIALS AND PARTIES

The Sunday School socials were events, and the young ones played games in the moonlight out on the little reserve. I can still hear young Tony Spackman’s sulky coming up the main road. How she drove that! Dolly and I once drove it home for her. Her parting words were, “Walk down the hill”, which we did, leaving the horse tied up at the gate. Of course she had meant us to walk the horse down the hill. We used to have regular Saturday night parties; Holdens, Waltons, Sollys, Spackmans and us, mainly. I remember the time we sat on the Holden’s sofa and broke it. I can hear, “Mum, the sofa’s broke!” and there was a quick exit that night. We used to play “Grab” around our

big table, and the grabs were egg cups. That’s why our aluminlum ones were such peculiar shapes.

Les used to buy the sheet music of songs, and I played them, but was always glad to hand over to anyone else, such as the Hornibrook girls (one being Mrs. Albert Spackmanls sister) who played so well. We would have wonderful sing-songs, and would often go through a hymn book and there weren’t many we didn’t know. Dad sang well. I never could harmonise.

Of course, when Reg married Ada and joined the family we really had sing-songs. He could play any tune we asked for. It must have been about the first year we were at Watervale, that I was asked to play for a school item that the girls were performing at

Riverton. We were very fortunate to have an evening rehearsal, as the hall faced the opposite way to the Watervale hall, and the kids lined up with their backs to the audience. It took quite a while to sort them out and turn them around. I think it went over alright, but oh dear, what a let-off!

The Presbyterian Men’s League paid us an annual visit for years after we were at The Sheoaks. They came singing in old Artie McKinnon’s lorry with seats on. We always played a ping pong match, Moyles versus The Rest, and we usually won. Eric and Arnold were a couple of our extras, of course. We only had lamplight, and the Aladdin Lamp was a boon. Pity help anyone who put a ball down the glass and wrecked the

mantle. There was always a scramble to grab a ball from the fire, too. We had a big open fireplace behind a player, at the end of the dining room. Those evenings often saw a bit of Scottish dancing too. Elsie Horrocks was a champion and Eric and Ailie learnt a bit. (I never could dance; lucky I married a non-dancer.) It was the Highland Fling for everyone, and then supper, with piles of sausage rolls and creamy things, sponges, cream puffs, brandy snap curls, etc. I often think about the cooking we used to do

The Ness’s, McKinnons, Giles, Staceys, Horrocks, Knapsteins and of Presbyterian C. L.

BIRTHDAYS

When Uncle Ned Bodger died at Wallaroo, Dad went over to his funeral, with a black hat band, just about the day Les’ daughter Wendy was born. Of course Jean was so ill, and people, seeing Dad in the street, thought she was gone. She gave us a big fright, but thanks to Malcolm McKinnon’s blood they were able to save her. She had a clover

afterbirth, and haemorraged badly. She lived a long while after that, and tried everything possible to have another child, but it was not to be. I remember her telling us how Dr. Sangster said, “What do you want periods for?” Lucky her! She never had any more after that terrible experience.

Wendy was over year old, and toddling, when they took her out one night, and she was fascinated by the stars. She had never been anywhere but to bed by the time the stars shone. I can see the little girl nearly falling over backwards, saying “Stars “.That would have been August ninth, the night of Dad’s birthday. We always had a family get-together for his birthday, and I still like to remember about Wendy on August the ninth.

Aileen gave me a little party for my twenty first, at Mills Street. She was very pregnant, Colin being born in May.

I was 21 in the Xylonite era, and a lot of my gifts were Xylonite. It was those that went up in a dressing-table fire one Christmas eve, in the blue room, when a candle toppled over. Ailie had just put Colin and Mollie to bed and was proceeding to flake out when she saw the blaze. Lucky we were that Dad had the sense to grab a blanket and smother it, but it was goodbye to a lot of my birthday presents.

GLORY BOXES

We did a lot of fancy-work for our glory boxes. Oliver bought my box for me, and had it sent to Watervale station, and then the problem was to get it home. He and I carried it one night by putting a strap round it, and so we got it to The Sheoaks. It was a nice box, and I was very proud of it when it was full, and used to have friends come and see all my things. I gave or loaned it to Nicole, and I wonder what will happen to it now her marriage has broken up.

I still have a pair of lovely scone doyleys that Gwen Shepley gave me when she came with Auntie Jean to see my box.

Auntie Jean worked me a traymobile cover and also a nightie which she hoped I’d wear on my wedding night, but it was a cold one, and I was glad of a wincey nightie.

TEETH

We all lost our teeth very young.

Mid was only seventeen when she had her top ones drawn, and was in the waiting for her gums to settle before getting her falsies, when she went off to the Teachers College. What an embarrassment that was. Dad had his own teeth until they fell to pieces. He always said it was because of the chewing gum he had when he tried to give up the pipe. (He always smoked a pipe, and kept his bits of plug tobacco in the little rabbit ornament which I have.) After months of toothache he eventually had them extracted. We were afraid he would not go and get falsies, but eventually he did, and was very good with them Our favourite treatment fortoothache was oil of cloves and a bag of

hot salt. We used to heat the salt in the dust pan and tip it into an old rolled oats bag. Many times I made it so hot, it scorched a hole in the bag.

SNAKES

We didn’t see many snakes, but I remember one at the haystack. I had taken the lunch over to the hay carters and leaned against the stack in the shade while they ate. I left for home, and they were still enjoying a smoko when a big snake slipped down off the stack just where I had been standing. It had evidently been tossed up in a sheaf. Another one was down the end of the verandah – looking for water, we thought. The men were just going down the front of the house with the wagon, when we screamed, “Snake!” and they came rushing in with their pitchforks. The snake went down the side of the house and into the wall, where the men could see it, but not get at it. The put some gun shots into it, and then picked some stones out of the wall, until they got it out. The holes in the wall remained as mementos for many years.

WEDDINGS

Brother Les’ wedding was a day we could never forget. To start with, the best man, Bert Moyle, was lucky he made it from Wallaroo. It must have been at the Devil’s Garden, he was held up. It just rained all day. Eventually he got through, and just made it in time to do his duty.

I was the oldest girl at home, Ailie having left, and so had to stand in with Dad. I had a navy and fawn crepe de chine dress, which wasn’t very warm, as the weather was cold, but I stuck it out and did my duty too.

I didn’t possess a coat fit to wear, but the Castines came out in their furs.

Toby Sladdin was the official photographer, but the rain didn’t help him at all.

Dad was a shrewdy, and when asked to respond to a toast, just stood up, said, “Thankyou” and sat down. We were all a bit tickled at that.

E. W. wasn’t exactly a mate of his.

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Les borrowed Uncle George’s car to go away in. I think Mr. Castine loaned them one of his when they returned. They made “Fairfield” their home, and Les was very happy with his Jeanie.

Ailie’s wedding was in Clare, and we dressed at Aunty Mary’s. She schooled me as to what I had to do as bridesmaid. For that, I had pink crepe de chine trimmed with coffee lace. Claire McKinnon made Ailie’s dress and mine. We must have done the baking for the reception in the Presbyterian Hall. Can’t remember much about that. I do remember seeing them off on the afternoon train.

I was married in the Watervale Church, and had a small reception in the Kindergarten. I know we did the baking for it. Ada and Lorna were my maids, and Angus and Reg. Allen were Oliver’s attendants. Les had a big old car, and he drove me to the church. I changed at Burford’s, and Roy Reinke drove us to catch the train. He took us right down to Tarlee before we shook off Mid and Eddie Heinrich, who were following us. Good old Roy. He didn’t charge us a penny, either. We went to Glenelg to stay, and it was the day Glenelg won their first Grand Final.