A Tough Old Bird

Not really anything to do with transport, but seeing as we have lately read everything diversified as model railways to souped up lawn mowers, maybe of interest to some.
Back in the early 70’s whilst still in the green machine, did a cupla exercises down in the Tianjara ranges of lower NSW, up above the Nowra Naval base.
Commonwealth had huge tracts of land there, wild, rugged, freezing cold in winter and the area this particular story relates to is one of the Artillery Live Firing ranges. Was sent down there with a dozer to push up buns for the 105’s, dig a few ablution pits, nothing too taxing. It was actually a bit of a bludge, I was camped in with the cooks, lasted about 7-8 days.
Anyway, the exercise is finished about mid week, I was supposed to be picked up by the Dept of Supply’s side loading Leyland, think it was a Super Hippo, ergo cab anyway, and he was supposed to be there around 7-7:30.
It was an all day trip back to Holsworthy back then.
Whilst the arty is cleaning up and policing the area of pits and pieces, I walked the TD15 up to the range gate. Pretty good climb up there, all gravel road, not very wide but a loading area had been hacked out so the trucks (and the float) had plenty of room to turn around. The actual camp we made was about 2 miles off the road.
The cooks left me with a ration tin of tucker, had a jerrycan of water and they all choofed off back to barracks. No phones out there of course, mobiles hadn’t even been dreamt up, closest phone would have been down the mountain.
By about 10:am I’m beginning to think this bloke had abandoned me, had been told he and the float were going to come down the night before and stay at the Naval base, easy trip up in the morning.
Directly across from the main gate into the Federal land, there’s the makings of an old humpy, made out of bush timber with a slab roof. Bit of a rough fence around the house block, and I spots an old grey horse standing outside the house with his head stuck inside. No actual glass window, just a bit of galvinised iron on a frame with bags for curtains, an old door facing west towards a creek (we had been down at the creek on a previous exercise and got half a 4 gallon square ration tin full of yabbies, made a good feed until some grotty bugger on his way to the bush shower, asked if we were doing a bit of washing and dropped a pair of socks in! We still ate them. Anyway!) The yabbies, not the socks! They went into the fire!
Wisp of smoke coming from a chimney made out of bush rock, so obviously someone around, wouldn’t leave a fire going unattended.
Yelled out and this old chap wanders out, had to be sixty or seventy at least, stooped over something chronic, his arms hanging way down behind him.
“You one of them buggers making all the racket of a night? Kept me awake!”. We had done a couple of night firing shoots.
I explained that I was waiting for my transport, and he said that I better come in and that he had a billy on.
It was like stepping back 50 years! One room, as I said, made out of bush timber, a fireplace, a bed made out of steel droppers with corn bags stretched over them, a bit of a rough table and a couple of planks nailed to I suppose a few stumps.
I said I had a container of milk and a few goodies in the ration tin, he said bring them over, he didn’t get many “Luxuries”. I wasn’t worried about the float, we would hear it pull up.
I asked him what the hell he was doing out here in the middle of nowhere, it’s about halfway from Nowra to Braidwood. Said he and his late brother used to cut timber off the lease and when they had a load, would be trucked into the timber mill. All cut and loaded by hand, said they would cut long poles and roll the timber up on the tray, again by hand. He was obviously in a bit of trouble with his back, said that his son in Braidwood came out a couple of times a week, bought out his mail, the papers, a bit of baccy, and that he had not one iota of interest to move into town despite the .urgings of his son.
While were having a brew up, the old horse was calmly standing outside with his head still in the aperture.
“Old blokes quiet”. I remarked.
“Yeah, he’s my mate, like me, getting a bit long in the tooth though, misses his mate, had an old Kelpie dog, they were inseperable until a snake bit the dog, didn’t get to him until it was too late. Miss him”!
He then reiterated that as far as he was concerned, he’d spend the rest of his life there, so long as the son could keep bringing him a few necessities, drew water out of the creek etc. He told me what had happened to his back, he had an old hitching rail outside the hut, and had buried or cut off a couple of stumps and used them as a step to get on the old horse.
This particular day, he’s halfway on the horse when a snake came out from under the hut, the horse shied and went sideways, he came down on one of the stumps right in the middle of his back. Said he heard the spine snap before he even felt anything. This was mid morning, and he was damned lucky (or unlucky) that his daughter-in law was going through to Nowra to do some business and called in with the mail and papers, found him lying there and thought he was dead!
She jumped back in the car and bolted towards Nowra, after checking he was still actually alive, and on the outskirts of town pulled up at a house and rang the ambo’s, who came out straight away. But he said it was summer and he had, by his reckoning, been laying out in the sun for at least 3-4 hours. And, he added that the horse never left his side and it was the first time that he (the horse) had ever shown any skittishness.
Took three months to recover, (his son had bought the horse into Braidwood to his block) and as soon as he could move around, all he wanted to do was “go home”. Been there ever since, probably passed away there, hope he did, was what he wanted.
Had an old riding boot with wire wrapped around it, been split from toe to instep.
He saw me looking at it and said that he was down the creek one day, filling his water bags, when he overbalanced somehow and went sideways on his ankle, breaking it.
Hobbled/dragged himself back to the humpy, cut the boot off, reinstalled it and wound wire around it to keep it rigid. I asked if he had it reset. “Nah! By the time I would have got to the quacks it was already starting to set!”
One of those rare blokes you could sit down with and just listen to all day, never big noting himself, just telling it like it is.
Said one of his very few regrets was that the older he got the more arthritis set in, cold winter days he rarely left his hut other than to get more wood in, said he would have to widen the doorway so the old horse could come all the way in, getting too old and too cold to leave him outside.
I got out of the Army, so was the last time I would see him.
Many years later, mid to late 90’s I reckon. I was asked to write up a report on paper on the couple of different routes on what was going to be a major East-West “corridor”, which I think still hasn’t eventuated.
Part of the survey was to report on travelling times, road conditions (still unsealed but widened a bit in places)on the Braidwood to Nowra Road.
Couldn’t help thinking about this old chap, would have been well and truly gone by then. I couldn’t even find the hut in the dark, although the gate to the army ground was still there.
Dave_64

Strangely enough I think most of us wnt to live that way, just mind our own business and potter around but some how we all get caught up in the rat race of life

Strange how been happy rarely meets others expectations of whats right

Good read Dave

Paul