Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'The Drover' - Page 18:

‘Ah, don’t worry, I could get used to this lifestyle for awhile.’
Harry looked behind to see his father and Malcolm moving their mob. They’d travel about half-a-mile apart and at night time bed the sheep down and made one camp.
‘We’ll follow the bore drain to the six mile paddock and have a rest.’ Harry told Davey.
Harry loved the bush with its pristine gum trees that almost reached the sky; and the different variety of birds nesting in its trunk and branches. Eagles were a danger, particular around lambing season. An eagle would swoop down and grab in its giant claws a newly born lamb, take it high into the sky and back to its nest. He’d reckoned eagles had to eat as well as all of the other animals on earth.
‘What’s the lake over there Davey?’ Harry asked.
‘Dyvenor Lakes – it’s huge.’
‘Boy – is it ever, you can see water forever.’
‘Yeah – I heard the Boss tell us it’s about ten miles wide by twenty miles long.’
‘You catch any fish?’
‘Couple of the aboriginals get swan eggs from the nests – they’re good eaten, real rich.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.’
The sheep reached the beginning of six mile paddock, ‘this’ll do for awhile Davey,’
Harry dismounted from his horse. Removed the saddle and saddle cloth, he fastened a pair of dinner-camp-hobbles onto the front legs, removed the bridle and allowed the horse to roam for feed.
He built a small fire to heat water in the quart pot to make tea. He’d kept half a dozen johnny cakes from breakfast to have for morning tea.
‘Is this all you do all day?’ Davey remarked when he put his saddle in the shade under a tree.

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'The Drover' - Page 19:

‘Not all the time – we do work, but it’s going to be hot today, you would have seen the ring around the moon last night.’ Harry replied.
‘No - I can’t say I took any notice of the moon – what’s it mean?’
‘When there’s a ring around the moon, it indicates the next day is going to be hot. Have a look tonight.’
‘How come you know so much about these things – you’re only 17, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve been doing this since I was 13, in the time I’ve learn a little bit about the weather and droving.’
‘So I see.’
Both men finished their tea and after a rest of an hour or so continued their journey to the end of the day.
At the top of the six mile paddock Snowy had the camp ready and a fire blazing. A tarpaulin covered the wagonette held up by a couple of ridge poles to form a tent shape.
‘How’s it going Snowy?’ Harry asked while unsaddling his horse.
‘Great young Harry – I got here a little early and put on a leg of mutton to cook in the camp oven. The damper will be ready in a shake of a lamb’s tail.’
‘Dad should be along shortly – I’ll check the dogs.’

[patritter]

'The Drover' - Page 20:

Chapter 3

‘What was your day like Harry?’ His father asked him after they settled around the camp fire.
‘Yeah, okay – didn’t have too much trouble.’ He replied not wanting to give much away. It was kind of him to ask.
‘Tomorrow, we’ll go through McIntyre paddock; and follow the bore drain to the end. We’ll camp on the boundary near McIntyre Creek. There should be plenty of good feed and water. Charley Robinson, he’s the boundary rider should be there about.’
Charley Robinson was employed by the property for running the out-station McIntyre. He lived with his wife and his children in a boundary rider’s hut. The hut, the size of a large shed with only a couple of bedrooms; kitchen and outside toilet and laundry.
His job, to ride the boundary fence and mend any broken wire caused by kangaroos or emus; and to clear the bore drain, to allow the water to flow, so sheep didn’t die of thirst. Yearly, he helped with the muster of sheep for shearing, lamb marking and mulesing.
Mulesing was necessary because sheep would get fly-blown or fly-strike during the hot summer months. When the sheep was a lamb, about two months old, being castrated and earmarked, the operator used a pair of hand shears to cut the skin of the lamb, from each back hock; slice the skin down through to the buttock. The operator applied a powder to the open wound to help it heal.
By removing this skin, wool didn’t grow and therefore piss and dung wouldn’t stick to the wool to attract the fly. It was developed in 1927 to reduce fly-strike on the animal.
‘Wait a minute, aren’t I the Boss Drover with my mob. Shouldn’t I be making the decisions on where we’re going?’ Harry made a statement to his father.
‘Yeah…well you’re still a bit wet behind the ears, son, before you go making these decisions. Anyway where did you think you bloody well would go then?’ His father wasn’t used to being told about droving. He’d been droving most of his life and knew the craft inside out and back to front.
‘I had an idea, that’s all.’ Harry replied solemnly. He was taking the bit between his teeth to speak back to his father this way.
‘Were you going to tell me before we headed off tomorrow?’
‘Yeah – just before we left, at breakfast.’
‘Okay then as long as we are both going in the same direction – that’s all.’

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'The Drover' - Page 21:

‘Where did you think we were going?’ Harry asked.
‘Through Dyvenor – join the Bulloo River then onto Toompine to Quilpie and finish off through Adavale and to Wakes Lagoon. Does that suit you?’ Anger began to seep into his mind, his hands felt moist; his heart beat faster. He didn’t want to get angry because what was the point way out in the bush. Let the boy have his say – how can he learn if he doesn’t make a few mistakes.
‘Yeah – that’s about right.’ Harry wasn’t certain how his father worked out where to go. His knowledge was listening to others because he couldn’t read a map and only knew where the stock routes were by following the signs which he found difficult to understand and read.
‘If that’s all then we’d better get some sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow. Good night Harry.’

Before daylight broke the next morning Harry had taken down the brake and let the sheep go in the direction of McIntyre paddock. He’d finished his breakfast which Snowy cooked, chops and gravy with a hot pannikin of black tea filled his stomach.
Whistling his dogs Davey joined him, ‘where’re we off to today Boss?’ Davey asked.
‘We’ll try and reach McIntyre and camp the night at the top paddock.’ He answered. He felt good when Davey called him ‘Boss’.
‘We’ll get on with it then. I’ll go out on the wing.’
‘Okay, I’ll keep behind. See ya around smoko time.’
The sheep spread across the Mitchell grass plains. Slowly they filled their stomachs with the rich protein of the grass which grew like lucerne growing on the Darling Downs. Harry had never seen lucerne growing on the Downs because he’d never travelled further east than St George, but he promised himself one day, he would go further than St George to see what everyone talked about.

[dub]

Droving?? I'm there in this story, and am loving it. The Drover
A portrait of life in the Great outback of Australia, in a time, not so long ago
One thing springs to mind at this point is, the sheep in those days had a better life than now ! As, livestock is now transported and you're positioned in the centre of the mob ) countrysides whiz by on the back of a three leveled juggernaut
Progress huh !
Looking forward to reading more about.. The Drover

[patritter]

Thank you Dub for your kind words of encouragement. I loved writing this book. Some of the stories I lived myself and experienced the outback, particularly these pages you are now reading. For thirty years I wanted to write this book for it is the story of my late father-in-law who's life I have described in this book. Thanks again. Now for the next page:

'The Drover' - Page 22:

‘Yeah, we thought in the top paddock near McIntyre Creek. It’s got plenty of feed and the creek’s running with plenty of water.’ Harry echoed.
‘How old are you Harry? Aren’t you a bit young to be droving?’ Charley wanted to know.
‘I turned 17 the other day and me Dad’s with me. He’s got half the mob and I’ve got the other half. We keep them separated and use the same camp at night.’ He told Charley. Harry thought it was none of his business. He was sticking his nose in where it’s wasn’t wanted.
‘I’ll get back to the mob. Nice meeting you Charley.’

With the mob bedded down for the night in the brake Harry sat with the others around the camp fire. They’d progressed well for the first couple of days with little or no mishaps.
‘Davey, what’d you do before you worked here?’ Harry wanted to know.
‘Trained a horse, that’s what I did.’ Davey shared.
‘What type of horse?’ Harry asked inquisitively.
His knowledge of training horses was to make sure they were fed each day and worked hard.
‘Thoroughbred horse – race horse, you know those ones that run round a racetrack.’
‘How’d go – did you win any races?’
‘Yeah – I had a mare named Silver Wattle, a grey four year old that won a couple of races in Quilpie.’
‘What happened to your training?’
‘I run out of money.’
‘Didn’t your horse win races?’
‘Oh yeah – but the cost of racing is dear. When I first got the mare she wasn’t much good, but I knew she had potential. Her back hocks hit each time she got into a hard gallop.’
‘How did you fix it?’

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'The Drover' - Page 23:

‘I found an old saucepan down on the rubbish dump and cut a spoon shape from the base; welded it on the inside of the hind racing plate. I forged from an old mill rod, the same shape as the racing plate, raised one end and nothing on the opposite end, like a bevel. I made one for each shoe and nailed them to her hind hooves. This forced her hocks apart. It was like having a medicine shoe if you had a crook foot. Anyway it worked and she didn’t knock her hocks and she ran like the wind and won.’
‘I’ve never heard of doing that. It’s great to know. Would you go back to training race horses?’
‘Not now – you never know where your next quid is coming from. It’s too risky.’

Finally they reached the northern boundary of Dyvenor Downs property and continued their journey on the stock route to Toompine along the Bulloo River.
Across the open plains grew rich Mitchell grass, gidgee, box, mulga and gum trees. The musical sound of the kookaburras and galahs broke the monetary of the drove with the far off sound of the crow.
Toompine is a one horse town or better still a one hotel town with a menagerie of different animals such as donkeys; emus; wild camels and every other animal that survived Norah’s Ark.
The one good thing was the hotel. It was the only hotel in the wilderness of the west.
‘Ya reckon we could have a beer Harry?’ Snowy asked at the camp fire that night. ‘The hotel’s just over there?’
‘Sorry Snowy. No grog in the camp. I’m too young to drink and you’re too old to get drunk and wake up in the morning with a headache; we don’t get our cooking done.’ This was the first firm decision Harry made whilst Boss Drover.
They were camped about a quarter of a mile from the pub and being this close was too much for Snowy not to go and