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Jeannie Gunn
We of the Never-Never
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664649683
Table of Contents
Chapter 6
To The Public
It is with the full consent of the bush-folk that this one year of their lives—the year of 1902—is given to the world.
“Tell ’em anything you like,” they said, one and all, unconsciously testifying to their single-heartedness. And in the telling I have striven to give that year as I found it.
At every turn the bush-folk have helped me; verifying statements and furnishing details required with minute exactness; while I am indebted to Mr. W. Holtze, Mr. G. G. Jaensch, “Mine Host,” and the Quiet Stockman for the photographic plates with which this book is illustrated.
Jeannie Gunn.
Hawthorn,
October 1907.
Prelude
We—are just some of the bush-folk of the Never-Never.
Distinct in the foreground stand:
The Măluka, The Little Missus, The Sanguine Scot, The Head Stockman, The Dandy, The Quiet Stockman, The Fizzer, Mine Host, The Wag, Some of our Guests, A few black “boys” and lubras, A dog or two, Tam-o’-Shanter, Happy Dick, Sam Lee, and last, but by no means least, Cheon—the ever-mirthful, ever-helpful, irrepressible Cheon, who was crudely recorded on the station books as cook and gardener.
The background is filled in with an ever-moving company—a strange medley of Whites, Blacks, and Chinese; of travellers, overlanders, and billabongers, who passed in and out of our lives, leaving behind them sometimes bright memories, sometimes sad, and sometimes little memory at all.
And All of Us, and many of this company, shared each other’s lives for one bright, sunny year, away Behind the Back of Beyond, in the Land of the Never-Never; in that elusive land with an elusive name—a land of dangers and hardships and privations yet loved as few lands are loved—a land that bewitches her people with strange spells and mysteries, until they call sweet bitter, and bitter sweet. Called the Never-Never, the Măluka loved to say, because they, who have lived in it and loved it Never-Never voluntarily leave it. Sadly enough, there are too many who Never-Never do leave it. Others—the unfitted—will tell you that it is so called because they who succeed in getting out of it swear they will Never-Never return to it. But we who have lived in it, and loved it, and left it, know that our hearts can Never-Never rest away from it.
We Of The Never-Never
Chapter 1
To begin somewhere near the beginning, the Măluka—better known at that time as the new Boss for the Elsey—and I, his “missus,” were at Darwin, in the Northern Territory, waiting for the train that was to take us just as far as it could—one hundred and fifty miles—on our way to the Never-Never. It was out of town just then, up-country somewhere, billabonging in true bush-whacker style, but was expected to return in a day or two, when it would be at our service.
Jack, the Quiet Stockman, was out at the homestead, “seeing to things” there. The Sanguine Scot, the Head Stockman, and the Dandy, were in at the Katherine, marking time, as it were, awaiting instructions