Advertiser and Register (Adelaide, SA : 1931), Monday 13 July 1931, page 8


Out among the People

By Rufus

MR. B. MILLER called on me over the week-end and said "Allan Brumby and Harold Brown left Ood-nadatta some time in May to go to the

Rawlinson Ranges, and Mrs. Brumby (the mother of Allan), who was born and bred out from Oodnadatta, has asked me to say that if the police could get in touch with them they might be able to clear up the mystery of the alleged murder of whites by blacks, re ported to Mr. Spencer Gall by the aborigines. The party is fully equipped with 15 camels, two blackboys, two gins, and eight fierce dogs, and is fully armed." Spen. Gall's Little Joke S PEAKING of Spen. Gall reminds me of a little joke that I mentioned when speaking from 5CL on Friday night. Some of my friends have asked me not to let the story fade away over the air, but to put it into print. So here goes. Well, when Spen. Gall entered Tattersalls Club on Wednes-from the Quest ex-pedition, he was tanned almost black and vwas wearing a full, heavy beard. Even his pals did not recognize him. Allan Morris was one of the few in the know, and he introduced the seem-ing stranger to two well-known mem-bers as Sir Hubert Wilkins. Spen. Gall kept a solemn, straight face, and the two members, caught on the hop, fell into the trap. The following conver-sation took place:— first Member—"How do you find the cold here. Sir Hubert, compared with the Arctic?" "To tell the truth, I have found it colder in Australia than any-where else—(Spen. Gall has never been out of Australia)—and I have worn more blankets here than anywhere." Second Member—"What are the Esquimo women like?" "They are short and dumpy and somewhat Mon-golian in appearance.'* First member—"l suppose there is no sport In those parts?" "Oh, yes, we have races with reindeer." "That's very interesting, Mr. Wilkins. I beg your pardon. Sir Hubert." "Never mind the Sir," remarked the clever impersonator. "Cut it out in the club." "Not on your life, Sir Hubert," was the response. "If anyone has earned a title you have, and that is more than can be said in several instances." "Behave Yourself, Jock." J OCK Richardson, who was in the joke, had approached closer, and he could not control his laughter. One of the members nudged him and said in a whisper, but in admonishing tones, "Can't you behave yourself, jock, in the presence of a distinguished guest like this." Jock, unable to contain himself, ran for his life. He told me afterwards that he could not go to sleep at night lor laughing. Well, the conversation was sustained for fully half an hour, and neither Allan Morris or Spen. Gall once moved a muscle. Then Charlie Dubois came along, and recognizing his outback pal. hit him a resounding slap on the back and exclaimed, "Well, Spen., old boy. how are you? What sort of a trip did you have?" Then the fat was in the fire. There were roars of laughter. One of the two who had been deceived said to me. "For a mo-ment I felt like milling every bally hair out of Spen. Gall's beard by the roots; but my sense of humor came to the rescue, and I laughed as heartily as any of the others." Spen. Gall said to me, "I found it harder to answer the questions and sustain the imper-sonation than any experiences I have had on the Quest expedition." Dairymen and the Cold A YOUNG fellow, wet and shivering, sat alongside of me on the tram on Saturday morning. I said, "It feels colder than usual." He answered like a hero, "Oh, I think we always com-plain that the present-day cold or heat is the worst." Little did either of us think that it was the coldest day for 52 years. The young chap told me that he had a dairy at Camden, and that a large portion of his land was under water. He said. "There is quite a lake there, and wild duck and swans have been sporting on it." He made me shiver when he told me that he had to rise at half-past 1 o'clock in the morning to milk the cows. Dairymen have hearts of oak, and with all their hard work and long hours they don't make much profit out of their business. My sympathy goes out to the milkie and the paper runner on these cold morn-ings.

After the Matinee W HEN homeward bound on Saturday afternoon a friend asked me to go along with, him and meet Frank Bradley, the old South Australian sad clever character actor, who gives such a fine impersonation of Napolean in "The Duchess of Dantzic." Round the fire in the upstairs sitting-room of the Black Bull—what delightful hours I have spent with thespians in this hos-telry—we found our old friend with Miss Romola Hansen, who is just as natural and fascinating off the stage as she is on, and Herbert Browne, the popular tenor. We talked of Otta Heg-gie, whom Frank Bradley met in New York, of Harry McGowan, who became a film star under the nom de theatre of Roland Rushson and died all too soon, and other old Adelaide boys. "Wherever I go the world over I love to get back to Adelaide." said Frank Bradley. "Somehow it seems to have been burnt into my heart and soul." I could not help recalling the verses of my old school chum. Willie Monro An-derson, which in effect said "Ship me home to Adelaide, that's good enough for me." Frank Bradley has done his best to look up his old friends. Mr. Wines-loe Hall and Madame Delmar Hall told me what a delightful Sunday evening they had spent with their old friend. The fireside chat was ended by the callboy's announcement. "dinner." There must be a tag to this para-graph, and so I say at the end what I should have said at the beginning— Romola Hansen was a delighted hostess. Beaumont and Late G. F. Cleland THE announcement of the death of G. F. Cleland carried my mind back to the days when I used to report the vintage every year. On one memor= able trip I had as companions G. F. Cleland. Tim Tolley. George Auld, M, V. Pridmore, Reg. Wright and E. Ma-zure. They have all passed away ex-cept the last-named. In 1869 Mr. Cle-land, then a lad of 17, began his work in the Beaumont cellars, and for 16 years assisted his uncle, Sir Samuel Davenport. Subsequently the business of G. F. Cleland & Sons devolved prin-cipally on his shoulders. He was al-ways a courteous, obliging gentleman. Sir Samuel Davenport was one of the early champions of vine and olive cul-ture. Vines were first planted at Beau-mont in 1860. The first good olives of French variety that were planted in South Australia were put in here. They were in the form of truncheons, im-ported by the South Australian Com-pany, from whom Sir Samuel procured them. Sir George Murray's Pony F RED W. Sims, formerly Deputy Registrar of Companies in the Supreme Court, writes:—"Dear Rufus —I could tell you quite a lot about John L. Young's school— 'dear old Johnny,' as we used to call him—where I was educated, and achieved some success. Mr. Young possessed, among his other fine qualities, the saving grace of humor. It is recorded that his first two pupils were Caleb Peacock and John Partridge. He remarked at the time that, whether be met with success or not as a schoolmaster, he would anyway die 'game.' Many old scho-lars will recall the time when the present Chief Justice (Sir George Murray), then a very small boy, used to ride from his home at Magill on a small Shetland pony, which was the envy and the admiration of all the other boys. I am not quite sure, but I believe Sir George got the good con-duct prize." The Lyre Bird "L OXTONIAN." Loxton. writes:— "Dear Rufus—In view of the re-cently aroused enthusiasm for the song of the lyre bird. I thought it might interest those of your readers who are contemplating a trip to Mount Buf-falo this year, to know that this famous holiday resort is also a favorite haunt of the lyre bird. Its notably shy habits prevent many tourists from see-ing its graceful form or bearing its en-chanting bell-like call, but I, being pas-sionately fond of mountain solitudes and also a very poor walker, have often found myself several hundred yards behind the main party on the bush tracks of Mount Buffalo, and so have enjoyed many fleeting glimpses and many delightful sounds of the rare bird with a tail like a lyre and a voice like a flute. One of the few residents of the mountain has written a very charming and instructive little book on the life and habits of the lyre bird, and copies of this can be purchased at the Chalet Cafe, along with the other souvenirs."