Pat Ritter. Books

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Thank you Nevis. Here is the page for today:

'The Drover' - Page 94:

Bullo Downs is a property, 150 kilometres south of Thargomindah and managed by Dennis Cottrell, a tough bushman in his own right. The property stretched from New South Wales, South Australia and Queensland borders one of the largest cattle stations in south-west corner of the State. It was large enough to be the size of a small country, the like of Wales in England.
Dennis Cottrell’s reputation as a grazier in the harsh outback was a legend. His workers respected him as their Boss, their loyalty ran through their veins and they did what was expected, to go to the end of the earth, to get the job done. Mustering camps of mainly males were made up of ringers, station hands, a camp cook and jackaroos.
Three mustering camps were absent from the main homestead for half the year, to muster cattle, wean calves, castrate and brand all unbranded stock. It was hot and tough work from sunlight until sunset.
In the outback ringers rode their horses through all sessions and places. It was gibber country – open plain and timber scarce. One beast to every 100 acres was the count if the seasons were good otherwise the country only bred kangaroos and emus. This was a drought year.
In one mustering camp the men mustered 500 of the best shorthorn bullocks on the property and were ready for drover Harry Williams to take overland to Clifton Hills in South Australia. It would be a tough and arduous journey.
Bulloo Downs homestead surroundings is the size of a small country town with their local sheriff Dennis Cottrell to administer law and order. The main homestead was huge in size compared to similar homesteads in the district. Gauzed in verandas avoided the immense fly population. In the middle of summer the heat rose to well above 50 degrees Celsius making the flies target human perspiration. Black with flies on the back of a worker’s shirt was likened to bees to a honey pot.

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A covered in vestibule separated the main homestead from the kitchen, a building sufficient size for a stove feed by wood to keep it going all through the year. A cook employed by the station lived in quarters adjoining the kitchen with another small room to house the cowboy. It was the cowboy’s job to have sufficient wood in the kitchen to fuel the stove so the cook prepared all meals for the men including the Boss and his family.
From the kitchen along a walkway, a long building, similar to a dormitory, housed the men working on the station. The outbuildings and stables was similar to a scene from the movie Fight at the OK Corral with huge open stock yards to draft and work cattle.
Many a young boy arrived at Bulloo Downs wanting to become a stockman and left as a man. They travelled by the Westlander, a train from the city to Cunnamulla and the final leg to Thargomindah by mail truck. Life was rough and tough with long days in the saddle.
The overland drove was about to begin at daybreak with 500 bullocks driven from Bulloo Downs in south-west of Thargomindah on the Bulloo River, through to Cooper Creek onto Birdsville to Clifton Hills in South Australia, a journey to take 12 months.
‘G’day Dennis,’ Harry said taking a firm grip of Dennis’s hand as a welcome.
‘Good to see you again, Harry’. They’d known one another for many years.
‘We’re ready to take your cattle – they look in good order.’ Harry replied in his deep western drawl.
Both men respected each other in their own field of expertise. Dennis knew Harry Williams was the best and most honest drover in the Cunnamulla/Thargomindah district.
In turn, Harry knew he trusted Dennis to be fair and honest as long as he got the cattle to the destination in better condition than they were when he took delivery.

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Once the cattle left the property Harry Williams was in charge; his responsibility, to deliver the cattle to Clifton Hills in good condition and not lose any along the way.
Both men sat on the top rail of the cattle yards, their eyes flicking from one beast to another. Harry slowly drew on his tailor made cigarette, a curl of smoke past his eyes, his face skewed to show wrinkles and age, his mind completely focused on the task ahead.
‘They look a good mob?’ He repeated as he looked across to Dennis to get a response.
‘They’re the best we’ve got. I’ve put a few more in for killers. There should be enough to get you thorough. The rain hasn’t come this year and if we don’t move them off now they won’t be good for anything. You know what the country’s like out here when there’s no rain.’ Dennis voiced in his slow western drawl.
‘We might get winter rain and hopefully the rivers are flowing when we’re on the move.’ Both men couldn’t talk any more because once they mentioned the weather and the stock – that was it, their conversation limited.
In the outback it was always taken as part of life, a drover was a few runs below on the social status ladder to a grazier.
Harry Williams always felt he did a good job at what he did but when it came to mixing with the cockies; it wasn’t the same as mixing with drovers and ringers. He knew how to talk with other drovers and ringers and felt comfortable in their company but when it came to conversing with cockies he felt intimidated in what to say. His life was the wide open spaces with stock routes his boundaries. He didn’t need to be a cockie or grazier to prove what to do. His life was carefree with open plains and no boundary fences.
When Harry was asked to take the cattle, his imagination went wild; he had never before taken 500 bullocks from Queensland to South Australia. His decision to follow the stock routes, traverse many properties along the way, his knowledge of the area depended wholly on word-of-mouth

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from other drovers or property owners when he passed through.
There are no maps or roadways, only the sign showing Stock Route to guide where he had to go. Harry would scout ahead to find water for the stock. Ten miles per day was a common distance for the stock to travel.
Harry’s day started before the morning sun burst across the horizon and finished when it sunk below the western horizon. There was no time piece to gauge the time of the day, his job only to take the cattle from one point to the next.
He was astonished to be given the job in the first place to drive the cattle from Bullo Downs to Clifton Hills.
In his life as a drover this was by far the longest drive he’d ever undertaken. Apart from the family to help him he employed five aboriginal stockmen. Les accompanied Harry and had with him his 12 years old son Greg to help, who was responsible for horse tailing; particularly riding the first shift on the Nighthorse and to make sure all the horses were shod. Although Greg was 12 he worked as hard as any man.
Harry was satisfied with his camp but with the recent loss of his sister he knew his brother-in-law was finding it tough and partial to a drop of rum but on any droving trip alcohol was not included.
Droving 500 head of cattle was a huge task and Harry being the Boss Drover had the responsibility to ensure the cattle were delivered on time and in better condition than they were before they left Bulloo Downs. There were many things could go wrong and hopefully Harry’s craft as a drover excelled in his ability of a lifetime of droving that nothing went wrong on the trip.
He had his own worries; Rose was now responsible for twelve children all under the age of nine years including infant twin boys.
Before Harry and Rose made the decision to take on the children they spoke about the consequences. This was a lifetime commitment; it was not only this droving trip but

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afterwards for the next decade and a half raising the children. It would be tough but each agreed; there was much they would go without.

Chapter 12

Harry owned a Bedford truck with a steel crate large enough to carry six horses, swags, food, and to use as a camper while on the track. It had a good motor and hopefully wouldn’t break down.
Rose settled the twins in the front compartment while the other children rode in the back. Each sat or lay on their swags until they reached Bulloo Downs. The dogs travelled in their dog-boxes under the rear tray of the truck.
Greg being the horse tailer drove the plant of 20 horses from Cunnamulla to Bulloo Downs accompanied by his father and five stockmen. They followed the stock route arriving at Bulloo Downs four weeks after leaving Cunnamulla. All was in readiness for the drive to South Australia.
‘Are you ready Les,’ Harry called out to his brother-in-law.
‘Sure am.’
‘Let’s move em out.’ Harry commanded.
He’d spoken to Rose before they arrived at Bulloo Downs and arranged she drive the truck, follow the stock route along the Bulloo River about ten miles. He’d meet her there with the cattle to camp the night.
Harry had never driven this many cattle before. He knew over past years, he needed to be skilled enough, to get the best out of the cattle he was responsible for. It was like he had climbed to the top of Mount Everest in droving and this epic trip would prove his worth. He felt good, no - he felt great!
He knew the basic needs of the cattle were feed; water and rest. At their rest time they needed to settle to chew their

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Thank you Nevis. Here is today's page: 'The Drover' - Page 99:

cud. If when they lay down to rest and exhaled a ‘whoosh’ sound, this was his barometer to show how the drove was progressing. If the cattle were relaxed, well fed, rested and watered he knew he could relax.
He felt as if he was a champion about to defend his title of one of the greatest drovers of all time. Let’s get to the water the stock tonight, went through his mind and then look toward tomorrow. One day at a time.
The bullocks spread out. They were spread across the open plain. Les near the front with each ringer on the wings to allow the animals to walk and feed at their leisure.
Steady as we go cautioned Harry to himself acknowledging so far everything was going okay. Ten miles he needed to go each day. This was checked by the stock inspector or police officer when at anytime they checked on the mob.
Early that morning he took delivery of the mob. Soon became mid-morning and during the hottest stage of the day he told his workers to rest and let the cattle lie down. They’d rest until about two-thirty and head off to water and camp the cattle down for the night.
The first day was uneventful in that everything went to clock work without a hitch. Harry moved the mob close to the night camp where Rose parked the truck.
She cooked roast meat in the Bedourie oven and used other Bedourie ovens to cook potatoes and damper. She cooked her favourite dessert of bread and butter custard taught to her by her mother.
Altogether she had twelve children; the twins were on goats’ milk serviced by a nanny goat they’d bought along. She also had six ringers and her husband to feed. The children and Greg the horse-tailer helped her with daily chores.
On the road there was no refrigeration and all meat was salted and packed away from the flies. When the men killed a beast which was normally every couple of weeks or when

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meat run short, it was covered with salt and placed into bags to preserve. All flour and other food was stored in tin containers to keep them safe from meat ants which somehow sought out food where ever it may be.
‘So far so good,’ Harry told his wife after he unsaddled his horse and walked into camp. ‘I’m on the first watch.’ He told her.
‘Harry, have a seat over there on the log and I’ll bring your meal with your mug of black tea.’ Rose went about arranging Harry’s meal while he found a stump to sit on.
Claire came up beside him, ‘can I help - Daddy?’ She pleaded with her father, ‘I’ve bought Dusty along and I’ve got him going good.’ Her blue eyes beamed brightly direct into his own, Harry’s heart pounded with glee to know his daughter wanted to help.
‘What about helping your Mum – she’ll need your help here at the camp – won’t she?’ Harry explained.
‘I sure do – there’s plenty to do and I need help to look after the young boys and Annie.’ Her mother spoke in a commanding voice. Claire moved away and let her father eat his meal in peace.
After the men finished their meals they threw their swags on the ground and slept until they were required to do their watch with the cattle. At times their watch was a couple of hours depended on how the cattle settled. While on watch they rode the Nighthorse around the bedded down cattle softly singing a country song.
Harry returned from his watch and knew because he was Boss Drover he would complete the final watch before daylight. When he came to bed in the back of the truck Rose was awake, ‘how did our first day go Love?’ She asked him in a low voice not to awaken the children.
‘Great, the men are good – it was a wonderful meal you cooked, the cattle are settled and there’s another three hundred and sixty-four days to go. I don’t expect everyday to