WILLIAM BUTLER GODSCHALL JOHNSON:

 

        The fifth and youngest son of Ralph Edward Godschall Johnson and Eleanor Butler, was William Butler Godschall Johnson.

        William Butler Godschall Johnson was born on 30 July 1849, at Worthing in England.

        On 1 January 1877 he married Jessie Emma Collins, at Thornhill Station in Queensland.

        Jessie Collins was born on 7 March 1858, the daughter of James Carden Collins and his wife Mary Helena Glennie.

        James Carden Collins was the son of Thomas Collins and his wife whose maiden name was Danvers.

        Mary Helena Glennie was the daughter of James Glennie and Susan White.

        James Glennie was the son of William Glennie and Mary Gardiner.

        Thornhill Station was at the time of William Butler Godschall Johnson's marriage to Jessie Collins, managed by her father James Carden Collins, but owned by James Glennie and his wife Susan, his wife's parents.

        Jessie had an older sister, Mary Denvers Collins, born 2 May 1856, and younger brothers Charles Henry Collins, born 7 December 1859, and Arthur Percy Collins, born 26 May 1861.

        Arthur Percy Collins died on 14 August 1862, and Charles Henry Collins died on 9 March 1963.

        Mary Helena Collins, nee` Glennie, died on 6 December 1870 of pneumonia; her father died  on 10 September 1876, but her mother live to a considerable age, dying 8 April 1898, well over 90 years of age.

        Note that a Sophia Pamela Collins, nee` Danvers, died in 1863. She was the daughter of James Danvers and Elizabeth Andrew.

        She may have been James Carden's Collins mother, and accordingly one of Jessie Collin's grandmothers, the other being Susan Glennie, nee` White.

        After Mary Helena Collins, nee` Glennie, died, in 1870, her widower husband, James Carden Collins later remarried Susan Jane Cox Pugh, and had further children: Florence Montgomery Collins, born 2 April 1871, Arthur John Collins, born 26 March 1873, Ellen Margaret Cox Collins, born 27 December 1874, and Carden Noad Collins, born 12 August 1876.

        Alfred Carden Collins died 17 June 1871, and Florence Montgomery Collins died 1 December 1871.

        William Butler Godschall Johnson says that, when he married Jessie in 1877, she was on Thornleigh Station. He also said that when his first wife Mary Helena Collins, nee` Glennie died, (1870), her father married again and was appointed manager of Torrilea Station, as Thornleigh really belonged to his first wife's parents James and Susan Glennie, and that other grandsons Fred and Frank carried on the work of Thornleigh.

 

        However the 1868 Postal Directory shows James Carden Collins as "superintendent Toorilla, Yaamba". This was two years before his first wife's death.

        Thornleigh is about 50 miles out of Bundaberg, on the now Bruce Highway.

        William Butler Godschall Johnson and Jessie Emma Collins had a very large family indeed, namely of ten children:

Mary Eleanor Godschall Johnson, born on 4 December, 1877,

Jessie Glennie Godschall Johnson, born on 29 April, 1879,

Cholmondeley Edward Godschall Johnson, born on 19 May, 1881,

Maud Alice Godschall Johnson, born on 20 October, 1883,

Evelyn Mabel Godschall Johnson, born on 9 October, 1886,

William Virgil Godschall Johnson, born on 4 January,1890,

Eric Lesleigh Godschall Johnson, born on 26 December, 1892,

Cardew Hamilton Godschall Johnson, born on 23 June, 1894,

Robert Earl Godschall Johnson, born on 19 July, 1896,

Phyllis Muriel Godschall Johnson, born on 16 September, 1901.

        In the 1895 Postal Directory, William Butler Godschall Johnson is shown as residing, without any further annotation, at Ingham. Succeeding postal directories show the same curt reference, but the 1901 one expands it to manager of Stoneleigh Station at Ingham. Stoneleigh Station was at the head of the Stone River, and was a cattle station he managed at that time. His whereabouts throughout his life can best be gained from a reading of his own life story, which has been included in its entirety.

        It was at Stoneleigh Station that his eldest daughter, Mary Eleanor Godschall Johnson was to marry her cousin Ralph Godschall Johnson, in 1897, and also his second daughter, Jessie Glennie Godschall Johnson, was, in 1904, to marry Thomas Joseph Good Atkinson.

        William Butler Godschall Johnson died in 1935. He performed the duties of a Justice of the Peace for most of his life, which in the country, meant taking turns at sitting on the local Justice's bench. He would have been a prominent figure in the local community. He left an interesting account of his life, written by him in 1935 and addressed to May Thornton in England:

        In my last days I give you an outline of my life up to the present. Perhaps a few details and incidents during that time may interest you. I will begin with my earliest recollections. I don't remember ever seeing my mother - she must have died when I was very young.

        My first recollection was a small boarding school at Chilton, Candover, a parish between Winchester and Bushingstoke, where the Rev. Thornton was rector.

        My brother Frank was at school with me. I think I must have been about four years old. We used to go to the Rectory for our holidays, which was, if I remember rightly, about a mile from the school, and where my two sisters Ellen and Fanny lived with the Thornton family, and were taught by their governess.

        I don't remember about my brother Fred. He must have been sent to Ireland before that, to Uncle Fred and Aunt Fanny.

        I do not remember seeing my father and his two eldest sons, Ralph and Charley - they must have come to Australia, before that.

        I must have been at that school for 7 years because in 1860, my two sisters, my brother Frank and myself were sent off to Australia in the old sailing ship Vimiera. On board was the first Anglican Bishop, Bishop Tufnell, and a number of clergy, to come to Queensland.

        It was just after Separation from New South Wales. The Governor who had just arrived was Sir George Bowen.

        Some very fine English gentlemen formed the first Parliament of Queensland about this time - very different from the present regime.

        My father was the Assistant Clerk of the first Legislative Council. He was a fine old Englishman, and was called Gentlemen Johnson.

        He held that position unti he died in 1876.

        His greatest friend in Brisbane was the Honourable Douglas Hamilton, a younger brother of the then Duke.

        Mr. Hamilton had a run with a herd of cattle about 40 miles from Brisbane, where he resided with his wife and family. His family consisted of 3 sons and 2 daughters.

        A nephew, Algernon Hamilton, was also staying with them.

        At the time I was staying there, he married the eldest daughter, Ida. Afterwards he became Duke. I think his son is the present Duke. This is by the way. I am telling you this because the three sons of Douglas Hamilton and I became great friends, and 2 of them were associated with me a few years after, Alexander (Sandy) and Pat.

        My sister Fanny married one of the clergy, John Sutton, and they went to live in Gladstone where John was Parish Priest.

        I met my father when we first arrived and I went to school for a year.

        This was the first time I saw my father, and my brother, Ralph, came to see us when we were there.

        Charley had been lost in the bush and was never seen again.

        After a year at school, I went to the Suttons at Gladstone.

        Aunt Jane Cholmondeley gave them some money, and John took up some country about 80 miles from Gladstone. There I had to shepherd the sheep and sleep near the yard at night to keep the wild dogs (dingos) away.

        The blacks were not too safe in those days, and I got a great fright one night. I was asleep on the ground under my blanket, (but no roof over me), and my sheep dog was lying beside me. I woke up with a weight on me, and a struggling mass on by blanket. I found some wild dogs were attacking my sheep dog on top of me. I did not know then that the dingo does not attack human beings, and I was very afraid.

        In 1864, I got a job on a cattle station and started work on my own account. I should like to tell you a few incidents that happened while I was working on that station, "Kolonga", whose owner Mr. Holt, was very kind to me.

        He (Mr. Holt), taught me to ride, milk, and do all kinds of cattle work.

        One day, while working in the yard, a wild cow, instead of running out of the yard as the gate was opened, charged me, caught me on her horns, and dashed me against the fence. I did not recover consciousness until the next day. I was very badly bruised, but there was no serious injury.

        On another occasion I was training to ride some of the horses in a race, and, as I was a little too heavy, I had to reduce weight by sitting in an improvised Turkish bath - a chair, with a pail of hot water underneath - and covered by a blanket. A black fellow covered me up, head and all, and he went away. Mr. Holt came on soon after, and, seeing my head covered, pulled the blankets off, to find that I had fainted; but I rode the race the next day and won.

        There were very few women folk on stations in those days, but the Carden Collins station was an exception. It was about 15 miles from Kolonga. The family consisted of 3 sons and 3 daughters: Minnie, Jessie (who afterwards became my wife), and Mabel, the youngest.

        They used to give parties sometimes, and we used to ride over and dance nearly all night, and then ride home and start work again.

        That is how I came to know my dear wife, when she was a young girl.

        My brother, Frank, was on a station called Miriam Vale, about 40 miles from Kolonga, and was therefore 25 miles from Thornhill - the Carden Collins station, and we often used to go there to the dances. This was in the 60's (1860s).

        The only noticeable event that happened out of the ordinary was the capture of a bushranger called the "Wild Scotsman", who was not a very bloodthirsty man, but had robbed the mail a few times. The mail was from Gladstone to Maryborough, by horse once a week, and on two occasions, Mr. Holt and I, armed to the teeth, escorted the mailman to the neighbouring station on the Maryborough road. The manager there escorted him a little further.

        The second time we went, the manager of that station, called Monduroo, saw a man waiting on the road ahead who, when he saw the escort with the mailman, went off into the bush.

        The manager, Mr Nott and his man gave chase and caught the bushranger, for it was he. He was in a destitute condition, having lost his ammunition, and he had no food with him.

        It is remarkable, but that manager, Mr. Nott, later married my wife's aunt, and got a station of his own west of Rockhampton. His wife, who is older than I am, is still alive and has children and grandchildren.

        About 1864, I think, my sister married your grandfather, and he bought a share in a sheep station, but sold out in a year or two and went up to Bowen.

        About a year later, my brother came to Australia and I saw him for the first time.

        In 1870, my brother Frank started for the far north of Queensland, where he took up country and made money for a few years. Afterwards, he went to Brisbane, married there, went into business and lost all his money. He got a billet as Government Stock Inspector in the west of Queensland, where he lived for some years, and he died out there. His family consisted of 2 girls and 2 boys.

        His eldest son, Harold, when he was about 22, was living in Winton, a western town, took a horse out to a paddock a short distance away. A thunder storm coming in, he sat down under a tree for shelter, when a flash of lightning struck the tree and killed him instantly.

        The other boy I have never seen, but believe he is still out in the western country.

        The 2 girls are married and living near Atherton. I often see them. The elder has no children; the younger, Eleanor, has one daughter about 19.

        When Frank was travelling north he got three boys from the blacks near Mackay, and, calling at Townsville, he got them some clothes, and had their photos taken. I will send you the old photo, taken about 1871, of the three boys. Only Alec, the small boy on the left, is alive. Frank handed him over to me when he went to Brisbane, and he has been attached to me ever since. He is now a very decrepit old man.

        This can't be such a very unhealthy climate; my wife's grandmother lived till she was over 90, and Glen's mother-in-law Mrs. Atkinson, died here at 93 years of age.

        In 1870, I left the station I was working on, and went droving - that is, taking cattle from one part of the country to another, perhaps hundreds or even thousands of miles.

        I took a mob of bullocks from Rodds Bay near Gladstone to a station between Bowen and Mackay called Bloomsbury, and when I came back from the droving trip to N.S.W., he wrote asking me to go up north and buy a mob of 500 cattle for him, and deliver to Bloomsbury, which I did.

        As I was passing Bowen, I rode in and called at the house. Your father, a small boy, came out to the gate and asked me to give him a ride on my horse. I put him on the horse which i thought would be quiet, but never having a child on his back, he began to buck and threw Johnny before I could take him off. Fortunately, he was not hurt, only frightened.

        My brother Ralph, was sent down to take care of father's interests there - Bloomsbury - Ralph had been lately married and he took his wife to Bloomsbury with him, where his son Ralph was born, and what seems a strange coincidence, young Ralph and I should, after about 60 years, become interested in Bloomsbury again.

        There is a railroad station and small village at Bloomsbury now, and Ralph and his sons took up a sugar farm there and asked me to join them. I did so, but sold out to him later.

        After delivering the cattle to Bloomsbury, I went back to my old district, and after droving here and there for a year or two, got the management of Moolboolaman station, as the owner, Mr. Barton, was going home to England to get married.  (The Mr. Barton mentioned here was Augustus Purling Barton)

        I stayed with him for some years. He brought his wife out, but I stayed on.

        He went to England again in 1876, and I got married while he was there, on 1st January 1877, to Jessie Collins of Thornhill, about 30 miles away.

        The day before the wedding, I had to ride 90 miiles. One of my fiance's trustees lived 30 miles from Moolboolaman, and I heard at the last minute that I must get his consent in writing before I could get married, so I started early in the morning and rode the 30 miles to the Trustee's station, then riding back to Moolboolaman and then 30 miles to Thornhill.

        In 1879, Mr. Barton returned from England and took full charge, so I left and stayed for a short time at Thornhill.

        At about that time your grandmother left for the south on her way to England.

        A few years before this, my wife's mother and eldest brother died at Thornhill: the former from pneumonia, and the brother from a fall from a horse.

        Her father married again, and was appointed manager of Torilea station; Thornhill really belonged to my wife's grandparents, Mr. & Mrs. Glennie, and the other 2 grandsons, Fred and Frank, carried on the work of the station.

        After leaving Thornhill, we took up a block of country about 40 miles north of Rockhampton, and put cattle on it.

        My eldest daughter, Mary, was then 2 years old, and there, Glen was born, 29th April, 1879.

        I sold out of there and got the management of a station adjoining Thornhill, called Warra. This was about 55 miles from Gladstone, where I had to go sometimes on business. I used to drive in a buggy with 4 horses, and would often take Mary with me, strapped on the seat beside me, as she was only a little over three years old.

        Old Mrs. Glennie was very proud of her great grandchildren, but Glen was of course the favourite. We often used to visit there. The old lady used to say in comparing the children: the difference is that Glen is a Glennie and Mary is a Johnson.

        Glen could do no wrong, even when one day she caught 2 of the old lady's little turkeys and held them under the water in a tub to see the bubbles come up.

        Cholmondeley was born there.

        In 1882, I thought I could do better for myself by going into business - a fatal mistake. I bought a share in an auctioneering business but was not suited for that sort of life.

        I bought a farm about 8 miles out of Brisbane, and used to drive in every day to business, and take the 2 girls and Cholm to school.

        Maude, Mabel and Virgil were all born here.

        About 1887 gold was discovered at Croydon, and, as I had failed in business, Pat Hamilton and I went to try our fortune, over 1000 miles away. We got a little gold, but not much. The climate was very unhealthy, and we both got malaria there. I recovered but poor Pat died.

        I went back to Brisbane, and, in 1888, started bee culture, and tried to make good on the farm, but unsuccessfully.

        I was then offered a billet of droving a number of bulls to a station near Ingham called Stoneleigh. That took three months. I only had two blackboys with me, Alec and Larry, the boys my brother Frank brought down from the north, and whose photos I sent you.

        A very remarkable incident of faith cure happened on the way. I must tell you first, that a few months before leaving Brisbane, Alec was in the Brisbane hospital suffering from hydatids on the liver, but seemed to be well on leaving, but after being on the road for sometime, the swelling over his liver showed again, and one day his horse falling on him, the swelling must have burst inside, and the boy was very sick. We went close to a station called Borralee, and I asked the owner to allow me to stay for a day or two to give the boy a rest, but he seemed to get worse.

        The blacks on the station told Alec that a few miles away was a camp of blacks, with a very good medicine man among them, and Alec was sure that if he could get there, the medicine man would cure him.

        So I arranged to take him to the camp, and watch the operation, which was as follows: the man laid the boy on his back on the ground, and with a long needle, put the point over the place where the swelling had been, but did not ever break the skin, then he put his mouth to the place and sucked for a time then spat out a piece of bad meat. Again sucking produced a piece of chewed string, and next time a few nails. That completed the cure, and in two days, the boy was well as ever.

        The man must have been a bit of a conjurer, for, although I watched very closely, I did not see how he got all those things into his mouth, for he was quite naked, and had nowhere to conceal things.

        Alec is still alive, but past work.

        When I got to Stoneleigh, I had word from Brisbane to take 1000 bullocks to N.S.W., and that took me another seven months, so it was about October 1891 before I got home again.

        Then the Queensland Investment Co. offered me the management of Stoneleigh, so I sold out everything in Brisbane and took all the family, consisting of Mother and 6 children, the youngest being Virgil.

        After being there for a time, I wrote to Sandy Hamilton to come up, and we rented a farm from the Colonial Sugar Refining Co., which Sandy managed. we grew sugar cane for the company for some years.

        The estate was about 20 miles from Stoneleigh, and Sandy was often up staying with us. He was a very fine man and a great friend of ours.

        We had some Kanakas working in the cane, and one of them got very ill. Sandy nursed him through his illness, which turned out to be tuberculosis, and I think Sandy must have contracted the disease then, for a few years afterward, he developed T.B. and died, although he was a very strong man, much stronger than me.

        While I was at Stoneleigh, there was a man butchering at a tin mine about 16 miles away, and I knew he was stealing cattle, so I was there one night and watched his yard all night, and just at daylight I saw him come down to the yard and shoot the animals, so the man who was with me, and I ran down to the yard and I said "Whose cow is that?" - he said "it isn't yours".

        Anyhow I looked at the brand, and saw that it belonged to a neighbouring station, from whom I had authority to act, so I took the hide straight to the police in Ingham, with the information.

        The case came up for trial at Townsville, and the man got off scot free, through some legal technicality, and the barrister who defended him told the jury that I was no better than a bushranger, robbing the poor man of his beef.

        In 1895, the tick pest began to make its appearance. This is an insect introduced into the Northern Territory by buffalo, which caused a disastrous fever called Redwater, and killed thousands of cattle.

        When the ticks first arrived there were 12,000 cattle on the station, and after two years, there were only a little over 1,000.

        All sorts of experiments were tried to relieve the cattle, but it was only after three years, it was discovered, that dipping the stock in a solution of arsenic would relieve them of the ticks, and after a time, the stock became immune to the disease, but we still have to continue dipping to relieve them of tick worry.

        While we were at Stoneleigh, Eric, Carden, Earle, and Phyllis were born, the latter in 1901, the year we left.

        Mary was married to Ralph while we were at Stoneleigh in 1897.

        They went south to Melbourne, and in 1899 went home to England, taking Glen with them.

        Glen also married at Stoneleigh in 1901 to Tom Atkinson, and went to Kangaroo Hills station, of which Tom was a part owner.

        We then went to the range near the tin mines, and I bought some mules and started packing goods up to the mines and tin back to Ingham.

        We had nearly 100 goats (partly angora), which we used for milk and mutton, and the children had a team of them to cart wood and water for our house.

        One day the goats were missing, and did not come home at night. They were away for two days before the children found them on the top of a high hill in the midst of a quantity of a poison plant called "Gastro tobrien Grandiflora", and nearly 60 of the goats died. There was great weeping and lamentations over the loss of a lot of their pets.

        We did not stay long on the range; it was a very out of the way place, and no wheeled vehicle could get up there, so everything had to be carried on horseback; some very awkward things I had to pack, among them a quantity of train rails.

        We went to live in Ingham for a time, but I still continued my packing business and made a fair amount of money.

        It was while at Stoneleigh I was made a Magistrate of the territory, and I still continue to sit as a Justice of the Peace.

        Then an old pioneer called Stone left the district, and we bought his estate called "The Grange". This is where the photo of the whole family was taken under a very old fig tree in front of the house. This was a very fine old place, with a quantity of fruit trees, mango, cumquats, guava, brazilian cherries etc., but the soil was not much good for sugar growing.

        There were a number of snakes about this country, and one day, I heard a commotion outside and someone calling me; I ran out and found Mabel holding a death adder down with a rake, so I soon despatched him. On another occasion, the boys were down in the field with their little fox terrier. the little dog ran after a big brown snake, which turned and bit the dog and then disappeared into a hole. The boys picked up the dog and started to carry it home, but the poor little thing died before they got to the house. The death adder and the brown snake are the most venomous snakes we have in Queensland.

        When we first went to the Grange, the boys used to ride all the way to Ingham to school every day, a distance of 10 miles.

        Afterwards the Government built a school about four miles away which made things easier for them.

        Then one of the teachers, a Miss Jones, came to stay with us, which enabled Phyllis to go in a small trap, which we lent the teacher. One night Virgil and Eric were driving along the road after dark, to some performance at the school, when they met some lads galloping along the road, one of whom rode straight at the vehicle they were driving, the shaft of which entered the chest of the lads horse, killing him (the horse) instantly. The lad got a bad fall but was not seriously hurt.

        About this time I took a contract to erect some miles of fencing on a selection about 95 miles from Gunnawarra station, so I engaged a couple of men and took my dray and horses and travelled up the 130 miles and camped at the place where the fence was to be erected.

        I had a small tent to myself, and the men had another a small distance away. One night I was rudely awakened by something biting my nose. I knocked it off and struck a match, and there close by was a native cat with all its bristles on end looking very angry. It ran away before I could get anything to hit it with, and I had the marks of its teeth on my nose for some time after. The native cat is a small animal, not quite as big as a rabbit. They are very savage, but I never heard of them attacking anyone unless cornered.

        On another occasion, riding home with my son Eric and a blackboy, through the bush in very wet weather, we came to a plain covered with water, on which were some lagoons, which could not be distinguished owing to the quantity of water.

        Suddenly our horses lost footing and began to swim. The blackboy and horse swam well and reached footing first. My horse swam well, but Eric and his horse disappeared under the water. I let my horse go with the idea of helping Eric, but he came to the surface quickly and swam off better than I could as I was hampered with a waterproof coat, which got round my legs, and I should have certainly drowned had not the blackboy managed to reach me and pull me into the shallow water. In swimming horses, one generally gets out of the saddle, holds on to the horse's mane, and lies flat on the water, and the horse will carry one a good long distance in that way.

        While we were living at the Grange, a Mr. and Mrs. Dyott, with an infant daughter came and stayed a few days with us. They came out from England, globetrotting, and strange to say, while I am writing this, 23 years afterwards, the same people, with 2 grown up daughters and a girl friend, have come to stay at Gunnawarra for a few weeks, to see bush life. Glen heard they were in Cairns and invited them to come and stay awhile. They intend going from here to Hong Kong on their way home to England, so we are a very big party now.

        But to get back to the Grange; we lived there growing sugar for about 10 years.

        Virgil and Carden enlisted from there in 1915 I think, and in 1918 we left the Grange to Cholmondeley and came to Atherton and started dairy farming, sending our cream to a factory close by.

        I went up first on to the farm that belonged to Glen and her husband. The house had been unoccupied for some time and was very dirty. I was not at all comfortable, all by myself, as cats used to race through the house squealing at all hours of the night and opossums walking on the ceiling sounding like a man's footsteps, making me think of ghosts; especially as I was told that the place was haunted, the former owner having had a man killed there.

        Afterwards, I hired a man to work for me, and he was taking some iron off a roof of an outhouse when he fell throught to the ground, on to some iron, and was killed.

        Eric got married about that time and took up a farm, with the assistance of Tom Atkinson, about 12 miles from us, and also went in for dairying.

        The boys came back from the War in 1918, and came and stayed with us for a time, then Carden went to Ingham and joined Cholm.

        Virgil and Earle took up a dairy farm near Malanda, about seven miles from us. They had very hard work clearing heavy timber off the land, and Earle was nearly killed by a tree falling on him and fracturing his skull. They had to carry him a long way before they could get to a road leading to a hospital, and it was a very long time before he truly recovered.

        The farm is just now beginning to repay them for all their work.

        While on the subject of accidents, I must record a terribly sad one that happened to a lad some few years ago. He was riding one day in the bush and, passing a dead tree with a small hole in it out of which he saw a very pretty parrot emerge. The hole was too high for him to reach it while sitting on hos horse, so he stood on his saddle and inserted his arm into the hole, trying to reach the young birds. Something startled his horse, which moved off, leaving the boy suspended by his arm, which he could not extricate. The horse went home and a search party went out. They found the poor boy next day, still suspended and covered with blood. He evidently managed to get his knife from his pocket and tried to cut his arm off - no doubt bleeding would have caused his death.

        We lived in Atherton for some years dairying in partnership with my son-in-law Lex Clark-Kennedy, till 1923, when my dear wife died.

        I then went to Mackay and took up a sugar farm with my nephew Ralph Johnson, where I lived for 3 years.

        Then I lost my farm, and also the sight of one of my eyes through an unskilful operation. I was in hospital in Brisbane for some time, then I came up to Gunnawarra to Glen, where I have lived ever since.

        In the early seventies (1870's), I was head man under the owner on a station in the Burnett district. The owner, we will call him, Mr. Brown, was a fine old English gentleman, very shortsighted and very eccentric. In those days we used generally to employ, beside the stockmen, a married couple - the wife to do the cooking and house work and the man to milk, get firewood and make himself useful. It was a strange thing, but we seldom got a couple who were both good, At the time I speak of, we had a couple, the woman was very good, but the man was impudent and lazy, and the boss disliked him very much.

        One day I took a pair of boots out to the kitchen and told the man to clean them. He refused to do so, saying he was not there to clean boots and was very impudent. I did not say much to him as his wife was present, but I waited till I saw him go out to the dairy which was about 20 yards away. I followed him in and asked him what he meant by refusing to clean my boots. He told me something rude and impudent, so I boxed his ears. Come outside he said and I'll show you. At this moment, the boss came down and was rubbing his hands and calling out "give it to him my boy, give it to him." I had just finished him off, with a broken nose and two bloody eyes, and knocked him down to the ground, when his wife came running to his aid from the kitchen with a broom stick waving in our direction, whence Mr. Brown and I fled. Needless to say, the couple gave us notice at once.

        On another occasion, a blackfellow whom he had in our employ bolted just after he had been given a nice suit of clothes, consisting of a good shirt and a pair of moleskin trousers. The boss said "you go after him my boy, and give him a good hiding and bring back the clothes".

        So off I went to a neighbouring station, where a friend of mine, Jack Dee by name, was in charge. He told me that Paddy the nigger was in a camp  across the creek, so after tea, Jack and I went over. Jack had a new pair of spurs on which tripped him up as they had very long reeks, so he took them off and carried them in his hand. He also had a small pistol carrying a bullet in it about the size of a pea. We found Paddy sitting by the fire quite naked. I said: "where are those clothes?'. He pointed to the ground where he had been sitting.

        I then proceeded to give him a hiding, as I thought, but there was no-one there to referee, so Paddy closed with me, and, being much stronger, threw me on the ground and proceeded to choke me, when Jack came behind and jammed both spurs into Paddy' naked ribs. Paddy must have wondered what had bitten him for he jumped up and ran for his life, and a shot from Jack's pistol no doubt gave him a bigger fright. My throat was sore for days, but I took the clothes back to Mr. Brown who was very pleased and asked me if I had given Paddy a good hiding. I said that I had tried to.

        I recall an incident which happened while on my way up to purchase cattle for your grandfather - the aboriginals in those days were very troublesome, murdering people and spearing cattle. I had a man with me and we were camped by the fire, when about 10 o'clock at night we were awakened by terrible shrieks nearby. I immediately jumped up, fired a shot with my revolver and we took our blankets back into the darkness, thinking that the blacks were upon us. We took turns to watch for the remainder of the night, but nothing further happened. I learned afterwards that some men were camped some distance away and they had a Kanaka with them. The Kanaka wandered away in the night and came running back to their camp saying he had been attacked by blacks. I think that when he saw our fire, he thought we were blacks, and the rest was pure imagination on the part of the Kanaka. The shot from the revolver may have frightened him also.

        At Eolonga, the native dogs (dingo), were very numerous. One night I went up to the yard where we had killed a bullock for beef to see if I could shoot a dingo with a little pistol I had - about six inches long and carried a bullet about the size of a pill. I was lying down against the fence peeping over the bottom rail, when an old dingo walked past on the other side of the fence, but within a yard or two of me. I shut my eyes, and fired, and the dingo snapped, and snapped, I thought, at me, and I jumped to the top of the fence very quickly. I thought afterwards that he was snapping at his wound, for I had hit him in a vital place and found him dead next day. Mr. Holt was a very kind man, and took a great liking to me, and I used to play some harmless little tricks. Once riding alone with him on the road to the station, he was riding a horse with a very short tail, and I got a stick of grass-tree and put it under his horse's tail. The horse started bucking furiously but Mr. Holt was a splendid horseman  and was not thrown. He only laughed at the joke when I told him.

        There was a great friend of Mr. Holts living on the station, a Doctor Sewell, a very gentlemanly man and a clever doctor,; he used to visit all the neighbouring stations when required, but his great failing was drink. I was sent to a neighbouring station to bring the Doctor to attend a sick man. When I got there, I found the Doctor very drunk, as the manager had just brought out a jar of spirits. However, I got the horses up and saddled them, and got the doctor on to his horse, which started bucking, throwing the old doctor, and breaking his arm near the elbow, His arm remained stiff ever afterwards.

        On another occasion I was sent for him again and found him in the same state again, but I got him safely away. When we got about 4 miles on the road, he stuck his spurs into the horse, which threw him, and he lay insensible upon the ground.

        I dragged him to the shade of a tree, and saw that his arm was broken again, with a compound fracture, the bone sticking out through the skin. I galloped back to the station and they sent a buggy out and took him in. He always had a stiff arm to the day of his death, He died many years later at Dunwich, a home for indigent old men on an island in Moreton Bay near Brisbane.