1877
Sunday
A lovely morning bright and cool. As the river must be crossed at Dubbledah about 8 miles away and the ford may have washed out or altered since the late freshes, my friends insist on giving me a boy for escort who rides ahead, opens the various gates and finally sees me safe and sound across the river Namoi. The steam was pretty deep. Another two inches would have run into my trap so after all the guide was useful, trying the depth on horseback. And now once more alone I drive along, thinking of days gone by where with a jolly party of young fellows, I surveyed the road under my horses feet some 15 years ago and the changes and chances of this mortal life since then! How some have died, some have missed the little narrow path, while others are passing rich, or “comfortably off”, and I, the father of them all passing the very track we run with all the bound and joyousness of health and youth. Yes, memory is active as we bowl along. Here is Dubbledah and Highams but, with doors pulled down and windows smashed. A smouldering fire inside proclaims the fact a tramp has spent the night here, and whether the premises are burnt or not, what matters it to him. Higham was one of the characters of the old days. He went by the synonym of Yellow Dick, was ostensibly a bullock driver and carrier on the roads, but professionally one of the ablest horse and cattle stealers in the land. In altering or defacing brands and marks, changing the colour of beasts hides, and keeping the harness cask full of prime fat beef he had practically no compeer. The Scottish border thieves were babes to him!
I once more see him as he was, tall and thin, lazily leaning against his stockyard fence vacantly looking out or on the ground as if he took no interest in any thing in life and hear the echo of his drawling, whining voice wishing “good morning” or “good evening” as all the “old hands” did to everyone they saw some 30 years ago! He’s dead!
And now we reach Gulligal lagoon, once a thriving prosperous little place, now boasting a cottage and a flock of goats. And this place has a but the little horses want a drink, so I pull up take off the harness and let them do down to the lagoon while I refresh with a good feed of meat and bread followed by cake and wine.
Being alone, thought takes the place of speech; the scene this place presented 27 years ago passes before me. Its inhabitants were few in these early days. Old Sam Stead the driver, hale and hearty; Russell, the carrier, deep in the river bend. Johnston the postmaster grey with age but with a quick and sparkling eye and shuffling gait. His daughters, great big romping girls – himself – on State occasions, such as the delivery of the Mail, as starched and staid as a Presbyterian of the old Kirk should be – his wife subject at times to spirits over proof! Then Humphrey the publican, nicknamed the Jack of Clubs, a smart dapper little chap handicapped with a tremendous red haired wife, whose Inn, well kept, was a comfortable camp after the 17 miles dusty road from Gunnedah and Panton the mad brained parsons son who kept the public pound and by his eccentricities with fire arms, frightened the people everywhere about. His house was a combination both of fussy and neat. It had an earthen floor and the walls dividing the compartments were of calico and bark. A little cheery woman was his wife, brimful of kindness to her own, and every stranger, rich or poor, who passed her door. She had 3 little children, only one living now. And year by year with patient resignation watched her extraordinary mate get more desperately mad till he was taken from the world and Gulligal. Some of these people still live not many miles away, the rest are “gone before” but Gulligal is Dead! The diversion of the North Western road some years ago left it quite out of sight, and one by one the people left and houses tumbled into ruin or decay. Here I met Doppin the general manager of Melville plains – John Lloyd, Marshall and hosts of good fellows who if alive would know the place no more.
A Flying Trip to Queensland, Land and Water, Professional Trip in the District
of Liverpool Plains, New South Wales by District Surveyor Arthur Dewhurst,
Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, MLMSS 9535