1953
I had been sent off to find our milking cow early one morning and, not finding her on this young grass, decided that she must be in the swamp at the back of the hill and seeing a couple of fairly small blackwood spars joined at the butt and standing about two feet apart and high up, I decided to climb up on them in order to get a better view of the swamp, and incidentally save myself a long wet walk. The bark had peeled off the spars and they were slippery. However, I got up about ten feet and then slipped down. I was caught by one ankle and thigh and I could not touch the ground with my other foot. I was helpless, as I could get no purchase to raise myself. I yelled, of course, but no one could hear me, being so far from the two houses. I was soon hoarse, of course and my leg was swelling. My greatest anxiety was fear that the two dingos, which Maud and I had seen killing sheep on the previous day, would find me and no sticks were within my reach. However, they did not put in an appearance. In the meantime, I was wishing that I was back in Geelong. My cousin, John McCord, came across me just before dark; but he could not extricate me and had to return home for an axe and chop one of the spars down. He said that he had passed quite close to me during the afternoon and thought I may have wandered into the standing scrub further along the ridge. As I was lame, I had a week’s holiday from school.
About this time a very tall Chinaman strolled onto our verandah and pointed to some scones which Mum had baked. When he attempted to enter the kitchen, she pushed him out and fed him on hot scones and milk. He seemed very hungry and made quite a hole in Mum’s batch. I was put through a window at the back and told to find Dad. He was up the paddock. The “chink” seemed quite harmless; but could speak no English. After he had a good meal, he sauntered off.
We wondered how he ever came to this isolated locality. A few days later, Maud and I (being early for school for a wonder) found him asleep under the school, which was high off the ground. The master, during hot days, often took us there for lessons, also we left our lunch bags there, being much cooler than the school it prevented the “dripping” and treacle from melting. The Chinaman stayed in the locality for several weeks, calling on the settlers for food, and the next time he called at our place Dad collected Eb. Cook with a rifle. Jim McCord and Dad, armed with empty muzzle-loading double-barrelled shotguns, escorted him to the crossing over the river and bid him a friendly goodbye. They pointed his way out; but he was not inclined to move so with one accord they “presented arms” with threatening gestures. I really thought they meant business; but the “chow” surveyed the army with a bland smile and said “no savee”. After this signal failure of drastic measures, word was sent to Tobin Yallock and a police officer came up and removed him. I have never seen a Chinaman at Poowong before or since.
Memoirs: The Writing of an Old Man with a Young Man’s Mind,
Poowong Historical Group, Poowong, Victoria, 2003