More Abell Men

Part One

1928 Arthur’s Family Leave the Whitsundays

In this year, when my grandfather moved from Jubilee Pocket with his family, the world would rejoice to have the benefits associated with the discovery of penicillin, and Henry Ford’s production of the Model A. Ford car brought significant improvements to the T. model. This was the beginning of technological advancement toward a lifestyle, which we have come to expect. It was at this time that Arthur’s family moved to the Mackay district, leaving Edward in the Whitsundays with a few things to settle before he left the area. He had acquired a lot of bush knowledge, a zest for hard work, and a great love for the sea. Financially, he was like many who were exposed to the depression, which eventually gave way to the Second World War. At 22 years old, Edward held the lease of Dent Island, with the exception of that portion where the lighthouse stands. He did not have enough money to develop the island, apart from fencing off the lighthouse area, and the financial downturn precluded him from borrowing the necessary funds to stock the island with sheep. Now his only alternative was to sell up, and add to what his family had saved to put up as collateral for a block of land in the hinterland of Sarina some 50 odd kilometres south-west of Mackay.

Figure 11. Abell Point before the Marina Development

To achieve this result, Edward stayed on at Jubilee Pocket, growing small crops and cutting cane for Bill Stockwell, an old family friend, until the island sold. After this eventuated, he left Jubilee Pocket and worked on cane farms in the Mackay and Sarina districts during which time he realised his dream; finding his soul mate.

In 1921, Edward, a lad of 13, in the company of a group of men, travelled to Mackay for a Christian convention. At this time, his family had become interested in learning about their Creator, believing in and living a better and more honourable life. Heading out over rough tracks and unbridged creeks, some rode bicycles while others rode horses. The first night out, Edward became feverish and by nightfall, he was hardly able to stay upright on his mount. On the second day, as these men struggled into Mackay, two fellow riders rode either side of him for fear he may fall. He had become very ill. A family friend, an ambulance officer, lived in Milton Street and it was to this home they went as by this time, it became evident that Edward had succumbed to measles. He remained there while the rest continued to their destination, a little way south toward Sarina.

The Hawkins family made him very comfortable and he felt quite at home with this large family. Mary, the eldest, was much the same age as himself with a quiet disposition, while Florence, being a little younger, was an outgoing girl often referred to as a tomboy. The children were to stay away from the room, as measles, a contagious disease, could spread to others in the household. Florence could not keep away and often would appear at the door with something to tell or show this new friend. Many years later, he recounted this stopover, telling us that Florence was just an 8-year-old, full of fun, who made his sick days a little brighter.

In the ensuing years, a friendship budded with Edward’s sister Ruth, as Florence being much the same age had become good friends through church activities. She came to visit the family at Jubilee Pocket and Edward, a little older now, was intrigued by this raven haired, teenage live-wire but had not given much thought to her being there, except that she was his sister’s best friend. When the time came for Florence to go back to her family, it happened that a consignment of fruit and vegetables was to go on rail to the markets, so it was convenient that Edward took her as he was going to the train in Proserpine anyway. Florence sat on the far side of the buggy and Edward’s mother, in her wisdom placed a large pawpaw between them to keep them apart. Now they were alone, they had very little to say but as they plodded along, these two young folk began to have feelings for each other. Arriving at the rail station, the luggage unloaded, it was now time to say goodbye. The newly discovered knowledge of being attracted to one another left them in an awkward silence. This had not been evident in company with others and their simple handshake lingered a little, and these few words came from Florence, I hope to see you again, soon.

Arthur’s Job and the Injudicious Shooters

After the family moved from Jubilee Pocket in 1928, Grandpa accepted a job caretaking a property near Alligator Creek, south of Mackay at a place called Bally Keel. This property, bordered on three sides by the sea and two estuaries, is very diverse. Dudgeon’s Point, a reserve, has a beautiful beach which extends south to Louisa Creek, while to the west the confluence of Alligator Creek and Bakers Creek form the boundary. This property, renowned for its duck shooting, had a large swampy marsh behind the beach. The Culverhouse family, who owned this land, were absent for a time, so this interim arrangement suited Arthur Abell and his family who were looking around for a property on which to settle. I recall Grandpa telling us of an amusing incident while they were in residence at Bally Keel. Mr Culverhouse was particular as to who he allowed to shoot on his property, and at this time the season was closed. Grandpa’s instructions concerning out-of-season duck shooters were that they were not welcome and offenders were to be reported to the police. They would not only be trespassing, but shooting of Mallards out of season was certainly an offence in the eyes of the law.

Early one morning, a volley of gunfire erupted from the swamp, followed by the raucous call of waterfowl lifting into the morning mist. Grandpa leapt from his bed, and dressing quickly, ran off in the direction of the gunfire. Grandma, concerned for his safety, quickly dispatched Arthur Jensen − their daughter Beatrice’s future husband − to follow to ensure there was no foul play. When Arthur arrived, Grandpa was in dispute with these illegal shooters, trying to extract names and addresses from them but they were not at all co-operative. Arthur, taking in the situation, demanded they drop their ducks and he would see that they be duly reported to the police.

One of the offenders, using a ‘red herring’ said, Come on, let’s get back to the boat, making out they had come via Louisa Creek.

They had the audacity to walk away, but Grandpa did not come down in the last shower. He and Arthur suspected their intentions. I don’t think they’ve come by boat; I reckon they are foxing. Come on! They will have left their car at the gate and we’ll get there before they do.

The shooters walked off in defiance, in the direction of the creek to dodge around the swamp and return to their car in a roundabout way. Grandpa and Arthur arrived at the gate, and sure enough, there was the car. They had only to sit and wait to catch the men who refused to give their credentials. Within a short time they heard laughter and a few chuckles, as the shooters revelled in the slip they had given to the old bloke and his ‘son’; never for a moment thinking that they had really been outsmarted; the registration number of their vehicle would now put these men in a sticky situation.

As these fellers approached, still snickering about their little trick, Grandpa and Arthur stepped out from behind the car.

It’s all up boys, we have your number, and you will be reported to the police.

They dropped their ducks and fled, with the exception of one man who came forward in defeat.

Hey, listen, I’m awfully sorry about this whole shemozzle; now what can I do to make it right? We came for a little sport and now we are in trouble. I will pay money, you keep the ducks, anything, but do not turn us in to the law. Will you accept my apologies on behalf of my mates? This will never happen again," he stammered.

Giving them a stern warning never to come shooting on that property again, their apologies were accepted and off they went. Some weeks later, a man, known to Grandpa, was at the police station in Sarina when he overheard a conversation between the constable and another man, telling him how he and his mates had tangled with an old feller and his ‘son’ at Bally Keel.

We shot a few ducks and I had to do some fast talking to get out of it; man if they’d have reported us, I’d have lost my job, he said in a lowered voice.

It was after the owners returned to Bally Keel that Arthur and family moved to a dairy farm south-west of Sarina, in an area known as Blue Mountain. Their first priority was to build a saw-mill, which in turn provided the timber for a new home and other structural improvements. The Abell families had always cut their own timber for building homes and boats; something they had done since coming from England in 1860. On the various properties they had owned, there was no shortage of suitable trees for milling. Edward did not figure in this shift, as he still held the lease of Dent Island, which was now under offer to the O’Hara family from Proserpine. From excerpts of old letters it seems the sale of the island was somewhat delayed due to the depression of the 30’s. Finance was difficult to get for any venture, so Edward marked time growing a few tomatoes and other small crops, making his home with Bill and Bella Stockwell. He cut Bill’s cane crop of 450 tons in the year 1932, and consigned it to the Proserpine Mill.

Figure 12. Beatrice, Florence & Edward, Cyril, Ferris, Gladys, Raymond, Florence Grandma, Great Grandma and Grandad Abell

Edward Finds His Soulmate and Moves to Blue Mountain

I well remember an evening visit when my Dad was living alone. He told us about our mother’s visit to their family when she was only a young lass. Mother had passed away quite a few years earlier, and this evening, being in a nostalgic mood he told us much of those early days. While living with my sister Joan, he would often get his old letters out and spend time reading them. Joan had to go through his pockets on washdays, as he was apt to have a special one tucked in the top pocket of his shirt. Joan would very discretely take the letter and place it on his dressing table, as though he had left it there himself. When I was a child, I remember seeing a small cedar box on the top of his wardrobe and many times, I had a look at that box but could not make out why it had no lid. Dad had nailed the lid shut and when I turned it over there was no sound to betray the contents and no way one could open it. I later learned that this neat little box contained his old letters and he was very successful in keeping them private. After his passing in 2005, when we were going through his belongings, we came upon his letters, now out of the box. He had left instruction to burn these letters but Joan was privy to some he had left around.

It seems rather sad that we should destroy all these letters, as the few I’ve seen are beautifully written and disclose much that we didn’t know of our parent’s early lives.

So much written in these letters of the early days is of great interest and has been useful to us in understanding the history of our family.

As time passed from that first shy goodbye at the railway station in Proserpine, a friendship began between Edward and Florence which was a little more than what his sister Ruth enjoyed; these two were in love. It was not easy courting, when you worked in the Whitsunday area and your girlfriend was at West Plane Creek on a farm near Sarina. At the time, she may well have been in Timbuktu, for it was a good day’s journey by the quickest means of travel. Edward would ride into Proserpine, take the train to Mackay, a train or railmotor to Sarina and I guess someone would be kind enough to collect him there. If not, he would hitch a ride; borrow a bike or just plain walk. How he got there didn‘t really matter, but what was most important, he was near his sweetheart. These visits didn‘t happen very often and letter writing was their principal means of communication, and each looked longingly for mail to arrive.

Figure 13. Edward on his Mount his only Mode of Transport

Florence’s parents had put restrictions on their correspondence; they hoped this would curtail their courtship because Florence was not yet 21. . How do you stop the tide of romance? The same way you stop the ocean tides: it‘s quite impossible. Edward arranged a third party to assist, sending his letters to his mate Bert, who was keeping company with Mary, Florence’s elder sister. This worked well and while they were not very happy about doing it this way, it was the best they could do under the current circumstances. Another thing which caused some angst for them was that Florence had quite a responsibility at home, as she now had six brothers and four sisters, a mother who was not always well and a father who had to work hard and long to support them all. Oh sure, there were others of age who could help with the raising of the little ones, but most of the domestic work fell to Mary, the eldest and Florence the next born. Mary, engaged to Bert, was quiet and not always well, so Florence took the brunt of the hard slog. Florence, my mother, was more suited to the outdoors than tied to the house, and in her own words, best described herself as a ‘tomboy’.

Edward left the Proserpine area in late 1932 after cane cutting was over and by this time, his parents and siblings had settled well at Blue Mountain. Florence, his fiancée, was much closer too, but she was not yet 21, so the restrictions still applied. Edward would send letters more frequently now, as the cream carrier would deliver them by road mail, direct to ‘Glenlea,‘ a cane farm in the West Plane creek area where Florence was living with her family. While at ‘Fern Dale,‘ his father’s property, Edward would write and tell of his success with the small crops he grew on the fertile flats of Prospect Creek at Blue Mountain, and his hopes of one day setting up his own dairy farm. He would describe at great length the very good crops of potatoes, tomatoes, corn, beans, pumpkins, and squash, and of his hired help for the clearing of this land, which he hoped one day would be their home.

The following is an extract from a letter written by Edward, dated 09/05/34 telling of his farm improvements and the marketing of his produce.

Figure 14. Edward’s Letter to Florence

I sent the first lot of beans away on Monday, 60 lbs & nine cases of tomatoes. I have been busy since I last wrote surveying for fences and marking off for the house etc and yesterday I planted the lucerne & oats (an acre). I was splitting posts again, George helped me and I split 63 out today out of one tree. So that leaves less than a hundred to get now, the fence will take about 360 or somewhere near that… I’ve just finished packing or at least bagging beans. Flo (sister) packed a case of tomatoes for me. I’ve got 4 bags of beans going away tomorrow, about 150 lbs. Yes George and I were just about three parts of the day picking them. He is very handy to me, I couldn’t do without him now; he is really good at bean picking and is a big help in all sorts of jobs. He helps me saw down trees & cuts off. I am paying him 5/- per week & he is well worth it to me. He went home over the weekend and his parents seem pleased with his job and the wages too….

He paid Bill Rufus ₤1 per week to dig 360 postholes to fence the property.

Here we have a problem; Edward 24 now and keen to settle down, and Florence, just as keen, is not yet 21, so they have to tread carefully. Florence‘s father says they shouldn’t get too serious, too soon. For starters, her dad does not want to lose his helpmate on the farm, and mother is afraid to lose her daughter’s valuable help as housekeeper and nursemaid. But the inevitable is occurring; the tide of true love is not going to turn. It was a little more than three months before they were married when Florence wrote, telling Edward of her delight in seeing the improvements he had made to his new block, including the home, now almost complete. His sweetheart had ridden her horse from West Plane Creek, arriving unannounced on the property; a distance of some 30 miles (40 km).

A letter from Florence dated 05/05/34 reads:

…Oh Ed, it was a pleasure seeing you in those young beans and everything looking so green and fresh in the setting sunlight. I tried often to picture the garden but I never dreamt I’d see anything so beautiful as those paw-paw trees and passion vines to say nothing of the peaches, the citrus trees and the rows of beans, spuds and tomatoes. Even the ground where the oats and lucerne is was so lovely and just seemed to set the place off. Then, most wonderful of all was a tall boy with a sweet happy though serious face bending over a row of beans, so deep in thought that he didn’t even see me until I spoke and then you should have seen his face change; first with a look of surprise and then a big smile…

Figure 15. Edward Picking Beans

**********

Florence May Hawkins became Edward’s wife on August 28, 1934, some six weeks after she turned 21. It was a solemn affair, attended by Edward’s mate Albert (Bert) Thomas and Florence’s sister Mary. My parents moved to the property ‘Ferndale‘ where a cottage was built on the upper banks of Prospect Creek. It was here they began married life. The market garden Dad had planted was similar to what he had when at Jubilee Pocket, but he didn’t own the land as he had in mind to select a block of virgin rain forest in the district when something suitable came up. With the cottage built and fitted out with meagre items of furniture, made generally from pine cases, Ed and Flo settled down to married life.

‘Booker’ Maudsley, a local shooter who knew the area well, chanced to pass by one day and noticed the cottage on the upper banks of the creek. He spoke to Ed’s father Arthur about the foolishness of someone building so close to the creek.

Arthur said, Oh, that is my son’s place and he has a market garden established there and irrigates the crops from the creek.

Well now Booker went on. He’s in for a big shock, as that cottage will barely have its roof out of floodwater come next wet season.

Never, was Arthur’s quick reply. That cottage is well above the creek on the second bank; no flood water would reach that surely?

You will see, as obviously you haven’t seen the Prospect in flood, or you wouldn’t have built there I can tell you.

Now the year went by and although this warning was hard to believe, it really did not go unheeded; Grandpa knew he may be right. The warning was enough for Grandpa to build his family home, dairy and saw-mill on the highest ground available, and move from the little shack near the old dairy. Friends of the Abell family, Arthur Rufus and his wife Violet, moved into the shack after Arthur had returned from the war with health problems. As dairying was the occupation for most farmers in the area, he took a job driving the cream truck.

While at Prospect Creek, Ed and Flo’s first child, a girl they named Elizabeth May came along. My parents, wanting to be independent, eventually moved to the East Funnel Creek area, onto selected land they had named ‘Little Valley.‘ The property, a solid block of virgin rainforest a few miles closer to Sarina, had to be felled before they could begin farming. Dad successfully applied to the Agricultural Bank for a loan, to get enough scrub down to be able to start dairying. In the meantime, a couple of scrub fellers gave him a hand, but the money didn’t go far enough to clear the desired block. After burning the fallen scrub, Dad planted the area with corn and other crops, which grew so well that he thought he should give the bank another prod for money. They were none too keen at first, wanting to know what he had done with the land he‘d already cleared. Thankfully, he was able to tell the inspector of his success with crops but still he wanted the ultimate; to set up a dairy and run a herd of quality stock.

I’ll come up and have a look at what you have done and we’ll go from there.

The inspector, Mr. Sewell, was a fair man, but when inspecting a property would not present any high expectations to applicants. He came to inspect, but he more or less told Dad he was wasting his time and nothing would come of all this work. He gave the crops a cursory glance saying, You might get something out of them, if the wallabies, cockatoos, and scrub turkeys leave them alone.

Figure 16. ‘Little Valley’ East Funnel Creek, Queensland

After a few grunts, and a kick at a clump of grass, he got in his car and drove away without a backward glance. A very dejected Edward went home fuming; but there was no way he would be put off by the inspector’s rebuff.

To think a man can work his insides out and that bloke just couldn’t care less. Well Flo, I’ll show the ‘coot,’ I’ll get out there myself and knock it all down, and to hang with the bank; who needs a bank anyhow?

Calm down now, Ed, you know you can’t do it on your own, something will work out; maybe Herb will give you a couple of weeks, Flo wisely replied.

Herbert Allan, a young man nicknamed ‘Flash’, had found work on the Hawkins’s farm, and became interested in Mum’s younger sister, Jean. He hailed from St. Lawrence and was at a loose end, with not much work due to the Depression. Elvy Hawkins, my Grandfather, was not well off, but during the depression, he never turned away a good man. If they did an hour’s work, they went on their way with a full stomach at least. During these years, many good men rolled their swags and left home in search of work, walking miles in a day calling on new settlers, exchanging hard toil for a good feed. This young man worked well and eventually, won son-in-law status. Dad did get some help from another couple of chaps as well, who knew they would be paid someday. Now what about Dad’s health? Well he lived up to what he said he would do, and just about blew it, as he finished up with what the doctor suggested was an enlarged heart. He was told in no uncertain terms to slow down.

Let me tell you how they kept the sulphur-crested cockatoos away from the corn crops. It is almost impossible to keep the flocks of these marauding birds from stripping the crop. Starting from the tree line, not only do they eat the ears of corn, they chew the standing plants until they fall. They are often referred to as wire cutters, as with their curved beaks they can chew through almost anything. A few blasts from the shotgun would send them on their way, but one had to be vigilant in keeping up the shots to be effective. There came a day when Dad was away from the farm and the cockatoos were flocking down onto the ripening corn. Mum, as she told us with a wry grin, took up the gun and loading both barrels, thought a couple of blasts across the paddock would help until Dad came back. Now, she knew that shotguns were apt to deliver from both ends, so in her wisdom held the gun several inches from her shoulder and let go both barrels in quick succession.

Figure 17. Florence in the Corn Barn

When she picked herself up off the floor she saw the cockatoos flapping away over the distant hills; at least the corn would get a little reprieve, even though she sported a very nice bruise to her shoulder.

By July 1937 Dad was struggling to keep enough food on the table, for now the family had increased with the arrival of a second girl, Dorothea Mary (known all her life as Thea). Some time had passed, so Dad figured he would hassle the bank for some more funds. Mr. Sewell came back and after a thorough inspection of the newly felled scrub, agreed with the improvements.

Well! I see you have a lot more scrub cut! I will see that you get enough money to get that dairy going and I will advise the bank to back-pay you for the last patch you fell, so you won’t be out of pocket with those extra wages. I see you mean to have a go and those crops certainly did well, he added.

Dad was flummoxed; he could not believe the man’s change of heart. Mr Sewell worked that way. The government-controlled Agricultural Bank was a little slow in those days, and from inspection to grant of the money, six weeks or more could pass. As many landholders used the resources of this institution, the inspector who handled all the paper work, was more often out of the office than in it. Interest was certainly lower and the term negotiated could be more than what the private banks would offer.

I will jump ahead some 27 years to an experience I had, while seeking finance for my own farming venture in 1964.

Dad gave me this advice: Check out the banks for the best deal son; the government Agricultural Bank is slow but the rates are good.

I was very grateful for the Wales bank manager’s help too, because he also suggested I apply for an advance from the Agricultural Bank for clearing and planting my newly acquired cane land. Strange but true, the man who came out to inspect was Mr Sewell’s successor and he had the same approach; Sewell had obviously schooled him well. The irony of it was that he did to me exactly what Sewell had done to Dad. This was in 1964 and I accompanied him to the land in question - fairly well timbered forest country, flat, no stones, with clay soil types but excellent for sugar cane production.

Why, this is swamp country, it won’t grow cane unless you drain it well.

This I knew, but then we were growing cane on adjacent land and at that time, our crop average had lifted from 26, to over 30 tons per acre. We were cutting a block of Q50 plant cane, which was averaging 42 tons per acre due to improved drainage, and better farming techniques. I took him to a small acreage of cleared land which had grown cane previously.

Now this is alluvial soil and it will grow cane, I boasted.

That’s if the flood doesn’t take it away, was his nonchalant reply.

My brother and I cut a crop of cane off this block some years ago which topped 60 tonnes per acre. I was smarting, as I knew all this land was very suitable for cane growing; we had proven it.

When I told Dad later of our exchange, and differences of opinions, he laughed. Those are Sewell’s tactics; you’ll get your money, don’t worry, Dad encouraged.

Bust him; I’ll stick with the Wales, the manager is at least a decent bloke.

In time, I got my money and a 20-year term to boot from the Agricultural Bank, and I never looked back. This inspector became a good friend and at the one yearly inspection, he said to my wife, after she hinted that a house to live in would be good. Hang on for a couple more years and I’ll finance you into a new home.

In 1967 we shifted into a new home, our first, financed completely by the Agricultural bank for the sum of ₤3500 ($7000).

Figure 18. The first can of Cream from Little Valley

The advance eventually came for Dad, making it possible to pay the men, plant grass and get a start on dairying. Better prospects were ahead for their selection ‘Little Valley‘, because the grant Dad had applied for was more than expected. There was great excitement over their first can of cream; an incentive to clear more rainforest for future pasture. Red cedar, very good softwood used for furniture making, grew in the rainforest of Sarina range. There being no real easy way to get logs to a mill at that time, Dad felled enough to mill up the scantling and flooring, plus whatever else he needed for a new home. They had cut their own timber from the bush for generations, but there had to be a way to mill these saw logs successfully. Imagine using fine red cedar in house building and think what that timber would be worth today. If it were not used for that purpose, then it would have gone up in smoke, along with the rest of the scrub, to make way for pasture and cropping.

A few years back I spoke to Len Johnson, an elderly man who knew my dad well. Dad had worked for his father, Charlie Johnson of Rosella, near Mackay. Len was telling me that he visited my dad on this block when he was milling some of this cedar.

To breakdown the cedar logs, your dad had an Essex car jacked up on blocks, with a belt running from one rear wheel to drive the saw bench. The off-cuts and some of the better-figured flitches he kept aside for making furniture; using various tools to cut and shape the timber into useful furniture.

In my possession, I have a folding cot and highchair, crafted in the early 1940s. Dad made bedroom furniture, as well as tables and chairs, and other items, which are in use by other members of our family today.

**********

The cottage on Prospect Creek, where my parents began married life was later occupied by Grandpa’s brother Maurice and his wife Annie and during their stay, the wet season brought a lot of rain to the district. They were a little concerned, but up until now, previous floodwaters had never reached the second bank. As night fell, the rain continued and the water steadily rose to floor level. Annie, my Great Grandmother, was having a break with her son and his wife Annie, and they realised the gravity of their situation and the need to get to safety.

We must put everything of value up on the table and get over to Arthur’s while we can, Maurice suggested.

Figure 19. Prospect Creek in Flood

The floodwaters receded on the following day, and their stuff was dry on the table. The flood came above floor level, but it was the last flood for the year, and it was enough for all to recognise the old shooter knew what he was talking about. In due course, the cottage, stripped of the iron which was the only thing worth salvaging, stood as a stark reminder of the uncertainty of life there on Prospect Creek. Dad returned to the area a couple of years later, after one of their better seasons, and sure enough, the debris was hanging from the rafters and the framework of bush timber.

Fred Ford, a dairy farmer and cream carrier, had set up a ‘flying fox’ over the creek, so that in times of flood he could get the cream across to the Blue Mountain road and deliver the children to and from school. This type of aerial transport was used in many places to get across creeks, rivers and even valleys in emergencies. In this particular instance, as the story goes, Fred was taking his children across to school along with several cans of cream when the wooden cage, grossly overloaded, began to breakup and stopped midway across. In the panic of the moment, the rope used to haul the cage fell into the stream, leaving them suspended over the flooded creek. With no means of pulling themselves to the bank, Fred told the children to stay put while he jumped into the swirling water to retrieve the rope. No doubt, he was a powerful swimmer, as he managed to take hold of the rope and somehow get back to the cage, pulling his children to safety.

When the road was built through to north Queensland, Prospect Creek became one of the most treacherous crossings on Highway 1. The Main Roads Department placed a sign on the southern side of the bridge, warning motorists to return south beyond Stony Creek should the water be above the bridge deck, as the land between the two quickly became inundated. This was both a place of tragedy and a place where heroic actions took place, as motorists became stranded between the two creeks. With Prospect Creek in flood, unsuspecting motorists would hesitate, thinking the water would recede, when in fact it was rising. By choosing to wait, they became trapped, as Stony Creek would be too deep for them to cross as they made their way back. Some very brave men helped a family trapped here and got them to safety. A friend of mine, travelling from Nebo, had arrived at Stony Creek and seeing this family trapped, helped them to safety across the rising waters. The creek, too deep for the car to negotiate, was swept away as the water rose so quickly. Others also abandoned their cars and swam quite a distance in debris-choked waters to higher ground.

Prospect Creek, Funnel Creek, Connors River, and small streams in between were renowned, in the 50‘s and 60‘s for stranded motorists. Often the water in Connors River was under bridge level, but on reaching Funnel Creek’s low-level bridge, the water was well above the deck. Some turned back only to find Connors River too deep to negotiate, as no doubt it was rising earlier. To prevent unwitting motorists from risking their lives between Sarina and Marlborough during extreme wet periods, gates were erected and manned at either end of this section. Before this, tourists and travellers were stranded for up to three weeks and local graziers risked their lives ferrying provisions across flooded creeks to those forced to remain on the roadways. Stranded people spent many long days and nights on the road, helping each other and sharing meagre rations until supplies were ferried to them by the local graziers; the sick and elderly were often taken to the graziers own dwellings until help arrived.

The few properties along that stretch of road had little in the way of communication; many were on party lines, with fencing wire strung from tree to tree connecting them to distant neighbours. At the nearest town of Nebo, the lone police officer, with help from the locals, drove to flooded Funnel creek, boated across to stranded motorists and offered what assistance he could. With the advent of helicopters coming more into local service, women and children could now be airlifted out to safety and provisions dropped to those who remained with their vehicles. It was a great day when the coast road from Mackay to Rockhampton became Highway Number 1.

1939 to 1945. The War Years

The call came to take up arms, as Germany went to war with Britain. This was a war to surpass all wars, with a dreadful loss of lives and awful destruction. Dad received the call to enlist, but at the time was well entrenched in the farm, still a raw selection with so much to do. He applied for exemption, but he had to go before the panel and take what was dished out. He asked one of the recruiting officers who knew him well, Is there any grounds for not taking up arms?

Yes, there certainly is. The manpower act allows for men to remain on their properties, where otherwise hardship would prevail, but is there any way you could assist in a non-combatant way? the officer asked.

Why, yes certainly, but I do not want to take up arms, Dad replied.

Would you be loyal to King and country? came the next question

Well, yes of course, Dad replied again, and I would be quite prepared to help in any way to preserve life, supplying produce grown on my property for the war effort.

That was the beginning of an association with the armed forces, supplying vegetables for the next few years and Dad being paid well for all he could supply. Some had to stay behind and keep the home fires burning, and yet do their best to help in whatever way they could. I recall two land Army girls coming to help with some of the vegetable growing and harvesting. These women helped mostly on farms where the menfolk had been called up and were at war. There were many schemes set up by the Government during that time and some that Dad got involved in. One such scheme, enabling many new selectors to get better access to their properties, was the PEI, which granted money for road improvements which normally would come under council works. This enabled Dad to build concrete fords on creek crossings along the access road into ‘Little Valley.’ Many years after, I returned to the old farm and the fords are still in use, as good as the day they were built. The PEI (Public Estates Improvement Board) was