The bloke who delivered the mail to the 15 families along the Birdsville Track during the 1940’s and 50’s in a beaten up old Leyland Badger truck has been immortalised in a bronze bust that was unveiled on Sunday 16 November at Waterloo, Tom’s birthplace in the mid north of South Australia. And the old bloke was there to witness the moment.

Tom, now 94, is a tough, dogged giant of a man who delivered the mails, supplies and good cheer along Australia’s most remote mail run. He’s the only bloke we know who could lift a full 44 gallon drum onto the back of a truck.

“I have trouble lifting a schooner of beer now,” quipped Tom.

In 1954 the Shell Film Unit made a documentary about Tom and his mail run. “The Back of Beyond” won numerous cinema awards. Tom was awarded an MBE for his services to the outback.

In 1999 Tom reappeared in a sequel that showed him restoring his old mail truck and making one last run down the Birdsville Track carrying 7000 letters. “Last Mail from Birdsville. The Story of Tom Kruse” screened on TV and the DVD has gone on to become one of the Royal Flying Doctors’ big fundraisers
Last Sunday 300 of his admirers gathered to honour Tom’s exploits outside the house in which he was born in Waterloo.
“I can’t understand all the fuss,” Tom said as he unveiled the bronze bust. “I was just doing my job.”
The bust is the last of four to be unveiled. The others are at Marree, the southern end of the Birdsville Track, Birdsville at the northern end. Another stands near his restored mail truck at the National Motor Museum in Birdwood, South Australia.

For years there had been whispers of a wild man living in caves high in the hills. A century later the secrets are revealed.

Discovered at last; the Wild Man caves.

From any high spot along the ramparts of the Grampians in the Western District of Victoria you can look west to another range, distant against the horizon - the Black Range, about 30km away.
Few venture into these hills, they lie in the shadow of the Grampians’ popularity. No plunging waterfalls here, no Wonderland walking tracks, instead there are legends and whisperings about caves and a wild man. Locals from Horsham in the north to Hamilton in the south can give you a few snippets. They’ve heard of the Wild Man Caves but never been there. A bloke hid out from the police for 20 years, they’ll say. No one is quite sure where or when or why. The Black Range hides its secrets well.
And that’s almost certainly the way David Ross liked it. From what we know, Ross was a shearer and apart from the Spring shearing season he lived a lonely life in caves high in the Black Range in the late 1860s. It seems he liked the alternative lifestyle as it was in the then. His particular - some would say romantic - life was the stuff of which novels are written and movies are made. But was David Ross a latter day cave man here in Victoria? We decided to track down the Wild Man Caves and the story of the Wild Man himself.
There are no sign posts to the Wild Man Caves in the Black Range. Forestry Officer Roger Edwards from nearby Cavendish told us that David Ross did indeed live the cave life for around 20 years.
“He lived in two caves and he actually made a few improvements to make them livable - a bed, chairs and things, but access is not easy,” he warned. “The site is quite fragile and the track is very steep in parts with some climbing over boulders needed.”
We left the main road from Horsham and headed south. At the road junction opposite the delightful Cherrypool picnic ground we turned right toward the Black Range. This gravel road skirts the northern arm of Rocklands Reservoir. We threaded our way through giant old gums on bush tracks that led to the base of the range. A gate here blocks entry to all but park management vehicles to the Black Range State Park. The walking track begins as a narrow pad through heathy fringe myrtle flowers. An occasional blue tinsel lily glitters in the grass. Then, quite abruptly you’re clambering upward, scrambling over rock, squeezing through narrow rocky chutes, up and around the side of a 400m towering rocky buttress. And near the top, hidden to one side, we found the first of the two known Wild Man’s caves.
Remarkably, after 140 years, Ross’ caves remain mostly intact, due no doubt, to their inaccessibility. Few, it would appear, have found their way up to this eyrie. It’s possible that he lived here from around 1860 to 1880 - no one is quite sure. His “improvements” are still evident, a neatly built stone wall covers in the natural cave opening. A tiny entrance to one side is the only access. An open slit across the top allows a view of the approaches. Roger Edwards said that the beds and chairs Ross used to furnish these caves are now thought to be preserved at a nearby homestead. The rock walls inside form ledges that make reasonably comfortable seating. There’s evidence of small fireplaces too.
“Smoke never built up inside,” he said. “Somehow Ross designed it so that natural drafts drew the smoke out.”
The second cave is located a further 300m around on the eastern side of the buttress. It’s sited in the wall of a huge, naturally hewn cavern. The beauty of colour and texture in the eroding sandstone create a kind of art gallery. Look up and high on the walls are remnants of Koori art. The acoustics, you discover as you pause here, might have been designed by some audio genius. The views from here are sensational and that, to Ross, was the whole point. Views were important to him. From here he would have had a vast panorama to the south east across the huge Glenisla Station where Samuel Carter had his sheep run. Wild Man Ross must have been able to spy anyone approaching.
In 1875 a fence worker, employed by Carter, discovered the haunts of a wild man. Carter and his men searched the mountains and found a cave blocked by a large boulder. Inside they discovered dried mutton, sheep skins and tins of black sand suggesting that the occupant was into gold prospecting.
Fearing that the dried mutton may have come illegally from his flock, Carter had the police conduct a search. When the police discovered Ross in his cave they pretended to have been lost, hoping to lure him from the cave as a rifle had been seen. Wild Man Ross made a dash for freedom but was arrested and taken to nearby Balmoral, charged with having stolen mutton. It seems that, in their zeal at having a cave man in their lock-up, a further charge of having no visible means of support was added to the accusations.
Locals scoffed at the tale but the “Hamilton Spectator” (9 February 1876) made a meal of the Wild Man story describing the arrest as “sensational”.
“It was nevertheless strictly true…David Ross was brought before the police bench at Balmoral on the 2nd inst. when he was accused of having no lawful visible means of support. The “hermit” who, it will be remembered, was found living in a cave in a remote part of Mr Samuel Carter’s run where he was suspected of evading justice or qualifying himself for canonisation,” the “Spectator” trumpeted.
Ross was able to prove that he had recently earned money and the vagrancy case was dismissed. As for the stolen mutton, Ross was found guilty but a witness, the Balmoral storekeeper Mr Basil Lyon, testified that he had cashed cheques for the accused and he spoke up for the Wild Man, according to the press report.
“He believed (Ross) to be honest, but appearances were against him. Strange to say, he experienced no difficulty in paying the fine,” the paper said. Ross was sentenced to three months’ hard labour or 15 pounds fine.
Ross was then 56 years old, his only possession at the time was a knife, according to police. Sitting on the boulders above his caves today you can speculate that this Scottish labourer just wanted to drop out of the 1860’s rat race and lead a simple life with marvellous views. Here you can gaze down on redgum forests and the Grampians’ Victoria Range beyond. It’s a view that has not changed much since 1875 - certainly the peace remains.
We had uncovered the mystery of the Wild Man and his caves and then, as clouds darkened, it began to rain. Would we seek refuge in Ross’ former home? It was late and modern comforts beckoned from below so we retreated down the water-slicked rocks to the car as the mists closed about this little known scrap of Victorian history.
But for his taste for a bit of illegal mutton we may never have known his story and the Black Range would have concealed the Wild Man’s story forever.

Strike me rich! Gold nuggets galore.

There’s a forested area of central Victoria called the Golden Triangle. Look at the map and find the towns of Dunolly and Tarnagulla. Back in the 1850’s and 60’s they found gold nuggets the size of footballs around here. Australia’s largest gold nugget, the Welcome Stranger a 66 kg monster, was unearthed on a hillside near the hamlet of Moliagul.
Gold rush church Moliagul

There are two good reasons to explore the Golden Triangle. You can still find gold nuggets around here and the cycling here is pretty good. In fact it’s the best way to explore the old mines, townships and early buildings. The ironbark forests are laced with delightful gravel tracks just made for cycling, leftovers from the mining days.
The mines and landmarks ring with history; Murderers Hill, Grumblegut Gully. You can thread your way down the Catch Me If You Can Lead or search Painkiller Gully.
Today’s explorer on a bike will come across old tunnels, ruins of townships that once housed 9000 people and the odd bicycle wreck.

One cyclist we know even bought an old Dunolly house and shop and, between bike rides, restored both as a weekender. You don’t hear much about the Golden Triangle, mainly because there’s still a lot of gold around here and nobody’s saying a word. It’s the cyclists who are doing all the talking.

Historic bicycle bits

Does anybody remember the Moyston rattle-trap? This wonderful contraption actually drove down Swanston Street during the Melbourne Moomba procession around 1961 or 62.
Moyston (population 600) is a speck on the map about 240 km north west of Melbourne. Its two claims to fame have been lending its name to a very acceptable red wine and, as the cognoscenti all know, Moyston was the home of the Annual National Rabbit Skinning Championships for many years.
This old bomb was an absolute crowd-winner as it clattered along in the Moomba parade with its propellors whirling, smoke billowing, silliness.
One for the contraptionistas!
PS: It’s fate?  It quietly rusted away in a Moyston paddock.

Reg and Eileen Clarke bought a Skoda Octavia in 1952. The purchase was something of a compromise because Reg had planned to buy an English car but the waiting list was three months long. That was the way it was in 1952, wartime production had wound down, new car production had just started.

The Czech-made Skoda was a strong little car, made we were told, from German Army scrap metal hauled in from the Pripyet Marshes battlefield in the Ukraine. The Skoda had independent suspension all round, a wind-out front windscreen that leaked and the rear seats folded down giving access to the boot. It had a revolutionary lubrication system. An additional pedal was pressed every 1000 miles to lubricate all ball joints.

Reg and Eileen, my parents, had four children and the Skoda seemed to carry all of us and tow a caravanette with little effort. As an eight year old I could find only two design faults in the car. It had a radiator blind designed for cold European winters that I wound up over the radiator one warm Melbourne day. The engine and my father came to the boil very quickly. The other shortcoming was the tail light switch. It was a toggle switch beside the rear tail light. I could jump out of the car at traffic lights, turn on the tail light and be back inside before the lights turned green.

I recall we picked up our new Royal Blue Skoda from the dealer in LaTrobe St, Melbourne one exciting Friday night. In those days cars were imported in large pine boxes. Dad asked the dealer if he could have the box. No problem. That box became the car’s garage at our home. Recycling? Not exactly. In those days you never threw anything away.

And now Skodas are back. I must check to see if they’ve ironed out those design faults.

A romance is developing between George Townsend and Una Jones. It began on the evening train from Flinders St Melbourne to the suburb of Hawthorn (see George’s earlier correspondence posted under “Letters”).  In this letter George almost dares to tell Una what he thinks of her. Such politeness, such shyness.

28th October 1914

P.S. On looking at your letter I am more & more ashamed of my scawl, but cannot help it. “The Reasonable Boy in Brown” (I like that).
P.S.S. I have fond memories of “a Pretty Little Girl in Blue” (That is also part of a colour scheme)
P.P.S.S. Do you know what you reminded me of on Saturday morning.  The picture on the front of a book by Myrtle Reed called “Lavender and Old Lace” of a sweetly pretty girl in a flounced light blue frock (Don’t be annoyed please).

This is the story of a navigator who flew with 30 Squadron RAAF as a Navigator Air Gunner.

Both Australian and British built aircraft served with 30 Squadron in the South West Pacific theatre of war.

This account covers part of the Battle of Bismark Sea where an invasion force some 6,800 Japanese was reduced to just 600 survivors in a battle known as a turning point in the Pacific War.

Battle of Bismark Sea

I suppose if you’re talking about my time in 30 squadron, probably the most significant thing we ever did, which we believe and so did McArthur. It was a turning point in the war was the battle of the Bismarck Sea, when 12 Beaufighters took the brunt of attacking those 18 altogether, there were 12 transports and 6 destroyers and only two destroyers came out of it, but of course we had Liberators and Fortresses upstairs dropping bombs while we’re strafing, it was a bit dicey I tell you, you’d be strafing a transport or even a destroyer and a big shoot would go beside you and a bomb would be dropped by a Liberator.  The B25’s had also learnt the art of skip bombing and they followed us behind us and dropped skip bombs and on one particular run we were making, I looked over the starboard side and believe it or not, at the same height as us and traveling at the same speed as us was a 500 pound bomb heading for the same target.  Things like that you never forget. 

Dicing with Zeros

We could get away from the Zeros providing we could get away towards the sea.  The top speed of a Beaufighter was about 330 miles an hour, which was about the top speed of a Zero down there, but once we got in the air we were very vulnerable. The higher we went the less manoeuvrable and less power we had.  Our maximum boost was at sea level and that’s the way we were rated, but when we did get jumped by Zeros they could normally only get one pass maybe two at the most because if they come from diving down and you’re going…they would only get one dive at you, up the other side and another dive, by that time we’ve gone further. I’ve seen Zeros formating on us about 50 yards on either side just looking at us, they can’t go any faster, we can’t go any faster and if they turn towards you they can’t get a shot in.

I can remember one time when we were coming back from Rabaul, which was probably one of the most heavily defended aerodromes in the Southwest Pacific, because it was the headquarters for the Japanese, it was of course the destination of those ships that we got rid of in the Bismarck Sea battle and that’s when we got jumped. 

In the Beaufighter you had a steel door between you and the pilot, some people used to close them, but we never did, because we liked to see each other and anyhow, there’s these two Zeros zooming up around  the back of us and I said: “For Pete’s sake get this bloody thing going!” and he said: “What do you think I’m trying to do?” And he had his foot up, the throttle’s on the left and he had his foot up like this and he said: “I’m bending the bloody throttle, I can’t go any faster” Of course there was no armour at the back, but I used to carry a bag full of coloured paper, lolly paper, magazines, I’d rip them up and I’d throw them down the chute for the flares, as it might take their attention away from us, or I used to put the red cover on the Aldis lamp and I’d flick it at them.  Whether it had any effect I don’t know, but it gave me something to do as a navigator sitting up there in the middle of the fuselage. You know you’re like a shooting gallery, you thought you were for show, and we did get shot at quite a lot and later on we carried two 500 pound bombs, one on each wing, we used to drop those, but mainly four canons and 6 machine guns which was a hell of a lot of bloody fire power and when you’d shot up a barge or lugger it would just disintegrate. 

You know there were some great times in Beaufighters and some tragic times.  The first bloke I ever flew with got killed on his first operation and took my course mate with him.  Life is luck, absolute luck.  As a navigator I was asked to fly with a fellah because his own navigator was ill, but we always carried a spare one or somebody… when this other bloke said he’d fly, they didn’t come back, so its just luck. 

Verna Joyce was a weapon. She was a Bristol Beaufort, but Australian from end to end, built by Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation at Fishermens Bend in Melbourne in 1942.

The Beaufort brought the Australian manufacturing industry together as it had never worked before. Just over 700 Beauforts rolled off the production lines in Melbourne and Sydney. She was designed in the 1930s as a torpedo bomber, the latest word in modernity and speed, but by 1942 the design was looking distinctly vulnerable. 

It was common practice to name your personal aircraft, and this one was named after the young wife of one of the Pilot Officers. Once she roamed the skies over New Guinea, based on Goodenough Island, serving with 6 Squadron RAAF. She belonged to, or was flown by a chap named Jack Russell who took her into battle against the Japanese. 

I visited Jack in 2007 to hear his recollections of those days, to see his logbook and record his photograph album. My dad had also served in 6 Squadron during the war as an air gunner and I had taken his logbook with me to show Jack. He reverentially went through dad’s book, pausing to make the occasional comment of recognition as he scanned the individual aircraft numbers and pilots.”

Knew him. Good pair of hands.” “Ah, that aircraft was from ‘B’ flight.” Suddenly he did a double take. “Hey - that’s my signature!” Jack had signed my dad’s logbook as commanding officer for the flight. It had made his day, and he realised the last time he had held it was more than 60 years ago. He became even more interested then, poring over the trips dad had done, describing the locations in vivid colours and terms, far more detail than my dad had ever mentioned; it was a sort of epiphany for both of us. You could see the memories flooding back. “I remember dad talking about the native belles” I commented. Jack opened a page in his photo album.”Thats what called them alright and I have some pictures of them here.”

A little later Jack’s wife, a friendly little old lady brought us in a cuppa. Her name?Verna Joyce. As I was leaving Jack commented: “You know, I don’t often have days as good as this.”

Since George Townsend’s earlier letters to Una Jones a slight familiarity has developed between them. Una Jones is the girl he met on the train. Other people have noticed their relationship. It took a tram ride to St Kilda for him to learn what others were thinking.

Kew
24th October 1914

Dear “Little Girl in the Train”

Everybody is out, and I am writing this at the Mater’s desk, with her pen, which only makes my deplorable scribble worse.
When I got home my brother said that he was going down to the St Kilda baths, so I went down and told my coach (Mr Thom) that I would not be going to Ivanhoe.
Then he asked me what train I had caught home and winked.
He then went on to tell me what he thought of me and finally said that I might have done a good deal worse.
I asked him what he meant and I found out that he had caught the same train home.
I believe I went red and looked silly, but after a short heated argument, he said that you looked “One out of a hundred”and actually had the audacity to say he liked my good taste.
Then I went for him, and the next statement he made was that you had showed rare discrimination.
I gave him up after that.
Coming home in the tram, I saw a pretty little girl in blue get in at Balaclava and, “Well it wasn’t”
My actions had attracted the attention of My Brother, who began to think he saw me in a new light.
However, I soon lulled his suspicions.
Enough of horrors.
I can’t just imagine you tracking out this afternoon, looking, well as you always look, and going about a hundred yards then getting a car-load of pure dirt in each ear and another down your neck.
I wish you joy.
(Here the inevitable headache comes on as a handy means of winding off).
Trusting to see you on Monday afternoon.

Yours Truly
Geo Townsend

P.S. If you are unable to decipher any word or words, I shall be only too happy to do so.

Una Jones has met George Townsend on the evening train from Flinders Street Station to Hawthorn. It is 1914. As well as their daily meeting on the train George has begun writing to Miss Jones. In this, his second letter to her, he mentions friends they have in common. We do not know who Heckle or Dorothy Holden are. Nor do we know what she has written to him. These letters were discovered in a building that was demolished some years ago.

23rd Oct 1914

Dear Miss Jones
(Since you would have it such) I hope you are quite well.
Heckle was quite interesting when I saw him again last night, and judging by his reports, Dorothy Holden must be somewhat after the same stamp as yourself.
Heckle states most emphatically that she is the prettiest, sweetest girl imaginable, only to meet with a contradiction from yours truly, who, I might say, has his own idea as to who would fill that particular bill.
Still, we don’t quarrell, being both more than satisfied.
I was determined to demand my … Photo last night, but my courage failed me, and now I have become reconciled to my loss.
Still, what is one’s loss is another’s gain.
I was rather surprised, however, that in the light of recent events, you did not wish for your letter back.
I feel a headache coming on so perhaps I had better stop before it gets out of my control.

Yours Truly
“Dear Mr Townsend”
(Save the Mark)

PS After seeing your handwriting I am just about ashamed of my scrawl. GT.