Pat Ritter. Books

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'Tilbaroo Station' - Page 11:

'Probably the only one apart from the one we have here. Have no idea when the bore went down. Been giving us a free flow of water for years. We'll need to put bores on each property because to my reckoning we're in for a long hot dry summer with no rain, poor winter.' Nat sat down at the table to a mug of tea with scones on a plate in front of him.
'Take a seat Joe. A cup of tea with freshly cooked scones will be on the table soon.' Ma told him. Joe followed her directions sat across from Nat who quickly chewed into the scones, slurped on his tea.
‘Anyone drill for water around here?' Joe asked in between eating scones drinking his tea.
'Why don’t you ask around when you're in Cunnamulla? Might be someone. Ask Alex at the pub. We're having a New Year Eve's party here tonight to celebrate 1897.' Nat replied.
'New Year Eve party?' Joe mumbled with a mouth half filled with scone.
'We've invited all the managers, wives, ringers from the properties to bid farewell to 1896. Welcome in 1897. Having the celebration in the shearing shed.' Nat explained.
'Can't wait. Been a long time since I kicked up my heels. We've had a wonderful 1896, got married. Now own a property thanks to you and Martha.' Joe said.
‘We’ve been cooking all week. Can't wait till everyone arrives. In the meantime, Hannah can help with setting the tables whilst you men gather fire wood for a bonfire.' Martha commanded.
'And here I thought I wouldn't need to do anything.' Nat grumbled.
'I'll give you a hand.' Joe rose from his chair. 'Come on Nat or God. Help me.' Both men ed left the kitchen walked to the shearing shed side by side.
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'Tilbaroo Station' - Page 12:

Fire roared outside the shearing shed, people arrived with food enough to feed an army, smiling, chatting warm welcomes from everyone. Four men sat on stools, one with an instrument never seen before, another with two spoons in his hand, another using tins drumming with a stick, the other calling everyone to order to dance.
'Isn't this the best thing which has happened to us except getting married?' Hannah placed her arms around her husband's neck smiled looked deep into Joe’s eyes.
'Hannah, who would've thought this was possible, seeing everyone; us two dancing.' Joe whispered in her ear over the sound of the music which everyone enjoyed especially the playing of the spoons. They danced into the night. Ate supper waiting for magical midnight to arrive.
Suddenly the music stopped. The caller shouted. 'We have ten seconds to midnight everyone. Join your partners on the floor. Help me countdown to midnight.’ Everyone joined hands whilst the announcer shouted in his loudest voice, 'Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!' Everyone shouted almost lifting the roof from the shearing shed.
After the crowd quietened, Hannah stared into Joe's eyes started to sing in a golden voice:
'Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
And never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished
And fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold;
That loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old long syne.
Everyone sing the chorus, she shouted:
On old long syne my Jo,
On Old long syne,
That thou canst never once reflect,
On Old long syne.
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'Tilbaroo Station' - Page 13:

After celebrating the end 1896 welcoming in 1897 everyone said their farewells.
'This has been the best New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had.' Hannah whispered in Joe's ear. 'Best time ever. To think we only married a week ago.' She kissed her husband.
After breakfast, they bid farewell to Martha, Nat and Ma, left to return to Cunnamulla. Hannah leaned on Joe's shoulder whilst he drove. Nat’s horse secured by reins tied to the rear of the sulky.
'How long has Pa given you before you return?' Hannah asked.
'Until the end of the month, he told me. Nothings to be done until I find out more about cost of getting bores on the different properties. I suppose with the bore on ‘Tilbaroo Station’ I’ll fix fences so Nat put his sheep on the place. Plenty of grass. With no rain forecast, winter in a couple of months. Makes sense. What do you think?' He asked his wife whose eyes closed, slight noise of snoring escaped her nostrils. 'Ah, don't worry. I'll work something out.' Joe muttered to himself.
Arriving in Cunnamulla Joe pulled the sulky up at the rear of the house. Hannah's eyes opened.
'Are we home Joe?'
'Yes, wait here. I'll help you down.' Joe walked to the other side of the sulky to help Hannah down. 'I'll put the horses in the stables, feed them. Won't be long.' Hannah nodded walked to the rear door of the house. She disappeared inside.
Joe finished his tasks, carried their belongings into the home instantly smelling the odour of freshly cooked chops and gravy. He walked to his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist kissed her on the lips.
'Go. Wash up. I'll have lunch ready in a jiffy.' Joe hurried off to wash.
After lunch he told Hannah he'll visit Alex at the hotel to find out if anyone drilled bores in the area. She had much to do. She didn't want her husband getting under her feet.
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'Tilbaroo Station' - Page 14:

'Thought you'd still be on your honeymoon,' Alex called when Joe entered the bar. He quickly poured a tumbler of beer placed in front of him. 'This one, on the house. Welcome home.' A smile spread across his face.
Joe drank the amber coloured fluid, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 'Thanks Alex. Great to be back.'
'You still on your honeymoon?' Alex asked.
'We spent a week at ‘Tilbaroo Station’. Had a good look about discovered a bore. You wouldn't have any idea who drills bores. Do you?' His question directed to Alex or anyone within hearing.
'Ole Billy Campbell. He's the only person around here who does that type of work.'
'Where can I find him?' Joe asked finishing his drink.
'Normally comes in around five. I'll tell him you're looking for him.'
Joe finished his drink, farewelled Alex returned home where he found Hannah seated at the kitchen table enjoying a cuppa.
'Do you want one?' She asked when he walked into the kitchen.
'Don't mind if I do.' Joe poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot sat beside his wife. 'Alex told me ole Billy Campbell drills bores. He'll tell him I want to speak with him.'
'Joe, can we sit on our swing on the front veranda after our dinner tonight.'
'Yes, of course. We're still on our honeymoon.' He smiled drank his tea.
After finishing their dinner, washed the dishes, they sat on the swing on the front veranda. Night clear sky, stars shining brightly.
'Joe, I want you to build our home on ‘Tilbaroo Station’ exactly how you built this one.'
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'The Drover' - Page 1:

Chapter 1

Claire woke in the night startled by the storm and lightning strike. She sprung from her swag, dressed and threw a saddle on her horse, fastened the surcingle all in one movement.
Her instincts took over to saddle her horse and help ring the cattle before they stampeded. Excitement of the chase exploded inside her mind and body, not giving time to think what a nine year old child was about to do.
Rain soaked her clothes through to her skin. Her hat stuck to her head fastened only by a thin rawhide strap across her forehead to stop it from blowing off.
Swinging into the saddle she rode like demons possessed her small body, to help her father. The thrill of the chase ran through her veins, each muscle in her nine year old arms and legs strained to their limits, the mental toughness to help her father not being able to sight him caused her to wonder where he was. She needed to find him. Riding her horse at full gallop, lightning striking around them, cattle running in all directions out of control.
Through the faint vision of rain and wind, she saw a silhouette of a horse and rider, riding like the wind to get in front of the leading bunch of cattle to ring them round so they slowed and stopped. The moment she saw the horse and rider she knew it was her father. She felt a deep love. She would do anything to make him proud of her.
With lightning flashing above her head and near to trees, thunder exploded, wind and rain lashed her face, her hair streamed from beneath her hat; she rode on urging her horse into the chase. Without fear she jumped her horse across a log in the pathway and stretched her small body along its neck. She urged him forward to the front of the herd and came abreast with her father, his right arm out-stretched; she heard the familiar sound of a whip crack.
There was calm, the cattle stopped. With the final sound of a whip crack competing against the lightning and thunder, she rode up beside him. Claire thought her father was God, better than God; he could do anything just like God. She held him on top of a pedestal which reached for the sky and loved everything there was to love and would do anything to please him to earn his love and respect.
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'The Drover' - Page 2:

Harry took a moment and thought about the time his daughter Claire helped him stop the cattle from stampeding. She was brave, very brave; and at such a tender age. He felt so lucky to have a family he loved and cherished.

Harold Clarence Williams was born in the country town of Dirranbandi in 1930; his dream began when he was 10 years old after hearing the poem Ballad of a Drover recited around the camp fire. At an early age his father nicknamed him ‘Harry’ for short; he was known by that name for the remainder of his life.

‘Ballad of the Drover’
By
Henry Lawson

Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plain,
Young Harry Dale, the drover, comes riding home again.
And well his stock-horse bears him, and light of heart is he,
And stoutly his old packhorse is trotting by his knee.
Up Queensland way with cattle he’s travelled regions vast,
And many months have vanished since home-folks saw him last.
He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon,
And hobble-chains and camp-ware keep jingling to the tune.
Beyond the hazy dado against the lower skies
And yon blue line of ranges the station homestead lies.
And thitherward the drover jogs through the lazy noon,
While hobble-chains and camp-ware are jingling to a tune.
An hour has filled the heavens with storm-clouds inky black;
At times the lightning trickles around the drover’s track;
But Harry pushes onward, his horses’ strength he tries,
In hope to reach the river before the flood shall rise.
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'The Drover' - Page 3:

Was he Harry Dale from the poem? They had the same nickname. At the moment he heard the poem, he saw in his mind’s eye, his life, to learn the craft of droving.
Harry was born the 5th child of 11 children; 3 boys and 8 girls. His family were drovers from the top of their broad brim hats down to their R M William boots and loved what they did.
Harry’s father worked as a drover in the Dirranbandi, St George and Bollon areas in southwest Queensland where he lived a simple life.
As soon as Harry discovered what he wanted to do, his world changed in one day.
It happened when the Principal at Dirranbandi State School, which Harry attended, contacted Harry’s father to speak with him about Harry.
At their meeting in his office, the Principal said to Harry’s father, ‘Mr Williams, Harry isn’t doing well at school and I think for the boy’s future he should go with you.’ His father agreed.
Harry hated school and couldn’t see the sense in going each day when he could be out working with his horses and dogs. His father survived through life without an education and he would do the same. I’ll learn by listening to older men who’d been there and done it, it’ll be better than going to school, he always joked.
It was difficult at times when he needed to read, because he didn’t learn how to read or write only to sign his name in a scribble fashion he could only understand. Apart from having little or no education he possessed an immeasurable sixth sense to understand what he needed to do and to do the task to the best of his ability. He prided himself for being as honest as the day is long and abided to this honesty for the remainder of his life.
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'The Drover' - Page 8:

Harry could have hugged his father for offering him this opportunity; this was his chance to prove to his father he could do the job. With him along to share the drove, what could be better?
‘Thanks Dad…I don’t know what to say.’ Tears filled his eyes as he looked at his father.
‘Okay then that’s the deal.’ Both men shook hands.
Harry couldn’t believe he was the Boss Drover of 6000 head whilst his father was the Boss Drover of the other half of the mob. Each night they’d join together in camp but keep the mobs apart.
Harry drove the wagonette whilst his father took care of the horses. The dogs travelled with Harry. First they crossed the Warrego River and followed the stock route travelling about ten miles per day. When they reached water, they rested and made camp for the night.
Half-way point of their journey was the town of Eulo. Eulo is likened to an oasis in the desert; this small but thriving township of little more than forty citizens included a post office; police station; hotel and churches.
Everything had gone to plan so far, they were into day five. They made camp on the banks of the Paroo River on the western side of the town.
‘I’ll go and throw a line in to see if I can catch a feed for our supper.’ Harry told his father. He left the camp and walked to the bank of the creek. His only bait was a dried piece of meat he fastened to the hook and threw the line into the water.
Positioned in a squat, he rolled a cigarette, lit it and watched the cork on his line, hoping it would move to indicate he had a bite.
Without a noise, he looked beside him and saw a lady dressed in a beautiful evening frock. Where did she come from? He thought. He didn’t hear anyone come; he must be seeing things.
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'The Drover' - Page 9:

‘G’day.’ Harry said - this lady was a real beauty in his eyes.
‘How’s the fishing going?’ Her voice was soft and seductive.
‘I’ve only just thrown the line in – where did you come from?’
‘From the pub – I’m the owner.’
‘I’m Harry Williams, pleased to meet you - me Dad and I are going to Dyvenor Downs to take some sheep up north.’
‘Isabel Gray is my name – call in sometime and have a drink on me.’
‘I’m a bit young to drink but I’ll tell Dad, I’m sure he’d like to.’
‘I’ll be off then, nice to meet you Harry.’ She vanished and Harry didn’t see where she’d gone.
He didn’t catch any fish but wanted to tell his father about his visitor and the invitation to have a drink at her hotel. His mind filled with excitement to see such a beautiful woman in these parts and he couldn’t forget the dress she wore – it was beautiful and hard to imagine anyone wearing a nice dress particularly in Eulo.
‘Dad….dad – I met this lovely lady down by the river, she owns the hotel and invited you to have a drink with her.’ Harry expressed in an excited voice to his father.
‘And her name wasn’t by chance Isabel Gray, was it?’ His father replied.
‘Do you know her?’
‘My boy, are you certain you weren’t dreaming, she’s known as the Eulo Queen and owned the pub in the late 1800’s. You would have seen her apparition – many a story can be told of people seeing her and some say she spoke to them.’
‘She did Dad – she spoke to me and said her name was Isabel Gray and invited you to the hotel for a drink. Anyway, what’s an app-arit-ion or that word you used?’
‘It’s as if you saw a ghost. You’d better go and have a Bex and a good lie down before dinner. I cooked a roast in the camp oven. It would have been nice to have fish.’
‘I can’t believe it – she was real and she wore this beautiful lovely dress and spoke like a lady.’
‘Don’t worry about it; you’re not the only one to have come across the Eulo Queen after she’d died almost a century ago.’
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'The Drover' - Page 10:

Chapter 2

Early the following morning they reached a property named Carpet Springs.
‘How did Carpet Springs get its name - Dad?’ Harry asked when they stopped for morning tea.
‘I’m not certain, only by the lay of the land you can see the grass is like a carpet; and I suppose there must be a spring nearby.’ His father commented.
Whether it was right or wrong Harry believed his father because he learned more from older people who experienced life and knew they were right. He couldn’t still believe he’d met the ghost of the Eulo Queen but would keep the sighting to himself.
Harry would rather use the wagonette than pack horses. With pack horses, each morning he’d saddle them, laden with huge packs on their backs filled with camp gear, lead them by the horse he rode.
By using a wagonette the camp gear was loaded onto the wagonette and five horses harnessed to draw it. It was easier to cross creeks when the horses pulled the wagonette down the creek bank through high water, and up the other side to higher ground.
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