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Tibooburra. The
Early Years.
Recollections by Mona Muriel
Thomson
Mona Muriel
Thomson (nee Gill) was the third child born to Edward and Ellen Gill on the 14th
November 1894 in the little township of Tibooburra, which is situated in the far
west corner of New South Wales, South Australia and Queensland border fences.
It has always been a dry dusty little town with out permanent water.
A gold rush in the 80’s was the outcome of its existence.
My father who was a saddler and harness maker by trade hearing of the
gold rush, no doubt, thought it was a good chance to cash in on the diggers and
so set out from Wilcannia to set up a small business in the main street.
Business flourished in those early days of horse and buggy.
I attended the small public school
along with my sister and three brothers, until I was 16 years old.
Having passed the Qualifying Certificate Exam, I was entitled to attend a
High School, but since the nearest high school was in Broken Hill some 200 odd
miles away and the only means of transport those days was by Cobb & Co
coaches, no cars heard of then, I put the idea of further education out of my
mind and remained at home until my marriage to W. I. Thomson in 1914.
By this time rumours of war (1st World War) was a reality and
my parents departed to live in Adelaide. We
went to live on his mother’s property, Mount Stuart Station, about seven miles
south east of Tibooburra, his father having died some years previously, with his
two brothers Alex and Archie. His
eldest brother Colin having enlisted for war service just prior to my arrival.
A man cook, a Senegalese and named
Charlie Perera had arrived previously from Melbourne to take charge of the
kitchen, he had been cook for the Thomson family when they lived at Tool’s
Creek, near Wagga for about 6 years. He
was a very intelligent chap, self-taught in many ways and a real gentleman.
We were sorry when he had to leave us after 6 years of loyal service, on
account of failing eyesight.
The house was in a sad state of
disrepair most windows had broken paines, roof of in some parts, no bathroom –
the only verandah piled up to the roof with bales of wool. Of course there were no water taps in the place – all water
had to be carried in buckets from the tanks or dams. To have a bath one had to take a large washing tub into the
bedrooms – heat water in a kerosene bucket on the kitchen stove then carry it
down several yards across a stone walk way to the specified bedroom.
This was quite a business so it was no wonder we only had a bath once a
month. Water was so precious, after
I had bathed my husband would use the same water to have his bath.
We washed our hands and faces each morning in a bowl fitted into a
washstand, which stood in each bedroom. We
had no ice chest or refrigerator – only an old fashioned charcoal cooler that
had seen better days – no delicacies such as jellies and ice-cream could we
indulge in – in the dreadful heat of summer.
A canvas water bag was hung in the verandah for drinking purposes. Butter could only be enjoyed in winter in summer it turned to
oil. Milk unless scolded as soon as
it came from the cow would turn thick and sour before the day was over.
Salted mutton was our main course – we had no vegetable garden, water
could not be spared, for such – so only potatoes and onions relieved this
menu, unless of course, we felt like a change to dried peas.
These had to be soaked overnight in water before boiling – they were so
hard – no “Surprise Peas” in those days.
All our groceries had to come from Broken Hill by camel train – long
strings of camels with their Afghan drivers would arrive every two or three
months laden with goods of all descriptions.
Often potatoes and onions packed in heshan bags would be rotten on
arrival.
When our man cook Charlie left us in 1919 we had a series of women to replace
him but none proved satisfactory, except Doris I Ellies a young girl of 16 who
was a splendid cook and remained with us for two years when she left to get
married. Soon afterwards my husband
found a treasure in Bill Page a good all round cook and handy man.
He remained with us for 12 years or until his death in 1940 aged 72
years.
Our family was increasing fast eventually numbering six boys and three girls and
the worrying problem of their education loomed ahead.
This to some extent was solved by the correspondence School in Sydney
when lessons were sent back each week and returned to be corrected as soon as
possible, by post.
Later Jean went to Broken Hill and boarded at the Convent of Mercy for some
time. Eventually some of the boys
went by car to the Bush Children’s Hostel to board, and attend the public
school at Wilcannia. Drought seemed always a never ending worry all the 24 years
of married life on “Mount Stuart” was a continual drought – dust storms
made life a torment and hard work seemed to be taking its toll of my husband.
In April of 1937 my husband took ill and after five weeks in the hospital at
Tibooburra he passed away on the 20th May 1937 from bronchial
pneumonia. His passing was a great
blow to the whole district where he was held in high regard.
To me the bottom had fallen out of my world.
What would I do now with no one to lean on – with five children still
of school age – the rest unmarried? My
parents so far away in Adelaide it proved a huge problem!
Then after planning and turning ideas over in my mind for seven years
after his death. I finally decided
for my children’s sake it would be wise to move to Broken Hill where Chub was
already training as a nurse and Colin still there working.
By this time World War 2 was raging in Europe and my eldest son Ken had joined
the Air Force. In 1944 we packed up
our belongings and headed south to Broken Hill where I had bought a large house,
in Chapple Street. Bill drove us
down in the utility – me in front with the two younger ones and older boys
John, Malcolm up among the luggage behind.
It took a long time to decide if I was doing the right thing by leaving
Mount Stuart but the children’s future was my main concern and after I’d
taken the plunge we never looked back, those 25 years in Broken Hill were indeed
happy ones. The children were able
to expand – receive a sound education and to join in social activities, which
were denied then when living on an outback station.
The house as I said was a large one consisting of 3 flats – but only one
community bathroom – two more were added later – in the backyard was a small
neat cottage of 3 rooms, also two outside bedrooms and laundry attached.
These flats were all occupied when I took over, so decided to allow the
servants to remain – it being wartime – flats and houses being almost
impossible to rent or buy. The
Second World War was in its fourth year, rationing was a way of life with coupon
tickets an accepted fact. We saw
many servants come and go, altho’ some stayed as long as five years before
getting their own homes. Many still
remain very warm friends to this day. It’s
always a thrill to meet these people who spent so many happy years with us at
413 Chapple Street, Broken Hill.
The family grew up some married – others pursued their various vocations in
life – until at last in 1979 I decided to sell the house and come to live in
Adelaide with Sue and Melos and family at 12/19 Maxwell Terrace, Glenelg.
It was a two-storied maisonette type of house, each unit fitted with
every convenience, altho’ mine was much smaller than the one the family
occupied. It suited us immensely
– I loved my little unit and was loathe to leave it – but I was now in my 83rd
year and felt the time had come for me to come to a place where if necessary I
could be looked after and cared for without putting pressure and worry on my
family. And here I am!
In a very nice little flat with every convenience in the Masonic Village,
came in on 8th May 1978.
For me – looking back over the past 44 years
seems incredible how we ever managed to live and rear our children without the
aid of the Flying Doctor. In fact
had we had this service in April or May of 1937, it may have been possible to
have saved my husband from such an early death.
When he developed bronchial pneumonia in April of
1937 there was no conception of a base for such a project being
established just 3 months later at Broken Hill (216 miles).
How well, I remember that unhappy period.
The little outback hospital altho’ staffed with two nurses and a woman
doctor was sadly lacking in many things – no oxy gen or special treatment for
such cases. We needed more help, so
through the Defence Dept in Adelaide a young chap “Roy Gropler” – who had
just flown in from either England or America was contacted and consented to do
the trip via Broken Hill where he was to pick up another Doctor (Ian McGilvray)
and a supply of oxygen. This was
the first occasion such a mission was achieved in the little town. Very few planes ventured into the outback so far those days
– the risk of landing on unprepared grounds was great. Sad to say the mission was in vain. My husband passed away on 20th May 1937 – just 3
months before the establishing of the Royal Flying Doctor base was opened in
Broken Hill the following August. This
was a great boon especially to me, who was its first patient to be flown from
Tibooburra to the “Warri Wee” Private Hospital when I developed pneumonia.
It was a tiny two-seater plane fitted with a bed with only ever room for
the Doctor to sit beside me. (“Dr
Odlume”) The pilot was Ernie Annear.
This R.F.D.S was stationed in Broken Hill and serviced the whole of the
Western District of NSW. Frank
Basden was many years manager of the base there.
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