The story behind 'The End of an Era'
Posted: Sat Aug 24, 2013 5:24 pm
The Story behind ‘The End of an Era’
This is probably not the place for this, but as it relates the poem I’ll take my chances.
I first met old Jim in the early to mid seventies when we were crushing at Yarrie (the southern one). There was no town as such by then, but the presence of a state operated Battery attracted a small band of old time prospectors who were scattered throughout the surrounding countryside. Most could best be described as old Hermits I suppose, yet there were a couple of very old couples as well who’d been out bush for what seemed like ever. You’d get to meet most of them on picture night at Edjudina Station which from memory was every second week.
I’ll just mention a few of the characters from those days. There was Potsy who with his young brother as boys found the Yilgandie Queen mine one day while playing and this was after countless prospectors had walked past it. There was Hoffie who rumour suggested had returned from the war to find his Fiancé had done a runner with a Yank, Hoffie was the boss of the Battery, Kingie was the foreman at the Battery and a real n ice bloke. Then there was the Old Goat man who spent his life capturing horrible smelly wild goats; for company he was always accompanied by a couple ‘Spinnefex Belles’,
There were several more of course, but back to old Jim, they say he was still sinking shafts single handed at eighty.
Although his great love was prospecting, he’d tried his hand at a couple of other things over the years. He had a go at starting a sheep station at one time but couldn’t find enough good water; that Station is now known as ‘Pinjin’. He also ran what passed in those days as the Yarrie Pub (not sure if it was legal), the building was really just a unlined rough corrugated shed and they tell me as Mine Host he served King Browns only (large 26 oz bottles) on ice occasionally or otherwise what is known as Coolgardie cold.
We always dropped in over the years to say hello and drop of bread and papers if we were in his area.
I’ve watched him prospecting new country, he’d walk around with an old billy can picking up Quartz floaters which he’d latter dolly to see if any were a prospect or not, they say he always knew where each piece was picked up.
Eventually as the poem says he was coaxed to move into Kalgoorlie, but sadly didn’t last long after that. His old shack (the last time I went past) was still partly standing amid the piles of junk he had accumulated over the years.
He was a wonderful old chap.
Terry
This is probably not the place for this, but as it relates the poem I’ll take my chances.
I first met old Jim in the early to mid seventies when we were crushing at Yarrie (the southern one). There was no town as such by then, but the presence of a state operated Battery attracted a small band of old time prospectors who were scattered throughout the surrounding countryside. Most could best be described as old Hermits I suppose, yet there were a couple of very old couples as well who’d been out bush for what seemed like ever. You’d get to meet most of them on picture night at Edjudina Station which from memory was every second week.
I’ll just mention a few of the characters from those days. There was Potsy who with his young brother as boys found the Yilgandie Queen mine one day while playing and this was after countless prospectors had walked past it. There was Hoffie who rumour suggested had returned from the war to find his Fiancé had done a runner with a Yank, Hoffie was the boss of the Battery, Kingie was the foreman at the Battery and a real n ice bloke. Then there was the Old Goat man who spent his life capturing horrible smelly wild goats; for company he was always accompanied by a couple ‘Spinnefex Belles’,
There were several more of course, but back to old Jim, they say he was still sinking shafts single handed at eighty.
Although his great love was prospecting, he’d tried his hand at a couple of other things over the years. He had a go at starting a sheep station at one time but couldn’t find enough good water; that Station is now known as ‘Pinjin’. He also ran what passed in those days as the Yarrie Pub (not sure if it was legal), the building was really just a unlined rough corrugated shed and they tell me as Mine Host he served King Browns only (large 26 oz bottles) on ice occasionally or otherwise what is known as Coolgardie cold.
We always dropped in over the years to say hello and drop of bread and papers if we were in his area.
I’ve watched him prospecting new country, he’d walk around with an old billy can picking up Quartz floaters which he’d latter dolly to see if any were a prospect or not, they say he always knew where each piece was picked up.
Eventually as the poem says he was coaxed to move into Kalgoorlie, but sadly didn’t last long after that. His old shack (the last time I went past) was still partly standing amid the piles of junk he had accumulated over the years.
He was a wonderful old chap.
Terry