Chapter 5 – The Bullocky – My great-grandfather Joseph Dangerfield 2

When my great-great-grandfather, Joseph Dangerfield 1 “skipped ship” at Port Adelaide he took up farming in McLaren Vale. In 1850 he married Sarah Elliott at the St Stephen’s Church at Willnga.  Joseph and Sarah went on to have a large family of twelve children whose names were  Henry, Joseph, Ellen, Charles, James, Edward, Sarah, Emma, Albert, William Thomas and William Joseph. Their second son Joseph 2 was my great-grandfather and he married Margaret Thoday, who was the daughter of Henry and Maria Thoday. This is the story of the early years of Joseph 2 when he worked as a “Bullocky” driving his team of bullocks through the Flinders Ranges to deliver supplies to the stations scattered throughout the Flinders, and to take bales of hay back to the northern ports to be shipped for sale overseas.

My journey to discover my families’ roots will take me back in time to the year 1872, to Oraparinna Station in the Flinders Ranges where my great-grandfather will be travelling with his team of 24 bullocks to take supplies to the northern stations and then to pick up the seasons’s wool bales to take back to the northern ports for export overseas.  Joseph’s first port of call will be to Oraparinna and after that to Aroona the neighboring station. I will time my visit to be at Oraparinna when he arrives.

I have decided to visit Oraparinna as an Artist who has been asked to do some paintings for the Boord’s living room, and so I will go to Oraparinna as the guest of Mr Septimus Boord the owner of the Oraparinna leasehold which he acquired in January 1852. My great-grandfather Joseph will be just 17 years of age when I meet him at Oraparinna, his first port of call. Oraparinna is a large property of some 239 square miles of grazing land north west of Wilpena Pound. In an average season, the station can carry 6,000 sheep and 100 head of cattle. This season has been a good one for the Boords but unfortunately I know that by the late 1860s the Boord’s venture will prove unprofitable and they will be forced to sell the leasehold to Messrs William Beare and J.W. Gleeson. By the late 1880s the lease will again be auctioned and finally in 1970 the South Australian government will purchase Oraparinna and incorporate it into the Flinders Ranges National Park. But that is another story for a time in the future.

The Bullocky

It is late afternoon, on what has been a very bright and sunny day in September and I have been a little too warmly dressed for the unseasonable weather. I am grateful to be in the coolness of the drawing room of the Boord family’s homestead. I am visiting Oraparinna Station in the Flinders Ranges as the guest of Mr and Mrs Boord who own the station leasehold. I met Mr and Mrs Boord some two months ago in Adelaide when I was exhibiting a collection of my paintings in a small gallery in the Adelaide township. After viewing my work the Boord’s commissioned me to do some landscapes near their home in the Flinders Ranges. I am looking forward to my visit because I have heard that the scenery in the Flinders Ranges is very special and so I look forward working there as well as having the opportunity of meeting my great-grandfather Joseph. I dressed very carefully for the occasion choosing a fashionable outdoor dress of blue, with a jacket-bodice with cuffs, a high neckline and an over-skirt caught up with buckled ribbons. A small blue straw hat with a flat crown and long ribbons tipped forward over my brow completes my outfit. In this year of 1872 and even at a station so far out of town, I know that women are expected to keep up with the conventions and niceties of town.

A servant ushered me into the drawing room to wait for Mr Boord to be advised of my presence. I sat on an ornate, high-backed chair in the Boord’s drawing room, knowing that such a chair in my year of 2012 would be considered a collector’s piece. Both the chair and the paintings displayed in the drawing room must have come out with the Boord family when they first emigrated to Australia because the paintings depicted English village and country scenes and landscapes. In fact, the drawing room itself looks as if it has been transplanted straight out of an English country manor house. Four large windows on one wall with smaller arched windows between them are draped with deep crimson velvet curtains. A huge fireplace is a feature in the opposite wall and above its mantelpiece is a beautiful portrait, probably of Mr Boord’s wife. The room is bright and airy and an assortment of deeply padded settees and armchairs placed at intervals around the room give an air of comfort to the room. The centrepiece is a large round oak table which must easily accommodate 25 people. Wall hangings of deep and dim forest scenes are hung on either side of the fireplace.

Tonight at dinner the Boord family will also be entertaining their neighbors, the Haywards from the adjoining Aroona Station. I don’t have long to wait before both Mr Boord and Mr Hayward enter the room.

The Boord’s of Oraparinna Station

“Good evening Miss O’Connor, I hope your journey was not too tedious?” Mr Boord strode toward me and reached out and shook my hand and then without waiting for an reply, he turned to introduce me to the other gentlemen who had entered with him.

“Mr Hayward, this is Fay O’Connor the young woman I spoke to you about. Miss O’Connor, may I present Mr Hayward our friend and neighbor, owner of Aroona, the station adjoining Oraparinna.”

“How do you do?” I nodded as we shook hands.

“Very well, ma’am.” He answered. “If your paintings are as beautiful as Septimus has described, we too will be placing an order for some paintings. We will be delighted if some of the beauty of the Flinders Ranges can be captured for future generations of our family,” said Mr Hayward.

“I hope that my paintings will satisfy,” I responded.

“As you can see,” said Mr Boord, “in this very room we have some beautiful paintings, but most of them depict English scenes. My wife has made a few paintings of the Australian landscapes and we are quite proud of those. They are the miniatures you see on the far wall, but her skills do not extend to canvases of a larger size.”

“Yes I noticed those. They are very good indeed. Your wife is quite talented.” I responded. “I must say I am very much looking forward to painting landscapes here in the Flinders Ranges, particularly at this time of the year when everything is so alive.

“What sort of landscapes do you envisage painting, Miss O’Connor?” asked Mr Boord.

“I would favor painting the ancient gorges and valleys and rugged ranges of the Flinders. Also I am really hoping to capture the essence of the Australian bush and express the sunbathed verdant scenes with the slower images of animals making their way home at day’s end. Is that the sort of painting you would have in mind, Mr Boord?”

“Yes, that is exactly the sort of thing I have in mind and also the trunks of the gums in the Flinders Ranges fascinate me, so scenes of gum trees that are full of dappled light would be what I am looking for, Miss O’Connor.”

“I agree, particularly as everything here is full of dappled light in the evenings and a disharmony of garish light during the hot summer days,” Mr Boord.

“Well, Miss O’Connor, one thing is for certain, you certainly speak the language of an artist, and if you paint half as well as that we will be very well satisfied.” Mr Boord smiled.

“I will certainly do my best, Mr Boord.” I laughed.

“And how will you go about your work while you are here with us, Miss O’Connor?” Mr Boord inquired.

“Well, I would like to get up very early each morning and take a picnic lunch with me and work for as long as possible each day, to get as much done as I can.”

“As you know, Miss O’Connor, you are welcome to prolong your stay if you need more time than you have presently allotted for your task?”

“Thank you for your offer, Mr Boord, but I will see how I manage with the time I have allotted first.”

“And what sort of painting do you have planned for Aroona, Miss O’Connor. We will want ours to be somewhat different to those you do for Oraparrina.”

“For Aroona, I thought I would deal with the droving of sheep and cattle, and also celebrate the magnificence of the Australian eucalyptus trees and I am happy to be guided by you as to any particular scenes you would like me to paint.”

“Well, I am particularly interested in the contrasting of light in this land, so different to the soft colors of England,” said Mr Hayward.

“As beautiful as this country is, it has taken my wife some considerable time to adjust to the rawness of the Australian landscape,” Mr Boord responded rather glumly, “if she ever has adjusted that is.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment.

“Are you interested in Aboriginal rock art, Miss O’Connor?”

“Oh yes, I am fascinated with Aboriginal rock art sites and would love to see some examples if that is possible?”

“Most certainly, we will fit that in somewhere in your stay with us. We have a Bullocky arriving tomorrow morning, a young chap, only 17 years old but with his own bullock team. He is bringing supplies to Oraparrina and taking back a dray-load of wool bales to be loaded onto sailing ships at northern ports. His name is Joseph and he knows all the best places to see near Oraparrinna. I am sure he would be happy to take you for a general tour whilst he is here.”

“Would he really? That would be wonderful! But will he be able to spare the time? Won’t he be working?”

“We have other station hands who can do the loading and unloading and he always stays and extra day or so to recover before he starts his long journey home. It is very arduous work being a bullocky and he will be happy to take a break. With a team of bullocks there is no provision for the bullocky to ride in the dray because he needs to be walking up and down beside his team all the way,” Mr Boord stated.

“Isn’t he very young to be a Bullocky, if he is only 17 years old?” I queried.

“Yes, he is very young, but he has apparently been driving a bullock team since he was only 6 years old, with his father of course.” Mr Boord laughed. “In fact the only thing he is able to do now that he could not do then, so I have been told, is to handle a whip. It took him a few years to grow into that.”

“I will be most interested to meet him!” I exclaimed.

“He usually camps overnight by a creek some miles from here where there is a rock pool. He has a swim there and a good scrub up before he reaches the homestead. He says he likes to come in ‘looking respectable.’ ”

I mentally made a note to make sure I am up bright and early tomorrow so I can be ready in time to capture the image of this young Adonis and his bullock team coming toward me in the soft light of early morning. What a great painting that would make! A servant came to the door to announce that dinner was served and we moved into the dining room and joined the other members of the Boord and Hayward families to enjoy a beautiful meal together. Later, as soon as it was polite to do so, I retired to my allotted bedroom for an early night ready for a very early morning.

The next morning, when I awoke, it took some time for me to realize where I was. The pre-dawn light was just beginning to filter in through the window above my bed. I had not overslept which was good. I climbed out of bed and quickly washed using the cold water in the big old fashioned jug and bowl that was standing on the dresser next to my bed. No piping hot shower for me in 1872!! I was glad it was not the middle of winter. I was excited. At last I was to meet my great-grandfather Joseph Dangerfield (2). I dressed as quickly as I could considering all the layers of clothing I had to put on, leggings, boots, underskirt and finally my dress. It would have been so much easier to put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but no matter.

I gathered up my paints and my easel and a stool and quietly eased myself out of the house into the early morning sunshine. I began walking briskly along the road that led out of the property and down the road towards the Oraparrinna creek. I was soon out of sight of the homestead and completely surrounded by a beautiful Flinders Ranges landscape. As the sun rose, the sky took on varying hues of blue, then pink, gold and yellow. Soon the rocks and scrub would don their daytime garb of ochre and olive green. I set up my easel facing along the road towards the bend around which Joseph would first appear and began to sketch. I wanted to fill in all the detail that I needed ready to insert Joseph and his bullock team into my landscape when he finally came toward me. I worked quickly and the scene took shape on my canvas. I was excited and full of nervous energy. I kept looking up from my work, anxious not to miss the moment when the ‘bullocky’ would first come into view. Suddenly, in the distance there he was. He was running up and down beside his bullocks taking long loping strides as as they lumbered along drawing the long dray loaded with supplies for the station. I watched him as he leapt backward and forward up and then down the line, flourishing his great long whip and calling to his team in the melodious singsong voice of the bullocky. This was Joseph, my great-grandfather; my 17-year old great-grandfather!

As he moved towards me with his team I felt a wave of pride flow over me. How wonderful to meet my great-grandfather here in the Flinders handling his team of 24 bullocks, all by himself. Ha! The Dangerfield’s are of strong stock!” I thought to myself. “And big men too.” Joseph 2 must be about 6’3″ in height and about 15 stone in weight, I reckoned. I was elated at the thought that I knew so much about him. In fact, I not only knew about his past, but his present and his future as well. How amazing was that? “This is how God must feel ,” I thought.

They were beside me now and Joseph called his team to a halt using his lilting ‘Bullocky Lingo’ that I had read about in the book,“Under the Mulga” by Jim Casteen, in preparation for this day. I knew how bullock teams were trained and how each ‘Bullocky’ had his own language which he and his team shared; how the ‘Bullocky’ walked alongside his team up and down all the time talking to them and verbally praising or punishing so that they all worked as a team. Teamwork was needed to pull the huge burdens that needed to be carried from one place to another in this often unforgiving land. The team came to a halt, lowing peacefully. The jiggling of their harness was like music to my ears.

“Howdy Ma’am,”Joseph called, “You are the first person I have seen today,” He tipped his bush hat and nodded his head toward me.

“Hello,” I smiled back at him trying to look a little indifferent and not so delighted to see him as I really was. “You must be Joseph, the ‘Bullocky?’” I said.

“I am, Ma’am.” He wasn’t at all shy as he could have been as a country boy. He seemed happy and merry-natured. I found everything about him very pleasing.

“Mr Boord told me you would be along shortly. My name is Fay and I am an artist. I am staying here at Oraparinna for a day or so to do some landscape paintings for the Boords. I hope you don’t mind, but I am including you in this first painting I am doing right now.?”

“That’s all right by me, Ma’am. I’m glad to be of some service to you,” he responded. “Why don’t you come to the wool shed when you are free and have a closer look at my team and watch the wool being loaded?” he suggested.”

“Wonderful! I will come down to the wool shed, say just after lunch, would that be a good time?

“That will be good.” Joseph cracked his whip with a theatrical flourish and urged the bullocks on their way once more. I watched him until the road hid him from my view and then began the enjoyable task of including him and his bullocks into my painting. I remembered that his hair had been a dark brown, and not the shock of red ‘Dangerfield’ hair I had been expecting. I thought he was very attractive. I had brought some cheese, some bread and a flask of water which I nibbled and drank as I worked. It was about 12.30 when with a sigh of satisfaction I put down my brush and began cleaning and packing up my easel and brushes. I made my way up the road and towards the wool shed. When I arrived, I saw that the bullocks were grazing on a pile of fodder in a large, fenced compound under the shade of a gum tree. The supplies were gone and the dray was now almost loaded with bales of wool ready for Joseph’s return trip.

So this was Joseph’s life. I knew he was doing a job that he loved and would continue to do it for a few years. One day, however, he would want to marry and settle down and this job would no longer suit, I thought. But what memories he will have! When all is said and done, a person’s life is made up of his memories.

“Good afternoon Fay, how was your morning?” asked Mr Boord.

“Very well, Mr Boord. My first landscape is well on its way and I have included Joseph and his bullock team coming into Oraparrina in my picture. I think it is very good, but you will have to be the judge of that. You are welcome to look at it when you like.”

“This evening I will be most interested to see it. In the meantime, I have had the buggy prepared for Joseph to take you out to see some of the countryside this afternoon. The cook has prepared a picnic basket to take with you in case you are late getting back.”

“That is good of you Sir, I thank you.” I responded happily. One of the station hands came towards us leading a black mare between the shafts of a smart two-seater buggy. Joseph helped me up onto the seat and then sat beside me. He took the reigns and whistled to the horse and we were off.

“I’d like to give you the grand tour of the Flinders,” laughed Joseph, “but that would take a week or two, so I thought that you might like to see the Brachina Gorge today.

“Oh yes. I have heard that the Brachina it is a very beautiful place. Where is it actually located within the Flinders Ranges Joseph?”

“Well, Oraparinna is one of the northernmost stations and Aroona and Wilpena are the other stations nearest to Oraparinna. Brachina Gorge is on the Brachina Overflow and is a very pretty place. This season the wildflowers are in full bloom and are a very pretty sight. We are about 150 m from the sea here.

“Do you know where there are examples of aboriginal art in the area?

“Yes, there are caves with aboriginal paintings near Brachina, but there really won’t be enough time to look at those today, it is quite a hike to see them. Perhaps another time.”

“Yes, maybe another time. Aboriginal art is so exciting to me. I have heard that the colors and the way they are combined is quite remarkable”

“Well, I am no artist,” said Joseph, “but the ones I have seen are quite amazing.” We drove companionably for an hour or two in our horse-drawn buggy along winding dirt roads and through meandering creeks lined with towering gums and wide valleys of native pines until we finally arrived at Brachina Gorge. Joseph drew the horse to a stop, then jumped down to help me down from the buggy. The horse began cropping the grass and we unloaded our gear and walked down to the Brachinna riverbed to have our picnic. There were rock pools on each side of the central stream which was flowing gently downstream.

“You always need to be careful in the Flinders when you are walking in a riverbed and never camp in a riverbed. If it has been raining upstream, even miles upstream, without warning you can get a flash flood which will sweep away everything in its path.”

“Have you ever seen this happen, Joseph?” I asked.

“Yes, I have. My father and I were once travelling in the Flinders and we stopped in a dry river bed to have a meal. Dad got a fire going amongst the rock pools in the middle of the stream bed. I sat with my back to the source of the river whilst Dad was facing upstream. Suddenly Dad yelled, “Look out, Flood!” and grabbed his things and started running out of the riverbed. I did the same and was out of there in a big hurry. We were barely out of the river bed when a wall of water rushed past us. It was a close call.”

“That would have been something to see,” I said.

“It was,” Joseph replied.

“Joseph, you mentioned your father, could you tell me a little about your life and family.”

“What would you like to know?” he asked.

“Maybe how you became a Bullocky?”

“Well my Dad was farming at Rochester in the north of the state and my Dad is an excellent horseman and a good Bullocky. He began teaching me how to work a team of bullocks when I was only 6 years old. I was big for my age even then and Dad thought the sooner I learned the sooner I could work and in our family everyone had to work. By the time I was 14 I was driving bullocks up here to Oraparinna and Aroona and I am still doing it. I love the outdoors and I love driving bullocks. There’s nothing better than working with a team of bullocks,” Joseph said with a ring of satisfaction in his voice.

“How did you learn how to handle bullocks and drive a team? How do you get them to obey you?” I asked. We were sitting under the shade of a gum tree as we ate our picnic. Joseph stared off into the space with almost a trance-like look on his face as he began to tell me about his bullocks. His tone was measured, almost worshipful as he spoke.

“Bullocks are amazing creatures. Generally a team consists of 8,16 or 24 bullocks and they all have names, they all have personalities. They have a capacity to love you that is almost human. All day I walk up and down beside my team from the ‘leaders’ in the front to the ‘polars’ at the back. I talk to them as if they were my mates. I say ‘Gee off, Patty,’ ‘Come here, Rani,’ You’re bludging, Ginger, pull your weight!’ and I might give Ginger a prod and he’ll jump to attention, jump into life and obey and ram the great bulk of his shoulders behind the bow and lean into it. When he does something wrong I can almost hear him apologize to me, “Sorry Joe, I must have dozed off”‘ When the pull is steady and uniform then my voice is soft and they all dream along happily. They know that if I need quick reaction from them they will hear their name and they will jump at my call. Each of the older bullocks in my team understands my Bullocky ‘lingo.’ Each bullock knows his own name and will respond to whatever instruction I give immediately I give it, immediately his name is called. He knows by the tone of my voice and the volume of the order being delivered whether things are going well or not. The younger bullocks not so long on the team take time to learn their own name and my soothing team lingo during early breaking-in stages.”

“That is so interesting. I read about that in a book I read called ,“Under the Mulga” by Jim Casteen.

“Sounds an interesting book.”

“How do you get your bullocks to react quickly if there is a problem or any danger?” I asked

“The degree of urgency in the commands are identified by sound. Bullocks soon understand that loud roaring commands with whip held high in the air mean there is trouble ahead. The wagon is bogging or the delver is digging in too deep and pushing too heavy a load in front. So they know they have to lean into those bows and give their all. Emergencies call for maximum effort from the whole team. If the leaders are pulling and the polars are bludging you only have half a team, so I will dance in great bounds up and down the string of bullocks. I will swing that huge ten or twelve-foot whip. I have to hold it with both hands, each hand about a foot apart for extra purchase and to guide the heavy whip high above my head. Every time I swing and crack that whip it is like a rifle going off. The whole team becomes alert and leans hard into yokes and bows, pulling as hard as they can, some even down on their knees. It is teamwork of the most satisfying kind. I love being a Bullocky. I think I value it even more, knowing that I won’t be able to continue it for good.”

“Why is that Joseph?”

“Well, the rough life of a Bullocky is fine in the short-term, but one day not far from now, I will be looking for a more settled life, maybe a wife and a nice farm somewhere and a bunch of kids to work on it. I know I can’t stay a Bullocky forever,” he sighed.

“How old do you think you might be before you marry, Joseph?” I asked.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe 20?” I smiled to myself. I knew that five years from this day, Joseph would marry Margaret Thoday, daughter of my great-great grandparents, Henry and Maria Thoday in the Willunga Church, Clare and they would become farming pioneers on the West Coast of South Australia and later in the Pinnaroo district. I knew that they would be blessed with children. Firstly, Charles, then my grandmother Maude, then Henry (Harry), Elizabeth and Elijah. They would have twins, Martha and Mary who would sadly die shortly after birth, and finally, ‘the scrapings of the pot’ would be Howard. For a moment a feeling of great sadness passed over me. I had so enjoyed this idyllic day in the Flinders Ranges at Brachinna Gorge with my great-grandfather, Joseph and soon he would be gone and this young man would be gone forever. I would miss him!

I spent the remainder of the afternoon sketching the beautiful scenery around Brachinna Gorge whilst Joseph chatted or slept with his back against a tree. In the evening our horse and buggy took us back to Oraparinna and supper with my hosts. I finally went to my room and fell exhausted into my bed and into the oblivion of sleep, to awake the next day, back in my own bed in 2012.