Streets of Forbes
John McGuire
Bushrangers were the first of the Australian cultural icons I engaged with, largely because one of the Australian officers on The Lakemba had called me Ned. When this persisted for a few weeks, I demanded an explanation, and was duly given a lesson on the bushranger with whom I was eponymous.
Come all of you Lachlan men
And a sorrowful tale I'll tell
Concerning of a hero bold
Who through misfortune fell
His name it was Ben Hall,
A man of high renown
Who was hunted from his station
And like a dog shot down.
Three years he roamed the roads
And he gave the traps some fun
A thousand pounds was on his head
With Gilbert and John Dunn
Ben parted from his comrades,
The outlaws did agree
To give away bushranging
And cross the briny sea.
Ben went to Goobang Creek
And that was his downfall
For riddled like a sieve he lay,
The valiant Ben Hall
'Twas early in the morning
All on the fifth of May
That the seven police surrounded him
As fast asleep he lay.
Billy Dargin he was chosen
To shoot the outlaw dead
The troopers then fired madly
As though they were afraid
They wrapped him in his blanket
And strapped him to his prad
And they led him through the streets of Forbes
To show the prize they had.
Into the Woods
I was a child of the fifties. We were allowed to roam wherever fancy took us. The woods and wetlands of Saugus were wonderful playgrounds. There was beauty, bounty, challenge and mystery.
Beauty of the tiny lady slipper orchids on the slopes of the bluff leading down to the swamp.
Bounty of blueberries in summer to fill your tummy and fill the bucket to take home to Mum for blueberry pancakes.
Challenge of climbing trees and rocks, or simply finding your way through the woods to Grandma’s house. It sounds like a cliché, but that’s what we did.
Mystery of the pirates lurking in the woods in the early days of settlement. Was there pirate treasure somewhere to be found?
The entrance to Pirate's Cave
In Saugus Woods, near Vinegar Hill, is Pirate’s Glen. In Pirate’s Glen is Pirate’s Cave. Legend had it that a pirate once lived there in the 1600s. It was a challenge to crawl through the low entrance to the cave. The inside was roomy enough for four or five kids to sit around, and there was enough light coming through the opening to see each other.
At the back of this space was another opening, beckoning the brave.
In I went, crouching low, into the shadowy space, pausing to let my eyes adjust. There was just enough light to make out faint details of the bumps and jags of the rocky interior.
And yet another opening, smaller than the last.
Would I go in? The other kids were both urging and fearful.
At ten years old, I was one of the Big Kids of the neighborhood. I had to do it.
I got down on my belly and wriggled through the hole in the rock. Crawling far enough so my whole body was in the space, I stopped to let my eyes adjust.
But there was no light whatsoever. The blackness was total. I felt around the walls and determined this really as a very small space. I detected no further openings to explore. There was no room to turn around, so I backed out into the shadows and then emerged into the sunlight.
We returned many times to the cave, and there was never more than one or two of us who would venture into the third room.
Then came the day when I tried to squeeze myself through the third opening and I couldn’t. I stretched my arms into the narrow, jagged opening. Then my head. But no matter how much I wiggled and wriggled to coax my torso through, it was clear that I had become too big!
I struggled to back out of the hole and with a mixture of pride in my new physical stature and regret at the loss of this opportunity to display my bravery, I told the other kids I couldn’t fit through the hole any more.
