Rugged bullock drivers earned reputations as colourful characters

Press, 21 November 1987, Page 24

Rugged bullock drivers earned reputations as colourful characters

By

PETER HEWSON,

a Christchurch

teacher whose great-grandfather, Alex Hewson, was. a bullock driver who wrote in 1918 about his experiences for the “Ashburton Guardian”:

The sight of Murray Thacker’s bullock team on the road from Okains Bay to Christchurch, to celebrate the 125th anniversary of the Canterbury A. and P. Show (“The Press,” Nov. 5) opens an interesting and important double window on this province’s colourful past. Sheep provided much of Canterbury’s early prosperity, a fact recognised by the founders of the A. and P. Association. The robust bullock was also indispensable when it came to hauling heavy loads of wool, timber and provisions.

Although slow compared with the horse, a bullock team had the advantage of being able to negotiate heavy, swampy country and even swollen rivers with relative ease. In pioneering times, it was not speed that mattered, but getting the valuable load to its destination with safety.

A team of bullocks would travel at an average speed of two miles an hour, covering up to 15 miles in a good day. It is significant that many of Canterbury’s townships are about this distance apart. These sites were frequently feeding and resting places for the weary teams and drivers. Many bullock tracks also became the roads of later years. But what of the bullocky? The lonely, neglected figure has entered our folklore along with such notables as the swagger, the gold miner and even Barry Crump’s "good, keen man.”

“To swear like a bullocky” has become woven into our speech. The image of the foul-mouthed, whip-cracking, whisky-slinging character has been promoted by such writers as E. C. Studholme and L. G. D. Acland, who saw many bullockies as cruel to their animals, or as being generally lazy and slow starters in the morning.

In her book “Lights and Shades of Colonial Life,” Sarah Courage recalls a verse from a colonial song which seems to epitomise the popular view of the bullock driver:

"Rough men were they, most blasphemous to oxen; Their pastimes — drinks and rough and tumble boxing. Large boots they wore, with not a hope of socks in — And larger mouths — the home of chronic thirst." Certainly, bullock drivers earned a reputation for being among the most colourful characters of the time. Their appearance was rugged; work was lonely and conditions were frequently bad. Nevertheless, some

became real personalities and their exploits have given rise to many fascinating tales. Bullockies, or “bullock-punch-ers” as they were later called, either worked on large stations or as contractors on the road. Many stations employed a bullock team or two to do the heavy work about the place. Much of the first land to be broken up was ploughed with bullocks since they were more abundant and considerably cheaper than horses. A good horse in the 1860 s could cost up to £6O, compared with a third of this price even for a trained bullock. An indication of the value of shepherds and bullock drivers to the stations can be gauged from their wage of 25 shillings per week in 1862, compared with 20 shillings per week for station hands. Bullockies who worked on the road would be contracted to carry wool, stores and sometimes timber for fencing or building. Far from being lazy and cruel, however, they were generally skilled at managing their teams and considerate to their bullocks. It was common for a team

carting wool to consist of 8 to 10 bullocks. At a cost of £l2 to £2O each, it was in the driver’s best interests to take care of his team. He had to prevent the bullock’s neck from being scalded under the yoke in wet weather. He had to ward off wild dogs and stray bulls who might attack a team on the road, and guard against tutu.

This fern-like native shrub was especially poisonous, resulting in many losses of sheep, cattle and bullocks. One time when William Bland, George Boulton and Yankee Tom were carting wool from Mesopotamia to Rakaia, they camped at Stour Creek in the Ashburton Gorge. In the morning, they woke to find nine of their 24 bullocks dead from eating tutu.

The bullocky controlled his team by walking on the near side armed with a long-handled whip with which he would turn them but he rarely struck them. The bullocky’s hack, which travelled tied behind the dray or waggon, would come in useful when searching for bullocks who had taken nocturnal strolls away from the camp, sometimes for miles. A fluent and picturesque

vocabulary was not unknown when dealing with awkward or reluctant bullocks, but a bullocky’s language was not as basic as it is popularly supposed to have been.

The Hon. W. Rolleston, who sometimes drove bullocks as a young man, swore at them in Greek. A bullock driver on Glen Wye station was fond of addressing his bullocks in Latin. One Irish bullocky would throw his hat on the ground and jump on it when things went really wrong.

“Each bullock had his name and knows it as well as a dog does,” Samuel Butler wrote. “There is generally a tinge of the comic in the names given to them.”

Sam Phelps, a well-known early bullocky, christened his bullocks with the names of local magistrates who had fined him for excessive drinking. Sam extracted his revenge by verbally threatening his animals in public. Such open ridicule was much enjoyed by local crowds. The bullocky would be a welcome guest at most stations, particularly those ' up-country. Not only did he bring the muchneeded stores, but he would often entertain the hands with news from down-country and gossip from other stations.

For companionship and mutual help, it was not unknown for two or three teams to travel together. When crossing major rivers, the teams would double-yokq., That is, the bullocks from one team would be attached in front of the other, and one waggon at a time forded across.

One dual partnership which operated during the 1860 s and 1870 s were Bill Smith and Alex Hewson. Alex began work on Cracroft, a neighbouring station to Shepherds Bush, where Dr Ben Moorhouse hosted the first agricultural show in Canterbury in 1859.

Many years later, Alex recalled stories of the bullocky’s trials and hardships on the road — being caught in the Rangitata River, sleeping out in the open in conditions so cold that trousers needed to be straightened out from their stiffened state by hand and frozen key rings knocked from the bow with a stone, his partner loading and carting 32 bales of wool by himself, and the accidental deaths of many drivers. When camping out at night, the partners would stretch a tarpaulin over the pole of the dray and sleep under it If it was wet they had to cover the wool with the tarpaulin, crawl under it and sleep on the wing bale. Rivalry between horseman and bullock-driver was often keen. Once Smith and Hewson accepted a bet with a Staveley horse waggoner that their bullock teams would beat him to Rakaia, a distance of over 20 miles. Pride more than the prize was at stake.

The swamps near Spreadeagle and the streams initially favoured the bullocks which made good time. As they neared Rakaia, along the track blazed some years earlier by another bullocky, George Thompson, both horses and bullocks were at a hard trot

Yard by yard, the horses, were catching up. Hewson’s team was passed, but the other bullocky was still in front After a tense final mile, Smith’s bullock team won narrowly. This was one of a number of bets won by Bill Smith.

Eventually, horse waggons began to replace bullock teams. Once roads were established, the bullock’s cloven hoof couldn’t stand up to the hard surface. On some stations, bullock teams were kept tor heavy work. Stoneyhurst had a team until 1885, Mt Peel until 1892 and Glentanner until 1905.

In these days of modern transport and helicopter. access to remote regions of the province, it is easy to forget the vital role played by bullock teams in opening up early Canterbury. Accidents, frustrations, long hours and Spartan living conditions did not dampen the spirit of the bullock driver. When asked the reason for his unfailing optimism, one bullocky replied: “Walking beside the waggon gave me time to think.”

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