THE VANISHED SUNDOWNER

Grey River Argus, 17 April 1940, Page 8

THE VANISHED SUNDOWNER

The tough old “sundowner,” about whom such men as Lawson wrote and sang, is as exinct as the Dodo, says a writer in the “Sydney Morning Herald.” He belonged to the time of the pioneers the bark hut, the bullock wagon, and the lonely outback, which to-day is becoming almost as modern as the cities. There are still swagmen on the roads, but who could call them sundowners? Your modern tramp will take a job if one is offered, but the sundowner of yesteryear would never so demean himself.

The last sundowner of the old type that I saw was tramping along the Murrumbidgee. His swag was carried in the traditional fashion —a real “Bluey,” with the familian blue blanket rolled on the outside. In one hand lie carried a large blackened billycan. He walked with a steady roll that reminded one of a sailor ashore for the first lime after a long voyage. This man seemed to be travelling along the river aimlessly, not caring when he arrived at his deStiriation, if any. He camped at nightfall under a tree, alongside a fence, under a rock, or anywhere that afforded him some sort of shelter. Born in a tent on the diggings, he had tramped the roads ever since he ran away from home.

His tobacco was kept ih a snakeskin tobacco pouch. The old chap had killed the snake at his cdmp one morning, and after skinning it and curing the skin, made the pouch and a hatband out of it. He had killed many snakes and never wasted a skin, as was proved by the nature of his “wardrobe.” His hatband, belt, braces, and bowyangs were of snakeskin, as were the belts which he gave to travellers as gifts or in exchange for tobacco.

Many fifties nidtorists had offered him a lift but he always refused. His private conviction was that ftiotorcars travelled too fast “and got a man to a place far too qjiickly.” That meant that you were rushed over miles of territory in which you might get a good “Hand-out” if you took your time. When “tucker” was short he camped by the river and fished. He was a good fisherman, and generally managed to catch a couple of Murray cod. He cooked and ate what he wanted for himself, and any surplus was taken to the nearest house, where he was certain to exchange it for a lump of corned beef and some flour and tea. As I was talking to this “charac-

ter” another swagman passed by carrying a roughly-rolled swag on his back and a leather suitcase in his hand.

“He’s an amateur!” the sundowner remarked, disparagingly. “He's the type of bloke that has spoilt our business.”

I wondered just what sort of “business” he meant, but he soon explain-1 eu that his business was living well | without working! , . ! “Real sundowners are getting | mighty rare nowadays, mate,” he ■ concluded. “Murrumbidgee whamrs are getting as extinct as the koalas,l and the man who can roll a swag i correctly is just as rare.” S'o, after he had borrowed my I tobacco and filled his matchbox from mine; he lifted his s\* 7 ag on Ins shoulder again and made towards the sunset, 1