stockmen, drovers, yard builders and carpenters, ablacksmith, a storekeeper, a married couple as cook and handyman, and of course old Mr Healy, the tutor.
As 7 PD cattle and horses were now constantly on the road to market while new breeding stock was being brought in to build up the Thylungra herd, it was seldom that all these men were in at the station at the same time. Patsy always tried, however, to have the crowd home for Christmas and his own birthday, which he celebrated on St Patrickâs Day, the 17th of March. He would organize the yearâs programme months ahead so no one need miss either these events or the yearly race meeting, but this was by no means an end of it. Whenever there were a few men at the homestead overnight there would be racing, jumping, stunts and practical jokes. When everyone was exhausted by these events, Patsy would start up on his fiddle and Stumpy Michaelâs musical young wife on the piano they had brought from Goulburn. Then there would be dancing, singing and merry-making until all hours of the night.
Sometimes the boys would complain: âIt would be all very well if the boss didnât expect us to be up before the sun.â
But Patsy himself was always first on the move, and briskly clanging the station bell. He never seemed to be tired or dispirited and his cheerfulness and the kindly interest he took in his employees endeared him to them all. Everyone ate at the same big table on the verandah and now that the good times had come they ate well. There were few bought luxuries, for transport was still a problem, but Mrs Patsy was expert at making cheeses, pickles, preserves, sausages andspiced meats, just as she made all the soap and candles used on the station.
Bush towns had now begun to appear and Patsy no longer had to ride so far to register land or post letters. He began to invest money in butcherâs shops, houses and bush hotels. He had also become known as a breeder of fine horses and stud cattle, so that dealers as famous as Sidney Kidman and James Tyson would come to Thylungra to purchase his stock.
The horseman-poet Will Ogilvie tells how the finest horse he ever rode was one that bore Patsyâs 7 PD brand. This animal had been stolen from Thylungra and was later bought from a pound by Ogilvie who dedicated a book of verse to its memory:
Â
âTo all grey horses fill up again
For the sake of a grey horse dear to me. . . .â
Â
In this volume we find a poem to âLoyal Heartâ, which runs:
Â
âIn journeys far extending,
When courage played its part,
And sunset saw the ending
And dawn had seen the start,
No horse the bushmen bridled could live with Loyal Heart.
Â
And so that each beholder
His worth might understand
He carried on his shoulder
The famous P.D. brand
That tells us how they breed them out there in cattle-land. . . .
Â
I loved that grey horse madly,
He was my boast and pride,
And Ah! but I walked sadly
The day that Loyal died;
And when he lived no longer I cared no more to ride.â
Â
In 1874 Father Dunham, parish priest of the little town of Roma, hearing that many of his flock were now living around the Cooper, decided to pay them a visit. This was an unforgettable occasion for the far western settlers, who all rolled up at Thylungra in their Sunday best to greet him and invite him to their different stations. Among the many children to be christened was Patsyâs third son, Pat, then about five years ago, who in later years recalled the incident clearly. He remembered being brought before the awesome stranger, who stood in priestly robes beside an improvised font, surrounded by an unusually hushed gathering of relatives and friends. This was all too much for the little bush boy who, fearing some terrible fate was about to befall him, made a sudden break for freedom and rushed for protection to the native camp. Pumpkin pushed the terrified child into his hut and
As 7 PD cattle and horses were now constantly on the road to market while new breeding stock was being brought in to build up the Thylungra herd, it was seldom that all these men were in at the station at the same time. Patsy always tried, however, to have the crowd home for Christmas and his own birthday, which he celebrated on St Patrickâs Day, the 17th of March. He would organize the yearâs programme months ahead so no one need miss either these events or the yearly race meeting, but this was by no means an end of it. Whenever there were a few men at the homestead overnight there would be racing, jumping, stunts and practical jokes. When everyone was exhausted by these events, Patsy would start up on his fiddle and Stumpy Michaelâs musical young wife on the piano they had brought from Goulburn. Then there would be dancing, singing and merry-making until all hours of the night.
Sometimes the boys would complain: âIt would be all very well if the boss didnât expect us to be up before the sun.â
But Patsy himself was always first on the move, and briskly clanging the station bell. He never seemed to be tired or dispirited and his cheerfulness and the kindly interest he took in his employees endeared him to them all. Everyone ate at the same big table on the verandah and now that the good times had come they ate well. There were few bought luxuries, for transport was still a problem, but Mrs Patsy was expert at making cheeses, pickles, preserves, sausages andspiced meats, just as she made all the soap and candles used on the station.
Bush towns had now begun to appear and Patsy no longer had to ride so far to register land or post letters. He began to invest money in butcherâs shops, houses and bush hotels. He had also become known as a breeder of fine horses and stud cattle, so that dealers as famous as Sidney Kidman and James Tyson would come to Thylungra to purchase his stock.
The horseman-poet Will Ogilvie tells how the finest horse he ever rode was one that bore Patsyâs 7 PD brand. This animal had been stolen from Thylungra and was later bought from a pound by Ogilvie who dedicated a book of verse to its memory:
Â
âTo all grey horses fill up again
For the sake of a grey horse dear to me. . . .â
Â
In this volume we find a poem to âLoyal Heartâ, which runs:
Â
âIn journeys far extending,
When courage played its part,
And sunset saw the ending
And dawn had seen the start,
No horse the bushmen bridled could live with Loyal Heart.
Â
And so that each beholder
His worth might understand
He carried on his shoulder
The famous P.D. brand
That tells us how they breed them out there in cattle-land. . . .
Â
I loved that grey horse madly,
He was my boast and pride,
And Ah! but I walked sadly
The day that Loyal died;
And when he lived no longer I cared no more to ride.â
Â
In 1874 Father Dunham, parish priest of the little town of Roma, hearing that many of his flock were now living around the Cooper, decided to pay them a visit. This was an unforgettable occasion for the far western settlers, who all rolled up at Thylungra in their Sunday best to greet him and invite him to their different stations. Among the many children to be christened was Patsyâs third son, Pat, then about five years ago, who in later years recalled the incident clearly. He remembered being brought before the awesome stranger, who stood in priestly robes beside an improvised font, surrounded by an unusually hushed gathering of relatives and friends. This was all too much for the little bush boy who, fearing some terrible fate was about to befall him, made a sudden break for freedom and rushed for protection to the native camp. Pumpkin pushed the terrified child into his hut and
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