The Pig and Whistle

From a couple of watercolours and acrylic, I painted some time ago.

  


The Pig and Whistle



The Cockabully Hunters

A small excerpt from the original story.

This old place revives a few memories of my childhood, playing in the little spring fed creek that ran through the property, only a couple of meters from the back door.  That was where I caught my first Cockabully, reputed to be the biggest and the best in the whole district. 

When I was about four or five years old, my dad used to tell me the best way to catch a Cockabully, was to tie a bent pin to a bit of cotton, with some meat attached.  Of course, I know now that was a load of old codswallop, but back then I could not understand why those little blighters would not take my hook.  They nibbled at the meat and I am quite certain, they swam away laughing at me.

If my memory serves me right, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, it was Jim Major and his wife who used to live there at that time.  The pub had ceased to trade, becoming a residence when a new hotel was erected in the late 1800’s on the main traffic route, more than two hundred meters’ away.

Jim had a few cows and a couple of horses; I can vaguely remember him traipsing around the Albury Village in his spring cart, delivering milk from a large milk-can to his customers.  For tuppence, or maybe it was thrupence, my mother received one quart of fresh milk, none of that watered down brew we get these days.  Jim was the only source of fresh milk around the village in those days; he sold it to the village folk by the dipper, tipped into his customer’s tin billy.  A dipper if I recall was a pint or close to a litre in today’s measurement.

Hey,…… Did you know milk is the fastest thing in the world? 

You didn’t know that did you? 

Yeah, it’s pasteurized (past your eyes), before you see it! 

Oh, Well, ....I see that one went down a bit curdled, sorry I wasted your time, so I’ll just continue with my story!

As far as I recall, Jim used to work around the district for various farmers, helping with the harvest or at shearing time, you name it, Jim did it.  After Mrs Major died, Jim must have sold the old pub, or the ‘Pig n Whistle’ as it became affectionately known, for I do recall him living in an old stinky, close to the railway stockyards with Jimmy Kidd and an old chap by the name of Powell, they each had a small hut of sorts there.  I think they all eventually died there.

I am pretty sure it was Ian Simpson and his family who moved in after that, I stand to be corrected here.  After Ian’s wife died he lived there until he succumbed to old age and moved to a home for the elderly, and that’s not too many years ago.  Ian spent a big part of his life driving for Rollinson’s Motors, an Albury Carrying Company.

There was a delightful story about Jimmy Kidd; he used to run a couple of old horses down the riverbed.  When Jimmy was down on his luck he would wander over to the Albury Hotel on the Main Road and slide into the bar when it was quite busy, that would usually be an early evening of a Friday or a Saturday.  There he would set about offering to raffle off one of his old nags.  Of course, most of the regulars were aware of what was going on and played along with the crippled old man.  Punters would select a number Jimmy had written on a scrap of dirty paper.  Collecting his money, usually about sixpence or a bob each ticket, with his pockets jingling he would announce he was off down to his hut to draw out the winner.  Half an hour later on his return, he would glance around the bar and announce to all.

“Well,   Well.  What do you know fella’s, I won the bloody thing meself.”!