The bloke who delivered the mail to the 15 families along the Birdsville Track during the 1940’s and 50’s in a beaten up old Leyland Badger truck has been immortalised in a bronze bust that was unveiled on Sunday 16 November at Waterloo, Tom’s birthplace in the mid north of South Australia. And the old bloke was there to witness the moment.

Tom, now 94, is a tough, dogged giant of a man who delivered the mails, supplies and good cheer along Australia’s most remote mail run. He’s the only bloke we know who could lift a full 44 gallon drum onto the back of a truck.

“I have trouble lifting a schooner of beer now,” quipped Tom.

In 1954 the Shell Film Unit made a documentary about Tom and his mail run. “The Back of Beyond” won numerous cinema awards. Tom was awarded an MBE for his services to the outback.

In 1999 Tom reappeared in a sequel that showed him restoring his old mail truck and making one last run down the Birdsville Track carrying 7000 letters. “Last Mail from Birdsville. The Story of Tom Kruse” screened on TV and the DVD has gone on to become one of the Royal Flying Doctors’ big fundraisers
Last Sunday 300 of his admirers gathered to honour Tom’s exploits outside the house in which he was born in Waterloo.
“I can’t understand all the fuss,” Tom said as he unveiled the bronze bust. “I was just doing my job.”
The bust is the last of four to be unveiled. The others are at Marree, the southern end of the Birdsville Track, Birdsville at the northern end. Another stands near his restored mail truck at the National Motor Museum in Birdwood, South Australia.

For years there had been whispers of a wild man living in caves high in the hills. A century later the secrets are revealed.

Discovered at last; the Wild Man caves.

From any high spot along the ramparts of the Grampians in the Western District of Victoria you can look west to another range, distant against the horizon - the Black Range, about 30km away.
Few venture into these hills, they lie in the shadow of the Grampians’ popularity. No plunging waterfalls here, no Wonderland walking tracks, instead there are legends and whisperings about caves and a wild man. Locals from Horsham in the north to Hamilton in the south can give you a few snippets. They’ve heard of the Wild Man Caves but never been there. A bloke hid out from the police for 20 years, they’ll say. No one is quite sure where or when or why. The Black Range hides its secrets well.
And that’s almost certainly the way David Ross liked it. From what we know, Ross was a shearer and apart from the Spring shearing season he lived a lonely life in caves high in the Black Range in the late 1860s. It seems he liked the alternative lifestyle as it was in the then. His particular - some would say romantic - life was the stuff of which novels are written and movies are made. But was David Ross a latter day cave man here in Victoria? We decided to track down the Wild Man Caves and the story of the Wild Man himself.
There are no sign posts to the Wild Man Caves in the Black Range. Forestry Officer Roger Edwards from nearby Cavendish told us that David Ross did indeed live the cave life for around 20 years.
“He lived in two caves and he actually made a few improvements to make them livable - a bed, chairs and things, but access is not easy,” he warned. “The site is quite fragile and the track is very steep in parts with some climbing over boulders needed.”
We left the main road from Horsham and headed south. At the road junction opposite the delightful Cherrypool picnic ground we turned right toward the Black Range. This gravel road skirts the northern arm of Rocklands Reservoir. We threaded our way through giant old gums on bush tracks that led to the base of the range. A gate here blocks entry to all but park management vehicles to the Black Range State Park. The walking track begins as a narrow pad through heathy fringe myrtle flowers. An occasional blue tinsel lily glitters in the grass. Then, quite abruptly you’re clambering upward, scrambling over rock, squeezing through narrow rocky chutes, up and around the side of a 400m towering rocky buttress. And near the top, hidden to one side, we found the first of the two known Wild Man’s caves.
Remarkably, after 140 years, Ross’ caves remain mostly intact, due no doubt, to their inaccessibility. Few, it would appear, have found their way up to this eyrie. It’s possible that he lived here from around 1860 to 1880 - no one is quite sure. His “improvements” are still evident, a neatly built stone wall covers in the natural cave opening. A tiny entrance to one side is the only access. An open slit across the top allows a view of the approaches. Roger Edwards said that the beds and chairs Ross used to furnish these caves are now thought to be preserved at a nearby homestead. The rock walls inside form ledges that make reasonably comfortable seating. There’s evidence of small fireplaces too.
“Smoke never built up inside,” he said. “Somehow Ross designed it so that natural drafts drew the smoke out.”
The second cave is located a further 300m around on the eastern side of the buttress. It’s sited in the wall of a huge, naturally hewn cavern. The beauty of colour and texture in the eroding sandstone create a kind of art gallery. Look up and high on the walls are remnants of Koori art. The acoustics, you discover as you pause here, might have been designed by some audio genius. The views from here are sensational and that, to Ross, was the whole point. Views were important to him. From here he would have had a vast panorama to the south east across the huge Glenisla Station where Samuel Carter had his sheep run. Wild Man Ross must have been able to spy anyone approaching.
In 1875 a fence worker, employed by Carter, discovered the haunts of a wild man. Carter and his men searched the mountains and found a cave blocked by a large boulder. Inside they discovered dried mutton, sheep skins and tins of black sand suggesting that the occupant was into gold prospecting.
Fearing that the dried mutton may have come illegally from his flock, Carter had the police conduct a search. When the police discovered Ross in his cave they pretended to have been lost, hoping to lure him from the cave as a rifle had been seen. Wild Man Ross made a dash for freedom but was arrested and taken to nearby Balmoral, charged with having stolen mutton. It seems that, in their zeal at having a cave man in their lock-up, a further charge of having no visible means of support was added to the accusations.
Locals scoffed at the tale but the “Hamilton Spectator” (9 February 1876) made a meal of the Wild Man story describing the arrest as “sensational”.
“It was nevertheless strictly true…David Ross was brought before the police bench at Balmoral on the 2nd inst. when he was accused of having no lawful visible means of support. The “hermit” who, it will be remembered, was found living in a cave in a remote part of Mr Samuel Carter’s run where he was suspected of evading justice or qualifying himself for canonisation,” the “Spectator” trumpeted.
Ross was able to prove that he had recently earned money and the vagrancy case was dismissed. As for the stolen mutton, Ross was found guilty but a witness, the Balmoral storekeeper Mr Basil Lyon, testified that he had cashed cheques for the accused and he spoke up for the Wild Man, according to the press report.
“He believed (Ross) to be honest, but appearances were against him. Strange to say, he experienced no difficulty in paying the fine,” the paper said. Ross was sentenced to three months’ hard labour or 15 pounds fine.
Ross was then 56 years old, his only possession at the time was a knife, according to police. Sitting on the boulders above his caves today you can speculate that this Scottish labourer just wanted to drop out of the 1860’s rat race and lead a simple life with marvellous views. Here you can gaze down on redgum forests and the Grampians’ Victoria Range beyond. It’s a view that has not changed much since 1875 - certainly the peace remains.
We had uncovered the mystery of the Wild Man and his caves and then, as clouds darkened, it began to rain. Would we seek refuge in Ross’ former home? It was late and modern comforts beckoned from below so we retreated down the water-slicked rocks to the car as the mists closed about this little known scrap of Victorian history.
But for his taste for a bit of illegal mutton we may never have known his story and the Black Range would have concealed the Wild Man’s story forever.

This is the story of a navigator who flew with 30 Squadron RAAF as a Navigator Air Gunner.

Both Australian and British built aircraft served with 30 Squadron in the South West Pacific theatre of war.

This account covers part of the Battle of Bismark Sea where an invasion force some 6,800 Japanese was reduced to just 600 survivors in a battle known as a turning point in the Pacific War.

Battle of Bismark Sea

I suppose if you’re talking about my time in 30 squadron, probably the most significant thing we ever did, which we believe and so did McArthur. It was a turning point in the war was the battle of the Bismarck Sea, when 12 Beaufighters took the brunt of attacking those 18 altogether, there were 12 transports and 6 destroyers and only two destroyers came out of it, but of course we had Liberators and Fortresses upstairs dropping bombs while we’re strafing, it was a bit dicey I tell you, you’d be strafing a transport or even a destroyer and a big shoot would go beside you and a bomb would be dropped by a Liberator.  The B25’s had also learnt the art of skip bombing and they followed us behind us and dropped skip bombs and on one particular run we were making, I looked over the starboard side and believe it or not, at the same height as us and traveling at the same speed as us was a 500 pound bomb heading for the same target.  Things like that you never forget. 

Dicing with Zeros

We could get away from the Zeros providing we could get away towards the sea.  The top speed of a Beaufighter was about 330 miles an hour, which was about the top speed of a Zero down there, but once we got in the air we were very vulnerable. The higher we went the less manoeuvrable and less power we had.  Our maximum boost was at sea level and that’s the way we were rated, but when we did get jumped by Zeros they could normally only get one pass maybe two at the most because if they come from diving down and you’re going…they would only get one dive at you, up the other side and another dive, by that time we’ve gone further. I’ve seen Zeros formating on us about 50 yards on either side just looking at us, they can’t go any faster, we can’t go any faster and if they turn towards you they can’t get a shot in.

I can remember one time when we were coming back from Rabaul, which was probably one of the most heavily defended aerodromes in the Southwest Pacific, because it was the headquarters for the Japanese, it was of course the destination of those ships that we got rid of in the Bismarck Sea battle and that’s when we got jumped. 

In the Beaufighter you had a steel door between you and the pilot, some people used to close them, but we never did, because we liked to see each other and anyhow, there’s these two Zeros zooming up around  the back of us and I said: “For Pete’s sake get this bloody thing going!” and he said: “What do you think I’m trying to do?” And he had his foot up, the throttle’s on the left and he had his foot up like this and he said: “I’m bending the bloody throttle, I can’t go any faster” Of course there was no armour at the back, but I used to carry a bag full of coloured paper, lolly paper, magazines, I’d rip them up and I’d throw them down the chute for the flares, as it might take their attention away from us, or I used to put the red cover on the Aldis lamp and I’d flick it at them.  Whether it had any effect I don’t know, but it gave me something to do as a navigator sitting up there in the middle of the fuselage. You know you’re like a shooting gallery, you thought you were for show, and we did get shot at quite a lot and later on we carried two 500 pound bombs, one on each wing, we used to drop those, but mainly four canons and 6 machine guns which was a hell of a lot of bloody fire power and when you’d shot up a barge or lugger it would just disintegrate. 

You know there were some great times in Beaufighters and some tragic times.  The first bloke I ever flew with got killed on his first operation and took my course mate with him.  Life is luck, absolute luck.  As a navigator I was asked to fly with a fellah because his own navigator was ill, but we always carried a spare one or somebody… when this other bloke said he’d fly, they didn’t come back, so its just luck. 

Verna Joyce was a weapon. She was a Bristol Beaufort, but Australian from end to end, built by Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation at Fishermens Bend in Melbourne in 1942.

The Beaufort brought the Australian manufacturing industry together as it had never worked before. Just over 700 Beauforts rolled off the production lines in Melbourne and Sydney. She was designed in the 1930s as a torpedo bomber, the latest word in modernity and speed, but by 1942 the design was looking distinctly vulnerable. 

It was common practice to name your personal aircraft, and this one was named after the young wife of one of the Pilot Officers. Once she roamed the skies over New Guinea, based on Goodenough Island, serving with 6 Squadron RAAF. She belonged to, or was flown by a chap named Jack Russell who took her into battle against the Japanese. 

I visited Jack in 2007 to hear his recollections of those days, to see his logbook and record his photograph album. My dad had also served in 6 Squadron during the war as an air gunner and I had taken his logbook with me to show Jack. He reverentially went through dad’s book, pausing to make the occasional comment of recognition as he scanned the individual aircraft numbers and pilots.”

Knew him. Good pair of hands.” “Ah, that aircraft was from ‘B’ flight.” Suddenly he did a double take. “Hey - that’s my signature!” Jack had signed my dad’s logbook as commanding officer for the flight. It had made his day, and he realised the last time he had held it was more than 60 years ago. He became even more interested then, poring over the trips dad had done, describing the locations in vivid colours and terms, far more detail than my dad had ever mentioned; it was a sort of epiphany for both of us. You could see the memories flooding back. “I remember dad talking about the native belles” I commented. Jack opened a page in his photo album.”Thats what called them alright and I have some pictures of them here.”

A little later Jack’s wife, a friendly little old lady brought us in a cuppa. Her name?Verna Joyce. As I was leaving Jack commented: “You know, I don’t often have days as good as this.”

Back in 1933 Rod Lingard lived on the banks of the Howqua River in North East Victoria. He was six months old when Thomas Barnett, a bullocky regular to the riverside Carriers Arms Hotel, would bounce young Rod on his knee. This is Rod’s story.

Thomas Barnett ,104yrs. & me, 6 mths. in Jan1933.

Tom Barnett used to say that he was born in Braidwood, NSW about 1828. His parents must have been true pioneers because that town was not formally laid out until 1839. How he got from Braidwood to Howqua in NE Victoria is not known but would be interesting. What we do know is that he became a driver of bullock wagons on the ‘run’ from Melbourne to Jamieson. Reportedly, the round trip took about two weeks if he did not encounter too many problems on the way. Apparently he used to stop over at the Carriers Arms Hotel at Howqua to wash away some of the dust of the long journey. The hotel had been built in the mid 1870’s by Thomas and Bridget Hennessey. For a period it served as a changing station for coaches on the way to Jamieson and Woods Point. The stables had feeding stalls for 4 horses.
After only a few years, Thomas Hennessey died at the very early age of 29 years. Whether it was illness or accident we do not know. Bridget ran the hotel herself for three years but it must have been a huge task – and perhaps she did not care for the single life ! In 1889 she married Thomas Barnett who was about 60 at that time and she was less than 35. Bullock drivers were strong and resourceful men !

The old bridge over the Howqua River was known as Barnett’s Bridge.
Our Tom and Bridget ran the hotel until 1929 when they surrendered the licence. By then they were both becoming rather frail so they advertised for a live-in housekeeper to take care of them. This is where I come into the story.
My grandfather, John Henry Attwater was a miner in Bendigo. Like most miners he was afflicted with lung trouble arising from the dust in the mines. This contributed to his death in 1915 during the great ‘flu epidemic. My grandmother was left with four daughters and one son still at home. She moved to humble accommodation in Yarraville until the four girls were all married off – my mother being the last in Nov.1927. Grandma saw the Barnett’s advertisement and took the job. She got free board and lodgings but no salary. The deal was that she would get the property when the Barnetts died. Bridget died quite soon after grandma took the job, but old Tom lasted until Dec 1934 by which time he was said to be about 105 yrs.My youngest aunt died in hospital during a simple appendix operation in Aug 1929, leaving a 3 year old son. It was decided that he would go to Howqua and be cared for by our grandmother. In 1935 my parents were both struggling with a small tailoring business and it was decided that I should also go to Howqua to live with my grandmother and cousin. I stayed there until 1944. My grandmother stayed there until 1951 when the rising waters of the new Eildon Reservoir forced her off the property.

See also”The Carriers Arms Hotel at Howqua”. Thomas Barnett is in the middle of the group of adults at the front of the hotel in the photo with the motor bike.