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| Keep
Ya Powder Dry |
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| Alan
Crichton |
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| Alan
Crichton likes to write, just take a look at our Feedback section.
And seeing Alan's got so much to say IronOutlaw.com
decided to give him his own section. While I'm sure
he'll continue to fill up our feedback pages he's now
got somewhere else to bluff and bluster, namely here
at 'Keep Ya Powder Dry'. |
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Home
On The Range
I must apologise for my uncharacteristic silence over the last few weeks for
which I have been subtly reminded of by a one Mr. P. O’Keefe, but since
my recent arrival in the beautiful state of Victoria, and to my modest country
retreat in Tallangatta, I have been busy preparing mind and body to slip inconspicuously
into the Victorian way of life. Not wanting to look like a banana bending alien
on my first day, I downed a carton of Victorian Bitter, slipped into a pair of
undersized shorts and singlet, and with toy size rugby ball in hand, proceeded
to punch it into the air as I skipped and pranced around the back yard like a
man possessed. Within minutes I soon realised why everything needed to be undersized
in this most southerly state; the extreme low temperature would simply not allow
anything to remain at its normal size including more specifically, most parts
of the human anatomy. I had already spooked the milking cows in the back paddock
into a frenzied stampede, and with the heckling and obscenities from my unacquainted
neighbours, I thought it wise to retreat most hastily to the security and anonymity
of my humble but warm dwelling.
The following morning I arose early. I was feeling rather excited and anxious
at the prospect of attending my very first horse riding lesson at Mrs. Grubwinkler’s
Flashy But Cheap Riding Academy for Queensland Beginners. Before leaving my front
door, I peered cautiously out of the window to make sure the area surrounding
my house was free of any inquisitive and hostile neighbours. Satisfied that the
coast was clear, I made for the car and was soon accelerating my way to Mrs.
Grubwinkler’s. |
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On
arriving I was somewhat surprised at the condition
of the premises. It was certainly nothing like the
photo in the brochure I had seen in Queensland. After
introducing myself to Mrs. Grubwinkler, she disappeared
for a brief moment behind the stable and returned with
an animal that on first sight quite took me by surprise.
The horse looked to be older than myself, with a back
that seemed to have sunken quite substantially almost
to a mind boggling degree. I guessed that its condition
was due to just plain old wear and tear. The old lady
led the grey and chestnut mare down to where I was
waiting and proceeded to explain the controls that
I would need to operate this four legged vehicle. After
a good ten minutes of intense instruction I was now
ready to mount. Now, mounting was something I thought
would be rather difficult for me considering my arthritis,
but with the aid of a simple Besser block I found this
exercise to be quite easy.
As I slid into the saddle, a feeling of euphoria suddenly took hold of me. With
the breeze flicking at my horses mane and the scent of the Victorian bush in
my nostrils, I was now riding alongside Ned and the boys. Oh what times we could
have had ‘cross hill and valley. ‘This country belongs to us’,
I shouted with excitement. With a slap on my steed’s backside from Mrs.
Grubwinkler we moved steadily foreword. After circling her clothes line for several
minutes, I felt totally at home in the saddle, almost might I say; born to it.
My half hour lesson came to an end far too quickly. During my brief stay in the
saddle, I had become quite attached to my mount and told Mrs. Grubwinkler so.
Also to my delight and good fortune I was informed that my horse was also available
to purchase for a mere pittance of $300. I immediately handed over the money
to the old lady before she decided to change her mind. After I had run my eyes
over my mares chestnut and grey frame, it came to me; I shall name my horse-
MIRTHIC in honour of Ned and Joe. |
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My
trusty mount was delivered the following morning and
housed in the paddock at the back of my house. I had
gotten permission from the farmer whose cows I had
spooked only two days before, with a promise that I
will never prance around wearing those ridiculous shorts
and singlet ever again. It seemed my carrying on had
also stopped his cows from giving milk for two days.
With Mirthic safely in the paddock, and the spirit
of adventure pumping through my Victorian veins, I
could only guess where the ‘morrow would lead
us.
To celebrate my new ownership of a fine animal, I thought I would pay a visit
to the Victorian Hotel in my home town of Tallangatta and get to know some of
the old patrons. We drank well into the evening and it wasn’t until the
grog had loosened their tongues that I found myself in the midst of blood relatives
of the Kelly’s, Byrnes, Harts, Lloyds and every other family who was ever
involved in the Kelly Outbreak. The only problem was, that when I awoke the following
morning, I could barely remember how to get to my kitchen, let alone remember
the priceless information I had pried from the mouths of all those inebriated
relatives of the Kelly Gang.
I was trying to pick up pieces of the night before when a knock came to the door.
It was a member of the local C.F.A collecting donations. In conversation I asked
if there were any festivities that might be happening around the district in
the near future. I was told that an event was to be held in Beechworth this very
weekend called the Golden Horseshoe Festival. I thought to myself; If it was
half as good as the Ned Kelly Weekend it would have to be a cracker. Thinking
that the Golden Horseshoe was some sort of rodeo, I immediately made plans to
participate and ride my fiery mare Mirthic to the event. |
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the Saturday morning I threw on the saddle that I had
purchased from Mrs Grubwinkler for a sum higher than
I had paid for my fine mare. With a few words of encouragement
in Mirthic’s ear, I mounted, turned her blazed
face to the west, and thundered off in the direction
of Beechworth. I had been riding furiously for a good
half hour when to my surprise a Victorian trap suddenly
appeared from behind a tree. He had what looked to
me to be a speed camera in his right hand. Not to take
any unnecessary chances, I put a wide smile on my face
and pulled to a halt. ‘Good morning my good fellow,
I shouted. Can I be of any assistance?’ My friendly
smile had not eased the tense expression on the trap’s
face by any degree. ‘What the hell are you doing
riding that old nag down the Murray Valley Highway?
he shouted back. Where the hell do you think you are,
Queensland?’ ‘How on earth did he know
I used to be a Queenslander?’ I thought. ‘My
good fellow, I replied abruptly, if you must know,
my horse and I are heading to Beechworth for the Golden
Horseshoe Rodeo. I’ve been riding heavily for
a good half hour and should be within a mile of my
destination. If I have broken the speed limit I will
readily accept the fine and be on my way.’ |
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The
trap’s expression suddenly took on a marked
improvement as he ordered me to dismount. He then proceeded
to explain the reason for interrupting my journey.
Unlike a motor vehicle you are not allowed to ride
your horse close to the left hand side of the centre
white line for understandable reasons. He then went
on to explain that he was the Sergeant from the Tallangatta
police station and that I was nowhere near Beechworth
but only five hundred yards from my house. I was amazed
I had travelled such a short distance in all that time,
but soon realized that the head wind on my mare’s
mane was to blame and had made it seem we were travelling
a lot faster than we actually were. I was ordered to
walk Mirthic back home and to find another means of
transport if I was to continue my journey to Beechworth.
What made it all the more disheartening was the sight
of my wife waiting at the letterbox for my quick and
imminent return. With Mirthic back in the paddock and
no longer illusions of riding like Ned and the boys,
I slumped in the passenger seat of the Camry as my
wife gave a smile and enthusiastic wave as she slowly
drove past the trap still hiding behind the tree and
still only five hundred yards from my home. I was to
later find that The Golden Horseshoe Festival had nothing
to do with rodeos, but about a bloke by the name of
Daniel Cameron who rode a horse shod with golden horseshoes
around the streets of Beechworth in 1855. All I can
say is... Half his bloody luck!
Link:
Alan Crichton web site Ned Kelly Tales |
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BEECHWORTH
NED KELLY WEEKEND 2012 |
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KELLY'S DEFENCE BY A LADY |
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BEECHWORTH
NED KELLY WEEKEND 2011 |
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A LETTER TO THOMAS |
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JOHN KELLY REAL ESTATE |
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THE FITZPATRICK CONSPIRACY |
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BEECHWORTH
NED KELLY WEEKEND 2010 |
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A NIGHTMARE ON SIEGE STREET |
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A
PRODUCT OF THEIR TIME? |
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BEECHWORTH
NED KELLY WEEKEND 2009 |
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GLENROWAN
DINNER SIEGED ONCE MORE |
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MY
VISIT TO THE ASYLUM |
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HOME
ON THE RANGE |
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KELLY
COUNTRY HERE I COME! |
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CHRISTMAS
FROM THE DUNGEON |
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A
HERITAGE DISGRACE |
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SIEGE
SITE SIEGED ONCE AGAIN |
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BETTER
READ THAN DEAD. WHAT A LOAD OF CRAP! |
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SELL-MORE
DEVELOPMENT |
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BONES,
BOOTS AND BULLDUST |
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BEECHWORTH
NED KELLY WEEKEND 2008 |
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MY
STAY AT THE GLENROWAN INN |
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NED'S
HEAD READ |
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NED
KELLY'S LOST BIRTHDAY |
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WHY
DIG UP THE PAST? |
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| TEACHING
HISTORY |
While not everyone wants to read about Ned Kelly or the ANZACs or
even The Great Depression, we hope they
want to learn something about
Australian History. From the ex-Prime Minister
John Howard to a confused ex-NSW Education Minister Carmel Tebbutt
(see the 'ex' pattern here?) a number of politicians have jumped on the teaching history bandwagon. But at what
cost? From right wingers
to a multitude of meddling State Governments, it seems
everyone has an agenda. We'd like to let the readers decide
what is worth learning. Here at IronOutlaw.com we
present the facts, the fiction and everything in between. It
all adds to the experience and hopefully makes history an exciting
place to be while also proving it doesn't always have to be written by the victors.
[site map]
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| GO SHOPPING |
If you're looking for that perfect gift then head over to our shop where we have just landed Noelene Allen's new 248 page hardcover limited edition book Ellen: a woman of spirit for $34.95 plus postage ($8.95 Australia or $19.95 worldwide). All books are signed by the author and come with a bonus Ellen bookmark. Of course all the money we raise goes back in to building the world's greatest Ned Kelly web site.
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| FREE DOWNLOADS |
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Ellen: a woman of spirit
Chapters 1, 2 and 3
Australian Son
Chapters 1 and 2
Kelly Gang Round-Up
Bracken
Chapter
Ned: the
Exhibition
Chapters 1,
2 and 3 |
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