The old Aussie Drover and his new assistant. Wish I could turn the clock back and do it all over again. Dear old man always wore a tie...and a hat. He rode horses until he died when he was 88 yo.
Weren’t you the lucky one! I had to pretend I was riding horses. My sister and I had cap guns and we would of course shoot each other and invent all kinds of ways of falling down dead. I lived out in the country on an old old farm (no farming anymore, although my parents had a garden) and we played outside from dawn til dusk.
When we weren’t doing that, we were Indians, with mud paint, leaves for feathers, and made teepees out of branches and fires out of sticks (not real fires, we were too young) and ate berries.
Our Indians and cowboys never crossed paths...
Not long after that photograph was taken, I got my first paying job as an assistant drover...I cut the gun-holsters off the belt and wore the belt on its own. I earned a penny a mile per head. Fifty steers a mile was 50 pennies. Ten miles, 500 pennies. Divide that by 12. Lots of shillings, I was in clover, and in no time at all, was able to buy a new saddle.
Those were the days!
The old Aussie Drover and his new assistant. Wish I could turn the clock back and do it all over again. Dear old man always wore a tie...and a hat. He rode horses until he died when he was 88 yo.