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 township. This mode of carrying an injured miner was in vogue until 20 years ago, when Billy Tottenham arranged a mode of conveying the injured in his express. At the present time that sort of conveying is done by the motor-car, but there are no miners at present on the Flat to get a broken leg.

In the year 1891 a brass hand was formed at Addisons. Tom McNeight, Jnr., was conductor, and about a dozen players with brass instruments constituted a very creditable country band.

Like other cities some of the names of the residents by their actions and words will trace down through history and one character I must at this stage tell you of, and that is the son of a very large Irish estate holder, by the name of Jerry Buckley who was the principal bread baker at Addison’s. It didn’t matter what anybody said or did. Jerry always knew someone that did better and it didn’t matter how big the lie he told he could never be bowled out, and I believe that if Webster when compiling a dictionary if stuck for a new word he could always get it from Buckley. On one occasion a horse belonging to Tom McNeight fell down a shaft, which contained water at the bottom. It was an impossible act to try and raise the horse with a block and tackle. Several of the miners held a consultation at the mouth of the shaft to try and find a scheme to get the horse up, and finally an Irishman by the name of Paddy Kelly struck the idea. “Be jay,” said he, “there is a race of water passing close to the shaft,” and so he cut a ditch from the race into the shaft, and as the shaft filled with water the horse naturally lifted and floated out safely. As the horse stepped out, Jack Foley turned to Buckley, the village baker, and asked him what he thought of that. “Oh indeed,” said Jerry, “there is nothing in that, it is purely and simply a case of hydro-Kelly-tricity.” I would like to tell many of the humorous storysstories [sic] told by Buckley, and the noble deeds done by him, but space will not allow, many of them at present, but in the evenings, there always sat a number of the old miners on the forms under McEnroe’s verandah. One evening Jerry Buckley walked across and met Phil McEnroe at the bar door and started to tell Phil of his trip that day down to Mace and Bassett’s claim below The Venture claim, and said Jerry, “When I got down the creek near the claim I saw a new fluming going across the creek and it was 30ft high.” “Tut, tut,” said Phil it is 40ft high.” “Well,” said Jerry, “if I wasn’t mistaken, it was 50ft high.” “Mick Teddy told me,” said Phil, “that the fluming is 60ft high.” “When I got under it and looked up” said Buckley, “I said to myself, you are 70ft in height.” “Look here,” said Phil. “Billy Galvin knows what he is talking about, and he said, here in the bar, the other day that that new piece of fluming is 80ft high.” “I wouldn’t doubt,” said Jerry, “that it is 90ft high if it is an inch.” “Let me tell you,” said Phil, that “Mr Julis Schaddock, who surveyed the structure told me that the correct height of the fluming above the the creek is 100ft.” “Indeed,” said Buckley, “it is, and more.”

Its strange how this scenic landscape of a mountain stream got its