Kranz David

**Fast Facts**
Type of person	Individual

David's experience of Scouting in Gawler.

Scouting in Gawler 1941–46

On becoming a Scout I set my heart on becoming a scout the day my big brother, Rod, gave me the Scout-‐belt that kept up his navy-‐blue serge pants when he was a scout some years before. I was eight at the time. I was a lanky kid, so two years later, in 1941, I ‘got in’ without being asked if I had yet turned eleven. I didn’t even have a twinge of guilt— in spite of a fairly robust Methodist upbringing— I was well aware of the ‘sins of omission’.

Scout meetings were held each Friday night in the Congregational Church hall. I had a great first night. It took a while to get the hang of things. You had to ‘freeze’ when the whistle blew. Then do as you were told. ‘Breaking’ the flag meant that it unfurled when someone from the ‘duty patrol’ pulled a rope, and everyone saluted, and repeated the ‘Scout Promise’ together. I was welcomed into the Curlew patrol. My Patrol Leader was Quentin Harris. He taught me how to salute and what it meant. The three fingers pointing upwards were for the three parts of the promise: Duty to God and the King; to help other people at all times; and to obey the scout law. The thumb, resting on the little finger made a circle that represented the worldwide brotherhood of scouts. It also meant that ‘the big one looks after the little one’. I also learned to shake hands with my left hand that night. I liked secret signs. I was impressed. I was a ‘gonner’. From Day one, I dreamed that one day I, too, would be a Patrol Leader, and look after little kids, and wear two white stripes on my left breast pocket, and impress some of the ‘sheilas’ in the Girl Guides.

I worked hard to get my ‘Tenderfoot’ Badge—learn to tie a few knots and know where to use them, know how to whip the end of a rope to stop it fraying, know the history and meaning of both the Union Jack and the Australian flag and be able to hoist and break them, something about kindling and axes, and learn the ‘Law’ and the ‘Promise’.

Learning the Scout Law was a lot easier than learning the Methodist Catechism—and made more sense! It was a lot longer than the current laws. I can still recite all ten, at 81. The jingle triggers the detail— ‘Trusty, loyal, helpful, brotherly courteous, kind, obedient, smiling, thrifty, pure in body and mind’.

I think I must have had my brother’s hat, neckerchief and woggle all freshened up for my investiture, but I had no shirt. This was a must, but they cost five bob. So, charged with desperate need, and without consultation with my parents, I sold my pushbike to someone or other for five shillings (50 cents). Cash in hand, I rushed down to Barkley’s Men’ Outfitters shop (on the corner of Jacob and Murray Streets). Mr Max Hill, our Scoutmaster, worked there, and had a big box of scout stuff. I got my shirt. It was the very best shade of khaki’. It had no collar. Such austerity helped the war effort. Anyway, you couldn’t tell with your neckerchief on. My parents were not too happy. I should have asked. That was the day I learnt that ‘a deal is a deal’. There was no question of reversing the deal. I just had to save up for another second-‐hand bike! Fair and simple.

I was invested on the Friday night of that week. Mum sewed my Tenderfoot badge on my left breast pocket before we went to bed that night. I slept in my shirt.

Over the next year or three, I earned quite a lot of badges to sew on that shirt—but more on that later.

Scouting, the War, and National Service

I remember the night (but not the date) when Scouter Max Hill announced that ‘Skipper’ R. C. Knaggs had been killed in action. He had served in the 7th Division, AIF. Dudley Adcock, (a former Assistant Scoutmaster then in the Royal Australian Navy) shared memories with those scouts who remembered their former Skipper. Something happened that night. The collective emotion was intense patriotism. Talk around our Motto—‘Be Prepared’ — somehow motivated us for ‘active service’.

Our service was employed in several ways. Firstly, scouts acted as couriers for the ‘VDC’, the Volunteer Defence Corps—our ‘Dads Army’. It was serious stuff. While the ‘troops’ mocked up all sorts of encounters—like trying to ‘blow up’, or defend, the railway bridge across the South Para River—we couriers would ‘stand by’ and practice First Aid, or learn to read ordinance maps, or practice signalling with Semaphore and or Morse flags or some such. The bridge would be a significant target for the ‘Japs’. Troop trains crossed it from time to time ferrying ‘Yanks’ to and from the Sandy Creek Camp. At home, I got to pull down, clean and oil my father’s 303 Army rifle. It was all ‘big time’!

A second service project was assisting in digging a series of zigzagged slit trenches at the Gawler Primary School (for sanctuary in case of Japanese air attack). These we located amongst the trees in ‘Parnell Square’ the rectangular block immediately behind the Catholic Church. I suspect that we scouts were not all that helpful—our patriotism was not matched by our stamina. I suspect that there was a fair sprinkling of real, (WWI) ‘Diggers’ amongst those whose sustained rhythmic ‘picking’ and subsequent ‘shovelling’ finished the project that, thankfully, was only ever used for rehearsals.

An ongoing project involved the collection of aluminium, copper, and brass for recycling into weaponry of one kind or another. My area was Gawler East. On the scheduled weekly night (I think mine was Thursday) I would race home from school, don my scout uniform, grab my sugar-‐bag, and peddle my ‘treadly’ as far up Lyndoch hill as was necessary for the downhill ride when my sugar bag was full.

Before detailing the collection process, I should inform curious readers how I managed to replace the bike that was sacrificed for my shirt. One of my income streams was from selling old newspapers to Creighton’s Fruit and Veg shop for a penny a pound—that converts to one cent per 453.59273 grams! That was too slow, so I offered to milk our neighbour’s cow each evening. Mr Bosisto thought that 2/6 (25 cents) per week was ‘fair’. So did I. It didn’t take long to save what seemed like a fortune. I had my heart set on a brand new green and black ‘Austral’ fixed-‐wheel bike that was in stock at the Eudunda Farmers Co-‐operative Store. Its price tag was £7/10/0 ($14.50). However, the immediacy of my need for ‘wheels’ prevailed, so I settled for a serviceable, second-‐hand, full sized bike with an Edie-‐coaster hub brake, and ‘thorn-‐proof’ tyres. The vendor was Mr Colin Bray, a neighbour and self-‐employed carpenter. I paid 27/6 ($2.75) for it. My dad said it was a bargain! He put a ‘carrier’ on the back to make my collections easier and safer.

This is how I filled my sugar bag. I explained to householders that I was authorised to offer them the opportunity to donate any aluminium, copper or brass to assist the war effort. I tried to stress the importance of it. (I never said ‘authorised’ to people I really knew). I was often surprised with what households gave—brass artillery cartridges that were souvenirs from WWI, copper kettles or jugs, ornate candlesticks, door-‐stops, saucepans of all sizes, and a variety of sundry items. Most people saw the point. Almost 3 everybody knew someone on active service abroad, or who were named as ‘killed’, ‘wounded’, or ‘missing’ in the dreaded list that appeared on the front page of the ‘Advertiser’ each day. When my bag was full, I would deliver its contents to the ‘bin’ in ‘Victory Square’ and peddle off to fill it again. This went on for about two hours each week. More about Victory Square later, but let me just say that scouts across Australia who did stuff like that I’ve described were awarded a ’National Service’ Badge. I value having won this award perhaps even more that the ‘King Scout’ Award that I earned later. The latter was for me. The former was for something that felt much nobler. The National Service Badge was blue and gold with N and S either side of the Crown. I am sad to have to lost it over the years. It was worn above the heart. It’s not clear in the only photo I have of myself as a Scout.

Victory Square

This ‘Square’ occupied the front half of block between Mr Horan’s ‘Prince Albert Hotel’ and ‘Teddy’ Graue’s Saddlery. It was backed by a fairly permanent ‘temporary’ stage, from which local talent gave ‘free’ performances on Friday nights— during which a collection was taken up to support the ‘Fighting Forces Comforts Fund’. These stopped when ‘9 o’clock closing (of shops) was discontinued as a defence precaution. Graue’s motor trimming services functioned normally at the rear of the block were not restricted in any way.

The ‘bin’ where we emptied the metal donations was a pine offcut clad structure, centred on the ‘front’ of Victory Square. It may have measured about three metres wide, by about two deep and two high. It may have served as a bar for cool drinks at the Friday concerts (the ‘6 o’clock closing’ law would have prohibited anything stronger).

Pot luck

At some time or other, I held the fanciful notion that holding a National Service Badge should be like some sort of ‘pass’ to allow access to the aerodrome and the Sandy Creek Military camp. I tried my luck a few times with occasional success. With hindsight, I figure it all depended a bit on the frame of mind, or the degree of boredom, of the particular sentry on the particular day. The Australian guards were more ‘generous’ at the Gawler aerodrome. Over a period I ‘got in’ to touch a Kittyhawk fighter and a Vultee Vengeance dive-‐bomber, and actually got right inside a USAF Liberator B–24 bomber.

I had less success at Sandy Creek. I never got past any sentry, but if I talked ‘scout stuff’ there was a fair chance of getting a chocolate bar or other ‘candy’. There was a lot of talk amongst the locals about how the ‘Yanks’ had stuff that the rest of us couldn’t get.

Administrative Changes

During the time that I was a scout, there was a change of Scout Leader and a shift in our meeting place. I do not know whether the two events were linked in some way or not. The dates elude me.

Change of leadership

Skipper Max Hill was forced to retire due to ill health. The Rev. B. S. Howland, Minister of the Gawler West Methodist Church led the Troop for the next year or two. He was a ventriloquist. I think his doll wore a sailor uniform. He was a gentle man who loved a joke. I well remember his encouragement to earn ‘proficiency badges’ in as many different fields as possible— so that we could ‘tackle anything’!

Change of meeting place

The new meeting place was at the then current Girl Guide Hall. As I recall, this was one of several storage spaces in premises, owned by Mr Hobart, on the northwest corner of the Reid and Tod Street intersection. It was accessed from Reid Street up a steep flight of six or seven wooden steps. The space below the hall was half above and half below ground level. The Guides made us ‘conditionally’ welcome. They retained first rights over what went where and when!

Memorable activities

The Glenalta Camp

My first camp was at Glenalta in the Adelaide Hills, in the spacious grounds of the home of the State Chief Commissioner, Sir Henry Rymill. All the heavy gear that we needed to pitch camp was stored in the on site, purpose built, pine log ‘Chalet’. All my personal gear was squashed into an old style army haversack—including a linen serviette that my mother insisted that I took. It stayed well and truly at the bottom of my pack. I dared not declare its existence. I learned quite a bit— what a ‘la-‐la’ was, how to dig one, and the protocols of its use. I learned how to identify a Bunya-‐bunya pine and a Manna Gum— and a good bit more— a further notch of self-‐sufficiency.

Hike to One Tree Hill

My first ‘weekend’ hike started at the Smithfield Railway station. The first leg headed for what was said to have been the One Tree Hill Hotel on Black Top Road. There didn’t seem to much to see of interest en route— just a few houses between the railway line and the stand-‐alone Smithfield Hotel on Main North Road, then open space on either side of the macadamised ‘Uley Road’ right up to the first bend. Then came a big surprise— through the fence, and down the slope into Smith Creek—and wow! We had stumbled upon the ruins of an old mill that must have been powered by the rusty, metal water-‐wheel that was still there. The sections of the race that remained made it clear that it was sourced from above the waterfall that tumbled into a deepish pool that was shaded by a large weeping willow. I still wonder what evidence may still be there.

My pack felt progressively heavier between the mill, the old hotel, the One Tree Hill Township, and our camping spot near the current intersection of the Gawler, Kersbrook and Humbug Scrub Roads. We set up camp, cooked, ate, yarned around the fire, slept, breakfasted, struck camp, and headed off for home.

As we hiked, we kept rhythm with repetitions of all sixteen verses of the song ‘There’s one more river to cross’ —passed the ‘Yatalunga’ homestead, and on to ‘the Black Tank’ where we left the road and headed north-‐easterly towards what was then called ‘the permanent camp-‐site’ on the South Para River—just upstream from its inflow from Yatta Creek, as I recall. It was a picturesque section of the river—good swimming, flat camping, and plenty of firewood. My brother told me that, before the war, the ‘Gawler Fishing Club’ had stocked that site with redfin. They were all gone when I tried later on!

Schlinke’s Gully

The Tanunda Creek flows down Schlinke’s gully, through the Bethany reserve, to join the North Para River at Tanunda. It was the site for numerous memorable camps. On my first visit, I was interested in remnants of a red galvanised iron structure that littered the area just downstream from the permanent waterfall that is about half a mile or so from the reserve. Later, I learned that, during the 30’s, the landowner had given permission for the Gawler Rover Crew to construct a small shed for storage of heavy camping gear. It is possible that the facility was shared with Rovers and or Scouts from Nuriootpa and Angaston.

Mt Crawford Camp

I think it was the September holidays of 1944, when we camped on Mr Rundle’s farm at Mount Crawford. None of our tents were fitted with a fly, and so, when heavy rain set in, they leaked sufficiently to make them virtually uninhabitable. Mr Rundle helped out by suggesting that we all take our gear and set up in his shearing shed. Until then, we had been unaware that there was an Italian Prisoner of War working on the farm. He wore an Australian soldiers’ uniform that was dyed a sort of bright red plum colour. We were a bit edgy. He was ‘the enemy’. We wanted both to avoid him and to talk to him. We took a chance and said G’day. He didn’t speak much English but we somehow managed to talk. His name was Pelenio Furlan. After a while, he noticed my ‘Bowie’ knife in its sheath. He wanted to see it. I think I started to sweat a bit, but figured there were enough scouts to “handle him’ if needs be— so I showed him. All he said was, ‘good knife’— ‘sharp’, and then he returned it— handle first.

It was different that night. I didn’t sleep much. There were lots of night noises that were unfamiliar. I figured that any one of them could have been ‘the enemy’ coming for my knife before escaping. I tried to sleep—wondering if it was ‘better’ to get knifed while you were asleep or awake! By dawn, nothing untoward had occurred.

That morning, Pelenio came for another chat. He showed us a black and white photo of his wife and small child. He missed them. He told us he was glad to be out of the war. He did not want to fight. He was forced into the army. He liked working for Mr Rundle.

We got to like him. We felt safe. We invited him to join the campfire at night. I did not want to think of him as my enemy. That experience gave germinal substance to the notion that love quenches fear. I wouldn’t have put it that way then.

Saturday afternoons, swimming-‐holes and badges

Saturday afternoons were frequently ‘booked’ for outdoor activities that were both fun and purposeful in terms of ‘badge-‐work’. The venues were mostly near a swimming hole on one of the rivers. ‘Rocky basin’ (where the best yabbies were), and ‘Wool-‐wash’, (with a nice high bank to dive from) were both on the North Para, and seemed best for a range of scouting activities. There were other swimming holes—perhaps long forgotten. The ‘Spud’ was very near the junction of the two ‘Para’ rivers. Its depth was primarily due to the fact that large volumes of river-‐gravel were hand shovelled onto horse-‐drawn drays for supply to concrete work. This was the area where scouts practiced with the aforementioned ‘Dad’s Army’. The ‘Brake’, was a few hundred yards upstream from the Dead Man’s Pass. It was host to lots of leeches. That's where I learnt how effectively a lighted match encouraged them to stop sucking. Other popular swimming spots were ‘Thompson’s’, near the current Caravan Park; and ‘Red-‐banks’, which was accessed through the gate that went up to Arthur Hewitt’s slaughterhouse. As an aside, it was Mr 6 Hewitt that taught me to monitor the ford at the north end of Murray Street in order to predict the ‘season break’. For many years, I observed that water suddenly appeared and flowed over that ford within a day or so of three weeks before the first significant rains came. Apparently, the springs upstream somehow ‘knew’ when to ‘open up’.

Some of the Saturday badge-‐work activities included: a mock up accidents to practice First Aid’; signalling, hilltop to hilltop, with either ‘Semaphore’ or ‘Morse’ flags; fire-‐ lighting and safety; estimating heights, distances and weights; laying and following secret trails; cooking (ever had fresh yabby damper?); pioneering with lashed spars; swimming and life-‐saving, axeman-‐ship; identifying trees and timber uses; fence and gate etiquette; stalking; observation; map reading; and sundry life skills.

My rucksack

My most enduring and satisfying project was in producing my own rucksack. After my first camp I vowed that I must replace the old army knapsack used on that occasion. I had to have one with a metal frame. The Scout shop had patterns for the canvas part and pictures of the frame. My dad had a boot shop, so I had access to a sewing machine, leather straps, punches, buckles, big eyelets— the works. The frame was another matter. I had a yarn with Mr Todd Solomon, the blacksmith opposite the Old Bushman Hotel. He agreed to do the job if I drew up a full-‐size plan with front, side and top views. We had a deal. Mr Solomon and I agreed that quarter-‐inch mild steel rod would have to do— tubing was harder to work. I watched him at the forge, as I had scores of time before. He let me have a go at shaping the round bit at the top on the ‘cone thing’ on his anvil. Talk about proud! The job was done. It cost me 2/6d (25 c). All stitched-‐up so to speak! We travelled well over the years. I gave it to someone in the 90’s, but can’t remember who!

Act of Loyalty

Each February (I think) Scouts and Guides from across the state were invited to Government House for an act of loyalty to the King. Some effort was made to catch the same train as the Guides from Salisbury. At Government House, each Guide Company and Scout Troop marched past the Governor and other Scouting dignitaries, and were then marshaled to their allocated spot. The flag was unfurled, saluted, and the Promise recited. There were speeches of encouragement, and awards presented to both adult leaders and youth members. I cannot actually remember the year that I received my King Scout Badge. I may not have listed the events in order. We always went rowing on the Torrens after the celebration.

Badges It was very rewarding to earn badges. They gave me confidence to tackle new stuff. They tended to shape my adult sense of self-‐sufficiency in a range of areas. The image below shows those that have not been ‘mislaid’ over time. Those missing are my prized National Service badge, and my First Class badge, Handyman, Naturalist, and two other proficiency badges whose names I cannot recall.

Observant readers will notice differences in the ‘finish’ on some of the proficiency badges. Wartime austerities cut down on ‘non-‐essentials’. Machined borders on scout badges were clearly not seen as critical to national security, so they came on woven square blanks that required domestic attention. Its not hard to pick the ‘not quite round’ with the uneven needle-‐work from the nicely finished pre-‐war issues that must have still been in stock at the Scout shop. The Second Class badge was issued on a rather non-‐ durable felt.

The badges are identified in rows from left to right in the image to the left.

Gardener, Leatherworker, Patrol leader hat badge, Miner

First Aid (one each shoulder), Carpenter

Musician, Pathfinder, Tenderfoot, Starman

Cooking, Friend to Animals Second Class Badge, Swimmer

Cyclist, King scout, Missioner