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Next day it was raining again and we were advised by the police to cross over and go into New South Wales to Balranald to avoid long boggy stretches. This we did and soon left the rain and wet roads behind . This day got us as far Euston on the Murray and again into the rain. We started out from Euston early next morning after an early breakfast and ran nicely for 100 yards when down she went again. One wheel went into a soft spot and the van was leaning over at 45 degrees almost, and I reckon if it hadn’t been for Bill and his optimistic tenacity, the damn thing would have been there still. His language helped a lot too. Bill would have been a success as a bullocky. The ground was so soft that we had a bad time trying to jack the bogged wheel up, and had recourse to a wood – heap in a nearby house. I reckon we pushed a hundredweight of wood into the ground with the jack before we found bottom and the van began to rise. We then borrowed some planks from the Hotel and so got over the soft spot.

We went on then making slow progress over the wet roads, getting to Mildura too late for lunch , so we went on to Wentworth. Here we were advised on no account to try the “back track” as the road via Popiltal was called. In fact the bloke at the at the Commercial Hotel told us to “stay there for a week” and then go up the river. We decided to go up the river anyway, and set off about 2.30 and got to Ellerslie Hotel about twelve miles up at 9.30 that night. We were bogged continually and unloaded all seventy – two packages out of the van on three separate occasions.

What a pal Bill was on these occasions, though his power of rhetoric was strained to the utmost. We would put Ned Offer at the wheel (he’d never driven a car before and he swore mighty oaths that he never would again), and Bill and I would push. We had to take turns in pushing from either side at the back for you can imagine the effect of the wheel spinning round in the slush.

It was getting dark now and Ned made a fire some distance away in front. A car came along going to Wentworth and stopped at the fire on the other side of the bog. We explained our situation and the bloke said, “help me through and I’ll help you “. So we ranged ourselves at the worst point and he came roaring in. Just as he was about to stop, Bill and I flung ourselves onto the back of the car and managed to keep it going, and for all I know the beggar is going yet. At any rate, he didn’t stop. Eventually we got out and spent the night at Ellerslie.

Next day we got as far as Pooncarie and from there we had our best run and arrived home at 7 o’ clock the next evening after lunching at Menindee and with no trouble and no rain.

I often look at snap – shots in my photo album. I took quite a few on the trip, and I think of Bill and Ned.

End left Broken Hill soon after and I’ve never heard of him since, but I often see the twinkle in Bill’s black eyes and hear again his admonitions to the “bloody old bitch”, which was the mildest of his endearment’s to the van.

By the late G.H. Palmer