Damper...Special

I just dug this recipe out of the bottom of an old loose file book I had kept from the old days.

It is a damper recipe, but not the average, everyday damper that you would cook for the drovers camp.  This one was for special occasions only.

There is a bit of ambiguity in this damper, but it tastes all right anyway.

1 cup Golden Syrup (warm)
1 cup butter (melted)  Not a lot of butter around the drover's camps I have been on.
1 cup of old beer.  Now I don't know if that is beer that is old or it is the beer they sell as old beer.
Pinch of salt.

SR Flour or plain flour with 2 teaspoons of baking powder, (The amount that fits in the cup of your hand and looks like 2 teaspoons)

Method: combine wet ingredients, which is all of the above except the flour which comes next, bringing the mixture to a dough that looks like the dough that would happen if you had done it all correctly.
This is where the highly techincal cooking  knowledge of the average bush cook comes in.

You should have sufficient flour to be sufficient to bring the wet ingredients to the dough as aforesaid. If you  haven't, then, depending on how fussy the drovers are, you could toss in a handfull of bull dust, but in my experinece it is better to have enough flour and baking powder on hand to complete the recipie.

Now comes the good part, if  there is any beer left, leave the mixture overnight, covering the basin with a cheese cloth, saddle blanket, or whatever is handy, and drink the remaining beer.

If blow flies should get into the mixture, just say that they are raisins.

Cook in a hot camp oven until the damper is a golden brown on the top.

Feed to drovers when the damper is still hot, accompanied by large drafts of Billy tea.

Clear the area to accomodated bloated Bellys.

Don't make this damper for the drovers all the time or they will want it all the time, Ifn' Ya' Know what I mean.

Try it and let me know how you went.

Tiger Williams follow on Part 2.

I am very happy about the acceptance of my first attempt in the big bad world of publishing.  The figure for the US market reaching 138 for August is most encouraging.

I am editing the follow on now, but do not have an exact date of when it will reach Amazon.

I hope that the theme of the folow on, with many of the same characters, and a number of new ones, is as well accepted as the first.

“G'Day, I'm Rick Little, I have asked around, and was told that Rosemore was a good place to work.”

“G'Day, Rick, you don't remember me do you?” The tallish healthy looking bloke asked.

“You look familiar...But...”

“Steve Williams...droving together...seems a long time ago.”

“Yeah, now I remember, Steve, how' ya' going, Steve, mate?” Rick took the liberty of calling him mate. “You were heading for Isis Downs for work, last time I spoke to you, right?”

“Yeah! I was there for a while, and now I am here. Things are pretty good...been a lot of water under the bridge since those days, hey Rick?”

“You're not kidding...So, what do you reckon, any work on this place?”

“I reckon we could use another good stockman, and if you have improved from the droving days you would be a right bloke to have.” Steve said.

“Are you the boss here, Steve?”

“One of three, Rick, but you will see how it works in a short time.”

Rosemore was in the throws of weeding out a couple of the long timers that had taken to treat the place like a holiday camp. Steve and Alan, Alan Baker the big bosses son, had talked about this little problem for some time now.

There was no thought of sacking all these old fellas as a couple had put in many good years, in drought, flood, brushfires and good times. So, now that a handy stockman, young and fit was available, the old blokes could be given duties around the homestead, if that is what they wanted, or they could move on, the options were open.

“You can settle in over night, and go out with Alan and me tomorrow to muster the back paddock for drenching. Worms have been bad this year, what with the rain and the good growth.” Steve spoke like the true station owner, or at least manager.

“Thank's Steve, I reckon I'll fit in,” and then, “Bye the way you used to own Freda, didn't you?”

“Yeah, good old Freda, gone three years now. I have one of her pups, bright dog, clever with the sheep, just like her mum...I'll tell you what, come over to the house,” and Steve pointed to the home of he and his darling Lindy, “Meet the missus and the young bloke and have a feed and a bit of a chat, if you want to.”

Yeah, thanks, that will be great.”

Rick Little settles into the Rosemore Clan.

Bugga Me, A bit more would ya' believe

“I got a staff problem, “The Mayor told Bugga Me Bronson, in the strictest of confidence, and true to his honesty and integrity, Bronson never disclosed the content of the Mayor's problem for five minuets after the Mayor left the pub.

“So what's the problem...Can't get any, or got to many?”

“Well its about Old 'Hang-about Harrison” Mayor Sam confided, “He should be retired but he hasn't got much to do at home, so it is a bit hard to put him off.”

“Well Bugga Me,” sez Bugga Me Bronson, “Old Hang-about still hanging about, hey? How old is he now?”

“Turned eighty-seven last week.”

“What's the normal retiring age on this council?”Bugga Me asks.

“Sixty-five.”

“So, he is a bit over his time then, “ Bugga Me makes the wonderful deduction, which surprises the mayor at the man's mathematical capabilities.

“You could say that.” Sam rejoined.

“I just did, “ Sez Bugga me Bronson, adding, “Does it cause any problems? ...I mean the potholes are still as many as usual, the gutter we have in the main street is always full of rubbish, and all the local signs are still full of bullet holes, so everything seems normal.”

“It is, nothing has changed, other than Gerry Atrick, the second in charge, is wanting to get Hang-about's job.”

“So what is Gerry offering you in cash for the position?” Bugga Me asks the obvious question.

“Shhh! Bugga Me! do you want everyone to know that jobs can be bought on this Shire Council?”

“Everyone knows anyhow, so what's the matter?” Bugga Me Bronson thinks that Sam is a little touchy about the due course of council business.

“Who's been spreading that about?” Sam pleaded.

“Me, “ Sed Bugga Me proudly, “The citizens have a right to know, and some of them even want to work.”

'Tanyrate!” Bugga Me sez,” I can see ya' problem; Hang-about is ya' big brother and Gerry is ya' brother-in-law, an' ifn' I remember rightly the other two blokes on the team are related somewhere...Funny thing how it is only your family that have the qualifications to stand around a pothole, hey!”

“Are ya' suggesting that there is something underhanded going on within council?” Sam reiterated, having many times iterated the same reply previously.

“Never!, not I...I know that the hand is well in view when there is some important business to conduct...But isn't the General Manager supposed to do the hiring and firing?”

“He hasn't got any relations here abouts.”

“Right!” Bugga Me expostulated, appreciating the reasoning, adding, “So ya' want a solution...simple, tell them you are looking into it, they will appreciate the political sound of that, and forget the whole thing for a while.”

“Bugga me,!” the Mayor said, “Why didn't I think of that?”

Bugga Me answered simply, “ 'cause you ain't me,”

It was several days later, could have been more, that Bugga Me was travelling along the corrugated road to see a widow in the next village that had a problem she wanted attended to, when there was the shire truck with four blokes standing around on the side of the road. They had seen Bugga Me's dust about half an hour ago, and as safety of the staff was most important tghe gang had stood aside awaiting the arrival of the said vehicle.

“G'day. Hang-about.”

“Yeah, G'day”

“G'day, Gerry”

“Yeah, G'day”

“G'day, Donkey.”

“Yeah, G'day.

“G'day Quartpot.”

“Bugga Me, ifn it ain't Bugga Me Bronson...G' day”

“Talkative bloke, ain'tcha?”

“So, what's happenin'?” Bugga Me asks, knowing full well that very little ever happens with this lot.

“Just about to put the billy on.” Sez Hang-about, who has that particular phrase as the particular answer to that very question.

“Truth is, “ Opined Gerry, the ambitious one, “We forget to bring the shovels.”

“Yeah! Bugga me, “ the master of quick thinking replied, adding “ Well, I'm goin' inta' town, so, I'll get someone to bring you some out to ya',”

“What'll we do in the meantime?” the quick answer seems to perplex Hang-about.

“Simple, mate, Just lean on each other until the shovels come.”

Bugga Me went into the shire depot, disturbing a good game of cards, but he only had to wait for twenty minutes until the game finished, which is pretty good for a Friday lunch time, a lunch time that started an hour ago and wont finish for at least another hour.

“Yeah! Joe” Bugga Me sed to the storeman, “Hang-about forget to tell the blokes to take shovels, and they are stuck for something to do, any chance of getting' some out to 'im?”

“Geeze, mate, It's only an hour and a half before they knock off...seems a bit of a waste of time, I reckon...an' ya' know what the GM is like about wastin' time?”

“I do, I certainly do..on his qualifications it stated that he was a time and motion man, he has all the time in the world, but very little motion...He fits in perfectly here, Hey?”

“Mate, Me old mate, seein' as ya' did the right thing tellin' me about the shovels, and ya' drove all that way in to tell me, I reckon the least we can do is let ya' fill the ute up, waddyareckon?”

“Goodonya',” Sed the Bugga me man.

“We'll book it out to Missus Lanious...She is always getting stuff of us.”

One day a Union bloke arrived in town. His union was falling short on funds, and it is well known that running Union can be very, I mean very, expensive.

Black Jack was well known out in the back country, his exploits in obtaining Union members was a notorious as another blokes efforts at gaining attention...Ned, Something, Ned Kelly, year, That's it.

Not that Black Jack used a gun in his pursuits, but he used the winner of all con tricks in an Outback pub...Yep! Old Black Jack used money to shout the locals a few beers. That will do it every time.

Bugga Me! Some more, even

“I got a staff problem, “The Mayor told Bugga Me Bronson, in the strictest of confidence, and true to his honesty and integrity, Bronson never disclosed the content of the Mayor's problem for five minuets after the Mayor left the pub.

“So what's the problem...Can't get any, or got to many?”

“Well its about Old 'Hang-about Harrison” Mayor Sam confided, “He should be retired but he hasn't got much to do at home, so it is a bit hard to put him off.”

“Well Bugga Me,” sez Bugga Me Bronson, “Old Hang-about still hanging about, hey? How old is he now?”

“Turned eighty-seven last week.”

“What's the normal retiring age on this council?”Bugga Me asks.

“Sixty-five.”

“So, he is a bit over his time then, “ Bugga Me makes the wonderful deduction, which surprises the mayor at the man's mathematical capabilities.

“You could say that.” Sam rejoined.

“I just did, “ Sez Bugga me Bronson, adding, “Does it cause any problems? ...I mean the potholes are still as many as usual, the gutter we have in the main street is always full of rubbish, and all the local signs are still full of bullet holes, so everything seems normal.”

“It is, nothing has changed, other than Gerry Atrick, the second in charge, is wanting to get Hang-about's job.”

“So what is Gerry offering you in cash for the position?” Bugga Me asks the obvious question.

“Shhh! Bugga Me! do you want everyone to know that jobs can be bought on this Shire Council?”

“Everyone knows anyhow, so what's the matter?” Bugga Me Bronson thinks that Sam is a little touchy about the due course of council business.

“Who's been spreading that about?” Sam pleaded.

“Me, “ Sed Bugga me proudly, “The citizens have a right to know, and some of them even want to work.”

'Tanyrate!” Bugga Me sez,” I can see ya' problem; Hang-about is ya' big brother and Gerry is ya' brother-in-law, an' ifn' I remember rightly the other two blokes on the team are related somewhere...Funny thing how it is only your family that have the qualifications to stand around a pothole, hey!”

“Are ya' suggesting that there is something underhanded going on within council?” Sam reiterated, having many times iterated the same reply previously.

“Never!, not I...I know that the hand is well in view when there is some important business to conduct...But isn't the General Manager supposed to do the hiring and firing?”

“He hasn't got any relations here abouts.”

“Right!” Bugga Me expostulated, appreciating the reasoning, adding, “So ya' want a solution...simple, tell them you are looking into it, they will appreciate the political sound of that, and forget the whole thing for a while.”

“Bugga Me,!” the Mayor said, “Why didn't I think of that?”

Bugga Me answered simply, “ 'cause you ain't me,”