News Item
”The Dead Stockrider”
(By “The Wild Irishman.”)
Aye, we had a glorious gallop after Starlight and his gang
As they bolted from Sylvester’s on the flat.
How the sun-dried reed-beds crackled.
How the flint-strewn ranges rang,
To the strokes of Mountaineer and Acrobat!
L. Gordon.
It is now many years ago since I first became acquainted with the late Mr. Elias Boss, who years ago was one of the most noted stock-riders and horse-breakers in our island. Many were the slashing gallops that the old man could relate and many the white-faced Herefords who were forced to wheel about face from the deadly fire of his stock whip. I once heard the old gentleman say that he never knew what fear meant, and I believed him, for, if he did, he never showed it. There was no “yellow streak” about the old fellow. He was as game as a gamecock. I once saw him, when 75 years of age, win the hunting contest at the Latrobe Show, and I should like to know if the performance has ever been equalled in Australia, before or since? Here was a man who was a celebrity on this Coast, and we see him pass out unhonoured and unsung! Yet, if some “silver tail” or “hot-house plant” slings a seven, if he happens to “stand behind Macarthy” to the tune of a thousand pounds or two, we read goodness knows how much about his career, and probably his money was his greatest recommendation!
It is some years now since I made my first contribution to “The Advocate”, and when I did I resolved to try to remedy something that appeared to be either neglected or forgotten – that is, to give honour to whom honour is due. Hence my infliction upon readers. If I succeed in doing this I will be satisfied;
Well, poor old Mr. Boss has left us at the ripe age of 93 years. His wild stock-riding career has finished,
and he sleeps his
last long sleep near the placid waters of Cornelian Bay. I’d just as soon take old Elias Boss’ chance of an entrance to the Golden City as I would of any professor of “Church-ianity” who ever sang a Psalm, and in the words of Gordon’s dying stock-rider:
For deeds undone and gifts misspent and resolution vain,
It’s a little late to worry this, I know.
And I’d live the same life over if I had to live again,
And the chances are I’d go where most men go.
The Advocate 25th July 1919