Just been to Nundle and the Diggings on the Peel River. What a buzzing place it must back then.
βIn the Barlee Ranges, long forsaken,
By the dusky warriors of old;
From the silence little echoes waken,
While the white manβs fossicking for gold,
Dollypots are thudding on the hillside,
Pounding up the likely bits of ore.
Emus that were sunning
In the gully bed, are running,
For they never heard a dollypot before.
Down along the big Ashburton River,
Woolly sheep and wild-eyed cattle stray; Breezes set the Spinifex a-quiver,
While among the nearby ranges grey β
Dollypots are drumming on the hillside,
Dollypots are throbbing in the glen,
Brown, the old selector,
Who was once a young prospector,
Is pounding at his dollypot again.β