Moses Storer was the first of my direct family branch to arrive here in Australia. He came from England and arrived in Adelaide in 1848. He was married to Mary Ann and came with their first child Moses.

Moses was born in 1827 in England. He was baptised in September that year.

Moses is a bit of a mystery really. He was one of 10 children, as far as I can work out, he had 6 of his own children, and lived for a while in Branxholme in Western Victoria, just south of Hamilton. However, he is buried in Western Australia, well, that’s as far as I know.

Moses sounds like such a respectable name, alas, that’s not what he was! In 1859 he appeared in an article in the Adelaide Observer:

GAWLER: WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 12.

HORSESTEALING. – James Fletcher and Moses Storer were charged with horsestealing under the following circumstances: – William Edson, farmer, of Bald Hill, near Lyndoch Valley, deposed that on the evening of Wednesday, the 5th inst., after ploughing with a horse and mare (which he minutely described) till 7 o’clock, the animals were put into a paddock by his daughter. They were his property, as shown by receipts containing marks and brands which with as produced. On fetching the working cattle up at 6 o’clock the next morning, the horse and mare were missing. Witness did not see his horses again till he met them on Tuesday, in possession of the police, on their way to Gawler, the two prisoners being mounted on them, near Butler & Grant’s Station. Moses Storer, who had formerly been his neighbour, said to him jocosely, as he came up. “Well, Mr. Edson, you see we’re bringing your horses back again.” The other prisoner, whom he did no know, shook his head, and said, “It’s a bad job”.
…
The brands had been very cleverly altered by additions, but the old marks could be readily distinguished.
…
Storer claimed the mare, saddle, and swag as his property. Fletcher claimed the horse. They said they had the receipts for the horses. Afterwards they said they not had got them, and they charged witness with having taken the receipts from them. Witness on searching them had found no receipts upon them.
…
They were both committed to take their trial at the Supreme Court

Adelaide Observer (SA : 1843 – 1904), Saturday 15 January 1859, page 4
National Library of Australia http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article158125528

Because rebranding a horse always works… It would appear Moses and Fletcher were thrown into gaol to await their trial.

And then, tucked away towards the bottom of the Sheriff’s office notice is this:

Moses Storer, James Fletcher, Thomas Brasher, George Brasher, and Robert Cooper attempt to break prison! Now that must be a story. Come to Australia as a free-settler, steal a horse, then try to break out before you even get to trial!

The South Australian Advertiser has the full story:

DARING ATTEMPT TO BREAK OUT OF THE ADELAIDE GAOL.

A most determined endeavour to escape from prison was on Thursday discovered to have been made by the prisoners confined in the ward allotted to the prisoners committed for trial in the Adelaide Gaol. The facts of the case are simply these. Mr. Lawrence, the head turnkey, had for some days past observed a number of prisoners constantly hanging about the water-closet. This circumstance awakened his suspicions, and he took an opportunity of listening to their conversation, which he had an opportunity of doing from outside through a crevice in the wall. From expressions which he overheard he was convinced that some secret operations were being carried on. He therefore took an observation from the tower which overlooks the yard. He then perceived that a number of the prisoners were constantly about the closet, apparently relieving one another from time to time, at some secret work, while one was posted at the gate of the yard, obviously with a view of giving intimation of the approach of the guard. At 11 o-clock on Thursday morning Mr. Lawrence entered the ward, and surprised three of the prisoners at work excavating a passage under the closet. These were – Thomas Brasher, committed for trial on several charges; Cooper, committed for the attempt to murder Sergeant Badman; and another named Fletcher, committed for horse-stealing. The superfluous clothing of these persons was found lying on the floor of the closet. Mr. Lawrence with great promptitude ordered all the prisoners into their cells and locked them up, having previously placed a guard in the space between the outer and inner walls of the prison. The guard, while on duty there, happening to tread on the place under which the tunnelling had been made, broke through the crust of earth, and fell into an excavation nearly breast deep. This disturbance of the soil exposed a tunnel of about two and a half feet in diameter, leading under the outer wall. On inspection of the ground outside the wall, the earth was discovered to have been undermined, and Mr. Egan, the keeper of the gaol, while walking round, fell through into an excavation of the same kind. The surface soil had been approached within a few inches, and it was evident that the prisoners had been just on the eve of their escape. The plan of operations appeared to have been well matured, and skilfully executed. In order to understand the attempted scheme, it will be necessary to describe the obstacles overcome. From each ward in the prison there are culverts leading from the water-closets into the river Torrens. The culvert in No. 4 ward, where the committed prisoners were confined, had recently been cleaned out, thus removing one difficulty. The prisoners had evidently taken into account the circumstance that the construction of the culverts would necessarily loosen the surrounding soil, which would consequently be easily removed. They had descended through the seat of the closet, and transmitted the earth by means of such instruments as they had at command, and disposal of the clay removed by depositing it in an intervening cesspool, so that no traces of their work were visible above ground. There is no doubt that each prisoner relieved the other at stated intervals, and that everything was ready for an escape at noon on that day, when the guard in charge of the prisoners working outside would be off the beat. The vigilance of the head turnkey, however, frustrated their well-laid plans, and the attempt will only remain on record as one of the most skilful and determined ever recorded in the criminal annals of South Australia. There are 17 prisoners in the ward, committed for trial, all of whom would have been at liberty within a few minutes after the discovery was made. It would not be out of place here to notice the very small guard in the gaol. Four guards only watch over about 110 prisoners. One of these is constantly employed superintending the prisoners engaged in quarrying outside; one of the other three is frequently engaged in taking prisoners to the courts, and in additional, has to be on guard at night. It will thus be seen that very frequently there are only two available guards to watch over the safety of 110 prisoners. It can matter of no surprise that an escape has been attempted, but it is almost surprising that the recent attempt has not proved successful.

South Australian Advertiser (Adelaide, SA : 1858 – 1889), Friday 28 January 1859, page 3
National Library of Australia http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article788333

I guess that’s one way to pass the time.

The ledger at the Supreme Court shows us the Prisoners for Trial on 14th February, Moses is listed as number 25 on February 18th, along his fellow horse-thief, James Fletcher who also has an alias – H. Roberts. Their ages are recorded, Moses was 31, Fletcher 30. Moses’ age has allowed me to trace it back to his birth year of 1827. The charge says:

Feloniously stealing a bald-faced brown horse and a bay mare, the property of William Edson, 6th January.

Further down the same printed sheet at 42 to 47, we find the names of the prisoners who tried to escape by digging a tunnel through the dunny. That charge reads:

Feloniously and unlawfully attempting to break prison and escape from H. M. Gaol, while in custody awaiting trial for certain felonies, at Adelaide, 27 January.

That case is listed for February 23rd.

In the court ledger, the outcome of the trial is written:

11. James Fletcher als. Henry Roberts

12. Moses Storer

Stealing one gelding and one mare the property of William Edson. Plea by both prisoners – Guilty.

Sentence James Fletcher and Moses Storer to be severally kept in penal servitude for three years.

The South Australian Register published the outcome of the day’s work of the court under a column called Criminal Side and here we find the report of Moses:

James Fletcher, alias H. Roberts, and Moses Storer, convicted on their own confession of horse-stealing.
The Chief Justice sentenced the prisoners to three years imprisonment with hard labour.
Moses Storer handed in a paper.
The Chief Justice – You should have given this in before. You state that you had not the intention to steal the animal; then you should have pleaded not guilty and went to trial. I should wish every prisoner to plead not guilty if there is any doubt in his case.

Moses seems to have got that bit wrong! I wondered what the note said. Maybe it was the receipts for the horses that couldn’t be found at the time of his arrest. Still, too little too late for Moses.

We next find him in the Register of all Persons Brought to the Common Gaol of the Province of South Australia. He had been a guest there since his arrest in January.

Moses is recorded in that on page 72. It records he was gaoled on Jan 12 1859 and notes that he could read and write, was married, his religion was Church of England, he was a labourer and arrived in the colony from London in 1848. The Date of Discharge column notes March 8/59 and in the remarks column it seems to say To Dry Creek

And sure enough in the Prisoners’ Register of the Dry Creek Labour Prison we find Moses Storer, number 323. The entry confirms that he arrived from London on the Bezolar, which may be a misspelling or mispronunciation of Bussorah, it lists 2 brothers and 3 sisters as friends in the colony. It goes on to list his physical attributes, height, weight and forehead which is defined as “Good”. His expression is also marked as “Stern”

The only other remark is that he was discharged on 9th April 1860.

Here we leave the tale of Moses, First of Our Kind, Stealer of Horses and Crawler of Cesspools.

On a bright sunny cloudless day you expect to see your shadow. Just the one. It’s attached to you. We used to play shadow tiggy. If you’re it then you had to tag someone else by jumping on their shadow. It’s easy to twist and bend your shadow to avoid being it.

At night you don’t have a shadow. Sometimes you may see one on a full moon if you happen to be late on a hike and you really want to get to the camping ground. You and your hiking buddy find yourselves strutting down a white sandy bush track with the moon behind you and a long shadow in front of you.

I live in the city, and when I walk home at night, I have lots of shadows. Tonight I noticed my shadows for the first time in years. Street lights line our streets, on main roads there’s lights on both sides. I have a shadow in front, one behind. As I walk the light behind me throws my shadow in front of me, as I walk further away from that light I get taller, well, the shadow does. It’s not long before I’m passing under the next street light and my shadow begins to grow again, the first one so long it stretches out of existence as it fades away.

The lights on the other side of the street cast a shadow to my right. These shadows also grow and shrink, and as I walk past fences and driveways they leap up or fall away.

As the traffic passes me multiple faint shadows quickly appear and disappear, so fleeting they’re barely noticed.

When I was a young lad, 45 years ago, I delivered newspapers in the morning. The Age and The Sun. I’d ride my bike around in the cold dark hours pulling a paper out of the banana box strapped to the carrier on the back of my bike. One handed I would fold the paper on my thigh, holding the handlebar with the other hand. I’d grab the paper in the middle, thump it on my leg to fold, then do the same to fold it once more. I was then able to insert the paper into the letter box and keep riding, so never really stopping. Of course there was no real care and often the front page would be torn when I scraped it on the top of the letter box.

There would be a little distance sometimes between the deliveries, and a game I would play was to get to the next letter box before my shadow disappeared. As the morning was dawning, and it was getting lighter, the street lights would switch off and the shadow would disappear.

It was that strange time pre-dawn when the lights have gone off that I would have no shadow.

That’s a magical time.

Image by Manfred Richter from Pixabay

The alarm goes off at 5.10a.m. In my early days, it was an alarm clock with bells. Then a clock radio with a buzzer or the radio. Now my alarm is a watch, strapped to my wrist that vibrates. I hit the off button. There’s no snooze. I lay there for a couple of minutes trying to go back to sleep. I can’t. I have to do this.

I throw my legs out from under the doona. I say throw, not glide effortlessly out of bed. My legs are stiff and not so cooperative. The hit the floor and I feel around in the dark for my grandpa slippers.

I have to run, I want to do a 5km run in a couple of weeks for a charity event. I’m out of shape as I tore my calf muscle a few weeks ago and have been getting treatment to help it recover.

David Thwaites from Complete Sports Care has been taking care of me. My time with him normally starts by me standing one-legged on my toes raising myself up and down, he muses and then asks me to lie on the table. He then does this extraordinary process of taking his thumb and sticking them deeply into my calf. I grimace. A lot.

It does the trick, the exercises that he sends me off with and the little jogging that I’ve been doing has prepared me for this mornings effort.

Today, for the first time in weeks, I’m going to run 30 minutes. I’ll jog 10 minutes, rest a minute and then repeat twice more.

It’s 9° outside. I step into the cool darkness and make my way to the running track.

Unlike this time at the other end of the day, when I’m consumed with the noise of a city winding down, it’s quiet.

I can hear my footfalls as I step onto the driveway, and as I walk towards the little track that runs along the creek, I can hear the magpies stirring in the trees, giving a little warble as they begin their day.

A quick-paced walk and the watch vibrates and I start the run.

The wind whistles past my ears, in the old days it’d ruffle my mullet. The next family of magpies begin to stir and I’m surrounded by the delightful sounds of warbles.

As I pass the little pond a thousand frogs ribbit at me and the first traffic noise I hear happens as I pass under the Warrigal Road bridge.

I do a self-diagnosis. The calf muscle is holding up. Heart isn’t jumping out of my chest, breathing within tolerance. A few more minutes and the first 10 are done. The watch vibrates and I walk for a minute.

As I’m walking along the path, a couple of cars pass along the back streets. The headlights glare at me and for all I know they’re driven by ghosts, it’s impossible to see inside to ascertain whether or not a real person is behind the wheel.

Then off again. Up the hill to the Alamein line, then at the top, I turn around and head back the way I came. I’ve made it halfway.

More vibrations, another check of my sore bits – all good – last jog.

Another light comes towards me. It’s dark out here, so joggers wear a head torch. We greet each other in the traditional way of pre-dawn joggers, a nod of the head and a ‘morn’ to each other.

I find myself tiring, looking at my watch, hoping it’s counting down. It is, but it persists on precision and won’t go faster than a second at a time.

One last look I think, 26 seconds. I start to count down in my head.

Finally, the last vibration. I stop and stroll home.

The sky is brightening, or it could be the city lights reflected on the clouds. I don’t know. It’s another hour until the sun actually appears.

Michael and I are running in support of the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre in a couple of weeks. That’s where I work. We’re raising money for the important work of helping people seeking asylum. Head over to our page and sling us a few dollars.

I make my way up the driveway, thinking that I’ll be ready for Run Melbourne in a couple of weeks.

All the way this morning, I’ve been accompanied by my own footfalls. A wonderful time of the day, the still and quiet. Nothing but my own steps fill my ears.

I used to be able to hear my footsteps when I walked. Now, as I step off the train I can hear the churnning of its motors and the beep-beep of the doors closing. Lots of whooshing as it pulls out of the station to the next stop.

I whip out my phone to check when the next bus is. Sixteen minutes. It’s only a twenty minute walk home, so I’ll do that.

As I start up High Street I become aware of the noise around me. It’s busy peak hour and I spend my walk listening to the sounds around me. The noise of the traffic is overwhelming. Squeaky brakes, noisy engines, motorbikes, truck, buses. All in a hurry to get home.

What a noisy environment we now live in.

I can’t hear the birds settling down for the night, or the kids talking across the road. No low hum of music coming from the houses or even the dribbling of a basketball. Just traffic.

I turn off the High Street and into the quiet little avenue that will take me home. The traffic noise fades into the background. A couple of cars drive past, a lot quieter now on the suburban street.

I hear the faint sound of shouting and the clack of hockey sticks as it hits the ball. As I walk closer to the hockey field and away from the main road the noise becomes more background. I hear the scuffing of shoes as a woman walks past with her dog, I notice that the sound of my own footfall is still inaudible, but the noise from the hockey fields now includes the blowing of whistles, the shuffling of feet and the sound of clapping.

Only a short walk up the driveway now. I hear my keys clink as I take them out of my pocket and a few metres from the door I hear my footsteps.

My first bank account was with the State Bank of Victoria. I opened it when I was in Prep in 1969.  Here it is, in Gray Street, Hamilton.  On the right of the photo.

The SBV was bought by the Commonwealth Bank in 1990.

Today I walked into the Commonwealth Bank in Cheltenham and closed 2 accounts, thereby ending my long association with the bank.

The branch is your modern looking bank.  All gleaming and welcoming.  There’s a little foyer where the ATMs are and a concierge desk with two computer screens and a smiling face of a very nice man asking if he could help me.  Above him is the current bank promotion, the Dollarmites Club.  I signed my kids up for Dollarmites when they were in school.  It was how I was introduced to banking, taking my passbook along to school on banking day and depositing 20 cents.  Some at the Commonwealth Bank used the Dollarmites system to gain personal financial advantage.

The staff were very helpful, the process took longer than necessary I thought. The nice man asked me what I was going to do with my mortgage, I snorted and said I didn’t have one!

Anyway, he asked where I was moving my banking. Bank Australia I said. He then told me that he has only ever seen one branch for them, and he’s lucky to have seen one. Bank Australia has few branches, they use online and Australia Post. In fact, this was the first time in some years that I’d actually walked into a branch to conduct business.

At the end of the process, he looked at his screen and looked at me and remarked that I’d been with the bank for 33 years. Longer, I replied, I was also with the State Bank. He then asked the burning question, “Why are you leaving after all this time?”

The reasons are complex, and for some strange brain functioning on my part, it really is something that should have happened years ago.

Australians rarely change banks. Probably because it’s just too hard. It is quite the process. I needed to firstly open a new account at a new bank and then move each of my direct debits, automatic payments and various payment methods to the new bank.

My children and I all had Commonwealth Bank accounts, this was to allow the quick transfer of money. I’ve often said that the only time I hear from my children is when they want money.

These days with the introduction of PayID transferring money between banks happens within minutes. The old days, you know, a couple of months ago, saw your money disappear from your account and be caught up in some holding pattern before landing in another banks account.

The real clincher for me, however, was the banking royal commission.

This is what I told my new teller friend. I wanted a bank that had some ethical standards, who saw me as a member and not simply an account holder.

The Commonwealth Bank has been embroiled in scandal after scandal.  Each of the big banks has been.  They continue to reap the rewards of huge profits despite their proven fraudulent behaviour.

Bank Australia is the place to be for now.

In all my years at the Commonwealth, they have never given regard to my loyalty.  Without question, I fronted up to them for personal loans, a housing loan, credit cards, savings accounts and so on.  The most I ever got out of them was an unattractive interest rate and a computer mouse.

Yes, they once sent me a mouse for being a loyal customer.  Back in the 2000s.  I wrote to them and said I’d prefer money in the bank next time they wanted to reward my loyalty.  I never got a response.

So, the loyalty has been one way.  Action needed!  So, off I went.

What’s holding you back?

I’m sitting high up above the earth, flying towards Sydney. Michael is beside me, and a woman on the other side by the window. She has proper travel etiquette, not engaging with me at all for the duration. I really struggle with small talk.

I’m relaxed, have my tablet open, connected to the WiFi watching a program about comedy. I had never given any thought to women in comedy, and I’m somewhat taken aback by the notion that women have fought hard to overcome misogyny and discrimination in the comedy field. This is a revelation to me. Upon reflection, of course, I can see my error. Women have been the subject of jokes, making fun of them, suggesting that they are stupid, all for a couple of laughs. It’s been a long hard road for acceptance.

Planes are strange things, they hurl through the air at high speed and then somehow land, and generally speaking nobody dies.

The worst part of flying, I think, is just before landing. As the ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ sign comes on the aircraft starts its descent. You already know that you have no right to be up here where only clouds and birds belong, you also know that coming in contact with the ground in an uncontrolled fashion will be detrimental to your health. Even though you may understand that aeroplanes land without incident on a regular basis, there is nothing that prepares you for the insane reaction that your body has as you start going down.

It’s a combination of the drop in altitude and deceleration that is really scary. As the plane slows down you instinctively know that this is dangerous, it’s only speed that keeps you up here. Throw in a bit of turbulence, and even the most rational and sane amongst us will shit their pants.

The final insult is when the wheels do finally hit the ground. The engines scream in protest as they are thrown into reverse. You tense up, those fucking wheels are round, they roll, the struts they sit on the end of have suspension, and yet it feels like you are about to hit a brick wall.

At last a lovely voice says ‘Please remain seated until the aircraft comes to a complete stop’ and you give thanks to the science that means you are stopping in a controlled manner and not by having your feet shoved through your mouth. Now to get ready for the flight home.