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  Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal. (Arthur John Trevor Briscoe..1873-1943..Sculling). Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal..#7. Epilogue. I was keen to get an early start as I expected this stretch of the river to be the final chapter in my journey..also, amongst the general conversation with Hector yesterday, he informed me that the river moves between steeper hills as it gets closer to The Murray River and I should be aware that the current may be stronger. I had allowed for just such an event so I brought along a spare rowlock that I could use on a block set in the transom at the rear of the skiff so I could scull the boat to have more direct control while being moved along with the current. I set off after the Sun had comfortably settled in the morning sky and rowed across to the far side of the waters so as to catch the deeper stream there. I had not gone too far down the river when I passed what has been recently named “Shell Hill”, as it ...
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  Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal. Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal..#6. Hector Rasmus. I awoke the next morning after a grand night’s undisturbed sleep that I put down to a good meal, good conversation and the tasty beer. The Sun was still a sallow, cool light when I woke and the air was fresh and clean…just what was needed for me to stoke the ambers of the fire and get a billy on for the first cuppa of the day..This, at least is what I was thinking while still snug in my swag…the action needed to put idea into effect was the only thing missing. The impetus to arise from my camp swag was motivated by my seeing the object of the good conversation of the last night squatting on the small landing next to my moored craft…he was looking at the boat closely while smoking a cigarette, the curl of exhaled smoke rolling with a zephyr of a breeze over the brow of his head. He touched and then ran his hand along the gunwale, several times.. “Is it smo...
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  Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal. (Man in a rowing boat..Henry Scott Tuke.) Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal..#5. Black Hill.  The approach to the hamlet of Black Hill by skiff on the Marne River was over a flood plain of vast proportion. Since the heavy rains of this year of 192*, a huge volume of water descended down stream from the Eastern Adelaide Hills sending the waters of the river to lap against its widest perimeters..all roads and tracks were flooded or at least sections were made impassable and diversion roads were hurriedly cut above the flood line so as to facilitate access to the isolated farms and hamlets along the river…Black Hill was no exception. So it was with trepidation that I wound my way across the wide flood plain that lay before the village. As I came near the collection of houses and buildings that formed the hamlet…I cannot in all honesty call Black Hill a “town” as it is too scattered and too small a gathering of...
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  Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal. Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal #4 Gunta and Harold. The Roman historian, Tacitus, in his recordings of the different Germania tribes and their mores, made note to the effect that the further one went out into the wilds and unknowns away from the centres of civilisation the more barbaric did the tribal living conditions and social behaviour become..In my travelling further and further down stream on The Marne River, getting further and further from the town of Cambrai, humble as it is, with its focus points of civilisation of church community, school, civic hall and council, plus that melting pot of what keeps so many men sane whilst battling the endless combat of mother nature upon their cropping and livestock..the pub..these small but vital elements form the basic requirements of a civilised community…take them away and it is not long before any person left in an isolated state will move closer to a survival nat...
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  Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal. Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal #3. Harriet Fairclough. The realisation that the next stretch of river has a series of rapids that would demand my utmost attention to the steering of the craft and will take much of the day with such labour. I decided to first make a stop at the small hamlet of Rhine Villa, now renamed “Cambrai” to go to the store and refresh my supplies just in case of spillage or damage whilst traversing those rapids..for one cannot be certain of what forces will take hold of my being whilst under the power of the river…so best “be prepared” as is the scouts motto. The hamlet of Cambrai consisted of a scatter of houses in an ordered grid survey, with the usual central points of post office, soldiers memorial hall, church and manse along with several well-constructed houses along a main street that led toward the river bridge just to the west of the newer railway bridge of the Sedan railway li...
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