Years slipped away. Gunnedah slowly grew. When Dr Hayne came to reside in Gunnedah he was an enthusiast on collecting ancient aboriginal weapons of war and domestic implements, such as stone grinding mills, needles from fish-bones, kangaroo and emu bones and kangaroo teeth. He found here some keen collectors in J. J. Smyth, T. B. Roberts, and my father, J. P. Ewing. But the doctor was keenest about getting possession of fine types of aboriginal skulls. The others preferred something extra in a boomerang, or in the material, shape, and fixings of a stone tomahawk, or in the shape and carvings of a nulla-nulla, heilamon (shield), or wommera.

My father was Senior Sergeant in Charge of Gunnedah Station and lived in the same quarters as the Officer in Charge of Gunnedah does today. One Friday afternoon Dr Hayne came to the Police Barracks to get my father to arrange a meeting between the doctor and Bungaree, the King of the Namoi River Tribe at Gunnedah—for so the brass half-moon swung by a cord about Bungaree’s neck was inscribed. Arriving just at this time from school, I was given a message to deliver to Bundaar, the tracker, down at the police stables, telling him to saddle his horse and come quickly to the office. Bundaar was then told to ride down to the Blacks’ Camp and tell Bungaree to come to the Police Station by half past nine next morning, and that Dr Hayne had left a plug of Conqueror tobacco at the Police Station for him.

Doctor Hayne said, “Sergeant, if you are not too busy, come over to the old carved stump with me to have a look about the job. Afterwards I’ll drive down and arrange with Mr Ashby about his job tomorrow.”

Next morning at 8 a.m. Bungaree, accompanied by a one-eyed and much younger aboriginal known as Jacob Painter, arrived at the Police Station. Very soon their pipes were going full blast on the doctor’s Conqueror tobacco.

On seeing Bungaree and Jacob Painter squatted down at the stable talking to Bundaar, the tracker, as any other schoolboy would I joined them, carrying the bull-roarer Bundaar had made for me. The three of them took it in turn to whirl the bull-roarer round, producing roaring, buzzing noises. During a lull in the whirling Warder Neil, on sentry-go along the promenade on top of the jail wall, shouted to Bundaar to take the bull-roarer and his friends too down into the far end of the horse paddock, and make his blinking noise there! Just at this time Dr Hayne drove into the Police Station yard, and he and my father walked down to where we were.

“Bungaree,” said Dad, “this is Dr Hayne, he wants you to tell him all you know about the old carved stump, and what the carvings mean, and tell the doctor all you can about the great warrior chief of your tribe who lived here long, long time ago. Will you go with the doctor now?”