The Australian Tiger Cat or Spotted Tail Quoll

The Spotted Tail Quoll  is the second largest surviving carnivorous marsupial with a peak weight of four kilos. Found in cool rain forests they meal on rats, birds, wallabies, insects, bird eggs, etc. The female will give birth to up to six young during winter months.  

 

The Recipes

Re-Edited & Updated November 01/07

Helpers

1 gill = 1/2 cup

Scant = Not quite full measure

Tammy Cloth = A fine woollen cloth

Unless specified otherwise, all temps are in Fahrenheit

Flour = Unless otherwise stated, "flour" refers to plain flour.

All oven temperatures are based on the standard wood oven, gas oven and electric oven.

Special Recipes

Old Handy Hints & Ideas

Measure Conversions & Cooking Terms Link

Oven Temperatures & Reference Link

 

 

Suet

Suet is the fat that protects an animal’s kidneys. It is hard and granular, unlike other fat. Beef suet is traditionally used to make dumplings, suet pastry and puddings. If you get suet from a butcher’s, it comes in a piece and you need to grate it or chop it finely. You can also buy it ready shredded in boxes from the general store and you can also buy vegetarian suet, which works equally well. (Quote from papers)

 

Veal Forcemeat

Used for various stuffing

Ingredients

6oz bread crumbs

2oz suet finely chopped

1 egg

Seasoning

Chopped parsley.

Method

Mix all ingredients together. Bind with beaten egg.

 

Savoury Balls

Add to stews or soups

Ingredients

4oz flour

Pinch of salt

Pinch of chopped parsley

Pinch of baking powder

1oz chopped suet

Seasoning

Water to mix

Method

Measure the flour and add salt and baking powder. Chop the suet. Remove all strings and shreddy parts. Mix into the flour. Add parsley and seasoning. Mix with cold water to an elastic consistency. Form into balls, roll in dry flour and add to a stew. Cook till well risen and firm.

 

Suet Pastry

Ingredients

1/2 pound of flour or 6oz flour and 2oz bread crumbs

Water to mix

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

Pinch of salt

1/4 pound suet.

Method

Chop the suet finely. remove all skin and shreds. Add the salt to the flour. Mix in the suet and baking powder. Mix to an elastic dough with cold water. Suet pastry is best boiled, steamed or stewed and may be used for dumplings or savoury balls, etc. The puddings are lighter with the addition of bread crumbs in place of some of the flour.

 

 

The Old Bush School  by John O'Brien
 
 'Tis a queer, old battered landmark that belongs to other years;
 With the dog-leg fence around it, and its hat about its ears,
 And the cow-bell in the gum-tree, and the bucket on the stool,
 There's a motley host of memories round that old bush school--
 
 With its seedy desks and benches, where at least I left a name
 Carved in agricultural letters--'twas my only bid for fame;
 And the spider-haunted ceilings, and the rafters, firmly set,
 Lined with darts of nibs and paper (doubtless sticking in them yet),
 And the greasy slates and blackboards, where I oft was proved a fool
 And a blur upon the scutcheon of the old bush school.
 
 There I see the boots in order--" 'lastic-sides" we used to wear--
 With a pair of "everlastin's" cracked and dusty here and there;
 And we marched with great "high action"--hands behind and eyes
 before--
 While we murdered "Swanee River" as we tramped around the floor.
 
 Still the scholars pass before me with their freckled features grave,
 And a nickname fitting better than the name their mothers gave;
 Tousled hair and vacant faces, and their garments every one
 Shabby heirlooms in the family, handed down from sire to son.
 Ay, and mine were patched in places, and half-masted, as a rule--
 They were fashionable trousers at the old bush school.
 
 There I trudged it from the Three-mile, like a patient, toiling brute,
 With a stocking round my ankle, and my heart within my boot,
 Morgan, Nell and Michael Joseph, Jim and Mary, Kate and Mart
 Tramping down the sheep-track with me, little rebels at the heart;
 
 Shivery grasses round about us nodding bonnets in the breeze,
 Happy Jacks and Twelve Apostles* hurdle-racing up the trees,
 Peewees calling from the gullies, living wonders in the pool--
 Hard bare seats and drab gray humdrum at the old bush school.
 
 Early rising in the half-light, when the morn came, bleak and chill;
 For the little mother roused us ere the sun had topped the hill,
 "Up, you children, late 'tis gettin'." Shook the house beneath her knock,
 And she wasn't always truthful, and she tampered with the clock.
 
 Keen she was about "the learnin'," and she told us o'er and o'er
 Of our luck to have "the schoolin'" right against our very door.
 And the lectures--Oh, those lectures to our stony hearts addressed!
 "Don't be mixin' with the Regans and the Ryans and the rest"--
 
 "Don't be pickin' up with Carey's little talkative kanats*"--
 Well, she had us almost thinking we were born aristocrats.
 But we found our level early--in disaster, as a rule~
 For they knocked "the notions" sideways at the old bush school.
 
 Down the road came Laughing Mary, and the beast that she bestrode
 Was Maloney's sorry piebald she had found beside the road;
 Straight we scrambled up behind her, and as many as could fit
 Clung like circus riders bare-back without bridle-rein or bit,.
 On that corrugated backbone in a merry row we sat~
 We propelled him with our school-bags; Mary steered him with her
 hat~
 And we rolled the road behind us like a ribbon from the spool,
 "Making butter," so we called it, to the old bush school.
 
 What a girl was Mary Casey in the days of long ago!
 She was queen among the scholars, or at least we thought her so;
 She was first in every mischief and, when overwhelmed by fate,
 She could make delightful drawings of the teacher on her slate.
 There was rhythm in every movement, as she gaily passed along
 With a rippling laugh that lilted like the music of a song;
 So we called her "Laughing Mary," and a fitful fancy blessed
 E'en the bashful little daisies that her dainty feet caressed.
 
 She had cheeks like native roses in the fullness of their bloom,
 And she used to sing the sweetest as we marched around the room;
 In her eyes there lurked the magic, maiden freshness of the morn,
 In her hair the haunting colour I had seen upon the corn;
 Round her danced the happy sunshine when she smiled upon the stool--
 And I used to swap her dinners at the old bush school.
 
 Hard the cobbled road of knowledge to the feet of him who plods
 After fragile fragments fallen from the workshop of the gods;
 Long the quest, and ever thieving pass the pedlars o'er the hill
 With the treasures in their bundles, but to leave us questing still.
 Mystic fires horizons redden, but each crimson flash in turn
 Only lights the empty places in the bracken and the fern;
 So in after years I've proved it, spite of pedant, crank, and fool,
 Very much the way I found it at the old bush school.

 

The Dreamer by Errol J Brewer

 

Yesterdays they stay ready on my mind

But not tomorrows, they’re sometimes unkind

Experiences of the past are easy to recall

Unlike the future, scarce knowledge at all

 

Some say my life, must trudge on ahead

But I’m a dreamer of things that were said

A lifetime of history, stored here in my brain

With satisfaction look back, some little pain

 

When I’m in replay expressions will show

As I drift into daydreams, of the past I know

People around me, sometimes disappear

The memories in playback, to another yesteryear

 

So if confusing, the look on my face

Totally not sure, we’re in the same place

Don’t interrupt me then or feel you’re ignored

Wait and ask questions, you won’t be bored

 

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