“Old Cocky”-His Little Ways-The Sydney Wentworths’ ” Sulphur Crest”-” Boat Ahoy!”-“Cocky” and the Ferryman-“It’s Devilish Cold”-“What the Devil are You Doing There ?”-Disturbing the Cat and Kittens-Always Surprising People-Teetotaller for Ever-The Washerwoman’s Anger-Vented His Rage on Dr. Hobbs-Loosing His Feathers Sacrilege to Doubt-“People Won’t Believe That “-Governor Cairns. “OLD COCKY.”
To write of the time of these early squatters, etc., and not mention the “Petrie’s Cockatoo” would indeed be an insult to the memory of that
wonderful bird-a bird who lived for forty-five years. During those years his fame spread far and wide; indeed, “Petrie’s Cocky” was a household word everywhere. As he grew older it was quite a recognised thing that his “life” would be worth recording, and such was meant to be done. It never was, however, and therefore much with regard to “Cocky’s” clever ways has been lost.
People there are alive yet, of course, who remember “Cocky,” and to them the tales I have to tell of him will seem no exaggeration; others there surely will be, though, who, like Thomas of old, will doubt. To these I would say that there have been wonderful birds before in the world’s history, and if they will consider it, this cocky grew up in an exceptionally good school, living as he did in those early days, and continually mixing with the prisoners-two or three hundred of them.
In a book written of the Australian pioneers by Mr. Nehemiah Bartley, mention is made of this bird as “the ancestral cockatoo, rival of Grip, the raven,’ and who lived for forty- five years with the Petries, and was only excelled by the seventy-year old sulphur crest’ who domiciled with the Sydney Wentworths, patriarchs there like the Petries were here, a bird who lived till his bald chest made him fain in the wintry July to singe his featherless bosom by the hearth fire logs.”
When the late John Petrie (the eldest son) was a boy, in fact not long after the arrival of the family in Brisbane, “Cocky,” then a little fledgling, was presented to him by a prisoner named Skinner-a man who was a sort of overseer over other prisoners. The little bird thrived and flourished, and as he grew he learned to speak most distinctly-one could never mistake what he said indeed, people sometimes would hardly believe that the voice was that of a bird. He picked up almost anything in the way of talking, and could also, of course, swear beautifully, as the prisoners did.
“Cocky” was a white cockatoo, and was a big, handsome, pretty bird. He walked along proudly, and called himself “Jack’s Cocky”-sometimes “Jack’s pretty Cocky.” If caught at any mischief it was then “Jack’s poor Cocky” he evidently thought he could stave off punishment so.
An amusement “Cocky” had was to sit on the fence and call all the fowls round him. When they had gathered together he would cackle like a hen, then laugh as though jeering at them. He was a great bird to laugh, and generally ended his mirth with an awful screech. He could also whistle well, and would whistle for the dogs, and call,” Here! here!” then bark and jeer at them. Cats also he teased. “Puss, puss! Poor puss, puss!” he would say in an insinuating sort of fashion, then would pinch their tails and mew. If he saw a blackfellow it was, “Baal you yacca, baal you tobacco!” The natives used to sing and dance for “Cocky,” and the bird would try and mimic them, bobbing his yellow- crowned head up and down, and jumping in a sort of dance. Indeed, there was one blackfellows’ song of which he knew a part. The darkies would be very amused, and laugh at him, then “Cocky,” too, would laugh, and say, “Baal you budgery.” Like most birds, “Cocky” was very fond of being scratched, and he seemed as though he would keep a person scratching him all day if they were only willing. He would first remark, “Scratch ‘Cocky,'” then when that was done, turning his old head round, and directing with his claw, it was, “Just here,” then again in another place, “Just here,” and lastly he held up his wing with the request to “Scratch Cocky’s’ blanket.” His wing was always his blanket.
In those days a gentleman owned a garden on Kangaroo Point, opposite Petrie’s Bight. A Highlander worked this garden, and sold the cabbages he grew there. When any one on the north side wished to buy vegetables, they went down to the river’s bank and called, “Boat ahoy-cabbage !” and the man would answer, “Ay, ay!” and pull over with a load. One day, John Petrie saw “Cocky” walking along extra proudly down towards the river, and he thought by the bird’s strut as he put one foot out after the other, that some mischief was afloat-so watched. He saw “Cocky” climb up a wattle tree which grew on the bank, and settling himself there, call, “Boat ahoy cabbage!” The old man on the opposite side made answer, “Ay, ay,” and after a little, arrived with cabbages in his boat. Seeing no one, he turned about in a surprised sort of fashion, and presently discovered “Cocky,” who then began to laugh and screech at him. The man fell into an awful rage at this, and swore at the bird, who, however, but laughed the more. In the end, John Petrie had to come forward from where he watched, to the rescue, and buy a few cabbages for the sake of peace. In the same way many a time “Cocky” would bring the ferrymen from Kangaroo Point across to the north side all for nothing. This is a well known fact. He would fly to a tree on the bank of the river and call, “Over!” Father has seen the ferryman come across and go up the bank and look about to see who called, then finding no one, start to return, swearing to himself at being made a fool of. When he got a few boat lengths away from the shore, there would be another “Over!” and the ferryman, this time seeing the bird, would swear still more, and threaten to wring his impudent neck if he caught him. “Cocky” however, was too smart. He seemed to know well when anyone was in a “scot,” and would fly away home after his jeer and laugh. He had a marvellous power with his voice. It is said to be perfectly true that one day he almost backed a horse and dray into the river-someone coming up just saved it in time. He could say, “Whoa, back,” etc., in the most natural manner possible.
“Cocky” had a very strong beak. People he didn’t like had cause to think it a “terrible beak,” for these he pecked viciously at times. He could open oysters easily— would just break off the edge, then put in his beak and prize the shell open, afterwards eating the oyster. Also it was an easy matter for him to open those windows which shove upwards (worked on pulleys), unless they were extra stiff. He would work his beak in under the bottom of the window, then shove up the lower sash far enough to get his head in. People inside generally helped him then. One wretchedly cold day Grandfather Petrie happened to be in the sitting-room, when he saw “Cocky” come and try to open one of the win- dows there. It, however, happened to be stiff, so the bird gave up and went off round to a bedroom window. Succeeding there, he shoved in his head, saying, “Poor Cocky’-it’s devilish cold!” A son of the house was in this room, and Grandfather, when he heard what the bird had said, laughed very heartily.
As I have said, there are a good many people still living who remember “Old Cocky” and his ways. Those who know him best say he was a strange bird, and seemed human in the way he understood things. My mother says the first time she saw him he rather embarrassed her by asking “Who are you?” in a tone of voice as though she had no business near him. If he came out with any expression he had learnt, it was sure to fit the occasion. One day a pilot from the Bay came to Andrew Petrie’s house to talk over some business. Dinner was just about to be served, and he was taken in to have a meal with the family. He was a great drunkard, this pilot, and happened to be rather unsteady that day, so Mr. Petrie remonstrated, and lectured him for his bad habit. “Cocky” generally, when there was a stranger in the room, perched himself as though to listen on the back of a chiar the newcomer sat on, so here he was, of course, on the pilot’s chair. He seemed to listen to the lecture with his head on one side, then, as the pilot promised to try and do better,” You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” he said. “So I ought, ‘Cocky,'” said the man, turning round. “Ashamed of yourself” was a great expression with “Cocky.” On this occasion all the family sat round the table; the only two who are now left-Mrs. Ferguson and my father-remember the circumstance well.
Round towards the back of the house, near the office door, a half-cask of pipeclay stood, and “Cocky” loved to get into this cask and work away with his beak, imagining he was very busy, like the workmen, digging and throwing up the earth as they did. One morning John Petrie put him down near this cask, saying, “Go on, Cocky,’ to your work.” The bird jumped up on to the edge of the cask, then down to the pipeclay, on top of a rat which had sheltered there. “Cocky” got an awful scare as the rat moved, and was up on to the edge of the cask again instantly, then turning and looking down on the rat, with his feathers ruffled and his topknot up, “What the devil are you doing there?” he said. One can imagine how John Petrie stood and laughed, and laughed again, helpless, while the offending rat made his escape.
Years afterwards there was another small cask which “Cocky” played in-this time an empty one, except for some little bits of sticks and rubbish which the bird loved to break up with his beak. The present Andrew Petrie (member for Toombul), grandson to the old gentleman, tells this story. He, a boy at the time, discovered, with some other youngsters, a cat with kittens in this cask, which was “Cocky’s” special property. It was in the morning before the bird’s usual time of working there. So the boys looked for some fun, and watched to see what would happen when “Cocky” came along. The bird climbed up the cask in the usual manner, and, gaining the top, he put his head over, preparatory to climbing in. The cat, of course, resented this, and spitting viciously, she threw up her paw and hit “Cocky” on the ide of the head, The frightened bird waited for no more, but climbed down again instantly, muttering all the time, “Poor puss, puss! Poor puss, puss! Poor puss, puss!” The boys, of course, screamed with laughter, and “Cocky” the moment he was safely on the ground exclaimed, “Baal budgery! Hip, hip, hurray!” One cannot describe the comical effect of a cheer from “Cocky”-he always threw up his topknot when he came to “Hurray!” He kept away from this cask for sometime afterwards wouldn’t go near it.
The Miss Petrie of those days had a king parrot who was a great pet, and was very clever-he could call each of the three dogs of the household by their right names. This bird lived for about nine years, then took cramps. Finding him unable to stand one day in his cage, his mistress took him out, saying, “Poor Joey-poor fellow!” and Cocky was walking about watching. Miss Petrie doctored her bird, then put him on her bed on a piece of flannel. “Cocky” followed, and catching the counterpane in his beak, climbed up on to the bed, then lifting Joey’s covering looked at him, and said, ” Poor Joey-poor fellow!” Then he climbed down again and walked off.
“Cocky” picked up any word or expression he heard very quickly. He was always surprising people. On one occasion down by the side of the road in front of the house, two men lounged idly talking. “Cocky” noticing the pair strutted down to them and inquired “What ship?” Then he commenced to talk, “Jack’s ‘Cocky ‘-Jack’s poor, pretty cockatoo, me boy,” he said. The men got him to make friends, then bringing him up to the house told them there, “This bird wanted to know what ship we came in, and said he was “Jack’s pretty Cocky.” “Cocky” listened to this with head on one side, then broke in with “Baal you yacca, baal you tobacco! “
“Cocky” could say all the names of the family. In the morning when Andrew Petrie walked along the veranda to call his son George, “Cocky,” hearing the footfalls and the sound of the walking stick, never waited for the voice, but would be first in calling-” Jordy! Jordy!” rapping his beak on the floor in imitation of the sound of the stick. My grandfather had many a laugh at this.
A working man called Johnnie Bishop could imitate a drunken man very well. He often used to come to “Cocky” and assume drunkenness for the sake of hearing the bird string on a lot of swears at him, and say, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Poor “Cocky, he was often teased. The wild young squatters used to laugh at him, and he would chase them. When he chased anyone he always said, “Sule ‘im,” and then would bark like a dog. One day these squatters poured gin and water down the poor bird’s throat, and this evidently made him tight, for he could not stand. Always afterwards he would run from a glass even of water, and the squatters laughingly declared ” he was a teetotaller for ever! “
Whenever “Cocky” had done anything wrong, he always wanted to “kiss,” one knew so that he had been in mischief and was afraid of being punished. He was a terrible bird for destroying furniture, and often narrowly escaped being killed for the damage he did in that as in other ways. Once a large brick oven in the house was repaired. The workmen, when they had finished, went off, leaving everything all right, but the mortar, of course, was wet. “Cocky,” when their backs were turned, set to work, and, using his powerful beak, gradually loosened the key bricks, causing the whole thing to fall in, and how the bird escaped is a marvel. All the work had to be done over again. Another similar trick at another time, he played upon the Petrie’s washerwoman. She had the clothes out drying, and, when her back was turned, “Cocky,” climbing along the line, pulled out every peg thereon, causing the clean clothes to fall to the ground. The washerwoman, who was a one-time convict, used some rather choice language when she saw what had happened.
“Cocky” had a perch up under the kitchen veranda, where it was boarded in, and here he made a little hole, where he could put his head out; was very busy making this hole; worked at it every night till finished. From here he could see the ferry and anyone passing to it. It was a great thing then for a person who wished to be funny to call “Hey!” then when the other looked round, “That slewed you!” “Cocky” picked this up, and would do it beautifully to passers by. Some of them got quite angry with him. The moment he got anyone to look, he would bob in his old head out of sight. The present Andrew Petrie says he has often heard Dr. Hobbs say “Cocky” “had” him many a time, by either a whistle or a call.
One day by some means or other, “Cocky” fell in the river, and would have been drowned but for his wings. He was discovered calling, “Jack’s poor ‘Cocky’!” and at his rescue was terribly excited, repeatedly kissing and saying, “Kiss-poor ‘Cocky-Jack’s poor ‘Cocky.'”
Cocky” hated to see people barefooted. The sight of bare feet irritated and made him savage, and he would chase the owner. He also hated the doctor with intense hatred, and “went” for him. At one time my father’s brother Andrew was ill in bed, and “Cocky” took it upon himself to sit alongside the sufferer, of whom he was very fond because of being fed by him. He would sometimes even get under the blankets, and whenever any one went near the bed “Cocky” got very cross, and swore at and chased the intruder. Then when Dr. Hobbs came alngo he vented his rage on him. He would no sooner be put out at the door than he was round at the window, which if closed he prized open with his beak, and there he was in the room. again and at the doctor. So he had to be shut up in a cage till the doctor left. During his imprisonment he continually called, “Baal budgery–Jack’s pretty ‘Cocky!’-kiss poor ‘Cocky!”
“Cocky” seemed to know when anyone was ill. All the time my grandmother was laid aside before her death, he spent part of each day at her bed head, watching to see that no one came near, and now and then saying, “Poor fellow ! ” When she died he was present, and afterwards seemed quite dull for a day or two-it was almost as though he knew something. He went on in the same way years afterwards when the old gentleman died. They could not keep him out of the room, and when the coffin was brought in, he flew fiercely at those who went to lift the body. The poor bird had to be shut up out of the way. He was found, however, afterwards, on the edge of the coffin, looking down into it, and was heard to remark, “Poor fellow!” before he got down and walked away.
Although “Cocky” was forty-five years old when he died, he might have lived even much longer but for an accident he had. One day he perched himself on a half-cask of pitch, and somehow fell into it. It was a hot day, and the pitch was soft, and in the struggle to get out the feathers on the bird’s breast got stuck and pulled out. They never grew again. So in the summer he had to be put in a cage and covered with a net, as the mosquitoes tormented him very much, then in winter it was a piece of work to keep him warm. The unfortunate bird fell into a habit of continually picking his bare breast, which made it bleed. Though he lived this way for years, at last he looked so miserable that it was thought truer kindness to put an end to his misery, so a stranger was paid to do the deed. This, then, was the last of poor old “Cocky.”
To the older members of the Petrie family yet living it is a sort of sacrilege in a way, to laugh at or doubt any of the tales told of “Cocky.” But yet they realise that it must be difficult for people who did not know him to understand how a bird could come to such perfection. My father will talk of him, then say, “But people won’t believe that- they will think it all bosh.” And his nephew, Andrew Petrie, says, “Never have I seen such a bird since. I have come across many a clever bird on steamers and elsewhere, but never one has been able to touch old Cocky.’ He was truly marvellous. He was a great bird to take off’ people. Many a time, when I sang as a boy, ‘Cocky’ would mimic me, then laugh and jeer. Often the blacks brought in tiny young cockatoos for us, and Cocky would go upstairs to where they were, and feed them just as a parent bird does, then he would make exactly the noise they did, and laugh over it. There was a little pet pig, too, he was very fond of; he often carried food to it. Once these two were found getting drunk together! A cask of beer was leaking, and piggy was sucking up the liquid, while ‘Cocky’ caught the drops with his beak. Poor Cocky’-I used to be amused at the way he would climb up father’s chair, then pull his sleeve, and say, ‘Jack! If no notice were taken, he kept at it till he got the answer, ‘Well, what is it?’ “Cocky” a piece of bread.'”
‘Give Governor Cairns, when he came to Queensland, had heard so much about “Cocky” that he asked to be taken to see him. Poor “Cocky” was then very disreputable looking with his bare breast, and young Andrew was rather ashamed to show him. However, he brought the bird forth and made him talk a little, saying to His Excellency that he was “Jack’s poor, pretty cockatoo, me boy.” But his best days were over then.