"Fellow Australians, it is my melancholy duty to inform you officially, that in consequence of persistence by Germany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her and as a result, Australia is also at war."
These were the words spoken in an address to the nation by the then Prime Minister, Robert Menzies, on the 3rd September 1939. On that day no one could have envisaged what the next six years would bring to Australia and, indeed, the World.
Australia had just experienced the worst economic depression of modern times with unemployment reaching 32% and now the country was thrown into a war that would see one million of the country’s young sent to almost every corner of the World.
During 1940-41 the main actions involving Australians were in the Mediterranean, North Africa and Greece against German and Italian forces. Smaller forces were sent to Syria to fight the Vichy French and an air and sea war in the Atlantic, as well as an air war over Europe. Closer to home, the Royal Australian Navy engaged in combat against German raiders that threatened shipping in the Indian Ocean.
War with Japan was always anticipated, however, and when they finally entered the war in December 1941 and then attacked Darwin in February 1942, Australian troops were deployed to many parts of the Asian Pacific area, with the main contingent going to Papua New Guinea.
Also in mid 1941 women were recruited for the first time to serve in non-medical roles in all three services. Although they served mostly in Australia, their duties were varied and played a significant role in the war effort.
There was also the Home Guard, which was made up of thousands of ordinary citizens, all of whom maned vantage posts all around the Australian coastline looking for any sign of a Japanese invasion.
For those of us who have not lived through the ordeal of a World War it is hard to imagine the trauma, not only our soldiers went through, but those left behind to keep the home fires burning. For those who had loved ones in the war zones, there was the constant fear of that dreaded telegram. For the many who had family or friends missing in action, the anxiety of waiting for news could be an unbearable time that often ended in heartbreak.
Around 10,000 Australian servicemen in World War Two were taken prisoners of war in Europe, most having been captured in Greece or North Africa, with a few in air operations over north-west Europe. Another 22,000 were captures in the Asian-Pacific area.
Most prisoners of war spent three to four years in captivity, with those in Europe being moved between different prison camps. Most ended up in Germany, Austria or Italy, with many being put to work in factories or farms.
In the Asia-Pacific area, prisoners captured by the Japanese were sent to many locations including Japan, Borneo and Korea. The most publicized of these prisoners were those sent to Burma and Thailand and worked on the infamous Burma Railway. Almost 8,000 of the Japanese captured prisoners died in what has been described as horrendous slave labour conditions.
On the 7th May 1945, a week after the death of Adolf Hitler, Germany surrendered. It took another three months, however, and atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki before the Japanese finally gave up. The World had been changed forever, families had lost loved ones, people everywhere had lost limbs and minds that would never repair. Towns had been reduced to rubble, countries were devastated and very few people in the World would escape without a scar.
The answer to the question “why” is far beyond the comprehension of ordinary folk, but on Anzac Day let us take a moment to remember and pray that the powers to be in today’s World will remember.

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“Waubadebar”

Almost from the time of the first white settlement of Van Diemen’s Land in the Derwent River in 1803, small port of calls were set up along the East Coast to cater for the lucrative whaling and sealing trade that was a large part of the early economy. The men who manned the whaling ships came from all over the world, many of whom were escaped prisoners from the jails of Europe choosing to sail to the ends of the earth rather than be in prison. They were, it was reported, some of the wildest, toughest, hard drinking, ruthless men ever to set foot in the colony.
It was on one of these whaling ship stop-overs on our East Coast in the early part of the 1800s that a fifteen year old aboriginal girl was standing with other members of her tribe. They stood on a high round, bare rock that gave an excellent view of the sea and the bay below where a strange, massive canoe with a huge white top had sailed into. The whole tribe watched as the white top came down and another canoe, smaller this time, appeared to emerge from the big canoe and strange men with covered bodies, hairy faces and pale coloured skin rowed the smaller canoe into the beach.
It was a strange sight for this tribe of natives who knew no other life than following the traditions of their forefathers in freely wandering from Moulting Lagoon, where they would feast on the rich swan eggs in spring, then follow the coast north as far as the Great Molar Tooth (St. Patrick’s Head) collecting shellfish, then up into the hinterland where snakes, kangaroos, possums and many other animals were plentiful to fill their bellies. But despite the warnings from the elders, a number of the young aborigines, including the girl whom they called Waubadebar, left the lookout and headed for the beach where the strange men had landed.
But Waubadebar’s curiosity was stronger than her fear making her a perfect target for these ruthless sailors who had little respect for any woman, let alone a young innocent aboriginal girl and she was quickly captured by the hunters and taken back to the ship and forced to live a life as a sealer’s woman. We can only assume she would have then been continually raped, humiliated and beaten as she was made to slave for her captors.
But Waubadebar was no ordinary young woman; she soon adapted to her situation and proved her worth by becoming an excellent seal hunter. It was said she could sneak up on a herd of seals by swimming under water and kill at least three before the rest were scared off.
Heroism came to Waubadebar one day when a storm swamped a boat carrying two of her masters several hundred metres off shore. In huge seas she swam out to the first man, who had a broken arm and was semi conscious, and brought him to safety and without any hesitation returned to the upturned boat and rescued the second man.
Great respect was given to the young aboriginal woman from that time on and she was allowed to live beside the bay where her heroic rescue took place. For some twenty odd years she lived, worked and made many friends, both black and white, beside the bay that everyone now called Waub’s Bay.
But alas, in 1829 Governor Arthur appointed George Augustus Robinson to round up all of Waubadebar’s people and transport them from their homeland to the islands in Bass Strait where they would be of no more threat to the settlers who had invaded their land and broken their 35,000 year old laws.
It was June 1832 before “The Black Line” finally caught up with Waubadebar and again she was loaded onto a boat against her will and sent off to the Furneaux Islands in Bass Strait to join her people. But it appears she didn’t make it and died on board the boat somewhere off the North East Coast of Van Diemen’s Land. But thankfully her friends were able to lobby the Government of the day and have her body brought back and buried where she could watch over her beloved Waub’s Bay for ever.
The area around where Waubadebar was buried was known by a number of names including Waub’s Bay, The Gulch and Fisheries until 1851 when James Ebenezer Bicheno died in Hobart Town. Bicheno, it would appear, was an outstanding contributor to the community, his most notable contribution being a donation of some 2500 books, of which was to be the nucleus of our current day library system. To recognize this fine gentleman Lieutenant-Governor Sir William Denison decreed that not only a memorial be built in Hobart’s St. David’s Park, but the picturesque whaling port some 28 miles north of Swansea be named “Bicheno”.
When we stand today and admire the humble grave and look at the simple headstone that reads: “Here lies Waubadebar, a female Aboriginal of Van Diemen’s Land, died June 1832, aged 40 years. Erected in her memory by a few of her friends.” One wonders if it holds enough recognition of this amazing brave woman who obviously made a huge mark on those around her. Perhaps if Denison had been satisfied with his St. David’s Park memorial for James Bicheno, the humble whaling port could well have been more appropriately named “Waubadebar”.

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UNA
(1915 – 2006)

A couple of years ago as I was walking past a house in Cornwall, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw an elderly lady lying on the ground clawing at the ground with her hands. Thinking she was in serious trouble, I raced to her aid, but she simple looked up at me with a big smile and bright eyes and asked: “What’s the matter, Jim?”
“I thought you were in trouble, lying there like that,” I replied.
“I’m fine, Thank you,” was her casual reply, “I’m just weeding my garden. I can’t bend or kneel these days, but I’m okay lying down.”
That was the example of the determination and will to achieve against any odds that led Una Camplin set. She was not only a devoted wife and mother, but one of the greatest community leaders you would wish to know.
Una Herbert came to Cornwall as a young eighteen year old school teacher in 1933 and immediately became involved in raising money to build a new community hall to replace the one that was burnt down in 1930. The efforts of Una and her committee were soon rewarded and work was started on the new hall in 1935.
But in the meantime Una had been swept of her feet by a young man from Yorkshire, England who had come to Cornwall to work in the coalmine. He too was full of enthusiasm and dreams of marriage, home and family and by 1936 when the hall was completed “Yorky” had asked Una for her hand in marriage, making Una the first person to be given a kitchen tea in the new Cornwall Hall.
On the 28th December 1936 Ron Camplin and Una Herbert were married; hence the Camplin family of Cornwall began. Ron and Una had five children but that did not stop them from working for their community. They were involved in sport and raising money for their beloved Anglican Church, Red Cross Comfort fund during the Second World War, St.Marys Hospital and many other community projects. But, sadly, Ron died in 1965 leaving Una alone, but Una still loved her community and continued her involvement with positions such as Librarian, Sunday school teacher, Church organist, Secretary for Child Health, Chairperson for Fingal Valley Welfare Society and long time member of Mothers Union. She also worked on many committees including: establishing units for the elderly, Meals on Wheals, Golden Years, and indoor bowls and in 1993 she was recognized with an award for her services to the community and later received a Break O’ Day Council citizen of the year award.
Una was almost eighty at that time and you would have thought ready to wind down, but no, she still had to fulfill her long time dream to build a wall that would recognize the pioneers of the coal industry and not only preserve the industry’s heritage but enhance the town in which she had spent most of her life.
There was no other place in the world for Una but Cornwall. She loved the town its people and its history; to be in her modest cottage in Alexander St. surrounded by her family and friends, cooking dinner in her humble kitchen for anyone who cared to join and tending to her beautiful garden was all the reward she asked for in life.
I wonder if John Herbert, in 1787, who at the age of seventeen found himself on board one of the First Fleet ships “Scarborough” on his way to Australia for seven years transportation for stealing a handkerchief, would have ever envisaged being the Great Grandfather of such a grand lady who in her magnificent way gave a lifetime to, not only raring a family, but working, fighting and inspiring a community to achieve what many said was impossible.
The Fingal Valley has seen many of its wonderful community leaders move on in the last few years, but none greater than Una Camplin. But we must not mourn her passing; rather celebrate her life that was full of love, inspiration and a fighting spirit that enhanced our community and made it a richer place to live.
The opening of the Coalminers Heritage Wall at Cornwall on the 4th February 2006 was a fulfillment of her long time dream and whilst the wall will display some twelve hundred names of our brave, determined, hard working pioneers, one name, that of Una Camplin, will always stand out and the memory of “The Queen of Cornwall” will live on for ever and give encouragement to those who are left to never give up the fight for what you love and believe in.

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“Time Capsule”

Over the past decade we have seen an influx of Mainlanders relocate to the East Coast and Fingal Valley, many of whom have a keen interest in the history of the area. Very often the first piece of information they like to obtain is the history on the property in which they have invested. However, comprehensive property records are not always available, particularly if it was developed in the Nineteenth or early in the Twentieth Century.
Scottish born couple Bob and Margaret Middleton, who relocated from New South Wales in August 2008, to a property in Eastern Creek Road, Upper Scamander, were luckier than most in obtaining their property history. A few months ago they had a surprise visit from a couple of people who were connected to the original owners of the property. After a cup of tea and a tour of the property they were about to leave when one turned to Bob and Margaret and said: “If you’re interested there’s a time capsule in a cavity beside the stairs”.
As you can imagine they were both intrigued and couldn’t wait to locate the capsule, which to their delight was still snugly tucked in the wall where it had been placed.
The capsule was nothing more than, what looked like, an old, plastic yogurt container, but its neatly placed contents put new meaning into what was now the Middleton’s little piece of paradise.
First there was a collection of photos of the family who built the house, taken with the building in the background in each stage of construction. There were pages from an old “Examiner” newspaper depicting stories from the construction era, with one article on a young up and coming cricketer by the name of Ricky Ponting. But the most important item was a two page, hand written letter, the author of which was the wife and mother of the house.
She told an amazing story of how her family were born again Christians and how dedicated they were to their faith. She gave a description of the establishment of the property and the peace and tranquillity it was bringing to her family. She mentioned all the people living in the house, as well as the neighbours, plus the cat, dog, chickens, rooster, sheep and veggie garden, all of which were an important part of the family’s life at that time.
I believe, however, it was the conclusion of the letter that had the most impact on the reader. It read: “One day when we aren’t here and you find this letter, I pray a blessing on you that God will grant you the peace in this place that we have now”.
The Middletons were so moved by the letter that they made inquiries about the current location of the writer and found her daughter now lives in St Helens. They made contact and took the the young lady out to lunch. She was only seven years old when her mother wrote the letter and placed the other items in the container. The reaction and look on her face when she was given copies was a touching moment, and one the Middletons will remember forever.
Although this humble letter only dates back to the 5th May 1994, it tells a story of a loving family devoted to their faith and what life was all about for them at that time. Without the contents of the time capsule, it is a story that would most likely have been lost.
One can only wonder how much more history and stories could have been preserved if only our ancestors had thought of the time capsule idea a couple of hundred years ago.

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“The Tasmanian Tiger”

On the 4th May 1804 the Reverend Robert Knopwood, the then magistrate of Hobart Town, sat and listened as five convicts, who had been captured after a brief escapade in the nearby bush, told a story of seeing a strange looking tiger. They described the animal as being like a long, large, sandy coloured dog, with black stripes on its back, a stiff tail and a large head. Little did the convicts know that, although Able Tasman in 1642, had recorded strange tiger like footprints on the beach at Marion Bay and a midshipman from the French ship “Naturaliste” had reported strange yipping sounds coming from the bush at Maria Island in 1802, this was the first recorded European sighting of what we now know as the Thylacine, or more commonly called the Tasmanian Tiger.
It was almost a year later, however, before a European actually touched the strange animal. This was in York Town on the Tamar River on the 30th March 1805 where one was brought into the settlement after being killed by dogs in the nearby hills. Colonel Paterson, who examined the carcass and said it reminded him of a hyena, immediately sent it to the botanist Joseph Banks in Sydney. Banks, too, was intrigued by the carcass and began an extensive study into this unusual animal.
Over time it was revealed that the animal, although at the time, only found in Van Diemens Land, did exist on the Australian Mainland and parts of New Guinea a few thousand years ago. It was a marsupial and its tiny hairless new born babies would climb into the mother’s rear opening pouch and attach themselves to one of four teats. It could carry up to four young at a time.
Despite the common name “tiger” the thylacine was secretive with a shy, quiet and nervous temperament. It avoided contact with humans whenever possible and was able to do so with its powerful sense of smell. When they were found and captured by the settlers, usually by snaring, they generally gave up easily, indeed many died suddenly, apparently from shock. It was also said they were easily tamed as William Cotton proved one morning when he walked through the main street of Swansea with a thylacine on the end of a lead tamed like a dog.
But sadly the thylacine was a carnivore and the introduction of sheep to Van Diemens Land provided them with a new diet and one that was much easier to run down than their normal diet of kangaroos, wallabies and possums. The settlers already had a fear for the tiger and when their sheep began to disappear it gave them the perfect excuse to declare war on them, so much so that bounties were introduced.
The first bounty was introduced in 1830 by the Van Diemens Land Company who owned Woolnorth in the far North West and was establishing it as a sheep property. In 1888 John Lyne, the member of parliament for Swansea, introduced the bill that saw a bounty of one pound per adult and five shillings per pup placed on the thylacine. Lyne wrongly claimed that there were hundreds of “tigers” in the Glamorgan area and were causing untold damage to the livestock.
The bounty lasted for 21 years in which time 2184 claims were made. By 1910, through the bounty and a distemper like virus, the thylacines were rare and sort after by zoos around the world. The leading exporter of the animal was Professor Thomas Flynn, Errol’s father, who had Maria Island made into sanctuary. But if any were taken there, they died quickly and by 1936 the last known survivor was in captivity in a Hobart zoo. Benjamin, who in fact was female, died on the 7th September 1936. Corinna, meaning Brave One, was the Aboriginal name for the thylacine and like the Tasmanian Aborigine it had fell victim to the greed of the white man.
The Tasmanian tiger was one of the most fabled animals in the world, yet despite its fame it is the least understood. The early European settlers were not only puzzled by it, but feared it and killed it when ever they could. David Owen, who has studied the Tasmanian tiger at length, estimates there were up to 4,000 thylacines in Van Diemens Land when the first settlers arrived in 1803. But in a little over a century it was pushed to extinction and now even those few folks with a memory are almost gone.
Today we are faced with a similar dilemma facing the Tasmanian devil, the thylacine’s cousin. The devil too is unique with a reputation as being the strongest animal in the world, pound for pound. We can only hope through its strength, modern technology and the grace of God, that in the not too distant future, we are not left with only memories of little black and white Tasmanians whose screeching screams each night reminded us of their presence.

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“The Water Trough”

The building of St Marys Pass back in the 1840s by some 450 convicts was a wonderful achievement of that time. It is hard to even imagine what the day to day lives of these men would have been like. No doubt it would have consisted of very little more than hard work, meagre meals with armed guards watching your every move.
Today one can only live in wonder at what fascinating stories these men would have told. We must remember these men were human beings, all of whom had families, friends and a life back in their Homeland.
One story, however, that has survived over time tells of a convict who, despite his predicament, thought of his fellow man and the animals that would use the road he was helping to build.
At midday the convicts would be congregated at a certain spot for lunch and a break from the monotonous toil of breaking rock and shifting dirt. Every day one man, whose name has not been recorded, would disappear as soon as his lunch was consumed and not return until the guards called for work to commence.
This went on for some time until one guard became curious as to what the man was up to. He was away too long for a toilet break, besides, the guard was sure he heard the sound of a hammer tapping stone.
Finally, the guard followed the convict and low and behold he found him quite near chipping away with his hammer and chisel at a large freestone rock. The guard immediately challenged the convict, demanding to know what he was doing and who had given him permission to do it.
“This is insubordination.” The Guard said. “I will report you to the officer in charge and he will have you whipped for misconduct.”
“But, Sir,” the convict replied, “we are building a long steep road up this mountain on which teams of horses and bullocks will haul heavy loads. By the time they are nearing the top they will be distressed and thirsty and I would like to build a trough to catch water for them to have a drink.”
Although the convict was reported, the authorities recognised his noble act and allowed him to complete his water trough. Afterwards he was given provisional parole and was able to work outside the gangs as a stonemason.
The water trough was placed beside a spring some two hundred metres from the top of the Pass, where for years it became a welcome land mark for the many travellers, especially those coming up from the coast. But alas, the floods that caused so much havoc in Tasmania in 1929 loosened a large boulder, which in turn, crashed into the trough and sent it to the bottom of the gully in several pieces.
This unnamed, compassionate convict was typical of thousands of men and women who were sentenced to transportation to the Colonies for frivolous misdemeanours. Many should never have left Britain, but for those who had initiative, like our trough builder, Australia became their home and their talents and skills became an impotent part in building our great Nation.
The chances of finding the old drinking trough at the bottom of the gully and putting it back together would be an impossibility after so long, but wouldn’t it be a lovely gesture if we could remake the trough and place it back somewhere near its original spot with the story of the considerate convict engraved in brass and placed upon it.
This would not only be a memento of the Pass’s heritage, but one man’s compassion for others, even though the most callous of actions were brought upon him.

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“The Large Family”

Nine Mile Beach runs along the western shores of Great Oyster Bay from Swansea to Swanwick and is, as the name suggests, around nine miles long. The area itself, with its long golden beaches, sparkling blue boundless waters and rugged granite mountains rising from the sea as a back drop, is arguably one of the World’s most beautiful places.
There are many days, practically in winter, when you walk along this beach you are given the allusion that you are the only person on the planet. If you fossick among the millions of tiny shells that continually wash up from the depths of the bay there is a chance you may find a piece of broken blue and white willow patterned porcelain from an old plate or cup and saucer. There is also a good chance that this broken remnant was part of the belongings of the Large family who lost everything off Waterloo Point (The point where the Golf Course is today) near Swansea in November 1850.
On the 5th November 1850 Thomas and Mary Large along with their six children and all their possessions left Hobart on board the cutter “Resolution” to start a life in Swansea by setting up a brewery at Schouten House. As the cutter rounded Maria Island and headed up into Oyster Bay a storm blew up from the Southern Ocean and turned the bay into a mass of raging white water. The small cutter had already capsized in a storm on the Tamar River six years earlier and one passenger was drowned, so as they neared Swansea Captain Joseph Stanley worried that this was going to happen again.
By 11:00 pm they had made it to just off Waterloo Point and the Captain decided to throw anchor and sit it out until daylight hoping the storm would blow out, or at least in the morning they would be able to see to make a landing.
But the storm developed into the worst Southerly Swansea had ever experienced. It blew hard, strong and constant, pounding the ship with waves that continually covered the deck with white, foaming, rushing water.
Sometime towards morning Thomas Large heard the rudder drag on the sand and moments later the bottom of the ship was thumped onto the sea floor. Almost immediately water began to fill the cabin where he and his family were huddled together. Helped by his wife and servant, John Drinkwater, they wrapped the children in blankets and carried them up on deck.
But the ship was listing perilously to one side and with the waves continually thumping water on the deck, making trying to hold on as well as hold the children almost impossible. The “Resolution” had become like a tiny insignificant cork tossed about on top of masses of white horses.
As morning broke and Thomas Large looked around in the half light of dawn he became aware that the four crewmen had left the cutter leaving himself, Mary, and Captain Stanley with one child each to hang onto, while John Drinkwater had two of the older ones. But where was William his second son? He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was taken ashore by one of the crew.
By now a group of townspeople, including a number of ticket of leave convicts, were on the shore watching the trauma unfold. The convicts were offered a free pardon to swim out to the ship and help with the rescue. Only one went forward, however, but he was soon driven back by the strength of the waves.
Next a whale boat was dragged across the beach and four convicts tried desperately to battle it through the ever rising surf. Finally, after four or five attempts they reached the sinking wreck, but the only one left on board clinging to a section of the bow was Mary Large. One by one six children had been snatched from the arms of those who desperately tried to hold on, but the power of nature was too great. Five young bodies would eventually wash up on Nine Mile Beach, one would disappear forever.
An unconscious Thomas large was found washed ashore and taken, with his wife, to George Meredith’s house where he later recovered. His first words were: “My poor children.....” But the solemn faces and the silence of those around him told him what no father would ever want to hear.
The tragedy of the “Resolution” where six young lives were taken from their parents just fifty metres off shore on the fateful November morning in 1850 can be remembered today if we stand at their graves and gaze at the glistering waters off Waterloo Point, then read the inscription on the headstone: Weep not for us but be content. We was not yours but only lent. Wipe off those tears and weep no more. We are not lost but gone before. We was not yours but Christ’s alone. He loved us best and called us home.

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“Jane of Falmouth”

Can you imagine, today, floating a 35 ton wooden schooner across Hendersons Lagoon at Falmouth and out through the barway into the open sea. Impossible you say? Well, William Steel did it in 1834. Little did he know, however, it would be the beginning of the end for the enterprising East Coast pioneer.
In 1829 John Henderson and William Steel were given land grants at Falmouth, or as it was known then, St Patricks Head District. William Steel took up residence in a small villa built by Dr Alexander Thompson of “Logie” (“Harefield”) in the Break O’ Day Plains, who had used the villa as a holiday residence.
By 1834, William had built himself a schooner on the banks of Devils Creek, not far from his villa. After being rigged by Charles Manly, it was eased into the waters of the creek, loaded with corn and potatoes from William’s farm and floated out to sea.
William was rapt with his “Jane of Falmouth” and immediately headed off to Hobart to deliver his produce and pick up his first load of cargo and passengers, which he hoped, would be the beginning of a lucrative coastal trading business.
Parts for a corn mill for William were loaded, together with a millwright, Mr Dunn, who was going to assemble it. There were also goods for William Talbot of “Malahide”, Frederick von Stieglitz of Killymoon and Magnus McLeod of Georges Bay, as well a Mr Rankin. Dr Alexander Thompson, the man who had built William’s villa, was also there with a load of building necessities and some advice for the ship’s Captain to take care.
Along with the cargo, William, Captain Bill Green, three crewmen, the millwright and a Captain Margrave, late of the East Indian Service, who was going to the Georges River area to collect plants and seeds for the Botanic Gardens in Calcutta, the “Jane” set off from Hobart on her maiden commercial voyage.
It appears, however, that the further north they sailed the rougher the sea became and by the time the vessel reached Falmouth the Captain deemed it too dangerous to anchor and unload the cargo into small boats to be taken ashore. But William was anxious to get his cargo to its destinations and ordered the Captain to continue up the coast and negotiate the barway into Georges Bay.
At that time very little was known about the Georges Bay barway. No one really knew how much water covered the sand at low tide, or where the sand bars actually were. There had only been one recording of a ship entering Georges Bay prior to the “Jane’s” attempt. That was the “Tamar”, Captained by William Moriaty, which had entered Georges Bay earlier in 1834 to pick up Lieutenant-Governor George Arthur and a party led by John Helder Wedge, but they had recorded very little about the barway itself.
Everything was wrong, on the 5th September 1834, when the schooner began its entry into Georges Bay. The tide was low and boring out of the bay, made even worse by a strong westerly wind, which in no time blew the ship onto the sand bar.
The “Jane” was stuck fast and in the height of the moment all but one crewman climbed into a dinghy and headed for shore. But the little boat was no match for the waves breaking on the bar and it was soon swamped, throwing all on board into the raging sea.
Captain Green and his two crewmen headed directly back to the “Jane”, but William, Captain Margrave and Mr Dunn made the grave mistake of trying to make it to shore. They had no hope; in no time the strong, ebb tide swept them out to sea to a watery grave that would consume them forever.
Captain Green and his crew worked tirelessly for two days to free the vessel, but finally they realised it was hopeless. They built a raft from timbers on board and made it to shore.
Despite efforts on calmer days, very little was salvaged from the hapless vessel, and after persistent pounding by the force of the waves, the “Jane of Falmouth” eventually joined her Master at the bottom of the sea.
William Steel only spent a few short years in Van Diemens Land, but his impact on pioneering the East Coast was significant and should never be forgotten.

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George Oliver & the St Marys Tigers

It was a fine Saturday in late March 1930 when a young sixteen year old farmer’s son from Gray turned up at the St Marys football ground and asked for a game. Not much notice was taken of the lad at first; St Marys had plenty of good experienced players. They had won the Premiership the year before and, if you took notice of the supporters, they won the year before that, too. In 1928, Fingal had claimed the siren blew with ten minutes to go when St Marys kicked a goal to put them in front. A protest was lodged and the game was subsequently replayed the next week, with Fingal coming out winners by 5 points.
Despite the quantity and quality of players the lad from Gray was given a go. It only took half a quarter, however, for everyone to realize that this skinny, five foot eight boy they called George, had as much football talent as anyone who had come before him.
George Oliver is 94 years old now and the only person still alive who played in that 1930 Premiership side. The memories of his first year with St Marys and the Premiership win against arch rival Fingal by 20 points are as vivid as ever. “I wasn’t old enough to drink, but I was drunk until at least Wednesday.” He says with a cheeky grin.
George went on to be a vital part of the St Marys team for the next twenty years; playing in four winning Premiership sides: 1930, 1939, 1946 and 1947. He finally hung up his boots in 1950 at the age of 37.
The best coach George reckons he had was a builder by the name of Pudner Lawrence, who came to the area to build an extension to the school. The Friday night before St Marys was to play Fingal for the 1930 Grand Final, Pudner called a team meeting. He admitted that Fingal had too much talent for St Marys and the only way to win was to start a fight.
By the end of the meeting the game plan was finalised, with Pudner volunteering to punch Fingal’s star player in the first quarter. Sure enough he was a man of his word, before the first quarter was over not one, but two, Fingal players were laying on the turf and an all-in brawl erupted. In minutes the oval was a disaster area as supporters flowed onto the ground to join the players in what was to become a melee to be talked about for years to come. Order was finally restored and St Marys went on to win by 20 points.
Towards the end of the 1930s the Rovers folded and after St Marys beat Fingal in the 1939 Grand Final by 15 points, the Fingal District Football Association went into recess due to World War Two.
The competition recommenced in 1945 with St Marys and Fingal again playing off for the Grand Final. This time Fingal took home the cup with a heart stopping 2 point win.
George has fond memories of the next two years when St Marys won back to back Premierships defeating Avoca on both occasions. In the 1946 Final, George flew over the pack to take a spectacular mark, but as he did someone grabbed his shorts and tore them clean off. Did this deter George? No, he took off with the ball and entertained the crowd with a fine display of goal kicking, bare ass and crown jewels.
In those days, the half-time break meant a nip of rum and half an orange. One day someone put training oil in a rum bottle and a star player of the day raced into the sheds and grabbed the first bottle he saw. Needless to say the coach had no hope of extracting his star from the outhouse for the rest of the game.
George says he is honoured to have played footy with players in the class of: Stan Salter, Ted Guard, Bill Mitchell, Harry Shepherd, Stan and Kelly Birrell, Doug Nolan, Roy Cocker, Ron Lohrey, Peter Davern, the Bolton Brothers and Brindle Bradbury to name a few. But he reckons the best would have been Ivan (Johnson) Bean. Johnson went to Longford for a few years, during which time he made the Tasmanian State Team. But then George himself must have been okay, he went to Hobart to join a Tasmanian squad to go to Western Australia, but came down with the flu the day they were due to fly out and couldn’t make it.
George’s story is one of hundreds that make up the history of the St Marys Football Club. These are stories of young men who become local heroes by building a character full of sportsmanship and courage that carried on in every facet of their lives.
In any town in Tasmania football is a significant part of the community history, but sadly the economics of football today has seen many clubs fold. Let us hope that country football can be revived so that footy history in our community can continue and not just be a bunch of images stuck on a wall.

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The Rossarden Red Legs

We are Rossarden, we are the team
We can’t be beaten, that’s easily seen
At the end of the season, you’ll know the reason
Why we are the Premier team.
We went St Marys, and showed them our best
And they will always remember, The Boys from the West.

How many of the old boys from the Fingal District Football Association remember singing, or being in the opposing change room to the mighty Rossarden football team of the 1960s and hearing the mighty roar as players and supporters lifted the roof with their famous theme song.
Rossarden first fielded a footy team in the 1930s. Its modest beginnings; however, saw it frequently thrashed by the more established teams from down in the Valley. But as the mining at Rossarden and Story’s Creek grew so did the footy team and by 1956 the white jumper with the red V had became a force to be reckoned with and the “Red Legs” won their first Grand Final.
The taste of success was sweet and with the help of Bob Miller, a successful coach from Launceston’s City South Football Club and the Aberfoyle mine management, who it was said gave employment preference to any man who could play football, the team became one of the greatest forces in county football.
From 1961 to 1965 they won every premiership and were almost unbeatable in any match they played. Indeed, for any of the other teams to beat Rossarden in a roster match, it was celebrated like a Grand Final win.
During that era Rossarden played homage to some of the best footballers seen in country football. Players like the Lowe, Tapp, Hawkins, Lewtis and Williams brothers, along with Gus O’ Boyle and Colin Cruickshank would have made any side in Tasmania.
Every player who went to Rossarden in those days to play footy would remember the ground, it was hard and rough, with very little grass and unless it was covered with snow, which was often the case, a player would think himself extra lucky if he finished the game without a gravel rash, or two.
But the Rossarden boys and their supporters were a friendly lot and every team who visited their humble town was made most welcome and although it was painful for visiting teams to have to listen to the roar of the familiar theme song, a roo patty barbeque and a cold beer was always there to be shared.
For the St.Marys Boys, a trip to Rossarden for a spot of footy on any given Saturday was always a day to be had; with the time spent at the post game fellowship, a stop over to say “good day” to Don and Bev Doran at the Ben Lomond Golf Club and call into the Fingal Hotel to see how the Fingal boys fared, it was a long day, but one you would never miss.
1966 saw Swansea and Rossarden dominate the FDFA with Swansea taking out the flag after a hard fought season, but Rossarden bounced back and took out their final Premiership Flag in 1967.
The start of the 1970s saw a down turn in tin and wolfram which saw the beginning of the end for mining at Story’s Creek and Rossarden and with many young men leaving town causing the Football Club to fold in 1972 and whilst the mine struggled on for another ten years most of the few footballers left, ended up boosting the ranks of Avoca.
The domination of the boys in red and white from the mountain in the sixties raised the bench mark in the FDFA to a point where the1970s and 1980s saw a standard of football equal to any country association in Tasmania. But Alas, the Rossarden footy team will never come to St Marys and show them their best again because the Tigers like the Red Legs and indeed the FDFA are dead and buried, God rest their souls, and all that remains are the memories and with those few left with the memories getting fewer each year, that wonderful time in our sporting heritage will soon be forgotten for ever.

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Rossarden
"The Cost of a Recession"

In today’s economic climate, one can never be sure what industry or business will fall over next. The Fingal Valley cannot immune itself to to the crisis, as most of our major employers are controlled by multinational companies with a strong reliance on world markets. History has shown many such companies appear to see dollars in front of their eyes, rather than the impact any closure of industries would bring to the communities in which they operate.
We saw a typical example of this back in 1981 when Forestwood Holdings, a multination company based in Sydney, purchased the Aberfoyle Tin and wolfram mine at Rossarden for a reported one million dollars. At the time, it was wonderful news for the 500 or so residents of Rossarden and, indeed, for those working at the mine who lived down in the Fingal Valley.
Forestwood created an immediate sense of optimism by spending large amounts of money on upgrading plant and equipment. Employees’ houses were improved and plans for a sewerage system, to replace the existing “night cart”, was submitted to the Fingal Council.
The sewerage system was never started, however, on the 25th February 1982, one year after the Forestwood takeover, it was announced in the Examiner newspaper that the Rossarden tin mine dismissed 130 employees yesterday. This amounted to three-quarters of its workforce, bringing the underground operation, which had been operating for 50 years, to a close. Forty staff were maintained to rework the tailings, but this, too, was short lived.
In just 12 months the town of Rossarden had gone from riches to rags. Almost instantly families had to move away to find work and by October 1982 the town’s population had dropped to around 90.
On the 25 October 1982 the remaining residents were given a stark reminder of the finality, to what was once their livelihood, when plant and mining equipment went up for auction. Then, on Saturday the 30th , over 2,000 people gathered at the tennis court where 40 homes and 14 residential blocks were sold.
House prices varied from $100 to $700 and sitting tenants were offered their homes for $1, but few stayed, with families choosing to move to where they could find work. Many of the houses purchased were dismantled or moved to other areas.
One can only wonder why a mine, which made another headline in the Examiner back in 1968 by announcing the discovery of a new lode, with reserves of 340,000 tons of ore and an expected life span of over 30 years, could end so quickly, and it would appear heartlessly, just 14 years later.
Rossarden is today, like Mathinna and Mangana, only a fraction of its former glory, but the town has survived, mainly due to a strong vibrant community spirit. It is a unique town, set in the eastern shadows of Ben Lomond, where deer and other forms of wildlife can roam free and without fear amongst the remaining dwellings. In season, the array of colours displayed in the lupins that have taken over much of the vacant land, is a sight to behold. In summer the temperature can rise to equal any in Tasmania and in winter, even though your milk may freeze before it reaches your cup, the raw, natural, beauty of the snow covered mountain towering above the town will stay in your memory for ever.
The 1980-82 recession, which caused a dramatic fall in the price of tin, was obviously the major factor in the investors’ decision to close the Aberfoyle mine. The fact remains, however, that decision made tin mining at Rossarden just a part of our history and the chance of a revival in today’s climate is most unlikely.
Let us hope, then, that as recessions contuinue to bear their ugly heads, the price of coal and timber remains steady, because the Fingal Valley could well afford another Rossarden debacle.

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“Scamander Hotel”

For many of our early pioneers Scamander was more of a bugbear than the prestige picturesque place we know today. Bullock teams were lost in the breakers while trying to cross the river, bridges were frequently washed away and the roads leading into the area were nothing more than goat tracks. Towards the latter half of the Nineteenth Century, however, one man saw beyond the traumas of the past and realized the potential of this beautiful part of Tasmania as a tourist attraction.
In 1896 the Scamander Hotel opened its doors to tourists, travellers and holiday makers. It was a weatherboard construction situated on the northern side of the river and built by carpenters John and Frank Walker. John Walker along with various family members ran the hotel for the next thirty years.
John Walker saw a future in the tourist industry on the East Coast and was, perhaps, the first business man to advertise and promote it. He had photographs of the hotel taken and distributed with interesting annotations like: “Tasmania’s vey best river for bream fishing, with other varieties plentiful”.
The promotions went on to say “Good shooting including ducks, swans and bronze wing pigeons. Drive over the famous St Marys Pass and experience a beautiful climate which is cool in summer and exceedingly mild in winter. Boats and bait are supplied to patrons free. There is plenty of swimming and surfing available, with private bathing boxes for the ladies. (Why only for the ladies?) You can watch steamers sail past and your telegrams and letters will receive prompt attention. Indeed it is a tourist, holiday maker and anglers paradise.”
Over the years the Walker food and hospitality became widely known, with the food menu sounding something like this: “Fresh flounder for breakfast, crayfish, scale fish, or game meat for dinner. For desert you can have pies made with freshly picked fruit from the hotel orchard, topped with fresh cream direct from the hotel cow.”
If there is no one attending the bar please feel free to help yourself to a drink and leave the money in the till. (Could you do that these days?)
John Walker sold the hotel and retired in 1926. By then the hotel had grown from the typical six roomed U shaped building to a two storey structure with twenty five bedrooms, all of which had running hot and cold water, complete with electric lighting. Besides fishing, swimming, shooting and boating etc, a tennis court had been built as an added attraction. In one advertisement there is even a mention of a golf links, but as yet I haven’t found any information on this, or the location. (Can someone help?)
John Singer, formally of the Bush Hotel in New Norfolk, became the new owner and he and his family ran the business for the next seven years, until one fateful day it was burnt to the ground. The cause of the fire was thought to be a fault in the electrical system.
When the Hotel was destroyed in 1933 there was no bridge over the River, it had been washed away in the 1929 floods and the new steel bridge was still under construction. The only way across the River was a barge type punt which wasn’t always in operation. Given the rather primitive means of access to the northern shore and the fact that a new hotel called Scamander House had recently been opened on the southern shore, the original Scamander Hotel was never rebuilt.
The Scamander House, which later adopted the name Scamander Hotel, had a rather short life as well; it was demolished in the late 1960s and replaced by the current, more modern Scamander Beach Resort.
Scamander has continued to grow as a tourist and holiday destination, but one can only wonder what it would be like today if only more effort had been put into establishing a more permanent and safer entrance into the river from the sea. Or alternatively the plans floated about in the 1970s to link Scamander River up withHendersons Lagoon had been implemented.

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"The last chatelaine of Malahide Castle”
1915 - 2009

In the Fingal page on this website you can read about William Talbot who left the comfort of his family home at Malahide Castle in County Fingal, Ireland in 1820 and eventually ended up with a land grant at the junctions of the South Esk and Break O’ Day Rivers in Van Diemens Land.
With the recent passing away of Rose Talbot, I thought it appropriate to write a little more about the Talbot family and their contribution to the development of the Fingal Valley.
William Talbot was given his grant in 1824 and in 1827 named it “Malahide” after this home near Dublin and the town which sprung up around his property he named Fingal after his Homeland County.
Although William married he never had children and after his death in 1845 his now thriving sheep, cattle and crop property was left to his nephew Samuel.
In the early 1900s, Lord Milo Talbot took over the Malahide dynasty and although widely travelled as a collector of plants for his botanic gardens, he had not visited Tasmania until he heard of a local landowner who was offering to buy his property. But when Milo arrived at his Tasmanian “Malahide” he refused the offer and instead of selling, invested in the properly by first restoring the old homestead, and with no expense spared. From then onwards he spent most of the British winters at Fingal.
Milo was the last Lord de Malahide and died unmarried in 1973 and all his inheritance went to his sister Rose, who also never married.
Rose Talbot was the last member of her family to live at Malahide Castle, which had been the family home since 1185. After her brother’s death she was besieged with death duties and was forced to surrender the property and sell the contents in 1976. Desmond Guinness of the Irish Georgian Society said: “Every item was a priceless gem.”
Rose fought a gallant battle to keep it all as a family residence, but she received no help from the Irish Government who, at the time, saw it as Protestant ascendancy. Later Governments recognised the error and they now give encouragement to owners of grand houses to stay in their home and have even tried to reassemble family treasurers that have been dispersed throughout the world; too late, however, for the Talbot’s unique collection of Irish, Georgian furniture.
By now Rose was a spinster in her sixties, but bravely, she packed the little she had left and moved half way around the world to make a new life at another Malahide, in the town of Fingal, Tasmania.
Rose was a somewhat shy lady, but she soon established herself as a prodigious networker in Australia by travelling the vast continent and getting to know its most influential movers and shakers. She also kept in touch with her friends in the northern hemisphere by letter and a grand tour of the British Isles every summer.
Rose was a generous lady and gave to many charities, but her love of horticulture is what captured her interest the most. Soon after arriving in Tasmania, she completed the commissioning of a series of books started by her brother before his death. They were: The Endemic Flora of Tasmania, written by Dr Winifred Curtis and illustrated by Margaret Stone. Among her English horticultural friends to travel to Fingal were Lady Salisbury of Hatfield and Lady O’Neill, wife of the former Prime minister of Northern Ireland. Anne O’ Neill had known Rose since their youthful encounters at debutante balls and joked that what they had in common was being wallflowers together. Their knowledge of rare plants, however, was prolific.
Rose’s last years were spent quietly at her “Malahide” in Tasmania. She passed away peacefully on the 14 February 2009 at the age of 93 and was laid to rest at a humble ceremony in the Fingal Anglican Cemetery. One could never measure the enormous contribution her and the Talbot family have made to the Fingal Valley since William’s arrival in 1827.
We can only hope the new heir, Rose’s cousin, British Naval Officer Richard Talbot, will continue running “Malahide” in the traditions of its pioneer, and like his predecessors, fall in love with the unique beauty of this part of the world and make the grand old mansion his home.

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The Fingal Line

When we look back over history there are significant events, happening or inventions that changed the World. Perhaps the most innovating was the discovery and development of the power of steam by James Watt in 1776. What happened from then onwards needs no explanation Arguable the most significant day in the history of St Marys and indeed the Fingal Valley, has a direct link to Watt’s invention. It was the opening of the railway from The Main Line at The Corners (Conara) to St Marys on the 29th June 1886.
We can only imagine what it would have been like on that historic day when many of our ancestors stood on the platform of the newly built station and welcomed the special steam train full of dignitaries as it huffed, puffed and hissed its way into the rail-yards of St Marys. One can only wonder if they realized how much their lives would change from that day on.
St Marys could now go forward as an industrial centre. The abundance of coal found in the Mt Nicholas Range could now be mined and transported cheaply and safely to Tasmanian industries. Our farm produce, in particular the award winning cheeses that was being made here, could reach the markets of Hobart, Launceston, or Sydney and beyond much quicker. Our timber industry that Julius Aulich had just started at Mill Ridge, east of St Patricks Head, could now expand beyond the Break O’ Day Plains.
The opening of the Fingal Line was overshadowed the same evening, however, when the special train, which left Hobart on the 28th June 1886, loaded with some 100 dignities, many of whom were government ministers, which included the Premier the Honourable Doctor Agnew, left the rails on a five chain curve just twenty miles from Hobart. The train itself was extensively damaged and all persons on board were injured in some way, with the driver, Mr Bradshaw, killed instantly and the stocker, Joseph Rogers, died the following day. All other passengers, although many had broken bones and scalds, made full recoveries.
The Fingal Line itself has a good safety record. The only major disaster was on Saturday the 16th August 1946 when, after heavy rain which was compared to the 1929 floods, an embankment a mile east of Ormley at Rosstrevor, collapsed. This caused a “Q” class steam locomotive and the twenty trucks of coal and timber it was hauling to leave the tracks killing the driver, Eric Britton. The train and its carriages were extensively wrecked and it was a miracle that the firemen, Fred Guy, guard, R. Causley and passengers, Mr and Mrs Athol Bean and their baby daughter were uninjured.
For almost a hundred years the Fingal Line was the most important link with the outside World. It carried our coal, timber and farm produce to market. It provided a passenger service to the city and it carried our goods into the valley. But as the motor car developed and roads were upgraded, more and more freight and passengers preferred road travel to rail and the “Camel Car” passenger service, as it was known, ended in 1957.
Now fifty years on, although the majority of our coal and a small amount of timber are still carted out of the valley by rail, we have seen a gradual shift of all freight towards road transport. Today when we drive down the Esk Main Road and pass the many trucks carting both timber and coal, one can only wonder if our rail system will survive for much longer. Or will it too be abandoned and pulled up like the St Marys to Fingal line was in the 1980s?
I guess now in hindsight we should not have stood back and allowed this to happen, but instead ran a campaign similar to our hospital, doctor and environmental protests and fought to have this significant part of our history preserved. What a wonderful tourist attraction we could have now with a regular steam train running up and down the Break O’ Day Plains as a living memory of that important time in our heritage. I have fond memories as a young boy waking up to the sound of the morning stream train as it huff, puffed, clickety clanked and whistled its way from Cullenswood station up into the Cornwall screens with the daily supply of coal wagons. I remember looking down from Cornwall and seeing the stream train hauling its long line of coal wagons as it headed off down the valley. The plume of white smoke and steam would trail a mile or so behind, before it disappeared into the atmosphere.
Sadly our train line and the sounds of a steam train may have been lost for ever, but the few of us who can still remember the sounds and smells of that bygone era the image of the old stream train will always be a part of our memory.

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“Fingal Valley Thermal Power”

In the 1960s when the coal mines in the Fingal Valley all but closed, a campaign was launched by the Coalmining Unions, Cornwall Coal Company, Fingal Council and the General Community to have the Government build a coal fired thermal power station in Tasmania. The argument was not only to save an industry, but to utilize the huge coal reserves we have in Tasmania, mainly in the Fingal Valley and East Coast areas.
A great deal of money, time and energy was spent on research for this venture all of which covered the economic, environmental and social impact such a project would have, not only on the Fingal Valley, but Tasmania in general.
A number of sites were looked at; the first, of course, was in the valley close to the Mt. Foster and Mt. Nicholas coal reserves. This was ruled out, because for one, it was thought the smoke from the stacks would hang in the valley causing smog and secondly although the South Esk River runs through Fingal, it was thought the amount of water required would cause huge problems, particularly for farmers and towns downstream. A site high above the valley on top of Mt. Foster where the wind would blow the smoke away into the atmosphere looked like a good idea. But again, where would the water come from?
Seymour was the next proposal where sea water could be treated to handle the water problem and the Dalmayne coal reserves would be close at hand for fuel back up, if needed.
The final, and what appeared to be the most preferred site, was Bell Bay close to the Northern industrial areas of Tasmania. And although some time later the Government did build an oil fired Thermal Power plant at Bell Bay, the Eric Reece lead Parliament of the 60s appeared hell bent on maintaining Tasmania as a Hydro State and the campaign to save the coal industry and boost the Fingal Valley Community was canned. The sweetener by the Government was to start pine plantations in the surrounding hills and send miners into a work environment they knew nothing about and in most cases did not want to know about, but if they wanted to stay in the valley, and with real-estate being at its lowest ebb, they had little choice.
Coal fired power plants, however, were not new to the Valley, indeed in 1902 Mt. Nicholas coal mine was one of the first industries to produce electricity with a coal fired boiler driving a turbine to supply power to drive locos, lights and other machinery. Cornwall and Jubilee mines followed Mt. Nicholas and put in similar plants soon after, in fact, one of the Jubilee turbines still rests amongst the old mine site relics today.
In 1930, Mr. Hood, the then superintendent of Cornwall Coal Co, built quite a sophisticated coal fired power station at Cornwall with the intention of supplying not only the mine with electricity, but the townships of Cornwall, St. Marys and Mt. Nicholas. The Government, however, would not allow it and instead brought their own hydro generated power to the Valley and Mr. Hood’s plant never reached its potential.
Fortunately the coal industry recovered from the doldrums of the sixties without a coal fired power station and today we can only sit back and contemplate what our Valley would be like if the campaign had been successful. Would our mountains be ripped apart by now? Would our valley be full of smog from the million or so tones of coal it would have consumed each year? How much would our lifestyle have changed with such a monster in our midst?
Whilst the majority of the community was caught up in the 1960s crusade and quite disappointed with its failure, perhaps in hindsight, it was a Godsend that the fight of our forefathers was in vain and our valley has remained a peaceful, clean, relaxed, environment that the might of a power station would have changed forever.

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“Paddy's Head”

The eastern end of the Break O’Day Plains is blessed with three significant and unique land marks in St. Patricks Head, Mt. Elephant and South Sister, with St. Patricks Head the most prominent. It stands high above the township of St.Marys like a perpetual giant sentry watching over the town and the valley beyond. Its heritage both indigenous and European has been well documented in many writings over the years, including in on this website. But how many people who look up at the wonderful icon every day think about, or indeed know, the history of the man to whom it was named after.
The history of St. Patrick goes back to around AD 385 when a boy who was given the name of Maewyn Succat was born on the west coast of England, most probably Wales or Scotland. Although it was said his parents were of Christian beliefs, Maewyn was a pagan until, at the age of sixteen, he was captured by a group of Irish raiders and taken to Ireland. There he was sold as a slave and sent into the mountains near Ballymena where he was left alone to tend sheep. It was here that he found God and after six years escaped and went to Gaul (France) where he adopted the Christian name Patrick.
He spent twelve years studying in a monastery to become a priest, with his only ambition being to return to Ireland and convert the native pagans to Christianity.He set up his first church in Armagh and for some thirty years Patrick travelled the length and breadth of Ireland successfully converting thousands to Christianity. He not only set the foundation for the Christian church in Ireland, but much of the colourful Irish folk law stems from Patrick during his reign as Bishop.
One such fable was that on one occasion, from a hilltop sermon, he drove all the snakes out of Ireland. But it appears unlikely that snakes were ever in Ireland in the first place.The shamrock, the green three leafed clover, which has been the symbol of Ireland for centuries, was said to be used by St. Patrick to explain the Trinity. God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit, all of whom exist as separate elements of the same perfect entity, like the three shamrock leaves.
Patrick died at County Downs, Ireland, on the 17th March AD 461. That day has been commemorated as St. Patrick’s Day ever since, and with what started out as a Catholic Holy Day has developed into the biggest day in the year for most Irish. They, along with their descendants and friends throughout the world, celebrate this great day by singing, dancing, marching through the streets and drinking toasts to their country and Patron Saint with the traditional green beer. All the while dressed in green and displaying the traditional shamrock icon as a sign of St. Patrick and their Christian faith.
Perhaps, now when we look up at “Paddy’s Head”, or climb the 694 metre mountain as John Helga Wedge did, the first recorded white man to do so on the 7th December 1825, we can thank God for the thousands of years of heritage that adds to the character of our wonderful symbol, which is the iconic backdrop to St Marys and the Break O’ Day Plains.

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“Our Council”

Was the amalgamation of the Fingal and Portland Councils a good thing or a bad thing? This is a question many rate payers in the Fingal Valley often ponder. But did you know that the original Fingal Municipal Council formed in 1863 did, in fact, include Georges Bay (St Helens)?
The first election, held on the 27th February of that year, saw twelve candidates stand, six of whom were elected. They were: Francis Groom of Harefield, Thomas Ransom of Killymoon, James Grant Junior of Tullochgoram, Robert Clark of Malahide, Charles Parker of Benham and Robert Stuart of Fingal. Stuart, who was the Assistant Police Magistrate for the district at the time, was elected Warden.
The start of Government decentralization in Tasmania began back in the 1830s during the Arthur administration when police districts were set up under the control of magistrates. At that time the Fingal Valley came under the jurisdiction of Campbell Town. In 1837 a sub-district was created and an Assistant Police Commissioner stationed at Avoca. The administration was moved to Fingal in 1842 and housed in the old Probation Station.
The next move by the Government was the creation of Road Trusts in the 1840s which led to the Rural Municipalities Act authorizing the formation of municipal councils in 1858. To form a local council each district had to come up with a petition signed by at least 50 land owners, whose qualifications were based on the value of the property they owned.
Although a few districts moved rather quickly to form their council, there was quite a bit of opposition to the concept in the Fingal Valley. The first petition taken up in 1861 was rejected and it took another year of lobbying by the pro council group before a second petition was able to convince the Government that the people of the Fingal Valley were ready for their own council.
Nineteen municipalities were formed between 1860 and 1866, one of which was the Rural Municipality of Fingal, with its boundaries based on the old police district of Fingal, which reached from west of Avoca through to St Helens on the coast.
All councils subsequently elected took on the responsibilities of police services, water supplies, public roads, registration of dogs, impounding stray animals and licensing of butchers etc.
The Old Probation Station at Fingal was the initial home of the new council until Launceston architect, Henry Conway, was employed in 1878 to draw up plans for a Town Hall at Fingal. But it wasn’t until October 1882 that the foundation stone was laid by the then Warden, J. H. Grueber.
The new Town Hall was said to be a fine building and served the municipality well until it was destroyed by fire in the early part of the Twentieth Century. This unfortunately led to all records being lost, and with newspapers covering very little on Local Government matters in those days, not a lot is known about our early council’s affairs. One major development that did make the papers, however, was the drawing up of new boundaries in1877, which saw the Fingal Municipality end at Scamander River, resulting in the loss of the Municipality of Georges Bay (St Helens).
The Fingal Council was extremely irate about the change and the Warden wrote to the Colonial Secretary informing him that the Council’s legal advice stated the boundary change was illegal. He said under no circumstances would his Council give up the Grant Deed of the municipal land at Georges Bay. But the Colonial Secretary had the ruling hand, the new boundaries were enforced and no compensation was paid to the Fingal Council for their loss of what was later to become Portland Municipality.
A new Council Chambers was built at Fingal immediately following the fire in the early 1900s. The building still stands proudly today, but not as Council offices. A new state of the art structure was built opposite the old Tasmanian Hotel in Talbot Street only a few short years before the 1993 merger of the Fingal and Portland Councils to form the current Break O’ Day Council, the headquarters of which was soon established at St Helens.
The Fingal Valley people thought they were short changed back in 1877 when they lost the municipality of Georges Bay. Today, with the loss of the headquarters and administration to St Helens under the Break O’ Day regime, one wonders if the Valley hasn’t been short changed yet again.

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"Merle Oberon"

I first heard the name Merle Oberon from a young Council worker from St Helens. He told me how his Grandmother, who had lived most of her life at Weldborough, had been a friend of Lottie Chintock, of whom he claimed was the mother of a famous Tasmanian born film star of the 1930s and 40s.
He went to say how Lottie was the daughter of Chinese tin miner, Alf Chintock, who had come to the Weldborough area from Victoria in 1874 with a European wife. As a young, beautiful, half, Chinese girl of seventeen Lottie had come down from the tin mining fields of Weldborough around 1910 to work as a chamber maid at the Telegraph Hotel (Top Pub) in St Helens. Soon after she became pregnant and if you can half believe the rumors, the publican, John (Gimlet) Thompson was the father.
It appears Lottie was sent to Hobart to have her baby which led to a number of versions as to what happened next. One version had the baby girl adopted by Indian silk merchants where, at the age of seven, she was taken to India and again adopted by an English railway engineer Arthur Thompson who had an Indian wife. Here the young girl was given the name Estelle Merle Thompson.
Another version had Lottie bring the baby back to St Helens where a number of people claim to remember seeing her running about the hotel while her mother worked. At the age of seven she was adopted by a group of travelling actors by the name of O’Brien and taken first to India, then London.
The story interested me to the point where I needed to know more about this intriguing lady who had once had the title of “The Daughter of Tasmania”. But alas the first document I found went on to say: “….Estelle Merle O’Brien Thompson (Merle Oberon) was born in Bombay India on the 19th February 1911 to an Indian mother and English father. In 1928 she went to England where she worked as a night club hostess under the name Queenie O’Brien and concocted a story she was born in Tasmania to hide her Anglo-Indian origins. She received a number of rolls in various films until, in 1933, flamboyant, Hungarian, film director Alexander Korda took a keen interest in her and changed her name to Merle Oberon. He cast her in the leading female roll as Anne Boleyn in the movie “The Private Life of Henry the V111”…….”
More research revealed Korda soon became the first of Merle’s four husbands and helped her to more staring rolls in films such as: The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934), The Dark Angel (1935), I, Claudius (1937), Wuthering Heights (1939), A Song to Remember (1945) and Desiree (1954) to name just some of her 30 odd motion pictures.
All through her time of fame and fortune she maintained the story of her Tasmanian heritage, but it wasn’t until 1978 that her fourth husband Robert Wolders, a Dutchman and 20 years her junior, brought her to Tasmania. They stayed at Wrest Point Hotel with her first function being to help judge the Miss Tasmania Quest which was won that year by popular television weather girl Sue Hickey. Three days later she attended a civic reception, held in her honour, at the Town Hall. Only minutes after arriving, however, she fainted and was rushed back to her hotel room where she stayed until she flew to Sydney a couple of days later. The next year, on the 23 November 1979, she died of a stroke at her home in Malibu, California.
Whilst Merle’s adult life was quite public and well documented, her childhood still remains somewhat contentious with Tasmanians, particularly those who remember her as the beautiful star of so many movies, will not have a bar of stories that takes away Merle’s Tasmanian birth. Merle Oberon and Errol Flynn were the pride of the Apple Isle.
Since her death, however, many researchers, including Sydney documentary maker Maree Delofksi, claim they have substantial evidence of her Indian birth. Delofksi followed a trail from Tasmania to India, then Canada and Los Angeles before making a film called “The Trouble with Merle”, which was first screened on the ABC in August 2002. Most of the evidence was circumstantial except for a birth certificate, but even that left some doubts to its authenticity. In Tasmania there is no such record of the baby girl Lottie Chintock gave birth to in 1911 and if she was not Merle, what happened to her?
Acclaimed author Nicholas Shakespeare made an interesting discovery during his research on his award winning book “In Tasmania”. At the Weldorough cemetery he found the grave of Lottie’s second child Ronnie. According to his headstone he was born on the 6th of October 1911, only seven and a half months after the birth of Merle.
It would seem then what version of Merle’s origins you believe is up to you. For me, despite the evidence to the contrary, I am going to stick with the tale that the glamorous, exotic film star with the almond shaped eyes, who gave so much pleasure to millions on the big screen, was indeed of Chinese decent. It’s a much more appealing story.

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"Mary Harvey"

In the 1850s the township of Bicheno consisted of two inns - the Steam Packet and the Native Youth - a small general store, a wine and spirit merchant, a police station and very little else.
The permanent population of the town was small, but it was a popular stopover for the many whaling and sealing boats that were working the east coast of Van Diemens Land in those days. The men who worked these boats were from all parts of the globe and with colourful reputations that would frighten the biggest and bravest of policeman.
It was about that time that a young policeman by the name of Constable Harvey arrived in town with his lovely young wife, Mary. But it seems it was Mary, not her Husband, who went on to make the biggest impact on the town with her acts of bravery, all of which led to earning her the title of “The Grace Darling of the District”
It all started one evening when Mary and Constable Harvey were walking home from visiting friends and they came across a man acting suspiciously in a potato patch beside the road. When the man was challenged he ran off with the policeman in hot pursuit.
Mary hastened to go to her husband’s assistance, but by the time she caught up with the pair the Constable was lying on the ground with the man sitting on his chest beating him with a stone. Mary showed no fear and raced to her husband’s assistance belting the man around the head and neck with a whip she was carrying.
The attacker was finally discouraged and struggled to his feet, then disappeared into the night. But by this time Constable Harvey was in a bad way and only semi-conscious. All by herself, with a super human effort, Mary carried and half dragged him to their home where she nursed him for over a month until he was able to resume duty again.
A few years later Mary almost lost her life when she was at the forefront fighting a fierce bushfire that threatened the town.
On another occasion Mary was home alone when the son of a neighbour bashed on her door yelling that a storm had swamped a boat his two brothers were in about a mile out to sea. Again Mary didn’t hesitate she grabbed the boy, along with another man who was in the vicinity, and in no time had a boat launched into the angry sea.
It was a titanic struggle against the waves and wind before they finally reach the stricken boat. By this time, however, one of the boys had let go of the upturned boat and disappeared under the waves. In desperation Mary jumped into water and took hold of the boy and literally lifted him into the rescue boat.
The journey back to shore was more terrifying still and it took them a long time to reach safety, but when they did Mary simply wrapped the half-drowned boy in a blanket and took him to her home, where she nursed him until he recovered.
Mary received acclaim from far and wide for her bravery in saving the boy from the sea. But her ordeals did not end there, later she survived a snake bite. Then soon after, when a horse pulling a cart she was in bolted, Mary was thrown to the ground and knocked about quite badly. But despite all of her tribulations Mary lived until she was 75, finally passing away in 1911.
Today Bicheno residents remember with pride the bravery of Mary Harvey, along with the Aboriginal girl, Waubedebar, who also saved the lives of two sealers from drowning after their boat had capsized. She too nursed those she saved back to good health, even though they had taken her from her tribe and family.
Colonial Secretary James Ebenezer Bicheno, who came to fame after donating 2,500 books to become the basis for the State Library, and after whom the town was named, would be proud I’m sure, to lend his name to a town where such courage was shown by two wonderful women. We, for our part, should ensure they always hold a special place in our heritage.

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“Jubilee”

Lying amongst the ferns, dogwood and cutting rushes on the slopes of the South Sister foothills are the relics of the Jubilee coal mine. A cement portal and old foundations, bits of timber, rusting steel buckets, rails and skips, plus an old turbine, once used to generate power from a coal fired boiler, are the only stark reminders of a mine that was once one of the big three of the early Mt Nicholas Range coalmines. Jubilee, however, was the smallest with 50 men employed at its peak, whilst Mt. Nicholas employed 91 and Cornwall 133.
The Jubilee coalmine was first opened in 1897 by the Coronation Coal Syndicate. In 1902, however, for no apparent reason, the Jubilee tunnel was closed. The operations then moved to the nearby Cardiff tunnel, where production continued on a small scale with only three or four men until, the mine was purchased by Mr. H. Aulich in 1916. But by 1920 with the Cardiff mine experiencing faults and bad ground, a new company called the Jubilee Coal Company was formed, with production was moving back to the original Jubilee tunnel.
More men were employed and in1924 and a 3.6 kilometer aerial ropeway was built. It followed Gardiner’s Creek, down through the valley, to newly constructed coal bins at a rail-siding some 500 metres west of the St. Marys Railway Station. The ropeway, however, was replaced with trucks in the late 1940s.
But Jubilee, like most mining operations, was not without its problems, faults, bad roof, water and a land slide in 1950, which washed away part of the haulage line, all threatened to close the mine. But it hung on until finally, like many other coalmines in the 1950s, fell victim to cheap World oil prices and despite efforts to extract their coal more efficiently from an open cut operation in 1955, the mine closed in 1960.
There are only a few who are left now with memories of Jubilee, but one man, Don Smith of St.Marys, who spent 24 years of his working life deep under the mountain at Jubilee can remember every moment as vividly as if it was only yesterday.
His face lights up when you ask him about the old mine and in no time, as he recalls the stories of an era long gone. You can almost see the coal dust as it fills the tunnel where he and his mate shovel the black fossil, that has been compacted under the mountain for millions of years, into the wooden skip. You can see his face turn black with only the whites of his eyes visible in the light from his naked flame lamp, as the dust settles on the sweat from his toil. You can feel the dampness as it seeps in from the millions of ton of earth above their heads. And smell the carbine from his pit-lamp as it blends in with the gunpowder from the dynamite he had jammed down two meter long, hand drilled holes in the seam to loosen the coal for the days shoveling. You can hear the curses of the wheeler as he leads his pit-pony into the board. “Git up ya B………” He yells as the horse, a lather of sweat and smelling to high heaven, hauls the loaded skips off into the darkness towards the surface.
Don remembers the aerial ropeway and the clanging of the buckets as they made their way up and down the Rosegarland Valley as if suspended in midair. He remembers the roar and the dust created by the “White” trucks that replaced the ropeway in later years and the drivers like Tom Squires, Joe Hollis and Frank Spilsbury who battled the pot holes and corrugations of Gardiner’s Creek Road day after day.
The days at Jubilee were a special time in Don’s life and although the work was hard, dusty and dangerous, it was rewarding, satisfying and developed mateships that lasted for ever. It was a time so different from what we know today, and whilst we must move on, it’s important we remember, preserve and learn our heritage. But sadly, when Don and his few mates leave us, there will be nobody to tell how it was with the genuine enthusiasm and realism that they can.

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"The Fogwills"
From Cornwall to Cornwall

When Convict transportation ceased to Van Diemens Land in 1853, England launched an extensive emigration program where people were offered a subsidised passage to the new colonies.
Thousands of families, mainly from the British Isles and Germany, took up the challenge and headed off to a land they were told was full of promise and opportunity. One such family was the Fogwills who were featured in the Launceston Examiner in March 1933 celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary.
Both Mr and Mrs Allan Fogwill were born in Cornwall, England and met whilst Allan was working in a gang building a railway past the home of what was to be his future wife. They were married in the parish church at Calstock, County Cornwall, on the 29th March 1873 and soon after moved to the North of England where Allan worked in the coal mines.
Three years and two children later they were attracted by the emigration program and set off for Australia. 73 days later, after a tedious journey on a sailing ship, they arrived in Adelaide. But Allan wasn’t happy there and after a few months was back on another ship, this time alone and bound for Tasmania.
He worked at several jobs in Northern Tasmania until finally, after a spell at Storys Creek, went back to Adelaide. But after several months when Allan again talked of returning to Tasmania Mrs Fogwill packed her cases as well and along with the children they arrived in Launceston in September 1886 and moved to Fingal where Allan received work at the Cornwall Coal Company mine at Cornwall, Twelve miles further east.
At that time the mine had only been going for a few months and there were no houses at Cornwall. Most of the miners lived at St Marys or Cullenswood and walked to work. The few who did stay at the mine site camped in tents made from tarpaulins draped over frames made from rough bush spars.
For Allan, however, a twelve mile walk after a long week under the mountain was a hard slog and in no time he set about building a “humpy”. It too would have been built from bush poles and split palings with a wooden shingle roof. Inside the walls were covered with brattice, the floor with bags and a stone fireplace to cater for a coal fire which would provide a place to cook as well as warmth on cold frosty winter nights.
By Christmas the “humpy” was ready and Mrs Fogwill and the children moved in, making her the first woman to live at Cornwall.
It also appears Mrs Fogwill was a bit of an entrepreneur, in no time she had a brick oven built and began to bake bread for the hungry miners. A few years later this led to her opening, what it seems, was the first store at Cornwall.
The Fogwills were an important part of the Cornwall community until 1915 when they retired and moved into Launceston. It was there in their humble cottage in Balaclava Street, Invermay, that eighty two year old Allan Fogwill put his arms around his eighty year old wife and with a gentle smile said how the best decision in his life was to get work on the building of the railway back in County Cornwall and meeting his lovely young wife, the second best decision in his life was to move to Tasmania in 1886.
That decision earned Allan a place on the Coalminers’ Heritage Wall at Cornwall, but for his wife, who played just as important role in pioneering the Coal Industry by being the first woman to brave the rough and tumble environment of a mining camp full of the roughest of miners, there is no such recognition. Not even her Christian name has been recorded.
But to see the smiling face of this sweet little lady pictured in the Examiner on her Diamond Wedding Day in 1933 one could clearly see the contentment on her face brought about by being a good wife and mother for a period seen only by a select few.
Some day in some form I hope we can have Mrs Fogwill’s name recognised as the “First Lady of Cornwall”. She paved the way for thousands of women all of whom helped build a town, a community and indeed an industry.

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The 2006 Fires at Cornwall

Sunday December the 10th 2006 started out like any other ordinary December Sunday at Cornwall. Just after lunch, however, with the stiff northerly breeze strengthening, the temperature reached 30 degrees and with the wind came the distinctive smell of a bushfire.
By mid-afternoon when a huge plume of smoke began to fill the sky behind the Mt Nicholas Range the people of Cornwall sensed they were in danger. Many of the old hands had witnessed bushfires before and they knew with vegetation around the town thick and dry the chances of saving the town, with the fire coming at it from the north, would be almost impossible.
All through the night on Sunday the fire roared in the hills colouring the sky with an orange glow that in its self sent a chill down one’s spine.
By Monday morning the fire was over the mountain and as the wind picked up it roared on its destructive path towards our humble dwellings.
By mid-morning the town was covered with smoke and people sort each other out seeking comfort and advice. Some were hosing down their houses, or filling their guttering with water. But water was scarce with the eastern side of town having only a trickle, or none at all. Others were packing valuables into cars or caravans. But everyone was determined to stay and fight even though at that time there was not a fire-truck in sight.
Around lunch time a report came through that Cornwall had a two kilometre fire front coming right at it. To top this off winds were predicted to strengthen to 60 plus kilometres an hour.
What were we to do? The local Fireys were tied up elsewhere and although crews were coming from all over Tasmania, would they arrive in time?
A decision had to be made and made quickly. I raced outside to talk to my neighbours and, low and behold, found the smoke had begun to clear. The wind was strengthening but at the same time was swinging around to the southwest and taking the fire towards the coast. By late afternoon it had taken out South Sister, St Marys Pass and reached Scamander. For the moment Cornwall was out of danger.
For three days the fire surrounded Cornwall and although we knew a wind change in the direction of the town would create havoc, we now had two bulldozers working on firebreaks, plus a number of fire crews to help us fight.
It was Thursday before the wind finally sent the fire roaring into the town from the west. We were all aware of the danger this would bring to our homes and indeed our lives, but no one was going to leave. Even our oldest resident, 86 year old Noel Bradbury, refused to leave until the Fire Service claimed he could not move fast enough it his house caught fire. Consequently, he was evacuated by being carried to a vehicle by two burly Forestry workers.
Once the fire reached the edge of town there was no room for fear; it was all go as townspeople, Tasmanian Fire Service and Forestry workers stood together and fought as the flames licked the weather boards of several houses.
People were everywhere; most hardly recognizable with their faces covered with smoke masks or in some cases a simple handkerchief. It was hard to breath, our eyes were filled with tears and burning from the effects of the smoke, but everyone was doing their bit, either protecting their home, racing to put out spot fires, filling fire trucks with water, or fighting the fire at its front.
For a couple of hours it was bedlam, bulldozers were pushing dirt onto the fire and helicopters were bombing houses with tonnes of water as the ground crews did their job. But as the fire raged from one end of town to the other, one by one houses were saved.
At the end of the day we waved our thanks to the helicopter as it circled for the last time and shook hands with the firemen. We were all exhausted but were able to feel pride in our achievement; apart from burnt bush, a few fences and a scorch or two our town had been saved.
Finally, as we looked at the dying embers of a few old burning stumps, a wonderful feeling of relief came upon us. Cornwall could now return to its quiet normality and once again we could sleep at night.

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Fingal Valley
1881

In the Nineteenth Century a number of books were written about Van Diemens land with the idea in mind to entice immigrants to come to what was described as a land full of promise and opportunity. Indeed, in the 1820s the population increased from 5,468 in 1820 to 24,279 by the end of that decade, with free immigrants making up the bulk of this increase.
The first book, which was written by Thomas Godwin in 1823, is now quite rare and worth $10,000 plus. The cover displays a painting of Hobart Town with Mt Wellington in the background and three large kangaroos in the foreground.
The book would have been standard reading for many of the thousands of immigrants who came to Van Diemens Land in the 1820s and 30s because it gave them a full description of the land as well as articles on sheep, land clearing, cost of labour, cattle prices, commerce and much detail on the ordinary mechanics of living.
Another book simple called “Thomas’ Guide Book to Tasmania” printed in 1881 has a chapter on the Fingal Valley and goes on to say: “…..It is doubtful if such another dreary, monotonous spot exists than The Corners. There is nothing but a dismal stretch of sheep run and the still more dreary hotel, whose proprietor and those about him have become hopelessly infected with the prevailing gruesome air of the detested spot.
At Avoca there is a stopping place to change the horses at a roadside stable and a little further on is an antiquated ruined dwelling. It is known as “The Haunted House”. A horrible murder was committed there in the early days of the colony and no one would live in it on account of the nightly vibration of the ghost of the murdered man.
At Killymoon, the mansion just discernable through the poplar and other acclimatized trees, is on the right of the road. It is the largest and most imposing structure in the district and now the residence of Mr. R. Ransom Esq. The property’s founder was the late Baron von Stieglitz who was evidently a man of architectural taste and one is strongly reminded of much that characterizes the structures of mediaeval times. The freestone for this building was quarries at the foot of the hills close by.
Cullenswood, the old home of the Legge family, gives its name to this part of the Break O’ Day Valley. Some cottages, a church and cemetery and some cultivated fields are the chief points of interest in this part of the valley, which was once a great hiding place for the various gangs of bushrangers whose lookouts were on the lofty heights on either side of the valley, whence without being seen, they could see all that was going on below…….”
One would have thought there would have been more points of interest in the Fingal Valley in 1881 than what was reported in Thomas’ guide. St Thomas Church, Avoca, St Peters Church, Fingal, St Mary Catholic Church, Cullenswood, all of which were well established by then. Plus properties such as Simon Lord’s “Bona Vista”, James Grant’s “Tullochgorum”, William Talbot’s “Malahide” and Francis Groom’s “Harefield” to name a few should have been worthy of a mention.
He did, however, go on to say that coaches ran twice a week into the valley from Campbell Town. The population for the Fingal Valley was around 2000. There were 8060 acres in cultivation, 934 horses, 6,794 horned cattle, 115, 963 sheep, 35 goats and 2,064 pigs. The member for the Legislative Council was the Hon. F. M. Innes and John Swan was the member for the House of Assemble.

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“East Coast’s First Golf Course”

On a recent visit to Bicheno Golf Club I was shown the plans for their proposed future development, which will upgrade the course to 18 holes. Adjacent to the course the plan includes a number of residential blocks, five star accommodation facilities and a new club house overlooking the Tasman Sea. When completed, the development will be a wonderful asset to our east coast and give the benefits of an 18 hole golf course to locals who at present have to travel as far as Hobart or Launceston for this pleasure.
As you would expect Bicheno golfing members are excited as they look at the plans and envisage the promising future of their club. However, one claim I have heard mentioned along the way that it will be the first 18 hole golf course on the east coast is, I believe, wrong. In Tim McManus’s book “Thanks to Providence” we learn that Falmouth had an 18 hole golf course before many folk on the east coast of Tasmania even knew what the game was about.
What would have been the first golf course on the east coast was called “Mariposa” and situated overlooking the sea between the township of Falmouth and Mariposa Point. The following media report was written in the winter of 1921:
“On Saturday the 15th - a perfect afternoon, calm and sunny - between 20 and 30 guests accepted Mr V. Ransom’s invitation to celebrate the opening of the Mariposa golf links. There were 16 players, including Mr C. C. Thorold, Hutchins School of Hobart and Mr Terence Brown of Ross. Mr & Mrs Ransom, with their children (Lee, Mary and James) have taken “Mariposa Cottage” for a few months and their guests were entertained there after the round of golf. Mrs Ransom, having provided a particularly dainty afternoon tea, was served in the dining room. The new links were pronounced to be very sporting, the only drawback being a few fences to climb. Against that the view from most of the greens is glorious with the whole course being in view of the sea shore. The clouds began to gather as good-byes were being said and as the last of the guests motored away the lighting began to flash, and the thunder peal away over the sea, then the rain came down in torrents.”
Towards the middle of the 1920s local land owner Reg Thorold laid out another 9 hole golf course beside Mr Ransom’s original course to eventually make the Mariposa golf course 18 holes. While the course provided much recreational pleasure for the Falmouth residents and their friends it was said to be a rather rough layout with the fairways covered in masses of buzzies. The sea was also close on a number of holes and a good slice or hook would see your ball disappear into the ocean.
It would seem, however, that the 18 holes were too much to handle and a new 9 hole course, this time called the Falmouth Golf Club, was laid out and opened in 1936. The new course incorporated some of the old Mariposa holes with new holes built over the hill and down towards the Falmouth Road. The club house and first tee were on “Glencoe” land alongside the road into Falmouth, some 200 metres from what is now the Tasman Highway junction.
The Ransoms must have been keen golfers in those days because the Ransoms of “Killymoon” in the Fingal Valley built the next golf course in the district. It was 9 holes, laid out along the banks of the Break O’ Day River, in front of the Ransom mansion. Talbots at Fingal followed with another a 9 hole course near the homestead at “Malahide”.
Whilst the Malahide golf course still lives on but in a different location, both Killymoon and Falmouth-Mariposa courses were relatively short lived and the fifty odd years since they were abandoned has erased almost all evidence of their existence.
One could not begin to compare the new Bicheno Golf Club development to the humble beginnings of golf on the east coast at the old Mariposa course in the 1920s and 30s. But thanks to research and documentation by historians like Tim McManus the history of the old links and its role in pioneering golf in the district is preserved as part of our rich heritage.

Thanks to the book “Thanks to Providence” by Tim McManus for much of the research on this story.

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“Electric Eric”

In a recent conversation with Michael Polley MHA, our discussion led to politicians, past and present, who at one time lived in the Fingal Valley. Michael himself went to school at Mathinna; David Llewellyn is an old Cornwall boy and Steven Salter, a past Liberal MHA, along with Andrew Lohrey, a Labor MHA from 1972 to 1986, were both St Marys boys. Bill McNeil, Minister for Health in the Labour Government of the 1960s, owned the St.Marys Hotel at that time and Terry Aulich another well known Labor MHA from the 1980s had strong family ties with the Aulich’s of St Marys. The one who stands out, however, is Eric Reece; nick named “Electric Eric” because of his passion for hydro-industrialization in Tasmania.
Eric rose to great heights in Tasmanian politics and during his time as Premier from 1958 to 1969, then again from 1972 to 1975, made huge inroads in the industrial development of Tasmania. Arguable he was the most well know, talked about and the greatest Premier this State has ever seen But all through his time in power and indeed until his death in October 1999, Eric never forgot his humble working class upbringing and the hardships of the 1930’s Great Depression when finding employment was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Eric Elliot Reece was born at Mathinna on the 6th July 1909. He was the first of three sons to Annabel and George Reece. At the age of six he went to Mathinna school, which at that time was ran by a headmaster with one assistant. In 1917 the Reece family moved to Storys Creek where they lived in a small shack framed with round spars, clad with split palings and roofed with wooden shingles. Storys Creek was a new and primitive tin mining settlement in those days with almost no facilities, in fact the school was housed in the community hall, but that wasn’t built until 1918, leaving the Reece boys with a year without education.
Their time in the new school was short lived, however, the family moved to Queenstown in 1918, but was soon back from the West Coast and living in Launceston. There the boys were enrolled at Invermay State School where Eric participated in such sports as football and cricket, as well as playing drums in the fife band. He was also extremely talented academically and moved through five grades in three years.
In 1923 it was back to Magnet on the West Coast where Eric left school and joined his Father working at the mine. His first job was sorting ore on a conveyor belt. But by the end of 1924 Eric followed his family back to Mathinna where he and his Father found work at the Golden Gate gold mine.
This move too was short lived, the Golden Gate closed in 1927 and it was back to Launceston where just over a year later in 1929 the city was devastated by floods. To add to the floods, in 1930 Launceston was caught up in a state of economic depression.
Life was hard for the Reece family and Eric and his Father were forced to take a job building a diversion tunnel. This project was located at Whyte River, an isolated region back on the West Coast. The weather conditions there were atrocious and with only tents to live and sleep in, life was almost unbearable.
By 1934 Eric secured casual work at the Mt Lyell copper mine at Queenstown and joined the Australian Workers Union (AWU). In 1935 he became the West Coast organizer and joined the Australian Labor Party in 1936. He was a hard worker and soon gained popularity both within the union movement and the Labor Party. By 1946 he had built up a strong following and was elected to the State Parliament in the seat of Darwin (now Braddon) and immediately was made Minister of Mines in the Robert Cosgrove Labor Government. Eric’s tenacity, hard work and positive attitude built him a creditable reputation second to none and when Cosgrove retired in 1958, Eric was the obvious choice to take over as Premier. Tasmania continued to thrive under his leadership with more hydro dams and more industry attracted by the offer cheaper power. With this came more jobs for Tasmanian workers.
The 1969 election, however, saw Labor and the Liberals, under the leadership of Angus Bethune, end up with 17 seats each, with independent Kevin Lyons supporting the Liberals allowing them to form Government. In 1972, with the damming of Lake Pedder for another Hydro scheme a major election issue, Eric’s Labor party was returned with 21 seats which amounted to 55% of the total vote. Eric himself polled a record 35.4 % of the votes in Braddon.
For 28 years Eric Reece sat on the front bench of the Tasmanian Parliament, all the while thriving for his State and ensuring there were plenty of work opportunities for his people. On the 28th October 1999 he was honoured with a State funeral in Hobart where a leading journalist made the comment: “Eric Reece, along with David Boon and Ricky Ponting, are the most talked about men in Tasmania.”

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Early Fingal Valley Schools

In 1948 when the new area school opened in Gray Road, St Marys, it saw the beginning of a new concept in education to the eastern end of the Fingal valley. Modern transport had allowed a centralized school where students could come together and learn in a larger and more structured environment.
But all this was a far cry from the humble beginnings of public schooling in the Valley, all of which started in the old probation station at Fingal in 1856. By 1884 some 65 students were attending Fingal School and a new school and masters residents was erected from freestone taken from a nearby quarry. Fingal School is now one of the oldest in Tasmania and still caters for the local children up to grade six.
After 1856 schools began to spring up everywhere, but despite the Tasmanian Government in 1868 being the first to make education compulsory for children from six to fourteen, it wasn’t policed all that much in those early days allowing many young people, especially boys, to have no formal education and were sent to work as young as ten or twelve years old.
But as time went by this began to change as almost every settlement in the Fingal Valley and St Patrick Head District had a school. Many began in halls or churches and although the Government paid the teachers wages most of the school buildings were partly funded with money raised by the community. In Germantown, for example, it was recorded in 1879 that for work to commence on their new school the community had given 40 pounds, most of which was raised from a concert held on Easter Monday, and the remaining 13 pounds needed was loaned by Mr. Legge of Cullenswood. The most enrolments recorded at Germantown were 24, but in 1882 it was only half that number and it became a “half time” school. This meant for several years a teacher was shared with Falmouth.
Whilst the major centres like St Marys, Fingal and Avoca continued to maintain good school enrolments, most of the smaller communities suffered similar problems to Germantown and many only operated for short periods, but at least the majority of children who left school at fourteen could read, write and have an understanding of basic arithmetic.
In those days for most young people in the Fingal Valley to obtain work an education wasn’t all that important, particularly for the boys. There were plenty of what was known as “boy’s jobs” in the farming and the mining industry. In coalmining jobs were set aside for young boys coming into the industry and at times were harder than the adult jobs. The boys were paid a low starting rate and each year it would increase until they were 21 where it would reach adult rate, then they would be given an adult job.
Although it would appear at times these young men were exploited somewhat, they did get a good grounding in the workplace. In no time they gained their independence which led to a life of working hard and providing for their families, as well as help build a community where no one knew the meaning of the word “boredom”.
It is a different world today and for young people to get anywhere they need to spend half their life in education and training. But are they better off in the long run? This is a question many of us, who were brought up though the old system, will often ask.
The following are most of the schools that were in our area and the approximate periods they operated: Fingal (Probation Station) 1856 – 1884, Fingal (Current School) 1884 - 2007, Cullenswood 1856 – 1867, Avoca 1859 – 2007, St Marys (old School) 1867 – 1948, Cornwall 1888 – 1948, Mt Nicholas 1891 – 1933, Germantown 1879 – 1935, Gray 1887 – 1929, Irishtown 1900 – 1909, Falmouth 1875 – 1921, Mathinna 1860s – 1990s, Mangana 1867 – 1880, Ormley 1900 – 1915, Royal George 1916 – 1926, Scamander 1894 – 1917, Upper Scamander 1941 – 1946, Seymour 1909 – 1936, Chain of Lagoons 1900 – 1917, Rossarden 1934 – 1994, Storys Creek 1918 – 1972.

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“Memories from Don Smith”

One of the most interesting forms of history research is sitting down and taking to the “old hands” about their lives and experiences in a time unimaginable to the vast majority of the folk today. They have lived through a period where the world saw technological and political changes never seen before and most probably will never see again.
Don Smith of St Marys remembers when the motor car was rare around here. He remembers when he had to walk or ride his bush bike to the Jubilee coal mine to work, or when things were bad in the mines he had to walk to the Mr Foster Range, or Legge’s Hills as they were known to the locals, to snare possums or ringtails for their skins to supplement his income.
Don remembers the dairy herds from around the district when they were taken up onto the Mt Foster marshes to run for the winter. There were eleven herds of around twenty to thirty from Gray and a herd of fifty from Coopers at Seymour. As well, McShanes of Royal George would bring a herd up to up to Dukes Marsh in the Meadstone area. To add to the cattle, properties like Cullenswood, Killymoon, Malahide and Tullochgorum would take large mobs of sheep up to graze in the hills.
From Seymour to the Dome at Avoca the Mt Foster Range is dotted with marches, most of which were given names by the early farmers and hunters. The largest of these are called: Thompsons, Jacks, Dairy, Round, Dukes and Gibraltar. Today they are grown up with tea-tree and bull rushes, but in days gone by the farmers would head up into the hills in September and burn off the marshes and the hills around them so by the time winter came around everywhere would be a mass of lush green autumn growth.
This would also be good for the winter hunters because the fresh growth would attract the wildlife as well. The hunters would set a row of snares in the bush around the edge of the marsh so the livestock wouldn’t set them off and their prey would be caught as they came in to feed.
Some years ago Don went back to Dairy Marsh and found an old horse drawn plough and the remains of a hut belonging to Dudley Strochnetter and Doug Lehner. Don remembers the hut as being well constructed from split palings and shingles, with a stone chimney and a loft where the men used to sleep. For many years both men spent their winters up there tending the herds and hunting for skins which they would bring home every so often and take back what provisions they needed.
Don says the only real danger up in the hills in those days were the Jersey bulls. They were savage brutes, especially if they were left at the marshes for any length of time. Most blokes would carry a gun just to ward off the bulls if they were chased.
Bill Mitchell and his mate had a hut out near Dukes Marsh which overlooked Royal George. They gave the hut to Don in the 1950s and everything included the pots and pans were in good conditions despite being out there for twenty odd years.
In the 1960s when most of the coal mines closed, Don went to work on the Forestry. One day whilst he was working in the Dome area above Tullochgorum he came across the sheep yards used by the Marshall’s when they used the hills for winter sheep runs. The yards were all post and rails with three 250 millimetre (10 inches) wide rails slotted into the post in each panel. Each post and rail was split to a perfect size and fitted together in a way that would make any tradesman proud.
Men were fit in those days, but few were as fit as Kevin Gillies who it was said used to spend three or four hours going around his snares at the back of Cullenswood on Saturday morning and arrive home in time to play football. Kevin, like Don and a lot of their mates were good footballers and no doubt the kilometres they covered chasing the once valuable possum skin contributed to this.
Most of the folk from that era are gone now and the few who are left are like Don in their eighties, but they have lived through a time when men were men, made tough by the environment and the way in which they were forced to make a living. We must preserve their memories because every story they tell has a momentous place of our heritage.

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“Charlie Wright”

In the April 24th issue of Valley Voice Jeff Morris told us of two St Marys boys who had perished on board the HMAS Sydney when she was torpedoed by the German ship Kormoran, off Western Australia in November 1941.
Further research into Jeff’s story has told us that out of the 645 sailors on board the Sydney on that fateful day, 36 were Tasmanians, three of whom came from the Fingal Valley. The Launceston Examiner report on the tragedy on the 1st December 1941 gave the names of all Tasmanians lost, they included: Robert Box, of Fingal, along with James Perger and Charles Wright of St Marys.
Since the Sydney wreck was discovered in March this year family and friends have once again relived that time in our war history with many of their stories reaching the pages of our newspapers and television screens. Indeed, only this month Melbourne’s Sunday Herald Sun featured a story on our own Charlie Wright, with the headlines “Death on the Flip of a Coin”
The story was told by 88 year old Jim Francis, Charlie’s best friend and Tess Piper, his fiancée. Apparently Tess, a Western Australian girl, had gone home to Perth and Charlie wanted to be stationed near her. The Sydney was based in Fremantle at the time and he tried desperately to get drafted into her crew. But it was his best mate Jim Francis who was given the Sydney posting.
Jim knew how much his mate wanted to go to Fremantle and took Charlie along to their superior officer at their Melbourne base to ask for a swap. The officer initially refused, but then changed his mind, but only if they tossed a coin. Charlie won the toss and with a big smile on his face headed off to see his girl friend. Nineteen days later he was on the bridge of the Sydney, where according to accounts from survivors of the Kormoran, the first shells hit.
Even after all this time, the toss of that coin still haunts Jim Francis. He still remembers the day, as if it was only yesterday, when two 21 year old friends with their lives in front of them watched a coin flip through the air with the result of its landing sending one to his death.
On Thursday the 5th June Jim flew from Echuca in Victoria to Geraldton in Western Australia to lay a wreath at the HMAS Sydney memorial. It was a moving final farewell to his mate following the discovery of the wreck.
“I believe we are all blessed with one true mate in life, Charlie was mine.” Jim said at Geraldton. “He was my best mate and I’ll never replace him. Even though all these years have gone by, I still think about what would have happened if we hadn’t swapped drafts. I would have gone and Charlie would have what I have. I’ve never felt lucky, to be honest, it’s just been hard, bloody hard, I still think of him all the time.”
Remarkably, Jim also met the woman his fallen mate had crossed the country to be near and to whom Charlie had became engaged to all those years ago. Tess Piper, nee Hall, still lives in Perth and her thoughts are never far from her first love.
“I’ve never forgotten Charlie.” She said recently. “He was my first love and your first love is your first love always. He was a wonderful, beautiful man and even after all these years I still have a cry now and then. I have never forgotten, I always thought and hoped he would come back. We intended getting married in the April, but the ship went down in the November.”
Tess refused to believe Charlie would not return and stayed single until well after the war ended. She eventually married in 1948 and has three children and two grandchildren.
“It was hard when they found the Sydney.” She went on to say. “They showed a single boot and I wondered if it was Charlie’s.”
The meeting between Jim and Tess at this stage in their lives was a special moment for both of them. But the most significant part of the trip for Jim was to finally put to rest the guilt he had carried for 67 years.
The card he left at the memorial reads: “In memory of Leading Signalman Charles Wright, from your mate Jim Francis. Lost but never forgotten.”
Jeff Morris, too, has vivid memories of the two St Marys boys lost on board the Sydney. He often takes a quiet moment to remember them and the shock the whole town felt when the news of their disappearance came through.

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Cullenswood's Second Church

Last year in Valley Voice I talked about Christ Church Cullenswood being the first church to be built in the Break O’ Day Plains in 1847. The second church was a little more modest than the Anglican Church, however. It was built by the Roman Catholics, under the guidance of Father John Fitzgerald, just a ten minute walk west on one acre of land donated by Mrs Thomas Ransom of “Millbrook”.
Father Fitzgerald, it appears, was a dynamic man and one of Tasmania’s greatest pioneers of the Catholic ministry. Indeed in 1854, he was the first Australian born Priest to be ordained in Rome. He was born in Hobart in 1830, then as a young man went to England and attended the St Mary’s College in Oscott, before going to the English College in Rome.
For seven years from 1855 to 1862 he served his people on horse back from Campbell Town to St Helens and down to Swansea. We can only imagine the difficulties Father Fitzgerald would have faced each time he set out on his demanding trek over virtually unmade roads and, at times, flooded rivers to serve the needs of his parishioners.
Soon after beginning his ministry to the Break O’ Day Plains he supervised the fund raising and then the building of their first Catholic church. It was described as a simple style timber building, some 40 feet long by 20 feet wide, with a beautiful bell tower at one end and a fine Gothic window over the alter. Although it was completed in 1858, it was not until the 30th January 1859 that the Lord Bishop of Hobart Town travelled to Cullenswood and with the assistance of Father Fitzgerald, held a Divine Service to consecrate the humble little building.
What a memorable day it must have been for the Catholics of the district when some 300 persons filled the new church to capacity, all of whom appeared to give His Lordship their undivided attention as he gave his sermon on the evils of intemperance. This, he said, was unfortunately too prevalent in this constituency.
After the sermon the collection plate was handed around and the munificent sum of over 70 pounds was collected. The Bishop was more than pleased with this creditable amount and praised the Catholics of the district for their generosity. He said it was a sign of their appreciation for the zealous endeavours of their Pastor who, during the past three years, had labored most intensely for this project.
The little Church of St Mary at Cullenswood was rather short lived, however. Less than ten years after its completion a new town was surveyed three miles further east. The new town, which was eventually named St Marys after St Marys Pass, soon began to grow rapidly and by the 1890’s had taken over from Cullenswood as the main service centre for the Break O’ Day Plains. The people of St Marys were like the majority of English speaking people in the Colonies, they had a deep love of the Christian faith and a house of worship was an essential part of the community, hence churches began to spring up.
The Wesleyans were the first to build their little chapel in Storey Street in 1884, followed by the Anglicans in Main Street in 1895. Finally the Catholics chose a high spot on the eastern end of town and built a fine church which was dedicated on the 9th November 1899.
The dedication of the Mary of the Assumption Catholic Church at St Marys, however, saw the end of the modest little building at Cullenswood that had served the community for forty years. It was moved to St Marys and forms part of a house in Newman Street.
The ministry of Father Fitzgerald too was short lived. It seems he took ill and returned to England in 1862 and died at Plymouth in 1864 at the young age of 34. The only reminder of his momentous part in our heritage is the old graveyard, which like the Cullenswood Church grounds, is the resting place for many of our early settlers. Names like Davern, McIntee, Bullock, Leech, Stroghnetter and King are but a few that were dominant in pioneering the district. But John Fitzgerald and the significance of his contribution to the Break O’ Day Plains appears sadly forgotten.

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“Bill’s Note”

After gold was discovered at Mathinna in the 1850s a township sprung up, which for a time towards the end of the Nineteenth Century, became the third largest town in Tasmania after Hobart and Launceston. The Golden Gate gold mine, the town’s principal mine, employed some 300 men per shift and was the second largest gold producer in Tasmania following Beaconsfield.
When we drive into the town today, however, we find only a shadow of its former glory, but for someone with a passion for history there is plenty to whet your appetite. You can stand at the cenotaph in the centre of town and paint a picture of a bustling town full of hotels, stores, poolrooms and houses with front verandas reaching almost to the street. You can see women in long dresses and fancy bonnets arm in arm with men in smart suits and top hats. Children are dressed to the nines with the boys in short trousers and long socks. You can smell the horses as they pull their carts or carry their riders to their destinations. The sounds of congregations belting out hymns to the tune of two old organs echo across the valley, then up into the Ben Lomond Range and Mt Saddleback, as the churches up on the hill hold their Sunday services.
Just on the edge of town at the old well kept cemetery you can find names like Reece and Polley displayed on the old worn headstones, reminding you that many a person of prominence had roots in the old town.
Yes, there are still enough artefacts and old buildings left to take you back in time. Then if you visit the old Post Office for a coffee and chat with Doug and Christine, or go a little further down the road to the Golden Gate Gallery, you will come away with a wealth of knowledge. Not only of the history of Mathinna, but priceless stories of those who were part of the rise and fall of their town and those who have fought for its survival.
One of those people was a man named Bill. His surname is a mystery, but we can only assume by the below note written to Richard (Dick) Mc Kercher , a shop owner in Mathinna around 1900, that Bill was a hardworking family man and a good Aussie bloke. He was also able to write a letter and shopping list all in one.

“Dick - Please send goods at wons, want em for Kismis. 6lbs raisints. Them butes you sent aint the rite butes, they is 9, I take 7, you must think I got fete like black fellers canoos. Bag flour, 9lbs sugar, 6lbs rice. I had a bad fire today, burned nearly all me grass and fritened the doos out of the cows. Old womans been sick ever since. Pound baking powder, packit corn flour. The cows have gorn off there milk and sore tits and wont feed. 10lbs of gud bacon, no dried horse like last time with hide an inch thick. 1lb sugar lollies for the kids. It gave particler el to the hares and rabits and burnt rite out. 6 tins of jam. Tell the butcher to send 10lbs rostin mete and the bil I will settil when I come down. All is well barin the missus and the cows orf there milk and too kids with messuls. Opin you are the same as it leeves me at present. Merry kismis. Box anterbilyus pills, packet spice, tin peper. Send coil barb wire, grindstone, 6 pare bute laces, strong ones. 11lbs cheese, good cheese this time, the last cheese krawled orf the table. Send botil korf cure for old rone cow whats delekate. Jim fell orf the cart last week and burst his trousis. Tin corn befe, 4 bars sope, 4 pares soks all for big fete. That bukit you sent me leeks like el. Wishing you a happy New Year and Kismis.”

Bill.

Thanks to the Mathinna Golden Gate Gallery for the copy of Bill’s note.

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“Sir Bernard Spilsbury”

Murders in London in the early part of the Twentieth Century were nothing new, but the Crippen case was arguable one of the most publicised and as far as forensic science is concerned, one of the most significant.
American born doctor, Hawley Harvey Crippen, after reporting his wife had disappeared, headed off to Canada with his young mistress who he disguised as a boy for the voyage. Detective Dew of the London Police, however, was unconvinced Crippen’s wife had in fact disappeared and ordered an extensive search of the couple’s former residents.
After several days a shallow grave was found under bricks in the basement. But the grave had been filled with lime and all that was left of the body was part of the hip and a small piece of skin. It was impossible for the detectives to tell who had been buried there, or whether the body was male or female.
It was a young forensic scientist by the name of Bernard Spilsbury who came to their aid. After careful microscopic examination of the piece of skin Bernard was able to convince his peers that a scar found on the skin was the result of an operation performed on Mrs Crippen some years prior. As well Bernard found traces of the poison hyoscine in the remains of the rotting body, a substance Crippen had purchased from a chemist only days before his wife was reported missing.
As a result of Bernard’s discovery Crippen was brought back to London and charged with the murder of his wife. After a trial at the Old Bailey, where Bernard was the key witness, Crippen was found guilty and subsequently hanged.
This case was not only the birth of forensic science as an aid to convicting criminals, but was the start of a brilliant career for Bernard Spilsbury. For almost four decades he helped convict hundreds of murderers, all of whom were in awe of the way he stood tall and confident in the witness box expressing his medical evidence in clear precise detail.
Bernard was also a prominent lecturer in pathology at a number of London universities. He was knighted in 1923 and made a Fellow of the Royal Society of Medicine. He worked at St Marys Hospital in Paddington and then at St Bartholomew. In his career he performed some 25,000 autopsies, one percent of which involved crime.
Outside of his career Sir Bernard had a rather sad life. He lost his son in the London Blitz of 1940 and another son soon after to tuberculosis. In 1947 after a long illness and the sudden death of a beloved sister, he gassed himself in his laboratory.
Since his death there have been a number of books written on the life and work of this pioneer in forensics. Indeed, only this year the BBC staged a play on his life called: “The Incomparable Witness”.
Author Colin Evans in his book “The Father of Forensics” believed he was the greatest medical detective the world has known and likened him to a real life Sherlock Holmes. Although Sir Bernard’s life was very much involved with death he put life into forensic medicine and sowed many seeds that have made the science so important in law enforcement today.
What relevance you ask is Sir Bernard Spilsbury to our little neck of the woods? He was cousin to the man who brought the Spilsbury name to St Marys. John (Jack) Spilsbury was, without a doubt, one of the finest men I have ever known. Not only was he paymaster for Cornwall Coal Co for many years, but was a tireless worker for many community organizations, with Red Cross being his most dominant. He was a man you could trust and go to for advice. As a Justice of the Peace he would witness your forms, as an accountant, audit your books and in the mean time listen to your troubles, with never a word of them to a soul.
Whilst Sir Bernard Spilsbury was an inspirational citizen of London, his cousin Jack, in his own way, was just as inspirational a citizen of St Marys and set an example we should never forget.

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“The Baudin Expedition”

When we study the early explorers of Van Diemens land names like Tasman, Cook, Furneaux and Flinders fill the pages of our history books. But, perhaps, the most significant explorer to the East Coast of our land was that of Frenchman Nicholas Baudin in 1802.
Baudin, with the blessing of Napoleon Bonaparte, left France in October 1800 with two ships the “Geographe” and “Naturaliste”. It was to be the fifth French expedition to the Great Southern Land after La Perouse and Bruni d’Entrecasteaux’s voyages of the 1790s.
On board the two ships was the largest scientific expedition to ever leave Europe. It included scientists, artists, astronomers, geographers, botanists, zoologists, mineralogists, gardeners and pharmacists. During their four year adventure they discovered and collected samples of 2,542 new animal species, which at the time doubled those of the known world. They secured the largest and most valuable natural history collection of their time as well as chartering almost two thirds of the Australian coastline, some of which was for the first time. Baudin gave names to hundreds of location around Australia with around 240 still in use today.
In 1802 the ships sailed up the east coast of Van Diemens land and discovered what Baudin described as one of the most picturesque bays he had seen on his journey. He named it Fleurieu Bay, but it was later changed by the British to Great Oyster Bay, although there is still a Fleurieu Point below The Hazards. The ships spent some time in the area collecting samples, mapping and allowing the artists to paint the the striking red granite mountains which were a large part of the peninsula that Baudin named after his chief cartographer Louis-Henri de Freycinet.
Two particular artists, Charles-Alexander Lesueur and Nicholas-Martin Petit painted exquisite work of the East Coast landscape and the indigenous people who occupied it. Much of their work is in the Archives of the Museum of Natural History at Le Havre in France, the city from which Baudin’s ships departed.
Thanks to these artists and the journals prepared by Baudin and his first officer, Francois Peron, we have some of the most detailed insights into the Tasmanian indigenous people ever recorded. The remarkable art work, maps and observations contained in the journals provide us with a unique window through which to view this area before European occupation. As well it connects us with both early indigenous and French cultures.
Baudin continued up the East Coast and names like Cape Tourville, Cape Boullanger, Isle des Phoques (Seal Island), Cape Lodi, Peron Dunes and Taillefer Rocks all resulted from his expedition.
But, arguable, the most important event for Tasmania in the voyage was Baudin’s meeting with Matthew Flinders, in what was later to be called Encounter Bay off South Australian. This meeting prompted the British to send Lieutenant John Bowen to establish a settlement on the Derwent River in 1803. Britain and France were at loggerheads at the time and the last thing Britain wanted was a French settlement only a few days south of their newly established colony at Port Jackson (Sydney Harbour).
This exploration, which leaves us with wonderful artwork, journals and maps, as well as being the catalyst for settlement at Risdon Cove the following year, is a fascinating story. Today it is becoming more widely known due to more recent research both in Australia and France, no doubt prompted by French born Glamorgan-Spring Bay Council Mayor Bertrand Cadart. This research has also been used as the basis for a wonderful historical exhibition which can be viewed in its permanent home at the Swansea Bark Mill.
Baudin’s appreciation for the beauty of the area was also recognized by those who followed. In 1916 the Freycinet Peninsula along with Mt. Field were the first places in Tasmania to be declared national parks.

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John Batman

One of the most well known of our early settlers was John Batman. His fame came mainly because on the 10th May 1835 he left Launceston on the sloop “Rebecca” and sailed across Bass Strait and into Port Phillip Bay where, after exploring the area, he finally landed on the banks of the Yarra River on the 9th June 1835. This was the site that was to eventually become the city of Melbourne. He negotiated with the local Aboriginals Chiefs with knifes, tomahawks and blankets to rent 600,000 acres of land which spread from the Yarra to Geelong.
Before this, however, Batman had played a prominent part in the development of Van Diemens Land. He was born at Rosehill near Sydney on the 21st January 1801 to a mother who had paid her own fare out from Yorkshire, England, to be with her husband after he was transported for receiving stolen goods.
In December 1821 Batman, now a young man of twenty, came to Van Diemens Land where, in Hobart Town, he met Elizabeth Callaghan, a convict girl, who was under sentence for passing a counterfeit bank note in London. By 1824 Batman had established himself and won a contract to supply meat to the Government which led to him receiving a land grant of 600 acres in the foothills of Ben Lomond. He was soon joined by Elizabeth Callaghan who had now changed her name to Eliza Thompson. Batman and Thompson went on to have eight children, only one of which was a son. But sadly, as a young lad, he was drowned on a fishing trip on the Yarra River.
In early 1826 Batman earned official recognition from Governor Arthur by capturing notorious bushranger Matthew Brady, as well as pursuing other bushrangers. He also had a huge respect for the Aboriginals and tried desperately to influence them in stopping their harassment of settlers by showing kindness. He learnt their language and even brought Aboriginals from Sydney to help. But this method of negotiation obviously failed, as Batman was a prominent member Arthur’s Black Line of the 1830s.
New Years Eve 1834 saw Batman become, perhaps, one of the first white men to climb Ben Lomond. He spent the night on the mountain with a number of friends, including surveyor John Helter Wedge, so they could watch the sun rise on the New Year. This was the year he was to set up a settlement on the banks of the Yarra River. Despite John Fawkner, a Launceston publican, moving in on the opposite bank of the Yarra and taking a huge chunk of Batman’s intended land; he soon sold his Van Diemens land property for ten thousand pounds and moved his family along with his livestock to his new found lease around Port Philip Bay.
But this was the beginning of the end for Batman; his health soon began to fail as he was diagnosed with syphilis. To make matters worse Eliza Thomson left him and his only son was drowned.
The decease gradually progressed over the next few years eating away parts of his body and causing him to loose the use of his legs. He became a sorry site and was eventually cared for by a group of Aboriginals until his death on the 5th May 1839.
Like many of our early settlers Batman’s life was rather short lived but evidently busy. His dream of becoming the largest land owner in Australia was shattered by his illness. He did, however, end up with the title of the founder of Melbourne and be the only Australian born person to found an Australian capital city. Although he is recognized with a number of monuments around Melbourne, the original name given to the settlement in 1835 “Batmania” survived for less than two years. The area was renamed in 1837 in honour of the then British Prime Minister William lamb who resided in the Derbyshire village of Melbourne.

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“Avro Avian”

In 1928 Jack Bullock was hardly out of napkins, but today he remembers what is believed to be the first airplane landing near St Marys, as vividly as if was yesterday. The plane circled the town several times, with its engine roaring with a sound foreign to the people of the Break O’ Day Plains. Finally, when everyone including the children from the school, had ventured outdoors to investigate the strange roaring from the skies, they saw the unidentified object land in a paddock behind the homestead at “Cullenswood”.
All of a sudden it was a mad rush; almost all the townspeople followed by the children from the school took off across the fields of Londavra and through the Break O Day River to the paddock where the large, roaring bird had landed. But poor Jack was disappointed, he was too small to keep up with his older brother Keith and the bigger kids who rushed past the teachers in their excitement to get a closer look at this new fangled flying machine, and to his disgust was held back at the school.
We can only imagine the excitement of the people of St.Marys on this significant day in our heritage and thankfully in our Sesquicentennial year as part of the History of Transport being held during June this day and the aircraft that paid our town a visit will be recognized.
Local identity Ian Summers, who can build, fix or restore anything from a safety pin to a jumbo jet has built a quarter size replica of the Avro Avian aircraft that, not only has a place in our heritage, but has a heritage of its own as long as your arm.
Avro Avian aircrafts were built in Briton and first released on the market after World War One. They had twin open air cockpits, double wings and a wooden frame covered with thin light weight metal. The wing span was 8.5 metres, length 7.4 metres, height 2.6 metres and overall gross weight was 726 Kilograms. The earlier models, like the one that came to St Marys, had a single 85 horse power Cirrus II motor with a maximum speed of 160 kilometers an hour and cruising speed of 137.
The Avros were initially designed as a sporting aircraft. They were easy to fly and were used extensively in Europe and America in the 1920s as a recreation and pilot training machine. They were also used to set a number of aviation records and were owned by a number of pioneers in the field, including Charles Kingsford-Smith.
The most noted of the Avro records, however, were set in 1928, the same year as the St Marys visit. In February Australian Bert Hinkler flew an Avro Avian solo from England to Australia in a record time of 15 days. Later in the year Amelia Earhart became the first woman to fly an aircraft solo across a Continent. She flew an Avro from East to West of America and back again.
From my research, it appears most likely the Avro that came to St. Marys in 1928 was quite special. I believe it was the first one shipped to Australia. It arrived in Adelaide towards the end of 1927 and was flown all over Australia by Royal Flying Corps pilot, Captain F.C.R. Jaques, who demonstrated the machine for the Avro Company.
This aircraft was kept in Australia and maintained in good working order. It was purchased in the 1990s by Lang Kidby, at which time it was the oldest registered flying aircraft in Australia. In 1999 Kilby duplicated Hinkler’s 11,000 mile flight of seven decades earlier, from England to Australia. In 2001, however, after 74 years in Australia, the Avro was acquired by Greg Herrick, who shipped it to the United States and re-created the historic Amelia Earhart flight across America.
Now thanks to Ian’s 200 hours of making 712 parts and skillfully fitting them together he has created a replica that will, not only remind us of a significant day in the history of St. Marys, but give us an insight into a tiny aircraft that played such an important roll in the development of World aviation.

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1970 Valley Voice & the Avoca Roo Shoot

Last week I came across an old edition of The Valley & East Coast Voice dated Friday the 29th May 1970. It was, in fact, printed on the Voice’s second birthday.
The front page headlines were “The Avoca Shoot”. This, of cause, referred to the Avoca Wallaby Shoot, an annual event organized by the Avoca Football Club to raise funds for the club and at the same time cull the wallabies which were in plague proportion on properties in the Avoca area.
Hundreds of shooters would converge on Avoca each year where they would pay an entry fee to the footy club, head into the hills and if we believed the headlines in many Mainland papers “Mass slaughter would take place” and as the VV report said: “If nothing else, this shoot has, each year, brought quite a deal of fame, or more to the point notoriety, to this otherwise sleepy Fingal Valley town and especially to the Avoca football Club who runs it.”
One deputation that approached Tasmanian Senator Reg Wright using words like: cruelty, inhumanity, sadistic and indiscriminate in relation to the shoot, lobbied him to organize a party to shoot the Avoca Football team. These people, however, were completely out of line and lacking in facts because the Tasmanian Animal and Birds Protection Board along with the R.S.P.C.A. condoned the shoot as a necessary culling program. Both of whom saw the shoot as being well organized and a far better alternative than other culling methods such as 1080 poison where all animals and birds are threatened and the carcasses left to rot; whereas in selective shooting only plague animals are targeted and the meat is either taken by the shooters or given to charity. But at the end of the day, animal lovers got their way; the shoot was stopped and Avoca Football Club folded soon after.
In “Heritage Corner” a report was given on well known visitors to the Break O’ Day area in the Nineteenth Century, one of whom was notorious bushranger Martin Cash who, as a “Ticket of Leave Convict” came and worked as a dairyman on a property near Cullenswood for a year in 1837.
“In The Eye of the Law” concern was shown in a number of vehicle accidents in recent weeks and the seriousness in which the police take such occurrences, particularly where the consumption of intoxicating liquor is consumed by those involved. The report went on to say that the Government had been reluctant to introduce random breath testing, however, the appalling road toll this year, could well be the turning point for the introduction of such measures.
Complaints to the local Fingal Council were quite prevalent back in 1970; Germantown Road was nothing but a slush heap, pot holes at Mangana, Mathinna, Avoca and Rossarden were overdue to be filled and the St.Marys tip was in a shocking state, with one writer, obviously female, calling for a woman on Council to straighten it out.
At a meeting of the St.Marys District Progress Association on Monday 26th May, Mr. Ron Clarke, manager of the Tasmanian Tourist Council said: “Tourism has the potential to become a new and thriving industry for the Fingal Valley.” (We’re still working on that one.)
In football notes by “One-eye”, the Fingal District Football Association ladder after six rounds was: Fingal 16, St.Helens16, St.Marys16, Avoca 4, Rossarden 4 and Swansea 4. “One-eye” reported the match against St.Marys and Swansea the week before was a thriller with St.Marys scrapping in by the narrowest of margins. Best players for St.Marys Tigers were: Kevin “Mattie” Leedham, Bob Bye, Tim Wardlaw, Des “Digby” Hayes, Mick Currie, David Dean, Wayne Morris and Dale Wright’s last quarter effort was amazing.
For Swansea: Fry, Press, Singline, Amos, Hugo and Cusick were all solid players.
Congratulations were given to Mattie Leedham for winning the Channel 9 handball competition and a note of regret for the death of long time Association President and St.Marys businessman, Joe Wilson.
Also in sport, best wished was extended to John Shier, of Falmouth, the Junior Tasmanian Steeplechase Champion, in his attempt to win the Australian Championships in Brisbane.
“Valerie” Voice, the educated, intelligent member of the VV team who had all the answers, was asked by an ardent reader what she could do about her boyfriend who looked like a “loose rubber mouth” after loosing his teeth and refused to get false ones.
“Valerie’s” sophisticated answer was: “Smack him in the mouth and drop him!”
Congratulations Valley Voice you are almost fifty and like all of us, getting better with age.

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“The America”

During the settlement of our great country sailing ships have played a major roll, many of which have became household names and are highlighted in history lessons relating to the discovery and colonization of Australia and indeed Van Diemen’s Land.
Tall ships like Tasman’s Heemskerk and Zeehaen, Cook’s Endeavour, Bligh’s Bounty and the eleven ships of the First Fleet have all carved their way into almost every early Australian history book we read, but for our little part of the world, perhaps, the most significant sailing ship to visit our waters was the America.
The America was built in Canada by J. Frederickson, of Maitland, Nova Scotia in 1848. She was a wooden vessel and although no plans were found it is estimated, by comparing her with other vessels of her time, she was some 706 tons in weight, 145 feet long, with a 30 foot beam and a depth of 22 feet, give or take a foot or two.
In 1854 she was purchased by James Baines & Company’s Black Ball Line in Liverpool, England. This Company specialized in shipping emigrants and was also the owner of the more famous Canadian built ship Marco Polo which was deemed as the fastest ship ever built and set records all over the world, one of which was in 1852 when she sailed from Liverpool to Sydney in 76 days. The voyage was marred, however, with a measles epidemic that killed some 56 children.
In 1853 transportation of convicts by Britain ceased and in order to continue to build up the population in its colonies an extensive immigration program was launched targeting people in Scotland, Ireland and Germany and on the 15th April 1855 the America left Liverpool with some three hundred German and some fifty English men, women and children on board all bound for a new land full of promise.
The enthusiasm amongst the passengers as they sailed out of Liverpool and down the English coast to the open Atlantic sea was ripe. None of the Germans cared that they had paid 18 pound for each adult fare, 9 pound for each boy child between 7 and fourteen and four pound ten shillings for boy children under one year ( girl children were half price ). For the English passengers it was simpler: 22 pounds for adults and 11 pounds for each child under fourteen. In most cases the fares were their whole life savings but it would be all worthwhile when they arrived at this new land with so much opportunity, where the children could grow up in freedom and not be dragged off to fight and never return from some war that nobody really understood or cared about.
Two months later, however, and the enthusiasm was dampened, there was still no sign of this promised land, all they had seen for weeks was sea and more sea, food was in short supply and what was left was hard, dry and tasteless. Scurvy had broken out everywhere and a number of women and children had died and out of the six births on board, only one had survived, sea sickness was still a problem for many and boredom was becoming prevalent. But they had to keep going, survival was all they had left now, it was too late to turn back.
But survive they did and on the 23rd July 1855 the America arrived in Hobart Town. It had been an unbroken voyage and the taste of fresh food and water and the feel of solid ground under their feet along with the sight of this new beautiful green untouched land brought a smile back on the faces of the adults, caused the children to laugh and play again and a renewed enthusiasm began to mount and the doubts of the decision to leave their homeland were pushed to the back of their minds.
A few days later some twenty German families were loaded back on board the ship and brought up the east coast to Falmouth, where along with their few meager possessions, were unloaded and given directions to their designated destinations, most of which was up the newly formed St.Marys Pass, past the disbanded convict probation station at Grassy Bottoms and on to the area called Break O’ Day Plains.
The America made only the one voyage to Australia before she was lost in the Atlantic Ocean in August 1862, but the cargo she carried on that significance trip in 1855 played a major roll in the development of the Fingal Valley. We can only wonder where our industries and wonderful community spirit would be today without the enhancement of that passionate bunch of Germans, all of whom made that brave decision to come half way around the world to the Promised Land and fulfill their dreams.

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“A Friendly People”

Research into the Indigenous people of Van Diemens Land is an interesting subject to say the least. Historians tell us that at the time of European occupation in 1803 nine tribes of Aborigines existed in Van Diemens land, all with their own language. At that time, the population was estimated at around 4,000.
For some 30,000 years they wondered in small bands through the length and breadth of the Island searching the grassy plains, valleys and coastline for food, materials to make trinkets and red ochre to colour their bodies. With the aid of fire they kept their trails accessible as well as providing fresh pickings for the kangaroo, emu and possum that provided them with food, clothing and warm blankets.
Although it is said their ancestors were decedents from the big Island further north who had wondered down when the Furneaux group of islands were still attached to the Mainland, they were in many ways quite different from their Northern cousins.
In 1642 when Abel Tasman landed at Blackmans Bay in the South in search of fresh water, his men observed burnt markings in a tree and heard what they thought was human sounds. Tasman also recorded seeing a number of fires burning inland.
The first recorded European contact with the Van Diemens land Aborigine, however, did not occur until Captain Nicholas Marion du Fresne arrived near Bruny Island with his ships Mascarin and Marquis Castries in 1772.
A landing party du Fresne sent ashore come across a group of Aborigines who appeared quite friendly. However, when a second long boat arrived the Aborigines became agitated. They threw spears and stones at the landing party who returned fire with their muskets, killing one native and wounding several others.
du Fresme immediately left for New Zealand where he and some of his men fared even worse. They were captured by Maoris and eaten.
In 1777 Captain Cook, on his third voyage of discovery, anchored his ships Resolution and Discovery in Adventure Bay on Bruny Island. He spent six days there with his landing parties encountering Aborigines on several occasions. He recorded that they were approachable and remained friendly throughout.
In 1792 Rear-Admiral Bruni D’Entrecasreaux, in search of his missing countryman Jean-Francois Le Perouse, visited the shores of Van Diemens Land and come in contact with the Aborigines at Recherche Bay. D’Entrecasreaux recorded where he was invited into a group of forty or so native people – ten men, fourteen women and twenty four children. Seven fires were burning, around each was assembled a little family. At noon the women began diving for shellfish and in no time all in company were feasting on abalone, mussels, oysters, crabs and boiled seaweed.
During D’Entrecasreaux’s six week stay in Van Diemens Land he discovered Cook’s Adventure Bay was indeed on an Island. What amazed him was the small unstable watercraft that the Aborigines used to travel from the Island to the Mainland. They were made of bark and dried grass, tied together in the form of a raft and pointed at either end. It seems these “canoes” were unique to this part of the Island.
In 1802 another Frenchman, Nicholas Baudin, called in to several locations around Southern and Eastern Van Diemens land where he had several meeting with the Aborigines. Like D’Entrecasreaux his depiction was the natives were a friendly, happy people with a willingness to share what they had with their visitors.
English explorer Captain John Henry Cox in 1789 also found them friendly and happy. He noted how one group had mimicked his actions exactly and laughed heartily at the Europeans. He went on to say they appeared a timorous, harmless group of people and afforded a fine picture of human nature in its most primitive and uncultivated state.
Whilst the English and French explorers recorded a number of contacts with the original owners of Van Diemens land, the French appears to have taken the most interest in getting to know them and learn their culture. One can only wonder, today, that if the French had settled the Island in 1803, the human tragedy that followed a few short years later may never had happened.

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