THE EARLY SETTLERS OF CHINKAPOOK

 

Regular readers will have noticed that I am a bit intrigued by family history, and that the past has something of a grip on me.  Moreover, I recognise that some of my stories are known only to me, and that if I don’t share them they may as well have never happened.  History exists only insofar as it lives in the memory of someone still alive, or as a written record.

 

I was raised and grew up in the Mallee region of north-western Victoria.

My maternal grandparents had been pioneer farmers nearby to the emerging township of Chinkapook, later moving into the town and operating the post office, later again living long years of retirement in the town.  My paternal grandparents had also been pioneer settlers, and farmed a little north of Chinkapook town for some 40 years before being forced off the land by the droughts of the 1940s.  Likewise my parents, who share-farmed for a while at nearby Daytrap.  I lived a mere six years in the Mallee before my family re-located to Melbourne and I became a city boy.  Those few early years are barely remembered, but I have been fortunate in retaining lifetime Chinkapook connections, and have had plenty of opportunities to reinforce early memories. 

 

The dearest of those connections has been with my friend Philip Templeton.  That connection was deep and long, Philip having died only a couple of years ago, at age 93.  Philip was a lifetime resident of Chinkapook, and farmed nearby.  He was a Mallee man through and through; and he remembered it all.  His grandfather had been one of the earliest of the pioneers, pre-dating my grandparents by a decade or more.

 

I have no idea of the provenance of the following memorandum.  It has been in my computer for some years – with the notation “Unknown author, written before 1951”.  That doesn’t make it factual history, but who’s complaining after all this time?  A few years ago I showed it to Philip Templeton, and asked him to add any thoughts and recollections,  and memories absorbed from his parents and grandparents.  This he did, and I have included Philip’s contributions in italics.   And I have included some observation of my own; and made a few editorial amendments.

 

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The Chinkapook district lies in the Eureka parish, which was the old Eureka Station.  In 1898 the government had thrown open the area for selection and settlement; and so passed another of the squatters, in this case a Mr. Anderson.

 

GA: I have been unable to ascertain when Anderson (or his forebears) squatted on the area known as Eureka Station, but by 1898 he was dispossessed by the government in furtherance of a “closer settlement” policy.  In pursuit of that policy the allocation of one square mile to each applicant brought population and communities to the Mallee – families, schools, townships, transport infrastructure.

 

PKT:  Grandfather Templeton selected land in 1898, and came back a couple of years later to commence land clearing.

 

After the government had sub-divided the Eureka Station one of the first settlers was Mr. J. Neilson, the father of the late poet, John Shaw Neilson.  It is interesting to note that the well-known poet resided here for one year, during which time some of his best poetry was written.  Other early settlers were Messrs. W. Tynan, A. Templeton, Castle and Fitzgerald.  [GA: The “back street” in Chinkapook, Neilson Street, is named for Shaw Neilson.]

 

GA:  In 1968 a slim biography of Shaw Neilson by H.J. Oliver was published in the Australian Writers and their Work series – confirming that Neilson’s father took up land in 1900, and was joined by the uneducated younger Neilson in 1902. 

The economic situation at the Neilson allotment (and later on a block near Waitchie) was dire, and Shaw Neilson eked an existence clearing Mallee scrub, and cleaning wheat.  All the time his eyesight was deteriorating; but not sufficiently to prevent him from writing his poetry by candlelight.  In his Introduction to The Poems of Shaw Neilson 

(1965, revised and enlarged edition 1973) A.R. Chisholm is effusive: “Among our Australian poets Shaw Neilson is, I think, the sweetest singer, whatever defects his verses may have; and these defects are too numerous to be overlooked.  His metre sometimes degenerates into jingle; certain poems lack the scrupulous revision that is indispensable for any form of literary work; he has occasional grammatical lapses, and falls back too often on “do” or “did”, plus an infinitive, to eke out his metre; his abuse of internal rhymes smacks of the balladists at their worst.  But none of these defects take away from the fact that he has written some imperishable masterpieces, and that throughout his work there is a sincerity, a deep humanity, a sympathy for all forms of life – even the humblest – that endear him to any lovers of poetry.  Once read Shaw Neilson, and you are his captive.

When the first settlers arrived the land was covered with dense Mallee scrub which had to be rolled and burnt before wheat could be sown. 

In the early days wheat was carted for 30 miles over a rough track to Sea Lake.  Bullock teams were used. 

The average, about six trips per harvest season.  Stores and mail were brought home on return trips.  

 

PKT: Ripe wheat can stay unharvested for months without spoiling – provided it doesn’t suffer storm or rain damage.  In early times the harvest could take many weeks to complete, so six trips to Sea Lake makes sense, a week apart.   These days the harvest is typically completed by the start of December, but through most of the Mallee’s history the farmers were “laughing” if they’d finished by Christmas.

 

Another of their hardships was the water supply, owing to low rainfall and drought periods.  This presented a very serious problem as the catchment dams were the only means of conserving water for stock.  Fortunately, Messrs. Hender and Henderson of Nandaly discovered a natural fresh water drainage, The Soaks, while droving stock to the Murray River for water.

 

GA: The Soaks were/are near the northern edge of Lake Tyrell – which, itself, is salt.

 

Often water could be obtained by sinking a shallow well.  The Soaks gets its name because after each drinking period there was not much water left in the well, but by the next drinking period they would be full.  

 

PKT: Not so “shallow” – more like five to six feet deep.  The so-called “drinking period” represented the time it would take for the Soaks wells to re-fill after water had been extracted.  The settlers had tanks fitted to sleds or drays, and typically filled up twice a week.  The Soaks were “buggered” by the droughts of the 1940s.  Three to four feet of sand drifted across the area, and the water was gone!

 

 GA:  Philip gave no explanation as to why the Soaks never re-filled.

 

In 1907-8 new arrivals came.  These included Messrs. E. Joyce [GA: my maternal grandfather, Edward Daly Joyce, known to all as Teddy], T. Wilson, A. Fletcher, J. & H. Sutherland, S. Magee, and P. & J. MacRae.  Not long after his arrival Mr. Joyce opened up the first Post Office, which was called Christmas Tank [GA: at his farm about two kilometres to the north of what was to become the Chinkapook township].  In 1909 the settlement began to progress. 

 

 GA: I have always thought that Fred Andrews, my paternal grandfather, arrived in 1910, or maybe a bit earlier.  The Andrews farm was located a little further north-west from the Joyce farm on what today is known as Christmas Tank Road.

 

The railway line was gradually creeping north, and in 1914 reached Chinkapook, so called because it is 80 feet above sea level.  [GA: A strange piece of information.  Wikipedia advises that the meaning of the place name Chinkapook is uncertain, although clearly aboriginal.  The name is variously said to mean “foot”, “red pool” or “red ochre”.  The roadside sign on the edge of town says “The Place of Red Earth”.  No mention of elevation.] 

 Now, the settlement went ahead and more settlers moved in, the main occupations still being wheat and sheep grazing.

 

In 1913 the State Rivers and Water Supply Commission had put down big catchment dams, and channels were gradually made throughout the district, the water mainly coming from Warangah Basin and Lake Lonsdale. 

 

PKT: The government catchment dams were an extension of the run-off dams that the settlers had dug from the outset.  They were superseded when the gravitation channel system was completed in the late teens and early twenties of the Twentieth Century.  Each farm had a dam connected to the channel.  The system was not for irrigation, simply for stock and domestic water.

 

By 1930 Chinkapook had a big depression, caused by the World depression that began in 1929 and lasted till 1937.  In 1939 came the World War which took many young men away.  Two of them, T. Waldron and G. Hancock, did not return.

 

The township was thriving well and had one bank, two stores

two fruit shops, a boarding house, wine saloon, garage, butcher, saddler, baker and blacksmith.  During the war the butcher shop closed and the bank moved to Manangatang.  Other businesses closed too, and at least one building was moved out of the township.  

 

PKT: The wine saloon and billiard parlour (known as “the pinky joint”) was bought for a home by a farmer at Chillingollah, and re-located.  It later burned down.  The billiard table was bought by a resident of Manangatang.

 

The silo was built in 1943.  In 1947 the schoolchildren began travelling to Manangatang Consolidated School.  [GA:  Which I was already attending, having for a year or so been bussed from nearby Daytrap, where my folks were share farmers.  The one-teacher one-room Daytrap School, as with all the small rural schoolhouses in the district, was in 1946 "consolidated" into the Manangatang township school, and students thereafter bussed.  My daily one mile walk to school was replaced by a one mile walk to the bus.]

 

Most of the early settlers have passed on, but Mr. and Mrs. Joyce and Messrs. J. & H. Sutherland are still living in Chinkapook, all being a great age.

 

GA: There is no tidy way in which to conclude this reminiscence of early times. Chinkapook to-day has fewer than ten permanent residents and fewer still habitable buildings.  Its decline has been long but inexorable.  The Catholic Church was deconsecrated and the building sold and removed long ago (although the little Uniting Church, long abandoned, may be about to be resurrected, albeit not as a place of worship). 

More efficient farming techniques have led to consolidations and larger farm properties; and, inevitably, fewer on-farm inhabitants.  There are fewer children, and no need for local schools. The improved roads and means of motor transport have seen the end of small-town shops and services.  The moving finger has written, and moved on.

 

 

Gary Andrews

 

 

SATURDAY BREAKFAST #31: SANDRINGHAM STATION PRECINCT

Visited 6 October, 2012 and 16 November, 2022

 

You are reading correctly.  We traversed this busy precinct a decade ago, but at the time my scratchy notes failed to coalesce into a blog; and recently, when about to turf those notes (and notes referencing several other breakfast excursions that have faded into irrelevance), we decided that Sandringham might repay another visit.

 

This time breakfast was at Port of Call in Bay Road, a very acceptable eatery, with quality Bircher – and of such sufficiency that a take-away box was scrounged for a later snack.  This was not the place where we’d eaten previously - and to our surprise we later rediscovered the Limoncello Café in nearby Station Street.  It was surprise enough that the place still existed a decade on, but the real surprise was that the décor had changed not a whit.  We didn’t sit down for another breakfast, but we did order takeaway coffees, and this enabled us to have a good squiz. Here is my note from ten years ago: “Drab interior and décor belied the splendid food and coffee.  Dark brown vinyl bench seat with high back along one entire wall.  Wooden ceiling, cinnamon colour.  Bagged brick walls, painted beige - so no splash of colour or relief from drab.”  My ten-year-old description of today’s décor was creepily accurate – which makes me regret that we hadn’t eaten there this morning, and partaken from the fare - also, hopefully, locked in its time warp: “Bircher excellent.  Porridge possibly the best ever, very loose with milk folded through.  Both dishes served with small dish of stewed apple/rhubarb compote.”

 

So much for the breakfast.  Do the environs of the Sandringham station precinct offer something of greater moment and diversion?  For starters, I needed to follow up an incomplete note from ten years ago: “Query war memorial in the foreshore park.  Odd design.” 

 

Odd design indeed.  It is not a war memorial, it’s a bandstand.  Trawl the internet and you will discover numerous pictures of bandstands – ornate, always round, elevated a little, frequently having seen better days – but you will find no other like the Sandringham Bandstand.

You can see what I mean – to my imagination, shaped  more like one of the invading Martian machines from War of the Worlds.

 

The upper level is where the band assembles, and plays; but the lower level is of no function except to provide shelter….although, as if to incorporate a bonus utilitarian feature, a drinking fountain has been installed in that underneath space.  And, while the underneath might provide shelter (although giving no view of the band above), the recital space itself most certainly would not provide shelter on a wet and windy day.  The roof, even with its generous overhang, is so far above the performing deck that the elements would beat in, unimpeded - although, on reflection, that must be a feature of bandstands everywhere!

 

The unconventional design of the Sandringham Bandstand triggers echoes of the architectural debate about “form” and “function”.  The late nineteenth century Chicago architect, Louis Sullivan, was one of the early proponents of the design principle that "form should follow function" – rather than the other way around.  Once the intended function of the structure is established the form that the building takes should serve that intended function.  Office blocks and apartment buildings are examples of function first.   And so are power stations and chemical plants.  A not so happy example of the opposite is Jorn Utzon’s Sydney Opera House, where the form of the structure came first, and its function as an opera house and concert hall had to be integrated as best as possible into that form.  Only now, after two generations, is the interior (function) being rejigged better to fit within the building’s spectacular external form.  This is not to denigrate the work of art that is the Opera House, merely to illustrate the architectural maxim……..and to query the relevance of that maxim to the Sandringham Bandstand.  Hard to tell.  Clearly the structure has every feature required for a functioning performance space, and these features could have been provided in a more conventional structure; but, at the same time, the form of the building has a difference, a modernity, a 1926 bling that in no way detracts from its function as a bandstand.  Best of both worlds; and who cares what came first in the mind of the architect?

 

From the Sandringham & District Historical Society website:  “The Sandringham Band Rotunda……was erected in 1926 to replace the original Rotunda on the same site built in 1908.  The present Rotunda contains a drinking fountain that was a gift to the people of Sandringham from Dr. Thomas Garnet Leary…….The Rotunda was designed by Sandringham’s first City Engineer, who pioneered the use of reinforced concrete for all types of construction.  It was a big project in 1926 and, when completed, band recitals became a popular feature on Sunday afternoons during the summer months.  The 46^th Battalion Brass Band and the Sandringham Boys’ Band were regular performers.” 

 

I don’t know whether the 46th Battalion Brass Band was in existence from the inception of the 46^th Battalion itself (a.k.a. The Brighton Rifles) but the band is long gone, and I suppose it didn’t outlast the Battalion.  The 46^th Battalion was raised as an infantry unit in 1916, served on the Western Front, and was disbanded in 1919.  Revived in 1921 as a unit in the Citizen Forces it became part of the Militia in 1929.  In the early stages of the Second World War the 46^th Battalion was deployed for defensive duties, and for training; and in 1942 was amalgamated with the 29^th Battalion.  The combined Battalion served in New Guinea and in New Britain, but was disbanded in 1946.  If the Battalion Brass Band had survived throughout the War it most certainly would not have survived the disbanding of the Battalion.  I can find no reference to the Band on the Australian War Memorial website.

 

Nearby to the Bandstand is an information board with more to say:  “Built in 1926 the Sandringham Band Rotunda could accommodate 25 musicians on the upper level……Throughout the late 1920s and 1930s, brass bands would play regularly on Sunday afternoons, drawing large crowds.  By the early 1980s, Council became concerned with the deterioration of the Rotunda and considered demolition.  At this point, the then Mayor argued that every city had its icon: Paris had the Eiffel Tower, and Sandringham had the Rotunda, which should be repaired and remain on the cliff top.  The State Government contributed $2500, while Council and others worked to raise several thousand dollars toward the cost of refurbishment.”  Although no doubt helpful as a record of the Bandstand’s history the inclusion on the information board of the Mayor's comparison between the Rotunda and the Eiffel Tower is an absurdity.

 

Despite the 1980s refurbishment, the Bandstand today seems to have no function other than to host yoga and meditation groups, and to provide drinking water for the tired and oppressed, and their dogs.

 

And what of the Sandringham Boys’ Band, which on the evidence of  today’s written record may as well never have existed?  The omniscient World Wide Web is silent – except for one passing reference…….and, by way of postscript, I’m happy to share the story that popped up when I was searching for information about the Band.  It is a sobering report from the 31 May 1926 edition of the Melbourne Argus, headed Brave Bank Teller: “In memory of Mr William Charles Almeida, the young teller [aged 22] in charge of the Hampton branch of the Commercial Bank of Australia, who was mortally wounded by bank robbers on November 28, 1924, an elaborate granite drinking fountain has been erected at Hampton by the Bank Officials Association.  The memorial……bears the following inscription – ‘In memory of William Charles Almeida…….who nobly gave his life in defence of his trust…….’.  There was a large attendance and the Sandringham Boys’ Band played……..Mr. Gullett [MHR, later Sir Henry] said that Mr Almeida’s act was one of supreme personal courage.  No memorial was needed to perpetuate his memory, but it was fitting that tradition should be followed…….members of the public in all parts of Australia had contributed….and two scholarships were endowed…….Mr Almeida was foully and wantonly shot down, it was one of the most brutal, deliberate murders in the history of Australian crime [by two members of the notorious Squizzy Taylor gang].  After he had been fatally wounded he seized a revolver, chased one of the robbers, captured him, and handed him over to custody before he collapsed into unconsciousness [and died the next day]…….. Mr Almeida had bequeathed a splendid example to Australian manhood – so long as there were men like him Australia would be safe.  The gathering that day met to honour his memory in sorrow, but with deep pride.  Mr Almeida was a gallant citizen.”  A solemn occasion for all but, in particular, for the young members of the Sandringham Boys' Band.

 

Gary Andrews