BRITAIN IN PICTURES - NUMBER 11

 

#86  British Journalists and Newspapers by Derek Hudson

 

My aunt, Bea Warren, was for many years secretary to the Chief of Staff at The Herald newspaper.  At that time The Herald was Melbourne’s only afternoon newspaper.  It was a broadsheet, and therefore “serious”.  It shared sister paper status with The Sun News-Pictorial, the morning tabloid rag that was (and is) far from serious – although, to be fair, today as the Herald Sun it is full of news.  Both newspapers were owned by the public company The Herald and Weekly Times Limited and, three years after that company was absorbed into Rupert Murdoch’s News Limited empire in 1987, The Herald was scrapped. 

 

Now, being a secretary might not sound like a very fulfilling or exciting position, but remember that the “Chief of Staff” is the head of news, the boss of the reporters, and that all the day’s news is channelled through him – and, first, through his secretary.  No outsider, but nobody, in those times had direct access to the Chief of Staff and, as I heard the story many times, even if the Prime Minister’s office came on to Bea’s phone asking that the Prime Minister be put through to the Chief of Staff Bea was instructed to say: “Put the Prime Minister on first, then I’ll switch him through!”  The Herald’s Chief of Staff was a busy man, and didn’t have time to waste waiting for connections at the other end.

 

This anecdote, and numerous of its ilk, were the meat and potatoes of Aunt Bea’s life.  I well remember her recounting of the day in 1970 when the Westgate Bridge collapsed during construction.  The word came through to Bea’s phone, and elsewhere in the company, and spread rapidly.  Not only an unprecedented tragedy [35 construction workers dead and 18 injured in the disaster], but the greatest “news story” of its time.  Everybody at the Herald wanted to assist, to be involved, to be assigned some task.  And Aunt Bea, as always, the focal point of the day’s news.

 

I tell this story because, to me, it somehow typifies what being a newspaper person is about.  Obviously, not every day, not every week, has the frisson of a major story; but surely there’s something exhilarating in the air of newspaper production. Instance numerous Hollywood depictions of life in the fourth estate – Citizen Kane for example, and The Front Page (initially a play), and All the President’s Men.  And instance the numerous biographies of newspaper people and their publishers. 

 

But, sadly, there’s nothing exhilarating about Derek Hudson’s British Journalists and Newspapers.  This is not simply because Hudson’s story ends in 1945 upon the publication of the book - such lack of topicality is an inevitable factor with this near-70 years’ old series.  It’s because the telling is too structured, too much of a timeline, too comprehensive.  No newspaper or newspaper figure of the previous three hundred years seems to have been omitted.  Moreover, more so than with any other of the Britain in Pictures books reviewed so far, the intervening 70 years seems to have rendered the subject matter irrelevant, indeed boring.

It is now difficult to imagine or remember the world of newspapers - and the world of journalists - in 1945 when Derek Hudson wrote this book.  For instance, in those days - and still in 1955 when I toured the premises of The Evening Standard in London – the text of the paper physically originated in hot lead linotype.  I came away with a keepsake of my name set in a little bar of lead, just like a rubber stamp (and who remembers them?).  By the way, The Evening Standard, founded in 1827, survives……..but, having been acquired in 2009 by Russian interests (sic.), has since circulated as a freesheet. 

 

In 1945, London (and Britain) was awash with newspapers, but Hudson does not provide us with a comprehensive survey of the major papers being published at the time; indeed, the flap note indicates that Hudson “writes more of the journalists than of the papers in which they wrote, tracing the story of British journalism through the personalities of outstanding individuals rather than an impersonal survey of the rise and fall of successive newspapers and journals”.

 

But this claim is manifestly not true!  A rough analysis shows that considerably more of the publication is devoted to stories of the newspapers (and their proprietors) than to the journalists.   And, while the stories are interesting enough, when strung together they taste a bit like alphabet soup……but without the broth, and without the pasta. 

 

So, having proffered such a trenchant verdict, I have worn sufficient guilt to read the book again – just to be sure.   There is much of interest, but to whom?  Although discombobulated, I feel the need to give Hudson the last word – this from his closing paragraph:  “In the course of three hundred years, British journalists……have learned to perfect their calling.  May its grave responsibilities, as well as its great traditions, inspire the journalists of the future to go forward as bravely……Freedom of the Press has not been won to be given away.  To those who would venture to teach them their business……journalists might well reply with a memorable paraphrase from Kai Lung: “Refrain from instructing your venerated ancestors in the art of extracting nutrition from a coconut.”  This, I expect, encourages you to tell your detractors to go suck eggs.

 

#57  Horses of Britain by Lady Wentworth

 

Given the meticulous presentation of the Britain in Pictures volumes it was a surprise to see the confusion that surrounded the naming of this book.  In the body of the volume it is unambiguously named British Horses and Ponies, while on the dust jacket it has two (other!) names – on the flap: Horses and Ponies of Britain, and on the front of the jacket (and matching cover) Horses of Britain.  And that’s how it’s shown in the series listings.  So, after the book was printed there was clearly a decision to change the name (but too late to change the print-run); then in the ensuing printing of the dust jacket the publishers still got it wrong, using two versions.

 

Whether the mid-stream changing of horses was at the author’s instigation, or dictated by the publishers, we shall never know.  The result is that “ponies” are no longer meant to occupy as much of the reader’s focus as originally intended. 

 

As it happens the author, Lady Wentworth (1873 to 1957), had as interesting a pedigree as any of the horses she discusses.  Or should that be bloodline?  Her full name: Judith Anne Dorothea Blunt-Lytton, 16^th Baroness Wentworth. She inherited the title (in 1917) from her mother Anne (who in turn was the daughter of the Earl of Lovelace).  Additionally, Anne was the great-granddaughter of Lord Byron (and Lady Wentworth thus the great-great-granddaughter).  Lady Wentworth added the Lytton appendage to her name after marrying the presumptive to the Earldom of Lytton.  The marriage lasted from 1899 to 1923, although the Lytton bit seems to have continued on until Lady Wentworth herself expired.

 

Lady Wentworth’s interest in horses was lifelong.  As a child she travelled through the Middle East with her parents where the parents purchased Arabian horses for their studs, one stud in Cairo and one back in England, Crabbet Park.  Lady Wentworth, as she wasn’t early on, managed the Crabbet Park property and stud from 1904 until her death in 1957 - although there were significant ownership issues after her parents separated and later divorced (in 1923).  These issues, relating both to the Crabbet Park property and to the stud horses, cluttered the courts for years; and there was one incident where Lady Wentworth’s father rustled the horses off the property, including horses to which he had no claim at all.  Another time he shot a number of the horses…….unsurprisingly, court rulings went against him! 

 

The Wikipedia entry for Crabbet Arabian Stud tells a story fascinating at all levels: the family obsession with the Arabian horse breed, the tragedy of family estrangement, the determination of Lady Wentworth to hold it all together notwithstanding, the later demise of the stud (in 1972) after Crabbet Park was split in two by the M3 Motorway from London to Gatwick and Brighton.  

 

But, despite the multiple travails of the family and the stud, “at least 90% of all Arabian horses alive today trace their pedigrees in one or more lines to Crabbet horses.”  And, interestingly: “Today, Australia now has a significant number of ‘pure’ Crabbet lines, undiluted by infusions from other sources, with possibly the highest percentage of straight-and-high-percentage Crabbet blood in the world.”  That was in 1944, and I have no way of knowing whether the statistic holds today.

 

The author’s lifetime focus on Arabian horses clearly did not blinker her gaze to other breeds.  In the book there is something there for you if your interest lies with “parade horses” (including black funeral horses, and circus horses), “utility horses” (including hacks, cobs and hunters), “ponies” (including Shetland, Highland, Dartmoor and Welsh Mountain).  And there is the group categorised as “mixed light breeds”:  post horses, coach horses, hunters, hackneys and polo ponies. 

 

Of likely more general interest is the section on thoroughbred racehorses.  This topic gets a guernsey in an earlier Pieces to Share blog on The Turf, posted in August 2020.  There, there is reference to the three Arabian sires from whom all bloodstock is traced, and our present author confirms this point – The Darley Arabian, The Godolphin Arabian, and Byerley Turk.

 

Lady Wentworth’s knowledge (and her horse sense) as captured in this small volume is extraordinary.  In one paragraph, for instance, she details the “points” of the Arab horse: “head small and profile concave, tapering to a very small muzzle; eyes very large and brilliant and circular, and placed much lower in the skull than the eyes of other horses; forehead extremely broad……..” and she continues for 147 words more!  And concludes with: “A true Arab should be full of fire and vitality.  A ewe-necked, weedy, lifeless stallion is not worth his keep, and stallions which look like mares should be avoided as sires.  A sire should have a strong, arched chest and a flashing eye and be of a bold though good tempered disposition.  Mares are quieter but should also be showy and striking to look at.” 

 

One gets the sense that it was Lady Wentworth for whom the word “formidable” was coined.

 

#14  British Scientists by Sir Richard Gregory

 

A lab rat whose working life is spent in testing batches of rice bubbles to ensure their “pop” is up to scratch is a scientist. He is applying in a practical context the scientific knowledge gained by himself and others.  Sir Richard Gregory’s book, however, makes little space for implementers; it concerns itself mostly with innovators.  That’s okay, and it leaves scope for a successor volume on British Technology, say.  The problem with British Scientists, though, is not its limited scope; the problem is that some parts of it are boring as bat shit.  Indeed, it’s little more than a long list.  And, to confirm the list-maker’s mind set, it concludes with a date-order listing of 104 British scientists – date order based on birth dates - that includes none still alive at the time of publication in 1941.  Get that: no contemporary British scientist rated a mention.  A way of managing production size maybe, but surely a slight on the then present generation. 

 

I have not had the stomach for checking whether every one of the 104 is referenced in the text, but I do see that several mentioned in the text are not on the list!  And the book has very little in the way of potted biographies.  Furthermore, the book has little in the way of in-depth analysis of developments subsequent to a scientist’s innovative work, or of the consequences of later scientific advances.  My complaint is that the book merely contains thumbnail observations about individual scientific achievements, and then moves on to the next dot point.  But I exaggerate a little! and Gregory does become more anecdotal and fulsome when discussing scientists of more recent times.

 

Gregory is aware of the dichotomy between the “pure” science of imagination and research and the “applied” science of technology and implementation, as the following illustrates: “The inventions of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, which brought about what is called the Industrial Revolution in England, came from the workshop rather than from the scientific laboratory.”  So, hooray for applied science.

 

Sir Isaac Newton (who, fortunately, does get a mention in the book!) wrote in 1675 that “If I have seen further [than others], it is by standing on the shoulders of giants”.  This evolutionary aspect of scientific knowledge is not well documented in Gregory’s conspectus.  His approach is to divide his “lists” into scientific groups - for instance The Earth and its Fossil Records, Radioactivity and Atomic Disintegration, Atoms and Their Structure, Modern Observational Astronomy – but these very groupings are an indication of how out of date a “science” book from 1941 must be.  Gregory, however, cannot be blamed for the passage of time.

 

Sir Richard Gregory, the author, was no intellectual pygmy, indeed he was a person of some renown.  The National Portrait Gallery web-site records seven portraits in the collection!  He lived 1864 to 1952, and was a scientific writer and journalist, and Professor of Astronomy at Queens College, London.  He was editor of the journal Nature for some twenty years.  But, in British Scientists, I think his approach was wrong.  This may well have been at the directive of the editors.  No matter.  As my favourite client used to say when I was proffering an unimpeachable reason for some delay in service: “The effect, Gary, is the same”.

 

One significant feature of the Britain in Pictures books is the illustrations that pepper each volume.  After all, “pictures” is germaine to the series concept.  I am mindful that my reviews focus on the text only, and this time is no different.  But, as counterpoint to the general negativity of this review, I am happy to report that British Scientists contains 19 black and white illustrations (16 of which are portraits of scientists), and 12 colour plates (including 9 portraits).  This number of illustrations is typical for the series and, as usual, those illustrations have been sourced widely.  But it’s a bonus that on the page of a small book such as this, full-page portraits are somewhat more accessible than “distance shots” and landscapes, even though good looks are no criterion for selection.

 

One interesting aspect of reading a venerable technical source is the possibility, if not likelihood, that time will have altered some of that text’s verities; and, for today’s reader this might be an annoying distraction.  What follows is one such distraction unwittingly put forward by Sir Richard Gregory: “Parts of a human skull and fragments of other skulls from neighbouring fields found at Piltdown, Sussex, in 1911-1915, show that a race of beings which approached the human type existed in England half a million years ago……….Two British scientists, Sir Arthur Smith Woodward and Sir Arthur Keith, are chiefly responsible for showing that the Piltdown remains represent an extinct genus of mankind.”  Except that the skull of the “Piltdown Man” was a hoax perpetrated by local amateur archaeologist (and solicitor), Charles Dawson.  The truth of the fraud was not revealed until 1953, long after Dawson’s death (in 1916), and long after British Scientists was published.

 

Gary Andrews

 

 

 

 

 THE MAJOR MITCHELL TRAIL – PART 3

 

For Parts 1 and 2 of the re-tracing of Major Mitchell’s 1836 expedition see my Pieces to Share blogs posted, respectively, January 2023 and October 2023.

 

Geoffrey Blainey (still with us at 93) has been a great historian for the people, by which I mean no disrespect to his intellect and scholarship, rather that his published works have been universally accessible.  I have no idea whether the term “popular history” has been applied to his books, but if such a term were to be used it would be right in fact, but totally wrong in sentiment.  In the “popular” vein he has been commissioned to write several local histories which, without such sponsorship, would likely not have been written.  These volumes of popular history are scholarly nonetheless.  Blainey’s oeuvre runs to more than 40 books.  

 

In 1984 Professor Blainey published Our Side of the Country: The Story of Victoria.  And, for those curious about the title, the blurb advises that: “When the first settlers came with their sheep to Victoria, the common practice was to call the people who lived north of the Murray River as Sydney-siders.  Those who lived south of the Murray were said to be on ‘our side of the country’.” 

 

In his book, Blainey “traces the history of Victoria since the time Aborigines could walk across Bass Strait”.  And, germaine to my Major Mitchell Trail re-tracing project he writes:

“[that in August 1836] the explorer Major Thomas Mitchell, after crossing western (sic) Victoria from Swan Hill to the Grampians and the sea, was surprised to see some grey rocks which, on examination through the telescope, proved to be whalers’ sheds.  Following the tracks of carts he came to the Hentys’ houses at Portland.  In the gardens on the overhanging cliffs he was shown potatoes and turnips surpassing any he had ever seen, and looking down on the sheltered bay he was told that only a few days ago five ships lay there at anchor, and from the Hentys’ verandah on a crisp August day he was fascinated to see three whale boats, each with a harpooner standing in the stern, set out to chase a ‘hunchback’ whale.”  What an extraordinary evocation; and what an extraordinary historical snapshot: to think that this scenario was unfolding in Portland in August 1836 barely within a year of Batman arriving in June 1835 in what was to become Melbourne, Fawkner’s setting up his household in Melbourne in August 1835, and Batman’s return to Melbourne from Tasmania with a shipload of settlers in September 1835.

…………….

 

Before continuing the Major Mitchell Trail journey, a bit more on Mitchell the man.  He was born in 1792 at Grangemouth in Scotland, and died in Sydney in 1855.  Although notable for his achievements as an explorer and surveyor, Mitchell was essentially a military man.    He was aged 16 when he joined the British Army as a volunteer in the Peninsular War, and was commissioned a second lieutenant at age 19.  During the War his skills as a draftsman were specifically utilised.  After the War he was tasked – for four years - with preparing surveys, and official sketches of Spanish and Portuguese battlefields.  He married while on this posting, a marriage that was to produce twelve children.  Long after, in 1841, Mitchell’s drawings were published as Atlas Containing the Principal Battles, Sieges and Affairs of the Peninsular War.

 

In the meantime, in 1827, Mitchell was appointed Assistant Surveyor General of New South Wales; and, upon the death of John Oxley the following year, became Surveyor General.  In the eight years before Mitchell’s 1836 expedition through Australia Felix he surveyed the road from Sydney to the Hunter region, and the road from Sydney to Goulburn, and he conducted numerous other surveys and produced numerous maps.  And he led two expeditions of exploration - to the north-west, and to the west of the State.  Later, Mitchell spent extended periods of leave in London, during which time he published the journals of his explorations.  He was knighted in 1839 for his achievements as a surveyor.

 

Withal, Mitchell may have been a pretty intractable character.  He has the distinction (along with his fellow duellist) of being known as the last person to have fought a duel in Australia – puzzle solvers note: 27 September, 1851.  His protagonist had publicly criticised excessive spending by the Surveyor General’s Department, and Mitchell took offence, and they each took up pistols.  Neither duellist succeeded in inflicting corporeal damage, although one hat was pierced. 

 

Earlier, in 1844, Mitchell had been elected to the Legislative Council…..but had resigned within six months because of the conflicts with his role as a paid public official.  Bad judgement?  Mercurial? And then there was the observation of later Governor, Charles FitzRoy: “It is notorious that Sir Thomas Mitchell’s unfortunate impracticability of temper and spirit of opposition to those in authority over him misled him into frequent collision with my predecessors.”

 

In 1841 Mitchell built a mansion home, Carthona, on a two-acre site on the shorefront of Darling Harbour. 

Mitchell died in 1855 after an attack of bronchitis turned to pneumonia.  He left behind considerable debt.  The family moved to more modest accommodation, although Carthona was retained by the family for some years.  After passing through several hands, Carthona was acquired by a member of the “Bushell’s Tea” family in 1940.

 

 

The Trail – Maps 13 to 17 [days 68 to 108]. 

10 August to 19 September, 1836

Tracking south from nearby to Casterton, reaching the sea at the mouth of the Glenelg River, continuing easterly then back to the sea at Portland, and northerly and easterly heading back towards Sydney

 

 

9 and 10 August 1836 must have been hectic days for the Mitchell expedition.  Notwithstanding concern about the steepness of Major Creek, and the care taken with the crossing, one of the carts had capsized; and, in the event, camp was made on the far bank with most of the expedition still to be brought across the next morning.  “By means of a block and tackle attached to a tree, the remaining carts and the boat carriage were lowered to the bed of the stream.  There still remained the task of hauling everything up the opposite bank but this was achieved by using the combined strength of several teams; and the party was able to move on before noon.”

 

Within a few kilometres the expedition was rewarded with a vista of “open grassy country” extending to the horizon, “rounded hills smooth as a carpet, the meadows broad and either emerald green or of a rich golden colour from the abundance of a small ranunculus-like flower (Australian Common Buttercup).” 

Mitchell's sketch of the Australian Common Buttercup (Ranunculus lappaceus)

 

That day Mitchell was delighted to make contact with an Aboriginal woman – whom he first chased, then persuaded to communicate, and who was able to converse readily with the two Aboriginal women with the expedition – even though they were from a far off district of New South Wales.  Mitchell learned from the woman the local names of nearby geographical features.

 

Camp on 10 August was on the bank of the Glenelg River, about six kilometres north of present-day Casterton.

Some clown has prised the bronze plaque from this cairn marking the 11 August 1836 campsite

Near Henty there is a plaque commemorating Mitchell and others, although not from 1936; plus a signboard with a time-line of early European settlement.   Mitchell passed near by on 12 August 1836.

 

The way ahead proved to be diverse and often difficult to traverse.  The higher ground above the Glenelg was thickly wooded with stringybarks and other eucalypts.  Back at river level: sterile moorland, open wastes, and swamps.  Yet, near to the junction of the Crawford and Glenelg Rivers Mitchell reports “overlooking one of the finest flats imaginable”.  This was 15 August 1836, and close to present-day Dartmoor. 

 From here Mitchell undertook an eight-day excursion towards the coast.  Stapylton remained, with eight men, to set up a depot at the newly-named Fort O'Hare hill.

  

 

After much reconnoitre, and difficulty manoeuvring carts through swampy terrain, on 17 August Piper climbed a tree and reported a very large stream ahead “like the Murray”, one excellent for boats.  So, Mitchell decided to reach the sea by water; and at midday on 18 August the two boats were launched, sixteen men aboard – on to what was now realised to be the Glenelg!  Mitchell’s principal aim: to find a harbour on the south coast.  From Mitchell’s diary: “The scenery on the banks was pleasing and various: at some points picturesque limestone cliffs overhung the river, and cascades flowed out of caverns hung with stalactites: at others, the shores were festooned with green dripping shrubs and creepers, or terminated in a smooth grassy bank sloping to the water’s edge.”

 

Mitchell's sketch of the Glenelg River

The camp that night was at Moleside Landing.  [The Trail map indicates a cairn, but we could not find it.]  Having climbed the highest cliffs and been unable to sight the coast, Mitchell voiced impatience to continue…….but, next day, a reluctant prisoner of  the Glenelg, he was obliged to take a sharp right turn to the west.  

 

A distance of more than 20 kilometres was navigated on 19 August and, although Mitchell’s diary fails to record the location of that night’s sojourn, it is believed to be at Lasletts Camp.  Again, we were unable to find the commemorative cairn - with echoes of Lady Bracknell’s admonition that while to lose one is unfortunate, to lose two seems like carelessness.

 

The next morning the party – the river having turned south again - reached the coast (near present-day Nelson).   Mitchell was disappointed to find that the shallow mouth of the Glenelg presented no opportunity for a harbour: this would not be an access point for settlers to Australia Felix.

This cairn is on The Isle of Bags near to the mouth of the Glenelg River, near Nelson.  It dates from 1930.

 

Today, in Picnic Hill Reserve on the road to the Cape Nelson Lighthouse stands a cairn in the form of a square pillar – 200 steps up the climb.  Plus information board.  The board references Crosbie Morrison, naturalist, who unveiled the cairn in October 1957.

 

 

The party returned upstream, and camped on 20 August near what was to become the South Australia/Victoria border – on the South Australian side.  It’s tedious to report, but not nearly so tedious as to experience, the absence of another commemorative cairn.  I presume and hope that nobody has been removing them for their stone!   And, while our searches have been thorough, in remote spots those searches can be successful only insofar as the Trail book is accurate.  Precise locations are not given, however.  Any revision of the book will surely include those locations, with grid references.  And is a GPS locating system too much to hope for?

 

The members of Mitchell’s party were back with Stapylton’s group at Fort O’Hare (Dartmoor) on 22 August, and Mitchell’s reconnaissance on the next day established that there was clear firm country ahead to the east.  In passing, Mitchell noted enormous stringybarks, including one of 4.4 metres girth and 25 metres height. 

 

For the next two days Mitchell’s route was east, roughly parallel to and to the north of the Princes Highway.  The terrain was much less challenging; but, having said that, extremely soft soil was encountered on 26 August, and even worse the next day, so much so that “Mitchell decided that they had gone far enough eastward to enable him to detour south to examine the coast about Portland Bay and thus give time for the carts to be freed from the mud and for the bullocks to be rested,” and that a depot camp should be set up.

 

Accompanied by six men Mitchell rode south from the depot camp on 28 August 1836.  The forward camp that night was south of Heywood, to the east of the Princes Highway.  There was little grass for the horses, the prevailing vegetation being wattles and grass trees – the latter an indication of poor soil. But through the day they had passed through luxuriant kangaroo grass, and a stringybark forest.

 

29 August was a momentous day.  It started squally and unpleasant.  Continuing south the party reached the sea to the east of Portland.  Mitchell records his astonishment at the reaction of his aboriginal companion, Tommy Came-last, who had never before seen the sea – total lack of reaction, that is: “I could not discover any expression of surprise; on the contrary, the placid and comprehensive gaze he cast over it, seemed fully to embrace the grand expanse then for the first time opened to him.”  Mitchell was also astonished when Tommy Came-last pointed out broken bottles and broken clay pipes and shoe prints on the beach (which, on reflection, Mitchell attributed to whalers); and beyond astonished to see cattle tracks.  He knew that whaling vessels occasionally landed there, but he had no sense of how cattle had done so also.

This Portland tribute to the Hentys includes a plaque referencing their meeting with Mitchell on 29 August, 1836

Mitchell subsequently learned that whaling was much more than “occasional”, that many ships used the bay, that more than 700 tons of whale oil had been shipped out that season, and that “only a few days earlier, five vessels had been at anchor”. 

 

 He also learned that the Henty brothers had a considerable farming establishment: "I was received and entertained by them who, I learnt, had been established there during upwards of two years”.  Indeed, there was regular communication with Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) by ships from Launceston.  “The Hentys were importing sheep and cattle as fast as vessels could be found to bring them over, and the numerous whalers were good customers for farm produce.”

 

The next day Mitchell surveyed the nearby region using Cape Nelson in the distance as a reference point.  Later, upon departure, Mitchell’s party were given some flour by the Hentys, and “as many vegetables as the men could carry away on their horses”.  Just then a whale was sighted “and instantly three well-manned boats were seen cutting through the water, a harpooner standing in the stern of each”.  Mitchell did not wait for the outcome of the chase; and his group spent the first night of their return journey on the beach north-east of Portland.  They re-joined the main expedition at the depot camp next day, his men having had to wade through a stream with water up to their necks, carrying the flour on their heads.  They found that the carts had been extracted from the bogs, the chains had been repaired by the blacksmith, new shafts had been made for the heavy carts, and the hatchets had been re-steeled.

 

Mitchell’s journey over the next week or so is erratic indeed.  The Trail map covers an area of 25 by 60 kilometres (as does each map in the Trail book), yet within that relatively small area there were ten overnight camps.  Part of the explanation for the slow going was Mitchell’s side excursion to Mount Napier, but mainly it was “conditions”, and equipment issues.  Because of swamps and boggy ground the boat carriage had to be allocated extra bullocks, swapped from the heavy carts, and by day’s end the light carts were ten kilometres ahead.  Then, on 3 September, the boat carriage again became stuck in a swamp.  Mitchell mused that “the nearest habitations of civilized men” were 600 kilometres away, but was unwilling to abandon the boats (or, indeed, any of the carts).  But, there was unlikely to be an inland sea to explore so, after further consideration, on 4 September Mitchell decided to abandon one of the boats, and to shorten the boat carriage to adapt it to carry one boat only – there would surely be other streams to cross!  He hoped that the shortened and lightened boat carriage would then be able to keep up with the other carts.  

 

Having given his instructions Mitchell set out for Mount Napier, some 40 kilometres distant.  In the afternoon light Mitchell’s party arrived at the rim of a circular crater, with rocks composed wholly of lava and scoria.  “The igneous character of these was so obvious that one of the men thrust his hand into a chasm to ascertain whether it was warm.”   Camp was made at the foot of the mountain.  Mitchell ascended again the next morning, but the weather was so inclement that it was impossible to envisage a route ahead.  Returning to the main party Mitchell found that the modification of the boat carriage had not been completed, so he paused the expedition for another day, during which the horses were re-shod.

 

The journey resumed on 7 September, with the large boat being left behind, keel upwards in the swamp.  The Trail book [published 1990] reports that “sightings of the boat’s remains have been reported until recent years”.

 

On 9 September Mitchell again ascended Mount Napier, this time along with a team armed with axes.  He was determined to clear the summit in order to take bearings, but again was thwarted by the weather.  Not so the next day, when under a clear sky he ascended again, was able to take bearings in all directions, and named a number of distant features.  

The campsite on 11 September is a little short of Hamilton.  There is an interesting plaque on the wall of the Hamilton school recording that on September 11^th, 1836 Mitchell “discovered and named the little stream called ‘The Grange’”.

 

Also a cairn in the nearby park.

The expedition continued eastward through “well-grassed” country for the following eight days – initially “fine downs where the ground was firm under the horses’ feet, and covered with excellent grass”.  Passing the southernmost point of the Grampians Mitchell resolved to climb Mount Abrupt, and on 14 September, on a cloudless day, he beheld “a truly sublime scene”.  

But the recent intermittent hard going had had a toll.  Boggy conditions were again encountered on 15 September and, after a mere six kilometres, a broken axle caused a despairing Mitchell to call a halt.  Mitchell decided to go ahead with some of the party while the blacksmith effected repairs.  However, upon regrouping it was obvious that the cattle were exhausted, and needed several weeks’ rest; but there were insufficient provisions for the expedition to pause for that long.

 

The decision was made that the weakest cattle would be spelled for two weeks, and that Stapylton and a few of the men would stay with them, with provisions for two months, and then follow the main party’s tracks.  The main Mitchell party, including the freshest cattle, would press on (with the remaining provisions) – and with the prospect that Mitchell would be able to return to Sydney some weeks earlier than if the entire expedition were to remain together.  The boat would be left at the Murray for the group following.  From Mitchell’s diary: “Of the natives in our party, it was arranged amongst themselves that Tommy Came-first, and the widow [Turandurey], who most required a rest, having sore feet, should remain with Mr. Stapylton, and that Piper and Tommy Came-last should accompany me.”

 

The 19 September 1836, campsite was near the Glenelg Highway about fifteen kilometres to the east of Dunkeld.  In Dunkeld there is a cairn, erected in 1914, to commemorate Mitchell’s ascent of mount Abrupt on 14 September 1836.  The cairn has a latter-day bronze plate (from September 1986), dedicated by Professor Manning Clarke, recognising the 150-years anniversary of that ascent.

The accompanying signboard has a photograph of the 1914 dedication.

 

And as I conclude the third part of this Major Mitchell Trail blog we find Mitchell, on 19 September 1836, riding to a nearby hill – which he named Mount Stavely - and planning the next stage of his route…….no doubt hoping for an easier passage ahead.

 

To be continued…….

 

Gary Andrews

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MAJOR MITCHELL TRAIL – PART 2

 

For Part 1 of the re-tracing of Major Mitchell’s 1836 expedition see my Pieces to Share blog posted January, 2023.

 

In the days when I studied Australian history the exploration of the continent was a major component of the curriculum………….along with Australia’s “discovery” (as though it had previously been lost!), the impact of the finding of gold, the inexorable spread of the land seekers and the squatters, the federation of the Australian colonies into the creation of the new nation.  This schooling was in the 1950s, and the significance of the two world wars, of the economic depression of the 1930s, indeed the economic and social achievements of the 50 years of post-Federation nationhood, were still being digested.  Moreover, the history of Australia before white settlement, and the contribution of the aboriginal races, was barely a blip on the radar.

 

Given the importance placed those sixty-plus years ago on the impact of the trail-blazing explorers in the early white history of the continent it’s somewhat axiomatic that Major Thomas Livingstone Mitchell does not today occupy a more significant place in the general imagination.  Clearly it wasn’t always thus.  Mitchell was a major figure in the early history of overland exploration, and was no doubt thought of as such in 1936 by the instigators of the memorial cairns.  1936 was the centenary year of Mitchell’s principal journey of exploration, the journey that was to become the inspiration for The Major Mitchell Trail volume.

The signposting of the Trail and, later, the preparation of theTrail book in 1990, are significant tributes to Mitchell’s achievements - although if the state of that signposting and the general accessibility of the Trail today is an indication, then Mitchell’s stocks these days are low indeed.  

This instalment of my retracing (with son Dan) of Major Thomas Mitchell’s expedition across the region later to become the State of Victoria covers Mitchell’s traverse in a south-westerly direction from Mount Hope to Wando Bridge near the Casterton/Edenhope Road in the south-west of the State.  It covers Mitchell’s journey from 29 June to 9 August 1836, and is described in maps numbered 6 to 12 in The Major Mitchell Trail volume.  

The book indicates that along this stage of Mitchell’s journey there are some 18 commemorative cairns, erected in the centenary year 1936; and part of our objective in re-tracing the Trail was to locate and photograph these cairns.

 

 

The Trail - Maps 6 to 12 [days 26 to 67]  

29 June to 9 August, 1836 

 

Traversing Victoria from near Pyramid Hill, in a south-westerly direction past the Wimmera River to the area near the Glenelg River

 

We started this stage at Mount Hope, where we’d previously signed off, and did a bit of retracing.  Presuming there was a walking track to the summit of Mount Hope we had intended to drive as far as possible, and then continue on foot.  We did indeed drive as far as possible, but not to the end of the vehicular track – because we were blocked by a chained gate.  Our disappointment at not being able to reach the summit (and to see the cairn) was somewhat assuaged by the blunt, but amusing, sign on the gate: 

"WARNING 

Mt Hope Run is Private Property 

DO NOT ENTER  

The Snakes, Goannas, Echidnas and Wallabies are trained to attack.  Please leave alone unless you want to be videoed being bitten, spiked,        

scratched or laughed at.” 

We explored the lower slopes a little and, across the plain to the south we were able easily to see Pyramid Hill, and further away Mount Korong.

 

Major Mitchell camped nearby to Pyramid Hill on 29 June 1836, and on the 30^th climbed to the summit.

 Mitchell the surveyor measured it as 295 feet above the surrounds. He lyrically describes the vista: “Its apex consisted of a single block of granite, and the view was exceedingly beautiful over the surrounding plains, shining fresh and green in the light of a fine morning.  As I stood, the first European intruder on the sublime solitude of these verdant plains as yet untouched by flocks or herds, I felt conscious of being the harbinger of mighty changes; and that our steps would soon be followed by the men and the animals for which it seemed to have been prepared.”

 

What those men and animals have wrought over the succeeding years can be gauged from Mitchell’s description of crossing the Lodden River a couple of days later.  The party had to construct a bridge to effect the crossing.  Mitchell’s diary: “Late in the evening of this day (2 July 1836) we completed a bridge formed of short but strong sleepers laid diagonally to a fallen tree.”  But by morning the party were amazed to find the bridge 1.2 metres under water, the Lodden having risen 4.3 metres overnight.  There was no explanation for this phenomenon – there are no nearby snowfields, and it had not rained for five days.  How long is it since the Lodden has flooded?  How long since it was pristine?  The “mighty changes” for which Mitchell described himself “harbinger” have occurred, although not all have accorded with his vision.

 

The boats were needed to assist with the crossing, which took all day.  Mitchell’s diary throws an interesting spotlight on the logistics of the river crossing and, specifically, on the central role of the aboriginal guide, John Piper: “This was a very busy day for the whole party – black and white…….in tracing lost cattle, speaking to ‘the wild natives’, hunting, or diving.  Piper was the most accomplished man in the camp.  In person he was the tallest, and in authority he was allowed to consider himself almost next to me, the better to secure his best exertions……….The men he despised, and he would only act on my orders.” 

On 4 July 1836 the Trail volume records that Mitchell, for the first time since leaving the area of the Lachlan River in New South Wales, “reached undulating ground”.  On 5 July Mitchell led a group on horseback to Mount Korong.  “Most of the ascent was over granite rocks.  They had just reached a bare outcrop near the main summit when fog came down and compelled them to return…..”  In 2023 we were equally out of luck, with restoration and track works having closed the ascent.  There was, though, a commemorative stone with bronze plaque – not from 1936 however. 

 

There is also a commemorative cairn beside the Calder Highway to the south of Wedderburn, where Mitchell passed by on 7 July 1836, 

 and another beside the Bendigo/St. Arnaud Road near Kooreh.  This flat-topped cairn was erected by local residents in 1955. 

This place Mitchell describes as: “……one of the most beautiful spots I ever saw…….(with) the appearance of a well-kept park, that I felt loth to injure its surface by the passage of our cart wheels.”  

 

I am mortified to report that, despite my earlier comment in Part 1 of this blog to the effect that Mitchell did not seek amity with the aboriginal peoples by proffering “beads and shiny tomahawks”, I find that on 8 July 1836 Michell gave an iron tomahawk to an old man in gratitude for describing the country ahead.  That description: “Well watered and grassed, and with no barrier to reaching the coast.”  But by this juncture Mitchell had become disinterested in heading for the coast – because on 10 July 1836 he had his first sighting of the Grampians; and on 11 July, away in the distance, he sighted, and named the Grampians peaks Mount Willian and Mount Zero.  

 

Mitchell made camp beside the Richardson River on 12 July, using this site as a base for a three-day sidebar excursion to the Grampians, specifically to Mount William. 

The next day Mitchell set out on horseback with six men, charging his second-in-command, Stapyleton, with the task of fording the expedition across the Richardson River.  Mitchell described the grassy forest land they entered soon after as “one of the finest tracts they had ever seen”; but after crossing the Wimmera River (the name ascertained by Piper from the local aborigines) they found the country to be quite different – poor sandy soil, and stunted vegetation.    

 

Leaving the horses grazing in the care of Piper, the party, with some difficulty, scaled Mount William on 14 July.  

“The first part of our ascent, on foot, was extremely steep and laborious…….the upper precipice consisted of cliffs, about 140 feet in perpendicular height……Fortunately the ablest of the men with me was a house carpenter and, being accustomed to climb roofs, he managed to get up, and then assist the rest……Having gained the top…..we found winter and desolation under drizzling clouds.”  The party spent a miserable night on the summit of Mount William.  “We succeeded in keeping the fire alive, although while twigs were blown into red heat at one end, icicles remained at the other.”  Two days later, after the Mount William party had returned to the Wimmera River, Stapylton recorded in his journal: “The Surveyor-General’s constitution must be as hard as iron, to stand three days of it without food, wet through the whole time, a bitter wind from the Southward on the summit chilling the frame violently heated with perspiration from the fatigue of the ascent……But he appears not at all the worse for it at present but positively in better health.”

 

Several days were spent in the shadow of the Grampians (which Mitchell named with due deference to the mountains in his native country), and in the vicinity of the nearby Wimmera River.  “The richness of the soil, and the verdure near the river, as well as the natural beauty of the scenery, could scarcely be surpassed.”  

Passing around the northern extremity of the Grampians, Mitchell made a diversion to the landmark Mount Zero on 20 July 1836.

 

From Mount Zero Mitchell observed that west of the Grampians it was comparatively low country, hopefully making it possible for him to reach the southern coast. 

 

But, further again to the west, Mitchell had observed a striking outcrop, with “a most remarkable rock resembling a mitre” near to its base (Mitre Rock), and he resolved, “before turning southwards, to extend our journey to the isolated mass…..which I afterwards named Mount Arapiles”. 

 

Returning to the main party, Mitchell passed Green Lake, and camped nearby.  

The next night’s camp (21 July) was close to the Wimmera River.  “Mitchell was anxious to learn where the Wimmera went beyond this point.  Mount Arapiles was ahead and he wanted to know whether the stream flowed to the south or to the north of it……..Mitchell hoped he could follow the river south to the coast."  

 

The 21 July 1836 campsite was not so far from present-day Natimuk.  Today, in the centre of town, there’s a plaque on a large boulder noting that Major Mitchell passed close by on his way to Mount Arapiles.

  Mount Arapiles is a striking monolith, much used in later times for rock climbing and associated pursuits.

There is a macadamised road to within 100 metres of the top, and walking tracks from there; but the most striking feature is not the view of the plains in all directions from the summit, but the view of the rockface from the campground below.  The Trail book unapologetically describes Mount Arapiles as “probably the best and most famous rock-climbing site in Australia”. 

 

The Wimmera River features for much of Mitchell’s journey over the next couple of weeks.  Rather than running to the sea, Mitchell determined that the river flows generally north.  His travels did not permit him to ascertain that the Wimmera disgorges into Lake Hindmarsh, then on via Outlet Creek to Lake Albacutya, thence with sporadic flow into Wyperfeld National Park and the rarely-filled Lake Brambruk.  The most recent, and likely last, time Lake Brambruk received an inundation was in 1975 (before that 1910, 1917 and 1957).  As a family the Andrews were able to camp at Wyperfeld in 1975, and to see the newly-flooded Lake Brambruk; and then again, in successive years, to observe the crop of burgeoning riparian River Red Gums that flourished as the flood waters slowly receded, never since to return. 

 

From the summit of the Mount Arapiles massif Mitchell was able to look back to the Grampians, including Mount William some 86 km distant.  

Further on, near Miga Lake,

 Mitchell camped for three nights – 26 to 28 July 1836.

 

 

The time there was spent in recuperation (the bullocks were flagging), maintenance, and local exploration.  

On 27 July Mitchell sent Stapylton, with one offsider, scouting forward, but became alarmed when the pair failed to return by nightfall.  The next morning two search parties were dispatched; then Stapylton returned safely, having gained some 32 kilometres from camp.  And one search party returned in response to the signal shot.  The other search party, led by the aborigine Piper, returned some hours later having encountered some natives.  These natives seemed hostile; one readied to throw his spear; Piper urged retaliation, and the native had been shot in the arm.  

 

Over the next twelve days the expedition travelled steadfastly south to south-east, although on the Trail map the route gives new meaning to the word meander.  

Flat ground had to be found, although not so flat as to be swampy.  And, then, the Glenelg River – which Mitchell initially named the Aboukir, after the Secretary of State for Colonies – had to be forded.  The river was deep (3.5 metres) and full (35 metres wide), and the crossing by the expedition took the whole day of 31 July 1836.  One bullock drowned. 

The next nine days were difficult for the expedition.  Progress was slow.  Uneven terrain, with ravines and gorges often obscured by dense vegetation; ground so soft that the drays sank to the axles.  But all interspersed with “land beautiful, fertile and well watered, with good potential for farming or cultivation”, and “beautiful country, of streams, very attractive woods and grassy hills”.    

On 4 August the expedition split into two groups.  “The main party had to remain behind with the carts, having broken many of the chains and a shaft in their efforts to extricate the carts and the boat-carriage from the mud.”  They rejoined the main camp the next day, and the day was spent on repairs and on building a bridge over the creek ahead.

 

After more days of generally adverse conditions (on 7 August they covered 1.5 kms only), the party was again surrounded by soft ground, and could “extricate themselves only by floundering through it.  They had to take the loads out of the carts and carry them across by hand and then push the empty vehicles on to firmer ground”.  Looking forward to better conditions the next day (9 August 1836), the members of the expedition were rewarded with nine kilometres of “green hills and running brooks”…….until they reached what is now known as Major Creek, “a ravine with such steep sides that it was extremely difficult to move the vehicles down”.  The slope was tested with a light cart, but the incline was still too great.  “The cart, together with the bullock pulling it, tipped over, depositing all Mitchell’s instruments under it in the bed of the stream.”

 

Camp was eventually established on the far bank…..and there we leave The Major Mitchell Trail, Part 2.  Those so breathless with anticipation that they can't bear to wait for Part 3 will be happy to learn that Mitchell’s instruments were recovered intact, and that the bullock was unharmed.

 

To be continued………

 

Gary Andrews