SPAIN DIARY 2007 - PART 1 OF 3

 

Annie and I had an extended trip during September and October 2007.  We first toured through Morocco for a fortnight, then we were in Spain for several weeks before stopping off in Dubai for three days on the way home.  Our Morocco schedule was full, and the experience bountiful, but I didn’t keep a diary.  The diary that follows covers most of our time in Spain, although not the final few days in Barcelona.  We found Dubai to be a most disagreeable place, and I didn’t want to write about it, even after I’d cooled down.  This diary was transcribed in 2017, and revisiting it I have inserted a number of photographs, and split the diary into three for successive blog postings.

 

 There were a lot of books at our second Spanish villa, Corteja Santa Cecilia, both Spanish- and English-language.  Plenty of fiction, but a preponderance of volumes on art, antiques and bird-life, presumably reflecting the interests of the owner.  Among the coffee table-sized volumes was the Reader’s Digest Great World Atlas, vintage 1961; so I was able to research the mystery, the mystery of why the dawn was so late.  It was quite dark at 7 a.m., and not really light until well after 8.00.  The simple explanation is that Spanish time is Greenwich plus 2 hours (remembering that Eastern Australia is Greenwich plus 10 hours, except in summer), and the Atlas confirmed that this is screwy.  To be properly on GMT+2 hours the locality would be centred on 30 degrees east, but Spain sits between 9 degrees west of Greenwich and 3 degrees east of Greenwich, and is really plumb below Britain.  In Spain sunrise and sunset are not equidistant from noon – say 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. – but are grossly out of line.  So much for the “simple” explanation; now I had to find out why it is so.    I found out later that Spain was on summer time while we were there - GMT+3 hours - thus compounding the anomaly.   Spain’s “wrong” time zone has been in place since October 1940 when General Franco, while resisting Hitler’s request for formal support of the Axis powers’ war campaigns, changed Spain’s time zone to parallel Germany’s.  It has never been changed back.  Spain is geographically aligned with Britain and Portugal, but its clocks are aligned with Germany and France, and countries as far east as Poland and Hungary.

 

The journey across from our first Spanish villa (at Acequias) to the second (at Ermita Nueva) was leisurely and interesting.  The requirement was to vacate Villa Vista by 10 a.m., and we’d resolved to wash the sheets and towels before departure; and knowing that the washing machine took a long time through its cycle (nearly an hour!), and knowing that we had been sleeping late, we set the alarm on the phone.  We had been keeping the phone on Melbourne time, so as to check that we were not phoning home in the middle of the night, and in the process of re-setting the time and then setting the alarm Annie forgot that it’s a 24-hour clock.  The alarm didn’t go off at 7.00 as expected, but fortunately – despite the pitch black – I awoke at 7.15, and we had plenty of time. 

 

The business of “moving on” is somewhat mechanical: pack the cases; gather up the toiletries from the bathroom; collect all the loose bits for the backpacks; hold out the paperwork for the day ahead; double check the vital things like passports, money and cameras - although after nearly three weeks of travel we were pretty used to it.  The exodus from Villa Vista was a little different from touring through Morocco, because we had the car.  Shirts and trousers and jackets didn’t have to be packed, and were able to be thrown into the boot.  Moreover, we had several supermarket bags of groceries and fruit to take with us.  We had stocked up at the small supermarket at nearby Durcal on the afternoon of our arrival at Acequias four days back - spent about 75 euros (approximately $125, including a mere $15 for a bottle of brandy!) - and much of these provisions remained for us to take with us to Ermita Nueva.  A general tidy up, clean the bathroom and the kitchen, and we were on our way about 9.30.   There was, not surprisingly, no obligation to do the laundry etc., but we wanted to make the transition to the next occupants easier for the caretaker.

 

But back to Acequias: there were two open spaces in the village, the lower one in front of the church, and the upper one – about 50 metres further on – with some benches, a pergola, and a non-functioning fountain, actually the tiny town square.  Our place, Villa Vista, opened off a little zigzag alley that entered the square, and we parked just there, about one-third on the footpath to allow cars to go further up village.  Very narrow streets.  When we came to leave, our way was stymied by a recently-arrived truck which completely blocked the way out.  No problemo!  There was a way to skirt around, by exiting from the other side of the square – except that this way was even narrower, involving a three-point turn to get around one corner, with the mirrors having about an inch to spare on either side.  And our car was not big!  It was a VW Golf 4-seater four door hatchback automatic.  It was diesel, and surprisingly nippy, although I never got used to the engine’s motor-mower sound upon ignition, and when accelerating through the gears.  From a “Spain Holiday” website:  "Acequias is a small whitewashed village high on the banks of the Rio Torrente, a deep gorge that was carved out by the river flowing down from the Sierra Nevada Mountains National Park that makes the backdrop for this pretty village. 

 The river is now tamed and is used for hydro electricity generation, and for feeding the irrigation channels that water the fields and orchards of this lush valley.  The National Park runs along the edge of the village and there are numerous footpaths leading out of the village, including the Gran Recorrido long distance footpath. 

 The village does not have any shops or bars but local delivery vans call on a daily basis.  The surrounding villages have the usual array of bars, banks and supermarkets.  Acequias is situated on the edge of the Sierra Nevada.  It is within easy reach of many historic towns and villages.  The area is an ideal spot for those who enjoy walking and sight-seeing.  Located two hours from Malaga airport."  We had arrived at Malaga from Morocco.

Acequias and Villa Vista are about 30 km south of Granada, in the Andalusian south of Spain.  Ermita Nueva and Corteja Santa Cecilia are about 50 km north-west of Granada.  Our only imperative in driving from one to the other was to avoid the Granada city traffic – we would “do” Granada on another day.  We successfully circumnavigated, courtesy of Annie’s spot-on map reading.  We travelled at a pace that gave ample opportunity to view the spectacular mountainous countryside.  We were on a freeway but stopped at one point to marvel at some major roadworks – including a valley-straddling viaduct that seemed to be a new freeway going in the same direction and merely intended to supersede the one we were on.  Wherever we’ve driven, the open roads have been excellent.  But the roads in towns, including the main roads passing through, have been narrow and difficult, and choked with cars.   It’s no wonder that 99% of the cars are small like the Golf.

 

The owner of Corteja Santa Cecilia is Sheila Batas, a widow of boundless energy, in her 70s.  She is/was English, but married a Spaniard, and has lived in Spain for 52 years.  Her children were born here (and are Spanish), but we’ve met her son Nicholas and he speaks English with the best Oxbridge accent – he’s clearly been educated in the U.K. and may have lived there for an extended period.

 

Sheila is a businesswoman par excellence.  She has lived in a number of places in Andalusian Spain and, in the course of several conversations, we have learned that she has built and sold a number of houses, she has made tidy sums from the buying and selling of artworks, she has developed a housing estate, and she once had a rabbit farm with thousands of bunnies.  She did all the breeding and crossing herself, but eventually sold the business “because you can’t really get rid of the smell and the fur!”   For relaxation she does botanical paintings.  Since her husband died, a few years ago, she has moved to the hillside near Ermita Nueva.  The house we’re staying in is really her daughter Cecilia’s, and named after her, but Cecilia is an art restorer working in Cordoba, and the house in the country is of no interest to her.  The word “corteja”, incidentally, means “farmhouse”, but Sheila says it’s now applied to any house in the country whether or not attached to a farm.  Sheila lived in this house until recently, until she moved to her newly-built property about a kilometre further from the town.  Between the two is a house owned by Sheila’s brother (who occasionally pops over from England), and further down the slope son Nicholas has a place – although he mostly lives in Granada.  Attached to the several properties Sheila has a few hundred olive trees, although for her the oil production is just a sideline – not a business as it is for many of the locals.  Sheila made this point  when describing the severe storm they’d had the week before our arrival – hailstones the size of golf balls.  In 52 years Sheila had seen nothing like it; and many of the olive trees were stripped of leaves and fruit.  Hard for those whose livelihoods depend on the annual crop.

 

From our terrace there are olive groves over 180 degrees of hillside. 

 In this general area – the province of Jaen – there are said to be 150 million olive trees, and they produce 10% of the world’s oil.  Prodigious figures.  One wonders about genetics, production techniques, small-scale farming, and whether the huge plantations being established in Australia will eventually impact on the economic situation of the people hereabouts.  Maybe the protectionism of the E.E.C. will ensure the status quo.  Still, insofar as the Australian producers achieve import replacement in other markets the exporters of Spain must be affected.

Our instruction had been to call ahead to the key-holder for Corteja Santa Cecilia, which we did, not knowing that Sheila was both the key-holder and the owner.  Because we’d had a whole Saturday to travel 80 or 90 kilometres between one lodging and the next we had deliberately overshot the turn-off to Ermita Nueva and gone on to the town of Alcala la Real.  Whereas Ermita Nueva is a tiny village, with a couple of small eating places [you can eat outside in summer, says Sheila, but not much doing now half way through autumn], and a mini supermarket, Alcala la Real is a town of some substance (population 22000), with a lovely plaza and gardens, with a number of supermarkets, and with a main avenue of sophisticated shopping. 

 [Sheila thinks Alcala la Real is the next real estate opportunity and, with prices much less than Granada, she has her eyes open!]  We spent several hours mooching around Alcala la Real before phoning Sheila.  She herself was shopping in town (partly to get our “arrival pack” of champagne and other necessaries), and we agreed to meet outside the little store at Ermita Nueva later in the afternoon.  The booking agency had provided quite detailed instructions on how to find each of our Spanish lodgings, but the Corteja Santa Cecilia instructions failed us at the last moment, and we took the left instead of the right fork; and after sensing that things weren’t right we had to back-track.  When we arrived at the store there was Sheila in her car, window rolled down: “follow me”, she commanded, and a couple of minutes later we were on the terrace overlooking the pool, the valley below, and the hills all around bristling with their olive trees.

We were a few minutes late not only because of our wrong turn, but because we’d been late in leaving Alcala la Real.  We’d found the church, and had sat down inside to watch a group of musicians – a couple of guitars, percussion, and two singers. A free concert we thought, but they were taking such a long time to set up.  Then we looked back to the church door, and realised that we were about to be part of a wedding, and in the front pew to boot!  Hasty retreat.  But Alcala la Real was a place to return to, not just for its affable ambience but because it was overlooked by the ruins of a castle and a mighty church.

 

Because Corteja Santa Cecilia has until recently been Sheila Batas’ country home it is still filled with her furnishings, artefacts and books.  There is also a three-inch-thick “visitors’ book”, started by Sheila and her husband Pedro in 1984 to record family, friends and guests’ comings and goings.  Lots of photos and stories of earlier days near the coast, with groups of bird watchers and hunters.  Many slain pigs, and heads adorned with antlers, and outdoor feasts.  A gap of some years covering, I imagine, the move to the hills and the death of Pedro; and then a resumption, with affectionate messages from holidaymakers like ourselves.    Sheila’s injunction:  if you put your address in the book I shall send you a Christmas card.  We have not resisted.

 

The books in the house are I guess about 30% in Spanish and about 70% in English, and - as previously noted - there are many books on art and antiques, and books on hunting, and books on botany.  Many of the visitors in the old days were on botany field trips.  And a set of Britannica.  And a heap of paperback popular fiction.  So we have had plenty to choose from, and have been busy doing so.

 

The day after our arrival we “did nothing”, 

but the following day, the Monday, we spent the day at Alcala la Real – about seven kilometres away – our objective: to explore the fort and environs. 

For a place only one-and-one-half hours from Granada with its two million tourists a year, Alcala la Real is sleepily unaware of its tourist potential – or perversely determined not to be seduced.  The fort, the Conjunto Monumental Fortaleza de la Mota (Mota Fortress), is a spectacular reminder of Spain’s colourful past. 

 A huge amount of restoration has been done, and is currently being done, so much so that a lot of the site is presently off limits. (The charming guides spoke no English, and all signage and the official brochure is in Spanish only.)  The map in the brochure positions Alcala la Real and the fort in the centre of a fascinating region, with a dozen or so historic observation towers, but preaches only to the Spanish.  There are delightful gardens on the hillside near the walls of the fort, and it’s a spectacular place to visit.  The fort dates from about the year 1000; and within the walls is a disused church, the Church of Mayor Abbey (Inglesia Mayor Abacial), built from 1530 to 1627. 

 The fort was one of a number that controlled the kingdoms of Castile.  It was abandoned late in the 18^th Century. The church was severely damaged by fire early in the 1800s by the retreating Napoleonic troops.  There has been fascinating “restoration” work done on the church, including an amazing timber roof. There were countless burials under the church floor, but because the church is built on the hilltop, on solid rock, the graves each had to be gouged out of the rock.  The floor is no longer there, and all the burial holes (empty of coffins or occupants) are exposed to view; more or less all facing the same way, but very little symmetry as to size or shape.  

Perhaps there were no coffins – which would have required more uniformity in the dimensions of the holes.  All very interesting [to quote my uncle Bill, who in turn was quoting a naturalist who used to broadcast in the early days of radio in Melbourne, and whose mantra was “it’s all very interesting”], but the most spectacular feature of the restoration is that much of the church’s floor has been replaced by thick glass or perspex, and the visitor has an overhead view by being able to walk above the burial holes.  I must say that one’s first couple of steps are rather tentative.  We are not used to, and are more than a little uncomfortable with, walking on a glass floor; but, once braved, the impact is spectacular.  Also spectacular was the “sound and light” presentation going on in the church as we entered.  Very professional audio-visual, huge screen – but in Spanish only, so we mostly had to guess what it was all about.  Worst of all was the fact that during the presentation the attendants had closed the front door of the church, and if we hadn’t, almost accidentally, discovered a side door we would have totally missed the show, and missed the transparent floor; and missed the archaeological museum, the lot.  The municipality of Alcala la Real, or whoever is in charge of this very significant touristic asset, needs a shake-up.

 

To be continued…………

 

Gary Andrews

 

 

 

THE MAJOR MITCHELL TRAIL

As a frequent traveller through rural Victoria and, in particular, north along the Calder Highway, I have long been mindful of the roadside signposting of The Major Mitchell Trail; and have long had an ambition to follow the Trail, and thus traverse Victoria, from the far north, towards Portland, then back to the Murray.  Given that I live in Melbourne, and that the Trail’s start-point is near Mildura, this re-tracing was not going to be a weekend trip, and I never made the time……..until recently, when I mentioned the idea to my son Dan; and with Dan as my companion, the re-tracing of Major Mitchell’s 1836 journey is happening.  Here is the first instalment. 

A little over 30 years ago the Victorian Department of Conservation, Forests and Lands produced a volume of some 120 pages detailing the Victorian section of the 1836 expedition of Major Thomas Mitchell. The volume is titled The Major Mitchell Trail: Exploring Australia Felix, and its publication coincided with the identification and the signposting of the route taken by Mitchell and his party one hundred years earlier through what was later to become the State of Victoria.  The book, and the Trail it follows, is closely based on Mitchell’s faithfully-kept diary of the expedition, and contains generous extracts from that diary, plus numerous illustrations, principally historical.

The publication is underpinned by 25 specially-prepared maps, in turn based on a set of 1:100000 topographical maps of Mitchell's route prepared a few years earlier for Victoria's 150th anniversary (the anniversary, that is, of the first occupancy of what was to become Melbourne, by white settlers in 1836).  In the book the maps are accompanied by descriptions of the particular locations, descriptions of campsites, and general commentary about the journey including the interactions with aboriginal peoples.  There were 138 days of bivouac from 4 June to 19 October 1836, sometimes staying in the same place for a few days.  The location of each campsite is shown in the maps.  The maps show Mitchell’s route overlaying present-day locations and place names.

 

For historical perspective it should be noted that the so-called foundation of Melbourne – the arrival in Port Phillip by John Batman representing the Port Phillip Association – happened a mere year earlier: it was in June 1835, on arrival from Van Diemen’s Land (not yet Tasmania) that Batman was said to have declared on the bank of the Yarra that “this is the spot for a village”.  By April 1836 Batman - just a few months before Mitchell and his party were entering the far north of the region - was building his home near Batman’s Hill to the western end of the present-day central business district.  That CBD, often tagged the “Hoddle Grid”, was surveyed in 1837, not long after Michell had returned to Sydney in November 1836.

 

The Trail maps also indicate the location of each of the 35 cairns erected in the centenary year, 1936, to commemorate Mitchell’s journey.  The cairns are typically pyramidal and have simple inscriptions, words leaving so much unsaid. 

 

This was not a journey in a hurry.  Mitchell was a surveyor, and he took time to take his readings and to make his maps, so much so that these maps were still being used generations later.  

 

And Mitchell was circumspect in his dealings with the indigenous people; not for him the bag of beads and the shiny tomahawks, rather he was the cautious passer-by, avoiding friction where possible - not wholly successfully though. 

 

Given the attention that had been lavished by the Victorian authorities in 1936 on the centenary of Mitchell’s expedition - notably the erection of the commemorative cairns - it is no surprise that the Trail book provides no maps and little reference to the New South Wales section of the journey.  However, the authors provide the following preamble by way of background:  

 

“Towards the end of 1835, the New South Wales Surveyor-General, Major Thomas Livingstone Mitchell, received orders from Governor Richard Bourke to complete a survey of the Darling River ‘with the least possible delay’.  This became the third expedition Mitchell had led into Australia’s interior.

 

“The complex preparations for the journey were made even more difficult because the area which is now New South Wales had recently been drought-stricken.  Serviceable horses and bullocks were scarce and available only at high prices, which the Government had no choice but to pay.

 

“By 16 March 1836 Mitchell had assembled his men and their equipment, their wagons and bullocks in a valley near Mount Conobolas (about 12 km south-west of present-day Orange).  In addition to the 25 men, the party included 11 horses, 52 bullocks, 100 sheep, 22 carts and a ‘boat carriage’ with boat……….. 

 

“Each man carried a firearm, and was given a small case containing six cartridges which he was ordered always to wear about his waist.  The men were also issued with a uniform of grey trousers and red woollen shirt which, when crossed by white braces, gave the party a somewhat military appearance.”

 

Mitchell’s Second in Command was Granville Chetwynd Stapylton, and the remainder of the party were convicts or ex-convicts.  Stapyleton “knew most were dependable.  Some had been with him on his two earlier expeditions and, although they had obtained their freedom as well-merited reward for their services, were willing to accompany him again.  Mitchell accepted their services, having obtained a promise from the Governor that if the expedition was successful, their conditional pardons would be made absolute.

 

“Some local aborigines visited Mitchell at the Mount Canobolas camp and one, who called himself John Piper  and who spoke English reasonably well, agreed to accompany Mitchell on condition that he was given a horse and was clothed and fed; Mitchell readily agreed to this arrangement.”  [Other aborigines, including two women and a child, joined the expedition along the way.]

 

“Each night camp was set up in military fashion, generally according to a plan Mitchell had used successfully on previous expeditions based on his experiences in the 1808-1814 Peninsular (Spanish) War.

 

“Mitchell adopted Aboriginal names, when they could be identified, for geographical features.  Otherwise, he named many features after soldiers and places prominent in the Peninsular War, and after figures from ancient Greek history.” 

 

Mitchell gave the name Australia Felix to the country he explored to the south of the Murray River - Australia Felix meaning Fortunate Australia (or Lucky, or Beautiful).  He later described the nature of the country he'd traversed: 

 

 "The land is open and available in its present state for the purposes of civilized man.  We traversed it in two directions with heavy carts, meeting no other obstruction than the softness of the rich soil; and, in returning, over flowery plains and green hills, fanned by the breezes of early spring, I named this region as Australia Felix the better to distinguish it from the parched deserts of the interior country where we had wandered unprofitably and for so long."  

 

The generosity of Mitchell's praise somewhat belies the experiences of 185 years of later visitors and inhabitants, but then those newcomers have moulded the landscape to their own purposes, and there have been consequences, bad and good.  And 1836 may have been an uniquely "good" year.  No matter.  What cannot be gainsaid is that the success of the Mitchell expedition was a significant catalyst for the subsequent white settlement of the area that came to be known as the State of Victoria.

 

However, this is not the story of the subsequent times, but rather the day by day story of the 1836 Mitchell expedition itself.  It should be said, as I recount Mitchell’s journey, that those wanting to inhale the full flavour and drama of the expedition, should find a copy of the The Major Mitchell Trail  book.  Much of the detail will not be reproduced here, although enough of the story will emerge, I trust, to do justice to Mitchell’s remarkable achievement.  I intend to recount the journey – and my homage to it - in four stages, and these will, in time, be posted as separate blogs.  Be aware that most of the geographic references are to place names not existing prior to Mitchell’s time.

 

The Trail – Maps 1 to 5 [days 1 to 25] 

4 June to 28 June 1836

 

From the Mildura region, across the Murray, continuing on the New South Wales side of the river, then crossing back to the Victorian side near Swan Hill, following the River upstream (south-east) before turning south-west

 

Mitchell and his party of 23 men had set out from near Orange in central-western New South Wales on 17 March 1836.  They moved first along the Lachlan River, then the Murrumbidgee into the Murray, establishing camp at Lake Stapylton some eight km from Boundary Bend on 21 May 1836.  Mitchell then, with a small party, explored the Murray downstream to its junction with the Darling, and then the Darling upstream for 50 km.  The Darling flows into the Murray (at Wentworth), some 23 km west (downstream) from Mildura, and it is at Mildura where The Major Mitchell Trail publication takes up the story.

 

It's not clear to me whether the Mitchell party travelled upstream from the Darling junction along the New South Wales side of the Murray, or along the Victorian side, but the text of the Trail unambiguously has the party on “Day 1” crossing the river back from Mildura – and then continuing upstream on the New South Wales side for the next eight days.

 

Mitchell’s route is steadfastly direct, and at times is some distance from the river, which veers and snakes away.  Today there are oases of citrus and grape production at Gol Gol and Euston (across from Robinvale), but much of the route is parched mallee scrub, with access to the river only through privately-owned sheep stations.   

 

The small Mitchell group re-joined the Lake Stapyleton party on 12 June 1836 preparatory to re-crossing the Murray.  “After many days of being hauled overland the wooden planks of the boats had shrunk, so they were deliberately immersed overnight in the Lake to enable the boards to expand and join together.”  The re-formed expedition crossed the Murray into Victoria near Boundary Bend on 13 June 1836 and camped at Gillick’s Reserve. Mitchell wrote of the crossing: “I directed them to take the cattle to the steepest portion of the bank, overhanging the narrow part of the river, and just opposite to the few bullocks which had already gained the opposite shore.  Notwithstanding the weakness of the animals this measure succeeded, for on driving them down the steep bank so that they fell into the water, the whole at once turned their heads to the opposite shore, and reached it in safety.  We next swam the horses over by dragging each separately at the stern of a boat, taking care to hold the head above water.”

 

Here, at last, with the return of Mitchell’s expedition to Victoria, is some on-the-ground acknowledgement of the Trail’s existence.  Remember that thus far (eight days) Mitchell’s route had been on the New South Wales side of the Murray - and the signposting, and the Trail publication, were Victorian ventures!  In the riverine scrub 

  of Gillick’s Reserve near Boundary Bend we found the first reference to the Trail – a series of signboards.

This narrative from Gillick’s Reserve bears repeating:

“It is recorded that on the 18^th June 1836 Mitchell’s crew camped the night near a small Lagoon.  This lagoon today is a small depression in Gillick's Reserve, and it is this that makes Gillick’s Reserve an historical reference point.  The importance of Mitchell’s expedition was soon proved, due to the 90% increase in settlement development of his route through Victoria when it came into productive use, mainly for wheat, sheep and cattle.

 

Major Thomas Mitchell’s expedition of 1836 was an exploratory one, the aim of which was to develop and expand the colony of New South Wales and to seek potential grazing and farming land, as well as sites for new settlement.

 

The Major Mitchell Trail is 2100 km in length and passes through Western, Central and North-Eastern Victoria.  It passes through 26 towns and takes you along some rarely visited sites throughout rural Victoria.”

 

Some ten kilometres upstream, at Nyah, there is a memorial cairn,

not one commemorating Major Mitchell alone, but one dedicated to “The Pioneers”.  The tablet reads:

THE PIONEERS

Major Mitchell

19^TH June 1836

OVERLANDERS

Joseph Hawdon – Feb.

Edward John Eyre – May

Capt. Charles Sturt – Jun.

1838 

SETTLERS

Beveridge Brothers

1846 

 

Hawdon (among other journeys of exploration) headed an expedition that drove cattle from near Goulburn, along the Murray to Adelaide; Eyre, with eight stockmen, drove 1000 sheep and 600 cattle from Monaro to Adelaide, December 1837 to July 1838 (and later, in 1840-41, was the first to cross the Nullarbor Plain); and Sturt, aside from his several journeys of exploration, in 1838 herded cattle from Sydney to Adelaide, along the way establishing that the Hume and the Murray Rivers were the same.  The inference of the Nyah cairn seems to be that the real importance of Mitchell’s exploration was the immediate impetus it gave to economic development.

 

The mention of the contemporaneous herding of cattle for commercial reasons puts focus on the herding that was a daily feature of the Mitchell expedition.  From the Trail text covering 19 June 1836: “Departure was delayed until 12.30 pm as the cattle had strayed far up the river……….Mitchell acknowledged his indebtedness to the Aboriginal members of his party for their constant help:  ‘The whole management of the chase now devolved on him (Piper) and the two boys, his humble servants; and this native party usually explored the woods with our dogs for several miles in front of the column.  The females kept nearer the party, and often gave us notice of obstacles in time to enable me to avoid them.’”

 

On 21 June 1836 Mitchell wrote: “Among the reeds on the point of ground [on Pental Island] was a shallow lagoon, where swans and other wild fowl so abounded that, although [800 metres] from our camp, their noise disturbed us through the night.  I, therefore named this somewhat remarkable and isolated feature, Swan Hill.”  

And, after a night when the temperature fell to minus two degrees, he wrote in amazement: “On that freezing night the natives, according to their usual custom, stripped off all their clothes previous to lying down in the open air, their bodies being doubled up around a few burning reeds.  We could not understand how they could lay thus naked, when the earth was white with hoar frost; and they were equally at a loss to know how we could sleep in our tents without a bit of fire to keep our bodies warm.”

From the Mitchell monument in Kerang we attempted to follow the Major’s route past the north and east of the town.  Helpfully (provided you’re quick enough to spot it) there is a small plaque at the side of the Kerang-Koondrook Road (placed there in 2011) indicating that Mitchell’s party “camped 400 metres upstream from here on June 23 1836, on his Australia Felix expedition”.  The plaque says that the campsite is marked, and indeed it is!  

Beyond this the road peters out, and we were obliged to retrace to the Koroop-Gannawarra Road.

We passed by the 24 June 1836 campsite near the Koondrook-Cohuna Road where, the Trail records: “there were hastily vacated Aboriginal fireplaces and, hanging in a tree, net bags containing half-cooked vegetables, the indigenous variety of Hawkweed Picris.”  The Trail continues: “Progress this day was across plains covered with excellent grass, flood-prone hollows, and a forest of Black Box.”

 

The Trail narrative continues in this positive vein the next day.  “25 June:  The country they passed through had a richer grass cover than any seen since they had left Sydney.”  That day the party passed a few kilometres beyond Cohuna, and pitched camp for three nights near Gunbower Creek at Wee Wee Rup.  The art nouveau plaque on the cairn in the roadside parkland in Cohuna is delightfully different from others of its ilk.  

The three days spent at Wee Wee Rup were days of local exploration.  This included Mitchell’s climb to the top of Mount Hope with a small party.  “After riding 10 km through box forest they crossed a creek, and immediately entered an extensive plain ‘beyond which I had the satisfaction of seeing the hopeful hill straight before me’.  The hill consisted of immense blocks of granite, and appeared to form the western extremity of a low range."  Mitchell named it Mount Hope.

The next day, 29 June 1836, instead of following the Murray upstream from Wee Wee Rup in a south-easterly direction, Mitchell took a ninety degrees turn to the south-west – into central Victoria.  “Mitchell could not resist the temptation to explore the inviting land he had seen from Mount Hope, and decided to turn generally south-westwards.  With a typical display of independence he thus went against instructions to return (to Yass) via the Murray River.”

 

It is at Mount Hope that we leave this first part of Major Mitchell’s expedition…………except to note that a few kilometres from Mount Hope there is a cairn observing that the members of the Burke and Wills expedition passed that way on 1 September 1860; passed that way from Melbourne, a town established a mere 24 years prior, its growth in no little way due to the success of the Mitchell expedition; passed that way heading for the far north coast of Australia; passed that way on their path to foolhardy fame. 

 

To be continued………….

 

Gary Andrews

 

 

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.

 

*******************

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