by Stuart Kells
I was in the packing shed a few days ago when I noticed how well the place is run. The fruit is tipped into a large hopper and is carried by an endless belt to that portion of the grader which stems and grades. It is then weighed, pressed, bound with wire and pushed down a chute on to a barge. Fruit may be on a trolley in sweats outside the shed and, in five minutes, it is weighed, graded, boxed and stored on the barge.
Now, as I can hardly keep my eyes open, I will stop. These late nights don’t agree with me.
Sunday, 3 May 1925
These few lines are being written at my town residence in Richmond. I will mention the circumstances which led up to my visit to Adelaide. Last Thursday morning I took a load of grapes into the distillery and, after unloading, I went into Renmark to see if there were any letters for me. Of letters there were none but there was something more important: a telegram. ‘Will you be in Adelaide this weekend. C W Smith London anxious I make your acquaintance Harding South Australia Adelaide.’ Driving back to Chowilla Street, I decided to go. I informed the boss of this and told him I should be leaving the next morning. He was rather surprised and slightly upset, as there would be a load of grapes picked which he would have to take in on Friday morning. I had to make another visit to the distillery and then commenced to get ready. I decided to go via Paringa as it is 11/- cheaper that way. So after tea I walked across and asked Don if he would drive me in in the morning. We could not go in our ‘flivver’ as he cannot drive and I did not care for his suggestion that I should teach him to drive going in and let him drive back by himself.
After making arrangements with Jack Waters to help the boss load-up in the morning, I again visited Don and helped him to catch the horse, Bell, which was to take us in in the morning. She was loose in the block and took a lot of catching. After she was safely in the yard, I went back and started packing. Then I washed, shaved etc., and turned in just before 12 o’clock after whispering to the clock ‘Wake me early, ‘larmy dearie’, for it was only a few minutes off May Day. At 4.30am I was awakened by the soft and musical tinkling of a bell which I discovered to be the bell on the top of my alarm clock. ‘Larmy had not let me down.
I slipped on a few clothes, then walked across the block to wake Don. It was an expensive walk, as I tore my trousers on a barbed wire fence. It was dark and cold and windy, but I was quite happy and thought how lucky it was I had not put my best suit on. After some light refreshment we started off on our seven mile drive.
All I will say of that drive is that it was still cold, still dark and still windy. Don drove me to the punt. I crossed the river by boat, then walked to the station. From the platform I watched the approach of the sun, heralded by streaks of gold on the dark clouds and later I saw the sun itself, a ball of gold, appear over the hill top. The train leaves Paringa at 7.25am and arrives at Adelaide at 5.31pm. For the first eight hours the scenery is painfully flat, then undulations begin which become more and more marked and eventually turn into creeks and ravines. Blackwood and Mount Lofty are very fine – the height of the latter place above sea level being 1,600 feet. It is about here that the Melbourne Express flashes past, drawn by two engines and pushed by one. When I reached Adelaide I went straight to the South Australian, which is about the best hotel in Adelaide, and was soon talking to Mr Harding and his son.
I stayed there to dinner and afterwards went to the theatre with Mr Harding jnr. The play was The Skin Game and I believe one of Galsworthy’s. The acting was good but I did not like the plot. Yesterday morning I spent in calling at car agents to find out whether there were any cars to be driven up to Renmark. In other words, looking out for a cheap trip back. So far no luck, but perhaps better luck tomorrow.
I had lunch with Mr Harding and son and afterwards went to Morialta where Mr Harding sketched and his son and I went for a walk. Back to the South Australian for dinner, and after a talk back to Richmond where I arrived shortly after 9 o’clock. Mr Harding is jolly good with the brush and the sketch he did, in a couple of hours, was really excellent. A winding path in the foreground, the subject – a Blue gum – in the centre, the background a steep hill covered with shrubs and an occasional gum and, high in the sketch, the blue sky – a real blue it was, too, not a ‘wishy-washy’ one.
Mr Harding jnr’s camera takes two photographs at once. The prints, to obtain the best effect, are viewed through a stethoscope or spectroscope, a hydroscope, or some scope or other (I forget for the moment) when the quality of relief is witnessed.
Mr Harding had a very narrow escape when the boat arrived at Port Adelaide. He was going ashore with a pair of spats on when, luckily, someone noticed it. He does not yet realize what a narrow escape it was. While in Africa, Messrs S.A. and H. Harding visited the Victoria Falls and some, or rather all, of the photographs taken there are fine specimens of photographic art. I was unable to see the sketches Mr Harding did in Africa as he had sent them home before I arrived.
The position is rather curious. I have come all the way from Renmark to see Mr Harding and do anything I can for him and he is taking me about and paying all expenses. Although I appreciate his kindness I hardly think it is right. Still, I couldn’t take them. My finances would soon give out.
Mr Harding and son hope to visit Melbourne, Sydney, New Zealand, Java, China and then return to England via Canada and arrive home about next Christmas. What a trip! They are, however, to a certain extent combining business with pleasure. I wish they required a private secretary, under twenty years of age, English and with some experience of Colonial life. If so, would I apply for the position? To drop into Australian, ‘Diken I shouldn’t’. Tomorrow I have been invited to lunch with them and meet Mr Humphreys.
As I expect this diary to recall happy memories to me in years to come I feel I should mention that a week ago last Thursday the car (what car?) was in pieces and Don and I wished to go to an evening at Reiners in it, or on it, on Friday night. So Thursday night we spent in putting it together again. We started soon after 7pm. The boss brought us some hot coffee at 10pm. At 11pm Don began to feel cold and sleepy and wanted to turn in. He said he thought it was impossible to get it ready in time. I said I did not agree with him. At 1.15am we turned it in and turned in. Up at 6am, milked and had another go at the car before breakfast. Most of the dinner hour I spent on the old bus. The boss agreed with Don that he thought it would be impossible to get it ready, but at 6pm I had the engine going, much to their surprise. I had not time to fix the lights up and there was no moon. (Alas, the moon had gone.) However, with the aid of one hurricane lamp, which Don held, I drove into Renmark and, what is more, I drove back. Don said he felt like Columbus (he must have meant Cabot) and I felt – satisfied.
On the way to Sydney there is a place, Port Stevens I believe, where oysters may be obtained for the collecting. Concerning this place and himself, Don made a clever remark. ‘I expect to get there,’ he said, ‘a miserable Pommy but when I leave there I shall be (feel like) an Empire builder.’
Thursday, 7 May 1925
Here I am, safe back in Renmark once again after a most enjoyable holiday. On Sunday afternoon I took the tram down to Glenelg and spent the afternoon and evening at ‘Holmness’, the home of the Potters. Most of the time I was trying to solve crossword puzzles. I have still to find out: ‘A golden eagle, four letters, with YL in the middle’. (-YL-) or it might be (-LY-).
They are the craze now and everybody is ‘crosswording’. They certainly are very instructive and bring fresh and unusual words to one’s notice. Monday morning I called on Mr Cudmore and informed him that I would be unable to take advantage of his offer to secure me a position at Elder Smith. He informed me that the manager of that concern had told him that I was rather old to start with them, they liked their clerks to start at sixteen (and here am I nearly twenty, quite middle aged). I had lunch with Messrs S.A. and G.B. Harding, and spent all the afternoon trying to get a cheap trip back. I called at all the large car agents – Eyes and Crowle, Mann’s Motors, Duncan and Fraser, Murray Turner
, Waymouth Motor Co. – and asked them if they had any cars going up to Renmark on the following day, or if they wanted any cars driven up anywhere in that district (Berri, Loxton, Barmera etc.). I had no luck. Dinner at the South Australian and to the pictures in the evening. We saw Harold Lloyd in Girl Shy. It was very good. Mr Harding’s son was especially amused by it. The preceding picture was also quite passable. Mr S.A. Harding confessed his fear that the hero would not arrive in time to save the heroine from the villain. Luckily, the hero just arrived in time. It was a very close thing, though. Please excuse my dry humour.
I wished the Hardings bon voyage and went back to Keswick for the night. I was up early the next morning, missed the bus, caught a tram and arrived at the station five minutes before I thought the train was due to leave. But the times of departures had been altered on Monday and I arrived at the station two and a half minutes after the train had left. No train until the next morning. I wired the boss, then called on the Hardings. They asked me to lunch, so I went back to Keswick again and changed my clothes. Then back to the South Australian for lunch. At 2 o’clock Mr Humphreys (the father of the Humphreys that married Elinor Pettithory – Miss Pettithory, I should say) called for us in his car, an Essex ‘four’, and took us for a drive through the Gorge and back via Houghton. It was a perfect afternoon for a drive. Dinner again at the South Australian and I saw the Hardings off by the 8.30pm Melbourne Express. Back to Keswick. Caught the 8am to Paringa the next morning. Banged my head twice on the motor coach, as per usual. It was a pay train; every few miles the train stopped and a gang of men appeared for their wages. Arrived Paringa 6.45pm. Don was waiting the other side of the river with the trolley and horses; he had come straight from the distillery to meet me. Today I have taken two loads into the distillery and am feeling ‘fed up’ with Renmark. There were two letters waiting for me – one from home informing me of Nora’s success as a singer and one from Mandurama inviting me to stop there when I am that way.
My holiday cost me a ‘fiver’ and it came at a time when I could ill afford it. I could have bought two new tyres for a few shillings more. I did not want the holiday and I have nothing to show for it, but I am very pleased I went and I would not have missed seeing Mr Harding and his son for double what it cost me.
John does not seem to have altered much but his lungs certainly have improved. For the last three-quarters of an hour, timed by the clock, he has been crying and it is rather hard to write with such a row going on. Mrs Withers is ironing and the boss reading, John crying and I trying to write. Out of the four I am the only one that is not succeeding in his or her endeavour, so I will give it up and try something fresh – sleeping.
Monday, 11 May 1925
Yesterday was ‘Mother’s Day’ and as many people do not know what this means, what it stands for, and how it originated, I will copy a few sentences from Saturday’s Advertiser.
A world-wide celebration which originated in a daughter’s devotion to her mother’s memory, is Mother’s Day, which will be celebrated throughout South Australia tomorrow. Twenty-three years ago, Miss Anna Jarvis of Philadelphia USA, who was placing a bunch of flowers on her mother’s grave, was struck by the forlorn appearance of some of the graves in the vicinity. Many of them, she realized, must be the resting places of other mothers as much loved in life as her own. In many cases the neglect was probably due to the fact that the children were scattered far and wide rather than from neglectfulness. The idea that perhaps there were many persons in Philadelphia who would be glad to place a few flowers on these graves in memory of their mothers came to her. As this would perhaps have savoured too much of a ceremony in honour of the dead, Miss Jarvis proposed that all mothers should be honoured by the wearing of a white bloom one day in the year by all who desired to pay a tribute to motherhood. The idea, which spread with wonderful rapidity, was welcomed by the churches and the second Sunday in May was adopted as a Universal Mother’s Day. Fifteen years ago the YMCA introduced the custom into South Australia and it is now a recognized institution throughout the State.
In nearly all the churches reference will be made to the occasion on Sunday and a special service will be held in the Town Hall.
I do not ever remember hearing about Mother’s Day when I was home. Out here the idea has certainly ‘spread with wonderful rapidity’. The extract from the paper explains everything, so I will not say more save that I am in sympathy with the movement.
Talking about an extract from the paper reminds me of a certain paragraph I saw in the local paper a few weeks ago. It is typical Pioneer journalism and rather amused me. The reporter was writing about the good work done by the gangs working on the railway line, clearing away sand which had drifted and covered the rails during a sandstorm (and which remained after the storm had subsided). He quoted certain complimentary remarks uttered by an engine driver. ‘This is not bad,’ he wrote, ‘from one who has stood on the footplate and wiped his hands with cotton waste for thirty-six years.’ I really could not suppress a smile when I read that.
There is now occurring in Renmark something which is almost a sin. It is very easy to obtain wine in Renmark. If one is not a grower, or does not send grapes to the distillery, one can obtain it in the name of a grower who does send grapes to the distillery and then pay the grower for it. The smallest quantity obtainable is five gallons and Port, or ‘Red Wine’ as it is commonly called, costs £2 for this quantity. So almost anyone can afford to buy five gallons of wine.
There must have been certain wine at the distillery which did not keep well and which had to be re-fortified. Most likely the ‘Currant Wine’ of a few years ago. Port, in this country, usually contains thirty to thirty-five per cent spirit and being re-fortified this wine contains nearly as much spirit as ordinary brandy, somewhere around the forty-five to fifty per cent mark. This wine they are issuing out to the settlement. They do not shout about it being of such a high spirit content, of course, and the result is that a great number of growers (and others) are getting drunk on it. They have never been able to get drunk so easily and so cheaply before and do not know what to put it down to. They talk about the ‘strong distillery wine’ but it does not worry them very much. I do not think it should be allowed, the wholesale distributing of wine of such a high spirit content. It is doing a lot of harm and the after effects of such lax control at the distillery may be enormous. I have tasted the wine. It is not a good Port at all, only what I should like to term ‘Red Spirit’. It has no real flavour but just reeks of spirit.
Tuesday, 12 May 1925
The change in the weather has come at last and has come with a vengeance. Fine on Friday, wet Saturday, doubtful Sunday, fine but unsettled yesterday and rain all today, and still raining tonight. Yesterday the boss and I picked about two and a half tons of Doras and it being wet today prevented me from taking them to the distillery. So they are just where we left them. The ground will be far too damp for carting tomorrow if we have much more rain. It will also be impossible on Thursday. And if the grapes stay in the tins longer than that they will start to go mouldy. Grapes, in this condition, cannot be taken into the distillery so the only thing to be done is to bury them. If this is done I shall be blamed, for had I not gone for a holiday last week the last load would have been taken in before the rain came. Unfortunately, the rain is getting worse and worse. There is now an equinoxial gale blowing. I am thankful that I am sitting in front of a fire.
I was thinking today of the happy times I spent at Long Ashton. I pictured to myself a fine, bright morning with a healthy nip in the air. A boy of about sixteen years of age, height about five foot ten inches, wearing a smart pair of field boots, breaches, trench coat and cap slightly pulled down one side, emerges from ‘Broomcroft’, Cotham Vale, pushing a Douglas motorbike. When the bike and rider had safely reached the street, the latter turned on a tap, ‘tickled’ the carburetor, adjusted several levers, then, with a farewell glance at ‘Broomcroft’, started to push the bike forward.
With a couple of bangs the engine started and, with a slight jump, the boy was soon mounted on the ‘firey steed’. I can remember it all so distinctly. As I turned into Aberdeen Road I pulled my coat straight, gripped the petrol tank with my knees, gave my cap a final pull and gave my gauntlet gloves a tug. Slow down when crossing Cotham Hill, dangerous crossing. Another nasty corner at Whiteladies Road. Then all clear down the shady avenue which starts by Oakfield Road and ends by the Victoria Rooms. It was not advisable to go too fast when passing the policeman halfway down this avenue. With my right hand extended, I crossed the tram lines and cut down ‘The Triangle’. Turn to the right and the road is very narrow, bear around to the left and it is wide once again. There were always lots of children about here and ‘safety first’ was the best motto. A swing to the right brought me out on to the Hotwells Road where there was usually a lot of traffic. On the right hand side of the road, where the first bend is encountered, is a little newspaper shop where I always bought a copy of the Daily Mail. Stuffing this into my coat, I was soon on my way again. A policeman was on point duty at the next corner where I turned sharply to the left, then on to the first swing bridge where it was just wide enough for two cyclists to pass and when a bus crossed it bulged over both sides. Sometimes this bridge would be closed for traffic as a boat passed through. Then the stream of traffic would cross at the next bridge, a short distance down on the right. Up a short incline to ‘The Swing Bridge’ and if this bridge had swung away one had to wait until it swung back.
A real good spin for a couple of hundred yards then over a fairly narrow bridge and – out into the country. Up, swing to the right, then down towards the Smyth Arms. It was just about here that I passed a motorcyclist, also on a Douglas, bound for the city. A slight rise again, then fairly sharply to the left just by one of the Lodge Gates of Ashton Park. Here I met a slight acquaintance, mounted on an A.J.S., speeding towards the city. He usually wore no overcoat, but light-coloured suit, muffler and goggles, and no headgear. A few hundred yards further on I usually passed a girl walking to the bus stop. She was a rather good-looking girl but I never spoke to her, not even smiled, as I sped past. Just by the school, where there were always crowds of children playing, I passed the bus – perhaps I should say it passed me.