by Don Watson
European weeds have colonised the mullock heaps and cleared ground. Gorse is widespread. Blackberries grow rampant around the shafts and grey mullock piles of the old Cornelian and Patriarch Mines. In mid summer signs warn: ‘NPWS / Blackberry spraying in progress / DO NOT PICK’.
Measures to control the spread of blackberries can be traced back to at least the early twentieth century. Complaints about thistles growing in the streets and allotments, and council orders to property holders to have them cut down, had been common since the 1880s.
Introduced fauna has also significantly affected the Hill End environment. Sheep and cattle exert the most profound and widespread impact, closely rivalled by rabbits. Foxes and wild goats are also endemic. Indeed, efforts to control goats date back to the late nineteenth century . . .
Prospecting on its own could not sustain a family. Subsistence mining combined the quest for gold with odd jobs around the district, and rabbiting. The rabbit industry emerged from the Depression as a core element of Hill End’s local economy, and remained so for some twenty years. Its eventual decline during the 1950s, a casualty of spreading myxomatosis virus, was a major blow to Hill End’s subsistence economy. Rabbiting significantly augmented prospectors’ earnings. Digger Hocking, who started rabbiting in 1927 when aged seventeen, remembers, ‘In good years they could put enough aside during the season to help them over the rest of [the] year.’ It provided a welcome second income for wage earners. Cud Denman, who earned a wage as a truck driver after the Depression, doubled as a rabbiter: ‘On wages you were lucky to get £4 per week in those times. Rabbits when they were good would make you £60-£70 per week. No tax[;] you sold them as Bob Menzies, Ben Chifley or anybody’s name.’ Rabbiting was also a shot in the arm for local farmers. When wool prices were low, many graziers kept their properties going by trapping. Ronald Kimm, who helped his father Billy run a small sheep farm, recalled that during the Depression ‘It was the rabbits that kept us alive’.
Hill End: An Historic Australian Goldfields Landscape,
Melbourne University Press, 2003
Merbein District Historical Society Inc.
2003
1
Block 156 Sidney Albion Wells
No. 5519. 6th Bn. 17th Reinf.
Born in Carron,Vic., Sidney enlisted on 31st March, 1916 at Mildura aged 18 years. He was single, a labourer, standing 5 ft 4ins tall. and weighing 103 lbs. Disembarked at Plymouth 12th June, 1916, proceeded to France on 29th August, 1916 and joined unit in field mid September. Admitted to hospital with Trench fever in June 1917 and was wounded in action – wound to back – in late September.
Admitted to hospital late October due to being wounded in action once again – severe Gun Shot Wound to left thigh. Transferred to England on 15th November, 1917 and returned to Australia 16th December, 1917 on H.S. “No. 2”. Discharged 11th April, 1918.
References presented with his application for a Q.C. in April 1918, were from his father William C. Wells, Patterson & Shaw, A.S. Lochead, and John Griffiths, Merbein. Block 156 of 17ac.1r.27p. was allocated that same month.
The land was declared abandoned, and the lease cancelled in August 1925. There were many offers from neighbours and others to take over the property. In January 1927, Conrad Felix Doecke was given permission to occupy. In July 1928, Doecke sought to forfeit. An application from A. L. Forsyth, stating that he now had four children, the house on his property, 150, was infested with white ants, the house on Block 156 would be suitable. Approval given in July 1929. In July 1940, a Mortgage of both properties to the Farmers Debts Adjustment Board, to secure repayments to a long list of debtors.
As recorded under Block 150, both properties were transferred first to Arthur Leslie Tarr in 1947, then to his mother, Ethel May Tarr, in 1952. Freehold was granted in August 1965.
Subsequent owners include: S, G. & J. Leitch, J. R. & D. R. Edwards, J. L. & L. M and H. McLure.
2
Block 41 Harry Ford
No. 1944. 39th Btn.
Harry was born in Melbourne and enlisted Ballarat 10th May, 1916 age 30 years.
His occupation was that of labourer and he was single at the time.
His height was 5ft 8ins and weight 147 lbs.
Religion Church of England.
He embarked from Port Melbourne 16th August, 1916 on the “Orontes” for arrival in Plymouth 2nd October 1916.
He was in hospital in England until he returned to Australia on the “Euripides” on the 18th September, 1917. He was then discharged due to chronic bronchitis and miners phlthises on the 19th October, 1917.
He was discharged medically unfit with a chest complaint, refused a pension, the medical report said “He has a cough of a morning, breathing a bit broken, but the climate suits him”. He had previously had dry farming and mining experience around Avoca. He had been working in the district, and had references from Captain Halhead, J. A. Williams and Messrs. Gaggin and Hyndman all of Merbein. After being allocated Block 41 of 14ac. 3r. 32p. in July, 1919, his health did not allow him to see it come into production, he died in October, 1921.The medical certificate from Dr. Neil Henderson of Mildura stated Ford was suffering from Bronchiectasis, but died from a secondary condition of Myocarditis and Cardiac Dilatation, due to toxaemia of the Broncho. The original condition was caused by his pre-war occupation as a miner, the condition had improved enough to be accepted into the Army. War service had caused a recrudescence and aggravation of his trouble.
His widow Margaret Louisa applied for a Q.C. in August 1922, to be able to use the Government Grant, and to transfer the property. Letters of support were submitted from Major F. T. H. Goucher, President Merbein R.S.L. and neighbours, W. J. Sibley, R. A. Fechner, H. Heaysman, and P. L. Price, Manager Old Mildura Estate. The Q.C. was granted in March 1923, and the lease transferred in February, 1924. Freehold was granted in 1957.
Subsequent owners include: F. R. Bosenberg, N. M. & J. E. McMahon, R. & T. Hura and R. & N. Mazza.
From Battlefield to Block, The Sunnyland Press, Red Cliffs, Victoria, 2003
Louisa Anne Meredith
1845
The next point of our route having any claim to the picturesque was the rocky ravine at Cox’s River; the sight of clear running water is always pleasant, but nowhere more delightful than in so dry and thirsty a clime as this. The ruins of numerous huts, formerly occupied by a convict-gang at this spot, gave it rather a desolate look; but the clear little brook (for such in England should we call this river) gurgling merrily over its pebbly bed, had a sweet music in its voice that made me forget all disagreeables. We tasted, and then crossed it, and immediately began the steep ascent of Mount Lambey, which arises abruptly from the river’s bank. This mount had been the highest point in our landscape all day, and accordingly, despising all humbler and easier tracks, over its very summit passes Major Mitchell’s vaunted road. Seven long miles of climbing were before us, up as bare, sterile a mountain as ever gloomed on a wayfarer’s path. The rock is a splintery slate, not unlike many in old South and North Wales, and its dark grey and purple hue, stained in places with a rusty tinge, gave a dismal monotony to the scene, which scarcely a shrub or herb appeared to relieve.
An inn has very wisely been built half-way up this inhospitable mountain, and there, at the auspicious sign of the Queen Victoria, we purposed remaining the night, which was fast approaching, for the rapid departure of twilight leaves little time after sunset available for travelling. After a weary pull of four miles, the gracious countenance of our fair Queen (somewhat libelled by the artist, it is true) beamed on our most loyal and rejoiced eyes from amidst a chaos of crown, sceptre, red drapery, and ermine; and our tired horses, after a last resolute effort, stopped at the inn door. At the same moment we heard a hand-bell sharply and loudly rung within, and after a minute’s delay the landlord appeared at our summons, with the pleasing intelligence that he was very sorry indeed, but he could not accommodate us. As it was impossible to proceed farther in this case, there b
eing no other habitation within a long stage, and our horses knocked up, Mr. Meredith and Mr. Campbell declared their determination to stay at all events; and again questioned the landlord, who then admitted his own willingness to receive us (and who of his class ever voluntarily rejected good customers?), which he could easily do at some trifling inconvenience, but Mrs. — (whose party had the preceding evening excluded us from the “Weather-board”) was there, and the instant we stopped had ordered that no one else should be admitted, as they had taken all the house! This most overbearing monopoly, however, did not prevent our being comfortably installed in a snug little parlour, and a tolerable bed-room, which some of the landlord’s family vacated for us, whilst the sofa in the sitting-room was made up into a bed for our companion. I am well aware that had we been known at the time, the conduct of this “lady” would have been very different; but at such an hour, and in such a place, no woman possessed of common humanity would have desired to turn a beggar from the door. The pride of wealth, unmixed with aught of better or nobler feeling, is too often the sole and engrossing principle and characteristic of persons raised by some fortunate chance to that kind of rank which in these Colonies, where the worship of Mammon reigns triumphantly, is at once accorded to the rich: “What has he?” not “What is he?” being the test; and this petty superiority is often the foundation of absurd and selfish importance, of which the above trifling incident is an apt illustration.
I am happy to say we found the members of this royal establishment sober, industrious, and civil; a most welcome contrast to the inn at the Rivulet, and, despite our unpropitious reception, were tolerably comfortable.
The following morning we again set forth and after completing the ascent of Mount Lambey, proceeded to descend its opposite side, a far more pleasing task, especially as the surrounding country gradually assumed a less wild and inhospitable aspect. There is one little peculiarity in Colonial bridges, at least those usually met with on roads like the one of which I am treating, which it may be proper to mention; namely, that it is always far safer to plunge into the stream, morass, or ravine they stretch across, and wade or scramble out the best way you can, horses, carriage, and all, than to trust their treacherous and far more dangerous conveniency, for, like the celebrated bridge planned by Jack the Giant-killer for the destruction of the two-headed Thundel, they are apt to part company just as the passenger has passed too far to recede. In one place I remember seeing men erecting a stone bridge, with strong, good masonry; but the usual contrivance of a few long poles, covered with turfs, is far from satisfactory.
We rested about mid-day at a tidy public-house, which, although the fair hostess is believed to suffer from the prevailing thirst after strong drinks, we found very neat and clean; the miniature apartments set forth with bright Birmingham tea-trays, conch-shells, and the beautiful tail of the lyre pheasant, whilst the whitewashed walls and dimity curtains preserved their purity most surprisingly in this fly-tormented country. We had experienced the effects of the drought in the exorbitant charges made for the horses at every place we stopped at; and here, for a few handfuls of bad hay, ten shillings were added to the other items of the bill.
Journeying on, we arrived in process of time at the spot whence the first view of those lovely and verdant plains of Bathurst, of which I had heard so much, was to greet my delighted eyes.
“There, look! Do you not see them through the trees?”
I did look, anxiously and eagerly, directing my eye-glass towards every point of the compass in succession; still nothing green could I discern, but on a nearer approach beheld a wide extent of brown earth, with occasional flurries of dust passing across it; and this was all that remained of the so-vaunted Bathurst Plains! Every blade of grass and every green herb had disappeared during the drought, and a dry desert usurped their place, whilst a few thin, weak, widely-separated little roots of dry withering everlastings (Gnaphalium) were the only things bearing the semblance of vegetation . . .
Notes and Sketches of New South Wales: During a Residence in that
Colony From 1839–1844, Penguin, Melbourne, 1973
F. J. Meyrick
1846
When, in 1846, Henry had driven his flock to Gippsland, he found the natives in a state of terror of the white man. He wrote on April 30:
The blacks are very quiet here now, poor wretches. No wild beast of the forest was ever hunted down with such unsparing perseverance as they are.
Men, women, and children are shot whenever they can be met with. Some excuse might be found for shooting the men by those who are daily getting their cattle speared, but what they can urge in their excuse to shoot the women and children I cannot conceive. I have protested against it at every station I have been in Gippsland, in the strongest language, but these things are kept very secret as the penalty was certainly be hanging.
Maurice was out with the party after the blacks, but refused to fire on them (as did another of the party, Gorringe), to the intense indignation of the party, who returned leaving them unmolested.
For myself, if I caught a black actually killing my sheep, I would shoot him with as little remorse as I would a wild dog, but no consideration on earth would induce me to ride into a camp and fire on them indiscriminately, as is the custom whenever the smoke is seen.
They will very shortly be extinct. It is impossible to say how many have been shot, but I am convinced that not less than 450 have been murdered altogether.
I remember the time when my blood would have run cold at the mention of these things, but now I am become so familiarized to scenes of horror from having murder made a topic of everyday conversation.
I have heard tales told in some things I have seen that would form as dark a page as ever you read in the book of history, but I thank God I have never participated in them. If I could remedy these things, I would speak loudly though it cost me all I am worth in the world, but as I cannot, I will keep aloof and know nothing and say nothing.
Life in the Bush (1840-1847): A memoir of Henry Howard Meyrick,
Thomas Nelson and Sons, London, 1939
Mildura Settler’s Handbook
1899
Water.
AGREEMENT BETWEEN GOVERNMENT OF VICTORIA AND CHAFFEY BROS. LTD. – “And Her Majesty doth hereby in like manner grant unto the licensees, their executors, administrators, and assigns, subject to the restrictions and conditions hereinafter contained, and to the provisions for determination and resumption hereinafter expressed, license and authority to divert and take water from the River Murray at any point or points between the boundaries of the said portion of 250,000 acres, so far as Her Majesty can authorise the licensees, their executors, administrators, and assigns to divert and take the same, but so that the minimum quantity of water of the said river, flowing or passing the point of diversion, shall not be reduced below the minimum rates following, that is to say:
During the month of January in any year, 30,000 cubic feet per minute; during the month of February in any year, 24,000 cubic feet per minute; during the month of March in any year, 20,000 cubic feet per minute; during the month of April in any year, 24,000 cubic feet per minute . . .”
ALLOWANCE TO SETTLERS. – Every settler will be entitled to that part of water raised in the proportion that his particular area bears to the whole area watered . . .
Meteorological.
RAINFALL. – Average at Mildura, 8in. Average at Renmark, 8in.
Settler’s Handbook, George H. Tolley, Victoria and SA, 1899
Edward Millen
1899
Wide, open, sandy plains windswept and worried . . . The roots of trees spread out like cobwebs, exposed by the denudations of the wind. Where the butts of salt and other bushes remained, they search to keep a little soil around them, but between, the wind had cut down to the underlying cement-like clay, leaving them elevated on precarious and gradually disappearing pedestals . . . . large areas were swept clear of surface soil.
And the disturbed sand
– it has been and is being carried everywhere: it lies heaped up in hills and dunes twisted into every fantastic shape and shifting with every capricious breeze. Created by the wind to-day, they are destroyed by the wind tomorrow, for ‘the wind bloweth where it listeth’ and the sand is its sport and toy . . . the process going on everywhere and always. Here a dense column of the wind-born sand moves leisurely across the plain, there, red and angry, it darts forward like the flame tongue of a fiercely-fanned bush-fire; now it hangs heavy and yellow like a London fog, and then it whorls heavenward in the contorted throes of a whirlwind.
Sydney Morning Herald, 25 Nov. 1899, in Dick Condon (ed.),
Out of the West: A Historical Perspective of the Western Division of New South Wales,
Lower Murray Darling and Western Catchment Management Committees,
Rangeland Management Action Plan, 2002
David Millsom
1999
There are some stark, blunt facts about irrigation. All irrigation systems lead to the salinisation of their soil. Them are no known exceptions. We know from the last 6000 years that the average life span of an irrigation system is 150 years. This one is 120 years old, and running true to type. People making the decisions at the time seemed totally unaware of this rather daunting historical perspective . . .
There’s been an enormous amount of damage done to the land here. The hills that surrounded the Mount Hope reserve were quarried for their gravel for road making, destroying three permanent water holes. In a country as dry as this, that can only rank as downright insanity. It resulted in fairly serious soil erosion on the property, and the effects of salinisation were starting to show by the time we arrived on the scene. Basically it was pretty poor management. I wasn’t prepared to continue on that path. So we set about trying to fix the soil erosion. The then Soil Conservation Authority were very supportive, a very talented and dedicated team of guys. We did a fair bit of earth works, trying to just stem the rate at which the water left the landscape, and we sowed the erosion country to exotic grasses. They failed to take, not once but twice . . .