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by Gifford Eardley

Seeing that a visit has been arranged to Parramatta Park on Sunday, June 19th, 1966, to permit the members and friends of the St. George Historical Society to enjoy, amongst other delights, a ride on the last remaining Sydney steam tram motor and its two carriages, it is thought fitting to append the following short screed. This has been written to give an inkling of the historical background of the engine concerned and the difficulties experienced in its reconstruction for operational purposes.

As the Steam Tram Preservation Society has a number of heavy financial commitments a charge of 10 cents is made for each adult riding in the carriages, children travel at half price. For those, like myself, who seek the privilege of a ride on the engine, if such accommodation can be arranged, there is a charge of 15 cents.

A child’s love for a steam locomotive passeth all understanding, and it is surprising how this initial interest survives throughout so many men’s later life. The interest may be latent, but it often comes to the fore when the stimulating sight of a mighty engine comes into vision. Locomotive designs belong to all sorts and conditions of types, each with its particular charm. Some steam engines are downright ugly, whilst others possess an elegance and grace which cause some of us to come completely under their spell, they all have a distinct character of their own. I quote – “Where there is steam and smoke, a smell of warm oil, and the sound of a sharp exhaust, there is life”. Can this be said of any other form of machine?

The admirers of the steam locomotive are legion and include intelligent men from all walks of life, including certain kings, governors, judges, personalities like Walt Disney and the late Henry Ford, members of the legal and medical professions, to say nothing of clergymen, to whom the subject appears to exert a peculiar fascination. Reverting to George Stephenson and his famous “Rocket” we read that on one occasion the famous and beauteous actress Fanny Kemble had the honour of a ride along with George. She was enthralled and later remarked “It was a snorting little animal which I felt inclined to pat”. And patted they have been accordingly by generations of men and the sons of men.

The particular engine in question, tram motor No. 103A, was imported in 1891 from the Baldwin Locomotive Company of Philadelphia, USA, to assist with the operation of the Sydney street tramway system. With the electrification of these lines this steam motor, amongst others of its ilk, was relegated to the various suburban services, and spent much time working the Arncliffe-Bexley, Kogarah-Sans Souci, and the Sutherland-Cronulla steam tramway systems. With the closure of the Kogarah-Sans Souci line in 1937 motor No. 103A was stored at Randwick Workshops for a period before being sold to Sydney Ferries Limited for use on their Parramatta-Redbank Wharf tramway. During April 1943 the motor was sold to the Colonial Sugar Company for shunting duties at their “Canite” factory at Rhodes, where, so it is understood, it disgraced itself by running off the end of the company’s jetty into the murky waters of Homebush Bay. After being recovered from the briny in a somewhat dilapidated condition it saw little if any further service at Rhodes, and, in 1950, went to the Commonwealth Engineering Company at Clyde on a spare parts basis. Here again its services and components met with little demand.

A friend of the writer, Bruce McDonald, happened to be nosing around the Clyde works yard and came upon the now discarded relic and was most surprised when the company officials, seeing his interest in the old time engine, gave it to him on condition that he arranged for its removal. A whip-around amongst certain of his friends assisted to cover transport costs, consequently the good and observant wives of Homebush had the shock of their lives to see this seemingly huge monster being taken through the tree-fringed streets of their select suburb. Arriving at the McDonald home it was unloaded in the front garden and left to its fate. Well-known business firms kindly loaned lifting tackle and the motor was inched, little by little, between the brick walls of two residences, with only inches to spare. The dividing fence between the properties was taken down preparatory to the movement.

After much exertion, coupled with many anxious moments, motor No. 103A was jockeyed around to a temporary resting place slightly clear of Mrs. McDonald’s clothesline, much to that long suffering lady’s gratification. Work began in earnest on the reconditioning of the engine, as in the course of its journeying, to say nothing of its immersion in Homebush Bay, the body work on the cab, in particular, was in sad need of renewal. Many of the other components, essential to its well-being were missing and proved most difficult to replace.

One of the leading shop-fitting concerns of Sydney took over the reconstruction of the cab, more or less as a matter of interest in the project. The ash-pan was missing from beneath the fire-box and inquiries made to replace this adjunct elicited the fact that a couple of long discarded ash-pans had been thrown into the Parramatta River at Redbank by the employees of the Sydney Ferries Ltd. Dredging operations, of the rope and hook variety, resulted in a suitable ash-pan being retrieved. Then came fire-bars which proved a problem to replace. Spares of any kind were not available, neither was the ready cash to have new ones cast at an iron-foundry. The haunts of other and long scrapped steam motors were thoroughly searched and finally it was learned that a lot of bits and pieces had been thrown into a hole at Bombo, near Kiama. A search party delved into this blackberry-covered excavation and at last were successful in bringing to light several of the sadly needed fire-bars. The front apron plate was numbered amongst the missing features, and Mr. Edwards, a machinery merchant of Sydenham, generously donated one that had been lying on his scrap metal dump. This plate had belonged to motor No. 5A but unfortunately a souvenir hunter had cut out a large jagged-edged portion of the sheet steel away in order to have the road number 5A added to his “scalp” list. Luckily the culprit was traced and the missing piece welded back into its parent metal. And so the work of restoration went on. A clergyman friend of the organisation, known to his plebeian associates as the “Bishop of Tasmania”, although he has not as yet aspired to episcopal rank, assisted in applying the priming coat of red-lead paint, standing well back from the brush to avoid drips and uttering blessings as sundry paint splashes anointed his clothing.

Eventually No. 103A was restored to its pristine beauty and personal comforts, thereby gaining the heartfelt thanks of Mrs. McDonald. The engine was again led carefully through the narrow space between the walls of the two houses, outward bound for Parramatta Park and ready once again to take the tracks as of yore. The steam motor has now been ceded to the New South Wales Steam Tram and Railway Preservation Society. The members of this group, working on a voluntary basis, have been responsible for the tramway system laid in Parramatta Park (Ed: museum relocated to Valley Heights in the Blue Mountains after fire destroyed the Parramatta Park site in 1993). They are to be commended in making such a wonderful contribution to the transport history of this State in preserving a living and steaming replica of what was regarded as perhaps the largest steam tramway system in the world.

Our St. George Historical Society is indebted to Frank Moag of Sans Souci, the President of the Preservation Society, for the privilege of inspecting and once again riding behind No. 103A, a fascinating locomotive which once played an important part in the transport needs of the residents of St. George.

This article was first published in the June 1966 edition of our magazine.

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Unless noted, images courtesy of the Bayside Library Service Local History Collection.

by Vincent Saunders

Standing on one of the more dominant sites on the Forest Road ridge is St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church at Arncliffe.

The Romanesque church and particularly its Round Tower may be observed, in all their splendour, at almost any vantage point within and even well beyond the immediate District.

In making their observation how many people realise that the Arncliffe Church was one of the first two places of worship to be constructed in Australia incorporating in its structure the architectural form of the Round Towers of Ireland — edifices long famous in the popular imagination in their association with the predatory raids of the Vikings in the days of yore.

St. Francis Xavier Church was opened for worship in 1931 during the sojourn of the late Monsignor Joseph Patrick Rafferty whose inspiration it was that led to an intensive study being made by his architect (Clement Glancey) of the more famous of the Irish Round Towers at Waterford, Antrim, Cork, Lough Erne, Kilkenny, Tipperary, and Glendalough.

It stands to this day as Sydney’s only church combining in its structure a Round Tower and one of the few extant in Australia with this unusual feature.

Unique Monuments in the West

Although not so well known in this country as in Continental Europe, the Round Towers of Ireland have long been famous and supplied a theme for discussion to Antiquarians regarding their origin and uses to almost as great a degree as have the Pyramids of Egypt.

With the exception of a few Round Towers in Scotland, these unusual stone edifices are to be found in no other part of Western civilisation than Ireland. About 120 of these towers are known to have existed there, 90 still remain in varying stages of decay with about 20 of them more or less perfect to the very coping stone of the roof.

They are located in various parts of the Emerald Isle, some existing in isolation whilst others are associated but detached from churches or other ecclesiastical erections.

The Round Towers are hollow stone cylinders, narrowing as they approach the summit, and are from 12 to 18 metres in circumference at the base, from 15 to 45 metres in height and divided internally into six or more stories.

The top storey has from three to six apertures whilst the others are each lit by a single aperture with the exception of the lowest storey, above which there is a door elevated from 2 to 9 metres above ground level (the high elevation of the doors led some to believe that this indicated the towers were designed for security purposes).

The Round Towers were used in Christian times (from the 5th century) as places of security where the church valuables could be deposited and where the monks could find refuge in times of peril or alarm.

On critical occasions also their higher apartments were probably lit up as beacons to guide the movements of friends or were used as Watch-towers to observe the tribes in the neighbourhood.

The Viking Raids

The finest hour of the Round Towers in Christian times came with their use during the predatory expeditions of the Vikings (who terrorised the inhabitants also of Scotland, England, and France and sailed the seas in vessels, for the era, of considerable size) or Ireland from the year 749 AD until they settled there about the year 850.

Before sufficient force could be collected to resist the raids of the Vikings, great havoc was inflicted on monastic establishments, the pirates taking whatever booty was at hand when they hurriedly returned to their ships.

Whilst the Round Towers were utilised as places of security during the troublesome times in the early Christian era, it is not so evident that such was their original destination.

A mythological tale describes the remnants of a civilisation of the pre-Christian era as the result of the Tuatha Dé Danann (Gaelic: “People of the Goddess Danu”), a Celtic race inhabiting Ireland before the Milesians (mythological ancestors of the modern Irish) settled in Ireland.

It is alleged by those who contend for their Christian origin, that they were all at one period associated with churches or other ecclesiastical erections and established mainly as places of security and as Watch-towers.

Origin of Round Towers

The famous 19th century Irish poet, Thomas Moore, representing the majority view of Antiquarians on the pre-Christian origin of the Round Towers, wrote in The History of Ireland that their inspiration found its way to Ireland from Persian sources, a few towers bearing an exact resemblance to the Irish towers having been found at Baghdad, Iraq and Bhagalpur, India and that these were thought, in India, to have belonged to a form of worship not extinct and even forgotten. The Round Towers have not been found in any other part of Christendom.

It is also contended that the Towers had probably been fire-temples in which a sacred fire was kindled in connection with certain rites known to be practised by the Magi (Zoroastrianism) in an elevated position (accounting for the high elevation of the doors); and that the top storey (with its numerous apertures) was designed for astronomical observations — for determining the equinoctial and solstitial times.

Yet another hypotheses exists respecting the origin and purposes of these structures. By some the uses to which they were destined have been thought similar to that of the turrets in the neighbourhood of Turkish mosques, and from their summits, it is supposed, proclamation was made of new moons and approaching religious festivities. A kind of trumpet, which has been dug up in the neighbourhood of some of these towers, having a large mouth-hole in the side, is conjectured to have been used to assist the voice in these announcements to the people.

Archaeological researches since Thomas Moore wrote his views in The History of Ireland (1841) seems to have confirmed the pre-Christian origin of the Round Towers. In 1947, an inscription was dug up at Karatepe, a Late Hittite fortress city in southern Turkey indicating that the Tuatha Dé Danann (previously mentioned) had occupied this area for some centuries (prior to migrating to Ireland).

Karatepe was only a short distance away from Hierapolis (North Syria) where Lucian of Samosata, an early Roman historian in his travel-book, On the Syrian Goddess, tells us, was the site of a famous pre-Christian temple, which was the principal source of the city’s wealth. “For much money comes to them from Arabia and from the Phoenicians, and the Babylonians; the Cilicians too — nowhere else among mankind are there so many festivities and sacred assemblies”

Lucian further tells us that at the main entrance of the main temple there stood two pillars, 55 metres high, on top of one of which a man spends an entire week twice every year (he climbed to the top of the pillar by means of a chain and offered prayers for those who brought him gold and silver). Lucian calls them “the phalli which Dionysus erected”.

The twin entrance pillars found in the temples of so many early cults, including Solomon’s temple itself, doubtless had some phallic significance and according to mythology the religious customs of the restricted area of the pre-Christian Mediterranean world were absorbed by the Tuatha Dé Danann and imported to Ireland.

The phallic pillar was, in due course, taken over by the Persian followers of Zoroaster (about the 4th century BC) and the Round Towers found at Baghdad (Iraq) and Bhagalpur (India) previously mentioned, incorporating the place of the ‘sacred fire’ and the astronomical observatory, appears to have had, as religious monuments, a short-lived popularity only as very few of this type have been discovered in the East and none in Western Christendom (with the exception of Ireland).

Nevertheless their inspiration apparently found its way to Ireland and these unusual edifices came into existence all over the Emerald Isle as manifestations of a now obscure form of worship of which the Round Towers remain the solitary and enduring monuments.

Whatever the origin of the Round Towers they played a part in the spread of Christianity in Ireland and, besides being used as keeps and watch-towers in times of peril or alarm, many of them were used, in more settled times as Bell-towers whence the monastic bell summoned the populace to the house of God.

Meanwhile on the local scene the Round Tower on Arncliffe Hill will serve to remind us and be a source of local pride as a rare representation of a unique style of ecclesiastical architecture in Australia and also regarding the fascinating historical associations of the Round Towers of Ireland whose history has been lost in the night of time.

This article was first published in the June 1966 edition of our magazine.

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Unless noted, images courtesy of the Bayside Library Service Local History Collection.

by Charles Napper

Rockdale is a residential and commercial suburb situated about six miles south of Sydney adjoining the western shores of Botany Bay. The original municipal area was known as West Botany which consisted of the area west of Botany Bay, bounded on the north by Cooks River, on the south by Georges River, and extending westward to a line following what is now the Tempe East Hills Railway Line.

The small settlement of Rockdale was in the very early days known by various rather silly names such as Muddy Creek, Frog Hollow, Gum Tree Flat and some other names too bad to write down.

A Mrs. Geeves who kept a small shop in the settlement was asked by the Postal Department to give the place a name. She mentioned Rock-Vale but this was rejected because there were many other places with a name ending in vale, which the Department said might cause confusion. She then suggested Rockdale, which was accepted as suitable owing to the large hill of rock on the eastern side. The present public school being a prominent landmark on this site.

For quite a long time after the settlement of Sydney was established there were very few people living this side of Cooks River, owing to there being no road for vehicle traffic across the river.

Later, however, owing to a water shortage Sydney (which trouble still exists) the government of the day decided to build a dam across the river at Tempe, which was to separate the fresh water which came down from the hilly country around what is now Canterbury and Earlwood, and also the water from Wolli Creek. Unfortunately this scheme was not a success as a water supply. Owing to a seepage in the wall of the dam some of the saltwater still came through and the fresh water proved brackish and unsuitable for drinking but the early settlers made good use of the crest of the dam, using it as a road to the southern parts of the colony.

This road was quickly used, and soon a goodly number of settlers took up land as vegetable gardens, orchards, dairymen, etc. Rockdale District for many years was known as the vegetable bowl of Sydney. Also Gannons Forest, now Hurstville, provided timber for most of early homes around Sydney.

In 1884 the railway line was opened from Redfern to Hurstville. This proved a great benefit to the district, and soon many people came out this way to live, and much more land was taken up both for homes as well as gardening. Many fine homes were built on the higher parts of Arncliffe, Bexley, and Brighton Le Sands.

Rockdale is now a thriving community and a first class suburb of Sydney.

The Municipal area has a population of approximately 80,000. This includes Arncliffe, Bexley, Brighton Le Sands, Ramsgate, and Sans Souci and covers an area of eleven square miles.

Rockdale has a very fine town hall and administrative offices. It has five baby health centres, a nursing service, a meals on wheels service, four senior citizens organisations, a Municipal Orchestra & Opera Company, a St George Eisteddfod, a large municipal library, an historical society and several other cultural activities, all ably supported by the Municipal Council.

All these things go to make Rockdale a progressive suburb and a very desirable place to live.

This article was first published in the June 1966 edition of our magazine.

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Unless noted, images courtesy of the Bayside Library Service Local History Collection.

A Patron (patronus) according to Roman law was a protector or defender. The Patron Saint of England is St George or Edward the Confessor. England’s symbol is the red rose.

The War of the Roses (1455-1485) was the name given to the struggle between the noble House of York, whose badge was a white rose, and the noble House of Lancaster, whose badge was a red rose, for the throne of England. Many attempts were made to place Yorkist pretenders on the throne during this civil battle but the Lancastrian King Henry VII (Henry Tudor) succeeded and thereabouts united the houses of York and Lancaster.

William Shakespeare immortalised the quarrel which led to the War of the Roses in Henry VI, Part I when in the garden of the Inner Temple, Richard Plantagenet and his supporters each plucked a white rose, and the Duke of Somerset and his companion plucked a red rose. Roses still bloom each summer in London’s Inner Temple Garden.

Doesn’t this bring to mind St George District’s colours of Red / White?

William Shakespeare was born April 23, 1564 (baptised three days later) St George’s Day. He died April 23, 1616 – again St. George’s Day!

Only one church of pre-19th century London bears the patron saint’s name and that is St George the Martyr. Henry V prayed at this Southwark Church for success at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415.

There is a romantic legend also of St George which tells the tale of the King of the Libyan province of Silene’s much loved and beautiful daughter about to be sacrificed to appease a dragon who was devouring the villagers. St George riding his white horse slew the dragon and saved the maiden’s life. This myth was adopted by the Crusaders as a morale booster, thus the allegory of St George and the Dragon, triumph of Good over Evil.

The legend was brought to the fore when Edward III’s men flew the St George Flag at the 1346-47 Siege of Calais when defeating the French.

The Order of the Garter was raised when Edward III retrieved the Countess of Salisbury’s dark blue garter which slipped from her apparel, to the laughter of those of an “ungentlemanly” nature. To cover the lady’s embarrassment the King placed the velvet garter on his own leg and said “I will make of this ere long the most honourable garter that was ever worn” and so it was dedicated “in memorial of the Blessed Martyr Saint George” and so the members of this honourable order today still wear the garter as part of the traditional dark-blue dress with its collar to which is attached the symbol of St George and the Dragon, when celebrating the birthday of the Patron Saint at Windsor Castle’s St George’s Chapel.

The procession for St George’s Day, long ago dispensed with, was revived by King George VI in 1948.

Sources:
Encyclopædia Britannica, 1988
Hudson R., “The English Way of Life” – This England Magazine, Spring 1997
New Illustrated Columbia Encyclopedia, University Press, 1979

This article was first published in the March 2002 edition of our magazine.

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by Jean Scott

During World War II thousands of Australian women joined the Women’s Land Army. Their task was to tend the farms while the men went to war. Their contribution to the war effort has been largely overlooked.

In 1991, Jean Scott recounted their achievements, experiences and tribulations in a presentation to the SGHS.

An excerpt from Jean’s book, Girls with Grit:

Local enthusiasm in Gosford resulted in a cottage and grounds at the Forest nurseries, adjoining Narara Creek (north of Gosford, NSW), being allocated to the Women’s Australian National Service (WANS) for a training camp. At the beginning of November 1941 about twenty women took up residence, but the supervision was lax, and discontent and disorderly conduct resulted in the matron being replaced by Matte Travers, who tells a remarkable story of leadership and sheer hard work:

I attended the meeting at Sydney Town Hall the night the WANS were formed and offered my services as voluntary cook, to go overseas if called upon. Each Saturday afternoon I went to the training sessions at Burwood Domestic Science School, and in the evenings I worked as a voluntary cook at Air Force House in the city. This was quite an exhausting job, without the benefit of air-conditioning; I was on duty from 5pm until 10, in my WANS uniform, even having to pay for a cup of coffee if I needed one.

At one of the WANS weekend camps while I was acting as quartermaster, the straw failed to arrive for our palliasses and our canvas cots were quite cold. Using my initiative, I filled an empty biscuit tin with hot water to warm my bed. Little did I know then there would be many more instances where even greater inventiveness would be required.

I had been asked to take charge of the canteen at Concord Military Hospital, but a call from WANS headquarters suggested I might be interested in going to their Land Service camp at Gosford. A rosy picture was painted: I was to be promoted to captain at £2/10 (2 pounds and 10 ten shillings) per week plus keep, a sergeant and two orderlies (who would bring my morning tea and run my bath) would help me with various duties about the camp. It sounded quite agreeable to me, so I resigned from my place of business, packed, caught the train for Gosford and then took a taxi to the Forest Nurseries Camp, arriving at 4pm. As I stepped from the cab I noticed a group of girls in khaki overalls standing by the gate and I smiled at them. I heard one say, “She’s not much more than a kid.” Then Mrs Beveridge and other members of headquarters (HQ) staff came and hurried me inside. Apparently, the person who had been supervising had proved unsatisfactory, allowing the girls to do as they liked, and she had been dismissed. The girls in turn had thrown their badges on the table, spat on them and declared that they’d “take no orders from any bloody officer”. The group at the gate had intended to pelt me with rotten tomatoes and throw me in the creek.

The official party left for Gosford, leaving the sergeant and myself to deal with the girls, who were still outside. Slowly, one by one, they knocked at the door and I spoke to each in turn, telling them I would accept them if they would obey my orders; most were crying and I was feeling quite exhausted. By 10pm all but two, who were rather undesirable anyway, had returned to the fold. I then made a quick inspection of the long, dark and narrow kitchen and was horrified to find, in the pantry, bags of rice moving with weevils, and pounds of cheese creeping with maggots, more of which were beneath the sink top. In the laundry, 40 sets of government-issue bed linen was waiting to be washed in a wood-fire copper, and every window was filthy and uncurtained. I told the sergeant we would begin work at four the next morning.

Those who had jobs to go to left after a scratch breakfast; the others I set to work helping to clean up while I got busy with the washing. Halfway through all this, Mrs Beveridge rang to ask me to meet her in Gosford to be introduced to the local tradesmen, and after a hectic morning the HQ officials left for Sydney. With them went Amy Pickering, who was to have opened a camp in Wamberal but owing to lack of work in the district was reallocated, and so I was minus my sergeant. Very dispirited, I returned to the cottage, which was set in lovely surroundings with gardenias in bloom and a beautiful fernery – such a contrast to the interior I was about to face.

I told the girls the camp was to be in order by 13 December for the official opening, and I said I would be working as hard as everyone else to bring our quarters to liveable conditions. They pulled their weight when they saw I was as good as my word. The whole place was in a disgusting state, each area revealing filth that took hours of scrubbing to clean. I found some yards of net in a cupboard and with the aid of an old treadle sewing machine made curtains; a length of damask became a tablecloth. Two of the girls and myself varnished the floor and some old jars filled with gardenias gave the room a much more pleasant aroma. We were determined to make a good impression on the opening day. The girls canvassed donations from the local folk, set up and decorated stalls and practised marching each morning before breakfast. Through our combined effort, all was in readiness and we had all become very good friends.

Clive Evatt officiated at the unveiling and I marched at the head of the girls to the platform. Many of the local people came along and the staff from headquarters were most surprised when they saw the changes we had achieved in such a short time. Later I heard from HQ that the girls had written a letter expressing their appreciation of me, as they had expected an old, tough, army-type officer who would boss them about. This lifted my spirits indeed, for my earlier pretty picture had most certainly faded by now.

In the following week I spent some time trying to find work for the girls as they were all fairly broke; it was not possible to keep anyone to act as orderly, so I continued to cook and clean alone. A number of chickens were running loose on the property with many roosters among them, so we made an effort to sell some, unfortunately without much success. The next best thing was to use them ourselves and so chicken became a regular part of our diet, thanks to an Aboriginal girl who was an expert with an axe.

At Christmas most of the girls went home, leaving only six or seven for our festive dinner of the usual poultry; however, I made a pudding and a cake for the occasion. During this period I was given permission for the kitchen to be enlarged, with windows the full length of it and benches for preparing meals and cutting lunches. Card tables were ordered which gave us a more homelike appearance, and in the New Year I planned to train an orderly to assist me. This was not without incident, as I recall. One day the butcher had delivered two large meat orders and left them on the bench. I asked the orderly to prepare the vegetables, wrapping the peelings in newspaper before placing them in the incinerator. Later, unable to find the parcels of meat, I asked if she had moved them; she made a dash for the door – she had thought they were also rubbish! To our even greater consternation we found she had mistaken the bin of liquid manure for the incinerator; we quickly dragged the meat parcels out. Thank goodness the wrappings were quite thick and the liquid had not penetrated, but I was very distressed and angry so I set her to washing all the meat thoroughly. I also left her to make the evening meal as I just couldn’t face dinner that night, and went into town.

During the last weeks of January I received a phone call from HQ informing me that they were opening camps at Batlow, Leeton, and Griffith and needed my help. I asked for a wage increase, and to return to Gosford, and also to be allowed to recruit some of the girls I had come to know. They agreed to all my demands, their manner implying I was their No. 1 officer, so I arranged for ten of the girls to follow and I left for Sydney. It was hard to leave the others behind after all the things we had been through together.

We continue the story in Batlow.

Autumn was approaching when I received a telegram from HQ to inform me of the arrival of a further 32 girls on the following Monday. I was to buy stores and equipment from Batlow’s two shops and take over the new Returned and Services League of Australia (RSL) building (not yet finished), which would be my headquarters as Central Camp, while the new matron would move into Atkinson’s. The next day Mr MacKenzie called for me and a few of the girls and drove us to the scouts hall in the township. This old hall was donated to the Land Army for as long as they required it, to be used as a messroom in conjunction with the RSL. These two buildings were in different streets, and about 150 yards apart; this I knew would present an additional problem for staff and girls going to the early-morning breakfasts, especially in the winter months ahead.

The only furniture was a few long trestle tables and low forms previously used by kindergarten children. We nailed wooden blocks to the latter to raise them; everything else we swept, dusted and scrubbed. Once more there was just one small fuel stove, so I placed iron bars on bricks in the large open fireplace where dixies could be set, and outside I had a trench dug as a firepit with more bars across the top. It was primitive but functional. The night before the new recruits arrived, I cooked a large piece of corned beef to have cold with salad, and in the morning I made a dixie of custard into which I cut bananas, as a dessert. At midday I met the group and escorted them to the scouts hall for lunch and then to their quarters, leaving them to unpack while I took Miss Ashdown to Atkinson’s camp and introduced her to the girls quartered there. On returning to my room in the unlined building I overheard the girls discussing their accommodation; they all appeared to be of a mind to stay only as long as it took to make the money for their fare home. I felt distressed for them, as it was certainly a pathetic place for anyone, but there were orchardists waiting to speak to me about the distribution of the girls and I was kept too busy to try and give them any comforting words. The straw for our palliasses was not delivered until late so it was quite dark and cold by the time we got to bed; that too was a restless night for everyone as the wandering cows tramped around our unfenced yard, eating the straw left lying there.

The bathroom had one old bath, at least a hundred years old, a chip heater and two enamel wash bowls. On the way home from work the girls gathered bark and chips to feed the heater; the first in had clean water, then more chips and water were added as those following bathed. I bought a large bowl and washed in my room as best as I could, for I could not face getting into that old galvanised tub. Another of our problems was the condensation which gathered on the unlined roof and dripped onto the beds. If it rained, raincoats and umbrellas were used in the dormitory in an effort to keep clothes as well as beds dry.

One lonely girl was about to celebrate her 21st birthday and with the help of the other girls we arranged a surprise party for her. I hired a radio, made sausage rolls, sandwiches and cakes; we set the tables in the dormitory where everyone had a happy evening, drinking her health in cordials. The next day Esther presented me with a box of Nestle’s Winning Post chocolates; she told me that her early life had been quite unhappy, but the friendliness of the girls and my understanding way had helped her a great deal. My room was large with a big fireplace, so on wintry nights I would make a dixie of cocoa and invite “my brood” to join me for supper. They’d bring rugs and pillows and sit about the floor singing and telling stories until lights-out. We were asked to join the Anzac Day services with the townspeople, so I trained the girls to march and made a wreath. We assembled at the Institute Hall on 25 April and marched to the memorial gates. I felt we made a favourable impression, considering the small amount of time we could devote to drill, and the fact most of the girls, weary after their day’s work in the orchards, were ready to relax rather than practise marching.

With the demand for more girls in the district, another camp was to be opened on Bert Herring’s property,”Wybalena”, so I went out to make an inspection. I was appalled at what I saw: an old hay shed with horses still housed there, smelling of sweat and manure, the sleeping area in a loft with broken windows and evidence of rat infestation. I protested at the conditions, but my superior officers from HQ thought otherwise, so I ordered the carpenters to make cupboards and flyproof safes. The girls, with Mrs Whistler, moved in and the next day I went out to see how they had fared. Paper and hessian pieces were stuffed in the broken windows and cracks; rats had already chewed their clothing and they were terrified. Mrs Whistler had moved her bed outside I was disgusted, unable to believe anyone could pass this building as fit for human habitation. The girls were brave to withstand such treatment and to continue doing such a wonderful service for the country.

The next advice from HQ instructed me to prepare the camps for a visit and inspection by the governor, Lord Wakehurst, his wife and party. Mrs Lynch arrived the day before to make sure all was ready, bowls of flowers were placed on the tables in the dormitory and I was told on no account to allow the official party to see the loft at Wybalena. The inspection proceeded quite well as we toured Central, Atkinson’s, and the packing house, where Lord and Lady Wakehurst met and spoke to a number of the girls, showing a great deal of interest in everything, but at Wybalena Lady Wakehurst insisted on seeing where the girls slept. When she descended the ladder she said nothing, but the expression on her face spoke volumes. Later she took me aside and said, “No doubt the flowers around the place are for our benefit”. I told her that this was so but also about our fireside singsong gatherings and she seemed pleased to hear of this and was especially kind to me for the rest of the tour.

Afternoon tea had been prepared by the ladies of the Red Cross and Mrs Lynch said I could be excused from attending anything further, but H.V. Smith insisted, “Oh we must have Captain Travers with us at the official table”. Finally the visitors were farewelled from the hotel and “H.V.” offered to call for me that evening to escort me to the dance being held at the Institute Hall. This appeared to make Mrs Lynch very cross – no doubt she had been expecting she would be his partner. However, if the Land Army was to be accepted in the district where I was to be the senior officer-in-charge, it was important for me to meet as many of the townspeople as possible for the girls’ benefit.

This article was first published in the August 1991 edition of our magazine.

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