Belshaw’s World – memories of a Port Macquarie far past.

Most children growing up in inland New England had vivid memories of the places on the sea coast where their parents used to take them for holidays. Many camped, others stayed in little holiday homes or small blocks of flats. Some were lucky enough to have parents who actually owned their own holiday home.

New England has a big coastline. The places varied depending on proximity, where friends went and, in some cases, just the need for variety. Some went to Port Macquarie, some to Urunga or Coffs Habour, some to Byron Bay, some into nearby Queensland to the Gold Coast.

To many of those coastal centres, the tourist trade from the inland was a central source of income. To some it still is, although population shifts mean that many inland centers now seek to attract tourist from the coast instead of seeing the coast as their own playgrounds.

One year, we went to Port Macquarie for our holiday. I remember the trip clearly because while we were away Rover, our Red Kelpie pet who was boarding on an Aunt and Uncle’s property, was bitten by a black snake and died. Rover was an energetic and inquisitive dog, not really suited to a town environment. Very few Kelpies are.

Traveling to Port Macquarie was unusual for us because it was just so far away. Well, at least it seemed that way. To get there, we drove south from Armidale where we were living to Uralla and then turned south east to Walcha. From Walcha, we veered further east and then plunged down the Great Dividing Range along the Oxley Highway.

None of the roads to the coast were then sealed. The road to Port passed through absolutely beautiful country, but was narrow, winding and dusty. The big timber jinkers carrying huge logs to the mills were a constant problem, for it was hard to get past.

Port Macquarie was then a small sleepy coastal settlement, far removed from today’s large tourist centre. The scale difference is actually astonishing. At the time I am talking about, Armidale’s population was perhaps three times that of Port. Today, Port’s population is twice that of Armidale.

At Port, we played and swam on the small local beaches. I learned of Rover’s death on one of those beaches, so it stands out in my mind.

I was reminded of all this by a book I have been reading, Annabella Boswell’s Journal (Angus & Robertson 1965, reprinted 1981). Before going on, I need to give you a little history.

Port Macquarie was founded in 1821 as a penal settlement. In 1830 Major Archibald Clunes Innes (1800-1857) became police magistrate at Port Macquarie and was granted 2568 acres (1039 ha) and contracts to supply the convict population with food. Working with convict labour, he transformed the wilderness into the fabled Lake Innes, the greatest pastoral property north of Sydney. There he built a grand home. From this point he built a web of pastoral interests. The town of Glen Innes is named after him.

Annabella was his niece. In 1839, her father took the family to stay at Lake Innes, hoping to improve his health. That hope was to be unsuccessful, for he died a few years later. Annabella loved the life at Lake Innes and recorded it all faithfully in her diary, republishing it all in later books.

The result is actually very Jane Austen, a story of domestic life and manners of an upper class NSW country family in a still relatively new colony. We have dear mamma, our dear uncle, the gentlemen callers, the first NSW election campaign in which the women gathered to make favours, the piper and the dances.

The last part of the book records the decline of Port Macquarie as families leave for other climes. It also contains references to her uncle’s growing problems. The end result is not clear to Annabella, for these things happen slowly. Finally, Lake Innes can no longer be maintained.

Today, Lake Innes and all its surrounds have been recaptured by bush, the house itself finally destroyed by fire. The tracks that the gentlemen and ladies of the house used to ride along to the beach or Port no longer exist. Yet the memory lingers quite intensely in Annabella’s writing. We can see the flowers, the gardens, the people, the lifestyle, memories that would stay with Annabella for the rest of her life.

Note to readers: Belshaw's World began as  a column in the Armidale Express. I have resumed writing the column because I  enjoy it. You can see all the Belshaw World  columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013

The New England challenge

Over on Northern Rivers Geology, Rod Holland kindly featured one of my history posts, History Revisited - New England gold fields lost to time. 

In the post just before(Doctor John Lindsay), Rod featured the work of one of the University of New England geologists.

I didn't know that John had died 2008. He and I overlapped in time at UNE, but I didn't study geology and really only knew him as a face on campus. It is only now, years later, that his work has become important to me because of the way that it informs others including Rod. 

We, and I am thinking just of we New Englanders, have been very lucky in many ways. The things that we fought for in our efforts to grow our area and to retain our identity were hard won. Much has been lost. Yet the chain effects continue.

Our ancestors' efforts created the first university in Australia outside the metros. The students who came like John created New England knowledge. Most, and this is the story of the New England diaspora, went on to other things, but their contribution remains.

When Rod, I and others write today, we draw from and preserve that earlier work, 

New England doesn't exist. We New Englanders can agree on neither name nor boundaries. And yet, after 150 years, we remain the only area in Australia capable of mounting a sustained challenge to the intellectual and political dominance imposed by the metro elites.

We still demand to be heard, we still write, we still care. That's no bad thing.      

Historic Gardens of New England exhibition, Potts Point, Sydney

I see from Archives Outside that there is a special photographic exhibition, Historic Gardens of New England, opening on 2 July at the Australian Institute of Architects in Tusculum, 3 Manning Street, Potts Point. The exhibition has been developed by the Garden History Society Northern New South Wales Sub Branch at Armidale.  The photographs vary from the grandest to the most unusual and come from collections held by the National Trust, University of New England Archives, Historical Societies and individuals.

Just to set the flavour, here is one photo from the exhibition. Isn't it a remarkable shot? New England has many grand gardens from the Hunter to the border, although this exhibition focuses on the New England, the Tablelands.  This garden shows the sheer industry of a school garden.

The exhibition ruins for a month. The curators, Bill Oates and Graham Wilson, will speak at 6.30 pm at the opening on 2 July. I can't give you a link so that you can book, it's down, but I will add it as soon as the link is up.

Postscript

The link is http://www.gardenhistorysociety.org.au/branches/sydney_&_nthn_nsw/

My New England 5 - jumpers and jackets with the occasional pearls

For  years, I bought much of my clothing in Armidale no matter where I was living. This held even after I moved to Sydney for family reasons.

In Sydney, I would prowl David Jones or other retailers and then, dissatisfied, return to home turf.

I suspect that there is something deeply psychological  with this particular obsession. Or, maybe, it just reflects my good taste!

Armidale is quite a cold place and very much has had its own fashion style. This shot from one of the local tourism bodies, Experience the Highs, brought some of that back. The thick jumpers, the jackets, the moleskins, the tweeds.

Mind you, the world changes. The local styles have to a degree become submerged in that standardised modernity that so marks the modern fashion world.

Yet memory remains of girls in thin ball dresses, breath frosting the air, gathered outside around the drums used as heaters with the fire and smoke drifting into the air. Of girls standing by the fuel stove in the kitchen hitching their dresses up at the back to get the warm air from the stove. Of sitting there around the kitchen table drinking gins and tonics in the early morning after the ball. Of girls in thick fashion jumpers the next day.

And the pearls? They often wore them. Actually, I was a bit frightened of their sophistication. I sometimes felt so gauche! Still, that shot did take me back.   

Sydney releases a North Coast Rivers marine-based industry policy document

The Sydney Government has released a new planning document, Marine-Based Industry Policy – Far North Coast & Mid North Coast NSW. My thanks to  North Coast Voices for the lead.

Looking at the material, I couldn't quite understand the NCV accompanying post - How Big BOF and his mates intend to f#ck the Northern Rivers of New South Wales. How does the policy statement do that, f#ck the Northern River? I must be missing something!

By the way, I found the river summaries in the attachment useful.

My New England 4 - the colours of New England

Back in September 2009, I wrote a post called The Colours of New England that was something of a photo essay looking at changing colours from east to west, north to south. It remains one of our my favourite posts.

Then last year I gave a presentation to the Armidale North Rotary Club called Northern Images - Landscape, life and literature through New England eyes. There I combined art, film and literature with a dash of history to try to explain the interconnections, the commonalities and differences, in the way that New Englanders saw themselves, were seen by others.

This film poster for a very well known 1977 Australian movie was one of the illustrations I used. If you look at the short Wikipedia entry on the film you wouldn't know that it was a New England story, and yet it is. The film is based on a New England travelling film show operating out of Tamworth, and was filmed largely on the Liverpool Plains while the last scenes were shot on the Clarence.

In the Colours of New England I talked about the Liverpool Plains. The Picture Show Man captures in film the same colours. Driving as I so often did between Armidale and Canberra through the Western Slopes and Plains, I explored the changing colours in detail,       

My New England 3 - rain on the Uralla Road

This painting by Julia Griffin  is called simply rain on the Uralla road. Sadly. I can't give you a link to her work. It has vanished.

For many of us going north to the Tableland, the main road is though Nowendoc and then past Walcha to Uralla. This painting captures a mood and scene that I know well. I really know this road.

My New England 2 - Autumn colours

The Tablelands, Australia's largest tablelands, form the heart of New England. Rivers flowing to the north, west, east and south. Colours change across New England from west to east, north to south, something I described in The colours of New England.

On the Tablelands, autumn is a time of colour because of the introduced trees. This photo from the Armidale Express Facebook page will give you a feel for the beauty.

My New England 1 - horses on a long point

I have been trying to explain to a friend my love of New England. It's hard. So I decided to start a new series that my friend could follow along drawing especially from some of my collected visual material, but not limiting it to that. Further comments follow the photo.

 

This photo is by my old blogging friend Gordon Smith. It is called secret places, taken to the east of Armidale

This is such a New England scene.  I have stood on or near where those horses are standing. The blue mountains stretch into the vastness. On my last trip to this place, a friend and I stopped for a picnic overlooking a gorge. The view was spectacular.

Gordon Smith's Nymboida River

I accept that posting on this blog has become sadly irregular. Getting back into the mode, I realised that it had been some time since I ran one of Gordon Smith's photos.

The Nymboida River rises in the the northern foothills of New England's Barren Mountain (1,370 m, 4,495 ft) and then descends 1,250 metres (4,100 ft) over its 165 kilometres (103 mile course). It seems so peaceful in Gordon's photo taken at Nymboida , but parts of this river are a major white river rafting venue. This photo is taken at the little village of Nymboida in the Clarence Valley about  40k south west from Grafton.