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Reminiscences of Trix McConnell. |
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The original photographs illustrating these stories are a part of the collection of Michael and Kath Slow. Thank you for allowing them to be a part of the Trix McConnell stories. Digital copies are now stored in the collection of Harry and Jill Sweeney.
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The roots of my family tree were planted in England in 1862, when a young Irish carpenter, Michael Sweeney, 26, married 17 year old Hannah Neal, daughter of a Coventry shoemaker, apprenticed to a silk weaver in Coventry. It was the customary mass wedding in Manchester cathedral, with several couples standing at the altar at the same time. This young couple were to become my grandparents in Gawler, but their first home in Manchester was a terrace house, 100 cottages linked together by a governor bar to which weavers were able to attach their looms and do their weaving at home.
The first baby arrived a year later, a daughter Emily, followed in due course by two more girls, Mary Hannah and Lydia. Then came the longed for son jack, followed by another girl, Amelia (Millie). Millie only lived for a year, pneumonia cutting short her young life, and the baby was buried in two feet of snow during that particularly cold Manchester winter. Later another girl was born, and also named Millie, who eventually became my mother. All of the children were baptized in St. Georges church, Manchester.
Michael was a skilled furniture maker, and Hannah a weaver, but to eke out the family income, grandmother also managed a small inn. This was not a success, as Michael's hospitality to his mates took up most of the profits.
The family had a pet monkey, Jinny, which became a great attraction to the customers in the bar. The men would turn their backs to talk to friends, leaving their glass of beer on the bar behind them. Jinny, who liked her beer, would sidle along the bar and put her little hand into the glass, helping herself to free beer, much to the amusement of the onlookers in the bar! One day the monkey picked up grandfather's watch, attracted by the ticking sound, but when grandfather threatened to return her to her cage, Jinny fled to the top of the roof. There she sat, threatening to throw the watch down, until grandfather poured a glass of beer to entice the monkey down from the roof and safely retrieved his watch.
Some years later trouble came. A strike saw Michael out of work, and Hannah trying to cope with a family of small children. Michael listened with interest to a speaker telling of the fortunes to be made in Australia. "Shall we go to Australia lass?", asked Michael. "I will go wherever you wish" said Hannah.
She thought she was safe. The speaker had said they would take a man with four children and they had five. This was overcome by signing the eldest girl Emily 13 as a single woman, and the die was cast. The Sweeney family was going to Australia. The family tree was to be transplanted from the cold, damp soil of England to the hot, and soil of Australia. Oh the packing and the sorting. Things to take - things to sell, or give to a friend.
At last the great day came. Farewells were said, and Michael, Hannah, and their little family boarded the British Enterprise for the long, six month journey to Australia. Can the people who now fly between England and Australia even imagine what that journey was like in the early days, especially with a family of small children? Baby Millie, who took her first steps on the unsteady deck of the sailing ship, developed measles, and when the ship arrived at Port Adelaide she and her mother were transferred to the quarantine ship "The Hulk".
Michael was left to cope with the rest of the family - Michael, who had never cooked a meal in his life had, with the advice from his young daughters, to turn the raw food rationed out into something which, when put into the ships ovens, could feed himself and his children while the ship was held in quarantine. Can you see him sitting with a bowl between his knees, "what does your mother put in next lass?" Meanwhile all of the luggage had to be brought up from the hold and fumigated because a passenger was suspected to suffer from smallpox. All of their carefully packed china and linen was strewn upon the deck in the wind and surf.
Day followed day in the steaming heat of summer, until at last they were allowed to land, and Michael and his little brood came ashore. He made straight for Gawler, where his older brother Dan had lived for some years. Dan was a builder, who had been brought out from England by Mr Angas to build homes at Angaston for his German settlers. Many of the houses now standing in Gawler were built by Dan and his sons. Gawler at the time of Michael's arrival in 1876 was already a flourishing little township - the first outside Adelaide. Twenty five miles from the city, it became a stopping place on the way to the Burra copper mines.
Situated between the South and the North Para rivers, it boasted some very nice homesteads, and Murray Street was lined with shops of all description. The main residential portion was in Cowan Street - known locally as Church Hill. Here were the Catholic, the Church of England, the Presbyterian, the Congregational, and the Methodist Churches, all within a stones throw of each other.
At the bottom of the hill facing the oval the first public school was built, and to this school was sent the only son, the pride of the Sweeney family.
By the time Hannah arrived the three older girls were attending the Catholic School, but this did not suit Hannah, a strict 'Church of England', and she immediately took them away, and sent them to a small private girls school nearby run by the Misses Lewis. This did not make for good relations between the sisters-in-law, and Hannah soon found herself a small house, a street away from her brother's home. Borrowing a wheelbarrow, she transported her goods and chattels to her new home.
On the way she passed a house from which ribald laughter came, much to Hannah's disgust - "These ignorant Australians". As this laughter was repeated each time she passed with her wheelbarrow, Hannah's temper grew hotter, until she realized it was coming from a tame cockatoo.
It was in this little house that Hannah's first Australian baby was born - alas another girl - a boy could have been forgiven, but another girl - the last thing she wanted in this new land.
Michael had no difficulty in obtaining work - a good carpenter, he started immediately with James Martin as a sawyer, and there he stayed until his old age 30 years later, surely a record.
Water, a problem in this dry land, was obtained by two methods, catching and storing every drop of the winter rains in tanks, or from underground bores. Both kinds of water could be purchased ,by people unable to obtain it otherwise, by the bucketful. A neighbour of Hannah's purchased two buckets of rainwater each day, and swapped one for Hannah's bucket of bore water. The hard brackish bore water was used for dish washing and "slops', saving the precious rainwater to use carefully for drinking, cooking and washing the clothes and children.
Many years later a dam was built on the South Para River in the hills, and the water piped down to the town. Then those people who could afford to pay for it were able to use water for growing vegetables and flowers.
One thing which worried Hannah on her arrival in Australia was the fly problem, so the first item of furniture to be made was a large fly proof safe. This safe still sits in my kitchen after more than 100 years.
With the arrival of the new baby, the little house on Church Hill was too small, and the family moved to a larger house on Duck Flat, on the other side of the South Para River. The approach to this from the town proper was across a foot bridge, commonly called a "swing" bridge, because it was swung across the river between large gum trees. To generations of children it was literally a "swing" bridge. Even as late as my school days, little boys loved to catch and swing little girls on the way to and from school, until they squealed in terror.
Many Aboriginal families camped near this bridge, and often held corroborees on the flat of the river bank. They used to tell the school boys to bring them wood and they would hold a corroboree, so dad's wood heap was often raided by a small son to provide fuel for the corroboree fires.
The family lived happily at Duck Flat for some years. Here another boy was born, but sadly, after nearly two years of life he contracted the dreaded diarrhoea, and died at Christmas. Grandma was very upset because the little coffin was taken from the house almost immediately. When her baby daughter had died in England the coffin had been allowed to remain in the house for a whole week, but that was during a cold winter, not the hot Australian summer. The little Australian boy was buried in the Anglican cemetery, to which Hannah and the girls made many pilgrimages with flowers. Although later two more boys were born, Hannah never got over her grief at the loss of her longed for second boy.
After the birth of two more boys, Sam and Ern, the Duck Flat house was also too small, so the family moved to a comfortable cottage in Union Street (now Second Street). Here the kitchen was built away from the main house, helping to keep the living quarters cool and free of cooking smells.
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The family grew up happily with the town. The older girls went into service and married the men of their choice, producing families to carry on the traditions of Michael and Hannah. Lydia married a fisherman, Bill Pennington, and lived at Port Vincent, where as well as acting midwife to the women in the surrounding district, she reared eleven children of her own.
Emily also married a fisherman at Glenelg, and had ten children. Mary Hannah (Polly) travelled to Western Australia to keep house for her brother Jack. Here she married a miner. The two younger girls, Millie and Carrie, were left at home.
Millie was apprenticed to a local tailor, and Carrie to a dressmaker, but Jack, bringing home his mate Jim from the Western Australian goldfields for Christmas, rather upset the family plans.
The next Christmas Millie married her Jim, and following in her mothers footsteps, left home and friends to follow her man to far places on the goldfields of Western Australia. However, when she knew her first baby was on the way, the call of mother and her family doctor brought her 500 miles to the coast, and a seven day voyage by steamer to mother.
Here in Gawler I was born and here I have lived for over 90 years. Unfortunately, when I was three months old, and my mother was planning her return to her home on the goldfields, she became ill and died, leaving me in the care of my grandparents and my aunt Carrie.
As is the usual procedure when the family grows up, so you move to a bigger house. That was the pattern my family followed. just before I was born, Jack provided finance to help my grandfather build his dream house, named Godiva Cottage, after the Lady Godiva of Coventry, on the outskirts of the town. Away from the maddening crowd, but also away from the shops.
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Grandmother's dream too, with a cellar and an underground tank. They moved in before a pump was put on the tank, and water had to be drawn with a bucket. One day the youngest boy Ern fell in. Fortunately the tank only had a couple of feet of water in it, and he was able to keep his head above water until a bucket was let down to bring him up. That night a thunderstorm filled the tank, and next day a pump was put on the tank.
It was into this far away part of the town that I was born and grew up. My earliest memories are of a large block of land and neat garden, but a long walk to town. But we thought nothing of the walk on a Saturday night.
Saturday night was always a happy time. The shops were all gay with gas lamps, no traffic in the street, chatting with old friends you only saw of a Saturday night. Such were the happy days before fast traffic took over, before war and loud music.
One thing I remember well - Saturday night in Murray Street, walking between my aunt and grandmother, one small hand clasped in each of theirs. It was a long walk for a little girl, from Godiva cottage in Ford Street, where I was born, across the bridge into the bustle of Saturday night shopping. So I was very glad when I was hoisted up to sit on the shop counter while granny gave her order to the shopkeeper.
I was fascinated with the activities at some shops, particularly at Sheard's Essex House, with its overhead money carriers which ran on wires, taking money to the office and returning with the change. I suppose other shops also had this system, but I don't remember seeing it anywhere else. Another shop which took my fancy was Causby's grocery shop. This was at the top of the street, and was very welcome for a different reason. I was lifted onto the shop counter here too, but the main attraction, apart from a rest for tired feet, was the large biscuit tin Mr Causby always produced.
Murray Street was lit by gas lamps, and so were the shops, making everything look gay and bright. There was not even horse traffic in the street on Saturday night. The horses were all tied up in front of the five or six hotels where the father of the family rested with his horse while mother did the shopping and exchanged gossip with the friends she only met on Saturday night.
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While 1 was still very young, a new tram bridge was built over the river, and we could travel to the shops in comfort on the horse tram. The new bridge also carried the locomotives built at the james Martin foundry to the railway station.
Some years later, when the military decided to set up a training camp at the race course, the bridge became notorious. It was a long way from the camp to the shops in Murray Street, so when the boys had leave on Saturday, they all decided to go for a trip to the shops on the tram, but the old horse didn't agree. He stopped when he got to the 'brew', which is what the uphill rise in Murray Street was called. Nothing could persuade the horse to go any further, so the trainees all got out of the tram and pushed to the top of the hill!
My first school was a small private school in what is now 14th Street, run by two sisters, the Misses Knot. I remember taking part in a procession of the school children through Murray Street to the showgrounds, where we were addressed by His Excellency the Governor. In the course of his talk he stressed the fact that there was another person more important than he was. Of course he was referring to the King, but when he asked the children to name that person, the children from the public school shouted with one accord 'O.D. Jones". he being their well-loved headmaster.
From Miss Knot's school 1 graduated to the Public school under the care of such dedicated teachers as the Misses Ada and Daisy Finch. The hero of our school days was Mr Bruin, who was killed in the First World War.
Owing to ill health I had a two year break from Public school education, and attended the Catholic School. This was to be a rest cure, to do only one year's work in two years. Here, I was on the other side of the feud between the Catholic and Protestant youngsters. With the schools so close it was constant war between the two. In class at the catholic school, the teacher would ask us questions.
When I got a question right, the other kids got a whack with the cane. Soon the boys started rubbing the seat of their pants to soften the blow as soon I got a question right!
The nun we all loved best was very sick with TB, and had to take her classes outside under a tree. The young curate often came to sit outside with our class, and we decided he loved her too. Sadly, she died during my second year at the school.
When 1 returned to the Public School I was, as we expected, put down a year, and continued at this school to the end of my primary education. However, illness again robbed me of the Dux medal, as 1 was in hospital on the day of the last test. Illness also finished my school days, and ended my dream of a school teacher's career.
Oh what happy memories! A lonely little girl dropped into a house full of happy-go-lucky youngsters who thought the sun shone out of their 'mainland' cousin. A little timber house in the middle of the scrub, with palliases on the bedroom floor where sleeping children could be accommodated without the fear of falling out of bed, and uncle Bill the fisherman with his stories of the one that got away!
Family visits to Port Vincent were usually short, but then came the edict that I was to go on a long visit alone! The boat left Port Adelaide early, before the first train from Gawler could arrive, so aunt Carrie and I spent the night with friends in Adelaide, so that we could be on board before the ship sailed. I was put in the care of the Captain, wrapped in rugs and told to stay put. Alas, what had been a nice cosy part of the deck in the morning became rough, cold and windy in the afternoon! A kindly couple took pity on me and tried to move me to a more sheltered spot, but I would not move until the captain said it was OK.
When we arrived at Port Vincent, uncle Sam and aunt Lyd looked in vain for my grandmother and aunt Carrie- it was hard to convince them that I had come on the ship alone!
A great welcome met me at aunt Lyd's, but when cousin Myrt asked me to help with the dishes I replied 'I came here for a holiday, and if you make me work I will go home on the next boat'. Fortunately aunt Lyd heard me, and soon put me in my place. 'Your auntie said you were quite well enough to help, so get to it!' There was no further talk of going home.
One of our favorite games was our cemetery. Everything that died, from a little rock crab to baby birds that had fallen from their nests was taken and buried in one of our cemeteries (we each had one and worked hard to make it better than the others). We carried buckets of white sand from the beach to make paths over the black sand of the scrub. Shells outlined the graves, and poor old Myrt was forbidden to walk on the paths with her crippled foot in case she spoiled the effect.
A spit divided the main beach from the northern part, making the north end very private, and it was here we had our playhouse made with boughs of scrub, and here we kept our treasures and no one ever interfered with them. Alas those days are gone, houses are now built right on the beachfront, and most of the scrub is gone, but it is still my favorite beach, and I took my caravan there whenever possible.
One day stands out in that holiday, our baking day. Aunt Lyd, the midwife, went out on one of her visits, leaving Edie in charge of us littlies. I had been given a toy stove at Christmas, so we decided to light a fire under it and see if it would cook. Edie had a better idea, cook in the kitchen oven! So we little ones were sent off to find suitable tins to cook doll size cakes.
Cigarette tins, tobacco tins, all had to be cleaned and greased. The cakes looked beautiful. A ribbon cake and a jam sandwich were the pick of the baking, and Edie was torn between pride and fear, proud to show mum what she had done, and fear at what mum would say about her lighting the kitchen stove. Pride won! Even after mum had seen the cakes we were not allowed to eat them. Aunt Carrie had to see them too. After all the work we had done cleaning the tins, not a bite did we have!
Ford Street is the original road from Adelaide through the town of Gawler to the north, crossing the South Para River by a ford. It was here that a party of early surveyors found a dead man, and having no shovels or implements to bury him, put the body in a hollow gum tree until they could return - thus giving the name 'Dead Man's Pass' as it is known today, to the ford. This made Ford Street a very good setting for a ghost story!
For us, it all started at a school social- a lot of youngsters and an interesting point of talk. In fact, no one could talk of anything else but the ghost. My friend and I came home full of it. What made it more interesting to us was the fact that until a short time before, we had lived next door to the haunted house and knew the people concerned.
One of the children was a son of the family aged about six or seven. The other was a neighbour's child, a girl of about thirteen, who after the death of her father, ran away from her unkind stepmother and took refuge with the neighbouring family. When these children were in the house, things happened! Stones clattered on the roof, lights flashed, furniture moved, and anyone sitting on the bed was tossed onto the floor!
As news of the strange happenings spread, the crowd gathered. The local constable, 'Old Rolly' as he was called, came to sort things out. You can imagine what he was like with a name like that,- no ghost was going to tip him off the bed! He was wrong he landed on the floor just like everyone else.
When my friend and I arrived home after school, we pestered my aunt into taking us to see the fun. My grandfather, after a bit of persuading, agreed to go with us, and we were very glad to have a protector, even if it was only grandfather. Alas, when we arrived the fun was over - the police had taken charge of the children, and in their absence the ghost was satisfied and peace reigned. Not the interest of the crowd however. Everyone had stories to tell and explanations for what had happened.
Some said it was the ghost of Mary's father, come back to haunt her for having left home, some that the neighbour across the paddock was using wires underground to make things happen. Others said that the children had been hypnotised, or that the strange happenings were caused by wireless, a new invention at the time.
To make matters more interesting, young soldiers from a military camp, set up on the racecourse not far from the haunted house, were glad of somewhere different to go and something amusing to do. Their stories of what had happened were very ingenious and funny, but perhaps a little exaggerated.
The neighbour across the paddock seemed to be the chief suspect, as he was new to the town and therefore fair game for gossip. The local hotelkeeper swore that he was forewarned of the newcomers visits to his bar, and what he would order to drink. Actually, nothing was ever solved. Years later I was talking to a police officer who had been involved in the investigation, and he described the events as 'one of the unsolved mysteries in the police files'.
Now, more than eighty years later, many of the people who witnessed the ghostly happenings have gone. The little haunted cottage still stands, surrounded by new houses. The name 'Ford' street has been changed to First Street, and a bitumen road has replaced the old dirt track which once carried the traffic across the ford.
The children concerned have grown through adulthood without, as far as I know, further harassment by spirits, and anyway, people no longer believe in ghosts. But I know that the events which caused such excitement in Ford Street on that night in 1916 really happened. What or who caused them will probably never be discovered, but will for ever be known as the 'Ghost of Ford Street'.
Colonel Light surveyed the town of Gawler at the junction of two rivers, the South Para and the North Para. After they joined, they were called the Gawler River. I was never allowed to go down to the river because auntie had nearly drowned twice after falling in while scrambling around the steep river banks. Grandmother said she would drown if she fell in a third time.
In flood times the river which reached the junction first carried on across the flats down towards the sea, but the other river would be banked up at the junction and sometimes flowed back towards the town. The swing bridge at Dead Mans Pass was completely destroyed by one of these floods but the bridges at Goose Island and Duck Flat were rebuilt over the years, and, are still in use today.
Before the Willaston Bridge was built the only way to cross the North Para was by boat. Even the Church of England rector, who conducted the services at St. George's on Church Hill, had to cross the river to go home because he was living at Kingsford until the rectory in Cowan Street was built. One night after church the boatman delivered the rector safely to the Willaston side of the. river, but on the way back the boat overturned and the boatman was drowned. After this tragic accident the Willaston Bridge was built, and people could cross the river safely. But in the year 2000, a woman driving her car across the bridge crashed through the railings and was killed.
Over the years a number of attempts have been made to dam the South Para. in the centre of the town, without much success. Most attempts failed because the water which should have made a beautiful lake seeped through the bed of the river to fill the wells of the townsfolk living nearby! Eventually a final attempt was made after a section of the river bed was found to consist of hard stone. At last the Gawler people could enjoy boating and swimming races up and down the river, which extended beyond the tram bridge. The fun continued for one whole summer, and one Gawler business man was fined for indecent behavior, appearing in Murray Street in his neck to knee bathing suit!
Then came the rain in the hills, and the great flow of water meeting the barrage cut a big slice out of Goose Island to make a new path around the barrage and down to the sea. After the flood, the very expensive barrage was left sitting forlornly in the middle of the dried up river bed, and was finally blown up with dynamite. So ended the last attempt to provide water sports in Gawler.
To a schoolgirl war meant the loss of friends, knitting socks and helmets, and lots of entertainments to raise money. It was not until later, when the friends didn't come back that the sadness of war hit them. The night the Armistice was signed in 1918 saw me at night school. When the registrar told us, we shut our books and made down the hill to Murray Street where we joined the crowd. On the way we passed a motor garage with a pile of kerosine tins which made a lovely noise.
Peace was it - twenty years of trouble in one place or another - just long enough for the sons of Anzacs to be born, grown and ready to take the brunt of the fighting in World War Two.
Troopships were always coming and -going in the first war, but in the Second no one knew when the boys were off.
The big thing for me at this time was the Girl Guide salvage scheme. This was started in Adelaide, where the aim was to provide an ambulance, and the Gawler Guides had to join in the scheme.
We were given some discarded baby prams, and armed with a pram the girls called on people for their junk - tins, bottles and anything else anyone wanted to get rid of. Some things were quite valuable. A second wife gave us all the first wife's wedding presents! A local motor salesman gave us the use of one of his showrooms to sort out and store the junk, and a retired man undertook to collect anything too big for the girls to handle.
It was soon seen that the Gawler guides had a good source of income, so we decided to try for an ambulance of our own. A fund was started, and we raised enough money for the ambulance, and some over! Much of this success was due to the encouragement and very hard work of our Guide Commissioner, Mrs Bond, who died in 1998 at the age of 100.
Australia had its first taste of war at this time with the bombing of Darwin, but luckily there was no invasion, and soon we were rejoicing in peace again. But sadly, not world peace, there is always fighting going on somewhere.
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Mrs Covernton was a captain in the St. Johns Ambulance Brigade in Gawler, in charge of the girls, when I was about 18. We were to take part in a big procession with all the servicemen. Mrs Covernton had us all dressed up in white uniforms, with white stockings, white shoes, and black capes. Then it was time to take up our allotted place in the procession, behind the Light horsemen! We were so clean and white when we began the march all around Gawler, but by the time we reached the end of the march at the oval we were not so clean!
During the Second World War our St Johns brigade girls had to be trained in many nursing skills. When the Japanese troops were thought to be coming down from northern Australia, Gawler was considered to be a strategic town because it had railway crossings over two rivers, and was on the main road to Adelaide, so anyone with any nursing experience was called to stand by. My friend Pat Hall was a trained midwife so all the ambulance girls were to be trained in midwifery by her. One night when we were going to our lecture we were met by a very excited girl who said 'listen everyone, I know all about it now, I have had experience. Our cat has just had kittens!
After my school days ended with several weeks in hospital and several more weeks convalescence, I had to think of the future. Night school was the answer- book keeping, shorthand and typing- so started the long hard slog.
To make things easier financially and otherwise, grandfather and auntie decided to set me up in a little shop on our property, which Perce Waters had occupied as a cobbler until his enlistment in the army. Grandfather promised him the shop would be his when he returned, so setting me up served two purposes- to give me some interest and to keep the shop available for Perce when he returned. It was a great idea! Not very good financially, but I could cope with my school homework while keeping shop, and auntie 'kept shop while I was at night school.
With a military camp on the race course there were many interesting incidents. Grandfather made a giant Coolgardie safe so I could always supply a cool drink, and cigarettes at 3d a packet were a great line. Once even a soldier produced a golden half sovereign to pay for a 3d packet of cigarettes.
Another interesting visitor was Weary Willie, a well known identity in the town. He wanted a drink, but when 1 offered him a nice cold water from my Coolgardie safe he threw it away. ' Water's weakening, lady' he said, and went off to find something more strengthening.
The shop kept me interested for a while, but when a friend asked me to do his book keeping for him I lost no time in agreeing. Alas my elaborate accounting did not work well with his small business, but I earned my salary keeping records of his sales, paying his bills etc.
Saturday mornings I was employed by our local butcher making out his bills, so I was doing quite well. But there were no future prospects, so when my friend from night school arranged for me to take her job when she left with her parents for New Zealand, I was very happy.
Alas, I did not have to wait until jean left for New Zealand! She was friendly with a boy who had a clubbed foot, and also a motor bike. On the next Saturday she rode pillion on her boyfriend's motor bike to a football match at Roseworthy. On the way home they stopped at the level crossing, and it is thought that the boy's club foot slipped on the brake. The bike careered into the path of the oncoming train, and both rider and pillion passenger were killed instantly. I was asked to take over her job immediately. Although saddened by her loss, it was a big step up the career ladder for me, and I held the job very happily for a year.
That 12 months was a respite for me. I kept Mr Graue's books and managed his cash desk. Then came the next move. Our night school teacher rang to see if I was interested in legal office work. An interview was arranged, and full of trepidation I went to see Mr Rudall, the town solicitor.
Shades of Dickens! The walls were lined with law books and dockets, and sitting among them all was an old gentleman of the white collar and tie brigade, the present senior member of Rudall and Rudall, a firm in its third generation. 'I hope you will stay longer with us' he said, after inquiring about the length of my previous employment. I did, for 33 years!
My first day as a law clerk was a disaster. In the back room of the little office was a fireplace with an accumulation of waste paper. 'While I am gone to lunch Miss McConnell, you can burn those'. just as I had put a match to the papers, I heard the front door open, so I went out to see who it was. When 1 returned to my fire a wind had caught it, and a whole stack of dockets piled on the side of the fireplace was blazing furiously.
Fortunately there was a hose in the backyard, why I don't know because there was no garden, and by the time Mr Rudall returned from lunch I had reduced the pile of dockets to smoldering ruins. 'Miss McConnell, what are you doing?'said Mr Rudall. as he appeared at the door. 'Well never mind, I was thinking of burning them anyway', and we set to work to clear up the mess.
Next day we continued the cleanup in earnest. R.J. Rudall, the junior partner in the firm joined us, and we all got nicely dirty. 'Where is the bowl to wash?' asked RJ. 'We don't have a bowl' replied his father. A few doors down the street was Eudunda Farmer's store, and I soon beheld RJ, a smart young military officer just returned from overseas, striding down Murray Street with a tin bowl under one arm and a cake of velvet soap in the other hand. Could there be two such different gentlemen, one from the old school and one from the new!
This difference was clearly seen in the case of the shop in our hands to let. The town 'pro' wanted it, so I went to the partners to tell them. 'Tell her it is let' said young RJ 'Oh no, that is not true' said old SB, 'tell her it is not to let- not to let to her’
Another amusing but very sad incident occurred when a very strangely dressed lady appeared at the door and demanded to see the solicitor. What name ? I asked in the usual a. Queen Caroline' she replied in a very haughty voice. Not wanting to appear funny in front of Mr Rudall, I said I couldn't catch her name, and left it to him. The new client assured him that she was a queen who had escaped captivity. After being married to King Edward's second son, she had been stripped of her title and wealth, and imprisoned. She carried a suitcase of documents to support her claims. RJ Rudall listened to her story, and then quietly telephoned the mental home. He kept talking with her until a nurse came to take her back to the home. The suitcase of documents turned out to be advertisements for ladies underwear and corsets, torn from the newspaper!
RJ was very popular with Gawler sportsmen, playing cricket and football with them before being sent to college in England. On his return to Gawler, many of these were only too ready to renew the acquaintance.
One of these I particularly recall. It was getting near the day for the Anzac procession. Goody Draper, a good but unreliable signwriter, came to RJ for help. He wanted to march on Anzac day with the boys, but didn't have a decent suit to wear. Result - Goody very smart in one of RJ's cast offs, and wearing the suit for the rest of the year. Before the next Anzac march, Goody again sought help from RJ to put on a smart front among his pals. This ritual was repeated for several years.
In 30 years I saw many changes in the firm. My first surprise, although the others may have seen it coming, was the remarriage of SB Rudall to his youthful sweetheart, now widowed, and his departure to live in her beautiful home at Mt. Lofty.
The next surprise was RJ's debut in Parliament, first in the ranks, and then as Attorney General. Later he became Minister for Education. All this meant changes in the office - an accountant and a telephone attendant, both of whom spent many years with the firm.
Then came the war (1940), with both of RJ's boys enlisting, although Peter was too young, and advanced his age. When he approached the recruiting officer, the man asked “Are you and your brother twins? He has just been through, and you say you are the same age' Peter eventually served with the navy, and was lost when his ship was sunk. Jake joined up with his beloved horses from Roseworthy Agricultural College and fought at Tobruk. He met his death in New Guinea. The heartbroken RJ threw himself into politics, leaving his legal practice, in which Peter would have been the fourth generation of Rudalls, to a new young lawyer unrelated to the family.
At the same time my aunt became very ill, and I had to take time off to look after her. By this time RJ was also very ill, and the new Mr Bills said he could not manage with me working part time. It was to be full time or nothing. So ended my career as a law clerk. But the words which made up for a lot were attached by Mrs Rudall to a legacy she left me on her death, 'for your good and loyal service’
One interesting, but not too well paid part time job I had at this time was as a correspondent for the Advertiser. They paid one shilling an inch for copy but did not object to an expense account. As I had a car, it paid me to travel around the country and claim petrol money. One very interesting piece came from a trip a few miles out of Gawler, on the way to another assignment. While eating my picnic lunch in the scrub, I noticed a long line of ants. They were evidently moving house, as every one of them carried a burden, some a bundle of little sticks, some tufts of grass. I wrote it all down and was well paid for the story, whereas the function I was sent to report netted only a few shillings! Another perk was reporting the local show, not only free admission, but a very nice lunch and afternoon tea!
I continued a couple of part time jobs, but my working life in Gawler ended when Auntie died, and I went to Borneo to help with missionary work for a year. This story is told in another book 'A Year For God' written in 1994.
So I have lived in Gawler for nearly 100 years, and have seen it grow from a small country town to one of the largest country towns in the state. I have seen it through two wars, a depression, and a couple of droughts. I have seen electricity replace the few and far between gas lamps. I have seen Murray Street grow from a quiet country street, to a problem street, with heavy traffic going north competing with the Barossa bound traffic, and the local shoppers wanting parks for their cars.
Now we have new houses, units, shops and big shopping centres. How far removed from the day the butcher came to your door, let down the back of his box-like cart, and you chose your joint, or your chops, or sausages - "Oh how unhygienic" I can hear you say - but how pleasant. The baker came to your back door, with his basket of bread. I had a dog which, unless he was fastened up, chased the poor baker out of the yard. One day I went to the Post Office, my dog with me. Into the Post Office came the baker, and over the counter he went, with the dog a short way behind. Then there was the green grocer in his covered van ~ boxes of lovely looking vegetables and fruit on both sides. What a temptation to buy. The grocer came each week, collected your money from last week's delivery, and took your order which he delivered the next day.
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The old school still stands as it did in my mothers day, now teaching the basic rules to the third generation of children. Newer modern schools and private colleges are springing up on the outskirts of the town, all offering higher education and more technical knowledge, but I doubt more happiness than we had in the old days. Larger faster cars, TV entertainment - rush, rush - no time to sit and think. Think of the beauty of the countryside, the trees, the birds, the starry nights, the sunny days.
I have seen a little of both worlds, the good and the bad. With a little car and caravan I have covered many miles of country and seen many towns, met many people, but I still love Gawler, the town of my birth, and hope it will continue to thrive and maintain its many lovely places - its hills and plains, its rivers and parks, its old fashioned shops and dwellings, but particularly its friendly and hospitable people.
Thus ran the Tourist Bureau folder, ands it was true. Six lazy carefree days, gliding along
Australia's greatest waterway. It was indeed a lovely trip. The trim neat little motor-driven craft was fitted for comfort in every, possible way. Add to this good food, perfectly cooked, small but comfortable airy cabins, a Captain who was more than a captain, who was a perfect host, whose only thought was the comfort of his passenger, good company and an ever changing panorama of' beautiful scenery, and what more could anyone want for a restful holiday in these days of stress and strain?
Leaving Adelaide by motor coach at 8 am on Monday morning we travelled through the Mount Lofty ranges to Murray Bridge. The hills were at their best. The beautiful green of the newly clothed trees, with splashes of yellow broom and gorse, hawthorn looking as though a snow storm has come their way, and flowers of every shade, wild or cultivated, made a blaze of colour.
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Murray Bridge was reached at 10.30 am and there at the wharf was the “Merle” which was to be our home for the next few days. Morning tea and hot scones were awaiting us, and at 11 am we started down river to Lake Alexandrina. Willows, weeping and basket, lined the banks and beneath these could be seen hundreds of little motor craft worth thousands of pounds, tied up, probably for the duration of the war, or account of petrol shortage. Long Island soon came into view, this is a long narrow island stretching for about three miles in the centre of the river- the picnickers paradise- but alas now almost wholly under water through the raising of the river level by the building of the Goolwa barrages. It is a sad thought that this beautiful spot as well as the miles and miles of trees at present growing on the banks will die because of the high level of the water. Experiments are being made to save the willows by lopping them, and allowing the dead timber to rot and collect debris, thus raising the level of the bank. It was hoped to make Long Island a bird and animal sanctuary and those interested had gone so far as to plant on the island the particular gum trees upon which the Koala feeds, and they were only waiting for these trees to grow sufficiently to feed these little animals, before the sanctuary was formed. Now this dream is doomed as the young gums planted will go the same way as the older trees and in a couple of years only skeleton trees will remain to remind us of one of South Australia’s lovely beauty spots.
A short stay at Tailem Bend proved this a most uninteresting town from the tourists point of view. Wellington was passed later in the day. This was at one time a very busy township, possessing the only punt on the river. Later when the Murray Bridge was built the punt was not needed and the town lost popularity and is now only a small settlement. The most Southerly point in the trip was the entrance to the lake. Many beautiful homesteads could be seen on the shores, but for small river steamers the waters of the lake are not too kind and we turned back and went up stream again. Tailem Bend was the resting place for the night. The evenings were made interesting by the showing of films of interest particularly to the interstate visitors among the party, and perhaps also many South Australians were strangers to the beauty spots shown in these films.
Seven o’clock in the morning saw the ship under. way again and a stop of two hours at Murray Bridge enabled the passengers to make a tour of this pretty river town. Up river the first; place of' interest was Mannum which was reached at 4.30 pm. Mannum perched on top of the hill soon exhausted the energies of the passengers and, pictures, cards and other games passed away, the evening very happily.
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Mannum was left before many were awake and then came Swan Reach. Here the party were conducted over the Mission station. Mr Wilie the Missioner in charge was only too happy welcome us, and his little daughter, aged 4 years, coaxed her little black playmates to “come and see the ladies”. Jimmy James gave an excellent display of spear and boomerang throwing and afterwards ”tracked” one of the visitors most satisfactorily. Basket ware made by the women on the settlement was exhibited and could be bought up by the lady passengers. We all returned-to the boat with a much better knowledge of the black people and their problems and a high regard for the little Missioner and his wife and family, who have chosen to live on the settlement in their little Hessian house to try and make the lot of the natives more bearable. The night was spent at Swan Reach and an early start was made next morning.
After leaving Mannum the scenery and type or country changed and instead of flat reclaimed grazing lands, we passed through thickly wooded country with tall cliffs of red sandstone at intervals. Here were the giant gums with their branches alive with birds. Blanchetown was reached at about 10.30 am. The lock mechanism was of great, interest to passengers who had not seen the locks before. One tall building that attracted every ones attention was the Blanchetown Post Office standing alone 'on the top of the hill, This was originally built for a railway station when the railway terminus was intended to be at Blanchetown instead of at Morgan, When the plan was changed the building was taken over by the post office department.
This was the highest point up river and the boat turned for home. The party had seen all it wanted to of settlements and townships and the Captain decided to spend the next night-in the bush. A stop was made miles from anywhere and everyone soon busied himself or herself collecting wood. Soon a huge pile of driftwood was ready and as noon as the daylight had gone this was lit. It was a glorious sight, the mighty gums lit by the flickering flames which were reflected on the high cliffs on the opposite bank. Songs, yarns, jokes and gay repartee made the hours fly, and the sight of our little stewardess with coffee and hot pasties was very welcome. The serious side of life was touched upon by the Captain and a very happy evening closed with a hymn for our absent boys and the National Anthem.
A great surprise was in store for the fisherman of the party here next morning when a lovely fish was found on the line, although repeated attempts were made afterwards the catch could not be repeated. We were off again at seven o'clock in brilliant sunshine, to tie up again in the bush after a delightfully lazy day. Cliff climbing was for the energetic ones with a marvellous view of the reclaimed swamps as a reward.
Next morning a strange sight met the early risers, the whole river blotted out by a heavy mist showing ghostly banks and spectral trees. The sun eventually cleared it away, giving us another perfect day for our farewell to the river. At Murray Bridge our party broke up, some returning by train, some by motor coach and others In their own cars, but all of one mind the time had been far too short, and no one wanted to leave the "Merle" but another party was due to arrive on Monday and our six lazy days were over and we had to come back to take up life and work again.
One of the great attractions of the “Merle” cruise was the variety and number of birds to be seen from the deck of the boat. One rule strictly enforced by the Captain is that no gun is to be fired from the “Merle”. The result of this rule is that the boat travels quietly along the river without disturbing the wild life. Pelicans were very plentiful and remarkable for their grace and beauty. A flock of these great birds sitting quietly on the still water, and perfectly reflected, was indeed a sight worth going to see. Widgies were there in their thousands as were also the tiny water hens. A royal spoonbill was one of the rare birds seen on the trip, with its long black spoon shaped bill. The ordinary white spoonbill is one of the most graceful of river birds and many of these were seen either perched on dead trees or quietly fishing in the shallows. Often a pair would go with the boat for miles up the river, flying ahead and then waiting on the bank until the boat caught up with them. The bitterns although generally night birds made a very pretty sight as the sun shone on their pink-bronze plumage. The birds seen were mostly young ones not yet accustomed to their night life.
Opposite Mypolonga was the 3½ mile bird sanctuary and here the birds were seen literally in their thousands. There were water hens darting in and out among the reeds, swans and there cygnets, pelicans, cranes of several varieties, ibis, teal, and several kinds of cormorants. One noticeable fact was the neighbourliness of the shags. In many old trees along the bank the nests were so crowded that soon the housing shortage will be as acute as it is in Gawler. As the boat went past, the old birds would fly leaving the nests, out of which tiny black heads on long thin necks would appear, curious to see what had disturbed their elders.
Further along the river we came to the tall sandstone cliffs, the home of the white cockatoo and the tiny sand martin. Mostly the cockies who had their nests in holes in the cliffs would fly away at the approach of the boat with a screech and a flurry of white wings, but occasionally a braver bird would remain with its head poked out of the hole determined not to leave home, no matter who came. The sand martins build their tiny bottle shaped mud nests under the shelter of the overhanging cliffs, and it was fascinating to watch these tiny birds dart to their homes going headfirst into the holes which seemed hardly large enough to admit them. Seeing the dozens of nests built under one overhanging cliff it was hard to believe that the bird fund its own home each time but we were told bay the Captain who had studied bird life on the river all his life, that it was so.
The wood duck were not plentiful, but we saw several pairs taking their families for an airing. One group of 26 birds was seen and a discussion took place among the passengers as to whether it was one family or not, but when the babies were counted there seemed no doubt that it was a birthday party or some such gathering of mothers and babies. The musk duck made a very interesting subject for discussion on the boat. The Captain had previously stated that he had seen a musk duck fly. We had a very keen naturalist on board who was very keen to see this bird on the wing but the only thing we saw to marvel at was the wonderful diving powers of these little birds and the great distances they could swim under water.
For the bird lover this trip possessed an absolute wealth of interest and no one, however uninterested I nature and bird life, could return to his home without marvelling a little at its wonders. In no other place in South Australia can so many birds be studied in their natural surroundings and in very few places in Australia can such a variety of bird life be seen. No one who loves birds in their natural state can afford to miss this opportunity to increase his knowledge of our Australian birds.
For years I had longed to renew my experiences on a Murray Cruise. Over 40 years ago I had travelled on the old paddle steamer “Merle” Even now another paddle steamer “Marion” was being renovated and made into a museum at Mannum and I had enjoyed the experience so much that I wanted to repeat it. My suggestion of going alone on the trip raised strong objections from my friends so I was forced to drop the idea. Then I invited my friend Marie to share my cabin and keep me in order and after Pat made all enquiries and arrangements we started off. The trip to Murray Bridge was not terribly enjoyable but there on the River was our "Proud Mary”.
A member of the crew was there to help us on board and our cabin was all that we could wish for - two beds - not bunks -plenty of wardrobe space and drawers, a dressing table with mirror and overhead fluorescent lighting, bathroom and toilet only a step out of bed, air conditioning which we did not need - all modern. conveniences. After unpacking and settling in, it was time for supper - a full size meal in the dining room which was only a few yards from our cabin. A short trip in the moonlight and we were tied up to the bank for the night. By this time we were quite ready for bed. The lights were out by 10.30 pm the generator stopped and silence reigned for the night.
Next morning at 7 am. life began again as "Mary" started on her first days journey. Breakfast was at 8 am and what a breakfast. Toast and Marmite, sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, spaghetti and baked beans, as much fruit juice as you wanted as well as fruit and cereals.
At the front and back of the boat there was space for chairs where one could sit and watch the river banks with gums and willows but disappointingly little bird life. They say the number of speedboats with their noise and movement are to blame for the absence of bird life.
Mannum was our first stop and here we were taken on a tour of the town and a visit to a leather factory - quite a small place but with beautiful work. The visit to the "Marion" was to me a disappointment. Doubtless when the renovations are complete it will be a different matter but at present it was a mess, workmen and paint everywhere. We had the choice of going back to the boat by bus or walking through the streets of Mannum. I chose the bus but Marie explored the town. Here we left two of our passengers behind and the boat had to go back for them. Leaving Mannum we travelled upstream for while before tying up again for the night.
Next morning we started again at 7 a.m., breakfast again at 8 am. Next stop Walkers Flat. A walking party visited the Lookout before breakfast (not me). We then cruised through Swan Reach and then Blanchetown with the lock. This interested me as on my earlier trip the passengers or some of them turned the huge wheel which opened and shut the lock gates. This was now done by huge machines while the passengers all stood and watched. At Blanchetown passengers were able to go ashore and inspect the town. We went a few miles up river before tying up and next morning started on our return journey.
The highlight of the trip for me was the cruise in the little motor boat. Marie thought it would be best for me to go on the first trip (the boat only held 10 so had to make three trips) and then I could rest for the afternoon so she saw the Captain. who said they were going on the first trip almost immediately so we went down to the lower deck. Imagine my surprise when I saw 8 people in the boat and the rest of the passengers lined up at the rail. The remaining two seats were reserved for us. Then of course was the fun of getting me down into the little boat but with help from about three of the crew I was manhandled in. Once in the boat the seats were very comfortable and the little boat nosed its way up all the little creeks and into the caves on the banks and we, had a marvellous view of the wildlife. We were out about an hour and then the fun started in reverse. I had to be got out and on to the deck again.
Another similar job was the barbecue and camp fire at night. It entailed getting up a high and rough bank but again the crew were marvellous. I do not suppose I was the first old lady they had to help but I do not think they had had too many 90 year oldies. I blotted my copy book on the last day by tripping over the dining room carpet and going down on my knees, fortunately without anything worse than a bruised knee.
On arrival at Murray Bridge we were transferred to a little bus and brought home a very pretty drive through the hills to One Tree Hill and thence to Craigmore where Paddy had just arrived for the final ride to Gawler.
My long awaited trip of the Murray was ended. The boat was a marvel of comfort and cleanliness. The meals were very good, the passengers interesting and friendly - 2 from Switzerland, 4 from Germany ( one German girl without hands was a miracle the way she used her stumps), 4 from New Zealand, 2 from Tasmania and 4 from Western Australia. On the whole it was a wonderful trip.
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