All posts by Yallambie

Yallambie is a suburb of Melbourne, 16km from the city in the "Goldilocks Zone", not too close and not too far out making the living there "just right". The area was first settled in the 1840s and a mid Victorian era homestead still stands above former agricultural land beside the Plenty River. Just over 4000 people today live within the community of Yallambie.

Slipping over on the highway of life

It’s a bit of a cliché, but the incongruous sight of men leaning on shovels around a road sign announcing the apparent falsehood, “men at work”, is one we are all familiar with. In Tarcoola Drive, Yallambie at the start of April one such sign went up on the nature strip near the corner. It read “roadwork ahead”, a precursor to sawn lines being cut into the road surface in front of it, then – nothing. It has been like that for a month, a road hazard if not actual roadwork, evidence that somebody at the road depot at least has a sense of humour. There the sign has stood forgotten, oblivious to traffic and to all intents and purposes seemingly abandoned. Eventually a motorist missing the corner drove right on over it, bending it into a shape like banana or a boomerang made by an Aboriginal on a bad day.

“Road work” at the Tarcoola Drive/Yallambie Road intersection, May, 2017.

The intention I’m told is to build new kerb “outstands” on the corner. These projecting kerbs are intended to reduce the speeds of vehicles entering and exiting Tarcoola Drive by making the turn disproportionately more dangerous. Yallambie’s Thomas Wragge, who owned one of the very first motor cars in the Heidelberg district, is said to have preferred a horse and cart. He may have been right.

Thomas and Sarah Ann Wragge in a Brazier outside Yallambie Homestead shortly before the death of Thomas in 1910. (Source: Bill Bush collection)

Roads were an early priority of this area and it has been argued by D S Garden that the creation of the Heidelberg Road Trust in 1841 constituted the earliest known form of local government within the Port Phillip District. The road to Heidelberg had been formed in 1839 and was known initially as the “Great Heidelberg Road”. It was laid out by the surveyor J Townsend who followed a line that was more or less parallel to the Yarra River.

Lower Plenty Road in Rosanna, 1914 looking south west towards the Upper Heidelberg Road intersection. The approach to Yallambie was behind the photographer of this picture. (Source: Heidelberg Historical Society image).
Junction of Lower Heidelberg Road and Banksia Street in Heidelberg, 1896. The recreation hall owned by Yallambie’s Thomas Wragge is in the centre of the picture. (Source: Heidelberg Historical Society image).

I picture Townsend in those far off days whistling the highs and lows of “The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond” as he surveyed his route, the design splitting Heidelberg Road into two paths after the Darebin Creek ford. His Upper Heidelberg Road, known initially as the Nillumbik Road, ran along the top of the ridge while the Lower Heidelberg Road, first called the Mount Eagle Road, followed the valley contours.

The Heidelberg Road commanded regular traffic from its inception. The route beyond to the Diamond Valley and Lower Plenty initially led to a ford over the Plenty River near what is now Martins Lane. Although shorter this route was discarded in 1840 in favour of the current line which was considered easier. William Greig, who as recounted previously farmed at Yallambie in that year, used this way regularly to visit town. That was until the early perilous condition of its surface sent his pony lame. Richard Howitt meanwhile, who lived on the Heidelberg Road at Alphington and who we remember for his visit to his Bakewell brothers in law at Yallambee in mid-1842, was equally unimpressed.

A beautiful town is Melbourne,
All by the Yarra’s side;
Its streets are wide, its streets are deep –
They are both deep and wide

Escaping from one quagmire,
There’s room enough for more;
Such a beautiful town as Melbourne
Was never seen before…

(Richard Howitt, Impressions of Australia Felix, p299)

One of the first tasks of the Heidelberg Road Trust then was to macadamise the road surface, a process that was commenced in 1842 and which was to introduce a technology which had not long been developed in Britain. The metal for the project came from a bluestone quarry at Alphington on the west bank of the Darebin Creek. As the colony emerged from the economic stupor of the 1840s, visitors to the Heidelberg district were astonished by the experience of travelling on a luxury road that boasted an incredible macadamized surface, the first in the Port Phillip District. In March, 1848, Bishop Perry wrote after travelling on this road that:

“Yesterday we drove to Heidelberg, which is the most settled part of the country. The distance from Melbourne is about eight miles, and the road is the only made road in the colony… Here and there we went along, were neatly piled up heaps of broken stone, ready for mending the road, just as you see in England; and at places we found men at work with shovels levelling, filling up holes etc.”

Almost a decade later in 1857, an attempt was made to reform the Heidelberg Road Trust by declaring the district a municipality. It failed after a petition opposing the move, led by the leading gentry of the region, was delivered to the government. Yallambee’s Bakewell brothers must have been getting ready for their return to England when they signed but all the same, their names appear there near the top of the parchment alongside such luminaries as Hawdon of Banyule, Martin of Viewbank, McArthur of Chartresville and what amounts to a mid-19th century virtual who’s who of the Heidelberg district. It appears there had been some disagreement over which part of the Heidelberg Road would most benefit from spending of the available road finances. The Bakewells, preoccupied with their return to England, possibly believed no money should be spent on it at all.

Service station on Main Road in Lower Plenty, c1960.
Service station at Watsonia, c1950. (Source: Greensborough Historical Society)

Transportation has changed and roads might be different but disagreements about spending on infrastructure hasn’t changed that much in the one and a half centuries since. The present State government dropped more than a billion dollars to dump the East West Freeway when it came into office, all to prove a point. In the State Budget announced today, the same government released plans to spend another $100 million on a feasibility study of a North East Link, the so called missing link between the Western Ring Road and Melbourne’s south east.

Burgundy Street in Heidelberg, 1950 at the Lower Heidelberg Road intersection. (Source: Picture Victoria, Heidelberg Historical Society image).

The North East Link is an old idea that harks back nearly half a century to the “1969 Melbourne Transportation Plan” which it might be argued was an attempt to turn Melbourne into a Los Angeles of the south. They largely succeeded in that plan for as a contractor once told Arthur Dent shortly before his planet was demolished by the Vogons, “It’s a bypass, you have to build bypasses.” The glaring exception however was the freeway that was to have been built through Heidelberg. Carrying the moniker F-18, the 1969 plan was to drive it through the Heidelberg community like a Thunderbirds’ atomic road maker, road laying machine, cutting a swathe through the landscape. Thankfully the plan was abandoned in the early 1970s and the land in Buckingham Drive and Banyule Road at either end of the freeway reserve was later sold for housing. The Freeway reserve is still there in between in the form of  a linear park but the plan is now to either build a tunnel under the City of Banyule or direct the route further out through Nillumbik Shire. Either option fills nearby communities with impending dread.

In Banyule, on a local and I might say, somewhat “smaller” scale, the City Council set aside $38,000 in the 2016/17 Budget for the work near us in Tarcoola Drive mentioned at the start of this post. However, they tell me that they are determined to spend only about half of that amount this year, the rest being put aside presumably for when they feel like coming back to do the job properly. Maybe they’ve run out of money already.

Mid 90’s Council proposal for a retrofitted roundabout at the corner of Tarcoola Drive and Yallambie Road that was never built.
Council plan of proposed kerb side alterations to intersection of Tarcoola Drive and Yallambie Road, December, 2016.

Like the F-18 on a larger scale, this is not the first attempt to deal with a perceived traffic problem in Yallambie. In the mid ’90s there was a proposal drawn up to transform the same corner into a retro fitted roundabout, a project aimed at slowing traffic in Yallambie Road, as opposed to the current attempt at slowing traffic in Tarcoola Drive. That roundabout was never built, but was constructed instead onto the corner of Binowee Avenue and Yallambie Road near the shop with speed bumps formed at the approaches.

To add a bit of currency to an old problem, yesterday afternoon our son came in from school and said that as he crossed Lower Plenty Road to Yallambie Road with a green pedestrian light, he had”nearly been run over by a car turning the corner.” In 1993, during the development of Yallambie’s Streeton Views subdivision, the Traffic Engineer for the project Greg Tucker reported that a grade separated pedestrian overpass across Lower Plenty Road to the schools in Viewbank was unwarranted. “The provision of traffic signals at Grantham and Crew Street would incorporate pedestrian crossing facilities in any event…” (City of Heidelberg business paper, 8 Feb, 1993). In subsequent developments, the Martins Lane intersection was substituted for Grantham Street.

The sharp bend at the Old Lower Plenty Road Bridge was a notorious local traffic hazard until the realignment of Lower Plenty Road across the modern bridge. (Source: Greensborough Historical Society, Eltham Historical Society image)

I’ve heard tell that it used to be an unofficial policy at VicRoads to undertake remedial roadwork but to do so only after a road death had occurred. A bit like shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted. The profusion of roundabouts and speed bumps at the northern end of Yallambie Road are something that was added after 1980 and only after the pedestrian death of a child on Yallambie Road near the Primary School. In those days Yallambie Road was a sort of alternative route to Eltham bound traffic on Greensborough Road. The 46 page “Yallambie Road Traffic Study” prepared by Nelson English, Loxton & Andrews for Heidelberg Council in 1982 reported that approximately a third of all traffic on Yallambie Road was through traffic and that up to 78% of traffic exceeded the then maximum 60 km/h speed limit with the highest speed recorded at 100km/h. The report also noted that the impending signalisation at both ends of Yallambie Road was expected to result in even more through traffic.

The decision three years later to extend Elonera Avenue, Yallambie in the City of Heidelberg through to Elder Street, Greensborough in the Shire of Diamond Valley as a part of the Daniel’s sub division opened up another access point into Yallambie, This time from Greensborough in the north. The Yallambie Community Association which was a then very active institution, strongly opposed this connection, but their collective voice remained carefully ignored by those who make the decisions. Once again the ad hoc solution has been to retrofit speed humps, this time along Elonera Avenue.

An aerial survey photograph made of the still some what under developed Yallambie area prior to 1971. Note the abrupt end of Elonera Ave to the left of the roundabout, before its extension as a part of the Daniel’s property sub division.

The folly of creating communities without satisfactory infrastructure is nothing new. What happened at Fishermen’s Bend in Port Melbourne is a case in point and is a classic example of what can happen when the profits of a few investors and developers are put ahead of the interests of the wider community. At Fishermen’s Bend, a few property developers, mostly with connections to the then Liberal State Government, became insanely wealthy overnight when the former industrial land they had invested in was rezoned with a stroke of a pen to allow multistorey apartment buildings. Some individuals made profits of over 500% on their investments but planning for residential infrastructure such as schools and roads was almost completely disregarded in the process, leaving taxpayers to pick up the tab at a later date. It has been described as a classic example of how not to develop land ear marked for urban renewal.

Sometimes it’s not about what you know but who you know along this highway of life. The Premier of Victoria at the time of the release of the 1969 Melbourne Transportation Plan freeway blueprint was the legendary, late Sir Henry Bolte. Ol’ Henry reportedly enjoyed a tipple now and then but in March 1984, long after his retirement as Premier, Bolte suffered serious injuries when the car he was driving collided with another vehicle near his home. Surveys here and abroad have consistently reported that the majority of road accidents happen near our homes but in this case it was alleged at the time that Henry had been drink driving. In the end, charges were never laid after the police mysteriously “lost” the blood sample taken from the injured ex-Premier after his crash.

The Bolte Bridge, named after Victoria’s longest serving premier. It spans the Yarra River and Victoria Harbour as a part of the CityLink road system. (Source: Wikipedia)

Bolte recovered but his legacy remains in the testament of the road network that he envisaged and that has been built right across greater Melbourne. Maybe one day we will all be travelling in driverless Tesla cars on this network, but the vote as far as it affects Banyule remains out.

Personally my money’s all on a future involving the Jetsons’ flying car.



Select sources: Heidelberg - The Land and Its People, D S Garden; The Diamond Valley Story, D H Edwards; The History of Our Roads, Maxwell Lay in The Heidelberg Historian, June 2005; Yallambie Road Traffic Study 1982, Nelson English, Loxton & Andrews; Yallambie Community Association papers; City of Heidelberg business paper, Feb 1993

A Bunyip for John Bakewell

The bunyip is a rare creature. So rare in fact that you would be hard pressed in a world without fantasy to find anybody today who will fully admit to ever having seen one. But according to the testimony of first contact era Aboriginal people, the bunyip was real, an amphibious animal much given to lurking in the dark waters of reedy creeks and billabongs, coming out at night to make a meal of the unwary. Their descriptions in the early 19th century varied widely and ranged from an animal with tusks and a furry body the size of an ox to a creature something more like an emu with a horse like tail, a duck bill, feathers and flippers.

There’s something to be said for the creative imaginations of the first Australians or maybe their propensity for the gentle leg pulling of the white interlopers. Their contradictory stories fascinated the pioneer settlers who wanted to believe that in a land where so much was strange, something still stranger waited just over the horizon yet to be found. The bunyip quickly entered the Australian narrative and it is perhaps not surprising that over time it has been used to sell all manner of things, from boot polish to lawn mowers and has featured in film and in literature.

The bunyip as imagined by H. J. Ford in Andrew Lang’s, “The Brown Fairy Book”, 1904.

In one favourite literary and pictorial example, Jenny Wagner and Ron Brooks’ “The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek”, a bunyip again and again asks the existential question as he emerges from the swamp, “What am I, what am I, what am I?” It’s a question that has occurred to most of us at some point in life, and not just bunyips.


I always loved this story book as a kid and its strangely disturbing drawings. The bunyip spends his time exploring the question of existence and is not put off when he meets a mad scientist who, without looking up from his studies, announces matter-of-factly that, “Bunyips simply don’t exist.” Unfortunately the scientist probably had a point because, in spite of Aboriginal testimony to the contrary, the modern consensus would seem that bunyips are a furphy and always have been.

“What a pity,” said the Berkeley’s Creek bunyip when this fact is revealed but the interesting thing for our story here is that, myth busting aside, Yallambee’s John Bakewell is as likely as any in the early history of Victoria to have bagged himself a bunyip. Like his brother Robert, John was an inveterate collector of all things zoological and would surely have been much interested in the story of the bunyip and the surprising thing is, he had more than half a chance to coax one onto the warm hearth rug at Yallambee. Or better still and true to the fashions of those times, get out his long rifle and turn the bunyip into the hearth rug itself.

What John might have found curled up on his hearth. From a vintage photograph.
The bunyip “Toor-roo- dun” sketched by the indigenous man Kurruck for a doctor during John Bakewell’s tenure at Tooradin and published in “The Aborigines in Victoria”, by Shepherd and Grosse, 1878.

In addition to being in partnership from 1841 with his brother Robert at Yallambee (Yallambie), John was also a third part of a business partnership with John Mickle and William Lyall which developed extensive pastoral interests around the Western Port area and elsewhere in the 1850s. But it was at their Tooradin run of 16,000 acres, which the following decade John Bakewell would later own exclusively, that legend noted a terrible bunyip lurked alongside the marshy banks of the Bunyip River, somewhere in the deep waters of a lagoon that was never dry even in the hottest of summers. This bunyip, known locally to the Aboriginals of Western Port as Toor-Roo-Dun, was reported to be emu-like in appearance and in habit resembled an eel. It was greatly feared by the Aboriginal tribes who never bathed in the waters of the Western Port swamps for it was said: “A long time ago some of the people bathed in the lake, and they were all drowned, and eaten by Toor-Roo-Dun.” (The Aborigines of Victoria, Richard Shepherd and F. Grosse, 1878).

Toor-Roo_dun: “like a Creature from the Black Lagoon”, from a 1954 movie poster.

Like a Creature from the Black Lagoon, Toor-Roo-Dun was a terrifying bogeyman of the native peoples, an unspoken menace that lurked just beyond the edge of sight, an equal part measure of Aboriginal doubt and fear. If truth be known however, the story may have been told to gullible settlers as part of an ongoing Aboriginal prank, so as if to up the ante, the settlers themselves managed to turn the whole business of the bunyip into political satire. In 1853 the Australian journalist, orator and politician, Daniel Deniehy, famously derided the attempts of the squattocracy to introduce a titled, hereditary aristocracy into colonial society by calling the concept a jumped up “Bunyip Aristocracy”, by which ipso facto decree he implied, it didn’t exist.

What John Bakewell thought about Deniehy’s speech remains unrecorded but there is no doubt that at the time it was made, by dint of his various business dealings, Bakewell was well on his way to joining the ranks of this imaginary Australian bunyip peerage. His partnership with his brother Robert at Yallambee also included a successful wool classing enterprise in Melbourne’s Market Street (which became Goldsborough, Mort & Co.) and from 1845 to 1852 involved a large pastoral run at Burnewang on the Campaspe River north east of Bendigo (Sandhurst), clocking in at 113,000 acres. His partnerships with John Mickle and William Lyall from 1851 involved even more extensive undertakings with large runs at Western Port, the Western District and on the Snowy River.

Map of the Western Port squatting runs, sourced from “The Good Country”, by Neil Gunson, 1968, and marking several but not all of Mickle, Bakewell and Lyall’s properties. These included Tooradin or “Old Manton’s”, Tobin Yallock or “Torbinurruck”, Red Bluff and the Great Swamp. Western Port to the east of Melbourne was named by George Bass in 1798 as the then most westerly bay found in Bass Strait. The discovery of Port Phillip Bay came four years later.

John Bakewell left Yallambee and returned to England with his brother in 1857 and settled at the Old Hall, Balderton in his home county of Nottingham. In England two years later he married Emily Howitt, the niece of Melbourne’s Dr Godfrey Howitt, before returning to Victoria for a final visit in 1862 to resolve his remaining business affairs.

In the UK, Bakewell lived the life of a true blue Bunyip Aristocrat, in spirit if not in name. His Australian adventures had made him a wealthy man. Neil Gunson in “The Good Country – Cranbourne Shire”, 1968, describes the Western Port properties as “Bakewell’s great Tooradin empire,” (p123) noting that they were “early put out to lease,” the revenue derived presumably proving to be a nice little earner for the British based Bakewell.

At Western Port today, John Bakewell is remembered by a Bakewell Street in Cranbourne and a Yallambee Rd in Clyde, the latter road named after a local subdivision of his Tooradin run, sometimes also referred to as “Fields Water”. John Bakewell died at Balderton in 1888 leaving four grown up children.

John Bakewell, (Source: Early Pioneer Families of Victoria and Riverina, Henderson, 1936).

Alexander Henderson in his rare and compendious 1936 publication, “Early Pioneer Families of Victoria and Riverina”, describes John Bakewell as “one of the most prominent of the early pioneer squatters.” It is therefore surprising that in the narrative of Victorian history, his story has been somewhat forgotten. This blog is guilty itself of contributing to an ambiguity by publishing several times a photograph from the SLV purporting to be that of J Bakewell of Bendigo. As John and Robert were known to have had an extensive pastoral run on the Campaspe, (their Burnewang property), I had always assumed this picture to be of Yallambee’s John Bakewell. A photograph in the Henderson book however reveals a different man. Accepting Henderson’s image to be correct I have now replaced it in my legacy posts. Like the Berkeley’s Creek bunyip, John B has had an existential identity crisis. Fortunately for the purpose of my last post, both men at least were committed pogonologists.

From the South Bourke and Mornington Journal, 20 February 1913.

So what happened to John Bakewell’s bunyip in the 21st century? Instead of a bunyip aristocracy Federal Australia got its Senate in 1901 which serves as an Upper House of Parliament and is intended to represent the States. Over time this “house of review” has allegedly instead become a “house of obstruction”, populated by minor parties who in a preferential voting system, have done deals with the major parties to secure their franchise. A Greens Senator last week likened the filibustering of the Senate to a scene from “Men Who Stare at Goats” where captured combatants are stuck in a crate and played “The Wiggles” for days on end as a form of torture. The Age reporting thought the process was more like something from “The Lord of the Rings” with Gandalf standing on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm roaring, “You shall not pass.” Perhaps we should take a leaf out of the Queensland example which in 1922 managed to abolish the Upper House of State Parliament altogether.

The irony at Yallambie is that when you vote in the local government ward at Council elections, you vote in an electorate called “Bakewell”, named after the brothers with the bunyip pedigree. Although voting is compulsory at all levels of government in Australia (yes, they have to use the full force of the law to get Australians into the booth on polling day), in 2016 at the last Banyule Council election in Bakewell Ward, no vote was required. After any other potential candidates took a collective step backwards, the sitting member was elected unopposed which is perhaps the truest indication of what we really think about local government.

The bunyip aristocracy might never have got off the ground within the Australian nationhood but believing implicitly in the rhetoric of our egalitarian society denies the simple truth that who you are and where you are born plays a big part in the opportunities you get dealt in life. Was the iron suited outlaw, Ned Kelly born bad or was he made bad by a system that was weighted against him from the day that he first drew breath? It is a question that has intrigued historians and sociologists for generations. We’ve all heard the expression, “He was born on the wrong side of the tracks,” but the reality is that sometimes people have little choice in the matter.

In Melbourne today, many government funded schools now exclude student applicants from disadvantaged suburbs. The Gonski Report was supposed to level out the playing field but with Government refusing to fully fund that report’s recommendations, its commendable ambitions have been made a mockery. In Yallambie, you might pay a premium to rent or buy a house that falls within the “zone” of the so called better of the local government schools but still find your children excluded if your house falls a few millimetres outside the zone on a map. It is a process that continues to drive up the price of real estate in certain suburbs all across Melbourne.

Many reports locally and internationally have identified a direct correlation between poor educational standards and recidivism but in some enlightened communities the problem is now being addressed by a new approach called “Justice Reinvestment”. This is a process which takes the money that would otherwise be spent building prisons and using it instead to fund education and community infrastructure in disadvantaged communities. In many cases it has led to a cut in crime and ultimately saved money.

It seems like a good idea to me, but good luck to the Lucky Country if you expect the idea to ever catch on here unilaterally any time soon. It’s enough to make a Berkeley’s Creek bunyip balk and jump right back into the watery hole from which he came, the words of the scientist still ringing in his ears, “You’re nothing.” In a country lacking imagination just as much as aristocrats, maybe there’s a good reason why none of us have ever seen a bunyip.

This story’s got a beard on it

Have you ever met a pogonologist?

Most men who have attempted a beard have probably been one without realizing it as they study the shadow of their stubble in the mirror. It’s not a common word, although I opine it could be useful if you get stuck with a handful of Gs and Os at the end of a Scrabble game. Pogonologists were, on the available evidence, more or less the norm throughout the male gender of the species in the later Victorian age. In Yallambie a look at the faces staring back at you from old photo albums might have you believe that the place was full of pogonologists. John Bakewell was one. So was Thomas Wragge. Edward La Tobe Bateman was another, as were most of the Howitts. At least as far as the men of that illustrious family were concerned.

From left to right: John Bakewell (Early Pioneer Families of Victoria and Riverina, Henderson, 1936), Edward La Trobe Bateman (State Library of New Zealand), Thomas Wragge (Bill Bush collection), Alfred Howitt (State Library of Victoria).

Pogonology: literally it means the study of beards. A pogonologist is one for whom beard growing has become something of a science. It derives from the Latin “pogonias” meaning bearded, a word that was common throughout the Classical world. The clean shaven Emperor Constantine IV was occasionally known by the moniker “Pogonatus” from some sort of confusion with his father Constans, with whom he had reigned initially and who is mainly remembered now for sporting an imposing chin of facial hair.

The Byzantine Emporer Constans II was known for sporting an imposing chin of facial hair.
The Byzantine Emporer Constans II was known for sporting an imposing chin of facial hair.

It is said that men grow beards not to impress the female of the breed but to impress other men. “Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie in the woollen,” said Shakespeare’s Beatrice in “Much Ado About Nothing”, affirming she would rather sleep in scratchy blankets all night than with a bearded man. Yet beards have been around since the cave man, evolving from their primitive natural state to the crimped and trimmed sophisticated designs of later years. The beard would become a symbol of individual style and an expression of personality as men learned to improve on the work of what had been blessed to them by nature.

To some cultures of the ancient word, the beard was a mark of wisdom or alternatively a sign of physical strength. To swear by your beard was considered a sacrosanct act and the kissing of beards could be used as a sign of greeting. To tweak a man’s beard however was considered a grave insult, the equivalent today of an Australian Prime Minister having the temerity to robustly discuss refugees with an American President.

Henry VIII thought the beard tax was only for the common people.
Henry VIII thought the beard tax was only for the common people.

Strange to relate, beards were taxed in Tudor England, first by Henry VIII who liked beards but needed the money, and then by Elizabeth I who simply didn’t like them. The peak of male fashion in beards was reached however in the 17th century when their care was considered the most important part of a man’s daily routine. Hours were spent starching, curling, crimping and trimming beards with the results sometimes dyed and perfumed to suit the owner’s tastes. Such efforts needed to be protected and the owner of a beard might choose to retire to his slumbers at night with it securely protected in a leather case around his neck.

The powdered wigs of the 18th century restricted the popularity of beards for a while but in the Victorian Age they returned with a vengeance. This was an age of Great Men and the bushy beard became a symbol of their world view, the size of the beard seeming to be in direct proportion to the community standing of its owner.

Sarah and Thomas Wragge at Yallambie, c1900. Source: Betty Lush collection.
Sarah and Thomas Wragge at Yallambie, c1900. Source: Betty Lush collection.
The ultimate in comb overs: my nomination for next President of the Younited-States.
The ultimate in comb overs: my nomination for next President of the Younited-States.
Thomas Wragge
Thomas Wragge, c1860, (Source: Bill Bush collection).

The earliest photographs of Yallambie’s Thomas Wragge shows him with a “chin curtain” style of beard, a type that he seems to have favoured his whole life. That most revered of American Presidents of Wragge’s era, Abraham Lincoln, is remembered for a similar look which he called the “Shenandoah”. It made him look terribly wise, even when all around him was turning to ashes. Before Abraham Lincoln, no US President sported a beard but after Lincoln, every President bar two until Woodrow Wilson had either a beard or a moustache. Perhaps the current American President, with a society as divided now as in the time of old Abe, could be induced to ditch the comb over for a similar hirsute habit. Women would love it because, when you’re a star, you can do anything. At least that’s what this President tells us.

The mustachioed sons of Thomas Wragge, from left to right: Tom Wragge Jr (1862-1954), Edwin "Syd" Wragge (1874-1927), William "Will" Wragge (1875-1906) and Henry "Harry" Wragge (1880-1921). Source: Anne Hill collection.
The mustachioed sons of Thomas Wragge, from left to right: Tom Wragge Jr (1862-1954), Edwin “Syd” Wragge (1874-1927), William “Will” Wragge (1875-1906) and Henry “Harry” Wragge (1880-1921). Source: Anne Hill collection.

From the available photographic evidence, Wragge’s sons mostly adopted fashionable moustaches during the Edwardian era. Walter Murdoch, who married Thomas’ eldest daughter Sarah Annie in 1903, similarly wore a terrific walrus protuberance on his upper lip. Until the later alterations, there was no internal bathroom plumbing at Yallambie Homestead so water had to be brought upstairs to wash basins in the bedrooms or to a tin hip bath kept in the single available washroom. In an age when shaving was a time consuming business involving a cut throat razor and strop it is easy to imagine the trouble and care required in their daily shaving ritual.

Sarah Annie Wragge and Wallace Murdoch with their bridal party at Yallambie. The marriage took place on 20 August, 1903 at St John’s Curch of England, Heidelberg with the reception following later at Yallambie. Wallace’s mother wrote soon afterwards: “I thought it was a beautiful wedding - the church quite ideal like an old English village church - the bride radiantly happy - people remarked they never saw a happier bride - the dress beautiful - the scenery so pretty and the home of the bride beautiful. There was no stiffness & everyone enjoyed themselves”.
Sarah Annie Wragge and the walrus moustached Wallace Murdoch with their bridal party at Yallambie, 20 August, 1903. Source: Bill Bush collection.

By the time we came to live at Yallambie in the early ’90s, the old house did at least enjoy modern if somewhat incomplete plumbing. Without quite realizing it, in the best traditions of Thomas, this writer has worn a beard on and off throughout his life, usually growing one when it was out of fashion then shaving it off when it came back. The last time was an attempt at a Zapata when the latest Millennial craze for beards was first kicking off. Fashion books and web sites have since been dedicated to this hairy subject with one survey suggesting that 55% of males worldwide wear some sort of facial hair. The current beard vogue became so big in the early 2010s that some reports even proposed facial hair transplants might be had by those men having trouble developing a decent growth on their chins. Not all beards are grown in the face of such adversity however. Guinness Records measured a beard a few years ago at nearly 2½ metres in length. Sarwan Singh, the wearer of this beard, is a Sikh and says that he has done nothing special. He considers his facial locks to be a divine gift from God. All the same, Sarwan should beware for beards can be dangerous. Hans Steininger the owner of a 1½ metre beard in 16th century Austria, died when he stepped on the end of it, tripped and broke his neck.

Beards can be dangerous. Just ask Brian...
Beards can be dangerous. Just ask Brian…

The lengths and the dangers of the beards of the lumbersexual and hipster subculture from the fashionable end of Melbourne town pale in comparison. Beards can grow on average about 14cm a year but there are those who said that in 2017, beards were about to go the way of the man bun. A recent sighting of a full beard with flowers trained through the fuzz on a fashionable Fitzroy street has me thinking otherwise, maybe.

A Yallambie Zapata for the new millennium.
A Yallambie Zapata for the new millennium.

As for me, personally the three day growth in my mirror is just too darn peppery these days, so when it comes to Yallambie pogonology, my vote has already been cast.

Bring out the Scrabble board.

The Baron who pined

From the hanging gardens in Babylon and the capabilities of the very capable Brown of Great Britain, garden fashions have come and gone like the seasons, to be remembered now like the weeds in a Bangay box hedge. 19th century Australia was no exception to this rule and in 1865, the English nurseryman John Gould Veitch wrote while visiting Victoria that there had grown up in the colony “a very decided spirit for the introduction of any novelty which may be likely to prove of use or ornament to the gardens of the colony.”

"We’ve all seen the presence or former presence of colonial homes marked in country Victoria." The colonial home "Buda" in Castlemaine marked by its historic garden, January, 2017.
“We’ve all seen the presence or former presence of colonial homes marked in country Victoria.” The colonial home “Buda” in Castlemaine marked by its historic garden, January, 2017.

There were many novelties to distract Victorian gardeners but of all of them, it was the craze for collections of pine trees, or pinetums as they were sometimes known, that has left the greatest mark on our millennial landscape. We’ve all seen the presence or former presence of colonial homes marked in country Victoria by stands of tall conifers, sometimes long after the settlers and sometimes the homes themselves have vanished. Collecting conifers was for a while a fashion in 19th century Victoria and no garden of any consequence in the colony could be said to be ever truly complete without its own resident selection of trees.

“Floraville”, the Bakewells’ garden at Yallambee Park was already well established before this coniferous craze properly kicked off but Thomas Wragge, who adopted Yallambee in the 1860s and who purchased the property in 1872, appears to have been well placed to take over at least in spirit where the Bakewells maybe left off.

Homestead photographed through the pines from the stand point of the former site of "Old Harry's" Yallambie Cottage in 1995.
Homestead photographed through the pines from the stand point of the former site of “Old Harry’s” Yallambie Cottage in 1995.

The background to this story has been shrouded by the passage of time but as mentioned in the previous post, the Yallambie identity “Old Harry” Ferne who lived on the river bank at Yallambie in the 1970s believed anecdotally that the pine trees that then surrounded his home were sourced from Victoria’s first Government Botanist and director of the Royal Botanic, Baron Ferdinand von Mueller. Winty Calder, writing in “Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales” repeats this legend but also speculates about the origins of the story, observing that:

“…von Mueller frequently gave seeds and plants to people. However, it is more likely that the Bakewells were the recipients of von Mueller’s plant material, during the period 1857-1873, than was Thomas. During those years von Mueller distributed many plants to public institutions and to private individuals, but he claimed in 1865 that ‘the distribution of plants to private gardens has been very limited and in reciprocation only’. Unfortunately the National Herbarium in Melbourne apparently now holds little of von Mueller’s correspondence with private individuals, such as Thomas Wragge or the Bakewells, or notes relating to associated exchange of plant material. But Thomas Wragge did gain possession of Yallambie two years before von Mueller ceased to be Director of the Botanic Gardens, even though he continued as Government Botanist. Before 1873, Thomas could have continued a plant exchange begun with the Bakewells, and it is not impossible that such an exchange might have continued for a few years after 1873…”

Even without a triplane, the “Green” Baron of Colonial Victoria certainly seems to have got around a bit. Public gardens were laid out at many goldfields centres with places like Ballarat, Bendigo, Castlemaine and Kyneton all receiving large numbers of trees and seeds for their Botanic Gardens from von Mueller. Indeed, a visit to a public garden in any reasonably sized town in country Victoria today will usually turn up at least a few trees with a claim to some sort of von Mueller provenance, with many of these trees being pines, araucarias or otherwise coniferous in nature.

Baron Sir Ferdinand von Mueller, KCMG, chalk lithograph c1880. (Source: State Library of Victoria).
Baron Sir Ferdinand von Mueller, KCMG, chalk lithograph c1880. (Source: State Library of Victoria).

Baron Sir Ferdinand von Mueller, KCMG came to Australia in 1847, arriving in Victoria in 1851. In 1853, Lieutenant Governor Charles La Trobe appointed him to the newly created role of Victorian Government Botanist and from 1857 he was also the Director of Melbourne’s Botanic Gardens. Mueller travelled widely throughout Victoria on prolonged field trips and on just one jaunt into the hitherto unexplored Buffalo Mountains and Southern Gippsland, he covered 1500 miles and added 936 new species to the Victorian plant list.

From the very beginning of his directorship, (or should that read dictatorship), of the Gardens, von Mueller saw the Gardens as an important collecting and distribution centre for plants and seeds throughout the new colony. During the period 1857-8 alone, the record states that no fewer than 39 public institutions and 206 private applicants received plants from von Mueller’s department, with 7120 plants and 22,438 packets of seeds being distributed and 57 gardeners receiving live cuttings.

With these numbers in mind it seems to me very possible that von Mueller might well have supplied plant material to the Bakewells in the 1850s, possibly in a reciprocal exchange. The Bakewells had established their garden in the early 1840s and by the mid-1850s it was well established and in a good position to take part in such an exchange. Furthermore, from the first days of settlement, Robert Bakewell conducted the garden at Yallambee as an early and successful experiment in Victorian Acclimatisation, the colonial principles of which the Baron was a well-known and early active supporter.

John Bakewell, 1807-1888 (Source: Early Pioneer Families of Victoria and Riverina, Alexander Henderson, 1936)

Another point worth considering is that when it came to approach, plants were not the only thing von Mueller was known to cultivate. He cultivated working relationships with people of consequence and was often rewarded handsomely for it. Von Mueller collected titles throughout his life like they were going out of fashion with the “Sir”, “Baron” and the “von” parts of his name being all titles that were added to his name during his lifetime. Not only were the Bakewells well-connected by religious and familial ties to the Howitts and through them to the wider cultural elite of Melbourne, but “Yallambee Park” had been acknowledged within intellectual circles with several internationally publicized descriptions.

Edward La Trobe Bateman, NLNZ
Edward La Trobe Bateman, (Source: National Library of New Zealand).

Edward Latrobe Bateman, whose association with the Station Plenty (Yallambee) has been recounted in considerable detail previously in these pages, is another contender for a Mueller connection at Yallambee. He had been described as a “splendid artist” by von Mueller and at the Intercolonial Exhibition of 1866 which Mueller helped arrange, Bateman decorated a Great Hall and a Rotunda. Significantly, Bateman also found considerable later success as a garden designer of both public and private gardens. Obviously these people were all moving within the same circles.

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view I by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Distant view of station with cattle in foreground.
The Bakewell brothers Yallambee, view I by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. (Source: National Gallery of Victoria).
Thomas Wragge’s Yallambie, c1900. (Source: Bill Bush Collection)
Moola Close near the entrance to Yallambie Park, 1978. In the words of "Old Harry" Ferne quoted in a newspaper in 1982: “When I arrived in the area there was a forest of trees. Now there’s a forest of houses.”
Moola Close near the entrance to Yallambie Park, 1978. In the words of “Old Harry” Ferne, quoted in a newspaper in 1982: “When I arrived in the area there was a forest of trees. Now there’s a forest of houses.”

Thomas Wragge by contrast was a farmer and although he would in time achieve pastoral success and considerable economic wealth, it has not been suggested that he moved within the same creative or intellectual associations as Bateman, or of the Bakewells and Howitts.

At any rate, whatever the origins of the Yallambie tree scape and whether Wragge inherited the genesis of the collection from the Bakewells, it seems clear now that Thomas and his family enjoyed the trees as they reached maturity at the end of the 19th century and that they probably continued to add to it up to and into the 20th.

Remains of Ferguson's pinetum at Mt Eagle, 1929, photographed by C R Hartmann. (Source: National Library of Australia).
Remains of Ferguson’s pinetum at Mt Eagle, 1929, photographed by C R Hartmann. (Source: National Library of Australia).
Remnant pines at Mt Eagle, 1929, photographed by C R Hartmann. (Source: National Library of Australia).
Remnant pines at Mt Eagle, 1929, photographed by C R Hartmann. (Source: National Library of Australia).

In the 19th century plant collectors achieved fame as they combed the continents in search of new pines and no gardener was considered worth his salt without an ability to provide his patron with a collection of at least some description.

At nearby Eaglemont, where elm trees were once saved at the expense of those in Yallambie, the forester William Ferguson planted a great pinetum, the largest in the colony, on the summit of “Mount Eagle” for J H Brooke as a prelude to a grand estate envisaged for that place. The first curator of the Geelong Botanic Gardens, Daniel Bunce visited in 1861 and recorded that “under the skilful management of his gardener Mr Ferguson”, Brooke had accumulated “the largest number of conifers of any establishment in the colony”. The house was never built and Ferguson left the project in 1863 with Brooke himself leaving for Japan four years later. However, in the 21st century at least some of Brooke’s trees remain, hidden away inside the private gardens of wealthy Eaglemont homes, proof of the enduring nature of the grown landscape and especially the legacy of 19th century pinetums.

At Yallambie the Bakewell/Wragge conifer collection survived well into the 20th century and its condition was intact enough to draw comment from Old Harry in the 1970s and 80s. Over the years many landscape reports and surveys were written identifying its importance, first by Heidelberg City Council and then, after 1994, by Banyule City Council. One of the first but certainly not the last of these reports “Plenty River & Banyule Creek” by Gerner Sanderson Faggetter Cheesman was published in October 1983 and noted that:

“The introduced species planted adjacent to the homestead, Yallambie, also require thoughtful management, not because of any problem they create, but rather because of their cultural importance. The planting here reflects past fashions of the Victorian era. Tall, dark foliage plants such as Pinus spp., Araucaria spp., planted quite randomly are all in fair condition…”

Old Harry had recently moved into a new home in Tarcoola Drive when that report was published but a few years later another report (previously quoted here) was delivered by Loder & Bayly, Marily McBriar, the recommendations of which in part read:

Lawn south of the house in 1984. The massive pinus on the left of picture upended down the slope one night a decade ago, its fall heard throughout the neighbourhood and sounding like "a steam train rushing by in the night."
Lawn south of the house in 1984. The massive pinus on the left of picture upended down the slope one night a decade ago, its fall heard throughout the neighbourhood and sounding like “a steam train rushing by in the night.”
A dead pinus standing between two Araucarias south of the house, 1998.
Another dead pinus standing between two Araucarias south of the house, 1998.

“An area which requires protection and sensitive management. Conservation of important historic plants, eg. conifers, and partial reconstruction of farm elements…”

More than 30 years later the value of these reports and others like them would seem to be only in the ongoing evidence they provide of what Council hasn’t managed to deliver over time. One by one and sometimes more than one the trees of the pinetum have gone to pot, collapsing sometimes in spectacular fashion. In the last 20 years alone I have by my own count seen more than a dozen of these trees vanish and, with the exception of the trees in a few private gardens, they have not been replaced.

All the same, the list of old plantings that remain today in Yallambie Park and within private gardens nearby still manages to read like some sort of pine growers’ plant catalogue. The list includes Araucaria bidwilli (Bunya Bunya Pine), Araucaria cunninghamii (Hoop Pine), Callitris glaucophyla (Murray River Cypress Pine), Cedrus deodara (Himalayan Cedar), Chamaecyparis funebris (Funeral Cypress), Cupressus lusitanica and Cupressus lusitanica glauca (Mexican Cypress), Cupressus macrocapa (Monterey Cypress), Cupressus sempervirens (Italian Cypress), Cupressus torulosa (Bhutan Cypress), Pinus canariensis (Canary Islands Pine), Pinus nigra var maritima (Black Pine), Pinus pinaster (Maritime Pine), Pinus pinea (Stone Pine) and Pinus radiata (Monterey Pine). As an exercise in botanical history, this list which was sourced from several of the more recent Banyule Council studies, is a tribute to the surprising longevity of some of these species at Yallambie and a memorial to the garden in which they once stood.

A novel approach to a declining tree at the former Botanic Gardens, Smythesdale, in country Victoria, January, 2017.
A novel approach taken to the problem of declining tree health in the pinetum at the former Botanic Gardens, Smythesdale, in country Victoria, January, 2017.

Garden fashions have come and gone and the popularity of pines within an Australian river environment long ago lost their allure. At Yallambie, in spite of the recommendations contained within numerous commissioned reports, exotic plantings have given way to a native landscape.

Council contractor fighting a losing battle with a whipper snipper on the bicycle path in Yallambie Park in front of the ruinous pinetum, February, 2017.
Council contractor fighting a losing battle with a whipper snipper on the bicycle path in Yallambie Park in front of the ruinous pinetum, February, 2017.

Following classification of the Yallambie landscape by the National Trust in 1998, Banyule Council has consistently argued that the classification holds no legal status and that the Council is under no obligation to conserve any of the historical elements within or adjacent to Yallambie Park.

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view XI by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. View of garden with cypress and fence.
Cypress planted by Robert Bakewell on the river bank, view XI by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. (Source: National Gallery of Victoria).

As if to follow this cue, vandals imposing their own agenda once attacked one of Robert Bakewell’s Cypresses on the river bank, leaving the tree in a shockingly ringbarked state. The tree took months to die in a process that was heartbreaking to watch. A similar end was suffered by the 400 year old “Separation Tree”, a River Red Gum in the Royal Botanic Gardens that suffered two ringbarking attacks before its final demise a couple of years ago, leaving garden lovers and history buffs equally appalled.

The "Separation Tree" in the Royal Botanic Gardens, c1907. From an Edwardian postcard, (Source: State Library of Victoria). An impromptu crowd gathered under the tree on 15 November, 1850 to hear the proclamation that officially separated the Colony of Victoria from New South Wales.
The “Separation Tree” in the Royal Botanic Gardens, c1907. From an Edwardian postcard, (Source: State Library of Victoria). An impromptu crowd had gathered under the tree on 15 November, 1850 to hear the proclamation that officially separated the Colony of Victoria from New South Wales.

The late, lamented Separation Tree was already well over 200 years old when von Mueller began his directorship in 1857. In 1873 however, a year after Thomas Wragge completed his purchase of Yallambie, the Baron was summarily sacked from his position at the Gardens. It was felt within some quarters that von Mueller was more concerned with the science of plants than the business of creating a pleasure gardens for the leisured elite of Melbourne.

During his tenure Mueller had urged the establishment of a plantation of conifers at the Gardens, its purpose supposedly being to demonstrate the usefulness of the forestry industry to Victoria. Numerous trees remain from Mueller’s pinetum and can be found on the Garden’s Hopetoun and Hutingfield Lawns today but the humiliation of his situation was almost too much for a Baron to bear. After his dismissal legend has it that Mueller never again set foot inside the Gardens, pining like Adam outside the Gates of Eden.

William Guilfoyle, 1888. (Source: Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne).
William Guilfoyle, 1888. (Source: Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne).

The work of his replacement, Mueller’s protégé the young William Guilfoyle, is now mostly the landscape we see at the Royal Botanic Gardens today. After 1883 Guilfoyle remodelled Mueller’s pinetum, changing it from regimented avenues of trees to strategically placed specimens which survive in the Gardens today as signature trees. Von Mueller’s approach had gone out of fashion, his legacy dead seemingly like the Dodo.

Contemporary reports suggest that Von Mueller’s demise was the result of the lack of fountains and statues installed at the Gardens under his watch, the absence of which was keenly felt by the Melbourne masses who had a seemingly insatiable thirst for such things.

Statue of Baron von Mueller at Melbourne's Royal Botanic Gardens. (Source: State Botanical Collection, Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne.)
Statue of Baron von Mueller at Melbourne’s Royal Botanic Gardens. (Source: State Botanical Collection, Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne.)

Ironically, if you step off the tan and into the gardens today, one of the first things you may see hidden behind the neighbouring shrubbery outside the National Herbarium of Victoria, is a small statue of the good Baron himself. It was installed there in 1984 to mark 150 years of settlement, its presence in the Gardens seemingly illustrating a point. When it comes to gardening, if you wait long enough, inevitably you reap what you sow.

The Pied Piper of Yallambie

He was known locally as “Old Harry” and in the conservative pre-Whitlam era ’60s, Old Harry Ferne was something of a Yallambie eccentric. The stories that surrounded Harry were legendary and as he assured his listeners, they were all true. Well, mostly. A square peg in a round hole. You might say that they broke the mould when they made Old Harry.

The old pumping house looking towards the river bank.
The old pumping house looking towards the river bank.

Harry Ferne lived in a one room cottage on the banks of the Plenty River. He was a relative or maybe a sometime friend of the Temby family at Yallambie Homestead. Nobody was really quite sure exactly. He moved into a cottage in the garden on the river flat below the Homestead in 1968 and stayed there for more than a decade, even in the face of increasing pressure from Heidelberg City Council to move him out. In a recorded interview made in the early 1980s Harry remembered that, “When I arrived in the area there was a forest of trees. Now there’s a forest of houses.” (Heidelberger, 2 June, 1982)

Harry's cottage, smoke drifting from the chimney and comfortable arm chair pulled out onto the verandah.
Harry’s cottage, smoke drifting from the chimney and comfortable arm chair pulled out onto the verandah.

Like a hermit at the bottom of the garden in the finest of English folly traditions, Old Harry was a bit of an enigma. He walked with a pronounced stoop that belied his clipped moustache and a somewhat understated military bearing. A “real gentleman” as one local described him but a man who was for all that, prepared to live outside of the mores of society. Local children from the nearby developing housing estate seemed drawn to him and “descended on him in droves, keen to fish for tadpoles in his water storage ponds,” or to simply spend time with this curious character with the mysterious past. In an era when children could spend as much time as they wanted with an older, unmarried man living alone in peculiar and reduced circumstances without anyone batting an eyelid, Old Harry and his stories became a magnet for juvenile gangs, the king of the kids in the Yallambie area.

Harry Ferne pictured with sketches and "his trusty dog Leo", published in "The Heidelberger" newspaper of 2 June, 1982.
Harry Ferne pictured with sketches and “his trusty dog Leo”, published in “The Heidelberger” newspaper of 2 June, 1982.

Harry’s Yallambie Cottage was a single roomed timber dwelling that had been built at the foot of the Yallambie escarpment sometime in the dim dark, far distant past, nobody could quite remember when. Maybe it was a re-erection of a Bakewell pre-fab, but who knows. Harry said, “When I took over the cottage, it was a ruin. No windows, no door, no water and no sewerage. Just possums in the roof, bees in two walls and a wombat under the floorboards.”

Harry set to work and cleaned up the ramshackle building, laying brick paving and redeveloping the remnant gardens surrounding the exterior.

The old pump house at Yallambie. From a Christmas card by Harry Ferne who lived in the gardener's cottage associated with this building in the 1970s.
The old pumping house and lone pine as drawn by Harry in the 1970s.

Harry was fascinated by the history of the area and especially the legend that Baron Ferdinand von Mueller had contributed to the Yallambie landscape. He would point out trees to interested listeners as possible contenders for a von Mueller provenance. Even in 1970 these trees were well over 100 years old and on one occasion Harry narrowly escaped with his life when a pair of trees from the Yallambie pinetum collapsed and nearly destroyed his house.

Harrry's fireside, "kettle always on the boil and a cup of tea in the pot."
Harrry’s fireside where an, “old kettle was kept continuously on the boil…”

The Yallambie Cottage was surrounded by a forest of these exotic trees and in the winter months the smoke from Harry’s fires hung low, trapped by their overhanging branches. Harry did a lot of his cooking on a barbecue in a half barrel outside but his cottage also housed a cast iron range where he made toast and where an old kettle was kept continuously on the boil for anybody who cared to stop by long enough to share a yarn and a strong cup of tea.

Harry’s cottage neighboured the nearby old Yallambie pumping house which in the farming era had been used to draw water up from the river for use in the outlying paddocks. Invoking the principle that possession remains nine tenths of the law, Harry claimed the pumping house likewise as his own, although ostensibly it was located on Heidelberg City Council land. This was Harry’s world. It was a place to spend time with friends both young and old. It was a place to watch the passing of the seasons and to stare at the reflections in the waters of the river. And it was a place to think about the past.

Harry’s was a naturally artistic nature and he spent hours in the fields sketching the surrounding river landscape. He was a friend of the Dutch sculptor Rein Slagmolen whose artists’ colony at the nearby former convent, Casa Maria, was an early feature of the pre subdivisional landscape of Yallambie. Harry also had friends in the theatre and the opera who probably wondered at what they had struck when they came to visit him in his rural realm.

"Casa Maria" painted by Prue Slagmolen, c1970, (Jonathan Slagmolen collection).
“Casa Maria” painted by Prue Slagmolen, c1970, (Jonathan Slagmolen collection).
The Yallambie cottage and the old pumping house, from a 1974 hand drawn Christmas card.
The Yallambie cottage and the old pumping house, from a 1974 hand drawn Christmas card.

Harry kept a car, an early model VW Beetle, but it didn’t get driven about much. Harry didn’t find much need to get behind the wheel or to leave the area. The Temby children and others kept their horses on the Yallambie river flats and it was the horses that Harry preferred to populate his drawings with.

"Harry's version of the Homestead" drawn in 1980 after he had moved from the cottage on the river flat into a new home in Tarcoola Drive. In this view, the stables are still standing adjacent to the water tower at the right of the picture.
“Harry’s version of the Homestead” drawn in 1980 after he had moved from the cottage on the river flat into a new home in Tarcoola Drive. In this view, the stables are still standing adjacent to the water tower at the right of the picture.

Harry kept an old concrete water trough near the cottage for the horses but when one enterprising young lad used Harry’s water colour paints to paint the trough an ultramarine blue, Harry was less than impressed.

In the summer months Harry harvested the fruit from the Yallambie orchards and in those days, there were many more trees than the few that remain today into the 21st millennium.

Pumping house, cottage and horses on the river flat, 1977.
Pumping house, cottage and horses on the river flat, 1977.

Pears, apples, loquats, figs, grapes and walnuts grew on the river flats in abundance but Harry also added to his crop by collecting baskets of blackberries from the vines that grew out of control along the river. Harry was a surprisingly good cook and the produce was baked into apple and blackberry pies and shared around the neighbourhood with friends and acquaintances. Throw in the occasional snared rabbit and Old Harry was virtually living off the land at Yallambie. “We’re 10 miles from the city, yet you would think we were 100 miles away,” he said. Every year on the 5th November a great bonfire would be kindled on the flats marking Guy Fawkes’ treasonous plot and “cracker night” would be celebrated with a great deal of noise and potatoes roasted in the embers of the fire.

There was no bath or shower in the Yallambie cottage and Harry’s ablutions were limited to a regular swim in the river. Toiletry arrangements involved a septic tank which Harry installed himself alongside the cottage but herein were sown the seeds to the eventual demise of his riverside rural idyll.

The cottage stood on the Plenty River flood plain. Three times in the 1970s Harry was flooded out and on one occasion he battled a surge of water that came up to his chest inside the house. Harry dug a deep 100 foot trench to the river and carted 10 tons of white sand onto the river flats to shore up the property and to protect it from flooding, but it was to no avail. The Melbourne and Metropolitan Board of Works wanted Harry gone, reasoning that every time the river flooded there was of a risk of Harry’s septic getting into the stream. In 1978 the matter went all the way to the Housing Commission and The Honourable Geoff Hayes, the State Minister of Housing.

Yallambie Park photographed in September, 1978, showing the relative positions of the old pumping house on the river flat at left and the Homestead on the hill. The cottage was at the foot of the escarpment in the trees behind the pumping house.
Yallambie Park photographed in September, 1978, showing the relative positions of the old pumping house on the river flat at left and the Homestead on the hill. The cottage was at the foot of the escarpment in the trees behind the pumping house.

In the face of this Harry finally resolved to buy a block of land in Tarcoola Drive bordering the derelict Yallambie Homestead stables. He paid about $5000 for his block and designed and built a home, putting many of his own details into the construction of the interior, everything from the blue slate floor to the leadlight chimney window, (courtesy of his friendship with Rein Slagmolen). It was a far cry from the Yallambie Cottage but Harry didn’t stop there, carving a garden into the steep slope at the back of his Tarcoola Drive address, slashing blackberries and replacing them with clusters of pampas grass and a jungle of ferns. Hundreds of blue stone blocks were introduced into the landscape with Harry erecting a flying fox rope pulley to man handle the rocks down the slope and into position. Brick paving and ponds were designed to create a Japanese style feel to the garden.

Harry's garden with stone paving and water features below the Yallambie escarpment, 1979.
Harry’s garden with stone paving and water features below the Yallambie escarpment, 1979.

Harry said, “I love the feeling of rocks and water. I want to achieve a harmony between man and nature. I don’t think I’ll ever actually finish the garden. It’s an ongoing evolutionary process.”

The old Yallambie pumping house photographed in a shambolic state near the end of its life in September, 1978.
The old Yallambie pumping house photographed in a shambolic state near the end of its life in September, 1978.

He never did finish. Time had moved on and “Old Harry” was now approaching an age befitting his moniker. Soon after moving into his new home, vandals burned the pumping house and the cottage to the ground on the river flats.

Harry said, “I don’t think I’ll ever shift out of Yallambie. It all depends whether I get married or not.”

The garden Harry built in Tarcoola Drive is now a ruin, his cottage and the pumping house little more than memory. The sobriquet “Harry’s” on a letter box of a house now the only pointer to the identity of its original owner.

Harry didn’t marry of course. He died 30 years ago from a coronary occlusion while on the Heidelberg Golf Course, proof if proof be needed that if you’ve gotta go, better to go while doing something you love.

Site of the old pumping house in Yallambie Park looking west, January, 2017. 150 year old Italian cypress and fig tree at right.
Site of the old pumping house in Yallambie Park looking west, January, 2017. 150 year old Italian cypress and fig tree at right.

But for all that there are some who still think that Harry was true to his word. At the setting of the sun as the shadows lengthen under the trees on the river escarpment, there is a very real feeling that maybe Harry never left Yallambie after all. It is a belief held by the current owner and visitors to the Tarcoola Drive house that Harry built. At the closing of the day, the spirit of Old Harry lives on.

YALLAMBIE PARK, river flat, 1997


We were at Yallambie and wondering where to go.
“What about carols?” said my good lady.
“She lives in Geelong. That’s too far to travel on Christmas Eve.”
“Not Carol’s.  I mean carols. The sort you sing.”
“Oh, I see. Then I suppose Noel’s is out of the question.”

It’s an unlikely story but Christmas carols in Yallambie usually means a bit of travelling. The only church, the Anglican Church of the Holy Spirit on the corner of Yallambie and Greensborough Roads, was torn down in 1961.

All the same, “it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas” and in the backstreets of our town right now the gardens and the exteriors of many Yallambie houses are already decorated with Christmas lights while nearby shopping centres have been adorned with Council sponsored ornament. Every year these shops begin posting their Christmas sales ever earlier, the sight of the Easter Bunny pulling a sleigh down Yallambie Rd a seemingly inescapable destiny.

An imaginative view of Sulivan Bay in 1803, drawn by George Gordon McCrae, c1860, (State Library Victoria).
An imaginative view of Sulivan Bay in 1803, drawn by George Gordon McCrae, c1860, (State Library Victoria).

The very first Christmas in what 50 years later, would become the Colony of Victoria, occurred in 1803 at the short-lived convict settlement at Sullivan Bay in Port Phillip near modern-day Sorrento. The weather that December remained blisteringly hot and fresh water was scarce. A more inhospitable or exposed location for a settlement could not be imagined but for homesick Englishmen far from the blazing Yule-log and holly bough of home, celebrating Christmas was a tradition, even if at Sullivan Bay it was not motivated by any particular sense of spiritual obligation.

David Collins, Lieutenant Governor at Sullivan Bay, Port Phillip, (National Library Australia).
David Collins, Lieutenant Governor at Sullivan Bay, Port Phillip, (National Library Australia).

Four days before Christmas Day, David Collins, the Lieutenant Governor of the settlement, ordered the stores to issue a pound of raisins to each person so that Christmas puddings could be made. In spite of the difficulties being experienced by the Sullivan Bay settlement at that time, it would seem from the record that Christmas was still an occasion for Old World ceremony. Plum puddings boiled in the oppressive heat of an Australian summer would become the prototype for the stereotypical Aussie Christmas but in December 1803 it was still all a very new experience. A time of goodwill and ghosts and an occasion to reflect on far away homes forever in exile.

As Christmas neared, those reflections took a turn. Some of those at Sullivan Bay were not so sure that Santa had their calling cards, lost as they were abroad in the wilds of this Great South Land. They decided to take matters into their own hands and in the early hours of Sunday morning, Christmas Day 1803, a few convicts stole from the settlement items including a kettle, a gun, boots and medical supplies. Not so much as a tin drum or toy trumpet among the whole Christmas shopping list, but these convicts, like Blackadder’s Baldrick, had a cunning plan.

“A daring robbery having been committed on Sunday morning in the Commissary’s tent, and the sick having been at the same time meanly plundered of their provisions in their tents by some person or persons at present unknown, the Lieut. Governor calls upon all the well-disposed persons in the settlement to aid and assist in bringing the offender or offenders to justice…” (General Orders, Sullivan Bay, 1803)

William Buckley from John Helder wedge's field book of 1835-6, (State Library Victoria).
William Buckley from the field book of John Helder Wedge,1835-6, (State Library Victoria).

Two days later on the 27th December, five convicts absconded from the settlement intending to “walk to China”. Four were never seen again (a sixth was shot by the garrison watch and severely wounded). The Sullivan Bay settlement itself was soon after abandoned in favour of the more promising Derwent River in Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) however the fifth escapee, William Buckley, lived on with Aboriginal people, learning their languages and their customs and becoming an accepted member of the tribes. He circumnavigated Port Phillip Bay, early on losing the kettle while crossing the Yarra River “falls” before eventually settling in the vicinity of the Bellarine Peninsula.

John Batman portrait by William Beckworth McInnes (City of Melbourne Collection )
John Batman portrait by William Beckworth McInnes (City of Melbourne Collection )

More than 30 years later at the founding of Melbourne, Buckley emerged from the bush like a latter day Port Phillip Crusoe, carrying wooden spears and impressively dressed in native fashion to welcome John Batman’s party. Buckley, the “Wild White Man of Port Phillip” as he became known, would never really settle back comfortably into the European world but soon received a full if belated pardon from the colonial authorities proving once and for all that sometimes all our Christmases do indeed come at once.

"The first settlers discover Buckley", by Frederick William Woodhouse, (State Library of Victoria).
“The first settlers discover Buckley”, by Frederick William Woodhouse, (State Library of Victoria).

As an escapee from convict oppression, the story of William Buckley and his admission into an indigenous world unfamiliar to the land of his birth has a contemporary and somehow familiar ring as populations are displaced by change and internecine conflict across every part of this Pale Blue Dot. The corresponding rise in ethnic nationalism the world over highlights a need felt by all peoples for a tribal identity over and above even what they feel for the football team at the end of the street. Brexit and the movement for Scottish independence were driven by this, but closer to home the disconcerting One Nation movement in Australia is a part of this same social phenomena.

Butterflies and protesters rally for refugees in Eltham, (picture by Craig Sillitoe, The Age).
Butterflies and protesters rally for refugees in Eltham, (picture by Craig Sillitoe, The Age).

Last month in Eltham, just beyond the boundaries of Yallambie, about 100 anti-refugee protesters demonstrated against a proposal to install Syrian refugees at a former local care facility. One Nation declared the protest was nothing to do with them and in the end the rent the crowd that turned up was itself outnumbered by protesters protesting against the protesters. Eltham has a reputation for left leaning politics and liberal social values and has a historically strong artists’ community. The anti-protesters brightened up the streets in the days leading up to the “Battle of Eltham” by tying thousands of handmade, brightly painted butterflies to Eltham trees and stenciling butterfly images onto pavements in a show of solidarity with the refugees.

I was in Eltham on the day of the protest and saw some of the anti-refugee protesters in the street. They looked somehow out of place in those leafy Eltham surroundings. How is it, I wondered, that growing a bushy beard and donning a knee-length oilskin is supposed to make you a more patriotic Australian than the next man in a multicultural society? The answer of course is that it doesn’t. The underlying truth when you peel back the window dressing is that as a human race we enjoy more similarities than differences.

The writer photographed in a Syrian street.
The writer photographed in streets of Syria.
Temple of Bel, Palmyra
Temple of Bel, Palmyra.
Bel after ISIL
Bel after ISIL.

As a traveller in years past I have seen at first hand some of the points of origin of this latest installment in trans-border refugee movement. Travel is an enriching experience and has become almost an Australian rite of passage among young people but I find it hard now to equate the pictures I see of ruined buildings on news feeds with those far off places of my distant memory. I have walked those streets and wandered through the Al-Madina Souq of Aleppo. On occasion I was invited off the street into family homes where I was told that this was the way they would most like visitors to see them and not as governments have defined them. How could those places and those people have been bombed into ashes and their lives ground into so much dust? What does it feel like to lose your home, your livelihood and the lives of those you hold most dear? Surely we as a nation could do more to meet our moral obligation to the displaced peoples of this world?

Australia enjoys a remarkably stable, tolerant and inclusive democracy but we take very few refugees on the world scale. Our democracy is something most Australians take for granted and it must be one of the few places in the world where the government has enacted laws to obligate people to vote come election-day. As one wag at the ABC put it during the Australian Federal Election in July, in this country it’s all about the battle for the Australian political middle ground.

Mutuma Ruteere, a UN special rapporteur, this week warned that “fringe elements” were in danger of entering the political mainstream but he said that “Australia was not unique among western democracies in grappling with popular support for parties with discriminatory policies”.

It seems clear that extremist viewpoints are on the rise everywhere. When I was in the States in March this year a few months before our own Federal election I saw the then candidate for the Republican nomination campaigning on television in Fox advertorials, masquerading as current affairs which seemed to have been modelled on the illusory truth effect. I never doubted then that before too long the campaign of this most unlikely of US Presidential nominations would run out of puff. From a country of over 320 million people I asked myself, was this really the best they could come up with?

Who’d a thunk?

As a president time may show that, in spite of appearances, the election of a foul mouthed, misogynistic, xenophobic, tax avoiding casino mogul as unofficial leader of the Free World will prove to be the best thing for Americans since sliced bread. Stranger things have happened. I wouldn’t like to make a prediction but if nothing else, it certainly indicates some sort of a seismic shift although, like the pigs in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” who started walking around on their hind legs, it’s sometimes hard to draw a distinction.

Melbourne seen from the south bank at the falls (Queensbridge) 1836, by R Hofmann, (State Library Victoria).
Melbourne seen from the south bank at the falls (Queensbridge) 1836, by R Hofmann, (State Library Victoria).

On the last day of November, 1835 soon after the founding of Melbourne, John Pascoe Fawkner while ploughing for a potato bed near the falls on the virgin south bank of the Yarra, dug up an old and rusted kettle. Some settlers saw the pot as evidence that French or Spanish travellers had been at Port Phillip in a previous era but William Buckley recognized it as the pot he had lost all those years ago during his escape from Sullivan Bay.

Fawkner's house on the south bank of the Yarra, by Wilbraham Frederick Evelyn Liardet, (State Library Victoria).
Fawkner’s house on the south bank of the Yarra, by Wilbraham Frederick Evelyn Liardet, (State Library Victoria).

Fawkner secretly treasured this pot. During that first Christmas in 1835 at what was to become Melbourne, Fawkner saw it as link to that other settlement 32 years earlier. In his mind it somehow legitimized European presence on those Aboriginal lands, the legality of which remained (and remains) very unclear.

YALLAMBEE by George Alexander Gilbert, c1850, elevated view of river, vineyard on side of hill rising from the river and house at crest of hill.
“Within five years the Bakewell brothers would be farming at Yallambie…” Pastel by George Alexander Gilbert, (State Library Victoria, H29575)

Within five years the Bakewell brothers would be farming on the Plenty River at Yallambie. It was the start in Victoria in a wave of regular net migration into Australia that continues into the present day.

Tradition has it that Christmas marks the birth of Jesus, the Christian Messiah, the message of whose ministry 2000 years ago called on all people, even the poor and oppressed, to repent and love their enemies. It is a time when we wish peace and good will to all men (and women) and call for a better understanding for in a way, we are all travellers through life on this island earth.

This island earth as seen from space by the Apollo 17 astronauts.
This island earth as seen from space by the Apollo 17 astronauts.

Horse sense

Two-up, Tattslotto or the track, many Australians like the punt and on Melbourne Cup Day, the first Tuesday in November, even those who would otherwise give racing no second thought sit up and take notice. If you’re like me, you don’t have to like racing particularly to enjoy the Melbourne-wide public holiday the State Government declares every year to mark the “Race that Stops a Nation”. It stops because we’re all on holiday.

astor_mickeyPersonally I wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other. Possibly the psychologists would have something to say about a childhood remembered listening to my father “taking the scratchings on the wireless”, an old valve type Astor Mickey every Saturday morning, followed by the broadcast races in the afternoon. He thought of the process as a form of entertainment and often didn’t even bother to bet and if he did, it was for never more than a few dollars for the day. In time I asked him if he were to add up all the wins he had had and compare them alongside to all the losses, well would he be a bit in front, or rather a bit behind. His response was frank and to the point, “Listen son, mark my words, if anyone ever tells you they win on the TAB they are lying to your face.”

It was a good attitude to bring to the punt. Racing for him was a culture. Occasionally he would take the family to a country race meeting and apparently this was supposed to be something of an occasion. I remember it was invariably stinking hot and for some reason I never quite fathomed, I always seemed to be over dressed in my Sunday best. On arrival my mother would put out a picnic rug and a Thermos on the lawn, Dad would disappear to inspect the bookies’ tents and my sister would take off to admire the horses in the training yard. It was usually at this moment that I would ask for the first, but certainly not for the last time that day, “Can we go home now?”

The writer's uncle, Don McLachlan, riding "The Chanter" outside Caulfield Racecourse in the 1930s.
The writer’s uncle, Don McLachlan, riding “The Chanter” outside Caulfield Racecourse in the 1930s.

But the gees gees were in the old man’s blood. His brother had been a jockey riding for the racing stable of Frank Musgrave in the 1930s and before that their father had worked as a stockman for Coghlan and Boase & Co, stock and station agents in Ballarat. During my own childhood our cousins in that town kept a racing stables which legend has it was even moderately successful for a while. My memory of that place was being put without a saddle or bridle on top of an old grey mare that I was told had not galloped for about half a century. The next thing it was off with me clinging to its neck like grim death, charging towards the busy main road which loomed up ahead at the end of the path. Looking back on it, it was probably my strangling hold on the neck of the horse that had sent it flying down the path in the first place and the harder I held on, the faster she went. Finally, as I contemplated throwing myself off before the impending intersection and its looming road traffic, my grip must have relaxed and the horse stopped mid stride. “Oh thankyou dear, dear horsey,” I whimpered as I climbed down gingerly from on high, determined to never go through that again. My cousins though were more than impressed when they came up. “Crikey, Ian, we haven’t seen that horse so very much as move in years. How on earth did you manage to get her to gallop?” Apparently natural horsemanship is something you are born with.

Syd and Harry Wragge on horseback at Yallambie with their sister Carrie leaning alongside, c1900.
Syd and Harry Wragge on horseback at Yallambie with their sister Carrie leaning alongside, c1900, (Bill Bush Collection).
Syd and Harry Wragge on horses at a slightly later date at Yallambie, looking towards the farmyard area from the northern part of the garden.
Syd and Harry Wragge on horses at a slightly later date at Yallambie, looking towards the farmyard area from the northern part of the garden, (Bill Bush Collection).
Carriage with Syd Wragge and his mother, Sarah Ann at the front door of Yallambie looking south.
Carriage with Syd Wragge and his mother, Sarah Ann at the front door of Yallambie looking south, (Bill Bush Collection).
Horse carriage in the farm yard just north of Yallambie Homestead.
Horse carriage in the farm yard in front of the stables (left of picture) at Yallambie, (Bill Bush Collection).
Probably Will Wragge, c1900 outside the old Bakewell era stables. Constructed from local sandstone and English, "slop" sided molded brickwork, these stables were demolished at the start of the 1980s.
Will Wragge outside the old Bakewell era stables, (Bill Bush Collection).

The family of Yallambie’s Thomas Wragge were certainly born to horsemanship. A daughter, Alice Wragge even managed to marry one of the stable hands, an itinerant bricklayer who worked at Yallambie, very much to the enduring outrage of her father. Wragge’s Yallambie featured an extensive stables complex which dated from the previous Bakewell occupation of the property and which survived into the 1980s, the sound of clip clopping hooves echoing across the years from a time when the concept of horsepower carried a literal meaning. A brother of Thomas Wragge, Henry, whose diary was found under the floorboards at Yallambie Homestead, is also remembered as one of the earliest practitioners of equine veterinary medicine in the Victorian Colony. In the words of Winty Calder: “Horses were an essential part of the life of the Wragges”, and properties like Yallambie and their Riverina pastoral holdings could not have been run without them. (Calder: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, p173).

Will Wragge pictured alongside one of several tanks (dams) at Yallambie at the start of the 20th century, (Bush collection). In 2013 a dam similar to this on the corner of Lower Plenty and Bannockburn Roads, Viewbank was asphalted as a carpark, an old willow similar to the tree in this picture remaining to this day to mark the spot.
Will Wragge pictured alongside one of several tanks (dams) at Yallambie at the start of the 20th century, (Bill Bush Collection).

Quoting from her father Frank Wright’s memories, Calder goes on to recount an occasion at Jessie Wragge’s 1910 funeral and an incident that well illustrates the horse skills present in the family.

The cortege must have been about half a mile long. Behind the horse-drawn and black plumed hearse were two or three mourning coaches followed by a great line-up of buggies, traps, jinkers and the like, all horsedrawn. Starting at Yallambie, the procession went via Upper Heidelberg Road to the Heidelberg Cemetery. As the hearse approached the bottom of the hill near Rosanna Station, one of the horses attached to the first mourning coach started to play up just about level with where the entrance to the Yarra Yarra Golf Links subsequently stood. Probably the vehicle’s brakes were not effective during the long descent. There was no britching in the two-horse one-pole harness and all each horse could do was to try to hold back with the collar up near its head.
The off-side horse of the first coach started to kick, and got one leg over the pole. The coach ran off the road to the right and crashed into the fence in a fair tangle; and there it stuck.
The hearse continued slowly on, crossing the gully and the new railway. The second coach stopped and so did the rest of the procession. The horse had no discernment at all, or else it would not have picked that company for its misbehaviour. From a dozen vehicles poured over fifty men – brothers, cousins, second-cousins and others who had spent a great part of their lives in saddles. They rushed in a mob to the tangle of horses, making soothing, hissing noises to calm them.
In a second, someone was sitting on the head of the fallen horse while others were unharnessing all the others. The hearse continued slowly plodding up the hill to the west. The horses were reharnessed, the coach hauled out of the fence by a dozen men and the horses coupled up again. The men rushed back to their vehicles, and the procession reformed. The hearse was only about 200 yards ahead, and before it got to the top of the rise the vehicles were back in place.
(Cader: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, p211).hearse

Hey presto, the dignity of the funeral procession was preserved. The wayward horse had chosen the wrong lads to mess with on that day. Horses were a part of the family’s everyday life as evidenced by Frank Wright’s further childhood memories at Upper Heidelberg Rd:

Grace Wragge (ne Wilson) standing with shawl around her shoulders. Probably her sister, Alice Wragge, seated and Syd Wragge, Grace’s husband lying down. A fence around the old east west tennis court is on the left. Bunya pine visible in the background.
Grace Wragge (ne Wilson) standing with shawl around her shoulders, her sister Alice Wragge, seated and Syd Wragge, Grace’s husband lying down with horse south of Yallambie, (Bill Bush Collection).

“I remember Will (Wragge) arriving one day on horseback and taking me on the pommel to Yallambie… I clearly remember an uproar one day [about 1902] when a party from Yallambie were riding to Essendon [probably to see Syd Wragge’s fiancé Grace Wilson], and Alice (Wragge) was thrown from her horse in Bell Street. Our place, being nearest belonging to the family, was returned to and Alice’s face, all grazed and bloody, made a vivid impression on me, as she sat on her horse in our yard before dismounting.” (Cader: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, p139).

Kath Wright (later Adams) at Yallambie, 1918
Kathleen (Kath) Wright, the sister of Frank,  in the stable yard at Yallambie, c1918, (Margaret Walker Collection).

But of course it was at Thomas Wragge’s 110,000 acre property in NSW that the horse really came into its own and Thomas was very careful about the care of his animals.

“During the 1880s Thomas Wragge’s property became so large that much time was used riding to different parts of it, and many horses were needed. Always concerned about their welfare… one particular way in which Thomas cared for his horses has long been remembered. He insisted that a bucket of water should remain in the shade near the stables during the summer, so that bits could be immersed in it and cooled before being put in the horses’ mouth. Any man who failed to do so was instantly dismissed.” (Cader: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, p105).

Thomas Wragge's first Tulla Homestead, on the Wakool River, NSW, c1873.
Thomas Wragge’s first Tulla Homestead, on the Wakool River, NSW, c1873.
Thomas Wragge's second Tulla Homestead, on the Wakool River, NSW, c1900.
Thomas Wragge’s second Tulla Homestead, on the Wakool River, NSW, c1900.

Country race meetings had their place in this world and Calder mentions a meeting at Tulla which, as a communal occasion, seems to have interrupted the shearing in that year:

“Race meetings were important social events. New Year’s Day 1887 was a Saturday and, after the usual homestead chores, all hands went to the races held at Fisher’s selection beside the Deniliquin road. Significantly, the Tulla diary entry for the next day reads: ‘Nothing much doing today – hot day.’” (Cader: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, p116).

Fisher’s selection was a small holding taken up within the wide boundaries of the Tulla leasehold and according to Calder was “a continuing source of nuisance and annoyance for Thomas Wragge”. There was a bush pub located on the selection, a mere mile from the Tulla woolshed. The implication here is that sore heads after New Year’s race day drinks resulted in a diary entry, “Nothing much doing today,” with the station sheep perhaps fortunate not to face men with sharp shears after a day and night of solid drinking.

Thomas tried to buy the selection and its pub on a number of occasions but antagonism between him and the proprietor, a Mrs Beaton, meant that she refused to sell to him at any price. Eventually Thomas solved the problem by means of a simple ruse. Calder continues:

“He persuaded a man from Geelong to pose as a buyer, and that man finally made a deal with Mrs Beaton, paid a deposit and obtained a receipt which he handed to Thomas. It has been suggested that Thomas promptly rode over to the pub, ordered everyone out of it and burnt down the building.”

Thomas might not have approved of a bush pub and a country race venue in such close proximity to his woolshed, but the racing of horses was an important social activity for 19th century Australian pastoral dynasties and a family like the Wragges were no exception. They structured their year around the Melbourne Cup, moving down from the family’s properties in the Riverina annually to be in Melbourne for the running of the Cup. They then stayed on at Yallambie throughout Christmas and the hottest months of summer to avoid the worst heat of inland NSW.

As an event, the Cup has been run over 2 miles (3200 metres) at Flemington every November since 1861. Many people like to have a little flutter on the result with the certain knowledge it very probably is just “chucking money away” all the same.

We’ve all heard the story.

mr_edA man I know gets his haircut from a chap whose sister is married to a bloke who drives a taxi who gave a ride to a sporting type wearing a loud jacket who had spoken to a lad who sweeps out the stalls at a stables where he got this tip straight from the horse’s mouth, from Mr Ed, the talking horse.

Whether the Wragge’s liked a wager themselves is unrecorded but it could be argued that the very act of farming in a marginal landscape in NSW, a test for the soul and an arena for struggle in anybody’s language, was itself a form of gambling.

Early picture taken on the south lawn at Yallambie with Bunya pine on left.
Riding habit on the south lawn at Yallambie, (Bill Bush Collection).

We like to think that flying in the face of adversity is a part of the National Character but in latter years it has come to mean something more. Australia has the dubious honour of losing more money on gambling per capita than any other nation on the planet – something well over $1000 on average per adult annually. 80% of Australians, the highest proportion of any country, wager something, somewhere, sometime but this hasn’t necessarily been a problem historically. For most of the history of the running of the Melbourne Cup, there were few other methods of gambling available to the general public, even with the inevitable illegal SP bookmaker working out the back of a shop in the suburbs. The process of picking a winner was a reward in itself. But when gambling left the track and entered our pubs and clubs in the form of poker machines or into a Casino at Southbank the State Government insisted we had to have because “the other states have got ´em”, it entered the vernacular. It made a few people, the owners of poker machine and casino licences very rich, but at the cost of making some folk very poor.

Like my father listening for the “scratchings” without placing a bet, I like to think it’s all about the process and not the end in itself. It makes horse sense that if I buy a lotto ticket then leave it unchecked for weeks, I’ve bought weeks of entertainment value. There is always the idea lurking at the back of my mind that there is a possibility of it being a winner, no matter how unlikely the reality. It might even explain the continuing popularity of the Cup in an Australia where there are now so many other forms of gambling available. You see, the Cup is not just about the gambling although that has always been a part of it.

At the first running of the Cup in 1861 the VRC issued two ladies tickets to every gentleman club member in the belief that “where ladies went, men would follow”. So historically the Cup has always been about other things – the fashions and the flirting, the boozing and the bookmakers, the race track and the roses. But most of all it has always been about the horses and the holiday. What other excuse do we need to have a good time?

Halcyon farm days at Yallambie

A taste of honey

We have a sticky situation.

The bees have made themselves at home behind the shingled walls of our verandah. On warm days the honey they make has been known to drip out onto the deck below, or even back into the ceiling inside the house where a stain on the plaster took several thousand licks of paint to conceal. Other than that though they don’t seem to be doing much real harm, and with the old verandah looking a bit shonky these days, it may be that honey is the only thing holding the whole humongous hotchpotch upright. With bees in trouble on several fronts, to my mind they might as well stay where they are. Our friends the bees are in need of all the help they can get.

Shingled verandah photographed in better repair in 1995.
Shingled verandah photographed in better repair in 1995.

You’ve probably heard that there’s something wrong with bees. They are on the decline worldwide with parasites, loss of habitat, pesticides and the mysterious colony collapse disorder held largely to blame, yet bees have been buzzing around this island earth since a time before the dinosaurs. As a motif they have long been used by man to symbolize industry and orderliness, yet on an evolutionary scale, it has taken us the mere blink of an eye to bring bees in this modern age to their bees’ bended knees.

Napoleon prided industry and orderliness and bee-lieved himself to be an emperor to boot, (watercolour on ivory by J Parent).
Napoleon prided industry and orderliness and bee-lieved himself to be an emperor to boot, (watercolour on ivory by J Parent).

The experimental film director Godfrey Reggio introduced the Native American word “Koyaanisqatsi” to popular culture in 1982. In the Hopi language it means “unbalanced life”, but in the more than three decades since, the situation Reggio described in film has not changed. All over Melbourne right now, developers are smashing up gardens for multiple occupancy dwellings, tearing up farm land for new suburbs, all the while cynically leaving here and there an occasional geriatric gum tree or token strip of park to appease the regulators. It’s not much chop for the people but it’s tantamount to a desert landscape for bees.

Bee hive boufants from Koyaanisqatsi, (Godfrey Reggio, ©1983).
Bee hive boufants from Koyaanisqatsi, (Godfrey Reggio, ©1983).
"...there are now many other plants following the almonds into flower."
“…there are now many other plants following the almonds into flower.”

August was almond pollination season in the southern states of Australia. The two almond trees we have in our garden already have fruit on them, at least until the cockies cotton on to it, but in the natural order of things there are now many other plants following the almonds into flower. It highlights the importance of a diversity in flowering plants in the garden, an idea that has been promoted by bee activist and author, Doug Purdie, in books like “Backyard Bees”.

By contrast the monoculture farming techniques used up country creates Koyaanisqatsi of the highest order. These techniques offer bees rich sources of nectar for short periods, then nothing for the remainder of the year. Commercial production of almonds in the triangle between South Australia, NSW and north-west Victoria is a case in point and highlights the inherent dangers of these practices. It involves vast numbers of almond trees being grown artificially in a marginal landscape using lots of Murray River irrigation. Because there are few other trees in this area, truck-loads of bee hives are brought in from interstate every spring to assist in a pollination event which is is as surprising as it is unsustainable. Bees are brought from as far away as Queensland where worryingly a pest bee, the Asian Honey Bee, has recently been found. The Asian Honey Bee is believed to have been the original source of the parasitic mite, Varroa destructor which has caused so much damage to bee colonies around the planet. Australia remains one of the few places in the world where the destructor mite has not been seen but with the related Varroa jacobsoni already present on Asian honey bees around Townsville, the introduction of the destructor in the near future is now taken as a given. When that happens, it is farming practices like the almond pollination events of southern Australia that will make the spread of the mite across this island continent virtually unstoppable.

"Robbing a beehive": harvesting bush honey in the early years of the 20th century, central Victoria. Photograph by Lindsay G Cumming, c1910, State Library Victoria.
“Robbing a beehive”: harvesting bush honey in the early years of the 20th century, central Victoria. Photograph by Lindsay G Cumming, c1910, State Library Victoria.

The European bee so familiar to our gardens was introduced to Australia in 1822 and in the nectar rich regions of our flowering eucalypt forests it soon became firmly established. It is the heavy work horse of the pollination world, a typical hive containing about 80,000 bees. Native bees, of which there are about 2000 varieties, are by comparison smaller, generally solitary and produce less honey. To the early settlers with their peculiar idea of finders keepers, this great southern land where little bits of Europe seemed so easily to reinvent itself must have seemed like a land flowing with proverbial milk and honey. In due course it had to be admitted that the keepers weren’t the finders after all but while the milk comes in suburban cartons these days, at Yallambie the second part of that flow equation can be thought of as being quite literally true.

Bee boxes at the old Coghill home opposite the end of Jessop St, Greensborough, c1910, (Greensborough Historical Society picture).
Bee boxes at the old Coghill home opposite the end of Jessop St, Greensborough, c1910, (Greensborough Historical Society picture).

2. "Dr. Godfrey Howitt's garden" [sic]", SLV.
2. “Dr. Godfrey Howitt’s garden” [sic]”. Source: State Library of Victoria.
Bees were probably kept in this area from the early days and in the second of the State Library’s c1856 daguerreotypes of Robert Bakewell’s garden, a rectangular shape in a lower corner may be evidence of a bee box positioned at that time on the Plenty River flats. If this interpretation could be proved to be correct, then in would put the Bakewells at the cutting edge of apiarist technology at that time since bee boxes with removable combs, as opposed to the more traditional skeps, were only perfected by Lorenzo Langstroth from an earlier design at the start of the 1850s.

This portrait of Louisa Anne Meredith was her favourite which she described as "unadulterated vanity", (Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts).
Louisa Anne Meredith, (Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts).

Peter Barrett in “The Immigrant Bees”, (Springwood, 1995) quotes from Louisa Anne Meredith’s book “My Home in Tasmania” and uses her book as evidence of the Merediths’ bee keeping activities in Van Diemen’s Land in the 1840s. So the sight of bee boxes at Yallambee during Louisa’s 1856 visit would not, by association, seem to have been so out of place.

The Tembys kept bees during their tenure at Yallambie in the second half of the 20th century and a son of Ethel was still keeping bee boxes in Yallambie Park when we came to live here in the early 1990s. There were bees living inside a hollow oak in the Homestead garden at the time and I mentioned them to Ethel’s son, thinking they might be of use to him. “Yes, I can dispose of those feral bees,” he answered meaningfully. And so that was the end of that.

Bee box on the south lawn at Yallambie Homestead. Photograph from "Heidelberg Conservation Study, Part 1", by Graeme Butler, 1985.
Bee box on the south lawn at Yallambie Homestead. Photograph from “Heidelberg Conservation Study, Part 1”, by Graeme Butler, 1985.

The bees are still in the oak and have now spread to an elm. They may have been the original source of the bees in our verandah. At this time of year the garden is literally buzzing with the busy little blighters. The Pride of Madeiras in our garden are in bloom and truly live up to their axiom, “the bee flowers”.

The "bee flowers" at Yallambie, September, 2016.
The “bee flowers” at Yallambie, September, 2016.

The above is about as good as I could manage with my simple point and shoot camera but it has been a good spring and there are plenty of other flowers in the garden around which the bees have been plying their trade. Some time ago my father in law turned up with a new lens on his camera and took the following series of photographs:


lavenderWhen seen up close in these pictures at a size not usually possible to our eyes, I like to wonder, ‘What goes on inside those little pin size heads?’ It’s all a question of scale and macro lens technology, but if you met one of these very alien looking little creatures up close, what sort of conversation might you have about their perspective on life? Do they know something we don’t know? Maybe you would find their space ships had been, to paraphrase Douglas Adams, “due to a terrible miscalculation of scale… accidentally swallowed by a small dog.”

"...but if you met one of these very alien looking little creatures up close, what sort of conversation might you have about their perspective on life?"
“…but if you met one of these very alien looking little creatures up close, what sort of conversation might you have about their perspective on life?”

Bees are known to forage up to 8km from their hives, even without their space ships, so the bees centrally located here at Yallambie are potentially now at work across the entire length and breadth of the City of Banyule. The Council doesn’t have any special planning laws restricting bee keeping in the community, providing all activities remain in accordance with the Apiary Code of Practice which requires the owner of hives to provide a nearby water source and also limits the number of hives and their location within urban environments. Bless them. I wonder if it insists on drinking straws for the bees as well?

Australia is a huge producer of honey and we actually produce more honey than our population of 23 million can consume. At the same time however we import honey into this country on a large scale. Australian honey is very pure and is therefore a valuable commodity on the world market. Not surprisingly therefore, cheap foreign honey is imported for the locals while the best home grown produce goes overseas. Ask any New Zealander about the cost of dairy produce in their country and you will hear a similar tale told.

For all of the problematic future facing our bees, they remain an integral part of the eco-system and the single most important link in our industrial food chain. All our crops are heavily reliant on their pollinating efforts but bees have been around a long time and over the passage of millennia have witnessed many changes. Whether they survive the current climate of change reflects on the ability of mankind itself to survive. So plant something flowering today and give the bees a helping hand. A world without bees would be quite simply a world without.

The busy bees
The busy bees

To everything there’s a season

Busy bee at Yallambie.
Busy bee at Yallambie.

September in Melbourne and there’s something in the air. It could be the sight of footballers sailing through the sky, hanging speckys off the back of the pack, or perhaps it’s the art of conversation as people cast off their winter coats to sit in the pale sunshine and dine al fresco along fashionable shopping strips, but for those of a horticultural disposition, it’s the scent of flowers. Like an uncoiling movement from inside a vintage Swiss watch, spring has sprung in Melbourne and in Yallambie the smell of new mown grass and the staccato sound of motor mowers in the distance fills the air as gardens and their gardeners awaken from a wintery sleep.

Yallambie poppies
Yallambie poppies

Most properties in Yallambie enjoy a back yard and gardening as a leisure time activity is pursued by many green thumbed residents in a variety of ways and to a varying form of extent. Even Banyule Council has lately got in on the act, planting a load of scratchy looking bottle brushes up and down the nature strip in Yallambie Rd. Not quite guerrilla, gardening it’s more like some kind of monkey business.

"Consider the lilies", September, 2016.
“Consider the lilies”, September, 2016.

Although not immediately obvious, the story of gardening in Yallambie dates back to the earliest days of settlement when the Bakewells’ garden “Yallambee Park” was arguably one of the finest experimental acclimatization projects of exotic plants then operating in the Port Phillip District. The Bakewells called their home “Floraville” and, from the early 1840s onwards, surviving written accounts and the visual record portray an estate of rambling style, used both as a working farm and as a living herbarium.

YALLAMBEE by George Alexander Gilbert, c1850, elevated view of river, vineyard on side of hill rising from the river and house at crest of hill.
YALLAMBEE by George Alexander Gilbert,  elevated view of river, vineyard on side of hill rising from the river and house at crest of hill. Source: State Library of Victoria, H29575.

Richard and William Howitt, the brothers of the Bakewells’ brother in law Dr Godfrey Howitt, himself also a keen gardener, both wrote previously quoted, interesting accounts of Yallambee Park in 1842 and 1852 respectively. Richard and William both had training as pharmacists, an occupation which in the early 19th century required a close understanding of plants and herbalism. Their writing at Yallambee underscores this training with careful observations of what had been planted and with what success.

William Howitt
William Howitt, (British Library collection).

“At the river Plenty reside J. and R. B. The river is a small one, but as its name imports, never exhausted,” (Richard Howitt, Impressions), and “All these things you see growing amid the strangest and most foreign-looking things,” (William Howitt, Land Labour & Gold).

Some little time after the second Howitt visit, the artist Edward La Trobe Bateman recorded the property with a minute, Pre-Raphaelite inspired attention to detail in his “Station Plenty” series of drawings.

Edward La Trobe Bateman, NLNZ
Edward La Trobe Bateman, Source: National Library of New Zealand

The precise date of these drawings, now in the collection of the National Gallery of Victoria, remains unclear. Bateman didn’t arrive in Australia until a little while after the time of William Howitt’s 1852 visit but some of the pictures may have been ready to be seen at the Melbourne Exhibition of 1854 for the visiting Irish psychologist W. H. Harvey, Professor of Botany at Dublin wrote of the show, “I was more interested in some very spirited sketches of Australian home scenes and also of wildflowers drawn by a La Trobe Bateman”. The artist had been preparing a number of drawings for a proposed project, “The Bush Homes of Australia” but whether the Plenty drawings were ever intended to be a part of that project, they were evidently completed as a set sometime before mid-1856 when they were exhibited and reviewed in London.

Thomas Wragge
Thomas Wragge, (Bush collection).

1856 seems to have been a decisive year in the history of Yallambee. The Victorian gold rushes had changed colonial society irrevocably and in the midst of it all the Bakewells announced their plans to return to the UK, sailing in 1857 where two years later John would marry Dr Godfrey’s English niece, Emily. The Bakewells’ pastoral activities north of Heidelberg meanwhile settled into the hands of a young Thomas Wragge, who became their active tenant at Yallambee.

This portrait of Louisa Anne Meredith was her favourite which she described as "unadulterated vanity", (Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts).
This portrait of Louisa Anne Meredith was her favourite which she described as “unadulterated vanity”, (Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts).

Also in the year 1856, the Vandemonian artist and writer Louisa Anne Meredith, a life-long friend and correspondent of Bateman and friend of the extended Howitt family, put pen to paper to write another description of Yallambee after stopping by during a whistle stop tour of the Victorian Colony. Her report, more theatrical in style than either of the two earlier Howitt efforts of carefully chosen prose, is nevertheless of great interest for what is said, and for what is not:

“Lo! another vision of a Victorian garden, on the banks of the river ‘Plenty’; not by any means English in character, but rather Oriental in its associations, with groves of massive fig trees of various kinds, rich with their luscious autumn gifts; rows of graceful olives, laden with fruit. Mulberry, peach, and all common orchard trees, in luxuriant abundance; vineyards, where the grapes have nearly all been gathered, but the leaves of each kind, assuming a different set of tints in their autumnal changes, made a glorious show of colour.

Daylily at Yallambie, September, 2016.
Daylily at Yallambie, September, 2016.

Some had scarcely altered their green summer garb; others wore it with a change of paly gold just gleaming over, showing the veins and deeper mid-rib, more emerald still – like verdant valleys, in a land of ripening harvest; some seemed as they had drunk the fervid sunshine in, until an amber light reflected it from every vein and tissue; here, pale and tender; there, deepening into golden russet; some had but shades of brown; but these, how exquisitely blent and softened! If one could dress in hues from such a pallette!

Purple native hibiscus, September, 2016
Purple native hibiscus

Creamy-fawn, passing to cinnamon colour, and then warmed with touches of burnt sienna, where the sun had rested longest, and relieved by dark full browns in the deeper shades; some again, parti-coloured green and gold, were flecked with vivid scarlet, like a sunset sky in the tropics; and others, with crimson for the gorgeous ground-tint, shaded it with deep maroon and purple, till, where shadows rested on it, they were black.

Poppies, September, 2016

The beauty of the fruit still left there, was as naught beside those wondrous leaves. In other places, tall spiral cypresses, darkly verdant, rose from a neighbourhood of rounder-growing, lighter-tinted trees, with tropical-looking cycal zamias and yuccas, making such exquisite groups of varied foliage, such charming bits of light and shade, that they seemed asking to be photographed forthwith; and some of the nooks have received even worthier honour from Mr. E. L. Bateman’s pencil.

Bluebells, September, 2016

One is a rustic flight of broad wooden steps, down a steep bank, not a formal flight (like the stately stone terrace steps in noble old English gardens, with great vases on the heavy massive balustrades, and one of Juno’s own peacocks, shedding over the grey stone his train of rainbow jewels in the sun), but with an easy bend in it, artfully concealing one end, as you stand on the other; and decorated with ivy, that runs down on either side in clustering luxuriance, and sends out long straight shoots along the angle where a carpet-rod would be on a house stair, with delicate, young, green leaves, laid as closely and precisely as if Titania’s upholsterer had devised the wreaths. A noble cypress stands grandly, in lieu of a statue, at the stair-foot, and great leaved tropic growths fill-in the foreground.

Meleanthus, September, 2016

And then the wreath of roses! Nothing like them has gladdened my senses since. One, monarch of the whole, seemed a giant elder brother of the noble ‘cloth-of-gold’, with great ruddy juicy stems, polished spreading leaves; and such flowers!

A full-blown one might have formed a bouquet for the ample bosom of Glumdalclitch herself; the colour was rich warm buff, almost saffron colour, deepening in the centre, and the texture of the broad petals was that rich wax-like substance, like a Camelia, but even thicker.

Ipheion, September, 2016.

It was the noblest of the rose-tribe I ever saw, and well contrasted by the delicate Annie Vibert and Devonienses, Banksias, &c., while the cloth-of-gold and some other deep-red roses aided to make up the courtly group around.

Hellebores, September, 2016.

What treasures we carried back with us to Melbourne, after that merry luncheon in the cottage-room, with its windows curtained by fuschias and passion-flowers!”
(Over the Straits, Louisa Anne Meredith, pp181-184)

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view II by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Detailed view of house and verandah.
The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view II by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Detailed view of house and verandah. Source: National Gallery of Victoria
Louisa Anne Meredith painted by her friend Georgiana McCrae, c1860. Source: National Gallery of Victoria
Louisa Anne Meredith painted by her friend Georgiana McCrae, c1860. Source: National Gallery of Victoria

It’s a beautiful picture, a picture that would be hard to emulate in any place outside of a botanical gardens today. The author of this description, Louisa Anne Meredith (1812-95) – artist, writer, feminist, environmentalist, animal activist (and passionate hater of Staffordshire figurines, “this menagerie of crockery monsters”, ibid) – is a fascinating personality from Australia’s early colonial past. After immigrating with her new husband Charles to Van Diemen’s Land in 1839, Louisa became part of a group of amateur painters which had been working in that colony from the arrival of John Glover a decade earlier. In the 1840s the group included the Colonial Auditor, G. W. T. B. Boyes; the first Bishop of Van Dieman’s Land, Francis Russell Nixon, and Mrs Nixon; Lady Franklin’s nephew, Lieutenant F. G. Simpkinson;  Surveyor-General, George Frankland and surveyor James Erskine Calder; poet and lecturer, Samuel Prout Hill; art teacher and lithographer, Thomas Evans Chapman; and Louisa herself. According to Vivienne Rae Ellis, writing in her biography “Louisa Anne Meredith – A Tigress in Exile”, both Bishop Nixon and Louisa in particular are known to have exercised, in addition to their painting activities, a keen interest in the early photographic processes. Louisa had seen an “exhibition of Daguerre’s first essay in sun-printing – the very dawn of photography”, at a soiree she and her husband attended in Oxford in 1839 shortly before embarking for the land Downunder. “Louisa recognised immediately the value of Daguerre’s revolutionary process, and became one of the earliest amateur photographers in the colonies”. (LAM – A Tigress in Exile, Blubber Head Press, 1979).

Furthermore, Ellis goes on to speculate in her biography that “it is highly probable that some of the illustrations in Over the Straits were engraved from Louisa’s own photographs taken in Victoria in 1856, but there is no proof of this.” (ibid)

Dr Anne Neale, in her PHD discussion of the work of E L Bateman, observed that: “It is interesting to note that Meredith considered the planting at the Plenty to be ‘Oriental” and ‘tropical’ in flavour, while William Howitt had been impressed by its Englishness. Meredith herself was inclined to find English comparisons for Australian landscapes: the ‘Oriental’ comment suggests that Bateman himself, with his well-established appreciation of oriental design, may have been her guide in viewing the gardens at the Plenty Station.” (Illuminating Nature, Anne Neale).

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view VIII by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Cypress and steps.
The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view VIII by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Cypress and steps. Source: National Gallery of Victoria

Louisa’s description of “a rustic flight of broad wooden steps, down a steep bank” suggests her familiarity with at least one of Bateman’s Yallambee pictures, View VIII in the Plenty Station series. Did she have Bateman’s pictures to draw from in memory, or did she have physical access to them during her visit to Yallambee? Louisa’s words “they seemed asking to be photographed forthwith; and some of the nooks have received even worthier honour from Mr. E. L. Bateman’s pencil” appear to be trying to tell us something from between the published lines, no mean feat from this great distance of more than 160 years hence.

1. "Dr. Godfrey Howitt's garden" [sic]", SLV.
1. Yallmabee, “Dr. Godfrey Howitt’s garden” [sic]”, State Library of Victoria.
In these pages I have speculated previously about the identity of the “unknown photographer” who took the SLV-Daguerreotypes, formerly mis-attributed as representing Dr Godfrey Howitt’s garden but which are, due to their similarity to Bateman’s drawings, readily identifiable as the Bakewells’ Yallambee Park. Stay with me then for a moment while I draw what is very possibly a very tight string on a on a very lengthy metaphoric long bow and imagine one day in late summer in the first half of the year 1856. It is a day when the garden at Yallambee is as yet in full bloom. Summer fruits burden trees with a late harvest. The owners of the garden have announced their plans to shortly return to the land of their birth and have invited friends and family for a last visit and a “merry luncheon in the cottage-room”.

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view III by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. House with lattice-work verandah and garden.
The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view III by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. House with lattice-work verandah and garden. Source: National Gallery of Victoria.

The leaves are on the oak trees still and the yuccas are in flower. It is a day when bees drone in a lazy way around bee boxes placed on the river flat for that purpose by one, Robert Bakewell.

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view IX by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Gardening shed.
The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view IX by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Gardening shed. Source: National Gallery of Victoria.

2. "Dr. Godfrey Howitt's garden" [sic]", SLV.
2. Yallambee, “Dr. Godfrey Howitt’s garden” [sic]”, State Library of Victoria.
It is a day when maybe, just maybe, Edward La Trobe Bateman and his friend and artistic collaborator, Louisa Anne Meredith, have found themselves together for a short while in the convivial surroundings of the Bakewell garden, one to stand at an easel, possibly sketching additional material for a probably already complete set of well-known Pre-Raphaelite drawings due to be exhibited in England later that year, the other to stand alongside him with a photographic tripod on which she has mounted an early Daguerreotype form of camera, brought here on a voyage from “over the straits” for just this purpose.

Spring in the garden at Yallambie with c1910 garage, September, 2016.
Spring in the garden at Yallambie with c1910 garage, September, 2016.

Speculation certainly, but could it explain the identity of the “unknown photographer”, the mysterious author of the pictures in the SLV collection? It’s a fascinating possibility but in the words of Ellis, “there is no proof of this”. 

Louisa returned to Van Diemen’s Land, styled from 1856 as the colony of Tasmania, and continued to write and paint while living a seemingly semi-nomadic life with her husband and family and never residing in one place for very many years. She maintained a correspondence with Bateman in Victoria and later in Scotland, when he settled there after 1869, but in her winter years, Louisa like her friend Georgiana McCrae, considered her life to have been a failure. In 1892 near the end of her long life, Louisa wrote to Henry Parkes, Australia’s ‘Father of Federation’, remarking that “I was born under an evil star.” History has been kinder and today Louisa Anne Meredith is recognized for the considerable contribution she made to Victoria’s 19th century cultural landscape. The story of Yallambie is the richer for it.




If there was one thing destined to end the era of convict transportation to Australia, it was the discovery of golden mineral wealth in a land which for so long had been the dumping ground of Great Britain’s most unwilling form of immigrants. Strictly speaking, the Port Phillip District was never a penal colony, but convicts did make their way there assigned to various work parties, or while holding tickets of leave in other colonies. With the discovery of gold in Australia however, the irony in sending felons to a foreign el Dorado of the south was not lost on the authorities when it seemed that half the world was quite literally falling over itself to get there in a mad “rush to be rich”.

The existence of gold in the Port Phillip District had long been something of an open secret, the facts seemingly supressed by a government fearful of the possible social dislocation of an Australian gold rush. Although it’s not widely recognized now, some of these very first rumours of gold in Victoria occurred in the Plenty Ranges and on the tributaries of the upper reaches of the Plenty River itself. One such story at the start of the 1840s involved an eccentric bushman called John or Jemmy Gomm (“Old Gum”) who was supposed to have lived in a hollow tree on the Upper Plenty on the slopes of Mt Disappointment, secretly prospecting for gold but telling people all along he was hunting for lyrebirds. lyre_birdOld Gum had arrived at Port Phillip in 1835 as one of John Pascoe Fawkner’s servants aboard the schooner “Enterprize” but had “gone bush”. A Plenty River pastoralist, George Urquart, writing much later to “The Brisbane Courier” newspaper in 1882 described meeting Gomm, seeing his gold specimens and the situation of his Plenty Ranges bush camp:

An echo of Jemmy Gomm: a 19th century stump house in old Gippsland. (Source: Art Gallery of NSW).
An echo of Jemmy Gomm: a 19th century stump house in old Gippsland. (Source: Art Gallery of NSW).

“He had a nice garden, which was well-stocked with a variety of vegetables, and a beautiful stream of water running through the centre of it. His habitation was an old fallen gum tree, which in its fallen state was fully 70ft in circumference. A shell of the stump stood forming the back of ‘Gum’s’ fireplace; the short space between the fallen trunk and the remains standing upright had been covered in with bark, the burnt portion of the tree cleared out with his adze; and he had in the tree a kitchen, a storeroom where he manipulated his gold, and a bedroom. He handed me a small nugget of gold, which I took, beat very thin, and sent to an elder brother in Sydney, who, when acknowledging his receipt, replied telling me, “to mind my cattle and not think of gold-gathering”. ‘Gum’ was a quiet, inoffensive man. He told me he came from Van Diemen’s Land, and appeared very thankful that I allowed my manager to supply him with rations.”

Melbourne's Police Magistrate, Captain William Lonsdale.
Melbourne’s Police Magistrate, Captain William Lonsdale.

Occasionally “Old Gum” travelled down to Melbourne to dispose of gold, exchanging it for rations, before heading back into the bush. The idea of some whimsical old soul living secretly in the bush and unearthing mineral riches at random quite caught the public imagination at the time and in 1842 the police magistrate, Captain William Lonsdale, despatched troopers to find old man Gomm. They eventually found his camp but Gomm had gone. The bird had flown his proverbial coop in the face of authority, leaving his camp deserted with “crucibles and old bellows, but no gold.”

The Turon River, NSW, scene of Australia's first gold rush.
The Turon River, NSW, scene of Australia’s first gold rush.

The first real rush in Australia occurred about a decade later at the Turon field near Sofala in New South Wales in June, 1851, just prior to the official separation of Port Phillip from New South Wales on the 1st July. After Separation the new Victorian government looked for their own gold strike to stem the exodus north and announced a reward of £200 for the first person to find a payable deposit within easy reach of Melbourne. The so called Plenty River “gold” rush actually coincided with the rush to the Turon but would prove to be a Furphy since the actual gold found on the Plenty would turn out to be comparatively very slight, if not altogether non-existent. At any rate, the story of Plenty River gold was perhaps more a reflection of the desire of local business interests in Melbourne to find gold in Victoria, but not so very far away from the town that it would cause a whole scale exodus to the far flung reaches of the interior. In the resulting excitement, stories of gold in the vicinity of Melbourne abounded and there were even reports of Melbourne streets being dug up, in spite of laws specifically forbidding such activities. It seems that people were finding gold everywhere.

“When first we left old England’s shore
Such yarns as we were told
As how folks in Australia
Could pick up lumps of gold”

The short lived rush to the Plenty region itself seems to have taken place after a certain Thomas Hewitt made the following claims about gold in the Plenty Ranges in what was nevertheless a pretty percipient letter to “The Argus” newspaper which published it on 30 May, 1851:

“…I can assure you that I myself have seen two men who have been up in our ranges, and showed me a parcel of gold dust; as far as I could judge, of a very good quality; and they told me that they had been up in the ranges for two months, and had done very well on their trip. I have had some little experience in geology, and think that it is most likely that gold may be found in some quantities in the Plenty Ranges, the dip of the rock being exactly like those of the California region; but I hope for the good of the country that no such diggings may be made in our part, as through false representation an idle and worthless population might be drawn to the locality, it might at the same time delude many of our steady worthy labourers, who might thrive at the rate of about ten in a hundred. Hoping that this may not be the case, I am, Sir, yours truly, Thomas Hewitt, River Plenty, May 26th, 1851.”

News of gold on the Plenty and in such close proximity to Melbourne resulted in great excitement. “The Argus” carried almost daily reports on the developments and on June 9 reported:

“The gold on the Plenty still continues the main staple of conversation; it is alike talked of by the merchant and labourer… Several samples of so-called Plenty gold are now shown in town and there are reports on all sides of lucky individuals who have found wealth all in a moment…”

Red Dwarf channels Dangerous Dan McGrew.
Red Dwarf channels Dangerous Dan McGrew.

About 300 people were scattered over the Plenty Ranges, washing for gold in the creeks and minor tributaries. With fears of the fields descending into a haunt for the “Dangerous Dan McGrew” stereotype of later poetical fiction, a party of mounted troopers was sent out from Melbourne to keep order, it being reported that there were those in the Ranges “who would steal the nose off one’s face,” (ibid). The report was illustrated by the story of one man who found £17 18s 3d of gold dust only to have £18 worth of goods stolen from his unattended cart while he panned.

Extract from "The Courier", Hobart, 18 June, 1851.
Extract from “The Courier”, Hobart, 18 June, 1851.

The news of gold on the Plenty spread quickly to the other Australian colonies and an article in “The Courier” newspaper of Hobart on June 18 speculated that the Plenty ranges were “a continuation of the Bathurst ranges, where gold is now being found in large quantities…”

As stories of real and richer finds in other parts of the colony soon began to overrun the imaginary Plenty River riches, the story should have died a quiet natural. However Henry Frencham gave it a new lease of life on June 14 when, working as a reporter for the “Port Phillip Gazette”, he claimed to have made his own discovery of gold in the Plenty region. An assay of his specimens revealed no gold but then Henry Frencham also claimed to have found gold at the western end of Bourke Street, Melbourne and would later claim to have also been responsible for the first discovery of gold on the rich Bendigo gold fields. Frencham’s claims might have been questionable but his reports made good copy for the newspapers all the same. One Argus report described Frencham as being “a respectable man, who can have no object in deceiving the public; and although his supposed discovery at the Plenty turned out a mistake, no one doubted his own firm believe in the genuineness of the article discovered.” As the author of this piece was probably Frencham himself, working in his capacity as a reporter, it can only be imagined what the deceived public really thought but interestingly Frencham’s site in the Plenty ranges near what would become Queenstown (St Andrews) would later be worked very successfully as the Caledonia gold field.

Henry Frencham, (James Lerk collection)
Henry Frencham, (James Lerk collection)
Thomas Wragge
Thomas Wragge, (Bush collection)

The 1850s were a pivotal decade in Victoria’s colonial history and Yallambie’s Thomas Wragge found himself in this mix right at the start. He departed England for the Australian colonies as an intermediate passenger on board the SS Northumberland in 1851, just before news of the first Australian gold strikes were received in England. Arriving at Port Phillip with £25 in his pocket to an economic climate defined by gold discoveries, rumoured discoveries and colonial separation, the 21 year old Thomas Wragge showed no inclination to join the overwhelming exodus to the new Victorian gold fields. The young, ex-Nottinghamshire farmer carried a letter of introduction written by familial connections of Yallambee’s John and Robert Bakewell and had his own ideas about how to go about finding riches in Victoria.

“Thomas and his family would not have heard of the Australian discoveries before he departed, but land and pastoral activities seem to have been his primary concerns… The great influx of gold-seeking immigrants had resulted in soaring prices for meat, and keen demand for agricultural produce.” (Calder: “Class the Wool and Counting the Bales).

The years of the Victorian gold rushes saw a great increase in the worth of agricultural produce in the new colony. For instance, hay which had previously sold for 35s a tonne sold in Melbourne in 1852 for £50. Wheat rose from 2s 8d a bushel to 12s and locally, Michael Butler of Greensborough is recorded as receiving up to £155 per tonne for carting flour to the Bendigo fields. The prices paid for beef and bullocks rose even more.

It is unknown today whether Wragge worked immediately on arrival for John and Robert Bakewell at Yallambee, or at any time thereafter between 1851 and 1854 at which later date he is known to have been on the estate. However, the Bakewells had pastoral interests in other Victorian properties and if Thomas was not at Yallambee he may have been working for them at one of these, possibly at Western Port or on the Campaspe.

The Station Plenty, (Yallambie) view I by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Distant view of station with cattle in foreground.
John and Robert Bakewell’s “Yallambee”, The Station Plenty, view I by Edward La Trobe Bateman 1853-1856. Distant view of station with cattle in foreground. (Source: National Gallery of Victoria).

Although the only gold found on the Plenty River had by then been proved to be the stuff of fools it seems that there was still enough interest locally for a couple of potential “mines” being attempted at Yallambie. In the additional notes to Winty Calder’s “Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales” she mentions a mine shaft that was sunk next to the river close to the location of the Plenty Bridge Hotel and another sort of “strike” made in the vicinity of the site of William Greig’s old farm, below present day Allima Avenue.

“There was once a mine shaft on Yallambie, over near the pub. There was also another sort of strike just behind the chooks (i.e. N of the house) – Picol Paddock. The other was at Barn Hill (river paddock).” (Calder: Classing the Wool and Counting the Bales, notes).

Heidelberg and Eltham artist Walter Withers' mining series, painted at Creswick in 1893 (from left): "Mining", (Ballarat Fine Art Gallery); "Cradling", (Art Gallery of NSW); "Fossickers", (National Gallery of Australia); and "Panning", (private collection).
Heidelberg and Eltham artist Walter Withers’ mining series, painted at Creswick in 1893 (from left): “Mining”, (Ballarat Fine Art Gallery); “Cradling”, (Art Gallery of NSW); “Fossickers”, (National Gallery of Australia); and “Panning”, (private collection).

In spite of these rumoured mines, it seems pretty clear now that nothing was ever found. However, Yallambee at Heidelberg would prove to be fortunately located close to the roads leading to several diggings. A way side inn was established on the Plenty River at the end of present day Martins Lane to capture the goldfields traffic heading to the Caledonia field through Eltham and Wragge, as the Bakewells’ tenant at Yallambee, would find himself well placed to cater to this market.

“Little hostelries sprang up to offer refreshment to the digger at intervals along the way, and a river crossing settlement emerged at Lower Plenty, where a slab hut was built at the ford near Martins Lane.” (Edwards: The Diamond Valley Story, p40).

William Howitt
William Howitt

William Howitt was ostensibly looking for gold when he was in the colony in 1852 and visited his brother Godfrey’s, brothers in law at Yallambee. In the event, Howitt didn’t find much in the two years he spent on the gold fields but his experiences as described in his monumental work “Land Labour and Gold,” are recognized today as an historically important primary document of life in gold rush era Victoria and include William’s description of the Bakewells’ Yallambee, (quoted previously in these pages).

In another primary account with a local interest from that time, Rebecca Greaves wrote a letter to an uncle in England at the end of 1851 from her parents’ farm in Greensborough, just upriver from Yallambee, and giving her own impressions of the early stages of the Victorian gold rushes at a time when it was still considered “that the Plenty all along abounds in gold”:

“…I read an account that a gentleman I know in Melbourne had the first shovel full found a piece of solid gold the size of a duck’s egg whereas there other gents that were with him only found 2 or three grains and Doctor Barker one of the party did not find any at all so it is all chance. I have seen some of it in the stone it is found in is exactly the same as the marble on our land in fact it is thought that the Plenty all along abounds in gold it is on the Plenty one of the places they are finding so much they are finding it in many parts of the country it is thought that Victoria abounds in Gold, “now what do you think of our emigrating to this gold region?” Everyone has left town to go to the diggings there is not a man or boy to be seen in town even the gents at the Bank are “off to the diggings” such an uproar never was known in the colony before not a ship can leave the bay for as soon as the ships get in port the sailors away to the Gold mines go where you will you cannot see a man unless it is an old man like my Father the papers are full of shops to let on account of the owners going to the “diggings” they are exactly the same plight at Sydney they are finding Gold all over the country; it seems to have raised some of the poor faint hearted English cakes now they have heard of Gold being found in quantities in Victoria they can raise courage enough to come out by ship loads but even now I would not persuade anyone to come all I can say is that the farewells of large families are complete soft cakes to remain in England when once they hear of a country that anyone must do work in if I were only a young man would not I go gold digging and even now I feel half inclined to dress in man’s clothes and go I am certain if I could not dig I could rock the cradle only I should be afraid they would know I was not a man as I should not like to part with my curls for that you know Uncle would spoil my beauty would it not and that certainly would be a great pity…” (Extract from a letter written by 23 year old Rebecca Sarah Greaves at Greensborough, dated 25 November, 1851).

Ray Harryhausen's fleece, the sort of gold that Jason found on Colchis.
“…he did eventually find gold of another kind, in the form of fleece from the sheep’s back…”.

In spite of the hopes of men like Frencham and the beliefs of Rebecca Greaves, the Plenty River  never really got going as gold country although Victoria as a whole would for a while prove to have some of the richest fields the world has ever known. Although Wragge didn’t try his luck on these goldfields he did eventually find gold of another kind, in the form of fleece from the sheep’s back and he died a wealthy man. By the time he pulled up stumps at Yallambie in 1910, the £25 capital he carried with him on arrival had increased to more than £400,000.

Those golden days are long ended although today the signs of those times can still be seen in the occasional abandoned mullock heaps of the bush and in the presence of grand, gold rush era, inland towns. My father, a Ballarat boy born and bred, was known to point knowingly at times towards the horizon when visiting that town saying, “There’s more gold in those hills than ever came out of them.” He was speaking maybe from family experience since legend has it that, before the war, his family were supposed to have kept a large suede bag full of gold dust and quartz. “It was from the old days when your great grandfather was a miner and it was kept over for a time of need.” His childhood was marked by the years of the Great Depression and by end of the War, that bag and its contents were most definitely gone.

Lerderderg River, September, 2013.
Lerderderg River, September, 2013.

As a kid I used to go bushwalking into the Lerderderg Gorge halfway to Ballarat, using an old miners’ mule track which led down to the river. The Lerderderg is very close to Melbourne but as a lad it was like walking into a world of my imagination not unlike Middle-earth. There was a mine tunnel there which went in one side of a ridge and came out the other, all dug by hand by Chinese miners in the 19th century and held up without timber supports. It used to be a test of courage for us as kids to crawl through the tunnel with small battery torches from one end to the other with the roof and walls gradually getting narrower and narrower until emerging in a scramble on the other side. I went back there a few years ago with my own son but could no longer find the entrance to the tunnel. All that remained of it by then was a big hole in the side of the ridge marking the location of its collapse. Another example in the “what ifs” of life’s story.

Uncle Scrooge contemplates one of life's eternal verities. (From Uncle Scrooge: Back to the Klondike, 1953).
Uncle Scrooge contemplates one of life’s eternal verities. (From Uncle Scrooge: Back to the Klondike, 1953).

Tolkein once noted, “All that is gold does not glitter” which references a much older saying. Whatever the source, its age old meaning remains true. Not everyone who went looking for gold in Victoria in the 1850s necessarily found what they were looking for, even those who like Hume’s Madame Midas found a dash of the precious metal at the bottom of a mine shaft or in a pan dipped into a river. But gold can be found in sometimes unexpected places. chaplin_goldIt might be the gold in the memory of a childhood adventure in an abandoned mine or in the worth of fleece cut from a sheep’s back. It might be a certain note in a piece of music that you love or it might even be the gold in that moment when your football team gets up by a point with a kick after the siren. And it may be the gold in a simple smile.

That’s gold.