No 47 Aldinga

"Aldingha" came into existence in the time of Governor Gawler. It was then regarded as a remote post in the far "interior" of South Australia - a full 27 miles from the capital. It was an adventure to go there. For the only country then explored in the province was an oblong strip of about four miles by seven in and around the capital.

Adelaide itself was only an infant, and a very puny one at that; with a tent surrounded by a piece of rope as a gaol, round which a weary sentry armed with a Brown Bess musket patrolled, when his Excellency decided to set out for the southern country to see what it was like. It is from the date of that journey that the history of Aldinga began— 1838.

One would have imagined that a town which goes back to the very beginning of things would, in the intervening century, have attained to the dignity of an important burg. But Aldinga never did it. I don't think it ever will. It was laid out in January, 1857, as "Aldinga Village," and a village it has remained to this day.

For one thing, it has no civic aspirations. It is probably one of the most conservative places in the State. It consists practically of a single row of scattered buildings fronting the main road to Yankalilla. I should imagine it has seen very few changes since it was laid out in 1857. You see, in the early days the whole of this country was held by the South Australian Company— sections 399, 401, and 407. Probably there were other sections as well, but they do not come into the picture at Aldinga.

Section 401, on part of which Aldinga stands, was taken up by the South Australian Company in October, 18?? and in 1845 the company conveyed the western half to George Lovelock, and the eastern half to John Fidge. I cannot judge with any certainty from the records in front of me who laid out Aldinga Village, but the assumption is in favor of Louis Fudge, presumably a son of the aforesaid John. That is all I can tell you of the ???? at Aldinga. The name, of course, is native. It means "tree district.'" But some translators give it as "much water."

Changed Topography

Which reminds me that in the course of the last 60 or 70 years the topography of Aldinga has changed considerably. I have in front of me an old record, dated 1866, which describes "Aldinga big lagoon" as a swampy lagoon lying a mile and a half north-west by west of Sellick's Hill. That lagoon, which was large enough to have a special description allotted to it in an Australian "Gazetteer," no longer exists. The old people remember it, but to the present generation it is either a legend, of they know nothing about it. In the days when the lagoon was there, there were no creeks. Now there are creeks which have washed the soil from the high ground into the swamp and filled it up.

A Lost Forest

Near this lagoon— that is to say, about midway between Aldinga and Sellick's Hill— there used to be a thick forest, haunted by all sorts of bird life. Today there is merely open plain, almost treeless. Yet seventy or more years ago parties used to be sent from the city to hunt birds in this forest. The birds were exported in thousands, and some of the species were exterminated. The modus operandi of the hunters was this. They laid their nets on the ground, and used a decoy bird to attract their victims to the net. When the feathered congregation was large enough the traps were cunningly closed, generally imprisoning hundreds of parrots, wrens, diamond sparrows, tom-tits, crows, magpies, curlews, skylarks, cockatoos, laughing jacks, ducks, and other wild game. Now the forest is gone, the birds are gone, and most of the trappers have gone! I was told these things, and many others, one morning by Messrs. J. N. Crisp, T. H. Culley, A. Bird, J. Poynton, and E. T. Martin.

Threshing By Flail

I wonder how many of our young agriculturists would recognise a flail today if they saw one? But in the early days of Aldinga — and, naturally, other parts of the young province as well— the flail was the principal (practically the only) method of threshing grain. It was a slow and laborious process, at which all hands on the farm — the women and children, as well as the laborers, the farmer, and his sons— took a turn. The harvested grain in the ear was spread on the floor of the barn, and the beaters, armed with two sticks, to which were attached swinging cross pieces of hardwoood called swiples, set to work to hammer the grain out of the ears. I don't know how much it was possible to thresh in a day, but I should like to.

I should also like to see an exhibition of these old-time agricultural implements—and so would a good many others, I should think. Perhaps some day the Royal Agricultural Society may endeavor to gather together a sort of museum of such antiquities — the scythe, the sickle, the flail, and the curious early day ploughs with which our forefathers stumbled over their rough fields. Back in the be knighted days of which we write they had all these rustic monstrosities at Aldinga — because there was nothing else to have. Seeding was done by hand, the grain being broadcast from both fists. But it was hard work. Curiously, however, hand sowing was quicker than the modem drill, though the results were not so good. A good man would sow his thirty acres a day.

And the ploughs of those unenlightened times! They were the old fashioned swing style, without seats, as heavy as the oxen which drew them. One had to hang on to them like grim death. If the plough fell over it was not a matter of just righting it — one had to leave one's work to seek reinforcements to set the confounded thing up again.

Yet the pioneers did these things without grumbling. It wasn't much use to grouse. Conditions were difficult, but they were no better elsewhere, and they just had to be accepted. Thousands of acres of hay were cut by the scythe. When the threshing machine came into existence the flail fell into disuse. The new wonder machine used to go from farm to farm, just as it does today in the remote parts of Mexico. In those times no one farmer dreamt of owning his own harvester; in fact, the holdings were too small to make such a thing economically possible. For Aldinga, like Yankalilla, Willunga, Noarlunga, and other parts of the Near South, was a country of pocket handkerchief farms. That is why it never made any great headway as a wheat-producing centre. And that is why the opening up of the North, with its almost limitless acres, played such havoc with the agricultural population of the South. The younger generation, hungry for land which they could not get at home, migrated north on a wholesale scale, so that the population of the southern towns is smaller today than it was half a century or more ago.

Lookout Castle

But in times which we now regard as remote, Aldinga was a thriving and busy centre in comparison with the surrounding places. Samuel White's mill was one of the first in South Australia. It was a. large concern and a noted landmark, with its 80 ft. chimney, its lookout castle, and its five large wheat stores. All evidence of their existence has disappeared today.

I don't know why the residents called the lookout a "castle," but they did. This was a high tower which the mill owner used for sighting ships at sea, for it was from such vessels that one received the quotations for wheat and flour from the other States. For there were no telegraphs and no daily mail service, and the prices in the newspapers might be a month or a fortnight old.

You see, the press was in no better position to get information than the settlers. It had to rely on the ships— and the ships had no regular timetable. They just happened along haphazard at the most unexpected times.

As illustrating the lack of facilities for the newspapers getting intelligence of outside events, I may mention the birth of the late King Edward in 1841. Adelaide did not receive news of the advent of an heir to the throne until five months after the event occurred. Similarly such an important matter as the death of King William and the accession of Queen Victoria was months old when the tidings came to Adelaide.

So, you see, Mr. White's watch tower was an important and necessary piece of mill equipment if he was to keep abreast of the tricky changes in the markets — and, as he was an extremely astute gentleman, as you may judge for yourself a little later, you may depend upon it that he made good use of the lookout castle. If a ship hove in sight a signal was hoisted, and the vessel, circumstances permitting, lay to. Vessels never hesitated about this, for there was always a chance of picking up a big cargo at Aldinga. Off went the mill owner to the ship in a boat, or perhaps the captain would come ashore. In either case there was a pow-wow about prices, and an exchange of newspapers.

A Deal In Wheat

I told you Mr. White was an astute busmess man. Here is an example of his methods. He was "nosing" about the markets in Melbourne one day when he picked up news of an impending rise in wheat. Now, that year the south had a big crop, and the mill owner saw a chance of turn ing an honest penny or two— that is, if mill owners ever do make their money honestly. You see, I have met so many farmers in the course of my travels, and heard so much from them about the iniquities of wheat buyers,that it is possible my judgment has become a bit warped.

At all events, as there was no ship sailing for South Australia for "donkey's years," White chartered one to take him to Aldinga, where he was landed from the vessel in a boat. He went round the whole of the south, buying up all the grain he could get hold of. From that one deal he is said to have thousands of pounds.

There are, I know, some who would begrudge him that success. But I am not one of them. He took the risk, displayed his enterprise, and was entitled to the results.

There was another mill in Aldinga, owned by a man named Butterworth. I assume that would be Eli Butterworth, the Yankalilla miller, who built "Bungala," that noted Yankalilla residence with the famous stone wall. But I am only guessing at his identity.

Lazy Natives

Those days the hills around Aldinga were the haunts of many natives, who at certain seasons of the year used to come down to the plains and make themselves a general nuisance. Usually they stayed three or four months before moving back to their mountain fastnesses...

[The rest of this section has been deliberately omitted as it is offensive. If you wish to read the orginal click the link at the base of this article.]

Wild Cattle

In the late thirties and early forties there were cattle stations throughout the area from Noarlunga to Yankalilla and Rapid Bay. As years wore on many of these were abandoned, and stray cattle that had escaped to the mountains ran wild. The agriculturists of Aldinga found these beasts a serious menace. They bred rapidly and attained great numbers. Frequently thev would come down to the plains in big mobs, break into the wheat patches, and do considerable damage.

The settlers had a novel way of dealing with the pests. Arming themselves with white sheets, they would rush among the mob at night, waving the cloths. The cattle would stampede, and generally would avoid that patch in future. On one occasion two beasts were found dead next morning from fright, and on another a frantic animal swam out to sea, and was not seen again. I was told there are still mobs of these cattle in the hills at the back of Yankalilla.

Early Day Shepherding

These days of fences miles long we scarcely know what a shepherd is. But they didn't know anything about fences in the early forties. All sheep were shepherded, and the shepherds lived on the spot in old watch boxes, which were drawn round the sheep at night. The watch boxes were curious structures. Mounted on wheels and drawn from, place to place by bullocks, they measured from 12 to 14 ft. long, and 6 ft. wide. They had quaint timber and shingle roofs, which were very low. making it difficult to stand up in them. The shepherds stuck to their posts continuously, and their rations were taken out to them. This was no hardship, for when they had a spare - hour or two there was nowhere to go. There were no entertainments, and if there had been there were no roads to get to them. Life was simple and unhurried.

Crinolines And Chignons

The big social events of those days were visiting one's neighbors and going to church on Sundays. Those were the days of real friendship and genuine hospitality. Friendships car ried obligations, and were lifelong in endurance. The church was the centre of all social activities. Generally the settlers went to church in style— the family bullock dray. The men wore white moleskin pants and colored shirts, and the women crinolines and chignons. The wide hooped skirts provided much entertainment for the village youth, especially on those occasions when the wind, in a sportive mood, blew the skirts above the wearers' heads, and kept them there. The two big events of the year were the annual Wesleyan "tea fight," and the single-furrow ploughing matches —forerunners of the agricultural shows.

Originally Aldinga began about three-quarters of a mile south of the present town. Later the township was formed at the present site, and the old residences were abandoned.

A mile and a half from Aldinga is Port Willunga. Why it should have been called Port Willunga instead of Port Aldinga I cannot say, except that in the earliest times it was a habit to refer to the whole of this country as Willunga. But Willunga is five miles further away from the sea. It was at Port Willunga that that tragedy of the eighties occurred —the loss of the Star of Greece.

Wreck Of The Star Of Greece

In the tiny Methodist churchyard at Aldinga I stood beside the monument erected to the memory of those who perished in that memorable disaster. It bears the inscription — "Erected by the residents of Aldinga, and neighborhood to the memory of Captain H. R. Harrower, W. R. Waugh, R. Muir, F. C. Blackman, G. Irvine, W. Oer march, H. J. R. Cook, G. Gardner, F. C. Carter, D. Blair, and A. Orson, who lost their lives through the wreck of the Star of Greece, at Port Willunga on July 13, 1888.”

That monument, is the symbol of a sad story. The loss of the Star of Greece, a strong iron ship of 1,257 tons, was, with the exception of the Admella catastrophe thirty years previously, the worst marine disaster that had up till then occurred on the South Australian coast. The monument contains the names of only eleven victims, but, according to the newspaper reports of the day twelve were saved and nineteen drowned out of a crew of thirty-one.

Many of the lost were South Australians, having just shipped prior to the sailing of the vessel for the United Kingdom with a cargo of wheat. The Star of Greece arrived at Port Adelaide on June 10, 1888, and after discharging a general cargo, loaded grain for the return journey. The weather for several days prior to her departure had been unpromising, and Captain Harrower delayed sailing. On Thursday, July 12, however, there was a lull, and at sunset the vessel began her voyage. During the night heavy squalls developed from the north-west, and drove the ship towards the shore, twenty miles out of her course.

The extraordinary circumstance about the wreck was that nobody appeared to have noticed how dangerously the ship was drifting landwards. This gave rise after the disaster to reports that the officers were drunk, and I heard this statement repeated only the other day.

There seems, however, to have been no justification for the charge. The matter was the subject of special enquiry at the inquest. Not only was the accusation not substantiated, but the tide surveyor of the Customs (Mr. W. Little) published a letter at the time, saying the Star of Greece was a teetotal ship, and carried no spirits beyond ordinary medical supplies.

By 2 a.m. on Friday the Star of Greece was off Port Willunga. The night was dark, and the sea abnormally rough. Obviously the watch was faulty, for the vessel was almost on the reef before her proximity to land was reported. The captain and officers were roused, but the ship struck before anything could be done to alter her course. She hit the reef 200 yards from the shore in a tempestuous sea in which obviously no vessel could live. She broke in two.

Official Bungling

From here on the story becomes one of disastrous inefficiency on the part of officialdom charged with rescue operations. Word of the plight of those aboard the ship was sent to Adelaide the same evening, and it was asked that life-saving apparatus should be dispatched with speed to the scene. Up to a couple of years before this wreck there had been proper equipment at Port Willunga, but for some reason or other it had been removed. The nearest point from which it could be forwarded was Normanville. A telegram was sent there, and the apparatus dispatched by a couple of leisurely horses. It reached, the scene via Sellick's Hill hours late to be of use.

Meanwhile, Adelaide was asked to send a lifeboat, and wasted hours debating what kind of boat should go. Of course, eventually it sent the wrong one, notwithstanding that an experienced ship's captain had launched his own boat and placed it at the service of the Marine Beard authorities.

While Adelaide officialdom argued ways and means, and the Normanville life-saving gear jogged comfortably over the hills between Yankalilla and Aldinga, exhausted seamen were dropping one by one from the rigging of the doomed ship into the seething water, where they were drowned within sight of several hundred people who watched helplessly on shore. Others reached the beach only to die from exhaustion a little later. Still others, attempting to swim the 200 yards which separated them from life, were battered to pieces on the rocks by a sea which hurled itself over the reef with thunderous fury. Some lashed themselves to rafts, which overturned and trapped their unhappy passengers underneath. One body was washed ashore with a broken neck. Portion of a coat sleeve containing a man's hand with a gold ring on a finger was picked up by a bystander— all that remained of the second mate. It was a weird, ghastly business.

And, behind it all, was the knowledge that most of these lives could have been saved if Authority had had the gumption it was supposed to have. Some remarkable heroism was displayed by those on shore in efforts to help the doomed sailors. But what could those people do, heroism or no heroism, without the means of getting a line to the ship? Just help the few survivors, and do the best they could for the dead.

Back To 1838

Now I want to take you back to the beginning of things— back to the year 2 of South Australia. I want to show you some of the difficulties the surveyors had in making the first roads through the bush to these townships of Aldinga, Willunga, and Yankalilla.

First, let me tell you the kind of food they had. It was of the worst possible description— salt beef and salt pork taken from casks which had been left lying in the sun for days, until the pickle which preserved it was practically evaporated. The meat was horribly rancid. It had to be steeped in water for hours before it could be cooked, and even then it emitted a beastly effluvia. No use having delicate stomachs those days. As for flour — well, it was flour once. But by the time the survey men got it it was mostly lumps of chalk-like dough, sour and mildewed. The chainmen carried water with them in small kegs strapped to their backs. Of vegetables there were none. Is it any wonder that scurvy was a common disease? And on this fare men had to work hard from sunrise to sundown! So bad was the food that the authorities consented to allow men who were good "shots" to take two days a week off for the purpose of game hunting, to replenish the supplies of the camps.

Frightened By Kookaburras

The late J. C. Hawker, of Bungaree fame, used to relate an adventure he had with kookaburras while he was surveying the roads in this district. He was one of the "shots" detailed to supply the camp with fresh meat. In 1838 practically nothing was known of the "interior" of the State, even though that term, suggestive of distance, was applied to country within 30 miles of the capital.

The hunters had been strictly cautioned not to stray too far from camp, because of the danger of encountering hostile natives. This particular day Hawker had gone much further from headquarters than he should. He was all alone in the bush. Presently he was startled by a derisive laugh. He felt his flesh creeping up his spine. Here at last, he told himself, he was face to face with the treacherous aborigines, of whose cunning and cruelty he had heard so much. He peered about, but could see no sign of the enemy. But another ugly laugh convinced him of their presence, and, casting dignity to the winds, he streaked for open ground, where he decided to sell his life as dearly as possible.

After a big interval had elapsed without the expected attack developing, he became sorely puzzled. There was a clump of trees close by, and he decided black brother must be lurking among the thick foliage. So, holding his gun ready for instant action, he cautiously crept forward and looked into the branches. He saw only a couple of strange-looking birds who, as though conscious of the joke they had played him, threw back their heads and laughed uproariously.

“Hawker's Stumps”

Mention of J. C. Hawker reminds me of one other incident connected with the earliest history of this district. It occurred while he was laying out the original Willunga road in 1839. It had been the practice up to that time to blast out the stumps by means of gunpowder. But, owing to a series of accidents arising from a consignment of faulty powder, the explosive was condemned, and Hawker was instructed to confine his activities to felling the trees on the line of road to within three feet of the ground. The road thus marked presented an extraordinary spectacle. Settlers had to zig-zag among the stumps, which from that time until they were removed years later were known as "Hawker's Stumps." Many a bullock dray, negotiating these curiously charted highways, became "ship-wrecked" in the dark. Hawker himself related that travellers who had imbibed too freely at the only public house in Willunga in the early forties complained "that they were obliged to sleep under one of Hawker's stumps, because it was impossible to get past the others!"

NEXT WEEK Story of Noarlunga.

Images:

• • An early day hotel at Port Willunga, which once saw hectic days, but now leads a sedate existence as an abandoned farmhouse.

  • The Flail. — A. Head of the shaft prepared for the swiple (or swingle). B. Piece of ash ready to boil to soften it for bending.

  • Monument to the victims of the disas trous wreck of the Star of Greece, in the Methodist churchyard, Aldinga.