No 48 Noarlunga

The first man to explore the Onkaparinga was Lieutenant Field of the Rapid. From this circumstance the early surveyors gave the name of Field's River to the stream. It bears that designation in the earliest reports. Governor Gawler, who believed in native names, restored the original appellation.

To my way of thinking any man who preferred "Field's River" to "Onkaparinga" should have his sense of euphony overhauled. South Australians should be grateful to Gawler for so often insisting on the retention of native names. To him, perhaps more than to any other, is due our thanks that so many places have retained the musical designations which the aboriginals gave them.

When you start to write about Noarlunga you wonder where you must begin. The word itself means "fishing place." The niggers knew it as such before the white men came. And a fishing place it still remains — in fact as well as name. The earliest records of the district I have found deal naturally with the first surveys. I propose to tell you some incidents about them. You see, they started in the late thirties, when the country was absolutely terra incognito. Surveying then was a game of adventure. One never knew what lurked behind a tree, or what was hidden over the next rise, or what was concealed in the high kangaroo grass which grew so abundantly on the Adelaide plains, and thrived almost to the summit of our highest hills.

Kangaroo Grass

I have told you more than once that the blackfellow had a much more intelligent habit of naming things and places than the so-called educated white. The naming of Kangaroo grass was a case in point. It was named by white men, so, of course, it was particularly inappropriate. The name had nothing whatever to do with kangaroos, except that the fibre grew higher than any old man 'roo known. As an article of diet the kangaroos would have nothing to do with it, preferring the shorter and finer green grass to the coarser stuff which attained such heights in the richer valleys as sometimes to hide a horse and rider. This material was one of the early day menaces. It ignited easily in the dry weather, and once a fire got going there was practically no stopping it.

One such fire occurred while the road to Noarlunga was being surveyed. I am not sure of the location, but I believe it was somewhere near Morphett Vale. I know that most of the survey party were new chums from England who had never seen a bush fire, and knew nothing of the speed at which these roaring abominations could travel. This was in '39. Some carters had lit a fire to cook a meal earlier in the day, and had then gone on without troubling to put it out. Later the wind blew some coals into the kangaroo grass, and in an instant the whole country was ablaze. Unfortunately, I have no notes of this incident in front of me, but, unless my memory is at fault that conflagration did not stop until it reached the Murray. At all events the point of the story is that the surveyors just stood and watched that racing mass of destruction racing towards them without the least consciousness of their own danger Fortunately, a comrade with colonial experience saw them, and shouted to them to bolt for their lives They were a badly singed and sorry crowd when they got back to camp but they had bought valuable experience at a cheap price.

"Sunday Best'" Obligatory

It was while this Noarlunga survey was in progress that the explorer, Charles Sturt, then Surveyor-General, issued a general order on the observance of the Sabbath, which is worth quoting in these days of empty churches. It is dated July, 1839, and reads: —

"The Surveyor-General would call the attention of officers of the department to the observance of the Sabbath by the men under their charge. He is not aware that their attention has ever been called to this duty, and he would not in this place take upon himself to censure a non-observance of it, but he would request that the habit may obtain in the department of assembling the men to prayers on Holy Days, and of insisting on their decent appearance on those occasions."

The "'request" was complied with. Usually some officer of the department read the prayers, and sometimes the Rev. R. W. Newland, the pioneer pastor-pastoralist of Encounter Bay, rode over to the camp to conduct divine service.

Road Winds Round The Trees

These early roads of which I write were, of course, not macadam. In fact, they were not roads at all, but routes indicated by the cutting down of trees. From Horseshoe Bend on the Onkaparinga to McLaren Plains the clearing was a chain wide. The earlier portion of the work was easy, the country being sheaoak, which was easily felled, and hauled to the side to mark the track. But when the men got into more difficult timber, where great gums were plentiful, and giant trunks had fallen across the line of road, necessitating much labor to shift them, the easier way was taken of making the road wind in and out among the trees. We who motor so comfortably to Port Noarlunga for many happy weekends have no conception of the difficulties the country presented round about 1839. The bush was littered with dead timber, which was a happy hunting ground for snakes and venomous insects. No one dare sleep on the ground. Hammocks had to be slung at least four feet above it. The open country most of us know so well today was thick forest— so dense that men were lost in it for days. Let me relate a couple of incidents which happened in this very locality.

Corpse Which Wasn't Dead

One day word was received in Adelaide that a whaler had died in suspicious circumstances at Encounter Bay. There was only one coroner (Mr. Nichols) in the State. He was dispatched from the city on horseback to hold an inquest. His failure to arrive for days after he was expected at his destination gave rise to uneasiness for his safety. Word was sent to the surveyors' camp near Noarlunga, and the whole outfit turned out to scour the bush for the missing man. They failed to find him. The vicinity was so rough that such midget things as a man and his horse were easily overlooked. Eventually a party hunting kangaroos accidentally stumbled across the bushed coroner, after he had been six days without food or shelter, except such as he could find for himself in the scrub. He was utterly exhausted, and in the end lost his horse, which had galloped off, leaving him in a worse plight than ever. That will give you an idea of what this country was nearly a century ago.

But the sequel to this story is stranger, than the story itself. When Nichols eventually got to Encounter Bay he went to view the corpse. He found him sitting up in his coffin carousing with a number of comrades. That the man was not buried alive was due only to the fact that the "corpse" had to be held for the coroner. It appears there had been a wild drinking bout, in which the "deceased" had done more than his share. As a result he sank into a lengthy state of coma, which his ignorant companions had mistaken for death. The man's only comment on his narrow escape from a horrible end was to try to induce the coroner to take part in another spree.

Deadly Arrack

Then there was the tragic case of James Brian, which occurred near Morphett Vale in May, 1839. Brian was a bullock driver in the employ of the Survey Department, and was engaged in making the road to Noarlunga. He was a V.D.L. man, and a good worker with one weakness— the bottle. The chief variety of tanglefoot in vogue among the workers of the day was rum. But rum, like provisions, was not always procurable. There was, however, an effective substitute called "arrack," with more hickish power to the gulp than any legitimate brand of hilarity on the market. Arrack was distilled from rice, and was used by the "lower classes" when the more respectable kinds of stagger juice were not available.

This particular day Brian set out with the dray, but did not return. The surveyors made a search, but the scrub was so thick that it was hopeless. His dray was found where it had crashed against a tree stump. Ten days elapsed without anything being heard of the missing man. Then, while two surveyors were out with their dogs one morning, the animals, which were racing ahead in the bush, unexpectedly set up a chorus of dismal lamentation. The owners found them standing over the body of Brian. Obviously he had imbibed too much arrack, had wandered into the bush, and was unable to get out again. Brian was buried in a paddock about 200 yards from the old Emu Inn. That house was about half a mile nearer Morphett Vale than the present hotel of the same name. A picket fence was erected around the spot. But all traces of the grave have long disappeared, and today ploughs are unconsciously driven over the last resting place of the victim of the early tragedy.

About The Onkaparinga

In its earliest days Noarlunga was called "The Horseshoe." That was be case of the curious bend the river takes through the town, resembling the giant imprint of the footgear of a horse. The river itself has a course of 30 miles from its source near Mount Torrens to its outlet into the gulf at Port Noarlunga. It flows past Balhannah, Woodside, Clarendon, and Noarlunga. Its waters are reinforced by several smaller streams. It is curious to examine in early dockets the great variety of spellings of the name, all obviously an attempt to reproduce phonetically the pronunciation of the natives. One finds "Ponkepurringa," "'Unkaparinga," "In- gankiparri," and "Ungkeperringga."

The river was discovered by Captain Barker in April, 1831, during his fateful journey to the Murray from which he was destined never to return. On the plage at Port Noarlunga there is a cairn commemorating this event. The inscription reads: — "Hereabouts, April 15, 1831, Captain Collet Barker, pioneer explorer landed from the ship Isabella, proceeded inland, and lost his life, April 30, 1831." It was rediscovered by Field in 1836.

Barges On The River

Now, I suppose, a great many people will be surprised to learn that once there were barges on the Onkaparinga, with a proper tow path leading to the port. In those days the Horseshoe was a busy place, and this placid stream, which so many anglers have since found a Paradise, was a scene of animation. A flat-bottomed boat called the Maid of the Mill, used to run between the town and the port, and 500-ton wheat boats used to anchor inside the reef to pick up wheat and flour for overseas ports. In those days the little jetty only went about half-way to the reef, and from there the cargo had to be lightered out to the ships, three of which would sometimes be waiting for freight. The vessels would come in by one passage and leave by another. The little harbor was safe enough as long as the weather behaved itself. But, when the wind began to blow, and the sea got fretful, and the clouds came up grey and threatening, these boats hauled up their anchors and got out to sea. If they hadn't their skeletons would have been left stranded along the coast. The tow path I have mentioned connected the mill at Noarlunga with the port. That mill was a busy centre, and its owner a man of enterprise. It was he who conceived the idea of running the wheat-laden horse-drawn trucks along the river to the port. When he got to the sandhills, however, he struck a problem. The sand was forever shifting, burying the rails. So he built a tunnel through the sand hills with timber. I understand the remains of that early piece of engineering are still to be seen.

First Crossing Of River

Eight sections between Adelaide and the Onkaparinga were among the first selections of country lands made in South Australia, and twelve sections around the river. Here is a record of the earliest land appropriations: —

• 8 sections between Adelaide and the Onkaparinga.

• 12 sections in the Onkaparinga district.

• 69 sections in Yankalilla and Rapid Bay.

• 44 sections in Encounter Bay 10 sections near Cape Jervis.

• 14 sections on Kangaroo Island.

There is an interesting story about the first crossing of the Onkaparinga. It was on June 16, 1837, six months after the proclamation of the province, that a party set out to examine this southern country. That, of course, was before there was even any survey. There were no roads, no tracks — just virgin bush. The expedition took on more the appearance of a military operation than an exploration stunt. The party comprised the Resident Commissioner (Hurtle Fisher), Colonel Light, John Morphett, James Hawker, and Stephen Hack. They were accompanied by a party of marines, and an elaborate equipment drawn in a cart by wild bullocks. The starting point was Glenelg, then the headquarters of government, for Adelaide itself was only in the process of being laid out.

Trouble dogged the footsteps of the explorers from the first day. I cannot tell you what particular brand of viciousness inhabited the interiors of the bullocks, but they gave more trouble than a meeting of the Lang Labor Party. Almost drowned by rain squalls, the cart buried in soft mud almost to its axles, and the bullocks more skittish than a mob of untamed stallions, the explorers began to wish they had never been born. In two days they made twelve miles. The idiosyncrasies of those bovines were unbelievable. They were as full of sin as a politician is of promises. By the evening of the second day the party had run out of curses. So they sent Stephen Hack back to Glenelg for more docile beef and a larger cart. After that progress was more satisfactory. When they got to the top of Tapley's — it hadn't any name those days — it occurred to someone that they didn't need the army, so the marines were ordered to chase themselves back to Holdfast Bay— and they did, very thankfully.

The next night the explorers were camped on the Adelaide side of the Onkaparinga. wondering how they were going to get across. Most of the following day was spent searching for a suitable ford, and admiring the scenery. Light was enthusiastic as he surveyed the Horseshoe. He predicted that some day it would be the site of a big country town. Eventually the dray was driven into the river, and used as a kind of bridge. The stores were handed across. Then the cattle were taken over, the dray hauled up on the other side, and the journey resumed. What happened after that— and it wasn't very much — ceases, of course, to be the story of Noarlunga. Now local residents fear that this beautiful river will soon lose its charm, because the Mount Bold reservoir scheme will deprive the Onkaparinga of its water.

River Frontage Not Reserved

It was following this journey that orders were issued for a road to be surveyed to Encounter Bay. I have already told you some of the incidents which attended that work. But there was one oversight which should be recorded. When the Onkaparinga was surveyed, the officers forgot to reserve the river frontage. The result was that the selectors who secured land along the waterway acquired rights they were never intended to have ownership to the water's edge. This, in later years, was the cause of much irritation.

When this road was going through in 1839 supplies for the men were chiefly drawn from Van Diemen's Land —and they were not cheap. For wheat £1 6/ per bushel of 60 lb. was paid; for flour, £10 per ton; for potatoes (when they could be procured), £18 per ton. Horses were so scarce that it was next to impossible to acquire them. Hawker paid £30 for an animal with only three sound legs, and reckoned he had struck a bargain. As for meat, it was mostly salt junk. Sometimes the men had to eat emu— "rather coarse," says one chronicler, "but the liver was palatable."

Start Of The Wine Industry

The District Council of Noarlunga came into existence in 1856. But, of course, settlement preceded that by many years. One of the earliest settlers was Richard Bosworth, whose weather-beaten tomb you may see in the churchyard surrounding that well known landmark on the hill above the town— the Anglican church of St. Peter and St. James. His claim to fame rests chiefly on the foundation that he was the father of his son— John, legislator and pastoralist, whom I mentioned in the article on Riverton.

Richard Bosworth was born at Cricklewood, in Middlesex, in 1796 and after trading in London as a wine merchant, brought his family to South Australia some time in the forties. He established himself in Noarlunga, on an estate he called Prior's Court, where he planted an extensive vineyard. He died there at the age of 70, in 1866. As early as 1838 Governor Gawler, after his tour of these southern areas, declared them suitable for the vine. That his Excellency was a true prophet everyone knows today, when very large areas of this country are given over to the cultivation of the grape. It was here, sometime in 1841, that the foundation of South Australia's great wine industry was laid by John Reynell, founder of Reynella, when he planted 500 vine cuttings which he imported from Tasmania. Today two thirds of the total wine exported from the Commonwealth comes from South Australia!

The Road Goes Up

In this and the two preceding articles I told you how the early roads went straight up over the hills without any attempt being made to find an easy grade. There is still an example of this to be seen at Noarlunga in the old closed road on your left just after you pass the church. A photograph appears on this page. The climb depicted, of course, is not nearly so stiff as those I wrote about in the earlier articles, but it is, so far as I know, the only example which remains today of old time roads.

Early Noarlunga

I had an interesting talk about the Noarlunga that was in the days of its hectic youth with Messrs. G. W. Holton (chairman of the district council) Walter Furler, R. Malpas, W. Elliott and George Anderson (district clerk). They told me the town was surveyed and subdivided by the South Australian Company. This was in 1851. But actually the history of Noarlunga goes back beyond the foundation of the province, for the land on which the town stands was purchased in England by W. P. Bartlett and R. B. Beddome in December, 1835 — just a year before Governor Hindmarsh hoisted the flag at Holdfast Bay. It was these owners who transferred the holding to George Fife Angas, Henry Kingscote, and Thomas Smith, obviously representing the South Australian Company.

The centre of the town's prosperity was the old mill which, when it was doing its two shifts, night and day, kept things moving to a merry tune. There were the barges on the river and the trucks on the banks, and the constant stream of bullock and horse waggons delivering grain to satisfy the appetite of the massive grinding machinery. There were ships in the port, and there was money in the pockets of the people. But today the mill is merely an old ruin— the victim of the changing conditions of farming. As long as there was wheat to grind it led a merry existence. But the time came when it paid farmers to grow hay in preference to wheat, and the mill could not get enough grain to keep it going on economical lines. So gradually it petered out, and with it a great share of the prosperity of Noarlunga. Now the milling industry is as dead as leg of mutton sleeves.

When the district council came into being in 1856, it was a body of considerable importance. For that matter, of course, it still is— but I am afraid a great many of us have got into the habit of accepting the good work our councils do as a matter of course, and only taking cognisance of their existence when we want to kick them. But what I meant to imply was that the functions of the councils years ago were much wider than they are today, and their work loomed larger in the public eye. I will illustrate the point with a couple of stories presently. The first chairman was P. Hollins, and the first clerk was Martin Burgess. It is worth noting — though, of course, it is by no means a record — that the council has only had four clerks in its period of existence— Martin Burgess, O. R. Milway, W. Elliott, and George Anderson. Burgess was not only the first clerk, but he was also the first postmaster. He conducted postal operations in what is now a blacksmith's shop opposite the Council Chamber and to this day you may see the original letter box in the side of the building. For twenty years or more the council met at the Horse shoe Hotel, until the Council Chamber was built in 1881. Hollins was succeeded as chairman by Richard Budgen, who afterwards surveyed the interstate railway line from Murray Bridge to the Victorian border. It is a coincidence that W. Elliott, who later became town clerk, helped Budgen on that work.

The Jolly Miller

One of the functions of the early district councils was to issue hotel licences. One of the first was to a house called the Golden Phesant, at Hackham. Another was to the Jolly Miller, at Noarlunga. This was the original name of the Noarlunga Hotel, which used to bear a gay sign of a happy miller squatting on a bag of flour, with a foaming tankard in his hand.

Naturally the most prominent — and the oldest — landmark in Noarlunga is the square-towered Anglican Church set high on a hill above the town. It dates from 1850, and is one of the oldest churches in the south lands. I puffed myself up that hill feeling confident that I would be rewarded by an edifice full of historic tablets. There was not one — only Richard Bosworth's tomb in the little churchyard.

Schools And Schoolmasters

Another function of the council in the days of old was to keep a more or less friendly eye on the educational progress of the district. One of the earliest schools was conducted by a man named Harris on a lonely site near the present railway station. I cannot tell you his year, or whether he was the first of the kid-wallopers to invade the district, for the official records only begin with the coming of the public schools in the early sixties. But I can say that the first official teacher was named Forsyth, and that between Mr. Forsyth and the council it was war to the knife — and no quarter. I can only give you a one-sided version of the rumpus between Mr. Forsyth and the council, because the teacher's case is not recorded in the old minute book. So, in reading of this educational upheaval of nearly seventy years ago, it is necessary to remember there are always two sides in a dispute. That Mr. Forsyth failed to "hit it" with the council is evident from several isolated references to the dispute in the minutes of the controlling body, culminating in a motion dismissing him from office. This seems to have brought matters to a head, for in 1865, in answer to a demand from the Central School Board in Adelaide, the council records at length its reasons for its action.

"The council gave notice to Mr. Forsyth," it is recorded, "because a considerable body of the parents had removed their children from the school. The charges against Mr. Forsyth were: —

1. A habit of commenting at length upon the Scriptures after the daily reading, sometimes for as long as an hour or more.

2. The use of improper and unbecoming language in the presence of the scholars, and idle threats of violence to them.

3. A want of improvement in the children, not on the ground of lack of ability, but of inattention on the part of the teacher."

One would have liked to have seen the master's stinging answer — for stinging it most certainly would be — to these charges. But history is silent on the point — except that Mr. Forsyth went.

His successor, I was told, was W. H. Hall, "of leather-strap fame."

"Why of leather-strap fame?" I asked my informant.

"Because he used a buggy trace a yard long and half an inch thick to hammer us boys."

I looked at the "boy," a white headed old veteran of some eighty years. "Perhaps you deserved it," I ventured.

"Perhaps I did," he replied, reminiscently rubbing a certain portion of his anatomy, "but, 'struth, I can feel the sting yet."

NEXT WEEK: Stories of Port Lincoln.

Images

• Noarlunga's original post office, showing the old letter box marked with a cross.

• Example of an old time road going straight up the hill without any regard to grades. Below is the quaint suspension footbridge across the Onkaparinga.

• Mr. G. W. Holton, chairman District Council.