No 67 Murray Bridge

Today Murray Bridge is one of South Australia's largest towns. Sixty years ago it wasn't even thought of. Probably it would not have existed yet had they not dumped a bridge in the bush. That bridge has a curious story—and its story is the tale of Murray Bridge.

Population in 1873, 3 families; in 1933, 5,000. There, in a nutshell, you have the progress of Murray Bridge in sixty years. But it wasn't Murray Bridge in 1873, because there wasn't any bridge. It was just called Edward's Crossing. And a wild, desolate region it was. The eastern side of the river was almost impassable swamp. The western side was dense scrub. There were no cleared reads, not even when they built the bridge. They just dumped a costly structure in the middle of the bush and left it there. It was the first bridge across the Murray in South Australia. People got into the habit of calling it Murray Bridge. Then a few families came and settled about the banks of the river. Soon they formed a tiny village without a name, except the one generally bestowed by the travelling public. Murray Bridge is still without an officially bestowed identification disc. It was never christened. It just grew, and the old designation stuck. Now, I suppose, you couldn't shift it if you tried— not even if you wanted to substitute the native name of Mobilong.

After Sixty Years

Reporters are the historians of the world. This was brought home to me In rather a curious way when I set out to gather the material for this article. I knew there was an interesting story in the history of the bridge. But what was it? Official channels failed me. There was no record of it in the public archives. You see, they weren't in existence sixty years ago, and no one, apparently, had thought It worthwhile to preserve the tale of the bridge. Then, by chance, I stumbled on a date — the laying of the foundation stone. The rest was easy. I knew an enterprising journal like “The Chronicle" would never let an occasion like that pass without giving some details about it. And it did— seven columns of it. The reporter who wrote that story wrote history. He was a young chap of 23, with the world before him. Now he is a white-haired old man, who has climbed the mountain to the summit. Today I showed him his report of sixty years ago, and told him how it had saved the situation. He was interested. That young reporter was Sir Langdon Bonython.

Story Of The Bridge

Murray Bridge was born on November 7, 1873. That was the date they laid the foundation stone of the bridge across the river. But the story began long before then, it began in the early sixties. Perhaps it was earlier than that, because for some years prior to the first definite steps being taken in 1864 there had been desultory talk in and out of Parliament about spanning some part of the Murray. Things came to a head in 1864 with the appointment of a Select Committee to investigate the problem. Here is the finding:— 'The importance of the South-East, the quantity of stock passed across the river, and the great traffic by drays and horses justifies the outlay. If a suitable bridge can be erected at a cost not exceeding £20,000, the required amount should be included in the Estimates for next year."

I like that reference to the importance of the South-East. It was written in 1864. Mr. Butler said something In practically the same words yesterday. if there is anything in the theory of reincarnation, and I find myself back on this mundane planet in 2033, I am certain that, at the first public meeting I attend, I shall hear the Premier of the day aver that something ought to be done to develop the rich and important territory in the South-East. When the trumpets sound on the Day of Judgment, and the collective spirits of the Premiers of South Australia awaken from their sleep, their strident tones will be heard in a chorus in unison: "Something ought to be done to develop the South-East."

Then The Trouble Started

In 1865 Parliament voted £20,000 for the bridge. In 1866 it was ordered. In 1867-8 it arrived in sections. Then the fun began. The Government had selected Edward's Crossing. Every private member had some other place. Everyone thought bis own scheme was perfect—and the other fellow's utterly impossible. "In a multitude of counsellors there is wisdom." Don't you believe it. In a multitude of counsellors there are all the elements of a free fight. If you'd attended as many public meetings as I have you wouldn't have any doubt about it.

Anyhow, for the next six, years Parliament fought, and talked, and wrote letters to the editor by the thousand. So did the public. And every talk and every letter made confusion worse confounded. At one time it looked as though that bridge might go anywhere except over the Murray. That is no exaggeration, someone with a brainwave proposed that the structure should not go over the big creek at all; that instead, it should be cut into sections and erected wherever bridges might be needed in the country. Parliament seized on this suggestion as a capital means of ending the deadlock. There is not the slightest doubt that it would have been put into effect had not the Public Works Department, in a report on the proposal, declared emphatically that it would cost more to carry it out than to build new bridges. That started the Murray bridge controversy going again. Meanwhile the Government found themselves with a bridge on their hands that they didn't know what to do with. So it was taken to Dry Creek, dumped alongside the railway line, and left there rusting for years, while every passing traveller sneered at it as "the Government's white elephant."

By this time the controversy had been narrowed down to two places — Mason's Crossing and Edward's Crossing. The house would not give a majority to either. The champion of Edward's Crossing was W. Townsend, M.P. He was succeeded in Parliament by W. H. (afterwards Judge) Bundey. Bundey secured the passage of a motion in favor of Edward's Crossing. So a controversy which had lasted years was ended. Murray Bridge was the result.

Edward's Crossing

In 1873 “The Chronicle" report of the laying of the foundation stone by the Governor "Anthony Musgrave, Esq.," incidentally gives a glimpse of what Murray Bridge was like in 1873. The official party travelled in one of Hill and Co.'s four-horse coaches (F. Krews as whip). "Whether Edward's Crossing is the best place for the bridge," says the chronicler, "is not a matter for us to determine, but there can be no question that it is an extremely picturesque spot. Although there are only two or three houses in the locality there was a large concourse of people. . . . The works were gaily decorated with bunting and evergreens, and the two steamers, Cumberoona and Duke of Edinburgh, which were lying along side, went in for all the decoration they could muster. The scene altogether was so interesting, and so very striking, that it is to be regretted that an artist was not present to have fixed it in some way, and thus produce an excellent memento of an important event."

There you have a picture of Murray Bridge coming into existence. I like that reference to the artist in these days when you can't buy yourself a drink without an army of press photographers focussing their glass eyes on you.

Shock For The "Gub'ner"

In the seventies large numbers of blacks roamed the Murray country. Some 30 or 40 of them witnessed the ceremony I have just described. Amongst them was Monarta, the "queen"' of the local tribe. She was a woman advanced in years, but still able-bodied. For this occasion she had been decked out in all her finery, including "a kind of crown composed of a variety of colors." After the ceremony she was introduced to the Governor. He asked her if she had anything to say. She had— quite a lot more than His Excellency expected. 'Well, gub'ner, what you going to gib me? This my country. My old man gone. You come and build bridge in my country. My people want food and boats. You take my country; you gib my people food and boats."

The Governor was 'stumped.' For several moments he was unable to muster a reply. Then he said he'd see about it. The spirit of Queen Monarta is still waiting for the boats.

About The Murray

Curious that most of us know so little about the Murray — the only real river in Australia, and one of the greatest in the world. Did you know it was originally called the Hume? Part of is still is. That name was given to it by its discoverer. Captain William Hilton Hovell in honor of his companion, Hamilton Hume, during their exploring expedition of 1824. Sturt changed it when he made his big journey down the river. He named it after a politician. I will tell you something about Sir George Murray presently.

At the beginning of October, 1824, Hovell and Hume set out from the settled part of New South Wales to explore the country In the vicinity of Port Phillip (Melbourne). That was the occasion on which the river was found. They were in latitude 36 when they came suddenly on the banks of the stream. They followed it until they came to where Albury is now. There Hovell cut his name on the trunk of a giant gum. That tree is still alive at Albury. It is a venerable and protected relic. [Still exists in Hovell Tree Park. Ed.]

Sir George Murray

The man whose name the big stream bears was Sir George Murray. He was Secretary of State, for the Colonies in 1828 in the Ministry of the Duke of Wellington at the time. Sturt made his long voyage In a boat from a point somewhere on the Yass Plains to Lake Alexandrina. That Is why the river got its name. Sir George was a member of the well-known Murray family of Ochertyre, Scotland. He was a better soldier than he was a statesman, and served under Wellington in the Peninsular wars. At the close of bis two years' career as a Cabinet Minister he failed to retain his seat, and never afterwards got back to Parliament. Something that most South Australians do not know, is that a great nephew of Sir George subsequently settled in this State, and was one of the founders of Gawler. This was H. D. Murray. You will find him mentioned on the Reid tablet In St George's Church in that town.

Some day the Murray River will come into its own — but it won't be in my time or yours. "Seventy years ago or more they had a better idea of the value of the river than we have today. They visualised its 3,212 navigable miles covered with busy shipping, plying between prosperous towns from Goolwa to Wilcannia. More than that, they translated the vision into reality. For years its broad bosom bore a fleet of quaint paddle steamers panting laboriously up and down stream with barges of wool in tow. That was before they built railways to kill the shipping. Now, when a stray boat happens along, the river town people stare at it as a curiosity. The shipping trade is as dead as the fires of last winter. And you and I and the bulk of those who make up this highly-taxed community they call South Australia forget we have a river of which we ought to be proud. To me the story of the Murray is a tragedy. Let us hope that succeeding generations will be wiser in the matter than we.

Country Of Thick Scrub

When Murray Bridge was born it was either thick scrub or swamp, and sometimes both. You would never think that now. Within less than the ordinary lifetime of a man it has been transformed into a busy, progressive town with wide, bitumen-paved roads and modern business houses — an alert, well-planned, thriving centre in picturesque surroundings. The Mayor (Mr.M. W. Parish) told me that his father, who took up land after the bridge was built, had to cut his way with an axe to the site of his house, which is only a mile and a half from the Adelaide road. Kangaroos, emus, and wallabies were thick in this country. Snakes, too — black, brown, grey, and tigers. The swamps swarmed with the reptiles. Mr.Gudge said he had killed 90 in two hours on one afternoon on Mobilong swamp. No wonder this part of the river was regarded as an ideal camping place by the blacks, who made it their mustering ground for the lake tribes and the tribes downstream. Many a night the Murray banks were the scene of native orgies. The savage yells of the aboriginals when they held their big corroborees, mingled with the yelping of the wild dogs on the other side of the river, made a din that even now causes a shudder among the women folk who heard it in the distant days of the seventies.

Wild Times

I suppose the wildest times Murray Bridge ever saw was when the bridge was under construction. You cannot dump a few hundred navvies into the scrub, miles from civilisation, without things happening. And they did happen. There was only one policeman. There were I don't know how many slygrog shops, besides a legitimate hotel run by W. A. Gerloff, located at the corner of the Adelaide and Mannum roads. Neither the hotel nor the grog shops could cope with the collective thirst of that miscellaneous collection of toiling humanity. When it wasn't working it was fighting— or watching a fight. When it wasn't doing any of these things it was drinking. It only slept when sheer exhaustion demanded that it should. The pioneer police officer— I think his name was Relby— was a wise man. He knew it was useless to interfere with these innocent pleasantries. So, like Nelson of old, he turned a blind eye on them. Only when things went too far did the law assert its majesty. Then the offenders were 'pinched' and chained to tamarisk trees growing along the river bank near where Noske's mill now stands.

Anything could start a fight those days, from the latest election lie to a dispute over a verse in the Bible. One typical battle described to me was over the Franco-Prussian war. The disputants, of course, were a Frenchman and a German. There were no Marquis of Queensberry rules about that conflict. It was catch as catch can, and hit where you like. The navvies danced with excitement while the self elected champion's of the two nations settled the boundaries of Europe by bumping each other's head on the ground, and doing the steamroller act whenever one could get the other underneath. But, alas, that Titanic international dispute was never satisfactorily settled —not so far as the fighters were concerned. An Irishman happened along—an Irishman with unsteady gait, and a wild light in his eye. He viewed the head-bumping exhibition with obvious disgust. "Foight fair.", he yelled, swaying drunkenly, "or, be Jabers, I'll foight ye both." And he did. He uppercut first one and then the other. The combatants went down like logs, and stayed down.Then, having ascertained that none of the spectators was prepared to oblige him with further exercise, he zig-zagged off to his tent and oblivion. 'They were pretty lively times," said my informant, "You only had to look at a man to get a fight."

Some Of The Pioneers

Before the bridge was built the place was known as Edward's crossing. But it was not the popular fording ground for interstate traffic. That is why there was so much opposition to putting the bridge where it was eventually placed, instead of at Thompson's crossing (now Swanport), four and a half miles further south. Thompson's was the more generally used place. The Edwards commemorated by the old name was George Richard Edwards, one of the early settlers, who took up a holding in the hundred of Mobilong in 1855. Other settlers in the vicinity were John (after Sir John) Morphett, Allen Bell, J. Ferrors, B. Puller, R. Edwards, P. Howell, J. Pearce, E. Watts, A. Webb, J. Winman, W. Beames, and John Murch. These names, of course, are not in chronological order.

Today there are only three of the original pine and mud huts of fifty years ago remaining. The first Church of England was a mud and pine building located where the railway running sheds now are. The first school was a private one, run by a man named Keaton, situated at the rear of what is now Finlayson's butter factory. Keaton was also the first postmaster. The thatched-roof building shown on the opposite page was the original school and post office. As a postmaster, the historic Keaton adapted free and easy methods. When the mailbag arrived he would tap the letters onto the floor."Come on now," he would invite the world in general, "Pick out your own letters." So the crowd did their own sorting —and there weren't many postal secrets in Murray Bridge over fifty years ago!

I was shown the first cemetery record. The curator was a German. The rules are set out on a flyleaf In that language. "Can you read it?" I asked the town clerk. He shook his head. “Then how do you manage?" “The cemetery was closed in 1886."

It was closed because the ground was so stoney that they had to blast out holes for graves with dynamite.You see, much of the land about Murray Bridge is thick limestone covered by a shallow layer of sand. There are a couple of graves outside the cemetery, almost on the road. Mystery and romance are buried there— men whose lives would yield a story if one but knew it. They were strangers who perished in the early days while trekking it from the goldfields of Victoria. One such victim was buried with a nugget of gold tied round his neck.

When The Railway Came

The iron overway across the river started Murray Bridge. The railway consolidated the settlement and turned it into a town. It was on May 1, 1886 that the first train crossed the bridge. There was no ceremony—or practically none. That took place at Bordertown, for the first train to cross the bridge was one conveying an official party to the border to declare open the South Australian section of the interstate line. The man who was to have done that job was the Commissioner of Public Works (J. B. Spence)— but he missed the train. You see it started away from Adelaide somewhere round 6 o'clock in the morning, and it was scarcely a fair proposition to ask a Minister of the Crown to get up before the cows. So all the nice things the border residents had prepared to say about Mr. Spence had to be hurriedly altered to suit Mr. Bray, the Chief Secretary, who had proved to be less tardy than his colleague.

I do not want you to imagine from what I have written that the interstate service began on May 1, 1886, because it didn't. South Australia was ahead of Victoria with the construction, and the first train did not go through to Melbourne until January of the following year, nearly eight months later.

Murray Bridge had its second spasm of excitement when the navvies came again to build the railway. There were the same scenes, the same thirsts,and the same combats. Cuttings had to be blasted, tracks laid, and the bridge strengthened to carry trains, as well as vehicles and pedestrians. When the blasting was in progress the little town was in the throes of a miniature bombardment, for the air was full of flying limestone, and the little iron store which Mrs. Sarah Jane Allan had established as the pioneer store of Murray Bridge, was more than once threatened with summary extinction. Even the bridge was damaged by the stones which filled the sky.

But it was a great day when the first train came through from Adelaide. Prior to that in had only run as far as Nairne, drawn by a panting engine with a funnel like a factory chimney.

There is a curious legend at Murray Bridge— that one of the piers of the old bridge contains the body of a navvy, who had slipped in unnoticed while the cement was being poured into the buttress mould. Of course, it isn't true. But, as the story crops up from time to time, it might be wise to classify it in Its proper place— pure fiction.

The builders of the section of the railway between Nairne and Murray Bridge were Robinson & Haig. The distance was 26 miles, and the contract price £219,000. There are eight bridges between the two points. Between 1885 and 1886 the monthly payroll was £8,000. You can imagine the amount of excitement "the Bridge'' got out of a regular cheque of that size.

It is worth recording as a matter of interest that when the interstate railway was first opened there were only four stations between Murray Bridge and the border— Tailem Bend, Cooke's Plains, Cold and Wet, and Wirrega. I should imagine Cold and Wet was one of the most curious names in Australian nomenclature. Where was it, anyway? Murray Bridge's dark hour was in June, 1926, when Mr. Webb trans ferred the railway workshops from there to Tailem Bend. Murray Bridge has never forgiven Mr. Webb for that. It never will.

NEXT WEEK— Story of Renmark