No 68 Renmark

The story of Renmark is a tale with a moral. It is also a paradox— a splendid failure and a huge success. Renmark is a newcomer amongst our towns. In the early eighties it was just a sheep station, and not a very desirable one at that. Today it is a modern town, claiming a population of 3,000 souls. The metamorphosis has been achieved within half a century. That in itself is romance.

But the greater romance lies in the story of the big experiment which failed— and yet succeeded. It is the story of South Australia's first irrigation colony; of the failure of Chaffey Brothers in their efforts to make Renmark a model settlement on the banks of the Murray, close to the borders of New South Wales and Victoria, and some 200 miles north east of Adelaide; and of the ultimate triumph of the scheme, and justification of its sponsors. If you want to know what sort of country Renmark was in the pre-irrigation days when it was Bookmark station all you have to do is to motor through the mallee between Morgan and the first irrigation settlement. You may still see small flocks of emus, or an occasional old man kangaroo, making off through the scrub and sand tracks winding through the bush.

But you will not see these primal conditions much longer, for the scrub is disappearing before the ever encroaching rollers of the settlers, and already the tracks which lead to Renmark's front door are being replaced by modern roads.

Last year I motored from Morgan to Waikerie, picking my way uncertainly over ribbons of sand which looked as though they might lead anywhere except to my destination. This year I encountered a properly defined road, the scrub gone, and the old bush land marks obliterated. The surface of this new road allowed an easy 40 m.p.h. Between Berri and Barmera there was bitumen. So modern conditions are coming to this erstwhile wild country of the north-east. A decade hence conditions will be as different from what they are today as those of the present are from the Renmark I am about to describe to you.

Bookmark Station

Some 200 miles north-east of Adelaide were Bookmark and Chowilla stations. They were the sort of properties which would break a pastoralist's heart— and his bank balance. Even the niggers on Chowilla aboriginal station looked as though they only got a square meal on Sundays. The sheep, nine seasons out of ten, looked as if they never got a square meal at all. These undesirable properties carried one sheep to 20 acres.

Goyder, who was something of an optimist in the matter of valuations, could not get up more enthusiasm than an assessment of £45 per annum. That was less than the original rental You will agree that it must have been a pretty hopeless proposition when an official assessor could not find grounds to increase the revenue; £45 a year for 60 square miles of country! But even that was too high. One owner after another gave it best. Finally the land reverted to the Government. Even wild dogs and rabbits turned up their noses at it. And that was Renmark in the days before the Chaffeys came.

Perhaps you will bear with me a moment while I tell you briefly some thing about the men who owned the territory which later became Renmark. The land was first taken up as a pastoral holding in July, 1851, by Albemarle Bertie Cator. The only thing I can tell you about Mr. Cator is what you can see for yourself, that his initials formed the first three letters of the alphabet. The holding, however, was an extensive one, for after endeavoring unsuccessfully for six or seven years to woo the goddess of fortune Cator cut the property in two. One portion of the lease was transferred to the historic William Finke, the friend of John McDouall Stuart, and the other to John and James Chambers, also supporters of the overland explorer. That is why you have the Finke River and Chambers' Pillar in the Far North. I told you the story of the Chambers in my article on Orroroo.

But a word or two about Finke may not be amiss. He was associated with James Chambers in many pastoral and mining ventures in the early days of the colony, and it was largely through the help accorded financially by Finke and Chambers that Stuart was able to cross the continent from south to north in 1862. When the section on which Glenelg now stands was first thrown open for selection by Governor Gawler, Finke acquired it at £1 a acre, or £80 for the whole section. Over 1,500 persons sought to get that property, so it was drawn by lot, and Finke was successful. He was a comparatively young man (48) when he died in 1864. It was Finke who gave the names ''Bookmark" and "Chowilla" to his holdings on the Murray in 1869.

In 1862 James Chambers died. His brother, John, in 1867 took over Bookmark and Chowilla from Finke. The stations next passed to Richard Holland about 1870. The new owner also took up lease 1657c, an area adjoining the river, and extending north-east from Spring Cart Gully. These three leases subsequently came into possession of John Holland Robertson, William Robertson, and Robert Robertson, who surrendered them to the Crown in 1879. After that they were in undisturbed possession of the emus and the rabbits until 1887, when the Government set aside 250,000 acres as an irrigation area, to be controlled by George and William Benjamin Chaffey. Under the terms of the Act vesting this land in the irrigationists they were required to spend £35,000 during the first five years in establishing a settlement, £140,000 in the second five years, £75,000 in the third, and £50,000 in the fourth five years. But the Chaffeys never got that far. They went into liquidation in 1892, and were succeeded by the Renmark Irrigation Trust, which took over, and still operates, the scheme.

In 1848, at Brockville, in Canada, was born the man destined to become the founder of two big Australian town, Mildura and Renmark. This was George Chaffey. He carried out several big irrigation schemes in the Dominion and California. They attracted worldwide attention. More important from our own particular point of view, they attracted the attention of Alfred Deakin. It was Deakin who induced the Chaffeys to come to Australia, to demonstrate the magic irrigation could work.

And it was magic. I have never been able to get over the wonder of the productivity of this red sand of the Murray when fed by copious water pumped from the river. I have seen oranges the size of miniature footballs grown on land that was apparently not worth the despised tuppence. I have seen apricots, peaches, sultanas, lexias, currants, and almost any other fruit you care to name come from these former desert wastes, to be classed amongst the finest of the world's best. And if that is not magic, then I don't know what the word means! Only the other day a settler pointed out to me a mandarin tree which returns its lucky owner £9 per annum for its fruit.

But that was not accomplished in a day. There was many a heartbreak and many a crash in between the conception of the idea and its fruition. No one knew anything of irrigation before the Chaffeys came. That the politicians, and the people were ignorant did not prevent a deluge of captious criticism. When the Chaffeys selected first Mildura and then. Bookmark station as sites for their new colonies everyone thought them mad. When they decreed that the blocks should be ten acres each everyone was sure of it. How, asked the critics, were a man and his family to get a living from ten acres of sand? It was monstrous, insane. Yet they are doing it today, and living pretty well.

How Renmark Came Into Being

Chaffey Brothers (George and W. B.) began their experiments in irrigation at Mildura (V.). They were granted an extensive area, with power to develop it on their own lines. They did it, but they did it in the face of a storm of Parliamentary opposition, interference, and discouragement the like of which has seldom been witnessed in this country. The politicians made Chaffey's life a misery. If they had not Renmark might still have been missing from the map.

For it was while the irrigationists were fuming under these attacks that J. H. Howe, Commissioner of Crown Lands in South Australia, decided it was an opportune moment to invite them to establish a colony on this side of the border. He assured them they would receive better treatment than they were getting in the neighboring territory. It was that offer which led the magician of the Murray to introduce irrigation to South Australia.

Renmark was born on February 14, 1887. That is the date the agreement was signed between the South Australian Government and Chaffey Brothers, under which the latter undertook to found an irrigation colony in this State. People were amazed when they selected the abandoned station of Bookmark. The Chaffeys named it Renmark— a native word meaning "red mud." By those who knew nothing of irrigation the selection of this site was regarded as courting disaster. The Chaffeys established their new colony. It failed— temporarily. But its failure was due to the founders underestimating the expenses, not to say unsoundness in the practise of irrigation. Today we know Renmark as a thriving town, thriving even in these times of general depression. It is a vast orchard; a desert which a magician turned into a garden.

In The Beginning

I talked about the early days of Renmark with Messrs. E. B. Chapman, F. Plush, W. H. Waters. H. R. Little, Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Clark, and Mr. S. A. James (chairman of the district council). This story is chiefly theirs. I suppose Mr. Clark is about the oldest settler in Renmark. He got there in 1888. Renmark had just been founded. I am able, therefore, to give an eyewitness's account of the birth of this unique town in the heart of the scrub. There was then only one building in existence, a boarding house kept by a Mrs. Johns, which stood on the corner now occupied by Sales's big modern store. Another wood and iron coffee palace was in course of erection for a man named Smithfield on the site of the present Renmark Hotel. The rest of the town, chiefly tents, surrounded this building. Soon afterwards Von Alpin erected a general store, the first stone place in Renmark, now known as the Army and Navy Store.

The Chaffeys had decreed that the new colony should be free of alcohol. No hotel was to be permitted. That was one of their blunders. You can no more abolish drinking by a flourish of the pen than you can abolish any other vice. You only aggravate it by driving it underground. America found that out when it tried prohibition on a big scale. The Chaffeys found it out earlier. It produced the sly grog seller, the forerunner of the bootlegger. The sly grog shops of Renmark became notorious all over the State. I will tell you something about them presently.

By 1889 the town had grown. There were four stores— Harvey's, Badger Brothers, Thos. Halliday and J. W. Clark— catering for a population of some 300 or 400— chiefly employes of the Chaffeys, engaged in digging the channels which were now beginning to reach out through the bush. But the town was still mainly tents scattered about the scrub. No one lived beyond the creek. The country was just sand and mallee — about the most hopeless looking proposition one could imagine. By 1892 a galvanized iron post-office had materialised. Prior to this the settlers had to get their mail from Ral Lal.

O'Sullivan The Mail Man

The letters were brought over twice a week by a big Irishman named O'Sullivan. He was a six-footer, but he rode a pony not more than 12 hands high. He cut a strange figure on his wee horse, his long legs almost trailing on the ground. His method of stopping his mount was to plant his feet suddenly on terra firma. This brought the animal up with a jolt. One day the pony was found dead near the house. Some local youths dragged it up to O'Sullivan's door. When the door was opened it fell into the room. Round its neck was a label "Came home for chaff, but too late."

Mrs. O'Sullivan conducted the first school This was in a wooden shanty at the corner of Fourteenth street and Renmark avenue.

I suppose in all the church history of Renmark nothing was so incongruous— certainly nothing so ambitious — as the rendering of Jackson's Te Deum with harmonium accompaniment, in the little bush hut which served as the first Church of England. The building was owned by a Chinaman. The congregation of about thirty were mostly settlers who knew next to nothing about music. The organist was an avowed atheist— a man whom the Chaffeys had found sitting on the banks of the river when they arrived to start their colony. But everybody threw heart and soul into the rehearsals of the big chorale. On the Sunday it was given the tiny building was packed, and the vocalists in their vigor almost raised the roof. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the building has not recovered from the mighty vibrations to this day.

Sly Grog Shops

Say to anyone "Thou must not," and that is immediately the very thing he feels he must do. It is an aspect of human psychology our legislators might well study. When the Chaffeys took control at Renmark they decreed, 'Thou must not drink intoxicating liquors." Renmark was to be as "dry" as the red sand on which it stood. It sounded all right in theory; it didn't work out quite so well in practice. No sooner was the law of prohibition laid down than al most every settler in that thirsty community developed a parched throat and protruding tongue which nothing but the forbidden XXX would heal. The result was the sly grog shop. There is nothing new in the illicit sale of tanglefoot. But at Renmark in the dark ages of agonising thirst it reached dimensions which mathematicians denote by the letter 'x.' The police never had so hectic a time as in those days when they were endeavoring to stamp out an evil which earned the little community a lawless reputation far and wide.

No sooner was one haunt suppressed than another took its place. When an offender was hauled up and fined his trade rivals pooled the amount. If a den was suppressed by medium of its owner being sent to gaol another illegal shack took its place. The police were vigilant and aggressive — but that only added spice to the game of beating the law.

I do not want you to imagine from this that Renmark was a hotbed of disorder. Most of the thirst-slaking was conducted in an orderly if illegitimate atmosphere. It was only now and again, on the occasion of some special celebration, that wool began to fly. But as for being "dry"— well, Renmark was about as arid as a Reedbeds swamp in the middle of winter.

One of the most notorious "joints" of the time was the "No. 9 Club." This was a small carpenter's shop at the corner of Renmark and Murray avenues. At the rear was a basement, and it was here that the thirsty ones foregathered for the secret worship of Bacchus. The building still stands, but it leads a placid and respectable existence now as a chemist's shop. There is nothing to remind one of the warm scenes enacted there when the steamer came in, and beer supplies were renewed. The steamer's siren in days gone by was the signal for the breaking of the drought. Men 'knocked off" early, and repaired with all speed to the shrine of the wine god, armed with a Gargantuan thirst, and a head destined to be filled with little devils with red hot hammers next morning. But what did that matter? "Half the places in the town were grog shops those days," one man told me.

On one occasion a policeman innocently helped a bootlegger to haul a truck of grog out of a bog; on another a man was burnt to death while sleeping off the effects when the place caught fire.

There was something dramatic about the end of the "No. 9 Club." One day a stranger from the north-west of Port Augusta arrived in search of a job. He got one from our old friend, Samuel Mclntosh, then superintending the Chaffey irrigation works. The stranger turned out to be a good worker. But he had one weakness— the grog shop. It was his club. Every night he entered the place with a buoyant step; every night, some hours later, he emerged and staggered uncertainly towards his unpretentious domicile. He could swill beer; in fact he could swill anything at all of a swilling nature. Mine Host of the No. 9 held him up as an example of what a good customer should be. But, alas, one morning he didn't turn up at work. It happened that morning that Mr. Mclntosh particularly wanted him — and as the mountain wouldn't come to Mahomet, Mahomet had to go to the mountain. "Bill" wasn't at home. Then the "boss" be-thought himself of the club. He would probably find "Bill" there. And he did. But "Bill" was wearing a blue uniform and a helmet — and he had the names of every patron of the hilarious cellar of No. 9.

ln the end the sly grog evil grew to such proportions that the people petitioned Parliament to allow the establishment of a legitimate hotel. The result was Renmark's famous community-run hostelry, which spends its profits for the benefit of the town— on gardens, public buildings, hospital, public relief, and in a hundred and one other directions whereby Renmark benefits. And the grog shops have gone.

"No Good For Sultanas"

The Renmark district produces the finest sultanas in the world. They form the main crop of the irrigation area. The fact is worth mentioning, because in the early days of the settlement the Chaffeys told the settlers not to go in for sultanas. "No good planting sultanas here,'' they said. 'They won't do at all. Go in for Gordos and currants." So the settlers did.

But there was one man named Walkett who had his doubts. He planted Gordos and currants as his main crop, but as an experiment he included an acre or so of sultanas. The result was amazing— great bunches of berries of a size and quality rarely seen before. The blockers were watching the experiment. The sultana craze spread like a bush fire. The Gordos were given short shift. Today you see miles of sultanas in most of the irrigation settlements.

In the early nineties most of the blocks were sold in England by the Chaffeys. They had a big gang constantly at work planting for these absentees. A great number of purchasers were merely speculators, who "fell in" badly over the deals. Those who took up the land legitimately generally did well. One lot of about 100 Englishmen reached Renmark almost simultaneously. But after the Chaffeys went into liquidation Renmark crashed badly. Stagnation and desolation were rife. For two years nothing was done to the blocks. They were not even watered. Those were the worst two years in the history of the settlement. It looked as though Renmark would be wiped off the face of the map.

When things looked most desperate the Government stepped in with a loan of £19,000, to be administered by an Irrigation Trust, which they formed from among the settlers. Two Ministers visited Renmark to make an inspection. The following coloquy was overhead:—

The Treasurer (Mr. T. Playford) — Let's give them the £19,000, Ben, and wash our hands of them forever. The Commissioner of Crown Lands (Mr. Benjamin Rounsevell)— No, Tom, we can't do that. It must be a loan.

Some of the settlers had a nasty experience. Having paid for their blocks, or partly paid for them, they were seized by the liquidators when the Chaffeys failed, and they had to buy them back. Some had taken land in lieu of wages, and it came rather hard.

There are still some of the original landholders in Renmark— Charlie Miller, Byron Gregory, "Jimmy" Clark, "Cocky" Smith, Sidney Cox, Harry Little, and W. H. Waters. There may be others, but I couldn't get their names. The first crops grown were apricots and Gordos. The Chaffeys bought the lot for drying. But these early struggles are now things of the past. Renmark today is a solid, substantial, and go-ahead place. It has justified the optimism of its founders. It has won a place as one of the largest towns in the State. But it has not finished yet. It is a place with a future.

And now I abandon my role of historian. This is the last of the series of sketches of South Australian towns which have entertained 'The Chronicle" readers for eighteen months or more. To the hundreds of people who have come forward to assist me in their preparation I tender my grateful thanks, make my bow, and say au revoir.

THE END.