No 3 Millicent, Tantanoola

I was anxious to see Millicent, not so much because it is the largest town between Adelaide and Mt. Gambier, as because it was the birthplace of the drainage system. That was years ago, before the present gigantic scheme was launched. It was away back in the sixties, and its originator was a layman, Mr. W. A. Crouch. In those days the site of Miilicent was a vast lake. The range surrounding it created a swamp some 110 square miles in extent. Mr. Crouch saw that by piercing a certain part of the range the swamp could be drained into Lake Bonney. In 1889 the Government was induced to cut through these hills. The result was the discovery, when the water had been drained away, of rich, black, peaty soil comparable to anything to be found in Australia. There, in a nutshell, is the genesis of the South Eastern drainage scheme, of which more anon.

Picturesque Approach

Approximately, Millicent lies half way between Beachport and Mount Gambier. Its roads just now are perfect for motoring — long, smooth stretches over which the car spun at 30 to 35 m.p.h., with the greatest comfort, through country bordered on each side by magnificent old gums. Approaching the town the scenery gives way to flat, low-lying plain, so level that Millicent on a dull day was visible four miles away. The main portion of the town is built on rising ground, looking down into a great basin of black soil. It is worth recalling that the town was named after Millicent, daughter of Bishop Short, first Bishop of Adelaide, who was the wife of Mr. George Glen, the owner of Mayurra station. She died quite recently. Millicent was once portion of the station property.

Prosperous Town

Though hit by the depression, in common with every other town and city in the Commonwealth, Millicent is still a prosperous town. If it is impoverished by the financial stringency, it is a sort of genteel poverty, scarcely visible to the stranger. The main street is well laid out, the road tar-paved; there are substantial buildings, up to date shops, good hotels, and public buildings which would be a credit to any part of the State. In one year during the boom period the district exported produce to the value of £240,000. One takes off one's hat to any place which does that. In the past the mainstay of the dis trict has been agricultural produce. Sheep, wool, wheat, barley, chicory and potatoes are raised. Now dairying is making headway.

"But, bless my soul," said one resident to whom I spoke, "do you think our farmers will stick at dairying? Not they, unless they are forced to. They say it is too much of a tie."

Nevertheless the farmers are sticking to it, and they find the regular monthly cheque from the butter factory a very welcome addition to their diminished revenues. A butter factory and a cheese factory in the district are both doing well. Until recently land values round about were as high as £30 an acre. They have fallen considerably during the past year or two, but not nearly in the same proportion as land elsewhere.

All Wrong

If there is one thing more than an other which has emerged from my tour of the South-East, it is the fact that there is not, and never has been, a Government worth the name in South Australia. I am sure everybody in the South-East thinks that. I am beginning to think so myself. The story of this great Land of Promise is one of tragedy, short-sightedness, bungle, and neglect. The road policy is wrong, the railways are wrong, the drainage scheme is wrong, the transport is wrong, the land scheme is wrong, the harbors policy is wrong, and the greatest wrong of all is the curse of centralisation. The general attitude of the people towards the powers that be, irrespective of political belief, is "Damn the Government." I was not surprised to find this attitude along the sea coast, where the old towns are being slowly strangled by that great, unseen power called Vested Interests. But here in Millicent, which is an inland town, with no local axe to grind, I found the same feeling of resentment — a confirmed belief that the South-East is being deliberately neglected because its voting power in Parliament is so considerably smaller than that of the districts outside. I am not quite sure that the grievance is altogether unjustified. Forgotten Possession One of the gentlemen to whom I talked in Millicent was Mr. T. F. Stuckey. He is a solid business man, Of sound views— the sort of man who, one feels instinctively, ought to be listened to with respect.

"Various Governments seem to have forgotten this corner of their possessions," he said. "There are 150 square miles of good country which ought to have been developed twenty years ago. Where you have an assured rainfall you can always establish yourself on fairly permanent lines, and surely that is wiser than reaching out after country of un certain rainfall, and certain risk. In the last twenty-five years the only Government money spent in the South East has been that expended on a partial drainage scheme, and on a bituminous road to Port MacDonnell — and goodness only knows what the latter was for."

Millicent, like the coastal towns, is interested in the question of transport. It believes in a South-East seaport. It favors a lamb-freezing works at Kingston. It is hurt because its railway service has been reduced to three trains a week. But, what it resents above all are the obstacles in the way of its marketing its lambs in proper condition. Lambs soon lose their bloom when they are travelled for two or three days, and, in the case of south eastern lambs, they have nothing to eat from the time of their mustering on Monday morning until their arrival at the Abattoirs on Wednesday, with the added shock of transhipment through the break of gauge at Wolseley. Their value deteriorates, for on reaching market they are not the same animals they were when they left the paddocks.

South-East's Four Essentials

This is a matter of importance to the South-East. Its four main requirements, according to Mr. Stuckey, are:—

1. Increase in fat lamb production.

2. Further drainage.

3. Closer settlement.

4. Proper road and rail facilities.

The drainage and the lamb raising must be worked co-incidently. The land must be drained to give it greater carrying capacity, and the sheep must be put there as soon as the reclaimed country is ready. As to transport facilities, a national, modern road is favored, following as nearly as possible a straight line drawn from Keith to Mt. Gambier, and passing through hundreds of square miles of the best country in the State still awaiting reclamation. This would give the South East the additional land required for the development of the lamb or dairying industries, and also the means of transporting the produce quickly to market.

More About Drainage

In the South-East the drainage problem is a kind of King Charles's head. It keeps cropping up. That is because practically every part of the country is deeply affected by the scheme. The Millicent scheme cost less than £250,000, and has already been paid for. The country is a network of drains there are about 400 miles of them in this district — and they are under the control of the local council. The more elaborate Government scheme of massive drains reaching from as far away as Naracoorte to the sea is not nearly complete. The settlers are apprehensive about the success of the Government works. They think they are too elaborate and too costly, and they doubt their effectiveness. Whether there are grounds for these fears can only be determined when the whole is complete.

The settlers have all sorts of criticism to level — they are not wide enough, not deep enough, they are draining Victorian settlers, whose waters are coming down and flooding the country of the land-owners near the coast in South Australia; they should have been modelled on the Millicent plan which had been a proved success, and so on, ad lib. Not being an engineer, I merely record these fears; I am not In a position to ex press an opinion.

Tantanoola

Just an old-fashioned country town. Grass growing in the street. Cows meandering absent-mindedly in the roadway. The only sign of life, a dray loading at the railway siding. Not another soul in sight, not even about the little one-storey "pub" surmounted by an effigy which might be thought to bear resemblance to a tiger. Such was Tantanoola. It was quaint, and simple, and clean, and honest. I loved it, in a platonic manner of writing, I loved the simple little country maid who waited on me at table, and blushed every time she came for an order. It was her first day as waitress. Outside, between courses, I could hear her reciting the menu, like a novice telling the beads. She brought me fish, and gave me a knife. Then she came and apologised. She might have saved herself the trouble. That sweep was the finest thing I ever tasted, and more then ample compensation for any simple little slip due to sweet eighteen's obvious inexperience. Moreover, it was the first real fish I had sampled in the South-East. The sea ports might be noted for their teeming waters, but, until now, none of their product had come my way. It was Tantanoola, miles inland from the sea, which gave me real fresh fish.

There is no bustle in Tantanoola. It is quiet, and rural, and unspoilt. I awoke in the morning to find an inquisitive cow surveying me in wonder through the open bedroom window. I reminded her gently that it was scarcely proper for a lady to display such unblushing curiosity, and she withdrew. I am going to tell you a true story about Tantanoola. You are not expected to believe it.

One evening, a few years ago, I was sitting in the Lounge of the Hotel de Saint Petersbourg in Paris. I began chatting with a gentleman in a neighboring chair, and part of the conversation went like this: —

"Where do you come from?" he enquired.

"From Australia."

"Ah, yes; a great country, from all accounts, but I do not know it. What part?"

"From Adelaide."

He shook his head. "I've never heard of it." Then he smiled. "In fact," he continued, "the only two towns I have heard of in Australia are Sydney and Tantanoola."

"What!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Why Tantanoola?"

"Because," was the unexpected answer, "of the excellent tiger shooting."

So, you see, the mythical tiger has placed Tantanoola on the world's map.

Tantanoola is a scattered settlement comprising two stores, a post-office, hotel, institute, council chamber, and four churches. The population of the entire district is not more than 800 On the basis of four churches to 800 people, it must be the most religious town in the State Tantanoola, according to local tradition, is the native name for mudlark. It received its name because thousands of these birds used to follow the ploughs picking up grubs. I believe they do so still.

Famous Tantanoola Tiger

In the tiny council chamber one morning I heard the history of the Tantanoola Tiger from three old residents, Messrs. S. W. Godfrey, J. A. Lane, and W. J. Beaton, with an occasional prompting from the district clerk, Mr. James Corcoran, that same James Corcoran who recently again placed Tantanoola on the map by his great political fight for the Victoria seat with Mr. Petherick.

As a matter of fact, there never was any tiger. The whole thrilling business, which aroused interest in every part of Australia, and even penetrated in an exaggerated form to the other side of the world, had its origin in the imagination of a youth who thought he saw something resembling a tiger crossing a gap in the ti-tree near Lake Bonney. Word spread like wildfire that an escaped tiger was loose in the scrub. The residents were terrified. They ventured out fearfully by day, and never at night. As the story spread the alarm grew. Every calf, dog, or other large animal seen in the dusk of the evening was reported as the tiger. People who had hardly ever carried a gun went about armed, and one resident — I think it was Mr. Lane — spent a great part of his time making bullets that the armed parties could use when they located the prowler.

The strangest part of the affair was that residents of undoubted veracity deceived themselves into seeing the tiger, and their stories convinced the doubters. Interest in the hunt spread from Tantanoola to Mount Gambier, from Mount Gambier to Adelaide, from Adelaide to Melbourne, and from Melbourne to the rest of Australia. The tiger hunt had made Tantanoola famous.

Soon Australia was split into two camps — those who believed in the tiger and those who did not. The local police scoffed at the business, but were peremptorily ordered by headquarters to organise parties to hunt the animal. A local blacksmith was feeding his pigs in the dusk when the form of a calf loomed up. He dropped his bucket and fled for his life. Incidents of that kind were common. Every body's nerves were on edge. Reports that the tracks of a large animal had been seen were received, and the police investigated. They took plaster casts and sent them to Adelaide. They were pronounced to be faked, and a local resident subsequently confessed that he had made the tracks with a piece of wood, which he had modelled to his idea of a tiger's pad. From this point interest in the tiger began to decline, and when a large, half-bred wolf was shot in the scrub at Kongorong by Mr. Donovon, everybody was convinced that the "tiger" had met with his desserts.

Cute Rabbit Trapper

During all the excitement stirred up by the tiger hunt, there was one man who commercialised it to some account. He was a rabbit trapper. He worked a large area of scrub country, on which other trappers were inclined to poach. He conceived the idea of impersonating a tiger. Whenever the poachers came too close he "would roar like a lion." The invariable result was that the rival trappers took to their heels.

Ferret Finds A Cave

One day about two years ago a youth, Boyce Lane, was hunting rabbits in the vicinity of the Hanging Rocks. This is a long, steep hill of peculiar formation between two and three miles out on the road to Mount Gambier. A rabbit ran into a cavity, and the boy put a ferret after it. The ferret never came back. Puzzled, the youth threw a stone after the ferret, and he could hear the metal bounding from point to point. Each time it struck a gong like sound came from within. A hole was excavated large enough to squeeze through. In a few moments Lane found himself in a cave roughly measuring forty feet square. It was thick with stalactites, and stalagmites, hanging in thick clusters, from the roof or reaching heavenwards from the ground. Immense pillars, giving the vault the appearance of the aisle of a cathedral, reached from floor to roof. Some of them were six or eight feet through. They represent thousands of years of dripping water.

It is estimated that the pillars grow at the rate of about an inch a century. Some of them are 30 feet or more in height. The walls were studded with fossil remains, which have been a source of constant study by geologists and naturalists. The original cave has been opened up, but, through lack of funds, nothing has been done to explore the remainder of the mound. It is believed, however, that when this work can be under taken, Tantanoola will possess some of the finest caves in the country. This belief is based on a fact, and the fact is important. One day, when a picnic fire was lighted on the hill at a spot three miles distant, the original cave became filled with smoke. That sign is full of possibilities.

Mr. Corcoran motored me out to this interesting find. After leaving the metalled road the track is rough, steep, and sandy. Coming back we traversed the old-time bullock road, along which pioneer teamsters plodded doggedly years ago between Millicent and Port MacDonnell. We passed the long white farmhouse of Mr. T. Wil son, which, in the early days, was the Hanging Rocks hostelery, and the scene of many famous encounters in the days of the bullock punchers and the drain-diggers.

Old-Fashioned Town

Tantanoola does not get as many visitors as it should. It is two to three miles off the main Mt. Gambier road. It is quaint, and interesting, and honest in the old-fashioned way. Candidly, I went there prepared to be bored. Perhaps that is the proper spirit in which to visit such a place. At all events, I was sorry when it was time to go. There is no nonsense about the people. They are sound and solid. The district is not so hardly hit by the depression as other towns. It has no foolish aspirations. It goes in for barley, wool, potato growing, and dairying. It hopes that oil will be discovered there, but is not optimistic. There is one bore near the Hanging Rocks down 3,000 feet, but operations have been suspended. Oil syndicates hold options over many other promising sites throughout the district, but the financial slump has prevented anything from being done. The people believe in the future of dairying, and are proud of the fact that the first cheese factory in the south-east was started at Tantanoola. It is an area of small holdings and prosperous farms, using the adjective in the comparative sense. Just now it is suffering from deflated land values. Some land, formerly valued at £60 is now worth £10. That hits the people hard. But they don't squeal. Like the real old-timers, they grin and bear it, and look forward to happier times. Vive Tantanoola!

(To be Continued.)