No 7 Tatiara, Bordertown

Ask any resident of Bordertown for what his town is famed and he will probably answer wheat. Ask me, and I shall say — gum trees. We shall both be right. For two years in succession Mr. F. Trenorden, a district farmer, has brought to Bordertown the honor of producing the champion wheat crop of the state. He failed to do it this year. But there is next year, and all the other years to follow, and Bordertown is certain that the honor will again come its way. The South-East is proud of Mr. Trenorden. I did not have to wait until I got to the Tatiara country to learn of his success. They told me of it at Millicent, and again at Narracoorte. I had not been in Bordertown ten minutes before I heard of it again. Mr. Trenorden is a farmer. By that I mean he is a man who knows his job, a hundred per cent worker, who combines brain with brawn, and does not expect the land to produce a crop by the mere process of leaning against a post and looking at it. But it was the gum trees about the Tatiara country which captured my fancy — great noble-looking centenarians the like of which is never seen by townsfolk these days; trees which must have been in a hoary old age when Cook sailed the southern seas, and inflicted on our eastern shore the misnomer of New South Wales.

Which reminds me that Bordertown itself is misnamed. Its title suggests, as originally it was supposed to do, that it is on the boundary of Victoria and South Australia. It is ten miles distant by the most direct line, and more if you take to the road. It was Police Commissioner Tolmer who made this blunder some time in the fifties, when his historic gold escort cut their way through practically virgin bush in opening up a route between Adelaide and the Victorian goldfields. He established a police depot near the site of Border town, and was convinced that it was on the line. When the mistake was discovered the name remained. It is still Bordertown.

The Gold Escort

The story of Tolmer's gold escort is an entertaining one. The excitement caused by the discovery of gold in Victoria brought South Australia to the verge of ruin. At that time the central State had a larger population than its southern neighbor. But the craze for gold had such a shattering effect on the people that the male population practically deserted Adelaide en bloc. When the children of the city saw a male they would call to their mothers, "Mummy, there's a man."

This exodus had a disastrous affect on the fortunes of the young colony, and one from which, perhaps, it has never completely recovered. The whole business and social system was thrown out of gear. The banks were drained of their money, and there was no coin left as a medium of exchange. Shops closed. Industry was paralysed. Newspapers ceased publishing. The Government service, the police, the hospitals, the ships in port — all were denuded, because every employee was bitten by the lust for gold. In this condition of affairs South Australia was faced by bankruptcy. All its wealth had gone out; none was coming back.

The crisis was so acute that in 1852 a special session of the Legislative Council was called, and passed a Bullion Bill in one day — probably the fastest piece of legislation in the history of the State — by which it was made legal to turn the gold of the diggers into coin, and so to relieve the scarcity of money. Then the question arose of getting the gold. It was at this juncture that Tolmer proposed the formation of an escort. The idea was to open up a track between Adelaide and the gold fields, to collect the hoards of the South Australian diggers on the fields, and to bring them back to Adelaide under the protection of the police. At this time the bush on both sides of the border was swarming with desperadoes; even the police were not safe from their attentions.

However, Tolmer succeeded in opening up the route. In March of 1852, he returned to Adelaide with a cart containing a quarter of a ton of gold. He was given a rousing reception by the people, the gold was minted, and the threatened disaster to the colony was averted. It was while Tolmer was on this expedition that the police post was founded which later was called Bordertown.

Wild Ride Through The Night

The district around Bordertown is known as the Tatiara. It is an aboriginal word meaning "good country." And good country it is, so good that when Loudon McLeod, living at Mount Barker, away back in 1844, repeatedly heard the blacks talking of the "tatiara," which was to be found to the south of the Adelaide hills, he decided to have a look at it. Round about Mundalla he found the "good country."

But he also found something else — fresh hoof marks showing him that others, too, were in search of this favored land. It was late towards evening, and McLeod was fatigued by his journey. But that did not deter him. He was full of Scottish grit and determination, and he had made up his mind to have that land. All night long the "thud," "thud" of his horse's hoofs awoke the bush from silence, as horse and rider ate up the miles between the Tatiara and Adelaide.

At Wellington he learnt that a party of explorers had just arrived from the south, and were then at the hotel. The tired McLeod remounted immediately, and set out on the final stage of the journey to the city, scarce able to keep awake. But he got there ahead of his rivals, and secured his occupation licence. That is the story of the founding of Nalang station. Its telling reveals the sort of men who laid the foundations of the State. The incident occurred 86 years ago. Loudon McLeod has long been gathered to his fathers. He rests in the churchyard at Kensington.

Bordertown itself, however, is built on portion of the original Cannawigra station. Its main thoroughfare — Woolshed street — takes its name from this circumstance. The woolshed stood at what is now the northern end of the street. For years the street was partly blocked by the great lever of the press. One day, when a travelling circus visited Bordertown, an elephant was hitched to the lever. The awkward contraption gave way. Everyone was pleased at the happy result of this accident. Henty was part owner of the original station. It has since been cut up.

Another noted Tatiara station was Wirrega. Its original owner was John Binnie, whose name the town perpetuates in Binnie street. By a strange coincidence he was killed while watching a sale of wool at Port Adelaide by a bale of his own wool falling on him. Wirrega has also been resumed for settlement.

These three stations in the early days accounted for practically the whole of the Tatiara country. Their clips were famous, and were sent by bullock drays to Robe and Kingston for shipment. I have already told you that the Tatiara is good country, and that it has twice produced the champion wheat crop of the State. Other substantial products are wool, barley, oats, peas, and a little dairying.

South-Eastern Roads

Throughout my tour the road problem of the South-East fascinated me. It seemed so complex. On the whole I felt like handing out kudos to the powers who look after these long stretches of main artery on which one may travel for a day without meeting a single soul. Sometimes I felt like kicking them. In the main the good roads are more numerous than the bad ones. But the bad ones are bad. These reflections are prompted by memories of the fifty miles run between Narracoorte and Bordertown. I started off under the delusion that I would average 25 m.p.h. I had not allowed for pot holes, which were nearly as thick as taxation demands. I dropped back to 20, then to 15, but still the car travelled at a kind of Irish jig, and my head showed an inclination to force itself through the roof. Then I knew the meaning of the sand tracks at the side of the road. I decided that death in a bog was probably more pleasant than having one's brains dashed out against a stubborn roof, or dying of starvation in the bush while waiting for some mechanical Samaritan to come along to mend my broken springs. The worst thing about that road was that parts of it were really good. But woe to the traveller who puts on pace, believing that his troubles are over. He might do a few miles at 30, and then hit a hole which would leave him wondering what had happened.

In fairness, however, it must be stated that the road is being repaired. The trouble was that I struck it while the work was incomplete. Round about Bordertown itself the roads are good, taking a general average. But the best stretch I found was the 70 miles between Narracoorte and Robe — most of it almost as good as bitumen. There was another long run of perfect roadway between Furner and Millicent.

What I set out to say, however, when I began this dissertation, was not by way of criticism, but by way of admiration. The problem confronting the Highways Department of keeping thousands of miles of main roads in workable order, many miles of them, running through lonely and almost deserted country, is stupendous. With the aid of the local bodies, who plan and supervise the work, which the department pays for, this is being admirably accomplished. I cannot help thinking that in the matter of main roads, in the South-East at all events, the public is getting full value for its money.

Mystery Runaway Holes

When I described the South-East as a land of mystery and romance I meant what I said. It was at Bordertown that I came across another of these curious freaks of Nature. This was a "run-away hole" about six miles out on the Cannawigra road. All told there are nine of them in the Tatiara district. The runaway hole is a huge swamp which, when it reaches a certain dimension, suddenly disappears. principle it is something akin to the great cave which takes the drainage of Mount Gambier, with the difference that it is not permanently open. The area of this swamp is approximately 200 acres, and into it flows the waters of the Tatiara Creek. The hole is a great natural excavation of about 40 ft. from the top of the bank to the water's edge. It is believed to discharge into a subterranean river. When the weight of the water reaches a certain pressure it forces away the silt from the opening, and the huge lake drains away. Sometimes, when their land is in danger of becoming waterlogged, the farmers open the hole by artificial means to drain away the surplus liquid.

Discrimination

A town without a grievance is as unsavoury as an egg without salt. The grouch of Bordertown is the high railway freights it is called upon to pay. The grievance is accentuated by a sense of injustice. Bordertown is 50 miles north of Narracoorte. For that privilege it is called upon to pay the usual scale of railway freights. It is too far from Melbourne to be affected by inter State competition for business, and too close to Narracoorte not to feel aggrieved that the towns south of that point are given a preferential rate. So Bordertown growls — and pays.

When I was there there was a strong atmosphere of optimism around the Tatiara country. The season had opened well. Everybody was looking forward to a prosperous year. I hope they get it. All is dependant on light winter and good spring rains. The latter are essential to the South-East. Last year the season opened well but the indispensable vernal downpours did not come. Bordertown is sandwiched in between two "deserts," one of 50 and the other of 90 miles. This is sandy, bracken-fern country. Everyone will tell you it is no good. Like the celebrated Scotsman, "I hae ma doots."

It is, I suppose, a piece of presumption for a city-bred, non-agricultural journalist to express such an opinion in opposition to those who have spent their lives studying such matters. Yet history is on my side. Years ago they condemned the South-East holus-bolus, because they did not know how to farm it. Today we regard it as the hope of South Australia. When the idea of utilising the sandy country around Penola for the cultivation of tobacco was first mooted, the wise ones scoffed. Today it is producing some of the finest tobacco leaf in the country, and other side lines as well. Thirty years ago the experts were doubtful about recommending the opening up of the Murray mallee country because of the low rainfall, especially between Karoonda and Lameroo. Today it is known as good country!

It has always been a maxim with me that there is no such thing as bad land. The problem is to find the proper use to which it should be put. That is why it would not surprise me some day to hear they had discovered a use for the Bordertown "desert." I have a child-like faith in science.

Wolseley

To all intents and purposes Wolseley, 11 miles by road from Bordertown, is a town of one main street front ing the interstate railway line. It is surrounded by excellent country. It was named after Sir Garnet Wolseley at that time much in the public eye as the hero of Tel-el-Kebir. Probably a point which influenced those responsible for the naming was the fact that Sir Garnet, like the late Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, was interested in pastoral properties in the district. It is at Wolseley that the much-talked of break of gauge in the south-eastern railway line begins.

It is a small but happy community. Everybody calls everybody else by his front name. If there is any business rivalry it does not appear on the surface. When I was there a travelling drapery concern came into the town, hired an empty tin emporium as a warehouse, and hung out a string of faded flags, and a much more faded streamer announcing "Rare bargains." One would have imagined that the permanent establishments would have resented the invasion. But not so. Instead, some of them displayed in their windows the tiny handbills announcing the advent of their itinerant rival!