26 November 1936

REMINISCENCES OF EARLY HAHNDORF RECALLED

Picturesque Customs And Quaint Characters

By MAY REYNELL

The Centenary Celebrations at Hahndorf this week lend a unique interest to the picture here presented of life in that quaint old German village half a century ago.

It is pleasant to recall the scenes of one's childhood, and a youth spent in the German settlement of Hahndorf forty and more years ago gave an English child some appreciation of the Germany of the early 19th century, which still lingered in the minds and customs of the older survivors of the original settlers of that picturesque hills township. There was an old-world charm about most of the houses, many of them having thatched roofs and colored walls, little gardens in front, and orchards behind them stretching to the back roads, which ran parallel to the long avenue of cork elms which lined the main street. Some were, evidently copies of old German country cottages, and were built on a framework of patterned wooden beams, the spaces be tween being filled in with brickwork, or with a sort of plaster made of clay and straw. They were generally two storeyed with low attic rooms above.

One such was the home of a little old lady, the widow of one who had served in the old Emperor's bodyguard, of whom there were several among the earliest settlers. The cottage was charming, with two Cloth of Gold rose trees on either side of the gate. These were sturdy trees, more than twelve feet high, and must have been planted in the 'forties when the couple first made their home there.

Frau Schach was very devout, and as she grew older and more lonely, would spend hours reading a very old and very large Bible. When I had mastered the tiresome old German letters, my old friend was very delighted. She liked me to read to her, and took great pains with my pronunciation, explaining some of the passages at much length.

When she died the little place was bought by a progressive young man, whose first act was to tear the creepers from the walls and cut down the rose trees. The news of this crime spread like wildfire amongst the younger generation, and a large group gathered to watch with gloomy, reproachful looks. To this day the sight of a man with an axe fills me with fear that something beautiful may meet its end. I can still see the prostrate trees with their trampled blossoms, and the little upper windows exposed, after having been almost hidden for so many years, giving the little building almost a startled look. There is nothing left now to recall the kindly, devout soul who lived there.

Childhood recollections are often associated with the smell of things good to eat, and one must admit that the memory of the scent of golden roses is over-powered by that of Frau Schach's apfel and pflaum kuchen, fresh from the brick oven just outside the kitchen door. One of the minor excitements was the moment when the door of the oven was opened, and the loaves of delicious bread and the long tins of cakes were drawn out on a sort of long wooden spaddle and hurried into the warm kitchen to set.

One's memories of the good German cakes are surely shared by many of the old boys of Hahndorf College. The large tins of kaffee kuchen, literally a yard long and spread with a delicious sugary mixture, the zweiback, or rusks, such as no one else made so well, the dark brandy-snaps as large as plates; the honey cakes cut into shapes of little men and women and animals, and having Christmas greetings in sugar. All these were to be had at Sonnemann's bakery, kept for so many years by two very dear old friends. Their Christmas tree, lit up every night for a week, was a sight all the village could enjoy.

It was a religious community, and every Sunday morning large families from the outlying farms would drive to church in very solid open waggonettes drawn by heavy farm horses. Weddings and funerals were great events that all turned out to see. But best of all was the Christmas Eve service in the old Lutheran church, with a large Christmas tree on one side of the altar, Candles burning before each member of the congregation, and 'Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht' sung by all at the end. In spite of the heat one caught some thing of the Christmas spirit of old Germany. I realised this some years later when I walked through fields of snow to a midnight Christmas service in a very old church in the Harz Mountains. As my candle burnt brightly to the end, I contrasted my youthful anxiety lest my little Australian candle would not do its part, and collapse in the heat. The smell of the pine trees, the burning candles, and the devout country faces, and above all 'Stille Nacht' recalled once again the old folk of the Hahndorf of my childhood, and I realised how often their minds must have carried them back to the old country from which they had come.

There was no mass production of national sentiment in the Germany of their day, and there were many interesting characters in Hahndorf amongst the earlier settlers. Strange stories were told of the doings of lonely old widows and widowers, and still more of old bachelors— for a very special reproach attached to that state. One, Faussmann by name, was to me the incarnation of the 'little old man who had a little gun,' and whose 'clothes were all of leather' of our nursery rhyme. He was a saddler by trade, and had made for himself a suit of leather, with high boots and a peaked cap, and he was said to keep a loaded gun inside his cottage door. He was supposed to have become peculiar after having been brutally attacked on the goldfields and robbed of all his findings.

But in reality he was a kindly old man, fond of children, and always glad to see us. He would disappear up a ladder to the loft above, where rumor said he kept a coffin for future use, and return with his hands full of apples. For some obscure reason the rumored proximity of this object rather spoilt one's taste for his apples. Many absurd stories were told about him, and the attitude of the children goes to show that they often took what their elders said with a very large pinch of salt, for none had any fear of him or his gun, and any thrill they experienced was due to the unseen coffin in the loft.

Another old bachelor, a basket maker, was reputed to be a miser, hoarding gold found in the gold rush. He used to sit in the dark rather than buy candles, and slept with an umbrella over his bed when it rained because of the holes in his roof. When the cottage was eventually burnt to the ground with the old basket-maker inside, there was much speculation about the whereabouts of the gold and much digging in the garden, but nothing was found.

Another old character was a rosy cheeked old woman, as broad as she was long, so broad, in fact, that she had to progress sideways through the doors. In her slimmer youth she had been a servant in Bismarck's household, and remembered the great old man with awe.

The daily walks with our German nursemaid were full of exciting possibilities. One was fairly certain to happen on either a birthday party, a feather -picking, or even a pig-killing. This last entertainment was a gory spectacle with a definite allure all its own. And there were many friendly, jolly occasions every year, such as the Liedertafel concerts, in which the final notes were dominated by the deep base of the tall mason and the high falsetto of the short tinsmith.

Then there was the annual shooting match when the whole town followed the brass band in a long procession, led by the 'king' of the previous year, to the recreation ground outside the town. It was an all-day picnic for everyone, young and old. Round games were played by all, and when the new 'king' had won the contest and had been decorated with a garland of oak leaves, the procession formed again, the band struck up the familiar martial tune, and back all marched to the town.

Many of the earliest German settlers in South Australia must have remembered the bitterness of the civil wars between the petty sovereign States of Germany in the early nineteenth century, the struggles of the German people for unity, for more liberal government, and for religious liberty, which drove so many of them to emigrate. Those who experienced those most bitter of all human conflicts, when German fought against German, are all gone now; but their descendants have intermarried and become so identified with us that many were ready, when the bitter need arose, to defend the country which gave their fathers refuge even against the land from which their forefathers came. They share with us the conviction that no people can give its best to the world if individual freedom of spirit is subordinated to narrow allegiance to any group, religious or political. That was the spirit of old Germany which we of British ancestry can understand and love. It must surely live in Germany today, although perhaps temporarily out of fashion. May it prosper and grow strong for the good of the whole world! Hail Old Germany!

Self Defence

A drover named Bill Hill once struck a job on a station where there were five women, the boss's wife and four grown up daughters. All were good-looking, and Bill at first congratulated himself on striking such a place, where there was both well-cooked food and pleasant company, at a time when there was little work offering in his own line owing to a prolonged drought. When he voiced his sentiments to the two other men sharing the quarters, they laughed but refused to let him into the joke. Bill found the point out for himself before long.

All five women were very dis contented with life in the bush. From daylight till dark they spent their time nagging and complaining about every thing under the sun, generally all on the go together. The men would not have minded in the ordinary way, but it so happened that the boss was almost stone-deaf, and messages for him had to be writ ten on a slate, which he always carried with him, together with an end of chalk. As a result the whole of the feminine blast descended on the men, who were forced to take practically continuous refuge in their quarters, except when working out on the run. If pay and food had not been so good, the three would have shifted on to get away from the everlasting complaints.

One day Bill went out with the boss to muster up a back paddock. Finding it empty, they sought for a gap in the fence, and eventually found it beside a dam. Bill rode back for a wire strainer, while the boss spent the interval straightening up the posts, and ramming in the soil with a heavy piece of timber he had found. Riding back with the strainer some time later, Bill hitched up his horse to a sapling and strode over to the boss.

Straight behind him was a nasty-looking snake, partially uncoiled and obviously just preparing to strike at him. Bill picked up a piece of stick and made a rush for the reptile, realising the futility of trying to make his employer understand in time. He still had a few yards to cover when he realised that he could not make the distance in time. Determined to make the best of a bad job, he heaved at the snake with all his force, at the same time yelling at the top of his voice, 'Look out, boss! Snake!'

With a spring that would have done credit to an athlete, the boss sprang four feet into the air and several side ways before looking round. The danger was over by this. The stick had struck the snake behind the head and put it partially out of action. 'Cripes, boss,' remarked Bill, in his loudest tones, 'you managed all right without the slate that time!'

The boss stood silent for a minute, and then replied. 'Look here,' he said, 'don't split my eardrums! I can hear as well as you can. This slate business is the only way I can block the missus and the girls from driving me mad with senseless grizzling. Don't let on at the house, and don't say anything to the men about it!'

Bill did some hard thinking, while the boss went over and finished the snake with a stone. Presently he came back. 'S'posin' I let it slip accidentally, boss?' asked Bill. 'See that you don't!' rapped the boss, and then went on in softer tones. 'By the way, Bill, you'll be drawin' five bob a week more— for killing that snake!' — 'Greenhide.'

Discovery Of Mount Isa

Fate played a kindly- game with John Campbell Miles, when he arrived late to paddock a horse for a grass-fed race meeting in Western Queensland in 1923. Had Miles been in time to paddock his galloper, the history of Mt. Isa might still be unwritten.

The horses for the little township's annual race meeting had been paddocked a day, when Miles arrived and tried to persuade the secretary of the race club to accept his nomination and allow his horse to go to the paddock. The secretary was sympathetic, but adamant: the rules of the club must be carried out. Disappointed at not being able to participate in the forthcoming race meeting, Miles accepted the inevitable, and decided to stock up with rations, and set out for the gulf country. If any gold signs came his way, he would indulge in a bit of prospecting, but any mineral, other than gold, was of little interest.

Some weeks later, whilst tracking one of his horses that had wandered during the night, Miles sat down for a spell. The glint of something shining close at hand attracted his attention, and, on breaking off a piece of stone, he was surprised at its weight. Closer examination showed that the piece of rock was something more than mere stone. An inspection of the country close at hand showed that it was literally alive with stone of a similar nature, and, although then unaware of what mineral the stone really contained, Miles gathered some samples, and decided to send them down for analysis.

It was not until weeks later that Miles learnt that his samples were teeming with silver and lead. On learning of the mineral wealth his samples contained, Miles returned to where he had picked them up, and had soon pegged out his claim, naming it 'Isa,' after his sister.

The news of his discovery soon spread, and dozens hurried to the area to drive in their claim pegs. By a lucky stroke, John Campbell Miles had not only happened upon a vast mineral field, and had made himself independent for life, but had also given many others, early on the field, the chance of getting in on the good thing.

Today Mt. Isa is one of the most up to-date mining fields in the world, complete with its own smelting plant. Hundreds of others had camped on and ridden over what is now the Mt. Isa silver-lead field, but it was the lucky John Campbell Miles who first chanced on its discovery.

— 'Over-lander.'

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1936, November 26). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92347664