14 January 1937

HECTIC JOURNEY FROM ADELAIDE TO THE PORT 

Governor And Ministry Involved In Accident

One is inclined to imagine that all forms of transport are becoming faster year by year, including trains, but it appears that 70 years ago they travelled at a mile a minute in South Australia. 

On the Adelaide to Port Adelaide line, which, with the track to Gawler, had just been laid, a fireman boasted to a committee of enquiry that he had done the journey in seven and a half minutes. The railway timetable gives this distance as 7½ miles, so that a speed of 60 miles an hour was averaged. 

In 1865 the Governor wanted to visit H.M.S. Falcon, which had come to South Australia, and was then at Port Adelaide. The manager of the railways (Mr. Charles Simeon Hare) was asked whether he could provide a special train, and replied that as anyone could hire a special train for 30/ a mile, be did not see why the Governor should not have one. 

It was arranged that the special train, which would carry Ministers of the State as well as the Governor and his suite, should leave Adelaide shortly after 1 p.m. The train consisted of an engine and three carriages. The Governor (Sir Dominick Daly) and his friends, who included Lady Charlotte Bacon, the Ianthe of Byron, were accommodated in the first carriage, in which also were some of the Ministry. The remainder travelled in the second carriage. The third one was occupied only by the guard. 

As it approached Bowden, the train increased its speed to the highest rate of railway travelling, according to a contemporary account, and flew through the station. Exactly how fast it was travelling is difficult to say, but it was recognised that all special trains travelled at from 35 to 40 miles an hour, and on this occasion Mr. Hare was anxious to get his passengers to the Port as quickly as possible.

His explanation was, 'His Excellency wanted to be back at 3 p.m., and wanted to have all the time he could to eat and drink and flare up on board H.M.S. Falcon.' When the train was still careering down the line— it was stated that it was Mr. Hare's aim to get to Port Adelaide in nine minutes— and people who saw it thought the engine had run away— the third carriage left the rails and overturned. The second went off the line after it. 

A contemporary account stated: — 'Passengers in the second carriage soon found it was off the line, and became sensible that an accident was imminent.' Their apprehensions were soon fulfilled when the carriage overturned. Fortunately, as it turned over, the chain connecting it with the first carriage and the engine snapped, and it was not dragged. Passengers were thrown on to the near-side of the train. Women "behaved heroically— there was not a scream, nor did any lose self-possession," and it was this lack of animation from the second carriage which gave those in the first carriage misgivings for their safety. The party was rescued through the other doors none the worse for their experiences. It was most fortunate that the cable had snapped. The guard, who was the sole occupant of the third carriage, which had been dragged, suffered a sprained wrist, but nothing else. The wheels were torn off this carriage and the floorboards were badly battered. Serious injury must have resulted if there had been many passengers in it. 

A few of the passengers declined to travel further with the remaining carriage, but room was made for all those who wanted to go. From all reports the function on the Falcon, though it was necessarily delayed, was as successful as any had hoped for, though the Governor did not return at 3 p.m., but rather nearer 7 p.m. 

Who was to blame for the crash? 

"The opportunity of getting rid of Mr. Hare was too tempting to be lost," said the 'Register,' when it reported the accident for the first time a fortnight after it happened, "and Mr. Hare has been sent about his business because of the accident to the two carriages which went off the line when the Governor was travelling to the Port. The Government knows very well that Parliament will not leave the question as it now stands, and the public, though they have no love for Mr. Hare, will feel plainly enough that he was condemned first and tried afterwards."

Though the Government certainly lost no time in getting rid of Mr. Hare, the 'Register' was perhaps a little hasty. Hare had been one of the firmest supporters of the 'Register's' action in befriending the Moonta miners, and it could hardly be expected that Hare, in his own troubles, would be deserted. 

A committee of enquiry was appointed by the Government, and it sat for seven days and heard 34 witnesses. It was on its recommendation that Hare was dismissed, and others involved, censured. It appeared that the section of the railway line on which the crash occurred had been relaid the previous night, and was left insecurely fastened. The line was unballasted, and when the train started travelling over it at such a high speed, it began to rock, and when the rails slipped, overturned. 

Hare was held responsible for having sent the train over the line so fast, knowing that it was un safe at such speeds. The line had then cost the Government £250,000.  His dismissal did not seem to affect Hare. His career in South Australia had been one of dismissal and change. 

He had come to South Australia as a secretary, and had joined the South Australian company and taken charge of Kingscote for them. When Port Adelaide was chosen as a port for South Australia, Kingscote was abandoned and Hare was dismissed. He then became a contractor and helped to erect Queen's Wharf, Port Adelaide. He gained some knowledge of medicine, and was known by his 'patients' as Dr. Hare for years. He then became a farmer— though he spent most of his time in town— and in 1851 he entered politics, being elected for West Torrens under the old system of hustings votings. He and his opponent were equal, but he cast a vote for himself which put him in front. The election was held at Unley. He was appointed a commissioner to put into effect the Adelaide to Gawler railway in 1855, but the Government two years later offered him the position of Superintendent of the Stockade, and he resigned from Parliament to take it. In 1860 he succeeded Mr. Peake as Manager for Railways and there, as has been related, he "upset a Ministry and a Governor on top of them," as he afterwards boasted, though he had never held office in a Ministry. When he was Manager for Railways no longer, he took a plantation in Fiji, from which he turned in 1875 "more like a shirt hung on a handspike" than his former self. 

He then took a little mine close to Moonta Mines. He strongly criticised the actions of the Miners' Union and was heartily disliked by them, but offered himself as their representative in Parliament. He was pelted with pebbles. 

Three years later he tried again. He took off his coat before addressing a meeting, turned down his shirt sleeves, and ran to the top of a ladder at the Moonta Mines School, which was being built. "Fellow workmen," he said, "speaking as a workman to workmen, I take my coat off." He appealed to them in such a way that they forgot the pebbles of three years before and elected him. 

He died in 1882 at the age of 74, after having returned from a trip to Eng land which followed his resignation from Parliament in 1880. His was certainly a colorful career in which the train incident made history.— C.V.H. 

Show Amongst Sideshows 

Some years ago a West Coast township started to hold its series of annual agricultural shows, and had some difficulty in securing the sideshows necessary for its popularity, as most of the proprietors were a little doubtful as to whether the venture would pay. Eventually, guarantees were supplied by enthusiastic townsmen, and the event passed off successfully. 

There always remained a feeling of grievance among the show committee against the doubtful supporters they had found amongst the showmen, and one by one the originals were supplanted by fresh tenders as the years went by. Ultimately, the sole survivor was the owner of a boxing booth, whose scarred veterans were still too great a pull for a country crowd to disregard. 

One of the committee, however, happened to run across another man in the boxing sideshow business and took a fancy to the prowess of his lads with the gloves. He suggested that the new find should tender for space at the next show in his own town. In due course his advice was adopted, the committee quickly making up its mind between the tenders before it. The original man was told that no space was available for him and that the sole rights had been granted elsewhere. Fuming with rage at the loss of a possible stand, he packed up his gear and came on to the show without a permit. Frenzied work over night saw a second boxing tent erected in defiance of the committee, while rival spruikers banged their drums in vociferous opposition to one another. The rightful promoter went to the committee for redress, but found only moral support in his favor. 

There seemed only the one way out, and it was promptly taken. The performers were mobilised and marched over to the opposition tent. Inside a few seconds curious spectators were witnessing bet ter all-in fighting between the professionals with bare knuckles for nothing than they had ever seen before when they paid to go in. The battle raged inside until the tent came down on the combatants, while a war of extermination outside eventually led to the intruders being driven back to their own marquee. There they rallied in a desperate attempt to protect their belongings. For ten minutes things went willingly enough, culminating in the destruction of the booth. In the end the pugilists fought each other to a stand still, the majority being carted off to hospital. The use of battens and tent poles had increased the casualties. 

It was now the committee's turn to become upset, as the main draw card for the second day of the show had been wiped off the map. Telegrams passed to and fro in vain quest of a boxing out fit in a search of a job. Just as hope seemed extinguished, a truck full of boxers arrived from nowhere in a cloud of dust, settled some details, and ran up a tent. The tale of the previous day's doings led to a record crowd anxious to see how things were going, and the third boxing venture was a complete financial success. 

Only when the show was over did the committee realise that their man was not well known in the game. They applied to him for particulars, and extracted a confession. He had been touring with a vaudeville show, which was not having a very good run. Hearing of the opening, he had promptly parked the chorus girls and come on under the new guise, painting canvas signs on the way under the direction of the scenic artist attached to the show. 'Where did you get your boxers?' asked someone. 'You have to be pretty versatile in this business,' grinned the showman, 'I just used the comedians and chorus boys for the job!' — 'Greenhide.'

Romantic Character Of Early Port Vincent 

There is a romantic story behind a common quip bandied about the water front at Port Vincent, Yorke Peninsula, where you will often hear a lumper, when attempting a heavy lift, asked sarcastically by a mate if he thinks he is 'Jasper Fluers.' 

Fluers, a full-blooded Malay, went to Port Vincent as a young man some 65 years ago, and spent many years fishing the waters along the coast. He is credited with many feats of strength and daring which astounded the early settlers. Today, due to those feats, his name is by way of becoming legendary throughout the district. 

At the outbreak of the Great War, Fluers was in Malay on a visit, and, on returning to South Australia, found that he was unable to land owing to the rigid laws of wartime. He returned to Malay, and through the following years tried continually to gain permission to return to his beloved Port Vincent. 

Several years ago, due to the efforts of friends, the permission was granted, and Fleurs, as excited as a boy, sailed straight for Port Vincent— and disillusion— strangely enough, on the return half of a ticket issued more than 20 years previously. An old man, he found his friends of the past all gone, and strange faces on all sides shattered the memory of former days retained through years of exile. 

I saw Fluers a few years ago, a bent figure of more than 95 years, standing on the wharf as the boat came in. Shrunken and shaky, with his yellow face an impassive mask, it was hard to associate him with the former Jasper—hero of so many feats of strength and daring. He is gone from Port Vincent now, but Mr. Amos King has a memento of him in the shape of a mat woven exquisitely from binder twine, which was completed by Fluers on his 96th birthday.— F.C.