The Journey Begins

When I first planned this trip, I had visions of following Edward's route completely sequentially and along the same path as him but clearly the logistics of that are impossible. For example whereas he set off from Yulgilbar and just followed his nose down river through open, unfenced forest, everything is now fenced and owned and I doubt if landholders would be wildly excited about me trying to ride my bicycle across their paddocks, upsetting the cattle and frightening the horses. Or maybe wildly excited is exactly what they would be, but not in a good way.

The view downriver from the old Yulgilbar homestead. Presumably the way Edward set off.

What's more, Edward gives only vague descriptions of his route. He mentions distance, overnight stops and occasionally things passed on the way but no precise direction. I'm not even sure how he navigated. I'm assuming he had a compass but he says nothing about any other means of navigating when he isn't on a road, which is most of the time. I've realised then I'm going to have to create a reasonable facsimile of his trip rather than a precise recreation.

He started on July 8 and while I thought of waiting till then, given that I'm not going to be doing it precisely I'm happy with our departure date from Grafton on July 2. It's certainly the same time of year and his description of a bright clear Australian winter day is certainly representative of what we have been experiencing. He clearly feels emotional about his departure and he waxes more lyrical in this description than much of the diary but I guess he is aware that a particular phase of his life is coming to an end. He can't even be sure that he will return and ponders Shall I ever more revisit that hallowed shade?; referring to his brother Fred's grave, which at this point is the only one in what later becomes known as The Vault.

While a couple of stockmen come out to make sure they get underway ok with the horses they are taking down to Sydney to sell, his companions for this part of the journey are one of his European workers and a native black boy, named Denny. (It has been suggested to me that Denny is an ancestor of Archie Roach, the musician, and I've sent an email to his management asking if he has any information about that but as yet have had no reply.)

On our trip to Lionsville we called in at Gordon Brook. A workman there wasn't sure where the original homestead was but a later phone conversation with the manager revealed that it had been on the site of the current house. Nothing remains but a few cookhouse foundations and the avenue of cedar laurels leading up to the house.

Their first day ends at Gordon Brook station about 30kms down river from Yulgilbar. From there he made his way across the river, he doesn't mention where, and called in at Newbold Grange where some business...occasioned further delay. My understanding is that this was a boundary dispute he was having with the occupants of that station. Probably a bit touchy here so he progressed on to Ramornie for his second camp the hospitable dwelling of a valued friend, and where awaited me one of the pleasantest of this life's pleasant things - a hearty welcome. This from my other Clarence ancestor, Charles Tindal.

Mt Camelback from Gordon Brook. Edward would recognise this.

As a way of getting the feel of the country, I finally got my canoe out on the mighty Clarence today. Trish dropped me off at the Lilydale Bridge, just down stream from Newbold Grange, and I paddled down to Copmanhurst, just past Ramornie, where she met me.

Lilydale bridge.

It took a couple of hours so I guess it was about 15kms or so and if Edward followed the river then I must've been pretty well where he was. The river banks now are filled with lantana (not a South American dance as Trish once postulated) which while pretty, is certainly a pervasive weed. Something that wouldn't have been here in Edward's time. A big wide river with a reasonable downstream flow, it passed over several surface rapids but nothing too vigourous. Just enough to be fun. If Edward had had a canoe like mine he could have whizzed down to Grafton whenever he felt like. Ok it would've taken a fair bit of time (unless it was in flood which would make things interesting) and then there would be the matter of how you got home but I did contemplate what he would have made of my canoe. Even in the last 30 or so years plastic has revolutionized canoes because you can just scrape and bump over rocks, logs or whatever, in a way that plywood, canvas or even fiberglass could never have done.

Trish hunting for platypus at Copmanhurst. No platypi but she did spot 2 turtles.

The river was idyllic and I couldn't believe I had it to myself. Didn't see a soul. Just cows. Beautiful.

Toolbillibam Would Be Proud

When we met with Rod Williams, he told us that his maternal aunt, Dr Margaret Weir (nee Williams) wanted to meet us but is currently housebound due to ill health and couldn't come to our morning tea at Gurehlgam. However, he gave us her contact details so that we could try and catch up with her. Today we visited her and her husband Brian for morning tea.

Dr Weir is an impressively graceful lady and while her physical health may be problematic, her mind is as sharp as ever. In 1959 she was the first person of Aboriginal descent to complete a university degree, graduating from the University of Melbourne. She went on to develop a career in education, working all around Australia and then travelling to Canada where she spent three years in the Canadian Navy. Somewhere along the way she also found time to complete a PHD. 

While she appreciates that her life is a unique one, she says that she finds it difficult to see it as unusual because it is the only life she has known and one that from an early age, she had felt destiny was guiding her to. While charming and open, Dr Weir has a commanding presence and it is clear that nothing is ever likely to have intimidated her. 

She told us the stories that have been passed down to her over the years about the Ogilvie and Tindal families. Like others, she said that she has not heard a bad word about the Tindals. In regard to Edward Ogilvie there seem to be a variety of perspectives. Squatters Castle suggests that while Theodosia was a positive influence on him, on his return from Europe and after building his mansion, he became more status conscious. As a young man he was "one of the boys" but he then became more formal, combative and generally difficult to get along with. 

However, some of the Bundjalung views are that as a young man he was a ruthless participant in suppressing the original Australians and that Theodosia was a humanising influence on his relationship with the locals. However, the stories Dr Williams heard suggest that under the influence of his second wife, his relationship with the Bundjalung went downhill significantly and that it was only the moderating calm of Toolbillibam that prevented serious retaliation against him. It is impossible to tell the exact nature of historical events but I guess it is pretty clear that Edward could generally be difficult. Supportive if he was getting his way but not someone who ever liked to be opposed. 

Two hours flew by with Dr Weir and it was wonderful to meet yet another of Toolbillibams impressive descendants. 

Robyne Bancroft welcomes guests to country at Grafton Art Gallery.

Our day was completed with another wonderful experience. Grafton Art Gallery, the source of my original contact with the Bundjalung community via their Lindt photo exhibition, hosted an exhibition opening by local artists, inspired by the Lindt photos. Both Dani and her eldest son Jirrayne had works included and we had a great evening meeting various friends and relatives of the extended Bancroft and Williams families. I have to mention too, a haunting performance by two local men, one playing didgeridoo accompanying another singing traditional songs. One of the best Aboriginal cultural performances it has ever been my privilege to witness. Listening to them I was transported back to when Europeans first arrived here and once again I wished that we could have done things differently back then.

Jirrayne & his artwork. I'm proud to be related to such talent. See below too.

Dani with her artwork. The snake skeleton references a snake bone necklace worn by one of Lindt's photo models. The hands are representative of Bundjalung tradition whereby the last joint of the little finger was removed from women on marriage. I'm guessing that girls today might say "just a nice ring will be fine".

Long & Winding Roads

Pardon me if I've said this before but there is some beautiful country in these parts. Today we took a drive up the old Grafton - Glen Innes road which was the main thoroughfare from the 1870's until the current road was built in 1960.

The road follows a variety of river valleys - the Orara, the Nymbodia, the Boyd - which all eventually become part of the mighty Clarence. Again at the risk of repeating myself these rivers are magnificent. I could spend a lifetime canoeing them although I think that would need to be done in company because in many cases they flow through wild country where you wouldn't want a mishap on your own.

The floods here must be awesome and the evidence of their destruction is everywhere. At the Buccarumbi crossing on the Nymbodia there are still huge steel and concrete columns tossed aside on the banks by a flood in 1946.

The road is just a narrow, winding, largely unsealed track that was built for bullock carts, drays and other pre motorised transport and this would've been the road taken by the Tindal and Ogilvie sons up to the properties they established around Glen Innes in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

Trish hopefully scans the banks of the Boyd River at Dalmorton for gold nuggets. You can feel the serenity.

We stopped for a picnic on the banks of the Boyd River at Dalmorton, another of those gold towns that had several thousand people in the late 1800s but are now just a collection of foundations, old shacks and the odd gravestone.

Imagine carving out that by hand!c

About halfway up the road passes through a tunnel hewn out of the rock face of a spur that couldn't be by-passed. We made that our turn around point and headed back to Grafton from there. Just a great day out.

Extended Family Extended

When I embarked on this journey, one of the things I wondered about was whether Edward Ogilvie or Charles Tindal would have Bundjalung descendants. Given that both had spent significant parts of their 20s and 30s as single men I figured that there was a reasonable chance that they might have had sexual relationships with local women.

In Squatters Castle an episode is described in which Edwards second wife Alicia berated an older Bundjalung lady for sitting in the kitchen doorway. This spirited lady responded that she needn't get too flash because she "had been Mrs Ogilvie long before" Alicia had! George Farwell's interpretation of this was in relation to the fact that the Ogilvie children had been wet nursed by Bundjalung women (because Edward felt breast feeding was unladylike!). Farwell was writing in the still conservative early 1970s and was to a large extent dependent on Ogilvie descendants as information sources so he needed to be coy. However, as a family member, I can be more frank. When I first read that passage, I made completely different assumptions. On that basis, when I made my approach to the Bundjalung community I asked if there was anyone with an oral history of descent from either family.

Dani, me and Robyne. See a family resemblence? The first thing everyone asks on meeting new family.

However, there was a surprise in store for me because a connection arose that is more recent than either Edward or Charles. I was contacted by Robyne Bancroft who told me that she is a great grand-daughter of John Travers Tindal. Her father's mother was Anne Bancroft who was the oldest of two daughters of John and a Bundjalung woman Alice. Robyne's family history is that John had two daughters by Alice in the 1880s. His family were not very happy with the way things were progressing so he was shipped home to England where he was married off to Mary Ogilvie, thus (sort-of) solving the problem. This makes Robyne's Gran and my Gran half sisters.

Robyne is an articulate, straight talking lady, about a decade older than me and an archeologist by trade. She offered to take Trish and I on a guided tour to Lionsville, just over the river from Yulgilbar, where she grew up, so this morning we packed a picnic before picking her up from her flat and setting out.

The Lionsville area is full of scar trees like this, indicating the previous scale of Aboriginal population.

We had a fabulous day. Robyne is a fount of knowledge on the history, both black and white, of the area and seems to know who lives in pretty well every place along the road. She also gave us a crash course in Bundjalung culture as we drove. En route we picked up Robyne's daughter Dani and Dani's 19 year old son Jirrayne, who live half way between Grafton and Lionsville. They were likewise knowledgeable tour guides. Dani and her family have a beautiful property on a ridge above the river that is part of the old Gordonbrook station.

On crossing the river at Yulgilbar and entering their home ground of Lionsville we stopped and Dani bade us formal welcome to their traditional home. Two eagles were hovering above us which Dani and Robyne said was a good sign because they are usually there to welcome them.

Jirrayne & Dani with a particularly spectacular scar tree.

Lionsville was once a thriving gold town with a population up to 4000 people. Anne Bancroft was obviously as competent as her grand-daughter because she was the Post Mistress there from the 1930s through to the 1950s. All that is left now though is the ruins of the Post Office and two houses. However, the extended Bancroft clan gather there and camp on the banks of the Washpool Creek every Christmas and we picnicked at their campsite.

Anne Bancroft at Lionsvile in 1940s with a rose that apparently came from a Yulgilbar cutting.

Hidden by overgrowth is the remains of the Lionsville PO.

Last house standing at Lionsville,  vibrantly decorated by the Bancroft clan.

Spending the day with them was a highlight. The people you form friendships with are obviously ones who share your views, thoughts and approach to the world and I feel completely at ease with Robyne, Dani and Jirrayne on that basis. Plus its nice to find cousins that you never knew you had.

Jirrayne, Dani & Robyne welcome Matilda & Trish to the Bancroft campsite. She declared it her new favourite picnic spot.

Toolbillibam

Written European history is generally positive about the Ogilvie family's relationship with the original owners of the country they took. Edward's parents, particularly his mother Mary, were seen as being liked and respected by the locals on the Hunter River.

For  his part, its clear that Edward was involved in some of the initial massacres on the Clarence but European history justifys that (as most killings were & still are by those who can't face up to them) as being a response to the killing of one his workers. (The fact that it later became apprent that the worker had probably been killed by one of his own colleagues was glossed over.)

However, he soon developed a reputation as having a fairly progressive attitude to the aboriginal population. Much of this was based on a widely requoted letter he wrote to the Sydney Morning Herald in June 1842. In this letter he defended the original inhabitants against claims that they were incorrigibly savage and suggested that they were merely defending themselves as anyone might do.

He describes his own rapprochement with the people he had displaced through a meeting with a group headed by a man named Toolbillibam. Edward had learnt enough Bundjalung from Pundoon, a little boy he had kidnapped a year earlier after a massacre, to be able to to have a rudimentary conversation with Toolbillibam who asked him why, given that they had yielded the river flats to them, they now appeared to be interested in taking possession of the hills as well. A reasonable question really.

Edward skirted round that point but went on to say that as long as the Bundjalung didn't take up arms against them, the Europeans wouldn't harm them. In the discussion it also transpired that Pundoons dad was in the group and he was understandably excited  to hear that his boy was alive and well. (There was at least one other child taken along with Pundoon but they are never mentioned again so presumably were neither alive nor well. Whether they died from one of the European illnesses so easily and fatally comunicated to the Australians, or just from the undeniable shock and trauma of being kidnapped, or suffered some other fate, we will never know.)

This strangely composed Lindt photo c.1872 shows Edward riding into the drive of the Big House. It isn't known who the seated Bundjalung man to the left is. Its been speculated that it could be Toolbillibam or Pundoon but it could just have easily been any local co-opted as a "prop" for effect as Lindt was partial to that kind of thing. What it does demonstrate clearly is who is now in charge.

The gates are still there. 

Edward concluded by saying the Bundjalung had taken his advice and now everyone was getting along famously. He suggested that other settlers could benefit by doing likewise. While it might be stretching the point to say that he and Toolbillibam then became friends, it appears that they developed a relationship of acceptance as time went on. Later well known accounts describe the Ogilvie brothers having wrestling matches with Toolbillibam and his brothers.

It has been suggested to me that Edward wrote this letter as a cynical subterfuge to divert attention from the fact that he was continuing on his past ways but the letter does strike me as genuine. Obviously we all present ourselves in the best possible light but if this letter was a ploy, it was a exceptionally clever and Machivallian one. Edward came under some flak for the letter with other correspondents responding that he clearly didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It would've been far simpler for Edward to continue to justify any future murders as being reasonable acts of self defence as did many others for nearly another century.

At yesterdays meeting I  had the privilege of meeting a number of Toolbillibam's descendents, in particular his great, great grandson Rod Williams. Toolbillibam was clearly an intelligent, practical realist. He realised that the newcomers had the power.  They had already shown that opposition would be fatal and clearly the path to survival was going to be by accommodating them, initially by ceding them the river flats but later by accepting the invitation to get along, albeit on their terms.

Rod Williams & I. 

It seems that this approach has been passed down through the family. Over lunch Rod explained that his family had largely been able to evade the Stolen Generation in the early 20th century by firmly denying welfare representatives admission to Baryulgil where they lived, until they had first gone on to Yulgilbar to seek permission from the nominal white landowners. In the time it took them to do that, the family made sure that any children disappeared until the welfare had gone. The family also consciously avoided contact with missions and their residents because they could see that they prevented people from living autonomous lives, thus damaging their ability to be resilient.

For his part, Rod has developed a successful career in the mining industry and now uses the skills he has developed in his own business training & mentoring consultancy.  I'm really glad to have met Rod and his family and hopefully we can maintain a relationship as equal, and therefore true, friends. We were both clear that there won't be any wrestling matches either. We're both too old for that shit!

Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word

One of the things that I wanted to do on this trip was to make contact with the Bundjalung community, original owners of this area, to pay my respects to them and to apologise belatedly for the actions of my ancestors for taking their land in the first place and for any untoward acts they committed in the process. While all the details were never recorded, it is indisputable that the Clarence Valley (and Australia generally) was taken by force from the original owners. While this can never be undone, it seems reasonable to me to say that I am sorry for the way it happened and that I wish it could have been otherwise.

I cannot agree with those who condemn what they term "the black armband view of history" and that to say sorry is to accept guilt for actions in the past. In my view those who take this view must in their hearts still carry guilt that is so great that they just can't face up to it. If you think about personal situations, often it is hardest to say sorry when you know you were wrong but just won't face that. As a historian it seems to me that Australians have always had a fair idea of the violent ways in which our European ancestors took possession of this country and have had to find reasons to vilify and condemn Aboriginal people in order to justify those actions. Sadly there are still many who seek to do that today.

History also makes it clear that we always knew that terra nullis was a myth. There are numerous accounts across the country of early settlers recording original Australians explaining to them how they defined land possession and there are equally as many accounts of Europeans acknowledging that the Australians couldn't just move elsewhere once dispossessed because all the land was possessed by other groups. Terra nullis was just something we invented to make ourselves feel better about what we were doing. Clearly it was a matter of us having the might and we used it. Why some sad folk can't just admit that is a mystery to me.

I also wanted to find out if there are any local people who are either descended from the Ogilvies or Tindals or had family stories of contact with either family. When we visited the exhibition of Lindt photos at the Art Gallery they gave me contact details for Debby Taylor, one of the researchers from the Gurehlgam Corporation and she kindly organised a get together with a number of locals today.

About a dozen Bundjalung people came and very graciously accepted my apologies. They also shared with me some of the stories that they had heard from grandparents about the massacres of the early days and some of the prejudices they had faced and sometimes still face in living their lives.

In white written history the Ogilvie family are generally regarded as having positive relationships with the original Australians even though there are records of them having participated in some of the early massacres on the Clarence. Sadly, however, it seems that in some local oral history Edward Ogilvie is regarded with mixed feelings. However, the group made it clear that while they share my sadness at what occurred, they don't bear any personal grudge about it and all they hope for is the oft trumpeted Aussie "fair go".

Amongst the group were people who are descended from Toolbillibam and from John Travers Tindal and their stories are so important to my trip that I will cover them in individual posts.

A Squatter's Castle

Ten years ago Trish and I came through Grafton on a driving holiday up from Sydney. At that stage I had read Squatter's Castle but done little other research on my family history in these parts. We figured that seeing as we were in the area we should take a drive up and see what could be seen of the house. We found our way to what we figured were the gates into the place but they were clearly pretty secure. It was obvious they were monitored by CCTV and while we were stopped on the roadside trying to see if we could get a glimpse of anything, a 4WD arrived quick smart and a pleasant young farm hand asked if he could help. I explained that an ancestor had built the place and I was wondering if I could have a look. "Not without permission", he said. I asked who I could get permission from and he told me the Myer family in Melbourne, so that put paid to that.

A view of the Big House at Yulgilbar in the late 19th century. The house was photographed and painted frequently over the years and if you google Yulgilbar Castle you will probably come up with a variety of images over the years.

This time I did a bit more preparation and about a year ago I established contact with the Yulgilbar archivist Sue Ibbott. Sue has been very helpful and arranged for us to join in with a group of Grafton seniors on a tour today. The Myer family are clearly interested in preserving and developing the property's history and have established archives and a museum in the cellars of the house. Once a month they have a tour of the gardens and the archive and such is the interest in the place that the tours are booked out a couple of years in advance.

In the early 20th century the Big House deteriorated to such an extent that when the Myer family came to renovate it, removing the upper storey seemed the best solution.

On a hill overlooking the Big House is a folly, where the ladies of the house used to go to sketch & do needlework. Here Trish who often eoans her own lack of a castle, does a little sketching.

As family, Sue also arranged for the house caretaker John Denny to take us on an extra tour down to the family cemetery (known as The Vault) and to the manager's house which is built over and around the original homestead. For the purposes of my trip, this homestead is of greater interest than the Big House because it was where Edward left from in 1854, the Big House not being built until after his return.

We put some wattle on Edward's grave because I figured it might've been a while since he'd had flowers. The headstone to  the left rear is Mary Tindal, my Grans mother. Immediately behind Edward is his brother Fred and to his right, the smaller cross is a memorial to Theodosia. Behind her is their last child Hubert who died in infancy and in front of her are headstones for Mabel & Charles Lillingston. 

A painting done by Edward's sister Ellen in 1852 of the original Yulgilbar homestead. My mother found a print of this painting in an op shop in the 1970's and bought it for me, which was really when Yulgilbar first entered my consciousness. 

Trish & I in front of the old homestead. Somewhere under this building is the original cottage which over the years has been built over and around.

While Edward had hopes that Yulgilbar would become a dynastic family property (in fact it was in great part due to his complex will, leaving the place to his daughter Mabel Lillingston & her husband -with the proviso that future inheritors maintain the name of Ogilvie, which never happened - that it ended up being sold out of the family) I think that he would be reasonably pleased to see it today. While it hasn't become the Ogilvie country seat, it has become that for another dynasty, the Hordern-Baillieu-Myer family. They run it as a working cattle and horse stud and family retreat, which I think would please Edward as they have the resources to maintain both its agricultural and heritage values. In the 1930's the property passed into the hands of the family of Sam Hordern who for Albany readers, was the great nephew of Anthony Hordern who built the Perth to Albany railway, has his monument at the top of York St and is buried in the Albany cemetery.

A Complex Family Tree

The observant amongst you might have noticed John Travers Tindal's middle name and wondered where that came from so I thought I should give a brief explanation of my family tree.

I am Laurence Crispin Elder Travers. My father is Laurence John Travers who married my mother, Ailsa Berrie Elder. (As I go on, you will also notice that our family has often followed the Scottish tradition of using a mother's maiden name as a middle name.)

Dad's father was Laurence Erskine Travers. He grew up in Metung in the Gippsland and he married Phyllis Theodosia Grant Tindal. They were both living in England when they met. Laurence Erskine Travers father was Laurence John Travers (and his mother Blanche Erskine) who grew up in Hobart where his father Samuel Smith Travers had brought his family in the mid 19th century.

Samuel Smith Travers had a sister Anne Amory Travers who married Charles Grant Tindal of Ramornie Station. John Travers Tindal was their second son  and he married Mary Isabel Ogilvie, the oldest child of Edward David Stewart Ogilvie of Yulgilbar and they were parents of Phyllis T.G. Tindal.

Confused? So am I at times but what this means is that Phyllis and Laurence had grandparents who were siblings. What does that make them? Second cousins I think.

In those days you couldn't marry just anybody. You had to choose someone from a "good family" and I guess your own family was a good one. In colonial Australia there was an even more limited pool and a look at the Ogilvie family tree shows that many of his children married family friends and/or neighbours.

Anyway I guess that accounts for some of the strong genetic traits in the Travers family today, along with our uncanny ability at playing the banjo!

A Beautiful Valley

The last 2 days have been spent driving around the Clarence Valley and it is a beautiful place. In fact rather than trying to describe it in too many words, I'll let some pictures we took do the talking. Yesterday I wanted to check out canoe entry and exit points and the general canoeability of the river. We drove up on the North side through Copmanhurst and then to Lillydale where there is a bridge over to the South side. We then headed upstream to The Gorge and back to Jackadgery where I talked to the caravan park owner who has canoed much of the river. He reassured me that there were no hidden nasties where I wanted to go. From there we headed back into Grafton.

The river at Copmanhurst, just downstream from Ramornie Homestead on the far bank.

Old stock hut at Towgon Grange, just downstream from The Gorge.

The river at the bottom end of The Gorge.

Today we headed out to Ramornie Station that Great, Great Grandfather Charles Tindal bought in 1852 after having spent time working for Edward at Yulgilbar, as well as on other stations in the area. Like Edward, Charles went back to England in the mid 1850s and returned with a wife, Anne Amory Travers  (I'll explain our somewhat complicated family tree in a later post). On their return they built Ramornie Homestead in 1858 and it still stands today. My father's mother Phyllis Theodosia Grant Tindal lived there as a child before her family went to back to England. When she died Gran left me a small, childs chair which she said was made for her at Ramornie from local timber.

Ramornie Homestead 

If you want to know more about Charles Tindal, try this link to his entry in the Australian Dictionary of Biography adb.anu.edu.au/biography/tindal-charles-grant 1238

The stables at Ramornie, looking pretty much as they must have in the 1860s.

There is a number in the phone book for Ramornie Station and I'd tried it several times with no answer so we decided just to take pot luck. No one was home when we got there but I took the liberty of taking a number of pictures and left a note to say we'd called. The house looks to have a family living there with children's things around. It's in a fairly original state so gives a feel of what it once was.

Ramornie guest quarters.

Ramornie Meatworks on the Orara River from an album of photos of Grafton and surrounds held at the Mitchell Library. Charles was a patriarchal employer and built a village and school for his workers, adjoining the works. The album contains a number of other pictures of the works and village and can be viewed at acms.sl.nsw.gov.au

All that remains of the village at Ramornie Meatworks - the school bell post.

We then drove about 15kms back towards Grafton to the site of the Ramornie Meatworks that made Charles Tindal most of his money. We called into the house overlooking the site to see if they owned the land. A friendly older bloke, Don, did indeed own the land and when I explained my purpose was happy for us to take a poke around. Don said it was a "crying shame" what was happening with the Ramornie Homestead because he had heard it had been left empty and subject to vandalism. However, I was able to reassure him that isn't the case at present as it is clearly being lived in and looking ok.

Fig tree growing out of the Meatworks ruins.

From here to the trees in the background was once all Meatworks with the village up  onthe on the slopes to the rear left. Now just Don's cow paddock.

From the Meatworks we drove down to the Eatonsville Crossing. (Eatonsville Station was known locally as Eat'nswill in recognition of the bonhomie of it's owners.) This was the first point on the river where it could be crossed and given that it is about 80kms from the mouth, you can get some idea of how big this river is. While I say it was a crossing, it was notorious for people drowning in attempts to do so. Bear in mind that in the 19th century most Europeans couldn't swim so if they lost their footing or hold on their horse, that was it. (If horses can swim naturally, you'd think humans could!) Charles Tindal's younger brother was one of about 30 people to have drowned here and a cemetery was established on the north bank to bury many of them. In fact of 4 Tindal brothers, 2 drowned in ships off the Australian coast and a third here. Charles was the only one to survive! Hence my theory that it is a grand Australian tradition to drown trying to get here and that rather than trying to stop them, we should only allow migrants who arrive in leaky boats, on the basis that that is the kind of aspirational, can-do spirit that made this nation great!

The Eatonsville Crossing. Apparently its changed a bit in that bits were blown up so boats  could more easily pass through. Doesn't look too dangerous to a swimmer though. The cemetery is on the hill on the far bank.  

Thats Lawrence With a Double U, not Laurence With a U.

Yesterday we took a trip 30kms downriver from Grafton to the little village of Lawrence. The name of this town is not relevant to our family, despite our plethora of Laurences. Those Laurences are all from the Travers side of the family who were busy establishing themselves in Hobart at about the time the Ogilvies & Tindals were eyeing off the Clarence valley. Our Laurence is spelt with a u.

This Lawrence, originally called The Elbow, was named Lawrence in honour of a hero of the 1857 Indian Mutiny and earns its part in this story because of Edward Ogilvies attempts to make it the major centre on the Clarence, rather than Grafton. Apparently Edward didn't see eye to eye with the other patriachs of Grafton. Not sure why. Maybe he didn't like the idea of sharing his authority with others or perhaps he was just obstreperous. Whatever the reason, on his return from his trip to England he did his best to raise Lawrence's significance.

This watercolour is in an album by Edward Forde, held in the Mitchell Library. It shows the veranda of the Commercial Hotel in Lawrence in 1860, which was owned by Edward from about that time until it was delicensed in 1894. It burnt down many years ago according to the nice lady at the Lawrence Museum.

He bought land and property here and established a wharf from where he imported his supplies and exported produce from Yulgilbar, much to the chagrin of the Grafton merchants. He was backing the wrong horse, however, because Lawrence never really took off and once the railway went through Grafton in the late 1880s, that was it for Lawrence. 

All that remains of Edward's dreams for Lawrence. A park near where his wharf once stood.

Today it is a bucolic little hamlet with virtually no buildings of historic significance. Over the years flood or fire has claimed most of its older buildings, the Lawrence Hotel burning down as recently as 1987 (to be replaced by a modern tavern). To my eye the oldest building in town is probably the Police Station/House which I would guess to be c.1870s. There are a few others from the 1890s but mostly it is a tree change kind of place with modern houses on large blocks. On that basis it can give you a sense of what Grafton might have been in Edwards time, with houses scattered along the river on large blocks with vegetable gardens, fruit trees and the occasional horse or goat grazing in the yard. It also has a nice folk museum in a disused ABC radio station.

Lawrence Post Office with the Police Station in the background. The Commercial Hotel was up on the rise just past the Police Station.

From Lawrence we took a car ferry across the river down to McLean which is a town that has retained many of its historic pubs, shops and administrative buildings and has a nice feel to it. McLean is also the southernmost limit of sugar cane growing in Australia and it has a subtropical air with cane fields and macademia groves. From there we went down another 20kms to the mouth of the Clarence at Yamba.

Yamba is a sprawling beachside town that appears to have grown considerably in the last 40 or so years. Its like a lot of beachy places (think Mandurah) where the developers arrived before the planners. There are multi-storey apartment buildings, palatial beachside houses, the occasional old beach cottage, strips of takeaway food, surf shops, beach gift shops etc and then all the other joys of modern commercial life like Maccas, Target, Woolies etc. You know the drill. Perhaps Yamba is the aboriginal word for crass.

The mouth of the Clarence at Yamba. Two big stone breakwaters keep it open today.

The weather has been outstanding (sunny and low 20s) so today we packed a picnic and did a big bike ride up to the Rogan Bridge, the first bridge upstream from Grafton and a round trip of 52kms; a one day PB (personal best for those unsporty amongst you) for Trish. For me it was a good trial to see what the country is like for riding, as I intend doing the bits Edward rode horseback, by bike. While it is a bit up and down, the hills are not too steep so it should be a doddle.

Finally, when we got home we figured we should partake of some Ozzie culture not available to us in the West (praise the Lord); the pokie supported club (for a pokie supported cheap dinner). The nearest, & Grafton's flashest (reminded me of a mini Vegas casino) was the GDSC which I incorrectly guessed stood for Grafton District Sports Club. Wrong.  It's Grafton District Services  Club or in other words the RSL. We arrived a few minutes before 6pm and just afterwards a lady announced on the PA "Ladies & Gentlemen, its 6 o'clock". How thoughtful, I thought. As a contribution to responsible gambling they're letting all the addicts know that maybe they should go home for tea, or at least take a break.

But no. The PA lady went on to tell us all that it was time to stand, all face the west, and take a minutes silence while she recited the "Lest we Forget" verse and the whole place solemnly did! Do they do this every day in every  RSL? I never knew. Well at least that means they can't take the piss when Moslems do their daily prayers to Mecca.

We Share Some History, This Town & I

Thus spoke Don Walker in his Cold Chisel song Flame Trees, which prior to me becoming interested in Edward, was pretty well the sum of my knowledge about Grafton. Walker spent time here as a child and wrote the song about his memories of the town. It's better known for it's jacaranda trees but I guess that didn't scan as well. (As a side note, I've long thought that Don Walker has not received sufficient acclaim in his role as the Banjo Patterson of the latter end of the 20th century. His lyrics are the bush poetry of those times, telling very Australian stories of ordinary lives. Well done Don.)

Gwydir Hwy at Heffron Lookout, overlooking Mann River a tributary of the Clarence.

We arrived here mid-week, driving down the incredibly scenic (it has world heritage listing apparently) Gwydir Hwy through the Gibralter Range & Washpool National Parks.

We're staying for the next month or so at the Gateway Caravan Park on the northern outskirts of town. Grafton is one of the most well treed places I've ever been with jacarandas, flame trees, huge Australian figs, palm trees and many more. There are also lush manicured gardens everywhere and this caravan park is no exception. Built around a central lillypond it's very reasonable at $22/night.

The lillypond at the Gateway Village. There's a telly in the gazebo where I froze last night watching Richmond destroy the Dockers hopes of 10 wins in a row!

Our "camp" at the Gateway. Bet it beats Edward's overnight camps.

It is also part park home park and I can only assume the price structure is to get the oldies in so they can be tempted by the joys of park living. With a swimming pool, tennis courts (don't even play tennis) and immaculate amenities block, kitchen, BBQ etc I'm tempted myself. Trish is currently off at Bingo in the recreation room so once she's addicted to that, we might move in. The only disconcerting note is the neat and politely worded signs around the place warning of "instant dismissal" (I think they mean eviction) for various offences against park policy. (I hope sarcastic blogging isn't one of those offences because I really do like the place.) Still it's given me a new lexicon and I now threaten Trish with "instant dismissal' if she does anything that annoys me.

An incredible avenue of fig trees in Breimba St, Grafton.

Grafton at just under 20,000 people is a little smaller than Albany but what it does share with us is an absence of traffic lights and a plethora of roundabouts in their place, plus no paid parking.  I could love the town for this alone. Perhaps we should develop a sister city relationship between the two places!

On arrival in town I visited the Clarence River Historical Society HQ and museum to start doing some local research. When I explained what I am doing I was very warmly received, being told several times "you're important". Made me feel like royalty.

Schaeffer House, c1900. 

We also visited the Grafton Regional Art Gallery because they currently have an exhibition of 1870's photo's by John William Lindt of Aboriginal residents of the Clarence Valley. The Gallery staff were also very helpful when I explained my project and have given me contact details of people in the local Original Australian community who may be able to help me locate stories about Ogilvie and Tindal and perhaps descendants of either.

Prentice House, c1880, a former Drs house bequeathed to the city to become its art gallery.

When Edward first arrived on the Clarence, Grafton was little more than a camp at South Grafton and it doesn't seem that there was much more when he left on his trip in 1854. I can only find a few buildings in town that pre-date 1860 at this stage. It did grow hugely during the years after his return although I gather that there was no love lost between him and the city fathers here. Edward favoured the town of Lawrence about 30kms downriver so I will visit there soon.

The Anglican Deanery & Parish Office which are about the only buildings I could find in town that pre-date 1860.

Our First Taste of Family

Inverell is an attractive town but I was keen to get to Glen Innes 70km further on where our first family connections begin. Inverell and Glen Innes both have attractive and well preserved late Victorian/Edwardian streetscapes and I'm starting to think I may have to rethink describing Stirling Tce as one of the best preserved examples of same. Perhaps best in WA.

We stayed at the Poplars Caravan Park in Glen Innes which I was moved to review on TripAdvisor as the best value in 5000kms because it is! Lovely spot despite the fact that it got down to -6C on our second night here (yes that's a minus sign) and the water in our van hose froze causing the hose coupling to pop open with the pressure.

Sorry. This photo should be below the one of the Tindal family but sometimes this blog has a mind of its own. It insisted it should be here! It's in the beautiful garden at Virginia/Tatiara.

I knew that dad's maternal grandfather, John Travers Tindal and his wife Mary, who was Edward Ogilvie's eldest daughter, had lived here just before John died in 1926, on a property called Tatiara. I inquired at the local historical society about the location of Tatiara and was told by the lady there that it was now called Virginia and she gave me the location. However, she said a family member is very unwell and said that while it should be ok to drive past, she asked me to not call in as it is a difficult time for them.

John, Mary & Dorothy Tindal in the gardens at Tatiara in 1922. Relatives & friends may be struck by John and Mary's resemblence to current family members! John was 62, only 2 years older than me when this was taken.

Again, this should be below the 1922 photo of the house but it didn't want to. It shows the same side as the older picture.

Virginia today, from the front. 

We went up there today and while I was taking some photos across the paddocks from the road, a charming lady named Rose, who was checking cattle on a quad bike, came across to ask what we were doing. When I explained, she said that it was her family property and that her sister Margaret,who lives in the old house is very interested in the property's history and probably would welcome a visit despite her husband's illness. She rang her to check and we were invited to come up.

Tatiara in 1922. Today the trees are much bigger obscuring this view but the house is little different (although lovingly preserved). Both these 1922 pictures are by photographer Michael Terry from a large collection of his in the National Library. 

Margaret proved just as charming as her sister and showed us around the house which was built in 1885. It's timber and iron with some magnificent polished cedar doors and paneling and many of the original ripple glass window panes. Her grandparents, Harold & Beatrice Mott bought it from the Tindals just before John died in 1926 and the Mott family have owned it ever since. The original Tatiara property was about 300 acres and the Motts also purchased the larger Virginia block over the road, combining both properties under that name.

After visiting Tatiara/Virginia, we took a circuit drive up to Emmaville which has a fascinating local museum, and then across to Deepwater which has another facility, essential to any good tourist destination, a great pie shop!