The Old Castlemaine Schoolboys Association

This photo appeared in Table Talk on 26th February 1920 recording an event which had taken place on Feb 15th.  Just a group of men having a dinner and Smoke Night in the Melbourne Town Hall.  But the interesting fact is that they all went to school within a few miles of the Castlemaine Post Office  and that there were enough of them to fill the Hall

old boys reunion Table talk Melbourne 26-2-1920

The Association was formed in 1912   Prominent people like Harry Lawson MP and Frank Tate the well known Director of Education were among the early members.  So too was Colonel Fields, whose granddaughters attended the High School later on and are remembered by  some of us who are still around. Mostly the annual reunions were held in Castlemaine but occasional ones were held in Melbourne.

I took the next photo in the front hallway of the North Castlemaine State School in 2003.  It shows the Dux of School, i.e. Grade 6,  a prize awarded each year from 1928 to 1973 by the Old Castlemaine Schoolboys Association.  It was a small  school with only one class for each level from Prep to Grade 6.  But political correctness took over after 1973 when the teachers refused to set the examination to decide the prize winners.  Notice the  emblem for the Association was the blue orchid which grew locally each Spring  in the harshest of grounds

2003 Reunioin Old Schoolboys Association board b

 

This is the prize awarded in 1940, a leather bound copy of the Poems of Adam  Lindsay Gordon..  The Association’s emblem is on the front cover and a keepsake of one of the real blue orchids has been kept pressed inside the book

The first winner for this school in 1928 was H.L.Stacey.  I’m hoping that someone can tell me about that family.

When the Gentlemen Go By

SS324aSome people might concentrate on the pub in this  week’s theme, a Cornish village photo, but all I could see was a pack animal in a narrow street sending  Kipling and Daphne du Maurier swirling around in my mind.  Just look at that lane.

So let the sun set  in the photo, run inside and close the curtains and preferably  read out loud Rudyard Kipling’s The Smuggler’s Song. Let your imagination  paint  a picture in words as fine as any photograph.

 

IF you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.

Five and twenty ponies,  Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson, ‘Baccy for the Clerk.
Laces for a lady; letters for a spy,
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again – and they’ll be gone next day !

If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining’s wet and warm – don’t you ask no more !

If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you ” pretty maid,” and chuck you ‘neath the chin,
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been !

Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by !

If You do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –
A present from the Gentlemen, along ‘o being good !

Five and twenty ponies,  Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson, ‘Baccy for the Clerk.
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by !

 

Trove Tuesday – Peter Telford shifts to Apollo Bay

Peter Telford arrived in Australia in 1852 on board the Emmigrant.  He was a gold miner in the Ballarat area until 1877.  He then worked part time in the Apollo Bay area until he shifted his family down in 1885.  There was a huge demand for timber for the mining, railway and wharf building businesses.  The Otways were a great source of timber so that is where the timber cutters and sawmillers headed.  This report is from the Colac Herald of 1884, the year before he shifted his family down.

Dec 23 1884 colca herald peter telford

Six years earlier in 1878 this map shows the Telford land just to the south west of the township of Krambruk, as Apollo Bay was then known.

AB-map-1878 c

Source – unknown But a more detailed 1881 map can be seen at the State Library of Victoria at http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/104356

The following is an extract from “A Trip to Apollo Bay” c1885.  The trip was taken by Mr Duncan, Crown Lands Bailiff, Mr. Jas. Chapman of the Colonial Bank. Mr Fotheringhame, a seafaring man, and ??

“Mr Telford, who also hails from Ballarat, is making good progress with the erection of his mill, which will be driven by a 20 hp engine and capable of cutting 5000 ft per day.  He, too, is laying a short tramway which will be about 1¼ miles in length, with a gentle decline to the jetty .  Near the site of his mill he has a large quantity of valuable blackwood timber which is now being extensively used in the construction of railway carriages, furniture, etc.  Already Mr Telford has many large orders for timber on hand for Ballarat houses, but the bulk of his timber will be shipped to Melbourne and intercolonial ports.”

A tramway for the moving of cut logs

An example of a tramway used for shifting the cut logs through the forest. From the State Library of Victoria http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/49272

 

Peter Telford leaves Scotland behind Part 2

Part 2 of recording some facts of the family left behind in Roxburghshire by an Australian Telford, which follows on from Part 1.

Peter Telford    Born at Bankhead Farm in Linton, Roxburghshire in 1829.

We don’t have a photo of Peter Telford but his  many sons were big tall fellows so I assume that Peter was too.

Adam Telford's 1813 Headstone

The headstone at the grave in the Linton Churchyard of Adam Telford who died in 1

There is another special headstone in the Linton churchyard and that is of Peter’s grandfather, Adam Telford.

First are recorded the  early deaths of four of Adam’s children, then Adam himself  showing he died on Sep 27 1812, aged 66 years..

A simple but special piece of information.      From this we deduce that Peter’s grandfather Adam was probably born in 1748.

There is no mention of his wife, Mary Pringle,  nor can I find a record of her death.

Standing at the Adam Telford grave

Researchers looking at Adam Telford’s headstone outside the Linton Church in 1994.

search of the Linton  records show that Adam Telford was born  in 1747    at the Frogdean farm in Linton, to an Adam Telford and Sarah Hay

A few years later the Frogden/Frogdean farm became well known when William Dawson was the tenant.  He brought in new methods of soil improvement and the growing of turnips as a winter crop for cattle.

 

To put Adam’s birth in perspective he was born the year after the final defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie by the forces of George II at Culloden.

The above Telford information comes from the Old Parish Registers of Linton, through Scotland’s  People.
 

Linton Church Header

Peter Telford leaves Scotland behind Part 1

Recording some facts of the family left behind in Roxburghshire by an Australian Telford.

Peter Telford    Born at Bankhead Farm in Linton, Roxburghshire in 1829.

Peter Telford birth 1829 Linton

But Peter didn’t stay in Linton where his  family had strong links with Linton and the nearby Yetholm area.  He came to  Australia in 1852 on the  Emigrant.  He was 23 years old’

Our native land – our native vale –
A long and last adieu!
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,
And Cheviot mountains blue.

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renown’d in sing –
Farewell ye braes and blossom’d meads,
Our hearts have lov’d so long.

Linton Church and Churchyard

The church and churchyard at Linton, on it sandy mound.

Peter (1829), the baby of the family, and his brothers and sisters, were born at Bankhead Farm in Linton, Roxburghshire, where Peter’s father Walter worked as a Hynd, or farm servant, especially one having charge of a pair of horses, with a cottage on the farm.

Peter would have been familiar with his father working in the Bankhead fields with names Under Slade, Broomy, Thistley, Long Bank, Under Quarry, Pond and Cow. and  would have attended  the local Parochial School, which by his time had been shifted from a building beside the manse to Linton Downs.

It is an interesting parish.  In 1820, before Peter was born, Thomas Pringle had left Blakelaw Farm for South Africa.  Peter’s parents would have been aware of Thomas, the lame boy who wouldn’t be taking to farming and so was well educated.  Later he was known as the Poet of South Africa and wrote the poem from which I’m  quoting, The Emigrant’s Farewell, voicing his thoughts about leaving his beloved countryside.

Looking at headstones

Here are some  friendly family historians, who took these photos in 1994, inspecting some headstones in the Churchyard, which is built on a sandy mound.  Just across the fields is the village of Morebattle.  And it was at Morebattle that Peter’s great grandfather Adam Tailford married Sarah Hay in 1733.  But for the moment we are still in Linton.

Peter’s father Walter had married Jean Clark at Linton in 1812.

There is a gravestone in the churchyard at Linton, originally erected by Peter’s father.
It says

” Erected by WALTER TELFER in memory of his wife JANE CLARK who died 4.6.1810 aged 56 yrs. also MARGARET their daughter who died in infancy. Also the above WALTER TELFER who died at
Galashiels 1.3.1855 aged 73 yrs. and of WALTER TELFER their son who died 19.5.1860.” 

The headstones in the cemetery are being eroded by acid rain but due to the work done by a  band of volunteers we have a record of the wording on many of them.  In this case there  would appear to be an error in the transcription of Jane’s date of death –  it could not have been 1810 as she had her last child in 1829.  If she was 56 when she died as the headstone says then she could have died in 1840.  She does not appear in the 1841 Census with Walter and in 1851 his 38 year old daughter is acting as his housekeeper at Wooden Farm near Kelso.  So the transcription on the weathered headstone could possibly be 1840 not 1810 though I can find no record of her death.

When her husband Walter died on 1 March 1855 in Galashiels he was described as a widower.

From the Bartholomew Survey Atlas of Scotland, 1912

From the Bartholomew Survey Atlas of Scotland, 1912

Home of our love! our fathers’ home!
Land of the brave and free!
The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee.

We seek a wild and distant shore,
Beyond the western main –
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again!

Our native land – our native vale –
A long and last adieu!
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,
And Scotland’s mountains blue!

  • Thomas Pringle

I have copies of the certificates to the events mentioned apart from Jane’s death.

Further facts about Peter’s ancestors  on the next post,  Peter Telford leaves Scotland Behind Part 2.

In the meantime you can always find an interesting read in the weekly lists at Sepia Saturday.

An Image Free Zone

Sepia Saturday

The image for this week on Sepia Saturday is of women ironing,

I can’t go searching for a similar photo as I have different  things on my mind. But I will say doing the ironing gives you the perfect time for doing some thinking. The monotony of the task takes you deeper and deeper into the mind and though I haven’t done any ironing this week, apart from a few quilting seams ,nevertheless my mind is bubbling over with the results of my thinking.

In the past some of us have discussed this vexed question of always giving credit to the source of any image or text which you “borrow” from another web site to use in your own blog. On the whole bloggers are very good as doing this, particularly those involved with their family history, and particularly those who use Sepia Saturday. Perhaps there’s the occasional slip but that is usually a one-off and done in the excitement of the moment, not with malice aforethought.

But some people who use Facebook exclusively and do not blog are a different breed altogether. Notice that I said some. I know some beautiful people who use Facebook but do not blog.

I am a Blogger who uses Facebook.   I am not a Facebooker.

It is on my mind at the moment because the Admin of one of the Australian Genealogy style Facebook Groups has a bad history of grabbing images from our blogs, from the Government library in Victoria and other sites and loading them into her own Facebook site under her own name with nary a mention of where they came from. Politely asking for the source of an image results in you being immediately banned from the group. It has happened to several of us   You Sep Sats know I enjoy sharing my family photos but I am unhappy about the thought of my images languishing in this unreachable Group.

I’ve been given lots of good advice about complaining to Facebook authorities which might be beyohd me. More likely is that I will never again share a family photo, much as I enjoy sharing. Time will tell.

But at lunchtime today I was remembering the game of Monopoly and got to wondering why  couldn’t we have nice old-fashioned board game called Bloggers v Facebookers.  I forget the rules of Monopoly but if a Blogger hits a  Take a Card square they might pick up a card which says

Most Interesting post today – Collect $100
Well done on crediting your sources – Collect $50
A record number of Comments today – Collect $20
Good choice of Tags – Collect $10
You forgot your Sepia Saturday link – Cough up $5
And then on the Facebookers’ pile of cards

Who did you pinch that photo from ? – Pay back $100
You forgot to use your Spellchecker – Pay back $50
Too many posts per day. Take it easy. – Pay Back $10
I like the picture of your cat – Collect $5

Then of course there are the icons that you move around the board. If you are a Blogger you can choose from some pretty in purple little laptops, scanners, printers, WordPress software box, cup of coffee mug, etc whereas the Facebookers have the choice of mean green, slimy green, little um…..um…..um… well…. A tear drop with I’m a Facebooker on it…….a thief in a hoodie ….or ………
And all of this because of one unethical, disrespectful little Australian

So let’s play BLOGGLEFACE

O you can do something more sensible and go and have a look at what other Sepia Saturdayers have been up to this week.

The Lay of the Last Miner

I was given this poem written by W. Robertson many years ago as my great great grandfather, (Glaud) Pender is mentioned by name.  The author wanders and reminisces about various early  mine sites in Victoria, Australia. It was originally published as an eight page booklet.  So far I haven’t found any more information or a source for it  but no doubt there is someone out there who can tell us more.

                 THE OLD MINER
or
THE LAY OF THE LAST MINER

Whilst strolling through Con Burrow’s “Home”,
‘Mong lone ones who had ceased to roam,
The eye was caught of miner old,
Who yearned to tell of days of gold.
I bid good cheer, well filled the pipe,
And asked of his adventurous life.
He halved his seat with thankful smile,
And, in response, in digger’s style,
Told of his life in district mines
From early to the latest times.
I noted how his eyes grew bright
In spite of age and locks snow-white;
While proud he held his head erect
As if he had naught to regret,
He started with a pleasure keen, –
A last rally, as will be seen;
He’d pondered oft those stirring times,
In Fifty-one, when but a lad,
At  “Hiscock’s”,  I remember dad
Excited got on finding gold,
And gave up care of shepherd’s fold;
He took me when from there he went
Up further north on golden scent.

We pitched our camp, hence Ballarat
Where gold was got from hill and flat.
They were the days when life was fast –
Mates came from shop, farm, bank and mast,
Chancing nuggets or a duffer:
Some made their piles – some but tucker.
He rushed “Canadian”, also “Eureka”,
And “Black Hill” did the gold seeker,
A rope, pick, dish, with windlass short,
Cradle and tub came as from naught.
Shanked it from ship did chums galore,
Sure on landing of fortunes store.
Good finds first were on shallow ground,
And following, each lead deeper down
To wet and drift on “Gum Tree Flat”,
We found all leads did steer for that.
The “Baker Hill” from “Oval” came,
At Humffray Street went west again;
It gave a nugget at the rise, –
“The “Wecome” – famous for its size.
“Gravel Pits” lead from “Loco” shed
Was traced down past the Fire Brigade,
Then on across the “Main” “Plank” road,
Where southern streams gave it their load.
This “Road” which was our favourite walk
Would history tell if it could talk.
Here with crinoline and flounces
The ladies came to share our ounces;
From then was firm foundation laid,
Of that which we’ve a city made.
We’ve ebbed and flowed, oft been in doubt –

I recall “The East” when luck was out,
Croakers arose – rock was ahead.
Still better north ! so rumour said:
Bendigo news gave gold fever.
I rolled my swag for the walk over;
Worked there a while, then Castlemaine,
When news from West moved me again;
Now on a coach – no more a walker –
Mates booked my seat on to Majorca.
Then my habit – craving for change –
Brought me to “Back Creek” o’er the range;
Easy won wash, good gold was got;
This place is now known as Talbot.
“Cobb” took us then on to Avoca;
Too quiet for me. – thanks for your smoke, sir;
Your weed is good.  Oh! you’re a gent –
Your coin will be carefully spent.
From Avoca to Ararat,
To “Canton Lead”, “Flint” and “Cathcart,”
I journeyed as a digger bold
Who knew all tricks that could be told.
The miners’ life, in their own way,
I lived and lived but for the day;
While luck was in I spent too free,
And thus I oft was “on the spree”.
To “Fiery Creek” I went full tear,
When tidings came of a rush there;
Beaufort was rich, and Raglan too;
We opened Chute, then Waterloo.
‘Twas overrun.  When Linton shone
I joined again the moving throng

To gullies rich and flats that feed
The “Edinburgh” and “Standard Lead”.
“Lucky Woman’s” gave all a thrill
When gold was struck on “Dreamer’s Hill”.
Times were good – we did not dally,
But worked from there to Happy Valley,
In deeper runs my mates then went,
Below basalt, sand, and cement.
We had “Morey”, a “Canterbrey,”
“Volunteers” with the “Waverley,”
But “British” miners beat the lot,
And made this place a noted spot.
We traced the lead down past the “Cleft”,
To Piggoreet right o’er a clift,
Where met we with the Smythe’s creek men,
‘Tween “Trunk” and “Horn” at “Try Again.”
Here was the “Devil’s Kitchen” famed –
Old-timers thought ‘twould ne’er be tamed;
But times do change – they tell me now
“There’s not enough to make a row.
Past “Golden”, “Belts”, “Gates,” “Streams,” and “Lakes,”
Where Pender, Webb, and Maughan were mates,
Through Newtown, up the Scarsdale run,
I worked my passage to Haddon,
And saw that township at its prime,
When no one drew the colour line,
While I was on my country tour,
Ballarat mates made good and sure;
Well paid for all their work they got
By tracing lead west under rock,

Through Curtis Street to Lydiard’s crest,
‘Cross Sturt and Dana, then south-west.
The “Frontage Scheme”, here they did try it –
It caused as much talk as “The Riot”.
In legal fees, it thousands cost,
Thus profits were to miners lost.
We since have found “The Block” was best –
A system that has stood the test.
Over western quartz the dirt was rich,
Here mining reached its highest pitch.
Who forgets the “Koh-i-noor” and “Band”?
The “Albion” or the “Hand in Hand”?
The “Inkerman”? – it gave great wealth,
But scoured a valley for itself.
From Newington it went out west,
Where in the Park, we’ll let it rest.
The main lead to the “Milkmaid” ran,
Past “Malakoff,” out to “Redan”,
‘Twas hurrah! for “St. George” and “Red Jacket”,
As through Sebas, they then did track it,
Right to the edge of “Plateau’s” rails,
Where “Cobblers” fed the “Prince of Wales”,
Past “Bonshaw” on to “Alstan’s” height,
Where Watson ruled with “Gulf” in sight.
There the “Scottish and the Cornish”
On Cambrian Hill lived with the Welsh;
Over a channel was Napoleon.
Which turned the lot east to the Durham;
From here the gold was thin and fine,
But where was crossed the “Eastern Line”;
Though Buninyong gave in its share,

The Durham sluices showed but fair.
Revival came to Creswick again;
“Australasians” call was “More Men!”
I heard, and left the “Chinese” town,
Scarce lost a shift – just there and down.
The lead got poor; you know, I wot,
Of disaster – that’s not forgot!
Awful! Awful! Depressed we were,
While “Spring Hill” continued like a flare,
Inviting all; all roads led there;
Miners re-met from everywhere.
Its shallow runs they gave good divs.
How money flowed in memory lives;
Still deeper down it kept its glory,
Through “De Murska” to “Ristori”.
Here Peacock, Brawn, and Leishman start –
I mean, of course, their mining part.
In Allendale I made my home,
Worked in the “Madame” and the “Lone”;
The crib-time of our life was here,
Where all were gay and of good cheer.
‘Twas “out of date” to have a tent;
The carpet bags to tip were sent;
Red shirts had gone, and moleskins vile;
Sac suits to order were the style.
We sorry were to leave this home
Again alluvial fields to roam.
Quartz ? Not me! I enjoyed too true
The alluvial life and mates I knew;
No quartz for me, with dusty slopes!
The graveyard of  digger’s hopes !
I had a turn at Rutherglen,

But lonely felt among new men.
Soon I was back to Carisbrook
To “Chalks”, “Pioneer”, then o’er to “Duke,”
And “Main Lead’s” mines, where Bryant says
The champions were of mining days.
Timor now waned, Alma had gone,
Craigie no more had “Napes” or “Kong”.
“Mt Mercer” then gave forth a call,
But proved the poorest of them all.
The Rokewood spurt – not worth a fig –
A shallow, sandy place to dig.
At Pitfield we had novel times,
The summer sun roasts as it shines;
Its bleak and windy clayey plains
Are churned to mud by winter’s rains;
But spite of that a lively run,
In huts and shanties there was fun;
The field was poor, and was my last;
Other diggings have gone down fast.
I, wage-earning, left, worked in the creek,
Till age warned me to give up the seek;
From then till now I’ve taken rest,
And followed mining from the press.

The “Mt William” rush was like a meteor –
A flash, then over, was its feature;
Rutherglen’s wound up, Creswick the same,
In Ballarat it lacks a name;
No money for Avoca’s “Stream”;
Tom Mitchell’s tried to “Ristor”(e),I read,
The fortunes of the Kingston lead;
The “Langi” field has been a dud,

“Cept where enriched by Cathcart’s flood;
They’ve failed the “Durham” to revive,
It seems we’ve lost the power to strive.
There’s miles of leads, both deep and wet,
Which for the future will be left.
We’ve enjoyed our pleasures to the dregs,
And put Australia on its legs,
Less fickle goods with gold does change;
Hence, no spurts in “Corner” or “Exchange”.
Ah! thus it seems the end is near
Of life and times I held so dear.

Good luck! to those who canny were,
And now enjoy their own armchair.

But, as for me, I’ve had my day,
I’m feeling faint – ’tis Nature’s way;
Evening’s near gone – give me your hand,
I feel that I no more will stand.
Remember me to miners all;
Tell them I’m paying my last call;
I fancy now two whistles blow –
That means but a short time to go.

Darkness comes on; night shift draws nigh;
The air is bad . . . good-bye . . . good-b —.

W. ROBERTSON    Ballarat East.

What made me remember this poem was an interesting series of posts in  the Carisbrook Historical Facebook Group about the belt buckles the men used to wear  and which people find in these old mining areas.  The ornamentation on the buckles highlights the diversity of people who followed the gold diggings.

Put belt buckles into the Search Box and you will get a ovely selection of photos and comments.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1436750269909379/

The following  Cricket belt buckle was found in the ruins of an old miners hut near Castlemaine, with many Chinese coins beside it.  You can find the full details about it here.