AUSTRALIA WAS VERY much a raw but rapidly developing country at the time of my birth, Sunday 25th August 1895.
It’s been a mere one hundred and seven years since Captain Phillip came ashore in Sydney Harbour with one thousand and thirty people in tow to establish British rule in Captain Cook’s discovered “New South Wales”. The colony grew very quickly in the early years, spreading its wings up and down the East coast, across the Tasman and then progressively westwards, trickling into South Australia. Western Australia grew out from Fremantle and moved eastwards.
Our population growth over that time has resembled that of a rabbit plague, growing to around 4.2 million persons by 1895. It was accelerated firstly by the one hundred and sixty-two thousand convicts sent out by the British establishment. Later, a surge of free-settlers, brought on by the gold rush era of the mid 1800’s when tens of thousands of immigrants, mainly from America where the Californian gold rush had slowed, and many thousands from China, flooded into Australia. All were seeking a new life and instant wealth.
While the growth rate might appear outstanding, the population in 1895 only equates to around 1.5 person per square mile of this vast continent, so there remained plenty of room for expansion.
We are a massive continent, with extremes from top to bottom that make it a mini-world of its own. Bitterly cold, snow, ice and massive seas. Spectacular roaming hills and magnificent forests, pristine beaches and potential farming land as far as the eye can see. And all that is just around the coast line. Move into the centre and the territory changes, it becomes barren, harsh, the heat and lack of water is life threatening. Desert and sand hills, not a decent tree for two hundred miles.
Many men were commissioned to explore and survey the continent, most will report back to their governors with their findings of outstanding landscapes and potential for the colony to grow. Several will have their skeletons found under sun drenched trees years later, having failed to respect the harshness of the country.
The gold rush era is credited with giving us our own identity, a mateship mentality developed, a sense of comradeship, lend a hand, help each other out, look out for each other. We developed our own accent which deviates greatly from the King’s English, a rogue Cockney twang that will become very easy to pick outside of our shores.
The Colony is blessed in that we have inherited British law and order, so we are not generally a lawless mob roaming the outback holding up stage coaches. Some have tried it as a profession, but they inevitably get caught and are jailed or hung like Ned Kelly was at Pentridge prison, fifteen years before my birth. We are in most cases, respectful, hardworking pioneers. A large percentage of us are living rough, clearing land, laying down crops, surveying and exploring this great land as it opens out beyond the horizon. We are builders, road layers and farmers, not afraid of getting our hands dirty or working from sun up to sun set so that our families have a roof over their heads and some food on the table.
The summer heat is relentless and brutal for those working out in it. The winter is not quite so savage to deal with, there is plenty of fire wood available to keep us warm.
Our heritage has also given us a respectable system of governance. We are considered British subjects (if born in Australia) and our six self-governing colonies are all operating well. There is talk of Federation, but it won’t come into play for a few years yet, the colonies will need to mutually agree to form the Commonwealth of Australia. Britain is the Motherland and our respect for ‘King and Country’ is rock solid.
The major towns of the colonies are modern and well planned, infrastructure is being built, railways, tram cars, bridges and of course roads. Heavy industries, making machinery and components that would previously have been sent out by ship from Britain, are starting to open. We are becoming self-sufficient and independent.
My birth town of Melbourne is a spectacular place to see. Well designed, wide-open boulevards in the town centre, Flinders, Swanston, Collins and Bourke streets bustling with activity, the rail trams running up through the centre delivering people to their business or shopping venues. Three and four-story buildings line both sides of these main streets with our British architectural heritage proudly on display as facades and entrances to the major buildings.
Magnificent displays of red brick, limestone, bluestone, and granite are in abundance, carved out and laid by local tradesmen.
The Melbourne Town Hall is a sight to behold. Stunning Victorian architecture, predominately Bluestone with the clock tower that can be seen from as far away as Richmond. A hundred yards or so further down Swanston Street you will find the beautiful Gothic style structure of St Pauls Cathedral constructed from locally mined Limestone and Sandstone. Proud buildings built by superb craftsmen.
A short walk to the east is the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The new wooden grandstand can comfortably seat five thousand patrons. If you are one of the well-to-do people around Melbourne, and hold a member’s ticket, there are four hundred and fifty seats reserved for you.
The Yarra River meanders around the southern side of Flinders street. River boats can be seen trading their wares along the river’s edge, coming and going from the custom houses and storage sheds on the south bank. Melbourne is a vibrant and energetic town in 1895.
Surrounding us are the native peoples, the Aborigines. We have little to do with them and they us, but occasionally tensions become high when rumours of violence filter through the colony grapevine. I realise they have been here for a million years, but I am not sure what the future will hold for them now we have expanded so rapidly.
My Grandfather, George Hall was born in Dinapore, India in 1809. Born into a British military family of Irish descent, his father, Major Thomas Hall was employed by the military arm of the British East India Company. He was Commander of the Bareilly Province Battalion in Bengal.
George would grow up under the military umbrella. As a teenager, and no doubt with some influence from his father, he joined His Majesty’s 67th Foot Guards while in India. George returned to Britain (South Hampshire) when the unit moved out of India in 1826 and stayed on with the 67th.
In 1832 he was offered the choice of being sent to Gibraltar or accept a commission to travel to Van Diemen’s Land (with 20 other family members) with instructions to “develop the colony”. He chose the latter and arrived in Hobart as a 23-year-old.
Initially, George was assigned to the Port Arthur penal settlement and later promoted to Superintendent of a Hulk Chain Gang based at Battery Point. The chain gang was made up of convicts whose sentence had not yet expired or more likely had not met the Governors pleasure for release. The miscreants were of the worst kind, most of them were murderers and George carried a pistol for self-preservation. They were primary road construction crews working around the town of Hobart however, George and his gang also oversaw the preparation for a new wharf at Sullivan’s Cove.
In late 1835, after being denied a pay rise from the Governor, George and his new wife Elizabeth Fenton, (sister of his best mate James Fenton) moved north and leased land at Middle Plains near Dunorlan.
A couple of years later he was granted a selection of three hundred and twenty acres (equivalent to half a square mile) of light forest fronting the beach at Port Sorell. Spectacular countryside.
George and Elizabeth set about clearing the land which was mostly light scrub anyway, planting potatoes, running a few sheep and producing a family. They named the property “Spring Lawn” after a relative’s land holding back in Athlone, Ireland. The sloping, self-draining marsh land proved magnificent for their purposes.
It wasn’t long before the property was returning ten tonnes per acre in potatoes. The produce was either exported from Port Sorel direct to the Melbourne markets or to Launceston for local consumption. At twenty pounds a ton for potatoes and sheep selling for five pounds each, Grandfather was in the right place at the right time and made a fortune.
Late in 1841 George believed he had found a better opportunity in an area a few miles south, known as New Ground (north of Latrobe). He sold Spring Lawn and leased a 640-acre property known as “The Hermitage”.
Grandfather supplemented his income at New Ground by negotiating a contract to act as Post Master of the area. He was compensated the worldly sum of twenty-five pounds per year for this service. Operating from the front room of his cottage, the mail would arrive and be despatched via horseback that would pass once a week. The rider would also drop off supplies for the household while on his postal run.
In 1844, George selected another 500-acre property adjacent to The Hermitage and leased it out.
He was clearly an intelligent man with considerable moral standing in the community, however it must have proven very difficult for him to operate at the level of society he was in without having the basic skills of being able to read or write. He signed his name with a simple “X”.
He took his military commitment to “develop the colony” very seriously and eight children were born into the family between 1836 and 1852. Dear Elizabeth, died in December 1852, three months after the birth of her last child (Charles Edward Hall) of “Consumption” (tuberculosis) aged 42.
In the early years of colonisation, the British establishment encouraged the development of the Church of England into Australia. They were concerned that the large number of Irish convicts being sent to Australia would bring Roman Catholicism in as the dominant religion, so they countered with a pro-active approach and promoted the British church of choice.
The owner of The Hermitage property, like George, was a product of the establishment (ex-Military) and permitted an Anglican church to be built in the corner of that property, a few hundred yards from the Hall family cottage.
Elizabeth was buried in that sacred ground.
What then followed must have been an extremely stressful period for George. Being left with seven children, 16, 12, 10, 8, 6, a 4-year-old and the new born to care for plus the day to day running of the farm. My grandfather would have been under considerable pressure.
A couple of difficult years followed. Several bad storms washed the top soil and potatoes into the creek. Compounded by a glut in the wholesale potatoes market, it made that produce almost unsaleable for five years.
On a personal front, George’s luck improved when he took up with the carer/house help he had hired and he would marry 22-year-old Selina Sarah Stocks on 21st Feb 1855. She gave birth to nine children between 1856 and 1874, the second child born was my father, Ernest Fortescue Hall, on 23rd February 1858. Three of his siblings that followed wouldn’t survive past their second birthday. Tough conditions, tough times.
In 1864 George and Selina decided it was time to try something different. They sold up their land holdings and moved the family to Melbourne where other relatives had settled previously. They purchased a property in Adolph Street, Richmond. My father was six years old.
The family adjusted well, they found the weather and living conditions far more pleasant than northern Tasmania had been. With the benefit of a larger surrounding population and supported by their solid work ethics, opportunities opened up for them. They established a market garden and ran a few sheep along the nearby Yarra River, life was good.
My father grew up on the land, assisting and tending to the animals and crops alongside his parents and siblings. What little schooling he had was done at home, my grandmother being the primary household school teacher. There were no primary schools in the area until 1887 when Burnley Primary opened.
By the time he reached his early teens the family were well equipped with horse and cart that Father would tend to and take their produce into the Melbourne markets early each morning.
As nature would predict, Dad became restless with age and around 1880 was offered a position as a stockman to drive cattle from the Channel Country in West Queensland to Adelaide. A far cry from market gardening on the Yarra but it was time to venture out. He loved animals, was an established horseman, the pay was promising and the opportunity to move on in life was too good to refuse. The drive would take 4 months in total and he would tell me that as a single man, it was the best years of his life, he loved the bush and thrived on the rough & tough it could throw up.
Father would drive a total of three musters, returning to Melbourne between runs, missing the odd year just to break up the effort of the drive and to re-commit to his family obligations based around the market garden.
The third muster was very difficult and would end badly for him. The weather had been savagely hot, no rain and very few opportunities for the cattle to feed or have good access to water. Nearing Adelaide, after living rough in the bush for the previous three months, both man and beast were hot and exhausted. The mob smelt water and stampeded.
In the ensuring round up one of father’s stirrups broke and he fell from his horse only to have his other foot caught up in the remaining stirrup. He was dragged along the rough ground for a hundred yards before his horse jumped over a fallen log and father collided with it, breaking his back as they both went over. He was dragged for another quarter of a mile before the horse settled and pulled up.
Badly injured and in severe pain, he was transported to Adelaide Hospital in the back of a tray and spent 5 weeks there. He was eternally grateful that he could walk, albeit with a stoop which became worse with age.
On returning from Adelaide father was mostly bed ridden in the family home for many months while his spine strengthened, enough for him to get back on his feet and consider his future. His health and luck slowly returned, picking up a plum job with Melbourne Tramways, working shift work driving a new cable tram from Richmond to Spencer Street and return. A secure job with good back support for a man with a broken back.
His next stroke of good fortune was that during this period he met my mother, Ada Selina Trinick. A petite, attractive, blue eyed woman, 5’1” tall and ten years younger than he.
Grandfather George died on the 12th December 1892 and was buried in the Melbourne General Cemetery.
In an unbelievably sad twist of fate, my grandmother Selina, died two weeks later and is buried in the same plot with George.1