any years ago I went with my family to Ballarat’s Sovereign Hill. We panned for gold, visited the shops (the old sweet shop was a favourite), went down a mine, and rode in the horse-drawn coach. I was fascinated by the colourful history of the place, and the way it had been kept alive, and the stories it contained.

One of those stories was that of my own great-great-grandfather, who emigrated from Ireland in 1839 and started farming in South Australia. When the mad rush to the diggings began, even my sensible great-great-grandfather went a little crazy. Like so many others, he packed his bags and moved to the Victorian goldfields. His claim must have been a real shicer, though, because it wasn’t long before he came back to his farm.