History revisited - turning the page on a new chapter with newspapers

In the early 1980s, a young Armidale historian named Brendan O’Keefe and his wife decided to renovate their house in Faulkner Street. There they made a remarkable discovery. They knew the house was one of the oldest surviving buildings in Armidale. Now, removing the inner walls, they found newspapers pasted to the inside of the outer walls as insulation. They proved to be the only copies ever found of a vanished newspaper, the Armidale Telegraph.

Our story begins on 1 December 1855. Armidale citizens concerned that their new town did not have a newspaper did as all civic activists have done to the present day. They convened a public meeting to consider the best way to establish a local paper for the New England district. A fund raising committee was formed and finally raised £89 12s and 6d.

The results of the meeting were advertised in the Maitland Mercury, the Sydney Morning Herald and the Empire. Two staff members from the Mercury, then the North’s premier newspaper and still the second oldest surviving paper in NSW (the Sydney Morning Herald is the first, the Armidale Express the third) decided to accept the challenge,

Early in 1856, William Hipgrave and Walter Craigie loaded their newly acquired printing press and other kit onto a bullock dray and set out from Maitland for Armidale. It took them twenty seven days. They called their paper the Armidale Express, with the first edition appearing on 5 April 1856. The photo shows the actual press they used.

Now, as is often the case, there was a perceived problem with media bias. Despite its editorial claim of independence, the Express supported the liberal cause and was anti-squatter from the beginning. Note the small l in liberal. In the still ill-defined political spectrum of the time, this placed the Express on what we would now call the left.

In 1856, this created some difficulties when Express campaigning help defeat T G Rusden, the then squatting member for New England and the Macleay. Moves began to create a new paper to oppose ‘the mendacious and one-sided’ coverage of the Express. This took time, but in January 1865 the squatting candidate Theophilus Cooper and his supporters persuaded Frank Newton to establish a new newspaper in Armidale.

Newton had just established a new paper in Grafton called the Grafton Herald. It took him time to close this and move his plant to Armidale where he launched the Armidale Telegraph on 4 March 1856. By then, the election was over and Cooper in fact triumphant.

Frank Newton now faced a problem that became worse with time. The fights over land tenure that lay at the heart of the dispute between liberals and squatters were largely resolved later in 1856. The cause that had brought Newton to Armidale had largely lost its relevance.

Newton struggled on for some time in the face of an entrenched competitor. Finally, on 29 June 1872, he closed the Telegraph and moved his entire plane to Inverell where he opened a new paper, the Inverell Dispatch, vanishing from our sight until the O’Keefe’s discovery. .

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 18 September 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - revolution born out of England's loss of war

Chatting to a friend the other day, I was asked why the British Empire became such a successful power. Books have been written on this subject, often focused on the Navy or economic developments. Samuel Pepys, I said. My answer surprised.

Today, Pepys is best known for his famous diaries, his love of fashion and his varied love life. However, he was far more than that.

The Second Dutch War (1665-1667), one of four fought between the English and Dutch for control of the  trade routes, was a disaster for the English side. Inefficiency and endemic corruption had sapped the strength of the navy. A humiliated England found itself humbled by a rival with a quarter of the population.

The painting by Pieter Cornelisz van Soest shows the Dutch Attack on the Medway, June 1667. The captured ship Royal Charles is right of center

Bitter recriminations followed. This provided Pepys with the opportunity to reshape the English Navy as a professional naval and industrial force. The Navy with its dock and shipyards became the world’s largest industrial complex. Pepys’ reforms also helped create a competent and professional civil service.

The power of Empire rested on the shoulders of its public servants. They recorded the letters and processed the payment orders flowing in from around the world. A naval captain in a strange place thousands of miles from London could issue an order for supplies because he and the supplier knew that the order would be honoured.

This may sound remote from modern Armidale, It’s not as remote as might seem, for the city’s existence and shape have been influenced by the things that I am talking about. Fairly obviously, the city would not exist at all without the decision to send the First Fleet. However, it’s more than that.

Published in 1975, Australian Space, Australian Time explored the impact on the Australian landscape of Government decisions in London and the colonies over the first hundred or so years of European settlement.

In London, the key early figure was the Third Secretary of State dealing with war and the colonies, a Cabinet member. He operated in the political environment, while day to day business rested with his Under Secretary, the top civil servant. In Sydney, power rested with the Governor, supported by the Chief Secretary as his top civil servant. In both cases, power slowly shifted to the officials.

The varying lay-out of our cities and towns, the names on our maps, all represent the interaction between London and Sydney.

There were always tensions between the needs and desires of metropolitan Government and local conditions. From 1825 these became more acute as Westminster sought to impose metropolitan theories of land settlement on NSW. The conflict that resulted would lead to self-government for NSW. But that’s another story.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 11 September 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - likeable man drove development

The one portrait I have seen of Archibald Clunes Innes presents him in army dress uniform as a young captain in the English 3^rd or Buffs Regiment. His formal jacket encloses his neck, creating an elongated effect; his head with its black hair and brown eyes seems to sit a little uncomfortably on the jacket’s buttoned top, somehow separated from his body.

By all accounts, Innes was a likeable man. He was certainly an interesting one who left an imprint on the North that survives to this day. Glen Innes carries his name,

In 1822, Innes arrived in Sydney in 1822 as captain of the guard in the convict ship Eliza. He was twenty two. In December 1826, Innes was appointed commandant of the penal settlement at Port Macquarie.

Growing up in New England, I had no idea that the then sleepy sea side town had been such a big place and so early in the colonial history of New South Wales.

To put this in context, in 1788 the total European population of New South Wales was 1,030. At the time that Innes took control of the Port Macquarie penal settlement, the convict population was around 1,600. In just five years, a totally new colony had been built from scratch.

The story of early Port Macquarie is an interesting one that I might tell later. For the moment, my focus is on Archibald Innes.

Innes only stayed at Port Macquarie for six months before returning to Sydney. There he worked as a military officer before resigning his commission and becoming superintendent of police and magistrate at Parramatta. In 1829 he married Margaret, the daughter of colonial secretary Alexander McLeay, in one of the most lavish social weddings the colony had yet seen. We remember McLeay today in terms of a river (the Macleay), a Sydney Street (Macleay Street) and Elizabeth Bay House, the magnificent home built by Andrew McLeay.

With the opening of Port Macquarie to civilian settlement, Innes returned in 1830 as police magistrate with a 2,568 acre (1,039 hectare) land grant and a contract to supply the convict population with food. From this point, he built a business and pastoral empire that included Waterloo, Innes Creek, Kentucky, Beardy Plains and Furracabad on the Tableands. The last became the site for the new township of Glen Innes.

Innes owned stores and hotels and organised the building of the first road between Port Macquarie and the Tablelands as a way of getting supplies up and bringing wool back for shipment from Port Macquarie.. Using convict labour, he built a major house at Port Macquarie and transformed the surrounding land into the fabled Lake Innes, for many years the greatest pastoral property north of Sydney. There he entertained lavishly.

Reading the diaries and descriptions of life at Lake Innes, this is a very Jane Austin world: visits by dignitaries, military officers or young men from the New England, dances and decorous rides, collecting flowers and the beauty of nature. We know that it won’t last, that the crash of the 1840s is coming, but we can still share some of the joys.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 4 September 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - punching sky high for big dreams in region

SHOW That WOULD PULL THE CROWD: the local show occupied a special place full of strange things. Jimmy Sharman's boxing troup was one such.

I have been trying to write a piece dealing in part with Armidale rhythms when I was a child. Not musical rhythms, but the rhythms of life. These were formed by the interacting rhythms of town, gown and country.

Town patterns included school and church, the shops, the local play, sport, the events such as the show. Country patterns included the rhythms of pastoral and agricultural life, the regular visits to town by country people, lambing and shearing. Gown patterns were set by the rhythms of life in the young university college and then university; the three terms still carrying their old English names; the examination cycle; the major academic ceremonies; the various university functions including games and fetes; and the academic visitors who had to be entertained and shown the district.

Within these interacting patterns, the local show occupied a special place full of strange things. Jimmy Sharman’s boxing troupe was one such.

The drum would start beating to draw the crowd. Those like my brother and I would be attracted by the noise, and come drifting across the rutted dusty ground towards the stand. There we would stand, while the spruker expounded the virtues of the fighters. "Come on, come on, come on. Give it a go. Survive three rounds and we will give you five pounds."

Each fighter would be brought forward and introduced to the crowd. "Surely some of you blokes can beat him. Three rounds, five pounds." The locals would hold up their hands and be called into the stand to be fitted out.

Inside we got near the ring, sat and waited on the hard seats while the dust motes drifted in the sunlight streaming down onto the ring. The fighters were brought out and introduced, the troupe fighter and then the local challenger. The bell sounded, and the fight began.

In today's terms it would all seem quite brutal, although we did not see it that way. It was just sport. It was only when fights were completely unbalanced that it became cruel.

Generally the locals were outclassed and it was over quite quickly. The local retired bearing his scars to the beer tent, there to stand in glory with his friends for giving it a go. However, there was one fight I remember that did not go according to plan.

The troupe boxer was a young, good looking, blonde bloke. He ran up against a very tough local who cut him to pieces. By mid way through the second round the troupe boxer's face was bruised and cut, his lips smashed. He kept going, but the crowd started to call for an end to the fight. It was no longer sport.

I actually saw a fair bit of boxing. Yes, I am aware of the health risks, but I am glad that I did see Jimmy Sharman's touring stadium before new regulations forced an end to the tent shows.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 28 August 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013

History revisited - technology, transport and our view of the world

One of the things that fascinates me wearing my historian’s hat is the way that technology affects our view of the world. Last week, I talked about the bicycle. This week I want to talk about feet and hooves.

We live in an accelerating world. Our world has expanded, but also contracted. The intensity of immediate place has been lost.

This has practical implications for places like Armidale that have been sidelined by time because they are outside the main transport nets. However, for now, my interest is more basic.

As a rough starting point to our discussion, human beings on a long distance ramble walk at around two and a half miles (a bit over 4k) per hour. At this speed, they can go and go.

A Roman Army was expected to be able to march in full kit perhaps 24-32k per day and then set up camp. Alexander the Great’s army was estimated to occupy 26k of road without baggage animals. This meant that the leading elements would be setting up camp before the previous camp had emptied fully!

Now introduce hooves. Surely things went faster? Well, not necessarily.

Travelling with stock, speed is determined by the speed of the animal. From my limited experience with sheep, I haven't travelled with cattle, travel becomes a slow amble, less than a normal walking pace. Say eight hours to drove from Uralla to Armidale. You may have horses, but your speed is determined by the stock.

A bullock dray is not much faster. You now have the capacity to carry heavier loads, but the pace is slow. There are a number of recorded stories of women and children leaving the dray on foot and arriving home hours before it. Just walking like them, you might get to Uralla in five hours.

Say you have a horse. The fastest sustainable speed for a horse is a trot, a speed that can be maintained for an extended period. My research suggests that this equals about 8 mph (13 km/h). Now, speeding, you can get to Uralla in a bit under two hours. Presumably roughly the same speed equation would hold for something like a sulky.

Growing up in Armidale, I was probably closer to this old world than modern Armidale kids or indeed their parents.

We travelled by foot or bike. When we went by car along the dirt roads to a picnic at, say, the Gwydir River, we knew the exact patterns of country, the precise point at which the Tablelands suddenly turned to the Western slopes. It was a very particular peak on the road.

When I first returned to history, I was absorbed in the present. I couldn’t properly understand some of things I read. They seemed strange, odd. Then I realised that I had to put myself back into that past, into a world marked by the vast presence of the immediate locality. My writing is the better for it.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 21 August 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013. The photo comes from John Caling.

History revisited - rhyme and reason for bicycle mania

Written by Banjo Patterson and first published in the Sydney Mail on 25 July 1896, one of Australia’s favourite traditional poems begins “Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze.” I think that most Australians who have read the poem would think of it a good poetic yarn, but it’s also culturally significant.

Growing up in Armidale, bikes were everywhere. I actually resented this, because I didn’t get one until I was in year five. That bike lasted me until the end of secondary school!

Very few people went to school by bus, almost none by parents’ car. The congested tangle we see today outside schools as mum or dad wait to pick up their child or children was unknown. You walked to school or you rode. That was it.

Even though I grew up at a time when bicycles were still very common, I had no idea of the cultural and economic importance of the bike at the time that Patterson wrote.

Bicycles have quite a long history. However, it wasn’t until John Dunlop's reinvention of the pneumatic bicycle tire in 1888 that biking really took off.

For the better off, it became a means of touring, of seeing new places. Like the airlines today, the North Coast Steam Navigation Company wanted passengers. “Come on one of our steamers”, the Company said. “We will drop you of at one of our ports and then you can tour by cycle to the next port to catch the return steamer.” Their promotional photos featured shots of the beautiful country to be seen.

The emerging middle class took to cycling as a craze, in so doing making a blow for female emancipation, for this was a sport that women could join in. However, it was the working class person who gained the greatest benefit.

In urban areas, a bike provided a way of getting to work, of delivering things or taking orders. In Armidale as late as the early 1950s, the salesmen from local stores would ride around with bicycle-clipped pants, their order book in their back pocket, collecting grocery orders.

Today, the kamikaze messengers bike though Sydney streets, weaving through the traffic, delivering documents far faster than other physical means. Their numbers drop as on-line becomes more important, but they are still there for deliveries where physical documentation is required.

It was in the bush that bikes arguably had their greatest impact. Bikes were cheaper than horses and faster over distances. Bush workers of all types travelled by bike, with their possessions in panniers or just strapped to the frame.

Those days are long gone. But Banjo Patterson’s poem was published at the height of the biking fashion.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 14 August 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - colleges provide character for Uni

The story of the establishment of the University College is fairly well known. I have written on different aspects of it in this column. Given that, I thought that I would take you in a different direction in completing my series on the early days of Armidale’s two colleges

There was no great public demand for an establishment of a university college in Armidale. The Depression was still very much in people’s minds. Politicians, officials and voters were very conscious of limited government funds, while demands on government for immediate services were great.

There was also a measure of distrust at the very concept of a university in the North. Universities were elite institutions. Very few people had had any contact with a university. Many were actually distrustful of the impact on their children, or saw a university of any type as irrelevant to their family needs.

Distrust is difficult to measure, but there is little doubt that it existed. On top of that, the proponents still had to manage deeply held local parochialisms that might translate into opposition at Armidale receiving a benefit at the perceived cost of others.

Limited funds, a slowly receding depression, limited support for the very idea of a university and the risk of arousing local parochialism; all would seem to make the task impossible. And yet, somehow, it happened and in quite quick time.

Two things were absolutely critical here.

The first was the successful establishment of the Teacher’s College. By the time the University movement was really growing, the Teacher’s College halls again echoed with students. The idea of co-locating a University there to take advantage of under-utilised facilities was no longer feasible. However, the College had demonstrated that a country college would work and had also consolidated Armidale’s place as the pre-eminent education centre, the Oxford, of the North.

The second was the Northern leadership linked together by battles for Northern development over more than twenty years.

David Drummond may have been Minister for Education, he may have helped drive the concept, but he did not get the University College for that reason. He helped bring it about because he was an integral part of a Northern leadership that he was able to convince and that was committed to a new vision.

That powerful base provided credibility that helped draw in others and could be used by those who already had or could be drawn to the vision of both the North and the desire for a very specific Northern university. They knew how to cooperate, to work the levers of power and to manage local objections.

This history had a profound influence on the character of the new institution. The academics that came and many of the Northern leadership had an Oxbridge vision of the role of a university. However, the leadership also saw it, as they had in 1920 with Australia Subdivided, as a place that educate Northern kids, that would help preserve the history and culture of the North and would contribute to its development.

They would not be disappointed, although it would take decades for some elements of their vision for the new institution to be realised.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 7 August 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - if you want something, build it fast

At the end of my last column I suggested that Drummond, Smith, Hicks and Newling proved an irresistible combination when it came to the establishment of the Armidale Teacher’s College.

The pace of events was truly remarkable. Drummond was sworn in as Minister in October 1927. The College opened for business in February 1928 using temporary buildings. Each man played a different role over those few frantic months. .

Smith marshaled the Department’s resources to support his Minister’s dream. Hicks provided critical on-ground logistics and other support. As new Principal, Newling dealt with the myriad practical details required to create a new institution from scratch.

Drummond was determined that his new baby would be healthy with every chance in life. He also wanted the College to be seen as a college of the North, not just Armidale. An activist minister, his ministerial letter books are full of instructions, suggestions and requests as he looked for resources for the new College.

He also worked behind the scenes to marshal broader Northern support. This College, he told Armidale Mayor Morgan Stephens, must be seen as the College of the North, not just Armidale.

The new state campaigns of the early 1920s had been led by key Northern pressmen. Drummond knew the editors and proprietors; he was now a newspaper man himself, so gaining friendly newspaper coverage was not hard.

With the College open, Drummond turned his attention to ensuring that it was properly housed in a building befitting its Northern status. He paid attention to every detail. Later he would be criticised for this, for extravagance, but his approach proved to be wise.

None of the players in those hectic days in 1928 and early 1929 realised that a cataclysm, the Great Depression, was about to break. As it hit, state revenues declined and cuts had to be made, including the number of student teachers. Student intakes dropped and dropped again.

The halls of the new College echoed to the sound of fewer and fewer footsteps. The College became known as Drummond’s White Elephant, There were demands to close it.

Drummond was unrepentant, although he had a sneaking sympathy for William Davies, his successor as Minister in the Lang Labor Government. Davies came to visit and the College was saved. The project was really too far advanced to cancel.

I will finish the early story of Armidale’s two colleges in my next column.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 31 July 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013.

History revisited - how Armidale became a hub for educators

I started my last column by posing a question: just how did Armidale get not just one but two higher educational institutions in the space of ten years? I spoke of the way that the combination of the re-emerged New State Movement with the formation of the Country Party helped set the ground. But I also said that beyond these factors was the simple rivalry of two educators with very different views about teacher training.

The announcement in December 1927 that a Teacher’s College was to be established in Armidale was not welcomed by all. Newly appointed Principal CB Newling later recalled that the Armidale proposal met active hostility within the Sydney press, among city interests and within the NSW Department of Public Instruction. Importantly, potential students fearful of the likely standards of the new college were reluctant to leave Sydney for the bush.

The College also had some powerful supporters fully aware of these reservations. To David Drummond as Minister, the College was a chance to establish a country college for country kids. The College was also intended as one key building block in the creation of the infrastructure required to support a Northern State. To S H Smith as head of the Department, the College was a chance to put his own ideas into practice.

Smith was then in his early sixties. Handsome and intelligent, with a commanding presence and a beautiful speaking voice, he was also shy, fussy, sensitive and vulnerable to personal attack.

Smith had started as a pupil teacher and then worked his way though the ranks, becoming Under-Secretary in 1922 upon the retirement of the famous Peter Board. Smith knew that there were those who affected to despise him because of his lack of formal education and was deeply wounded by it. Drummond was sensitive to Smith’s feelings and the two men became close.

Smith had clashed with Professor Alexander Mackie, the head of Sydney Teachers, College. Mackie, a brilliant Scottish-born academic, had come to Sydney in 1906 to head the newly established Sydney College. He was a man of strong views who believed that that the main emphasis in teacher training should be academic, that the independence of Sydney Teachers’ College must be preserved, and who had little time for financial or other constraints on his activities.

Smith took a different view. Bound up in the day-to-day problems of State education, he regarded the College’s job as training those teachers the Department required in the way the Department required. Smith also disagreed with Mackie as to the most desirable form of teacher training: while not opposed to academic training, Smith thought that Mackie’s academic bias meant ill-trained teachers, and instead supported a more vocationally-oriented training.

These differences in approach would have made for difficulties anyway, but their personalities compounded problems. After Smith made a surprise inspection of Sydney Teachers’ College in 1927, Mackie wrote to him that such inspections could ‘only be done competently by a person with the necessary qualifications.’ He went on: ‘The inspection of highly qualified specialists on the College staff should be entrusted to men and women with similarly high academic qualifications and with extensive experience of College work.’ Not surprisingly, Smith found this letter ‘offensive’. For Smith’s part, he later commented sarcastically to Drummond that Mackie had ‘that type of mind which is usually associated with the Scottish metaphysician.’

The combination of committed Minister and Under-Secretary would have been irresistible in any case. However, they were joined by two other men.

A W Hicks, the very able local inspector who became a key Drummond aide and who would later occupy senior positions in the Education Department, took care of local logistics, while C B Newling as the College’s first Principal provided very strong leadership. Newling’s authoritarian style, his nickname was Pop, would not be acceptable today but was critical at the time.

Drummond, Smith, Hicks and Newling proved an irresistible combination.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 24 July 2013. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because the columns are not on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013. The photo shows the laying of the foundation stone for the new Teachers' Colle.

On writing a history of New England

Over on the New England New State Movement Facebook page, I promised to write a post outlining the history of New England that I am presently trying to write. While I have discussed the project from time to time, I thought it time now to provide a full overview.

Geographic Coverage

I focus on the Northern or New England Tablelands and the river valleys that run from the Northern or New England Tablelands to the north, west, south and east. This is the area that the Nicholas Commission concluded was suitable for statehood, and has had a sometimes riven historical identity to the present time.

This held even in Aboriginal times, although New England's Aboriginal peoples would not have seen it in this way, for geography is central to New England's history. In Aboriginal times, you had the inland riverine Aboriginal peoples, the Tablelands' peoples and those on the coast, interacting in a variety of ways. As today, New England's Aboriginal peoples also interacted with those around them.

The creation of Queensland created a political boundary that cut across Aboriginal territories, placing the same peoples in different legal jurisdictions. Up to the creation of Queensland, my history extends into what is now Queensland. With the creation of Queensland, my history retreats to the new boundary, although part deals with issues and interactions created by the boundaries.  

Naming Conventions

The Aborigines had no name for the area I am talking about since, from their perspective, it didn't exist. From the time of European settlement, it came to be called the Northern Districts, the Northern Provinces or just the North, defined in relation to Sydney as centre. Initially these terms extended into what is now Queensland. With the creation of Queensland, the North shrank to the border. Those parts of the New England North incorporated into Queensland effectively became the new south defined in relation to Brisbane. 

The name New England was initially limited to the New England Tablelands, Following its adoption by the new state movement as the name for the whole area, its broader usage spread, then contracted again after the loss of the 1967 new state plebiscite. Outside the Tablelands, the term New England was always political, used by those who supported statehood, rejected by those opposed who classified themselves in terms of NSW or their own locality or immediate region.

Faced with naming choices, I use the term New England in the broad sense in the first part of the book. Following European settlement, I generally talk of the North since this was common parlance. Once the name New England was adopted, I use that or, sometimes, the North where sense dictates.

Historical Scope

The book is broken into four parts:

1. An introduction setting the scene, painting an overview picture of the area's geography and history.
2. Aboriginal New England up to 1788. While traditional Aboriginal life continued for decades after the arrival of the First Fleet, I chose 1788 as a cut off to avoid becoming entangled in later debates. It is a story of peoples living in the sun light. We know that clouds are coming, but we can look at what was without the entanglements of what was to be.
3. Colonial New England, the period from first European settlement to Federation.
4. New England in the Twentieth Century. I needed an end point, so I chose the end of the century.

Historical Focus

I am trying to tell a deeply textured story of the life of the peoples who have called New England home. This is not so easy because of the breadth. Each area of New England has its own history. However, I am not writing a series of local or regional histories. My focus is on broader commonalities and links and on the interaction with the rest of the world. I am also concerned with differences and the way these played out. Here I run into problems of balance.

Problems of Balance

To illustrate my problems with balance, look at my reading this week.

I have been looking at Annabella Boswell's journal and especially the account of the early days at Port Macquarie. This is a rather wonderful, almost Jane Austin, picture of domestic life among a particular group at a particular place at a particular point in time. It led to this post, Belshaw’s World – memories of a Port Macquarie far past. How do I balance in writing? I have to reduce Annabella to just a few paras when she deserves more. 

Then for my Express History Revisited column I continued my story of the foundation of Armidale's two colleges, first ATC and then UNE. This is a very Northern story, one of people, politics and power that delivered the North results. Here I am working with two main books, Drummond's A University is Born and Mathew Jordon's history of UNE. 

I have also been looking at two very specific histories of UNE departments, Agricultural Economics and Psychology. These are relevant to the history of UNE, but I am also reading them because of what they say about the history of New England thought and people and the impact that this has had elsewhere.

Now I have a problem. It's not just that I know the people or their children or my fellow students, but I also have current views on the issues raised, that are working themselves out today. So how do I balance this? 

I don't think that I can. It is probably better just to admit my partisan positions and let readers correct me.

Will I ever Finish?

I wonder about this. I want to be correct, to be balanced as best I can, and then I am always finding new things that I didn't know. My friends and colleagues take a different view. Just get the bloody thing out, they say! You can always revise in new editions.

I think that they are right,