Campaign beats loggers and saves Dorrigo National park

Dorrigo National Park today. What we have today is due to the activity of dedicated locals such as Ray Spinaze. This is the fourth and final in a short series on the early days of the Dorrigo National Park.

From the beginning, the trustees appointed to oversight the Dorrigo Nature Reserves faced a fundamental problem. They had responsibility, but no money.

The first small reserves had been created in 1901, the bigger Mountain Reserve in 1917. A first government grant of £5 was received in 1920. The next grant of £100 from unemployment relief funds did not come until 1933! It would be 1965 before there was enough money to employ the first ranger.

With the only income coming from the lease for grazing of a small portion of land, there was little that the trustees could do beyond some blackberry control and endeavouring to keep paths clear.

This created real governance problems as trustees lost heart, retired or died. Between 1940 and 1949 it appears that the Trust did not meet at all. Then came another of those energising events. 

There had been problems with illegal logging and shooting for some time.

In 1949, the Thora sawmill lodged an application to log the Park. As local member, Roy Vincent was able to block the application and get the Trust restructured, but in the absence of funding, the Trustees struggled.

In 1954, responsibility for the management of the Park was transferred to the Dorigo Shire Council, passing to the Bellingen Shire Council in 1957 following the forced merger of the Dorrigo and Bellingen Shires. A Management Committee was formed to oversight the Park in the place of the Trustees.

The merger of the two shires created bitter resentment on the Dorrigo Plateau Locals believed that they had little in common with the coast and that the merger would submerge their interests to their cost. This resentment turned into direct action when the Bellingen Shire Council recommended that logging be allowed in the Park.

Local solicitor Ray Spinaze led the Dorrigo response.

Born in 1914, Spinaze was a descendent of the Veneto (Italian) families who had been attracted to the South Pacific by the ill-fated dreams of the Marquis de Rays. When that failed, the survivors established New Italy between Byron Bay and Grafton, now a significant tourist destination.

Spinaze had been dux of Lismore High School and then trained as a solicitor. On the boat to Sydney for exams, much coastal travel was still done by steamer, he met Georgina Cochrane. The couple married in 1941 and then settled in Dorrigo where Spinaze had bought a practice.

Spinaze’s campaign blocked any attempt to log the Park. Because of the tensions between the Park management committee and Council, responsibility for the Park’s management was taken away from the Bellingen Shire Council and given back a newly reconstituted Trust.

The Park as we know it today had been born. 

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 18 December 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

The historic fight for Dorrigo National Park continues

 OVERLAP: PA Wright's campaign for the New England Park was supported by Roy Vincent, who led the campaign for Dorrigo. Both are case studies for activism. This is the third in a short series on the early days of the Dorrigo National Park.

In researching the history of the Dorrigo National Park I looked at the history of the New England National Park. This deserves a separate story, but I was struck by the way in which the same issues and indeed the same people were involved in the fight for both parks.

In both cases, you had a small number of locals who were prepared to fight to bring the park about.

In both cases, you had local members of Parliament who provided top cover and were prepared to cooperate across electorates to achieve common dreams, the creation of facilities for the North for the benefit of all. They did so despite some local opposition.

In both cases, you had local newspapers that were prepared to support action. I suspect that this was particularly important in Dorrigo where the Don Dorrigo Gazette was edited by Roy Vincent’s brother Reginald.

In both cases, you had common problems that had to be resolved to protect the parks from alienation and to fund development.

In 1923, Roy Vincent as local member had blocked attempts to alienate the Dorrigo Reserves, but he still faced all the problems I have talked about.

In 1927, Vincent tried to have the Dorrigo Mountain Reserves declared a National Park to protect it from alienation.

He was advised that there was no provision to allow this. However, the reserves were declared a fauna as well flora reserve. This, the Minister advised, meant that changes to boundaries would require approval of both houses of the state parliament, thus providing the same protection afforded to the Royal National Park and Ku-ring-gai Chase.  

This was unsatisfactory.

As local Armidale state parliamentarian and Vincent’s friend David Drummond later recorded in the context of the New England National Park, it was just too easy to bring in administrative changes in the final days of a parliamentary session when tired MPs could rubber stamp a change without realizing the implications. Legislation was required that would then force specific legislative action to amend to alienate land.

I haven’t traced through all the history here, but it would be 1967 before specific National Parks legislation was passed through the NSW Parliament by the then Lewis Liberal-Country Party Government.

Meantime, Vincent and the other Park supporters had other problems to deal with. 

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 11 December 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

Saving the Dorrigo Park

Roy Vincent's efforts protected the Dorrigo National Park at critical stages in its history.This is the second in a short series on the early days of the Dorrigo National Park.

Administrative history can be very boring, a list of dates and changes. Yet when you dig in, you find that those changes tell us much about our history.

You can also find yourself taken in unexpected directions, highlighting aspects of our history that extend far beyond the original question. Both are true of the early history of the Dorrigo National Park.

The 1901 gazettal of the two small reserves intended to protect waterfalls was followed by the 1917 reservation of a larger mountain area that now forms the core of the National Park. Separate trustees were appointed covering the two small reserves and the larger reserve.

The trustees appointed to the larger reserve included brothers Roy Stanley and Reginald Henry Vincent, members of that remarkable Vincent newspaper dynasty that played such a role in the history of the New England press and community life more generally.

In 1910, the brothers had established the Don Dorrigo Gazette and Guy Fawkes Advocate. Both were active in community life, including the campaigns for Northern development and the creation of a new state in Northern New South Wales. Both were committed to the preservation of the Dorrigo mountain reserve.

While Reginald Henry would remain as editor of the Don Dorrigo Gazette, in 1922 Roy was elected to the NSW Parliament as Member for Oxley. There he joined Michael Bruxner’s “True Blues”, the precursor of the NSW Country Party. 

Roy would remain an MP until 1953. From June 1932 to May 1941 he was Secretary for Mines and Minister for Forests, providing a degree of top cover that was important to the preservation of the Dorrigo reserves.

The new trustees faced problems. They had to deal with the spread of blackberries and other noxious weeds, as well as local pressures to log and develop the land. They also wanted to develop facilities. However, they had no money to do any of this.

These problems came to a head in 1923.

On 18 May 1923, Roy Vincent wrote to the Department of Lands as local member and a trustee seeking approval for the Trust to lease a small portion at the top of the Mountain Reserve for grazing purposes. This would provide the trustees with a small income and also help in blackberry control.

The following month, 8 June, the Secretary of the Trust (W H Jarrett) wrote to the Minister for Lands. Given problems with blackberries and fallen trees, he stated that a meeting of the trustees had decided to ask the Department to send an inspector to visit the reserve with a view to alienating the whole reserve for development.

This move blind-sided Roy Vincent. On 2 July he wrote to the Minister in protest. Had all the trustees been consulted? As a trustee, he was totally opposed to the alienation of a single acre of this magnificent reserve, apart from the previous request to lease a portion for grazing.

Roy Vincent prevailed. Dorrigo was saved, but problems still lay ahead.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 4 December 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

Reserved for recreation

Hard yakka: Clearing the Dorrigo brush was back-breaking work for the early selectors. The establishment of the Dorrigo Reserves, now National Park, helped preserve some of the original landscape. This is the first in a short series on the early days of the Dorrigo National Park

The Dorrigo National Park is rightly seen as one of the small jewels in New England’s crown. I wonder how many know its story or indeed that of the New England National Park, the third oldest in NSW.

According to Howard directed Stanley’s History of the Dorrigo National Park, our story begins on 29 March 1900 when Edward Ebsworth, the District Surveyor at Grafton, directed surveyor H A Evans to determine the position of two waterfalls (now the Sherrard and Newell Falls) near the road.

  

The Dorrigo Plateau was then being cleared and developed for settlement, creating the cultural landscape we know today. Evans was to “measure an area surrounding each waterfall sufficient to protect it with a view to its reservation from sale.”

Evans reported from his camp on 31 August 1900. He recommended reservation of two areas totaling around 8.1 hectares.

This would give ample room for “sight seers and others to ramble about on these areas and enjoy the scenery of the waterfalls, the pretty pieces of brush and bush and the landscape and seascape generally”.

Ebsworth successfully recommended to his Minister that Evan’s proposal be approved, On 19 February 1901, the Government Gazette carried a notice under Section 101 of the Crowns Land Act 1884 reserving the two areas for Public Recreation and the preservation of native flora.

The two areas might have been of sufficient size to allow visitors to ramble (or scramble!) around, but did little for the protection of native flora. However, in July 1917, a much larger area of 1,659 hectares on the Dorrigo Mountain was explicitly reserved for the preservation of native flora.

I haven’t properly researched the general history of either public spaces or national parks. However, a few general points are worth noting because they set a context for our story.

The idea of reservation of land for parks or other public purposes such as commons was well established. The idea that ordinary citizens should have access for recreation, enjoyment and access to nature to the equivalent of the parks established and enjoyed by aristocrats became well established during the 19th century. 

In Sydney, both the Royal National Park (1879) and Ku-ring-gai Chase (1894) were explicitly intended for public recreation.

The idea of preservation of flora and fauna had also become well established, if sometimes in the breach.

We can see all these elements in the initial establishment of the Dorrigo Reserves. However, the administrative and funding arrangements for the Reserves left much to be desired,

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 27 November 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

A VC in turbulent times

Dealing with turbulence: Sir Zelman Cowen as Queensland University Vice Chancellor.This is the third in a three part series on the life of Sir Zelman Cowen. 

In my last column I said that while Zelman Cowen’s public activities as the University of New England’s second VC did increase the public prominence of the university, his internal influence as VC is more difficult to measure.

In his history of UNE, Mathew Jordan mentions two areas where Cowen’s influence was important.

The first was the establishment in 1969 of a separate Faculty of Education. The second was his support for the establishment of a Faculty of Natural Resources. The Commonwealth would not agree for financial reasons, but agreed to the establishment of a School of Natural Resources finally established in 1971 after Cowen’s departure. 

Both were important initiatives: the Faculty of Education was the first in New South Wales, while the School of Natural Resources was the first such institution in Australia. Both attracted students and funding.

There was a third more problematic area, adult education, which Jordoa ignores. This is an odd gap in his history. He makes great play of the establishment of adult education and then, somehow, it disappears.   

First Belshaw as Acting Warden and then Madgwick had placed emphasis on adult education. It fitted with their personal philosophies and was an important element in the Northern outreach that had been so strongly emphasized by New England’s founders.

By the mid 1960s, university extension was a critical element in the University’s integration with its regional communities, while its summer schools such as the School of Dance, a school now seen as one of the seminal influences in the history of Australian dance, had achieved national prominence. Then, somehow, it largely stopped.

John Ryan’s PhD thesis draws out some of the complexities associated with the decline of adult education.

There were internal university problems, as well as funding issues linked to changing Australian Government policies. The loss of the sense of Northerness following the narrow loss of the 1967 self government plebiscite did not help.

Zelman’s role in the decline is unclear.

He was supportive of the role of adult education, but he had to balance that with changing attitudes at Commonwealth level and the reactions within the University to increased funding constraints. I also think that he did not share the original vision of the University as a Northern institution, as well as a national and international institution.

In 1970, Zelman left New England to become VC at the University of Queensland, a post he held until becoming Governor General in 1977 after Sir John Kerr.

In both roles he had to deal with turbulence, with political and social change. He did so with a focus on rational argument, the gathering of evidence and with a grace and tact that have justly given him a place in Australian history.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 20 November 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

University's growing pains

The appointment in 1966 of Zelman Cowen to replace Robert Madgwick as the University of New England’s Vice-Chancellor was seen, rightly, as a considerable coup. Why, some of his colleagues at Melbourne University asked, had he not gone to Harvard or Cambridge?

After the hard early days, Madgwick had overseen very rapid growth at UNE. This growth is worth recording, for it was during the final Madgwick period that the University moved from a significant to dominant driver in the local economy.

Internal student numbers had grown from 249 in 1955 to 1,396 in 1965. External student numbers had grown from a zero base to 2,568.

Residential: The original Wright College, part of the new buildings constructed under Sir Robert Madgwick. This is the second in a three part series on the life of Sir Zelman Cowen. 

Academic staff had grown from 63 in 1953 to 360 in 1966, while general staff had increased from around 100 to 693. Construction work had boomed.

Madgwick was worried about the speed of growth.

How might the University preserve its collegiate nature and special culture, its outreach? How might it overcome the tendency to become more inward looking, more fragmented, as it grew?

By 1966, Madgwick had formed the view that it might be necessary to cap the size of UNE to preserve its character and the standard of teaching and student experience.

Madgwick was right to be worried.

He did not foresee the social changes that were just getting underway, the proliferation of new universities, the constant changes that would come in policy, the rise of corporatism, managerialism and the mega-university.

However, Madgwick did identify weaknesses within UNE that would later impede its ability to manage change. As the University grew it became comfortable, turned inward, reduced its regional role opening the way for new competitors, and forgot that it had to be better just to survive.

These changes and challenges still lay just ahead when Zelman Cowen arrived in 1967.

Upon arrival, Cowen maintained his role as a public intellectual. In 1967 he prepared the case for the ABC supporting a yes vote on the Aboriginal constitutional referendum, then in 1969 he delivered the ABC Boyer Lectures.

Cowen had long been interested in civil liberties and individual freedoms. His Boyer Lectures, the Private Man, focused on the erosion of privacy, on the challenges presented to society by new technology and the need for law reform to keep pace.

These have become even more pressing topics today.

Cowen’s public activities did increase the public prominence of UNE. His internal influence as VC is more difficult to measure.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 13 November 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

The story of Zelman Cowen, Australian intellectual, Governor General and UNE's second VC after autonomy

Zelman Cowen, UNEs second VC, 1968.This is the first in a three part series on the life of Sir Zelman. 

October marked one hundred years since the birth of the University of New England’s second Vice-Chancellor, Sir Zelman Cowen.

Zelman Cowen was born in Melbourne on 7 October 1919, the son of Bernard and Sarah Cohen. His father changed the family name to Cowen a few years after his birth.

After studying locally, the boy won a scholarship to Melbourne’s Scotch College where he was Dux in 1935. He then studied law at Melbourne University, winning the Supreme Court Prize as top student, followed by a Rhodes scholarship.

With the onset of war, Cowen deferred the scholarship, enlisting in the Royal Australian Navy. He was in Darwin at the time of the Japanese bombing in 1942 and then served on General McArthur’s staff in Brisbane.

In 1945, Cowen married Anna Wittner. The couple became, in the words of Michael Kirby, “a partnership of intellect, culture and wit” with Anna “sometimes softening the ego that was a feature, probably inevitable, of such a brilliant man.”

One senior New England academic who, while liking and respecting Cowen, described the pair somewhat acerbically as Anna and the King of I Am.

Following his marriage, Cowen took up the delayed Rhodes scholarship at New College, Oxford. There he again demonstrated that energy, drive and intellect that had already marked his life. 

He won the Vinerian Scholarship as the top graduate in civil law and became a lecturer at Oriel. There he won his doctorate with a biography of Sir Isaac Isaacs.

Isaacs, a hero of Cowen’s, had become Australia’s first Jewish Governor-General after serving on the High Court of Australia, including a period as Chief Justice.

In 1950, Cowen returned to Melbourne University as the chair of public law. He also became Dean of Law.

While at Melbourne, Cowen began broadcasting radio commentaries, mainly on legal topics including the attempts by the Menzies Government to dissolve the Australian Communist Party.

Cowen was becoming a prominent public intellectual, a not always easy role in Australia. He was also interested in questions of civil rights and privacy, concerned about the potential erosion of individual liberties.

In 1966, Sir Robert Madgwick resigned as the University of New England’s Vice-Chancellor to become Chair of the Australian Broadcasting Commission.

As Warden of the New England University College and then as first VC of the newly autonomous University, Madgwick had steered the institution through the difficult early foundation stages into growth.

Cowen accepted an invitation to become the second VC, arriving in Armidale in 1967.  In my next column, I will look at his role as VC and beyond.

Postscript

In the newspaper edition of this column, I had Sir Zelman attending Oriel College at Oxford while a Rhodes scholar. A correspondent corrected me. Cowen went to New College.  

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 6 November 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

New England's great literary legacy

Remarkable: Poet and academic Geoffrey Dutton. Asked to identify Australia's 100 greatest books, 17 were linked to Northern NSW.

The 1988 Bicentenary, the celebration of 200 years since the arrival of the first fleet, was contested territory. To many Aboriginal people, this was the invasion. To others, it was a celebration of just what we had achieved.

Regardless of the debate, the Bicentenary was marked by an explosion in history publishing. Some books covered Aboriginal history, some dealt with national themes, while others focused on family, local and regional history.

New England, especially the New England, benefited greatly from books published before, during and just after the Bicentenary. I haven’t done a statistical count, but my feeling is that more books were published in this period than the totality over the last fifteen years.

As part of this process, Australian writer Geoffrey Dutton was commissioned by Angus & Robertson to select 100 books that might be classified as Australia’s greatest books. The result appeared three years before the Bicentenary entitled The Australian Collection: Australia’s Greatest Books.

I purchased it from Boobooks in the first week after I returned to Armidale, taking it outside with my coffee to browse it in the sun.

You will know that I am obsessed with New England’s history. I make no apology for this. It’s my passion.

Sitting there in the sun in the Mall, I did what I always do. I started going through to identify all the books and authors with New England connection.

I couldn’t finish the task. Once my coffee was done, I went home and took the book along with a pad and pen outside to sit in the sun and record.

This was a distraction. I was meant to be unpacking all those horrid boxes, but I sat and read and took notes. I am glad that I did.

I discovered that no less than 17 books or writers had a connection to Northern NSW, my broader New England.

Think about this for a moment.

 Of Professor Dutton’s selection of one hundred greatest Australian books, 17 per cent have some connection with Northern NSW. That’s quite remarkable.

I have been conscious for some time of the contribution made by the broader New England to Australia’s cultural and intellectual history. I didn’t know this when I started researching.

I wonder why it’s not recognized?

Is it just because all the cultural gatekeepers who determine topics and grants live in metropolitan areas? Or is it because we New England historians are too localized and cannot look beyond? 

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 30 October 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019  

Maximising value from local and regional history - the case of mining history

Historical nugget: Jubilee Gold Mining Company, Rocky River, is part of our rich mining history, yet few outside the New England know of the scale of the mining province.This is third in a three part series on the economic, social and cultural value of family, local and regional history within the broader New England.

So far in this series, I have spoken of the growing interest in family, local and regional history. This comes partly from current locals, but far more from those outside the North who have lived there or have family connections to the area.

There are two further groups we need to consider.

The first is visitors who come to a particular location, often for a day or less to visit a particular attraction or just to see a place. This group drops into the local information centre, historical society or museum as part of their visit. They may have an interest in local history, but this is often peripheral to their visit. 

The second group covers those who have a particular interest from architecture to mining to Aboriginal history to bushrangers to Italian POWs. The range is quite enormous.

The first group is actually quite well catered too. The second is not.

Localism is the curse of the North. It is driven by locals who see their town as the centre of the universe, by councils who see their role as promoting and serving the areas covered by their shifting boundaries often in competition with other areas.

The term zero sum game is used to describe the situation where the pie is fixed, where one participant can only gain of someone else loses an equivalent amount. Tourism promotion and history’s role in tourism promotion is often treated as though it were a zero sun game.

This may sound extreme, but consider this case.

A week back, I had dinner with friends to meet his parents. They love mining and told me many fascinating stories about Lightning Ridge.

As part of their love of mining and of ghost towns, they regularly attend the Nundle gold/Chinese festival. They visit Glen Innes to fossick. But they had no idea that the western slopes of the Tablelands had once been the greatest tin province in the world.

They had no idea that Tingha had been a major mining center with a large Chinese population and its own China town. Driving through, they had noticed the Wing Hong Ling Museum, but it didn’t mean anything to them.

This struck me as a failure in information and promotion.

History is about stories. This is where we local and regional historians, amateur and professional, come in.

If we don’t get our mind above the local, if we don’t look for broader linkages and patterns, if we don’t tell a textured story, then those who depend upon us will be less effective.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 23 October 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019    

Connecting to our past

Anniversary: Armidale Demonstration School (Armidale City Public) turns 150. Three alumni, Jim Belshaw, Rob Richardson and Paul Barratt. Paul was in the process of returning to the New England, I came much later, both drawn back by the sense of connection. This is the second in a three part series on the economic, social and cultural value of family, local and regional history within the broader New England.

In my first column in this brief series on the economic and cultural importance of history to Northern NSW, the broader New England, I spoke of the rise in interest in family and local history. This draws people to the various towns and localities across New England, re-establishing links and creating new opportunities.

The New England diaspora, those no longer living in the North but who were born here or have some form of family connection, now exceed the local resident population by more than three to one.

Not all these people are interested in family, local or regional history, but many are.

To give you one rough indication of scale, the Armidale Families’ Facebook page has well over 2,000 members who no longer live in Armidale but retain their connection.

Each year, there are hundreds of family reunions or centenaries or other special events that bring people back to the North. They all spend money, adding to local economic activity. To my mind, this is an underutilized resource.

In 2011, I found out almost by accident about the Armidale Demonstration School 150 year celebrations.

Older residents or ex-residents still call the school Armidale Dem. I do wonder why it was renamed when North Sydney still proudly uses the name demonstration.

You can understand why the school focused on current students and Armidale residents, but this ignored the rest of us (the majority) who live outside Armidale.

We started to organise. In the end, nine of us came back. It could have been many times that number if the celebrations had focused on the broader ex-student body, if support on things like bookings had been there.

I must emphasize that I am not being critical of the organizers. They did a wonderful job in bringing together so much memorabilia, in organizing an event to remember. But it was a missed opportunity.

So far, I have focused on family and local history with a special focus on locals or those with New England connections. But this is still only part of our story.

Across the North there are hundreds of museums and local historical societies that preserve and promote the culture and history of their localities.

Supported by councils and maintained by volunteers with a small number of paid staff, they form an integral part of our tourism infrastructure. They provide part of the experience that locals and visitors alike appreciate. They are a valuable asset.

And yet, despite council support and all the efforts of volunteers, we are not maximising the value they offer.  

In my last column in this short series I will explain why, suggesting what needs to be done to address the situation. 

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 16 October 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019    

Web of history revealed

Ancestry: West Armidale (now Drummond Memorial) Primary School 1960. Across the North there are probably a thousand history-related Facebook pages where people exchange stories and images such as this. This is the first in a three part series on the economic, social and cultural value of family, local and regional history within the broader New England. 

I will start this week’s column with a few blunt statements. History is worth money. I suspect too few people recognize this.

I also suspect that most people are not aware of the range of historical resources available across the broader New England that can enrich lives and also bring cash!

I suspect, too, that those who do recognize this tend to think of it in terms just of their attraction, accommodation or local area. This minimizes opportunities.

It would take a detailed economic study to start to quantify the value of history to the North. However, we can get something of a feel for it if we ask the question who is interested in the history of the North?

We can start here with the growing field of family history.

The disruption of Aboriginal life following European occupation led to many deaths. Then came forced relocations that merged different groups. Records of all this including births and deaths are scanty.

Not surprisingly, Aboriginal people now are seeking to trace their ancestry as best they can, to find out about the history not just of their families but the clans and language groups from which their ancestors came.

With 591 members, Armidale historian Caroline Chapman’s Facebook group, Discussion Group for Aboriginal History of New England, has become a major source of information and discussion for those seeking to find out about their ancestry in this area.

Callum Clayton Dixon’s Anaiwan Language Revival Program seeks to both revive the language and to document the story of the Anaiwan people. The Friends of Anaiwan Language Revival FB group has 130 members.

The settlers who came after British occupation, mainly British but including other groups such as Germans and Chinese, are just as interested in family history. This interest extends into local history, the stories of the areas in which their ancestors lived.

To give you an indication of scale, the Armidale Families past and present FB group has 3,116 members, the Uralla Memories FB group 2,245 members, Glen Innes and Surrounds Family History Memories 539 members and the Armidale Family History Group 340 members.

I have given you local FB examples because FB has become the main communication mechanism. I have only done a partial audit, the task is too big for a single individual, by my best guestimate is that across the North there are probably a thousand history related FB pages or groups, as well as blogs and web sites connected with localities, families, societies and museums. 

It is hard to estimate the total number of people involved but it must run into many tens of thousands.

These are not small numbers, but this is only part of the story of history in the North.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 9 October 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019    

From picnics to barbecues

 Large group picnic: With limited entertainment options, picnics were central to Australian life.

Growing up in Armidale during the 1950s, picnics were an essential feature of life. They could be family picnics held at a particular location such as the Gwydir River or a group activity such as Sunday School picnics.

The word picnic first appeared in the English language in 1748, drawn from the French pique-nique. The practice seems to have been first adopted by the upper classes who saw it as an elegant meal eaten outdoors. However, it spread into other areas of society as more leisure time became available.

I am not sure when the term was first used in colonial Australia, that is something I have to find out, but references to picnics occur quite early.

Entertainment in colonial society was largely self-made. The picnic provided an opportunity for family or group to move away from the daily round into a new space.

In Europe, the development of parks and the opening of estates to the public created the opportunity to experience not just the joy that comes from gatherings, but also the opportunity to see new areas, beautiful gardens and grounds.

In Australia the landscape, was rawer, less cultivated. Some of the early photographs show people picnicking amongst tree stumps!

Better transport including the railways encouraged the picnic habit. Railways, country and city, allowed people to travel on day excursions. With the car, life became easier because you could place the picnic basket or fruit case (fruit cases were commonly used on the New England after the establishment of orchards) in the boot and go.

Travelling by road, there were very few services stations or service centres of the type we know today. With rougher roads and slower travel times, it became normal practice to have picnic kit in the car and stop for morning tea or lunch, picnicking by the side of the road.

This is harder to do today with bigger roads and smaller verges.

By the 1890s, all the major department stores carried picnic kit including wicker ware picnic baskets and lighter weight cutlery and crockery. The baskets are almost identical to those you can buy today.

Unlike the later BBQ, picnic food was generally cold, although it was not unusual pre the vacuum flask to have a billy to heat the water for tea.

Depending on the money you had, the food and drink could be quite ornate. However, for most it was simpler fare, things that would not easily spoil and could be easily carried.

From the 1950s the BBQ began to supplant the picnic, yet it remains as a constant thread in our history.

Note to readers: This post appeared as a column in the Armidale Express Extra on 2 October 2019. I am repeating the columns here with a lag because they are not all on line outside subscription. You can see all the Belshaw World and History Revisited/History Matters columns by clicking here for 2009, here for 2010, here for 2011, here for 2012, here for 2013, here for 2014, here for 2015,  here for 2016, here  2017, here 2018, here 2019