Discussions on the history and historiography of Australia's New England

Friday, June 04, 2010

Drummond's life chapter 1 - A troubled child: family life 1890-1907

David Drummond was always proud of his Scottish ancestry. He used to explain to his grandchildren with great pride how a Drummond had played a key role in the success of King Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn by strewing the field with spikes, which disabled a large proportion of the English cavalry.[1] Later, when planning his autobiography, he intended to start with a brief history of the clan before going on to discuss 'the difference of approach to life ... of the English and the Scots'.[2]

According to family tradition, the branch of the clan from which David Drummond descended had been farmers for generations. His grandfather, William Drummond, was born about 1821, probably in Perthshire.[3] As a young man, William leased land from the Earl of Bute.[4] Later he had a small farm at Forteviot in Perthshire.[5] Some time in the forties, probably in 1844 or 1845, William met Henrietta Morris, his bride to be.[6] Born about 1822, Henrietta was one of the five daughters of David Morris, the factor or steward of an estate near Forteviot, Perthshire, and Sophia Henrietta Archbold.[7] Few details about Henrietta survive. However, we know that she worked as a domestic servant on the Edmonstones' Colzium estate at Kilsyth, Stirlingshire, on the old road from Stirling to Glasgow, was well regarded, but was forced to give up work because of problems with her eyes.

On 8 September 1846 Henrietta and William were married in Perth and then probably settled down immediately at Forteviot.[8] Forteviot was a small village - the population of the Parish as a whole was estimated at 638 in 1841 - surrounded by pretty and well-watered country.[9] In 1847 the couple's first child, Elizabeth, was born, followed in regular succession by seven others.[10] Morris, David Drummond's father, was born in 1852 and was their third or fourth child. Life at Forteviot must have been peaceful for the growing family, with the children helping on the farm before going off to the small local school.[11] It had its share of tragedies, however, as two of the girls died in childhood. Then, on 25 September 1867, Henrietta herself died.

After leaving school Morris probably worked first on the land.[12] David Drummond always thought that his father, along with many other highland lads, was forced off the land by the enclosures,[13] but this is probably not true. The enclosures, which had been brought about by the profitability of large scale sheep farming which led Highland landowners to eject their tenants in order to gain the necessary land, were largely over by the time Morris was born. However, even if Drummond's assessment was not strictly correct, the reduction in available farm land brought about by the enclosures would probably, in the absence of considerable family wealth, have prevented Morris from staying on the land. In this regard the family seems, at best, to have lived in reasonable comfort.

While the details are scanty, the Drummonds probably moved several times, though always within the Forteviot district, before renting Coblehaugh Inn from the Earl of Kinnoull in 1866.[14] The Inn was probably small, perhaps little more than a sitting room, located on a small farm. At the time of William's death, the family property included two work horses, two cows, a bullock, two pigs, wheat and corn stacks, fifteen tons of turnips, a variety of farm implements, household furniture, plus a full assortment of spirit dealer's effects. The list, while not insubstantial, certainly does not suggest great wealth.

Whatever the reason, in 1871 Morris became an apprentice mason with Perth builders, McCurrach and Sons.[15] Morris was still an apprentice when, on 3 December 1873, his father died. With William's death the farm was relinquished, and the furniture and fittings sold by auction. In July 1875 Morris completed his apprenticeship, and then probably left almost immediately for Glasgow which, like Perth itself, was then going through a period of sustained rebuilding.[16] In Glasgow Morris met Catherine McMillan, 'a real little highland lady', who was to become his wife.[17] Born in Renfrewshire on 9 June 1854, Catherine had been brought up by two maiden aunts, probably at Rothesay on the Island of Bute, before entering domestic service in Glasgow.

In 1878 Catherine and Morris agreed that he should emigrate to Australia and, when established, send for her. It must have been a difficult choice for Catherine; she seems to have been very close to her family, and particularly to the aunts who had brought her up, and the decision meant that she had to leave them and the familiar home country, probably for ever.[18] For Morris, too, it was a big decision. But in his case he was following his trade, and it also seems likely that the possibility of emigration had been discussed amongst the Drummond children. Upon William's death, and the break-up of the family home, the family had begun to disperse. Brother David had moved first to Perth to take a labouring job, but had then established himself as a joiner. He also was considering emigration, and would shortly leave for Canada. John had also gone labouring, following the work where it took him. Sophia was to marry Alex Harper and move to Glasgow. Only William, the eldest, was to be left in Perthshire following the family's traditional occupation of farming. Despite this dispersal, the Scottish sense of family remained firm amongst the Drummonds, with the links between the family members generally surviving into the second and third generations, forming one of the constants in David Drummond's life.

With the decision to emigrate made, Morris purchased a steerage ticket for fifteen guineas and, on 30 January 1879, sailed from Plymouth for Sydney on the Orient Steam Navigation Company's John Elder.[19] Steerage was the cheapest possible way of travelling, with the John Elder also carrying first, second and third class passengers. Steerage conditions were cramped and at times unpleasant, with passengers living in forced intimacy. Despite these problems, it is obvious from Morris's diary that he thoroughly enjoyed the trip. On 15 March the ship reached Melbourne. Morris was impressed with his first real sight of Australia:

it is a nice Place fine Broad Streets & some very good Buildings of the kind of them not many Greenstone Buildings all mostly Brick and some faced with Cement. But there is a good many Whinestone Buildings & they make a fine job of it they Build it in corses from 12 to 14 inches high it is the best Whin ever I saw.[20]

The food also impressed Morris:

meat is cheaper than at home we had a good Dinner for sixpence I will give you an idea of it had soup and Bread Mutton Potatoes & Cabbage and Plum pudding for a Desert we had our Tea for the same amount and as much as we could eat and fruit is cheap.

On 17 March, after recruiting two new sailors to replace the twelve sailors and two cooks that had deserted in Melbourne, the ship sailed for Sydney arriving on the 19th:

it is splendid sceniary entrying the Bay to Sidney got the Pilot on Board getting a fine view of my Future home got in the Harbour anchor Droped at 3.30 PM there was a fine turn out of Pleasure Boats & Cannons firing close besides us from the Fort & two man of war vessels that was lying in the Bay in Honour to the Governor of New South Wales leaving for New Zealand landed ashore at 6 PM got Lodgings in a Hotel for 4sd

*********************

2

Sydney was booming when Morris arrived. 'The overflow of bricks and mortar', wrote James Inglis in 1880, 'has spread like a lava flood.'[21] There was plenty of work for a setter or master mason, and Morris prospered. By June 1881 he had accumulated sufficient funds to pay 100 pounds seventeen shillings and six pence per acre.[22] Brother John heard the news and wrote asking about prospects:

I im in England now and I am liking it well it is a very Stirry Place they are Great Deal of Coal Pits about heare I am with the Wigen Coal and Iron Company ... i sometimes think I would like to come out to if you were thinking about not coming home ... this is not near so a hart Wrought Place here a Scotland ... I have 21 Shillings a weeke here ... you write Bake to me again fore if i See a Better I will take it.[23]

John did later emigrate to Australia.[24]

Catherine & Morris c 1882 In the meantime, Morris now felt able to send for Catherine. In February 1882 she sailed for Sydney on the Orient Company's Cuzio, probably arriving early in April.[25] Morris and William Sinclair, a friend Morris had made on the John Elder, met her and took her to lodgings in Leichhardt.[26] On 21 April Morris and Catherine were married by Samuel Savage, the Congregational Minister at Leichhardt. (Plate 1)[27]

The newly-weds lived initially at Benbow's Cottages in Manly where Morris was foreman in charge of the building of St. Patrick's College, and then at Leichhardt where Morris had purchased a house.[28] Their first child, Henry, was probably born in 1883, followed by Morris in 1886 and Catherine in 1888. Catherine died, but on 11 February 1890 another child, David, was born.[29]

By the time David was born, the Sydney building boom had collapsed.[30] Morris found work hard to come by. In 1892 another child Henrietta, was born. Unfortunately neither child nor mother was to survive; Catherine died of puerperal fever in May, aged only thirty-seven.[31] Brother William wrote asking Morris to come home:

.. were very sorrow to hear the sad news the Death of your wife ... Now Dear Brother I am sorrow to hear of trade being so bad in Sydney But we would be very happy to see you home ... We have a fine country residence with always plenty of work and a bit land and a Cow and Hens it is a great difference from town for health trade is reviving a good bit in Scotland i have no doubt but you would get on far better at home ... [32]

Morris decided to stay on, but the decision cannot have been easy. Will, the eldest boy, was only eight, while David was two. Their father had both to work and find a way to care for his young family.

To overcome this problem Morris hired a housekeeper, but his choice fell on a woman whose stern Calvinist faith was associated with a deep belief in hellfire and damnation.[33] While not physically cruel to the children, she seemed to them to be hard and unsympathetic. Her way of persuading the boys that they must tell the truth was to tell them that all who told lies would burn in hellfire. All his life William Drummond would remember being told that he was an evil little boy and that all little boys must go to hell. Fortunately, the kindness of neighbours did something to ease the household's gloom. Sue McCallum, the wife of a fellow mason and builder, used to look after David during the day. Her sister, Martha Tompkinson, who was teaching super-primary classes at a nearby school, would take Will and Morris to their school on her way to work.

Economic conditions seem to have deteriorated further. By 1895 Morris had probably lost the house at Leichhardt and had moved the family to the Liverpool farm.[34] Despite the family troubles, life was probably happy for the children. In September 1895 Catherine's aunt wrote to Morris:

.. we were so delighted to hear that you and your darling boys are well ... and oh we were so pleased to get a letter each from them ... to hear that they help their father on the farm - and little David will have to look over you all ... tell David that he is to let us know what is the name of his kitten in your next letter.[35]

Whatever Morris's personal problems may have been, this letter suggests a close-knit and secure family. It also seems probable that, much later, when Drummond wrote to Mary Gilmore to say how her poem, 'The Saturday Tub' had 'hit him', he was thinking of this period.[36] The poem is a nostalgic look at one of the rituals of childhood. The writer, dreaming by the fire, is thrown

Standing in a line by the fire, the children take their turn

To stand in a tub the size of a churn
It was, "where's the flannel?" and, "Mind the soap!"
Slither and slide, and scuffle and grope

Then, bath finished,

When each little shirt went over each head,
"Gentle Jesus" and "Our Father" said
It was "quick with a kiss!" and "Now they run!
And off into bed with you, everyone!"

The warmth, happiness and security in the poem is unmistakable. For Drummond, whose later childhood was neither happy nor secure, the poem's appeal must have related to those early farm days.

In 1895 Morris remarried; his new wife was the friendly school teacher from Leichhardt, Martha Tompkinson. The marriage brought a new stability to the family, but it proved to be short-lived. Morris had been in poor health for some time.[37] In September 1896, he had to go to Sydney to sign a contract on a new job.[38] Martha was worried and asked him not to go, but Morris insisted. That night a honeymoon couple in the lodging house where Morris was staying heard strange noises coming from his room. The husband went to investigate and found Morris covered in blood. A doctor was called, but Morris died before he arrived.[39] The cause of death is not known, but it seems possible that Morris may have been suffering from tuberculosis, the same disease that was later to kill Martha.[40]

Martha, whom David Drummond later described as a strong and resolute character, had promised Morris that if anything happened to him she would not abandon his children.[41] With one exception, this was a promise she kept. But her position was unenviable. The family's financial position was poor, she was pregnant, and she had suddenly to assume full responsibility for three young step-sons. To earn an income she became a dressmaker, using the ten-year-old Morris junior to make deliveries since he could still get concession-fares on the trains.[42] Will, still only twelve, left home to take a live-in job at a general store in Richmond. By 1898 the family had lost the farm and was forced back to Sydney.

David seems to have been a difficult child, full of energy with - at least as his half-sister Ellie remembers him - an adorable smile and an uncanny ability to worm his way out of trouble.[43] To Martha he must have seemed a handful, and certainly he and his step-mother did not get on. As the youngest child, he was shunted between friends and Martha's relatives, but (in his own words) 'on each occasion sooner or later turned up like a motherless pup, on the family doorstep.[44] It was a disturbing period for the boy. Between 1896 and 1900 he attended no less than seven schools, maintaining his education largely because of his 'capacity for reading two and three classes ahead.' It seems that the joy in reading which was to be such a feature of his life was established very early. Thus, while staying with an aunt and uncle at Sunny Corner, the nine-year-old David Drummond read - but did not always understand - their entire library (some twenty books) ranging from Carlyle's French Revolution to Lancashire Witches.

In 1900 the boy was awarded a Presbyterian Church scholarship to Scots College in Sydney.[45] David enjoyed his time at the school. One aspect of life there which 'made an indelible impression' on him was the morning assembly with its bible readings, prayers and hymns. Coming from a family in which religious observance was an important part of life, the religious side of school life may have been important in the formation of Drummond's own religious views. 'Most boys are unregenerate young pups', he later wrote, 'but they are all the better then & through life because of the indirect teaching that God is greater than man.'

But this is in part the view of the man looking back. The David Drummond at Scots was noticeably an 'unregenerate young pup.' While there he went with the other boys to the ceremony at Centennial Park on 1 January which inaugurated the Commonwealth of Australia. Bored (singing was never his strong point), he slipped away from the group and wormed his way through the crowd to emerge next to the dais for a splendid view of the whole proceedings.[46] Nor was this the only time he played truant. Finding the work at Scots easy, he used to play hookey to go swimming at Rose Bay.[47]

The secure life Drummond knew at Scots was quickly overtaken by trouble. Late in 1901 or early in 1902 - the exact date is uncertain - he had an operation for tonsils and adenoids which led to complications.[48] Whether or not this was the cause is uncertain, but from this time onwards his hearing began to deteriorate, leaving him ultimately almost completely deaf. Then, in May 1902, his scholarship was abruptly terminated because, according to the headmaster, he 'was not brilliant enough'. In fact his results were not bad, except in maths where he scored only twenty-seven out of 300 in his final exam. It seems probable that his academic coasting had caught up with him; the scholarship was to be given to someone who seemed to deserve it more. Whatever the reason, Drummond resented the sudden termination, and seems to have carried that resentment with him all his life.[49] Despite this, he retained his affection for Scots as a school.

Even with the scholarship, it must have been a family battle to keep the boy at Scots. Understandably, Martha was bitterly disappointed at its termination, and it was agreed that he should start work at once (Plate 3). 'Overnight I became 14 years of age [the nominal school leaving age] and ... an office boy at the princely sum of 5/- per week.'[50] David then lost this job in unfortunate circumstances:

Some years previously while staying at what was then the substantial gold mining town of Sunny Corner with an uncle and aunt I saw a lad buy some lollies with postage stamps. The idea was novel and stayed in some corner of my memory. It came back to me when I was handling stamps in my new job and often at this growing stage, hungry. To cut the story short, for probably 2 months, I did not hunger. It never occurred to me that using stamps in this way, rather than on letters, was stealing.

Not surprisingly, his employers took a different view. Morris therefore arranged another job for David, at seven shillings and six pence per week, with the Pastoral Finance Association, where Morris was employed in the office. This job also ended disastrously. David had to carry small sums of money around the city to pay minor accounts:

One afternoon I discovered - or thought I had - that there was a surplus of 1/-. I checked and rechecked, and then had a good feed of cakes and ice-cream. Returning to the office and checking there it was apparent that I had somehow made an honest mistake. Stamps were one thing but money was another.

The boy was desperately unhappy.

In despair I went home and tried to poison myself. Luckily Mother arrived at that moment, filled me with salt and water and that was that.

The episode was the final straw for Martha. The following morning

She gave me a letter to the head of the Child Welfare Department and bade me farewell. In October 1902 I called on Inspector White, a kindly bearded gentlemen, presented my 'credentials', and without further ado became ... a 'Ward of the State.'[51]

********************

3

The child welfare system that David now entered had been established by Sir Henry Parkes in 1881.[52] Prior to that date neglected children, orphans and some juvenile offenders were confined in large institutions under what was known as the Barrack System. Parkes' State Children Relief Act of 1881 officially introduced boarding-out, under which orphans or neglected children, who were in potential danger but who were considered not to have criminal tendencies, were placed with private families or (later) with their own mothers. Institutions were retained for the treatment of delinquents and juvenile offenders.

Boarding-out was of two types. Where the child was under twelve, the new parents became foster parents and were paid a subsidy for their new responsibilities. Over twelve, the child was apprenticed out. This was not apprenticeship in the traditional industrial sense in which the apprentice spends a specified time with an employer in order to gain a trade qualification. Instead, it was a placement scheme in which the ward was placed in the home of an employer and worked for him/her in return for a specified but small wage, part of which was paid directly to the apprentice and part deposited with the authorities to be kept in trust until the ward came of age. The employer was expected to supervise the ward's education and moral training as well as provide employment.

Central to Parkes' scheme was the idea that boarding-out would provide a better environment for the child by bringing him in close personal contact with a family who could look after him and provide support. The first report of the State Children's Relief Board, established to administer the new program, contrasted the life of the Asylum - 'where inmates are drilled into a mechanical good behaviour, garbed in uniform, while no count is or can be taken of differences in disposition' - with that of the family.

The principle of the boarding-out system is based on a consideration of the manner in which society is constituted. Society is made up of families. Thence it obtains its wondrous variety of aspect and development - there its activities germinate ... children in a family are a part of the many coloured life around them, and look forward to a future which shall have a similar varied experience to those of their own youth ...[53]

Consistent with this view, the Board developed what was in fact an experimental program with such vigour that by the time David became a ward it had not only largely emptied the institutions of children but had also established boarding-out as the keystone in the New South Wales child welfare system.

Although David's experiences were generally to bear out the claims made by the Board, his first experience with the system was to leave some bitter memories. After seeing Inspector White ...

Another letter was handed to me which I duly presented to the Officer in Charge at Ormond House, Paddington, which was a depot for receiving orphan or neglected children. A few days later, with several other boys, I was sent to another depot at Maitland run by two kindly middle-aged sisters and then to a ... vineyard at Pokolbin ...[54]

David Drummond's new residence was the Probationary Farm Home at Cessnock, one of two homes established by the Board because of the problems found, with 'those lads ... whose persistent misconduct renders them unfit for service under ordinary conditions; that is, those given to frequently absconding from their masters without cause, petty thieves or the habitually indolent'.[55] The law prevented state wards from being admitted to industrial and reformatory schools until a court committal had been first secured. This action the Board was unwilling to take, probably in part because of the stigma attached to it, and in part because the Board had no authority over such schools, so that it lost control of the child following committal. However, by 1901, 10,000 children had passed through the boarding-out system, and the Board had a substantial and continuing problem to which some solution had to be found.

About the end of 1898 the Board established a Probationary Farm Home at Cessnock to receive such boys on a private farm of forty hectares, including four under vines and four which were used for agricultural purposes. In return for ten shillings per week each, the owner agreed to receive four lads initially, providing them with separate sleeping accommodation while treating 'them in every respect as members of his family'.[56] Once the boys' behaviour improved sufficiently, the master was to find them suitable employment. The Board recognised that the move was experimental and imposed strict conditions; these included a warning that 'reform is expected to result from moral suasion, and by inculcating a feeling of self reliance, and not from the severe application of corporal punishment'.[57] By the end of 1901 Report concluded that 'two years experience has shown that the State Children's Relief Board has now no difficulty in dealing with juvenile offenders of this class'.[58] A new home was opened at Dora Creek for Catholic boys, thus allowing Cessnock to be used exclusively for Protestants.

In adopting farm homes as a solution to its problem, the Board had been influenced by a long and deeply held view within English society of the country, in Raymond Williams' words, as 'a natural way of life: of peace, innocence and simple virtue'. By contrast, the city was a place of noise, worldliness and ambition.[59] This view had gained strength during the industrial revolution. Greater population concentrations led to increased awareness of crime, and of the links between crime and the thousands of neglected children 'loitering about the low neighbourhoods'.[60] The Board fully accepted the traditional view of the virtues of country life. Not only did it try to place as many children as possible in country districts, but it also saw as the major virtue of the Cessnock location that 'it takes the boys at once into the agricultural districts; it secures wholesome surroundings, and a more natural form of life'.[61]

David Drummond came to share fully the Board's view of the virtues of country life. However, he did not agree with its favourable assessment of the Cessnock Home. Although he learnt quite a lot about wine production, and although the farmer was a kindly man who did much to tone down the asperities of his wife and make life bearable for the score of lads entrusted to them, Drummond found life there miserable:

Thus began my practical education in child welfare. It included a knowledge of spies who urged lads to run away and then betrayed them to those in control. There were good reasons for running away, but I trusted no one ...[62]

The caution was reasonable, for absconding was a risky business. Section 22 of the State Children Relief Act of 1901 provided that if a ward absconded he could be whipped with a birch rod or cane and given bread and water as a punishment. Further, of the four boys who had absconded from the homes up to April 1902, three had been subsequently arrested and committed to the Reformatory.[63]

Drummond laid his plans carefully. After some seven months he made his break with three others:

A number of us were sent to Church at Cessnock, some 4 miles walk. I simply said let us run away & avoiding detection arrived at the Maitland depot & were received kindly. I told the good ladies some of the reasons for our actions, indeed sufficient to bring my old friend Mr White hot foot next day to interview our group. At this time an Uncle [presumably on his stepmother's side] was Managing Director of one of Sydney's biggest firms and had been kind to me in many ways. I did not scruple to use his name as a hint of what might happen if the abuses were not checked.[64]

Whether the boy's threat had any influence is unclear. What is clear is that the complaints about the Home must have been treated seriously, for it was closed.[65]

The experience had badly marked David Drummond. 'One of the most cruel things', he later wrote, 'is the repeated axiom "The Boy is the Father of the Man", for this means if a young adolescent is guilty of theft or untruth he is predestined to be a thief and a liar through life'.[66] He went on to ask: 'how many bright lads have taken their own lives in despair as a result of similar axioms'? Most normal children, he suggested, engage in petty theft until something happens to awaken them to the danger of continuing to do so. The lesson in his case had certainly been hard.

After Cessnock, Drummond had four months back at an unspecified school during which he won the champion prize at an inter-school scripture competition,[67] but thereafter his education was confined to the dairy industry. The families that he stayed with in the Hunter Valley seem to have been typical small farm families: life was dominated by work with only limited access to outside activities. Despite this, David maintained his reading, compensating for limited choice by greater intensity. The family he stayed with for twelve months at age fourteen had only three books: the Bible, John Wesley's Journal and Fox's Book of Martyrs.[68] Fox did not appeal, but David read and re-read the other two. Wesley's Journal with its record of incredibly long journeys, associated with 'the fact that he set out to reform his own Anglican Church not to found a new one', fascinated the boy. The intensive Bible reading strengthened his existing religious beliefs and gave him 'an indestructible belief in God the Supreme Being and of the reality of the spiritual link between God and man.'

The families David stayed with may have been poorly educated and probably struggling, but they gave the boy what he most needed, acceptance:

.. the people I met and worked for were kindly and made no distinction between the orphan and their own children. Whatever may have been lacking in refinement was more than made up by the one quality that every child values more than any other, viz basic human kindness and a personal interest and understanding.[69]

In addition, David's own family maintained links with him. The nature of his relationship with Martha is uncertain, but was presumably rather formal. With his brothers the situation was very different. Will, who was in his late teens and early twenties during this period, seems to have acted as a substitute father. A devout Christian, he tried, according to family tradition, to develop David by discouraging his liking for comics and encouraging him to read 'good books'. This practice David himself was later to follow with his own children and grandchildren. The younger Morris was developing into a big man with an outgoing personality that attracted all the family (including David) to him.

Despite support from the families he stayed with and from his own family, the boy missed his mother, Catherine. He carried a clear picture of his father, 'a tall bearded kindly man',[70] but had no conscious memories of his mother. 'I am convinced there is - except in rare cases - no real substitute for a natural mother's love of her children',[71] he wrote in his manuscript autobiography. In later years, David Drummond was to name his house after Catherine's supposed birth place (Stornaway), and was to make efforts to trace her Scottish relatives through a Scottish friend.[72]

The decision of the State Children's Relief Board to place David in the country changed his life. Whatever the advantages of the boarding-out/apprenticeship arrangements, they had one major disadvantage: the ward's chances of gaining formal qualifications were negligible.[73] As a consequence the boys were effectively committed to labouring jobs and - although he could in theory have moved to the city - in David's case that meant farm work. Not that the boy minded. He had wanted to work in the country from an early age,[74] and his experience as a ward seem to have developed the love of the country that he would hold all his life.

David Drummond 1907 But while Drummond enjoyed farm work, and found much kindness from the families he lived with, the years he spent as a ward mark a waiting period in his life. In his manuscript autobiography he discussed the Pokolbin experience in detail, but then dismissed the remainder of his time as a ward in a few sentences, beginning his account again one cold day in 1907 when he arrived in Armidale carrying all his possessions in a cheap carry-all.[75] The plate shows a formal photo of David Drummond from 1907.

In retrospect, Drummond clearly regarded this day as a key one in his life. Reasons for this are not hard to find. Although still nominally a ward of the state, it would be twenty years before Drummond would again have contact with the child welfare system. More importantly, his arrival in Armidale marks the start of his successful fight to establish himself within the community. Finally, and perhaps most importantly of all, it is from this date that we can trace the real start of his involvement with Northern New South Wales, an involvement that was to dominate the rest of his life.


For a full list of posts in this series see Decentralisation , Development and Decent Government": the life and times of David Henry Drummond, 1890-1941 - introduction

[1]For a description of this incident see F. Adam, The Clans, Septs and Regiments of the Scottish Highlands, Revised by Sir Thomas Innes of Learney, 4th ed., W. & A.K. Johnson, Edinburgh, 1952, p.213. This book was purchased by David Drummond at John Knox's house in Edinburgh.

[2]Drummond Manuscript (DM), p.3.

[3]The birth date is calculated from the inscription on William's still standing gravestone at Forteviot. The Drummonds traditionally came from Perthshire.

[4]David Drummond's recollections, DM, p.6. Drummond did not know where the land was. In the Second Statistical Account for Ayr and Bute, Bute is given as the owner of Ochiltree, Ayrshire. The volume Peter May land surveyor (Scottish History Society 1979) records that John, Fourth Marquis of the Bute (Lord Mountstuart) bought an inn at Largs on the Ayrshire mainland. It also notes that Robert Oliphant of Rossie was appointed Commissioner for the Earl of Bute's affairs in Scotland. Oliphant possessed the estate of Culteuchar in Forgandenny, the adjoining Parish to Forteviot. This information on Bute's interests was supplied by Charles S. Coventry, M.A., B. Phil., A.EA., of the Perth (Scotland) Historical Society.

[5]The handbill advertising the sale of family and farm effects after William's death is in Family Papers (FP).

[6]Inferred from dates in FP.

[7]Details on the Morris family are drawn partly from family trees in FP and partly from the family recollections of Ellie Morris, David Drummond's half-sister. Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982. Information on Henrietta is drawn from a letter from Lady Edmonstone to Henrietta's mother, 22 November 1844. original in FP. Details on Colzium were supplied by Mr Coventry.

[8]Details taken from the couple's banns. In FP. It seems probable that the couple did settle immediately at Forteviot since William was listed as living there at the time of the banns.

[9]This description of Forteviot is based on: The Topographical, Statistical and Historical Gazetteer of Scotland, 2 vols., A.Fullarton & Co., Glasgow, 1842. Vol. 1, p.576. The country today is much the same. However, apart from the church the original village has vanished, apparently rebuilt by a later land owner as a 'model' village. The Gazetteer listed Forteviot's population as 600 in 1834: the later figure was supplied by Mr Coventry.

[10]The family details are based on family trees in FP and on the inscription on William's gravestone.

[11]We know (1) that the children received some education since they could read and write and (2) that Forteviot had a school since the Gazetteer, ibid, p.576, lists a schoolmaster with a salary of 34 pounds, 4 shillings and 4 pence halfpenny with about 16 pounds in fees.

[12]This seems likely given the probable gap between the time Morris completed school and started his apprenticeship in Perth.

[13]For a brief description of the enclosures see: G.S. Pryde, Scotland from 1603 to the present day, vol. 2 of A New History of Scotland, Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1962, pp.150-161. For a more detailed description see: E. Richards, A History of the Highland Clearances: Agrarian transformation and the evictions 1746-1886, Croom Helm, London, 1982.

[14]The evidence here is largely circumstantial, for the reason given in footnote 8, it seems probable that William and Henrietta settled immediately at Forteviot. According to Mrs Morris, they lived for a period at Pathstruie, a house near Forteviot which Mrs Morris later visited. The first William Drummond so far discovered in district records appears in 1863: between 1863 and 1867 he rented Wordhead farm from Lord Ruthven. Then another William Drummond rented Coblehaugh Inn between 1866 and 1874. It seems almost certain that this Drummond was our William Drummond. Coblehaugh Inn's lease was relinquished in the year following William's death, which is not inconsistent with the time necessary to realise the family effects. Again, those effects included a complete set of spirit dealer's requisites, while family tradition has always claimed that William did keep an inn. The information on land records was supplied by the District Archivist in Perth, again via Mr Coventry.

[15]The details on Morris's apprenticeship are taken from his certificate of completion of apprenticeship in FP. The certificate is dated July 1875, but Morris could in fact have completed his apprenticeship a little before this.

[16]The evidence that Morris left for Glasgow is again largely circumstantial: Mrs Morris believes that he mainly worked in Glasgow; his later diary contained many more Glasgow addresses; and there is no record of his living in Perth after July 1875.

[17]The description of Catherine is by William Sinclair, an old friend of Morris's. DM, p.6. Details on Catherine's life are drawn from records in FP, and from the interview on 1 October 1982 with Mrs Morris. There is some confusion in the papers about Catherine's birth date: one record gives it as 1854, one as 1852.

[18]The letters from Catherine's aunts are full of family news and suggest a close and affectionate family. Details on the Drummonds are drawn from records in the FP.

[19]The steam ship ticket is in FP. Details of the voyage are taken from Morris's diary of the trip. In FP.

[20]Whin, whin'sill, whin'stone, nn. kinds of basaltic rock or hard sandstone. (orig. unkn.). H.W. Fowler and F.G. Fowler (eds.), Concise Oxford Dictionary of Current English, fifth edition, revised by E. McIntosh, etymologies revised by G.W.S. Friedrichsen, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1964, p.1488.

[21]Cited in A. Birch and D. Macmillan, The Sydney Scene 1788-1960, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, 1962, p.165. For a description of Sydney in this period see ibid., pp.165-172; E.C. Fry, 'Growth of an Australian Metropolis', in R.S. Parker and P.N. Troy (eds), The Politics of Urban Growth, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1972, pp.5-11; M. Cannon, Life in the Cities: Australia in the Victorian Age: 3, Nelson, West Melbourne, 1978.

[22]Receipt for deposit in FP. Drummond thought the farm was in the Guilford district. However, the address is given in letters as Cross Roads, Liverpool.

[23]John to Morris, 26 January 1882. In FP.

[24]By October 1892 John was in Sydney and already married, for William wrote to Morris: 'We were sorrow to heir of Johns wife not being so well have they got any family'. In FP.

[25]Ticket in FP.

[26]Based on FP and DM.

[27]Marriage papers in FP.

[28]Based on DM and FP. William Sinclair later wrote to David Drummond: 'St. Patricks at Manly is a permanent tribute to the skill and artistry of Morris Drummond. I saw him fit every stone into place'. DM, p.7.

[29]Previously William was thought to be the eldest. However, a family tree (in William's writing) in FP lists Henry as the eldest with the note 'Decsd'; this presumably explains the Henry in David's name. The exact dates of both Henry's and Catherine's deaths are unknown.

[30]The land boom in Sydney effectively ended in 1888. A.G.L. Shaw, The Economic Development of Australia, Longman Australia, Croydon, 1970, p.90.

[31]The date of Henrietta's death is not known at this stage. The cause of Catherine's death is derived from family tradition.

[32]William to Morris, 17 October 1892. In FP.

[33]Details in this paragraph were drawn from an interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[34]Drummond records (DM, p.7) that the house in Leichhardt was lost after his father's death. However, circumstantial evidence suggests otherwise. Included in FP is a receipt, dated 15 October 1894, extending the mortgage on the Leichhardt house. In September 1895, Catherine's aunt wrote to Morris 'we were very sorry to hear that you had been so unfortunate with your house ...'. (In FP). Mrs Morris confirmed that they had lost the house. (Interview, 1 October 1982). Certainly the family never lived in the house again after the move to Liverpool.

[35]In FP.

[36]Gilmore to Drummond, 5 March 1949. In FP. The quotations from 'The Saturday Tub' are taken from: M. Gilmore, Selected Verse, Angus & Robertson, Sydney 1948, pp.273-274.

[37]On 9 December 1895, Morris's sister Sophia Harper, wrote to him: 'In the first place I hope your health is improving. [indecipherable] was saying that you had not been well.' Original in FP.

[38]The detail in this and the next sentences are drawn from the interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[39]A press clipping in FP records: 'A stonemason named Morris C. Drummond died suddenly at his residence, 58 Young-street, Sydney, last night. After tea deceased retired to his bedroom, and a few minutes after another lodger in the house heard peculiar sounds coming from the room. On entering the room he found Drummond covered in blood. A doctor was sent for, but before his arrival Drummond expired. It is supposed that deceased had broken a blood vessel.'

[40]This was the opinion of his grandsons, David and John Morris, both doctors. Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[41]DM, p.7.

[42]This and the next two points are drawn from the interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982. Documents in FP support the points.

[43]Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[44]This and the later points in this paragraph are drawn from DM, pp.38-39.

[45]Unless otherwise cited, details on Drummond's time at Scots are taken from DM, p.8.

[46]Script of radio broadcast to the electorate, Drummond Papers, University of New England Archives, A248.

[47]Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[48]Ibid.

[49]He later commented to his eldest daughter (Mrs Belshaw) that the boy who had taken his place, and whom the headmaster considered would be more successful, had lost his job during the Depression and had come to Drummond for help. Drummond's continued liking for Scots is shown in the tone of the DM, and was also revealed in his comments to the writer on the school.

[50]This and the immediately following quotations are from DM, pp.9-11.

[51]A court order was not necessary in order to commit a child. Instead Section 2 of the Regulations laid down under the State Children Relief Act of 1901 prescribed '... it shall be the duty of the Boarding-out officer to cause inquiry to be made ... into all applications from persons who may desire to have their children placed out as boarders or for adoption or apprenticeship ... He shall also take precautions to ascertain that parents are not enabled, by false representations of their circumstances, [to] relieve themselves of the care of their children, and improperly make them a charge upon the state.'

[52]This next section draws heavily from: The Hon. C.K. Mackellar, MLC, The Child, the Law and the State being a short account of the progress of reform of the laws affecting children in New South Wales with some suggestions for their amendment and more humane and effective application, Government Printer, Sydney, 1907; State Children's Relief Board Annual Reports; E.S.L. Govan, "Public and Private Responsibility in Child Welfare in New South Wales 1788-1887", PhD thesis, University of Chicago, 1951; M. Horsburgh, "The Apprenticing of Dependent children in New South Wales between 1850 and 1885", Journal of Australian Studies, No.7, November 1980, pp.33-54; New South Wales Department of Child Welfare and Social Welfare, Child Welfare in New South Wales, mmeo., (1962 ?); A.L. Ritter, "Concepts and Treatment of Juvenile Delinquency in Nineteenth Century England, New South Wales and South Australia", MA (Hons) thesis, University of New England, October, 1974. For a fuller list of references see main bibliography.

[53]Report of the President of the State Children's Relief Board for the year ending 5 April 1882, Government Printer, Sydney, 1882, p.4.

[54]DM, pp.10-11.

[55]Report of the President of the State Children's Relief Board for the year ending 5 April 1904, Government Printer, Sydney 1904, p.15. The material on the Probationary Farm Homes is taken from the Annual Reports for the period 1899-1904.

David Drummond refers to the place only as 'a vineyard at Pokolbin.' However, it is clear from the evidence that the Cessnock Farm Home is the only institution he could be referring to.

[56]Report ... for the year ending 5 April 1899, pp.5-6.

[57]Ibid.

[58]Report ... for the year ending 5 April 1901, p.11.

[59]R. Williams, The Country and the City, Paladin, Frogmore, 1975, p.9. Williams' book is a fascinating analysis of the changing attitude towards country and city as portrayed in English literature.

[60]A.L. Ritter, Concepts and Treatment of Juvenile Delinquency. Ritter, p.24, discusses the prevalent view, both in England and the colonies, that 'criminals were ... largely the product of urban backgrounds of poverty, vice, destitution and neglect.'

[61]Report ... for the year ending 5 April 1901, p.6.

[62]DM, p.11.

[63]Report ... for the year ending 5 April 1902, p.17.

[64]DM, pp.11-12.

[65]The Report ... for the year ending 5 April 1904 simply records: 'The Protestant Home situated at Cessnock, has been closed during the year, and steps are being taken to open another elsewhere' (p.15). Since no Board records survive for the period, the official position cannot be explored further.

[66]The material in this paragraph is taken from DM, pp.14-15.

[67]Ibid., p.11.

[68]This section taken from DM, p.40.

[69]DM, pp.12-13.

[70]DM, p.7.

[71]DM, p.12. The full quotation, given below, has a slightly different flavour but I think the impact is clear. 'Watching my own daughters and their endless patience and sense of humour with their children, I am convinced ...'

[72]R. Carlton Malcolm. The letters are in FP.

[73]The problem of how to provide adequate training for State Children was an on-going one. By the nature of the apprenticeship arrangements, wards were sent to those who could provide a home but who were also prepared to provide paid work. In effect this gave the system (apart from the general philosophy discussed above) a bias towards farm work for boys and domestic service for girls.

[74]Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982.

[75]DM, p.184.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Round the history blogs 3 - collectors, convicts, carnivals

Another of my regular reports on the history sites I follow.

Janine Rizzetti had two interesting posts relevant to New England history.

The first is a review, 'Aborigines and Colonists’ of R H W Reece's 1974 book, Aborigines and Colonists: Aborigines and Colonial Society in New South Wales in the 1830s and 1840s. There Janine makes some comments on Aboriginal historiography. I dealt with this a little so far as New England is concerned in one part of  Unrecognised and now almost unknown: explorations through the history of the broader New England[1.]

Research and writing on Aboriginal prehistory and history began quite early at the University of New England. One thing that I should do but haven't is the preparation of a simple chronological list of theses and publications on the Aborigines linked in some way to New England. My feeling is that this would draw out the pattern in the rise and to some degree fall in interest in this area. It would also better delineate the New England contribution.

Janine's second post, Hunters and Collectors’ by Tom Griffiths, deals with one thread in Australian thought, the tensions between two groups of people in relation to history: Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians, and amateurs and professionals. Similar issues arise in New England. Janine also makes an interesting observation on the past prevalence of history and nature themes in primary school.

Australian Policy and History Web Site, a post on my personal blog, discusses the creation of a new history we site part sponsored by the Heritage Futures Research Centre at the University of New England. I am an adjunct of the HFRC, and wish the new site well.

Culture Matters is an anthropology rather than history blog. However, not only do the two disciplines share some common methodological problems, but anthropology and the writing of anthropologists is an important source of information for historians. 

Greg Downey's Academic professionalization workshop for grad students and more is not about anthropology as such, but provides useful hints for those applying for academic jobs.

On Archives Outside, Christine Shergold's Staff Picks [1870 Convict records disposal schedule] deals with the disposal of early convict records. I found it interesting, because this is an area I know very little about. I have never had to dig into the early convict records. Because of the nature of my interests, I generally rely on secondary sources.

The 88th History Carnival has a musical focus, but is also a reminder of the range of historical interests, as well as some of the quality of historical blogging. You can also listen to the music.

More next week.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Unrecognised and now almost unknown: explorations through the history of the broader New England[1]

This paper was delivered by Jim Belshaw to the University of New England’s Classics and History Seminar Series, Armidale Friday 19 March 2010.

In recognition of the topic of this paper as well as our location, I would like to begin by acknowledging the Traditional Custodians of the Land. I would also like to pay respect to the Elders past and present of this Land and of all New England’s Aboriginal peoples. My hope is that they will find some value in my work.

This paper follows my personal journey in attempting to write a history of the broader New England. I will talk a little about names and naming later. For the present, I simply note that when I talk about the broader New England, I mean the Northern Tablelands and its surrounding rivers to the north, south, west and east.

I say unrecognised, because the area that I am talking about has no formal identity. You will not find it on any map. I say now almost unknown, because the tides of history, and of fashions in the writing of history, have overtaken the area, its interests and activities. Things once considered important have been increasingly relegated to a sentence, a footnote, or just ignored.

As will become very clear, I have a direct personal interest in all this because of my own history and that of my family. In some ways, I think of my work as somewhat akin to an archaeological rescue dig, trying to recover a past before modern constructions destroy it entirely!

This leads to obvious problems of selection, perception and bias in my research and writing. The topic I have selected, and the initial questions I asked of the evidence, reflect my own past, interests and values. Further, at a personal level and especially on my New England Australia blog[2] and in my weekly column in the Armidale Express, I am still a partisan player, sometimes using history to explain and support particular positions.

To manage the obvious conflict created by my interests, perceptions and approach and my role as a historian, I try to make my personal biases clear up front. I also try to be professional in my practice of the historical craft. By this, I mean simply that I try to be objective in my approach to the evidence and to ensure that the things that I say are properly referenced, so that others can check and, as appropriate, refute my inevitable errors of fact and judgement.

Beginnings

I first became interested in writing a history of the broader New England while doing my honours years in history at the University of New England in 1966. This was a very different world.

The Cold War was still in full swing. Australia was involved in the Vietnam War. Jobs were plentiful. The social changes that would make the 1970s such a tip decade, a break with the past, were underway, but undergraduate students at the University of New England still wore gowns and were expected to dress properly. In the case of men, the rules prescribed coat and tie as well as gown. One of my student colleagues did just that, wear a tie, coat and gown to lectures. Fortunately, he did add underpants to the list! The main student issue on campus was room visiting, with students campaigning en masse to overturn a decision of the University Council banning visits by members of the opposite sex in the Colleges[3].

At local and regional level, the New England New State Movement was in the middle of Operation Seventh State, the campaign that would culminate in the 1967 plebiscite. The loss of that plebiscite on the votes of the dairying, mining and industrial interests of the lower Hunter still lay ahead.

I had always been a new state supporter, in large part because of my grandfather, David Drummond. Drummond had first become involved with the movement for self government while working as a manager on a share farm basis on Maxwelton, a wheat block near Inverell[4]. He remained a supporter over a long career in State and Federal Parliament that stretched from 1920 to 1963.

I first became actively involved with the New England New State Movement in 1961 when, at my grandfather’s request, I acted as an usher at the 1961 Armidale convention that launched Operation Seventh State. This was a very big meeting and very exciting to a sixteen years old wearing his first suit! When I started at the University of New England in 1963, I carried my new state enthusiasms with me. During first year, I helped form the University of New England New State Society and became foundation president. I became the Society’s representative on the Movement’s Executive and remained a member until leaving Armidale early in 1967.

Despite this involvement, it wasn’t the fight for self government that first made me want to write a history of New England. That desire came from another source entirely.

In 1963 as a first year undergraduate I enrolled in History I. The History Department was a remarkably strong department for what was still a relatively small institution. The first year history course provided a general introduction beginning with archaeology and prehistory, a segment largely taught by Isabel McBryde, supported by Mary Neely (later Dolan). This focus on archaeology and prehistory was unusual, since prehistory itself was quite a new field. John Mulvaney and Johan Kamminga note that the first book on world prehistory and one of our texts, Grahame Clarke’s World Prehistory, was only published in 1961[5]. Isabel’s own appointment in 1960 in Prehistory and Ancient History was the first such entitled position in Australia[6].

In addition to her pioneering teaching work, the distinctive thing about Isabel’s approach lay in her regional focus. As Mulvaney and Kamminga point out, because so little was known about Australian prehistory, the standard approach was to select sites that had deep cultural deposits, regardless of location. Isabel took a different view. To her mind, variations in geography and culture meant that prehistoric Aboriginal life could only be understood through regional examination.

A number of us quickly became involved with Isabel’s studies, in part because of interest, in part because running around the country side in Land Rovers was simply fun! In 1966, our group became the first to do a full year archaeology and Australian prehistory course as part of the history honours program.

My own thesis involved a study of traditional Aboriginal economic life through the ethnographic evidence – explorer’s reports, early settler records, ethnographic studies[7]. To set a geographic boundary for the study, I chose the boundaries adopted by the New England New State Movement, those recommended by the 1935 Nicholas Royal Commission as the area suitable for self government[8], although I did go outside those boundaries where it seemed appropriate. I chose those boundaries in part because of political sentiment, in part because it seemed to make sense in geographic terms, allowing me to look at the impact of geography on life across a varied but geographically linked entity.

In some ways, the thesis was a bit of an odd one for a history department because it combined geography, economics and history, using geography to provide a base, while utilising analytical structures from economics to ask questions of the evidence, drawing out some of the depth and patterns of traditional Aboriginal economic life.

It was while sitting in the Mitchell Library reading the early records that I decided that I would like to write a history of New England beginning in Aboriginal times. My thought was to start from an Aboriginal perspective, then look at invasion, before switching to the other side of the frontier. Looking at the records, I thought that it might be possible to do a more detailed study than had been attempted before.

Events intervened, including my move to Canberra and a career switch from history and prehistory to economics. I will talk in a little while about the later re-ignition of my interest in the project. At this point, I want to use the work of Isabel McBryde as one prism to extend my discussion on some of the threads within New England’s history.

Impact of the University of New England on regional thought

While there have been a number of studies that do look at specific aspects of regional thought[9], I am not aware of any general studies examining the contribution of regional thought to the overall history of Australian thought. Yet the evidence that I have seen suggests that there were considerable regional variations in thought that fed back into the broader pattern of Australian life and thought, including politics. Certainly, that was the case within New England.

At the time Isabel was appointed to the University of New England, it was just twenty two years since the formation of the New England University College, seven years since UNE had gained its autonomy.

Those agitating for the formation of the new university college saw its role in regional terms: this was to be the Sydney University of the North. To this end, the College was to support Northern development by bringing science and education to bear upon Northern problems. In 1920 the first New State manifesto, Australia Subdivided, put the problem this way: In Northern New South Wales, a few high schools, no technical schools, no universities exist to retain the intelligence and culture of the area[10].

The academic staff coming to the new College and then the University had a varied background, but shared the ideal of the founders about the role of a university as a centre of teaching and learning in the English tradition. However, they also came from a very different world: the culture shock was enormous and deserves a section of the history in its own right. For the moment, I will simply point to a few important features.

Armidale may have been a significant education centre, but in 1938 it still only had a population of perhaps 7,000[11] and was a long way from the major centres staff had known. Further, 1938 was a drought year, so the town that greeted the College’s new staff was dry and dusty, far removed from the green city we know today. My father, who was to lecture in history and economics and was the first staff member to arrive, later recalled that his first reaction was to catch the train back!

Armidale was also marked by a very stratified social structure[12].

John Ferry’s Colonial Armidale describes the progressive emergence of town social structures based on those who had capital and those whose capital was limited[13]. He also describes the process by which social order was established in Armidale, replacing the previous early settler society. This process was not unique to Armidale, but to greater or lesser extent was common across New England: the rise of the town is one theme in New England history; the often bitter rivalries between towns a second. These rivalries divided, preventing common action that might have benefited all[14].

While there were common processes in town formation, the character and culture of towns varied depending upon their history and economic base. Here, two things in combination made Armidale different.

The first was the presence of a more diversified town population because of the city’s role as an educational, religious and administrative centre[15]. The second was Armidale’s role as a grazing centre with well established pastoral families, many of whom were also actively involved in community activities at a local and regional level. This was important and, to a degree, unusual, for the wealth and position of these families often led them to identify with capital city life and beyond to England and Europe.

The Clarence Valley squatter Edward Ogilvie can be taken as an example of the second type[16]. Ogilvie was a fascinating, if difficult, character. He was ten when his father William emigrated to Australia in 1824, taking up land in the Upper Hunter. In 1840, Edward and his brother took up land in the Clarence after a race from the Tablelands against a much larger party guided by former convict Richard Craig. The Ogilvies had asked to join Craig’s party. Denied, they pushed on as fast as possible into unknown country and reached the Clarence at Tabulum ahead of Craig. Edward took up fifty-six miles (90 km) downstream on both sides of the river and later named the runs Yulgilbar.

Edward Ogilvie is quite an important figure in early New England European history. The story of the growth of the Olgilvie empire is an interesting story in its own right. More importantly, Edward Ogilvie’s relations with the Aboriginal peoples were somewhat unusual for the time. At Merton in the Upper Hunter he learned to speak the local dialect, probably a variant of Gamilaraay (Kamilaroi)[17]. Upon arrival in the Clarence he learned to speak the local dialect of Bundjalung, and established formal relations with the local Aboriginal people.

Yet, and this is what is important at this point in our narrative, he had little interest in local activities outside the property itself. Instead, and like his father, he fell in love with Italy and spent as much time there as possible. So far as the Clarence and especially Grafton were concerned, he remained an alien being.

Key local pastoral families on the New England such as the Wrights and Whites were different, for they were involved. This affected the local social hierarchy, creating a grazier/farmer structure to match and interact with town divisions in a variety of complicated ways. The arrival of the academic added to this complexity by adding gown, creating a town/gown/country divide. Many country people found the new arrivals very strange indeed, while the academics themselves had to decide individually how to fit into the place in which they now found themselves.

My own father is a classic example. In 1944 he married Edna Drummond, the new College’s first librarian and eldest daughter of the local member of state parliament, leading to the local Labor party joke that Drummond founded a university to find a husband for his daughter! Yet despite this connection, I had no idea until quite late in his life just how difficult an adjustment it was for him.

At my father’s funeral, Professor Ron Neale described him as the University’s only working class professor. There was some truth in that.

Born in 1908, James Belshaw was the second son of James and Mary Belshaw who had emigrated to Canterbury in New Zealand in 1906 from the industrial world of Wigan in Lancashire[18]. This was a very working class family. His parents had limited formal education, his father had been one of the first Labour councillors in Britain and the family was active in the Primitive Methodist church. In New Zealand, James Belshaw Senior worked in various roles before becoming a Methodist home missioner. It was also a family with a powerful interest in education and a strong sense of social justice.

Given this background, my father struggled with a social structure that reminded him of an English class system that he disliked. He made many good friends, but never forgot his initial reactions. He also, and this is the last point I want to make about the initial culture shock experienced by academic staff, struggled with what he saw as the social conservatism of the broader New England society.

We need to be careful here with our definitions, for the question of what constitutes a conservative or a conservative society is by no means clear cut. What we can say, I think, is that the new College and its staff had to deal with people who were unfamiliar with, and to a degree distrustful of, university education[19].

To manage this problem of children coming into contact with tertiary education for the first time and with parents concerned about the moral well being of their children, first the Armidale Teachers College and then the University College adopted approaches that we would now regard as paternalistic. As an example, in his introduction to Keith Leopold’s memoir on his days at the early University College, John Ryan records this promotional piece from the Lismore Northern Star of 22 November 1940[20]:

No student in residence is permitted to be out after 10 pm without permission and they have to sign the ‘leave book’ when they return.

By now, my discussion must seem a long way from Isabel McBryde, but there is a link in the unique university culture that emerged out of these various forces. The belief of the academic staff in the role of the university as a centre of teaching and learning, in the ideal of a university as an independent entity dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, merged with the ideals of the founders that the university should serve the needs of broader North. To use a modern phrase, the University College and University thought globally, but worked locally.

The meld worked because while the founders themselves thought of this as their institution and were highly protective of it, they also shared the vision of the academics of the university as a place of learning[21]. As the Armidale Express editorialised on the College’s opening: It must not be a superior boarding school for young men and women. Its function is to create, not imitate[22].

Isabel’s personality and approach exactly fitted the University’s culture. The results were quite outstanding for such a small institution[23].

Four years after Isabel’s arrival came the first thesis, Sharon Sullivan's 1964 honours study on the material culture of the Aborigines of the Richmond and Tweed Rivers.

By 1978, UNE students had written at least 22 theses on the Aborigines, 4 Litt.B's, 16 BA honours and 2 MAs. Isabel herself was awarded her PhD in 1967[24], laying the basis for a 1974 book, Aboriginal prehistory in New England[25]. This was followed in 1978 by book of essays, Records of Time Past: ethnohistorical essays on the culture and ecology of the New England tribes[26] mainly written by her former students. This included an article of mine, Population distribution and the pattern of seasonal movement in Northern NSW, drawn from my original work. The story does not end there, for there were also journal articles and monographs, including her pioneering study with R A Binns, A petrological analysis of ground-edge artefacts from northern New South Wales[27].

The citation for her award in 2003 of the Rhys Jones Medal for Outstanding Contribution to Australian Archaeology justly summarised her work this way:

Her work in New England was remarkable for its extent and depth, and Isabel's examination of the interface of archaeology and ethnography in the region shaped not only the approach taken by many later researchers but also prepared the basis for the arguments about upland regions created by archaeologists such as Sandra Bowdler and Luke Godwin[28].

If we now look at the original plaint from 1920 in Australia Subdivided - no universities exist to retain the intelligence and culture of the area - we can see from Isabel’s case just how well the new University College and then University served the original ideas of its founders. Nor, I should add, is this unique to UNE. Both Newcastle and later Southern Cross have also served their immediate areas in the same way, if with a narrower geographic focus. The overall contribution of New England’s colleges and universities is another part of the New England story[29].

The Importance of Geography

The second theme that I want to use Isabel’s work to illustrate is the importance of geography, in so doing also extending our discussion of Aboriginal New England.

In High Lean Country, Wendy Beck notes that Isabel defined her study area in Aboriginal Prehistory in New England as north eastern NSW from the latitude of Tamworth and Kempsey north to the Queensland border and from the coast westwards to the Nandewar Ranges and the western slopes of the Northern Tablelands[30]. She also notes that in another publication, Isabel explains that New England has been interpreted broadly, but generally conforms to the bounds envisaged by the late nineteenth and twentieth century New England New State Movement.

The first point to note about this is that the study area as defined by Isabel in Aboriginal Prehistory in New England is not the same as the new state boundaries recommended by the Nicholas Commission in 1935 and later adopted by the New England New State Movement, for these included the Hunter Valley. The area variously called the Northern Districts, Northern Provinces, the North or New England is a European construct whose boundaries have varied with time. While those variations form part of the history of New England, they were not relevant to the Aborigines who occupied this territory prior to the coming of the Europeans; what was relevant to them was the territory they occupied and their relationships with adjoining groups[31].

In her chapter, Wendy kindly suggests that one James Belshaw mapped the different geographic zones within New England[32]; she includes a map based on part of my original analysis. I included this introductory material on the geography of New England because I knew from my own experience just how important geography was in determining the pattern of life. This is not geographical determinism; other factors can also be important. However, the topics that I was trying to investigate across a varied area such as population distribution and the patterns of seasonal movement were clearly related to geography.

I broke New England into four north-south geographic zones reflecting common usage – the humid coastal strip including the Hunter Valley, the tablelands, western slopes and then western plains. Each zone contained a variety of environments depending on landforms, soil and climate. Climate, for example, varies both east-west and north-south. Within each zone and between zones, you would expect east-west and north-south human interaction. That was indeed the case.

While my primary focus in this section is on Aboriginal New England, European New England was just as affected by geography. As an example, the pattern of yes and no votes at the 1967 new state plebiscite were closely correlated to settlement and transport patterns created during the first decades of European settlement, patterns directly linked to geography[33].

In her discussion of Isabel’s work, Wendy suggested that Isabel conceived of the region under study in a relatively abstract way, rather than consisting, for example, of specific Aboriginal territories[34]. This reflected, in part, the state of knowledge at the time. At that point, there was very little available work on Aboriginal history[35]. The writing that had been done was dominated by anthropologists, prehistorians and ethnographers. The detailed ethnographic and linguistic work required to understand the distribution of the Aboriginal people at the time of European settlement had simply not been completed.

There is a rather sad subtext here. We can take Gamilaraay (Kamilaroi) as an example[36]. In 1963, pioneering linguist Arthur Capell reported that up to 50 speakers of the language had been recorded. They were mostly elderly, but possessed considerable knowledge. Noting that Gamilaroi was one of a number of related dialects in North Western NSW, Capell suggested that a comparative study of the whole series of dialects might well be made. By the time that Peter Austin, the scholar who would play such an important role in documenting Gamilaraay, began his studies of the language as an undergraduate in 1972, the majority of these speakers had died.

Against the background of the discussion to this point, we can now turn to review the distribution of New England’s Aboriginal languages at the time of European colonisation. The position here is necessarily a confused one.

To begin with, what was a language? In 1788 there were perhaps 250 Aboriginal language groups in Australia, incorporating perhaps 700 dialects[37]. The precise distinction between language and dialect can be a difficult one. In general, speakers of different dialects within a language group were likely to be able to understand each other, or at least recognise that they spoke different varieties of the same language. However, this was by no means clear cut.

We also need to make a clear distinction between language and political or territorial boundaries[38]. The broad language groups covered substantial areas in geographic terms. There were a variety of shifting territorial and political boundaries within each language group. Just speaking the same or a related language did not make for everlasting friendship.

This added to the confusion that could arise in the minds of European observers as to naming. Quite apart from the varying spellings attached to particular names, those names might be a territorial name attached to a particular group, a name attached by one group to another group, a dialect name.

Michael O’Rourke’s study of the Kamilaroi draws this out very clearly[39]. As an example, he points to the case of the Baradine area north of Coonabaraban which was assigned to both Burrigalu and Gamilaraay languages.

Burrigalu – burrie+galu: literally myall-tree + human plural – meant those who inhabit the myall country or myall dwellers. To O’Rourke’s mind, this was primarily a group or locality name. However, it could also mean the local variant or dialect of a larger language.

In contrast, the name Gamilaraay itself - gamil + array: literally no + having or having gamil for no – denoted a form of speech, the broader language spoken by the Kamilaroi as a whole. Even here, Gamilaraay could describe the language (that speech which has gamil for no) or, by implication, its speakers (those who use gamil for no).

The result is apparently crazy patchworks quilt of names whose exact meaning can be quite unclear. In some cases, we may never be able to resolve the problems. However, a number of general points can be made to clarify what might otherwise seem to be a complex and confusing mess.

The following map taken from the Aboriginal Housing Office web site shows one attempt to map the distribution of Aboriginal languages across NSW[40]. A colleague, John Baker, kindly superimposed the current NSW boundaries on the map. The slight skew comes because the mapping process used specific town locations on the map to determine boundaries; these were not quite exact in geographic terms.

The map should not be treated as definitive. A little later I will discuss some areas where I think that the actual distribution within New England varies from that set out in the map. However, this is not important from the viewpoint of present analysis since we are concerned with overall patterns.

clip_image002

Look first at the state boundaries. You can see how they dissect language groups. With the creation of Queensland, for example, Bundjalung speakers found themselves living in two jurisdictions whose policies towards the Aboriginal peoples varied over time and from each other. These divisions continue today. In January 2007, the Githabul people (a Bundjalung group) reached a native title agreement with the NSW Government[41]. The Queensland Government refused to participate

We now turn to the importance of geography. In their Prehistory of Australia, Mulvaney and Kamminga noted that there had been numerous attempts to map complexes of Aboriginal cultural traits throughout the continent that might help understanding of the major differences in language, social customs, mythology, artistic styles and technology.[42]. To their mind, the 1976 explanation by Nicholas Petersen was the most persuasive.

Petersen observed that major cultural areas corresponded with major drainage basins. He suggested that the reason for this is that the topography and environments of drainage basins tend to be internally uniform, while their margins are relatively poor in plant, animal and water resources. This led to more social interaction between groups living within the basin; much less between groups living on either side of the marginal zones.

Petersen’s conclusions broadly fit with those that I reached in my own earlier work[43]. However, I also suggested that that major geographic regions were important since the close relationship between the Aborigines and their environment meant that the patterns of Aboriginal life varied with changes to that environment. By implication, areas with similar environments were more likely to have commonalities in life and culture.

To the degree that this conclusion is correct, we would expect similarities within New England’s major north-south zones. Indeed, this does seem to have been the case.

If you look now at the bottom of the map, you will see a heavy concentration of languages. These follow the Murray River, a very rich and densely populated Aboriginal area at the time of European colonisation.

On the far left, there are a range of languages - a patchwork quilt - occupying larger territories. These are the languages of the Darling River and western deserts. Like the Murray, the Darling was quite densely populated, although densities were far less. The Darling is simply a smaller river. The variety in the desert languages to the west of the Darling is a factor of distance and small populations; languages and dialects diverged because of distance.

To the right of the Darling, we find the two biggest language groups by area, the Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi. They occupied the river valleys flowing to the west from the Great Diving Range. These were quite rich territories; language expansion was facilitated by geography, people could spread.

Overall, the broad sweep of languages along the Western Slopes and Plains, the riverine languages, seem clearly related, merging into the languages of the western deserts. Dividing lines are linked to geography. However the relationship is not an exact one.

Variable rainfall – droughts and floods – is a feature in this area. The Aborigines were not bound to water in the same way as Europeans with their stock and crops. However, during dry periods Aboriginal populations concentrated near water, expanding across land at other times to take advantage of newly available water and food resources. As a consequence, social and to a degree language groupings ran along rivers; language dividing lines could cross catchments.

Along the coast and adjoining ranges, you have another dense distribution. We can think of this in both north-south and east-west terms. North-south languages are directly related to river catchments. The partial exceptions are the Hunter and the Clarence. There is a problem with the Hunter that I will come back to shortly. So far as the Clarence is concerned, the sheer size of the river made it the divide between two very different language groups, the Gumbaynggirr and the Bundjalung. A third Gumbaynggirr related language, Yaygirr, does not appear on the map, but occupied the areas around the mouth of the Clarence.

East-west, there appear to be language shadings inland. In the Hunter Valley, for example, the traditional presentation of language distribution has a coastal language with a linked inland language. The position further north appears somewhat similar. Bainbaa, the language spoken in the headwaters of the Nymboida River (a tributary of the Clarence to the south extending into the Tablelands near Guyra) appears to be a version of Gumbaynggirr.

Tribal groups occupying the Tablelands areas between the Kamilaroi/Wiradjuri and the coastal languages were generally smaller in population because the environment was poorer. They were also squeezed. The map shows the New England Tablelands, the largest tablelands in Australia, with just two language groups.

I said earlier that I thought that the actual distribution of languages varied from that set out in the map. Here I want to mention two of the puzzles that presently concern me.

The first is the Hunter Valley. I think that Michael O’Rourke’s analysis of the evidence shows conclusively that the Kamilaroi occupied territory in the Upper Hunter shown as Geawegal on the map[44]. Further, it also seems clear that some of the five languages shown on the map, a very large number for such a small area, were not languages at all, but territorial names or dialects. This led Amanda Lissarrague to argue for a new geographic title, the Hunter Valley Lake Macquarie language[45].

The second is the Northern Tablelands and especially the relationship between Nganjaywana and Anaiwan. Are they in fact just different names for the same language, different dialects of the same language or different languages? As with the Hunter, I am still working my own way through the evidence, trying to focus on the underlying geography.

Rediscovery of the North

Returning to my personal journey through the history of New England, early in 1967 I left Armidale to take up a position as an administrative trainee with the Commonwealth Public Service Board. At the end of my training year, I was posted to the Commonwealth Treasury at that Department’s request. While I retained my interest in Australian prehistory for a period, I was now working as an economist. This led me to switch to economics, completing my Masters degree in economics at the Australian National University in 1970.

There was a certain irony in this, for I was following in my father’s footsteps. He had come to Armidale as lecturer in history and economics. Forced to choose between the two, he chose economics, with Gordon Greenwood then appointed to lecture in history. The irony lay in the fact that I had sworn not to do economics beyond a third year major because this was my father’s discipline.

There is another small sub-text here that forms part of the social history of New England. Earlier, I spoke of the arrival of the academics in Armidale and of the interaction between them and the existing social order. The siblings as they later came to be known, the children of staff at the University College, formed another sub-group, town while in a sense also gown. It wasn’t always easy being an academic’s child in Armidale’s goldfish bowl, among other things it created expectations at school, and the various children reacted in different ways. My rejection of economics in favour of history was one outcome.

In 1972 I ran for Country Party pre-selection first for the Federal seat of Eden-Monaro and then the state seat of Armidale. I was unsuccessful, but became actively involved for a time in the Party at an organisational level and in various groups concerned with Party reform. It was during this period that John Knight and I decided to write a joint biography of my grandfather.

Born in Armidale in 1943[46], John had completed a BA honours at UNE and a MA at Hawaii’s East West Centre. He had also been a Fulbright scholar. In 1965 he had joined the Department of Foreign Affairs, but at the time of our discussion was private secretary to then Opposition Leader Billie Snedden. John’s election to the Senate in 1975 as one of the two senators for the Australian Capital Territory, a position he was to hold until his untimely death in March 1981, put John’s involvement in the project on hold. I decided to continue and enrolled in a PhD at UNE to provide structure.

At this time my focus was on my grandfather. Further, John and I had both seen the biography focused on two linked threads: politics and the Country Party on one side, his public and ministerial career on the other side. Here we were influenced by the work of Don Aitkin and especially his 1969 biography of NSW Country Party leader Mick Bruxner and then his 1972 study of the structure and history of the NSW Country Party[47]. I had found both very convincing from my own knowledge of the Party.

At this point, I want to return briefly to one of my earlier themes, the role of New England’s universities in preserving and promoting the culture and creativity of New England, as well as the nature of the links that bind over time and space.

Don Aitkin was a teacher’s son who was, in fact, the first student admitted to the newly established University of New England in 1954 simply because his name began with an A![48] Those drawing on his work were, respectively, the sons of an Armidale storekeeper and the first academic to arrive at the University College in 1938. Three very different people with different experiences, yet linked by history and shared interests.

Don’s own interests took him away from his initial political focus into a very successful career as a political scientist and senior university administrator. However, in 2005 he returned to his original roots in What was it all for? The Reshaping of Australia.[49]. This is a remarkably good book that explores social change in Australia through the prism set by the Armidale High School Leaving Certificate class of 1953.

This book was a godsend from my viewpoint. I had been struggling with a way to structure the history of New England from the 1967 plebiscite loss through to the end of the twentieth century. This was a period of fundamental change within New England that saw the decline not just of many of the ideas and institutions that had given the area its character, not just in the relative power and influence of the area, but also of the very idea of New England itself. What was it all for? gave me something of a structure for looking at the process of change in a controllable way. So, just as it had been thirty years before when John Knight and I first looked at a biography of David Drummond, Don’s writing had come to my aid in providing an initial starting point.

I said an initial starting point, because a very odd thing had happened in the writing of Drummond’s biography. As I started detailed research and writing, I found that the only way to understand him lay in his role as a regional politician. After his troubled childhood and his sometimes harsh experiences as a ward of the state, it was Drummond’s arrival in Armidale in 1907 as a seventeen year old farm labourer that really marked the start of his life because, from this point, the troubled youth started to achieve the successes that would make him a leading politician and education minister. In so doing, his identification with the North came to be a central feature of his beliefs. I also found that some of the arguments that he and others used to justify separation and that I had really thought of as political debating points, actually now rang true from my own experience as a senior policy adviser.

All this led me to restructure the thesis. Instead of focusing on the Country Party and Drummond’s public career as central, the North, the history of the North and Drummond’s love for the North became central. This shift was to cause me considerable marking problems, problems that became something of a cause celebre within the University and that led me finally to walk away from the PhD. That is old history now. For present purposes, it was at this time that I decided that I must write a proper history of the broader New England because of the need, as I saw it, to present and preserve a slice of the past that I considered to be important.

Conclusion

In concluding, I have tried to give you just a taste of New England’s history through the frame set by my own experiences. That history has been constantly re-shaped by the interaction between local conditions and broader forces including economic and demographic change in ways that are not always clear or self-evident. One of the advantages of taking a broader area such as New England is that it can be easier to see these interactions than it is at local, narrow regional or state or national level.

Take Federation as an example. If you look at writing in this area, you will see that the primary focus has been on the political and national impacts of Federation. Yet Federation was also an economic decision, the creation of a customs union behind protective walls that rose with time. This meant that Federation redistributed income and economic activity in quite differential ways across the new nation, depending upon whether economic activity serviced a local or global marketplace. We can see this clearly in New England, for the industrial interests of the lower Hunter and some farming areas benefited, whereas other areas were disadvantaged, providing one driver for the re-emergence of separatist feeling.

Or take Aboriginal New England. Why did the Bundjalung, Gumbangirr and Dainggatti peoples retain more of their languages than Aboriginal peoples in other parts of New England? Was it just a matter of relative population size, or was it the way in which differential development allowed for what we can think of as refuge areas?

I will finish here. I hope that I have interested you in the history of the broader New England.


[1] Paper delivered by Jim Belshaw to the University of New England’s Classics and History Seminar Series, Armidale Friday 19 March 2010.

[2] http://newenglandaustralia.blogspot.com

[3] Mathew Jordan’s A Spirit of True Learning: the Jubilee History of the University of New England (University of New South Wales Press, Sydney 2004) pp 187-190 discusses the room visiting issue. However, the editor of Neucleus quoted was Winton, not Winston, Bates. Winton was in fact co-editor; I was the second editor with Winton. Like so many UNE alumni, Winton went onto a distinguished career, becoming a Commissioner with the Productivity Commission.

[4] J D Belshaw, David Henry Drummond 1890-1930: The formative years, Armidale and District Historical Society Journal and Proceedings, No 22, March 1979, pp147-160. For further detail, see J D Belshaw, Decentralisation, Development and Decent Government: the life and times of David Henry Drummond, 1890-1942, PhD thesis, University of New England 1983.

[5] John Mulvaney & Johan Kamminga, Prehistory of Australia, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 1999, p17. Unless otherwise cited, material on the history of the study of Australian prehistory is drawn from this book, pp 1-17

[6] Citation, Rhys Jones Medal for Outstanding Contribution to Australian Archaeology 2003, Australian Archaeological Association, http://www.australianarchaeologicalassociation.com.au/isabel_mcbryde accessed on-line 21 February 2009.

[7] J. Belshaw, The Economic Base of Aboriginal Life in Northern NSW in the Nineteenth Century, BA (Hons) thesis, UNE, 1966.

[8] New States: Report of the Royal Commission of Inquiry (H.S. Nicholas) Respecting Areas in the State of New South Wales suitable for Self-Government as States in the Commonwealth of Australia and as to the areas in the said State in which Referenda should be taken to ascertain the opinions of the Electors on any question in connection with the establishment of New States, together with maps, (Nicholas Commission) Government Printer, Sydney, 1935.

[9] The work of B D Graham, for example, on the formation of the Australian Country Parties (The Political Strategies of the Australian County Parties from their origins until 1929, PhD thesis, Australian National University, 1958; The Formation of the Australian Country Parties, Australian National University Press, Canberra 1966) draws out quite clearly the way in which ideas about the need for, role of and structure of Country Parties varied in geographical terms.

In similar vein, Don Aitkin’s work on the NSW Country Party (see for example D A Aitkin, The Colonel: A Political Biography of Sir Michael Bruxner, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1969; The Country Party in New South Wales: a study of organisation and survival, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1972) provides examples of geographical variation across NSW.

At regional level, High Lean Country (Alan Atkinson, J S Ryan, Iain Davidson and Andrew Piper (eds), Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest 2006) point to a number of specific intellectual contributions made through the University of New England, while John Ryan’s many publications also discuss thought, attitudes and the contribution made.

[10] E Page and others (eds), Australia Subdivided, The First New State, Examiner Printing Works, Glen Innes, 1920, p10.

[11] The 1938 Australian Year Book uses the 1933 census data. Armidale’s population was then 6,794. Accessed on-line 24 February 2009.

[12] Robert Barnard’s first detective novel, Death of an Old Goat (the Crime Club, London 1974) provides a funny, somewhat malicious and satirical account of social structures in Armidale during the 1960s. While somewhat later, it still provides a guide to both structures and responses. However, it is important to recognize that social structures and associated attitudes varied greatly across New England. These variations affected, among other things, approaches to cooperative actions.

[13] John Ferry, Colonial Armidale, University of Queensland Press, St Lucia, 1999.

[14] As an example, rivalry between coastal and tablelands towns made it very difficult to establish long desired west-east rail links because nobody could agree on routes.

[15] Drummond’s description of the early days of the university movement, (D H Drummond, A University is Born: The Story of the Founding of the University College of New England, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1959), shows clearly how this affected the movement. As an example (p5), the deputation that met the NSW Minister of Education in August 1924 to plead the case for local university education was led by the Rev. Canon Archdall, M.A, Headmaster of The Armidale School. He was supported by the Mayor, Morgan Stephens, by Mr J Cornforth, M.A., Brother Jerome as Principal of the De La Salle College and Mr F Cuthbert, M.A, Headmaster of the Armidale High School. In academic terms this was, and this is the reason Drummond listed all their qualifications, quite a high powered group for such a small city.

[16] George Farwell, Squatter's Castle: The saga of a pastoral dynasty, Angus & Robertson; Sydney 1983.

[17] Michael O’Rourke, The Kamilaroi Lands: North-central New South Wales in the early 19th century, Michael O’Rourke, Griffith 1997, pp33-38.

[18] Holmes, Frank. 'Belshaw, Horace 1898 - 1962', Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, updated 22 June 2007, URL: http://www.dnzb.govt.nz/, accessed 2 March 2010.

[19] Keith Leopold was a member of the first student intake at the New England University College. In his memoir (Keith Leopold, edited by J S Ryan, Came to Booloominbah: A Country Scholar’s Progress 1938-1942, The University of New England Press, Armidale 1998), Keith suggests (p17) that support for the new College was not as widespread as its founders might have liked: for the most part, he wrote, the idea of a university college in Armidale met with indifference or even hostility. This was not helped by the fact that the College opened with male and female students sharing the same building, something then unique in Australia.

[20] Leopold, p17.

[21] The 1957 appointment of Russell Ward as lecturer in history provides an interesting example. Ward’s previous membership of the Communist Party had led to him being effectively blackballed. Yet he was now appointed to what was regarded as a conservative institution and indeed the only university in Australia whose staff and students tended to vote Country Party.

[22] Cited by John Ryan, Leopold, ibid.

[23] The material that follows on UNE theses is drawn partly from the list of UNE postgraduate thesis (http://www.une.edu.au/archaeology/theses.php accessed February 2007) supplemented by my personal knowledge. In addition to the thesis in the archaeology list, there were also theses now classified as history. Isabel herself left Armidale in 1973, but the work continued.

[24] Isabel McBryde, An archaeology survey of the New England Region, NSW, PhD thesis, University of New England, 1967.

[25] Isabel McBryde, Aboriginal prehistory in New England: an archaeological survey of northeastern New South Wales, Sydney University, 1974.

[26] Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies.

[27] Australian Institute if Aboriginal Studies 1972.

[28] Ibid.

[29] It is hard today with mass university education to realize the importance of this. One of the weaknesses in Mathew Jordan’s A Spirit of True Learning (op cit) is that he does not fully bring this out so far as UNE was concerned. The contribution needs to be assessed not just across disciplines, but also in university extension work and the activism of key individuals. Because this is my second criticism of Mathew’s book, I should note that I found it a valuable work.

[30] Wendy Beck, Aboriginal Archaeology, High Lean Country, op cit, pp 88-97

[31] This has relevance to the scope of any history of the broader New England, for the first part of such a history has to include geographic areas now included in Queensland.

[32] Op cit pp 89-91.

[33] Jim Belshaw, History of the New England New State Movement 2 - defining New England, New England’s History Blog, http://newenglandhistory.blogspot.com/2010/02/history-of-new-england-new-state_04.html, 4 February 2010. Just as there were north-south and east-west linkages in Aboriginal New England, so there were in European New England. These axis were very important in determining, among other things, the pattern of political life.

[34] High Lean Country, p90

[35] Jim Belshaw, Malcolm Calley, Anthropology and Australia's Aborigines, New England Australia Blog, http://newenglandaustralia.blogspot.com/2007/01/malcolm-calley-anthropolgy-and.html, 27 January 2007.

[36] The material on the Gamillaraay is drawn from Peter K Austin, The Gamilaraay (Kamilaroi) Language, northern New South Wales — A Brief History of Research, SOAS, University of London, 2006, accessed on-line 17 December 2008.

[37] John Mulvaney & Johan Kamminga, Prehistory of Australia, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 1999 pp 69-75; and Peter K Austin, Article MS 1711 Countries and language – Australia, Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics ELL2, pp 2-9.. Accessed on line 19 August 2009

[38] In using the term political boundaries I am not implying formal structures of the type associated with, for example, nation states. A closer analogy would be the type of relationships found in mediaeval Europe, in Scandinavia or indeed in Homer’s Greece. The 18th century Kamilaroi war leader the Red Kangaroo provides an interesting case study. Having taken control from the previous elders, he had built the Gunnedah mob up into a strong force by absorbing other groups. Raids from the Bundarra mob on the Goonoo Goonoo and Manaella mobs led them to seek support from the Red Kangaroo. The Red Kangaroo argued that support should be provided because the power of the Bundarra mob posed a threat. A joint war party was formed that defeated the Bundarra group. The case shows how political alliances were formed and used in Aboriginal Australia. (Michael O’Rourke, “Sung for Generations”, published by the author, Canberra 2005, pp 306-311).

[39] Michael O’Rourke, The Kamilaroi Lands: North-central New South Wales in the early 19th century, Michael O’Rourke, Griffith 1997 especially pp 26-32.

[40] NSW Aboriginal Housing Office web site accessed 6 October 2009. The map is, I think, originally drawn from the distribution of Aboriginal languages across NSW as defined in Horton, David, general editor The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia : Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history, society and culture, Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra : 1994.

[41] Melbourne Age, 2 January 2007. I covered this story in two posts on the New England Australia blog: Githabul People achieve Native title deal, 2 January 2007, http://newenglandaustralia.blogspot.com/2007/01/githabul-people-achieve-native-title.html; Githabul people win land title recognition, 30 November 2007, http://newenglandaustralia.blogspot.com/2007/11/githabul-people-win-land-title.html.

[42] Ibid p78

[43] J. Belshaw, The Economic Base of Aboriginal Life in Northern NSW in the Nineteenth Century, BA (Hons) thesis, UNE, 1966; add 1978

[44] Michael O’Rourke, The Kamilaroi Lands, op cit, pp33-38.

[45] Australian Indigenous Language Date Base (AUSTLANG), Awabakal, http://austlang.aiatsis.gov.au/main.php accessed 20 October 2009. AUSTLANG with its on-line search facility is an extremely useful introductory tool for anyone interested in the distribution of Aboriginal language groups.

[46] Biographical material on John Knight is drawn from the Senate Hansard, Wednesday, 4 March 1981, p 303, accessed on-line 5 March 2009.

[47] D A Aitkin, The Colonel: A Political Biography of Sir Michael Bruxner, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1969; The Country Party in New South Wales: a study of organisation and survival, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1972.

[48] Don Aitkin, UNE's first student, awarded honorary degree, University of New England media release, 11 October 2004, accessed on-line 5 March 2009, http://www.une.edu.au/news/archives/000085.html

[49] Don Aitkin, What was it all for? The Reshaping of Australia, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 2005.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Heritage Futures Research Centre

I see that the University of New England's Heritage Futures Research Centre has finally updated its web site!

The Centre was founded in 2001 to consolidate the University's range of expertise and research relating to the natural and cultural history and heritage of regional Australia, and to facilitate the sharing of values, information and expertise among scholars, professionals and the broader community.

The Centre has a strong multidisciplinary focus, something that I as a Centre adjunct value greatly. After all, when I write I am never sure whether or not I am writing as a historian, an economist or as a policy or management adviser!  

Saturday, May 29, 2010

New England's literary tradition 2 - geography

Geography has formed the New England literary view. To those living on the coast, the blue rim of the nearby mountains is nearly always in view. To many, the mountains were an entry to a new and different world. The poet Les Murray belongs to this class[1]. Murray came from the Manning Valley. The New England poet and writer Julian Croft suggests that, to Murray, the mountains are a bridge between earth and sky[2]:

a radiant season swelling through the horizons
beyond September, mortality crumbling down
till on summer mornings, a farm boy can see through the hills
the roots of pumpkin-vines knotting clear under New England.

To some more recent settlers drawn to the coast over the last two decades for retirement or life style reasons, the mountains have become a barrier, outlining the far limits of their world. Some have never even been to the upper limits of the valleys in which they now live, spending their lives in a narrow strip fronting the sea with the occasional visits to the metropolitan areas from which they fled.

The vision of those living on the Tablelands is necessarily different. The size of the Tablelands, its distinct character, gives the sense of living in a unique world juxtaposed between two very distinct worlds.

To the east, the Tablelands with its fours seasons breaks sharply at the escarpment to the subtropical world of the coast. To those living on the Tablelands, Western Slopes and Plains, the coast has been a traditional playground; a place for holidays and sometimes for retirement. The coast’s then big towns – Grafton, Lismore, Taree – were places to visit. The real heartland lay in the myriad small seaside places, each favoured by specific families and friends. Here, as an example, Armidale writer Gwen Kelly wrote of Hungry Head beach near Urunga[3]:

Here, alone, the rock cliff juts
above the wave-whorled sand,
ruts in a crumble, aeons old,
to filter through my hand.

To the west, the Tablelands drops down into the Western Slopes and Plains. Temperatures became hotter, the climate drier, the sky expands as the land flattens. We now enter the world of bush poetry. Bush poetry is not unique, of course, to this area. However, this is bush poetry country. Henry Lawson wrote:

Our Andy's gone to battle now
'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;
Our Andy's gone with cattle now
Across the Queensland border[4].

Many decades passed between the writing of this poem and the formation of the Australian Bush Poets Association in 1994[5]. However, it is really no coincidence that the Association should have been formed at Tamworth as part of the Country Music Festival. There is a great contrast between Lawson and the later bush poets and the more genteel poets of the Tablelands and North Coast.

The Hunter Valley was always a little different. This is a big valley, with a total area of around 22,000 square kilometres. It also runs north west and, shielded by rugged ranges to its north, is much drier than any other coastal region within New England. To the southern traveler, the descent from the Liverpool Ranges to Murrurundi in the Upper Hunter is sharp but short; there is not the same sense of transition as in movement from the Tablelands to the other eastern river valleys.

The Upper Hunter itself feels constrained, bound by the ranges to the west. However, these are different ranges with sharp bluffs, more like the Hawkesbury ranges to the south. As the valley broadens, the landscape feels like an extension of the Liverpool Plains. There is the same sense of heat, with the irrigation plants spaying to keep selected paddocks green. The traveller is now entering coal and wine country, two very different industries in conflict. Further south lies the self contained world of the coal and secondary industry of the Lower Hunter.

The size and diversity of the Hunter makes for a varied literary tradition[6]. Bush poetry is present, as it is further north, with a Hunter Bush Poets Group[7]. At a broader level, Patrick White, one of Australia’s best known writers, came from a Hunter Valley family. However, unlike Judith Wright further north, his writing cannot be classified as New England. There is no equivalent to South of My Days, now almost the anthem of the Tablelands:

South of my day’s circle, part of my blood’s country,
rises that tableland, high delicate outline
of bony slopes wincing under winter,

Over recent years there has been a rapid expansion in writing in the Hunter as elsewhere, in part because of the expansion of Writer’s Centres, as well as specialist presses: writers’ centres exist at Newcastle (Hunter Writers’ Centre[8]), Byron Bay (Northern Rivers Writers’ Centre[9]) and Armidale (New England Writers’ Centre[10]), while Northern Rivers Press at Lismore[11], Catchfire Press in the Hunter[12] and Kardoorair Press in Armidale[13] are examples of specialist presses. In addition, the various educational institutions have played an important role promotion and publishing

Today there is quite a diversified range of writing in both print and on-line form. Again, location and geography are important. However, that is another story.

Note to readers: This is one of a series getting basic ideas down. You will find the introductory post here.


[1] For details of Les Murray’s work and thought see his web site – http://www.lesmurray.org/bio.htm Accessed 28 May 2010. The linkages between Murray and the New England Tablelands are discussed in Julian Croft, Imagining New England, High Lean Country: Land, people and memory in New England, edited by Alan Atkinson, J S Ryan, Iain Davidson and Andrew Piper, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 2006, pp 279-290.

[2] Julian Croft, 2006, p285.

[3] Gwen Kelly & A J Bennett, Fossils and Stray Cats, Selected Poems, Kardoorair Press, Armidale 1980

[4] Poem Hunter, http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/andy-s-gone-with-cattle/, accessed 28 May 2010.

[5] Australian Bush Poets Association, http://www.abpa.org.au/, accessed 28 May 2010.

[6] The Hunter material is very much work in progress, a surmise.

[7] http://www.hunterbushpoets.org.au/Home.aspx accessed 28 May 2010.

[8] http://hwcentre.com/ accessed 29 May 2010.

[9] http://www.nrwc.org.au/v1/index.php accessed 29 May 2009

[10] Web site presently offline.

[11] http://www.northernriverspress.com/index.html, accessed 28 May 2010.

[12] http://www.catchfirepress.com.au/, accessed 28 May 2010.

[13] http://www.kardoorair.com.au/Kardoorair_Press_Home.html, accessed 28 May 2010.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

New England literary tradition - introduction

A post on my personal blog, Regional traditions in Australian culture, looked at regional variations in Australian culture with a special focus on New England. I said in that post:
Just at the moment I am wrestling with one of my periodic topics, the relationship between geography and life and the way we see the world. The trigger in this case is, as is often the case, my research into New England history.
This post provides an entry point into my writing with a specific focus on New England's literary tradition.

This is both fun and difficult. Fun because the writing forms part of my own world, difficult because we have only just begun to delineate the patterns of New England writing.

As I proceed, I will add linked posts below.




  

Friday, May 14, 2010

Do you know of any photos of the Jimmy Sharman boxing troupe?

I am running this story on a number of my blogs just to get the best coverage I can.

Back in July 2009, I ran something of a nostalgia story on my personal blog, Memories of Jimmy Sharman's Boxing Stadium. In response, kellso100 has just written:

Hi am looking for photos of sharmans troup in the late 40's and early 50's as my dad fought for him he fought under the name curly ryan before sparing for dave sands until daves unfortunate death.

When I got the comment, I did something of a web search on Jimmy Sharman photos and on Curly Ryan, but found very little.

Can you help kellso100? There must be some photos around. 

Thursday, May 06, 2010

Introduction to New England's Aboriginal languages

This paper provides an introduction to New England's Aboriginal languages. It is part of a bigger paper and should be treated as work in progress. 

To begin with, what was a language? In 1788 there were perhaps 250 Aboriginal language groups in Australia incorporating perhaps 700 dialects[1]. The precise distinction between language and dialect can be a difficult one. In general, speakers of different dialects within a language group are likely to be able to understand each other or at least recognise that they speak different varieties of the same language.

We also need to make a clear distinction between language and political or territorial boundaries[2]. The broad language groups covered substantial areas in geographic terms. There were a variety of shifting territorial and political boundaries within each language group. Just speaking the same or a related language did not make for everlasting friendship.

All Aboriginal languages share some common features. In grammatical terms, they have relatively free word order, allowing all possible ordering of subject, verb, object. Words show case, tense and mood by the addition of meaningful segments. Verbs and nouns have markers added to indicate who does what to whom, when and how. New words are formed by adding other meaningful segments. This can make for very long word, really sentences in themselves.

Most Aboriginal languages have only three vowels – i, a and u – although a few have four or more. As a New England example, the Bundjalung language group occupying territory stretching from the Clarence Valley into Southern Queensland used four vowels – i, a,u and e, each of which can be pronounced as a longer vowel[3]. There are also two semi-vowels in many languages, y and w

Words generally begin with a consonant, although Yaygirr (the language spoken around the mouth of the Clarence River) contains many words beginning with vowels such as aagal, sea[4].

Within this language diversity, all the New England language groups belong to what has come to be called Pama-Nyungan, the dominant language grouping over much of Australia. Coined by the linguist Kenneth Hale from the words pama (person in Cape York) and nyunga (one in south western Australia), Pama-Nyungun languages have commonalities in the structure of words and the way words to relate to each other.

All the almost 190 Pama-Nyungan languages suffix their verbs and nouns to show grammatical relations. They are grouped into perhaps twenty major language groups.

It is clear is that with so many languages and dialects, only a few languages had many thousands of speakers, with numbers tailing away to hundreds in other cases. In some case, contiguous related languages or dialects covered large areas like links in a chain. People easily understood their neighbours because they shared vocabulary and could at least understand structure and pronunciation. As the chain lengthened, language difficulties increased; people at opposite ends might barely understand each other.

As will be discussed in more detail later, New England illustrates this pattern in a very interesting way. The Anaiwan or Nganyaywana Aboriginal peoples who occupied the southern areas of the New England Tablelands appear to have been relatively homogeneous and limited in number, although even here there is debate about the number of dialects. By contrast, the Bundjalung language group occupying territory stretching from the Clarence Valley into Southern Queensland may have had as many as twenty separate dialects[5]. To the west, the Gamilaraay (Kamilaroi) whose territory stretched along the western slopes and plains into what is now Queensland may have had at least five major dialects, seven if the related languages of Yuwaalaraay and Yuwaaliyaay are included[6]. Bigambul, the language group on the slopes and plains in Queensland to the north was also reported to be close to Gamilaraay[7].Gamilaraay dialects Austin

The map drawn from Austin, Williams and Wurm 1980 and cited by Peter Austin  shows one estimateddistribution of Gamilaraay dialects.  

Apart from any shared language features, communication among different languages was also made easier because many Aborigines were multi-lingual. Marriage partners were commonly exchanged with other groups, while groups mingled as well for social, ceremonial and trade occasions. This was to facilitate European expansion because many settlers made use of Aboriginal guides to bring them into new country

With so many languages and dialects as well as the very different sounds, it is not surprising that the expression of things such as group names into English should lead to widely varied spellings and to subsequent confusion about the exact distribution of peoples and language.

If we take the Dainggatti or Dhanggati language group spoken in the Macleay Valley and its headwaters, alternative spellings given by the Austlang data base include (among others) Djaingadi, Dang-getti, Danghetti, Danggadi, Dhang-atty, Thangatti, Thangatty, Dangati, Dangadi, Dunghutti, Thungatti, Tangetti and Tang-gette[8].

This was further complicated by attachment of names reflecting location or particular groups rather than language.

Drawing especially from the work of linguist Tamsin Donaldson, Michael O’Rourke’s sturdy of the Kamilaroi, the peoples occupying a vast sweep of territory from the Upper Hunter through the western slopes and plains into what is now Queensland, draws this out very clearly[9]. As an example, he points to the case of the Barradine area north of Coonabaraban which was assigned to both Burrigalu and Gamilaraay.

Burrigalu – burrie+galu: literally myall-tree + human plural – meant those who inhabit the myall country or myall dwellers. To O’Rourke’s mind, this was primarily a group or locality name. However, it could also mean the local variant or dialect of a larger language.

In contrast, the name Gamilaraay itself - gamil + array: literally no + having or having gamil for no – denoted a form of speech, the broader language spoken by the Kamilaroi as a whole. Even here, Gamilaraay could describe the language (that speech which has gamil for no) or, by implication, its speakers (those who use gamil for no).

The Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Culture Co-operative points to the same issues with Bundjalung.[10] Suggesting that it was thought that the term ‘Bandjalung’ was originally used to describe the dialect spoken around Bangawalbin Creek and was only later used used as a general term for the whole language as well as as a term to refer to certain individual dialects, the Co-operative notes that each dialect has a specific name of its own. Dialects include: Wahlubal (also known as Western Bandjalang), Yugambeh, Birrihn, the Barryugil dialect, Bandjalang, Wudjebal, Wiyabal, Wuhyabal, Minyangbal, Gidhabal, Galibal and Ngarrahngbal. Many of these names point to some characteristic peculiar to that dialect. For example, Gidhabal means ‘those who say gidha (alright)’, while Wiyabal means ‘those who say wiya (you)’.

This way of classifying languages was not unique to the Australian Aborigines. All people have ways of drawing distinctions between us and them by distinguishing particular speech or territorial or political associations. As Tamsin Donaldson puts it, the Aborigines used several etymologically distinct namimg systems, with different naming systems calling forth different names[11].

The result is apparently crazy patchwork quilt of names whose exact meaning can be quite unclear. In some cases, we may never be able to resolve the problems. However, it is possible through the combination of geographical, historical and linguistic analysis to at least indicate some of the key features of language distribution within New England. 


[1] The introductory overview material is drawn especial from John Mulvaney & Johan Kamminga, Prehistory of Australia, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 1999 pp 69-75; and Peter K Austin, Article MS 1711 Countries and language – Australia, Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics ELL2, pp 2-9,. accessed on line 19 August 2009

[2] In using the term political boundaries I am not implying formal structures of the type associated with, for example, nation states. A closer analogy would be the type of relationships found in mediaeval Europe, in Scandinavia or indeed in Homer’s Greece. The 18th century Kamilaroi war leader the Red Kangaroo provides an interesting case study. Having taken control from the previous elders, he had built the Gunnedah mob up into a strong force by absorbing other groups. Raids from the Bundarra mob on the Goonoo Goonoo and Manaella mobs led them to seek support from the Red Kangaroo. The Red Kangaroo argued that support should be provided because the power of the Bundarra mob posed a threat. A joint war party was formed that defeated the Bundarra group. The case shows how political alliances were formed and used in Aboriginal Australia. (Michael O’Rourke, “Sung for Generations”, published by the author, Canberra 2005, pp 306-311).

[3] Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Culture Co-operative, Bundjalung, http://www.muurrbay.org.au/bundjalung.html, accessed on line 19 August 2009.

[4] Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Culture Co-operative, Yaygirr, http://www.muurrbay.org.au/yaygirr.html, accessed on line 19 August 2009.

[5] Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Culture Co-operative, Bundjalung, http://www.muurrbay.org.au/bundjalung.html, accessed on line 19 August 2009.

[6] The material on the Gamillaraay is drawn from Peter K Austin, The Gamilaraay (Kamilaroi) Language, northern New South Wales — A Brief History of Research, SOAS, University of London, 2006, accessed on-line 17 December 2008.

[7] Flick Isabel & Heather Goodall, Isabel Flick: the many lives of an extraordinary woman, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest, 2004, p3.

[8] Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Australian Indigenous Languages Data Base (Austlang), http://austlang.aiatsis.gov.au/main.php, accessed on line 6 May 2010.

[9] Michael O’Rourke, The Kamilaroi Lands: North-central New South Wales in the early 19th century, Michael O’Rourke, Griffith 1997 especially pp 26-32.

[10] Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Culture Co-operative, Bundjalung, http://www.muurrbay.org.au/bundjalung.html, accessed on line 19 August 2009

[11] O’Rourke, 1977, p 28

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

New England, generational change and the 1970s

This morning in a post on my personal blog I looked at Generational Change and the 1970s. In doing so, I deliberately chose Northern examples to continue fleshing out my thinking. Some things I have said before, but it all deepens my understanding.

What I didn't deal with are the detail of the social changes across New England after the Second World War. I know some of the changes because I was there. Others such as the story of Wytaliba I know little or nothing about.

Even where I do know something, my knowledge can be very patchy. For example, I don't know the details of the rise of Bellingen as a counter culture centre, I know very little of the detail of the rise of Byron Bay.

While I get very depressed at a personal level about New England history over the last forty years, one of the positives has been an increase in the diversity of New England life, the establishment of different local and regional traditions.

I would love to write more on some of this stuff not just to understand for myself, but to show people how they fit in.