Shoes of Magnet Town

One of our sons face-timed his dad for his birthday, but we were in the car on our way to Waratah for the weekend.
"I hope you've got a good book" he chuckled. Oh dear, the boys been out of Tasmania too long.

Waratah:
Well, actually, a weekend wasn't long enough. We missed the Athenaeum Hall, the museum, the Philosophers hut, the church/gallery, the cemetery and the walk to the old 1890's hydro power scheme site. Our intention this trip was to go to Magnet, the old silver lead mining town a few miles down the road from Waratah. We booked in to the Bischoff Hotel.

Having recently read Jewelled Nights, a novel written by celebrated author Marie Bjelke-Petersen, I was chuffed to be staying in Room 9 , a room with a perfect view of the town.

 In Marie's book, chief protagonist Dick/ Elaine Fleetwood stayed here in a room overlooking the township and waterfall of Waratah while dealing with the heartache of being in love with a man who thought she was a man, and who obviously had feelings for her, even as a man, but really she was a woman cross dressing and mining for osmiridium. Confusing.
Marie herself stayed here while doing her meticulous research for the book. The book was later made into a film, shot on site near Savage River and starring the lovely Louise Lovely, former Tasmanian, but then Hollywood, starlet.

photo:National Film and Sound Archive Australia

Louise Lovely's character Elaine Fleetwood, masquerading as Dick Fleetwood.

But, back to Waratah, actually,back to Magnet. My Dad started going there in the 1980's on little fossicking expeditions. We used to go down with him occasionally with four wheeled motorbikes and explore the old town. One trip he brought back a little kiddies boot, it sat on his bookshelf for many years. It would be about one hundred years old.

Magnet: 

You need a good imagination to believe that a town with such facilities that history and photos attest to, existed here in this pretty wooded valley where a creek bubbles and winds through a lovely wilderness of myrtle, sassafras, man fern all covered in soft green moss. It doesn't take long to see plenty of clues though.

Underfoot and littered down the valley are old bottles of all colours and variety (a lot of grog), old bricks, building materials and leather, soles and bits of shoes. And then for the observant, theres trees and plants that don't belong. The first one is an old holly tree that stands in what was the town centre right near the bridge. It has gone strangely feral. Perhaps through being eaten by wallabies, its more like a thicket than a tree, with an umbrella structure and leaves that have all but lost their spiky profile. There are a few palm trees, a daisy bush and a quince bush dropping its sparce load of severely underdeveloped fruit. The willows follow the creek, but are sparce, distorted into strange shapes and haven't choked the creek like they do in other Tasmanian waterways.

 Further down the valley conifers tower above the natural tree line. This was where the school was. These pines, including a Canadian Redwood, were planted commemoratively. Walking up through the conifers, its impossible to imagine a fine school house, thirty or forty neatly dressed children and their teacher, who was housed in the school master's house nearby. The outline of the stone foundation of both the school house and the toilet blocks can be seen in what looks like a site that should be preserved by the Time Team. If you bush bash up the slopes on either side of the valley, the flattened areas that were once house sites can be made out with steps, foundations, water pipes.....

 ......old buckets

......and even a finely preserved set of old boots sitting there as if  the miner came home from work one night, took his shoes off at the door and never came back for them.

I'd booked a tour with Tarkine Magnet Tours. Even though I'd been to Magnet quite a few times, this was a wonderful tour. Paul, the guide, knows details of the town's history, has old photos and shows us tourists the sites of the churches, the school, the hospital, the hotel and the tennis court, and happily shares his stories with the punters.

                                                        Magnet Boarding House: source online, unavailable site

town centre and bridge photo: www.miningmayhem.com.au

Magnet Catholic Church. Source tasmanianpioneers.com:Weekly Courier,linc

www.facebook.com/themagnet/

I would thoroughly recommend this tour to everyone, worth every dollar and every minute. But lets just keep it between ourselves because we don't want the masses to discover our special, secret places ;) 

I'm left with questions about Magnet, the main one being why did they leave behind so many shoes?

Hotels of Devonport

Having moved to an older part of the city of Devonport, my interest is piqued as to the history of many of the lovely old buildings that surround our house.

The pub down a block from us (nice walking distance for a counter meal) I wouldn't have described as one of these. The Elimatta , or The Elly as it is always affectionately named, follows the architectural genre of "Mish Mash Butt Ugly, Nobody's Put Any Thought Into AS They Changed It Over The Years". I will have to check with my architecture student friend as to the validity of the naming if this style.

                                                                   source:  The Advocate newspaper


I was delighted to see some old pics of it on the Devonport Historic Site on Facebook.

 What a gorgeous old place it once was.

All towns that sprang up in Tassie's early settling days had a multitude of hotels and guest houses and it was from either of these that our pubs of today have evolved.

Devonport had it's fair share in the early days, The Alexander (still here) The Formby, (still here), The Mersey, The Victoria, The British, The Tamahere to name a few.

The beautiful building that was the Elly has had many additions and alterations in it's life.

Looking slightly more recognizable now, this pic I would date at circa 1960 from the cars,

The grand old girl obviously now stripped of her verandahs, is slowly being swallowed up by modern additions.

Whenever I walk past The Elly, I wonder about the old parts. Are they still there, what remains of it?

As someone with a desire to connect and fossick among remnants of a past era, I always look for it.

I recently went around the back to the bottle shop. There beneath the wheelie bins, fire escapes and add on additions, behind a door is an old staircase and a glimpse of the old brickwork and windows.

It made me kind of happy to know there is still something of the past there. 

I reminds me of our own lives as we get on a bit more in years. We try and modernize ourselves, keep up with a changing world, hide some of our memories and experiences with facades, block off doors we no longer want to go through. From the outside we can really change our opinions and what we want to present to the outside world. We might not want to seem old fuddy duddys , and we might want to hide bits of ourselves that are maybe boring and passe.

But get in behind those bits we've covered up and that same person is still there. Deep inside that lovely old staircase still winds up to all those old rooms, those memories and that person you were when you were just a kid. I'd like to think so anyway.

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

Sadly some have all gone completely. I think the most mourned hotel of Devonport would be The Grand Hotel.

Demolished in 1968 to make way for a Brutalist banking institute (yes, that IS a real architectural genre). It must have made an impression on me as I can actually remember this building. I was 7 then. I remember standing on the corner of Rooke and Best Streets staring at this building thinking how lovely and grand it really was.

 Palace Hotel corner Rooke and Steele Street ( maybe not quite a palace)

 Royal Hotel corner Best and Fenton Street

 Metropole Hotel on Formby Road between King and Steele being demolished
.

" A home away from home is a term

that says concisely what The Metropole actually is. At this up-to-date board-

ing establishment guests not only can obtain the comforts and privacy of

their own homes, but they have facilities for reading, writing, the use of

commercial and smoking rooms such as few houses contain."

-as reported in the local newspaper 1922

AND I read it had hot and cold water systems installed throughout the building. Gee I'd really like to stay here!

And some are still quite recognizable , The Formby, only recently reinvented with a name change a slight facelift.

And the good old Alex. She hasn't changed a bit!

The Alex in the background and the earlier Formby in the forground.

                                                                                     from Shifting Sands by Faye Gardam

unless noted these pics are all from Devonport and Surrounds- A Pictorial History, Facebook group.

Granny's House

Yesterday I found a great vintage children's book in an antique shop.
Tiny Tots Annual from 1960, full of lovely illustrations and only $5.

  


 But the little one titled "Granny's House" caught my eye.

So cute, but the modern Granny isn't quite like the 1960 Granny. For a start, in an effort to break the stereotype old grandma, modern grannies need a cooler title, like Mimsy, Nooni, Jamma or Glammy. The glamorous Grandma is a thing.

 Lots of grannys now are fairly young, as back in the 70's we all tended to get married pretty young. Lots of grannys are still working and desperately trying to amass some super as they tended to take time out from careers to be stay at home mums in the 80's.




Lots of grannys are winning oscars, travelling and buying new furniture for the first time in their lives.



Lots of grannys are old hippies so their grandchildren think they are fantastic and weird.





But not many modern grannys bake apple pies
any more. And lots of grannys, if they do have grey hair, put a splash of hot pink or purple through the front.


Striving to be a good mix of old granny and modern granny is hopefully achievable.

That poem is never going to apply to me, so I've rewritten it.

I love to go to Glammy's house, 

Where all is chaos and not too clean

And Downton Abbey and Midsommer Murders,

In rows are to be seen.

In Glammy's house I don't have to be good,

Cos her houseworks fairly bad

I can run and shout and eat her chocolate,

As long as I don't tell mum and dad.

But Glammy's face is sweet and kind,

I never know what colour her hair will be.

I know about her Tim Tam stash,

When I go there to tea.

Memories. The Star Theatre

I love the facebook pages that feature local historic content. Old photos are shared and people start recalling their memories. The recent posts of the Devonport Star Theatre and recollections have prompted me to put "pen to paper" and record my childhood memories.

The Star was built in 1937, way before my time. It's a stunning example of Art Deco architecture that's sadly been subject to a little bit of commercial misuse and abuse over the years.

My family connection goes back to the start. The Star Theatre Company was floated in 1933 by Rob Hamilton and he and his two brothers, one of whom was my grandfather, worked in the industry as it was pioneered by Rob and grew across the state of Tasmania.

                              Construction in 1937. The beam to support the balcony is backed in.
                               Photo from the Devonport Regional Gallery, Robinson Collection.

My dad began his working career at age fifteen in the Wynyard Theatre and then the Burnie Star Theatre. He moved around the state in the industry until the last decade of the Star's life when he managed the Devonport Star. This was the 60's.

I was born 1961. By the time my earliest memories kick in, the Star had faded just a little.
Even as a child I knew she harked back to a time of glamour and a lifestyle that was gone.

Having a dad who managed a picture theatre was a wonderful perk for a kid. It meant we got to go as often as we wanted, for free, and see a film as many times as we wanted.
We'd turn up with him an hour or so before screening time and as he prepared everything in 'the box' , that's what he called the projection room, my brother, sister and I would spend the time exploring every nook and cranny of the old building. Back then it had a balcony (we Always sat up there) and an upstairs lounge. No one ever used the lounge much anymore, but the huge round mirrors, club lounges, urns of plastic flowers and ashtrays told us that there was once a time when men and women dressed up and socialized in that lounge for a night out. My dad told me that in it's heyday it cost 1/1 pence for a downstairs ticket, 2/4 pence far an upstairs (including entertainment tax) and many people held a permanent Saturday night booking.

I'm not sure of the date this was taken, but this photo is exactly how I remember the lounge. We'd often sit here and wait until the place was opened and patrons would start filing in. Pre filming time he'd put on piped music which filled the cinema as people sat and waited. These were lp records. My favourite was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, I loved it when he played that soundtrack. Soon the usherettes in their smart grey uniforms would turn up for work and they'd personally guide every patron to a seat using their big silver torches if the lights were already dimmed.

 After the film he'd also have to stay for another hour or more to clean up and prepare for the next session. We'd go up to the box and help him by rewinding the huge spools of film by hand, pack them into their metal boxes and lug them downstairs if the screening time was finished. There was more time for exploring the empty theatre. Up another stair case was an old office, never used, but full of old movie posters. Wow, what I'd give to have those now!
Right in the middle of the downstairs lobby was the old ticket sales booth. That was never used either, but we'd open the old split door and sneak in and play in there.

My dad would usually watch the film first, come home and report to us as to whether or not we'd like it. Compared to most kids, I guess we got to see plenty of movies. The stand outs of my memories are Pollyanna, Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, The Great Race, Jason and the Argonauts, Born Free, Mary Poppins, the list goes on. As the decade progressed Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang, the Herbie films, Elvis films and comedies such as What's Up Doc entertained us. My sister and I weren't happy when a western was on. My tastes matured into historic dramas such as Mary Queen of Scots and Nicholas and Alexandra and I distinctly remember having a massive movie start crush on Robert Redford.
We all had to stand up at the beginning of screening to a huge projected image of the Queen accompanied by the National Anthem. This was followed by newsreels and shorts (informative little films on various topics, none of which I remember) and the onset of the consumption of all the lollies we'd bought earlier at either the adjoining theatre shop or the milk bar over the road. If we were lucky, one of the shorts would be a cartoon which pleased the kids greatly.In 1970 the Australian Classification Board was formed and movies started to have ratings. I remember when A Clockwork Orange was released in 1971 being extremely put out that my dad would not let me see it. It had this new thing called an "R" rating. I put the poster up in my room, listened to the soundtrack and lamented the unfairness.

By the early 70's, Star Theatres were taken over by Cinema One and my dad left the old family business. The balcony was pulled down and the interior pretty well gutted. The gorgeous art deco plaster worked walls were covered by hundreds of metres of burnt orange and brown curtaining and the ceiling plaster painted black. Orange and brown carpets and plenty of mod amber glass chandeliers were installed. The end of the era had come.
I really feel very lucky to have these wonderful memories that certainly cultivated a love of movies and I suspect a love of Art Deco interiors too!

Mangana

Mangana is a little town nestled in behind the imposing peaks of Ben Lomond in Tasmania's North East. Off the main road, it's not ever a drive through or a destination for the average Tasmanian motorist. But for me, ever since the 1988 film The Tale of Ruby Rose some of which was shot there, I've wanted to go there.

Gold was discovered there in 1850 and by 1860 sixty buildings were in place and 104 town allotments sold. By the 1870's the mine was thriving with two hotels, three churches and a school.

By 1881 though, an observer noted: travelling through the once flourishing township of Mangana...the town has a very uninviting appearance. The present state of Mangana is pathetic.

Despite this bad review, it still thrived into the next century.

Well. I don't know what our town reviewer would say about old Mangana now if he held that view in 1881.

 sheep in the front yard................

                                               still got the Christmas tinsel up.............

  old miner's cottage.....

                                             ..............the old school

maybe this was a hotel? Lovely old place.

And the incongruously, well kept and architecturally unusual Catholic Church.

Well, me with my love of history and abandoned places, found Mangana fascinating and charming.
 My grandmother was born and raised in the nearby sister town of Mathinna (that's for another blog), and as I stood in the middle of the main street (no traffic) and took photos, stories she had told me of her childhood seemed a little more real. I just felt if I closed my eyes for a moment, I would open them and see the little girls in boots and stockings running, laughing to the schoolhouse. And the boys, some barefoot, throwing stones and teasing the girls. I'd see the mothers in their long, heavy skirts hanging out the washing, and then a father riding his old pushbike home from working in the mine all day.

The following week post-Mangana-visit, a friend told me her grandmother grew up there, a  neighbour to Alice Christina Irvine 1879-1940. Now, where did I know that name from?

Alice wrote the famous (in Tasmania anyway) Central Cookery Book.

Every Tassie girl with a Tassie born mum or grandma, was familiar with this book and it's many editions. I still use it regularly. By googling Alice.....

http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/irvine-alice-christina-13002


......., I find she grew up in Mangana and her first job was as a paid monitor at the Mathinna school in 1897. By 1906 she went to Melbourne Training College and was Mistress of Domestic Science in Hobart when she put out her book which was to be the definitive text for school girls to come.
Within the pages of this edition is Mangana Cake.

I scan the recipe....12 eggs! Seems they had good chooks in Mangana. Alice has noted at the foot of the recipe that it gives satisfactory results if halved. I'll go with that.

 double line the tin with brown paper....

                 .....using some of my grandmother's utensils, maybe they can help me along a little...


I don't know what Alice was like, but the Head of Domestic Science at my High School was old school and scary. As I was making this cake I could hear her bellowing behind me. As I banged the beater on the bowl... "don't beat that bowl or I'll beat you"....."use your hand girl".
Mrs Morris was still instructing me!

Finished result.

I've never made a fruit cake before, and was quite chuffed with the results. It's really very nice.

Corinna

My recent trip to Corinna was the first time I'd been there since the mid seventies. As a moody thirteen or fourteen year old, back in the day, it wasn't my preference of a family holiday, but it was a place my dad loved and he went there many times.

 Reluctant as I was, I knew it was a fascinating place even then. Even in the 70's it was a final frontier. You'd turn off from Waratah and head 30 k's or so to Savage River and then on 20 more down a rain forested gravel road till the little hamlet on the banks of the still, dark Pieman River opened up. There were half a dozen or so old miner's cottages still standing and also an old place called The Guest House, which was to be our salubrious accommodation. We were pretty tough kids in the 70's and used to roughing it, but that place even by our standards was  dive. The main living area was okay, a big stone open fireplace and some comfy old chairs. A long hallway led off to ten or so bedrooms. The further down the hall, the worse the conditions, seemed to be the the way the system worked. My sister and I chose the best room, it had two beds (with mattresses) and although it had no glass in the windows, this was a small price to pay for the best room of the house. My brother and dad got next choice. Second best room had no windows at all, a black hole of a room. There were no bathroom or toilet facilities in the house, you used the camp ground long drop. Star ratings weren't the go.
 That evening a hippy/backpacker joined us at the Guest House too. He opted for a room down the end of the hall. I can't remember if he saw the night out, presumably he did.

The Guest House today(on the left).

photo by James Ostinga www.australianphotography.com

Despite this we had a great time. We walked, explored and our dad rented a dingy. We found the two old graves and huon pine headstones on the south bank of the river, found old mine works and putted down to the Pieman Heads and the Conical Rocks on the coast.

You do wonder, even today, what would compel anyone to carve out a township here in this completely inhospitable place. Even by today's standards, it's the end of the earth, let alone in the last decades of the 1800's when it was established. The simple answer is gold. Corinna has had a few heydays, but in the early 1880's alluvial gold was being found. In 1883 Tasmania's biggest ever nugget was dug out, 6.8 kg. By 1890 the Tasmanian Post Office Directory listed a population of 29 men and one woman, Mrs Jessie Devlyn the Post Mistress. Brave woman. In 1893, the count was at 800. There were two pubs, one on either side of the river, store, Post Office, and by all accounts a town with all the drinking, roudiness and brawls that you'd expect from a gold town on the final frontier. The pub on the south side of the river was quite a grand affair, snugly built into the rain forest. It could only be reached by ferry.

Star Hotel. www.waratah.vpweb.com.au

In the 1930's Bill Thorne and photographer Jack Robinson drove along the old cart track and found the long since abandoned town and the old hotel still standing on the other side of the river. After that tourism began.

1958 Jim Day touring on his Velocette

This fantastic picture is titled "at the end of the earth" Corinna, Tasmania.

From velobanjogent.blogspot.com.au

Back to 2014, and Corinna is still an amazing destination. Accommodation cabins have been built sympathetically using upcycled roofing and the Tarkine Hotel has a great pub feel and fantastic food.
Even though these buildings are quite new, you get the feeling that the wilderness still quietly wins herself over and that in a few years you'll be struggling to find Corinna again in the forest growth. Lichen grows on the fences and it can be hard to pick the new places from the old. There is now a ferry to take you to a link road on the south side of the river, but this was out of action due to maintenance on our trip. In keeping with the old times, we had to back track our way out again and take the long road to our destination the next day which was Zeehan.

The lovely girl who checked us in opened up the old Guest House for us to have a sentimental sticky beak inside. It's been done up and larger parties can book it out. The rooms have improved quite dramatically, glass in all the windows, bedding, mattresses, toilet, shower, complete luxury really........why back in our day all we 'ad was an 'ession bag on floor.......