Atlas Page 23
By Francis Meyers,
F. J. Broomfield and J. P. Dowling

FROM Sydney to Parramatta junction —now called Granville —the railway line is common to both the west and the south. The junction township is becoming a place of importance, and already growing dusky with the smoke-stains of brick kilns and chimney stacks, the soil being, suited for the manufacture of drain pipes and bricks. At this point the southern railway branches off, and roughly following the coast line, though gradually diverging from it, traverses broad pasture paddocks, with here and there a vineyard and a waving cornfield.

For a few miles from Granville, huge piles of firewood ready for transport flank the railroad, and indicate the locality whence Sydney receives a portion of its fuel. This district is not yet suburban, but the subdivisions into building allotments of estate after estate forecast its future.

Twenty-two miles from Sydney stands the early settlement of Liverpool, so called in honour of the well-known English statesman of that name, and with an assumption of a prophetic character touching its future development; it being a fond illusion of its founders that the colonial Liverpool would one day stand in the same relation to Sydney that the English city of the same name stood to the metropolis of Great Britain —like many other dearly cherished hopes, this has long been dead. It is characteristic of colonial development that the fore-casts even of practical men should prove wrong, places of which great expectations are entertained remaining provokingly unprogressive, while despised townships shoot ahead with unexpected vigour. Commerce takes its own path, and declines to be dictated to.

Around this first collection of huts a town gradually grew up; it long resisted modernising influences, but is now a thriving place, the chief industries being poultry-rearing, dairy farming, wool-washing and fellmongering. The Collingwood paper mill, established some years back at a large outlay and built upon the left bank of the George’s River, is now the best of its kind in Australia, employing a number of hands and turning out paper of an excellent quality. The river, whose banks are the site of most of the industries of the place, is navigable for vessels of moderate draught as far as the town, where, in the early days, a dam was constructed to bank back the fresh water.

One of the more famous institutions of Liverpool is Moore College, situated but a short distance from the town, a seminary endowed by private munificence for the purpose of teaching youths intended for the ministry of the Anglican Church. The principal public institution of the place is the benevolent asylum for old men. This charity has its headquarters in a rambling old building on the west bank of George’s River, with a quadrangle, in which sleep, sheltered by a meagre awning of canvas, the tough veterans accustomed to exposure in the bush. The inmates of the asylum number eight hundred. Many of these, years ago, were strong and stalwart bushmen —active on the shearing floor, intrepid in the stockyard and the cattle camp; and some have trod the unknown and sterile desert with early exploring parties.

But wages went as freely as they came, and age crept on without any provision. Many of them, though old, are remarkably hale notwithstanding a rough and hard experience; they afford a proof of the healthiness of a country life, passed in the open air, beneath the blue sky and the fervid sun of Australia. These old fellows no longer take an interest in the affairs that occupy the remainder of the world. They are resting here before passing the final stage. Captious are they on some points. When, a few years ago, a damp corner of the cemetery was set apart for paupers, the old men arose and carried their grievance to the Rev. Mr. Walker, at that time incumbent of the old church of St. Luke’s. The reverend gentleman at first argued that it made slight difference to the immortal soul where the spiritless body might be laid, but being unsuccessful in convincing his hearers, he concluded his remonstrance with a promise that his body should rest with their own. The promise was kept, and the clergyman’s tomb is in the damp corner.

The Anglican church of St. Luke’s was erected by convict labour in the year 1819. When, several years ago, its interior fittings were removed there was found, under the floor of the gallery formerly occupied by the convict portion of the congregation, a number of old Spanish dollars. This discovery was taken as evidence that during the services a little gambling was done. Besides St. Luke’s, a noteworthy piece of prisoners’ handiwork is the massive stone bridge over Prospect Creek, consisting of a single arch, the span of which is one hundred and twenty feet. This placed to the credit of David Lennox and the foundation stone was laid over fifty years ago.

Above Liverpool the river becomes shallow, and on the left or eastward side, is a wide tract of country consisting of poor light soil, though on the right are pleasing, undulating slopes, and some pretty glimpses of agricultural settlement. In less than twelve miles from Liverpool there is a rise of one hundred and sixty feet to Campbelltown a healthy old road-side township, two hundred and ten feet above sea-level. Here, placed on the highest hill, is the Roman Catholic chapel of St. John’s, consecrated by Archpriest Therry over half a century since. In the adjoining graveyard is a stone which informs the curious that beneath it lies the mortal remains of one James Ruse, native of Cornwall, who came to the colony with the First Fleet, and who sowed the first wheat grown in New South Wales.

Fifty-six years ago Campbelltown was the centre of a large wheat growing district but about the year 1860 the rust made its appearance and gradually overcame the farmers. Ploughs were laid by and flourmills ceased grinding corn, and the land was mainly used for growing hay and grazing stock. But as time passed on the population increased; many settlers finding attractions on this part of the southern line, the old farms changed hands and considerable sums were spent on improvements. From this point on the railroad branches off a light line to Camden, a small town about ten miles to the westward, and the nucleus of early agricultural settlement. It has been described at length, in connection with the introduction of wool, in a previous chapter. Here also is agriculture harassed by plant diseases, and damages done by vegetable parasites. Many years ago rust attacked the wheat fields; there is now phylloxera in the vineyards. All additional trouble is found in the irregularity of the climate; for several seasons, the rainfall has been provokingly scanty. Yet, notwithstanding these various drawbacks, Camden is a contented little spot with few wants and fair prospects, and its annual agricultural exhibitions rank well among the best rural displays of the south.

The old road, which was laid out by Sir Thomas Mitchell, followed the ridge lying between the Nepean River and the George’s River, and then, crossing the spurs running inland from the coast range, descended into the deep intervening gullies from which the water supply of Sydney is now obtained. A later and easier road took a course which in the main is followed by the railway line. This route passes through the town of Menangle, where it crosses the six miles from Campbelltown on a bridge nearly five hundred feet in length, built on the box-girder principle. In ordinary seasons its four huge supports tower giant-like over the stream, but instances are not rare when they have had their solidity well tested by torrents which have risen to within a few feet of the roadway.

Douglas Park is some miles farther on, and to the eastward appears the massive stone residence known as the Nepean Towers, a mansion originally erected by Sir Thomas Mitchell, then surveyor general. The soil here, although of poor quality pastured not long ago a valuable herd of pure-bred shorthorns, some of which were from the best stock of Great Britain. To the left of the line is Mount Gilead, upon the apex of which stands as a prominent landmark a large and well-preserved building of a circular form —the remains of an old windmill. Winding around the foot of the mount is the wide conduit through which slowly flows to the metropolis the pure clear water of fresh mountain streams.

Picton, fifty-three miles from Sydney, the next important stopping place, though lying in the valley of the river, enjoys an elevation of over five hundred feet, which makes it a favourite health resort. Its reputation as a sanatorium is so considerable that it has been chosen as a favourite locality for a consumptive hospital, established and endowed by private benevolence. At Picton the railway begins the ascent to the tableland, the gradient on leaving the station being one in thirty-three; within a distance of six miles there is a rise of over five hundred feet, at which point the engines stay their course to replenish their tanks. This is done from a chain of lagoons on the right known as the Picton Lakes, lying in the broadened bed of a sandstone gully —a rough and uninviting country, densely timbered, and but little used. A few miles to the east is the darkly-famed Bargo Brush —a primitive forest, through which ran the southern road, and which, in days of old, gave shelter and concealment to many bold and bloodthirsty bushrangers, whose dark and sanguinary deeds have inscribed the name of Bargo on the crimson calendar of crime, for in outlaw lore it stands even before Eugowra and Glenrowan.

Fifteen miles of climbing through long, deep, expensive cuttings follows, the engines labouring upward through the narrow sandstone cleft, and within the distance making an ascent of nine hundred feet. On the hill-top begins the southern line of summer retreats, though the first of importance is Mittagong, which stands at an elevation of over two thousand feet above sea level. Here the horse road and railway routes reunite. Mittagong long remained a terminus, as a tunnel of nearly six hundred yards in length had to be bored before the railroad could proceed on its farther journey south. Considerable deposits of very fine hematite iron ore, with promising seams of coal near at hand, lie close to the town, and large sums have been spent in fruitless endeavours to develop these treasures. But the lack of technical knowledge, as has been the case in regard to so many colonial industries, swamped the capital at the outset. The coal was found to be ill-adapted for smelting, and lime had to be brought from a considerable distance; all this mitigated against the economical treatment of the ores. The minerals, however, still remain, and may in years to come be profitably worked. Fifteen miles distant, at Joadja Creek, a seam of kerosene shale, estimated to contain one million and a half tons, is being attacked by two companies, both thriving, and employing large numbers of workmen. A private narrow-gauge railway has been constructed by one of the companies from the station down into the deep gorge where the mineral is worked.

Berrima, four miles from the trunk line, and situated on the main southern road, is the centre of a district rich in minerals. Here, at an elevation of two thousand three hundred feet above the level of the sea, stands a gaol, conducted on the silent system; prisoners who receive long sentences have to serve at Berrima one month for every year of their term, and the name has a terrifying effect on evil-doers. Four miles from the town a seam of coal is being successfully worked.

Just beyond Mittagong the railway passes under the Gibraltar ridge by a tunnel and comes out on Bowral, which, in the hot weather, is a popular resort for the tired and jaded workers from the city, the plateau on the southern line being the rival of the Blue Mountains as a summer retreat. The latter have these advantages —that a given elevation is obtainable within a shorter distance from the metropolis, that the railway ascends a thousand feet higher, and that they are freer from the salt sea-breezes; on the other hand, the land traversed by the southern route is more open and fertile, provisions are obtained with less difficulty, and there are greater opportunities for extended excursions. Wide tracks of rich volcanic soil abound, and the scenery, although not grand or imposing, is varied and beautiful. The atmosphere is dry and exhilarating and the fresh breeze blows over open verdant leas and undulating slopes, which remind the traveller of many an English county. Around Bowral and Moss Vale are many interesting drives, a journey of about two hours, proceeding in an easterly direction, bringing the tourist to the first cataract of the Fitzroy Falls. Here in rainy seasons a large volume water flows over a bluff at the head of a gorge, which is half a mile in width, one thousand feet in depth, and many miles in length —in general out-line somewhat similar to those famed and picturesque chasms that constitute the characteristics scenery of the Blue Mountains. High rocks and precipices, scarred by the rains of ages, line the gorge on either side, while the steep wooded slopes descend to the bed of a silvery stream, which has sprung, over a perpendicular precipice four hundred feet in depth, scattering into the air a mist of golden spray. There are three principal falls and several minor ones, all of which are easily accessible. The locality is a favourite resort, and a shelter shed is provided for picnic parties. The falls are a public reserve, under the charge of a caretaker.

Burrawang and Robertson, two picturesque settlements situated on the margin of a rich flat, formerly the bed of an ancient lake, are also attractive to tourists, being, within easy driving distance of Moss Vale. Twenty years ago the country around was known as the Big Scrub. It proved expensive land to clear, but it well repaid the outlay, being the best farming country on the southern line.

In the spring and summer when the enervating north-easters leave smoke dried city dwellers limp and all who can afford the luxury fly to the inland heights. Bowral and Moss Vale, both highly prosperous towns, share between them the profits of this great health-dispensing business. A few miles from Moss Vale is Sutton Forest, also a favourite retreat, honoured with viceregal patronage, the Governor’s summer residence being within its boundaries. Apart, however, from these considerations, there remains with this fortunate portion of the south the substantial benefits which good soil and favourable climate afford. It is a suitable district for dairy farming, and contributes largely to the milk supply of the capital. Every acre of land is now put to a good use, and large sums are being expended in obtaining the best breeds of dairy stock. There is an increase in the work of cultivation, and the old residents are being incited to emulate the activity and zeal of the new comers, hence farming has becoming fashionable, while at the same time it gives cheering promise of being profitable. At one of the highest points of the main southern line, about ninety miles from Sydney is kept a herd of Ayrshires, the milk being daily forwarded to Sydney. It is cooled on the farm by being gradually poured over surfaces beneath which cold water is, kept running. When the weather is very warm ice is used in the railway cars in which are placed the cans, and there are stores artificially refrigerated at the metropolitan end. By this system, originated by the late Mr. T. S. Mort, Sydney is now most successfully supplied with pure country milk.

Hitherto the course of the railway has been roughly parallel with the coast, but from the ninety-mile post a turn is taken to the westward, a direction which is henceforward followed for a distance of nearly two hundred miles. Between Moss Vale and Goulburn is a stretch of country nearly fifty miles in extent, suited to a mixed system of farming. Both climate and soil favour the production of fruit, but there are few orchards, the settlers, though equally strangers to opulence or to poverty, lacking that energy necessary to develop the varied resources of so rich a district. At Marulan, a small town near the railway line, are quarries of marble and lime, large quantities of which are sent to the metropolis.

A glance at the map of New South Wales at once discloses the reason why Goulburn became first a favourite camp, next a permanent settlement, and then, gradually put on the garb and aspect of a city. A chain of ponds, known as the Mulwarree, joined to the Wollondilly River, afforded an ample water supply for pastoral purposes, and the surrounding country being materially aided by Lakes George and Bathurst, many of the pioneer squatters secured large freehold estates in the neighbourhood. Even in the early days of its existence, Goulburn was remarkable for the variety and extent of its industries. It was admirably laid out in wide streets, the blocks for occupation being in every case rectangular large stores were erected, flour mills were set to work, and tradesmen began small businesses which have since developed into large and important local manufactories.

Lake George, situated twenty-five miles southwest of Goulburn and guarded by spurs of the Great Dividing Range, is the largest lake in the colony, being twenty-five miles in length and eight miles in breadth. The evaporation from this vast sheet of water is very great and thirty-five years ago its bed was perfectly dry. It is now, however, well filled, and although the water is slightly saline, it is a great boon to the occupiers of the land in its neighbourhood.

Before proceeding farther inland along the line of the Great Southern Railway, it will be convenient to take a glance at the coast districts, the harbours and. bays of which were described in a former part, and to return to Goulburn by the coach route. Illawarra, the rugged strip of coast-land through which the cedar-cutters of half a century back had to cleave their way —then a dense jungle, but now known as the garden of New South Wales —extends from Coalcliff on the north to Broughton Creek on the south. Its principal town is Wollongong, and there are, besides, the smaller centres, Bulli, Clifton, Wooroona, Figtree and Dapto. The last mentioned is close to the llawarra Lake, on the shores of which the present champion sculler of the world, William Beach, has his home.

Close to the Bulli Pass is the Bulli coal mine, where from a tunnel four hundred feet above sea-level is drawn an annual output of two hundred thousand tons of valuable coal, and north and south similar mines are at work. Far along the shore extends a range of habitations, and seven miles southward and sixty-four miles from Sydney lies Wollongong, with a trade, mainly seaward, equal to sixty thousand tons yearly. The town is built upon a gently sloping ridge, the point of which forms the southern side of a small harbour. Near the sea, by the side of a large lagoon, the agricultural society’s ground and the racecourse are situated, and at the back on the mountain ridges are hundreds of small dairy farms. The rails are already laid for a line, which will soon be opened, to connect Illawarra with the metropolis. Wollongong will then take an active share in Sydney’s milk trade. Its yearly export of butter is now about seven hundred tons, though the generally fortunate farmers are not wholly exempt from the droughts which afflict other parts of the colony.

Seven miles distant is Dapto, with its old flour mill and handsome church, at the head of the Illawarra lake; and a few miles farther south where the mountains recede, thus leaving a greater breadth of rich pasture land, lies the little centre of Albion Park, which has its own small port. At this point the lower carboniferous and subcarboniferous strata upon which Wollongong rests is overlaid by basalt. The peaceful village known as Jamberoo rests snugly in a valley on the right, and in front, about four score miles from Sydney is the coast’s famed gem Kiama, noted for its beauty, its butter, its blue stone, and its blow-hole. This choice spot has been likened to a precious emerald placed in a very rough setting, being most unlike all other parts of the coast, its basaltic bluffs which overhang the ocean bearing rich herbage to their extreme edges. The soil is wonderfully rich, and liberally supports its tillers, who for the greater part are independent freeholders. A block of forty acres here is worth to the farmer more than a square mile of ordinary country and a railway runs almost on its boundary. The trade in its blue stone, immense quantities of which are required for Sydney’s streets, has been to it a great support. Its dairy cattle are the best on the coast, supplying two butter factories; indeed, it was Kiama that started the first. Coal is found in the district, but the seams, which crop out of the hills some miles inland, are at present unworked. The harbour is very small, and when easterly gales set in, dangerous. An excellent coach road leads from Kiama up the mountain to Moss Vale, passing through the village of Robertson and skirting the Wingecarribee Swamp. This is a favourite drive, and picturesque from start to finish.

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