Baptised, Slieverue Roman Catholic Church, Waterford, Ireland
Marriage: 5th March 1848 Stephen Butler and Jane Jago
Chapel of East Stonehouse, Devon, England
Death: 26th June 1863 Stephen Butler
10 Cannon Street, Devonport, Devon, England
My great grandfather, Stephen, was baptised the first of five sons to James and Mary Butler (nee Connery) in Slieverue, Waterford, Ireland, on 25th December 1819.
He had an older sister, Ellen, baptised on 16th January 1814 and a younger one, Johanna, baptised on 1st November 1834.
His younger brothers were Edmund (baptised 1st May 1822), John, (24th February 1824), another John (born 4th February 1824) and James (21st August 1828). Although I have yet to find any evidence to that effect, it seems likely the older “John” may have died soon after his birth.
I was fortunate enough to visit Waterford in August 2017 and guided by Michael O’Connor of Waterford Heritage Services was able to explore the area around Slieverue where the family lived at the time of Stephen’s birth. Although there is no way we can be sure exactly where, we do know that it was in Councillor’s Road between Larkfield and Peafield about 6 km north-east of Waterford – as is shown on the map below:
We have little knowledge of Stephen’s early life, but he would have to have undertaken an apprenticeship at shipyards in Waterford, (where there was considerable shipbuilding at the time) or, later in England, to have gained employment as a Shipwright with the Royal Navy.
That he probably completed his Apprenticeship in Waterford and was recruited by the Navy appears to be supported by the following extract from the Journal of the Old Waterford Society’s Journal “Decies” of Autumn 1992:
“Between the years 1806 and 1880, ship-building was Waterford’s chief industry, and the five firms previously mentioned repaired or built all kinds of seagoing craft at their respective yards. Ships of sail or steam designed by Waterford’s craftsmen earned the reputation of the port, unequalled by any in the British shipyards. At times the local yards experienced difficulty in keeping their staffs of skilled tradesmen at home, so keen was the canvassing of their English and Scottish rivals to grab the Waterford workers. The employers had no fear in this regard in their own country, for in no part of Ireland was there a ship or repair yard to compare with the up-to-datedness and the efficient equipment of the local builders. At the beginning and well beyond the middle of the last century, Waterford held the signal honour of being one of the principal ship-building centres of western Europe, and the clang of hammers, roar of furnaces, and dull thudding sound of boiler-making, with the ‘heaving’ and ‘hauling’ associated with the life of a busy shipping port, were heard all day, and sometimes all night – making music for the ears of the old-timers of ‘Waterford of the Shippes’.”
In trying to get a better understanding of the role of a shipwright and the training needed to qualify as one, I came across the following excerpt from “Dockyard Shipwrights” by Bert Shardlow and Dr David Penney.
I’d be surprised if you do not find it as informative as I did.
This is the link: http://www.djbryant.co.uk/dockyard/links/index-links.htm
I have, so far, been unable to establish when he emigrated to England, but it was probably in the late 1830s or early 1840s.
He married Jane Jago, the daughter of Richard and Elizabeth Jago (née Cross) in the Chapel of East Stonehouse, Devon, on 5 March 1848. At the time of their marriage, Stephen was 28 years of age and Jane 38.
They had a son, Richard Jago born on the 11th December 1948 and another, William James Jago, on the 29th June 1850.
An entry in the 1851 UK Census was the first indication I had that Stephen was born in Ireland and Waterford in particular. It is from this Census that we learn that the family lived at 7 Cannon Street, Stoke Damerel, Devonport, only about a mile and a half from the Royal Naval Dockyards where he was employed. From recent reading, I learned that Cannon Street was one of the earliest laid down near the Devonport dock when, in the early 1700s, residential buildings were first allowed to be built in the vicinity of the dockyard.
Thus far, I have been unable to trace any record of his service at the Dockyards either through the National Archives of the United Kingdom or the Devonport Naval Heritage Centre but will keep trying.
Whether or not as a result of advancement at the Dockyard and/or an accompanying improvement in income, the Census entry for 1861 tells us that the family had by then moved to another property in Cannon Street, namely No 40.
Stephen passed away at home on 26th June 1863 at the age of 44. According to his Death Certificate, the cause of death was consumption, a condition he had suffered for twelve months. A copy of the entry in the Stoke Damerel Anglican Parish Burial Register is included in the Evidence section and, for Latin scholars, a transcript from the entry in the Church register that I obtained on a visit to Plymouth in 2005 is shown below.
According to one article I have read, there were few Catholic churchyards – and the Catholic Church at Stoke Damerel certainly did not have one – so the majority of Catholics were buried in Anglican ones. This may explain how Stephen came to be buried in a churchyard associated with a neighbouring Anglican church – and that his burial is recorded again in the registry of the Anglican Parish of Stoke Damerel. I wonder how many other Catholics are “blessed” with entries in the registers of two denominations.
This left Jane a widow, possibly but not certainly with a pension, caring for the two boys, Richard aged 15 and William, 13.
Whatever the circumstances the family found itself in, Jane must have been instrumental in ensuring that her elder son, Richard, at least, continued his education. My evidence for this belief is an item from the “Journal of the Society of Arts” dated 12th June 1868, where we learn that as an engineering student at the Devonport Mechanics Institute, he won 1st Prize (valued at £5) for Conic Sections and 2nd Prize (valued at £3) for Principles of Mechanics.
Whether or not as a result of her widowhood, the Census for 1871 shows that Jane had moved to 12 Albert Road, Devonport, where her occupation is listed as Housekeeper. Her second son William, who by this time is aged 21, is shown as a carpenter.
Perhaps he was thus able to provide her with the economic support she needed. In fact, as far as I can ascertain, she lived with him for the rest of her life – and being as long-lived as she was, this was not until 1902 when she was 93 years of age.
Register: B/1801-1836 VOL. P.191
Priest: Fitzpatrick J.
Church: Counsellors Road(Research):According to the 1851 census, your Richard was the son of Stephen & Jane
Head: BUTLER, Stephen Neighbors 75510
Name Relationship Mar Age Sex Occupation Birthplace
Stephen BUTLER Head M 30 M Shipwright Waterford-IRE
Jane BUTLER Wife M 36 F --- Plymstock-DEV
Richard BUTLER Son - 2 M --- Plymstock-DEV ******
William BUTLER Son - 9m M --- Devonport-DEV
Address: 7 Cannon Street, Devonport
Census Place: Stoke Damerel Stoke Damerel, Devonshire
PRO Reference: HO/107/1882 Folio: 31 Page: 57 FHL Film: 0221031(Medical):Certified copy of Death Certificate (dated 15 June 2005) held.
Birth: 29 November 1929, Whangarei, Northland, NZ.
Dick was born in Whangarei, Northland, NZ, the eldest of three boys on 29th November 1929. When he was born, his father, Peter, was 32 and his mother, Mary, was 31.
Education: St Joseph’s Convent, Whangarei, Northland, NZ.
1935 to 1942 St Joseph’s Covent, Whangarei, Northland, NZ.
Education: St Patrick’s College, Silverstream, Wellington, NZ.
1943 to 1946 St Patrick’s College, Silverstream, Wellington, NZ.
Work Life: 1947 – 1983
Cadet reporter, reporter and correspondent, “Northern Advocate”, Whangarei and Maungaturoto, Northland, NZ.
Marriage: 18 January 1958, Whakapara, Northland, NZ
He married Gwen Forsyth on 18 January 1958. They had five children during their marriage – Maurice, Kerry, Kathy, Judy and Paul.
Retired, aged 60.
For his services to royalty, Mr Butler was vested a member of the Royal Victorian Order of the Queen in 1974.
Work Life: 1984 to 1989
Journalist, Tourist & Publicity Department, Wellington, NZ. Media liaison officer involved with the Internal Affairs Special Visitors Branch, Wellington NZ.
Death: 20 April 1998 Richard Butler
Dick died on 20 April 1998, in Whangarei at the age of 68.
Dick was born in Whangarei, Northland, New Zealand, on 29th November 1929. When Dick was born, his father, Cuthbert “Peter” Butler, was 32 years of age and his mother, Mary Butler (née Somner), 31.
In his Birth Certificate, he is named Richard, but he never used the name, preferring to be known as Dick – and always was.
He was the eldest of three sons born to Peter and Mary. The two younger boys were – Norman John “Norm” (20 August 1933) and Peter (11 July 1940).
According to the 1925 and 1928 Electoral Rolls, the family lived somewhere on Kamo Road, Whangarei, but according to Dick’s Birth Certificate, they were living in Mill Road at the time.
They later moved to Jessie Street, Whangarei, New Zealand, which his parents bought from his maternal grandmother, Maria Somner in 1932. Maria had purchased the property three years earlier. The called the property “Wharepuke” which, before you ask, is Maori for “house on the hill”. The property which would then have been described as a farmlet shared a boundary with Mackesy Bush Reserve and was overlooked by Mount Parahaka, an old bush-clad volcanic cone that is a Whangarei landmark. Whether she moved there when she bought it or later when Dick’s parents moved, we do not know, but she certainly lived with them until at least 1935 and perhaps up to the time of her death in 1937.
At a little over two acres, there was certainly room enough for Dick and me to roam free as well as for it to be run as a small poultry farm from which we sold eggs under the Wharepuke name. If it was required or not at that time, the eggs were individually rubber-stamped with an oval-shaped “Wharepuke” brand mark. It is likely that we also sold dressed poultry but, whether we did or not, one of my mother’s specialties, roast chicken with thyme and onion stuffing, appeared on our dinner plates on most Sundays.
As was the custom of the day, separate from the house was the gable-roofed “motor shed”, as it was then called, to house our black box-like Austin Seven. Back then in New Zealand anyway, the term garage was used only for the place where you took your motor vehicle for service or repair. As was not unusual Da did his own “grease and oil changes” and used the trench-like pit in the floor of the garage to do so. When not in use, the pit was covered with what I remember as very oil-stained planks, that my brother and I were warned never to go near – but we did, of course.
Dick also had his first car, a rather handsome pedal car – on which I was allowed a ride from time to time.
Apart from roaming free, we also played “Cowboys and Indians” as boys did at the time and for which hand-made bows and arrows were essential.
Both Dick and I attended St Joseph’s Convent while we were still living at Jessie Street, but I have no knowledge of how we got to school. There certainly would not have been any school buses and, as it was too far to walk, I presume our father drove us there in the Austin.
It would have been about this time that Dick received his First Communion, an important event in the religious life of every Catholic child. Its importance was often recognised with a medal or a certificate or both, This is a copy of Dick’s Certificate dated 4 October 1936:
At three, I would have been too young to remember the event – and, shamed as I am to admit it, I cannot remember mine.
Nor have I any memory of the Fancy Dress Party reported below, but if it was in the paper it must be right!
The photo that follows is of all the school pupils in 1939 and was published in the “Northern Advocate” on 6 July 1993 announcing the planning of a forthcoming reunion :
In January 1940, Dick was one of the fortunate 600 Northland children who were able, courtesy the Northern Advocate’s “Kupe Club NZ Centennial Exhibition Trip”, to make a week-long visit to Wellington to view the Exhibition. That the Trip was well organised is clearly evident from this excerpt from the “Sailing Instructions” published in the “Northern Advocate” on 9th January 1940:
And, as the following clipping from the “Northern Advocate” of 2 April 1940, the trip was worthy of a report as far away as Britain:
Another item from the “Northern Advocate” reports on Dick’s prize-winning scholastic achievements at St Joseph’s Convent in 1940:
In July 1941, we moved closer to the centre of Whangarei, where my father built an office to accommodate his growing accounting and secretarial business. I daresay that it was no coincidence that this just happened to be conveniently next to our new home – and within walking distance of the primary school, Dick and his brothers attended.
There was great excitement in Whangarei in 1941 when it became the base for a remarkable salvage story – to recover gold from the “Niagara” sunk by German mines. Although I cannot be sure how we managed it, but both Dick and I somehow managed to get down to the wharf where the salvage ship “Claymore” was moored and watch as she was being prepared for the operation. The salvage itself is quite famous and well-worth reading about. But, we were there!
In 1942 Dick got his first bike. He didn’t keep it long, however, as having ridden down to the Whangarei wharf he somehow or other rode it over the edge of the wharf and broke his arm seriously enough to require a plate and pinning!! The event was reported in the “Northern Advocate” of 27th April as follows:
Our parents acknowledged the un-named Rating’s assistance in this notice in the Personal column of the “Northern Advocate” on the same day:
I had always understood that he had hit an RNZN Patrol Boat on his way into the water but, given that it was wartime, “a small vessel” might have been a more secure description! Anyway, this is what the Patrol Boat looked like.
That the fracture was serious enough to need pinning was doubtless because of an earlier break that I found out about recently from my discovery of this report in the “Northern Advocate” of 19th March 1941.
My bedroom at our Bank Street home faced the street and Dick’s was between mine and my parents whose bedroom was at the rear of the house. When grounded for whatever reason, Dick found my bedroom window a convenient, silent and secure exit and entrance when he was out “on-the-tiles” – or whatever!
All three of us completed our secondary education at St Patrick’s College in Silverstream. Thanks to the Archives there, we have copies of the school magazine, “The Blue & White” for the years we were there. Some of these make quite interesting reading, including this intriguing entry about Dick, from 1946:
“April 25th–Anzac Day. Uniforms: Solemn Requiem Mass at 9 am. Father Ward was the preacher. At the end of Mass, the Last Post was sounded by Brian Hasler. Football practice in the afternoon. Dick Butler has many enthusiastic helpers in his new hobby.”???
The only other evidence I have of Dick’s attendance at St Pat’s and of his academic record there is this copy of his School Certificate awarded on completion of three years study and the associated examination:
After leaving St Pat’s, Dick started with the “Northern Advocate” as a cadet reporter and continued to live at home. This photo of him is likely to have been taken in the early 1950s – and certainly before 1953:
Dick moved with the family when they bought the Kamo property in 1947. Always interested in sport, it was while he lived in Kamo that he was able to further that interest, playing both Rugby Union Football (of course) and Table Tennis with local Kamo clubs. He was also a member of the Kamo Athletics Club where he competed mainly in longer distance events. And, according to this report, did so successfully, at least once:
It was during this time that he also joined the St John’s Ambulance Service as a volunteer and got to drive the rather “posh” Austin Princess Vanden Plas Ambulance. I got to get a ride in it too, once, when Dick and his fellow “Ambo” were in Auckland having brought a patient down from Whangarei.
Sometime in 1950 Dick bought a semi-derelict 1934 6 cylinder Vauxhall car and rebuilt it. He later drove it to Wellington and, after a few days catching up with friends there, picked me up at Silverstream for the return trip home. I’m not sure what the route was or how long the trip took but, as one of the photos below will testify, we certainly drove over the Rimutaka Ranges, which not being the usual route north must have been to prove his “rebuild” would make it. We must have stayed with friends of his on the way home but apart from a vague recollection of a stop near Hamilton – and a party there – my memory banks are empty.
This a much better photo of the results of his handiwork, found recently by Judy:
Dick was still living at home in Kamo at this time and, I think, continued to do so until he went overseas – of which more, later.
There had been some thought that part of the Kamo property could be cultivated to grow vegetables and, to this end, this Trusty Tractor was bought.
I don’t think the market garden idea ever came to fruition, but I do have clear memories of Dick ploughing and harrowing “the top paddock” with the trusty “Trusty”!
In 1953 Dick took some time off or was granted leave of absence from the “Advocate” to travel overseas and left on the “Rangitane” from Wellington on 3 November.
On the Passenger List of the “Rangitane” on which he sailed to England, he entered 7 Duart Avenue, Prestwick, Scotland, (where lived his Uncle Richard Jago Butler) as his proposed address in the United Kingdom. As a sad aside, Richard J. died of a heart attack less than twelve months later.
I had assumed that he and Gwen Forsyth, a nurse from Whangarei, who he was later to marry, travelled together to England. Gwen, however, did not arrive until August 1955, travelling on the “Rangitiki” also from Wellington.
Dick and Gwen’s engagement in England was announced in the “Northern Advocate” as follows:
While away he wrote frequently to his parents and younger brother Peter. I was privileged to be able to compile the hundred or so aerograms, letters, postcards and the like and these have been published in PDF format under the title of “Dick’s Travel Journals – 1953 to 1957”. They are available via email or Dropbox on request.
A significant event at the Centennial Highland Games in 1953 was the opening of a “House of Memories” – now known as the Waipu Museum – and where is found the following family item originally left to my mother by her great-grandfather, Francis Somner, and passed on to the Museum by Dick.
And what is a stack ventilator, you ask? Well, not having seen or heard of such a thing, I deduced from its name that it was a device for cutting holes in a haystack to cool it down and prevent spontaneous combustion. And, what’s more, I found a photo to prove it.
How wrong was I? What Francis had invented was a little more complex than just a simple hole cutter. In fact, on the 7th April 1852, he registered the design of his “Stack or Rick Ventilator” with the UK Designs Office.
And, courtesy, the UK National Archives, this is a copy of that registered design:
On his return in 1957, he rejoined the Advocate and this photo of him at work was probably taken about then:
Dick married Gwenyth “Gwen” Julia Forsyth at Whakapara, Northland on 18th January 1958.
The reception in the Whakapara Hall was what I assume must have been a traditional country one. The men gathered around a keg – or more – of beer in the basement while their wives, mothers, and daughters shared cups of tea upstairs in the hall proper.
I do not recall there being a wedding breakfast as such but there was no shortage of “eats” on trestle tables on one side of the Hall. My recollection is of the friendliest gathering of family, friends and neighbours imaginable with little if anything in the way of formalities. In fact, the only clear recollection I have is of Dick and Gwen leading the dancing with Bridal Waltz, whereupon they were joined by couples of men and women, women and women and children of all ages. It was a truly happy occasion.
During his 17 years with the “Advocate”, he honed his journalistic skills both in Whangarei and, for a time, as the rural correspondent for the Kaipara district. Here, commissioned by the Maungaturoto Centennial Association, he wrote This Valley In The Hills, to celebrate the centennial of Maungaturoto. Although long out of print, it is still available through libraries both in New Zealand and Australia.
In 1966 he joined the NZ Government’s Tourist & Publicity Department as a Media Liaison Officer initially in Auckland. Here he and Gwen bought a house in Mount Albert at 7 Stewart Road, to be exact. It was here that their youngest, Paul, was born, the older children, Maurice (1958), Kerry (1959), Kathryn (1961) and Judy (1963) being born in Maunaturoro.
A promotion within the Tourist & Publicity Department required a transfer to Wellington to which the family moved in 1978. Here, after a short stay in a motel in Johnsonville, they bought in Tawa at 6 McLellan Street, where they lived until his retirement.
One of his personal responsibilities was to provide media liaison for distinguished visitors, including the British Royals who visited many times during his 23 years’ service.
During the 1983 tour by Charles, Diana and Prince William, he was to become the centre of media attention himself because he introduced a truck with tiered platforms to transport photographers speedily from place to place. It was dubbed, appropriately enough, the Dickmobile.
He was one of a select band of people who received an honour from the Queen at her personal request. For his services to the family, she made him a Member of the Victoria Order in 1974 and promoted him within the order in 1981.
During the Royal visit of Charles, Diana and William in 1983 Dick rated a mention in Hansard, as you’ll read here:
I have yet to find the Dominion article quoted, but I’ll keep looking.
Dick retired in late 1989 and he and Gwen returned to Whangarei to live, building a unit at 2a Princes Street, Whangarei. They had bought a property in Cable Bay, in the far North, much earlier than this and there had been some thought of making this their final retirement nest but while they visited and holidayed there frequently, the move never eventuated.
In mid-December 1997 we had a letter from Dick to let us know that Gwen had been diagnosed with bowel cancer earlier in the year. Despite surgery, it had spread to her liver and was inoperable.
Having been told that she was not expected to live until Christmas the planned family Christmas gathering was brought forward. As a result, their children, Kerry, Paul and Kathy flew in from overseas to join Maurice and Judy for a mid-November family Christmas celebration, the first time they had all been together since 1981. Gwen passed away on Christmas Day.
Regrettably but not unexpectedly, Dick did not survive her long, dying of a heart attack on 20th April 1998. I flew over for the funeral and was touched to be asked to deliver a funeral reading, namely, “Death is Nothing”, by Henry Scott-Holland.
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
This I did even if a deal more nervously than I had hoped, though if anybody noticed they were too kind to mention it.
Both Gwen’s and Dick’s ashes were originally placed under a pohutukawa tree they had planted on the Cable Bay section. When the section was unexpectedly sold, the ashes were recovered and scattered near the Capitaine Bougainville Monument at Whananaki where, as Judy, wrote ” they still look out over the ocean”, as they had at Doubtless Bay.
“The Evening Post”, 7 May 1998, Edition 3, Page 5.
By: Ewan Audrey
Respected media minder for kings, queens and jokers.
Richard (Dick) Butler, State media liaison officer: B Whangarei, November 11, 1929; ed St Patrick’s College, Silverstream; m 1958 Gwen Forsyth 3s 2d; d Whangarei, April 20, 1998. Keeping an eye on the media when they’re chasing Royalty is not a job for the faint-hearted. Dick Butler was not faint of heart, and he knew how to keep bolshie press photographers in line. During the 1983 tour by Charles, Diana and Prince William, he was to become the centre of media attention himself because he introduced a truck with tiered platforms to transport photographers speedily from place to place. It was dubbed the Dickmobile, which he took in good humour.
Butler was on chatting terms with several Royal families, prime ministers and presidents.
His favourites were the British Royals who visited many times during the 23 years he was involved with media liaison for distinguished visitors. He was to have a little difference of opinion with Princess Anne over the number of times he helped with her tours. He thought it was four; she thought it was five. They sat down and worked it out, and she was right. He hadn’t included a half-hour stopover when she was on her way home from visiting Kiribati.
Prince Edward tried a prank on him once, and it worked well. He put his arm in a sling as he returned to Timaru from Mt Peel Station, and said it was worth it just to see the horrified look on Butler’s face. She made him a member of the Victoria Order in 1974 and promoted him within the order in 1981.
During his varied career, Butler worked as an ambulance driver and as a journalist on the Northern Advocate and for the Tourist and Publicity Department’s information and publicity services where he relieved as a ministerial press secretary on several occasions. He was chief information officer for Civil Defence for three years.
He wrote This Valley In The Hills, to celebrate the centennial of Maungaturoto and was particularly interested in historical research on Maori settlements in Northland.
When Butler retired in 1989 he returned to Northland where he alternated between his home in Whangarei and a holiday place at Cable Bay. In earlier days he worked with Jaycees, scouts and guides and participated in many sports. He was a rugby referee for 15 years.
Recent tragic events took a toll on him. His wife died on Christmas Day and a grandson was then killed when hit by a train on his way to school. He died suddenly as he was packing his bag for a trip to Cable Bay.
“The Northern Advocate”, Whangarei. NZ.
Journalist whom prince chauffeured dies.
A former Northern Advocate reporter who was once chauffeured by royalty has died suddenly.
Dick Butler, 68, of Whangarei, began his working career in 1947 at the Advocate. He became a media liaison officer involved with the Internal Affairs Special Visitors Branch from 1984 to 1989.
He died at his Whangarei home on April 20.
Mr Butler’s latter career involved frequent contact with the British royal family.
He was involved as media liaison officer with four royal visits, although he once recounted in a national magazine a conversation with Princess Anne in which she maintained it was five.
In the end I said, hang on, let’s look at this. And it appeared she’d counted a half hour stopover on her way back from Kiribati’s independence celebrations as a visit? Mr Butler was reported as saying.
A keen fisherman and sportsman, Mr Butler is survived by his children Kathryn Butler, Judy Ward, Maurice, Kerry, and Paul Butler. Mr Butler’s wife, Gwen, died last year.
Mrs Ward said her father who retired in 1989, used to recall various anecdotes from his career.
One incident in particular in the late 1960s stood out – an occasion when royalty decided to chauffeur Mr Butler instead of vice-versa.
Mrs Ward said the royal in question was Prince Edward, who was teaching at Wanganui Collegiate at the time. The prince decided it was time he drove Mr Butler about. On alighting from the car’s driver seat, Prince Edward duly opened Mr Butler’s door and fetched his luggage.
Mr Butler used to recall the prince as being? really down-to-earth? Mrs Ward said.
Mr Butler’s royal contact was the culmination of a career which included stints overseas and time as a senior press officer for government departments in the northern North Island.
For his services to royalty, Mr Butler was vested a member of the Royal Victorian Order of the Queen in 1974 and a lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order following a 1981 royal visit.
He will be remembered for the “Dickmobile”- a mobile platform he devised to allow photographers to get about without annoying crowds. – By Audrey Ewan
Other published material about Dick
New Zealand Woman’s Weekly, 15 Jan 1990
Other published material written by Dick
“This Valley in the Hills”
This Valley in the Hills: The Story of Maungaturoto, Brynderwyn, Bickerstaffe, Batley, Marohemo, Whakapirau
Maungaturoto Centennial Association, 1963
The introduction to this book describes it as “our tribute to the memory of our forefathers. to the early settlers of the district, who came not knowing what the future would hold, with prospects and markets uncertain, but armed with courage, determination and the will to win through.” To mark the centennial of the advent of those early settlers this fine history was produced and tells the story of the people who laid the foundations of the township of Maungaturoto and the surrounding localities of Brenderwyn, Bickerstaffe, Batley, Marohemo and Whakapirau.
Compiled by Dick Butler for the District Centennial Association it provides a comprehensive account of the many stages in the development of the district, beginning with a chapter on the pre-European Maori tribes of the area, first encounters with the European Missionaries from the 1820s, followed by permanent settlers from the 1860s. The story continues by covering all important aspects of development including the troubles that occurred between Maori and the colonials, land purchases in the district, the Kauri timber days, the gradual development of the area becoming an important dairy farming centre, local government and civic organisations, education, transport and communications and the community and sporting groups that paralleled the achievement of commercial, industrial and economic progress. To a large extent the evolution from pioneering to established community was similar to that in other parts of NZ, but throughout this record there are indications that “this valley in the hills” was always a close-knit, caring and progressive society.
These are copies of two articles written by Dick while he was based in Maungaturoto – “Kaipara Oyster Farm” published on 21 May 1964 and the “Ruawai Dairy Company’s Diamond Jubilee” on 11 August of the same year:
The Visitors’ Centre at Parliament House opens at 9:00 am. Individual tours cannot be booked ahead and as they are limited to forty and offered on a first come first serve basis, I felt I needed to be there no later than 8:30.
Helped by Ingrid who took me right into the underground public carpark (free) I made my way up to the entrance to be confronted with some hundreds of Asian tourists. I seemed to be on my lonesome and wondered how I could possibly compete with this lot. The doors opened on the dot of nine and I was almost first through for the airline type screening before being able to make my way to the Visitors’ Centre.
I must have looked concerned as an elderly gentleman with the look of a helper asked could he help. I said yes, I was hoping to join the 9:30 am tour but felt that I might be outnumbered. He said you are the first one to register for it as the groups have their own separate tours, and that the best thing I could do was to go up to the Café and enjoy a nice cup of coffee until 9:25.
And I did just that – and a beautiful large caramel latté went down a treat.
By 9:25 am there were no more than twelve of us, all properly badged, to be guided by Eric, the kindly gentleman who allayed my fears of missing out.
It was an excellent tour and Eric was an excellent guide. It is a magnificent building both inside and out and the Australian timbers used so extensively fit the décor of the building beautifully.
Eric gave us a sort of potted history of the House and its predecessor as well as a briefing on the workings and rituals adopted from the Westminster system but in a thoughtfully un-patronising way.
I enjoyed it thoroughly and am glad I postponed my departure so I could do it.
Although, as a non-sitting day, photography was not restricted in any way at all, I limited myself to only one. And here it is, a portion of the huge tapestry that hangs in the Great Hall, based on a painting by Arthur Boyd. I found it very appealing perhaps because I’ve become more Australian bush conscious. Certainly, it is very like some of what I have seen on my trek.
The tour itself lasted a little over an hour and I wandered about for perhaps another half, some of which was taken up waiting for a group to leave the Great Hall so that I could take my tapestry photo.
In much the same way as Ingrid had helped me through and out of Melbourne, she did so again out of Canberra. For whatever reason, there are no signs pointing to Sydney, or at least I saw none, but she got us out and onto the Hume Highway again, in what seemed like no time at all.
I complained about Hume Highway yesterday, but I believe the Canberra Sydney bit is about as boring as it gets.
I made a comfort stop, coffee break at the Service Centre at Marulan just north of Goulburn but couldn’t get back on the road fast enough. The traffic was heavy but being a Sunday there were, thank goodness, few if any trucks.
I checked into MGSM just after 3:00 pm and, thanks to Susanne, this time scored my old balcony room overlooking the lake. It was 30° on my arrival and I’m sure the closed-up room was closer to 35°. Thank goodness for air-conditioning. The restaurant here is closed on Sundays, as are two of my other favourites the Mediterranean and Basil’s in nearby Trafalgar Place.
So, on the recommendation of the young fellow at Reception I drove down to Macquarie Centre and tried one of “Grill’d’s” purportedly to die for hamburgers.
It may have been for him but not for me. The patty had the truly char-grilled look and flavour and was nice enough, but the bun had a soggy bottom and the lettuce and tomato were past their best. But it was what I wanted in the sense of fast-food and at $30.00 for the burger, chips and a glass of shiraz, it wasn’t bad value.
I have had much better at Mcdonalds and heaps much better at the Tuncurry Rock Pool Cafe. So I’m unlikely to be a return customer.
To mark this the final update of my Tasmanian Trek chronicles, I’ll finish what’s left in the bottle of McGuigan Red and “hit the hay”.
It’s been a wonderful journey, and I may do something similar again next year, perhaps Drake Village way.
A foggy morning though not particularly cold – which I guess is why it is foggy.
After another good filling breakfast to set me up for the day, I was all checked-out and off.
The first 40 km or so from the Lodge was on, perhaps not too surprisingly, Cradle Mountain Road. Of the roads I’ve travelled thus far this was by far the best maintained, thanks I guess to its being the route to one of Tasmania’s top tourist destinations. It was however not particularly scenic.
But after the turnoff onto C133, just north of Wilmot, suggested – or perhaps I should say directed – by Ingrid the next 30 km was better. As she has done on previous occasions, Ingrid took me on a convoluted country road but on this occasion instead of dense bushland, it was through the richly fertile agricultural land of an area called Castra.
Preston Falls, which I understand is on private land is reached by a series of steep but not impossible steps down, and through a lovely small pocket of rainforest. The Falls themselves were clearly suffering from the lack of rain in the area but were still worth the visit.
As was the case with all the Falls I’ve visited in Tassie, they must all be spectacular after rain.
A couple of locals who descended on the Falls as I was leaving, recommended I have a look at Penguin. I had originally thought I might get as far as Stanley but, although I didn’t have enough time to do that, I did have enough to have a look at the Penguin they were so enthusiastic about.
While an attractive village right on the beach, access is only over the freight-only railway line that runs from Burnie to Devonport. Having been spoilt with the ease of our access to Main Beach and others in Forster it was not a beach setting that could live in.
I moseyed further East, but the coastline and its sea/rail-side properties became increasingly less desirable. Still with time on my hands, I turned west again to the couple’s other recommendation, Burnie.
I knew there was a Bendigo Bank branch there and I hoped to make use of its ATM. I found Burnie easily enough though I had to resort to a shopping centre multi-storey car park in the absence of any available street parking. But, even with Ingrid’s help in walking mode, the Bendigo Branch bank eluded us. You’ll recall she did this to me before in Launceston when I was looking for the Museum.
I did, however, find a desperately needed public toilet and a Woolies where I could top up Eksy5’s tank and my dwindled banana and apple supplies.
I did not find the city of Burnie in the least bit attractive and not only because its inhabitants could easily have been shipped in from Taree about which I have similar feelings – or that’s how they looked.
One of the places on my list of “sees if you can” was “Home Hill” the former home of Joseph Lyons, his wife, Dame Enid and their twelve children.
The home is owned by the Devonport City Council but is managed by the National Trust.
It is only open for one-hour guided tours at 2:00 pm from Wednesday to Sunday so I thought if I stirred my stumps, I might make it in time. I didn’t, underestimating my driving time from Burnie because I wanted to have a look at what might be on the coast road between Burnie and Penguin. And despite the rail-line, that portion of the coast was more attractive.
But back to my Home Hill visit. I got there at 2:30 pm to be told by one of the volunteers that the tour had already started but that he would ask if I was too late. The guide, Penny, came to the door and said, yes, I was, but if I would like to join the Queensland couple for the second half of the tour, she would be happy to redo the first part for me. How nice was that?
It was a lovely home, large and surprisingly light for its time and full of family memorabilia. That it needed to be large became clearer when Penny explained that the couple had twelve children. Penny was an excellent guide, being as familiar with the house’s and the family’s history as if she had been a Lyons. Not knowing very much about Joseph or Enid for that matter, I learnt a lot in a short time and found it of real interest. An hour well spent.
And, yes, as you may have guessed if you hadn’t already known, Joe was a devout Catholic and Enid (although brought up a Methodist) converted to marry him. And according to Penny became even more devout than her husband. As you might expect, there were religious statues, paintings and crucifixes in almost every room.
This pleasant diversion meant that I arrived at the Ferry Terminal only 30 minutes before the gates opened for our 5:00 pm loading. As a result, I was in my cabin on Deck 7 again right at 5:15.
Although I had been able to access the Internet in my cabin on the trip down (and paid $20.00 for the privilege) I was unable to do so on the northward journey only to discover that access was only supposed to be available in the public areas. My first cabin, being quite close to the public areas, must have been in just the right place. I am not unhappy about internetting in public areas but to find a quiet spot where I could do my thing was just not possible on the Spirit of Tasmania. All of which may explain my doleful message that transmission would be interrupted.
Following Mortein’s good advice “when you are on a good thing stick to it”, I indulged again in the delicious roast pork with the requisite amount of crackling, roast potato, beans and broccoli. It was delicious, as were the tiny pavlovas.
And, before you ask, the trip was an even smoother one than last time – so sleep I did!!
22 March 2019
As anticipated the FILO rule applied and Eksy5 and I would have been amongst the last dozen or so cars to disembark, if that’s what cars do too.
Thank goodness for Ingrid. In the 7:00 am Melbourne darkness, I could never have found my way to the motorway I was meant to use to get out of the city without her. And she does it all with such aplomb. And, unlike another living navigator of recent memory, is infinitely patient with me when I either ignore her or turn earlier than she has directed!
Once out of the city and on to Sydney Road (aka Hume Highway) I soon became disenchanted both with the amount of traffic and a road surface that was very ordinary for an arterial route of this importance. So, after a couple of hours I detoured to Seymour for a comfort stop, a walk around the centre and a visit to Woolies to get my Coffee Milk Morning tea break.
From there I plotted a course avoiding the Hume Highway and enjoyed some good roads still – the Goulburn Valley and Midland Highways in particular. Ingrid however is “time-driven” and four or five times she tried to persuade me to return to Hume Highway and save xx minutes. But she also found me some interesting country roads on which there was little or no traffic.
I have to say, however, that someone should put the “climate change sceptics” in an un-air-conditioned bus and take them on a tour of the countryside. Today would have been a good day to do so not only because of the burnt fields but also the quite strong wind-blown dust clouds across the roads. It would too have been a day that farmers and “firies” both would hate.
At some point we had no option but to re-join the Hume Highway, but it had been good while it lasted. In the end the drive became a five hour rather than a three hour one but was none the worse for that.
At the Best Western Plus Albury Hovell Tree Inn (now there’s a mouthful) I have a large second-floor room with a balcony overlooking what is striving to be a green treed lawn. Parking is under the building and thanks to a lift I could bring my big wardrobe suitcase up to change my Tasmanian cool climate wear for that more appropriate to the summer-like days forecast for the rest of my trek.
Free and good internet access has also meant I was able to get my trek journal up-to-date and the delayed updates away. A good afternoon’s work.
The restaurant was serving only a Sunday Dinner Menu tonight because of a Public Holiday here. I could find nothing in the calendar so perhaps it’s an Albury-only one. The limited menu was fine and even this far from the coast I was still able to enjoy a fishy meal. In this case it comprised an entrée of Crumbed Calamari with Aioli and a main of Baked Salmon, grilled asparagus, new potatoes and myrtle thyme blanc. Both very good indeed.
Tomorrow I am Canberra bound and looking forward to re-visiting the National Gallery. And the reason for my visit is the Pre-Raphaelite Masterpieces from the Tate exhibition “Love & Desire”.
And wot? No photos. Not today I’m afraid. And there may none tomorrow either.
23 March 2019
I got away soon after 8:30 am and took advantage of the quite good diesel discount price here in Albury before hitting the road proper. As I wanted to get to Canberra in plenty of time for my Gallery visit, I had little choice but to brave the Hume Highway. I took a break at Yass, an almost quintessential Australian country town and one I hadn’t visited before, to get my morning coffee from Woolies and my McGuigan Red from BWS.
From there I headed straight for the gallery so that I could have the maximum amount of time there. Although I got to the Gallery at about 12:30 I then had to find parking. The National Gallery carparks were full but, on the off chance that the Portrait Gallery might have a spot in its underground one, we made the gentle descent to find we had a choice of twenty or more. The relief was palpable!!
Fortunately, it is only a short walk past the High Court to the National Gallery. “Love & Desire” was a terrific exhibition and one of the best I have seen.
The audio-visual guide had images and quite detailed descriptions of 20 of what I presume the curator’s thought were the best representatives of the 90 or so that made up the exhibition.
For me, there were some works that were included for I know not what reason but others that I thought should have been that were omitted. I guess that’s why I’m not a Gallery Director.
Standouts were, of course, “Ophelia” and “The Lady of Shallot” but one entitled “Work’ by Ford Maddox Brown that I had not seen or heard of was so full of characters as to be appealing. Depicting a group of labourers digging up the road for a new sewerage and drainage system it was as full of characters from the human and animal world as a Breughel.
Another that took caught my eye, perhaps because of the kilted figure was Millais’ “The Order of Release”. It depicts the wife of a rebel Scottish soldier, who has been imprisoned, arriving with an order securing his release. She holds her child, showing the order to the guard, while her husband embraces her, and his dog jumps up to welcome him back too.
I spent nearly three hours there and only gave in in the end because my legs and back were saying “enough, enough”.
But, having said that I didn’t think there would be any photos today, here’s one:
The four-metre high wax ‘candle’ sculpture, Francesco 2017, by Swiss artist Urs Fischer is continuously melting from the constant heat of a candle flame. The wick was only lit a week ago and will, over the next six months, according to the blurb, gradually melt into a mottled puddle all over the “refrigerator” plinth. You can just see the first drips close to his right foot.
At $1,000,000, which is what the NGA paid for it, it must be the most expensive candle in the universe.
The Best Western Garden City Hotel has seen better times. Having said that I was “upgraded” to a suite – but which scarcely qualified for such a grand description. However, it is very clean – just “tired plus”.
But the surprise of the evening was the in-house dinner. In a rush of blood to the head, and after having had more than a little seafood, I decided to try the ribeye. It was huge and beautifully cooked – as were the accompanying carrot, broccoli and truly buttery mash. I even braved the looks of other diners by gnawing on the bone. It was a Neanderthal’s delight.
As I have a little time in the morning, I am going to try and get on the first tour of Parliament House which longtime friend, Faye Heggie, for one, had recommended. It all depends on my waking and breakfasting in time and being early in the queue for the 9:30 am tour. We’ll see how we go…
An earlier start to the day than usual because I needed to check-in at Gordon River Cruises when they opened at 7:30 am and find out also what the parking arrangements were. Bushman’s doesn’t offer breakfast, so I restricted myself to my usual on-the-run one of maple syrup oat bars and, here, Moccona instant coffee.
The 6-hour cruise was scheduled to depart at 8:30 am – and the return by 3:00 pm left me with me ample time for the two-hour run to Cradle Mountain. Boarding was from 8:00 am.
As it turned out I beat even my own time target but, while waiting for Gordon River Cruises’ doors to open I was able to view the “Spirit of the Wild”. It is a big catamaran but with its dark battleship grey exterior not particularly attractive. It has two passenger decks and an open viewing deck as its third.
I checked in, got my boarding pass and a voucher for the “Council Pay and Display” car park around the corner 100 metres away. Soon after I got back from parking Eksy5 it was time to board.
It may have looked warship-like from the outside, but the interior is all swish comfort with on the premier upper deck angled leather reclining seats beside floor to ceiling windows. I have the window seat from which this photo was taken looking toward the bow.
As we were being shown to our seats we got to choose from a selection of Danish pastries and juices, which proved to be the first of a number of food offerings well-spaced throughout the cruise. This is a copy of the menu beside each seat:
The seat itself was beautifully comfortable and had an airline-like fold out table for dining. We sailed on the dot of 8:00 am and once out into Macquarie Harbour we were soon speeding our way to Hells Gates the 120-metre-wide entrance to the harbour. When I say speeding, she really was, at about 22 knots. Only launched in June last year the very powerful diesel engines with which she was fitted enable her to do so, as do the electric motors fitted for her quiet running mode on the Gordon River.
The impression that you are on an international flight is reinforced by large “follow your flight” type screens like this:
The passage to Hells Gates was as scenic as one could wish for – as this shot shows:
Hells Gates is apparently one of the more hazardous entrances on the Australian coastline and boasts two lighthouses one of which, the “Entrance” is shown here:
We ventured briefly into the Tasman Sea and were informed that if we kept going the next landfall would be in South America. Although warned about the possibility that the boat might roll a little, she scarcely did so in the very calm seas.
From there it was a non-stop and speedy passage of the Harbour to the mouth of the river. We did slow briefly as we passed the very extensive group of fish farms and a brief explanation of their importance to the Tasmanian economy and of the farming process itself. A less appealing aspect of this was the revelation, at least to me, that the fish feed contains Astaxanthin – a chemical that mimics the pigment salmon would normally attain from crustaceans in the wild. It appears that different markets around the world prefer their salmon a particular colour and to decide how much Astaxanthin should be added to the feed, there is such a thing as a “salmofan”, which looks like a paint chart. It shows a scale of different “degrees” of the salmon colour preferred from grey to dark pink. There was a copy of it on the boat.
During this passage we were served our mid-morning canapes – both were very good but the baby cup of potato and leek soup with parmesan crumbs was the standout.
On our entry to the Gordon River, the engines were switched to quiet mode – and they were. Our slower speed also made it possible to make good use of the expansive upper deck – and most of the passengers on what must have been a full boat seemed able to do so without crowding. It is a magnificent waterway and on such a fine, almost cloudless and windless day it could not have looked better. I along with so many others just took it all in in almost church-like silence.
We stopped and dismounted for a half-hour “Heritage Landing Nature Walk” with two guides from the boat pointing out the different tree, fern, and fungi varieties. It was interesting but not enthralling, or at least that’s how I found it.
On our return to the boat, lunch was ready and the buffet looked as inviting as the menu suggested. In an unusual fit of self-restraint, I limited myself to double portions of the ocean trout and the smoked salmon with a crusty bread roll. A gourmet feast deserving of a nice chardonnay but as the designated driver I limited myself to a Boags Premium Light. We kept being asked if we had had sufficient to eat but like most others near me at least, we had done very well.
After the briefest of open-eyed siestas, we were landing at Sarah Island for the second of our guided tours. This hour-long one was led by guides from the Round Earth Company. A penal settlement in the early 1820s it was another “hell hole” like Port Arthur – only worse.
As we moved around the ruins, for that’s all that’s left, our guide related the story of the island and some of those, military, administrative or convict, involving members of the group as some of the characters. In so doing he wove a fascinating if horrifying tale of the settlement.
I had been tempted to stay on the boat and extend my siesta. I’m glad I resisted the temptation.
On our return, we were welcomed with our desserts which, again, were “tops”. With no persuasion at all I chose the blue cheese, crackers and pear paste – twice!
It was a first-rate cruise in every way, and I could not recommend Gordon River Cruises more highly.
It was with some reluctance that I re-joined Eksy5 for the home run to Cradle Mountain. The quality of the road was excellent, though we gave our climbing, descending and wheel-turning a real work-out on the stretch between Zeehan and Rosebery.
On arrival at Peppers Cradle Mountain Lodge, I was told my accommodation had been upgraded to a spa cabin which was much bigger than the standard one I had booked. I’m not sure whether they thought I needed the exercise because it is quite a distance from the Lodge and although I walked to and from it last night for dinner if it rains tomorrow as forecast, I’ll drive there. The cabin has everything I need and although not as fully equipped is cosier and warmer than Lake St Clair.
I was unable to get a booking at the restaurant which was no bad thing, given my extended cruise lunch, so I had a quite good Caesar Salad in the Tavern bistro. Lots of bacon but despite getting a mention in the menu, not an anchovy to be seen.
It was not a peaceful experience as that’s where families camping here eat – and last night they were out in marauding and noisy force. I’ll try and get into the restaurant for tomorrow night.
And after my climb back up the boardwalk to my cabin I had no difficulty in that most important of in-activities, sleep.
Wednesday 20 March 2019
A foggy then drizzly then showery morning providing the only excuse I needed to drive down for my included breakfast. A more than adequate hot and cold buffet from which I chose sufficient to get me through until banana time which, of course, it did.
The first really un-touristy type weather I have experienced was well-timed because I was able to complete yesterday’s update and do some washing, drying and ironing to see me through until I get home.
I had last night booked a one-and-a-half-hour tour of the nearest parts of the National Park. It was scheduled to leave at 1:30 pm by which time there was a hint of the sun of which I had high hopes would continue.
When Steve, our driver/guide picked me and one other passenger up from the Lodge it started to shower again and got heavier as we proceeded.
A long-time guide for Peppers, he was informative about the geology, flora and fauna and we were happy to join him at selected stops where he had examples of one or other to show us.
Cradle Mountain itself was almost completely shrouded in cloud and Lake Dove was looking dismally drearier than I remember it.
The lead-up to the highlight of our short tour was, however, our visit to Waldheim Chalet built in the early 1900s by Gustav and Kate Weindorfer, early proponents of the establishment of a National Park. The Chalet was built both as their home and a guest house but after their deaths fell into ruin and was demolished.
In 1976, the National Parks and Wildlife Service contracted a local builder to reconstruct it as it had been at the time of Gustav’s death in 1932 using the same materials. We walked through it and although the rooms had brief explanatory descriptions, it appears to be in need of a refurbishment and improved signage.
Steve then led us through the garden and across the creek up into as good a living example of rainforest I’ve ever visited. That it was now raining heavily and all three of us were soaked, dampened our spirits not at all. It was a short walk but one I won’t forget.
By some good fortune the cabin has a wood-burning heater already laid with kindling and plenty of wood. So even before my warming shower I had it lit and as many of my wet clothes as I could find something on which to hang them out to dry. It looked like the original Chinese Laundry – and still does.
With the heater seriously stoked up, they can continue to dry while I venture down to the Lounge so that I can get yesterday’s update away before dinner.
With continued good luck and the likelihood that the fire will last the night, everything will be dry enough for me to pack for the next leg of the trek.
At this stage, I have planned my route to Devonport and the ferry via Preston Falls and whatever else on the North Coast I have time for.
Dinner was a bit hit and miss – the entrée of scallops sitting on a slice of black pudding would have been better if the scallops were not so small – which may again have been the result of overcooking.
The main course described only as steamed “white fish” (which the waitress could not identify nor made any attempt to find out), was only orright!
How steamed fish fillets could end up tough is beyond me. The bok choy and buttered Dutch carrots were however delicious.
EOM – End of moaning!
Another gorgeously fine day to start me off on the North Western leg of my trek. By some miracle of organisation for which I am happy to take credit, I was awake, shaved, showered, breakfasted, packed and checked out by 8:30.
My first stop was New Norfolk just half an hour out and which would be the last place where I could get my Woolies Rewards discounted (?) diesel – $1.56 /L.
There was also an associated Woolies supermarket on a different site where I was able to top up my banana, apple, water and maple syrup oat bar supplies for the next two or three days.
I timed my arrival at Russell Falls well because I had no trouble finding a spot in the very small main carpark close to the visitor’s centre. Armed with my free “Seniors” Tasmanian National Parks pass, nor did I have any trouble checking in to do the walk, there being only a short queue at the registration desk.
Access to the falls was by a relatively level, quite wide, sealed and thus wheelchair and pram friendly path.
The estimated time of the walk was just 25 mins return but that must have been for a non-stop version. With a number of “wow” and photo stops it took me all of an hour. Ferns line the edges of the path and tall trees abound. These I understood from the pocket guide were giant eucalypts and myrtles though if the crepe myrtle is truly a myrtle, the only similarity would be the name.
Even without the falls, the walk would have been worth the drive on its own. It was beautiful and very photogenic. The falls themselves were blessed with a little more water than Lilydale but with their two-tier formation much more impressive. They must be magnificent after good rain or snow.
There were two other walks, but both involved steep and slippery steps, so I forwent the lung and leg testing challenge. By the time of my return, even with three Park staff manning it, the queue at the registration desk was out through the front door. And there was a grateful driver waiting to nab my parking spot rather than have to drive down the road to the overflow one.
According to the blurb, the Mount Field Park in which the Russell Falls is sited is one of the most popular of Tasmania’s Parks. Being so close to Hobart and very accessible I can understand why. And on as beautiful a day as today, I’m sure the Hobartians saw this a perfect day-trip destination.
To avoid another rutted gravel road experience, I opted to back-track to rejoin the Lyell Highway for my drive to Lake St Clair. This made it a relatively longer drive but an interesting one. I was again able to drive at my pleasurably leisurely 70 or 80 kph making it so much easier to take in what I was passing through. Today included a mix of agricultural properties, old-growth forests, commercial pine forests, vineyards, scrub-covered and obscenely bare logged areas. The road itself was of variable quality but eighty per cent of it would have been at least 100 km/h safe.
Thanks to Tasmanian Hydro I found a good if not particularly scenic lunch stop spot at Tungatinah Power Station next to the Nive River. It boasted covered and open picnic seating, good toilet facilities and coin-operated barbecues. The perfect place to enjoy my bananas, apple and sparkling spring water with a hint of lemon!
The drive weaves its way through the Lakes none of which I detoured to explore but doubtless will sometime in the future. I did stop briefly however beside the Bronte Lagoon where there is a memorial to Surveyors of old. The location was chosen because it is the geographical centre of Tasmania.
And so, to Lake St Clair. I have a so-called “wilderness cabin” at the “Lake St Clair Lodge” and it is. They all, including the waterside ones, look very much like the cabins in a down-market motor camp. But inside it’s a different story, tiny balcony, compact kitchen with fridge and microwave, gowns and slipper scuffs, a fully-tiled bathroom with very modern fittings including a huge shower AND a heated towel rail.
Perhaps intentionally emphasising the wilderness claim the drive to the cabin was something of a challenge as was parking nearby in unmarked and only notionally formed spaces. Having backed and filled I finally got Eksy5 tucked up, but she can stay there until I leave after breakfast in the morning.
Fortunately, the Visitors’ Centre and Restaurant are within walking distance, so dinner and breakfast do not pose a problem – even if the bees or wasps do. Luckily, the Parks Information Office sells a pocket-sized insect repellent spray called “Ouch” and it worked a treat both on the path to the Visitors’ Centre and, necessarily, the restaurant.
There is a café but the offerings there are basic.
The only appealing alternative was the restaurant which, as you will read has a limited menu and is seriously overpriced, but if I wanted a proper meal it would have to do.
From this I chose the Cape Grim Eye fillet which was as good a one as I’ve had in a long time with new potatoes, grilled asparagus and broccoli. Despite its ludicrous $52.00 cost, I savoured every bit of it.
Tomorrow, I hope to detour again to visit Nelson Falls, another purportedly accessible, attraction. I’ll let you know with or without accompanying promotional photographs.
The huge king-sized bed looks inviting, so that’s where I’ll head now….
Monday 18 March 2019
A bracing walk in the 12° cool of the morning to a forgettable breakfast which is probably why it was included in the tariff. An urn with sachets of Nescafe was the coffee offering, for which I substituted what tasted like watered down apple juice.
The 65 km run to Nelson Falls was another scenic but a surprisingly easy one. I was able to stop on one occasion to get a shot of what I thought was an attractive “cloudy mountains” landscape – and while not as attractive as I remember it, it will do:
The walk into Nelson Falls was said to be 20 minutes return – which, for me, was about half of what it actually took. While the pathway was not quite as attractive as yesterday’s, the falls themselves were stunning.
The early part of the road from there to Queenstown was easy and I was even able to saunter along at a really relaxing 60 kph. But the closer I got to Queenstown, even that was too fast to negotiate some of the bends. And the really steep bit down into the town gave Eksy5 and me quite a workout.
I had thought of stopping there but a circuit of the town centre confirmed that little had changed since I last visited possibly in the 70s and it is no more attractive now than we found it then.
Being surrounded by the stripped earth and quarry scarred hillsides, a legacy of the early gold and copper mining days, it has no appeal for me.
After the pre-Queenstown bends, those between there and Strahan were a breeze but even so I took a welcome break from them at the Rinadeena Access Road Lookout. I am glad I pulled in because the view was just beautiful and more than made up for the lack of them around Queenstown.
Despite this diversion, I still arrived far too early to check in to my deceptively-named accommodation site in Strahan, the Bushman’s Cafe. However, in my search for a quiet shady place for my lunch, I discovered the Peoples Park less than a km away. Here I was able to wind down and enjoy my bananas and royal gala apple at one of the many available picnic tables.
But there’s more to the People’s Park than “tables and shade” which sounds like one of those upmarket brand names. It is the home to the Hogarth Falls. The helpful Notice at the entrance to the path advised me that the walk was timed at 40 minutes return. Knowing my pace and that I had already done one shorter “walk” today I took some convincing that I could do it.
But do it I did, even if quite slowly at times. Again, it was worth the effort.
I was able to book in a little after 3:00 pm to one of three first floor “suites”. In reality, it is a most attractive split-level room which I guess could qualify for being described as a suite.
Dinner was on-site. The restaurant has quite a reputation and although heavily booked a couple of tables are kept for house guests. The offerings are quite pricy but as you will see, a bit different.
From this, I chose the “Salmon & Blue Eye”. Chargrilled, it was beautifully cooked and presented but on the night myrtle butter sauce had been substituted for the lime – and that suited me just fine. It comprised six quite large pieces of each fish all of which were moist and plain yummy.
As the distance to Cradle Mountain is relatively short, I thought I would have time to fit in a cruise tomorrow morning. Of the two companies offering cruises, I chose Gordon River Cruise more because their six-hour cruise left half an hour earlier and I thought that extra margin might be good to have to get to Cradle Mountain before dark. Even better was that I was able to get a booking on their new vessel, the “Spirit of the Wild” which, from the website, looked larger and, perhaps, more stable.
Indulging myself, I chose sight-unseen the “Premier Upper Deck” option. The fare was almost as expensive as that for the Bass Strait crossing but it did include two guided tours, lunch, morning and afternoon refreshments and an open bar. So I thought, why shouldn’t I?
I have no recollection of what the bed was like but I slept like the proverbial log which I put down more to my Falls’ expeditions than the glasses of wine at and after dinner.
Another slow start to the day, but this time because I was feeling the effects of all the exercise I indulged in yesterday. No, that’s not true. I just slept in.
But soon after my less leisurely breakfast than yesterday, I was off again. It was a cool but not cold start and a beautiful cloudless day for my return north. The drive from Dover as far north as Geeveston was just beautiful and thanks to some rain that they must have had that others hadn’t it was really quite green. I have got to like driving here on the quieter roads at my own pace and without too much hassle.
I enjoyed too the run around on the Channel Highway but found it less well endowed with spots where I could pull over and get any photos. It was a pity because there were plenty of attractive views but no easy way of capturing them. I can’t recall if you have trodden that path, for lack of a more apposite phrase, but it was well worth the marginally extra time it took and the lighter traffic. It might be more photographically accessible driving south, something I’ll try next time.
The upshot of my faster than planned trip was that I was going to get to Hobart too early to book in. But soon after joining the A6 about 8 km south of Hobart I spotted the sign for Mount Nelson. The Signal Station there was one of the places I planned to visit tomorrow, but asks he, what’s wrong with doing it today? So, I did and ended up not only with some great views but also a scrumptious seafood chowder with mussels, prawns, scallops, fish and Turkish bread at the “Signal Station Brasserie”. And as if that wasn’t enough, my partaking of it was from this window table on the veranda overlooking Hobart and beyond…
I have more photos taken from the Signal Station itself, but they turned out to be better in a panoramic format like this:
Still with some free time, I decided to cross off another destination on my Hobart list, albeit not a tourist attraction as such, the Lady Clark Retirement Village at Claremont. In my earlier searches, it was one of the rental-based ones that looked to me to be attractive. It is 15 minutes North of the city but even with Ingrid, just the drive through city traffic to get there was almost enough for me to turn around. But I hung in there and found it eventually after a couple of uncalled for early turn-offs of my not her choosing.
It is quite attractive but does not have the appeal that I thought it might from the brochure. One thing I think I’ve established is that I don’t want to live in a city anymore, so I’ve now crossed Hobart off my list. That is apart perhaps from Sydney-like cultural or entertainment visits to Hobart from wherever I am down south.
My accommodation in Hobart is at the RACV/RACT Hobart Apartment Hotel. Very swish and priced accordingly but with included under-cover parking and, best of all, within walking distance of the Spiegeltent which you’ll hear about in the fullness of time, it was a good choice.
Dinner tonight only required a walk to and from the lift, so it was very convenient. Called “Charcoal” for whatever reason, the dominating colour of the restaurant and hotel décor is black. I had booked for 6:00 pm but probably didn’t need to because until 7:00 I was the only one in the restaurant.
I again had a window seat, but the view now was of Collin Street from one floor up. Not quite up to the scenic attraction of the Brasserie.
In almost a resumption of “foodie news” from earlier Travel Journal posts I took advantage of the two course special and indulged in an entrée of “Marion Bay chicken terrine, preserved lemon, rye, and pepita” and a main of “Cape Grim short rib, caramelised and charred onion, black garlic, and kale”. The chicken terrine was just beautiful helped not a little by being topped with a crispy piece of chicken skin a là pork crackling. The beef was truly beefy in both texture and flavour though I was less enamoured with the wilted kale and black garlic.
Tomorrow night I’ve booked at a seafood restaurant, the “Blue Eye”, close to the Spiegeltent, of which more later, and I’m looking forward to another Tassie fish meal – of which I seem to have had too few.
With tomorrow now relatively free I thought I might take myself north to Ross and thereabouts which featured in some of Carolyn and Tony’s earlier real estate searches. The towns/villages sounded attractive and it seems a good opportunity to take a look-see seeing I’m here. See?
Saturday 16 March 2019
An encouraging start to the day with an included cooked breakfast – even if there was no black pudding. But the Apple Juice was as fresh and good as it should be on its own island, and the light flakiness of the very large croissant would have gladdened any Francophile.
At 12° it was another coolish morning but, contrary to the forecast, not a cloud to be seen.
When I left at 8:00 for my “Midlands” sweep, I had the streets of Hobart pretty much to myself and it was a pleasant change from having to battle the traffic as I did yesterday.
While the Midland Highway is almost motorway standard for the first 40 or 50 km my good early and relaxed run was challenged by literally km of road works. All I now understand part of the 10 year and $500 million investment being made to bring it up to the National standard, whatever that is.
So, for the next 60 or 70 km there were at least four long sections with reduced carriageway widths and a fluctuating mix of 40, 60 and 80 kph limits.
None of this made for the relaxed sightseeing style of driving I have become used to – and had hoped for. A style of driving not shared by more than a few drivers whose tailgating was all the evidence I needed of their urge to overtake.
With the possible exception of the area around Colebrook, between Jericho and Richmond, the countryside is not nearly as appealing as I remember it. But perhaps that is more a result of the ongoing drought conditions than my suspect memory. Although not as dusty bone dry as parts of Victoria it certainly was browner than anything I had seen south of Hobart.
It was a relief to be able to get off the highway to visit Ross. With its lovely heritage buildings and tree-shaded streets, it was a welcome break. As a means of stretching my legs, I walked down one side of Church Street and back the other – as were a number of other tourists so inclined.
The busiest place was the Ross Village Bakery whose wares I might have sampled had I not had such a good breakfast. From the number emerging clutching brown paper bags with pies peeking out suggested that they may be worth trying on another visit.
On the return leg, I drove through rather than walked the main streets of Tunbridge and Oatlands but found neither as attractive as Ross. Then it was back to negotiating the road works until the turnoff to Richmond at Jericho. Needless to say, the road was not as wide or as good, but I was able again to slip into my more relaxed and sedate progression. A nice drive helped by more green spots thanks to those enormous lateral move irrigation systems and to vineyards around Campania closer to Richmond.
Richmond was alive and well and crowded and it was only with difficulty that I found a park so the I could take the photo I had promised myself I would of the “Bridge”. To do so without including pairs and groups of mainly Asian tourists was not easy and the results are such that I may have to try again at a less crowded time.
It may be a beautiful and historic town but with my increasing aversion to crowds, of the two historic towns, Ross is more my sort of place.
Despite my moans about the road works and those drivers, I am glad I did do my “Midlands” sweep. And why? Because it confirms for me, that as a place to live the Midlands just cannot hold a candle to the Huon Valley.
The choice of the “Blue Eye” Seafood Restaurant for tonight turned out to be a good one, and not just by reason of its nearness to the Spiegeltent.
I had and enjoyed one of the day’s specials which just happened to be a dozen mussels in white wine, cream, butter, and parsley with crusty garlic bread. Harvested near Triabunna they were every bit as big and good as many of the New Zealand green-lipped ones that I’ve had.
And at only $19.50 I was able to add a Leatherwood Honey Panna Cotta with raspberry sorbet without breaking the bank.
It was a beautiful meal in, given the number of regular diners, a clearly very popular restaurant.
Then to the Spiegeltent for “Deluxe, Deluxe”. It was billed as a “Cheeky, Vaudeville-Inspired Variety Spectacular”, and it certainly lived up to that.
Playing to a packed house it was far and away the best and most professional of any show I have seen at a Spiegeltent and for which my ring-side seat was a real bonus. The acrobatics were truly spectacular as were some of the skits, but the key to its success for me was its seamless, now there’s an overused word, continuity. It really was non-stop fun.
I thoroughly enjoyed it and continued to do so even after the “gentle” climb home.
I plan to make a detour to the Russell Falls off my route to Lake St Clair tomorrow and can only hope that it has more water than did Lilydale.
But, if not, I can always take a photo of what’s behind the water when there is any.
I may be off the air for a day or two. There is no internet, nor I suspect mobile coverage at Lake St Clair but there is at Strahan. I’ll just have to see how I go.
The scenery improved as I got closer to Port Arthur and, for me, is much more appealing than the likes of Scamander or Bicheno. My cottage is a water-view one. And to be able to sit in the sun on the balcony with a well-earned cup of coffee and take it all in was as good an after-drive recovery as I could wish for.
Once myself again I toddled down the path to the beach so that I could get photos not only of the beach but my own little “log cabin” as well.
I opted for seafood again for dinner tonight at the on-site restaurant “Gabriel’s on the Bay”. The fish of the day was Trevalla again, so I chose the scallops, described as follows, “Panko Crumbed Tasmanian Scallops served with Chips, Salad, Pickled Ginger & Wasabi Mayo”.
Lamentably, neither the meal or the service lived up to what I had experienced in St Helen’s. The scallops were tiny possibly as a result of shrivelling with fear in the deep fryer. But did I eat them? You bet. Because, after all, it was a long time since breakfast.
Tuesday 12 March 2019
As forecast, it rained overnight, and I woke with the need to turn on the heating before returning to bed until things warmed up. It looked cold and miserable outside, so I took the advantage of having a washer and dryer to keep up-to-date with the laundry.
With washing all dry, the sun came out and I was off exploring. First stop was the Tessellated Pavement, where I got a few photos, but I have to admit that what I saw didn’t appear as attractive as the promotional photos depicted it. But for what it’s worth, here’s one:
Next stop was Maingon Bay Lookout and Blowhole. From the number of cars, and campers in the carpark it looked as if I was going to have to battle the crowds to see anything. I didn’t have to because most of them were there to partake of the offerings of “Doo-lishus”, donating what they didn’t eat to a flock of waiting seagulls.
It did mean however that I did get good views of both bay and blowhole – even if I am bound to say as so many amateur photographers do, the photos don’t do either justice.
Probably because the tide was low, the blowhole was not at what I would presume would be it’s geyser-like best.
The final port of call for the day was the Port Arthur Historic site. The Visitors’ Centre is new since I was last there and really quite impressive. I was able to book for the 3:00 pm 30-minute ferry ride from Mason Cove so had a good hour and a half to wander about on my own. The whole site is a credit to the PAHS management Authority both for its evident care of the grounds and buildings and the friendly welcomes of the reception staff and ferry crew.
The manicured lawns were looking a little drought affected. But the gardens were flourishing, helped I know by the lashings of odorous manure being applied as I trod the path between the gardeners dispensing it.
The ruined Church was as I remembered it and no less moving than it had been on both my previous visits.
The ferry was much larger than I had expected and very modern – and, again, well maintained. We voyaged past the Dockyard, and two islands, the first the location of the “Point Puer Boys’ Prison”, the second where the cemetery was located, the “Isle of the Dead”. Although the many Asian visitors on board probably didn’t understand a word, the commentary was excellent. And as if that wasn’t enough, the fare was included in the cost of entry.
I am so glad I returned even if it meant I missed out on going to the Coal Mines Historic site recommended by the receptionist here. I tried not to make it too obvious what I thought about coal mines and mining.
It was seafood night again at “Gabriel’s”. The fish of the day, I’m not sure what, was nothing to write home about with a too heavy batter and dryish fish. While I would recommend the Stewart’s Bay Lodge as a lovely place to “chill out” I would not recommend eating there.
Wednesday 13 March 2019
A nice early start after my maple syrup muesli bars and coffee breakfast. It was a bracing 9° when I left Stewarts Bay and had only got to 17° when I pulled into the Shopping Centre in Kingston called, I know not what, but where there is a Supermarket and a BIG W. And, almost as importantly, a BWS so I could replenish my McGuigan Red supply. The two I bought with me lasted until last night, so I’ve been doing well.
The drive over from Eaglehawk Neck is a really lovely one and the traffic was reasonable until I got close to Hobart. It was a slow slog through Hobart but once through Eksy5 got the bit between her teeth to attack steep climbs and descents that she must have been built for. Although I must have driven this way before, I have no recollection of how hilly it really was – but we both enjoyed the challenge.
While in Kingston I also took the opportunity to take a peek at the Wellington Vista Retirement Village, one of the few villages that offer rental units. The village itself is quite modern and looks to be well maintained.
It is run by, wait for it, Christian Homes Tasmania, who are Kingston based. They have a number of other villages but of the rental ones, this looked the likeliest if I took that path.
I’ll also take a similar peek at the Dover Cottages across the road from the RSL and run by the Huon Valley Council. I have no doubt that both will have waiting lists, but I wanted to take a gander at them before I add myself to any list. Obviously, the Dover ones have more than a little appeal because of their propinquity to Surveyors Bay, where Carolyn and Tony’s property is located.
I turned off the Huon Highway and took the Esperance Coast Road to get my first look at their block of land. Again, with so little traffic, it was easy to take it slowly and take in the views. What a gorgeous part of the world.
I didn’t time my arrival at 49 Dunn Drive very well though, as no sooner I got there, the heavens opened up on me. I did take a couple of photos but with the Lot Numbers not showing on the “Sold” ones I’m not sure I got the right one.
I’ll do some more Google aerial searches before I return tomorrow. However, whichever lot it is, what a wonderful site for their “rooms with a view”.
I arrived at the Driftwood Cottages in Dover at about 2:30 pm to a warm welcome from Laura – much warmer than the 13° despite the sun having come out again. Each of the waterfront studios is named after one of the Tasmanian woods that feature in their construction. Mine was, appropriately enough seeing I’m in the Huon Valey, “Huon”. And what a view?
Although I was told that the underfloor heating was on, I’ve had to lift it a notch or two to warm things up a bit. I’ll certainly be turning on the electric blanket.
I drove up to the RSL at about 5:50 for dinner only to find that they were fully booked. I must have looked truly forlorn because they kindly found me a spot between the gaming room and the smoking chamber where I was able to enjoy my seafood basket.
As Carolyn had said and Laura had confirmed, the Club serves good honest and good value pub food. Half the price of “Gabriel’s” offering and at least twice as good. I’ve booked for tomorrow night.
Thursday 14 March 2019
A slow start to the day, more because the blackout curtains worked as well as they should have than I was in need of a sleep-in. A leisurely breakfast of my crunchy maple syrup rolled oat bars washed down with a Nespresso coffee was a good start again, however.
Then it was off to Dunn Drive and Big Roaring Beach. While it started cool and cloudy by mid-morning it had turned into a very pleasant and almost warm day. I scrambled through the elasticised gate entry and tackled the slope. I do believe it is steeper in parts than Kamali’s drive on Carolyn and Tony’s property in Berrico, NSW that challenges me every day. But in three stages I did make it to the back fence, from where this panoramic photo is taken:
Up there it was difficult to determine where the side boundaries were and look as I might I was unable to find any surveyor’s peg that might have helped. It really is a magnificent block of land and, if I got the house site location about right, the next view would be the one they should get from their front veranda or balcony or whatever:
It was then time for my walk on the beach. I parked at what I assume was a proper spot at the northwestern end and off I went. I turned left so that, if I was going to walk from end to end there was to be no shirking.
At that end, I found a pair of what I thought was a pair of sculpted sea eagles but there was no signage to confirm my thought or why they were there, so I had to settle just for a photo or two or more, only one of which appears here:
I have just learned from Laura, who came to replace a blown light globe in the dining area, that they are a memorial to a twenty-year-old who was killed in an accident at the Huon Aquaculture plant just up the road.
At the start of my westerly leg I came across this bit of artwork, unlabelled also, but I took a photo of it anyway. It seems to have an aboriginal art feel, but who knows?
I thought it was a good walk and it was – not least because I found out after I got back to Driftwood that the beach is 1.4 km long. On the easterly return leg there was another photo opportunity, but this time of the sky which I thought worth capturing:
By now it was well past my lunchtime. But the beef pie I had at the “Coffee Tree” in the Southgate Shopping Centre had the richest and meatiest filling I’ve had in a pie in many a long year – including Ridgy Didge. Here I also checked out the IGA Express which has a much broader range than I had expected and not just of typically supermarket items.
My last excursion for the day was to hire a launch to explore Port Esperance but as you will see, it was not a success:
At the RSL I was treated to a reserved table by the window tonight – Table No 1, no less.
Here I thoroughly enjoyed the view as well as my ginormous pork loin fillet with apple/walnut/blue cheese topping, salad and chips. It was really very good, even if it was more a Tony-sized serve than mine. And the schooner of light ensured I drove home safely and rounded out my Dover visit with a glass or two of McGuigan’s Red.
I’ll be sorry to leave Dover in the morning. It really is a lovely little place and suitably wind-chill or just plain chill-prepared, a place I’d be happy to live in.
As it is not that far to Hobart, my next stop, I plan to go via Cygnet and around the coastal road through Verona Sands, Kettering and Margate before hitting Kingston again. The forecast is for cloud rather than rain so I might get a few more photos for the collection on the way.
We all got our “tannoy” call at 5:15 am just as the Spirit of Tasmania was docking and were told that the first to disembark would be called to do so at 5:50 am. I had one of the fastest showers on record, something I have no liking for at all, but it did at least give me time for a cup of coffee from the Cafeteria – the Tasmanian Market Kitchen.
Knowing that once disembarked anywhere open for breakfast would be crowded with arriving passengers I decided that I’d hold off until my first stop, George Town, 100 km to the East. On disembarking driving in the dark and misty rain through the streets of Devonport – a city I have not visited before was a considerable challenge. But it would have been a bigger one without the help of my cool, calm and collected “Ingrid”‘s directions, courtesy Google Maps.
It did become easier with daylight and the cessation of rain, but after an hour and a half on the road, by the time I made it to George Town I was truly ready for a break and brekkie. As luck would have it I found a nice café where I was able to sit outside in the “sun”, which had clearly come out both to welcome and warm me. And it was a nice breakfast, if not quite up to the standard set in Sale.
Driving through the centre of town, you could be forgiven for thinking it was small, but with a population approaching 6500 it is bigger than my hometown of Gloucester.
Apart from tourism – and it is a pretty spot – it seems to be dependent on the Pacific Aluminium Smelter for employment and community support.
Next stop was Bridport, 50 km further East, which I remembered only because it was the town with the closest Medical Centre to some of the properties in the NE that were on Carolyn and Tony’s list of “possibles”.
Like many other towns in NE Tasmania, it depends heavily on summer holidaymakers but is also the departure point for travel to Flinders Island by ferry or small plane although I saw no sign of one when I drove past the airport – a plane that is.
Then to Scottsdale, 20 km South. Perhaps I was getting tired of small towns many of which looked one like another, even to the well-preserved weatherboard houses of earlier times. I almost got the feeling that I may have been driving around in a never-ending circle and viewing the same town over and over again.
I have read since passing through Scottsdale (Ingrid would not have permitted more) that it is at the heart of North-east Bible Belt mainly because a number of prominent local citizens are members of the Exclusive Brethren sect.
It must have been that vibe that put me off it.
This area is also home to the Bridestowe Lavender Estate, 15 km west of Scottsdale, but I was not sufficiently tempted to undertake the 30 km round trip to see it out of the flowering season. Well, that’s my excuse anyway.
I had been looking forward to visiting Lilydale Falls, 40 km West, and from the number of backpackers and small tents, it was clearly a popular spot. Perhaps the fact that the campsite is “free” has something to do with that popularity. Anyway, all fired up for Lilydale Falls I started on the 10-minute walk only to find that the first and lower fall had barely a trickle. I might have been tempted to try for the higher second one if a returning walker had not commented in disgusted tones that it had only a trickle too. That comment, the prospect of a steep climb, a sign advising that it was suitable for hikers only and that the track had no handrails decided me. So I took a photo or two of the”trickle” and just retired in good breath and good order.
In the absence of any further planned attractions, I headed for Launceston, 30 km South. I was delighted to find that even at 1:30 pm I could get into my tiny but quite well-equipped apartment at the Leisure Inn’s Penny Royal Complex just up the road from the Inn itself.
And, bless them, within 100 metres was the fully equipped guest laundry where I was able to get up-to-date with all my washing and ironing for a whole $12.00.
I was also able to get up-to-date with my journal some of which I sent but without the photos, because I had used all my allowable Wi-Fi hours for the day. Much muttering under breath and gnashing of teeth followed.
I dined at the unimaginatively named Penny Royal Restaurant attached to the Complex. The menu was more imaginative, however:
From this, I chose the Pork & Chorizo Croquettes and the Slow-cooked Pork Belly “Saltimbocca” (with celeriac remoulade, apple puree and black pudding bon bons). And as you might surmise, I was not in the least swayed in my choice by the “bon bons”! Both were really excellent.
And only because it was included in the cost of my three courses, my choice of the crème brûlée would surprise no one who knows me.
Saturday 9 March 2019
A leisurely start this morning after yesterday morning’s early-call shock to the system. After a healthy breakfast of shredded wheatmeal biscuits and awful instant coffee, I headed for the National Automobile Museum where I spent an enjoyable but not a “wow” couple of hours. The range of vehicles on display was quite small but appeared to be greater by the cunning use of fully mirrored walls.
The star of the show for me was the beautifully refurbished Morris Minor of the same vintage as the one I rented within weeks of getting my first driver’s licence to take Pat to Kamo for her first meeting with my parents. She was not the only one nervous. My driving experience at that time was limited to the instructor’s teaching circuit and that of the testing officer. As a result, my “long” 150 km drive north from Auckland was tentatively slow – taking all of four hours!!
I then set off on foot to visit the Queen Victoria Museum but somehow or other mucked up my entry into the phone and ended up an hour later at the Launceston Public Library. I have a feeling Ingrid is “above” any of this walking stuff and prefers the comfort of Eksy5.
Fortunately, the Library had a small café. Here I was able to properly but, with only one “barista” on, very slowly re-caffeinate and re-enter the correct details for another 45-minute perambulation to the right address.
The Queen Victoria Museum is a small but excellent one. One exhibit of local importance is of material from the “Sydney Cove”. She was wrecked off the NE Coast of Tasmania in February 1797 on her voyage from Calcutta to Sydney. Although the story of a few of the crew that survived is tellingly told, the main part of the exhibit comprises ceramics, pottery, bottles, parts of the ship, leather hides and footwear. The bottles, 22 of which were intact and still sealed, contained what is believed to be some of the world’s oldest beer, wine and spirits recovered from a shipwreck.
With the correct address of the Automobile Museum’s Car Par in the phone, the return walk took all of 10 minutes – but would do me for the day.
I made a quick visit to Woolies at Kings Meadow to get my bananas and water lunch before returning here to complete my update and think about which way I’ll go to St Helens tomorrow.
One thing I had forgotten about Launceston, if I ever knew it, was how hilly it is. Some of the streets are really steep enough to require some heavy braking to keep within the speed limit. Not for that alone, but I’m not now sure I would be happy living here as I once thought I might. The vibe is just not me!!
Before I left Berrico I had an email from my brother Peter that one of his and Sue’s boys, David and his partner Lyndall would be in Tasmania while I was there and it would be good if we could catch up. I have just heard from David that we are not going to be able to do so. A pity as I haven’t seen him in years. They are in Cradle Mountain today, Stanley tomorrow and Devonport on Monday to get the ferry, by which time I’ll be in St Helens.
But they did get far enough south to be able to say, “we drove past Carolyn and Tony’s block at Surveyors Bay last week – a lovely area.”
I planned to return to the restaurant for tonight’s dinner, but it had been booked for a wedding. Next door, however, was “Brady’s Tavern” an unlikely name for a wood-fired pizza place but that’s what it was. My “meat-lovers” version was fine if a little too meaty even for me!! It went down well nonetheless accompanied by a cold Cascade Light Ale.
And, Pepys-wise, “…and so to bed”.
Sunday 10 March 2019
Fortified by my shredded Wheatmeal biscuit breakfast my first stop was at Woolies in the heart of Launceston, a first-floor supermarket with parking underneath. A beautiful store where I was able to get my lunch bananas and water. It wasn’t busy but nor was any of Launceston at that hour of a Sunday morning, 7:30 am. Then a quick stop at the Bendigo ATM to top up my wallet and I was on my way.
My planned destination was the Little Blue Lake 120 km NE of Launceston. Google Maps had found me a route different from yesterday’s which, thankfully passed through only one of yesterday’s towns, Scottsdale.
The early part of the drive was through farmland which although dry was not as badly so as further north. Then Eksy5 and I faced the winding hilly forest country. Plenty of arm exercise but none the worse for that.
The forests were a mix of old-growth and managed ones of more recent planting but all beautiful. The traffic was amazingly light and being a Sunday not a logging truck to be seen, which meant I could amble comfortably along at about 70 or 80 and not bother anyone. And when an interloper did appear finding a space to pull over to let him pass was not too difficult.
I did pull over for my own benefit at the Sideling Lookout. It had a well-maintained toilet, you know. Apart from providing a timely comfort stop, here I was able to get a shot of the sunny farmland in the valley ahead of me – greener than anything I’d seen thus far. It also gives an idea of how high Eksy5 and I were.
The car park for the Little Blue Lake would not have been more than 200 metres off the highway from which it was a relatively easy walk around the rim. There is a 4WD drive type road that goes in further, but it had sufficient ruts and washouts to deter me from venturing on to it.
At one point there was what looked like the protective panel from the underside of some “cowboy’s” 4WD that had been ripped off and just discarded.
The colour of the lake is blue but of different intensities depending on the light, and I suppose, the colour of the lake bottom. The blues in the photos, therefore, range from a gorgeous true blue to milky blue to green. It was well worth the drive to see it.
I arrived at St Helens at around 1:00 pm after another pleasing passage through a mix of forest and pasture. The Bayside Inn is much as described by more than a few TripAdvisor reviewers, tired but friendly. My room is on the first floor and does have a narrow balcony overlooking the waterfront and here’s a view proving it.
After lunch, I drove up to have a look at the southern portion of the Bay of Fires Conservation area. It was an easier drive than I had been led to expect but I now know where the “cowboy’s” cobbers drive, and at speed.
I was able to get a photo or two of the lichen-covered rocks and a distant one of the white sand for which the area is famed but I ran out of puff in the end and headed back to St Helens. Probably worth a more extensive exploration at another time.
I have booked for dinner tonight at a newish restaurant, “The Wharf Bar & Kitchen” recommended by the hotel’s receptionist. She said that with the “Eight-hour Day” holiday tomorrow, the bistro was likely to be very crowded and loud and may not be too relaxing after a long day’s drive. Very thoughtful of her, I thought!! Or perhaps she’s on commission. Anyway, that’s where I’m dining – and hoping there is some SH seafood on the menu.
And there was. I had six natural local oysters that would make Forster’s Graham Barclay envious. Plump, moist and beautifully flavoured. This was followed by poached and then pan-fried Blue Trevalla served on a bed of Soba Noodles with bamboo shoots and two slim carrots. The oysters were gorgeous, the trevalla was just beautiful and the service excellent. I have no difficulty at all in recommending the restaurant highly.
Monday 11 March 2019 (Tasmanian Eight-hour Day Holiday)
A proper breakfast this morning in the Bistro, on my lonesome. I guess last night’s revellers were still abed. Having said that, with my room furthest away from the bar and bistro, they hadn’t kept me awake.
My drive took me through Scamander, Bicheno, Swansea, Triabunna to Orford. None of them leapt out me as if to say, this would be a great place to live. The countryside continued dry except for some irrigated properties and vineyards. Someone must have decided that the soil, climate or both suited grape-growing because there is some serious money being invested. One property had what must have been 10 or more acres of newly erected trellises (?) waiting for the vines to be planted.
Taking Ingrid at her word, I turned off at Orford onto a C road by name Wielangta on which, although gravel, was the fastest way for me. The road itself was well formed and well graded for the first 10 km where I was tempted to deviate to visit the Three Thumbs Reserve lookout just 2km off my path. It proved to be a good decision as there were some spectacular views from Triabunna around to the south.
All on my own, I made good use of the picnic table for my banana and water lunch fix. But no sooner onto my second banana than three cars arrived, and the exclusivity of my dining area was lost. They, two couples and three young men, were all friendly enough but while they didn’t know it, they broke the spell of peaceful solitude. Nothing for it then but to escape.
The condition of the road deteriorated from then on and for the next 25 or so km, Eksy5 and I suffered as good a shake, rattle and roll outing as we have had since we first tried her out on 4WD tracks in the St Albans area North of Sydney, in 2007 or thereabouts.
Next time I’ll check the roads being recommended so that I can avoid the C roads or long stretches of them.
Faced with the horrendous cost of overseas travel for singles of any age and, in my case, the even more horrendous cost of travel insurance, my horizons have become a little more limited than in days of yore.
Apart from visits there while I was with Woolies, the only other trip to Tasmania was a self-drive one with Pat in the early to mid-1970s. So it seemed to me to be high time to revisit it. But there was another reason.
When Carolyn and Tony originally offered to “take me in”, they had in mind building a “granny flat” on the Berrico property. In the end, neither of us were in a position to fund that, so they generously gave up a bedroom and study and more that I could make my own.
They have long planned to retire to Tasmania and made their first exploratory visit there in September last year. They had hoped that they might be able to find a property that already had a granny flat but, in the end, being unable to find a home (with or without granny-flat) that suited them, they opted to buy a block of land to build on at Surveyors Bay in the Huon Valley. As and when they do so, I will either rent nearby or, if lucky, obtain a place in one of the few retirement villages that offer rental accommodation.
So, apart from being my overseas trip for 2019, the opportunity to view their property and suss out the retirement village housing options was reason enough for me to undertake a self-drive trek to and through in Tasmania.
And here’s where I planned to go:
Saturday 2 March 2019
With surprisingly little traffic the drive down was pleasant and easy. I arrived soon after 3:30 and was able to have a “foots-up” before dinner at MGSM. I chose to stay here partly because it’s a nostalgic favourite but more because it is so conveniently located near the motorway for both my entry into and exit from Sydney.
I was, as always, welcomed as an old friend – and as I had not stayed there for a while really appreciated that.
Being an early diner I was the only one in the restaurant and was persuaded to try the breast of duck. It was not the best of choices being somewhat chewy. The accompanying roast pumpkin and grilled asparagus however made up for it, being beautifully cooked.
Sunday 3 March 2019
I was away by 8:00 this morning for my run to Mollymook. The traffic out of the city and as far as the Bulli Pass was again very easy. Perhaps everybody was at church.
But they must have realised that it was a fine sunny day and accordingly the perfect day to go to the south coast. Caravans, boats and camping trailers almost outnumbered cars and 4WDs at least until Kiama.
I stopped at Kiama to have a coffee but the crowd beat me to it, as they did at Berry.
So I settled on coming straight here to the Mollymook Surfbeach Motel & Apartments, arriving at midday.
As the room wasn’t ready it was suggested I might like to stroll down to the Mollymook Golf Club which has a Bistro overlooking the beach.
After a cleansing ale, I partook of a humungous serving of lamb’s fry and bacon which not only went down a treat but will do me for lunch and dinner.
I might manage a glass of red though.
And, this is the view I had to put up with during lunch.
Regrettably, while I did not have a view from the Motel I did have a nice big room with plenty of space to spread myself about – even if it was only to unpack my shorts for the much warmer weather immediately ahead. And, as always, free Wi-fi is always welcome.
With no sign of any relief in the major bushfires in Southern Victoria, I had been keeping a watchful eye on the road closures. They were unlikely to affect me on my next leg to Gipsy Point, but I may have to make detours for the runs to Sale and then to Port Melbourne if they are still current when I have to go. I’ve been able to download a VicRoads App to the phone into which I can put my routes and which I understand will offer alternative ones if needed.
And, as forewarned, I did restrict myself to just a glass or two of my favourite McGuigan’s Red.
Monday 4 March 2019
A wonderful day.
It is a lovely drive from Mollymook to Gipsy Point. Mostly through State Forest on the Princes Highway which for the most part is in excellent condition. It is a lot hillier than I remember and wigglier too, with some really good corners. There was a deal of traffic from Mollymook to Batemans Bay but after that, I had the road pretty much to myself.
I arrived at Bega a little before twelve and had a wander around the shopping centre where Woolies and BIG W are the anchor tenants. The supermarket is quite new and very spacious, but it seemed to be a bit light on customers. I guess the busy season’s over until next summer!! I didn’t bother with BIG W.
I also filled up Eksy5’s tank, though despite the distance (over 700 km) since the last fill she only needed 67 litres. She’s really economical on long runs.
I arrived here at about 2:00 and was escorted to the same room that Carol and I had shared 12 years ago. The outlook is as good as I remember it, as is its peacefulness.
The property borders a National Park, so I ventured into it in the hope of getting another view of the Genoa river from further down. A large and very smelly mud puddle across the full width of the path would only have been navigable with wellies, so I went into reverse. I could hear plenty of birds but saw none.
But I did come close to meeting what I have since learned was a Lowland Copperhead. He was sunning himself – all metre and a half of him, or thereabouts – and paid me no notice. So, I followed his good example and gave him as wide a berth as the path would allow.
On my return trip twenty minutes or so later he had gone.
Dinner was a quite large Lamb Rack suitably garlicky and beautifully cooked with green beans and enough buttery potato mash to mop up the gravy. Yum, it was.
Tuesday 5 March 2019
This morning I made the short run down to Mallacoota mainly to visit the World War II Bunker that once housed the RAAF Air Navigation and Wireless operations. I had thought it was a radar station, but it was more for the surveillance of all radio traffic in the area transmitted by any ship or plane within listening range. The sources of the signals, decoded when necessary, were then plotted in a Melbourne facility in much the same if more primitive way than the radar ones were plotted during the Battle of Britain.
The museum is in the care of the local Historical Society which, with minimal resources and volunteer staff, have done a remarkably good job. The twenty-minute film on the history of the bunker was very well done and went some way to making up for the relative sparsity of exhibits.
When I arrived at 9:30 there would have been only fifteen or so visitors there. But by the time I left the fifty or so seats were insufficient to accommodate those who wanted to watch the film.
I understood from the lady in the Tourist Information office that despite the Bunker’s popularity, the Society’s inability to recruit volunteers has meant that it now opens only two mornings a week. Not a good omen for its long-term survival unless it can get some grants or sponsors other than the local branch of the Bendigo Bank.
This afternoon I had hopes of joining the Wilderness cruise on the river but there were not enough bookings for the good Captain to justify going out. And, perhaps in support of his decision, the storm clouds rolled in, the thunder thundered, the rain tumbled, so I scurried “home” to my ‘puter.
I had been intrigued by the name Genoa on the road sign to Mallacoota, so after the rain eased I thought I would see if I could find this Genoa and why it justified its name on a road. I found it with no difficulty at all just across the Princes Highway at the intersection that I had turned off to reach Gipsy Point. But after the briefest viewing of what seemed an eyesore of a mix of abandoned and in some cases derelict buildings, I “chucked a u-ey” and headed back. There was a camping ground on the opposite side of the Geroa River so perhaps that’s the attraction nowadays.
Dinner tonight was right up there with last night: Local Eden Mussels in a Laksa style sauce with rice noodles. Quite spicy, but yum.
A couple from Melbourne, Lynn and Fred (I know not whom) invited me to join them for dinner. Both only marginally younger than me, they are also on a self-drive exploration trip albeit somewhat shorter and in the opposite direction from mine.
As Fred has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson’s I gathered that it may be their last expedition. It was a pleasant and quite extended evening as we shared our interests in travel, genealogy and Sibelius.
Wednesday 6 March 2019
A day of contrasts.
When I left Gipsy Point, it was fine and an acceptable 19° with a top of 24° promised. No sooner had I turned onto the Princes Highway before the heaven’s opened and dumped heavily enough for me to pull over and wait for the storm to pass. The temperature dropped to 16° but the rain cleared enough to move on.
I had originally planned to go to Sale via Lakes Entrance, but with what looked like clearer weather, I was tempted to follow one of the sealed Tourist Drives with a mouthful of a name: Cabbage Tree-Conran Road. By the time I got to the coast about two and a half hours later, the rain had started again, the wind had got up and the temperature had dropped to 12°.
All of which goes part way to explaining why the seaside photo at Cape Conran Coastal Park looks both damp and cold and shot very quickly from Eksy5’s window.
The next one was from a stopping bay overlooking a section of the Snowy River (a different one I suspect from the Hydro-powering one) from the Marlo Coastal Reserve.
I then headed for Lakes Entrance, but it was so wet and windy I gave it no more than a passing glance on the way through.
On the stretch between there and Bairnsdale, the rain was replaced by dust. The countryside on either side of the Highway is bone dry and what soil was left was being picked up to form huge “smoke-screen” like clouds and blown across the road in gusts strong enough to wobble Eksy5.
Both unpleasant to view and drive through.
I was not at all unhappy to arrive in Sale and brew myself a well-earned Lavazza Capsule coffee. It was a fringe benefit that I had not expected in a traditional “country” hotel as the Criterion Hotel markets itself. But while all “olde worlde” outside it is very modern inside.
Having missed lunch, I’m looking forward to seeing what the Bistro has on offer.
And, the Gippsland Rib Eye with “Fondant Potato, Local Beans, Heirloom Carrots, Red Wine Jus”, though at $44.00 pricey by my standards, was as big and as good a steak as I’ve had anywhere.
Thursday 7 March 2019
For whatever reason, no breakfast of any sort is available at the Criterion Hotel. They did, however, recommend the “Red Caff” around the corner – a corner I only found on my second circumnavigation of adjacent blocks.
It was worth finding as I demolished one of the biggest breakfasts imaginable featuring six rashers of bacon, two poached eggs on toasted sourdough AND, sliced chorizo and grilled field mushrooms. And to add to my satisfaction economic rather than culinary, all that cost a mere $17.00
I didn’t try their coffee as the capsule one at the hotel was just fine – and free.
Although the Princes Highway was clear and would have been the shortest route to Melbourne, I opted for the semi-coastal route via Port Albert. If I was ever in any doubt of how dry the country is, the run down to Port Albert proved it. Dry dusty fields, few if any livestock and more than a few properties that looked abandoned.
Port Albert was a very neat and tidy little place where a lot of the early buildings have been well-preserved. Once a very busy port shipping livestock and later gold, it is now more a holiday destination for fisherfolk and surfers. While I understand a few commercial fishermen operate from it still, the boats I saw would grace a marina anywhere.
I found a welcome seat in the sun on the well-kept foreshore welcoming the warmth after the 12° start in Sale. There’s even a photo of “my” seat in the sun:
From there it was a less interesting run than I had hoped for being further inland than I’d imagined but would have known, had I checked the map more closely. But I don’t doubt that it was a whole lot better than The Princes Highway, open or not.
I made a comfort stop at Leongatha and lunched on two perfectly firm bananas from Woolies washed down with a bottle of water. Not for economic reasons so much as to balance the magnitude of my “Red Caff” feast.
My diesel replenishment stop was at the oddly named Woolies petrol canopy at Koo Wee Rup, standing on its lonesome next to the highway kilometres away from the township and the associated Woolies supermarket.
From there it was almost all motorway and horrendously busy and a more than a little daunting. But I made it to the dock by 3:00 pm and was able to get a park near the check-in gate. There were two cruise ships in at the same dock, so the area was almost wall-to-wall people, taxis and shore excursion coaches. Being so close I thought I’d be one of the first to be loaded and so it proved, even if it meant next morning that I was with my other early-bird colleagues, last off.
The cabin is small and more sparsely furnished than I’ve experienced anywhere. Being a twin-bedded one there were, apart from the sheets and light doonas, just two pillows and two towels but that was it. No bath mat, no hand towels or face washers.
So confident was I of the Bass Strait forecast that I gave in to the temptation of a Roast Pork Dinner with new potatoes, broccoli, crisp crackling and gravy followed by two tiny pavlovas. Having read that the food was not good it was a very pleasant and enjoyable surprise.
But the bed was comfortable and the inter-cabin noise was minimal and having taken my Stemetil tablet at 4:00 pm as recommended, sleep was not a problem.