Tag Archives: Australia

Discover Scottsdale: A Blend of History and Lavender

Scottsdale is a town built on its history. Nestled in Tasmania’s north-east, it owes its name to James Reid Scott, the surveyor who first mapped the land in 1855. His words, “the best soil on the island … well watered, with a mild climate,” still echo today. Scott saw the potential, and it wasn’t long before settlers followed. In 1859, the first land was claimed, and by 1865, the hamlet of Ellesmere had its post office. In 1893, the town adopted the name Scottsdale.

The town’s roots are in farming. Potatoes were the first crop that took hold. The land gave generously, and soon dairy farms dotted the countryside. By the 20th century, pine plantations and poppy fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Even mining found its place, and while hops were once king, they gave way to new industries over time. The hop farms became dairy land or forests, a sign of how the town adapted to change.

Scottsdale’s people are used to change. But they are proud of their past. They remember how, in 1958, the Defence Nutrition Research Centre came to town. It brought jobs, science, and attention to this quiet place. It still stands today, though modernized by the Defence Science and Technology Organisation.

Tourism has breathed new life into Scottsdale. Surrounded by green fields and blue mountains, visitors come to see the Barnbougle Dunes and the Lost Farm Golf Links. Some wander through the Bridestowe Estate Lavender Farm, marveling at the endless purple fields. For a time, the Forest EcoCentre welcomed those curious about forestry. Though it has since closed, the forests remain a vital part of the region’s identity.

But change isn’t always kind. The closure of the North-East Tasmania Rail Line in the early 2000s hit the town hard. The line once connected Scottsdale to the rest of the state, bringing goods and people. When it closed, trucks took over the roads, and the railway was torn up. Some of it was repurposed for the Abt Wilderness Railway on the west coast. The town fought to keep it alive as a tourist railway, but that battle was lost. Now, the local Rotary Club has made part of the old track a bike trail.

King Street, the heart of Scottsdale, has felt the strain too. Empty shops dot the main street, as local businesses struggle to keep their doors open. Yet, the town endures. Its community is tight-knit, and they are used to weathering storms, both literal and figurative.

One such storm came in the form of a woman named Mabel Greene. Born and raised in Scottsdale, she had always been a part of the town’s fabric. Her father farmed potatoes, and her mother ran a small shop on King Street. Mabel was known for her strong will. Some called her stubborn, but those who knew her better called her determined.

In the early 1980s, when the town was still reeling from the changes in the farming industry, Mabel did something no one expected. She bought one of the failing hop farms. People whispered, “She’s lost her mind. Hops are dead.” But Mabel saw things differently.

One afternoon, in the local café, an old farmer named Jack Murphy asked her, “What’re you gonna do with all that land, Mabel? You’re not planting hops, are you?”

“No,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’m planting lavender.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Lavender? In Scottsdale? You sure about that?”

Mabel smiled. “Sure as I’ve ever been. People will come for it. You’ll see.”

And people did come. Mabel’s lavender fields bloomed, a sea of purple that stretched out under the blue sky. She started small, selling lavender oil and dried flowers at the market. But soon, word spread. Visitors from all over Tasmania and even the mainland came to see the fields in bloom. Mabel’s farm became one of the most popular stops in the region. She turned her home into a small bed and breakfast, welcoming travelers who came for the lavender and stayed for the hospitality.

Years later, when asked about her decision, Mabel would simply say, “Sometimes, you just have to plant something new.”

Her success was more than just personal. It showed the town that there was life beyond the traditional industries. It was a reminder that even in a place as rooted in history as Scottsdale, the future could still hold surprises.

Scottsdale remains a town in flux. Its people remember the past, but they look to the future. The fields are still green, the mountains still blue, and the soil, just as Scott once said, still gives generously. Whether through potatoes, lavender, or something yet unimagined, Scottsdale’s story continues to unfold.

Discovering Mataranka: From Elsey Station to Tourism

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Mataranka, a small town with a big history, was born out of the harsh Northern Territory landscape. Its roots lie in the pastoral industry, and it all began with the establishment of Elsey Station. In 1879, Abraham Wallace, a man of ambition, claimed the first pastoral lease in the area. With his nephew J.H. Palmer, they drove thousands of cattle through treacherous terrain from Bowen Downs to the Gulf, finally settling by the Roper River at a place called Warloch Ponds.

The area was wild and untamed, and so were the men who came to work it. Wallace didn’t live long to see his dream prosper. Eight years after founding Elsey Station, he ended his own life, leaving the station to change hands many times over the years. The Station, however, became legendary, largely due to the story of Jeannie Gunn, a woman who came to this rugged land as the wife of Aeneas Gunn in 1902.

Aeneas was the new manager, and Jeannie was the outsider, but she quickly fell in love with the Territory. She witnessed her husband’s sudden death within months of their arrival, a tragic event that could have broken her spirit. But Jeannie was strong. She stayed long enough to absorb the stories and characters of the land and later wrote them into what became one of Australia’s classic books, We of the Never Never. Her words immortalized the people she met: Henry Peckham “The Fizzer,” Jack Grant “Horse Teams,” and Happy Dick, to name a few. Though she left the Territory, it never left her.

By the 1920s, the town of Mataranka was slowly coming to life. After many years of debate, the railway arrived in 1928, though it didn’t stretch far. It stopped at Birdum, a full 80 kilometers from Mataranka. The townsfolk joked about it being the end of the line, but in truth, it marked a new beginning for the settlement. The town was surveyed, streets named, and enterprising residents set up shops and businesses. Among them were Chinese storekeepers like Charlie On, and Mrs. Fisher, who turned her boarding house into the Elsey Inn, a landmark that would stand the test of time.

World War II brought change to Mataranka as it did to much of the world. Over 100 military units were stationed in the area. Mataranka became a hub of activity—headquarters, workshops, even ammunition dumps dotted the landscape. Amid the wartime hustle, the Native Affairs Branch assigned Aboriginal men and women to assist the Australian services, where their skills earned high regard. During this time, a memorial to Jeannie Gunn was erected at the Elsey Cemetery, near her husband Aeneas’ grave. Many of the real-life characters from We of the Never Never found their final resting place here as well, forever part of the region’s history.

When the war ended, another chapter in Mataranka’s story began. The hot thermal springs that had been a respite for soldiers during the war became the focus of a local man named Victor Smith. Smith, seeing potential in the clear, warm waters, returned in 1946 and set up a tourist resort. By 1949, he had built cabins, and travelers began flocking to the springs. The small town was now on the map, not just for its history but for its natural beauty.

Mataranka’s fame grew in the 1950s when the movie industry took an interest in the area. Parts of the film Jedda were shot here, but it was the adaptation of Jeannie Gunn’s We of the Never Never in the early 1980s that truly connected the town with its literary past. A replica of the old Elsey Homestead was built for the film, a physical reminder of the early days that still stands at Mataranka Homestead today. Tourists can watch the movie at the homestead’s bar, seeing on-screen the same land that had been captured in Jeannie’s words decades before.

Among the town’s notable women, one stands out—Rosa Dixon. Rosa wasn’t famous like Jeannie Gunn, but she was an integral part of Mataranka’s evolution. In the late 1920s, as the railway made its slow way south, Rosa saw an opportunity. She set up a small store, selling goods to railway workers and passing travelers. Her store quickly became the heart of the community.

It was in the 1930s, during a particularly harsh dry season, that Rosa did something remarkable. Water had become scarce, and the springs were no longer flowing as they once had. People were starting to leave, fearing that Mataranka would become a ghost town. Rosa, however, had a different plan. She hired local Aboriginal workers to help her dig a well near her store. It wasn’t easy, and many doubted it would work. But Rosa was determined.

“Keep digging,” she told her workers, day after day, as the sun beat down and the soil turned to dust. “The water is there. We just need to find it.”

Weeks passed, and still no water. Some of the townsfolk began to lose faith, but Rosa kept going. She had a quiet confidence about her. “Water always finds its way,” she said. “And we will find it too.”

Finally, one morning, a trickle appeared. The workers cheered, and within days, they had struck a steady flow of water. Rosa’s well saved the town. People who had left began to return, and Mataranka started to grow again. Rosa became a local hero, though she never saw herself that way.

“I just did what needed to be done,” she would say when people praised her. “The land gives us what we need if we’re willing to work for it.”

Rosa’s legacy lived on long after her passing. Her well remained a symbol of resilience and hope, and her store continued to serve the people of Mataranka for many years.

Today, Mataranka is a small town, but its history runs deep. From the founding of Elsey Station to the arrival of the railway, from wartime service to the rise of tourism, and from Jeannie Gunn’s timeless words to Rosa Dixon’s quiet determination, Mataranka has always been a place where the spirit of the land and the people shine through.

Exploring the Roots of Alice Springs

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Alice Springs, a small town in the heart of Australia, has a history woven with adventure, endurance, and change. It lies in the red center, where the land stretches vast and dry, yet beneath it all, stories run deep like the Todd River during a rare flood.

In 1861, John McDouall Stuart, a man with a vision for exploration, led an expedition through Central Australia. He blazed a trail from the southern shores to the far north, crossing harsh lands and unknown territories. His journey opened up the interior of the continent, and though Stuart himself did not know it at the time, he had set the stage for what would become Alice Springs.

Years later, in 1872, the Overland Telegraph Line (OTL) was completed, linking Adelaide in the south to Darwin in the north and, from there, to Great Britain. This telegraph line followed much of Stuart’s route, and it was no easy task. The desert was unforgiving, and the heat unrelenting. Yet, the OTL became a lifeline, connecting the isolated outback to the rest of the world.

A small telegraph station was built along the line near what seemed to be a permanent waterhole in the Todd River. The station was named Alice Springs, after the wife of Sir Charles Todd, who had championed the telegraph’s construction. The settlement that grew around this station was first called Stuart, in honor of the explorer. But in 1933, it was renamed Alice Springs, recognizing the station and its significance in the town’s history.

One of the earliest settlers in Alice Springs was William “Bill” Henderson. A man of few words, Bill had come from Adelaide in search of opportunity. He worked as a telegraph operator, a quiet job, but it gave him insight into the pulse of a growing nation. Bill had a sharp mind and saw that the real value of this place wasn’t just the telegraph—it was its potential as a hub. The land was tough, but it held promise.

Bill often sat by the Todd River, which rarely had water but always held a place of significance. One evening, he spoke with a young traveler, a man named Thomas, who had wandered into town. Thomas was looking for gold at Arltunga, a mining site 100 kilometers to the east.

“You think there’s much out there?” Thomas asked, his eyes scanning the horizon, his hopes resting on the riches beneath the red dirt.

Bill smiled, “It’s not the gold that makes a place, son. It’s the people.”

Thomas chuckled. “People? There’s barely twenty souls in this town.”

“That’s now,” Bill said. “But it’ll grow. It always does. Things move slower here, but they move.”

Bill was right. In 1887, alluvial gold was discovered at Arltunga, and soon, settlers and prospectors began to arrive. The population of Stuart—later Alice Springs—grew, though not by much. In 1909, the first substantial building, the Stuart Town Gaol, was built. Many of the early prisoners were Aboriginal men who had clashed with the settlers over cattle and land. The town’s population was still small, and life was hard. But people came, drawn by the promise of gold and the adventure of the unknown.

In 1921, the first aircraft landed in Alice Springs, piloted by Francis Stewart Briggs. It was an event that caused quite a stir among the locals. Bill Henderson, now older but still sharp, watched as the plane touched down. He stood beside a crowd of onlookers, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Think we’ll see more of those?” someone asked him.

Bill shrugged. “Maybe. Time changes things. Faster than we think.”

By 1926, the town had grown enough to need its first hospital, Adelaide House. The European population was about forty by then, and the need for medical care was becoming more pressing. The hospital was a simple building, but it was a sign that Alice Springs was becoming more than just a telegraph outpost.

The town’s growth was slow but steady. In 1929, the railway finally reached Alice Springs, bringing with it new settlers and a link to the rest of the continent. Among those who came were Afghan cameleers, immigrants from the North-West Frontier of British India, now Pakistan. They had been a part of the outback’s history for decades, operating camel trains that transported goods across the desert. With the arrival of the railway, many cameleers moved to Alice Springs, where they continued their trade, though now alongside the trains that ran on steel tracks.

One day, Bill Henderson, now an old man, sat outside the telegraph station, watching the cameleers lead their camels into town. A young boy, no more than ten, stood nearby, wide-eyed at the sight of the towering animals.

“Are they here to stay?” the boy asked.

Bill nodded. “Looks like it. This town’s changing.”

The boy looked up at him. “Do you think it’ll ever be big, like Adelaide or Darwin?”

Bill smiled, his eyes twinkling with the wisdom of age. “Maybe not that big. But it’ll be big enough.”

The boy thought about that for a moment. “What makes a town big enough?”

Bill leaned forward, his voice low and steady. “A place is big enough when it’s got stories to tell. And trust me, son, this place has plenty.”

The boy smiled, understanding something beyond his years. Bill patted him on the shoulder and stood, looking out at the town he had helped shape, knowing that the future of Alice Springs was secure, not in gold or telegraph lines, but in the people who called it home.

As the years went by, Alice Springs continued to grow. By 1933, the town was officially renamed from Stuart to Alice Springs, and it became a center for the outback, a place where history, people, and stories converged. Bill Henderson’s name may have faded into the background, but the spirit he embodied lived on in every person who came through that town, looking for adventure, opportunity, or simply a place to call home.