Tag Archives: History

Clara Mason: Proserpine’s Pioneering Businesswoman

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The town of Proserpine had humble beginnings. In 1859, George Elphinstone Dalrymple named the river that flowed through the valley after the Greek town of Proserpine. He saw the land as fertile, like the Greek town, and imagined a future where crops would thrive. He wasn’t wrong.

A few years later, in the early 1860s, the first settlers arrived. Daniel Emmerson established the Proserpine pastoral station. The land was wild, and the settlers faced hardships, but they were determined. Frederick Bode and William Dangar soon followed, taking up land at Bromby Park and Goorganga Creek. Charles Bradley and James Colling established their own properties along the Gregory River. It was a time of claiming, building, and working the land.

The settlers were not alone. The land had long been home to Indigenous people. In 1866, the Native Police patrolled the area, led by Inspectors John Marlow and John Isley. They were tasked with keeping the settlers safe, though their methods were harsh. “Dispersals” were common, a word used to describe violent confrontations with the Indigenous population. These patrols left scars, but they also marked the settlers’ control over the land.

Marlow often stayed at Emmerson’s property, using it as a base. He bought horses from him and planned his expeditions from the station. The settlers needed security, and Marlow provided it. His troopers roamed the land, ensuring that the settlers could farm in peace, though at a terrible cost to the original inhabitants.

As the 1880s approached, the region shifted from pastoral to agricultural. In 1882, the Crystal Brook Sugar Company was established. The company built a sugar mill, and soon the land was covered in cane fields. The work was hard and labor-intensive, so South Sea Islanders were brought in to labor on the plantations. The mill thrived for a time, but in 1893 it closed. Smaller farms took its place, run by white owners. The sugar industry continued, but it looked different now—more personal, more local.

The Story of Clara Mason

In those early days, one woman stood out: Clara Mason. She was not born into wealth or privilege. Her father had come to Proserpine looking for work at the sugar mill, and Clara grew up in the shadow of the towering cane fields.

Clara had a different vision for her life. She didn’t want to spend her days in the fields like many others. Instead, she started her own business—something unheard of for a woman at the time. She opened a small shop, selling goods to both the settlers and the workers. Her shop became a meeting place, a small hub of trade and conversation.

“Why not work the land?” people would ask her. She would smile and reply, “The land is for those who love it. I love people.”

Clara’s shop grew, and so did her influence. She was wise with her words, and people trusted her. She lent money to families in need, helped negotiate deals between farmers, and provided food on credit to workers during hard times. Clara became a voice of reason in a town that was often divided.

One year, during a terrible drought, the crops began to fail. The farmers were desperate. Some considered leaving the town altogether, but Clara had an idea. She gathered the town leaders and said, “If we pool what we have, we can make it through.”

“That won’t work,” someone said. “There isn’t enough.”

“Enough for one is enough for all, if we share wisely,” Clara replied.

It was a simple idea, but it resonated. The town came together, sharing water, food, and labor. It wasn’t easy, but they made it through the drought. Clara’s leadership during that time became a local legend.

After the drought, Clara’s shop became even more important. She didn’t just sell goods; she offered advice and helped settle disputes. Farmers would come to her for guidance before making decisions. Workers trusted her to be fair. Over time, people started saying, “If Clara says it, it’s true.”

Clara never married, though many men courted her. When asked why, she would laugh and say, “My heart belongs to this town.”

In her later years, Clara began teaching young girls how to run businesses. “You don’t need a husband to make a living,” she would tell them. “You need courage, and a mind that sees opportunity.”

Clara Mason passed away in 1905, but her legacy lived on. Her shop became a community center, and the values she instilled—fairness, hard work, and community—continued to shape the town. Today, Proserpine remembers her not just as a businesswoman but as a leader, someone who saw the potential in people and in the land.

Proserpine grew over the years, its sugar industry thriving and its people building on the foundations laid by those early settlers. But it was people like Clara, with vision and wisdom, who made it more than just a place to live—they made it a community.

Nelly Samson: Broome’s First Female Pearl Diver

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Broome’s history is rich, shaped by diverse cultures, challenging industries, and remarkable events. It is often mistakenly thought that William Dampier was the first European to visit Broome. In reality, he only explored parts of the northern coast in 1688. It wasn’t until 1699 that he ventured further, traveling from Shark Bay to La Grange Bay. He did not linger long, heading northward and leaving Australia behind. Though Dampier never visited the town, many features of the surrounding coast now bear his name, reflecting his legacy.

The town’s official founding came much later. In 1879, Charles Harper proposed a government station at Cape Villaret, on the southern tip of Roebuck Bay. He believed this would serve as a port, facilitating the growing Pearl Shell Fishery, which was rapidly becoming an important industry. John Forrest, a man known for his keen eye, chose the site in 1883. Broome was then named after Sir Frederick Broome, who served as the Governor of Western Australia from 1883 to 1889.

The town quickly grew as settlers arrived, drawn by opportunities in pearling and agriculture. By the 1880s, Broome had gained international attention for its pearling industry. Pearls were prized, and so were the shells that could be shaped into buttons, jewelry, and decorative items. But the work was hard. Pearl diving wasn’t just a job—it was dangerous. Many divers came from Japan, others from Malaysia, China, and the Philippines. The labor was often forced, with many workers trapped in indentured contracts or, worse, enslaved. This brutal system created tension in Broome, especially as the different ethnic groups struggled for their place in the industry.

Nelly Samson was a local woman born in Broome in the late 1800s. Her father was a pearl diver, one of the few who had managed to rise above the harsh conditions. Her mother ran a small stall selling shells and trinkets to travelers passing through town. Nelly, from a young age, knew the rhythms of the ocean. She watched her father and other divers prepare for their dives, knowing the risks they took.

When Nelly turned twenty, she made an unexpected decision. She wanted to dive. Not just for shells, but for pearls themselves. This was unheard of for a woman. People in town talked. “A woman doesn’t belong in the deep,” they said. Her father told her to forget the idea. “It’s too dangerous,” he warned. But Nelly wouldn’t be swayed. She had seen the wealth that pearls brought. She knew that if she could find just one—one perfect pearl—her family would no longer need to struggle.

One day, Nelly approached a local diver, a Japanese man named Sato. He was old, with many years of diving behind him, and respected by everyone. She asked him to teach her. He looked at her and said, “The sea does not care if you are man or woman. It only cares if you are ready.”

For months, Nelly trained. She learned to hold her breath, to dive deep, to respect the tides. Finally, the day came when she would dive for the first time. The other divers watched as she prepared. Some laughed, others were silent, curious about what would happen.

She dove. The water was cold, but she had practiced for this moment. Nelly moved swiftly, searching the seabed for oysters. Time stretched on as she gathered her first haul. When she surfaced, everyone held their breath. She held out her hand, opening it slowly. Inside was a pearl. Not just any pearl—a large, iridescent one.

The town was in awe. Nelly had done what no one thought possible. She became the first female pearl diver in Broome, and her success didn’t stop there. Over time, she found more pearls, each more beautiful than the last. The money she earned from them changed her family’s life. They no longer had to scrape by.

But for Nelly, it wasn’t just about the pearls. She had proven something—women, too, could master the sea.

As she grew older, Nelly passed on her knowledge. She taught others how to dive, how to find the best oysters, and how to respect the ocean. And when people asked her why she had done it, she would smile and say, “The sea listens, if you do.”

Nelly’s story became legend in Broome. To this day, locals remember her as a trailblazer, a woman who defied the odds and made her own mark on the pearling industry.

Eliza Dunn: A Pioneer of Warrnambool’s Wisdom

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The land of Warrnambool is ancient. The Merrigundidj people lived there for over 35,000 years. They built stone and timber weirs called yereroc across waterways. These weirs helped them trap eels. They knew the land, its rivers, its secrets.

At the mouth of the Hopkins River, there was a place called Moyjil. There, the Koroitgundidj people lived in a village near what is now Tower Hill. The area was rich in life, with kangaroos gathering to drink at a waterhole called Kunang. The hill known as Puurkar held significance, as did many other places in the region.

Then came the Europeans. The first to explore the land were mariners, men of the sea. In 1800, Lieutenant James Grant sailed the Lady Nelson along the coast. Two years later, Matthew Flinders came with his ship, the Investigator. French explorer Nicholas Baudin followed. They recorded the land, but it was the whalers who truly settled.

By 1838, Captain Alexander Campbell, a Scottish whaler, took possession of 4,000 acres near the Merri River. He built a farm there. The township of Warrnambool was planned soon after, in 1845, and the first land was sold two years later. The Post Office opened in 1849, marking the town’s growth.

Warrnambool grew fast. Whaling gave way to farming, and then came more settlers. Roads were made, and the town spread. But the people of the land—the Merrigundidj—were pushed away. Their weirs crumbled. Their village was gone. The town remembered them only in names: Kunang, Wirkneung, Peetoop. The past lived on, but faintly.

Among the settlers, one woman left a lasting mark. Her name was Eliza Dunn. She wasn’t rich. She wasn’t famous. But she was wise.

Eliza lived near the mouth of the river. Her family had come to farm. She helped in the fields, mended clothes, and kept the house. But what made her special wasn’t her work—it was her understanding.

One year, the rain didn’t stop. The river swelled, and people feared it would flood their homes. Some spoke of moving. But Eliza said, “Wait. The river will find its way.”

Her words seemed simple, but people listened. Eliza watched the river, walking its banks each day. She spoke to the elders, both settlers and the few Aboriginal people who remained. “It will break to the east,” she told them. “It has done so before.”

Her knowledge came not from books, but from listening—listening to the land and those who had lived with it. Sure enough, after days of rain, the river swelled eastward, sparing the town. People marveled at Eliza’s foresight.

One day, she stood by the river, speaking with a young woman from a nearby farm. “How did you know?” the young woman asked.

Eliza smiled. “The land speaks. It tells us what it needs. If we listen, we can live with it.”

Her wisdom spread. Farmers began to consult her on matters of the soil and seasons. When to plant, when to harvest. “What does the land say?” they would ask. And she would answer, always humbly, always with care.

But Eliza’s story was not just about land. She was also known for her kindness. One winter, a traveler came through, cold and hungry. He knocked on Eliza’s door, seeking shelter. She welcomed him in, fed him, and gave him a place to sleep.

“Why are you so kind to strangers?” a neighbor once asked her.

“We are all travelers,” Eliza replied. “Some of us just don’t know it.”

Her words carried weight. Simple truths, spoken softly. People remembered them long after she was gone.

Eliza passed away in her home by the river. She was not rich. She was not powerful. But her wisdom lingered. The town grew and changed, but those who knew her never forgot her words. Her story became part of Warrnambool’s history.

Years later, when the river swelled again, people remembered Eliza. They watched its course, knowing it would find its way, just as she had said.

And so, Warrnambool grew. It became a place of farming and trade. The land, once home to the Merrigundidj, changed hands many times. But the memory of the land’s first people, and the wisdom of settlers like Eliza Dunn, remained. The town carried their stories, woven into its fabric, just as the river wound its way through the hills and out to sea.

Eliza’s words lived on. “The land speaks,” she had said. “If we listen, we can live with it.”