I thought I would share this one with you all now that David has started the ball rolling.
A poem by Benjamin Trewhella (1827-1902) - my great-great-grandfather.
A Briton born a Briton Bred
A Briton I shall ever be.
Though meanly clad and roughly fed
My country did a deal for me,
‘Twas in her schools I learned the art
In manly pride to act my part.
If mining may be deemed a trade
That trade I early studied well,
Not merely with the pick and spade
Was I ambitious to excell,
But strove with all my heart and mind
The secrets of the craft to find.
To tell the various kinds of ore
And read their usefulness by sight,
And rocks that doubtful aspects bore
Their hidden stores to bring to light
These were my pleasures first to learn
The others followed in their turn.
The slides, the faults and floors
The dips and angles of the lode
The rocks that bore the various ores
The horse on which the mineral rode
The kind of matrix, sort of wall
I soon had mastered each and all.
With scramblers, home I cast my lot
Nor can I of my lot complain
For seldom did I try a spot
Where I my labour spent in vain,
And many a spot that formed my choice
Would make a digger’s heart rejoice.
When fair Australia got renowned
For her rich fields of mineral stores,
I gladly hailed the welcome sound
And hastened to her favoured shores
Where Melbourne met my anxious gaze
And nursed me for a few short days.
‘Twas late in June of fifty-four
Through lakes of mud and floods of rain
With weary limbs and trotters sore
I dropped my swag at Castlemaine,
Where shortly I on digging bent
Was ready with my tools and tent.
My tools; a windlass, rope and hook,
Pick, spade, tub, cradle and tin dish.
My furniture with means to cook
Were scarcely all a man could wish.
Box stretcher billy dish and pan
Knife, fork, spoon, plate and pannikin.
A license and an able mate
Have made arrangements all complete
And trusting to the doom of fate
With expectations rather great
At Adlaid Hill near Castlemaine
We pegged our first alluvial claim.
The ground was dry, the bottom hard,
The gold was neither coarse nor fine
And yielded but a scant reward
To well plied energy and time,
But ere a month had fled
Had swelled to o’er an ounce a day.
An ounce a day, pooh what is that?
It would scarcely make a digger smile.
Old Bendigo and Ballarat
In half the time would yield a pile
While Simpson’s, Yea, and Creswick Creek
Deal out their fortunes week by week.
Thus mooted gossip and the press
With Eldorados where you may
Till sanguine hope believed no less
And urged us to no longer stay
Our tent we therefore quickly strook
For richer fields resolved to look.
We often changed our post address
And many a likely place we tried
With blighted hopes or fair success
As fortune turned the set of tide
Till Blackwood in its splendour rose
And brought our wanderings to a close.
The month of June in fifty-five
Beheld us camped at Simmons Reef,
A place with diggers then alive
Though many made their stay but brief.
A few with golden holes were blessed
While disappointment crowned the rest.
We scored among the lucky few,
Though from the crown some distance North
And from this claim we often drew
Some stone of an enormous worth.
The first we crushed, though badly done
Gave several ounces to the ton.
A twelve months work or there about
In claims in length scarce thirty feet
Would take their richest treasures out,
Unless those riches burrowed deep
As such with ours was not the case
We thought it best to quit the place.
Then for a while we tried our hands
At tub and cradle work again,
And kindly drifts of golden sands
Rewarded well our toil and pain.
But tub and cradle soon gave way
When sluicing could be brought to pay.
At Barry’s Reef in fifty-seven
Myself and brothers three besides
When larger claims on reefs were given,
The Sultan series pegged and tried
Of which for prospecting we got
A double claim for all the lot.
Three well formed reefs within our claim
Our humble efforts brought to light,
With gold diffused through every vein
That shone like stars to cheer the sight
And ere a single ton we crushed
The place for miles around was rushed.
A road, a crushing mill, a whim,
Materials, tools, dray, harness, horse,
Shaft sunk and tunnels driven in
Took heavy toll of time and purse
But battery to the quartz applied
Reversed the flow of fortunes tide.
Year after year while water flowed
The busy grinding mill to drive,
Large cakes of gold their presence showed
Our drooping spirits to revive
Nor need I blush the truth to tell
From first to last the claim paid well.
In sixty-two my mates and I
Pegged out the famous Lucky Hit,
A reef that many had passed by
And swore no good could come of it
But when we drew aside the veil
Experience told another tale.
Three years as well as I can guess
We laboured in this worthy claim,
And skilful efforts won success
As indicated by it’s name.
My health then yielding I retired
A luxury I long required.
Nor have I since the task renewed
Though health and vigor have returned
Why should I on the craft intrude
Since future comforts are assured
I sometimes stand the miner’s friend
But rarely score a dividend.
But why, you ask, nor ask amiss
Was fortune mostly on your side?
The secret, thoughtful friend, is this:
Experience adverse schemes defied
Dame fortune lends her greatest aid
To able experts in their trade.
End
From Ian J Trewhella
