vegetation.
Though magical, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Numerous diarists and letter-writers remarked
on the sheer ugliness of the diggings. To Mrs Elizabeth Massey, the goldfields had
the appearance of one vast cemetery with fresh made graves . Uncovered mine shafts pock-marked
the surface, with mounds of earth heaped beside. It was, said William Westgarth, an upturned, unsightly mass with not a tree or blade of grass to be seen.
And the place was packed. There were so many people going about their business, remarked
Mundy, it was like a lively busy hive . Thomas McCombie said the ground actually appeared
as if in motion . He stood for a moment on the hill above town and watched the frenzied
bustle. Listened to the din of thousands of cradles rocking gold out of the clay
on either side of a creek. Startled as diggers popped in and out of holes like frantic
moles. The view was so extraordinary that McCombie could only anticipate a new order
of things .
Only at night, under the cover of darkness and after the ceremonial gunshots, did
the pulse of activity gradually subside. A vast city hushed in the arms of night ,
the bureaucrat William Westgarth wrote poetically.
THE CAMP
Rising above the vast ocean of canvas that was the diggings, stood the Government
Camp, built on the high ground to the west of the Yarrowee River. High and, in theory,
mighty.
On the Victorian goldfields, the Resident Commissioner was the man in charge. Robert
Rede, who had abandoned a medical degree to try his luck at gold digging, took up
this position of ultimate authority in May 1854. Beneath him were the assistant commissioners,
magistrates and other senior civil servants. The police were the grunts: poorly paid
henchmen who did the hard slog.
A submission to a commission of enquiry into the Victorian police force, held in
late 1854, described the boys in blue like this:
The service generally is so unpopular, that, with few exceptions, only those who
are either too idle to do any thing else, or who having failed in all their other
attempts to gain a livelihood as a last resource enlist into the Police.
There was also a military presence on the goldfields—soldiers of the 12th and 40th
Regiments of the British army. This force was separate from the police, with its
own leadership and structure. A small number of soldiers were allowed to bring their
wives and children with them. Wives were expected to wash, clean and cook, not only
for their husbands but also for the unmarried or unaccompanied officers.
In Ballarat, this whole motley crew was housed at the Government Camp: a parcel of
land bounded by a high picket fence and identified by the huge Union Jack flying
from a central flagstaff. As in the rest of the town, there were only a few (very
expensive) new wooden buildings. Most of the living quarters and offices were under
canvas.
This ramshackle arrangement of lodgings accommodated the administrative workers stationed
at Ballarat, their families and servants (tent keepers, drivers, packhorse keepers)
as well as the police force and the military. In total, over one hundred people
were crammed into the government ghetto. The architects of the camp may have a method
in their madness , wrote the Geelong Advertiser in February 1854, but it is not easily
seen.
DIGGERESSES
The summer of 1853–4 was uncomfortable and trying for a community of campers living
out in the elements. A tremendous blow of hot wind blew down to pieces a great many
tents , wrote Thomas Pierson on 5 January. Living in those flailing tents were 6650
women, 2150 children and 10,700 men—almost 20,000 inhabitants, of whom 45% were women
and children. It’s a far cry from what William Withers called the womanless crowds of the first year of the gold rush.
Newcomers to the diggings knew to expect that women and children would be there in
numbers. You only had to open your eyes. I did not fail to observe that the fair
sex had ventured now on a large scale , wrote Italian
Though magical, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Numerous diarists and letter-writers remarked
on the sheer ugliness of the diggings. To Mrs Elizabeth Massey, the goldfields had
the appearance of one vast cemetery with fresh made graves . Uncovered mine shafts pock-marked
the surface, with mounds of earth heaped beside. It was, said William Westgarth, an upturned, unsightly mass with not a tree or blade of grass to be seen.
And the place was packed. There were so many people going about their business, remarked
Mundy, it was like a lively busy hive . Thomas McCombie said the ground actually appeared
as if in motion . He stood for a moment on the hill above town and watched the frenzied
bustle. Listened to the din of thousands of cradles rocking gold out of the clay
on either side of a creek. Startled as diggers popped in and out of holes like frantic
moles. The view was so extraordinary that McCombie could only anticipate a new order
of things .
Only at night, under the cover of darkness and after the ceremonial gunshots, did
the pulse of activity gradually subside. A vast city hushed in the arms of night ,
the bureaucrat William Westgarth wrote poetically.
THE CAMP
Rising above the vast ocean of canvas that was the diggings, stood the Government
Camp, built on the high ground to the west of the Yarrowee River. High and, in theory,
mighty.
On the Victorian goldfields, the Resident Commissioner was the man in charge. Robert
Rede, who had abandoned a medical degree to try his luck at gold digging, took up
this position of ultimate authority in May 1854. Beneath him were the assistant commissioners,
magistrates and other senior civil servants. The police were the grunts: poorly paid
henchmen who did the hard slog.
A submission to a commission of enquiry into the Victorian police force, held in
late 1854, described the boys in blue like this:
The service generally is so unpopular, that, with few exceptions, only those who
are either too idle to do any thing else, or who having failed in all their other
attempts to gain a livelihood as a last resource enlist into the Police.
There was also a military presence on the goldfields—soldiers of the 12th and 40th
Regiments of the British army. This force was separate from the police, with its
own leadership and structure. A small number of soldiers were allowed to bring their
wives and children with them. Wives were expected to wash, clean and cook, not only
for their husbands but also for the unmarried or unaccompanied officers.
In Ballarat, this whole motley crew was housed at the Government Camp: a parcel of
land bounded by a high picket fence and identified by the huge Union Jack flying
from a central flagstaff. As in the rest of the town, there were only a few (very
expensive) new wooden buildings. Most of the living quarters and offices were under
canvas.
This ramshackle arrangement of lodgings accommodated the administrative workers stationed
at Ballarat, their families and servants (tent keepers, drivers, packhorse keepers)
as well as the police force and the military. In total, over one hundred people
were crammed into the government ghetto. The architects of the camp may have a method
in their madness , wrote the Geelong Advertiser in February 1854, but it is not easily
seen.
DIGGERESSES
The summer of 1853–4 was uncomfortable and trying for a community of campers living
out in the elements. A tremendous blow of hot wind blew down to pieces a great many
tents , wrote Thomas Pierson on 5 January. Living in those flailing tents were 6650
women, 2150 children and 10,700 men—almost 20,000 inhabitants, of whom 45% were women
and children. It’s a far cry from what William Withers called the womanless crowds of the first year of the gold rush.
Newcomers to the diggings knew to expect that women and children would be there in
numbers. You only had to open your eyes. I did not fail to observe that the fair
sex had ventured now on a large scale , wrote Italian
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