South Hobart news c1986

I've recently started as deputy-and-future editor of the South Hobart community newsletter. I've just been given a ton of back issues as PDFs.

Nº 9, April 1986 has a report on the family fun day, an ad for an electrician that's still advertising 39 years on, and an appeal for witnesses to a murder.

I remember the murder case well, I knew people who knew the three involved. This is from The Age, 15 Aug 1986.

"…on or about 24 February this year, Maurice Huish was involved in a fight with Leigh Turner in which Turner died. Huish had gone to the dead man’s Macquarie Street flat dressed as a woman."

Walking the dog in the rain

This is my usual route: out our back gate, around the hill and up the steps to the soccer ground, around the ground on the gravel road, then through the wire fence near the cricket nets and back down again. It's a wobbly figure 6. 

Winston stops frequently, so I thought today I would try to actually to use my waiting to time to take photos and post this ON THE GO. It didn't work, it was just too wet for my touch screen to grasp what I wanted it to do. So I'm posting this from home as per usual.

Our old boy, on the gravel road around the soccer ground.

Below the soccer ground is this playground that was redeveloped really well about 3 years ago.

The local cockatoo mob grazing by the playground. 

All of this is a reclaimed municipal tip. The top level is a pretty good soccer ground now although there are still drainage problems on the lower side. The playground level is undulating and uneven, designed for you to turn an ankle while trying to fly a kite.

Blackberries

There's many different definitions of "a successful man". I would not normally describe myself that way.

I just finished work in the Hobart CBD, hopped on a bus, went two stops past my usual stop, and walked 3 minutes to this blackberry patch. It's quiet, the birds are chirping, a light breeze is blowing and the sun over the mountain is slanting through the poplars. About 20 minutes after leaving my desk I am picking blackberries for dessert in a sunlit paddock. 

I am fairly happy with that.

Following a contour to Knocklofty

Our house is just left of centre with the golden elm.

We went for a family walk today, exploring the fire trail that runs across the hill opposite our house. We usually call that hill Knocklofty but I think properly that is the smaller hill to the east, whcih can be seen from the city. From there ours is hidden by the real Knocklofty. The boys and I explored it a little a few weeks ago, and I thought was time to sort out where it led.

We set off from the Tip Shop, up and around the switchback. This is the only climbing we did until we got to the Knocklofty park. The trail runs along a contour around the belly of the hill, and after about ten minutes we got the view of our house I was hoping for. From this height you can see not just the park above our house, but the soccer ground above that too.

Along a little further are some concrete steps leading up to concrete foundations of a building. There are remnants of brick columns, and a tin bath which makes me think it was a house. There were wallabies all around so Winston was on the lead; we might come back without him to explore this more deeply.

These power lines run down to Tara Street 

We came out at the end of Forest Road, which was what I expected.  

 Knocklofty has been quarried intensively over the years. The Hobart post office and Government House in Melbourne are built of Knocklofty sandstone.

This block has been partly dressed then left.

As we got to the junction with the Knocklofty Park road, a council man was just finsihing putting up some banners for an Open Day today. My first thought was, how can a park have an open day? There were various groups there with card tables, and some trestles set up for morning tea.

Elf thought we should do the orienteering activity. I am not a fan of orienteering if I am honest; I like to go where I please and take my time. We got lost briefly but it was OK, once we gave Marcus the map. He wasn't 100% with his pathfinding but he did OK, shouting "Mapman!!" each time he located a checkpoint.

Nice view of the bridge from this spot.

Looking north towards Mt Direction. 

So, we found ourselves walking all over Knocklofty. Winston had a swim in the Reflecting Pond and seemed to enjoy himself - most of the course was on the off-lead tracks. We got back to the car park and clocked off just in time to see the fruit, sandwiches and little cakes come out. Then we retraced our steps around the nameless hill to the Tip Shop where we had left the car; the whole walk took us under three hours.

South Hobart - Lenah Valley round trip

It's not far at all, really.

I managed to shuffle through all urgent work and get a clear few hours to tackle the walk I mentioned in the last post. A nice sunny day and no engagements until school gets out at 3. 

Yesterday I met a dog-walking friend, Roz, who is very knowledgable; she confirmed that there is definitely a track through. And she commnented on how clever the Hobart City Council were to buy up the whole gully after the 1967 fire; there had been people living in there until then. They closed the old tip behind our house and opened a new one there. Possibly the floor of the gully then was way below what it is now; there is a quite a big useable flat area which is not what I think of usually when I hear the word 'gully'. 

Winston and I left the car in the Tip shop carpark – although its not far from our house, its not very nice walking him up the tip road with no footpath. Just up the hill before you reach the gatehouse, a gravel road peels off to the right. The other day we followed this a little way then turned off to the right; today I intended to stay on it heading north and see what we could see. It climbs for a while and then you are on a fairly level fire trail looking down into the newer part of the tip. At one point a steep track heads right, up Knocklofty; I am 90% sure that its a human track but its pretty rough. 

Into the unknown

Staying on the fire trail you descend into the gully and you are for a while unpleasantly IN THE TIP. There were no trucks or traffic or people but its clearly an area where stuff is sometimes still dumped. Lots of sawdust. There is an odd dead end roadway that is all grown over with grass; until I realised it was a dead end I was going to head up it. The alternative is a narrow, very steep but 4WD-able road to the right, that follows the powerlines.

Some sawdust and rusty rebar just to give it that 'the tip' feeling

As I was approaching it I saw an elderly person coming down. I thought it might be some ancient denizen of the gully, who refused to move on after the fire and ekes out a living, Mad Max 3 Beyond Thunderdome-style. Obviously this involves killing and eating any tubby graphic designers or none-too-bright labradors foolish enough to wander in. In fact she was a pleasant lady of German extraction kitted out in tweeds, doing a bit of freelance bushcare.

She also confirmed that the path did go through to Pottery Rd, so we kept going. I had thought that it might follow the gully and stay fairly level but it rose and fell quite a bit. Then we passed a vehicle gate with Trespassers Prohibited on it, but facing the way we were heading. I did think of a worst case scenario where we would have to walk back the long way if someone objected to us going back past that gate.

Tweed Lady said she thought this roadway dated back to before the 67 fire,
and they are keeping it clear in case its decided to push a road through one day.

Shortly after, we descended to a crossroads - on the left the Breakneck Track rises steeply to Junction cabin, on the way to Mt Wellington/kunanyi. To the right it leads into Knocklofty reserve. 

At the crossroads; I think this goes up Knocklofty.

We went straight on and found ourselves walking along a grassy vehicular track along the edge of a paddock - with some old chookhouses and dead white goods to our left. There is a big house up the hill a fair way off - I expected people and possibly dogs to object to us but no-one did.

Descending into someone's paddock

The grassy track ends at the long dirt-road driveway of the house; turning left here takes you out to Pottery Road, and bingo you are in suburban Lenah Valley. There is a gate a little way in from the road, it was open, but had a sign on it saying Please Close Gate – Private Road.

At this point you can look down into a scrubby gorse-infested back paddock and see the Mystical Seven Trampolines. Would love to know what they get up to a moonlit night up here.

Crazy times in Lenah Valley

As we regarded the trampolines various dogs started barking so we moved along smartly to a little park for lunch, where we weren't bothering anyone.

The mountain is a different shape from over here

Two views of a very cute little house on the corner of Ruth St

 Then we retraced our steps uneventfully. Didn't see the tweed lady again, no-one objected to our trespassing, saw no mountain bikes or walkers; just solitude until we popped back out at the Tip Shop.

Mission accomplished; now I know what is behind the hill. I don't really know why its not marked on maps; I guess as it involves a bit of light trespassing this is not thought to be right to encourage.

Exploring South Hobart

A loyal customer of the blog contacted me by telephone a few days ago to check that I was OK. I am OK, I'm pleased to say, but just going though a busy patch with work, which of course is great news when you work for yourself.

In my spots of free time I am making an effort to walk some of the many tracks through the bush around here. Spurring me on is a book that has just come out about South Hobart, titled Beneath The Mountain by Alison Alexander. It’s a big, fat, detailed and well-illustrated history of the place that has been our home for fifteen years now.

I read it from cover to cover. The first two-thirds of it, while fascinating, were driving me nuts due to the lack of specific addresses for all the lively pubs, factories, dairies etc that are mentioned. But in the last third the author does a street-by-street survey and mentions actual street addresses for now-gone buildings, businesses and institutions.

South Hobart was very seriously affected by the great 1967 bushfire that raged across southern Tasmania - many houses were lost, and it is often the reason behind an early 70s brick house appearing amongst weatherboards in the streetscape.

One building that may have been demolished after the fire was the head brewer's house at Cascade Brewery. It's there on a hill in this painting by Haughton Forrest from 1890. (The brewery is now four stories higher).

I decided to walk up there and see if anything was left. There is a mobile phone tower on the crest of the hill now so I knew we could get at least that far. Turns out the foundations are still there and a few interesting rusty bits and pieces. The thick power cables to the humming phone tower were laid right over the foundations.

Some kind of heater/cooler?

Not much domestic stuff left but this is nice

Foundations running away from the camera with power source laid across

The back of the Cascade Brewery

Boys in the paper, again

Our platypus. They look quite a lot like a rock when they are sitting still, but fortunately he was pretty busy.

Marcus and Michael watch the platypus in the rivulet, with Lily and Katherine McShane. Photos by Sharyn Jones.

The other day Nick and Anna and their girls Lily & Katherine came up for lunch. Lately there have been a lot of sightings of a platypus in the Hobart Rivulet – Elf has seen it herself so many times on her way to work that its practically a big yawn to her now. Nevertheless, she thought we should take the visitors and Winston for a walk down there to see if we could locate the little monotreme.

We did - this was made easier by the presence of a photographer squatting on the bank, giving him the once over with the long lens. She was delighted to get some human interest involved, and so the kids stayed on the bank for about 15 minutes watching him very close up, while they were snapped from all angles.

The story in the newspaper is here, and West Hobart mother of two, Anna Berger, even got in with a nice quote. 

We did think though – doesn't that picture of the kids look a bit Photoshopped? The edge of Michael’s shadow is flat and perfectly vertical. Odd.

Snow

These were taken here at our place a week ago. It was pretty crisp.

Break point, out by the biohazard bins

Cam and I had a game of tennis yesterday morning - my first in a few years. We went down to the uni where we last played, but they are only admitting members on the courts now. Pretty crummy. Even if you are prepared to buy a membership you have to do a 20 minute orientation tour, and then still pay by the hour for the court.

We left in a huff, and tried our luck at the old court behind St Johns Hospital in South Hobart. I've seen people playing there - I've always assumed they must be staff. But we went in to reception and asked.Well, actually the ladies were too busy to ask, so we just stood there in our sports gear with our racquets and assumed they would twig what we were after. When the phone stopped ringing for a few seconds someone found us a key - and asked for $3! Surely it costs the hospital more than that just to have their reception staff interrupted.

With a bit of exaggeration I can see a comedy bit in this. Pompous over-serious tennis player jogging on the spot while he waits for someone to notice him, stretching and then eventually opening a can and practising his ball-toss. Meanwhile medical emergencies of ever-increasing seriousness play out behind him.

The hospital is pretty old, and it has grown in fits and starts, so it's a rabbit warren. It was founded as a homeopathic hospital in 1899. Out the back behind the coach-house (which now contains specialists rooms) are some sheds, the biohazard bins, piles of rusting rubbish and a neglected tennis court.We enquired in one of the worksheds and borrowed a spade and broom, and dealt with the tufts of grass growing down the tramlines.

Eventually we were up and running. Cam is a much better player than I - I hardly made a first serve all day. Yet he made more errors than me and ended up losing his usual steely focus. I won the first set and was up 3-1 in the second when we abandoned the match. It was just too hot and we had to play indoor soccer later in the day so we were saving our legs. (We lost soccer 5-4 so we should have quit tennis sooner).

Ho Ho Ho!

I got to be part of the magic of Christmas this week. I am a bit of a humbug most years, but nevertheless I was approached to play Santa for the local playgroup’s Christmas party. I know a couple of the parents, but only one of the kids knows me, and we were pretty sure he wouldn't recognise me. (Last year one of the kids freaked out because Santa was his dad, but not his dad, and his dad was Santa, and ... waaaaaah. Hence the need to contract out the the gig.)

I am not a thespian type, and generally avoid being the centre of attention. But I actually loved being Santa! The punters were all 3 or under, in fact Isla (on the left of the pic with her mum Sally) might have been the oldest. They were so sweet, innocent and straightforward (compared to the groups of kids I usually have to wrangle, aged 8-12). I realised afterwards, that for me and all the adults there I was the guy who was playing Santa, but for the kids I really was Santa. Quite a responsibility.

Sally, who is the playgroup coordinator, dropped off the suit to me, a really good quality suit it is too. The beard took some working out, but it actually has a bit that goes over your head to minimise the dangers of beard-tugging toddlers. I put it all on at home, classical pillow-up-the-jumper and all. I felt a responsibility, shared with all Santas (and any other grown-ups called upon to be Mickey Mouse, a Banana In Pyjama etc) to not be seen getting in or out of costume. So I waddled down to the car as Santa, drove as Santa, got out of the car as Santa, changed my dainty driving shoes for serious Santa Boots as Santa, and set off across the soccer field to the appointed spot in the Darcy Street playground, ringing my bell and trying out a few Ho Ho Ho's. Or the old 3H as we call it in the caper.

Sally did a fantastic job planning it all, and making it very easy for me. I sat in the shade of a marquee, next to a small decorated tree that fell over regularly. The parents had all smuggled in gifts for me to hand out, and that went smoothly. Although one or two were very shy they all came and took their gift from me in the end, one or two shook hands and Santa scored a kiss and a couple of hugs. Once the gifts were sorted, it was time for the traditional sit on Santa's lap session. The parents seemed keen to get photos to remember it all by, so I took that as a sign it was going well. Weird to think that I am going to printed and stuck on grandparents fridges all around Australia.

Once everyone had all the photos they wanted, it was time for Santa to move on to his next port of call. Fortunately my initial line of retreat was around a corner, as I had serious pants-sag issues. Santa exited backwards, ringing his bell, ho-ing.

The Chicken Farm - as it was.

My favourite part of our lovely green outlook is a hill people still call the Chicken Farm, although it hasn't been functioning for quite a while. It is a surprisingly large patch of countryside to find so close to town. There have been plans on the go to develop it for at least 10 years, but nothing has happened there until now.

Yesterday when I got home from work Elf was in an agitated state - she had seen a digger start to knock down the massive old pine trees, and had driven with the kids over there to try to reason with the someone. There was only the driver, working on his own in a downpour. He assured her that it was all approved by council. Elf realised there was nothing she could do and came home.

One by one the trees crashed down. My favourites were a stand of three in the middle of the sloping paddock, that made a lovely patch of shade. Gone. Our skyline there was marked by four or five more big dark pines - now gone. Worse is to come - the word is that there are 47 new houses approved. Forty seven! It's not going to be my favourite part of the view any more.

I have always told myself to appreciate it while I could, because it was too good to last. Since it hasn't been a functioning farm someone has been paying rates on it for no return. Also I acknowledge that everybody's property is part of someone else's view - including ours. And we were able to do just what we pleased with ours.

I hope they plant a few new trees though.

Buying bread at the end of the day is dispiriting

We have a good bakery. Not a coffee and friands kind of "bakery" but a place which specialises in sliced white, sliced wholemeal and, for the Fancy Dans, your casalingas and pasta duras. Their bread is lovely, cheap and keeps well. They close at 6pm, and if we haven't managed to get bread there, we are faced with choosing from the Other Breads.

Don't get me wrong, I Iove a fresh crusty loaf of pretty much any real bread. But by 7pm, the shops have only fruit loaf, crumpets, Wondersoft and mysterious brands of similar cheap sliced white that you don't see at any other time. Is there some pool system whereby any part of the country with a temporary bread glut distributes it to corner shops across the land? And it arrives at about the closing time of the bigger shops and proper bakeries?

Chess Success

Twelve of my chess kids took part in another tournament on Thursday, and did really well. The gun team in town, Princes Street Primary, did not attend, and this made our task a little easier. The hosts, Goulburn Street Primary, won pretty comfortably, but we came in second. Our top seven players shown above all collected medals, but we had five others who contributed wonderfully, two of them in their first tournament. I think everyone really enjoyed the day, although for the new kids playing seven games in a row was pretty demanding.

The top eight players at the end of the day were all Goulburn St kids, but next was Marcus. He won 5 of his seven games, and was the only one to beat the eventual champion. Angela (in the centre of the pic) is only in Grade 2 but was equal top girl in the tournament.

One of the dads, Rodney, volunteered to be there all day. By the end he was really fired up, and has announced he wants to help me with the Chess Club next term. Which is terrific because unlike me, he actually knows a thing or two about chess.

Well done, us.

Yesterday we attended a barbecue for South Hobart participants in the Solar Panel scheme. A very well-organised and active community group got up and running to take advantage of government subsidies, and assisted 150 installations of solar panels, and 70 solar hot water systems.

I thought "OK, this is going to be a self-congratulation society". And it kind of was, but they had about a dozen different kinds of cake, so that was OK. They had plaques on offer that said "This is a climate-friendly home" or something like that, but to get one you had to sign a pledge to reduce your carbon footprint by a set amount per year.

If I had a good calculator for measuring my footprint, I would be prepared to try reducing it by 5% over 12 months. It might be hard to find another 5%, and another 5%, year after year. The time might come when you would have to hand in your plaque and admit failure. But also I think the solar panels stuck on the roof are enough of a smug middle-class advertisement of your climate awareness anyway, without going for a plaque. After all, thanks to subsidies we are out of pocket less than $2000 for our panels, and now we have tiny power bills. We are not exactly sacrificing ourselves for the greater good.

Anyway, Elf was against the pledge, I was against the plaque, so we walked away still middlingly-committed, like most people. I am going to look up a good footprint calculator though. Also I just want to say that our solar inverter is the Sunny Boy 1100.

At the barbecue we were handed a flyer for another plaque-related scheme, the Gardens for Wildlife scheme. Their plaque is nicer, and the idea of encouraging wildlife in city and suburban gardens is excellent. I had a look over the form to see if having a cat would disqualify us. One set of boxes to tick asks if you are  a) Urban  b) Sub-urban  c) Peri-urban or d) Rural.  "Peri-urban"? They left out pseudo-urban, quasi-urban and "miles from anywhere but built like a MacMansion anyway".

Work move on the cards [sigh]

I heard last week that Roar Film will be moving out of South Hobart when the lease runs out in June. We are going down to Salamanca Place apparently - the artsy craftsy touristy strip down by the water. We will be in a heritage-listed sandstone ex-warehouse somewhere in the Arts Centre.

My boss is in his late fifties, and had a heart scare last year. Our current office is smack bang in the middle of a giant home for the aged, and I think that's the main reason he wants out. I will be sad to go - the school is just five minutes up the road, and home another ten-fifteen minutes after that. I have jokingly said I will have to get another job to stay in South Hobart, at the newsagents or post office. Possibly I can flog spangly harem pants at Bizarre Bazaar, or I might become a loam specialist at Males Sand. As long as I never have to leave South Hobart, I'll be happy.

Number 4

A beautiful little house in South Hobart I walk past sometimes. I took these on my way back to work from Chess Club at the school today.