New South Wales is now the most important wool producing state in Australia, and exported in 1912 44·4% of the total export of wool from the continent. The Commonwealth Returns for 1911 show that Australia exported 44% of the total value of all wool imported into the United Kingdom alone, in round numbers more than fourteen million pounds’ worth, as compared with seven millions from New Zealand, and two from Cape Colony.
By far the most important product after wool is wheat. In 1911–12 a little over 65% of the whole area under cultivation was devoted to wheat. At present less than 2% of the land in the state is under cultivation, though over 92% is occupied. “In the past New South Wales has filled a most important place as the premier wool-producing country in the world. But during later years the production of wheat and other cereals has been steadily increasing.... The land is the great source of wealth, and we cannot continue to let the great part of such wealth lie idle.... Australia, and more particularly New South Wales, may confidently accept “mixed farming” as the solution of the land problem.”
The days of enormous runs, at all events on land suitable for agriculture, are numbered ... the big run, having served its turn, is fated to undergo subdivision and closer settlement.[18] Under the Closer Settlement Act large areas of good land have been repurchased by the Government and disposed of at from 25s. to £5 an acre. The terms are very easy; a small deposit has to be made, and the remainder is paid off over a term of years. Many large private estates are being periodically cut up, and under the Closer Settlement Promotion Act three or more persons having agreed with the owners of land as to price and area, may apply to the Crown to purchase the lands.[19] The system of “Shares Farming” is being worked with great success in New South Wales at present. The landowner supplies the land, the tenant the labour, the produce of the combination is equally divided. By this means the farm labourer without capital soon acquires land of his own.[20]
“A FLOCK OF SHEEP,” KINROSS STATION, NEW SOUTH WALES.
Among the many charms of Sydney and its neighbourhood are the flat sandy beaches that have made surf bathing popular. Our host had planned a delightful expedition by motor and motor-launch that was to culminate in a real Australian picnic in the bush with “billy” tea and damper, showing us on the way Manly Beach. The morning was drizzling and heavy, but Australian weather at its worst always has lucid intervals, and soon after our early start the rain had cleared off. Our way led through the extensive suburbs of Mosman, past many arms of the harbour, like lovely inland lakes with wooded banks, down to a narrow point called the Spit, from which a ferry crosses to the eastern side. Here we met many other motor-cars, all converging on the same point, and after crossing on the ferry and climbing a steep hill, we had left Sydney and its harbour behind, and presently began to have glimpses of the Pacific. The drive was one of endless charm and novelty: sometimes we passed what looked like a rushy inland lake, sometimes we were close to the shore. Several miles of the coast land here have been bequeathed to the Salvation Army, which has erected various buildings on this beautiful site. At one point a sandy bar separated a reach of still water from the great sunlit breakers beyond, and within it hundreds of black swans were swimming.
There were numerous week-end cottages among the gum trees. The road ended under a steep hill, its hedges covered with a sweet-scented yellow flower. We had reached our destination of Pittwater, an arm of Broken Bay, so named by Captain Cook. It looks like a great lake, the low hilly shores covered with trees down to the water’s edge. Our motor-boat was waiting at the end of a little jetty. The tide was low, and in the mud alongside were myriads of little crabs that disappeared with astonishing rapidity, scuttling into their holes. It was a pretty little voyage across this smooth arm of the sea, in which big yellowish-green jelly-fish floated beside us. At the landing on the opposite side of the creek the shore was fringed with small oysters.
In the bush spring flowers were already beginning to appear. Ferns and cotton palms grew among the gums, a yellow clematis was coming into flower, and the lovely pink starlike Queensland rose, that is not really a rose, but a kind of boronia. We lunched at one of the picnic places provided by the forethought of a paternal government, with a place to boil the billy all ready, and a wooden shelter with rough benches and table. There is always plenty of dry wood in Australia; a soft-water tank was part of the equipment, and the billy was soon boiling; so we had our billy tea and damper, a kind of unleavened bread that is very agreeable, and it was great fun, though the pioneer effect of it was rather diminished by such accessories as hock and salmon sandwiches. Then we gathered a bunch of the lovely unfamiliar flowers and started on our return journey, which was varied by our running along Manly Beach, crowded with Sunday pleasure-seekers even in these early spring days.
Sydney is so split up and scattered over its hills that it takes some time for a stranger to realise its extent. All these Australian towns are so extraordinarily well-to-do; there is never anything like our working-class suburbs. “Where do the poor people live?” we used to ask. The obvious answer being that there are no poor.
