Bird’s-Eye View of Albany
CHAPTER I
Albany—Sweet Boronia—Middleton Beach—Little Grove—Regatta—Buildings—Whaling—Old Colonists—Travelling Dairy—Splendid Vegetables—Wattle Farm—Porongurup—Land Regulations—King George’s Sound.
The Omrah at Albany
Having travelled all over Tasmania, Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, and South Australia (now United Australia), I one day made up my mind to set out for the land of gold, Western Australia, that has created such a furore in these last few years. Accordingly I took my passage from Sydney in the mail-steamer Omrah and, after a very charming voyage on board that splendid vessel, landed at Albany. It was a lovely day, and the first things that pleasantly greeted the passengers on stepping from the tug-boat to the wharf were various small boys with huge bunches of the exquisite-smelling boronia, of which I had often heard. Pretty little Albany looked charming. The day was really perfect in its loveliness; the country round looked like an exquisite emerald robe fringed with pearl and sapphire, the grand blue mountains in the distance, the opal sea, with its white-winged yachts and various sailing vessels lying at anchor in beautiful Princess Royal Harbour; the blue sky above, with here and there a tiny white cloud like a dove carrying a message to heaven; the matchless wild flowers springing around in profusion, and the scent of the sweet boronia wafting on the breeze from the gullies, where it grows in such luxuriance that one wonders no scent farm has been started to distil the exquisite perfume, made the drive taken by most of us before lunch most delightful. The peacefulness of this charming place was broken only by the arrival of the great steamers, with their crowds of passengers, who always went ashore for an hour or so, some of them to take the train en route to Perth, Fremantle, or the goldfields; the others, after driving, lunching, or dining, as time will allow, at the Freemasons’ Hotel (where I put up for a week), returning to the steamer to continue their passage “home,” as all we Australians call dear mother England.
After an excellent lunch at the above-named hotel we set out to view the surroundings of Albany.
On that day everything really looked so beautiful that one might believe Nature to have put on her most attractive garb for us, as if to say, “Why go from here?” Driving round the Marine Drive to Middleton Beach, we thought nothing could be lovelier than the view to which no attraction seemed wanting. The calm and stillness were broken only by a few other tourists, also feasting their eyes on this scene of beauty. It is a five-mile drive to Middleton Beach. The beach forms a circle of some three miles. Mount Clarence is in the background; in front is the land-locked Princess Royal Harbour, with its narrow gateway for the passage of ships; tiny bays surround it, and the picturesque islands look like so many lions guarding the portal. This is a favourite place for picnics; family parties are often here in numbers; the water is so limpid and shallow that children can dabble about to their hearts’ content; the sand is beautifully white and firm, and many little spades and buckets are employed in making sandhouses. Afternoon tea-parties are also quite an institution; it is considered quite “the thing” to bring a party of friends to tea, and, if you do not wish to have it al fresco, there is the pretty Esplanade Hotel, where everything, from afternoon teas to wedding breakfasts, is served up in most excellent fashion.
Another beauteous spot near Albany is Little Grove. The day I went the steamer was full, it being a holiday. Launches were plying from jetty to jetty, taking parties of picnickers to the pretty shady groves. A regatta was also being held, and many people were watching it. It was a pretty sight to see the contest of the boats as they sailed merrily round the lovely bay. The weather was exquisite, but a strong breeze was blowing; good seamanship was called into play in the sailing of the yachts and robust muscular exertion in the rowing events. Albany may well be called the sanatorium of the colony. The air is so invigorating that, after being there only a few days, one feels almost a new being. Any one suffering from brain fag or exhaustion cannot do better than go to Albany for a holiday. One need only look at the faces of the children, see their healthy looks, bright eyes and general activity, to know that they have been born and brought up amongst healthy surroundings. One feature of the children is their beautiful hair; many possess such luxuriant tresses that one feels inclined to envy the lovely colour and beauty of them, and to wish one also had been born in Albany.
The town possesses some very good buildings, and, although not of very large extent, is well laid out. It lies between the Mounts Clarence and Melville, and the many dwellings on the hillsides give it a most quaint and charming appearance. The principal places are the Town Hall, Post Office, Customs House Office, and large sheds, also some fine stores. There are still some very old structures standing, for Albany is an old town, Princess Royal Harbour having been called after the daughter of King George of England. The old-fashioned church of St. John has been beautified by the hand of time and adorned with a mantle of ivy green. Many stone cottages show the primitive way of building that prevailed in 1836. The gaol, built about that year, and in much the same style, still exists, but the stocks then in use have almost disappeared. A very old woman to whom I was speaking told me she remembered three women at a time being put into them. Other evidences of days gone by are immense heaps of bleached whalebones lying about in some parts. Albany was once a fishing village frequented by traders of all countries, who did a large trade in whale-oil, seals, &c., and exchanged for these things not only coin but also potatoes and fruit. There were evidently stirring times in Albany in those early days, and it was not an uncommon thing to see nine whales at a time disporting themselves in the harbour. The huge mail-steamers must have frightened them all away, for a whale is now a rare visitor. I spent a pleasant hour at the house of Mr. J. McKenzie, which in the ’fifties was the only hotel in Albany, and was known as The Thistle. It was also the general concert-hall and theatre. There were no theatrical companies in Western Australia in those days, and the small community used to get up its own entertainments without aid from outside. Among the relics cherished by Mr. McKenzie is the speaking-trumpet used by his father, a master mariner, an imposing-looking instrument of brass, something like a cornet. A magnificent double-pearl shell, with five or six lovely pearls embedded in its sides, must be of great value.