Sunday 10th March dawned sunny, bright and warm. With no great rush we packed up camp and set off. Our first stop was Campbell Town. Along the main street were lines of bricks, each brick giving details of the first convicts transported to Australia. By today’s standards most of their crimes were petty. Sarah Watts, who was sentenced to seven years for stealing silver teaspoons, arrived in Tasmania on the good ship Edward in 1834, aged 27 years. We saw references to children as young as seven being deported. Some of the convicts made good and became respected citizens, forming the early administrative, trading and building developments of the colony. It all made for a very interesting morning’s study.
Another bridge and another story. Campbell Town’s Red Bridge was built using penal labour and is the oldest brick arch bridge in Australia. They made the bricks first from local clay, some one and a quarter million of them. Built in 1838 the bridge has required no maintenance since, a testament to the workmanship. They used a neat trick for the construction. The bridge was built over dry land, then the Elizabeth River was diverted to flow underneath it.
It was then on to Oatlands to see the only surviving windmill in the southern hemisphere. It’s still used to mill flour, although now catering mainly to tourists.
There’s more than a hint of the English countryside about parts of Tasmania. Dry stone walls abound in places where granite is abundant. Sandstone was quarried extensively and there are lots of buildings, from the roughly finished vernacular to elegantly Georgian classic. Willows, chestnut, poplars, oaks and pine trees grow in orderly lines, planted as windbreaks. Roses flower in abundance and we bought delicious raspberries and strawberries from a roadside stall. Even hop fields are planted. Then a corner is turned and suddenly it’s Australian gum trees and scrub. It’s all most disorientating.
So we visited the Nant Distillery that makes single malt whisky and powers its milling stones by water wheel. It would not be out of place in parts of Scotland.
On again to Bothwell where the weather once again turned to rain and we set up camp in record time just as the drizzle turned to a downpour. It was a miserable night, cold and wet. The rain increased as the evening wore on so we took to the tent for an early night.
Next morning we met up with two other couples, Andrea and Chris who were camping in a very substantial tent and Andrea’s parents who use a camping trailer. Stories of their travelling adventures, together with quite a lot of humour and repartee meant that our departure was, as usual, fairly late. We compared notes about the weather and tactics used in the race for the free laundry (we won).
We’d heard gunfire during the early morning and saw the results of this loaded in the back of a ute. Venison would soon be on the menu in the local pub.
We paid a quick visit to the Bothwell Golf Club, which claims to be the oldest in Australia being founded in 1822, but found the players to be rather wooden.
On again to Bushey Park and the hop fields. Kim’s early years were spent in Kent and hop fields were a familiar part of the countryside. There seemed little difference in the scenery half a world away, perhaps with the exception of the hills.
Quite by chance we came across a delightful little cafe, The Possum Shed, where we indulged in coffee and cake. Calories galore but what the heck, we’re travelling!
The ‘platypus in residence’ is named Flossie but she failed to make an appearance. Instead we relaxed as the river chuckled by, forming little rapids over the stones and brambles ripened in the hedgerows. On such a relaxed note, it’s time to finish - for a little while.
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