"When Roads Were Rough"

It is with pride that we present this souvenir centenary booklet as a tribute to the stout - hearted pioneers who knew only the hard way, and whose spirit is typified in the words of the poem printed in the following pages. The poem was written in 1930 by Mr. F. R. Cox, himself the son of a well-known pioneer of the Western District in Victoria.

We hope that all who read this book will treasure it as a memento of a proud little community.

"When Roads Were Rough"

'Twas had to imagine the roads as they were,
Just a few years ago - well - say forty,
When now formed and metalled along them we purr,
In motor cars speedy and sporty,
But stay just a moment, and think looking back,
of the time when the highway was just a bush track.

One road I refer to, it's best known to me,
Though it's now but a spin of two hours,
It once took a week, or maybe it was three,
When bullocks and drays served as powers,
But iron horse the journey has now shortened,
And quickened the schedule for Casterton - Portland.

Let's think of the trials our fathers went through,
When they hauled through the bush, heavy loads,
Of the bogs, broken chains, yes - and capsizes, too,
For the ruts were feet deep in the roads,
Then 'twas load up again and on through the mire,
And dry out the duds round a blazing camp fire

A few names well known, pioneers of freight,
Cain, Comeford, Wagner, McCombe, Murrell,
McCabe, Hawkins, Hicky, Hazledine, Tait,
Boyd, Wheeler, Grant, Nicholls, Blair, Burrell,
McEachern, White, Winters, Grinham, Doyle, Farrell,
Lightbody, Craig, Bilston, Pitts, Parson and Carroll

Also Hicks, Hyde, Smith, Crawley, Outrim, Killeen,
Shaw, Simkin, McMaster, O'Meara, Cox,
And many another stout - hearted "has been",
Trudging alongside with horse and with ox,
All mates in trouble: Smith, Brown's team would borrow,
And Brown would pull Smith from a bog in the morrow.

At twelve just a youth, his first trip for supplies,
Since related to me how it tried him,
Serenely things went till they reached "Stony Rise",
But 'twas there trouble came for young Jim,
At dawn breaking camp not a bullock was found,
It just seemed both teams disappeared in the ground.

His mate, an old hand, rode away on the search,
Through the yaccas and tall stringy bark,
The lad stuck to camp like a bird to its perch,
And crept frightened to bed with the dark,
And so the performance for ten weary days,
'Ere the welcome appearance of Kerr with the strays.

Although there were trials and hardships, they say,
There was certainly plenty of fun,
With dances and racing and friends by the way,
And the times of the old "Rising Sun".
A Ball, yes, who cared. for the scrub or the tangle,
People lined Up from every conceivable angle.

And there were nights round the camp fires bright,
When teams coming up camped with those going down,
The Merchandise hauler was hailed with delight,
When laden with kegs for some inland town,
Little gimlet holes plugged, then smeared with a rub,
Made the barrels look right when received at the Pub.

What then, though they did have some pleasure and fun,
I should certainly say they were worthy,
They seldom complained of their tedious run,
If things were a bit topsy turvy,
What though they had an occasional ''flagon",
With bush tracks to travel, and bulk on the wagon.

Every day would produce fresh experience,
That would fill many books if recorded,
We benefit now with modern convenience,
By production and progress afforded,
When thanks to the spirit of those pioneers,
We travel in comfort in these latter years.

Here's luck then to those who made easy the way,
For us by the fruit of their labour,
Some now lack the spirit of pioneer days,
And don't care a "toss of the caber",
Don't grumble today if the road's a bit rough,
Just think of your fathers, and let that be enough.

written by F.R. Cox