Monarchies, Decolonisation and Royal Legacies in the Asia-Pacific | An Excellent Conference

Chinese monarchists and revolutionaries lobby Chinese leaders in Sydney for support c1908. Image source.

The 6 and 7 of December 2017 were marked by the third annual conference on monarchies at the University of Sydney.  I have attended all three, and each year they have just gotten better and more assured, like a good red!

There were 13 scheduled papers, with three additional papers and a final roundtable discussion, plus a conference dinner all of which made for a packed and stimulating two days.  Geographically, the papers touched upon almost all points in an area roughly bounded by India, China, Japan, Australasia, Samoa and Hawaii, with a particular focus in two sessions on Indonesia and the Netherlands East Indies.  The dynasties were indigenous, such as Norodom (Cambodia), Hamengkubuwono (Yogyakarta), Tupou (Tonga) and Yamato (Japan), as well as colonial Hanover, later Windsor (India, New South Wales) and Orange-Nassau (Netherlands New Guinea).

Juliana, Queen of the Netherlands, portrait on 10 Guilder note, Netherlands New Guinea. Image Source.

Several themes emerged from the papers, each responding in some way to the conference title ‘Monarchies, Decolonisation and Royal Legacies in the Asia Pacific’.  Papers also touched upon sources and raised further issues for future research.

Some general observations are useful at this point.  The distinctions between settler and plantation colonies were not as sharp as I expected (or as Imperial historiography had lead me to believe).  There seems to be as much overlap and continuity as there is difference.  The symbolism of monarchies and crowns was treated seriously in all the papers, rather than regarded as something ‘soft’ or curious and not really suited to thoughtful study.  Female royals such as queens and vicereines seem much more evident in Asia Pacific royal history than in Australian history, although I suspect that may be a historiographical rather than historical affect?  The new technologies that came with colonialism produced records, especially visual records such as photographs, that are increasingly available for research.  This was also evident in earlier conferences where speakers touched upon, for example, the rapidly developing technologies that shortened long-distance travel and brought royals and subjects into closer contact.


The major storylines (for me) arising from the papers fall into five main themes: historiographical biases, change and continuity, power relationships, religious relationships and symbolism.  I touch upon each below, in a fairly generalised way that I hope will not identify anyone’s specific work or reveal new and innovative ideas and projects they are working on before they are ready for publication.

Victoria, Empress of India, 1876-1901  Image source.

Historiographical exclusions

Many speakers referred to the absence, or very limited, attention given to imperial and indigenous monarchies during the huge transitions across the Asia Pacific between the 1940s and 1970s.  Nationalist historians, writing as colonial powers withdrew from or abandoned erstwhile territories, largely ignored monarchical and viceroyal forms and practices.  This has deeper implications, for example in settler societies such as New South Wales a failure to notice the contribution of locally-resident Chinese intellectuals, within the framework of common British subjecthood, to wider debates about citizenship.  Another effect has been the largely invisible exclusion of viceroyal histories from Australian nationalist histories.

Historiographical biases have occasionally been raised in earlier conferences, but were this year a more persistent theme, all the more remarkable for being identified across so many areas.  This has much potential to receive more attention in the future as ‘national’ historiographies are re-examined by newer, younger eyes not so bounded by twentieth-century borders.

Elizabeth II, Queen of Ceylon, 1952-1972 Image source.


Change and continuity

Many papers explicitly or implicitly challenged ideas of monarchies as timeless and unchanging structures.  The active insertion by several speakers of temporal dimensions into the study of sovereigns and reigns reinforced perhaps counter-intuitive ideas of royal identities being retained through change, not stasis.

Crowns are engaged in continual processes of re-making and re-imagining, some more effectively than others.  This can be seen through the co-option of western trappings of monarchy, especially in Pacific island kingdoms, or the presentation of royals as exemplars of middle class respectability.  Another lens was articulated through arguments over whether royal change was a return to original, purer forms of monarchy or a transformation into new democratic institutions; whether ancient rituals were being reinstated in older forms stripped on later accretions, or were rituals being commodified for consumption by newly-wealthy consumer cultures.

A third perspective, or perhaps group of inter-related perspectives, could be heard in arguments over whether the retention of indigenous monarchies at the end of a colonial period was intended to keep old elites within the new nation-states, even if, in retrospect, this often turned out to be transitional rather than permanent.  This view segues into the divisibility of the British crown and the creation of the ‘tropical dominions’, the very diverse uses of the royal prerogative by viceroyals and, I think, an emergence of viceroyalty as a distinct ‘type’ of monarchy.  Some of these papers hark back to Miles Taylor’s key note at the first conference in which he identified the viceroyal use of royal prerogatives as an area in need of research, an area the third conference presages as likely to grow in the future.

Standard of the Governor General of India, 1947-1950. Image source.

Relationships and power

This is a theme that might seem rather ‘standard’ in any study of monarchy, but when discussions move to models of monarchical authority within imperial contexts, such as a centre-periphery model versus network models, and questions of how types of monarchies reflect conceptions of power and state, some assumptions can be challenged.  The primacy of metropolitan centres may be unquestioned from a European perspective, but from an Asia Pacific perspective they have to be questioned.  Imperial subjects, whether indigenous or settler, lived within more polycentred societies in which viceroyalty and indigenous aristocracies may be just a splendid, and more tangible, than far-away Europe.

One fascinating entrée into this theme came through art history, with the active competition between indigenous and colonial artists for painting or photographic royal and viceroyal portraits, in which subjects are depicted in both indigenous and imperial costumes.  This seems to challenge ideas of a simple one-way Western re-imagining of indigenous monarchies through Orientalist lens.

Another avenue came through papers in which monarchs or dynasties form alliances with non-elite or minority groups that, again, seems counter-intuitive.  Tentative links between these alliances and the role of petition cultures in colonial societies, both settler and plantation, are suggested, as were symbolic and competitive relationships between royals and political classes.  This in turn leads to considering the complexities of the intergenerational transmission of titles and roles in indigenous dynasties and power structures, complexities that could be misunderstood by colonial powers, or could be very well understood and manipulated to imperial ends.  Scholars need to distinguish between positions taken today by leadership/elite groups and local/family/clan groups within indigenous communities about historical and contemporary monarchies, and avoid conflating these dynamics.

A final thought in power relationships arose in discussing ways the decolonising of museums, and repatriation of cultural materials, brings indigenous/monarchical relationships to the fore, and can reveal long histories of educating imperial royals about indigenous people, strongly suggesting the need to better consider indigenous agency in indigenous/crown relationships, especially when mediated through imperial art and museum collecting practices.

Prince William receives gifts from Aboriginal elders in Central Australia, 2014. Image source.

Prince William offered in 2014 to help find and repatriate Pemulwuy’s remains from a British museum. Image source.

Relationships and religion

Another timely theme was the complex relationships between crowns and religions.  One area this was explored was in the transitions from one dominant religion to another, such as from Hindu to Muslim in Java.  Another was the role of Christianity (or perhaps more specifically particular Christian denominations) in shaping and developing new court forms drawing on both indigenous and European practices, such as in Tonga.  A third area touched upon contemporary royals as defenders of civil society against political and religious fundamentalism. This was a disparate theme, but one which I suspect carries a lot of promise for future research.

The Sultan of Johore defends his secular kingdom in 2016. Image source.


It seemed to me that papers from scholars working mainly in Asian rather than European studies were more conscious of distinctions and relationships between symbolic and worldly or temporal power, and less likely to regard the symbolic as being of lesser significance.

Distinctions between symbolic and temporal or worldly roles and authority helped to draw-out considerations of the symbolic powers indigenous monarchs retained when colonial administrations took over day-to-day decision making.  Another was the many ways in which indigenous monarchies and aristocracies were incorporated into imperial honours systems, which seems to have been more widespread than just the British Empire.  The phrase “Ornamentalist community of interest” may be a way to go beyond Cannadine’s original thesis.  The importance of understanding dynastic or internal quarrels over symbolic authority as more than personal desires or vanity was also touched upon.

New technologies also have a role to play, illustrated by the use of photography in connecting indigenous and imperial monarchs and visually revealing one to the other, and pointed to ideas of how cosmopolitanism can be accommodated with ideas of imperial subjecthood.

Bharani Thirunal Lakshmi, the Senior Rani of Travancore, wearing the insignia of a Companion of the Order of the Crown of India.  Image source.

The Princess of Wales, later Queen Alexandra, wearing the insignia of a Companion of the Order of the Crown of India.  Image source.

The Order of the Crown of India was established by the Empress Victoria in 1878, and membership was only open to royal, aristocratic and viceroyal British and Indian women.  Its better-known Australian members were Lady Caroline Denison (vicereine, Van Diemen’s Land, Norfolk Island and New South Wales, 1847-1860) and the Duchess of Gloucester (vicereine, Australia 1944-1947).


Moving on from the themes evident across papers, some speakers also drew attention to sources beyond political or administrative archives.  Art, especially portraiture, was one such source, and within (although not entirely) art history, being attentive to styles of clothing and dress, and to the accoutrements and backgrounds framing the subject of a painting can suggest avenues for research beyond the paper archive.  Photographs, and their provenance, were also skilfully deployed in some papers, and offered one way of gaining perspectives from a subject’s point of view on royal, viceroyal and aristocratic institutions and personalities.  Obtaining such perspectives was a point of discussion on several occasions.

A closer reading of the forms and rituals of courts, whether royal, viceroyal or aristocratic, were highlighted by several papers, as was the architecture and landscapes of viceroyal residences.  The evolution of these forms and styles has some element of organic response, some element of intention and design, but commonly they have a capacity to be read for underlying power and spiritual/religious relationships, and changes and adaptations in those relationships, and to understand the formation of new symbolic relationships between sovereigns and subjects in colonial environments.

Queen Salote Tupou III of Tonga, r. 1918-1965. Image source.

Future research issues

By the end of the conference, I think several discrete areas for future research were clearly evident.  The first of these is the language and vocabularies of ‘monarchy’.  These need to be better understood, even if only to provide some common ground for shared conversation.  Asian Pacific monarchical structures are not the same as European, and European monarchies had to be adapted to Asia Pacific societies which, in some cases, had in turn to adapt to imperial ideas of monarchy.  I think these are better approached as iterative and mutable processes that require particular vocabularies.  Many indigenous titles and hierarchies are not easily translatable into English or European languages, and these more nuanced understandings need to be comprehended by scholars today who do not need to ‘simplify’ such structures for imperial audiences.  Royalty, viceroyalty, aristocracy, nobility, gentry and commonalty are not all the same, and better understandings of historical and contemporary vocabularies will help avoid their conflation if multiple power and symbolic relationships are to be understood.

The second area of research lies in power and symbolic relationships.  One is understanding the ways indirect rule created or reinforced new monarchies and dynasties who can be understood, not as subservient to imposed empire, but as classes in transition.  There is a need to ask who is involved in these processes, and why.  Polycentric power structures and systems need to be identified and comprehended, especially if these are counterpoints to singular imperial hierarchies in which all roads lead to a European metropole.  A related area is to ask how viceroys and colonial administrations understood the popular power and authority (or claims to such authority) by indigenous monarchs and rulers, and vice versa.

As the colonial era transitioned into the era of the nation-state during the mid-20th century, I think it is worth considering the strategic choosing of sides by indigenous monarchs, such as Cambodia, Yogyakarta and Hyderabad, even Japan.  Not all indigenous monarchies failed to survive the transition, so what strategic, long term thinking did they employ, how were they able to transform themselves, and why did some fail where others succeeded?  What was the role of relationships between newly professionalising colonial administrations and local aristocrats in preparing (or not) for such transitions.  Finally, it would be useful to ask who rejected royal forms of government in new post-colonial states, and who benefited from such rejection?

Her Royal Highness Princess Mangkubumi, Crown Princes of Yogyakarta.  Image source.

Spatial and material issues

The third area for research, I think, lies in spatial and material history.  Palaces, Residencies, Government Houses – such imperial or royal sacred spaces become desacralised when monarchs are overthrown and dynasties terminated, but which is cause and consequence, and how iterative is such a process?  How much reliability can be given to statements/ or inferences by political classes and curators that post-royal or viceroyal estates are ‘opened up’ as popular museums?  Can narratives of museumising spaces/places be read and questioned as analogies or metaphors for reconceptualising a crown or dynasty as historical and past?  In order to deal with such matters, it is necessary to consider the cultural imaginaries provoked and maintained through the architecture and landscapes of such residences.  I make a special plea, here, for greater attention to ‘built heraldry’ in viceroyal settings.  There is some relevant literature on European and Brazilian examples, but they can’t be applied uncritically to the Asia Pacific – which leads back, in a way, to questions of language and vocabulary.

Government House Sydney. Image B. Baskerville.

Finally …

I hope this conference report will convey some sense of the scope of contemporary, ‘right now’, work on royal histories from Australasian (in the older, looser sense of ‘south of Asia’ or ‘southeastern Asia’) or perhaps ‘Tenggara’ perspectives.  These perspectives have some resonances with similar work in Europe but also have some distinctive Austral-Asian characteristics.  However, this report may imply a coherence and specific research program that does not really exist.  As far as I know, none of the conference speakers focuses exclusively on royal history or court studies, and they come from a diverse range of disciplinary fields.  Compared to similar studies in Europe the field is in its infancy, but it also has its own particularities that are beginning to develop (see programs below).  Professor Robert Aldrich and Dr Cindy McCreery, both of the University of Sydney’s History Department, are the leaders in this development, and I look forward too much more original and innovative work to appear in the future.  Roll on ‘Monarchies Conference No 4’!

Conference Programs: No 1 Crowns and Colonies: Monarchies and Colonial Empire, 2014, No 2 Royals on Tour: The Politics and Pageantry of Royal Tours, 2015, No 3 Monarchies, Decolonisation and Royal Legacies in the Asia-Pacific, 2017.


The Centenary of the House of Windsor, 1917 – 2017

The 2017 Australian Historical Association (AHA) Conference was held in Newcastle, New South Wales between 3 – 7 July.  It was held just before the centenary of the proclamation of the House of Windsor, and the paper I presented at the conference is posted here on the precise anniversary of that date, 17 July 1917.  It is a marker of the centenary and its continuing significance in the histories of Australia, the Australian States, the other old dominions, India, the United Kingdom, the contemporary Commonwealth, the Crown and the dynasty itself.

The post consists of two parts: an introduction with the conference abstracts and so on, followed by the paper proper with the images displayed in the presentation, and citations for all quotes.

Click on the images for a larger, more readable version.

INTRODUCTION (Conference papers)

Slide 1


Allegiances beyond Borders: South Australia’s journey from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor

Summary of Abstract

Appealing for royal support during a crisis is an old tradition, but what happens when the king is cast as part of the problem?  Can new traditions, new entanglements emerge?

17 July 1917: The House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha metamorphosed into the House of Windsor.  German Süd Australien was dead, new/old histories and entangled genealogies were inscribed on palimpsest landscapes, and then…?


A century ago this month the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha dynasty in Britain became the Windsors.  This was much more than a mere name change.  It capped a series of ‘de-Germanising’ or ‘de-Europeanising’ tactics by George V during the Great War to strategically reposition his dynasty and its future as fundamentally British.  The change drew upon, and consciously projected, stories and traditions of a mythologised ancient past of ‘Anglo’ and ‘Celtic’ mixing or fusing to create a new and uniquely ‘Briton’ dynasty with shared genealogical and emotional links to every British community in the world.

South Australia was one of those British communities, and the dynastic strategy both mirrored and was interlinked with responses to a vicious anti-German campaign in the State.  Between 1.5 and 4 per cent of South Australians shared some degree of German heritage, and the campaign to demonise, exclude and contain them between 1915 and 1918 was visceral and relentless.  It was also, measured by its own objectives, perhaps the most successful such campaign in the Empire.  Like the dynastic name change, the mass ‘toponymic cleansing’ of German place names in South Australia reached its fruition in 1917.

But, like the king, the opponents of South Australia’s anti-Germanists drew upon a mythologised traditionalism of what they called ‘admixture’ in response to anti-German ‘racialism’.  Both sides invoked the dynasty and its supposed histories in support of their claims and counter-claims. Eventually, a re-imagined and newly-traditional royal family emerged, transformed for the cultural needs of modern South Australia.


Bruce Baskerville has an interest in the ways old institutions, such as crowns, are transported, adapted, re-formed and re-imagined in new realms, especially settler societies.  His recent University of Sydney PhD thesis is titled The Chrysalid Crown: An un-national history of the Crown in Australia 1808-1986.

The Session

Place: Newcastle City Hall, Hunter Room 1, Friday 7 July 2017, 11:00-12:30 session.

Session Chair: Prof Dane Kennedy, George Washington University, and opening keynote speaker on ‘Colonial Cosmopolitanism: Mobility, Cross-Cultural Networks and the Struggle for Postcolonial Sovereignty’.

Panel Theme: Royal Exile, Travel and Transformation in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

Speakers: Prof Robert Aldrich, Dr Cindy McCreery and Dr Bruce Baskerville.


THE PRESENTATION (largely as spoken)

I acknowledge the traditional custodians of the place where we meet, pay respects to elders past and present, and welcome Aboriginal people to this session.

Slide 2 | Spot the difference

JULY 1917 OR JULY 2017?

This paper is extracted and summarised from part of one chapter in a thesis, so because of the time available many details are passed over.  Please don’t hesitate to ask me in the Q&A.

In this paper I will tell a story about allegiance, and how it can dramatically change while appearing to be unchanging, how an ostensible disentangling was really a new entangling, presented as recovering an older, truer history.

Along the way, the Crown and dynasty were transformed, as were the people of South Australia and, perhaps more significantly, the emotional bonds between settler subjects and their king-emperor.

Looking at Slide 2, which is counter-factual story and which is journalism?  There are enough clues to tell them apart, but a century ago in 1917, the first was still a viable projection of a likely (but rapidly receding) future, while the second, by changing the references to Islam to Germans, would have sounded very much like every-day press commentary in Adelaide.

The settings are Balmoral, London and Melbourne, but replace them with the Barossa, Kaiserstuhl and Adelaide, and timelines and places become indistinct and mixed-up.

Let’s try and untangle a few knots.

Slide 3 | ‘A Good Riddance’


A century ago this month the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha dynasty in Britain became the Windsors.  This anniversary on 15 July marks more than a mere name change.  It capped a series of ‘de-Germanising’ or ‘de-Europeanising’ tactics by George V during the Great War to strategically reposition his dynasty and its future as fundamentally British.  The change drew upon, and consciously projected, stories and traditions of a mythologised ancient past of antique peoples mixing or fusing to create a new and uniquely post-Roman ‘Briton’ dynasty with deep emotional links to every British community in the world.

In mid-1917 the Australian newspapers reported vague announcements about the King changing the dynastic name to the House of Britain, “a title that would embrace the dominions”.  Then, on 19 July, the papers across Australia reported

“The King signed a proclamation, announcing that he had adopted the family name of Windsor, and had relinquished all German titles and dignities”.[1]

Australian High Commissioner and former Labor Prime Minister, Andrew Fisher, and the South African High Commissioner were present when the king signed the proclamation. The dominions had been at the very heart of this decision.

The new name was reported to be “entirely English in its history”, which would “give gratification throughout the Empire”.[2]  Over the next few months, the nature of this ‘English’ history was spelled-out in the press.  Emphasis was placed on a royal lineage stretching over several dynasties to before the Norman conquest.  The change of name was presented as the workings of ancient and venerable ‘tradition’.

The characteristics of the tradition had four main inter-related elements: Windsor was ‘English’ in its historical associations, it was a ‘natural’ choice for a dynastic name, the new dynastic rules were ‘democratising’, and it would be welcomed throughout the Empire.  Paradoxically, this ‘tradition’ relied upon innovation to invoke a reimagining among the King’s subjects of the Crown itself.

 The change involved a sacralising component with its principal sacred site being Windsor Castle where, in its inner sanctum of the Chapel of St George chivalric rituals were performed beneath the armorial banners of the Knights of the Garter.  Press descriptions sought to invoke a mythical or even magical past for Windsor Castle, from the seat of King Arthur to being Charles I’s prison before his regicide.  Evoking the name Windsor was a key legitimating device.

Windsor was a ‘natural choice’ because it cleansed alien (non-British) influences and emphasized the ‘national character’ of the dynasty. Shed of its recent (Hanoverian and Saxe-Coburg) German influences, the name Windsor emphasized a return to the more ‘democratic’ traditions of the ancient past.  Princely status was to be limited to the immediate family of the king, and was welcomed as if something ‘Australian’ had become part of royalty.

It also allowed the related dynasties of continental royalty, a recent accretion, to be abandoned.  Marrying into European dynasties, said to avoid taking sides during the English civil wars, was no longer necessary. Royal children would now take British spouses from within the Empire.

Slide 4 | Windsor Castle, viewed from a train

The ancient royal pedigree stretched back to Cerdic of Wessex and Malcolm Canmore of Scotland, a pedigree Anglo and Celtic reflected in the British communities of the Empire. It was, reported the press, this

“… intimate association through that ancestry with the history and growth of the British nation that King George wishes to impress upon both his own family and the peoples of the Empire”.[3]

This was a powerful narrative about a tradition in which king and people had a shared ancestry that was emotional, spiritual and ideological.  It was a continuity with a past deeper than any historical research could verify.  This ‘natural’ continuity was cast, not as medieval, but as part of an enduring national character.  Having invented this continuity and its character, innovation masked as a restoration underpinned the abandonment of extended dynastic relationships.  The novelty of the dominions and the metropole equally sharing the imperial centre further extended the ‘tradition’ of a shared dynasty and common genealogy.

The 200 years of German influence since George I had assumed the throne in 1714 were thus swept aside as a mere detour from ancient tradition embodied in a venerable, mystical, unbroken lineage of sovereigns that linked old pre-Conquest Windsor with every modern imperial city and eventually every household and every subject in the remotest corner of the Empire.

Through this romanticised tradition the ‘intimate association’ between the King and every single subject, direct, emotional and unmediated, could be imagined.  The press across Australia reinforced the ‘tradition’ by providing the visual representations for audiences who would never actually see Windsor Castle.  This was a dynasty to which all true Britons could be loyal, and the new technologies of cheap mass printing and photography would make it accessible to all.

So, how was this change experienced in war-time South Australia?

Slide 5 | Kaiserstuhl


South Australia was one of those British communities ‘intimately associated’ with the king.  The dynastic strategy both mirrored and was interlinked with responses to a vicious anti-German campaign in the State.  Between 1.5 and 4 per cent of South Australians shared some degree of German heritage, and the campaign to demonise, exclude and contain them between 1915 and 1918 was visceral and relentless.[4] Like the dynastic name change, the mass ‘toponymic cleansing’ of German place names in South Australia reached its fruition in 1917.

Anti-Germanism in an organized sense in Australia began early in the war. The All-British League formed in Port Adelaide in February 1915 is an example of one of the more virulent anti-German organizations.

The League’s core objectives were:

“First, to advocate forever the shutting out of all foreigners from Government and municipal posts; secondly, to prevent foreigners from becoming members of Parliament or justices of the peace; and thirdly, to jealously guard against the ascendancy of any language over English in the curriculum of State-aided schools.”[5]

‘Foreigner’ essentially meant German, and over the next four years the League campaigned relentlessly to have Germans (by which it meant anyone of German birth, or German parentage or grand-parentage, wherever they were born) removed from the South Australia Parliament and magistracy, municipal councils and public employment, to remove the franchise from all Germans in local, State and Federal elections, for all German or Lutheran schools to be closed or taken over by the State and to have all German-language publications suppressed.  It wanted all land owned by Germans to be compulsorily acquired and used for returned soldier settlements.  It demanded that all German-origin place names be replaced by British or ‘Australian native’ names.  By 1918 it was advocating the wholesale deportation of all Germans.

The League’s campaigns were visceral, bigoted, jingoistic and highly public, and they found strong support in The Mail newspaper. League branches were established throughout the state and its activities were widely covered in the South Australian press.[6]  It had a spectacular success with cleansing the map of South Australia of German place names. In May 1916, The Mail published a map of South Australia showing German toponyms, followed a week later by a hysterical article urging their removal under the headline “Deutschland Über Süd Australien”.[7]  For The Mail, German names and the ‘gutteral language’ were becoming “outrageously offensive”, and the premier example was Kaisterstuhl, or the Emperor’s Seat, near Tanunda.  This place name showed the ‘characteristic audacity’ of Germanic thinking “in applying such an appellation to a portion of a British range of hills”.[8]  Another example was Sedan, named by German settlers to commemorate the Prussian victory over Napoleon III, a victory they still secretly celebrated every year.  Any traveller to South Australia, claimed The Mail, would think that the Kaiser, not King George, was ruler of the land.  A “few drab, unimaginative, anaemic and ductile individuals” might object[9], but in support of its quest The Mail quoted Henry de Halsalle, author of the sensationalist best-seller Degenerate Germany (surely one of the most appalling books ever printed), who had written:

“Germany is beyond question the most vice-ridden country in Europe.  She is as libidinous as the American negro, and vastly more diseased”.[10]

Any German who objected to changing the names was inherently disloyal, claimed The Mail, and should be immediately interned.

On the other hand, The Register cautioned against purity in regard to place names, noting that it was not always simple to decide which was a ‘British’ name: “One need not go beyond the Royal Family to illustrate the ease with which confusion may arise” wrote the editor.[11] However, rather than direct opposition it could only advance some gentle derision:

“It would be small consolation to a permanently disabled soldier a year or two hereafter to reflect that, even if he were not sufficiently fed and cared for, at any rate “Kaiserstuhl”, of which probably he had never previously heard, had been turned into some other less offensive specimen of nomenclature”.[12]

In early August 1916 the South Australian Parliament passed a unanimous resolution to remove all place names of an ‘enemy origin’.  The offending Kaisterstuhl was highlighted, as was the imagined probability that, if the Germans won the war, they would undoubtedly rename King William Street as Kaiser Wilhelm Strasse.[13] The League’s fear was not of German invasion, but of a German victory over Britain resulting in Australia being claimed by the Germans as a war prize.  The parliamentary debate was single-sided and at least 96 German-language place names were removed under the Nomenclature Act 1917. It was the largest mass toponymic cleansing of a landscape in Australia during the war.  The League’s campaign had captured the whole South Australian parliament, and it freely dragged the German ancestry of the royal family into public controversy.

Coupled with a more general equating of royal dynasticism with an insidious Deutschtum (or cultural infiltration) that had already set aside a site for the Kaiser’s new Australian throne near Tanunda, the storm was embroiling ideas about the Crown and dynasty within a larger conflict of ideas about Britishness in Australia. Britishness, not so much as a nationality, but as an ideal or a set of values, perhaps encapsulated in a revealing conflict between ideas of racial purity and miscegenation.

Slide 6 | Pirie Street Wesleyan Church


Like the king, the opponents of South Australia’s anti-Germanists drew upon a mythologised traditionalism of what they called ‘admixture’ in response to anti-German ‘racialism’.  They invoked the dynasty and its supposed histories in support of their claims.  The League was not without its opponents.

A letter writer to the Advertiser, styled ‘A Woman’ put their principle arguments forward a few months after the League’s formation.  She argued that old traditions of

“personal honour, domestic fidelity, commercial integrity, political probity, reverence for the law, chivalry towards woman and the Anglo-Saxon love of truth”

would send a cold shiver up the spines of the League.[14]  One of The League’s objectives, she argued, was to cultivate ‘race-hatred’, an objective that made vice-regal patronage of the League unacceptable.  The King’s representatives should not be taking sides and supporting ‘racialist distinctions’ between members of the community.  A Woman argued there were ‘enormous’ numbers of intermarriages between Briton and non-Briton in South Australia, including many leading citizens.  Further, she said, the League’s own rules would exclude the King and royal household from membership because of their ‘mixed descent’.  The League’s arguments, she concluded “are more fitting for a back-lane harangue, but most unsuitable for [exhibiting] British fairplay”.[15]

Responses to A Woman show two opposing streams of thought.  Captain Cromarty, secretary of the League, wrote that a Briton would never raise the issue of the King’s ineligibility for League membership and that mixed marriage was a menace.[16] Another critic invited A Woman to join the League, but was sure she wouldn’t because the King and the royal household would be absent: “Membership is an honour reserved for people of British parentage, and there are some privileges that even the King cannot enjoy”.[17]  Still another critic answered that the League had no fear of being disloyal to the British throne, as distinct from the German-blooded King.[18]

A Woman’s supporters, such as the influential Methodist preacher the Reverend Henry Howard, on the other hand, stated that the League’s rules were so ‘narrow and un-British’ that he would never join, would prevent “our own Governor’s Lady, the Prince of Wales, the Mother-Queen and even the King himself” from joining.[19]  Those with an ‘admixture of foreign blood’, he added, had ‘a splendid record of citizenship’.

A Woman, or ‘those of her lineage’, was castigated for not only being rude, ill-mannered, and a complainer, but also for ‘no doubt’ being connected with German Australians, likely the wife of a ‘moneyed German’, a carping pro-German, and perhaps harshest of all, an accusation that A Woman was actually a man, born of pro-German parents in Adelaide.[20]

Another response to the shared genealogy of the British and German royal families was evident in the Catholic media.  “The present reigning house in England, the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha … is a German house”, stated Sydney’s The Catholic Press unequivocally, and so from a ‘racial descent’ point of view it was entirely accurate to say that the Kaiser is half English.[21] This inversion of the claims that the British royals were partly German to a claim that the German royals were partly English, and both were racially impure, added another tension.  Various ‘histories’ of the royal surnames of Wettin, Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Hanover and Guelph, all indicating shared Germanic origins of the two royal houses, became common fare in some Catholic newspapers, especially in apparent responses to children’s letters. They presented a history that emphasized Orange subversion in Ireland supported by Germanic elements in the English royal family, the head of the Church of England being required to be a Protestant descendant of German Hanoverians, the extended dynastic network that turned royalty into assets of ‘Deutschtum’, and Lutheranism and Anglicanism being essentially the same (non-Catholic) denomination.

By the end of 1917 a further layering of this ‘history’ had evolved that positioned Ireland as the only truly non-German nation or race in the British Empire.[22] In this narrative the Welsh, the Scots and especially the English had for centuries been ‘enthusiastic’ for all things Germanic.  Only the Irish had supported the French in the Franco-Prussian War, it was claimed, while the Scots had been happy to be flattered by the Saxe-Coburg-Gothas wearing kilts and adopting Highland ways, and the Welsh kept the Prince of Wales Germanic motto of Ich Dien.

The racial inferiority of the royal family implied by the All-British League in South Australia was further complicated by a layer, also couched in a language of racial distinction and hierarchy, of Irish separateness promoted through the Catholic press in Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide in which the royal family served as a metaphor for a Germanic and inherently repressive ‘English’ (i.e. German) state.

The king’s re-naming of the royal house cut through, although did not entirely dispel, these rancorous debates.

Slide 7 | George V knights Monash


The new Royal House of Windsor actively attached itself to the dominions.  King George personally invested General John Monash (Victorian-born son of Prussian-Jewish parents) as a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath on the battlefield at Amiens in 12 August 1918. The King’s use of the ‘ancient’ ritual of battlefield investitures was within the new context of a direct and ‘intimate’ relationship between the King and his dominion subjects.

During 1917 and 1918, at least two strands of dominion loyalty and settler Britishness were in open conflict, represented in the nationalist League and the less-organised traditionalists.  The populist, anti-German, jingoistic, tabloid press darling All British League was able to influence state politicians of all shades, from both the conservative and labour movements, with its head office in working class Port Adelaide and branches in working and middle class suburbs and country towns.  Its vision of Britishness was bigoted and proudly discriminatory, and quite prepared to reject a conjectural membership by the King on the basis of his German ancestry.

The League’s nationalism, through the medium of shared support for the White Australia Policy, segued into a left wing, pro-Catholic strand in the labour movement.  But, it never took on the League’s virulent anti-Germanism just as the League never accepted Catholicism as an authentic voice of Irishness.  Both, however, cast the dynasty as inherently ‘German’ in character.

The more-subtle strand was the dynastic loyalism of the ‘traditionalist’ that emphasized the ancientness of institutions and mythic and legendary origins. This provided a strong continuity over time that maintained social cohesion and allowed for evolutionary change.  Crude nationalism was an anathema, and ideas of ‘admixture’, or mixed marriages, were advanced as a continuation of historical traditions that had grown out of centuries of such mixing.  It was exemplified by the writings of A Woman and the Reverend Henry Howard.  The invention of the House of Windsor with its sacred imaginings appealed to their spiritual and esoteric leanings.  WJ Hudson wrote in 1988

“[In the 1930s] Australians … focused, not on the bond between dominion and king, but on ‘the individual relationship of the citizen to the King.’”[23]

That Australians could have such a focus is explicable by the invention of the House of Windsor that produced the enthralling affect described by Hudson.

A month after the change, the King instituted the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Its creation was welcomed across the Empire, clearly linking the new royal house and the dominions, with its first recipients including Australians, Canadians and South Africans, as well as trades unionists and nurses.

Slide 8 | Rhapsodic public greetings of the Prince of Wales, heir to the new dynasty, in Adelaide, 1920

The traditionalists focus on history and culture rather than politics emphasized the ‘intimate’, direct relationship between sovereign and subject.  This meant participating in a timeless mystical bond, connecting through the mists of ancientness to a time when people of different origins were coming together and forming a new people.  These relationships were evident in the rituals and ceremonies of orders of chivalry and the sacred place of Windsor Castle with its own magical origins.  These ‘conjoinings’ created, and continued to create, British peoples and communities around the globe that were historical and natural, that were enduring and would continue into the future.  This was a Britishness that placed the King in the heart of every subject, and it could be imagined, vice-versa.

The League’s anti-Germanism left deep scars, evident in 1920 during the Prince of Wales’ tour of South Australia.  There were complaints that the prince’s emblem displayed the German words Ich Dien, and snide questions of whether his great-grandfather (Prince Albert) was a ‘good German’. The Catholic Southern Cross noted that as “King George V of Windsor (late Saxe-Coburg Gotha)” was celebrating his 55th birthday, the English continued to pursue a policy of “Prussianism’ in Ireland”, and the Prince chose to visit Adelaide on 12 July, “the festival of hate on which the ‘loyal’ Orange lodges … are accustomed to vilify Catholics”.[24]  The traditionalists’ recognition of multi-ethnic ‘conjoinings’ as an element in the forming of new Britons/Britains needs to be set against these war-time shadows, but as the slide shows ‘Windsorness’ had its victories.

The German contribution to communal or national identities in Australia was effectively silenced for several generations (and, I think, remains one of Australian history’s characteristic ‘silences’).  But, the traditionalists beliefs suggest there were counter-narratives to ideas of racial purity and White Australia that invites further research.

Slide 9 | George V’s funeral hatchment, Adelaide 1936 (thanks to Richard d’Apice for bringing this image to my attention)

The dominions were not passive recipients of these changes.  Through the war effort they affirmed their status as equal but separate bodies politic within the empire.  But the body natural of the one king was also transformed, transfused with mythic ancient Briton-ness and re-born as wholly British.  There would be no more membership of the once great, now wrecked, European royal and imperial dynastic network.  It was a naturalization and modernisation shaped by the times, and by it the Windsor’s avoided the fate of the continental imperial dynasties.

Settler Britons in the dominions, like South Australia, through their own often conflicting imaginings of loyalty, dynasticism and Britishness eased the way for the Crown to evolve and change while all the time appearing to be maintaining, even recovering, continuity and tradition.  The dominions helped save the Crown during the Great War.  After 1918, a British sovereign would no longer be a mere European dynast, instead she would be the living embodiment of the greatest and only truly imperial Crown left on the planet.  A truly Briton king had been born on 15 July 1917, and only he was fit to wrought a victorious new throne atop the ruins of the Kaiserstuhl in South Australia.

Slide 10 | Windsor triumphant, Saxony vanquished

[1] ‘House of Windsor | Royalty’s New Name’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19 July 1917, page 7.  Some 40 different newspapers carried this same story, some in abridged or extended versions, around Australia.  The official notice was in Commonwealth of Australia Gazette, No 121, 2 August 1917, page 1

[2] ‘House of Windsor | Royalty’s New Name’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19 July 1917, page 7

[3] ‘Royal Names and Titles’, Gippsland Mercury, 24 July 1917, page 3

[4] Figures from Commonwealth of Australia, Census 1911$File/1911%20Census%20-%20Volume%20II%20-%20Part%20II%20Birthplaces.pdf

Peter Monteath cites a figure of 10% in ‘German South Australia on the Eve of the War’, in Melanie Oppenheimer at al, South Australia on the Eve of War, Wakefield Press, Mile End 2017: page 161.

[5] ‘The All-British League | Important Additional Aims | Stirring Address by Mr Owen Smyth’, The Daily Herald (Adelaide), 4 March 1915, page 6

[6] The League was established in a meeting at Port Adelaide on 15 January 1915.  By the end of 1915 it had 18 branches, by the end of 1916 24 branches, by the end of 1917 34 branches, and by the end of 1918 40 branches.  None were operational by 1920.  It also had a rifle club, which members were encouraged to join.  It claimed to have ‘well over 5,000 members’ in March 1917 (about 1.2% of the South Australian population).  Database of branches compiled by author.

[7] Deutschland Ueber Sued Australien | Work for the Government Christener’, The Mail, 27 May 1916, page 10; ‘Deutschland Über Süd Australien | How does the Government regard German names?’, The Mail, 3 June 1916, page 10

[8] ‘German Names Must Go | British Spirit and Sentiment Thoroughly Aroused | Pseudo-Patriots Vigorously Condemned’, The Mail, 17 June 1916, page 10

[9] ‘German Names Must Go | British Spirit and Sentiment Thoroughly Aroused | Pseudo-Patriots Vigorously Condemned’, The Mail, 17 June 1916, page 10

[10] Degenerate Germany, T. Werner Laurie, London 1916.  Online edition available here , accessed 5 October 2014.  De Halsalle is a shadowy figure, described variously as an intelligence officer and a journalist, author of several moralistic tracts on the allegedly sordid behaviour of German women, actors, homosexuals and others he classed as degenerate; he also railed against using the term Anglo-Saxon as being a Germanic term.

[11] ‘German Names’, The Register, 12 July 1916, page 6

[12] ‘German Names’, The Register, 12 July 1916, page 6

[13] ‘German Names Doomed | Parliament Orders Change | Legislators’ Unanimous Vote | “The Mail” Thanked | “No More Loyalty In Germans Than In A Fly”, The Mail, 5 August 1916, page 10

[14] ‘All British League | To the Editor’, The Advertiser, 18 June 1915, page 10

[15] ‘All British League | To the Editor’, The Advertiser, 18 June 1915, page 10

[16] ‘All British League | To the Editor’, The Advertiser, 18 June 1915, page 10

[17] ‘All British League | From W R Butler’, The Register, 21 June 1915, page 3

[18] ‘All British League | From Once Too Tolerant’, The Register, 21 June 1915, page 5

[19] ‘All British League | From the Rev. Henry Howard’, The Register, 19 June 1915, page 13.  The Governor’s wife, Lady Marie Galwey, was the daughter of a Bavarian countess

[20] ‘All British League | From GLJ’, The Register, 24 June 1915, page 5

[21] ‘The Kaiser’s English Blood’, The Catholic Press (Sydney), 29 June 1916, page 4

[22] ‘Irish always Anti-German | Historical facts’, The Catholic Press, 13 December 1917, page 12

[23] WJ Hudson and Martin Sharp, Australian Independence: Colony to Reluctant Kingdom, Melbourne University Press, Carlton 1988: pages 4 and x

[24] letter to the editor from ‘Nothing German’, The Mail, 17 July 1920, page 5; ‘Some Pertinent Answers to Correspondents’, Southern Cross, 25 June 1920, page 18

Doctorate Awarded for The Chrysalid Crown

I’m not sure if I believe this yet.  A few days ago the University of Sydney advised me I have now satisfied the requirements for the award of the degree of Doctor of Philosophy (Arts & Social Sciences).  I don’t think I will really believe it until that day arrives when I am in the Great Hall, suitably robed in the black and scarlet gown and hood, being conferred with the degree by the Chancellor of the University.

The Town Band welcomes the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Katoomba 17 April 2014. Photo author.

The Town Band welcomes the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge to Katoomba, in the Blue Mountains, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

My thesis is titled The Chrysalid Crown: An un-national history of the Crown in Australian 1808-1986.  Click on the title to view a copy.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in the crowd, Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo author.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge somewhere in the crowd, Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

This is the abstract of the thesis, recorded in the university library system, if you don’t have the time to while away on 80,000 words plus appendices.

This thesis set out to answer a deceptively simple question: why did the 1999 referendum to abolish the Australian Crowns fail?   It focuses on the evolving civic personalities, communal identities and popular representations of the Crown in Australia, and how those representations and agents changed over 180 years.  Capacities for the Crown’s continuing mutability, especially its divisibility, are at the heart of these imaginings.  The answer to the question lies partly in emotions, in passion and the heart rather than in reason and the mind, along with a complex historical mix of other factors.  Each chapter focuses on a single event or artefact: a usurpation of vice-regal authority, a proposal for a cadet kingdom of Australia, a mystic royal response to anti-German persecution, a State’s attempt to secede under the Crown and the invention of a chivalric order.  The thesis posits a complex, iterative and changing network of social relationships rather than a simple metropole-periphery binary or hierarchy.  It disaggregates ideas of crown, Britishness, empire, nation and Australianess, and concludes on the eve of the 1988 bicentennial celebrations when the Crown in Australia appeared splendid, popular, modern, federal, natural and regenerative.  They were characteristics that, with hindsight, girded an Australian institution at once ancient and contemporary for the challenges of the 1990s when it stared-down what appeared to be an existential threat from Australian republicanism.

Waiting for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

Waiting for the Duchess of Cambridge to pass by, Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

The Duke of Cambridge preparing to leave Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville

The Duke of Cambridge preparing to leave Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

Something to remember the Cambridge's visit to Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

Something to remember the Cambridge’s visit to Katoomba, 17 April 2014. Photo mrbbaskerville.

‘Ready at all times’: the Hawkesbury resistance to the Rum Rebels

This paper was presented to the Hawkesbury District Historical Society on the 200th anniversary of the Rum Rebellion (1808 – 1810) as the Society’s Australia Day address in 2008, at Pitt Town.

 “Ready at All Times, at the Risque of Our Lives and Property”[1]:

The Hawkesbury Resistance to the Usurpation known as the Rum Rebellion


Tonight, on this 200th anniversary of the overthrow of Governor Bligh, I want to explore the story of those who opposed the Usurpers, and the price they paid, especially among the Hawkesbury settlers.

Setting the Scene: New South Wales in 1808

Firstly, I want to set the scene, and ask you to imagine a New South Wales that is very different to today.  Sydney was the capital, and to the west were the impassable Blue Mountains.  The colony’s population of about 8000 convicts, settlers and soldiers was spread between the two towns of Sydney and Parramatta, and the country districts of the Hawkesbury, Baulkham Hills, the Field of Mars and more sparsely The Cowpastures.  Beyond the County of Cumberland there was also the remote penal station at Coal River, the Queensborough, Phillipsburg and Kingston settlements on Norfolk Island, and the newer settlements at Port Dalrymple and Hobart Town in Van Diemen’s Land.

The colony was largely maritime in its outlook: the principle highways were by river and sea rather that overland, significant economic activities centred on the seasonal sealing and whaling in the southern fisheries, and one of its major means of convict imprisonment were restrictions on convict labour in boat building and fishing.  It probably seemed natural to many people that the governance of this ‘South Seas’ colony rested in the hands of a succession of naval officers, and that the seemingly unlimited powers of the early governors were not unlike those of a sea captain.

The Hawkesbury District was the most ‘inland’ settlement in the colony, and even it was frequently journeyed to and from by way of the river and the coast rather than the rough road to Parramatta.  Boat building and maintenance were a feature of the district’s economy, which along with regular flooding suggests the importance of the aquatic environment even when far from the sea.

It was into this marine colony that Captain William Bligh RN arrived in August 1806 as the fourth governor of New South Wales.  He immediately made his mark felt, not least by providing public assistance to the Hawkesbury settlers who had just survived their fourth devastating flood with great losses to their crops and stock, as well as houses, sheds, roads and even lives.

Old New South Wales, around the time of the Usurpation

Old New South Wales, around the time of the Usurpation

This then is the stage upon which the drama of the Rum Rebellion would be played out.

How others have seen it

I was probably first struck by the idea of a resistance to the Rum Rebellion a few years ago when I read HV Evatt’s 1938 history titled Rum Rebellion.  In his introduction Evatt wrote of Governor Bligh exercising his authority in favour of the agriculturalists and poor settlers and against the wealthy traffickers and monopolists.

Evatt's 1938 history of the Usurpation.  Image Editions Books

Evatt’s 1938 history of the Usurpation. Image Editions Books

Bligh has had over 200 years of bad press, but my objective tonight is not to try and rescue his reputation.   Neither is it to look at the motives and actions of the Usurpers and the other chief protagonist, John Macarthur.  Instead, I want to focus on the “agriculturalists and poor settlers” that Bligh apparently championed.  Who were they? How did they show their support for him?  How did they resist the Usurpation?  What did it cost them?

Evatt provides a good coverage of the 19th century historiography of the rebellion[2]; and Brian Fletcher writing in 1968 covered the 20th century writings[3].  The Hawkesbury settlers have been cast as either hostile to the uprising and loyal to Bligh, or as worthless characters easily bribed to sign petitions.  These points of view can be traced directly back to the opposing arguments advanced at the trial of one of the rebel leaders, Colonel Johnston, in 1811.  There is also another view, in which the settlers and the loyalists resisting the Usurpers are simply ignored as peripheral to the main action revolving around Bligh and Macarthur, Johnston and Foveaux, and Government House Sydney on the 26th January.

Governor William Bligh.  Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

Governor William Bligh, friend of the ‘small settler’. Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

The Hawkesbury’s local historians have devoted only a few pages to the Usurpation before moving quickly on to the glories of the Macquarie era.  The most notable is probably Bowd, who in 1969 wrote that the Hawkesbury settlers were loyal supporters of Bligh, who promoted their welfare as the colony’s food producers.  They disputed Macarthur’s right to make a welcome address to Bligh on their behalf, and drew up their own welcome.  Bligh set a good price for purchasing their grain for the public stores, and the settlers publicly pledged their loyalty to his government.  After the overthrow of Bligh, the settlers were forced to sign a petition of support for the Rebels, but most recanted as soon as they could and subsequently signed several petitions calling for Bligh’s restoration.  Bowd noted that “It was well within the power of the ruling junta to bring ruin upon those who opposed them”, and cited the example of Martin Mason who was forced to sell his farm[4].

Elsewhere in his book Bowd also makes occasional references to the mixed fortunes of many during this period.  William Cox was absent from the colony, and so “…free from the factionalism of the period…” which later made him eligible for appointment as Chief Magistrate in 1810; Richard Fitzgerald “…had the direction of Mr J MacArthur’s affairs …[and]… sided with the usurpers…”, and was appointed a magistrate during their regime; Andrew Thompson had “…made an implacable enemy of Macarthur…” and was dismissed from the magistracy during the Usurpation; Thomas Arndell, the first magistrate at the Hawkesbury, was a prominent supporter of Bligh; Archibald Bell “…was made a magistrate at the Hawkesbury by the rebel administration and was given a grant of 500 acres…”.  The “…courage and forthrightness…” of Andrew Johnston at Portland Head was evidenced when he “…christened his youngest son James Bligh in 1809, when the rebels were in charge of the colony…”.  William Singleton “…was a signatory to the various petitions that circulated during the Bligh period…”.

Two decades later in 1990 Powell & Banks included in their Hawkesbury River History an essay on the settler Peter Hibbs[5].  The author noted that during the Usurpation Hibbs was spared the foreclosures on loans suffered by many of Bligh’s supporters, and “…appears to have had two bob three ways…”, having signed petitions both supporting and opposing the Usurpers.

A cast of characters begins to emerge from these writings.  Magistrates are being replaced; petitions of support and opposition are being signed – sometimes under duress; support for Bligh or the Usurpers is being demonstrated in various ways.  Clearly, something is going on, and it seems to be of greater importance that a few drunken soldiers dragging a notoriously bad tempered viceroy from under his bed in Sydney.  Several historians have acknowledged the hardships suffered by the Hawkesbury settlers, although not all of them have been kind.  The two issues evident in the work of local historians, the replacement of the magistracy, and the settlers’ public petitioning, point to two themes in the ‘Rum Resistance’ as it was played out on the Hawkesbury stage that I will explore a little further.

So what was the ‘Rum Rebellion’?

But what was the Rum Rebellion?  Briefly, the arrival of Governor-designate Bligh in August 1806 was warmly welcomed by the Hawkesbury settlers, and many in Sydney, but viewed with some suspicion by vested interests in the local military force, the NSW Corps, popularly known as the Rum Corps.  This was confirmed by the first meeting between Bligh and the colony’s wealthiest man, and former Rum Corps officer, John Macarthur.  They met in the garden of Government House Parramatta at a dinner hosted by retiring Governor King, and almost immediately quarrelled when Macarthur began pressing his claims for a large grant of land.  It was a bad omen for the future.

Old Government House Parramatta, where Bligh and McArthur first met in the viceregal gardens.  Image NSW Heritage

Old Government House Parramatta, where Bligh and Macarthur first met in the viceregal gardens. Image NSW Heritage

Relations between the two parties deteriorated rapidly.  In the absence of a political assembly, their conflicts were fought out in the local courts.  By the summer of 1808 the political atmosphere was poisonous, and on the evening of the 26th January the officers of the Rum Corps under Major Johnstone and Lieutenant Bell marched on Government House Sydney where they seized the Governor and placed him under house arrest, declared a state of martial law to exist, and freed Macarthur from the Sydney jail where he was awaiting trial.  He was carried by a drunken mob through the town.  This has been variously described as a coup d’état, a rebellion, an uprising or an insurrection, although they usual description at the time was a usurpation (according to its opponents) or the overthrow of a tyrant (according to its supporters).

One of the first actions of the rebels was to isolate Bligh.  Bligh wrote to Lord Castlereagh that “Every precaution was used by the rebels to prevent any communication with the interior of the Colony.  Guards were set on the road to Parramatta, and no one suffered to pass.”[6]  Bligh hoped that during the night he might be able to escape from Government House and flee to the Hawkesbury, where he could rally the settlers and other loyalists.[7]  However, as he later told Castlereagh, “…the Settlers are in a very enraged state of Mind at the indignity I suffer through my arrest …[however] their want of Arms has prevented much bloodshed, and the precaution of disarming them…[some months earlier], whereby the Military became of greater power, has by this means acted against us, and enabled them to act with greater confidence”.[8]

The Usurpation lasted for nearly two years, covering almost the whole of 1808 and 1809.  This period, sometimes called the interregnum or the rebel administration, has three distinct phases.  The first lasted for six months under the command of Major Johnstone, with Macarthur as his Colonial Secretary; the second for nearly six months under the command of Colonel Foveaux; and the third for twelve months under Lt Col Patterson, although Foveaux appears to have held the reins of power during this phase as well.  Each of these men occupied the office and used the title of Lieutenant Governor.

John Macarthur Esq.  Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

John Macarthur Esq. Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

There were various fallings-out between the Usurpers, and their aims, never very clear or unified apart from hatred of Bligh, shifted and changed over time.  Bligh was kept imprisoned in Government House Sydney until he agreed to leave for England in February 1809.  This proved to be a ruse, and instead he sailed for Hobart, where he remained exiled on HMS Porpoise until he heard of Macquarie’s arrival and sailed back to Sydney.  The Usurpation ended in fact when Macquarie arrived in the colony at the end of 1809, and officially on New Years Day 1810 when Macquarie assumed the office of Governor and revoked all the acts of the Usurpers.

The orthodox view of the rebellion: Raymond LIndsay's 1928 painting of Major Johnson announcing the arrest of Bligh, depicted in the heroic style of liberators justly overthrowing a tyrant.  Image HHT

An orthodox view of the rebellion: Raymond LIndsay’s 1928 painting of Major Johnson announcing the arrest of Bligh, depicted in the heroic style of liberators justly overthrowing a tyrant. Image HHT

While the Usurpers claimed to have rescued the colony from a tyrannical governor, Bligh and the loyalists invoked the language and imagery of the French Revolution to describe the Usurpers. Bligh asserted that a jubilant Macarthur crowed on the night of the overthrow that “Never was a revolution so completely affected, and with so much order and regularity”, and described Nicholas Bayly, the “…self-created Lieutenant-Governor’s Secretary …” coming to Government House “…and in a very Robesperian manner he read and delivered a paper to me…”.[9]  It is a symbolism that was soon picked up by local songsters, perhaps most notably in ‘A New Song …On the Rebellion’, written sometime in 1808[10].  Some of its more notable lines are:

The voice of rebellion resounds o’er the Plain.

The Anarchist Junto have pulled down the banner

Which Monarchical Government sought but in vain

To hold as the rallying Standard of honor,

The Diadem’s here fled

From off the Kings head

And further on:

And the New Gallic School in its stead have erected,

John Bull’s would-be pupil, how dare he to frown

His French education was too long neglected.

That Turnip head tool

Jack Boddice’s fool.


A clown in his gait, and a fool in his Face,

The Carmagnol Mayor

Has here got an heir.

‘Off the kings head’, ‘Gallic school’: some of the allusions seem obvious; other less-so.  John Bull’s would be pupil and his neglected French education is an allusion to Foveaux’s French ancestry and the French revolution; Turnip Head refers to Johnston, Jack Boddice to Macarthur; the Carmagnole was a popular song and dance during the French revolution, and is an allusion to the first revolutionary Mayor of Paris, Jean Bailey, a principle in the execution of Louis XVI who was later guillotined himself, and thus a play on the name of Nicholas Bayly – the song writer noted of Bailey that “His hopeful namesake has been no less active in putting down monarchy here, being a Principal in the Rebellion now existing”.  And while there were no appointments with Madame Guillotine on the Parade Ground in Sydney, the association of the Usurpers with violent revolution and the destruction of lawful authority was commonly made over the Cumberland Plain in such ‘pipes’.

'Trying out the guillotine', a French revolution cartoon showing Louise XVI about to be executed while revolutionaries make coarse remarks, seemingly unaware that they will soon meet the same fate.  Bailly may be the fifth figure from the left, exclaiming 'Paris has re-conquered its king'.  Image UCL

‘Trying out the guillotine’, a French revolution cartoon showing Louise XVI about to be executed while revolutionaries make coarse remarks, seemingly unaware that they will soon meet the same fate. Bailly may be the fifth figure from the left, exclaiming ‘Paris has re-conquered its king’. Image UCL

The Right to Petition

The principle means by which we have some idea of the reactions to the Usurpation by the Hawkesbury settlers lie in the petitions and counter-petitions they drew up and signed.

Petitioning the King, and by extension anyone in authority, without fear of persecution was a long-recognised right. The settler’s petitions usually took the form of an address to someone in authority, with their welcome address to the newly arrived Bligh in 1806 the first in a series.

Fletcher analysed the four petitions from the Hawkesbury settlers of 22 September 1806, 29 January 1807, 25 February 1807 and 1 January 1808, which cover the period from Bligh’s arrival to the eve of the Usurpation.  There are also two petitions of 17 February 1809 and 17 March 1809 during the Usurpation, and then another of 1 December 1810 after the first year of the Restoration under Macquarie.

Fletcher showed that about 75% of the Hawkesbury settlers had signed the pre-Usurpation petitions, included old and new settlers, large and small land holders, emancipists predominated numerically, but almost all of the free settlers had signed.  The January 1808 petition had been broader, including some Parramatta and Sydney landowners, and about 30% of the signatories were not farmers but tradesmen and labourers.  The Portland Head Presbyterians were consistent signatories.  Thus, he concludes that the petitions are as representative of the settler’s views as we are ever likely to know.  Fletcher also makes the point that, while signatories to a petition supporting the Usurpation were very soon afterwards renouncing their support and claiming their signatures had been obtained under duress, no such allegations were ever made by the pro-Bligh petitioners.[11]  The signatories were mainly men, but a small proportion were women, presumably those who held land in their own right?

Evatt ascribes great importance to the petitions, describing them as a ‘Bill of Rights’.  Their key demands were freedom of trade and an end to monopolies and extortion, justice to be administered by civil rather than military authority, and debts to be payable in currency rather than goods.[12]

The words of the petitions, in addition to these general points, can speak for themselves:

22 September 1806, with 244 signatures – Asked Bligh to protect the people in general in their rights, privileges, liberties and professions, as by law established; suffer the laws of the realm to take their due course; and that justice be administered by the Courts authorized by His Majesty, according to the known law of the land;

29 January 1807, 156 signatures – ‘We will be ready at all times, at the risk of our lives and property, lawfully to support our native laws and liberties under a just and benign government’;

25 February 1807, 546 signatures – ‘We have willingly enrolled our names for the defence of the country; and request that you dispose of rebellious ringleaders and principles to prevent future conspiracies and stop keeping liege subjects in constant alarm’;

1 January 1808, 833 signatures – ‘We hold ourselves bound, at the risque of our lives and properties, to support Your Excellency; we request freedom of trade, and trial by jury, and have confidence in your detailed research and knowledge of the whole country;

17 February 1809, 14 signatories “who came free into the colony” (mostly around Portland Head) – we abhor and detest the rebellion; the military continues to monopolise trade and land; there is favoratism, corruption and excessive punishments by the Officer-Judges; we remain loyal to Bligh; and pray for protection and relief from the rebels;

17 March 1809, 15 signatories “who came free into the colony” (mostly around Portland Head) – we fear our houses being assailed, our wives and daughters violated, our property plundered; the government is corrupt at all levels; we were forced to sign an address of support for Johnston under fear and terror; bands of soldiers and abandoned and worthless characters are intimidating settlers and burning effigies of Your Excellency; drunkenness is everywhere; we need speedy protection and relief’

1 December 1810, 94 signatures – congratulate Macquarie on his arrival; and give thanks for the appointment of William Cox as a local magistrate – to which Macquarie thanked them, and advised that he had fixed on the sites for the new towns.

Freedom of trade, trial by jury and judicial fairness are central to the earlier petitions, as well as expressions of loyalty to Bligh.  The settlers petitioning against monopolies indicates this remained a real issue for them, although recently the journalist Michael Duffy[13] and historian Peter Cochrane[14] have both claimed the monopoly problems had been overcome, especially in the rum trade,[15] and Chief Justice Spigelman also seems to have taken a similar view in his Australia Day Address last week[16]

The two petitions prepared in 1809 are markedly different, being signed only by the free settlers, stating the terror there are living under, and seeking help.  They were also made and sent to Bligh after he had left Government House Sydney, perhaps in the hope that the Usurpers did not control Hobart and he could get help.  The petition of 1810 marks the post-rebellion settlement: a new untainted magistracy and new towns above the floodwaters.

The Terror in the Hawkesbury

Petitioning, however, did have its consequences.  The Usurpers could not let the settler’s constant challenges to their pretended authority go unnoticed, especially when they had so boldly and publicly signed their names to every petition, and published the pre-usurpation petitions in the Sydney Gazette for all to see.

Masthead of the Sydney Gazette, two years before the Usurpation began.

Masthead of the Sydney Gazette, two years before the Usurpation began.

The changes in the magistracy noted by Bowd are important, for the magistrates of this period not only presided over the local courts.  They were also the agents of the civil government.  They were often consulted collectively by the governor of the day, forming a sort of privy council.  The replacement of Arndell by Bell symbolised the power of the Usurpers, further reinforced by Bell’s known alignment with Macarthur’s ‘Exclusive’ faction (Thompson was an emancipist), and the granting of land to him that included Richmond Hill, the highest point in the district, again symbolically bringing the whole district under the gaze of the Usurpers, reinforced their ‘Exclusive’ approach to governance.  The replacement of Thompson (an emancipist) with Fitzgerald (an emancipist sympathetic to the rebels) strengthened their hand.

Under the governments of Bligh and King, the Hawkesbury settlers has a role in the governance of their district through their control on the local Commons trusts, and in the colony through the inclusion of their magistrates in the vice regal ‘privy council’.  Government House at Green Hills had been the centre of public authority since the mid-1790s, and during the Usurpation it was the local command centre for their administration under Commandant Bell and the new magistracy.  It was a place where proclamations and orders were issued, musters were organised and sometimes held, official business was transacted, and official functions held.  It was the seat of government in the district.

Bligh had his own large property near Pitt Town named ‘Blighton’, which was operated as a model farm, intended to demonstrate to the settlers new methods of agriculture to help improve their farming practices.  Bligh’s Overseer, Andrew Thompson, wrote in 1807 of Bligh’s “…wisdom and attention to farming and improvement, which the Sovereign was pleased to practice at Home, … as an example to all others…”[17].  It was a practical contribution to supporting the local settlers, and something of a cause célèbre for the Usurpers, who claimed the farm was evidence of Bligh’s corruption as he used public resources, such as convicts, livestock and stores at the Crown’s expense for his private gain[18].  It stood as a symbol of the resistance, a model of orderly, productive husbandry in the community, in stark contrast to the illegality and repression that emanated from the rebel-controlled Government House.

Sketch map showing the location of 'Blighton' (upper right) in the Hawkesbury District.  Historical records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898).

Sketch map showing the location of ‘Blighton’ (upper right) in the Hawkesbury District. Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898).

The Usurpers were well known by their redcoat uniforms, their use of the Union flag and Royal Arms, and their too-frequent toasts and shouts of God Save the King.  Their use of the Public Seal, with its depiction of convicts landing at Sydney Cove, was limited – party because Bligh had managed to sequester the Public Seal to prevent its capture by the Usurpers until they forced him to reveal its location, but also because the promise of convict redemption alluded to in its design was anathema to the Exclusives among the Usurpers.  Bligh issued a proclamation from his exile in Hobart which states in part “That I only am empowered to keep and use the public seal for sealing all things whatsoever [in] the territory and its dependencies”.[19]  The hijacked symbols of Royal authority failed to impart the legitimacy the Usurpers craved.

The resisters also had their symbols, the most notable (I believe) being the ‘Bowman Flag’.  The flag, made by the women of the Bowman household, shows a shield with the entwined rose, shamrock and thistle of England, Ireland and Scotland, supported by a kangaroo and emu, with two motto ribbons: the upper reading ‘Unity’, and the lower Nelson’s great signal at Trafalgar ‘England Expects Every Man to do His Duty’.  On one level, the flag celebrates Nelson’s victory.  The news had reached New South Wales in April 1806, six months after the battle[20].  It was four months before Bligh’s arrival, but already the tensions that would lead to the Usurpation were building up.  In the context of the Usurpation, the flag takes on a different meaning.

The Bowman Flag, emblem of the Hawkesbury commoners.  Image NSW Heritage

The Bowman Flag, symbol of the Hawkesbury Resistance. Image NSW Heritage

Nelson was a naval hero and true patriot who fought for his king and country, unlike the Usurpers who overthrown the duly appointed governor for their own personal ends.  Unity amongst the settlers was vital if they were to resist the rebels, as it was their duty to do.  The intertwined floral emblems suggest the mixing of nationalities among the settlers, and placed upon a shield further suggests that this diversity gave them strength, just as the recent union of England, Scotland and Ireland had created a newer, greater Britain that Nelson had defended.  The kangaroo and emu supporters, their heads turned warily over their shoulders, indicate the new country into which the settlers were putting their roots, and were ready to defend.  The flag invokes the settler’s loyalty to resist the Usurpers, its imagery patriotic without being obviously subversive.

Thus our stage has been furnished: the scenes of good and bad have been painted, the building props set up, and all embellished by the contested heraldry of reds, whites and blues.  Now its time for the actors to make their entrances and exits.

The main leaders of the Hawkesbury settlers, going by the principle signatories on the various petitions and the work of Brian Fletcher, were Andrew Thompson, Thomas Arndell, George Crossley, Martin Mason, John Bowman, William Cummings and Thomas Matcham Pitt.  In Sydney, Robert Campbell, John Palmer and William Gore were prominent supporters of Bligh; as was George Suttor at Baulkham Hills.  Fletcher states that after leaders such as Thompson and Crossley had been silenced under Johnston, settlers such as Mason and Suttor took over the leadership of the loyalists.[21]  I have not yet identified any Norfolk or Vandemonian leaders, but note that Lieutenant Governor Collins in Hobart issued an Order in April 1809 prohibiting the newly arrived Norfolk settlers “..and other persons…” from addressing letters and petitions to Bligh while he was in the town, on pain of being bought before a magistrate to answer for their actions.[22]  Presumably the addressees were leaders in their communities, and were approaching Bligh for a reason.

A brief look at how some of the Hawkesbury leaders fared during the Usurpation is illustrative of the repressive nature of the rebel administrations.

Thomas Arndell, English free settler who married his convict wife Elizabeth in 1807, was a resident magistrate appointed at the Hawkesbury by 1802.  During the usurpation, he was dismissed from the magistracy, and his pension was discontinued without explanation.  In 1809 he wrote to Viscount Castlereagh, praising Bligh and stating that he had been forced to sign a petition following the Usurpation supporting Johnston, and that “…artifice and threats” and been used to force the “…frighted inhabitants” to sign the same petition.  Macquarie restored his pension in 1810.[23]

Andrew Thompson, Scottish emancipist, was appointed a constable in 1796 and succeeded Thomas Rickaby as Chief Constable in 1804, a Trustee of the Nelson (Pitt Town) and Richmond (Ham) Commons in 1805, shipbuilder, store and inn keeper, farmer and brewer, overseer of Bligh’s model farm; he was dismissed as Chief Constable during the Usurpation under Johnston, although he later received grants of land in Sydney under Foveaux and at Minto under Paterson; appointed by Macquarie as a magistrate, he was the first emancipist to hold this office.[24]

George Crossley, English emancipist, a lawyer, acquired a farm at the Hawkesbury in 1801, acted as a legal advisor to the Provost-Marshall and the Judge-Advocate, and to governors King and Bligh, although he was prevented from formally working as a lawyer because of his conviction; he helped the Judge-Advocate prepare a case against Macarthur, and was at Government House Sydney advising Bligh on his correspondence when the rebels surrounded the House and captured Bligh; he may have been the author of some of the Hawkesbury petitions; he was arrested by the rebels, and tried by them for practising as an attorney, convicted and sentenced to 7 years transportation to Coal River.

Bligh gave his version of Crossley’s trial: “McArthur used every endeavour to win over Mr George Crossley to assist him … but when [he] found that he could have no influence over Crossley, he endeavoured to injure him, first by attributing to him such situations as he did not hold; and secondly, by his influence over the Military Officers, procuring a Sentence of Transportation to the Coal-Mines for seven years against him for giving his assistance to the Government”.[25]

Macquarie released Crossley from the mines, and when he petitioned the new Governor for compensation he stated that he had “retired to his farm at the Hawkesbury [and would]…endeavour to recover from the ruin in which he is now involved …humanity cannot compensate for your memorialist’s two years’ imprisonment in the sixty third year of his life, but it is in Your Excellency’s power to assist him to forget that past by extending to him your protection, advice and assistance…”.  Crossley was allowed to sue the rebels that sat in the court which convicted him, and was awarded £500.  However, he was unable to practice as a lawyer again, despite several attempts to do so.[26]

Martin Mason, English surgeon and free settler, farmer at South Creek, was forced to sell his farm in 1809 after publicly stating that he was prepared to take a settlers address to England to present Bligh’s case.  Gore wrote to Viscount Castlereagh in 1809, nominating Mason as an illustration of the lawless state of the colony under the rebels.  Mason had been apprehended on the road to Parramatta “…by men armed with naked cutlasses…”, and taken before the Commandant at that town “…who grossly insulted and examined him on the subject of a letter…” Mason was writing to Castlereagh.  He was then taken to Sydney, where he was examined by ‘rebel justices’ “…as to his motives for writing the intercepted letter…”.  The letter was detained by Paterson and its contents suppressed, indicating how the loyalists were being “..persecuted with unrelenting severity”.  Gore asked Castlereagh to forgive the badness of his writing, as in avoiding the “…miscreant traytors …[and] revolutionary partisans…”, he had had to write“…in the woods … by stealth and piecemeal”.[27]

John Bowman, Scottish free settler, farmer at the Hawkesbury since 1798, Trustee of Richmond (Ham) Common in 1805; sued by Nicholas Bayly in 1808 for calling him a rogue, he was imprisoned, and in 1809 his property was seized and auctioned by Bayly as Provost-Marshall.  This apparently destroyed his financial security, and in 1813, long after the Usurpation had ended, he had to sell most of his property to pay further debts.  The settlers petitioned Viscount Castlereagh in 1809 to show that they had no hand or part in the Usurpation, and mentioned Bowman’s case as an example of excessive punishments meted out by corrupt rebel judges: “When your memorialists applyed for protection they are frequently treated with insult, and if they presumed to appeal to the [rebel Lt Governor] they are liable to be dragged to prison by convicts and locked up without meat, drink, fire or candle, or even straw to lye on, with the most abandoned thieves.  [John Bowman] was locked up in the same cell with three malefactors under sentenced of death, tried, fined, and imprisoned without being taken before a magistrate, remanded, and again confined with the above malefactors.  His offence was unguardedly saying that Nicholas Bayly was a rogue in recommending and promising to support his (Bowman’s) servant in prosecuting his master for false imprisonment … tho’ the servant had acknowledged his [original] offence”.[28]

Thomas Matcham Pitt, English free settler and relative of Lord Nelson, farmer at the Hawkesbury since 1802.[29]  Pitt is the only one of the resistance leaders who does not seem to have suffered any retaliation – perhaps his connections with Lord Nelson protected him?

These individual biographies reflect the language and methods employed by the Usurpers to break the resistance.  One response to this persecution, symbolic in its application but with real consequences, was refusal by the loyalists to acknowledge the legitimacy of the rebel courts.

In March 1808, Provost-Marshall Gore, whose office Nicholas Bayly had now usurped, was tried for perjury.  His response to the charge was an emphatic “I will not plead; I deny your jurisdiction”.  The rebel magistrates sentenced him to be transported for seven years to Coal River, to which Gore responded: “You have conferred on me the greatest Honor you are capable of conferring, the only Honor I could receive from such Men. Loyalty and Treason could not unite”.[30]  Similarly, a charge against George Sutter of seditious libel was met with Sutter declaring “I deny the legality of this Court; you may do with myself as you please”, for which he was sentenced to 6 months imprisonment and a fine of one shilling.[31].  A similar case of seditious libel against John Palmer and Charles Hook was met with a similar refusal to plea, and they were fined £50 and imprisoned for three months.[32]

It also appears that Bligh was not the passive recipient of the settler’s adoration.  By the spring of 1808 Foveaux was complaining that Bligh “…was exerting every means in his power to inflame the minds of the settlers by sending emissaries among them, who promised in his name that in the event of his restoration to the Government he would make them rich and happy.  I thought it my duty to inform him that if he persevered … I would send him to England … [and] remove him from Government House and be obliged to impose additional restraint on his person…”.[33]  Foveaux later tried again to remove Bligh to Government House Parramatta, but he again refused to budge.[34]

The botanist George Caley visited Bligh in October 1808, and described the repressive atmosphere inside Government House Sydney:  “Meeting him [Bligh] in the hall, expressing as he went into the parlor, “You see how they have served me; they might have well as done the same to the King of England.”  Having shut the door, he desired me to sit down in a corner of the room, where I perceived the sentinels could not see me.  He began his discourse (which was mostly whispered) by wishing me to write to you [Banks]. … I conceived [this] of but little use, for I was strongly persuaded by my own mind that the letters would be intercepted [as both ships in the harbour were under Macarthur’s control]. … about the conduct of Lieu’t-Gov’r Foveaux – as he styles himself …When he had the command of Norfolk island he was spoken of as a very severe man, but here at present it evidently appears he is aiming at becoming popular.  But what is the use of the popularity of convicts? … he is acting a very sly, cunning part.”[35]

Government House Sydney floor plan in 1808: note the parlour where Bligh and Caley met, on the right.  Historical records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

Government House Sydney floor plan in 1808: note the parlour where Bligh and Caley met, on the right. Historical Records of New South Wales, Vol. VI (1898)

The Terror elsewhere – Baulkham Hills and Norfolk Island

The settlers around Baulkham Hills tended to support those at the Hawkesbury, notably George Suttor, a free settler who had been farming at Baulkham Hills since 1802.  Bligh had promised him another land grant, but the overthrow prevented the grant being made.  Suttor was a leader of the settlers, and selected to go to London with Mason in 1808.  He refused to attend a muster being held by the rebels, and was ordered to court in Parramatta, then taken to Sydney.  While he was away, five convicts were sent to his house, he claimed by Foveaux, where they abused his wife, and drove away his cattle.  Suttor had to give them two bottles of wine to get the cattle returned.  The next week he was jailed for six months, as were four others men who had refused to muster, including Martin Mason.[36]  Like the refusal to recognise the jurisdiction of the rebel courts, the refusal to attend musters was another form of resistance employed by the loyalist settlers.

The situation on Norfolk Island during the usurpation is unclear.  The British authorities were prevaricating between closing the island and keeping it open.  Foveaux had returned to Sydney in 1807 with instructions to maintain the settlements, but by August 1808 had commissioned the ‘City of Edinburgh’, through Macarthur, to evacuate half the population to Hobart.[37]  The majority of the Islanders did not want to leave, some of them having spent 20 years establishing their farms and families, and they had no great love for Foveaux who had been Commandant on the island between 1800 and 1804.[38]  Nevertheless, 224 settlers and all their possessions and livestock were removed from the Island in September, arriving in Hobart on the 2nd October.  Lt Governor Collins reported to Foveaux that the voyage had been longer than expected, provisions were running low, and “Several of the settlers complaining, some that their property had been plundered on the voyage, others that it was not forthcoming”.[39]  Collins directed the magistrates to investigate, and their report seems unsurprising: while much property had gone missing, they were unable to fix responsibility on any individual.  Bligh wrote later that same month “Concerning the poor settlers of Norfolk Island”.  The evacuation had not been approved by him, and the ‘City of Edinburgh’ was “…the infamous ship which sold and distributed her liquors to McArthur and his emissaries at the time of the insurrection”.[40]

Collapse and Restoration

By the end of 1809 the Usurpation had dragged on for two years.  The initial excitement had long dissipated and been replaced, for the loyalist settlers at the Hawkesbury and elsewhere, by sullen acceptance punctuated by acts of civil disobedience such as not attending musters or denying the authority of rebel courts, petitioning for the restoration of Bligh, and managing their farms as best they could.  They, like Bligh, new that eventually relief would arrive from England and, like Bligh, they firmly believed that the lawful order would be restored.

On the 28th December 1809 Major Lachlan Macquarie and the 73rd Regiment sailed into Sydney Harbour.  The Regiment landed on the 31st December, and on the following New Years Day Macquarie issued the proclamations and orders by which he took control of the colony.[41]  There was no resistance from the Rum Corps or Paterson’s administration.  Macquarie reported that on his arrival he had “…found the colony in a state of perfect tranquillity, but in a great degree of anxiety for the long expected arrival of a new Governor.”[42]

He found the public stores almost empty, and the hoped-for harvest from the Hawkesbury destroyed in the flood of August 1809; the public buildings in a state of decay; and Bligh exiled in Hobart.  Within the first week of his government, Macquarie undid all that could be undone of the rebel administration: all public appointments were declared invalid, and the former officials were restored to their offices; all land grants and leases were declared null and void; all trials and investigations were declared invalid; all official papers and records were to be returned to Government House within one week; all grants and leases were revoked, specifically including grants to soldiers.  However, by another proclamation he prohibited the settlers from taking actions against rebel officials unless they had committed illegal acts of oppression and injustice, and called upon the inhabitants to demonstrate “…forbearance, and the importance of that union, tranquillity and harmony in the present crisis” rather than “…the constant recourse to a vexatious and obstinate system of litigation”.  Wrongs would be righted, but there would be no general retaliation and purging of the Usurpers.

Macquarie made it a priority to visit the Hawkesbury, and already had formulated a plan for relocating the settlements to high ground.  But that’s another story, suffice to note that of the five towns he established in the district, three he named after Whig reformers, although two are now remembered as Tories.  Wilberforce was named after the great anti-slavery campaigner William Wilberforce, Castlereagh commemorated Viscount Castlereagh, Colonial Secretary, now remembered as a reactionary but at that still committed to Catholic emancipation and parliamentary reform, Pitt Town recalled Britain’s first prime minister who supported parliamentary reform, Catholic emancipation and abolition of the slave trade, and was also a friend of Wilberforce and patron of Castlereagh.  Pitt and Castlereagh were key figures in the union of Great Britain with Ireland in 1801, which they believed would overcome sectarian differences, and in the wars with revolutionary and then Napoleonic France.  I think the names were intended as a tribute to the beliefs the settlers had stood for in their resistance to the Usurpation: the rule of law, progress through reform, resistance to arbitrary rule, and freedom of trade and commerce.

Bligh did not hear of Macquarie’s arrival for some days, and it took him nearly three weeks to get back to Sydney.  He landed in Sydney Cove in the afternoon of the 17th January “…to the great satisfaction of the people, expressed by their cheering…” he later wrote to Castlereagh.[43]  Bligh spent the next few months in Sydney, gathering evidence for the trials of the Usurpers in England, finally leaving on the 12th May.  The Hawkesbury settlers do not seem to have drawn up an address of farewell.


I began with some questions to which some answers can now be attempted.

Who were the Hawkesbury settlers?  Fletcher probably answered this question in 1968.  They comprised most of the landholders in the district, emancipist and free, as well as some of the small business people. Fletcher considered they were a representative cross-section of the community, concluding that on “…a balance of probability … there was strong support for Bligh at the Hawkesbury”.

How did the settlers show their support for Bligh?  Their petitions are the obvious answer, and they have been the main evidence cited since 1811 and earlier.  However, there are other ways: ‘Blighton’ is associated with their support for Bligh and the royal authority he represented (remember Thompson’s analogy with King George, who was also known as ‘Farmer George’); and the Bowman Flag can be read as the real symbol of their resistance to the Usurpers.

How did the settlers resist the Usurpers?  Firstly, we have two waves of their leaders, all prepared to publicly engage with the rebel regimes, often a great personal cost.  The tactics of civil disobedience were employed in denying the legitimacy of the rebel courts, and in refusing to attend musters held by the rebel magistrates, again at great personal cost.  There were also visits to the detained Bligh, often under a cloak of subterfuge; and the surreptitious writing of letters to authorities in England telling them of what was happening.  And there were the ‘pipes’ such as A New Song … of the Rebellion, softy but surely subverting rebel authority.

What did their loyalty cost the settlers?  For the leaders, the costs included fines, foreclosures, imprisonment and transportation to Coal River; while their supporters endured abuse and humiliation from the soldiery and packs of convict ‘let off the stores’, theft of their property, a general failure of law and order, and sights such as the drunken burning of effigies that reminded them of the excesses of the French Revolution, and made the men fear for the safety of their womenfolk.

By the time of the Restoration under Macquarie two years of the rebel regime had been endured.  There could have been a viscous counter-revolution, and may well have been had Bligh still been in Sydney.  However, Macquarie brought with him a policy of reconciliation, and was able to have this in place by the time Bligh returned from Hobart.  His most notable example was the rehabilitation of Foveaux, something that Bligh could neither understand nor stomach and, I suspect, neither could the settlers.  However, worn down by the long Usurpation, and once again devastated by floods, I suspect that their relief at the Restoration overcame much of the accumulated bitterness.

The local histories now speak warmly of the Bells and Fitzgeralds, with no reference to the bitter circumstances in which these families were planted in the Hawkesbury.  Little mention is made of the dark days of the usurpation.  The effects of Macquarie’s policy of reconciliation appear to have lasted long into the present day.  In this sense, the Hawkesbury is probably a microcosm of the healing that had to take place in Sydney and Parramatta, Norfolk Island and Van Diemen’s Land, even at the Coal River.  Perhaps it has worked so well that today we are not really sure of the importance of the rebellion to our history as Australians?

In their resistance, the settlers reflected a tradition of actively building a better or new society in English history through ‘parliamentary’ means, not violence, which itself had developed as a response to several centuries of civil wars and Saxon/Celtic and Catholic/Protestant conflicts.  Other ways had to be developed to effect social and political change, and were sealed in the compact of the Glorious Revolution only 120 years before.  It was part of the ‘invisible baggage’ they brought with them to New South Wales, that distant maritime country on the far side of the globe, and which is also part of our history.  It was Usurpers who were the reactionaries, contrary to the loyalists use of allusions to the French Revolution.

To oppose a tyrannical or unjust government is the right thing to do.  That is what a commoner or citizen does.  The actions of the Hawkesbury (and other) settlers, especially under the ‘second wave’ of leaders such as Suttor and Mason, and the Portland Head Presbyterians, demonstrated their claims to be morally and legally right, and ultimately it was their resistance that was vindicated, not the usurpation.

The Rum Rebellion was not just a colourful colonial curiosity.  We have had no military coups, no civil wars, since that time.  We can reflect on this Australia Day, and on this bicentenary of the Usurpation, that we should in no small measure give thanks to the Hawkesbury settlers and their courageous resistance for what Macquarie might have called “…the importance of that union, tranquillity and harmony” in our Commonwealth today.

The signature of Governor Lachlan Macquarie: symbol of the Restoration.  Image SRNSW

The signature of Governor Lachlan Macquarie: symbol of the Restoration. Image SRNSW

[1] Title taken from ‘Address of Hawkesbury Settlers to Bligh’, 29th January 1807, in Historical Records of New South Wales, Volume VI, Government Printer, Sydney 1898: 237

[2] Evatt, HV., Rum Rebellion: a study of the overthrow of Governor Bligh by John Macarthur and the New South Wales Rum Corps, Angus & Robertson, Sydney 1938

[3]Fletcher, B., ‘The Hawkesbury Settlers and the Rum Rebellion’, in Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society, Vol. 54, Pt 3, 1968: 217-237

[4] Bowd, D.G., Macquarie Country: a history of the Hawkesbury, the author, Netley SA 1969: 8-10.

[5] Wilson, E., & Richmond, T., ‘The Saga of Peter Hibbs’, in Powell, J. & Banks, L. (eds), Hawkesbury River History: Governor Phillip, exploration and early settlement, Dharug & Lower Hawkesbury Historical Society, Wisemans Ferry 1990: 91

[6] Bligh to Castlereagh, 30 April 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 432

[7] Evatt, op. cit.: 141-142

[8] Bligh to Castlereagh, 30 April 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 438

[9] Bligh to Castlereagh, 30 April 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 431, 435

[10] Mackaness, G., (ed), A New Song, made in New South Wales on the Rebellion, by Lawrence Davoren, Edited with an Essay on Historical Detection, Notes and Commentary, Review Publications, Dubbo 1979

[11] Fletcher 1968, op. cit; 230

[12] Evatt, op. cit: 69-71

[13] Duffy, M., ‘Captain Bligh’s Other Mutiny’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19-20 January 2008: 34

[14] Cochrane, P., ‘Bligh’s Bounty of Disputes: Review of the Week: “Captain Bligh’s Other Mutiny”’, by Stephen Dando-Collins, Sydney Morning Herald, 29-30 December 2007: 27

[16] Spigelman, J., ‘Coup that paved the way for our attention to the rule of law’, Sydney Morning Herald, 23 January 2008.

[17] Thompson to Bligh, 26 March 1807, HRNSW, Vol VI: 263

[18] Fletcher, 1968: 220

[19] Proclamation, 29 April 1809, HRNSW, Vol. VII: 109

[20] Huxley, J., ‘Going Into Battle for Nelson’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 October 2005: 11

[21] Fletcher 1968, op. cit.; 231

[22] General Order, 25 April 1809, HRNSW, Vol VII: 101

[23] Fletcher, BH, ‘Arndell, Thomas (1753 – 1821)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 1, Melbourne University Press, 1966: 27-28; Arndell to Castlereagh, 7 February 1809, HRNSW, Vol VII: 19-20.

[24] Byrnes, JV, ‘Thompson, Andrew (1773? – 1810)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 2, Melbourne University Press, 1967: 519-521.

[25] Bligh to Castlereagh, 30 April 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 427

[26] Allars, KG, ‘Crossley, George (1749 – 1823)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 1, Melbourne University Press, 1966: 262-263; Fletcher 1968, op. cit.; Crossley to Macquarie, 15 February 1810, HRNSW, Vol. VII: 288-289

[27] Bowd, op. cit.: 10; Gore to Castlereagh, 25 March 1809, HRNSW, Vol VII: 90-93

[28] Fletcher, BH, ‘Bowman, John (1763 – 1825)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 1, Melbourne University Press, 1966: 138-139; Settler’s memorial to Castereagh, 17 February 1809, HRNSW, Vol VII: 33-34

[29] Walsh, GP, ‘Pitt, George Matcham (1814 – 1896)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 5, Melbourne University Press, 1974: 446-447; Bowd, op. cit.,: 135.

[30] R. v. Gore, Court of Criminal Jurisdiction, Grimes AJA, 21 March 1808, Decisions of the Superior Courts of NSW, 1788-1899,,  accessed 25 January 2008

[31] R. v. Suttor, Court of Criminal Jurisdiction, Kemp AJA, 8 December 1808, op. cit.

[32] R. v. Palmer, R. v. Hook, Bench of Magistrates, 18 March 1809, op. cit.

[33] Fouveaux to Cooke, 21 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol VI: 783-784.

[34] Foveaux to Paterson, 27 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 786; Bligh to Castlereagh, 28 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 789

[35] Caley to Banks, 28 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 795-799

[36] Suttor to Bligh, 1 January 1809, HRNS, Vol. VII: 1-4

[37] Foveaux to Cooke, 21 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 784

[38] Hoare, xxx; Britts, MG, The Commandants: the tyrants who ruled Norfolk Island, KAPAK Publishing, Norfolk Island 1980: 48-58

[39] Collins to Foveaux, 23 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol VI: 785, and footnote

[40] Bligh to Castlereagh, 28 October 1808, HRNSW, Vol. VI: 788; also Bligh to Castlereagh, 30 April 1808, HRNSW, Vol VI: 424

[41] Proclamation, General Orders, HRNSW, Vol. VII: 252-254.

[42] Macquarie to Castlereagh, 8 March 1810, HRNSW, Vol. VII: 303

[43] Bligh to Castlereagh, 9 March 1810, HRNSW, Vol. VII: 309

Bound for the Norfolk Plains

Remembering the Deportations of the Norfolk Islanders to a Lost World in the South

 The name ‘Norfolk’ is a prominent feature of the Tasmanian landscape.  Norfolk Bay in the south east and Mt Norfolk on the west coast were named by Matthew Flinders in 1798 when he circumnavigated Van Diemen’s Land in his Norfolk Island-built sloop “Norfolk”.  The town of New Norfolk was named for the Norfolk Islanders who were deported from Norfolk Island and settled there between 1806 and 1808, as were various Norfolk street names around the state[1].

But perhaps the most melancholy name recalls the last wave of Norfolk Islanders expelled from the island in 1813 and re-settled just south of Launceston in a district called the Norfolk Plains.  Norfolk Island was settled in 1788, abandoned in 1814 and then re-settled in 1825.  The connection between Norfolk Island and Tasmania’s Norfolk Plains has been obscured for many years until the recent World Heritage listing of the Australian Convict Sites shone fresh light on this lost world.

This is the map of Port Dalrymple displayed on...

This is the map of Port Dalrymple displayed on page 186 in The Life of Matthew Flinders by Ernest Scott. The image has been rotated 90° clockwise from the original. The caption reads: PORT DALRYMPLE. Discovered 1798 in the Norfolk Sloop by M. FLINDERS. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Norfolk Plains is a farming district surrounding the villages of Longford and Cressy on the floodplain of the Lake (now Macquarie), South Esk and Liffey rivers of northern Tasmania.  For several thousand years this land formed part of the country of the Palawa people.  In 1804 British colonization of northern Van Diemen’s Land began with the arrival of a party of officials, soldiers and convicts under Lieutenant Colonel William Paterson to establish the town of Launceston at the head of Port Dalrymple, as the Tamar estuary was then called.  Governor King in New South Wales, previously the founding Lieutenant Governor of Norfolk Island in 1788, had sent Paterson to begin the colonization, and within a short time his party had penetrated deep into Palawa land.  They found countryside that was lightly timbered, fertile and well watered, and in 1805 an area about 17 kilometres south of Port Dalrymple was set aside as a Crown reserve.

Typical forested landscape that the Norfolk Islanders encountered in 1813 on the Norfolk Plains: completely different to the gentle rainforests of Norfolk Island

Typical forested landscape that the Norfolk Islanders encountered in 1813 on the Norfolk Plains: completely different to the gentle rainforests of Norfolk Island

Governor Lachlan Macquarie arrived in New South Wales in 1810 to suppress the Rum Rebellion, free Governor Bligh and re-establish the Crown’s authority.  He also received instructions to complete the abandonment of Norfolk Island that had begun in 1806.  In 1811 during his tour of Van Diemen’s Land he visited the reserve.  He noted the “fine extensive rich plains” and decided they would provide a convenient solution to his Norfolk Island problem[2].  He named the plains the Norfolk Plains, clearly intending to entice the Norfolk Islanders to this new home[3]. The very name Norfolk Plains conjured up an image of abundance and plenty with a reassuring touch of homeliness.

Despite a mixture of incentives and force, neither Governor King nor Governor Bligh had really supported abandoning Norfolk Island despite explicit instructions to do so from London.  Both men supported the Norfolk Island settlers and their desire to remain in the home they had spent nearly 20 years building.  Macquarie had no such affinities, and he placed Lieutenant Tankerville Crane of his own 73rd Regiment in charge of the island with orders to let the buildings and public works run down and to entice the islanders to leave. The last of the Islanders were not willing emigrants.

Macquarie instructed Surveyor General Meehan to mark out fifty farms of varying sizes at Norfolk Plains, and in 1813 the “Minstrel” and then the “Lady Nelson” arrived at Launceston with some 145 Islanders, who were taken upriver to their newly allocated farms on either bank of the South Esk River[4].

The Lady Nelson, moored in the Thames in 1803.  Image Wikipedia

The Lady Nelson, moored in the Thames in 1803. Image Wikipedia

The Islanders had been divided into three classes: first class contained the officials and ex-military settlers, second class the ex-convicts with large families and well managed properties, and third class all the rest.  Compensation for giving up their island home was to be given to the settlers, depending upon their class.  The compensation consisted of a sliding scale of land swaps, free convict labour and government rations, clothing and other stores, with first class receiving the largest share for the longest period.

The Islanders found that the compensation was not always available or not always adequate, and often sought a more generous settlement.  However, by the time they realized this they had already been relocated to their new farms, and found they had little bargaining power.  Relations between Norfolk Plains and Sydney were often strained and tense.  These settlers had remained on Norfolk Island the longest, evading earlier inducements to deportation, and resented leaving their island home.  It was not a good recipe for successful settlement.

Contemporary observers such as Commissioner Bigge, and some later writers, have blamed the islanders for their failure to thrive and prosper at Norfolk Plains[5].  They claimed that the island’s rich soil and gentle climate, easy access to government stores, failure to learn new technical skills, and lack of Aboriginal resistance had made them lazy settlers.  They failed to invest their compensation into improving their new properties, and came to rely upon hunting rather than farming to supplement their government rations.  Perhaps most damning of all, it has been claimed, their convict origins meant they lacked vigour and prudence and instead favoured a life of “indulgent idleness”.  They continued to associate with other ex-convicts, and the new values required for success on the frontier were stifled.

These reasons have been given to explain the apparent failure of the islanders to make a success of life on the Norfolk Plains.  The islanders were encouraged to grow wheat, which they did and initially received good prices, but the practice of continual cultivation without resting the land that was undertaken on Norfolk Island and in Britain lead by the early 1820s to declining soil fertility.  Smut, a fungal disease of grain crops, was also badly affecting their crops by 1819[6].  Declining crop yields followed the completion of the compensation arrangements, and combined with lingering resentment at their forced deportation from Norfolk Island saw some of the Islanders sink into a melancholic despair marked by drunkenness and neglect of their properties.

As early as 1813 other settlers were arriving on the Norfolk Plains and they began buying the properties of the depressed Islanders, or taking up their grants that had been resumed by the Crown as well as new grants of land, often extensive in area.

One of these new settlers was Thomas Archer, who arrived at Port Dalrymple in 1819 to take charge of the Commissariat Store.  In 1817 he had received a 320 hectare grant on the Norfolk Plains just south of the Islanders original grants, and by 1819 had built a large brick-nogged timber homestead named “Woolmers” overlooking the Macquarie River[7].  In 1821 he resigned from the Commissariat to devote himself to developing his expanding pastoral estates.  Within a few years he was a justice of the peace and a magistrate, and in 1826 became a member of Van Diemen’s Land’s first Legislative Council. Thomas’ brother William arrived in the colony in 1824 and acquired 420 hectares of land on the Macquarie River opposite “Woolmers”.  Some of this land was originally granted to the Norfolk Islanders who later returned it to the Crown, and he named it “Brickendon”.  He marked his field boundaries with hawthorn hedges, which 180 years later are still actively managed and form a feature of the landscapes of the Norfolk Plains to this day[8].

Woolmers, old wing of main house, built c1819, for Thomas Archer

Woolmers, old wing of main house, built c1819, for Thomas Archer

Brickenden, built for William Archer in 1828

Brickenden, built for William Archer in 1828

The Archer’s wealth was based upon pastoralism, and especially wool, unlike the Norfolk Islanders whose resettlement was based upon growing wheat.  The early descriptions of the Norfolk Plains as lightly timbered and well watered suggest their pastoral promise, as does the reliance the Islanders quickly came to have on hunting.  That the Islanders also realized the value of turning to grazing rather then farming is perhaps indicated by the conviction and hanging of several of them for sheep stealing by the early 1820s.  By that time, only seven of the original grants to the Islanders remained in the ownership of the Norfolk Island families.  The others had left the district, joined the local labour force or died.

Oak trees and hawthorn hedges: characteristic landscapes of the Norfolk Plains

Oak trees and hawthorn hedges: characteristic landscapes of the Norfolk Plains

It is a grim reckoning that within a decade only some 15% of the deported Norfolk Islander families had been able to realize the promise of the Norfolk Plains[9].  The rest have been harshly judged by both vocal contemporary critics such as Commissioner Bigge and by later historians who have all too readily invoked the convict stain as an easy explanation.

Map of the Brickendon Estate in the 1840s: some of these fields were originally granted to the Norfolk Islanders

Map of the Brickendon Estate in the 1840s: some of these fields were originally granted to the Norfolk Islanders

However, a more compassionate view of the Norfolk Islanders experience would understand the terrible impact of being forced to abandon a home they had spent two decades creating in a remote island wilderness, of seeing their farms and towns officially neglected and then hearing the news that they had all finally been deliberately burned in the great fires of 1814, forever destroying any chance of returning.  Twice exiled, they were transported to a land they first had to wrest from its Palawa stewards, then clear ancient woodlands, build roads, fences and houses anew, and suffer cruel winters so different to their sub-tropical island home.  Having been forced from their homeland they were then forced to take that of others.

Outbuildings (Bakehouse) at Woolmers, built c1840, on a frosty winter morning so different to the sub-tropical climate of Norfolk Island

Outbuildings (Bakehouse) at Woolmers, built c1840, on a frosty winter morning so different to the sub-tropical climate of Norfolk Island

Despite their weariness and resentment they tried to conform to expectations, following instructions to grow wheat on the Norfolk Plains then seeing their hard work dissipate before their eyes as plant diseases and soil exhaustion wreaked a slow catastrophe.  Some fell victim to melancholy and nostalgia as they saw friends and family succumb to alcoholism, carelessly accidental deaths, decaying farms, lassitude and crime while around them newer, more respectable emigrants rode the Empire’s rising demand for wool and the beginning of a wool boom that would last for decades.

Many of the Norfolk Islanders had been transported from Britain as convicts and had made an entirely new life for themselves.  Having to do it a second time at the Norfolk Plains was perhaps a step to far for some of them.  Even as they were fading from history’s page they witnessed the next phase in the convict system developing around them with the Assignment System.  The Archer’s estates at “Woolmers”, “Brickendon” and elsewhere on the Norfolk Plains prospered through the combination of wool pastoralism and cheap assigned mass convict labour.

The current chapel at Brickendon was built in the 1840s to replace an earlier chapel built for the spiritual reformation of convicts assigned to Brickendon Estate.

The current chapel at Brickendon was built in the 1840s to replace an earlier chapel built for the spiritual reformation of convicts assigned to Brickendon Estate.

Today, the name Norfolk Plains is largely forgotten.  By the mid-1830s it was reported there were 62 houses across the Norfolk Plains, and the toponym survived for a while as the name of official land, police and road districts and a parliamentary electorate[10].  But by the 1850s when Van Diemen’s Land changed its name to Tasmania to escape the opprobrium of the convict stain, the convict-tainted Norfolk Plains had been largely supplanted by the village names of Longford and Cressy.

The descendants of some of the Norfolk Islanders, such as the Saltmarshes, Coxes, Whites, Stevens, Claymores, Jordens  and other others did survive those early years and still remain in the district today, especially the Norfolk Plains East along the Pateena Road (the C531) between Longford, Perth and Hadspen[11].

Old Norfolk Islander families are still part of the Norfolk Plains: a rural letterbox on the Pateena Road

Old Norfolk Islander families are still part of the Norfolk Plains: a rural letterbox on the Pateena Road

View along Pateena Road in the heartland of the Norfolk Islander settlement on the Norfolk Plains

View along Pateena Road in the heartland of the Norfolk Islander settlement on the Norfolk Plains

The memory of the convict Norfolk Islanders and their ill-stared settlement at Norfolk Plains has been kept alive in family traditions and oral histories, while the convict powered estates such as “Woolmers” and “Brickendon” have captured the attention of historians.  Today Kingston & Arthurs Vale on Norfolk Island and Woolmers & Brickendon in Tasmania share equal billing as partners in the World Heritage listed Australian Convict Sites.  The stories of Norfolk Island, Norfolk Plains and Brickendon & Woolmers are part of the real stories of our shared convict past that still shape our convict-descended society today.

The Norfolk Plains and Woolmers & Brickendon Estates give us an insight into the workings of the convict system.  Rather than lurid stories of a cruel world dominated by the lash and chain, we can see a quieter but more enduring story of forced migration giving opportunities to some men and women for a new life they could never have experienced in Britain as they worked and developed the colonial and Imperial economies.   We can see the great costs and suffering of many of the Norfolk Islanders when forced to leave their island home.  We can see the movement of convicts and their families between the settlements, laying the foundations for new communities and eventually a new country.

The crest and motto ribbon used by the Archer family, and used today as the emblem of Woolmers Estate.  The motto means 'the end crowns the work.  William 'Harry' Archer of Brickendon Estate was later granted a coat of arms that incorporates these elements.  In contrast to the iconography of the colonial gentry, the convict and expiree families of the Norfolk Plains lacked any comparable symbols.

The crest and motto ribbon used by the Archer family, and used today as the emblem of Woolmers Estate. The motto means ‘the end crowns the work’. William ‘Harry’ Archer of Brickendon Estate was later granted a coat of arms that incorporates these elements. In contrast to the iconography of the colonial gentry, the convict and expiree families of the Norfolk Plains lacked any comparable symbols.

Their stories can seem contradictory and melancholic, but also foundational and full of potential.  History is so much more complex and interesting than the simple pieties of the lash and chain.  The slow but persistent deportation of the Norfolk Islanders to the south between 1806 and 1814 should be much better known and appreciated, as should the deep emotional connections their descendants maintain with their ancestral island.

Stimulated by the World Heritage listing in 2010 and the approaching bicentenary of the 2013 deportations, the lost world of the Norfolk Plains is awaiting rediscovery.

Emblem of the Archer's gentility: an old fashioned rose in the Woolmers gardens.

Emblem of the Archer’s gentility: an old fashioned rose in the Woolmers gardens.

Thanks to Launceston City Library (LINC) reference staff, Lorraine Green of North Midlands Council, Richard Archer of “Brickendon” and Liz McCoy of KAVHA Public Research Centre for their assistance with locating sources for this story.

Originally published in Your World Inflight Offshore (Norfolk Air), Issue 3, July-September 2011, pages 21-25

[1] Dennison, CJ, Where In Tasmania?, the Author, Glenorchy, nd (c1994):  70; Taylor J & Smith W, A Dictionary of Tasmanian Place-Names, unpub. MSS, 1993 (Launceston Library LSC Q919.46 TAY)

[2] Bassett, J M, Norfolk Plains: Exploration, Settlement and Development, 1805-1850s, unpub. Thesis, TCAE Newnham, 1979: 6 (Launceston Library, LSC 994.621 BAS).

[3] Calder, G., A Space for a Village: the founding of Longford, unpub. MSS, draft, copy provided by Lorraine Green 26th May 2011.

[4] Ibid: 7

[5] ibid: 10, 12-15, 22, 2369,

[6] ibid 14

[7] Brickendon World Heritage Site: William Archer and his family, brochure, 2011

[8] Map of Brickendon Estate, dated 1841, in possession of Mr Richard Archer of Brickendon, viewed 26th May 2011; see also Bassett, op. cit., 70-71

[9] Bassett, op. cit.; 15, 70; see also Calder, op. cit., footnote 5.

[10] Murray, H., The Encyclopaedia of Geography, Lea & Blanchard, London 1839: 139; Bassett, op. cit.: i.

[11] MacRae, M & Dadson, M, Pateena Road: Families and farms of the Pateena District, the authors, Longford 2008: 33-36, 39-44, 53-56, 61-64, 87-88.