Chewton, Victoria

Chewton is a tiny speck of a place – a dot on the map you might say. You pass through it on the way to Castlemaine. I’ve always liked it and I can’t count the number of times I’ve photographed its tiny, exquisite miners’ cottages.

After you’ve turned off the Calder Highway, you pass through a series of forested gullies and suddenly, there it is, announced by a ‘Welcome to Chewton’ sign and another declaring it “Formerly Forest Creek, site of the world’s richest alluvial goldfield ever.” I like the way they clarify things with the addition of the word “ever” – just in case you’re a doubter.

      The Main Road takes you through a series of little humps and hollows into what is a typical goldfields remnant. Settlement followed the watercourses where gold was being extracted in the early years of the diggings; and today, tiny old miners’ cottages line the road, with more modern dwellings clambering up the hillsides beyond.

Gold was discovered here – in Jaara Country (home of the Dja Dja Wurrung people of the Kulin Nation) – in 1851. That changed everything. People swarmed in from all over the world – as they were wont to do during the Central Victorian gold rush – and the township grew rapidly, without much of a plan. Hillsides and native vegetation were decimated in the frantic search for gold and the need for timber to shore up the mines. As a result, today’s vegetation is mostly stringy bark and iron bark forests with a sturdy undergrowth of hardy natives determined to reclaim their place on the depleted hillsides.

The town (almost a stretch of the terminology), is now surrounded by the Castlemaine Diggings National Heritage Park (c 2002), which you can explore on foot, or by bike. There’s plenty to discover if you’re that way inclined, including the Wattle Gully Mine (c 1859), which operated until recently and is now the centre for the re-exploration of the Castlemaine gold fields.

I’ve always maintained that, if I was meant to go underground, I would have been born a mole, so I’m much more interested in the architecture of these historic places. And despite its tiny size, Chewton is rich in architectural treats – little dwellings that hint at the small scale lives the miners had; and one of two grand public/commercial buildings and churches that lend the place an unexpected heft.

There are now a few shops, a pub, an antiques store, an old town hall and Chewton Post Office but almost all of them were closed when I rolled in. As a matter of interest, Ottlery’s Butcher Shop (C1860s), is one of thirteen butcher shops that once serviced the town. I guess miners must have been into a good steak after a tough day digging. Those were the days when Chewton could boast around 70 businesses in its Main Street.

       

The Primitive Methodist Church (c 1861), is one of the more elaborate structures in Chewton – a curiously ornate place designed by Crouch and Wilson – said to be an unusually early use of the Gothic style by the Primitive Methodists. Its most distinctive design element is the pair of flying buttresses projecting at angles from the facade.

It’s now in private hands I believe, unlike the quaint St John’s Anglican Church (c 1858) [above], that sits quietly on top of Poverty Hill, surrounded by land reserved for but never used as a burial ground.  It was silent on my most recent trip, except for the wind whistling through trees and the occasional squawk of a nearby crow. Everything was locked up so I’ve never discovered if the external austerity is a sign of what lies within.

I’ve always liked a good cemetery and since St John’s didn’t have one, I followed the sign to Chewton Cemetery, which was apparently gazetted as the town cemetery in 1859, to take the place of the smaller goldfield cemeteries. I was surprised by the size of it – big, in a word; and neatly divided into all the different religious denominations: Roman Catholic, Anglican, Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran and possibly a few heathen stragglers if the unmarked graves are anything to go by.

I’m always fascinated by this old tendency to separate the dead into neat, orderly rows of like-minded church-goers. I wonder what they thought would happen if they were all buried together, side-by-side? I kept thinking about that as I drove out of Chewton – that an the thirteen butchers’ shops.