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.

Castlemaine, Victoria

Castlemaine (pronounced ‘Cassle-maine’ by the locals), was trying its best to be warm when I drove into town just after 9am. The skies were blue but that’s where any hint of warmth ended. Everyone – and I use the term lightly because there weren’t many people about – was wearing winter woollies – hats, coats, boots, gloves, scarves; even the coffee drinkers outside Saff’s Café, where I stopped for my first cup of light refreshment.

I sat across the table from a man struggling with the day’s crossword puzzle. I took his photo and he was so engrossed he didn’t even notice. I wanted to help but sometimes I find, it pays not to be a ‘foreign’ know-it-all, so I switched my attention to others – and to the giant cakes that sat under covers on the counter. Were ‘Castlemainians’ big cake eaters I wondered?

This wasn’t my first visit to this quirky, historic place. I’ve visited Castlemaine a number of times before, always in the perishing heat of a Victorian midsummer – so in that sense at least, the cooler temperatures were welcome. And as I watched slatted shadows from the window blinds playing across another man’s face, I wondered if Saff’s was more or less popular than the café (I didn’t choose) in the converted fire station, or Dot’s. It hadn’t seemed like too much of a competition at the time but one should never judge a café by its cover.

Like so many places in these parts, Castlemaine sprang to life as a gold rush boom town in 1851. It was named by the Chief Goldfield Commissioner of the time, Captain W Wright, who named it in honour of his Irish uncle, the Viscount of Castlemaine. It sits about 120km northwest of Melbourne, between fellow gold rush towns, Bendigo and Ballarat; and it has a population of around 9,730.

There’s a very visible nod to that early goldmining wealth in the historic streetscapes. There are many impressive buildings - the Town Hall, the Court House, the churches, the hotels and the dazzling array of domestic architecture that ranges from cute (and very tiny) gold miners’ cottages, to enormous stately homes. They were clearly Castlemaine’s ‘good times.’

I was stopped on a street corner by one old chap, who asked why I was taking photographs.

“Are you from the local newspaper?” he asked. (Close, but No). He went on to tell me about a local photographer, who had made it his mission to take photographs of the town’s buildings, mimicking early historic photos…. a then and now sort of thing. It seemed like a worthy undertaking. I like a town that looks after its old buildings.

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From the outset, it’s clear that Castlemaine is very good at three things – churches, pubs and antique shops. It doesn’t do a bad bookshop either – Stoneman’s Bookroom, Mount of Alex Bookshop, Soldier and Scholar. All three are perfect. Filled to the brim with every title and topic you could hope for – new, old, antiquarian, rare, contemporary, interesting, Celtic, children’s, plus a few more you might not have expected. And outside, walls covered in local notices.

I like a good noticeboard. You can learn so much about a community from its noticeboards.  Everything from cars and vans for sale to contemporary dance classes, reminders about the Castlemaine Comedy Night, car-boot and jumble sales, guitar lessons, yoga, even someone trying to get rid of two K.D.Lang tickets.

 Castlemaine Art Museum is a good stop – apart from the included clutter of the Information Centre and some rather tacky souvenir stock. Why do souvenir shops everywhere universally stock the tackiest mementoes? Probably made in Asia and usually bought by Asians who take them home again. Personally, I think it would be better if the souvenirs just stayed in Asia and local shops stocked something worth buying.

Tack aside, the Art Gallery was founded in 1913 and is now housed in a handsome Art Deco building, designed by one Percy Meldrum in 1931. It’s had a number of subsequent additions but it still presents a commanding front to the street. The gallery’s permanent collection focuses on Australian art – traditional landscape particularly, and it has some major works of the late 1800s and the Edwardian.

Unfortunately, none of the above were on display when I called in. I was instead, treated to what I assume is the annual Winter Show. And I use the term “treated” loosely. No matter how I say this, I will sound like a killjoy, so I may as well just say it - much of the work was abysmal. I’m all for everyone having a go (I’m even doing that myself at the moment), but perhaps the selection process for these local exhibitions could be more rigorously observed. For instance, let’s start with ‘Is this work actually painted well?’’

That said, I’m glad I went. Quality aside, it’s refreshing to know that so many local people are involved in the arts – and to be fair, there were some real gems among the works that I would gladly hang on my own wall.

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I noted the proverbial ‘pub on every corner’ – and some not on corners: the Imperial (1861 – great cellars apparently), the Empyre, the Criterion (1853) [the oldest continuously licensed premises in Castlemaine], the Midland, the Cumberland and so it goes on. It should be noted that a number of these are no longer operating as pubs or hotels but the original buildings are testament to a rather jolly past.

I looked again at the mind-boggling Restorers’ Barn – an emporium guaranteed to satisfy every home restorer on earth. I doubt there is a piece of a house that isn’t included in this magical place. When some people hear the word Castlemaine, they think of beer – I just think of the magnificent Restorers’ Barn, which is housed I might add, in what was once the Mt Alexander Hotel (1864-1907).

And on the topic of beer, the famous brand Castlemaine XXXX (pronounced for-ex), was launched in 1924 by Queensland-based Castlemaine Breweries and named after the town of Castlemaine, where the company was born in 1857. These days, the beer is actually brewed in Milton, Brisbane by Queensland brewers Castlemaine Perkins, now a division of Japanese-owned Lion.

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I could write all day about Castlemaine – about its quirky secondhand shops (where a rocking camel, a taxidermy frenzy of three cobras crushing a mongoose and an old metal sign espousing the virtues of Trump utility folding tables and chairs, were my picks of the day); and I could weave a tale about the pet shop window filled with buckets full of live crickets and their “Dog Coat Fittings" service. Mostly, I could wax lyrical about its wonderful architecture. But sometimes, a few (more) photos are enough.