Coolgardie – a womans point of view

The following article which deals with Coolgardie as it was in June last, is republished from a recent issue of the Sydney Sunday Times:

We have the statement made that a goldfield is spoilt as soon as women and newspapers get a footing on it. Whether this is true or not I cannot say, but the cry is

“still they come, both women and newspapers”

on the greatest goldfield, the world has ever witnessed. “Six months ago if a woman was seen in Bayley street, all the men turned out to stare after her. Now women are seen everywhere, in the theatre, on the football grounds, at balls, and assemblies, and picnics”.

Coolgardie has been so often and well described that I will not take up the valuable space of the Sunday Times with further descriptions of its scenery and climate, further than to remark that the ruthless destruction of trees round about Coolgardie gives to the town a barren appearance and that the climate is much better than is generally supposed. The winter is over, and we are enjoying some lovely Spring days, nightss and early mornings a trifle cool perhaps, but the afternoons are delicious.

Wildflowers of many descriptions and unspeakable beauty are in the bush, and the blue sky and bluer hills make a picture that can never tire the eye or save the imagination. Duststorms we have, it is true, and they are very trying to the temper, especially if one lives in a tent or canvas dwelling. But we know that such storms generally bring rain, and this makes us patient, for want of water is the greatest drawback to Coolgardie at present.

Bayley Street, Coolgardie 1893-4 – Photo SLWA

Very few stone or brick buildings have so far been built in the township. The Coolgardie Chambers, where some of the most important businessmen have their offices, is a handsome brick building, and the Warden’s new house is of stone and brick. Before proceeding further I must say a few words about the warden’s wife, who is, of course, the “leading lady” here, the centre of the little group that calls itself society. Mrs. Finnerty is a handsome woman, dark, young, extremely vivacious, the mother of two children a little girl of two or three, and a boy born last month, whose godmother, the Hon. Mrs. Candy (who, by the bye, is quite a character), is very proud of her position as censor to “the heir to the goldfields.” To the credit of Mrs. Finnerty it must be said that she puts on no “side ” whatsoever, and does her duties without food for nonsense, be It the christening of a battery or the opening of a bazaar.

The bazaar was opened by Mrs. Finnerty, and the ladies who presided over the stalls included Mesdames Fisher, Vyner, Sinclair, Davis, and others. One stall was conducted by the nurses of the hospital, and another, called an “Oriental stall” was fitted up as a smoking room, and coffee and cigars, and cigarettes were sold at fancy prices by the sirens who “ran” it. An art gallery was also a great attraction, and I wish I could remember some of the things exhibited there. I remember a frying pan with many holes in it posing as “A Holy Friar” but the other things I have forgotten in the rush, hard work, and excitement.

All the tragedies of the fever wave that took off so many young men last year will never be known. One of there stories must suffice here. A young man sickened, and was conveyed to Miss O’Brien’s hospital, and his mother and sister were sent for from the other side. At Southern Cross the poor women were met and told that the young man had escaped from the hospital while in delirium in the night, and all efforts to find him had proved so far fruitless. The long drive by coach, lasting two days, was undertaken, the poor women looking into the dense bush on either side and saying in agony, “That’s where he is lost, to find him a hopeless case.” And only now, after six months, have his remains been found, 15 miles from the hospital, in pyjamas, with bare feet.

The distress of his family was very terrible to witness!

A more cheerful subject is the undoubted success of many who have come to seek their fortunes. Every day accounts of “finds” come in, specimens are brought, and news reaches us of wonderful “crushings.” When the railway is here we shall have a boom, for the mines are only waiting for machinery to go ahead and do wonders. Hannan’s (Kalgoorlie), talks of Coolgardie as the future suburb of itself, for the activity there just now is tremendous. At the Boulder, about four miles from Hannan’s, the mines are passing the expectations of the most sanguine. A visit to “The Boulder” is very interesting, things there being still in a primitive state. Asking for a cup of tea, we were told that we could get one in “Ladies Town.” And so we did, in the house of a young woman, who said that only nine women were there amongst thousands of men, and these nine live in a little row of houses close together. One longed to ask if these nine “knew” one another, or if social distinctions had cropped up in their midst, as in our “mushroom township.”

Now I must say something about the men, who of course are in the majority here, many having left their wives and families on the other side, and more still being quite young fellows from England, or coming from New Zealand and other parts of Australasia. No doubt many of the married men are enjoying a spell of freedom from domestic life and having a good time, for the hotels where they board are quite luxurious, and the Coolgardie Club leaves nothing to be desired in the way of pleasure and comfort. There is a boom in billiards just now, matches at the Club and Athletic Hall, and considerable betting on the best players. Then there are innumerable card parties and “send-offs” and occasions that call for champagne and whisky. Altogether the men have an excitable and enjoyable life, with the hope of making a fortune to keep the ball going to prevent society, for of course, they all say that speculation is “business,” and do not class it with dram drinking and other vices.

Many funny stories are told of women who have come to look up recalcitrant husbands. One such lady, whose husband made many excuses to keep her on the other side, arrived unexpectedly by team, fearing that the news of her advent might reach her Benedict if she came by coach. She reached Coolgardie late at night, and there was desolation and weeping in that camp for many days nay, weeks, and now that married man is called by his mates

“the knight of a rueful countenance”

Coolgardie is a wonderfully well-conducted place. It is rare to see a tipsy man, and women can go about safely at all hours of the day and night. So many gentlemen are here owing to the depression in the other colonies that the rude mass of miners and prospectors is well-leavened. It is no uncommon thing to see a man in dusty, shabby clothes, with a bluey and pick, and to hear that his parents were in “Society” elsewhere. A great many Englishmen are here, classed with the hated “t’othersiders” by the natives of this sleepy colony, who are too lazy to work themselves and are all the same intensely envious of the energetic “t’othersiders,” who are making wealth for the colony.

There is little doubt that trouble will come from those who want separation unless the Government is wise in time and concedes what is demanded. Just now the Mayor and council spend much time in lecturing Sir John Forrest and his colleagues like naughty schoolboys for what they leave undone, and the Government turns a deaf ear to their threats and counsel. But some think that Sir John has a trump card up his sleeve and that before long news of concessions will arrive to take the wind out of the separationist’s sails.

All religions are well represented here, Catholics, Church of England, Presbyterians, Wesleyans, and Salvation Army. The last named made over £300 by their self-denial week. Lasses are to the fore in Bayley street every night, and their brass instruments are a pest, for the Army is not apparently cursed with an ear, and cracked instruments are no doubt cheaper than better apparatus. Fever patients find the Army make a terrible nuisance, and it is to be hoped that the mayor and council will take pity on us before the summer comes, or some admirer of the Army will give a donation towards the band. The town band is quite a credit to us and plays at the many balls, Cinderellas, and dances that enliven the winter evenings.

Riding camels is another amusement indulged in by the female portion of the population, especially on Sunday afternoon, when the camps of the Afghans are the resort of ambitious matrons and maidens who desire to be photographed on the back of a “ship of the desert.” These camps are very picturesque, clean, and tidy, with men in snow-white trousers and turbans sauntering around and camels stretching their long necks and glancing contemptuously at the little men and women who have come to ride them.

Ladies in the other colonies would be surprised to see the toilettes of our Coolgardie belles. Dresses and dressmakers arrive from Perth, and the result is that which many might envy. We have some very good-looking girls and women in Coolgardie, and every day the beauty list swells, so that very soon we shall have quite a bevy of pretty, well-dressed women in the township. Music and good plays one misses. The local talent, with one or two exceptions, is not worth speaking about, and as days pass by one longs for the sight of a good picture, and the sound of good music.

Books we have, and papers, and plenty of clever men to discuss them in the intervals snatched from money-making. There is no doubt that the place is full of talent. “Brainy” men are here in large numbers, but their ‘ability’ is all used up in one direction, ie., money-making. The result is slightly monotonous to the ordinary woman. There is a debating club, and the last debate, I am told, was on ‘Female Suffrage’, but the topic did not attract. The advanced woman is not here only her caricature in bloomer costume, who may be seen on a “bike,” accompanied by many admirers, on a moonlight night. Of course, the ladies say these “persons” are barmaids, but as a matter of fact nearly all the Coolgardie ladies have graced the bar at one time or another

“When’s a barmaid, not a barmaid?”

is a question not yet answered, for the bar is so quickly forgotten by “ladies” who make a “rise” in our mushroom township. by an ‘English Lady Journalist’.