Five regional Independent MPs stood together to make a final appeal to reject the NSW government's firearms laws, which passed Parliament at 3am on Christmas Eve.The Terrorism and Other Legislation Amendment Bill 2025 has sparked fierce opposition from regional representatives who say their communities were left out of the consultation process.Barwon MP Roy Butler, who coordinated the opposition effort alongside Orange MP Phil Donato, Murray MP Helen Dalton, Wagga Wagga MP Dr Joe McGirr and Wollondilly MP Judy Hannan, said they were "calling for consultation and consideration, not a knee-jerk reaction."The legislation imposes a cap of four firearms per individual, with exemptions for primary producers and sports shooters who may hold a maximum of 10 NSW Government. It also reclassifies straight-pull, pump-action and button/lever release firearms into Category C, limiting their access primarily to primary producers NSW Government, and reduces magazine capacity for Category A and B firearms to between five and ten rounds.Murray MP Helen Dalton argued the changes ignore practical realities facing regional communities. "There's a dangerous oversimplification creeping into this debate, and it ignores reality on the ground," she said. "People ask, 'How many firearms does someone really need?' The answer isn't a number pulled out of thin air, it depends on what that person does."Dalton emphasised the role licensed shooters play in pest management. "Shooting is an Olympic sport. Different disciplines require different firearms. And in Murray, licensed shooters, including people who travel from the city, play a critical role in helping control feral pigs, goats, foxes and cats that are destroying landscapes and livelihoods," she said.She described the scale of the problem confronting farmers. "Right now, we are dealing with plagues of feral animals. They're eating lambs, tearing up paddocks, damaging fences, and flowing straight out of nearby national parks where control is inadequate. Without responsible, licensed shooters doing the work, the situation would be far worse."Dalton stressed the credentials of those affected. "These are law-abiding people. They are trained, licensed and professional. Farmers rely on them because we're not getting the help we need elsewhere."This isn't about recklessness. It's about reality. And if decisions like this had been properly examined, through a committee process instead of rushed assumptions, we might actually get sensible outcomes. Instead, people who are part of the solution are being treated as the problem."Butler said the timing raised questions about the government's priorities."Now, don't get me wrong, we all want to keep people safe, but these laws? They're rushed, they don't fix the real problems behind that attack, and they hit regional people the hardest," he said. "Here's the kicker, these firearm licensing changes are complicated and won't even start for months. Passing it now or next year makes no difference. So why the rush?"He outlined multiple concerns with the legislation. "The firearms industry hasn't been consulted, regional voices are ignored, and now we've got laws that could backfire, exposing criminal intel, weakening control of hearings, and piling more work on already stretched police," Butler said, arguing the laws failed to address "the rising antisemitism, operational failures in the current licensing system, and poor intel sharing" that contributed to the Bondi attack.Orange MP Phil Donato described the process as "by far and away the poorest governance I've seen in my 9 years of representing the Orange electorate", calling it "deeply undemocratic" and criticising what he termed "socialist ideology, and ignorance of Aussie tradition and culture, especially for people of Regional NSW."The government defended its approach. Premier Chris Minns said the laws "got the balance right between providing police with the tools they need to calm a combustible situation, while also restricting access to dangerous weapons". He acknowledged the significance of the changes. "I acknowledge that these are very significant changes that not everyone will agree with, but our state has changed following the horrific antisemitic attack on Bondi Beach and our laws must change too."Attorney General Michael Daley said the NSW government would take "whatever measures needed" to keep the community safe.The reforms include additional measures beyond firearm caps. Gun club membership will be mandatory for all firearms licence holders, standard firearms licence terms will reduce from five years to two years, and the NSW Civil and Administrative Tribunal review pathway for licence decisions will be removed. Safe storage inspections will become mandatory before permits are issued.A firearm buyback scheme, established in partnership with the federal government, will allow owners to surrender firearms that were made illegal or restricted by the new legislation and receive compensation. Regional areas hold substantial numbers of registered firearms, with Bathurst recording 17,026, Dubbo 15,591, Orange 13,224 and Mudgee 12,895.The new laws are expected to come into effect in the new year when the buyback scheme begins.

A moment of reckless driving on a regional New South Wales highway has cost a young motorist dearly, both financially and legally.Highway patrol officers conducting routine speed enforcement near Ardlethan on Saturday afternoon clocked a white Holden Commodore travelling at an eye-watering 175 kilometres per hour. The road's posted limit? Just 100km/h.When officers pulled over the vehicle on Burley Griffin Way around midday, they were met with an unusually candid response. The 20-year-old P2 licence holder, when questioned about his dangerous speed, simply admitted: "Just being an idiot."The Costly ConsequencesThat moment of honesty couldn't save the young driver from severe penalties. Operating under the double demerit holiday period, the provisional driver faced an immediate six-month licence suspension and hefty fines totalling $3,384.The penalties stem from two separate offences: exceeding the speed limit by more than 45km/h while on a provisional licence, and failing to display the required P plates. Together, these violations stripped him of 14 demerit points—magnified by the holiday period enforcement measures.Police refrained from sanctioning the vehicle itself, as the driver wasn't the registered owner.A Stark ReminderGriffith Highway Patrol used the incident to reinforce a sobering statistic: speeding contributes to approximately 42 per cent of road fatalities across the state.

In the vast expanse of the NSW Riverina, where golden wheat fields stretch to the horizon and the Murray and Murrumbidgee rivers carve their ancient paths through red earth, lies a town that history has largely forgotten. Yet Moulamein, now home to fewer than 600 residents, holds one of the most remarkable distinctions in Australian colonial history.It is the oldest European settlement in the entire Riverina region, predating even Deniliquin by several crucial years.The story of Moulamein begins in the 1830s, when the first Europeans arrived in what was then uncharted wilderness. Europeans arrived in the Moulamein district as early as 1830, making it the oldest town in the Riverina, establishing pastoral runs and trading posts along the Edward River. In about 1842 Augustus Morris came to the Riverina seeking grazing land in association with the entrepreneur and speculator Benjamin Boyd. Morris took up pastoral runs on the Edward River and explored the country surrounding the site of present-day Moulamein.The town's unusual name has sparked considerable debate among historians. Some think that it's an Aboriginal word that means the meeting of the water. The general consensus is that in 1842 the town was named by Augustus Morris after the Burmese seaport that shares the name. This exotic naming choice reflected the global outlook of early Australian settlers, who often drew inspiration from far-flung corners of the British Empire.By the 1840s, Moulamein had established itself as more than just another pastoral outpost. There was a time when this tiny town was more important than Albury. It boasted a police court (records go back to 1845) and the town's chief constable was paid £105 a year – a substantial salary that reflected the settlement's importance as an administrative centre for the vast surrounding district.The early decades of European settlement were marked by rapid growth and increasing significance. Before Deniliquin was even proclaimed a township, prisoners were being brought to Moulamein for trial, establishing it as the region's first centre of colonial justice and administration. The courthouse, built in the 1840s, became a symbol of European law and order extending into the Australian frontier.During the wool boom of the 1870s and 1880s, Moulamein reached its peak. The town's position on the Edward River made it a crucial port for the thriving pastoral industry. Wool bales from vast sheep stations across the western Riverina were brought to Moulamein's wharves, where they were loaded onto riverboats bound for Adelaide and the international markets beyond. The streets bustled with drovers, merchants, publicans, and government officials. Hotels did roaring trade, and the town's business district expanded to serve not just local residents but visitors from across the region.The riverboat trade was the lifeblood of early Moulamein. Paddle steamers regularly navigated the Edward River, connecting the town to the Murray River system and from there to the port of Adelaide. These vessels carried more than just cargo – they brought news, mail, passengers, and manufactured goods to communities that would otherwise have remained isolated from the broader world. The sound of a steamer's whistle echoing across the red gum flats was the sound of connection to civilisation.Yet even as Moulamein prospered, the seeds of its eventual decline were being sown. The development of railway networks in the late 19th century began to change the economics of transport and trade. Towns with railway connections gained significant advantages over those dependent on river transport, which was subject to droughts, floods, and seasonal variations in water levels.More importantly, Moulamein's neighbours were beginning to outpace it in development and population. Deniliquin, proclaimed as a town in 1856, capitalised on its strategic position and better transport links to become the major centre of the central Riverina. Hay, further north, developed into a crucial railway junction. Balranald, to the west, secured its own railway connection in 1926. Even distant Wagga Wagga, initially much smaller than Moulamein, grew to become one of NSW's major inland cities.As the decades passed, Moulamein watched its younger neighbours surge ahead in terms of development, population, and economic importance. What was once the Riverina's administrative and commercial heart gradually became a quiet backwater. The courthouse that had once been the centre of justice for hundreds of square kilometres began handling fewer and fewer cases. The wharves that had once groaned under the weight of wool bales fell silent as trade moved to rail and road.The transformation was not immediate but rather a slow fade from prominence. Government offices relocated to larger centres. Banks closed their branches. The steamboat trade dwindled and eventually ceased altogether. Young people left for opportunities in bigger towns and cities, leaving behind an aging population and a diminishing economic base.By the mid-20th century, Moulamein had become something of a historical curiosity – a town whose greatest days lay firmly in the past. The grand buildings of its heyday began to show their age, and the bustling commercial district contracted to serve only local needs. Yet this decline preserved something valuable: Moulamein became a living museum of 19th-century Riverina life, its heritage buildings and quiet streets telling the story of Australia's rural development more clearly than any textbook.Today, visitors to Moulamein can still see evidence of its former importance. The old courthouse, carefully restored, stands as a reminder of the town's role as the Riverina's first centre of colonial administration. Historic buildings line the main street, their facades speaking of more prosperous times. The Edward River still flows past the town, though no steamboats disturb its waters now.The story of Moulamein is not merely one of decline, however. It is a fascinating case study in how geography, transport technology, and economic forces can transform a region's hierarchy of settlements. It demonstrates how quickly fortunes can change in rural Australia, and how towns that seem permanent and essential can be left behind by the march of progress.Local historians and community groups have worked hard to preserve Moulamein's unique heritage and to tell its story to a broader audience. They argue that the town's pioneering status deserves greater recognition, not just as a historical curiosity but as a reminder of the courage and enterprise of Australia's early settlers.Moulamein's legacy extends beyond its own boundaries. As the first European settlement in the Riverina, it was the seed from which the region's entire network of towns and cities eventually grew. Its early establishment of law courts, administrative offices, and commercial enterprises provided the template that other settlements would follow. In many ways, the success of later Riverina centres can be traced back to the foundations laid in this quiet town on the Edward River.For contemporary Australians, Moulamein offers valuable lessons about the nature of regional development and the importance of transport infrastructure. Its rise and relative decline illustrate how technological changes – from riverboats to railways to roads – can reshape entire regions. The town's story also highlights the resilience of rural communities, which continue to find ways to survive and maintain their identity even as their economic circumstances change.Perhaps most importantly, Moulamein reminds us that history is not always made in capital cities or major centres. Sometimes, the most significant developments occur in quiet places that few people have heard of – places where pioneers first established European settlement, where legal systems first took root, and where the patterns of Australian rural life were first established.The town that was first to rise was also first to experience the cycles of boom and bust that would characterise much of rural Australia. In that sense, Moulamein's story is not just the story of one forgotten town, but a preview of challenges and changes that many Australian communities would later face. Its pioneering status extends beyond chronology to encompass the entire experience of European settlement in the Australian interior.

How a remote NSW town became famous for living beneath the earthIn the harsh, unforgiving landscape of far western New South Wales, where summer temperatures routinely soar above 45 degrees Celsius and the red earth stretches endlessly toward distant horizons, the residents of White Cliffs found an ingenious solution to one of Australia's most challenging environments, they moved underground. What began as a practical response to extreme weather became one of the most unique communities in Australian history, earning White Cliffs its reputation as the continent's underground city.White Cliffs was established in the late 19th century when opal was discovered, and opal has been mined ever since. The town's story begins in 1884, when opal was first discovered in the area by kangaroo shooters who noticed the brilliant flashes of color in the sandstone outcrops. Word of the discovery spread quickly through the mining communities of NSW, and within months, prospectors were arriving from across Australia and beyond.The early years of White Cliffs were typical of Australian mining settlements, a rough, transient community of men seeking their fortunes in harsh conditions. What made White Cliffs different was not just the precious stones hidden in its hills, but the way its residents adapted to the extreme climate that made surface life almost unbearable for much of the year.The solution lay literally beneath their feet. The same soft sandstone that contained the opal deposits could be easily excavated to create cool, comfortable living spaces. The underground temperature remained constant at around 23 degrees Celsius year-round, regardless of the scorching heat or bitter cold on the surface. What began as temporary shelter for miners gradually evolved into permanent underground homes, creating a subterranean community unlike anywhere else in Australia.By 1901, the population was officially recorded at 1,500 people, though estimates suggested closer to 3,000 as many locals weren't keen for their whereabouts to be known. This discrepancy in population figures reflects the frontier character of early White Cliffs, where many residents preferred to remain anonymous to avoid unwanted attention from tax collectors, creditors, or law enforcement officials from more settled areas.The underground architecture of White Cliffs was remarkable for its sophistication and comfort. Unlike crude dugouts or temporary shelters, many of the underground homes were carefully planned and constructed with multiple rooms, proper ventilation systems, and even elaborate decorative features. Residents carved bedrooms, kitchens, living areas, and storage spaces directly into the hillsides, creating homes that were not only comfortable but often luxurious by mining camp standards.The underground lifestyle extended beyond individual homes to encompass entire commercial districts. Hotels were carved into rock faces, offering visitors the unique experience of sleeping in rooms that never saw direct sunlight. Underground restaurants served meals in dining rooms hewn from sandstone, while shops and services operated in subterranean spaces that maintained perfect temperatures regardless of surface conditions.The most famous of these underground establishments was the White Cliffs Hotel, a multi-story underground complex that became legendary throughout the mining districts of NSW. The hotel's underground bar and dining rooms could accommodate hundreds of guests, while its underground accommodation provided respite from the surface heat for travellers crossing the outback. The hotel's guest register included mining magnates, government officials, and international visitors drawn by curiosity about Australia's underground town.The engineering challenges of underground construction at White Cliffs were considerable but were met with remarkable ingenuity. Ventilation was achieved through carefully designed air shafts and cross-ventilation systems that drew cool air through the underground spaces. Drainage systems prevented flooding during the rare but intense rainfall events that could overwhelm the arid landscape. Structural integrity was maintained through the careful design of pillars and supports that prevented collapse while maximising living space.The opal mining that sustained White Cliffs was itself a remarkable industry. Unlike the large-scale industrial mining operations of gold or coal, opal mining remained largely a small-scale, individual enterprise. Miners worked alone or in small partnerships, following opal-bearing seams through the sandstone using hand tools and explosives. The work was dangerous and often unrewarding, but the possibility of discovering a valuable opal seam kept miners working in conditions that would have defeated less determined prospectors.The quality of opals found at White Cliffs was exceptional. The town produced some of Australia's finest white opals, prized for their brilliant play of color and clarity. These opals found their way to jewelry markets in Sydney, Melbourne, and eventually to international buyers in London, Paris, and New York. The reputation of White Cliffs opals helped establish Australia's position as the world's leading producer of precious opals.The social life of underground White Cliffs was as vibrant as any Australian mining town. The underground hotels and bars provided venues for entertainment, gambling, and socialising. Travelling performers and musicians found appreciative audiences in the underground venues, while local residents organised their own entertainment including underground dances, concerts, and theatrical performances. The constant temperature and acoustic properties of the underground spaces made them ideal venues for musical performances.The town's isolation contributed to its unique character. Located hundreds of kilometres from the nearest major settlement, White Cliffs developed its own social codes and customs. Law enforcement was minimal, and disputes were often settled according to the informal justice systems common in frontier communities. This independence from outside authority contributed to the town's appeal for individuals seeking to escape their pasts or avoid unwanted attention.Women played important roles in White Cliffs society, often as hotel keepers, storekeepers, and providers of essential services. The underground environment offered greater security and comfort for women than typical mining camps, and several women became successful business operators in their own right. The town's underground laundries, bakeries, and boarding houses were often run by women who recognised the commercial opportunities offered by the unique environment.The peak years of White Cliffs coincided with the broader Australian gold rush era, when mining towns across the continent were experiencing rapid growth and prosperity. However, White Cliffs' focus on opal mining rather than gold gave it a different character from other mining settlements. Opal mining required different skills and attracted a different type of prospector – often more patient and persistent than the get-rich-quick seekers drawn to gold rushes.The decline of White Cliffs began in the early decades of the 20th century, as easier opal deposits were exhausted and new discoveries elsewhere drew miners away. The town's remote location, which had initially protected it from outside interference, became a liability as transport and communication networks improved and more accessible mining opportunities became available.World War I marked a significant turning point, as many of the town's younger residents enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force. Those who survived the war often chose not to return to the isolation and hardship of outback mining, seeking instead the opportunities offered by Australia's growing cities and towns. The town's population began a steady decline that continued through the 1920s and 1930s.Despite its declining population, White Cliffs maintained its reputation for opal production. The remaining miners continued to work the deeper and more difficult deposits, often achieving remarkable success. Some of Australia's most famous opals were discovered at White Cliffs during these later years, including specimens that found their way into museum collections and royal jewelry.The Great Depression of the 1930s brought a temporary revival to White Cliffs, as unemployed men from cities and towns sought opportunities in the opal fields. The underground accommodation provided cheap shelter for these depression-era miners, and several significant opal discoveries were made during this period. However, this revival was temporary, and the town's population continued to decline through the mid-20th century.Today, White Cliffs exists as a fascinating relic of Australia's mining heritage. Many of the underground homes and businesses remain intact, preserved by the dry climate and stable underground environment. Some are still occupied by opal miners and their families, maintaining the town's connection to its mining origins. Others have been converted to tourist accommodation, allowing visitors to experience the unique sensation of living underground in the Australian outback.The town's underground infrastructure represents one of Australia's most remarkable examples of environmental adaptation. The residents of White Cliffs demonstrated that with ingenuity and determination, even the most challenging environments could be made habitable and comfortable. Their underground city stands as a testament to the resourcefulness and adaptability that characterised Australia's mining frontier.Contemporary White Cliffs continues to attract opal miners, though modern techniques and equipment have changed the nature of the work. Small-scale mining operations still discover valuable opals in the area, maintaining the town's reputation as one of Australia's premier opal-producing regions. The combination of ongoing mining activity and heritage tourism provides a modest economic base for the community that remains.For visitors to White Cliffs, the experience of staying in underground accommodation provides a unique perspective on Australian mining history and environmental adaptation. The constant temperature, acoustic properties, and visual impact of the underground spaces offer insights into a way of life that developed nowhere else in Australia. The town's story demonstrates how necessity can drive innovation and how isolation can foster unique community development.The legacy of White Cliffs extends beyond its contribution to Australia's opal industry. The town represents a unique solution to environmental challenges and demonstrates the lengths to which people will go to extract valuable resources from difficult terrain. Its underground architecture influenced other mining settlements and continues to inspire contemporary discussions about sustainable building and environmental adaptation.White Cliffs remains one of Australia's most extraordinary communities; a place where the search for precious opals led to architectural innovation, where the harsh outback environment was conquered by moving beneath it, and where a unique way of life developed in response to the challenges of one of the continent's most demanding landscapes.

Teenage bushranger, William Brookman was born at Tumut, New South Wales, in 1851. Brookman was not a prolific bushranger, nor is he particularly noted in most history books. He was a member of the gang of Jerry Duce, real name Williams, former lieutenant of Robert Cottrell aka Bluecap. Duce had formed his own gang after Bluecap was captured and they were high end bushrangers worthy of being counted alongside the Ben Hall Gang – at least for a while. Brookman is believed to have come from a respective family but on November 24, 1867, he in the company of John Payne, John Williams (Jerry Duce) and Edward Kelly (no relation to Ned), held up a race meeting at William Whittacker's store, Mossgiel Station, near Willandra. They took a considerable amount from about fifty spectators and while Payne and Kelly left, Brookman and Williams went over to the store. Constable McNamara, who was stationed at Booligal, was on the verandah and when the two men bailed him up he made a rush at Brookman. As they struggled Brookman's revolver went off, shat tering the constable’s wrist while another shot hit him in the back of the head. But two men, Peerman, the Mossgiel overseer, and Edward Crombie came to the constable's assis tance and helped overpower the two bushrangers. Placing them in a hut under guard, the police went into pursuit of Kelly and Payne. Payne was soon located and he led the police to Kelly's camp where he lay wounded from an earlier encounter with the law. Brookman was only seventeen years of age when he was charged on January 6, 1868, with wounding with intent to murder. He was convicted and sen tenced to death, but his sentence was commuted to fifteen years' penal servitude. It was said to have been his first and only attempt at highway robbery, and he had never previously been arrested or charged with any offence against the law. On January 16, 1868, the four men were tried at Deniliquin Court, whereupon Payne received twenty years gaol, Kelly thirty years, and Brookman and Williams were sentenced to death. The death penalty was later remitted to fifteen years on the road. Brookman served his prison sentence in Darlinghusrt Gaol, working alongside more notori ous Bushranger Frank Gardiner in the mat-making factory. On July 3, 1874, the Legislative Assembly of New South Wales carried out a lengthy debate on bushrangers, and it was recommended that Brookman be released on July 8, 1874. But his prison record shows that he received remittance of sentence on March 8, 1875.

A woman faced court on Boxing Day after police discovered her driving an unregistered vehicle while disqualified and subsequently refusing drug testing.The incident unfolded on Friday afternoon when Barrier Highway Patrol officers spotted a red Holden Commodore travelling north along Sulphide Street near Blende Street in Broken Hill. Officers recognised the vehicle from earlier in the day when they had seen it parked outside a nearby restaurant, and checks revealed its registration had been cancelled since October 2025.When police stopped the vehicle around 1:30pm, the driver was unable to produce a licence. She told officers she was disqualified from holding one. Further questioning established the vehicle was not being driven for any purpose that would exempt it from registration requirements.Police administered a breath test which returned a negative result for alcohol. However, when officers attempted to conduct a roadside drug test, the woman refused to comply. Despite being clearly warned that refusal constituted an offence, she maintained her position and was placed under arrest.The situation escalated at Broken Hill police station where the driver was required to provide an oral fluid sample for laboratory analysis. Once again, she refused to comply with the testing requirements.The woman now faces seven charges including driving while disqualified, two counts of refusing drug tests, using an unregistered and uninsured vehicle on the road, failing to return number plates after registration cancellation, and allowing an unregistered vehicle to stand.She was refused bail and appeared before court the following day on Saturday 27th December. The case highlights the serious consequences that can flow from compounding traffic offences, particularly when combined with refusing lawful police testing requirements.

In the far north-west corner of New South Wales, where the red dirt stretches endlessly towards South Australia and Queensland, sits Tibooburra, a town so remote that it exists more as an idea than a destination. With a population that rarely exceeds 200, it might seem unremarkable. But this tiny outpost has witnessed some of Australia's most harrowing tales of human endurance, cultural destruction, and colonial madness.The name Tibooburra comes from an Aboriginal word meaning "heap of rocks," but the town could just as easily be called "the place where dreams died." It has served as the backdrop for some of Australia's most tragic exploration stories, most notably Charles Sturt's nightmarish 1844 expedition in search of the mythical inland sea.Sturt and his 16-man expedition became trapped at Depot Glen, south of present-day Tibooburra, for six gruelling months during one of Australia's worst droughts. What was meant to be a glorious journey of discovery became a slow-motion disaster of starvation, dehydration, and psychological breakdown. Temperatures soared above 50 degrees Celsius, the wheels fell off their drays, and their livestock began dying one by one—11 horses and 30 bullocks perishing in the furnace-like heat.The expedition's survival depended on a single waterhole that gradually diminished as the drought continued. Men took turns standing guard over their precious water supply, knowing that its loss would mean certain death for all. They rationed water so strictly that each man was allowed only a small cup per day, forcing them to watch helplessly as their animals died of thirst around them.The men's journals from this period read like accounts from hell. They describe metal too hot to touch, water that evaporated before it could be drunk, and a landscape so hostile that it seemed designed to kill anything that dared cross it. Sturt himself suffered partial blindness from the glare and heat, while his second-in-command, John McDouall Stuart, was so affected by scurvy and exposure that he would bear the physical and psychological scars for the rest of his life.The psychological deterioration of the expedition members was documented in horrifying detail. Men began hallucinating, seeing lakes and rivers where none existed. Some became convinced they could hear the sound of flowing water, leading to desperate searches that ended in disappointment and further exhaustion. The constant heat and isolation drove several men to the brink of madness, with reports of violent outbursts and attempts at suicide.What makes their ordeal particularly haunting is the delusion that drove them there. Sturt was convinced that somewhere in the heart of Australia lay a vast inland sea—a geographical fantasy that had captured the imagination of colonial Australia. The expedition pushed deeper and deeper into the desert, chasing mirages both literal and metaphorical, until they found themselves trapped in a landscape that offered nothing but death.The myth of the inland sea was based on Aboriginal stories that European explorers had fundamentally misunderstood. Traditional accounts of seasonal lakes and wetlands had been transformed in the colonial imagination into permanent bodies of water that would unlock the agricultural potential of the interior. This cultural misinterpretation would cost lives and sanity for generations of explorers.The daily routine at Depot Glen became a ritual of survival. Men would dig frantically in dry creek beds, hoping to find underground water. They ate their leather boots and equipment when food ran out. Some tried to sustain themselves on native plants, often with disastrous results as they lacked knowledge of which species were safe to consume. The Aboriginal people of the area could have saved them, but the expedition members were too blinded by racial prejudice to seek help from those who understood the country.Equipment failure compounded their misery. The extreme heat caused their wagon wheels to split and fall apart, leaving them stranded with no means of transport. Their scientific instruments became useless as metal parts expanded and cracked in the heat. Even their compasses became unreliable as the heat affected the magnetic components, adding navigation errors to their mounting list of problems.Tibooburra also sits on the route of the Burke and Wills expedition, another tale of colonial hubris that ended in death and disaster. The town has become an unwitting monument to the deadly consequences of European attempts to master the Australian interior—a graveyard of expeditions that pushed too far into country they didn't understand.The Burke and Wills expedition passed through the Tibooburra region in 1860, leaving behind a trail of abandoned equipment and dead animals. Their story parallels Sturt's experience—European explorers convinced they could conquer the desert through willpower and superior technology, only to discover that the landscape recognised no such claims to superiority.But perhaps the most haunting chapter in Tibooburra's history occurred in 1938, when almost the entire remaining Aboriginal population was forcibly relocated by the Aborigines Protection Board. In a single bureaucratic stroke, thousands of years of continuous cultural connection to country were severed. Families were torn apart and sent to distant places like Brewarrina and Menindee, effectively erasing an ancient culture from its homeland overnight.The forced relocations were carried out with military efficiency. Aboriginal people were given no choice and no notice, government officials simply arrived one day and loaded entire families onto trucks. Children were separated from parents, elders were removed from the sacred sites they were responsible for maintaining, and traditional knowledge holders were scattered across the state like seeds on barren ground.The cultural impact of these relocations cannot be overstated. The Aboriginal people of the Tibooburra region were the custodians of songlines that stretched across vast distances, connecting sacred sites and maintaining spiritual connections between widely separated communities. When the people were removed, these ancient highways of meaning became abandoned, their songs forgotten and their significance lost to future generations.Government records from the time reveal the callous efficiency of the removal process. Officials described Aboriginal people as "assets" to be relocated for their own good, showing complete ignorance of the spiritual and cultural connections that bound them to specific places. The same bureaucratic mentality that treated European explorers as heroes treated Aboriginal people as inconvenient obstacles to progress.The forced relocations represent a form of cultural murder that is difficult to comprehend. The Aboriginal people of the Tibooburra region had survived ice ages, droughts, and the initial waves of European settlement. They had maintained their connection to country through ceremonies, songlines, and traditional knowledge that stretched back over 40,000 years. The Protection Board destroyed this in a matter of months, using the same brutal efficiency that characterised Aboriginal policy across Australia.Traditional ecological knowledge was lost forever when the people were removed. The Aboriginal inhabitants of the Tibooburra region possessed detailed understanding of seasonal patterns, water sources, and food availability that had been refined over millennia. This knowledge could have prevented the disasters that befell European explorers, but it was dismissed as primitive superstition and systematically destroyed through forced removal and cultural suppression.Today, visitors to Tibooburra might see it as a quaint outback town with a historic pub and a few tourist attractions. But the landscape holds memory in ways that European minds struggle to comprehend. Every rock formation, every waterhole, every ridge was once part of a living cultural map that connected people to country across vast distances. The silence that now characterises much of the region is not natural—it's the silence left behind when cultures are destroyed and people are removed from the landscapes that gave their lives meaning.The town's museum displays artefacts from failed expeditions alongside Aboriginal tools and weapons, creating an inadvertent monument to the collision between European ambition and Indigenous wisdom. The contrast is stark—sophisticated traditional implements designed for survival in harsh conditions displayed next to the broken remnants of European technology that failed catastrophically in the same environment.Modern Tibooburra continues to challenge visitors with its remoteness and harsh conditions. The town regularly experiences temperatures above 45 degrees Celsius, and the nearest major centre is hundreds of kilometres away. Mobile phone coverage is non-existent in many areas, and mechanical breakdowns can quickly become life-threatening emergencies. The landscape that defeated 19th-century explorers continues to demand respect from modern travellers.The irony of Tibooburra is that the same remoteness that made it attractive to colonial authorities as a place to dump unwanted people also made it impossible for those people to maintain their cultural connections. Aboriginal families relocated to Tibooburra from other regions found themselves culturally adrift, cut off from their traditional countries and unable to properly care for the sacred sites around their new home.The town's tiny population today reflects its role as a place where people come to disappear, sometimes voluntarily, sometimes not. It sits in country that has claimed explorers, displaced cultures, and swallowed dreams with equal efficiency. The red dirt around Tibooburra is more than soil—it's a repository of Australian stories too dark and complex for most history books.In the harsh mathematics of the outback, Tibooburra represents a simple equation: isolation plus hubris equals tragedy. Whether applied to delusional explorers searching for inland seas or government officials destroying ancient cultures, the result is always the same—suffering amplified by distance from help, witnesses, or accountability.The heap of rocks that gave Tibooburra its name has become a metaphor for the town itself, a pile of broken dreams, shattered cultures, and failed expeditions, sitting alone under the vast indifferent sky of the Australian interior.

The first mail between Deniliquin and Lang’s Crossing left for the Murrumbidgee on August 14, 1859. The contractors were Marshall and Waring, storekeepers of Deniliquin. Their rumble was a sort of cross between a bullock wagon and a spring cart, was an excellent set up, but proved equal to the requirements of the mail service even if it was a little rough on the occasional passenger who was compelled to use it. Residents at Lang’s Crossing were overjoyed when the mail service first came into play.The mail delivery had covered the distance in about 30 hours, impressive for the times. Previously, mail arrived weekly by horseback from Wagga. This was a significant advance, meaning that Lang’s Crossing could get communications to with Deniliquin twice a week, which in turn had communication with Melbourne twice weekly. Marshall and Waring seem to have disposed of the mail contract to Richard Hill, who is recorded as running a conveyance to Hay. On 12 October 1860, Thomas Grace placed a coach in opposition on the Hay and Lachlan run, starting at 5am every Monday, to which Hill replied by buying Bevan’s Deniliquin-Moama run and extending an improved new service to Hay. In March 1862, Cobb bought Hill’s interests and maintained the line for the next 38 years. Crossing the Murrumbidgee in 1859 was affected by means of Leonard’s punt, and it was not until March 1863 that a pontoon bridge was erected. This was used for eleven years until a permanent bridge was opened on August 29 1874. Hay was considered the Riverina headquarters of Cobb & Co in the 1860’s through its geographical position. It radiated lines to Deniliquin, Narrandera, Wagga Wagga, Lake Cargelligo, Gunbar, Booligal. Hillston, Ivanhoe, Balranald, Wilcannia, Mossgiel and Moulamein. For the 76-mile stretch between Deniliquin and Hay, apart from starting and stopping places, there were five changing stations, one every 17 miles. These were located at Pretty Pine, Boree, the Black Swamp, Booroorban, and the 16-Mile Gums. When Cobb took the mail contract over from Richard Hill, their reputation made it a lot harder for themselves. Hill had been given fourteen hours for the trip, but Cobb was immediately placed on a twelve-hour time limit, with heavy penalties for time overdue. In the winter, Cobb protested that the roads were poor and the penalties were costing them £15 to £20 per week. In poor weather it sometimes took sixteen to twenty hours for the trip. At one time Cobb had suspended running the coach altogether. A local committee, comprising Henry Shiell, Thomas Darchy, and eighteen other gentlemen, wrote to Cobb insisting on the twelvehour limit and pointing out that the horses were regularly stable-fed and the run could be reduced to ten hours.Autumn of 1878 was very wet, with Hay receiving upwards of seven inches of rain. First Mail arrives at Lang’s Crossing From the “Pastoral Times” Deniliquin, in a Cobb & Co Special Edition, 10 September 1963 Deniliquin, a raft had been constructed to ferry over the travellers. A squatter residing forty miles north of Deniliquin, took two days to ride into our town from his station. He left one horse (he was riding one and leading another) stuck in a bog, the water coming over the horse’s back, the rider being obliged to wade through the water which was chest high. Cobb’s coach between Deniliquin and Hay had for the present ceased to run. One of Cobb’s vehicles was stuck on the Old Man Plain, where it remained until the waters subsided. Deniliquin rainfall for February was 739 points, whilst a further 888 points in March gave a good start for a record 28 inches for that year. Mail contracts for 1869 were announced as follows: Wagga Deniliquin 180 miles, four times weekly, horseback, £1195, R Powell and T Beveridge. Moulamein Balranald via Wakool, 110 miles twice weekly, horseback, £400 – R Smith. Hay-Deniliquin 80 miles, three times weekly, £1000 – Cobb & Co.Deniliquin-Echuca, 50 miles, six times weekly, £1000 – Cobb & Co. In 1914, the Hay mail contract was announced in November as follows: “Mr Jas. Robinson, proprietor of the Finley, Jerilderie and Moulamein mail coaches, was the successful tenderer for the £1250 for the Hay-Deniliquin mail service for a period of five years. The contract provides for a motor and coach service.” In March 1914, a news item announced that James Robinson, mail contractor, had purchased a new chain-driven Fiat motor bus in Melbourne for use in connection with his mail service. The new bus was to arrive in about a fortnight, and Mr Robinson would then have two motor cars (a Talbot and Flanders) and two motor buses (Commer and Fiat) besides coaches and horses available for his coach services and for hire. Although the records state that the drought was the cause of the transition to motor transport in 1914, ‘oldtimers’ give the cause as shortage of manpower. Bert Smith, of Hay, who was running the Deniliquin-Hay line at the time had to drive the coaches himself, and as some of the changing stations were unmanned, was obliged to roundup and harness the new horses himself. It was usual, he stated, to run cars in the dry weather, but revert to horses in the winter. By 1916 the Model T Ford was being used on the Hay run. Up to 1918 Bert Smith was operating from the Hay depot, and Gus Pollard from Deniliquin. At this time Pollard won the contract from Smith Simpson and Smith retired as a driver. Cars did not finally supersede horses until 1918.’ The article is associated with this well-known (below) photograph from The Riverine Grazier archives, and has the following caption. “The Hay mail coach in 1908. From left – Tom Skene (driver), Vic Heinz (gate opener), and standing, JC Smith (owner) and H Proctor (coach builder).” The driver of the right-hand coach in the picture is Andrew “The Whip” Pedrana, grandfather of Lorraine Silvester, who returned to Hay with her husband to live in the old Pedrana home in Moppett Street, after her father, Bill, passed away. Not only that, Lorraine identified the boy on the coach next to her grandfather, as Hughie Cook, the gate-opener on that particular occasion. Lorraine also reported that Andrew Pedrana, during a trip from White Cliffs to Wilcannia, was held up by a bike-riding bushranger! MAIL COACH STUCK UP AND ROBBED A Bushranger on a Bicycle From the ‘Town and Country Journal’, September 1901. A bushranger of up-to-date ideas stuck up a mail coach five miles from White Cliffs on Sunday night. His novelty consisted in the using a bicycle for his departure. The robber stood at a gate on the road, and on Kanter, a photographer, beginning to open the gate, shot him through the arm. He then rifled mail, and opened the baskets containing opal, and made up a parcel, and rode away towards White Cliffs. One bag, containing valuable opal, and one mail bag, containing a large amount of money for the savings bank, were missed by him, being in the boot of the coach. There were two male passengers and a woman. One passenger had £120, and the others smaller amounts, but they were not interfered with. The man wounded is not seriously hurt. On the arrival of the coach at Wilcannia, the driver, Pedrana, and Mr Kanter were interviewed. Andrew Pedrana, the driver, said, “We reached the Five-mile gate without incident. Mr Kanter got down to open the gate. I heard a shot, and Mr Kanter called out, ‘My God, I’m shot.’ “A man in an overcoat, a cap, and a mask then came forward, presenting a revolver. “I said, ‘Don’t shoot me’. He said ‘I won’t shoot you, but I want the brass’. “I said, ‘I’m not going on’, and tied the reins to the brake, and got down. “Miss Addy Ortloff, a passenger, was on the box seat beside me, and remained there all the time. Mr Rosanove got out, and stood next to Mr Kanter and me. “I started cutting up tobacco, but the man quickly demanded my knife. He then ripped open the bags and baskets, tearing open letters and packets, and strewing the contents on the road. “This took more than an hour. He then made up a bag, and put in it some of the contents of the mail. “This seemed pretty heavy, and, I think, contained a lot of packets of opal. Having done this, he said, ‘You can go now’. “I said, ‘Can I take these things?’ He said, ‘Do as you like with them.’ He took his bike and started off in the direction of White Cliffs.“The passengers resumed their places, and we drove on, leaving the mails and bags on the road. We reached Tarella about half-past three, and informed the owner, Mr Edward Cato who undertook to communicate at once with the Police at the Cliffs and gather up the remnants of the mail.” Mr Gustav Kanter, who is an assayer and photographer, at White Cliffs gave a similar account of the affair with fuller details as to the shooting, which he thus described – “When I got close to the gate I was fired at by a tall masked man who sprang from behind a gate post. He gave no warning. The shot struck me in the right forearm. “When shot I ran behind the leaders, calling out to the driver, ‘I am shot through the arm’, so as to warn him. “The man then went to the opposite side of the horses, and covered the driver with his revolver.” The robber is described as a strongly built man between 5’10” and 6’ high.” The report in the Adelaide Chronicle of 2 September 1901, has more details. “Calling at the Tarella homestead, the manager, Mr EP Quinn, was informed of the occurrence, and he thereupon rode back to White Cliffs, reaching that place at 4.30 this morning. Sergeant Nolan and Trooper Perry at once proceeded to the scene of the sticking-up, which is a spot lying between two low ranges and within half a mile of a large garden kept by a firm of Chinese. About 20 yards from the gate the ground was strewn with opened letters and packets, the contents of the crates. About £4000 worth of crossed cheques was in transit to different banks. Numbers of these cheques were scattered in all directions. Parcels were also flung away off the road, as if in disgust. The boot of the coach contained sealed and insured boxes of opal going home, but these the robber overlooked in his hurry. When the Police received the first information of the crime, in going back over the road, discovered the tracks of a bicycle only recently ridden from the scene of the robbery. A shower of rain falling through the night obscured all the former tracks, and it was therefore assumed that the highwayman came back to White Cliffs after perpetrating his daring crime. A man named Pyne, aged 20, has been arrested on suspicion of being concerned in the robbery. Pyne left White Cliffs, riding a bicycle, about 4pm on Sunday, and is said to have camped in the vicinity of the place where the robbery occurred, but went back again to the town. He was seen at White Cliffs at 8 o’clock, and returned later to his camp. He missed his way, and arrived at the gates at the time when the highwayman had the coach bailed up. He was ordered to stand along with the others. Pyne was taken on to Tarella with the others, and came back with Mr Quinn to the gate, remaining with the bags until the arrival of the Police. It is doubtful, therefore, if he was connected with the sticking up.It is estimated that there was £8000 worth of treasure on the coach at the time of the robbery. It is not known how much opal was taken, but £1400 in notes was taken. Many of the registered letters containing money were missed by the robber in his hurry. Amongst the articles stolen was a valuable opal brooch, intended as a wedding present, sent by an opal buyer. The robber did not ask the passengers to turn out their pockets. Mr Kanter had £120 in a handbag. This he deftly hung on the names of the horse after being shot. The townspeople of White Cliffs are not surprised at the robbery, as they have long marvelled that coaches carrying so much treasure were allowed to travel the long journey unmolested. Sub-Inspector Hojel, with a posse of police and a black tracker, arrived in White Cliffs last night, and is acting in conjunction with Sergeant Nolan and the local police, in scouring the surrounding country in search of the highwayman. Fred Pyne, the young man who was arrested, was brought before the court this morning and remanded for seven days. It is expected that further arrests of a sensational nature will be made, but so far, no clue to the actual robber has been found, owing to his having successfully covered up his tracks by returning to the town. Mr EP Quinn states that he followed the Bicycle track all the way from the gate to Opal Street. The tracks turned off in front of the Royal Hotel, went down Opal Lane, passed the Working Men’s Club and onto Miller and Byers’ veranda, where the rider got on dry ground, and evidently carried his bike to his camp and planted the spoil. The shower of rain which fell soon after the robbery made the tracks distinct, and they were easily followed. FOLLOWING IN FATHER’S DUST. (from the Rockhampton Morning Bulletin December 1947) Where 60 years ago, a Cobb and Co driver, the late Andy Pedrana, was raising the dust on the Hay-Deniliquin Road, his son now drives the mail. As driver of one of the famous Cobb and Co’s mail coaches, Andy’s timing was considered brilliant. It took seven changes of a six-horse team to get the coach over 80 miles in twelve hours. Today his son, Bill Pedrana, is carrying on the good work as mail coach driver, but six times faster.

They come from one of Hay's success stories - Bob Biggs senior who started off delivering newspapers and ended up the proprietor of the Ampol complex in Macauley Street (now Caltex) and a school bus company before retiring to the NSW north coast in 1979. But it was a long road to success. Long hard work, and little pay. Bob was born in Church Street, East Hay on September 1, 1915. “My first job - I was a little bloke then - was as a paper boy for A.O. Best Newsagents. “When I was nine, I progressed to delivering milk for Fred Tapscott after school. I left school when I was 13. I was ready to go to high school but my mother couldn’t afford the clothes.“So I went to Yeadon Station and worked there for around ten months earning seventeen shillings and sixpence a week. It was the depression years and work became very scarce. My brother Jack and I were forced to "go on the dole. “My mother was laundress at the hospital for 24 years and a very proud woman. She didn’t want anyone in town to know her sons were getting the dole, so Jack and I took our push bikes and swags and headed for Griffith where we went on the dole. Every Thursday we would go to the Police Station and be given three tickets with a total value of six shillings and eight pence. They were for the baker, butcher, and grocer. We managed by cutting bindis and raking up the yard for the baker in exchange for yesterday’s cakes. And the butcher never refused us an extra sausage for a bit" "of cleaning up.”"Bob was away for a year when he decided to return to Hay.The first few nights he got out of bed to sleep on the floor, not being used to sleeping in a bed. He then worked for the Naughton family at ‘Booligal’ Station for a while and later at ‘Freshwater’.“I then returned to Booligal where I helped dipping sheep and learned to drive a one-ton Chevrolet truck. That was my first taste of trucking, and something which I loved for the rest of my life. “There was a Mounted Police officer stationed at Booligal, Constable Beach. One of my jobs was to dress a sheep and take it into the Police station to hang in the meathouse. One day the Constable asked me how old I was. “When I told him I was 16, he said ‘You’d better be 17. Come in and I’ll give you your driving licence’. That is how I got my licence! “I also used to drive A Model Ford utility for Arch Hennessy, a store keeper from Booligal, going to Hay three times each week to get bread from Beissel’s Bakery in Alma street. These were kept in three chaff bags. "The bread was red-hot and the bags had to sit on special racks so the bread didn’t get squashed.” Bob was witness to the de-licensing of the One Tree Hotel, some sixty years ago. “Frank McQuade senior was the licensee. “His clients had to use the wagon as a toilet, and when the inspector came around one day and told himto build proper toilets, ‘Stick it’. Frank lost his license."Bob also worked with O J Smith, the well-known shearing contractor; with Jim Calderwood’s horse team forming the Balranald road and with Jim White and his son ‘Sharper’ on building the Mulwala Canal at Berrigan. “We used a three-quarter yard scoop behind eight horses abreast,” he remembers. “At Christmas we all came home and I got a job at Ashley’s Motors as a grease boy. I loved it but earned only £1-10-0 a week while I was getting £1-10-0 at the canal. My father tried to talk me into staying where the bigger money was, but I wanted to go into motors. So he told me I could stay at home, provided I paid my mother £1 per week, leaving me with 10/-. “ Through his work at the garage, Bob came to work with Col Greaves who operated a transport business, carting wool to Melbourne. “They were short of a driver one day and borrowed me. I loved it and never went back into the garage. I stayed on the trucks.”"When Bob married Mavis Pocock in 1937, he was working at ‘Boonoke’ with Col Greaves, carting fodder to ‘Moonbria’ for the late Mac Falkiner. “I went to Mr. Mac and told him I loved my work but wanted to be with my family in Hay. He told me that he couldn’t build another home on the property as he had just built one for Col. In the end, he told me he could quite understand my situation. He wished me luck and gave me a cheque for £100 - a lot of money in those days. He was a good man to work for, but my home was in Hay.” Bob was set up for business when he returned to Hay with his £100 cheque. He had also been given an old semi-trailer by Mr. Mac as well as an old prime mover by Col Greaves. “Over the years I missed quite a few dinners, but never booked anything up,” he said. “We built a small house where Caltex stands today, and gradually added to the complex. When the aerodrome was pulled down in West Hay and the hangar was shifted to Lachlan street to become the Memorial Hall, I got hold of the two bearers and used them to make my own wool dump. “The bearers and decking for the drum shed were part of the police horse stables. And when the Memorial Hall burnt down, I bought the remains for £5. “With the help of my father, it took a bit of cleaning, but we were able to use the outside stairs and some of the iron. “The water tanks I sold for £15 each. “My dump held all the wool we carted as well as anything that came up from Melbourne. I loved life as a truckie.” A big break came Bob’s way when Alf Ashley senior wanted petrol carted from Melbourne. He helped Bob buy a new Fargo truck, to which was added a tray. When sheep were carted, Bob hired a wooden crate from Hay Motor Company. “I got a lot of help, mainly from station people and we were doing quite well until petrol rationing came in. I was told I was limited to 44 gallons each month (had been going through 500 a month) and that I must fix a charcoal burner to my truck as well. They were terribly dirty things and I wouldn’t fit one on my new truck. “So I decided to enlist in the Army. That was 1941 and Arthur Squires was my recruiting officer. So myself and several others went down to Sydney to enlist. We all passed medical except Harry Cox and Snow Marr. I had one month’s leave to wind up my business.” Bob became an Army driving instructor, teaching others to drive heavy vehicles and machinery at West Maitland. "The next three years were spent in Western Australia waiting for the Japanese to land. “They didn’t. So we were brought back in 1945. When I returned home, I got the truck out and started my transport all over again. Over time, we added to our complex and finished building it up to what it is today. In 1954 I became an agent for Ampol.” Bob’s trucks were also used to transport foot- ball teams and groups of people such as the Hay Band. “I will never forget the day we took the Band to the Narrandera Band Sunday, all the local players and 38 instruments. Mr. Constantine was the Band Master. He was music-mad and he used to live at Bishop’s Lodge. On this day Hay won the competition outright and Finley came second. There were bands from everywhere. “On the way back, it started to rain. It rained two inches and there was no bitumen between Hay and Narrandera. It was a mud track all the way. We had chains on the back wheels and at Darlington Point we stopped in front of the hotel and slept on the verandah. Some slept under the bridge. “I gave old Mr. Constantine my bed in the truck. “The next day we were given a bucket of tea and some toast by the publican. “That was all the food they had as many others had camped there the night too. “In return, the band got out their instruments and played some music on the verandah of the hotel. I can remember Ronnie Wall playing the cornet. “Darlington Point had never seen anything like it. It was wonderful.”Bob sold his Ampol business to Michael Bradley in June 1973 who subsequently sold it to Reg O’Brien. His house and school bus business was sold to the Derrig family. “When we decided to leave town we had a send-off every night for two weeks. “I still return to Hay to visit my son Bob and family. “This is where I worked hard to enjoy a good retirement. “But home today is Forster, where I still have the Cup won for kicking the most goals (35) in the Wednesday afternoon half-holiday com-petition." "Work bloody hard and lay off the grog and drugs. Those are the words of wisdom for today’s youth who want to make a success of their lives."

The information used to create this recount of murder on Wyndowinal Station, and the resultant detaining of the suspect at Balranald lock up, was published in the Pastoral Times, Deniliquin Newspaper on Saturday July 10, 1875.The headline read, SUPPOSED MURDER (FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.)It details depositions taken at a magisterial inquiry held by R.B. Mitchell, Esq., P.M. at Wyndowinal Station, on Sunday, June 27 1875, concerning the death of George Adams, who died at that station the night before. Phillip Bennett MoonPhillip Bennett Moon, superintendent of Wyndowinal Station, was the first of three people to make a statement under oath.“I recognise the body to be that of a man called George Adams, who was a cook in my employ.,” Moon said.“I last saw him alive yesterday morning, 26 June instant. The man was then to all appearance in robust health. “He was a man about forty years of age, and, so far as I am aware, of sober habits. I never knew him to be subject to fits of any description. As a rule, the man is known to be quarrelsome with other men in the kitchen. He was not a man that made friends.” “A Chinaman, known by the name of Charley, has been messing in the kitchen with the cook for the last three days; both of them used to have their meals together, and he has been the only one during this time messing with the cook.”Moon had discovered the death of Adams when he received a letter while he was at Waldaira Station, sent by William O’Hara, along with allegations detailed in the letter, that the ‘Chinaman Charley’, had poisoned him. The Police Magistrate for the district was at Waldaira at the time, Moon shared the news with him, and the pair immediately left for Wyndowinal. William James O’HaraWilliam James O'Hara, 21, lived at the station, and was engaged as a youth learning colonial experience. His testimony was quite lengthy, having had the most interaction that evening with Adams, before and after he exhibited signs of illness.As O’Hara was suffering from a headache on June 26, he was at the station all that day. “I was not out on the run, and I had frequent opportunities of seeing the cook during the day,” he said in his testimony.“The cook was busily employed all day scrubbing rooms in the house. He gave me my dinner as usual about one o'clock, and at about a quarter past six o'clock he brought me in my supper.  “At that time, nor during any part of the day, the cook did not complain of any illness. A little after seven o'clock the cook cleared the things from my table.”After Adams had taken away O’Hara’s supper dishes, O’Hara laid on the sofa for fifteen minutes. The cook came back in, and asked the younger man if he was going to sleep there all night. O’Hara said no, and then noticed that Adams had a plate in his hand. “He came over to me, and, pushing the plate right under my nose, said with great excitement, "The bastard Chinaman has poisoned me!" I jumped up and advised the cook to swallow an emetic at once,” O’Hara reported in his deposition.“The cook put the plate into the cupboard, and said, “Keep this and get it analysed, for I will be dead in the morning.” Adams went back to the kitchen, and came back in five minutes yelling to O’Hara to get him an emetic, and that his legs were failing him. He then collapsed, saying that he had been poisoned.“I asked him what proof had he that the Chinaman had poisoned him,” O’Hara said.“He said that when he left the kitchen the first time to clear away the things his turnip-tops were all right, but that upon his return they were as bitter as gall.”O’Hara then carried Adams into the kitchen, undressed him, and put him to bed. At this time, Adams was still conscious, and accusing the Chinaman of poisoning him.“I did not see the Chinaman during all this time — he seemed to keep out of the way,” O’Hara said.“I gave Adams two emetics; he swallowed both of them, each one consisted of a small cup full of warm water, with a teaspoonful of mustard therein mixed. “The man vomited some turnips, and also, I think, what appeared like sauce (tomato sauce is in the kitchen); he told me while lying on his bed that the Chinaman dished the turnips for the kitchen, and pressed the water from them with the lid of the saucepan; he did not tell me whether the Chinaman had eaten any of them likewise.”Adams died in the presence of O’Hara, beginning to suffer from strong convulsive fits, drawing his body up to his head, and vomiting at the same time, with hard spasmodic breathings at intervals. “The poor man died at last seemingly from exhaustion,” O’Hara said.“A few minutes before his death he asked me to turn him round, and in the act of doing so he died. The saucepan that the turnip-tops were boiled in was made of iron, and not of copper. I made a hearty meal of the turnip-tops at supper.”O’Hara reported in his testimony that Adams died an hour and a half from the time he brought O’Hara the plate of the turnip-tops, and first said the Chinaman had poisoned him. “I heard the Chinaman and the cook talking together in an angry tone on Friday night, the night before the cook suddenly died,” O’Hara said.O’Hara was the second person to report that Adams was of a ‘quarrelsome disposition’, and had fought with two men on the station, besides the Chinaman, and that Nobody, with the exception of the Chinaman, messed (worked) with the cook for three days up to his death. “After Adams died, I brought the Chinaman into the kitchen, and showed him the dead body of his recent messmate. The Chinaman cried very much. “Whilst the cook was dying. I heard the Chinaman make a noise as if trying to vomit. He was in a hut about ten yards from the kitchen, and the dying man made a remark that it was the Chinaman's cunningness. “The Chinaman did not come to see the cook whilst he was dying. Stewart also made the name remark when he heard the Chinaman attempting to vomit, that it was cunningness that prompted him to do so.”The Chinaman goes by the name of Charley, has only been three days on the station, and is employed as gardener. I have never heard Adams complain that he was ever subject to fits. He has told me that he has been a great drunkard in his time, but he could obtain no liquor on the station. William StewartBy the time that William Stewart, a carpenter residing on Wyndowinal station, came across the incident, Adams had already been put to bed by Mr O’Hara, and this is, where Stewart’s testimony began.Adams, Stewart claimed, had said to Stewart that he was very ill, and told him the Chinaman had poisoned him.“I asked him how, and he said, I had some cabbage, and whilst I was out with Mr. O’Hara, I believe be (alluding to the Chinaman) put some poison into it,” Stewart said.“I then went and had a cup of tea, and on my return, I found Adams very sick and throwing up. “When I went into the hut where the Chinaman was, I saw the Chinaman pretending to be sick.”Stewart is allowed to make his own conclusions in the statement, as he claims to have searched for evidence of the Chinaman vomiting, and found none. Stewart reported that Adams remained quite sensible up to his death, and more than half-a-dozen times said to him that he had been poisoned by the Chinaman. “I went to bring the Chinaman face to face with Adams, but upon my return with the Chinaman Adams was dead,” Stewart said.“As he lay dead, I said to the Chinaman " What have you been giving that man?" and he replied that cabbage made him sick, that he (the Chinaman) also ate a little of it, but found it very bitter, and threw it out of his mouth." “The Chinaman cried very much, and wanted to explain that he did not do it, but the Chinaman cannot speak English so as to be understood.”The Pastoral Times article said that the Police Magistrate decided that his opinion was that Mr George Adams died from murder by poison, administered to him by one Charley, a Chinaman, and he ordered Charley, the Chinaman into custody upon suspicion of murder by poison.Due to the isolation of Windowinal, an immediate post mortem examination was not possible. The Police Magistrate ordered the plate of turnip tops to be sealed up in his presence, all of the vomit from the victim be scraped up and collected, and the deceased to be temporarily buried, with an exhumation being conducted at a later date if required.‘Chinaman Charley’ committed suicide in the Balranald lock up before any formal investigations could be made, and concrete conclusions drawn in the case. Was it guilt or despair that drove him to commit that act. Mr Adams was, according to the depositions of all witnesses, a quarrelsome man who was not well liked, and had altercations with at least two other people on the property. Adams and Charley were heard by O’Hara, the 21-year-old, arguing Friday, the night before the murder.Chinaman Charley was on the property a short time, three days, according to the testimony of Mr O’Hara. Nobody saw Charley committing the act, it was an assumption made by Adams, who did not elaborate on the reasons why he would assume it was indeed Charley. Is three days a long enough time for a grudge or quarrel to drive a man to murder, or did someone see the opportune circumstances and decide to take action, and blame it on ‘Chinaman Charley?’ A mystery which, unfortunately, will never be solved.

NSW Nationals MP Jamie Chaffey has criticised the federal government's announcement of a national gun buyback scheme, warning that rushed changes to gun legislation will adversely impact law-abiding regional gun owners and small business operators.Following Prime Minister Anthony Albanese's announcement of the largest gun buyback scheme since John Howard's 1996 plan in the wake of the Port Arthur massacre, Mr Chaffey expressed serious concerns about restrictions or limits that may be imposed on licensed owners in regional areas."Any changes to our gun laws are merely Labor's attempt to divert attention or discussion from the reality of what is primarily antisemitism," Mr Chaffey said. "It's not the guns, it's Islamic extremism in our suburbs."The Member for Parkes described the horrific acts that took place at Bondi Beach on Sunday, December 14, 2025, as premeditated acts of terror against a peaceful Jewish community celebrating Hanukkah.Mr Chaffey called on the government to prioritise combating antisemitism and intelligence failures rather than punishing law-abiding, responsible gun owners. "Australia should be confronting the guilty, not punishing the innocent," he said.Although the final details of the buyback scheme have not yet been released, Mr Chaffey said he remains very concerned about the potential impact on regional communities and those whose livelihoods depend on firearm access."I will continue to monitor developments in this space and hold the Labor Government accountable for the way they have responded and continue to respond to this tragedy and the rise of antisemitism in our great nation," Mr Chaffey said.The NSW Nationals have opposed the state government's gun reform legislation, with the party stating it will not support a bill that uses gun reforms as a political tool rather than addressing the real issue of antisemitism.

Whilst Australian children check under their eucalyptus trees for presents and families prepare seafood barbecues on sweltering beaches, the rest of the world celebrates Christmas in ways that reflect their unique cultures, climates, and histories, creating a fascinating global tapestry of traditions that would surprise many who think their own Christmas is the "normal" one.In Japan, Christmas isn't a public holiday and only about one per cent of the population is Christian, yet the country has embraced Christmas as a romantic occasion for couples rather than a family affair. The most peculiar tradition is the wildly popular custom of eating Kentucky Fried Chicken on Christmas Eve, a marketing triumph that began in the 1970s and now requires families to order their Christmas KFC weeks in advance or queue for hours. Christmas Eve in Japan resembles Valentine's Day in other countries, with couples exchanging gifts and going on romantic dates, whilst Christmas Day is just another working day for most people. The illuminations and decorations in Japanese cities are spectacular, transforming places like Tokyo and Osaka into glittering wonderlands, but they're more about creating a romantic atmosphere than any religious observance.Ethiopia celebrates Christmas on 7th January according to the Julian calendar, and the celebration, known as Ganna, is deeply religious and quite different from Western traditions. Ethiopians attend church services that can last for three hours or more, standing throughout as Ethiopian Orthodox churches traditionally have no seats. The day before Ganna, people fast, and then on Christmas morning they dress in traditional white clothing called netela and attend the church service. After church, they return home to break their fast with a feast that includes doro wat, a spicy chicken stew, and injera, the spongy sourdough flatbread that's central to Ethiopian cuisine. There's no gift-giving tradition, and the day is more about spiritual reflection and community than commercial celebration.In Venezuela, the capital city of Caracas has one of the world's most unusual Christmas traditions, with residents roller-skating to early morning church services on Christmas Day. The tradition is so popular that streets are closed to traffic in many neighbourhoods, allowing families to skate safely to church. Children go to bed with one end of a string tied to their toe and the other end hanging out the window, so their friends can tug on it as they skate past in the morning, waking them up to join the journey to church. After the service, families return home for a breakfast that includes hallacas, a traditional dish similar to tamales, made with cornmeal dough stuffed with a mixture of beef, pork, chicken, olives, and raisins, all wrapped in plantain leaves.Norway's Christmas traditions stretch from 23rd December to 6th January, with Little Christmas Eve on the 23rd marking the beginning of festivities. Families hide their brooms on Christmas Eve because, according to Norwegian folklore, witches and evil spirits come out on Christmas Eve to steal brooms for riding. Many Norwegians still leave a bowl of porridge in the barn for the nisse, a mischievous but generally benevolent gnome-like creature who watches over the farm. Christmas dinner typically features pinnekjøtt (salted and dried lamb ribs) or lutefisk (dried whitefish soaked in lye), both acquired tastes for outsiders. On Boxing Day, people attend church again, and the celebration continues with visits to friends and family throughout the season.In India, where Christians make up only about two per cent of the population, Christmas is nonetheless a public holiday and widely celebrated across the country, with each region adding its own flavour. In Goa, formerly a Portuguese colony, Christmas is the biggest celebration of the year, with elaborate nativity scenes and midnight masses attended by thousands. Kerala Christians celebrate with a tradition called "stars and carols," making elaborately decorated star-shaped lanterns that are carried from house to house whilst singing carols. The Christmas feast in Indian Christian homes might include biryani, curry, and rice dishes alongside or instead of traditional Western Christmas fare, reflecting the beautiful fusion of Christian tradition and Indian culture.Iceland's Christmas season features thirteen mischievous characters called the Yule Lads, who are the sons of the trolls Grýla and Leppalúði. Beginning on 12th December, one Yule Lad comes to town each night, leaving gifts in shoes that children place on windowsills, but only for children who've been good. Naughty children get rotting potatoes instead. Each Yule Lad has a descriptive name like Spoon-Licker, Door-Slammer, or Sausage-Swiper, and they're known for playing pranks and causing mischief. The Yule Cat is a more sinister creature that eats people who don't receive new clothes for Christmas, which historically encouraged people to finish their weaving and knitting before winter, and to reward workers with new garments.In the Philippines, Christmas celebrations begin as early as September, making it the longest Christmas season in the world. The country, being predominantly Catholic due to Spanish colonisation, takes Christmas extremely seriously. The most distinctive tradition is Simbang Gabi, a series of nine dawn masses starting on 16th December and ending on Christmas Eve, which many Filipinos attend at 4am every morning. Giant parol, star-shaped lanterns made of bamboo and paper, illuminate houses and streets. On Christmas Eve, families gather for Noche Buena, a midnight feast after attending the final Simbang Gabi mass, featuring dishes like lechon (roast pig), queso de bola (Edam cheese), and various kakanin (rice cakes). Filipino Christmas is all about family, with overseas workers making every effort to return home, and the celebration continuing until the Feast of the Three Kings in January.In Germany, Christmas markets or Christkindlmarkts transform city centres into enchanting winter wonderlands, some dating back to the Late Middle Ages. The Dresden Striezelmarkt, first held in 1434, is one of the oldest. Germans celebrate primarily on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Day, with many families attending church before returning home to exchange gifts under the Christmas tree. The traditional Christmas dinner varies by region but might include roast goose, carp, or wiener schnitzel. The Advent tradition of counting down to Christmas with a wreath of four candles and a calendar is German in origin, and the careful craftsmanship of German Christmas decorations, particularly wooden nutcrackers and smoking men from the Erzgebirge region, is world-renowned.In Mexico, Christmas celebrations centre around a series of traditions that blend indigenous and Catholic elements. Las Posadas, celebrated from 16th to 24th December, re-enacts Mary and Joseph's search for shelter in Bethlehem, with neighbours going from house to house singing, eventually being welcomed in for a party. Children take turns hitting a piñata, traditionally star-shaped with seven points representing the seven deadly sins. Christmas Eve culminates in a late-night feast after midnight mass, featuring traditional dishes like bacalao (salt cod), romeritos (a herb dish), tamales, and ponche (a hot fruit punch). Radish carving competitions on 23rd December in Oaxaca showcase incredibly intricate sculptures made from radishes, a tradition dating back to the colonial period.In Australia, where Christmas 2025 will once again fall in the height of summer, the celebration takes on a distinctly outdoor character that bemuses visitors expecting snow and fireplaces. Carols by Candlelight events across the country see families gathering in parks as evening falls, lighting candles and singing traditional carols under warm skies. Christmas Day often involves a morning swim at the beach, a seafood lunch or barbecue, and perhaps a game of backyard cricket. Some families maintain traditional British-style roast dinners with turkey and pudding despite the heat, whilst others embrace prawns, cold ham, and pavlova. The unique Australian Christmas, with its blend of imported traditions and homegrown adaptations, creates something that feels both familiar and distinctly different, proving that Christmas can successfully adapt to any climate or culture whilst maintaining its essential spirit of gathering, giving, and celebration.

The Christmas we celebrate today is a rich tapestry woven from threads of ancient pagan festivals, Christian tradition, Victorian sentimentality, and modern commercialism, creating something that would be almost unrecognisable to those who celebrated the very first Christmas nearly two thousand years ago.The historical evidence for the birth of Jesus Christ places the event sometime between 6 and 4 BCE during the reign of King Herod, but almost certainly not on the 25th of December. The early Christian church didn't celebrate Christ's birth at all, focusing instead on Easter and the resurrection, which was considered far more theologically significant. It wasn't until the fourth century that the church began to observe Christmas, and the choice of 25th December was almost certainly strategic rather than historical. This date coincided with the Roman festival of Saturnalia and the birthday of Sol Invictus, the unconquered sun, making it easier to transition pagan populations to Christianity by overlaying Christian meaning onto existing celebrations.The Christmas traditions we consider quintessentially Christian often have surprisingly pagan roots. The decorated evergreen tree, now synonymous with Christmas, comes from Germanic pagan traditions where trees were brought indoors during winter solstice celebrations to remind people that spring would return. The practice was popularised in Britain by Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's German husband, in the 1840s, though Germans had been decorating trees for centuries before. Holly, ivy, and mistletoe were all sacred to pre-Christian peoples, representing fertility and eternal life during the darkest time of year, and were simply absorbed into Christian Christmas celebrations rather than being invented by them.Medieval Christmas was quite different from our modern version, lasting a full twelve days from Christmas Day to Epiphany on 6th January. It was a time of role reversal and misrule, where servants might be served by their masters, and a "Lord of Misrule" would orchestrate games and entertainment. The wassailing tradition, where people would go from house to house singing and drinking from a communal bowl, bears some resemblance to modern carol singing but was considerably more raucous. Christmas was as much about community, charity, and social obligation as it was about religion, with the wealthy expected to provide hospitality and gifts to the poor.The Puritans, both in England and later in New England, actually banned Christmas in the seventeenth century, viewing it as a papist celebration tainted by pagan elements and far too focused on excess and pleasure. In England, Christmas was officially outlawed from 1647 to 1660, and in parts of America, celebrating Christmas was illegal until the nineteenth century. The Puritans preferred quiet reflection and prayer, and they weren't entirely wrong about the rowdiness, as medieval and early modern Christmas celebrations often involved heavy drinking, gambling, and sometimes violence.The Victorian era transformed Christmas into something much closer to what we know today. Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol," published in 1843, did more to shape modern Christmas than perhaps any other single work, emphasising charity, family, and goodwill. The Victorians sentimentalised childhood and made children central to Christmas celebrations in a way they hadn't been before. They popularised Christmas cards, Christmas crackers, and the idea of a family gathering around a decorated tree to exchange gifts. This Victorian Christmas was primarily a middle-class invention that gradually spread both upward to the aristocracy and downward to working-class families as prosperity increased.Father Christmas, or Santa Claus, has his own complex history, blending the Dutch Sinterklaas with the British Father Christmas and elements of the fourth-century Greek bishop Saint Nicholas of Myra, known for his generosity to the poor. The modern image of Santa as a jolly, red-suited, white-bearded man living at the North Pole was largely created by American advertisers, particularly Coca-Cola's marketing campaigns in the 1930s, though the red suit predates this. The connection with the North Pole, flying reindeer, and the whole workshop of elves are twentieth-century American additions to the mythology.The commercialisation of Christmas accelerated dramatically after World War II, with the rise of consumer culture transforming it into the retail bonanza we know today. Department stores began elaborate Christmas displays, advertising became increasingly sophisticated, and the pressure to buy the perfect gifts intensified. In Australia, the tradition of a summer Christmas created its own unique customs, with beach barbecues and outdoor celebrations sitting alongside imported northern hemisphere traditions of snow and winter warmth. The Australian Christmas has evolved its own character, blending British traditions with the reality of celebrating in midsummer heat, creating something distinctly different from the northern hemisphere Christmas that still dominates popular culture.Throughout all these transformations, Christmas has remained remarkably adaptable, absorbing new customs and discarding others, meaning different things to different people, and somehow managing to be simultaneously sacred and secular, traditional and contemporary, intimate and commercial. Whether you celebrate the birth of Christ, the winter solstice, family togetherness, or simply enjoy a day off work with good food and company, Christmas continues to evolve, carrying its accumulated history forward whilst creating new traditions for future generations to inherit and transform in their turn.

So, this is Christmas! The big man in red has ho, ho, ho'ed all over the world, milk and cookies are devoured, and children are waking their parents way too early so they can experience the magic of the season.From all of us at Back Country Bulletin news, we all wish you the best of Christmases, with upmost safety, fun and laughter with those you hold dear.If you have any news in this time, please still feel free to get in touch.Sit back, relax and make the most of the time you have with your loved ones, and live each day doing exactly what you want.

Barwon MP Roy Butler has called for a thorough investigation into the issuing of a firearms licence to the father of the man responsible for the Bondi Beach attack, while urging leaders to address the root causes of terrorism rather than implement knee-jerk gun law reforms.Mr Butler described the tragic events at Bondi Beach on December 14 as a terror attack fuelled by racism, radicalisation and extremism. "Acts of terror are not limited by method. We have seen cars, explosives, earth-moving equipment, knives and machetes used in attacks. This was an act of hate, and it must be addressed at the highest level," he said.The Member for Barwon stressed that New South Wales and Australia already have some of the toughest gun laws in the Western world, with 260,000 licensed firearm holders in the state complying with the law every day and posing no threat to public safety. "We cannot conflate an act of terror with lawful firearms ownership," Mr Butler said.He called for a comprehensive investigation into how a firearms licence was issued to an individual whose son appeared on an ASIO watch list, and how that individual was permitted to apply twice, first in 2015 when the application lapsed, and again in 2023.While acknowledging the Premier has recalled Parliament, Mr Butler said this was a time for grieving and mourning rather than hasty reactions. "I will work with the Premier and all Members to ensure we do everything possible to focus on the issues of racism, radicalisation and extremism, which is the cause of this attack, not law-abiding firearm owners," he said.Mr Butler co-sponsored an e-petition against the proposed gun law changes that garnered over 80,000 signatures in just two days. He asked the Premier to separate the Terrorism and Other Legislation Amendment Bill 2025 so the firearm-related aspects could be properly considered at a later date, but his request was refused.Despite fighting hard with backing from firearms groups such as the Sports Shooting Association of Australia to make changes to the legislation, Mr Butler expressed dismay when the Bill passed the lower house on Monday, December 23. The Bill, which passed 59 votes to 15, bundles together gun control measures, protest restrictions and hate speech provisions.Mr Butler emphasised that immediate public safety and unity must be the priority, with action taken once investigations by NSW Police and the Australian Federal Police are complete and recommendations are clear."We must stand together in solidarity, compassion and resilience. Our shared values of mutual respect, tolerance and the iconic spirit of mateship must guide us forward," he said. "I urge all leaders to unite and send a clear message that we reject extremism and hate."

Mallee Accommodation and Support Program has thanked the community for its fantastic support in the lead up to Christmas, with donations helping to make the festive season easier for local families.Recent contributions from Sacred Heart Primary School, Woolworths, Mildura Base Public Hospital Allied and Community Health and The Grain Shed Church of Christ in Swan Hill, along with Ray White Mildura's A Little Ray of Giving and Antisocial Collective's Toy Drive, are being distributed to MASP clients and families.MASP Chief Executive Officer Charmaine Calis said Christmas could be a difficult time for some, making donations of goods and toys particularly welcome. "We are so fortunate to have such a generous community here in the Mallee, helping us make a difference for families under our programs," she said."We cannot thank the businesses, organisations and community groups who take the time to run these drives and gather donations to be passed on enough, not just at Christmas time but all year round."Donations of new household goods and toys, or non-perishable food items, can be made at MASP's offices in Mildura, Dareton and Swan Hill. Those wishing to make a monetary donation to one of MASP's four donation funds, including Homelessness Support, Youth Support, Family Safety and Housing Development, can visit https://masp.org.au/get-involved/donate-and-fundraise-for-masp/ for more information.

The remarkable story of NSW's forgotten inland port that once rivalled major citiesIn the 1880s, when Australia was still finding its feet as a federated nation, the remote town of Wilcannia on the Darling River was one of the continent's most important inland centres. Paddlesteamers crowded its wharves, their smokestacks darkening the outback sky as they loaded wool and wheat bound for Adelaide and international markets beyond. At this time Wilcannia was the 3rd largest port in NSW after Sydney and Morpeth (near Newcastle) and was known as "Queen City of the West".Today, with a population of just over 700, it's hard to imagine this dusty outback town ever holding such prominence. Yet Wilcannia's rise and fall tells one of the most dramatic stories of boom and bust in Australian colonial history – a tale of ambition, prosperity, and the cruel realities of geography and technological change that shaped the destiny of countless inland communities.The area lies in the traditional lands of the Barkindji people, who call the river "Baaka". For thousands of years before European arrival, the Barkindji had lived along the river, understanding its moods and seasons, developing sophisticated methods of fishing and food gathering that sustained their communities through drought and flood. The arrival of Europeans in the 1860s would transform this ancient landscape beyond recognition.The town was officially proclaimed in June 1866 and incorporated as a municipality in 1881, but its importance as a trading centre had been established several years earlier. The discovery of silver at nearby Broken Hill in 1883 would later boost the town's fortunes, but it was the wool trade that initially made Wilcannia's reputation and fortune.The key to Wilcannia's early success lay in its position on the Darling River system. From 1859 the river was plied by paddlesteamers who went as far up as Bourke. In 1890 there were reported to be around 90 steamers using the river. The Darling River was navigable for over 1,600 kilometres, connecting the vast pastoral districts of western NSW and southern Queensland to the Murray River system and from there to the port of Adelaide.The scale of river traffic at Wilcannia's peak was extraordinary. A copy of a black and white photograph taken in 1902 shows 8 paddle steamers and 4 barges under a bridge over the Darling River near Wilcannia in N.S.W. Cargo is being unloaded onto the left bank. Two barges are also tied up on the right bank. This single photograph captures the intensity of commercial activity that made Wilcannia one of Australia's busiest inland ports.The paddlesteamers were marvels of 19th-century engineering, specifically designed for the shallow, winding rivers of the Murray-Darling system. Stern-wheelers were not uncommon on the Murray, but unsuited to the bends of the Darling. The vessels that plied the Darling were typically side-wheelers, their broad, flat-bottomed hulls able to navigate in as little as two feet of water when fully loaded.These river boats carried much more than cargo. They were the lifelines that connected isolated communities to the outside world, bringing news, mail, passengers, and manufactured goods to settlements that could be hundreds of kilometres from the nearest road. The arrival of a steamer was a major event, drawing people from surrounding stations and settlements to collect supplies, send mail, and catch up on news from the outside world.Wilcannia's boom years were marked by remarkable confidence and ambition. The town's main street was lined with two-storey stone buildings that wouldn't have looked out of place in Adelaide or Melbourne. The Athenaeum Theatre hosted touring companies and local productions. Multiple hotels catered to travellers, drovers, and commercial agents. Banks established branches to handle the substantial sums generated by the wool trade.The Red Lion brewery built in 1879 was the first brewery that the famous beer writer visited, highlighting Wilcannia's cultural as well as commercial significance. The establishment of a local brewery indicated not just economic prosperity but also the town's confidence in its future growth and importance.The municipal incorporation in 1881 reflected the town's civic pride and political aspirations. Wilcannia had its own mayor, town council, and local government services that rivalled those of much larger centres. The town boasted street lighting, a hospital, schools, and other infrastructure that demonstrated its residents' belief that they were building a permanent centre of regional importance.The wool industry that drove Wilcannia's prosperity was built on the vast pastoral stations that spread across western NSW. These stations, some covering hundreds of thousands of acres, ran millions of sheep whose wool was among the finest in the world. The wool clip from stations across the region was brought to Wilcannia by bullock dray and horse team, where it was baled and loaded onto steamers for transport to Adelaide.The seasonal rhythm of the wool industry dominated Wilcannia's calendar. Shearing season brought an influx of workers, contractors, and wool buyers to the town. The wharves would be stacked high with wool bales waiting for transport, and the hotels would be full of shearers, station managers, and commercial travellers. The successful completion of the wool season meant prosperity for the entire community.However, the very factors that made Wilcannia successful also made it vulnerable. The town's prosperity depended entirely on river transport, which was subject to the vagaries of rainfall and river levels. During drought years, the Darling River could become too shallow for navigation, stranding cargo and isolating communities. Flood years could be equally disruptive, making river transport dangerous and unpredictable.The arrival of railways in other parts of NSW began to change the economics of transport and trade. Rail transport was faster, more reliable, and less dependent on weather conditions than river transport. Towns with railway connections gained significant advantages over those dependent on steamers. When the railway reached Broken Hill in 1888, it provided an alternative route for much of the cargo that had previously travelled via Wilcannia and the river system.The decline of Wilcannia was not immediate but rather a gradual erosion of its economic base. As railway networks expanded across NSW, more and more cargo moved by rail rather than river. The number of steamers operating on the Darling began to decline, and the frequency of services to Wilcannia decreased accordingly.The wool industry itself was also changing. Improved roads and motor transport made it possible to take wool directly from stations to railway terminals, bypassing river ports altogether. The flexibility and convenience of road transport increasingly outweighed the cost advantages of river transport, especially as the road network expanded and vehicle technology improved.World War I marked a turning point for many of Wilcannia's young men, who enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force and never returned to the river trade. The war years saw significant changes in Australian society and economy, and the old patterns of river trade seemed increasingly anachronistic in a modernising nation.By the 1920s, Wilcannia's role as a major transport hub had largely ended. The last regular cargo service on the Darling River ceased in the 1930s, though some vessels continued to operate sporadically into the 1940s. The town's population began to decline as businesses closed and families moved to centres with better opportunities.The Great Depression of the 1930s hit Wilcannia particularly hard. With no significant economic base beyond the declining river trade, the town struggled to maintain its infrastructure and services. Many of the grand buildings of the boom years began to show their age, and some were demolished or fell into disrepair.Yet Wilcannia's decline also preserved something valuable. Unlike towns that were completely transformed by later development, Wilcannia retained much of its 19th-century character. The stone buildings that had been built to last during the boom years survived as reminders of the town's former importance.Today, Wilcannia is recognised as one of NSW's most significant heritage towns. Its collection of 19th-century commercial and public buildings provides an unparalleled glimpse into the era of river trade and inland prosperity. The former wharf area, though no longer used for commercial shipping, remains as evidence of the town's former role as a major inland port.The story of Wilcannia serves as a powerful reminder of how quickly fortunes can change in rural Australia. Geographic advantages that seem permanent can be overcome by technological change, and communities that appear solidly established can find themselves left behind by economic shifts beyond their control.Contemporary Wilcannia faces different challenges from those of its boom years, but the town's residents continue to work to preserve its heritage and find new sources of economic activity. Tourism, particularly heritage tourism, provides some employment and helps to maintain the town's historic buildings. The story of the "Queen City of the West" continues to fascinate visitors who come to see where paddlesteamers once crowded the wharves and wool bales filled the warehouses.Wilcannia's legacy extends beyond its own boundaries. The town's experience was repeated in dozens of river ports across the Murray-Darling system, each of which faced similar challenges as transport technology changed and economic patterns shifted. The rise and fall of river trade shaped the development of inland Australia and influenced the location and growth of contemporary cities and towns.For historians and heritage enthusiasts, Wilcannia represents an almost perfectly preserved example of a 19th-century Australian river port. The town's buildings, streetscape, and even its decline tell the story of an entire era of Australian development – an era when rivers rather than roads or railways were the highways of inland Australia, and when towns like Wilcannia were the gateways between the pastoral interior and the markets of the world.

One of my earliest childhood memories would be creeping into Japps, behind whatever adult I was accompanying, a painfully shy child. I was forever wowed by the perfectly put together, glamorous looking ladies with their wide smiles that were the ‘Japps girls,’ the iconic shop assistants at Japp’s pharmacy. Japp’s pharmacy has been one of those constants in Hay life, something that we have always relied upon. And now, in 2023, they are celebrating their 90th year of catering to the needs and taking care of Hay residents.The content to create this article originated from a 12 page pull out published in the Riverine Grazier on Wednesday 12 October, 1983. It was to celebrate Japp’s Pharmacy’s 50 years of trading in Hay.When the late Mr. Gibson Japp was negotiating to purchase the pharmacy from its founder, a Mr E.G. Clayton, it was described to Gibson as a ‘nice little business.’When the business was first conducted by the late G.H. Japp, a business he bought for 1750 pounds, it was in competition with two other pharmacies. In the intervening years, Mr Allan Japp trained as a pharmacist, joined his father in partnership, and after a time assumed sole proprietorship. The other pharmacies in Hay have long since been bought out by the Japp family.Post Office PharmacyMr Clayton commenced the business in about 1929, at 105 Lachlan Street, and appropriately named it the Post Office Pharmacy, because of its opportune location.In his negotiations with Mr Japp, letters from Mr Clayton announced that they business was turning over in the vicinity of 2000 pounds. It had been established in premises at the corner of Alma and Lachlan Streets, in a room that was partitioned off from a large area conducted as a saddlery by Charlie and Bill Brown.At the time of Mr Japp’s purchase, the other pharmacies were Rogers and Glyde conducted by Mr Ralph Palmer, and that conducted by Hazel Crossley in the premises later occupied by John Clemence and Brian Tellefson and now owned by Japps, and affectionately referred to as the ‘top shop’, meaning at the top end of Lachlan Street.Mr Clayton remained in business before he sought a new purchaser, with the view to making his home in Canberra.At that time, Gibson H. Japp was working in Albury after qualifying in Melbourne in 1928.He showed interest in purchasing a business and after considering some alternative offers, chose that of E.S. Clayton to be his venture. He took over the pharmacy on October 14, 1933, after arriving in Hay by train. This was during the time of the Great Depression, and many hours of work were required to earn a few shillings. The pharmacy was run by himself and a ‘shop boy,’ who was the messenger, cleaner, and shop assistant, all in one. Trading hours were 9am to 9pm, with an hour off for lunch and tea, Monday to Saturday. Sunday required opening from 9am to 12 noon, and from 7pm to 9pm. Half Day holiday was taken Wednesday afternoon but this was used to do any dispensing required at Hay Hospital, on an honorary basis, alternatively with John Clemence, who had recently taken over the pharmacy operated by Hazel Crossley.Rental of 12 pounds a month was paid, and takings amounted to 25 to 30 pounds a week.Russell Whitteron was one of the earliest employees, as were Jack Morris and John Wade, and they were followed by Noreen Brown, who worked up to early in the Second World War.At this stage, most of the business was to do with medicines, and the pharmacist would be mixing and creating things himself in the shop. There was a small area devoted to cosmetics and perfumes. Photography was a strong element of the business, with developing and printing of films a priority, all completed at the business site, with a fast turnaround.These developing and printing tasks were conducted by Mr Japp after the day’s trade was completed, with the pharmacy offering an overnight service.It was said to be quite the tedious task.The range of goods sold by the pharmacy included toothpastes, shampoos, household remedies, and cures claiming to have magical results. During this time, these kinds of products were primarily sold at pharmacies rather than at supermarkets. After the war, Ralph Palmer at Rogers Clyde wished to leave Hay, and thus his business was incorporated into Japps.Many of the older bottles and pieces of equipment, scales, pill machines and more that Japps have collected originated from a mixture of the original pharmacies of Hay, dentists in Hay and dentists in Deniliquin.In 1955, Mr Japp was able to buy the building, including his shop premises and residence from the Brown family. Afterwards, the Brown’s saddlery business moved to premises in McGregor Street and the pharmacy was enlarged, taking over the saddlery as office and storeroom and the other half of the cellar.This was the same year that Allan commenced his apprenticeship under his father’s tutelage.In 1959, Allan returned to Hay again after leaving for university education, and then renovations to the store were made. Mr Japp Senior and Mrs Japp went for a trip overseas in 1963. The couple returned in time for Allan and Jenis wedding in 1964, and then Mr Japp retired in 1966, tragically becoming ill with lung cancer. Since then, Allan has operated the business, working with many different pharmacists over this considerable time, and many valued employees.A savvy business move was Japps opening up an Agro Chemicals division in 1968. This was to address regular stock unavailability, the need to travel, and source produce from other areas.It was headed by Michael Breen after training with Neville Japp, who was a veterinarian. In 1969, space was proving to once again become an issue.The old storeroom was taken over by the pharmacy, and the premises was refitted and modernised, dispensary was moved to the storeroom, where the old loungeroom of the premises was.The Agrochemical department took over the old kitchen, and a side entrance was then added.In order to accomplish this, the roof was taken off.The Agrochemical Department ran successfully for years, being sold by 1980.Japp’s has unfailingly gone from strength to strength, continually employing locals and doing great works for the community. The pharmacy is one of the cornerstones of Hay’s life, and we would all certainly be lost without it.

Communities across regional New South Wales came together in the days following the Bondi Beach terrorist attack to honour the 15 victims killed in the horrific shooting on December 14, 2025.The town of Hay held a Bondi Memorial Service on Tuesday, December 16, at 7.30pm at Duck Pond, Pine/Morgan Street, organised by Father Paul Newton. Speaking about the tragedy, Father Newton said the fact that people who were "treasures in the eyes of God, people who deserve to be loved and to live and to be safe, were subject to unspeakable tragedy" had made him "sick and unsettled to the core."The memorial service provided local residents with an opportunity to come together in solidarity with the victims and Australia's Jewish community.In Wagga Wagga, a community candlelight vigil was held at 6pm on Thursday, December 18, at Victory Memorial Gardens. The event was organised by Federal Member for Riverina Michael McCormack, in conjunction with State Member for Wagga Wagga Dr Joe McGirr and Wagga Wagga Mayor Dallas Tout.Mr McCormack said the vigil was a sign of respect for the attack victims and to the Australian Jewish community. "We will be holding a community candlelight vigil on behalf of the city, on behalf of the council, on behalf of the community, to stand together with our friends from Jewish Australia, with our friends who are shocked right across the nation," he said.Mayor Tout emphasised the importance of hosting a vigil even though many people in the community were scared and distraught. "This is what we do when events like this happen: we stand up with others and say no to any of these sorts of events," he said."We will not stand for this in this community or any other community, because if you do not take any action or do not stand up as a community and contemplate what has happened and say no to these sorts of evil acts, that's when there's an opening for those sorts of things to possibly happen."The federal and NSW governments declared Sunday, December 21, as a national Day of Reflection to honour the victims of the terrorist attack and to stand in solidarity with the Jewish community. People across the country, including regional NSW, were invited to light a candle at 6.47pm, exactly one week since the attack unfolded, as a quiet act of remembrance with family, friends or loved ones.Australians were also asked to observe a minute of silence at 6.47pm, and flags on Australian and NSW government buildings were flown at half mast as a mark of respect for the lives lost.The attack at Bondi Beach on the first night of Hanukkah was Australia's worst mass shooting since the Port Arthur massacre in 1996. Fifteen people were killed when two gunmen, a father and son allegedly inspired by Islamic State ideology, opened fire on a peaceful Jewish celebration. Another 42 people were injured in the attack.Among those killed were 10-year-old Matilda, elderly Holocaust survivors Alexander Kleytman and Marika Pogany, and rabbis Yaakov Levitan and Eli Schlanger.