Ipswich

In 1972 we were living at Rosevale, 50 kilometres southwest of the city of Ipswich. We went to Ipswich to shop, but our nearest town was Rosewood. As in all regional areas, sport is strong around Ipswich, and Con played cricket on the Rosewood United team, in an Ipswich competition. One team member that he got to know, named Daryl, was a coal mine rescue worker. Daryl’s father was a miner, too.

At 2.47 a.m. on 31 July 1972, a mining disaster occurred in the Box Flat coal mine, a few kilometres southeast of the city. When a huge explosion occurred, seventeen miners and rescue workers were killed, with another dying later of his injuries. Daryl was one of the men killed; and so was his father.

No one underground at the time could have survived; the bodies could not be retrieved, and the difficult decision was made to permanently seal the mine.

The whole region grieved. Mining communities are close-knit, and it was said that everyone in the district knew someone who died that night.

A video from the Mine Safety institute of Australia covers the story of the disaster. https://youtu.be/m-dXzS5KanI

Ipswich Historical Society President Hugh Taylor points to the location of the fire in the 1972 Box Flat mine about 100 metres beneath the surface of the ground at Swanbank” Report brisbane times.com.au on the 50th anniversary. Photo Tony Moore

The sombre Box Flat Memorial was constructed at Swanbank, near the scene of the disaster.

The Box Flat Memorial, Swanbank Road, Swanbank

Last week I visited the Memorial, then drove to the site of the Cooneana Heritage Centre a few kilometres away for more information. This is the home of Ipswich Historical Society and of the original Cooneana Homestead, built in 1868 and lovingly preserved.

Water tank and Old Cooneana Homestead, Cooneana Heritage Centre, Redbank Plains Rd, New Chum

The Society’s headquarters and museum are housed in an attractive, award-winning Modernist building, constructed in 1976 as the offices of Rhondda Collieries and still in its original condition.[1]

Award-winning headquarters of the Ipswich Historical Society
Interior of the IHS Museum
Displays of miners’ lamps in the IHS museum, most of them part of the original equipment of the building

Coal is why ipswich is where it is. Coal and limestone.

In the early, convict days of Brisbane when building was progressing, lime was needed for mortar. In 1827, Commandant Patrick Logan, energetic explorer of the Moreton Bay area, discovered limestone deposits on a hill above the Bremer River in what is now Ipswich. A small convict outpost called the Limestone Station was set up, with George Thorn as overseer, and lime burning kilns were constructed.

Cunningham’s Knoll on Limestone Hill is a spectacular pyramid of limestone terraces built in the 1930s as a Great Depression employment project. On top of the Knoll, old fig trees grasp blocks of raw limestone in their buttress roots.

Old fig tree on top of Cunningham’s Knoll

Little remains of the old kilns now except for a small mound of kiln residue behind the Knoll.

Mound of limestone burning residue as seen from the top of Cunningham’s Knoll

Patrick Logan also discovered coal reserves near Limestone Hill, and over time coal mines were opened all around the area, with miners coming from as far away as Wales. The suburb of Blackstone is still known locally as Welsh Town, and Rhondda Colliery and the suburb of Ebbw Vale were named after coal mining areas in Wales.

My own connections with Ipswich go back to 1861, when my great-great-grandfather James Matthews, fresh from England, spent a night there, enjoying the hospitality of the same George Thorn, probably in his hotel, the Queen’s Arms (soon to be re-named the Clarendon), on the corner of Brisbane and East Streets: Ipswich’s first licensed hotel.

James had come up the Bremer River by paddle steamer, with Archdeacon Benjamin Glennie, and the next morning they set off together to walk to Warwick. (See my story “Walking to Warwick” https://roseobrienwriter.blog/2018/07/27/walking-to-warwick/ )

George Thorn, like many colonial officials, businessmen and squatters, was an English ex-military man who did well out of being in the right place at the right time. He became a major landholder and a Parliamentarian, influential in the colony of Queensland, and regarded as the Father of Ipswich. “Claremont”, the house George Thorn bought at the river end of what is now Milford Street, is sometimes opened to the public for the Great Houses of Ipswich weekend. “Claremont” is just one example of Ipswich’s many magnificent old homes and its fine civic buildings.

“Claremont”, Ipswich. Designed 1857 nationaltrust.org.au

Ipswich became a steam railway centre, and in 1865 the first railway line in Queensland was opened, running to Bigge’s Camp/Grandchester, about thirty-four kilometres away; the first stage of a line to Toowoomba. The railway workshop established in North Ipswich, now home of the Workshops Railway Museum, became the state’s biggest employer, constructing over 200 steam locomotives in its time.

In the 1850s, as statehood for Queensland approached, there was an unsuccessful movement for Ipswich to be chosen as the new state Capital. The owners of the Ipswich paper, The Queensland Times, pushed for it. This fine old masthead continues today. However, once News Corp bought it, its print days were numbered, like so many of Queensland’s regional newspapers; and now The Queensland Times is only available online.

Losing a local print newspaper is a bad thing for communities. Local news is no longer covered in detail; and people without online access might not find out until a year after the funeral that someone they knew has died.

In the early 1980s, Con and I returned to the area, to the farming town of Lowood, 35 kms to the northwest. Again, Ipswich was our shopping town, and again I shopped at the iconic old department store of Cribb & Foote, then Reid’s, on Brisbane Street, just a block up the street from the site of George Thorn’s hotel.

Thorn’s hotel had eventually been destroyed by fire. Shockingly, in 1985 Cribb & Foote also burned down, leaving a massive gap in the CBD.

Cribb & Foote after the fire

Ipswich is to Brisbane as Newcastle is to Sydney, or Geelong is to Melbourne: the tough industrial neighbour with a slightly grimy reputation. Each of these old cities has had to reinvent itself as local industry changed. The Ford car factory in Geelong has been closed for years. Newcastle no longer builds ships; and the last coal mine in Ipswich closed in 2019. In each case, the city has moved to meet the challenges.

New communities have grown up in the ex-mining and scrubland country of the western growth corridor between Brisbane and Ipswich. Ripley, with ambitions to become Australia’s largest planned community, is currently under development only a couple of kilometres from Swanbank, the site of the Box Flat disaster.

Highways are expanding to meet the challenge of increasing population, and busways and extensions of the railway network are under consideration.

In 2013, an initiative to reverse some of the peak hour commuter traffic on the Ipswich Motorway to Brisbane and revitalise the CBD was completed. On the site where Cribb and Foote once stood, the Icon Tower was constructed, an office building occupied almost entirely by Queensland State Government departments, including, appropriately, the Department of Resources.

Icon Tower, Ipswich ipswichfirst.com.au

We live in Brisbane now, but we often take our grandchildren to the playground and Nature Centre in Queen’s Park, on the slopes of Limestone Hill; we visit Nerima Japanese Gardens, and the Ipswich Art Gallery, with its wall of coal. We visit cafes and the river walkways, restored after recent Bremer River floods. It’s a quiet river when we visit, and it’s hard to imagine the devastation it regularly causes through the low-lying areas of the city.

Below the old railway bridge, now a pedestrian bridge, is a commemoration of the resilience of Ipswich and its people in flood times

This is not soft country. The Ipswich area is hotter in summer and colder in winter than Brisbane. Living at Lowood, we sometimes scraped frost off the car windscreen at eight in the morning. At Rosevale in 1972, we suffered the hottest Christmas of our lives, with all-time record temperatures.

For the sad coal-mining families in the area, there would have been empty places at the table that Christmas.


[1] Thank you to Ipswich Historical Society President Hugh Taylor and other well-informed staff who generously helped with information and access to files when we visited Cooneana Heritage Centre.

Walking to Warwick

The steamer left Brisbane for Ipswich on a Monday morning in September. The “Ipswich” was a side-wheeler with a rudder at each end, and a shallow draft for navigating difficult areas such as Seventeen Mile Rocks and the shoals of the Bremer River.

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The “Ipswich”. Photo from the John Oxley Library collection, SLQ

Paddlewheels splashing rhythmically and smoke pouring from the tall funnel, the steamer made its way upstream, following the slow bends of the Brisbane River, past thickly-wooded, vine-draped banks that would one day become the suburbs of St Lucia, Chelmer and Fig Tree Pocket.

James Matthews probably stood on deck with a mug of coffee, watching the passing scenery and talking to his new boss, Benjamin Glennie.

It was 1861, and the newly-independent state of Queensland was actively seeking English migrants. James, my great-great-grandfather, was one of them. Aged twenty-three and ordained only yesterday, he had come to Queensland to work in Warwick as a curate.

young james matthews James Matthews

For years Archdeacon Benjamin Glennie, now the rector of Warwick, had been the only Church of England clergyman on the Darling Downs. The eccentric Glennie loathed riding, so his travels around his huge parish were mostly done on foot, and this is how he and James would be travelling from Ipswich to Warwick. On foot.

Forty years later, in memory of Archdeacon Glennie, James described the trip in detail.[1]

On Monday morning, we started on our journey to Warwick, travelling to Ipswich in the steamer of the same name. The voyage occupied five hours.

The next morning the real work of our journey began. The Archdeacon’s old black horse was brought round and packed with a couple of valises and a pair of large saddle bags, consisting largely of my belongings, and off we trudged, the Archdeacon leading his horse.

That day they walked south for twenty kilometres, down the present-day Ipswich-Boonah Road. The two men would have encountered bullock teams dragging wool from the sheep stations, travellers on horseback and on foot, and the occasional buggy. Many would have recognised Benjamin Glennie. Perhaps they offered them a ride.

They spent that night with squatter William Watkins at Peak Mountain Station, near present-day Peak Crossing, its homestead set on a rise with a spectacular view towards Flinders Peak.

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Peak Station today

The following day we walked as far as Balbi’s, an accommodation house at the foot of the Range. 

All that Wednesday, covering over thirty kilometres over flat land and gentle hills, they would have seen ahead of them, through the trees, glimpses of blue mountain ranges.

In 1861 there were Aboriginal people living in this area – probably Ugarapul people. The two men must have met them on the road, but James left no mention of it.

Ironically, most of the roads walked by Benjamin Glennie and James Matthews would have been based on ancient trails of the Indigenous people who had been walking this country side for many thousands of years.

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Towards Cunninghams Gap

The two travellers spent that night in Balbi’s Inn, at the bottom of the range, beside the road to Spicer’s Gap. I’ve driven up that rough, gravel road myself, to sit at Governor’s Chair Lookout and enjoy its fine views east towards Brisbane and the coast.

On Thursday we crossed the Range, going through Cunningham’s Gap. There had been a heavy thunderstorm, the mountain streams were swollen, and we had to “double-bank” to get over. The Archdeacon got into the saddle and I jumped up behind.   

Wheeled traffic went over Spicer’s Gap, but riders and foot-travellers often took the bridle trail through Cunningham’s Gap. It would have been a tough journey up hill, but Benjamin Glennie was fit – according to James’s account he would vault a fence rather than stoop to go under it – and James was young. Looming cliffs and tall trees, the sound of bellbirds and whipbirds, cool air smelling of the rainforest: today they are still exhilarating, even though the way up the range is now a harsh slash through the forest, made noisy by semitrailers.

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“Forest, Cunningham’s Gap” Conrad Martens, 1856. Watercolour. QAG collection

From the top of the Range, they followed Gap Creek west to William Jubb’s Inn, a low building overlooking the stream. These days, a farmhouse occupies the old inn site beside the Cunningham Highway.

On crossing the last creek, I fell off into the water. Fortunately I had not far to walk to the inn, where Jubb rigged me out in a suit of his clothes while mine were being dried. He was a much bigger man than me. There was no one near with a camera, I am thankful to say.

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The site of Jubb’s Inn, above Gap Creek. Cunninghams Gap in the background

On Friday we lunched with Arnold Wienholt at his station Maryvale, in the afternoon proceeding onward to Glengallan, where we were put up for the night by that prince of squatters, John Deuchar.

All the land between Ipswich and Warwick was held by just six or seven squatters, members of the colony’s aristocracy. The Deuchars of Glengallan Station were famous for lavish hospitality in the sprawling cedar house where the two travellers spent that night. A few years later a new homestead was built, the elegant, now restored mansion visible from the highway.

After breakfast on Saturday morning we wended our way to Warwick, where we arrived in time for midday dinner, taking care to walk through the principal streets of the town so as to announce that the parsons had arrived and there would be church tomorrow.

Perhaps one day that walk to Warwick by Benjamin Glennie and James Matthews will be recreated. They were walking for a spiritual purpose, so it would be a kind of Queensland “Camino”, like the pilgrims’ pathways through Europe and Spain that are now so hugely popular. Great walks exist in Queensland, too, along ancient Indigenous pathways. We should pay more attention to them. Although they don’t pass through quaint medieval towns, they are just as old. The bridle trail through the forests of Cunningham’s Gap was probably one of them.

James Matthews married a Warwick girl named Mary Margetts. According to a family story he met her on the Spicers Gap road, a year or so after his long walk, when Mary’s hat blew away, and James caught it.

People journey, and people love. Some things will never change.

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Rose on the old trail along Gap Creek

[1]Excerpts from “A Few Personal Reminiscences of the Late Archdeacon Glennie” printed in “The Church Chronicle”, June 1, 1900.

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