Alfred Roland Doe, Private



1917 on the way to war



Silver leaves from Capetown

 Alfred Roland Doe left his home town of Wilmot, Tasmania and went to live in a little settlement called Barranganyatti on the Nepean River NSW.  He gave his occupation variously on different documents as a railway employee, slaughterman and horse driver. He joined the war effort by enlisting in the army on 3 Feb 1917.  By this time, he was already at sea, the ship 'Anchises', having left Sydney on 24 January.  En route he stopped at Durban then was at Capetown from 18th till the 24th of February at which time he sent a postcard to his sister MaryAnn Bergan back at Wilmot.  Sticky marks show that it originally held three silver leaves but only one remains.  A fortnight later, the ship called in at Sierra Leone before heading for England where upon arrival at Devonport, Roland entered the isolation hospital for a week to recover from illness.  By the end of April he was transferred from the 63rd battalion to the 34th which was stationed at Windmill Hill. For three months the battalion trained here until they were sent to France on the 23 August to reinforce the 34rd battalion.  They stayed at Vaudringham in billets in old farmhouses. For a month, they waited playing sports, having picnics and cooking competitions among other activities.
September 26 , they marched 21 miles towards the war zone in warm sunny conditions, 27th, 23 miles and it went on until they arrived at Low Farm near menin Gate, Ypres and Railway Wood. Their war had really begun. They were attacked with mustard gas, bombed incessantly and shelled.  Enemy planes were active day and night. Soldiers sent out to prepare roads for artillery were attacked and had to cease operating. However, a bus managed to carry the soldiers to Cavalry Farm eat of Ypres on 10th October.  Here they had to make camp in the open in heavy rain and biting cold. The following day, they rested while the band played. Men sent out to tape the area ready for battle were shelled and the following day there was heavy bombing. And so it continued daily. The ground was pockmarked with bomb holes and many were caught in the mire. Wounded could not be extricated. The ground was an expanse of water and mud. So it went on, as the battallion moved towards Ploegstreet.
Roland had succumbed to trench fever, a condition caused by fleas which lived in the seams of clothing and carried disease. Washing was impossible under the conditions and many became ill, Roland desperately so. He suffered severe swelling all over his body as his kidneys struggled to work.
In mid December, he was transferred to hospital in France, then two weeks later, left for England. On 21 April, he embarked at Devonport on the hospital ship 'Suevic' bound for Australia.
Roland did not fight a long war, but the conditions took their toll on his health. Like many others, he was never really healthy again.

A Christmas Gift

Brass tin, a gift from Princess Mary



Belgium impressed into corner



As it is Anzac day this week, I thought I would bring out this interesting little brass tin, a gift to troops at Christmas time in December 1914. It is pressed metal and has the words Imperium Britain Nigum at the top and in the corners Japan, Monte Negro, Servia and Belgium. The two circles at the sides hold the words France and Russia. Inside, there is a cardboard holder which at one time held a gift and it is accompanied by a card: With Best Wishes for a Victorius New Year from The Princess Mary and Friends at Home. No one in our family was fighting in the war on this date and it is not a family momento, but interesting nevertheless. The only one of the Doe family to go to World War 1 was my grandfather, Roland Doe. He enlisted in NSW and not until 1916.



Christmas and New Year Wishes



How many of the recipients of these little tins managed to fight right through the war. They would not have imagined that it was going to last for four whole years at Christmas time 1914

Coleman Iron

Blue Coleman Iron made 1936

It  must have been an exciting day when the gas iron arrived in the post. It would have been all shiny then. A recent adventure in a linen press where the hot water cylinder leaked and left it damp has discoloured and rusted it a little. The can is for measuring the fuel which is deposited in the tank at the rear. Adjustments can be madeby moving the little wheel at the back. The flames burn horizontally just above the lower plate. The only part missing is a thin needle which is used to poke into the fuel line to unblock it. I have been given the instructions, the fuel and the iron and I have been asked several times by the donor whether I have lit it yet. Somehow, with the little bits of rust and an unknown thickness of metal in places I have not yet quite found the courage.

Instructions for Coleman Iron

 It is now 76 years old, having been manufactured on January 14 1936 as number  67296. Where are the other 67295 irons. Are their owners daring to light them?

Old house new house

Roland and Ivy Doe, Wilmot

 Part of the Lower Wilmot house was brought in from Waratah in 1931 and a couple of rooms were added but it was very small. The verandah was added in the 1950s but the Doe family moved out in 1957. There was never electricity or running water. When we visited, we cleaned our teeth using tooth powder and a bakelite mug of water. I came across one of those mugs a couple of years ago when preparing items for sale. I hadn't seen it in all that time.

Outdoor Laundry

 At the back of the house Nan stands beside the washing machine and the wringer. In my mind I can still see that washing billowing on the line. It seemed to be miles up in the air. Pop's long flannel underwear was fascinating, neatly hung up with dolly pegs. The cream colour of the fabric and bindings, revealing that it was made from woollen flannel. How uncomfortable and prickly it must have been to wear. I am so grateful for modern fabrics. It must have had to be washed by hand or it would have matted and shrunk. I am much more in favour of the push button on my machine.
All the ironing was done with flat irons heated by the fire until Nan purchased a Coleman gas iron. It sputtered but at least it didn't leave dirty marks on the clothes. I now have the iron, along with the instructions containing the serial number and date of manufacture.

Shopping instructions

Page 2 of a letter sent to me July 3 1957 when I had measles. She has just moved to a new house at Wilmot and mentions that she no longer has to climb the hill to go to the road. I used to love climbing that hill! We would make our way up the muddy track, trying to step on tufts of grass to keep our shoes clean. At the gate, we would collect the mail bag and present the mail man with letters and parcels for post.
She mentions the proximity of shops in Wilmot. There were several, the only remaining one being the original Coles Store.

The garden marks the spot

Kids on the stump

 Beyond the gate was a mud track which led to my grandparents house, a small wooden abode, unpainted, with hessian interior walls. At night we used lanterns and candles as there was no electricity. Long grass paved the way to the long drop which would have been amongst the trees at the right of this photo. The natural forset had all gone by the time these photos were taken in September 1992. I know it was September as the daffodils were blooming luxuriantly through the paddock, showing where the original house had been. Mum was with us and pointed out a position on the next rise where there was more evidence of a garden. Until then, I had not known that Ephraim the younger had lived there. We were once taken on a walk to the orchard to see baby birds in their nests and I then realised that the few remaining trees that we had seen in the mid fifties had been his orchard. The small shed was built by my grandfather after the family had moved from the property and that too has now disappeared.

Treasures from the garden

 The size of the original trees can be estimated by this large stump being used as a vantage point by Ephraim's descendants. Although this property was partially cleared and farmed, it was not very handled well and the crops produced were very meagre.



Lower Wilmot



It is amazing to see just how much of the past was spirited away when the land was cleared. With the trees now being grown here, I hope that it will sometime soon feel like a special place again.

Lower Wilmot - a rural landscape



My grandparents home was exactly five miles from Wilmot.



Other changes have occurred in Wilmot. I am standing outside the gate at my grandparent's house (Ivy and Roland Doe). It is the same gate, still there in 2012. The earlier picture below is from about 1952/53. The post on the left has  lost its metal cap and is now a bit shorter than the gate. The post and rail fence had been replaced by the much less picturesque barbed wire and the dirt driveway is a bit more overgrown. Just at my left shoulder, a dam can now be seen in the background. When the Doe family lived here, this was the site of the long drop toilet. Made from planks, it had seats for two, large and small and was covered with climbing roses. I was always aware of snakes and spiders. It was not a place to dally. The paddock at the back used to be forest and was then cleared completely. Young gum trees have been planted across the slope, ready for future harvest.



I was much smaller then. I am on the left, holding Bambi
 while Marilyn cuddles George, my pig



Changes many







Mick's house about 3 years ago

Mick's house has had some changes. If you compare the previous photp with the one above, you will notice that the end of the house has gone. The porch no longer existsand the chimney, now only a pile of bricks. The grass now is shorter and the place has lost its abandoned appearance. The same two trees flourish in the foreground. What will another three years bring?



Jack Ephraim James but call him Mick

I have just visited the Wilmot area where my mother grew up. Ephraim Doe the Younger moved his family into this area in the early to mid 1890s. He lived along the Narrawa Road where we found the dilapidated house of his daughter MaryAnn Bergan. I am told that the foundation stones of the cottage built for Amelia Doe (then Chiplin, later Elwin) after her separation from Charles Chiplin are still here. They later became the floor for a dairy when the cows were milked.



Mary Ann's house, last lived in by Mick Bergan



We always knew MaryAnn’s house as Mick’s house as he, the grandson of MaryAnn lived there when I was young. How he came to be Mick must be an interesting story as his name was Jack Ephraim James Bergan. Obviously that was not enough to choose from. We did not go into the house as it was raining, there were others waiting in the car, we were on our way to meet others for lunch and were short of time. Being a town girl, I am not all that confident about walking among cows, however friendly they might look. As I get closer, they seem to get bigger and their soft brown eyes are not enough to convince me that they are as friendly as the gentle bovines of nursery books and children’s stories. I am also not convinced that I can run as fast as a paddock full of cows, especially uphill in slippery conditions, avoiding cowpats and leaping gracefully over barbed wire fences to save myself when the breath has been expelled from my body.








Mick Bergan at Narrawa

 



A few more boards were gone from the end of the building and the paint was peeling but the windows and doors were intact. No more were the hordes of turkeys making their homes in the top of the walnut trees. If Mick’s blue telephone were still inside, it would have been spotted with dust and grit by now, years after making its last call. There were calendars lined up behind it, adding colour and keeping Mick in time with the rest of the world. I never saw any further into the building. Mick seemed only to live in the front, while the rest of the house settled a little and fell into disrepair each year. I notice the chimney has seen better times. No longer is it capable of sending thick smoke skywards on a winter’s night or cradling then dispersing the rich aromas of a meal cooked on the coals in the fireplace below.

The cows and horses keep guard.



Where it all happened



Mountain Vale - a new life

 The community at Mountain Vale consisted of some interesting characters and it seems that there were scoundrels among them. Nobody trusted anybody else and there was good reason for that. I found a newspaper notice announcing the death by murder of James Green at Bishopsbourne some years before Ephraim arrived there. Could this be the father of James Green who owned Mountain Vale?
This is the land taken as a grant by Ephraim Doe somewhere in the early 1860's. He had to pay it off but the transaction was never completed as he was sentenced to live at Port Arthur for 15 years. However, there were a few adventures in the intervening years to keep the Doe family busy.
The children were now of school age but education was not introduced to this area until 1874 by which time they were long gone. Formal learning was something these children had to undertake themselves in their adult years. Ploughing, housekeeping, cooking and farming the cool unsuitable country was their lot in life.

Help me Peter!

It was a long search, finding exactly where Ephraim lived at Bishopsbourne. After a few scrapes, he finally managed to get himself into real trouble again and killed John Harris when trying to steal a sheep. The newspaper reports gave some indication as to where the block of land was and mentioned that Ephraim owned it. I found that hard to believe but set off to the Deeds office with my newspaper report in my hand and that is where I met Peter. He was wonderful! I explained exactly what I wanted to know and between us we worked out roughly where this piece of land might be found. We had a clue that it was 50 acres and that seemed to Peter to be the best place to start. We isolated an area near James Green's land and found a block of the right size. Peter disappeared of to look at records stored away where folks like me might never find them. Every few minutes, he would appear at the back of the room, heading in a different direction but signalling to me that he was still focussed on the search. Back and forward he went until, after 20 minutes he approached the counter with a look of triumph. In his hand he held some papers, describing the piece of land we had chosen and a map showing its dimensions. In printed letters on the map was written E Doe. Each letter had been neatly crossed out and replaced with the name Thomas Jones. Eureka! Dates showed that the land was a grant, taken up by Ephraim and then transferred to Thomas Jones two weeks after Ephraim and Bridget were arrested.
A search nowadays would be much harder to do. After collecting a key to the room where all these deeds are stored, you are on your own. Peter's help was free as were the copies of the maps I carried away with me that day. It was explained that I could get a hand coloured map to frame for a fee but I have not done that at this stage. I guess it was a much more interesting search for Peter than checking the lie of somebody's drainage pipes, but he made my day

Going North

Maybe it was in Feruary 1860 that Ephraim and Bridget Doe decided it was time to move north. Elijah Hill, it seems was not happy that a horse he was missing at the time was last seen on February 14th in the care of Ephraim Doe at Bridgewater. If the horse was taken by illegal means, it would have been more noticeable than most as it was old and white, not the best transport for a long trip.
Longford area invited the family in and at some stage not long after their arrival, they settled at Bishopsbourne.


Undergrowth at Bullock Holes Rivulet



Twice I have been to look at the land chosen by the couple to construct their own farm. The first time, it was magical. Mossy logs, trickling streams, ferns and tall gum trees made this place look much more beautiful than it had seemed on the land map where it was described in places as scrubby and marshy. I pushed through the cutting grass where burrows of wombats were evident, balanced on fallen logs across Bullock Holes Rivulet and listened to the birds singing in the trees. The ground beneath my feet was soft and springy and the beauty of the bush was everywhere. I tried to imagine where their hut may have stood and how it may have looked when part of the land had been ploughed. No signs were evident of the horse or hens or any settlement of the area.

My next visit, a couple of years later left me feeling torn. Gone was all that I had found attractive. Now reverted to Forestry land, it had just been clear felled. It was just mud. Great gouge marks were evidence that heavy machinery had been used. Water pooled in slushy puddles as an occasional spear of grass tried to peek through the drowned degraded landscape. I could not get away fast enough. No exploring. No magic. No imagining a past.

Gum trees and bracken, but where did their house stand?

There are probably trees sprouting there again now, but planted in rows with no variety in the undergrowth. The cycle will repeat itself, the land may repair, but for me, the essence of my ancestors presence on that piece of land has been vaporised.