William ROWE arrived at Port Phillip early in 1841. He came from Leamington, StaffordShire, where he was an Estate Agent. That name had, and still has, a different sense in our usage of it out here. In England it signifies one in charge of the financial side of an estate or estates, generally of several estates and he would have an office in the nearest small town. So this was a man with some knowledge of land, stock and finance.

He, his wife and three small children, the youngest an infant in arms, sailed for Australia in 1840, arriving in Port Phillip early in 1841 after a voyage of six months. His second son, Charles, the baby on arrival, in his "Recollections of My Early Life" records that his father was a comparatively wealthy man as he had about £300 to his credit.

Leaving his family in the small settlement of Melbourne, William Rowe, in search of land, made his way on foot to Geelong and then still further to what is now the township of Rokewood. There he was taken ill and stayed for some time at the station of Kurac-a-ruc, then owned by the Messrs Aitchison. While he was there, his hosts had a dispute with Captain Fyans, Police Magistrate of Geelong, about taking up some land about 15 miles further west, and the dispute was settled by the Aitchisons waiving their claims in favour of William Rowe. In this way he came to own the nucleus of the property called "Naringal", still (1951) in his family.

His next move was to return to Geelong, buy a dray and a pair of bullocks, hire the service of some convicts, return to his property and build a house. There being no timber on the property, this meant trips into the hills where Linton now is, splitting slabs, getting bark spars etc and carting them back to the plains. They put up a hut with bark roof about 20 ft by 12 ft, divided into two rooms in which he and his family lived for about 6 years and where his youngest son was born. A house was then built for his men.

William's next move was to buy stock. For this he again had to visit Geelong, 40 odd miles distant, and beyond. He took the dray and one man. The man left him but he brought back 300 ewes safely. Then off again, to Melbourne this time, to collect his family. They were packed in the dray together with all their belongings, and reached Naringal late in 1841. William, the eldest son was then 5 or 6, Mary two years younger and Charles still a baby.

A new house was built about 1847, it was then considered a very grand house and was still standing nearly 100 years later. It was burnt down in the bushfires of 1944. Some alterations must have been made. For instance, the floors made of stamped down anthills had been replaced by wood. It was a dark little house, built of slabs of timber, lined throughout with the same and a back and front veranda. Some bedrooms were without windows, as in the 80s or 90s extra sleeping quarters had been added to house an overseer, wife and family of 12.

Life was hard in those early days at Naringal. Ready money was scarce, distances were long and there were no stores nearer than Geelong. Goods were brought once a year when the wool was taken there and if money was short rations were scanty for that year. The sheep increased but wool was not very valuable, the highest price Charles remembered was 1/- a lb. and that was not until the 1850's. One year in the 40's when sheep were unsaleable, a whole flock of wethers were boiled down and the tallow sold. Another year the sheep were shorn twice and that just carried them on. The scab got amongst the sheep and no one knew how to cure it. Arsenic was used and poisoned many sheep and made the wool dry and harsh. Later when tobacco and sulphur were discovered to be a cure they were able to get rid of this trouble.

In those early days many aboriginals lived along the creek and about the homestead. On the whole they were friendly but as the white men increased so they began to disappear. Fences had not yet been built so that the sheep had to be shepherded. Even at night when shut up in yards this was necessary because of dingoes, then very plentiful. Two men shared a wheeled hut and took turns watching through the night. When the gold rush began in 1851 every man left the place. The shepherding and many other jobs as well had to be done by the young family. William and his younger sister Mary spent many long days, winter and summer, guarding their father's sheep. No easy task on these open plains swept by violent winds, hot North winds in summer, cold and sleety in winter. For several years help was very difficult to get. Even for shearing there was trouble getting men and those they got were very rough. During the mining rush and indeed all through the 50's, life was made extra difficult by the miners pouring across the country to Ballarat, fossicking for gold in the creeks, often stealing sheep and horses as they passed along. But these same miners were a source of income too, as trade in meat direct to the camps was brisk and continuous. William was now 15 or so, Mary two years younger and there were two younger boys. Education was a serious problem to those early settlers for there were no schools for their children to attend. For a while in the 40's an educated man was working on the place and when free, he gave the children some lessons - their mother had taught them to read and write. She also was too busy to have time to give them. Later on there was a governess for a short time but she hated the loneliness of the place and left before she had really taught them anything. Then came the gold rush and the children themselves were too busy for lessons. William longed for education, he devoured every book that came his way but these were not many.

None of the family ever talked of their mother. In Charles' memories she is mentioned once only. Years later one of her daughters-in-law, Charles' wife, used to say to the youngest Glenfine daughter "You are the spit of your grandmother, don't grow up like her". When asked why, Mrs Charles Rowe would reply "she was a tartar, but doted on her youngest son Henry. Also she was a freak did not care what she looked like". It seemed that in the age of crinolines, she wore a narrow skirt reaching to the top of a pair of men's boots and a shirt of her husbands worn loose outside. She domineered over her whole family, husband and all. Looking back to those difficult years at Naringal, one feels tartar she may have been - a pioneer and worker she must have been.

About the middle of the 1850's the Government offered the squatters a pre-emptive right to purchase 640 acres around their homesteads. Later more land was surveyed and put up for sale. William Rowe bought all he could and at the end of 1857 bought Glenfine from the then owner John Chirnside. At that time Glenfine ran about 1600 sheep and 400 cattle, Naringal 1200 and 200 cattle. A little later his eldest son William took over the managership of Glenfine. In 1858 his daughter Mary married W.L.Faris, while Henry was sent to Geelong as a boarder at the just opened Geelong Grammar School. Henry (adored by his mother) was later sent to England to finish his education there and came home not long before his father died in 1866. Meantime in 1863 Charles married Kate, the sister of Faris, his brother in law, and was set up by his father on a station near Coleraine. Glenfine, on his father's death was left to William who had also married in 1863. Naringal was left to Henry who had been born there in 1842.

The Rev. Theodore Carlos Benoni Stretch came from Worchester, England, the family was a Quaker one though his mother was Church of England. Just a year before he was born in 1816, his parents had lost a son of 9 years old, called Theodore Carlos. His mother, prostrate with grief, insisted on her new son having the same name with Benoni added. They already had a daughter, Diana, and a year after Theodore's birth, another son was born, John Cliffe. Their mother, strangely jealous for Theodore's sake and anxious not to break his spirit would not keep the second boy at home. He lived with foster parents until several years old. In 1821 the father and two small sons were baptised in St Swithin's Church, Worchester, his wife and 5 other members of the congregation acting as witnesses.

We know very little of the family during the thirty years following. The Rev. T.C.B.Stretch's wife, who adored her handsome, charming, domineering husband always said his mother had thoroughly spoiled him and she had carried it on. He was educated at Worchester College, Oxford, ordained Deacon 1841 and priest 1842. Ten years later he arrived at Port Phillip with his wife and 6 children, the youngest was born on board ship before its arrival. Mrs Stretch was allowed to stay on board while the ship was in port. she had brought with her from England a woman to help with the children as the eldest, a girl, was only 8 years old. It was the time of the Gold rush and this woman, lured as so many were by the thought of wealth, decided to try her fortune on the gold fields but was worried about the baby. The baby's mother, however, a delicate, quiet little lady, unperturbed, replied "Miss Lizzie can manage quite well". Miss Lizzie was 8 ! This baby and two others born in Australia died. The Rev. T.C.B.Stretch was appointed incumbent of Christ's Church, Geelong, in the year he arrived, 1852 and two years later was made Archdeacon of Geelong and incumbent of St Paul's. As Archdeacon his jurisdiction included not only Geelong but extended over a large field from Ballarat to the westward.

The question of education was at that time of paramount importance in Australia. Parents wanting secondary education for their sons had to send them to Tasmania or England. This on account of expense was often impossible. Bishop Perry, first Bishop of Melbourne in 1848, his Diocese was the whole of Victoria, was very insistent on the establishing of Church Schools and it was with his backing that Archdeacon Stretch set out to meet this want and to Archdeacon Stretch must be given the credit that the Geelong Grammar School was officially opened on June 24th 1853. Two of the first pupils were his sons Theodore and Samual and another was Henry Rowe, William's youngest son.

Geelong in those days, though the second important town after Melbourne was a very small place. The financing of the Grammar School and of St Pauls Church were difficult problems. The Ven. Archdeacon was involved in both. The school in 1860, for lack of finances, was closed down for 18 months and that same year, the Ven. Archdeacon unable to secure sufficient stipend on which to keep his wife and family, resigned his living and returned to England. There were other reasons also; he claimed the vicarage was damp and unhealthy, three children born in Australia had died in infancy, the other children were continually ailing, his own health also was not the best. His doctor told him he should not live by the sea and advised a thorough change. In England he was not happy and by the end of 1861 we find him once more established at St Paul's Geelong and welcomed back by his parishioners.

His daughter Lizzie or Elizabeth as she was later called, was now 16, a fine, handsome, capable girl. She had been the right hand of her mother from very early days, even on the first voyage out, as at the age of 8 she had cared for the 4 younger children. The Archdeacon's sister Miss Diana Stretch, opened the first school for girls in Geelong in the 50's and to this school went her three nieces. Elizabeth always felt a particular affection and gratitude to her aunt for the help and kindnesses received in those early years.

The Archdeacon's wife was a charming little lady, always rather frail and so occupied, as she said herself, in spoiling her adored husband that she had little time for home and family. The care of these fell to the eldest daughter.

It must have been in 1862 that William Rowe, being in Geelong on business, met the Archdeacon and was invited to a meal at St Paul's Vicarage. On this visit he was very impressed by the beauty, charm and capabilities of the eldest daughter and decided at once that she was exactly the girl he would like as a wife for his eldest son. Then the fathers took council together and fixed up the whole thing. William Rowe went back to Naringal, told his son of his plans and sent him off to Geelong to put everything in order.

William always said that the first time he saw miss Lizzie Stretch she was sitting in church with her Sunday School class and thought she looked a charming girl and a very suitable wife for him. After church he went to the Vicarage and met the family. He only had a few days to spare, the young couple never had a private meeting, but he returned home engaged to be married to Miss Lizzie Stretch aged 19. He was 28. Shortly after this the Rev. Stretch was moved to Sale and it was there the wedding took place. There was a woman in Sale who owned the only sewing machine in the town. Her daughter, an old lady now, can recollect it being lent to help the Archdeacon's daughter, Lizzie Stretch to make her trousseau.

Elizabeth often used to say that she had never seen William alone till after their marriage. None of his family came to the wedding, the distance was too great. From the church door they were driven in a buggy to Port Albert, a good long drive, then they took a boat to Geelong. Elizabeth said the weather was rough and this voyage took two days longer than it should have. She was very ill but fortunately she had many friends at Geelong. William had left his horse and buggy at Geelong and from there began the long drive of nearly 50 miles across the windy, treeless plains. They stayed one night at Shelford. The poor bride had no idea what to expect as she had never been on the plains before. For the last 9 miles or so there was not a single tree and always a boisterous wind. At last they dropped down from the plain on the Woady Yalloch Creek, with it's fringe of gums and there was her future home, a small wooden bungalow situated on the bank of the Creek Behind it, the outhouses, stables and shearing shed. Young William had been living in the house for some time and it had been furnished in a sparse and not very comfortable way. During his absence his father, determined to make her home really attractive for the bride had brought odds and ends of furniture and fittings from Naringal and was there to welcome his son and his wife on their arrival. Elizabeth always loved her father in law, a quiet hardworking man, wishing well to all. Her mother in law was another matter. They had not yet met. she came to see her new daughter-in-law a few days later. and a difficult meeting it was.

The older woman fired questions at the young one, then suddenly said "That's my chair", got up, picked it up, took it outside, and put it in her buggy. She took three chairs that visit. Every time she came something was taken back to Naringal. Finally it was two washing tubs, the only ones in the house. William coming home at night found his young wife in tears and exclaimed " How foolish to let her have them! Just like my mother! " He promised to get new furniture as soon as possible but as that meant a trip to Geelong it was not very soon.

There was another trouble too. On the first Sunday at home, William at breakfast said " I always go to Naringal for dinner on Sundays, my father likes to talk to me so be ready to come along" They were met by the parents he smiling and so pleased to see them both, she stiff and unsmiling. She took Elizabeth to her bedroom to remove her bonnet and wrap and said "I forgive you this time Lizzie as you do not know but I do not approve of Sunday visiting". The two men had a pleasant afternoon but not the two women. Next Sunday William again prepared for the drive to Naringal. His wife implored him to let her stay at home, cried a little and told him what his mother had said but he was unmoved, merely remarking that was just like his mother and to take no notice - his father would be very disappointed if they didn't turn up. So go she reluctantly did. Mrs Rowe Senior saw the buggy with two people in it coming over the hill - she quickly wrapped some food and walked away up the creek. This she did, wet or fine, hot or cold, every Sunday as long as she lived at Naringal. William Rowe died about 3 years later, in 1866. At his request he was buried on Naringal about a mile up the creek where an acre or so of flat ground lies under the shadow of a big outcrop of granite on the slope above There today many of the Rowe family and their faithful friends are taking their last rest. Naringal was left to his youngest son Henry who two years later married Elizabeth's younger sister, Patty. Mrs Rowe Senior left the station and lived till her death in one of the nearby townships, Old Pitfield, now completely vanished

The first child born at Glenfine was a girl, Theodora. She was born in 1864 and from then on a baby each year seemed to be the order of the day, by 1870 there were six children. Then trouble came. The dread scourge of diptheria attacked the young family. Four died, leaving only Dora and an ailing infant, Maud. Their mother was stricken with grief. The only available doctor was 40 miles distant at Colac. In childbirth she depended on a midwife from the local township, in sickness on her own common sense and powers of doctoring. These she learnt in a hard school and was called upon in every adversity. Fortunately she always had some help and companionship as well as that of her adoring but very busy husband. At the time of the diptheria outbreak Miss Curlewis was in the house and she took complete charge of the baby, another was on the way. Miss Curlewis acted as guardian and slave to the babies who still arrived every year. Of Elizabeth's 15 children only 7 survived to grow up, 6 girls and one boy. Marjorie, the youngest of the family to survive was born in 1881. There was a boy the following year but he died at birth.

Marvellous to relate, in spite of this constant childbearing, Elizabeth found time to be a real companion and help to her husband, to keep his home in comfort and order, to keep and make new friends and to take an active part in Church life while at the same time always ready to seek and help those less fortunate than herself.

A great many things had happened during those 18 years or so since her marriage. Her father-in law had died in 1866. William her husband owned Glenfine, his brother Charles a station near Castlemaine while Naringal had been left to the youngest brother Henry. William, the eldest felt this keenly, he had a great affection for the land originally taken up by his father while Henry was indifferent. Unlike his other two brothers who had practically no education, Henry had been sent to Geelong Grammar School, to England and even to Oxford. He came home just before his father died. He disliked life on an Australian station, longing for the social life to which he had become accustomed. In 1868 he had married Elizabeth's younger sister Patty, the pretty one of the family. Gay and sociably inclined, the young couple lived at Naringal for 6 years. Bishop Stephen as a lad can remember staying at Naringal with Mr and Mrs Henry Rowe and remembers too that a lay reader of the Church of England lived at Old Pitfield, having the whole Western district under his charge. Victoria was still one diocese with headquarters in Melbourne. Never contented at Naringal Henry Rowe suddenly sold it to Sir Samuel Wilson who already owned a good deal of property round about. With this money in hand the young couple set out for a tour of Europe taking with them their two very small children. They landed in Italy, he almost at once contracted a fever and died in Rome that same year, 1874.

William, usually a quiet reserved man, was furious with both his brother and sister-in-law over the sale which had been carried out without his knowledge. From the first he determined to get Naringal back. At the time he was financially involved in building a new house, the old house on the creek was too small for his growing family. Also when the creek flooded water came up to and even into the house, the sludge leaving a most unpleasant smell. Elizabeth attributed many of the children's ills to such conditions.

The new house was built half way up the slope from the creek to the plain and built of bluestone obtained on the property. A large, square two storied house with a veranda and balcony on three sides. It had huge rooms and huge passages, two stairways and to modern ideas, no conveniences. There was one bathroom upstairs with a big bath but no water laid on. Outside sanitation of course. A huge kitchen with bakers oven and large stove, copper and wash tubs in the scullery. This house must have been finished about 1875 as Maud's first memories were of running up and down the hill carrying odds and ends from one house to the other. Most station owners were at that time, building houses in Melbourne; William was building a town house in the country.

In spite of his commitments as to the house, he managed to repurchase Naringal at a much bigger price than that at which it had been sold. An old friend tells how he had to borrow from his bank in Geelong; naturally the Manager wanted to see his books. These he sent in. Remember he had no education. After some weeks the books were returned with a note saying "We suppose you understand your books, we don't" but the money was forthcoming. In these years William worked harder than ever. He was out every and all day, attending to and supervising the myriad odd duties of the two properties. He now had 50,000 acres of land, about a sheep to the acre, a number of horses and some cattle though there was not much attention to spare for them. Glenfine never had a plentiful supply of milk and butter in spite of Elizabeth's protests as to the needs of the family. Sheep were the only animals in which William was interested.

In 1866 Archdeacon Stretch was made Archdeacon of Ballarat and was there until 1875. The diocese of Melbourne still included the whole of Victoria. As the population increased the task of overseeing this vast area from one point became more and more difficult. The Bishop and his assistants did a valiant job, touring the country and visiting as many places as possible. As far back as 1872 there was a lay-reader at Old Pitfield, 8 miles or so from Glenfine.

William Rowe was a deeply religious man, narrow in his outlook perhaps but practising sincerely the Christian life of service to his fellow men. His wife, brought up in a clergyman's household and the right hand of her mother in all parish functions, was in character emotionally enthusiastic, especially towards anyone in distress, while direct and determined in action. Their home was a resting place and calling point for every travelling Churchman, from Bishop to Layreader. William enjoyed a theological argument, his wife fed them with the best she could provide and it was good, and she saw that they were rested and refreshed.

Her father was often at Glenfine on his tours of the countryside. He and his son-in-law did not see eye to eye in many things. The Archdeacon ruling his own home with rigour, wanted to do the same with his daughter's. He considered her husband too lenient to Elizabeth, making no demur to her active participation in the affairs of the district. The Archdeacon however, did have a high opinion of his son~in-law's brains and used to say, if educated, William would have made a real scholar and called his rapidly increasing library a library of cribs.

Archdeacon Stretch was given the work of raising money necessary for the establishment of a Diocese of Ballarat. This he did and in doing so made himself very popular with the whole district. He was quick in argument and had a racy way of telling a story. He was offered the position of bishop, but not very wisely one feels, declined this on the grounds that he had himself made all the arrangements and raised the necessary money.

Bishop Thornton was then appointed in 1876 and Archdeacon Stretch returned to Melbourne. Bishop Thornton was at Ballarat for 20 years or more, a valued and trusted friend to all at Glenfine. Known disrespectfully by the family as "Sam Ballarat".

It must have been at about this period that Elizabeth began to take up her many interests outside her home. The first clergyman there had been layreaders, to have charge of that part of Ballarat Diocese, and had headquarters at Carngham, a mining township in the hills. In the 70's the Rev C. Yeatman was in charge and his daughter, now over 80 years of age, has told many of her memories of those days. Her first visit to Glenfine was in 1878. Her father making a trip round his parish. They drove in a one horse buggy. He was not sure of the way and when reaching the low lying ground there was only a faint track across the plains. It was winter time. Night came on, they had no light and he knew there was a creek bed on his right. They could see a light far ahead but as he knew there were mines scattered about, he reckoned this would be on one of the poppet heads. At last, completely lost, not knowing in which direction Glenfine lay, he took out his horse, tied it to the wheel, made a bed for his small daughter under the buggy with rugs and such coverings as he had and he himself settled down on the buggy seat. Sleep was impossible and was he not glad to hear voices and see a lantern bobbing along in the dark. A search party had come out to look for him! Miss Yeatman remembers arriving stiff and cold, being thawed out before a big fire and put to bed, but on that visit remembers none of the family. They went on the next day. Lismore was his limit in that direction. The Yeatman family were often at Glenfine after that; there was always a welcome for them. William and Elizabeth were fond of Mr Yeatman. According to his daughter, he could not get on with everyone, he had too witty a tongue. William agreed with him in religious matters, Elizabeth enjoyed a battle of tongues with him; while Maud and this slightly older child struck up a lifelong friendship. Miss Yeatman tells a tale of how her father fell out with his Church warden at Linton - was rueful on the subject, told Elizabeth the story and she undertook to try and help. she drove 16 miles to Linton, found the Church warden digging a grave, working at the bottom of it. Squatting on the edge, she lectured him on his duty to the Vicar. He unable to get away, agreed to call the quarrel off.

Cape Clear, another mining town 7 miles from Glenfine, held the nearest Church and from it's beginning the Glenfine owners supported it in every possible way they could. A party from the station attended every service held there. Elizabeth organised tea meetings, the great Church entertainment of those days. She had her Bible Classes in various small towns, she visited the sick and those who strayed from the path of virtue. She, with her buggy and pair of ponies, became an important part of the whole district's life. Before sending for a Doctor 40 odd miles away, Mrs Rowe was consulted and was often able to do what was needed. She was called in to settle family difficulties; an erring son or daughter, a drunken husband - she would deal with them all. Her last child to live was born in 1881, a still-born boy a year later and there the family came to an end. No, not exactly that, for when Marjorie was only 9 months old, she adopted, with William's full approval, the infant daughter of the then parson, the Rev Ashe. His wife had died in childbirth, leaving a miserably ailing baby with only a sister of 16 or so to look after her. A year or two later a boy of 5 years old was adopted, he also was left with no one to care for him - so two more were added, Eleanor and Percy, to the family of 7 already at Glenfine. Despite the children she had lost she always felt she had been given many privileges and these she had to share - and did share; not always with happy results but nothing daunted her.

William and Elizabeth were devoted to each other. She admired and respected his steadiness and perseverance, he admires her enthusiasm and would deny her nothing everything she did was right for him. Maud at about 11, remembers her mother wearing a new dress and asking "Well, dear, do you like it?". Her father nearby, put an arm round his wifely shoulders saying " A beautiful dress and a beautiful woman in it". Maud wondered - was the rather plump, dark eyed, strongly featured woman in front of her really beautiful? Not a bit like the fairies and blue eyed beauties of her dreams. Another sister tells how there were always flowers in the centre of the long dining table, but they had to be in a low bowl, her father must be able to see his wife's face at the other end. Every evening they spent together in their dining room, William in his chair reading, Elizabeth at the table doing her books or sewing, and giving him an account of the day's happenings. The family and friends had the drawing room and school room where they played games, strummed on the piano and made as much noise as they liked but their parents were left in peace.

Every Sunday afternoon William would get his buggy and horse and Elizabeth with him, would drive out on some special round of inspection. To look at a new fence perhaps, or a ford re-made across the creek or a flock of sheep in a certain paddock. And this drive came after the 7 mile drive to the 11 o'clock service at Cape Clear.

From their earliest days the children remember those Sundays. Some of the family left at 9 am to run the Sunday School. The others left at 10 . There would be the big station wagonette called "The Rowdy" a high seat in front, then two long seats facing one another at a lower level behind - it took 3 or 4 horses to draw it. William and Elizabeth with a double buggy and ponies special guests too, while some of the young folk rode. There was always a buggy for men working on the station as they all liked and respected the boss and knew he liked them to go to Church, 3 or 4 men always did so. Elizabeth had an arrangement with a woman living opposite the Church who provided tea and biscuits to anyone who wanted it before setting out for home. Then came a large dinner at 2 pm. A skeleton staff took it in turns to stay and prepare this. After dinner William and Elizabeth went out on their own while the family formed the habit of a regular Sunday walk. Grown ups, visitors, boys and girls, jackeroos and even the small fry. This was generally along the creek often for miles. The distance forgotten while singing and story telling held the attention of all. After tea there came the evening service led by William in the dining room. To this, practically everyone on the station came. Rows of chairs were set in place. Visitors, family, household staff, overseer and family, working men were all there. In shearing time it was a job to find enough seats. And how they all sang! To the accompaniment of the harmonium used every day for morning and evening prayers. Meantime, the two daughters who had gone to take the Sunday School had a meal at Cape Clear then gone on to Corinhap and Rokewood Junction to take Sunday School at those townships, getting home in time for tea. As the daughters grew up this was a weekly task expected of them by their parents.

Chapter 4.

The problem of feeding everyone at Glenfine must have been immense. The family numbered 11. William ran the place to a great extent with the help of jackeroos, young men learning station experience - there were always 3 or 4 of them in the house. The house staff was always 4 or sometimes more, a woman cook whose husband did odd jobs.

The indoor maids, one for down stairs, one for up. While the children were small there was some kind of nurse, later a governess. There were constant visitors. The house was never free of some of Elizabeth's 'down and outs' if nobody else, and last but by no means least, was "Auntie Nicholson". She and Elizabeth had been at school in Geelong together and after that they kept up a desultory correspondence. Then "Auntie" came as governess to some people not far from Glenfine. She was not very happy, Elizabeth was expecting another baby and she asked her to come to her as a companion. This she did in 1873 just before the one son Tom was born and there she stayed until Glenfine was sold. Hers must have been a difficult position. Until Dora came back from school she was Elizabeth's right hand, then Dora, inadequately, and later Maud, most competently, took this place and Auntie dropped into being the supervisor of the younger members of the family. A martinet she was but how good to the children when they were really ill. If they were crabby and cross she gave them a dose of Gregory's powder, the theory being that crabbiness showed some malaise. How they loathed the smell but only the very brave or reckless dared to put up a fight. Nancy was one of those. She fought against the nauseous draught every time, being held down by two satellites while Auntie poured the dose down her throat. Years later Marjorie sat with her mouth open while a young niece, upset by some action of Auntie's sobbed "You wicked old woman" and she didn't fall down dead!

Besides this household was the overseer, Mr Hoare, wife and child in a cottage a short distance away. He came to William in 1878 and was also there until Glenfine was sold. The man in charge of the stables also had a cottage where he lived with his family. His was no light job, the horses brought in every morning - 30 or more of them. Of course William always wanted his, and the jackeroos, with two or three each, saw that their horses were looked after. The members of the family each had a horse or a pony. Every evening their mother made a list for the stable, her ponies, Dora's ponies, so many riding horses to be ready when wanted. Their father insisted that all the children learned to saddle their own mounts when they began to ride and saw to it that they could put a horse, or two, into a buggy without overlooking necessary straps.

Then there was the men's hut. There was always a cook there, 3 or 4 station hands and Paikie, a dark man who had come to William in very early days and also was there when the place was sold. A visiting missionary said he was a hill country Indian and thought he must have deserted a ship. He had a very rudimentary knowledge of Christianity in which the Devil and the Virgin Mary played equally terrifying roles. No one got past the point at which his religious convictions had arrived. As a young man he was a noted horse-breaker but later had to be taken off that job, for if he met a robin red breast - and they were plentiful - he said it was the Virgin Mary and he would be killed if he went on, so he came home. The younger children remember him as a bowed little man with clothes too big for him. He wore Tom's cast offs, Tom being over 6 feet, Paikie perhaps 5 feet. His boots were enormous and turning up at the toes, and when asked why the big boots, his invariable reply was "horses think them my toes! Stand on them, my toes safe". He was paid a small wage which he banked but never drew. Elizabeth kept him in clothes, he certainly never had anything new. He fed the pigs, coming into the kitchen for scraps with a big tub on wheels. He watered the horses and the fowls, while in his sleeping hut lived dozens of cats, he loved them. His one pleasure was an occasional local race meeting. He would ride up to the house wearing his latest suit, wrinkled all over him, still the awful boots; while on his head he wore a red tam O' shanter made for him by one of the older girls in her early youth. He got £5 from the boss, to be docked from future earnings and off he went, not to be seen for a day or two. He would arrive home a little crestfallen and with no money. According to the other men he had a good "booze" and his money taken off him. However, he was always ready for the next time. He was fond of the children especially of a cousin who spent most holidays with them. Directly he saw her it was "Come Missie May, come and jump chicken coop" which she did with great agility and did for him till she was 17 at least. Elizabeth used to worry about Paikie's money in the bank, quite a sizeable amount it must have been as he had been paying in for years and never drew any out. she talked to him about making a will, suggesting various people to whom he might like to leave his money. As he took no notice of her, she asked the children to try and persuade him to do something. They did try only to get a cunning look and the remark "No jolly fear, me make will, Mother poison meal so that was that. For a time, after William's death, Paikie was very upset at having Tom for a boss. One morning when Tom was at breakfast, one of the maids told him that Paikie was in the kitchen wanting to see him. Tom said he would be there directly he had finished his breakfast but on going into the kitchen he found the old man had disappeared. The children were driving to an orchard beyond Commeralghip that day, they often had the pleasant job of collecting fruit. When out on the plains they saw a familiar figure tramping along, a bundle on his back. He looked round, saw them, took off his swag and sat on it till they came up to him. With no remark, he stopped them, threw his swag into the body of the buggy and got in himself. When asked where he was going. "To Charlie" he said "Tom eating bread and jam, wont speak to me". Charlie was William's brother, Charles Rowe who lived at Commeralghip. The children dropped Paikie there and there he stayed for several weeks until his annoyance calmed down. The family at Glenfine missed him badly and so did all the animals on the place. When Tom left Glenfine for Naringal Paikie went with him. He met a tragic death in his own sleeping hut. He must have had too big a fire in the hut and the hut and he went up in smoke at night without anyone knowing of it. He was buried in the family cemetery on the Naringal Creek. The floods were up, the parson could not get through to Naringal so Tom took the service. All the people on the place followed him to his last rest, behind them, Tom said, a line of cats which disappeared after the service and were never seen again.

That brings us to Naringal where, in Glenfine days, the overseer Mr Moller, his wife and family of 12 lived in the old house. They too had to be catered for from Glenfine. The stores came up once a year on the bullock drays that took the wool to Geelong, bringing the stores back. There were 12 yoke of oxen in many of them, the drivers walking alongside with their long whips and their blood curdling cries. The big stuff - flour, sugar etc went to the store in the overseer's home. To the house came all the extras while the big bins of flour, sugar, salt etc were all kept filled from the overseer's stock. The house storeroom opened onto the back yard and was kept securely locked. First Elizabeth and later on one of the older girls was in charge of it. It was officially opened two mornings a week - the overseer's wife, the groom's wife, the hut cook, someone from Naringal, the house cook all turned up with their lists. Every thing was weighed and entered in a book, these things had to last a year. Elizabeth with her great vitality and enterprise, had a hasty temper and woebetide the daughter who ran out of currants, biscuits, coffee, ginger or any of the odds and ends before the year was out! How the children loved to get into that store, picking and stealing an oddment here and there! As a very small child Marjorie was the pet of Dora, eighteen years older than she. Dora would take her with her to the store and many a treat Marjorie had, a handful of raisins, sweet biscuits or, joy of joy's - a teaspoon full of dry cocoa! It was the overseer's job to order the bulk food supplies for the station - flour, tea, sugar, salt, oatmeal, dried fruits etc. but it was Elizabeth who had to order all the necessary extras, coffee, cocoa, biscuits (coffee biscuits it always seemed to be) and luxuries if funds allowed. Meat, that is to say mutton, was always plentiful and was served three times a day in some form or other. A whole sheep was brought up to the house and hung in the roomy meat safe, really a wired room, where Mr Hoare and Elizabeth herself proceeded to chop it into joints. He had taught her and reckoned she was as good as any butcher. Now and then a pig was killed, an event not much appreciated by the family. It meant lots of hard work helping with the pickling and curing, the sausage making and pork pies and after all the work Elizabeth would probably give the greater part away. From the sausages, especially, the family hated to be parted. Elizabeth was a good cook in a large way. In the bakers oven she baked bread, and pies and marvellous sponge cakes for which the family had to whip the eggs for exactly 20 minutes, the cook of the day standing by in admiration and passing her the necessary implements. Elizabeth was easily beguiled by flattery and the cooks soon found this out. All the jams and pickles were made by the family. The two younger children began at a very early age to make jams and made it on an open fireplace in an outside room. They felt it was a great treat and only once could they remember making a real failure. Summer time is jam making time and how they sizzled in that iron roofed room, stirring the huge copper pan over the open fire. During the holidays the jam room was a favourite resort for the household. Those not on the job sat on the steps while somebody, it was generally Nancy, read a book aloud to them. Heat, even meals were forgotten as they listened enthralled to the adventures of those heroes and heroines.

Chapter 5.

William was once heard to say that the bloodiest army possible would be made up of small girls and he should have known. As regards keeping down the rabbits, his family must have been a great asset. From early times, all day rabbiting picnics were the chief holiday joy. Tom, back from school with two or three friends, was the organiser of these. His mother insisted on one grown up person being with the party and on this job William would spare a jackeroo. Maud tells a tale of how, when all were wildly chasing a rabbit on foot, Diana, always short-sighted, ran over the bank of the creek, fell ten feet or so down and lay unconscious on the stones below. The young man in charge leaped down frantically, splashed water over her, the others standing round asking "is she dead?". After a time she opened her eyes; the young man picked her up, carried her up the bank and sat her against the wheel of the wagonette. Everyone went back to rabbiting, no one thought of taking her home so there she stayed until they were all tired out and had decided that the best place was home. Nothing disastrous happened Diana was put to bed and kept there for a day or two and seemed none the worse for her experience. All the family remember days of that sort. The jackeroo with the oldest station wagonette and two horses, in which were piled shovels, spades, ferrets and the younger members of the family not considered big enough to ride. The Naringal Creek was always the objective where it went through a paddock called Bairds, a name not to be forgotten by the Rowe family. There would be 9 or 10 youngsters all told and a pack of dogs grey hounds, sheep dogs, an Irish terrier, a cocker spaniel and a mongrel black spaniel belonging to Marjorie which always went in the wagonette with her. Rabbits, hares, even an occasional fox, they chased them all; on foot, on horseback, in the buggy bumping over tussocks and stones. They dug long holes till thoroughly tired out, then their young guardian lit a fire in the bed of the creek, the billy was boiled, chops were grilled. All ate huge quantities of meat t bread and cake and again on with the hunt. There were days when horses were not available, the man in charge of the stables had the last word there. He had been heard to mutter "Those young ladies ride the tails off anything, see the poor beasts lean against the trees last night". This meant walking instead but no one minded much. Off they would all go across the stable ford and up the steep rise on to the plains. There were always rabbits and hares to be found and the children enjoyed the chase as much as the dogs, Marjorie - a big fat child - and her beloved dog bringing up the rear. Caesar, that was the dog's distinguished name, was a mongrel black spaniel, despised by the rest of the family as a coward and no sport, so what was their surprise on one such day when Caesar caught a hare -lying snug and safe it thought in it's tussock nest. Over excited by praise and pats Caesar then chased a cow and she turned tables on him. He had to run for his life back to his adoring mistress, scared of the cow herself. Someone came to the rescue and all was well. Those were happy days. Glenfine was a paradise for the young.

Another job the children all enjoyed and which was encouraged by their father was cutting thistles. Today this does not seem to be done, in the 80's it was a regular part of a station hand's work. The jackeroos, when boundary riding, generally took a hoe with them and cut thistles as they rode past. The children tried to do this but hacked their ponies legs as often as the thistles and were told only to cut where the thistles were thick and to get off their ponies and do it on foot. Thistling for a long time held a high place as an object for a walk and everyone could do it, even grown up visitors.

For the children there were many lovely things to do. Walks after school hours along the creek with a competition as to who could cross it most often between two given points - even falling in was allowed so long as one got to the other side, Yabbie fishing and being allowed to cook these for tea was a great treat. The mushrooms on the plains were delicious, small and pink. Everyone in the house joined in a mushrooming walk and then helped to prepare them for a meal. Gum picking was a perennial treat. The Wattle trees grew along the creek, small plantations of them. There was a ritual in gum picking. Each child gathered as much as he or she could but never ate any till the word was given by the leader. Then they all produced their lumps, these were equally divided and everyone sat down and chewed. And there were games, an endless variety of them. "Follow the leader" on pony back or on foot was always chief favourite. Adelaide, the tomboy of the family, on a winter's day, the plains covered in water, would take her pony straight through anything, often through quite deep holes, the others - their hearts in their mouths, following her, too scared of her scorn not to do so. They arrived home wet to the skin, and were scolded and made to change; no one ever enquired who or what the cause. The older members had gone back to school in town, the others still carried on in a small way and nearer home. Lessons ended for the day at 3.30 pm. After that they were free to do as they wished. On ponies or on foot they would be away from the house in double quick time. The dogs were always waiting for them and favourite hunting grounds for children and the dogs were the stone walls across the plains. In those days the fences were mostly built of stones and were a natural harbour for rabbits. The children were strictly forbidden to pull them down but in their enthusiasm and that of the dogs they forgot this and wrought havoc, throwing stones in every direction. Later, because of the rabbits, these stone walls were all replaced by wire fences.

On winter afternoons a short excursion to the top of the Park, the tree planted enclosure around the house, was far enough to go. Visitors were amused at the turn out - 3 or 4 small girls, several dogs with 9 or 10 lambs frisking along behind. William always brought motherless lambs in, they were generally fed by the children and how their fingers were swollen and chewed trying to entice the newly arrived lambs to take the milk. No one thought of bottles. The trouble was when time came to part with their pets. Now and then father let the children keep one for an extra long time, till quite grown up in fact, for they made good leaders for flocks being driven into the shearing shed yards. For a while a real job of work was found for such sheep. An English governess, precise and strict, had lately been installed. She knew nothing of the country and distrusted all animals. At 9 am she rang the bell at the back door, a call for lessons. The children quite truthfully said they could not hear this unless she rang it outside. The house on the slope of a hill, had a big retaining wall all round the back of it and on this wall was a high Hawthorn hedge. Directly she stepped beyond the hedge a sheep would run for her and she would run back into the house. She knew too well that his greatest fun was to butt any human behind the knees. No one could then stand up, they had to sit down. And sheep are said to have no sense! The family thought this was very funny until their mother or Auntie put her foot down and had the sheep taken away. This of course, was counted against the governess.

There were only two homesteads within reasonable distance of Glenfine - Naringal and Commeralghip, and to these the Glenfine family paid constant visits. At Naringal, 5 miles distant, lived an overseer, Mr Moller and his wife and family of 12. Of these there were always a few free and ready to play games in the lovely old garden. Two huge Mulberry trees, planted in very early days grew on the flat near the creek while along the creek was a long row of Quince trees and behind them again were bulrushes growing in the shallow water. The old house, it was burnt to the ground in 1944, was on the slope of a steep hill, the garden stretching down to the creek. There were hedges of miniature roses and rosemary arranged in an intricate pattern round the garden beds. Mrs Moller was a keen gardener and kept this portion in beautiful order. The soil at Naringal was much more fertile than round Glenfine house so that most of the vegetables for the station were grown there, William keeping a permanent man to attend them. For many years a Chinese man was there; on his death Archibald Kinloch took his place, a man so Scotch that the children could hardly understand him. He was there many years. Romping round the garden as they did, everyone paid proper respect to the vegetable garden. Poor Mrs Moller, what an afternoon she must have had when the Glenfine party turned up! They always chose fresh bread day. she gave them an enormous meal of freshly made bread, butter and milk. Unlike Glenfine, milk was plentiful. Mr Moller was a hardworking, conscientious man, a Dane by birth. He and his three eldest sons all worked on that part of the estate.

Commeralghip, 6 miles to the east of Glenfine was owned by William's brother Charles, who had moved there from Coleraine in 1885. During the move his whole family of 9 stayed at Glenfine and Auntie Nicholson told of the two families having measles there together. Mrs Charles Rowe, a lively Irish woman, always made visitors welcome. There was a constant coming and going between the two households. She and Elizabeth, both renowned cooks, competed with one another at the local tea meetings. She excelled in luscious cakes and other delicacies, Elizabeth in the more solid food, particularly pork pies and huge sponge cakes which she had baked in the bakers oven at Glenfine.

The nearness of the two places meant extra companionship to the older girls of both families and did much to relieve the very cut-off life they were compelled to lead. For it was an isolated life. Neighbours were sparse, distances were long. A drive of 7 miles meant the best part of an hour and that was with a good pair of ponies. In the early 80's it was almost as difficult to get to Geelong as it had been when William and Elizabeth were married in 1863. It meant a 12 mile drive to Rokewood, from there a coach went via Shelford to Leigh Rd. now Bannockburn, a station on the Geelong - Ballarat railway line, a drive of 30 odd miles perhaps and then from there, the train to Geelong. The journey took the whole day. The children coming home from school in Melbourne left their grandfather's house at 6.30 am and arrived home late in the afternoon. Even in the 90's the journey took most of the day. By then the nearest railway station to Glenfine was Scarsdale, 18 miles away, from there a very slow train ran to Ballarat. Until the Ballan - Bacchus Marsh line to Melbourne was built, travellers from Ballarat to Melbourne had to go round by Geelong. In other directions Glenfine had no means of communication except by long drives across the plains. Lismore, Cressy, Colac, Camperdown were just names to the family there.

For many years the nearest doctor to Glenfine had been at Colac, 40 miles away, but in the 80's a doctor came to live at Rokewood. A bank started there also, with of course, a Public House and Store. It must have been a relief to Elizabeth to have a doctor near at hand. Twelve miles was comparatively near. she could do many things and had for many years doctored her own household and the men on the place as well but accidents are a different matter. A young visitor rushing down the back hall put her right hand through a glass door and cut the arteries of her wrist. Elizabeth's buggy and ponies were, fortunately, at the front door. Auntie Nicholson adjusted a tourniquet and with a restorative in hand, helped the girl into the back of the buggy and they were off on the 12 mile drive. The girl's life and hand were saved though she bore the scar of that day.

There were no telephones. In the 90's Glenfine, because of Elizabeth's work at Brookside, a private line was installed to Cape Clear and Brookside but it was connected nowhere else. Even with a doctor at Rokewood it meant sending someone twelve miles to get him or it meant taking the patient those same 12 miles to him.

In the late 80's there was great excitement at Glenfine. One of William's nieces, Patty Faris, a daughter of his sister Mary, was engaged to a young man working temporarily on the station. The wedding day was fixed when he, a few days before that date, riding a newly broken horse, was bucked off in the stable ford and broke both his legs. The doctor summoned and vetoed any idea of him being able to leave in less than several weeks. There was consternation in the bride's family. Many letters came and went and finally at Elizabeth's suggestion, Patty arrived at Glenfine to help nurse the invalid. The wedding eventually took place in the drawing room there. The young man still in a wheelchair but able to put, chair and all, into the back of the wagonette and so start his honeymoon.

Chapter 6.

William Rowe was respected and indeed loved by everyone. He was a quiet slow speaking man, often over shadowed by his handsome, quick witted and enthusiastic wife, so that acquaintances were apt to think she was the stronger character of the two but those who worked for him and lived near him knew he was the master in his own house. Elizabeth had learned this early in her married life. In William, in spite of his religious principles, there was a hard core of stubbornness, that even his wife found impossible to move. She must at times, have ruefully felt that this was chiefly shown against her family and family traits. He never forgave his brother Henry, who died in 1874, for the sale of Naringal, still less did he forgive his sister-in-law Pattie, Elizabeth's sister as well as his brother's wife, who had aided and abetted him in this sale. She was never invited to Glenfine.

Elizabeth's cousin, John Stretch, when a dashing young curate at Ballarat often visited Glenfine. Elizabeth had a real affection for this brilliant young man, later the Bishop of Newcastle. What was her dismay on hearing him air his modern religious views on cousin William. He too disappeared from the scene and only after William's death did any of his family come to stay at Glenfine.

The real tragedy for both William and Elizabeth was the serious break with Dora, their eldest daughter. Dora, on leaving school, found herself practically an only child. Seven years older than the next girl Maud, she came home in 1880 to find Maud and Tom at school, the others in the nursery - in fact Marjorie was not born till 1881. Her parents, anxious to give their eldest daughter any advantages they could, sent her to stay with friends in Ballarat who took her to the social functions in that rising town. Dora, an enthusiastic, high spirited girl, had while still at school, been deeply affected by an Evangelical Mission held in Melbourne. If not disapproving of dancing and other social functions, she certainly considered them a waste of time and pleaded with her parents to be allowed to stay at home and help her mother in her many philanthropic works. Elizabeth Rowe at this time, held Bible meetings in several of the local townships, another baby was expected and she was glad of an active and enthusiastic assistant. Dora had a good trained voice, her mother was handicapped there, Elizabeth could sing tunefully when started but even the simplest hymn tune evaded her memory. Years later, Dora having left home, Nancy, a small girl of 8 or so used to be taken to these meetings, as she said in later life, to be generally useful, open gates and start the hymns. By degrees many of her mother's outside activities fell to Dora, babies arrived in 1881 and 1882, Eleanor was also adopted at that time and being delicate was in constant care for some months. Young and with no ties, Dora ranged the country far and wide, her parents agreeable to this as long as she had a companion. Friends from Melbourne or Geelong were generally available, if not, without question, one of the young men learning station experience was sent with her. she became known in the district. A girl friend of those days repeats the jingle often recited by the township people.

Two cream ponies
And S.S. divine
Make the dashing turnout
Of Miss Rowe of Glenfine.

At this period the Glenfine shearing shed was for several years lent to the Y.M.C.A. of Ballarat as a weekend conference meeting place. The leaders of this were two great friends of William Rowe, the Rev. Hussey Burgh McCartney, one of the first clergymen to join Bishop Perry in Melbourne and the Rev. Henry Langley, later first Bishop of Bendigo. The leaders stayed at the Glenfine house, the young men, 60 or so, camped in the shed. Meetings were held there or in the huge kitchen. Elizabeth did the catering and personally saw to the cooking arrangements, doing a great deal of it herself while Dora played the harmonium and led the singing at all meetings. Adelaide and Nancy, then children of 7 and 8 remember those meetings well. So many young men to compliment them on their riding, pat their ponies and play round with them. A picnic to the big stone, a great outcrop of granite on the Naringal, Mt Bute boundary, was always a fixture on these occasions. Among Rowe possessions, all burnt a few years ago, were several photos of these Conferences, the young men standing at the rear, their leaders and William sitting in front, Adelaide and Nancy, the only ladies present decked out in lace inserted finafores squatting at their feet - the stone towering behind.

Then disaster fell. Elizabeth on a visit to her father, heard of a young lay-reader who was ill; could not work and had no people to help him as he had recently come out from the Old Country. Impetuously without even consulting her father, without even meeting the young man, she wrote inviting him to Glenfine. He came. A tall pleasant looking young man with a charming voice and Dora promptly fell in love with him, while her father as promptly took a dislike to him. Neither parents however had any inkling of her feelings. Her father, with relief, retrieved his jackeroo, there was always plenty of work to be done on the station - the visitor took his place. And so the holding of meetings and holding of hands began. A cousin at Glenfine wrote to her sister "Things are happening here. Dora is in love. When Cousin William hears of it there will be a stir". There was a stir. Her father refused to hear of an engagement. Dora was told that if she married him she would be cut out of his will. Dora, knowing her father adored her, used to having her own way, was outraged and flatly refused to give him up. The next few months were uncomfortable ones. Even the children knew something was wrong. Finally Dora left Glenfine, practically for ever. Her mother, always deeply attached to her eldest daughter now saw her in trouble as well. she did her best to make William reasonable and did persuade him to give his daughter a small yearly allowance as long as she did not marry "that fellow". She also got Dora to promise not to marry while her father was alive and this promise Dora kept faithfully for several years. It must have been a trying time for them both. Her mother hoped she would tire of waiting but Dora was tenacious and very much in love. It says much for the young man that he too waited so patiently. Dora, during those years, made her headquarters at Keeleng, a farm belonging to her mother near Portland. She made many friends there and was able to carry on the religious work interrupted at Glenfine. Both she and her father were deeply religious people but the break between them never healed. She married a few months after her father's death and so forfeited any share in the estate. Again Elizabeth acted, giving her a yearly allowance and on her death leaving the farm of Keeleng to her and her children.

William turned to his work and his books. He really was a student. His lack of ordinary education was always a grief to him. He read voraciously, loved the classics. His father-in-law Archdeacon Stretch said he had a library of cribs, and certainly Bohn's translations of the Greek and Latin poets figured largely on the shelves. Some of his books were locked behind glass doors, safe from the family but he liked his children to ask for books. Most of them were brought up on the novels of Scott and Charles Lever, while old bound copies of London Punch filled many an idle hour.

He was a wizard with figures - but his station books were unintelligible to anyone but himself. His sheep counting was famous for it's exactness. The younger children can remember riding with him and being told to round up a flock of sheep, drive them on to the fence and let them pass him as few at a time as possible for him to count. They were not very good at doing this, he seldom had a dog. At every hundred count he would hold a finger. At home he would look up to check how many ought to be in that paddock and was generally right. At the most two or three out. Maud remembers having to do sums for homework and being absolutely stuck. She took them to her father, he glanced through the figures, calculated a while and gave her the right answer, adding "but I don't know how it is done". Another amazing thing he could do was to read something and then be able to repeat it almost word for word. On one occasion a visiting scholar doubted this, tested him and was dumbfounded at the result. He had a great love of poetry, and strangely enough Byron was his favourite poet. On some lovely day he would beg a holiday for the younger girls and take them out with him for the day. He drove a quiet, comfortable chestnut called 'Magic' in a single buggy. The back board let down and he would allow the girls to sit there dangling their legs. William held the reins, Magic followed the track. If a wheel struck an extra big stone or a tussock, out one of the girls might fall, pick herself up, run and catch the buggy and scramble on again. No notice was taken of that. Always they asked for stories and generally got Old Testament tales, graphically told. Elijah and the prophets of Baal, Samson with the jaw bone of an ass, Gideon and his lantern -holding followers, Moses' adventures in the Wilderness. They loved them all. Or he might recite Byron -that they felt was rather more than they asked. Arrived at his destination, drafting yards or joy of joys) the dip, where already men and sheep were gathering for him, he would allow the children to help for a time, then give them their share of the lunch, with probably a special bottle of raspberry juice brought for them and then send them off to play. The two girls paddled in the creek, poked about for rabbits, lay in the sun and ate their meal watching the mirages across the plains. Sheets of water where they knew no water was and through the water a post and rail fence and it's reflection. Just sometimes on a slight rise against the clear sky, they might see a pair of Native Companions moving in their stately dance. Then a call from the yards and home, huddled in to the front seat with their father, too tired to do anything but take it in turns to open the innumerable gates. His younger children remember him affectionate, but calm, slow to chide, always ready to listen - only once does his youngest daughter remember him speaking sternly to her. It was pouring rain. she and Eleanor having made some plans for outdoors, were sitting at the dining room window chanting "rain, rain go to Spain". William's hand dropped on his daughter's shoulder and he said "Don't let me ever hear you say that again. How are we going to live without rain?". A lesson she never forgot. William was respected and liked by the people he employed. The ever-changing group of young men learning station experience, and there were always at least three in the house, found him kindly and interested in their progress though he did expect them to work as hard as he did himself. The working men and shearers knew him for a just and honourable "boss". He never rushed people over their job, in fact he preferred things to be done slowly and well rather than quickly and perhaps, slap dash. This showed up in the shearing shed. He did not encourage fast shearing, he hated his sheep to be cut. Shearers in his day got 14/- a hundred sheep. Only a fast shearer could shear 100 sheep a day and William did not encourage this. His death in 1893 was a great grief to everyone. He died in his sleep. Elizabeth had known for some time that his heart was very weak, the shock for her was nevertheless, very severe. His will had been made many years before when the family was young, everything was left to his wife, except Naringal which was entailed to Tom. Elizabeth and Mr Lewers the Banker in Linton and a great friend of William's were the executors. Tom was then 20 years of age and at the Melbourne University. He asked that he might come home and manage the place. His mother jumped at the idea, Mr Lewers was very much against it, thinking such a youth too young, also that he should finish his University course. There was trouble, Elizabeth, impetuous and used to having her own way, made herself felt and she and Tom won. Again trouble arose, this time over Brookside and Elizabeth's many other philanthropic schemes. Mr Lewers maintained she had no right to spend what was her daughters' money on outside people, he advised a general tightening of all commitments and stormed that such a reckless woman had no right to have so much control of money. In the end he resigned his position as executor and Tom, now 21 took his place. Now began for Tom a long period of anxiety and worry. Finances on the one hand, his duty to his mother and sisters on the other gave him no peace. Maud, the eldest daughter at home was his only confidante but what could they do? William admiring his wife's enthusiasms was yet able to restrain her extravagances both in mind and money, now they ran away with her. A defaulting solicitor added to Tom's worries and then there was a depression when many banks closed down and things were desperate for a time. The mail and newspapers arrived late in the day. They had to be brought from Cape Clear. One night Elizabeth opened the Argus to find that her bank, where she kept her personal account, had failed. Maud reports that she went quite pale, left the room and came back radiant, bankbook in hand to say she was overdrawn! At this time fortunately, she was getting a Government grant of 10/- a head towards the upkeep of Brookside and it was more or less self-supporting.

Chapter 7.

In the year 1887, Elizabeth Rowe, in town on a visit to her father, was told by a friend the tale of a teen age girl convicted of petty theft and sent to goal where she would be in the company of women of already settled and probably depraved characters. Her informant added that there was nowhere else for such a girl to be sent. The thought of this girl roused Elizabeth's always roused sympathy for the down and out. She stayed in Melbourne, she attended the police courts, asked questions of any officials who would listen to her. One of these belonged to the Neglected Children's Department. On returning home she talked to her husband comparing the fate of these young girls to that of her own daughters. At this time Elizabeth was in her early 40's and despite incessant childbearing; she was robust both in body and spirit. Up to this time she had taken a big part in the training and education of her young family. For several years she had given lessons to the three girls Diana, Nancy and Adelaide. Irregular lessons it must be admitted fitted in with her household duties and her outside interests. Now that her eldest daughter had left home after the never to be forgotten quarrel with her father, the outside Church interests which they had shared, though never neglected did take a lesser place in her life. She needed a whole time enthralling occupation.

William always ready to help his wife in any service to the community, realising also her need for an outlet for her energies, promised his support in any suitable plan of help she might make. Her first action was to engage a governess to teach her own children. This governess was a charming Englishwoman who did much to mould the thoughts and lives of her 6 pupils. Elizabeth felt that with this woman to teach them and Auntie to look after their material comforts the family had all they could possibly need and with renewed enthusiasm, at once got in touch with the Neglected Children's Department, now the Children's Welfare Department. Her husband as still always her first care, she was a devoted wife. If he went out for all days she saw him off to his work and then went out herself. If he was to be home for the midday meal she was there also and every evening was spent with him. Her growing family saw very little of her in those days.

In December of that year, 1887, she rented a cottage in Cape Clear and there established 6 girls with Miss Curlewis, a friend of her own, as the matron. This cottage and its surroundings were found not very suitable and in the following year her husband bought for her a farm named "Brookside", a few miles from the township. The farm was a small one, a creek ran through the property and on it was a roomy wooden homestead where she was able, at once, to add a few more girls to the six already there. Her plan was to train them in simple farm work and then find them suitable positions. At that time the demand for such help was a big one. The girls learnt to milk, look after fowls and pigs and grow vegetables for their own use. They were also taught to sew, to make their own clothes. These first girls were of a really good type, they responded to the kind and homely treatment given them and after a couple of years were all found positions by Mrs Rowe. It was found necessary to have a man in charge of the farm work so to Brookside came one of Williams nieces and her young husband. Meantime the work constantly increased, another house was built and a second matron installed. In 1892 the Government made Mrs Rowe an allowance of 5/- per ward per week, some years later this was increased to 10/-. For those first 5 years William Rowe financed the whole thing. He was able to keep his wife's enthusiasm in check and insisted that the place must be self-supporting, or as near as possible. Elizabeth threw herself heart and soul into this venture of hers and apart from a farm established by the Department, this was the only such place in Victoria. She visited Brookside, 9 or 10 miles from Glenfine, at least 3 times a week, she knew every girl that was there. She found positions for them but that was not the end of it. She remembered their birthdays and wrote to them, sent Christmas cards, presents to them when they were married and when their first babies arrived. She once laughingly said that she kept a Matrimonial Agency. Young men on way back farms wrote asking if she could find wives for them and she did. One wrote saying he did not want a fancy girl but one who could work and knock about! An instance of her real thought and care for these girls was shown in her correspondence with them. She had the right to use franked envelopes but never did, saying "Why should they be marked out as belonging to a Government Institution, let them start life afresh, as much as possible like other girls".

William Rowe died in 1893 and life at Glenfine was very changed. Without her husband's restraining influence Elizabeth's enthusiasms ran away with her. Brookside and the girls were her first care. Her own family was well looked after, she saw to that, they had a good home, good clothes and good food. she could not realise that her grown up and growing up daughters needed anything else from her.

Another house was built at Brookside and more girls taken in. Deeply attached to her husband, Elizabeth had made a point of always being in the house if he was at home, now she was away all day and every day. Her daughters had little interest in Brookside and in the girls that lived there. They resented their mothers tremendous interest in what one daughter called "police court girls" and her casual treatment of themselves. Elizabeth was quite oblivious to such feelings, called upon her daughters to help in many ways. Once a year, during the Christmas holidays Glenfine gave a party to the girls at Brookside. This took the form of an all day picnic on the Brookside Creek and meant a great deal of work and preparation by the family at Glenfine. All the food and the programme for the day was prepared there. All through the year some of the family went up once a month to teach the girls new hymns for the Church Services. They all loved to sing and were a notable addition to the Church Congregation.

By the year 1888 there were three matrons in charge of the houses at Brookside and about 35 girls in residence. Elizabeth's interest and enthusiasm for this project of hers never wavered. She still found them positions - still wrote to them, still encouraged them in every way -for a time she tried training some of them in domestic work and for experience employed them at Glenfine; but this was not a success and her daughters anyway, heaved a sigh of relief when this plan was given up. Naturally some of the many hundreds of girls that passed through Brookside were difficult, some even bad. Some she had to give up and return to the Department. But good or bad she took a real personal interest in them all and they knew it. In 1899 Elizabeth began to fail in health. She was forced to give up the long drives across the windswept plains, she could no longer get to Brookside. For sometime she continued her overseeing of the work by telephone and letters but early in 1900 was persuaded to hand it's management over to Miss King who had been Head Matron there for sometime. Miss King now rented the farm and took complete control. Elizabeth died at the end of March of the year 1900. Brookside was carried on by Miss King until 1903. In that year Glenfine was sold and Miss King herself was married. She decided to close down the Home and the girls still there were taken over and cared for by the Neglected Children's Department. The Home had been established for 16 years. Many women in our land have remembered Elizabeth Rowe and given thanks for the help she gave to them.

Chapter 8.

In the mining rush of the 1850's the country for miles around Ballarat was riddled with mines, some even were sunk on the plains. In the early 80's these were all deserted but their poppet heads and mullock heaps still showed where they had been. There was one at Cape Clear, in fact, the name of the township is said to be after the mine, called Cape Clear by some nostalgic Irishman. There was another further out on the plain between Cape Clear and Rokewood. Cape Clear was the postal address from which Glenfine was 7 miles distant. William liked to have his mail and daily papers every day, they came from Ballarat by coach in the early afternoon and someone from the station was there every day to collect it. If none of the men on the place could be spared, then some of the family had to go. The smaller ones found this no hardship. It meant a ride, or if big stuff was expected, a drive with a quiet horse in one of the buggies.

The township was rather derelict, the hotel and the bakery cum general store were the only prosperous looking buildings. Besides them was the Post Office, two Churches - Church of England and the Methodist, and a few scattered cottages. The people living there fossicked for gold in the bed of a near by creek and in some mullock heaps. There were a few farms round about but the country was dry and not in those days, thought to be any good for crops. The days of agricultural manures and fertilizers were still to come.

Mrs Brown at the Bakery was always kind to the children from Glenfine and gave them large slices of fresh bread and joked with them and their friends on their various idiosyncrasies. A young cousin always resented her remark "Cheeks as red as ever, I see" though a friend of an older sister said too calmly "What Miss Young still!". Gradually bread as well as mail was collected at Cape Clear and the great bakers oven in the Glenfine kitchen ceased to function.

At the Post Office the mail was passed through a small square window with a sliding shutter. This opened onto a veranda. A knock at the window the shutter flew open and out came the postmistress's head, crowned with a black bonnet tied under her chin, like a tortoise's head popping out from under it's shell. The mail would be ready in a leather bag, an empty one handed in for the following day. The Postmistress always had remarks to make, her chief d'oeuvre was "Dear me, what a lot of sequestrians today". Rumour had it that letters were read, be that as it may, postcards were certainly public property. On one occasion Dora sent a postcard to her mother, and not wanting the news made public she wrote it in English but in German characters. Elizabeth herself called for the mail that day, she knocked and out came the Postmistress's head, her face red with indignation. She threw the bag out saying "You need not think, Mrs Rowe, that it is any use your daughter writing to you in foreign languages - my daughter learns Latin!". And the shutter was banged down. Elizabeth was mystified until she sorted out her mail. In the early 90's, some of the men working in the mines on the plain discovered gold and almost overnight the settlement of Pitfield Plains sprang up. Claims were pegged out in every direction. Quite a lot of mines were sunk, more and more miners and their women folk flocked to the scene. This settlement was a dreadful place, unplanned in any way. The houses often brought from other derelict mining townships were just dumped on the ground, others were made of iron or old tins or sacking. No drainage, no shelter, not a single tree grew on those parts t and very casual sanitation. There was plenty of fresh air, fierce winds most days which probably blew the infection away. The mines came closer and closer to the Glenfine homestead till finally Glenfine South was sunk just outside the park fence, in the middle of the tennis court. Elizabeth, very worried over Pitfield Plains was determined to have no repetition of it at her back door. She at once gave the land and planned a proper road with allotments each side. she built, at her own expense, a boarding house for unmarried men and put a woman she knew in charge of it. A hall she built also where Church services were held and which could be used for entertainment's. The better class people from Pitfield Plains moved their houses to Hollybush, as the settlement was called, after the name of an estate on which the first William Rowe worked in England.

The people of Hollybush soon numbered several hundred; they respected the thought and care given to them, and though they wandered about the property, shooting rabbits and hares and staging fights down on the creek, there was never any sheep stealing as might have been expected. There was the constant extra danger of fires, as cigarettes and matches were carelessly thrown about, several did start but were quickly put out. Summer nights the poppet heads of the Glenfine South mine became a favourite meeting place for all the young people at Glenfine. There was always a cool breeze up there. The manager of the mine was kind. He even sometimes took the younger members of the family down with him in the cage, once giving them pickaxes and telling them to keep all the gold they found. They worked hard encouraged by some of the miners there - but had no enthusiasm to try it again.

Due largely to the establishment of regular Church services at Hollybush and the need to raise money to meet extra expenses, the young people at Glenfine decided to form an entertainment party. This was done during the Christmas holidays. Nancy had a lovely mezzo-soprano voice, Tom an equally good baritone, two of the other girls also sang. Two young cousins who sang in the St Paul's Cathedral choir, Melbourne, were a great asset. Eleanor fancied herself as an elocutionist and, as she had a lot of self-assurance, always got a good hearing. The jackeroos and any guests swelled the choruses. The audiences were always big ones. Entertainment was scarce and life was monotonous. One such entertainment, given at Cape Clear, stands out from the others. The party were keen on Scott Gatti's Plantation Songs. Tom, usually the soloist was away and one of the jackeroos took his place. He was very nervous and he got on well until he sang "Her hair so white and pearly, her teeth so black and curly" - and stopped dead. Then he jumped off the platform, slipped out a side door and vanished into the night. Nancy at the piano, valiantly rushed into the chorus, the party tried to follow her when one of the small boys started to giggle and it spread to all. The applause was long and vociferous as one by one they came down from the platform, treading cautiously on a candle box for a step. Not until they were all in the buggy ready to start for home did the poor soloist turn up, inconsolable.

Chapter 9.

Charles Rowe in his "Memories", and William in his conversation, have mentioned the aboriginals who were quite numerous in the part of the country of their childhood. They gradually disappeared as the white men took up more and more land. At Glenfine, near the creek was a big mound with a shallow moat round it, always called by the family "The native's grave". Their father said it was probably the scene of the fight there had been between two tribes but he did not really know. His memories of them made him feel that we owed them a duty and when ever possible he tried to do his part. He made friends with the Rev. Mr Stahle, a German Lutheran Minister in charge of the Condah Mission station near Portland. Every season he employed 8 to 12 aborigines from the mission as shearers. Fine, big upstanding men they were. It was quite a joke in the district, that while the other men "humped their bluey" from Ballarat, the mission men hired a coach there and came out in style. William got on with them and said they worked well as long as they felt inclined, but toothache, a cut finger, anything served as an excuse for a day off. When they came to Elizabeth for treatment, they sat at the side of the stove, smiling and content, probably in everyone's way but so pleased with the attention they got that no one grudged it to them.

Elizabeth, not to be outdone, employed a girl from Condah in the house for a number of years. The younger children, especially, remember Christina. She must have been with them about the same time as their first governess. Marjorie and Eleanor had lessons in the morning but not in the afternoon - Christina was sent out with them for walks. They loved her, she romped and played games till their hearts content, she was probably only 15 or 16 herself. Her great passion was swimming. They would walk down to the creek to one of the large and deep holes, then she would take off her dress and boots leaving the children in charge of them on the bank, she'd dive and swim, thoroughly enjoying herself until tired, then she'd come out, shake herself like a dog and play round until her underclothes ceased to drip. Then on would go her dress and boots and a start would be made for home; Christina saying "And you wont tell your Auntie". And they never did. Small wonder she died of TB a few years later. One of the elder sisters said that these aboriginal girls were a real anxiety - they wore their clothes until told to take them off and wash them, and then were quite likely to put them on again while wet, ignoring changes supplied to them by the mission and Elizabeth. This sister said you had to feel them to find out whether their clothes were dry or not. They just could not understand what all the fuss was about.

One memorable walk Adelaide, the sister so much admired by the family, was with them. she and Christina had purloined hunks of bread and with these well hidden under their clothes, they took the children to the horse paddock, their object being to catch two of the ponies. The children were sat on the fence, they wore white lace inserted pinafores and tartan sashes. Adelaide and Christina took the sashes to act as halters and started after the ponies. They were used to this game and were very cunning. They would come, snatch the bread, kick up their heels and canter off. At last two of them were caught, Dimple and Toddy. Adelaide was the tomboy of the family, slight and agile, Christina was ready for anything. They practised circus tricks, such as riding with arms outstretched and even Standings until Dimple, old and cunning, started his usual pig jumping. He'd stand still and kick out his back legs with a kind of twist, two or three of these unseated most people. Christina fell off and Dimple cantered away with the sash still round his neck. That sash had to be got back and there was not much bread left - but the little girls must have returned home complete with sashes or there would have been enquiries and punishment - and there was none.

The six youngest members of the family all had their first riding lessons on Dimple who was a large sized Shetland pony - he was kind to them and only when bored, pigjumped them off. Adelaide and he did a fancy trick together. She ran at him from behind and vaulted onto his back, over his pigjumping and all. Both enjoyed it. Eleanor and Marjorie used to ride him together. Often they would go with their father if he was just taking a look round near home. He never hurried, just jogged along on his big mare Maggie, they a little behind him. Like Tom in later days he'd cross the creek at any old place. Looking back at the children, he'd say "let the pony go, he'll follow me" and down the steep bank he would disappear. Marjorie the front rider clung to Dimple's mane, Eleanor to her and Dimple just sat on his tail and slid, and then through the water, always a shallow place and up the bank on the other side, even worse than going down. Later with Tom, when the girls each had their own ponies, big ones, he always sent Eleanor first to try the banks, she was the light weight and afraid of nothing. Marjorie was frankly terrified of anything out of the way but had to follow to keep her end up. Eleanor always affected her that way. All the same, Marjorie let her kill the snakes they met and chase away inquisitive steers, ride the frisky horse and she Eleanor, took it as a matter of course. It is a curious thing that the two adopted members of the family were better with horses than any of the others. Percy would tame the wildest of them and was a beautiful rider, Eleanor had no fear, kicked off a horse, she'd get on again without turning a hair. In later years as one of the pioneer Bush Nurses, her knowledge and love of horses stood her in good stead.

Chapter 10.

The Stretch family came out from England for the second time in 1860. Elizabeth was then 16 years of age. On the ship was a Polish girl coming to Australia to marry a young Pole teaching music in South Australia. This girl spoke very little English and having started on the then great adventure of a voyage to the other side of the world, was stricken with fright. Elizabeth in her schoolgirl French, managed to make friends with her, taught her English and forced her to mix with the other passengers. She remained timid and shy and not only Elizabeth but all the passengers worried about her future and whether her young music teacher would be at Melbourne to meet her. Eventually a collection was made amounting to quite a considerable sum, a wedding present if the young man was at the wharf, a backing for her if he was not. He was there and all was well. she kept up a correspondence for some years but with no knowledge of the other's circumstances - this naturally faded out. Thirty years later Elizabeth, on a visit to Adelaide, asked her friends if they knew the name de Ruyheer and they did. He had taught music for many years but was dead, leaving a wife and two daughters in poor circumstances. Elizabeth at once went to visit Madame and was greeted with tears and cries of "Lizzie Stretch". The older daughter taught music, the younger had married and had two small daughters of her own, her husband out of work. Elizabeth did what she could to help and brought back to Glenfine with her the married daughter and two children who were there well over a year and everyone loved them. William said she was yet another daughter. She was the first foreign woman he had known and she acted up to it. She flattered her host and hostess in charming ways and was always ready to help anywhere when needed. She was one of the few people who invaded the privacy of William and Elizabeth in the dining room in the evenings and was always welcomed. She said they were a romance, to see them was better than reading a novel. Everyone was sorry when she and the children left to join her husband.

Not all of Elizabeth's out-of-fortune visitors were as popular. Anyone who was in trouble was sure of sympathy and help from her, and that usually meant an invitation to Glenfine. Her family became used to having one or more of her "down and outs" in the house. Used, but not always pleased. At one time there was a woman with a wig in the house. She must have had some mental trouble for when affected with a nerve storm, she tore off the wig and threw it away. Her head was as bare as an egg. one night, without her wig, candle in hand, she came to the children's nursery and woke them up to ask them if they had seen her wig. They were terrified of her from that day on. Once the wig really did get lost and everyone was looking for it. she came back to normal and in spite of Elizabeth's entreaties and a scarf tied round her head, she refused to leave her room. The wretched wig was at last found on top of a high wardrobe.

On another occasion Elizabeth had driven into Ballarat for the day. It was a 36 mile drive. She had shopping to do and paid a few visits. At one house she found the wife had just recovered from a serious illness and needed a change. At once she said "Come back with me this afternoon" , not knowing what that meant, the offer was accepted. They left Ballarat late, it was Autumn and rather cold. The buggy was an open one, it had to be because of the winds. Night came on and the poor lady, cold and tired, became hysterical. They arrived at Glenfine just before midnight. The house was in darkness. Elizabeth drew up at the back of the house, unharnessed the ponies and let them free, then helping her guest from the buggy, took her into the warm kitchen, quickly made her a cup of tea and got her thawed out. The house was full so Elizabeth took her to her eldest daughter's room and roused her, telling her to get fresh sheets, make up her bed for the visitor and then go and share a bed with one of her sisters. The visitor gasped, "No, let me have your sheets, they are warm" and so it was fixed. That lady used to laugh over her experience but it must have been a trying one.

A young woman asked up on a visit for health reasons proved to be a drug addict and a nuisance to the family for years. She took a violent fancy to one of the older girls and could not be shaken off. Elizabeth was just as rash and impetuous over the people she engaged to work for her. Her husband was a marvel of patience. She once went to Melbourne to engage a married couple to act as groom and laundress. At the registry office, passing through the waiting room, she saw a young woman in tears and stopped to speak to her. She and her husband had just arrived from England. He was a painter and decorator but suffered from painters colic and was told he must have outside work. She told how they had been several days trying to find work and added "we are so small no one will even try us". Elizabeth saw the man the next day. He was indeed small, also knew nothing about a horse, while the little woman was obviously unfit to tackle the washing for the big household. They implored her to try them at something. Some of the children can remember them arriving in the back of their mother's buggy and wondering if they could really be grown up. She was made housemaid and a very efficient and dainty one she was. He was put on to help the station carpenter, the other men always said he did not do enough work to earn his trouser buttons. They were at Glenfine for years, they clung to their protector Mrs Rowe and she never had the heart to send them away. After her death and the sale of Glenfine they were a big problem with which to deal.

Shortness was a musical comedy figure. A former guardsman 6ft 4 or so in height, he had been an officer's servant. Coming to Australia had tried many jobs and then lost them all through drink. Someone asked Elizabeth if she could do anything for him, get him right away from a town anyway. Shortness came as houseman and butler and for sometime Glenfine felt very superior. He was really good at the job, while the two young girls who did the upstairs work were chivied and drilled by him until they became competent themselves. Months after he had gone his brushes and brooms still bore the legend "Drop me, I belong to Shortness". At this time Archdeacon Stretch came up for a visit. Now the old man needed constant help; and this Shortness gave him in addition to his own work. When the Archdeacon left he asked Elizabeth if she would loan him Shortness for a few weeks. A week later she got a wire to say he had disappeared. She at once went to Melbourne and with the help of the police, found him. When fit to move she took him to Spencer St Station and put him in the care of the guard, who extravagantly tipped, said that he would see that her husband came to no harm!. Shortness arrived at Glenfine very much the worse for wear and sat in the pantry and cried till at last, the daughter left in charge, helped by the cook, dosing him with coffee and "the hair of the dog that bit him", got him off to bed. His stay at Glenfine was nearly over, he never really settled down again. Martha was a treasure but as far as the family were concerned, and they suffered her for many years, a very tiresome one. She too met Elizabeth at a registry office. A thin dour, middle aged woman, Elizabeth was struck by her tragic appearance and as she could always manage to do, won her confidence. She had come out from England and gone straight to a way back station as a cook-housekeeper. There she had met and married a working man on the place, an educated man not a working man, she said. They were given a house and continued to work there. Then her great joy, a baby was born. Some months later she found that he was already a married man with a family. She kept repeating to Elizabeth "And I, a respectable woman". She came to Glenfine as cook bringing the baby girl with her. she never got over the shame. Later she acted as cook-housekeeper at the town house while the Rowe girls attend school. Her whole life was devoted to bringing up her daughter as a "lady". The poor child had a miserable existence, her mother adored her but ruled her with a rod of iron. After Elizabeth's death she went to one of her married daughters and was with her for years. She and her own daughter, who had made a disastrous marriage, died within a few weeks of one another.

Chapter 11.

From very early days William and Elizabeth had sent their family for a change to the seaside every summer. He never went himself but she enjoyed the bustle and commotion of moving her family about. For some years she took them to Tasmania but later changed to Portland. She rented a large house there which overflowed with the family and their friends. "Auntie" Nicholson was always in charge of the children and very good she was to them, though very strict. It was a long Journey, first to Geelong then by train to Port Fairy, then a coach from there to Portland. The Glenfine family have a vivid memory of that first coach journey. It must have been about 1885. First the sandy road ran through the wild bush so different from their plains at home, they saw emus, kangaroo, lizzards and even snakes. Nearing Portland the driver left the road and went down on to the beach, then into the water to get on to firm sand. One of the younger children was asleep and awoke to find water all around her. She screamed and screamed and no one could stop her. Nor could anyone persuade her to go into the water that holiday, she'd sit and play on the sand as far from the edge as possible.

Some years later, Elizabeth fascinated by the bush so different from the bare plains, persuaded her husband to buy a small farm about 16 miles from Portland called "Keeleng", near the township of Tyrendarra and from then on the family's holidays were spent there. But Elizabeth did more than that. Keeleng was two miles or so from the sea, a mile from Church and Post Office and 16 miles from Portland, and supplies of food. Transport to all these places was essential. She decided that instead of travelling by train and coach she would make a camping trip of the journey from Glenfine to Keeleng, bringing the necessary transport with her. William laughed and said she must have gypsy blood in her veins but said to do as she liked so long as she left him quietly at home. And so the camping holiday began and went on for several years. Elizabeth thoroughly enjoyed this and so did the younger members of the party. The older ones who had to pitch tents, feed and water horses, pack and unpack, were not so keen. Elizabeth did all the cooking. The trip usually took three days. Elizabeth drove her own double buggy with her two redoubtable ponies, Marquis and Viscount, while a covered wagonette driven by a senior member of the family carried all the equipment and any of the youngsters who got tired of riding. There would be seven or eight riding horses and ponies, which when not ridden, trotted along behind the wagonette. The township people always thought this was a travelling circus, especially when the two piebald ponies were running loose. They would ask when the next performance was to be and were told many untruths by the younger folk.

The house at Keeleng was such as the children of Glenfine had never seen before Wood outside, lined with hessian covered with wall paper. On a windy night the walls and the ceiling blew up and down and every night rats and mice scampered up and down the walls, making bulges all the way. Sometimes there were violent movements and squeals in the ceiling at night and the children were sure it was a snake after the mice and were terrified it might get through. As a compensation the garden was full of fruit trees - the apples and pears ready to be eaten just at the right time.

Narrawong beach with it's high sandhills and quantities of sea shells was always a joy, so too the new experience of fishing for eels in the Fitzroy River, for the young children especially exciting as this was done at night by light of a bonfire and they were allowed to sit up late and fish for themselves. "Auntie" Nicholson cooked the eels the next day though she soon left this off. As a food they were not in favour. Even she, strict as she was, lifted the rule if you take something on your plate it must be eaten before you eat anything else! A rule that had been bound and was to bind the family for many a year. They knew what was not eaten at tea time would be there for breakfast.

Walks through the bush, the fact of actually seeing wild emu and kangaroos - it was all a thrill. The snakes were also a thrill but of another kind, and plenty of them there were - and leeches. These were in hundreds in the low lying ground, Eleanor especially, attracted them, after every walk she had to be undressed and searched for the horrid little things. One year, the whole party stayed at Keeleng until after Easter. There had been a bad bushfire at Glenfine and their father was glad to have the family out of the way. Elizabeth came and went, she never stayed away from her husband very long. Or from her various activities either. Maud at an early stage of the camping holidays backed out and stayed at home to look after her father. She would tell how he and she stood at the front door to see them off - then with a sigh of content, patting her on the shoulder, would go inside, a few weeks of peace and quiet before him. He worked hard, he liked his meals at a table, a comfortable bed, but he realised with amusement always that Elizabeth had to have variety and movement around her.

Those whole family holidays ceased at the time of his death. Elizabeth and her son were too occupied and the girls back from school were glad to be at home for their holidays. Elizabeth had a special affection for this property, she never gave it up and when she died left it to her eldest daughter Dora who lived there with her young family for a number of years.

Chapter 12. 1890 - 1903.

Life at Glenfine did not vary very much. For the younger children it was a paradise, for the older girls rather a prison. Maud came back from school about 1888 and fell into the position of mother ' s right hand. By degrees the actual charge of the house was left more and more to Maud while she was also expected to do much of the Church work, done formerly by Dora, and also to keep her mother company on her visits to Brookside. The house continued to be full of visitors, generally some of Elizabeth's "down and outs" were there. Diana, the next girl was three years younger and still at school. It was a curious, lonely life for Maud. She loved art and music and the people who dealt in these things. She was not basically of a practical turn of mind, she was religious but not of a demonstrative nature. Fortunately she had made devoted friends at school and got invitations to Melbourne, Geelong and even South Australia. Later on when Diana also came home she was able to take advantage of these, though her mother never liked anyone else to take her place. The next two girls were sent to school in Melbourne about 1892. Elizabeth owned a house in Caulfield. The girls, chaperoned by Auntie, lived there with Martha, one of Elizabeth's protegees as cook general. A gloomy set up for school girls. Auntie's one idea was to save for Elizabeth, who never saved a penny, and Martha was parsimonious to a degree.

Meantime Glenfine was getting modern. A telephone had been installed. It only connected with Cape Clear and Brookside but did mean that telegrams arrived at once and did not lie in the Post Office till called for. The post mistress was at first very thrilled with her new toy but soon tired of Mrs Rowe's constant use of it to Brookside, it had to be connected every time. A story is told of how she excitedly read a telegram through the phone, "Get rid of the offending molar, returning Thursday". "What have the Mollers done?" she screamed and the story went all round the district. A foolish young man staying in the house had gone to Ballarat to have a tooth out. He had to ride over and explain to the family at Naringal.

William died in 1893. His son Tom took charge of the station; there were some strenuous times settling down to the new regime. In 1895, her mother, worried over Maud's health sent her for a nine months trip to England where she had many relations including a brother. This was a much needed breathing space for Maud submerged since leaving school in good works and housekeeping. She came home to the same routine and continued in it for the next ten years or so. When Adelaide and Nancy came back from school, the two younger girls were sent to Melbourne in their place.

Education for women was becoming a reality - a few pioneer women had got to the Melbourne University The Presbyterian Ladies College was offering real education to girls. Marjorie, the youngest daughter, thrilled by what she heard, and a visiting cousin told her all she knew about the new chances for girls in education, screwed up her courage and asked her mother to send her to PLC. Elizabeth was sweet about it but true to her "down and outs" said some young women whose parents she knew, were opening a school and she had promised that Marjorie and Eleanor should go to them. And go they did.

Meantime, Adelaide at home with nothing whatever to do, hating domesticity and all it stood for, was making herself felt. She resented her mother's philanthropies, most of all Brookside, feeling that while the family money was spent on those girls, she and her sisters were given no social life at all. she spent as much of her time as possible with friends. Nancy was apparently content and was, anyway, attached to one of the jackeroos. Diana was married in 1897 to the young man of the "offending molars and they lived in Ballarat.

During these years Elizabeth's father, the Archdeacon, now retired, spent a large part of his time at Glenfine. He was very attached to his eldest daughter, so very like himself, but had always felt she was spoiled by her husband and now sought to improve her. He disapproved of a woman with her chief interests outside her home, quoted the virtuous woman of Proverbs and was in fact, a real thorn in the flesh to her. She had always stood in awe of her commanding father, and still did, though having no inclination to fall into line with his ideas. For peace sake, she was driven to subterfuge. She had her buggy and ponies brought to the back of the house, slipped out when he was otherwise engaged and was off for the day, leaving it to her daughters to pacify the irascible old gentleman. Tom, if at home, gave up working in his office and took his books upstairs. His grandfather was apt to burst in on him demanding that he should exercise some control over his mother's goings on. To make up for her neglect of him during the day, Elizabeth played with him every evening. Visitors or daughters being called upon to make up a four. she always played with her father, and as their opponents were nearly always women, he just hated being beaten by them, went off to bed in a fume and could not sleep. Elizabeth cheated shamelessly, exchanging cards with her opponents, they in tremor lest he should see the transaction, which, fortunately, he never did. He was over 80 when he died, only a year before his daughter.

Early in the year 1898 it was decided to send Adelaide and Nancy to England with Auntie Nicholson, who had a brother there, to chaperone them. At the last minute Marjorie was also included and sent to school at Cheltenham. Nancy went home at the end of 9 months. Adelaide was on the Continent with an older friend, Marjorie at school working to make up for all she did not know and dreaming of Oxford. Then came a letter saying their mother was seriously ill and telling them to return. They arrived home in September 1899. Their mother was very ill with a nurse in attendance. After the first excitement of seeing everyone again Adelaide and Marjorie were very bored and must have been insupportable. Adelaide wanted to be in town. Marjorie wanted to matriculate and go to the Melbourne University. Early in 1900 the town house was reopened and with Martha as cook-housekeeper the two girls were allowed to live there.

At Glenfine during the past year or two, social activities had increased. Tom and the jackeroos had formed a tennis four which visited many of the more distant townships; return matches were played at Glenfine. Women still only played in a ladylike way skirts touched the ground and had to be held up while running for a ball. Then again polo was being played at Lismore. Tom and Percy became enthusiastic players and parties from Glenfine often drove over to watch the games. Coursing and hare shoots were popular. Bridge came into fashion and here, even the girls were able to take a hand.

1900 was a trying year for the household Elizabeth's active, energetic spirit found an invalid's life very difficult to lead. Everything possible was done for her. Diana brought her small daughter to cheer her up, Auntie Nicholson, so long her friend and admirer was with her all that year. A girl of whom she was very fond came to nurse her. she had to give up all active interest in Brookside, for her the greatest ill of all. she died at the end of March of that year. Standing on the balcony her daughters watched the long funeral cortege drive across the plains to the cemetery on the Naringal Creek. The whole countryside had come to pay their respects and show their affection for one, who at all times had been willing to help her neighbours in any way she possibly could do.

For two and a half years more the family lived at Glenfine. There were many things to be arranged. Adelaide married in 1902. In 1903 the place was sold. At the time Nancy was seriously ill, so to Tom and Maud and Marjorie fell the job of clearing up and sorting out the family possessions of forty years. With no time for regrets the sisters left their home on the morning of the auction. Mr Hoare, the overseer now retired drove them to Pitfield Plains, drove them in Maud's buggy and with her ponies sold that afternoon. He was full of grief, they too weary to feel anything. At Pitfield Plains, farewelled by a crowd of onlookers, they took the coach for Ballarat. Tom, that evening after the sale, went over to Naringal. He had a small cottage there, furnished from Glenfine, where he lived until he built himself a new house.

And there at Naringal on the land taken up by the first William Rowe in 1841, his descendants still live.

Written by Marjorie Rowe (1881-1952) about 1951.