Bendigo, of Bygone Year.

The remains of an old gold mining settlement are found at Bendigo Historic Reserve, 15 minutes drive north of Cromwell, Central Otago, a place we made time to visit on one of the very few sunny mornings of our 3 week trip around old stomping grounds in New Zealand's South Island. Take State Highway 8 along the east side of Lake Dunstan, turn right at the signpost and drive past vineyards lining the slopes. Central Otago Pinot Noir is becoming recognised as the best Pinot Noir New Zealand the World has to offer!

Here we found the sunshine for a few hours! The stone ruins were anchors to gloriously expansive views across the plains striped with yellow-flowering acacia, dotted with golden tussock and patched with green fields, all backgrounded with the deep grey-blue of Lake Dunstan, and mountain ranges on the horizon - a brilliant blue in the distance and capped with late snow. Layer upon layer of colours! Spring is an excellent time to see Central Otago!

Bendigo, once referred to as Welshtown, was settled by miners from Wales who escaped depressing lives working for a pittance in what were at the time very dangerous coal mines, and travelled 'Steerage' class to new lives seeking alluvial gold in Central Otago's scarcely roaded mountains and valleys. When the easy pickings panned out, the quartz hills were mined by pick and shovel, and later by machinery, creating deep mines still there today.
Hard times and tough work for the men, but often even harder for the womenfolk in those early pioneering days on our goldfields of the late 1860's onwards.

And when the gold was gone their livelihood finished, and they would have to walk away from the home they had built and start a new life wherever they could find work. That resourcefulness and adaptability to whatever harsh fortune they faced forged a tough part of the Kiwi character somewhat missing in today's world of  'Nanny State welfarism' expected today.

Muse a while on their lives when you sit inside the remnants of their tiny stone-walled, canvas-roofed cottages.
These hardy people helped build our country.

N. B. Click on the pictures below to bring them  up in large slideshow format.

                        

Bendigo, of Bygone Year.

So choose your rock and sit by where

the window frames yon view so clear

and muse a while, on lives by here

in Bendigo of bygone year.

Clear your mind, let this place surround

and envelop you with ancient sound

of doughty miners that dig this ground.

We welcome you to look around.

Where crystal waters long 'ere flowed

over yellow treasure Nature sowed,

came we men with eyes that glowed.

We covet Earth's bounty, long bestowed.

Allow your mind through ages span,

when pick and shovel, sluice and pan

chased dreams of gold where waters ran.

Do you not admire this resourceful man?

Slaves to mine-owning aristocracy,

we escaped harsh life of poverty

and risked our lives on distant sea

in hope for better life in far country.

Forever forsaking our home island,

this house I built with my own hands

from rock, and mortar of river sand

to stake my claim in this virgin land.

Fern and tussock line our floor,

the trees I felled frame sash and door,

behind this curtain our wee boudoir.

By here, we could not wish for more.

Can you see that dark-haired girl so coy

with dancing steps and skipping toy?

Her flashing green eyes tease longing boy:

this life is hard, 'tis best enjoy.

Young women age before their time,

those flashing eyes soon lose their shine

hauling wood and water to bend young spine.

The child must fill that washing line.

Childhood is short, work needs be done,

a father desperately needs his son

to toil and dig where waters run.

Survival by here, needs gold be won!

We're glad you came to be with us

by here this hill so glorious

and experience this life laborious

so hard and short but ne'er tedious.

When speaking English at that time, Welsh would often preface the words 'here' or 'there' with 'by'.

N. B. The above poetry style is an exercise to rhyme each line in each verse similar, and remain credible without being forced, and at the same time attempt to convey good information about Bendigo and the hard lives of these early goldminers.

Bendigo, of Bygone Year.

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DIASPORA: MA AIN TRUE LOVE EILIDH.

In 2014 Scotland will hold a referendum on independence from the UK. This historic occasion will be celebrated by many whatever way the decision goes.

As for those, like myself, living in many countries around the world who are descendants of the Scottish Diaspora which has its roots in the failure of the Jacobite Rebellion culminating in the massacre at Culloden Moor on 16th April, 1746, and the later Clearances and abject poverty of the 1800's, while we may all feel that deep inner need for independence as part of our psyche of our Scots heritage, we should remain neutral on the independence vote! It is the resident citizens of Scotland who will live with the consequences, good or bad, of the decision they make, which may include having to re-apply to re-enter the EU.
News -scottish-independence

"That which has been long denied is most mightily desired."

The following verse attempts to explore the roots many of us feel for our 'Homeland', and what calls us back, even if just to trace ancestry as a tourist.

Here I give you- love and commitment, war and defeat, history past and times present, but above all a hope for the future. This poem has its genesis with words spoken by my wife when we stood within the lines where Mackintosh Clan stood on Culloden battlefield prior to their valiant but futile charge on English bayonets and grapeshot.

"If we had lived in that time I would have seen you and our son go off to this battle and never return."

So what were the effects on the women and children left behind, the families that starved with no man to provide, or of the loss of leaders in the wee villages, the subsequent suppression of Scottish culture throughout the Highlands, and the deportation of Jacobite sympathisers to England's colonies in  North America?

In 2014 the cycle of history turns again.

Click on the photo to bring them up in large slideshow format.
All photos and verse by Jim McIntosh.

DIASPORA: MA AIN TRUE LOVE EILIDH.

Where ancient rock lanely and lichened

marks yon barrow mounded high,

there ma shattered bones are cold aneath,

and amang Clan Chatain's best I lie.

Freedom proved so ephemeral

'twas no for glory that we vied

but for our country, Clan, and family

that we fought, and for those we died.

Where the Highland Cat is stealthing
where the doe and stag do ply

there you'll find ma wraith a-flying

above the place we once did lie.

Amang purple heather and green bracken

deep within the Glen of Spean,

'twas on the brae of Beinn a' Chaorinn

when our bodies came together,

you grasped ma heart my bonnie lassie,

ma ain true love, Eilidh.

When you feel a wind on red cheek
and warm breeze lifts your golden curl

'tis ae fond kiss, ma tentie touch upon you:

'tis all I can give you now ma bonnie girl.

When purple flowers surfeit with honey

as the heather blooms once again

'tis there we'll seek again sweet nectar

of that elusive flower of Freedom in vain

Freedom cannae be found in these fair glens
it has long e're fle'en across the sea.

Now your lane a task of love I set you

to raise our bonnie wee boy bairnie

and bear him safely to the new country.

Raise in Freedom's embrace our boy bairnie

in your new hame across the sea

there my wraith will breeze you from above

and salve your aching spirit's need.

Will you do that for me, ma ain true love Eilidh?

DIASPORA: MA AIN TRUE LOVE EILIDH.

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Phar out in Seadown: New Zealand's wonder horse!

Amazing, these Aussies will take all the glory given half a chance.

 This huge poster in Seaworld at Gold Coast, Queensland a few months ago makes no mention of Phar Lap being a New Zealand born horse!

The greatest race horse of the Depression years of the early 1930's, "Wonder Horse" was foaled in Seadown just north of Timaru in South Canterbury, a place I know well, having holidayed with family for many years at the Opihi River Mouth.
Our shopping drives from there to Timaru took us past the memorial statue outside the farm where Phar Lap was born. That farm and the neighbouring farms have all been renamed to keep the legend alive.

Phar out hey?! 

Irrefutable proof that Phar Lap was born not phar from Timaru, South Canterbury. 

Okay Elissa, you can stand down now!

No need to photobomb my pics anymore- we got the message!

Phar Lap at Te Papa Museum

Phar out in Seadown: New Zealand's wonder horse!

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SONG FOR MALALA.

Throughout history the role of the "contrarian"- the usurper of accepted thoughts and customs- has often been instrumental in progressing cultures, pushing forward our understanding of our world and establishing science, or rebelling against unjust tyrannical control of the population.
Someone is first to stand up and question, or voice new ideas that are felt in the hearts of many but are too dangerous to say openly.
The "contrarian" is too often seen as a threat to the establishment, and  sadly, harsh punishment even death is the price paid for challenging beliefs.

This poem was originally a few lines written and titled as "Contrarian".
When Malala Yousafzai was shot in Pakistan for agitating for women's education, I finished the verse and retitled this as "Song For Malala." in recognition of her courage daring to speak out for change.

We must speak out! We must challenge entrenched beliefs! We must voice new, or opposing ideas!
And we must support those who show courage and do so.

SONG FOR MALALA.

I fell into disfavour long before I was conceived,

my birthing challenged all those who told you to believe.
To tyrants I was threatening, to High Priests I might thieve
all of their adherents and lead them from their knees.

From the dawning of consciousness I would threaten beliefs
I had to be silenced: I questioned our great chiefs.
They would hang me, and draw me and tie me to a stake
but this freedom of expression they could never break!

Like a child with a birthmark I was left out on the ground,
taken to the river and left there to drown.
There were some who sought freedom who stood beside me
they would see through the darkness and bring me relief.

I was once a bright blossom sprung from Winter's discord,

admired by lovers of Freedom's written word.

But there are those who'd burn libraries to destroy truth within

all means were justified to keep me locked in.

I am written in Constitutions, enshrined in law

but there are those disbelieving in all they are for.

So they will burn me through the ages, rape me with their guns

they cannot abide me: I'm obscene to their mores.

As a child through the ages I struggled to breathe

held down by the elders who would not let me speak.

I was tortured in North Berwick, I was hanged at Salem's trials,

and in this enlightened age I am here again as a child.

I am the voice of reason,

a beacon in this world
shining through the darkness:
I am known as Free Will.

Reference to North Berwick and Salem is to remind Westerners, that we have also held beliefs that resulted in persecution, torture and death of 1,000's of innocent people in our own societies.
Our own family legend has an ancestor burnt as a witch in Scotland.

malala-yousafzai shooting

Latest on Malala is she is being transferred to UK for specialist medical care.
Malala going to UK

SONG FOR MALALA.

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Innocence.

Innocence

When did we lose that sense of innocence?

When we were children playing free

falling from tall trees
crying with skinned knees
we played our games in innocence.

Innocence
When we played our silly childhood games
there was no one who was blamed
life was just a learning game
playing birds and bees
we lived in our childish world of innocence.

Innocence
When we lost our sense of innocence
life became a game that must be won
always a losing someone
there's a need to blame
in this world of forgotten innocence.

Written while listening to a favourite flamenco version of "Concierto De Aranguez" by Rodrigo, off a CD bought at Museo Del Bandelero, Rhonda, Spain in January 2001.
This museum is dedicated to the bandits once common in Malaga and Cadiz.
And the bandits were once somewhat of a tourist attraction in themselves!

"The Bandoleros, who operated in anything from groups of two or three men to large bands organised like small armies, terrorised the lonely mountain passes of Andalucía. No nobleman, no matter how well protected, would venture out to such parts without absolute necessity, yet for the tourist trade of the time it proved to be the greatest attraction of all. Today, tourists would run a mile at the prospect of being held up at gunpoint, but to the young dandies from northern Europe on their European Tour it all added to a romantic image of Andalucía that included the proud Spaniards with their exotic culture, fiery Gypsies and lonely mountain ranges terrorised by packs of wolves and bandits. What swashbuckling youngster would not jump at the chance of all that excitement, so when the likes of Lord Byron, Washington Irving and Prosper Merimée crossed the murderous tracks of the Serranía de Ronda by coach it was in the hope of meeting these famous scoundrels."

www.museobandolero.com/museum

Innocence.

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TELL ME JACOB....

Tell me, Jacob, with that gleam in your eyes,

are you deceiving me?

When all the rhino are gone why safari in your land?

Are you listening please?

If elephants are slaughtered, and the lions are canned,

why travel in your empty land?

Tourists aren't impressed with empty wilderness:

wildlife needs protection urgently!

So, tell me Jacob, with your hand on your heart,

there's no skulduggery?

Lack of prosecutions is because they're way too smart

and thwart the judiciary?

We can't believe in this judicial mockery

as yet another poacher walks free!

The world's not impressed with lack of cohesiveness:

anti-poaching needs action urgently!

Oh, tell me Jacob, with your beguiling smile,

why aren't you convincing me?
Who will be skimming earnings off rhino horn stockpile?
What are we to believe?

The World's not impressed with your wish to represent

for legal trade to CITES.

So, tell us Jacob, 

how does that stop the killing spree?!

420 430 rhinos have been slaughtered in South Africa to date! The killing goes on!

TELL ME JACOB....

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