Recollections of Patonga

An internet blogger from Washington DC, Matt Hall, has published his ancestor's memoirs of growing up in Patonga prior to World War II.

In 2005, Roy Ewar began writing a pre-war history of Patonga, where he spent holidays playing with local children.

With permission from Mr Hall and Mr Ewer, these memoirs of Patonga will be published across several editions of Peninsula News. Quite some time ago, I was sitting in a waiting room somewhere, and picked up an ancient copy of a women's magazine and read an article referring to "ruins" where "hippies" and so-called "drop-outs" resided or camped on the Hawkesbury River, below the road to the now established look-out at West Head.

Such a road did not exist when I was a small boy, but I well remember the origin of these so-called "ruins" and the tenacity and sheer guts of the man that built them.

I have since pondered on why this, and the efforts of many other early settlers of the lower Hawkesbury, should go into oblivion without some record of their achievements

The good lord, that great architect of the universe, gave me a brain for which I am grateful, and I now document my recollections to the best of my ability.

As a small boy on holidays at Patonga, I vividly remember old Bob Robinson telling my parents of the time when he was much younger, coming with his nets and boats to fish the beach and creek that was eventually to be called Patonga.

He said that one day, he saw a man with a large ginger beard, looking at him from the scrub above the beach, and in a friendly gesture, gave him a supply of fresh fish.

This gentleman was Mr EW Williams, and one could debate forever, who was the first settler at Patonga, but it was certainly one of these two.

Ernie Williams established a thriving business there and had two daughters and one son, Betty, Helen and Dick.

Bob Robinson was not only a very successful fisherman, but nature's gentleman in every word.

As far as I can recall, he had three sons and one daughter: Bob junior, Jack, Henry and the daughter, Tippy.

The Robinsons founded a dynasty and their grandchildren reside there today, and hopefully, they always will.

In those days, fish were in abundance, schools of mullet, as well as flathead, whiting, flounder, jewfish, to name a few, and netting them was very hard work.

The nets were extremely long, weighted with lead on the lower bottom rope and cork floats on the top.

When it was decided to "shoot", two-end ropes would be held on the beach, then one party would row the boat in a large semi-circle enclosing the fish, and come ashore further along the beach when the net was expired in the water.

The rower would then take the other two end ropes, and together both fishermen would wrap these ropes around their waists and walk up the beach and slowly drag the net ashore.

The centre of the net had a large bag in it called a "bunt", and as the net came out of the water, the captured fish would recede to remain in water and eventually be caught in the "bunt" which would be hauled manually up on to the beach, untied and the fish selected into boxes.

Once loosely packed in the boxes, these fish were placed onto fishing craft, loaded to the gunwales, and up to four or five of these would be towed by launch (also loaded) to Brooklyn where there was located the only available ice works.

The fish would be re-packed in ice, boxed again and nailed down and then carried manually to the Hawkesbury River Railway Station for eventual forwarding to the Sydney fish markets.

Such was the life of a fisherman then.

Today, a similar netting procedure exists, but the nets and ropes are light nylon, the floats plastic and they are slowly hauled on to the beach by diesel tractors, with snap-freezing techniques available, then immediately placed in refrigerated road transport.

The Robinsons were not the only fishing family in those early years as they had friendly competition with the Witchard family.

Frank "Pop" Witchard was more diverse.

Not only was he a very successful fisherman, but he farmed all the oysters in Patonga Creek.

He, and his wonderful wife Jess, reared five sons, Clarrie, Charles (Chica), Ken, Keith and Frank.

The Witchards' home fronted the beach and their back yard fronted on to the road near where the war memorial now stands.

Eventually, as Patonga settled with residents and holiday makers, they established a fresh fish and oyster shop.

Between their home and the shop was located the "oyster room" where these succulent delicacies were bagged up for the Sydney markets as well as individual customers and also bottled for local sale.

As a youngster, I used to help opening them and one day, I deeply penetrated the palm of my left hand with an oyster opener.

Mrs Witchard quickly took my hand, cleaned it out and drenched it with kerosene.

The bleeding stopped, the pain receded and I still bear the scar to this day.

Like the Robinsons, hard work was the everyday life of the Witchards.

The fishing nets were heavy and cumbersome.

They were made of thin cord and without protection, rotted very quickly due to salt water.

To avoid this, both families, at least twice a year, required these nets to be "stewed" in a solution of water and tanning bark, which was harvested from trees located in the bush.

The bark was supplied in large jute bags, and household water tanks were cut in halves, and mounted on a rough fire- place in front of the house on the front beach.

As no water supply existed, the fresh water to accommodate these tanks was carried by hand from the house.

The nets were placed in the tank with the required amount tanning bark, the water added and a large fire lit from timber stored after being washed up on the shoreline from previous storms, and the nets dyed by the stewing process to ensure their longevity.

Nylon nets today don't need these treatments.

This was just one of the many arduous tasks these hard working families did as part of their every day occupation.

"Pop" Witchard was one of the hardest working men I ever had the pleasure to know.

He would take the natural oysters from the rocks and mangroves in Patonga Creek and row his loaded flat-bottom boats to the "fattening trays" located down from the entrance (known as the bar) where the natural mangroves commenced.

The creek was shallow there and the trays were exposed briefly at low tide to aid oyster maturity.

To meet the quantity of oysters required, "Pop" would select sufficient and row his punt to the nearest loading point to his business.

The oysters would be bagged in three bushel jute bags, and he would carry these on his back for at least half a kilometre to the oyster room.

It was not possible for him to use a wheel barrow as the unsealed roads (tracks) were too sandy and the barrow would just sink in and bog.

"Pop" did this many times a day, and then joined his sons who would be netting fish on the front beach.

I guess it was inevitable that these two wonderful families would interrelate as they did when Clarrie Witchard married Tippy Robinson.

They always were an integral part of the Patonga community, and I deeply regret as I compile these memoirs in 2006 that I was recently informed by my niece, Lyn Partridge, of Clarrie's demise.

He would have been well into his 90s.

He was one of the kindest and most respected persons one could ever have the pleasure to know.

As Patonga commenced to develop into a residential and holiday community, building materials were required.

Such things as water tanks, fibro sheeting, timber and plumbing equipment, as well as basic furniture were needed.

The up-river town of Brooklyn also needed many items too cumbersome to be delivered by the railway.

At that time, settlements on Brisbane Water such as Saratoga, Empire Bay, Kincumber and Wagstaffe were also in need of the same goods, as roads from Gosford were non-existent. To meet these requirements, the North Coast Steam Navigation Company serviced these areas from Sydney with three coal-fired cargo boats, the "Erina", the "Eringai" and the "Gosford".

All these supplies were delivered to the public wharfs.

From there the goods were man-handled to their destination.

The Lower Hawkesbury Long Ago Roy Ewar, 2006