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Joan
Scharkie Wilson’s fond memories of living at ‘Mungerie’ 1959-1979. NOTE that there is no audio incorporated into this transcript. Take a Virtual Tour
Bob had been living at ‘Mungerie’ for five years before we married in 1959. An easy bachelor existence - looked after by a succession of housekeepers. He would say the house was comfortable and practical, and I suppose it was, as everything inside was brown. Different shades of brown, the woodwork was dark brown, the covers on the bulky, battered lounges were light brown, with floral dark brown patterns. The curtains pale brown and hung against walls, once cream, but now a dusty beige. Of course it was comfortable, mere male that he was – he could walk in anytime, still in work clothes and boots, flop anywhere and nothing marked! The succession of housekeepers lived in a small building adjacent to the house. I think they ruled the place, doing much as they liked as long as the meals prepared for Bob were ready, the house respectable and his clothes laundered. Mind you I found one drawer filled with very odd and shrunk socks, enough for me to cut up and use as stuffing for the several new cushions I made for the verandah. There was a grocery order delivered each month from Anthony Hordern’s. I think it was a set order, because I discovered 50 tins of boot polish, 50 packets of shoelaces in the pantry, and it seemed cloves had been ordered by the pound. I think even today my cloves came from that early collection. The foreman for the dairy, with his family, lived in a nice little house, not far from ours. The housekeepers, as well as for Bob, had to cook for the working men, who lived in the small cottage near the dairy; usually three men needed meals. The old cow bell would be rung most heartily, and one of the men would shuffle up the path – usually Old Paddy, and collect the breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Sometime it was Little Billy, who always wore a hat, and if it got windy he tucked the brim into the crown on each side to hold the hat more firmly.
In the house the greatest decorating crime, I thought, was the big glass doors of the living room, which were frosted glass, hiding the grassy paddocks rolling down to the creek. However, one day, just before we were married, Bob phoned to say he was having the house painted. We had agreed to keep the exterior traditional green roof and white walls, but now he kindly said I could choose the colours for the interior, and to let him know the next day! The next day! I dashed for some paint colour charts after I finished teaching, and set to work. Everyone gave me advice which only confused things, but finally about 3 am, when truthfully I could hardly distinguish between black and white, let alone different shades of a colour, I made executive decisions and marked the charts for Bob to collect when passing the next morning. I was quite proud of myself and to me the amazing thing was I loved the colours when it was completed and did not want to change any one of them. However shortly after we were married, and I was happily ensconced in my sparkling new home, with clear glass doors to look across the paddocks, he came in one evening and calmly announced he was having the house painted the next day. Once I had picked myself up off the floor and stopped screaming, he explained that an artist was coming to paint a picture. And so he did – D. Turpin, one of the interesting people we met there, he roamed the countryside, earning a living sketching and painting homes. He made a lovely watercolour that recorded, not just the house but the buildings of the farm, the yards, some of the paddocks and even the horses. He declared he was more a draftsman than an artist, and we treasured the detailed reproduction of our ‘Mungerie’, and its surrounds in 1959.
It was quite the oldest house I had ever lived in, and one sensed the feeling of stories it could tell. One approached it along the main driveway, arriving at the small front gate, under an arch, set in the white circular picket fence. Then along the old tiles of the path, with their matched garden edges, up two small steps, straight up to the dignified front door, with its brass centre knob. On each side of the front door, we had placed antique carriage lamps, in which we would light candles when guests were coming. I believe they came from the nearby White Hart Inn; (along with the mounting steps, which the children loved to play on and used with their first ponies. This had been cut from one huge piece of sandstone, and which I think ended up at ‘Merriville’ when we sold ‘Mungerie’). The garden with centre, tiled path and specially constructed round fence followed a formal Georgian design to match the house. Along the verandah, balanced on each side of the front door, were double French doors, opening from the front rooms, with their upper halves small panels of glass. They had tall green shutters, which I would close against the summer heat. The verandah ran evenly across the front and down each side. – have I read that symmetry is the basis for beauty? It certainly gives a sense of security. There were the touches of white cast iron, like lace, at the top of each verandah post; and above the white weatherboards and green shutters, was the verandah’s green, lambs tongue style, galvanised iron roof, which played like a kettle drum band in every little rain storm. Then above was the high pitched main roof, which acted as a shield from summer’s great heat. There were four white chimneys standing out from the green tin roof, like little people, wearing big flat hats, just popping up to see who was coming down the driveway. From the front door ran the long central hall with four rooms opening off it. Three had fireplaces: the front two had tiled grates designed for the trendy new coal and coke of the Victorian era. Their walls were still the old lath and plaster. At the end of the hall was the vast living room, with its huge fireplace, in which we could put whole stumps that would take all day to burn. The room in turn opened, through my new clear glass doors, to a big roofed verandah. At each end – the corners of the house - were small rooms, one used as an office and opened onto the back verandah, and the other corner, with its door opening to the garden, was the laundry, where the majestic fuel copper was ensconced.
Off the living room was the kitchen, built, I guess, when, one felt modern conveniences, like the Wunderlich pressed tin walls in stripes, and the ceiling in a small square pattern, and iron fuel stoves, made it safe for the kitchen to be part of the house. In earlier days, fear of fire made most kitchens in a different building with a roofed walkway connecting them to the main house. The kitchen had two fireplaces, with the fuel stove in one and a small rather weak electric stove set in the other, with the chimney blocked off, which made a comfortable spot for a possum in the winter and we would hear it moving. Through the kitchen across a covered but open passage way was the bathroom. It had originally been the cool room for the dairy. It had a sunken floor, which had beneath the carefully placed tiles, a thick layer of ash or gravel. This meant it was always cool and dry. However much water was splashed on the floor it disappeared quickly between the tiles. Drinking water ran off the roof into a brick lined well on the eastern side of the house, then was pumped up to a small tank. (Later, although still with our own water supply, we modernized the kitchen and installed a dishwasher. I soon noticed the children’s bath water was frothing, brown, and smelt like vegetable soup. We discovered the dishwasher waste pipe was running directly into our well, from whence came our water; but it did not seem to do us any harm and was eventually rectified.) Water for the garden and dairy was pumped from the creek to a large overhead tank in the back garden. From the back verandah one could gaze down across the paddocks to the tree lined creek and, at night, when I first arrived there were no other lights visible except the stars. Facing nearly due east, I would plan dinner parties on the verandah around the rise of the full moon, checking dates and times, and setting the table with the best lace cloth, silver candlesticks and lots of flowers. At the crucial moment I would turn off the lights and slowly, a huge golden orb rose in the sky in front of us. It seemed almost close enough to touch, illuminating the paddock running down to the creek, and climbing up above the rolling hills, away in the distance.
Once, after Bob had joined a friend on a trip to Europe, on their return with the friend’s wife, we planned a very trendy dinner! I set small tables with red check clothes and candles in Chianti bottles and had an ‘Italian Night’!! First served was the new taste sensation - spaghetti; then baked fish. It was one Bob had caught himself at Ulladulla, and frozen in the deep freeze given us by my dear mother-in-law, reputed to be the first deep freeze ever in Australia. So solidly built compared to today’s products, it was still going efficiently until few years ago. The fish was so huge we had to cut it in half and bake each half on a different shelf in the fuel stove. Then it was served, now joined again with decorations of mashed potato and served about twenty people – probably some left over!! The verandahs were so much part of our life; afternoon tea on the western one in the winter, catching the last warming rays of the sun. On the south, finding the occasional time to take a book to escape the heat, but more often preferring the hammock slung under the huge Chinese Elm on the back lawn. It grew mightily from all the overflowing water from the high tank built on the lawn – the highest point around - used for all the property. It was pumped up, by windmill from the creek below, but if the wind was constant, more water was pumped than needed and so overflowed until someone went down to the creek to switch it off. If no wind a motor was used. There was also a huge holly tree as high as the house, which would have bright red berries in the crisp winter time. I kept thermometers all around the house; the one beside the front door, as it faced due west, in the late afternoon sunshine, once recorded 113F. Of course in the winter we recorded well below 32F freezing. Looking from the front of the house west -southwest, we could see the frost go about half way across the paddocks, up the hill towards ‘Merriville’ - quite a noticeable white line. On the house's northern side we had a 'fernery' to shelter the plants from the frost (also privacy from the dairy) and had a lot of orchids, bought from the auction sale in 1958 at the vast Dixson Estate, (now Anglican Retirement Villages Castle Hill). They never flowered and we then gave them to Bob’s brother’s family, up the hill at ‘Merriville’, and immediately in the warmer winter, they flowered - much to our annoyance.
Sometimes in the winter we lit the fuel stove in the morning, and kept it going all day. I felt like a train driver as I pulled levers, reading dials, and then feeding in the wood, while kettles steamed at the back, always ready for that cup of tea. I suppose it was not really efficient, as it used a lot of wood which had to be cut to a special size and was a time consuming chore for Bob or one of the men. Sometimes after the first load of wood had been used, it took a bit to talk someone into cutting more. The frost would increase quite dramatically down below our home towards the creek, and the boys would discover ice on the water, and the men told stories of breaking the ice in the cows drinking troughs. They had a fuel copper in the dairy and the men starting about 4 am, would cluster around its warmth, stoking up the fire, having a cup of tea, in the bitter early morning cold, before the milking with machines and feeding commenced. My mother (Gwen Tebbutt) came often to stay with us. She told the children stories and would go with them while they played in the paddocks with their kites. She sometimes took her knitting, and would start to help the boys with their kites. Knitting and kites would all get tangled and long strands of wool and string would fly high into the sky. Once an angry cow which had lost its calf, chased them, and she had our third son David in a stroller. She sort of pushed it under a fence to get away, and looked for the two bigger boys - John was missing - she called for him, and he said "Here I am, in the prickles" and he was hiding in the middle of a huge bunch of scotch thistles. When he was nearly four, John developed osteomyelitis in his left ankle after jumping from a tree; he was a month in hospital, then twelve months with his leg in irons. He was so brave - those terrible irons from the hip down, straight and heavy and with his other boot built up to keep the balance - but they did not stop him playing, in fact he was rather a terrifying opponent in football games on the back lawn. When he finally was allowed to take them off, I took them to the creek and saying a small prayer, threw them in, scattering a bunch of flowers on to the water - like a funeral. It was funny although I hated them and was so glad to be rid of them they had become part of my son, like an extra limb. John went on to play first Grade Rugby Union, as did all the boys, and as Bob had done.
One year walking on the far hill, I discovered a huge gum tree had been struck by lightning. Where it had grown were split pieces of the stump, the broken wood, coming out from the ground, like an arrangement in a vase. All around this, in a vast perfect circle of about nearly fifty metres, were lengths of timber of approx six feet, with smaller pieces as one moved out towards the edge. No sign of leaves and the timber was so dry that it could be used in a fire immediately - all trace of the natural oils was gone in the heat of the lightning flash. There were some other fallen trees and it was decided to have a bonfire on the Queen’s birthday weekend in the cold of June. A great success, we asked a few friends, the children had sparklers and the father’s let off crackers and a few small rockets. The next year again, this time with some old tyres and some hay added to the bonfire, and more people. We organised meat pies for every one and again a great success. Then the next year we had even more people, but it had been wet and the fire was difficult to light and also some of the children now felt old enough to light their own crackers! The next year Bob was determined it would be a success, we had been clearing for the golf course, and had built the new dams so with the dozer he had built a huge pile of logs. This was in the gully area below the wall of the new main dam. Bob bought special fireworks from nearby Howards Fireworks, who supplied the fireworks for New Years Eve on Sydney Harbour. Old tyres from the trucks were placed on the pile. Bob had set big logs for people to sit on around the bonfire, about 10 metres away. About sixty people had gathered for what one child called ‘The Great Meat Pie Feast’ – obviously different interests – but most had come to see the fire and the exciting new fireworks promised! We looked up to Bob’s friend Bruce, stationed on the nearby bank of the dam, with a special length of pipe set in the ground, with a rocket carefully placed in it and instructions, when the fire was lit to set off the first giant rocket. The sump oil, collected all year, was carefully poured over the bales of hay piled up on the logs. Then a little diesel was added, and at the last minute a gallon or so of petrol. Fortunately Bob told every one to stand well back, then he lit a bit of rag doused in petrol, tied on the end of a string and swung it into the centre of the waiting pile, which was now the size of small house. The explosion was so vast the entire pile lifted up off the ground a couple of feet. The big logs around the fire 10 metres away burst into flames. Then the crowning achievement! Bruce lit the rocket - however he had placed it the wrong way into the pipe and instead of flying off into the sky in a coloured trail, it went off in the pipe!! Still stunned from the explosion, we then looked with horror to the top of the dam wall above us. There was Bruce, one hand across his face half crouched and bathed in bright pink light, then another bang and flash and he was in a different crouch and this time illuminated in vivid green. It went on and on - a green, then a pink Bruce, doing a sort of strange ballet on the top of the wall.
All the children and some adults cried and wanted to go home. Our cattle leapt through fences and even several weeks later, people were still bringing them back to us from miles away. A good friend Derek spent the entire evening walking around with a wet bag putting out spot fires in the paddocks nearby. Well, we brought out the meat pies and the sparklers. Gradually laughter came back – although when it was realised Bruce had parked his station wagon filled with more fireworks, just beside him on the dam wall we realised how very lucky we had been that no one was hurt. The fire itself burned in slow glowing coals for several weeks. That was the last of our fireworks evenings. After obtaining a truck to bring Lucerne hay from Mudgee for the dairy, the Scharkie brothers began using it for supplying other local properties. Bob was on the NSW Dairy Council. As late as 1954 there were 73 dairies in the area but by 1973 there were less than 12 remaining. As the city spread, land taxes and Council rates were raised. Many farms were sold for residential development as it was no longer viable to farm. In 1967 The Royal Sydney Golf Club at Rose Bay took an option on part of our land when they were in legal discussions about council rates. They did not proceed, but Bob felt it was an excellent idea and with the help of a golfing architect, the Scharkie brothers built the international standard 18 hole golf par 72 ‘Mungerie Park Golf Course’. They constructed a number of dams but, until they filled, water was a problem. During one period, a truck worked the whole week bringing water from the nearest city water point about half a mile away, to the dams, so they could then pump for one day a week, just to keep the greens alive.
The brothers ran the golf course, developing a shop and picnic area along Caddies Creek adjacent to Commercial Road. Native trees were planted but did not survive. Radiata pines proved much more successful. However, when small, during the Christmas period, some were cut down and stolen for Christmas trees. So Bob would go out at night, with a rifle to guard them, until a lawyer friend advised him against this practice. Lots of characters seemed to join our ranks, including one man who spent his life travelling from Queensland to Victoria collecting lost golf balls and selling them back to the Pro shops. He would wade in the creek and dams feeling with his feet for balls, and had developed an extended big toe to pick up the balls. One late afternoon on the golf course, I heard splashing and signaling the children to silence, we crept up thinking there were ducks or even platypus in the creek – but instead, in the centre of the creek, there was this hat, under it a face - it was the man with the big toe at work. Having your own golf course had lots of benefits, particularly if it was not very busy. The boys and friends often played golf after school, they were so good, striking the ball firmly and then running to where it lay, whatever direction. Soon they would be in the distance, scattered all over the course having a great time. Once with friends, we played a few holes - there were two men, two women, a baby in a stroller, several children on push bikes, and the pony ‘Gingersnap’ which the children took turns to ride.
One morning I was woken at 3am by our cows. Their normal gentle deep resonant moos had changed to a higher pitched bellow, almost a giggle, like a school girl playing truant. You just knew one had broken through a fence and excitedly, was calling the rest to join her on the rolling fairways and smooth enticing greens. Then a lamp on the verandah outside our bedroom, and a voice – “Hey Bob, the cows are out again – hey Bob wake up.” I started shouting, shaking, banging - even kicking my sleeping spouse. Finally a sleepy “What is it?” “The cows are on the golf course, Bill’s outside.” There was instant action: I don’t know why it was that for any other drama I could spend half an hour getting him awake and paying attention, but for this, he was up on his feet and out the door before I could blink. “Be right with you Bill” and he dashed to get a coat and something on his feet. As I lay in bed, I thought of what the general frame of mind of everyone would be that morning: the dairy and farm workers - with cows to catch, work delayed and fences to mend; the green keeper coming in at 7 am to survey the damage and general havoc on the course.
So strange how cows could stand quietly all day in their own paddocks but, given the chance to knock down a fence to reach forbidden territory, are quite overcome - skipping around like young things, chasing each other, making huge hoof prints in the soft turf; the smooth greens, that had taken so long to become established, were especially enticing, and the sand bunkers became giant sand pits so turf and sand were tossed into the air. Even the flags became back scratchers. I came to recognize the different sound of their moo-ings and could tell when they were playing up. 125 acres were sold in 1967 on the eastern boundary from the second creek, Smalls Creek, to half way down the hill nearer the house. The five blocks used Mungerie Road, newly constructed by Bob and Ian Scharkie. One of the blocks was sold to the NSW Postal Institute who constructed several ovals and had use of the golf course. In 1969 the dairy was closed and the sheds used for the developing trucking business Mungerie Park Transport, later located at Vineyard and then Narrabri. In 1970 the house was further extended east and the bricks from the double chimney in the former kitchen were used for a feature wall and arched doorway. A new main bedroom was built and a tiled terrace constructed. The Silky Oak and Chinese Elm trees in the back garden, continually wet from the pump from the creek, were huge as was the old Holly tree. The extensive garden and view down to the creek over the paddocks was still beautiful, with no houses in sight. The home was used for several fund raising occasions for Kellyville Public School. We knew that an early Australian film “The Squatter’s Daughter” with Cecil Kellaway had been filmed at Mungerie. Then in the 1970s some TV serials and commercials were filmed at ‘Mungerie’ including “The Strangers”, “Woodbinda Animal Doctor” and “Dad and Dave” with Gordon Chater and Gary Macdonald. The exterior of ‘Mungerie’ became the house at Snake Gully and Gary Macdonald, as Dave, climbed several times in the bedroom window. In 1979 the property was sold. While living at ‘Mungerie’ Rouse Hill Joan wrote the following words: - Country Housekeeping “It’s
fun to leave the dishes half done,
The sun
has been up one hour, The apple
peels are yellow,
In the
dark, I do
not envy the suburban woman,
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