Firefighters Don't Get Beer Any More in Belair National Park

The Belair National Park was greatly impacted by bush fires in the late 1800s, and fire fighting was largely a voluntary affair. Up until the early 1940s beer was provided as refreshment for those who risked their lives fighting the fires that occurred in the Park with distressing regularity. This didn't result in top-notch fire-fighting performance and eventually the frustrated Park curator ceased the delivery of beer to the firefighters in an attempt to get some actual fire fighting done.  History does not comment on the remarkable happenstance that with the withdrawal of the 'refreshment' the rate of fire occurrence in Belair was remarkably reduced, so I'll leave it to your imagination as to whether or not the two were related. 

 

I couldn't find any drunken fire-fighters to photograph.  Instead, here is Belair National Park in its end-of-winter, least fire-prone, wet and green-grassy glory.

 

Roger and I went walking in Belair National Park, up one side of the creek and down the other, dodging winter mud puddles and discovering things about the Park along the way. 

The day was cold, but sunny.  Most of the walk, however, was in afternoon shadow.

Back in 1839 a certain Mr Foott dug a well and built a stone cottage in the area which is now Belair National Park.  Mr Foott made considerable improvements to the area despite not holding any legal ownership of the land and this lack of legality worked against him when Governer Gawler came along one year later and co-opted the land for a Government farm.  Although I don't think Mr Foott did too badly for himself:  he was compensated to the tune of 300 pounds and took himself off to Victoria where he became a member of the Legislative Assembly and a generally Important Person.

Daffodils, introduced by Europeans pining for a familiar flower, put on a show beside our walk.

In 1858 a stone residence, complete with swimming pool, was built to allow the Governor to retire to the cool comfort of the hills in summer, rather than sweating with the masses on the hot Adelaide plains. That lasted until 1880, by which time a grander residence had been built over at Marble Hill, and future Governers decamped to spend their summers there.  The government farm became the subject of much to-and-fro between Government officials who sought to sell it off, and various individuals and groups of the public who agitated for the development of a public park.  In this case the public opinion won out and in 1892 a park was officially declared although there would be a few name changes until it was officially the Belair National Park. The 'Blackwood Magazine' in May 1914 declared with rapture that "The view from Belair ridge is one of the finest of its kind in the world, equaled perhaps by that of Los Angeles, in California, and in one or two other places, but with few exceptions unequaled and rarely surpassed."  Which suggested that possibly the writers of the Blackwood Magazine didn't get out much.

Take that, rest-of-world.

 

The masses on the overheated plains of Adelaide discovered themselves, like Governors, to be rather partial to the cool summer air of the hills and enthusiastically took themselves up to Belair to picnic, party, and generally have fun at the National Park. The early picnics were huge affairs with upwards of 1200 people (these numbers again breathlessly reported by the Blackwood Magazine) arriving by train, motor, and dray.  Such debauched occupations as sport being banned in the park on Sundays, the visitors took up drinking instead and so dedicated were they to this that Belair boasted not one, but two iron and timber lock-ups where the inebriated were confined until they regained enough sense to navigate their way back home again. 

No drunkeness or debauchery here: just winter mud and trees about to come into leaf.

 

Belair National Park retains many amenities not always found in National Parks. There are at least 20 tennis courts, a plethora of ovals, a kiosk or two, a mobile coffee van, a caravan park, and of course Old Government House itself with its sundry satellite buildings. Playford Lake, the old railway dam, and sundry other small water pools provided plenty of spots for quiet contemplation and/or honing and critique of each other's photography skills.

 

The railway dam, from which water was fed by gravity to the thirsty steam engines waiting at Belair Station.

 

"Just a bit to your right, no left, no, two steps forward now! Why aren't you stepping forward?"

We wandered along the Legacy Trees walk, left over from the days when the first thing any self respecting park keeper in the antipodes did was to attempt a total erasure of native flora and the establishment of a northern hemisphere parkland. Thankfully this failed but the remnant sequoias, pencil pines, and oaks are still there along with the olive, cherries, and almonds from the government farm.

Imports from up in Queensland,

and remnants of farm planting.

Where's my beer?

 

We ended our walk down by  the creek, watching rainbow lorikeets and rosellas feast on seeds in the grass. And then we went home where, although we had a fire, no one offered us any beer.

But how could we complain, when we had a cat that deigned to spend time with us instead?