BATHURST IN THE 1830's

by an anonymous widow
From the Bathurst Times, 18 January 1902

THE OLD HOSPITAL AND A RIVER STORY

Reference has been made in these reminiscences to the old hospital which was a plain four-roomed building, without even a fence round it, standing on the site now occupied by the swimming baths. In the thirties it was looked after by the Government doctor, an overseer dispenser, assisted by two wardsmen, a man cook, and a washerman. The patients were prisoners, but one small ward was reserved for soldiers. The female prisoners, when attacked by illness, were attended by the surgeon at the places in which they were employed, but this being often very inconvenient, the woman's factory was established, and a room set apart as a ward. Patients frequently reached the hospital in strange and terrible plights, and on one occasion, a scurvy patient was sent in from the Junction with his irons embedded in his flesh, cutting him almost to the bone. The surgeon (Dr. Busby) sent for the lumberyard blacksmith, and had the irons struck off, immediately reporting his action to his superior in Sydney.

He in time, brought the matter before the Governor, and the surgeon was sharply called upon to give reasons for his act. He forthwith reported that ordinary humanity and professional requirements alike necessitated the course he took. This hardly satisfied the authorities, and when the man, shortly after made his escape, and was never heard of again, further correspondence took place.

One good result, however, came of the whole mater. For some time the surgeon had been urging less iron and more guarding in the case of sick prisoners; and regular sentry duty was now commenced at the hospital, the sentries going on duty in turns of tow hours throughout the day and night.

During all the years of his service, and notwithstanding the fact that he often had to send up for punishment men who were shamming illness, the surgeon was only twice molested, and, on one of these occasions, he was taken for someone else. This took place on the Sydney Road near Fryingpan, on a dark night, when two men rushed out upon him, seized his horse, and bade him "Bail up"! but, on discovering who he was, disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, exclaiming, "O, it's the doctor"! Fryingpan took its not very æsthetic name from the one article of use in a hut at that place, built in the first instance for the accommodation of soldiers on escort. The floor was innocent of furniture, and the walls of adornment, save a useful frying-pan which hung in a conspicuous and convenient place, and did duty for all and sundry. The other occasion on which an attempt was planned on the doctor's person, was when a prisoner, whose pretence of illness was not sufficient to delude the eye of the surgeon, borrowed a pair of scissors with the avowed object of cutting out an article of dress, "forgot" to return them, and, in the middle of the night, had a very bad turn. The doctor was hurriedly summoned from his quarters, but the gaoler, whose suspicions had been somewhat aroused, insisted on preceding him in entering the cell. He was not wrong in his surmise that the prisoner meant mischief, for the moment he entered the "sick" man leaped at him, and struck him viciously with the pair of scissors. The weapon passed through his hat, but glanced off his head, inflicting nothing worse that a scalp wound. On finding that it was not the doctor he had struck down, the prisoner expressed great regret for his "mistake".

Tow river matters were much talked of in those days--one has been satisfactorily settled in the denison and Ranken Bridges; the other has been frequently dealt with, and is at the time being once more coped with, and that is the encroachment of the river on the rich lands on the Kelso side.

In the thirties, on the Kelso side, opposite the site on which the Denison Foundry now stands, there was a pound, with a comfortable residence and a beautiful and productive garden. Bit by bit this garden was swept away, until but a narrow strip stood between the bank and the house; and then came the end, when a slight fresh undermined the bank, and the house followed its fruit trees and flowers down the river.

The first bridge, an unpretentious wooden structure, suffered the same fate, and, in its career down the river, struck and carried away the Eglinton Bridge, which had been planned and built by Mr. George Ranken, the proprietor of the fine estates known as Kelloshiel, Saltram, Westbourne and Osborne. The construction of Mr. Ranken's bridge gave rise to a good deal of criticism, and one day a young man, (who afterwards became famous as Sir Saul Samuel, and who then represented his uncle, a Sydney gold buyer), ventured to air his ideas on the subject, in the presence of the engineer himself, in the Royal Hotel. Mr. Ranken bore with it for a time, and then addressed the critic: "Young man, that bridge is strong enough to carry all your race to Jerusalem, and it will stand till your great Bathurst bridge carries it away".

The story of the destruction of the bridges and Mr. Ranken's gallant rescue of a distressed couple needs a chapter to itself.