Budgee Budgee Inn

Old Land Title Certificates are full of historical information. The wording of them is quaint, to say the least. The Title Certificate for the Budgee Budgee Inn was issued in 1861 after a grant of land was sold at ‘upset price’ of £43 following an attempted sale by auction. It was part of a purchase of 43 acres of crown land.

Budgee Budgee Inn before restoration.

It read in part—‘Victoria by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the Faith and so forth:- To all of whom these presents shall come Greetings.’ That was the preamble to the purchase of land on August 1, 1861 by George Leeding.

In 1864 the original three-room building, with outhouses at the rear was built of vertical slabs, between the top and bottom plates, with hip ended roof, framed up in timber rounds, and clad in shingles.

In 1865 the interior was decorated with wall paper. This would have been done after hessian or unbleached calico was nailed to the slabs. This would then have had newspaper pasted on to it as a base for the wallpaper. In 1865, Alex Chesterman was the ratepayer.

Two years later the inn was mortgaged for £200 to Richard Crossing, who operated The Settlers Store in Mudgee. By 1870 the Inn and the remainder of the land had passed to William Hill, a farmer.

Budgee Budgee Inn, at the junction of Cassilis and Wollar Roads, was from 1873 to 1890 owned by William and Sarah Gossage and their family who were the licensees. In 1881 two rooms at the southern end of the building were constructed.

The licensee was Edward Gossage from 1900 to 1908 whilst James McDonnell was the proprietor for the next three years when the Inn closed in 1911 for a short period. It is not known when the Inn re-opened but in 1919 the licensee was Arthur William Clarke.

In 1928 the Budgee Budgee Inn lost its liquor licence and the hotel closed but the Gossage family still lived there selling sweets and soft drinks. It is thought at one time it also served as a residence for a branch of the Kurtz family. In 1943 the property on which the Inn was located was owned by the Stanford family and the buildings were used as storage sheds for hay, oats and fertiliser. The buildings, because of their age, needed urgent repairs.

In 1988 the property was subdivided and the Inn with 5 acres of land was purchased by Simon Staines and Angela Leonard who began restoration. In 1989 a car accident demolished part of the building.

In 1990 the property as it stood was purchased by Ross and Jan Webb. Reconstruction was commenced and the blacksmith’s shop was completed by September, 1990.

Budgee Budgee Inn after renovation.

On March 23, 1991 Ross and Jan Webb re-opened the re-constructed Inn as a restaurant known as The Loaded Dog and a gift shop. The opening was by the late noted folklorist John Meredith, AM. The Budgee Budgee Inn is acknowledged as the location featured by Henry Lawson in his famous story The Loaded Dog. An acting version scripted by local Budgee Budgee resident Norman McVicker was performed three times on opening day by an acting group the Pipeclay Performers.

The kitchen where all the action took place no longer exists—but it is not hard to look at the present building and vividly imagine the mongrel dog with the stick of dynamite and the confusion caused among the teamsters and bullock drivers drinking in the pub.

The building is still known as the Budgee Budgee Inn but is now a private residence occupied by Adrian and Carol Terry.

The Fire at Ross’s Farm

Throughout his life Henry Lawson always carried a large chip on his shoulder. If he took sides in his verse and prose, with selectors against squatters, it was no doubt because he never forgot he was the son of a free selector and never forgot what hopeless drudgery that meant.

In his writings he often referred back to his childhood days on the Lawson farm: “Our selections were pushed back in the barren, stony, hopeless ridges, where old dead trees and stumps to be ‘grubbed out’ were hard as iron—because the black soil flats, taken up by early pioneer squatters were barred to us. We were really trespassers if we crossed the flats for a billy of water from the ‘crick’.”

Henry Lawson was prone to using local names in his stories and poems making no effort to conceal the identities of those involved.

One such instance concerned James and John Ross who owned four adjoining properties of either 40 or 45 acres fronting what is now Black Springs Road and Church Lane.

In the early days squatters had taken up this land, but when the selectors moved in and registered claims the squatters’ best land was taken over. The grass land was ploughed by the selectors to grow crops (not always successfully). The die was cast for confrontations between the two groups leading to wells being filled in; baits laid for dogs and deadly feuds of class, creed and race.

Such was the setting for one of Henry Lawson’s best but least known poems The Fire at Ross’s Farm. It tells of the stormy feuds of the day—but has an underlying Romeo and Juliet classic love story between the squatter’s son, Robert Black, and the selector’s daughter, Jenny Ross. Unlike Shakespeare’s play there is no tragic ending but rather the coming together of sworn enemies at a time of adversity.

This is Henry Lawson at his best using names and events to tell a story and promote his political views of the time. By doing this he was either unaware of the discord he created or just didn’t care. It is hard to reconcile the latter because Henry was apt to take umbrage if somebody upset him. Here is Henry’s poem:

The squatter saw his pastures wide
Decrease, as one by one
The farmers moving to the west
Selected on his run
Selectors took the water up
And all the black soil round
The best grass land the squatter had
Was spoilt by Ross’s ground

Now many schemes to shift old Ross
Had racked the squatter’s brains
But Sandy had the stubborn blood
Of Scotland in his veins
He held the land and fenced it in
He cleared and ploughed the soil
And year by year a richer crop
Repaid him for his toil

Between the homes for many years
The devil left his tracks
The squatter pounded Ross’s track
And Sandy pounded Black’s
A well upon the lower run
Was filled with earth and logs
And Black laid baits about the farm
To poison Ross’s dogs

It was indeed a deadly feud
Of class and creed and race
But yet, there was a Romeo
And a Juliet in the case
And more than once across the flats
Beneath the Southern Cross
Young Robert Black was seen to ride
With pretty Jenny Ross

One Christmas time, when months of drought
Had parched the western creeks
The bushfires started in the north
And travelled south for weeks
At night along the riverside
The scene was grand and strange
The hill fires looked like lighted streets
Of cities in the range

The cattle tracks between the trees
Were like long dusky aisles
And on a sudden breeze the fire
Would sweep along for miles
Like sounds of distant musketry
It crackled through the breaks
And o’er the flat of silver grass
It hissed like angry snakes

It leapt across the flowing streams
And raced the pastures broad
It climbed the trees and lit the boughs
And through the scrubs it roared
The bees fell stifled in the smoke
Or perished in their hives
And with the stock, the kangaroos
Went flying for their lives

The sun had set on Christmas eve
When, through the scrub lands wide
Young Robert Black came riding home
As only natives’ ride
He galloped to the homestead door
And gave the first alarm
“The fire is past the granite spur,
And close to Ross’s farm”

“Now father, send the men at once
They won’t be wanted here
Poor Ross’s wheat is all he has
To pull him through the year”
“Then let it burn”, the squatter said
“You shall not take the men –
Go out and join your precious friends
And don’t come back again.”
“I won’t come back,” young Robert cried
And reckless in his ire
He sharply turned his horse’s head
And galloped towards the fire

And there for three long weary hours
Half blinded with smoke and heat
Old Ross and Robert fought the flames
That neared the ripened wheat
The farmer’s hand was nerved by fears
Of danger and of loss
And Robert fought the stubborn foe
For the love of Jenny Ross

But serpent like the curves and lines
Slipped past them and between
Until they reached the boundary where
The old coach track had been
“The track is now our only hope
There we must stand” cried Ross
“For nought on earth can stop the fire
If once it gets across.”

Then came a cruel gust of wind
And with a fiendish rush
The flames leapt over the narrow path
And lit the fence of brush
“The crop must burn!” the farmer cried
“We cannot save it now”
And down upon the blackened ground
He dashed the ragged bough

But wildly, in a rush of hope
His heart began to beat
For over the crackling fire he heard
The sound of horse’s feet
“Here’s help at last,” young Robert cried
And even as he spoke
The squatter with a dozen men
Came racing through the smoke

Down on the ground the stockmen jumped
And bared each brawny arm
They tore green branches from the trees
And fought for Ross’s farm
And when before the gallant band
The beaten flames gave way
Two grimy hands in friendship joined –
And it was Christmas Day.

Henry Lawson