Almanac Footy History: ‘Mulga’ and Ye Olde Buckland Inn

 

Recently, I was saddened to learn of the passing of Maurice ‘Mulga’ Gregson, an old stalwart supporter and former player of the Swansea (Bulldogs/Swans) Football Club. Maurice was 94.

 

As a small boy in the early 1960s, I watched Mulga, then in his early-30s, play his last games of football with the Bulldogs Reserves just after the club had joined the Fingal Football Association (FFA). When I commenced playing with the Bulldogs as a young teenager, first in the reserves and then with the senior team at age 16, I remember Mulga as a strong supporter of the club, at both home and away games.  Even though there were many years difference between us, Mulga would often talk to me about football. I especially enjoyed his stories of not only early Tasmanian football, but of the characters and history of the former East Coast Football Association (ECFA). To a young impressionable football fanatic boy they were enthralling. I captured him (and some other ‘oldies’) on several occasions at the Sunday morning footy club get-togethers at the clubrooms where, after the traditional tapping of the keg, I would ask questions about the old days. I attended these Sunday morning events with my father much to my mother’s consternation!  My recollections of those mornings are ripe for another written piece!

 

In my later teenage years I left my home town for Hobart for study and work, later to be  followed by many years in other locations in Australia and overseas. It was not until I bought a holiday house in Swansea in the early 2000s some 40 years later, that I caught up with Mulga once again.  Mulga, well into his late 70s by this time, had a daily ritual which involved a mid-afternoon small beer or two and a game of Keno at the local tavern followed by another small beer or two and a bet on the horses at the local RSL. It was in these venues that I often caught up with Mulga. It was as if I had never left town as we continued our discussions on football and local history and, in particular, the Swansea Swans in the old ECFA and the Bulldogs in the FFA.  His knowledge and memories were astounding and I always loved his stories and recollections.

 

Sadly, very many of the old timers in the district like Mulga have passed away in recent years without their stories having been recorded in any detail, or not at all.  A lot of history of the district and its sporting past has died with them. There have been times over the past 20 years or so when I have thought about undertaking the task but living interstate has made it just too difficult. Unfortunately, much local history has been lost.

 

While official Tasmanian football records state that the ECFA was formed in 1909, I have read in a document in the local museum that football matches between communities and towns along the east coast were being played in the late 1800s. My grandfather had also told me this, as did Mulga.

 

Over its history the ECFA’s football clubs variously included Buckland, Nugent, Orford, Runnymede, Swansea, Spring Bay, Cranbrook, Lisdillon, Ravensdale, Triabunna, Sorell, Buckland-Orford, Woodsdale, Nugent, Copping and Forcett. Even Maria Island had a team for a period.

 

The ECFA went into recess five rounds into the 1958 season and ultimately folded at the completion of that season. Buckland won just two premierships in 1914 and in 1948 (as Buckland – Orford). Apart from a premiership win by Sorell in 1954, the competition was dominated by the Swansea and Triabunna clubs, especially between the late 1940s until the ECFA’s demise in 1958.

 

 

 

(Mulga is seventh from the left)

 

Mulga was born in Buckland in 1929 and moved to Swansea in 1950 as a young man to undertake wattle tree bark stripping, a thriving industry at that time. As Buckland’s team had folded by this stage he continued his football playing life with the Swansea Swans and then the Bulldogs. Mulga also played cricket for the RSL Cricket Club. In his later years he bowled for the Swansea Bowls Club.

 

Similar to many other local men along the east coast during these years, Mulga worked at various jobs. Apart from wattle bark stripping, he had been a shearer, a ‘Jack of all trades’ at the local general store (Morey’s) as well as the owner of a small trucking and transport business before finishing his working life as a machine operator in the forestry industry.

 

Buckland, Mulga’s birthplace, remains to this day a small historic village on the Tasman Highway, 66km from Hobart. A main change and rest station operated there in the horse and buggy days. It was originally called Prossers Plains but in 1846 Governor Franklin re-named it in honour of a man called Dean Buckland. Historians and researchers, perhaps even the Tasmanian tourism authorities, will claim that the main attraction in the town is the Church of St. John the Baptist, which was built in 1846. The beautiful stained glass window is reputed to date back to the 12th century, and was brought out from England. Locals along the east coast however, even those from elsewhere in Tasmania, will tell you that the real attraction is Ye Olde Buckland Inn.

 

 

 

 

Some records mention Ye Olde Buckland Inn as being built either in 1836 or around 1841.  The sign on the front of the inn says ‘CIRCA 1831’.  Regardless, by Australian standards it’s old! It is one of Tasmania’s oldest surviving inns and is recognized for its cultural heritage, highlighting the early European settlement of Tasmania and its social history. The inn has its ghost stories and tales of paranormal activity which draws interest from those intrigued by the supernatural – such as a small boy from Swansea!

 

Originally established as a coaching inn along the Hobart to East Coast route, the inn provided accommodation for travellers and served as a social hub for the local area. Even to this day, through the hosting of music events, art exhibitions and community gatherings, it continues to foster a strong connection with the local population in and around Buckland.

 

 

 

 

Since my time living on Tasmania’s east coast, Ye Olde Buckland Inn has been through many owners. I remember very well old Jack Fitzgerald who owned it for many years. In my day the inn was a compulsory stopover for a pie and/or a beer(s) for those travelling between Hobart and Swansea and elsewhere along the east coast. When I first left Swansea to move to Hobart I was still playing for the Swansea Bulldogs. Before I obtained my driver’s licence I used to get a lift to Swansea from Hobart on a Friday night during the footy season with Peter Kirk whose girlfriend (still his wife) lived in Swansea. We always stopped at ‘Jack’s’ for a pie with sauce and an ice cold beer. We did the same on Sunday afternoons when returning to Hobart from Swansea. Fond memories of those days remain.

 

At Mulga’s funeral his daughter Kaye read out an old poem that she had found among her father’s belongings. Kaye has no idea why Mulga may have kept the poem among his personal possessions but it obviously had some sort of special meaning for him. Like his son Barry, I suspect that the poet, Bill Burgess, was a well-known local character of sorts from Mulga’s early Buckland life. Perhaps Burgess gave a younger Mulga the poem for keepsake.

 

The poem provides a snapshot of local Buckland history which readers of this memoir piece may enjoy reading. I have copied the poem exactly as written by the poet, Bill Burgess.

 

 

YE OLDE BUCKLAND INN

 

There stands a square stone building

Nine miles from the coast,

Which was once owned by a yank

Who called himself “Ye Host”.

 

He kept a decent table

Wine and gin and beer,

Where the local talent

Had had their booze up once a year.

 

We never talked of women

Nor sorrow, sin or shame,

For we were happy and contented

Until Trooper Siely came.

 

We dropped in every evening

Just to hear the latest news.

To have a quiet game of poker

And a little drop of booze.

 

Now this gallant man

He had a down upon the booze,

He had more cheek than General Monarch

And more Gab than Billy Hughes.

 

The village is now all in darkness

There’s no meeting of the chaps.

We all go to bed at sunset

When we don’t go round our traps.

 

For we can’t get in the cardroom

Nor we can’t get in the yard,

For gallant Trooper Siely

Is always there on guard.

 

He stands there in the morning

As soon as it is light,

He stands by the bar door

Until twelve o’clock at night.

 

We were always happy and contented

And we know not sorrow, shame or sin,

We were always happy and contented in Ye Olde Buckland Inn.

 

But I have good news to tell you

Our Troopers going away,

To watch the Black Swans

Hatch their eggs on Moulting Bay.

 

And we don’t care if it rains, snows or blows

We are going to have a booze up the very day he goes,

We will drink bad luck to Siely with ale, beer and gin

And the best of luck to Curtain in Ye Older Buckland Inn.

 

We all stood on the roadside

To see him disappear,

Then we all journeyed up to Curtain’s

And all filled up with beer.

 

Jack French came down from Tiger Hill

And sold a hundred ewes,

He placed a fiver on the counter

Said “give all the boys a booze”.

 

It was a speech from old Bill Burgess

And a song from Michael Shea,

Is how cranky Higgins tore his throat

Trying to shout “Hurrah”.

 

A stranger passing by looked in

And said “what the devils going on?

One great voice re-echoed

“The ……………..has gone.”

 

It’s a day that will be remembered

When our boys are old and grey,

When Buckland was unguarded

And our Trooper rode away.

 

We will drink luck to Siely

In wine and beer and gin,

And the best of luck to Woolley

In Ye Olde Buckland Inn.

 

(By the late Bill Burgess (Composed about 1923)

 

 

More from Allan Barden can be read Here.

 

 

 

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