Читать книгу Five Years Under the Southern Cross: Experiences and Impressions - Frederic C. Spurr - Страница 8

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No person could desire a better introduction to Australia than that which the city of Adelaide affords. It is the port where passengers, weary of the long sea voyage from England, disembark, to entrain for Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. Adelaide is a true garden city on an extensive scale. Less compact, and containing fewer noble buildings than Melbourne, it excels that city in the beauty of its situation and in the ample verdure which everywhere abounds. Around it, guarding it, lies a ring of mountains. From one point of view the situation resembles certain parts of the Jura. There is the same immense stretch of plain, crowned with tree-clad slopes. From the highest point of the city a ravishing view of the country is obtained. The city at one’s feet is less a city than an immense countryside, where men have built houses and mansions, and where they transact business. No need for artist or architect to write “Amplius” over the natural picture. The streets are remarkably wide—wider than any we have in London—and they are planned with a view to development. However much Adelaide may grow, there cannot be, so far as municipal foresight may guarantee it, the creation of slums. Whatever slums appear in the future will be due to men with base souls and not to municipal bungling, as in the case of many of our English towns and cities. If London had only been planned upon some such model as Adelaide, it might be a paradise of God for residence. Gardens! Gardens everywhere. Bungalows! Bungalows everywhere. The bungalow, or the villa, as they call it in Adelaide, is the prevailing type of residence. Everything on one floor. Think of it, housewives who live in “basement” houses, dull and dimly lighted. The veranda encloses the house; to nearly every residence there is a garden. Wandering along the residential part of the city is not unlike an excursion into the country. But how shall I describe the gardens? They are sub-tropical. There grow in them, in the heart of Adelaide, the eucalyptus tree, the banana tree, the orange and the lemon trees, the palm-tree, and the passion fruit vine. And in the midst of these surroundings, made still more gladsome by a perfect atmosphere, I think of grimy London and its fogs, and wish that the central city of the world might share the delights of a city which knows not the meaning of a fog and which unites city and country in a perfect blend.

One of the glories of suburban Adelaide consists in its wealth of fruit orchards. Oranges and lemons grow in profusion. In the suburbs every little cottage garden has its orange and lemon trees. A friend of mine, who has just bought a modest villa outside the city, finds himself in possession of a garden which is stocked with vines, lemons, and oranges. He has so much fruit that he does not know what to do with it. I undertook a part solution of this delicate problem, and showed him a way out of his distress—to my advantage. The house, which is surrounded by this beautiful fruit garden, would be rented in England, in a town equal in size to Adelaide, at a sum not exceeding £35 per annum. Think of a house, with such delicacies as Muscat grapes and citrons ad lib. thrown in, and all for £35 a year!

The South Australian oranges are admittedly amongst the very finest produced in the Commonwealth. The famous “navels” have no superior in the world, if they have an equal. In London they fetch, retail, 4d. and 5d. each. Even in Adelaide they sell at 1½d. and 2d. each, retail. But there is all the difference imaginable between these “navels,” freshly plucked from the tree when ripe, and the “navels” which, gathered when green, ripen on the way home. To understand the attractiveness of an orange, the fruit must be eaten when it is just ripe and newly plucked from the branch.

The orange groves in “Paradise” (a suburb of Adelaide—well-named) are spectacles to remember. We were conducted over one of the largest of these by the proprietor himself. The story of this gentleman’s career and success sounds like a romance. Twenty years ago he left Manchester for Australia to try to better his position. He had little or no capital. In company with his brother, he went up country, acquired a little land, and the pair set to work to make it productive. In their case there was conscience in the work. No days allowed off for drinking; no limitation of the hours of labour; the brothers worked as hard as they could, in the belief that work “pays” in the best sense. When the profits came in they invested them in more land. Nothing was spent upon luxuries; nothing upon pleasures. For seven years the brothers lived in tents, thus saving the cost of building a house. There was little hardship, however, in that mode of life. In a warm country it is better to live outside than inside the house. Houses are merely places of refuge when the weather is bad; the “open” is the true place of abode. After a period of work up country one of the brothers came down to Adelaide and bought a piece of land measuring seventy or eighty acres. To-day that estate is one magnificent fruit orchard. Five thousand orange trees grow thereon, and each tree averages from 800 to 1,000 oranges per season. Besides this there are many lemon trees, extensive vines, peach, apricot, and apple trees, to say nothing of ten thousand orange “slips” which are already sold, and which will in due time be planted out all over the district.

The appearance of an immense orange grove of this extent is very impressive. Avenues of trees, all laden with golden fruit, run in every direction. Under the light of an afternoon sun the general effect is wonderful. The orchard becomes an enchanted garden, over which some generous genius presides. Trees only a few years old literally groan under the weight of fruit. Often the branches are entirely hidden, so thickly packed are the oranges. A visitor who views the spectacle for the first time is apt to imagine that in such a Garden of Eden the fruit would be ever welcome. He is surprised to learn that the men who live in the midst of it loathe it. They never taste an orange. Familiarity with the golden globe has bred contempt for it. It is regarded merely as a marketable commodity. The orange is no longer succulent fruit for personal consumption; it is an edible sphere which can be exchanged for money. So the enchanted garden becomes a place of commerce.

The orange and the lemon, we were told, are shy and delicate trees in their early years. They need much humouring and much attention. But when once established they fulfil their own destiny. The doyen of the orchard is a tree sixty years old. It still bears fruit, but of an ever inferior quality. Few leaves are seen upon this tall stalwart. The tree resembles an erect colonel whose fighting days are over and upon whose head bald patches have come. It lives upon its pension. The owner has not the heart to cut it down. It remains, amid the forest, the one favoured tree, spared because it is the parent of these prosperous golden children.

The orange tree is singular in one particular: it lives through all the seasons of the year at one time. Upon the same tree, blossom, bud, green fruit and yellow fruit flourish together. The round of growth is perpetual.

There comes a time when the orange blossom puts forth the full strength of its magic perfume. When a man owns but one orange tree the scent is penetrating, fragrant, grateful, satisfying. But when 5,000 trees pour forth their fragrance at one time the effect is terrible. The perfume is as intangible and oppressive as a nightmare. The air is heavy with an all-pervasive odour which weighs upon the brain and makes it ache. The vast garden celebrates its nuptials, and every orange tree is smothered with blossom. Burdened with this atmosphere of perfume, man learns that Nature can crush with her excess of sweetness as well as smite with her fist of mail.

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South Australia seems as if it might become the home of the orange. The soil is ferruginous, and admirably adapted to the culture of the golden fruit. An amazing example of what is possible is supplied by the case of Renmark. Twenty years ago the site of this town, situated at one elbow of the River Murray, was an apparently hopeless desert. It seemed to be abandoned to sterility. To-day it is a flourishing irrigation colony, where all manner of fruit is grown. Renmark oranges, currants, and raisins are becoming famous. They have already found their way to many London tables. In twelve years the value of the produce has risen from £6,878 to £78,000. And the miracle of conquering the desert has been wrought solely by scientific culture. Irrigation has been the magician. When all the “deserts” of the Commonwealth are treated after the manner of Renmark, Australia will become the fruit garden of the world.

South Australia is a veritable paradise of fruit; besides the orange there are miles of peaches, pears, grapes, figs, and apples. We saw the largest mulberry-tree in Australia, if not in the world. This giant tree sheds thousands of rich, ripe berries, which lie where they fall, dyeing the soil with their red juices, and rotting on the ground for want of gatherers. I heard with astonishment that it “does not pay” to gather this fruit. The wages demanded by boys are too high to make it worth while to employ them, while the employment of men is, of course, simply out of the question. The peaches beggar description. I plucked one at hazard, and found that it weighed ten and a half ounces and measured ten and a quarter inches in circumference. It will be readily believed that in those parts people do not buy peaches by the pound! The big peach may be matched with a big fish story. A round dozen of us went out for a day’s fishing from the pier at Semaphore. In advance we promised to divide our spoils upon our return. Alas! we caught no fish; but we caught what we had not bargained for, but what was worth catching—seven sharks. It was a novel experience. How those creatures fought! The larger ones had to be shot when they were drawn to the surface, or they could not have been landed. Two of them had the heads of huge bulldogs; one was a “hammer-head” shark. When they lay dead upon the deck we examined their jaws. The teeth were like steel rivets for strength and orderly array. Rows of cruel teeth lined the jaws. Beyond, the throat was smooth as velvet. Little wonder that, with these ocean pirates roaming about, we failed to catch our schnapper.

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The story of the beautiful city of Adelaide and its fruitful environs is a veritable romance. A few decades ago the entire country was “bush,” abandoned to the natives, of men, bird, and beast. Then one day, in 1836, at Glenelg, under the branches of a gum tree, the State of South Australia was proclaimed. From that moment on, the story has been one of ever-increasing prosperity. The founders of the city deserve every commendation for their admirable foresight. Unlike Sydney, which has “grown,” Adelaide was deliberately planned as a “garden city,” long before the days when it became fashionable to speak of garden cities. The park lands which encircle the capital will remain for ever the pleasure grounds of the people. Never can speculative builders cut up this beautiful property and convert it into rows of cheap and ugly houses. Adelaide will have to the end of time “lungs” unexcelled by any city in the world. It is a model of town planning. The streets are all wide, and are flanked by avenues of trees. The public buildings are imposing and substantial. The climate is nearly perfect. The only unpleasant elements are certain days of intense heat and dust storms. The heat, however, is “dry,” and therefore more supportable than that of more humid climates. The air is light, while the ring of mountains around the city completes the charm of an ideal situation. And the simple fact that South Australia has the second lowest death-rate in the world speaks volumes. When transit between South Australia and England has become more rapid, and better methods of conveying delicate fruit have been invented, the unique fruit of South Australia should be put upon the English market at prices accessible to all.