I know, I know, all these old buildings....when will end? Well, in Richmond, not quickly! Let's be honest about this.....when a town boasts at least 45 homes and buildings which are on the National Register one cannot just ignore them.
But we shall push on. The bridge awaits and we were heading in the right direction.
Now I think this sign which I found on a front fence near the entrance to the Hobart Town model village was a pretty fair indication that not all who live in Richmond are delighted with the passing tourist traffic and the clicking of cameras. This less than friendly and welcoming addition to the fence
But back to business of the sight-seeing kind...well almost. At this point of our ramble I was on a roll with signage! This beautifully maintained old wooden cottage just beyond the pub presented me with another opportunity to indulge in my penchant for the quirky.
Of course, woollen knitwear ....and more.
How entirely predictable......!
In Ewe Nique there was plenty for Liz to look at. This is but one of about four or five rooms all of which were seriously stocked.
So, whilst she browsed, I wandered off to photograph...there is nothing like good team work!
And at this point on Bridge Street the photos included this of the town's supermarket,....sorry, the 'Richmond Village Store' another marvellously maintained old building
on which the front facade was decorated with a series of murals, the first we had spied in Richmond.
Some were more colourful than others. We had previously met this rascal, Martin Cash, in Campbell Town where he rated much more highly with a wooden carving in the park next to the Red Bridge. It still puzzles me to contemplate the fact that in a colony set up to take transported convicts from England the local bush rangers became, and remain, celebrities.
The curve which heralded the end of the main section of the CBD was coming into view as we approached the intersection of Bridge and Edwards Streets,
where a gallery and the extraordinary town sweet shop (we shall return here later) occupied one corner,
whilst on the other was a rare spot of open space here in Richmond's main CBD area.
And it was here that we had a reminder of the fact that Richmond is not only all about tourists. Just as it was from the outset, it remains the centre of a thriving farming area, which this lumbering lump of machinery in the main street brought into sharp focus.
Despite the small spot of open space at this intersection there was no time for a stroll in the park this morning. We pushed on with determination, past the next street junction where we found another example of raw sandstone (the Richmond Court House) side by side with the painted walls of the Council Chambers.
And still they came, old cottage after old cottage, as Bridge Street dipped down towards the river valley.
As we followed it around to the left, we again caught sight of the spire of the famous St John's Church in the distance, the same spire we had seen coming into the town the day before.
The footpath took us past yet another of Richmond's charming B&B accommodation options, and I here I have to comment that were we in the business of seeking an Inn for the night,
the sign at the front of house would have exerted a strong influence on yours truly! Mind you, given that we were actually enjoying some beautiful summer sunshine, on a day when 'T' shirts and shorts did not stamp us as 'mad mainland tourists', the offer of port and chocolates was more persuasive than that of an open fire.
At this point Bridge Street winds its way around the small triangle of lawn which is the 'Cyril Williams Reserve'. Good old Cyril was not, as one might suspect, a local burgher of high influence or one of the town potentates....Cyril was the town copper.....for years.
Trooper Williams kept law and order in Richmond from January 1924 until February 1958 and from what I have read, had his fair share of scrapes and scraps, including disarming a local lout who seemed to think it fun to roam around the streets waving a loaded rifle at all and sundry, an occasion on which this brave and determined custodian of law and order came very close to meeting his end. Well done Cyril, who, according to the plaque in the park, "served the people of Richmond faithfully, efficiently and justly" and well done to those in power in Richmond to honour his contribution to town life in this way.
At the far tip of Cyril's park the road was enclosed by the two parapet walls
above the rock solid arches of the Richmond Bridge, with the white washed walls of Mill House rising over the trees on the far bank of the Coal River.
So here we stood, but two of the reputed two hundred thousand tourists who are drawn annually to this very spot and its surrounds. And this is what all the fuss is about.
These graceful sandstone arches have shouldered the weight of a crossing over the Coal River since the completion of this bridge in 1825. Convicts from the nearby Richmond Gaol laboured here for two years, cutting the stone from the Butchers Hill quarry nearby, hauling it to the construction site in hand carts and setting the stones in place.
If you look closely enough you will find this foundation stone which dates the beginning of the work, together with an inscribed boast on the immediate parapet stone above it.
What is more accurate is that this extraordinary structure is indisputably Australia's oldest surviving large stone arch bridge, the design and construction of which was a significant technical achievement for its time in the new colony. For ten years it could legitimately claim to having the longest span of any bridge in the new country and the fact that it remains in use today is testament to the skill with which it was conceived and built.
The banks of the Coal River upstream of the bridge were green and reasonably well grassed
but it was something of a different story downstream where these unpaved and dusty pathways meandered through patches of struggling lawn.
As I have mentioned previously, Tassie was in the grip of one of its driest summers on record, and at the time of our visit to Richmond the Coal River was little more than a trickle.
My quick trot through this downstream park area did produce one real reward, a much better view of the grand buildings of Mill House, now a private home,
one which I later discovered was impossible to see in its entirety from the road.
It has been said that the fame of this bridge has magnified the status of Richmond far beyond its size and population and this may well be so. But as is noted on the Australian Heritage Database, "it is widely recognised across the nation featuring in numerous publications, tourist and historic literature and in the work of major Australian artists. Images of Richmond Bridge have also appeared on postage stamps".
And what's something this old without a resident ghost (and another reminder of the utter brutality of this era)?
George Grover, a convict himself who had been transported to Van Diemen's Land in 1825, was 'elevated' to the position of the Flagellator at the Richmond Gaol in 1829. This wretched man, who had the task of flogging unruly or disobedient prisoners lashed to the whipping triangle (thanks to 'pouges' for the image) took his savage role to another level altogether.
Shortly after Grover found himself officially flogging the gaol's inmates, the piers of the Richmond Bridge required some rebuilding. It is recorded that Grover delighted in riding on the carts of stone being hauled by his fellow convicts from the quarry to the bridge, whipping the prisoners like horses. Little wonder that he was roundly hated by all his peers, and in 1832, whilst lying in a drunken stupor on the bridge, he was pushed off the edge. Although he initially survived the fall, he died of this injuries shortly after being found.
Despite a formal inquest and a subsequent trial, no one was ever convicted of his murder and it has been claimed ever since that Grover's Ghost appears from time to time on the bridge.
Believe it or not, we were not sufficiently convinced of the truth of these sightings to bother making a night time visit in the vain hope of seeing this apparition!
So let me leave you with one final shot of this famous bridge (thanks to 'Selina Bryant and abc news') which brings together in one photo the oldest working bridge in the country and the oldest Catholic Church. This is something, even for Tasmania!
And it provides a lovely segue into my next missive, one in which we visit this church and others in Richmond, trip by the gaol and wander through the commercial tourist heart of the town.
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