For many Australians of a certain age, the magic of Christmas wasn’t just about the excitement of presents under the tree or the smell of a roast wafting through the kitchen. It also meant the annual arrival of Christmas beetles.
Their abundance meant they quickly became ingrained in our cultural psyche.
On a damp May night in 1905, the O’Connell children coughed and wheezed in their cramped weatherboard cottage at the corner of Sussex and Pallas Streets, Maryborough. Their neighbour, Mrs Letetia Edwards, heard the rasping sounds through the thin walls and crossed the street to help.
Life on Fraser Island was very isolated and lonely before access improved with combustion engines, regular flights, and ferries to transport cars and trucks. Communication was only by boat, telephone, radio, and aeroplane. In the case of accidents, help was six hours away by boat in Maryborough.
The age of telegraphy
The first breakthroughs in communication came with the spread of telegraph technology.
Some say Australia runs on prawns, and during our travels around Australia, I saw a hint of truth to that statement.
The prawn has come a long way from humble beginnings in the shallow waters of Sydney Cove to vast aquaculture farms in Shark Bay and bustling trawler fleets off Karumba.
Timber is one of nature’s most versatile and enduring materials, offering numerous applications unmatched by any other construction substance. From structural beams and posts to decorative wall cladding, ceiling linings, furniture, joinery, and expansive decking, timber’s indoor and outdoor possibilities are endless. Beyond its structural strength, timber transforms living spaces with its warmth, texture, and depth, creating a natural sensory connection that manufactured materials cannot replicate.
In the years leading up to Queensland’s separation from New South Wales in 1859, the political mood across the continent’s northern reaches was restless yet hopeful. From the sunbaked cattle runs of the Darling Downs to the pine-timbered ridges around Moreton Bay, there was a low murmur that grew louder. Why should decisions for the north be made from distant Sydney?
Conservation in Australia is largely a matter of pious intentions.
Germaine Greer
When Anthony Albanese’s Labor government came to power in May 2022, environmental groups quickly pressed their wishlist onto the incoming ministers. Near the top was a global conservation commitment to protect 30 per cent of Australia’s land and oceans by 2030, part of a United Nations-endorsed pledge to halt biodiversity decline.
Many might be surprised to learn that Fraser Island, famous for its pristine beaches and towering sand dunes, was once suggested as the location for a shark factory. Not just once, but on two occasions.
The first proposal came from an unexpected entrepreneur. Captain Herbert C.
Ninety years ago this month, Australia embarked on an ambitious but ultimately ill-fated experiment in biological control.
In 1935, Queensland sugar cane farmers faced a relentless enemy—the cane beetle. These voracious insects burrowed into sugarcane roots, devastating crops and threatening an industry vital to the nation’s economy. Desperate for a solution, scientists at the Bureau of Sugar Experiment Stations (BSES) looked to overseas biological control methods for inspiration.
Nations are not built by those who sit down and ask for doles or alms, but by the daring and the bold. They are not built by the timid, but by the dauntless and adventurous.
R. S. Maynard
Maryborough was truly an essential industrial city in Queensland’s early history. It served as a pivotal distribution centre that supported three major industries: agriculture, manufacturing, and timber.