'Blow it up over my dead body!'

'A couple of days after the earthquake, I was at home in the parsonage in Beaumont Street when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a policeman, who told me – the Army is about to blow up the church. They want you there!' 

That was John Mason, Minister of the Hamilton Wesley Church  1985 - 1992.

Wesleyans of Pit Town

Pressing his nose against the glass as I hold him up to our high front window, my three year old grandson stares transfixed at the floodlit church tower. Springing from the darkness, it’s so close we can almost touch it, this cake decorator’s fantasy of lacy outlines, turrets and slim arches.

When good news is front page news

To discover and tell stories about Hidden Hamilton, people need to know what I am looking for. What better opportunity to reach people than an article in The Post - the independent local newspaper that reaches upwards of 140,000 households?

Whose head is it, really?

Wrestling with the unwieldy pipes, the busy scaffolder took little notice of the small sculpture above the doorway, the head of a bearded man. An earthquake measuring 5.6 on the Richter scale had devastated Newcastle on 28 December, 1989, and he was flat out assembling protective structures around buildings all over the city. In the scheme of things, what did a bit more damage to an old plaster head matter?

'Crushed between two coal skips in the Borehole Colliery, Hamilton'

Ten stark, simple words, in an email sent to me by Hunter historian, Fr Brian Roach. Ten words, carrying the story of a terrible death, a family tragedy and the weight of more than a century’s collateral damage from the coal industry in the Hunter.

Tale of two buildings

At the end of last week’s post, I reflected on the lost hotels of Denison Street, and asked the question – why do some buildings endure, while others crumble or face demolition? I found at least part of the answer in two local buildings.[1]