Samuel Frank Cashmore arrived in Australia from England in October 1881 on the Darling Downs. Another passenger onboard was Agnes Jessop whom he married in January 1882 and their daughter Agnes Caroline was born the following year. A son Frank followed in 1884 but unfortunately died the same year. A second daughter Grace was born in 1886. The family found their way to Evans Head in the late 80s where Frank became a tutor for the Paddon family. A well-educated man, he became a correspondent for the Richmond River Herald and the Northern Star with a regular column “Evans Notes“. He was a prolific writer of poetry much of which was published in the local papers as well as The Bulletin in Sydney. He did not shy away from commentary about local issues or political movements but most of his poems were about the beauty of the bush and the ships which plied the river. He reluctantly moved away in 1912 and resettled on the Macleay River where he became a substitute teacher.
In 1925, with the help from many subscribers, he published a book of poetry called “North Coast Verses (grave and gay).” It was well received and widely publicised in northern NSW.
He passed away in 1927 and a street in Evans Head was named after him. A Trove List has been created of all the published works which could be found, with a tiny sample below.
‘A Lachrymose Ditty, About the Old City.’
Courtesy of Trove Richmond River Herald 31 December 1920
(By S.F.C.)
Was ever there seen a more popular craft on
The whole Northern Coast than the City of Grafton?
Year in and year out she steamed up and down,
From Sussex-street wharf to Coraki town;
And we knew very well in foul weather or fair
By hook or by crook she would always get there.
She wasn’t as fast as a ‘plane or a car,
But she’d hop, step and jump over Ballina bar;
(A feat of gymnastics that they couldn’t do)
Then swing to her course on the wide ocean blue,
And the lift of her bows to the send of each sea
Seemed to say, ‘You’re all right if you leave it to me.’
Come easterly gale or southerly buster,
Nobody worried, we knew we could trust her.
Ah! many a time from old Evans Head,
Have I watched her lights gleaming, now green and now red.
And I see in the shadows, while scribbling these rhymes,
The skippers and boats of those jolly old times!
The Tomki with Jackson, whose rusty hard-hitter
Seemed glued to his head when the weather was bitter.
The City whose famous Old Captain Magee
Was as good an old salt as e’er put to sea.
And the smart little Brundah with dear old Ben Alley,
Sound boat and good skipper, good cook in the galley;
Jackson and Alley and Old Man Magee,
And not the least scrap of gold lace on the three!
‘Tis funny how folks praise a man when he’s dead,
Who, alive, wouldn’t give him a meal or a bed.
As with men so with ships – when their best days are past
They can go to the de’il – or to Melbourne – at last!
Sold for a song in the maritime mart —
Why not break up her ribs when they broke her old heart?
Her skipper’s “gone west” — the City’s a hulk.
‘Twould please me right well if she sank in a sulk!
The Unknown Country
Courtesy of Trove Richmond River Herald 6 May 1927
(By S. Frank Cashmore for “R.R. Herald.”)
Sometimes I wonder where I’ll go,
To heights above or depths below,
Should what the parsons say be true,
My friends below are not a few.
One friend I have in Heaven—
my mother, I’m not too sure of any other.
* * * * *
Though not quite bad enough for hell,
High Heaven seems too select and swell,
But if some half-way place there be,
I’m very sure ’twill just do me.
* * * * *
Place where a man can rest awhile,
Mend his torn clothes, brush off the vile
Mud gathered on that foul old earth,
Which he has battled with from birth.
* * * * *
Then, clean and free from dirt and mire,
To higher things he might aspire,
And humbly wait at Heaven’s portals,
The welcome call:—
“Come, join ‘The Immortals.’”
Mosman, 21/1/27.
A Further Appreciation
Courtesy of Trove Grafton Argus 18 August 1911
“S.F.C.” (Mr. S. F. Cashmore, of Evans’ River) a couple of years ago published some verses in the “R.R. Times,” entitled “Ben and the Brundah”. By request they have been again reproduced in that journal, with an additional last verse [shortly after the passing of Capt. Ben Alley]:—
Last week I was writing (my theme uninviting)
Of that curious iron tank the Ramornie they call,
But now it’s a pleasure to reel out a measure
To the smart little Brundah, the pet of us all.
When for Sydney she’s headed you don’t grow grey-headed,
By the time that the Seal Rocks are fairly abeam;
Your sight will not fail you, nor will Charan hail you,
Before she’s in harbour and blowing off steam.
Old skipper “Ben” Alley is like plain “Bill Dalley,”
In his hatred of “handle” and scorn of gold lace,
On the bridge he’s seen leaning (the fourteenth he’s been in),
And where is the man they could put in his place?
He pokes up the river when others would shiver,
For moonlight or no light to Ben’s all the same;
He cares not a stiver, he’s got to de-liver,
And it’s all in his week’s work and part of the game.
You are safe out at sea, sir if with Ben you should be, sir.
Fair weather or foul on the treacherous deep,
If the weather be “dirty” and old Ben be “shirty,”
He’ll do all the worrying—you go to sleep.
* * * *
Now “Ben’s” safe in port, where no earthly gale or
Rude southerly buster will buffet him more
With friends to foregather, old brave hearted sailor
In the “Land O’ the Leal,” he has just stepped ashore.
The bow-line may part and the old shell go under
When the fires are all out and the engine is stopped—
In a harbour, land-locked, safe from tempest of thunder,
His house flag is flying, his anchor is dropped.