Township history

The scars of the gold mining days still remain in Great Western to this day. Ruins of old settlers’ homes can be found throughout the village. They grew vines, fruit trees and crops, and kept enough farmyard animals to provide for their food needs. From the time when Trouettse and Blampied planted the first vines, and Joseph and Henry Best followed in close succession, the wine industry has been the life-blood of the township. The attractive little wine village, with its tree-shaded main street, has a charm of its own, as new buildings intermingle with the old.

'We acknowledge with thanks the work of Dr. W. S. Benwell in writing the following article. His spontaneous and enthusiastic reception of a suggestion to compile such an account was the all important factor that decided us to issue it.' These records will serve as a constant reminder that the pioneers who laboured under great difficulties to establish the wine-making and other industries did in fact 'Bear the heat and burden of the day to make life's path easier for others.' In describing his own impressions of 'Concongella' Dr W. S. Benwell has happily captured the feelings and attitude of the Thomson family as well. We hope the article will give pleasure to all who read it.' - The Thomson family.

Great Western: The Beginnings...

The Western Highway, which runs across Victoria's great pastoral lands into 'South Australia, is spaced with big towns today. First out of Melbourne is Ballarat, then Ararat, Stawell, Horsham and on to the border. In these days the road streams under your car like a river which flows at a mile a minute, and as you are carried further westward the thin, washed-out colour to the western skies seems to lift you into the air until the dark contours of the Grampians, jagged and dramatic, bring you back to road level again.

It is round about this moment in the westward stream between Ararat and Stawell that the road flies over the Concongella Creek, and you are in the hamlet of Great Western. There are some clumps of English trees, bulky and richer in green, and a quick glimpse of vine rows at the roadside, their geometric patterns looking quite startling after hours of untilled land. A few shops, a railway shunt, a pub and you are out again the other side in seconds. But if you are a wine lover you will stop, for here is the very centre of all that is left of Western Victoria's wine.

The first settlers came inland from the south, from the coastal foothills about Portland, and further back towards Port Phillip until the Otways, which come right down into the ocean, blocked their entry inland. Others came round the longer way from Geelong, led in by the rivers, and some went out from the base of the Port Phillip colony over the same land which now carries the highway.

In bark shanties and, later, in tiny square houses of stone and mud they survived, raised sheep and cattle, and sent their bullock carts of hides down to Geelong and back on a return journey of weeks.

And then suddenly, into this slow and brutally arduous conquest, there appeared a catalyst: gold. There was gold everywhere. From Ballarat it appeared in the ground like a great fan, its arc reaching one hundred miles westward. It was this gold that made the Western Highway. From Melbourne out to Ballarat and on to Ararat and Stawell and beyond, men streamed in their thousands during the 'fifties to gouge, bore, tear and scrape at the earth for a share of the wealth which was going to be quick even if it was hard.

The stretch of country soon to be called Great Western found itself close to the epicentre of all the breathless fever in Western Victoria. In 1856 nearly sixty thousand were digging in this part of Victoria. One-fifth of the population of the State were here under canvas in the scrubby hills and gullies, now so quiet and still. But then, around 1855, what a seething, sweating, noisy place it was. They seemed to know that they were, in a sense, a demented community. They knew that physique would have a short span of strength at the diggings, for they hardly stopped to eat, and when they did their wretched diet was barely noticed since their minds registered for only one thing: gold.

They were a community which was never far from violence, and yet tightly loyal to each other when their common aim freedom to dig for wealth - was threatened or frustrated. They never lost their love and need of the lively arts and, since a handful of gold could buy anything then as now, they erected huge canvas theatres and hired the great entertainers of the times. Lola Montez knew the camps at Great Western as well as scores of others from the theatre of the day. And there were dancing tents and shooting galleries, gambling saloons and all the rest. They often went to bed later than we do now, stumbling back to dirty tents pitched in corners and gullies away in the bush. Until a little later

When the cheery campfires explored the bush with gleams,
When camping grounds were crowded with caravans and teams,
And when the camps were dreaming and fires began to pale,
Through rugged hilltops gleaming would come the Royal Mail,
Behind six foaming horses and lit by flashing lamps,
Old Cobb & Co. in royal state went dashing past the camps.

These were the sights and sounds of life which Great Western knew through the 'fifties, and somewhere amongst it all were two brothers, Joseph and Henry Best. We must look at these brothers more closely, Henry in particular. The decision which they were soon to make was to be of great consequence to all who love wine.