An architectural gem on top of a mountain is restored.

If it wasn’t for the call of a lyrebird, Mount Woolooma Glasshouse might never have existed. The story begins when Michael White, a keen ornithologist, was out riding when he heard one of these shy birds, famed for their talent at mimicry. A passionate conservationist, he decided to buy the land to protect their habitat and it was only later that he decided to build his family a mountain escape. 

Sitting 1320 metres above sea level and reached after an exhilarating 30-minute drive in a Polaris Ranger, the result is a house that feels like it is reaching up to the sun. Outside wedge-tail eagles glide on the air currents, king parrots dart amongst the gum trees and the prehistoric cries of giant black cockatoos echo through the skies. On the ground, shrub wallabies emerge at dusk to graze the native grasses on the slope behind the house. It’s a magical place high up in the clouds.

The man responsible for designing this ground-breaking retreat was John Suttor, a Sydney-based architect who had already created a home for Michael and his wife Judy on Belltrees, the White family’s Upper Hunter Valley property.

An experienced pilot, it was to be a dream project for this “quiet, modest man” who was very inspired by the lofty site of Mount Woolooma. Suttor wanted the Whites to feel like they were taking off in a aeroplane once inside the house, so a skillion roof and floor-to-ceiling glass window became a key part of his design.

“You get that wonderful feeling looking out, especially seeing the eagles, and all the other birds, playing in the atmosphere. He was an amazing architect,” says Dr Judy White, who will turn 90 in January next year.

Suttor was briefed to create a building that blended seamlessly with the surrounding landscape — and the piles of basalt rocks covering the hillside inspired an innovative solution.

“I lined the children up and we collected the rocks from the top and handed them down the hill, from person to person. I then had a ski instructor from Thredbo come up and do the stonework cladding the house,” Judy says.

After building finished in 1973, the White family matriarch retreated up the hill to start writing The White Family of Belltrees: 150 years in the Hunter Valley, the first of her 11 books. This meticulous archivist felt she needed to leave the demands of running the homestead on Belltrees if she was to ever finish writing anything.

“I absolutely adored it up there. My life was very busy. I had a lot of children, and a lot of people coming and staying. And it is rather difficult to write a book and look after 7 children at the same time,” she says.

“I don’t think I’m a natural writer, I did economics at the University of Sydney so I’m more mathematical. So, to write a history, I felt I needed to be evacuated.”

Today, sitting across the table from her grandmother is Phoebe White, one of Judy’s 19 grandchildren, and the current custodian of the mountain. The bond between the two is clear. “It was my escape valve and I’m so thrilled that Phoebe loves it, just like I loved it,” says Judy. 

Peter White, the second of Judy and Michael’s seven children, passed the baton to his only daughter a few years ago. 

Clearly the ties to the mountain are strong. When he was just 14, Peter remembers helping the builders on Woolooma during the school holidays. Later, he would meet his three children at the school gates on Friday afternoons and whisk them up the mountain to spend the weekend sleeping in their grandmother’s shag pile-lined conversation pit and playing board games around the fire.

In 2018 the property came under threat from the bush fires raging throughout the area and father and daughter joined forces to fight the flames. “During the fires, Dad and I slept up here and decided we needed to bring the house back,” says Phoebe. It started a journey of careful restoration and Mount Woolooma Glasshouse recently re-opened to guests.

Ask Peter what Woolooma means to him, and the answer is direct.

“To me, it is a symbol of conservation – a monument built of local solid materials on top of a cliff. There are certain individuals that care about nature; I shared my father’s passion and I believe Phoebe also does,” he says.

Peter also opened the Glasshouse to paying guests until the demands of Belltrees during the drought years drove his attention elsewhere.

As he watches his daughter follow in his footsteps, what is his advice? 

“It’s the same as when I told her that I was leaving this beautiful place to her: love it, respect it and care for it.”

After an afternoon in Phoebe’s company, it’s clear this precious legacy is in safe hands. “The house is at one with the mountain,” says Phoebe. “It is a very special place to all of us.”

And the lyrebirds? “They are very much coming back. They are hard to see as they are usually foraging on the ground, but I can hear them – I can hear their song again.”

To find out how to stay at Woolooma Glasshouse, email hello@wooloomaglasshouse.com or telephone +61 406 442 115. 

For more information, go to wooloomaglasshouse.com

Phoebe White’s Address Book

The Linga Longa Inn

With lawns running down to the Pages River, this pub in the nearby town of Gundy is much-loved by locals. “I love going there for the best house-made pies by Dan the chef,” says Phoebe. 

2 Riley Street, Gundy, NSW. (02) 6545 8121.
lingalongainn.com.au

Adam Humphreys

This Tamworth-based sculptor created a sculpture of a lyrebird for Woolooma Glasshouse. “It is a tribute to my late grandfather Michael White who had a passion for ornithology and conservation. I couldn’t think of a better sculptor to collaborate with than Adam Humphreys who brings together commissioned pieces so beautifully.” 

adamhumphreyssculpture.com

Belltrees Public School

Edging the road leading into Belltrees, this little school with its motto of “We Give Our Best”

has educated several generations of the White family — and more are on the way. “I went to school there and I can remember one year when I was the only girl out of eight kids,” she says. “And our kids will go there in the future.”

62 Belltrees Road, Belltrees, NSW. (02) 6546 1148.
belltrees-p.school@det.nsw.edu.au

Plants on Main

The cafe at this Scone garden centre opens daily at 6am. “We go for a great almond cap by Tatiana,” says Phoebe. Drop in on a Wednesday for a bunch of fresh flowers with prices starting at $25. 

51 Main Street, Scone, NSW. (02) 6545 9998.
plantsonmain.com.au

The Cottage Scone 

Colin Selwood’s dry-aged steak is a drawcard at this Kelly Street restaurant. The cafe, that proved to be such a hit during lockdown, is open Tuesday to Saturday from 7.30am. Open Thursday to Saturday for lunch and dinner. 

196 Kelly Street, Scone NSW. (02) 6545 1215.
thecottagescone.com

The Bragg children – Adelaide has two brothers, her twin and a younger sibling – lived a very full life growing up.

“We always had a pony, a labrador and a terrier,” she says. One of them, a sweet brown Welsh mountain mare called Tabitha, particularly stands out. “I absolutely adored her. I remember how much she loved KitKats.”

Located in the heart of prime sheep and cattle country, Rossgole was a busy working station. Adelaide’s mother worked alongside her father, out in the paddocks. “We were put on a horse in a basket and taken mustering as little children,” says Adelaide. “When I look back, there was a lot of hard work, but it was also so much fun. And I’m sure that country upbringing made me very practical.”

It also instilled a quiet confidence that has stood her in good stead since she picked up her swatch book professionally, initially in partnership with her cousin Gretel Packer in 1989 as Barham and Bragg. Weren’t you terrified doing your first job after starting the business when you were only 21? “No, not at all,” she says calmly. “It was all very exciting.” (And it worked out very well, with the Woollahra worker’s cottage making the cover of Belle magazine. It turned out to be the first of many.)

But this impressive debut wasn’t a huge surprise to the design set who frequented nearby Queen Street. Colefax and Fowler’s Martine Burns, famed for her great eye, had landed in Sydney in the late eighties, tasked with setting up the Australian office of the esteemed English design house. Adelaide, who was back at Rossgole considering what to do next after working at Laura Ashley, heard Martine needed a design assistant and went for an interview. “She was a wonderful woman and I learnt so much from her. I still use Colefax in my projects to this day,” she says. “The quality is so good.”

With more than three decades in the business, Adelaide Bragg & Associates is known for comfortable, classic interiors. As Adelaide often says: “We don’t do trends or themes. It’s a home, not a stage set.”

Naturally enough, she’s right at home working on interiors for country clients.

“The thing with country houses is, they need to be practical and not precious. I did a proper working station a few years ago where the client didn’t just want “pretty”. It had to be so that they could come in at the end of the day with filthy jeans on and just sit,” she explains.

Today, Bragg’s three boys also love to go mustering, like their mother once did, although the horses have been swapped for bikes and three-wheelers. The family even spent eight months during lockdown in the “very simple house” they built four years ago, just down the road from Bragg’s parents.

“It was a gamechanger. The two dogs, the three children… we all just absolutely loved it,” she says. “The boys like a country life.”

The pandemic has made the couple revaluate their lives. “We will live in the country once the kids have finished their education. I always wanted to, but I never dreamed that I would be able to. Covid changed that.”

But what is the internet like? “Good enough for me!” she says with a laugh.

To see more of Adelaide’s work, visit www.adelaidebragg.com.au

A recurrent theme in Dean’s work is that humans are inextricably part of nature, but nature is increasingly fragile and we are dangerously distracted from recognising this truth. She aims to remind us that we are neither separate from, nor superior to, nature.

When she released her Endangered series in 2019, she described it as “reframing the notion of ourselves as human beings – mammals in a sensitive ecosystem, as vulnerable to the same forces of climate change as every other living creature.”

Endangered featured stunning images of naked women and men swimming underwater in a variety of formations, like shoals of special sea creatures. The series was shot in Jervis Bay in cold and difficult conditions – and was a huge success.

Despite this achievement, Dean realised she had only touched the surface of what might be achieved with submarine subjects.“When I shot Endangered, I discovered that working with underwater cameras was very clunky,” she says. “I didn’t have enough control and it was very frustrating. So I started thinking about an underwater studio, or something that I could use as one – even someone who was willing to let me use their pool. But I couldn’t find anything suitable, so in the end I decided I would build something myself.”

What Tamara built, working closely with Travis Lamb of Lambuild, is an off-form concrete underwater studio that is 12 metres long, four metres wide and two metres at the deep end. The viewing window is three metres wide, one metre high and made of acrylic glass to achieve the best image clarity. It incorporates a Naked Pools freshwater system that uses copper and silver instead of harmful chemicals to filter and sanitise the water while preventing algae growth. It’s the same technology used by NASA to purify drinking water. There is a heating system that warms the water to make it more comfortable during longer shoots – an important consideration in a Cambewarra winter.

“The studio has been specifically built so I can photograph from the outside and use sets inside if I want to, as well as a range of lighting effects,” Dean says. “It allows me to use better photographic equipment than when I shot Endangered. I have more control and, importantly, it gives me a lot of flexibility. It also means I don’t need to get wet!”

So what is it about underwater photography that appeals to Dean?

“I aim for an other-worldly quality in my work and I really enjoy the sense of semi-abstraction and of tampering with gravity that happens in underwater spaces,” she says. 

“Working in water also helps me to express my deep concerns about the environment and bring that conversation to my work. Humans are as vulnerable to the forces of climate change as every other living creature, as we can see from the impact of rising tides and the lives lost in the recent floods. Water is even a factor during bushfires, with people evacuating to beaches and seeking refuge there.”

Building the pool has been a “deeply frustrating” process for Dean. It was scheduled to be finished by the end of 2021 but the extraordinary rains along the east coast of Australia meant this deadline could not be achieved. “Then every second tradesperson we were using either got COVID or had to isolate,” she says.But now her “crazy venture” is complete, and so is the body of work that constitutes Palace of Dreams.

“The new studio allowed me to turn images on their axis and show the discombobulating sense of defying gravity. I can create a dream-like world, this other reality with people appearing to be swimming and flying at the same time. I can get a beautiful sense of flow through the hair and the figures, almost a dancing motion.”

The title of the exhibition is drawn from Alice Through The Looking Glass (The Mad Hatter tells Alice: “In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet.”) and so are the titles of a number of the new works.

“I’m playing into the idea of a world turned upside down and I am weaving in topics such as climate change and rising sea levels without being too dogmatic. I aim to touch on the environmental concerns that I have while delving into the psychological responses that are so prevalent. The feeling that our future feels uncertain, the idea of where is up and where is down?

“It was only at the end, when the works had come what they’d become, that I had the ability to see the literary references I could make. They related to the dream-like, surreal nature of the imagery.”

Palace of Dreams will show at Carriageworks as part of Sydney Contemporary from 8 to 11 September.

Tamara Dean’s career achievements include being commissioned in 2018 to create In Our Nature that was presented at the Museum of Economic Botany (Adelaide Botanic Garden) for the Adelaide Biennale. She has been awarded the Goulburn Art Prize (2020); Moran Contemporary Photographic Prize (2019); Josephine Ulrick & Win Schubert Photography Award (2018); Meroogal Women’s Art Prize (2018); and the Olive Cotton Award (2011). Her work has been acquired by the National Gallery of Australia; Parliament House Art Collection, Canberra; Art Gallery of South Australia; Mordant Family Collection Australia; Artbank Australia; Balnaves Collection Australia; and Francis J Greenburger Collection (New York).

“I was a bush kid and I loved it,” says Angus Street as he describes life at Green Creek, the family’s property near Murrurundi. It’s Saturday morning and the CEO of Auctions Plus has just finished watching his son Sullivan’s soccer match near their home on Sydney’s Northern Beaches. The six-year-old plays nearby with his younger sister Sibella, as his dad recalls what life was like for him at the same age.

Before Angus had even turned four, his father Jamie Street had his oldest child on a horse. “As soon as mum would let him, Dad would have me up on the pommel of the saddle in front of him. I have always loved riding,” he says.

He quickly graduated to his first pony – Rezo, an old chestnut mare his dad had also learnt to ride on – and was soon out helping with the cattle.

“Green Creek was a very special place to grow up. As somebody who didn’t really love the classroom I spent a lot of my time out in the paddocks, in the tree house, riding horses, building billy carts – doing what all good bush country kids typically do,” the 37-year-old explains.

But the homestead at Green Creek was far from typical. His great-grandfather, Douglas Royse Lysaght, commissioned architectural firm Fowell, McConnel and Mansfield to design a home for his wife Margery. Joseph Fowell was one of the leading architects of the time and had worked as an assistant to Professor Leslie Wilkinson before winning the Sir John Sulman Medal for architecture in 1935, the year before he conceived the design for Green Creek. 

Today, the elegant colonnaded exterior facing the valley as you approach the house gives you no clue of what happened one Wednesday afternoon in 1936. It was shearing time and the house was only two weeks away from completion when a stray spark from a plumber’s blow torch ignited insulation material in the ceiling and the whole structure quickly caught fire. Despite the efforts of the builders and shearers, the house quickly burnt to the ground in front of the family. It made headlines in Sydney’s Daily Telegraph the next day while the Murrurundi Times reported on the disastrous fire:

“Within a week or two of being completed; and being anxiously looked forward to as their new home at Green Creek, near Murrurundi, Mr and Mrs D. R. Lysaght, stood by to see it reduced to ashes on Wednesday afternoon last, powerless to do anything to stay the ravenous appetite of the consuming flames… Shearing operations were in progress at the shed not far distant, and although all hands were quickly on the scene, and plenty of water was available, so fierce was the heat that little could be done, and in a very brief space little was left of what was designed to be one of the most comfortable homes in the district.”

Luckily for the Street family, it did go onto become one of the most comfortable homes in the district surrounded by a tranquil garden that Angus’s mother Flis – who grew up at Mumblebone Station near Warren – has lovingly tended over the decades. As we walk in the fading light with Potts, Angus’s Dalmatian bounding around on the lawn, Flis’s love for the garden is clear. She points out trees planted for each of her three children – Angus;s plane tree towers to one side of the house – and another, known as the “tree of love” in the family, added when Angus married Elly Daley in 2015.

“Elly and I have always been able to leave the hustle and bustle of the city to head home, to our family homes in the country,” says Angus. “We have been very fortunate to be able to do that and we don’t take it for granted: to be able to have access to the space and the quietness – where suddenly you really do unplug.”

The tree house at Green Creek is ready and waiting for the grandchildren – who long to visit where they can do all the things their dad did.

“The 48 hours leading into it, all we talk about is what we are going to do when we get to Big’s farm, which is what they call my dad. We arrive late at night, carry the sleeping kids out of the car and put them to bed. As soon as they wake up the next morning, it’s gumboots on and into the tree house. They hit fifth gear,” says Angus.

The little boy who spent hours patiently sitting on his pony tied up to a tree waiting for his dad to finish mustering, just wouldn’t mind more of the same for his kids.

Additional family photography by Laura Goodall.

Would you send your children here? “Absolutely!,” is the resounding answer from Belltrees Public School principal Shane Roberts. It was a timely question, as Shane had just told the Murrurundi Argus he was about to get married the next day. “I’d have no hesitation. A small school just has the ability to really cater for each individual student’s needs.”

Walking around the paddocks surrounding this little Hunter Valley school with Shane and his students – who currently number just four – it is easy to understand why he would want such an education for his own family. Ruby, 7, and Trixy, 8, run ahead of us with a basket, eager to collect eggs. Housed in a hen caravan, the mix of Hy-Line Browns, Australorps and Leghorns scratch contentedly in their run, while the girls search. A few of the quieter chickens even allow the pair to gently pick them up and the basket is soon filled with a mix of earthy brown and chalky white freshly laid eggs. 

Twelve-year-old Renzy, Trixy’s older brother, leads the way and opens the gate into the next paddock where a small flock of sheep are lying in the shade of a giant eucalyptus.

“I’ve focussed on the agricultural size of things and making sure the kids have a good understanding, something most primary school kids wouldn’t ever get the chance to do,” Shane explains.

This dedicated teacher started at Belltrees in 2018, at the beginning of Term 2, and despite the challenges of the drought in the surrounding district, he immediately felt at home.

“When I got here, I just fell in love with the style of teaching,” he explains. “One of the questions I get asked most is, “How do you teach kids from K to 6 at once?” But in reality, every class at a bigger school is like that, there is such a variety of abilities in one class, and here it is actually much easier.”

Officially opened in 1879, Belltrees Public School has a rich history. Sited in the heart of the famous pastoral property Belltrees, owned by generations of the White family since 1853, the school was started to educate the children of the people who worked on the station as well as other locals. A school inspector’s report of the time makes for amusing reading today. Of the 28 children enrolled, their attendance was “reasonably punctual and regular”, their “moral tone promising” and their teaching “tolerably intelligent”.

Another lovely story in the archives is about a pupil called Alf Hawkins. Alf was given the job of catching the teacher’s horse on Friday after lunch so the teacher could leave at 3.30pm to ride to Aberdeen to visit his girlfriend. The once amenable horse quickly proved impossible to catch and Alf would take all afternoon to get a bridle on him “a welcome break from lessons!

Clearly the ties of history are strong. The White family are still closely involved with the school and one, Serena White, even relief teaches there. Her grandchildren will soon be sitting in the classrooms and playing in the grounds – just like the generations before them.

But despite the idyllic setting, it’s not all plain sailing. “There are a wide variety of challenges. Water supply, snakes, the remoteness, no phone signal – it can be very isolated here at a times,” explains Shane.

Regenerative agriculture is his passion and a trip to the Mulloon Institute in 2020 has kickstarted an impressive educational program at the school. Shane firmly believes that the younger children are introduced to these concepts, the better the result will be for everyone. The kids are now all familiar with wicking beds, pollinator garden beds, paddock rotation and composting. A major project was contouring the back paddock and creating ponds to slow down the flow of water down to the river. The transformation of this land, turning what was once a bare paddock into an area teeming with plant and insect life, is something the children have loved watching – just as they love to watch the fruit and vegetables grow in the gardens near their classroom.

On Wednesdays they vote on what recipe to cook that day, using produce harvested that morning. I ask the kids before I leave what their favourite dish is. “Frittata – you have to try that. I think it is delicious,” says Trixy shyly.

This name – “New England” – was first coined in 1836 by the Sydney Herald for an area thick with armed bushrangers that stretched north from the Hunter Valley to the tablelands of what is now Queensland. Official recognition followed three years later and a Land Commissioner set up in a place he called Armidale, after the castle on the Isle of Skye. At one point there was even a push to change the name to “New Scotland” as so many Scots had settled in the area. More robust, though, was the talk of secession and the formation of a seventh state, climaxing with a referendum in April 1967. Thanks to some Machiavellian gerrymandering on the part of the NSW Government the Remainers prevailed although the odd breakaway rumbling has since taken place. One dedicated agitator even printed a mock currency – the Newro – for his much-desired State of New England as recently as 2005. 

Scaling this land is the New England Highway and one of the unsung joys of living in Murrurundi is that you have to take it to get anywhere. It’s quiet (at least compared to its brash coastal cousin, the six-lane Pacific) and cuts through spectacular country, especially picturesque from just south of Murrurundi up to Tenterfield. I drove this stretch a couple of months ago but slowly, over the course of a week rather than the usual 5 hours, surveying this highway of memories as a destination in its own right. 

I didn’t get far. 18km north of Murrurundi is the tiny village of Willow Tree, home to Graze at the Willow Tree Inn, one of the best country pubs in the state. Sandwiched between the road and the railway line, the pub and its adjoining cottages sport luxurious accommodation but best of all is the restaurant, where, semi-vegetarian ways left decidedly at home, I devoured delicious corned beef with white sauce, mashed potato and greens. The Hannah family, who reinvigorated the pretty dot of a town with their do-over of the Inn in 2010, rear the cattle on their nearby property, Colly Creek. They also have Plains Pantry opposite, a gourmet deli great for a quick bite or to stock up on cryovaced smoked trout from nearby Nundle (amongst other goodies), the best smoked trout full stop.

The landscape opens up like a deep breath after Willow Tree, majestic and sunburnt as the highway rolls toward the country music capital of Tamworth. I’ve got Johnny Cash playing on Spotify to get me to Goonoo Goonoo Station – pronounced gunna-goo-noo – an historic sheep station 20 minutes south done over as an upmarket farmstay. The words mean “running water” in the language of the Kamilaroi people, one of the largest indigenous nations of Australia who have inhabited the area for thousands of years. I’d stayed briefly in one of the station’s cottages mid last year and looked forward to returning during the summer to make use of the swimming pool. This time I was parked in room 9 of the Shearers’ Quarters, which has great views across magnificent, quintessentially Australian countryside. Views from Glasshouse – the striking glass-pavilion of a restaurant adjoining the original woolsheds at the top of the hill – are even better. 

You pick up on a leitmotif driving around downtown Tamworth: car yards, Canary Island date palms and Art Deco. It’s not traditionally a place revered for its beauty, but scratch away at the surface and it does have its charms, with pretty streetscapes, the beautiful Anzac Park and a melting pot of interesting architecture. Drive along Upper Street for its shuffle of smart Victorian, Edwardian, Art Deco and postwar homes as well as cute newcomer, the cafe Humble, always packed as it serves the best brew in town.

Shady Peel Street is Tamworth’s main thoroughfare, where you’ll find the cool new gelato bar, Spilt Milk – the real deal in lidded metal tubs rather than decorative piles that don’t stay so fresh. I tried the schnitzel at two of the town’s pubs: The Tamworth (think photos of Tammy and Dolly above leather chesterfields in the front bar) and the just-restored Courthouse and both were delicious, paired with a pale ale at the end of the day. The Powerhouse is the jewel in the crown of Tamworth accommodation: motel layout (cars parked in front of rooms) but five-star hotel facilities and service. The recently renovated interiors are top notch and it’s worth checking in for the bar and restaurant alone. 

It’s a steep climb from Tamworth (404m) to Bendemeer (815m) and on to Uralla (1012m) and after dense scrub, roadworks and shocking reception, dramatic granite boulders dot the roadside as the terrain opens up once again. Uralla, “a ceremonial meeting place and look-out on a hill” in the language of the local Aniwan tribe, is the cutest town on the highway. Lovely heritage buildings line the streets, from the mid-19th century McCrossin’s Mill through to the Trickett Building, a c.1910 general store in the main street made over as the mouth-watering Alternate Root Cafe. A few doors up is Burnett’s Books, where I scored a couple of beautiful old art books from the 1960’s, and up again and over is the New England Brewing Co, crafting their signature pale ale and other small batch beers since 2013. And if you feel like a quick detour it’s 10 minutes along a pretty country road to Gostwyck Chapel, a fairytale-like church at the entrance to the cattle station of the same name, an avenue of monumental elm trees as its backdrop. 

Another half hour and you’re in Armidale, the cultural heart of New England with beautiful churches, an excellent regional gallery and cool cafes – one of which, the Goldfish Bowl, bakes its own bread in a woodfired oven and does delicious pizzas on a Friday. And again, great pubs. I polished off another delicious schnitzel at the packed Whitebull, reassured by the fact the same tunes – Kim Carnes and Wilde – were being played as when I first arrived in 1989. I made my ritualistic round of UNE’s campus and was thrilled to see the Australian Aboriginal Flag flying above the mighty Booloominbah, an Arts & Crafts mansion envisaged by architect John Horbury Hunt for the pastoralist, F.R. White, forming UNE’s historic core.

I’d booked to stay at Petersons Winery & Guesthouse just outside of town. The spectacular main house, Palmerston (1911) took its architectural cues from the bungalows of the British Raj and reads like a sprawling version of the home in Out of Africa. The vineyard was planted after Judy and Colin Peterson purchased the property in 1996 and produces excellent cold-climate wines such as their Armidale riesling, best enjoyed sitting under a century old tree in the garden or on the veranda, very Karen Blixen.

Nearby Saumerez is a grand late 19th century mansion now in the care of the National Trust and open to the public. The somewhat legendary White sisters were cousins of the Booloominbah Whites and Elsie, the last of the family to inhabit Saumarez, kept everything down to the last ruffled cushion, effectively securing this singular time capsule of Edwardiana. Mary White College at UNE takes its name from Elsie’s older sister, the family feminist who devoted her life to public work. There’s a fabulous photo of Mary in full Edwardian garb not only on top of the mansion’s steep roof but up again, standing at the top of a tall brick chimney.

Rows of poplars slice across a quintessential New England landscape moving north. The nation’s highest caravan park can be found at Guyra (1330m) and further along is the colourful town of Glen Innes, where I bought a crumbling but beautiful old book of Russian icons at The Book Market in Grey Street, another fantastic secondhand bookshop. Also crumbling and beautiful is the Eclipse Theatre in Deepwater, a 1930’s movie house that closed its doors in 1965. (I could Google why but prefer the mystery.) 

Travel well. Shop “Remote Projects” in our Murrurundi Concept Store now.

But my eye was on the prize of Tenterfield where I was to stay at The Commercial Boutique Hotel, a blonde-brick pub from the 1930’s done over as high-end accommodation and dining. My room was enormous, with a fireplace, freestanding bath and a circular balcony overlooking the town. The ground floor is full of curvaceous Art Deco detail, centred around the main bar turned restaurant, serving up delicious seasonal fare alongside local wines. 

Tenterfield is another architectural gem, full of beautiful Federation homes as well as older colonial buildings, such as the legendary Tenterfield Saddler (1860). The perusal of old-fashioned shop fronts is a trip unto itself – you’d never know online shopping was a thing in Tenterfield – from the abandoned HQ of the Tenterfield Star (est. 1870) to CM Country Outfitters, a shop devoted to school uniforms and the colourful Sing Wah Chinese restaurant. 

Also in the main street is the School of Arts (1869), its red-brick walls a joy to behold against a blue sky. Sir Henry Parkes delivered his fiery and impassioned speech advocating for the Federation of the Australian colonies from the building’s Banquet Hall, now part of a small but fascinating, and moving, museum. The room is hung with all the variations of the Southern Cross flag alongside a single Australian Aboriginal Flag. A museum label below this flag outlines, matter of fact, the astronomical cost of Federation for Indigenous Australians and the near-century it took to begin the correction. 

Wanting to get away from the man-made world for a bit I head out along Kildare Road to see some of the incredible rock formations surrounding Tenterfield – the precursor to the Granite Belt along the Queensland border. Ridges of cascading rocks read like early Greek ruins, revealing themselves around the twists and turns of the long dirt road. Around another bend and massive boulders come together like primitive sculpture, a giant open air museum. I get out of the car and with my back to the road I contemplate these prehistoric views, already plotting my return.

David’s passion for horses and rural life goes back to the earliest days of his childhood. “I grew up in Sydney, but I spent a lot of time with my grandparents and my aunty and uncle Jane and Paul who lived on a property called Kuloo at Cassilis near Mudgee. I was only about seven but I was out on the horse to check the sheep before anyone else in the house was awake,” he says. “Actually, it was my grandmother who said to me, ‘Why don’t you become a farrier?””

He took his grandmother’s advice and did a course at Hawkesbury Agricultural College before starting an apprenticeship with Quirindi blacksmith Allan Frewin. After a short stint on the coast at Foster, David was soon back at Murrurundi and eventually started shoeing polo ponies at nearby Ellerston.

But, after earning his living as a farrier for nearly three decades, the keen polo player made the decision to change careers when he had an accident in 2011. “At the time I was riding a horse to assess its gait for shoeing while I was working in Queensland. It bucked and I had a bad fall. I knew it wasn’t good because I couldn’t walk, I could only shuffle along,” David recalls in his understated way. 

Unable to continue working, David managed the long drive home and was diagnosed with a split pelvis. Weekly treatments in Sydney proved successful, but the father of three realised a life spent shoeing horses was no longer going to be viable. “I had started my apprenticeship when I was 17 and now my body was beginning to fall apart. My wrist was worn out, my elbows everything was beginning to hurt. I had four guys working for me at the time but even so, I felt I needed to be able to shoe horses myself to make the business work,” he explains. “And I couldn’t keep doing it forever. I had to think of the future.”

A new career in real estate proved to be a natural move. “I”d always had a passion for property, so I thought I”d give it a go,” he says simply. “And I do enjoy it. I have loved seeing some of the older houses getting done up.”

Today, the deputy captain of the Murrurundi Fire and Rescue NSW finds the biggest challenge in his working life is sitting still behind a desk. “I can’t help it, I just love been out and about — preferably on a horse,” he says with a smile.

Bettington Rural is at 79 Mayne Street, Murrurundi NSW; telephone (02) 65466696.

For more information, visit bettingtonrural.com.au

The Bettington’s Address Book

1. Nelliebelle’s Cakes and Bakes. “We are so spoilt with beautiful coffee spots in Murrurundi. Although David simply loves a cup of tea from with his quart pot boiled up on a fire in the hills, he does have a weakness for a slice of Margie’s caramel custard slice from Nelliebelle’s.
   132 Mayne Street, Murrurundi NSW. Telephone 0437 144 555.

2. Kim Barker’s Barber Shop. “When he goes to Scone it’s always a rushed trip to Kim’s shop for a laugh and a haircut.”
   129 Kelly Street, Scone NSW.

3. Peter Britt’s Saddlery. “He can repair anything and makes all David’s bits and pieces. David just draws what he wants and Peter can make it.”
   Rear 128 Kelly Street, Scone NSW. Telephone (02) 6545 2543.
   outlawangels@southernphone.com.au

4. The Bar. A Scone cafè© that likes to celebrate local produce. “The pork dumplings here are amazing.”
   135 Kelly Street, Scone NSW. Telephone (02) 6545 3111.

5. Hanna Pastoral Co Butcher Shop. “We are also loving the convenience of this butcher shop in Willow Tree — their gourmet sausages are a definite must.”
   32 New England Highway, Willow Tree NSW.
   Opening hours Monday–Friday 8:30am to 4:30pm. Telephone (02) 6747 771 (ext 2). @hanna_pastoral_co

6. “Our favourite outing is a picnic either in the hills or by the river,” says Jennifer. “There are some great waterholes and beautiful spots with amazing views down the valley close by.”

David’s passion for horses and rural life goes back to the earliest days of his childhood. “I grew up in Sydney, but I spent a lot of time with my grandparents and my aunty and uncle Jane and Paul who lived on a property called Kuloo at Cassilis near Mudgee. I was only about seven but I was out on the horse to check the sheep before anyone else in the house was awake,” he says. “Actually, it was my grandmother who said to me, ‘Why don’t you become a farrier?””

He took his grandmother’s advice and did a course at Hawkesbury Agricultural College before starting an apprenticeship with Quirindi blacksmith Allan Frewin. After a short stint on the coast at Foster, David was soon back at Murrurundi and eventually started shoeing polo ponies at nearby Ellerston.

But, after earning his living as a farrier for nearly three decades, the keen polo player made the decision to change careers when he had an accident in 2011. “At the time I was riding a horse to assess its gait for shoeing while I was working in Queensland. It bucked and I had a bad fall. I knew it wasn’t good because I couldn’t walk, I could only shuffle along,” David recalls in his understated way. 

Unable to continue working, David managed the long drive home and was diagnosed with a split pelvis. Weekly treatments in Sydney proved successful, but the father of three realised a life spent shoeing horses was no longer going to be viable. “I had started my apprenticeship when I was 17 and now my body was beginning to fall apart. My wrist was worn out, my elbows everything was beginning to hurt. I had four guys working for me at the time but even so, I felt I needed to be able to shoe horses myself to make the business work,” he explains. “And I couldn’t keep doing it forever. I had to think of the future.”

A new career in real estate proved to be a natural move. “I”d always had a passion for property, so I thought I”d give it a go,” he says simply. “And I do enjoy it. I have loved seeing some of the older houses getting done up.”

Today, the deputy captain of the Murrurundi Fire and Rescue NSW finds the biggest challenge in his working life is sitting still behind a desk. “I can’t help it, I just love been out and about — preferably on a horse,” he says with a smile.

Bettington Rural is at 79 Mayne Street, Murrurundi NSW; telephone (02) 65466696.

For more information, visit bettingtonrural.com.au

Denise, who grew up in Sydney’s Drummoyne, is the youngest of four but essentially, she was an only child. Books played a big part in this little girl’s life. Alice in Wonderland was read again and again — “it was the pinnacle for me” — and the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and Wuthering Heights quickly followed.

“When I was a child, it was just me and mum. I would spend a lot of time amusing myself — painting, drawing and reading. They were my favourite things to do in the world and that’s how I spent my days,” she says.

In many ways, today she is painting the fairy tales born of this period. After many layers of careful brushwork — “I’m hard on my brushes, I don’t buy expensive ones as I wear them out” — kookaburras with mischievous glints in their eyes emerge on the paper to swoop down to steal from side plates piled high with lamingtons, galahs dance around the palest pink Iced Volvos while a barn owl and a mouse have a standoff across a slice of passionfruit cheesecake. All are clearly a figment of Denise’s imagination but the work which led to them was very firmly rooted in reality a few years ago: a brazen magpie swooping down to steal the cat biscuits in a Japanese porcelain bowl put out for a stray tabby cat who had emerged out of the bush one day.

But it took two decades and a move to this remote 18-hectare bush block between Mudgee and Gulgong for Denise to return to art.

After graduating from art school, where artist Lucy Culliton was one of her contemporaries, Denise had felt daunted by the idea of making a living as an artist.

“I might have gone to the odd life drawing class, but I was working full time and it was hard to find the energy while I was on that treadmill,” she says.

Looking for a break from city life, Denise and her partner Fraser, an IT specialist who was already working remotely, had bought a weekender in 2009. The pair found they were increasingly reluctant to return to Sydney after each visit and made the decision to move there permanently in 2013. “I thought, if we are going to move out of the city, there is no point just moving into another town, even if it was in the country,” says.

Even though it is only a short drive, just 15 kilometres, from the historic town of Gulgong, there was a hurdle Denise had to overcome — she didn’t have her driver’s licence so couldn’t apply for any local jobs. The solution? A return to painting. The surrounding bush and wildlife quickly inspired her, and she now spends her days happily painting.

Her most recent work is part of the annual Michael Reid Murrurundi collaborative exhibition with Country Style magazine: Art of the Garden.

“During the drought a lot of our trees in the bush died, so without the canopy more native shrubs and flowers sprung up changing the whole dynamic of the landscape. This year was our most spectacular year for the flannel flowers. Without the tree canopy, we were able to see them waving in the breeze up high on the ridge in the most hostile and sunbaked conditions,” she says.

“Up close they were a forest of soft fuzzy flowers loved by all the insects, so I decided to include just some of the visitors to my not so still lifes. Flannel flowers have been adopted as the symbol of mental health awareness, something I think we all need to consider in these trying times, but given where I know they grow, I also see them as the symbol of resilience and strength.”

With an exciting project on the horizon, it seems this very modest artist has returned to “the tribe I found at art school” with her new life in the bush, painting whimsical pieces edged with her quiet humour.

“It is often hard to say goodbye to my paintings. They are a part of me, but it also makes me happy to know that someone else likes them enough to take them home and share their walls with them.”