The unfolding situation regarding the future of Mossman Mill and the ensuing development Douglas Shire farmers will have their cane transported and crushed in Gordonvale over the next few months has been a timely, positive development for the region.

Many Douglas Shire residents have followed the developments; from the speculation of the Mill closing, to the lobbying from a host of stakeholders to keep it open, to the Mill then closing, to now a resolution being found to transport the cane this year into Gordonvale for crushing.

The trials and tribulations of the Mill have touched many Newsport readers none more than Malanda based resident, Bob Prince.

Having followed the latest about the Mill’s future on Newsport for the last six months Bob felt compelled to write a touching poem about what the Mill means to him and his association with it for more than seven decades.

I’ll now let Bob take up the story.

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Dear Editor,

I have been directly associated with the Mossman mill for the past 78 years, firstly as the son of Lou Prince who managed the mill for 17 years and secondly as a supplier of cane to the mill.

The pending closure of the mill has dealt a devastating blow and has moved me to write a poem as a tribute to the mill.

The poem sets to capture the spirit of the mill’s early days and as such convey memory of the grand days when the mill was the lifeblood of the local economy and central to community life.

I hope your readers enjoy it.

Kind regards, Bob Prince, Malanda

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Memories of the Mossman Sugar Mill - years 1946 to 1968

‘Bobby Prince is no good,
Chop him up for firewood’,
Echoes of the distant past,
Coming thick and fast.

Round and round the old veranda he did go,
With Miss Kidd the sugar mill manager’s daughter in tow,
Shouting threats as she went,
Revelling in what she thought to be a hilarious event.

Not so for young Bobby,
Tripping and falling by the lobby,
Seemingly with no escape,
Awaiting a dire fate.

So the nineteen forties saw his life begin,
A child small and thin,
Roaming the mill yard and factory floor,
Exploring and finding interests galore.

Following are thoughts of the past,
Recollections clearly cast,
Cherished memories with him still,
Of the Mossman sugar mill.

The mill precinct lush and green,
Flowering plants everywhere to be seen,
The mill standing proud and tall,
Midst the splendour of it all.

Smoke from the stack billowing on high,
Stretching far into the sky,
From as far as could be seen,
Telling the mill is under full steam.

Steam trains chuff, chuffing their way,
Delivering cane from far away,
Puffing and blowing at every grade,
At the hands of firemen who knew their trade.