Reader uncovers locally written and touching 1991 poem 'The Last Crush' in wake of Mossman Mill developments

Lovely Newsport reader Kay Earl writes:

Michael,

I have been following the sad demise of the Mossman Mill through your pages mostly and have a great interest in the history of the area having written the history of the establishment of the Hambledon Plantation when the first sugar was grown in this area of Edmonton.

My husband was for 37 years, the Gantry Driver at the Cairns Bulk Sugar Terminal, so he also has always had a great interest in the industry and knew so many of the “Mossman drivers” delivering the sugar to the Terminal.

Today, by coincidence I was going through some old papers and discovered this poem attached, about the closing down of our own Hambledon Mill here in Edmonton in 1991. 

The Mill closing caused great concern in our area and this poem was published on the 04/12/1991 in the ‘Pyramid News” the forerunner of Sandra Charlton’s “Pyramid Views” by a local chap John Arcidiacono.

Just thought you might be interested in showing that the Hambledon workers’, growers’ and general population’s sentiments were very much in line with the way so many up there are feeling now. 

Our area though was fortunate that the sugar was transferred across to Mulgrave, and workers were able to find other work.

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The Last Crush

The stack has stopped smoking and the rollers are still.

For this year sees the closure of Hambledon Mill. It has stood there for years and has crushed lots of cane noisily crushing in fine weather, or rain.

An institution it was, one of CSR Mills steadily working 'neath those grand Isley Hills and Isabella Falls will shed many sad tears at losing a friend of many long years.

Drinkers at the 'Grafton' will not ever see again, the noisy diesel 'locos' hauling Green Hills sugarcane.

As they slowly crossed the highway with their long rake of 'Fulls', The driver 'toots' the barmaid as ice cold beer she 'pulls'.

The Mill whistle you'll no longer hear, at the changing of the shifts or see its thick black smoke, as it slowly skywards drifts.

And you'll not see the breakdown gang: with truck and crane and gear they quickly travelled to some spill, to keep the tramways clear.

So, old friend the time has come for the parting of the ways.

For one hundred years and more, no one thought to see this day, We solemnly salute you, for the services you have done. And we fondly reminisce of battles fought and won. The future seems uncertain, just perhaps a little doubt.

Who will move into your home, come the time that you move out? Will they build another golf course, plush clubhouse and all that gear?

One thing I know for certain, many eyes will shed a tear!