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When miners walked the beaches
Of this rugged coast of ours,
And faced the scourge of sandflies,
The solitude, and showers,
There was history in the making
When they found within the sand,
An ounce or two of finest gold
That anyone had panned.
So they pitched their tents and settled
On this isolated reach;
Built pubs and school and chapel
And a town - Gillespie’s Beach.
But the mining dwindled right away,
The township lost its pub,
And down the years the settlement
Was swallowed by the scrub.
(Extract - ‘The Ballad of Gillespie’s Beach)
With thanks to Margaret Hall
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