Eric Hutchinson (Lyons, Liberal Party) Share this | Link to this | Hansard source

Tonight I want to tell Kelly Wilton's story—the story of a long-term family of the Derwent Valley. It gives me pleasure to tell the story, which is part of the fabric of my state of Tasmania. Our nation's story starts with our Indigenous people, whom I acknowledge as the first people of our land. They have a unique cultural heritage that is rightfully recognised. Today, I want to focus on a part of our history that has shaped my home state of Tasmania for more than 200 years. It has been the foundation of our economy and the fabric of our society. It has been the common denominator that has bound our communities together continuously since European settlement. It still is the common denominator that connects families across generations and across communities in my state.

The heritage that I speak of is Tasmania's timber heritage. Tasmania was settled in 1803 but our timber history predates Australian settlement. In 1788 Captain Bligh took refuge on the shores of Adventure Bay, at Bruny Island, a small island off the south-east coast of the state. He had his men dig sawpits and harvest timber to repair his ship, the Bounty. Captain Bligh took note of the density of the timber on the island, which later became a deciding factor in the settling of Van Diemen's Land by the British. Van Diemen's Land had an abundant source of unique, high-quality timber and deep ports that could handle the export of that timber to colonies on mainland Australia and also back to Britain. Our timber industry was Tasmania's first primary industry.

My state's convict past, which we now embrace in an almost legendary sense, is also intertwined with our timber heritage. Timber harvesting was an essential priority for our first settlers but it was also used as a punishment for the most unruly convicts, who were supposedly subdued during times on the timber gangs. They were sent out in the harshest weather conditions, wearing inappropriate clothing in heat, rain and snow. And they did this on rations of food that left them emaciated. The timber gang convicts were ordered to dig sawpits by hand in hard packed earth that had not previously been turned. These pits had to be deep enough for a man to stand and wide enough to exceed the girth of the timber they felled by axe. Teams of two men each worked the sawpits, one on top and the other underneath in the pit, showered by sawdust. This is where the now common phrases in our language—top dog and bottom dog or underdog—originated. The logs were carried out of the bush on the shoulders of convict teams before the luxuries of bullock teams to recover the timber. They became known as the centipede gangs.

Free settlers came. Convicts got pardons and set up businesses harvesting timber. Towns grew. Our economy was built on the trade. We celebrate our maritime history and heritage, and rightly so—we even have a maritime museum—but without our timber heritage it would not have begun. Without casks made from Tasmanian timbers for the whale oil exported around the world and Huon pine for the whaling ships, there would not have been a reason for it to be. By the mid-1800s those who depended on timber for their living recognised the need to make sure the yield harvested was not self-limiting, and have regulated and replanted ever since. By the early 1900s there were generations of families who had Tasmanian sawdust running through their veins. And they had the bush in their lungs and their hearts. Timber workers have always been the first called when a bushfire happens in Tasmania because they know how a fire behaves under different climatic conditions and difficult terrain—a necessity learned and passed down through generations. These days our timber industry is diverse, including harvesters, contractors, truck drivers, craftsmen, wooden boat builders, machine operators, scientists and foresters. It is a most sustainable industry, and these people were the original conservationists.

The direct employment from timber harvesting would not happen without the support network of Tasmanian timber towns—the shop owners who make their mates breakfasts and lunches, the pub owners who encourage the tall tales of work in the bush, the mechanics, the metal workers and the tyre fitters who co-exist in a symbiotic way. 'Industry' is not a word; it really defines what is, very much, part of our heritage. This is Kelly Wilton's story, but it is the heritage of all Tasmanians—an unspoken kinship, an understanding that connects people. My heritage is the strength and tenacity that makes us hold our heads high in good times and bad, which timber families are so proud of. This is Kelly's heritage.

I note that the World Heritage Reactive Monitoring Mission is in Tasmania this week, and I encourage them. I had an opportunity to meet with them on Saturday but unfortunately, because of inclement weather, it was moved to today and for obvious reasons I am not available. They consider the cultural heritage of this industry.