General News
22 May, 2026
AN ARCADIAN TALE: Making the Australian dream a reality
Pietro was the eldest son of a family of 12 children of an Italian wood cutting family.
Being the eldest son he was selected to attend school.
Getting to school involved an hours trek through the thick forest and most days he arrived saturated with perspiration.
Stripped to the waist he washed to clean and refresh himself.
School started at 8 am and finished at midday.
His skills in reading, writing and basic arithmetic were vital for the family.
On returning home after a lunch of dry bread and ricotta he joined his uncles, brothers and father in the forest.
The stripped logs were rolled down the mountain side into the river where they floated into the harbour.
Each log had to be marked with the family’s identifying symbol.
B for Baldi was theirs. It was burnt on.
Rolling the logs was an extremely hazardous task. Most men could display hideous scars and missing limbs, fingers and hands.
There was no access to medical assistance or first aid, the only treatment was primitive.
Encounters with ravenous wolves was common. Their only weapons were their axes.
The graphic discovery of three frozen German soldiers was a turning point in Pietro’s life.
After taking their boots, which were of the finest quality and impossible to obtain in the village, they gave the soldiers a Christian burial.
The face of one of the soldiers became transfixed in Pietro’s mind. He was a youth of 16 or 17.
His cousin, Alphonso, had emigrated to Australia and wrote of the opportunities it afforded.
Australia was desperate to expand its population and offered assisted immigration.
After a lengthy discussion with his family, he took up the offer.
His English vocabulary consisted of “yes, no, please and thank you”.
His life was full of firsts.
He had never travelled on a train or a ship. He had the cheapest passage aboard and had several bouts of sea-sickness.
His diet mainly consisted of bread, pasta and salted pork.
He arrived at Port Melbourne where he was processed and put on a train at Spencer Street.
His destination “Arcadia”, a small town in the Goulburn Valley, was his drop off point.
Fortunately he woke as the train slowed down. With his one piece of luggage he scrambled from the moving train.
The station was in total darkness, it was midnight.
There was no welcoming committee. He slept on a bench in the waiting room cuddling his canvas bag.
He awoke facing a huge spider.
He followed the sounds of saws and the first person he met was Alphonso.
His sole wardrobe was on his back. His collar and cuffs were removable and a thick belt held up his trousers supported by braces.
At the camp he was given a huge pot of mutton stew and two slices of thick bread.
This was washed down with several cups of thick, sweet tea — a brew totally unfamiliar to him.
Once he had eaten he went straight to work.
The mill owner, Giuseppe (Joe) was immediately impressed with his work ethic and treated him as a son.
Pietro was the only worker who was literate and his skills were appreciated.
Being a bright young fellow he soon became quite skilled in spoken and written English.
Of the many shipments of timber by rail many were not paid for.
Pietro and Favio (a giant of a man and fearsome-looking) travelled to Melbourne where they confronted the debtors. A considerable amount of the debts were recovered.
Joe was so grateful that he offered the mill to Pietro at a fair price, as he was keen to return to his home, Italy.
After five years Pietro purchased a property on the Goulburn and raised sheep and wheat. He married the diminutive Rose and raised eight children.
Hopefully I have inherited some of my grandfather’s skills in storytelling.
On the back veranda after dinner and watching Pietro prepare his pipe (which was a ritual) he would proceed to tell a story.
Usually they were his translation of Italian folk tales.
My re-telling have been favourably received by children all over the state.
“Pinocchi”, the original version of “Pinnochio” is a favourite.
Grandad had a strong Christian belief. He would ride his bike to Murchison and Arcadia to attend mass.
While the wives had a “cuppa”, the men would do a “Hanrahan”. Fortunately they were more positive.
Pietro blessed the day he settled in Australia.
Into his 80s Pietro would drive his aged horse Johnny into Shepparton to get supplies and visit his children. He headed off early on Thursday morning.
He rarely touched the reins as Johnny knew the way. Amazingly the horse always shied at a spot where he had an encounter with a snake.
On Wednesday afternoon he would go to the furtherest corner of the home paddock and had to be fetched.
Once returned he resigned to the fact that he would be harnessed to the gig.
I often in my dreams relive the trip to Shepparton sitting alongside Grandad as he smoked his pipe.