Mr William Benjamin Chaffey

STATE LIBRARY OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA J. D. SOMERVILLE ORAL HISTORY COLLECTION

OH 692/21

Full transcript of an interview with

MR WILLIAM BENJAMIN CHAFFEY

on 5 March 2003

by Rob Linn

Recording available on CD

Access for research: Unrestricted

Right to photocopy: Copies may be made for research and study

Right to quote or publish: Publication only with written permission from the State Library

OH 692/21 MR WILLIAM BENJAMIN CHAFFEY

NOTES TO THE TRANSCRIPT

This transcript was donated to the State Library. It was not created by the J.D. Somerville Oral History Collection and does not necessarily conform to the Somerville Collection's policies for transcription.

Readers of this oral history transcript should bear in mind that it is a record of the spoken word and reflects the informal, conversational style that is inherent in such historical sources. The State Library is not responsible for the factual accuracy of the interview, nor for the views expressed therein. As with any historical source, these are for the reader to judge.

This transcript had not been proofread prior to donation to the State Library and has not yet been proofread since. Researchers are cautioned not to accept the spelling of proper names and unusual words and can expect to find typographical errors as well.

OH 692/21 TAPE 1 - SIDE A

AUSTRALIAN WINE ORAL HISTORY PROJECT.

Interview with Mr William Benjamin Chaffey on 5th March, 2003.

Interviewer: Rob Linn.

Well, Mr Chaffey, where and when were you born?

BC: I was born in Whittier, California, on November 12th, 1914.

And who were your parents?

BC: My father was the youngest of his family. He was conceived in America and born in Melbourne. My grandfather and his brother, George Chaffey, came out at the invitation of Deakin to pioneer irrigation settlements, firstly in Mildura, and because of political delays and so on in Victoria, pretty well the same time in Renmark South Australia. So my father was the youngest.

The other kids all came out with my grandparents of course, and they were immediately sent to boarding school in Melbourne. Two of them went to Prince Alfred College, Adelaide, for a couple of years. They were George’s sons. My father was born in Mildura and consequently was much younger. The going was pretty rough. My father was born in 1887, and in Melbourne, as it happened.

What were his Christian names?

BC: William Herbert. He did his primary schooling I suppose in Mildura—they had governesses and all that sort of thing—and then went to boarding school in Adelaide. He could only get home once a year because of difficulties in travel, but before many years had gone there was a train to Morgan. He travelled by river steamer to Renmark. He spent a lot of time in Renmark because those last eighty or ninety miles from Renmark to Mildura, except by river craft, was pretty well impassable. So he spent a fair bit of time there on Chowilla station with Robinsons.

By then the family, of course, was well known. George had a big house at Paringa. That was well known. Olivewood was the family centre and office. Charles Chaffey, my grandfather’s younger brother, was put in charge of Renmark, and so he lived at Olivewood and my father would spend school holidays at Olivewood, or out at Chowilla station. He’d get home for Christmas by steamer and by horses and coaches—train to Morgan—but spent a lot of time with friends in Adelaide. The Cudmores were related through marriage. And he'd spend a lot of time at Adare in Victor Harbor, and out at what's now Sacred Heart, Brighton Road—Paringa Hall.

As a matter of interest, I was eighteen when I first went to Roseworthy before I ever saw Adelaide. As soon as I went to school—Geelong—we went to Melbourne every year for summer.

Tell me a little bit about your mother, Mr Chaffey.

BC: By coincidence, both my parents were British Canadians. My grandfather and his wife, although they lived in California and came from Ottawa, were

British Canadians. The Chaffeys left Somerset in 1812 when the French wars were on, and they were engineers. They built bridges over the St Lawrence, and Chaffey locks and weirs on the (sounds like, Reed-o) River, I think it is, in Ontario.

When Dad finished school in Adelaide—his old man had him working for a year at the winery because he was young, about seventeen or eighteen years of age—he sent him over to his brother, George, who'd returned to California and by then was a banker in southern California. In fact, he and his son, Andrew, who’d cut his teeth at the Union Bank in Mildura and therefore had a background in Australian banking, persuaded them to go into banking in California. And so Dad went over there.

In fact, he arrived in San Francisco when San Francisco was burning after the earthquake, and he and two or three other Melbourne friends worked there for a while helping to clean up and so on, and then went down to Los Angeles. He worked for his uncle in the Bank of Southern California (I’m pretty sure), and then later was moved to Whittier, to the Whittier Water Company, which was in Ontario and named after Ontario Canada by my grandfather and his brother where they'd pioneered irrigation. So my father was secretary/manager of Whittier Water Company, one of the big family concerns in the Ontario irrigation settlements.

Is this actually in Canada or California?

BC: No, Ontario, California.

By coincidence, Mother was a British Canadian too, because her father and mother -

(Tape restarted)

You were just talking about your mother, Mr Chaffey.

BC: They were married in California.

What was her name?

BC: Nayda Laura Rolph. You’ve heard of Pocahontas(?) of course?

Yes.

BC: Same family. Her two older brothers were pretty clued up. One ended up in Philadelphia as President of the American Storage Battery(?) Company. He was a doctor of law I suppose—Wyman Rolph. Her brother, who was only about twelve years older than me—Raymond—ended up a general sales manager. They all went into this Willard Storage Battery Company. Joined in Canada, in Toronto and places like that. Wyman ended up as one of the top businessmen in the States in Philadelphia. Ray was the general sales manager. And the other brother, Arno, was killed in the Atlantic during the war. Was torpedoed. They would've been my father’s age.

Anyway, we talk about other ethnic groups like Greeks and Italians and Swedes and others congregating, but I presume the British congregated too because my father obviously, through his relatives living in California, would've been in various British groups and clubs. And Mother’s family would've been well and truly known to them. He met her and married her there. By coincidence, both British Canadians.

How did they come to get back here to Australia?

BC: My uncle, Fred, who was being groomed to run the Mildura winery—it was called Mildura Winery and Distillery—had been sent to London in 1914 to further his education. War broke out and he joined the London Artists Rifles and was subsequently killed at Ypres on what's now Anzac Day in 1917. He was aged twenty-three. So my grandfather got in touch with my father in California and said, ‘When you're able to travel I want you to come out here and manage the winery’. So virtually at the end of the war we came out. I was the eldest, my brother two and a half years younger, and a sister imported in utero. We went straight to Mildura and lived at Rio Vista for a year, which was a family home. I remember my grandfather quite clearly. My mother wasn't too happy about it. You know, she came from a family who’d lived in the lap of luxury in America, and the old man being a typical Australian was glad to get back I suppose.

Did your mother always find it hard here?

BC: Well, she obviously had to adapt to it. Things were pretty bloody rough in a place like Mildura in the early days. We went through a depression of course. I remember that quite well. I remember blokes out of work coming to the house one after the other offering to cut the wood, or do anything, for a sandwich. Mother, like other women, was flat out making sandwiches for them. We always had plenty of wood cut. (Laughs) And plenty of times there was nothing to do.

You said, Mr Chaffey, that you were educated at Geelong later on.

BC: Yes.

How did you ever come to go to Roseworthy to begin a diploma in agriculture?

BC: Well, we virtually lived at the Mildura winery. After boarding school I had two options. My father’s cousin, Ben Chaffey, was well known as a grazier who'd bought in in drought conditions and made a pack of money. He literally owned the Murray/Darling area. Had wonderful sheep stations everywhere. He was well known for that. One option was to get a job with him on one of his stations, which would've been out from Wentworth, or not far away. The other was to go on with the wine and spirit industry, in which case Roseworthy was the only agricultural college that had anything worthwhile. Dookie in Victoria had had an oenology course but the blokes broke in one day and got drunk or something, so the government, presumably, cancelled the option of the chances to get full. Roseworthy had a nice little winery, and was in the middle of the viticultural industry anyway, being on the edge of the Barossa.

My father wrote to Colonel Birks, who was the Principal of Roseworthy College, and being a Victorian of course I had to take my chances with South Australians in getting in. Birks wrote back and said that, yes, he would allow me, a Victorian, to go in to the Roseworthy agricultural course. Later on, because of strikes at Roseworthy, and the students rebelled against Birks, Birks wrote to my father and said that because of my educational qualifications, and that I was getting some sort of winery education as well, he would allow me to go straight into the second year. So when this strike was resolved, Birks was replaced by Dr Alan Callaghan, who wrote to my father and said he was going to stop the practice of going into the second year for anybody, irrespective of qualifications, but seeing Birks had agreed to it he would allow me to go straight into the second year. So instead of starting in 1932 I went down in March, as soon as I could get away from the winery and vintage—March ‘33. In fact I had two or three weeks there before the course started, at Dr Callahan’s suggestion, to find my way around. Then of course I had to work pretty hard to catch up and do the course in two years.

Just going back for a minute, you said you worked at the winery. That's at Mildura?

BC: Yes, Mildura Winery and Distillery. The only winery and distillery, and the only distillery, from memory, in Victoria. We certainly supplied all the Rutherglen winemakers and Seppelts at Great Western with spirit. My father used to visit them two or three times. They were all personal friends, all the Rutherglen and Corowa winemakers. Corowa was just over the river in New South Wales. Later on I went once or twice with him. When I was in the Air Force instructing on Wirraway aircraft at Deniliquin I went over and met my father there on one occasion, knowing he wasn't far away. You know, got leave from the Air Force for a day or two. Joined them and they had a wonderful time. They were all personal friends. (Sounds like, Stacks of free) booze.

So at Mildura winery were you basically a cellar rat in those days?

BC: It was in the depression. I went there at the beginning of 1932 and the depression was still on. Admittedly there were signs of getting out of it. Another eighteen year old boy and I were the hired hands. We fired the boilers, we cleaned out the boiler tubes, we filtered the wine, we filled the casks until all hours of the day and night, we worked on Saturday mornings and any other time we had to. We shifted the suction lines on the water pumps down into the river. Even in the winter you'd have to walk in and move the river pumps up and down. Mildura winery’s built on a cliff. It was wonderful training, of course. And then in vintage, they had the same team every year. Mostly shearers who would work their way down the Darling and by the time they got to Mildura they'd finished shearing and would come to the winery. So that was pretty good. They were all intelligent, hard-working men. That was pretty good grooming for an eighteen year old, I can tell you. (Laughs)

In those days was it mainly fortifieds being made?

CK: Yes. Everywhere along the river, except perhaps a few exceptions in Rutherglen/Corowa, it was fortified wine, which we exported mostly to Emu Wine Company. We used to load the (couldn't decipher word) horses and trolleys at one stage, take the wine to the Merbein railway station about a mile and a quarter away. We’d sometimes take it down to the river bank and run it on to barges where it would be taken to either Echuca or to Morgan, to the railway heads. It was mostly sweet white Muscat. And brandy. Not so much brandy as spirit. I suppose the bulk of the output was spirit.

So was the spirit moved in hogsheads as well?

CK: No. Moved in 44 gallon drums. We shifted that around. There were no motorised tankers in those days. A lot of the spirit was used for our own fortifying of course, the Muscat and sweet white wine. The little bit of red there, Shiraz and Grenache, and from memory a bit of Mataro, was made into fortified reds.

So did you have Doradillo and some of those?

CK: My grandfather, after the outbreak of the First World War, encouraged the growers to plant Doradillo for distillation purposes to use as an alternative spirit. Consequently Merbein, where the winery was and where I grew up, had tremendous acreages of Doradillo. Of course, after the war when more and more material was needed for sweet white fortified wines, the Doradillo was a bit of a nuisance but we continued to process it for spirit. And supplied spirit for the whole of Victoria, and South Australia for those who wanted it. Then later on

Doradillo became useful—dry white Doradillo—for flor sherry. Sherries became more popular. While I was at Roseworthy College doing the post graduate oenology course I specialised in flor sherry research. Consequently at the Emu Wine company I was able to get stuck into it there. It's still being recorded. Have you ever seen it?

Yes.

CK: Emu put up a big flor sherry processing plant. I remember making up 50,000 gallon blends to send to London, and some of it was pretty good. A damn sight better than some of the flor sherry you buy in the liquor shops today.

You can't get it much either.

CK: No, you can't get much of it. Even so, we’ve had a hell of a lot to do with it. And then we were in cahoots with Reynella near by. I ended up on the Board of Reynella as it happened.

Could I come back to that in a little while, Mr Chaffey.

CK: Yes, sure.

Let's come back to Roseworthy again now.

Tell me a little bit about Roseworthy as you remember it, particularly the oenology course.

CK: I might've been about the third eldest out of the ten. I’m not sure but I think Malcolm (couldn't decipher name) was slightly older than me. Charlie Kelly was older because he was a couple of years ahead of me at Roseworthy, but otherwise I was the eldest of the six. They’d(?) had experience in the hard, cold world. It was physically tough and strong because of firing boilers with five foot Mallee billets.

Cordwood, was it?

CK: Yes. Six feet is a ton, sort of thing. Five foot cords. You know, where it's 130 in the sun—160 sometimes probably—and to fire boilers at the same time it soon got pretty tough.

So who were the people running the course at Roseworthy that you remember?

CK: Alan Hickinbotham was the technical brains, if you like. He was the analytical chemist, and in my agricultural course he taught me a bit of chemistry. He was a Master at Geelong Grammar actually. He was the one who got stuck into chemical analysis.

John Fornachon was a visiting microbiologist. He was an old student too, but he'd gone on to do post graduate courses at Adelaide University. He was a wonderful tutor in microbiology. Then the one who taught us the principles and practice of winemaking, who had been there for some time, was an old student—John Llewellyn Williams. So we not only had a neat little winery, which we ran under him, but we had wonderful lectures in viticulture, and in winemaking, and we had wonderful grounding in wine tasting. I suppose it's only natural I’d be saying this but I think it was the best course that's ever been devised.

You were saying to me earlier that the winery had wanted to send you to Montpellier in France.

CK: Yes.

But you'd spoken to Callahan, or written to him.

CK: On the quiet I spoke to Dr Callahan because I knew that if I couldn't get into Roseworthy I may as well go to Montpellier. But I knew damn well from people who'd already been to Montpellier that it wouldn't compare with Roseworthy. Also I wasn't mad about being under lien to any company. I wanted to be free. My father and Ron Haselgrove weren't all that happy for a start at my decision. In the end they decided that Roseworthy sounded like a pretty good course, especially Ron who’d been a student himself. I think he finished about 1918 or something like that. And Colin subsequently had been a student, and they knew a fair bit about it.

That's Colin Haselgrove, his brother.

CK: Younger brother.

Subsequently when I accepted Colin’s job at Emu Wine Company they weren't too happy about that because they thought I would go back to Mildura winery. So one of my good mates, Bob Graham—WO Graham—took the job. He was a bright boy. In fact I think he might’ve been a gold medallist. I’m not sure. Anyway, Bob was pretty bright, and much younger than me. He took the job, and when war broke out and the Empire Air Scheme was formulated he joined it. As I said I was on Ansons in Geraldton, Western Australia, doing my senior flying

training, and he was on Wirraways at Wagga, New South Wales, and he and his instructor hit a mountain and that was the end of that one.

TAPE 1 - SIDE B

Mr Chaffey, just coming back to the Roseworthy course again, did you learn all facets of white making from Jock Williams?

CK: John Llewellyn Williams—yes, Jock Williams.

So he did teach sort of table wines as well?

CK: Yes. If anything, mostly. I reckon I knew a little bit about sweet fortified wines but table wines of course, apart from a little bit we’d pick up in Great Western, we didn't know much about.

So did your family not drink wine at home?

CK: Oh, yes, all the time.

Table wine?

CK: Yes. It mostly came from (couldn't decipher word) South Australia. The old man would come back with booze. It’d never cost anything. I remember once when I had the mumps. How old are you when you get the mumps? About twelve or so. I was lying in bed and not feeling too happy, and Mother came along and said, ‘I know what you need, dear. A nice glass of Claret’. (Laughter) Because I wasn't eating too well. So I had a bloody glass of Claret and improved my appetite when I had the mumps.

Was that your first taste, was it?

CK: Oh, no. Goodness me, no. It was commonplace, but we didn't just sit down and drink it at the table. Not like the French or Italians or others. We certainly were never discouraged from tasting. I suppose it's fair to say that from quite an early age I tasted wine, and anything else that was about. You know, brandy, wine. There was plenty of stuff and it was cheap.

But at Roseworthy you had teachers like Fornachon and Williams who excelled in winemaking really, didn't they?

CK: Fornachon was a microbiologist. I don't want to be hard on him. He was a wonderful tutor in microbiology and so on, and what he knew about winemaking was what he had to know. His older brother, who was at Angoves, was killed in an accident. I suppose the main reason I was in South Australia was because of the winemaking and viticulture that was everywhere. Otherwise I could've gone somewhere else.

You had a contact with Angoves as well, didn't you?

CK: Angoves set-up was close anyway. Ron Haselgrove came into Mildura winery because Emu Wine Company London, or somebody like that, was complaining about lack of bacillus in the wine. Of course winemaking wasn't the greatest industry in Mildura by any means, with dried fruit being the major thing. And then out of the town there were plenty of sheep stations. Gosh, I’ve almost forgotten. Plenty of activity. It was a busy town. Even in the depression the commercial travellers used to say that this is the only town where we see a new car and the women with new hats. We were pleased to see them because it was so isolated. The two young blokes, working like hell in the winery, to have fellows who were youngish blokes come along in nice suits and spin a yarn or two about Ballarat or Melbourne or Geelong, we were always pleased to see them. We’d take them into the Settlers Club or somewhere like that. You had to be twenty- one to go in there, so we’d be in and out. When I was twenty-one I applied for membership. (Laughter)

So Mr Chaffey, how did you come to be asked to go to Emu winery?

CK: Colin Haselgrove came up—Emu had moved from Melbourne. Their Head Office was in Melbourne. They'd bought Walkers in Morphett Vale, and Colin was on the Board and was probably winemaker at Hardys. Mile End mostly. Mile End and McLaren Vale. They needed somebody down there. They had a very nice old member of the family, Sidney Dunstan, who was the old fashioned winery manager, if you like, and winemaker. Nobody had been trained. We were the first properly trained oenologists in the industry. (Sounds like, Noel) and I are obviously the oldest of the properly trained, living. I just can't think of anybody older. You know, the Haselgroves are dead. And Guinand(?).

Max Hackett’s long dead.

CK: And he was at Tarac anyway. Left Renmark and went to Tarac.

Charlie Kelly died a long time ago.

CK: Yes. I know younger blokes like Jim Barry. I know those young fellows. And Gramp. And even Sid’s dead. Sid wasn't trained anyway as a winemaker. Never was. I don't think Colin did the oenology course. He didn't have to. They were lucky, they didn't have to work. (Laughs)

He was forced into it though, wasn't he, with the death of his father.

CK: Oh, yes.

That was pretty sad.

CK: I was there when the Kyeema crashed. I was at Roseworthy. The Housemaster came along and said that there were three or four more jobs in the wineries, that Hardy, Hill Smith and Gramp had been killed.

So tell me what you found when you went to Emu. Was it just being established then or had Colin Haselgrove already set it up?

CK: It was pretty well established. Walker and co, of course, had been exporting wine from there. Really it was pretty well set up. The laboratory side of course,

nobody was able to do much in the way of analysis. The Emu Wine Company were essentially buyers and blenders of wine.

The interesting and wonderful experience I got was in that the Emu Wine Company virtually kept lots and lots of little wineries all around South Australia solvent, particularly in the southern area, and each year after vintage, we’d buy their wine. They'd bring samples in, and my job was to make up blends in the laboratory. Of course these had to be standardised in colour and strength and character and so on to be sent to England year after year. And of course we made a hell of a lot of sweet wine blends by buying from Angoves and Berri. Very often we’d have it sent direct from Mildura, Angoves, Berri. Others like Waikerie occasionally.

Also we had a railway siding built into the winery. Morphett Vale, we’d have stuff trucked straight down, and we had facilities for emptying hogsheads straight in. Roll them off the trucks and down under a hole in the floor and then they’d pump it away. We’d make 50-odd thousand gallon blends on order. It would depend on shipping a lot.

So it was very large scale, in other words.

CK: Oh, yes. We’d send hundreds of thousands of gallons a year to London. Not necessarily London. It went to Newcastle, Belfast, London.

Canada?

CK: Oh, yes, Canada. The Emu Wine Company virtually owned the industry in Canada, which was a bit tricky because of the government regulations and so on.

It was all government controlled in each province. So in each province we had to get past the—whatever he called himself. I can't think now.

Did you export any at all to India -

CK: Oh, yes.

- and Asia?

CK: Mind you, this is before the war when I was lucky to have been there long enough to get a glimpse of what was going on in the export. We had quite a big trade in sending wine to missions in India, Java and what's now Indonesia, India, and Borneo I think. I think I’m right.

That makes sense.

Burma maybe?

CK: Yes. Wherever there were red spots.

So it was a big enterprise in other words.

CK: The Emu Wine Company was the biggest wine company in Australia, and in England, but of course unfortunately the war undid it. Firstly, Chapman—what was his name? Not Jimmy. His father. Anyway, he was head of it and he got knocked off in the blitz or something. A buzz bomb hit the cellars in Bromley (couldn't decipher word). In fact, Colin asked me after the war—by then I was

married and back there—if I’d consider going to England for a couple of years. I said, ‘Oh, yes, I would for a couple of years’. I wasn't too anxious to have my kids grow up there. I wanted them back in Australia because of the buzz bomb.

It was a different set-up in England. The bloke running it had been the cigarette people, three 3’s, three 4’s and three 5’s brands and so on, but of course the big thing is that we sold in England. We had an A class wine and a C class wine, and the C class would sell for about two and six a bottle in Bristol and places like that, and in the industrial areas, and the A class was about three and six. It was alright. The wine was good standard. It had to be.

The actual flor sherries that went from there were supposed to be extremely good.

BC: Later on, we got stuck into making large quantities of flor sherry.

This is after the Second War, was it?

BC: Yes. We got stuck into it really when I got back. We were playing around with it in the beginning.

Did you come back in ‘46?

BC: No, the end of ‘45. At the end of the war. I ran into Colin and Mick Auld and someone else in Melbourne. Bumped into them. I must've been down on leave or something. In fact I think I was going out for a jungle hardening course or something when I saw them. I said, ‘Look, the Air Force has had it. There's no doubt about the war. It’s as good as over’. I can't remember whether I’d just finished a general reconnaissance course, in which case I was quite happy to take

the next posting. I’d been down to the directorate of postings, and one of my old flying instructor mates was the Director, and I said, ‘What about it?’ He said, ‘The bloody war’s over. It's as good as over’. This is the last week or so before the bomb dropped. I said, ‘Well, my chances of getting under Catalinas—because my wife came from Lake Macquarie and was up there in Newcastle with the family. They said, ‘Yes, you've got a posting for that but they're running out of parts, running out of aircraft, and before long will run out of war’. Well, I wasn't to know but I could've been transporting prisoners of war and so on. Apart from my Air Force experience I suppose, and duty, I would've been thinking about Emu Wine Company and about my wife and kid.

Had you been overseas at all?

BC: No. I was kept as a flying instructor. Six of us were pulled out in Geraldton when we finished our course in early ‘41. We didn't like that but we were sent to central flying school, (sounds like, called the) University of the Air at Camden, New South. They'd taken over Macarthur Island’s airport and they sent six RAF instructors out. We had some English Avro trainers and Tiger Moths and Oxfords(?). I think we might've had a couple of Wirraways. So I was with my six mates sent on to Tiger Moths, and so I did a course there on Tiger Moths, and was then sent as one of the first instructors a month or so after they'd formed Temora elementary flying training school. I still strike one or two who are still alive and we’d talk about it.

We had two aircraft each, and ground crew. We taught them to fly, too, in the end. We just flew night and day, and especially when things were nasty. We didn't get any leave for months at a time. I flew over 1,000 hours on bloody Tiger Moths and that type. We were too valuable. They wouldn't post us, but eventually they posted us. I got a posting on to Wirraway conversion in

Tamworth and did a fortnight up there, and then down to Deniliquin and sew up 1,000 hours on Wirraways, or that type. Plenty of my mates were killed.

By the time you met up with Mick Auld and Colin Haselgove you were married and had a son?

BC: Got married in August ‘42 because, you know, we were just bloody flying instructors and didn't look like getting out of it. Anne was born in May ‘45. That's why I tried to get on to Catalinas because (couldn't decipher word). You know, Lake Macquarie nearby. The bloody war had had it by then. I was posted all over the place.

So you got back to Emu before the end of ‘45?

BC: Yes. I was flying up and down the coast of course. I’d search. All sorts of searches. We’d fly from there right up to Queensland. Sydney Harbour at 100 feet.

Well, it had to be done.

BC: Oh, yes. Looking for subs and ships. Four of my mates went in—ten minutes behind me. We were in cloud at low level. We broke cloud and here's a 150 foot bloody water spout alongside. We were ten minute intervals. There were four flight lieutenants and a WRAAF(?) on this bloody thing. Three of them were flying instructors, and the air gunner was a Flight Lieutenant just back from Burma. It would've been 10,000 flying hours.

The poor little bloody WRAAF(?)—I felt a bit guilty about it. She came up to us when the fans(?) were turning at Williamtown—we were about to take off—and she said, ‘Oh, look, my husband’s a liberated pilot. He's in hospital in Greenslopes Brisbane. Can I get a ride?’ I said, ‘Look, we’re going, as you can see. That aircraft’s ten minutes behind us’. In fact, I jumped out, ran over, yelled through the door, ‘Give this little sheila a ride up to bloody Brisbane, will you?’ They said ‘Okay. Hop in’. So I took off and ten minutes later—we didn't know but Evans Head nearby had been wrecked in a tornado. We couldn't land. We just had enough fuel to continue on up to Brisbane and landed at Lowood. When we got there the news came that one was missing. We waited and waited and waited, thinking lost or something. We knew he couldn't land at Evans Head. And I’d known the bloke. He'd been a flying instructor. That's three of them that had been flying instructors from me, and two of them were permanent Royal Air Force blokes who'd re-mustered into air crew and been commissioned eventually.

So after all that, and meeting Haselgrove again, you came back to Emu. Is that about the time you started on the flor sherry work?

BC: It was about that time we started to make it in quantity. We never gave up making it. We had casks, old puncheons—Spanish sherry puncheons—with flor on them, and we had a very cool winery. We had them stacked around. Every winemaker was getting interested of course. Colin said, ‘We want to have a go at this on a big scale’. So then we started using fermenting vats, and put tops on them, and put dry white wine at the same depth in each one, and then seeding them. That was my job. Big job. Thousands of gallons of this stuff. I had to check it and analyse it regularly to take it off and fortify it at its peak, and they were always fortified to a fairly low strength. Say about 31% proof, whereas export wine was about 34 or 35 or so. We turned out some pretty good stuff. Mildura winery of course hooked on to it, too, with Haselgrove and his brother

there. I’d go up often of course. My father and mother were there. Went to see them. I grew up with a lot of them.

Is it true that at Emu you used Hume pipes for part of the flor work?

BC: I’m forgetting the terminology. We had Hume pipes, which we waxed of course. Wouldn't matter what they were as long as its concrete. The fermenting tanks we used were paraffin waxed anyway. We had four Hume pipes, which I used for seeding. Again, the same depth. It wouldn't matter whether it was that mug or the bloody tank out there that's ten feet across, the depth would be the same. We’d start our cultures in these. But once they had the great fermenting cellar going we’d take it from one to the other, or we’d check them through a microscope for purity and so on as best we could. We kept the cultures going in Hume pipes but plenty of people used Hume pipes for other things. Especially Italian winemakers.

Tell me a little bit about some of the people in the industry that you got to know.

BC: Well, I knew everybody of course. Everyone knew everyone, as different from today. I don't know anybody. But I knew them, knew their kids, knew their wives, their aunts, their uncles. Knew everybody. We were all friends. You could hit your own mother on the head for five bob but we were still friends. (Laughs)

Well, tell me about down south there. Did you know people like the Kays?

BC: That’s another point. Before my days at the Emu Wine Company I obviously knew a lot of people because of family. I’m the third generation wine

industry bloke. Those we wouldn't meet in Mildura, Rutherglen or—Hans Irvine, I think it was, had Great Western Seppelts before Seppelts. Dad knew all these people. They'd visit us of course. And don't forget, Mildura winery sold spirit to all these people. Mostly Dad would visit them, but they'd come up and visit us, and then Mother would entertain them and I’d meet them.

During the war I never missed an opportunity. I’d go into Leo Burings in George Street and get a bloody free drink, and go out to Hardys (sounds like, off Oxford) Street. In uniform of course. I’d drive through there.

Kelly, a wild bastard he was. Young Jim Hardy was under Kelly. Personally I think it's a pity. They had jockeys and trainers and bloody bookmakers. I could mention others there. Jim was only young of course. He was only a kid when I was back at Emu. (Couldn't decipher name) Hardy, of course, put the family through school. Poor old (couldn't decipher word) didn't have any dough.

Well, in Western Australia, Pierce(?), an old, old winemaker who used to be at Merbein/Mildura winery was nearby in a little winery—in Valencia—so I rang him. You know, we were only trainees nearby. I rang him and said, ‘Look, we can get off. Can I come?’ And I took Harold Woodroofe, (sounds like, on) course for me at Roseworthy. He was the one I was trying to think of. Harold and I were both trainees in the Air Force. And he said, ‘Yes, Jean will pick you up’. Jean took me to school at Merbein state school. She must've been probably ten or eleven when I was six or seven. I was late getting to school because of America and so on. One of them picked us up. It was Wilson. Huge man. Big, tall man. I remembered him well at Merbein. Everybody was friendly with everybody else.

They took us to this place near Valencia, not far from (couldn't decipher word) in the Swan Valley. Jean raced down the path and threw her arms around Woodroofe. (Laughter) She thought it was me. Woody, who's taller than me, was dark-haired, and he mightn’t have had a moustache then. He did look most like me. (Laughs) Anyway, they entertained us, and of course had a look through the little winery. Then went back more than once.

The other joint, Houghton, was nearby too. That's right. They were beaut little places. I would've loved to have run one. You know, just lovely lifestyle. And so when I got back after the war, shortly Colin said to me, ‘Look, I’m going over to bloody Western Australia. Valencia winery’s over there and it's for sale’. I said, ‘Colin, I can tell you all about it’. I could tell him the layout, the lot. I said, ‘It’s a beaut little joint. I wouldn't mind but what's the good of it to any wine (couldn't decipher word), bloody big huge company like that’. He said, ‘It’d give us a toehold in WA’. So he was very pleased.

John Seppelt was going over to have a sniff, too. Well, Colin was a much shrewder businessman than John, and he got it anyway. And then they got Houghtons too. I forget exactly how. Two nice little wineries.

It's a lovely area, isn't it?

BC: Oh, beaut, yes. Young Sam there, you know in his course, we went over for his graduation. His defacto wife who lives here—bloody lovely woman. They don't believe in marriage, these people. They were treated as husband and wife in the Air Force. He'd been flying—Point Cook. We stayed in this house in Pearce(?). All changed from when I was there. I was able to tell the Wing Commander—CO of his unit and others—about my day there. I said I was there in 1940, fifty-nine years ago, or something like that. They were most interested. Where central flying school was and where we went from there.

I forget what I was going to say.

OH 692/21 TAPE 2 - SIDE A

AUSTRALIAN WINE ORAL HISTORY.

Interview with Ben Chaffey on 5th March, 2003.

Interviewer: Rob Linn.

BC: And then of course in latter years when Charlie Kelly—Ian Smith, I gave him his first job at Emu. I had to board in places like South Brighton, after Morphett Vale pub got a bit too quiet. That's right. By the time war broke out I’d moved to South Brighton. It was near Ian Smith, and I gave him a job at Emu. But he was in anyway because he was keen on yachting and Colin was a yachtsman. (Laughs) Then sent him to Western Australia after the war, and I’d see them over there.

Did you meet Jack Mann over there?

BC: Oh, yes, I knew him. Yes, Jack Mann and Dorham.

And did you know Corin as well? Corin Mann, their daughter.

BC: No. I knew plenty because in my own business—Seaview wine—we had a distributor, so I met plenty.

A bloke named Rowe went to Roseworthy. Obviously after we finished Roseworthy and went to wineries we’d meet plenty of Roseworthy blokes who'd be brought to the winery for trips through.

But getting back to people we knew, well, we knew everybody. The Martin family, I grew up with them. Ruth and I were mates years ago. She was killed. I used to go over to Kangaroo Island with Henry. Ronald Martin, his father, would come to Mildura often. Bill Anderson and blokes on the Board would bring mates up with them. After a Board meeting, if I happened to be there, we’d go to the Mildura Grand Hotel. (Couldn't decipher name) was on the Board for twenty-five years.

So basically you just had this relationship with everybody in the industry?

BC: We’d take wives to Sydney to the wine conference, and of course having a New South Welsh girl, you know, had plenty of aunts and uncles and cousins in Sydney, and in Newcastle or Lake Macquarie.

We knew all the McWilliam family. That's where we would meet them of course. And subsequently in my Seaview winery days, it wouldn't be any problem to walk into, say, a McWilliam office. We’d always be welcome. We were all friends.

What was the social life like down around the south here? McLaren Vale.

BC: I was going on to say that I got to know them all even better because the Emu Wine Company bought the produce of all the little wineries.

Cud Kay had a brother at Roseworthy, who was doing the agricultural course, and I’d go home with him to Rosslyn Park for the weekend because wine, again, was the association.

Young Peter Ingoldby was sent to Roseworthy when he was—I’ve forgotten but I think it was when I was doing the oenology course.

And Noel Burge. We’d push bikes out in the agricultural days to his winery, and take a bloody flagon home illicitly and that sort of thing. So I knew him before he started. Then of course he had to do his agricultural course. He and Shipster and blokes like that were behind me. Younger than me, and I’d know them.

So was Cud Kay older than you?

BC: Cud died. I was at his funeral. I was born in November and Cud was born in June. Pretty sure it was June. He was only just older. But we were neighbours and great friends. Even when we all had babies, every Saturday night we’d have a dinner party or a party at one or other house. All friends. We’d take the kids and dump them in the bedrooms. Cud was wonderful. A wonderful neighbour and friend. I knew him, obviously.

(Tape restarted)

So his brother was at Roseworthy?

BC: Yes. (Sounds like, Jed) had a twin brother who stayed at the winery and joined up and got killed in Malaya. I know them all because of the wine samples.

Johnstons, of course. I knew them all.

Pirramimma.

BC: And Mildura winery, anyway, would supply a bit of spirit to these people.

Gilberts. Little winery in Eden Valley. No, it wasn't. Oh, I’ve forgotten.

Well, actually it is Eden Valley, strictly speaking, but it's back inland.

BC: Yes. I’ve forgotten what it was called. Not Williamstown.

Mount Crawford.

BC: No. Oh, there's a reservoir there now, or something.

Oh, yes. Williamstown area. Mount Pleasant.

BC: No, it wasn't. It's another name. Anyway, you'd know them all. And then of course in Seaview winery days, I’d obviously know them all. Go and see them all.

Well, Mr Chaffey, how did Seaview begin?

BC: Well, Seaview was founded in 1850 by some English migrants who came out from Cambridgeshire. I don't know whether they squatted or bought the land. They planted some vines. Their name was Manning.

George Pitches Manning, wasn't it?

BC: Yes. All of this has been documented, you know. (Sounds like, Adele Pridmore in Rich Valley) and all of those. They planted vines and made a bit of wine. They dug out a very useful underground cellar and put a thatched roof over it, and then they put concrete around it. Their first commercial transaction was in 1855.

What attracted you to it?

BC: I was visiting Geoff Kay, second cousin of Cud’s. He'd sent samples in. Colin was away in London or somewhere and I had the responsibility of checking on everything. I didn't have him to refer to, in other words. The samples he sent in were a bit suspect. So I thought I’d better go down and see him and have a look at it. He was pretty despondent about all his sons being more interested in sheep and cattle and horses, and they were running in the vineyard. I said, ‘Look, I’ll have to take it into Emu. I can't take the responsibility to take it in and blend it and germ-proof (couldn't decipher words)’. He said, ‘I was looking forward to keeping it in the vats to keep them tight’. You know, we’d work in with all of them, instead of putting water in, which isn't good. So we went up to his house. (Sounds like, Roma) was with me, as a matter of fact. I had the Emu sedan. He said, ‘I think I’ll sell the place’. I had an ex Wing Commander mate of mine who'd married an Adelaide girl. He was a permanent Air Force bloke and, obviously, we’d see a fair bit of him socially here. He came from up in the Snowy Mountains. What's the big town there? Where they dug the hole through.

Yes, I know where you mean.

BC: Isn't it stupid?

Anyway, they'd been there a hundred years, up above the snow line some of it, and sheep, and he thought he'd like to live in South Australia. He had his eye on vineyards. He liked the romance of the wine industry, you know. And Joy lived here. I said, ‘Look, I’ll do all I can to help you. We’ll find a vineyard for you, but take it into Emu Wine Company to handle it’. He said, ‘Oh, yes, I don't know anything about it’. He was a permanent Air Force bloke. Went from Shaw down to Point Cook. He got a couple of DFC’s out of it in the desert and that sort of thing.

So when Jeff Kay said, ‘I’ll sell it’, I said, ‘Look, have you told anybody?’ He said, ‘No, just thought of it’. I said, ‘Will you keep quiet for a week’. So I drove back to Emu and I rang Alan Ferguson and said, ‘Look, Alan, I’ve just struck a place that's got a little winery on it. It's got vineyard and we’ll take—as usual— the wine. I can handle all that from Emu’. He said, ‘I’ll come over straight away’. So he flew over.

We went down a day or two later, and I took a shovel with me and he dug into the vineyard here and there. 160 acres of land. He said, ‘You know, I don't know any bloody thing about this’. I said, ‘You don't have to, we’ll do it for you’. He said, ‘I reckon we ought to buy this place’. I said, ‘I think so. That's why I sent for you’. And he said, ‘Look, I’ll only do it if you come in with me’. I said, ‘Look, I was spending the rest of my time with Emu’.

I about it thought afterwards and I chewed it over and discussed it with Roma(?). I thought, well, Hitler was a bit of a bastard but at least he sent us out to have a go on our own, sort of thing. So I said, ‘Alright’, though I had a word with Colin. I said, ‘Look, Colin, I don't want to double-deal in any way. I reckon I’ll go out with him and give him a hand’. He said, ‘That's alright. You've got to take your chances. You can bring your bloody stuff here’. So we sold everything we made in there, made under my supervision of course—the type we wanted.

Most of Alan’s mates were up in New Guinea. Permanent Air Force blokes. I knew a lot of them. Someone started in timber, some flying. One, Bobby Gibbs,

had a little airline and bought a pub or two. Others were getting stuck into coffee. Alan liked the idea of it and reckoned there was more money in that than anything else.

Alan had itchy feet obviously and wanted to go. He thought we could just sell out, or sell his half, like that. I didn't have any dough. I’d borrowed 100 quid to put down as a deposit on the place. Fortunately the head finance bloke in the Bank of New South Wales had been an ex Air Force mate of mine—you know, flying instructor—and he’d lent me the 100 quid.

Finance was quite hard to come by, was it?

BC: Nobody trusted bloody wineries. What's the town that Ferguson came from? Up in the Blue Mountains.

Lady’s voice: Cooma.

BC: Apparently for 100 years they'd been dealing with the Commercial Banking Company of Sydney. I knew a bit about them because of the Mildura winery. They were as lousy as buggery. Mildura winery switched to the Bank of New South Wales.

So I said, ‘Alright, I don't know much about them except that I don't like them, and I don't think they like wineries’. So he said, ‘That's alright. (Couldn't decipher word) will get in touch with them’. So they got in touch Roger— whatever his name was—in the Bank here. He was only a lackey for Sydney anyway. He lent us four and a half thousand or something.

Ferguson’s very canny. The family, I don't think they were stupid enough to guarantee it but they backed it in some way or another, and before too long we had to start paying them back. That's after the first vintage.

We went to Gramps and places—all friends—and bought second-hand machinery. They were progressing, and they were throwing out an old press and pump and so on. We put that in on New Year’s Day.

So what year would this have been?

BC: New Year’s Day 1948, we dropped Gramp’s second-hand pump thing into this bloody great hole we’d dug. Ferguson was very good with machinery. He was a pilot and he was very mechanically minded. And we got an International petrol driven tractor engine. We sat that up, and we had machinery and belts and counterweights and goodness knows what. We didn't have anything except what we bought. There was a hand operated press, and we got a torch and we burnt that off—I think the Italians bought that—and put this other thing in. And we got going. First vintage was a bit messy but we worked day and night. Go out pruning in the winter in the bloody dark.

Was the whole acreage under vine?

BC: No. There was maybe 90.

Whew! That's a lot though.

BC: Yes, but it was 100 years old. You could bury a horse in some of it. You know, with the erosion. We depended on grape growers. They'd had a gutful of

Hardys and Penfolds—bigger places—because they paid them less than they paid the Marion growers and didn't pay them cartage and so on. So they got behind us and said they'd let us have a load of grapes each. Well, a lot of them did. Loyal blokes they were. And I knew them of course from Emu Wine Company. (Laughs).

Emu wanted some Pedro for their flor sherry. Well, screeching for that. We had contracts with Tolleys because they had some Pedro up in the Barossa. Pedro around McLaren Vale was pretty tightly held but there was a fair bit on Marion plain. Hamiltons used to get that. So we got in on that and paid them five bob more, or something. That caused a hell of a row with Hardys. Ken Hardy was a very mean type of bloke. You know, (couldn't decipher word) little bastards just getting a start. Anyway, Colin didn't care because he got it for Emu.

We had baskets made and we’d sit them in the fermenting tanks—these wooden baskets—and pump the Pedro juice in, and run the juice out and ferment it. And Emu took everything for a year or two and that kept us solvent of course. We knew nothing about business.

Well, Mr Chaffey, was it called Seaview Wine Company at that time?

BC: No. That was Seaview Ward. The Chief Justice, Sir Samuel Way, had his private chapel at the end, and the adjoining place was called Seaview. It was his country estate. The whole area in the Noarlunga Council was called Seaview, and at the top of the property—we were 550 feet up—we could see right down to Kangaroo Island on a good day. But we called it (sounds like, Ben-Alan)—Ben and Alan for a start. Ferguson liked the idea and was all romantic and so on.

But then I went into Marion plain to pay some of the growers—Friend Edwards being one of them—and half of his place was bulldozed. It was the first Housing Trust’s purchase in Marion, near Hamiltons. I said, ‘What the hell are you doing

here?’ And he said, ‘The bloody Housing Trust’s bought it. I don't know what I’m going to do now’. And I said, ‘What about thinking of coming in with us’, because I was pretty worried about it. As it happened, it was good and he saved my bacon.

At a Bacchus Club show, where Emu Wine Company happened to be, I was talking to Archie Manning, who was Manager of the State Bank, and they only lent to cooperative wineries. No other private show at all. I said, ‘I’m buggered. I’ve got to find some money and find somebody to come in here’. He said, ‘Look, bring your books in. Go to Roger and get the books and bring them into me. Tell Roger you're going to show me the books’. So I did that. He said to me, ‘Look, go back and offer Ferguson so much—whatever it was—and come back and see me’. By then Alan was back home in Cooma, or Sydney, or maybe New Guinea.

Well, I knew nothing about finance. I should've done it because Ben(?) would've had it on—but by then I was getting pretty bloody harassed, if you like. I don't know how I’d gone for the first year or so with all the worry and everything, but there wasn't any bloke in the wine industry better trained technically, or experienced. You know, the Emu experience, apart from Mildura and other places I might've been in, and I was older than a lot of blokes.

Anyway, Friend came in, and Martin Kriewaldt who ended up as Judge for the Northern Territory and was an Air Force legal eagle—we both knew him. Alan had been CO of Mallala, again having blokes on Ansons, I think. I think Martin might've been out there for a while.

Anyway, we got Martin to form our companies, Alan and I for a start, and then I went in obviously and saw Friend, and Martin just fixed it all up. Nothing was any trouble to Martin. I said, ‘Look, Alan’s son’s a judge now—well known bloke—and Alan’s got him looking after his affairs and he wants something settled by, say, seven days’. Martin said, ‘Oh, that's nothing. I’ll have lunch with him and we’ll have a couple of beers and I’ll say, “Look here! Bugger this. We’ll

need a few days and we’ll fix that all up”’. (Laughs) From that day on I knew that lawyers had it all their own way.

Martin was, as I said, in the Air Force—he’s a lawyer—and he said that he went into Point Cook to do his rookie’s course and the bloody great Warrant Officer handed him boots and handed him everything else, and said, ‘Sign here. What's the name?’ Martin said, ‘Kriewaldt’. And he said, ‘Dutch, are you?’ (Laughter) ‘No, I’m fuckin’ German’. (Laughter) Martin said that the bloke took two steps back.

Anyway, Martin and I—I struck him on the Court of Inquiry. A mate of mine in a Wirraway, dust storm and light rain, and I was out taxiing with a pupil. In fact, a dust storm coming up from Deniliquin. This joker passed me with his tail up. In a Wirraway, mind you, you've got to taxi pretty fast, almost at take-off speed. He decided he'd get out a bit and he ran up another aircraft with a mate of mine, Des Brennan, in it. (Laughs) Des jumped over the side. You know, we sat in the back in Wirraways. Ours would've been chopped to ribbons. They put Joe on a charge and so it meant a Court of Inquiry. And Martin came along. And Bill (sounds like, Gowring), a friend of ours—he’s still alive in Sydney, and we ring. He's not doing too badly. He's in a nursing home. Bill was the President, and Bill had had a taxiing accident in Point Cook years before. And before long, Joe, who was a flying officer, had 1200 flying hours or something, and Martin who was on a (couldn't decipher word) negligence charge—and so Martin pulled(?) up the whole court. By then we’d had long enough to have a trip up there and so on. He said, ‘Look, this is a criminal charge. A flying officer with 1200 hours, and a flying instructor at that, doesn't commit criminal offences. He's wrongly charged’. It should've been—oh, without due care or something stupid. Anyway, he said, ‘Members of the Court would know about taxiing accidents’. And here's old Bill! (Laughter) He’d cleaned up two or three bloody old fashioned aircraft—Wapities or something—down at Point Cook. Grins all round, and they dismissed the charge.

So was Martin Kriewaldt a partner of yours in the business, or just your lawyer?

BC: Solicitor.

So it was you and Edwards primarily.

BC: Yes, Edwards and I, 50 each.

So did Edwards buy out Ferguson? Is that right?

BC: Between us we bought him out. Martin just fixed the figures.

So what was Edwards’ Christian name?

BC: Friend. He wasn't a Quaker but it was a family name. Friend Henry Edwards. People often used to say, ‘Are you a Quaker?’ He'd say, ‘No’.

TAPE 2 - SIDE B

So you established the partnership.

BC: It wasn't a partnership, it was a company.

Sorry. A limited company.

BC: Changed the name from Ferguson and Chaffey to Edwards and Chaffey at my insistence. Friend wanted Chaffey Limited or even Chaffey and Edwards. I said, ‘No. You've saved my life’, sort of thing.

Was he a silent partner, pretty much?

BC: No, he was wonderful. He was looking for something to do. Big strong bloke. He could work like buggery. Mostly vintage, you see. Never had any wine experience, but he could work like blazes.

So he was a great help?

BC: Oh, yes. Bob, his son, is a doctor of philosophy or something now.

I know Bob Edwards.

BC: You know Bob?

Yes.

BC: It was through Friend—McRostie and growers in Melbourne used to handle a lot of Marion growers’ produce, and there was an Adelaide bloke. So McRostie said, ‘Look, I’ve got all these Italians and others here—Melbourne market. I think we ought to get a licence over here in (couldn't decipher word)’. We were selling 50,000 gallons of dry red a year -

Really?

BC: - in Fitzroy and Carlton.

So was that off your own vineyard?

BC: No.

You're picking up from your other growers?

BC: Yes. By the way, we contoured the vineyard with Government help and so on, and we were putting in more and more varieties, but it takes years to get them. We were starting to bulldoze over a bit of scrub we had. Then we bought a bit of land nearby. We called it Chapel Vineyard at the top, and eventually bought some of the original Seaview property. We were starting to get along alright then, but we were putting everything back into it.

This is in the 50’s, is it, by now?

BC: Yes, but we were starting to get a bit of a name. We had a distributor here and there. Franz Castle, a German Jew distributor, in Sydney. He was only selling in the best places. Expensive places, you know. We were getting quite a name. And we took some good prices.

This is for your dry reds mainly?

BC: Well, I say mainly. It was mainly a dry red area, but we started to get a name for white wines and took the Australasian Champion Vermouth growers— I’ll show you the photo in a minute—and the Cups for two years running, at least. Dry French Vermouth. And we had some pretty good Port and stuff like that. I remember we got a prize for a Vintage Port, but it was mostly dry reds that we were known for. And that was a great help. We became pretty well known. We had distributors in Victoria. A good one in Adelaide—Keith Waterman. Keith really shifted stuff for us. We bought a hell of a lot of wine in the end. We couldn't make enough. And bought from Cud Kay.

Who did your label for you, do you know?

BC: Yes. Garth Rawlings. I forget what they called themselves. It was the art side of the News. Garth was a commercial artist, anyway. They were good labels. I don't know why the mob who eventually bought us out wanted to change it. You mean the original one?

Yes.

So you were beginning to get a name, you were saying.

BC: We were well known. We were taking prizes in Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne. Franz was getting us into all the best places. I’d go over every three weeks or so and I’d say, ‘Franz, I didn't see our wine in such and such’. He said, ‘Do you want to give it to them? They owe us a thousand quid or something’. I said, ‘No, of course not’. He said, ‘I’ll only sell, being a Jew, to those who pay’.

And I’d sit down in an expensive restaurant and I’d find Seaview was the dearest. I’d say, ‘What's this about?’ He'd say, ‘Look, you've got to know the psychology of the people who come in. You're unknown virtually. It's no good competing with Penfolds and Seppelts and others. A bookmaker will bring his kid in for a 21st birthday and he'll be showing off, and he won't know Melbourne Bitter from bloody Claret, and he’ll look on the list and see Seaview at ten and six a bottle, whereas the others are eight and six. So he’ll order Seaview’. (Laughter) It apparently worked.

So you were very much dependent on your agents.

BC: Well, it sounds like bragging but I reckon we could've sold without them. They approached us. And one in Perth took a fair bit of stuff. Melbourne was a big crowd—Swift & Company. Swift and Moore(?) was their offshoot, and he said, ‘I’d better sell your stuff’. We had a bloke in Melbourne we couldn't trust, and fell out with him. And this bloke, whom I knew—knew everybody in the liquor industry. It's terrible, I’ve just forgotten his name. But he said, ‘I’m in charge of this. I’ll take it’. They had a huge warehouse in Melbourne and they took thousands of dollars worth, and stacked it up, and paid for it and started to sell it. I don't know about the Melbourne Club but I think if they could get it cheap enough they'd buy it.

And good pubs. I’d stay at the Wentworth in Sydney and we’d sell them 250 dozen a month of White Burgundy. Houghtons White Burgundy was the only one anyone knew. They didn't really turn out a lot of it. So we made it out of

Sauvignon Blanc. It was bloody good. White Burgundy. And Castle just got in touch with them and they'd take it.

By this time, Mr Chaffey, the whole industry was changing away from the fortified to table wine.

BC: Well and truly. I’ve still got a bottle of ‘52.

(Tape restarted)

Mr Chaffey, we were talking about the early 50’s, I think.

BC: When we started we were the first people in the area to bottle wine. In fact, one of the drawbacks to the district was that Hardys, for one, would never admit to using local wine for bottling. I spoke to Roger Warren, whom I knew well. We all knew one another. It was at the Show tasting wine. I said, ‘Roger, how much McLaren Vale’s in this?’ He said, ‘None. I’ve never used it and I won’t use it’. I said, ‘Well, that's bloody nice’. To his credit, David Hardy, who lived near us and was a Roseworthy graduate, stuck into the vineyard side of it—he lived opposite Cud and we saw one another almost every weekend at parties and so on. David came along one day and said, ‘Look, can I have a bottle of Riesling and a bottle of Claret and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I think a bottle of Cabernet Shiraz. I’m going to a meeting of the company—presumably in Mile End—and I’d like to take this to them’. I said, ‘Yes, of course, David’.

So David took them to the meeting and said, ‘Look, this is what's being done. These people are getting prizes. The stuff’s good. We can open and try it’. They would've known anyway because they'd obviously check any competition in

hotels. So from then on they took more interest. But it definitely held the district back in that way.

So we were the first ones to bottle, and it was quite a technical chore, I can tell you. We didn't have the money and the facilities that other big winemakers, like Gramps for instance, would've had and so we had to be very, very careful from a technical point of view. I had to supervise it and watch it very, very carefully. And when we got the money we’d buy a decent corking machine instead of hand corkers, and bought better germ-proof filters and stainless steel tanks and so on, but it took us quite a while to get into it.

Did you have your own bottling line?

BC: Oh, yes. We had our own bottling lines.

It wouldn't have been a sterile system at that stage, would it?

BC: As sterile as we could make it. Obviously, germ-proof filter into sterile stainless steel tanks. Yes, it was but it wasn't a tremendously expensive line. We did what we could with the money we had. But then of course, every quid we got we put back into it. By 1955 we were not only taking some nice prizes but we were turning out some pretty decent wine. We were among the first to take out shares in the Australian Fine Wines in Frith Street, Soho. One end of the barrel was painted Edwards & Chaffey, and the Governor was good enough to stand in front of that when the TV cameras were on it, so we got a pretty good plug that time. (Laughs) This is in London, Frith Street, of course. And Stuart Foulds I knew well and used to pay visits there. I’d send what English friends I could along, or Australian friends for that matter, to buy a bit of booze there. I was sorry to see it fold up.

So did the wine industry take off in the 60’s pretty much for you?

BC: Our first crushing was in 1948, and obviously we sold pretty well everything we had in bulk. Not only the Emu Wine Company but Mildura. They’d send us the spirit and we’d make a Port for them. Emu would send a spirit and fortify their wines. We sold to all the other merchants like Seabrook in Melbourne and (sounds like, Fi-a-relli) in Sydney and so on, until eventually we started to bottle our own. We bottled and sold in bulk for a while, quite obviously.

The ones that really helped us were Yalumba. Windy Hill Smith. We’d sell him pretty good dry red. Actually he often used to say in front of other people, which was very helpful, that he took a prize with it. You know, he'd never hesitate to say that they’d put that into their Galway range or something like that. Whereas other makers would be very quiet.

Colin Gramp also was very helpful. Barossa reckoned they couldn't make the dry reds that we did, so we’d sell him dry red. We sold Yalumba dry red. Penfolds were very helpful and would buy a lot of wine from us. Lindemans, would send that straight to the Hunter Valley. They bought a lot of dry red from us. Mildura winery of course, my old family show. In the end I was on the Board of Mildura winery. When one of my uncles died I took his place. My father and I were on the Board together. I was on the Board for twenty-five years as a matter of fact.

So Mr Chaffey, even though you said that at the beginning you didn't know a lot about business, by the time you'd gone on it had worked out.

BC: Yes. Well, my name’s not Benjamin for nothing. (Laughter)

So what eventually led you to sell out?

BC: Oh, I only had daughters. Anne was married to a doctor. Still is. I got him half full once and said, ‘What about giving up medicine and coming into the wine industry?’ That put him off his booze for half an hour, and he said, ‘Oh, look, I’ve always wanted to be a doctor’. Just as well because he's a senior partner in the biggest pathology down here, and they've been coining money I think.

And then the second one, Belinda, was in England—her second trip—and she was pretty friendly with a permanent naval officer. They ended up being married. Pretty interesting trips around the world of course. Five years in Washington as Australian Defence Attache—Intelligence.

And Debbie was only a baby, and she's been in California since ‘81. I didn't think anybody they married could help me. So I was beginning to get a bit tired. And also Debbie was still at school in Adelaide and I was sick of catching buses or having them board up here, so we moved.

The Adelaide Brewery came looking for us and said, ‘Look, come to England for three weeks and I’ll show you around’. I said, ‘Well, I want some mob that will sell Australian wine in England. I don't want a repeat of the Emu Wine Company bit’. Eventually they just started buying stuff from Africa and roundabout— Cyprus. He said, ‘I promise you we won't do what Emu did, and we’ve got 14,000 licensed outlets’. So I immediately thought if they sold two dozen in each licensed outlet, there'd be 28,000 gallons of Australian wine. Didn't work out that well because they had their own companies, one working against the other. Like (sounds like, Harveys of) Bristol and British Fine Wines. I forget. Guildford(?). They were the biggest wine people in Europe apparently. Could've been in the world, I’m not sure.

What year did you end up selling out?

BC: Sold out in 1970. I went to England every year for twelve years. You know, had meetings in the first few years. Stuck around the winery for two or three years. They wanted me to stay, and did pay me well, so I thought the only way to get them to move would be to take myself off the payroll. So I was working for nothing. They’d better get somebody.

Oh, I was instrumental in taking over Wynns. I drew up a list in the meeting in London, and I said, ‘Look, we've got 400-odd acres at Coromandel vineyard at Padthaway and Wynns are only thirty miles away at Coonawarra’. By then we’d taken over Glenloth. We’d have to drag it up to Glenloth, about 200 miles, and I said, ‘Not on. We don't want to be building another winery’. I got stuck into it with David Wynn, whom I’d known since we were eighteen year olds. I know him because of Melbourne, and my father and his father, and often met David over in Melbourne and so on. And (couldn't decipher word) at the end of Norwood Parade. I knew them pretty well. So I worked on David quietly. Between the two of us we wanted to keep it quiet. We’d go out into the vineyard for discussions or meet on some other property that we pretended that we were looking at. In the end I rang them in London and said, ‘David’s willing to talk about it’.

Also I should add, Tooheys had a 49% interest in it. So I got Lloyd (sounds like, Hard-i-gan) to fly over from Sydney, and Keith (sounds like, Showering) from London flew out with another bloke, an export bloke I’d never met before as a matter of fact. So between them they just about paid what David wanted, which was a hell of a lot more than I suggested.

When I went through (sounds like, wine), somewhere or other, he suggested that they were too dear. So I saved my pay. I got a quarter of a million for that week, so I didn't feel quite so bad. They still paid much more than they should've.

So you remained interested in the company for quite a while?

BC: They asked me if I’d like to take shares. I said that, no, I would get out because of my daughters in different places. By then I’d had enough, but of course I didn't reckon on inflation.

At one stage they sent an auditor from Melbourne and he was fumbling through the petty cash tickets, and I said, ‘Look, give it away and I’ll pick up the phone and ring them in London’. I knew them well by then, of course. Derek Holden Brown was the Finance Director, and later Chairman. The bloke said, ‘Mr Chaffey doesn't want us fumbling through all these things’. I said, ‘Why should you?’ And Derek said, ‘Give him his cheque’. (Laughs)

Looking back over all the years, what were some of the biggest changes in the industry that you've seen?

BC: The biggest change was in the public acceptance of wine as an adjunct to dining and more than just something you take frivolously.

And then of course the variation in table wines and the move from fortified wines, which was an alternative to beer in beer shortages, to table wines. And of course the Australian tourist who goes abroad a lot, picked up the idea in Europe and came back with it.