Of the three ordained clergymen who came to Victoria with Bishop Charles Perry in 1847, the only survivor is the Venerable Archdeacon Francis Hales, of Launceston, whose interest in the Jubilee of the Victorian Anglican Church has led him to come to Melbourne to take part in it.

The Archdeacon is (states the "Argus") the guest of the Rev. Canon Potter, at All Saints parsonage, St. Kilda, and his reminiscences of the early days are well worth hearing. His connection with Australia goes very much farther back than the Jubilee period, for, to put it in his own way, he "learnt his A B C" in Sydney 73 years ago. He was born in Ireland; but was only three years old when his father, who held a military commission, was ordered to Sydney, and from thence some 18 months later, to Hobart Town, where the family remained for five years. Then followed two or three years in India, after which they returned to England, where the present Archdeacon became in due course the Rev. Francis Hales, took unto himself a wife, and in the latter part of 1847 found himself with Bishop Perry on board the Blackwall liner "Stag," bound for Port Phillip. He spent five or six years in Victoria, and then - in 1853 - became incumbent at Launceston, Tasmania, where he has remained ever since.

"Before the arrival of Bishop Perry," said the Archdeacon, "there were only three Anglican clergymen in the Port Phillip district - Mr. James Yelverton Wilson, at Portland; Mr. Ebenezer Collins, at Geelong and Mr. Adam Compton Thomson, at St. James's. The Bishop brought out three clergymen with him - the Rev. Daniel Newham, the first clergyman of St. Peter's, who died a couple of years after he landed; Dr. Hussey Burgh Macartney, afterwards Dean of Melbourne, who died quite recently; and myself. Mr.(now Canon) Henry Hewett Paulet Handfield also accompanied the Bishop, but was not ordained till later."

And what was the aspect of Melbourne when you saw it first?

"It was a thriving pastoral and agricultural centre, of about 10,000 people; but I no more guessed that in 50 years' time it would become what I now see than that there would be a railway to the moon. There was no wharf on the Yarra, and we landed on a mud bank. The town did not extend much further north than Lonsdale Street, Collins and Bourke Streets were macadamised only for about 20ft. in the centre, and the only made road in the whole colony was a piece of about two miles between the Merri and Darebin Creeks, on the road to Heidelberg. Collingwood was a mere swamp. There were no houses, even on Eastern Hill, where Parliament House now stands. When I first saw St. Peter's Church I said 'What induced people to build a church in the middle of a forest?'. Richmond was a village containing 600 people, and separated from Melbourne by a dense bush. The Yarra was crossed by a wretched wooden bridge, and where St. Kilda and Prahran now stand was mostly forest. St. Kilda had 16 houses, and only one of them was of brick; and there were about half-a-dozen houses around Brighton. The whole settlement was just recovering from the disasters of 1842, and was becoming fairly prosperous again, in a quiet, jog-trot way."

What was the church work allotted to you?

"For the first few months I was given charge of that part of Melbourne lying between Swanston and Elizabeth Streets. In that small area I found there were 2,000 people, and I visited every house. I was struck by the almost entire absence of sickness of any kind, a condition of things which was completely changed when the gold rush set in. Then I spent three months in Gippsland, and as that was my first experience of bush life I have a vivid recollection of all that befell me. My first destination was Sale - or Flooding Creek, as it was then called - separated from Melbourne by 130 miles of the densest forest country I have ever seen, through which a narrow track had been cut, just wide enough for a horse and its rider to pass along, and crossing one range after another in almost a straight line, regardless of gradients. I was provided with a pair of blankets, tea, sugar, bacon, and biscuits. It was late in the autumn, and during the greater part of the journey the rain came down in torrents and the wind blew great guns. I spent three nights in the bush. On the first evening I fell in with two drovers, who were very civil to me, and invited me to share their billy of tea, and showed me how to make a shakedown of branches. The second night I spent most miserably. After swimming my horse across a flooded creek and crossing beside him on a log, I found myself in a swamp, and had to retrace my steps. Then, as night came on, I found the track blocked in many places by trees and branches which had been blown down by the storm, until at last the horse got jambed fast in the midst of a fallen tree, and trying in vain to get him out I sat on the tree beside him until daylight. I managed the rest of the journey without further mishap."

How were you received in Gippsland?

"With the greatest kindness. Bishop Broughton (sic) had visited that part of the province some years before, but with that exception I think I was the first clergyman to travel through Gippsland. Flooding Creek (Sale) was a magnificent town containing two houses. One was a blacksmith's shop and the other a public house, and both were built of bark. I visited the settlers from Alberton right up to Bairnsdale, and I reckoned there were about 1,500 people in that district. The blacks were still numerous, and there had been a good deal of trouble between them and the squatters, especially as regarded the Warrigal tribe, who had as last been driven off into the mountains. Among the more prominent people I remember to have met were Pearson, whose run was on the north bank of the Latrobe; Raymond, whose land lay between Lake Wellington and the Avon, including Stratford; the brothers King, who were settled near the Latrobe; McLeod, who had a run where Bairnsdale now is; and Angus McMillan, who claimed to be the discoverer of Gippsland. I should not forget to add a squatter named Jones, who was located on the Mitchell, and gave me a most enthusiastic reception. Unhappily, I arrived the day before he expected me, or else he would have given me a salute from an old cannon that he had there, and have hoisted the Union Jack on his flagstaff. I preached in his woolshed, and was greatly astonished when my host produced a surplice for me to wear. Mr. Jones afterwards declared himself delighted with the service, but, alas! it was not the sermon which charmed him, but the surplice. 'You looked lovely,' he said 'in that surplice. It was just like England.' I was present, too, at the opening of the first public house at Stratford. My presence was quite an accident, and after joining in the dinner I discreetly made my way a few miles further up the river. I heard afterwards that I missed a very lively evening."

How did you spend the rest of your time in Victoria?

"At the end of 1848 I succeeded Dr. Macartney as incumbent at Heidelberg, which was then a township of half-a-dozen cottages, surrounded by a fine farming district. I had a large parish, extending northwards beyond the Plenty, and I was half my time in the saddle. I did not attempt to build churches, but preached wherever I could get two or three people together - sometimes in a neighbour's kitchen, sometimes in a woolshed; though in two or three places I had to get a slab hut put up. Hardships? Yes; there were hardships, but I enjoyed them. Once I rode 14 miles in a downpour of rain to an old woolshed, with half the roof gone, where I used to hold service. Only one man was present, and he said, 'I didn't come to the service, but only to see whether you'd turn up.' Then came the rush to the diggings in 1851, and for a few weeks nearly every man in the parish was away at Ballarat or Bendigo. Some of them brought back a good deal of gold, but the majority of the farmers found it paid still better to cart goods to the diggings. I shall never forget the first few months of the gold fever. At one time there was every prospect of a famine, and goods became fearfully scarce and dear. For a time I was quite unable to obtain shoes for my children. One day I bought a pair of Hessian boots in Melbourne for myself. I paid £6 for them, had them sent to the hotel, and never saw them again. For several months I employed three carpenters to build the old parsonage at Heidelberg, and their wages were 26 shillings per day. Yet I had no reason to complain, I was never more generously supplied with money than at that time. I was able to build a brick church and open it free of debt, and when I left Heidelberg for Tasmania in 1853 my parishioners presented me with 350 sovereigns, and bought my few sticks of furniture for fabulous sums."