The turn of the century was a time when young rural men in particular, hungry for their own bit of land, raked among the hills, dales and gullies to identify and secure a portion of crown land.
There is something about an orchestra that sets it apart from a band. A band swells in the open air. It is an exciting spectacle, its natural space a rotunda, a park or a main street. An orchestra shines under electric lights. It radiates romance, its natural space a ballroom or concert hall. It woos and charms, caresses and pursues.
That terrible war was about ordinary young men wanting adventure, itching to test their heroic capacity on foreign battlefields, wanting to prove their love of country and empire.
Architect William Kemp introduced a new style of bush school, the Beehive. It avoided the Gothic, had an enclosed verandah, semi-circular galvanised iron roof and was built with local materials (in the case of Pyangle, timber and stone).
Education was pretty raw a hundred and fifty years ago. Imagine a dozen or more kids squashed on a couple of long benches, scraping their feet on the dirt floor of a slab and bark shack, reciting letters of the alphabet, while the untrained teacher pointed with his cane.