St Andrew Presbyterian Church Bendigo Australia for Treasure Tuesday

 

Recently I have found myself drawn less to distant landscapes than to the forgotten corners of my own city. Bendigo, whose wealth was once measured in gold, has also accumulated a treasury of stories hidden within its aging stone walls. This abandoned church, silent since the pandemic years, stopped me in my tracks. Though protected by heritage legislation, it now stands behind boarded doors and rusting roofs, surrendered to weeds and time. There is a peculiar sadness in watching a building that once echoed with hymns become a monument to neglect—a reminder that preserving history requires far more than placing a name on a heritage register.

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The former St Andrew's Presbyterian Church is one of the many ecclesiastical landmarks that emerged during Bendigo's extraordinary transformation following the Victorian gold rush. Before gold was discovered in the early 1850s, Bendigo Creek was little more than pastoral country occupied for thousands of years by the Dja Dja Wurrung people. The discovery of rich alluvial deposits changed everything. Within a few short years the scattered diggings evolved into one of the wealthiest inland cities in the British Empire, drawing miners, merchants and immigrants from Scotland, Ireland, England, Germany, China and beyond.

Among these newcomers were Scottish Presbyterians, whose faith placed great importance on education, sobriety and community life. As Bendigo prospered, they commissioned substantial churches that reflected both their confidence and permanence. Rather than temporary timber chapels, they built in locally quarried bluestone and warm sandstone, materials intended to endure for centuries. Gothic Revival architecture, inspired by medieval Europe, became the preferred language of sacred buildings throughout colonial Victoria. Pointed arches, steeply pitched roofs, buttresses and narrow lancet windows were intended not merely as decoration, but as symbols directing the eye heavenward.

This church embodies that Victorian confidence. Its bluestone walls remain remarkably solid despite years of abandonment, while the sandstone detailing around the windows and entrances still demonstrates the remarkable craftsmanship of nineteenth-century stonemasons. The simple elegance of the building reflects Presbyterian restraint—less ornate than many Anglican or Catholic churches, yet possessing a quiet dignity born from proportion and finely executed masonry rather than elaborate decoration.

For well over a century the church was far more than a place of Sunday worship. It witnessed baptisms, weddings, funerals and countless ordinary gatherings that stitched together the social fabric of Bendigo. During periods of economic prosperity and hardship alike, churches such as this provided education, charitable relief and a sense of belonging for successive generations. As Bendigo evolved from booming goldfield to regional city, these buildings remained steadfast landmarks while the streets around them changed.

The twenty-first century, however, has brought profound challenges to many historic churches. Declining congregations, increasing maintenance costs and changing patterns of worship have left numerous heritage buildings without sustainable uses. The COVID-19 pandemic accelerated this decline, with closures, reduced attendance and financial pressures leaving many churches vacant for extended periods. Heritage listing protects a building from inappropriate demolition or alteration, but it does not guarantee restoration or occupation. Owners often face enormous conservation costs, while adaptive reuse must balance modern requirements with strict heritage regulations.

That tension is visible throughout your photograph. The boarded doorway, weathered corrugated roof and overgrown grass contrast painfully with the enduring quality of the nineteenth-century stonework. The building has not yet become a ruin; rather, it exists in an uncomfortable limbo between preservation and decay. Every cracked window, every rust stain and every patch of neglected garden quietly asks whether society truly values its architectural inheritance, or merely catalogues it.

Standing before it beneath the brilliant summer sky, I was struck by the irony. The church remains structurally magnificent, its Gothic silhouette still commanding respect after more than a century, yet it has been reduced to silence. Once filled with voices raised in prayer, it now hears only the wind moving through the cypress trees and the occasional footsteps of curious passers-by. My photograph is therefore less a record of an abandoned building than a portrait of forgotten stewardship. In a city celebrated for preserving its grand gold-rush legacy, this lonely church reminds us that heritage survives not simply through legislation, but through continued care, purpose and the willingness of each generation to inherit the responsibilities of the last.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Alexandra Fountain Bendigo for Treasure Tuesday

 

I walk past the Alexandra Fountain almost every day, yet for years I barely gave it a second glance. It was simply there, woven into the familiar rhythm of Bendigo—a beautiful old fountain standing quietly while people hurried past.

Recently, I came across a YouTube video about it, and suddenly I began to see it with different eyes. The Alexandra Fountain is one of Bendigo's oldest surviving fountains, standing proudly at Charing Cross since 1881. It is not merely an ornament in the middle of the city, but a remarkable relic from the golden age of Bendigo, when the wealth pulled from the earth was transformed into grand buildings, gardens and monuments.

Designed by the celebrated Bendigo architect William Charles Vahland, the fountain reflects the confidence and elegance of the gold-rush era. Built from Harcourt granite and adorned with classical figures, it has an almost European grandeur, rather unexpected in the heart of a Victorian goldfields city. It was officially opened in 1881 during the visit of Prince Albert Victor and Prince George, grandsons of Queen Victoria, and was named after their mother, Alexandra, Princess of Wales.

Standing there today, it is easy to forget the extraordinary history beneath its graceful appearance. After gold was discovered in the Bendigo region in the 1850s, people arrived from across the world, and what began as a rough settlement of tents and muddy tracks grew into a prosperous and ambitious city. The Alexandra Fountain belongs to that remarkable story—a stone-and-water monument to a time when Bendigo's newfound wealth was being turned into civic pride and lasting beauty.

And yet, despite all this history, the fountain seems almost invisible to those who pass it every day. Perhaps that is the fate of old things that become too familiar. They slowly disappear into the background of our lives, until one day we stop and truly look.

Years ago, I photographed the fountain with a tripod and a long exposure. At the time, I was simply drawn to its shape, its symmetry and the quiet atmosphere that long exposure gave to the scene. Looking at that photograph now, I feel something more.

The fountain has acquired another layer of meaning. What once seemed like an elegant piece of urban decoration now feels like a fragment of another century, still standing patiently in the middle of modern Bendigo, watching generations come and go.

I still walk past it almost every day.

But now, I look.

And perhaps that is what old monuments quietly ask of us—not to admire them loudly, but simply to remember that they were here before us, carrying stories we had almost forgotten to hear.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Bendigo Cemetery Victoria for Black and white Community

 

Lately, I have found myself immersed in YouTube documentaries exploring Australia's abandoned towns, forgotten cemeteries and stories of the paranormal. Whether one believes in restless spirits or not, these places possess an undeniable atmosphere, where silence seems to preserve memories that history has allowed to fade.

It made me think of Bendigo, a city I once called home. Hidden among its old cemeteries are the resting places of Chinese pioneers who travelled thousands of kilometres from southern China during the great Victorian gold rush of the 1850s. They came with little more than hope, enduring long sea voyages and exhausting journeys overland in pursuit of the same dream that lured thousands of fortune seekers from across the world.

Yet for many, the promise of gold was overshadowed by hardship. Chinese miners were burdened by discriminatory taxes, restrictive laws and widespread prejudice. They were often viewed with suspicion simply because they looked, dressed and spoke differently. Camps were attacked, possessions looted, and innocent men became victims of racial violence that scarred the goldfields. Some lost their lives at the hands of angry mobs, while countless others endured fear, humiliation and injustice far from the families they had left behind. Their suffering became another layer of the history buried beneath the Victorian soil.

Today, weathered headstones stand quietly beneath ancient trees, their inscriptions softened by more than a century of wind and rain. Many names have faded beyond recognition, but each grave tells a story of courage, sacrifice and resilience. These men helped build the prosperity of towns like Bendigo, contributing not only to the goldfields but also to commerce, agriculture and the rich multicultural heritage that Australia now celebrates.

Walking through those forgotten cemeteries, one cannot help but wonder what echoes remain. Perhaps it is not ghosts that linger among the old graves, but memories—of dreams left unfulfilled, fortunes never found, and lives forever changed by hope and hardship. The silence invites reflection rather than fear, reminding us that beneath every weathered stone lies a human story waiting to be remembered. Sometimes, the most haunting places are not those inhabited by spirits, but those where history itself still whispers through the wind.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Black and White Community

Sailor's Falls Daylesford for Water H2O Thursday

 

Sailors Falls has always seemed to mirror the fortunes of Daylesford itself. In winter and after good rains, the water tumbles gracefully through the basalt gorge, a reminder of the volcanic forces that shaped this corner of Victoria thousands of years ago. Yet in recent years I have often found the falls reduced to little more than a damp rock face, the creek surrendering to drought and changing seasons. Even so, I still find myself returning. Some places earn a permanent place in our personal geography, regardless of what time and circumstance have done to them.

Daylesford was once one of those places for me. Born from the gold rushes of the 1850s and later reinvented through its mineral springs, the town carried a character all its own. It felt eccentric in the best possible way. The streets were filled with artists, potters, glassmakers and dreamers who seemed delightfully indifferent to fashion. Their workshops were full of oddities and beauty, and over the years I brought home many treasured pieces of glass art and pottery from people whose quirks were as memorable as their creations.

My connection to the town was not only as a visitor. For many years I serviced two nursing homes there, becoming familiar with the rhythms of the community beyond the cafés and galleries. Back then Daylesford felt welcoming, a refuge for a weekend escape from Bendigo. Today I rarely linger. The nursing homes have long since passed into the hands of large Melbourne-based operators, and much of the town seems transformed by success and popularity. Whether fairly or not, I now sense a distance from visitors that was never there before.

One place that remains tied to happier memories is the renowned Lake House Restaurant. I shared memorable meals there with a small circle of photographer friends, conversations stretching long into the evening over good food and wine. Time, however, has its way with all gatherings. Most of that circle has drifted away, and now only Joel remains.

Lately I find myself thinking about him often. He seems to be facing one health problem after another, and I worry about what lies ahead. As the years pass, meaningful friendships become rarer and more precious. They are no longer casual companions for passing moments but something closer to a safe harbour — a private refuge where one can speak honestly and be understood without explanation.

Perhaps that is why I continue to visit Sailors Falls. The water may disappear, the town may change, and familiar faces may fade from the landscape, but certain places hold the memories of who we were and the people who travelled beside us. Even when the falls run dry, they still carry something worth returning for.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Bendigo Mural off a wall for Mural Monday

 

Painted by a well-known cartoonist who wanders the same shopping centre aisles as I do. In a city the size of Bendigo, that is hardly surprising. There is, after all, only one real shopping town—the place where everyone eventually drifts, like leaves circling toward the same quiet eddy.

Under the bright, practical lights of the mall, art and groceries mingle without ceremony. A trolley rattles past a newsagent window; someone pauses over a display of fruit; somewhere nearby, the cartoonist who once filled newspapers with laughter is simply another shopper comparing prices or lingering over a cup of coffee.

And yet it gives the painting a small secret glow. Knowing the hand that made it might also reach for a loaf of bread in the same place you do—might stand in the same queue, glance at the same shop windows—shrinks the distance between art and ordinary life. In a town like Bendigo, creativity does not live in distant studios. It walks the same tiled floors as everyone else, quietly carrying its sketchbook among the shopping bags.

Sony A7RV

FE 50mm f1.2 GM

Linking Mural Monday

Bendigo Penny Weight walk Mural for Mural Monday

 

In the curve of Penny Weight Walk, where Bendigo’s laneways murmur to brick and shadow, she waits.

Crimson and unyielding, her face burns softly against the wall. Eyes closed—not in retreat, but in listening. As if some inward hymn steadies her breath. Sunset lives in her skin; the artist has pressed fire there and left it glowing.

Her neck lifts in a long, ancestral arc. Around her, flowers riot—roses folding into lilies, pale frangipani brushing feverfew—petals and vines circling her stillness like a living crown.

Shoppers pass. Footsteps scatter. Yet a hush gathers in her red silence, fierce and tender at once. She does not open her eyes.

The mural is already awake.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Goornong Sunrise for Sky watch Friday

 

In earlier years I drove long arterial roads into the rural margins of Victoria, the boot packed with files and instruments, the morning still undecided between frost and light. The work took me through paddocks silvered with dew and towns that woke slowly, bakeries first, then fuel stations, then the school crossings. I learned the discipline of dawn: how it breaks differently over stubble than over pasture, how mist lifts from creek flats in long, patient veils.

On the run north from Bendigo toward the Murray, the highway passes through Goornong—a small settlement set amid broadacre farming country. Its name is commonly traced to an Aboriginal word, often said to refer to mallee fowl, a reminder that this was once a landscape of woodland and grass before wheat and sheep laid their geometry across it. The district gathered itself in the late nineteenth century, when selectors and railway lines stitched the interior to markets; the railway’s arrival in the 1870s helped turn a scattering of holdings into a town with a school, a hall, and the steady rhythms of agricultural life.

By the time I was passing through for clinics, Goornong kept its quiet competence. Silos stood like sentinels against a wide sky. Fences ran straight as ruled lines. In summer the fields browned to parchment; in winter they breathed green again. And always, on the eastbound stretches, the sun would lift without apology—low, fierce, and perfectly aligned with the windscreen. It poured into the car in molten bands, turning the bitumen into a river of light and forcing me to squint behind the visor.

Those drives became a kind of liturgy. The glare was inconvenient, yes, but it was also exacting and honest—an unfiltered sunrise over country that has endured cycles of cultivation and drought, rail and road, departure and return. In that brief corridor between Bendigo and Echuca, the day announced itself without ornament, and I carried its brightness with me into the clinic rooms.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f2.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

White-naped Honeyeater in Bendigo for Saturday Critter

 

The White-naped Honeyeater is a small, quick-moving woodland bird commonly encountered in central Victorian box-ironbark forests, making Crusoe Reservoir near Bendigo an ideal setting for sightings. Around 13–15 cm long, it shows olive-green upperparts, pale underparts, a neat black cap, and a crisp white band across the nape. In good light, the tiny reddish patch above the eye can be seen as it flicks through the canopy.

At Crusoe Reservoir, the mix of eucalypt woodland, regenerating bushland, and open water edges provides abundant nectar sources and insect life. The bird is often heard before it is seen — a sharp, busy caller moving restlessly among flowering gums and ironbarks. It feeds high in foliage, gleaning insects from leaves and bark while also taking nectar from blossoms common in the Bendigo region, particularly during seasonal flowering cycles.

In this part of Victoria, White-naped Honeyeaters may appear in small foraging parties and sometimes join mixed flocks with other honeyeaters as they move through the forest in response to flowering patterns. Their constant motion and canopy preference mean they can be easily overlooked despite being locally regular.

Within Bendigo’s bush reserves like Crusoe Reservoir, they are part of the characteristic box-ironbark bird community, reflecting the resilience of remnant woodland habitat that still supports nectar-feeding species despite the surrounding urban fringe.

Sony A7RV

FE 200-600mm f5.6-6.3

Linking Saturday Critter

More Bushranger Bay shots for Treasure Tuesday

 

This post continues from Sunday, returning again to Bushrangers Bay at Cape Schanck—a landscape that asks for effort before it gives anything back. The walk itself was a reckoning for our sedentary bodies, every step a reminder of distance, weight, and time. The tide was high, erasing the intricate language of the exposed sea floor, denying us those fleeting revelations of rock pools and marine scars. At high tide the coast becomes uncompromising: corners cannot be navigated, passages close without apology, and the land reminds you that access is always conditional.

From there, the drive inland told a far more unsettling story. Melbourne to Bendigo, through Ravenswood—now spoken of in the past tense after a major bushfire tore through. Natimuk, near Horsham, an old town where I once visited nursing homes, burnt down as if memory itself were expendable. Longwood near Shepparton followed, acres reduced to ash. It felt less like isolated disasters and more like a state collectively alight, one ignition bleeding into the next.

And hovering over it all is the hollow ritual of government response: the loud, performative cry of “total fire ban,” repeated like a broken clock striking the wrong hour. While slogans echo, services are cut. Fire response capacity is thinned. Farmers are left to defend their land, their stock, their homes—often alone—despite paying special fire levies meant to ensure protection. Responsibility is devolved without consent, risk privatized, and accountability dissolved into press conferences.

What burns most fiercely here is not only bush or town, but trust. A government that substitutes warnings for action, bans for preparedness, and rhetoric for resourcing is not governing risk—it is outsourcing survival. And the cost is written plainly across the landscape, in blackened paddocks, erased towns, and the quiet exhaustion of people who were told help existed, only to discover it had been cancelled.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Mount Alexander Post Box for Skywatch Friday

 

A mackerel sky hangs over Mount Alexander, its blue-cyan wash streaked with soft brown, as though the heavens themselves remember the dust and mineral veins that once drew thousands here. The mountain rises with the quiet assurance of an old storyteller, carrying in its ridges the memory of the gold rush that transformed Bendigo and Castlemaine, when hopeful hands sifted soil and the world’s footsteps converged on this corner of Victoria.

Along the roadside, the rustic tin mailboxes stand like humble sentinels—weather-beaten, crooked, and utterly honest. They belong to a landscape where history is not polished but lived in, where every dent and patch of rust feels like a faint echo of the pickaxes, tents, and fevered dreams that once pressed into this earth. And as the sky ripples overhead, Mount Alexander feels close—not just in distance from your home, but in spirit, a familiar presence holding centuries of stories beneath its quiet, enduring form.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Regent Honeyeater spotted at Crusoe Reserve, Bendigo for Saturday Critter

 

This bird is the Regent Honeyeater (Anthochaera phrygia), a critically endangered species native to south-eastern Australia. Distinguished by its striking black-and-yellow plumage, the distinctive warty skin about the eyes, and a strong, curved bill adapted for feeding on nectar, the Regent Honeyeater is one of the nation’s most imperilled birds. Its numbers have diminished drastically in recent decades, largely as a consequence of habitat loss and the fragmentation of the eucalypt woodlands upon which it depends.

During the period of pandemic restrictions, I took to visiting the Crusoe Reservoir daily as a means of physical exercise and quiet reflection. Situated near Kangaroo Flat on the outskirts of Bendigo, Victoria, the reservoir was constructed in the 1860s to supply water for gold mining and township use. Today, it forms part of the Greater Bendigo National Park and serves as a place of both recreation and environmental significance. Encircled by walking trails and woodlands rich in birdlife, it provides a refuge for native flora and fauna, as well as a glimpse into the region’s goldfields heritage. My regular walks there afforded me not only the benefits of fresh air and exercise, but also the chance to observe the delicate balance of nature in a landscape that has long borne the marks of human history.

Pentax K10D

FA 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Maldon Milkyway sky for Sunday Best

 

Maldon, situated not far from Bendigo, which I often regard as my second home, is a town of vintage charm and historic resonance. By night, the township lies beneath a deep and pervasive darkness, its obscurity relieved only by the faint glow of a few tungsten lamps in the town centre. These lights, though serviceable to the passer-by, are oft resented by photographers, for the colour cast of tungsten is notoriously harsh and unflattering to the delicate sensitivity of the modern camera sensor.

In my own practice of nocturnal photography, I have adopted a particular method of image refinement. For it is a truth, seldom appreciated outside the circles of those who employ a star tracker, that the core of the Milky Way is ablaze with natural hues—crimson, gold, and azure—wrought by the very physics of interstellar gas and dust. Without such aid, these colours often appear subdued, but with patience and careful editing they may yet be revealed in their original splendour.

The town of Maldon itself bears a history no less luminous than the heavens above it. Proclaimed in 1853 amidst the tumult of the Victorian gold rush, Maldon swiftly prospered as miners from near and far sought their fortunes in its quartz reefs. By the mid-nineteenth century, the town was adorned with banks, churches, and fine public houses, their stout masonry and wrought-iron embellishments testifying to both wealth and permanence. Unlike many goldfield settlements that withered when their veins were exhausted, Maldon endured, and in later years became renowned as Australia’s first “notable town” formally classified by the National Trust in 1966, a recognition of its remarkably preserved streetscape of Victorian architecture.

Thus, Maldon is at once a relic of human endeavour and ambition, and a stage upon which the eternal drama of the cosmos may be observed. Its dimly lit lanes, untroubled by the clamour of modern neon, afford the night sky a rare purity—an inheritance both from its miners of old, and from the silence of the stars that wheel above.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Sunday Best

Turpin Waterfall, Bendigo for Water H20 Thursday

 

Turpin Falls, not far from Bendigo, remains etched in my memory as one of those rare discoveries that seem almost too wondrous to share. I visited the falls some four years ago, and though I cannot recall quite how I came upon the exact vantage point that day, I remember well the sense of awe as the basalt cliffs opened before me and the water poured in a silver sheet into the deep pool below. The cliffs themselves tell of a distant volcanic age, their dark basalt columns rising like the walls of some vast natural cathedral, while the surrounding country speaks of long habitation by the Dja Dja Wurrung people, for whom this landscape has always held meaning. For over a century, the falls have drawn summer visitors, who would climb down to the base for swimming and relief from the heat, their laughter echoing against the stone. Yet such visits belong now to memory, for the track to the base has been permanently closed, both to preserve the fragile environment and to ensure safety upon those treacherous rocks. In a sense, this loss lends a heightened value to my recollection: a private moment of communion with the wild spirit of the place, both a traveller’s fleeting encounter and a glimpse into the deep natural and cultural heritage of Turpin Falls.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f2.8 GM

Check oout Water H2O Thursday

Martin Place Signs in Sydney for Sign2

 

Martin Place in Sydney is a most agreeable promenade, a thoroughfare distinguished alike by its elegance and its historical resonance. Established in the latter part of the nineteenth century, Martin Place was originally conceived as a civic square adjoining the General Post Office, and over time it has become both the ceremonial heart and the financial centre of Sydney. Lined with imposing sandstone edifices in the classical style, it has witnessed countless public gatherings, from patriotic assemblies during the Great War to the sombre commemorations of Anzac Day and the more recent memorials of national grief. Today, amidst its bustling offices, cafés, and the ever-present signs that guide the pedestrian, it remains a place where history and modernity intermingle.

Over the past weekend, I found myself obliged to return to Bendigo, for there were pressing matters awaiting my attention. Several referrals required immediate consideration, and so I undertook the journey back to that regional city in order to attend personally to the urgent cases, ensuring that no delay should impede the care of those entrusted to me.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Nullawil Silo Art, Victoria Australia for Mural Monday

 

The Nullawil Silo Art, located in the small rural town of Nullawil in Victoria, is part of the renowned Australian Silo Art Trail. Completed in July 2019 by street artist Smug (Sam Bates), the mural features a striking and realistic depiction of a farmer and his working kelpie dog. The artwork celebrates the strong bond between rural Australians and their working dogs, symbolizing themes of resilience, community, and country life.

Painted on a disused grain silo, the mural has become a cultural and tourist landmark, drawing visitors to the otherwise quiet town. It reflects both artistic excellence and the spirit of regional Australia, contributing to the growing movement of turning industrial structures into large-scale public art. The Nullawil silo is praised for its incredible detail, lifelike quality, and emotional warmth.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Upon returning home to Bendigo, I discovered that a fuse in the motherboard had likely blown. The house, being quite old, has required increasingly frequent maintenance, and the costs have begun to accumulate significantly over the years. It seems that last month’s wages will once again be consumed by repairs. Small wonder, then, that so many around us have resigned themselves to merely “lying flat,” doing only the bare minimum to keep the machine of life running.

Abandoned Old Gillies Pie Factory in Bendigo, Victoria, Australia for Treasure Tuesday

 

The Old Gillies Pie Factory in Bendigo, Victoria, stands as a testament to the city's rich industrial and culinary heritage. Established in the mid-20th century, this factory was once the heart of a thriving pie-making enterprise that left an indelible mark on the local community.

Origins and Growth

The Gillies Pies brand was founded by three brothers—Les, Alan, and Norm Gillies—who relocated from Charlton to Bendigo following the 1940s drought. They began their venture with a modest bakery on Mitchell Street, gradually expanding their operations to meet the growing demand for their delectable pies. In 1958, the brothers acquired the Black Swan Hotel building, transforming it into a mass production facility. This site would later become known as the Old Gillies Pie Factory.

Community Impact

The factory wasn't just a production site; it became a local institution. The "pie window" at Gillies Corner, their second shop, often saw queues of eager customers winding down the street, drawn by the irresistible aroma of freshly baked pies. At its peak, Gillies Pies employed around 200 people, with retail outlets spreading across Victoria and distribution reaching as far as Melbourne.

Decline and Closure

Despite its success, the company faced challenges in the latter part of the 20th century. Operations eventually ceased, and the factory fell into disrepair, becoming a canvas for graffiti and a spot for urban explorers. In 2016, the last link to the iconic brand was severed when the remaining factory operations in Bendigo were shut down, marking the end of an era.

Preservation Efforts

In recent years, there have been efforts to preserve the legacy of the Old Gillies Pie Factory. Local history enthusiasts have lobbied for the site's restoration, aiming to maintain its "naturally decrepit" state as a nod to its historical significance. These endeavors highlight the community's desire to honour and remember the factory's role in Bendigo's history.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6

Linking Treasure Tuesday

More Murals from Melbourne CBD for Mural Monday

 

The upcoming three days will be exceedingly busy for me, as I have to travel extensively for work across regional Victoria. I thoroughly enjoyed my self-imposed break during the Lunar New Year. Joel has informed me that Sony is set to release the Sony A7RVI, which features a new sensor capable of encoding 100MB for photos. The cost will undoubtedly be significant, so we should start saving.

Furthermore, my house in Bendigo requires substantial work, estimated to cost up to 20,000 AUD. Additionally, my mother's house will necessitate the installation of a new solar battery, which is projected to add approximately 45,000 AUD to the expenses. This situation is becoming increasingly burdensome.

Sony A7RV

FE 35mm f1.4 GM

Linking Mural Monday

Dredge and Dragline for Sunday Best

 

I reside in the vicinity of Maldon, a mere half-hour's journey from Bendigo. The dredge and dragline in Maldon stand as relics of the golden age of mining. Over the years, I have captured this locale through my lens on numerous occasions. Occasionally, I am seized by a longing to document rustic machinery. Joel, however, has never shown an interest in these pursuits, thus I often embark on these solitary explorations. Perhaps, my many years of practicing geriatrics in this region have endeared it to me.

Linking Sunday Best

Lake Weeroona Bendigo for Water H2O Thursday

 

The colour is nice around where I live

Sony A7RV

FE 24mm f1.4 GM

Linking H2O Thursday

Miss Batterham Bendigo for Treasure Tuesday

 

Cold winter in Bendigo increases my appetite

The place offers tasting menu less than 500 metres from where I live. A french set for 75 AUD. Not bad. It comes with free house Redwine pinot 

Sony A7RV

FE 35mm f1.4 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Last few weekends have been plagued by torrential rain and rather cold temperature. Finally Joel and I were aiming to go to Lego festival in Ascot Vale on Saturday. Then Joel ended up vomiting in his car on the way to the exhibition. So we had to cancel it in the end. He is trying to wean his antidepressant down going through withdrawal

I also heard that a lot of people said they want to make "dent" in universe? What the heck does that mean?