Last shift, Kirrak shaft. December 20, 1968. From left, Unknown, Alan Thompson (mine manager), Gus Pizzol, Giovanni Bordignon, Bill Coulton, Fred Oldaker (?), Bill Bernardi, Frank Zanella, Bill Morgan, Arnado Caile, Unknown, Mario Ghitti, Unknown, Tony Bernardi, Bill Hudson, E. P. Rogan (Deputy Commissioner of Railways), Jim Byrnes (general manager), Jack Battaglia, Ray Williams, Leo Vivian, Paddy Sleeman. Photo: Tom Gannon, Wonthaggi Express.
NEXT Friday marks 50 years since the official closure of the Wonthaggi State Coal Mine. The last shift of miners emerged from Kirrak shaft on the morning of December 21 1968 to be greeted by their fellow workers, a few casual onlookers and a contingent of reporters and photographers from Melbourne.
It was a solemn moment. This wasn’t just the end of the mine but possibly the end of Wonthaggi, a town created in 1909 to supply the manpower to dig the coal to power Victoria’s steam trains.
The Deputy Commissioner of Victorian Railways, E. P. Rogan, spoke a few words. There is tension in the faces of the miners who stand listening. Coal mining has been their life. What lies ahead?
The writing had been on the wall for many years before the mine finally closed. No new employees were taken on after 1956. At its peak, the mine employed some 1800 men. By 1968, there were just 104 miners left and 25 of those were eligible for pensions.
The miners would survive but the question hung over Wonthaggi for many years: could the town survive without the mine?
Fifty years later, we know the answer to that. With no large-scale industry, you could hardly say Wonthaggi prospered, but it survived. In recent years, it seems to have reached a critical mass and has gone from strength to strength.
The Deputy Commissioner of Victorian Railways, E. P. Rogan, spoke a few words. There is tension in the faces of the miners who stand listening. Coal mining has been their life. What lies ahead?
The writing had been on the wall for many years before the mine finally closed. No new employees were taken on after 1956. At its peak, the mine employed some 1800 men. By 1968, there were just 104 miners left and 25 of those were eligible for pensions.
The miners would survive but the question hung over Wonthaggi for many years: could the town survive without the mine?
Fifty years later, we know the answer to that. With no large-scale industry, you could hardly say Wonthaggi prospered, but it survived. In recent years, it seems to have reached a critical mass and has gone from strength to strength.
| By Frank Coldebella FRIDAY morning, 20th December, 1968, the day the Kirrak mine closed, was overcast. My mate Robert Legge and I rode our bikes out there. I thought about asking John Bordignon if he’d like to come but thought, “Naagh, he won’t be interested.” At the mine I can remember an air of solemness, and apprehension about the future. Men were going to be out of work for the first time. I went into the engine room to watch the cable wound in. The inside of the engine room still had blackened timbers from the fire of 1964. There were several Italians on that last shift, but none of them seemed too concerned. A few joked around. I know for certain that some had seen and survived a lot worse in Europe. When the last cage came up and the miners had walked away from it, someone yelled out “Have you locked it up, Harry?” We turned to look but Harry didn’t reply. Maybe he was lost for words. I can remember some bloke scooped some helmets and all the time tokens off the board into a cardboard box. Someone gave a speech, thanking the workers. Some bloke gave me an old drill bit as a souvenir. The men from The Sun newspaper took some photos. When it was over, cars started to leave. A few men hung around in silence as if they’d just buried a good old mate and didn’t know what to say. Sometimes silence says a lot. That was it. As we rode home for lunch, the sun came out. It would soon be summer and the sea would be starting to draw us out. At about 5 o’clock, I was at the Workmen’s Club doing my last day of selling papers when the news went around town that Doc Sleeman had died. The union blokes came up to the Workmen’s Club and got a couple of barrels of beer and set them up in the meeting room behind the Union Theatre, the room where so much had happened. Some of those miners stayed until it was very late. I reckon I would have too. |  The Sun Pictorial News, December 21, 1968 Prophesy came true  Dr Lancelot Sleeman For years at Wonthaggi the question was: “How long will the mines last?” The reply was: “As long as Dr. Sleeman”. Dr. L.O. Sleeman came to the town when it started in 1910. The very day that the last mine closed Dr. Sleeman died. His death cast a pall over the miners' wind-up party that afternoon. The doctor's first surgery was a tent lighted by a hurricane lantern. He risked his life to tend trapped miners. He worked 36 hours on end when flu struck the town during the First World War. Dr. Sleeman never refused a call even when it meant a 40 mile trip by horseback. Dr. Sleeman had been living at his daughter's home at Balwyn. His daughter heard of the mine closure over the radio. The phone rang. It was the hospital to say that Dr. Sleeman had died. “It was an amazing coincidence” she said. Dr. Sleeman, 83, MBE, had been retired for 15 months.” Wonthaggi Express, December 21, 1968 |
The Australian Women's Weekly, December 4, 1968