A Farmer’s Nostalgia in an Alien Land

In 1828, a Devonshire farmer who had migrated to New South Wales years earlier reflected on his new life with deep melancholy. Unlike his homeland, where church bells called the faithful to Sunday service and tombstones bore the names of loved ones, Australia seemed barren of spiritual and emotional anchors. The rituals of birth, marriage, and death—once dignified and solemn—felt stripped of meaning. One day, overwhelmed by despair, he sighed, “It b’ant like home.”

His lament was not merely about the absence of familiar architecture—no grand cathedrals like St. Paul’s, no sprawling abbeys, no stately manors dotting the countryside. Even nature itself felt indifferent. Gone were England’s long summer days, crisp autumn leaves, and the exuberant blooms of spring. Instead, the land offered only monotony: harsh sunlight, strange marsupials, and an unyielding landscape that seemed cursed rather than blessed.

The Illusion of Civilization in Sydney and Hobart

Yet, in the drawing rooms of Sydney and Hobart Town, the colonial elite sought to recreate the gaiety of London. Lavish balls celebrated the King’s birthday, with champagne flowing and ladies dressed in the latest European fashions. At Government House, guests danced quadrilles beneath candlelit laurel crowns, pretending they were in Montagu Square rather than a penal colony.

But outside these refined gatherings, the reality was starkly different. The streets teemed with drunken brawls, lewd behavior, and violent clashes between soldiers and civilians. Convicts and emancipists formed the backbone of society, their presence a constant reminder of the colony’s origins. The gentry, clinging to European customs, dismissed the raucous lower classes with disdain, yet their own pretensions often invited ridicule.

The Rise of the Native-Born

By the 1820s, a new generation was emerging—the “currency lads and lasses,” native-born Australians who resented being lumped with convicts. Figures like William Charles Wentworth championed their rights, demanding land and recognition. These young colonists, taller and hardier than their parents, embodied a new identity.

Betsey Bandicoot, a spirited colonial girl, epitomized this pride. In a cheeky letter to the Sydney Gazette, she mocked an Englishwoman’s disdain for Australia, boasting of her own resilience: swimming rivers, riding bareback, and frying pork over an open fire. “We know what’s what,” she declared, signaling a growing confidence among the native-born.

The Legacy of Convictism and Social Division

Despite their optimism, the native-born faced prejudice. Immigrants scorned them as “Botany Bay youth”—idle and dishonest. Meanwhile, the colony remained deeply divided: Anglican clergy preached morality while convicts sang defiant ballads of bushrangers like Bold Jack Donahoe, who became folk heroes for resisting authority.

The press mirrored these tensions. The Sydney Gazette upheld Protestant virtues, while the Australian mocked aristocratic pretensions. Meanwhile, Catholic priests like Father Therry ministered to a marginalized Irish population, battling Protestant dominance in schools and public life.

Conclusion: A Land of Contradictions

By 1830, Australia was a land of contradictions—nostalgic immigrants, defiant convicts, and proud native-born colonists all shaping its future. The Devonshire farmer’s lament echoed a broader struggle: Could this harsh, unfamiliar land ever truly feel like home? For some, like Betsey Bandicoot, the answer was already yes. For others, the longing for England would never fade.

In the end, Australia’s legacy was not just one of penal suffering but of resilience, adaptation, and the slow birth of a new identity—one that would, in time, forge its own traditions, songs, and stories.