Daily Photo – Railway Bridge Near Hyde
Hyde began life not as a town or village but as a fever of madness. It all started in the winter of 1862 at a spot called Highlay, but by 1864, the rush for gold had turned the valley into a thriving canvas metropolis. If you can, try and picture 1,200 souls – 1,000 of them miners – living in a city of calico. Even the hotels and courthouses were made of canvas, relocated on a whim to follow the madness for gold. The local newspaper, The Otago Witness described it as a town “excitement and gaiety,” where horse races and nightly balls kept the dust from settling.
But the days of easily won gold were short-lived and by late 1865, the population plummeted to not more than 150 people. The canvas folded, replaced by the substantial dwellings of those who traded the gamble for the garden and Hyde settled into a quiet existence of rural farm life, passing trains and population fluctuations.
Driving into Hyde, I wasn’t expecting much more than a quiet town, a few cyclists and a scattering of houses. Then, through a break in the trees, I saw a small church with bright red doors, sitting there looking lonely and once loved. It looked almost shy, tucked among the surrounding pines, the morning light catching its stone walls in just the right way.
These are the kinds of discoveries I love most about wandering around New Zealand. You’re not searching for them; they simply appear, part of the everyday landscape. To locals, this church is just another building that has always been there. Yet, it felt like I’d stumbled across a story from another age, one where locals crowded into makeshift halls, and later, farmers scraped together enough to build something special and permanent.
There’s nothing grand about the Sacred Heart Church. No soaring spire, no rows of polished pews visible from the road. But that’s the charm. It’s modest and enduring, standing quietly among the trees, far from the bustle it once knew. And as I stood there, I couldn’t help but think: these are the moments that make road trips memorable, not the destinations you plan for, but the little surprises that simply appear.
I returned to the car and drove fifteen kilometres along yet more slow but lovely roads to Hyde, the way winding past sheep paddocks, willow groves, and the occasional farmhouse that looked as if it hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in a decade or two. The frost clung stubbornly to the verges as the sun began the day’s slow defrosting process. To the west, the Kakanui Mountains rose in a long, rugged line, their slopes catching snow in winter and dust in summer. To the south lay places with names like Fairleigh, Newton, Rockvale, Rock and Pillar, and Middlemarch. It was this last place I was heading to next – though on the way, I had a famous crash site to visit.
For ten years, the Hyde railway disaster held the title of New Zealand’s worst rail tragedy, until it was overtaken by Tangiwai in 1953. Having visited both, you couldn’t find a sharper contrast. Tangiwai is moody and sombre, with carefully constructed boards that guide you through the events leading up to, during, and after the tragedy. There are graves, multiple memorials, and a well-signposted track that draws you to the site itself. Once there, the information repeats in a way that allows you to pause, reflect, and imagine how horrific that Christmas Eve night must have been. It’s a poignant reminder of a tragic day in New Zealand’s history, and almost impossible to miss as you drive past. Hyde, on the other hand, is a different story entirely, it consists of a recently erected memorial that is 500 metres from the actual site and a lonely information board in the middle of a paddock politely advising you to head eight kilometres back up the road if you’d like to know more.
The story of the Hyde Railway Disaster starts with an engine driver named John Corcoran. By the time he pulled his train into the Ranfurly Station, it was already an hour late. Scheduled to arrive at 2:30 a.m, it wasn’t until 3:30 a.m. that the train finally ended its run for the day. With trains running to tight schedules and a shortage of experienced engine drivers, crews were often pushed hard while a lack of track maintenance had left the line in poor condition. Whenever they did get downtime, it was vital to rest properly so they could remain alert and able to work at full capacity – despite the hectic rosters. John Corcoran was no exception.
That Friday morning in June was particularly cold, with a heavy frost covering much of the Strath Taieri. The temperature barely rose above 3 or 4 degrees, and the hard frost lingered well into the day. Earlier, Corcoran had brought a goods train from Dunedin, arriving in Ranfurly an hour late at 3:30 a.m. He signed off duty and walked to the Ranfurly Hotel, where he had a room booked. He rose by 10:30 a.m, had a drink with an old friend in the hotel bar, ate a pie for lunch, and then walked the short distance to the station to take charge of the Ab782 for the homeward run to Dunedin. The train left Ranfurly ten minutes late, at 12:48 p.m.
By then, Corcoran had been off duty for a little more than nine hours. In that time, he had managed less than six hours’ sleep, had a drink at the hotel with a friend, eaten a pie for lunch, and was now under pressure to ensure his train – already late leaving – arrived in Dunedin on time on a line that was in poor condition. Later that day, passengers who survived reported that the train had seemed to be travelling much faster than usual, lurching violently from side to side. At 1:45 p.m, at a bend known as Straw Cutting, the train derailed at excessive speed, killing 21 people.
Help from Dunedin would take time. In 1943, the road from Outram through the Strath Taieri to Middlemarch and Hyde was narrow, unsealed, and still followed the winding course of the old bullock wagon trails. Any motorised assistance faced a long, difficult journey, bumping over rough roads in the dark before reaching the scene.
That left those at the scene or nearby needing to act quickly. Members of the Gimmerburn Football Team, travelling in one of the rear carriages, rushed to help where they could. The Maniototo Battalion of the Home Guard from Ranfurly was mobilized at 2 p.m. and were also among the first on the scene. Doctors and nurses from Middlemarch, Ranfurly, and Waipiata soon arrived to assist. In the days that followed, local hotels in Hyde and Middlemarch kept extended hours and exhausted local supplies providing blankets, meals, and accommodation for rescuers and railway workers who laboured to clear and repair the track.
Following the disaster, the derailment was proven to have been brought about by excessive speed and lack of judgement on the part of a tired driver who had had little sleep and inadequate food during the previous 24 hours. Yet, it seems a little striking and hard on Corcoran that nothing was said about the tight scheduling, the lack of adequate rest between shifts, or the poor condition of the track itself.
At the time, it was New Zealand’s worst railway disaster.
