HATS off today to the 'other' men from Snowy River. They're the real heroes of modern, culturally diverse Australia, not the whip-cracking rider rounding up wild horses, all flowing from 'Banjo' Paterson's pen so long ago.
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Meet Arnald(o) De Antonis, now 82, of Redhead, a Hunter Valley man once part of the mighty Snowy Mountains 'army' of migrants who changed the face of the nation for the better.
Between 1961 and 1964, he was an alpine miner, part of an eventual 100,000-strong workforce (7000 at any one time) creating the Snowy Mountains Scheme, diverting water for inland irrigation while running water through turbines to generate electricity.
Today, the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme (SMS) provides almost one-third of all renewable energy for the eastern mainland grid, powering the rush-hours of cities such as Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne.
This first Snowy scheme, operating for 25 years (1949 to 1974), required the creation of 16 major dams, seven power stations, 80 kilometres of aqueducts and 145 kilometres of interconnected tunnels.
On the scheme's completion, Australia had become a nation. The SMS workforce consisted of 65 per cent migrants from 33 countries. Norwegian and German specialists were recruited first, and then thousands of other 'new Australians' followed, many initially fleeing a war-torn Europe.
About 121 men lost their lives making the massive civil engineering concept a reality. The original fear was that tunnelling and other accidents might mean progress was measured by a fatality every mile, as the work pace was brutal and relentless.
As the 75th anniversary of the scheme's start looms in 2024, these now almost forgotten pioneers were recently remembered in a three-part SBS TV series called Building The Snowy.
More topical, the new cost estimate of the scheme's successor called Snowy 2.0 pumped hydro project, to act as a giant battery by 2029, has doubled to almost $12billion. Part of the cost blowout and delay is blamed on COVID-19 restrictions, wages and unexpected soft soil in the scheme's design.
Construction was delayed for months when a tunnel-boring machine called 'Florence' got stuck in soft rock under Kosciuszko National Park.
"It happens. Things get difficult," Redhead's Arnold De Antonis told Weekender.
"Except, that in our work team back in the 1960s, we had no tunnel-boring machine. Those machines didn't exist until after Italians built the (11.6km long) Mont Blanc highway tunnel in the Alps between France and Italy which opened in 1965.
"We had to hand drill and blast everything. We'd work over three shifts seven days a week. Non-stop. Then have a long weekend off and start again Monday afternoon," De Antonis said.
'It was tough. It was hard, wet, hot and dangerous work, but what was achieved overall, in the end, was the eighth wonder of the world."
De Antonis then proudly displayed a small medal his team members were individually awarded for creating a world record for tunnel drilling in pre-metric days of 552ft (167m) in May 1963.
"It was all rock. I was 16 to 22 hours in the tunnel for five days," he said.
"We were working on the 15km long Geehi tunnel using a 'Jumbo', a steel framework with three levels going forward on rails (with 12 mounted heavy pneumatic drills) to make holes for explosives to put inside.
"We'd move back and the rock wall, with its 12 holes, would then be blasted out, each blast a split second apart. Then debris would be bulldozed out and we'd start drilling again.
"Lubricant used in air-powered machinery would come out the exhausts as mist, going all over your clothes. The moisture goes away, but the oil would stick.
"While working, we'd find sections of the rock nearly made into coal. The majority though was coming out green coloured, being almost granite.
"Then one time, when I was about 300m back from the rock face I wanted to experience the blast, so I took shelter and watched. But I nearly fell out of my body with the sudden rush of the air and scared with huge stones whizzing past."
De Antonis said one big danger for even trained crews was a misfire during a blast. If one gelignite-loaded drill hole hadn't been cleared before fresh drilling began, the results could be horrific.
"It happened one time, but luckily I was off work. Another time, our tunnel flooded, but by then I was going anyway," he said.
"The most famous, most tragic, incident was when an American group, Utah, had 15 to 16 casualties. I think Utah was then banned from any major tunnel work to get more experienced men."
De Antonis said he also remembered when a Spanish migrant he knew died after being crushed between two wagons.
He said he and others kept working because the money was very good. They were also paid a bonus not to take any days off, to just keep working.
Off duty, some men saved money, or gambled, drank or left camp.
"I'm only a social drinker, and back then Cooma was Las Vegas with cabaret, girls and visiting dancers, although roads were rough. Others went off briefly to Sydney.
"There was very little racism down at the Snowy, despite so many nations working there. Migrants being called names (like 'wogs') was actually worse in Cooma and Sydney than it was in our camps.
"One of the contractors Thiess Bros, also imported Toyotas, replacing the early Land Rovers. That's how Toyota got started in Australia."
De Antonis left Italy to come to Newcastle in October 1959, lured by the promise of work at Newcastle BHP Steelworks.
"Here, I found limited knowledge of the outside world," he said.
"I remember my Mayfield neighbour asking me what colour the sky was in Italy?"
We had to hand drill and blast everything.
Soon he and a mate found the pay was much better at the Snowy scheme.
"I was a deserter aged 18 when I left Italy, to avoid three-years compulsory military service. I wanted to join the air force, like my brother, but as a test pilot. But because I lived in an area near the sea, like Newcastle, and thinking I could swim, they wanted me for their navy," he said.
After De Antonis left the Snowy scheme, he married and settled here. He had a variety of Newcastle jobs, including a mechanic to becoming an astute businessman, converting cars to LPG and starting Honeysuckle Automotive Services. He retired in 2004.
"The life in Australia we enjoy today comes from migrants and new opportunities. We gave to the country the best of ourselves," he said.
About 20 years ago, De Antonis returned to the Snowy Mountains with his wife to tour his old haunts. Everything had changed.
"But by the road there were lots of trees, apple and pear. I was amazed. I remember drivers on this road once, driving while eating fruit and throwing the cores out of truck windows. I think it's connected."
His best memory of the Snowy scheme though was when he was invited down to take part in 50th anniversary celebrations in 1999.
"That's when I shook hands with prime minister John Howard for the media to take news photographs. I said to him, 'John, this is the cradle of our multiculturalism'.
"At this, Howard took his hand away, took three steps back, looked me in the eye and walked away. I was very surprised," De Antonis said.
"But then, someone nearby called out: 'Good on ya, mate'."
