Story
The father of invention
Influenced by an early life of basic necessity, John Falland’s ‘no frills’ ingenuity helped to build the Barossa.
words & photography
MATT WEBSTER
At 88 years old, John Falland still talks like he is ready to return to his workshop. He’s quick witted and his mind is sharp, but you can’t help but notice the decades of wisdom to contemplate before he speaks.
He has an impressive talent at boiling things down, and seeing the obvious way to do things.
How does John have his coffee? Black. A dash of milk. Nothing fancy, just right to the point.
For more than six decades, he built what the Barossa needed when it needed it. He’s someone used to fixing things before anyone else notices they need fixing.
A problem solver by nature, John has a temperament which can only be forged by decades of dedication, resilience and commitment.
Even though the workshop may have been quiet for a few years, his fingerprints remain stamped throughout the Barossa.
His influence can be found in the steel holding up wineries, churches, buildings and bridges, football clubs and community groups. And despite everything he achieved, John still misses the work.
“I miss the hustle and bustle a bit,” he said. “If I want to make something now, it takes me two hours instead of two minutes.”
John grew up on a farm near Truro in an era that feels almost impossible to imagine now. There was no electricity. No modern comforts. No sense that life should be easier than it was.
“We didn’t know any different,” he said. “You don’t miss it if you’ve never had it.”
When John was just 12 years old, his father passed away, leaving his mother to raise three children alone through some very hard years.
“Mum found it very tough,” he said quietly. “We lived off chooks and cows and whatever we could manage.”
Before school each morning, he would hand-turn the cream separator, listening for the warning bell.
“If the bell rang, you weren’t going fast enough,” he said laughing.
Senior school was just a brief encounter for John. After a short stint at Nuriootpa High School, he was ready to leave the classroom behind.
“I picked apricots and worked with bees at the same time. You just did whatever work came along.”
- John Falland
“I couldn’t wait to get out of school,” he said.
Work came quickly after that. He spent time at the Barossa cannery before beginning an apprenticeship in blacksmithing and welding at Light Pass, riding his bike from Stockwell every day.
John wasn’t shy to try his hand at whatever work was available, and found himself doing everything from truck driving, shearing, wool handling, fruit picking and working with bees.
“I picked apricots and worked with bees at the same time,” he said. “You just did whatever work came along.”
It was a job opening to work as a welder for Lance Grosser that finally set his course. In 1961, with the support of his wife Elva, John decided to take the biggest risk of all and he opened a small metal fabrication workshop behind their house.
“We started off making kids’ swings and little trailers,” he said.
It wouldn’t stay small for long.
As wineries expanded and the Barossa boomed throughout the 70s and 80s, trucks began rolling in and out of the workshop from early morning until dark. The orders piled up and the business grew alongside the region itself.
John’s company became deeply involved in structural steelwork throughout the region, building sheds, churches, hotels, warehouses and winery infrastructure.
Then came the breakthrough. The spark that changed everything. After developing a barrel racking system for wineries, which allowed them to safely make better use of the vertical space, Penfolds placed a major order, transforming the scale of the business almost overnight.
“We moved out of structural steel completely,” John said. “Everything became product-based.”
The barrel racks became a huge success, eventually supplying more than 380,000 units to wineries around Australia. John also helped develop grape bins that became standard equipment throughout the wine industry.
“We made about 11,000 of those,” he said. “A lot of them are still around.”
But when John talks about his life, he spends far less time discussing his business success than he does talking about people.
John is as much a man of the Barossa as you can be. He was inducted as a Baron of Barossa in 2009 and community mattered to him just as much as work.
In 1971, a local community member convinced him to join the Barossa Valley Lions Club.
“He talked me into it,” John said laughing. “I’ve been there ever since.”
More than 55 years later, John still holds a perfect attendance record.
“I was average age when I joined,” he said jokingly. “And I still am.”
John has served Lions in virtually every role there is, with multiple stints as president, treasurer, zone chairman, secretary… you name it, John’s done it.
He also played a major role in football administration with the Barossa, Light and Gawler Football League.
He oversaw major developments to the BLGFA during one of its toughest eras, which John – loving a good contest – remembers eagerly.
After a particularly turbulent grand final, the league introduced a send-off rule, something John strongly supported.
“There had to be a line somewhere,” he said jokingly.
Alongside football and Lions came years of involvement with St Petri Lutheran Church, where he held several leadership positions. And somewhere in the middle of all that, he and Elva raised four children together.
When he speaks about his late wife, who passed nearly eight years ago, his voice softens.
“She was lovely,” he said simply.
And although John’s life has slowed a little these days, it’s still his family that keeps him focused.
He now lives with his youngest son Randall, who “cooks tea every night and keeps the place clean,” John said with a grin. “Then he tells me off if I come inside with dirty shoes.”
The affection between them is obvious.
“We understand each other quite well,” he said.
John still spends time on the computer, keeps an eye on the property and finds small jobs to keep himself busy – and he never misses a Lions’ meeting.
Even after selling off the workshop and machinery, you can see the part of him that wants to keep making things. He helped build the backbone of the region over more than six decades.
It’s an instinct which never really disappears in men like John Falland.
