Silver City Sojourn - Day 3 - Cobar - Wilcannia - Broken Hill

Saturday 23rd April 2011

As noted above we’re awake disgustingly early. After we read the brochures we got from the heritage centre Mum seems to get a little bit of doze as I journal. 7:20 am. Time we got a shuffle on.  I close the laptop and get on with it.  We have decided we’ll breakfast at the dining room on site today.

Breakfast is the standard arrangement with a choice of continental or buffet. Mum went for scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast with marmalade, I had a mix of just right with nutrigrain and some very nice cinnamon toast.  On checking out they charged us only for the buffet.  If it weren't for Mum's health issues I'd happily stay here again. That aroma is the culprit. It's not typical for Mum to wake in the night and need her nebuliser.

It was about 9:45 when we left Cobar.  We have hardly left town when we come to a large fruit fly exclusion zone sign with the usual threats if we proceed carrying fruit with us. We pull over into a handy little area by the side of the highway and consume our one remaining mandarin and our single lonely tomato. As we munch Mum spots a little bird then loses sight of it.  For some reason I needed to get out of the car and I spot the rustling in a nearby shrub. It is a wren. I get my binoculars and the bird conveniently comes out to where we can see it. Tail and wings are blue. A different blue to a splendid fairy wren, this is more a turquoise greeny blue.  I think it looks like its probably a splendid wren in eclipse plumage.  We consult the book. Good deducing 99. That's exactly what it is. Excellent!

Back on the highway we have a couple of hours or so until we reach Wilcannia. We have been talking to the lady at the motel about Wilcannia and she says that they often get people through saying they’ve been told not to even stop for petrol in Wilcannia.  She agrees that the town has had a huge turn around in recent times and it is no better or worse than any other town.  We are looking forward to exploring there.  A stop by the hospital is recommended.

The roadside is consistently lined with happy looking vegetation. Trees and conifers and shrubs. It would not look out of place in an alpine region.  The terrain through which we are travelling is undulating hills and occasionally we stop to capture the scenery or have a short break. After a bad night last night we are both very tired.  Inconvenient for mum but potentially deadly for me.  Very few birds along the road today. Only one emu.  Quite a contrast to all the emus we saw in spring up between Walgett and Bourke and the surrounding district. We did see two wedge tailed eagles about 85 kms out from Wilcannia. They were flying unlike the myriads of ravens who were lunching at the various roadkill victims.

Another interesting feature was a trio of dead bushes.  The first was decorated with caps.  The second was littered with bottles and the third with shoes.  Quite a sight in the middle of nowhere. I decided not to stop and photograph. 

We've not been rushing and we reach Wilcannia in just under 2 hrs.  First on the agenda is to follow the signs to the hospital. It is indeed a nice building and it has an interpretive sign in the park across the road. Among the information provided is that the hospital is constructed of locally quarried white sandstone and was designed by Edmund Blackett who also designed St Andrews Cathedral and the University of Sydney.  

The park across from the hospital is named Reconciliation Park and it has a mix of European and Aboriginal elements.  A number of panels have been set up where indigenous art works can be attached.  Several have some finished works attached and they are very very nice, but there is still many panel sites yet to be completed.

Lots of crested pigeons are around and near the hospital there was a whole tree full.  We also observe few galahs and pee wees.  We take a toilet stop at the public toilets there and were greeted by a green tree frog.  We were warned about green tree frogs in the toilets at the heritage centre in Cobar, but it still comes as a surprise.  I still can’t get my head around how wide their distribution is. Somewhere like Cobar or Wilcannia are the last places I would have expected to find a frog I associate so strongly with the tropics.

As we head back towards the main drag mum points out a tree full of red tailed black cockatoos, which is always  a special sight.  We photographed the council rooms and drove down past the park and the post office for a bit of an explore.  We seek out the local museum but find it isn't open. 

There are many lovely heritage buildings and this town could really be something special.  It appears that moves are already afoot, with things like the Reconciliation Park and a big interpretive panel by the river, and you could spend some time stretching your legs doing a historical walk reading the interpretive signs for each of the historic buildings, but there is still a way to go before Wilcannia lives up to its tourism potential. Lots of buildings look derelict and almost everything is closed today and we are quite disappointed not to be finding more to hold us here for a while.

We return to pull over at the riverside park enjoying the sound of laughing kookaburras. Mum watches a black kite. As mum gets on the nebulizer again I wander over to have a look at the river and snap a couple of photos Just adjacent to this is a sort of low beach area with large, beautiful trees.  A couple of children with their puppies are down mucking about by the river. Looks like they are yabbying.  A man on the far bank iseems similarly occupied. 

 The water is a whitish brown and is moving pretty fast, but the banks are pretty high and steep for most of the area I could see.  There is a picnic table in an enclosure by the riverbank but it has a lot of litter lying around it. 

Back by the car I read an interesting interpretive board about Lake Woytchugga and I spend the obligatory few minutes paying my respects at the war memorial nearby. Just a few steps away there is a set of swings and a slippery dip. Overall the park is neat and tidy.

 We head in to the BP servo and fill up, admiring the numerous kelpies hanging around.  We follow the brown signs for the Heritage trail obliged to drive it as Mum's not up to the walk.  Most buildings in the town are venerable. School,  police station and courthouse all still in use and looking well cared for of course, others that appear to have been shops.  The school has a fringe of wonderful gum trees with shiny sparkling leaves and bark. 

 The Old Post Office appears empty and in need of some TLC. Perhaps a great opportunity for something tourism related in future? The buildings are beautiful, but there is clearly some wear and tear that is in need of attention. 

 As we turn a corner along the way around we exchange smiles and waves with a group of young Aboriginal kids who are sitting on a fence outside one of the homes.  We double back to another small park by the river where there seems to be a few people nosing around. There are some other signs nearby the bridge but they have vandalized. Probably not to the extent that you cannot read them at all, but to be honest I’m over it and developing a bad attitude.  There is an impressive painted fish in the park, and some people are wandering in around the nearby building. Perhaps that’s the information centre, but if it is, it is not obviously signposted  as such. What sign there is has a large graffiti penis on it.  We decide to just move on. We’re both pretty tired and I’m keen to just get to Broken Hill.  We have felt perfectly safe and comfortable in Wilcannia, it clearly has masses of potential. Historically Wilcannia was a really significant town and as a matter of heritage it would be nice to see an injection of money to restoring or at least doing what is necessary to repair and preserve the remaining buildings.   It is gratifying to see that while some things have graffiti on them, none of the historic buildings have been defaced.   

I know that Tristate tours feature a visit to Wilcannia in their itineraries and I wonder what it is they do and say about the place, well other than the obvious historical references of course.  I suspect that this might be the sort of place where some local knowledge would make a big difference, but their tours are rather expensive and I've decided I'm just not curious enough to pay 2x the hefty per person rate for their tour.   The motel in Wilcannia is handily situated close in to the main highway. It looks neat and tidy. 

As we move on to Broken Hill we are west of the Darling and the vegetation reflects this . The Darling marks a sort of boundary of sorts to the deep outback and the desert.  The clouds are looking bigger and more closely spaced.  Again there are some rolling hills and the vegetation is looking beautiful with fresh new growth.  Some water is lying here and there in ephemeral lakes. It is a pleasant drive with regularly spaced rest stops at least one of which had a nice play area for children. I am struck as we travel with the nice facilitites along the roadside for families making the long trek out to the silver city.  People travelling with kids can plan their trip checking out the facilities at the various stops on the rtalive website.

Very few birds or anminals around other than road kill of which there is no shortage.  I spotted an echidna just moving into the roadside grass and we have been warned to watch out for goats, which proves to be good advice.  At one spot there was a decent flock of swamp chooks running about.

As  we near Broken Hill we cross a very very flat expanse of grassland. I wonder if this is part of the Hay plain, does it stretch this far?  I love these extremely flat areas, and they are best with clouds around too.  Then all of a sudden we come to a large ephemeral lake with local shrubbery partially submerged.  There are water birds in large numbers but the light is bad and apart from guessing that some are small grebes we can’t tell what they are.

Finally we get to the Welcome to Broken Hill sign and layby where a number of vehicles have pulled over. It’s a pretty uninspiring sign and I don’t bother recording it.  We head into town admiring the many street trees beautiful arid country species and it gives the place a lovely ambience.

I pull over to consult my map and we navigate to Bells Milk Bar. It’s about 2 pm local time and I’m ready for some food.  Bells is as time warp as its reputation asserts.  There is even a little martian in a flying saucer hovering over the façade.  Parking is plentiful and we waste no time heading inside.  I order a caramel malted milkshake and a piece of apple pie.  Mum goes for chocolate malted.  Unadventurous, but we want to test the basics.  There are tables for sitting and each is provided with a range of games for patrons to play. My kids would love this place.  Our order sets us back just over $20.  As the waitress comes to our table to deliver the apple pie, we check that they will be putting nutmeg on our shakes as is the local tradition.  They will, but wouldn’t have if we didn’t ask for it.  The milkshakes arrive and they are not terribly frothy as they leave the ice cream In a blob rather than blend it in.  The shake is huge though.  Perusing the menu we find we could (and should) have ordered the small. The larger size is the standard offering.  I enjoy the flavor of my caramel malted. Mum’s not keen on hers though.  I decide that I will return and try the thickshakes.  I notice other people are ordering thickshakes. I wonder if those are more like the sort of milkshake I remember from my childhood – thick and frothy and luscious.

It’s still quite early so our next stop will be Jack Absolom’s gallery.  This looks just like a suburban house from the outside with a lovely garden  Other people are pulling up almost at the same time as we are. We enter into the large gallery space with a veritable carpet of lovely original landscapes adorning the high part of the walls.  These are not for sale but prints of them are.  I am pleased to find the original White Bull the texture and red dust obscuring the herd behind is great. We mosey around taking it all in and admiring the various works.  Jack himself is working. He’s in his 80s but clearly still doing pretty well.  I assume it must be his wife on the till doing the payments.  I am very pleased to meet and be served by Jack I have to say. I make my selection, a large sized print of the white bull,  the leather bound limited edition collection of Jacks’ paintings, each with a little spiel about it where it is and what it means to Jack.  He tells me that when he was ordering this leather bound edition he asked for 50, but they made him 500.  He could have refused to take them, but must have got them pretty cheap, as he tells me that they are selling for less than what we would otherwise have had to pay. The leather binding being a large part of the cost of production.  I make a selection from among the boxed sets of Jacks TV specials.  Mum requests we also get the one about the Pilbara and Jack says she can just have that.  My last selection is Jacks' cookbook, which is full of weird and wonderful recipes and amusing little anecdotes to go along with it.  I have always meant to learn how to cook in my camp oven, but even if I don’t I’ll enjoy reading the book.  We admire the beautiful opal specimens and jewellery on display in the cases in the centre of the room.  Some beautiful solid stones among them.  As we were admiring the art work I heard Jack say to someone Here I’ll get it out for you. You look like a crow peering into a beer bottle looking down like that.

Time to move along to our next priority. Pro Hart’s Gallery, which is well signposted once we get back onto the main road.  It’s an impressive edifice also and doing a roaring trade today.  It costs $4 for adults and $2 seniors to enter.  There is a gift shop area with a range of very tempting souvenirs and several rooms with various prints and original works for sale. Before heading up into the three storey gallery we spend quite a long time watching a video that they have playing about the artist.  It is very informative about Pro’s life and passions, his inspiration and faith.  Pro’s studio is as it was, protected behind glass walls and his gun for launching Christmas baubles filled with paint is also on display. After well over an hour in the gallery I make my selections a print of the Chop Bone which depicts a bone being swarmed over by ants. I love pro’s ants.  A jigsaw of one of his bush community scenes, an apron with ants and a mouse mat with a dead insect.  There is an interesting looking biography of Pro by his son, but it’s $50 or near enough and more than I want to pay.  Time to move on.

We consult our maps again and locate Desert Sand motel and check in. There’s a mysterious smell in the room when we first open the door.  Eventually I find it is concentrated at the cupboard.  I sniff the “wood” yep it’s the wood. Lord knows what it is made of but I think the smell is emitted by the actual furniture rather than any cleaner or air freshener. It seems to subside as we leave the door open, so we decide we shall make do. Hopefully it won’t affect mum’s asthma.  She’s not been good today after the smell in the room last night, and we can’t afford any further deterioriation.

Dinner we opt for Dunes the onside restaurant which seems to be part of the Southern Cross Hotel next door. The atmosphere is nice and the staff seem nice also.  We both ordered chicken. Just mains, but they are huge and nicely cooked, but nothing particularly gourmet to my taste.  I make a mental note to just order an entre if we eat here again.  The steaks are huge 350-400g and no option for a smaller size.  Its 8pm by the time we’re heading back to the room.  We both just prepare for bed  and hit the sack. I do a little blogging but I’m really too tired, so pack it in for the night. 

Silver City Sojourn - Day 2 - West Wyalong to Cobar

Day 2 – Friday 22^nd April – Good Friday.

Mum and I are both awake at 5:30 with Buckley’s of either of us going back to sleep, so we decide to just get up and get away. We can bird watch if we come across a suitable spot on the way, or we can just get to Cobar nice and early and hope there’s some things in Cobar that are open today. That will give us a head start tomorrow as well.  
I add some detail to the blog while mum hops on the nebulizer then we pack up and head off.

We made an early getaway hitting the road by about 7:15.  We stop and fill the car before heading off towards Lake Cargelligo. The road heading north is pretty and lined with native vegetation.  


We are bird watching in a modest way as we go along. There are masses of birds on the road that fly up out of our way as we pass. An early highlight is a small flock of cockatiels.  Masses of crested pigeons and apostle birds. White winged choughs, and the occasional blue bonnet parrots.  We make slow progress with the frequent stopping. The road has a reasonable amount of traffic. 

Seeing an enticing dirt road branching off, we decide to wander down it for a bit in the hope that we can mosey about undisturbed.  However we find that most of the birds are out on the sealed road and at 3 kms we turn back and continue on our way.  We assume that the birds are attracted to the main road to eat grain dropped by the grain trucks after the harvest.  All through our driving over the last day or so there have been many paddocks bare where the harvest has been taken off.
We’ve not gone far before we are pulling up to capture a lovely view with a strong bank of cloud that is moving in from the west. 

We pass through Euabalong which I think is a lovely atmospheric town with plenty of original buildings from pioneer times. The ambience is very quaint and peaceful and there are large puddles of water lying in the road.  There must have been some significant falls of rain sometime not too long ago.

We continue on enjoying the scenery and the good cover of native vegetation. A highlight when we spot two galahs at a nesting hollow. We chuck a uey to come back for a better look and at the same spot I see some grey crowned babblers in a nearby shrub.  The vista across the grassland is lovely and the road ahead is traffic free and enticing. 

It is several hours before we arrive at Lake Cargelligo.  We pass by the sign pointing to Cobar but there is no point coming all this way and not seeing the lake itself so we wander down the main street and stop at Liberty Park to have a spot of breakfast, cheese and corn relish sangas, having only had a mandarin as a snack before we left West Wyalong.  We enjoy watching some masked woodswallows flitting about the electricity wires and trees in the park.  There is a motel opposite Liberty park and it is being serviced with the windows open. Even from across the park I can smell the room freshener scent that they must use. Overpowering. Remind me not to stay at that Motel.  We mosey about in the park for a while as I photograph the lake and  the war memorial, then we’re on the road once again.

Not too far along from Lake Cargelligo we  come to a sign telling us to slow down to 40 kph. We turn a corner and come to a bridge across a small and pretty watercourse labelled Booberoi Creek.  Beyond the bridge the road is dirt. We pull over to enjoy the scene and are overtaken by a ford falcon who is soon out of sight.  The road looks good and fairly dry although there have been indications along the way this morning that some rain has fallen.  We enjoy the road as it passes through a nature reserve. The shrubs and trees and grasses are all looking  very happy with new growth.  It is clear that it has been a good year for rain.  The road becomes wet in places, although we are able to navigate it pretty well. I look back carefully and am relieved to see that our own passing does not appear to be chewing up the road. 

I am keeping carefully to the firm places and the tracks of the car ahead.  In some sections the road becomes quite slippery and I’m hoping that the road doesn’t stay dirt for the 238 kms or so to Cobar.  It turns out that there is only about 30kms of dirt road before we are turning onto the black top and to Mount Hope.

We think we see Mount Hope – just one old building and lets move on. A bit of an anticlimax.  The road however is lovely as always.  

We were surprised that there was so much vegetation bordering the road.  Very little traffic and the driving is easy we have an enjoyable run to Cobar.  The sky is now replete with clouds, which for some reason always seem so much more substantial viewed out in the country.  Maybe due to the clear air.  They give a tangible sense of the void between earth and sky.

Along the way I couldn’t resist pulling over to photograph a cluster of corrugated iron buildings which we later learn were fairly typical of living conditions in the far west in the early part of the twentieth century.

As we approach Cobar a sign appears directing us to the Peak Gold Mine and Golden Walk. I have read about this when doing my research so dutifully make the turn and follow the directions into the visitor parking area.  Right at the car park is the head structure of one of the very old mine shafts.  The path follows some old mine ruins, past the old stamper battery and up to a lookout where the current mine is operating.  There is a large metal head structure with cage travelling up and down and a long conveyor belt carrying material high to drop onto a huge cone of black.  The signs at the lookout are very faded, so who knows what they once said about the current mining operations.

Right next to the lookout is the remains of a puddling machine powered by horses, the information board illustrating what it once would have looked like and how it worked.  There is a father and his son hanging about spending plenty of time at the old relics.  I felt for the boy.  The father has a tripod and a camera with a huge lens.  Looks like the boys probably spends a good deal of boring time waiting for his dad to get the shot he wants, but he's being very patient.  They have been here since before we arrived and aren’t showing signs of being finished any time soon.   We head off into Cobar, stopping to photograph the huge Cobar sign near the entry to the centre of town.

Just around the corner is the Cobar Heritage Centre. Another of the places I have planned to see, so we park and head in. $9 entry for adults $7 for seniors. We’ve been looking around the shop while the lady behind the desk helps another couple who are on their way out to white cliffs. I prick up my ears at at their accent and wonder if they have come to the outback from overseas, but a glance down the page at the post codes recorded in the book suggests that they are residents of Sydney like myself. The post codes show that they have had a steady stream of Sydneysiders coming through. I have picked up some leaflets on local identities to read later 50 cents each.

Mum’s not feeling up to it, so I give her the car keys and she retires to the car to do a crossword.  I head through to explore the exhibits. 

Firstly I wander through the ground floor exhibits.  The first room I enter has a range of things relating to grocery stores. Old bottles and bits and bobs and discussion about retailing and how it has evolved in Cobar over the years. Moving on I admire a display about the traditional and continued passion for reusing and recycling and making things yourself that is a characteristic of the local community.  Some original tools and pieces have been donated but quite a few have been made by local people to demonstrate the arts for visitors, following the approach of copying things that were in catalogues.  The displays include tools made from fencing wire and kerosene tins.  Next stop is a bush kitchen with original photograph and a mock up of the kitchen pictured, complete with pastry well under way.  Some old kids toys.  Battered old tricycle and peddle car underneath a poster with reminiscences by older residents of their childhood in the early part of the twentieth century which is particularly fascinating. Along corridors there are photographs of historic figures and panels with information. The selection of what is shown is excellent.  Cobar really does have a fine and unique heritage to tell the visitor about. 

Outside they have an excellent collection of horse drawn farm and earth working machinery. Most seem to be in pretty good nick and have signs about what they are and how they worked.  A local has donated an original charcoal cooler, again in pretty good nick. There’s a rustic wool sorting table and some mine drilling equipment. One of the larger articles is a Sunshine harvester.  The first I can recall having seen, thought I have heard them mentioned occasionally throughout my life.  I found it very interesting to see one of those.  Closer to the indoor exhibits is a portable (steam) engine. I enter the shed and find a really old fire truck with a long history of use for various functions around the district.  Alongside this are a range of buggies, spring carts, a dray and a modern sulky build in about 1980 by a well regarded local man who has salvaged bits from around the place to assemble his modern equipage. On the wall is a memorial sign telling of the builders’ life and offering condolences to his family with the assurance that Cobar is grieving the man’s loss with them.  If memory serves he died in about 1998. An outback character.

My final exploration in the outdoor section is Car 3 from the Far West Childrens Health Scheme.  This is a real gem of an exhibit. I read with interest about the Far West scheme and Stanley and Lucy Drummond and head into the carriage which is housed in it’s own large open shed to protect it from the elements.  This is awesome and I wish daughter2 was here to see it with me.  Mum also would love it. It is a shame she is not feeling better.

Finished exploring everywhere downstairs and outside I ask the attendant whether there is more upstairs. “Oh yes.  Heaps of stuff upstairs including mining and aboriginal displays”.

I head up the impressive stair case and emerge into a maze of rooms that tell about mining history and techniques. Not too little not too much I find the level of detail is all that I would want and so maintains my interest.  
As I come to the end of the mining section I arrive at the aboriginal section. Paydirt you might say!  At the entrance there are first of all some panels that show whose story is being told and where their country is situated.  There is the large group of Ngiyampaa people and the particular stories inside are a subgroup whose traditional land is shown in relation to others and to present day localities.  The panels explain the history over the last hundred or so years.  In the earliest days there was minimal disruption from the Europeans and the mining or huge pastoral runs, with a sympathetic manager on one of the relevant stations, allowing continued access to country allowing preservation of culture and ceremony.  This man (and Irishman whose name now escapes me) ended up marrying an aboriginal woman and having a family with her continuing to act as an advocate for aboriginal people.  Then the displays tell of the bite of more intrusive and destructive government policies forcing the aboriginal community into missions a long way from country.  Policies of cultural annihilation - a dreadfully misguided and tragic period that resulted in the loss of many aboriginal people and some knowledge.  Following the worst days the community was again relocated closer to their homelands and the panels describe the trade offs that the aboriginal people made in establishing what is still a current indigenous community. 

There is some information about indigenous management of water resources, and there is a grinding stone with information about traditional diets.  There is a sign saying – please touch this, so I have a go at the grinding stone.  Across on another wall there are art works depicting things of cultural significance. They are explained and it is pointed out that these key cultural ceremonies are still conducted today.  In a glass case below some beautiful pieces by a local indigenous artist are displayed, but it is pointed out that traditionally everyone in the community expressed themselves and their stories in art as they did not have written language.  This broad artistic practice in the community is reflected in the continuing ability of people to express themselves through art.   I read with interest the stories of various community members living and some who have passed away.  All very interesting.

There is a life sized board of the last member of the community to live in the traditional way. He is photographed carrying his tools and next to him is a display about  a white collector of aboriginal artifacts who is believed to have collected things from this traditional man.  Pieces believed to have actually belonged to him are on display – on loan from the Museum of Australia in Canberra who now has possession and cares for this important collection. 
 As I turn I come to a display with some recreation of the important artwork from the Mt Grenfell Historic Site, which was handed back to the traditional owners only in the last decade and is now managed jointly by traditional owners and the National Parks and Wildlife Service.   So much information is packed into this small room.  Next  I read about a nasty character.  A short ugly red haired creature who is pretty much the enemy and has some fairly scary powers to confuse and confound.  Various local people explain in their own words on the boards who this devil is, and I read that he is still sighted by aboriginal people today – a case in point as a couple of men tell the story of how he visited their camp when they were out working.  The final exhibit in the room is a large panel with photographs of various indigenous plants and some text about what they were used for.  I smile as at the end of the panel in large bold print is a warning not to go off experimenting with bush tucker on the basis of the information provided.  Apparently NPWS and local people are still researching and working on pulling together a book about it.  If the information here is anything to go by it will be an interesting book.  This room has been fantastic.  Well done Cobar! Well done indeed.  What a contrast to the Back of Bourke Centre!! Perhaps the leaders of Bourke should pop down here to Cobar and have a look, to see how one can go about presenting an honest and inclusive display of community history.

I’ve been ages in here and I’m feeling guilty about leaving mum hanging out on her own so I go to take my leave but find there’s still half the upstairs I haven’t yet explored.  There s a room all about wool, with a big wool press and some excellent looking displays and whole other rooms that  I now can’t recall what was in them.  Gosh. This place is really great and good value for money too.  Cobar is clearly a very proud and strong community.  I’m really impressed. As I head back out I cannot see a visitors book so I wait while the lady behind the very busy counter finishes on the phone and I tell how much I have enjoyed the centre and particularly the Aboriginal room upstairs.  How wonderful and refreshing to find a centre where they tell the modern story of their indigenous community. Outstanding.  She seems pretty chuffed and assures me she will pass my compliments on.

I figure as mum is a bit worn out best to go and check in to the motel, but first we fill the car with juice at the local servo.  We are staying at Cobar Central Motor Inn. A newly built 4 star establishment. I park in the disabled car space and wander in.  A few cancellations and they now have a room with Queen and single beds, so they have moved us to that which is good.  Some milk 125ml. Thanks. I get chatting with the friendly lady behind the desk, saying I’ve just been enjoying the heritage centre and it is really really great and that I particularly enjoyed the aboriginal room.  Without my prompting she says that they have had other people through too who said that it there is nothing of that sort at the multi-million dollar Back o Bourke Centre, yet Cobar didn't receive the funding like the Back O Bourke centre got.   It is clear from our conversation today that Cobar is a very proud and strong community. Later I read through the contents of the local tourist guide and find a lot of the material presented is about community.  I’m really liking Cobar. What a great town.

Next stop we do a little back tracking and head to the Fort Bourke Lookout over the open cut and which we are informed is a good place for sunset also.  Takes us a while to find the right turn but we finally pull up as a not terribly attractive parking lot and wander up to the lookout which is a short uphill incline. Lots of wire mesh to prevent things falling or being thrown into the pit. There is quite a cold wind up here. It’s been a cool day and I’ve changed from shorts to jeans and a jumper, but I’m still cold so the thongs will have to go as well and I return to the car to put on my runners.  We’ve had our fill of the views of the pit and there’s still a while to sunset so we head over to the Newey. 

The Newey is the new water reservoir. A pretty spot with a couple of islands in the midst of a lake the water for which is pumped hundreds of kms from the Bogan river (?).  We admire the birds, an egret, some sacred ibis, some pied cormorants and pacfici black ducks and then as the sun is sinking we head back to get into position for sunset.  We decide that the side of the road heading to Fork Bourke Lookout, but not up the top, is actually the best spot with the clearest view of the sky.  We admire the sunset and head back to get some dinner.

The Cobar bowling club is across the road so we pop in there. It’s a mix of Chinese, a little Thai and Australian meals. I order a chicken parmy and when mum decides the calamari schnitzel ( a huge slab of calamari cooked schnitzel style) is not appealing she decides to go a parmy as well.  I quickly change to straight chicken schnitzel as that will keep to sandwiches tomorrow if we don’t finish everything.  The meals arrive and they are large as I expected. We share the parmy. We take the plain schnitzel away.  The parmy is delicious of course.  The veges and chips OK but nothing to write home about.

Back to the room and bed.  The room by the way is nicely appointed but we find there is an aroma from what I have long ago concluded is some sort of fresher put into air conditioners.  The motel has made a point of not spraying room deodorizers before our arrival and insist that they do not use room deodorisers.  Luckily the building is new and we think the smell not strong enough to make us have to change, but its a near run thing. If returning with Mum we would have to look for somewhere else. What a shame.

We watch some tele. A show about Scotland which is very interesting to me with the family history research I’ve been doing.  Then we watch some stuff about the Danish Royals.  Off to the land of nod briefly. Mum awakes about 12:30 with asthma and doesn’t want to disturb me so just lies awake until about 3:30 or so when I notice she’s taking her puffer and ask if she’s OK. It’s on with the nebulizer.  Well. Just as well its just the one night here. Neither of us have slept well, so Day 3 could be a bit of a trial.  

Silver City Sojourn - Day 1 - Campbelltown to West Wyalong Via Temora

We're onto the Hume Highway from the Narellan Road on ramp by about 11:30 and headed south.

First stop was at the Mundoonan rest area, which is near the turn of for Jerrawa, something like 20 kms or so before Yass. There is a stop, revive, survive site set up. Free tea or coffee and a little catering pack of biscuits, and as a bonus sausage sangas $2 for a local charity organization.  Sponsored by Bushells, Arnotts, CSR.  It is doing a roaring trade and the rest area itself is very large with stacks of parking and a substantial toilet block.  Covered picnic tables also.  All you have to do is watch out for snakes – or so the signage warns us. We had been going to have sandwiches for lunch but decide to support the sausage sizzle and maybe have our own sandwiches for dinner instead.

We turned off to Bowning just past Yass and had a quick look at a really cute little café in a slab hut. I little research reveals this is the Rollonin Cafe.  Very cute and looks popular. We didn’t have time to stop today but this is definitely somewhere I would like to return to. 

We’re striking distance from Canberra and it is clear as we travel along the way to Binalong and Harden in the prosperous appearance of everything. There are heaps of things to explore, signs to museums or other attractions and it’s very pretty to drive through.

We stopped to fill up in Harden at the BP, where we note the petrol is cheaper than it was in Sydney today.  Sydneysiders get rorted something shocking with fuel prices at holiday weekends. We were served by a lovely, friendly young woman.  Harden and its twin city Murrumburrah are tidy, pretty small towns and well presented.

I wish we have more time as we skim over more pretty villages. At Stockingbingal they have called their local store Stock Up, which I thought rather clever.

We stopped in Temora to get some cash. Temora is really nice and quite a large town which surprised me because you don’t really hear about Temora.  It is a nice streetscape and quite busy with lots of cars parked along the main street.

As we passed through Barmedman we made the slight detour for a squizz at the mineral pools.  They appeared to be shut and not in the best of repair. Not enticing really. 

We arrived in West Wyalong at about 5:15pm and went to the IGA before it shuts. The IGA was doing huge business, which is not surprising given the extra long weekend.  We pick up just a couple of little things and we head off to find a bed for the night.  

First we tried the Ardeanal motel sniffing several of their rooms but the rooms were overwhelmingly fragrant and we had to go elsewhere.  I found it offensive that the lady tried to blame some Asian guests for the need to spray scent everywhere.  She reckoned they had cooked in the room though she’d requested them not to.  Then she showed another room. Same. We start to head off then she thinks again and suggests I sniff a room that wasn’t used last night so not serviced today.  Same.  The cooking in the room clearly had nothing to do with it.  The ethnicity of the guests even less.

We drive over to the Mayfair across the road. They have a couple of rooms still available.  The host shows us the bigger of his remaining rooms. The whole complex is non-smoking but this room had had someone smoking in it.  I ask to see the other available room and it was fine. I make mum comfortable with her essentials from the car and head over to check us in.  We will need to share the queen bed, but that’s no problem.  

The Mayfair is excellent value and very clean with fittings, fixtures and bedding that seems very new.  Not at all bad for $65 a double.  Excellent value.  The room has a small microwave, a kettle and toaster. A nice tea tray. Flat screen TV and air conditioner. Two seater leather sofa.  Iron, ironing board.  All the appliances have been tested and tagged.  A common misconception about the OHS regulations, these sorts of appliances do not require testing and tagging, but there are companies out there who go around telling people they do.  At any rate, it is very good to see the operators of the motel take their responsibilities seriously.  There are a couple of chairs. One stored in the cupboard to keep clutter down and I guess most guests probably don’t need it.  Extra pillow and blanket.  The pillows look brand new.  The sheets are high thread count and the only down side to that is that they rustle a lot when you move. No biggie. Outside the room there is a small table and a couple of chairs.  The room layout is similar to the motel where we stayed in Waikerie in 2009 with the shower in a room of its own and the toilet similar with a sink between the two.  Good for a quick getaway for guests in the morning. The only slight disappointment is that the fridge is a tiny tiny bar fridge that fits almost nothing in it.  Freezer only big enough for an ice tray (if you had one – it doesn’t).  So I can’t refreeze my small water bottles over night or anything like that.  Over the course of the night mum has some issues with not shutting the fridge door properly but I rearrange the contents and it’s OK.  I find the size of the fridge an irritation, but for $65 a night I can pay the $4 or whatever at a servo and buy some ice. I wouldn’t hesitate to stay at the Mayfair again. Definitely the best of the motels I’ve tried in or around West Wyalong. We pay in full on check in. Tomorrow is good Friday and the operators are hoping to have a sleep in. Fair enough too.

Shortly before arriving in West Wyalong, we realized that our simple dinner plan of sangas is seriously flawed. Mum can’t eat yeast bread late in the day. It plays havoc with her innards.  A new scheme is called for.  After the procrastination of the fatigued traveler, we settled on take away from the local Chinese Restaurant. Adventurous we go for Pork with sweet and sour sauce and chicken chow min with a large rice and some prawn chips.  All this will be $35. I really don’t want to eat in anywhere so we ring and order.  The lady serving was nice.  I drove in to pick the food up which is quite a way along the road.  I ordered a side of prawn chips and they gave us a huge paper bag full of them.  The food was in generous proportions. The take away containers they use are twice the size you would get in Sydney.  The food was so so. The sauce had been cooking too long and the vegetables were over cooked with the brocolli being rather unappetising. Still, it was better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick.

As we waited to go and collect our food we watched the local news reports. Very interesting and naturally they cover all sorts of issues of particular interest to the local audience. Research on feeds for dairy cows to increase the level in the milk of things that block cholesterol absorption.  At one point the weather man exclaims – "fair dinkum!  .....and don’t worry about the cloud symbols it’s only a 30% chance of rain and even then, only 1 mm".  You wonder why they bother putting the cloud thingys up on the map in the first place.

After our meal we chill in the room watching Insight about the defence force culture and women fighting on the front line.  Then a knock at the door. I hear a couple of blokes outside. One says something to the other and I’m feeling a little uneasy. As I open the door I hear the most forward one saying “no, I’ll do it”.  I open to find a very attractive very well dressed young Aboriginal man who has clearly been at the club or a celebration of some sort given his presentation.  “Is that your car?”  “Yes.”  “Your lights are on.”  We mustn't have shut a door properly and one of the interior lights has remained on.  I thank the young man most sincerely for letting me know.  As he said you don’t want to wake up in the morning to find the battery dead.

We switch the tele off in favour of my being able to hear myself think.  Mum likes the tele very loud. Mum does her nebulising and then it’s a book and sleep for me.  Lets hope it’s a good night. 

Heritage Week: Field of Mars Cemetery

Every now and then, and usually in Heritage Week, the Ryde District Historical Society runs guided tours of the Field of Mars Cemetery.  As I have an ancestor buried in one of the Church of England sections of this cemetary, hubby and I went along on the afternoon tour. Price was extraordinarily reasonable at $2 per person.
Some optomistic travel time estimation and traffic snarls caused us to be a little late, but our friendly guide assured us we had not missed much and we were soon joining the friendly and really rather funny group of mostly older people as we explored some of the graves and heard the stories of the residents.

First up we head for the grave of Archie Jackson a great cricketer whose life was cut tragically short by tuberculosis in 1933 just as he was setting out on what was promising to be a spectacular career. Our guide informs us that there are still some who speculate that had he lived, Archie Jackson could even exceeded the achievements of "our" Don Bradman. The Australian cricket team flew back to Sydney from Adelaide in order to attend Archie's funeral.

A short distance away is the grave of  Lesley John Roberts Jones aka Jack Jones a pioneering aeronautical engineer who spend much of his early years in the field designing and building prototype aircraft in his backyard. Our guide has a folder of resources to support her talk and having admired illustrations of Archie Jackson, now we admire the illustrations of some of the early planes Jack Jones constructed, before we head on.

The next stop on our tour, I simply cannot recall, but they are followed by a stop to discuss the military graves. Apparently the Commonwealth War Graves Commission has an agenda to ensure that all veterans get a plaque for their grave.  I busily write myself a note for follow up to see if my Dad is eligible for such a commemoration.

Across at the edges of the cemetery near the bush stands an area of graves where babies and children have been interred.  Many of the graves have numerous little toys and ornaments neatly arranged. We hear that the families come very regularly and we are touched to hear the story of two mothers who's daughters lie side by side, coincidentally both found out they were seriously ill on the same day and both died aged 8. One from Leukemia and the other from a brain tumour.  The mothers met at the graveside and have become firm friends. A beautiful frangipani tree has been planted between the two headstones to grow over the two graves. The cemetery has a humane policy to the management of the children's graves with the proviso that whatever is placed does not obstruct the mowing and maintenance.

Next graveside we stop at commemorates the burial site of Peggy Glanville-Hicks an internationally regarded composer and music critic. Like so many successful people in the arts, Ms Glanville-Hicks chose to use her estate in a philanthropic way.  She donated her home in Paddington Sydney as a residence for young composers. Which we are given to understand operates such that the musician in question can stay in the house for up to 2 years rent free in order to support their composing.

We head across now and explore some nearby areas.  These include the above ground burial sites. Crypts, Vaults and so forth.  Learning not so much about individuals but the types of burial styles. Many of the vaults are made from stone imported from the region where the deceased originated.   To be buried above ground the body must be embalmed and interred in a lead lined coffin before that is placed in it's resting place.  Many of these burial spaces are of Italian heritage but not all. We come along to an avenue of vaults and find the vault of Leonard (Lennie) Macpherson a notorious Sydney crime boss and the inspiration for the movie Dirty Deeds, which we are informed is, if not a true story, then inspired by the real events, including the move from the US to muscle in on local crime activities.

Moving right along and out of the way of the family who are busily cleaning the vault we stop to admire the view across an open area of ground which is unmarked. Pauper's graves.  Among these we hear is the unmarked grave of 42 year old James Hacket, a petty thief and derelict who in death was mistaken as the body of one Alan Edward Brennan proprietor of a mixed business in Burwood.  It turned out however that Mr Hacket was the last victim of the said Mr Brennan who in turn was in fact the Mutilator, Sydney's own terrifying serial killer of the early 1960s.  As we hear of the fate of the mutilator, I ask for confirmation.. "when  did you say the mutilator was in Morriset mental hospital?"  We do some quick calculating from the notes... "oh god!  that means that he was in there when my grandfather took me with him to buy besser blocks from the mental hospital.."  shudder..

We continue on our way. I may have the order mixed up but we made a stop at the grave of a first fleeter ancestor of our guide.  Apparently there is an association that travels all over the world seeking out the graves of persons on the first fleet in order to place special commemorative plaques.  This particular lady drowned in the well nearby in Ryde and her remains were in the way of the widening of a road so she was relocated into the Field of Mars Cemetery grounds long ago before there was much else in place here.

Our final stop was at the graves of some of the Sextants of the cemetery just behind the building where they lived.  It's been a fascinating tour and well worth the time and effort to get here.  I would highly recommend slating in some of the heritage festival activities either during the remainder of the prgram or next year.

A Day out in Goulburn

So, we finally got out on the open road again yesterday, heading back to the southern tablelands and continuing exploration we began a couple of weeks ago with a Day out in Goulburn.

The jaunt was hubby's idea but he's finding himself a bit tired so we pull over at the Bruce Kingsbury VC rest area to change drivers bringing an end to some reading aloud from an examination of the role of William Wilberforce, Samuel Marsden and Jeremy Bentham in ending transportation.  The author is coming at things from an interesting secular angle which is most interesting, but he'll have to wait. Bruce Kingsbury VC rest area is a pleasant shady picnic area with a few tables and toilet facilities among the pines of Penrose State Forest.

Our first stop is at the Rocky Hill Lookout War Memorial. The whole hill is part of the memorial. The site was chosen as it was considered that the hillside was reminiscent of the slopes of Gallipoli. As we approach the site the resemblance is clear to see. As we start to climb we travel along a quite narrow bushy road before pulling in to a viewing area for a scene with the memorial placed among some rugged rocks and native bushland.

It's a beautiful memorial, quite unique. It is distressing to see that there is a lot of litter in the little viewing area where we have stopped. People should have more respect.  I make a mental note to remember our big yellow litter bags when we return here and allow a fair slab of time for collecting rubbish. There is a small museum on the site also, but today was really only a reccie to the memorial. The open road is calling.

Next to Trappers Bakery at the Goulburn highway service area and stocked up on delicious sourdough bread and also got a loaf of corn bread to try.  The corn bread looks pretty stylish with a nice pattern in the top of the loaf. We also decided to test run Trapper's lamingtons and so got one unfilled one to share between us. Very nice and fresh. A place with high turnover like this is just the spot to grab a lamington.

Off to Crookwell. As we recalled it is a lovely drive of approx 1/2 hr through open grazing country and just out of Crookwell fairly close views of the first grid connected wind power farm.  It is beautiful touring weather  Windows down.  Magic.  One thing to remember on your way in... it's a quarantine district for potatoes.. so leave those seed potatoes at home please.  They are not allowed into the area.

Crookwell is a nice little town with a pleasant main street and shops and businesses that are looking like they are doing OK. First stop the info centre where we were assisted by a lovely friendly lady. Conversation included the obligatory discussion of the lovely weather and the good rain after so long in drought and how good the country is looking! We picked up a couple of interesting books. Hubby chose one on Australian tractors for the granny book shelf - now this is a book he'll enjoy reading to the grandkids.  I got one about John Dunn called Teenage Bushranger.  These country town info centres are very often a source of interesting books you don't find in the major centres. It is always worth having a look at what they have.  Crookwell seems to have a  particularly prolific historical/geneological society so there's plenty of that sort of thing on sale, it is quite an impressive effort.
Crookwell info centre also has a few little locally produced cookbooks for about $5.  We picked up the one that is a fundraiser of the Crookwell Potato Festival which is on next weekend. ... as you would expect it is all potato recipes.  There was also a small ring bound recipe book by the Taralga CWA which was tempting.
We obtained a range of leaflets for local scenic/historic touring and headed off to grab some lunch.
No shortage of choices. The takeaway on the corner - Pete's I think it was called, has tables and a sandwich board advertising a lamb cutlet meal for $12. Other options $10. Battered flathead seems a popular option in town today. We got a look at some meals people were eating on the outdoor table on our way back to the car.  They looked good.  The place smelled good too.
However we couldn't resist the cafe across the road named Me'n Ewe (for those who don't know Crookwell is a centre for fine Merino wool. Sheep are big here..... hehe we love a good pun...)  Me'n Ewe was also advertising $10 meals.  Both these joints doing fairly good trade by the looks.  At Me'n Ewe I chose one of the quiche specials with a side of salad, though chips was an option. Hubby opted for chicken pasta with avocado and dried tomato.  I decided to sample the children's sized caramel malted milkshake. (what a good idea having the smaller size option!).  Our meals were very nice. Great value. Milkshake nice... country town milkshakes are usually better than city ones...

Dougo recommended Lynhams I see getting home.. but it didn't look like it was operating yesterday.  All was dark on the premises so we didn't go over to examine more closely. .. Overall I guess you could say that when in Crookwell, you shouldn't be short of choices for somewhere decent to grab a bite.

So for our local exploration. We decided we liked the look of Binda with its historic buildings and the Tuena leaflet sparks an urge to head up there, though it is 57 odd kms away. Off we go.

The big thing that is hitting us to day in our touring is the varied fragrance of the countryside. Every patch of bushland throws a beautiful and distinctive fragrance into the car. We think this must be the rain we've had. That little bit of humidity and the beautiful aromas of the bush are carrying on the air more than has been the case for a long time. It is delicious and the different sorts of eucalypts all have their own particular aroma.  The bush is a bit scrubby in that area between Crookwell/Goulburn and Bathurst/Oberon, but today the silver grey eucs are smelling heavenly.
So, to Binda.. its a very small village with a lot of local stone buildings which mostly look privately owned.  Having just eaten we don't stop at the local pub. We're off to Tuena which has the oldest licensed wattle and daub pub and also the oldest wattle and daub bookkeepers cottage.  The claim in the brochure that it is perhaps the most picturesque village in NSW seems a bit of a stretch... that is to say.. it isn't. In fact I'd say I could list at least 6 other villages in NSW that are more picturesque..

We make a stop at the book-keepers hut, and we pop into the general store and pick up an ice-cream. .. I think hubby wanted to give them some business... Same family ownership since 1860.. which is quite an achievement.  Tuena is a very quiet serene little village with a campground.  Good for people who don't like slick, just want a quiet spot with real people about.

We're not up for a longer stop at the moment. Where to next.  Some umming and aahing whether to head back to Crookwell or go on to Bathurst. We choose Bathurst... I don't like backtracking as a general rule and I have shortlisted the Crookwell area for a family holiday at a local farmstay sometime in the next 12 months, so good to leave some routes unexplored for now.

Next stop after more lovely bushland aromas and about a total of  7 kms of dirt road in several short patches.. we take the turn to Abercrombie Caves.  It is not a hot day, but Abercrombie Caves reserve is a cool and shady oasis where we just felt like lingering. There are some nice guest accomodation options and some camping spots.

The creek is shaded by sheoaks. A modest volume of water trickling among a rocky bed. This is fairly typical for creeks and stream in this area of NSW, but here the rocks are more obviously limestone.  I am excited to see the picnic ground still has real bbq pits for you to bring your own wood for a proper Aussie bbq. .. Abercrombie Caves is shooting higher up my list of desirable holiday spots by the minute...god save these spots from that cancer of Australian picnic grounds... the electric bbq....grrr.

The cave tours in NSW are not cheap. The cheapest option here at Abercrombie is the $15 pp self guided Archway tour.  The added advantage of this option is that you can take it at any time. We're too late for the tour of the Bushranger Cave that runs at 2pm on the weekends only. We hand over the dollars and after a brief run down of the route to the entrance etc we set off.  To start you walk in lovely shade along the river, past some interesting geological features with abundant superb fairy wrens in their dapper metalic blue and black  flitting in the shrubs around the path.  Something scuttles in the water as we approach leaving only ripples.  What the... a platypus??? no, a little water dragon has swum away and is busily crawling up on a branch half submerged in the water.

We pass the exit of the caves and then you head decidedly uphill, with some uneven steps and a fairly rough path through areas of open ground that are in the full sun. The terrain undulates a bit and finally you start heading sharply down to the entrance of the archway which is at creek level. There are interpretive boards along the way as well.

We have been provided with an entry token to operate the gates controlling entry to the Archway and head in. the creek flows right through the archway and our path runs along the sides of the caves with occassional bridges across the river.  Looking at the cave superficially you might think it fairly tame, but it has some interesting features we've not seen elsewhere.  Craybacks for example are only found in cave situations like this Archway or the Grand Arch at jenolan... we grow in our appreciation of this formation as our walk continues. "The "roast chicken" is well named!  There is also some nifty "scalloping" which is caused by the lapping of water on the limestone, this is best viewed on a large limestone boulder that looks a bit like a whale head lying in the creek bed.
We have the place entirely to ourselves. In the quiet we hear some quiet animal noises and figure this is coming from the colony of bats using part of the site. Cool.  One of the other interesting features of the cave is a bush dance floor erected in the 19th century it is still in perfect condition and used for church services and functions. It would be great for dancing and the acoustics would be very good.
We emerge into the daylight for another pleasant walk along the river.  We have enjoyed our meander through the Archway very much. Perhaps don't come with an expectation of first rate crystal like you would get at Jenolan, but it is an interesting walk, cool and pleasant.  We have found Abercrombie Caves Reserve well worth our time and fully intend to come back for a longer sojourn sometime.

As we rejoin the road to Bathurst at the caves turnoff, I admire the grasses once again.

Then we're determinedly heading to Bathurst.  I do particularly love the countryside around this part of NSW and that golden light time of day isn't doing it any harm for enjoyable touring either.  In Bathurst we make a brief attempt to drive Mt Panorama, which I have done in the past but somehow Hubby always misses... unfortunately there's something on and most of the course is not open....again. Sigh.
Back in familiar territory between Bathurst and Lithgow.  Roadwork is steadily improving the Great Western Highway as we head up and through the mountain villages and down to the Cumberland plain and home. Even the mountains are rich with fragrance. So different to the rest of our route.
It's fairly late when we get home. Whole day's consumed about 11 hrs and felt like a mini holiday.  Nothing blows out the cobwebs like hitting the open road. :o)

Who are we and where do we come from?

Well, we've been travel planning. Hubby and I of course have our trip to the American West and South Dakota all lined up, but a casual remark to my brother has lead to a plan for He and I to visit the EU together, and with the fall out from planning that, I think my travel plans may be being turned on their head.

Brother has a burning desire to visit Paris... but the thing that attracts me most in France is battlefields - of course! I have a long standing interest in Military History and to me it is unthinkable to visit France and not pay my respects at Verdun at the very least, and of course as an Australian, to the significant Australian War Memorials and battle sites.

One of my life's defining moments occurred when I was 17. I went along to the movies, to the old movie theatre that used to be in Manly opposite the wharf to be precise, and saw Gallipoli, directed by Peter Weir. I was devastated by that movie. I remember going home to my mother's place and laying on the couch and weeping, really weeping, all afternoon. I have never been the same since. I started to read Australian military history books and have gradually expanded out to get perspectives from other angles. So yeah, there is NO way I will go to France and not tour the battlefields and pay my respects and remember the fallen - on all sides. And no doubt shed a bucket more of tears.

But it doesn't stop there. If you're heading over to the battlefields, makes sense to find out a bit more about the service of your own family members doesn't it. So there it starts. I know of some of my grandparents brothers who served but perhaps there's more. Maybe someone died and is buried over there. Most of my grandparents came from large families. Well, from that line of thought the rest is history, haha, quite literally. To find military service, you need to know the details of all your family members don't you. So here we are on a geneological research campaign.

It's amazing what you can discover online these days. Truly amazing. Within an hour of starting I made contact with a cousin of my father I've never met, whose wife is also researching. Now I am anticipating receiving digital copies of photographs of my great grandmothers and great great grandmother and others, which is simply fantastic!!

The records and network of family geneologists online is brilliant. In just a couple of weeks I have learned a vast amount about my family, including some unexpected surprises. Drum roll please.... turns out one of our mob was a convict!! For an Australian that is like winning the geneological lottery!  Better still, there is a clear record that he's our bloke. No uncertainty whatsoever, which apparently is often not the case. Although others in the family have traced the line, it seems no one had checked to see how the various lines arrived and when.  In my solitary zeal I did a quick search and bingo!! Eureka! I can't quite compete with my friend who has three convicts in her background, including first fleeter and a negro convict to boot, as well as whopping great land grants around Sydney; or my brother in law who turns out to be descended from Billy Blue;  but hey, I'm walking on air!

Earlier this year, my dad died. We held a wake of course. Looking back over photos of his life, I was talking family with Dad's sister and a couple of his cousins he was close to.  My Aunty piped up with a saying people had when she was growing up.  In an adopted English country accent she pipes up "Aren't you glad your grandfather stole that dook!" (... that's a duck that is referred to by the way!).  I would interpret the saying as a universal statement of love for Australia and a deep sense of gratitude to be living in this beautiful, free, land.

So.. back to the family tree.  We're making pretty good progress on my side of the family. On several fronts we're back to the mid 1700s.  Potential on one line (if it can be confirmed with reasonable documentation), that we link into a tree that has been researched back to about 1200. That's as it may be. I'd like to see the documentary evidence.... For me I am finding it extremely interesting just to see where the family came from immediately preceding their migration and putting together the puzzle of extended family here at home.

The first of my forebears to arrive in Australia was one Josiah Williams a shipwright. He and his wife and first child were bounty immigrants who, with a loan of twenty pounds, packed their worldly goods and departed their home in Stepney to sail for a new life in a new, but ancient, land in 1832. Predicably, they lived at first in Sydney, where the next generation towards me, one Margaret Hannah Williams was born in 1836. Margaret is my paternal grandfather's paternal grandmother.  Subsequently the family seems to have scattered to the four winds across the country, including Adelaide, but Margaret and her descendants - at least down the line that leads to me, remained in Sydney. Making me the 5th generation to be born in Sydney since 1832.

Our convict seems to have been another of the first family members to hit Australia of course. 1838 - ie before the discovery of gold brought all and sundry to our sunny shores. Harry the housebreaker was apparently from Kent, and he was convicted in the Kent Assizes. Harry's parents were both born in Speldhurst, Kent.  Harry was my mother's great grandfather. He must have been a bad boy at some stage as a convict because he was sent to Moreton Bay. Turns out we have pioneer Queenslanders all over the place up there... I may be a Sydneysider, but I've also got a pretty darn impressive Qld pedigree too!
Dad's paternal line was from Kent also. Most recently from Chatham where they appear to have worked at the Historic Dockyard. My great great grandfather first turns up in Sydney getting married in 1853 to Margaret, the first of my forebears born here. Some years later his brother came out and married Margaret's sister. This proved very useful to me because my great great grandfather was the informant on his brother's death and gave details of his family back in Kent.

Harry the housebreaker's wife Jane Kirkwood (pictured above) was not a convict or born of a convict. I am told this is unusual. Usually if you have one convict you have more because they tended to marry other convicts or the children of convicts. In Harry the housebreaker's case he married an Irish Orphan who came out under the Earl Grey scheme. This scheme caused such community outrage and prejudice that it was abandoned after a couple of years. The young women were selected from workhouses at the time of the famines. Most were orphans. Most were catholic. My "orphan" had a living mother in Belfast and was CofE. There is a memorial to the Irish Orphan girls at Hyde Park Barracks in Sydney which is where they were processed. It is astonishing the things we all don't know about our own families.

Below we have a photo of convict Harry and Jane's daughter Fanny and her family. My grandfather is the boy sitting in the front. He was a bit of a wild child by all accounts.  I am proud to say that the main man in the photo (my great grandfather) is reported to have been a good friend to the Chinese community in Townsville and very popular with them. He and his son Joe after him (also pictured - the male furthest on the right) did a lot for the Chinese community, though perhaps this is offset by my grandfather, a young larrikin, who would tease the Chinese men and push their baskets as they carried them on their long poles. My older relatives shake their heads and say that if grandfather had found out he would have really copped a hiding.

Next to leave their home country, my father's maternal grandmothers line - the Russells, set off from Auchinleck, Scotland, for Dunedin New Zealand which was a Scottish settlement. Dunedin is of course the Scottish Gaelic name for Edinburgh. This must have been in the early-mid 1860's when the Otago region was in the midst of a gold rush. They seem to have lived there for about a decade at least before moving to Sydney following the death of my great great grandfather, who is buried in Dunedin.

My great great grandmother Susan Russell (pictured above) and the (surviving) children moved to St Leonards in Sydney. There's an intriguing mystery in there somewhere and some tragedy too. The youngest daughter committed suicide at age 16 by drinking carbolic.... and though my great grandmother Jessie Russell had 6 sons and named most after family members.. not one is named for her own deceased father James! There has simply GOT to be a reason for that!
It turns out that great great grandfather Russell had at least two brothers who also emigrated to Dunedin and we have heaps of kiwi relatives! Through Ancestry.com.au I am now in touch with my distant cousin in NZ who has been displaced by the earthquake she contacted me to tell me where my great great grandfather is buried. If we follow the Russells forebears back we get to a lead miner from Wanlockhead, Ayrshire, Scotland. The lead mine is now a museum and you can visit it. How cool would that be, to visit the very place where your ancestor worked 250 odd years ago.

1879, sees the other of my father's mothers lines upping sticks from Norfolk, England and being assisted to move a great slice of the family to Australia. Charles Barber and Sarah Ann Barber (nee Spink) (pictured below) came out to join Charles's step father's sister Ann in Sydney. More of the family followed a couple of years later.

Having lived for generations in Norfolk this line of the family fell victim to the industrial revolution and in large numbers first migrated to Durham in the north where they lived for several years before emigrating.  I have learned that in that period Norfolk suffered a severe depression and the population dropped by more than half. There must be many more out there like us, whose parents pretty much had to come out here to survive. Like the Russells, on arrival in Australia, they settled in the St Leonards area on the north shore of Sydney harbour where my own paternal line was also busily creating a vast infestation.

This is a photo of the home of Charles and Sarah's son William Barber, one of the kids they brought with them, and his wife Jesse Russell who was born in Dunedin. It is in Rhodes Ave Naremburn and this is where my grandmother was born, and indeed I believe my father was also born in this house.

My paternal grandfather was one of thirteen... and his father - was likewise of a large family and they also all lived in St Leonards for registration purposes! Birthed in St Leonards, Married in St Leonards. Died in St Leonards. It is proving unusual to find a family member who moved away from the lower north shore in those generations that qualify as historical records!  And who could blame them. It is and was a supremely beautiful area, especially years ago when it was less developed.

Through newly found cousins I have acquired photographs of my grandfather and all his many siblings and their wives and children laughing and healthy and happy looking like they are having a ball in their old fashioned swimwear and fashions. By the look of my grandfather I'd guess this photo is from the 1920's or very early 1930s.  I also found an online image of the headstone of Margaret Townsend (nee Williams) the first of us all to be born in Australia, back in 1836. Unfortunately the headstone was destroyed when that cemetary was converted to a "rest park". I'm grateful they at least took photographs before trying to move things.

There's lots of origins to be identified when your family has been in Australia for so long, and it seems we are doing a pretty solid job of dotting ourselves all around the UK.

There are some more locations steeped in family.  So far, Aberdeenshire is up there. On my maternal grandmother's paternal line it's Aberdeenshire in every branch and twig until George Donald and Mary Dey set sail with their young family for Australia in 1883 arriving directly into Townsville. Townsville and Charters Towers feature strongly in their Australian story with many of their descendants still living in far north Queensland.

Around 1870 my mothers paternal grandfather - Jesse Popham (pictured above) arrived in Moreton Bay (Brisbane) from Mark, Somerset. Jesse was a carpenter who was recruited in England to work in the Queensland timber industry. He migrated on his own, but it appears his sister had emigrated earlier and was settled in Rockhampton - where her descendants still live. Jesse was here for about 10 years before he married the daughter of our convict in the Brisbane area, had a couple of kids there and then moved to Townsville and had a bunch more.  They lived in Ipswich during the great flood and the family has handed down stories about cleaning the mud of the ceiling of the second story of their house. I guess you can imagine that our family wasn't much surprised by the recent Brisbane flooding over the area where Jesse and the family lived back in the late 1800s.  There was no natural disaster assistance in those days.

It is no wonder my father was so obsessed with the ocean. His grandfather Wark was a marine engineer from Glasgow, and he just might have been a bigamist! But I'm not certain about that.

Eadley's (blacksmiths) and Bonnells (agricultural labourers) from Shropshire and Staffordshire. Despite some tricky tangles with common names and such, on the whole the available public documentation relating to my family is astonishing.

On my hubby's side it is a much much murkier picture. Neither of my husband's parents were born in Australia and were not British.

My mother in law was born in Rabaul, New Guinea. Her father (above) was from Ambon, Indonesia and was speared in 1942 and died. This and the war prompted a move for the widow and children to Sydney and safety.  They were non -white aliens, so that cannot have been pleasant. As far as the records show the Australian government confiscated my hubby's grandfathers assets in the war and they were never compensated. We know there are still family in New Guinea, but at this stage we do not know much, and frankly hubby is not much interested in finding out. ... but I wonder, who are these people? We believe they are family of hubby's maternal grandmother.

My father in law's story has been a revelation. After his death some details started to emerge when his partner of 28 years finally felt able to tell hubby what little she knew. Immigration records from the 1950s are openly available. Though we didn't know until I started digging in the archives, it turns out he was born in Yugoslavia. An ethnicity known as Donauschwabians. Volksdeutsche. Most of his family were wiped out in a round of ethnic cleansing after the end of WWII. The village where he lived was converted to a concentration camp. The adult men and women were taken as forced labour to Russia. The elderly and the children were held in starvation conditions created to inflict an eye or an eye revenge on anyone of ethnic German ancestry.  Accordingly there were rapes and beatings and murders. It was simply horrendous and in the shock and anger over the holocaust, it seems no-one among the world community much cared. They say about 6 million ethnic Germans died including my father-in-law's grandparents and Joe was left alone from about the age of 8 or 9 yrs to survive as best he could. All Joe's siblings died, some of scarlet fever but we don't know when. It may have been before 1944 or they may have died weakened by conditions in the camp. No wonder Joe never spoke of his family or life before Australia.
There are some pretty noisy rattling skeletons in there which we will unravel some day. I want to know about my Joe's father's war record. There's a very good chance it isn't going to be a pretty story. We know he didn't come back and apparently was conscripted and had no choice (which fits with what the history texts are saying) but what did he and his unit get up to? Apparently the volksdeutsche were not eligible to serve in the Wehrmacht which means any service had to be in the Waffen SS.  How responsible was he for the war crimes committed by the Waffen SS??  Perhaps there is a reason, beyond his traumatic experiences, why Joe went out of his way to deny my husband any connection to, or knowledge of his family.. or maybe he was trying to protect hubby from racist attitudes.  Joe passionately adopted his nationality as an Australian and he didn't like to look back.
When I started looking at the German side of things a colleague who is of German ancestry with post-war migration cautioned me. Were we sure we wanted to know what was hiding back there?  What scars we carry without even knowing where they came from.

In the course of trying to understand our own stories, there are lots more villages and regions around the world to get along to and see what we can see.  This personal relationship with distant places and times provides an interesting texture to our travels.  Events that we felt distant from are sometimes a lot closer than we realise. A shared humanity has to mean that they cannot be held aloof. Must not be held aloof.

And what about the Military Service that started this quest?  Well, I have yet to really decipher much on my relatives service records received to date, but so far, my family seem to have been "deep thinkers":

My mother's Uncle Ben served in France, in the 42nd Battalion and was apparently an invalid who died very young as a result of it. But at least he came home. The battle honours of the 42nd are not shabby. Not shabby at all! My aunty tells me that Uncle Ben was a bugler and in a gas attack he stayed up bugling to raise the alarm and copped a nasty dose of gas. Apparently this was the source of his chronic ill health. Ben's wife didn't have an easy run of things as you can well imagine.

Dad's Uncle Andrew served with 17th Battalion marching in as a reinforcement in November 1916 he was captured at Lagnicourt on the 15th April 1917, a date specifically mentioned in the AWM unit profile that I have linked. He was at first listed missing, and there are reports from others who last saw him of what was going down before he went missing. He was later notified as a POW. Uncle Andrew never married and lived with my grandparents when I was very small. My eldest sister remembers him well. I was a bit young for any but vague memories of Uncle Andrew.

Dad's Uncle Harry served in the 13th Battalion. Having joined up on 16 August 1915, he was not with them when they landed at Gallipoli.  He was awarded the Military Medal for his gallantry during a patrol near Broodseinde in October 1917 and was again recommended for the MM for action near Le Verguier on 18 September 1918.  

Remarkably, all three came home. One of my treasures is Uncle Andrew's discharge papers, which were given to me when I was quite young. They sit where they were when I received them, quite damaged and stored in the wallet that Andrew bought in London while serving.

Then there's quite a few of the younger Uncles served in WW2, usually in supporting roles due to their advanced age - what being at least in their thirties and in some cases skilled tradesmen.  Some cousins of my parents also served. Mum's cousins: Uncle Ben's sons for example- one of whom was a choco in New Guinea who later transferred to the AIF.  Again, so far as I have found, all these also returned home. Amazing  in such a large family to have had noone killed.  Plenty to research about what precise activity all these guys were involved in. I'm still not certain who sent the souvenir book of pressed wildflowers home from the Holy Land endorsing it To Dear Mum and Dad from Peter 29/9/41. This is another of the family treasures I have inherited and an enticing mystery to unravel.

... our research continues. When the time comes the UK has a pretty well established tourism industry focussed on people heading over to check out where their forebears came from.  I can hardly wait to explore these locations after I have done an appropriate level of research to make the most of the trip.

I don't think travel research has ever been so absorbing as this before!