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!

Day 11 - Homeward Bound - Forbes - Grenfell - Macarthur

Monday 27^th September 2010

OK, so the argument this morning is whether the Manly Sea Eagles mascot is modeled on the bird currently known as a white bellied sea eagle, or whether it was modeled on a Brahminy Kite which used to be known as a sea eagle.  We end up agreeing that the brahminy kite is the winner..

We’ve been down to Gum swamp and there’s a few good things around, babblers, pink eared ducks, a huge troupe of white winged choughs among others.  Numbers are down as more breeding areas are on the go this year with all the water we’ve had.

We have rationed ourselves to only about an hour and are have enjoyed a very nice cooked brekky – only about $7 or something, so continued excellent good value -  and on the road by about 8:20-25.  We’re heading for Grenfell. 

Last time we drove from Forbes to Grenfell we went down Henry Lawson Way.  This time we decide to try the New Grenfell Road.  We suspect it may have been the “new” Grenfell Rd for quite some time, but it’s a lovely route and very quiet.

In one section Patterson’s curse lines the roadway in vibrant purple with the yellow cassia behind. It makes for a very pleasant drive.

A long neck tortoise crosses the road. We’re worried about him, but he doesn’t need our patronage, he’s across in now time, just a brief pulling in of the head when the one car we see along here drives over him.

All of a sudden the countryside seems to have made a transition from cassia bushes to wattle.  In this area the wattle is still in full display.  We pull over to admire its light fragrance and glorious fluffy blossoms.

Continuing on the landscape makes another change and we hit dense callitris forest around Warraderry. State Forest.  It is extremely easy to get lost in callitris forest.  Warraderry State Forest is also one of a few cooperative banding sites, or was last I heard.  It’s illegal to band birds unless you have an approved study unless you do the banding at one of these cooperative sites, where presumably it has been determined that long term data will be useful, and I guess these sites provide a place where banders can get the required training to get their licence. I have heard much about Warraderry and adventures there, but not been through here before so this is particularly interesting for me.

Finally in Grenfell I stop at the servo for some ice and we head directly for our favourite butcher.  We regret not having brought our camera in from the car today.  The butcher has several sheep carcasses hanging up.  We order some scotch fillet $23 ish per kg, then a couple of racks worth of lamb cutlets $25 per kg and finally a leg of lamb which is between $8 and $9 per kilo. The scotch is sliced to our specifications as we watch, lamb racks trimmed up and prepared.  Meanwhile we chat with the butcher and other customers as they come into the store.  This is how meat buying should be. Wonderful.

Nothing to delay our departure and we enjoy a lovely scenic drive through undulating hills, through crops and pasture and the occasional spring blossom tree.  We stop at a spot along the way that we strongly suspect we have stopped before. I don’t think we are alone as they have built a layby at the crest of this hill.  We open the windows and the fragrance off the field of flowering canola is strong and beautiful. It is most picturesque.

Another stop at a roadside stall, this time for some free range eggs for $4 per dozen.

Bells Line of Road home. All very uneventful.  Having had such a wonderful adventure, we’re now pretty intent on arriving, but not so much that daughter resists an urge to wander up to Mt Wilson for our picnic of Forbes bread and vegemite. Mmm. Daffodils are making a lovely show. Mt Wilson is lovely but we’ve not got time to go in to any of the open gardens today. We're home by 4pm. It's been a wonderful wonderful adventure.

The Washup.

Well, what more can one say. We’ve been home a day our two and so far have enjoyed a feast of lamb cutlets and last night we ate that leg of lamb. I had forgotten leg of lamb could be that good. So incredibly tender. Full shank in place. I don’t know what the city butchers do to their shanks these days but they don’t crisp up properly like they should and the meat from the city butchers is not even half as good. Daughter 1 – who being pregnant gets all the treats these days – devours that shank with great relish. Oh, we are definitely going to have to head out to Grenfell more often!  Tonight we’ll have a Barbie with Grenfell steak.  Mmmm.. our holiday delights will continue for a while yet. :o)

Day 10 - Bourke to Forbes

Sunday 26^th September

We check out of our accommodation at approx 8:45.  We head to the bakery for a mobile brekky.  The bakery is not yet open. The sign on door says they open at 9 am .  This communicates very effectively to me that they don’t bake on Sundays. We’re keen to get away so we head for the IGA. We’re developing a serious fondness for Khans’ Super IGA.

We forget fuel. Clever. We double back to the depot and utilise the 24 hr card service and we are on our way once again. Plentyiful wildflowers heading down on the Mitchell Hwy.  Daughter stops to photograph a dilapidated old building visible from the road. It is large and industrial looking but beyond that we have no clue what it may have been.

The wildflowers are about in abundance for the first say 20 kms or so down the Mitchell hwy.  Its not too long before we come to a spate of road kill. As many would know we’ve always been bizarrely fond of roadkill in our family, but after our joey experience yesterday this interest has clearly become an obsession.  Daughter is driving and pulls over. From a distance I think this roo looks like a male, but only a crazy person would take my word on that guess, and in an case the carcass needs to be moved off the highway for decency’s sake.  Its really aweful seeing the road kill that people have just kept running over and mangling.  Daughter retrieves the rubber gloves from the boot and dons her PPE.

The roo is indeed a male. Mum and I are sitting in the car and daughter is dragging the corpse to the verge before we suddenly twig.. Hang on we should be videoing this.  We reach for our cameras with the enthusiasm of wild west gunfighters, but we are too late.  “Put it back and do it again we say”…. But we are no doubt unintelligible due to laughter and daughter looks at us with a puzzled expression accentuated by gestures from her pink gloved hands.   Ah, simple country pleasures.

We’ve hardly gone any distance before daughter is pulling up again. Roo number two another male.  We keep on in this fashion and by the time we’re pulling up for roo number three, daughter is concluding that perhaps she shouldn’t bother putting the gloves away.  By this stage I’m getting more efficient at the film crew caper.  I’ve moved my box of books out of my way and I’m shooting open the sliding door and getting the zoom in about right for the next scene before daughter has the first glove on. 

I don’t like to brag, but I have to say for roo number three we got a quite satisfactory video… 12^th man eat your heart out.  

At 66 kms we’re back into country that has lots of what I guess are budda trees.  They look similar to the threes we saw around the Ridge at any rate.

I glance out the window to a dam and see several camels taking a drink. . The car speeds on. Looking across the red soil into a nearby paddock there is no shortage of carpeting wildflowers . Yellow is the overall effect.  The road side for mile after mile is bordered with green and the gold of the yellow daisies.  Where they drop off the cassia picks up.

Throughout our drives there has been a consistent theme and this has been brought home to me by the artist Jenny Greentree.  This is the real value of art. It helps you see your world more clearly.  One of the original pastel works I bought from Ms Greentree is of this very scene, albeit on a dirt road.  The grey green of the general vegetation highlighted by the flowering cassia.  She named the piece “Green and Gold”.  Driving down the highways, byways and tracks: green and gold. Other colours come in here and there, but always this constant. Green and Gold. Our national colours and I have gained a greater appreciation of them on this trip.

Our trip meter reset at Bourke is on 56.8 when we exclaim at a particularly nice stretch of roadway.  Worthy of a tapestry… or an embroidered landscape scene by Judy Wilford.

We arrive at Byrock, which is a featured stop on one of the mud map tours of the Bourke district.  I am intrigued by the promised gilgai swimming hole which is reported as being a 10 min walk from the Mulga  Creek Motel, but resist the temptation. We have a long way to go and potentially a lot of road kill to interfere with.  

The Mulga Creek Hotel looks really nice. We take a brief comfort stop.  The grounds are very attractive and clearly very well tended.  I would certainly be inclined to give staying here a go.  

Heading out of “town” once more, a discarded rag assumes the posture of a deformed macropod in our imaginations, before laughing at us as we pass.  

About 50- 60 kms out from Nyngan, the vegetation changes from Mulga to taller woodland dominated by eucalypt trees. No end to the flowering yellow shrubs. 

Girilimbone pop 66 signage says they have an RSL open 5pm. Good effort for a town of 66 people.

Back in cropping areas. We pass a crop that covers a vast area, but it doesn’t look to be doing too well.  Very short but seed heads visible and it looks like it's browning off in places. Unlike the pattersons curse lining the roads which is looking a treat.  Still the yellow cassia bushes keep on keeping on.  They must be tough and seem to live happily pretty much everywhere we’ve been.

As we head steadily south east, the vegetation changes.  Trees are taller and eucalypts dominate.  I’m taking a turn in the back having noted the change, mum pipes up:.  “I like the mulga”.  Daughter replies. “Yes, I like the mulga too.”  Mum loves the tropics and rainforests a lot so her professed preference for the mulga surprises me.

We pass down through numerous little communities. Coolibah, seems a fairly run down sort of place, quite unusual as most of even the tiniest little places we’ve passed through have been neat and evident of considerable civic pride.

Nyngan appears to be a nice town. Bigger than I expected. Part of the parking area at the local reserve is under water. There's a market on so we drive in for a closer look. It looks like it's gearing up for some sort of event with stages and things. A few stalls but they look like stuff for people with properties, and time is precious so we give it a miss. We stop to photograph a sculpture installation in one of the small parks of a flock of sheep and a bloke with his sheepdog working them. While here mum spots a pink cockatoo in a tree next to the car and gets some brilliant photos. The wagons roll.               

Trangie.  Narromine. No time to explore.  We take a turn down to Parkes from Narromine and we are now in that area of NSW that is quite possibly my favourite of any... well aside from the Capertee Valley of course.  I do love the beautiful rolling hills and the swathes of brightest yellow and rich purple interspersed with deep green that clothe the hills.  Majestic gums provide texture and interest.  Having sussed out options in Narromine for lunch and finding that the local community actually expects to rest on Sunday after 1pm (good on them) we head on and turn down a quiet dirt side road and pull up in the shade of some mature gums.  We sup on some soft cheese and crackers and not finding that terribly satisfying, decide that we will change tack and finish off with a feast of vegemite saos.  Knew those saos would come in handy! As we munch we watch the antics of a pied butcherbird and a couple of magpies that are prowling about down near some standing water that lines the road.  Everywhere we’ve been, there has been water lying about. What a year its been!

Hunger satisfied we head back onto the main road.  Paused for some reason we notice the paddock nearby is crowded with all sorts of coloured sheep, all with their tails intact. That is not a sight you see every day.

We’re travelling through heartland NSW now. It is gorgeous. I don’t think I will ever tire of driving through this part of the country at this time of year.

As we approach Peak Hill we are welcomed to part of Wiradjuri Country.  Entering the town we take a spin up a side street heading for a quick squiz at the Open Cut Experience.  Bonus! They have that beautiful flowering gum we have been admiring all through our trip.  We pull over for a photo opportunity.

The Open Cut experience looks quite extensive and is more than we have the energy to do today, but there’s always next time.

          

Heading down to Parks we pass the Dish and are again amazed at how beautiful this stretch of highway is.  We wonder what the hills visible in the distance are.  A quick stop for fuel and before you can say Jack Robinson.. or Will Robinson either, we are making the turn to check out the statue of Ben Hall at the Railway Visitor Info Centre.  We climb out of the car and are attracted to an open door with gear in it relating to Ben Hall.  Is this the Ben Hall experience they are spruiking?  We pass through onto the station platform. Passing through some… shall we say, displays.  Daughter and I look at eachother and laugh.  No words required.  It’s essentially a junk shed with some hessian strung up, which is fine.  Then to the hessian they’ve pinned brochures and the odd photo of Ben Hall. Daughter says she also recalls an old dust pan with some grass poking out of it. … we’d say it was daylight robbery and that was the bush ranger experience, but there was no charge.  Clearly the Ben Hall Experience is located elsewhere on site..

We move into the arts and crafts area.  They have some nice hand made things. Daughter acquires a really cute baby singlet with tiny black ants embroidered on it.  Another with grub stitch frogs. Both are really lovely.. Naturally, being short of reading material and overendowed with reading time, I have made a b line to the books.  One that is the life story of some old local person involved in the Ben Hall events, by a descendant after many hours of interviews.  And the other… drum roll.. the Judas Covenant, author signed about Ben Hall penned 2006.  Looks good, introduction is interesting. Irresistable subject matter.  It’s a deal.

Before doing the payment transaction, we wander into the Ben Hall room. I’m wondering if the artifacts from the Albion Hotel we saw last time we were here have been moved to this location as I cannot find any references to suggest the Albion Hotel display is still open.  Turns out the answer to that question is no, no they haven’t.  They have a few other things a few of which are of dubious interest.  Probably the pick of them were some old coins found on the creek where Ben Hall and gang hid out, and a replica pistol of the type that would have been used at the time.  Some bullets too.  You can ask to have a DVD played for you, but we didn’t do that. 

We are all most disappointed to think that the Albion Hotel displays may have been closed. We really enjoyed that when we were here last time.  Yeah, it was seriously dusty, but overwhelmingly the thing was of great interest to us all… three generations worth too and we all enjoyed it, so not just to us old fogeys.

Anyway, we head out of the Ben Hall room, and start our transaction with the two elderly ladies manning the info centre this afternoon.  Both are characters. One lady is into harness racing and loves to chat.  We collectively try to figure out how to work the card machine for visa payment. No joy there. We pay cash.  Both ladies are very friendly and we have a lovely time dealing with them, then it’s off to the Lake Forbes Motel which we find just as clean and comfortable as our last visit. Service as friendly too.  Love this place. It even has free wireless broadband.  We order dinner for them to deliver to our rooms. Home cooked meals. Daughter and mum order the steak and report it very nice and cooked as ordered.  I go for the lamb cutlets and find that they also are nicely cooked. You just can't beat the Lake Forbes Motel. No longer a Country Haven affiliate, now their with some other mob, but it doesn't matter they are still the same good value.

Day 9 - In which we have an adventure on the Wildflower mud map route

Saturday 25 September

Mum is all abuzz when I stop by her room at 6:15.  “Guess what was outside” she says with eyes bright with excitement.  “Something good, I heard them calling close by but didn’t rush out to look.” I reply.  “Not these” mum says her tone suggesting she has scooped the pool. I wait with anticipation until she finally breaks the suspense “Two Bourke’s Parrots!!! Flew into the tree just out there a little while ago!! ”  She continues organizing her chemical cocktail ie regime of medications clearly anticipating an early departure.

“What’s happening?” she asks.  I say “well at the very least we’re heading up to Ledknapper.  “Aren’t we going to Eulo? I’ve told all my friends I’m going to see the monument to Destructo.”  I’m impressed. It’s not often mum shows that much overt enthusiasm for any particular activity.  Good ol’ Destructo the Racing Cockroach has really captured our imaginations.

I’m a bit torn today. I really fancy having a campfire and jaffles by a billabong under a coolabah tree here near Bourke too, but Lednapper and the wildflowers mud map route is a must do for this trip with the drought breaking and all. Daughter has decided she’ll need to opt out today so she can study. She hasn’t got as much study in day by day as she had planned, and that clinical exam is coming up all too soon. This leaves me without a back up driver and I’m feeling pretty tired, so I’m not sure I can commit to such a long day as Lednapper and Eulo together, but we'll see how we go.

Mum and I make a reasonable get away, similar to yesterday at about 6:45 am.  I even remember to fill the car with juice.  We muck about doing a reccie down by the river and the billabongs nearby, looking for a handy coolabah tree.  We can see coolabahs by billabongs. Nothing doing though.  The road on the southern side of the bridge comes to a deadend and the billabongs seem to be on fenced private land.  On the northern side of the road, around what the locals call North Bondi, the roads are pretty mangled and I soon lose interest in exploring further for fear of getting stuck.  So there will be no camping under a coolabah tree by a billabong for us afterall.  Sigh. Seems to me someone is missing out on a wonderful business opportunity.  I would cheerfully pay a site usage fee for a suitable venue to indulge this dearly loved cliché.  I’m a bit surprised no one has thought to take advantage of…oops I mean assist… city folk such as ourselves in this way.

Time is a tickin’ away…Back to the business of our day.. its straight up the Mitchell Highway (aka the Kidman Way) for about 50 kms, then we turn towards Lednapper Crossing. Now on the dirt. Our mud map guide tells us that until the crossing its stone country but after that you get to red sand hill country.  I’m wondering if this “crossing” involved water and what sort of bottom it might be. At any rate we’ve got 30 kms on a fairly stony but well graded dirt road before that becomes an issue.  

I pull over to record a visual reminder of this part of the journey. It’s still cool outside and on opening the windows I am hit again with a powerful fragrance emanating from the bushland. It is a fabulous aroma and I breathe deep and sigh with pleasure.  Mum’s window is down too.  “Hmmm” she says. “Maned wolf country”.  Perhaps its relevant to note, mum doesn’t like that smell that I absolutely love.. LOL

By a little after 8 am we are passing little bushes smothered in informal white daisies. Cassia bushes with their yellow cup shaped blossoms have been a consistent feature for some time and are well represented also. 

Hiding slightly behind the roadside plants is a subtle little tea tree with tiny white flowers with richer burgundy centres giving an overall effect to the bush of blush pink.  Pretty pale pink eremophila style flowers resist having their close up taken, but the shrub is pretty.

It is slow going as we keep having to stop for a closer look at things.  Having come all this way why wizz past.  Australian wildflowers are generally delicate things and best appreciated up close.

We’re still not at the crossing when we spot the first of the inland bearded dragons that have appropriated the road and its environs for a bit of pleasant basking or displaying.  We stop and take a portrait and this lizard isn’t the slightest bit bothered by us being here up close and personal.  They are quite impressive when they get concerned.  They flatten out so their body is like a hand drill’s wheel and they turn black and puff out their beard.. not this guy though. This one is completely relaxed.

Moving on there’s a kangaroo lying in the road. I slow down and pass by.  Then something clicks in my mind and says… was that legs sticking out of a pouch on that roo?  Now where I have lived we have been well schooled that if you see a roadkill marsupial, you should be sure to check its pouch for young.  You are even encouraged to carry a can of fluorescent spray paint to mark the carcass with a big X after you’ve check it so other people are spared the potentially unpleasant job of fossicking around in the pouch. I can do nothing else but go back and check.  Notwithstanding that I have no clue what I’m going to do with a joey if one should be there. At home its fairly simple if found they should be passed on to WIRES (the Wildlife Information Education and Rescue Service).  I have no idea if WIRES have carers out here.

I park the car and hop out to walk back to the deceased roo.  I haven’t gone very far before I see the pouch is clearly moving. There is definitely a live joey in there.  What to do now?  I will need something to put it in.  Mum suggests a shopping bag.  Good thinking 99.  I believe I have a calico shopping bag in the soft esky, that would make a handy substitute pouch.  We know that Joeys are most reassured by being in a bag rather than a box. Makes sense doesn’t it seeing they like in a pouch.  

I approach the carcass. First things first. Evidence of how I came by this protected baby animal.  Photograph of legs protruding from dead roo.  Now, how does one go about extracting a frightened joey from it’s dead mother’s pouch?  I push on the back of the pouch.  Hmmm. I have a bit of a go of seeing where the various bits of this baby are. It is all legs. My god joeys this age have huge huge legs compared to the rest of it.  Luckily on prodding from behind this little guy gets its head and shoulders out near the pouch opening and I manage to drag it out.  A quick inspection for injuries. No apparent injuries to anywhere other than some slight damage to the tail. I quickly pop young joey in the bag.  It seems instantly at home.  We take some more photos for the record.

I feel the cute little guy’s paws. They are cool.  I prod the carcass. Getting quite stiff but not completely rigid. We head back to the car. Well. We are acquainted with a family who care for baby joeys from time to time and we are aware that joeys need to be fed every four hours round the clock. This guy seems pretty lively and in good nick.  We resolve to continue our loop and head back to Bourke and find out what to do with this roo.  Again my trusty off sider comes to the rescue. “Better put something under the bag in case it pees everywhere”.  Good thinking 99. Here sit the bag on this weatherproof jacket, that’ll do the trick. We’re just about to drive away. Hang on, joey is in the sun.  Joey duly relocated to shady side of car.  We figure joey won’t prefer to be held by smelly scary humans all the while, so bag is sitting on the back seat. On we go.

It’s only a short while until we come to Lednapper Crossing.  Sealed road down through a dip where the creek crosses the road.  The creek has standing water on one side of the road and is dry on the other.  Creek environs fairly uninspiring, but there is no shortage of birdsong around. 

Within about 10 mins we come to a red sand hill section and beautiful yellow grevillea are flowering.  It is a striking grevillea, very beautiful.  Here my fairly comprehensive ignorance of the wildflowers here is going to show quite clearly.  There were shrubs with abundant rich blue flowers, a sort of hop bush type plant, clearly growing in large numbers and all of them heavily weighed down with the colourful seed pods.  A pinky mauve bush too, covered in flowers. Many individual beauties.

A bit further along and a stop is dictated by a massive clump of the blue flowered plant.  It’s sandier here, but I pull up on a firm area of ground.  Out of the car I unthinkingly start clod hoppering about and then notice, the sand is covered in tracks. Closest to my own are an emu. Cool. I follow the tracks where the emu has crossed the road.  I return to task and photograph the flowers.  Heading back to the car.. more tracks.. this would be a lizard I reckon.  Two bars together.. I think that’s a roo.  This sandy country is pretty nifty really.

Ten past ten we finally make it into Lednapper Nature Reserve.  More of the same flowers at first. Then we are rewarded by an extraordinary beauty, the subtlety of which would be completely lost if you stay in your car.  This one is really special.

Our next landscape of note is heavily endowed with lovely spinifex.  Well, I guess it’s easy to call it lovely spinifex when you don’t have to walk amongst it.  Spinifex is nicely spikey and irritating. 

The scene changes and we hit a very pretty stretch that is decked out in soft grey green as the road sweeps around a corner.  Along the course of this mud map route we pass through a range of different vegetation types reflecting the changes to the soil below. The changes are quite marked and sudden.  There is nothing monotonous about this drive.

Now along the course of the day we see a LOT of lizards. It is spring. Inland Bearded Dragons breed during this time and roads are a wonderful purpose build lizard courting performance environment. Our second dragon for the day was perched at the top of a dead shrub.  Others are spotted on the road bobbing their heads up and down. One or two are even observed waving their arms at someone indicating, “come on over big boy”.. but here, here we have a lizard that is going all out.  Lizard gymnastics. Nadia Comaneci eat your heart out.

We move from the reserve out along the road to Enngonia into a more open environment of pastureland.  Grazing country by the look of it.  here there are gentle strokes of purple darling pea, and daubs of yellow. 
Daisies we presume in the main. 

Occassionally there is something new. Sweet little climps of of soft pink flowers. 

More emus of course. Of course. Emus are everywhere and we never get tired of spotting them.  They run across the road. The stalk in stately ceremony across fields, they duck manically behind shrubs. Emus are awesome.  We even see a few roos in the open country too, though we can’t remember whether it’s the western greys or the red roos that have the white flags on their ears.

Along the road to Enngonia there are regular poles. Some with insulator fixtures and some with wires hanging off in obviousl dilapidation.  These poles are rough. Like trees just trimmed up a bit and planted in the ground. They seem to us like they must be original telegraph poles. Cool.  Its not long at all admiring these poles before we find that Nadia the lizard has some stiff competition.  Pole vaulters in the making, these athletes have made themselves at home at the top of the telegraph pole.

You would think that a bird of prey would pick them off wouldn’t you.  Ah, speaking of birds of prey, a brown falcon lands atop one of the poles.  Ironically it’s nearby an area where there is standing water and not much in the way of lizards.

Up ahead we spot three brolgas, pretty much as soon as we see them, the brolgas take flight.  We follow them around until they vanish off in the distance.  The birding along the way has been pretty awesome actually.  Our first excitement was another pink cockatoo.  Then I spotted a random bird sitting in a roadside tree. I’ve been pretty lazy on the birding front, but for some reason I decide to reverse for this one. It hops down into a clump of foliage. I can no longer see it with the naked eye, but I raise my binoculars and … surley not… good lord, it’s a crested bellbird! That black stripe down it’s head is unmistakeable.  Cool.  My first wild crested bellbird. Awesome.

And then there was the feral pig and piglets that ran quickly across the road and for cover. All in all it has been a very entertaining morning.  We are forewarned of our immenent arrival in Enngonia by a sign that asks us to drop our dust before entering town. However we’re not entirely sure what that requires us to actually do. We have been keeping a close eye on our bouncy friend its pretty lively but we figure a speedy return to town is called for.  The black top is a smooth quick ride and the scenery is still nice and in some sections lovely.

Back in Bourke we drop by the motel to get daughter. She’ll want to see the joey and then when the joey is taken care of we’ll need some lunch.  We’re on our way to the info centre when daughter spots a local vet.  We decide to try the vet first.  We note the phone number and ring from the pay phone at the info centre, we get enough time to confirm that the usual procedure is to hand the joey over to national parks staff in Bourke but she doesn’t have the phone number to give us.  Money in the phone runs out. I go in to the info centre.  The lady serving fixes us up.  She rings the parks office and fortunately there is someone working there today and they can take control of the roo.  They have some “stuff” out the back they can give her (we noticed when showing her to daughter that she has a pouch) and they have wires carers in the area.  Turns out there are a range of points of view re roos in the district. Some people would happily just put a bullet through joey’s head. Others would go to some lengths to raise her.  We figure, either way, be it the bullet or the teat, its got to be better than a slow death by the roadside.

So, joey is taken care of. Now for lunch. Quick survey. We’ll head back to Grubby Micks at the Exhibition Centre. No time to waste since it’s now already almost 2pm.  As we walk up to the entrance the staff seem to be packing away tables.  Fortunately they only look like they are closing.  Apparently there is a big function on there tonight.  The 300 person conference kicks off tonight apparently.

We sit inside this time. I back up on the caramel milkshake and a beef burger. The burger is excellent. As good as home made no worries. Milkshake good, but nowhere near as good as yesterday.  Daughter backed up on the spinach quiche and rounded that off with an iced coffee she reported as being excellent.  Mum had a steak sanga and she also reported that to be very good.  Eating at Grubby Mick’s seems like a pretty reliable option.  I’d happily recommend it.

Well, we’re pretty &%#@ed by now#. I can hardly wait for a shower to wash the dust off and a rest. ….but first, we still haven’t seen the replica Port of Bourke.  The Port of Bourke centre has been shut for the whole time we’ve been here.  The crossley engine looks well cared for. It’s pretty cool actually.  We explore the wharf, which is identical to the three wharves originally used for the river trade.  This last tick in the box its time to adjourn to the hotel.

Quick shower, unload the car and wipe out as much of the red dust as we can. Then…then I’m back to spend some dollars at the Back O Bourke Gallery.  Gale was right. I do love Jenny Greentrees work. She captures the landscape around Bourke perfectly.

..and that, as porky pig would say… is all folks.. at least for today. We shall follow by now established practice in Bourke, big lunch light tea.

We have loved the people of Bourke, we have loved the scenery and the Australiana. We have been privileged to make a new friend in Olga. We have much more we’d like to do here. Three days was really not enough to be ready to move on. We will be back and that, quite literally, is a promise.

#insert Aussie expletive of choice meaning extremely tired/beyond serviceable ie unable to continue.