The Ride of the Bakeries

Barcaldine is known as “Barky” to all and sundry, I suspect because no one can agree on where to place the emphasis (Bar-CALL-dine or BAR-calldine) and is home to the “Tree of Knowledge”; a kind of shrine for trade unionists and comrades alike, dating back to the Great Shearers’ Strikes of the 1890s. Some genius killed the tree off a few years back, unknowingly strengthening the legend and the degree of reverence.

                                                      Tree of Knowledge, Barcaldine

There is also a museum in the town that highlights the efforts of trade unions, particularly those working in the Queensland Civil Service. A photo of my great-grandfather Thomas Foley appears there as a union official and he later became a MLA in the Queensland Parliament (guess for which party). I hadn’t seen many photos of him but he was only the lead-up act to the main event - for in the display of the Golden Casket (State-run Lottery Agency) there is a large photograph of a group of staff who entertained the office at a social function – the men dressed as ballerinas and the women dressed as male dancers – and there – in the middle of it all – is my father – replete in ballerina costume – captured in time. Pappy rose in the ranks to be second in charge of the Casket by the end of his career, but while portraits of the old managers are displayed somewhat drearily around the board, they have to assume second place to my dad, front and centre of it all, dressed in drag.

                      My Dad's big night out as Prima Donna of the Casket Office

While Wagner may have composed “The Ride of the Valkyries”, I’ve been considering christening this leg of the tour “The Ride of the Bakeries”. Every town we go to ends up with a visit to the local baker's shop, courtesy of my brother-in-law Roy, who is especially partial to a cream-bun – and I must say there are some class bakers out in these little country towns. I savoured the sausage rolls at Cloncurry – only to be bettered by a little shop in Hughenden.

                                                       Roy - "Cream buns are num-num!"

Now Roy is like a complete entertainment system in his own right. I can watch him for hours and be thoroughly entertained. In Longreach for instance, my sister Mal was drying the dishes and dropped a knife, unbeknownst to her, into one of Roy’s sandals. Roy then emerged from the motor-home and put his sandals on, unbeknownst to him with the knife sticking out the side. He then proceeded to walk around the camp, much like Ben Hur’s chariot at the Colosseum. He’s lucky he didn’t slash a few caravan tyres in his travels. When finally discovered he exclaimed, “I thought my foot felt a bit funny!”

At Longreach we did the tourist things, visiting the QANTAS museum and the Stockman’s Hall of Fame. It is a bit disconcerting driving into town and being confronted with the sight of a Jumbo Jet sitting there on the tarmac. We did a tour of a B-707 – I had never flown in one. It was decked out as an executive jet on the inside which was disappointing in one way but interesting in another.

                                              On board the QANTAS B-707 - luxury class

We also had a ride in an old Cobb & Co coach pulled by four greys and culminating in a gallop home in the Cobb & Co tradition. All good fun. Maurs rode on the top at the back, brother Tom along-side the driver and the rest of us buffeted around inside the coach. Reminded me of the old joke ...”Who’s wobbing this stage coach, dwiver? You or Mister Kelly?”

Leaving Emerald

Well I got my new tyre – and like all good tyre places, the guys kept me in suspense for as long as possible – “The tyre hasn’t left Rockhampton yet”, “It didn’t come in on that shipment”, “Didn’t I say Thursday?...”  When I first ordered the tyre Maurs noticed a sign in the window stating you could get frequent flyer points for each purchase made. She notified me of this golden chance to add 300 odd points to my collection. She reminded me – every day – sometimes twice a day – not to forget to pick up the points. In the end I cracked, “Leave off it will you, I KNOW about the deal! I CAN remember things!  I’m not stupid!” That afternoon I got my tyre. It came as a bit of a surprise as they had assured me in the morning that no tyre had arrived on the truck.  I came back to the van park to excitedly tell Maurs the tyre has finally come. “Did you get the points?” Well call me stupid! I guess me musta fergit in all my excitement! The aftershocks from the initial tremor have not quite died down yet...and Maurs rang through and made sure we got those points.

The other four in the group had packed their golf clubs and decided it was high time to have a crack. Maurs and I stayed behind to clear emails and generally have a break from those golfers! We expected them back around dusk. Dusk fell and the arrival of the night saw no golfers return. We eventually got a phone call – the bridge across the dam had been closed and they were stranded on the other side. We went up to the van park office to see if there was any info we could relate back. None except they would need to take the other route to the park – back through Emerald and out the other side. So the golfers took the long way home and limped in pretty late, any tales of glory on the course lost to stories of dodging around kangaroos in the dark. Maybe they should have stopped and listened to them! “What’s that Skippy? The bridge is down?! We’ve got to get home the other way?!”

With no luck on the golf course, the group decided to take their chances fossicking for gems at Anakie. I stayed to work on my contract so there were five eager gem seekers took off to meet some crusty old prospector who set them up with buckets and picks. A day’s hard labour yielded them a handful of colourful pebbles. Maurs worked hard totting those pails but they probably got better wages and conditions working on the Gulag for what came out of it. As they drove their weary backsides home, a small voice from the back seat (Roy) asked “Are we having fun yet?” Fun is in the eye of the beholder.

                                                      You've got a table full of...rocks

                                                  Maurs doing hard labour at Anakie!!

Now my brother Thomas has quite a set-up with his van and vehicle. They’ve got everything that open and shuts. But of course with technology comes a new complexity and things tend to go wrong. He’s had no end of trouble with his TV reception and the bluddy aerial – and he only wants to pick up the footy! Also his UHF radio went on the blink – he could hear us but we couldn’t hear him (not such a bad thing at times) – turns out it was his microphone. Next to go was the roll-out awning on his van – only to be told over the phone that it was a “throw-away item” – like how do you fix that miles from nowhere? Lucky he’s an even-tempered fella like myself or there would be upper-cuts flying everywhere. His technology has its advantages though and while the rest of us are freezing in the outback Queensland winter mornings, he flicks on his air-con system (the lights dim all over each town when he does it, it’s so powerful – we call it his thermo-nuclear device) and they wake up as warm as toast.

We’ve lingered in Emerald a tad too long – onwards to Barcaldine and Longreach!!

Stranded in Emerald

We touched down in Brisbane at around 6.30am and cleared Customs quickly so we were out on the streets and into the arms of my sister Mal and bro-in-law Roy “Diamondo” Groth. There was no time to waste as we made preparation for a combined family camping holiday with the Groths and my brother Thomas and sis-in-law Margaret. I guess we have all been so busy in our lives that it is sad to say that this is our first family holiday together. We plan to make amends for that over the next four weeks!

                                         The Caravan setting out to parts unknown - Day 1

With all the stuff we acquired in New York and Montreal, we had to seriously look at how the heck it was all going to fit in an already cosily outfitted camper trailer. One of us has organisational skills. I sat back and watched her in action. In fact after the re-pack, we had slightly more room than when we set out from Perth. We spent the first day on the road thinking, “What have we forgotten? Surely we must have forgotten something!”

Our first stop was Kingaroy – home of the peanut and the Bjelke-Petersens (that’s not tautology is it?) We bought peanuts from the aptly named “Peanut Van” and also did a tour of “Bethany” where Joh’s son John takes you to the highest point of the Bjelke-Petersen property and tells you the history of the area, the family and freely intersperses it all with anecdotes about his dad. Strong family resemblance there too. After you get back down to the homestead, you get the chance of a lifetime to have a cup of tea and a pumpkin scone with Flo who is now 91 and possessing of as many marbles as she had in the 60s. A good effort.

We did a day trip to the Bunya Mountains, which is a beautiful area full of rainforest and Bunya Pines. We walked down to Paradise Falls but motored everywhere else – it’s a pretty big place.

                                     Me, Maurs, Roy, Mal, Marg, Thomas - Bunya Mountains

Mal told us about some drapery store in a town called Munduberra that still used an old “flying-fox” system to send messages and money around the store – that last one in Australia! So off we set from Kingaroy through Murgon and Gayndah to Munduberra. We couldn’t find the Drapery so we asked the guy in the local Hardware Store. “Oh, that’s in Gayndah” he said. We weren’t going back that far to see some old coot fire a basketful of paper from the front counter to the back of the store. And whose fault was it that we missed it? Mal said, “It’s that bluddy Desi Groth’s (Roy’s brother) fault – he definitely told me Munduberra!” Or Gayndah perhaps?

On our way north we passed through Biloela. Maurs said, “I’ve heard of Biloela but I’ve never seen it spelt before...you’d think there would have to be a ‘w’ in there somewhere!” [For those not versed in Queensland pronunciation Biloela is ‘Bill-o-weel-a’]

We over-nighted at a “free” camp at the Wuruma Dam outside of Eidsvold (another classic Queensland-named town). It was recommended to Thomas by a friend of his. As we came over the hill to the camping area I was surprised at the incredible number of campers staying at free sites such as this – all packed in together getting away from it all! It was a lovely setting though with abundant bird life. From there it was on to Dingo for two nights while we visited the Blackdown Tableland National Park.

Wuruma Dam free camp - no power, no water and a 100 metre hike up a hill to the dunny - idyllic!

Dingo is a sparse little town and on the rainy weekend that we spent there, there was no room at the pub to have a meal (they were renovating the dining room that week apparently) and no store open. So we were on our own food-wise. The trains shunting vast tonnages of coal from Blackwater to the coast for export to China and India rumbled by the caravan park with such frequency that we didn’t even hear them after a while. Blackdown was not exactly a hidden treasure either – even though we travelled over obscure dirt roads in pouring rain, we got to “Gudda Gumoo” (that’s Aboriginal talk for Rainbow Waters) to still find it chock-a-block with 4WDs and people.

                                        Gudda Gumoo at Blackdown - 240 steps to the bottom.

                                                             Now THAT'S a blown tyre!

Also, on the way there I managed to blow a rear tyre – a fine effort on my part – and then I discovered that the spare was speed-limited to 80 km/h! Not happy! We then had to hobble over to Emerald to get a replacement only to find there were only 13 of these tyres on the Australian database and most of those were in Perth! There’s a generic tyre coming from Rockhampton as I write this but we’re stranded in Emerald for a couple of days whether we like it or not. Emerald has got to be one of the busiest little towns in Australia! There is traffic everywhere – and it’s not that big a town! I don’t think people actually work there – the entire population just drives around the town all day to keep the road numbers up. I want my tyre back!

                                 Maurs at the Emerald Railway Station (waitin' for the train!)

                     They're called Apostle Birds - because they usually travel in groups of about 12!

New York, New York

I thought Melbourne taxi drivers were mad but the crazy Jamaican cat who drove us from Newark Airport into New York City rewrote the book on the subject. Never content to just sit in one lane, he cursed, barged, menaced and beeped his way into the Big Apple, and then wondered why this superior form of customer service did not result in a bigger tip.

Our hotel was really good though. Just down from Madison Square Gardens and Penn Station, it was an ideal location for us. We rendezvoused with John and Bev and their daughter Julia (currently working in Canada) later that afternoon and it was so good to see them after being away from Perth for so long. We didn’t venture far from the hotel that evening as we all knew that the “wall” was coming and John and Bev would hit it hard and drop quickly so we trawled the nearby streets and settled on a Persian restaurant (Iranian restaurants are soo PI in the western world aren’t they). The food was good but what we didn’t see on the board outside the restaurant was that there was also entertainment – in the form of a belly dancer who duly commenced to wobble and gyrate as the lights dimmed and the background music arched up. It was apparent from the get-go that she had her eyes set on John and sure enough he was beckoned to join her on the dance floor and shake his booty. Shy as he is, he did manage to oblige her with a few dazzling moves of his own, prompting her to lift her act another notch by balancing a rather menacing sword on her head, her thigh and on her ample rack. It was impressive stuff.

                                                John makin' the moves in New York City

They did hit the wall, but they bounced back the next day and we set off for a walk on the High Line, a converted railway track on the west side of the city. Apparently freight trains were mowing down so many New Yorkers way back when that they elevated the train line to separate the pedestrians. Now it’s an elevated garden and walkway and a tribute to the city. And that night – Mexican at Chito’s Bar! $5 Margaritas and I think they brought some food to us too.

Next day was Memorial Day where the US honours its military servicemen (and women), be they returned, serving or otherwise and there were numerous uniformed personnel walking in the streets. There even may have been a parade somewhere. We went on a Rock Walking Tour through the East Village with a dubious character named Bobby Pinn, but he sure knew his stuff and we were soon agog as we stood on the spot where Joey Ramone slipped on an icy pavement outside of his apartment, dying of wounds sustained in the fall. More shock followed as we stood before the hallowed Fillmore East – home of some of the great albums and concerts - but which was inconspicuous to say the least. We would have walked on by without giving it a second glance. Bobby covered the East Side’s musical history from Leadbelly through Charley Parker to Madonna. It was a good long walk but NYC turned on a hot humid day and we finished in a bar nursing a cold drink.

                               Commemorative lamp-post at the site of the old Fillmore East

                                          Bobby Pinn - in profile - at the lamp-post

More music completed our time there. A Broadway piece called Once which was apparently a movie that I never saw but a great concept musical play with the actors all accomplished musicians and singers – very enjoyable. On our last night we went to a Jazz Club, Birdland (it’s pretty famous) with the act being Ravi Coltrane, son of the great John of MJQ fame. I had not judged the depth of Maurs’ disdain for modern jazz up to that night- now I know! However I loved it – the music was great.

We also took in a few traditional cultural haunts as well. The Museum of Natural History is a must-see. More fossils than the Battersea Old People’s Home. Maurs became absorbed in the mineralogy displays- spectacular gemstones and gold. We spent a half a day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I reckon that the Yanks have plundered the planet as much as the Poms as the “acquisitions” there are simply stunning in their quality and range. The Obelisk in Central Park is another fine example – it’s a long way from Egypt now Dorothy!

                     Maurs and I in front of Malcolm Fraser statue at Museum of Natural History 

                     No Egyptian slaves were harmed in the making of this Obelisk (much!)

                                                     Some fancy guitars at the MMoA

And I simply could not go to NYC without a look at Central Park, Strawberry Fields and the Dakota building. John Lennon’s presence is still so strong in that area and there are lots of people who make the pilgrimage as we did to pay tribute. You got to give New York ten out of ten. We only scratched the surface of the place- there is so much more to see. And New Yorkers get such a bad wrap - but they are pretty good people by and large.

Our exit was ordinary enough. A cab to the airport – a drink in the British Airways Lounge and off into the sunset to LA and on to Brisbane – except for one extraordinary coincidence. The (male) flight attendant on the LA to Brisbane leg asked whether I had studied at the University of Queensland. When I said yes he told me he had recognised me – we were in the same Chemistry class – and he had checked the passenger list and thought he remembered my name. I racked my poor failing memory cells and came up with a vision of a nerdy guy who used to sling a large wooden slide-rule (remember those!) on his belt like a sword. Anyway, it was his second last trip before retirement – and it was good to see a chemist gainfully employed.

Back to the Returd Highway...

Montreal and the Conference

We flew Porter Airlines from Halifax to Montreal. Very impressive little airline –the aircraft only had two propellers but they’re a lot of fun. Highlight was watching two young guys working their way through five beers each on a one hour forty minute flight – and then proceeded to turn around and chat up two young ladies in the seat behind. I’m sure they appeared irresistible to these girls.

                               Maurs and Patty with "The Gossips" - street art Montreal style

Montreal was warm and we walked and walked all over the old town in the morning and because it was going to be even hotter the next day, we walked up through Mont Royal in the afternoon. I came back nursing two blisters – a penalty for inappropriate footwear – but a small price to pay. It’s staggering to walk among houses that were built before Cook discovered Australia, although after listening to our tour guide who showed us around Vieux Montreal every building burned down at some stage and got rebuilt. You might have heard about the student riots in Montreal? Well you’ll have to fill us in when we get back because we saw no sign of them in spite of walking all over the city for a whole weekend.

                                      Gus and Patty outside the Basilica in Vieux Montreal

One thing we did notice was the number of young guys begging on the street (panhandlers as Jim calls them), just sitting on the sidewalk rattling paper cups. We overheard one panhandler telling a passer-by that if he thought he had a bad day it wasn’t as bad a day as the one that he had. Very loudly, he was outraged that “some (expletive) person spat in my (expletive) face, man!” I thought, it’s almost enough to make you want to give up begging! Another guy placed his cup right in the centre of the sidewalk and Maurs nearly kicked a field goal with it (she only just missed it). Maybe you have to put extra coins in the cup if you do kick it – I’m not sure what the penalties are in this town.

We reunited with our friend Jim and drove up to this conference at Mont Gabriel – a ski resort (now snowless) about 60 km outside of Montreal. It was good to catch up with colleagues that we had met over the years and we spent a number of nights crammed into Jim’s room drinking scotch and acquainting the younger students with the perils of extratropical transition. The conference was rather isolated but Jim and Maurs and I skipped class (we’re old enough to do this now) and visited a couple of the local towns for shopping (mostly scotch and beer) and meals. A highlight was Mont Tremblant which is a quaint little town whose income resolves around skiing and a casino. Must be fabulous in winter-time.

Gus and Jim explore Mont Tremblant

                                    Beer's here! Let the conference begin! (Jim, Pat and Liz)

The hotel may be isolated but it does have its own groundhog and Maurs has photographic evidence of course. I’ve got to check our bag to ensure she doesn’t smuggle one back.

                         Could be the next cane toad plague for Aus! The hotel Woodchuck

NYC Part1 and Halifax

Gotta say I was not looking forward to going through Tom Bradley Terminal in LA but we were pleasantly surprised by the efficiency and lack of hassle this time around. Onwards to JFK New York and a taxi ride into the Wall Street area. Driver was originally from the Punjab who had been in NYC for 22 years but we still had trouble understanding him at times. Our hotel was good and a welcome sight after the trip. We found a pub on Wall Street for dinner and we didn’t need rocking to get to sleep.

Next day we got out early and walked to nearby Battery Park – the first photo Maurs took in the Big Apple? Statue of Liberty? Skyscrapers? Any NYC icons? No. A squirrel in the park. We walked the south end up to Greenwich Village and back down Broadway on a really pleasant day with lots of the locals grabbing some rays after a few days of rain previously (so we were told).

                                                        One NYC squirrel over easy

Sunday meant a car ride to Newark Airport in New Jersey to catch a flight to Halifax Canada to meet our friends Jim and Andra. NJ is highly industrial – the airport also fairly efficient - and the trip to Nova Scotia very pleasant. One small incident occurred upon meeting Jim at the airport. It was Mother’s Day and there was a lady there handing out little chocolate treats (and not just to mothers – Jim and I got one too!) We were so excited that when we got to the car I noticed one item of baggage –our cabin bag - was not with us. “I must have left it in the airport while we were taking chocolate onboard. If this was Australia it would now be on the tarmac with a robot tank blowing it up”, I said. “This is Nova Scotia” said Jim and sure enough our bag was happily sitting out in the middle of nowhere waiting for us.

                                              Jim, Andra and Maurs at Peggys Cove, NS

Halifax is a beautiful little town. Jim and Andra drove us out to Peggy’s Cove which is an iconic piece of Nova Scotia, made all the more famous by our friend Barry Hanstrum years before when he chose to show his fluency in the French language, resulting in a large eruption of laughter from Jim’s French buddies. On the way home we picked up several HUGE local lobsters (still alive but tethered) and a mess of mussels. I started calling them “Lefty” and “One-armed Pete” and Andra said “Don’t name them! We’re going to throw them in a pot of boiling water in an hour!” She was right. It was sad saying goodbye to Lefty. (They were spectacularly good by the way).

                                                             Sorry about this Lefty

After dinner (or supper as they have in Canada) we went down to a local pub called the Lower Deck and drank some beer and watched a cover band called Signal Hill who were excellent. Someone flashed us and asked if he could use the photo on their website. Consequently we found ourselves on their website, looking like stunned halibut. One might assume it was alcohol but it was jet lag making us look like that, honestly. It was a big day.

Jim had some time off and took us to see the sights including Lunenburg and Mahone Bay and a tour of Nova Scotian vineyards. Interesting cold country wines were had.

                                                              Lunenburg scene

We had a great time with the Abrahams but it all turned sour when they discovered we had been to Tim Hortons for coffee and they made us leave. Tim Hortons is something of a national institution – stores on every corner and hugely popular, but the coffee is ordinary and distained in Abraham-land. We had to go once though.

Next stop – Montreal!

Brisbane and Mooloolaba

The only trouble with semi-retirement is that occasionally you actually have to do some work and unfortunately it has come down to this. My first week in Brisbane was spent in and out of various Weather Bureau buildings desperately seeking old cyclone data that no one really knew where it was or if it still existed. I found the archive on Day 2 and then I set Maurs loose on it. Now that she knows what she’s looking for she’s absolutely relentless and she hung on like a truffle hound under an oak tree in finding some obscure gems in the data that I would have surely by-passed. Since then I have been slaving away up at my brother Thomas’ apartment in Mooloolaba (north of Brisbane on the Sunshine when it’s not raining Coast) trying to process the data and write the report. It really hits on play-time. Gee I’ll be glad when I’m retired!

               (Family snap - Mal and Roy; Marg and Tom; Me - Maurs behind the camera)

While in Brisbane we stayed at our favourite Kirribilly Apartments on the river and made full use of the ferry service to get around. We even got ourselves a Senior’s Go Card for cheap travel. That was a bonus but I must admit that I was a bit disconsolate when the travel inspectors got on one afternoon to check for fare evaders. A guy in front had a student concession ticket and the inspector asked him for ID to prove he was a student. I got my ID out - handed him my ticket – he took one look at me and just walked away. Would it have killed him to just politely ask to see my proof of age? Thanks a lot!

And I can't resist providing a snap of Cocky Foley. The old bird is just shy of 57 by our reckoning and doesn't look a day over 20! (I was never good at guessing the ages of birds). He has terrorised our family as much as we terrorised him in our younger days. He now lives with Mal and Roy. Maurs loves him and wants to bring him back to Perth. As long as he flies there (unassisted) I'm happy. He talks a little and has a screech that drowns out jumbo jets. He can call "Gary" at 120 decibels. He is in good shape though. Must be all the sunflower seeds he nibbles on, but I'm convinced he still has the taste for Gary's fingers...

                                        " Cocky wants a fingernail, Cocky wants a fingernail.."

Staying at Pete and Dianne’s when we first hit town coincided with their daughter Carley’s wedding plans which included a high tea on the Sunday afternoon. With twenty or so demanding females to cater for I was press-ganged into a waitering job and Petar and I spent the afternoon frocked up asking “Mo’ Tea?”- “Another Scone?” – and assuring “Of course the cream isn’t fattening!” But we managed to get a few cakes into us plus a beer so it wasn’t all bad, and the food was fabulous, and we always have fun because we are both such idiots.

                                           "Mo' Tea?" Petar and I waiting, waiting, waiting.

Moreover this last weekend was the wedding and it was coincidentally on the north coast and we were proud to be able to attend. The ceremony and reception was at Spirit House in Yandina. Lovely ceremony in a beautiful rainforest setting complete with teeming rain (for which I got the blame and the kudos when it ceased briefly for the ceremony – neither of which I deserved). The food was unbelievably good and a splendid time was ‘ad by all.

                     (Blake, bro; Adrian, groom; Carley, bride; Dianne and Petar, parents o' the bride)

The only downer has been keys. Thomas and Margaret left last Friday to go back to Brisbane and habitually took both sets of their apartment keys, so when it was our turn to leave we were a set down (as they say in tennis). Fortunately a neighbour keeps a spare set so we eventually grabbed those so we could lock the place up when we left. I said to Maurs “Let’s put these in a safe place, namely the deep recesses of her handbag. The next day Thomas asked if we could do him a favour and return a rental car for him. He had left the car-keys in the apartment. I took Pete with me. We talked and talked as we drove back to Mooloolaba from Coolum Beach. Halfway there it hit me. Keys are in the deep recesses of Maureen’s handbag. Back we go, through the teeming rain to get the plurry keys. Then back we go again to Mooloolaba. Book me in to the old folk’s home. Now I realise what the ticket inspector on the ferry was looking at.

I’m getting back to work...