TENTERFIELD
Jan was also going to Tenterfield for setting her case with Shire Council and I was sure, that it will keep her busy for many years ahead. After breakfast with coffee and cake I concluded that Australians have no idea that a cup of coffee could be made from grounded beans, percolated or boiled in Turkish style. These Antipodes know just an instant coffee and I am getting used to its detestable taste.
Camels made some damage to Jan’s garden, nipping branches of apple trees, but she decided to keep her dissatisfaction inside, just hugging me and saying farewell. I hope to visit sometime in future and take her workshop of English dressage.
I was not in rush going down the road because knew about already guaranteed place for camping in Tenterfield. When people living along the road waved and invited to stop for a cup of instant coffee, I with pleasure accepted such invitations. It was especially nice of them giving my camels some hay and cigarettes for me.
Hazel Pillar, mother of sheepshearer James, was waiting for me on the road a few kilometers south of the town. She was a tiny woman about my age, energetic and ready to help by any means. She asked what I was in need before reaching of or destination place, and I asked her for a smoking tobacco. She immediately drove to the town and brought soon tobacco and meat pie.
Near gas station I was greeted by Arthur Ramsay, reporter for “Tenterfield Star” , whom Hazel phoned in advance. He was curious, why in my age I decided walking with camels instead of sitting home in armchair and enjoying watching TV and drinking a beer. It was too complicated question and I just said, that prefer drinking beer along the road.
Arthur told me that Tenterfield is the hometown of Henry Parkes, five times Prime Minister of New South Wales, before Australia claimed its independence. On 24 October, 1889, he gave the “Tenterfield Speech” , which set in motion the activity for creation of the Federation of Australian Colonies into unified country. Forty years before that he was one of initiators of the Boston Tea Party of Australia-style in Sydney, when its citizens revolted against importing to their colony not a tea but convicts brought on 11 June, 1849, on board of “The Hashemy”, transport ship. He drafted the first antitransportation resolutions which triggered the revolt, which resulted in ending of transportation system, at least in New South Wales. But that time he was careful writing, those colonists: “...were not at a state of advancement to be benefited by separation of from the mother country, even we had a cause to desire separation...We possessed little of the stern and sturdy spirit of the old American colonists.” He was right and wrong the same time because it was the first attempt for the independence of this country half century later.
Because of his personality, Tenterfield was on the founding fathers list to be the national capitol. But they finally decided to build completely new city with apparently Aboriginal name, Canberra, meaning “meeting place.”
If Canberra was designed by American visionary and vegetarian, Walter Griffin, and Tenterfield is definitely of British descent, with it quite humble architecture of colonial period. The founding fathers were right not choosing Tenterfield as the Australian capitol because I would newer walk so easy through it with camels.
Hazel directed me to northern part of the town, where we met our prospective host, Ray Dowd, who came with daughter, Bronnie. I instantly fell in love with that fourteen-year-old of virginity, humor, and common sense. She immediately mounted Vanya and rode him up hill to their house, where Ray helped me unsaddle camels and placed them to a very good fenced paddock.
Ray was in early 40th, but already on disability pension because of job accident, which happened with him an year ago. He kept himself busy with making addition to their house and with raising herd of deer for their antlers. The breadwinner was his wife, Julie, who runs an antiques and craft shop close to their house. They restore an old farmhouse with veranda and named it the “Tangle food Cottage.” She was busy there giving workshop to local women and came to greet me only for dinner party.
Besides own children, Bronnie and Paul, Dowds family fostered Jan, young man about 18, who was abandoned by his alcoholic mother. Actually, he was not exactly fostered, but temporarily accepted to the household by request of child abuse authority. Jan was a bit mentally challenged and slow in his expressions, however, Ray found hip quite helpful in construction of the house and fencing their pastures. He also helped Ray to cook dinner and serve it.
Julie came when dinner was already on table and greeted me with a big smile and hug. I felt right away that she accepted me as a member of their family, like Jan. It was a heartily dinner with enormous pieces of broiled beefsteak and pumpkin, red port was served after coffee. I was already not surprised, that Australians, even of families with children, don’t say Grace before dinner, as it is customary to Americans. But here I found a lot of books about Australian history and culture. All the members of Dowds family happened to be talented artists: with a few pencil’s strokes Rade made for me a drawing of koala bear with cub. Paul pictured kangaroo and Bronnie crayoned me with a three-humped camel. On that picture I was as young as Bronnie herself and looked very cool.
Certainly, Julie was a really professional with her acrylic drawings in my diary of gum nuts, flannel flower, wattle, bottle brush, banksia, and waratah. After looking at her masterpieces I even more appreciated the beauty of Australian flora. I also appreciated these people’s surroundings, when came out the next early morning and contemplated at the hazy green and gray farmland in the distant valleys. Patches of morning mist washed it out and were slowly dissolving under the sun.
Ray decided to dedicate all his day to show me his beautiful town of Tenterfield. First of all, we gave a ride to Paul and Bronnie to their school, where Hazel made an arrangement for my three lectures about camels, ecology, travels, and something about Russia. It was a great pleasure to speak out in front of those neat and attentive teens, which didn’t pierced their noses and ears. They are more interested in horses, than in drags and alcohol. Morgan, one of them, made such notation: “You are an inspiration to those afraid to go against the normality of society!”
We could not avoid stopping at the High Street Saddlery, which famous customer was A. B. “Banjo” Patterson, who used to live in Tenterfield for a short while and married a local girl. The Saddlery got even more fame after the song of internationally acclaimed singer and songwriter, Peter Allen, who is grandson of “Tenterfield Saddler” and author of this song:
The late George Woolnough
Worked on High Street and lived on Manners
Fifty two years he sat on his verandah
And made his saddles.
And if you asked questions about sheep, or flowers or dogs
You’d just ask the Saddler who lived without sin.
They’re building a Library for him.
Time is a traveler, Tenterfield Saddler, turn your head
Ride again jackaroo,
Think I see kangaroo up ahead.
...
Oh time is a meddler, Tenterfield Saddler, make your bed.
Fly away cockatoo, down on the ground, emu up ahead.
I doubt, that time is a traveler and a meddler, we are the travellers across its boundless field. We are just a sparks in darkness of time, as somebody said: “A sweet-sad awareness that all fires of our life must die. Which makes the present flames more precious.”
In Peter Allen’s song: “I still call Australia home”, I especially admire following lines:
I’ve been to cities that never close down.
From New York to Rio to Old London Town.
But no matter how far
Or how wide I roam
I still call Australia home.
I’m always travellin’
And I love bein’free
So I keep leavin’the sun and the sea
But my heart lies waiting over the foam.
I still call Australia home.
I also have been travelling around the world, but despite all my admiration of the countries, which I passing through, my heart belongs to Russia. The country of now desperate people who don’t know what they are doing, just struggling for survival. I hope honestly that my books about other countries and peoples would help Russians to understand their own identity, and, which more important, to gain back the self-respect.
Ray decided to show me restored Tenterfield Railroad station which was not in use for many years. Before creation of single united country, Australian colonies didn’t care about their neighbors’ convenience of traveling and freight transportation by railways. New South Walles set its railway four feet, eight and half inches apart. But Queensland decided it would be cheaper to build its railroad on three feet, six inches apart, and this standard was accepted by Western Australia and Tasmania. But Victoria was concern about passengers comfort, than construction cost of railway; choose the fancy five feet, three inches. This railway craziness created such a mess, that freight from Brisbane to Perth had to be transshipped five times.
I could not say that Russians were much better accepted their railways standard with rails wider apart than those in the European countries. Perhaps, they were thinking about foreign invasion with using for this purpose the railway. It didn’t stop the German invasions in the First and the Second World Wars.
Ray recalled that times when passengers used to use more railroad for transportation than cars and buses. Sometimes, as it happens in America, some private companies in this country restore not only railroad stations but also railways and use restored steam engines for pulling trains with tourists. But until then nothing is special with these restored and standard in their ageing elegance railroad stations. But what is good, that with an age they’re getting more elegant and desirable to look at, which distinct them from us, human been.
The crown of our wandering around the town was a visit to Paul Petrie’s coach station. As soon as we pulled in, big, smiling man came out of his farmhouse and shook our hands. My tiny palm was lost between his iron fingers and I looked up him being amazed by that noble power of the bushman. They were friends with Ray for many years, who told me that Paul used to be a regular truck driver until his wife died after breast cancer. Before long, Paul got a heart stroke and was disabled for a long time. After recuperation, he decided to change his life-stile as well as his occupation. For last of his money Paul bought a coach, similar to those used by Cobb and Co., horse drawn company, famous as the first Australian public transportation company, which opened new routs around this country. For this coach pulling, he also acquired huge draft horses and started his new business of “Paul Petrie Tours» for tourists. Since then he gives horse rides down Rocky River with a breathtaking views of the Timbarra Plateau, Bullyrimba Forest and Washpool Range, which all are not far from Tenterfield. Besides, his coach is popular to be hired for weddings and other special occasions of this town.
I felt in Paul my soul-mate, because also drove with my horse and buggy long way across America. Now I thought after finishing my trip with camels to come back here and pursue Paul for going with me around Australia with his coach and beautiful Clydesdale horses. But for a time been he was busy with construction of new stables with adjacent playground for children and dancing hall for adults. We exchanged addresses and telephones, but Paul excused himself not writing in my logbook, handwriting was not his strong point. See you later, Big Paul!
But handwriting was big forte of beautiful and joyful Bronnie who was waiting us for dinner. Her mother was busy giving workshop of flower arrangement to local women. While Jan with Bronnie was busy with broiling lamb, I kept myself busy with sipping a red Port, which didn’t avoid Bronnie’s attention in her poem:
ANATOLY
There once was a man,
Whos travelling the land.
He has two camels
Which are big animals.
He rode into tow With his police gown.
Now his here, safe and sound.
Tomorrow his leaving
Which isn’t very pleasing.
We rode the camels
Which was very high.
We could nearly touch the sky.
He loves his Port, cofee aswell
Now he’s traveling farewell, farewell.
Dear Bronnie, thank you very much for your poem!