Now for the text of Chapter 7.
Chapter 7 1968/9 - Aussie travels before Melbourne to Nanaimo again.
These pages are not intended to belong to the mystery genre, and given that most who read this know we returned to Canada, the travel story is not whether but how the return journey was made back to BC. However, before that unfolds, there were some travel tales to relate from the stay ‘downunder.’
Our reunions with family and friends in Australia in November of 1968 all started with glasses of sparkling wine which were followed by one or both of the questions: “Are you ready to settle down and start a family?” and “Now that you are home, isn’t Australia best after all?” We struggled to answer “we are not sure” or “no” without offending, and frequently found ways to dodge the questions by replying with questions of our own.
During our second week in Melbourne, Les visited the hallowed halls of the state-wide Department of Education to enquire about applying for teaching positions in February 1969, and literally bumped into one of the Senior Inspectors in the corridor. He happened to be the Inspector who had visited Les in his Maths classroom in 1964, had written a glowing report which led to early promotion, and in the summer of 1965 had sent Les as one of two representatives of the state of Victoria to a U.N. “New Maths” conference in Sydney. Mr. Collins asked where Les was planning to live, and when informed that there could be time spent in the country city of Bendigo where Pat’s parents lived, he took Les into his office and immediately wrote out an appointment sheet which had Les reporting for work at Bendigo High School the following November Monday morning!
This was a total shock because the school year began on the first Tuesday of February, and ended mid-December. Mr. Collins, knowing that Bendigo High School would be short of qualified and experienced Maths teachers in 1969, had offered a temporary appointment for the last four weeks of the present school year and continuing into 1969. Very importantly for the Dickason bank account, that meant income through the summer vacation from mid-December to February! It was a generous offer which Les accepted.
A mad scramble ensued as we packed again, and arranged to use one of the spare bedrooms at Pat’s parent’s house [two blocks from the school] while looking for our own accommodation. Ray, the youngest of the five Dickason children, was working in the state of New South Wales servicing large earth-moving equipment on the Snowy Mountains hydro-electric scheme, and he offered the use of his orange VW beetle for a time in Bendigo. Naturally this offer was accepted, with thanks.
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The work at Bendigo High School for the balance of the school year was somewhat of a joke. There being no slot on the timetable to fill, Les spent time supervising exams, duplicating exam papers on an old Gestetner and collating and stapling them, correcting multiple choice exam papers, taking “extras” of classes of teachers who were absent on field trips or away coaching swimming teams, and sitting around waiting to be given jobs to do. This was not very challenging, but under the circumstances was tolerable. When February arrived, Les was teaching senior Maths and senior English classes under very odd circumstances - but that is another narrative, not flattering to the Department of Education in Victoria.
Three sets of travel-related tales come to mind when the months in Bendigo are recalled. The first based on wine and food, the second, collecting firewood, and the third the ‘outback’ during the May school holidays.
Pat’s father, George, had been a long-time member of the esteemed all-male Bendigo Wine and Food Society. He had served in various capacities; President, Past President, Cellar Master, Food Master. The Society met monthly at a local restaurant or catering establishment for dinners of five or more courses which were planned by the Food Master and had one or more wines chosen by the Cellar Master for each course. The wines were served ‘blind’ [from bottles in brown paper bags], and at the end of the meal, members rose to make educated guesses what the wines might be - country of origin, region, grape variety, age, quality of match with food courses, and they commented on the quality of food.
Les became George’s regular guest at these meetings, but being a decade or more younger than the youngest regular member of the Society, was viewed initially with suspicion. However, at the second meeting Les attended, one of the wines served had the elder statesmen of the Society guessing wildly until Les stood, and respectfully suggested that he was familiar with the wine because he had drunk it recently in Portugal - it was likely a Vinho Verde from near Oporto. It was. Instant credibility was established, and this was reinforced at the next meeting when Les correctly guessed the maker of an Italian red wine served with a pasta course.
George continued the wine education for Les at Sunday “roast” lunches at home in Bendigo. George informed Les of the menu at around 10am, challenging him to choose and open two appropriate wines from the cellar. Les soon learned that the choices were a good match if George did not go to the cellar and select and open an additional bottle. If another bottle appeared, it was served by George in a brown paper bag, and Les and Pat were to guess in which Australian state the wine was made, the grape type, and when the wine was made. Our life-long interest in wine and food pairing resulted from this hands-on teaching, and tasting.
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The Wine and Food Society planned and conducted field trips to various wine growing regions of Victoria during those months. Consequently, we enjoyed bus trips to barbeque lunches at wineries near Wangaratta in the North West of Victoria [the owner of Brown Brothers poured stunning red wines with our steaks and lamb chops], and to dinners with wine makers present, pouring and describing their wines. Ladies were invited guests on these excursions, so Pat and her mother Fran were included
Periodically the Wine and Food Society arranged for bottling parties at the homes of members. A keg of wine would be purchased from a well known winery and delivered to the host of the party. Members would bring along sterilized wine bottles corresponding to the number they had ordered from the Cellar Master andn paid for, the Society’s corking machine was used to cork and dress the bottles after filling and specially printed labels would be glued to the bottles. A very merry time was had at these bottling events because there was an unwritten rule that for every eight bottles filled and corked, one bottle was filled, but left uncorked for drinking during the bottling party....
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George, from time to time, took trips to wine growing regions with a trailer behind his car as he visited wineries. He bought cases of wines for the Society, and some bottles for his cellar. On one such trip, Les was invited and they stopped for lunch near Shepparton at a small country pub which had once been noted for its excellent wine list. The pub had recently had a change of ownership, and the famous cellared wines had sold at auction. When George asked if they could visit the famous cellar, the new owner said that there were some half bottles down there and they could have whatever they chose for lunch. Les and George descended, and after some giggling and smirking at the finds, returned with three half bottles of aged red wines from select Victorian wineries; Chateau Tahbilk, Brown Brothers and All Saints. When asked the price of the wines, the new owner suggested five shillings each bottle [well below their value] because he was trying to get rid of them, and said additionally that he was glad to serve “connossers” like George and Les because he knew nothing about wine and was glad to have some knowledgable people enjoy them. T-bone steak and chips never tasted as good as with those three reds at lunch.
At the height of summer in February George and Les drove to a newly opened winery, Ossicker’s, in nearby Heathcote where there was a tasting of the first vintage of an ex-Swiss immigrant vintner’s products. The reds were juicy, fruity, and showed great promise, although the tasting, in the tin shed in use while a more permanent building was being built, was conducted on a very hot day. George bought two cases of the Ossicker red blend and these were placed in the cellar at home to rest and age.
Days later, when sent down to the cellar to select a wine for Sunday lunch, Les found a cork on the floor of the cellar, and an odd smell in the air. On Tuesday, there were four corks, the smell stronger, and there was a damp stain on the floor from the wine racks to the drain in the floor. As the new wine had cooled in the cellar, fermentation [stopped by the heat in the tin shed at the winery] had started again at the lower temperature, and the chemical action and pressure was forcing the corks out of the bottles, allowing most of the wine to flow. Some wine was salvaged, and the name Ossicker became part of the folk lore of the Bendigo Wine and Food Society.
What a way to spend Saturday in the ‘bush’
Another travel story revolves around the initiation of Les to the tradition of collecting firewood. George and his trailer teamed with long time friend ‘Stanna’ who had an acreage some 15 km south of Bendigo at Ravenswood. They invited Les along on one of their regular Saturday trips to the “block” where the firewood was cut. The routine was to leave Bendigo each Saturday at precisely 9.45am, with
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an Esky [Aussie slang for Eskimo, a brand of cooler], a chain saw, an adze, an axe, wedges, and two egg cartons.
On the first occasion Les was included, his initiation to a man’s role in this rural world was most revealing. The starting time was designed to have the party reach the Ravenswood Pub at 10am - opening time. Ostensibly this was to drop off the egg cartons - the wife of the proprietor kept ‘chooks’ and sold eggs. The publican invited us to “wet the whistle.” Being a threesome, we were regarded by tradition as a “school of three” and that dictated three rounds of drinks [or six, nine...].
School drinking meant that each member of a school, say six people, committed to each buying a round [‘shouting’ it was called].... it was poor etiquette to leave before having shouted a round for the other five drinkers [called ‘welching’], and even worse to leave after shouting your round but before everyone else had taken their turn at shouting [“what’s wrong, my money not good enough for you?”]. Altercations were known to occur if welching or leaving early occurred. Consequently some publicans posted a notice restricting the size of schools permitted .... four was a commonly posted number. Having four in a school meant four rounds or eight rounds or, heaven forbid, twelve or sixteen - nothing in between was tolerated as representing good manners.
So, back to the Ravenswood Pub on Saturday at 10am - three rounds with George drinking brandy with water, Stanna drinking brandy, lime and soda, and Les ordering the smaller glass of draught beer. After promising to return for the eggs in the afternoon, the firewood collectors left just after 10.30 to drive the kilometre on an unpaved road to the block, unlock the gate, and proceed to a small shack in the middle of the property. First order of business was to place the Esky in the shade and pile paper, kindling and dry wood in the old barbeque nearby, and light it.
The threesome drove to the selected fallen tree, used the chain saw to cut lengths of wood, and the wedges and adze to split these pieces into fireplace sizes. It was December, summer was approaching, so this was sweaty work and the flies were pesky. At approximately 11.45 it was time for tools down, a walk back to check on the barbeque fire, and to slake the thirst with cold beers from the Esky. The coals were perfect by noon - chops and sausages were soon sizzling. Red wine was opened, and was enjoyed with the meat and some potato salad on tin plates.
After a walk back to the work site, the firewood cut that morning was loaded on the trailer. The barbeque fire was extinguished [no shortage of liquid for that purpose] and the remaining cold beers consumed. The workers locked the gate and returned to the pub to collect and pay for the eggs - and another round of drinks for the trio.
Back in Bendigo, half of the firewood was unloaded at Stanna’s house, the balance at George’s. There was time for a shower and a change of clothes before
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George drove to the Sandhurst Club, an all-male establishment with membership drawn from the top drawer of professions in the city. Les was invited and was thankful that school drinking was not a requirement at the Club. Instead each member bought his own drinks, charged to a membership account. Les was able to nurse one drink over the ninety minutes spent there, before George drove them home for his dinner with the spouses and a not too steady son-in-law.
Although invited to join in this work party any Saturday, Les found excuses for all but one more Saturday during the months in Bendigo, and on that occasion he did not go as George’s guest to the Club after the day of work and drinking. In hindsight, we are amazed that there were no accidents with chainsaw, axe or wedges - or on the road back to Bendigo during the many years of the firewood collection tradition.
Nanaimo calling.
Two letters from Nanaimo arrived in Bendigo in April 1969; one for each Dickason. They were from the Secretary-Treasurer of School District 68, reminding of the one year leave of absence and stating that If we did not plan to return, he needed our early resignations so that replacement hiring could be expedited.
Teaching conditions at Bendigo High School were deteriorating. Timetables were changing even this late in the school year, and some Maths classes were being taught an hour before the school day officially began at 9 am. There were other complications, but other than making Les feel guilty for resigning and making the situation worse at Bendigo High, they are not relevant here. We took very little time to decide that we would return to Nanaimo. Les submitted his notice to the Victoria Department of Education effective May 31st, letters were written to SD 68 confirming our return, and trans-Pacific travel planning began - again.
The outback - not all as planned.
One last trip within Australia was most memorable. In the 60’s, there was a week-long May school vacation, and Pat and Les chose to visit Broken Hill to see the ‘outback’ and the major mining centre of NSW. The orange beetle was needed in Melbourne by Ray who was on a furlough from the Snowy River, but Fran gave the keys to her Austin for this journey. When school closed for the holiday on Friday, the Dickasons drove north-west to Ouyen and on through desert and rolling mallee scrub hills before reaching the soft-fruit and grape-growing irrigation areas around Mildura on the Murray River.
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The highway from Mildura north to Broken Hill was paved but narrow, with broken shoulders for just under 300km. Not far north of Mildura the evidence of agriculture disappeared, replaced by red/orange desert which became flatter and flatter and had less and less vegetation. Periodically the road crossed bridges over ‘washaways’ [very dry creek beds that had us wondering if they ever carried water], or saw signposts leading off to large sheep stations. If any vehicles were being driven to or from the paved highway, there was a large rooster tail of red dust created behind the car or ‘ute’ [slang for utility truck].
Broken Hill then was an urban area with a population of fewer than 30 000 people, though there were more pubs and hotels than in cities twice the size. The days there were spent touring an open-cut mine, visiting the museum and the base of the amazing Flying Doctor Service, which also housed the School of the Air - established for children on isolated cattle and sheep stations out of the reach of regular schools and bus routes.
The name Broken Hill had been given by explorer Charles Sturt who saw a range of hills with a break in them; the actual ‘broken hill’ no longer existed because it had been mined away. Instead around the horizon were man-made mullock heaps left behind after the lead-zinc ore was mined.
Not being fond of retracing our steps or driving home on the same road taken earlier, there was a check of our automobile club maps and the Austin headed out of Broken Hill to the south-east on an un-paved road which went first through Menindee, past the lake from which Broken Hill received its water supply, and on to a dot on the map - Ivanhoe. The morning’s drive was on red dirt and gravel, sometime washboarded or corrugated. The Austin created a rooster tail of dust and the car windows were closed all morning in a vain attempt to keep the bulldust outside. The horizon was dead level and readers may remember the incident in the campground in Canada in 1967 when Les asked when we were going to see flat prairies - we were correct to have told the Canadians that the Aussie outback is really, really flat.
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The population of Ivanhoe was listed as fewer than 150 people but as we neared the town, dozens [perhaps a hundred] of semi-trailer transport trucks were parked everywhere. That morning there was an annual sheep and cattle sale in the town and some drivers were finishing an early lunch at the Ivanhoe Hotel [built in 1871] before departing with their new loads or empty transports. The publican and his wife were run off their feet feeding so many at one meal, but they were very welcoming and served us lunch too.
Well-fed and watered, the Dickasons turned towards Hay just 200km to the south. Within minutes clouds appeared from nowhere and a torrential rainstorm hit. We passed several trucks which had careered off the slippery dirt and gravel and were stuck in mud in the shallow ditch on the roadside. Crossing the first bridge over a washaway, we saw below us a raging creek, already a metre deep where there had been no water an hour ago. Now we understood why each washaway had a water depth gauge affixed to it.
Despite the front wheel drive of the Austin, and the experience of driving in snow in Nanaimo [very similar tactics needed here], after another kilometre, the surface had deteriorated such that the car slid often on the slick, wet mud. Les had
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difficulty driving in a straight line, so after a 180 degree turn with much reversing and forwarding, the return to Ivanhoe began - slowly. We collected one sheep transport driver who hailed us from beside his stranded truck, and eventually reached the hotel as the rain eased.
Imagine a hotel built almost a hundred years ago, in a town of few people, coping with 50 or so stranded drivers - and the Dickasons. Everyone was optimistic about the roads: “She’ll be roight tamorra,” being a common forecast. The publican and his wife phoned friends for help and several school-aged children arrived to be kitchen assistants. Les and Pat offered to assist too, but were firmly told that as guests we were to relax, have a drink and enjoy the unusual day.
We did. How the small staff served all guests a steak with chips [plus fried eggs for the hungriest], canned peaches and ice-cream to follow, yet managed to smile and serve beer or wine with the meal, and keep everyone’s tab straight we will never know. At the end of the meal, the dining room was converted to a dormitory, tables were turned upside-down, thin mattresses materialized, many drivers had brought in their sleeping bags, and pillows were counted and distributed. Being the only married couple, the Dickasons were assigned a bedroom where the sheets were from a newly opened packet and had never been used. There were squeaks on the sheets whenever one of us turned in bed that night.
You may have heard the Australian folk song “The Pub with No Beer” - the drivers were forced to sing it at around 9pm because the draught kegs were drained and all bottles and cans had been consumed. There were no complaints given that drivers faced a long day ahead the to catch up with their schedules. Lights were turned off and all slept well.
The next day dawned on a very busy hotel, with the dormitory reverting to a dining room, bacon, eggs and toast served with strong black tea. The sky was clear and the roads were drying quickly. A nearby rain-gauge showed fewer than 40 points [100 points to the inch - pre-metric] had fallen but that had been enough to strand almost everyone in Ivanhoe the previous afternoon.
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The Dickason account having been settled we left to resume our journey to Hay. Driving was slow for 25 km because there were deep ruts in the surface of the drying road. There were few transports left in ditches because earlier departing drivers had ferried others back to their stranded vehicles and most were out of the ditch and had gone. We did stop to offer assistance to one driver who was standing beside his bogged truck because we thought he might be in difficulty hyper-ventilating or having a heart attack. When he caught his breath, we realized he had been laughing. He had spent the night in his truck in his sleeping bag, and had been woken minutes before - by several emus staring through the window of his truck and tapping their beaks on the glass.
No more than 800 metres of further driving south we saw the flock of ungainly birds ahead on the road and we snapped a picture through the muddy windscreen of the Austin before they dashed away to graze on the sparse vegetation. Surprisingly, the next vehicle to approach us on the road from the south already had a rooster tail of dust and one was soon behind the Rover. Within 24 hours we had experienced flying bulldust, impassable mud, and now the dust had returned.
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The remainder of this last trip in Australia was without incident as we passed through Hay, Deniliquin, crossed the Murray River at Echuca [one of Pat’s stomping grounds from years ago] and on to Bendigo. Much time there was spent washing the caked mud from the exterior of the car. Vacuuming the interior to remove the bulldust took even longer on the last weekend of the school holiday.
It was back to school for Les on Monday for his final two weeks, and planning intensified for the return to Canada which was due to begin in June or July.
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