OFF TO TOOWOOMBA FOR ANZAC DAY AND SOME LONG SOUGHT LEGAL ADVICE (23 -26 APRIL 2017)

After an all too brief sojourn of spas, swimming and sun-baking, (not forgetting the magnificent hamburger and brilliant chips) it was time to bid farewell to the relaxed delights of Boomi and gird our loins for the road yet again. We had chosen the garden city of Toowoomba as our Anzac Day destination for 2017 and the 25th was fast approaching.

A longish day of just under 320 kilometres lay ahead of us. From Boomi we planned to cross into Queensland at Goondiwindi and thence make our way across the Darling Downs along the Gore Highway, a new route for the Mobile Marshies.

Fortunately our site allowed me to hitch up overnight which always makes an early departure so much easier. Our only real concern as we made our way out of town was the potential condition of the road along which we would have to travel the 85 kms to the border. We had been told it was far better than the route in from Moree, and to our great relief it was.....narrow but newly surfaced in many parts, and, as an added bonus, today we did not have to joust with any road-trains. 

During our stay of several days in Goondiwindi last year, I had been surprised to learn just how important cotton is to the economy of this town. It had just been something I had never associated with the home of Gunsynd, the famous 'Goondiwindi Grey'. 

Here on this road between Boomi and the border, the extent to which the cotton fields surround the town soon became evident.

Picking was well underway. Many of the huge flat fields on which the cotton is planted in strictly managed rows, lay brown and bare with row upon row of the massive yellow cylindrical bales of cotton lining the edges.

Unlike the dry growing methods employed around St George, for example, here most of the crop is flood irrigated. Massive levee banks were a feature of many kilometres of this stretch of our trip.

As with most agricultural ventures, Sunday is never a day of rest when there is work to be done. We lost count of the number of machines of various types we passed, both in the paddocks

and en route to the next job, such as this massive cotton harvester with its large picking head folded back like the wings of a giant locust.

Let me take a quick diversionary moment here to briefly share with you the manner in which cotton is actually picked these days. Once the lint is lying white and fluffy in the boles, the fields are sprayed aerially with a defoliant to rid the plants of unwanted leaves before the harvesting leviathans lumber in. 

This is not quite the same model of harvester as we passed, but (with thanks to 'machinefinder') it serves to give a good idea of how the cotton lint is taken off, not only stripped from the stalks,

but, similar to hay baling machines, (as this photo courtesy of 'pngdeere' shows) these wonders of modern machinery then roll the individual balls of lint into tight, plastic wrapped cylinders ready for transportation to the nearest gin. It is these 'bales', lying end to end, which can be seen lining the paddocks as strips of bright yellow throughout cotton growing country at this time of the year. 

Detour complete...back to the road. As I have previously noted, even if there is not a harvester or cotton truck within cooee, the snowy white lint along the roadsides leaves travellers in no doubt that this is cotton country and the pick is on. 

With the good surface below us and little approaching traffic (or wandering cattle) to impede our progress, we found ourselves crossing the Macintyre River into both Goondiwindi and, at last, Queensland, within the hour.

We felt almost smug in our good knowledge of the roads around this town and quickly detoured past the main CBD to the huge fuel station on the far side of town where the Cruiser thirstily ingested a goodly dollop of diesel.

A short departure stretch along the familiar Liechhardt Highway, 

took us to the junction of the Gore Highway which would take us north-east over the 200 remaining kilometres through the Darling Downs and into Toowoomba. 








Ah, more green signs.  We now viewed these with a completely different attitude to each of the sightings we had made during our trip south out of Queensland last September, when we would approach each of these boards with bated breath and sense of profound relief when we were greeted by green.

With the fear of flood but a distant memory, and a surprisingly smooth (for QLD, that is) belt of blacktop beneath our tyres, we made steady progress through the increasingly undulating country

which preceded the cresting of a significant ridge at Captains Mountain,

before we found ourselves on the approach to Millmerran, the only really significant town we had encountered since joining the Gore.

After a quick pit stop for a leg stretch and other comfort demands, we cruised through the central section of this agricultural hub of about 2,000 residents, 

and obediently made a sharp right hand turn just this side of the crowded CBD.

Although by now we were well into the Darling Downs, we were not yet finished with cotton,











but it was not much further on from Millmerran that our outlook began to change. Now the stark outline of distant grain silos on the horizon








and sweeping views of dry stubble on broad acre cropping paddocks replaced the seemingly endless white fields of cotton.








By the time we were approaching the outlying homes of the town of Pittsworth, a palette of green had replaced the previous white, brown and yellow of the passing landscape, 










and the ridge of range which heralded our approach to Toowoomba was rapidly broadening in front of us as by now were making good speed on a vastly improved highway.

The 'Garden City' at last, where the design of the welcoming sign says it all, as does the lush backdrop behind it. 












In no time at all we found ourselves well and truly into some serious suburbia for the first time in many weeks as we navigated our way to our chosen park, the Toowoomba Motor Village, situated in the suburb of Kearney Springs, some 5 kms from the CBD.



At this point, I am about to depart from the usual format of these missives, where I present a reasonably detailed critique and accompanying photos of our selected temporary surrounds. There are two reasons for this.

Firstly, we have firm plans to revisit Toowoomba within the next year or so during its annual September Garden Festival when we shall be toddling around the town for quite some days. Based on what we found at the Motor Village, this will again be our park of choice and I'll then 'do the rounds'. Beyond that, we were here for one reason only this time around.....to celebrate Anzac Day, and apart from that, I knew by now that I had so much to catch up on that I took the decision to put the camera away.

Of course, this significant departure from the norm did not extend to the day itself, which I must confess we record and present primarily for our own memories, but of course, as always, we are more than happy to share.

We did spend a deal of the 24th making enquiries with the local RSL and other bodies to determine the format of the march and so on. The timings of the local dawn service (I know, dawn is dawn, I hear you mutter.....well not quite....here the balloon was due to go up at a very early hour) and the weather forecast did nothing to encourage us to rouse ourselves out of our bed at the required 0345 hours, so for the first time in quite a while we lay abed as dawn broke and joined in various services via the television and radio. 

Toowoomba is not known for the warmth of its climate, and today was no exception. As we basked in the warm comfort of our cot, the immediate pre-dawn temperature remained stubbornly below double figures......and it was drizzling!  Good decision.




But thankfully things did improve, and by the time we had caught a cab into town, the sun was shining on the designated march assembly point. No-one to whom I had previously spoken could provide any real direction as to where I should line up, so after wandering up and down the ranks for a while and finding nothing directly associated with the UN, I ended up with the British Service Association group. 




These were most welcoming chaps and were not put out in the slightest by the prospect of a blue beret appearing amongst their rather stylish black beret headdress complete with red and white standing feathers.






As we were assembling for the short march along Margaret Street to the nearby Mothers' Memorial gardens, the crowd began to gather











in ever increasing numbers.






 



By step off the street was lined several deep on both sides. The good folk of Toowoomba turned out in more than respectable numbers to enjoy the parade led as it was by the swishing kilts and the skirl of the pipes of a passingly good local highland band.

I'll not bore you all with group after group...a few snippets to give the flavour of Toowoomba's celebration which included a fair number of old and very well maintained military vehicles transporting those unable to make the distance on foot.










These were followed by the colour party leading the various contingents of marching men and women

all stepping out proudly














behind their varied 













and colourful unit banners.

Liz clicked away as all passed by, and confided later that she was beginning to worry that she had missed the blue beret of your scribe, but sure enough here we are, almost the tail end charlies.













We were something of a motly bunch, but we did managed to maintain step and a semblance of good order for most of the distance.










As was to be expected, the platoons and units of serving members put on a much more polished display as they brought up the rear.








The march concluded at one of the many beautiful Toowoomba parks, where the previously generously applauding members of the public were quick to join us for the service of remembrance.












The Mothers' Memorial, already surrounded by the wreaths and other tributes which had been laid in an earlier service, was now formally guarded by the Cataphalque party, rifles upturned and heads bowed. It provided a spectacular focus for the proceedings. 









This is indeed a significant monument, a fitting description of which can be found on the website of 'monumentsaustralia' from which I quote directly:

"The Mothers` Memorial at Toowoomba is historically significant as the site of military recruitment for World War One and as the location for Toowoomba's ANZAC Day Commemoration since 1916. It is one of very few such memorials commissioned by women and is outstanding for its elegance and appropriate symbolism.

This form of memorial and the use of trachyte stone appears to be unique in Queensland. Amidst great controversy the Toowoomba Mothers' Memorial was relocated from its original position at the main city intersection. Names from Toowoomba, Yalangur, Westbrook, Wyreema, Gowrie Junctions and Meringandan are listed on the memorial, built by mothers to honour their soldier sons who did not return from World War One. After World War One mothers sold Sweet Violets to raise funds for the erection of the Mothers' Memorial and this became commonly known as the Toowoomba violet. For this reason, in October 1996 the Toowoomba City Council voted to change the species of violet used as the city's floral emblem to the Sweet Violet. The memorial was relocated and rededicated on 10-November-1985."






As the time for the service approached, every vantage point in and around this revered Toowoomba park was occupied.








As the service progressed, we were treated to a spectacular fly-over by several flights of military helicopters from the nearby Oakey Army Aviation base. To her great credit (and my surprise) Liz even managed to snap one of the MRH-90's as it clattered and thumped overhead.




All of us who had marched remained with our various units throughout the proceedings, which here in Toowoomba do not include what can become a very tiring and tedious laying of wreaths at its conclusion. Here, as I have already noted, wisdom and common sense have prevailed and this ceremony is conducted separately. I still recoil at the memory of the Geraldton service where we were all obliged to remain standing strictly 'at ease' whilst over eighty tributes were laid! Oh, my aching legs and back!





Here the service lost nothing for its relative brevity, and all assembled were soon under the order to march off.











It was time for a refreshing ale. I bade my new found marching companions farewell and, after the obligatory annual 'how old is Pete looking this year' photo,  Liz and I headed back into town, to the Civic Centre to be precise, the venue of the local RSL HQ. We did poke our noses into a few pubs en route, to be astonished to learn that here in QLD the law prohibits the serving of any alcohol until 1300 hours on Anzac Day, and moreover all the poker machines had to be turned off at midnight on the 24th. Excellent move!









Fortunately for all of us with dry throats this alcohol embago did not extend to the RSL facilities, where the main hall














and the side bar were already filling with those eager to quench their thirsts and spin a 'warrie' or two.










Light luncheon items were on offer, plates of sandwiches, hot dogs and so on, and whilst Liz sat with all her friends I was obeying The Matron's orders to wander out to the kitchen for a much needed 'stomach lining'.




But what's Anzac Day without a pub crawl?.....very second rate in our view!  After a convivial hour or so at the RSL we were off out into the Toowoomba CBD in search of a more lively venue. After a few false starts in various rather subdued pubs we hit the jackpot. 





The famous Fitzy's Pub in Margaret Street was in full swing. 















This is more like it!  












As we settled in for a few fine glasses of more than acceptable white (I had reached my beer limit by now)









the familiar cry of 'come in spinner' could be heard rising above the general hubhub. The outside two up ring was crowded. The bets were being laid think and fast as the pennies twirled upwards from the kip and the Anzac Day tradition was maintained. By now all thoughts of ending the afternoon at the not too distant Spotted Cow Hotel had vanished. Fitzy's was pumping!


As 'she who must be paticularly obeyed on Anzac Day afternoon' announced stumps and I rather reluctantly followed her outside to the nearby cab rank (I was grateful the following morning for her insistence!) we both agreed that this pub reminded us a great deal of Adelaide's Union Hotel where we had spent many a fine afternoon on 25 April in years past.

An Anzac Day choice of town is always something of a punt, but Toowoomba more than lived up to our hopes for a fine march, good company and a serious post service celebration.

We did stay on for another day.  I was in the throes of finally putting to rest once and for all rumours I had been hearing about the activities of some of the transport authorities in the eastern states. The scuttlebut swirling about various happy hour gatherings suggested that my 'C' class driver's licence would be challenged as not appropriate given the combined weight of our rig. 

My quite exensive research in Adelaide had left me satisfied that I was towing legally, but I decided by the time we had reached Toowoomba that further confirmation was needed.






So, as the heavens opened to provide us with a woefully wet 26 April,

and our otherwise very pleasant and spacious site was drenched,









I sloshed off through the downpour to the nearby offices of the Queensland Department of Transport where I hoped to be able to put this matter to rest once and for all. I had already sought and received a written opinion from one of the transport gurus in South Australia which confirmed my status as being legal, but I was acutely aware that the much heralded and applauded efforts to completely standardize the road rules throughout every State in Australia is a sham.

I need to hear it from the horse's mouth, and, after some to-ing and fro-ing between various members of the staff, a Transport Inspector finally bit the bullet and assured me that my current licence class was perfectly adequate. Disappointingly he would not commit to a written opinion, but I was now satisfied that I was appropriately licensed and well equipped to mount a fierce defence in the face of any highway traffic stop nonsense.

Well, that was problem number one resolved. We had another, and in my view this was more pressing and pervading. Its resolution was to now take us off our previously planned route north and down into the Gold Coast.