A GALLOP AROUND GILGANDRA (1 SEPTEMBER 2017)

Gilgandra, aboriginal for 'long waterhole' ,e major national highways meet, in a way which can be somewhat confusingly for the novice traveller.

From here the Newell Highway runs all the way south to the River Murray at Tocumwal, the Oxley Highway wanders west to Warren, whilst the Castlereagh takes travellers north through New South Wales and across the border to another junction town with which we are very familiar, St George in southern Queensland. Is it any wonder that a constant stream of large transport vehicles of all shapes and sizes and an equally mixed cohort of caravans is an unavoidable sight in Gilgandra.

Of all this we were aware. What we did not know until now was that this town is also known for its windmills, or at least it was, and for the first of the peculiarly Australian WW1 recruitment marches, but more of this shortly.






A turn style gate in the park fence behind our site 














took us to the path across the open ground to the Castlereagh road bridge












a crossing which fortunately (for us) included a pedestrian path.









From here we could look back to the curve of the Newell Highway as it sweeps past the park in which we were ensconced for the time being, where, oddly enough and right on cue, we could also see an approaching caravan!








Here at Gilgandra, in common with much of what we had seen of it in other places (notably at Gulargambone some 60 kms to the north), the Castlereagh River is anything but a teeming torrent, but at least on the upstream side of the bridge it did present as a 'long waterhole'.










It was anything but downstream although there were the odd pools here and there.











The bridge across this 'underground' river ends at the first of the highway junctions to be found here (more vans.....

....and trucks) 












where a left turn leads to the continuation of the Newell Highway whilst one to the right heads off to the Castlereagh. This town might well be known as the town of windmills, but it is also the 'town of highway signs'.









Beyond this first junction we took the footpath off to the right, in towards the beginning of the town centre area, but before getting there we passed the second of the major highway junctions,











this time that of the Castlereagh and Oxley Highways, 













again well signed.










At this junction we came across the large town clock and memorial gardens with the well pruned roses just coming into bud (and yet another highway sign board which, whilst undoubtedly necessary, did nothing to improve the view).









In the opposite direction from this point, the road curves 












into what becomes the main street of the Gilgandra CBD. I am now going to revert to a series of photos which I think capture the general essence of what we saw in this town without having to resort to an endless (boring?) series of shots.








Firstly, the red brick buildings of some substance, which included the movie theatre at the head of the main street,









and a little further along, the most imposing Royal Hotel,












opposite which stood the equally impressive edifice which houses the National Australia Bank.










The Masonic Hall, which we later discovered in one of the side streets, was of a similar ilk but far less imposing.










In complete contrast to the solid and slightly austere grandeur of these buildings, the main street was also home to a completely different form of architecture in which wood had been the material of choice. This quaint old fashioned main street garage was one example (don't you just love the 'reduce speed' sign).








This 'old wares' shop with it's side wall mural was another prime example.













Surprisingly to us, art deco is a featured style of many of the Gilgandra buildings within the confines of the CBD. The colourful facade of the Christian Outreach building,











the stark white of the local Target store,













and the more modest but unmistakable style of this cafe and news agent were but three examples.








What we found even more surprising than the adoption of this style widely along the main street, was the fact that the nearby, large IGA store, one street back from the main drag, had been built along the same lines. This building is less than ten years old but is certainly art deco in appearance.








I mentioned at the outset that Gilgandra is know as the 'town of windmills', and here is the explanation. What this plaque does not tell us is the fact that in the days of yore, over 300 of these wind driven pumps were extracting water from the underlying aquifer.





This is all remembered courtesy of the 'Windmill Walk' where, as the tourist blurb notes, "Today you can recall the picturesque past with a stroll down Windmill Walk........a beautiful avenue of trees and windmills that meanding (sic) along the banks of the Castlereagh River....."




Time constraints and other matters of interest precluded us from indulging in a 'meanding', but we did note that the windmill theme was alive and well in the shopping precinct where this logo appeared in all sorts of spots,

in addition to this more solid reminder standing in a small area near the news agent's shop.










The other event which put Gilgandra on the map so to speak, and about which there is a retained sense of community pride notwithstanding the fact that it took place way back in 1915, is the so called 'Cooee March'. 

Each October long weekend this march is celebrated in the town. So what happened over 100 years ago which was so significant? Obviously Australia was at war at the time. Troop losses overseas had been significant, and 'recuriting committees' began to spring up in towns throughout the country.

To give more practical effect to the need for new volunteers, on 10 October 1915, a group of about 30 men who had decided to enlist, led by the redoubtable W.T. (Captain Bill) Hitchen, set out to march from Gilgandra to Sydney. In each town through which they passed they would yell out the iconic Australian bush call of 'cooee'. By the time the marchers reached Sydney on 12 November, their numbers had swelled to (the records vary) about 300 men. 

This feat, the Cooee March, became known as the 'Gilgandra snowball' and the example set by these men was soon emulated around New South Wales and Queensland. Each subsequent march was individually named (Wallabies, Waratahs, Dungarees, Kangaroos and so on) and although they only resulted in swelling the ranks of the armed forces by about 1,500 recruits in all, these marches attracted wide publicity and enthusiastic support in each of the towns through which they passed.

This plaque, not too distant from the main street and the unmistakable Royal Hotel, commemorates the point at which the men assembled and stepped off.









An impressive statue overlooking the town's main street,














this mural on a wall opposite the Royal Hotel, 










and a pair of metal cut out figures in a nook off the main street footpath, are further reminders of these events of late 1915.





But what became of the instigator of this unique recruiting method? Well although Bill shipped off to England preparatory to joining the fight on the Western Front, he didn't actually get to fire a shot in anger. Apart from being diabetic, 'Captain Bill' (so nicknamed because he had been the Captain of the Gilgandra rifle club) was stricken with melanotic sarcoma, a form of malignant cancer which laid him low on 3 September 1916. He lies to this day in the St Mary's churchyard cemetery in Middlesex. What a sad end to such an extraordinary chap. 






Before we depart the main street, a couple of snippets which I could not resist......firstly a butcher with a sense of humour!












And then there is the challenge to distinguish the locals














from the tourists....no prizes given!











Although we did not venture as far afield as the windmill walk, we did take a stroll along the Warren Road (Oxley Highway), where the imposing old building which is now home to the local Toyota dealer rises above a corner at the first junction. Looking at the age and condition of this building







I was relieved to find that the real 'business end' of this dealership was housed in a much more modern facility.













Our stroll took us past the local library and a medical centre,











and the Windmill Motel opposite. This place or respite for the weary traveller












and its nearby neighbour, the Gilgandra Motel, are but two of ten such establishments in this moderately sized town, a testament to the fact that it sits astride three major highways.










The Warren Road is also home to the leafy open space of Gilgandra's Hunter Park,













and a short stroll further on we came to yet another red brick building, this time the Post Office with the community radio station in close company behind it.










On one of the opposite corners, the staff of the Tattersalls Hotel stand ready to slake a thirst or quash the tummy rumbles of the hungry.










Here too, we found another of the town's butchers and the adjoining store and cafe of the Johnson family













with its decorative wall mural depicting the way things were.












Finally, in this neck of the Gilgandra woods, we came across the long, somewhat sprawling building to which employees of the Shire Council report for duty.









On our return ramble through a couple of the back streets, we discovered the Gilgandra Services Club. We returned to darken the doors of this establishment later that afternoon where we rubbed shoulders with a few of the locals and enjoyed a pleasant evening meal.



Let me conclude our quick tour of this interesting town with a reminder of the fact that the normal appearance of the Castlereagh River with its limited water flow and oft dry beds, can be deceptive. Even this 'underground' river can occasionally bare its teeth as this sign on a post opposite 'The Royal' shows. This is the height of the flood waters which raged through Gilgandra in 1955. 






And finally, whilst Gilgandra might be home to windmills and the cooee march, we could not help but notice that it also hosts incredible numbers of pigeons. These 'feathered rats' congregate in extraordinary numbers atop many of the CBD buildings, clustered around air conditioners










and lining gables and wall ledges.












And even if one did not look upwards, the evidence of their presence is all too unpleasantly clear at ground level. What attracts them here in such numbers was beyond us. This is the sort of flocking we would expect around a grain silo, of which there were none to be found. I meant to make some local enquiries, but forgot, so this will just have to remain one of our travelling life's mysteries.





As we re-crossed the Castlereagh and repaired back to camp we both agreed that our decision to tarry here for a couple of days was well made. Tomorrow we head off to yet another 'first', the central NSW town of Condobolin, via Narromine, the home of another 'pigeon' (cricket fans will know what I am talking about), that master of fast bowling, Glen McGrath.

LET'S LEAP AHEAD TO GILGANDRA (31 AUGUST - 1 SEPTEMBER 2017)

With the unplanned social detours which had been a feature of our trip to date out of Far North Queensland, it was time to scurry south. 

Out of Toowoomba we took the Gore Highway to Goondiwindi where we picked up the Newell. Although we have travelled the Newell Highway on many previous occasions, this presented our most expedient route back to Adelaide (and we knew that the road surface was much better than other alternatives), so despite the fact that we were not really about to see anything new for a day or so, we did take the decision to make camp in a town in which we've not previously tarried.

Our first overnight was in Moree, but we've been there, done that, so let's move right along, through Narrabrai and Coonabarabran and on to Gilgandra, a town through which we have driven on oodles of occasions (including our trip north a few months ago), but one in which we have never stayed.

Our chosen park, the inventively titled Gilgandra Caravan Park, is impossible to miss for any driving into the town from the north. Its entrance lies just this side of the road bridge over the nearby Castlereagh River and we've often said as we drove past (in the past), "that looks promising".









So this time we turned off into the long entrance driveway,












made our way to the park office, paid our dues 













and were escorted by the most welcoming park manager to the drive-thu, slab site we had booked. At this stage, as is obvious, we had the park virtually to ourselves, but this certainly changed as the day wore on.






For now, though, it was time to take advantage of the warmth of the afternoon sun whilst we could, because the nights were anything but. Max, however, the great black hunter that he is, was more interested in having a protective 'roof' over his head than basking in the sunlight.







As we had noted when driving past, this is a large park, and from our perspective, most accommodating. The park pool, opposite the office, is small but more than adequate for a summer splash










and in addition to the many sites on offer, either under the trees where we were or closer to the office area, a row of park cabins provides alternative accommodation for those interested.







The large expanse of central lawn, which as was explained to us, is usually much greener than it was (the entire area here has been afflicted by a very poor winter rainfall as we saw when driving past paddock after paddock of stunted crops) is home to the park fire pit and a small camp kitchen.  As you would expect this was the site of afternoon happy hours, but we were otherwise occupied and (unusually) did not join in.



The ablution block most convenient to our site (that's us under the trees to the right of shot) was more than fit for purpose











and came with an unexpected bonus, a second, small camp kitchen area with its large hooded BBQ, spotlessly clean and ready for action.










As I mentioned at the outset of this 'tour', given that Gilgandra is at the cross roads of three major highways (as we shall see later) things were almost eerily quiet when we arrived,











but by mid-afternoon the caravan tide had turned. Our previously empty row was now well populated












and the earlier empty sites across the other side of the park were filling. During our two night stay, this was the common theme....empty by mid morning, full again by late afternoon.






With the town centre a mere five minute walk away across the Castlereagh bridge, we were more than happy with our choice of temporary residential area, which came with (for us....well your scribe in particular) a real treat of nature. This was parrot paradise and red was the colour of the day.




My first sighting was of a pair of appropriately named Red-rumped parrots.  On the ground they do appear a little drab, but once they take flight their wings open to expose a flash of bright colour right along their backs.







The absolutely magnificent King parrots are far flashier. There is no hiding the bright red of these feathers.












"Who's a very handsome boy, then?"

















And to complete the parrot parade, this pair of Eastern rosellas was not to be outdone in the colour competition.







Well, after all this ornithological ogling, it was time to take in the town, one which we found far more interesting than we had imagined it might be.....to be shared in my next missive.

WE PARTY WITH PIZZA AT PROSTON AND PRESS ON TO TOOWOOMBA (AND ANOTHER PARTY) (28 - 29 AUGUST 2017)

Burnett Heads to Proston was to take us over old ground in highway terms at least. We skirted Bundaberg along the very handy by-pass and joined the Isis Highway which took us south through Childers and eventually to Murgon where we turned off to head west to Proston. I have presented this before in previous blogs so shall not commit the error of repetition.

This brief blog is something of a personal memoir of a few days with good friends, so let's begin with our arrival Chez Sue and Noel in the tiny town of Proston some 60 or so kilometres north-west of Kingaroy

where a previous visit in 2015 (see blog Bargara to Brisbane via Proston November 2015) left me well placed to know exactly where to pull in. The Pecks are very well organised to receive guests in vans. Fifteen amp power plugs and water connections were both at the ready.

This was but an overnight stop, and by popular acclaim we decided that tea at the Proston pub would be in order. Great plan, bad result......despite the signs which indicated that meals were available on Sunday evenings, the publican was quick to tell us that this was not the case tonight. The reason remains a mystery and as a good guest I did not pursue the matter as I may have done in other circumstances.

Well, what to do now? Time was pressing on. Another consensual decision had us motoring on to the nearby town of Hivesville in the hope that this pub would be more accommodating.

As it turned out, the failure by mine host at Proston became a blessing in disguise. 

The Hivesville Hotel, which we had photographed as we drove in through this town earlier, was one I had wanted to visit when we were here previously, but it did not pan out that way. As we pulled up on this occasion, a board at the front of the pub proclaimed that Sunday night was pizza night. Why not, we agreed. 

Apart from the fact that it was now almost 2000 hours, and the next alternative town of Murgon was some distance hence, the prospect of a hot pizza was a more than acceptable proposition, 

so in we all trooped to the front bar. Mine Host at Hivesville was more than willing to provide us with pizza (although we did just make it with a few minutes to spare before the cook headed off for the evening)

and I took the time whilst waiting to wander through what was every bit as charming a country pub as I had hoped it would be. The bar was cluttered with appropriate odds and sods,

and here, any waiting for a meal or just enjoying a social drink can take their ease in this quaint old fashioned lounge area.

The rustic dining room was closed this evening, but this did not dent our plans. 

Pizzas on a table at the front bar would be fine. And what interesting tables these were.

When we first came in I had noticed that the highly polished timber slab tops were missing corners here and there. Whether these were merely faults in the wood used, or had been crafted by design, I am unsure, but the method by which they were rectified was nothing short of ingenious. 

These gaps in the otherwise solid timber tops had been filled with a clear resin material in which rural scenes had been created using small model animals and other bits and pieces. We had never seen anything like it....anywhere. 

And yes, the pizzas were good, too!

So, after a very pleasant evening and a good catch up with folk we first met in Charleville in 2012, we were on the move again first thing the following morning. Toowoomba was now in our sights. For the majority of this trip we travelled south along the Bunya Highway through Kingaroy and on to Dalby.





We did make one stop en route, apart from refuelling in Kingaroy. Our Proston friends had long sung the praises of the meat available from this old fashioned butcher, Lenihan's, in the small highway town of Kumbia about 50 kms south of Kingaroy. My information was that this chap sources most of his meat from Tasmania, and that the lamb chops are of particular excellence.



Well, they were certainly right about this being an old fashioned enterprise. After I placed my order for short loin chops with the beanie wearing butcher (he was in and out of his cold room constantly), he disappeared into said room, emerged with a whole lamb and spent the next five minutes or so dismembering the little beast with his bandsaw, chatting away throughout.  By the time I emerged with my wonderful looking parcel of plump chops, I knew all the latest Kumbia gossip and half his life story.  What a hoot.  Postscript....the chops were the  best I have ever eaten!

After this short sojourn in yesteryear, we tackled the hilly and winding highway through the Bunya Mountains, revisited the tiny township of Bell where we had found that incredible Catholic Church with all its paintings last year, and made our way through Dalby 








where we joined the Warrego Highway and headed out onto the flat cotton field plains beyond for the last 80 kms run south-west into Toowoomba.







We had not travelled this section of the Warrego since our first ever trip away in the old Coromal van in 2009, and I was dreading it. This stretch of bitumen, which traverses the black soil plains of this part of Queensland, was the worst major highway on which we had ever driven. 

Joy! The Queensland Government has finally listened to the wailing lament of all who use this highway and has embarked on a major road works campaign to finally bring the Warrego into the modern transport world. 

What a pleasant surprise this presented as we made our way past the small town of Jondaryan















with its unmistakable pink pub,














by-passed the Army aviation town of Oakey











and hauled across the last stretch of highway 












into Toowoomba via the 'back door'.

Given that this is the fourth time we have visited this city, we were able to dispense with the assistance of our electronic navigator and made our way directly to the Toowoomba Motor Village, our park of preference in the Garden City.

Here we took up temporary residence on 'our site' yet again whilst we awaited the arrival of Lyn and Warwick Tainton who have been close friends of yours truly for over forty years (regular readers will recall that Warwick is a recently retired Qantas 747 Captain who, in his youth, shared a house in Sydney with Troy and Hens whom we had just left at Lake Maraboon....the satellites keep circling!). 

It was whilst at Lake Maraboon we had learnt that they would be in this neck of the Australian woods. A phone call or two, a slight change of plans, and a most anticipated rendezvous was arranged.

We had not seen Lyn and 'Wok' since last year when they spent a couple of weeks with us at Kurrimine Beach and we were all very much looking forward to this very brief reunion.



We had a day to spare before the festivities began, a day Liz put to very practical use....the first of several rationalisations of the wardrobe (and she accuses me of travelling with too many garments!) It is actually amazing what one can store in a van, particularly when employing those storage bags from which the suction end of the vacuum cleaner can expel all the surrounding air.

You may have noted that Liz was well rugged up, and for good reason. This was our first experience of seriously cold weather for months, and I for one was not happy. We have yet to fathom why it is that every time we lob in Toowoomba, the freezing westerlies howl across the Darling Downs to torment us. 






But at least the Taintons brought the sun with them when they arrived on the morrow. We took full advantage of the late afternoon as we enjoyed happy hour on the grass at rear of their big 5th wheeler.








But as the sun set and night descended, so did the temperature. Cooking the evening BBQ required survival clothing, but like the pair of old troopers we are, we boxed on regardless










before scuttling back to the welcoming warmth of the vast interior expanses of the Tainton's mobile mansion like moths drawn to the light.






What a wonderful evening it was. Liz has previously commented that when I get together with any from this group, the conversation just seems to pick up from where it left off, even if that may have been many, many months before. Tonight was no exception, just as it should be!





This party was bright but short lived. Our schedule demanded a departure the next morning and our somewhat dizzy social whirl of the past fortnight was about to come to an end.






Much as we would have liked to have stayed on, the recent several (and most welcomed) changes to our planned south bound route demanded that we press on. Our arrival date in Adelaide was set in stone, and the distance to our home city would not get any shorter just because we were keen to tarry. 

So with fond farewells finalised in the early morning Toowoomba sunlight, the Marshies were again mobile.  An overnight stop in Moree beckoned before we gallop off to Gilgandra.