I need to start by mentioning that the Lions did beat the Wallabies last night, 23:21, in an excellent game that could have gone either way, but more in the favour of the Wallabies had three of their team not been carried off on stretchers or the kicker not had a hoodoo spell cast on him by the red jersey wearing spectators, otherwise known as the Barmy Army. We enjoyed the excitement in the comfort of our caravan.
This park, despite the bad rap I have given it since arrival, has proved to be a peaceful place to pass the nights. I did hear the faint sound of wind chimes in the early hours of the morning, heralding the beginning of the inclement weather. Soft rain fell for a short time, but on rising, the day looked much like yesterday; neither fine or otherwise.
We decided to extend so I set out my plans for the day; a drive up to Lake Banksiadale, then south through Dwellingup, down through the Lane Pool Reserve to Nanga, a walk or two around the historic area, on to the Waroona Dam, then time permitting, westwards to Lake Clifton to see the thrombolites to discover whether they were any more enthralling than the stromatolites much further north.
Soon out of the park, we were distracted by the subdivision closeby and drove about looking at the new homes for sale, deciding that this would be quite a lovely place to live, close enough to commute on one’s mobility scooter; an academic observation, of course.
We headed north up the South Western Highway, then noticed the sign pointing to the Fairbridge Village. I had remarked on this as we came south from Perth, having been made aware of the significance of the name “Fairbridge” near Molong in NSW and having read again about the scheme in the Immigration Museum in Melbourne.
Fairbridge was one of the institutions that took in child immigrants who were brought across from the British Isles. Kingsley Fairbridge was probably no more of a fine decent man than any of the other instigators of such schemes, however he was not backed or driven by any single religious body. Even at the age of twelve, the formations of his own “Vision Splendid” began to evolve. In 1903, at the age of seventeen, he had developed a passion to develop this vision further, to see ‘little children shedding the bondage of bitter circumstances and stretching their legs and minds amid the thousand interests of the farm”. His aim was “to provide children with a sense of self-worth and the training and skills necessary for their future in the sparsely populated rural areas of Australia.” A fine aim indeed!
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| Buildings still standing at the Fairbridge Centre |
From 1913 until 1982, the total number of children assisted by Fairbridge to his farm school was 3,580. He himself expired in the 1920s, much mourned by his “children” however his tradition continued on. After several years of closure, it was reopened to provide a service to young people in an environment rich in heritage and tradition with a focus on the future, and continues on today. Again, a very fine aim.
We drove into the farm and reception where we learned that we were welcome to wander around the village site and the museum which would be open at 10 am. With so many children being accommodated through the years, the extent of the complex should have come as no surprise. There are some fifty two buildings in the village including a lodge, at least twenty three houses, club house, dining halls, community education centre, chapel, theatrette, all for hire at prices set out in a thick hand out. The houses can accommodate from two to twenty four people, and have between one to nine bedrooms. Chris and I decided it would be an awesome place to hold a family reunion, although a very faraway place for our own family.
The museum was closed on our first circuit of the village however when we called again on the off chance it might have since opened, we found a couple of Old Fairbridgians, the President and Vice President, the latter an ex-inmate. Pat arrived here in 1954, not much more than a toddler, her family circumstances inviting institutional aid. We spent a couple of hours chatting with them both and pouring over the memorabilia and stories available to the public. It is a heart wrenching story, one that has deeply affected all those who passed through its gates, and even Pat, who only ever really knew Fairbridge as home, who was not abused in any way, is only now, at the age of sixty or so, coming to terms with her past.
Like so many museums not within the State umbrella, this struggles to retain its records in a manner available to all now and for the future. Money is always a problem and of course, the aging interested. We would recommend a visit to this fascinating place, although the museum, for now, is only open on the weekends and on Public Holidays. We were lucky to have happened upon this on a Sunday.
Interestingly the farm, initially covering 3200 acres, is now owned by Alcoa, the company operating three refineries in this state and the associated bauxite mines.
It was well after midday by the time we returned to the landcruiser and we could see that our plans might be a little ambitious. We decided to head directly up into the hills toward the lake and after taking a wrong turn and ending up at the gates of Alcoa’s Refinery, we soon found ourselves driving along a ridge through beautiful forest, with glimpses of the landscape below slowly being swallowed up by the gathering mist. The Alcoa Lookout suddenly presented itself to us, and we drove into this lovely picnic area and parked under the trees to eat our lunch. By this time it was raining so we picnicked in the vehicle, before dashing out to the lookout platform in the hope of better seeing the patchwork of refinery waste lakes below. By now, all was concealed by the rain cloud and we decided we would press on to the lake, then review our options.
Lake Banksiadale is the rather quaint name for the reservoir formed by the dam on the South Dandalup River. The 43 metre high earth-filled dam was built in 1971 as part of water supply for Perth. The reservoir is twenty two kilometres long and has, when full, a surface area of twenty one square kilometres, a feathery form through the hills of the Darling Scarp, but today seemed almost empty. We drove across the 268 metre wide dam to a rather attractive picnic area, where in better weather, one might be encouraged to enjoy walks into the forest. However today there was no such appeal; I took a quick photo through the rain and we headed for home, but contrary to our original plane, we headed north to return through the rural locality of North Dandalup, then south on the highway to Pinjarra. The weather was set in; the day had turned to custard. We still had the weekend newspapers to get through.
As we neared Pinjarra, I asked Chris to pop into the old railway station, where I believed there was some sort of information centre for Alcoa. It seemed like a safe indoor activity to finish the day with. And just like Fairbridge had intruded into our plans, so did the next episode.
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| Our junior fellow tourists offer a sense of scale |
There was a group of people in the centre who were on a tour. The bus driver asked us if we would like to join them. There was no mention of cost, just sign the paper and get on the bus. “Okay,” we said after little consultation with each other. We were invited to go see the cockatoos in the other room and were there introduced to two very large black birds, one a Red-tailed Black Cockatoo and the other a Long-billed Black Cockatoo or Baudins. It was lovely to see them so close, and I would have reached out and stroked them had the two girls handling them warned me against doing so. Their beaks were strong and could do untold damage.
We had gate-crashed an Alcoa staff and family Sunday outing, with an emphasis on protection of the fauna and flora by a conservation minded mining company. And indeed they do exist, they have to these days or their licenses to rape and pillage can be rescinded by the stroke of a pen.
Alcoa has the rights to mine bauxite from a strip down the edge of the Darling Range, about three hundred kilometres long by forty kilometres wide. Much of this runs through State Forest and is watched closely by all sorts of conservation minded agencies and persons.
We were taken by bus up through a muddy haulage track into the forest to see a tall marri tree bearing a man-made nesting box, part of the scheme to provide nesting environments for the endangered cockatoos. We were told about the eighty possible trees that were tagged as no-go places for mining, about the habit of the cockatoos, those we had seen down in Pinjarra and also the Carnaby’s, to nest in trees that were two hundred and fifty years or older. Given that trees have a tendency to fall with age or burn in wild fires, younger trees have to be also protected for future use. As we stood out in the mud, the rain having conveniently abated for our emergence into the wild, a couple of nesting cockatoos of the red-tailed variety flew squawking overhead to give credence to the spiel we were hearing.
Back onto the network of bitumen roads, purpose built for the mine, we were taken through to a work shop to see massive machinery, a crusher and the many kilometres of conveyor belts that tale the crushed bauxite down to the refinery nearer sea level. Re-vegetation was explained to us and we had to agree that reforested areas gave no evidence of past mining.
Not only did we have a couple of excellent guides who were informing the staff of aspects of the industry that they were not necessary privy to, we had a variety of staff who were happy to tell us about their own tasks. It was all very interesting and we were delighted to have happened upon our second surprise event of the day.
It was after 5 pm by the time we were returned to the railway station,
and made our way straight back to camp. The rain had persisted but we had still
been able to have a wonderful day, even if it had little relationship to the original
plans I had hatched.
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