This morning was spent attending to practical maintenance issues, or at
least by Chris: flushing out the caravan drainage system, vehicle washing,
changing the water filter, all jobs where I could be of little assistance.
Further discussion brought us to yet another decision; to stay a couple
more days so we could enjoy the first of the ten days of Music Festival, or
Country Muster, as some say. So we walked up to the office, dodging the lines
of caravans streaming in, considering the possibility of extending our stay to
be diminishing by the minute. Sure enough we could not stay on at this site
however we could have another powered site for one night. We had already
decided to stay another two if possible, and so elected to take an unpowered
site for the two nights. We were given a road cone and “Reserved” sign to place
in our designated spot, which we duly did.
It was close enough to lunch time by the time all was done and dusted so
we unpacked our picnic and consumed it inside, not for the first time.
After lunch we headed across the
river into Mildura, picked up one of the last copies of the newspaper before
hunting out the art gallery. The Mildura Art Centre is situated adjacent to the
Rio Vista Historic House, the second residence of the father of Mildura, W B
Chaffey, his two wives and eight children. It should be noted that the wives
were not concurrent, but the second, the niece of the first, took over the reins
in more ways than one when Mrs Chaffey 1st died of pneumonia soon
after childbirth. Interestingly they were both named Hattie, and the second of
these lived long and faithfully caring for this grand house until her death in
1950. The house was immediately purchased by the council for the purposes of an
art gallery, however in more recent times a modern extension to the building
has served to house the artworks and the house is there as a heritage piece, an
artworks in its own right.
Chris was particularly taken with the redecoration of the house, the
wallpapered ceilings and walls, with their intricate corners and all the
complications a painter and decorator could possibly be faced with. He advised
both the receptionist and I that it had been carried out with much skill. There
is still much more work to be done however Chris was not keen to offer his
services. He is retired after all.
We drove on a few kilometres down river to visit the Old Mildura Station
Homestead. This is in fact a recreation of the first station established by the
Jamieson brothers in 1847, later purchased by the Chaffey’s, on the high banks
above the Murray River.
Actually the European genesis of the station is not quite as simple as
that. In 1847, one Francis Jenkins swam 900 cattle and ten horses across the
river from New South Wales to this site. Believing he had settled in South
Australia, he travelled to Adelaide to register his selection. Meanwhile the
Jamiesons obtained a “Depasturing Licence” for leasehold from Melbourne and
took the property instead.
We were appreciative of the many interpretative panels explaining the
history of the region, the paddle steamers of the river system and the
irrigation scheme, which is more than I can say for one woman who entered one
of the buildings while we were absorbing this mountain of information. “More
bloody reading!” she said. “I’ve had enough!” Obviously she is not a keen would-be historian such as we are.
From the homestead site, we could see the lock on the river and so we
decided to explore this too. With the river as high as it is, it came as no
surprise that the lock is not currently in use. We walked crossed the Lock
Island to the weir and found that it too was not in use, in fact the huge
structural pieces of this were all stacked up on the island. We wondered how
this was installed when required; perhaps with very heavy machinery?
We stood and looked at the volume of water in the river at this spot and
that a little downstream where the Mildura Homestead stood and considered the
crossing of all Jenkin’s livestock. We hoped the water levels had been less in
that particular year.
The lock is one of the many on the river, this completed in 1927.
From here we returned to the vehicle and to camp. The temperature had
soared to its forecasted 36 degrees, the morning having started with a slightly
barmier 17 degrees. How the temperatures fluctuate here. Each day is a “what to
wear?” dilemma.
At 4 pm we were ready with our chairs and bottles of water and on our
way across to Frog’s Hollow, the camp common. This afternoon we all had been
invited by singer Graeme Smart who is here no doubt to entertain at the
festival, to a free concert. Clouds gathered as he struck the first chord,
thunder rumbled from afar as he started on his second ballad and lightening
danced about our heads by the fifth one. Half an hour into the programme, the
heavens opened and we all fled back to our caravans carrying our furniture.
Obviously
he and his wife managed to safely cover their electronics, because the music
recommenced once the storm had passed. We chose to listen from the caravan
having already started preparing for dinner.
Tomorrow we will pack up in a cursory manner and shift across the park
to a more informal posse before setting off into the city centre to make the
most of the free entertainment.
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