Henry Lawson

Australia has always been a place where writers were valued, and where writers were often also quite adventurous. I’ve introduced you to Adam Lindsay Gordon, who preferred to be known as a daring horseman than as a poet (and he is indeed remembered for both) and A.B. “Banjo” Paterson, who celebrated life in the bush. Another of the important early writers in Australia was Henry Lawson.

Unlike Paterson and Gordon, Lawson was as famous for his short stories as for his poems. The son of Norwegian immigrants who came to Australia in 1855 during the gold rush, Lawson was born in 1867. His family might most generously be described as dysfunctional and generally in financial straits, his education was uneven and frequently interrupted, and a serious illness when he was 10 left him partially deaf. He was brilliant but usually lonely. Both because of the hardships he experienced as he grew up, and because of his experiences as an adult during a particularly horrific drought, Lawson’s works and his view of the outback tend not to be as upbeat as those of Paterson in particular.

Lawson was immensely popular in his day and is still considered one of Australia’s greatest writers. Reading poems and short stories aloud was a common entertainment in the mining camps, cattle camps, and small towns of the late 1800s, and Lawson’s works were among the most commonly read. The humorous short story “The Loaded Dog” was among the most popular then and today is considered an Australian classic.

While they disagreed in their estimation of the bush, and occasionally sparred in verse on the topic, Lawson shared with Paterson an admiration for the hard-working, give-it-a-go Australians who people their world. That admiration is reflected in the following poem, which also reminds us that Lawson was living during an era when Australia was still being opened up and settled.

An Australian Advertisement

WE WANT the man who will lead the van,
The man who will pioneer.
We have no use for the gentleman,
Or the cheating Cheap-Jack here;
We have no room for the men who shirk
The sweat of the brow. Condemn
The men who are frightened to look for work
And funk when it looks for them.

We’ll honour the man who can’t afford
To wait for a job that suits,
But sticks a swag on his shoulders broad
And his feet in blucher boots,
And tramps away o’er the ridges far
And over the burning sand
To look for work where the stations are
In the lonely Western land.

He’ll brave the drouth and he’ll brave the rain,
And fight his sorrows down,
And help to garden the inland plain
And build the inland town;
And he’ll be found in the coming years
With a heart as firm and stout,
An honoured man with the pioneers
Who lead the people out.

The Sunburnt Country

Often, when I write or speak of Australia, I will include a phrase about loving the “sunburnt country.” While most Australians would immediately understand the allusion, most folks outside Australia would not — though some might think I’m alluding to Bill Bryson’s book The Sunburned Country (which was released in Australia with the title Down Under). In fact, both Bryson’s book title and my comments are allusions to a famous Australian poem by Dorothea Mackellar.

Mackellar was born in Sydney in 1885 and went on to become one of Australia’s most notable poets. The poem for which she is best known was written when she was only 19. Actually, the poem itself, titled “My Country,” is rarely quoted in its entirety. It is the second stanza of the poem that almost everyone in Australia learns by heart growing up.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror–
The wide brown land for me!

This stanza has been set to music, and the “sunburnt country” phrase appears regularly in tales of the land Down Under. A hundred years after its writing, it remains an iconic tribute to Australia.

Should you wish to read the rest of the poem, you can find it here: “My Country.”

Adam Lindsay Gordon

I won’t bore you by repeating the tales I tell in my book of Adam Lindsay Gordon. Australians know them, and my readers have already met this famous Australian. However, I will share a bit more of the tragic poet’s work.

When we rescue an injured motorcyclist at one point, I quote a famous verse from the poem,”Ye Wearie Wayfarer.” That same poem contains an “allegorical interlude” that I have always quite liked, and which I have always viewed as a good response to those who think I should travel fewer places and do safer things. It is the section of the poem titled “Potter’s Clay.” (And for those unfamiliar with the allusion, it refers to the comment in the the book of Isaiah that we are the clay and God is the potter who forms us.)

Potter’s Clay
Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill
Too oft gets broken at last,
There are scores of others its place to fill
When its earth to the earth is cast ;
Keep that pitcher at home, let it never roam,
But lie like a useless clod,
Yet sooner or later the hour will come
When its chips are thrown to the sod.

Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day,
When the vessel is crack’d and old,
To cherish the battered potter’s clay,
As though it were virgin gold ?
Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf,
Though prudent and safe you seem,
Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf,
And mine by the dazzling stream.

And the Band Played “Waltzing Matilda”

The horrors of World War I have been remembered in a variety of ways — in movies, books, songs, monuments — but more in Australia than in the U.S., partly because it was the first major war in which Australians participated after federation in 1901, but also partly because Australians and New Zealanders, whose militaries were grouped together at the time, suffered the most devastating casualties of any country participating. I’ve mentioned this in more detail in previous posts (just search for Gallipoli), and talk about it in my book, as well, but I thought a few more comments were reasonable. First, a movie recommendation: Gallipoli features a very young Mel Gibbson as a soldier during one of the most horrifying conflicts of the war. Second, a song by Eric Bogle, a Scot who emigrated to Australia, captures the experience of a soldier wounded at Gallipoli. I can’t show you the movie, but I can share the song. (When I brought the album home from my first trip to Australia and played it for my parents, it made my dad — a World War II veteran — cry.)

Eric Bogle: And the Band Played “Waltzing Matilda”

Things Change

It has been a few years since that first, glorious, six-month trip around and across Australia. However, as soon as I had gotten my new writing career off and running, I headed back. I can’t stay away for too long. I do realize that part of the magic is that in Australia, all I’m doing is traveling — no job, no housework, just get out into the wilderness and immerse myself in the beauty and wildness of this remarkable land. But that is not the only thing, because I have vacationed many other places, and nowhere else has really captured me the way Australia did. So I keep going back.

Some things have changed. I note in my book that we could see the markers in Kakadu showing that things were scheduled to be “improved.” They have been. There is a hotel now at Cooinda where I had slept so peacefully beneath the stars. Boardwalks have been added in a few of the places in the Red Centre where we had to scramble and climb. The cities are bigger. And yet the things I love about Australia remain unchanged — primarily, the ease with which one can escape into the wilderness. I have returned to the rainforests, to the rugged coasts, and, of course, to the outback. I’ve seen places I promised myself for “next time,” and returned to places I love. Soon, I’ll begin recording those return trips, with photos and tales gathered on each adventure. Before then, I want to share a few bits of Aussie culture that I found delightful — music, poetry, history.

Now, however, I’ll just mention a few more changes — ones not mentioned already in posts on this blog. The contents of the Geological and Mining Museum that I loved so much in Sydney have all been transferred to the Power House Museum. So if you look for the museum I named, you won’t find it, but you can still find the wonderful minerals and displays of gold history. The place in the Argyle Center where I bought the golden wattle perfume has closed. I have found other perfumes that call themselves golden wattle, but never again one that smelled so perfectly like the wattles blooming in the mountains. On the other side of the continent, in Fremantle, the convict-era prison was at long-last decommissioned, and it is now a museum.

The food scene, while great when I first visited, keeps on improving. Australia never had a shortage of great eating options, what with the ocean so close at hand for most of the country, the warm weather offering glorious year-round produce, proximity to Asia and a migrant population contributing to the wonderful variety, and wine regions just about everywhere one turns. But since that first trip, more and more up-scale places have opened, and Australia is now a major foodie destination, with truffles and wagyu beef, and cutting-edge chefs taking advantage of all that land and sea have to offer. In fact, my second trip back, it took a bit of effort to find a humble meat pie — but I did succeed.

The cities are still handsome, and most offer delights not available on my first trip. However, most of what I enjoyed is still there, from the historic buildings to the great zoos, museums, and galleries to the ethnic diversity to the open-air markets.

Leave the cities behind, however, and nothing has changed. The land is still huge and open and compelling. I got farther out with each subsequent trip, seeing more beauty and wildlife, and falling more in love with “back of beyond.” As I wrote near the end of Waltzing Australia, “I wondered again, as I have wondered before, why this place moves me so. I am drawn to the remoteness, to the vigor, the fierceness, and the unfettered innocence of this land, and its spirit whispers to my spirit, and its song sings in my veins. I don’t know if this is cause or effect, but I do not need to know. I simply surrender myself to the pleasure of feeling it one more time.”

And each time I leave, I hope there will be “one more time.”

Waltzing Australia Now on Kindle

For those of you who may have been holding off on buying my book until there was a Kindle version — the time is here. Waltzing Australia went live on Kindle a couple of days ago. You can find it listed on Amazon — a search turns it up right after the print version of the book.

For anyone who has a different ebook device, I hope to have the book available on Smashwords soon, which means it would be available for most other ebook readers (including iPhones).

So if you’ve got a Kindle, I’m ready for you now: here. (And be aware — even if you don’t own a Kindle device, you can download the Kindle software for free on your computer, and then just read Kindle books there.) For other devices — stay tuned.

Crossing the Blue Mountains

As I mentioned in the post “When is a Mountain Not a Mountain,” the Blue Mountains are actually the remains of an ancient plateau that has simply been worn away until only a long, relatively narrow, and wildly carved strip remains. As a result, the usual approach to crossing mountains–look for a mountain pass–didn’t work. Explorers, adventurers, and escaped convicts had been trying since 1790 to find a way to the other side, but those who followed the area’s streams in hopes of finding a valley to lead them through the mountains invariably ended up facing a vertical stone wall.

That is until 1813, when Gregory Blaxland, William Lawson, and William Charles Wentworth decided to give it a try.

I had not written about these three previously, as one cannot include everyone, but a comment left on my previous post about the Blue Mountains reminded me that these three were worth noting, if for no other reason than so visitors to New South Wales understand why these names appear so often in areas near Sydney.

All three men were well educated and fairly successful at the time of their exploration. Blaxland and Lawson were born in Britain but had come to Australia voluntarily. Wentworth was born at sea, en route to Australia. Blaxland’s family had known the botanist Joseph Banks, who had explored Australia’s coast with Captain James Cook. Stories of the new land, combined with the government’s promises of abundant property for “settlers of responsibility and Capital” had made Australia seem an ideal destination for the ambitious Blaxland. Lawson was in the military and arrived in Australia as part of the New South Wales Corps. Wentworth arrived as an infant, in the arms of his mother, who had been convicted of stealing “wearing apparel.”

Blaxland had hit upon the idea of climbing a series of ridges, rather than trying another foray up a dead-end valley. He invited Lawson and Wentworth to join him, and the three men set off in May 1813 from Blaxland’s farm, to try to learn what might lie on the other side of the mountains.

It was slow going, as the brush was dense and the men had to hack their way through the undergrowth. However, Blaxland’s idea worked. The ridges carried the men up to the top of the plateau, where they were impressed by the abundant trees and vistas of grassy plains that, as Blaxland noted in his journal, offered “enough grass to support the stock of the colony for thirty years.” More importantly, as Wentworth wrote in his journal, “we have at all events proved that they [the mountains] are traversable.”

It may not seem like it, but crossing the Blue Mountains was a very big deal for the colony. The narrow strip of flat land to the east of the mountains was already proving inadequate for supporting the growing colony of New South Wales. Crossing the Blue Mountains opened up the continent. It was the beginning of the colony becoming a new country.

Blaxland, Wentworth, and Lawson all had interesting lives after this important accomplishment, though Blaxland did not end as well as the other two. However, before his decline, Blaxland had one other important impact on Australia. He imported grape vines, made wine, took 136 liters of his wine to London, and was awarded a silver medal. Five years later, a larger shipment of Blaxland’s wines earned a gold medal in London. Though grape vines had been brought to Australia by the first European settlers in 1788, Blaxland’s wine was the first wine to be produced for anything other than local consumption, and it is viewed as essentially the beginning of Australia’s international reputation as a wine producer.

Lawson went on to be the first person to take cattle over the mountains in 1815, and he became a key figure in developing the colony. Wentworth became a lawyer and a poet, and worked tirelessly and effectively at obtaining a representative government for the young country.

If you’re interested in knowing more, the Australian Dictionary of Biography offers more detailed information on each of the men and their accomplishments. In addition, you can read the exploration journals of all three men on the Internet.
Biographies:
Blaxland
Lawson
Wentworth

Journals:
Wentworth’s
Lawson’s
Blaxland’s

More Blue Mountains

The fog didn’t keep us from exploring. Neither did the light rain that fell intermittently. Small towns with bookstores and tearooms helped when things were too wet to wander, but when it was simply damp and not actually raining, we continued on. Because it was gray and cloudy, there weren’t a lot of people, so we heard a lot more birds, including bell birds, which I loved.

The dampness highlighted the beauty of the mountains and the lush foliage, as you can see in the photo below, left.

Coming down the mountain, we stopped at an old, sandstone bridge. It is hard to identify things simply from photos, but searching for old bridges in the Blue Mountains, and comparing the photos online to the one I took (below, right), it seems that we had stopped to explore Lennox Bridge, the oldest bridge on the Australian mainland. (An older bridge exists in Tasmania — in Richmond — which I had seen earlier.) Built in the early 1800s of sandstone blocks, this bridge was for a long time the only way into Sydney for those traveling over the mountains. Today, it is still in use, though more modern bridges now serve busier highways. It has been designated a Heritage Site. But that first day, all I knew was that it was old and charming and looked oddly out of place, wedged between steep mountain walls.

Govett’s Leap

Govett’s Leap is one of the great places to visit in the Blue Mountains, outside of Sydney. It is a lovely waterfall that drops about 540 feet from the greenery on top of the plateau to the even denser greenery at its base. Govett’s Leap was named for William Romaine Govett, a surveyor who was the first European to come to this spot. The waterfall is in a splendid, World Heritage-listed area that is a popular place for bushwalking.

Near the waterfall, there is a lookout that is famed for its glorious vistas out over valleys and the surrounding tree-covered plateau. However, as is not entirely uncommon in coastal mountain situations, it can be given to bouts of fog. Hence, the “glorious vista” on the day I visited was pretty much like staring into a wall of cotton. However, I did get a photo of the historic market that tells us about the William Govett — but beyond that, a great nothingness. So I guess I’ll just have to go back someday!

Lookout at Govett's Leap

Sydney’s Customs House

One of the things I’ve discovered while traveling is that pretty much any city that has an important seaport will also have an imposing Customs House. The styles vary by country and/or era, but three things don’t seem to change: an impressive size, a central location, and the original intended purpose, which is handling the imports and exports pouring through the seaport.

Sydney’s Customs House, which dates to 1844–1845, is front and center at Circular Quay, with a view of the bustling harbor. The handsome building, renovated prior to Sydney’s hosting of the 2000 Olympics, has now been repurposed into a multifunction facility that includes galleries, a museum, a library, performance space, a rooftop café, a Parisian-style bar/bistro, and a huge model of the city of Sydney, displayed beneath the transparent floor in the entryway. Customs House is open to the public, and galleries and the museum are free.

Because it is hard to visit Sydney and not find yourself occasionally down by Circular Quay, I had seen the building several times before I found out what it was. In fact, it was hard to miss it, even if one didn’t stop. So while it might not be high on your list of things to see in Australia, at least you know it won’t be hard to find. And, if you simply dash past it on your way to your harbor cruise, now you’ll know what you’re passing.

Sydney's Customs House