Next day we pulled out of Woombye Gardens Caravan Park – which must be one of the regions best kept secrets, to begin our meanders inland towards Toowoomba. On reaching Kilcoy Leecy required a caffeine fix! Luckily for her, a newly established and quite delightful Blue Chantilly coffee house was opposite the town’s rest area we’d pulled up in as a possible overnight stop. Unusual décor and plenty of arty knick-knacks to browse amongst while our coffee was prepared did much to revive us and we decided not to ‘roost’ in Kilcoy, rather continue further up the road for lunch and spend the night in more peaceful Blackbutt show-grounds. Clouds were building up, offsetting the very steamy conditions a little as we motored along amongst the busy New Year traffic heading home. The first drizzle of rain seen in many weeks brought a measure of relief – that was until we came down a hill, and on rounding a corner we heard a dull thud and our rig began to shudder and shake. In those seconds that George battled for control on the wet road, Lea closed her eyes and awaited the worst like… overshooting the sharp bend and landing in a farm dam! Fortunately that didn’t happen as George managed to pull up. Why do our blow-outs happen in the worse possible places? Once again we were in a vulnerable position with a sloping verge on which to change a tyre. This time round, George had to dig into the turf beneath the axle before he was able to insert the jack.
Definitely not a Formula One pit stop type of operation!
Leecy acted as “spanner boy” while Lea made sandwiches with trucks and cars passing perilously close as to buffet Getaway around. We got out of that spot as soon as we were able and found a decent stopping place further along to gobble our lunch and found ourselves wondering how fate plays a hand- would this blow out have occurred if we’d stayed in Kilcoy, lucky we don’t travel fast and so forth …
We were glad to reach the tranquillity of Blackbutt’s showground and park under the same tree’s we’d camped under in late September. Leecy and George relaxed with their sketchbooks and as evening fell the two sisters took a long walk through the grounds and up into the hills - nothing lures George away from a work in progress. Such is his focus, he was totally unaware of hooligans arriving to decorate the trees and fences with loo paper a mere hundred yards away. Doubt it was done in silence!
We arrived in Cooyar early the next day and recognising the perfect camp, set down our short roots close by the “swinging bridge” and a grave of a 4year old girl who had drowned in the creek almost to the very day we found ourselves standing there, back in 1907. Crocus planted to her memory all those years ago and marking the season of her dying were out in full bloom on that tiny patch adding poignancy. Come evening time as we strolled into the village we were joined by a small Maltese crossbreed who led us on a guided tour, showing scant regard for the odd vehicle. Spike, as we later learnt, has the reputation of adopting campers and leading them along a popular walk on the outskirts of Cooyar.
Moving on to Crows Nest we were somewhat dismayed to find that the caravan park recommendations did not tally with our vision of a noisy and rather barren place and it certainly didn’t fit our requirements as a base for Toowoomba. On we went, only to be sidetracked by “coffee” shrieks from the back of Skiv on seeing a German Black Forest Haus with an invitingly large courtyard out front! We spent a good while within, enjoying a wonderful display of grandfather clocks chiming the hour followed by cuckoo clocks all out of synch! We decided to try another caravan park in Toowoomba, promptly put on a load of washing before all descended on the ablution block. Feeling fresh and clean we made for Mt Lofty to have Sunday afternoon tea with cousin Tim and Les and make arrangements for a Howman history day.
Leecy made contact with her good friends the Roses, living on a smallholding just south of Toowoomba. Plans were made to visit them next day followed by a round trip with Leecy into the Darling Downs visiting the camp spots we had liked in early December. However, the lovely surrounds of Imirie and warm hospitality of Hugh and Helen had us stay the week. Leecy slept in style within their beautiful home while we remained happily ensconced in Getaway, outside their tractor shed / stables with access to the groom quarters providing us with an “en suite” It was no hardship to ensure doors and toilet lid were kept closed to suppress ‘frog patrol’. Never-the-less two large tree frogs were already in residence which made Lea very squeamish to take a seat. George dutifully removed them but somehow, almost impossibly so – the normally bright green frogs would return... Their life in a water closet simply doesn’t bear thinking about.
That first afternoon George returned to the city to buy two new tyres for Skiv while the women went to sticky beak local properties with Hugh, a property agent in his retirement. On George’s return he delightedly took advantage of being on his own, to practise watercolours, leaving his sandals as usual, outside the caravan door. When he came to socialise on our return home he found they were G-O-N-E.
Suspecting the dog, he called Lea and Leecy to help track them - when we told Helen what we were doing we received confirmation that we were dealing with a fastidious dog thief who buries anything smelly! Earlier, we had been warned that Sally Rose, an old Beagle - deaf as a post, was a scavenger with an insatiable appetite. We took that to mean refrain from feeding her not guard your belongings well!
Sally knew instinctively the sandals were well past their use by date. Wire, dental floss and contact adhesive were all reflective of an owner unable to part with his shoes!
We certainly had a special time on that property with its quiet rural beauty of rolling green foothills and valleys hedged by a mountain. Leecy ‘caught up’ with her friends and George renewed his farm upbringing... removing and burning flood debris, mending fences, riding tractors and exercising the horses. He was in his element.
Back in the saddle after thirty odd years…
Hugh gave us on a guided tour of Toowoomba Grammar School where prior to his retirement, he had been headmaster for many years after leaving The King’s School in Parramatta. Another day, we packed a lunch and drove out to beyond Dalby to visit Bill Glasson, as we knew his wife Lorna was away visiting her sister in Victoria for a month and we were keen for Leecy to meet this distant Australian relative.
His delightful sense of humour led to never ending banter between Leecy and Bill. He thought the names Lea and Alice were weird ones and felt “Mildred” better suited Lea as in the TV series George and Mildred! While Bill was showing us family photos – Leecy turned over one of his mother, to discover her name was Alice too. That caught him out and much hilarity ensued!
Having plenty in common – thanks to the name HOWMAN!
Our week slipped away so easily and we found ourselves struggling to fit in everything. Whoops almost caught out! We made a rapid phone call to Jane and Jonathan after an arborist trimming trees in the Rose’s garden commented on George’s accent. Turned out he was the Palmer’s neighbour hence the recognition of a Zimbabwe accent. We shot round that evening to see them. As previously arranged for Saturday, we set off for a day of digging and delving within the old Howman chest bequeathed by Lea’s father into the custodial care of the eldest male heir, his nephew Tim, our generation’s Howman patriarch. Lea as the eldest daughter had gleaned much about ancestors by osmosis and from her close contact with old family members. To have Tim’s eldest son Heath present, a new father in waiting come June this year, showing a deep interest in who was who amongst the long line in his heritage, bodes well.
Listen intently - Heath and his wife, Kate.
With Leecy coming into her last week on the road with us, we reluctantly pulled out of our five star accommodations with the Roses to begin wending our way back to Brisbane. Making our goodbyes Helen presented us with her trademark posy of roses – which were to perfume our caravan throughout the week despite losing petals from road vibrations.
Leecy, Helen, two of three Rose children home for the weekend Nicky and Saxon, Lea & Hugh.
We thought Saxon an unusual name and yet here in Queensland we know Leta’s Saxon and now Helen and Hugh’s Saxon. A beautifully strong name for a boy or girl!
Choosing not to take the steep route down the Toowoomba escarpment we followed the Warwick road south, keeping our eyes peeled for a short cut through to Gatton and the main highway between Toowoomba and Brisbane. We planned to overnight in Laidley beside Lake Dyer which we had previewed the first trip down. Our choice was altered as we came through a steep sided gorge, a pass having been cut by the Theiss brothers through the scenic rim of Toowoomba’s escarpment. A rest area beside Heifer Creek with a memorial to the family for their many endeavours caught our fancy and we stayed… What a treat this grassed and shaded spot deep on the floor of a canyon like valley proved to be- sketch books came out fast! An unexpected low roar began reverberating around us, distracting the artists as they looked around questioningly. It rang a cord of remembrance for Lea though… MOTORBIKES! The last time she heard this amazingly loud guttural purr of engines overpowering our sense of space was in Washington DC on Memorial Day. Thousands of bikers came down Pennsylvanian Avenue in formation for Vietnam POW’s missing in action. We witnessed the same throaty purr of bikers galore arriving and leaving through the rocky confines of the gorge. The mere sound whipped up an inner excitement to have us run to watch the spectacle of well over a hundred bikers cross the bridge. Another memorable event occurred at the moment of nightfall when cicadas vociferate their shrilling and kookaburras bid good-night with an outpouring of laughter and cackles. A rendition, sufficiently appealing drew us out of Getaway to revel in the sounds.
We were unexpectedly treated to the sight of many kookaburras swooping across the creek hawking cicadas in mid air before perching on branches to tenderise their prey with a bashing.
Keen to avoid the tortuous route through Brisbane’s western suburbs, a back route to Samford via the D’Aguilar National Park didn’t seem too daunting until we were confronted by a sign saying unsuitable for caravans. Our hearts skipped a beat but having seen this warning before and tackled a fair number of steep inclines we took the precaution of changing into high range 4WD not realising that nearing the top of Mount Glorious we would need to convert to low range. A slow business getting up but Skiv does well. Our inner anxieties arise not from going up but descending.
It’s a different story with three tons of caravan pushing from behind and we become fraught with protecting the brakes on an unknown route. The silence is palpable as Skiv literally inches down. Lea’s ears prick up in dread that unsuspecting road users travelling at the expected speed should slam into us slowcoaches on a sharp bend. Reaching the end safely, releases enormous relief!
After all the tension, to find Samford Show-grounds at the base of Mt Glorious is even better. We set up camp in a shady place alongside a creek impoundment we dubbed “Golden Pond” thanks to the lovely glows that lit the water at sunset and sunrise. We couldn’t have wished for a more spacious and attractive setting after the high standard set by the Rose property. Unfortunately we found ourselves having to move a couple of days later as a Caravan Club had booked out this particular vicinity- a year in advance. We were politely forewarned and simply moved into a corner for the duration of their stay. Perfect for entertaining, we had Liz out for a lazy day with us. In fact we particularly liked chilling out in our camp.
Approximately 30 km west of Brisbane, we learned to catch the train from Ferny Grove into the city which gave us an air-conditioned and stress free trip. Up early and away on the first of many pension rate day trips we’d make – thanks to Prime Minister Rudd’s election promise to make all Australian States recognise each others senior cards coming to fruition. We met Leta at the station close to her apartment as she had thoughtfully arranged a day at the Queensland University campus. We were scheduled to hear Debbie Foster, Director of the Jane Goodall Institute speak on the wildlife research, education and conservation programme being conducted in Uganda to protect the widely scattered chimpanzee populations. The concept of sustainability and its multi-facetted components cropped up often and we couldn’t help thinking of grandson Otto in the throes of learning what ‘sustainability’ means, at his school. We were very taken by the sandstone buildings of learning surrounding the Great Courtyard. Jesse, in the exhausting final stages of completing a PhD in Marine Science, was good enough to show us around this impressive campus.
Lea, Jesse, Leta and Leecy (Jesse is the girl friend of Leta’s son, Saxon)
We managed to arrange a meeting with Muriel, Peter Howman’s mother, on Leecy’s last day with us. George and Lea had originally planned to meet Ken & Muriel Howman up in Hervey Bay way back in October. Unfortunately Ken suffered a stroke during an operation and their lives were upturned. Muriel gave us her retirement village address and we were amazed to realize just how close it was to the centrally situated Brisbane Caravan Park we had stayed in during December. If only we had known! With the help of a cabbie’s street finder, we checked the closest station to Muriel. Duly hopped off the train, sure we’d recognise landmarks. We didn’t! Fortunately cloudy skies made for a slightly less intense hot day as we walked in the wrong direction hoping to see something familiar as we reached each crest in the road. Empty streets, time no longer in our favour, our agitation began to rise until we met some young boys who sent us back in the right direction. Only on reaching the Newmarket shopping centre were we able to re-orientate ourselves.
Finally reaching our destination, feeling pretty hot and bothered, Muriel made it all worthwhile with her warm welcome and understanding – even apologising for not knowing enough about her new area to assist us. It was a most interesting afternoon following the lives of another branch of Australia’s Howmans. Muriel presented us with a book she had written both in story form and through poetry about her life in rural Australia during the 20th century, published by her son in Victoria.
Muriel inscribing her book “Life Wasn’t Meant to Be Easy” for usAfter following in the footsteps of the pioneer Howmans down in the High Country of Victoria, Muriel’s book gives us an incredible insight into life in the very areas we merely viewed, back in the autumn of last year. Muriel, during her teenage years was one of the remarkable Cattle Women of the High Plains, a way of life that no longer exists. More amazingly her father was a teacher and yet saw little merit in formal education for his daughter. Ken, her husband of 60 years come September, is in the Care Centre close by and able to managed the downhill walk to visit. The return, too challenging! Of their four children, we met “Rusty” back in June - son Peter that is, living in Canberra. Such, was the pleasure of our visit that we would love to visit again and perhaps meet Ken and Coralie-Anne, the youngest daughter living near by. The other daughter lives in Tasmania and we hope cousin Alison will connect up that link.
Leecy’s unearthly hour of departure to the airport made for a long day of coming to terms with her absence. The whiff of something “dead” began permeating Getaway and in an effect to detect it, Lea checked, cleaned and straightened out the fridge and deepfreeze, leading in turn to every drawer and cupboard without anything untoward coming to light. Next day we were still aware of this nasty pong- and thought it was wafting in from the casing to the fridge. Another day of searching led to George removing the air vents at the back of the fridge and unscrewing facings to peer around the fridge surrounds- nothing! We then decided a cane toad must have died in one of the many nooks and crannies in the chassis – George lay underneath and power washed every crevice from his horizontal perspective. All too little avail! We moved back beside “Golden Pond” hoping to leave the odour behind and the jockey wheel no longer worked- George had to be creative. Our jockey wheel never quite recovered from being used to winch round Getaway in the tight confines of Forrest House driveway, on arrival at King’s School.
Sanford show-grounds allow a maximum stay of two weeks. A rough itinerary was required for the remaining four weeks to our flight out of Brisbane on the 18 February- we mulled over our options. At the time of putting our nephew Sheldon on the train for his flight home, we had popped into the Nambour RSL (Returned Soldier League) club to give him a quick meal. Lea delayed departure when she enquired at the front desk about the price of tickets to The Searchers performing on the 21st January. Despite heckling from the stairway – the kindly girl explained the show was FREE and suggested booking a table and if we couldn’t make it – to cancel.
Over the weeks that followed we found ourselves not wishing to lose out on this remarkable opportunity. We thought of driving to Nambour for the night and sleeping in Skiv after the show. In the end, with two loads of laundry piled up and no facilities immediately to hand we pulled out of Sanford, having been granted a two week stretch back there. We returned to Woombye Gardens Caravan Park through the scenically attractive back roads of the Sunshine Coast Hinterland. Deemed Lea’s birthday treat, a week ahead of schedule, excited anticipation was rising for us both. That evening – trying hard not to look our usual daggy-selves, we set off for the RSL club. Not daring to switch off the mobile in case all important news of a baby entering the world in Africa should come through – it was merely silenced and placed on the table in clear view. Dinner for two ordered- My! My! This kind of thing has long fallen off our radar and amidst a very crowded room of wrinklies just like us there was an air of youthfulism! Lights began flashing; a hush of immense expectation took over the whole club. WHAT a night unfolded… as the Searchers, haling from Liverpool with 46 years on the entertainment circuit under their belts returned us to a golden past.
The Searchers – still led by John McNally and Frank Allen from those glory days aided by Spencer James and Eddie Rothe to produce the melody, harmony and in particular the distinctive jangle of the 12 string guitar they pioneered during the beat-boom era of the sixties. REMEMBER?Opening with Sweets for my Sweet, the more extroverted were fast up and dancing. It most certainly didn’t take long for the rest of us to get up on our pins to rock, jive, twist or jiggle around, singing our hearts out or clapping to the rhythms of many old time favourites like Sugar‘n’Spice, Love Potion No. 9, Goodbye my Love and so many more of their hits, all striking a special place within our hearts, that shrieks for encores followed throughout the duration of a wonderful, wonderful show. To think we grew up in Rhodesia loving this music. A country where concerts were an absolute rarity, even then tickets, cost an arm and a leg. Yet here in our retirement years an RSL club draws in a huge crowd by engaging a band recalling our long gone yesterdays for the cost of a well priced dinner and beer.
Riding high on the adrenalin of the night we lolled around camp next day. Found we had lost the “dead smell” and could only surmise we’d shaken it loose somewhere along the road or the days of heat had desiccated it?? We took a drive to Maroochydore to walk the beach front and found that the Maroochy River we’d seen integrated as a feature within the major shopping complex we had visited over New Year actually dominates the beach front creating an aquatic playground for all ages. Kite-surfers were out in force, both in the estuary and off shore as storm clouds massed and swirled away doing little to alleviate the high humidity.
With ten days in hand before our friend Paula joins us at Sanford, George plotted a trip up to Imbil and through to Lake Borumba to spend a few days followed by a couple on the Borumba Deer Farm near by. Being inland places we certainly didn’t expect Australia Day long weekend problems – both turned out to be fully booked with the odd cancellations due to the unpredictable cyclonic weather in the north and rain being forecast. We were not prepared to squeeze into these busy places and worst of all – neither of our mobiles, on different networks to give us wider coverage had a signal during the very time we need to be accessible to breaking news from Keith and Colleen. That was the decider! We retraced our steps and as we passed though the quaint little village of Kenilworth we unexpectedly noticed a caravan setting up in the grounds of the Village Hall and recreational grounds, one mobile had signal and we promptly turned in at the gates. A caravan club had booked out the southern side and we were able to put down roots for a week alongside the cricket oval in the opposite direction just before the skies opened for one of the many short downpours we were to experience throughout the long weekend interspersed with sticky heat. No matter being confined to Getaway. The Australian Open kept us glued to the TV watching magnificent tennis!
Kenilworth was a perfect rural centre – cattle and horses abounded on the outskirts and across the road was a cheese factory which also produced the most delicious yoghurt which had us both hooked from the first sample taste. On the first dry day we took the Fig Tree boardwalk down on Booloumba Creek through a cool and pretty rainforest. The many warnings about the giant stinging tree with its benign looking large, heart shaped leaves had us both very wary. These soft green leaves glisten with fine white silica tipped stinging hairs that sting like crazy- causing a pain that can linger for months. Even when they are dry and crinkly they will irritate the hell out of your skin (samples dating back to 1910 still pack a “bite”) as do the strange tiny globular fruits bunched up like grapes which feed bowerbirds, catbirds and flying foxes. We eyed plenty of fruit scattered around the bases of trees. Strange that such a toxic leaf is heavily “potholed” by web worm too.
The Aquarian’s birthday dawned and her husband offered to take her through to Eumundi Markets, for a second - less crowded visit. Its fame precedes it irrespective of the time of year and no matter whether it is a Wednesday or Saturday, it hums with activity and we enjoyed it more this time round. Before returning home we took the tourist route through the Blackall Mountain Range to Mapleton. For the first time we found a sign saying the route was forbidden to caravans, trucks and buses. We have fallen heavily for the calm behind the sunshine coast – it is such beautiful countryside with its mountains, undulating hills and broad low valleys and we were intrigued to see what lay ahead of us on the Obi Obi road to our destination. Such was the steep climb up to Mapleton that the road split. The UP road was tarred and the DOWN road was gravel with a couple of hair-raising bends and both gave us stupendous views in all directions. A bite to eat in the Daily Grind Cafe set in the village centre went down extremely well before we ambled along to The Lilyponds, a sight to match an old master’s painting with swamp hens either nesting or trotting the lily-pads herding tiny, intrepid black balls of fluff. The Gallery overlooking the ponds had plenty of work on show, even an artist busy at her easel. The Mapleton Falls and Wompoo Circuit walk finished off our day and we returned home for the best part of birthdays, hearing from family and friends.
In the early hours of the morning the peep-peep of a text message alerted us to the onset of labour in Cape Town. Colleen was awashed with good karma from afar as we back tracked the hours to South African time. We restlessly slept, knowing the earliest we could possibly get news was 6.30 a.m. Australian time. Right on cue, the mobile rang heralding the safe arrival of Finn William Begg which in turn perpetuates the Begg family name for another generation, much to the delight of his paternal grandfather. Sharing a birthday with her new grandson mixed with the elation of his birth brought an unforgettable culmination to the 28th.
“Our cup runneth over”- How hard it is to be so far away on different time zones, bursting with happiness and no one to share our news with other than by writing e-mails that will only go in a couple of days time. We had to simply get on with the mundane… walking up to a laundrette and seeing to our dirty washing before returning to Samford Show-grounds at the end of the week and closing up January with Brisbane friends.
One view of “Golden Pond” from Getaway - It is just as comfortable returning to places that bring us pleasure as it is in discovering new ones.
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