A week ago on Sunday night Gord and I stayed at the Kaniva Midland Motel. We wandered up the road and bought take away pizza about 7.30pm at about the only place that was open in town. After eating in our room and a bit of TV we retired to bed. I lay awake for some time listening to the intervals of dead quiet between the rumbling of semi trailers passing not 50 metres from our room on their way to Adelaide and Melbourne. Kaniva is closer to Adelaide than Melbourne.
Whether I'd trained my brain (having stayed at this motel before), or I was just in good mental state, I'm not sure, but the noisy trucks didn't bother me. Oddly I enjoyed listening, alternately to the quiet, then the approaching then receding vehicles. My overriding feeling was one of gratitude. Gratitude that I was alive and well to listen and think, and reflect on the past few days. And the past few years. And decades.
Gord and I set out for the trip to Wangaratta on the Thursday about lunchtime in his Skoda. We left the new Skoda with Lib who stayed home to look after Pip and the house. She didn't feel up to the travel so soon after our recent move. I'd booked an overnight van at Charlton, thinking we'd get the big leg out of the way first day, leaving a shorter trip for the Friday to Wangaratta. Not yet familiar with the roads in the district I took a wrong turn and ended up nearly at Mt. Compass, so we backtracked which cost us half an hour or so. Crossing the Vic border cost us another half hour I hadn't reckoned on, so when we reached Nhill at 5.30 SA time I realized we were going to be later than the 6pm arrival time I told the caravan park lady. I rang her, she said she'd just rang me and left a message to say they were going out and would leave the van unlocked and some instructions outside the office with sign in form.
We turned off at Dimboola in fading light and headed towards Minyip on minor roads following directions on Gord's GPS app on his phone. It was soon dark and Charlton was an hour and a half away. It was flat wheatfield country. We went through Minyip and Donald and our eastward course had us driving straight at the huge rising moon, as spectacular as I'd ever seen. I said to Gord, "The whole trip is worth it already just to be driving watching that moon rise."
Reaching the caravan park about 7.30 everything was closed in Charlton. We had no food other than a small muesli bar each that Gord luckily had packed, and a biscuit with the tea and coffee in the van. We slept well. I rose early and wandered into the town and had a pie and coffee at the bakery. I left Charlton with some affection for the place after a long chat with the caravan park people when I paid them, and some shopping at the local Foodland which was deserted except for us and run by a youngish Asian lady. I felt sorry for her, the shop was big and so neat and clean but very little fruit and veg, which suggested to me if she bought much it wouldn't sell, a conclusion reached as there were no customers other than us on a Friday mid morning. Maybe the locals do a big shop in Bendigo an hour or so away once a week or fortnight. Maybe there's some reticence by locals as the shop is run by Asians.
I had arranged when we booked the van to stay the Sunday night also on our return, but changed this realizing it would be better to go further on our way home on Sunday, to make the run home on Monday shorter. It was a lovely drive to Bendigo via Bridgewater where we stopped to buy vanilla slices which according to the park lady won the prize for the best vanilla slices in Australia. A good sight to see was a huge plantation of young mallee trees presumably planted for oil distillation. A good carbon soak and I think possibly the indicator of more commercial growing of native flora in the future. Heartwarming.
Morning coffee and lunch was with Lib's sister Pat and hubby Michael and son James, at Junourton just out of Bendigo, where we have visited many times over forty years but not recently. This was why we did the big travel leg Thursday, so that Friday was leisurely with less than four hours easy going on the road. It was unusual to visit there without Lib. Through Lib, I had known Pat and Michael for more than forty years from when they were a young married couple till now retired teachers, and known James since birth. We had salad rolls for lunch followed by Bridgewater vanilla slice.
We used Gord's GPS app to find the shortest route to Wang. As P and M's is on the Heathcote side of Bendigo. I would always in the past gone through Heathcote and Puckapunyal to get to Seymour on the Hume freeway to go to Wang. This time we took a minor road north to Colbinabbin to pick up I think the Midland Hwy then Rushworth, Murchison and on to Violet Town to pick up the Hume. All these towns brought memories back to me of people and times from my days as as apiary inspector for northeast Victoria, an area with Bendigo one point, Swan Hill in the north, across to Corryong in the east. How lucky was I to have that experience in my twenties? Working alone for the most part, travel, learning about flora and fauna, life, and meeting rural people. I'm grateful.
Another heartwarming sight was a huge solar farm somewhere on the eastside of the Hume heading north to Wang. A sea of solar panels, an indicator of the future. We did a little shop at Coles before going to the Murrays where we were to stay for two nights. On the very site Lib and I used to live in a rented house when we first got together, when the Hume Highway passed right past our front door before construction of the Hume Freeway bypassing Wangaratta. Soon after we left Wang "our" house and others were demolished when a KMart was built.
It was unusual to be at the Murray's without Lib, but as usual Owen and Di were fine hosts. They have been great friends all our forty years of married life and knew Lib when she was a girl living with her parents Molly and Bill next door to them in Valdoris Avenue. Di turned it on, as usual, this time a seafood risotto with mussells prawns and shrimp. We watched Richmond demolish the Bulldogs after half time, indulging in more Bridgewater vanilla slice for puddy.
Driving out to Greta the next morning for our 1980 premiership year reunion (40 years plus one for Covid) the feeling of gratitude was strong. How lucky had I been to live and work here for five years, and to play footy with mates representing a proud farming community, which took on other communities and towns, and in 1980 was successful, hence the reunions every ten years. The road out to Greta was pretty much unchanged, just a few more newish fancy houses along the way. The roadside trees seemed larger, not surprising as much time had passed, with some magnificent specimens of yellow box, white box and forest red gum. Having recently read Peter Carey's 'The True Story of Ned Kelly' I had visions of Ned and his crew on horseback in the district in the distant past. A rivetting story, how accurate I don't know, but nevertheless revealing of the lifestyle and hardships of the early settlement of the district.
Unnervingly I struck a mini traffic jam entering the football club reserve at a few minutes after 12, as attendants observed Covid proticol and collected entrance fees from the several cars that arrived at the same time. Parking behind the changerooms and walking in the first person I met was John Tanner with his wife Val. John is now 86 or 87, I'd been told this the night before by Owen who'd bumped into him a day or two previous, also that John's wife's name was Val which I would not have remembered otherwise. Their son Barry played in our 1980 team on a half back flank. Another son Greg was playing at Wang Rovers in 1980 but later coached Greta, after I'd left. There was also related Saus Tanner and Mick Tanner who were getting long in the tooth when I played, and didn't play in 1980, but I think were members of the premiership teams in the 1960's. The Tanner name is synonomous with Greta as is O'Brien. There were three O'Brien's in our 1980 team, Paul full forward, Billy centrehalf back, and Franny forward pocket. Barry Tanner was the first teammate from 1980 I spoke to. After explaining our move to SA and telling him of Lib's breast cancer and treatment he told me of his recent experience of lung cancer which required removal of part of his lung and chemo, and also for a secondary brain tumour. Barry being five years younger than me, it reinforced my gratitude for my good health.
Of the 22 players in the 1980 team, which includes interchange and 2 emergencies, 13 were present, 4 deceased. I think Russell Harris was an apology having had two knee replacement operations a couple of days earlier, and I think Leigh Candy was also an apology as he wasn't there, for what reason I know not, but I have kept in touch with Leigh and know it was his intention to attend, so something must have prevented him. Noone could tell me why or where Terry Wadley was except to say he has withdrawn generally from contact although still in the district probably. David Kemp and Brian Thomas had been uncontactable. Besides the players it was good to see Laurie Wallace and David Dinning who were treasurer and secretary in 1980, and numerous other people and supporters connected to the club, some back then, some still. For my record of the event the attending players were Geoff Lacey (Captain Coach), Des Steele (ex CC 77/78), Pat McKenzie (ex ass coach), Bushy Dinning (president in 1980), F, W, and P. O'Brien, Tony Fisher, Brent Everall, Barry Tanner, Richie Pell, Trevor Sessions and myself. It was great to meet again with these people, and many others like Ian George, Frank Ryan, Merv Graham, Naishy, Benny Ellis, Kay Pink, Anne Lacey, Stuart Russell, John Shanley, Gary Wadley Gary and Smokey Hogan (apologies for many others whose names don't come readily right now) and relive happy memories of a time, half a lifetime ago. They were great days.
I left about 3.30pm to visit my mate Grub at Hansonville. He wasn't at the reunion when I was. He turned up after someone rang him to say I was asking after him, but I'd left to go to his place. I got to his place, no-one was there, my phone rang, it was Pat McKenzie saying Grub was at the footy ground to see me. I went back, to be told he'd gone home with his son Greg to see me, so back to Grub's. There they were sitting in the shed having a stubbie. I well knew Grub had had bad times with cancer of the face some years previously, and he had visited us at Gembrook maybe five years ago, so I had seen him post op. He'd lost an eye and half his jaw and part of his forehead in an operation to remove the cancer. I was fully prepared when Bushy told me don't get a shock when you see Grub, but it did surprise me how small and elderly he looked. He said he'd recently turned 72, which is amazing really, because they gave him a 10% chance of surviving the operation and one year, then 50% chance of another 5 years, and he's nearly made another 5 years after that. He's had broken arms and a shoulder, bowled over by cattle while working as his bones are brittle from all the chemo and drugs and if ever I've met a tough bugger it's Grub. The skin patch over his eye had a perforation which required him to regularly wipe the blood, and where part of his forehead had been removed it had sort of sunk in since I last saw him. Lovely for me was to feel the love for him from his son Greg which was obvious without words, just watching and listening to them tell me things of farming and their lives. Grub moved our furniture from Wang to Gembrook in his cattle truck in 1981with David Dinning. He wouldn't even accept petrol money. In our first year at Gembrook Grub and wife Kerry attended Bill Forge's wedding in Dandenong and left baby Greg with us to babysit overnight. Here we were forty years later, and to see father and son together was just beautiful. It must have been hard for Greg who has a wife and young family but he truly is a fine young man. A chip off the old block, he insisted on going home (he has a house a few minutes up the road) and getting me a lump of beef and some lamb chops from his freezer for me take when I left. Just as Grub would always do when I left all those years ago.
Grub, Peter Younger, was treasurer of Greta Football Club in the late 1970's when I went there but had handed over to Laurie Wallace in 1980. I lived at Moyhu in 1979 and every Tuesday night had tea at Grub and Kerry's in the old farm house which is now derelict. Grub lives in a small place across the road with a kitchen, bedroom and bathroom and the shed with a wood heater and a good supply of firewood stacked along the back wall. Grub and Kerry divorced many years ago.
I was only with Grub and Greg an hour before leaving to visit my friends and ex neighbours at Moyhu John and Nicky Bridges. That also was a lovely experience, but quite a contrast to Grub. Both John and Nicky are in such fine health and appearance that it belies their age. They look so well. They live in the same house a little south of Moyhu on the Whitfield road. John's father had a dairy farm next door to the dairy farm of Clem and June Larkins where I rented the 'Peezy house'. June Larkins is John Tanner's sister. She's still alive in her nineties living in Wang but Clem died many years ago, as did John's parents. In my single days living at Moyhu I regularly had dinner at John and Nicky's or a barbie on weekends. They were young parents of Kate and Sean, busy with life, John I think worked at the CRB and helping his dad milk the cows etc. They are grandparents multiple times now. Sean is a groundsman at the Gabba in Brisbane and Kate lives in Melbourne. We crammed a lot of talk into an hour and a half or so on many subjects including news of people and footy and politics. Yes I was very lucky all those years ago to be welcomed by such people.
It was then back to Wang, dark now on the drive back. Gord had stayed in Wang at the Murray's and we all went out for dinner to D'Amico's Italian restaurant. I noticed Wangaratta had not been left out of the Tattoo craze. Waitresses and patrons adorned with colour and artistry.
We hit the road next morning about 10.30, lunching at McDonald's Bendigo, pretty much retracing our route through Donald and Minyip after leaving St Arnaud. What we hadn't been able to see in the dark the previous Thursday night was a huge windfarm consisting of about 30 or so wind turbines. Another sign of a changing world with a promising future, hopefully.
So Kaniva, Sunday night. Quiet as a mouse except fot the trucks. I lay in the motel bed thinking over all of the last few days, the last few years, decades. There's something about Kaniva I like. I could live there. A good place to reflect on life. Lib never would come at it. Too hot in summer. Too far from the beach, the big shops, facilities generally. But no hustle and bustle, no ridiculous price for housing, quite close to the little desert national park. The only real worry is the Western Highway through the town but I think that'd be easy to avoid finding or building a house. Not really an issue for now. Happy in McCracken.
