The scene is Sovereign Hill, Ballarat: a recreation of the 1850 gold rush, and history of the town that developed around it. The husband was stressed from a hard week at work, and was initially dubious after seeing the asylum like bunk beds he is expected to sleep in. Child 1 - could be anywhere, who cares so long as I get to stay up late, eat lots of sweets and play with other family's children. Child 2 - "I won't have to go on a roller coaster will I?" -Bless no Ciara, we won't send you on the Tower Of Terror like we did in Disney!
So after the bags were thrown quickly into the room, Grant's from the doorway, as after catching sight of the beds he isn't even gonna cross the threshold until he's had a stiff drink, we set off for the Village .
We entered through an 1850 Chinese Protector's house, lovingly recreated in every detail, as we stepped back in time to the Ballarat gold rush. What a strange experience to walk into a historically correct town complete with actors scurrying around in vintage costume carrying baskets as if on an errand, or chatting together in huddles on the street corners. Real fires were burning in all the hearths, and braziers lit outside (well they were right to warn us about the cold weather). The houses scattered around the impressively large site were filled with an array of Victorian furniture and memorabilia, although each had been done in a style to suit the person that had once lived in them. Sitting on a porch playing banjo, accordion and pipes were three elderly gentlemen, who wouldn't have looked out of place on a set for "The Good, The Bad and the Ugly", whilst a carriage drawn by a team of 4 horses transported baggage and tourists down the muddy dirt track of a high street. What a difference to Melbourne's CBD we'd left 2 hours previously.
Every building seemed to have some sort of entertainment in store for us all, and foolishly we started in the theatre where a small crowd were already seated and smiling at an elderly gentleman I mistook for the warm up act. I later find out that a lot of the people performing or walking around in costume, do this voluntarily and it immediately became obvious that this guy must be one of those volunteers, as the silence after his jokes was deafening and he floundered like a fish on a hook, desperately telling us historical facts, whilst attempting to do basic juggling and odd bits of magic . We are sure it's his wife who has volunteered him to come and entertain (mmm) the crowds. When his back was was turned to the organ to play a musical ditty we scarpered being one of only 5 left in the audience !
We are then joined thankfully by the Archard clan who proceeded to pull us down to the gold panning section, recreated around a fake creek in the tented section of town. It was at this point a strange transformation came over Mother Archard, as with a steely glint in her eye she pushed small children and Japanese tourists asunder as she searched for the perfect panning dish.
She then proceeded to teach the 6 assorted children the basics of finding gold, relaying previous adventures of her first forays to Oz when she spent a great deal of time on this very activity -along with looking for precious stones (odd as she was meant to be working!). The remaining adults watched in amusement as Bes found gold in the bottom of her pan and her zeal and enthusiasm caught in the group like swine Flu in Sunshine- sorry topical joke!
Now all the children were desperately panning, whilst Bes bought bottles of water to place their finds in, and we pondered as the kids become increasingly soaked as they waded further and further into the brook pouring murky water down themselves in their quest for riches. It took a further hour to pull the obsessed brood and mother from the waters and only a promise of food enticed them from their labours.
Fitting in a quick tea, we headed back in darkness for the Light Extravaganza 'Blood on The southern Cross.' We now witnessed a show worthy of Disney, and huge in its construction, as we were led around the hill, walking and on open coaches, to watch various recreations of the times and the story of the first Aussie uprising against the British army (mostly involving the Irish and Scots -so nothing changes there!!!) The evening show finished with an impressive finale involving burning down a hotel (unfortunately not ours) and it seemed so real I felt the need to have a drink to quieten my nerves from all the bloodshed . So a bottle of wine and a few wassabi peas later- the beds seem a godsend !
Day 2, and by now we are used to seeing the strange sites around town. We started the day with another visit to the gold panning -and even Grant and myself joined in this venture, after receiving some lucky origami stars from a Chinese interpreter we found hiding in one of the tents on last night's set! The stars are indeed fortuitous: we overtook Bes' meagre pickings in one pan load and must have found a rich seam or the spot where the staff had thrown the gold filings that morning.
We also summoned the courage to do the mine tour which involved going 60ft underground in pitch black, bar the kids mobile in the row behind, and for the first time in my life I experienced genuine claustrophobia. Not sure why it should strike at this particular time as I have been in many caves, but probably the first since seeing 'The Descent', so maybe therein lies the answer.
We went on to hear about the conditions the miners worked in, from the Thunderbox to the Widowmaker, a piece of machinery (and now I am about to become technical, so for all of you who just like a good yarn with no detail skip the next paragraph) that drills sections of rock at high speed, but at the same time causes silicates to fill the air. If you are the unlucky miner wielding the equipment these silicates are inhaled into your lungs, which is the equivalent of breathing in microscopic shards of glass. And so you die of silicosis which involves coughing up lumps of blood and lung usually by the age of 40. By the way mean life expectancy during the 1850's in Ballarat was 40 for men and 35 for women!! Still at least we wouldn't have to worry about a pension .
The next show involved the pouring of molten gold to form a bar. The gentleman who performed this feat kept us enthralled with the dangers of heating gold up to 1400 degrees Celsius, and what effects a single drop would have on us if he dropped the graphite container that held it. Once the bar was formed, he then doused it in cold water enabling it to be handled within a couple minutes, but as he put his hand into the container of water, let out a shriek - as did I!, and I jumped about a mile in the air waiting for the smell of incinerated flesh to invade my nostrils. As I opened my eyes I realised in fact it was part of the act,which everyone else had obviously seen before or so I told myself.
And now I shall quickly scan past the genuine bakery (although I did not and spent 45 minutes deciding which cake to eat before choosing a jumbo Chelsea bun the size of a football pitch), the candle makers shop where the kids dipped candles in a variety of dyes after hearing and watching old fashioned candle making, the photographer's shop where you could dress up in olden day costumes and have a family portrait done -(I was the only one keen), and a variety of other shops selling sweets, coffins and the likes, to finally get to the gold museum as we head out of town.
It is here I finish my tale as I read in awe about the 71kg nugget they pulled out from 2.5cm below the ground calling it the Welcome Stranger. It certainly would be welcome and I understand a little of what the people who were attracted to this godforsaken hell hole must have come for: a promise of a life of wealth far different from the ones they had left, but obtained on sheer luck and with no prior knowledge or abilities or connections and not recognising class or nationality.
Still don't think I would have been one of them unless of course we'd been discovering 71kg Chelsea buns!!
So after the bags were thrown quickly into the room, Grant's from the doorway, as after catching sight of the beds he isn't even gonna cross the threshold until he's had a stiff drink, we set off for the Village .
We entered through an 1850 Chinese Protector's house, lovingly recreated in every detail, as we stepped back in time to the Ballarat gold rush. What a strange experience to walk into a historically correct town complete with actors scurrying around in vintage costume carrying baskets as if on an errand, or chatting together in huddles on the street corners. Real fires were burning in all the hearths, and braziers lit outside (well they were right to warn us about the cold weather). The houses scattered around the impressively large site were filled with an array of Victorian furniture and memorabilia, although each had been done in a style to suit the person that had once lived in them. Sitting on a porch playing banjo, accordion and pipes were three elderly gentlemen, who wouldn't have looked out of place on a set for "The Good, The Bad and the Ugly", whilst a carriage drawn by a team of 4 horses transported baggage and tourists down the muddy dirt track of a high street. What a difference to Melbourne's CBD we'd left 2 hours previously.
Every building seemed to have some sort of entertainment in store for us all, and foolishly we started in the theatre where a small crowd were already seated and smiling at an elderly gentleman I mistook for the warm up act. I later find out that a lot of the people performing or walking around in costume, do this voluntarily and it immediately became obvious that this guy must be one of those volunteers, as the silence after his jokes was deafening and he floundered like a fish on a hook, desperately telling us historical facts, whilst attempting to do basic juggling and odd bits of magic . We are sure it's his wife who has volunteered him to come and entertain (mmm) the crowds. When his back was was turned to the organ to play a musical ditty we scarpered being one of only 5 left in the audience !
We are then joined thankfully by the Archard clan who proceeded to pull us down to the gold panning section, recreated around a fake creek in the tented section of town. It was at this point a strange transformation came over Mother Archard, as with a steely glint in her eye she pushed small children and Japanese tourists asunder as she searched for the perfect panning dish.
She then proceeded to teach the 6 assorted children the basics of finding gold, relaying previous adventures of her first forays to Oz when she spent a great deal of time on this very activity -along with looking for precious stones (odd as she was meant to be working!). The remaining adults watched in amusement as Bes found gold in the bottom of her pan and her zeal and enthusiasm caught in the group like swine Flu in Sunshine- sorry topical joke!
Now all the children were desperately panning, whilst Bes bought bottles of water to place their finds in, and we pondered as the kids become increasingly soaked as they waded further and further into the brook pouring murky water down themselves in their quest for riches. It took a further hour to pull the obsessed brood and mother from the waters and only a promise of food enticed them from their labours.
Fitting in a quick tea, we headed back in darkness for the Light Extravaganza 'Blood on The southern Cross.' We now witnessed a show worthy of Disney, and huge in its construction, as we were led around the hill, walking and on open coaches, to watch various recreations of the times and the story of the first Aussie uprising against the British army (mostly involving the Irish and Scots -so nothing changes there!!!) The evening show finished with an impressive finale involving burning down a hotel (unfortunately not ours) and it seemed so real I felt the need to have a drink to quieten my nerves from all the bloodshed . So a bottle of wine and a few wassabi peas later- the beds seem a godsend !
Day 2, and by now we are used to seeing the strange sites around town. We started the day with another visit to the gold panning -and even Grant and myself joined in this venture, after receiving some lucky origami stars from a Chinese interpreter we found hiding in one of the tents on last night's set! The stars are indeed fortuitous: we overtook Bes' meagre pickings in one pan load and must have found a rich seam or the spot where the staff had thrown the gold filings that morning.
We also summoned the courage to do the mine tour which involved going 60ft underground in pitch black, bar the kids mobile in the row behind, and for the first time in my life I experienced genuine claustrophobia. Not sure why it should strike at this particular time as I have been in many caves, but probably the first since seeing 'The Descent', so maybe therein lies the answer.
We went on to hear about the conditions the miners worked in, from the Thunderbox to the Widowmaker, a piece of machinery (and now I am about to become technical, so for all of you who just like a good yarn with no detail skip the next paragraph) that drills sections of rock at high speed, but at the same time causes silicates to fill the air. If you are the unlucky miner wielding the equipment these silicates are inhaled into your lungs, which is the equivalent of breathing in microscopic shards of glass. And so you die of silicosis which involves coughing up lumps of blood and lung usually by the age of 40. By the way mean life expectancy during the 1850's in Ballarat was 40 for men and 35 for women!! Still at least we wouldn't have to worry about a pension .
The next show involved the pouring of molten gold to form a bar. The gentleman who performed this feat kept us enthralled with the dangers of heating gold up to 1400 degrees Celsius, and what effects a single drop would have on us if he dropped the graphite container that held it. Once the bar was formed, he then doused it in cold water enabling it to be handled within a couple minutes, but as he put his hand into the container of water, let out a shriek - as did I!, and I jumped about a mile in the air waiting for the smell of incinerated flesh to invade my nostrils. As I opened my eyes I realised in fact it was part of the act,which everyone else had obviously seen before or so I told myself.
And now I shall quickly scan past the genuine bakery (although I did not and spent 45 minutes deciding which cake to eat before choosing a jumbo Chelsea bun the size of a football pitch), the candle makers shop where the kids dipped candles in a variety of dyes after hearing and watching old fashioned candle making, the photographer's shop where you could dress up in olden day costumes and have a family portrait done -(I was the only one keen), and a variety of other shops selling sweets, coffins and the likes, to finally get to the gold museum as we head out of town.
It is here I finish my tale as I read in awe about the 71kg nugget they pulled out from 2.5cm below the ground calling it the Welcome Stranger. It certainly would be welcome and I understand a little of what the people who were attracted to this godforsaken hell hole must have come for: a promise of a life of wealth far different from the ones they had left, but obtained on sheer luck and with no prior knowledge or abilities or connections and not recognising class or nationality.
Still don't think I would have been one of them unless of course we'd been discovering 71kg Chelsea buns!!
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