Lancefield Memories

Goldfields life had its pleasures and a few tragedies
by Caryndon

Over 40 years have passed since I went to Lancefield as a young bride. The train was late and we drove through the hot night over a rough, uneven track with a lantern swinging at the back of the sulky casting weird shadows as the horse’s hooves clop clopped on the hard-baked ground. The quaint little houses scattered higgledy-piggledy about the township were cheerful and homelike inside. Nearly every house had its piano and many happy hours were spent around them singing the old songs.

They were happy days, marred only by occasional mine accidents – tragic interludes which showed that our people were quick to give sympathy and back it with practical aid. I was anxious to descend a mine but my courage failed me when I saw the cage drop into the yawning black hole and heard the clang of the signals showing the levels to which the men had to be taken.

My first glimpse of the natives was when a huge man accompanied by his woman and a child appeared at the door and shouted at me. The man carried a 6ft. spear tipped with a three-cornered sliver of glass which glinted each time he brandished the weapon. However, they had no ill designs, on me I discovered later, but I was glad when my husband brought me home a dog to keep me company. My canine guardian was old and toothless but his deep, long-drawn growl was a menacing sound and the natives were terrified of him.

Sunset Splendours – The glory of the Goldfields sunsets is not easily forgotten. At the end of a scorching day, the fiery ball would sink in a flaming splendour of crimson and gold that gradually faded to pastel shades. One night, in 1908 we saw a brilliant display of the Aurora Australis. People said that such a sight had never been seen before and some folks thought the end of the world was near and racked their brains for half-forgotten prayers.

In 1910 I got up at 3 am once on a clear frosty morning to behold Halley’s Comet in all its glory and took out my little son rolled in a rug to see the sight. We had picnic jaunts in the spring, we used to organise picnic parties and travel out to where the everlasting flowers made a carpet extending as far as the eye could see. Dried and arranged with Kurrajong leaves they made beautiful decorations that lasted through the hot dry months.

I remember the outsized baker and the butcher who was never in a hurry; the milkman who always inquired after the “young juveniles” and little Alphonso the Spaniard who wore a perpetual grin and kept us supplied with fruit and vegetables. Alphonso had a young assistant who came from the New Norcia monastery. One day the young man’s spade slipped and hit him with a painful blow on the toe. He said one word with tremendous fervour. Alphonso grinning widely, chortled:

“For ten years you try to catch Heaven and now you lose it in one word”

A Prank Misfired -Here was young Mac who, suitably adorned with burnt cork and aboriginal trimmings, was heading for a fancy dress ball. Seeing old Paul resting in his bough shed, he tiptoed over and with menace in his voice said: “You give baccy, boss.” “Get to hell out of here” roared old Paul producing a wicked-looking revolver and brandishing it wildly. Mac reached the ball in record time. My best friend at Lancefield was dear old Granty, who would wash and iron or clean the house for 10 shillings a day. Her favourite flowers were “Chrysanthemums” and I never see a bunch of Chrysanthemums without thinking of Granty.

I acquired my taste for opera at Lancefield, sitting outside my home on the hot summer evenings listening to the Italians singing. Their magnificent voices used to rise and fall in a flood of melody and gradually die away in the distance. It was a sad day when I looked for the last time on Lancefield and the house that was our first home and the birthplace of two of my children. Goodbye little home of delightful memories, you will never be forgotten!