Nostalgia for the sights, sounds and smells of the Australian country

Photo: Hele-hiking in the New England gorges.

In my last post, Have Australians lost their sense of country?, I bemoaned the fact as I saw it that so many metro Australians were losing their sense of country. Thinking about it, perhaps I should say more accurately, losing their familiarity with country.

If so, how would I describe the sights, sounds and smells of the Australian country that people have now lost? Here there is a difficulty because Australia is a very diverse country, so that the sights, sounds and smells actually vary from place to place. However, I can at least indicate some that are important to me, many from childhood when our sense of place is especially formed.

Early morning at our Aunt and Uncle's place. The cow has been brought in for milking. There is the steady squirt splash, squirt splash, squirt splash as the milk squirts into the metal bucket. There are good health reasons for our treated milk. However, the taste of fresh creamy milk is very different from the bottled variety.

Still early morning, same place. We are in the orchard. While the sun is bright and the day will be hot, the night chill is still in the air. We pick the cold crisp apples from the tree and eat them, the juice running down our faces.

Fruit and fruit trees feature in many memories.

There were the trees in our garden and those around. We knew every tree within a ten minute bike ride. There were big old apricots suitable for climbing as well as fruit supply, there was the big mulberry tree in a backyard just down the road, there were plum trees, apple trees and many vine fruits.

We might not eat fruit when given it, but we sure ate a lot of fruit that we collected ourselves, green or otherwise!

Bikes were central to our lives. I was in primary school before I learned to ride one, envious of friends who already had them. We could walk or run long distances and did, but a bike gave much greater freedom. They could also be a challenge for the mechanically incompetent like me. Still, I did learn to put the chain back on and to repair the inevitable punctures.

The hot smell of dust floating in the air in little particles, or kicked up by bike tires. A familiar pleasant smell in small quantities, but sometimes a choking nuisance when thrown up by cars.

I learned to drive on dirt roads and still like them. Speed up if there are corrugations, slow down if there are potholes, but what do you do if there are both?

The ritual of Sunday drives and of family picnics, mostly within a thirty kilometer radius from home. We knew every road, all the swimming spots, every change in the country side.

Armidale lies in the centre of the New England Tablelands. To the east, the water flows down through the gorges to the coast. Just to the west is the divide. From there, the water flows west towards the Darling.

Drive a little west from Armidale, and the country suddenly changes - becomes drier, the vegetation and colours are different. Drive a little east, and the rolling Tablelands are suddenly broken by huge gorges. This is now all national parks country. We picnicked at the various falls and lookouts, explored the mining remains at Hillgrove, clambered down hillsides and valleys.

Turn south and you find the Arding lanes, Uralla and the old mining centre of Rocky River. This was much more English country side, tailored by the European settlers to fit with memories of home.

Once I learned to drive and could borrow the family car, I used to take my university friends out to explore, to show them the changing countryside.

New England was sheep country, fine wool merinos. I still love the feel of wool - thick jumpers, fine wool suits, scarves.

Sheep clothed us and fed us - steak was expensive, lamb and mutton plentiful and cheap. Graziers butchered their own animals for home consumption, something I watched but cannot say I really enjoyed. Often the butchered animals were quite old: people became expert in various ways of cooking mutton.

Sheep strike me as very dumb animals. Trying to move along a flock of skittish lambs can be a challenge! A good sheep dog was highly valued.

We loved wool sheds. They have a very particular smell developed over years. As kids we played in them. Later they were often the venue for parties, with fires burning in 44 gallon drums outside to keep some of the night cold away.

Shearing time was always interesting. Then the sheds came alive with sheep and shearers. The shearers quarters were generally galvanised iron huts - I stayed in a lot of them on camps or while working on archaeological digs, in so doing acquiring a liking for rum toddies as a way of keeping the cold at bay!

Memories.